BY JOSEPH W. HARRALD.
(CONTINUED)
NOVEMBER 14, 1879. — Our first morning at Mentone was spent at Dr.
Bennet’s beautiful garden just across the Italian frontier. In order to get to it we had to cross the Pont St. Louis, an engraving of which appears in
“Spurgeon’s Illustrated Almanack” for the present year. On one side of the bridge French soldiers are stationed, and on the other side are the
representatives of the King of Italy. We did not feel in the least frightened at the sight of these men of war, well knowing that we had no intention of smuggling anything in or out of either country. As we passed them, almost unchallenged, we felt the value of a good conscience, and understood the meaning of the reclaimed street Arab’s definition of the difference between his wild and tame condition: “Now I can look every bobby in London in
the face, without blushing.” The Italian guards not only have to perform their usual work of searching for contraband goods, but recently they have had to make most minute enquiries and to carry out most stringent, and almost ridiculous, regulations with the view of preventing the further ravages of the Phylloxera, the little insect which has already committed such deadly havoc among the vines of France and other European
countries. This tiny parasite, which when full-grown does not exceed one- thirty-third of an inch in length, is believed to have been introduced from America on certain vine-stocks imported at Bordeaux. Since its presence was first observed in Europe, in 1865, it has spread so rapidly that already in France alone nearly a million acres of vines are all but destroyed, while half a million more are in imminent danger. Such is the mischief wrought by these little creatures, thirty-three of whom laid lengthwise would only measure one inch! After that, let no man despise the day of small things, whether they are good or evil. It was a comparatively small thing that
“brought sin into the world, and death, with all its woe,” yet its effects are far too terrible to be despised· Sin seems to be, in the estimation of some people, a very insignificant affair; but, like the Phylloxers, unless it is removed, it will do irretrievable mischief. Can it be removed? If so, how?
One of the most successful remedies for the vine disease is the injection of a chemical compound into the roots that are affected; and the only effectual cure of the soul infected by sin is the pouring of the Holy Spirit into the very root of the matter. This will arrest the progress of the fatal malady, will destroy the sin which infests the soul, and will make its possessor able to bring forth all the fruits of the Spirit in due season. Writing of insects, we are reminded that we reached Mentone before all the mosquitoes had lost their power to sting. For the first few nights they annoyed us
exceedingly; indeed, we are not at all certain that they did not hasten the illness which seized upon Mr. Spurgeon shortly after our arrival in this lovely land. We were not surprised to hear him say that, like the devil, if mosquitoes were not omnipresent, it was at least impossible to tell where they were not to be found. Night after night we heard and saw them buzzing around, seeking whom the might devour, and all the while trumpeting their war-song, like Jingoes thirsting for blood. The lesson to he learned from the mosquitoes is that little things may be a great nuisance.
A thorn in the flesh, a mote in the eye, or the slightest stain on the
conscience, may cause intense annoyance. One mosquito is quite enough to prevent a man from resting, and one sin unconfessed and unforgiven will keep a soul from the enjoyment of
peace and rest to all eternity. Possibly the bite of a mosquito, painful as it is, is not an unmixed evil, anymore than sea-sickness, and other unpleasant sensations. It is said that if a manis in good health the mosquito-bite will do him no harm, if he leaves the woundalone; whereas, if his blood is in an unhealthy condition, there will be con-siderable irritation and inflammation, and he will do well to search for thecause of the mischief much deeper than the insect’s sting has penetrated.Thus, Satan’s fiery darts fall harmless upon the Christian who is spiritually inrobust health, but they cause
grievous injury to the soul that is weak throughthe want of the food which God has provided in his Word, or through neglectof the holy exercise of prayer, or through living in the unwholesome atmo-sphere where sin breeds a deadly miasma. The Lord Jesus Christ was proofagainst temptation, for it was his meat and drink to do the will of his Father.he spent much time in gathering fresh force by communion with God, andthe pure, fresh breath of the Holy Spirit was given without measure unto him,and therefore he could say, “The prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing, in me. Having passed the guards, and noticed the insects, we reached the garden upon a rock, which shows in every part how much can be accomplished on the most unpromising soil, if only the sun will shine upon it. The descriptions that we had read in The Sword and the Trowel, or heard from Mr. Spurgeon had made us quite familiar with the various objects of special interest with which the place abounds, and as they were pointed out to us we seemed to recognize in them friends with whom we were well acquainted, although we had never met before. Here, for instance, are the young palm-trees, which afford a lesson for beginners in business, or youthful Christians: they will take a long time to get firmly rooted and established, and after that will come the season of bearing fruit.
There is the palm which stretches its branches far above all the others that were planted at the same time — the only one in the garden which has large clusters of dates upon it; the reason for its extraordinary growth and early fruitfulness being that it has struck its roots right down into a large tank of water, and so obtained unusual nourishment: true picture of the Christian who forces his way through every obstacle, that he may have constant communion with his Lord, and so become fruitful in every good word and work. Here, too, is the great water-tank, which for lack of space could not be made broad, and therefore was sunk deep down into the very heart of the rock· All who heard our beloved President’s address at last year’s Conference will remember how he exhorted us to be like this tank, and to make up in depth what we lacked in breadth, that each one of us
might be a vast reservoir, from which dry and thirsty souls all around us might be plentifully supplied with the water of life. Here, also, is the tree which at one time bore no less than four different kinds of fruit, viz., lemons, oranges, citrons, and shaddocks· None of these are left now except the lemons, the stronger nature having conquered all the rest: type of the man upon whom truthfulness, honesty, and temperance have been grafted, but whose nature has been unchanged by grace. For a time the new grafts may produce some apparently goodly fruit, but sooner or later the original stock will assert itself,, and nothing will be left but the old nature, and the old habits, and the fruit of these things, which is death. To us who had just come from England the garden appeared like a little paradise, but the gardener told us that it sadly wanted rain in order that it might recover from the effects of the sirocco which had visited Mentone some weeks previously. After this wind has been blowing for only an hour or two everything that it touches becomes scorched and shrivelled*up, just as if it had been set on fire. Dr. Bennet explained to us the reason of this. It appears that, as a rule, the hot wind from the Sahara passes over high mountains, and crosses the Mediterranean before it reaches Europe, and by that means when it gets as far as Mentone, its great heat is so modified that it sweeps like the warm and gentle wing of an angel over this sheltered, sunny nook. It so happens, however, that there is a break in the chain of mountains, and when the current of hot air passes through this gap, instead of over the snowy summits, it reaches the opposite shore at very nearly as high a temperature as when it started from the sandy desert; and then, woe betide anything on which it lays its fiery fingers! Just like this, it seems to us, is the unveiled glory of God. No man can see him and live. The breath of his mouth will scorch us up, and destroy us utterly, unless it comes to us after it has passed over the hill called Calvary. It is only through the
medium of a crucified Christ that there can be any safe union between an offended God and offending sinners. It is in christ alone that God
reconciles the world unto himself. Our first day at Mentone would scarcely be complete if we did not report one or two of the table d’hote sayings concerning the place. We had noticed how hard the women seemed to work, but were scarcely prepared for the ungallan explanation that the reason why the men left them to carry such heavy burdens, and to perform such long journeys, was that “they are more sure-footed than donkeys, and cheaper than mules.” We had heard such marvellous descriptions of
Mentone that we did not think we could be surprised by any vision of beauty that might burst upon us, but our first sight of the place made us
declare that the half had not been told us, and nearly every change that we witnessed during our stay brought before our eyes new pictures of delight.
We were almost ready to believe the legend which says that, when our first parents were driven out of the garden of Eden, mother Eve lingered behind and plucked an apronful of oranges and lemons, intending to carry them till she found another spot as charming, as the one from which sin had caused her to be expelled. The story goes that the fallen couple traveled on for many a weary day until at last they reached this beautiful region, and then the woman said to her husband, “We shall never find a place more like paradise than this is, let us plant our fruit, and make our abode here.” The oranges and lemons that flourish so freely throughout this district are, of course, supposed to be the descendants of those that came from the garden of Eden; whether they are or not, it is quite certain that the Mentonese are the lineal representatives of the ejected gardener and his wife. Paul Joanne says “such is the fertility of the soil here that upon one occasion, a stranger coming to pay a visit to a Mentonese, stuck his cane into the ground, and when going away forgot it. Some days afterwards he went to reclaim it, but great was his amazement to find that his cane was already putting forth leaves and young branches.” It is said that this little tree, which has grown considerably since, is still to be seen in the Rue Saint Michel. The same writer states that “the citron harvest lasts at Mentone from the first of January to the thirty-first of December,” so that it may well be called a second paradise. Would that Christians could be thus fruitful all the year round! The “table-talk” at the hotel was not always very edifying or instructive, but on one occasion, at least, the silence was suggestive. We noticed that when the guests were busy with their knives and forks their tongues were unusually quiet. “So,” remarked Mr. Spurgeon, “a well-fed church will be a peaceable church. Ministers who wish to keep their people from talking twaddle, and making mischief, should give them spiritual meat: if they are half-starved they are almost certain to get quarrelling.”
November 18. — To-day we had a delightful excursion up one of the Mentone river-beds, which was almost as dry as the Jordan was where the Israelites passed through it into the Promised Land. On our way we saw a splendid villa, which, it is said, has never been opened since a certain Empress dined there. It reminded us of the story of the old lady in whose cottage the Queen had taken shelter during a storm, who, after her august visitor had departed, carefully covered up the chair in which her Majesty had sat, and declared that no one should ever sit in that seat again as long as she lived. This was no doubt intended as a compliment to royalty, but
we think we know a more excellent way; and yet some Christians err in a similar direction. They seem to think that, when Christ has once visited their hearts, the work of salvation is all completed, and that nothing is ]eft for them to do, forgetting that what the Lord has worked in them of his good will and pleasure is to be worked out with fear and trembling. Instead of becoming useless as soon as we are converted, it is only then that we begin to be truly useful. The heart that has received Jesus should not be shut up like the unoccupied villa, or covered up like the old lady’s chair, but every one who comes near it should feel that it has been consecrated by the presence of One greater than the kings of the earth. Does anyone suppose that the house of Zaccheus was closed after that memorable day when the Savior abode in it, a self-invited but welcome guest, and carried to it that choicest of all blessings — salvation? Does anyone imagine that the favored spot in Bethany where dwelt the sisters and brother whom Jesus loved was kept shut up after the departure of the royal guest who often visited it? Certainly not. Most likely they both became sacred meet- ing-places for the saints of God, who there met to talk of the things touching the King who had for a while condescended to stay there during his sojourn upon the earth. No man or woman has ever been honored by a call from an earthly monarch as the Virgin Mary was when the Lord of life and glory visited her in her low estate, and made her feeble frame the dwelling-place of the Incarnate Deity; but instead of shutting herself away from the world, as .her supposed followers have done, she fulfilled her duties as a wife and mother just as any other godly matron might have done; and in the last picture that we have of her in the Word of God we see her taking her place with the rest of the disciples, who continued with one accord in prayer and supplication, waiting for the outpouring of the Holy Ghost. After proceeding for a long distance up the river-bed already mentioned, we sat down where several mountain-streams unite to form the river. While we were resting a man passed us, and began to ascend the high hill right in front of us, apparently to get to his home. We were greatly interested in watching him as he went, first to the right, then to the left, sometimes a long way on one side, and anon as far in the other direction, but always ascending, until he disappeared above the crest of the hill on which his house was built. Thus, divine sovereignty and human
responsibility are in truth but the windings of one road which brings us to our home above, the city that hath foundations whose Builder and Maker is God. November 19. — To-day we drove to Bordighera. the Italian “city of palm-trees,” Which we found en fete in anticipation of the visit of the
Queen of Italy. As we viewed the various preparations for the royal reception, we thought of another Monarch, who often comes where none are ready to receive him, though he brings with him blessings richer than any earthly sovereign ever can bestow. He asks for no outward pomp and show when he appears, but what he craves is a hearty welcome to our inmost souls. Like those of whom we read in Luke’s gospel, who “gladly received him, for they were all waiting for him,” let us prepare for the coming of the King to us, and have everything in readiness, so that at the first sic-ms of his approach, like the wise virgins, we may go out to meet him, and give him the greeting which he rightfully deserves. For several days from this time few entries of general interest appear in our diary, the principal items being reports of the daily state of the health of the beloved editor of The Sword and the Trowel, who had been once more laid quite prostrate by most painful affliction. December 1. — This morning we had a very heavy snow-storm, a phenomenon which had only been observed in Mentone twice before during the last twenty years. It caused the poor sufferer a further relapse, and inflicted terrible loss upon the peasants of the district, whose whole property consists in their lemons, oranges, olives, and vines. Dr. Bennet told us that the damage to the lemons alone was estimated at from one to two millions of francs. The olives being hardier, were not so much injured, although many of their branches were broken by the weight of the snow upon them. What struck us most of all was the exceeding beauty of the olives while the snow was falling upon them, or resting upon their leaves and boughs. It seemed to give us an exquisitely lovely picture of the child of God exposed to unusual trial. During our sojourn here we have seen the olives when the first rays of the rising sun have made them glow like the bush that Moses saw, which burned but was not consumed, and they have reminded us of the sight that must have met the Savior’s eyes at the end of his all-night commings with his Father on the Mount of Olives; we have seen them beneath a cloudless sky glistening in the clear, calm sunlight, like a myriad drops of dew; we have seen them when the setting sun has flung his imperial robe around them, and clothed them as with a mantle of purple velvet, ready for some great state
ceremonial; we have seen them when the moon has given to them the same soft, silvery light that their companions saw on that dread night when in Gethsemane, the Lord of the olives was pressed, and bruised, and crushed until “his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling to the ground “;
we have seen them when the clusters of berries have been so thick that the branches have been bent almost to the earth with the weight of the precious