The most spacious of Mrs. Truman's chambers was prepared for the
ladies' dressing-room, on the evening of the party; and there were no
spare corners, although several of the neighbours offered their houses
for the use of those who dared not tempt the chance of crumpled robes
and disarranged coiffures; the probable consequence of a ride eight or
ten miles in gala dress. Every stage of the toilet was in progress,
from the chrysalis of the dressing-gown to the full-winged butterfly,
the sylph, who, with a dainty adjustment of her diaphanous drapery,
and a last, lingering look at the flattering mirror, declared herself
"ready."
Ida and Carry were bent upon dressing alike; no easy matter to do,
consistently with their perceptions of colours and fitness. No one
hue became both; so they proscribed the prismatic tints and appeared
in virgin white. Carry was beautiful as a dream of Fairy Land. The
plump, white arms were bare to the shoulder, and without other
ornament than their own fairness, except a chain of gold, attached
to a locket, containing her parents' hair. This she never left off.
Snowy gloves hid hands, softer still; the exquisitely-fitted corsage,
and the waist it enclasped, were the admiration, and, if truth must
be told, the envy of the bevy of talkative damsels; but few remarked
upon these after a sight of her face. Her hair would curl, do what
she would; the rebellious bandeaux refused to be plastered upon the
blue-veined temples, but rippled and glittered, like nothing but a
stream, golden in the sunset. The most artful _soupcon_ of rouge was a
palpable counterfeit compared with her living bloom; pearls lay between
the ruby lips; and a spirit, more priceless than gold or rubies, or
pearls beamed from the liquid eyes. Ida looked forward with delight to
Arthur's exultant smile, when he should behold her; and Carry, alike
forgetful of self, was lost in gratified contemplation of the elegant
figure of her friend. With not a tithe of the beauty of half the girls
present, her tout ensemble was striking and attractive. The haughtiness
which held the crowd at a distance, gave a high-bred tone to her
bearing, and one sentence, uttered in her clear voice, and a smile
dispelled all unfavourable impressions.
Arthur and Charley were at the foot of the stairs.
"What a Babel!" said Ida, as they entered the thronged rooms.
"And what a waste of breath!" replied Charley. "There is neither
sociability, or rational enjoyment, to be had in these very large
assemblies."
"I rather like the excitement of the crowd;" said Ida, "it affects me
strangely, but agreeably; with the same sensation the waves may feel
in their sports,--a tumultuous glee at being a part of the restless
whole,--never still, and always bounding onward."
"How do you account for it? Is it magnetism--animal electricity?"
"Perhaps so. If, as some contend, we are electrical machines, the
revolving currents of the subtle fluid must operate powerfully upon
the system of each, in a crowd like this. But to leave speculative
ground--perilous to me, inasmuch as I do not know what I am talking
about--"
"And I understand the science less," interrupted he. "You remember the
Scotchman's definition of metaphysics--what were you going to ask?"
"Why you dislike these scenes? I fancied you would be in your element."
"Excuse me for saying that I suspect you class me among amphibious
creatures--a _sui generis_--equally at home in the air, earth,
and water, and not over-well qualified for any of these states of
existence."
Ida would have disclaimed; but he had come too near the mark; the eyes
that asked a reply were penetrating as laughing; she was thankful that
the bridal party released her from their regards.
"The bride is pretty," he observed, when the confusion was a little
over.
"Tame praise for such beauty," said Ida.
"What then? superb--magnificent? and if I wish to describe the Alps or
Niagara, can you help me to a word?"
"You do not affect the florid style now in vogue?"
"No. It is the vice of American language and literature. We 'pile
on the agony,' until the idea is smothered; plain words lose their
meaning, become too weak to go alone, and have to be bolstered up by
sonorous adjectives."
Ida smiled, and turned her head to look for Ellen Morris. Charley
remarked the movement, and imitated it.
"Ha! can it be!" he exclaimed.
"What!" she questioned.
"I cannot be mistaken! it is he! What wind has blown him hither?
An old--I thought, a transatlantic friend; the gentleman with the
moustache, conversing with one of the bridesmaids."
"Ellen Morris! I see him; but he deserves more than the doubtful
designation of the 'gentleman with the moustache.' Who, and what is he?"
"An artist and poet, just returned from Italy, and the hero of divers
adventures, which, as you love the romantic, I may relate to you in my
poor way some day. His cognomen is Lynn Holmes."
"He looks the poet; how handsome!"
"'Tame praise for such beauty,'" quoted Charley, with mock gravity.
It was, when applied to the face and form before them. He was not above
the medium height; symmetrically proportioned, hair purplish in its
blackness, the arched nostril, and short upper lip indicative of spirit
end gentle birth, and the rich, warm complexion had caught its flush
from Italian suns. Its rapid fluctuations, plainly visible through the
transparent olive of his cheek, spoke too, of passions kindled by that
burning clime. But his eyes! Ida's were darker, as she gazed into their
midnight--large and dreamy and melancholy! a world of unwritten poetry;
but when did poet have, or artist paint such!
"What is the conclusion of the whole matter?" asked Charley, patiently.
"That you should speak to your friend;" letting go his arm. "I shall
not mind your leaving me alone."
He replaced her hand. "Content yourself. Miss Morris will not thank me,
if I intrude at present. There is time enough. Pity he has chosen a
starving profession."
"And why 'pity,' if in so doing he has followed the beckoning of
genius! He has hearkened to, and obeyed the teachings of his higher
nature. Can they mislead?"
"When we mistake their meaning. Genius steers wildly astray if
the compass-box of judgment is wanting. My remark was a general
one"--seeing her grave look. "Holmes is one of the gifted of the earth;
and when I lamented his choice of a profession, I did not censure him,
but the public. He ought to have a nabob's fortune to perfect his
schemes; and he will not make a living. Men squander thousands for the
intellectual gratification of a horse-race; an exhibition in which, I
allow, the brute is generally the nobler animal;--and knowingly brand
him 'a verdant 'un,' who expends a quarter of that sum in works of art.
Will you dance? I hear a violin."
"I think not. It is too warm."
"To say nothing of the crowd. In dancing, as in most things, I prefer
standing upon my own footing--not upon other people's toes."
Nevertheless, there were those present who could not withstand the
allurement of a "hop," under any circumstances; and by snug packing on
the part of the soberly-inclined, while numbers sought the freer air of
the passages and piazzas, room was made for a set. Ellen Morris joined
it, and Mr. Holmes had time to look about him. His start of delight as
he recognised Charley, and the heartiness of their greetings, showed
their mutual attachment; and imagining that they would have much to say
after a lengthy separation, Ida would have fallen in the rear, had not
Charley forestalled her by a prompt presentation of his friend. They
exchanged, indeed, one or two brief questions and replies; but these
over, she was the centre of attraction. The panting, heated dancers
tripped by, commiserating, if they noticed the "hum-drum" group at the
window; never thinking that, demure as they appeared, there was more
enjoyment in that secluded recess, than in the entire mass of revellers
besides. There are harmonies in conversation, the arrangement of which
is wofully disregarded. Accident had collected a rare trio. The artist
talked as he would have painted; descrying beauties everywhere, and
bringing them together with a masterly hand; only tolerating deformity,
as it displayed them to more advantage, and shedding over all the
mellow glow of his fervid imagination; startling by paradoxes, to
enchant by the grace and beauty of their reconciliation. And Charley,
with a cooler brain and wary eye, was ready to temper, not damp his
enthusiasm;--not to dam the rushing flood, but lead it aside into a
smoother channel. Ida thought of the compass-box, and charmed as she
was by the eloquence of this modern Raphael, acknowledged the justice
of the simile. For herself, appreciative and suggestive, she fanned
the flame. Her sympathetic glance and smile, the quick catching at a
thought, half unuttered; the finish and polish his crude ideas received
from her lighter hand, could not but please and flatter. How grating
was the interruption!--
"Mr. Dana! not dancing!"
"No, Mr. Truman, but exceedingly well entertained."
"Hav'nt a doubt of it! hav'nt a doubt! but there's a young lady--a
stranger--who wants a partner for the set that is forming, and as your
brother is engaged--to dance, I mean--with Miss Somebody--I forget
who--I thought as an old friend, I would make so free as to call upon
you, ah--ah--she being a stranger, you understand, ah--ah--"
"Certainly sir, of course, where is she?" said Charley, swallowing his
chagrin, in his willingness to oblige the embarrassed host. "Charles
Dana, having gone to see his partner, desires the prayers of the
congregation," he said aside to his companions, before plunging into
the throng.
"'O, rare Ben Jonson!'" said Mr. Holmes, as they disappeared.
"And most incomprehensible of anomalies!" responded Ida.
"The dross is upon the surface--refined gold beneath. Have you known
him long?"
"But a fortnight."
"You have not mastered the alphabet yet. Bright and dancing as is
that eye, I have seen it shed tears in abundance and softness, like
a woman's. His tongue knows other language than that of flippant
trifling."
"He is a universal favorite. I am surprised he has never married."
Mr. Holmes was silent. He even looked pained; and Ida, conscious
that she had unwittingly touched a sore spot, took up the strain Mr.
Truman had broken. She was in the Coliseum of Rome; when among the
moving sea of faces precipitated upon the retina, yet nothing to the
brain, unless, perhaps, making more vivid its conceptions of the
multitude, who once lined the crumbling walls of the amphitheatre--one
arrested her attention. The subject was thrilling; the speaker's
description graphic and earnest;--it was unkind, and ungrateful, and
disrespectful--but laugh she must, and did, when in Charley's partner
she beheld Celestia Pratt! Her first emotion was extreme amusement;
her next, indignant compassion for him thrust into public notice as
the cavalier of a tawdry fright; for the thickest of satin robes, and
a load of jewelry, that gave plausibility to the tale of Hannibal's
spoils at Cannae, betrayed, instead of cloaking vulgarity. He was
playing the agreeable, however, with, his wonted sang-froid, varied,
as she judged from his gestures, by gratuitous hints as to the figure
and step. In trying to efface the remembrance of her rudeness from Mr.
Holmes' mind, and watching the oddly matched pair, she passed the time
until the set was finished. Arthur approached, and the gleam of his
white teeth upset her acquired gravity.
"Caught," said he, as Mr. Holmes walked away, "just as I was. I secured
a partner directly I saw her; and Mr. Truman, hearing from her that I
was an acquaintance, put at me two minutes later."
"He said you were engaged--to dance."
"Here he is! Charley, I thought you declined dancing."
"So I did. I consented to please Mr. Truman."
"Had you ever seen your partner before?"
"No. I know what you are at, Art., but I cannot laugh with you. I am
sorry for her."
"You shame us, Mr. Dana," said Ida, frankly. "I will make amends for my
uncharitableness, by fighting my way, single-handed, to the farthest
end of the room, to speak to her, if you say so."
"And I, not to be outdone, will dance with her," said Arthur, with a
martyr-air.
"I absolve you," said his brother. "She is a queer fish, I own," in his
light tone. "Have you spoken to Holmes?"
"Yes. He says he has partly resolved to winter in Richmond. He is a
groomsman; but the party disband to-morrow; only Miss Morris attending
the young couple to their home up the country. I have invited Lynn to
spend some time with us, before he settles to business."
"Will he come?"
"Probably."
A succession of introductions and beaux engaged Ida until supper.
She forgot her purpose of speaking with Celestia, and would not have
remembered her again that evening, had she not been made aware of her
proximity at table by something between a grunt and exclamation, forced
through a mouthful of cake.
"Lor! if that ain't Idy Ross!"
She had a saucer of ice-cream in one hand, and a slice of fruitcake in
her left; so she stuck out a red elbow in lieu of either; which unique
salutation Ida pretended not to see.
"How are you, Celestia? When did you come into the neighbourhood?"
"I jest got down yesterday. You see," in a stage whisper, "I heard of
this party better'n a fortnight ago, and ma and I set our hearts 'pon
my coming; so I had this dress made (it cost four dollars a yard!) and
_happened_, you know, to pay a visit to Cousin Lucindy Martin's, jest
in the nick of time, and Mrs. Truman, found out, you know, that I was
there, and sent me a 'bid.' Didn't I manage it nice?"
"You appear to be having a pleasant time."
"O, splendid! I've danced every set. Thar's a heap of polite
beaux--ain't there?"
"Miss Ross, what shall I have the pleasure of helping you to?" asked
Mr. Euston, Ida's escort.
She named an article, and Celestia twitched her arm--"Who's that?"
"Mr. Euston," said Ida, distinctly.
"Is he your beau?"
"No."
"Then you'd as lief as not interduce me, hadn't you? He's the loveliest
thing I ever saw."
Ida flushed with disgust and vexation; the insufferable conceit of the
girl, her bizarre appearance, and harsh tones drew the notice of many
to them; and her horror of ridicule was strong upon her.
"Miss Ida," said Charles Dana, across the table. "Will you eat
a philopoena with me?" As he tossed the almond, she marked his
expression, and the scene in the painting-room, Josephine's derision,
and the rude mirth of her supporters, her hurricane of rage and the
commanding look that said to it "Be still," all rushed over her like
a whirlwind, and departed suddenly. Mr. Euston was bowing with the
desired delicacy; Celestia, serenely expectant, and with the mien of
one who confers a favour upon both parties, she complied with the fair
lady's request. Mr. Euston was handsome and gallant; he immediately
dipped into his stock of pretty sayings, and presented one of the most
elegant. The recipient fluttered and prinked, and baited another hook;
and Ida stole a look at Charley. Her not recognizing him before was
no marvel; she could hardly persuade herself that her conviction of a
minute before was not an illusion; so impervious was the Momus mask.
He was frequently near, and with her, in the course of the evening:
but no sign betokened a suspicion of her perplexity. He was gayer
than his wont; when sheer fatigue drove the votaries of pleasure from
the festive hall, his spirits were at their meridian. He had passed
most of the day on horseback; had talked and danced and stood for six
hours; yet he sent off carriage after carriage with a lively adieu; and
seeing his own party seated in theirs, vaulted into the saddle, as for
a morning gallop. He cheered the weary travellers so long as he could
extort replies from the lagging tongues, and serenaded them the rest of
the way with snatches of melody fantastic as his mood.
"Why have you and Charley preserved such a mysterious silence
respecting our former meeting?" inquired Ida, when she and Carry were
laid down to sleep.
"He charged me not to name him, if I heard the matter alluded to; and,
since we have been at home, enjoined secrecy more strictly, saying the
incident was better forgotten than remembered," said Carry, dozingly.
This was Thursday. On Saturday the young artist made one in their
midst. In his school-days he was a welcome guest at Poplar-grove,
spending a portion of his vacation with his friend Charley, and the
lapse of years had not rusted the hinges of the hospitable doors, or
those of the master's heart. He was received and cherished as of old.
Mrs. Dana looked into the girls' room before retiring. Ida was
brushing her hair; Carry watching and talking to her. "Yes," said she,
complacently, appealing to her sister for confirmation. "I flatter
myself our party could not be more select or composed of choicer
materials. Four beaux--including father--handsomest of all; and but two
belles--three--pardon me, Mrs. Dana. It may be a century ere we are
again so blessed; and we must go somewhere, or do something to exhibit
ourselves. Ida may have Charley and father, if she will leave the
Italian and his lamping eyes to me."
"And Arthur--why is he neglected the division of spoils?" asked Mrs.
Dana.
"I make him over to you. Brother John commended you to his care."
"Mammy applied to me for numberless passes, to-night. There is a big
meeting at Rocky Mount. The servants will attend en masse, to-morrow;
why not follow their example?" said Mrs. Dana, with playful irony.
"We will!" exclaimed Carry, clapping her hands. "I'll ask father this
minute."
"But, my dear sister--"
"Don't say a word, Jenny; Ida would like to go, I am sure."
"When I understand the character of the entertainment; I shall be
qualified to express my wishes."
"Why," answered Carry, tying the cord of the wrapper she had cast
around her. "They preach a little, and sing and shout; and in
intermission, we have grand fun."
"Fun! at church!"
"That is not the word precisely; but everybody meets everybody else,
and we have an hour for talking and eating. How happens it, that you
are a novice? you are country-born."
"I was never at a big meeting, notwithstanding."
"An additional reason, why we should be on the spot to-morrow. I will
be back directly."
In five minutes she returned, blushing and laughing.
"Would you believe it? When I knocked at father's door, Arthur opened
it. I slunk back in the dark, and asked for 'Marster.' 'Doctor,'
said he, 'Martha wants to see you,' and sauntered off. Didn't father
stare, and I laugh, when I ran in! The stupid creature! to be fooled so
easily!"
"The meeting!" said Ida.
"All's well! Father was afraid we might be tired, if we stayed to both
sermons; but I assured him that was impossible. I hope it will be a
fine day!"
She was gratified; but the weather was not brighter than the faces
gathered upon the piazza, at a shockingly unfashionable hour. It was
six miles to Rocky Mount; and as Charley observed, "seats in the dress
circle would be at a premium, two hours before services begun."
"'Marster' does not accompany us," said Arthur, significantly, as he
handed Carry into the carriage. She was too much confused to reply; but
Ida and Mrs. Dana laughed outright.
"Papa and myself, having no vagrant propensities, will go to our own
church," answered the latter. "And if you have waited upon the young
ladies, I will thank you to put me into the gig, Dr. Dana."
Mr. Holmes accepted a seat with the ladies; Charley and Arthur were
on horseback. It is doubtful if one of the merry riders realised, for
an instant, the sacredness of the day, or that they were bound to a
place of worship. It did not occur, even to Dr. Carleton, that their
glee, innocent and proper upon ordinary occasions, now verged upon
sinful levity. He saw in it, the buoyancy of youth under the influence
of agreeable company, and a cloudless day. They would be subdued by
the exercises of the sanctuary; and he drove along, his large heart
full of love and praise to Him who had showered these gem-sparkles
into his chalice of life; the young people beguiling the length of
their journey, by a running fire of badinage, puns and serio-comic
discussions; embarked, to all intents and purposes, upon a party of
pleasure.
"Behold Rocky Mount!" said Arthur, pointing to a rising ground, tufted
by a clump of oaks.
"Where is the church?" inquired Ida. "I can distinguish people and
horses, but no house."
"After we get there, I will lend you my pocket microscope," responded
Charley. The brown walls of a small building, in the centre of the
grove, were visible, as the road wound around the hill; but its
dimensions were as great a puzzle as its absence would have been. Carry
came to her aid.
"They preach out of doors, my dear."
"Out of doors!" this was a charming novelty.
"'The groves were God's first temples,'" she repeated softly, and Lynn
continued the noble lines--
"Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore,
Only among the crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have raised?"
Charley smiled dubiously, but held his peace. The crowd thickened
with their advance. Horses were tethered in solid ranks to the trees;
children straying frightfully near to their heels; wagons and carriages
almost piled upon each other; and men, white and black, stood about
everywhere. The driver reined up, twenty yards from the arbor erected
under the trees.
"Drive up nearer, Tom!" said Carry.
"He cannot," replied Arthur, letting down the steps. "Look!"
There was a quadruple row of vehicles on three sides of the arbor, the
fourth being, at considerable pains, left open for passage. Several
young men dashed to the side of the carriage, with as much empressment
as at a ball, and thus numerously attended, the girls picked their way
through the throng and dust. No gentlemen were, as yet, in their seats,
and our party secured a vacant bench midway to the pulpit.
"Don't sit next to the aisle," whispered Arthur.
"Why not?" questioned Ida, removing to the other extremity of the plank.
"Oh! it is more comfortable here. We will be with you again presently."
"That is not all the reason," remarked Carry, when he was gone.
"This railing protects us from the press on this side; and our young
gentleman will not permit any one to occupy the stand without, but
themselves."
"Will they not sit down?"
"No, indeed! there will not be room. Then the aisles will be filled
with all sorts of people, and our dresses be liable to damage from
boots and tobacco juice."
"Tobacco juice!" was she in a barbarous country! As Carry predicted,
their three attendants worked their way, between the wheels and the
people, to where they sat. Charley crawled under the rail, and planted
himself behind them.
"I can keep my position until some pretty girl dislodges me," said he.
"The denizens of these parts have not forgotten how to stare."
He might well say so. A battery of eyes was levelled upon them,
wherever they looked. The tasteful dress and elegant appearance of the
ladies, and their attractive suite, were subjects of special importance
to the community at large. Although eclipsed in show by some present,
theirs was a new constellation, and they must support observation as
they could. They stood fire bravely; Ida was most unaccustomed to it,
and she found so much to interest and divert her, that she became
unconscious of the annoyance after a little.
"Are those seats reserved for distinguished strangers? have not we a
right to them?" designating a tier in front of the speaker's stand.
"They are the anxious benches," returned Charley.
"Nonsense!"
"So I think. The brethren dissent from us. I am not quizzing. That is
the name."
"The mourners--the convicted occupy them," said Carry.
"Are they here?" inquired Ida, credulously. It was preposterous to
conceive such a possibility in this frivolous loud-talking assembly.
"Not now;" answered Charley. "But when they crowd on the steam, you
will witness scores."
"Fie! Charley? it is wicked to speak so!"
"I am just as pious as if I did not, Carry. I'll wager my horse--and
head too--that by to-night, Miss Ida will agree with me, that these
religious frolics are more hurtful to the cause they are intended to
advance, than fifty such harmless affairs, as we attended on Thursday
night."
"I am not solemnised yet;" said Ida.
"You are as solemn as you are going to be. You may be excited, or
frightened into something like gravity. Two, three, four preachers!
That's what I call a waste of the raw material. What a flutter of
ribbons and fans! The congregation reminds me of a clover field,
with the butterflies hovering over its gaily-colored, bobbing heads.
Handsome ladies by dozens! This county is famed for its beauty, and but
one tolerable-looking man in its length and breadth!"
"Why, there is Mr. Euston--what fault have you to find in him?"
"He is the honorable exception. Whom did you think I meant?" smiling
mischievously at Carry's unguarded query. "Art. here, is passable.
Modesty prevents my saying more, as we are daily mistaken for each
other. The music strikes up;--rather quavering; they are not in the
'spirit' yet. They never get to the 'understanding.' I must decamp.
Those fair ones are too bashful to look this way, while I am here."
He was on the outside of the rail, sedate and deacon-like, in a
minute. Unsuited as his remarks were to the time and place, they were
less objectionable than the whispers of the ladies who dispossessed
him;--critiques upon Susan's beaux and Joseph's sweethearts; upon
faces, dress and deportment; a quantity of reprobation, and very sparse
praises.
The preacher was an unremarkable man, who delivered, in a sing-song
tone, an unremarkable discourse; opposing no impediment to the
sociability of the aforementioned damsels, except that they lowered
their shrill staccato to a piano. The gentlemen whispered behind
their hats, notched switches, and whittled sticks. The hearers from
Poplar-grove, albeit they were gay, youthful, and non-professors,
were the most decorous auditors in their part of the congregation.
Another minister arose; a man not yet in his thirtieth year, his form
stooped, as beneath the weight of sixty winters. The crowd stilled
instantly. He leaned, as for support, upon the primitive desk; his
attenuated hands clasped, his eyes moving slowly in their cavernous
recesses, over the vast assemblage. "And what come ye out into the
wilderness for to see?" he said, in a voice of preternatural sweetness
and strength. "Aye! ye are come as to a holiday pageant, bedecked in
tinsel and costly raiment. I see before me the pride of beauty and
youth; the middle-aged, in the strength of manliness and honor, the
hoary hairs and decrepid limbs of age;--all trampling--hustling each
other in your haste--in one beaten road--the way to death and judgment!
Oh! fools and blind! slow-worms, battening upon the damps and filth
of this vile earth! hugging your muck rakes while the glorious One
proffers you the crown of Life!" The bent figure straightened; the
thin hands were endowed with a language of power, as they pointed, and
shook, and glanced through the air. His clarion tones thrilled upon
every ear, their alarms and threatenings and denunciations; in crashing
peals, the awful names of the Most High, and His condemnations of the
wicked, descended among the throng; and those fearful eyes were fiery
and wrathful. At the climax he stopped;--with arms still upraised, and
the words of woe and doom yet upon his lips, he sank upon the arm of a
brother beside him, and was led to his seat, ghastly as a corpse, and
nearly as helpless.
A female voice began a hymn.
"This is the field, the world below,--
Where wheat and tares together grow;
Jesus, ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares in anger up."
The hills, for miles around, reverberated the bursting chorus,
"For soon the reaping time will come,
And angels shout the harvest home!"
The ministers came down from the stand, and distributed themselves
among the people; bowed heads and shaking forms marking their path;--a
woman from the most remote quarter of the throng, rushed up to the
mourner's seats, and flung herself upon her knees with a piercing
cry;--another and another;--some weeping aloud; some in tearless
distress;--numbers knelt where they had sat;--and louder and louder,
like the final trump, and the shout of the resurrection morn, arose the
surge of song;--
"For soon the reaping time will come
And angels shout the harvest home!"
Carry trembled and shrank; and Ida's firmer nerves were quivering. A
lull in the storm, and a man knelt in the aisle, to implore "mercy and
pardon for a dying sinner, who would not try to avert the wrath to
come."
Sonorous accents went on with his weeping petition;--praying for "the
hardened, thoughtless transgressors--those who had neither part nor
lot in this matter; who stood afar off, despising and reckless." Again
rolled out a chorus; speaking now of joyful assurance.
"Jesus my all to heaven has gone--
(When we get to heaven we will part no more,)
He whom I fix my hopes upon--
When we get to heaven we will part no more.
Oh! Fare-you-well! oh! fare-you-well!
When we get to heaven we will part no more,
Oh! Fare-you-well!"
Ida's eyes brimmed, and Carry sobbed with over-wrought feeling. Arthur
bent over the railing and spoke to the latter. He looked troubled,--but
for her: Lynn stood against one of the pillars which supported the
roof; arms crossed, and a redder mantling of his dark cheek; Charley
was cool and grave, taking in the scene in all its parts, with no
sympathy with any of the phases of emotion. The tumult increased;
shouted thankgivings, and wails of despair; singing and praying and
exhorting, clashing in wild confusion.
"You had best not stay here," said Arthur to Carry, whose struggles for
composure he could not bear to see.
"Suffer me to pass, Dr. Dana;" and a venerable minister stooped
towards the weeping girl. "My daughter, why do you remain here, so
far from those who can do you good? You are distressed on account of
sin; are you ashamed to have it known? Do you not desire the prayer of
Christians? I will not affirm that you cannot be saved anywhere; 'the
arm of the Lord is not shortened,' but I do warn you, that if you hang
back in pride or stubbornness, you will be lost; and these only can
detain you after what you have heard. Arise, and join that company of
weeping mourners, it may not be too late."
Carry shook her head.
"Then kneel where you are, and I will pray for you."
She dried her tears. "Why should I kneel, Mr. Manly? I do not
experience any sorrow for sin."
"My child!"
"My tears are not those of penitence; I do not weep for my sinfulness;
I can neither think nor feel in this confusion."
The good man was fairly stumbled by this avowal.
"Have you _no_ interest in this subject?"
"Not more than usual, sir. My agitation proceeded from animal
excitement."
"I am fearful it is the same in a majority of instances, Mr. Manly;"
said Arthur, respectfully.
"You my perceive your error one day, my son; let me entreat you to
consider this matter as binding up your eternal welfare; and caution
you not to lay a feather in the way of those who may be seeking their
salvation."
Arthur bowed silently; and the minister passed on.
Dr. Carleton retired early that evening with a headache. Mrs. Dana
was getting the children to sleep; the young people had the parlor to
themselves. Charley was at the piano, fingering over sacred airs; psalm
tunes, sung by the Covenanters, in their craggy temples, or murmuring
to an impromptu accompaniment, a chant or doxology. All at once he
struck the chords boldly, and added the full powers of the instrument
to his voice, in the fine old melody of Brattle Street. Lynn ceased his
walk through the room, and united his rich bass at the second line;
Arthur, a tenor; Carry and Ida were happy to be permitted to listen--
"While Thee I seek, protecting Power,
Be my vain wishes stilled;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be filled.
Thy love the power of thought bestowed,
To thee my thoughts would soar;
Thy mercy o'er my life has poured,
That mercy I adore.
In each event of life how clear
Thy ruling hand I see!
Each mercy to my soul most dear.
Because conferred by Thee.
In every joy that crowns my days,
In every pain I bear,
My heart shall find delight in praise,
Or seek relief in prayer.
When gladness wings my favored hour,
Thy love my thoughts shall fill;
Resigned--when storms of sorrow lower,
My soul shall meet Thy will.
My lifted eye, without a tear,
The gathering storm shall see;
My steadfast heart shall know no fear,
That heart will rest on Thee!"
"There!" said Charley, "there is more religion in that hymn than in all
the fustian we have heard to-day; sermons, prayers and exhortations.
Humbug in worldly concerns is despicable; in the church, it is
unbearable."
"Consider, Charley, that hundred of pious people believe in the
practices you condemn. Some of the best Christians I know were
converted at these noisy revivals," said Carry.
"It would be miraculous if there were not a grain or two of wheat in
this pile of chaff. I never attend one that I am not the worse for
it. It is a regular annealing furnace; when the heat subsides you can
neither soften or bend the heart again--the iron is steel. What does
Miss Ida say?"
"That sin is no more hateful, or religion more alluring, for this
Sabbath's lessons; still, I acquiesce in Carry's belief, that although
mistaken in their zeal, these seeming fanatics are sincere."
"You applaud enthusiasm upon other subjects, why not in religion?"
asked Lynn, "if any thing, it is everything. If I could believe that,
when the stormy sea of life is passed, heaven--an eternal noon-tide
of love and blessedness would be mine--a lifetime would be too short,
mortal language too feeble to express my transport. There is a void
in the soul which nought but this can satisfy. Life is fresh to us
now; but from the time of Solomon to the present, the worlding has
nauseated at the polluted spring, saying, 'For all his days are sorrow,
and his travail grief; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night.' I
envy--not carp at the joys of those whose faith, piercing through the
fogs of this lower earth, reads the sure promise--'It is your Father's
good pleasure to give you the kingdom.'"
"You do homage to the beauty of the Faith, by whomsoever professed.
I note its practical effects; judge of its genuineness by its
workings. For example, the Old Harry awoke mightily within me, in
intermission, to see Dick Rogers preaching to Carry, threatening her
with perdition--she, who never in her life, committed a tenth of the
sin he is guilty of every day. He has been drunk three times in the
last month; he is a walking demijohn; his hypocrisy a shame to his
grey hairs. And James Mather--he would sell his soul for a fourpence,
and call it clear gain. Sooner than lose a crop, he forces his negroes
to work on Sunday--can't trust the God of harvest, even upon His own
day. The poor hands are driven on week-days as no decent man would do
a mule;--he let his widowed sister go to the poor-house, and offered
to lend John five thousand dollars, the next week at eight per cent. I
have known him since I was a shaver, and never had a word from him upon
the 'one thing needful,' except at church. And he was in the altar,
this morning, shouting as though the Lord were deaf!"
"Charley! Charley!"
"Facts are obstinate things, Carry. Next to being hypocritical
ourselves, is winking at it in others. The church keeps these men in
her bosom; she must not complain, if she shares in the odium they
merit. They are emphatically sounding brass."
"Let them grow together until the harvest," said Arthur. "It is a
convincing proof of the truth of Religion, that there are careful
counterfeits."
"I do not impeach the 'truth of Religion.' You need not speak so
reproachfully, Arthur. I believe in the Christianity of the Scriptures.
What I assail, is intermittent piety; springs, whose channels are
dusty, save at particular seasons;--camp-meetings and the like; men,
who furbish up their religion, along with their go-to-meeting boots,
and wear it no longer. Their brethren despise them as I do; but their
mouths are shut, lest they 'bring disgrace upon their profession.'
It can have no fouler disgrace than their lives afford. I speak what
others conceal; when one of these whited sepulchres lifts his Bible
to break my head, for a graceless reprobate, I pelt him with pebbles
from the clear brook. Look at old Thistleton! a mongrel,--porcupine
and bull-dog;--pricking and snarling from morning 'till night. A
Christian is a _gentleman_; he is a surly growler. Half of the
church hate, the other half dread him; yet he sits on Sabbaths, in
the high places of the synagogues, leads prayer-meetings, and weeps
over sinners--sanctified 'brother Thistleton.' He thunders the law
at me; and I knock him down with a stout stick, St. John cuts ready
to my hand;--'If a man say, I love God, and hate his brother, he is
a _liar_!' I hush up Rogers, with--'No drunkard shall inherit the
kingdom;' and Mather, with, 'You cannot serve God and Mammon.' They say
I am a scoffer;--I don't care. Now"--continued this contrary being,
passing into a tone of reverent feeling;--"There is my kind guardian.
I don't believe he ever shouted, or made a public address in his life.
He _lives_ his religion; a child can perceive that the Bible is a 'lamp
to his feet;' a pillar of cloud in prosperity; a sun in adversity. I
saw it when a boy, and it did me more good than the preached sermons I
have listened to since. He called me into his study the night before I
left home, and gave me a copy of 'the book.' 'Charley, my son,' said
he, 'you are venturing upon untried seas; here is the Chart, to which
I have trusted for twenty years; and have never been led by it, upon
a quicksand. Look to it, my boy!' I have read it, more, because he
asked it, than for its intrinsic value; that is my failing, not his.
I have waded through sloughs of theories and objections; but hold to
it still. Especially, when I am here, and kneel in my old place at the
family altar; hear the solemn tones, that quieted my boyish gayety;
when I witness his irreproachable, useful life, I say, 'His chart is
true; would I were guided by it!' No--no--Art.! I may be careless and
sinful;--I am no skeptic."
"A skeptic" exclaimed Lynn. "There never was one! Voltaire was a fiend
incarnate; a devil, who 'believed and trembled,' in spite of his
hardihood; Paine, a brute, who, inconvenienced by a soul, which would
not sink as low as his passions commanded, tried to show that he had
none, as the easiest method of disembarrassing himself. That one of
God's creatures, who can look up to the glories of a night like this,
or see the sun rise to-morrow morning, and peep, in his insect voice,
a denial of Him who made the world, is demon or beast;--often both.
'Call no man happy 'till he dies.' Atheists have gone to the stake for
their opinions; but physical courage or the heat of fanaticism, not the
belief, sustained them. We have yet to hear of the infidel, who died in
his bed,
'As one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.'"
"It is a mystery that one can die tranquilly," said Carry.
"I have stood by many peaceful death-beds," returned Arthur. "I never
wish so ardently for an interest in the Redemption, as when I watch
the departure of a saint. One verse is in my mind for days afterwards.
I repeat it aloud as I ride alone; and it lingers in my last waking
thought at night:
'Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are;
While on his breast, I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.'
"And why do you not encourage these feelings?" asked Charley, bluntly.
"I call that conviction; a different thing from the burly of this
morning. You want to be a Christian;--so do I sometimes; but you are a
more hopeful subject."
"I am by no means certain of that. You would never abide with the
half-decided, so long as I have done. You are one of the 'violent,' who
would take the kingdom of Heaven by force."
"How strange!" said Charley, thoughtfully.
"What is strange?" inquired his brother.
"Here are five of us, as well-assured of the verity of Christianity,
and God's revealed Word, as of our own existence; the ladies,
practising every Christian virtue; Lynn, prepared to break a lance
with infidelity in any shape; you, like Agrippa, almost persuaded;
and I, stripping off the borrowed plumage of those who have a name to
live;--yet we will be content to close our eyes in sleep, uncertain of
re-opening them in life;--unfit for Death and Eternity!"
He turned again to the piano; Arthur quitted the room; Lynn gazed out
of the window, with working features; Carry shaded her eyes with her
hand; Ida felt a cold awe creeping over her. 'Death and Eternity!' had
she heard the words before? how out of place in the bright warm life
they were leading! Here were true friendships, tried and strengthened
by years; young love, joying in his flowery course; refined and
congenial spirits; the luxuries of wealth and taste;--how unwelcome the
hand that lifted the drapery which enveloped the skeleton! 'Death and
Eternity!' The spell was upon the scented air; the moon threw shadows
upon the grass, as of newly heaped graves; and the vibrating cords
spoke but of the one awful theme!