of duty on which he had now sincerely entered was not at all times
equally rapid. He was always meaning well, and could "put on a spurt
and row hard against the stream," as he himself expressed it, from time
to time, but the long, steady, and regular stroke he found it very hard
to keep up. Naturally full of spirits, cherished and encouraged in
thoughts of his own superiority, and accustomed, as long as he could
remember, to have pretty much his own way, it was no light thing for him
to put a curb on his inclinations, or to check sudden impulses when they
were in the direction of what was dashing or generous. So that, while
his deliberate convictions were on the side of all that was right, he
was very liable to be led to swerve a little from the narrow path when
any sudden strain was put upon him by his own natural or acquired
tastes, where he could not gratify these with a safe conscience.
With Julia the case was different. Long had she resisted the hand that
would have led her heavenwards by trial and sorrow. High-spirited,
self-willed, and self-absorbed though not selfish, she had struggled
long against those cords of love which were drawing her out of the
pathway of error and death. But she had yielded at last, and, having
yielded, she struggled no longer. Her one great and abiding desire now
was to make progress on the higher road. Not that she had lost her
relish for amusement or her interest in outward things; but her spirit
was chastened,--a new light burned within her. Not that she loved
Walter less, but she loved Amos more; her heart was now more in unison
with his, and she could now appreciate the delicacy, and deep
tenderness, and consideration of his self-sacrificing love towards
herself, which she had in time past so cruelly flung back upon him, and
occasionally almost resented. So that now she felt it to be both her
duty and her privilege to mark and copy the nobility of his unpretending
but sterling character.
Such were brother and sister as they cantered off along the sands on the
morning when Amos set off to call on and consult Dr Atkin about his
mother. It was a charming summer day. The sea was sparkling in its
numberless wavelets; a gentle breeze blew with just so much pressure in
the faces of the riders as to add vigour to their spirits as they
plunged forward against it. Sea-birds wheeled round and round before
them, and everything spoke of brightness and enjoyment. The five miles,
partly along the sands and partly along roads skirting the edge of the
cliffs, and affording a magnificent extent of sea-view, were soon
completed. Walter was full of life and fun, only regretting that he
could not work up his sister into a mood as buoyant as his own.
However, he did his best, and satisfied himself that it was only natural
that the pressure of old sorrows could not yet be wholly taken off from
Julia's heart.
And now they were come to the outskirts of the little town. It was the
height of the season, and gaiety and frolic seemed masters of the place.
Old and young were to be met with at every turn, and, with the
exception of the manifest invalids, all looked radiant with smiles, as
though determined--and who could blame them?--to extract as much
pleasure out of their little period of holiday as the place and its
occupations could afford them. It so happened that the watering-place
was this day flooded with one or two large arrivals of excursionists.
These had evidently come down with the intention of making the very most
of their time, and doing the whole thing thoroughly. Walter and his
sister were highly entertained by watching some of these excursionists.
Here, for instance, was the family of a worthy mechanic who were intent
on getting the utmost possible out of the occasion that time and means
would allow. Father, mother, children old and young, including a baby,
with the wife's old father and mother, made up the party. Hastening
from the station to the beach, the whole family sat down together on the
sands for some ten minutes or so, inhaling, with widely opened mouths,
copious draughts of sea-air. Then the younger ones mounted donkeys, and
the father and mother each a pony, while the old folks looked on.
Having raced about hither and thither on the jaded animals in abrupt
jerks of speed prompted by the resounding blows of the owners of the
unfortunate brutes, all betook themselves to a sailing-boat; and landed
again after half-an-hour's sail, mostly pale, and with dismay in their
looks, which manifestly proclaimed that "a life on the ocean wave" was
certainly not a life to their taste. Then the old grandfather called to
the driver of an open carriage, and took an airing in it with his wife,
both sitting close behind the coachman with their backs to the horses,
and leaving the best seat vacant, utterly unconscious that they were
occupying the less desirable position, and smiling all the while blandly
on the general public, pleased to have, for once in a way, a little
taste of the pleasures of a higher grade of society than their own. The
ride over, the entire party, baby and all, dived into some obscure
region, where an unlimited amount of hot water and stale shrimps could
be had for a very trifling charge.
While Walter and his sister were amusing themselves by watching the
excursionists, they became aware of being the object of notice to two
young men who were walking slowly along the esplanade near them. But
they were so absorbed with what for the time had got their attention,
that they failed to give any special heed to these strangers. Having
put up their horses, they made for the sea, and mingled with the
numerous comers and goers, keeping a special eye, from time to time, on
the mechanic's family and their doings. They were gazing down from the
esplanade upon the busy crowds rushing backwards and forwards on the
sands below them, when the two young men who had before noticed them
passed slowly by them, raising their hats. The two were Saunders and
Gregson. Now, it is true that Walter had, as he called it, dissolved
partnership with these his old companions, and had not met them since
the day of the sad disaster in the park; but, nevertheless, there still
lingered in his heart a measure of liking for them which he could not
altogether get rid of, and a certain amount of regret that all
intercourse with them had been broken off. So he looked round
hesitatingly as he marked their salutation, and they noticed it. Again
they neared one another, and this time the young men smiled, and Walter
returned the smile. Then the two stopped, and Gregson said, "Come, old
fellow, shake hands; you've treated us rather shabbily to cut us as you
have done, but we cannot bear the thought of our old friendship being so
easily broken up. We've had many a jolly day together, and why should
it not be so again?" He held out his hand, and Walter could not, or did
not, resist the impulse to grasp it warmly. Then Saunders must have a
similar grip, and Walter could not bring himself to refuse it. After
this Julia was introduced, and the four went about amicably together,
the two young men warming up, as they saw Walter's resolution melting
away, and rattling on with all sorts of light and frivolous talk, which
grated sadly on the ear and heart of Julia Vivian.
It was now one o'clock, when Gregson exclaimed, "You must all come to
the Ship, and dine at my expense. Nay, my dear old fellow"--addressing
Walter--"I'll not hear of a refusal. You know how I let you in for that
second sovereign at the match, when Jim Jarrocks won so cleverly. I
didn't mean it, of course, but you must allow me the pleasure of making
some little amends by having you and your sister as my guests to-day."
Julia tried, by a gentle pressure of her brother's arm, to dissuade him
from accepting the invitation, but without avail. Walter felt that he
was now "in for it," and must go through with it. So the four
companions walked to the Ship Hotel, and partook of an excellent dinner
ordered by Gregson, in a private room which commanded a full view of the
sea and the crowds of pleasure-seekers who were swarming along the
sands. Both the young host and his friend Saunders drank wine and beer
freely. Walter, who had never been given to excess, was more cautious;
but partly from the excitement of the occasion, and partly, it may be,
to drown some uncomfortable whisperings of conscience, he took more of
these stimulating drinks than he would have thought of doing under
ordinary circumstances, and the result was that he was prepared, when
the meal was over, to take his part in any scheme of fun or frolic that
his new companions might propose. Julia saw this with deep shame and
regret, but she also saw that now was not the time to remonstrate. She
did speak to her brother, as they were leaving the hotel, about
returning at once, as she did not wish to be late; but Walter replied in
an impatient tone that there was plenty of time, and they might as well
have a little bit of fun first. So, with trembling heart she took his
arm as they emerged on to the esplanade, resolved that, at any rate,
come what might, she would keep close to her brother, and be as much a
check upon him as possible.
The four now made their way to the sands. As they did so, they observed
a considerable number of the visitors making their way in a body towards
a spot where a crowd had evidently assembled. "What's up now?" cried
Gregson. "Let us go and see." They all joined the stream of walkers,
and at last reached a spot where a large company of listeners were
gathered round a group of men, some of whom were distributing tracts
among the people, while one with a grave but pleasing countenance,
standing on a stout oak stool which was firmly planted among the
shingles, was giving out a verse of a popular hymn preparatory to
addressing the spectators.
"Ain't this capital?" said Gregson to Walter and Saunders in a loud
whisper. "Won't we just have a rare bit of fun!" He then spoke in a
low voice in Saunders's ear, and the young man stole round to the
opposite side of the crowd. When the hymn had been sung, and the
speaker was in the very act of commencing his discourse, a loud mew from
Gregson, who was affecting to look very solemn, made the good man pause.
He made a second attempt; but now a noise as of two cats fighting
violently came from the opposite side of the concourse. The poor
preacher looked sadly disconcerted; but when the pretended mewing and
wrangling were continued, the sense of the ludicrous seemed to prevail
in the crowd over everything else, and there was one general outburst of
laughter, in which no one joined more heartily than Walter. The crowd
began to surge backwards and forwards, and many to move off. But the
preacher still maintained his stand. "Come here! come here!" cried
Gregson in an undertone to Walter. Julia felt her brother suddenly
disengage his arm from hers, and then he was lost in the crowd. A few
minutes later, and there was a movement among the audience--if it could
now be called an audience--in the rear of the speaker; and during the
confusion, Julia, who was gazing intently on the spot where the preacher
stood, saw two faces crouching down for a moment. One was Gregson's,
the other was Walter's; and then two hands clutched the legs of the
stool, and the preacher was pitched head-foremost into the sand. A roar
of mirth followed this performance, but it soon gave place to cries of
"Shame! shame!" Then there was a lull, and then a profound silence, as
the good man who had been so cruelly used planted his feet firmly among
the shingles, and said in a clear and unfaltering voice, "My friends,
may the Lord forgive these misguided young men for their uncalled-for
and unprovoked interference and ridicule! But their malice shall not
stop the good work. Here I stand to preach God's truth; and here I mean
to stand, if the Lord will, every day during the season, opposition or
no opposition, persecution or no persecution. Let us sing another verse
of a hymn." Amidst the profoundest stillness, and evidently with the
hearty sympathy of the bulk of his hearers, the good evangelist
proceeded with his holy work.
"Come along! come along!" whispered Gregson, creeping round to Walter,
who had now regained his sister, and was feeling heartily ashamed of
himself. They all hastened back to the hotel. Walter was now
thoroughly subdued, and with a very cold leave-taking of his former
friends, he and his sister sought their horses, and made the best of
their way to the cottage, exchanging but few words as they rode along.
Such was the shameful and sorrowful ending of what had promised to be a
very happy day.
And now, when Mrs Huntingdon had been a few days established in the
cottage, by her own earnest request, and with the hearty concurrence of
her children, their aunt came over to spend a little time with them.
This she could the more easily do as her brother was fully occupied with
his endeavours to secure the return of the candidate whose politics he
agreed with. Surely there can be few, who have a large circle of
relations of different degrees of nearness, who have not among these
some pre-eminently special ones who draw to themselves a more than
ordinary share of affection from all their kindred--a special sister, or
brother, or cousin, who does not however, make others less loved, while
being the privileged object of a peculiarly tender regard. Such a
special aunt was Miss Huntingdon to all her nephews and nieces. A visit
from her was everywhere hailed with rejoicing. And so now every heart
was glad when she joined the little party at the sea-side cottage. To
Mrs Huntingdon the coming of her sister-in-law was eminently
beneficial; for her tender love, her wise and judicious counsels, her
earnest prayers, all helped to establish the restored mother in a
healthful and happy tone of mind, and were the means of guiding her to
that perfect peace which dwells nowhere but in the hearts of those who
have sought and found in their Saviour the friend who loves above all
others.
When Miss Huntingdon had been at the cottage two or three days, and was
walking with Amos and Walter by the ebbing waves, Julia having remained
behind with her mother, Walter suddenly stopped, and said, "Auntie, I
have something very sad to tell you, and I want your advice."
Both his aunt and Amos looked at him with surprise and anxiety, and then
the former said, "Well, dear boy, I am sorry that there should be
anything troubling you; but if I can be of any use or comfort to you in
the matter. I shall be only too glad."
"Sit down here then, Aunt Kate, if you please, on this bank; and if you
are not both of you heartily ashamed of me and disgusted with me when I
have told you all, well, you ought to be."
When all three were seated, Walter fully related his adventure at the
watering-place, concluding with the attack upon the preacher, laying a
full share of blame on himself, and ending with the words, "Now, dear
auntie, what do you say to that?"
Both his hearers looked very grave, and were silent for some time. At
last Miss Huntingdon, laying her hand lovingly on Walter's shoulder,
said, "Dear boy, it is certainly a sad story, but you were led into what
you did from want of watchfulness; and as you are now aware of your
fault, and are sorry for it, I should not, if I were you; needlessly
distress myself, but just make, if you can, some amends."
"Ah! that's the point," cried Walter; "you mean, of course, make some
amends to the good preacher. Yes, that can be done, for he said he
should be at his post at the same hour every day during the season. But
it will require some moral courage to do it, and no little of that
valuable article too. Now I am sure, dear auntie, you have in that
cabinet of your memory one drawer at least full of examples of moral
courage, and you can pick me out one to suit this case."
"Yes, dear boy," said his aunt, smiling, "I daresay I can; for ever
since you first asked me to help you in the matter of moral courage by
examples drawn from real life, I have been noticing and storing up in
one of these drawers you speak of whatever instances of moral courage
have come before me in my reading."
"What, then, is it to be to-day, dear Aunt Kate? Can you find me one
that will show me how I ought to act in this sad business?"
After reflecting for a few minutes, Miss Huntingdon began: "I have
rather a strange moral hero to mention now, and yet he is a most real
one. His name is James Comley. He was for years a confirmed infidel--a
most intelligent man, but in utter spiritual darkness. He lived at
Norwich, and carried on the business of a tea-dealer. He had
indoctrinated his wife and children with his own infidel views, and had
never lost an occasion of publicly assailing the truths of religion.
But at last he was brought to see the misery of his condition. He
prayed earnestly for light, and God gave it him at last, and he became a
truly changed man. And now, mark his conduct after this change had
taken place. He at once tore down some lying placards which covered the
shutters of his shop and the whole front of his house--placards which
stated that his tea business was `The Eastern Branch of the Great
European Tea Company,' which company, in fact, had no existence. He
disposed of about seventy empty tea-chests, which had been so arranged
in his shop as to suggest the idea of an immense stock. A huge bale of
unused placards he carried into the Norwich market-place, where he
addressed the crowd that awaited his arrival, and then carried this
bundle of lies to Mousehold Heath, where, after the singing of a hymn,
praying, and addressing the crowd which had accompanied him, he
committed it to the flames. He after this began publicly to preach that
gospel which for nine years in Norwich he had done his best to destroy.
Here was true moral courage indeed; and perhaps his example may be a
help to you, dear Walter, in showing you what you ought to do."
Her nephew had listened with the deepest interest, and now remained
buried in thought. At length he said: "True, dear auntie; I see it all;
my duty is plain enough. James Comley had publicly insulted God and
religion, and he made amends as far as he could do so. At any rate he
showed his sincerity by coming out boldly as an honest man, and as one
who was sorry for the past, by his publicly burning those placards and
then preaching the truth which he used to deny and revile. And I ought
to do the same. I mean that, as I did a public wrong in open daylight,
and before many people, to that good man at Stringby, so my duty is to
go over to Stringby and just as publicly to confess to him, and to the
people who may be there, and in open daylight, my sorrow for what I did.
That's just it, auntie, is it not?"
"It will certainly be making the best use of my example, dear boy," she
replied, "and will be showing true moral courage; but no doubt it will
involve much self-denial, and require much strength from the only true
fountain of strength."
"It shall be done, and to-morrow," said Walter firmly.
"Would it be any comfort or help to you if I were to go with you?" asked
Amos.
"The greatest comfort in the world," cried his brother joyfully; "yes,
and let Julia come too. She was grieved to see me led away as I was,
and it will therefore be a happiness to me if she will come with us and
hear my confession."
And so it was arranged.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
UNEXPECTED FRUIT.
The next day, after luncheon, the brothers, with their sister, started
for Stringby, but not in very buoyant spirits. Walter had no thought of
drawing back, nevertheless he felt an almost overwhelming shrinking from
the task which he had undertaken. The loving smile, however, and gentle
words of affectionate concern with which his aunt had cheered him as
they set off were a source of much strength and comfort to him; they
hovered around his heart like the shadowing wing of an angel whenever
the scorching heat of his furnace of trial swept by anticipation across
his shrinking spirit. He had thought it wiser not to confide to his
mother either the cause of his shame or his intended amends.
The weather was clear and bright as they began their ride, but a smart
shower burst upon them when they had accomplished half the distance, and
forced them to go out of their way to take shelter. Would the preacher,
distrusting the sky, have given up his work just for this afternoon? If
so, what pain and humiliation Walter would be spared! Oh, how he clung
for a few moments to the hope that it might be so! for then he would
have made the amends and the sacrifice, and shown the moral courage, _in
intention_, and, at the same time, would be spared the actual heavy
trial itself. But then he dashed away these thoughts from him, and with
an inward prayer nerved himself for the coming effort.
Amos, as he rode by his side, seemed to guess what was passing through
his mind, and said, "Can I speak to the preacher for you, Walter? It
will save you some pain, and, as I shall be speaking for another, I
should not have the same difficulty that you might feel." But this
suggestion at once roused Walter out of all his fears. "No, no, dear
Amos," he cried, "no; I have put my foot in it, and I must go through
with it. Your being with me will be a great help, and it would not be
right for me to accept any further assistance from you."
Little more was said on the way. Julia scarcely opened her lips, but
there was a sweet peace on her fair face. She felt that her brother
Walter was going to do the right thing, and, though she thoroughly
sympathised with him in his natural shrinking from his task, she was
satisfied that he could not now retreat if he would do what duty plainly
called him to. So they trotted or cantered leisurely along, while the
dashing of the waves, and their ceaseless ebb and flow, seemed to remind
them of that love which, in the midst of the ceaseless ebb and flow of
this world's trials, and of man's personal failures and advances in the
life of holiness, ever comes, like the sea-breeze, in breathings of
spiritual health and heavenly pity to the souls that are pressing onward
and upward to the land unclouded by sin.
At last the watering-place was gained. It seemed to Walter and his
sister more thronged than ever. Several large excursion trains had
brought their many hundreds of eager and excited holiday-keepers.
Esplanade, sands, and by-streets were swarming with passers to and fro.
Would they meet Gregson and Saunders there? Most earnestly did Walter
and his sister, and indeed Amos also, hope that they would not.
However, little time was there for scanning the faces of those they met,
for now they pressed rapidly forward, Walter leading the way, as he was
anxious to plunge at once into his difficult work and get it over as
speedily as possible. "You know," he said to Amos with a faint smile,
"it's just like going to the dentist's. When you get into his room, you
don't go and ask to look at his instruments,--those horrid pinchers, and
pliers, and screw-looking things,--it's quite bad enough to feel them;
and the sooner the wrench comes the sooner it'll be over. So now for my
wrench." As he said this, they came within sight of the place where the
unhappy disturbance occurred in which he had taken a part. A crowd had
gathered, on the outskirts of which, people were moving backwards and
forwards, but there were no sounds of uproar or interruption as they
reached it. All were very attentive. The preacher--the sight of whom
caused the blood to rush into Walter's face--was the same he had
encountered before. The good man was standing on his stool giving out
two lines of a well-known hymn. And then a noble volume of praise from
those united voices rolled up towards heaven.