Talkers Part 7

It also reminds one of the old story of the monk who heard the confession of a certain cardinal. "I am the chief of sinners," said the cardinal. "It is true," said the monk. "I have been guilty of every kind of sin," sighed the cardinal. "It is a solemn fact, my son," said the monk. "I have indulged in pride, in ambition, malice, and revenge,"

continued his Eminence. The provoking confessor a.s.sented without one pitying word of doubt or protest. "Why you fool," at last said the exasperated cardinal, "you don't imagine I mean all this to the letter?"

"Ho, ho!" said the monk, "so you have been a _liar_ too have you?"

Now, in all such cases as the above, it is not difficult to perceive the want of sincerity; and to talk in that way is anything but wise and consistent. While, on the one hand, it is unseemly to praise ourselves, it is, on the other, equally uncalled for to disparage ourselves. There is a proper place in which a man should stand in respect to himself as in respect to others. Towards himself let there be a dignified modesty, and towards others a respectful acknowledgment of any _sincere_ commendation which may be given of his character and of his works. In all our personal confessions, either before men or G.o.d, let us endeavour to mean what we say and not act the hypocrite, that we may obtain the eulogium from others or from ourselves, what "humble and self-renouncing Christians we are."

Under this cla.s.s of talkers there is another character which we wish to ill.u.s.trate, viz., the household-wife, whose "house is never clean, and whose food is never such as is fit to place before you."

In a certain part of England, long celebrated for being a stronghold of Methodism, there is a small village, very beautiful for situation, and well known among the lovers of rural retreats. In this said village there lived a farmer and his wife, without children, who belonged to the Methodist Church. Squire Hopkins, which we shall call him, was a man of some note in the village, for his intelligence, influence, and character. Even the parson had a good word to say of him, and was not above holding a brief conversation with him, when he met him in the lane on the left side of the church. The Squire was a man who never was ashamed of his name as a Methodist, whether in the presence of the poor, the rich, or the clergyman. He had stood for many years a member, trustee, and steward in the Methodist Church. With all these honours, and the good-will of almost the entire village, the Squire was an una.s.suming and quiet man. His religion to him was more than all Church honours and worldly good opinions. His house was the home of the "travelling preachers," when, in their appointments, they came to the village to preach. And a right sort of a home it was too, clean, airy, pleasant, and possessing all things requisite to convenience and comfort. There was, however, one drawback in the happiness of this home.

Excellent Sister Hopkins was afflicted with one failing, which could not be hid from those who visited her house. The weakness to which we allude was on the one side of it, _the love of praise_; and on the other side, _the disparaging of herself and her doings_. This she did that she might obtain the other. _She_ disparaged, that _you_ might praise. We do not say she did not deserve praise, but that her way of seeking it was neither wise nor commendable.

Sister Hopkins had so habituated herself to this way of speaking, that it was difficult for her to avoid it. As a housewife she was unexceptionable. She was careful to have everything in the most cleanly and orderly condition. She was an excellent cook, and the Squire an excellent provider, so that their table was always well spread, whenever good cheer was required. And yet you could not enter the house without being reminded that her "husband had company yesterday, and she could not keep the rooms half so decent as she would like;" and when you sat down to her table, covered with the best provisions, prepared in the best style of the cookery art, she was sorry that she "had so little, and so badly cooked." She had been doing this or that, busy here or there, that she "really had not such things as she would have liked to have had, and you must excuse it this time." It did not signify how bountiful or well-prepared the meal was, there was always sure to be something wanting which would be a text for a short sermon on self-disparagement.

On one occasion a minister was at breakfast when the table was well stocked with everything which could be desired--coffee of the finest flavour, tea of the richest kind, cream and b.u.t.ter fresh from the dairy, chickens swimming in gravy, with various kinds of preserves, and other things of a spicy and confectionery sort. No sooner had her guest begun to partake of her hospitality than Mrs. Hopkins commenced. She was afraid the coffee was not so good as it might have been, the cream and b.u.t.ter were not so fresh as she should have liked them, the chickens were hardly roasted enough, and as for the preserves, they had been boiled too much, through the carelessness of Mary, the servant. She meant to have had something better for breakfast, but had been disappointed; and it was too bad that there was nothing nice for him to eat.

All this was very heavy for her guest to bear. He simply remarked that "there was no need for apologies; everything was very good, and there was plenty of it."

We will now introduce another person to the reader in connection with Mrs. Hopkins. It is Superintendent Robson, who had just come on the circuit. He was a good man, plain, homely, practical. Like Mr. Wesley, he no more dare preach a _fine_ sermon than wear a fine coat. Such was the action of his religion upon his conscience. He was well known for his common-sense way of teaching the truths of the Bible. He _would_ speak just as he thought and as he felt, although he might offend Miss Precision and Mr. Itchingear. He gained the name of being an eccentric preacher, as most preachers do who _never_ prevaricate and always speak as they think. The failing of Sister Hopkins had reached the ears of Superintendent Robson. He had no patience with such a failing, and he was resolved to cure her. On his first visit to the village to preach, he stopped, according to custom, at Squire Hopkins's. Thomas, the ostler, took the preacher's horse, and the preacher entered the house.

He was shown into the best room, and from all appearances felt quite at home. Everything was in perfect order and cleanliness, fit for the reception of a prince. The preacher had not been seated long, scarcely long enough to pa.s.s the usual interchange of first salutations and enquiries, when Mrs. Hopkins began in her old style to say she was "sorry that things were so untidy; her house was upside down; she was mortified to be found in such a plight; she really hoped before his arrival to have had all things in such order as she always liked to see them. She hoped he would excuse their being so." Superintendent Robson looked around and about the room in all directions, to find out the terrible confusion to which his hostess alluded; but he said not a word.

Shortly after the dinner was announced as ready; and as this was the first visit of the preacher, particular attention had been given to have a table spread with more than usual good things. The preacher, however, found from the Squire's wife that there was hardly anything for dinner, and what there was she was ashamed for him to sit down to. The Superintendent heard her in mute astonishment. He lifted his dark eyes, and looking her in the face with penetration and austerity, he rose gently from the table and said,--

"Brother Hopkins, I want my horse immediately; I must leave this house."

"Why, Brother Robson, what is the matter?"

"Enough the matter! Why, sir, your house isn't fit to stay in, and you haven't anything fit to eat or drink, and I won't stay."

The preacher mounted his horse and took his departure.

Both the Squire and his lady were confounded at such unexpected conduct.

They stood in their room as though thunderstruck, not knowing what to say or what to do. But the preacher was gone, and could not be re-called.

After a few moments poor Sister Hopkins wept like a child. "Dear me,"

said she to the Squire, "this is a terrible thing. It will be all over the village, and everybody will be laughing at me. How shall I meet the Superintendent again? I did not mean anything by what I said; it is only my way. I never thought it wrong. Had I known our new minister didn't like such a way of talk I would not have talked so. Oh, how vexed I am!"

The result of this was that Mrs. Hopkins saw herself as others saw her.

She ceased making these empty and meaningless apologies, and became a wiser and better woman. The next time Superintendent Robson went to the Squire's he found a "house fit for him to stay in and things fit for him to eat."

VIII.

_THE COMMON SWEARER._

"Take not His name, who made thy tongue, in vain, It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse."

HERBERT.

He is a transgressor of the third commandment of the Decalogue, "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy G.o.d in vain." He transgresses without any laudable purpose, and without any necessity. He is thoughtless, foolish, and void of the fear of G.o.d. "His mouth," as an old divine says, "is black with oaths, and the very soot of h.e.l.l hangs about his lips." He degrades the most excellent things into the meanest a.s.sociations. Sometimes he indulges to such an extent in his sin, that the main substance of his speech is swearing. It is more than an adjunct or concomitant of his conversation; it is the body and soul of it.

Sometimes you may hear him, with an air of self-complacency, give utterance to his profanity, as though he regarded it an ornament of rhetoric, giving spice and condiment to his thoughts. There are occasions when he considers his talk only reliable in its truthfulness as this evil accompanies it. He would not be a man in his own judgment if he did not swear. He thinks he magnifies his own importance in the estimation of other people; but, alas! he promotes his own shame and disgrace before the eyes of the wise and good.

The common swearer is confined to no rank or age in society. I have heard the youth who was barely in his teens indulge in this sin, as though it had been a part of his parental or day-school education. I have heard the young gentleman, so-called, recently returned from the walks of a University, pollute his lips and character with this shameful vice. I have heard the man who laid claim to wealth, to intelligence, to respectability, and to honour, pour forth his swearing words. I have heard the man who has stood in official relation to the state, and who considered himself a "justice of the peace," break the holy commandment with impunity. I have even heard one, called by the misnomer, "lady," do disgrace to her s.e.x by this sinful fault in conversation. In the household, with a group of little ones whose minds were just unfolding to receive first impressions, I have heard the parents swear as though they were licensed to do so by reason. In company, where common civility ought to have restrained, I have heard the utterances of the swearer's horrid voice. In the street, where public decency ought to have deterred, I have again and again heard the revolting expressions of this talker's leprous tongue. In the shop, while transacting business, I have heard him give vent to his blasphemies, when a kind reproof has only seemed for the time to enrage his demoniacal spirit to more fiery ebullitions. How humiliating is this sin to human nature! How it severs from everything that is holy and honourable! How it insults and blasphemes the glorious Lord of earth and heaven! How closely it allies to "the prince of the power of the air"!

"It might puzzle a philosopher," says Ogden, "to trace the love of swearing to its original principle, and a.s.sign its place in the const.i.tution of man.

"Is it a pa.s.sion, or an appet.i.te, or an instinct? What is its just measure, its proper object, its ultimate end?

"Or shall we conclude that it is entirely the work of art? a vice which men have invented for themselves without prospect of pleasure or profit, and to which there is no imaginable temptation in nature?

"If it be an accomplishment, it is such an one as the meanest person may make himself master of; requiring neither rank nor fortune, neither genius nor learning.

"But if it be no test of wit, we must allow, perhaps, that it wears the appearance of valour. Alas! what is the appearance of anything? The little birds perch upon the image of an eagle.

"True bravery is sedate and inoffensive: if it refuse to submit to insults, it offers none; begins no disputes, enters into no needless quarrels; is above the little, troublesome ambition to be distinguished every moment; it hears in silence, and replies with modesty; fearing no enemy, and making none; and is as much ashamed of insolence as cowardice."

The swearer may ask, "Where is the evil of an oath when it is used for the support of truth?" If your character is good, the person with whom you converse will require no oath. He will depend upon the simple and bare declaration of the matter: and if you swear, it will take a per-centage from your character in his estimation, and he will not believe the statement any the sooner for the oath connected with it. Can you think that the high and holy name of G.o.d is intended to be debased by a.s.sociation with every trivial and impertinent truth which may be uttered? "No oath," says Bishop Hopkins, "is in itself simply good, and voluntarily to be used; but only as medicines are, in case of necessity.

But to use it ordinarily and indifferently, without being constrained by any cogent necessity, or called to it by any lawful authority, is such a sin as wears off all reverence and dread of the Great G.o.d: and we have very great cause to suspect that where His name is so much upon the tongue, there His fear is but little in the heart."

Again, the same author says, "Though thou swearest that which is true; yet customary swearing to truths will insensibly bring thee to swear falsehoods. For, when once thou art habituated to it, an oath will be more ready to thee than a truth; and so when thou rashly boltest out somewhat that is either doubtful or false, thou wilt seal it up and confirm it with an oath, before thou hast had time to consider what thou hast said or what thou art swearing: for those who accustom themselves to this vice lose the observation of it in the frequency; and, if you reprove them for swearing, they will be ready to swear again, that they did not swear. And therefore it is well observed of St.

Austin, 'We ought to forbear swearing that which is truth; for, by the custom of swearing, men oftentimes fall into perjury, and are always in danger of it.'"

Take a few considerations, with a view to show the evil of swearing, and to deter from the practice of it.

1. _Consider that Name by which the Swearer generally commits his sin._ "The name of G.o.d," says Jeremy Taylor, "is so sacred, so mighty, that it rends mountains, it opens the bowels of the deepest rocks, it casts out devils, and makes h.e.l.l to tremble, and fills all the regions of heaven with joy; the name of G.o.d is our strength and confidence, the object of our worshippings, and the security of all our hopes; and when G.o.d hath given Himself a name, and immured it with dread and reverence, like the garden of Eden with the swords of cherubim, and none durst speak it but he whose lips were hallowed, and that at holy and solemn times, in a most holy and solemn place; I mean the high priest of the Jews at the solemnities when he entered into the sanctuary,--then He taught all the world the majesty and veneration of His name; and therefore it was that G.o.d made restraints upon our conceptions and expressions of Him; and, as He was infinitely curious, that, from all appearances He made to them, they should not depict or engrave any image of Him; so He took care that even the tongue should be restrained, and not be too free in forming images and representments of His name; and therefore as G.o.d drew their eyes from vanity, by putting His name amongst them, and representing no shape; so even when He had put His name amongst them, He took it off from the tongue, and placed it before the eye; for Jehovah was so written on the priest's mitre, that all might see and read, but none speak it but the priest. But besides all this, there is one great thing concerning the name of G.o.d, beyond all that can be spoken or imagined else; and that is, that when G.o.d the Father was pleased to pour forth all His glories, and imprint them upon His Holy Son, in His exaltation, it was by giving Him His holy name, the Tetragrammaton, or Jehovah made articulate, to signify 'G.o.d manifested in the flesh;' and so He wore the character of G.o.d, and became the bright image of His person.

"Now all these great things concerning the name of G.o.d are infinite reproofs of common and vain swearing by it. G.o.d's name is left us here to pray by, to hope in, to be the instrument and conveyance of our worshippings, to be the witness of truth and the judge of secrets, the end of strife and the avenger of perjury, the discerner of right and the severe exactor of all wrongs; and shall all this be unhallowed by impudent talking of G.o.d without sense or fear, or notice, or reverence, or observation?"

2. _The uselessness of swearing._ "Surely," says Dr. Barrow, "of all dealers in sin the swearer is palpably the silliest, and maketh the worst bargains for himself; for he sinneth gratis, and, like those in the prophet, _selleth his soul for nothing_. An epicure hath some reason to allege; an extortioner is a man of wisdom, and acteth prudently in comparison to him; for they enjoy some pleasure, or acquire some gain here, in lieu of their salvation hereafter: but this fondling offendeth heaven, and abandoneth happiness, he knoweth not why or for what. He hath not so much as the common plea of human infirmity to excuse him; he can hardly say he was tempted thereto by any bait."

The following incident will ill.u.s.trate the senselessness of swearing as frequently practised:--

Three travellers in a coach endeavoured to shorten the tedious hours by relating stories. One of them, an officer, who had seen much of the world, spoke of his past dangers, and former comrades, in so interesting a manner, that his companions would have been charmed with his recitals had he not interspersed them with continual oaths and imprecations. When he had finished his tale, an elderly gentleman, who had not yet spoken, was asked for a story. Without hesitation he thus commenced his narration:--

"Gentlemen, it is now nearly twenty years since I was travelling on this road, on a very dark night, when--_a thousand trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--an accident occurred,--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--of which I cannot even now think without shuddering. I truly believe--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--that it happened on the very spot which we are now pa.s.sing. The coach was going on at the usual speed of--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--when we were suddenly alarmed by the noise of horses galloping after us.--_Trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--We distinctly heard voices crying, 'Stop! stop!'--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--said I to my companions, 'We are pursued by robbers!'--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--'It is not possible,' cried the other travellers.--_Pipes and strings!_--'Oh, yes,' said I, 'it is but too true,' and on looking out of the window, I saw that those--_trumpets, pipes, and strings!_--hors.e.m.e.n had overtaken us. Just as the carriage--_trumpets, pipes, and----_"

Here the officer's impatience could no longer be restrained. "I hope you will excuse my interrupting you, sir," said he, "but for the life of me I cannot see what your _trumpets, pipes, and strings_ have to do with your story."

"Sir," replied the old man, "you astonish me. Have you not perceived that these words are quite as necessary to my tale as the _oaths_ and _imprecations_ with which you seasoned yours? Allow me to offer you a few words of counsel: you are yet young, you can yet correct this sad habit, which shows lightness of character and disrespect for G.o.d's sacred name and presence."

There was a moment's silence, the officer then took the old gentleman's hand, and pressing it with emotion, said,--

"Sir, I _thank_ you for the kind lesson you have taught me; I hope it will not be in vain."

3. _The incivility of swearing._ "Some vain persons," says Dr. Barrow again, "take it for a genteel and graceful thing, a special accomplishment, a mark of fine breeding, a point of high gallantry; for who, forsooth, is the brave spark, the complete gentleman, the man of conversation and address, but he that hath the skill and confidence (O heavens! how mean a skill! how mad a confidence!) to lard every sentence with an oath or curse; making bold at every turn to salute his Maker, or to summon Him in attestation of his tattle; not to say calling and challenging the Almighty to d.a.m.n and destroy him? Such a conceit, I say, too many have of swearing, because a custom thereof, together with divers other fond and base qualities, hath prevailed among some people bearing the name and garb of gentlemen.

"But in truth there is no practice more crossing the genuine nature of genteelness, or misbecoming persons well-born and well-bred; who should excel the rude vulgar in goodness, in courtesy, in n.o.bleness of heart, in unwillingness to offend, and readiness to oblige those with whom they converse, in steady composedness of mind and manners, in disdaining to say or do any unworthy, any unhandsome thing.

"For this practice is not only a gross rudeness towards the main body of men, who justly reverence the name of G.o.d, and detest such an abuse thereof; not only, further, an insolent defiance of the common profession, the religion, the law of our country, which disalloweth and condemneth it; but it is very odious and offensive to any particular society or company, at least wherein there is any sober person, any who retaineth a sense of goodness, or is anywise concerned for G.o.d's honour; for to any such person no language can be more disgustful. Nothing can more grate his ears, or fret his heart, than to hear the sovereign object of his love and esteem so mocked and slighted; to see the law of his Prince so disloyally infringed, so contemptuously trampled on; to find his best Friend and Benefactor so outrageously abused. To give him the lie were a compliment, to spit in his face were an obligation, in comparison to this usage.