Show your colors ; or, A story of Boston life

Front matter

MEADE

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Preface

On one of the mountains in New Hampshire there is a human face, carved in the rock by an unseen hand. Daniel Webster, standing with a company of gentlemen who represented different portions of the country, paused and directed their attention to Profile Rock, and said : “ Gentlemen, merchants hang up their signs over their stores, telling what they keep to sell. That face on that bold granite peak declares to all the world that New England has a commission from the Almighty to grow men.” Whether the reader has seen the sign or not, the people of all lands are familiar with the fact that this portion of New England wares brings a sure premium wherever her cultured sons and daughters find a home.

Arthur Chester, the son of a Unitarian clergyman, represents the average New England boy. Robert Graham is an illustration of what maybe done by a youth who loves Christ and dares stand up for the truth. Alice and Nina Hollister are bright and beautiful specimens of the women who are the centers of influence which give tone to society, and illustrate the truth that there is something better for women to do than imitate the ballet-girls of Paris or waste the possibilities of youth amid fashionable frivolities and demoralizing dissipations.

In the homes such as we have described, linked armor is woven for the soul which withstands the temptations of life. It is what the child is within, that makes contact with the world perilous. Be true to the young, teach them to be true to themselves by giving to Christ a welcome, and they will outride the storm and may defy the billows. Believing that the heart wants heart, and that it is possible at a tender age to twine the tendrils

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of love about the strong support of the Cross, the way to Calvary has been described, and the spiritual conflicts incident to the new birth have been portrayed, while the victor’s wreath and the Christian’s joy have been set forth in language which every child of God will understand.

The book was written with the feeling that it is time that a class of children, such as we love and honor in our churches and homes, be described. Novelists delight to dig out of the filth and degradation of society a jewel which proves to be the son of a nobleman, and comes to the possession of fabulous wealth, while the sons and daughters on whom we must build our hopes of future growth are ignored, as though jewels that have been polished and set were wanting in value, or as if there was nothing romantic in goodness, and no beauty to be desired in unostentatious piety.

This book but feebly portrays the author’s sincere respect for the young men and women who are brave and true enough to accept the teachings of the Bible as the rule of their faith and practice, by refusing to “ sow wild oats,” or to enter the paths of sin ; but who, instead, seek “ to walk in the way of good men and keep the paths of the righteous,” and spend their strength in lifting up Christ, that all may be drawn unto Him.

J. D. F.

Brooklyn, March 1st, 1875.

Chapter I. Boston Of The Olden Time

Arthur Chester was a boy of whom any father might well be proud. Born in Boston, and proud of his birth-place, he grew up amid the fostering influences that people the air, look out from the buildings, and ramify and circulate among its crooked streets. The town is the outgrowth of the civilization, education, and peculiarities that distinguish New England life. The history of Boston links the nation to the stern days of Puritanism. There the Revolutionary struggle began. The names of James Otis, John Adams, and Samuel Adams of the past are no more glorious than are the names of men who have fought the battles through which the fathers commenced. The town

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is distinguished no more for Faneuil Hall, the cradle of liberty, than for its Latin school, the cradle of genius, where an Edward Everett, Wendell Phillips, and Charles Sumner were schooled. Its old South Church is no more creditable to its past history than is Tremont Temple to its present, and the little library which was founded by the fathers was but a forerunner to the Free Library which is the heir-loom of every Boston boy and girl. Bunker Hill Monument, that attracts thousands to Charlestown, is only one of a class of monuments which inspire patriotic sentiments and educate the rising generation to love and defend liberty. Boston is in many ways peculiar to itself. No other city has its educational advantages. The schools are of the highest order, the lecture courses, the free libraries, the reading-rooms, the cultured men and women often seen in public meetings and always honored, the preachers that fill the pulpits, the elegant homes, stored with art and lined with libraries, Harvard in the suburbs, with the shaded roads and quiet paths of Cambridge, the tree where Washington assumed command, the house in which he lived, and where Longfellow finds a home, the church in which he worshiped, the picture-gallery in which are his best portraits, with those of Adams, Story, Franklin, Whitefield, and other names not born to die — all this helps to make Boston the Athens of America. Of all this, and of much more besides connected with Boston’s past and present, Arthur Chester was proud. His father was a Unitarian minister of the Evangelical school, whose home in a neighboring town was near enough to Boston to keep him in rapport with the intellectual life of the great city. He had graduated at Harvard, and retained a knowledge of the classics to such an extent that he not only fitted his own son for the university, but furnished a good resort where many a wild and reckless boy might get tamed down and helped to regain a standing in his class.

Arthur was a wild and rollicksome youth.

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He was handsome in form and feature, generous to a fault, quick, witty, and versatile. His mother believed in him, and never joined in any prophecies against him, but kept the lamp of a mother’s faith burning brightly, not only upon the altar of her heart, but in the parish where she walked and worked. She lived and wrought for Arthur. The father believed in his boy having a good chance to make the most of himself. He gave Arthur a good start, and so he entered college well up in the languages, mathematics, and general literature. He was a good musician and a good singer, and the boy inherited his taste for music, and by diligence acquired skill. Though in moderate circumstances, the father determined that his boy should have help sufficient to keep him in good heart, and not enough to cause young men to seek his acquaintance because of any adventitious help which might be hoped for through his money. Arthur’s childhood had been passed in the quiet of his home, surrounded by the chastened and refined atmosphere of the parsonage. His mother had faith in boys. She saw in a child not only the possibilities of manhood, but more than that. She believed that the boy was a type of what he would be as a man. If he was frank, generous, truthful, loving, and lovable as a boy, he would be the same as a man. She, therefore, built on her son. She made him her society. She sang with him. They played duets together on the piano. They kissed each other like lovers when they met and when they parted. She dreamed of his progress, and told the boy her dreams. Arthur lived for his mother for years. Her praise was his reward. Her frown was his punishment. He went to college. The father, as he left him at Harvard, folded him to his breast, and said: “My son, you have the world before you. It is possible for you to be a man whom the world will honor, or one from whom it will turn with shame. The keeping of your future is in your own hands ” and then he left him. At the outset his letters were full of filial

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love. He described his professors. He told them of what he read and studied. He described his companions, and gloried in his Christian chum, Robert Graham, who was a member of the Baptist Church, and was in many ways a model.

At length the letters came less frequent. The old love seemed to have died out of them. The mother’s heart was full of anxiety. There was a strange and an unaccountable reserve in them. Tidings came of the great revival, which was stirring Boston to its center. The students were attending the meetings. The college was full of excitement. He who had been ambitious to win fame and position as a lawyer and in the political world, was asking questions about the atonement, the punishment of the sinner after death, the decrees of God, and the needs of the soul. The wild and rollicksome nature was under a spell. He knew God enough to dread Him, to revolt from His rule, and to try and keep far away from the point of submission. The chum

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believed that the boy might be a power for good. He was sure he would be a power for harm unless his heart was changed and his will was brought into subjection to the mind and will of Christ. The battle was long, and at times terrible. The leader of the Evangelical prayer-meeting came into the room, and, in a brusque way, inquired, “ Where is Arthur ? ”

“ Not home yet, ’ replied Robert Graham, with a look of troubled interest.

“ Where has Ire been ? ”

“ Don’t know ; he went off with a company of boys to Boston, last evening, to attend the theater.”

“ I thought he was under conviction ? ”

“ So he is, and under compulsion, also.”

“ What do you mean ? ”

“ Simply this : the devil is driving him with whip and spur. Arthur is giving himself up to the powers of darkness. He is a Unitarian. He does not believe in Christ nor in the devil ; but in manhood and virtue, and in taking care of himself. He has to get ashamed of what his manhood will do for him. I am afraid he is trampling on virtue, and proving that he is unable to take care of himself, and that he will be compelled to believe in the atonement of Jesus Christ before he will get any release from the power of the devil.”

'‘He seems like a different youth from what I thought him.”

“ Ah, you have not seen Arthur Chester for some time. I miss him. The boy I loved is here no more. The house is here, but the soul has an inhabitant that is destroying the man. Satan was and is trying to ruin him.”

“Will he succeed? ”

“Why?”

“Because the Infinite Father has a great work for him to do, and he will be brought out of his present state of wretchedness, from the gall of bitterness and bonds of iniquity into the light and liberty of the gospel.”

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“ What makes you think it ? ”

Faith in God, the hearer and answerer of prayer. The arrow of truth rankles m his heart and conscience. To drown thought he plunges into dissipation, but, as when a whale struck by a harpoon which is buried in the heart, causes him to redden the wave by his blood, you know he may flounder, he may dive down into terrible depths of ocean, he may come to the surface and fill the air with water-spouts, there is but one result ; the creature must die. So Arthur must yield. There are trials in his path of which we know nothing. He has Unitarian parents. They are moral. They believe in morality, but not in Christ. They are not prepared either to sympathize with him or to help him; Indeed, I think both his father and mother enjoy hearing of his going to theaters, and concerts, and races, because of their hope that this will take out of his mind the one absorbing thought which holds him in thrall ; but God has hold of him, and I am much mistaken if he does not hold on to him, and finally, through our instrumentality, bring him to Himself.”

As they were talking, in came Arthur. The old beauty was fading out of his face — the marks of dissipation were visible.

“ Helloe, old fellow, how are you?”

“Well, thank you, Arthur; how are your

“ Never better. Had an awful time last night. We were at the Boston theater, and heard Forrest in Metamora. It was grand. You have no idea how he thrilled the house, especially when he repeated a passage which reminded the audience of what he had lost in the going out of his wife.”

“ Indeed ; Robert and I hoped you were at the revival meeting.”

“Bosh! I was there Sunday, and got enough. Indeed, I have not got over it yet. Jacob Knapp is a wonder. He is not dramatic. He is not an orator. But

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there are tones in his voice and thoughts in his words which haunt me as eagles haunt the mountain air. Last Sabbath night, at Bowdoin Square, he preached about the lost in hell. He came down out of the pulpit, walked down the aisle, went down the basement stairs shouting, ‘ Lost ! — lost ! — lost ! — lost ! ’ — his voice growing lower and lower, and sounding farther and farther off, until I thought I heard the wail of the damned. The fact is, I could not sleep. I said : ‘ Suppose my father is wrong; suppose Christ was a necessity ; suppose the Garden of Gethsemane means what it says ; suppose Calvary is the pivotal fact in the universe, as he says it is.’ I seem to see him now, as he resumed his place in the pulpit, not a particle excited or disturbed by the billowy waves of excitement which were dashing about him. Knapp in the pulpit is as much of a study as Forrest on the boards, and so I wrote my mother. I described him to her. Would you like to hear my pen photograph of Jacob Knapp?”

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“Yes,” answered both of his companions.

He opened his letter-book and read :

“ Jacob Knapp is a curiosity. He is a little over five feet in height, with an ordinary head upon a pair of broad shoulders, big arms, small hands, small feet, an eye that bespeaks courage, and yet not a pleasant feature of his face. His eyebrows are large, his eyelids fall down very close at times, and never open wide excepting he is greatly moved. When his eye opens to its full extent, then you may expect to hear some of the sharpest utterances that ever fell from mortal lips. He believes in God, in Jesus Christ, in the Holy Spirit, and he feels that he is commissioned by the Almighty to break in pieces the devil’s kingdom. He is drawing great crowds, and I go to hear him with pleasure as great as I ever experienced in a theater. Indeed, I have not been to a Unitarian Church for weeks* Wm. Ellery Channing’s theology is well enough, and so is Dr. Gannet’s ; but if you are going to

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have religion, why not have something worth while. Y ours,

“ Arthur Chester.”

“ What do you suppose mother wrote me ? ”

“ Don’t know,” said John Becker; “perhaps that it was a critical moment in your life, and that you had best consider the matter and come home and spend the Sabbath.”

“ Exactly, and so I am going home, and will be back Monday.”

Home he went, and after he had passed out Robert remarked :

“ Now you understand the boys difficulties. His father and mother were anxious about him. No one but a parent can picture what this anxiety is. To see a son of hope and promise on the borderland of hope, and yet in danger of swinging to the other extreme, and becoming a moral wreck, and to feel that the person described is your own flesh and blood — a part of yourself ; to feel the tug and the strain at

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the heart, and to realize that but a few days will decide the destiny — this is to experience such anxiety and such bewildering torture as cannot well be put into language.”

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Chapter II. Arthur At Home

The corning' home of a boy from college is, at all times, an exciting fact in the life of a home. Arthur was a favorite in the town. He was a pet of the girls, the leader of boyish sports, and the joy of a great circle of friends.

Robert Graham was, in many ways, a counterpart to him. He was not a recluse. He was the son of the Baptist minister who preached in the Baptist chapel. They were a help to each other in study, and Robert was so true, so noble in character and so pure in life, that the parents of Arthur were glad to see the young men enjoying each others society and sharing each others confidence. They knew enough to believe in the friendship of youth. None are stronger or more enduring or more valuable.

Robert Graham was a member of the church, influential in the Sabbath-school

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and prayer-meeting, a good student, a great reader, and was regarded as destined for the pulpit. A revival was his delight, and laboring for the conversion of sinners his constant recreation. His whole soul burned to see his friends plucked as brands from the burning. John Becker was the son of a Presbyterian. His father was a merchant. He was handsome, rich, and free with his money. He was fond of young Graham, and delighted to help him out in the way of providing for him the money he might need to carry forward his religious work. Arthur Chester, at home, was restless. His parents saw it, and wondered about it. The father inquired about his studies, and learned that he had not neglected his duties as a student. He inquired as to the way in which he passed his evenings, and found that he was giving up to pleasure and excitement time, which had better be consecrated to obtaining the information which was needed to make him a proficient in literature. They found that he had contracted the habit of

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smoking, and they were troubled about it. His language was changing, and was full of slang phrases, and so were his tastes. The home of Alice Hollister he had not entered. He was cutting loose from old associations and was forming new ones. The mother saw it and mourned because of it. When it came time for Arthur to retire, she went with him, and was startled to find that her boy was slipping away from her. He was no longer the confiding youth of the past. His mothers presence was irksome to him. He had no joy in the house. He mingled with fast young men. He shunned the society of the pure and the chaste, of the refined and the ennobling. She said to him in great tenderness :

“ Arthur, I have come to have a few words with you. Confide in me, your old and, next to God, your best friend.”

At the word God, Arthur started. He replied :

“ Mother, I am going to perdition. There are forces in me which are driving me to the

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bad. God is having a controversy with me. For days I have been utterly miserable. In my heart I believe you are wrong, and that father is wrong, and yet I dare not say it, and while fighting against conviction I have been ‘ drawing iniquity with cords of vanity and sin, as it were, with a cart-rope.’ ”

“ What has so upset you, my boy ? ’’

“The Word of God. I am all wrong, and you are deceived.”

“ What do you mean, my son ? ”

“Jesus Christ is more than a man. He is God manifest in the flesh, and I am a lost sinner, and need His atoning blood to wash my sins away. I feel it. I cannot get the thought out of my mind. Unitarianism has much in it that is beautiful, but it furnishes my tempest-tossed soul with no rest or peace.”

“ You surprise me, my son.”

“ Doubtless. I have tried to drown out the feeling, but it is in me, and I have got to confess that Christ is the Saviour, and believe in Him or be damned.”

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You talk a strange language. ”

True ; but I talk the language of the Word of God, which reads, ‘Whosoever believeth and is baptized shall be saved. Whosoever believeth not shall be damned.’ ” “ Yes • But believing in Jesus Christ as the model, as the example and pattern, as the brother who can help, is different from that.”

‘ I thought so once ; but you know about Jim Slausson’s death, don’t you ? ”

“ I heard, of course, of it, but know little about him.”

“ He was the pride of the class. He was a Unitarian and attended service every Sabbath. But he drank, played cards, went to theaters and operas, and did as he was a mind to generally. Well, he was with us upon a yacht out in the bay. He had been drinking, not very much, but sufficient to make him reckless. A squall came up, the wind struck us and nearly capsized us. Jim was standing on the deck, and was swept overboard. He was a good swimmer. He

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came up. We tried to wear round to save him, when a cramp took him, and he cried ; ‘Hurry, boys! I am dying,’ We tried to reach him. How he looked. His eyes were terrible. He was in terror. He cried :

‘ Arthur, save me, or I am damned ! ’ and sank to rise no more. He had urged me to drink, but I had refused. Now, mother, where is Jim? He believed he was going to hell. Was he not right about it? The boys don’t know that I feel this. I try to hide my feelings, and came home to tell you the truth, and see if I could get help.”

“ Do you believe that morality can save any one ? ”

“ Well, yes. I have supposed that a good life, consecrated to ennobling work, will insure a reward.”

! “ What do you think ? ”

“ I believe I shall be lost if I am not saved by the blood of Christ.”

“Why?”

“ Because of what the Word of God says. I heard a sermon the other night from these

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words : ‘ And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be lifted up. As the minister described the bitten Israelites, he described me. I am in that condition. Sin has bitten me. It grows worse. I find inclination running through me at times like water in a mill-race. I am swept away by them. I am like a man in a boat on Niagara river. While I am sitting still I am nearing the final plunge. I know you did not think this, and so I have run into dissolution to stop my ears, but the cry is ever sounding in them : ‘God sent not his son to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved/ ‘ He that believeth on him is not condemned, but he that believeth not is condemned already, because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God/ ‘ And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil/ Ever since I heard this I have been in trouble. My chum has

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told me his experience. His mother is his idol, as my mother is mine. But his mother believes in the Lord Jesus Christ. Robert' was converted when a mere lad. He joined the Church when under twelve years of age. He believed Cod s Word, and that whoever believeth not is damned. He could not doubt it. In his father’s preaching, as in Mr. Knapp’s, hell is a dread reality. They do not send everybody to heaven, no matter what might be their practices, or habits, or lives. Restorationism and rationalism had not permeated that Church and taken out the granite characteristics of faith. When he was convicted of sin his mother said, ‘This is my time.’ She could not sleep, nor eat, nor rest, as had been her custom. She watched him as one who must give an account for his soul.”

“My son, are you rebuking me?”

“No, mother, not rebuking you, but telling my chum’s experience, that I may explain to you my trouble. I have nowhere to go, excepting to Robert, and if

I take his faith I must turn my back upon yours.”

The mother paused, and then said :

, “ Y°u are nervous, my child ; try and

sleep. We shall hear father in the morning. He is going to explain the phenomena of revivals.”

The mother retired, but not to rest. Though the wife of an Unitarian minister, she had been brought up in an Evangelical home, and had been taught to believe in Christ as the Son of God, the Saviour of the world ; but having been in a cold state, and having formed associations which were regarded as advantageous, she had drifted on in comparative comfort up to the present time. Her boy’s appeal swept her heart as with the gust of a tornado. The lightnings of God’s wrath flamed about her — she was in a strait betwixt two. She must desert her husband or her child. She must betray Christ or her soul. The battle raged fierce for hours.

The morning came. The Unitarian

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chapel was a gem of art. It was built of brown stone, with white facings. It had an altar and a pulpit. Scripture passages ran all over it as vines run over bowers. The dim religious light, the soft peal of the organ, the well-trained choir, the strains of music suited to the soul’s quiet, were no better to her or to her boy than is a glass roof in the midst of falling hailstones. The sermon was a plea for reason to hold its throne. Much was said of the poise of judgment, but nothing of the needs of the soul. The mother and son were in trouble. No anxious soul in Bowdoin Square endured more agony than did these convicted souls in the Unitarian chapel. They were hedged round by difficulties. The sermon did them no good. The mother opened her Bible, and read i John i. 5-7, and then, placing her finger on the passage, handed it to Arthur. He read, “ This, then, is the message which we have heard of him and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have

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fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth ; but if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ, his son, cleanseth us from all sin.” Arthur took out his pencil and underscored the we in the passage, “If we walk in the light,” and also the words, “ We have fellowship one with another .” The mother looked into his eyes. He saw that they were full of tears. He knew what those tears meant. His soul bounded out of its fetters. He clasped the promise. He believed in Christ. He was no longer in doubt. On the way home he urged his mother to go into Boston and hear Mr. Knapp. She could not promise. But Ar~ thur was in a new world. At the table his father referred to the sermon, and asked him what he thought of it. He replied with great diffidence, “ Have got beyond it.’>

“ What do you mean ? ”

“The tempest has been on me many days, and I have found shelter in Christ. The old

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is past and the new has come. For many weeks I have been without Christ, without compass, and without guidance, because I have been without Christ. The fact is, I was in the condition of those sailors on the sea of Galilee, who saw Jesus drawing nigh unto the ship, and they were afraid. I was afraid. God was angry with me, and it seemed impossible for me to find peace. I never did find it until this morning. I heard Christ say unto me, ‘It is I, be not afraid/ I now see that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth me from all sin — this I had heard, but I had not believed. Mr. Knapp, in a sermon, described Him as He came from heaven and earth to save me, and said, ‘Think of His credentials. Study His life. You might fear me, but you surely ought not to fear Christ. He loves you with an everlasting love, and with an all-conquering love. He describes your condition and His situation in John i. 1 1 — 13 ; “ He was in the world and