MODERN THINKERS:

Tuapeka Times, Volume II, Issue 56, 6 March 1869, Page 3

MODERN THINKERS:

A NOVEL. CHAPTER I. Sweetly through tha * summer air came the melody of the Sabbath bells, caught up by echo, and "twisted into a thousand strange fantasies as the sound travelled up the fair green valley or rebounded from the bracken -covered brae. The swinked work-horses broke off in their rude, unwieldy gambols, and stood huddled together listening to the strange sound ; and the meekeyed cattle paused for a little in their monotonous crop, crop, crop, to look round with stolid surprise. A sacred stillness seemed to fill the air; the babbling brook prattled to its willowstudded banks in a subdued key ; and the very birds suited their tiny pipes to the dreaminess of the day. In the little town of Beauville silence also reigned. The streets were empty, save where here and there some workman, clad in decent black, stood in shirt-sleeves in the garden-plot before his door and smoked a morning pipe. The streets were silent ; but the backslums, the alley- ways and " closes " | presented a scene of bustle quite as truly Scotch as the puutanic stillness which pervaded the rest of Beariville. Well-dressed, respectable-looking men hurried in at low, secret-looking doors, to emerge shortly after wiping their lips in evident enjoyment of tho " morning " they had just swallowed. The conversation of those early tipplers was, strange to say, entirely on religious themes. Let us join ourselves to yonder group who have just eomo out from the back door of the " Green Unicorn ; " for know ye not, reader, we have gathered fernseed by the light of a Hallowe'en moon, and are iuvisible to mortal eyes ? " So, ye think, Deacon," rays one, " Mr. Buster is of the real mettle." " Ay, ay," replied Deacon Harcus, "small doot o' that ; it's just fine to hear him dinging into the papishers and prelatists." " Faix, an' ye're right," said Elder Slowcoach; "hewasjusfc awfu' when painting the latter end o' sic like cattle." " Eh, mon," said another, "he sent a dirl a' over me when he spoke o' the burning lowe o' the bad place, and the grinnih' and the routin' o' the crature." " He's a poor fu speaker," said the Deacon; " but losh, man, there's the bells ringing in, and the wife and bairns'll be ready for tho kirk." So they saparated ; and poon the stillness ef the Sabbath air was disturbed by the tramp of many feet, and well-dressed worshippers appeared hurrying towards their several places of worship. Deacon Harcus, with stiffened neck and faultless white tie, with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other, was prominent among the throng, while- after them tailed a numerous progeny, from whose faces strict training had driven the bright merriment of childhood. Tho dissenting congregation of which he was a leading member worshipped in a neat little chapel close by the banks of the Beauville river, a stream broad .and rapid but save when long-con-tinued rains had filled the upland lakes from which it sprang shallow and sparkling. The chapel belonging to thp Children of Light was situated on the right bank of the stream ; and right opposite, on the other side, was tho modest building where a few Rpman Catholics assembled for prayer. The Deacon entered, and after seeing his family comfortably settled in their pew, made his way to the vestry, where the bedral was helping the minister to don his geneva gown. " Good morrow, Deacon, good morrow," said Mr. Buster in not unpleasant tones. " I trust, sir, you feel strengthened for the day's work," this in a sanctified whine. " Strong ? yea, but not in my own strength," was the reply in a tone of arrogant humility. . t., There was a pause, broken by Mr. Buster, saying" to the Deacon, (l I desireto consult you on matters of the gravest import, Mr. Harcus. May I accompany you to your home at the interval ? " : " With pleasure. We arc highly honoured to entertain the least of these under our lowly roof." Then John Smith, the minister's cousin, came in with a tale of distress and suffering, picked up in some back slum. " I strall remember them in my prayers, John," said the parson. ; "If you would get, some people to pemember them with theiivjjockets it[would be of "more service!'!" • . "j 1 "Btus^Wsh; Mr.SmitK," said the {Deacon; " tbfe prayer of the righteous", availefch much." ' _ - ' "I beg your pardon," answered Smith ; " I did not observe you, Harcus. Hmr ia Molly and the chicks ? " i " I have just been informed by my .'respected friend Deacon-' Harcus," said .the minister in a~aevere tone, "that M^s Mary Harcus and the rest of his ■.family are enjoying perfect health. It ia time fco commence service." The two laymen went out, leaving tho minister to hi 3 private devotions •, ani he, having closely examined himself in a mirror, an;l having selected a spo'tbss handkerchief, muttering to, himself, " I don't think she can like him batter than me," made his way to :£h,e pulpit^ There were t\yo women

who listened to that sermon with deeper cinotiqn than ordinarily attends the delivery of bombast and unreason. One of these was pretty Mary Harcus ; aud tho other was Miss Jessie, the minister's sister. Why these two were affected shall bo told in due time. But heve, ray reader, I, confess I must break down. I began this tale with the fullest intention of treading in the bright footsteps of the sensational school ; but it is very hard, you know, for an old fellow of sixty to write about people he lived among for half his life as though they were natives of the moon or inhabitants of Uranus. So in this very first chapter I shall tell you all about it, introduce my characters in the orthodox manner, and trust to chance for a plot. lam quite aware two or three breaches of the commandments are en regie in any modern novel ; but, after all, I must be content to remain unpopular and decline to play Pandarus of Troy. Before we reach that word fmis which rings down the black curtain on our little stage, I may, perhaps, give you a murder, a shipwreck, and a riot, although I fear none of these incidents are highly flavoured enough for modern taste. I may at time, dear reader, have to follow people you respect through terrible dangers ; but then, I am so oldfashioned as to admire the dear last chapter of the novels of youth, where vice was punished and virtue rewarded, in a manner deeply gratifying to all concerned. So, you need not expect to see in my last chapter the bad people made to live happy ever after, and the good ones sent to the churchyard or asylum ; for such catastrophes you must look in highclass works of fiction, much perused by the educated classes, and not in the experiences of an old man, published in an up-country journal. Besides, those works are in three volumes, and cost thirty-one-and-sispencc ; while you can have my narrative at sixpence a slice, which circumstance is a convincing proof of their immense superiority. And in this state of healthy humility I will, with your permission, Mr. Lector, introduce you to Beauvillian society. Mr. Lector Miss b\it hold, so important an act deserves a complete chapter. (To ha continued.)