“‘Then,’ said the questioner, who was still on his feet, ‘I beg to propose that we respectfully return this cheque to the sender. Mr. William Quellset can well afford to give a hundred pounds to this chapel, and he is anxious to stand well with the people of this neighbourhood, whom he intends, if possible, to represent in Parliament. But no blessing could go with any amount of money from such a man.’
“There was some interruption, and the speaker corrected himself. ‘I beg pardon; I know nothing of the personal character of Mr. Quellset. I will therefore change the form of my words and say, No blessing could go with money made as he makes his. I suppose everybody knows that he is the patentee of those lozenges which are so attractive that probably the wives and daughters of nine-tenths of the men present are eating them every day—the lozenges to which he has not given the name of opium, but which have done more than anything else to make opium-eating universal amongst us. As our Government grows opium, and is anxious to sell it, it has contented itself, as you know, with imposing a duty on Mr. Quellset’s articles, and many a statesman quiets his conscience in regard to this growing evil by telling himself that the country is enriched by this increase to its revenue. Sir, the country is being ruined by it. The drink has slain its thousands and opium is slaying its tens of thousands. Mr. Quellset has found out how to make it palatable, and he has grown enormously rich; but surely, sir, we do not now live in days when men think they can purchase pardon and heaven by presenting to the Church a small part of their ill-gotten gains. I hope there may be found some one to second my proposition.’
“‘I will do so,’ said a blunt, uneducated man, ‘and I cry shame on any church which, for the sake of adorning its building, will in such a way as Mr. Shelve proposes thus make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness.’
“‘Sir,’ said another, ‘I move that the grateful thanks of this church be presented to Mr. Quellset for his munificent gift. We have been patiently listening to a lot of arrant nonsense. We have nothing to do with the way in which a man chooses to make his money. If we had, I should say that Mr. Quellset has done the country more good than harm. He has found a new employment for men, women, and children. He pays better wages for box-making and all the other branches of his industries than they could earn in many ways. It is not yet proved that opium does more harm than alcohol; and, for my own part, I believe that all these good gifts of God, taken in moderation, are useful. And, besides, beggars must not be choosers, and it would be an insane thing to return a man’s money when we need it so much.’
“Nevertheless” [added the journal], “this Quixotic company of saints decided by a majority to return the cash, and pay its debts by the practice of its own self-denial and generosity.”
There were many quiet souls filled with piety and patriotism who thanked God and took courage when they heard this, for there was a leaven working in the real Christian society of the day which was destined eventually to bring about a marvellous change.
And this change, like almost everything else in England, had to do with politics.
CHAPTER IX.
IN THE AUTUMN.
Little Darentdale led the way.
The summer had not yet died into winter, nor had the leisure which comes into a country parish with the short days and long evenings left the thoughts of the people free. Nevertheless, some time and thought were given to an experiment which John Dallington, urged by Arthur Knight, had proposed should be tested in the village. The village was a small one, and it was almost wholly agricultural. There were about thirty persons who were employers of labour, and the rest were employed by them. Thirteen were looked up to as belonging to the moneyed classes, and of these, Mr. Whitwell—who lived out of the village, but had property in it—and John Dallington were the principal individuals. They employed on their farms the largest number of labourers, but besides these there were two smaller farmers, and several other persons who owned or rented a few acres of land, a gentleman who had retired from his business in London and had bought a good-sized house and garden, a lady of limited income, who kept one servant, and the general shopkeeper, who combined the businesses of chemist and druggist, draper, grocer, and coal dealer, all in one. There were, besides, two bakers, a blacksmith, a butcher, four publicans, and Henry Harris.