In old times, when people were more afraid of the Devil and of witches than they are now, they liked to have a priest or a minister somewhere near to scare 'em off; but nowadays, if you could find an old woman that would ride round the room on a broomstick, Barnum would build an amphitheatre to exhibit her in; and if he could come across a young imp, with hoofs, tail, and budding horns, a lineal descendant of one of those "daemons" which the good people of Gloucester fired at, and were fired at by "for the best part of a month together" in the year 1692, the, great showman would have him at any cost for his museum or menagerie.Men are cowards, sir, and are driven by fear as the sovereign motive.Men are idolaters, and want something to look at and kiss and hug, or throw themselves down before; they always did, they always will; and if you don't make it of wood, you must make it of words, which are just as much used for idols as promissory notes are used for values.The ministers have a hard time of it without bell and book and holy water; they are dismounted men in armor since Luther cut their saddle-girths, and you can see they are quietly taking off one piece of iron after another until some of the best of 'em are fighting the devil (not the zoological Devil with the big D) with the sword of the Spirit, and precious little else in the way of weapons of offence or defence.
But we couldn't get on without the spiritual brotherhood, whatever became of our special creeds.There is a genius for religion, just as there is for painting or sculpture.It is half-sister to the genius for music, and has some of the features which remind us of earthly love.But it lifts us all by its mere presence.To see a good man and hear his voice once a week would be reason enough for building churches and pulpits.The Master stopped all at once, and after about half a minute laughed his pleasant laugh.
What is it?--I asked him.
I was thinking of the great coach and team that is carrying us fast enough, I don't know but too fast, somewhere or other.The D.D.'s used to be the leaders, but now they are the wheel-horses.It's pretty hard to tell how much they pull, but we know they can hold back like the --When we're going down hill,--I said, as neatly as if I had been a High-Church curate trained to snap at the last word of the response, so that you couldn't wedge in the tail of a comma between the end of the congregation's closing syllable and the beginning of the next petition.They do it well, but it always spoils my devotion.To save my life, I can't help watching them, as I watch to see a duck dive at the flash of a gun, and that is not what I go to church for.
It is a juggler's trick, and there is no more religion in it than in catching a ball on the fly.
I was looking at our Scheherezade the other day, and thinking what a pity it was that she had never had fair play in the world.I wish Iknew more of her history.There is one way of learning it,--making love to her.I wonder whether she would let me and like it.It is an absurd thing, and I ought not to confess, but I tell you and you only, Beloved, my heart gave a perceptible jump when it heard the whisper of that possibility overhead! Every day has its ebb and flow, but such a thought as that is like one of those tidal waves they talk about, that rolls in like a great wall and overtops and drowns out all your landmarks, and you, too, if you don't mind what you are about and stand ready to run or climb or swim.Not quite so bad as that, though, this time.I take an interest in our Scheherezade.I am glad she did n't smile on the pipe and the Bohemian-looking fellow that finds the best part of his life in sucking at it.A fine thing, isn't it; for a young woman to marry a man who will hold her "Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse,"but not quite so good as his meerschaum? It is n't for me to throw stones, though, who have been a Nicotian a good deal more than half my days.Cigar-stump out now, and consequently have become very bitter on more persevering sinners.I say I take an interest in our Scheherezade, but I rather think it is more paternal than anything else, though my heart did give that jump.It has jumped a good many times without anything very remarkable coming of it.
This visit to the Observatory is going to bring us all, or most of us, together in a new way, and it wouldn't be very odd if some of us should become better acquainted than we ever have been.There is a chance for the elective affinities.What tremendous forces they are, if two subjects of them come within range! There lies a bit of iron.
All the dynamic agencies of the universe are pledged to hold it just in that position, and there it will lie until it becomes a heap of red-brown rust.But see, I hold a magnet to it,--it looks to you like just such a bit of iron as the other,--and lo! it leaves them all,--the tugging of the mighty earth; of the ghostly moon that walks in white, trailing the snaky waves of the ocean after her; of the awful sun, twice as large as a sphere that the whole orbit of the moon would but just girdle,--it leaves the wrestling of all their forces, which are at a dead lock with each other, all fighting for it, and springs straight to the magnet.What a lucky thing it is for well-conducted persons that the maddening elective affinities don't come into play in full force very often!
