Pastoral Visiting
A finger's breadth at hand may mar
A world of light in heaven afar;
A mote eclipse a glorious star,
An eyelid hide the sky.--KEBLE.
The dinner was over, and Cecil was favouring the audience with a
severely classical piece of music, when, under cover thereof, a low
voice said to Julius, "Now, really and truly, tell me how he is
getting on?"
"Really and truly, Jenny?"
"Well, not as you would tell mamma, for instance; but as you think
in your secret soul."
"I am sorry you think me so duplex."
"Come, you understand how anxious I am about the boy."
"Exactly." And they both laughed.
"Is that all?" said Joanna Bowater.
"_Really and truly_ it is! Rose can manage him much better than I
can."
"He is very fond of her; but does he--is he--is his heart in his
work?" asked the sister, looking with her honest eyes earnestly at
Julius, her contemporary and playfellow as a child, and afterwards
the companion with whom she had worked out many a deep problem,
rendering mutual assistance that made each enter in no common degree
into the inner thoughts of the other.
Julius smiled. "I doubt whether he has come to his heart yet."
"Why should he be so young? Think what you were at twenty-three."
"I never had Herbert's physique; and that makes an immense
difference. I had no taste or capacity for what is a great
privation to a fine young fellow like him. Don't look startled! He
attempts nothing unfitting; he is too good and dutiful, but--"
"Yes, I know what that _but_ means."
"Nothing to be unhappy about. You know how blameless he has always
been at Eton and Oxford; and though he may view his work rather in a
school-boy aspect, and me as a taskmaster, as long as he is doing
right the growth is going on. Don't be unhappy, Jenny! His great
clear young voice is delightful to hear; he is capital at choral
practices, and is a hero to all the old women and boys, the more so
for the qualities that earnestness cannot give, but rather detracts
from."
"You mean that he is not in earnest?"
"Don't pervert all I say! He is not past the time of life when all
appointed work seems a task, and any sort of excuse a valid cause
against it; but he is conscientious, and always good-humoured under
a scolding,--and Rosamond does not spare him," he added, laughing.
"Then you don't think there has been a mistake about him?" said
Jenny, in a low voice of alarm.
"I have little doubt that when anything develops his inner life, so
as to overcome the great strong animal that demands play and
exercise, he will be a most useful clergyman."
"Perhaps he is too young, though I don't see how it could be helped.
Papa always intended it, because of the living; and Herbert never
wished anything else. I thought he really desired it, but now I
don't know whether he did not only take it as a matter of course."
"Obedience is no unwholesome motive. As things stood, to delay his
ordination would have been a stigma he did not deserve; and though
he might have spent a year with advantage in a theological college,
pupilage might only have prolonged his boyhood. It must be
experience, not simply years of study, that deepens him."
"Ah, those studies!"
"To tell the truth, that's what I am most uneasy about. I take care
he should have two hours every forenoon, and three evenings every
week, free; but when a man is in his own neighbourhood, and so
popular, I am afraid he does not get many evenings at home; and I
can't hinder Bindon from admonishing him."
"No," said the sister; "nothing will stir him till the examination
is imminent; but I will try what I can do with him for the present.
Here he comes, the dear old idle fellow!"
"Joanie, here you are at last, in conclave with the Rector. Lady
Rose wants me to sing, and you must accompany me. No one is so
jolly for picking one up."
'Picking one up' was apt to be needed by Herbert, who had a good ear
and voice, but had always regarded it as 'bosh' to cultivate them,
except for the immediately practical purposes that had of late been
forced on him. The choral society had improved him; but Jenny was
taken aback by being called on to accompany him in Mrs. Brown's
Luggage; and his father made his way up to him, saying, "Eh,
Herbert! is that the last clerical fashion?"
"'Tis my Rectoress who sets me on, sir," was Herbert's merry answer,
looking at her. "Now, Lady Rose, you'll keep me in countenance! My
father has never heard you sing Coming through the Rye."
"No, no, Herbert, my singing is only to amuse little boys. Here's
the higher order of art!"
For Cecil was leading a young lady to the piano, and looking as if
she by no means approved of such folly, though everybody had
listened to the Poor Old Cockatoo, laughed and applauded heartily;
and the ensuing performance seemed to be unappreciated by any one
except Raymond and Cecil themselves.
Anne was sitting in a corner of the sofa, with a straight back and
weary face, having been driven out into the throng by the old
friends who came to sit with Mrs. Poynsett; but she brightened as
Miss Bowater took a seat beside her, and accepted her inquiries for
Captain Charnock far more graciously than the many which had
preceded them. Was not her likeness in his album? And had he not
spoken of her as one whom Anne would like?
Soon Joanna had led her to tell not only of Miles's last letter, but
of those from Glen Fraser, of which she had spoken to no one, under
the impression that nobody cared. She even spoke of the excellent
farm and homestead which Mr. Van Dorp wanted to sell before going to
the Free State, and which her father thought would exactly suit
Miles.
"Does he mean to settle there?"
"Oh, yes; he promised me to leave the navy and take me home as soon
as this voyage is over," said Anne, eagerly. "If the Salamanca only
puts in for long enough, he might run up to Glen Fraser, and see
Bocksfeld Stoop, and settle it all at once. I am sure he would be
delighted with it, and it is only two miles from Mr. Pilgrim's."
"I'm afraid you can never feel this like home," said Jenny.
"Miles wanted me to know his family, and thought I should be useful
to his mother," said Anne; "but she does not want anything I could
do for her. If she has Raymond, she seems to need nobody else."
"And have you nothing to do?"
"I have letters to write to Miles and to them all at home; and I am
making a whole set of shirts and stockings for papa and the boys--it
will spare mamma and Jeanie, and I have plenty of time."
"Too much, I am afraid! But Herbert said you were very useful at
the Work Society at Wil'sbro'."
"Not now."
"Indeed!"
"No," in the old cold dry tone. But while Jenny was doubting
whether to inquire further, innate sympathy conquered, and Anne
added, "I wonder whether I did wrong!"
"As how?" asked Joanna, kindly.
"They said"--she lowered her voice--"I must never speak on religious
subjects."
"How do you mean? What had you done?"
"One day I found a woman crying because her husband had gone away to
seek work, so I told her my husband was further away and repeated
the texts I like. She was so much comforted that I printed them on
a card for her."
"Was that all?"
"No; there was another poor dear that was unhappy about her baby;
and when I bade her pray for it, she did not know how, so I had to
tell her a little. There is one who does know her Saviour, and I
did love to have a few words of peace with her."
"And was that what was objected to?"
"Yes; they said it would change the whole character of the
institution."
"Who did?"
"Cecil--Mrs. Charnock Poynsett. I think Lady Tyrrell and Mrs.
Duncombe desired her. I thought it was no place for me where I
might not speak one word for Christ, and I said so; but since I have
wondered whether the old Adam did not speak in me, and I ought to
have gone on."
"My wonder," said Jenny, indignantly, "would be what right they had
to stop you. This was private interference, not from the Vicar or
the committee."
"But I am not a real visiting lady. I only go to help Cecil."
"I see; but why didn't you ask Julius what was right? He would have
told you."
"Oh, no, I could not."
"Why not?"
"It would seem like a complaint of Cecil. Besides--"
"Besides?"
"I don't think Julius is a Christian."
The startling announcement was made in so humble and mournful a
voice as almost to disarm Jenny's resentment; and before she had
recovered enough for a reply, she was called to take leave of her
parents.
Her brother was the professed object of her visit, and she was only
at the Hall because there was no accommodation at his lodgings, so
that she had no scruple in joining the early breakfast spread for
the Rector and his wife, so as to have the morning free for him; but
she found Julius alone, saying that his wife was tired after the
party; and to Jenny's offer to take her class, he replied, "Thank
you, it will be a great kindness if you will teach; but Rose has no
regular class. Teaching is not much in her line; and it is a pity
she should have to do it, but we have to make the most of the single
hour they allow us for godliness."
"Don't you utilize Mrs. Charnock? or is she not strong enough for
early hours?"
"Poor Anne! The truth is, I am afraid of her. I fancy all her
doctrine comes out of the Westminster Catechism."
"Could Calvinism be put in at seven years old? Would not it be a
pouring of stiff glue into a narrow-necked phial?"
"Result--nil."
"A few pure drops might got in--and you could give her books."
"It had struck me that it might be wholesome work for her; but the
children's good must stand first. And, timid and reserved as she
seems, she insisted on preaching at the work-room, so that Cecil had
to put a stop to it."
"Are you certain about that preaching?"
"Rose heard of it from Cecil herself."
"Did she ask what it amounted to?"
"I don't know; perhaps I had better find out. I remember it came
after that ride to Sirenwood. By the bye, Jenny, I wish Cecil could
be hindered from throwing herself into that oak of Broceliande!"
"Are not you so suspicious that you see the waving arms and magic
circles everywhere?"
"A friendship with any one here is so unnatural, that I can't but
think it a waving of hands boding no good. And there is worse than
friendship in that quarter too."
"Oh, but Lenore is quite different!"
"A Vivienne still!" said Julius, bitterly. "If she costs poor Frank
nothing more than his appointment, it will be well."
"I don't understand!"
"She caught him in her toils two years ago at Rockpier; and now she
is playing fast and loose with him--withdrawing, as I believe; and
at any rate keeping the poor foolish boy in such an agitation, that
he can't or won't settle to his reading; and Driver thinks he will
break down."
"I can't think it of Lenore.--Oh! good morning, Raymond!"
"Good morning! May I come to breakfast number one? I have to go to
Backsworth."
"Yes," said Jenny; "we told papa it was too bad to put you on the
Prison Committee. What does your wife say?"
"My wife has so many occupations, that she is very sufficient for
herself," said Raymond. "I hope you will get on with her, Jenny.
If she could only be got to think you intellectual!"
"Me? O, Raymond! you've not been telling her so?" exclaimed Jenny,
laughing heartily.
"A very superior coach in divinity, &c.," said Julius, in a tone
half banter, half earnest.
But Jenny exclaimed in distress, "No, no, no; say nothing about
that! It would never do for Herbert to have it known. Don't let
him guess that you know."
"Quite right, Jenny; never fear," said Julius; "though it is
tempting to ask you to take Frank in hand at the same time."
"Have you seen anything of the Vivians?" asked Raymond.
"Very little. I hoped to see something of Eleonora from hence."
"I can't understand that young lady," said Julius. "She was very
friendly when first we met her; but now she seems absolutely
repellant."
"Tant mieux," Raymond
"They seem inclined to take up all the good works in hand," said
Jenny. "By the bye, what is all this story about Raymond affronting
Wil'sbro' by stirring up their gutters? Papa has been quite in a
state of mind for fear they should take offence and bring in Mr.
Moy."
"Julius only thinks I have not stirred the gutters enough," said
Raymond. "And after all, it is not I, but Whitlock. I was in hopes
that matters might have been properly looked after if Whitlock had
been chosen mayor this year; but, somehow, a cry was got up that he
was going to bring down a sanitary commission, and put the town to
great expense; and actually, this town-council have been elected
_because_ they are opposed to drainage."
"And Truelove, the grocer, is mayor?"
"Yes; one of the most impracticable men I ever encountered. One
can't get him so much as to understand anything. Now Briggs does
understand, only he goes by pounds s. d."
"Posterity has done nothing for me, and I will do nothing for
posterity, is his principle," said Julius. "Moreover, he is a
Baptist."
"No chance for the Church in his time," said Jenny.
"There's the less harm in that," said Raymond, "that the plan is
intolerable. Briggs's nephew took the plan of what he calls a
German Rat-house, for the town-hall, made in gilt gingerbread; and
then adapted the church to a beautiful similarity. If that could be
staved off by waiting for the bazaar, or by any other means, there
might be a chance of something better. So poor Fuller thinks,
though he is not man enough to speak out at once."
"Then the bazaar is really fixed?"
"So far as the resolution goes of the lady population, though Julius
is sanguine, and hopes to avert it. After all, I believe the
greatest obstructive to improvement is Moy."
"Old Mr. Proudfoot's son-in-law?" said Jenny. "I know he has
blossomed out in great splendour on our side of the county, and his
daughter is the general wonder. Papa is always declaring he will
set up in opposition to you."
"Not much fear of that," said Raymond. "But the man provokes me, he
has so much apparent seriousness."
"Even to the persecution of Dr. Easterby," put in Julius. "And yet
he is the great supporter of that abominable public-house in Water
Lane, the Three Pigeons--which, unluckily, escaped the fire. He
owns it, and all those miserable tenements beyond it, and nothing
will move him an inch towards doing any good there!"
"I remember," said Jenny, "papa came home very angry on the
licensing day; the police had complained of the Three Pigeons, and
the magistrates would have taken away the license, but that Mr. Moy
made such a personal matter of it."
"You don't mean that he is a magistrate!" exclaimed Julius.
"Yes," said Raymond. "He got the ear of the Lord-Lieutenant."
"And since he has lived at the Lawn, they have all quite set up for
county people or anything you please," said Jenny, a little
bitterly. "Mrs. Moy drives about with the most stylish pair of
ponies; and as to Miss Gussie, she is making herself into a proverb!
I can't bear them."
"Well done, Jenny!" exclaimed Julius.
"Perhaps it is wrong," said Jenny, in a low voice. "I dare say I am
not just. You know I always did think Mr. Moy could have cleared
Archie if he would," she added, with a slightly trembling tone.
"So did I," said Raymond. "I gave him the opportunity after George
Proudfoot's death; but when the choice lay between two memories, one
could hardly wonder if he preferred to shield his brother-in-law."
"Or himself!" said Jenny, under her breath.
"Come, Jenny," said Julius, feeling that the moment for interruption
had come, "it is time we should be off. Methinks there are sounds
as if the whole canine establishment at Mrs. Hornblower's were
prancing up to meet us."
So it proved; and Jenny had to run the gauntlet through the
ecstasies of all the dogs, whose ecclesiastical propriety was quite
overthrown, for they danced about her to the very threshold of the
church, and had to have the door shut on their very noses. That
drop of bitterness, which her sad brief story could not fail to have
left in poor Joanna's heart, either passed out of mind in what
followed, or was turned into the prayer, "And to turn their hearts;"
and she was her bright self again for her promised assistance at the
school.
Then Herbert's address was, "Come, Joan, I promised to take you to
see the Reeves's pheasant at the Outwood Lodge. Such a jolly old
woman!"
"The pheasant?"
"No; the keeper's mother. Tail a yard long! I don't see why we
shouldn't turn them out at home. If father won't take it up, I
shall write to Phil."
"Thank you, Herbs. Hadn't you better secure a little reading first?
I could wait; I've got to write to Will."
"The post doesn't go till five."
"But I want to get it done. The mail goes to-morrow."
"You'll do it much better after a walk. I can't understand anything
after the fumes of the school, unless I do a bit of visiting first;
and that pheasant is a real stunner. It really is parish work,
Jenny. Look here, this is what I'm reading her."
"_Learn to die_!" said Jenny, laughing heartily. "Nothing could be
more appropriate, only you should have begun before October."
"You choose to make fun of everything!" answered Herbert, gruffly;
and Jenny, deciding that she would see a specimen day, made her
peace by consenting to share in the pastoral visit, whether to
pheasant or peasant. Indeed, a walk with Herbert was one of the
prime pleasures of her life--and this was delightful, along broad
gravelled drives through the autumnal woods with tinted beech-leaves
above, and brackens of all shades of brown, green, and yellow
beneath. And it was charming to see Herbert's ways with the old
woman--a dainty old dame, such as is grown in the upper ranks of
service, whom he treated with a hearty, bantering, coaxing manner,
which she evidently enjoyed extremely. His reading, for he _did_
come to more serious matters, was very good--in a voice that without
effort reached deaf ears, and with feeling about it that did a great
deal to reassure his sister that there was something behind the big
bright boy.
But by the time he had done the honours of all the pheasants, and
all the dogs, and all the ferrets, and all the stuffed birds, and
all the eggs (for the keeper was a bit of a naturalist), and had
discussed Mr. Frank's last day's shooting, it was so late, that
Jenny had only just time to walk back to the Hall at her best pace,
to see Mrs. Poynsett for a few minutes before luncheon; and her
reception was, "Is that Herbert's step? Call him in, my dear!--You
must make the most of your sister, Herbert. Come in to all meals
while she is here."
He heard with gratitude--his sister with consternation. If forenoon
pastoral visits were to be on that scale, and he dined out whenever
he was not at school or at church, how would his books fare? and yet
she could not grudge his pleasure. She could not help looking half
foolish, half sad, when she met the Rector's eye.
Julius thought so much of her advice, as to knock at Cecil's
sitting-room door, and beg to ask her a question; and as she liked
to be consulted, she welcomed him hospitably into that temple,
sacred to culture and to Dunstone--full of drawings, books, and
china.
"I was thinking," he said, "of offering Anne some parish work. I
wanted to know if you saw any objection?"
"Certainly not; I have not been able to make acquaintance yet with
all our tenants, but they seem quite to understand the difference in
our positions," said Cecil, with due deliberation.
Julius choked his amusement, and waived that point. "But did you
not feel obliged to decline her services at the Wil'sbro' work-
room?"
"That was quite another thing. What was most undesirable in such an
institution would be all very well for your old women."
"What kind of thing?"
"Talking piously, giving away texts, and so on; just the way to make
the women think we intended to impose religious instruction and give
a sectarian character, defeating our own object."
"Was there any flaw in what she said?"
"I can't tell what she said. It was just a little murmur over the
work."
"Not preaching?"
"Not in that sense," said Cecil, with a little compunction.
"I am glad to hear it; it makes a great difference."
"You see," said the lady, "our institution is merely intended to
support these women in the time of want; and if we were to couple
our assistance with religion we should just sink into a mothers'
meeting, and make the women think--"
"Think that you prize the soul more than the body," said Julius, as
she halted in search of a word. "I understand, Cecil; you would not
be in the prevailing fashion. I don't want to argue that point,
only to understand about Anne."
So saying, he went at once to Anne's abode, the old schoolroom,
which, like everything else belonging to Mrs. Miles Charnock, had a
sad-coloured aspect, although it had been fitted up very prettily.
The light was sombre, and all the brighter pictures and ornaments
seemed to have been effaced by a whole gallery of amateur
photographs, in which the glories of the African bush were
represented by brown masses of shade variegated by blotches of
white. Even in Miles's own portrait on the table, the gold seemed
overwhelmed by the dark blue; and even as Julius entered, she shut
it up in its brown case, as too sacred for even his brother's eyes.
However, a flush of pleasure came to her pale face at the invitation
to take a class, and to read to a good old woman, whom in his secret
soul he thought so nearly a dissenter, that she could not be made
more so. She promised her help with some eagerness for as long as
she should remain in England, and accepted the books he gave her
without protest. Nay, that same evening she took Jenny off into her
gray abode, to consult her whether, since she must now join the
early breakfast, she could go to daily service without becoming
formal.
She even recurred to her question, whether Julius was a Christian,
without nearly as much negation in her tones as before; and Jenny,
taking it as it was meant, vouched for his piety, so as might render
it a little more comprehensible to one matured on Scottish Calvinism
and English Methodism, diluted in devout undogmatic minds, with no
principle more developed than horror of Popery and of worldliness.
Turned loose in solitude, reserve, and sadness, on her husband's
family, who did nothing but shock her with manifestations of the
latter, she could hardly turn even to the clerical portion of it,
while Julius, as well as his curates, bore all the tokens by which
she had been taught to know a Papist. Daily intercourse was perhaps
drawing her a little towards her brother-in-law; but Herbert Bowater
united these obnoxious externals to a careless tongue, and joyous
easy-going manner, and taste for amusement, which so horrified Anne,
that she once condoled with his sister, and proposed to unite in
prayer for his conversion; but this was more than Joanna could bear,
and she cried, "I only wish I were as good a Christian as dear
Herbert!"
For indeed, the sister's heart intensely esteemed his sweetness,
honesty, and simplicity, even while she found it an uphill task to
coax him to steady work. After that first morning he was indeed
ashamed to let her see the proportion between his pastoral visits
and his theological reading; but the newspapers (he had two or three
weekly ones) had a curious facility of expansion, and there was a
perilous sound in "I'll just see where the meet is,"--not that he
had the most distant idea of repairing thither; it was pure filial
interest in learning where his father and Edith would be.
Jenny could not tell whether her presence conduced to diligence or
to chatter, but he minded her more than any one else, and always
stuck close to her, insisting on her admiring all his proteges.
There was one with whom he was certainly doing a work, which, as
Julius truly said, no one more clerical could have done so well--
namely, the son of his landlady, a youth who held a small clerkship
in an office at Willansborough, and who had fallen this year under
the attraction of the Backsworth races, so as to get into serious
difficulties with his master, and narrowly escape dismissal for the
sake of his mother.
The exceeding good-nature and muscular Christian side of the
lodger's character was having a most happy effect on the lad. He
had set up a regular hero-worship, which Herbert encouraged by
always calling for him when going to the choral practices, getting
him into the choir, lending him books, and inviting him to read in
his room in the evening. How much they played with the dogs was not
known; but at any rate, Harry Hornblower was out of mischief, and
his mother was so grateful to Mr. Bowater, that she even went the
length of preferring his sermons to those of both his seniors.
The discovery that most vexed Jenny was that Sirenwood had so much
of his time. He seemed to be asked to come to dinner whenever Sir
Harry saw him, or a chair was left vacant at a party; and though his
Rector was inexorable as to releasing him on casual notice from the
parish avocations of three nights in the week, the effect was
grumbling as savage as was possible from so good-humoured a being;
and now and then a regular absence without leave, and a double growl
at the consequent displeasure. It was true that in ten minutes he
was as hearty and friendly as ever to his colleagues, but that might
be only a proof of his disregard of their reproofs, and their small
effect.
Eleonora Vivian was not the attraction. No; Herbert thought her a
proud, silent, disagreeable girl, and could see no beauty in her;
but he had a boy's passion for the matured splendour of her sister's
beauty; and she was so kind to him!
What could Jenny mean by looking glum about it? She was stunningly
good, and all that. She had done no end of good with clubs and
mothers' meetings at her married home; and it was no end of a pity
she was not in Compton parish, instead of under poor wretched old
Fuller, whom you could not stir--no, not if you tied a firebrand to
his tail.