The Attache or Sam Slick in England Part 12

When he ascended the pulpit to preach, his figure, his great age, and his sensible and benevolent countenance, attracted universal attention.

I had never seen him officiate till this day; but if I was struck with his venerable appearance before, I was now lost in admiration of his rich and deep-toned voice, his peculiar manner, and simple style of eloquence.

He took for his text these words: "So Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel." He depicted, in a very striking manner, the arts of this intriguing and ungrateful man to ingratiate himself with the people, and render the government unpopular. He traced his whole course, from his standing at the crowded thoroughfare, and lamenting that the king had deputed no one to hear and decide upon the controversies of the people, to his untimely end, and the destruction of his ignorant followers. He made a powerful application of the seditious words of Absalom: "Oh that _I_ were a judge in the land, that every man which hath a suit or cause might come unto me, and _I_ would do him justice." He showed the effect of these empty and wicked promises upon his followers, who in the holy record of this unnatural rebellion are described as "men who went out in their simplicity, and knew not anything."

He then said that similar arts were used in all ages for similar purposes; and that these professions of disinterested patriotism were the common pretences by which wicked men availed themselves of the animal force of those "who a.s.semble in their simplicity, and know not any thing," to achieve their own personal aggrandis.e.m.e.nt, and warned them, to give no heed to such dishonest people. He then drew a picture of the real blessings they enjoyed in this happy country, which, though not without an admixture of evil, were as many and as great as the imperfect and unequal condition of man was capable either of imparting or receiving.

Among the first of these, he placed the provision made by the state for the instruction of the poor, by means of an established Church. He said they would doubtless hear this wise and pious deed of their forefathers attacked also by unprincipled men; and falsehood and ridicule would be invoked to aid in the a.s.sault; but that he was a witness on its behalf, from the distant wilderness of North America, where the voice of grat.i.tude was raised to England, whose missionaries had planted a church there similar to their own, and had proclaimed the glad tidings of salvation to those who would otherwise have still continued to live without its pale.

He then pourtrayed in a rapid and most masterly manner the sin and the disastrous consequences of rebellion; pointed out the necessity that existed for vigilance and defined their respective duties to G.o.d, and to those who, by his permission, were set in authority over them; and concluded with the usual benediction, which, though I had heard it on similar occasions all my life, seemed now more efficacious, more paternal, and more touching than ever, when uttered by him, in his peculiarly patriarchal manner.

The abstract I have just given, I regret to say, cannot convey any adequate idea of this powerful, excellent, and appropriate sermon. It was listened to with intense interest by the congregation, many of whom were affected to tears. In the afternoon we attended church again, when we heard a good, plain, and practical discourse from the rector; but, unfortunately, he had neither the talent, nor the natural eloquence of our friend, and, although it satisfied the judgment, it did not affect, the heart like that of the "Old Minister."

At the door we met, on our return, Mrs. Hodgins. "Ah! my dear," said Mr.

Hopewell, "how do you do? I am going to your cottage; but I am an old man now; take my arm--it will support me in my walk."

It was thus that this good man, while honouring this poor woman, avoided the appearance of condescension, and received her arm as a favour to himself.

She commenced thanking him for his sermon in the morning. She said it had convinced her William of the sin of the Chartist agitation, and that he had firmly resolved never to meet them again. It had saved him from ruin, and made her a happy woman.

"Glad to hear it has done him good, my dear," said he; "it does me good, too, to hear its effect. Now, never remind him of past errors, never allude to them: make his home cheerful, make it the pleasantest place he can find any where, and he won't want to seek amus.e.m.e.nt elsewhere, or excitement either; for these seditious meetings intoxicate by their excitement. Oh! I am very glad I have touched him; that I have prevented these seditious men from 'stealing his heart.'"

In this way they chatted, until they arrived at the cottage, which Hodgins had just reached by a shorter, but more rugged path.

"It is such a lovely afternoon," said Mr. Hopewell, "I believe I will rest in this arbour here awhile, and enjoy the fresh breeze, and the perfume of your honeysuckles and flowers."

"Wouldn't a pipe be better, Minister?" said Mr. Slick. "For my part, I don't think any thing equal to the flavour of rael good gene_wine_ first chop tobacco."

"Well, it is a great refreshment, is tobacco," said Mr. Hopewell. "I don't care if I do take a pipe. Bring me one, Mr. Hodgins, and one for yourself also, and I will smoke and talk with you awhile, for they seem as natural to each other, as eating and drinking do."

As soon as these were produced, Mr. Slick and I retired, and requested Mrs. Hodgins to leave the Minister and her husband together for a while, for as Mr. Slick observed, "The old man will talk it into him like a book; for if he was possessed of the spirit of a devil, instead of a Chartist, he is jist the boy to drive it out of him. Let him be awhile, and he'll tame old uncle there, like a cossit sheep; jist see if he don't, that's all."

We then walked up and down the shady lane, smoking our cigars, and Mr.

Slick observed, "Well, there is a nation sight of difference, too, ain't there, atween this country church, and a country meetin' house our side of the water; I won't say in your country or my country; but I say _our_ side of the water--and then it won't rile n.o.body; for your folks will say I mean the States, and our citizens will say I mean the colonies; but you and I know who the cap fits, one or t'other, or both, don't we?

"Now here, this old-fas.h.i.+oned church, ain't quite up to the notch, and is a leetle behind the enlightment of the age like, with its queer old fixin's and what not; but still it looks solemcoly' don't it, and the dim light seems as if we warn't expected to be a lookin' about, and as if outer world was shot out, from sight and thort, and it warn't _man's_ house nother.

"I don't know whether it was that dear old man's preachin', and he is a brick ain't he? or, whether it's the place, or the place and him together; but somehow, or somehow else, I feel more serious to-day than common, that's a fact. The people too are all so plain dressed, so decent, so devout and no show, it looks like airnest.

"The only fas.h.i.+onable people here was the Squire's sarvants; and they _did_ look genteel, and no mistake. Elegant men, and most splendid lookin' women they was too. I thought it was some n.o.ble, or aid's, or big bug's family; but Mrs. Hodgins says they are the people of the Squire's about here, the butlers and ladies' maids; and superfine uppercrust lookin' folks they be too.

"Then every body walks here, even Squire Merton and his splendiriferous galls walked like the poorest of the poor, there was no carriage to the door, nor no hosses. .h.i.tched to the gate, or tied to the back of waggons, or people gossipin' outside; but all come in and minded their business, as if it was worth attendin' to; and then arter church was finished off, I liked the way the big folks talked to the little folks, and enquired arter their families. It may he actin', but if it is, it's plaguy good actin', I _tell_ you.

"I'm a thinkin' it tante a rael gentleman that's proud, but only a hop.

You've seen a hop grow, hante you? It shoots up in a night, the matter of several inches right out of the ground, as stiff as a poker, straight up and down, with a spick and span new green coat and a red nose, as proud as Lucifer. Well, I call all upstarts 'hops,' and I believe it's only "hops" arter all that's scorny.

"Yes, I kinder like an English country church, only it's a leetle, jist a leetle too old fas.h.i.+oned for me. Folks look a leetle too much like grandfather Slick, and the boys used to laugh at him, and call him a benighted Britisher. Perhaps that's the cause of my prejudice, and yet I must say, British or no British, it tante bad, is it?

"The meetin' houses 'our side of the water,' no matter where, but away up in the back country, how teetotally different they be! bean't they?

A great big, handsome wooden house, chock full of winders, painted so white as to put your eyes out, and so full of light within, that inside seems all out-doors, and no tree nor bush, nor nothin' near it but the road fence, with a man to preach in it, that is so strict and straight-laced he will do _any thing_ of a week day, and _nothin'_ of a Sunday. Congregations are rigged out in their spic and span bran new clothes, silks, satins, ribbins, leghorns, palmetters, kiss-me-quicks, and all sorts of rigs, and the men in their long-tail-blues, pig-skin pads calf-skin boots and sheep-skin saddle-cloths. Here they publish a book of fas.h.i.+ons, there they publish 'em in meetin'; and instead of a pictur, have the rael naked truth.

"Preacher there don't preach morals, because that's churchy, and he don't like neither the church nor its morals; but he preaches doctrine, which doctrine is, there's no Christians but themselves. Well, the fences outside of the meetin' house, for a quarter of a mile or so, each side of the house, and each side of the road, ain't to be seen for hosses and waggons, and gigs. .h.i.tched there; poor devils of hosses that have ploughed, or hauled, or harrowed, or logged, or snaked, or somethin' or another all the week, and rest of a Sunday by alterin'

their gait, as a man rests on a journey by a alterin' of his sturup, a hole higher or a hole lower. Women that has all their finery on can't walk, and some things is ondecent. It's as ondecent for a woman to be seen walkin' to meetin', as it is to be caught at--what shall I say?--why caught at attendin' to her business to home.

"The women are the fust and the last to meetin'; fine clothes cost sunthin', and if they ain't showed, what's the use of them? The men folk remind me of the hosses to Sable Island. It's a long low sand-bank on Nova Scotia coast, thirty miles long and better is Sable Island, and not much higher than the water. It has awful breakers round it, and picks up a shockin' sight of vessels does that island. Government keeps a super-intender there and twelve men to save wracked people, and there is a herd of three hundred wild hosses kept there for food for saved crews that land there, when provision is short, or for super-intender to catch and break for use, as the case may be.

"Well, if he wants a new hoss, he mounts his folks on his tame hosses, and makes a dash into the herd, and runs a wild feller down, lugs him off to the stable-yard, and breaks him in, in no time. A smart little hoss he is too, but he always has an _eye to natur'_ arterwards; _the change is too sudden_, and he'll off, if he gets a chance.

"Now that's the case with these country congregations, we know where.

The women and old tame men folk are, inside; the young wild boys and ontamed men folk are on the fences, outside a settin' on the top rail, a speculatin' on times or marriages, or markets, or what not, or a walkin'

round and studyin' hoss flesh, or a talkin' of a swap to be completed of a Monday, or a leadin' off of two hosses on the sly of the old deacon's, takin' a lick of a half mile on a bye road, right slap a-head, and swearin' the hosses had got loose, and they was just a fetchin' of them back.

"'Whose side-saddle is this?'

"'Slim Sall Dowdie's.'

"'s.h.i.+ft it on to the deacon's beast, and put his on to her'n and tie the two critters together by the tail. This is old Mother Pitcher's waggon; her hoss kicks like a gra.s.shopper. Lengthen the breechin', and when aunty starts, he'll make all fly agin into shavin's, like a plane. Who is that a comin' along full split there a horseback?'

"'It's old b.o.o.by's son, Tom. Well, it's the old man's shaft hoss; call out whoh! and he'll stop short, and pitch Tom right over his head on the broad of his back, whap.

"Tim Fish, and Ned Pike, come scale up here with us boys on the fence.'

The weight is too great; away goes the fence, and away goes the boys, all flyin'; legs, arms, hats, poles, stakes, withes, and all, with an awful crash and an awful shout; and away goes two or three hosses that have broke their bridles, and off home like wink.

"Out comes Elder Sourcrout. 'Them as won't come in had better stay to home,' sais he. And when he hears that them as are in had better stay in when they be there, he takes the hint and goes back agin. 'Come, boys, let's go to Black Stump Swamp and sarch for honey. We shall be back in time to walk home with the galls from night meetin', by airly candle-light. Let's go.'

"Well, when they want to recruit the stock of tame ones inside meetin', they sarc.u.mvent some o' these wild ones outside; make a dash on 'em, catch 'em, dip 'em, and give 'em a name; for all sects don't always baptise 'em as we do, when children, but let 'em grow up wild in the herd till they are wanted. They have hard work to break 'em in, for they are smart ones, that's a fact, but, like the hosses of Sable Island, they have always _an eye to natur'_ arterwards; _the change is too sudden_, you can't trust 'em, at least I never see one as _I_ could, that's all.

"Well, when they come out o' meetin', look at the dignity and sanct.i.ty, and pride o' humility o' the tame old ones. Read their faces. 'How does the print go?' Why this way, 'I am a sinner, at least I was once, but thank fortin' I ain't like you, you onconverted, benighted, good-for-nothin' critter you.' Read the ontamed one's face, what's the print there? Why it's this. As soon as he sees over-righteous stalk by arter that fas.h.i.+on, it says, 'How good we are, ain't we? Who wet his hay to the lake tother day, on his way to market, and made two tons weigh two tons and a half? You'd better look as if b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in your mouth, hadn't you, old Sugar-cane?'

"Now jist foller them two rulin' elders, Sourcrout and Coldslaugh; they are plaguy jealous of their neighbour, elder Josh Chisel, that exhorted to-day. 'How did you like Brother Josh, to-day?' says Sourcrout, a utterin' of it through his nose. Good men always speak through the nose.

It's what comes out o' the mouth that defiles a man; but there is no mistake in the nose; it's the porch of the temple that. 'How did you like Brother Josh?'

"'Well, he wasn't very peeowerful.'

"'Was he ever peeowerful?'

"'Well, when a boy, they say he was considerable sum as a wrastler.'

"Sourcrout won't larf, because it's agin rules; but he gig goggles like a turkey-c.o.c.k, and says he, 'It's for ever and ever the same thing with Brother Josh. He is like an over-shot mill, one everlastin' wishy-washy stream.'

"'When the water ain't quite enough to turn the wheel, and only spatters, spatters, spatters,' says Coldslaugh.

"Sourcrout gig goggles again, as if he was swallerin' sh.e.l.led corn whole. 'That trick of wettin' the hay,' says he, 'to make it weigh heavy, warn't cleverly done; it ain't pretty to be caught; it's only bunglers do that.'

"'He is so fond of temperance,' says Coldslaugh, 'he wanted to make his hay jine society, and drink cold water, too.'

"Sourcrout gig goggles ag'in, till he takes a fit of the asmy, sets down on a stump, claps both hands on his sides, and coughs, and coughs till he finds coughing no joke no more. Oh dear, dear convarted men, though they won't larf themselves, make others larf the worst kind, sometimes; don't they?

"I do believe, on my soul, if religion was altogether left to the voluntary in this world, it would die a nateral death; not that _men wouldn't support it_, but because it would be supported _under false pretences_. Truth can't be long upheld by falsehood. Hypocrisy would change its features, and intolerance its name; and religion would soon degenerate into a cold, intriguing, onprincipled, marciless superst.i.tion, that's a fact.