Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
Upon occasion the Pastor felt it his duty to depart from his usual
course of evangelical doctrine, and to enlighten his people on some
historical subject and the district was once shaken by a discourse on
Oliver Cromwell, whom he compared to Elijah, and whose hatred of the
Baal worship was held up for imitation in our own day. Jinks committed
the one big mistake of his ministry by replying with a sermon on St.
Charles the Blessed Martyr--I think he said St.--which was a very weak
performance, and left the laurels altogether with Ebenezer. It must
indeed be admitted that Jump exactly expressed the mind of an Englishman
of the lower middle class, who understands the Evangelical system and
no other, and likes extempore prayer, with its freedom, variety, warmth,
and surprises, who suspects priests of wishing to meddle with his family
affairs, and dislikes all official pretensions, although willing to be
absolutely ruled by a strong man's personality. Both were extreme
men, and both were needed to express the religious sense of an English
parish. Jump considered the Canon an indefensible humbug, neither one
thing nor another, and the Canon used to pass Jump on the street; but
the Sunday after Jinks' death the Pastor, who had a warm heart in his
big body, and testified of things he had seen, passed a eulogium on the
late Vicar of St Agatha's, so generous and affecting, that beside it
the peeping little sermon preached in St Agatha's by a “Father” of
the “Anglican Friars” was as water to wine. The Pastor declared that
although he did not agree with his doctrine, he knew no man who had
lived nearer his Lord, or had done more good works than the Vicar of St
Agatha's; and that if every priest had been like him, he would never say
a word against the class. The people heard his voice break as he spoke,
and two deacons wiped their eyes, and the angels set down the sermon in
that Book where the record of our controversies is blotted out by their
tears, and our deeds of charity are written in gold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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