Volume I Part 8 (1/2)

'A what?' all asked with horror.

'A Neologist; and if you want to know what that is, read the _British Beacon_. Lor' bless you! the editor makes fine work of the Neologists.'

'Well, of course we don't want a Neologist down here.'

'I never heard such a sermon. Nothing about being born in sin and shapen in iniquity. Not a word about h.e.l.l; not a word of the saints being preordained for glory. He had the impudence to tell me, to my own face, that ”a G.o.d of love would never consign sinners to an everlasting torment.” I'd quite an argument with him. I called him all the names I could think of. I really don't think I can bring myself to go and hear him again. If you have him, I'm off to the Baptists.'

'Well, look 'ee, you must not leave us, at any rate. How the people would talk if you were to give up Bethesda and join the Baptists!'

'We want the elect to be preached to,' said the chemist, 'not the world.

Now, this young man has no idea of that. It's all labour in vain preaching to the world. The Lord knows them that are His. They are the flock, and we want a shepherd for them. What are the men of the world but a generation of vipers?'

'Well,' said the other deacon, 'it seems to me that he has no idea of saying a word in season. For instance, as you know, last week old Brown, the milkman, died very suddenly. I said to him, ”Mr. Wentworth, you might improve the occasion. You might preach about the shortness of life.” ”How old was old Brown?” says he. ”Eighty-five,” says I, and then he laughed.'

'Laughed?' repeated all the party.

'Yes; and said he had ”better wait for some better opportunity to talk of the shortness of life.” He said old Brown had had ”rather a long innings.”'

A shudder ran round the room.

'Just what I expected myself. Last week old Mrs. Grey broke her leg.

She would not go to our new surgeon, because he ain't a professor.

”Quite right,” said I to her. ”How can you expect the blessing?” Our new minister replied that ”the woman was silly”; that ”she should have gone to a clever, rather than to a G.o.dly, doctor”; that ”it was merely a question of professional skill,” and that ”religion had nothing to do with it.” Says I, ”We think too much of mere human talent.” Said he, ”he did not think we did. It was so rare that when we found it we ought to encourage it,” said he. I said to him, ”Our old minister never preached in that way;” and he said he was ”sorry to hear it.”'

Again all groaned.

'Just what I expected,' observed the chemist and druggist. 'The other morning, as I called, he was reading Shakespeare. ”Not much there for the immortal soul,” says I. ”Upon my word,” says he, ”I don't agree with you there at all. I hold Shakespeare to be next to the Bible.” I said as how I had never read a line of Shakespeare, or any other play-acting, fellow. Said he, he was ”sorry to hear it.” I had ”missed a great treat. There was no one like Shakespeare to display the workings of the human heart.”'

'And what did you say to that?'

'Why, that my Bible told me that the heart was ”deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked,” and that was enough for me.'

'Ah, you had him there,' said the others.

'Yes, I think I had,' replied the chemist, with a grim smile of satisfaction.

It is told of the Aristotelians, when Galileo offered to show them that the world moved round the sun, that they refused even to use his telescope, as they would not see what they could not find in Aristotle.

These poor men would have done the same. Science offered them a telescope, but they preferred darkness, like the old bigoted Roman Catholics who persecuted Galileo.

'You know my boy Tom,' continued Mr. Robins. 'He thinks he knows a lot more than his father, because I sent him to the grammar-school. He always is telling me he don't see this, and he don't see that. Now, according to my way of thinking, he has no right to talk so. It's really sinful. He has got to believe. The Bible says, ”Whoso believeth shall be saved.” I says to the lad, ”If I had talked in that wicked way to my father, he would soon have beaten it all out of me, and I had a great mind to do the same with him.” I said as much to the minister. He begged I would ”do nothing of the kind. The lad could not help his doubts.” He believed he was ”sincere. Thomas was one of the Apostles, and had not he his doubts? Doubts,” said he, ”often lead to faith.” Did you ever hear such a doctrine? I saw the Lord in a minute when I was converted, and I've never had a doubt since, blessed be His Holy Name!'

'You're right, brother,' said the senior deacon. 'It is the devil who makes us doubt, and it is only by prayer you can defy him. You know-

'”Satan trembles when he sees The weakest saint upon his knees.”

All that we have got to do is to believe what is in the Bible, and I do every blessed word of it, from the first chapter of Genesis to the last Book of Revelation. Don't talk to me of carnal reason sitting in judgment on the Word of G.o.d. It makes me sick to hear such talk. It is downright wickedness. Human larnin' will never save the soul. Scripture is plain, so that the wayfaring man, though a fool, may not err therein.

The sooner we get an old experienced divine to come and preach to us the better. We shall have all the gay and giddy people at meetin' if this young fellow preaches here much longer'-a sentiment which met with the hearty approval of all present. He continued: 'It was only last night I asked him to come to supper, and he declined, ”because,” he said, he had ”promised to sup with” that new lawyer, who has come to our town, and who, I believe, never goes anywhere of a Sunday. ”That ain't right,”