Of PR|^ro3Jr BX7795.S64 A3 1903 Smith, Hannah WTiitaU, 1832-1911. My spiritual autobiography : or, How I discovered the unselHshness of God Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/myspiritualautobOOsmit THE UNSELFISHNESS OF GOD W, O R K S BY Hannah Whitall Smith Living in the Sunshine 12mo, Cloth, ?1.00 net. The author writes especially for those who have, as D. L. Moody used to say, "Just enougli religion to make them miser- able." The book will bring: many to a iuU realbation of the wonderful joy of living a Christian life. My Spiritual Autobiography or, How I Discovered the Unselfishness of God. 12mo, cloth, ?1.()0 net. " Full of most delightful pictures of her childhood home ; her spiritual experience following her awakening, and her theories of the higher life." — htierior. The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life 12mo, cloth, 7Gc.-, ICmo, eilt, 75c.; white vellum. ?1.00; leather, $1.50. Popular edition, cloth, 3()c. net. Also in German, Swedish and Danish-Norwegian; each, cloth, 75c. "To commend this book is superfluous." — Evangelist. The Open Church or, the Bible E.xplaining Itself. 12mo, cloth, 81.00. "Mrs. Smith has an international reputation as an expounder of the Bible. She has an instructive way of going to the heart of things." — Christian Advocate, (N. Y.) Every Day Religion 12mo, cloth, $1.00. "Practical; written with clever and pungent force, and every day sense." — Independent. Old Testament Types and Teachings Bible Readings in the O'A Testament. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Frank ; the Record of a Happy Life Being Memories of Franklin Whitall Smith by his mother. 12mo, cloth, 75c. Child Culture or, The Science of Motherhood. 16mo, decorated boards, 30c. Envelope Series of Tracts Chapters from the "The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life." Per doz., 20c. net. FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY, Publishers JAN K) My Spiritual Autobiograf)hy-____ or How I Discovered the Unselfishness of God By H. W. S. Author of " The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life" " Living in the Sunshine," etc. New York Chicago Toronto Fleming H. Revell Company London and Edinburgh Copyright, 190?, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 63 Washington Street Toronto- 27 Richmond Street, W London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: }o St. Mary Street Contents I Introduction 9 II My Parents 20 III My Quaker Childhood 37 IV Quakerism 46 V Quaker "Truth" and Quaker "Ministry" 55 VI Quaker " Opportunities " 63 VII Quaker Guidance 79 VIII Quaker " Queries " 86 IX The " Sugar-Scoop " Bonnet 100 5 6 Contents X The " Hat Testimony " iii XI " Plainness of Speech " 121 XII Friends's "Testimonies" against Fiction, Music and Art 128 XIII Quaker Scruples 136 XIV The First Epoch in My Religious Life (The Awakening) 145 XV My Search 150 XVI Eclipse of Faith 159 XVII A Renewed Search 169 XVIII Second Epoch in My Religious Life (Restor- ation of Belief) 172 Contents 7 XIX The Assurance of Faith 183 XX The Romance of the Religious Life . . . 190 XXI Questionings 195 XXII The Third Epoch in My Religious Life (The Restitution of All Things) . . , 199 XXIII The Unselfishness of God 210 XXIV Effect of My Views on My Public Work . 220 XXV The Fourth Epoch in My Religious Life (The Life of Faith) 228 XXVI The Way of Escape 238 XXVII A Discovery, not an Attainment .... 254 8 Contents XXVIII The Secret of a Happy Life a6i XXIX The Life of Faith, Quaker Doctrine . . 275 XXX Holiness Camp Meetings 283 XXXI The Lovely Will of God 298 XXXII Old Age and Death 305 I INTRODUCTION ON the fly leaf of my Bible I find the fol- lowing words, taken from 1 know not where: "This generation has rediscov- ered the unselfishness of God." If I were called upon to state in one sentence the sum and substance of my religious experience, it is this sentence 1 would choose. And no words could express my thankfulness for having been born into a generation where this discovery has been comparatively easy. If I am not mistaken, the generation before mine knew very little of the unselfishness of God; and, even of my own generation, there are I fear many good and earnest Christians who do not know it yet. Without putting it into such words as to shock themselves or others, many Christians still at bottom look upon God as one of the most selfish, self-absorbed Beings in the universe, far more selfish than they could think it right to be themselves, — intent only upon His own honour and glory, looking out continually that His own rights are never trampled on; and so absorbed in thoughts of Himself and of His own righteous- ness, as to have no love or pity to spare for the poor sinners who have offended Him. 9 lO Introduction I grew up believing God was like this. 1 have discovered that He is exactly the opposite. And it is of this discovery I want to tell. After more than seventy years of life I have come to the profound conviction that every need of the soul is to be met by the discovery I have made. In that wonderful prayer of our Lord's in John 17, He says, "And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou has sent." This used to seem to me a mystical saying, that might perhaps have a pious esoteric meaning, but cer- tainly could have no practical application. But every year of my religious life 1 have discovered in it a deeper and more vital meaning; until now at last I see, that, rightly understood, it contains the gist of the whole matter. To know God, as He really is, in His essential nature and character, j is to have reached the absolute, and unchange- ' able, and utterly satisfying foundation, upon which, and upon which only, can be reared the whole superstructure of our religious life. To discover that He is not the selfish Being we are so often apt to think Him, but is instead really and fundamentally unselfish, caring not at all for Himself, but only and always for us and for our welfare, is to have found the answer to every human question, and the cure for every human ill. But how to make this discovery is the crucial question. In our present stage of existence we have not the faculties developed that would make it possible for us to see God as He is in His essen- Introduction 11 tial and incomprehensible Being. We need an Interpreter. We must have an Incarnation. If I should want to make a colony of ants know me as I am in the essential essence of my being, I would need to incarnate myself in the body of an ant, and speak to them in their own language, as one ant to another. As a human being I might stand over an ant-hill and harangue for a lifetime, and not one word would reach the ears of the ants. They would run to and fro unconscious of my speech. To know God, therefore, as He really is, we must go to His incarnation in the Lord Jesus Christ. The Bible tells us that no man hath seen God at any time, but that the only begotten Son of the Father, He hath revealed Him. When one of the disciples said to Christ, "Show us the Father, and it sufficeth us," Christ answered — " Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? He that hath seen Me hath seen the Father, and how sayest thou then, Show us the Father? Believest thou not that 1 am in the Father, and the Father in Me ? The words I speak unto you I speak not of My- self : but the Father that dwelleth in Me, He doeth the works." Here then is our opportunity. We cannot see God, but we can see Christ. Christ was not only the Son of God, but He was the Son of man as well, and, as a man to men, He can reveal His Father. Whatever Christ was, that God is. All the unselfishness, all the tenderness, all the kind- 12 Introduction ness, all the justice, all the goodness, that we see in Christ is simply a revelation of the unselfish- ness, the tenderness, the kindness, the justice, the goodness, of God. Some one has said lately, in words that seem to me inspired, "Christ is the human form of God." And this is the explanation of the Incar- nation. 1 do not mean, however, to say that no one can have any revelation of God to their souls except those who believe the Bible, and who know Christ as He is there revealed. 1 believe reverently and thankfully that "God is no respecter of persons: but in every nation, he that feareth I-lim and worketh righteousness is accepted with Him." God has "not left Himself without a witness" at any age of the world. But what I do believe is exactly what is declared in the opening words of the Epistle to the Hebrews, that God, who " at sundry times and in divers manners spake in times past to the Fathers by the Prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by His Son," who is the "brightness of His glory, and the express image of His person;" and that, therefore, al- though we may find many partial revelations elsewhere, if we would know Him as He really is, we can only see Him fully revealed in His "express image," the Lord Jesus Christ. It v^as a long time before 1 found this out, and, until I did, I was, as my story will show, as really ignorant of Him as the most benighted savage, notwithstanding the fact that 1 lived in a Introduction »3 Christian community, and was brought up in a Christian Church, and had the open Bible in my hand. God was a terror to me, until I began to ^ see Him in the face of Jesus Christ, when He became an unmixed joy. And I believe many weary souls are in a similar case, who, if they could once be made to see that God is like Christ, would experience an unspeakable relief. A friend of mine told me that her childhood was passed in a perfect terror of God. Her idea of Him was that He was a cruel giant with an awful "Eye" which could see everything, no matter how it might be hidden, and that He was always spying upon her, and watching for chances to punish her, and to snatch away all her joys. She said she would creep into bed at night with the dreadful feeling that even in the dark the "Eye of God" was upon her; and she would pull the bed covers over her head in the vain hope, which all the while she knew was vain, of hiding herself from this terrifying Eye, and would lie there in a tremble of fright, saying to herself in an agonized whisper, "What shall I do ? Oh, what shall 1 do ? Even my mother cannot save me from God! " With a child's strange reticence she never told any one of her terror; but one night her mother, coming into the room unexpectedly, heard the poor little despairing cry, and, with a sudden comprehension of what it meant, sat down be- side the bed, and, taking the cold little hand in hers, told her that God was not a dreadful Introduction tyrant to be afraid of, but was just like Jesus; and tliat she knew how good and kind Jesus was, and how He loved little children, and took them in His arms and blessed them. My friend said she had always loved the stories about Jesus, and when she heard that God was like Him, it was a perfect revelation to her, and took away her fear of God forever. She went about all that day saying to herself over and over, "Oh, I am so glad 1 have found out that God is like Jesus, for Jesus is so nice. Now I need never be afraid of God any more." And when she went to bed that night she fairly laughed out loud at the thought that such a dear kind Eye was watching over her and taking care of her. This little child had got a sight of God " in the face of Jesus Christ," and it brought rest to her soul. By the discovery of God, therefore, I do not mean anything mysterious, or mystical, or unat- tainable. I simply mean becoming acquainted with Him as one becomes acquainted with a human friend ; that is, finding out what is His nature, and His character, and coming to under- stand His ways. I mean in short discovering what sort of a Being He really is — whether good or bad, whether kind or unkind, whether selfish or unselfish, whether strong or weak, whether wise or foolish, whether just or unjust. It is of course evident that everything in one's religious life depends upon the sort of God one worships. The character of the worshipper Introduction 15 must necessarily be moulded by the character of the object worshipped. If it is a cruel and revengeful God, or a selfish and unjust God, the worshipper will be cruel, and revengeful, and selfish, and unjust, also. If it is a loving, tender, forgiving, unselfish God, the worshipper will be loving, and tender, and forgiving, and unselfish, as well. Also the peace and happiness of the worshipper must necessarily be absolutely bound up in the character of the God worshipped; for everything depends upon whether He is a good God or a bad God. If He is good, all is well of course, and one's peace can flow like a river; while, if He is bad, nothing can be well, no matter how earnest or devoted the worshipper may be, and no peace is possible. This was brought very vividly to my mind by hearing once in a meeting an educated negro, belonging to one of the savage tribes of Africa, giving an account of their tribal religion. He said that they had two gods, a good god and a bad god; that they did not trouble themselves about the good god, because, as he was good, he would do right anyhow, whether they sacrificed to him or not; but the bad god they had to try and propitiate by all sorts of prayers, and sacrifices, and offerings, and religious ceremonies, in order, if possible, to get him into a good humour, so that he might treat them well. To my thinking, there was a profound truth in this. The poorer and more imperfect is one's con- ception of God, the more fervent and intense i6 Introduction will be one's eflforts to propitiate Him, and to put Him into a good humour; whereas on the other hand, the higher and truer is the knowledge of the goodness and unselfishness of God, the less anxiety, and fuss, and wrestling, and agonizing, will there be in one's worship. A good and unselfish God will be sure to do right anyhow, whether we try to propitiate Him or not, and we can safely trust Him to carry on His affairs with very little advice from us. As to wrestling or agonizing with Him to fulfill what are really only the duties of His position, it could never be necessary; for, of course a good person always does his duty. I have discovered therefore that the statement of the fact that "God is good," is really, if we only understand it, a sulficient and entirely satisfactory assurance that our interests will be safe in His hands. Since He is good. He cannot fail to do His duty by us, and, since He is unselfish. He must necessarily consider our interests before His own. When once we are assured of this, there can be nothing left to fear. Consequently the only really vital thing in re- ligion is to become acquainted with God. Solo- mon says, "Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace; " and 1 believe every one of us would find that a peace that passes all understanding must necessarily be the result of this acquaint- ance. Who is there on earth who could see and know the goodness, and the kindness, and the justice, Introduction 17 and the loving unselfishness, of our God, as He is revealed to us in the face of Jesus Christ, and fail to be irresistibly drawn to adore Him ? Who could have anything but peace in coming to know that the God who has created us, and to whom we belong forever, is a God of Love ? Who of us can have any more fears, after once we have found out that He cares for us as for the apple of His eye ? And what else is there that can bring an unwavering peace ? Acquaintance with doc- trines or dogmas may give peace for a time, or blissful experiences may, or success in service; but the peace from these can never be trusted to abide. Doctrines may become obscure, experi- ences may be dulled or may change, we may be cut off by providential circumstances from our work, all things and all people may seem to fail us; and unless our peace is founded upon some- thing more stable than any of these, it will waver as the waves of the sea. The only place there- fore of permanent and abiding peace is to be found in an acquaintance with the goodness and the unselfishness of God. It is difficult to explain just what I mean by this acquaintance with God. We are so accus- tomed to think that knowing things about Him is sufficient — what He has done, what He has said, what His plans are, and what are the doctrines concerning Him, — that we stop short of that knowledge of what He really is in nature and character, which is the only satisfactory knowl- edge. i8 Introduction In human relations we may know a great deal about a person without at all necessarily coming into any actual acquaintance with that person; and it is the same in our relations with God. We may blunder on for years thinking we know a great deal about Him, but never quite sure of what sort of a Being He actually is, and conse- quently never finding any permanent rest or sat- isfaction. And then, perhaps suddenly, we catch a sight of Him as He is revealed in the face of Jesus Christ, and we discover the real God, as He is, behind, and beneath, and within, all the other conceptions of Him which may have here- tofore puzzled us; and from that moment our peace flows like a river, and in everything and through everything, when perhaps we can rejoice in nothing else, we can always and everywhere "rejoice in God, and joy in the God of our Sal- vation." We no longer need His promises; we have found Himself, and he is enough for every need. My own experience has been something like this. My knowledge of God, beginning on a very low plane, and in the midst of the greatest darkness and ignorance, advanced slowly through many stages, and with a vast amount of useless conflict and wrestling, to the place where I learned at last that Christ was the "express image" of God, and where I became therefore in a measure acquainted with Him, and discovered to my amazement and delight His utter unselfish- ness, and saw that it was safe to trust Him. And Introduction 19 from this time all my doubts and questionings have been slowly but surely disappearing in the blaze of this magnificent knowledge. It is of the processes leading to this discovery by my own soul that I want to tell. But in or- der to do this I must begin with the earliest influ- ences of my life, for I am convinced that my knowledge of my Heavenly Father began first of all in my knowledge of my earthly father and mother, who were, I feel sure, the most delight- ful father and mother any child ever had. Having known them and their goodness, it was only reasonable for me to believe that my Heavenly Father, who had made them, must be at least as good as the earthly father and mother He had made; and no story of my soul would be com- plete without beginning with them. II MY PARENTS I WAS born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in the year 1832. My parents were strict Quak- ers, and until my marriage at nineteen, I knew nothing of any other religion. I had an absolutely happy childhood and girlhood. I think so now, as I look back upon it, and my diary, kept from the time I was sixteen years old, shows that I thought so then. One of my first entries made in 1848 was as follows: — "Sixteen years of my life have passed, and, as I look back at the bright and happy days of my childhood, and at the quieter but more earnest enjoyments of my youth, my heart feels almost bursting with gratitude to my kind and gracious Creator who has filled my cup of joy almost to overflowing. Truly my life has been one fairy scene of sunshine and of flowers." This may seem a very roseate view to take of one's life, and might be set down to the enthusi- asm and glamour of youth. But on looking back now at seventy years of age, 1 can still say the same. Under date of loth mo., 7th, 1849, when I was seventeen years old I wrote : — " I cannot understand it. I have thought that 20 My Parents 21 unless trials and afflictions come to wean me from the joys of this life, I shall never seek the higher and holier joys of Heaven. But instead of afflictions, every day my blessings increase. All around me conduces to my happiness ; the world is very beautiful, my friends are the loveli- est and kindest that any one ever had; and scarcely a trial or vexation comes to cast a cloud over my pathway. And this happiness, this Fate of happiness, I might almost call it, extends even to the smallest circumstances. Whatever 1 leave to God to decide for me He always decides just as 1 want Him to. . . . There is a continual clapping of hands and shouting of joyful voices in my heart, and every breath feels almost as if it must terminate in a smile of happiness. Mother says I laugh too much, but the laugh is in me, and will come out, and 1 cannot help it." The same year under date of i2th mo., 29th, I wrote : — " What a happy, happy home is ours. I could not but think of it to-day as the merry jokes and tones of heartfelt pleasure echoed around our family board. And this evening, too, as we gathered together in our simple but comfortable parlour, it came over me witn a perfect throb of loy. Father was sitting on one end of a sofa leaning his head on one hand, with the other hand resting on mother's lap; she sat next, and my head was in her lap, and I occupied the rest of the sofa, 1 have no doubt, gracefully and well. Sallie was sitting in a chair at the end of the sofa leaning her head on father's shoulder, and Lop- no-Nose (my sister Mary) was seated at all our feet, leaning first on one and then on another. All of us were talking as hard as we could, and feeling as if there was nothing wanting, but our 22 The Unselfishness of God absent, dearly loved brother Jim, to make our happiness complete. Many perhaps would smile at such quiet, unobtrusive pleasures, but for my part they are the kind of pleasures I enjoy most heartily and entirely. We can never weary of them, nor feel that their first beauty has gone, but each succeeding day makes them deeper and more earnest. Perhaps 1 am weak and foolish to take so much enjoyment in things which so many laugh at as unworthy of thought. 1 know 1 am but a child, and pleased, as children are, with very little things. And yet to me they are not little. A few of my father's pleasant jokes, spoken when I am brushing his hat or coat in the morning, will fill my heart with sunshine for a whole day. And 1 am happy if 1 may read aloud to my mother some book which 1 love, or even if 1 may sit quite still and think. Oh, 1 do love my home better than any other place 1 know of! I wonder if 1 love it too much. Sometimes 1 fear I do, for even if I leave it for one night 1 am more homesick than I would like any one to know, except those for whom I long. Even when I simply take a walk I often almost feel as if I could cry to go home again. It is very foolish, but I cannot help it. I should die if I had no one to love, no home! "But for one thing, and I would be perfectly happy, — a father and mother, dearer, nobler far, than I can express, a brother and sisters, uncles and aunts, and cousins, and friends, all to love me, and, better far, all for me to love — with these priceless blessings 1 could not but be happy. One thing 1 say, prevents it, but it prevents it only a very little. It is the knowledge that I am not prepared for eternity, and the small prospect I have that I ever shall be. 1 wish it would give me more uneasiness, and that 1 might feel the urgent necessity there is for me to act. But I cannot compel myself to feel it, and so 1 go on as My Parents 23 careless and indifferent as though I had not the eternal salvation of my soul resting upon me. 1 know it is very dangerous, but 1 really can do nothing towards rousing myself; and so, in spite of it, 1 am happy — happy in myself, happy in my home — my own dear home, happy in my parents, my brother and sisters, and my friends, happy in this beautiful world in which I am placed — in short, happy everywhere and in everything, — thank God'/' In 1850, when I was eighteen, under date 4th mo., 25th, 1850, I write: — "I have been thinking to-day of my present life, and 1 could hardly nnd words to express its happiness. Relatives, friends, circumstances, all are nearly perfect. Outwardly I have scarcely anything to wish for, unless it is for plenty of money to give away, and to buy flowers with. I am crowned with blessings every day and all the day long. Oh, there never was any one so blessed! . . . Everything is so beautiful, and everybody is so lovely, and I can enjoy it, and do enjoy it all to the very full. Sometimes I have such heart gushes, as I call them, that 1 can scarcely contain myself. 1 love them dearly, and yet after all perhaps they are a little foolish. They are caused by such slight things — a blade of grass, a leaf waving in the wind, a bright happy golden dandelion, even an old barrel, or a heap of stones, or the creaking of a shoe, often the rattling of a cart, or some equally common sound, give me for the moment a sense of most exquisite happiness. Why, I cannot tell. It is not the beauty of the sight nor the harmony of the sound, but only a something, I know not what, that causes my heart to gush up joyfully, and my very soul to expand. I sometimes think it must 24 The Unselfishness of God be association; but with what? 1 do not love creaking shoes nor rattling carts, and yet often when walking along the street 1 fairly laugh from inward pleasure at the something in that creaking or rattling. It is not so always. A hundred shoes may creak, and a hundred carts may rattle, and a hundred barrels or heaps of stones may be around me, and jar painfully on ear and eye; but once in a while comes the one, and then comes the heart gush. To-day a drop of rain fell on my fore- head, and I could have laughed aloud. But it was very silly; and I am a foolish child alto- gether, and fear I always shall be. . . . Yes- terday we went with mother to the Shelter (a home for little colored orphans). It was all very interesting there, but nothing pleased me so much as when the little Blackies repeated, ' Sparkle, sparkle, water pure, dirty hands I can't endure,' with all the same gestures and motions I used so often to do myself at the 'Infant School.' That gave me a right earnest heart-gush. I seemed almost to see myself in short frocks and panties, a little white apron, and one of those (as we thought) inimitable nets with a beautiful bow on the side, which mother used to think was almost too gay, enclosing my frisky hair, sitting on the highest bench of all in the school, and feeling, and no doubt looking, as proud as a queen." Again under date 7th mo., 9th, 1850, (after describing the pleasure of a little trip away from home) : — " And yet the pleasantest of all was to get home again last night. Home is home, and there is no place like unto it. Every day I enjoy it more and more, and every day I am happier. Last night 1 felt too happy almost. I fairly My Parents 25 wanted to turn heels over head in my exuber- ance, and I did scream with delight. And all for no particular reason; only the influences around me were so beautiful, and it seemed just then so glorious to live — to live, and suffer patiently, and work earnestly and nobly, and trust cheerfully, for years and years, until the glorious end shall come and bring the reward of peace and everlast- ing happiness." Later in the same year I write under date of 7th mo., 1 6th: — " In two weeks we start for a journey through the New England States and to Newport. It is grand, this plan of going to Newport — just the very place f had set my heart on visiting this summer, though I did not at all expect it. But somehow, I can scarcely tell how, whenever I set my heart on anything I am nearly always grati- fied. From a child it has been so. I can scarcely remember being ever much disappointed, and I am sure every step of my life hitherto has been through sunshine and flowers. But I do not wonder, with such kind and good parents it could not be otherwise. They really could not do more than they do to make us happy, and they succeed beautifully. ... I believe I do not know any children who have so many enjoy- ments clustered in their home, although I know many whose parents are far richer." I might multiply these extracts almost indefi- nitely, for my diaries up to the age of nineteen are, with the exception of my religious struggles, which seemed very tragic, but did not really affect my spirits much, one long jubilant song of happiness. At nineteen I married, and a new 26 The Unselfishness of God life began for me, which had its own more mature joys; but girlhood was over, and its sim- ple girlish "Fate of happiness," as 1 called it, was exchanged for the woman's life of sober re- sponsibilities, and weighty, although delightful, cares. In looking back now 1 can see that this " Fate of happiness" was created by two causes, — my health and my parents. As to health, I never knew, through all the first eighteen years of my life, except once when I had an attack of bilious fever, what it was to be even ailing. 1 never had a headache, 1 did not know I had a back, I never got tired, I had a perfect digestion, and nothing ever caused me the loss of a single hour's sleep. Moreover 1 was blessed with what peo- ple nowadays call "la joie de vivre," and simply to live seemed often happiness enough for me. But the chiefest charm of my life was that I possessed the most delightful father and mother that ever lived. In the narrow Quaker circle into which I was born, very few of the oppor- tunities for amusement or excitement that come to young people nowadays, were open to us, and all the fun we could extract from life was of the most simple and innocent kind. But with such a father and mother as ours, no outside pleasures were needed. They were so sym- pathetic and loving, and so entirely on our side under all circumstances, that we looked upon them, not as uncomfortable criticising "grown- ups," but almost as children like ourselves, with My Parents 27 the same tastes and interests as our own. We considered them far better comrades than any others we knew; and no fun the world ever had to offer was half so attractive to us as a quiet talk with our mother, or a good game of romps with our fun-loving father. They often used to say that they wanted their children to have a happy childhood "tucked under their jackets " ; for they were sure it would make us better men and women, and they took care that we should have this priceless boon. In looking back it seems to me that there were absolutely no clouds over my childhood's sky. One of the much amused young people of the present day said to me once, with rather an accent of pity, "It seems to me you did not have many amusements when you were young." "We did not need to," was my prompt reply. "We had our father and mother, and they were all the amusements we needed. They made our lives all sunshine." I wish I could give to others the vivid picture I have of their inexpressible delightfulness. We knew, down to the very bottom of our hearts, that they were on our side against the whole world, and would be our champions in every time of need. No one could oppress us, neither playmates, nor friends, nor enemies, not even our teachers, (those paid oppressors of children, as we felt all teachers to be), nor any one the whole world over, without having to reckon with those dear champions at home; and the 28 The Unselfishness of God certain conviction of tliis, surrounded us with such a panoply of defence, that nothing had power to trouble us overmuch. "Wevi'ill tell father," or "We will tell mother," was our un- failing resource and consolation in every sorrow. In fact, so sure was I of their championship, that, when any of my friends or school fellows were in trouble, I used to say, "Oh well, never mind, come home with me and let us tell my father and mother;" feeling sure that that dear father and mother could set the whole world straight, if the chance were only given them. And when the answer would come, as it often did, "Oh, that would be of no use, for your father and mother cannot do everything," I would say, with a profound pity for their ignorance, "Ah, you do not know my father and mother! " One of my sisters remembered to her dying day, with a deep sense of gratitude, a deliver- ance our father gave her from an oppressively long lesson before she was six years old. Kin- dergartens were not invented then, and all chil- dren were required to study abstract lessons in a way that would be considered almost inhuman in these days. My sister was toiling over a sum with a hopeless sense of incapacity, and with tears trickling over her cheeks, when my father entered the room and said: " Ho, Liney, what is going wrong?" She told him as well as she could, and she says she could never forget his tone of absolute comprehension and sympathy as he said, "Why, of course it is too hard for My Parents 29 my little Sally Dimple; but never mind, put it away, and I will make it all right with thy teacher." And my sister says so strong a con- viction came to her at that moment of her fa- ther's championship, that she went through all the rest of her school life with an absolute sense of protection that made it impossible for any "hard lessons" ever to trouble her again. It was not that our father or mother encouraged us to shirk any duty that they felt we were capable of performing. But they had so much sympathy with us, and such a sense of real justice in their dealings with us, that they seemed always able to discriminate between the possible and the impossible, and to protect us from the latter, while cheerily stimulating our efforts after the former. They never took it for granted, as so many ' ' grown-ups " do, that, because we were children, we must necessarily be in the wrong; but they judged the case on its own merits. I believe it was this certainty of their justice that was more of a steady comfort to us than almost anything else; and I am very sure it has helped me to understand the perfect justice of my Heavenly Father in a way I could not otherwise have done. As I say, they always stimulated us to all right eflfort, but this was never by commands or by harsh scolding, but always by sympathy and en- couragement. They recognized our individuality, and respected it, giving us principles for our guidance rather than many burdensome rules. The Unselfishness of God As far as possible they threw the responsibility of our conduct upon ourselves. This degree of personal liberty was a necessity to my freedom loving nature. Under any other regime I should have wilted and withered; or else, which I think is more likely, should have openly rebelled. But as it was, no matter how averse I might be to any task, or how discouraged at any difficulty, my father's cheery voice repeating one of his homely proverbs, "Come, come, Han, stand up to the rack, fodder or no fodder," would always drive away all my reluctance; and discourage- ments melted like snow before the sun, in the face of his courage-giving assertion, "What man has done, man can do, and " (he would slyly add) "consequently woman." No child could have withstood such inspiring courage. My father's own life had been a living illustra- tion of the courage that he so continually tried to instill into us. When a boy of sixteen, his father lost a large part of his fortune in some West Indian transactions, and his sons were obliged to do what they could for their own support. My father, with his adventurous spirit, chose the sea, and, beginning in the lowest place, he so rapidly worked his way upward, that, at the early age of twenty-four, he was made captain of an East Indiaman, at that time the largest ship in the port of Philadelphia; and his voyages in this ship were remarkably successful. He always attributed his success to the care and guidance of his Heavenly Father, upon whom he relied in all his affairs, and My Parents 31 whose especial help he always asked and be- lieved he always received, in every time of need. At the age of twenty-nine he gave up the sea, and went into business in Philadelphia, and here the same energy and the same reliance upon Divine help so prospered him, that he was able to make a comfortable competence for his declin- ing years. I well remember when 1 was a little girl often wondering what sort of a boy my father had been, and deciding, as 1 watched the roguish twinkles in the corners of his clear grey eyes, and the curves of fun around his genial mouth, that he must have been a perfectly splendid boy, and just the kind 1 would have liked for a play- mate. For, getting on towards middle age as he was when we were young, we found him the best playmate we children ever had. Some of his old friends, who remembered him as a boy, used to tell us that he was at once the most pro- voking and the best beloved boy in all their circle. No one could keep their anger against him for more than a moment. Let his tricks be as vexatious as they might, — and he was, they say, full and brimming over with mischief all the day long, — no anger could withstand his genuine and openly expressed sorrow at any trouble he may have caused, and the hearty and generous restitution he was always ready to offer, nor the merry rebound of fun that would burst out the moment his apologies had been ac- cepted. He was always the first to help in every 32 The Unselfishness of God case of need; and every one, whether friend or foe, knew they could rely on him for any service he was capable of performing. All his friends loved and admired him, even while they scolded him, and they generally found themselves laugh- ing at the very moment when they meant to be the most severe and frowning. From childhood to old age this power of winning love and ap- proval continued with him; and the fun of his boyhood, developing into the genial merriment of the chastened Christian heart, gave his mature character a nameless charm. In fact 1 do not believe there ever was a more contagiously cheerful being than our father. No one could help feeling happier because of his presence. His very hand-shake was an uplift, and seemed somehow to make the world brighter than it was before, and to put you in a better humour with yourself and with every one around you. Many of my friends have told me that they would rather have had a hand-shake from him than receive a valuable gift from another man, because somehow, in that hand-shake, his heart seemed to go right to their hearts, with power to cheer and help. 1 remember well how, when my childhood's sky would be all darkened by some heavy childish affliction, a cheery " Well, Broadie," in his hearty voice, or some little pass- ing joke spoken with a roguish twinkle of his loving grey eyes, would clear my sky in a mo- ment, and make life all sunshine again. And, even when I was older, his power to cheer grew My Parents 33 no less, and it was quite my habit, whenever I found myself down in the depths, to put myself somewhere in his way, with the certainty that even a moment's peep at his strong cheery face would lift me out. 1 can even remember that, in his absence, the sight and feel of his dear old overcoat would somehow brighten everything, and send me off encouraged to be braver and stronger. To make life happier for every one with whom he came in contact seemed to be his aim and his mission, and rarely has any one suc- ceeded so well. Some one said to me, many years after his death, that "John M. Whitall was the best loved man in Philadelphia"; and in cer- tain circles 1 am sure this was true. Our mother also was equally well beloved. She was a most delightful mother, not so full of fun perhaps as our father, but always ready to champion her children's cause everywhere and at all times, and an unfailing rock of refuge to us in every emergency. Sweetness and goodness, purity and truth, seemed to emanate from her gracious presence; and, for every one who came in contact with her, she was an inspiration to all that was noble and good. People talk in these days of an atmosphere sur- rounding each one of us, something like the nimbus that is always painted about the heads of saints. They say it seems to envelop the whole figure, and that it influences for good or evil all who come near it. It is called the "aura," and is the outcome of each one's char- 34 The Unselfishness of God acter and inmost personality. Some auras, we are told, are dark and gloomy, and exert a de- pressing or even a wicked influence, while others are rose colour, or gold, or opal, or sky blue and full of light, and their influence is cheering and uplifting; and all this without perhaps a word being said in either case. If this theory is true 1 feel sure that my father and mother pos- sessed "auras" full of heaven's own sunshine, and, without knowing the reason, their children lived in perpetual cheer. That a childhood so lived could not fail to have an enormous influence on the after history of any soul, seems to me incontrovertible; and 1 attrib- ute my final satisfying discovery of my Heavenly Father largely to what I had known of the good- ness of my earthly parents. They never said much about religion, for the Quaker fear of meddling between a soul and its Maker had created a habit of reserve that could not easily be broken through, but they showed plainly that their lives were lived in a region of profound faith in an ever present God. We could not but see that He was to them a reality beyond all other realities. Of religious teaching we had but little, but of religious example and influence we had a never-failing supply. Not by talking, but by daily living, were impressions made on our childish hearts. I remember once however when my father did speak out of the fullness of his heart, and when what he said made a profound and lasting im-n My Parents 35 pression upon me. I was a very imaginative child, and consequently very frightened of the dark, which I peopled with all sorts of terrible monsters, lurking under beds or behind doors, ready to rush out and devour me at any moment. Of course, with the profound reticence of child- hood, I never spoke of this; but somehow my father at last found out that I was afraid of the dark, and instead of ridiculing my fears or scolding me, as I felt in my poor foolish little heart 1 deserved for making such a row, he took me lovingly on his knee, and, putting his dear strong arm around me, he said, in tones of the most profound conviction, "Why, Han, did thee not know there is never anything to be afraid of? Did thee not know that thy Heavenly Father is always with thee, and that of course He will al- ways take care of thee ? " And as I still trembled and shivered, he added, as though surprised that there could be any one in the world who did not know this, " 1 thought of course thee knew this, child." I never shall forget the profound impres- sion this made upon me, nor the immediate and permanent relief from fear it gave me; and I have always been sure that this one statement of a fact, which was to my father the most tremen- dous reality of his life, has had more than any- thing else to do with the satisfying sense of God's presence which has for so long been my portion. It was not a religious dogma my father stated on this, to me, memorable occasion, but it was a simple, incontrovertible fact which he was The Unselfishness of God surprised I did not know; and, as being the state- ment of a fact, it was far more comforting tiian any amount of preaching or arguing could possi- bly have been. God was with me — and that was enough; for of course, being with me, He would naturally take care of me. 1 remember that when my father lifted me down from his lap and told me cheerily to run along and not to be frightened any more, 1 walked off in a stately sort of way, feeling as if somehow I was safe inside an invisi- ble fortress where I could laugh to scorn all the lurking monsters of the dark, and could hear their angry rustles unmoved. I dare say the rarity of any direct religious teaching from our parents helped to make the few occasions when they did speak more im- pressive; but, however this may be, I can truly say that, though often obscured for a time, the con- victions of that occasion have always been with me at bottom, and thousands of times in my life since, my father's words then, have brought me help. Ill MY QUAKER CHILDHOOD NEXT to the influence of my parents upon my young life, was the influence of the religious Society of which I was a birthright member. I do not think it would be possible for me to express in words how strong and all pervading this influence was. Every word and thought and action of our lives was steeped in Quakerism. Never for a single mo- ment did we escape from it. Not that we wanted to, for we knew nothing different; but, as my narrative will show, every atom of our consciousness was infused and possessed with it. Daily I thank God that it was such a right- eous and ennobling influence. But, though so all powerful in our lives, the Quakerism of my day did not achieve its influ- ence by much outward teaching. One of its most profound beliefs was in regard to the direct inward teaching of the Holy Spirit to each indi- vidual soul; and this discouraged much teaching by human lips. The Quakers accepted as liter- ally true the declarations of the Apostle John that there is a " true Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world"; and their funda- mental teaching was that this " Light," if faith- 37 38 The Unselfishness of God fully looked for and obeyed, would lead every man into all truth. They felt therefore that it would be an interference between the soul and its Divine Guide and Teacher to intrude with any mere teaching of man. They taught us to listen for and obey the voice of God in our souls, and they believed if we did this up to our best knowledge, our Divine Guide would teach us all it was necessary for us to know of doctrines or dogmas. There was something grand in this recognition of human individuality. It left each soul in an absolute independence before its Creator, ready to be taught directly by Him, without the inter- ference of any human being, except as that hu- man being might be inspired by Himself. And although in my youthful days 1 did not con- sciously formulate this, yet the atmosphere it created, and the individual dignity with which it endowed every human soul, whether wise or simple, rich or poor, learned or unlearned, old or young, made each of us feel from our earliest days a royal interior independence that nobody, not even our parents, could touch. When the Bible was read to us, which was frequently done, especially on "First Day" after- noons, very little explanation was ever attempted, but instead a few moments of profound silence were always observed at the close of the reading, in order that the " Inward Light " might, if it should be the Divine Will, reveal to us the mean- ing of what had been read. 1 am afraid however My Quaker Childhood 39 that personally I was still too unawakened for much ever to be revealed to me. But so strong was this feeling among the Quakers in my day, that direct religious teaching from the lips of human beings, except in inspired preaching, al- ways seemed to me to be of the world, worldly, and I felt it was good only for the "world's people," who, because of their ignorance regard- ing the inward light, were necessarily obliged to look outward for their teaching. In fact all Bible expositions, except such as might be di- rectly inspired, were felt to be worldly; and Bible classes and Sunday-schools were considered to be places of worldly amusement, which no true Quaker ought to attend. Our teaching was to come to us, not from the lips of human teachers, but from the inward voice of the Divine Teacher Himself. In this the early Friends only believed what Saint Augustine taught when he said: " It is the inward Master that teacheth, it is the inspiration that teacheth; where the inspiration and unction are wanting, it is vain that words from without are beaten in." Their preaching therefore was mostly com- posed of exhortations to listen for this "inward voice," and to obey it, when heard; and never once, during all my young days, do I remember hearing any other sort of preaching. Not that there might not have been, however, doctrinal preaching as well, had I had the ears to hear it; but as a fact no religious questions of any I 40 The Unselfishness of God sort, except the one overpowering conviction that somehow or other I must manage to be good, oc- cupied my mind up to the age of sixteen. I lived only in that strange mysterious world of child- hood, so far removed from the "grown-up world " around it, where everything outside seemed only a mere passing show. In my world all was plain and simple, with no need for any questionings. The grown-up people around me seemed to have their ridiculous interests and their foolish bothers, but these were nothing to me in my enchanted sphere. Sometimes, when one of these silly grown-ups would suggest that a time would come when I also would be grown up, a pang would come over me at the dreadful thought, and I would resolve to put off the evil day as long as possible, by refusing to have my hair done up in a knot behind, or to have my dresses come below my knees. I had an idea that grown up people wanted to live children's lives, and play children's plays, and have chil- dren's fun, just as much as we children did, but that there was a law which forbade it. And when people talked in my presence about the necessity of "taking up the cross" as you grew older, I thought they meant that you would have to stop climbing trees or rolling hoops, or run- ning races, or walking on the tops of fences, al- though all the while you would want to do these things as much as ever; and my childish heart was often filled with a profound pity for the poor unfortunate grown-ups around me. My Quaker Childhood 41 I was a wild harum-scarum sort of being, and up to the age of sixteen was nothing but a light- hearted, irresponsible child, determined to get all the fun I could out of life, and with none of the morbid self-consciousness that is so often such a torment to young people. The fact was, as far as 1 can recollect, I scarcely ever thought of myself, as myself, at all. My old friends tell me now that 1 was considered a very pretty girl, but I never knew it. The question as to my looks never occurred to me. The only question that really interested me was as to my fun; and how 1 looked, or what people thought of me were things that did not seem in the least to concern me. I remember distinctly the first time such ques- tions intruded themselves, and the indignant way in which I rejected them. I think I must have been about eleven years old. My mother had sent for me to go into the drawing-room to see some of her friends who had asked for me. Without a fear I left my lessons, and went towards the drawing-room; when suddenly, just as I was about to enter, I was utterly surprised and taken aback by an attack of shyness. I had never had the feeling before, and 1 found it most disagreea- ble. And as 1 turned the door-knob I said to my- self, " This is ridiculous. Why should I be afraid of those people in there ? 1 am sure they won't shoot me, and 1 do not believe they will think anything about me; and, even if they do, it can't hurt, and 1 simply will not be frightened." And 42 The Unselfishness of God as I said this, I deliberately threw my shyness behind my back, and walked fearlessly into the room, leaving it all outside the door. I had made the discovery, although I did not know enough then to formulate it, that shyness was simply thinking about oneself, and that to forget oneself was a certain cure; and I do not remember ever really suffering from shyness again. If it ever came, I just threw it behind me as 1 had done the first time, and literally refused to pay any atten- tion to it. As far as I can remember therefore my life, up to the age of sixteen, when my religious awak- ening came, was an absolutely thoughtless child's life. Self-introversion and self-examination were things of which I knew nothing, and religious questions were not so much as dreamed of by me. 1 look back with wonder that so thoughtless a being could have been so preserved from out- breaking sins as I was, but I recognize that for this 1 must thank the grand all-enveloping Quaker atmosphere of goodness and righteousness, in which I lived, and which made any such out- breaks almost an impossibility. I have spoken of the Church into which I was born as a religious society. It was always called in my young days, "The religious Society of Friends," and was never by any chance spoken of, as it often is now, as "The Quaker Church." The early Quakers had a strong testimony against calling themselves a Church, for they did not con- sider themselves a Church in any exclusive or in- My Quaker Childhood 43 elusive sense of that word. The Church, accord- ing to their view, was the invisible body of all believers, belonging to every creed and every na- tion, and they as "Friends" were only a "So- ciety " within this great universal invisible Church. They took their name from our Lord's words in John 15: 14, 15: "Ye are My friends if ye do whatsoever I command you. Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his Lord doeth; but 1 have called you friends, for all things that I have heard of My Father I have made known unto you." Their one aim in life was to do whatsoever the Lord commanded, and they believed therefore that they had been admitted into this sacred circle of the Divine friendship. They had at first no idea of forming a separate sect, but their association was to their minds only a society of friends (with neither a capital 5 nor a capital F), who met to- gether to share as friends, one with another, the Divine revelations that were made to each, and to encourage one another to strive after the right- eousness that the Divine friendship demanded. That this "society of friends " gradually assumed a definite article and capital letters to itself, and became "The Religious Society of Friends," and developed into a separate sect, was, I suppose, the necessary outcome of all such movements, but it has always seemed to me a falling away from the simplicity and universality of the original idea. The name of Quaker had been bestowed upon them in their early days from the fact that, when 44 The Unselfishness of God preaching in their Meetings, they were seen to quake or tremble under what they believed to be the power of the Holy Ghost. 1 myself, even in the quieter times when I was a child, would often see the preachers in our meetings trembling and quaking from head to foot, and 1 confess 1 always felt that messages delivered under this condition had a special inspiration and unction of their own, far beyond all others. In fact, unless a preacher had at least enough of this " quaking " to make their hearts palpitate and their legs tremble, they were not considered by many to have the real "call" to the ministry at all; and one cannot therefore be surprised that the name "Quaker" had fastened itself on the society. But the name chosen by themselves was a far happier one, and far more descriptive of what they really were. The "quaking" was after all only an incident in their religion, but friendliness was its very essence. Because they believed themselves to be the friends of God, they realized that they must be in the truest sense the friends of all the creatures He had created. They be- lieved it was literally true that He had made all the nations of men of one blood, and that all were therefore their brethren. One could not fail to realize this sense of universal friend- ship through all the worship and the work of the society; and personally, so deeply was it impressed upon my young life, that to this day to be a member of the Society of Friends My Quaker Childhood 45 means to me to be everybody's friend; and whenever there is any oppression or suffering anywhere in the world, 1 instinctively feel sure that among the first to hasten to the rescue will be a committee of the Society of Friends. They have in fact a standing Committee which meets regularly to consider cases of wrong and of need, and it is called significantly " The Meet- ing for Sufferings." The society is and always has been the friend of all who are oppressed. Therefore, while the outside world generally calls them " Quakers," I am glad that they them- selves have held steadfastly to the endearing name of " Friends." IV QUAKERISM BEFORE entering upon the subject of the influence of Quakerism on my young Ufe, I want it to be thoroughly understood that I am not trying in any sense to give a true transcript of Quakerism, as my elders understood it and lived it, but only as it influenced an unde- veloped eager girl, who had a decidedly religious side to her nature, but who was too full of life and spirits to be very seriously interested in any abstract questions outside of her every-day duties and fun. I cannot trace back my notions to any definite teaching, and at the time I did not formulate them, but the impressions I retain of those days seem to me now to have had their rise in the general atmosphere that surrounded me. It is very likely that my adult relatives and friends had no idea of creating such an atmosphere, and, if they were alive now, would be very much surprised at some of my interpretations. But the fact remains that the Quakerism of my young life has left the strong impressions I record, and I want to give them as truthfully as I can, as part of my own personal history, an4 46 Quakerism 47 not at all as an authoritative exposition of Quaker views. In tracing back the line of our ancestors, we find that they came over from England during the seventeenth century, in company with a great body of Quakers who, unable to find in their own land that spirit of religious liberty which was a fundamental article of their faith, sought an asylum in the new Western world, hoping there to found a state where their children might enjoy that freedom to worship God according to the dictates of their own consciences, which had been denied to themselves in the old world. These Quakers had settled largely in the colonies founded by William Penn in and around Philadelphia, on both sides of the Delaware River, and had be- come, by the time I was born, a most influential and respected body. A good deal of their early freshness and fervour had however passed away, and it was a very sober, quiet sort of religion that remained, which allowed of but little expression, and was far more entirely interior than seems to me now to have been wise. There had been left from earlier days a firm belief in what was always spoken of as the " perceptible guidance of the Holy Spirit," meaning the distinct and conscious voice of God in the heart; and a loyal devotion to what were called " Friends' testimonies," which testimonies were the outward expression of the convictions of truth that had, they believed, been 48 The Unselfishness of God directly revealed by the " inward light " to George Fox, the founder of the society, and to his early followers. Many of these convictions were opposed to the usual ideas of people around us, and their observ- ance therefore made the Quakers of my day very peculiar. But we were taught that it was a great honour to be God's "peculiar people," and I for one fully believed that we Quakers were meant where it says in Deuteronomy, " The Lord hath chosen thee to be a peculiar people unto Himself above all the nations that are upon the earth." In the face of such an honour, the things in which we were "peculiar," which often, I acknowl- edge, caused us considerable embarrassment and even trial, seemed to be a sort of " hall-mark" of especial Divine favour; and, instead of being mor- tified over their peculiarities, the Quakers of my day were secretly proud of them, and of the singularity they caused. We Quaker children imbibed somewhat of this feeling, arid when we walked along the streets in our quaint Quaker garb, and the street gamins called after us, as they often did " Quaker, Quaker, mash potatoe" we felt a sustaining sense of superiority, that took some of the sting out of the intended insult, and enabled us to call back with a fine scorn, as having far the best of the matter, " Dutchy, Dutchy, Mash-pay-touchy ! " if we were Quak- ers, they were perhaps the descendants of the early German, or, as they were called, "Dutch Redemptioners " who were the servants of the Quakerism 49 first colonists; and at any rate we were deter- mined they should know we thought they were. 1 remember that after my sisters and I had dis- covered this efTective retort, we were able to silence most of our persecutors. But it was sometimes very hard for us Quaker children to be obliged to take our share of perse- cution for "conscience sake," since it was the consciences of our elders and not our own; and, combined with our pride in being God's peculiar people, we also often had a sense of ostracism that 1 feel on looking back, we ought not to have been asked to endure. Still 1 have no doubt it imparted to our characters a sort of sturdy independence that was of real value to us in our after life, and 1 for one have always been thankful for the deliverance from the fear of man, and the indifference to criticism, that was, I am convinced, engendered in my spirit by these early persecutions for " conscience sake." There was, as I have said, very little direct re- ligious teaching to the young Quakers in my time. We were sometimes preached to in our meetings, when a Friend in the gallery would exhort the " dear young people " to be faithful to their Divine Guide; but no doctrines or dogmas were ever taught us; and, unless one was es- pecially awakened in some way, none of the ques- tions that exercise the minds of young people in the present day were even so much as dreamed of by the young people of my circle, at least so far as 1 knew; and a creature more utterly ignorant The Unselfishness of God of all so-called religious truth than I was up to the age of sixteen, when my awakening came, could hardly be conceived of in these modern times. The whole religious question for me was simply as to whether I was good enough to go to heaven, or so naughty as to deserve hell. As to there being a "plan of salvation," or any such thing as "justification by faith," it was never heard of among us. The one vital point in our ideas of religion was as to whether or not we looked for and obeyed that "perceptible guid- ance" of the Holy Spirit, to which we were con- stantly directed; and the only definite teaching we received as to our religious life was com- prised in " Friends' testimonies," and in the "queries" read and answered every month in the "monthly meetings for business" which were regularly held by every congregation of Quakers. We had no Sunday-schools nor Bible classes; in fact, as 1 have said, these were considered to be a form of " creaturely activity " only to be ex- cused in the "world's people" (by which we meant everybody who was not a Quaker), be- cause they were in ignorance, as we believed, of the far higher teachings of the Holy Spirit which were our special inheritance. Neither did our Society teach us any regular prayers, for Friends believed they could only pray acceptably when moved by the Spirit to pray. As little children our parents had taught us a childish prayer, which we repeated every night after we were Quakerism 51 tucked up in bed before the last farewell kisses were given. But as we grew older, and our parents recognized more and more our individual independence, these nightly childish prayers were omitted, and the Quaker atmosphere as regards prayer gradually gained the ascendency; and in time I, at least, came to feel as if, because of my light-hearted carelessness and indifference, it was almost wrong for me to try to pray. What this Quaker teaching about prayer was may be gathered from the following extract from the writings of Isaac Pennington. He says, "Prayer is a gift. A man cannot pray when he will; but he is to watch and to wait, when the Father will kindle in him living breathings to- wards Himself." In consequence we knew no formal prayers, and were not even taught the Lord's prayer, and until 1 was a woman 1 actually did not know it by heart, and even to this day I am often puzzled for a moment when 1 try to repeat it. The real truth is that as a child 1 got the impression somehow that the Lord's prayer was "gay," and that only "gay" people were expected to use it. By "gay" we meant any- thing that was not Quakerly. Quakers were "plain" and all the rest of the world, and even of the Church were "gay." It even seemed to me that it was distinctly "gay" to kneel in prayer. We Friends always stood when prayer was offered in our meetings, and if we ever prayed on retiring at night, it was done after we got into bed. And when, as 52 The Unselfishness of God sometimes happened, one of our little circle ven- tured to kneel beside her bed for her evening de- votions, we always felt that it was a lamentable yielding to a worldly spirit, and was to be mourned over as a backsliding from the true faith. As a fact all Church or Chapel services seemed to us very gay and worldly, and to join in them seemed almost to amount to sinning; and until I was married I had actually never entered any place of worship other than Friends' Meeting houses. 1 should have felt it a distinct "falling from grace " to have done so. I cannot remember that we were distinctly taught any of these things, or that any one ever said to me in so many words that Quakers were the " peculiar people" spoken of in the Bible as being especially dear to God; but the sort of preaching to which we listened, and only of course half understood, in regard to the privi- leges and the blessings of our peculiarities, made the impression upon my young ignorance that in some way, because of our " peculiarities," we were the objects of especial Divine favour; and I can remember very well having the distinct feel- ing that we were the true Israelites of whom the Bible spoke, and that all who were not Quakers belonged to the "outside Gentiles." To tell the whole truth 1 had as a child a confused idea in my mind that we Quakers had a different and a far higher God than others, and that the God other Christians worshipped was one of the "Gods of the Gentiles " whom the Bible condemned. Quakerism 53 That I was not singular in these feelings will be shown in the following extracts from the lately published reminiscences of an American Friend, who is an able educationalist of the present day.' He says: "I am quite sure no Israelite in the days of Israel's prosperity ever had a more certain convic- tion that he belonged to a peculiar people whom the Lord had chosen for His own, than I did. There was for me an absolute break between 'us' and anybody else. This phariseeism was never taught me, nor encouraged directly by any- body, but 1 none the less had it. If 1 had any- thing in the world to glory over it was that 1 was a Quaker. Others about me had a good deal more that was tangible than I had. Their life was easier, and they did not have as hard a struggle to get the things they wanted as we did. But they were not 'chosen, and we were! As far back as I can travel in my memory 1 find this sense of superiority — a sort of birthright into Divine grace and favour. I think it came partly from impressions I got from 'travelling Friends,' whose visits had an indescribable influence upon me. It will of course seem to have been a very narrow view, and so it was, but its influence was decidedly important upon me. It gave some- what of a dignity to my little life to feel that I belonged to God's own people; that, out of all the world, we had been selected to be His, and that His wonders had been worked for us, and we were objects of His special love and care. "Everybody at home, as well as many of our visitors, believed implicitly in immediate divine guidance. Those who went out from our meet- » " A Boy's Religion," by Rufus M. Jones. 54 The Unselfishness of God ing to do extended religious service, and there were many such visits undertaken, always seemed as directly selected for these momentous missions, as were the prophets of old. As far back as I can remember 1 can see Friends sitting talking with my grandmother of some ' concern ' which was 'heavy upon them,' and the whole matter seemed as important as though they had been called by an earthly king to carry on the affairs of an empire. It was partly these cases of divine sekction, and the constant impression that God was using these persons, whom 1 knew, to be His messengers, that made me so sure of the fact ' that we were His chosen people. At any rate I grew up with this idea firmly fixed." I believe every young "Friend," in the circle to which I belonged, would have owned to the same feelings. We were God's "chosen peo- ple," and, as such, belonged to a religious aristocracy as real as any earthly aristocracy could be; and I do not believe any earl or duke was ever prouder of his earthly aristocratic posi- tion than we were of our heavenly one. V QUAKER "TRUTH," AND QUAKER " MINISTRY" SO certain were the "Friends" that theirs was the true faith set forth in the Bible and preached by the Apostles, that in speaking of it they always in my day called it the " Truth," with a capital "T," and spoke of the religious work of the society as the "service of Truth." And I remember that my father's horses and car- riages were called "Truth's horses and car- riages," because they were so continually in requisition to convey preachers from one meet- ing to another, or to do errands for the Elders or Overseers. With the unquestioning faith of child- hood I fully believed all this, and grew up with a distinct idea that we " Friends" had practically a monopoly of "The Truth," with a strong em- phasis on the definite article, which differentiated it entirely from the holding of one truth among many. Ours was the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and could not be improved upon. Such was my idea in the days of my youth. That "Friends " did, however, hold a great deal of truth (without any definite article) cannot be denied. Nearly every view of divine things that I have since discovered, and every reform 1 have 55 56 The Unselfishness of God since advocated, had, I now realize, their germs in the views of the Society; and over and over again, when some new discovery or conviction has dawned upon me, 1 have caught myself say- ing, "Why, that was what the early Friends meant, although 1 never understood it before." Many of their great moral and religious prin- ciples have been gradually adopted and taught by other Christians — namely the spiritual inter- pretation of the Bible instead of the literal, the use of the Sabbath for man, and not man for the Sabbath, the subordination of the symbol to the spiritual belief symbolized, the comparative un- importance of creeds and dogmas, or of rites and ceremonies, the abhorrence of slavery, the vital importance of temperance, the direct access of the soul to God without human intermediary. But in the day when the Quakers first declared these things, they seemed like hard sayings which only a few could bear. And even those of us who were brought up with them from our very cradles, needed many years of spiritual growth and enlightenment before we could fully com- prehend them. One of the truths they had got hold of far ahead of their time was in regard to the equality in the sight of God between men and women. They gave to their " women Friends " an equal place with "men Friends" in the work of the ministry, and in the government of the Society. There were women Preachers, and women Elders, and women Overseers, who sat in equal Quaker " Truth " and Quaker " Ministry " 57 state with the men Preachers, and Elders, and Overseers, on the raised benches in solemn rows, facing the body of the meeting, the men on one side of the middle aisle, and the women on the other. The preachers, (or Ministers, as we called them), sat at the head of these solemn rows, the oldest and weightiest nearest the top, and grad- ually tapering down to the younger neophytes, whose gifts had only lately been "acknowl- edged." The system of the ministry among Friends was very different from that of any other church. They believed profoundly that only God could make a Minister, and that no preaching was right except such preaching as was directly and immediately inspired by Him. They accepted, as the only true equipment for the work of the ministry, the declaration contained in Matthew 10: 18-20, and they believed its promises would be literally fulfilled to every faithful soul, whether man or woman, young or old, learned or un- learned. "And ye shall be brought before gov- ernors and kings for My sake for a testimony against them and the Gentiles. But when they deliver you up take no thought how or what ye shall speak; for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak, for it is not ye that speak but the spirit of your Father which speak- eth in you." This promise contained for them the Quaker "Call" and the Quaker "Ordi- nation"; and to "study for the ministry" in colleges or out of books, or to be ordained by the 58 The Unselfishness of God laying on of human hands, seemed to them the rejection of the only Divine call and ordination, and to result in what they termed a " man made ministry." In their view Ministers could be made only by God, and the power to preach was a direct "gift" bestowed by Him alone. All that could be done was for the Elders and Overseers of the meeting to watch the development of this gift; and, when it seemed to them that the speaking bore unmistakable signs of a Divine "unction," they would meet together and decide whether or no to record on their meeting-books that they "acknowledged" so and so to be a Minister. This act of " recording" or " acknowl- edging" did not make the speakers Ministers; it was only the recognition and acknowledgment of the fact that God had already made them such. When this had been done, they were called " ac- knowledged Ministers," and were felt by us young people to have been admitted into the hierarchy of heaven itself. Moreover, since God had made them Ministers, their payment or remuneration must come from Him alone. No stipends or salaries were ever given them, but their ministry, freely bestowed from above, was freely handed forth to their fel- low-members, without money and without price. Consequently all Quaker Ministers continued in their usual occupations while "exercising their gifts," living on their own incomes, or carrying on their usual trades or businesses. It often left them but little time for study or preparation; Quaker " Truth " and Quaker " Ministry " 59 but, as no study or preparation was permitted, this was no drawback. For not only was there to be no especial train- ing for the ministry, but it was not thought right to make preparation for any particular service or meeting. "Friends"' were supposed to go to their meetings with their minds a blank, ready to receive any message that the Holy Spirit might see fit to impart. None of them could tell be- forehand whether the inspiration would or would not come to them; and the promise was clear that, should it come, it would be given them in that same hour what they should speak. All preparation for preaching therefore was felt to be a disloyalty to the Holy Spirit, and was called "creaturely activity," meaning that it was the creature in the individual, and not the Spirit of God, that had taken control. And no such preaching was ever felt to have that "unction of the Spirit" which was the Quaker test of all ministry. I have found in an old book of selec- tions from Isaac Penington's writings the follow- ing concerning ministers, which clearly expressed the Quaker view. " It is not preaching things that are true which makes a true minister, but the receiving of his ministry from the Lord. The gospel is the Lord's which is to be preached, and it is to be preached in His power; and the ministers who preach it are to be endued with His power, and to be sent by Him. ... He that will be a true Minister must receive both his gift, his ministry, and the exercise of both, from tne Lord, and must be sure 6o The Unselfishness of God in his ministering to keep in tlie power. . . . He must wait in his several exercises, to be en- dued witli matter and power from on higii, before he opens his mouth in a testimony for the Lord." With this view of preaching it can easily be understood that to "appear in the ministry," as it was quaintly expressed, would be felt by all to be, not only a very solemn step, but also a truly awful one. In my young days it was al- ways referred to as "taking up the cross," and was looked upon as the supreme sacrifice a soul could make. It has always been hard for me to understand this feeling, as in my own personal experience preaching has been far more of a pleasure than a sacrifice. But probably this may have been because I have let in more or less of what the early Friends would call the "creature " into my ministry, and have not attributed quite such a high origin to my utterances. An old letter of my mother's concerning the "appear- ance in the ministry " of her brother, my Uncle John Tatum, will illustrate the state of feeling I have described. She is writing to her father and mother about a visit to this uncle, and says: "Have you heard of the sacrifice that dear brother John has lately made in yielding to what I believe has been a long-felt impression of duty, by giving up to appear in public testimony and supplication in their meetings. It is since we were there; but we were both particularly struck with the marks of exercise and humble devoted- ness that appeared in his daily walk and conver- sation. I hope we shall all be willing to yield Quaker " Truth " and Quaker " Ministry " 6 1 him the strength of our tenderest sympathy, and to pray that he may be led, and guided, and kept in the right way. He does, I believe, feel often much alone. He said to me, ' Ah, my dear sister, it has been an awful time with me lately, in which I have had to seek the fields and woods alone, and pray mightily for strength and preservation.' " I cannot but think that it was a false view of Christian service that led the Friends to go through such conflicts over what nowadays is embraced as a glorious privilege. But all Quak- erism in my day was more or less tinged with this ascetic spirit of sacrifice, and it was so en- tirely the customary way of regarding the matter that each new recruit to the ministry uncon- sciously fell into it. That some of them had now and then a glimpse into the privilege of service, is shown by an incident that occurred with this very Uncle John some years later. He was speaking with my brother about a " religious visit " he had lately paid to some neighbouring Meetings, and, as they separated, he said in a very solemn and mournful tone, "So thou wilt see, dear James, what a heavy cross has been laid upon me." My brother expressed his sym- pathy, and they parted, going different ways. But in a moment or two my uncle walked hastily back, and touching my brother on the arm said, " I am afraid, dear James, that I conveyed a false impression in what I said about my ministry be- ing a cross. Truth compels me to confess to thee that it is not a cross at all, but a very blessed and delightful privilege. 1 am afraid we preach- 62 The Unselfishness of God ers talk as we do about the cross in preaching, more from habit tiian from any reality." Everything conspired however to make Quaker ministry a most mysterious and solemn affair to us young people. There was something inde- scribably enticing in the idea of the direct and immediate inspiration of our preachers. We seemed to be living, as it were, on the very verge of the spiritual world, where at any moment the veil might be lifted, and we might have some mystical revelation from the other side; and the eager longing yet solemn awe with which we watched and waited for these revelations could not, 1 feel sure, be comprehended by the present generation of young people, even though they should themselves be Quakers. An awe and mystery surrounded for us every " ministering Friend " whether man or woman, rich or poor, wise or simple; and this wholly apart from the personality of the Minister. It was due only and entirely to the fact that we believed Ministers to be the divinely chosen oracles to declare the mind of God, and that every word they might say was directly inspired, and was almost as infallible as the Bible itself. Consequently what any one of them might be "led" to say to oneself was a matter of the most vital importance, and the most profound belief. One of the greatest ex- citements of my young life therefore was the possibility of being at any moment personally preached to or prophesied about by some " min- istering Friend." VI QUAKER "OPPORTUNITIES" FRIENDS in my days had a way of having what were called "Opportunities." What this word really meant, I suppose now, was that they had an opportunity to "relieve their minds" of some "message" that was burdening it. But in those days no such ordi- nary explanation of the word ever occurred to me, but an "Opportunity" seemed a most mysterious divinely appointed function, that was akin to a council in the courts of Heaven itself; and the one longing yet fear of my young life was for some preacher to have an "Oppor- tunity " with me. On such occasions the preacher was supposed to be divinely enabled to see into your most secret thoughts, and to uncover with an unsparing hand the secret sins which you had fondly hoped were known to yourself alone. They were also supposed to be endowed with the power of reading the future, and might be expected to foretell any great blessings or dire misfortunes that were in store for you. The excitement, therefore, when a "travelling Friend" came to the house and asked for an "Opportunity" was intense. Whether fear or hope as to the revelations that 64 The Unselfishness of God might be made, predominated, it would be hard to say; but, no matter what our feelings might be, no member of the family, not even the smallest servant, might dare to be absent. In fact, when now and then circumstances ap- peared to make it desirable that some one should stay away, the preacher often seemed to have a sense of it, and would ask solemnly if there was no one else, and would decline to go on with the "Opportunity" until the absent one was summoned. In these "Opportunities" the preacher was expected to " speak to the condition " of especial ones present, and the great excitement was as to whether one's own condition would be spoken to. With what eager hope and fear I always waited to see if the preacher would speak to my condition, no words can describe; but never once in my recollection was this supreme favour conferred upon me. No preacher ever vouch- safed to notice me in any especial manner, nor seemed aware of the presence of an eager hungry soul reaching blindly out after the Light, to whom a few words "direct from God" would have come as an unspeakable boon. To tell the truth I was always expecting some won- derful prophecy to be made concerning me — that I was to be a great preacher, and was to do some great work for God; and though 1 dreaded the revelations of my unrighteous condition that might be made, I felt that the glory of the hoped- for prophecies would more than make up for Quaker "Opportunities" 65 them. I remember well how 1 used to hang about any "travelling Friends" who might come to the house, in the hope that at some unex- pected moment the Divine afflatus would come upon them, and the "message" I longed for might be delivered to me. For it must be understood that these "Oppor- tunities" were never by any manner of means arranged for. They were always ushered in by a solemn hush falling suddenly upon the com- pany, and this hush might come at any moment, even the most inconvenient; but, wherever it was or whatever was going on, everything had to give way for it. I have known "Opportunities" to come in the middle of a social evening, or even in the midst of a meal, or when the preacher was bidding farewell to the household, or when tak- ing a walk with some one, or when going to bed in the same room with a friend. They often came most inconveniently; but nothing was allowed to hinder. I remember once assisting at one when 1 was waiting on a preaching aunt on a visit to a Friend's house in Burlington, New Jersey. We had packed our trunks, and they were piled on the carriage at the door ready to take us to the train, when suddenly, as we were standing up bidding our hosts farewell, a silence fell, and an "Opportunity" came upon my aunt, and, while I stood, holding her shawl, in a fever of impatience to be gone, she had to stop and deliver her message, regardless of all considerations of time and trains. 1 was a 66 The Unselfishness of God woman by this time, and had lost a little of my faith in the divine origin of these "Oppor- tunities," and 1 remember that 1 could not help upbraiding her a little, when at last we got off to our train, for the inopportune moment she had chosen. But her reply silenced me when she said with the most guileless faith, "But, my dear, I could not disobey my Guide, and thee sees He has brought us to the train in time after all." No one but those who had experienced them could possibly understand the profound impres- sion these "Opportunities" made upon the Quaker life of my childhood. And even to this day when, as sometimes happens, a silence for a moment suddenly falls upon a company, my first instinctive terror is lest it should be an "oppor- tunity," and somebody should have to preach. The awe-inspiring effect of these "opportuni- ties," and the absolute confidence that was placed in the messages so delivered, cannot be better illustrated than by what happened during a visit of some "English Friends" to our meetings in Philadelphia, when I was about seventeen. I should say here that it was the custom among the "Friends" for preachers in different places to have what they called "religious concerns" to visit other Meetings and neighbourhoods, in, as they quaintly expressed it, "the service of Truth." These visits were always occasions of great interest to us young people, even though the preacher might not have come from any great distance; but when they came from Quaker "Opportunities" 67 England, which was to us an unknown land of grandeur and of mystery, our awe and rever- ence knew no bounds. "English Friends" seemed to us almost like visitants from an angelic sphere; and to be noticed or spoken to by one of them made the fortunate recipients feel as though Heaven itself had come down to them. The English Friends I speak of were enter- tained, during their stay in Philadelphia, by Marmaduke and Sarah Cope, who lived in Filbert Street opposite to our house. Their daughter Madgie, was an intimate friend of mine, and one morning she came to me in a great state of excitement over a remarkable "Opportunity," which she said one of the "English Friends" had had the evening before with a young man we both knew. She said some Friends had dropped in to see the English Friends, and during the course of the evening, an "Opportunity" had come upon them, and one of the travelling Friends had begun to preach. After a short ex- hortation, he had singled out this young man, and had addressed him in a most remarkable manner, telling him that he had received a direct call from God to enter into the ministry, and prophesying that he was to become a great preacher, and was to visit far distant lands in the "service of Truth." I can remember vividly to this day the profound impression made upon me by this occurrence. The preacher who had delivered the message to this young man was one upon whom 1 had placed 68 The Unselfishness of God all my hopes for a direct message, and had been disappointed; and now he had prophesied about a young man, who in my opinion was no more deserving than myself, the very things that I was always wanting some preacher to prophesy about me. I confess 1 felt deep pangs of jealousy that the " Divine favour" should have overlooked me, and been bestowed upon one who really seemed to me no more worthy. However, it was all a part of the great romance of our lives, and there was always the possibility that it might still, at some blessed "Opportunity," be bestowed upon me, and I went about for days full of the subject. A day or two after it occurred I was out driving with a very especial friend, the one who, as will appear in another part of my story, had been the means of my awakening at sixteen. 1 was at this time nearly seventeen, and my friend was perhaps nine or ten years older. I had for her a very adoring friendship, and always poured out into her sympathizing ears everything that inter- ested me. Being this day full of the subject, I of course detailed the whole story to her, investing it with all the importance it had assumed in my own eyes. My friend seemed deeply interested, and asked a great many questions as to the de- tails of the "message" and how it had affected the young man. Not many weeks afterwards she told me she was engaged to be married to this very young man, and confessed that she had been largely influenced in her decision by what I had told her, as she was sure the prophecy made Quaker "Opportunities" 69 in that " Opportunity " would be fulfilled, and she felt it would be a great privilege to be united to one whose future was to be so full of work in the " service of Truth." I have always watched the career of that young man with the deepest interest, because I could not help feeling at the time that he had received a message which by rights ought to have come to me; and I must confess that the prophecies which made me so jealous have never been fulfilled in his case; and, now that we are both old people, 1 cannot but see that my life has come far nearer their fulfillment than his. He has been a most upright, conscientious man, and truly religious in a quiet way, but he has never become a preacher, nor done any public Christian work. While I, without any " message " or any "call," such as I was always longing for, and supposed to be necessary, did become a preacher and have tried to proclaim in many countries the "good news of the gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ." In this case, therefore, the "message" seemed to fail to find entrance. But on so many occa- sions similar messages were so marvellously ful- filled, and the accounts of these cases were so constantly retailed to us as strengtheners to our faith, that it is no wonder we grew up with a profound belief in their infallibility. I have many times known a Quaker preacher in a " Meeting " or an " Opportunity " make a revelation to an in- dividual present of something known only to that individual, or prophesy something for the yo The Unselfishness of God future of an individual or of a community, of which there was no present indication, but which came true just as it had been declared it would. I knew one woman Friend, who seemed to have this gift in a remarkable degree. I remem- ber her once stopping in the middle of a sermon she was preaching at a week-day meeting to a congregation of entire strangers, and saying, "A young man has entered this room who has in his pocket some papers by means of which he is about to commit a great sin. If he will come to see me this afternoon at (mentioning the house at which she was staying), I have a mes- sage from the Lord to give him that will show him a way out of his trouble." She then resumed her sermon where she had left off, and said noth- ing further of the incident. I was very much in- terested to follow this up, and I found a strange young man did in fact call on the preacher that afternoon and confess that he had a forged cheque in his pocket, which he was on his way to cash, when some influence, he could not tell what, had induced him to turn into the Meeting-house as he was passing. His name was not asked for nor given, but the message from the Lord was deliv- ered, and the young man tore up the forged cheque in the preacher's presence, and promised to lead a new life. And some years afterwards the preacher met him and found that this promise had been fulfilled. On another occasion, when this same preacher was staying in the country at the house of a Quaker "Opportunities" 71 cousin of mine, she came down to breakfast one morning and said that the Lord had revealed to her in the night that she was to take a message to a man living some miles off. No name had been given her, nor any indication as to the whereabouts of the man she was to see, but she told my cousin, that, if he would take her in his carriage, she was sure the Lord would show them in which direction to go. They set out therefore, and the preacher pointed out one road after another which they were to take, and, finally, when about six miles from home, and in a part of the country about which neither the preacher nor my cousin knew anything, she pointed to a house they saw in the distance, and said, " that is the house, and when we get there I shall find the man in the garden, and thou may wait for me at the gate." They accordingly stopped at this house, and, while my cousin waited, the preacher went straight through the grounds into the gar- den, and delivered her message to the man she found there. She told him he was contemplat- ing a very wrong action which would bring great trouble upon himself and his family, but the Lord was willing to deliver him, and had sent her to open his eyes to the sin and the danger of what he had decided to do. The man was deeply im- pressed, and, after a little hesitation, confessed that all she had said was true, and that that very day had been the time when his plan was to have been carried out, but that now he dared not go on with it. He then and there gave it up, and 72 The Unselfishness of God said, after such a manifest token of God's inter- est in him, he would put the whole matter into His care, and would trust Him to manage it. And after events proved that this had been really done, and that all had turned out far better than he could have expected. Were there space I could relate hundreds of similar incidents, but these will suffice. It will easily be understood, however, that, in the face of facts such as these, it is not to be wondered at that we were full of faith. Until I was mar- ried, a Minister was to me a person altogether removed from the ordinary ranks of men and women, a being almost from another sphere, with none of the common weaknesses of hu- manity, set apart for a Divine work, and en- dowed with almost Divine attributes. When I was a child 1 used to sit and watch them in " meeting " as they sat in long rows on the high benches facing the audience, the men on one side and the women on the other, expecting every minute to see revealed the halo which I was sure must be encircling their heads, although invisible to me. And sometimes, when 1 got tired of waiting, I would screw up my eyes until 1 cre- ated a sort of shining circle around every object I looked at, and then tried to persuade myself that this was the invisible halo I was so longing to see. As I grew older these fancies of course left me; but for many years a delightful mystery and awe still encircled the "gallery Friends: " and the com- Quaker " Opportunities " 73 ing of a " travelling Minister " continued to fill me with eager and delicious expectations. Espe- cially was this the case after my awakening at sixteen. In my diary 1 wrote in reference to the very Minister who had given that wonderful message to the young man, as follows: — "Eleventh month, 29th, 1848. I heard to-day the most delightful news I have heard for a long time. The English Friends, dear Benjamin See- bohm and Robert Lindsay, are expected in town by next First Day. Oh! won't it be joyful! joy- ful! They will be at our First Day evening meeting. Hurrah! Oh! I am so glad I can hardly contain myself. 1 am very different from what I was when they were here last. Deeper than the gilded surface Ilath my wakeful vision seen, Further than the narrow present Have my journeyings been. I have, midst life's empty visions, Heard the solemn step of time, And the low mysterious voices Of another clime. All the mystery of Being lias upon my Spirit pressed; Thoughts which, like the Deluge wanderer Find no place of rest." I fully expected these inspired Friends to know by inward revelation all I had been going through, and of course hoped they would have a Divine message for me, direct from God. The longed for First Day came and 1 went to meeting with 74 The Unselfishness of God my brother, full of fearsome yet delicious antici- pations. But alas! as was always the case with me, 1 was doomed to disappointment. Still it might come another time, and 1 lived in hope. It was this constant expectation of a direct word from God that made the romance of my young life, and that was 1 feel sure, one of the secrets of the great hold Quakerism had on the young people of my day. But, except for this inspirational preaching, we received from our society very little definite re- ligious teaching of any kind. We had, as 1 have said, no Sunday-schools, and no Bible classes, and doctrines and dogmas were, to me at least, an absolutely unknown quantity. We had no Catechism and were not even taught the Ten Commandments, as they were felt to belong to the old Jewish dispensation which had passed away in Christ. I do not suppose that 1 was ever told so, but I had a distinct feeling as a child that the Ten Commandments, like the Lord's Prayer, were for "gay" and "worldly" uses. I felt somehow that they belonged only to the outside world, (/'. e., all who were not Friends,) who probably needed outward commandments to keep them good, while we Friends were to be good from deeper motives. For it was not that the moral training of the "Ten Commandments" had ceased to be binding, but that the Friends believed it was far more fully taught in the new commandments of the dispensation of Christ, which were to be written, not on tables of stone, Quaker "Opportunities" 75 nor even on the pages of a book, but upon the spiritual tablets of our hearts. They believed that, because we were in Christ, we were to be controlled by a law from within and not by a law from without; and to them it was literally true that for people who were led of the Spirit, there "was no law." They taught that the fruit of the indwelling Spirit would necessarily be the fulfilling of the law, and that therefore no outward law would be needed; that, just as a man who is honest at heart needs no law to keep him from dishonesty, so, if a man is truly a Christian, he will need no law to make him act as a Christian ought to act. He will do it by the impulse of his inward life. The early Friends fully believed that if God has pos- session of the heart He will work in us both to will and to do of His own good pleasure, and that an outward law, therefore, would be a superfluity. We were consequently directed to yield ourselves to this inward Divine working, and to listen for the Voice of the Holy Spirit in our hearts; and we were taught that, when this Voice was heard, it must be implicitly and faith- fully obeyed. We were to expect to hear this " inward voice " at any or all times, and about all things; but were encouraged to look for it especially in our " meet- ings for worship" when the whole congrega- tion were sitting in silence "before the Lord." Quaker meetings were always held on this basis of silent waiting, in order that in the silence, the The Unselfishness of God Holy Spirit migiit have an opportunity of speak- ing directly to each individual soul. The Friends recognized the unseen but living presence of Christ in their meetings, and no individual was set apart to "conduct their service," or to be a mediator between their souls and their invisible Teacher. The silence might not be broken by any one, not even by an "acknowledged Minis- ter," except under a sense of the direct and im- mediate guidance of the Spirit; but, under that guidance, any one, even the poorest washer- woman or the smallest child, might deliver the "message." This gave a mysterious and even romantic interest to our meetings, as we never knew what might happen, or who, even perhaps ourselves, might be " led " to take part. I cannot say, however, that anything especial ever came to me in any meeting. Now and then a sermon would be preached that seemed perhaps to apply to my case, but never strikingly enough to really impress me; and now and then it would happen that by some mysterious influence my heart would be "tendered," as it was termed, and 1 would feel for a little while as though God did after all care for me and would help me. But as a general thing my "meetings" were mostly passed in building air castles, an occupation that I felt to be very wrong, but which had an irre- sistible fascination for me. Curiously enough, these day dreams never took the form of love stories, as youthful air castles so generally do, 1 suppose because I had never been allowed to read Quaker " Opportunities " 77 novels, and never heard anything about falling in love. But I always made myself out to be some- thing very wonderful and grand, and the admired of all beholders. Sometimes I was to be a preacher whose eloquence was to surpass the eloquence of all preachers since the world began; sometimes I was to be an inventor of more wonderful machines than ever had been invented before; but more often 1 was to be the most marvellous singer the world had ever known ; and the ' ' meet- ings" that stand out in my memory more dis- tinctly than any other, were those of one especial winter in my fourteenth year, when 1 endowed myself with an undreamed of gift for singing, that electrified everybody, and brought the world to my feet. Why I pitched on singing for my day dreams 1 cannot imagine, as it was a for- bidden worldliness among the Quakers, and was something 1 scarcely ever heard, either in public or private; and I was myself so utterly devoid of any musical talent that during my whole life I have not been able to sing a note, or even to dis- tinguish one tune from another. But so it was; and there I used to sit on the bench beside my mother, through many a long meeting, outwardly a demure little Quaker, but inwardly a great prima donna, (not that 1 called myself that) with my whole foolish little heart swelling and burst- ing with the glory of my triumphs on the stage, which however was a place I had never even so much as seen! Sometimes, however, my conscience would yS The Unselfishness of God not permit me to indulge in my day dreams, and then my "meetings" would be filled with futile struggles against wandering thoughts, or with vain efforts to resist an uncontrollable desire to sleep, for to "sleep in meeting" was felt by all of us to be almost a crowning disgrace. Whether on the whole those long, solemn meetings, with their great stretches of silence, and with sermons, when there were any, that made very little direct appeal to me, were or were not a valuable part of my religious training, I do not feel prepared to say. But one thing is certain, that, whether from the preaching in our meetings, or from the conversation of our elders, or from the atmosphere around us, there were certain strong impressions made upon me which stand out vividly in my memory. VII QUAKER GUIDANCE THE strongest impression made upon my young heart was the paramount privilege we as Quakers enjoyed in our l