A SUNDAY IN TORONTO.
What spell has o’er the populous city pass’d!
The wonted current of its life is stay’d:
Its sports, its gainful schemes, are earthward cast,
As though their vileness were at once display’d;
The roar of trade has ceased, and on the air
Come holy songs, and solemn sounds of prayer.
WILLIAM HOWITT.
A bright, clear, cool Sabbath! Perfect peace reigned in that city; not a
sound disturbed its quiet. All the stores closed; no riding or driving;
no groups of idle people congregated anywhere; clean quiet streets only
filled with people on their way to the house of God. It was a striking
contrast to many of our towns in the States, where multitudes of people
are riding and driving, buying and selling, crowding to the drinking
saloons, and in many other ways desecrating God’s holy day.
Mrs. Lester told Norman that she wished him to learn that beautiful
promise in the fifty-eighth chapter of Isaiah.
“If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on
my holy day; and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord,
honorable; and shalt honor him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding
thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words.
“Then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to
ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage
of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.”
“Mother,” said Norman, “people do not seem to mind traveling on Sunday.
Every one was surprised that you hurried from St. Paul, so as not to be
on board the boat on Sunday.”
“I think, my dear child, that those who fear God will keep his
commandments. And this commandment to keep holy the Sabbath-day was
spoken not only amid the thunders of Sinai, but amid the blissful
solitudes of Eden. Prophet after prophet warned the Sabbath-breaker of
coming woe, and promised blessings to those who remembered the Sabbath
to keep it holy. Listen to the beautiful promise God gives to those who
keep his Sabbaths: ‘Even unto them will I give in my house, and within
my walls, a place and a name better than of sons and daughters: I will
give them an everlasting name, that shall not be cut off.’
“Just think of the things here promised, a home, a place in God’s house,
a position better than that even of sons and daughters, and a name never
to be forgotten. What a reward for the faithful and joyful keeping of
the Sabbath, in itself a happiness. But, Norman, read the seventh verse
of the same chapter, (Isaiah lvi,) and you will find more blessings
promised.”
Norman found the place and read:
“Even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my
house of prayer: their burnt-offerings and their sacrifices shall be
accepted upon mine altar.”
In the morning Norman and his mother, accompanied by Mr. Campbell, went
to the cathedral. It is a large handsome new church, and the grassy turf
around it, shaded by fine trees, gave a very pleasant aspect to the
entrance. As they stood near the door awaiting the pew-opener to show
them to seats, a lady in a large square pew in the corner invited them
in. It was very warm; the pew was under the gallery and closely
curtained, and the words of the unseen minister, as he began the
service, were inaudible. Mrs. Lester whispered to Mr. Campbell, “Had we
not better go somewhere where we can see and hear?”
With words of apology to the lady who had kindly offered them seats,
they left the pew, and were shown to another in the nave, the body of
the church. It was a new thing for Norman to hear prayers for Queen
Victoria and the Prince Consort, and all the royal family, instead of
the President of the United States.
Another thing showed him that he was in a foreign country. On the front
of the gallery, just above him, were a gilt lion and unicorn, with a
crown above them. The royal arms of England were in front of the pew of
Sir Edmund Head, the Governor General of Canada. The sermon was preached
by the curate, a slender young man, who was soon to go to Europe for his
health. After the service the two aids-de-camp of the Governor General,
in full uniform, waited for him at the church door, to attend him to his
carriage. He keeps up a sort of court, as the representative of royalty,
and his salary is $35,000.
After dinner Mrs. Lester, with Norman, went to see Dr. G., a Wesleyan
minister, once a fellow passenger across the Atlantic. His house is very
pleasantly situated, overlooking the pretty grounds of the normal
school, whose fine buildings are an ornament to the city. Once, many
years before, Mrs. Lester had taken tea with Mrs. G., and it was very
pleasant to renew an acquaintance made under very happy auspices. The
evening service in the Wesleyan churches did not begin till six, and
Mrs. G. asked Mrs. Lester to remain and go to the Adelaide church with
them. Mrs. Lester, however, found it necessary to return to the hotel,
and before she went Dr. G. showed her, from the top of the house, the
numerous churches whose spires adorn the fair city of Toronto.
They had a pleasant walk to their hotel, at the far end of the town; on
their way they passed several handsome churches, one situated in a sort
of court, the street terminating at the church. It was a pleasant
evening service at the Richmond-street church: a very large
congregation, hearty singing, and a good earnest sermon.
On passing the pretty Congregational church on the corner of Adelaide
and Bay streets, they walked in and found that the minister had just
begun his sermon on, “At midnight there was a cry heard, Behold the
Bridegroom cometh: go ye out to meet him.” The minister, with a strong
Scotch accent was saying, as they entered, “Who of you would be willing
to fix a time when you would be ready to hear that cry?” He spoke of the
stillness and solemnity of the hour—midnight silence and darkness, when
the slightest sound startles one; when the wind, or the rustling of a
branch against the window, often terrifies one when sitting alone or
suddenly awakened from sleep. What then will it be to hear the piercing
tones of that trumpet that will rouse the universe?
And then he said that that night might the cry sound to one who was
listening to him, that suddenly, in the still watches of the night, that
soul might be called to meet the Bridegroom. The morning would come; the
family assembled at breakfast would miss the absent one, and on going to
his room they would find only his lifeless remains; he would never meet
with them again on earth.
“Great God, is this our certain doom,
And are we still secure?
Still walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepared no more?”