THE NEW CURATE.
There is something in the calm of a Sunday evening in summer which seems
to cast a halo over the worshippers in a country church. The gradual
decline of daylight, the perfume of flowers which pervades the building
through open doors and casements, the slanting beams of the setting sun
shining through the western windows, radiant in crimson and gold, and
the joyous song of the birds chanting their evening hymn of praise, all
combine to impress the spirit with a sense of the presence of God, not
only among those who do not neglect the assembling of themselves
together to worship and to praise Him, but also in His "glorious works."
On such an evening two days after the Friday which had been so fatal to
Arthur Franklyn's schemes, Mr. Armstrong proposed to accompany his
daughter to the old parish church at Kilburn, which was at that period
merely a country village.
It was not often that Mr. Armstrong attended the evening service,
therefore excepting during her brother's holidays Mary was obliged to
remain at home also, for she could not go to church alone. Most readily
therefore she hailed the opportunity offered by her father, and hastily
arrayed herself in walking costume, a process by no means so troublesome
to a lady in summer as in winter.
They had scarcely taken their usual places in their pew when the chimes
ceased and the single five minutes bell began to toll.
Mr. Armstrong's pew was in the north gallery; therefore when the organ
pealed forth its introductory music, and the clergymen issued from the
vestry, Mary could see that one of them entered the reading desk and the
other within the communion rails, seating himself on the north side and
therefore hidden from their pew by the pulpit.
She paid but little attention to this circumstance, except to feel glad
that the old rector would have help for this evening at least, the whole
of the preceding Sunday services having been performed by him alone.
The fact of it being the first Sunday after Trinity suggested to Mary
Armstrong no cause for Henry Halford's absence from the boys' pew at
church. With all her cleverness in other subjects, she had very little
knowledge of clerical matters. The prayers used in what is called Ember
Week she had noticed and understood, but of their connexion with certain
Sundays in the year, among others Trinity Sunday, she knew nothing.
Following the service as it proceeded with true devotional feeling,
neither Mary Armstrong nor her father was prepared for the surprise that
awaited them.
During the singing of the hymn, and while standing in the pew, she could
see that as the rector left the reading desk to proceed to the vestry,
he was joined by a stranger; but only his white surplice was visible,
the vestry being on the same side as the gallery on which she stood, and
the entrance under it.
Those were the days when clergymen changed the surplice for the black
academical gown for preaching. Mary, quite engrossed with the music and
the words of the last verse of the hymn, did not glance towards the
pulpit till the preacher raised his head from his hands, and faced the
congregation.
He was very pale, this strange young clergyman, and as he laid his Bible
on the desk his hand trembled perceptibly.
He had seen at a glance as he entered the pulpit the figure in white
standing by Mr. Armstrong in the gallery near him. The unexpected
appearance at the evening service of any of the family took him by
surprise, and it required all the self-control he possessed to bring
himself to a proper frame of mind by the time the congregation were
ready to listen to him.
But the effort was successful, and as the full-toned young voice gave
out the text his natural power of concentration resumed its sway, the
glorious subject before him absorbed all his thoughts, and the natural
fluency with which Henry Halford expressed his ideas did not forsake him
now.
He had determined, long before his ordination, that he would adopt
extemporaneous preaching, and as the subject he had chosen fired the
intellectual powers and Christian principles of the young clergyman, his
hearers sat mute with surprise and admiration.
The sermon might have been styled an exposition of the thirteenth
chapter of the First of Corinthians, for not one of the attributes of
charity did he omit to notice; but his text contained only these
words--"The greatest of these is charity."
For more than half an hour did the congregation sit in breathless
attention to the sound reasoning, the clear explanations, and the bursts
of eloquence which almost electrified them; and when they rose as he
finished his sermon, there was not one who did not feel sorry it was
over.
But we are forgetting our friends in the front pew of the gallery. When
Mary Armstrong bowed her head in the short prayer before the sermon, she
had not particularly noticed the face of the new curate, as she supposed
him to be. The voice, at first low and indistinct, presently sounded
familiar. Yes, she had heard it before, but where? It ceased, and as she
rose from her knees and directed her attention to the preacher, she
recognised in the pale young clergyman before her, Henry Halford! One
glance at her father, and she saw by his returned glance, that he also
knew the name of the stranger who now as the servant of God stood forth
fearlessly as the instructor of the man who loved his money better than
his child's happiness.
Mary in her startled surprise felt the colour forsaking cheek and lips,
and a tendency to faint; but with a strong effort she roused herself. To
be carried out of church fainting was an ordeal she dreaded, and
therefore struggled against with all her strength.
More than once Mr. Armstrong looked at her anxiously, but she did not
flinch. No; she would stay and brave it all.
The conduct of Henry Halford also tended to restore her self-possession,
and before long she as well as her father became too deeply interested
in the sermon and the subject to think much of their surprise at finding
who was the preacher.
The attentive congregation, the summer evening associations to which
reference has been made, all had an influence upon the young girl's
mind, and for years after she never attended a summer evening service in
a country church without recalling this evening at Kilburn.
But when they rose to leave the church, there was a dread at Mary's
heart of what her father might say or suspect.
Mr. Armstrong, as we know, had a foolish prejudice about clergymen, and
although he attended church for the sake of appearances, and respected
the old rector because he could not help it, still he did not cultivate
his acquaintance, nor indeed the acquaintance of any families in
Kilburn, except the Drummonds and one or two others.
But for this exclusiveness he would have heard not only that the rector
had parted with his late curate, but also that he had engaged another,
and that other the son of his old friend Dr. Halford. More than this,
had not the heat formed an excuse for Mr. Armstrong, and a reason for
his wife to remain at home on that Sunday morning, they would have heard
Henry Halford read the forms which are necessary at the introduction of
a newly ordained curate, and also the prayers as his first clerical act.
"Did you know young Halford was going to preach this evening, Mary?" was
her father's first question as they proceeded homewards.
"No, papa; I did not even know that Mr. Halford was ordained."
Mr. Armstrong said no more, although while he asked the question he
suddenly remembered Cousin Sarah's information, and knew that Mary was
too truthful for him to doubt her assertion for an instant. The
remainder of the walk was continued in silence, both father and daughter
busied with their own reflections.
"Cousin Sarah is right," said the money-loving father to himself; "there
is great intellect, and a wonderful power of language and argument in
that young schoolmaster, and he knows how to take up a text too, and
interest his hearers. Once or twice in his definition of charity I
fancied he was preaching _at_ me, and in truth his arguments were very
strong, although rather Utopian in theory. What would become of trade,
and commerce, and money-getting in England or elsewhere, if we were to
possess the 'charity that seeketh not her own, that thinketh no evil, or
that suffereth long and is kind?' Where are the men of business who seek
not their own? What would be thought of the tradesman who trusted those
with whom he dealt without suspicion of evil? How would such conduct
agree with the maxim, that 'every man is a rogue till you have proved
him honest?' Where is the man, even with thousands at his banker's, who
'suffers long and is kind' to a debtor, before he punishes him with
legal proceedings? And yet these are the words of the Bible, which we as
Christians profess to believe. There must be something wrong at the root
of _our_ Christianity, if it cannot carry out the precepts of its
Founder." And then the memory of Edward Armstrong presented to him a
real proof that the precepts he had that evening heard were not so
directly opposed to the spirit and tenor of good business habits and
conduct as he imagined. No example of the charity spoken of by St. Paul
more truly existed with active business habits than in the character of
his own father; and then by a common association of ideas he remembered
that in a few weeks Mary would be of age, and entitled to receive the
legacy of 1000_l._ left her by her grandfather. "Why, even that sum
would help her and the young parson to marry in comfort," he reflected.
"It would at least insure a partnership for him in his father's school,
and I have made Mary domestic enough, even for a schoolmaster's wife;
and after she is of age I shall have no right to interfere with her."
Mr. Armstrong sighed as the approach to his own gates put a stop to
these reflections, yet he could not help saying to himself, "It would be
a terrible downfall to all my ambitious projects for my daughter; I do
not think I can give my consent after all."
The reader will understand what must have been the influence of Henry
Halford's first sermon, to produce such reflections in the mind of
Edward Armstrong.
The secret thoughts of his daughter may be summed up in a few words.
"Will my father change his mind now he sees how very clever Henry
Halford is?" said the young girl to herself, in the pride and joy of her
heart at his evident success in securing the attention of his hearers.
"Can he ever expect I could give him up, even for a duke with 50,000_l._
a year?"
And then as she followed her father in, and listened with surprise as he
described what had occurred to her mother, and even praised the subject
and style of the sermon, a new feeling of hope arose in her heart which
flushed her cheek and brightened her eye for the rest of the evening.
Mrs. Armstrong noticed the look of happiness on her daughter's face, and
when she wished her good night she whispered--
"You must tell me all about the sermon to morrow, darling."
But there were others in a quiet pew under the gallery at church who
were really more personally interested in the first efforts of the young
clergyman than even our friends at Lime Grove.
Kate Marston, Clara, Mabel, and James Franklyn were delighted listeners
to the sermon which had so roused Mr. Armstrong. But to the aged father
of Henry Halford came the memory of his dear wife's words, when they had
consulted on the means and advisability of educating him for the Church.
"We may hope to live to see our son a useful minister in the church,"
had been the mother's words, and that privilege had been denied her.
Mrs. Halford had gone to her rest, and the old man's first words when he
reached home and shook his son's hand warmly were, "In the midst of my
gratification, Henry, I have only one cause for regret, and that is that
your mother did not live to see this day."
"Better perhaps as it is, father," he replied. "You would not wish my
dear mother back, especially when such trouble has fallen upon Arthur."
"No, no; ah, I forgot, you are right, it is all for the best, 'He doeth
all things well.'"
Kate Marston stood by with tears of joy in her eyes; a true daughter and
sister was she in heart to the bereaved husband and only child of her
dear aunt Clara.
They had scarcely seated themselves at the supper-table, when a ring at
the front gate startled every one, and presently the housemaid appeared
with a pale face, and beckoned Henry Halford from the room.
"Oh, please sir, it's a telegraph boy, and he's brought this and he's to
wait for an answer."
Henry closed the dining-room door as she spoke, and took the missive in
his hand, feeling almost as alarmed as herself.
It was still twilight out of doors, and the hall gas not being lit,
Henry walked to the glass door entrance to read the telegram, dreading
he scarcely knew what.
He gave one hasty glance at the words, and read--
"Dr. Gordon, Guy's Hospital, to Mr. Henry Halford, Englefield
Grange.
"A gentleman, with the initials A. F. on his clothes, is here
dangerously ill; has asked for you. Come at once."
In a kind of bewilderment he looked round the hall, and saw the boy who
waited for the answer.
"There is no answer necessary, my boy," he said, "you need not wait."
Then as the telegraph messenger sallied out at the still open door,
Henry Halford turned hastily to the housemaid:--
"Go in quietly and tell Miss Marston she is wanted, Rebecca."
The girl obeyed, and presently that lady appeared with a startled look
on her face.
"What is it, Henry?" she asked anxiously.
"Something that must not be mentioned suddenly before my father or
Arthur's children," he replied; "read that, Kate."
He placed the telegram in her hands, and lighted the gas that she might
read it.
"Rebecca," he said, as the girl passed from the dining-room, "I can
trust to you, not to say one word to alarm any of the young people until
Miss Marston has given a reason for my absence. I am going to London
to-night; Mr. Franklyn is ill."
"I wont say a word to any one, Mr. Henry, I promise you," she replied.
"What can have happened?" said Kate Marston when they were again alone.
"It is impossible to say," he replied, "but I must not delay a moment;
break the news gently to my father and the children, while I put a few
things together in a carpet bag."
"But, Henry, you have had no supper, and after such a day of excitement
too; oh! I am very sorry, let me bring you a glass of wine."
"No, no," he said, going upstairs two steps at a time, "I can get
something in London, but you may find Bradshaw if you will, Kate."
Henry Halford was back again to the hall ready for his departure almost
as quickly as Kate with the time-table.
"You have plenty of time," she said, "there, is a train at 9.40, and if
you miss that, another at 10.5."
"Oh, thank you; all right, I can easily catch the 9.40. Good-by, Kate,
make the best of it till you hear from me."
And so ended at Kilburn the Sunday on which Henry Halford entered upon
his duties as a clergyman.