MR. COAN ANSWERS THE DOCTOR.
The doctor's sermon had the usual effect of controversial sermons--it
convinced everybody that was convinced before and strengthened those
who before were strong. Everybody was talking of it. The farmers as
they drove their oxen stepped with a vigorous air, like men that were
not going to be brought under any yoke of bondage. Old ladies in
their tea-drinkings talked about the danger of making a righteousness
of forms and rites and ceremonies, and seemed of opinion that the
proceedings at the Episcopal church, however attractive, were only an
insidious putting forth of one paw of the Scarlet Beast of Rome, and
that if not vigorously opposed the whole quadruped, tooth and claw,
would yet be upon their backs.
But it must not be supposed that this side of the question had all
the talk to itself. The Rev. Simeon Coan was a youth of bright parts,
vigorous combativeness and considerable fluency of speech, and he
immediately prepared a sermon on his side of the question, by which,
in the opinion of the Lewises, the Danforths, the Copleys and all
the rest of his audience, he proved beyond a doubt that Christmas
ought to be kept, and that the 25th of December was the proper time
for keeping it. He brought also quotations from Greek and Latin thick
as stars in the skies; and as to the quotations of the doctor he
ignored them altogether, and talked about something else.
The doctor had been heard to observe with a subdued triumph that he
really would like to see how "Coan" would "get round" that passage in
Clement, but he could not have that pleasure, because "Coan" did not
get anywhere near it, but struck off as far as possible from it into
a region of quotations on his own side; and as his audience were not
particularly fitted to adjudicate nice points in chronology, and as
quotations from the Church Fathers on all sides of almost any subject
under the sun are plentiful as blackberries in August, Mr. Coan
succeeded in making his side to the full as irrefragable in the eyes
of his hearers as the doctor's in those of his.
But besides this he reinforced himself by proclaiming with vigor the
authority of the Church. "The Church has ordained," "The Church in
her wisdom has directed," "The Church commands," and "The Church hath
appointed," were phrases often on his tongue, and the sound rolled
smoothly above the heads of good old families who had long felt the
want of some definite form of authority to support their religious
preferences in face of the general Congregationalism of the land.
The _Church_, that mysterious and awful power that had come down from
distant ages, had survived the dissolution of monarchies and was
to-day the same as of old! The thought was poetical and exciting, and
gave impulse to the fervor inspired by a liturgy and forms of worship
allowed even by adversaries to be noble and beautiful; and their
minister's confident assertion that the Church commanded, approved
and backed up all that they were doing was immensely supporting to
the little band. The newly-acquired members, born and brought up in
Congregational discipline, felt all the delight of a new sense of
liberty. It had not always been possible to go to any other than the
dominant church, and there was a fresh emotion of pleasure in being
able to do as they pleased in the matter; so they readily accepted
Mr. Coan's High Church claims and doctrines. Instead of standing on
the defensive and apologizing for their existence he boldly struck
out for the rock of apostolic succession, declared their church
_the_ true Apostolic Church, the only real church in the place,
although he admitted with an affable charity that doubtless good
Christian people among the various sects who departed from this true
foundation might at last be saved through the uncovenanted mercies of
God.
Imagine the scorn which this doctrine inspired in Puritan people, who
had been born in the faith that New England was the vine which God's
right hand had planted--who had looked on her church as the Church
of God, cast out indeed into the wilderness, but bearing with her
"the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, the giving of the
law, and the service of God, and the promises." That faith was woven
into the very existence of the New England race. They cast great
roots about it as the oaks of the forest grasped and grew out of the
eternal rocks of their hard and barren shores. So, when Mr. Simeon
Coan, in a white surplice, amid suspicious chantings and bowings and
genuflections, announced a doctrine which disfranchised them of the
heavenly Jerusalem, and made them aliens from the commonwealth of
Israel and strangers to the covenant of promise, there was a grim
sense of humor mingled with the indignation which swelled their
bosoms.
"Uncovenanted marcies!" said stout Tim Hawkins. "Thet's what they
call 'em, do they? Wal, ef thet's what Parson Cushing and all the
ministers of our association has got to live and die by--why, it's
good enough for me. I don't want no better; I don't care which kind
they be. I scorn to argue with such folks."
In fact they felt as if they had seen a chip sparrow flying in the
face of an eagle in his rock-bound eyrie.
But the doctor's sermon had the effect to draw the lines as to
keeping Christmas up to the tightest brace. The academy teacher took
occasion on Monday to remark to his scholars how he had never thought
of such a thing as suspending school for Christmas holidays, and
those of the pupils who, belonging to Episcopal families, had gone
on Christmas Day to church were informed that marks for absence and
non-performance of lessons would stand against them, no matter what
excuses they might bring from parents. As to Christmas holidays--the
giving up to amusement a week, from Christmas to New Year's--he spoke
of it as a popish enormity not to be mentioned or even thought of in
God-fearing New England, which abhorred a holiday as much as nature
abhors a vacuum. Those parents whose children had been drawn in to
attend these seductive festivities were anxiously admonished by their
elders in homilies from the text, "Surely, in vain the net is spread
in the sight of any bird."
For example, witness one scene. It is Sunday evening, and the bright
snapping fire lights up the great kitchen chimney where the widow
Jones is sitting by the stand with her great Bible before her. A
thin, weary, kindly old face is hers, with as many lines in it as
Denner's celebrated picture of the old woman. Everything about her,
to her angular figure and her thin bony hands, bore witness to the
unsparing work that had been laid upon every hour and moment of her
life. Even now the thin hands that rested on the Bible twitched at
times mechanically as if even in the blessed rest of Sunday evening
she felt the touch of the omnipresent knitting needles.
On the settle beside the fire, half stretched out, lounges Hiel, her
youngest born son and the prop of her old age; for all others have
gone hither and thither seeking their future in the world. Hiel has
been comforting her heart by the heartiest praises of the minister's
sermon that day.
"I tell you what, Mother, them 'Piscopals got pitched into lively,
now; the Doctor pursued 'em 'even unto Shur,' as the Scriptur' says."
"Yis; and, Hiel, I hope you won't be seen goin' to the 'Piscopal
meetings no more. I felt reely consarned, after I heard the sarmon,
to think of your bein' in to that air 'lumination."
"Oh laws, Mother, I jest _hed_ to go to see to things. Things hez to
be seen to; there was the Doctor's boys right up in the front slips,
and little Dolly there rolled up like a rabbit down there under them
spruces. I had to take her home. I expect it's what waked up the
Doctor so, what I said to him."
"Wal, Hiel, mebbe it was all fer the best; but I hope you'll let it
alone now. And I heard you was a settin' up with Nabby Higgins the
other evening; was you?"
A curious expression passed over Hiel's droll handsome face, and he
drew his knife from his pocket and began reflectively to shave a bit
of shingle.
"Wal, yis, Mother; the fact is, I did stay with Nabby Christmas
evening, as they call it. Nabby and me's allers ben good friends,
you know. You know, Mother, you think lots of Nabby's mother, Mis'
Higgins, and it ain't her fault nor Nabby's ef she hez to leave our
meetin'. It's old Zeph that makes 'em."
"O yis. I ha'n't nothin' agin Mis' Higgins. Polly Higgins is a good
woman as is goin'. I don't want no better; but as to Nabby, why,
she's light and triflin', and she's goin' right into all these 'ere
vanities; and I don't want no son of mine to get drawn away arter
her. You know how 'twas in old times, it was the Moabitish women that
allers made mischief."
"Oh land o' Goshen, Mother, jes as ef it would do any harm for me to
set up with Nabby in the minister's own kitchen. Ef she don't pisen
the minister's boys and Dolly she won't pisen me; besides, I wanted
to see what was in that air bundle Mis' Cushing's folks sent to her
from Boston. Of course I knew you'd be a wantin' to know."
"Wal, did you see?" said the widow, snapping at once at the bait so
artfully thrown.
"I rather reckon I did. Dolly she got a red frock and red shoes, and
she was so tickled nothing would do but she must bring her red frock
and red shoes right out to show to Nabby. They think all the world of
each other, Nabby and Dolly do."
"Was the dress made up?" said the widow.
"Oh, yis; all made up, ready to put right on."
"Red, did you say?"
"Yes, red as a robin, with little black sprigs in't, and her shoes
red morocco. I tell you she put 'em on and squeaked round in 'em
lively! Then there was six silk pocket-handkerchers for the Doctor,
all hemmed, and his name marked in the corner; and there was a nice
book for each o' them boys, and a bonnet-ribbin for Miss Cushing."
"What color was it?" said the widow.
"Wal, I don't know--sort o' sky-blue scarlet," said Hiel, tired of
particulars. "I never know what women call their ribbins."
"Wal, reely now, it's a good thing for folks to have rich
relations," soliloquized the widow. "I don't grudge Mis' Cushing her
prosperity--not a grain."
"Yis, and the doctor's folks was glad enough to get them things, if
they _was_ Christmas presents. The Christmas didn't pisen 'em, any
way; Mis' Cushing's folks up to Boston 's 'Piscopals, but she thinks
they're pretty nice folks, if they _be_ 'Piscopals.
"Now, Hiel," said the widow, "Nabby Higgins is a nice girl--a girl
that's got faculty, and got ambition, and she's handsome. I expect
she's prudent and laid by something out of her wages"--and here the
widow paused and gazed reflectively at the sparks on the chimney-back.
"Wal, Mother, the upshot on't is that if I and Nabby should want
to make a team together there wouldn't be no call for wailin' and
gnashin' of teeth. There might wuss things happen; but jes now Nabby
and I's good friends--that's all."
And with this settlement the widow Jones, like many another mother,
was forced to rest contented, sure that her son, in his own good
time, would--do just as he pleased.