--Military Dialogue --Disobedience of Orders--Solomon's Candor--A
Confidential Communication--Solomon Dances the Swaggering jig--Honest
Correspondence--Darby's Motion of Spiritual Things--Two Religions Better
than One--Darby's Love of Truth.
We believe our readers may understand, that although we have ourselves
taken the liberty of insinuating that little Solomon, as M'Loughlin
called him, was not precisely--but we beg pardon, it is time enough
to speak of that yet. All we have to say in the mean time is, that
Solomon's character, up to the period we speak of, was not merely
spotless, but a burning and a shining light in the eyes of all the
saints and sinners of the religious world, not only in Castle Cumber,
but in the metropolis itself. Solomon was an Elder of his congregation,
in which Sabbath after Sabbath he took his usual prominent part as
collector--raised the psalms--sang loudest--and whenever the minister
alluded to the mercy that was extended to sinners, Solomon's groan of
humility--of sympathy with the frail, and of despair for the impenitent;
his groan, we say, under these varied intimations of Gospel truth,
was more than a sermon in itself. It not only proclaimed to the
whole congregation that he was a sinner, but that he felt for
sinners--rejoiced in their repentance, which he often did in a
nondescript scream, between a groan and a cackle of holy joy, that
alarmed the congregation; but also wept for their hardness of heart,
when he imagined that it was likely to terminate in final reprobation,
with such a pathetic fervency, that on many such occasions some of those
who sat beside him were obliged to whisper--“Brother M'Slime, you are
too much overcome--too piously excited--do not allow yourself to exhibit
such an excess of Christian sympathy, or there will be many instances
among the weaker vessels of relapses and backslidings, from not
understanding that it is more for others thou art feeling than for
thyself.”
Solomon then took his hands from before his face, wiped his eyes with
his handkerchief on which they had been embedded, and with a serene and
rather heavenly countenance looked up to the preacher, then closing his
eyes as if in a state of ethereal enjoyment, he clasped his hands with
a sweet smile, twirling his thumbs and bowing his head, as the speaker
closed every paragraph of the discourse.
These observations account very plainly for the opinions touching
Solomon which were expressed by M'Loughlin. Solomon was at this time an
unadulterated saint--a professor--in fact one of the elect who had cast
his anchor sure. But as the proverb gays, time will tell.
That night M'Loughlin and his family retired to bed for the first time
overshadowed, as it were, by a gloomy presentiment of some change, which
disturbed and depressed their hearts. They slept, however, in peace and
tranquillity, free from those snake-like pangs which coil themselves
around guilt, and deaden its tendencies to remorse, whilst they envenom
its baser and blacker purposes.
M'Slime himself at this crisis was beginning privately to feel some of
the very natural consequences of his own oft acknowledged frailty. Phil,
who had just left Constitution Cottage a few minutes before Darby's
arrival, had not seen him that morning. The day before he had called
upon his grandfather, who told him out of the pallor window to “go to
h---; you may call tomorrow, you cowardly whelp, if you wish to see
me--but in the meantime,” he added as before, “go where I desired you.”
Phil, who possessed a great deal of his father's selfishness and also of
his low cunning, but none at all of his ability, turned back indignantly
and rode home again. He had not passed more than about a hundred yards
from the avenue out into the highway, when he met Sharpe, one of the
heroes of the cabin.
We shall not detail their conversation, which, of course, embraced
many of the circumstances connected with their duties, excepting a few
interjectional imprecations which Phil in an occasional parenthesis
dutifully bestowed upon his grandfather.
“So, Sharpe, the fool Rimon made such a devil of a fight (the infernal
old scoundrel)--and took the gun.”
“Why, Captain Phil, if he hasn't the strength of ten men, I'll never
manoeuvre on parade while I live--he's a bloody rascal.”
“(A double distilled old scoundrel, and I wish the devil had him,)--he's
a bad bird, Sharpe, fool and all as he is, there's no doubt of that.
What did the priest do?”
“Why, your honor, I can't say that he took much part in it, barrin' once
that he went between us and the woman.”
“He had no right to do that--(the blaspheming old vagabond,)--none at
all, Sharpe, and he ought to be prosecuted.”
“He ought, Captain, and will, I hope.”
“But then, Shaj-pe, if we swing Harman it will be enough, for
Harman--(he'll fiz for it, and that soon I hope)--is another bad bird.”
“Oh, devil a worse, Captain, but even if he escapes us now, we'll manage
him yet.”
They now came to a turn in the road, and found themselves at a bridge, a
little beyond which two roads met. On approaching, they observed an old
woman sitting on a large stone that lay a little beyond the arch. She
was meagrely and poorly dressed, had no cap on, her gray locks were only
bound by a red ribbon that encircled her head, but did not confine her
hair, which floated in large masses about her shoulders, a circumstance
that added to the startling vehemence of character that appeared in
her face, and gave to her whole person an expression which could not be
overlooked. When they had come up to where she sat, and were about to
pass without further notice, she started up, and with steps surprisingly
rapid, and full of energy, seized upon. Phil's bridle.
“Well!” she exclaimed, “I saw you going, and I see you coming, but you
cannot tell me that he is dead. No, the death damp of his blaspheming
carcase is not yet on the air, because if it was,” and she turned her
nose against the wind, like a hound, “I would snuff it. No, no; he
is not gone, but he will soon go, and what a catalogue of crimes will
follow after him! The man's conscience is a gaol where every thought and
wish of his guilty life and godless heart is a felon; and the blackest
calendar that ever was spread before God was his. Oh! I wonder do the
chains in his conscience rattle? they do, but his ears are deaf, and he
doesn't hear them; but he will, and feel them too, yet.”
Phil, who had got alarmed at the extraordinary energy of her manner,
as well as of her language, said, “what do you want, and who are you
speaking of?”
“Who am I speaking of? who should I be speaking of but of old Deaker,
the blasphemer?--and who am I speaking to but the son of the ungodly
villain who threatened to horsewhip the mother that bore him. Do you
know me now?”
“Let go my bridle,” exclaimed Phil, “let go my bridle, you old faggot,
or upon my honor and soul I'll give you a cut of my whip.”
“No,” she replied, no whit daunted, “no, I'm near my eightieth year. I'm
old, and wrinkled, and gray--my memory forgets everything now but my own
crimes, and the crimes of those that are still worse than myself--old I
am, and wicked, and unrepenting--but I shall yet live to pour the curses
that rise out of an ill-spent life into his dying oar, until his very
soul will feel the scorches of perdition before its everlasting tortures
come upon it in hell. I am old,” she proceeded, “but I will yet live
to see the son that cursed his mother, and threatened to raise his
sacrilegious hand against her that bore him, laid down like a tree,
rooted up and lopped--lying like a rotten log, without sap, without
strength, and only fit to be cut up and cast into the fire. I am old,”
she replied, “but I shall live to see out the guilty race of you all.”
“Go to the devil, you croaking old vagabond,” exclaimed Phil, raising
his whip, and letting it fall upon her almost naked shoulders, with a
force as unmanly, as it was cruel, and impious, and shocking.
She uttered a scream of anguish, and writhed several times, until her
eyes became filled with tears. “My cup is not full yet,” she exclaimed,
sobbing, “neither is yours, but it soon will be, you knew me well when
you gave that blow; but go now, and see how you'll prosper after it.”
Sharpe, even Sharpe, felt shocked at the cowardly spirit which could
inflict such an outrage upon old age, under any circumstances; but much
less under those which even he understood so well.
“Captain,” said he, “if it was only for the credit of the Castle Cumber
cavalry, I'm sorry that you gave that blow; those men on the other side
of the road there were looking at you, and you may take my word it will
spread.”
“How dare you speak to me in that style?” asked Phil in a rage, and
availing himself of his authority over him, “what is it your business,
Sharpe? Sharpe, you're a scoundrel, for speaking to me in this
style--damn my honor and blood, but you are. What do you know about that
old vagabond?”
“Captain,” said Sharpe, who was a sturdy fellow in his way, “I'm no
scoundrel; and I do know that you have just horsewhipped your notorious
ould grandmother.”
“Fall back,” said Phil, “and consider yourself arrested.”
“Arrest and be hanged,” replied Sharpe, “I don't care a fig about you--I
was in Deaker's corps this many a year, and if you attempt to come the
officer over me, let me tell you you're mistaken. We're not on duty now,
my buck, and you have no more authority over me than you have over the
devil--me a scoundrel! my good fellow, I know who is the scoundrel.”
“My good fellow! Damn my honor and blood, do you apply that to me?”
“No, I don't,” said Sharpe, “for you're a cursed bad fellow, and no
gentleman--didn't Harman pull your nose in Castle Cumber, and you
wanted the courage then that you had for your ould grandmother--me, a
scoundrel!”
“I'll tell you what, Sharpe; is this respect, sir, to your commanding
officer? Sharpe I'll mark you out for this.”
“Don't you know,” replied Sharpe, “that two of us c&n play at that game;
you had better keep yourself quiet, if you're wise--a man that's in the
habit of getting his nose pulled should be very inoffensive.”
“Very well,” said gallant Phil, “I'll say no more, but--” He then put
spurs to handsome Harry, and rode off, full of vengeance against Sharpe,
and of indignation at the contumelious reception he experienced at the
hands of his grandfather.
Val's letter to M'Slime was, as our readers know, anything but an index
to the state of regard in which he held that worthy gentleman. As we
said, however, that ground was beginning to break a little under his
feet, in spite of all his unction and Christian charity, we shall, while
Darby is on his way to deliver his letter, take that opportunity of
detailing a conversation between honest Solomon and Poll Doolin, upon
one or two topics connected with our tale.
“Sam,” said Solomon to his clerk, “you were not present with us at
prayer this morning! You know we do not join in family worship until
you come; and it is but our duty to take an interest in your spiritual
welfare. In the meantime, I should regret, for your own sake, that
anything in the shape of a falling away from your opportunities should
appear in you. I speak now as your friend, Sam, not as your master--nay,
rather as your brother, Sam--as a man who is not without his own
lapses and infirmities, but who still trusts--though not by his own
strength--that he may be looked upon, in some faint degree, as an
example of what a man, wrestling with the cares and trials of life,
ought at, least, to strive to be. To Him be the praise!”
“I certainly overslept myself this morning, sir--that is the truth.”
“Yes, Sam; sloth is one of the disguises under which the enemy often
assails and overcomes us. But to business, Sam. There is an old woman in
Castle Cumber, whose name I scarcely remember. She goes dressed in faded
black, and has a son, to whom, for wise purposes of course, it pleased
Him to deny a full measure of ordinary sense?”
“Poll Doolin, sir, the old child-cadger, and her foolish son, Raymond of
the hats.”
“Don't say foolish, Sam; don't say foolish--we know not well what the
true difference between wisdom and folly is, nor how much wisdom is
manifested in the peculiar state of this person. We know not, indeed,
whether what we blindly, perhaps, term folly, may not be a gift to
be thankful for. You know the Word says, that the wisdom of man is
foolishness before God. Our duty therefore is, to be thankful and
humble.”
“Well, sir; but about Poll Doolin, the child-cadger?”
“Child-cadger! that is a term I don't understand, Sam.”
“Why, sir, it means a woman who carries--”
“Sam, hold; if it be associated with human frailty, it is best left
unspoken. The woman, however, be she what she may--and I know not what
she is--but that she is a responsible being--a partaker of our common
nature, and is entitled to our sympathy. She is, I understand, in some
difficulty, out of which, it seems, professional advice may help to take
her. I expect her, therefore, about this time; and will you, Samuel,
just stand at that window, and when you see her approach the house,
do just, quietly, and without noise, open the hall door. Something has
occurred to discompose the Christian tone which usually prevails in our
household; and poor Susanna is going. But, at all events, Sam, you are
aware, it is said, that we ought not to let our left hand know what our
right hand doeth.”
“I know the text, sir, well; it ends with--'and he that giveth in
secret, will reward thee openly.'”
“He--hem--ahem! yes it does so end; heigho! I feel, Sam, slightly
depressed in spirit, as it were, and moved, as if somewhat of my usual
support were withdrawn from me.”
“Here she is, sir,” said Sam.
“Very well, Sam; please to let her in as quietly as may be, and then
take this declaration to the back office, and copy it as soon as you
can--it is of importance. We should always endeavor to render services
to our fellow creatures.”
In the mean time, Sam very softly opened the hall door, and the next
moment Poll entered.
Solomon, as usual, was certainly seated at his office, and held his
features composed and serious to a degree; still, in spite of everything
he could do, there was an expression half of embarrassment, and half
of the very slightest perceptible tendency to a waggish simile, we can
scarcely call it--but, whatever it might be, there it certainly was,
betraying to Poll, in spite of all his efforts, that there was still the
least tincture imaginable of human frailty associated with such a vast
mass of sanctity.
Polly, when she entered, took a seat, and loosening the strings of her
bonnet, raised it a little, and without uttering a word sat silently
looking in M'Slime's face, with a very comic and significant expression
on her own.
“No, Polly,” said he, with a serious smile, “no, you are mistaken
indeed--frail we all are, I grant you; but in this case am acting for
another. No, no, Polly--I trust those days of vanity are gone.”
“Well, then, what else am I to do? I sent the reports abroad about
M'Loughlin and Harman's being about to break; and of M'Loughlin I'll
soon have my revenge, by the way--I and somebody else have the train
laid for it.”
“Polly, it was from no unchristian spirit of ill-will to them--for I
trust that of such a spirit I am incapable--but to prevent them, by
an unjust act, from injuring, perhaps from ruining others. That is my
motive; but, at the same time, the whole matter is understood to be
strictly confidential between you and me.”
“Don't you know, Mr. M'Slime, that when there was an occasion for
trustin' me, I didn't betray you to the world?”
“No--you did not; and it is for that reason that I trust you now.”
“Ay, and you may, too; honor bright is my motive. You remember the
day you passed Darby O'Drive and me, on our way to M'Clutchy's? Did I
pretend to know you then?”
“You acted then, Poll, with great and commendable discretion, which you
will please to remember I did not overlook.”
“No,” said Poll, “you behaved decently enough.”
“But observe me now, Poll; if this report concerning the firm of
M'Loughlin and Harman should by any possibility be traced to us, or
rather to yourself, and that you should be pressed to disclose it,
which, of course, you could not be; but if a weak moment should ever
come--it is best then to speak the truth, and put the saddle as they
rather profanely say, upon Valentine M'Clutchy, the right horse here.”
“Upon M'Clutchy! why bad as he is, he never opened his lips to me on
this subject.”
“But he did to me, Poll, because it was from him I first heard the
suggestion; so that in point of truth and justice, you are bound by your
own conscience, or you ought at least--to lay it at his door--and that
now you understand better”--he smiled a little as he uttered these
words--“But why don't you get a better bonnet, that one is very shabby?”
“It's aisier said than done,” replied Poll, “the poor must always look
poor, and will too.”
“There then, are ten shillings, Poll; bestow them on that, or on any
other purpose you prefer.”
“Thank you, Mr. M'Slime, troth in the little job I did for you at our
first acquaintance I found you--any way not worse than another. Well,
but you can't desave me now--I see it in your eye--you have something
else to say to me.”
“Oh, nothing to signify. Merely a serious young person would wish to
remove for change of air to some quiet nook until health--which, indeed,
is the chiefest of temporal blessings, might be recovered.”
“Man or woman?”
“A serious young woman, Poll.”
“I see, I see, Mr. M'Slime; I know nothing more about it.”
“Poll, listen--I shall no longer withhold confidence from you in
this matter--unfortunately a member, indeed, I may say, two of our
congregation have had a woeful fall. He ranks very high in it, and this
is an act of the greater Christian friendship in me, inasmuch as in
undertaking the management of this for him, I certainly run great risks
of suffering in my own reputation. I cannot name him, for that would
be a breach of confidence in me, but you are called upon to perform the
duty required, and through me he shall compensate you for your trouble.”
“Very well,” replied Poll, “it must be done--and I can tell him whoever
he is, that he could not come to any one that understands such matters
betther.”
“Good morning, Poll! Let me hear from you as soon as you can. Peace be
with thee! but Poll, remember one thing, Harman and the M'Loughlins are
going to America.” Poll nodded significantly, but made no reply.
The moment she had gone, which she did by the aid of Solomon himself,
who opened and closed the hall door after her, with a quietness of
manner that seemed to communicate oil to the hinges themselves, he
touched the bell, and in due time Susanna looked in.
“You rang, sir,” said she.
“That arrangement is made;” said he, “so far all is well, or nearly
so--go now.” Susanna immediately withdrew, the few words he said seeming
to have diffused sunshine into a face which appeared doubly serious.
When she was gone, Solomon laid his head down upon the desk before him,
and remained in that position for some time. At length without at all
raising it he began to play his knuckles against the lid, with a
degree of alacrity which would not have disgraced the activity of a
sleight-of-hand man. He at last rose, drew a long breath, and wore a
very smiling face; but this was not all--O sanctity! O religion! Instead
of going to his Bible, as one would imagine he ought to have done,
instead of even taking up a psalm-book, and indulging in a spiritual
song, he absolutely commenced whistling the Swaggering Jig, which he
accompanied with as nimble a foot, and in as good time as if he had been
a dancing-master all his life.
“Ah,” said he, “I could have done it once, and would like to do it
still, only for this wicked and censorious world.” A knock from Darby
O'Drive recalled him to a perception of his gifts, and when Darby
entered he looked calm and serious as usual. Little could Darby have
imagined, although perfectly aware of M'Slime's knavery, that the pious
little man had just concluded “a short exercise,” in performing the
Swaggering Jig. As it was, however, he found him in a state which might
either be termed a religious meditation, or an intense application to
business--a Bible being on the one hand, and a brief on the other; but
to which of the two he had devoted himself, neither Darby, nor indeed
any one else, could guess. There, however, he sat, a kind of holy link
between the law and the gospel.
When Darby entered, and delivered the letter, M'Slime on receiving it
exclaimed, “Ah, from my excellent friend, M'Clutchy. Sit down, Darby,
sit down, and whilst I am casting my eye over this note, do now, in
order that we may make the most of our opportunities, do, I say, Darby,
just read a chapter in this--” handing him over the Bible as he spoke. In
the meantime he read as follows:--
“Strictly confidential.
“My Dear M'Slime:
“In order that the thing may be done as much in the shape and form of
a matter of business as possible, don't you think it would be well
for you, as Harman's lease has expired, to send me a regular written
proposal for it--which proposal I may be able to show in justification
of myself, should anything unfavorable turn up afterwards. Harman's
offer was just double yours, but that is burnt; of course you will also
burn this when you have read it. Your offer of assistance to M'Loughlin
was well thought of; and even if we never, I mean you, should be
paid, you are still a gainer by two hundred pounds. Each has offered
a thousand a piece to have the leases renewed at the present rent; you
give five hundred, very good suppose you lose three--that is, suppose
M'Loughlin is driven, as, please God, he shall be, to allow you to
accept a bill for three hundred--don't you see that you are still two
hundred in pocket; no, I am wrong, not two but seven hundred. You can
therefore well afford to lose three by the transaction, although, as I
have said, it is not, in point of fact, losing three, but gaining seven,
or at least five. Phil has also sent me a written proposal, which I
will keep, but M'Loughlin's is gone the way of Harman's, as a matter of
prudence. As for the private consideration between us, that is only
to be glanced at. I give you my honor that Phil has tendered me two
hundred, which I will not take, of course, either from you or him until
the premises are cleared of the present tenants, This must be done
very soon, and, I think it is much to be wished that Harman, who is a
choleric scoundrel, should be put out of the way, if possible, If he is
transported it will save us a good deal of annoyance. I should regret
a meeting between him and Phil very much. Phil tells me that he once
pulled his, Harman's, nose, and it is very natural that he should bear
him a grudge for it. There is half a year's rent due this day, and the
term mentioned in the notice to quit, expires next week. So far,
then, all is right; we have them in our power, and can proceed safely.
Parliament will, it is well ascertained, be certainly dissolved about
the end of May next, so that we must work double tides to bring in
his Lordship. There is a devilish spirit abroad, however, which will
occasion us much trouble; but I cannot agree with you about renewing the
leases, notwithstanding. It is just doing by those who are obstinate and
ill-disposed, precisely as we ought; that is, holding a whip over their
heads, and assuring them that we shall let it fall with rigor, unless
they are agreeable as they ought. The Hon. Richard Topertoe is in
London, but, between you and me, it matters little where he is; you
may judge of what an intermeddling fool he must be, when he had the
presumption to urge his Lordship to come to his native land, and live
on his estate. This d----d Ribbonism and outrage, in spite of all our
efforts, are still increasing; I think, however, that I shall be able
to make a pounce some of these days. I have my spies at work, and let me
tell you, that talk as they may, about its treachery and rascality, the
spy system is an admirable one; in fact, it is like a two-edged sword,
and cuts both ways, just as you wish. If, for instance, you cannot find
Ribbonism made to your hand, you may make it--that is, you can
corrupt first, and betray afterwards; which, at critical moments is
unquestionably (I say this between ourselves) a decided advantage. By
the by, my dear Solomon, the force of religion must be singularly strong
and impressive in your life and conduct, when you have been able so
wholesomely to influence that rascal bailiff of ours, Darby O'Drive. I
have seldom, indeed, never witnessed so striking a change as you have
produced in him; to tell you the truth, I felt a little chagrined and
jealous about it; but as he owes us a kind of divided allegiance, I must
rest contented.
“Believe me to be, my dear M'Slime,
“Yours affectionately and faithfully,
“Val M'Clutchy, J.P.”
To this, while Darby was tooth and nail at the Bible, Solomon wrote the
following reply--
“My Dear M'Clutchy:
“I have just read your letter of this date, and agree with you in the
necessity and propriety of my sending you a written proposal which you
can show at a future time, in order to justify yourself should it be
necessary so to do. I also need not say that your conduct in destroying
the proposals of M'Loughlin and Harman was equally creditable to your
head and heart. Prudence and discretion, my dear Val, are not virtues
of every day occurrence, and as to giving the preference to a Christian
friend, I do not see how a man as you are, with a strong sense of
religion, could without injuring your conscience avoid it. What is it
after all, my dear friend, but a spoiling of the Egyptians, as holy
Moses did, when about to lead the children of Israel from bondage. In
that case it was what may be termed in these our days a description of
justifiable theft, such as many professors of the word do, in matters of
business, feel themselves warranted even now in imitating. It requires,
however, to be done carefully, and within the freedom of the perfect
law; but, by no means, with a worldly or secular spirit, otherwise
it will be deprived of that unction which renders the act a gracious
exemplification of our Christian privileges, instead of a departure from
rectitude, which it would be if committed by an ungodly person. These
are distinctions, my dear friend, which I grant you is not permitted to
many to make--only, indeed, I may humbly and fearfully say to such as
have by long wrestling with the spirit been able to see truth, when the
inward eye has been purged from the grossness of passion, for which
to Him be praise and power. Amen! I herewith enclose you the proposal
formally made, and will be ready to hand over the two hundred Christian
manifestations of my gratitude at the proper season. As to Lord Cumber
being a loser by the transaction, such a loss must have been, we are
bound to hope, shaped out for him as a punishment inflicted for gracious
purposes. It is true he is ignorant of it, and I trust he shall remain
so; but then we know that many a blessing comes to us in deep disguise,
and that many a dispensation which we look upon as a favor from above,
is far from being so. If, then, it be true that this thing is vouchsafed
to him as a hidden blessing, let us be thankful that we have been
selected as the unworthy means through whom he is made to receive it; or
if it comes to him as a punishment, still it is our duty to reflect that
we are merely the instruments through whose frailties, or virtues, as
the case may be, he is visited, and that from the beginning this and
many other acts which a blind unenlightened world might censure, were
ordained for us, in order that the perfect scheme of Providence might be
fulfilled.
“With respect to the spy system, I do agree with you fully. Many things
must be done in secret, which the perversity of the world will not bear
to hear of without committing sin. For instance, my dear Val, in sowing
your crop of loyalty, so to speak, it might not, perhaps, be wrong--I
am speaking, now observe, with reference to the cunning of the serpent,
which you know we are enjoined to have, and if to have, of course to use
when necessary; it might not, perhaps, be wrong I say, to cast a tare
or two, if only for the purpose of employing our friends and fellow
creatures to pull them, out again. It is as it were, giving the idle
employment, and enabling ourselves in the mean time to gather an
abundant harvest into our own garners.
“With respect to Darby, I trust, that if my unworthy example and earnest
precept have been successful in rescuing him from the bonds of error
and sin--but what is still more dangerous, from the damnable thrall
of Popery--it is not for me to vainly extol myself therefor. His
conversion, however, will, I trust, be edifying to that interesting, but
neglected class, the bailiffs of Ireland. With reference to them, I
am engaged during the very few leisure hours that I can steal--so
to speak--from my professional employment, in writing a second tract
especially for their improvement. It will be appropriately called, _The
Bailiff's Beacon or a Strengthener for tender Consciences_, By their
friend and brother Christian, Solomon M'Slime, Attorney at Law.
“Verily, my lines have been made to fall in pleasant places. On
yesterday, I had the satisfaction to be appointed _soul_ agent to the
Religious Cosmopolitan Assurance Association, being a branch of the
Grand Junction Spiritual Railway Society for travellers to a better
world. The salary is liberal, but the appointment--especially to a man
of sincere principles--is full of care and responsibility. Allow me, my
dear Val, to recommend you and your friends to purchase shares in
the Spiritual Railway Society--it is under Him the safest of all
associations yet established. The arrangements are admirably adapted
for the projects in view. All the seats are delightfully soft, and as
somnolent as church pews, to which they bear a close resemblance. The
machine men, and all those appointed to situations on the line, are
mostly in orders; but belong to different denominations. The scheme
originated in Oxford, and has spread rapidly throughout the length
and breadth of the land. Several of the stokers are bishops, and the
reverend feeders discharge their respective duties with singular effect.
It is hoped besides, that it may, under divine guidance, be the glorious
means of bringing Popery within the influence of truth, whilst its
enemies--for it has enemies--as who has not--its enemies assert that
whether it shall take in Popery, or Popery take in it, is a matter very
difficult to be determined.
“They are also exceedingly expert at tract writing, which they perform,
if I may say so, without boasting or vanity, very much in my own spirit.
Poor Susanna is ailing--I mean a serious young person in our family
who tended our little olive branches and understood my habits. She is
leaving us, and I shall miss her, for I am one of those persons, my dear
friend, who have a heart for--and I trust I may say, that can sympathize
with--my fellow creatures, however humble. Do you remember that I once
availed myself of a Christian privilege, to mention between us the
subject of family prayer?
“I remain, my dear M'Clutchy, with, may I hope, a few of the graces of
my calling--an earnest wrestler against sin,
“Solomon M'Slime.”
“Now, Darby,” said he, having folded the letter enclosing his tender for
Harman's farm, and handed, it to him, “now, that so much is despatched,
I trust we may have a word or two upon a subject of still higher
importance. How do you feel in a spiritual way?--Are your views as clear
as ever?--are you supported--I mean inwardly, for that is the only true
support after all?”
“Thrath, Mr. M'Slime, I'm afeard to spake, sir, for fraid I'd say either
more or less than the truth.”
“That is a good sign, Darby, but you must avoid profane swearing, which
is a habit you contracted when in the bonds of iniquity; but you must
reform it--or rather, grace will be given you to reform it.”
“I hope so,” replied Darby, “and that I'll still get a clearer knowledge
of the truth, plaise Goodness.”
Darby, as he uttered these words, would have given a trifle to have had
M'Clutchy to look at. Little did Solomon suspect the truth to which his
convert alluded.
“May it in charity be granted!” exclaimed Solomon, slightly twitching up
his eyebrows. “But, Darby, will you be properly prepared on next Sabbath
(D.V.) to bear strong testimony against error and idolatry?”
“Why, I'll do my best, sir,” replied Darby, “and you know the best can
do no more.”
“Well, but you can faithfully say that you are utterly free from every
taint of Popery.”
“Faith, sir, I don't know that that would be altogether prudent. Did you
never hear of the ould proverb, sir--not to throw out the dirty water
till you get in the clane--I'm not sure that I have a sufficient grip
of the new light yet,” said Darby, falling unconsciously into his usual
style of conversation, “but, I hope that by next Sunday, I'll be able
to shine;--an', be me sowl, if I don't, sir, it'll be none o' my
fawt--divil resave the purtier convert in Europe than I'll make when I
come to know a little about it.”
“Darby,” said Solomon, impatiently, “this is really very trying to one
so anxious for your spiritual welfare as I am. This awful swearing--I
really fear that some of your light has been withdrawn since our last
interview.”
“Not at all unlikely,” replied Darby; “but wid great submission, don't
you think, sir, that two religions is betther than one?”
“How do you mean by adverting to such an impossibility?”
“Why, sir, suppose I kept the ould one, and joined this new reformation
to it, wouldn't I have two chances instead o' one?”
“Darby,” said Solomon, “avoid, or rather Pray that you may be enabled
to avoid the enemy; for I fear he is leading you into a darker error.
I tell you--I say unto you--that you would be much better to have no
religion than the Popish. You have reminded me of one proverb, suffer me
to remind you of another; do you not know, to speak in a worldly figure,
that an empty house is better than a bad tenant? why, I looked on you
with pride, with a kind of and joy as one wilom I had wrestled for, and
won from the enemy; but I fear you are elapsing.”
“I hope in God sir,” very gravely, “that you and he won't have to toss
up for me; for I feel myself sometimes one thing, and sometimes the
other.”
“Ah!” replied Solomon, “I fear I must give you up, and in that case it
will not be in my power to employ you in a very confidential matter,
the management of which I imagined I could have entrusted to you.
That, however, cannot be now, as no one not amply provided with strong
religious dispositions, could be relied on in it.”
Darby, who, in fact, was playing M'Slime precisely as a skilful
fisherman does his fish; who, in order to induce him the more eagerly to
swallow the bait, pretends to withdraw it from his jaws, by which means
it is certain to be gulped down, and the fish caught.
“Ah, sir,” replied Darby, “I'm greatly afeared that every person like me
must struggle with great temptations.”
“That is an excellent observation,” said Solomon; “and I do suppose,
that since this desirable change took place in your heart, you must have
been woefully beset.”
“Never suffered so much in my life,” replied the other. “Now there's
your two beautiful tracts, and may I never die in sin--I hope, sir,
there's no great harm in that oath?
“No great harm but you had better omit it, however--it smacks of sin and
superstition.”
“Well, sir--may I never--I beg pardon--but any how, the truth is, that
ever since I tuck to readin' them, I feel myself gettin' as dishonest as
if the devil--”
“Do not name him so, Darby--it is profane; say the enemy, or Satan, or
the tempter.”
“As if the whole three o' them, then, war at my elbow. Why, for the
last three or four days, I may say, they have cleared me out as clane
of honesty as the black boy himself, and it is worse I am gettin'. Now,
sir, it stands to sense, that that's temptation.”
“Unquestionably; and my great hope and consolation is, that you
yourself are conscious of it. All you have to do now, is to pray
unceasingly--wrestle in prayer, and you will ultimately triumph. Sing
spiritual songs, too; read my tracts with attention; and, in short,
if you resist the dev--hem--Satan, they will flee from you. Give
that letter to Mr. M'Clutchy, and let me see you on the day after
to-morrow--like a giant refreshed with new strength.”
“Well, now,” said Darby, assuming a more serious look--“do you know,
sir, that I think your words have put new strength into me. Somehow
I feel as if there was a load removed from me. May the mother of
heaven--hem--I do, sir; and now, as a proof of it, I wouldn't feel
justified, sir, in leaving you, widout sayin' a word or two about the
same M'Clutchy, who, between you and me--but I hope it won't go farther,
sir?”
“I don't think it would be permitted to me to betray confidence--I
humbly think so. Be not afraid, but speak.”
“Why, sir, he has got a dirty trick of speakin' disrespectfully of you
behind your back.”
“Human weakness, Darby! poor profligate man! Proceed, what does he say?”
“Why, sir, if it 'ud be agreeable to you, I'd rather not be goin' over
it.”
“We should know our friends from our enemies, O'Drive; but I forgive
him, and shall earnestly pray for him this night. What did he say?”
“Why he said, sir--verily, thin, I'm ashamed to say it.”
“Did he speak only of myself?” inquired Solomon, with something like a
slight, but repressed appearance of alarm.
“Oh, of nobody else, sir. Well, then, he said, sir--but sure I'm only
repatin' his wicked words--he said, sir, that if you were cut up into
the size of snipe shot, there would be as much roguery in the least
grain of you, as would corrupt a nation of pickpockets.”
“Poor man! I forgive him. Do you not see me smile, Darby?”
“I do, indeed, sir.”
“Well, that is a smile of forgiveness--of pure Christian
forgiveness--free from the slightest taint of human infirmity. I am
given to feel this delightful state of mind at the present moment--may
He be praised!--proceed.”
“It is a blessed state, sir, and as you can bear it--and as I can trust
you, what I could not him--I will go on:--” he said, “besides, sir, that
your example had made the ould boy himself a worse boy now than he had
ever been before he ever knew you I--that in temptin' you, he got new
dodges of wickedness that he was never up to till he met you, and
that he's now receivin' lessons from you in the shape of a convartin'
parson.”
“Ah! well!--I see, I see--that is an unchristian allusion to my recent
intercourse with the Rev. Phineas Lucre, the respected and highly
connected rector of Castle Cumber, and his nephew, the Rev. Boanerges
Frothwell, both of whom take a deep interest in the New Reformation
movement which is now so graciously advancing. However, I shall pray for
that man this night.”
“Sir, I feel much relieved; I'm a changed man widin these few minutes, I
may say--but what, afther all, is aquil to a good example? I feel, sir,
as if a strong hatred of idolaphry was comin' an me.”
“Idolatry, you mean, Darby?”
“Yes, sir, that's what I mean.”
“Where is that letter of Mr. M'Clutchy's--oh, I have it. Well, Darby,”
said M'Slime, quietly changing it for another, “here it is; now, do you
see how I commit that letter to the flames?” placing M'Clutchy's under
the side of a brief; “and even as the flames die away before your eyes,
so dies away--not my resentment, Darby, for none do I entertain against
him--but the memory of his offensive expressions.”
“Sir,” said Darby, “this is wonderful! I often heard of religion and
forgiveness of injuries, but antil this day I never saw them in their
thrue colors. The day after to-morrow I'm to call, sir?”
“The day after to-morrow.”
“Well, sir, may the Holy Virgin this day--och, indeed I do not know what
I'm sayin' sir--Religion! well if that's not religion what is or can be?
Good mornin' sir.”
“Good morning, Darby, and remember my advice--pray, sing, wrestle--peace
be with you!”