by Edwin Hodder
CHAPTER VI.
THE LECTURE.
"You look seedy this morning, Mr. Weston," said Williams, as Georgeentered the office on the following day. "The effect of last night'sdissipation, I suppose. How did you like the play?"
"Not at all," answered George, mortified and angry at having thequestion put to him before all the clerks, who were now informed of thefact of his having been there.
"No; I suppose one Abinadab Sleek does not like to hear another one ofthe same gang spoken ill of, eh?"
"I do not understand you," said George.
"Then, to put it plainer, you and Hardy, who are of the 'Serious Family'style, don't like to see yourselves taken off quite so true to life asyou were last night at the Adelphi. You saw that old canting AbinadabSleek was up to every dodge and vice, although he did seem such asanctified individual in public; and our young Solomons, who condemnwicked theatres and disgusting taverns, can go to both on the sly, andbe as sanctimonious as ever Abinadab was in office."
George felt his hands clench, and his eyes flash fire. He could beartaunts from Williams, when he had right on his side, and felt theconsciousness of innocence; but he could not bear it now.
"You lie," said George passionately, "in drawing that comparison."
"And you lie continually," said Williams, "in acting a perpetual editionof that part of the 'Serious Family' represented by Abinadab Sleek."
"Fight it out I fight it out!" said Lawson. "The Governor won't be herefor half an hour; bolt the door and have it out."
"Nothing of the kind," said Hardy, stepping forward. "Williams is theaggressor in this instance; it is nothing to him if Weston and I went tothe theatre every night in our lives; he has no right to interfere; ifhe fights it must be with Weston and me, for he insults me as much as myfriend."
"Then come on," said Williams, taking off his coat, "and I'll take youboth: one man is worth two canting hypocrites, any day."
But no one had bolted the door, and, to the surprise of all, Mr.Compton stood before them.
"What is this?" he said; "young men in my office talking of fighting, asif it were the tap-room of a public house? George Weston! I did notthink this of you."
"Do not judge hastily, sir," said Hardy. "My friend Weston has beengrossly insulted by Mr. Williams, and the little disturbance has onlybeen got up through jealousy, to get him into trouble."
"Step into my room a moment, Mr. Hardy," said Mr. Compton; "and you,too, Weston and Williams."
George was flushed with excitement; but his proud, manly bearing, incontrast to the crest-fallen Williams, won for him the admiration of thewhole staff of clerks.
Mr. Compton patiently heard from Hardy a recital of the causes leadingto the fray, and was made acquainted with the course of oppositionGeorge had to contend with, from Williams and Lawson, ever since he hadbeen in the office.
"I regret this circumstance," said Mr. Compton, "for several reasons. Ihave always held you, Weston, in the highest estimation, nor do I seesufficient cause, from this event, to alter my estimate; but I havealways found my best clerks those who have been in the habit of spendingtheir evenings elsewhere than in theatres and taverns. I am notsurprised at the part you have taken, Mr. Williams; and it now restswith you, whether you remain in this office or leave. I will not havethe junior clerks in this establishment held in subjection to those whohave been with me a few years longer; nor will I have a system of insultand opposition continued, which must eventually lead to unpleasantresults. If I hear any more of this matter, or find that you persist inyour unwarranted insults on Mr. Weston, I shall at once dismiss you frommy service. You did well, Mr. Hardy, in interfering to prevent adisgraceful fight; and, much as I dislike tale-bearing, I request you toinform me, for the future, of any unpleasantness arising to Mr. Westonfrom this affair."
Williams was terribly crest-fallen, and the tide of office opinionturned from him in favour of George and Hardy, who, without crowing overthe victory they had gained, yet showed a manly determination not toallow an insult which reflected upon their characters.
"I tell you what it is," whispered Lawson to Williams; "Old Comptontakes a fancy to those two sneaking fellows, and, after this affair,the office will get too hot for us if we do not draw it milder to them.If I were you, I should waylay them outside the office and say somethingcivil, by way of soft soap, so as to nip this matter off, for you've gotthe worst of it so far."
Williams determined to accept the hint Lawson had given him, and whenthe office closed, remained in the court until George came out.
"Mr. Weston," he said, stretching out his hand, which George felt wouldbe mean-spirited not to take, "that was an unpleasant affair thismorning, but I didn't think you would fire up as you did; and when I letfly at you, it was only in joke."
"I must deny that it was a joke," George replied; "it was an intendedinsult. Probably you might not have thought it would have producedindignation in me, because you, evidently, do not understand my feelingsin the matter. However, let the thing drop now. I will not retract whatI said to you this morning, that you lied in forming that estimate of mycharacter, nor do I ask you to retract your words, unless yourconscience tells you that you wronged me."
"What I said was hasty, and I don't mind eating all my words," saidWilliams; "so, as the song says, 'Come, let us be happy together.' Willyou come into the King's Head, and take a glass of wine on the strengthof it?"
"No, thank you," said George; "but as it is no wish of mine to live atloggerheads with any one, here is my hand upon it."
And then they shook hands, and so the matter ended. But it ended only sofar as Williams was concerned. A day or two afterwards Mr. Brunton waspassing the office, and he called in to say "How d'ye do?" to Mr.Compton. In the course of conversation he asked how George was gettingon, and whether he continued to give satisfaction.
"Yes," said Mr. Compton, "I have no fault to find with him; on thecontrary, he is the best junior clerk I ever had, and I trust him withmatters I never placed in the hands of a junior clerk before. But therewas an unfortunate occurrence the other day, which I think it right tomention to you confidentially." And then Mr. Brunton heard the wholehistory of the theatre adventure, and its consequences in the office onthe following morning. He was grieved, deeply grieved. At first he couldnot credit the account; but when he heard that George had himselfconfessed to the truth of the circumstances before Mr. Compton, andthere was no longer room to doubt, a tear stood in his eye as he thoughtof his nephew--that noble, manly boy, whom he loved with all theaffection of a father--stooping to temptation, and acting the part of adeceiver; for Mr. Brunton had spent an evening with Mrs. Weston andGeorge, and had heard nothing of his having been to a theatre, nor didhe believe Mrs. Weston was aware of it.
"What I have told you is strictly confidential," said Mr. Compton; "butas you are, as it were, the father of George Weston, I thought it onlyright that you should know this, in order that you may warn him, if hehas got into the hands of bad companions."
George was absent from the office during the interview, and did not knowuntil some days afterwards of his uncle's visit.
Mr. Brunton went from Falcon-court a sadder man. He was perplexed andharassed; he could not conscientiously tell Mrs. Weston, as he hadreceived the information in confidence; he could not speak directly toGeorge upon the subject, because he would at once have known that Mr.Compton must have given the statement to his uncle. He was obliged,therefore, to remain passive in the matter for a day or two, andresolved to spend an evening that week at Islington.
In the meantime the affair became known to Mrs. Weston, and in rather acurious manner. George had worn his best coat on the evening he went tothe theatre; and one day as Mrs. Weston, according to custom, wasbrushing it, before putting it away in his drawers, she turned out thepockets, and, amongst other things, drew forth a well-used play-bill.
"George has never been to the theatre, surely?" she asked herself."Impossible! he would have told me had he done so, for he i
s far toohigh-principled to deceive me."
But the sight of that play-bill worried Mrs. Weston. She thought over itall day, and longed for the evening to come, when she might ask Georgeabout it.
That evening Mr. Brunton had determined to spend at Islington; and as hewas passing Falcon-court, he called for George on his way, and theywalked home together.
The play-bill happened to be on the table when they entered, and itcaught the eye of both George and Mr. Brunton at once.
"Where did you get that from?" asked George, colouring, not with thehonest flush of self-respect, but with the burning sense of deceitdetected.
"I found it in your pocket, George; and as I have never found one therebefore, I thought I would leave it out, to ask you how you came by it."
"I came by it the other night, when I went to the theatre," said George;for he could not tell a direct falsehood. "I did not tell you of it atthe time, but led you to suppose that I had been at the institution."
Mrs. Weston was indeed sorry to hear George's account of what hadpassed; but Mr. Brunton felt all his old confidence in George restoredby the open, genuine statement he made.
"George," said Mr. Brunton, "I know you are old enough to manage youraffairs for yourself, without an uncle's interference, but do take fromme one word of caution. I fear you may be led unwittingly into error byyour associates. Do be on your guard--'if sinners entice thee, consentthou not.' If you feel it right, and can conscientiously go with themand adopt their habits, I have no right, nor should I wish to adviseyou; but if you feel that you are wrong in what you do, listen to thevoice of your better self, and pause to consider. Do not turn a deafear to its entreaties, but be admonished by its counsel, and rathersacrifice friends and pleasure than that best of all enjoyments--thesatisfaction of acting a part of duty to God and yourself."
George did not argue the point with his uncle; he felt himself in thewrong, but could not see his way clear to get right again.
"I have made so many resolves in my short life," he said, "and havebroken them so often, that I will not pledge myself to making fresh onesMy error, in this instance, has not been the fault of my companionships,but entirely my own; and, as far as I can see, the chief blame lies inhaving concealed the matter from my mother, which I did principally outof kindness to her. But I will endeavour to take your counsel, uncle."
Weeks passed away, and with them the vivid memories of that time. Georgehad at length reasoned himself into the idea that a great deal ofunnecessary fuss had been made about nothing, and instead of weaninghimself from the society of Ashton, they became more than ever throwninto each other's company. George was a constant attendant at theinstitution, where he was surrounded by a large circle of intimateacquaintances, with whom much of his time was spent. In the office hehad risen in the estimation of the clerks. Williams and Lawson, findingthat opposition was unavailing, altered their conduct towards him, andbecame as civil and obliging as they had before been insulting anddisagreeable. George began to think he had belied their characters fromnot having known sufficient of them; and instead of shunning them, as hehad hitherto done, sometimes took a stroll with them in the eveningafter office hours, and once or twice had dined with them at the King'sHead.
Imperceptibly, George began to alter. Sooner or later, evilcommunications must corrupt good manners; and from continually beholdingthe lives of his companions, without possessing that one thing needfulto have kept him free from the entanglement of their devices, he becamechanged into the same image, by the dangerous power of their influenceand example.
A month or two after the theatre adventure, Mrs. Weston received aninvitation to spend a week or two in the country with some relatives,whom she had not seen for several years. Mr. Brunton persuaded her toaccept it, as the change would be beneficial; and George, knowing howseldom his mother had an opportunity for recreation, added all hispowers of argument to induce her to go. The only obstacle presentingitself was the management of the house during her absence. Mr. Bruntoninvited George to stay with him while Mrs. Weston would be away; and shedid not like to leave her servant alone in the house with the boarders.It was at last arranged that George should decline Mr. Brunton'sinvitation, and have the oversight of the house during his mother'sabsence.
The first night after her departure, George brought Hardy home with himto spend the evening, and a pleasant, quiet time they had together.
"It will be rather dull for you, George," said Hardy, "if Mrs. Weston isgoing to remain away for a few weeks. What shall you do on Sunday? Youhad better come and spend the day with us."
"No, I cannot do that, because I promised I would be here, to let theservant have an opportunity of going to church. But I mean to ask Ashtonto come and spend the day here, and you will come too; and there'sDixon, he is a nice fellow, I'll ask him to come as well."
"What is to be the programme for the day?" said Hardy. "Of course itwill be a quiet one."
"We will all go to church or chapel in the morning, spend the afternoontogether at home, and take a stroll in the evening after the service.Are you agreed?"
"I think we shall have a very nice day of it. Let the other chaps knowof it early, and we will meet here in good time in the morning."
Sunday came, and George's friends arrived as he expected. They wereearly, and had time for a chat before starting out.
"Where shall we go this morning?" asked George. "There is a very goodminister close by at the church, and another equally good at the chapel.My principles are unsectarian, and I do not mind where it is we go."
"Don't you think," said Dixon, "we might do ourselves more good bytaking a stroll a few miles out of town, and talking out a sermon forourselves?"
"I am inclined to the belief that nature is the best preacher," Ashtonremarked. "We hear good sermons from the pulpit, it is true; but wordsare poor things to teach us of the Creator, in comparison withcreation."
"I do not agree with you in your religious sentiments, Ashton, as youknow," said George. "Creation tells us nothing about our Saviour, and,as I read the Scriptures, no man can know God, the Father and GreatCreator, but through Him."
"And yet, if I remember rightly, the Saviour said that He made theworld, and without Him was not anything made that was made--so that Hewas the Creator; and when we look from nature up to nature's God we seeHim, and connecting His history with the world around us, we have increation, as I said before, the best sermon; aye, and what the parsonscall a 'gospel' sermon, too."
"I agree with you," said Dixon; "preaching is all very well in its way,and I like a good sermon; but the words of man can never excel the worksof God."
"A proper sermon," replied George, "is not uttered in the words of man;they are God's words applied and expounded. Nature may speak to thesenses, but the Scriptures alone speak to the heart; and that is theobject of preaching. But you are my visitors, and you shall decide thepoint."
"Then I say a stroll," said Ashton.
"And so do I," chimed in Dixon.
"I am for going to a place of worship," said Hardy.
"And so am I," Ashton replied; "is not all God's universe a place ofworship?"
"Perhaps so," answered Hardy; "but I mean the appointed and properplace, where those who try to keep holy the Sabbath day are accustomedto meet--a church or chapel."
"I side with Hardy," said George. "But I am willing to meet you halfway.If I go with you this morning, you must all promise to go with me in theevening. But bear in mind I am making a concession, and I go for astroll under protest, because it is contrary to my custom."
"All right, old chap," said Ashton. "I never knew anybody's consciencefit them so uneasily as yours does. But it always did; at school, youwere a martyr to it, and I believe the blame lies at the door of dearold Dr. Seaward, who persisted in training us up in the way we shouldgo, just as if we were all designed to be parsons."
"Poor old Dr. Seaward!" said George. "If he only knew two of his oldscholars were going out for a stroll on Sunday morning to hear
naturepreach, I believe his body would hardly contain his troubled spirit."
"And he would appear before us to stop us on our way--"
"Like the spirit before Balaam and his ass, seems the most appropriatesimile," said Dixon, "for, if I recollect rightly, Balaam was goingwhere he should not have gone, and his conscience gave him as muchtrouble as Weston's does."
George did not think and say, as Balaam did, "I have sinned;" but hefelt the sting of ridicule, and determined he would allow noconscientious scruple to bring it upon him again during that day.
"After all," he argued with himself, "what is the use of my beingconscientious, for I am so wretchedly inconsistent? I had better go allone way, or all the other, instead of wavering between the two, andperpetually showing my weakness."
It would have puzzled any one to have told what sermon nature preachedto that merry party, as they wandered through green fields and quietlanes, talking upon a hundred different subjects, and making the calmSabbath morn ring with the strains of their laughter.
"Your idea of creation's voice is better in theory than in practice,"George said, when they returned home. "Can any of you tell me what thetext was which nature took to preach from, for I have no distinctremembrance of it?"
"The text seemed to me to be this," said Dixon, "that 'to everythingthere is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens--a timeto weep and a time to laugh--a time to keep silence and a time tospeak;' and the application was, that we had chosen the right time forenjoying much speaking and much laughing."
The afternoon was not spent as George had been accustomed to spend it.Light, frivolous conversation, and still more dangerous debate uponreligious subjects, without religious feeling, occupied the time, andGeorge felt glad when the evening came, and they started off together tohear a popular preacher, whose merits they had been discussing duringthe afternoon.
On their way thither they passed a large building, into which severalpeople were entering, and as the outside of the place was ornamentedwith handbills, they paused to read them. They ran thus:--
"HALL OF SCIENCE.--A Lecture will be delivered in this Hall on Sunday evening, at half past six, by Professor Martin, on 'The Uses of Reason.' Young men are cordially invited to attend.
"What is truth? Search and see."
"Do you know anything of this Professor Martin?" asked Dixon. "Is heworth hearing?"
"A friend of mine told me he had heard him, a little while ago, and wasnever better pleased with any lecture," Ashton answered. "Shall we putup here for the evening?"
"Is he a preacher, or a mere lecturer?" asked George. The questionattracted the attention of a person entering the Hall; and, turning toGeorge, he answered:--
"Professor Martin is one of those best of all preachers. He can interestwithout sending you to sleep, and his discourses are full of soundwisdom. He is a lover of truth, and advocates the only way to arrive atit, which is by unfettered thought. In his lectures he puts his theoryinto practice by freely expressing his unfettered thoughts. I have seatsin the front of the lecture-room; if you will favour me by acceptingthem, they are at your service."
The plausible and polite manner of the stranger was effectual withGeorge.
"I don't think we can do better than go in and hear what the lecturerhas to say," he said to the others. And, assent being given, theyfollowed the stranger, and were conducted to the proffered seats.
The audience consisted principally of men, the majority of whom wereyoung and of an inferior class, such as shopmen and mechanics. There wasa large platform, with chairs upon it, but no pulpit or reading-desk.When the lecturer, accompanied by a chairman and some friends, entered,George and his companions were surprised to hear a clapping of hands andstamping of feet, similar to the plan adopted at public amusements.
"This does not seem much like a Sunday evening service," said George."We have time to leave, if you like; or shall we stay and see it out?"
"Oh! let us stay," replied the others.
No hymn was sung, no prayer was offered at the commencement, but thelecturer, with a pocket Bible in his hands, quoted a few passages ofScripture, as follows:--
"Come now, and let us reason together,"--Isa. i. 18; "I applied mineheart to know, and to search, and to seek out wisdom, and to know thereason of things,"--Eccles. vii. 25; "And Paul, as his manner was, wentin unto them, and three Sabbath days reasoned with them out of theScriptures,"--Acts xvii. 2; "Be ready alway to give an answer to everyman that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you,"--1 Peter iii.15.
The object of the lecturer was to show that no intelligent being couldreceive truth unless that truth commended itself to reason, because thetwo were never in opposition one with the other. Conscience, he said,was the soul's safeguard, and reason the safeguard of the heart andintellect. It was irrational to condemn any course of conduct whichconscience approved, and it was equally irrational to believe anythingthat could not be understood. The Word of God might be useful in itsway, but only as studied with unfettered thought. If that Word exaltedreason and then taught inconsistencies and absurdities, reason mustdiscriminate between the right and the wrong. "For example," hecontinued, "if that book tells me that there are three Gods, and yetthose three are one, I reason by analogy and say, here are threefingers; each one has its particular office; but I cannot make thesethree fingers one finger, neither can I make three Gods one God."
So the lecturer continued, but he did not put his case in so many plainwords as these; every argument he clothed with doubtful words, so as tomake falsehood look like truth, and blasphemy like worship. He was aneducated and intelligent man, gifted with that dangerous power ofpreaching the doctrine of devils in the guise of an angel of light, andhandling deadly sophistry with as firm a grasp as if it were the swordof the Spirit.
At the conclusion of the lecture he announced his intention to speakfrom that platform again on the following Sunday, and invited all whowere inquiring the way of truth to be present, and judge what he said,"whether it be right, or whether it be wrong."
As George and his friends were leaving the hall, the stranger, who hadaccosted them before, came up, and bowing politely said--
"Will you allow me to offer you the same seats, for next Sunday evening?If you will say yes, I will reserve them for you; otherwise you may havedifficulty in obtaining admission, for the room will, in allprobability, be more crowded than to-night, as Professor Martin was notannounced to lecture until late in the week, and the friends whofrequent the Hall had no notice of his being here."
"I will certainly come," said Ashton. "I never heard a speaker I likedbetter. What say you?" he asked, turning to the others.
"I am anxious to hear the conclusion of the argument," said George; "sowe will accept your invitation," he added to the stranger, "and thankyou for your kindness and courtesy."
It was a long conversation the friends had as they strolled along thatevening. To George every argument the lecturer had brought forward wasnew; and bearing, as they did, the apparent stamp of truth, he wasutterly confounded. Although he was a good biblical scholar, as regardedthe historical and narrative parts of the Scriptures, he was but illinformed on those more subtle points which the lecturer handled. He hadnever heard the doctrine of the Trinity, for example, disputed, and hadalways implicitly believed it; now, when the lecturer quoted Scriptureto prove that truth was to be analysed by reason, and reason rejectedthe idea of a Trinity, he was as unable to reconcile the two as if hehad never received any religious instruction at all.
"If what he advances be true," said George, "how irrational many thingsin the Christian religion are! And how singular that men like him, who'search into the reason of things' for wisdom, and hold opinionscontrary to the orthodox notions of those whom we call Christians,should be looked upon with suspicion and distrust."
"No," replied Ashton; "he met that idea by saying that it was not morethan singular, in the early stages of science, for people to be burnt aswitches and magician
s, because they made discoveries which are nowdeveloped and brought into daily use, than it is now for men to bescouted as infidel and profane, because they teach opinions which onlyrequire investigation to make them universally admitted."
An unhappy day was that Sunday for George Weston. He had violatedprinciple, made concessions against the dictates of conscience (how poora safeguard for him!) and had learnt lessons which taught him to despisethose instructions which had hitherto been as a lamp unto his feet and alight unto his path.
"Blessed is the man that _walketh_ not in the counsel of the ungodly,nor _standeth_ in the way of sinners, nor _sitteth_ in the seat of thescornful." George little thought how rapidly he was passing throughthose different stages on the downward road. Had he never listened tothe council of the ungodly, he would not have walked in the way of evil,but would have avoided even its very appearance; he would not have stoodin the way of sinners, parleying with temptations, as he had done on somany occasions; nor would he have occupied that most dangerous of allpositions, the fatal ease of sitting in the seat of the scornful.
