that his dear brother’s belief had been undermined—sapped, he would say? But to that point he would return presently. Then, again, they were all familiar with the circumstances attending the late political contest in the county. He knew that many of his dear brethren differed one from another concerning matters relating to this world, although they were all, blessed be God, one in Christ, members of His body. He himself had thought it better to follow as far as he could, the example of his Lord and Master to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty. He would not for a moment, however, condemn any who differed from him in carnal policy. But his dear Brother Allen and his son had overstepped the line; and, considering this was a mixed church, he was of opinion that they should have acted—what should he say?—with more Christian consideration. More than this,
Mr. George Allen was known to have abetted an unruly mob, a position highly unbecoming, he might say, to one occupying the position of member at Tanner’s Lane. But he might, perhaps, be permitted to dwell for a moment on another point. His dear Brother Allen and his son had—there was no doubt of it—consorted with infidels, one of whom had been convicted by the laws of his country—a convict—and it was through their instrumentality that his brethren had been led to wander from the fold. This was the secret of the calamity which had overtaken the church. Wolves, he would say—yes, wolves, grievous wolves—had entered in, not sparing the flock. Let them consider what an Infidel was! It meant a man who denied his Maker, Revelation, a life beyond the grave, and who made awful jests upon the Holy Scriptures! He had evidence that in this miserable household there was a portrait of that dreadful blasphemer Voltaire, who on his deathbed cried out in vain for that salvation which he had so impiously refused, and amidst shrieks of—despair, which chilled with terror those who stood by him, was carried off by the Enemy of Souls to the lake that burneth with brimstone, where their worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched.—(Sensation.) (This was a famous paragraph in one of
Mr. Broad’s sermons preached on great occasions, and particularly when he supplied a metropolitan pulpit. The story had been contradicted twice in the county paper by a Frenchman, a retired teacher of his native language, who had somehow heard of the insult offered to his great countryman, and a copy of the contradiction had been sent to
Mr. Broad. He was content with observing that its author was a Frenchman, and therefore probably an atheist, “with no consciousness of moral obligation.” Voltaire’s diabolic disappearance continued, therefore, to be one of
Mr. Broad’s most striking effects.)—This was a subject of great delicacy. They knew how closely related he was to Brother Allen through that dear saint now in glory. He did not—he could not—(
Mr. Broad seemed to be affected)—allude in any detail to what had happened; but still it was his duty to point out that
Mr. George Allen had been in constant intercourse with a female in an infidel family—yes, before his wife’s death he had been seen with her
alone!
Alone with an infidel female! He only hoped that the knowledge of this fact did not accelerate the departure of his blessed daughter—daughter in the flesh and daughter in Christ. He could not measure the extent of that intercourse; the Searcher of hearts alone could do that, save the parties concerned; but, of course, as she was an unbeliever, they must fear the worst. For himself, he had felt that this was the root of everything. They would judge for themselves how fervently he must have appealed to the Mercy-seat, considering his position and relationship with his dear brother, before he had seen his way to take the present course; but at last God had revealed Himself to him, and he now committed the case to them. Might God have mercy on them, and His Spirit lead them.
Mr. Allen and George had scarcely restrained themselves, and George, notwithstanding his father’s injunction, leapt up before the concluding sentences were out of Mr. Broad’s mouth. Mr. Scotton, however, rose, and Mr. Allen pulled George down. Mr. Scotton wished to say just one word. They could not, he was sure, overestimate the gravity of the situation. They were called together upon a most solemn occasion. Their worthy pastor had spoken as a minister of the gospel. He, Mr. Scotton, as a layman, wished just to remind them that they were exercising judicial functions—(Brother Bushel fidgeted and got very red)—and that it was necessary they should proceed in proper order. With regard to two of the charges, the evidence was fully before them; that is to say, absence from public worship and what might perhaps be thought want of consideration for the peace of the church.—(“Praps,” grunted Bushel—“praps indeed.”)—But with regard to the third charge, the evidence was not before them, and as this was the most important of the three he would suggest before going any farther that they should hear what Mr. Broad could produce.
Brother Bushel objected. It was very seldom indeed that he offered any remarks in public; but this time he could not refrain, and introduced himself as follows:
“Brother Scotton says ‘praps.’ I don’t say ‘praps,’ when people go settin’ class agin class. Praps nobody’s windows was broke! Evidence! Hasn’t our minister told us George Allen has been to London? He wouldn’t tell us an untruth. Due respec’, Brother Scotton—no lawyering—none of that—of them functions—’specially when it’s infidels and ricks may be afire—aught I know.”
Mr. Broad interposed. He quite understood Brother Bushel’s ardour for the truth, but he was prepared to produce some simple corroboration of what he had affirmed, which would, he thought, satisfy Brother Scotton and the brethren generally. “Thomas,” quoth
