Scenes of clerical life and Silas Marner. [By George Eliot]
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Pilgrim, with his mouth only half empty of Inuffin, you had a row in Shepperton Church last Sunday. I was at Jim Hood's, the bassoon-man's, this morning, attending his wife, and he swears he'll be revenged on the parsona confounded, mnethodistical, meddlesome chap, who must be putting his finger in every pie.
What was it all about? Hackit, sticking one thumb between the buttons of his capacious waistcoat, and retaining a pinch of snuff with the other-for he was but moderately given to " the cups that cheer but not inebriate," and had already finished his tea; "they began to sing the wedding psalm for a new-married couple, as pretty a psalm an' as pretty a tune as any in the prayer-book.
It's been sung for every new-married couple since I was a boyg And what can be better? Hackit stretched out bis left arm, threw back his head, and broke into melody"' Oh what a happy thing it is, And jeyful for to see Brethren to dwell together in Friendship and unity.
Barton is all for the ihymns, and a sort o' music as I can't join in at all. Hacket from lyrical reminiscences to narrative, "he called out Silence! Hackit, stooping towards the candle to pick up a stitch, " and turned as red as a turkey-cock. He's like me-he's got a temper of his own. Pilgrim, who hated the Reverend Amos for two reasons-because he had called in a new doctor, recently settled in Shep.
Why, doesn't he preach extempore in that cottage up here, of a Sunday evening? Hackit's favorite interjection"that preaching without book's no good, only when a man has a gift, and has the Bible at his fingers' ends. It was all very well for Parry-he'd a gift; and in my youth I've heard the Ranters out o' doors in Yorkshire go on for an hour or two on end, without ever sticking fast a minute.
There was one clever chap, I remember, as used to say,' You're like the woodpigeon; it says do, do, do all day, and never sets about any work itself.
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But our parson's no gift at all that way; he can preach as good a sermon as need be heard when he writes it down. But when he tries to preach wi'out book, he rambles about, and doesn't stick to his text; and every now and then he flounders about like a sheep as has cast itself, and can't get on its legs again.
You wouldn't like that, Mrs. Patten, if you was to go to church now? Patten, falling back in her chair, and lifting up her little withered hands, " what'ud Mr. Gilfil say, if he was worthy to know the changes as have come about i' the Church these last ten years?
I don't understand these new sort o' doctrines. Barton comes to see me, he talks about nothing but my sins and my need o' marcy. Hackit, I've never been a sinner. From the fust beginning, when I went into service, I al'ys did my duty by my emplyers. I was a good wife as any in the county-never aggravated my husband. The cheese-factor used to say my cheese was al'ys to be depended on. I've known women, as their cheeses swelled a shame to be seen, when their husbands had counted on the cheese-money to make up their rent; and yet they'd three gowns to my one.
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If I'm not to be saved, I know a many as are in a bad way. Patten's time; and what's more, I hear you've settled to pull the church down and build it up new?
Amos Barton, on his last visit to Mrs. Patten, had urged her to enlarge her promised subscription of twenty pounds, representing to her that she was only a steward of her riches, and that she could not spend them more for the glory of God than by giving a heavy subscription towards the rebuilding of Shepperton Church-a practical precept which was not likely to smooth the way to her acceptance of his theological doctrine.
Hackit, who had more doctrinal enlightenment than Mrs. Patten, had been a little shocked by the heathenism of her speech, and was glad of the new turn given to the subject by this question, addressed to him as church-warden and an authority in all parochial matters. But we have'nt got money enough yet. I was for waiting till we'd made up the sum; and, for my part, I think the congregation's fell off o' late, though Mr.
Barton says that's because there's been no room for the people when they've come. You see, the congregation got so large in Parry's time, the people stood in the aisles; but there's never any crowd now, as I can see. Hackit, whose good-nature began to act, now that it was a little in contradiction with the dominant tone of the conversation, "I like Mr. I think he's a good sort o' man, for all he's not overburden'd i' th' upper story; and his wife's as nice a lady-like woman as I'd wish to see.
IHow nice she keeps her children! I don't know how they make both ends meet, I'm sure, now her aunt has left'em. But I sent'em a cheese and a sack o' potatoes last week; that's something towards filling the little mouths. Hackit, " and my wife makes Mr. Barton a good stiff glass o' brandy-and-water,when he comes in to supper after his cottage preaching. The parson likes it; it puts a bit o' color into his face, and makes him look a deal handsomer.
He said it did as much harm as good to give a too familiar aspect to religious teaching. That was what Ely said-it does as much harm as good to give a too familiar aspect to religious teaching. Pilgrim generally spoke with an intermittent kind of splutter; indeed, one of his patients had observed that it was a pity such a clever man had a "'pediment" in his speech. But when he came to what he conceived the pith of his argument or the point of his joke, he mouthed out his words with slow emphasis; as a hen, when advertising her accouchement, passes at irregular intervals from pianissimo semiquavers to fortissimo crotchets.
He thought this speech of Mr. Ely's particularly metaphysical and profound, and the more decisive of the question because it was a generality which represented no particulars to his mind. Hack t, who had always the courage of her opinion, " but I know, some of our laborers and stockingers as used never to come to church, come to the cottage, and that's better than never hearing any thing good from week's end to week's end.
And there's that Track Society as Mr. Barton has begunI've seen more o' the poor people with going tracking, than all the time I've lived in the parish before. And there'd need be something done among'em; for the drinking at them Benefit Clubs is shamefil. There's hardly a steady man or steady woman either, but what's a Dissenter.
Pilgrim had emitted a succession of little snorts, something like the treble grunts of a guinea-pig, which were always with him the sign of suppressed disapproval. But he never contradicted Mrs. Hackit-a woman whose " pot-luck " was always to be relied on, and who on her side had unlimited reliance oB bleeding, blistering, and draughts.
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Patten, however, felt equal disapprobation and had no reasons for suppressing it. And I hate the sight o' women going about trapesing fiom house to house in all weathers, wet or dry, and corning in with their petticoats dagged and their shoes all over mud. Janet wanted to join in the tracking, but I told her I'd have nobody tracking out o' my house; when I'm gone, she may do as she likes. I never dagged my petticoats in my life, and I've no opinion o' that sort o' religion.
Hackit, who was fond of soothing the acer. But Janet seemed always to identify herself with her aunt's personality, holding her own under protest. Under cover of the general laughter the gentlemen replenished their glasses, Mr. Pilgrim attempting to give his the character of a stirrup-cup by observing that he " must be going. Hackit that she suspected Betty, the dairymaid, of frying the best bacon for the shepherd, when he sat up with her to "help brew;" whereupon Mrs.
Hackit replied that she had always thought Betty false; and Mrs. Patten said there was no bacon stolen when she was able to manage. Hackit, who often complained that he " never saw the like to women with their maids-he never had any trouble with his men," avoided listening to this discussion, by raising the question of vetches with Mr. The stream of conversation had thus diverged; and no more was said about the Rev.
Amos Barton, who is the main object of interest to us just now. So we may leave Cross Farm without waiting till Mrs. Hackit, resolutely donning her clogs and wrappings, renders it incumbent on Mr.
Pilgrim also to fulfill his frequent threat of going. IT was happy for the Rev. Amos Barton that he did not, like us, overhear the conversation recorded in the last chapter.
Indeed, what mortal is there of us, who would find his satisfaction enhanced by an opportunity of comparing the picture he presents to himself of his own doings, with the picture they make on the mental retina of his neighbors? We are poor plants buoyed up by the air-vessels of our own conceit: The very capacity for good would go out of us. That is a deep and wide saying, that no miracle can be wrought without faith-without the worker's faith in himself, as well as the recipient's faith in him.
And the greater part of the worker's faith in himself is made up of the faith that others believe in him. Let me be persuaded that my neighbor Jenkins considers me a blockhead, and I shall never shine in colversation with him any more.
Let me discover that the lovely Phcebe thinks my squint intolerable, and I shall never be able to fix her blandly with my disengaged eye again. Thank heaven, then, that a little illusion is left to us, to enable us to be useful and agreeable-that we don't know exactly what our friends think of us-that the world is not made of looking-glass, to show us just the figure we are making, and just what is going on behind our backs!
By the help' of dear friendly illusion, we are able to dream that we are harming —and our faces wear a becoming air of self-possession; we are able to dream that other men admire our talents-and our benignity is undisturbed; we are able to dream that we are doing much good-and we do a little.
Thus it was with Amos 1arton on that very Thursday evening, when he was the subject of the conversation at Cross Farm. He had been dining at Mr. Farquhar's, the secondary squire of the parish, and, stimulated by unwonted gravies and port-wine, had been delivering his opinion on affairs parochial and extra-parochial with considerable animation.
And he was now returning home in the moonlighta little chill, it is true, for he had Just now no greatcoat compatible with clerical dignity, and a fur boa round one's neck, with a waterproof cape over one's shoulders, doesn't frighten away the cold from one's legs; but entirely unsuspicious, not only of Mr.
Hackit's estimate of his oratorical powers, but also of the critical remarks passed on him by the Misses Farquhar as soon as the drawing-room door had closed behind him. Miss Julia had observed that she never heard any one sniff so frightfully as Mr.
Barton did-she had a great mind to offer him her pocket-handkerchief; and Miss Arabella wondered why he always said he was going for to do a thing. Amos Barton profoundly believed in the existence of that working man, and had thoughts of writing to him.
Dissent, he considered, would have its head bruised in Shepperton, for did he not attack it in two ways? He preached Low-Church doctrine-as evangelical as any thing to be heard in the Independent Chapel; and he made a High-Church assertion of ecclesiastical powers and functions. Clearly, the Dissenters would feel that " the parson' was too many for them. Nothing like a man who combines shrewdness with energy.
The wisdom of the serpent, Mr. Barton considered, was one of his strong points. Look at him as he winds through the little churchyard! The silver light that falls aslant on church and tomb, enables you to see his slim black figure, made all the slimmer by tight pantaloons, as it flits past the pale gravestones.
He walks with a quick step, and is now rapping with sharp decision at the vicarage door. It is opened without delay by the nurse, cook, and housemaid, all at once-that is to say, by the robust maid-of-all-work, Nanny; and as Mr.
Barton hangs up his hat in the passage, you see that a narrow face of no particular complexion-even the small-pox that has attacked it seems to have been of a mongrel, indefinite kind-with features of no particular shape, and an eye of no particular expression, is surmounted by a slope of baldness gently rising from brow to crown.
You judge him, rightly, to be about forty. The house is quiet, for it is half past ten, and the children have long been gone to bed. He opens the sitting-room door, but instead of seeing his wife, as he expected, stitching with the nimblest of fingers by the light of one candle, he finds her dispensing with the light of a candle altogether. She is softly pacing up and down by the red firelight, holding in her arms little Walter, the year-old baby, who looks over her shoulder with large wide-open eyes, while the patient mother pats his back with her soft hand, and glances with a sigh at the heap of large and small stockings lying unmended on the table.
She was a lovely woman-Mrs. Amos Barton; a large, fair, gentle Madonna, with thick, close chestnut curls beside her well-rounded cheeks, and with large, tender, short-sighted eyes.
Farquhar's gros de Naples. The caps she wore would have been pronounced, when off her head, utterly heavy and hideous-for in those days even fashionable caps were large and floppy; but surmounting her long, arched neck, and mingling their borders of cheap lace and ribbon with her chestnut curls, they seemed miracles of successful millinery.
Among strangers she was shy and tremulous as a girl of fifteen; she blushed crimson if any one appealed to her opinion; yet that tall, graceful, substantial presence was so imposing in its mildness, that men spoke to her with an agreeable sensation of timidity.
Soothing, unspeakable charm of gentle womanhood! You would never have asked, at any period ofMrs. Amos Barton's life, if she sketched or played the piano. You would even perhaps have been rather scandalized if she had descended fiom the serene dignity of being to the assiduous unrest of doing.
Happy the man, you would have thought, whose eye will rest on her in the pauses of his fireside reading-whose hot aching forehead will be soothed by the contact of her cool, soft hand-who will recover himself from dejection at his mistakes and failures in the loving light of her unreproaching eyes! You would not, perhaps, have anticipated that this bliss would fall to the share of precisely such a man as Amos Barton, whom you have already surmised not to have the refined sensibilities for which you might have imagined Mrs.
Barton's qualities to be destined by pre-established harmony. But I, for one, do not grudge Amos Barton his sweet wife. I have all my life had a sympathy for mongrel, ungainly dogs, who are nobody's pets; and I would rather surprise one of them by a pat and a pleasant morsel, than meet the condescending advances of the loveliest Skye-terrier who has his cushion by my lady's chair.
That, to be sure, is not the way of the world: Not at all, say I: She-the sweet woman-will like it as well; for her sublime capacity of loving will have all the more scope; and I venture to say, Mrs. Besides, Amos was an affectionate husband and, in his way, valued his wife as his best treasure. But now he has shut the door behind him, and said, "Well, Milly!
Can't you give him to Nanny? Barton glided towards the kitchen, while her husband ran up stairs to put on his maize-colored dressing-gown, in which costume he was quietly filling his long pipe when his wife returned to the sitting-room. Mlaize is a color that decidedly did not suit his complexion, and it is one that soon soils; why, then, did Mr.
Barton select it for domestic wear? Perhaps because he had a knack of hitting on the wrong thing in garb as well as in grammar.
Barton now lighted her candle, and seated herself beforeher heap of stockings. She had something disagreeable to tell her husband, but she would not enter on it at once. Ely was there to dinner, but went away rather early. Miss Arabella is setting her cap at him with a vengeance.
But I don't think he's much smitten. I've a notion Ely's engaged to some one at a distance, and will astonish all the ladies who are languishing for him here, by bringing home his bride one of these days. Ely's a sly dog; he'll like that.
But he was rather scandalized at my setting the tune of' Lydia. Barton laughed-he had a way of laughing at criticisms that other people thought damaging-and thereby showed the remainder of a set of teeth which, like the remnants of the Old Guard, were few in number, and very much the worse for wear.
Farquhar talked the most about Mr. Bridmain and the Countess. She has taken up all the gossip about them, and wanted to convert me to her opinion, but I told her pretty strongly what I thought. I have had a note from the Countess since you went, asking us to dine with them on Friday. Barton reached the note from the mantelpiece, and gave it to her husband. We will look over his shoulder while he reads it: If not, I will be sulky with you till Sunday, when I shall be obliged to see you, and shall long to kiss you that very inoment.
The Clerical Meeting is to-morrow, you know. He has a payment to make up. He puffed more rapidly, and looked at the fire. Hackit, dear-he and Mrs. Hackit have been so very kind to us; they have sent us so many things lately. I'm going to write to him to-morrow morning, for to tell him the arrangement I've been thinking of about having service in the workhouse while the church is being enlarged.
If he agrees to attend service there once or twice, the other people will come. Net the large fish, and you're sure to have the small fry. Poor Fred must have some new shoes; I couldn't let him go to Mrs. Bond's yesterday because his toes were peeping out, dear child; and I can't let him walk anywhere except in the garden. He must have a pair'before Sunday. Really, boots and shoes are the greatest 4trouble of my life.
Every thing else one can turn and turn about, and make old look like new; but there's no coaxing boots and shoes to look better than they are. Barton was playfully undervaluing her skill in metamorphosing boots and shoes. Barton's own neat fingers. She was even trying to persuade her husband to leave off tight pantaloons, because if he would wear the ordinary gun-cases, she knew she could make them so well that no one would suspect the sex of the tailor.
But by this time Mr. Barton has finished his pipe, the candle begins to burn low, and Mrs. Barton goes to see if Nanny has succeeded in lulling Walter to sleep. Nanny is that moment putting him in the little cot by his mother's bedside; the head, with its thin wavelets of brown hair, indents the little pillow; and a tiny, waxen, dimpled fist hides the rosy lips, for baby is given to the infantine peccadillo of thumb-suck ing.
So Nanny could now join in the short evening prayer, and all could go to bed. Barton carried up stairs the remainder of her heap of stockings, and laid them on a table close to her bedside, where also she placed a warm shawl, removing her candle, before she put it out, to a tin socket fixed at the head of her bed.
Iler body was very weary, but her heart was not heavy,in spite of Mr. Woods the butcher, and the transitory nature of shoeleather; for her heart so overflowed with love, she felt sure she was near a fountain of love that would care for her husband and babes better than she could foresee; so she was soon asleep.
But about half past five o'clock in the morning, if there were any angels watching round her bed-and angels might be glad of such an office-they saw Mrs. Barton rise up quietly, careful not to disturb the slumbering Amos, who was snoring the snore of the just, light her candle, prop herself upright with the pillows, throw the warm shawl round her shoulders, and renew her attack on the heap of undarned stockings.
She darned away until she heard Nanny stirring, and then drowsiness came with the dawn; the candle was put out, and she sank into a doze. But at nine o'clock she was at the breakfast-table busy cutting bread-and-butter for five hungry mouths, while Nanny, baby on one arm, in rosy cheeks, fat neck, and night-gown, brought in a jug of hot milk-andwater.
Nearest her mother sits the nine-year-old Patty, the eldest child, whose sweet fair face is already rather grave sometimes, and who always wants to run up stairs to save mamma's legs, which get so tired of an evening. He did not yet look at Mamma, and did not know that her cheek was paler than usual. But Patty whispered, "Mamma, have you the headache?
Hackit would any time let his horses draw a load for " the parson " without charge; so there was a blazing fire in the sitting-room, and not without need, for the vicarage garden, as they looked out on it from the bow-window, was hard with black frost, and the sky had the white, woolly look that portends snow.
Barton mounted to his study, and occupied himself in the first place with his letter to Mr. It was very much the same sort of letter as most clergymen would have written under the same circumstances, except that instead of perambulate, the Rev. Amos wrote preambulate, and instead of " if haply," " if happily," the contingency indicated being the reverse of happy.
Barton had not the gift of perfect accuracy in English orthography and syntax, which was unfortunate, as he was known not to be. These lapses, in a man who had gone through the Eleusinian Mysteries of a university educalion, surprised the young ladies of his parish extremely; especially the Misses Farquhar, whom he had once addressed in a letter as Dear Mads, apparently an abbreviation for Miadams. The persons least surprised at the Rev.
Amos's deficiencies were his clerical brethren, who had gone through the mysteries themselves. At eleven o'clock, Mr. Barton walked forth in cape and boa, with the sleet driving in his face, to read prayers at the workhouse, euphuistically called the " College. A flat ugly district this; depressing enough to look at even on the brightest days. The roads are black with coal-dust, the brick houses dingy with smoke: A troublesome district for a cler.
Hackit often observed that the colliers, who many of them earned better wages than Mr. Barton, "passed their time in doing nothing but swilling ale and smoking, like the beasts that perish " speaking, we may presume, in a remotely analogical sense ; and in some of the ale-house corners the drink was flavored by a dingy kind of infidelity, something like rinsings of Tom Paine in ditch-water. A certain amount of religious excitement created by the popular preaching of Mr. Parry, Amos's predecessor, had nearly died out, and the religious life of Shepperton was falling back towards low-water mark.
Here, you perceive, was a terrible stronghold of Satan; and you may well pity the Rev. Amos Barton, who had to stand single-handed and summon it to surrender. We read, indeed, that the walls of Jericho fell down before the sound of trumpets; but we nowhere hear that those trumlpets were hoarse and feeble. Doubtless they were trumpets that gave forth clear ringing tones, and sent a mighty vibration through brick and mortar.
But the oratory of the Rev. Amos resembled rather a Belgian railway-horn, which shows praiseworthy intentions inadequately fulfilled. He often missed the right note both in public and private exhortation, and got a little angry in consequence. For though Amos thought himself strong, he did not feel himself strong. Nature had given him the opinion, but not the sensation. Without that opinion he would probably never have worn cambric bands, but would have been an excellent cabinetmaker and deacon of an Independent church, as his father was before him he was not a shoemaker, as Mr.
IHe might then have sniffed long and loud in the corner of his pew in Gun Street Chapel; he might have indulged in halting rhetoric at prayer-meetings, and have spoken faulty English in private life; and these little infirmities would not have prevented him, honest, faithful nan that he was, fiom being a shining light in the Dissenting circle of Bridgeport.
A tallow dip, of the long-eight description, is an excellent thing in the kitchen candlestick, and Betty's nose and eye are not sensitive to the difference between it and the finest wax; it is only when you stick it in the silver candlestick, and introduce it into the drawing-room, that it seems plebeian, dim, and ineffectual.
It is only the very largest souls who will be able to appreciate and pity himwho will discern and love sincerity of purpose amid all the bungling feebleness of achievement. But now Amos Barton has made his way through the sleet as far as the College, has thrown off his hat, cape, and boa, and is reading, in the dreary stone-floored dining-room, a portion of the morning service to the inmates seated on the benches before him.
Remember, the New Poor-law had not yet come into operation, and Mr. Barton was not acting as paid chaplain of the Union, but as the pastor who had the care of all souls in his parish, pauper as well as other.
After the prayers he always addressed to them a short discourse on some subject suggested by the lesson for the day, striving if by this means some edifying matter might find its way into the pauper mind and conscience-perhaps a task as trying as you could well imagine to the faith and patience of any honest clergyman.
For, on the very first bench, these were the faces on which his eye had to rest, watching whether there was any stirring under the stagnant surface. Right in fiont of him-probably because he was stone-deaf, and it was deemed more edifying to hear nothing at a short distance than at a long one-sat " Old Maxum," as he was familiarly called, his real patronymic remaining a mystery to most persons.
A fine philological sense discerns in this cognomen an indication that the pauper patriarch had once been considered pithy and sententious in his speech; but now the weight of ninety-five years lay heavy on his tongue as well as in his ears, and he sat befbre the clergyman with protruded chin, and munching mouth, and eyes that seemed to look at emptiness.
Next to him sat Poll Fodge-known to the magistracy of her county as Mary Higgins-a one-eyed woman, with a scarred and seamy face, the most notorious rebel in the workhouse, said to have once thrown her broth over the master's coat-tails, and who, in spite of nature's apparent safeguards against that contingency, had contributed to the perpetuation of the Fodge characteristics in the person of a small boy, who was behaving naughtily on one of the back benches.
Miss Fodge fixed her one sore eye on Mr. Barton with a sort of hardy defiance. Beyond this member of the softer sex, at the end of the bench, sat " Silly Jim," a young man afflicted with hydrocephalus, who rolled his head from side to side, and gazed.
These were the supporters of Old Maxum on his right. Fitchett, a tall fellow, who had once been a footman in the Oldinport family, and in that giddy elevation had enunciated a contemptuous opinion of boiled beef, which had been traditionally handed down in Shepperton as the direct cause of his ultimate reduction to pauper commons.
His calves were now shrunken, and his hair was gray without the aid of powder; but he still carried his chin as if he were conscious of a stiff cravat he set his dilapidated hat on with a knowing inclination towards the left ear; and when he was on field-work, he carted and uncarted the manure with a sort of flunkey grace, the ghost of that jaunty demeanor with which lie used to usher in my lady's morning visitors.
The flunkey nature was nowhere completely subdued but in his stomach, and he still divided society into gentry, gentry's flunkeys, and the people who provided for them. A clergyman without a flunkey was an anomaly, belonging to neither of these classes. Fitchett had an irrepressible tendency to drowsiness under spiritual instruction, and in the recurrent regularity with which he dozed off until he nodded and awaked himself, he looked not unlike a piece of mechanism, ingeniously contrived for measuring the length of Mr.
Perfectly wide-awake, on the contrary, was his left-hand neighbor, Mrs. Brick, one of those hard, undying old women, to whom age seems to have given a network of wrinkles, as a coat of magic armor against the attacks of winters, warm or cold. The point on which Mrs. Brick was still sensitivethe theme on which you might possibly excite her hope and fear- was snuff. It seemed to be an embalming powder, helping her soul to do the office of salt.
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And now, eke out an audience of which this front benchfill was a sample with a certain number of refractory children, over whom Mr. Spratt, the master of the workhouse, exercised an irate surveillance, and I think you will admit that the university-taught clergyman, whose office it is to bring home the gospel to a handfal of such souls, has a sufficiently hard task. For, to have any chance of success, short of miraculous intervention, he must bring his geographical, chronological, exegetical mind pretty nearly to the pauper point of view, or of no view; he must have some approximate conception of the mode in which the doctrines that have so much vitality in the plenum of his own brain will comport themselves in vacuo-that is to say, in a brain that is neither geographical, chronological, nor exegetical.
Amos Barton had neither that flexible imagination, nor that adroit tongue. He talked of Israel and its sins, of chosen vessels, of the Paschal lamb, of blood as a medium of reconciliation; and he strove in this way to convey religious truth within reach of the Fodge and Fitchett mind. This very morning, the first lesson was the twelfth chapter of Exodus, and Mr. Barton's exposition turned on unleavened bread. Nothing in the world more suited to the simple understanding than instruction through familiar types and symbols!
But there is always this danger attending it, that the interest or comprehension of your hearers may stop short precisely at the point where your spiritual interpretation begins. Barton this morning succeeded in carrying the pauper imagination to the dough-tub, but unfortunately was not able to carry it upward from that well-known object to the unknown truths which it was intended to shadow forth. And so, while the sleet outside was turning to unquestionable snow, and the stony dining-room looked darker and drearier, and Mr.
Fitchett was nodding his lowest, and Mr. Spratt was boxing the boys' ears with a constant rinforzando, as he felt more keenly the approach of dinner-time, Mr.
Barton wound up his exhortation with something of the February chill at his heart as well as his feet. Fitchett, thoroughly roused, now the instruction was at an end, obsequiously and gracefully advanced to help Mr. Barton in putting on his cape, while Mrs. Brick rubbed her withered forefinger round and round her little shoe-shaped snuff-boy, vainly seeking for the fraction of a pinch.
I can't help thinking that if Mr. Barton had shaken into that little box a small portion of Scotch high-dried, he might have produced something more like an amiable emotion in Mrs. Brick's mind than any thing she had felt under his morning's exposition of the unleavened bread. But our good Amos labored under a deficiency of small tact as well as of small cash; and when he observed the action of the old woman's forefinger, he said, in his brusque way, " So your snuff is all gone, eh?
Brick's eyes twinkled with the visionary hope that the parson might be intending to replenish her box, at least mediately, through the present of a small copper. You'll be in need of mercy then. You must remember that you may have to seek for mercy and not find it, just as you're seeking for snuff. The lid of her box went " click I" and her heart was shut up at the same moment.
Barton's attention was called for by Mr. Spratt, who was dragging a small and unwilling boy from the rear. Spratt was a small-featured, small-statured man, with a remarkable power of language, mitigated by hesitation, who piqued himself on expressing unexceptionable sentiments in unexceptionable language on all occasions.
Barton, sir-aw-aw-excuse my trespassing on your time-aw-to beg that you will adlinistelr a rebuke to this boy: But no sooner had Mr.
Spratt uttered his impeachment, than Miss Fodge rushed forward and placed herself between Mr. Barton and the accused. Let him goo an' eat his roost goose as is a-smellin' up in our noses while we're a-swallering them greasy broth, and let my boy alooan.
Spratt's small eyes flashed, and he was in danger of uttering sentiments not unexceptionable before the clergyman;;but Mr. Barton, foreseeing that a prolongation of this episode would not be to edification, said," Silence!
It offers a useful point of reference when attempting to identify door and window locks, handles, frame keeps, tilt and turn o When it is a good thing to wrap your bike round a tree A traditional bike at each end, the centre is made of glass-filled nylon sections that snap back into a rigid frame and can be ridden as normal.
Kevin was awarded second prize in the UK-wi In this week's issue: The much-vaunted biometric locks proved to be no match for skilled competitive hackers at the DefCon convention in Las Vegas recently. Perhaps it's a case of too much hi-tech Greg O'Brien says "I'm thrilled to be joining such a progressive business, into a role that enables me to challenge the security industry norms.
I'll be working with an existing team of security profess Reem Shai and a partner were caught on camera last year drilling the locks on a homeowner's front door. The men initially quoted the This important cause provides "home from home" accommodation for families whose children are receiving hospital treatment for serious illness, often many miles from home.
The work of this ch Master Locksmiths Association develops CPD programme The leading trade association for the locksmithing industry has reinforced its commitment to members as it launches a new Continuing Professional Development CPD programme. It is the fi DefCon expert finds biometric locks to be too fallible The pair run MPL in Wakefield which oversees six locksmith companies.
On a practical front, that has meant offering his expertise around the stadium to facilities manager David Dowse. Leader Welcome to Read by industry professionals nationwide Locks and Security News returns from its short break from broadcasting. We hope you have enjoyed your own holidays and are raring to go for the Autumn Quarter. Yale's Pro-Key Dealer Day success Dealers who attended the all-day event at Yale's head office in Willenhall enjoyed a preview of upcoming improvements to Pro-Key, as well as presentations on new products, including BS cylinders, electronic door viewers and the n Portable and robust key cutting machine The Chacka Bay is ideal for mobile Auto locksmiths because it is very small, robust and has its own built-in battery making it truly portable.
For the shop-based locksmith that currently only has cut to copy machines this is an excellent opportunity to offer cut to code laser and cylinder For many years door chains have provided visible additional security, allowing a conversation to take place through a part open door without giving complete access to visitors. Mul-T-Lock strengthens sales team to support locksmiths nationwide As part of a planned investment programme, Mul-T-Lock UK has recruited three regional sales managers.
Tiffany Quinn, Richard Dukes and Natalie Guest will strengthen support for locksmiths nationwide and take the brand and its specialist product range forward. Complete range of H. The new four, eight and sixteen channel DVRs in the new SRD series each offer a long list of installer and operator friendly features Opening the door to fast track services Ingersoll Rand Security Technologies' 'Fast Track Service' for steel doorsets simplifies specification and speeds up delivery of their most commonly specified doorsets options.
The service is particularly suitable for joinery and fit-out contractors as well as general builders who are looking for a single source for competitively priced steel With the new security calculator customers n Honeywell launches ultra compact seismic sensor New SC Series Delivers Unprecedented Protection for ATMs, Safes and Vaults; Offers Easy Installation and Reduced Costs Honeywell has announced ultra-compact, high-security seismic sensors suitable for financial and retail organizations looking to protect their assets.
The SC series of seismic sensors has been designed to detect Joystick Interface for Master Lock padlocks Master Lock is now offering a new padlock with an interface that closely resembles an analog joystick.
The new locks, called Speed Dial Combination Padlocks, forgo the traditional dial face with numbers and use a stick that can be used in traditional joystick fashion. The locks come with faceplates letters, numbers, colors, shapes and symbols that can take the place of the arrows. Many thousands of visitors make their way to the Minster every year either to attend one of the three daily services or to enjoy the extremely impressive architecture, as well as learn about its fascinating history.
One of the interesting things ab Vicon introduce high security cell camera Vicon has reinforced its position as a leading supplier of CCTV solutions for UK prisons, courts and custody suites with the introduction of a specialist cell camera. It has an internal adjustable mount so that the c Complement your eTigris solution with the perfect partnership Access2 announce new website area dedicated to Dynalock premium electronic locking products.
To check out our new area click here, or simply select Trailer released for indie film The Locksmith Mike is a locksmith.
Until Margo hijacks his day. When a doorbell is rung, a connection is established with an onsite VoIP video phone allowing the occupier to see and communicate with the visitor. A key feature of the T24, however Samsung introduce an elegant, flexible and reliable range of Video Door Phones and associated Door Cameras Samsung has launched a new range of stylish video door phones and associated door cameras with a range of features and functions that make them ideal for the requirements of residential and commercial buildings.
There are four models of wall mounted internal video door phones available to provide either hands-free or physical h The new Starlight Charity's Technology Unit is built to brighten the lives of seriously and terminally ill chi The target of the daughter company is to serve the rapidly increasing demand for the iLOQ locking technology in Sweden and other Scandinavian markets.
Master Lock joined the awaren Irritating song reminds folk to lock up The force has teamed up Gio Compario, the opera singer who advertises Newport based insurance comparison site Go Compare, to record a 40 second advert. In the survey, almost Locksmith out to reclaim his name Ed Walters is trying to get the word out that his Raleigh Locksmith company was not involved in the network of locksmiths operating fraudulently in North Carolina.
Last week a Superior Court judge barred Locksmith of Charlotte from doing business in the state. Read by industry professionals nationwide In this week's issue: This time it's entry level surveillance cameras - Paxton Access works out at the 24 hour Gym - Locksmith has to open security van - Budget for London Olympic Games s