Carleton said, after a while.
Fleda"s heart throbbed an answer ? she did not speak.
"Both in its direct and indirect action. The mind is set free from influences that narrowed its range and dimmed its vision, and refined to a keener sensibility, a juster perception, a higher power of appreciation, by far, than it had before. And then, to say nothing of religion"s own peculiar sphere of enjoyment, technically religious ? what a field of pleasure it opens to its possessor in the world of moral beauty, most partially known to any other ? and the fine but exquisite a.n.a.logies of things material with things spiritual ? those _harmonies of Nature_, to which, talk as they will, all other ears are deaf."
"You know," said Fleda, with full eyes that she dared not show, "how Henry Martyn said that he found he enjoyed painting and music so much more after he became a Christian."
"I remember. It is the subst.i.tuting a just medium for a false one ? it is putting nature within and nature without in tune with each other, so that the chords are perfect now which were jarring before."
"And yet how far people would be from believing you, Mr.
Carleton."
"Yes, they are possessed with the contrary notion. But in all the creation nothing has a one-sided usefulness. What a reflection it would be upon the wisdom of its Author, if G.o.dliness alone were the exception ? if it were not "profitable for the life that now is, as well as for that which is to come!" "
"They make that work the other way, don"t they?" said Fleda; "not being able to see how thorough religion should be for anybody"s happiness, they make use of your argument to conclude that it is not what the Bible requires. How I have heard that urged ? that G.o.d intended his creatures to be happy ? as a reason why they should disobey him! They lay hold on the wrong end of the argument, and work backwards."
"Precisely.
" "G.o.d intended his creatures to be happy.
" "Strict obedience would make them unhappy.
" "Therefore, he does not intend them to obey." "
"They never put it before them quite so clearly," said Fleda.
"They would startle at it a little. But so they would at the right stating of the case."
"And how would that be, Mr. Carleton?"
"It might be somewhat after this fashion ?
" "G.o.d requires nothing that is not for the happiness of his people.
" "He requires perfect obedience.
" "Therefore, perfect obedience is for their happiness."
"But unbelief will not understand that. Did it ever strike you how much there is in those words, "Come and see?" All that argument can do, after all, is but to persuade to that. Only faith will submit to terms, and enter the narrow gate; and only obedience knows what the prospect is on the other side."
"But isn"t it true, Mr. Carleton, that the world have some cause for their opinion ? judging as they do by the outside?
The peculiar pleasures of religion, as you say, are out of sight, and they do not always find in religious people that enlargement and refinement of which you were speaking."
"Because they make unequal comparisons. Recollect that, as G.o.d has declared, the ranks of religion are not for the most part filled from the wise and the great. In making your estimate, you must measure things equal in other respects. Compare the same man with himself before he was a Christian, or with his unchristianized fellows, and you will find invariably the refining, dignifying, enn.o.bling, influence of true religion ?
the enlarged intelligence, and the greater power of enjoyment."
"And besides those causes of pleasure-giving that your mentioned," said Fleda, "there is a mind at ease; and how much that is, alone! If I may judge others by myself, the mere fact of being unpoised, unresting, disables the mind from a thousand things that are joyfully relished by one entirely at ease."
"Yes," said he; "do you remember that word, ? "The stones of the field shall be at peace with thee?" "
"I am afraid people would understand you as little as they would me, Mr. Carleton," said Fleda, laughing.
He smiled, rather a prolonged smile, the expression of which Fleda could not make out; she felt that _she_ did not quite understand him.
"I have thought," said he, after a pause, "that much of the beauty we find in many things is owing to a hidden a.n.a.logy ?
the harmony they make with some unknown string of the mind"s harp which they have set a-vibrating. But the music of that is so low and soft, that one must listen very closely to find out what it is."
"Why, that is the very theory of which I gave you a smoky ill.u.s.tration a little while ago," said Fleda. "I thought I was on safe ground, after what you said about the characters of flowers, for that was a little ?"
"Fanciful?" said he, smiling.
"What you please,"" said Fleda, colouring a little ? "I am sure it is true. The theory, I mean. I have many a time felt it, though I never put it in words. I shall think of that."
"Did you ever happen to see the very early dawn of a winter"s morning?" said he.
But he laughed the next instant at the comical expression of Fleda"s face as it was turned to him.
"Forgive me for supposing you as ignorant as myself. I have seen it ?once."
"Appreciated it, I hope, that time?" said Fleda.
"I shall never forget it."
"And it never wrought in you a desire to see it again?"
"I might see many a dawn," said he, smiling, "without what I saw then. It was very early, and a cloudy morning, so that night had still almost undisturbed possession of earth and sky; but in the south-eastern quarter, between two clouds, there was a s.p.a.ce of fair white promise, hardly making any impression upon the darkness, but only set off by it. And upon this one bright spot in earth or heaven, rode the planet of the morning ? the sun"s forerunner ? bright upon the brightness. All else was dusky, except where overhead the clouds had parted again and showed a faint old moon, glimmering down upon the night it could no longer be said to "rule." "
"Beautiful!" said Fleda. "There is hardly any time I like so well as the dawn of a winter morning, with an old moon in the sky. Summer weather has no beauty like it ? in some things."
"Once," continued Mr. Carleton, "I should have seen no more than I have told you ? the beauty that every cultivated eye must take in. But now, methought I saw the dayspring that has come upon a longer night; and from out of the midst of it there was the fair face of the morning star looking at me with its sweet reminder and invitation; looking over the world with its aspect of triumphant expectancy: there was its calm a.s.surance of the coming day ? its promise that the star of hope, which now there were only a few watching eyes to see, should presently be followed by the full beams of the Sun of Righteousness making the kingdoms of the world His own. Your memory may bring to you the words that came to mine, the promise "to him that overcometh," and the beauty of the lips that made it: the encouragement to "patient continuance in well doing," "till the day break, and the shadows flee away."
And there, on the other hand, was the subst.i.tuted light of earth"s wisdom and inventions, dominant yet, but waning, and soon to be put out for ever."
Fleda was crying again, and perhaps that was the reason why Mr. Carleton was silent for some time. She was very sorry to show herself so weak, but she could not help it; part of his words had come too close. And when she had recovered again, she was absolutely silent too, for they were nearing Sloman- street, and she could not take him there with her. She did not know what to say, nor what he would think; and she said not another word till they came to the corner. There she must stop and speak.
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Carleton," she said, drawing her hand from his arm, "for taking care of me all this disagreeable way; I will not give you any more trouble."
"You are not going to dismiss me?" said he, looking at her with a countenance of serious anxiety.
"I must," said Fleda, ingenuously ? "I have business to attend to here ?"
"But you will let me have the pleasure of waiting for you?"
"O no," said Fleda, hesitating and flushing ? "thank you, Mr.
Carleton; but pray do not ? I don"t know at all how long I may be detained."
He bowed, she thought gravely, and turned away; and she entered the little wretched street, with a strange feeling of pain that she could not a.n.a.lyze. She did not know where it came from, but she thought if there only had been a hiding- place for her, she could have sat down and wept a whole heartful. The feeling must be kept back now, and it was soon forgotten in the throbbing of her heart at another thought which took entire possession.
The sun was not down ? there was time enough ? but it was with a step and eye of hurried anxiety that Fleda pa.s.sed along the little street, for fear of missing her quest, or lest Dinah should have changed her domicile. Yet would her uncle have named it for their meeting if he had not been sure of it? It was very odd he should have appointed that place at all, and Fleda was inclined to think he must have seen Dinah by some chance, or it never would have come into his head. Still her eye pa.s.sed unheeding over all the varieties of dinginess and misery in her way, intent only upon finding that particular dingy cellar-way which used to admit her to Dinah"s premises.
It was found at last, and she went in.