Scenes of Clerical Life
from Overbeck; where the walls are lined with choice divinity in sombre binding,
and the light is softened by a screen of boughs with a grey church in the
background.
But I must beg you to dismiss all such scenic prettinesses, suitable as they may
be to a clergyman's character and complexion; for I have to confess that Mr
Tryan's study was a very ugly little room indeed, with an ugly slap-dash pattern
on the walls, an ugly carpet on the floor, and an ugly view of cottage-roofs and
cabbage-gardens from the window. His own person, his writing-table, and his
book-case, were the only objects in the room that had the slightest air of
refinement; and the sole provision for comfort was a clumsy straight-backed
arm-chair, covered with faded chintz. The man who could live in such a room,
unconstrained by poverty, must either have his vision fed from within by an
intense passion, or he must have chosen that least attractive form of
self-mortification which wears no haircloth and has no meagre days, but accepts
the vulgar, the commonplace and the ugly, whenever the highest duty seems to lie
among them.
"Mr Tryan, I hope you'll excuse me disturbin' on you," said Mr Jerome. "But I'd
summat partickler to say."
"You don't disturb me at all, Mr Jerome; I'm very glad to have a visit from
you," said Mr Tryan, shaking him heartily by the hand, and offering him the
chintz-covered "easy" chair; "it is some time since I've had an opportunity of
seeing you, except on a Sunday."
"Ah! sir! your time's so tecken up, I'm well awear o' that; it's not only what
you hev to do, but it's goin' about from place to place; an' you don't keep a
hoss, Mr Tryan. You don't tek care enough o' yourself?you don't indeed, an'
that's what I come to talk to y' about."
"That's very good of you, Mr Jerome; but I assure you I think walking does me no
harm. It is rather a relief to me after speaking or writing. You know I have no
great circuit to make. The farthest distance I have to walk is to Milby church,
and if ever I want a horse on a Sunday, I hire Radley's, who lives not many
hundred yards from me."
"Well, but now! the winter's comin' on, an' you'll get wet i' your feet, an'
Pratt tells me as your constitution's dillicate, as anybody may see, for the
matter o' that, wi'out bein' a doctor. An' this is the light I look at it in, Mr
Tryan: who's to fill up your place, if you was to be disabled, as I may say?
Consider what a valyable life yourn is. You've begun a great work i' Milby, an'
so you might carry't on, if you'd your health and strength. The more care you
tek o' yourself, the longer you'll live, belike, God willing, to do good to your
fellow-creturs."
"Why, my dear Mr Jerome, I think I should not be a long-lived man in any case;
and if I were to take care of myself under the pretext of doing more good, I
should very likely die and leave nothing done after all."
"Well! but keepin' a hoss wouldn't hinder you from workin'. It'ud help you to do
more, though Pratt says as it's usin' your voice so constant as does you the
most harm. Now, isn't it?I'm no scholard, Mr Tryan, an' I'm not a-goin' to
dictate to you?but isn't it a'most a-killin' o' yourself, to go on a' that way
beyond your strength? We musn't fling wer lives away."
"No, not fling them away lightly, but we are permitted to lay down our lives in
a right cause. There are many duties, as you know, Mr Jerome, which stand before
taking care of our own lives."
"Ah! I can't arguy wi' you, Mr Tryan; but what I wanted to say's this?There's my
little chacenut hoss; I should tek it quite a kindness if you'd hev him through
the winter an' ride him. I've thought o' sellin' him a maeny times, for Mrs
Jerome can't abide him; and what do I want wi' two nags? But I'm fond o' the
little chacenut, an' I shouldn't like to sell him. So if you'll only ride him
for me, you'll do me a kindness?you will indeed, Mr Tryan."
"Thank you, Mr Jerome. I promise you to ask for him, when I feel that I want a
nag. There is no man I would more gladly be indebted to than you; but at present
I would rather not have a horse. I should ride him very little, and it would be
an inconvenience to me to keep him rather than otherwise."
Mr Jerome looked troubled and hesitating, as if he had something on his mind
that would not readily shape itself into words. At last he said, "You'll excuse
me, Mr Tryan, I wouldn't be teckin' a liberty, but I know what great claims you
hev on you as a clergyman. Is it th' expense, Mr Tryan? is it the money?"
"No, my dear sir. I have much more than a single man needs. My way of living is
quite of my own choosing, and I am doing nothing but what I feel bound to do,
quite apart from money considerations. We cannot judge for one another, you
know; we have each our peculiar weaknesses and temptations. I quite admit that
it might be right for another man to allow himself more luxuries, and I assure
you I think it no superiority in myself to do without them. On the contrary, if
my heart were less rebellious, and if I were less liable to temptation, I should
not need that sort of self-denial. But," added Mr Tryan, holding out his hand to
Mr Jerome, "I understand your kindness, and bless you for it. If I want a horse,
I shall ask for the chesnut."
Mr Jerome was obliged to rest contented with this promise, and rode home
sorrowfully, reproaching himself with not having said one thing he meant to say
when setting out, and with having "clean forgot" the arguments he had intended
to quote from Mr Stickney.
Mr Jerome's was not the only mind that was seriously disturbed by the idea that
the curate was over-working himself. There were tender women's hearts in which
anxiety about the state of his affections was beginning to be merged in anxiety
about the state of his health. Miss Eliza Pratt had at one time passed through
much sleepless cogitation on the possibility of Mr Tryan's being attached to
some lady at a distance?at Laxeter, perhaps, where he had formerly held a
curacy; and her fine eyes kept close watch lest any symptom of engaged
affections on his part should escape her. It seemed an alarming fact that his
handkerchiefs were beautifully marked with hair, until she reflected that he had
an unmarried sister of whom he spoke with much affection as his father's
companion and comforter. Besides, Mr Tryan had never paid any distant visit,
except one for a few days to his father, and no hint escaped him of his
intending to take a house, or change his mode of living. No! he could not be
engaged, though he might have been disappointed. But this latter misfortune is
one from which a devoted clergy-man has been known to recover, by the aid of a
fine pair of grey eyes that beam on him with affectionate reverence. Before
Christmas, however, her cogitations began to take another turn. She heard her
father say very confidently that "Tryan was consumptive, and if he didn't take
more care of himself, his life would not be worth a year's purchase;" and shame
at having speculated on suppositions that were likely to prove so false, sent
poor M
iss Eliza's feelings with all the stronger impetus into the one channel of
sorrowful alarm at the prospect of losing the pastor who had opened to her a new
life of piety and self-subjection. It is a sad weakness in us, after all, that
the thought of a man's death hallows him anew to us; as if life were not sacred
too?as if it were comparatively a light thing to fail in love and reverence to
the brother who has to climb the whole toilsome steep with us, and all our tears
and tenderness were due to the one who is spared that hard journey.
The Miss Linnets, too, were beginning to take a new view of the future, entirely
uncoloured by jealousy of Miss Eliza Pratt.
"Did you notice," said Mary, one afternoon when Mrs Pettifer was taking tea with
them? "did you notice that short dry cough of Mr Tryan's yesterday? I think he
looks worse and worse every week, and I only wish I knew his sister; I would
write to her about him. I'm sure something should be done to make him give up
part of his work, and he will listen to no one here."
"Ah," said Mrs Pettifer, "it's a thousand pities his father and sister can't
come and live with him, if he isn't to marry. But I wish with all my heart he
could have taken to some nice woman as would have made a comfortable home for
him. I used to think he might take to Eliza Pratt; she's a good girl, and very
pretty; but I see no likelihood of it now."
"No, indeed," said Rebecca, with some emphasis; "Mr Tryan's heart is not for any
woman to win; it is all given to his work; and I could never wish to see him
with a young inexperienced wife who would be a drag on him instead of a
help-mate."
"He'd need have somebody, young or old," observed Mrs Linnet, "to see as he
wears a flannel wescoat, an' changes his stockins when he comes in. It's my
opinion he's got that cough wi' sittin' i' wet shoes an' stockins; an' that Mrs
Wagstaff's a poor addle-headed thing; she doesn't half tek care on him."
"O, mother!" said Rebecca, "she's a very pious woman. And I'm sure she thinks it
too great a privilege to have Mr Tryan with her, not to do the best she can to
make him comfortable. She can't help her rooms being shabby."
"I've nothing to say again' her piety, my dear; but I know very well I shouldn't
like her to cook my victual. When a man comes in hungry an' tired, piety won't
feed him, I reckon. Hard carrots 'ull lie heavy on his stomach, piety or no
piety. I called in one day when she was dishin' up Mr Tryan's dinner, an' I
could see the potatoes was as watery as watery. It's right enough to be
speritial?I'm no enemy to that; but I like my potatoes mealy. I don't see as
anybody 'ull go to heaven the sooner for not digestin' their dinner? providin'
they don't die sooner, as mayhap Mr Tryan will, poor dear man!"
"It will be a heavy day for us all when that comes to pass," said Mrs Pettifer.
"We shall never get anybody to fill up that gap. There's the new clergyman
that's just come to Shepperton? Mr Parry; I saw him the other day at Mrs Bond's.
He may be a very good man, and a fine preacher; they say he is; but I thought to
myself, what a difference between him and Mr Tryan! He's a sharp-sort-of-looking
man, and hasn't that feeling way with him that Mr Tryan has. What is so
wonderful to me in Mr Tryan is the way he puts himself on a level with one, and
talks to one like a brother. I'm never afraid of telling him anything. He never
seems to look down on anybody. He knows how to lift up those that are cast down,
if ever man did."
"Yes," said Mary. "And when I see all the faces turned up to him in Paddiford
church, I often think how hard it would be for any clergyman who had to come
after him; he has made the people love him so."
CHAPTER XII.
In her occasional visits to her near neighbour Mrs Pettifer, too old a friend to
be shunned because she was a Tryanite, Janet was obliged sometimes to hear
allusions to Mr Tryan, and even to listen to his praises, which she usually met
with playful incredulity.
"Ah, well," she answered one day, "I like dear old Mr Crewe and his pipes a
great deal better than your Mr Tryan and his Gospel. When I was a little toddle,
Mr and Mrs Crewe used to let me play about in their garden, and have a swing
between the great elm-trees, because mother had no garden. I like people who are
kind; kindness is my religion; and that's the reason I like you, dear Mrs
Pettifer, though you are a Tryanite."
"But that's Mr Tryan's religion too?at least partly. There's nobody can give
himself up more to doing good amongst the poor; and he thinks of their bodies
too, as well as their souls."
"O yes, yes; but then he talks about faith and grace, and all that, making
people believe they are better than others, and that God loves them more than He
does the rest of the world. I know he has put a great deal of that into Sally
Martin's head, and it has done her no good at all. She was as nice, honest,
patient a girl as need be before; and now she fancies she has new light and new
wisdom. I dont like those notions."
"You mistake him, indeed you do, my dear Mrs Dempster; I wish you'd go and hear
him preach."
"Hear him preach! Why, you wicked woman, you would persuade me to disobey my
husband, would you? O, shocking! I shall run away from you. Good-by."
A few days after this conversation, however, Janet went to Sally Martin's about
three o'clock in the afternoon. The pudding that had been sent in for herself
and "Mammy," struck her as just the sort of delicate morsel the poor consumptive
girl would be likely to fancy, and in her usual impulsive way she had started up
from the dinner-table at once, put on her bonnet, and set off with a covered
plateful to the neighbouring street. When she entered the house there was no one
to be seen; but in the little side-room where Sally lay, Janet heard a voice. It
was one she had not heard before, but she immediately guessed it to be Mr
Tryan's. Her first impulse was to set down her plate and go away, but Mrs Martin
might not be in, and then there would be no one to give Sally that delicious bit
of pudding. So she stood still, and was obliged to hear what Mr Tryan was
saying. He was interrupted by one of the invalid's violent fits of coughing.
"It is very hard to bear, is it not?" he said, when she was still again. "Yet
God seems to support you under it wonderfully. Pray for me, Sally, that I may
have strength too when the hour of great suffering comes. It is one of my worst
weaknesses to shrink from bodily pain, and I think the time is perhaps not far
off when I shall have to bear what you are bearing. But now I have tired you. We
have talked enough. Goodby."
Janet was surprised, and forgot her wish not to encounter Mr Tryan; the tone and
the words were so unlike what she had expected to hear. There was none of the
self-satisfied unction of the teacher, quoting, or exhorting, or expounding, for
the benefit of the hearer, but a simple appeal for help, a confession of
weakness. Mr Tryan had his deeplyfelt troubles, then? Mr Tryan, too, like
herself, knew what it was to tremble at a foresee
n trial? to shudder at an
impending burthen, heavier than he felt able to bear?
The most brilliant deed of virtue could not have inclined Janet's goodwill
towards Mr Tryan so much as this fellowship in suffering, and the softening
thought was in her eyes when he appeared in the doorway, pale, weary, and
depressed. The sight of Janet standing there with the entire absence of
self-consciousness which belongs to a new and vivid impression, made him start
and pause a little. Their eyes met, and they looked at each other gravely for a
few moments. Then they bowed, and Mr Tryan passed out.
There is a power in the direct glance of a sincere and loving human soul, which
will do more to dissipate prejudice and kindle charity than the most elaborate
arguments. The fullest exposition of Mr Tryan's doctrine might not have sufficed
to convince Janet that he had not an odious self-complacency in believing
himself a peculiar child of God; but one direct, pathetic look of his had
dissociated him with that conception for ever.
This happened late in the autumn, not long before Sally Martin died. Janet
mentioned her new impression to no one, for she was afraid of arriving at a
still more complete contradiction of her former ideas. We have all of us
considerable regard for our past self, and are not fond of casting reflections
on that respected individual by a total negation of his opinions. Janet could no
longer think of Mr Tryan without sympathy, but she still shrank from the idea of
becoming his hearer and admirer. That was a reversal of the past which was as
little accordant with her inclination as her circumstances.
And indeed this interview with Mr Tryan was soon thrust into the background of
poor Janet's memory by the daily thickening miseries of her life.
CHAPTER XIII.
The loss of Mr Jerome as a client proved only the beginning of annoyances to
Dempster. That old gentleman had in him the vigorous remnant of an energy and
perseverance which had created his own fortune; and being, as I have hinted,
given to chewing the cud of a righteous indignation with considerable relish, he
was determined to carry on his retributive was against the persecuting attorney.
Having some influence with Mr Pryme, who was one of the most substantial
rate-payers in the neighbouring parish of Dingley, and who had himself a complex
and long-standing private account with Dempster, Mr Jerome stirred up this
gentleman to an investigation of some suspicious points in the attorney's
conduct of the parish affairs. The natural consequence was a personal quarrel
between Dempster and Mr Pryme; the client demanded his account, and then
followed the old story of an exorbitant lawyer's bill, with the unpleasant
anti-climax of taxing.
These disagreeables, extending over many months, ran along side by side with the
pressing business of Mr Armstrong's lawsuit, which was threatening to take a
turn rather depreciatory of Dempster's professional prevision; and it is not
surprising that, being thus kept in a constant state of irritated excitement
about his own affairs, he had little time for the further exhibition of his
public spirit, or for rallying the forlorn hope of sound churchmanship against
cant and hypocrisy. Not a few persons who had a grudge against him, began to
remark, with satisfaction, that "Dempster's luck was forsaking him;"
particularly Mrs Linnet, who thought she saw distinctly the gradual ripening of
a providential scheme, whereby a just retribution would be wrought on the man
who had deprived her of Pye's Croft. On the other hand, Dempster's
well-satisfied clients, who were of opinion that the punishment of his
wickedness might conveniently be deferred to another world, noticed with some
concern that he was drinking more than ever, and that both his temper and his
driving were becoming more furious. Unhappily those additional glasses of
brandy, that exasperation of loud-tongued abuse, had other effects than any that