Little Abe

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To this village the Lockwood family removed; and coming more directly
under religious influences, the father very soon became converted, and
united with the Methodist Church, along with his wife. This had a
great influence on Abe for good; he began to attend the Sunday-school,
which was conducted in a room, in what was called the Steps Mill, on
the road between Berry Brow and Honley. This was Abe's college; here
he began, and here he finished his education; no other school did he
ever attend; and for what little knowledge he had, he was indebted to
the kindness of those who taught in that school; yet all he learnt here
was to _read_. _Writing_ was a branch of study which Abe thought
altogether beyond his power; many times he endeavoured to learn the
mysterious art, but after struggling on as far as the stage of pothooks
and crooks, he gave up in disgust, and never tried again. He used to
say he firmly believed the Lord never meant him to be a writer, or he
would have given him a talent for it. Now in this Abe was certainly
labouring under a false impression, and underrating his own ability; he
was as well able to learn the art of writing as many others in similar
circumstances. How many persons have we known who have grown up to
manhood and womanhood, before they knew one letter from another, and
yet they have commenced to learn, and persevered in the work, until
they have attained at least a moderate proficiency, and some even more
than that. What Abe lacked more than talent, was a determination to
learn; for if he had been resolved, he could have become a good penman
as well as others; in this he was to blame, whether he thought so or
not. Education can only be had by those who will work for it, and
considering its immense value to every person, all who neglect it are
blameworthy, and must pay the penalties, as Abe did all through his
life.

CHAPTER III.

His Conversion.

People talk of great changes in life, and point to periods and events
which seem to have turned their whole course into a different channel;
but there is nothing that can happen to any individual which will make
such an alteration in his life _as conversion_. Thousands of persons
who had been almost useless in the world, after that event have become
valuable members of society; others who have neglected and abused their
talents and opportunities, have become thoughtful and diligent; others
who have lived in riot and sin, wasting the energies of body and mind,
have learnt to live at peace with all men, and walk in the fear of God
and hope of heaven. Having become new creatures, they have shown it in
every line of their conduct. "Old things have passed away, and behold,
all things have become new."

It was never more strikingly illustrated than in the case of Abraham
Lockwood. For a length of time after he had begun to attend
Sunday-school, there was a manifest difference in Abe's manner. Not
that he was really living a better life, for he was just as sinful as
before, only he was _not now thoughtless_; he might go to the ale-house
with his associates, but he went home to think about it after; he might
swear and laugh like the rest of them when they were together, but he
was no sooner alone than he felt the stings of a remorseful conscience;
he was gradually getting into that state when a man dreads to be alone
with himself; there was always something speaking to him from within,
and the voice was getting stronger and stronger every week, till
sometimes it fairly startled him, and made him afraid; often he would
try to run away from it, but it was of no use; the moment he stopped,
panting from the exertion, it was there again; many a time he tried to
deaden the voice in the deafening noise of the mill, but the more he
endeavoured to destroy it, by some mysterious contradiction, the more
intently he found himself listening for it; it spoilt all the pleasures
of sin by its presence; it was with him night and day; it followed him
in his sleep, and was waiting for him when he awoke; it made him
miserable. Poor Abe was _under conviction of sin_; he was tasting the
wormwood of a guilty conscience, than which nothing is more dreadful,
and nothing is more hopeful, because it is the bitter that oft worketh
itself sweet; it was so with Abe. While he was in this state of mind,
the Rev. David Stoner came to preach in the Wesleyan Chapel at
Almondbury. His fame drew many to hear him, and among the rest Abraham
Lockwood. He went partly out of curiosity, and partly in the hope of
getting relief to his mind; however, he only came away worse than
before; he was miserable, and it now began to show itself to his
companions. "Pain will out," like murder. "What's the matter, Abe?"
they would say to him. "Oh, nothing particular," he would reply. And
then among themselves they said, "Abe looks very queer, he's ill;" then
they tried to enliven him. "Come, cheer up, old boy, we'll have a
yarn." One would tell some droll tale, and another would say something
comical in order to make him laugh; and laugh he did, he must laugh; it
would never do to let those fellows know what was passing in his mind;
so he laughed loud as any of them, but what a laugh!--how empty and
hollow, how joyless and unreal, how unlike his former bursts of
feeling!--a got-up laugh, which shewed plainer than ever _something was
wrong_. Abe knew it, and he felt it was of no use trying any longer to
keep up a sham happiness, and all the time be in torments from a guilty
conscience; he therefore resolved to give up sin and lead a new life.
He probably was hastened to that decision by a remark which fell from
his father's lips; the old man had noticed for some time that Abe was
not in his usual spirits. He would come home of an evening and sit
looking into the fire for an hour without speaking or moving; he had
given over singing in the house, and he seemed as if he hadn't spirit
enough left to whistle to the little bird in the cage; his meals lay
almost untasted, and his tea would go cold before he had taken any.

"Come, my lad, thaa mun get thee tea thaa knows," said the old father
one evening.

"Yes," said Abe, as he pretended to push something into his mouth.

"What's matter with th'?" the father inquired; "thaa's not like
theesen, nor hasn't been for mony a week."

Abe's eyes grew moist, and his chin trembled, but he called himself to
order, no babyism now.

The old man, still looking at him, and keen enough to notice the
struggle he had to master his feelings, went on to say, "Thaa's poorly,
my lad, thaa mun goa to th' doctor, and see if he canna gie thee
some'at."

"No earthly doctor can do onything for me," answered Abe; "it's th'
Physician of souls that I want. Oh, father, I am unhappy; my sins are
troubling me noight and day; I don't know what will become of me: _I
feel like lost_."

"My poor lad, the Lord have mercy on thee," replied the old man, as Abe
put on his cap and walked hurriedly out of the house. He went out
scarcely knowing why; perhaps to hide his trouble from his dear old
father; perhaps to smother his emotions, which were rapidly gaining the
mastery over him, or maybe he knew not why,--an impulse was upon him,
and it carried him forth into the cool evening air; away he went at a
brisk walk from the village in the direction of Almondbury common.
Faster and faster he went, faster and faster as if to keep up with the
rapid current of his thoughts; the distance was uncounted, the
direction unheeded, the time forgotten; one thought only occupied his
tempest-torn mind, what must he do to be saved! There are some who
would think him very foolish to give himself so much concern on a
matter of that sort; but the fact is, Abe was just beginning to act the
part of a wise man in renouncing his old habits and declaring for
Christ. No human eye followed him on that lonely walk to the common,
and no human friend accompanied him; he was alone, the thought pleased
him; he looked around all over the face of the common, but no person
was visible. _Abe was alone with God_, and he determined to speak to
Him, and tell Him all his burden of sorrow. Near to where he stood,
there was a large tree growing, whose lofty branches were uplifted to
heaven; it stood just at the bottom of a little grassy slope of four or
five yards deep, and close to the side of a small clear stream of
water, which ran gurgling and rippling along, moistening the great
roots of this tree; it was here, under its spreading boughs and gnarled
trunk, _Abe found a place for prayer_. Down on his knees he cast
himself, and his first utterance consecrated that spot as a closet,
"God be merciful to me a sinner!" He only needed to utter the first
cry, others followed in rapid and earnest succession, till all the
restraints upon his soul were broken asunder, and in an agony he
wrestled for salvation. Hour after hour fled by; twilight gave place
to darkness; lights shone from the cottage windows away on the
hill-sides; distant watch-dogs answered each other's unwearying bark;
neighbours in the village yonder, stood chatting by their open doors in
the quiet night, and in many a cottage home hard by, children and
grown-up men sat quietly eating their last meal before retiring to bed:
but none of them knew that out on Almondbury common, at the foot of a
great rude tree, a man, one of their neighbours, a sinner like
themselves, _was praying_. No, no, they didn't know: there is many a
thing goes on of vital interest to us, which even our nearest friends
know nothing about; but there are other eyes, invisible, which look
down upon us from their starry heights seeing all our ways. So they
looked, while Abe wrestled for liberty. His chief snare at this time
was, that he was _too bad for Christ to save_; it was a terrible
thought to him, and had so much of seeming truth in it, that he at
times almost despaired; then again he remembered that he could not be
too bad for Christ to save; no, HE could save to the very uttermost all
that came unto Him; Abe tried to believe that with all his heart, and
as he struggled against his doubts and fears, faith grew stronger and
bolder, then in a moment the snare broke, the dark cloud over his soul
burst, and out from the cleft there came a voice, which thrilled his
whole being. "Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of
the Lord is risen upon thee." "Glory! Glory!! Glory!!!" burst from
his enraptured lips; his "light was come,"--what a light! a soul full,
_full_ of the light of Divine smiles. No wonder Abe forgot everything
else, in the joys of that ecstatic moment. He leaped, laughed, wept
shouted the praises of God till his voice might have been heard far
away over the waste, as he turned his steps towards home that night.
"Why, he's made a bron new man o' me. I hardly know mysen.
Hallelujah!"

He was not long in reaching home, nor long in letting them know, when
he got there, what a change had come over him. In he went, with a face
shining in all the brightness of his new-found joy. "He's made a bron
new man o' me! He's made a bron new man o' me. Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!"

The change in his whole manner and appearance was so great, that his
poor old father was at first alarmed lest he had gone wrong in his
mind; but Abe assured him he had just got right, and by God's help he
meant to keep so.

Oh, if Abe had just got right by the wonderful change which God had
wrought in him, (and who can doubt it?) how many there are in the world
_who are all wrong_, living the wrong life, striving for the wrong
things, going the wrong way, and running towards the wrong goal! Oh,
how many are spending this short life in the pursuit of things which
are worthless and worse; sacrificing their souls' best interests for
the brief indulgence of sinful tastes, or spending the rapidly
accumulating years of their life in dark indifference to eternal things!

The escape of one such sinner as Abe from the captivity in which the
ungodly are all held, may for a brief hour excite remark, perhaps a
desire for liberty, too, in the minds of some others; but these good
desires are often only of short duration, they die where they were
born, and almost as soon, and the soul returns to its former state; the
sleeper slumbers on; the drunkard drinks harder; the swearer blasphemes
more fiercely; the libertine indulges in greater excesses; and all
these hordes of ungodly men push on again down the broad and easy
incline to the pit of Hell. Do people know that the end of a sinful
life is Hell? Do people believe? Why, then, do they press their way
down to such a place?

CHAPTER IV.

Abe a New Character in the Village.

"Hast ta yeard th' news?" said one neighbour to another, on the morning
following the happy event narrated in the preceding chapter.

"What news dost ta mean?"

"Aye well, thaa has'n't yeard what happened last noight; doan't look so
scared, mon; th' mill worn't burnt daan; nor th' river droid up; nor
Amebury (Almondbury) common transported; but some'at stranger nor that."

"Why, whatever dost ta mean?"

"I mean that Abe Lockwood's been and gotton converted last noight, and
he's up and off to his wark this morning, shaating and singing like a
madman."

"Abe Lockwood converted!" replied the other in astonishment, and
pausing between each word, as if to realize his own sayings.
"Nay,--I'll niver believe that."

"It's as true as thaa and me is here; his father telled me he wor aat
hoalf at noight on Amebury common, crying and praying by a big tree
roit, and he gat converted there all alone; and when he came into th'
haase, his face was shining like th' moonloight."

Here was news for the people of Berry Brow, and how it flew from mouth
to mouth, and from house to house, till, before many hours, almost
every person in the village knew of the wonderful change which had come
over Abe. Some doubted the report,--"It canna be soa," said one;
another "would sooiner think of ony one than him; he's making game
on't, I'll lay onything." Others thought, "If he's turned religious,
it's no matter; he'll be as wild as iver by th' week-end." It was out
of all character for Abe Lockwood to be anything else than he had been,
a rollicksome, laughing, drinking, ungodly young man.

How often people talk in this way, when they hear of some giving their
hearts to God; "They won't stand long; give them a month, and it will
be all over," and such like injudicious things are said even by some
who ought to have more discretion. People talk without thinking, or
make such statements to cover their own shortcomings and faults. Why
shall they not stand? are they in the keeping of a feeble or fickle
Saviour? isn't His grace as strong as sin? is not Jesus always mightier
than the devil? and have not millions of the greatest sinners who have
found the Lord, stood firm against the snares of the world, and all the
devices of the wicked one? "He won't stand," is an old lie, which
every young believer must set at defiance. "Stand fast, therefore, in
the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled
again with the yoke of bondage."

"Weant I stand," said Abe, "then I'll fall, but it shall be at the feet
of Jesus." Ah, that is the best way to stand; fall at the feet of
Jesus. It may seem a paradox in terms, but it is not in truth; it is
on the Apostolic principle, "When I'm weak, then am I strong." So poor
Abe laid himself down in order that he might not fall, and this is a
plan which others might try in times of spiritual peril, and so escape
the danger of backsliding.

Among others who canvassed the subject of his conversion were his old
companions. One had gone out from among them that they were sorry to
lose; he was such a merry fellow; his face was always sunny; his
comical sayings had filled the public-house with roars of laughter many
a time; he could sing a song better than any of them, and he was always
ready; he was open-handed with his money whenever he had any; and
indeed, he possessed most of the qualities which make a man a favourite
among boon companions. His going out left a blank which was more felt
than seen; a vacant seat in a public-house is soon filled; so if Abe
was not there to occupy his own place someone else was; but no matter
who of his old associates were present, everyone felt Abe was absent,
and couldn't help showing it in some way.

They had all observed that he had not been exactly himself lately; "a
little down in the mouth," and very quiet at times; but never divining
the reason, they had put it down to the wrong cause, or thought very
little about it; and then Abe had so often roused himself out of these
moods of mental abstraction by taking "another glass," and having
another song, that he had kept his companions completely ignorant of
the work which was going on in his mind. So now it burst upon them
like a gun-shot; they were amazed; but the devil seldom deserts his
victims at a time like that; it would not be safe, he might lose some
more of them; he comes to their help and counsels them as to their
conduct. "Well," says one of them as they gathered in their usual
place of resort one night, "I s'pose Abe Lockwood will be gone to
prayer-meeting to sing Psalms with the old women," at which the whole
company burst into a loud laugh at Abe's expense, and yet it cost him
nothing, which was more than any of them could say of the drink they
consumed that night.

Abe Lockwood had left them,--he was a changed man; he had been
converted on Amebury common; he had turned off into an entirely
different course from theirs; he was a better man than any of them:
many such thoughts as these would obtrude themselves on the minds of
his former friends, and linger there in spite of all their efforts to
keep clear of them.

Some time elapsed before any of these old associates were brought into
immediate contact with Abe; whether they purposely kept out of his way,
or he out of theirs, is not easy to say; perhaps both would be correct.
He no doubt felt safest and happiest away from his old companions and
everything which reminded him of them; they, too, had a misgiving that
whenever they did meet Abe, he would say something that might make them
uncomfortable; for they knew he would not beat about the bush, he would
tell them his mind about their ways: so on the whole it was best to
keep out of his way as long as they could.

Meanwhile, Abe was gathering strength day by day, for he was living in
the constant spirit of prayer, which is the way to be strong. Night
after night, a lone man might be seen kneeling at the root of a great
tree on Almondbury common, pouring out his soul in prayer to God, until
that spot became to the new convert the very gate of heaven; and for
long years after, when Abe was established in the faith, he still
frequently found his way there to pray; during the whole of his
subsequent life, he never passed that spot without turning aside to
hear what the Lord would say to him. Many of the most delightful times
he ever had were experienced at the foot of that tree; and a visit
there, where he breathed the native air of his spiritual life,
invariably brought the glow of religious health to his soul.

As weeks and months went by, the people of Berry Brow became used to
the fact of Abe Lockwood's conversion, and it ceased to excite any
particular remark, except such as might pass between neighbours on
seeing him go by.

"Aye, mun, what a change is in yon lad," one would say.

"You are roight naa," would be the response.

"He wor as big a rake as ony i' th' parish a few months sin'; I'd never
ha' thowt o' Abe Lockwood turning religious."

"No, nor me noather, but we niver know what 'll come to us."

"No,--gooid-noight."

One day Abe and a former companion of his met full in front; there was
no sliding away on either side,--they must speak. Both of them
experienced a slight nervousness at first, but Abe plucked up courage
and came boldly on.

"Naa, lad, haa art ta?"

"Oh, why, middling like, haa's yersen?"

"Aye, mun," said Abe, "it gets better and better, religion is th' best
thing i' th' world; it's made me th' happiest chap i' Berry Braa."

"Why, thaa looks merry," said his companion.

"I is merry, and only wish thaa wor like me," and then Abe went on in
his own simple, earnest, and homely manner to preach Jesus to his
friend; and before they parted, the man had proof enough that Abe had
found a better way of living than his former one.

Many a time, as weeks and months rolled by, he was thrown for a short
time into company with one or another of his old yoke-fellows in sin;
and often did they endeavour to lead him back again into the ways and
haunts he had forsaken; but no, no, he was not to be moved out of the
new path which he had taken for time and for eternity.

Abe was a very plain-spoken man, and sometimes used phrases which were
anything but refined, but this was compensated for by their good sense.
Sometimes, when Satan was tempting him to give up his religion, and
return again into the ways of sin, he would exclaim, "What! give up my
blessed religion and return to thy swill-tub agean; I should be a great
fooil to do that,--does th' want to mak' me like an owd saa (sow),
that's been weshed, and then runs back into t' muck agean; nay, thaa's
rolled me i' sin lang enough; I'm thankful to be aat o' thy mud-hoil,
and by the help of God, thaa'll get me there no maar." Then perhaps,
when in conversation with some unconverted neighbour on the
all-absorbing theme of religion, he would break out, "Aye, mun, yoa
doan't know haa grand it feels being weshed, weshed i' th' blood of th'
Lamb. I wor that mucky, all th' waiter i' Holmfirth dam couldn't mak'
me daacent, but a drop of His blood did it in a moment. Glory to God!"

Ah! the precious blood of Jesus can make the foulest clean; no matter
how long or how deep sin has reigned in his heart, Jesus is able to
remove it entirely, and bring in His grace and peace. He is a
wonderful Physician, there is none like Him; He has never been baffled
yet, though for nearly two thousand years He has been called to
exercise His power on the outcasts and incurables of our race. He
knows the disease with which every poor sinner is afflicted, and He
also understands the cure; sinners who have long been given up by
themselves, and others as well--poor, abandoned things, who have been
kicked out of all orderly society, and left to rot in the moral filth
of the streets, or die in the sewers of iniquity, have been found by
Him, lifted out of the mire, washed in the streams of His grace,
clothed in His righteousness, and made fit to sit among princes.

"Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress;
'Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head."

CHAPTER V.

In Membership with the Church.

As soon as Abe Lockwood found the Lord, he felt it was his duty and
privilege to unite himself with the people of God, and he therefore
lost no time in seeking membership.

THE METHODIST NEW CONNEXION at that time had no chapel in Berry Brow,
but conducted prayer-meetings, and held a weekly class in a cottage
somewhere in the village. Abe knew these humble, earnest people, and
felt drawn towards them by strong sympathy; he was sure he could feel
at home among them, and they would be of very great assistance to him
in building up his Christian character. What made him all the more
willing to throw in his lot among them, was the fact that some of them
had frequently shown an interest in his spiritual welfare before he
became converted, and had endeavoured to induce him to attend their
meetings; and now when they all knew the change that had taken place in
him, they were the first to go after him and offer him the right hand
of fellowship,--so he at once united himself heart and hand to their
little band.

It would be well if that zeal and watching for souls, which
characterized the early Methodists, were more frequently displayed
among their successors; how many who are now merely hovering outside
the Christian Church, afraid to run after the pleasures of sin, ashamed
to avow themselves in quest of salvation, would be brought to decision,
and enabled to lead a happy and useful life.

There are many thus hanging on the skirts of almost every Church,
waiting to be gathered up, and shame on the members who quietly and
indifferently permit this! It must not be; men's souls are too
precious to be trifled with; they have _cost too much_ for us to allow
them to starve and die on our doorstep; open the door, put forth your
hand, draw them kindly, but firmly, into the family of the Lord; few of
them will have heart to resist such efforts to save them; but if they
do, then go out to them, stay with them, persuade and entreat them,
pray for them, pray on and on, and in the end you will prevail. We
want more of this watching and waiting for souls in Churches; may God
lay these souls on our hearts!

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