Religious Studies, Sketches and PoemsStowe, Harriet Beecher
Religion
Religious Studies, Sketches and Poems
Stowe, Harriet Beecher
Religion
Mr. H.'s standing resource in all exegetical difficulties was Dr.
Scott's Family Bible. Therefore he now got up, and putting on his
spectacles, walked to the glass bookcase, and took down a volume
of that worthy commentator, and opening it, read aloud the whole
exposition of the passage, together with the practical reflections
upon it; and by the time he had done, he found his young auditor
fast asleep in his chair.
"Mother," said he, "this child plays too hard. He can't keep his
eyes open evenings. It's time he was in bed."
"I wasn't asleep, pa," said Master Henry, starting up with that air
of injured innocence with which gentlemen of his age generally treat
an imputation of this kind.
"Then can you tell me now what the passage means that I have been
reading to you?"
"There's so much of it," said Henry hopelessly, "I wish you'd just
tell me in short order, father."
"Oh, read it for yourself," said Mr. H., as he pushed the book
towards the boy, for it was to be confessed that he perceived at
this moment that he had not himself received any particularly
luminous impression, though of course he thought it was owing to his
own want of comprehension.
Mr. H. leaned back in his rocking-chair, and on his own private
account began to speculate a little as to what he really should
think the verse might mean, supposing he were at all competent
to decide upon it. "'Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of
unrighteousness,'" says he: "that's money, very clearly. How am
I to make friends with it or of it? Receive me into everlasting
habitations: that's a singular kind of expression. I wonder what it
means. Dr. Scott makes some very good remarks about it--but somehow
I'm not exactly clear." It must be remarked that this was not an
uncommon result of Mr. H.'s critical investigations in this quarter.
Well, thoughts will wander; and as he lay with his head on the back
of his rocking-chair, and his eyes fixed on the flickering blaze of
the coal, visions of his wet tramp in the city, and of the lonely
garret he had been visiting, and of the poor woman with the pale,
discouraged face, to whom he had carried warmth and comfort, all
blended themselves together. He felt, too, a little indefinite
creeping chill, and some uneasy sensations in his head like a
commencing cold, for he was not a strong man, and it is probable his
long, wet walk was likely to cause him some inconvenience in this
way. At last he was fast asleep, nodding in his chair.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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