“Well, what am I to do when they come?” inquired Jane.
“Oh, be ready to put on their cloaks, and hand pins as they want them. It’s only the Murry-Hillers that will want attention—the others wear over-shoes, and put them on with their own hands. I never offer to do it for them, at any rate.”
“Hush!” said Jane; “they are coming now.”
CHAPTER XIII.
MRS. JUDSON DISTRIBUTES THE FUNDS.
The party down-stairs, though considered by the lady of the house as an unceremonious affair, proved in every way successful. A great deal of philanthropy had been discussed, with the terrapin and chicken-salad at the supper-table. At each stage of the refreshments some narrator reached a mission station in India, or descanted on the enormous good some female enthusiast had done in travelling twice to Jerusalem and back again. These things, it is true, were in many instances whispered over in the sweetest of low voices, after a fashion that might have been mistaken for flirtations in persons of less exalted piety; but no suspicion of that kind could rest here; the very looking-glasses in that superb drawing-room would have veiled their faces from a reflection so undignified and improper. Early that week, there had been a grand charity ball at the Opera-House, and all the ladies who had acted as patronesses were expecting a division of the spoils in bulky rolls of bank-notes to be distributed by each one at her own especial pleasure. These ladies were mostly from the highest fashionable circles; persons who loved to play lady-bountiful with other people’s money, and be glorified therefor, as if the thing had been a real charity; and why not? The Opera-House had trembled from floor to dome under the tread of worldly dancers, from whom so much money had been rescued, like brands from the burning. Even the religious women, who represented various moral societies in that room, admitted this. Why should they hesitate to distribute it among their own humble followers, and receive gratitude therefor. Money snatched from the Evil One must be doubly grateful to the Lord.
There was Mrs. Brown, a shining light in “The Society for the Suppression of Vice.” Mrs. Green, who headed a Home Mission; and Mrs. Ward, a lady who could deliver more tracts in a given number of hours, than any other female known to the Society; besides lesser lights who hummed and smiled and buzzed about these luminaries, like moths around a candle, to say nothing of some half dozen very silent and subdued men who belonged to the domestic circle of these ladies, and watched them afar off, without having any great desire to come nearer, or claim the glory of one common name.
Mrs. Judson herself was a magnificent type of this class; a pillar of strength—the salt of the earth—an angel of mercy, and all that sort of thing, was the stately lady of that stately house. No wonder her followers thought so, for she moved among them like an empress, subdued and thoughtful over the shortcomings of her fellow-creatures. The heavy moire-antique had a solemn rustle in it, and the filmy bow that should have fallen like a gossamer on her head, looked stiff and hard when it came in contact with her face. In her person this lady embodied the two social elements that surrounded her. She was religiously fashionable and fashionably religious—stooping down to the good souls that worked out their own charities, with sublime condescension, and sweeping her transcendent virtues through the walks of the upper ten thousand with wonderful effect. This evening Mrs. Judson was surrounded by her worshippers from both stratas of social life; no wonder her somewhat faded cheeks grew red and her bearing more stately. Was she not at that hour about to distribute a large sum of money partly won by her own great social influence? Had not that incongruous assembly mingled and harmonized around her from the cohesion of this gold, rescued from the wickedness of a ball-room? In their pious enthusiasm had they not forced contributions from the worldliness of the worldly? Heartless people had danced and flirted, drank wine and eaten daintily, that she might carry the results to the foot-stool of the Lord, and with a hand on her heart, thank Him that she was not like those people.
Mrs. Judson felt all this to the innermost recesses of her heart, as she stood at one end of the room conversing with Mrs. Brown, who was solemnly pleading the cause of her society, and impressing upon the lady-bountiful, that, inasmuch as sin was the parent of want, the charity should follow it double-handed; that, in wrestling with the monster, the strength of money must be added to the sanctity of prayer; in fact, the lady insinuated that without money in this case, prayer had not the efficacy which could be desired. It was well enough for starving people to have food; she did not object to that, but how much more important it was that perishing souls should be rescued as brands from the burning. Ah, if Mrs. Judson could only see what the Society had gone through: the depths of sin to which they had descended in search of souls; the trouble they had experienced in reforming them sufficiently for a glowing report, and the grief with which they had seen them fall back; still, there was one thing encouraging. These backsliders could generally be depended upon to reform again about the time a new report was demanded by the country members, and, as names were owned very promiscuously, that document was usually full of promise, hope, and satisfactory words. Still, the great need was money—money. Mrs. Brown only wished that she had eloquence necessary for a thorough understanding of the good her Society had already done.
Here the two ladies were joined by Mrs. Brown’s husband, a tall, thin man, with weak eyes, and an air of subserviency that would have been edifying had Mrs. Judson been a woman worthy of human worship.
“You were speaking of our own little mission, my love,” said the husband, deprecatingly. “Speaking with your own unvarying self-abnegation—always her way, dear madam. In order to know what that lovely woman is capable of, you should be with her night and day, as I am, in her laboring among the poor, fallen creatures, who often give back reviling for mercy. Working in season and out of season, waking up in the night and weeping floods of precious tears over the sins of her fellow-creatures. Ah! madam, to know her, you should be her shadow as I am.”