The Autobiography of Mark Rutherford, Edited by his friend Reuben Shapcott

to do? Was I to go to Ellen at once and say plainly, "I h

that Ellen was fonder of somebody else than me, although the moment the thought came to me I saw its baseness. B

first few words were over there was a silence, and she noticed that I did not look well. Anxiously she asked me what was the matter. I said that something had been upon my mind for a long time, which I thought it my duty to tell her. I then went on to say that I felt she ought to know what had happened. When we were first engaged we both pr

given me-"I know what it all m

I might be, Deist or Atheist, nothing should separate me from her. Old associations, the thought of the cruel injustice put upon her, the display of an emotion which I had never seen in her before, almost overmastered me, and why I did not yield I

sion to another creed. Supposing you had found out tha

Unitarian, you don't love

to get her some stimulants. When I came back her father was in the room. He was my aversion-a fussy, conceited man, who always prated ab

at is the matter with my daught

und to tell you. It is a mat

d an explanation. Ellen

now. Ellen is unwell. When she recovers she will tell you.

mnation of a criminal without being able to accuse myself of a crime. I believe with Miss Arbour that it is madness for a young man who finds out he has made a blunder, not to set it right; no matter what the wrench may be. But that Ellen was a victim I do not deny. If any sin, however, was committed against her, it was c

ere violently Tory. During the excitement of the contest the mob had set upon Mardon as he was going to his work, and had reviled him as a Republican and an Atheist. By way of proving their theism they had cu

inary theories of hell and heaven. I could not give up my hope in a continuance of life beyond the grave, but the moment I came to ask myself how, I was involved in contradictions. Immortality is not really immortality of the person unless the memory abides and there be a connection of the self of the next world with the self here, and it was incredible to me that there should be any memories or

savage or civilised. Is it like Nature's way to be so careful about individuals, and is it to be supposed that, having produced, millions of years ago, a creature scarcely nobler than the animals he tore with his fingers, she should take pains to mai

ed to me infinitely tragic. He is born into the world, beholds its grandeur and beauty, is filled with unquenchable longings, and knows that in a few inevitable revolutions of the earth he will cease. More painful still; he loves someb

evertheless, ideas would frequently lay hold of me with such relentless tenacity that I was passive in their grasp. So it was about this time with death and immortality, and I watched eagerly Mardon's behaviour when the end had to be faced. As I have sai

house. Everything was perfectly ordered, perfectly quiet, and she rose to a height of which I had never suspected her capable, while her father's stronger nature was allowed to predominate. She was absolutely dependent on him. If he did not get well she would be penniless, and I could not help thinking that with the like chance before me, to say nothing of my love for him and anxiety lest he should d

mere powerlessness to believe, and the catalogue of the articles of faith to which I might be said really to subscribe was very brief. I could no longer preach any of the dogmas which had always been preached in the chapel, and I strove to avoid a direct conflict by taking Scripture characters, amplifying them from the hints in the Bible, and neglecting wh

ay into a chapel not a hundred miles from W

ious star

jewels in

d great was my grief to find that the tainted flood of human philosophy had rolled through the town and was withering the truth as it is in Christ Jesus. Years ago that pulpit sent forth no uncertain sound, and the glorious gospel was proclaimed there-not a German gospel, sir-of our depravity and our salvation through Christ Jesus. Sir, I should like to know what the dear departed who end

Yours

tian Tra

hat the author of this precious production was Mr. Snale, and I at once determined t

, "I have a word or

ay it is! I hope you are very we

So I said that we had better go into the counting-house, a little place boxed o

last week's Sentinel. Although disguised, it evidently refers to me, a

may I ask why

rwhelming; but if you did not write it, p

ls of the rat tribe. He would double and evade as long as possible, but if he f

an assumptive nature on which to make such an accusation, and I am not

I have said is an accusation and charge? Do you

peculiar of you, peculiar of you, sir, to come here and attack one of your friends, wh

riend" was essentially a lie-just one of those lies which, by avoiding the for

ich you have misquoted. You made precisely that blunder in talking to the Sunday-school children on the Sunday before the letter appear

ve not denied

nute ago? What would you have thought if anybody had written anonymously to the Sentinel, and had accused you of selling short measure? You would have said it was a libel, and

u to be careful. We have heard, sir"-and here Mr. Snale began to simper and grin with an indescribably loathsome grimace-"that some of your acquaintances in your native town are of opinion that you have not behaved quite so well as you should have done to a certain y

the counting-house, unobserved by me, while this conversation was going on, and that she was smirking in reply to Mr. Snale's signal

a contemptible sco

him was comi

ce. But the stool slipped, and he came down ignominiously. I waited till he got up, but as he rose a carriage stopped at the door, and he recognised one of his best customers. Brushing the dust off his trousers, and smoothing

distinctly conscious that the I had not said those words. They had been spoken by some other power working in me which was beyond my reach. Nor could I foresee how to prevent such a fall for the future. The only advice, even now, which I can give to those who comprehend the bitter pangs of such self-degradation as passion brings, is to watch t

ons, explaining that I had felt a growing divergence from the theology taught heretofore in Water Lane, and I wished consequently to give up my connection with them. I received an answer st

med to me very poor. I could not get up Sunday after Sunday and retail to people little scraps suggested by what I might have been studying during the week; and with regard to the great subjects-for the exposition of which the Christian minist

to find, on making my reckoning, that the older I got the less I appeared to believe. Nakeder and nakeder had I become wi

overned by immutable laws? These laws were not what is commonly understood as God. Nor could I discern any ultimate tendency in them. Everything was full of contradiction. On the one hand was infinite misery; on the other there

nnocent souls with years of torture, that tyrants might live in splendour. He would not have permitted the earthquake to swallow up thousands of harmless mortal

ference. The supremest bliss would not be bliss if it were not definable bliss-that is to say, in the sense that it has limits, marking it out from something else not so supreme. Perfectly uninterrupted, infinite light, without shadow, is a physical absurdity. I see a thing because it is lighted, but also because of the differences of light, or, in other words,

and people generally not to lie. The mission was noble, but I could not feel much enthusiasm for it, and more than this, it was a fact that reformations in morals have never been achieved by mere directions to be good, but have always been the result of an enthusiasm for some City of God, or some supereminent person. Besides, the people whom it was most necessary to reach w

e belonged to a past generation, and as to Mardon, I never saw him without being aware of the difficulty of accepting any advice from him. He was perfectly clear, perfectly secular, and was so definitely shaped an

at they offer will be of no avail. Accordingly, I called on him. Both he and Mary were at home, and I was received with more t

ne person who stumbles and falls with a perfectly distinct object to be attained, I have known a score whose disasters are to be attribute

u do if you we

tful. You are aware what my creed is. I profess no belief in God, and no belief in what hangs upon it. Try a

elieve

at is the point. You will find that you believe nothing, in truth, whi

lect of which these la

ch brings to birth His Majesty King George IV., and the love of an affectionate mother for her child; an intellect which, in the person of a tender girl, shows an exquisite conscience, and in the person of one or two religious creatures whom I have known, shows a

believe in Him. I know all that may be urged against the belief, but I cannot help thinking that the man who looks upon the stars, or the articulation of a l

rant it, and again I ask

say, I do

e? Why make such

s blank, and if I could imagine it, it would be depressing in the last degree to me. I know that I have mind, and to live in a universe in which my mind is answered by no other would be unbearable. Better any sort of intelligence than none at all. But, as I have just said, your case admits of plainer statement than mine. You and I have talked this matter over before, and I have never gained a logical victory over you. Often I have felt thoroughly prostrated by you, and yet, when I have left you, the old

nt, and I am unable to accompany you. When my frien

ttitude, resting her head on her hand and with her feet crossed one over the other on the

ther, it is

is not

years ago. The railway-station was in a disagreeable part of the town, and when we came out we walked along a dismal row of very plain-looking houses. There were cards in the window with 'Lodgings' written on them, and father wanted to go in to ask the terms. I said that I did not wish to stay in suc

aughed a

s no sea front her

th pressed me to stop, but I declined.

ve never once h

t it was pure and clear, and she sang with that perfect taste which is begotten solely of a desire to honour the Master. The song always had a profound charm for me. Partly this was due to association. The words and tones, which have been used to embody their emotions by those whom we have loved, are doubly expressive when we use them to

ntre of my existence. I seemed to be listening to the tragedy of all human worth and genius.

t that mother used to sing that song. I ought to have known better." Her own eyes were full; I thought the pressure of her hand as she bade me good-bye was a little firmer than usual, and as we parted an over-mastering impulse seized me. I lifted her hand to my lips; without giving her time to withdraw it, I gave it one burning kiss, an