Chapter 3

Among the people who loved Mr. Lincoln best, and could best understand the semi-official way in which he went to the theatre that fatal night, there was not one, I fancy, who did not feel an added shock at learning where he was when the messenger came, and who did not wish that he had been almost anywhere else. Yet why? If the theatre is a proper place for Christians to enter, it is as good a place as any other to be

"Waiting--waiting--when the Lord shall come."

The only thing I think of mentioned in the Bible that is much like modern performances on the boards, is the dancing of the daughter of Herodias before Herod. She worked for hire, she beguiled her audience. "She pleased the king," and got from him all she asked for. It sounds very dreadful to you, no doubt, that the prophet's head should have been danced off by a pair of whirling feet?--but that is a slight matter. If dancing and theatre going did only take off the heads of protesting saints, like an old-time persecution, they at least would but exchange the prison for the palace, and so not lose much. But this stealing away the heart and service once vowed to Christ, is another matter. You think it does not do this. You think your eye is as clear for heaven in the boxes as elsewhere. You think you can dress and go and look on and listen, keeping close to this command:

"Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus."

_Do_ you think so?

"I have never been to hear him," said Dr. Skinner, speaking then, only of a false prophet in a false Church, "because I could not expect to meet my Master there; and I will go nowhere for pleasure where he is not." What about the theatre, tried by that test?

How surely the world marks every Christian who is seen at such places; how certainly the children know that the parents have not yet forsaken all for Christ. And how constantly ungodly men fence off your warning, with the words: "Look at ---- and ----, I am as good as they. I do this and that, and they do it too. I don't see the difference."

But "nobody knows." O yes, everybody knows. No matter if you are across the sea,--"A bird of the air shall carry the matter." But especially, the Lord knows. He setteth "a print on the heels of my feet" [1]--and step you never so lightly, the mark will be there, and the Lord will know.

And where your feet go, there others will follow. "Is Miss Hope going to such and such a performance?" inquired a young man of me. I said no. He stood gravely thinking, and the talk drifted on. Then suddenly I heard him say--to himself as it were:--"Then I will not go either!"--

Persuasions, entreaties, ridicule, are nothing, _mean_ nothing, if only you stand firm. And I have known gentlemen spend their strength in entreaties, and then when the lady held out in her quiet refusal, they said afterwards to other people that they liked to see any one true to his principles.

Staying once with some friends of rather free opinions and practice, Priscilla was beset to go with them on a certain evening to the theatre. So eager were the words, so well-loved the friends, that at last she grew desperate. Turning round upon the head of the house, she said: "Do you really want me to go?"--He looked at her, sat back in his chair in silence, then answered soberly: "Well, I guess I'd just as lieve you didn't!"

Depend upon it, the very people who press you hardest, professing to see "no harm," will feel they have lost something if you make them think the King's Country is just like their own. Whatever has happened to _your_ moral sense, _they_ know that the theatre is no place for a true-hearted servant of the Lord Jesus, if the Master is all he is represented to be. If they met you there unawares, it would be with a thrill not of pleasure but of pain.

Let me repeat my question, Is it as a Christian you go to the theatre? can you go and keep your armour bright? does the helmet of salvation rest securely on your head? Is the girdle of truth,--truth of life, purpose, and heart,--fast bound? the breastplate of righteousness burnished, the shield of faith ready against every dart that may fly in that great building? Are they the shoes of peace on which you go in? not pleasure, but _peace_? Is it the sword of the Spirit with which you meet and parry the thrusts of idleness, folly, mischief? Ah you know better! When you go to the theatre these defences are left at home, as not fit for the occasion. The house is built and managed and filled in the interests of the enemy; and of course your uniform is out of place. Tired Church members, do you go there for _rest_?

[1] Job xiii. 27.

Games.

Dr. Skinner[1] used to say that all games of chance were unlawful. For inasmuch as there is no chance in the economy of this world, all use of dice or lottery in any shape is really an appeal to him of whom it is said:

"The lot is cast into the lap, but the whole disposing thereof is of the Lord." [2]

And you will agree with me that this is not a thing to be done lightly.

In old times the casting of a lot was a solemn religious service: ushered in even among pagans with prayer and often with fasting; but what careless, reckless ignoring of God as the Governor among the nations, is there in all connected with the lot in our days. What foul associations cloud and wrap up almost every game of chance: how soiled are the cards, how unhallowed the rattle of the dice. What degrading, debasing work is done by every species of lottery; what desperate evils spring up and grow out of "a chance" at a Church fair! Some years ago, at the time of the great German and French fairs in New York, a lady thoughtlessly gave her young son leave to buy "a chance" for a gold watch. Thoughtlessly,--it was just a dollar to the fair and an amusement to the boy. And before twenty-four hours had passed, she would have given anything in the world to recall her permission. For at once the boy's mind became wholly absorbed in his "chance." The fair went on, the drawing was long delayed; and day after day--hour by hour, if he could--he went to inquire and to watch; and the mother saw her child in a true gambling fever, and she obliged to let it run its course. Mercifully, as she said, the watch fell to another. "If it had come to George, I don't know what in the world I should have done."

"We play for sugarplums,"--we "toss up" for nuts; but each time the evil seeds are planted. The mere habit of _talking_ of "chance," of "luck," of "fate," as if you believed in them all, tends directly to weaken your realizing trust in the Great Ruler of the world; who counts his sparrows, and numbers the hairs of your head. Chance? If the watchmaker could not control one smallest wheel or point in his watch; if even a grain of dust got in and defied him; what think you he could do with mainspring and hands? One unmanageable atom would stop the whole.

To quote Dr. Skinner again,--one to whom I think it never occurred to like anything but what God liked,--in his early life as a young man he had seen much wild company; and so strong was their association with evil, that to the end of his life he could never even hear the dice fall without a shiver.

"Put it away, my dear," he would say of even the backgammon board. "I don't like it--I don't like it!"

For games of chance, as a rule, gather round them a setting of sin and sorrow which other games do not. I suppose men take in their practical infidelity, and grow lawless. You do not mean to appeal to God in your games of "chance,"--but if not to him, then to some other power supposed to be outside his rule or beyond his notice: "chance," "luck," or the devil. And it does not much matter which word you use. Yet "tired" Church members will play euchre and whist, and there are cards in the table drawer in the parlour, and of course a dingier pack in the kitchen, in many a so-called Christian house; though the family hide them or apologize before people who are called "intense." The minister comes in upon a card party in his parish, and all rise in deprecatory confusion; and perhaps (ah I know it happened in one case) the minister waves his hand graciously, with a "Don't let me disturb you,"--and so passes on. O it hurts one to have a fellow Christian ask in the quiet evening at her own house, "Would you object to our bringing out the cards?"--"I could not touch them," was all the answer, and the drawer stayed shut. But I wish a Nonconformist Church could rise up in these days. We are so busy calling ourselves Episcopalians, Methodists, Presbyterians, that we seem to forget the old far-better name which should include all. In the war it was only loyal or disloyal: and New York was proud of the Wisconsin boys that were all six feet two; and Ohio wept for those of Massachusetts who were among the first to shed their blood. Dear friends, it is war time now: if you could only realize that, a good many things would be set straight. Not able to give up doubtful games and questionable dances? Why in '76 the women fired at their tea kettles!--

Nonconformists. But now, "My mother does it,"--"my aunt goes,"--"my father likes it": so run the excuses which the members of your Bible Class, children of Church members, fling in your face.

But what you call "lawful" games, are stupid. Not all of them, perhaps; but if they were, that would not touch the question. Paul's "If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth," was crippled with no such condition as "If I can get bread." And when the Lord bade us cut off the offending right hand, no question of whether we could live without it came in. It is not absolutely needful that Christ should find all his tired Church members rested and fresh; but it _is_ necessary that they should be "spotless," "faithful," "ready," when he comes.

There are other amusements that might be touched upon just here, but perhaps they are as well not named. Whatever takes you full into the ranks of Christ's enemies, not to fight but to follow them; whatever you cannot do straight through in the name of the Lord Jesus; whatever turns you away from the shining presence of his face; is unlawful for you. Once remember that there is no middle ground, and then ask yourself what standing room there can be for you on a race course, what seat at a circus. If you are not with Christ, openly, unmistakably, you are "scattering," even in your games. I asked a friend (a minister of deep experience) lately, if he had seen much of this private card playing among Church members? He answered, "Yes, a great deal." Then I inquired what was the effect, as he had noticed it. And the reply was instant and emphatic:

"_Always_ evil!"--

Carlyle tells of "patriots" in the French Revolution who shaved each other out of the fragments of bomb shells, and wore ghastly trophies from the guillotine. But short of a Reign of Terror, making all men mad, one does not expect such things. Few people (I fancy) if they knew it, would care to use the glass from which some poor wretch had drunk his draught of poison; and even to touch the murderer's knife stored up in a public museum, would turn most hearts sick. But if you could only see as God sees; if things in society were but labelled and classed; you would find your cards dark with the soul-life blood of thousands, and could hear their ruin in every fall of the dice.

I was much interested in a recent English essay ("On the Criminal Code of the Jews") to find how the typical Israel regarded games of chance. As if something of the old blessed "The Lord is our King," staid by them, even in the days of their downfall. The writer says:

"All who made money by dice-playing or any games of hazard, by betting on pigeon matches and similar objectionable practices, were not only incapable of becoming members of a tribunal, but were not permitted to give evidence. The Ghemara regards a man who gains money by the amusements named, as dishonest."

[1] Once pastor of the Mercer Street Church, New York, and Professor in Union Theological Seminary.

[2] Prov. xvi. 33.

What Left?

But you will say, I leave nothing for you, then; no amusements, no recreation. Is that true? Is the narrow way indeed so barren, that we must step out of it to rest? Has the Lord only food and water for his flock, and when they need change and refreshment must they leave their Shepherd, and go over to the wolf for a run upon the hillside? That sounds hard for weak human nature--and strange, for a Lord of boundless resources. And somehow the Bible pictures of the flock shew wondrous contentment. "A stranger will they not follow." [1]

Then following the Master must be very sweet; for all men like variety, and the mere fact of a new voice is of itself enough to draw one aside. Yet "a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him,"--O how much that tells! And here we touch the very root and spring of true refreshment, of real recreation. For while good general health is the best specific against mere bodily fatigue, so against a jaded, over-wrought state of nerves and energies, there is nothing like a heart full of joy and a mind at rest.

"He that believeth on me shall never thirst." [2]

And if this satisfaction does not underlie all your pastimes, they will be a failure. No other stream alone can freshen even the small dry barrens of this earth.

But besides that, what is there left for Christian people?

To begin: "Dancing is such good exercise!" people say. Granted. Or at least it _might_ be. But instead of night hours in a ball room, get on horseback for two hours in the open day, and then balance the profit and loss. You don't know how?--then learn. You have no horse? Go to riding school. An hour in the ring will stir your blood better than twenty Germans. But you "cannot afford" to take riding lessons.--Well to say nothing of ball dresses, just throw satin slippers and long gloves and carriage hire together, and see if you cannot afford it. Ay, and have a ticket now and then for some one poorer than yourself.

Then for people who live within reach of the opera, there is generally much other good music to be had, at far less expense and with none of the objections. And there again, the money and time spent at the opera, would train the voices at home into a lovely choir. Voices which now "have no time," and talents perhaps unknown.

"Everybody cannot sing."--No. And neither can everybody paint; but it is a delicious pleasure to those who can. What joy to go sketching! what delight to work up the sketches at home. What pure, noiseless, exquisite play it is. And if some of the party care nothing for pencils, let them lie under a tree with a book, and be part of your picture.

"Ah, books!--Of course you disapprove of novels,"--some one exclaims.

Indeed no. A good novel is very improving as well as refreshing. And after much study over that word "good" (that is, for us, worth reading) I can give no better meaning than this. A good book, whether novel or other, is one which leaves you further on than it took you up. If when you drop it, it drops you, right down in the same old spot; with no finer outlook, no cleared vision, no stimulated desires, it is in no sense a good book for you. As well make fancy loaves of sawdust, and label them "Good Bread"; and claim that you rise from the banquet refreshed.

A novel has special power of its own. It may be deeply historical, like "Waverly," and "The Tale of Two Cities." It may be a picture of vivid local colouring, like "Ivanhoe," or "Lorna Doone," or "Dr Antonio." It may be full of social hints and glimpses, with many a covert wise suggestion, like Miss Austin's "Emma." It may shew up a vital truth or a life-long mistake, like Miss Edgeworth's "Helen," or open out new natural scenes like the "Adventures of a Phaeton"; or life scenes, like "Oliver Twist"; or be so full of frolic and fun and sharp common sense, that the mere laughter of it does you good "like a medicine." Witness "Christie Johnstone," and Miss Carlen's "John." All such books are utterly helpful, and leave you well in advance of where they found you. They enlarge your world, they stimulate your life. Only read none that enlarge it by a peep through the gates of hell. On _that_ side knowledge is death.

But how is one to tell? you ask. Books are not labelled "good," "bad," and "indifferent." No: and when you go to shops and houses you do not know what air you will find, perhaps not till you open the door. But you start back from one room, and hold your breath in another, hastening to get away; not because you have studied chemistry and can analyze the air, but because your keen physical sense is smitten. Keep your moral sense as fresh, as keen; and the moment you find foul air in a book, throw the book in the fire. Do not leave it about to poison some one else. And if you find no wholesome stir, no real refreshment, but only a feverish thirst beginning, lay the book down: remember, you are after _recreation_.

Re-creation,--the remaking and refitting of ourselves for better work, the resting for more labour, the learning, that we may grow thereby. _That_ is what you profess to need, dear fellow Christians. Then seek it,--and take no makebelieve.

"Nothing left?"--Why the world is so full of delightful things to do, that one can but look at a quarter of them. They stand at my elbow ten deep. Books and music, and painting, and riding, and gardening, with all sorts of studies of the wonderful works of God. You are not shut up to novels. Books of art, books of travel, books of poetry, books of science. O how I have rested in the coolness of Longfellow's "Cathedral"; and with what delight seen Alpine heights with Ruskin.

Then there is that wonder of refreshment, the stereoscope. One comes back from a half hour there in a Swiss valley as into a new world, with the dust all blown away. A stereoscope costs little, and views are not expensive,--that is if you are content with one or two at a time, which is the real way to buy them; choosing, considering, carefully selecting only those you cannot possibly go home without! I know we began with six; those six sorted out with jealous care from the contents of many boxes; and by ones and twos the little collection has grown into something worth having. And if you turn over every lot of views you come across, you will often find one rare and fine and cheap, thrown in among the rubbish.

Then there is the microscope,--full of rich pleasure and deep study and wonderful revealings. And here again no great outlay is needed. The days of only sixty dollar glasses are quite gone by, and for five or ten dollars--even less--you can get a microscope that will keep ahead of you for some time to come.

On the other hand, if one has neither the skill nor the means to furnish a home-made telescope, there are other ways of studying the stars, from the days of Ferguson down. You remember he used to measure the distance from star to star with beads upon a string. I have seen a man who could neither read nor write, and yet could tell by the stars the hour at any time of night; and it is a shame that we educated people who know so much, should also know so little.

If you are in the country, and fond of "stones," get a geologist's hammer, and Hugh Miller's books, and give yourself up to happiness. Or if you like flowers, study _them_; learning to know families and sub-families through all the floral peerage.

But perhaps you "do not care for out-door things?" Then get a bit of wood and a few carving tools, and see what dainty wonders you can make at home. Or lose your cares in "illuminating"; or bury them fathom deep in German. From any of these, well begun and carried on, you will come back re-created for your work: made over "as good as new." Not poisoned with bad air, nor wearied by late hours; not singed and jaded with chagrin, vanity, and disappointment. Riding, rowing, archery, fishing, ought to give Christian people enough exercise, without their being obliged to frequent ball rooms to find it; and as for the "grace" people talk of, nothing teaches that like a heart full of graces--"love, joy, peace," and the rest. Do _they_ flourish at your doubtful entertainments? do they not rather droop and hang their heads, like the dear flowers in your bouquet?

And if people sought their refreshment among all those sweet and wholesome things, conversation would no longer be the difficult and the dry thing it is in many a company. There would be something to talk about worth talking of; and men of sense would venture to talk sense, even to women; and gossip would go down. How much more interesting is a butterfly, than the curtains of the house across the way!--

The world is full of joys and pleasures and wonders, even yet, outside of Eden. So full that as I said, you can only begin to taste them all, in all your life. I think it is stated that no ordinary life-term would suffice for the thorough study of merely the great family of orchids. And all these things which I have named (the list is really much longer), yes, every one of them, rightly used, will ennoble you, and build you up, and refresh you, with every time of using. Not like the snail which crawled up three feet every day and fell back two feet every night: onward and upward shall be your course; with soul and body and mind re-created, restored by right means, to right ends. Only make one rule to yourself: where anything is doubtful, let it alone.

If you tell me I do not know the fascination of these other things, I tell you that I do; and in one line at least have known it as deeply as any one could. But I have also known, that with the coming of Christ into my heart, with the new knowledge of his presence, the old taste fell dead in a moment, and never arose again. I cannot say it was not much to give up, for it was _nothing_. The former fascination fell off, like the dry skin of a chrysalis when the butterfly spreads its wings. And here we reach the very point of the whole difficulty. For with all their crosses, privations, and givings-up, the Lord's people are not meant to dwell in any land of darkness or of drought. Listen to some of the promises.

"The righteous shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger." [3]

"They go from strength to strength." [4]

"They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength." [5]

For why?

"For the joy of the Lord is your strength." [6]

I believe the words are true for the body as for the mind. It is nowhere promised that you shall not be tired; but so waiting, so living, so abiding by the head waters of all strength, the most lovely, fresh, ever-renewed life shall be yours.

"The righteous shall flourish like the palm tree." [7]

"Their souls shall be as a watered garden." [8]

It is the man "whose delight is in the law of the Lord" who not only "bringeth forth his fruit in his season," but also when the time for freshness and life and growth seems over,

"They shall still bring forth fruit in old age." [9]

Not only "created in Christ Jesus unto good works," but perpetually recreated in him, from hour to hour, from year to year. Has he not said: "I will be as the dew unto Israel"? [10] No more age for them, thus dwelling in "the power of an endless life";[11] no empty hands, for those who "have all things, and abound." [12] No disgust of life or hopelessness of labour for servants who every now and then--from the midst of their work--follow the Master (but only him) "apart to rest awhile," [13] "A stranger will they not follow." You have seen such people; you may see them every now and then; with smooth brows and sweet faces and eyes full of the peace of God.

"And I said, This is the rest, and this is the refreshing." [14]