Little Abe

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This story, told in the vernacular of the district, of which this is a
very imperfect rendering, and accompanied with Abe's expressive
gestures, was exceedingly effective, and not easily forgotten. Nor did
he omit the beautiful moral of the parable, showing the necessity of
prayer, importunate prayer, prayer at all times. "Keep knocking!" Abe
would say, "God is only trying you a bit in not answering first knock;
it's His way of proving whether you really mean it or not. Knock
laader, pray on and on, He hears, He is coming, bless Him! He never
said to th' seed of Jacob, 'Seek ye my face in vain.'"

"PUT UM ON THEESEN."

The Prodigal Son was a favourite subject with the "Little Bishop," and
many are the quaint sayings which fell from his lips while dwelling on
this interesting parable. The singular pictures which he drew of this
young man in his degradation brought many a smile on the faces of the
congregation. But his chief aim always was to get the youth back to
his father's house again; here his emotions often overpowered him, and
his joy was so great that he hardly knew what he was saying. Many of
the friends still remember him on one occasion at Outlane. He had
brought the poor prodigal to the top of a lane leading down to his
father's house; there he stood, covered in rags and dirt, his head bare
and his shoes gone; he is just timidly stopping at the corner of the
lane debating whether he shall go on or turn back, when at that moment
out comes the old man to look up and down the road; he sees that bit of
human misery at the lane end, and in an instant recognizes him as his
son, "'Mother! mother!' exclaims th' owd man, 'quick! quick! here's aar
Jack standing at top o' th' loin. Oh, run! run my owd legs, tak' me to
him! Here, Jack, my lad, come to me, the' father wants thee--come,
come!' And in another moment the old man is hurrying with tottering
steps and open arms towards his son, and folding him, rags and all, to
his bursting heart." It was so real to Abe, and he was so carried away
with the picture which was before his vivid imagination, that when he
got the lad into the house, he exclaimed, "Put shoes on his hands, and
rings on his feet,"--whereupon a brother in the chapel called out,
"Nay, nay, Abe lad, thaa mun't put shoes on th' lad's hands, and th'
rings on his feet; put um on roight, man." But Abe responded at the
top of his voice, while tears came rolling over his face, "Put um on
theesen and let me aloan! 'This, my son, was dead, and is alive again,
he was lost and is faand!'" By that genuine burst of feeling, he
reached a climax of eloquence that has seldom been surpassed in the
history of preaching.

CHAPTER XVI.

"I am a Wonder unto Many."

Such were the words of David in olden times, and with propriety did
"Little Abe" frequently adopt them in his day. Considering his
condition prior to his conversion,--a wild, thoughtless, and wicked
young man, having neither fear of God nor man before his eyes, and then
contrasting it with what he had become by the grace of God; remembering
his want of education, that he never could write, and by that means
commit his thoughts to paper, and yet that his preaching was acceptable
and profitable to the people, that he drew large congregations wherever
he went, some people coming to hear him who seldom attended the places
at any other time; that he was used by God in bringing many sinners
into the fold of Christ, who are now useful members in the Church on
earth, or enrolled among those who serve God in His temple in heaven,
"Little Abe" really was "a wonder unto many."

A woman once said to him, "Aye, Abe, I like' to hear the' preach."

"Bless th' Lord for that," responded Abe.

"But," continued she, "I many a toime wonders where thaa gets all th'
sense from, and haa thaa foinds t' words to say, for thaa's niver been
to college, nor ony place loike that."

"Who says I wor niver at college?" he replied. "I have been to a
college where they mak' a roight job on um, woman."

"Why, what college hast ta been to? Not Ranmoor, I'll be baan?"

"Noa, not Ranmoor; it would puzzle th' Doctor to mak' onything o' me;
I've been to th' fisherman's college, where Peter and th' rest on um
went. I've learnt a bit at th' feet o' Jesus, bless Him!"

Yes, he had learnt to devote what little talent he possessed to the
highest and happiest service in the universe, and his success as a
labourer for Jesus shows that the great Master can make good use of any
feeble instrumentality for the spread of truth and the salvation of
mankind. "We have this treasure in earthen vessels that the excellency
of the power may be of God and not of us," was a saying of apostolic
days, but as true now as when uttered by St. Paul. When great scholars
and brilliant orators or men of extraordinary natural and acquired
parts become successful as the advocates of our Christian faith, there
are always some more ready to pay a tribute to the powers of these men,
than to the Gospel which they teach, ascribing their success not to the
inherent power of truth, but to the extraordinary talent of its
advocates. But when men like our friend "Little Abe" are raised up for
the Lord's work, and the Gospel preached by them becomes mighty in
changing the hearts and lives of others, these opponents of our blessed
religion are at a loss to find some human arm to which they can ascribe
the glory, and while they vainly seek such arm, others can plainly see
"that the excellency of the power is of God, and not of us."

A great deal of the favour which "Little Abe" met with was due to his
_sincerity_. He was very droll in his sayings; he was very original in
his manner of dealing out truth; his illustrations were mostly drawn
from things in everyday life which everybody understood; his language
was the plain home-spun provincialism of the locality where his hearers
were born and brought up; but however much may be due to these things,
those who knew him best would say, that his almost universal acceptance
was due to his undoubted sincerity. This made everything he said in
the pulpit quite proper. What would appear out of place in any other
man, was becoming in him; all his odd sayings and gestures were kindly
received, and never an unpleasant feeling was excited in the breast of
any who really knew the man.

Oh, it is a grand thing when a man has so lived and proved himself
among those around him, that they all feel his religion to be sincere!
What good may not such a man be capable of doing? He may be unschooled
and unread, he may be poor, and hold but a humble position in the ranks
of life, and yet withal, he may exert a power which neither rank nor
learning can acquire, nor wealth purchase. He rules hearts; learning
may rule heads, and wealth may influence manners, but sincere goodness
enshrines itself on the throne of the heart.

Men among whom "Little Abe" lived and worked, with whom he met from day
to day,--men who professed to have no regard for religion as such,
respected Abe's presence more than they would that of their own
fathers, and stopped their unclean conversation at his approach, or by
some other unmistakable means indicated their deep respect for him.
They all knew what grace had done for him, and they honoured the
genuine work, thereby entitling Abe to say, "I'm a wonder unto many."

One man says, "If there were no other evidence that religion is a good
thing, there was proof enough in Little Abe. I have had ample
opportunities of watching his daily life for many years, having worked
in the same mill with him, and I know what the other mill hands thought
of him as well; everybody believed in the 'Little Bishop,' and there
wasn't a man to be found that would utter a disrespectful word of him.
He was often employed in what is called 'cuttling,' that is, drawing
cloth from the machine. To do this he had to kneel on the ground; it
was easy work, and required very little thought. Many a time have I
seen him, while in this position, praying and drawing off the cloth,
and I have thought that Abe couldn't help praying if he got on his
knees, whether it was in the mill or anywhere else.

"Sometimes on a Saturday the young people in the mill would say, 'Well,
Bishop, where are you going to preach to-morrow?' and then, with the
brightest, kindest smile, he would tell them where his work for the
next day lay, and perhaps he would ask them to go with him; but on
their refusing, he would add, 'Ah, my lads, yo' want your hearts
changing by th' grace of God, and then yo' would be glad to run
onywhere in His Name.' As years grew on him and he became infirm, I
have seen him come into the mill on a Monday morning looking very
tired, and I have said I thought he was working too hard on Sundays.
'Canna do that,' he would reply; 'I would do a thausand toimes maar for
Jesus if I could;" and then brightening up, he would add, "I'd raather
wear aat loike gooid steel, than rust aat loike owd iron;' and he was
true to his word; he did wear out."

Many such testimonies might be added if it were necessary, all showing
that religion in "Little Abe" was the all-engrossing thing, but let
this suffice. It is delightful to see how a good man may live in the
midst of the ungodly, and keep his garments unspotted, and his name
unsullied by the adverse influences around him. What a rebuke such a
life is to many who excuse their looseness and irregularities because
they are thrown among the irreligious; and how stimulative it becomes
to others that are similarly situated, and trying to live consistently
in the midst of all their evil surroundings!

CHAPTER XVII.

Abe as a Class Leader

The Class-meeting is one of the best institutions in Methodism. It has
done as much as anything else, if not more, to keep up the spiritual
life of the churches; it has been a refuge for tens of thousands of
tempted ones; it has been a seasonable corrector to many who were just
beginning to fall into the paths of sin, and has brought them back to
Christ again; it has supplied the social need of our Christian faith,
and gathered friends together for spiritual communion; it has been a
safeguard against the devices of the devil by affording opportunities
for the disciples of our Lord to compare their experiences, tell their
temptations, and impart mutual encouragement to each other in the
Divine life; it is a natural, seemly, and modest vent for the spiritual
fire which glows and flashes in every heart that loves the Lord with
sincerity. It was almost self-appointed; it came to be, or grew out of
a class of circumstances which would at any other time have produced
essentially the same thing; it is the outgrowth of the fervent piety
which marked the lives of our fathers in the churches, and it has met
the tendencies of glowing Christianity among us ever since. It is an
encumbrance only where this kind of Christianity is not maintained; as
godly zeal declines, so sinks the estimation for class-meetings; just
as the appetite for food forsakes a sickly person, so the desire for
experience meetings declines in a sickly church. Persons who never did
attend class-meetings cannot be judged by them; their piety may deepen
or diminish, but other tests must be found for them. The class-meeting
is a Methodist gauge, and only here can it apply.

"Little Abe" was a class leader for many years, and there was no work
more heartily enjoyed by him than this. The members of his class who
survive him often talk of the grand times they had with the little man
in this way; it was often like heaven on earth. He was a very
successful leader, and always kept his members well together. If any
of them absented themselves he was soon on their track, hunting them up
and bringing them back to the fold.

"MY FATHER'S GOT PLENTY O' TIMBER."

His class was conducted in a neat little cottage near the chapel
belonging to one of the members, who week by week opened his doors for
the accommodation of Abe and his flock. Their meeting was held in a
comfortable room which served the family as kitchen and parlour; here
every Monday night the quaint old shepherd came to meet his sheep. The
big family table was pushed back against the window, the elbow-chair
was placed at the end for the leader, all the chairs and seats in the
house were brought into this room and ranged around as conveniently as
possible to accommodate the weekly visitors, and sometimes when this
was done there were more people than seats, and the big table had to be
drawn out again, and made use of as a resting-place for the homely
people who gathered there; or a long board would be brought down from
upstairs and its ends placed on two chairs, and thus an additional seat
was extemporized.

This very board had the misfortune to snap in two one night while a
brother was engaged in praying. He was a _powerful_ man in prayer; his
soul was inspired with zeal, and his body animated with strength, which
on this occasion he vented in a succession of heavy blows on this
devoted piece of timber, until suddenly it gave way with a loud crack
and fell in two pieces on the floor, to the great discomfiture of those
whose weight added to the strain. For some moments there was
considerable confusion in the room, as may be supposed, and the praying
was brought to a sudden halt, when Abe's voice was heard above all,
"Ne'er moind, lad, go at it! My Father's got plenty o' timber, and
He'll send thee a new seat," whereon the meeting went on, as lively as
before. Abe wouldn't allow any such trifles to interfere with the
happy flow of feeling in his meetings; indeed, such incidents served
rather to stimulate than abate the exuberance of his spirits. He knew
that all things belonged to the Lord, and that He would make good all
that was lost in His service, and therefore "he took joyfully the
spoiling of his goods," and other folk's too. It is needless to say
that the old seat was replaced by a new one.

"MY FATHER 'LL GIE THE' THIS HAASE" (House).

When Abe had been conducting his class for some years in the cottage
before named, an event transpired which greatly disturbed his mind, and
led him to fear he might have to remove his meeting to some other
place. Now this was a sore trouble ta him and to every one of his
members; they had got accustomed to going there, and some of them had
never met anywhere else, so that they could not bear the thought of
being obliged to leave, yet there was some ground for the fear.

The person who owned the cottage was mother-in-law to the man by whom
it was occupied; she died and left her property, which consisted
chiefly of cottages, to be divided equally among her children. Soon
after the funeral the family met in this very house to arrange the
division of the estate. The plan adopted was to draw lots for houses,
and as they were nearly of the same value, this seemed equitable. So
the lots were all prepared and placed together, and each person was to
draw one, and take the house named on the lot; the drawing was to
commence with the eldest, and go down to the youngest. Now the wife of
the man in whose house the class met was the youngest member of the
family, and therefore must take what all the others left. When
everything was ready for the drawing to begin, the proceedings were
interrupted by a knock at the door. The man of the house opened it,
and found, to his surprise, "Little Abe" there. "Come aat a minute,"
said he, "I want to spaike to the'." On getting outside Abe resumed,
"I knaw what ye are baan to do in there."

"Haa dost ta knaw?" said the man.

"Ne'r moind, I knaw;" and going close up to his ear and placing his
hand on the man's arm, he said, "My Father 'll gie the' this haase, He
telled me soa; I've been to Him abaat it, and I have His word on 't;
but afore thaa gets it, I want the' to promise me that while I live I
shall have my meetin' here."

"Yo' shall," was the ready response; "as long as thaa and me lives this
haase shall be oppen to the' if we get it."

"Bless the Lord," said Abe, rubbing his hands, "I could loike to shaat"
(shout) "but they'd hear me insoide. Ne'er moind, I knaw tha'll get
it;--gooid-noight!"

His friend then returned into the house, and immediately the drawing
began. Each drew one lot; then they all read them together, and as Abe
predicted, the house in which they were assembled fell to the share of
the man who lived in it. But this is not the end of the story: it
appears that one of the sons was not satisfied with his portion, and
began to complain. The fact is he wanted this house, and if he had got
it Abe and his class would have been turned out. So, rather than have
any unpleasantness in the family, they all agreed to cast lots again
and abide by the issue. This was done, and to the astonishment of all,
this house fell a second time to the same man, and though it was
considered the best lot, everyone felt it was fairly his, and he has it
to this day.

It may suit some people to say this was a mere accident; yes, just the
same as the world is an accident and a thing of chance. Perhaps it was
an accident, too, that "Little Abe" was able to foretell the issue of
that lottery with such confidence, and was so eager to make his bargain
for the use of the room before the lots were known. The chance that
can show such intelligence, foreknowledge, and power, that can
communicate its intentions beforehand, and afterwards verify them in
this manner, has the attributes of God, and must be Divine; a chance
that can hear and answer prayer, that can work out its own designs and
baffle those of others, that can reveal secrets to His favourites and
honourably keep covenants, deserves the faith and worship of all men:
this was Abe Lockwood's God, and He shall be ours for ever and ever.
There are some who say, "What is the Almighty that we should serve Him?
and what profit shall we have if we pray unto Him?" These scientific
theorists and unbelievers are intensely anxious to prove that prayer is
only wasted energy, that nothing can possibly come as direct answering
to prayer, that if things do follow which seem to be in response to
earnest and devout petition, they result from some other causes, which
have no connection, except coincidental, with prayer.

Men who talk so don't pray, never did. They don't know what prayer is;
they are wrong in their first principles, and therefore all their
deductions are awry; it is impossible for anyone who discredits prayer
to know what he is talking about. Prayer is a something going on
within the soul, it is something which must be experienced to be
understood; and yet those who have no experience presume to
philosophize on the subject as if they had spent all their life in the
exercise and study of prayer. Just as well might "Little Abe" try to
talk scientifically, as those scientists speak on the merits or worth
of prayer, it is out of their sphere, they are out of their depth, and
therefore it was a sad want of discretion which first tempted them to
venture so far.

"Little Abe" was a much better judge of the value of prayer than these
theorists; he was much further learnt in this direction than any of
them, and therefore his testimony was more reliable than theirs; what
to them was a mystery and impossibility was to him a simple daily
enjoyment. They that would test the value of prayer _must really pray
themselves_, and believe while they pray, otherwise they will be no
wiser. Prayer is not disproved by the failure of improper petitions,
but it is proved by the success attending supplications presented in
the right spirit. If men expect nothing, they get what they expect,
the Bible says so; "But without faith it is impossible to please Him;
for he that cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a
rewarder of them that diligently seek Him" (Heb. xi. 6).

Prayer was an exercise in which Abe was a proficient and spent much
time; at his work he prayed, and in his chamber, long and earnestly,
until he prevailed. Sometimes in the meetings, as Abe would say, "they
gat agaat o' wrestling," and then he often became so importunate in his
intercessions that his whole body prayed as well as his soul, and quite
unconsciously he beat the bench at which he knelt, struck the floor
with his clogs, sweat at every pore, and really wrestled with God in
mighty prayer, and then the glory was sure to come down and fill the
place. Certainly at those times Abe and those who were with him were
very noisy, and some who had no sympathy with anything of the sort,
would make some disparaging remarks. There were some of old who would
have silenced the loud cries of poor blind Bartimeus, but they could
not, nor can they stop the voice of vehement prayer. Pray on,
brethren, get hold of God, and then make what noise you like.

We want more of this praying spirit among the Lord's people, and less
of the cold calculations of the unbeliever. Here lies the strength of
the Christian Church, and not in its immense wealth, its high culture,
its refined pulpit, or luxurious pew; it is that praying power which
brings the Divine unction down. May God give us the praying power.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Working Overtime."

The time came when "Little Abe" was much sought after to speak at
week-night meetings, such as tea-meetings, missionary meetings, and the
like. It was considered a great point to have him as one of the
speakers; they were sure to have a lively time if Abe came--for what
with his own original speech, his running comments and responses while
others were talking (a liberty which every one allowed him), he kept
the whole meeting alive throughout.

This was what he called "working overtime." All his Sundays were
given, as a matter of course, to the Lord's work, and the week-days to
his daily calling; consequently what he did, in this way had to be done
at nights, after his day's work was finished. Now as this kind of work
grew upon Abe, there were some who would tell him he was doing too
much, that he would injure himself; but he would remind them that when
he had to work at the mill night after night, week after week, no one
ever thought of telling him he was doing too much. "No," would be the
response, "because you were paid for that." Then Abe's soul was
roused. "Well, and does the' think my Father doesn't pay me? Bless
Him, He owes me nowt, He's paid me double wages for every minute I have
warked for Him." And so he went on serving the Church and honouring
God to the utmost of his ability.

LITTLE ABE AND THE MULE.

He had a singular experience one dark rainy night when going to a
missionary meeting at Shelley. He was late in arriving, so that the
meeting was somewhat advanced when he put in an appearance. As he
entered the chapel he was greeted by a burst of clapping, and in a
moment every face brightened at the sight of him, though, to tell the
truth, he was rather unsightly, for he was bedabbled with mud from his
feet to his head, and his big umbrella looked as if it had been on the
spree and rolled in the gutter; altogether he appeared in unusual style
for a public meeting. It was no matter to him, however. He just shook
himself like a dog out of the water, placed his bundle of whalebones
and gingham in a quiet corner, rubbed his numbed hands together, and
went smiling on to the platform. Nothing would satisfy the people but
that he should speak at once, so he rose to his feet amid the hearty
clapping of the whole audience, and said, "I niver knew so mich of th'
trials of missionary wark in my loife as I do naa. I've been in
trainin' for this meetin'. I've had to endure storms, rain, tempest,
and dangers seen and unseen, for it wor that dark on th' road I could
hardly see mysen, so, loike a returned missionary, I think I ought to
let yo' knaw some'at abaat my trials." (Hear, hear.) "Well, yo' knaw,
when I promised to come to this meetin', I meant being here somehaa,
but I 'av had a job. I thowt as I wor comin' I would mak' it as easy
as I could for mysen, so I borrowed aar neighbour's mule. I didn't
knaw mich abaat riding, so he telled me I wor to keep tight hold o' th'
bridle, as th' owd mule had a way o' tumblin' fore'ards. Well, I gat
on th' back wi' my umbrella oppen, for it wor pouring daan rain, and we
set off, all three on us, umbrella, th' mule, and me. We gat on
alroight most o' th' way. I had to scold th' owd animal sometimes, and
tell him to get on or we'd be too late for th' meeting, so we kept
gaining a bit o' graand by degrees, but troubles wor ahead. What wi'
thinking abaat my speech and holding th' umbrella roight, I forgat to
keep a toight hold o' th' bridle, and all at once th' mule tript, and
th' umbrella and me went roight over his head into th' dike. I really
wor astonished at mysen, and didn't know which to blame--th' mule or
me. I think I ne'r gat off a cuddy so quick in my loife afore; and th'
owd mule would hardly understand me I daresay, for he stopt in a moment
and look'd over at me as if he wor wondering if I always gat off in
that fashion. However, I soon scrambled aat o' th' dike, and after a
good bit o' trying I maanted agean and set off on th' road; but I
hadn't gone far before I faan some'at wor wrang wi' th' bridle. I
couldn't guide th' beast roight somehaa, so I felt abaat to try if I
could foind aat what it wor, and behold I had gotten th' bridle all on
one soide. Well, I dar'n't get off to set it roight, so I wor fain to
let th' owd beast goa his own gait till we gat to Shelley."

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