THE LECTURE.
"You look seedy this morning, Mr. Weston," said Williams, as George
entered the office on the following day. "The effect of last night's
dissipation, I suppose. How did you like the play?"
"Not at all," answered George, mortified and angry at having the
question put to him before all the clerks, who were now informed of the
fact of his having been there.
"No; I suppose one Abinadab Sleek does not like to hear another one of
the same gang spoken ill of, eh?"
"I do not understand you," said George.
"Then, to put it plainer, you and Hardy, who are of the 'Serious Family'
style, don't like to see yourselves taken off quite so true to life as
you were last night at the Adelphi. You saw that old canting Abinadab
Sleek was up to every dodge and vice, although he did seem such a
sanctified individual in public; and our young Solomons, who condemn
wicked theatres and disgusting taverns, can go to both on the sly, and
be as sanctimonious as ever Abinadab was in office."
George felt his hands clench, and his eyes flash fire. He could bear
taunts from Williams, when he had right on his side, and felt the
consciousness of innocence; but he could not bear it now.
"You lie," said George passionately, "in drawing that comparison."
"And you lie continually," said Williams, "in acting a perpetual edition
of that part of the 'Serious Family' represented by Abinadab Sleek."
"Fight it out I fight it out!" said Lawson. "The Governor won't be here
for half an hour; bolt the door and have it out."
"Nothing of the kind," said Hardy, stepping forward. "Williams is the
aggressor in this instance; it is nothing to him if Weston and I went to
the theatre every night in our lives; he has no right to interfere; if
he fights it must be with Weston and me, for he insults me as much as my
friend."
"Then come on," said Williams, taking off his coat, "and I'll take you
both: one man is worth two canting hypocrites, any day."
But no one had bolted the door, and, to the surprise of all, Mr.
Compton stood before them.
"What is this?" he said; "young men in my office talking of fighting, as
if it were the tap-room of a public house? George Weston! I did not
think this of you."
"Do not judge hastily, sir," said Hardy. "My friend Weston has been
grossly insulted by Mr. Williams, and the little disturbance has only
been got up through jealousy, to get him into trouble."
"Step into my room a moment, Mr. Hardy," said Mr. Compton; "and you,
too, Weston and Williams."
George was flushed with excitement; but his proud, manly bearing, in
contrast to the crest-fallen Williams, won for him the admiration of the
whole staff of clerks.
Mr. Compton patiently heard from Hardy a recital of the causes leading
to the fray, and was made acquainted with the course of opposition
George had to contend with, from Williams and Lawson, ever since he had
been in the office.
"I regret this circumstance," said Mr. Compton, "for several reasons. I
have always held you, Weston, in the highest estimation, nor do I see
sufficient cause, from this event, to alter my estimate; but I have
always found my best clerks those who have been in the habit of spending
their evenings elsewhere than in theatres and taverns. I am not
surprised at the part you have taken, Mr. Williams; and it now rests
with you, whether you remain in this office or leave. I will not have
the junior clerks in this establishment held in subjection to those who
have been with me a few years longer; nor will I have a system of insult
and opposition continued, which must eventually lead to unpleasant
results. If I hear any more of this matter, or find that you persist in
your unwarranted insults on Mr. Weston, I shall at once dismiss you from
my service. You did well, Mr. Hardy, in interfering to prevent a
disgraceful fight; and, much as I dislike tale-bearing, I request you to
inform me, for the future, of any unpleasantness arising to Mr. Weston
from this affair."
Williams was terribly crest-fallen, and the tide of office opinion
turned from him in favour of George and Hardy, who, without crowing over
the victory they had gained, yet showed a manly determination not to
allow an insult which reflected upon their characters.
"I tell you what it is," whispered Lawson to Williams; "Old Compton
takes a fancy to those two sneaking fellows, and, after this affair,
the office will get too hot for us if we do not draw it milder to them.
If I were you, I should waylay them outside the office and say something
civil, by way of soft soap, so as to nip this matter off, for you've got
the worst of it so far."
Williams determined to accept the hint Lawson had given him, and when
the office closed, remained in the court until George came out.
"Mr. Weston," he said, stretching out his hand, which George felt would
be mean-spirited not to take, "that was an unpleasant affair this
morning, but I didn't think you would fire up as you did; and when I let
fly at you, it was only in joke."
"I must deny that it was a joke," George replied; "it was an intended
insult. Probably you might not have thought it would have produced
indignation in me, because you, evidently, do not understand my feelings
in the matter. However, let the thing drop now. I will not retract what
I said to you this morning, that you lied in forming that estimate of my
character, nor do I ask you to retract your words, unless your
conscience tells you that you wronged me."
"What I said was hasty, and I don't mind eating all my words," said
Williams; "so, as the song says, 'Come, let us be happy together.' Will
you come into the King's Head, and take a glass of wine on the strength
of it?"
"No, thank you," said George; "but as it is no wish of mine to live at
loggerheads with any one, here is my hand upon it."
And then they shook hands, and so the matter ended. But it ended only so
far as Williams was concerned. A day or two afterwards Mr. Brunton was
passing the office, and he called in to say "How d'ye do?" to Mr.
Compton. In the course of conversation he asked how George was getting
on, and whether he continued to give satisfaction.
"Yes," said Mr. Compton, "I have no fault to find with him; on the
contrary, he is the best junior clerk I ever had, and I trust him with
matters I never placed in the hands of a junior clerk before. But there
was an unfortunate occurrence the other day, which I think it right to
mention to you confidentially." And then Mr. Brunton heard the whole
history of the theatre adventure, and its consequences in the office on
the following morning. He was grieved, deeply grieved. At first he could
not credit the account; but when he heard that George had himself
confessed to the truth of the circumstances before Mr. Compton, and
there was no longer room to doubt, a tear stood in his eye as he thought
of his nephew--that noble, manly boy, whom he loved with all the
affection of a father--stooping to temptation, and acting the part of a
deceiver; for Mr. Brunton had spent an evening with Mrs. Weston and
George, and had heard nothing of his having been to a theatre, nor did
he believe Mrs. Weston was aware of it.
"What I have told you is strictly confidential," said Mr. Compton; "but
as you are, as it were, the father of George Weston, I thought it only
right that you should know this, in order that you may warn him, if he
has got into the hands of bad companions."
George was absent from the office during the interview, and did not know
until some days afterwards of his uncle's visit.
Mr. Brunton went from Falcon-court a sadder man. He was perplexed and
harassed; he could not conscientiously tell Mrs. Weston, as he had
received the information in confidence; he could not speak directly to
George upon the subject, because he would at once have known that Mr.
Compton must have given the statement to his uncle. He was obliged,
therefore, to remain passive in the matter for a day or two, and
resolved to spend an evening that week at Islington.
In the meantime the affair became known to Mrs. Weston, and in rather a
curious manner. George had worn his best coat on the evening he went to
the theatre; and one day as Mrs. Weston, according to custom, was
brushing it, before putting it away in his drawers, she turned out the
pockets, and, amongst other things, drew forth a well-used play-bill.
"George has never been to the theatre, surely?" she asked herself.
"Impossible! he would have told me had he done so, for he is far too
high-principled to deceive me."
But the sight of that play-bill worried Mrs. Weston. She thought over it
all day, and longed for the evening to come, when she might ask George
about it.
That evening Mr. Brunton had determined to spend at Islington; and as he
was passing Falcon-court, he called for George on his way, and they
walked home together.
The play-bill happened to be on the table when they entered, and it
caught the eye of both George and Mr. Brunton at once.
"Where did you get that from?" asked George, colouring, not with the
honest flush of self-respect, but with the burning sense of deceit
detected.
"I found it in your pocket, George; and as I have never found one there
before, I thought I would leave it out, to ask you how you came by it."
"I came by it the other night, when I went to the theatre," said George;
for he could not tell a direct falsehood. "I did not tell you of it at
the time, but led you to suppose that I had been at the institution."
Mrs. Weston was indeed sorry to hear George's account of what had
passed; but Mr. Brunton felt all his old confidence in George restored
by the open, genuine statement he made.
"George," said Mr. Brunton, "I know you are old enough to manage your
affairs for yourself, without an uncle's interference, but do take from
me one word of caution. I fear you may be led unwittingly into error by
your associates. Do be on your guard--'if sinners entice thee, consent
thou not.' If you feel it right, and can conscientiously go with them
and adopt their habits, I have no right, nor should I wish to advise
you; but if you feel that you are wrong in what you do, listen to the
voice of your better self, and pause to consider. Do not turn a deaf
ear to its entreaties, but be admonished by its counsel, and rather
sacrifice friends and pleasure than that best of all enjoyments--the
satisfaction of acting a part of duty to God and yourself."
George did not argue the point with his uncle; he felt himself in the
wrong, but could not see his way clear to get right again.
"I have made so many resolves in my short life," he said, "and have
broken them so often, that I will not pledge myself to making fresh ones
My error, in this instance, has not been the fault of my companionships,
but entirely my own; and, as far as I can see, the chief blame lies in
having concealed the matter from my mother, which I did principally out
of kindness to her. But I will endeavour to take your counsel, uncle."
Weeks passed away, and with them the vivid memories of that time. George
had at length reasoned himself into the idea that a great deal of
unnecessary fuss had been made about nothing, and instead of weaning
himself from the society of Ashton, they became more than ever thrown
into each other's company. George was a constant attendant at the
institution, where he was surrounded by a large circle of intimate
acquaintances, with whom much of his time was spent. In the office he
had risen in the estimation of the clerks. Williams and Lawson, finding
that opposition was unavailing, altered their conduct towards him, and
became as civil and obliging as they had before been insulting and
disagreeable. George began to think he had belied their characters from
not having known sufficient of them; and instead of shunning them, as he
had hitherto done, sometimes took a stroll with them in the evening
after office hours, and once or twice had dined with them at the King's
Head.
Imperceptibly, George began to alter. Sooner or later, evil
communications must corrupt good manners; and from continually beholding
the lives of his companions, without possessing that one thing needful
to have kept him free from the entanglement of their devices, he became
changed into the same image, by the dangerous power of their influence
and example.
A month or two after the theatre adventure, Mrs. Weston received an
invitation to spend a week or two in the country with some relatives,
whom she had not seen for several years. Mr. Brunton persuaded her to
accept it, as the change would be beneficial; and George, knowing how
seldom his mother had an opportunity for recreation, added all his
powers of argument to induce her to go. The only obstacle presenting
itself was the management of the house during her absence. Mr. Brunton
invited George to stay with him while Mrs. Weston would be away; and she
did not like to leave her servant alone in the house with the boarders.
It was at last arranged that George should decline Mr. Brunton's
invitation, and have the oversight of the house during his mother's
absence.
The first night after her departure, George brought Hardy home with him
to spend the evening, and a pleasant, quiet time they had together.
"It will be rather dull for you, George," said Hardy, "if Mrs. Weston is
going to remain away for a few weeks. What shall you do on Sunday? You
had better come and spend the day with us."
"No, I cannot do that, because I promised I would be here, to let the
servant have an opportunity of going to church. But I mean to ask Ashton
to come and spend the day here, and you will come too; and there's
Dixon, he is a nice fellow, I'll ask him to come as well."
"What is to be the programme for the day?" said Hardy. "Of course it
will be a quiet one."
"We will all go to church or chapel in the morning, spend the afternoon
together at home, and take a stroll in the evening after the service.
Are you agreed?"
"I think we shall have a very nice day of it. Let the other chaps know
of it early, and we will meet here in good time in the morning."
Sunday came, and George's friends arrived as he expected. They were
early, and had time for a chat before starting out.
"Where shall we go this morning?" asked George. "There is a very good
minister close by at the church, and another equally good at the chapel.
My principles are unsectarian, and I do not mind where it is we go."
"Don't you think," said Dixon, "we might do ourselves more good by
taking a stroll a few miles out of town, and talking out a sermon for
ourselves?"
"I am inclined to the belief that nature is the best preacher," Ashton
remarked. "We hear good sermons from the pulpit, it is true; but words
are poor things to teach us of the Creator, in comparison with
creation."
"I do not agree with you in your religious sentiments, Ashton, as you
know," said George. "Creation tells us nothing about our Saviour, and,
as I read the Scriptures, no man can know God, the Father and Great
Creator, but through Him."
"And yet, if I remember rightly, the Saviour said that He made the
world, and without Him was not anything made that was made--so that He
was the Creator; and when we look from nature up to nature's God we see
Him, and connecting His history with the world around us, we have in
creation, as I said before, the best sermon; aye, and what the parsons
call a 'gospel' sermon, too."
"I agree with you," said Dixon; "preaching is all very well in its way,
and I like a good sermon; but the words of man can never excel the works
of God."
"A proper sermon," replied George, "is not uttered in the words of man;
they are God's words applied and expounded. Nature may speak to the
senses, but the Scriptures alone speak to the heart; and that is the
object of preaching. But you are my visitors, and you shall decide the
point."
"Then I say a stroll," said Ashton.
"And so do I," chimed in Dixon.
"I am for going to a place of worship," said Hardy.
"And so am I," Ashton replied; "is not all God's universe a place of
worship?"
"Perhaps so," answered Hardy; "but I mean the appointed and proper
place, where those who try to keep holy the Sabbath day are accustomed
to meet--a church or chapel."
"I side with Hardy," said George. "But I am willing to meet you halfway.
If I go with you this morning, you must all promise to go with me in the
evening. But bear in mind I am making a concession, and I go for a
stroll under protest, because it is contrary to my custom."
"All right, old chap," said Ashton. "I never knew anybody's conscience
fit them so uneasily as yours does. But it always did; at school, you
were a martyr to it, and I believe the blame lies at the door of dear
old Dr. Seaward, who persisted in training us up in the way we should
go, just as if we were all designed to be parsons."
"Poor old Dr. Seaward!" said George. "If he only knew two of his old
scholars were going out for a stroll on Sunday morning to hear nature
preach, I believe his body would hardly contain his troubled spirit."
"And he would appear before us to stop us on our way--"
"Like the spirit before Balaam and his ass, seems the most appropriate
simile," said Dixon, "for, if I recollect rightly, Balaam was going
where he should not have gone, and his conscience gave him as much
trouble as Weston's does."
George did not think and say, as Balaam did, "I have sinned;" but he
felt the sting of ridicule, and determined he would allow no
conscientious scruple to bring it upon him again during that day.
"After all," he argued with himself, "what is the use of my being
conscientious, for I am so wretchedly inconsistent? I had better go all
one way, or all the other, instead of wavering between the two, and
perpetually showing my weakness."
It would have puzzled any one to have told what sermon nature preached
to that merry party, as they wandered through green fields and quiet
lanes, talking upon a hundred different subjects, and making the calm
Sabbath morn ring with the strains of their laughter.
"Your idea of creation's voice is better in theory than in practice,"
George said, when they returned home. "Can any of you tell me what the
text was which nature took to preach from, for I have no distinct
remembrance of it?"
"The text seemed to me to be this," said Dixon, "that 'to everything
there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens--a time
to weep and a time to laugh--a time to keep silence and a time to
speak;' and the application was, that we had chosen the right time for
enjoying much speaking and much laughing."
The afternoon was not spent as George had been accustomed to spend it.
Light, frivolous conversation, and still more dangerous debate upon
religious subjects, without religious feeling, occupied the time, and
George felt glad when the evening came, and they started off together to
hear a popular preacher, whose merits they had been discussing during
the afternoon.
On their way thither they passed a large building, into which several
people were entering, and as the outside of the place was ornamented
with handbills, they paused to read them. They ran thus:--
"HALL OF SCIENCE.--A Lecture will be delivered in this Hall on
Sunday evening, at half past six, by Professor Martin, on 'The Uses
of Reason.' Young men are cordially invited to attend.
"What is truth? Search and see."
"Do you know anything of this Professor Martin?" asked Dixon. "Is he
worth hearing?"
"A friend of mine told me he had heard him, a little while ago, and was
never better pleased with any lecture," Ashton answered. "Shall we put
up here for the evening?"
"Is he a preacher, or a mere lecturer?" asked George. The question
attracted the attention of a person entering the Hall; and, turning to
George, he answered:--
"Professor Martin is one of those best of all preachers. He can interest
without sending you to sleep, and his discourses are full of sound
wisdom. He is a lover of truth, and advocates the only way to arrive at
it, which is by unfettered thought. In his lectures he puts his theory
into practice by freely expressing his unfettered thoughts. I have seats
in the front of the lecture-room; if you will favour me by accepting
them, they are at your service."
The plausible and polite manner of the stranger was effectual with
George.
"I don't think we can do better than go in and hear what the lecturer
has to say," he said to the others. And, assent being given, they
followed the stranger, and were conducted to the proffered seats.
The audience consisted principally of men, the majority of whom were
young and of an inferior class, such as shopmen and mechanics. There was
a large platform, with chairs upon it, but no pulpit or reading-desk.
When the lecturer, accompanied by a chairman and some friends, entered,
George and his companions were surprised to hear a clapping of hands and
stamping of feet, similar to the plan adopted at public amusements.
"This does not seem much like a Sunday evening service," said George.
"We have time to leave, if you like; or shall we stay and see it out?"
"Oh! let us stay," replied the others.
No hymn was sung, no prayer was offered at the commencement, but the
lecturer, with a pocket Bible in his hands, quoted a few passages of
Scripture, as follows:--
"Come now, and let us reason together,"--Isa. i. 18; "I applied mine
heart to know, and to search, and to seek out wisdom, and to know the
reason of things,"--Eccles. vii. 25; "And Paul, as his manner was, went
in unto them, and three Sabbath days reasoned with them out of the
Scriptures,"--Acts xvii. 2; "Be ready alway to give an answer to every
man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you,"--1 Peter iii.
15.
The object of the lecturer was to show that no intelligent being could
receive truth unless that truth commended itself to reason, because the
two were never in opposition one with the other. Conscience, he said,
was the soul's safeguard, and reason the safeguard of the heart and
intellect. It was irrational to condemn any course of conduct which
conscience approved, and it was equally irrational to believe anything
that could not be understood. The Word of God might be useful in its
way, but only as studied with unfettered thought. If that Word exalted
reason and then taught inconsistencies and absurdities, reason must
discriminate between the right and the wrong. "For example," he
continued, "if that book tells me that there are three Gods, and yet
those three are one, I reason by analogy and say, here are three
fingers; each one has its particular office; but I cannot make these
three fingers one finger, neither can I make three Gods one God."
So the lecturer continued, but he did not put his case in so many plain
words as these; every argument he clothed with doubtful words, so as to
make falsehood look like truth, and blasphemy like worship. He was an
educated and intelligent man, gifted with that dangerous power of
preaching the doctrine of devils in the guise of an angel of light, and
handling deadly sophistry with as firm a grasp as if it were the sword
of the Spirit.
At the conclusion of the lecture he announced his intention to speak
from that platform again on the following Sunday, and invited all who
were inquiring the way of truth to be present, and judge what he said,
"whether it be right, or whether it be wrong."
As George and his friends were leaving the hall, the stranger, who had
accosted them before, came up, and bowing politely said--
"Will you allow me to offer you the same seats, for next Sunday evening?
If you will say yes, I will reserve them for you; otherwise you may have
difficulty in obtaining admission, for the room will, in all
probability, be more crowded than to-night, as Professor Martin was not
announced to lecture until late in the week, and the friends who
frequent the Hall had no notice of his being here."
"I will certainly come," said Ashton. "I never heard a speaker I liked
better. What say you?" he asked, turning to the others.
"I am anxious to hear the conclusion of the argument," said George; "so
we will accept your invitation," he added to the stranger, "and thank
you for your kindness and courtesy."
It was a long conversation the friends had as they strolled along that
evening. To George every argument the lecturer had brought forward was
new; and bearing, as they did, the apparent stamp of truth, he was
utterly confounded. Although he was a good biblical scholar, as regarded
the historical and narrative parts of the Scriptures, he was but ill
informed on those more subtle points which the lecturer handled. He had
never heard the doctrine of the Trinity, for example, disputed, and had
always implicitly believed it; now, when the lecturer quoted Scripture
to prove that truth was to be analysed by reason, and reason rejected
the idea of a Trinity, he was as unable to reconcile the two as if he
had never received any religious instruction at all.
"If what he advances be true," said George, "how irrational many things
in the Christian religion are! And how singular that men like him, who
'search into the reason of things' for wisdom, and hold opinions
contrary to the orthodox notions of those whom we call Christians,
should be looked upon with suspicion and distrust."
"No," replied Ashton; "he met that idea by saying that it was not more
than singular, in the early stages of science, for people to be burnt as
witches and magicians, because they made discoveries which are now
developed and brought into daily use, than it is now for men to be
scouted as infidel and profane, because they teach opinions which only
require investigation to make them universally admitted."
An unhappy day was that Sunday for George Weston. He had violated
principle, made concessions against the dictates of conscience (how poor
a safeguard for him!) and had learnt lessons which taught him to despise
those instructions which had hitherto been as a lamp unto his feet and a
light unto his path.
"Blessed is the man that _walketh_ not in the counsel of the ungodly,
nor _standeth_ in the way of sinners, nor _sitteth_ in the seat of the
scornful." George little thought how rapidly he was passing through
those different stages on the downward road. Had he never listened to
the council of the ungodly, he would not have walked in the way of evil,
but would have avoided even its very appearance; he would not have stood
in the way of sinners, parleying with temptations, as he had done on so
many occasions; nor would he have occupied that most dangerous of all
positions, the fatal ease of sitting in the seat of the scornful.