CHAPTER XII. STEALING THE HEARTS OF THE PEOPLE.
Shortly after our return to the inn, a carriage drove up to the door, and the cards of Mr. Merton, and the Reverend Mr. Homily, which were presented by the servant, were soon followed by the gentlemen themselves.
Mr. Merton said he had been informed by Mrs. Hodgins of our visit to her cottage, and from her account of our conversation and persons, he was convinced we could be no other than the party described in the “Sayings and Doings of Mr. Samuel Slick,” as about to visit England with the Attache. He expressed great pleasure in having the opportunity of making our acquaintance, and entreated us to spend a few days with him at the Priory. This invitation we were unfortunately compelled to decline, in consequence of urgent business in London, where our immediate presence was indispensable.
The rector then pressed Mr. Hopewell to preach for him, on the following day at the parish church, which he also declined. He said, that he had no sermons with him, and that he had very great objections to extemporaneous preaching, which he thought should never be resorted to except in cases of absolute necessity. He, however, at last consented to do so, on condition that Mrs. Hodgins and her husband attended, and upon being assured that it was their invariable custom to be present, he said, he thought it not impossible, that he might make an impression upon him, and as it was his maxim never to omit an opportunity of doing good, he would with the blessing of God, make the attempt.
The next day was remarkably fine, and as the scene was new to me, and most probably will be so to most of my colonial readers, I shall endeavour to describe it with some minuteness.
We walked to the church by a path over the hills, and heard the bells of a number of little churches, summoning the surrounding population to the House of God. The roads and the paths were crowded with the peasantry and their children, approaching the church-yard in different directions. The church and the rectory were contiguous to each other, and situated in a deep dell.
The former was a long and rather low structure, originally built of light coloured stone, which had grown grey with time. It had a large square steeple, with pointed corners, like turrets, each of which was furnished with a vane, but some of these ornaments were loose and turned round in a circle, while others stood still and appeared to be examining with true rustic curiosity, the condition of their neighbours.
The old rectory stood close to the church and was very irregularly built, one part looking as if it had stepped forward to take a peep at us, and another as if endeavouring to conceal itself from view, behind a screen of ivy. The windows which were constructed of diamond-shaped glass, were almost square, and opened on hinges. Nearly half of the house was covered by a rose-tree, from which the lattices peered very inquisitively upon the assembled congregation. Altogether it looked like the residence of a vigilant man, who could both see and be unseen if he pleased.
Near the door of the church were groups of men in their clean smock-frocks and straw hats, and of women in their tidy dark dresses and white aprons. The children all looked clean, healthy, and cheerful.
The interior of the church was so unlike that of an American one, that my attention was irresistibly drawn to its peculiarities. It was low, and divided in the centre by an arch. The floor was of stone, and from long and constant use, very uneven in places. The pews were much higher on the sides than ours, and were unpainted and roughly put together; while the pulpit was a rude square box, and was placed in the corner. Near the door stood an ancient stone font, of rough workmanship, and much worn.
The windows were long and narrow, and placed very high in the walls. On the one over the altar was a very old painting, on stained glass, of the Virgin, with a hoop and yellow petticoat, crimson vest, a fly cap, and very thick shoes. The light of this window was still further subdued by a fine old yew-tree, which stood in the yard close behind it.
There was another window of beautifully stained glass, the light of which fell on a large monument, many feet square, of white marble. In the centre of this ancient and beautiful work of art, were two principal figures, with smaller ones kneeling on each side, having the hands raised in the attitude of prayer. They were intended to represent some of the ancestors of the Merton family. The date was as old as 1575. On various parts of the wall were other and ruder monuments of slate-stone, the inscriptions and dates of which were nearly effaced by time.
The roof was of a construction now never seen in America; and the old oak rafters, which were more numerous, than was requisite, either for strength or ornament, were massive and curiously put together, giving this part of the building a heavy and gloomy appearance.
As we entered the church, Mr. Hopewell said he had selected a text suitable to the times, and that he would endeavour to save the poor people in the neighbourhood from the delusions of the chartist demagogues, who, it appeared, were endeavouring to undermine the throne and the altar, and bring universal ruin upon the country.
When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great age, and his sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted universal attention. I had never seen him officiate till this day; but if I was struck with his venerable appearance before, I was now lost in admiration of his rich and deep-toned voice, his peculiar manner, and simple style of eloquence.
He took for his text these words: “So Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel.” He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this intriguing and ungrateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people, to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant followers. He made a powerful application of the seditious words of Absalom: “Oh that I were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause might come unto me, and I would do him justice.” He showed the effect of these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in the holy record of this unnatural rebellion are described as “men who went out in their simplicity, and knew not anything.”
He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for similar purposes; and that these professions of disinterested patriotism were the common pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the animal force of those “who assemble in their simplicity, and know not any thing,” to achieve their own personal aggrandisement, and warned them, to give no heed to such dishonest people. He then drew a picture of the real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though not without an admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the imperfect and unequal condition of man was capable either of imparting or receiving.
Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by the state for the instruction of the poor, by means of an established Church. He said they would doubtless hear this wise and pious deed of their forefathers attacked also by unprincipled men; and falsehood and ridicule would be invoked to aid in the assault; but that he was a witness on its behalf, from the distant wilderness of North America, where the voice of gratitude was raised to England, whose missionaries had planted a church there similar to their own, and had proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation to those who would otherwise have still continued to live without its pale.
He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion; pointed out the necessity that existed for vigilance and defined their respective duties to God, and to those who, by his permission, were set in authority over them; and concluded with the usual benediction, which, though I had heard it on similar occasions all my life, seemed now more efficacious, more paternal, and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly patriarchal manner.
The abstract I have just given, I regret to say, cannot convey any adequate idea of this powerful, excellent, and appropriate sermon. It was listened to with intense interest by the congregation, many of whom were affected to tears. In the afternoon we attended church again, when we heard a good, plain, and practical discourse from the rector; but, unfortunately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of our friend, and, although it satisfied the judgment, it did not affect, the heart like that of the “Old Minister.”
At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. “Ah! my dear,” said Mr. Hopewell, “how do you do? I am going to your cottage; but I am an old man now; take my arm—it will support me in my walk.”
It was thus that this good man, while honouring this poor woman, avoided the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favour to himself.
She commenced thanking him for his sermon in the morning. She said it had convinced her William of the sin of the Chartist agitation, and that he had firmly resolved never to meet them again. It had saved him from ruin, and made her a happy woman.
“Glad to hear it has done him good, my dear,” said he; “it does me good, too, to hear its effect. Now, never remind him of past errors, never allude to them: make his home cheerful, make it the pleasantest place he can find any where, and he won’t want to seek amusement elsewhere, or excitement either; for these seditious meetings intoxicate by their excitement. Oh! I am very glad I have touched him; that I have prevented these seditious men from ‘stealing his heart.’”
In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, which Hodgins had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged path.
“It is such a lovely afternoon,” said Mr. Hopewell, “I believe I will rest in this arbour here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the perfume of your honeysuckles and flowers.”
“Wouldn’t a pipe be better, Minister?” said Mr. Slick. “For my part, I don’t think any thing equal to the flavour of rael good genewine first chop tobacco.”
“Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco,” said Mr. Hopewell. “I don’t care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one for yourself also, and I will smoke and talk with you awhile, for they seem as natural to each other, as eating and drinking do.”
As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband together for a while, for as Mr. Slick observed, “The old man will talk it into him like a book; for if he was possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist, he is jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he’ll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep; jist see if he don’t, that’s all.”
We then walked up and down the shady lane, smoking our cigars, and Mr. Slick observed, “Well, there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain’t there, atween this country church, and a country meetin’ house our side of the water; I won’t say in your country or my country; but I say our side of the water—and then it won’t rile nobody; for your folks will say I mean the States, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies; but you and I know who the cap fits, one or t’other, or both, don’t we?
“Now here, this old-fashioned church, ain’t quite up to the notch, and is a leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old fixin’s and what not; but still it looks solemcoly’ don’t it, and the dim light seems as if we warn’t expected to be a lookin’ about, and as if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn’t man’s house nother.
“I don’t know whether it was that dear old man’s preachin’, and he is a brick ain’t he? or, whether it’s the place, or the place and him together; but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day than common, that’s a fact. The people too are all so plain dressed, so decent, so devout and no show, it looks like airnest.
“The only fashionable people here was the Squire’s sarvants; and they did look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant men, and most splendid lookin’ women they was too. I thought it was some noble, or aid’s, or big bug’s family; but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire’s about here, the butlers and ladies’ maids; and superfine uppercrust lookin’ folks they be too.
“Then every body walks here, even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor, there was no carriage to the door, nor no hosses hitched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons, or people gossipin’ outside; but all come in and minded their business, as if it was worth attendin’ to; and then arter church was finished off, I liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired arter their families. It may he actin’, but if it is, it’s plaguy good actin’, I tell you.
“I’m a thinkin’ it tante a rael gentleman that’s proud, but only a hop. You’ve seen a hop grow, hante you? It shoots up in a night, the matter of several inches right out of the ground, as stiff as a poker, straight up and down, with a spick and span new green coat and a red nose, as proud as Lucifer. Well, I call all upstarts ‘hops,’ and I believe it’s only “hops” arter all that’s scorny.
“Yes, I kinder like an English country church, only it’s a leetle, jist a leetle too old fashioned for me. Folks look a leetle too much like grandfather Slick, and the boys used to laugh at him, and call him a benighted Britisher. Perhaps that’s the cause of my prejudice, and yet I must say, British or no British, it tante bad, is it?
“The meetin’ houses ‘our side of the water,’ no matter where, but away up in the back country, how teetotally different they be! bean’t they? A great big, handsome wooden house, chock full of winders, painted so white as to put your eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside seems all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin’ near it but the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced he will do any thing of a week day, and nothin’’ of a Sunday. Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss-me-quicks, and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin pads calf-skin boots and sheep-skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of fashions, there they publish ‘em in meetin’; and instead of a pictur, have the rael naked truth.
“Preacher there don’t preach morals, because that’s churchy, and he don’t like neither the church nor its morals; but he preaches doctrine, which doctrine is, there’s no Christians but themselves. Well, the fences outside of the meetin’ house, for a quarter of a mile or so, each side of the house, and each side of the road, ain’t to be seen for hosses and waggons, and gigs hitched there; poor devils of hosses that have ploughed, or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin’ or another all the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin’ their gait, as a man rests on a journey by a alterin’ of his sturup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women that has all their finery on can’t walk, and some things is ondecent. It’s as ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin’ to meetin’, as it is to be caught at—what shall I say?—why caught at attendin’ to her business to home.
“The women are the fust and the last to meetin’; fine clothes cost sunthin’, and if they ain’t showed, what’s the use of them? The men folk remind me of the hosses to Sable Island. It’s a long low sand-bank on Nova Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much higher than the water. It has awful breakers round it, and picks up a shockin’ sight of vessels does that island. Government keeps a super-intender there and twelve men to save wracked people, and there is a herd of three hundred wild hosses kept there for food for saved crews that land there, when provision is short, or for super-intender to catch and break for use, as the case may be.
“Well, if he wants a new hoss, he mounts his folks on his tame hosses, and makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild feller down, lugs him off to the stable-yard, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little hoss he is too, but he always has an eye to natur’’ arterwards; the change is too sudden, and he’ll off, if he gets a chance.
“Now that’s the case with these country congregations, we know where. The women and old tame men folk are, inside; the young wild boys and ontamed men folk are on the fences, outside a settin’ on the top rail, a speculatin’ on times or marriages, or markets, or what not, or a walkin’ round and studyin’ hoss flesh, or a talkin’ of a swap to be completed of a Monday, or a leadin’ off of two hosses on the sly of the old deacon’s, takin’ a lick of a half mile on a bye road, right slap a-head, and swearin’ the hosses had got loose, and they was just a fetchin’ of them back.
“‘Whose side-saddle is this?’
“‘Slim Sall Dowdie’s.’
“‘Shift it on to the deacon’s beast, and put his on to her’n and tie the two critters together by the tail. This is old Mother Pitcher’s waggon; her hoss kicks like a grasshopper. Lengthen the breechin’, and when aunty starts, he’ll make all fly agin into shavin’s, like a plane. Who is that a comin’ along full split there a horseback?’
“‘It’s old Booby’s son, Tom. Well, it’s the old man’s shaft hoss; call out whoh! and he’ll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, whap.
“Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us boys on the fence.’ The weight is too great; away goes the fence, and away goes the boys, all flyin’; legs, arms, hats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful crash and an awful shout; and away goes two or three hosses that have broke their bridles, and off home like wink.
“Out comes Elder Sourcrout. ‘Them as won’t come in had better stay to home,’ sais he. And when he hears that them as are in had better stay in when they be there, he takes the hint and goes back agin. ‘Come, boys, let’s go to Black Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be back in time to walk home with the galls from night meetin’, by airly candle-light. Let’s go.’
“Well, when they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside meetin’, they sarcumvent some o’ these wild ones outside; make a dash on ‘em, catch ‘em, dip ‘em, and give ‘em a name; for all sects don’t always baptise ‘em as we do, when children, but let ‘em grow up wild in the herd till they are wanted. They have hard work to break ‘em in, for they are smart ones, that’s a fact, but, like the hosses of Sable Island, they have always an eye to natur’’ arterwards; the change is too sudden, you can’t trust ‘em, at least I never see one as I could, that’s all.
“Well, when they come out o’ meetin’, look at the dignity and sanctity, and pride o’ humility o’ the tame old ones. Read their faces. ‘How does the print go?’ Why this way, ‘I am a sinner, at least I was once, but thank fortin’ I ain’t like you, you onconverted, benighted, good-for-nothin’ critter you.’ Read the ontamed one’s face, what’s the print there? Why it’s this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by arter that fashion, it says, ‘How good we are, ain’t we? Who wet his hay to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and made two tons weigh two tons and a half? You’d better look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, hadn’t you, old Sugar-cane?’
“Now jist foller them two rulin’ elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh; they are plaguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh Chisel, that exhorted to-day. ‘How did you like Brother Josh, to-day?’ says Sourcrout, a utterin’ of it through his nose. Good men always speak through the nose. It’s what comes out o’ the mouth that defiles a man; but there is no mistake in the nose; it’s the porch of the temple that. ‘How did you like Brother Josh?’
“‘Well, he wasn’t very peeowerful.’
“‘Was he ever peeowerful?’
“‘Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as a wrastler.’
“Sourcrout won’t larf, because it’s agin rules; but he gig goggles like a turkey-cock, and says he, ‘It’s for ever and ever the same thing with Brother Josh. He is like an over-shot mill, one everlastin’ wishy-washy stream.’
“‘When the water ain’t quite enough to turn the wheel, and only spatters, spatters, spatters,’ says Coldslaugh.
“Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin’ shelled corn whole. ‘That trick of wettin’ the hay,’ says he, ‘to make it weigh heavy, warn’t cleverly done; it ain’t pretty to be caught; it’s only bunglers do that.’
“‘He is so fond of temperance,’ says Coldslaugh, ‘he wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.’
“Sourcrout gig goggles ag’in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till he finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though they won’t larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes; don’t they?
“I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that men wouldn’t support it, but because it would be supported under false pretences. Truth can’t be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would change its features, and intolerance its name; and religion would soon degenerate into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless superstition, that’s a fact.
“Yes, on the whole, I rather like these plain, decent, onpretendin’, country churches here, although t’other ones remind me of old times, when I was an ontamed one too. Yes, I like an English church; but as for Minister pretendin’ for to come for to go for to preach agin that beautiful long-haired young rebel, Squire Absalom, for ‘stealin’ the hearts of the people,’ why it’s rather takin’ the rag off the bush, ain’t it?
“Tell you what, Squire; there ain’t a man in their whole church here, from Lord Canter Berry that preaches afore the Queen, to Parson Homily that preached afore us, nor never was, nor never will be equal to Old Minister hisself for ‘stealin’ the hearts of the people.’”