Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

of the narrow-minded self-complacentwould-be-orthodox. On all sides men are turning from the tricks and technicalities of their old scholasticisms, and seeking fresher atmosphere, and searching for broader paths. The world finds that science is indeed the compauion of God's word; and that the truest philosophy comes hand in hand with the teachings of the Nazarene. She has grown wise enough to doubt, and now has learned that her fancied prime was only the budding of a thinking child. The aspect of the world, as thus considered, gives a warranty for hope of such a consummation.

But take another view. Go into the world of art. Time was when her paintings told of some wondrous exploits of some mythical divinity. Her statuary professed to give for human benefit the glorious features and the beauteous form and figure of some patron saint. Then, on again! Legends of some astounding miracles made the canvass all aglow and devotees in thousands wore away the steps of far famed shrines, or kissed away the toes of some distemper-curing block of marble. But as mind expanded, art became rational, and while she might in flighty fancy sometimes deal in the legendary and fabulous, on the whole she assumed a sober air, and either pencilled or chiselled that which was more accordant with the demands of reason, and the powers of the soul. That which belongs to the spiritual is left more and more to the unseen, and art does not so much attempt to interfere with what is not in her domain. She is growing, and hastening to a joyous consummation.

Another warranty is seen in the growing recognition of the rights and liberties of man. The devil of slavery has not wholly gone, but he is gnashing his teeth in the prospect of the fetters being bound around himself; already on his back he feels the lashing of his own scourges. For slavery of every kind is fast dying its own natural death. Our national exultation soon will be over the blessings of education, and freedom from class preferences and distinctions. Our parish bells soon will peal forth their jubilations over religion free from state patronage and control.

And so in other lands. Similar signs are manifesting themselves, and inspiring hopes are indulged, by the citizens of the various commonwealths. Across the ocean, on the Western Strand, we shall see, ere long, the blood of black and white man mingling together in the

newly allied race, and giving back to the world in such admixture freshened energies, and ample recompense for the recognition of the negro's rights. These are our warrants for indulging hopes, full of a bright glorious exultant future of the world. You ask "What have these to do with the world's jubilee ?" and the answer is "They have come from that which is to be the cause of the world's jubilee; they are the result of preaching Christ free and unrestricted to the nations of the world."

II. The change which is our boon; the time in which our lot is cast is but the preparation for that other and brighter era. The day of universal freedom, the day of universal joy. What will it be, and how will it be brought about? What will it be?

You take up your Bible and read of the second coming of Christ! Some good old notions most affectionately cherish the prospect of a personal Christ again upon the earth. Those who hold such notions see Zion's sacred height rescued from the Turk, and hear thereon the praises of the King of Heaven, and no longer the adoration of the chief of Islam. "All the world shall go to Jerusalem, and from thence shall come the edicts which will be required, so that the world shall be ruled in righteousness. It seems, on second inquiry, that such an idea contains too much of the "material "to make it true concerning the future of the world. "His kingdom is not a realm of temporal power. "His government" will not have need of such laws and edicts. The consummation hoped for by all true and earnest hearts will be rather of the "spiritual" than of the "material." The jubilation will be the consequence of freedom. What will the freedom be? There may be thrones and kings and powers. They will be subordinate to the principles of the Prince of Peace. There may be armies and leaders and fleets and navies, but they will sail only to mutual advantage, and march to minister to each other's prosperity in the varied kingdoms of the world. Their flag will be emblazoned "Liberty," and their password will be "Peace." But these will only be results. Results of what? Results of the "universal joy!" Of that deep-seated joy of the human heart truly saturated with the spirit of Christ; that all-absorbing all-comprehensive charity which must come from the understanding of the lessons of His life; that expanding developing thought which is the very characteristic of the divine; that

consummated integrity and sublimer truth which are the peculiar qualities of the human truly governed by the divine; that broad and glorious hopefulness which ever ministers to other's weal, and which ever conduces to its own influence and power; that strong and nerveful faith in Heaven's own King, which ever invests its possessor with God's own bravery and strength. When every heart is so invested, then look out for the manifestations of men's joy.

What will the world's jubilee be? It will be what you can picture to yourselves must inevitably exist when the seed of the woman has completely bruised the serpent's head. Far back

from that grand old poetic time, the creation of the world, the words of this prophecy come ringing down the ages like joybells even now ringing in the auspicious morn, "like inscriptions on the banners of the Christian host, foretelling the issue of the battle; words which flash like the light of torches against a sombre sky, or steal like the light of morning along the mountain tops." These words foretell their own accomplishment; they are the predictions of their own success. That universal overflowing of gospel truth will be, when the world has laid all its sin and shame and sorrow before Him "who is the desire of all nations," and has bowed beneath the force of His mission, and yielded assent to the royalty of His claims. In that will come the freedom; in that freedom will be the joy; the freedom and the joy will be the jubilee.

How will it be brought about? This is the world's question for the church to answer! Hope and effort must go hand in hand! The church prays for this glorious consummation. Again and again are venerable brethren heard praying for "the time to come when all men shall know the Lord." But while the prayers of the church may seem to be very fervent, it is to be lamented that the powers of the church appear but very feeble. Why is there not more harmony between different sections of the church? Why is it that when some seek for brotherly exchanges and communion, they should meet with rudeness, and their gray hairs be no protection from insult? The sections differ in their sentiment. They are diverse in their forms of government. They vary in their modes of worship. Will men remember that they may be one in Christ? This is the way to bring in the world's jubilee! We shall only bring it about as we live in its spirit in the present; the spirit of Christ's own

There

gentle charity. There must be bearing with each other's peculiarities, forbearing with each other's prejudices, smiling at each other's eccentricities. may be helping each other in difficulties, counselling each other in necessity, and supporting each other in extremity. It is the broadest indulgence of such a spirit, and the universal breathing of such an atmosphere, which will conduce to the speedier arrival of the glorious time. It is because men live so falsely that the church is so far below the standard which is her due. It is not large and numerous grants to send the messengers of Christ to far off lands; it is not prayers, either long or short, earnest and devout as they may seem, which are to do the work; it is a daily growth into the spirit of the "Master," and manifesting a Christ-likeness in the walk and conversation everywhere, which are needed to help on the good work, the dawning of the day when the world is free in Christ. We sometimes say "How long Lord! and doth it repent Thee concerning thy servants? It is not that we are straitened in God, but because we are straitened in ourselves! It is as the church lives nearer to Christ, the world over, that the nearer is the dawning of the day. It is as the Church of the Present is more and more imbued with the spirit of its Lord, that it will the more certainly herald the Church of the Future.

The World's Future is but the developed perfection of the World's Present. What is good alone can remain. What is evil will perish by its own hand. It is only as we cherish in our lives the charity of Christ; it is only as we manifest that in our hearts are like motives with our Master's; it is only as we infuse into our communities the influence of gospel truth and gospel zeal, that we can expect a present blessing. And it is only as we are enjoying present blessings, that we can hope for a future freedom and joy. Nearer to Christ! then shall we be able the more clearly to read the future.

[ocr errors]

Beyond the driving clouds we shall see the mild splendour; beyond the smoke and dust of battle we shall see the fruitful and far-stretching plains of peace." Helping with our means, and cheering by our sympathies, and supporting by our prayers those who sow the story of the cross, whether on foreign shore or native land, we shall think with joy of the reaping and the harvest home. Nearer to Christ in the present is but the prelude to the harmony of the future; the jubilee of the world made free in Christ.

FAMILIAR TALKS WITH YOUNG CHRISTIANS.

No. XIII.-Love-Problems Worked out.

"IF," said Mr. Mostyn, in a somewhat hesitating and reluctant manner, "if you can get my daughter's consent, I don't know that I've any very serious objection."

"Thank you, sir, many thanks. I am much obliged by your kindness, and hope I may not prove an altogether unworthy son-in-law," answered Claude Vernon, as he left the office of Mr. Mostyn, the last lingering cloud of doubt chased away by the full assurance of victory.

To his young and joy-filled spirit it seemed all was won, and the object of his suit fully gained, since he had unexpectedly but clearly triumphed at what he mistakenly called the "head-quarters of the enemy." For although it never occurred to his mind that Miss Mostyn would resent his proposals, he had from the beginning feared the issue of his appeal to her father. Claude Vernon knew that he had to speak to a keen-witted man of business, a steady plodding labour-loving Englishman, who justly prided himself on the thoroughness with which he did all his work, loathed idleness as the first-born of Satan, and drew sweeter and fuller draughts of joy from the unchanging fountains of conscience, integrity and goodness in his business life, than from all the ample rewards attending his diligent industry. Furthermore the young suppliant remembered that he had gained notoriety at the Mostyns for his neglect of his father's trade, his avowed ignorance of its details, and his utter dislike to its demands, and in fact cared for nothing belonging to it besides the money it brought, and therefore he would not have been surprised if Mr. Mostyn had brusquely said to him when he asked for his daughter, " Go your ways, sir, and learn how to work before you talk to me about having my daughter. When you have wiped out the reproach of your accursed laziness I may hear you; not a word will I listen to before." Instead of this Mr. Mostyn was as meek as a lamb, gave his consent as though it were not unexpected that it would be asked for, and Claude Vernon had only now to go and enjoy the coveted prize. "Somehow or other," he said to himself, as he walked along the road, “I always was a 'lucky dog.'

66

[ocr errors]

Nor was it strange that the handsome Claude Vernon should regard himself as a special favourite of Dame Fortune. As

he looked in the large mirror of his elegantly furnished dressing room he saw a tall well-proportioned man in the best health, with a gentlemanly presence, clad in elegant attire, every garment made within a hair's breadth of the latest canons of fashion. He knew he had a good position, was most respectably connected, and being an only child and the heir to his father's increasing wealth, his "prospects" were of the most enviable description. His manners too were pleasing and amiable, and his character was not stained by any flagrant vice. Surely no young woman's heart could refuse to yield its ready homage to the fervent attentions of such a well-equipped

wooer.

Six weeks before the interview in Mr. Mostyn's office, Claude Vernon had, in a shambling indirect and unmanly way, suggested his love to Margaret. Surprised, and a little offended, she had met it with a quiet, respectful, but firm and persistent refusal; and every subsequent approach to more than ordinary courtesy had been suddenly checked by her freezing indifference. But Claude Vernon knew women too well, or what had the same effect, thought he did, to be depressed by that. Such refusals were matters of course, and treated as part of the ritual of love-making prescribed by the customs of the world. "Young ladies of nineteen," said he to himself, chuckling over the quick wit, and deep knowledge of women displayed in the observation, "Young ladies of nineteen always adopt such tactics. Their chances are many, and they can afford to play with them for a while. Of course their 'No's' are not to be taken seriously. It is only their clever way of drawing a man out of his shell, meant to make him desperate, so that he may more vehemently protest his love and devotion." Indeed, in the judgment of the self satisfied and victorious Mr. Vernon, woman's nature is a very common place thing, and very easily satisfied. "Falling in love" means no more than achieving a good match, a full purse, a fine house, and a giddy round of pleasures. These are the prizes so inconceivably dear to the feminine heart that any woman will sacrifice everything else to enjoy them and these prizes, and many more, it is in the power of Claude Vernon to offer to Margaret Mostyn. Of course she will accept him."

;

Ah, too clever young man! Your shallow judgment is for once at least at fault. This time you are reading with the book upside down. Quick as you judge yourself in the penetration of woman's nature, you have wholly misread Maggie, and know no more of her noble spirit and pure goodness than the rudest peasant of the splendours of royalty, or the benighted negro of the mysteries of science. You are as blind as a mole to the lofty aims she cherishes, and the motives from which she acts. She cares nothing whatever for your artificial social superiority, for the cold glitter of external gaiety, the pomp of worldiness, and all the poor garbage on which the misled devotees of fashion seek to feed their souls. To admire greatness, reverence goodness, attain perfection, is the passion of that spirit which in your thoughtless folly you have imagined can satisfy its deepest cravings with a welldressed doll in a gay doll's house.

[ocr errors]

"Given his consent," exclaimed Maggie, with a look of wild surprise, as of one frightened in sleep, when she heard from her mother the report of the morning interview between her father and Claude Vernon. "Given his consent," she repeated, raising her voice, Why ever has he armed him with that? I'd rather live an old maid for a hundred years, solitary as a nun, than have such a shallow-brained creature. He hasn't one of the elements for making a woman really happy. Are women mere children that they must look for nothing but a handsome face, glittering jewellery, and rustling silks? I couldn't even respect him; to say nothing about loving him. He hasn't a grain of character. I feel ashamed that such a man should imagine he can make any woman a good husband. Whatever was father about ?"

"Calm yourself Maggie, my child."

[ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

it. He got up to go to Mrs. Mostyn; but shame held him back. He rejected! Gall is sweetness itself compared to the bitterness he felt as he looked again and again at the words "You really must never speak to her again about it." Humiliated and chapfallen, he vowed and protested he would live and die a bachelor and a misanthrope.

The

Of course Fred Williamson knew nothing of what was taking place; and while Maggie was holding her heart for him alone, and with a defiance not usual to her refusing to let another have the least place in it, he was dreading every week the fateful disclosure that would tell him that she was for ever beyond his grasp. His was the first pure love of a fresh, strong heart, full of wonder, reverence, and worship; but often visited with fleets of distressing fears. more he saw of her the more he loved; and as his love grew in purity and ardour, the keener were his apprehensions lest she could be carried off by some one worthier than himself. Such a sweet sunny countenance, warm affectionate eyes, dignified and graceful form, and exalted character, were so likely to capti vate other hearts as well as his, that he seemed to himself always living on the edge of a tremendous catastrophe.

Two long years had passed in this painful silence between these two souls when George Mostyn without knowing anything of the strength of Fred's affection for Maggie, artlessly told him of the decided refusal Claude Vernon had just received. The blood left his lips, as though he were dead; and he fell back into the nearest chair and was within an ace of fainting away. His joy was greater than he could bear. The awful dread of his life was removed. His fondest hopes drew a new and better lease of life. Courage was fed with imperishable

fuel.

George's message supplied precisely what he needed to set him at rest. For unconsciously to himself, but with painful reality, it was the memory of his past, and the knowledge of his slender means, that had padlocked his lips and held him from telling Maggie what she wished to hear, and he hungered to let her know. He was still living in St. Giles; still hovering like a guardian angel over him who held a father's place, if he failed to do a father's duty, and who had been given in solemn charge to him by his dying mother: still working patiently and with brightening hope for his salvation from the fearful depths of drunkenness; now succeeding in anchoring him to the stable shores of Abstinence for a few weeks, and then losing sight of him

amongst the rocks and breakers of the devouring sea, but never failing to follow him in the life-boat of kindness and love. Still much of his hard earned money was sunk in that dreary home, and he could not see the day when he should be free from such claims. True; he was out of his apprenticeship, and had been chief clerk at three considerable "jobs." His future was full of promise. But the brightness of the morrow does not dissipate the clouds of to-day. The prosperity of coming years will not fill an empty purse now, or blot out the traces of the adversity of bye-gone times. He was fettered and poor, and he feared a refusal because he could not offer a magnificent home, and an abundance of material comforts. It was the old enemy still pursuing him. It had kept him out of the church long after his conversion; made him moody and self-contained and apparently haughty in the factory; enveloped him in an atmosphere of coldness, and barred every way of approach to the realisation of the fondest wish of his heart.

But now the stumbling stones were cast up. The way was clear: and he was ashamed of himself that he had ever thought Maggie would be attracted by glitter and show. Her heart was set on something nobler than mere display. "She cares for character, for true worth,' and Fred added, with the unexpressed logic of the heart, "she cares for me."

Little time was lost in taking advantage of these glad tidings. Fortified with such new hopes he sought and obtained an interview with Maggie, which told both of them that the love problem which had busied, grieved, and rejoiced, their hearts for more than two years, was now nearly worked out.

No. XIV.

"First or Second."

"Nearly," but not quite. Fred Williamson was hardly likely to be so acceptable a suitor to Mr. Mostyn as Claude Vernon. Parents can scarcely be expected to see lovers with lovers' eyes. When a man has made money he is aware of its value, and probably sets an exaggerated estimate on the comforts it brings. Specially is this the case when memory tells of early sufferings, and stinted means and painful economies. The scars of old wounds make us shrink from allowing any one dear to us to go into similar conflicts, even though we know they may gain more strength from suffering than from pleasure, and find more food for purity and greatness of

character in early restraints than in luxurious abundance.

Mr. Mostyn loved Maggie with a fond tenderness that made him dread the least possible privation and suffering overtaking one so delicately brought up. He did not want his children to have to begin where he did, and struggle up the hill difficulty as he had to do. He had toiled for them, and wished them to have the advantage of it. Claude Vernon, though not altogether acceptable, had the obvious recommendations that he would certainly have been able to shelter Maggie from misfortune, and give her a good place in society; but Fred Williamson was as poor as a church mouse, and had relations hanging so heavily upon him that he could not rise. And yet Maggie, with that strange waywardness which belongs to woman, goes with the poverty and the lowliness, and not with the wealth and station.

"Its a puzzle to me, Maggie; I don't know what to do." I hardly wonder that you do not like Vernon. He's a lazy hound. Marriage might, perhaps, have put him straight, you know. But this Fred, why he can do nothing for you. You'll have to take a back kitchen, and come home for your dinner every other day."

"If you really disapprove of him, I am sure I will yield to your wishes at any cost, father," said brave Maggie, struggling to keep down the throbbing anguish it cost her to say any such thing.

[ocr errors]

Disapprove, my girl. I admire him. He is one of the finest fellows I know. He is brave, and has more pluck and patience than I had. I reckon him a noble youth, and he'll make somebody a good husband, but for you, Maggie, there's the thing."

"Shall I tell him you object. I will do as you wish. I know you love me, and will only wish me to do what is best. Do you object, father ?"

"Well, hardly that; I can't take upon myself the burden of deciding for you in a matter like this. Your mother and I have talked it over, and while we would not prevent you from doing what you feel to be right for a moment, we are anxious that you should decide in full view of the consequences."

"Dear father, I have looked at them again and again. I know that if I had accepted the other (she would not call him by his name in such a relation) I should have had riches, station, comfort, and good connexions; but with them, one who has not been a kind son, who makes fun of his father, jeers his mother, never did a really kind and generous act so

« НазадПродовжити »