18<»-' 



GLEANINtiS IN BEE CULTURE. 



467 



OURSELVES AND OUR NEIGHBORS. 



And the prayer of faith shall skvi> the siok, and 

 tho lA)rd shall raise him up. .l.\MEs5:lfi. 



I am afraid my talk to-day will be a good 

 deal /»i!/.s(7/ ralhoi" than lu'igiibors; but it may 

 bfl tlie iKMRhbois will he bciiotittHl— .^omo of 

 thorn — at least. 1 hope so. Well, for the past 

 few weeks I have b(>eii weariiiR my overooat 

 and my old fur eap: yes. and 1 liave had sore 

 throat. I'olds almost all lln' tiiite. and have l)(>en 

 sick generally, so lliat 1 hijjran to think again 

 that I sliotild never be real well any more. Mrs. 

 Root talked about a i)ermanent remove to a 

 dryer climate, and my mind has b(>en running 

 over San Jacinto. Tropico. Wiisoirs Peak, and 

 other points where 1 felt well at the time I was 

 there. But. oh dear me: I couldn't bear the 

 thought — neither can I bear the thought now — 

 of a pennaiieiit banishment from my home 

 here in Medina. 1 didn't tell anybody; but I 

 thought a good many times to myself, that I 

 believed I'd about as soon die in Medina as to 

 live in any other place. 



Over and over again I tried to think it was 

 only a notion, and I left otT my overcoat when 

 theweather was so warm and tine, but it was 

 inevitabli' and sure; the sore throat and chills 

 came back, and I had to be bundled every night 

 like an Egyptian mummy, and have a hot 

 stone to one of my feet besides. Things went 

 on after this fashion until Decoration day. Of 

 course, feeling as I did. I had no desire to mix 

 in with crowds: in fact. I didn't really want to 

 see iniyhody. The friends readily excused me 

 on account of my well-known poor health: and 

 while the r* st of the factory was deserted — or, 

 at least, almost deserted— I was left alone. I 

 remember on that particular morning thinking 

 of the text at the head of my talk to-day, and I 

 wondered why it was so plain and positive, and 

 yet people — even ministers — have so little to 

 say about it. 'Tis true, the " faith cure" peo- 

 ple have laid considerable stress on the matter. 

 and they also claim great things: but their 

 plan of work has somehow never commended 

 itself very much to me. I have felt a good 

 many times as if I didn't care so much about 

 being made well ?ny,se// as I did about under- 

 standing the mystery and real cause of sickness 

 and disease. If, in answer to prayer, I should 

 be made well and my neighbors left sick, it 

 wouldn't particularly commend itself to me. 

 What I craved was wisdom from on high to 

 know wherein I was transgressing, that I might 

 leach others the laws of health, fori feel sure we 

 do transgress when we get into these troubles. 



Perhaps some of you think that A. I. Root is 

 always bright, cheerful, and hopeful. I have 

 fo/'7 you several times it wasn't true, but you 

 don't seem to believe it. I am afraid sometimes 

 it is not quite right for me to apnear so bright 

 and full of faith when in reality I get the 

 '■ blues '■ as other people do. There was a letter 

 in my pocket on Decoration morning that some- 

 what disturbed me. My very dear friend J. L. 

 Peabody, of Denver. Col., in speaking of my 

 pleasant visit thee, tises the following words: 



"I often look back to that Sabbath morning 

 when you led family wijrship. I do not know 

 that I ever enjoyed such a service more in my 

 life. Certainly very few read the Bible as you 

 did that morning." 



Yes, I was bright and hopeful, and full of 

 faith during that visit. I now remember my 

 hopeful exhortations during family worship 

 that morning: but I fear 1 should never have 

 remembered it again had it not been for this 

 reminder. Well, on this Decoration morning I 

 was very much inclin»>d to be "blue." Even 



the plants and gafdeii and strawberri<'s didn't 

 interest me very much: no, not even the fact 

 tiiat we were luiving a nice trade, and the busi- 

 ness was paying tolerably well. I felt. just tlxMi 

 that 1 didn't, care lor idaiits or gard(Mis: I didn't 

 care for moin'v: in fact, I didn't care for any 

 thing the whole wide world liad to offer. I 

 had no enthusiasm for any thing. Did you 

 ever feel that way, my friend? 1 knew the 

 remedy full well. I had "been there" before. 

 .Such experiences often make me tliiuk of the 

 worils of the Savior when he told his disciijles: 

 ■"This kind goetli not out but by prayi'r and 

 fasting." I had already fasted enough, the 

 dear wife knows, if nobody (^Ise does; but she 

 didn't know how little I had been praying off 

 alone by myself for a few days back. \Vell, 

 w hen I felt I could stand it no longer I pushed 

 off alone, away by myself, vvheri; I could speak 

 aloud without danger of intrusion. I prayed 

 and kept praying— not in a fei^ble, formal way, 

 but in real earnest, because I ivas in reitl trou- 

 ble, and then I thought of the text. Somebody 

 repeated it a few days ago at the noon service, 

 and I wondered at the time so little attention 

 had been called to a text so plain and jwsitive. 

 I thought of Wilson's Peak, and wondered if it 

 would just now awaken enthusiasm; and I re- 

 member, too. wondering whether th(> enthusi- 

 asm would cure my sore throat and allay its 

 stinging, and, above all, give me a relish for 

 life's duties. While in this frame of mind I 

 wandered down to the creek bottom and noticed 

 the soil was just getting in prime shape to cul- 

 tivate. Everybody had gone to the Decoration 

 services, and there wasn't a man on the place 

 that could be spared to cultivate. I passed by 

 the stables, and old Charley looked around in- 

 quiringly, evidently thinking it was a little 

 funny that (»'o Sundays should come together. 

 He backed up, looked toward his bridle with a 

 sort of inquiring manner, as if he suggested it 

 was about time to be hitched to that cultivator. 

 Then it occurred to me that I would rather take 

 old Charley down in the lot and cultivate — at 

 least, as long as I could stand it— than to do 

 any thing else in the world. Somehow it al- 

 ways does me good to go off alone with old 

 Charley, and get (tcquainted with him. There 

 is something noble, and I was going to say man- 

 ly, about that horse, and I think 1 shall say it. 

 He never shrinks duty, even though he is old 

 and broken-winded. If the work is hard he 

 will push ahead and outwalk almost any sound 

 horse; in fact, if the day is very hot he will 

 push ahead until so out of wind that he will 

 fall down in sheer exhaustion, if his driver will 

 let him. But how should I cultivate? Mrs. 

 Root, the doctor. Ernest, and the scores of 

 friends have been scolding me for weeks back 

 iihoMt overexertion; in fact. I had given up go- 

 ing up town to evening prayer-meetings because 

 the walk of half a mile seemed to use me up so 

 nuich. Notwithstanding. I decided to cultivate 

 for a little while, just for the fun of it. Old 

 Cliarley very kindly hacked up. held down his 

 head, and even opened his mouth to take; in the 

 bits. He seemed to be quite willing to save my 

 health, and to save exertion: and I felt grateful 

 to him right away. Before he commenced cul- 

 tivating I remembered there had been a good 

 deal of discussion about his stepping on choice 

 plants, and I have .several times thought his 

 stepping on plants was caused more by his 

 driver yanking on the lines than by any fault 

 of Charley's. For instance, he would get pretty 

 near the plants that were just coming up and 

 the driver would give him a yank, so much 

 stronger than was necessary, that lie would go 

 straight across and step on the row opposite. 

 The day was hot, and every little thing was 

 burdensome. I remembered what friend Terry 



