AND HER FAITHFUL CHAPLAIN
“I am not a man of the world, but a man of the Word,” said Parson
Twemlow, the Rector of Springhaven; “and I shall not feel that I have
done my duty unless I stir him up to-morrow. His valor and glory are
nothing to me, nor even his value to the country. He does his duty, and
I shall do mine. It is useless to talk to me, Maria; I never shall have
such a chance again.”
“Well, dear, you know best,” replied Mrs. Twemlow; “and duty is always
the highest and best and most sacred consideration. But you surely
should remember, for Eliza's sake, that we never shall dine at the Hall
again.”
“I don't care a snap for their dinners, or the chance of Eliza catching
some young officer; and very few come while this peace goes on. I won't
shirk my duty for any of that.”
“Nothing would ever make you shirk your duty, Joshua. And I hope that
you know me too well to suppose that I ever would dream of suggesting
it. But I do want to see you a Canon, and I know that he begins to have
influence in the Church, and therefore the Church is not at all the
place to allude to his private affairs in. And, after all, what do we
know about them? It does seem so low to be led away by gossip.”
“Maria,” said the Rector, severely sorry, “I must beg you to leave me
to my conscience. I shall not refer to his private affairs. I shall put
leading truths in a general way, and let him make the home application.”
“Put the cap on if it fits. Very well: you will injure yourself, and do
no one any good. Lord Nelson won't know it; he is too simple-minded.
But Admiral Darling will never forgive us for insulting him while he is
staying at the Hall.”
“Maria! Well, I have long given up all attempts at reasoning with
you. If I see a man walking into a furnace, do I insult him by saying
beware?”
“As I am beyond all reason, Joshua, it is far above me to understand
that. But if you escape insulting him, what you do is far worse, and
quite unlike a gentleman. You heap a whole pile of insults upon your own
brother clergymen.”
“I do not at all understand you, Maria: you fly off in such a way from
one thing to another!”
“Not at all. Anybody who is not above paying attention must understand
me. When he is at Merton he goes to church, and his Rector is bound to
look after him. When he is at sea, he has his Chaplain, who preaches
whenever the weather permits, and dare not neglect his duties. But the
strongest point of all is this--his very own father and brother are
clergymen, and bound to do their best for him. All these you insult,
and in so many words condemn for neglecting their duty, because you are
unable to resist the pleasure of a stray shot at a celebrated man when
he comes down here for hospitality.”
“My dear, you have put the matter in a new light,” said the Rev. Joshua
Twemlow; “I would be the last man in the world to cast a slur upon any
brother clergyman. But it is a sad denial to me, because I had put it so
neatly, and a line of Latin at the end of it.”
“Never mind, dear. That will do for some one else who deserves it, and
has got no influence. And if you could only put instead of it one of
your beautifully turned expressions about our debt of gratitude to the
noble defender of our country--”
“No, no, Maria!” said her husband, with a smile; “be content without
pushing your victory further than Nelson himself would push it. It may
be my duty to spare him, but I will not fall down and worship him.”
Joshua Twemlow, Bachelor of Divinity, was not very likely to worship
anybody, nor even to admire, without due cause shown. He did not pretend
to be a learned man, any more than he made any other pretense which he
could not justify. But he loved a bit of Latin, whenever he could find
anybody to share it with him, and even in lack of intelligent partners
he indulged sometimes in that utterance. This was a grievance to the
Squire of the parish, because he was expected to enjoy at ear-shot that
which had passed out of the other ear in boyhood, with a painful echo
behind it. But the Admiral had his revenge by passing the Rector's bits
of Latin on--when he could remember them--to some one entitled to an
explanation, which he, with a pleasant smile, vouchsafed. This is one of
the many benefits of a classical education.
But what are such little tags, compared with the pith and marrow of the
man himself? Parson Twemlow was no prig, no pedant, and no popinjay,
but a sensible, upright, honorable man, whose chief defect was a quick
temper. In parish affairs he loved to show his independence of the Hall,
and having a stronger will than Admiral Darling, he mostly conquered
him. But he knew very well how far to go, and never pressed the
supremacy of the Church beyond endurance.
His wife, who was one of the Carnes of Carne Castle, some few miles
to the westward, encouraged him strongly in holding his own when the
Admiral strove to override him. That was her manner of putting the
case; while Admiral Darling would rather have a score of nightmares than
override any one. But the Carnes were a falling as much as the Darlings
were a rising family, and offense comes down the hill like stones
dislodged by the upward traveller. Mrs. Twemlow knew nothing she
disliked so much as any form of haughtiness; it was so small, so petty,
so opposed to all true Christianity. And this made her think that the
Darlings were always endeavoring to patronize her--a thing she would
much rather die than put up with.
This excellent couple had allowed, however, their only son Erle, a
very fine young man, to give his heart entirely to Faith Darling, the
Admiral's eldest daughter, and to win hers to an equal extent; and
instead of displaying any haughtiness, her father had simply said: “Let
them wait two years; they are both very young, and may change their
minds. If they keep of the same mind for two years, they are welcome to
one another.”
For a kinder-hearted man than Admiral Darling never saw the sun.
There was nothing about him wonderful in the way of genius, heroism,
large-mindedness, or unselfishness. But people liked him much better
than if he combined all those vast rarities; because he was lively,
genial, simple, easily moved to wrath or grief, free-handed, a little
fond, perhaps, of quiet and confidential brag, and very fond of gossip.
“I tell you,” he said to Lord Nelson now, as they walked down the hill
to the church together that lovely Sunday morning, “you will not have
seen a finer sight than our fishermen in church--I dare say never.
Of course they don't all go. Nobody could expect it. But as many as a
reasonable man could desire come there, because they know I like it.
Twemlow thinks that they come to please him; but he finds a mighty
difference in his congregation when I and my daughters are out of the
parish. But if he goes away, there they are all the same, or perhaps
even more, to get a change from him. That will show which of us they
care about pleasing.”
“And they are quite right. I hate the levelling system,” the hero of the
Nile replied. “A man should go to church to please his landlord, not to
please the parson. Is the Chaplain to settle how many come to prayers?”
“That is the right way to look at the thing,” said the larger-bodied
Admiral; “and I only wish Twemlow could have heard you. I asked him to
dine with us yesterday, as you know, because you would have done him so
much good; but he sent some trumpery excuse, although his wife was asked
to come with him. She stopped him, no doubt; to look big, I dare say; as
if they could dine with a Lord Nelson every day!”
“They can do that every day, when they dine with a man who has done his
duty. But where is my pretty godchild Dolly? Horatia seems too long for
you. What a long name they gave me! It may have done very well for my
granduncle. But, my dear Lingo, look sharp for your Dolly. She has no
mother, nor even a duenna--she has turned her off, she said yesterday.
Your daughter Faith is an angel, but Dolly--”
“My Dolly is a little devil, I suppose! You always found out everything.
What have you found my Dolly at? Perhaps she got it at her baptism.” A
word against his pet child was steel upon flint to Admiral Darling.
“I am not concerned with your opinion,” Lord Nelson answered, loftily.
“But Horatia Dorothy Darling is my godchild by baptism, and you will
find her down in my will for a thousand pounds, if she behaves well,
and if it should please the Lord to send me some of the prize-money I
deserve.”
This was announced in such a manner, with the future testator's useful
eye bearing brightly on his comrade, and his cocked hat lifted as he
spoke of the great Awarder of prizes, that no one able to smile could
help a friendly and simple smile at him. So Admiral Darling forgot his
wrath, which never had long memory, and scorning even to look round for
Dolly, in whom he felt such confidence, took the mighty warrior by the
good arm and led him toward the peaceful bells.
“Hurry; we shall be late,” he said. “You remember when we called you
'Hurry,' because of being always foremost? But they know better than to
stop the bells till they see me in the church porch. Twemlow wanted to
upset that, for the parsons want to upset everything. And I said: 'Very
well; then I shall square it by locking the gate from your shrubbery.
That will give me five minutes to come down the hill.' For my
grandfather put up that gate, you must know, and of course the key
belongs to me. It saves Twemlow a cable's-length every time, and the
parsons go to church so often now, he would have to make at least
another knot a month. So the bells go on as they used to do. How many
bells do you make it, Mr. Nelson?”
“Eight bells, sir,” Lord Nelson replied, saluting like the middy in
charge of the watch. And at this little turn they both laughed, and went
on, with memory of ancient days, to church.