'WELL, Miss Grey, what do you
think of the new curate?' asked
Miss Murray, on our return from
church the Sunday after the recommencement
of our duties.
'I can scarcely tell,' was
my reply: 'I have not even heard
him preach.'
'Well, but you saw him, didn't
you?'
'Yes, but I cannot pretend
to judge of a man's character
by a single cursory glance at
his face.'
'But isn't he ugly?'
'He did not strike me as being
particularly so; I don't dislike
that cast of countenance: but
the only thing I particularly
noticed about him was his style
of reading; which appeared to
me good - infinitely better,
at least, than Mr. Hatfield's.
He read the Lessons as if he
were bent on giving full effect
to every passage; it seemed as
if the most careless person could
not have helped attending, nor
the most ignorant have failed
to understand; and the prayers
he read as if he were not reading
at all, but praying earnestly
and sincerely from his own heart.'
'Oh, yes, that's all he is
good for: he can plod through
the service well enough; but
he has not a single idea beyond
it.'
'How do you know?'
'Oh! I know perfectly well;
I am an excellent judge in such
matters. Did you see how he went
out of church? stumping along
- as if there were nobody there
but himself - never looking to
the right hand or the left, and
evidently thinking of nothing
but just getting out of the church,
and, perhaps, home to his dinner:
his great stupid head could contain
no other idea.'
'I suppose you would have had
him cast a glance into the squire's
pew,' said I, laughing at the
vehemence of her hostility.
'Indeed! I should have been
highly indignant if he had dared
to do such a thing!' replied
she, haughtily tossing her head;
then, after a moment's reflection,
she added - 'Well, well! I suppose
he's good enough for his place:
but I'm glad I'm not dependent
on HIM for amusement - that's
all. Did you see how Mr. Hatfield
hurried out to get a bow from
me, and be in time to put us
into the carriage?'
'Yes,' answered I; internally
adding, 'and I thought it somewhat
derogatory to his dignity as
a clergyman to come flying from
the pulpit in such eager haste
to shake hands with the squire,
and hand his wife and daughters
into their carriage: and, moreover,
I owe him a grudge for nearly
shutting me out of it'; for,
in fact, though I was standing
before his face, close beside
the carriage steps, waiting to
get in, he would persist in putting
them up and closing the door,
till one of the family stopped
him by calling out that the governess
was not in yet; then, without
a word of apology, he departed,
wishing them good-morning, and
leaving the footman to finish
the business.
NOTA BENE. - Mr. Hatfield never
spoke to me, neither did Sir
Hugh or Lady Meltham, nor Mr.
Harry or Miss Meltham, nor Mr.
Green or his sisters, nor any
other lady or gentleman who frequented
that church: nor, in fact, any
one that visited at Horton Lodge.
Miss Murray ordered the carriage
again, in the afternoon, for
herself and her sister: she said
it was too cold for them to enjoy
themselves in the garden; and
besides, she believed Harry Meltham
would be at church. 'For,' said
she, smiling slyly at her own
fair image in the glass, 'he
has been a most exemplary attendant
at church these last few Sundays:
you would think he was quite
a good Christian. And you may
go with us, Miss Grey: I want
you to see him; he is so greatly
improved since he returned from
abroad - you can't think! And
besides, then you will have an
opportunity of seeing the beautiful
Mr. Weston again, and of hearing
him preach.'
I did hear him preach, and
was decidedly pleased with the
evangelical truth of his doctrine,
as well as the earnest simplicity
of his manner, and the clearness
and force of his style. It was
truly refreshing to hear such
a sermon, after being so long
accustomed to the dry, prosy
discourses of the former curate,
and the still less edifying harangues
of the rector. Mr. Hatfield would
come sailing up the aisle, or
rather sweeping along like a
whirlwind, with his rich silk
gown flying behind him and rustling
against the pew doors, mount
the pulpit like a conqueror ascending
his triumphal car; then, sinking
on the velvet cushion in an attitude
of studied grace, remain in silent
prostration for a certain time;
then mutter over a Collect, and
gabble through the Lord's Prayer,
rise, draw off one bright lavender
glove, to give the congregation
the benefit of his sparkling
rings, lightly pass his fingers
through his well-curled hair,
flourish a cambric handkerchief,
recite a very short passage,
or, perhaps, a mere phrase of
Scripture, as a head-piece to
his discourse, and, finally,
deliver a composition which,
as a composition, might be considered
good, though far too studied
and too artificial to be pleasing
to me: the propositions were
well laid down, the arguments
logically conducted; and yet,
it was sometimes hard to listen
quietly throughout, without some
slight demonstrations of disapproval
or impatience.
His favourite subjects were
church discipline, rites and
ceremonies, apostolical succession,
the duty of reverence and obedience
to the clergy, the atrocious
criminality of dissent, the absolute
necessity of observing all the
forms of godliness, the reprehensible
presumption of individuals who
attempted to think for themselves
in matters connected with religion,
or to be guided by their own
interpretations of Scripture,
and, occasionally (to please
his wealthy parishioners) the
necessity of deferential obedience
from the poor to the rich - supporting
his maxims and exhortations throughout
with quotations from the Fathers:
with whom he appeared to be far
better acquainted than with the
Apostles and Evangelists, and
whose importance he seemed to
consider at least equal to theirs.
But now and then he gave us a
sermon of a different order -
what some would call a very good
one; but sunless and severe:
representing the Deity as a terrible
taskmaster rather than a benevolent
father. Yet, as I listened, I
felt inclined to think the man
was sincere in all he said: he
must have changed his views,
and become decidedly religious,
gloomy and austere, yet still
devout. But such illusions were
usually dissipated, on coming
out of church, by hearing his
voice in jocund colloquy with
some of the Melthams or Greens,
or, perhaps, the Murrays themselves;
probably laughing at his own
sermon, and hoping that he had
given the rascally people something
to think about; perchance, exulting
in the thought that old Betty
Holmes would now lay aside the
sinful indulgence of her pipe,
which had been her daily solace
for upwards of thirty years:
that George Higgins would be
frightened out of his Sabbath
evening walks, and Thomas Jackson
would be sorely troubled in his
conscience, and shaken in his
sure and certain hope of a joyful
resurrection at the last day.
Thus, I could not but conclude
that Mr. Hatfield was one of
those who 'bind heavy burdens,
and grievous to be borne, and
lay them upon men's shoulders,
while they themselves will not
move them with one of their fingers';
and who 'make the word of God
of none effect by their traditions,
teaching for doctrines the commandments
of men.' I was well pleased to
observe that the new curate resembled
him, as far as I could see, in
none of these particulars.
'Well, Miss Grey, what do you
think of him now?' said Miss
Murray, as we took our places
in the carriage after service.
'No harm still,' replied I.
'No harm!' repeated she in
amazement. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean, I think no worse of
him than I did before.'
'No worse! I should think not
indeed - quite the contrary!
Is he not greatly improved?'
'Oh, yes; very much indeed,'
replied I; for I had now discovered
that it was Harry Meltham she
meant, not Mr. Weston. That gentleman
had eagerly come forward to speak
to the young ladies: a thing
he would hardly have ventured
to do had their mother been present;
he had likewise politely handed
them into the carriage. He had
not attempted to shut me out,
like Mr. Hatfield; neither, of
course, had he offered me his
assistance (I should not have
accepted it, if he had), but
as long as the door remained
open he had stood smirking and
chatting with them, and then
lifted his hat and departed to
his own abode: but I had scarcely
noticed him all the time. My
companions, however, had been
more observant; and, as we rolled
along, they discussed between
them not only his looks, words,
and actions, but every feature
of his face, and every article
of his apparel.
'You shan't have him all to
yourself, Rosalie,' said Miss
Matilda at the close of this
discussion; 'I like him: I know
he'd make a nice, jolly companion
for me.'
'Well, you're quite welcome
to him, Matilda,' replied her
sister, in a tone of affected
indifference.
'And I'm sure,' continued the
other, 'he admires me quite as
much as he does you; doesn't
he, Miss Grey?'
'I don't know; I'm not acquainted
with his sentiments.'
'Well, but he DOES though.'
'My DEAR Matilda! nobody will
ever admire you till you get
rid of your rough, awkward manners.'
'Oh, stuff! Harry Meltham likes
such manners; and so do papa's
friends.'
'Well, you MAY captivate old
men, and younger sons; but nobody
else, I am sure, will ever take
a fancy to you.'
'I don't care: I'm not always
grabbing after money, like you
and mamma. If my husband is able
to keep a few good horses and
dogs, I shall be quite satisfied;
and all the rest may go to the
devil!'
'Well, if you use such shocking
expressions, I'm sure no real
gentleman will ever venture to
come near you. Really, Miss Grey,
you should not let her do so.'
'I can't possibly prevent it,
Miss Murray.'
'And you're quite mistaken,
Matilda, in supposing that Harry
Meltham admires you: I assure
you he does nothing of the kind.'
Matilda was beginning an angry
reply; but, happily, our journey
was now at an end; and the contention
was cut short by the footman
opening the carriage-door, and
letting down the steps for our
descent.
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