Scenes of Clerical Life

easily that tea-time was long past, and that, after all the trouble of getting

  down the best tea-things, Mr Tryan would not come. This honour had been shown to

  Mr Tryan, not at all because Mrs Jerome had any high appreciation of his

  doctrine or of his exemplary activity as a pastor, but simply because he was a

  "Church clergyman," and as such was regarded by her with the same sort of

  exceptional respect that a white woman who had married a native of the Society

  Islands might be supposed to feel towards a whiteskinned visitor from the land

  of her youth. For Mrs Jerome had been reared a Churchwoman, and having attained

  the age of thirty before she was married, had felt the greatest repugnance in

  the first instance to renouncing the religious forms in which she had been

  brought up. "You know," she said in confidence to her Church acquaintances, "I

  wouldn't give no ear at all to Mr Jerome at fust; but after all, I begun to

  think as there was a maeny things wuss nor goin' to chapel, an' you'd better do

  that nor not pay your way. Mr Jerome had a very pleasant manner wi' him, an'

  there was niver another as kep a gig, an' 'ud make a settlement on me like him,

  chapel or no chapel. It seemed very odd to me for a lung while, the preachin'

  wi'out book, an' the stannin' up to one lung prayer, istid o' changin' yur

  postur. But la! there's nothin' as you mayn't get used to i' time; you can al'ys

  sit down, you know, afore the prayer's done. The ministers say welly the same

  things as the Church parsons, by what I could iver mek out, an' we're out o'

  chapel i' the mornin' a deal sooner nor they're out o' church. An' as for pews,

  ourn's a deal comfortabler nor aeny i' Milby church."

  Mrs Jerome, you perceive, had not a keen susceptibility to shades of doctrine,

  and it is probable that, after listening to Dissenting eloquence for thirty

  years, she might safely have re-entered the Establishment without performing any

  spiritual quarantine. Her mind, apparently, was of that non-porous flinty

  character which is not in the least danger from surrounding damp. But on the

  question of getting start of the sun in the day's business, and clearing her

  conscience of the necessary sum of meals and the consequent "washing up" as soon

  as possible, so that the family might be well in bed at nine, Mrs Jerome was

  susceptible; and the present lingering pace of things, united with Mr Jerome's

  unaccountable obliviousness, was not to be borne any longer. So she rang the

  bell for Sally.

  "Goodness me, Sally! go into the garden an' see after your master. Tell him it's

  goin' on for six, an Mr Tryan 'ull niver think o' comin' now, an' it's time we

  got tea over. An' he's lettin' Lizzie stain her frock, I expect, among them

  strawberry beds. Mek her come in this minute."

  No wonder Mr Jerome was tempted to linger in the garden, for though the house

  was pretty and well deserved its name?"the White House," the tall damask roses

  that clustered over the porch being thrown into relief by rough stucco of the

  most brilliant white, yet the garden and orchards were Mr Jerome's glory, as

  well they might be; and there was nothing in which he had a more innocent

  pride?peace to a good man's memory! all his pride was innocent?than in

  conducting a hitherto uninitiated visitor over his grounds, and making him in

  some degree aware of the incomparable advantages possessed by the inhabitants of

  the White House in the matter of red-streaked apples, russets, northern greens

  (excellent for baking), swan-egg pears, and early vegetables, to say nothing of

  flowering "srubs," pink hawthorns, lavender bushes more than ever Mrs Jerome

  could use, and, in short, a superabundance of everything that a person retired

  from business could desire to possess himself or to share with his friends. The

  garden was one of those old-fashioned paradises which hardly exist any longer

  except as memories of our childhood: no finical separation between flower and

  kitchen garden there; no monotony of enjoyment for one sense to the exclusion of

  another; but a charming paradisaical mingling of all that was pleasant to the

  eyes and good for food. The rich flower-border running along every walk, with

  its endless succession of spring flowers, anemones, auriculas, wall-flowers,

  sweet-williams, campanulas, snapdragons, and tiger-lilies, had its taller

  beauties, such as moss and Provence roses, varied with espalier apple-trees; the

  crimson of a carnation was carried out in the lurking crimson of the

  neighbouring strawberry-beds; you gathered a moss-rose one moment and a bunch of

  currants the next; you were in a delicious fluctuation between the scent of

  jasmine and the juice of gooseberries. Then what a high wall at one end, flanked

  by a summer-house so lofty, that after ascending its long flight of steps you

  could see perfectly well there was no view worth looking at; what alcoves and

  garden-seats in all directions; and along one side, what a hedge, tall, and

  firm, and unbroken, like a green wall!

  It was near this hedge that Mr Jerome was standing when Sally found him. He had

  set down the basket of strawberries on the gravel, and had lifted up little

  Lizzie in his arms to look at a bird's nest. Lizzie peeped, and then looked at

  her grandpa with round blue eyes, and then peeped again.

  "D'ye see it, Lizzie?" he whispered.

  "Yes," she whispered in return, putting her lips very near grandpa's face. At

  this moment Sally appeared.

  "Eh, eh, Sally, what's the matter? Is Mr Tryan come?"

  "No, sir, an' Missis says she's sure he won't come now, an' she wants you to

  come in an' hev tea. Dear heart, Miss Lizzie, you've stained your pinafore, an'

  I shouldn't wonder if it's gone through to your frock. There'll be fine work!

  Come alonk wi' me, do."

  "Nay, nay, nay, we've done no harm, we've done no harm, hev we Lizzie? The

  wash-tub 'll mek all right again."

  Sally, regarding the wash-tub from a different point of view, looked sourly

  serious, and hurried away with Lizzie, who trotted submissively along, her

  little head in eclipse under a large nankin bonnet, while Mr Jerome followed

  leisurely with his full broad shoulders in rather a stooping posture, and his

  large good-natured features and white locks shaded by a broad-brimmed hat.

  "Mr Jerome, I wonder at you," said Mrs Jerome, in a tone of indignant

  remonstrance, evidently sustained by a deep sense of injury, as her husband

  opened the parlour door. "When will you leave off invitin' people to meals an'

  not lettin' 'em know the time? I'll answer for't, you niver said a word to Mr

  Tryan as we should tek tea at five o'clock. It's just like you!"

  "Nay, nay, Susan," answered the husband in a soothing tone, "there's nothin'

  amiss. I told Mr Tryan as we took tea at five punctial; mayhap summat's a

  detainin' on him. He's a deal to do an' to think on, remember."

  "Why, it's struck six i' the kitchen a'ready. It's nonsense to look for him

  comin' now. So you may's well ring for th' urn. Now Sally's got th' heater i'

  th' fire, we may's well hev th' urn in, though he doesn't come. I niver see the

  like o' you, Mr Jerome, for axin' people an' givin' me
the trouble o' gettin'

  things down an' hevin' crumpets made, an' after all they don't come. I shall hev

  to wash every one o' these tea-things myself, for there's no trustin'

  Sally?she'd break a fortin i' crockery i' no time!"

  "But why will you give yourself sich trouble, Susan? Our everyday tea-things

  would ha' done as well for Mr Tryan, an' they're a deal convenenter to hold."

  "Yes, that's just your way, Mr Jerome, you're al'ys a findin' faut wi' my chany,

  because I bought it myself afore I was married. But let me tell you, I knowed

  how to choose chany if I didn't know how to choose a husband. An' where's

  Lizzie? You've niver left her i' the garden by herself, wi' her white frock on

  an' clean stockins?"

  "Be easy, my dear Susan, be easy; Lizzie's come in wi' Sally. She's hevin' her

  pinafore took off, I'll be bound. Ah! There's Mr Tryan a-comin' through the

  gate."

  Mrs Jerome began hastily to adjust her damask napkin and the expression of her

  countenance for the reception of the clergyman, and Mr Jerome went out to meet

  his guest, whom he greeted outside the door.

  "Mr Tryan, how do you do, Mr Tryan? Welcome to the White House! I'm glad to see

  you, sir, I'm glad to see you."

  If you had heard the tone of mingled goodwill, veneration, and condolence in

  which this greeting was uttered, even without seeing the face that completely

  harmonised with it, you would have no difficulty in inferring the ground-notes

  of Mr Jerome's character. To a fine ear that tone said as plainly as

  possible?"Whatever recommends itself to me, Thomas Jerome, as piety and

  goodness, shall have my love and honour. Ah, friends, this pleasant world is a

  sad one, too, isn't it? Let us help one another, let us help one another." And

  it was entirely owing to this basis of character, not at all from any clear and

  precise doctrinal discrimination, that Mr Jerome had very early in life become a

  Dissenter. In his boyish days he had been thrown where Dissent seemed to have

  the balance of piety, purity, and good works on its side, and to become a

  Dissenter seemed to him identical with choosing God instead of mammon. That race

  of Dissenters is extinct in these days. when opinion has got far ahead of

  feeling, and every chapel-going youth can fill our ears with the advantages of

  the Voluntary system, the corruptions of a State Church, and the Scriptural

  evidence that the first Christians were Congregationalists. Mr Jerome knew

  nothing of this theoretic basis for Dissent, and in the utmost extent of his

  polemical discussion he had not gone further than to question whether a

  Christian man was bound in conscience to distinguish christmas and Easter by any

  peculiar observance beyond the eating of mince-pies and cheese-cakes. It seemed

  to him that all seasons were alike good for thanking God, departing from evil

  and doing well, whereas it might be desirable to restrict the period for

  indulging in unwholesome forms of pastry. Mr Jerome's dissent being of this

  simple, nonpolemical kind, it is easy to understand that the report he heard of

  Mr Tryan as a good man and a powerful preacher, who was stirring the hearts of

  the people, had been enough to attract him to the Paddiford Church, and that

  having felt himself more edified there than he had of late been under Mr

  Stickney's discourses at Salem, he had driven thither repeatedly in the Sunday

  afternoons, and had sought an opportunity of making Mr Tryan's acquaintance. The

  evening lecture was a subject of warm interest with him, and the opposition Mr

  Tryan met with gave that interest a strong tinge of partisanship; for there was

  a store of irascibility in Mr Jerome's nature which must find a vent somewhere,

  and in so kindly and upright a man could only find it in indignation against

  those whom he held to be enemies of truth and goodness. Mr Tryan had not

  hitherto been to the White House, but yesterday, meeting Mr Jerome in the

  street, he had at once accepted the invitation to tea, saying there was

  something he wished to talk about. He appeared worn and fatigued now, and after

  shaking hands with Mrs Jerome, threw himself into a chair and looked out on the

  pretty garden with an air of relief.

  "What a nice place you have here, Mr Jerome! I've not seen anything so quiet and

  pretty since I came to Milby. On Paddiford Common, where I live, you know, the

  bushes are all sprinkled with soot, and there's never any quiet except in the

  dead of night."

  "Dear heart! dear heart! That's very bad? and for you, too, as hev to study.

  Wouldn't it be better for you to be somewhere more out i' the country like?"

  "O no! I should lose so much time in going to and fro, and besides I like to be

  among the people. I've no face to go and preach resignation to those poor things

  in their smoky air and comfortless homes, when I come straight from every luxury

  myself. There are many things quite lawful for other men, which a clergyman must

  forego if he would do any good in a manufacturing population like this."

  Here the preparations for tea were crowned by the simultaneous appearance of

  Lizzie and the crumpet. It is a pretty surprise, when one visits an elderly

  couple, to see a little figure enter in a white frock with a blond head as

  smooth as satin, round blue eyes, and a cheek like an apple blossom. A toddling

  little girl is a centre of common feeling which makes the most dissimilar people

  understand each other; and Mr Tryan looked at Lizzie with that quiet pleasure

  which is always genuine.

  "Here we are, here we are!" said proud grandpapa. "You didn't think we'd got

  such a little gell as this, did you, Mr Tryan? Why, it seems but th' other day

  since her mother was just such another. This is our little Lizzie, this is. Come

  an' shake hands wi' Mr Tryan, Lizzie; come."

  Lizzie advanced without hesitation, and put out one hand, while she fingered her

  coral necklace with the other, and looked up into Mr Tryan's face with a

  reconnoitring gaze. He stroked the satin head, and said in his gentlest voice,

  "How do you do, Lizzie? will you give me a kiss?" She put up her little bud of a

  mouth, and then retreating a little and glancing down at her frock, said,

  "Did id my noo fock. I put it on 'tod you wad toming. Tally taid you wouldn't

  'ook at it."

  "Hush, hush, Lizzie, little gells must be seen and not heard," said Mrs Jerome;

  while grandpapa, winking significantly, and looking radiant with delight at

  Lizzie's extraordinary promise of cleverness, set her up on her high cane-chair

  by the side of grandma, who lost no time in shielding the beauties of the new

  frock with a napkin.

  "Well now, Mr Tryan," said Mr Jerome, in a very serious tone, when tea had been

  distributed, "let me hear how you're a-goin' on about the lectur. When I was i'

  the town yisterday, I heared as there was pessecutin' schemes a-bein' laid

  again' you. I fear me those raskills 'ull mek things very onpleasant to you."

  "I've no doubt they will attempt it; indeed, I quite expect there will be a

  regular mob got up on Sunday evening, as there was when the delegates returned,

  on purpose to annoy me and the con
gregation on our way to church."

  "Ah, they're capible o' anything, such men as Dempster an' Budd; an' Tomlinson

  backs 'em wi' money, though he can't wi' brains. Howiver, Dempster's lost one

  client by's wicked doins, an' I'm deceived if he won't lose more nor one. I

  little thought, Mr Tryan, when I put my affairs into his hands twenty 'ear ago

  this Michaelmas, as he was to turn out a pessecutor o' religion. I niver lighted

  on a cliverer, promisiner young man nor he was then. They talked of his bein'

  fond of a extry glass now an' then, but niver nothin' like what he's come to

  since. An' it's headpiece you must look for in a lawyer, Mr Tryan, it's

  headpiece. His wife, too, was al'ys an uncommon favourite o' mine ?poor thing! I

  hear sad stories about her now. But she's druv to it, she's druv to it, Mr

  Tryan. A tender-hearted woman to the poor, she is, as iver lived; an' as

  pretty-spoken a woman as you need wish to talk to. Yes! I'd al'ys a likin' for

  Dempster an' his wife, spite o' iverything. But as soon as iver I heared o' that

  dilegate business, I says, says I, that man shall hev no more to do wi' my

  affairs. It may put me t' inconvenience, but I'll encourage no man as pessecutes

  religion."

  "He is evidently the brain and hand of the persecution," said Mr Tryan. "There

  may be a strong feeling against me in a large number of the inhabitants ?it must

  be so, from the great ignorance of spiritual things in this place. But I fancy

  there would have been no formal opposition to the lecture, if Dempster had not

  planned it. I am not myself the least alarmed at anything he can do; he will

  find I am not to be cowed or driven away by insult or personal danger. God has

  sent me to this place, and, by His blessing, I'll not shrink from anything I may

  have to encounter in doing His work among the people. But I feel it right to

  call on all those who know the value of the Gospel, to stand by me publicly. I

  think?and Mr Landor agrees with me?that it will be well for my friends to

  proceed with me in a body to the church on Sunday evening. Dempster, you know,

  has pretended that almost all the respectable inhabitants are opposed to the

  lecture. Now, I wish that falsehood to be visibly contradicted. What do you

  think of the plan? I have to-day been to see several of my friends, who will

  make a point of being there to accompany me, and will communicate with others on

  the subject."

  "I'll mek one, Mr Tryan, I'll mek one. You shall not be wantin' in any support

  as I can give. Before you come to it, sir, Milby was a dead an' dark place; you

  are the fust man i' the Church to my knowledge as has brought the word o' God

  home to the people; an' I'll stan' by you, sir, I'll stan' by you. I'm a

  Dissenter, Mr Tryan, I've been a Dissenter iver sin' I was fifteen 'ear old; but

  show me good i' the Church, an' I'm a Churchman too. When I was a boy I lived at

  Tilston; you mayn't know the place; the best part o' the land there belonged to

  Squire Sandeman; he'd a club-foot, hed Squire Sandeman?lost a deal o' money by

  canal shares. Well, sir, as I was sayin', I lived at Tilston, an' the rector

  there was a terrible drinkin', fox-huntin' man; you niver see such a parish i'

  your time for wickedness; Milby's nothin' to it. Well, sir, my father was a

  workin' man, an' couldn't afford to gi' me ony eddication, so I went to a

  night-school as was kep by a Dissenter, one Jacob Wright; an' it was from that

  man, sir, as I got my little schoolin' an' my knowledge o' religion. I went to

  chapel wi' Jacob?he was a good man was Jacob?an' to chapel I've been iver since.

  But I'm no enemy o' the Church, sir, when the Church brings light to the

  ignorant and the sinful; an' that's what you're a-doin', Mr Tryan. Yes, sir,

  I'll stan' by you. I'll go to church wi' you o' Sunday evenin'."

  "You'd fur better stay at home, Mr Jerome, if I may give my opinion," interposed

  Mrs Jerome. "It's not as I hevn't ivery respect for you, Mr Tryan, but Mr Jerome