Chapter II: Part 2

It follows very plainly that if we truly loved one another there would be no wars, no envyings, no racial hatreds, no over-reaching of our brethren for either wealth, place, or power. There would be no such hells as the Lancashire factories, for example, where, as Allen Clarke graphically tells us,[1] “Amidst that sickening jerry-jumble of cheap bricks and cheaper British industry, over a hundred thousand men, women, and children toil and exist, sweating in the vast, hot, stuffy mills and sweltering forges--going, when young, to the smut-surrounded schools to improve their minds, and trying to commune with the living God in the dreary, dead, besmirched churches and grimy puritanical chapels; growing up stunted, breeding thoughtlessly, dying prematurely, knowing not, nor dreaming, except for here and there a solitary one cursed with keen sight and sensitive soul, of aught better and brighter than this shrieking, steaming sphere of slime and sorrow.” Contrast this picture with a crowded “supper night” at the Carlton or any other fashionable Feeding-place of London, and then maintain, if you dare, that the men and women who are responsible for two such differing sides of life are “Christians.”

England is, I am told, at the present juncture in danger of becoming “Romanized.” Priests and nuns of various “orders,” who have been thrust out of France and Spain for intermeddling, are seeking refuge here, in company with the organ-grinders and other folk who have been found unnecessary in their own countries. From Paris official news was cabled on September 11th as follows:--

JESUIT EXODUS FROM FRANCE.

PARIS, Wednesday, _September 11th_.

It is announced officially that by the 1st of next month
not a single Jesuit will be left in France. Most of them
are emigrating to England, and will make Canterbury their
headquarters.--DALZIEL.

France will not have the Jesuits; may it be asked why we are to have them? It is England’s proud privilege to be an international workhouse for all the decrepit of the world, and for this cause a happy hunting ground is open to Rome among these same decrepit. There is no creed in the world which is better adapted for those who are morally weak and frightened of themselves. All the millionaires who have gotten their goods by fraud, can, by leaving the greater part of these goods to Rome, secure a reserved seat in Rome’s Heaven, with a special harp and crown. All the women with “soul-affinities” other than lawful, can, after a considerable wallow in social mire, enter the Church of Rome, and after confession, be “cleansed” sufficiently to begin again a new life approved of the saints. All the spiritualists and faith-healers can find support for their theories with Rome,--and the Roman hell, full of large snakes and much brimstone, is a satisfactory place to consign one’s enemies to, when we have quite put aside Christ’s command, “Love one another.” Altogether Romanism is calculated to appeal to a very large majority of persons through the sensuous and emotional beauty of its ritual;--it is a kind of heavenly narcotic which persuades the believer to resign his own will into the hypnotic management of the priests. The church is made gorgeous with soft lights and colours,--glorious music resounds through the building, and the mind drowses gently under the influence of the Latin chanting, which we need not follow unless we like,--we are permitted to believe that a large number of saints and angels are specially looking after us, and the sweet Virgin Mary is ever ready with outstretched hands to listen to all our little griefs and vexations. It is a beautiful and fascinating creed, hallowed by long antiquity, graced by deeds of romance and chivalry, sanctified by the memories of great martyrs and pure saints, and even in these degenerate days, glorified by the noble-hearted men and women who follow it without bigotry or intolerance, doing good everywhere, tending the sick, comforting the sorrowful, and gathering up the little children into their protecting arms, even as Jesus Himself gathered them. It would need an angel’s pen dipped in fire to record the true history of a faithful, self-denying priest of the Roman Church, who gives up his own advantage for the sake of serving others--who walks fearlessly into squalid dens reeking with fever, and sets the pure Host between the infected lips of the dying,--who combats with the Demon of Drink, and drags up the almost lost reprobate out of that horrible chasm of vice and destruction. No one could ever give sufficient honour to such a man for all the immense amount of good he does, unostentatiously and without hope of reward. But many men like himself exist equally in the English Church as the Roman,--in the Presbyterian Church, in the Greek Church, in the Buddhist temples, among the Quakers, “Plymouth Brethren,” and other sects--among the followers of Mahomet or of Confucius. For there are good men and good women in every Church, faithful to the SPIRIT OF CHRIST, and therefore, “Christians,” even if called Jews or Hindoos.

Personally, I have no more objection or dislike to Romanism than I have to any other “ism” ever formulated. From a student’s point of view I admire the Roman Catholic priesthood, because they understand their business, and thoroughly know the material with which they have to deal. Wise as their Egyptian prototypes of old, they decline to unveil “mysteries” to the uninitiated vulgar--therefore the laity are not expected to read the Bible for themselves. Knowing the terrors of a guilty conscience, they are able to intimidate the uneducated ruffian of both sexes more successfully than all the majesty of the law. Thoroughly aware of the popular delight in “shows,” they organize public processions on feast days, just as the “Masters of the Stars” used to do in Memphis, where, by the way (as those who take the trouble to study ancient Egyptian records will discover), our latest inventions, such as the electric light, the telephone, the phonograph, and many other modern utilities were used by the priests for “miraculous” effects. From the Egyptian priesthood we derive the beginnings of scientific discovery;--to the early Roman Catholic priesthood we owe the preservation of much history and learning. The one is, intellectually speaking, a lineal descendant of the other, and both deserve the utmost respect for their immense capacity as Rulers of the Ignorant.

The greater majority of persons have no force of will and no decided opinions, but only an undersense of coward fear or vexation at the possible unsuccessful or damaging result of their own ill-doings. Hence the power of the Roman Catholic dogma. It is not Christianity, it has not the delicate subtlety of Greek mythology, it is simply Pagan Rome engrafted on the conversion and repentance of the Jew, Peter, who, in the time of trial, “knew not the Man.” Curiously enough, it is just the “Man,” the real typical Christ, the pure, strong God-in-humanity who is still “not known” in the Roman Catholic ritual. There are prayers to the “Sacred Heart” and to other physical attributes of Jesus,--just as in old Rome there were prayers to the physical attributes of the various deities, but of the perfect “Man,” as seen in Christ’s dauntless love of truth and exposure of shams, His scourging of the thieves out of the holy temple, His grand indifference to the world’s malice and hatred, and his conquest over death and the grave,--of these things we are given no clear or helpful image. Nevertheless, it is the “Man” we most need,--the “Man” who came to us to teach us how to live;--the brother, the friend, the close sympathizer,--the great Creator of all life mingling Himself with his human creation in a beautiful, tender, loving, wise, and all-pitiful Spirit, wherein is no hate, no revenge, and no intolerance! This is the Christ;--this is His Christianity. Romanism, on the contrary, allows plenty of space for those who want to hate as well as to love, and it is as helpful or as useless as any of the thousand and one dogmas built up around Christ which include bad passions as well as divine aspirations. The danger of such a creed gaining too much ground in England, the land where our forefathers fought against it and trampled it out with their own blood and tears, is not because it is a particular form of religious faith, but because it is an intolerant system of secret government. This has been proved over and over again throughout history. Its leaders have not shown themselves as gentle as pagans by any means, either now or in the past, and intolerance in any form, from any sect, is no part of the Constitution of a free country.

Hence the real cause of the objection entertained by millions of persons in the Empire to the suggested alteration of the King’s Coronation oath. Edward VII. is a Constitutional monarch,--and the words “Defender of the Faith” imply that he is equally Defender of the Constitution. He agrees, when he is crowned King of England, to uphold that Constitution,--he therefore tacitly rejects all that might tend to undermine it, all secret methods of tampering with political, governmental, or financial matters relating to the State. The wording of the Coronation Oath is and must be distinctly offensive to thousands of excellent persons who are Roman Catholics,--nevertheless, in the times when it was so worded, the offending terms were made necessary by the conduct of the Roman Catholics themselves. Those times, we are assured, are past. We have made progress in education,--we are now broad-minded enough to be fair to foes as well as to friends. We should, therefore, in common courtesy to a rival Church, consent to have this irritating formula altered. Perhaps we should,--but is it too much to ask our Roman Catholic brethren that they also, should, if they wish for tolerance, exhibit it on their own side? When our good and beloved Queen Victoria died, was it not quite as offensive on the part of Pope Leo to publicly state that he “could not be represented at the funeral of a Protestant Queen”--as it may be for our King to publicly repudiate the service of the Mass? Nothing could have been more calculated to gratuitously wound the feelings of a great People than that most unnecessary announcement made from an historical religious centre like the Vatican at a time of universal grief for the death of a great Monarch. If the Pope’s act was according to the rule of his Church, the King’s oath will be taken according to the rule of the British Constitution. No one could accuse the Pope of any particularly “Christian” feeling in declining to be represented at the last obsequies of the best Queen that ever reigned--no one can or will accuse King Edward of “religious intolerance” if he takes the oath as it is set down for him. Both acts are matters of policy. When we have the foremost peer of England, the Duke of Norfolk, forgetting himself so far as to drag his religious creed into the political arena and express the hope on behalf of all English Catholics that the Pope may soon regain temporal power (which means, to put it quite plainly, that the British Constitution should be disintegrated and laid under subjection to Rome), the natural consequence of such conduct is that an enormous majority of perfectly sensible, broad-minded people doubt whether it is wise to leave an entirely loose rein on the neck of the papal Pegasus, and whether it will not be as well, after all, to allow the Coronation oath to be spoken by Edward VII. as Victoria, of ever glorious memory, spoke it? For tolerance and equity on the one side must be met by tolerance and equity on the other, if a fair understanding is to be arrived at. And when the professors of any religious Creed still persecute heroism and intellect, as personated in the grand and venerable figure of Tolstoy, or refuse reverence to the last rite of a noble Queen, whose reign was a blessing to the whole world, one may be permitted to question their fitness for the task of elevating and refining the minds and morals of those whom their teachings help to influence. And having, as a man of intellectual and keen perception, the full consciousness that such unuttered “questioning” was burning the hearts and minds of thousands, Cardinal Vaughan showed himself a master of the art of Roman Catholic diplomacy in his speech at Newcastle-on-Tyne on September 9th. Speaking of the inrush of Roman Catholic priests into England, he said:--

“A statement from a London paper has been running through the provincial Press to the effect that I have deliberately outraged public feeling by inviting to England certain French religieux, some of those _confrères_ who have made themselves particularly obnoxious by their constant attacks upon this country. The fact is that, upon the passing of the iniquitous law against the religious congregations, I gave a general invitation to any religieux who might wish to come to my diocese until they could return to France. Among those who applied were three or four fathers, some of those _confrères_ who do not love England. My invitation being general, I was not, and am not going to make distinctions. None will come who do not intend to obey the laws and follow my direction. And if there be any who have not been sufficiently enlightened to appreciate this country while living in France, they are the very people who had best come and make our acquaintance. This is the surest way to change their views. But while England boasts of her generous hospitality to every kind of refugee, I shall certainly offer whatever hospitality I can to the men and women who have suffered for Christ’s sake. _I am too broad an Englishman to know any other policy._”

“Broad Englishman” as the Cardinal may be, he had no pity on the aged Dr. St. George Mivart, the circumstances of whose treatment are not yet forgotten.

Speaking of the King’s oath, the Cardinal said--“I entirely and frankly accept the decision of the country that the King must be a Protestant. They believe that this is in some way bound up with the welfare of the Empire. WITHOUT GOING THIS LENGTH, I am convinced that in the present condition of the English people, HAUNTED AS THEY ARE BY FEARS AND SUSPICIONS, it is expedient that the King should be of the religion of the overwhelming majority. Besides, the King being, in virtue of Royal supremacy, head of the State Church, it is impossible that he should be other than a Protestant. Catholics have no difficulty in paying most loyal allegiance to a Protestant Sovereign. In this they seem to be of more liberal and confiding temper than those who would refuse allegiance to a King unless he professed their creed. The Catholic has no difficulty, because he gives his allegiance and his life, when needed, primarily to the civil power ordained of God.”

(The Cardinal did not pause here to try and explain why God has “ordained” a Protestant sovereign instead of a Roman Catholic one. Yet no doubt he will admit that God knows best.)

“The Sovereign REPRESENTS THIS POWER, whatever be his religion. Was it not Catholic Belgium that placed the Protestant King Leopold upon the Throne, and gave to him at least as hearty a devotion as ever has been shown to his Catholic successor? Other Catholic States are ruled by Protestant Sovereigns. And who can say that the 16,000,000 of German Catholics are a whit less loyal to their German Protestant Emperor than the millions who are of the Protestant or of no religion? There are people, I believe, pursued by the conviction that we Catholics would do anything in the world to get a Catholic King upon the Throne; that the Pope would give us leave to tell lies, commit perjury, plot, scheme, and kill to any extent for such a purpose; that there is no crime we should stick at if the certainty, or even the probability of accomplishing such an end were in view. Now let me put it to our Protestant friends in this way. If the King of England were an absolute Monarch, the dictator of the laws to be enacted, and his own executive, there might be something of vital importance to our interests and to those of religion to excite in us an intense desire to have a Catholic King. Though even then the end could never, even remotely, justify the means suggested. But how do matters really stand? We have a constitutional Monarch who is subject to the laws and in practice bound to follow the advice of his Ministers. A Catholic King, under present circumstances, would be a cause of weakness, of perpetual difficulty, and of untold anxiety. We are far better off as we are. Our dangers and grievances, our hopes and our happiness, LIE IN THE WORKING OF THE CONSTITUTION, not in the favour or power of any Sovereign. IT IS THE PARLIAMENT, THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, THAT WE MUST CONVERT, or at least strive to retain within the influence of Christianity. For the well-being of this country and the salvation of its people depend, above all other human things, UPON THE VIEW THAT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS CAN BE GOT TO TAKE OF ITS DUTY--to respect and obey the law of Christ. What we want is to get the House of Commons to maintain the Christian laws of marriage as the basis of society, and to secure to parents and their children a true and proper liberty in the matter of Christian education. And in this, remember well THAT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS DEPENDS NOT UPON THE KING, WHATEVER HIS RELIGION, BUT UPON OURSELVES. The people of this country must work out their own salvation. And here let me point out to you, in passing, that THE NEXT SESSION OF PARLIAMENT MAY SETTLE FOR EVER THE POSITION OF CHRISTIANITY IN THIS COUNTRY. Secondary and middle-class education will be thrown into the melting-pot. In the process of the devolution of educational authority upon county councils, Christianity will run the risk of losing rights which it seems to have almost secured under the working of the Education Department. The adoption of a single clause or principle will have far-reaching and most vital results. There will be another educational struggle. Struggles will be inevitable until the Christian cause, which is becoming more and more openly the cause of the majority, has permanently triumphed.”

Here we have four distinct “moves” on the plan of campaign.

1. “It is the Parliament, the House of Commons, that we must
convert.”

This means that wherever influence can be brought to bear on the return of Roman Catholic members to the House, that influence will not be lacking.

2. “The next Session of Parliament may settle for ever the
position of Christianity in this country.”

Not CHRISTIANITY, my lord Cardinal!--for that is above all “settling,”--save with its Founder--but that the next Session may open the way to a more complete Roman Catholic domination is what you venture to hope and to work for.

3. “The adoption of a _single clause_ or principle will
have far-reaching and most vital results.”

Precisely;--so far-reaching and vital that England must be on her guard against even a “single clause or principle” which endangers the liberty of the subject.

4. “Struggles will be inevitable until the Christian cause,
which is becoming more and more openly the cause of the
majority, has permanently triumphed.”

For Cardinal Vaughan there is only one “Christian” cause--viz., the Roman Catholic, and he who runs may read the meaning of the above phrase without much difficulty.

Concerning the King’s Declaration Oath, said the Cardinal:--

“It is not the King who is responsible for the drafting or the retention of this detestable Declaration. It is the Ministry, the Legislature, the Constitution that are responsible for its retention, and for forcing its acceptance upon the Sovereign. The gravamen, therefore, lies against the State, not against the person of the King.”

Quite true; and it is therefore against the State that the Vatican powers must and possibly will be directed.

“And,” went on the Cardinal, “do not devout clergymen swear every day in good faith to teach the Thirty-nine Articles, and find every day that conscience and good faith compel them to break their engagement by submitting to the Catholic Church? When a man fully realizes that by a promise or an oath he has pledged himself to something that is unjust, immoral, untrue, the engagement ceases to bind.”

_Ergo_, the English Church, the particular “Faith” which our King undertakes to DEFEND, is “unjust, immoral, and untrue.”

And, “Could Englishmen see themselves as others see them, they would be more chary than they are of provoking hatred by such wanton contempt for the feelings of other nations.”

Well, Englishmen have every chance of seeing themselves as others see them, when they hear a “Christian” Cardinal accusing them of “wanton contempt for the feelings of other nations.” To whom do other nations turn in want or distress but England? From whom do the famine and fever-stricken in all corners of the world obtain relief? England! Where is there any Roman Catholic country that has poured out such limitless charity and pity to all in sorrow as England? And why should the “conversion of England” be so valuable to the Roman Church? Merely because of England’s incalculable wealth and incalculable power! Again, concerning the Declaration Oath, the Cardinal continued:--“Now, should it ever happen that the King became convinced, by God’s grace, of the truth of the doctrines that he abjured, of what value would be the Declaration? Absolutely none!”

Of course not,--he would simply cease to be King, and would enjoy the complete liberty of the subject.

“By all means,” went on his Eminence, warming with his theme, “let the majority, if it please, stand by the law, which exists apart from the Declaration, declaring that to reign over England the Sovereign must be a Protestant. Retain this law and enforce it; but respect our creed, at least just so far as to ignore it, and to leave us alone. This, surely, is not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.”

Then will _you_ not, my lord Cardinal, “respect the creed” established in this country,--the religion of the State,--“just so far as to ignore it,” and to leave those who honour it “alone.” “This, surely, is not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.” It is not the Church of England which has started any discussion on the Coronation Oath,--the quarrel has emanated entirely from the Roman Catholic side. And the Cardinal’s speech tends to be more aggressive than pacifying.

“But if,” he continues, “after all, there must be a Declaration _as a sop to certain fears and passions_, let there be one to the effect that the King is a Protestant--and stop there. Should, however, a denunciation of the Catholic religion be added to a profession of Protestantism, the whole world will understand it; it will understand it as a pitiable _confession of English fear and weakness_. And as to ourselves; well, we shall take it as a complimentary acknowledgment by our fellow-countrymen of the importance and power of faith--that it can not only remove mountains, but is capable of _moving even the fabric of the British Empire itself_. But I should like to conclude in another strain, and add to these observations a resolution to this effect:--That the Sovereign of this Empire ought to be raised high above the strife of all political and religious controversies, the more easily to draw to himself and to retain the unabated loyalty of all creeds and races within his Empire.”

With the latter part of the Cardinal’s harangue every one of every creed and class will agree, but “a pitiable confession of English fear and weakness” is a phrase that should never have been uttered by an Englishman, whether “broad” or narrow, cardinal or layman. “English fear and weakness” has never yet been known in the world’s history. And as for “moving the fabric of the British Empire,” that is only to be done through the possible incompetence or demoralization of its own statesmen,--by shiftiness, treachery, and corruption in State affairs--and even at this utmost worst, though England might be bent, she would never be broken.

But all this has nothing to do with the Christian faith as Christ Himself expounded it in His own commands. Quarrels and dissensions are as far from the teaching of the Divine Master as an earth’s dusthole is far from the centre of the sun. Differences of dogma are not approved in His eyes. Whether candles shall or shall not be set on the altar, whether incense shall or shall not be burnt, may be said to relegate to the “cleansing of the outside of the cup and platter,” and are not a vital part of His intention--for He has nothing but condemnation for “forms” and “ceremonies.” And, on this very point, I venture to say that if the rumour be correct that incense is to be used at the Coronation of our King and Queen, it will be a most unwise and unpopular procedure on the part of any bishop or archbishop who sanctions it. Incense in itself is harmless enough, though it has a somewhat sickening odour,--it has been burnt and swung in censers from time immemorial at all the pagan altars of the world,--in Babylon and Nineveh, in Tyre and Sidon, in Pompeii and Herculaneum,--it has smoked itself up to the gods Bel and Osiris, it has been used at the “services of Venus” and the shrines of Apollo and Jupiter, Buddha, Siva, and countless deities, as well as on the sacrificial stones consecrated to the worship of the Israelitish Jehovah,--but it is not a part of Christian worship. And when it is taken into due consideration that the use of it at the Coronation will indubitably offend and irritate thousands of the King’s most loyal subjects, it should most assuredly be entirely avoided. There is something very strange and unnatural in the provocative spirit which is at present being exercised by professing rulers of the Church of England against one another; and there is matter too for regret in the attitude of favour maintained by Lord Salisbury towards the practices of an almost theatrical Ritualism in the form of English Christian services. Can it be possible that the Premier meditates “going over” to Rome? His appointments of High Churchmen to important bishoprics would seem to imply that his mind is trending that way; certainly the simple and unaffected man of pure taste and dignity in Church ritual does not appeal to him, and that he is preparing the way for a second Cromwell is only too evident. It is lamentable indeed that any discussions should arise between the different sects as to “forms and ceremonies,” and those men who excite fanatical hatreds by their petty quarrels over unimportant “shows” and observances are criminally to blame for any evils that are likely to ensue. What Christ commands is “Love one another;”--what He desires is that all mankind should be friends and brothers in His Name. And it is from this point of view that I again ask the question of those who may have glanced through this paper--DO YOU BELIEVE, OR DO YOU NOT BELIEVE? Are you a CHRISTIAN? Or a SECTARIAN? The one is not the other.

For my own part I would desire to see all the Sects cease their long quarrel,--all “dogmas” dropped--and all creeds amalgamated into one great loving family under the name of Christ. I should like to see an end to all bigotry, whether of Protestantism against Romanism, or Romanism against Protestantism,--a conclusion to all differences--and a Universal Church of simple Love and Thanksgiving, and obedience to Christ’s own commands. “Temporal power” should be held as the poor thing which it is, compared to Spiritual power,--for Spiritual power, according to the Founder of the Christian Faith, is the transcendent force of Love--love to God and love to man,--that “perfect love which casteth out fear,” and which, being “born of God, cannot rest but in God above all created things.”

Thus it follows--That if we hate or envy or slander any person, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.

If we prefer outward forms of religious ceremonial to the every-day practice of a life lived as closely as possible in accordance with the commands laid down for us in the Gospel, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.

If we love ourselves more than our neighbours, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.

If we care for money, position, and the ostentation attending these things, more than truth, simplicity, and plain dealing, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.

These ordinary tests of our daily conduct are quite enough to enable us to decide whether we are or are not of the faith. If we are _not_, we should cease to “sham” that we _are_. It will be far better for all those with whom we are brought in contact. For, thank God, there exist thousands of very real “Christians”--(“by their fruits ye shall know them”)--doing unostentatious good everywhere, rescuing the lost, aiding the poor, comforting the sick, and helping the world to grow happier and better. They may be _called_ Jews or Baptists, Papists or Buddhists,--but I hold them all as “Christians” if they perform those good deeds and live those good lives which are acceptable to Christ; while many church-going hypocrites called “Christians,” whose social existence is a scandal, whose dissipations, gross immoralities and pernicious example of living are open dangers to the whole community, do not deserve even such a complimentary term as “pagan” applied to them. For the pagans--aye, the earliest savages--believed in Something higher than themselves; but these sort of people believe in nothing but the necessity of getting what they want at all costs, and are mere human warts of evil, breeding infection and pestilence. And it is particularly incumbent on the clergy of all denominations at the present juncture to sift Themselves as to their calling and election while sifting others,--to ask themselves whether they may not be in a great measure to blame for much of the infamy which reeks from our great cities,--for much of the apathy and indifference to that bitter poverty, that neglected suffering which often gives birth to Anarchy,--for much of the open atheism which shames the upper classes of society. Let them live such lives as may liberate them from all fear or hesitation in speaking out boldly to the souls they have in charge--let them “preach the Gospel” as they were commanded, rather than expound human dogmas. Sympathy, tenderness, patience, love for all living creatures, rejection of everything that is mean and cruel, false and cowardly,--a broad mind open to all the beautiful and gracious influences of Nature--a spirit uplifted in thanksgiving to the loving God of all worlds who is brought close to us and made the friend of man in the Divine Personality of Christ--this surely is CHRISTIANITY--a Faith which leaves no corner anywhere for the admission of hate, dissension or despair. Such is the Faith the Master taught, saying:--

[2]“I have not spoken of myself, but of the Father which sent me; He gave me a commandment what I should say, and what I should speak.

“And I know that His commandment is life everlasting--whatsoever I speak, therefore, even as the Father taught me, so I speak.”

So He speaks--but do we listen? And if we listen,--and believe,--why do we not obey?

THE VOICE IN THE CATHEDRAL

WITHIN the old cathedral,
At the hour of evening prayer,
When the golden tubes of the organ
Poured music on the air,
I knelt alone in the shadow
Of the twilight grey and dim,
Dreamily, drowsily hearing
The sound of the choristers’ hymn--
I heard it, but scarcely listened,
For I was in misery,
Not even the glorious music
Had power to comfort me.

The mighty chorus deepened
And rolled through arches wide,
Till softer, softer growing,
With one faint chord it died;
Then, solemnly and grandly,
Clear on the sudden calm,
Came floating a Voice--one only,
Like an Angel’s singing a psalm--
A Voice so pure and tender,
So rich and loving and low,
That it touched my heart like an echo
From the land of long ago.

My slumb’ring soul was wakened
As that voice fell on my ears;
My stubborn pride was conquered
And quenched in grateful tears;
My sorrows fled as Winter
Flies from the smile of May,
And my feeble heart was strengthened
For the dangers of my way.
O Voice divine, though human!
O matchless power of Song!
I shall hear you in my spirit
And love you my whole life long!

THE GHOST IN THE SEDAN-CHAIR

IT is a very old Sedan-Chair,--“genuine old”--not the manufactured antiquity of the second-hand dealer. I bought it for very little money at a sale of the furniture and effects of an historical manor-house, and though much was told me about the manor-house itself, nobody could tell me anything about the chair. It might have always belonged to the manor,--and again it might not. It was cumbrous, and in these days, said the brisk auctioneer who was entrusted with the sale, quite useless. True. Yet somehow I took a singular fancy to it. I did not actually want it,--and yet I felt I must have it. My wish was very easily gratified, for no one competed in the bidding for such an out-of-date piece of property. It was knocked down to me at a small figure, and in the course of a few days took up a corner in my drawing-room, where, owing to the sixteenth-century style of that apartment, it looked, and still looks, quite at home. It has taken kindly to its surroundings, and in Spring-time, when we set the first blossoms of the almond-tree in a tall vase within it, so that the sprays push out their pink flowers through the window-holes, it presents an almost smiling appearance. It is made of polished wood and leather, and has at one time been somewhat ornately gilded, but the gold is all tarnished save in one or two small corners at the carved summit of the door, and the leather is badly rubbed and worn. Inside it is in somewhat better condition. It is lined with crimson silk stuff, patterned with gold fleur-de-lys; and the padded cushions are still comfortable. The door has a wonderfully contrived brass catch and handle, really worth the attention of a connoisseur in such things, and when it is shut some skill is required to open it again. In fact you must “know the trick of it” as they say. There were great ructions one afternoon when a “smart” man, down for the day from London, entered the chair, sat down, and banged that door to on himself. He smiled happily for a few minutes, and waved his hand condescendingly through the window-holes to a group of admiring friends,--but when he tried to get out and could not, his smile promptly vanished. His friends laughed,--and that irritated him; he was being made ridiculous, and no man can endure a joke which affects his _amour-propre_. I was hastily called for to set him at liberty, and as I did the old chair creaked, as much as to say “I told you so! Can’t abide your modern young man!”

I was thinking of this incident the other evening, when sitting by a sparkling fire of pine logs, and watching the flames reflected in the shining copper projections of the open Tudor grate; I presently raised my eyes and looked towards the chair.

“We must fill it with bright holly for Christmas,” I said to myself half aloud; “and hang just one little bunch of mistletoe tied with white ribbon over the door, for the sake of all the pretty women who may have been carried in it long ago!”

The pine logs spluttered and crackled,--one fell apart and leaped into a flame, and the gleam and flicker of it caught at the remaining bits of gold on the carving of the Chair, and lit up its faded crimson lining, and as I sat quietly looking at it in a sort of idle abstraction and reverie, it seemed to me as though the sparkling reflection of the fire on its cushions looked like the bright waves of a woman’s hair. All at once I jumped up quite startled--some one laughed!--yes, laughed,--quite close to me,--and a very pretty rippling laugh it was. My heart beat quickly,--yet scarcely with alarm so much as surprise. I listened attentively--and again the sweet laughter echoed on the silence. Surely--surely it came from--yes!--from the Sedan-Chair! I looked--and rubbed my eyes violently to make sure I was not dreaming--looked again, and there--there, as distinctly as the Chair itself, I saw Some-One sitting inside--a very fascinating Some-One with a fair face, a bewildering tangle of golden curls, blue eyes, rosy cheeks and dancing dimples, dressed in the most becoming little low-necked muslin frock imaginable!

“Why!” I stammered. “Who--what--how did you get in there?”

The Some-One smiled, and looked more bewitching than ever.

“I am very often in here,” replied a soft voice, “only I am not always in the humour to make myself visible. I am the Ghost of an Old-Fashioned Girl!”

I stared at the lovely spectre, stricken dumb, not by fear, but by admiration. “If all ghosts are like this one,” I thought, “we really cannot have too many of them about, especially at Christmas-time!” It was such a charming ghost! so unlike the usual sort of creeping-shivery thing which is supposed to haunt old houses and frighten harmless children! It had such beautiful clear eyes,--such a radiant smile!--and such a pretty pout came on the rosy lips when, receiving no answer, it suddenly said with an air of graceful petulance,--

“Dear me! Now I have told you who I am, you don’t seem a bit glad to see me? You ought to be, you know!--for I am quite a harmless Ghost--really I am! I wouldn’t frighten you for the world! But you _would_ buy my Chair!--and of course I like to come and sit in it now and then, and think about old times!”

I began to recover myself from the shock of surprise the fascinating appearance had given me, and I said in a faint voice,--

“Oh, is that it! The Sedan-Chair--”

“Is mine!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl; “or rather it used to be mine when I lived in the world and went about in it to balls and parties, you know! I can’t help having a little tenderness for it, because it is so very closely associated with my happy life on earth. Now please don’t stand looking at me so strangely! Sit down, and let us have a little chat in the firelight, won’t you?”

What a sweet voice this Ghost had to be sure! What a delightfully coaxing way of looking and speaking! I could not resist the appealing, half playful glances of her eyes, so I obeyed her suggestion and went back to my seat by the fire, whereupon the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl straightway opened the door of the Sedan-Chair and showed me her entire self, dressed apparently for a Christmas-party. Her white muslin frock was simply hemmed at the bottom, and had three little tucks in it--she wore small low shoes with elastic crossed over fine openwork white stockings--her pretty rounded arms were veiled, but not disguised, by black lace mittens, and her waist was quite carelessly tied in with a narrow strip of blue ribbon. But all this extreme simplicity only served to show the exquisite beauty of her lovely neck and shoulders, which rose out of the little muslin bodice like sculptured snow, and one little wicked knot of violets fastened with a quaint pearl brooch against the beautiful bosom, was enough to make the coldest anchorite forget his prayers and compose a love-sonnet immediately.

“Well!” said the Ghost after a pause, “how do you like me?”

“Very much!” I answered promptly; “I have never seen anyone so pretty as you are in my life!”

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl smiled, and drawing out a small fan with delicate mother-of-pearl sticks, unfurled it and put it coquettishly before her face.

“That is what all the gentlemen used to say to me when I went about in this Chair,” she observed, “and then they would put their declarations in the lining.”

“In the lining?” I echoed. “You mean--”

“The lining of the Chair,” she explained. “There are some little secret pockets in it--haven’t you found them yet? Oh, you must look for them when I am gone--there is one very deep pocket just behind my head under a big golden fleur-de-lys. My first real proposal was put in that!”

“And did you accept it?”

“Yes,” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl, smiling, “and he and I were married, and lived sixty years together!”

“Dear me!” I ejaculated. “And he--”

“He is very well, thank you!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl. “Quite as young as when I first met him,--and so am I!”

I had no words ready with which to reply to this astonishing statement. The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl folded up her little fan and pressed its tip meditatively against her lips.

“You see we _really_ loved each other,” she said with emphasis, “and so of course we _have_ always loved each other! And as a natural result we _shall_ always love each other!”

“Yes,--I understand--” I murmured vaguely.

“No, you don’t!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl quickly; “though perhaps I shouldn’t say that, because it sounds rude,--but I am afraid, you know, that you _don’t_ quite see the point! The world has lost a number of good things since I was a girl in it,--and one of these good things is real, true love!”

“I don’t think you should say that!” I replied warmly; “I am sure people love each other quite as much as they ever did.”

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl shook her fan at me.

“Not a bit of it!” she declared. “You know they don’t,--so don’t pretend they do!”

I was silent. I felt that it was perhaps not advisable to enter into argument with a visitor who knew the secrets of the next world.

“They _can’t_ love each other as they used to,” went on the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl; “the modern ways of the world won’t give them either the time or the opportunity. It is all rush, rush, hurry, and scramble;--and I’m sorry to see that the men love themselves better than their sweethearts. In my day it was quite different; men loved their sweethearts better than themselves!”

“But you had not much liberty in your day, had you?” I asked timidly.

“Quite as much as was good for me, or for any of us,” replied the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl. “We stayed in the dear old homes of our childhood content to make them happy by our presence,--till our destined lovers came and found us and took us away to other homes, which they had worked for, and which we tried to make as pleasant and sweet as those we had left. Home was always our happiest and dearest place. But the girls of to-day don’t care for simple home lives. What do they know about making the best jams in the country, the finest elder wine or cider? What do they know about the value of lavendered linen? What do they care about tidiness, economy, or cleanliness? Pooh! They want change and excitement all the time!”

“That’s true!” I said. “But then, you see, woman’s education is much enlarged and improved--”

“Education that makes a woman prefer hotels and restaurants to her own home is not education at all,” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl, with a decided nod of her pretty head. “Oh dear! What a pity it is!--what a pity! It makes me quite sad to think of all the happiness women are losing!”

She gave her little muslin skirts a soft shake, and settled herself more cosily in the Sedan-Chair.

“I remember,” she said, and her voice was as sweet as that of a bird in Spring-time--“I remember going in this very Chair to a grand Court ball in London. I danced with the Royal party in ‘Sir Roger,’ and I was one of the belles of the evening. I was dressed very much as I am now, and none of the girls there had anything better or more showy,--but their admirers were legion, and any of them could have married well the very next day, not because they were rich, for many of them were poor, but just because they were sweet, and innocent, and good. None of them would have thought of spoiling their fresh faces with paint and powder--that was left to what were called ‘women of the town!’ None of them ever thought of drinking wines or spirits. None of them ever spoke or laughed loudly, but comported themselves with gentleness, unselfish kindness, and grace of manner. And will you tell me that things are just the same now?”

Her eyes met mine with a penetrating flash.

“No, they are not the same,” I said; “you would not wish the world to stand still, would you? Girls have progressed since your day!”

She nodded gravely.

“Yes? Tell me how!”

“Well, for instance--” and I sought about desperately in my mind for examples of woman’s progress--“for instance, they enjoy greater freedom. They get more open-air exercise. They play tennis and golf and hockey with the men--”

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl gave a slight, a very slight and not unmusical giggle.

“Yes! I have seen them at it, and very ugly they look. But their sports _do_ develop muscle--very unbecomingly in the neck!--and they _do_ induce the growth--of horribly large hands and feet! Oh yes! Let’s have some more Progress!”

A trifle disconcerted, I went on.

“Then they cycle--”

Here the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl put up her fan again.

“Pray!--pray!” she remonstrated--“I really must ask you to consider me a little, and avoid any conversation that borders on impropriety!”

“Impropriety!” I echoed aghast. “But all the girls cycle--”

“That is to say,” said the Ghost with asperity, “that all the girls have become shameless enough to sit astride on a couple of wheels and thus expose themselves to the gaze of the public. A hopeful state of things, truly! Well! Give me some more Progress!”

“Then,” I said, “there are plenty of girls who smoke and drive motor-cars, and bet on horse-races and gamble at ‘Bridge.’ _You_ may object to this sort of thing, being so much behind the age,--but after all you must own that it brings them into free and constant companionship with the other sex.”

“It does!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl decidedly; “and such free and constant companionship breeds contempt on both sides! Now let me tell you something! Do you know what all the best men like most?”

I laughed and shook my head in the negative.

“They like what they cannot get!” said the Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl emphatically. “They like what is as unlike themselves as possible, and what will never be like themselves! The woman who is _half_ a man will never be truly loved by a _whole_ man--remember that!”

Again she settled her pretty muslin skirts, and nodded her fair head, “sunning over with curls,” well out of the interior of the Sedan-Chair.

“In the old unprogressive days,” she said, “we certainly did not have much liberty. We were held as too precious and too dear to be allowed to straggle about by ourselves like unvalued tramps in the highways and byways. We stayed very much in our own homes, and were proud and pleased to be there. We helped to make them beautiful. We loved our old-fashioned gardens. We played ‘battledore and shuttlecock,’ which is exactly the same as your ‘Ping-Pong’--save that you have a net in the middle of the table and play with balls--and we tossed our shuttlecocks up to the blue sky. We walked and rode, and found in these two exercises quite sufficient relaxation as well as development for our bodies, which, if you will please to remember, are not intended to be in the least like the bodies of men, and are by no means fitted for masculine gymnastics. We had neither cycles nor motors, we did not smoke, drink, bet, or gamble,--but--we were the models of womanliness, goodness, and purity for all the world!--and--we were loved!”

“And love was quite sufficient for you?” I asked hesitatingly.

“Of course! Love was sufficient, and is sufficient always for every woman when it _is_ love;--but you have to be quite sure about it!”

“Ah, yes!” I said, “very sure!”

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl peered at me with a saucy air.

“Do you know how to make sure?” she asked.

“No!”

Her lips parted in a gay little chuckle of laughter.

“Then you must find out!”

Provoking Old-Fashioned Girl! I sprang up and made a step towards her, but her fair face seemed to be growing indistinct, as if about to disappear.

“Oh, don’t go!” I cried, “don’t go away, dear Old-Fashioned Girl! Do stay a little!”

The pretty eyes sparkled out again, and the winsome features shone forth once more from the interior of the Sedan-Chair.

“What is the use of my staying?” she demanded. “You live in the age of progress. I’m not wanted!”

“But you _are_ wanted!” I declared. “The world wants you! Anyhow, _I_ want you. Come and spend Christmas with me!”

Did ever any Ghost in any legend wear such an enchanting smile as lighted up the dream-face of the Old-Fashioned Girl as she heard this impulsive invitation? Stretching out a little hand as white as milk--and I noticed there was a tiny blue forget-me-not ring on it--she said,--

“Yes, I _will_ spend Christmas with you! If you will fasten a bunch of mistletoe on the door of my dear old Sedan-Chair on Christmas Eve, I will come and bring you a bundle of pleasant thoughts and merry fancies in exchange! And the best advice I can give you is to be ‘Old-Fashioned’--that is, to love home more than ‘gadding,’--peace more than strife,--friendship more than ‘society,’--simplicity more than show,--cheerfulness more than pride,--truth more than distinction,--and God more than all! Good-night, my dear! Good-bye!”

“Wait, wait!” I exclaimed, loth to lose sight of the pretty face, the sweet eyes, the happy smile--“Just one thing I want to ask you--only one thing!”

The Ghost paused, and turned its fair head round in a glamour of soft radiance like melted moonbeams.

“Well, what is it?”

“Just one thing I want, only one thing!--Oh, dear Old-Fashioned Girl, tell me!--when you lived in this world, so changed and so much sadder and colder since your time--who were you?”

The Ghost of the Old-Fashioned Girl laughed musically.

“Why a simple nobody, my dear! Only your great-great-grandmamma!”

The door of the Sedan-Chair shut with a slight bang,--and almost I expected to see a couple of spectral “bearers” take it up with its lovely ghostly occupant, and carry it away altogether out of my drawing-room to some unknown region of faery. But no! The fire burned up bright and clear, and the flames of the pine logs danced merrily on the Chair as before, catching at the tarnished gold and gleaming on the faded crimson lining, but the Old-Fashioned Girl had gone, as completely as she has vanished from the social world of to-day. Remembering what she had said about the mysterious secret pocket behind one of the patterned fleur-de-lys, I advanced cautiously, put my hand through one of the window-holes, and felt about to see if I could find it. Yes!--there it was!--and while groping doubtfully in it, my fingers came in contact with a bit of crumpled paper. Tremblingly I drew it out,--it brought with it a scent of old rose-leaves and lavender,--and hurrying back to the hearth I knelt down and examined it by the glow of the fire. Something was written on it in faded ink, and after poring over it for a minute or two, I was able to make out the words:

“My own little Sweetheart, I love you for yourself alone, believe me, and I will always love you till--”

I looked up. I thought I heard the old chair creak! Had my great-great-grandmamma come back to catch me reading what was perhaps one of her love-letters? No--she was not there. But I fancy I know now why she haunts the Sedan-Chair, and as she is a relative of mine, I shall certainly expect her to stay with me at Christmas and help me to begin the New Year in a real “Old-Fashioned” way,--with home-contentment, love, and peace!

KING HENRY’S LOVE-SONG

[MUSIC: KING HENRY’S LOVE-SONG[3]

(“AH, MY SWEET SWEETING.”)

Words by KING HENRY VIII. Music by MARIE CORELLI.

Ah, my sweet sweeting,
My pretty little sweeting,
My sweeting I will love wherever I may go!
She is so proper and so pure,
Full steadfast, stable, and demure,
There is none such, you may be sure;
There is none such, you may be sure,
As my sweet sweeting!
Oh! my little sweeting;
My sweeting I will love wherever I may go!