Chapter V
The Rector
BEFORE twelve o'clock there had been some heavy storms of rain, and thewater lay in deep gutters on the sides of the gravel walks in the gardenof Broxton Parsonage; the great Provence roses had been cruelly tossedby the wind and beaten by the rain, and all the delicate-stemmed borderflowers had been dashed down and stained with the wet soil. A melancholymorning--because it was nearly time hay-harvest should begin, andinstead of that the meadows were likely to be flooded.
But people who have pleasant homes get indoor enjoyments that they wouldnever think of but for the rain. If it had not been a wet morning, Mr.Irwine would not have been in the dining-room playing at chess with hismother, and he loves both his mother and chess quite well enough to passsome cloudy hours very easily by their help. Let me take you into thatdining-room and show you the Rev. Adolphus Irwine, Rector of Broxton,Vicar of Hayslope, and Vicar of Blythe, a pluralist at whom the severestChurch reformer would have found it difficult to look sour. We willenter very softly and stand still in the open doorway, without awakingthe glossy-brown setter who is stretched across the hearth, with hertwo puppies beside her; or the pug, who is dozing, with his black muzzlealoft, like a sleepy president.
The room is a large and lofty one, with an ample mullioned oriel windowat one end; the walls, you see, are new, and not yet painted; but thefurniture, though originally of an expensive sort, is old and scanty,and there is no drapery about the window. The crimson cloth over thelarge dining-table is very threadbare, though it contrasts pleasantlyenough with the dead hue of the plaster on the walls; but on this cloththere is a massive silver waiter with a decanter of water on it, of thesame pattern as two larger ones that are propped up on the sideboardwith a coat of arms conspicuous in their centre. You suspect at oncethat the inhabitants of this room have inherited more blood than wealth,and would not be surprised to find that Mr. Irwine had a finely cutnostril and upper lip; but at present we can only see that he has abroad flat back and an abundance of powdered hair, all thrown backwardand tied behind with a black ribbon--a bit of conservatism in costumewhich tells you that he is not a young man. He will perhaps turn roundby and by, and in the meantime we can look at that stately old lady, hismother, a beautiful aged brunette, whose rich-toned complexion is wellset off by the complex wrappings of pure white cambric and lace abouther head and neck. She is as erect in her comely embonpoint as a statueof Ceres; and her dark face, with its delicate aquiline nose, firm proudmouth, and small, intense, black eye, is so keen and sarcastic in itsexpression that you instinctively substitute a pack of cards for thechess-men and imagine her telling your fortune. The small brown handwith which she is lifting her queen is laden with pearls, diamonds, andturquoises; and a large black veil is very carefully adjusted over thecrown of her cap, and falls in sharp contrast on the white foldsabout her neck. It must take a long time to dress that old lady in themorning! But it seems a law of nature that she should be dressed so: sheis clearly one of those children of royalty who have never doubted theirright divine and never met with any one so absurd as to question it.
"There, Dauphin, tell me what that is!" says this magnificent old lady,as she deposits her queen very quietly and folds her arms. "I should besorry to utter a word disagreeable to your feelings."
"Ah, you witch-mother, you sorceress! How is a Christian man to win agame off you? I should have sprinkled the board with holy water beforewe began. You've not won that game by fair means, now, so don't pretendit."
"Yes, yes, that's what the beaten have always said of great conquerors.But see, there's the sunshine falling on the board, to show you moreclearly what a foolish move you made with that pawn. Come, shall I giveyou another chance?"
"No, Mother, I shall leave you to your own conscience, now it's clearingup. We must go and plash up the mud a little, mus'n't we, Juno?" Thiswas addressed to the brown setter, who had jumped up at the sound of thevoices and laid her nose in an insinuating way on her master's leg. "ButI must go upstairs first and see Anne. I was called away to Tholer'sfuneral just when I was going before."
"It's of no use, child; she can't speak to you. Kate says she has one ofher worst headaches this morning."
"Oh, she likes me to go and see her just the same; she's never too illto care about that."
If you know how much of human speech is mere purposeless impulse orhabit, you will not wonder when I tell you that this identical objectionhad been made, and had received the same kind of answer, many hundredtimes in the course of the fifteen years that Mr. Irwine's sister Annehad been an invalid. Splendid old ladies, who take a long time to dressin the morning, have often slight sympathy with sickly daughters.
But while Mr. Irwine was still seated, leaning back in his chair andstroking Juno's head, the servant came to the door and said, "Ifyou please, sir, Joshua Rann wishes to speak with you, if you are atliberty."
"Let him be shown in here," said Mrs. Irwine, taking up her knitting."I always like to hear what Mr. Rann has got to say. His shoes will bedirty, but see that he wipes them Carroll."
In two minutes Mr. Rann appeared at the door with very deferential bows,which, however, were far from conciliating Pug, who gave a sharp barkand ran across the room to reconnoitre the stranger's legs; while thetwo puppies, regarding Mr. Rann's prominent calf and ribbed worstedstockings from a more sensuous point of view, plunged and growled overthem in great enjoyment. Meantime, Mr. Irwine turned round his chair andsaid, "Well, Joshua, anything the matter at Hayslope, that you've comeover this damp morning? Sit down, sit down. Never mind the dogs; givethem a friendly kick. Here, Pug, you rascal!"
It is very pleasant to see some men turn round; pleasant as a suddenrush of warm air in winter, or the flash of firelight in the chill dusk.Mr. Irwine was one of those men. He bore the same sort of resemblance tohis mother that our loving memory of a friend's face often bears to theface itself: the lines were all more generous, the smile brighter, theexpression heartier. If the outline had been less finely cut, his facemight have been called jolly; but that was not the right word for itsmixture of bonhomie and distinction.
"Thank Your Reverence," answered Mr. Rann, endeavouring to lookunconcerned about his legs, but shaking them alternately to keep off thepuppies; "I'll stand, if you please, as more becoming. I hope I see youan' Mrs. Irwine well, an' Miss Irwine--an' Miss Anne, I hope's as wellas usual."
"Yes, Joshua, thank you. You see how blooming my mother looks. She beatsus younger people hollow. But what's the matter?"
"Why, sir, I had to come to Brox'on to deliver some work, and I thoughtit but right to call and let you know the goins-on as there's been i'the village, such as I hanna seen i' my time, and I've lived in it manand boy sixty year come St. Thomas, and collected th' Easter dues forMr. Blick before Your Reverence come into the parish, and been at theringin' o' every bell, and the diggin' o' every grave, and sung i' thechoir long afore Bartle Massey come from nobody knows where, wi' hiscounter-singin' and fine anthems, as puts everybody out but himself--onetakin' it up after another like sheep a-bleatin' i' th' fold. I knowwhat belongs to bein' a parish clerk, and I know as I should be wantin'i' respect to Your Reverence, an' church, an' king, if I was t' allowsuch goins-on wi'out speakin'. I was took by surprise, an' knowednothin' on it beforehand, an' I was so flustered, I was clean as if I'dlost my tools. I hanna slep' more nor four hour this night as is pastan' gone; an' then it was nothin' but nightmare, as tired me worse norwakin'."
"Why, what in the world is the matter, Joshua? Have the thieves been atthe church lead again?"
"Thieves! No, sir--an' yet, as I may say, it is thieves, an' a-thievin'the church, too. It's the Methodisses as is like to get th' upper handi' th' parish, if Your Reverence an' His Honour, Squire Donnithorne,doesna think well to say the word an' forbid it. Not as I'm a-dictatin'to you, sir; I'm not forgettin' myself so far as to be wise above mybetters. Howiver, whether I'm wise or no, that's neither here nor there,but what I've got to say I say--as the young Methodis woman as is
atMester Poyser's was a-preachin' an' a-prayin' on the Green last night,as sure as I'm a-stannin' afore Your Reverence now."
"Preaching on the Green!" said Mr. Irwine, looking surprised but quiteserene. "What, that pale pretty young woman I've seen at Poyser's? I sawshe was a Methodist, or Quaker, or something of that sort, by her dress,but I didn't know she was a preacher."
"It's a true word as I say, sir," rejoined Mr. Rann, compressing hismouth into a semicircular form and pausing long enough to indicate threenotes of exclamation. "She preached on the Green last night; an' she'slaid hold of Chad's Bess, as the girl's been i' fits welly iver sin'."
"Well, Bessy Cranage is a hearty-looking lass; I daresay she'll comeround again, Joshua. Did anybody else go into fits?"
"No, sir, I canna say as they did. But there's no knowin' what'll come,if we're t' have such preachin's as that a-goin' on ivery week--there'llbe no livin' i' th' village. For them Methodisses make folks believeas if they take a mug o' drink extry, an' make theirselves a bitcomfortable, they'll have to go to hell for't as sure as they're born.I'm not a tipplin' man nor a drunkard--nobody can say it on me--but Ilike a extry quart at Easter or Christmas time, as is nat'ral when we'regoin' the rounds a-singin', an' folks offer't you for nothin'; orwhen I'm a-collectin' the dues; an' I like a pint wi' my pipe, an' aneighbourly chat at Mester Casson's now an' then, for I was broughtup i' the Church, thank God, an' ha' been a parish clerk thistwo-an'-thirty year: I should know what the church religion is."
"Well, what's your advice, Joshua? What do you think should be done?"
"Well, Your Reverence, I'm not for takin' any measures again' the youngwoman. She's well enough if she'd let alone preachin'; an' I hear asshe's a-goin' away back to her own country soon. She's Mr. Poyser'sown niece, an' I donna wish to say what's anyways disrespectful o' th'family at th' Hall Farm, as I've measured for shoes, little an' big,welly iver sin' I've been a shoemaker. But there's that Will Maskery,sir as is the rampageousest Methodis as can be, an' I make no doubt itwas him as stirred up th' young woman to preach last night, an' he'll bea-bringin' other folks to preach from Treddles'on, if his comb isn'tcut a bit; an' I think as he should be let know as he isna t' have themakin' an' mendin' o' church carts an' implemen's, let alone stayin' i'that house an' yard as is Squire Donnithorne's."
"Well, but you say yourself, Joshua, that you never knew any one come topreach on the Green before; why should you think they'll come again? TheMethodists don't come to preach in little villages like Hayslope, wherethere's only a handful of labourers, too tired to listen to them. Theymight almost as well go and preach on the Binton Hills. Will Maskery isno preacher himself, I think."
"Nay, sir, he's no gift at stringin' the words together wi'out book;he'd be stuck fast like a cow i' wet clay. But he's got tongue enoughto speak disrespectful about's neebors, for he said as I was a blindPharisee--a-usin' the Bible i' that way to find nick-names for folks asare his elders an' betters!--and what's worse, he's been heard to sayvery unbecomin' words about Your Reverence; for I could bring them as'ud swear as he called you a 'dumb dog,' an' a 'idle shepherd.' You'llforgi'e me for sayin' such things over again."
"Better not, better not, Joshua. Let evil words die as soon as they'respoken. Will Maskery might be a great deal worse fellow than he is. Heused to be a wild drunken rascal, neglecting his work and beating hiswife, they told me; now he's thrifty and decent, and he and his wifelook comfortable together. If you can bring me any proof that heinterferes with his neighbours and creates any disturbance, I shallthink it my duty as a clergyman and a magistrate to interfere. But itwouldn't become wise people like you and me to be making a fuss abouttrifles, as if we thought the Church was in danger because Will Maskerylets his tongue wag rather foolishly, or a young woman talks in aserious way to a handful of people on the Green. We must 'live and letlive,' Joshua, in religion as well as in other things. You go on doingyour duty, as parish clerk and sexton, as well as you've always doneit, and making those capital thick boots for your neighbours, and thingswon't go far wrong in Hayslope, depend upon it."
"Your Reverence is very good to say so; an' I'm sensable as, you notlivin' i' the parish, there's more upo' my shoulders."
"To be sure; and you must mind and not lower the Church in people's eyesby seeming to be frightened about it for a little thing, Joshua. I shalltrust to your good sense, now to take no notice at all of what WillMaskery says, either about you or me. You and your neighbours can go ontaking your pot of beer soberly, when you've done your day's work, likegood churchmen; and if Will Maskery doesn't like to join you, but to goto a prayer-meeting at Treddleston instead, let him; that's no businessof yours, so long as he doesn't hinder you from doing what you like. Andas to people saying a few idle words about us, we must not mind that,any more than the old church-steeple minds the rooks cawing aboutit. Will Maskery comes to church every Sunday afternoon, and does hiswheelwright's business steadily in the weekdays, and as long as he doesthat he must be let alone."
"Ah, sir, but when he comes to church, he sits an' shakes his head, an'looks as sour an' as coxy when we're a-singin' as I should like to fetchhim a rap across the jowl--God forgi'e me--an' Mrs. Irwine, an' YourReverence too, for speakin' so afore you. An' he said as our Christmassingin' was no better nor the cracklin' o' thorns under a pot."
"Well, he's got a bad ear for music, Joshua. When people have woodenheads, you know, it can't be helped. He won't bring the other people inHayslope round to his opinion, while you go on singing as well as youdo."
"Yes, sir, but it turns a man's stomach t' hear the Scripture misused i'that way. I know as much o' the words o' the Bible as he does, an' couldsay the Psalms right through i' my sleep if you was to pinch me; but Iknow better nor to take 'em to say my own say wi'. I might as well takethe Sacriment-cup home and use it at meals."
"That's a very sensible remark of yours, Joshua; but, as I saidbefore----"
While Mr. Irwine was speaking, the sound of a booted step and the clinkof a spur were heard on the stone floor of the entrance-hall, and JoshuaRann moved hastily aside from the doorway to make room for some one whopaused there, and said, in a ringing tenor voice,
"Godson Arthur--may he come in?"
"Come in, come in, godson!" Mrs. Irwine answered, in the deephalf-masculine tone which belongs to the vigorous old woman, and thereentered a young gentleman in a riding-dress, with his right arm ina sling; whereupon followed that pleasant confusion of laughinginterjections, and hand-shakings, and "How are you's?" mingled withjoyous short barks and wagging of tails on the part of the caninemembers of the family, which tells that the visitor is on the best termswith the visited. The young gentleman was Arthur Donnithorne, knownin Hayslope, variously, as "the young squire," "the heir," and "thecaptain." He was only a captain in the Loamshire Militia, but to theHayslope tenants he was more intensely a captain than all the younggentlemen of the same rank in his Majesty's regulars--he outshone themas the planet Jupiter outshines the Milky Way. If you want to knowmore particularly how he looked, call to your remembrance sometawny-whiskered, brown-locked, clear-complexioned young Englishmanwhom you have met with in a foreign town, and been proud of as afellow-countryman--well-washed, high-bred, white-handed, yet looking asif he could deliver well from 'the left shoulder and floor his man: Iwill not be so much of a tailor as to trouble your imagination with thedifference of costume, and insist on the striped waistcoat, long-tailedcoat, and low top-boots.
Turning round to take a chair, Captain Donnithorne said, "But don't letme interrupt Joshua's business--he has something to say."
"Humbly begging Your Honour's pardon," said Joshua, bowing low, "therewas one thing I had to say to His Reverence as other things had droveout o' my head."
"Out with it, Joshua, quickly!" said Mr. Irwine.
"Belike, sir, you havena heared as Thias Bede's dead--drownded thismorning, or more like overnight, i' the Willow Brook, again' the bridgeright i' front o' the house."
"Ah!" exclaimed both the gentlemen a
t once, as if they were a good dealinterested in the information.
"An' Seth Bede's been to me this morning to say he wished me to tellYour Reverence as his brother Adam begged of you particular t' allow hisfather's grave to be dug by the White Thorn, because his mother's sether heart on it, on account of a dream as she had; an' they'd ha'come theirselves to ask you, but they've so much to see after with thecrowner, an' that; an' their mother's took on so, an' wants 'em to makesure o' the spot for fear somebody else should take it. An' if YourReverence sees well and good, I'll send my boy to tell 'em as soon as Iget home; an' that's why I make bold to trouble you wi' it, His Honourbeing present."
"To be sure, Joshua, to be sure, they shall have it. I'll ride round toAdam myself, and see him. Send your boy, however, to say they shallhave the grave, lest anything should happen to detain me. And now, goodmorning, Joshua; go into the kitchen and have some ale."
"Poor old Thias!" said Mr. Irwine, when Joshua was gone. "I'm afraidthe drink helped the brook to drown him. I should have been glad for theload to have been taken off my friend Adam's shoulders in a less painfulway. That fine fellow has been propping up his father from ruin for thelast five or six years."
"He's a regular trump, is Adam," said Captain Donnithorne. "When I wasa little fellow, and Adam was a strapping lad of fifteen, and taught mecarpentering, I used to think if ever I was a rich sultan, I would makeAdam my grand-vizier. And I believe now he would bear the exaltation aswell as any poor wise man in an Eastern story. If ever I live to be alarge-acred man instead of a poor devil with a mortgaged allowance ofpocket-money, I'll have Adam for my right hand. He shall manage my woodsfor me, for he seems to have a better notion of those things than anyman I ever met with; and I know he would make twice the money of themthat my grandfather does, with that miserable old Satchell to manage,who understands no more about timber than an old carp. I've mentionedthe subject to my grandfather once or twice, but for some reason orother he has a dislike to Adam, and I can do nothing. But come, YourReverence, are you for a ride with me? It's splendid out of doors now.We can go to Adam's together, if you like; but I want to call at theHall Farm on my way, to look at the whelps Poyser is keeping for me."
"You must stay and have lunch first, Arthur," said Mrs. Irwine. "It'snearly two. Carroll will bring it in directly."
"I want to go to the Hall Farm too," said Mr. Irwine, "to have anotherlook at the little Methodist who is staying there. Joshua tells me shewas preaching on the Green last night."
"Oh, by Jove!" said Captain Donnithorne, laughing. "Why, she looks asquiet as a mouse. There's something rather striking about her, though. Ipositively felt quite bashful the first time I saw her--she was sittingstooping over her sewing in the sunshine outside the house, when I rodeup and called out, without noticing that she was a stranger, 'Is MartinPoyser at home?' I declare, when she got up and looked at me and justsaid, 'He's in the house, I believe: I'll go and call him,' I feltquite ashamed of having spoken so abruptly to her. She looked like St.Catherine in a Quaker dress. It's a type of face one rarely sees amongour common people."
"I should like to see the young woman, Dauphin," said Mrs. Irwine. "Makeher come here on some pretext or other."
"I don't know how I can manage that, Mother; it will hardly do for meto patronize a Methodist preacher, even if she would consent to bepatronized by an idle shepherd, as Will Maskery calls me. You shouldhave come in a little sooner, Arthur, to hear Joshua's denunciation ofhis neighbour Will Maskery. The old fellow wants me to excommunicate thewheelwright, and then deliver him over to the civil arm--that is to say,to your grandfather--to be turned out of house and yard. If I chose tointerfere in this business, now, I might get up as pretty a story ofhatred and persecution as the Methodists need desire to publish inthe next number of their magazine. It wouldn't take me much trouble topersuade Chad Cranage and half a dozen other bull-headed fellows thatthey would be doing an acceptable service to the Church by hunting WillMaskery out of the village with rope-ends and pitchforks; and then, whenI had furnished them with half a sovereign to get gloriously drunk aftertheir exertions, I should have put the climax to as pretty a farce asany of my brother clergy have set going in their parishes for the lastthirty years."
"It is really insolent of the man, though, to call you an 'idleshepherd' and a 'dumb dog,'" said Mrs. Irwine. "I should be inclined tocheck him a little there. You are too easy-tempered, Dauphin."
"Why, Mother, you don't think it would be a good way of sustaining mydignity to set about vindicating myself from the aspersions of WillMaskery? Besides, I'm not so sure that they ARE aspersions. I AM a lazyfellow, and get terribly heavy in my saddle; not to mention that I'malways spending more than I can afford in bricks and mortar, so thatI get savage at a lame beggar when he asks me for sixpence. Those poorlean cobblers, who think they can help to regenerate mankind by settingout to preach in the morning twilight before they begin their day'swork, may well have a poor opinion of me. But come, let us have ourluncheon. Isn't Kate coming to lunch?"
"Miss Irwine told Bridget to take her lunch upstairs," said Carroll;"she can't leave Miss Anne."
"Oh, very well. Tell Bridget to say I'll go up and see Miss Annepresently. You can use your right arm quite well now, Arthur," Mr.Irwine continued, observing that Captain Donnithorne had taken his armout of the sling.
"Yes, pretty well; but Godwin insists on my keeping it up constantly forsome time to come. I hope I shall be able to get away to the regiment,though, in the beginning of August. It's a desperately dull businessbeing shut up at the Chase in the summer months, when one can neitherhunt nor shoot, so as to make one's self pleasantly sleepy in theevening. However, we are to astonish the echoes on the 30th of July. Mygrandfather has given me carte blanche for once, and I promise you theentertainment shall be worthy of the occasion. The world will not seethe grand epoch of my majority twice. I think I shall have a loftythrone for you, Godmamma, or rather two, one on the lawn and another inthe ballroom, that you may sit and look down upon us like an Olympiangoddess."
"I mean to bring out my best brocade, that I wore at your christeningtwenty years ago," said Mrs. Irwine. "Ah, I think I shall see your poormother flitting about in her white dress, which looked to me almost likea shroud that very day; and it WAS her shroud only three months after;and your little cap and christening dress were buried with her too. Shehad set her heart on that, sweet soul! Thank God you take after yourmother's family, Arthur. If you had been a puny, wiry, yellow baby, Iwouldn't have stood godmother to you. I should have been sure you wouldturn out a Donnithorne. But you were such a broad-faced, broad-chested,loud-screaming rascal, I knew you were every inch of you a Tradgett."
"But you might have been a little too hasty there, Mother," said Mr.Irwine, smiling. "Don't you remember how it was with Juno's last pups?One of them was the very image of its mother, but it had two or threeof its father's tricks notwithstanding. Nature is clever enough to cheateven you, Mother."
"Nonsense, child! Nature never makes a ferret in the shape of a mastiff.You'll never persuade me that I can't tell what men are by theiroutsides. If I don't like a man's looks, depend upon it I shall neverlike HIM. I don't want to know people that look ugly and disagreeable,any more than I want to taste dishes that look disagreeable. If theymake me shudder at the first glance, I say, take them away. An ugly,piggish, or fishy eye, now, makes me feel quite ill; it's like a badsmell."
"Talking of eyes," said Captain Donnithorne, "that reminds me that I'vegot a book I meant to bring you, Godmamma. It came down in a parcel fromLondon the other day. I know you are fond of queer, wizardlike stories.It's a volume of poems, 'Lyrical Ballads.' Most of them seem to betwaddling stuff, but the first is in a different style--'The AncientMariner' is the title. I can hardly make head or tail of it as a story,but it's a strange, striking thing. I'll send it over to you; and thereare some other books that you may like to see, Irwine--pamphlets aboutAntinomianism and Evangelicalism, whatever they may be. I can't thinkwhat the fellow means by
sending such things to me. I've written to himto desire that from henceforth he will send me no book or pamphlet onanything that ends in ISM."
"Well, I don't know that I'm very fond of isms myself; but I may as welllook at the pamphlets; they let one see what is going on. I've a littlematter to attend to, Arthur," continued Mr. Irwine, rising to leave theroom, "and then I shall be ready to set out with you."
The little matter that Mr. Irwine had to attend to took him up the oldstone staircase (part of the house was very old) and made him pausebefore a door at which he knocked gently. "Come in," said a woman'svoice, and he entered a room so darkened by blinds and curtains thatMiss Kate, the thin middle-aged lady standing by the bedside, would nothave had light enough for any other sort of work than the knitting whichlay on the little table near her. But at present she was doing whatrequired only the dimmest light--sponging the aching head that lay onthe pillow with fresh vinegar. It was a small face, that of the poorsufferer; perhaps it had once been pretty, but now it was worn andsallow. Miss Kate came towards her brother and whispered, "Don't speakto her; she can't bear to be spoken to to-day." Anne's eyes were closed,and her brow contracted as if from intense pain. Mr. Irwine went to thebedside and took up one of the delicate hands and kissed it, a slightpressure from the small fingers told him that it was worth-while to havecome upstairs for the sake of doing that. He lingered a moment, lookingat her, and then turned away and left the room, treading very gently--hehad taken off his boots and put on slippers before he came upstairs.Whoever remembers how many things he has declined to do even forhimself, rather than have the trouble of putting on or taking off hisboots, will not think this last detail insignificant.
And Mr. Irwine's sisters, as any person of family within ten miles ofBroxton could have testified, were such stupid, uninteresting women!It was quite a pity handsome, clever Mrs. Irwine should have had suchcommonplace daughters. That fine old lady herself was worth driving tenmiles to see, any day; her beauty, her well-preserved faculties, and herold-fashioned dignity made her a graceful subject for conversation inturn with the King's health, the sweet new patterns in cotton dresses,the news from Egypt, and Lord Dacey's lawsuit, which was fretting poorLady Dacey to death. But no one ever thought of mentioning the MissIrwines, except the poor people in Broxton village, who regarded themas deep in the science of medicine, and spoke of them vaguely as "thegentlefolks." If any one had asked old Job Dummilow who gave him hisflannel jacket, he would have answered, "the gentlefolks, lastwinter"; and widow Steene dwelt much on the virtues of the "stuff" thegentlefolks gave her for her cough. Under this name too, they were usedwith great effect as a means of taming refractory children, so that atthe sight of poor Miss Anne's sallow face, several small urchins had aterrified sense that she was cognizant of all their worst misdemeanours,and knew the precise number of stones with which they had intended tohit Farmer Britton's ducks. But for all who saw them through aless mythical medium, the Miss Irwines were quite superfluousexistences--inartistic figures crowding the canvas of life withoutadequate effect. Miss Anne, indeed, if her chronic headaches could havebeen accounted for by a pathetic story of disappointed love, might havehad some romantic interest attached to her: but no such story had eitherbeen known or invented concerning her, and the general impression wasquite in accordance with the fact, that both the sisters were old maidsfor the prosaic reason that they had never received an eligible offer.
Nevertheless, to speak paradoxically, the existence of insignificantpeople has very important consequences in the world. It can be shown toaffect the price of bread and the rate of wages, to call forth many eviltempers from the selfish and many heroisms from the sympathetic, and,in other ways, to play no small part in the tragedy of life. And if thathandsome, generous-blooded clergyman, the Rev. Adolphus Irwine, had nothad these two hopelessly maiden sisters, his lot would have been shapedquite differently: he would very likely have taken a comely wife in hisyouth, and now, when his hair was getting grey under the powder, wouldhave had tall sons and blooming daughters--such possessions, in short,as men commonly think will repay them for all the labour they take underthe sun. As it was--having with all his three livings no more than sevenhundred a-year, and seeing no way of keeping his splendid mother and hissickly sister, not to reckon a second sister, who was usually spoken ofwithout any adjective, in such ladylike ease as became their birthand habits, and at the same time providing for a family of his own--heremained, you see, at the age of eight-and-forty, a bachelor, notmaking any merit of that renunciation, but saying laughingly, if any onealluded to it, that he made it an excuse for many indulgences which awife would never have allowed him. And perhaps he was the only person inthe world who did not think his sisters uninteresting and superfluous;for his was one of those large-hearted, sweet-blooded natures that neverknow a narrow or a grudging thought; Epicurean, if you will, with noenthusiasm, no self-scourging sense of duty; but yet, as you have seen,of a sufficiently subtle moral fibre to have an unwearying tendernessfor obscure and monotonous suffering. It was his large-heartedindulgence that made him ignore his mother's hardness towards herdaughters, which was the more striking from its contrast with her dotingfondness towards himself; he held it no virtue to frown at irremediablefaults.
See the difference between the impression a man makes on you when youwalk by his side in familiar talk, or look at him in his home, and thefigure he makes when seen from a lofty historical level, or even in theeyes of a critical neighbour who thinks of him as an embodied systemor opinion rather than as a man. Mr. Roe, the "travelling preacher"stationed at Treddleston, had included Mr. Irwine in a general statementconcerning the Church clergy in the surrounding district, whom hedescribed as men given up to the lusts of the flesh and the pride oflife; hunting and shooting, and adorning their own houses; asking whatshall we eat, and what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we beclothed?--careless of dispensing the bread of life to their flocks,preaching at best but a carnal and soul-benumbing morality, andtrafficking in the souls of men by receiving money for discharging thepastoral office in parishes where they did not so much as look on thefaces of the people more than once a-year. The ecclesiastical historian,too, looking into parliamentary reports of that period, finds honourablemembers zealous for the Church, and untainted with any sympathy forthe "tribe of canting Methodists," making statements scarcely lessmelancholy than that of Mr. Roe. And it is impossible for me to say thatMr. Irwine was altogether belied by the generic classification assignedhim. He really had no very lofty aims, no theological enthusiasm: if Iwere closely questioned, I should be obliged to confess that he feltno serious alarms about the souls of his parishioners, and would havethought it a mere loss of time to talk in a doctrinal and awakeningmanner to old "Feyther Taft," or even to Chad Cranage the blacksmith.If he had been in the habit of speaking theoretically, he would perhapshave said that the only healthy form religion could take in such mindswas that of certain dim but strong emotions, suffusing themselves as ahallowing influence over the family affections and neighbourly duties.He thought the custom of baptism more important than its doctrine, andthat the religious benefits the peasant drew from the church where hisfathers worshipped and the sacred piece of turf where they lay buriedwere but slightly dependent on a clear understanding of the Liturgy orthe sermon. Clearly the rector was not what is called in these days an"earnest" man: he was fonder of church history than of divinity, and hadmuch more insight into men's characters than interest in their opinions;he was neither laborious, nor obviously self-denying, nor very copiousin alms-giving, and his theology, you perceive, was lax. His mentalpalate, indeed, was rather pagan, and found a savouriness in a quotationfrom Sophocles or Theocritus that was quite absent from any text inIsaiah or Amos. But if you feed your young setter on raw flesh, howcan you wonder at its retaining a relish for uncooked partridge inafter-life? And Mr. Irwine's recollections of young enthusiasm andambition were all associated with poetry and ethics that lay aloof fromthe Bible.
On the other hand, I mus
t plead, for I have an affectionate partialitytowards the rector's memory, that he was not vindictive--and somephilanthropists have been so; that he was not intolerant--and there is arumour that some zealous theologians have not been altogether free fromthat blemish; that although he would probably have declined to give hisbody to be burned in any public cause, and was far from bestowing allhis goods to feed the poor, he had that charity which has sometimesbeen lacking to very illustrious virtue--he was tender to other men'sfailings, and unwilling to impute evil. He was one of those men,and they are not the commonest, of whom we can know the best only byfollowing them away from the marketplace, the platform, and the pulpit,entering with them into their own homes, hearing the voice with whichthey speak to the young and aged about their own hearthstone, andwitnessing their thoughtful care for the everyday wants of everydaycompanions, who take all their kindness as a matter of course, and notas a subject for panegyric.
Such men, happily, have lived in times when great abuses flourished, andhave sometimes even been the living representatives of the abuses.That is a thought which might comfort us a little under the oppositefact--that it is better sometimes NOT to follow great reformers ofabuses beyond the threshold of their homes.
But whatever you may think of Mr. Irwine now, if you had met him thatJune afternoon riding on his grey cob, with his dogs running besidehim--portly, upright, manly, with a good-natured smile on his finelyturned lips as he talked to his dashing young companion on the bay mare,you must have felt that, however ill he harmonized with sound theoriesof the clerical office, he somehow harmonized extremely well with thatpeaceful landscape.
See them in the bright sunlight, interrupted every now and then byrolling masses of cloud, ascending the slope from the Broxton side,where the tall gables and elms of the rectory predominate over the tinywhitewashed church. They will soon be in the parish of Hayslope; thegrey church-tower and village roofs lie before them to the left, andfarther on, to the right, they can just see the chimneys of the HallFarm.