From _North and South_.
Mrs. Gaskell’s own father gave up his appointment as a
Unitarian minister from conscientious reasons, and the
beautiful character of Mr. Hale surely owes something to Mr.
Stevenson.
Mr. Travers Madge, a Unitarian minister in Manchester, and a
friend and fellow-worker of the Gaskells, also gave up his
position as a minister because he objected to being a paid
preacher.
“This is the soliloquy of one who was once a clergyman in a country
parish, like me; it was written by a Mr. Oldfield, minister of
Carsington, in Derbyshire, a hundred and sixty years ago, or more. His
trials are over. He fought the good fight.” These last two sentences he
spoke low, as if to himself. Then he read aloud:
“When thou canst no longer continue in thy work without dishonour to God,
discredit to religion, foregoing thy integrity, wounding conscience,
spoiling thy peace, and hazarding the loss of thy salvation; in a
word, when the conditions upon which thou must continue (if thou wilt
continue) in thy employments are sinful, and unwarranted by the word of
God, thou mayest, yea, thou must believe that God will turn thy very
silence, suspension, deprivation, and laying aside, to His glory, and the
advancement of the Gospel’s interest. When God will not use thee in one
kind, yet He will in another. A soul that desires to serve and honour Him
shall never want opportunity to do it; nor must thou so limit the Holy
One of Israel, as to think He hath but one way in which He can glorify
Himself by thee. He can do it by thy silence as well as by thy preaching;
thy laying aside as well as thy continuance in thy work. It is not
pretence of doing God the greatest service, or performing the weightiest
duty, that will excuse the least sin, though that sin capacitated or gave
us the opportunity for doing that duty. Thou wilt have little thanks,
O my soul! if, when thou art charged with corrupting God’s worship,
falsifying thy vows, thou pretendest a necessity for it in order to a
continuance in the ministry.”
As he read this, and glanced at much more which he did not read, he
gained resolution for himself, and felt as if he too could be brave and
firm in doing what be believed to be right; but as he ceased he heard
Margaret’s low convulsive sob; and his courage sank down under the keen
sense of suffering.
“Margaret, dear!” said he, drawing her closer, “think of the early
martyrs; think of the thousands who have suffered.”
“But, father,” said she, suddenly lifting up her flushed, tear-wet face,
“the early martyrs suffered for the truth, while you—oh! dear, dear papa!”
“I suffer for conscience’ sake, my child!” said he, with a dignity that
was only tremulous from the acute sensitiveness of his character; “I must
do what my conscience bids. I have borne long with self-reproach that
would have roused any mind less torpid and cowardly than mine.”