Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing

WOLVES IN SHEEPS CLOTHING. BY SARA WHALEN, TEACHER IN THE UTAH STATE SCHOOL FOR THE BLIND, OGDEN.

Alas! for the rarity of Christian charity under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, friends he had none,

"I am miserably alone, a stranger in a strange city, whither shill I turn for counsel? 0, caste! why is station so impenetrable a wall? Has spirit given place to form, in religion, in life, in society? It is not food nor raiment that my heart craves; but it is communion with my kind."

The speaker was a young man about twenty-three years of age. He sat in a room which was plainly, almost severely furnished; there were few luxuries in the apartment. As for its occupant, he was tastily though plainly clad. There was nothing remarkable in his personal appearance. He was neither handsome nor homely, neither short nor tall, yet his face had a pleasant and thoughtful expression, and his grey eyes betokened a reflective mind. He seemed now to be suffering from a deep dejection. He sat for some moments abstracted, then arose, put on his hat and coat mechanically and went from the house into the street. About three months before, Arthur Schofield had left his rural Vermont home and come to seek his fortune in the city. He had found employment in one of the large factories so prominent in New England cities. He had been bereft of a father's counsel when a mere youth, but his early years had been guarded by a mother's solicitous care. He had received a moral and religious,

180 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

as well as an intellectual education. He had been an apt scholar and made special progress in His the mathematical branches. desire for companionship was very strong, and his mother feared for him in this particular. "Keep your heart pure and your honor bright, my boy," she had said to him at parting. "Keep good companions, be sure of that; shun bad company as you would a serpent." Ever since he had been in the city, Arthur Schofield had longed for those social pleasures in which all of us delight, but whose need none of us feel deeply, until we are deprived of them. He had sought, in vain, an entrance to good society, and the failure to find it had made a deep impression upon him. His training naturally led him into church work, but the city church seemed to him stiff and ceremonious. He looked, in vain, for the people to greet him. He felt a lack of sociability; no one welcomed him —a stranger—and after he had made a casual acquaintance, a formal "good morning" or other such common-place greeting was all that he in most cases received. This precision froze out of him his love for the church. "If the church will not open

for me the door to society, where shall I find it open?" And thus, for some weeks, he had ceased to attend public worship. For some time, he seemed not Let us follow him in his walk. to know which way to turn. At length a hand on his arm recalled him to reality, and turning he saw Frank Marsey, one of the bookkeepers in the same factory in which he was employed. "Hello, Schofield! What's the matter with you? Why, you look as if you hadn't a friend in the world. Cheer up, my lad, there's plenty to live for, and a jolly good time for those who will take it. Come with me to Carman's." Arthur Schofield reflected a moment before replying. He knew that Carman's was a gentlemen's club with bar attached. Shall I go? he questioned. Marsey had been going there for years, and he fared well enough; he seemed to get some pleasure out of life! Why should he deny himself a pleasant evening, now it was offered to him? He thought Marsey saw his embarrassment. "Come, come, Schofield," he said quickly, "you'll enjoy your-

self. Come, and don't mince about trifles." "Well, I'll go," Schofield answered.

WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 181

They walked on rapidly together until they reached the club. They entered a large, airy apartment, fitted up with those comforts and luxuries which make for ease and enjoyment. The walls were hung with pictures and the whole aspect of the place was cheerful. Men sat in various parts of the room smoking cigars, reading papers or magazines, cracking jokes, or in groups chatting pleasantly or discussing the latest local or sporting incidents, or playing at cards, billiards, pool or other games. It was a picture

of hospitality. It is doubtful if Schofield had ever witnessed a gathering of this sort before. He was struck with the adaptation which seemed to pervade everything. As they entered, all eyes turned toward the door. "Hello, Marsey! You come late." "Yes, a little late. I have brought a friend of mine to spend the evening. What's the news? Let's have a bottle and some glasses. Landel, Parker, Styles, Morris, Ross (motioning these gentlemen to seats at the table with himself and Schofield,) our friend here, Mr. Schofield, is a new comer in the city, and I have brought him to see the club. I am pleased to make you gentlemen

acquainted. I am sure that you will all like him." All arose and extended their hands. "Glad to see you, Mr. Schofield," said Landel, cordially. "It gives us all pleasure to meet you!" exclaimed Parker. "We don't stand on formalities here, but you will always be welcome," said Styles. "I hope you will feel at home among us," said Morris, and

immediately resumed his reading. "And come often," said Ross, handing Schofield a cigar. "Oh, we are a jolly crowd, as you will find us," said Parker, pouring out a glass of wine as he spoke, and handiDg it to Scho-

field.

"Don't refuse," said Marsey, seeing the expression on Schofield's countenance, "it will help you to shake off that dose of

blues." Schofield took the wine and drank it. Then he sat and watched the group while Marsey, Ross and Styles engaged in a game of euchre. Morris was still occupied with his paper and Parker was carelessly looking through a late periodical. In a little while he

182 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

put down his magazine and engaged in a bright conversation with Schofield. He talk^ ] so merrily that Arthur forgot his sense of loneliness and entered with zest into the evening's pleasure. "I always thought of a place where liquor was sold as low, but thii is refined, and politeness is the law." Thus thought Arthur Schofield; thus have thought many others like him! He saw the picture painted in bright colors. He beheld only the bright side of the canvas. He returned to his lodgings that night with a lighter heart; he had, at last, found intercourse with his kind. From this time he was a frequent visitor at the club. One evening, as he and Parker were conversing, the talk turned upon churches. "I never go there: they are too formal for me," said Parker. "They preach charity and never lift a hand to help a poor fellow up when he is down. I used to go, but I made up my mind that they didn't want me; I felt that I was being shouldered out. There was more pleasure in cycling, rowing, and base-ball than in church, where nobody notices anybody else unless he can write his fortune in at least five figures. Money rules the churches now, as it does everything else; and so one has it, it is not much matter how he

gets it." He drained his wine-glass as he spoke, with a self-satisfied air, but his words had made a deep impression on Schofield, who went away thinking of his friends and their strange opinions; and over and again this saying kept repeating itself: "In church, where nobody notices anybody else unless he can write his fortune in at least five figures."Then he thought of his mother. What would she think could she but know his thoughts now? But she did not know what had impelled him to these thoughts. She did not know the void that had been in his soul since his parting from her, and the cheerless waste of heart solitude through which he had passed. He had not been willing to trouble or vex her; therefore, he had written in a cheerful tone, describing his work and his surroundings in his most pleasant manner. Could she blame him if she knew his provocation? Thus he reasoned, and with these thoughts he fell asleep. The next morning being Sunday, he resolved to attend church again. The service seemed even more hollow than before. The preacher was more erudite and dry than ever. The whole

—

WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 183

commended itself to him, in his cynical mood, as husk and mockery. "0, if some one would but show a fellowship toward me now show that there was still a brotherly love in man." He questioned thus as he passed down the long aisle on his way out, but his hopes were destined to disappointment. A few deigned him a look of recognition, but most passed him by unnoticed. One gentleman lifted his eyebrows slightly at his approach. "Huh," said he to his neighbor, "there will not much good come out of him, I saw him go into Carman's Club only last night, and half the fellows

that go in there go to the dogs in six months." From that hour Arthur Schofield resolved nevermore to enter that church. After this resolve, he became more reckless. It was

not long before he found that the expense of the club was more than he could afford, yet he was loath to lose the society of his friends. At last prudential reasons prevailed. Meantime, love for drink had obtained a hold upon him. He thus gradually came to frequent the saloon. Here he found companions, though of a coarser type. Now he began to see another and a darker side of the picture; but he found companionship, and society, even such society, was preferable to solitude. Besides, he found drink first in the wine, but he was now content with the frothing beer, the stout ale, or the whiskey punch. For poor Schofield the descent was easy. Thus it was that, one night, our young friend returned to his lodging with an unsteady step and spent some hours in a state of semi-intoxication. And now the restraint of his selfrespect deserted him. He had lost even that. From that time his descent was certain and rapid. One evening he was passing along the street in a self-satisfied air, usual to men in an inebriated state, when a man touched him on the arm, and said: "My friend, will you not come to our meeting; I mean the new mission?" In an instant Schofield, who had been shambling at his ease,

stood upright. He trembled, but not from intoxication. His hands were clenched. His face was livid; his eyes flashed. His voice choked with rage: "And is it I that you invite to come to your missions? I will have none of them! My self-respect may not be able to bear me against the tide of temptations that sweep around me; my will may be weak. Society exists for the few, for the

184 IMPROVEMENT ERA.

abasement of many. It creates vagabonds and outcasts where it refuses to give a man a chance to raise himself. It makes us

what we are because your churches are too proper and precise to recognize a man in plain clothing; then it creates missions to reform us! Go tell those who sent you that you found one who dared tell you that had society done its duty he would have no need of rescue." He moved away leaving his auditor speechless. Arthur Schofield had come to regard society with something akin to hatred. * * * * * iti

The circuit court-room was crowded. It was a day in early spring, and nature, in her beauty, contrasted with the scene of stern justice that was being enacted within. For a week the trial had been in progress, and the people were on the qui vive. All was expectancy. It was a criminal proceeding. A bold robbery had been committed in an untenanted house. Much valuable property had been taken, and to make the crime more heinous, family portraits had been marred, and heirlooms had been damaged. The prisoner was in the dock charged with the crime. was Arthur It Schofield, to whom we introduced the reader only eleven months before. Seven months had sufficed to accomplish his ruin. His passion for drink had robbed him of his position, then of his sense of honor. Once on the downward road, he knew no break. He mixed with dissolute companions. His will was weak and his courage to say "no" flagged at every step. He needed drink to make him reckless, to make him forget the past—what he had been— what he might have been —and he must have money to pay for drink. He stood now as a common house-breaker. A vast concourse of people came to hear the words pronounced that would brand him as an outlaw. In that crowd sat the pastor of the church in which he had first sought fellowship. There, too, sat Frank Marsey with two or three of his boon companions. The mystery of the trial had been the sullen silence of the prisoner. He had accomplices, but their number and whereabouts were not known. Now, in the hushed stillness of the court-room, the voice of the judge came, serious, solemn, with the usual question: "Have you anything to say why sentence should not be passed upon you?"

WOLVES IN SHEEFS CLOTHING. 185

There was an instant of death-like silence, and in that instant the prisoner's form and features underwent a remarkable transformation. The sullen stolidity relaxed; he quaked in every joint. He seemed completely unnerved. He arose with difficulty to his feet. His voice was tremulous. His eyes filled with tears as he surveyed the court-room. "Only this," Schofield answered, "that had not society slammed the door in my face, I should not have been a prisoner at this bar. I knocked for admission, but it was not granted. My prospects were as bright as those of any other young man; but I loved companionship better than solitude.To find it, I was drawn into a saloon; the passion for drink became my master. To purchase it, I was led to steal; and I am here. I am guilty. I will not ask for mercy; for

mercy to me would be bitterness." He sat down, exhausted. Every eye in that vast assembly filled with sympathetic feeling. The judge, in a broken voice, read

the minimum sentence of the court. Arthur Schofield went out, his character smirched, sentenced to long years of labor in the common prison. There was another heart in that court-room on whom the sentence fell with blighting force. Arthur Schofield's mother was crushed by the blow. "Oh, my boy! my boy!" She groaned in deep anguish of soul. "Will it ever be possible for him to rise and shake off the load of guilt and shame?" * * * , * * *

In observing the life history of a young man, such as is mentioned in this story, or in reading about him, is not one strongly impressed with the fact that he has missed the light of the new and everlasting Gospel? And do not our missionaries, as well as the people of our Church, for all may be missionaries in this respect, have a noble work to perform, to lead such young men to a knowledge of the truth, young men who are craving for spiritual food, craving for the love of that elder brother, for the pleasant companionship of friends, who may be accounted real, true friends? Is it not a blessing that we are living in this dispensation?

And while we have these blessings, we must be faithful to the