Ideal and Actual Life.

Thames Star, Volume XIII, Issue 4218, 8 July 1882, Page 4

Ideal and Actual Life.

STSE3ION BY EEV. HENRY WARD BEECHEB.

" Fp* the good that I would I do not, but the evil that I would not that I do," ■was Uhe. passage of.. Scripture the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher read as one of his texts, and the other, was, " For the law of the spirit of life in Jesus Christ hath made me free from the law of sin and * death." These words, he said, are an

indication of the straggle which is ever j 'going on between the actual and the ideal. There is a faculty in the human 'mind which philosophers have named as ideality. It is universal, but different in degree in different people. It pervades the whole realm of reason, of art, of conduct, and therefore, the whole kingdom of morality: . of character, and therefore the whole sphere of religion. It has been made through ignorance a means of oppression to the human mind, although created to be an emancipator. It gives the conception of sweetness to life. Ideality is that quality of mind by which we see the ides, which is something far beyond the thing itselfr•- Men talk of reveries, of poetic dreams; and I tell you that the best things in this world are these dreams, these creations,^ that the vulgarity of life will not permit to become realities. . Nor is it the,quality of imagination that enters into morals and and into religion. Four fifths.of all the distress and trouble that affect mankind is simply owing to their not knowing the difference between the ideal and irreal standard of conduct. ■•■ Werisigh as Paul* sighs when he says, • "The good'that I would I do not, and the evil that I would not, that I do." There is ijot a man here who does not mean to do what is just and right and honorable between man and man, and who means to go clean-banded through life, but the "vision changes into the actual when he goes into a mean and contemptible bargain, and if he has the grace of.Jxod in him he is ashamed of it. All through life we are making a sparkling catalogue of what we would do and don't do.' No man's real conduct comes up to his ideal. How very unfruitful a man's life must be who never has a suggestion of something better than what he passes through every day. If this is so, in music, in art, in the drama, how much more is it made manifest in our morals P It is the same in pur religious endeavors. But there it works . both ways. A man who is constantly endeavoring to form his life on the rules and spirit of the life of Christ must be a very miserable man in one way. I cannot . conceive of anything that would be more unhappy to a conscientious . man than to have an ideal view of the life of Christ < and then ■ to measure those views and ! principles of love and benevolence with their pourlrayal in his own life. A man looking upon his sin may have such a yiew of its intensity as to produce in him . such a condemning, power that ordinary' \ men cap. have no conception of. Mauy persons'have been so oppressed by it that ' they go crazy, and then the editors of newspapers say that men are made crazy by religion, while the fact is that if the men who are made crazy by unsuccessfulness in business should go into lunatic asylums or retreats for the insane there would scarcely be any other houses on the rarth. THB DEILL OF LIFE. Suppose a man who is largely endowed and .»in good health saying to himself " Everything in my nature is to be recast, and at once." Why, that requires drill, '.patient beginning, exercising again and again, and in'failing he commits no transgression ; yet there are more 'men on 'mourner's seats on that account than for 'any other cause. God does not look for the same sort of fruit in one man that he looks for. in.another. I don't expect my apples to be ripe in June; they have to wait until October, and some of them till - November. , Rawness is not sinfulness. J stand under the arched canopy of that God. who has said, "Like as a father

pitieth Tiis children, doth the Lord pity those who fear him." The attempt to realise an ideal conception of life is generally more perfect, or attains nearer to perfection, in great natures. But great and,fine natures are likely to suffer more -than others, and. they are also likely to make more suffering for others. There may be times in a man's life when he may with truthfulness say to himself that his righteousness is aa 'filthy rags. When it was said by one of the saints of old it , war true*; but when it comes down to our own time*>and every hoary-headed deacon says his righteousness is as filthy rags, it is an outrage, it is an insult to religion. "When a man commands his temper under provocation is that filthy rags? When a man makes great sacrifices for another, is that filthy rags ? Try it, tell these men some time, that all their righteousness is filthy rags, and see*what will come of it. The voice of wisdom is sounded over a thousand years of history, urging men to try and try again, and be not discouraged in such phrases as these:—" Come unto me," say the great Master, " all ye who "are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest," " take my yoke upon you, and you shall find it easy, and a rest for your soulf." The religion of the New Testaineut is hopeful. God says to men "I'll forgive, transgressions of every kind so long as your faces are set heavenward;" but when a man says he doesn't want to be saved, and goes deliberately on the dark Bide, of life, no one but himself knows what the darkness of that, man's life is; and what that darkness will be in the future neither you nor I know anything about. Then comes the second test that makes men free from this life of sin and

sorrow. What is it ? Why, it is simply grace. What is grace P Why, it is love and benignity. God waits for men, is gracious to them, asr the phrase is, holds men up by every step they go. Man goes to the school* of the Lord Jeans Christ, and, in the language of the Old Tesfamient, Christ-says, •• I'll never make 'mention of your sins; they shall be cast as a millstone into the sea." It is by such influences as these that man comes into an administration of lore that is helpful and forbearing in every way. No man in one' single step becomes a 'Christian, but he can take one step, as a man leaving here for Slew York, will take one step on bis return toward there, and if he continues Jtaking them he will, probably, get there. Our life is woven, as the weaver' weaves onins loom, by single threads, and it is for ourselves to make the garment of our )iife glorious." ' , .

(To lie continued.)

Oh! was it really true, or only a beautiful dream P I asked myself as the hours dragged slowly past. Was it ;for my sake he had refused everything which makes a life pleasaul and happy P Ten o'clock came, and when poor Mrs Benson thought I had retired to rest (innocent unsuspicious soul) I stole softly out into the frosty moonlight to meet my lover in the appointed trysting place.

from j c a 1 my c mother's except on ' r *~-jy from the iay .fast « joneiinie" 1 the Lome- ! to be a i to the ■ of Sir Lilian, who ' brunette and shapely, expressive lovelashes, i grace that I ''' every as wont >? cxc" i nvi ted oKcourse they .Maggie and |f«light, disfineries and done told me, in carried the among the Philip, 100, gave me what more single me out, of several natT. decided to set Kc'^er and Lady by several of their the decorations to>the assembled company was Frank attendance upon his rumored he but this was 'ifc'was known that earliest deeire. Squire, as called by b'gjjan" io V^ftniso various :>^ i&o the onjoyth^: gu2S.K.,vr ;: .Viio servants' hall KStmi s>ffsmfitj,: aiid good nature. "oe%c pjissed-;taerrily. I had ■ timed with Philip Ashalmost .promised him the ;3tiftpe'iw-'§3£'..SQgfiJ? de Uoverly, m °Id TEu^lisl^VßiyJe, jr en, to my "{I safntrowh)- N cero gratiHftijo^, "lip-Kfaj^^me ir^to me as I V-^ypf7t : '&nd solicited the mx for this - ~ "S s.;i:-- heightened color, liiol.icF^iejCdixia out, and, passing |iis glance of wounded which I only Gcid-smile. how deeply I had wounded . that was ready to fickle self the love of a whispered sweet ear—Frank's eager clasp, regarded me and approval. dull save the —all sights and the joy of his to my own H|m{|fpiwnp]earn^d to love this fair, Km iU#i>^ jfetnger, who looked at me fo^^^Bght; gleaming from his -iJp'ifekjMm&'een,"-' and whispered fondly Ulifi^irtft^iliat night, ''I hope we shall % <^me«t,(a){aii».' :^, • {fZy^Vfcjpfttuf'%hefo* were watchful eyes '[bJNtfnsi.of^'our; every movement, for I T'l^m^'M^Aktieiok's dignified manner !j*S^'j^me.'"Good night," and ,f sfisjft% prcijip reserve. ''^XjHbMti* morning I received quite a ;on the evils of " coquetry" Lwb^ 1 flirting," and receiving attentions ' ilji W-^lttK^y&gn who were above one's •;:' p&jj^^^Hfcpd tuafc a few day's - I was sent down ■ 'j^^^^^^^^^Mfh a basket of provisions also with a message Hj^^^^^^^^^^Ltb Mrs Ponsonby, the youngest daughter I was the bearer of a fruit and flowers to who had always been a } past Dingley not help wondering would see or to me, so cold had on the night of Ashcrofts on my and having' message at the was returning by a short cut footsteps behind moment moment od beside me, with eager countenance. " I behaved night, but I could all your smiles spark, who would you broke your fair' but fickle caat 7OU sco bovr gire me just a j me the happiest. I' should of you, but as for think I ever gave you would' be that you cannot ;, " well, I'll I have been the quite know your this I must tell a truer jieart or and y'om^ol' ! happy, lft's?, if m -*" !

could do it, God helping me. Say I may hope, Lucy," he pleaded. In spite of my coquetry, I could not' but admire the manly, noble appearance of this generous lover of mine as he stoodbefore me, his curliing hair uncovered and wavjng in the breeze as he waited my answer.

"I cannot promise, Mr Asheroft," I replied; " I did not think you cared so much—we have seen so little of each other—l am taken by surprise. Indeed I have no answer to give you." " Very well, little maid, I will wait and hope," he replied, with a tender smile; as we shook hands and parted. The shadows were deepening as I entered the spacious kitchen on my return to the Hall, where the cook, butler, and housekeeper were engaged in earnest conversation.

" Sir Roger was fearfully angry," I heard Mrs Steady remark, " and declared he would disinherit Mr Franh ; that would be a dreadful. thing, for then Eustace Goodlove would be master here when Sir Koger dies." I had heard of Eustace Goodlove before and was aware of the antipaty all the "old retainers" cherishefl towards him—he being a most dissolute, unworthy representative of the family, on Lady Lincoln's side, being her sister's only son.

When Mr Benson saw me^ she sent me upstairs to prepare the guest chambers, where Emma, the chambermaid was already busy. From.her I-learned that j there had indeed been a serious quarrel [ between Sir Roger and Mr Frank that! afternoon, and, that Tomkins, the valet, had been instructed to pack Mr Frank's portmanteau, as he he intended leaving the Hall that very night, and meeting the London express in E the next morning. My foolish heart throbbed with excitement, as Emma proceeded with the story she had heard from Tomkins. It seemed that Frank had foolishly become involved in some monetary difficulties, through which he was obliged to have recourse to borrowing certain sums to meet-his liabilities.' Debts of. honor they were called, but poor Frank felt them to be exceedingly dishonorable, as he smarted beneath the atern rebuke of his inexorable uncle, to whom the faithless usurer, who had promised secresy, bad applied for the payment of his loan, .with its exorbitant interest. Sir Koger had paid the man, silently and sternly ; then with the receipt in his hand had summoned Frank to his presence and confronted him with his offence in no measured terms, for Sir Soger was a man of very hasty temper ment that would brook no provocation. One word led to another, until the subject dearest to Sir Eoger's heart was approached, for with all his faults, or rather weaknesses, he dearly loved Frank, and would fain have seen him the husband of Lilian.

But Frank, with a strange perversity of manner, which provoked* his already*angry uncle, still further, steadily refused to become a suitor of the heiress of Lincoln Manor, if so she might be called, for if she married. Frank the estates would be theirs, if either of them refused to accede to the conditions impiled in the entail, then the manor and title would pass to Eustace Goodlove. Lilian, far from desiring to thwart her parents' wishes in this matter, was quite ready to receive her handsome cousin as a lover, but Frank was inexorable, either pleas or threats availed to turn him from her determination, until in anger, such as Frank had never witnessed before, his uncle bade him leave the Hall, and never to return to it, more, unless prepared to wed with Lilian. How I honored him in my "heart, for was he not a hero, to refuse wealth, title, position and patrimony, unless he could with all these be allowed to choose his.bride, even the maiden he sincerely loved** These thoughts sent the burning flush to my brow, and the ready tear of sympathy to my eye ; and when I had finished my task I passed out through a side door into the quiet shrubbery, there to avoid the questioning glance of Mrs Benson and my fellow servants. The air was keen and frosty, but this I heeded not, as I hurried along with my apron thrown over my head, towards the entrance to the kitchen garden. I.had nearly reached the little gate when I heard a rustling among the tall evergreens which skirted the avenue, and in a moment Frank's favorite terrier bounded out, with a little note in his mouth, which he laid at my feet; then wagging his tail and looking up for the expected caress he bouuded,a,way. With* fast beating heart I hid tii|fg»ote in* my bosom, and hurried in doors, where as soon as I could secure a moment's privacy I read the following :—

" Dear Lucy,— . " Think not 'tis but a passing fancy this love I profess to you, when for 'your sweet sake I freely abandon everything a marriage with Lilian could secure me. Dearest, I must see you, if only for a few moments, before I leave tonight, to tell you my plans, and,offer you the truest affection,. which shall "be life long and abiding as my faith in you. Meet me in the Elm Avenue to-night at 10 o'clock.

"Yours till death,

"Fbank."