Marion found it more and more difficult every day, to account for the
bitter, angry contempt with which Agnes spoke of Clara Granville, her
dislike to whom never seemed for an hour to lie dormant, as she was
perpetually making allusions to her, which caused very frequent
irritation between herself and Sir Patrick, who sometimes angrily left
the room, and yet occasionally joined in her invectives against the
whole Granville family, in a tone of reckless, angry derision, which
was to Marion completely perplexing and unaccountable. If Agnes felt
dull or out of spirits, she complained of being excessively
Granville-ish; or if Sir Patrick were observed for a wonder, in any
single instance, to economise, she called him a Granville-ist; but if
her brother either laughed, or flung himself out of the room,
according to the humor he was in, it was in a fit of Granville-ism;
and Marion became surprised to perceive that the mention of that name
was never, even by chance, like that of any other name, a subject of
indifference; and conscious that some secret was connected with it,
not imparted to her, she carefully avoided all allusion to Clara.
Agnes one day jestingly announced to Sir Patrick that the Granvilles
had taken out perpetual tickets at the Charitable Soup Kitchen, and
meant to dine there every day on broth; and the next morning she
rather inconsistently found fault with them, because at least twenty
poor people assembled at their lodgings every day, to be fed, as if it
were a House of Refuge.
Marion observed that all the innumerable books for charitable
subscriptions, which were circulated from door to door, Agnes liked to
examine, for the gossiping amusement of ascertaining how much was
given by each or her friends, though never for the purpose of adding
her own name, as her purse was a complete valetudinarian, always
complaining of exhaustion, yet always capable of any exertion dictated
by inclination; and Sir Patrick also, though he generally swore an
impatient oath or two, when he saw the succession of dingy looking
books brought into the drawing-room, sometimes amused himself with a
supercilious glance at the contents.
Whenever the object was judicious, the Reverend Richard Granville's
name, and that of his sister, appeared for a small sum, such as they
might be able to afford; and Marion felt convinced there was much
single-hearted goodness, and courageous disregard of mere appearances,
when beneath the pompous £5 5s., of Lady Towercliffe, she saw the
modest unobtrusive ten shillings, or half-a-crown of Miss Granville.
It was probably all Clara could give, and she did not feel ashamed to
proclaim the very small amount, though Agnes, like most persons who
are mean themselves, in respect to giving, was splendid in her notions
for others, and exclaimed outrageously against the absurdity of
bestowing a paltry trifle at all.
"Five shillings to the Infirmary! did ever anybody hear such nonsense!
as if an Infirmary could be supported on five shillings! It is so like
Clara Granville's trumpery ideas! I daresay she thought the fortune of
the institution made by such a donation! It will scarcely buy a packet
of James' powders for one of the invalids!"
"But when Clara spares five shillings, are we to give nothing!" asked
Marion, seeing Sir Patrick's pompous butler, as usual, carrying away
the book untouched.
"Better give nothing than make ourselves ridiculous, like the
Granvilles. Nobody will guess that this book was brought here! I wish
Clara had given her superfluous money towards the better equipment of
their own one solitary man-servant,--the merest attempt at a footman I
ever beheld, with such a lodging-house look! Like the waiter from some
second-rate inn! Did you ever see anything so ugly, and out of taste,
as that little yellow cottage of the Granvilles', standing close to
the old palace, like a kippered salmon nailed to the wall!"
An angry flush burned upon the cheek of Sir Patrick, who did not trust
his temper with a reply to Agnes' tirade; and Marion hastily withdrew
her eyes from his countenance, on perceiving that he had bit his lip
till the blood seemed ready to spring, while his eyes flashed fire. In
a moment afterwards, he whistled half a tune, threw open the window,
and finally hurried out of the room, while Agnes looked mysteriously
at Marion, and said nothing, though the expression of her eye plainly
told that something was wrong.
Sir Patrick never entered a church; but Sunday being a day of impunity,
when he might go to his club, and become a gentleman-at-large, without
the possibility of being arrested, he invited a weekly supper party to
meet him at Douglass' Hotel, every Saturday night, punctually at
twelve o'clock, which held together till so late an hour on Sunday
mornings, that once having carried a candle to the door, when letting
out Captain De Crespigny, the day-light flashed in upon them, and they
saw the congregations passing along every street to church.
Sir Patrick's life had now become one continual subterfuge. '_Il jurait
bien, mais il payait mal_;' and he was heard frequently to declare,
that he could not but fancy it might be, to an old experienced fox, a
great amusement, when he afforded a good day's hunting to sportsmen,
from the strange delight he felt himself in baffling duns and teasing
bailiffs. He cared for nothing, not even for his debts and creditors,
but over-reached everybody, paid nobody, and treated all mankind in
different styles of insolence; but his favorite diversion was, nearly
to out-stay the hour of twelve on Sunday night, knowing that his
ill-treated creditors had offered a reward of £500 for his capture, and
that the whole way along the High Street, emissaries were ambuscaded,
in the eager hope that some fortunate night the clock might strike
Monday morning before he was safely sheltered within the sanctuary.
Once Sir Patrick had indeed lingered several minutes too late; and
when he approached the ditch, forming a line of demarcation between
the debtor's refuge and the world in general, a rope was drawn
completely across the street, while two men like constables, in large
loose duffle coats, and hats slouched over their faces, had taken
their station, each holding it resolutely at opposite ends, in the
certain expectation of entrapping him, though the courage of both
seemed for a moment to waver, when they saw the tall, well-knit, and
finely-proportioned figure of Sir Patrick, as he strode onwards, with
his usual military bearing and commanding aspect. After exchanging a
look, however, they tightened the rope, and were about, with a rapid
manoeuvre, to coil it round him, when Sir Patrick, seeing their
intention, rushed forward on the nearest, and levelled him to the
ground with a single blow, saying, "You dastardly rascals! do you
suppose that a dozen such fellows could be a match for any gentleman!"
"I'm a better gen'lemen than you, Sir!" said the other, in an insolent
blustering tone. "Every guinea in your pocket, Sir, there's ten men in
the world have a better right to than you have! I think a gen'leman
born means a gen'leman as pays his debts!"
"Then here is what I owe to you!" replied Sir Patrick, flinging him
almost across the street, with a violent blow on the head. "Only dare
to stand in my way again, and every joint or bone in that miserable
carcass of yours shall be fit for the surgeons. I intend to keep this
rope till the day you are hanged!"
Agnes made her Sundays literally a day of rest, by remaining most of
the morning in bed, to recover the fatigues of the previous week; and
even in the afternoon, a "Sunday shower" often kept her at home. She
had been taught at Mrs. Penfold's, to consider the most superficial
attention to religion, as being little short of angelic, and to
believe that the utmost extreme of rational devotion, if she wished to
be inordinately pious, would consist in going once every Sunday to a
pew in some fashionable chapel, where the stream of the preacher's
eloquence might be permitted to flow in at one ear, and out at the
other, without there being any occasion for her to analyse or
understand what he said, satisfied that her duty was more than done by
appearing there at all,--besides which, she occasionally read prayers
at home, in a careless mechanical way, which was anything but
praying--she had a magnificently bound bible on her toilette, more for
ornament than for use--she wore all her dresses for the first time at
chapel, dined on roast beef every Sunday, and spent the evening in
writing letters or in reading, or rather in sleeping over some volume
of religious poetry or tales--what Sir Patrick laughingly called "a
half-good book."
Both Agnes and her brother spoke with unmitigated and indiscriminating
reprobation of Methodists, Roman Catholics, Unitarians, Independents,
or any other sect of whom they knew the name, because, having always
belonged nominally to an orthodox chapel, they considered it a matter
of course, when thinking about the matter at all, that they must be
orthodox too; though, if Agnes had been obliged to give a summary of
her own doctrines, it would have been a confused medley, containing
many of the heresies she reprobated by name, without knowing their
nature. Thus sailing down on the stream of her own inclinations,
without effort or reflection, Agnes would have been indignant and
astonished beyond measure to be told, that she was not performing in a
most commendable manner "The Whole Duty of Man," or at least more than
the whole duty of woman, while she looked upon all those who evinced a
greater reverence for religion as mean hypocrites or fanatical
enthusiasts--being very much of opinion with the divine, who said that
orthodox meant his own opinion, and paradox other people's.
Marion silently, and very unobtrusively, pursued the even tenor of her
own way, with that deep and ardent devotion of spirit which had first
been awakened to life by the happy instrumentality of Clara, whose
apparent estrangement from her family now she deeply deplored, while
many an anxious conjecture frequently crossed her mind, whether she,
along with her brother and Agnes, must share in that alienation which
she could neither fully understand nor in any degree diminish; and on
the Sunday morning after her arrival at St. John's Lodge, before
setting out for chapel, she had been surprised and mortified to
observe, that Agnes' occupation in bed consisted in tearing up, to
make matches, a numerous collection of notes from Miss Granville, all
containing apologies for not accepting various invitations to St.
John's Lodge. "What can this all mean?" thought Marion, in agitated
perplexity, as she pursued her way to chapel. "It is very unlike Clara
to be so repulsive! and equally unlike Agnes to be importunate! I fear
something is greatly wrong; but Clara is too just and too good to
mingle me in any quarrel of which I do not so much as know the cause.
When we meet I shall at once ask Clara for an explanation. We must all
yet be reconciled and happy, as in former days."
There is nothing which extravagant people grudge so much as paying for
a pew in church; and those often who squander money upon everything
else, meanly evade subscribing this just and necessary tribute for the
maintenance of religion and good order in society. It is astonishing
how many who pay their way with lavish liberality during the interval
to concerts and balls, will stand, week after week, like paupers, in a
chapel-aisle, begging for a seat, rather than hire one for the season;
and on this occasion Marion, finding that neither Sir Patrick nor
Agnes had ever imagined any necessity for providing themselves with a
local habitation of their own, followed a stream of people into
chapel, and stood for some time near the door, in that most awkward
and conspicuous of all situations, waiting for the chance of being
shown into a seat by some compassionate pew-opener.
The street had been crowded by a dense mass of carriages, while Marion
felt almost bewildered by the loud crash of equipages driving up and
driving off, breaking the line and backing out, as if they had been
assembled on the benefit night of some popular actor, while a flood of
pedestrians crowded along the foot-path, as if their lives depended on
being first. She was astonished also at the unprecedented concourse of
people already assembled in chapel, with looks of eager excitement and
flushed expectation. Every aisle appeared filled to excess, and the
staircase seemed one solid mosaic of faces, while the congregation
were all crushing, elbowing, and pushing forward, in impatient haste.
Voices were heard, at length, speaking aloud, in angry contention, for
places--a sound which grated strangely and startlingly on the ear in a
sacred edifice; and when at length the heat became unbearably intense,
a loud crash was heard, of persons breaking the window for air.
Marion, intimidated at having ventured alone into so dense a crowd,
and at a loss to guess what could occasion so much excitement, would
have made her way out; but the pressure behind rendered it as
impossible to retreat as to advance. On few occasions do people betray
so great a want of kind consideration, and even of hospitality, as
when comfortably ensconced in an extensive pew at church, occupying
room enough for three or four others, and carelessly staring at those
who are vainly waiting, with hesitation and confusion such as
Marion's, in hopes of being obligingly accommodated with a place. Her
color deepening every moment, and her veil drawn closer, Marion shrank
from notice, while one person after another elbowed his way forward,
and closed the door of his pew, with the authoritative, self-satisfied
air of a proprietor, heedless how others might be situated; and still
Marion anxiously glanced around her in vain, for the obscurest nook in
which to subside unseen.
At length, when the first loud peal of the organ had sent forth its
solemn tones, summoning every heart to devout attention, Marion felt a
gentle touch given to her arm, and on looking round, her hand was
clasped for a moment with a look of heartfelt affection by Clara
Granville, who silently led her to the seat, at some distance, from
which she had followed her, and giving one more affectionate pressure
of the hand to Marion, she composed herself into a look of devout and
fervent attention, forgetful evidently of all but the important
services of the hour, while Marion's heart beat with rapture to find
herself once more beside her most beloved friend, and that friend
unchanged.
The prayers were not merely read, but prayed--not in the every day
matter-of-course tone, so common in the pulpit, nor in a pompous,
self-sufficient, commanding voice, but with deep thrilling solemnity,
and in a manner calm, graceful, and dignified, by a young clergyman of
most intelligent and serious aspect, who evidently felt all he said,
and became so utterly absorbed in his duty, that it appeared as if he
almost imagined himself alone, and visibly present with the Divine
Being whom he addressed.
The young preacher's appearance was singularly striking and
prepossessing. His dark Spanish-looking complexion, and rather foreign
features, were animated by an expression of the brightest
intelligence, while in his eye might be traced the calm dignity of a
highly cultivated intellect, and the benevolence of a Christian who
hoped all things and believed all things, judging others as he would
himself be judged. In preaching, he avoided the arena of controversy,
but his arguments were clear and comprehensive, his eloquence
irresistible, as much by the fire and splendor of his genius, as by
the depth and solemnity of his reflections, while the attention was
enthralled, the judgment convinced, the heart awakened, and the inward
feelings touched in their most secret recesses. Without a thought of
affectation, he was simple, dignified, full of earnestness,
self-conviction, and fervent devotion, while there were passages of
grandeur when he alluded to the solemn mysteries, and higher truths of
revelation, which might have made a mere philosopher feel as if the
wing of his imagination had been broken in attempting to follow; and
yet there were thoughts and illustrations so clear and comprehensible,
that any ignorant child from a charity school might have understood
them.
Amidst the brighter scintillations of his genius, it was evident that
he understood the whole alchemy of human nature, and while almost
insensibly revealing the magnificent proportions of his own mind, he
understood and sympathised with all the trials, temptations, and
sorrows of human nature, and considered the whole art of happiness for
man to consist in unreserved and heartfelt submission of his own will,
his own hopes, wishes, and affections to the will of his Maker,
desiring to have nothing, to be nothing, to do nothing, and to expect
nothing, but according to His wise and holy decrees--to let the stream
of events run on, seeking to extract the best happiness from them as
they occurred, without one rebellious wish that they had been
otherwise, but only with a fervent prayer that they may, and a firm
belief that they shall, carry him forward, though the course be rough
and perilous, to a calm, bright haven of ceaseless and unutterable
joy.
When the congregation had dispersed, with a degree of silence and
solemnity very different from their noisy and irreverent entrance,
Marion walked for some time, leaning on the arm of Miss Granville, but
so entranced that she was unable yet to break the chain which had
carried her mind and feelings captive to another and a better world.
She had never before felt so deeply impressed with the transitory
nature of all around her, the insignificance of those joys and sorrows
with which she was encompassed, and it seemed to her but a day or an
hour, till the curtain of eternity should rise, and the glories of a
great hereafter become visible to her sight.
"You have been deeply interested by all we have heard?" said Clara, in
an accent of gentle interrogation, but with an expression of peculiar
meaning in her countenance, which Marion was at a loss how exactly to
interpret.
"Interested!" exclaimed Marion, with youthful enthusiasm. "If all the
sermons I ever heard were compressed into one, they could scarcely
equal what has been said to-day!"
"Do you remember the preacher?" asked Clara, coloring and smiling.
"But no! how could that be possible, when you never met before! Here
he comes! Allow me to introduce you, then, to my very dear brother
Richard. You know each other already, by the description of one who
loves you both!"
Mr. Granville advanced to Marion with frank and prepossessing
kindness, but though his manner was most ingratiating, his countenance
wore an expression of pre-occupation and fatigue, while he walked
hurriedly past, after cordially shaking Marion by the hand, who
observed to Clara with surprise, that his hand felt as cold as ice.
"That is always the case with Richard after preaching," replied Miss
Granville. "The solemn feeling of responsibility which he has on
entering the pulpit, often agitates and overawes him to a degree you
would scarcely credit. The extravagant enthusiasm with which he has
lately been followed, makes him still more anxious to use rightly
while it lasts his influence with others, though, as he says, nothing
is so transient in this transitory world as the popularity of a
preacher, and his chief solicitude is to remind men that it is the
word preached, and not the preacher, which they are come to hear, and
always to preserve the simplicity of his own mind, unadulterated by
any inordinate wish for applause."
"I am sure his words and thoughts have all the force of genuine
feeling," said Marion, earnestly. "He preaches from heart to heart,
which is the only way to strike a light between them. It seemed
to-day, as if he were steering us through an ocean of immeasurable
thought."
"But," replied Clara, "Richard is deeply impressed with the danger to
a preacher himself, arising from the adulation with which he is
followed by crowds in search of novelty, who give that respect to the
mere ambassador delivering his message, which he wishes to claim
solely and entirely for his Divine Master. He quoted to me yesterday a
quaint old author, who says that God humbles men in this life, that He
may exalt them forever; but Satan exalts men in this life, that he may
cast them down for eternity. It is a solemn truth, and Richard feels
the danger as he ought."
"Then it is a danger no longer, if seen and rightly avoided," replied
Marion. "He already lives, I have heard, in a better world, while he
acts in this, but so much applause must be apt sometimes to draw down
your brother's thoughts from heaven to earth, if he hears all that is
said and thought. Lady Towercliffe remarked, as we came out, that his
eloquence does him immortal honor."
"Yes! as Richard himself once observed, 'immortal honor for
twenty-four hours, or perhaps a week;' but that is no object of
legitimate ambition to a preacher of immortality. My brother is
blessed with one Christian attainment almost in perfection, and that
is an actual dread of worldly applause. No penny trumpet could be more
insignificant in his estimation than the enthusiasm of a few excitable
young ladies, and I have seen him often carefully avoiding those, who
would be 'frothing him,' as he calls it, with preposterous praise. He
compares popularity to the sails of a windmill, raised to the clouds
one minute, and down below zero the next; but fashionable notoriety
has no attraction for one who aims at real usefulness. If he did not
despise it, he would despise himself. He is engrossed with the
fervent, heartfelt hope of doing good according to his opportunity,
and in perfect simplicity performing his duty to God and man."
"How mean and low in comparison do those appear who are living only
for the opinions of men, and the trumpery tinsel of this world, yet
how difficult it must be to rise above earthly ambition," said Marion.
"No patent of nobility could confer half the distinction on your
brother that he enjoyed to-day, surrounded by a multitude all aroused
to enthusiasm by his words. A mere author writes in solitude, and
never knows the full influence of what he has written; but an orator
reaps an immediate harvest of honor, and sees it before his eyes,
which must be ten thousand times more apt to intoxicate him with
success."
"Yes," replied Clara, "no enthusiasm can rival what is felt at the
moment for a popular preacher. His eloquence rouses feelings stronger
than in any nature, while men become conscious that it would be their
highest honor and best safety to encourage such thoughts as he
suggests. You would smile sometimes to see how Richard's steps are
beset as he leaves the chapel, by crowds anxious to catch a glimpse of
his countenance, to request an introduction, to express their warmest
thanks, to entreat he will print his last sermon, or to beg for an
autograph."
"It is taking pains to destroy what they most admire, when people
throw such temptations to vanity in a clergyman's way," said Marion.
"Even I could not but perceive, as he passed, the reverential glances,
and the whispered announcement of his name on every side, as he
hurried onward, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left; but
he sets an example of what he teaches, to live for high and holy
purposes. It is only by carrying a light himself, that a clergyman can
give light to others."
"Yes, Marion! it was not in mere words, of course, or of sacrilegious
presumption, that Richard declared, on being ordained, his own solemn
conviction that he was specially called to be a minister of the
church. Unlike the Jews, who had Christ in their Bibles, but not in
their hearts, his whole spirit was imbued with the pure holy faith and
morality of the everlasting Gospel, and he considered it the highest
of earthly honors to be consecrated for that solemn office."
"I was often told formerly," said Marion, "that your brother had
talents which would have raised him to eminence--or rather to
pre-eminence--at the bar, and in the House of Commons--or, as Pat has
always said, meaning the greatest compliment of all--on the stage;
but, dear Clara, how different, and how greatly superior, to feel, as
he must do, with an approving conscience, that all his abilities,
time, and strength, are consecrated to an object, which his heart,
without one momentary feeling of doubt or self-reproach, may delight
in--that all his studies, duties, and occupations increase his own
fitness to be happy for ever; while, at the same time, they are for
the good of all mankind, and for the glory of God. Your brother most
truly said to-day, that a sinner is 'the drudge of Satan;' but if
there be real greatness upon earth, I think it is that of an honored
and useful minister in the Church of Christ, whose character is
modelled upon the Holy Scriptures, as some insects take their hue from
the leaf on which they feed."
"True, Marion! Richard's profession is, indeed, in the way he fulfils
it, 'twice bless'd,' as a means of both giving and receiving
happiness. It is with him a labor of love, in which every duty is a
pleasure, and his object is, to keep us in mind of our individual
importance in being believers; for as the glory of the sun is
reflected in a single drop of dew, so may the character of Christ be
represented in that of the humblest Christian; and like a stone in an
arch, each atom has a place to fill, which must be conscientiously
kept, whether more or less important and conspicuous, with unswerving
steadiness, for in no other can it be so advantageously situated."
"I am entirely convinced of that," said Marion. "As your brother said
to-day, Christians must never feel themselves raised above the homely
duties of every-day life, nor give mere moralists occasion to say that
their faith is not evidenced by their works."
"No," replied Clara, "let the ravens croak while the eagle pursues his
steady flight towards the sun, heedless of all but his high
destination. Yet, as Richard says, Christian mothers should instruct
their own children, wives should find their first earthly duty in
associating with their husbands, the heads of houses should watch
conscientiously over the belief and conduct of their servants, a
clergyman's vocation is within his own parish, and every family should
be a little kingdom in itself, ruled and governed by the law and the
Gospel of Christ, so that, as benighted wanderers in the dark are
often cheered and guided by seeing, as they hurry onwards, the light
and warmth gleaming round the hearth of a stranger, the sinner, also,
in his dark and dreary course, when he beholds a passing glimpse of
that peace and joy which are to be found in a Christian household, and
there only, might be tempted and encouraged to go home and do
likewise."
"I wish it were so oftener," said Marion, while her thoughts reverted
sorrowfully to St. John's Lodge.
"It is in speaking with single-hearted simplicity of home duties and
home affections, that Richard always excels himself," continued Clara,
warmly. "There he preaches as he practices, for he cultivates
happiness to diffuse it all around him, and he is, in reality, all
that other men wish to appear. He deprecates, in general, pulpit
oratory, as men are often apt to mistake mere excited feeling for true
devotion; and he considers that attention in church at most to be
depended on that which does not require to be pampered with novelty.
Eloquence has so often been perverted to such evil purposes, both
moral and political, that Richard sometimes tells me, he thinks, on
the whole, this world would have been a better world without oratory
at all, because brilliant talents and enthusiastic tempers usurp so
often the place due only to principle."
"It often occurs to me," said Marion, "that half the actual history of
our own lives is unknown to us now, but will be probably revealed
hereafter;--in what respect, for instance, our circumstances in life
would have been altered, had we on various occasions acted
differently--how near we may have been to meeting with great events
which never actually occurred--what impression has been made on others
by our conduct and actions--who really loved us, and what is the
extent of good or evil which our conversation or our writings may have
done in the world. To your brother how many interesting discoveries
would such revelation probably disclose!"
"Richard's own endeavor is generally to maintain a calm, rational, and
argumentative style of reasoning with his congregation, and yet he is
carried away irresistibly by his feelings, sometimes into such a burst
of eloquence as we heard to-day," added Clara; "you would sometimes
fancy, even in conversation, that Richard's mind, like some great
volcano, was undergoing an overwhelming eruption, while he pours forth
in resistless torrents, the burning lava of his thoughts and
feelings."
Marion listened with increasing interest to Clara's remarks, and
watched with affectionate sympathy, the kindling brightness of her
friend's expressive eyes when she spoke of that brother so tenderly
beloved, and so unspeakably respected, of whom, from his earliest
boyhood, she had heard nothing but praise, for none had ever measured
the stature of his mind without finding it higher than they
anticipated. Marion felt an unenvying happiness in the happiness of
Clara, and yet a tear suddenly started into her eyes, and a pang of
unutterable sorrow struck upon her heart when she reflected, that, not
many years ago, her own brother, Patrick, had been the friend and
companion of this highly-gifted man, but that now they were friends no
more, and becoming every day less suited to be companions.