The Children’s Meeting

In the days of my boyhood, one of the most precious of religious institutions was the Children’s Meeting, or according to the common name with both young and old, the Children’s Society. It was invariably held once a week, summer and winter; and I think I can certify that not a lad nor a lass, whose parents were church members, but was regularly present at it, unless prevented by ill- health. Let anyone be absent for two nights in succession without sufficient excuse, and Abel Hughes would, as sure as the world, call the father or mother to account at the next Church Meeting; and unless a satisfactory reason were forthcoming, a public rebuke would be administered for the neglect. What a falling off there has been in this matter since It is almost impossible in these times to keep together a Children’s Meeting for a few weeks during the winter months. And what if the parents were publicly called to account for neglecting to send their children thither? Fancy for a moment reproving Mrs. Dowell, of “The Shop,” whose children are not seen once in four times at Church Meetings. Save us! Were anything of the kind to be attempted, it is doubtful whether she or her children would ever again come to chapel, let alone to the Society. But were Abel Hughes now alive, he would have called Mrs. Dowell to account, and many another Mrs. too, be the consequences what they might. Of a certainty, he would have told them that the Church of England was their place, and that the sooner the better they went there. Have all the race of honest elders died out? I am bound to admit that many of them were outspoken to the verge of rudeness, but, for all that, they possessed a probity and a sincerity standing out in strongly favourable contrast to the present generation of bland and velvety religionists.

As soon as I could repeat the verse, “Remember Lot’s wife,” I had to sail of to the Children’s Society. under convoy of Will Bryan, who was some years my senior. In connection with my history I shall often be obliged to refer to Will Bryan —sometimes with pain. Perhaps it would have been better for me had I never seen him. although at one time I thought he never had his equal in the world. I was dreadfully slow at learning a verse, and on that account, “Remember Lot’s wife” had to serve my turn for some score of occasions, a fact, by the way, of which my mother knew nothing. She took care to teach me a fresh verse for every meeting; but by the time I got there the verse would have taken wing, and nothing would be left me under the circumstances but to fall back on “Remember Lot’s wife.” I well recollect, beginning more than once the recitation of a fresh verse, as for instance, “This is a faithful saying, and worthy——;” at which point I broke down, and was forced to conclude with the inevitable “Remember Lot’s wife.” I was such a small boy that this shortcoming was for a long time overlooked, and it was not,until the other children began to call me “Lot’s wife” that I refrained from speaking about her.

My constant repetition of this well-known verse gave occasion to the conductors of the meeting to make it the subject of frequent discourse, and I fancy I knew all about Lot’s wife that there was to be known, long before I was five years old. Anyhow, I am not aware that my views with regard to the Sodomites, the angels, the fire, the brimstone, Lot and his family, the pillar of salt, Zoar, &c., have undergone much change since. Thus was Scripture history instilled into our minds unconsciously. I am almost certain that Biblical knowledge was much higher and more perfect in the youth of those days than in those of this “enlightened age.” Not long since, I happened to ask the son of Mrs. Frederick Dowell of “The Shop,” who is quite fifteen years old, “Who was Jeroboam?” And his answer was that he believed him to be one of the apostles. I have reason to fear that there are many religious people’s children nowadays who are not one whit more advanced than Solomon Dowell.

What zeal and devotion did John Joseph and Abel Hughes display with us children, to be sure; despite the fact that the last-named was an old man—old when I first remember him. John Joseph was quite in his element teaching us to sing such refrains as

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In contrast to this would Abel Hughes be seen soberly and seriously listening to our verse-recitals, and commenting upon them—as seriously, I say, as if the Day of Judgment were the morrow. We, children. liked John Joseph better than we did Abel Hughes, because when Abel was not present, John would use the tuning fork; and we were delighted to see him strike it on the stove, place it to his ear, shut his eyes, set his neck awry to catch the sound, and hum two or three notes before we began the singing, although we did not know in the world what high and awful purpose these means were intended to accomplish. It would not have been well for John Joseph to have gone through all this ceremony had Abel Hughes been present. I saw him once attempt it, but Abel promptly told him to keep such things at home, they were not in keeping with the house of God. What if Abel were alive now? What if he were to hear a man from the Big Seat announcing that such and such a tune was in the “Lab mode,” and one or two dozen people shrieking each against the other, “Doh, soh, doh, soh?” Of a truth he would say that religion was going to the dogs, and I fear that some unsettlement of his senses would have resulted. So do circumstances change in less than a single generation!

Abel Hughes was most particular as to beginning and ending the Children’s Meeting punctually at the appointed time. We knew to the minute when he would arrive in chapel. I well remember mother praising Will Bryan for calling for me in such good time for the meeting. Little did she suspect that our early departure was made with a view of playing hide and seek in the gallery. Will managed somehow or other to find out that Abel always began the meeting by his watch, and finished it by the chapel clock. One night, all being in their places expecting Abel’s arrival, Will told us he was going up into the gallery to move the clock-hand half an hour forward; and with the words he went. We were in the greatest trepidation lest Abel should come in and catch him. Will had hardly reached the clock seat and touched the hand, when Abel made his appearance. Will dived down on the instant. Our hearts went throbbing painfully, for Abel Hughes was not a man to be trifled with. While Abel was offering up the prayer with which he always began a meeting, and had tightly closed his eyes, everyone of us availed himself of the opportunity of opening his own, ard looking up in the direction of the clock seat. We were simply astounded at Will’s daring. We saw him, after he had moved the hand, coolly rest his elbows on the balustrade, and gave a wink first at one and then at the other, all round. He next went fumbling in his pockets, and taking out a handful of crumbs, deliberately dropped them down upon old Abel’s head. Whether it was that Abel was so absorbed in his devotions, or because he wore a velvet skull-cap, and could not consequently feel the downpour, I know not, but he did not seem in the least to heed the infliction.

John Joseph happened to be absent that night, and the meeting therefore was somewhat flat. Very imperfectly did the boys repeat their verses—their thoughts were in the chapel loft with Will Bryan, whose head kept popping into sight every now and then. Each time we caught a glimpse of his face it wore a grin, which showed the owner to be enjoying himself immensely. I verily believe he was the only one of us all whose heart was not quaking with fear. Time and again were we reproved by Abel Hughes for our indifferent verse-repeating, and for so constantly turning our eyes towards the clock, as if we were in a desperate hurry to get away. Little did he know that it was not at the clock we were looking, but at the hair on Will Bryan’s crown. Serious though we contrived to appear, Abel Hughes at length grew tired of the effort to direct our minds to the lessons. He looked up at the clock. and expressed his great surprise to find how fast the time had flown. At this juncture the door opened, and Margaret Ellis, the care taker entered, with a sad complaint as to the early coming of the children to chapel simply for the sake of play, and of the frightful row they kicked up.

Abel asked her who the culprits were.

“Hugh Bryan’s son is the worst of the lot,” she replied. “He has been more than usually bad to-night.”

“My good woman,” returned Abel, “you, like myself, are getting old. Will Bryan has not been here at all to-night; although that is somewhat odd, for he is a faithful attendant as a rule.”

“Do you think, Abel Hughes, that I don’t know what I am talking about?” asked Margaret, stiffly. “Did I not see him with my own eyes, did I not hear him scampering up and down the chapel?”

“Rhys,” said Abel sternly, and looking me straight in the face, “did Will Bryan accompany you to the meeting, to-night?”

Spite of myself my eyes wandered up towards the clock seat where Will stood shaking a warning fist at me. I would never have dared to open my lips after that, and luckily there was no need to, for caretaker Margaret caught sight of Will’s head as it ducked down into his hiding place.

“Abel Hughes,” she cried, “He’s in the clock pew now; I saw him this very minute.”

We fairly trembled with fear as Abel, backing himself against the Big Seat, took a look up at the gallery. For the life of him, however, he could not see Will.

“Bring that bad boy down, Abel Hughes. He is there for certain,” said Margaret.

Abel Hughes, agitated to the very soul, made for the gallery. My heart got into my throat as I watched him approach the clock pew. Before he could reach the spot, however, Will sprang into the next pew, and the next, and thus springing reached the top of the stairs, down which he went, it seemed to me, at a single bound, nearly upsetting Margaret, who tried to intercept him at the bottom. Will was well on his way home before Abel, poor old man, could look around. Whilst caretaker Margaret was expressing pretty freely her opinion of the boy’s character, our revered old teacher was doing his best to regain his self-control. So shocked, however, was he that he dismissed us without prayer. All he could do was to enjoin us to go home quietly, like good children, and not to follow the example of William Bryan. Abel proceeded at once to complain to Hugh Bryan of the unseemly conduct of his son, and next morning I heard the latter say he never got such a licking in all his life, as the one his father gave him over night.

The foregoing episode is so simple and so childish in its character, as not to be worth mentioning except to one’s self. And yet I remember a time when I used to look upon the occurrences of that night with as much weighty concern and seriousness as ever Wellington did upon Waterloo. It was a great night in my young life. In my foolish simplicity I admired above everything Will Bryan’s pluck and daring. I honestly believed the world did not contain his fellow. At this time I cannot help perceiving in Will’s conduct on that occasion the seed of what has subsequently developed into a great tree.

Pity, Will, pity thou didst not give ear to the serious counsel of Abel Hughes and John Joseph at the Children’s Society. Hadst thou done so, thou would’st have been very differently situated to-day. Rememberest thou, from thy present place, how Abel used to advise us to keep from even the appearance of evil, and show us the peril of walking in the ways of the ungodly. Dost remember, also, how earnestly he prayed for us, and committed us to the care of Him whom he had found a Faithful Guide and Mighty Saviour? If thou dost remember it—and I have but little doubt on the subject—then thy reflections, methinks, can be none of the sweetest.