"Piccadilly,June 20, 1865.
"Piccadilly,June 20, 1865.
"Gentlemen,—In announcing my intention not to solicit your suffrages at the approaching general election, I feel that it is due to you that I should state the reason why I do not again seek the high honour which you have upon two previous occasions conferred upon me, of representing you in Parliament. The prosperity of the country is now so great that I feel it has no further need of my services. In default of any great question of national importance, the rival political parties are reduced to the lamentable predicament of having nothing to fight for except office. As I have never taken the slightest interest in the fortunes of either party, except as embodying or representing the triumph of certain principles, the disappearance of those principles, and the difficulty of distinguishing by their expressed opinions between one party and the other, renders it quite impossible for me to follow the example of the candidates on both sides, and to stand upon—nothing! Gentlemen, I have no doubt that before very long something will turn up for me to stand upon. I will wait till then. Meantime, I feel that to profess any decided convictions upon matters either of home or foreign politics at this juncture would be considered in bad taste, if not impertinent, and I shall therefore reserve whatever I have to say for a future occasion, when the exigencies of the country may render it absolutely necessary that some individual in it should have an opinion."
There, I don't think I need say anything more. I meant to have written these Dunderheadians something that would have made them remember me after I was gone; but I am getting sleepy, and they would not have understood it. I will give £1000 to be applied to the wants of the municipality instead. "In conclusion," I went on, "I beg to offer a tribute to the only article of political faith in which you still believe, and to place £1000 at the disposal of the mayor and corporation, which, in addition to the money spent in the contest that my retirement will render inevitable, will, I trust, not only be of substantial service to the borough, but secure my re-election upon any future occasion.
"Frank Vanecourt."
"Frank Vanecourt."
Good-night, Dunderheadians. If in spite of this you send me a requisition to stand again, I will decline on a ground simple enough even for your comprehension—It is too hot!
It was no business of mine, after the explanation which I had had with Lady Ursula upon the subject of our rumoured engagement, to revert to the topic with any of her family. If Lady Broadhem was dissatisfied with the position of affairs, I supposed that I should hear of it quite soon enough; my only anxiety was about Ursula herself. I trembled for her domestic peace and comfort. Broadhem's few words about his sister's happiness under the altered circumstances were very significant, and I determined therefore to get her ladyship as much in my power as possible, by exercising to its utmost extent the right which I had wrung from her of a full control over her pecuniary affairs. If my wealth did not enable me to purchase my own happiness, it should at least enable me to secure the happiness of her whom I loved best in the world. I had never wavered in my resolution somehow or other to effect this great end, but my plans must of necessity undergo some change now that Lady Broadhem's eyes were opened to the real state of the case. I was much puzzled what to do about Grandon. Sometimes I felt a yearning to take him fully into my confidence and consult with him upon that delicate topic which touched us both so nearly; but though he was kind and considerate as ever, there was a constraint about our intercourse of which we were both painfully conscious. We avoided all allusion to the Broadhems, and he never called in Grosvenor Square, nor, so far as I know, had met Lady Ursula since the memorable dinner which had terminated so disagreeably for us all. Under the circumstances, I had also thought the wisest, and for many reasons the most proper, course for me was, to abstain from going there until I should hear from Lady Broadhem; and although I was anxious to consult her upon many business matters, I preferred letting them remain in abeyance to courting an interview which I dreaded. At last I began to think Lady Broadhem's silence rather ominous. I felt that a thunder-cloud had been gathering for some time past, and that the sooner it burst the better. I occasionally found myself walking past the door of the house, and wondering what was going on inside it. I felt that there would be something undignified about pumping Broadhem, and yet every time I met him I experienced an irresistible desire to do so.
At last one day he volunteered a remark, from which I gathered that he was as anxious for information as I was. "Have you seen my mother lately?" he began.
"Not for weeks."
"Do you know she is carrying on a lot of things just the same as ever?"
"I don't think that possible," I said; "she could do nothing without my knowledge."
"She is, though," said Broadhem; "I can't quite make out what is going on, because, you know, she never condescends to discuss her affairs with any of us; but I feel certain there is some new scheme afloat."
"Is she kind to your sister?" I asked.
"She is neither kind nor unkind: she is very little at home, and seems to have lost all interest in her own family. She wants us to believe that it is the heathen; but I must say that she never used to neglect her daughters for them, and always said, what so many good people forget, that the first duty of a Christian woman was to attend to her own family. I am getting very uneasy," said Broadhem, with a sigh; "I feel a presentiment that there is some sort of a crash coming; I wish you would go and see her."
"I did not intend going to her conversazione next week, but as she has sent me a card I suppose she wants to see me. I will come and hear my friend Joseph Caribbee Islands hold forth. By the way, I quite forgot I promised to ask Lady Broadhem for a card for Lady Wylde and her daughter; will you send one when you get home? You don't know Miss Wylde, do you?"
"Yes," said Broadhem, and he coloured and looked away; "I have just met her, and that is all. Did she ask you for the invitation?"
"What! you have met her, and she did not tell you the interest she takes in missions? I see you are half converted already. Take care, Broadhem; you are no great catch; but she does not, perhaps, exactly know that, and all is fish that comes to her net. Nevertheless, don't forget to send her the invitation;" and I saw the flush of gratified vanity mount to the brow of Broadhem, and no longer wondered why Wild Harrie had expressed a wish to make Lady Ursula's acquaintance. Poor Ursula! what Broadhem had said about his mother's change of manner decided me not to neglect the opportunity which presented itself of going to her "meeting," and coming to a distinct understanding with Lady Broadhem upon the present position of affairs. I had no doubt that that veteran campaigner had not been idle; and I was afraid, under the circumstances, that too much time had already been allowed her.
"Do you think Miss Wylde is going down to Ascot?" asked Broadhem, who had maintained an embarrassed silence during this interval.
"She went down yesterday with the Helters; she stays the week with them at their cottage," I replied.
"I have never been to Ascot," he said, awkwardly—"in fact I never saw a race in my life. I think a man, even though he does not approve of racing, ought to have seen it once—don't you?"
"Certainly," said I, "especially when you can see Wild Harrie at the same time."
"I say," said Broadhem, and he stopped short.
"Well?"
"I wish to goodness there was some way of going to Ascot without being seen. I suppose one is sure to come across a lot of men one knows."
"Not if you go and stay with the clergyman of the parish," I said.
"I don't know him. It is not for myself, but I don't think my mother would like my going."
"Then don't go."
"What an unsatisfactory fellow you are! I shall go and talk over the matter with Ursula—she always helps me out of my difficulties."
"What does she know about Ascot?" I asked.
"Oh, she does not know about Ascot, but somehow or other she always tells me what is the best thing to do about everything."
"I suppose, then, you tell her everything?"
"Almost," he said.
"Take my advice, and make a clean breast of it, my dear boy;" and I felt kindly towards him for the way he spoke about his sister. "Depend upon it, no half confidences do in such a case. Tell her that I shall come to you on Thursday of next week;" and I pressed his hand. I had never cared about him for his own sake, but my heart warmed towards him for hers.
Piccadilly,July 1.
Piccadilly,July 1.
I am now about to venture upon the very thinnest ice upon which fool ever rushed. The fact is, I am morally trembling like an aspen; but somebody must do it. I have put it off for five months, and tried to work up my courage by hammering away at the fashionable world, but they take it like lambs. Dear people, whatever their vices may be, they never resent criticism. Whether their consciences tell them they are superior to it, or whether they have not got consciences, I don't know, but, on the whole, the fashionable world is an easy, good-natured world; but oh, not so that other world, which is still essentially "the world," and very necessary to keep unspotted from, though it is thankful that it is not as that other world is, from which in its humility it takes care to distinguish itself by the self-applied epithet of "religious." It grieves me to think of the number of my friends whom I shall pain by presuming to touch upon this subject, to say nothing of the righteous indignation I shall call down from those whose function it has been to give, not take, reproof. The great art of the "worldly-holies"—not, I believe, deliberately practised, but insensibly acquired—is to confuse in the minds of the poor dear "wholly-worldlies" the sublime religion which they profess, with their mode of professing it. So they would have it to be understood that, when you find fault with their practices, you are reflecting upon that very religion, the precepts of which they seem to some utterly to ignore. The "religious world" is no more composed of exclusively good men and women than the Episcopalian Church is. I will even venture to go further, and say that the good men and women in it are a very small minority, judging only from the public performances of the "worldly-holies" in matters in which humility, sincerity, self-sacrifice, and toleration, are concerned. And if you want a proof of it, ask your friends in the religious world if they agree in what I say of it, and the very few you may find who do, will be that small minority of whom I speak.
I am perfectly ready to admit that I have no more right to preach to them than they have to preach to me. I only ask those among them who are sincere, to believe that I am actuated by the same desire to improve them that they are to do good to me. It is not merely in their own interest, but in the interest of their fellow-men, that I venture to write thus, and to point out to them that, if they "lived the life," instead of talking the talk, they might attract instead of repelling that other world which they condemn. It is not living the life to form a select and exclusive society, with its vanities and its excitements, and its scandals and its envyings and jealousies, which keeps itself aloof from the worldly world, on the ground that it professes and represents a religion of love. Those who sit in Moses' seat are not on that account examples of the "life;" on the contrary, "whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do; but do not ye after their works, for they say and do not."
Above all, do not confound the Pharisee with the religion, or suppose that an attack on the one in any way implies irreverence towards the other. This is a very important distinction to make, as I am about to describe a religious entertainment at Lady Broadhem's with the religion left out, which will draw down upon me much odium. There is, in fact, no stronger proof of the force and despotic power of the Phariseeism of the present day, than the unpopularity which one incurs by attempting to expose it. Christians, in the real sense of the term, were always told to expect persecution and now, as in old time, the quarter from which it comes is the religious world. It is a hard saying, and one which, unfortunately, nobody has yet been found worthy to prove; but whenever he comes into this city of London, who can embody in himself the life and live it, he will be repudiated by the "worldly holies."
"The Countess of Broadhem requests the pleasure of Lord Frank Vanecourt's company at a conversazione on Thursday the 22d, at nine o'clock.
"The Bishop of the Caribbee Islands will give some account of the mission-work in his diocese."
That was the form of the card; and at nine punctually I responded to the invitation which it contained.
For the benefit of those of my readers who have never been admitted within the sacred precincts of the religious world, I should tell them that there is nothing in their outward appearance to distinguish them from the other world. The old ladies come in, followed by trains of daughters, furbelowed and flounced by the same dressmakers who clothe worldly people; but there is a greater variety of men—the older ones are often snuffy, and look unwashed. They constantly wear thick boots, and their black waistcoats are not embroidered, and button higher up, which gives them a more staid appearance. They are generally pervaded by an air of complacency and calm superiority, and converse in measured unctuous accents, checkered by beaming smiles when they are not contradicted. The youths, on the other hand, present in most cases an intellectually weak aspect. They are quite as much addicted to flirting with the young ladies as if they belonged to the other world, but want that hardihood, not to say impertinence, which characterises the lavender-gloved tribe who are still heathens. The arrangement of the room is somewhat that of a private concert, only instead of a piano is a table, behind which are seated Joseph Caribbee Islands, Chundango, and several other lay and clerical performers. In the centre of this table is a vase, which Joseph hopes to see filled with subscriptions before the proceedings terminate. There is a suspicion, however, that things may not go off quite smoothly, as a lay member present, who does a good deal of amateur preaching, intends to take him to task about certain unsound views which we knew our friend Joseph entertains. I am sorry to say that some of the young gentlemen leaning in the doorway, where I stand, anticipate this encounter with apparent satisfaction. Among them is Broadhem, who has never once taken his eyes off Wild Harrie. That young lady is more plainly dressed than anybody else in the room. Her hair is neatly and modestly drawn back. She might have risked a larger chignon, but she had never been to an entertainment of this kind before, and did not know how they dressed; her eyes are only now and then furtively raised, and she takes a quick glance round the room, winding up with Broadhem; and a twitching at the corners of her mouth makes me envy Amy Rumsort, who will, no doubt, receive a most graphic and embellished report of the whole affair. There is a good deal of murmuring and rustling and getting into places, and a few hardy men manage to squeeze themselves next the crinoline of their especial desire, and then they go on whispering and tittering to each other, till Joseph says in a very loud tone—Ahem!
On which a general silence. It seems as impossible and incongruous for me to write here what now takes place, as it did at the time to take part in it. It requires no stretch of imagination on the part of my readers to divine what movement it was which caused the next general rustle. Remember that a great proportion of these young ladies were brought here by their mammas, and in their secret souls would have rather been at a ball; but their mammas disapproved of balls, and made them do this instead. Now, tell me, which was most wrong? I knew of one young lady, at least, whose object in coming was not to do what she was then doing. How many young men would have been there had there been no young ladies? and what were they all thinking about now? And as I looked at the subscription-vase, and listened to the monotonous voice of a "dear Christian friend" behind it, who had been called upon to open the proceedings, I thought, Can it be possible that these are those of whom it is said, "they devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make long prayer"? Can it be possible to put anything into that vase without the right hand knowing what the left hand is doing, and all the people seeing both hands? Is not "the trumpet" even now being "sounded" by "the hypocrites" that they may have "glory of men"? Is there, in fact, any difference, practically, between kneeling in Lady Broadhem's drawing-room, by way of an after-dinner entertainment, and loving "to pray standing in the synagogues, and in the corners of the streets, that you may be seen of men"? Is there any part of a clergyman's dress called a phylactery; and if so, when he becomes a bishop, does the hem of it become broader? and if it was wrong for a priest in Jerusalem, eighteen hundred years ago, to be called "Rabbi, Rabbi," is it less wrong for one in London now to be called "My lord, My lord"?
I was thinking how much more usefully Bishop Colenso would have been employed in pointing out those anomalies in the practice of his religion, instead of the discrepancies in its records, and what a much stronger case the Zulu might have made out against Christians if he had known as much of the countries which they inhabit as I do, when the rustling again became general, and the monotonous voice ceased.
"Dear Christian friends," began Joseph—and here I may remark that this epithet is only applied by the worldly-holies to one another—one of the chief characteristics of those who belong to the religious world being constantly to talk as though they were a privileged few, a chosen flock, and as though that new commandment, "that ye love one another," was applicable only as among themselves, and consisted chiefly in addressing one another in affectionate and complimentary terms. Even these they withhold, not merely from the wholly-worldlies, but from those who differ from them upon all points of doctrine which they assume to be vital. Hence, by constantly toadying and flattering each other, they insensibly foster that description of pride which apes humility, and acquire that air of subdued arrogance which is so displeasing to society at large. So when Joseph said, "Dear Christian friends," there was clearly written on the self-satisfied faces of most of the audience, "that is the least you can say of us," or words to that effect.
Now let me in a little more detail tell who some of these friends were. The religious world in London being a very large and well-to-do world, they want religious lawyers, and religious bankers, and religious doctors; they like to get their wine from somebody who holds sound views, but I think they cease to be so particular about the principles of those from whom they get their bonnets.
However that may be about trades, the demand is immediately met in all the professions, and young men starting in life with a "connection" in the religious world must belong to it if they wish to succeed. This is another anomaly. In former times it involved stripes, persecution, poverty, and contumely to be a "Christian," but a "dear Christian friend" of the present day need be afraid of none of these things. He would never be called mad for making a profession of the views of the early Christians; but he would if, with a good religious opening in a professional point of view, he declined to take advantage of it. Then look what society it gets you into—you become a sort of brother; and, I am sorry to say, I know several young men who saw no chance of getting into the fashionable world, and who took to the other as a good introduction. In fact there was one standing in the doorway with me, the son of a solicitor I knew at Dunderhead, who was in the office of his uncle, who was Lady Broadhem's solicitor. Do you think either he or his uncle were sincere, or that he would have ever had the slightest chance of paying attention to Lady Bridget, which he positively had the presumption to do, if he had not enrolled himself in the band of "dear Christian friends"? He is a very good hand at the doctrine of love when the people to be loved are the aristocracy. He has just invited me on the part of his uncle to a conversazione, at which will be exhibited a converted Aztec, and at which that Christian solicitor, whose wife is a fat woman fanning herself in the front row, will positively induce the great majority of those now here, including a fair sprinkling of persons with titles, to be present.
Now far be it from me to imply that there are not earnest, sincere, and to some extent self-sacrificing, professors of the Christian religion, who I know will persist in mistaking me, and imagine that by writing this I bring the religion itself into contempt. I say again that those who bring it into the most contempt are those who profess it most, and that it is to counteract their prejudicial influence upon society that I venture to incur their animosity.
I shall not report Joseph's speech at length, still less attempt to follow Chundango in his unctuous remarks, in the course of which he lavished flattery upon his audience to an extent even beyond what they could bear; they swallowed it, however, with tea and ices, which were handed round, but I got so worked up at last by a smooth-faced man who was describing what he had gone through for the sake of the heathen, while he was living luxuriously in one of the most charming little mission establishments which I have ever visited, that I made the following remarks:—
"Ladies and Gentlemen,—When I came here this evening nothing was farther from my purpose than to address you. I cannot allow, however, the remarks of the Bishop of the Caribbee Islands, of Mr Chundango, or of the Rev. Mr Beevy, to pass unnoticed.
"The Bishop of the Caribbee Islands, in the course of the very graphic account which he has given you of the progress of conversion in his diocese, and of the number of interesting and instructive deathbeds which he has witnessed, has entered into a calculation by which it would appear that the average cost of the conversion of a human soul in those islands is a little over £6. Ladies, you pretend to believe that, but you don't. It would be impossible for you to sit there with strings of lost human souls round your necks, and what would keep an infant school in each ear, if you really believed that you could save a soul for £6. You come here and listen to gentlemen who give you an account of the sacrifices they make for the heathen, and of results which do not look so well on the spot as on paper; and because you throw a pound into that vase in the presence of the company, you think that you have done something for them too. 'They may give up all,' you say, 'but we can't afford to save more than two or three souls per annum.'
"Ladies and gentlemen, as far as my experience goes, you neither of you as a rule give up anything for the heathen. I cannot, therefore, share in your wonder at the barren results of your missionary efforts. The Tabernacle Missionary Society, for instance, offers to a young man of the lower middles" (Mr Beevy's father was a butcher, so I did not like to enter more fully into this part of the subject) "the opportunity of becoming a reverend and a gentleman, and thus advancing a step in society. It gives him £300 a-year to begin with, £80 a-year more with his wife, £20 a-year with his first child, and £10 a-year with each succeeding olive-branch. It educates these free of expense at Holloway, and it pays an indefinite number of passages between England and the 'mission-field,' according as the health of the family requires it; and permit me to say that, if to receive between £400 and £500 a-year in a tolerable climate, with a comfortable house rent-free, and the prospect of a pension at the end, is to give up all for the heathen, I have myself made the experiment without personal discomfort. Perhaps I speak with a certain feeling of bitterness on this subject, for I cannot forget that upon one occasion while residing among the heathen, a gentleman who is now present, and who had sacrificed his all for them, outbid me for a horse at an auction after I had run him up to sixty guineas. With such a magnificent institution as this for supplying 'purse' and 'scrip,' and for 'taking thought for the morrow' in the way of pensions, &c., tell me honestly whether you think you deserve real, not nominal conversions? You have instituted a sort of 'civil service,' with which 'you compass sea and land to make one proselyte.' You go to him with a number of bibles, Armstrong guns, drunken sailors, and unscrupulous traders, a combination which goes to make up what you call 'civilisation,' and you wonder that your converts are actuated by the same motive which my own Hindoo servant once told me induced him to leave his own religion, in which he could not venture to get drunk, and become a Christian.
"Do you think it is the fault of the religion that you don't make converts, or the fault of the system under which it is propagated? If you gave up 'the enticing words of man's wisdom,' and tried a little of 'the demonstration of the spirit and of power,' don't you think the result would be different? If you are only illumined by 'a dim religious light' yourselves, how do you expect to dissipate the gross darkness of paganism? You have only got an imitation blaze that warms nobody at home, and you wonder when you take it abroad that it leaves everybody as cold and as dead as it finds them.
"My dear Christian friends, in the face of the living contradiction which we all present in our conduct to the religion we profess, our missionaries can only convince the heathen of the truth of Christianity by living the life upon which that religion is based, by means of which it can alone be powerful, and which is only now not lived by Christians, because, as was prophesied, there is no 'faith on the earth.' I have spoken to you faithfully, even harshly, but, believe me, I have done so in a spirit of love. If you can take it in the same spirit, I shall feel I have done you a great injustice."
I was so excited while delivering myself of these observations that I was quite unconscious of the effect I was producing. I remember there was a deathlike silence, and that when I sat down the gentlemen behind the table looked flushed and agitated. Mr Beevy first rose to reply to observations which, he said, reflected upon him personally, no less than upon the society to which he was proud to say he belonged. He then explained the circumstances under which he had been induced to give £65 for the horse; and retaliated upon me in language which I will spare my readers now, as they will see it in the 'Discord,' when that organ of the "worldly-holies" does me the honour to review this veracious history. The religious world has a more choice catalogue of epithets for their enemies than any other section of the community. I need not therefore suggest "ribald" as appropriate to the present occasion. It was the term applied to me by the amateur lay-preacher after Mr Beevy sat down. Finally, the proceedings terminated in some confusion; before they did, however, I rose again to point out how completely the conduct of those present had proved my case—either the faults to which I alluded existed, and there was nothing more to be said; or I had buffeted them without cause, and they hadnot"taken it patiently," a course of conduct quite inexcusable in a meeting composed exclusively of dear Christian friends. If there is a thing I yearn for, it is the love of my fellow-men. By making the "worldly-holies" consider me an enemy, I ought to secure an unusual share of their affection. Remember, now, if you abuse me for this, it is unchristian; if you leave me alone, you will be treating me "with the contempt I deserve," and that is unchristian too; the right thing for you to do is to take the charitable view, to admit that my motives may be good, even if the means employed are injudicious. When I am abruptly asked in an omnibus, by an entire stranger, who may happen to belong to the "straitest sect," the most solemn question which one man can put to another, I do not resent it. I believe he is sincerely trying to "awaken me" with a "word in season." I question the taste, but I respect the motive. Do the same to me, dear friends. We are all bad, and I am far worse than any of you; but still I may show how bad the best of us are. By living in a fool's paradise here, we shall not qualify ourselves for the other one to come. Depend upon it, we are all a great deal too comfortable to be safe.
"Lord Frank," said Lady Broadhem while Joseph was emptying the vase and pocketing the contents, and the rest of the world was beginning to circulate, "had I known that your object in coming here this evening was to insult my guests, I certainly should not have asked you."
"You do me an injustice, Lady Broadhem," I said. "Nothing was further from my purpose when I came here this evening than to have said anything. I supposed by your sending me the card that you wanted to see me, and came; but my conscience would not allow me to remain silent under the circumstances."
"Nothing can justify such conduct," said her ladyship, more angry than I had ever seen her. "I cannot say how truly grateful I am that it is all at an end between you and Ursula;" and Lady Broadhem shuddered at the idea of having exhibited myself as I had done, if I had been her son-in-law.
"It was to show you what an escape you had made, and reconcile you to the disappointment, that I expressed my sentiments so strongly," I said maliciously. All my better nature seemed to leave me as I found myself involved in a fresh encounter with this woman, who certainly possesses the art of raising my devil beyond any one I ever met.
"I can't talk to you now," said Lady Broadhem, who did not wish to be too manifestly discovered without her Christian spirit, though there was not much of it left in anybody in the room. "I see Mr Beevy coming this way, and to avoid any unpleasantness you had better not stay any longer just now. Come to-morrow at twelve;" and she intercepted the missionary as he was advancing towards me with a somewhat truculent air. All this time I had seen, but not had an opportunity of exchanging a word with Ursula, who occupied an obscure corner, and seemed anxious to attract as little notice as possible. I made my way to her now. She looked careworn and nervous.
"I am afraid your remarks do not seem to have given satisfaction, Lord Frank," she said; "and if I may venture to say so, I think you might have said what you did in language less calculated to give offence. I quite agreed with you in the main, but do you think you will do good by thrusting truths home with little ceremony?"
"I caught the habit from the class I was attacking, I suppose. They seldom realise the harm they do by their disagreeable mode of inculcating precepts they don't practise, and they never get preached to, though they listen to sermons twice every Sunday."
"But don't you think you fairly lay yourself open to the charge of presumption in thus taking to task men who have made theology their study, and in condemning a whole set of people, who, if they occasionally are indiscreet, are most of them sincere, and certainly do a great deal of good? Are you sure your own religious opinions are sufficiently formed to warrant you in commenting so strongly on the views of others?"
"I don't comment on their views, but on their conduct. While we are not to judge others, we are also told that by their fruits we shall know them. It does not require a profound knowledge of the dogmas of a creed to perceive the effect it has upon those who profess it. Fortunately I have thought for myself, and have come at last firmly to believe in the religion, but I should never have done so had I continued to judge of it by its professors."
"Then you think the form in which Christianity is professed and practised prejudices the cause of true religion?" said Lady Ursula.
"I have not a doubt of it. Our friends here 'bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men's shoulders, but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.' If you will substitute charitable bazaars for races, oratorios for operas, conversaziones like this for balls, and otherwise conform to the 'letter' which they have established, they accept you as a brother, but there is very little difference in the 'spirit' which pervades the so-called religious, and that which pervades the worldly excitements. The 'mint, anise, and cummin' are there; but the 'judgment' is perverted, the 'mercy' limited, and the 'faith' barren. However, we are getting into rather too theological a discussion, and Broadhem looks as if he was anxious to interrupt us."
"I think he is quite happy where he is," replied Lady Ursula. "You know Miss Wylde, whom he got mamma to ask here to-night, don't you?"
"A little. By the way, did he go down to Ascot after all, and did he tell you the especial motive he had in view?"
"Yes, I recommended him to go, as I think he is too much accustomed to walk in the groove in which he has always found himself, and as I do not see much difference, in a matter of that kind, between wanting to go and going. He came back thoroughly dissatisfied, having failed to do more than exchange a few words with Miss Wylde, by whom he seems quite infatuated. Can you tell me something about her?"
I gave Ursula an account of Wild Harrie, based on Spiffy's information, not very flattering, I am afraid, to that young lady, and wound up with something about putting Broadhem on his guard.
"I don't quite agree with you there," she replied; "opposition will not improve matters in his case, and you must forgive me for not taking the unfavourable view of Miss Wylde's character that you have given me. I really think Broadhem has, for the first time in his life, fallen in love, and the best way to take care of him will be to know intimately the lady of his choice, so I shall interrupt theirtête-à-têtewith the view of cultivating Miss Wylde."
"But what will Lady Broadhem say to such an alliance? Miss Wylde has not got a farthing."
"I don't think he need anticipate any opposition from mamma,—at all events not just now," said Lady Ursula, with a sigh, and I knew there was a secret grief which she could not tell hidden in her words. "I am so glad that Broadhem is above the consideration of money, and has really allowed himself to be carried away by his feelings, that I feel quite grateful to Miss Wylde, and inclined to love her already."
"I think they are going to commence operations of some sort again," I said, as I saw the enemies I love, but who don't return the affection, ranging themselves behind the table; "part two is about to begin, so I shall make my escape. Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow; I am coming to call on Lady Broadhem," and I left Lady Ursula, and had to squeeze past Broadhem and Wild Harrie. "You seem interested," I said to the latter, "as you are going to stay."
"I suppose you don't intend to show any more sport, Lord Frank, as you are going, so the best of the fun is over. I was just telling Lord Broadhem how I enjoyed that brilliant burst of yours; it was worth anything to watch the expressions on the countenances of all our friends here who have 'given up the world,' and who thought they were having it all their own way till you got up. I want Lord Broadhem to follow your lead, but it seems he considers himself 'a dear Christian friend.' We must break him of that, mustn't we? It is a very bad 'form.' I suppose you don't know what that expression means," Wild Harrie went on, her eyes dancing with mischief as she turned to Broadhem.
The struggles which that young gentleman's conscience was having with his affections were manifestly portrayed on his countenance, and Wild Harrie evidently was amusing herself by shocking his feelings. I must do her the justice to say that I don't think she could play the hypocrite if she tried; and I began to hope, as I looked at her frank reckless face, that her sins were more on the surface than in the heart. "I suppose you mean a form of worship," said Broadhem; "I wish you would not talk in this way. Whenever I try to have a little serious conversation with you, you turn it off with a joke. I must say," he added, sententiously, "that the style of young ladies' conversation in the present day is open to great improvement."
"I tell you what, Lord Broadhem," she retorted, "we will put each other through a course of training; you shall improve my conversation and 'style of going' generally, while I try to bring you into a little harder condition than you are at present. You have no idea of his innocence, Lord Frank, considering that he is a rising statesman upon whom the hopes of the Liberal party are fixed. I asked him just now, apropos of the speech he threatens us with, 'if he felt fit,' and he blushed to that degree that I felt quite shy. There was no harm in my saying that, was there?"
"None that I know of," said I; "but we are attracting general attention by talking so loud. Good-bye, Miss Wylde. I am afraid I must disturb you, Broadhem; your sister can't hear where she is, and wants your place;" and I walked off the young gentleman, to Wild Harrie's disgust, and saw with satisfaction that Lady Ursula took his vacated seat.
"What a curious thing it is," said Broadhem, "that I should find in Miss Wylde something which is to me so attractive! I daresay you think it odd my taking you so much into my confidence; but, except Ursula, I have no one to whom I can speak openly, and it is such a relief sometimes."
"On these occasions specially," said I.
"Do you know, I think that if I had her all to myself I could cure her faults, for I am quite alive to them. Don't you think there is something very fresh and natural about her?"
"Fresh, certainly, in what she would call the 'skittish' sense. As for the natural part of it, I should require to know her better before giving my opinion."
"You know," he went on, "she is the last person in the world with whom I imagined it possible I could have been in love: she says the most dreadful things sometimes—and I am afraid they amuse me more than they should; there is no doubt about her being immensely clever, but she is quite taken up with the world as yet."
"Not more than you are, my dear Broadhem; come and walk home with me: you will be back in time to put the Wyldes into their carriage, and I want to speak to you." I led him unresistingly to his coat and hat in the hall, and braved the stern gaze of a butler who apparently dressed after Mr Beevy, and who, when I arrived, had smiled blandly upon me as being 'one of us,' for all the servants in Lady Broadhem's establishment were guaranteed converted. "No servants, whose principles are not strictly Evangelical, and who are unable to produce unexceptionable testimony as to their personal piety, need apply"—that was the form of the advertisement, and the consequence was, that every menial in the house had brought a certificate of his or her entire change of heart from their last place. Lady Broadhem was also very particular about the theological views of the family they had just left.
The butler frowned severely upon me now, for he had been standing in the doorway with the curaçoa when I was addressing the meeting, no doubt sympathising keenly with Mr Beevy (I found out afterwards that Lady Broadhem was educating his son for the "work"), and said to Broadhem, "Does her ladyship know you are going away, my lord?"
"No," said Broadhem, with some hesitation; "I don't think she does. I am coming back again soon."
"I think, my lord, I shall have to let her ladyship know—perhaps your lordship will wait. James, mind the door." This meant that James was not to open it.
"Stop, my friend," I said; "your conscience tells you that you should not be a party to this irregularity on the part of his lordship,—is not that so?" I asked.
"Yes, my lord," said the butler, rigidly.
"I will accompany you to Lady Broadhem, then, to explain the circumstances. Be good enough to follow me," and I led the way up-stairs.
Now it so happens that I have a remarkable faculty of remembering faces, and I had been conscious for some weeks past of being familiar with the particularly ill-favoured countenance of Lady Broadhem's butler; but it was not until now that the circumstances under which I had first seen it flashed upon me. Not many years have elapsed since I achieved considerable renown in Australia as an amateur hunter of bushrangers. The sport exhilarated me, combining, as it did, an exciting physical with a wholesome moral exercise. I now remembered distinctly having caught Lady Broadhem's butler with a lasso. Indeed I had good reason not to forget it, for a shot he fired at me at the moment killed my favourite horse. That he should have failed to recognise in Lord Frank Vanecourt the notorious Mr Francis who had been the means of capturing not only himself, but a good many of his fraternity, was not wonderful. The discovery tickled me, and restored my good temper, which had been slightly ruffled.
"What a delightful change you must find it to be in the society of all these good people after having passed so many years in the bush!" I said, and my tone of anger suddenly became one of easy familiarity, as I turned sharply upon him, and, leaning against the banisters, benevolently scanned his distorted physiognomy. The play of his facial muscles, and changes of hue, interested me, so I continued—"But I will venture to say that you have never since paid such attention to any sermon as you did to mine that Sunday morning when I had you and your seven friends strapped to eight trees in a semicircle, and concluded my remarks, you may remember, with a few strokes of 'practical application.' I should like to hear the story of your escape from prison."
"Oh, my lord," he groaned, and his teeth chattered and his knees trembled, "I'm a reformed character—I am indeed. Perhaps if your lordship would kindly please to walk this way," and he opened a side door off the landing. "Knowing your lordship's generosity, and your lordship's interest in the family, and my own unworthiness, your lordship wouldn't be too hard upon a poor man whose repentance is genuine, and I could tell your lordship something of the very highest importance to her ladyship, and to Lady Ursula, and to your lordship, and to the whole family."
I knew the man to be a clever scoundrel, and saw that he evidently had some information which might prove of value. A mystery did exist—of that I had had abundant evidence. Was I justified in refusing to find the key?—besides, if this man really possessed some secret, could it be in more dangerous hands? This last consideration decided me, and I followed the returned convict to a little sanctum of his own, which opened off the pantry, from which I emerged five minutes later a wiser if not a better man.
"What a time you have been!" said Broadhem. "I suppose you have been arguing the point with my mother?"
"No, I left that to Drippings here." I did not know his name, but my spirits were high, and I gave him the first my imagination suggested. "You have no idea what a treasure your mother has got in this man. I assure you there is no knowing what you may not owe to the influence for good of one devoted Christian servant of this kind—the proof of it is, as you see, that Lady Broadhem is perfectly willing that you should do what you like for the rest of the evening. Good-night, Drippings," and I passed the bewildered James, who evidently thought that both I and the terrified-looking butler had gone suddenly mad.
"Broadhem," said I, "I have hit upon an entirely new and original idea. I am thinking of trying it myself, and I want you to try it too."
"Well," said Broadhem, "I am never surprised at anything you say or do; what is it?"
"It has been suggested to me by what I have seen at your mother's this evening—and you may depend upon it there is a great deal to be said in its favour; it is an odd thing it has not occurred to anybody before, but that leaves all the better opening for you and me."
"Go on," said Broadhem, whose curiosity was getting excited.
"Don't be in a hurry; it is possible you may not like the idea when you hear it, and under no circumstances must you tell it to anybody."
"All right," said Broadhem, "but I hope it has nothing to do with companies—I hate dabbling in companies. I believe one does more harm to one's name by making it common than one gets good through the money one pockets."
"Well, there is more truth than elegance of expression in that remark: it needs not have to do with companies unless you like."
"Now, if it has anything to do with politics, I am your man."
"You would make a greatcoupin politics with it; it is especially adapted for politics, and has never been tried."
"You don't say so," said Broadhem, delighted; "don't go on making one guess as if it was a game. Has it anything to do with the suffrage?"
"It has to do with everything," I said; "I don't think I can do it myself; I made a lamentable failure just now by way of a start," and I paused suddenly—"Who am I," I thought, "that I should venture to preach? What act have I done in life which should give weight to my words?" but the fervour was on me, and I could no more check the burning thoughts than the trumpet can control the sound it emits.
"Well," he said impatiently.
"LIVE THE LIFE."
"I don't understand you," said Broadhem.
"If you did," I said, "do you suppose I should feel my whole nature yearning as it is? What better proof could I desire that the life has yet to be lived than that you don't understand me? Supposing, now, that you and I actually put into practice what all these friends of your mother profess, and, instead of judging people who go to plays, or play croquet on Sunday, or dance, we tried to live theinnerlife ourselves. Supposing, in your case, that your own interest never entered your head in any one thing you undertook; supposing you actually felt that you had nothing in common with the people around you, and belonged neither to the world of publicans and sinners, nor to the world of scribes and Pharisees, but were working on a different plane, in which self was altogether ignored—that you gave up attempting to steer your own craft any longer, but put the helm into other hands, and could complacently watch her drive straight on to the breakers, and make a deliberate shipwreck of every ambition in life,—don't you think you would create rather a sensation in the political world? Supposing you could arrive at the point of being as indifferent to the approval as to the censure of your fellow-men, of caring as little for the highest honours which are in their power to bestow now, as for the fame which posterity might award to you hereafter; supposing that wealth and power appeared equally contemptible to you for their own sakes, and that you had no desire connected with this earth except to be used while upon it for divine ends, and that all the while that this motive was actuating you, you were striving and working and toiling in the midst of this busy world, doing exactly what every man round you was doing, but doing it all from a different motive,—it would be curious to see where you would land—how you would be abused and misunderstood, and what a perplexity you would create in the minds of your friends, who would never know whether you were a profound intriguer or a shallow fool. How much you would have to suffer, but what a balance there would be to the credit side! For instance, as you could never be disappointed, you would be the only free man among slaves. There is not a man or woman of the present day who is not in chains, either to the religious world or the other, or to family or friends, and always to self. Now, if we could get rid of the bonds of self first, we could snap the other fetters like packthread. What a grand sensation it would be to expand one's chest and take in a full, free, pure breath, and uplift the hands heavenward that have been pinioned to our sides, and feel the feeble knees strong and capable of enabling us to climb upwards! With the sense of perfect liberty we should lose the sense of fear, no man could make us ashamed, and the waves of public opinion would dash themselves in vain against the rock upon which we should then be established. The nations of the earth are beating the air for freedom, and inventing breech-loaders wherewith to conquer it, and they know not that the battlefield is self, and the weapons for the fight not of fleshly make. Have you ever been in an asylum for idiots, Broadhem?" I asked, abruptly.
"No," he said, timidly.
"Then you are in one now. Look at them; there is the group to which you belong playing at politics. Look at the imbecile smile of gratified vanity with which they receive the applause that follows a successful hit. That poor little boy has just knocked a political tobacco-pipe out of Aunt Sally's mouth, and he imagines himself covered with a lasting glory. There is another going to try a jump: he makes a tremendous effort before he gets to the stick, but balks, and carries it off in his hand with a grin of triumph. Look, there is a man with a crotchet; he keeps on perpetually scratching his left ear and his right palm alternately, and then touching the ground with the tips of his fingers. He never varies the process. Look at the gluttons who would do nothing but eat if they were allowed, like men who have just got into office, and see how spiteful they are, and what faces they make at each other, and how terribly afraid they are of their masters, and how they cringe for their favour, and how naughty they are when their backs are turned. Look, again, at these groups drawing, and carpentering, and gardening, imagining that they are producing results that are permanently to benefit mankind; but they are drawing with sticks, and carpentering with sham tools, and planting stones. And see, there is a fire-balloon going up; how delighted they all are, and how they clap their hands as the gaudy piece of tissue-paper inflated with foul gas sails over their heads. Is there one of the noisy crowd that knows what its end will be or that thinks of to-morrow? Is there one of them, I wonder, that suspects he is an idiot? If you find out, Broadhem, that you are not one of them, they will call you an idiot—be prepared for that. The life of a sound and sane man in such company cannot be pleasant. Every act of it must be an enigma to those around him. If he is afraid of them, they will turn and rend him; if he is fearless, they will hate him, because 'he testifies of the evil.' His life will be a martyrdom, but his spirit will be free, his senses new-born; and think you he would exchange the trials and labours which his sanity must entail upon him for the drivelling pleasures which he has lost? Tell me, Broadhem, what you think of my idea?"
"It is not altogether new to me, though I did not exactly understand what you meant at first," said Broadhem, who spoke with more feeling than I gave him credit for possessing. "I have never heard it put in such strong language before, but I have seen Ursula practise it, and I was wondering all the time you were talking whether you did."
"I never have yet," I said. "I began by telling you that the idea only occurred to me lately in its new form. I had often thought of it as a speculation. I began by assuming that purely disinterested honesty might pay, because an original idea well applied generally succeeds; but when I came to work the thing out, I found that there was a practical difficulty in the way, and that you could not be unselfish from a selfish motive a bit more than you could look like a sane man while you were really still an idiot. And so the fact is, I have talked the notion out to you as it has been suggested to me, though Drippings nearly drove it out of my head. I think the reason I felt impelled to do so was, that had it not been for your sister I should never have thought upon such subjects as I do now. I know her love for you, and the value of her influence over you. Even now she is devoting herself to guarding your interests in the most important step of a man's life, and I seem instinctively to feel how I can best please her. Don't you think she agrees in what I have said to-night, and would approve of the conversation we have had?"
"Yes," said Broadhem. "Do you know you are quite a different sort of fellow from what I imagined. I always thought that you did not believe in anything."
"That was because I lived exactly like my neighbours, without adding to my daily life the sin of professing belief in a religion to which it was diametrically opposed. Most of the sceptics of the present day are driven to their opinions by their consciences, which revolt against the current hypocrisy and glaring inconsistencies that characterise the profession of the popular theology. As a class I have found them honester, and in every way better men than modern Christians."
"Do you know why?"
"No," said Broadhem.
"Because modern Christians don't really believe much more than sceptics—a man's life is the result of his internal, not his external belief. There can be no life separate from internal belief, and the lives of men are imperfect because their belief is external. The right thing believed the right way must inevitably produce the perfect life. Either, then, the civilised world believes the wrong thing, or it believes the right thing the wrong way. In other words, faith and charity are inseparable, and when one is perfect the other is too. That is what I mean by 'living the life.'"
"According to that, you would make out that nobody rightly believes the Christian religion who is not perfect; that, you know, is ridiculous," said Broadhem.
"That is, nevertheless, exactly what I do mean. To know the doctrine, it is necessary to do the will. Christians of the present day adopt certain theological dogmas intellectually and call them their religious belief. This has a superficial and varying influence upon their lives, for it consists merely of opinions which are liable to change. The only kind of faith which is inseparable from life is a divine conviction of truth imparted to the intellect through the heart, and which becomes as absolute to the internal conscience as one's existence, and as impossible of proof. It may be added to, but what has once been thus accepted can never be changed. Such a faith cannot be selfish, for it has been derived from the affections, hence the life must be charitable. But the modern Christian belief, received by an effort of pure reason directly through the intellect, is not a divine intuition, which, if embodied, would result in a perfect life and a united Church, but a theological problem which professors of religion, unlike professors of mathematics, are at liberty to solve for their own benefit, according to their own taste, and to quarrel about incessantly, thereby giving occasion to the thoughtless to scoff, and to the thoughtful to reject all revelation as 'foolishness'—since it is incapable of demonstration by the Baconian method,—the only one known to these 'wise and prudent' philosophers, but one by which, fortunately for them, 'babes' are not expected to prove their relationship before believing in their mothers."
"Then," said Broadhem, "you actually mean to say that the whole of Christendom is wanting in this faith?"
"I fear that almost universally they mistake a bare belief for faith. Their theology thus becomes anactof memory instead of a rule of life, and Christianity is reduced to a superstition. The only way of distinguishing superstition from true religion is by an examination of results. But where are the fruits of modern Christianity? If it be absolutely true, and all-sufficient for purposes of regeneration, how am I to account for the singular fact that there is as much wickedness in London in the year 1865A.D., as there was in Jerusalem in the year 1B.C.? If the object of the last revelation was to take the place of the one before it, and to reform the world, why are the best modern Christians of my acquaintance no holier than the best modern Jews whom I have the honour to know?"
"But the object of the last revelation was not to reform the world, but to save it," he replied.
"Thanks, Broadhem, for having put in rather too epigrammatic a form, perhaps, to please those who believe it, the most diabolical sophism that was ever invented to beguile a Church—the doctrine that men can be saved by opinion without practice: that a man's practice may be bad, and yet because his faith is good his salvation is sure—that he can, by such a miserable philosophy as would disgrace the justice of the earth, escape the just sentence to be passed upon all his deeds. The results of so fatal a dogma must be a Church that tends to atheism, and that loves corruption. There is in every heart a something that speaks against this, and speaks with a burning language that sweeps the invisible chords of the inmost consciousness, and awakens a torrent of indignant denial of the shallow sophistry that a man can be saved if his thoughts and life are bad. If he cherish self-love, and the love of ruling others, though he intrench the intellect in the midst of all creeds, and span the reason with all faiths, making a sacred public profession before all men, he but adds to the heinousness of his crime, and makes more terrible the fast-coming and final judgment."
Broadhem stopped suddenly in the street as I finished in a somewhat excited tone, and gasped rather than spoke, "Frank, you literally astound me. I could never have believed it possible you would have come out in that line. Are those your own ideas or another's?"
"Another's," I replied, coolly. "I believe they are rather unsound, but I commend them to your notice, because, if they are not correct, Christianity will soon cease to exist, even in name; but if they are, then it contains within it a regenerating power hitherto undeveloped, whereby the world may be absolutely reformed. I will venture to assert that Christian nations will make no moral progress so long as they continue to cherish the pagan superstition that religion consists in trying to save themselves by virtue of a creed, instead of in trying to save others by the virtues of a life."
"But that's works," said Broadhem.
"Yes," I repeated, "that's works, but of a kind only possible when accompanied by intuitive living faith, which I have just endeavoured to describe. There is a promise that 'greater works than these shall they do' who 'believe.' Why, I want to know, have these 'works,' greater than any that were then accomplished, and which would reform the world, never been attempted? Because people don't believe in the tremendous power of disinterestedness, and they can't face the severe training which the perfection of self-sacrifice involves. So one set of 'worldly-holies' regard all personal discipline as a tempting snare to be avoided, and entertain a great horror of what they conceitedly term 'their own merits.' This very superfluous sentiment, combined with a selfish belief in certain doctrinals (of which they usually do make a merit), is enough, they imagine—the 'works' will follow; and so they do, and take the form we have just seen in your mother's drawing-room. Another set delight in a mild æsthetic sort of training, to be performed in a particular costume, according to the obsolete ceremonial rules of a Church 'which is divided against itself,' and their works take the fatuous form of ecclesiastical high art. Others, again, go to a still further extreme, and consider discipline not the means but the end. Hence they go through their drill in seclusion, exclusively for their own benefit, and their works take the form of scourgings and horse-hair shirts, and other mortifications of the flesh, which do no good to themselves nor to anybody else. And then, in strong contrast, are those who train enough in all conscience with 'gloves,' single-stick, sculls, and all suchlike appliances, and whose works take the form of tubbing, volunteering, and a general jovial philanthropy. I am not sure that they are not the most hopeful set after all; they believe in severe muscular training as necessary to produce great physical results. Get them to accept, the possibility of the world's regeneration by a divinely-directed effort of heroic spiritual discipline on the part of its inhabitants, and you might convert them from 'physical' into 'moral force' Christians. They understand the efficacy of 'a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull all together;' and they might be shown that the real place for a 'biceps' is the will, not the arms; and instead of a body 'as hard as nails,' the chief aim of one's life should be to bring one's spirit to that condition—'hard,' be it understood, in the sense of being impervious to the influences which weaken and demoralise it—hard in its resistance to the tyranny of society, to the claims of family or friends, and to the force of 'natural' ties, where any of these things interfere with the 'spiritual' training. It is only by thus remaining in the world, and yet refusing to concede a jot to it upon any pretence, however plausible, that it is possible to acquire the internal isolation and strength of will necessary to the achievement of 'these greater works.' Depend upon it, the task of performing them is not hopeless because it seems stupendous. There are spiritual forces now latent in humanity powerful enough to restore a fallen universe; but they want to be called into action by fire. They are in a cold fluid state, and must be turned into stone. Sublime moment! when, conscious of the Titanic agency within them, and burning with desire to give it expression, men first unite to embody, and then with irresistible potency to impart to others that 'Life' which is 'the Light of men.'"
As I was thus speaking, we turned into Piccadilly, and an arm was passed through mine.
"Why is it," asked Broadhem, "that men are not yet at all conscious of possessing this spiritual agency?"
"Why is it, ask you?"—and the clear solemn voice of my new companion startled Broadhem, who had not seen him join me, so that I felt his arm tremble upon mine. "Ask rather why sects are fierce and intolerant; why worship is formal and irreverent; why zealots run to fierce frenzies and react to atheistic chills; why piety is constrained and lifeless, like antique pictures painted by the old Byzantines upon a golden ground; why Puseyism tries to whip piety to life with scourges, and starve out sin with fasts; why the altar is made a stage where Ritualists delight a gaping crowd, and the pulpit a place where the sleek official drones away the sleepy hour; why religious books are the dullest; why the clergyman is looked upon by the millions as a barrel-organ, whom the sect turns like the wandering Savoyard, unable to evolve a free-born note. There is but one answer——" and he stopped abruptly.
"What is it?" I said, timidly, for I was overwhelmed by the torrent of his eloquence.
"We have lost our God! That is why men are unconscious of His force within them. It is a terrible thing for a nation to lose its God. History shows that all nations wherein the religious inspiration has gone down beneath formalism, infidelity, a warlike spirit, an enslaving spirit, or a trading spirit, have burst like so many gilded bubbles, most enlarged and gorgeous at the moment of their close. Think of the old Scripture, 'The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.'"
"Who is that?" whispered Broadhem. "I never saw him before."
"I want to be alone with him," I replied. "Good night, Broadhem. You had better go back now, or you will find your friends gone. Think over what I have said. Once realise the 'mysteryof godliness,' and the martyrdom which it must entail will lose its terrors."
"Let him sacrifice us if He will," said he who had before spoken. "The true man is but a cannon-shot, rejoicing most of all when the Divine Artillerist shall send him irresistible and flaming against some foeman of the race risen from Pandemonium. Man—the true man—is like the Parthian's arrow, kindling into fiery flames as it leaves the bow. Man—the true man—is the Spirit-sword, but the sword-arm is moved by the heart of the Almighty."
Ah Piccadilly! hallowed recollections may attach to those stones worn by the feet of the busy idiots in this vast asylum, for one sane man has trodden them, and I listened to the words of wisdom as they dropped from the lips of one so obscure that his name is still unknown in the land, but I doubted not who at that moment was the greatest man in Piccadilly.