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Title: Divers Women

Author: Pansy and Mrs. C.M. Livingston

Release Date: February 17, 2006 [EBook #17785]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DIVERS WOMEN ***

Produced by Roy Brown

DIVERS WOMEN

BY

PANSY AND MRS. C.M. LIVINGSTON

LONDON

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS

BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK

THE PANSY BOOKS.

LIST OF THE SERIES.

1. FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA. 2. LITTLE FISHERS & THEIR NETS. 3. THREE PEOPLE. 4. ECHOING AND RE-ECHOING. 5. CHRISTIE'S CHRISTMAS. 6. DIVERS WOMEN. 7. SPUN FROM FACT. 8. THE CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS AT HOME. 9. THE POCKET MEASURE. 10. JULIA RIED. 11. WISE AND OTHERWISE. 12. THE KING'S DAUGHTER. 13. LINKS IN REBECCA'S LIFE. 14. INTERRUPTED. 15. THE MASTER HAND. 16. AN ENDLESS CHAIN. 17. ESTER RIED. 18. ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING. 19. THE MAN OF THE HOUSE. 20. RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES. 21. HOUSEHOLD PUZZLES. 22. MABEL WYNN; OR, THOSE BOYS. 23. MODERN PROPHETS. 24. THE RANDOLPHS. 25. MRS. SOLOMON SMITH LOOKING ON. 26. FROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS. 27. A NEW GRAFT ON THE FAMILY TREE.

GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS.

CONTENTS.

SUNDAY FRACTURES: CHAP. I. —SOME PEOPLE WHO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE. CHAP. II. —SOME PEOPLE WHO FORGOT THE FOURTH COMMANDMENT. CHAP. III. —SOME PEOPLE WHO FORGOT THE EVER-LISTENING EAR. CHAP. IV. —SOME PEOPLE WHO WERE FALSE FRIENDS.

NEW NERVES.

"HULDY."

WHERE HE SPENT CHRISTMAS.

VIDA.

HOW A WOMAN WAS CONVERTED TO MISSIONS.

MRS. LEWIS' BOOK: PART I. —THE BOOK PART II. —THE BOOK OPEN

BUCKWHEAT CAKES

FAITH AND GASOLINE

BENJAMIN'S WIFE

SUNDAY FRACTURES.

CHAPTER I.

SOME PEOPLE WHO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE.

An elegant temple it was, this modern one of which I write—modern in all its appointments. Carpets, cushions, gas fixtures, organ, pulpit furnishings, everything everywhere betokened the presence of wealth and taste. Even the vases that adorned the marble-topped flower-stands on either side of the pulpit wore a foreign air, and in design and workmanship were unique. The subdued light that stole softly in through the stained-glass windows produced the requisite number of tints and shades on the hair and whiskers and noses of the worshippers. The choir was perched high above common humanity, and praised God for the congregation in wonderful voices, four in number, the soprano of which cost more than a preacher's salary, and soared half an octave higher than any other voice in the city. To be sure she was often fatigued, for she frequently danced late of a Saturday night. And occasionally the grand tenor was disabled from appearing at all for morning service by reason of the remarkably late hour and unusual dissipation of the night before. But then he was all right by evening, and, while these little episodes were unfortunate, they had to be borne with meekness and patience; for was he not the envy of three rival churches, any one of which would have increased his salary if they could have gotten him?

The soft, pure tones of the organ were filling this beautiful church on a certain beautiful morning, and the worshippers were treading the aisles, keeping step to its melody as they made their way to their respective pews, the heavy carpeting giving back no sound of footfall, and the carefully prepared inner doors pushing softly back into place, making no jar on the solemnities of the occasion—everything was being done "decently and in order"—not only decently, but exquisitely.

A strange breaking in upon all this propriety and dignity was the sermon that morning. Even the text had a harsh sound, almost startling to ears which had been lifted to the third heaven of rapture by the wonderful music that floated down to them.

"Take heed what ye do; let the fear of the Lord be upon you." What a harsh text!—Wasn't it almost rough? Why speak of fear in the midst of such melody of sight and sound? Why not hear of the beauties of heaven, the glories of the upper temple, the music of the heavenly choir—something that should lift the thoughts away from earth and doing and fear? This was the unspoken greeting that the text received. And the sermon that followed! What had gotten possession of the preacher! He did not observe the proprieties in the least! He dragged stores, and warehouses, and common workshops, even the meat markets and vegetable stalls, into that sermon! Nay, he penetrated to the very inner sanctuary of home—the dressing-room and the kitchen—startling the ear with that strange-sounding sentence: "Take heed what ye do." According to him religion was not a thing of music, and flowers, and soft carpets, and stained lights, and sentiment. It had to do with other days than Sunday, with other hours than those spent in softly cushioned pews. It meant doing, and it meant taking heed to each little turn and word and even thought, remembering always that the fear of the Lord was the thing to be dreaded. What a solemn matter that made of life! Who wanted to be so trammelled! It would be fearful. As for the minister, he presented every word of his sermon as though he felt it thrilling to his very soul. And so he did. If you had chanced to pass the parsonage on that Saturday evening which preceded its delivery—passed it as late as midnight—you would have seen a gleam of light from his study window. Not that he was so late with his Sabbath preparation—at least the written preparation. It was that he was on his knees, pleading with an unutterable longing for the souls committed to his charge—pleading that the sermon just laid aside might be used to the quickening and converting of some soul—pleading that the Lord would come into his vineyard and see if there were not growing some shoots of love and faith and trust that would bring harvest.

It was not that minister's custom to so infringe on the sleeping hours of Saturday night—time which had been given to his body, in order that it might be vigorous, instead of clogging the soul with the dullness of its weight. But there are special hours in the life of most men, and this Saturday evening was a special time to him. He felt like wrestling for the blessing—felt in a faint degree some of the persistency of the servant of old who said: "I will not let thee go, except thou bless me." Hence the special unction of the morning. Somewhat of the same spirit had possessed him during the week, hence the special fervour of the sermon. With his soul glowing then in every sentence, he presented his thoughts to the people. How did they receive them? Some listened with the thoughtful look on their faces that betokened hearts and consciences stirred. There were those who yawned, and thought the sermon unusually long and prosy. Now and then a gentleman more