‘“Oh no! she takes herself off to Church. She says her mother has been very poor and bad, and no one came near her but the Rector and his wife, who were very kind.”
‘“Ah, there it is again,” said the old lady; “the loaves and fishes.”
‘“For my part, I think we’re well rid of such people. We don’t want ’em, and the Church is quite welcome to ’em. There’s that man Brown, who fell off the ladder when he was at work. The Rector called on him, and sent him a bottle of wine and some cold meat, and he has never been to meetin’ since. And now I hear he has sent his children to the Church Sunday-school.”
‘“Well, what can you expect?” replied the old lady. “It is my opinion that that man Brown never had the root of the matter in him at all, and yet I can remember when he used to come to meetin’ regular. It is very shocking when people behave like that. The men in the town are getting worse and worse. They tell me there is a lot of low Sunday papers from London come into the town, and the men read ’em all day long.”
‘“Yes,” said a gushing girl who was present, and who could keep silence no longer, “that’s quite true. When I go round with the tracts they refuse to take them in; and such nice tracts too, it quite breaks my heart. And then there is our new supply; he takes the men’s part. He took up one of my tracts the other day and asked me if I really thought working men could stand such reading. I asked him if he read the tracts, and he said no; he thought he could employ his time much better.”
‘“And yet,” said the old lady, “our dear old minister used to say one tract may save a soul; but lor’, the young men they send us from the colleges, as they call them, think very little of saving souls.”
‘“I fear that’s too true,” said the deacon’s wife. “People don’t preach the Gospel as they used to.”
‘And that is true,’ said the Presbyterian parson to Wentworth. ‘They say I am a Unitarian; but the orthodox certainly are much nearer to me than they were. It did them good to hear damnation dealt out to others who did not think as they did. God the Father, Christ the Elder Brother, were little in their thoughts. It was God the Angry Judge, it was Christ saying, “Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting torment,” of whom it did them good to hear. They quite relished the torments—the endless torments of the lost. Not to dwell on them in a sermon was not to preach the Gospel. Hard, stern, unforgiving were these ladies of the Dorcas. It is to be hoped that their charities at Christmas-time to the poor of the meeting, in the shape of flannel and other garments, did good. Charity covers a multitude of sins, and if they talked scandal, why, do not others do the same? A sister with more brains than the rest, and of equal piety, does now and then make a sensible remark. But at any rate, my wife said she would never go to one of their meetings again.’
‘I have heard of it,’ said Wentworth; ‘but I have never attended one.’
‘Be thankful you have not.’