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AFTER MANY DAYS.
MR. JACKSON'S peculiarities, not to say his eccentricities, were so marked that be was rarely referred to by his name,
even by the people of the Inn, but remained as he had been styled at first, -- "the stranger." Somehow he seemed
foreigrn to their life, and equally foreign to that of the ordinary traveller. He had shown the utmost friendliness,
and taken a great interest in all the affairs of the Inn, but had not intermeddled nor manifested any undue
familiarity. His religious views had been a matter of considerable speculation in the neighborhood. There could be
no question as to the profoundly religious tendency of his nature, nor was there any doubt in the minds of the people
as to the sincerity of his professions. He attended the religious gatherings held within reasonable distance of the
Inn, seeming to be equally at home in all without regard to sect. His devotional aspect, absorbed attention, and
general impressiveness of manner affected all very favorably,
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and made Methodists and Baptists alike anxious to claim him as one of themselves. But when they approached him in
regard to his own sectarian views and affiliations, the result was eminently unsatisfactory. He seemed not inclined
to doctrinal disquisition, or to argument of any kind. Indeed, there was a brevity and sternness about him that
smacked more of command than of importunity. He was one of those men whose peculiar manner impresses even strangers
with the impulse of obedience, and the expectation of ready compliance with his wish had apparently been confirmed
by the habit of command. Though he took no part in any religious exercises, except by giving strict attention and
making occasional responses, all deferred to him in a manner, and all looked upon him as an exemplary and godly man.
Efforts to induce him to express a preference for one creed or another were, however, futile. Every one knew that a
man of such a positive character could not fail to have fixed and positive religious convictions but what his were,
no one could determine. He had been driven by dint of much indirect inquiry for he was by no means a man to whom
one would. care to put leading questions in regard to what be
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manifested no inclination to speak about -- to admit that he was not "exactly" a Methodist, nor "exactly" a Baptist;
and he was known to be neither a Congregationalist nor a Presbyterian. As these were the chief sects of this region,
whose life sprung almost entirely from New England, it was quite impossible for the gossips of the neighborhood to
determine "exactly" what he was.
The border-land that lies between an established civilization and a new one is always fertile in religious ideas.
Not only does a new creed usually bring with it a new political and social life, but such new life most frequently
offers occasion, if it does not develop the need, for a new belief. Out of the relations between Egypt and Israel
sprang Judaism while the domination of the Roman by weakening popular faith in the Mosaic system, opened the way
for a broader and nobler ideal. Out of these came the opportunity of Christianity. So too with Christian sects; new
forms and new dogmas have ever abounded on the borders of the new civilizations which they have encountered. Luther
and Calvin and Knox were not less the products of disturbed political and social conditions than the proximate causes
of religious
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convulsion. Our American border-life was peculiarly fecund in such religious movements. Solitude is the nurse not
only of inspiration, but also of self-delusion. The forest and the desert are especially the nurseries of prophets
and pretenders. There is something about the silence and seclusion in which man walks the very lord of all he sees,
that builds up his self-reliance and exalts the consciousness of individual power to a point rarely if ever attained
by those dwelling in the midst of crowded populations. The cloister may offer a temporary and imperfect substitute,
but the divine frenzy that comes only from undoubting confidence in one's own convictions is rarely found in the
city-bred enthusiast. In him there is always something that smacks of pretence and design. He who looks often in
the faces of men is sure to fear the multitude. Public opinion flexes his judgment, and the fear of ridicule makes
him a coward. It is only in the man whose surroundings compel habitual self-communing, and yet are not of
overwhelming grandeur, that conviction grows strong enough to become an unquestioning faith, not in another's
teachings, the doctrines of a particular sect or the tenets of a special creed, but in the results of his own
solitary meditation.
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The presence of the multitude crushes out individuality. It may quicken the pulse, sharpen the wit, and improve
the externals, but it breaks down the confidence of man in his own conclusions, motives, aspirations, and beliefs.
So, too, the wilder forms of Nature are not conducive to the highest individualism. The silence and sameness of the
forest; the dull level of the unbounded desert; the fen, with the sea sobbin among its rushes, but the limitless
power of its breakers held at a distance from the accustomed haunt, -- these and other forms of less striking
solitude have ever been the surroundings in which man has reached the climax of individual power. From Moses to
El Mahdi the prophets who have left the impress of their faith on thousands or millions of followers have had this
training. Remoteness from the centres of humanity and a not too near exposure to the grander forms of Nature these
two thinas seem to be essential to the perfection of individual power. The rugged mountain-range and the boisterous
ocean-shore have never been fertile in religious phantasies, or productive of great natural leaders. The moor, the
forest, the desert, and the shore of the inland sea may nourish religious contemplation until the saint
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becomes a seer, and the seer. a prophet who deems himself divinely ordained to do the work of the Almighty. The
ocean, with its eternal symphony of terror, crushes out speculation, thrills the soul with awe, until it shrinks
within itself and clamors for external aid, and inclines the mind not to speculation and dissent, but to faith and
superstition. He that dwells by the seashore is almost always a believer. He may be an enthusiast, but he is rarely
a doubter, and never a promulgator of strange doctrines or new beliefs.
Our Western forests nourished prophets and messiahs by the score. New sects and new creeds sprang up under their
shadow almost as readily as new towns and new States. Freedom from te restraint of old institutions encouraged also
freedom of religious belief. There were "Free" Baptists, "Free" Presbyterians, "Free" Methodists, and even "Free"
Quakers; a like series of "Independents" and sects distinguished from other known bodies by special prefixes such
as "Christian," "Protestant," or "Primitive," as well as many having entirely new and self-distinguishing names and
holding special unrelated tenets. It was at this time that the witty Frenchman spoke of our country as a land
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of "one hundred religions and but one sauce." It was true for the first half of this century our country was a
hot-bed of new beliefs. Infinite space and unechoing solitude, in a climate compelling mental activity, incline a
people al- ways to the contemplation of infinite subjects, questions in regard to the divine essence, purpose, and
attributes. Until the thirst for wealth became a universal disease, and Mammon set up his golden idol for us to
worship, the American people were among the most religiously inclined of any in the world, -- perhaps more than any
that the world has known since the overthrow of the Jewish hierarchy. There was little harmony in form or method,
but there was universal accord in result. To be religious to believe in something, and believe in it with might,
mind, soul, and strength, was accounted the first duty of man. The young might be permitted to be frivolous and
even profane, but with arrival at maturity a sober religious cast of mind was expected. The were exceedingly lax in
the observance of formal laws of the Church as well as of the State. Of frivolity there was very little. Christmas
was curiously regarded. Religious service was Generally held on that day, but it was not popularly observed
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as a day of merry-making. It was rather a supernumerary Sabbath than a holiday, in the ordinary acceptance of the
term. In fact, mirth and gladness were divorced from religion, except it was a state of religious exaltation
bordering on frenzy, which was accounted the inexpressible and exclusive joy of the believer. The forest did not
make them more religious than other people, in the sense of scrupulous observance of forms or ceremonies, or strict
adherance to the letter of the law. But united with the political impulse toward individualism, it gave us a
phenominal independence of authority, united with a universally religious cast of thougbt, which has produced
some strangely discordant results. Much that came from these conditions was good and admirable; some of it was
whimsical, and some monstrous.
This religiousness did not consist in careful and anxious observance of ceremonial or the unquestioning acceptance
of any particular form of belief, but rather in a universal tendency to speculation in regard to religious matters.
Every one might not have his own distinctive creed, but he was pretty sure to have his own construction of accepted
dogmas. It was the outcome of the personal piety of the Puritan,
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colored by the contempt for authority and all forms of external restraint, which marked the Yankee in his westward
course across the continent. Learning was almost as little esteemed as authority neither were thought essential to
a knowledge of the divine will or conducive to divine favor. Individual consciousness was exalted to a level with
the inspired Word. The "witness of the spirit" made all men equal. The most unlearned disputed with confidence with
the wisest on the subtlest points of doctrine. Men believed that they walked with God" in an almost literal sense.
Communion with the Divine -- direct and conscious influence and inspiration -- was a usual rather than an exceptional
form of belief and experience. The most marvellous of miracles was the most commonplace incident of an ordinary
religious experience. Intelligence intensified rather than lessened this curious effect, because intelligence
recognized the supernal, and could not deny the miraculous experience of one while admitting that of another.
In other lands and other times such religious exaltation has expended itself in the zealous observance of special
rites, in mortifying penance, in the worship of saints, and abject obedience
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to ecclesiastical authority. None of these marked the great tide of religious sentiment that swept over the land
during the first balf-century of our national existence. The overthrow of political authority had generated an
absolute contempt of ecclesiastical restraint. Toleration had reached its utmost limit. Religiousness of any sort
was respected and respectable: irreligion of the very mildest character was counted little less than a crime.
Sects multiplied so that it was almost impossible to say where one ended and another began. Men spoke as familiarly
of their relations with God as with each other. Repentance formed an impenetrable cloak for all irregularities of
life. Appeal from the authorities of the various churches to the Most High God and the American people was open to
all, and was made with little hesitation. Piety meant personal communion with Deity; from that to specific revelation
was but a brief step.
Out of this almost universal sense of immediate contact with the Deity came more than one curious result, tolerance
and intolerance, credulousness and unbelief, new sects, new methods, new doctrines, and one absolutely new religion.
Prophets by the score arose proclaiming new ways
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and new tenets, but only one had the boldness to overleap the confines of Christian faith and
proclaim an absolutely new dispensation. At first, even this new theosophy did not seek to disturb the established
order. It inculcated temperance, industry, and, without proclaiming community of goods, made want impossible and
poverty exceedingly rare among its votaries. It based its claims not on a complete and finished revelation, but on a
continuing inspiration, a living prophet, and a cumulative law. Strange enough, this sect took its rise and secured its first foot-hold in
the most religious and intelligent part of the country, -- western New York and northern Ohio. At the time of which
we write it was just assuming definite form. Since then it has dropped some of its vagaries and assumed more definite
and distinctive features. Though the name of Jesus Christ was assumed as a part of its titular appellation, it
retained little of the accepted Christian idea except that of immediate personal intercommunion with the Deity which
American Christianity had carried to such an unprecedented length. Doctrinally speaking, Mormonism
is but an exaggeration of the idea of personal communion, control, and direction which pervaded the religious
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atmosphere of that day. It is a religion of intermitting revelation, of present miracles, and continuing prophetic
guidance. The breaking down of ancient barriers brings sometimes liberty and sometimes license. The
"internal light" of the Friends is but little removed from the claim of prophetic inspiration of the Mormon and the
miraculous "witness of the Spirit" on which other Christian sects insist with more or less emphasis. The idea
of personal guidance by signs and tokens of the divine will, which was so notable a characteristic of the Puritan
faith, yielded some strange fruits when freed from the restraints of established institutions, and removed from the
atmosphere it had created for itself in New England. Of these, by far the most notable was the new religion which
sprang up in the very midst of the best life of the land, has now become the established belief of more than a quarter
of a million souls, and presents today one of the most difficult questions that has ever come before the American
people for solution.
Socially, as well as religiously, this was a period of peculiar interest. It was the unrecognized nidus of forces
unparalleled in history. Hand and brain were just awakening to a new
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life. So swift has been our subsequent development, that it seems as if until that time man had only slumbered
on the earth. As yet wealth was little esteemed as an index of social rank. The richest and the poorest stood on
the same social level. In fact the rich were very few, and the very poor were fewer still. Luxuries were rare, but
of necessities there was so general an abundance as to amount almost to universal superfluity. The reign of
machinery had hardly begun. The locomotive was scarcely a recognized factor of transportation paper was yet made
by hand; cast-iron stoves and plows were almost unknown nails were still made by the smith. Invention bad hardly
opened the door of wonderland. American mechanical genius, yet lay in chrysalid slumber. One clerk in the office
of the Secretary of State did all the work of granting patents to our inventors until the year before Ozro's
application was made. In the first half century of our government there were issued barely ten thousand patents, --
as many are granted now in half a year. At the time of which we write the Patent Office, just established as a
separate bureau, consisted of a Commissioner and three clerks. Even these found the time to hang heavy on their
hands.
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That year another clerk was added, and the administration was attacked for extravagance in consequence.
A simple people standing on the verse of an epoch of unparalleled material prosperity, but as yet concerned more
with religious and political speculation than with the competition for wealth, composed the two great tides of
life which radiated from two great centres, the one at the East and the other at the South, over all that
constitutes our present national domain.
To such people the religious proclivities of a man like Mr. Jackson were a matter of serious speculation, -- to
none more so than to the land-lady of the Inn whose religious intensity found in his stern, almost ascetic, fervor
a kindred sentiment. With her it was no question of, approval. To whatever sect he might belong she recognized not
only the divine nature of his zeal, but felt that his associations must have had something to do with shaping his
religious character. She was predisposed after four months' scrutiny of his blameless life to recognize in this
unyielding pietist not only a man of high rank in the sect to which be belonged, but one entitled to consideration
because of his life and character.
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When, therefore, he proclaimed himself in no doubtful tones "the servant of the Most High God," she yielded
submissively to his dictation. He was not indeed like other men, and taught not like other religious teachers.
The imperiousness of undoubting faith and the sincerity of a zeal which even the fear of martyrdom could not
quench showed in his demeanor and thrilled in his hoarse, rasping tones. He was one of those who say even to a
stranger, "Go, and he goeth." To her who had noted his demeanor so long; who had seen him retire to his own room
three times a day for prayer and meditation who realized the self-restraint which held him back from participation
in the worship of others, yet compelled him to give it the sanction of his presence and approval, -- to her he
spake with an authority which she did not dream of gainsaying. When he had commanded them to make merry, though
her heart was sore and apprehensive of what might be in store for the future, she hardly thought of questioning.
Indeed, at that very moment had flashed through her mind, the words of the yet unrecognized Messiah, when in that
"beginning of miracles" he said to his mother, Woman, what have I to do with thee? and paying no further heed to
her remonstrance,
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commanded the wondering servants to "Fill the waterpots with water." She had taken this as a divine behest that
she should comply with the wishes of this masterful stranger who had dwelt so long beneath her roof, and was still
a stranger. Where he lived, what was his business or position, none knew. He had witnessed strange and stirring
scenes of which he sometimes spoke, but without any allusion to himself, except as an eye-witness. He seemed to
know all phases of life, and more than once had startled the good woman with that knowledge which brought conviction
to the heart of Nathanael, when the Master said to him,
"Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee." As soon as she could, therefore,
she went to her own room to read over again the familiar story of these miracles.
Ozro and Dewstowe bad alone to the barn to prepare the horses for the road. Dotty had packed the traveller's
luncheon in his saddlebags and returned to finish up the "morning's work." It was no light task, and the mother had
left more of it than usual for her to do that morning. She was a brave-hearted strong, limbed girl, however, and
went out and in about
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her work as blithe and cheerful as if it had no hint of hardship in it. The stranger watched her from the. side
of the fireplace with evident approval.
"Dotty," he said at length, in a voice tender despite its hoarseness. It was the first time he had ever addressed
her so familiarly, and she looked at him in surprise. She was just lifting the tea-kettle to hang it on the crane
which swung over the fireplace, bolding back her skirts with the other hand as she did so to keep them from the
flame.
"Dotty," the stranger repeated with affectionate emphasis, "what would you do if you had a fortune?"
"I'd pay off the mortgage on this Inn for the first thing," said the girl, with prompt decision.
"But suppose that was already paid off?"
"But it ain't and I cannot suppose anything of that sort!"
"It is, and you shall carry the release to your father presently. Now what would you do?"
"Who paid it?"
"I did."
"And you --?"
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"I wanted to make a Christmas present."
"And you gave all that?"
"I could give much more and not feel it seriously."
"Why, you must be made of gold!" exclaimed Dotty, in great surprise.
"You see I am not," he rejoined with a laugh that brought on his cough.
"Well, who are you anyhow?
"An humble servant of the Lord!"
"So you said," responded Dotty, mischievously. "We've had lots of them here, but they are not generally so much
inclined to give as to receive."
"To one He givetb thirty, to another sixty, and to another a hundred-fold," said the stranger, solemnly. "The Lord
has been very kind to me, and as I have freely received so would I freely give to them He points out to me as
faithful trustees of His benefits."
"You don't think I would be?" said the girl in surprise. "I am not one of the elect. I'm not even a I 'professor' at
all, -- Ozro nor I either. It's queer. Ma brought us up very strict, and Ozro's good enough for a whole church;
but we ain't 'professors,' and it don't seem like we ever will be."
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The girl was washing a great iron spider in the pan of water in which the dishes from the table bad been cleansed,
as she spoke, holding it by one hand, while she yielded the dish-cloth with the other.
"Well, what would you do with a fortune if you had it?" persisted the stranger. She rested the edge of the spider
on the table, and squeezed the water from the cloth meditatively as she replied:
"Really, I don't know. Pa and Ma don't need it if the mortgage is paid. Ozro will make enouah out of his inventions,
and -- and -- really," she continued turning to him, "I don't see as I should have any use for it."
"How about Mr. Dewstowe?" asked Mr. Jackson, slyly.
"Oh," she answered with a frank smile, "he's got enough of his own."
"So you've no use for money?"
"No -- that is -- if I knew."
She hesitated, and looked at her interlocutor half distrustfully.
"Well, if you knew what?" he said encouragingly
"I don't know as I ought to say what I was going to."
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"You need not be afraid to speak freely to me." "I am not, sir, but -- it is very strange don't know -- well, it
was about my brother Jack, sir. If I only knew he was comfortable, sir."
"Your brother Jack!" exclaimed the stranger, with a start. "I thought be was dead?"
"So he may be," said the girl, cautiously. "I only meant if he was alive and was -- well, say comfortably well
off -- I should have nothing more to ask for, and would not know what to do with money, if I had it."
"You don't want a rich husband, then?"
"Oh she said, resuming her work and wiping out the inside of the spider with the cloth she held in her hand,
"I'd like him to be well off of course; but I should expect him to take care of that."
"For fear he should not, I want to make you a wedding present; but if I do, you must not let it be known until
you are engaged to be married. Do you agree to that?"
"I don't know," said the girl, thoughtfully.
"I might think he ought to know it even if we were not really engaged, you know."
"Well, at least you would not tell him without first asking me?"
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"I don't know sir," she responded, setting the spider in its place by the chimney-jamb. I don't believe I would
like to have much under such conditions. I would, of course, remember that you did not want me to say anything
about it; but I should not like to promise I would not tell if I thought I ought to."
"Well," said he, laughing, "you are a stubborn girl, and I guess you come honestly by that attribute. If you will
wipe your hands, I will let you have what I intended to give you." She turned to the towel-rack and dried her hands
in the method approved by the Pharisees, who washed and wiped "to the elbow." Then she came and stood before him.
He took a package of papers from his pocket, selected one, and handed it to her.
"That is for you," he said.
She turned it over curiously.
"May I look at it?" she asked.
"Certainly; read it."
Dotty opened it and glanced at its contents. It was a long document, couched in legal phraseology which she only
half understood; but she did understand enough to know that she was made richer by that instrument than she had
ever thought to be.
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The tears sprang, to her eyes, and falling on her knees she seized the stranger's band and kissed it again and
again. A look of calm content came over Mr. Jackson's face as he smoothed the hair about her forehead with the
other hand, and said:
"There, there, don't cry!"
"But who are you that does such wonderful things?" she asked appealingly.
He smiled curiously down at her, and said:
"No matter, dear; I am one whose work is almost done."
She looked at him in wonder and awe as she rose to her feet.
"And now," said he "I wish you would take this to your father, -- and this to your mother. Then by the time you
get your cloak on, Mr. Dewstowe will be ready for his ride, -- unless, indeed, he and Ozro have fought and killed
each other already."
"Oh, no fear of that," Dotty answered brightly.
"Well, perhaps not; but don't be too sure. Run away now!"
She stooped quickly and kissed him, -- then fled while her cheeks flushed a burning red.
"I could not help it!" she said to herself as
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she went along the porch. ""And I'm sure he deserved it. Anybody would kiss a man as good as he is,"
Dotty gave her father a bulky document, "with Mr. Jackson's compliments," and took a small sealed note to her
mother, who was sitting by the window with the great family Bible open on her knee. Dotty put the paper she had
herself received in her pocket, drew on her wraps, and when Dewstowe and the traveller drove to the porch with
the latter's horse fastened to the sleigh she was ready to start. Ozro seemed more serious than usual as he helped
her to her seat, tucked the robes about her, and then turning quickly away entered the house. The landlord came out
upon the porch as they drove off, looking dazed and flurried. The landlad baving opened the letter her daughter had
brought, read these words
"Luke xv. 24."
Turning to the book upon her knee she found the place indicated, and read:
"For this my son was dead, and is alive again he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry."
The snow sparkled in the chill sunshine. The bells jingled merrily. Dotty's red hood
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disappeared. The landlady caught a glimpse of Ozro's set face as he crossed the porch, and then her husband's
stalwart form came into the field of vision walking hastily and swinging his arms nervously. In one hand he held
a large closely-written sheet bearing a seal of red wafer.
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