“Perhaps you are right,” said the doctor thoughtfully. “There may be a danger in the direction you point out. Certainly we men of science have, many of us, while valuing and respecting the Christian religion, been getting increasingly impatient of anything like religious dogmatism and exclusiveness.”
At this moment a servant came to say that Thomas Bradly wished to have a word with the vicar when he was disengaged. “Oh, ask him to come to me here in the garden,” said the vicar.—“You shall see one of my rough diamonds now,” he added smilingly to his friend; “indeed, I may call him my ‘Koh-i-noor,’ only he hasn’t been polished.—Thomas,” he continued to Bradly as he entered, “here’s an old friend of mine, Dr Prosser, a gentleman eminent in the scientific world, who has come down from London to see me, and to get a little experience of Crossbourne ways and manners. I tell him that he’ll find us rather a rough material.”
“I’m sure,” replied Thomas, “I’m heartily glad to see any friend of yours among us. He must take us as he finds us. Like other folks, we aren’t always right side out; but we generally mean what we say, and when we do say anything we commonly make it stand for summat.”
“Well now, Thomas,” continued Mr Maltby, “you’re a plain, practical man, and I think you could give us an opinion worth having on a subject we’ve been talking about.”
“I’m sure, sir, I don’t know how that may be,” was the reply; “but we working-people sometimes see things in a different light from what those above us does,—at least so far as our experience goes.”
“That’s just it, Thomas. It will interest Dr Prosser, I know, to hear how a theory about religion and truth, which is becoming very fashionable in our day, would suit yourself and the quick-witted and warm-hearted people you have daily to deal with.”
“Let me hear it, sir, and I’ll answer according to the best of my judgment.”
The vicar then repeated to Bradly the substance of the conversation between himself and the doctor on religious dogmatism and breadth of views.
“Ah, well,” cried Thomas laughing, “you’re almost too deep for me. But it comes into my mind what happened to me a good many years ago, when I were quite a young man. There were a nobleman in our parts,—I wasn’t living at Crossbourne then,—and his son came of age, and such a feast there was as I never saw afore or since, and I hope I never may again. Well, my father’s family had been in that country for many generations, and so they turned us into gentlefolks, me and my father, that day, and we sat down to dinner with the quality; and a grand dinner it was for certain. When it was all over, as I thought, and the parson had returned thanks, just as I were for getting up and going, they brings round some plates with great glass bowls in ’em, nearly full of water, something like what an old aunt of mine used to keep gold-fish in; and there was a knife and fork on each plate. Then the servants brings all sorts of fruits,—apples and pears, and peaches and grapes,—and sets ’em on the table. I was asked what I’d have, and I chose a great rosy-cheeked apple. And then I were going to bite a great piece out of it, but a gent as sat next me whispers, ‘Cut it, man; it’s more civil to cut it.’ So I takes up the knife, which had got a mother-o’-pearl handle to it, and tries to cut the apple, but I could only make a mark on it such as you see on a hot-cross-bun. Then I looked at the blade of the knife, and it were just like silver, but were as blunt as a broomstick. However, I tried again, but it wouldn’t cut; so I axes a tall chap in livery as stood behind my chair if they’d such a thing as a butcher’s steel in the house, for I wanted to put an edge to my knife. Eh, you should have seen that fellow grin! ‘No, sir,’ he says, ‘we ain’t got nothing of the sort.’ ‘Well, then,’ says I, ‘take this knife away,—there’s a good man!—for it’s too fine for me, and bring me a good steel knife with an edge as’ll cut.’—Now, if you’ll excuse my long story, gentlemen, it seems to me that the sort of religion you say is getting popular among the swell people and men of science in our country is uncommon like that fruit-knife as couldn’t suit me. It’s a deal too fine for common purposes, and common people, and common homes, and common hearts; it hasn’t got no edge—it won’t cut. We want a religion with a good usable edge to it, as’ll cut the cords of our sins and the knots of our troubles. Now, that’s just the religion of the Bible. It tells us what we’re to do for God and for our fellow-creatures; it tells us how we’re to do it, by showing us how the Lord Jesus Christ shed his blood to free us from the guilt and power of sin, and bought us grace by which we might walk in his steps; and it shows why we’re to do it,—just from love to him, because he first loved us in giving Jesus to die for us. I don’t see what use religion or the Bible would be to us if these things weren’t laid down for us clear and sharp; if p’raps they was true, and p’raps not; or true for me, but not true for my neighbour; or half true, and half false; or true for to-day, and not true for to-morrow.”
“Bravo!” said Dr Prosser, delighted, and clapping his hands. “I believe your rough workman’s hammer has hit the right nail on the head, and hit it hard too.”