A voyage of discovery

by Hamilton Aïdé

"I am not a politician, but I hope I am a philosopher," said Ferrars, with a tolerant smile.

"I am neither one nor the other," sighed Burton, with an appealing look at Mrs. Courtly. "But when the music is bad, my soul is in revolt; it makes me so cross, I go away worse than I came. And the music in your church here is very bad—you know it is, Mrs. Courtly."

So the three drove off to church together. Nothing in the service invited comment (the music being no worse than the Ballingers were used to in their own country church), until Mr. Sparks began to read the first lesson. He had not opened his lips till then. Apparently there was a storage of sound waiting to escape, and it rushed forth with a volubility truly astounding. Ballinger looked at his sister with elevated brows. It was clear that the minister expected the congregation to be conversant with the text of Holy Writ; otherwise it was impossible to follow him. He read also a portion of the Communion service in a manner that seemed to Grace little short of irreverent. But all this was as nothing compared to the rapidity of his utterance when he reached the pulpit. His sermon was a splendid piece of oratory, charged with noble thought, clad in language that seemed, like lightning, to strike and tear the ground. Then, as the thunder rolled along, the scorn of self-seeking and of sloth, the denunciation of envy and uncharitableness, fell like hail, smiting the consciences of some who heard. But the electric rapidity with which the words poured down was such that, as flash succeeded flash, many of the congregation were blinded, groping their way feebly, and clutching at his meaning here and there. It required long usage (and to some of those assembled he was almost a stranger) or a sharp, retentive vision, not to be dazzled as the lightning struck peak after peak, and the wind swept by, and the great storm drove on, relentless, without pause or hesitation.

Miss Planter only removed her beautiful eyes from the preacher to glance surreptitiously from time to time at her companions, and judge of the effect produced on them. Grace listened, eager and absorbed; her brother gnawed his moustache, and looked ill at ease. When, at last, the torrent of words stopped, and the congregation slid out of church, in various mental conditions, the American girl's curiosity found its vent.

"Well?" she asked, addressing Mordaunt. "What do you say? Is he not just wonderful?"

"Wonderful! I believe you. I never heard a chap pour out so many words to the minute before. It's perfectly awful, going on like this, for more than half an hour without stopping!"

"How I wished I could write shorthand!" exclaimed his sister. "It is too sad to think it is all gone beyond recall. I never heard anything so splendid, so stirring!"

"I am awfully glad you think so," said Miss Planter, who clung fondly to the English slang she had acquired. "I hoped that you, Sir Mordaunt, would have felt a little moved. Samuel Sparks always does move me so!"

"Move me! Why, I felt as if I were being hurled down a precipice, and were clutching wildly at twigs, roots, anything, to save myself. But it was no use; as fast as I caught hold of anything it slipped from me, and I felt just as if I'd come an awful cropper, bruised and stunned, when he stopped."

The conversation was renewed at luncheon, when Mrs. Courtly expressed a desire to know how her English guests had been impressed by the famous preacher. Her feelings as a patriotic American and a stanch churchwoman were divided. Miss Ballinger satisfied one sentiment, Sir Mordaunt the other.