Of the drift of his child-life at Fulneck, James Mont "Here while I roved, a heedless boy, Here while through paths of peace I ran, But ah! what light and little things Are childhood's woes! they break no rest! Like dewdrops on the skylark's wings As o'er the eastern hills her banners glow, Like him, on these delightful plains, I taught, with fearless voice, The echoing woods to sound my strains, Hail to the trees, beneath whose shade, As were the flowers beneath my feet." Poet-land already loomed upon the vision of the boy: and reverberations of its far off melody break upon his listening spirit. Will the old Moravian hymn-book, with its quaint lyrics, pilot him there, or, by the subtle intuitions of genius, will he strike out a new track and claim a birthright footing to its prerogatives? HIS POETICAL READINGS. 21 Little license was allowed the boys at Fulneck for general reading. Indeed, upon this point, the pupils were fenced in by severe legislation, bad books being regarded by the Brethren as the quickest corrupters of good morals. A father once sent his son a small volume of choice selections from Milton, Thomson, and Young, unobjectionable associates one would think; the book, however, must first pass the scrutiny and the scissors of the teachers, when it was returned to the owner, so carefully pruned, that many passages were blotted out and whole leaves were missing. Poetry, nevertheless, was not wholly interdicted, for we find one of the masters, on a warm summer's day, betaking himself with his class to the fields, and, setting aside the regular recitations, entertaining it with a reading from Blair's "Grave." Most of the boys fell asleep. One attentive listener, at least, rewarded the indulgent master. Little James Montgomery gave himself up to the charms of the hour; and such suitableness and beauty did there seem in poet-numbers, that before leaving the hedge-row delight began to shape itself to purpose, and with prophetic eye he beheld his poem one day scattering on others enjoyment like that which he was reaping. Barred as the gates of Fulneck were, poems now and then scaled its walls. The poet's corner of a village newspaper introduced the new Scotch muse, Robert Burns. Blackmore's "Prince Alfred" stirred up brave thoughts and brilliant schemes, "To grace this latter age with noble deeds.” Two volumes of Cowper came to hand; the books, however, though eagerly read, were laid aside with little relish for a second sitting. Their chaste beauty and exquisite naturalness found little favor from Master James, with tastes moulded by the mystic element and enthusiastic rhapsodies which then marked the Moravian literature. It required the juster estimate of more exact culture to discern the excellences of the Bard of Olney, which, in time, he was proud to acknowledge and admire. Stinted as was the intellectual nutriment craved by the boy, and much as there undoubtedly was to clip the soarings of his fancy, the poetic temperament will yet extract a living from the leanest soil; and foreshadowings of its life-work will flash all along through its early paths. And so we find him rhyming, inveterately rhyming, rhyming in spite of himself, jets if not gems, showing the drift of his inward life. At ten, he had a well filled volume of his own verses, gypsy children, we may well believe from the pious strains, which rose morning, midday, and at vespers, from the altars of Fulneck. Night often found his mind aglow with some favorite theme, nor would he sleep until it had shaped itself to measures pleasing to himself; thus wakefulness became a habit. And when he afterwards so graphically tells us how his แ eyes roll in irksome darkness, And the lone spirit of unrest At conscious midnight haunts his breast, And future fears are all his foes," we can readily conceive it to have been an autobiographical reminiscence, much to be deplored. The style of the boy's mind, running from the practical to the ideal, more given to reverie than to study, must needs, we think, have given anxiety to the sturdy fathers MORAVIAN MISSIONS. 23 of Fulneck. His French and German were likely to have fewer charms than Kirkstall Abbey, a fine old ruin in the neighborhood, ivy-clad; or pleasanter it were, to people the odd-shaped fields on the hill-side opposite the school with the teemings of his mind, than to drill it to the regular beat of Latin verbs, or torture it with Greek translations. Accordingly we find a notice or two on the school records, that "J. M. was not using proper diligence in his studies, and was admonished thereupon." And inasmuch as he was destined for the ministry, we may suppose this lack of industry augured ominously for the future, in the estimate of his guardians. The parents of the boy were not near either by their personal presence or by frequent letters to counsel or to urge him forward: and how far their sympathizing solicitude might have steadied him in the strait path marked out for him, we can never know. When he was twelve, together they visited Fulneck, bringing their two younger sons, Ignatius and Robert, and remained three months at the Settlement, previous to leaving England for a missionary life in the West Indies. The Moravian missions were among the first attempts of Protestant Christians to evangelize the heathen; and their zealous and self-denying labors, which no arctic cold could freeze and no tropic heat could wither, make a shining page in the annals of Christian valor. "Keep our doors open among the heathen, and open those that are shut," is a petition in the old "Church Litany of the Brethren." "Have mercy on the negroes, savages, slaves, and gypsies," was not merely a prayer of the lip, it was often the burden of a lifetime. And where Greenland hailed, "from afar Through polar storms, the light of Jacob's star," and the everlasting gospel smiled on the Red men of "Ohio's streams and of Missouri's flood, And the sweet tones of pity touched his ears, "the poor Negro scorned of all mankind,”—the beautiful individuality of the invocation, "Bless our congregations gathered from the Negroes, Greenlanders, Indians, Hottentots, and Esquimaux; keep them as the apple of thine eye,” carries with it all the personal and endearing intimacy of the Christian name. A happy three months to the re-united family at Fulneck. The parting counsels of these parents, how tenderly faithful! The yearnings of parental fondness on one side, the soldiercall of duty on the other. The stormy waters must soon part parents and children; their earthly journey may seem long, very long, and begirt with perils; but the path to heaven is short, and bright with the beckoning glories of heaven, there may all meet, a re-united family for evermore, among the Redeemed. This is the burden of the pastor's heart. December 2nd, 1783, Rev. John Montgomery and his excellent wife again take up their pilgrim's staff, and leaving their sons in England set sail for Barbadoes. The benediction of the Brethren follows them. "How precious the work prosecuted at such cost!" This conviction lay far behind, blurred by many tears. Perhaps the children were scarcely conscious of it then, but it seemed to have been a golden thread in their lives afterwards. |