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_ BROTHER HAWKYARD (as he insisted on my calling him) put me to
school, and told me to work my way. 'You are all right, George,'
he said. 'I have been the best servant the Lord has had in his
service for this five-and-thirty year (O, I have!); and he knows
the value of such a servant as I have been to him (O, yes, he
does!); and he'll prosper your schooling as a part of my reward.
That's what HE'll do, George. He'll do it for me.'
From the first I could not like this familiar knowledge of the ways
of the sublime, inscrutable Almighty, on Brother Hawkyard's part.
As I grew a little wiser, and still a little wiser, I liked it less
and less. His manner, too, of confirming himself in a parenthesis,
- as if, knowing himself, he doubted his own word, - I found
distasteful. I cannot tell how much these dislikes cost me; for I
had a dread that they were worldly.
As time went on, I became a Foundation-boy on a good foundation,
and I cost Brother Hawkyard nothing. When I had worked my way so
far, I worked yet harder, in the hope of ultimately getting a
presentation to college and a fellowship. My health has never been
strong (some vapour from the Preston cellar cleaves to me, I
think); and what with much work and some weakness, I came again to
be regarded - that is, by my fellow-students - as unsocial.
All through my time as a foundation-boy, I was within a few miles
of Brother Hawkyard's congregation; and whenever I was what we
called a leave-boy on a Sunday, I went over there at his desire.
Before the knowledge became forced upon me that outside their place
of meeting these brothers and sisters were no better than the rest
of the human family, but on the whole were, to put the case mildly,
as bad as most, in respect of giving short weight in their shops,
and not speaking the truth, - I say, before this knowledge became
forced upon me, their prolix addresses, their inordinate conceit,
their daring ignorance, their investment of the Supreme Ruler of
heaven and earth with their own miserable meannesses and
littlenesses, greatly shocked me. Still, as their term for the
frame of mind that could not perceive them to be in an exalted
state of grace was the 'worldly' state, I did for a time suffer
tortures under my inquiries of myself whether that young worldly-
devilish spirit of mine could secretly be lingering at the bottom
of my non-appreciation.
Brother Hawkyard was the popular expounder in this assembly, and
generally occupied the platform (there was a little platform with a
table on it, in lieu of a pulpit) first, on a Sunday afternoon. He
was by trade a drysalter. Brother Gimblet, an elderly man with a
crabbed face, a large dog's-eared shirt-collar, and a spotted blue
neckerchief reaching up behind to the crown of his head, was also a
drysalter and an expounder. Brother Gimblet professed the greatest
admiration for Brother Hawkyard, but (I had thought more than once)
bore him a jealous grudge.
Let whosoever may peruse these lines kindly take the pains here to
read twice my solemn pledge, that what I write of the language and
customs of the congregation in question I write scrupulously,
literally, exactly, from the life and the truth.
On the first Sunday after I had won what I had so long tried for,
and when it was certain that I was going up to college, Brother
Hawkyard concluded a long exhortation thus:
'Well, my friends and fellow-sinners, now I told you when I began,
that I didn't know a word of what I was going to say to you (and
no, I did not!), but that it was all one to me, because I knew the
Lord would put into my mouth the words I wanted.'
('That's it!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'And he did put into my mouth the words I wanted.'
('So he did!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'And why?'
('Ah, let's have that!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'Because I have been his faithful servant for five-and-thirty
years, and because he knows it. For five-and-thirty years! And he
knows it, mind you! I got those words that I wanted on account of
my wages. I got 'em from the Lord, my fellow-sinners. Down! I
said, "Here's a heap of wages due; let us have something down, on
account." And I got it down, and I paid it over to you; and you
won't wrap it up in a napkin, nor yet in a towel, nor yet
pocketankercher, but you'll put it out at good interest. Very
well. Now, my brothers and sisters and fellow-sinners, I am going
to conclude with a question, and I'll make it so plain (with the
help of the Lord, after five-and-thirty years, I should rather
hope!) as that the Devil shall not be able to confuse it in your
heads, - which he would be overjoyed to do.'
('Just his way. Crafty old blackguard!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'And the question is this, Are the angels learned?'
('Not they. Not a bit on it!' from Brother Gimblet, with the
greatest confidence.)
'Not they. And where's the proof? sent ready-made by the hand of
the Lord. Why, there's one among us here now, that has got all the
learning that can be crammed into him. I got him all the learning
that could be crammed into him. His grandfather' (this I had never
heard before) 'was a brother of ours. He was Brother Parksop.
That's what he was. Parksop; Brother Parksop. His worldly name
was Parksop, and he was a brother of this brotherhood. Then wasn't
he Brother Parksop?'
('Must be. Couldn't help hisself!' from Brother Gimblet.)
'Well, he left that one now here present among us to the care of a
brother-sinner of his (and that brother-sinner, mind you, was a
sinner of a bigger size in his time than any of you; praise the
Lord!), Brother Hawkyard. Me. I got him without fee or reward, -
without a morsel of myrrh, or frankincense, nor yet amber, letting
alone the honeycomb, - all the learning that could be crammed into
him. Has it brought him into our temple, in the spirit? No. Have
we had any ignorant brothers and sisters that didn't know round O
from crooked S, come in among us meanwhile? Many. Then the angels
are NOT learned; then they don't so much as know their alphabet.
And now, my friends and fellow-sinners, having brought it to that,
perhaps some brother present - perhaps you, Brother Gimblet - will
pray a bit for us?'
Brother Gimblet undertook the sacred function, after having drawn
his sleeve across his mouth, and muttered, 'Well! I don't know as
I see my way to hitting any of you quite in the right place
neither.' He said this with a dark smile, and then began to
bellow. What we were specially to be preserved from, according to
his solicitations, was, despoilment of the orphan, suppression of
testamentary intentions on the part of a father or (say)
grandfather, appropriation of the orphan's house-property, feigning
to give in charity to the wronged one from whom we withheld his
due; and that class of sins. He ended with the petition, 'Give us
peace!' which, speaking for myself, was very much needed after
twenty minutes of his bellowing.
Even though I had not seen him when he rose from his knees,
steaming with perspiration, glance at Brother Hawkyard, and even
though I had not heard Brother Hawkyard's tone of congratulating
him on the vigour with which he had roared, I should have detected
a malicious application in this prayer. Unformed suspicions to a
similar effect had sometimes passed through my mind in my earlier
school-days, and had always caused me great distress; for they were
worldly in their nature, and wide, very wide, of the spirit that
had drawn me from Sylvia. They were sordid suspicions, without a
shadow of proof. They were worthy to have originated in the
unwholesome cellar. They were not only without proof, but against
proof; for was I not myself a living proof of what Brother Hawkyard
had done? and without him, how should I ever have seen the sky look
sorrowfully down upon that wretched boy at Hoghton Towers?
Although the dread of a relapse into a stage of savage selfishness
was less strong upon me as I approached manhood, and could act in
an increased degree for myself, yet I was always on my guard
against any tendency to such relapse. After getting these
suspicions under my feet, I had been troubled by not being able to
like Brother Hawkyard's manner, or his professed religion. So it
came about, that, as I walked back that Sunday evening, I thought
it would be an act of reparation for any such injury my struggling
thoughts had unwillingly done him, if I wrote, and placed in his
hands, before going to college, a full acknowledgment of his
goodness to me, and an ample tribute of thanks. It might serve as
an implied vindication of him against any dark scandal from a rival
brother and expounder, or from any other quarter.
Accordingly, I wrote the document with much care. I may add with
much feeling too; for it affected me as I went on. Having no set
studies to pursue, in the brief interval between leaving the
Foundation and going to Cambridge, I determined to walk out to his
place of business, and give it into his own hands.
It was a winter afternoon, when I tapped at the door of his little
counting-house, which was at the farther end of his long, low shop.
As I did so (having entered by the back yard, where casks and boxes
were taken in, and where there was the inscription, 'Private way to
the counting-house'), a shopman called to me from the counter that
he was engaged.
'Brother Gimblet' (said the shopman, who was one of the
brotherhood) 'is with him.'
I thought this all the better for my purpose, and made bold to tap
again. They were talking in a low tone, and money was passing; for
I heard it being counted out.
'Who is it?' asked Brother Hawkyard, sharply.
'George Silverman,' I answered, holding the door open. 'May I come
in?'
Both brothers seemed so astounded to see me that I felt shyer than
usual. But they looked quite cadaverous in the early gaslight, and
perhaps that accidental circumstance exaggerated the expression of
their faces.
'What is the matter?' asked Brother Hawkyard.
'Ay! what is the matter?' asked Brother Gimblet.
'Nothing at all,' I said, diffidently producing my document: 'I am
only the bearer of a letter from myself.'
'From yourself, George?' cried Brother Hawkyard.
'And to you,' said I.
'And to me, George?'
He turned paler, and opened it hurriedly; but looking over it, and
seeing generally what it was, became less hurried, recovered his
colour, and said, 'Praise the Lord!'
'That's it!' cried Brother Gimblet. 'Well put! Amen.'
Brother Hawkyard then said, in a livelier strain, 'You must know,
George, that Brother Gimblet and I are going to make our two
businesses one. We are going into partnership. We are settling it
now. Brother Gimblet is to take one clear half of the profits (O,
yes! he shall have it; he shall have it to the last farthing).'
'D.V.!' said Brother Gimblet, with his right fist firmly clinched
on his right leg.
'There is no objection,' pursued Brother Hawkyard, 'to my reading
this aloud, George?'
As it was what I expressly desired should be done, after
yesterday's prayer, I more than readily begged him to read it
aloud. He did so; and Brother Gimblet listened with a crabbed
smile.
'It was in a good hour that I came here,' he said, wrinkling up his
eyes. 'It was in a good hour, likewise, that I was moved yesterday
to depict for the terror of evil-doers a character the direct
opposite of Brother Hawkyard's. But it was the Lord that done it:
I felt him at it while I was perspiring.'
After that it was proposed by both of them that I should attend the
congregation once more before my final departure. What my shy
reserve would undergo, from being expressly preached at and prayed
at, I knew beforehand. But I reflected that it would be for the
last time, and that it might add to the weight of my letter. It
was well known to the brothers and sisters that there was no place
taken for me in THEIR paradise; and if I showed this last token of
deference to Brother Hawkyard, notoriously in despite of my own
sinful inclinations, it might go some little way in aid of my
statement that he had been good to me, and that I was grateful to
him. Merely stipulating, therefore, that no express endeavour
should be made for my conversion, - which would involve the rolling
of several brothers and sisters on the floor, declaring that they
felt all their sins in a heap on their left side, weighing so many
pounds avoirdupois, as I knew from what I had seen of those
repulsive mysteries, - I promised.
Since the reading of my letter, Brother Gimblet had been at
intervals wiping one eye with an end of his spotted blue
neckerchief, and grinning to himself. It was, however, a habit
that brother had, to grin in an ugly manner even when expounding.
I call to mind a delighted snarl with which he used to detail from
the platform the torments reserved for the wicked (meaning all
human creation except the brotherhood), as being remarkably
hideous.
I left the two to settle their articles of partnership, and count
money; and I never saw them again but on the following Sunday.
Brother Hawkyard died within two or three years, leaving all he
possessed to Brother Gimblet, in virtue of a will dated (as I have
been told) that very day.
Now I was so far at rest with myself, when Sunday came, knowing
that I had conquered my own mistrust, and righted Brother Hawkyard
in the jaundiced vision of a rival, that I went, even to that
coarse chapel, in a less sensitive state than usual. How could I
foresee that the delicate, perhaps the diseased, corner of my mind,
where I winced and shrunk when it was touched, or was even
approached, would be handled as the theme of the whole proceedings?
On this occasion it was assigned to Brother Hawkyard to pray, and
to Brother Gimblet to preach. The prayer was to open the
ceremonies; the discourse was to come next. Brothers Hawkyard and
Gimblet were both on the platform; Brother Hawkyard on his knees at
the table, unmusically ready to pray; Brother Gimblet sitting
against the wall, grinningly ready to preach.
'Let us offer up the sacrifice of prayer, my brothers and sisters
and fellow-sinners.' Yes; but it was I who was the sacrifice. It
was our poor, sinful, worldly-minded brother here present who was
wrestled for. The now-opening career of this our unawakened
brother might lead to his becoming a minister of what was called
'the church.' That was what HE looked to. The church. Not the
chapel, Lord. The church. No rectors, no vicars, no archdeacons,
no bishops, no archbishops, in the chapel, but, O Lord! many such
in the church. Protect our sinful brother from his love of lucre.
Cleanse from our unawakened brother's breast his sin of worldly-
mindedness. The prayer said infinitely more in words, but nothing
more to any intelligible effect.
Then Brother Gimblet came forward, and took (as I knew he would)
the text, 'My kingdom is not of this world.' Ah! but whose was, my
fellow-sinners? Whose? Why, our brother's here present was. The
only kingdom he had an idea of was of this world. ('That's it!'
from several of the congregation.) What did the woman do when she
lost the piece of money? Went and looked for it. What should our
brother do when he lost his way? ('Go and look for it,' from a
sister.) Go and look for it, true. But must he look for it in the
right direction, or in the wrong? ('In the right,' from a
brother.) There spake the prophets! He must look for it in the
right direction, or he couldn't find it. But he had turned his
back upon the right direction, and he wouldn't find it. Now, my
fellow-sinners, to show you the difference betwixt worldly-
mindedness and unworldly-mindedness, betwixt kingdoms not of this
world and kingdoms OF this world, here was a letter wrote by even
our worldly-minded brother unto Brother Hawkyard. Judge, from
hearing of it read, whether Brother Hawkyard was the faithful
steward that the Lord had in his mind only t'other day, when, in
this very place, he drew you the picter of the unfaithful one; for
it was him that done it, not me. Don't doubt that!
Brother Gimblet then groaned and bellowed his way through my
composition, and subsequently through an hour. The service closed
with a hymn, in which the brothers unanimously roared, and the
sisters unanimously shrieked at me, That I by wiles of worldly gain
was mocked, and they on waters of sweet love were rocked; that I
with mammon struggled in the dark, while they were floating in a
second ark.
I went out from all this with an aching heart and a weary spirit:
not because I was quite so weak as to consider these narrow
creatures interpreters of the Divine Majesty and Wisdom, but
because I was weak enough to feel as though it were my hard fortune
to be misrepresented and misunderstood, when I most tried to subdue
any risings of mere worldliness within me, and when I most hoped
that, by dint of trying earnestly, I had succeeded. _
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