University of Virginia Library

53. CHAPTER LIII.

THE session was drawing toward its close. Senator Dilworthy
thought he would run out west and shake hands
with his constituents and let them look at him. The legislature
whose duty it would be to re-elect him to the United
States Senate, was already in session. Mr. Dilworthy considered
his re-election certain, but he was a careful, painstaking
man, and if, by visiting his State he could find the
opportunity to persuade a few more legislators to vote for
him, he held the journey to be well worth taking. The University
bill was safe, now; he could leave it without fear; it
needed his presence and his watching no longer. But there
was a person in his State legislature who did need watching
—a person who, Senator Dilworthy said, was a narrow, grumbling,
uncomfortable malcontent—a person who was stolidly
opposed to reform, and progress and him,—a person who, he
feared, had been bought with money to combat him, and

through him the commonwealth's welfare and its political
purity.

“If this person Noble,” said Mr. Dilworthy, in a little
speech at a dinner party given him by some of his admirers,
“merely desired to sacrifice me, I would willingly offer up
my political life on the altar of my dear State's weal, I would
be glad and grateful to do it; but when he makes of me but
a cloak to hide his deeper designs, when he proposes to strike
through me at the heart of my beloved State, all the lion in
me is roused—and I say, Here I stand, solitary and alone, but
unflinching, unquailing, thrice armed with my sacred trust;
and whoso passes, to do evil to this fair domain that looks to
me for protection, must do so over my dead body.”

He further said that if this Nobel were a pure man, and
merely misguided, he could bear it, but that he should succeed
in his wicked designs through a base use of money would
leave a blot upon his State which would work untold evil to
the morals of the people, and that he would not suffer; the
public morals must not be contaminated. He would seek this
man Noble; he would argue, he would persuade, he would
appeal to his honor.

When he arrived on the ground he found his friends unterrified;
they were standing firmly by him and were full of
courage. Noble was working hard, too, but matters were
against him, he was not making much progress. Mr. Dilworthy
took an early opportunity to send for Mr. Noble;
he had a midnight interview with him, and urged him to forsake
his evil ways; he begged him to come again and again,
which he did. He finally sent the man away at 3 o'clock
one morning; and when he was gone, Mr. Dilworthy said to
himself,

“I feel a good deal relieved, now, a great deal relieved.”

The Senator now turned his attention to matters touching
the souls of his people. He appeared in church; he took a
leading part in prayer meetings; he met and encouraged the
temperance societies; he graced the sewing circles of the

ladies with his presence, and even took a needle now and then
and made a stitch or two upon a calico shirt for some poor
Bibleless pagan of the South Seas, and this act enchanted
the ladies, who regarded the garments thus honored as in a
manner sanctified. The Senator wrought in Bible classes,
and nothing could keep him away from the Sunday Schools
—neither sickness nor storms nor weariness. He even
traveled a tedious thirty miles in a poor little rickety stage-coach
to comply with the desire of the miserable hamlet of
Cattleville that he would let its Sunday School look upon
him.

All the town was assembled at the stage office when he arrived,
two bonfires were burning, and a battery of anvils was
popping exultant broadsides; for a United States Senator
was a sort of god in the understanding of these people who
never had seen any creature mightier than a county judge.
To them a United States Senator was a vast, vague colossus,
an awe inspiring unreality.

Next day everybody was at the village church a full half
hour before time for Sunday School to open; ranchmen and
farmers had come with their families from five miles around,
all eager to get a glimpse of the great man—the man who had
been to Washington; the man who had seen the President of
the United States, and had even talked with him; the man
who had seen the actual Washington Monument—perhaps
touched it with his hands.

When the Senator arrived the Church was crowded, the
windows were full, the aisles were packed, so was the vestibule,
and so indeed was the yard in front of the building. As he
worked his way through to the pulpit on the arm of the minister
and followed by the envied officials of the village, every
neck was stretched and every eye twisted around intervening
obstructions to get a glimpse. Elderly people directed
each other's attention and said, “There! that's him, with the
grand, noble forehead!” Boys nudged each other and said,
“Hi, Johnny, here he is! There, that's him, with the peeled
head!”

The Senator took his seat in the pulpit, with the minister
on one side of him and the Superintendent of the Sunday
School on the other. The town dignitaries sat in an impressive
row within the altar railings below. The Sunday School
children occupied ten of the front benches. dressed in their
best and most uncomfortable clothes, and with hair combed
and faces too clean to feel natural. So awed were they by
the presence of a living United States Senator, that during
three minutes not a “spit-ball” was thrown. After that
they began to come to themselves by degrees, and presently
the spell was wholly gone and they were reciting verses and
pulling hair.

The usual Sunday School exercises were hurried through,
and then the minister got up and bored the house with a
speech built on the customary Sunday School plan; then the
Superintendent put in his oar; then the town dignitaries had
their say. They all made complimentary reference to “their

friend the Senator,” and told what a great and illustrious
man he was and what he had done for his country and for
religion and temperance, and exhorted the little boys to be
good and diligent and try to become like him some day. The
speakers won the deathless hatred of the house by these delays,
but at last there was an end and hope revived; inspiration
was about to find utterance.

Senator Dilworthy rose and beamed upon the assemblage
for a full minute in silence. Then he smiled with an access
of sweetness upon the children and began:

“My little friends—for I hope that all these bright-faced
little people are my friends and will let me be their friend—
my little friends, I have traveled much, I have been in many
cities and many States, everywhere in our great and noble
country, and by the blessing of Providence I have been permitted
to see many gatherings like this—but I am proud, I
am truly proud to say that I never have looked upon so much
intelligence, so much grace, such sweetness of disposition as
I see in the charming young countenances I see before me at
this moment. I have been asking myself as I sat here,
Where am I? Am I in some far-off monarchy, looking upon
little princes and princesses? No. Am I in some populous
centre of my own country, where the choicest children of the
land have been selected and brought together as at a fair for
a prize? No. Am I in some strange foreign clime where
the children are marvels that we know not of? No. Then
where am I? Yes—where am I? I am in a simple, remote,
unpretending settlement of my own dear State, and these are
the children of the noble and virtuous men who have made me
what I am! My soul is lost in wonder at the thought! And
I humbly thank Him to whom we are but as worms of the
dust, that He has been pleased to call me to serve such men!
Earth has no higher, no grander position for me. Let kings
and emperors keep their tinsel crowns, I want them not; my
heart is here!

“Again I thought, Is this a theatre? No. Is it a concert

or a gilded opera? No. Is it some other vain, brilliant,
beautiful temple of soul-staining amusement and hilarity?
No. Then what is it? What did my consciousness reply?
I ask you, my little friends, What did my consciousness reply?
It replied, It is the temple of the Lord! Ah, think of that,
now. I could hardly keep the tears back, I was so grateful.
Oh, how beautiful it is to see these ranks of sunny little faces
assembled here to learn the way of life; to learn to be good;
to learn to be useful; to learn to be pious; to learn to be
great and glorious men and women; to learn to be props and
pillars of the State and shining lights in the councils and the
households of the nation; to be bearers of the banner and
soldiers of the cross in the rude campaigns of life, and ransomed
souls in the happy fields of Paradise hereafter.

“Children, honor your parents and be grateful to them for
providing for you the precious privileges of a Sunday School.

“Now my dear little friends, sit up straight and pretty—
there, that's it—and give me your attention and let me tell
you about a poor little Sunday School scholar I once knew.—
He lived in the far west, and his parents were poor. They
could not give him a costly education, but they were good
and wise and they sent him to the Sunday School. He loved
the Sunday School. I hope you love your Sunday School—
ah, I see by your faces that you do! That is right.

“Well, this poor little boy was always in his place when
the bell rang, and he always knew his lesson; for his teachers
wanted him to learn and he loved his teachers dearly. Always
love your teachers, my children, for they love you more
than you can know, now. He would not let bad boys persuade
him to go to play on Sunday. There was one little
bad boy who was always trying to persuade him, but he never
could.

“So this poor little boy grew up to be a man, and had to
go out in the world, far from home and friends to earn his
living. Temptations lay all about him, and sometimes he
was about to yield, but he would think of some precious lesson

he learned in his Sunday School a long time ago, and
that would save him. By and by he was elected to the legislature.
Then he did everything he could for Sunday
Schools. He got laws passed for them; he got Sunday
Schools established wherever he could.

“And by and by the people made him governor—and he
said it was all owing to the Sunday School.

“After a while the people elected him a Representative
to the Congress of the United States, and he grew very
famous.—Now temptations assailed him on every hand.
People tried to get him to drink wine, to dance, to go to theatres;
they even tried to buy his vote; but no, the memory
of his Sunday School saved him from all harm; he remembered
the fate of the bad little boy who used to try to get
him to play on Sunday, and who grew up and became a
drunkard and was hanged. He remembered that, and was
glad he never yielded and played on Sunday.

“Well, at last, what do you think happened? Why the
people gave him a towering, illustrious position, a grand, imposing
position. And what do you think it was? What
should you say it was, children? It was Senator of the
United States! That poor little boy that loved his Sunday
School became that man. That man stands before you! All
that he is, he owes to the Sunday School.

“My precious children, love your parents, love your teachers,
love your Sunday School, be pious, be obedient, be honest,
be diligent, and then you will succeed in life and be
honored of all men. Above all things, my children, be honest.
Above all things be pure-minded as the snow. Let us
join in prayer.”

When Senator Dilworthy departed from Cattleville, he
left three dozen boys behind him arranging a campaign of
life whose objective point was the United States Senate.

When he arrived at the State capital at midnight Mr.
Noble came and held a three-hours' conference with him, and
then as he was about leaving said:

“I've worked hard, and I've got them at last. Six of
them haven't got quite back-bone enough to slew around and
come right out for you on the first ballot to-morrow, but
they're going to vote against you on the first for the sake of
appearances, and then come out for you all in a body on the
second—I've fixed all that! By supper time to-morrow
you'll be re-elected. You can go to bed and sleep easy on
that.”

After Mr. Noble was gone, the Senator said:

“Well, to bring about a complexion of things like this was
worth coming West for.”