"Not exactly; but having informed him of my prospects, the good child began to upbraid me with my hypocrisy, and, bless you, such a thundering sermon,--positively quite eloquent."

"Perhaps I may be allowed to profit by the second part of it," said Trevannion, turning to Louis; "will you be kind enough to edify me?"

Louis did not reply, and Trevannion's lips curled slightly as he remarked, "There is an old proverb about those who live in gla.s.s houses--'Physician, cure thyself.'"

Poor Louis turned away, and Meredith, stretching himself and yawning terrifically, continued, "You must know, Trevannion, that it is very wicked to be any thing but a Methodist, very wicked for a clergyman to be genteel, or to wish to make himself comfortable."

"Hastings, I did not say so," said Louis, turning his head.

"And so," continued Meredith, without noticing Louis, "if we dare to follow up our own or our fathers' wishes, we must listen to Louis Mortimer, and he will tell us what to do."

"Much obliged to him, I am sure," said Trevannion.

"Yes, so am I," rejoined Meredith, "though I forgot to tender my thanks before; and hereby give notice, that when I am in orders, I will not hunt more than convenient, nor play cards on Good Friday, nor go to dancing parties on Sat.u.r.day evening."

"Pshaw, Meredith," said Trevannion: "it is very unbecoming to talk in this manner of so sacred a profession. A hunting and card-playing clergyman ought to be stripped of his gown without hesitation. Any right-minded person would recoil with horror at such a character. It is a great disgrace to the profession; no clergyman ought to enter into any kind of improper dissipation. Your ideas are very light and indelicate."

"Will you be kind enough to define that term, _improper dissipation_,"

said Meredith, carelessly. "I presume you have no objection to a quiet dance now and then, only they must not call it a ball."

"A clergyman ought not to dance," replied Trevannion, in precisely the same cool, dictatorial manner.

"He may look on them, may he not?" said Meredith.

"A clergyman has many serious duties to perform, and he should be very careful that he does not degrade his office," replied Trevannion.

"He has to uphold the dignity of the church, and should take care that his conduct is such that no reproach can fall on that church from his inconsistency."

"Well, for my part," said Meredith, lightly, "I think the church too important to miss the weight of my example. I mean to have a most exemplary curate."

Near these speakers sat Mr. James Wilkinson, with a few little boys, whom at this moment he hastily dismissed, for the sound of the light conversation reached him, and he arose quickly and introduced himself to the little coterie just as Reginald exclaimed, "For shame, Meredith!"

"Ay, for shame," said Mr. James: "I have heard a little of what has been going on among you, and am really very sorry to hear such expressions on a subject so solemn and important. Meredith, you cannot be aware of what you are saying. I should like to have a little talk about this matter; and, Mr. Trevannion, if you will give me your attention for a few minutes, I shall be obliged to you."

Trevannion seated himself on the bench, and folding his arms, remained in an att.i.tude of pa.s.sive attention.

"Lend me your prayer-book, Mortimer," said Mr. James, and he quickly turned to the service for the ordering of deacons. "The first question here put to the candidate for holy orders is, 'Do you trust that you are inwardly moved by the Holy Ghost, to take upon you this office and ministration, to serve G.o.d for the promoting of His glory and the edifying of His people?' Now, Meredith, I ask you to think, whether, with such sentiments as you have just expressed, you can dare to answer, '_I trust so?_'"

"I never thought very seriously about it," said Meredith, rather abruptly.

"But you know these things must be thought of seriously and prayerfully.

It is required of a man in every station of life, that he be faithful and diligent, serving the Lord, and whoever does not remember this, must answer for his neglect of such duty to his Maker. It will not do to say that our individual example can be of no importance; the command, 'Occupy till I come,' is laid upon each one of us; but what must be said of him who, in a careless, light frame of mind, takes these holy vows upon him, knowing in his own mind that he intends to break them; that his sole desire to be put into the priest's office is to eat a morsel of bread? What shall be said of him who goes into the house of G.o.d, and in the presence of His people declares that it is his intention, 'to search gladly and willingly for the sick and poor of his parish, to relieve their necessities; to frame his own life and the lives of his family according to the doctrine of Christ; to be diligent in prayers and in reading of the Holy Scriptures, laying aside the study of the world and the flesh,' and yet knows that he intends to enjoy himself in the things of this world--a very hireling who forgets that his master's eye is upon him. It is a fearful thing. It is coming before the Almighty with a lie. Nay, hear me a little longer. The clergyman's is a glorious and exalted path, the happiest I know of on earth. It is his especially to bear the message of salvation from a tender Saviour.

It is his to go forth with the balm of heavenly comfort, to bind up the wounds sin and grief have made. It is his indeed pre-eminently to dwell in the house of his G.o.d, to be hid away from the world and its many allurements; but as every great blessing brings with it a great responsibility, so the responsibility of the minister of Christ is very great, and if he turn from the commandment delivered to him, his condemnation is fearful. I should be much obliged to you, Meredith, if you would read me these verses."

Meredith took the open Bible from Mr. Wilkinson's hand, and read aloud the first ten verses of the 34th of Ezekiel.

"In this holy word, which must be the standard for all our conduct, we do not find that the Almighty looks upon this office as a light thing. In the thirty-third chapter there is so solemn a warning to the careless watchman, that I wonder any one who does not steadfastly intend to give himself to his sacred duties, can read it and not tremble. 'If the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be not warned; if the sword come, and take away any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but HIS BLOOD WILL I REQUIRE AT THE WATCHMAN'S HAND. So thou, O son of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore thou shalt hear the word at my mouth, and warn them from me. When I say unto the wicked, Oh wicked man, thou shalt surely die; if thou dost not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand.' This is the second solemn warning to the same purport given to Ezekiel; for, in the third chapter, we find the same thing; and these are awful truths engraved in G.o.d's everlasting word, by which we are to be judged at the last day. You must excuse me," continued Mr. Wilkinson, and his eyes glistened with emotion; "but I am a watchman, and I must warn you of the fearful sin you are contemplating."

Meredith was silent. He was impressed with the earnestness displayed by Mr. Wilkinson, and the solemn truths he had brought before him--truths it would be well if all those who are looking forward to entering the sacred ministry would seriously and prayerfully consider.

The tea bell ringing at this moment, the conversation was necessarily concluded; but that evening after prayers, Mr. Wilkinson put into Meredith's hand a piece of paper, on which were written the following references: Num. xvi. 9; Isaiah lii. 7, 8; lxii. 6, 7; Jer. xxiii. 1-4; Ezek. iii. 17-21; x.x.xiii. 1-9; x.x.xiv. 1-10; John xxi. 15-17; 1 Cor. ix. 16, 17, 19; and both the Epistles to Timothy; and underneath the references was the Apostle's injunction, "Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them, that thy profiting may appear unto all."

When Louis was fairly in bed that night, he was called on for a story.

"Tell us the end of the princess Rosetta, Louis," cried Frank; "I want to know how the fair animal got out of her watery bedroom, and whether the green dog ever got his nose nipped by the oysters he was so fond of snapping up."

"Yes, Rosetta!" cried several voices. "Did she ever get to the king of the peac.o.c.ks, Louis?"

"No, no," cried Reginald; "it is not fit for Sunday."

"I am sure we have been doing heaps of good things to-day,"

replied Frank, lightly; "come, Louis."

"I must not," said Louis, gently. "I do not like telling stories at night at all, because I think we ought not to fill our heads with such things when we are going to sleep; but I must not tell you Rosetta to-night, Frank."

"Get along," said Frank, contemptuously; "you are not worth the snap of a finger. All you are ever worth is to tell stories, and now you must needs set up for a good, pious boy--you, forsooth of all others!"

"Indeed, Frank, you will not understand me."

"If you dare to say any more to Louis," cried Reginald, "I'll make you--"

Louis' hand was upon Reginald's mouth.

Frank replied, tauntingly, "Ay, finish your work this time, that's right. Come boys, never mind, I'll tell you a wonderful tale."

"I think we'd better not have one to-night," said one; "perhaps Mortimer's right."

"Don't have one, don't!" said Louis, starting up; "do not let us forget that all this day is G.o.d's day, and that we must not even speak our own words."

"None of your cant," cried one.

"Well, I propose that we go to sleep, and then we shan't hear what he says," said Meredith. "They talk of his not having pluck enough to speak, but he can do it when he pleases," he remarked in a low tone to his next companion, Frank Digby, who rejoined,

"More shame for him, the little hypocrite. I like real religious people, but I can't bear cant."

What Frank's idea of real religion was, may be rather a difficult matter to settle. Probably it was an obscure idea to himself,--an idea of certain sentiment and no vitality.

CHAPTER VII.

The next Sat.u.r.day afternoon proving unusually fine, the community at Ashfield House sallied forth to enjoy their half-holiday on the downs.

A few of the seniors had received permission to pay a visit to Bristol, and not a small party was arranged for a good game of cricket. Among the latter was Reginald Mortimer, whose strong arm and swift foot were deemed almost indispensable on such occasions. As he rushed out of the playground gates, bat in hand, accompanied by Meredith, he overtook his brother, who had discovered a poem unknown to him in _Coleridge's Ancient Mariner_, and was antic.i.p.ating a pleasant mental feast in its perusal.

"Louis, you lazy fellow," cried Reginald, good-temperedly, "you shan't read this fine afternoon--come, join us."

"I don't play cricket, I have not learned," replied Louis.