Sivut kuvina
PDF
ePub

bankers' locks, who, nevertheless, trust the jewelled minds of their children to the keeping of a stranger, with scarcely a thought of the fidelity of the keeper.

You have, now, madam, my idea of the duties of a governess— of her hard, her earnest, yet rewardful labours. As to her treatment, she is if conscientious in her vocation—a gentlewoman. She has within her trust the greatest treasures that human life—with all its pride-can know the hearts, and, indeed, the future souls of children. As her mission is a noble one, respect and courtesy are hers by right. To look upon her as a better-dressed drudge is, in very truth, not poorest insolence alone, but darkest error. Her patient, quiet labours, are to insure the best triumphs of life; for they make, or should make, good daughters, good wives, good mothers. In these the truthfulness and happiness of the world have, surely, some stake, and are, indeed, her lasting debtors.

I have heard many stories of the contumely, the hard-dealing of the world towards the governess. It was not so in my homeand, if only for the sake of woman, I must hope such tales are over-charged. For if, indeed, the poor governess be this frequent sufferer, to whom does she owe the misery, but to sister-woman? Of whom has she to complain of coldness of looks, harshness of words, of all the petty, reckless injuries that sting her daily life, of all the scorn of pride, and arrogance of apathetic wealth? Why, to woman; to her richer sister; to one of her own sex-made hard, exacting, by undeserved good fortune. This is a scandal, madam, that women should rise against and defy; or if not, they must, in truth, remain unconscionable debtors to the poets.

With many thanks, madam, for the interest you have taken in our broken fortunes, I remain, yours gratefully, MARY WILTON.

LETTER XXXI.

FROM A BISHOP TO A YOUNG FRIEND ABOUT TO TAKE ORDERS.

DEAR BASIL, I have learned, with exceeding gladness, of your excellent father, that it is your determination to enter the Church. From what I know of your nature, I feel assured that this resolve is not the impulse of a vagrant, unthinking disposition, but the goodly fruit of a mind disciplined, and

chastened of those vanities which, at your age, too commonly beset mankind. Believing that your election is that of an ardent and purified spirit, I hail it rejoicingly.

My dear young friend, be grateful-yea, in your inmost soul, be grateful-that you have been directed to a choice which, whilst it will abound with life-long satisfaction to yourself, will make you a daily providential comfort to your fellow-creatures. There is a happiness in this belief, too deep, too awful for any words of mine-a happiness only to be felt in the heart it consecrates.

From the moment of your ordination, you are set apart from the gross, vain, foolish desires of men; you are made a teacher and a watcher of your kind-the counsel, the reproof of the pastor, directed and softened by the love and sympathy of a brother. There is no despair so wild that the music of your comforting may not tame to gentleness and hope; there is no heart so stony that, smitten by your word, may not be made to gush with a living stream. High privilege glorious prerogative, that makes man the mediator with Heaven-that gives him strength to raise from the dust the faint, crushed, guilt-defiled heart, assuring it a home and resting-place among the stars!

From how many blighting evils, cancerous cares, will your high office preserve you! You will see men pursuing vain wealth and vainer honours, even as little boys hunt butterflies : with frantic glee they seize the thing pursued, and it is worthless in their grasp. Whilst you, rich in the spirit that is within you, upraised by the dignity of the awful future, will smile, though not in pride, but with abounding pity, with compassionating love. To you poverty itself will be a robe of highest state: and though most frugal be your board, yet, as with the patriarch, angels may feast with you, though men know them not. In every stage of mortal life, you are the elected comforter, adviser of mankind. Your glorious and beautiful mission begins with the babe that shrinks and wails beneath the baptismal water, nor ends but with the blessing prayer that leaves the image of man to become again dust. From the font to the grave how many the calls-how many the necessities of your infirm and erring brother-for that hope, that consolation, of which you are the chosen phial! How beautiful your daily intercourse with those who feed and thrive upon your sayings! How sweet that gentle familiarity that mixes itself in the working-day life of the poor; that with soft greetings and kindly smiles claims kindred with the meanest of the earth as fellow-sojourners in future heaven!And now, hark! it is

black midnight, and the tempest howls and claws like a famished wolf at your door. The thunder rolls, crashing above your roof! The lightning opens up the sky in one wide vault of fire and now it is dark, and the wind moans like a despairing soul. There is a loud and urgent knocking at your dooragain-again! Alas, dear sir, there is a poor creature, a cotter, one of your flock, in his last agony. His soul must from his flesh this awful night, and he begs your comforting, your benediction on its solemn journey.

You spring from your bed. Your cloak is old-thin almost as a web; nathless, you hug it closely around you, and with stout heart and composed soul follow your guide through path and no path-bog and mire. The thunder splits above you-the lightning chases your steps: but like a good spirit sent on God's own errand, you pass scathless on. You enter the hut of the dying; you comfort and strengthen the quivering soul. It departs to the Great Source it came from. And then in peace and prayer you retrace your steps, and sleep the sleep of the good.

But your own heart, my dear young friend, will best find out your duties. You will feel that every moment of your life must be a living example to all men. You must feel that your daily actions are as a mirror by which your flock are to dress their souls that your every gesture should be gentle-your every word soft and sweet even as a note of well-touched music. Your life must be the active comment on the text you are sworn to, or your life is naught.

What is there a man vowed to that text, who, worse than a hireling player, acts his part yet never feels it? Does he dress himself for some brief hour or so, to ape a mission? Is his daily life coarse chaffering? Is he a swiller at taverns? Does he, with embossed face, tell Cyprian tales, laughing the loudest at his noisome jest? Can there be such a man, and can he on the seventh day, with unabashed forehead, tempt God's thunder? No-it is impossible. He who says there is, gently rebuke. Say, "some enemy hath done this."

My dear Basil, I have endeavoured to place before you your duties as the parish pastor of a flock. Providence may, however, raise you to the bench. Yes, Basil; you may become a bishop. Nevertheless, seek not the dignity; nay, pray that it may never fall upon you. In your mid-day walks-in your closet-in your bed, let your constant ejaculation be-Nolo episcopari. Sweet, most sweet, is the humblest curacy-dangerous and difficult the richest see. How far happier-how more truly primitive the pastor of a Welsh mountain, than the bishop of even golden Durham! And the bishop-be assured of it—thinks so.

Nevertheless, I will suppose it your hard destiny to become a bishop. Power and wealth are poured upon you. Gold trickles in upon your treasury from a hundred curious crevices-from chinks, that in sooth might sometimes astonish the fathers. You cannot bless even so much churchyard clay, but that the clay, like a Potosi mine, shall render you so much gold. You would be bewildered by your wealth-you would weep in anguish of spirit at your riches, but that you always have with you the ignorant to teach-the poor to succour. Hence, you may with sweetest conscience clutch all the money you can; for why? As a bishop, are you not the almoner of Providence? Do not the hungry cluster at your gate? Send you not away the naked clothed and rejoicing? Oh what a weight-a weight dragging the soul to earth would this mammon be, but that it stays not in the bishop's purse-but that, as the soft-hearted housewife feeds the winter birds, he scatters abroad his substance to the wretched and the suffering. Hence, being bishop, you may take all you Of course, you hold it but in trust. Every quarter your conscience audits the accounts with Heaven, - and you are serene, are happy in the humble sense of your own righteousness.

can.

Being bishop, you are also law-maker. Beautiful, soulexalting mission! You sit in the House of Lords as a Superior Intelligence; superior by the charity for all men that resides within you! Hence, you defile not yourself with politics. The lawn of the bishop is never, like the coat of Joseph, particoloured. The bishop knows no one side of the human heart. No; he is for humanity in all its breadth, and in all its depth. Hence, when lords talk of war, and tiger-looks steal into the eyes of men, the awful bishop rises from his seat, and with a voice of thunder denounces the abomination. And then with tearful eyes, and with a voice broken with the heart's spasms, he shows the blasphemy of murderous war-paints in their own diabolic hues thousands and thousands of drilled and hireling Cains butchering their brothers! And thus the bishop sometimes-only sometimes-melts the House of Lords!

And now, my dear young friend, I have-though most imperfectly-laid before you the many blessings which await you in the Church, which, rightly ministered, is the vestibule to an immortal life. That you may serve in it with glory to yourself, and with profit to all men, is the prayer of

Yours affectionately,
SAMUEL OF

LETTER XXXII.

THE ANSWER.

MY DEAR SIR,-It is impossible that I can sufficiently thank you for your letter. I have been all along in a sad mistake. My family having, by marriage, a snug thing or two in the Church, I thought it a good investment of the little talent I may possess. I don't boast of much-but at a fox-hunt I was never yet out at the death, and at a steeple-chase never craned at anything. I therefore thought I might manage to rub on very well in canonicals; but, really, you have thrown so many difficulties in my way, that I certainly must give the clergy the go-by.

With thanks, however, for your very long letter,
I remain, yours truly,

BASIL JOLLY.

P.S.-They tell me I've the gift of the gab-I think I shall go to the bar.

LETTER XXXIII.

FROM A YOUNG MAN ENTERING BUSINESS TO A RETIRED TRADESMAN.

RESPECTED SIR,-When we last met, you were kind enough to say that the benefit of your long experience in business should be always at my service; and that as the friend of my poor late father, it would always be a pleasure to you to advise his son. At the same time you desired me to give you my notions of the duties of a tradesman to the world and to himself, that you might at the onset correct my errors, and strengthen my judgment. I therefore hasten to comply with your request.

Of course, sir, I consider the old schoolboy copy that "Honesty is the best policy" to be the golden rule of life, and that the shortest way from one point to another is always in a straight line. Hence, it will ever be my pride to let my practice illustrate this beautiful sentiment. I do not see why a shop may not be made a temple of truth-and cannot understand why a falsehood "in the way of business" is not, after all,

« EdellinenJatka »