THE VISIT TO LONDON.
"Dear sir, we have really been dumb only from surprise," said Mrs. Falconer. "I do not know how to answer you."
"Mother," said Guy, "it is impossible for me. You know I must and will work."
"Bravo, young sir," said the Squire; "but you must get back the strength to do it first."
"May I ask for time to think, to consider?" said Mrs. Falconer. "It is too true that we are not in the best of health, but I have accepted an engagement which may greatly conduce to our improvement—"
"It is impossible for you to undertake anything at present, madam," said Mr. Hazelwood, rising. "You have not the strength of a kitten left amongst you, if I'm any judge of appearances. I must candidly say that I cannot breathe for a week myself in this smoky wilderness of chimneys, and mean to quit it as soon as possible. Still, I am willing to wait your pleasure, if you consent to return with me."
"Dear sir, you must be aware that to accept or refuse would be either unwise or ungrateful, without due consideration. May I write to you this evening?"
"Pray do, and I will book places by the mail to-morrow. And I would suggest, with all due respect to you, madam, that you come at once on a visit for three months, and consider the rest afterwards. I can understand some pain for a while at coming home, but I really believe that the pleasure you will confer must make some compensation. Now farewell until to-morrow."
"Sir," said Guy as the Squire gave his address in London, "I am very sorry for my rudeness, and I beg your pardon."
"Granted, young sir; and the best proof of good terms between us will be that you accept my invite, and come at once. Our good young parson will see that it is not lost time in your preparations for work. I protest against everything until we see the country bloom on your cheeks again."
"I am at a loss to thank you as I ought, Mr. Hazelwood," said Mrs. Falconer as she followed her visitor down the stairs, "but you must not think me ungrateful."
"Leave that word out of the case, if you please, madam. We are selfish, as you will find; but I wish my Dorothy had been here to show you the facts." And never in his life having been able face any eyes that glittered in tears, the Squire hastened off, to beguile his time until the Member for his county called at the hotel and took him to "the House" to hear a debate on some important question of the day.
"Dear mother, you will go," said Guy, as Mrs. Falconer returned to the room and looked anxiously at her children for some indication of their wishes.
"Dear mother, let us go as visitors," said Maude. "Has not God sent us this kind friend to show you what to do? And we shall all be strong and well again for whatever comes next?"
"Can you be happy there, my son?" said she.
"As happy, or most likely more so than anywhere else, until I can work for you, mother," said Guy. "After all, I was not the owner of the Moat, and have no right to murmur at what the real owner chose to do."
"Thank God for this, my dear child; it is health and joy to hear you say so, and I almost think we would be wrong to decline Mr. Hazelwood's generous kindness, extraordinary, unexpected though it is."
"I don't believe his Dorothy, as he calls her, could have done his errand better," exclaimed Maude, "and I can't help thinking we shall love them all. Now, mother, prepare to make the most of our unexpected holiday."
Such a cheerful voice had not saluted her mother's ears for some time past, and after thought and prayer, a letter to the Squire accepting the invitation was despatched.
The picture not being finished, and feeling unwilling to hurry over it in her present exhausted state, Mrs. Falconer could not have the benefit of the price promised for it, and when the next day she contrived her errand of explanation with her employer into the City, she took with her to a jeweller's shop one of her few costly ornaments, a memorial of happier days; and the sum offered for it provided sufficiently for the immediate expenses of the journey. But the new, strange feelings attendant on the humiliating act, thankfulness to God for all His providential care, a sense of utter prostration of bodily power, ended at last in a long faint, which terrified her children, and produced in the kind-hearted landlady entire resignation to the departure of her lodgers without the usual term of notice thereof.
"Surely 'the Lord is my shepherd,'" said Mrs. Falconer; "and what a key-note is that sentence! It seems to flood the soul with promise and praise. Many may be the needful afflictions of the flock, but 'the Good Shepherd' leads them by 'the right way,' and when they are weary, His bosom is their resting-place."
CHAPTER VII.
CASTLE BUILDING.
THE Squire's own carriage-and-four, with servants in livery, awaited the arrival of the mail, but the Squire himself proudly gathered up the reins and dashed triumphantly along the road which had not very long before been so solemnly paced by the pair of stately blacks, with their sorrowful burden of unwilling exiles.
In some mysterious manner, the news had spread, cottages were deserted, groups were gathered, cheers were ventured, and something very like a general rejoicing seized upon the village clan. Respect for the Squire and his family, however, rose with the immense satisfaction their hospitality conferred, and nothing but the remarks of a few who in the evening twilight caught a glimpse of the pale occupants of the carriage checked the universal joy.
Mr. Spadeley was especially prophetic and mingled with all his undoubted regard for the ancient family were certain arrangements in his own mind about the speedy re-opening of the tomb beneath the cedars. It would certainly be some satisfaction that on such an occasion, no hand but his own should meddle with that solemn receptacle of fallen greatness. His daughter, however, restored to her position as attendant on her beloved mistress, entertained a happier opinion.
"If anything can do her good, it is the care and kindness of Mistress Hazelwood," she said. "I never saw such a wise dear lady in my life; why, it might be her very own sister. Never you fear, father, she'll come round as sure as my name's Jane. Miss Maude looks better already, and as for Master Guy, he and Squire Hazelwood are riding together I don't know where, and actually, he speaks cheerful and pleasant like he used to do."
"Well, they deserve Christian burial, that they do," said the sexton; "they're king Solomon's one in a thousand, doing unto others as they would others should do unto them. I saw our parson just now, and he thinks as you do, Jane; so go and do your duty like a good girl, and we'll all have patience and see what's to be the end of it."
The next satisfactory event was Mistress Hazelwood driving about in a little pony-carriage with her guest by her side, calling at cottages, and looking the sweet picture of content at the warm and affectionate demonstrations of the villagers at the recovery and reappearance among them of their valued friend.
A few pleasant weeks made all the difference in restoring what the Squire persisted in declaring was only banished by London fogs, and his mental comment upon the notion of any sane person or persons wilfully encountering the same, was emphatically to the effect that whatever happened "served them right."
He and Guy, Mrs. Hazelwood and Mrs. Falconer, and the now inseparable friends Evelyn and Maude, made precisely the family party which the Squire declared essential to the proper enjoyment of the Moat; the chill, he said, was passing away, the silent passages and grim carvings no longer frightened him, and altogether, he considered his appetite was improving, and his view of life in general was more comfortable and philanthropic. The parson was always welcome to come and look after them all, and if he could supply Master Guy's brains for awhile instead of the school, he could see no objection to things remaining as they now stood, for any time that Providence pleased to allow, and for his part, he should not choose to begin the vexatious self-torment of "meeting trouble half way."
"Dorothy, my dear," said he when the subject of their visitors was under discussion between them, preparatory to further measures, "do you believe in such a thing as 'proper pride'?"
"The world does," said Mrs. Hazelwood, smiling.
"But the world isn't you; do you think pride can be 'proper' in any shape? I want to know."
"No, surely not, dear husband."
"Then a fig for the world's opinion; so tell Mrs. Falconer just your mind about it, Dorothy."
"But, Roger, there is such a thing as self-respect, you know, and we must not ask Mrs. Falconer to sacrifice that, if such should be her view of it. What would you like me and Evelyn to do, if we were situated as she is?" And the fair face clouded a little, and the Squire looked considerably perplexed.
"That superintendency scheme does not please me, at any rate," said he at last; "she will never be strong enough for that, so oppose it with all your might and main."
"I will, dear husband; and if, as I am nearly sure, she will not consent to be without employment somewhere, I think even self-respect will not stand in the way of your plan."
"My plan, Dolly! Why, the better half of it came out of your own little head or heart, or both; and really I do admire your substitution of 'self-respect' for 'proper pride,'—it sounds more like Christianity; but let us take care we don't mistake the one for the other. And warn her gently, you know, not to take counsel with that young pepper-corn of a lad of hers. He has pride enough for the whole peerage if I'm not greatly mistaken, but if she takes him back to London, I don't believe he'll live long to be troubled by it."
Mrs. Hazelwood was of the same opinion, for the delicate appearance of the boy had troubled her almost as much as that of his mother, and having now a definite line of action in view, such as under similar circumstances she would accept for herself, the way was clear to meet Mrs. Falconer's next attempt to introduce the subject of departure from the Moat.
Then tenderly and simply she stated her own and her husband's earnest wish to detain them all, and to consider the Moat House their permanent home, adding many motherly arguments concerning health, moral benefit, and opportunity to cultivate the artistic talent which had already gained notice and approval.
"But, my dear, kind friend," said Mrs. Falconer, "you forget that my children must fight their own way through the world, and wherever I am trying to do so myself is the best scene of example and encouragement for them. Here I am tempted to be again idle and self-indulgent."
"Would you consent to work here, if opportunity could be found, while your son completes his education, and until you know what is to be his future course in life?" asked Mrs. Hazelwood.
"Yes, thankfully, but I saw no way; there was not even a cottage to be had. I could do nothing but go away when our trouble came, and I saw its effect on my boy."
"Then, dear Mrs. Falconer, stay with us, and educate our wild, spoilt Evelyn with your gentle Maude. Let Mr. Herbert take charge of Guy until his health is quite restored; and if you cannot be happy in your own old rooms here, I have no doubt there will be found some pretty cottage on the estate which will suit when required. By-and-by we can think about further advantages for our daughters if desirable, but for the present you are more than qualified to instruct them. Evelyn must have companionship, and I must either seek a governess and a fellow student at home, or send my only child amongst strangers. Will you not help us to a happy alternative, dear friend?"
The pleader could not be resisted long, and the consciousness that at present she was unfit to enter with spirit on the duties of the institution could not but have serious weight in Mrs. Falconer's own judgment. But she would not act without consulting feelings of her children, and to Guy she felt sure the idea would be highly distasteful.
"Mother," said he when she confided to him the plan proposed to her, "have you no feeling against living as a governess where you once lived as mistress and hostess of the house?"
"No feeling against it, Guy; it would be pride, and in this case, I think inexcusable pride. I am conscious that, God helping me, I can be useful to our generous friends, and it will be easier for me to assist your advance in whatever you may desire to do."
"Did you ever feel proud, mother? Do you know anything at all about it?"
"You may as well ask if I am a child of Adam," said his mother. "Pride is as natural to the human heart as any instinct we possess, and the most cruelly tenacious of its grasp; there is but one Power that can subdue it; 'and this is the victory that overcometh even our faith,' for 'whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world.' Pride is Satan's and the world's view of things; true humility belongs to another seed, and came from heaven with the Lord Jesus, Who 'took upon Him the form of a servant,' and was content with the station in which He could best do His Father's will."
"Well, mother, I am not going to say anything against this plan for the present; I would not go back to London and see you fade away into another world, as you were doing lately, for anything London hold's. I will study thankfully with Mr. Herbert, and see what he can make of me for the next few months; and if it is bearable to be under obligation to anybody, I think it will seem less hard to bear with Mr. Hazelwood and his lovable lady than I ever supposed possible. I am getting stronger too, mother, don't you see? Why, I could out-do half those fellows at school if I were to try now. There are the girls going for their ride, I'll just run and tell Maude that we are to stay, and they'll be out of their wits with joy, both of them. I'm glad it's all settled, mother,—not that I want to be idle, and you shall not be ashamed of me at least, I'm determined, neither shall that great, strong, bluff Squire."
That a most welcome change had passed over the mind and temper of her son was apparent, and even beyond what faith and hope had dared to contemplate. So the widow's path seemed plain, and a full explanation was written to Mrs. W— of the entire state of affairs, eliciting her decided approval and congratulations. She declined Mrs. Falconer's offer to come and superintend the institution until the vacancy could be filled, as she knew but too many ready and thankful for the post.
"It has all turned out capitally," said the Squire, rubbing his hands with glee, "and perhaps Miss Evelyn may be made presentable after all."
Mr. Herbert gladly welcomed his pupil, and a happy calm succeeded the late changes and disturbances at the old Moat House.
One pleasant sunny morning, Mrs. Falconer sat with her work on the lawn; Guy, having been dismissed from study by his master, had thrown himself down at her feet, and was for some time deep in the examination of a book which he had taken from his pocket.
Evelyn and Maude were gone with Mrs. Hazelwood on some errand of love, and there was prospect of a quiet hour with his mother.
"Mother," said he, suddenly, rolling over on his back, "I cannot make this out; how can it be? It says,—
"'Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before
kings; he shall not stand before mean men.'
"Is that always true?"
"It is the enunciation of a great principle, Guy, and is merely illustrated in forcible terms, signifying that persevering industry attains a high reward; and it is often literally true, for some of our most eminent men have risen from a lowly origin to confer with princes, and take a place in the councils of the State."
"But are they the exceptions, mother, or the rule?"
"Perhaps they may be exceptions so far as the literal statement goes, but the rule holds good in principle for most of those who are diligent in business from right motives and by right means. They usually rise in the social scale, and attain position and influence denied to the idle and indifferent. Doubtless it was so under the administration of a discerning ruler like the king of Israel, and in our own country there is no barrier to the rise of any from humble industry to heights of wealth and power."
"Well, but look here, mother; is it right to try for it? Because listen to this, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation,'—that's not honour, you know. 'Mind not high things, but condescend to men of low estate,'—that's not standing before kings; that's associating with 'mean men.' So what are we really to do and expect?"
"There is nothing inconsistent in the statements, dear boy. Suppose a man to attain by diligence and industry some position of eminence, let him not suppose that he is therefore exempt from trial and suffering, for if he be a follower of Jesus, he must in some way take up His cross; and possibly the very prosperity he has attained may supply opportunities of temptation and tribulation which a more obscure lot may escape.
"Then, though he may be elevated to 'high things' in the world's estimate, he must not be intent on them, or proud of them, because after all, it was by God's kind providence that he was favoured with the elements and opportunities of success; and he should sympathise with, and help forward, those who are struggling as he did, or seem less able to master the difficulties which keep them back. It seems to me that in the three passages you have quoted, we find lawful encouragement in our daily duty, warning that 'the servant' must not expect to be 'above his master,' and a necessary precept against ambition and pride."
"Well, but, mother, suppose the things clash; suppose in trying hard for the reward of diligence in business, one loses sight of the condition to which tribulation in some sense seems promised; what is to be done then?"
"Well, let us consider both for a moment, and then decide which is best worth having. When an industrious, clever man has attained his object, risen as high as he can, what then?"
"Why, that's all, isn't it? He is a great man; he does not belong to the class of 'mean men.'"
"Yes, and what then?"
"I don't know, excepting that he will like to keep what he has attained until—"
"Until when, Guy?"
"Until he dies, I suppose."
"Yes, and what then?"
"What then, mother! I cannot tell."
"Do you think that the man who has been only diligent and attentive to the business of the world, amassed a fortune, attained a high estate, will be welcomed in heaven as 'a good and faithful servant,' and counted worthy to enter the joy of the Lord? Did he not receive his reward on earth? Did his aims and desires rise above the end he pursued? And should he be disappointed at only attaining what he strove for?"
"I suppose he should not; but such a man would perhaps be thinking himself so lawfully busy, that God would provide for the next world, when he had to give up this one."
"Very likely; I fear many make that fatal mistake, forgetting the word of warning to such, 'What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shalt that a man give in exchange for his soul?' It is a question man has never dared to answer, so he evades it, until compelled to estimate the profit and the loss in the eternal consequence of his miserable neglect. But what of the other condition, Guy?"
"The tribulation, the humble and lowly lot of those who care most for following Christ and obeying God, do you mean?"
"Yes, what then?"
"Why, I suppose one escapes disappointment, and most of the troubles of the rich and great; but then you see, one may keep very low, and always be among 'mean men' at that rate."
"Yes, and what then?"
"Oh, go on creeping and grubbing till one dies, I suppose."
"And then?"
"That's all; a grave perhaps, with no name to put over it. Nothing more."
"Yes, Guy, think again; the grub days over, the wings unfold, the angels of God bear home the blood-bought soul, and the Lord Himself pronounces the welcome of His humblest follower who has lived by faith, and obeyed and honoured Him. 'Well done, thou good and faithful servant,' from the Master's lips, will obliterate all life's sorrows and disappointments, inaugurate joys that, until then, 'eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart to conceive, but which God hath prepared for them that love Him.' Oh, my son, we shall then know fully what it is to be a Christian, not in name only, but in deed and in truth."
Guy gazed at his mother with a feeling almost of awe, half expecting to see the wings she spoke of; and there was a long silence, while his face lay hidden in the grass. At last he looked up.
"Mother, I will try for both. I will be diligent in business, and take what it brings; but I will have the wings and the welcome whatever else I lose."
"By the grace of God, dear child. 'Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find'; and be sure that you shall stand one day, glory-crowned, in the presence of the King of kings."
While the mother and son indulged in silent thought on the subject of their conversation, the voices of Evelyn and Maude sounded merrily from a neighbouring walk, and before Guy could rise, he was covered with wreaths of wild flowers and denounced as the very impersonation of idleness.
"Now if you will be civil, I will convince you that I am not idle," said Guy, composedly, making strokes upon a paper or drawing-book as he lay on his face on the grass; "look if you ever saw anything like this."
Both the fairies were down on either side of him in a moment.
"Of course we have," cried Evelyn; "it is the Moat House. But you have not put in some trees that I think are there, and you show a piece of the old tower that I'm quite sure cannot be seen from the place where you stood for this view."
"You seem pretty familiar with the old place, Miss Evelyn, to notice all that; but you see, I've cut down those trees, and opened a glimpse of the tower, which I consider a great improvement, don't you?"
"You have cut down the trees!" exclaimed Evelyn, in amazement. And she darted away to look at the spot in question.
"For shame, Guy," said she, returning very red and angry; "you should speak the truth; you know you dare not cut down my father's trees."
"I meant in imagination at present," said Guy, laughing; "but, I mean to do it in fact some day, when I've got the Moat back again, and I was only just trying how it would look."
"What! Get the Moat House away from my father," cried the young lady, in surprise and disgust.
"Yes, some day; but of course I shall pay him for it; I'm going to be a thief."
"Indeed you shall never do any such thing; I'll tell him what you say."
"I thought you were my friend, Evelyn," said Guy, coolly, "and would be glad that I should have the old place where my ancestors lived for hundreds of years, and that never ought to have been sold out of the family."
"But what am I to do? I can't wish both ways, you know, and my father calls me his little queen, and says I shall reign here all the days of my life. I'm sure he will be very angry to hear of such wicked thoughts, Guy, so you'd better give them up this moment."
"No, I shall not do that; and can't you see, you hot-headed little thing, that it will make no difference to you? It will take a great many years to earn the money, and when I want the place, perhaps your father may find one he will like better, and if not, you shall all live here with us, as we do now with you."
"I don't believe my father would like that," said Evelyn, somewhat mollified; "so if it will take a great many years, I think I shall not tell him yet; but it seems very disagreeable of you. Perhaps he will not sell it to you, though, and what then?"
"Then I can't help it, I suppose, and I shall have to wait until—until—" Guy paused, it was a troublesome thought, "until—" when, and he could not say it.
Maude had listened in some surprise at the cool, assured tone in which her brother had spoken, but felt the dilemma into which he had worked himself, for in his zeal for his own project, he forgot for the moment the implied sorrow to others.
"See, see!" she suddenly exclaimed. "How grand! How beautiful! Towers, trees, gardens, and the flag of the Falconers waving over all!"
"Where? What do you mean?" cried Guy and Evelyn, starting up.
"There, in the air to be sure; don't you see? Guy's castle, I mean."
"Pooh!" said the boy, colouring. "What nonsense, Maude."
"More harmless nonsense than yours, dear brother, for you know it is written, 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbours house.' I wish you had not had such strange thoughts, Guy."
"Well, never mind now," said Evelyn, kindly. "I dare say it's very natural, and I did not know that your people lived here so long ago."
"It may be natural, dear children," said Mrs. Falconer, "but the servants of Jesus and heirs of the heavenly mansions must be supernatural, and I hoped that Guy had chosen an inheritance that can never pass away."
"But I may have both, you know, mother, and if not, I shall choose the best."
What a puffed-up, elastic thing is a young human heart! What big thoughts, what strong wills, what unspeakable ideas swell within it!
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PLACE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.
"WHAT is that queer object yonder, Evelyn? Your eyes are younger than mine," and Squire Hazelwood pointed in the distance where the sun had just lighted up a glade in the park, revealing little gleams of beauty before unseen.
"I cannot tell yet, father, we must get nearer; it is too small for a cow, perhaps it's a calf; let me canter Fairy over the turf and see what it is."
And touching her pony with the whip, she bounded over the intervening sward, to the great admiration of the Squire, who loved to have her the companion of his morning ride whenever he could presume to interrupt the duties of the schoolroom. Not choosing to tear up the turf with the heavier hoofs of his horse, he trotted round towards the spot where Evelyn sat laughing at the object so unrecognisable at the greater distance.
"Ha! I see you were right, Evelyn; yes, it is a calf." And the Squire laughed merrily at the discovery.
The object was no other than Guy on his back, shading his eyes with his cap, and studying the soft white clouds that sailed across the blue sky.
"Yes, of course it's a calf, Evelyn; let him finish his dream; but ho! Young sir, you had better remember that you were not born to the herd-life of Nebuchadnezzar, and there is such a thing as rheumatism in these parts, which are not exempt from 'all the ills that flesh is heir to.' Come along, Evelyn."
"Poor lad," he continued as they rode away, "if he is going to dream away his life like that, I don't know what he will be fit for. I'm glad he's no son of mine."
Now Miss Evelyn was not pleased with the tone of such remarks, and wishing to impress her father with more respect for Guy's capacity, she resolved to tell him of the great scheme which lighted up the dreamer's future, and which would prove that he had at least an object in life, though how it was to be furthered by lying about on the grass she did not exactly see. So drawing close to her father's side, and looking eagerly up at him,—
"But, father," she began, "you will never guess what a wonderful thing Guy means to do—that is, if you let him, though I don't think you will."
"I'm sure I shall never guess at anything very wonderful in him, so you will have to tell me, little woman; and pray don't imagine that I should have the heart to hinder him."
"Well, father, it is this. Turn your head this way, that I may see how astonished you will be. He says he is going to earn money enough to buy back the Moat House from you. There now!"
The Squire certainly was surprised, and burst into a loud fit of laughter as the most appropriate expression of it.
"Buy back the Moat, will he? Poor lad, poor lad! He may well lie on his back with a bee like that in his bonnet,—ha! ha! ha! Excuse me, my dear, for it really is the most ludicrous thing I have heard for years. Buy back the Moat with money that he will earn!—Poor lad, poor lad!"
"He is not 'poor lad' at all, father," said Evelyn, indignantly; "he has plenty of great, good thoughts in him."
"I dare say he has, but they will always be only thoughts. I cannot help laughing, Evelyn. Why, his pale face and thin body haven't enough life in them to do much harm or good in this world, poor lad. So he is going to buy back the Moat! Well, all I can say is, let him, if he can; we needn't feel very much alarmed at him, my little woman."
"I am not at all alarmed, father," said Evelyn, with some vexation at his disrespectful mirth.
"No, I should think not, child, it's too comical to be serious about; but I rather like his spirit, I didn't know it was in him, even to dream about."
"Father is quite disagreeable this morning," thought Evelyn. "I almost think I shall be on Guy's side, and wish he may buy it back some day. What fun it would be! Poor lad, indeed! I cannot think what makes my father talk in that way." And she tried to believe that the face was not so very pale, and the long, thin figure not so very weak, though by the stout, strong proportions of Squire Hazelwood, whom, had she lived some years later in the world's age, she might have been disposed to pronounce "jolly," Guy certainly did not look robust—or vulgar.
Then his tastes were singular, and not usually such as obtained sympathy from the Squire, though Mr. Herbert's report of him as a student was thoroughly satisfactory. He would spend hours watching the clouds; would steal among the cattle, and coax them into picturesque groups; tether a sheep or a goat, and take its portrait; study every variety of foliage that adorned the changing seasons; and within the cover of his little despised portfolio, treasured art-secrets that should be revealed some future day.
Mr. Herbert observed and was disappointed; he would have preferred a different career for his interesting pupil. Mrs. Falconer observed, and waited too; perhaps she also would gladly have seen indications of a desire for some remunerative profession or pursuit; but her means of promoting it being very small, she did not venture too urgently to propose a decision.
"Time enough yet," the Squire would say, in order to comfort her concerning her boy; "he has not strength of body yet to bear him through any great struggle in life. Another year of these green fields and old woods that he seems to love so much, and then Master Guy must shake himself up, and tell us what he is fit for."
But Guy was not idle, and would take no mean place as a scholar if sent into either of the public schools; and the rapid development of his talent as an artist was secretly proved by the occupation of every hour that could be devoted to this overruling aim.
The works of God for his model could not but ennoble and purify his taste, and such a choice would probably be a safe-guard from many of the temptations of the world. But was it possible that Guy would seek through it the fulfilment of ambitions at which he had sometimes hinted? It was possible, and it was a fact.
"I cannot be a clergyman," thought he; "I am not good enough to preach to others."
"You must preach by your life," whispered an indwelling monitor; "see that the sermon be sound and faithful."
"I do not like the law, it has so much to do with injustice and contention."
"Blessed are the peacemakers," rose to his mind.
"I cannot be a merchant, for I have no money to begin with."
"Thou shalt not covet," said the monitor again.
"I think I can paint in time, and I love it more than anything that seems within my reach. But will it do any good in the world?"
"'Whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father by Him.'"
"And if I cannot do that, I will not be a painter," thought Guy; "to earn money is all very well, and I like the idea very much, but it isn't everything. Can I serve God in my work? I can think about Him, love Him, admire Him, but can I serve Him by copying His beautiful works on to my canvas, and wishing men to buy the representation? Is it not selfish, useless in the world? Are people the better for the study of art?"
And Guy reluctantly carried this new perplexity to his mother, for as she had already earned money by the exercise of her talent, she must in some way have faced and overcome the same difficulty.
"I am not prepared to assert that the world is any better for a multitude of the things that are nevertheless lawfully done in it," said Mrs. Falconer; "it may perhaps be pleasanter for many a pursuit which rises no higher than man's own gratification, and in moderation such may be enjoyed; we are to 'use the world as not abusing it.' If any lover of art can afford, without neglecting higher claims, to adorn his house with a pictured record of the loveliness of scenes which have charmed his sight, and of which he desires to preserve the memory, he is not doing wrong; and if he cannot paint, he can purchase."
"Very well, dear mother, this brings us to the point. A man's house can do without such adornment, though it may not look so elegant, and the responsibility falls upon those who possess the power to supply that deficiency."
"Who bestows that power? Where does it come from?" asked Mrs. Falconer.
"'Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above,'—is that an answer?" said Guy.
"Yes, dear boy, it is the answer. And if we recognise the Giver, and the proper end of all His gifts, we are solemnly responsible for the use we make of them."
"Then you don't think there is anything wrong or trifling or inconsistent in trying to be a clever artist, mother?"
"Certainly not, if one feels that it is an endowment of one's nature, and circumstances in God's providence admit of its cultivation; but it is very foolish, and useless also, for anyone to insist upon selecting such a study if he possess no natural qualifications for it. There are certain things that no amount of effort will ever attain; they belong to the individual, are his by nature, and make what man calls genius."
"Do you mean when one's mind and thoughts and hopes and chosen work run in any special channel, and one wishes to press everything into its service, that one may be said to have a genius for it?" said Guy, with a flush on his cheek, and a new light dancing in his eyes.
"I think it would not be wrong to conclude so; and in the useful occupations of life, it is often a great satisfaction to see men's delight in their chosen pursuits. What should we do if none of our youths loved the sea, and seemed made on purpose to brave its dangers, and enjoy its wonders? What mercies to mankind have resulted from the physician's skill; but what drudgeries to undergo, what disagreeables to encounter, what researches to pursue, before he can hope to attain any eminence; and if he does at last attain it, his love and enthusiasm for his profession have borne him over hindrances and difficulties before which an indifferent student would have quailed in disgust or settled down in mediocrity."
"Ah, yes, mother; but you see you have selected two occupations that are necessary in the welfare of one's country or fellow creatures. Now nobody is the better for painting, so far as I can perceive."
"Many are greatly the worse, Guy. A noble gift perverted it one of Satan's instruments. Poetry and music rank in a similar position; but enlist them all in the cause of truth, morality, and Christian love, and they exercise a power for good which God can bless and prosper. For this they were given, and woe to those who have profaned them for baser uses."
"I want to feel sure that the profession I choose shall not be a mere fancy of my own—a lazy sham for occupation, because I am obliged to work; and it will not satisfy me that I love it, and delight in it, and even succeed in it, if it never does good to anybody in the world. Why, I might actually do harm, of I induced people to buy my pictures when they ought to spend their money in some other way."
"I hope, if you knew that to be the case, you would not induce them, Guy."
"No, of course I would not. Still, I want to see just the right principle and motive, mother—one that will stand through everything."
"It is necessary in the providence of God that you should devote your time and talents, whatever they may be, to gain your own living, dear Guy, and it would comfort my heart if in so doing, you should be able to make a home some day for our Maude, when either she might be unemployed, or I may—"
"Hush, my mother; I can't bear your 'may be.' I want to make a home for you both, or it will be no home to me."
"Then you have an honest, lawful motive, Guy."
"So I have, mother—a motive for work that will bear me through any drudgery of preparation. Now for the sphere of it. My natural taste, desire, conscious possession of some degree of—of talent, shall I say?—point to the ornamental. I do wish I had a clear hard head for something outrageously useful, quite indispensable to all the world!"
"Well," said his mother, smiling, "on the supposition that it is to be something among the Fine Arts, let us try to find a little encouragement."
"That's just what I want, mother; to be engaged in some way that God can approve, while I am earning my subsistence by it."
"We must look back a long way, Guy, for our first token. I suppose that when God created man 'in His own image,' the tastes, feelings and perceptions of the creature were in perfect harmony with, if not a reflection of, the mind of the Creator, and we know that he, with all around him, was pronounced 'very good.' Now the dwelling-place of this happy, holy one might have been merely some safe and peaceful spot where communion with his Maker was sufficient to beautify it, even had it been a forest or a plain.
"But we are told that it was 'a garden,' planted by the hand of God Himself, and in which He caused to grow 'every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food.' Whatever would gratify an innate appreciation of the beautiful was as indulgently provided as the useful and necessary food for the body. We cannot doubt that Eden was a scene of loveliness such as our world has never since possessed; and the graceful occupation of 'dressing and keeping' it, involving no toil, simply exercised that degree of refined taste and perfect sense of order and harmony with which its lord would be endowed. These attributes, though sullied by the fall, are not extinct in Adam's children."
"No, that they are not," said Guy; "for you know what beautiful work and richly-blended or contrasted colours the Indian tribes produce, and in some of the ideas and speeches of untutored savages it almost seems as if they thought and spoke in poetry."
"True; and while some among the more favoured races take advantage of circumstances to develop these instinctive perceptions into some practical form, others are content with their power of appreciation, and enjoy sympathetically what genius provides; and mercifully so. It is painful enough to hear bad music, read miserable rhapsodies miscalled poetry, and be called upon to admire daubs that lack all the requirements of true art, the first being a strict adherence to nature; but happily these self-deceivers are not numerous, and usually give up under want of encouragement.
"Thousands who can never be musicians delight in music; they have the internal sense of harmony, but not the voice or touch of skill: thousands who cannot sketch a gate-post, gaze with admiration on a picture which tells its story to their eyes and hearts. Therefore the influence of genius in works of art is a responsibility for which its possessor will be called to solemn account, for it raises a standard beneath which national character will be either elevated or corrupted.
"A gifted man may dedicate his genius to purity and virtue, and so guide public taste and feeling in the right direction; or he may degrade his gifts to the sensuous and profane, and leave the stamp of satanic triumph on his day and generation. To use genius aright, dear Guy, it must be consecrated and directed by the Spirit of Almighty God. In all that is beautiful and sublime, He, the source of beauty, the impersonation of all perfection, is the safe and willing Guide."
"Then, if His glory be our aim, we cannot go too far in the exercise of His own gifts?" said Guy.
"Remembering, of course, to keep within the limits of obedience to His own commands."
"Of course, mother. What makes you say that? Can anything be done for God's glory that disobeys His will?"
"Yes, Guy, and therefore I added the warning. Men have so far deceived themselves as to call into requisition some of the greatest triumphs of art, and profess them for His glory and honour, while distinctly violating His revealed commands."
"Ah! I know what you mean now, mother; but surely that sort of profession is either hypocrisy or ignorance."
"It results from both, and with God's Word before us, both are wholly inexcusable."
"Now, mother, I must just mention something that is in my mind on this very point, and I'm glad our little talk has brought us to it. You know our old church is very old indeed, and getting sadly dilapidated, and I should like to see it made respectable."
"So should I, my dear boy; and I think probably when Mr. Hazelwood is able to attend to it, he will have it made so."
"Well, suppose he gave me leave to do whatever I please with it; it is God's house—"
"You mean it is, and always has been, devoted to purposes of Christian worship."
"Yes, it is not used for anything else. Well now, could I make it too beautiful with all the taste and skill in architecture, painting, and sculpture, that I could muster to adorn it?"
"For a museum of beautiful things, an exhibition of your taste and liberality, or for its present purpose; which do you intend?"
"Of course for its present use—a place where the Gospel is preached, and where people meet to pray, and hear, and praise."
"Then to be acceptable to God, the worship must be according to His known mind about it."
"Yes, of course, mother."
"Then listen, dear Guy; 'God is a Spirit, and they that warship Him, must worship in spirit and in truth.' Whatever would interfere with the exercise of spirit, by interesting or attracting the senses, is an intrusion on the sanctity and exclusiveness of spiritual worship. It is not with eye or ear, but with heart, soul, and conscience, that God communes in His worshippers. He does not say, 'I dwell in gorgeous temples, or on decorated altars;' but, on the contrary, He 'dwelleth not in temples made with hands; neither is worshipped with men's hands, as though He needed anything;' yet He has a dwelling-place on earth, and where?
"The prophet tells us, 'Thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, I dwell in the high and holy place, with him, also, that is of a contrite and humble spirit.' That is the true invocation of the Divine presence, be it where it may—in a cathedral or a barn; the external scene has nothing to do with it. God's 'high and holy place' is a name for His eternal presence in sovereign majesty; and from it, He bends in pardoning love to meet and bless the repentant sinner."
"But, mother, do you think it may be more acceptable to God, more like apprehending His perfections, if we ask Him to meet and bless us in beautiful buildings, and among objects that we value and admire?"
"No, my dear Guy, it is not really so, however some imagine it. If man were perfect again, it might be so; but experience proves the fact that in proportion to the increase of external appliance and ornament in the worship of the professing Church, was the decrease of spiritual religion and practical godliness in heart and life, and the growth of those corruptions which made what men called Christianity, a scandal and disgrace to Europe.
"It is only the spirit-taught soul and consecrated heart that can offer acceptable worship through the Great High Priest; and when men took upon themselves to do it in their own way, and according to their own sensuous ideas of beauty and acceptability, they had to find their offerings turn to corruption, and their boasted improvements become abuses. The main reason was to be found in the neglect of the Bible, the only true standard of faith and holiness.
"'The entrance of Thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple,' was the experience of man; and the fact was observed by man's great enemy; therefore to hide away God's words, and pre-occupy the mind with human superstitions, alike served Satan's end and the ambition of those who aimed at the subjugation of the minds and consciences of their fellow sinners, and the enjoyment of the Diotrephes spirit which assumes the blasphemous authority of a priestly medium between God and man. Keep close to God's Holy Word, dear Guy, and you will escape the snares of mere formal religion, as well as of false teachers, however plausible both may be."
"But yet, mother, we know that when Moses was being instructed about the Tabernacle, God actually inspired the work-people to do the beautiful things that were required, as if no human skill could be perfect enough."
"Quite true. No human idea could reach the occasion; for do you not remember what that Tabernacle was to represent? It was to be made after 'the pattern' shown to Moses in 'the Mount;' this is carefully recorded several times. * And what was that 'pattern'? However 'shown,' whether by word or by illustration, it was nothing less than the dealing of God in Christ with man in redemption and salvation. Such a plan could never have been conceived by human intellect, and it required Divine teaching to embody Divine truth in such type and symbol, or figure, as should concentrate attention on the object to be represented."
* Exodus xxxi., xxxv., and Hebrews viii.
"The materials to be used were of God's own creation, and were to be of the best and purest—gold, silver, and precious stones; cedar, silk, flax, skins—and the working up of them into their destined use must be by His own special instruction. So Bezaleel and Aholiab were 'called by name,' and made as it were foremen of the work, 'filled with the Spirit of God in wisdom and understanding,' that they might direct and superintend all the 'wise-hearted' work-people who were selected for the occasion. We must never forget for a moment that all these arrangements were typical of something future; and these types were to be apprehended by the senses, and obeyed in the practice, until the right time should come for the reality to appear with the spiritual truths prefigured.
"In due season, God sent forth His Son, 'the brightness of His glory, the express image of His person,' united to our human nature with all its sinless infirmities, to be, not only the manifestation of God in righteous love to man, but to be also the representative of man to God, obeying for us, dying for us, rising again for us, and re-uniting in holy harmony for all believers the link that sin had broken between God and man. Then the end and meaning of all those blood-sprinkled rites and solemn services were fulfilled and understood; God no longer spoke by altar and sacrifice, slain lambs and Aaronic priests, but by His Son, 'the Word made flesh.'
"Then to retain the shadows would have interfered with the right reception of the grand reality; and when the true Sacrifice declared the long-prefigured deed accomplished, and bowed His head, and died, the veil of the temple was rent from top to bottom, and the symbolic ritual was abolished by the same Divine Hand that had instituted it.
"Simplicity and truth, decency and order, are the characteristics of the new dispensation of the Holy Spirit, whose office is to take of the things of Jesus, and show them to the spiritual understandings of all who believe. Whatever distracts the mind, through eye or ear, by painting, sculpture, music, from the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, is an offence to God, a perversion of human talent, and an inevitable hindrance to spiritual worship. If in their weak misapprehension of God and truth, people call such things 'helps to devotion,' as many do, it is because they slight the power of the promised Spirit, who 'searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God.'
"'The natural man,' or the man in his worldly, unrenewed nature, can receive the emotional enjoyment of gazing on a pictured crucifixion, or of listening to a thrilling Mass, and fancy it devotion; but the honour of the passing excitement goes to the gifted painter and the skilled musician, for 'the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God,' and 'the things of God knoweth no man but the Spirit of God,' and they must be 'spiritually discerned."
"Then no one really taught what true worship of God consists in should feel any need of help," said Guy, musingly.
"I did not say that, my dear boy. Help is needed, but not human help. Our Father knows how weak and unable we are to do anything as we should like to do it, however truly we love and adore Him, so He has provided the needed help. Do we want to pray? 'Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groaning which cannot be uttered.' So you see prayer is not restricted even to words.
"And if we desire to praise, 'O Lord, open Thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise.' 'My lips shall utter praise when Thou hast taught me Thy statutes.' 'Let my soul live, and it shall praise Thee,' which no 'dead' soul can do. Let us call things by their right names, and not mistake one for another."
"But you do not object to beautiful music in the worship of God, dear mother. I have heard you sing your very best in church."
"I am very glad you thought so, Guy. And few things are more delightful than the praises of our God, sung from the heart, by voices cultivated with scientific taste. Only, let us sing to the glory of God, and not to the glory of ourselves or the mere gratification of the sensitive ear."
"It seems a natural thing that when rich people become Christians, they should like to spend money upon things connected with religion, though, mother."
"Very natural indeed, dear Guy; but at the same time, unless the desire is rightly directed, it may produce much harm."
"What would you consider being 'rightly directed,' mother?"
"I think a rich Christian should be content with much simplicity and plainness in the externals of worship, not only because his own heart in its loving communion with God in Christ soars far above all visible things, but also lest he should be the means of misleading others, and helping on their self-deception. He may take care that 'the place where prayer is wont to be made,' and fellow Christians assemble to worship God, is substantial, respectable, and, if you like, even handsome in its proportions and provision for its purpose. But there his responsibility ends in that behalf, and his sympathies are commanded in another direction, namely, 'to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction,'—to seek out the lost and miserable, the hungry, the naked, the sick, the oppressed, and in Christ's name, and for His sake, minister to them of the substance committed to his stewardship. This is the service which our Lord recognises as done unto Him. And it is no sign of health in any professing communion when the decoration of a visible temple takes the place of spiritual truth in the preparation of the 'living stones' of the spiritual temple, 'the habitation of God through the Spirit.'"
"Well now, mother, what about the Puritans? I am glad to feel that I have real sympathy with their cause, and glory in their noble stand against tyranny and priestcraft, when the religion and liberties of England were threatened either by the weak or the wicked; but did they not push non-essential matters to an extreme?"
"Unhappily it is the tendency of the human mind to rush to extremes, and many a noble cause has been damaged by the violent reaction which results from success. The Puritans (why, Guy, the very name is an honourable witness) restored the supremacy of God's Word, with its holy precepts of self-denial and godliness. Their men were majestic men, firm of purpose, bold in action, wise in counsel, because they gave due place to the souls within them, and lived, not as half men, but whole men, not for time only, but for eternity; their women took their anointed place, 'adorned with good works,' as 'daughters of the Lord Almighty;' and experience testified of Puritanic principles, that they were sound and safe, and never more so than in domestic life."
"But were they not too rigid and severe? Were they not hard and stern about things that were innocent and natural, and so made their religion distasteful and disagreeable, instead of lovable and winning?"
"I think it is true that they were often hard and strict in their anxiety to exterminate the real licentiousness and abominations of the time—they sometimes swept away lawful preferences and simple pleasures; but when men have had to fight their way to freedom and virtue for law and life, they may stand excused for trying to guard every avenue through which the recurrence of past sin and degradation might threaten their recovered rights. And it is a fact that no political bias or religious partisanship can gainsay, that the less of luxury in the life, and the simpler the form of worship among the people, the higher rose our national character, and the stronger our moral influence among the rulers of Europe. Let us take care that the beam of real disloyalty to God and His holy truth is not in our own eyes, while condemning the mote that may have interfered with the perfect light of our Puritan forefathers'."
"It is just this, then, mother, to my mind in real desire to know the truth. People were already made to anything that turned up in either religion or politics that human schemes could devise, but to make a true Puritan required the grace of God. I would have preferred to be a Puritan if I had lived in those days, even if they would not have allowed me to paint."
"I am glad to find that you are not fettered by prejudice, dear Guy; for it is painful to hear the narrow judgments and one-sided views of so many young people who are wholly ignorant of historical and biographical facts, and are carried away with romantic misrepresentations of heroism and honour. As for allowing you to paint, those times were too full of stern realities to admit of much cultivation of the arts; but many a brave Puritan endured portraiture, and we need not forget that the sublimest poet England ever produced was John Milton the Puritan."