When the sun
of worldly prosperity goes down, a thousand stars are set in the
firmament. In the stillness that follows, God speaks to the soul and
is heard.
VII.
INTO GOOD GROUND.
"_WHAT_ did you think of the sermon, Mr. Braxton?" said one church
member to another, as the two men passed from the vestibule of St.
Mark's out into the lofty portico.
Mr. Braxton gave a slight shrug, perceived by his companion as a
sign of disapproval. They moved along, side by side, down the broad
steps to the pavement, closely pressed by the retiring audience.
"Strong meat," said the first speaker, as they got free of the crowd
and commenced moving down the street.
"Too strong for my stomach," replied Mr. Braxton. "Something must
have gone wrong with our minister when he sat down to write that
discourse."
"Indigestion, perhaps."
"Or neuralgia," said Mr. Braxton.
"He was in no amiable mood--that much is certain. Why, he set
nine-tenths of us over on the left hand side, among the goats, as
remorselessly as if he were an avenging Nemesis. He actually made me
shudder."
"That kind of literal application of texts to the living men and
women in a congregation is not only in bad taste, but presumptuous
and blasphemous. What right has a clergyman to sit in judgment on
me, for instance? To give forced constructions to parables and vague
generalities in Scripture, about the actual meaning of which divines
in all ages have differed; and, pointing his finger to me or to you,
say--'The case is yours, sir!' I cannot sit patiently under many
more such sermons.
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