the convent which formed a principal attraction to the military and
other strangers in Kilkenny. Many sought to draw me thither, adducing
the examples of Christian ministers and other spiritual people, who did
not scruple to go; but in vain. At length a lady came to me with an
earnest request from "the most interesting nun in the establishment," to
give her some information on the best mode of conveying instruction to a
poor little girl in their school, deaf and dumb. Here was a call of
duty: I knew it could not be effectually done unless in person; and to
the surprise of my friend, I volunteered to accompany her to the
convent.
The nun was indeed a most engaging young lady; in personal appearance,
in manner, in feeling, realizing the visions of my girlish romance, when
reading idle stories in novels on such topics. She had, moreover, all
the animated warmth of a genuine Irishwoman, and her fine countenance
beaming with benevolent joy at our successful beginning, and with
affectionate gratitude for my services, quite won my heart. I promised
to repeat the visit shortly, and on doing so accompanied her to walk
round the garden, at the other extremity of which stood a building which
I took for their school, and unhesitatingly mounted the stairs with my
sweet conductor. Judge what was my dismay when, on passing the folding
doors, I found myself in a splendid Popish chapel, opposite the altar,
over which shone a richly gilt cross, while my poor nun was prostrated
in the lowliest adoration, touching the ground with her forehead before
the senseless idol. I was confounded, and unable to say any thing; but
after a hasty glance at the fine trappings, left the place secretly
praying for grace and strength to protest openly against the abomination
from which my soul revolted with unspeakable horror from the moment of
my witnessing the act of idolatrous homage rendered to a thing of wood
and stone. On leaving the convent, I met a person who informed me that
my poor nun was a Protestant lady of high respectability, sprung from
one of those iniquitous mixed marriages, her mother belonging to the
established church, her father a Romanist, who, however, honestly
adhered to the terms of the wicked covenant by which the sons were to be
educated in his, the daughters in her persuasion. A family of daughters
were born to them, who, with their mother, continued nominally
Protestant; but after his death, when the house was filled with Romish
priests, performing for a week together their mummeries over the corpse,
these poor females had become a prey to the subtle perversions of the
ecclesiastics, and had openly apostatized, all save my new friend, who
with a better informed mind and more scriptural knowledge withstood
their sophistries, until sundry mock miracles performed by means of
saintly relics and a well-contrived nocturnal visitation from the ghost
of her father whom she fondly loved, had so unnerved and frightened her
that she too fell a prey to the delusion. They ended by admitting her
into the sisterhood of this convent, excusing the payment of the large
sum usually demanded; and as her darkness was now great in proportion to
the measure of light against which she had sinned, they found her a
valuable decoy-bird to draw others into the snare. I did not learn all
these particulars at the time, nor until after her decease, when I met
with a near family connection of hers who told them to me. I simply
gleaned the fact of her apostasy, with that of her abounding zeal in the
antichristian cause.
With all my heart I loved the gentle, affectionate, elegant nun, and
earnestly did I pray for help in bringing her back, as I was resolved to
do, from the path of destruction; and while I deliberated on the best
means of commencing the work, the difficulty was removed by her openly
attempting to convert me. To this end she urged on me a strict inquiry
into the real doctrines and tenets of her church, for myself and by
myself, promising to lend me books of the most candid character, if I
would engage to read them. I agreed, stipulating that I was freely to
write out my remarks on them for her consideration; and with this mutual
understanding, I brought home from the convent as a loan Dr. Milner's
"End of Controversy," furnished for my especial benefit by a seminary of
Jesuit priests, located near the town: and thus was I become the object
of a combined attack from the forces of great Babylon.
True to what I considered a tacit engagement to study the matter alone,
I read the book. Never shall I forget the effect it produced on me. I
seemed to be holding communion with Satan himself, robed as an angel of
light, the transparent drapery revealing his hideous form but baffling
my endeavors to rend it away. Such sophistry, such impudence of
unsupported assertion, such distortion of truth and gilding of gross
falsehood, I never met with. I tried in vain to find an answer to things
that I saw and felt to be antiscriptural and destructive; but this "End"
was the beginning of my controversy, for I was wholly new to it, and
ignorant of the historical and other facts necessary to disprove the
reverend author's bold assumptions. At last I burst into tears, and
kneeling down, exclaimed, "O Lord, I cannot unravel this web of
iniquity: enable me to cut it in twain." I was answered; for after a
little more thought, a broad view of the whole scheme of man's salvation
as revealed in the holy Scriptures appeared to me the best antidote for
this insidious poison. I read through the New Testament with increased
enjoyment, and casting from me the wretched fabric of lies, with all its
flimsy pretences, I resolved, instead of attempting a reply to what I
saw to be falsehood, to set forth a plain statement of what I knew to be
truth. Indeed it is indescribable how disgusting the painted face, the
gaudy trappings, and the arrogant assumptions of the great harlot
appeared in my eyes, when thus contrasted with the sublime simplicity,
purity, and modesty of the chaste spouse of Christ.
I wrote; and in reply got another and a smaller book, containing the
pretended reasons of a Protestant for embracing Popery. They were of
course artfully put, and made a formidable exhibition of the peril of
heresy. I thought I could not do better in return, while writing my
dissent, than to enclose some small books of my own to the nun, inviting
her comments thereon. This brought a letter which was probably written
by stealth, though so cautiously worded as to be safe if intercepted.
She said she did not wish to leave me under a wrong impression, and
therefore told me that she was not permitted to read any of my letters,
or the little books I had sent, as those who watched over her spiritual
interests and whom she was bound to obey, thought it wrong to unsettle
her mind by reading any thing contrary to the true faith which she held.
Here was a pretty exposure of one-sided honesty. I thanked God for the
further insight given me into the mystery of iniquity, and from that day
devoted all my powers to the investigation of that against which I had
become a stanch protester.
In the midst of our proceedings, a nun had taken the veil at the
convent. Every body almost, to their shame be it spoken, was trying for
tickets to the unhallowed show. My poor friend sent us two, informed me
that two of the best front seats would be reserved for us, and
accompanied her kind note with a programme of the ceremony and a
translation or transcription of the service, all in her own handwriting.
I felt deeply the pain of hurting her, and perhaps for a moment the
workings of natural curiosity, but the hesitation was short. I sent back
both books and tickets, with a grateful but decided refusal to be
present. In all Kilkenny I did not find a person who could go along with
me in my objections; but it is a matter of great joy to me to this hour,
that I kept myself wholly unpolluted by any participation in these
idolatrous doings; and I do believe that a double blessing has attended
my efforts against Popery in consequence of it.
The affair of the little deaf mute at the convent led me to turn my
attention to some poor children similarly circumstanced in the streets
of Kilkenny; and while prosecuting that work the Lord brought to me that
dear dumb boy whom you well remember as the brightest, most lovely of
Christian characters. He was then very little, and had a brother of
sixteen, one of the most genuine paddies I ever beheld. This lad was
living very idly; a fine, sensible, shrewd fellow, who could read and
write, and very soon made great proficiency in the finger language by
helping me to instruct Jack. No one above Pat's own rank had ever taken
any interest in him; I did, a strong one, and as he was much with me,
and of a character most intensely Irish, he became attached to my with a
warmth of devotion rarely met with among any other people.
One day Pat made his appearance with an important look, his brogues
stamping the carpet with unwonted energy, his fine bare throat stiffened
into a sort of dignified hauteur, and his very keen hazel eyes sparkling
under the bushy luxuriance of chestnut curls that clustered about his
face and fell on his neck. The very beau ideal of a wild Irish youth was
my friend Pat. Seating himself as usual, he began--and here I must
observe that my chief knowledge of the phraseology and turn of thought
so peculiar to the Irish peasant was derived from this source. Whenever
Pat came "to discourse me," I got rich lessons in the very brogue
itself, from the fidelity with which his spelling followed the
pronunciation of his words--"I wouldn't like," said he, "that you would
go to hell."
"Nor I either, Pat."
"But you are out of the thrue church, and you wont be saved, and I must
convart ye."
"That is very kind of you, my good lad. If I am wrong, you cannot do
better than set me right."
"Sure and I will."
"But how?"
"With this," said he, pulling out a small pamphlet nothing the cleaner
for wear. "You must learn my catechism, and it's you that will be the
good Catholic."
Delighted with the boy's honest zeal, I asked him where I should begin;
and he no less pleased at my docility, desired me to read it all, and
then get it all by heart. I promised to do the first at any rate; and Oh
what a tissue of falsehood and blasphemy that "Butler's Catechism" was.
Next morning my teacher came early: "Well, Pat, I have found out what
makes you anxious about me: here it is said that none can be saved out
of the true church."
"That's it, sure enough."
"But I do belong to the true church, and I'll show you what it is;" so I
pointed out to him two passages, and added, "Now, I do love our Lord
Jesus Christ in sincerity, and therefore I am one of those to whom St.
Paul wishes grace and peace; and do you think an apostle would send his
blessing to any body who was not of the true church?"
Pat shook his head: "That's _your_ catechism, not mine."
"Very true. Dr. Butler wrote yours, and God wrote mine," holding up the
Bible; "which is best?"
"That is not the real Bible," persisted Pat; "my priest has the true
Bible."
"Then ask him to lend you his."
"I wouldn't get my ears pulled, would I?" said he, smiling: "but if he
lent me his Bible he must lend me a car to bring it home in, for it's as
big as this table. Yours is too little, and doesn't hold half the truth.
That is why you are so ignorant."
I soon proved, by showing him Matthew. Henry's Commentary, that the word
of God would lie in a very small compass, the great bulk of the book
being man's work. I also urged on him the absolute necessity of reading
what God had given for our learning, and the danger of resting on man's
assertion.
Pat stood his ground most manfully, astonishing me by the adroitness
with which he parried my attacks, while pursuing, as he hoped, the good
work of my conversion. For many a day was the controversy carried on,
Butler _versus_ the Bible, without any other effect than that of
bringing Pat to read the sacred book for himself; but it opened to me
the awful wiles of darkness by which the poor and ignorant are blinded,
while for the more educated class such polished sophistry as Milner's is
carefully prepared. I reaped the fruit, however, six years afterwards,
when, in a little English church, Pat kneeled beside me and his brother,
a thankful communicant, at the Lord's table.
LETTER VIII.
THE DUMB BOY.
I turned my attention to the deaf and dumb children, whose situation was
deplorable indeed: I took four out of the streets to instruct them, of
whom one proved irreclaimably wild and vicious; two were removed by a
priest's order, lest I should infect them with heresy: the fourth was to
me a crown of rejoicing, and will be so yet more at "that day." * * *
John, or Jack as we always called him, was a puny little fellow, of
heavy aspect, and wholly destitute of the life and animation that
generally characterize that class, who are obliged to use looks and
gestures as a substitute for words. He seemed for a long while unable to
comprehend my object in placing before him a dissected alphabet, and
forming the letters into words significant of dog, man, hat, and other
short monosyllables; and when I guided his little hard hand to trace
corresponding characters on the slate, it was indeed a work of time and
patience to make him draw a single stroke correctly. His unmeaning grin
of good-natured acquiescence in whatever I bade him do, was more
provoking than downright rebellion could have been; and I secretly
agreed with my friends that the attempt would prove a complete failure,
while impelled, I hardly could tell how, to persevere with redoubled
efforts. Jack's uncouth bristly hair fell in a straight mass over one of
the finest foreheads ever seen, and concealed it. I happened one day to
put aside this mass, for the benefit of his sight, and was so struck
with the nobly expansive brow, that I exclaimed to a friend then in the
act of dissuading me from the work, "No; with such a forehead as this, I
can never despair of success."
* * * * *
It was by a sudden burst that the boy's mind broke its prison and looked
around on every object as though never before beheld. All seemed to
appear in so new a light to him; curiosity, in which he had been
strangely deficient, became an eagerly active principle, and nothing
that was portable did he fail to bring to me, with an inquiring shake of
the head, and the word "what?" spelled by the fingers. It was no easy
matter, before we had mastered a dozen common substantives and no other
parts of speech, to satisfy his inquisitiveness, which I always
endeavored to do, because it is wrong to repress that indication of
dawning reason in a child, and Jack at eleven years old was in the
predicament of a mere infant. More especially was I puzzled when his
"what?" was accompanied by a motion pointing first at the dog, then to
himself, to learn wherein consisted the difference between two
creatures, both of whom, as he intimated, could eat, drink, sleep, and
walk about, could be merry or angry, sick or well; neither of whom could
talk; and yet, that there was a very great difference, he felt. The
noble nature of man, was struggling to assert its preeminence over the
irrational brute, which he, nevertheless, loved and feared too; for
Barrow was a splendid dog, and used to assist me very cleverly in
keeping my little wild Irish crew in order. Oh what a magnificent wreck
is man! I do love to watch the rapid approach of that glorious time
when, the six thousand years of his degradation beneath the reign of
Satan being fulfilled, he shall rise above the usurper's power, and
resume his high station among the brightest works of God.
I do not remember exactly how long after his first coming to me it was
that Jack began to inquire so diligently about God. He seemed full of
grave but restless thought, and then approaching me, pointed towards the
sun, and by a movement of the hands as if kneading something, asked me
whether I made it. I shook my head. Did my mother? No. Did Mr. Roe, or
Mr. Shaw--two Protestant clergymen--or the priest? He had a sign to
express each of these. No. Then "What? what?" with a frown and a stamp
of fretful impatience. I pointed upwards, with a look of reverential
solemnity, and spelled the word "God." He seemed struck, and asked no
more at that time, but next day he overwhelmed me with "whats," and
seemed determined to know more about it. I told him as well as I could,
that He of whom I spoke was great, powerful, and kind; and that he was
always looking at us. He smiled, and informed me he did not know how the
sun was made, for he could not keep his eyes on it; but the moon he
thought was like a dumpling, and sent rolling over the tops of the
trees, as he sent a marble across the table. As for the stars, they were
cut out with a large pair of scissors, and stuck into the sky with the
end of the thumb. Having thus settled his system of astronomy, he looked
very happy, and patted his chest with evident self-applause.
I was amused, but of course not satisfied: my charge was necessarily an
Atheist, and what I had told him was a very bare sort of Deism indeed.
To communicate more, however, seemed utterly impossible, until we should
have accomplished considerable things in the way of education. We had
not above a dozen of the commonest words--all names of things--to which
he could attach a meaning; and our signs were all of his own contriving,
which I had to catch and follow as I might. So said reason, but reason
is a fool. "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that
proceedeth out of the mouth of God." "For my ways are not your ways,
neither are your thoughts my thoughts, saith the Lord." It pleased him
to enlighten the mind of the boy; and instead of that work being
dependent on human wisdom, all that human wisdom could do was to creep
after it at a modest distance.
Next day, Jack came to me in great wrath, intimating that my tongue
ought to be pulled out. This was his usual mode of accusation where a
lie had been told. So I looked innocent and said, "What?" He reminded me
of yesterday's conversation, telling me he had looked everywhere for
God: he had been down the street, over the bridge, into the churchyard,
through the fields, had peeped into the grounds of the castle, walked
past the barrack-yard, and got up in the night to look out at the
window. All in vain; he could not find God. _He saw nobody big enough
to put up his hand and stick the stars into the sky_. I was "bad," my
tongue must be pulled out; for there was "God, NO." And he repeated
"God, no," so often that it went to my heart.
I considered, prayerfully. My view of the scriptures told me that
without divine help none could really seek after God: and also that when
he vouchsafed to give the desire, he would surely increase knowledge.
Here was a poor afflicted boy getting out of his bed to look by night
for one whom he had vainly sought all the day: here was Satan at work to
strengthen unbelief: I was commanded to resist the devil, and surely
there must be some way of resisting him. I sat silent on the opposite
side of the fire, and a plan having struck me, I looked at Jack,
shrugged my shoulders and seemed convicted of a deception. He shook his
head at me, frowned, and appeared very much offended at my delinquency.
Presently I seized a small pair of bellows, and after puffing at the
fire for a while, suddenly directed a rough blast at his little red
hand, which hung very near it. He snatched it back, scowled at me, and
when again I repeated the operation, expressed great displeasure,
shivering, and letting me know he did not like it.
I renewed the puff, saying, "What?" and looking most unconscious of
having done any thing; he blew hard, and repeated that it made his hands
cold; that I was very bad, and he was very angry. I puffed in all
directions, looked very eagerly at the pipe of the bellows, peering on
every side, and then, explaining that I could see nothing, imitated his
manner, saying, "Wind? no!" shaking my head at him, and telling him his
tongue must come out, mimicking his looks of rebuke and offended virtue.
He opened his eyes very wide, stared at me and panted; a deep crimson
suffused his whole face, and a soul, a real soul shone in his strangely
altered countenance, while he triumphantly repeated, "God like wind! God
like wind!" He had no word for "like;" it was signified by holding the
two forefingers out, side by side, as a symbol of perfect resemblance.
Here was a step, a glorious step, out of absolute atheism into a perfect
recognition of the invisible God. An idea, to call it nothing more, new,
grand, and absorbing, took possession of his mind. I numbered seven
years of incessant care over him from that day; and I will fearlessly
assert that in his head and in his heart God reigned unrivalled. Even
before he knew him as God in Christ, the Creator and Preserver were
enthroned in his bosom; and every event of the day, every object that
met his view, gave rise to some touchingly simple question or remark
concerning God. He made me observe that when trying to look at the sun
he was forced to shut his eyes, adding, "God like sun." An analogy not
very traceable, though strictly just; for the glory that dazzled his
mind was not visible. He was perpetually engaged in some process of
abstract reasoning on every subject, and amazed me by explaining its
results; but how he carried it on without the intervention of words, was
and is a puzzle to me.
Previously he had been rather teasing to the dog and other inferior
creatures, and had a great desire to fish; but now he became most
exquisitely tender towards every living thing, moving his hand over them
in a caressing way, and saying, "God made." At first he excepted the
worms from this privilege, remarking that they came up through holes
from beneath the earth, while God was above, over the sky; therefore
they were not made by him; but I set him right, and he agreed that they
might be rolled up in the world, like meat in a pudding, and bite their
way out. Thenceforth, woe to the angler whom Jack detected looking for
live bait!
When my first pupil from being irregular in his attendance fell off more
and more, until he wholly discontinued coming, and the others were
withdrawn for fear of heretical infection, I became more anxious lest
this dear boy might also leave me before he had received the knowledge
of Jesus Christ. I had, at his earnest entreaty, taken him into the
house altogether, his home being at some distance; but I knew not how
long he might be permitted to stay. The ravages of a dreadful fever
among the poor, increased my solicitude to see my devout little Deist a
Christian. I have, in a small memoir of this "Happy Mute," related the
manner of his receiving the gospel, but I must not pass it over here. To
the glory of God's rich grace it shall be recorded, as one of the most
signal mercies ever vouchsafed to me. As before, the boy was led to open
the way, and in the faith of the Lord's willingness to reveal himself to
an inquiring soul, I followed it up.