823 L521 Digitized Iby the Internet : Archi ive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/ifiweregodOOIega V f OF THE U N I VERS ITY or ILLINOIS Tom Turner Collection IF I WERE GOD BY THE SAME AUTHOR GEORGE MEREDITH : Some Charac- teristics. I ENGLISH POEMS. THE BOOK-BILLS OF NARCISSUS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON : An Eiegy. THE RELIGION OF A LITERARY MAN. PROSE FANCIES, ist Series. PROSE FANCIES. 2nd Series, i RETROSPECTIVE REVIEWS. IF I WERE GOD: A CONVERSATION, RICHARD LE GALLIENNE "Here lie I, Martin Elgiubrodde ; Hae mercy o' my soul, Lord God ; As I wad do, were I Lord God, And ye were Martin El^inbrodde " George Macdoiiald HoitHort JAMES BOWDEN 10, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. 1897 9^^ L 6 c? To SISTER LILY / IF I WERE GOD. /^^N a still summit of the Alps one August after- noon a young man and a young woman talked of God — sun, A man and SHOW, and peace, making n woman talk of God. ^ shining silence of many colours about them. The strong sun, the pure snow, the vast and tender peace. As the woman talked, these great presences were unconsciously filling her mind, as visible attributes of the God whom her companion had challenged her to defend that afternoon. Both of the talkers had felt 7 IF I WERE GOD the hand of God in their lives, mysteriously (wantonly, said the man), chastening, but only the woman still saw His face. The blow that had driven the man away from God, broken- hearted and blasphemous, had by some spiritual instinct, un- accountably illogical, drawn the woman nearer to His side. Might sorrow, after all, Might purify ? " he asked him- sovrow, afte/ all, purify r' g^lf, as he watched her pure and strangely happy face. Once he had been in no doubt about the answer to that question ; for to a facile optimism born of his own personal peace (so he now would say) the purification by 8 IF I WERE GOD pain had been a suspiciously easy reconciliation of the Love of God with the eternal martyrdom of man. He had fluted beautifully of pain as the necessary process of all growth, forgetting in his elo- quence to ask — why so cruel a condition should have been attached to man's involuntary existence. Had it not been as easy to an omnipotent love to make growth the child of pleasure instead ? In those days a friend more acquainted with grief had asked him — was it really s.jot true that sorrow always, ow or even often, purified 9 IF I WERE GOD — did it not more often debase ? " But our theoriser upon sorrow had as yet known it only in books — and in the experiences of his dearest friends, — so it had not really touched him with the touch of reality. When his own time came, what a poor pretty thing out in the storm his dainty philosophy had seemed. It was rather the philosophy that sought refuge with the philosopher, than afforded it to him. And yet perhaps Apjiiio- it was not so much the sopliy bom h{dcadoj philosophy that had after, experience, b^en wrong. Was it not rather that it had been for- lO IF I WERE GOD mulated too early — before experience, instead of after it ? The faith that sustains must be wrung out of the moment of the soul's need. For each agony its own peace. We can no more anticipate the shock of sorrow than we can the onset of a foe we have never seen. In vain we train ourselves in sham spiritual combats, in vain perfect our skill with the weapons we ^^^.^.^^ know — sorrow always always figh ts ^ i . , 7viiiia lights With a Strange stm nge c» weapon, 1.1 weapon, and the strategy of her attack is ever new. As the days wore on, and his grief took ever new and newer forms — for nothing is 1 1 UNIVERSITY OF IJimOIS LIBRARY IF I WERE GOD so chameleon-coloured as grief — there were moments when some sudden insight into the truth about himself, some hint of a purpose in it all, some ray of a compensation, would bring his castaway philosophy knocking gently at the door of his soul. But they were moments angrily forgotten — for in every grief, in addition to the real sorrow, there is a certain wilfulness of sorrow — the Rachel-half of sorrow Concerning sorrow. ^j^^^ ^^y^ COni- forted. Nor would it be wilfulness merely, but also that loyalty of sorrow, which will admit no justification — fo}" the other. For us maybe 12 IF I WERE GOD — but what of them ? Are we complacently to accept their loss as our gain ? Shall they be sown in sorrow that we shall reap in gladness? And then the voice would whisper again — Is it their loss ? May not their loss of us mystically fashion and refine them, as perhaps our loss of them was meant to fashion and refine us ? Ah ! in that whisper who shall say which is most — our longing for their '^i am tired happiness, or for our of being > T • 1 unhappy:' Qwn f IS it merely our selfishness that cries to itself, " I am tired of being unhappy " ? So must the soul of sorrow torture itself. The simple 13 B IF I WERE GOD sorrow of a simple nature, in which no ray of sunlight enters, may become a luxury, so strangely does pain trans- form itself into pleasure ; but the complex sorrow of a com- plex nature, a sorrow that, so to say, retains its capacity for happiness, and in which pain and pleasure dwell together, ever true to itself, and yet seemingly often false — of the two such sorrow is surely the more torturing tragic thing. As the man and the woman talked together that August afternoon, the old philosophy had come very appealingly to the door of the man's heart, and the more had he knitted his brows to drive it away. IF I WERE GOD If we admit the beauty of the product — the process remains none the less The bcauti- fitiproduct hideous," he exclaimed, —the htd- ' ' eons process. i i • none the less incompa- tible with your just and lov^ing God. No ! I only wish I could forgive God. . . A little " hush " was on her lips. She knew from his voice that he meant no ir- reverence — it sounded strange rather than irreverent — curi- ously ignorant rather than profane. If she could only make him see ! And yet it was all so simple, so clear. She had an impulse of almost humorous impatience. Look there," she might aln^iost 15 IF I WERE GOD have said. See ! in a direct line from here — surely you can see the sun ! " To her it was all so humanly near, and yet so divine. And the man was conscious of a strange new desire — A new desire J^^ally to sce ; though — really to he sat by her side and listened, as a blind man might sit and hear one tell of a wonderful light. Yes ! it must be something worth seeing that made her face look like that. He knew the look of old, though he had seldom seen it so bright on any face. More or less it was to be seen on the faces of all her friends, in i6 IF I WERE GOD whose company he had found The Early himself thcse last few Christian" n i • look, days. He called it, half playfully, " the Early Christian look." That was the true light " that never was on sea or land.'' At his hotel he had fallen in with a merry little company of Christians. You might mistakenly call it a common experience, but apart from the fact that Christians of the kind I mean are rare, rare as the true followers of any mystical revelation must ever be in this vulgar world ; the experi- ence was doubly uncommon Amcrry little tO OUr yOUng philoSO- company of Christians, pher, as for some years ^7 IF I WERE GOD he had lived among an entirely alien people ; and it is hardly an exaggeration to say that these Christians, with their curiously lit faces, their strange other-worldly speech, their odd little tendernesses and gentle humour, were as novel to him as the little bands of their spiritual fore- fathers had seemed to the philosopher in Rome and Athens. But it was the strangeness of a long discon- tinued familiarity, and thus the more strange. For his boyhood had been passed among just this same strange people, and is not association two-thirds of affection ? i8 IF I WERE GOD How curious to think that they were still going on in the same way as when he was a boy — dreaming the same dreams and telling them to each other in the same sweet, yes sweet, old words ! Suddenly at a meal there had been bowed heads over the table, and a quiet voice speaking as to one who is only seen with closed eyes. " Fancy ! they are still going on praying ! " And something between a Tlicy are onpf^y-^ smile and a tear asked iiig ! " his heart if perhaps, after all, he should some day come to pray again — pray as (the tears sprang to his eyes 19 IF I WERE GOD as he thought of it) once a little boy, he prayed kneeling at the great chair, while his father bent tenderly over him, talking strangely to God, with a voice so real (so evidently near to His presence) that one felt God couldn't be further away than the ceiling — but felt too good to look. Yes ! there were people in the world who still went on praying, in spite of a literary criticism that had long since relegated God and His saints to the museums of mythology, in spue of spite of a scientific science ! ... i i i i criticism that had proved their cosmogony a child's dream of a world — unconquer- 20 IF I WERE GOD able idealists whom no theories of the dust might dismay. Accustomed so long to bring all experience to the test of the senses and the everyday reason, it was strange to mark them, in all their speech, in their simplest acts, implying an invisible reality, a transcendental responsibility. Could it be possible that they had not heard ! — not heard that this faith of theirs was all a dream, a beautiful dream faded and fled at the daybreak of science ? O yes ! they had heard all that — and they smiled to Tkeckris- thcmselves sweetly, in- Han smile. , , , t i dulgently, a little sor- 21 IF I WERE GOD rowfuUy, a little humorously, as they thought of it. You see — they knew. By some grace of God, of nature if you will — but still of God, — it had been given them to see. It was but natural that those who had not seen should deny the Vision, but the Vision was none the less real for that. Prayer not real — not heard — not answered ! Come, will you listen to a story ! Listen — this happened to me ! to me, actually to me ! It is no fancy — I know it, and this friend here will tell you the like of herself, and yonder friend there has been wonder- fully blest of God in prayer ! 22 IF I WERE GOD Sweet old fairy-tales of faith ! how fascinating they were — how real they JaklTP sounded ! It was like faWi. listening to the actual ghost-stories of some friend whose word one could not doubt — and yet . . . Suppose too they should after all be true ? Could they be true ? Intellectual criticism was clearly irrelevant, impertinent here — irrelevant and What if , . , . , theyiverc impertmcnt, he told ii'iie ? ^ himself, as intellectual criticism wovild be of .those apprehensions of beauty which had long been for him the sole revelations of the Divine. Indeed, was it, after all, a 23 IF I WERE GOD difference of eyesight again ? Should he cease to believe in the mystery of beauty, because it was hidden from other eyes ? Perhaps they apprehended God in some such way as he ap- prehended Beauty. He the believer in The Belief Zid%f^ Beauty, she the believer Belief in in God— he had called himself and his companion. Could he believe in beauty and not believe in God ? she had asked simply, as they gazed over the beautiful sum- mits of the world. Do we really accept that principle in the world of men and women ? " he had re- torted. ''Does belief in beauty 24 IF I WERE GOD necessarily mean belief in our beautiful friends ? Do beauti- ful faces and beautiful deeds always go together?'' Besides," he had added with a smile, ''is that quite the kind of argument for a good Christian to use — the argu- ment from beauty to good- ness, from the beauty of the world to the goodness of God ? Is there not much goodness that is somewhat painfully independent Plainness Sr'"'"^ beauty ? and is not the good Christian all the better for being a little plain ? " '' The Christian," she answered gravely, " has some- 25 IF I WERE GOD times found it necessary to do battle with beauty, and may need to do so again ; but the Christian after knowledge — for of course you must have reahsed that there are Chris- tians after knowledge, those who know why they are Christians, and Christians by obedience, sturdy and meek obeyers of a law which they httle understand — the The Chris- . . ^ . Han and Lhristiau attcr know- Beanty. ledge will always fight beauty with a sad heart." " You see," she continued, every spiritual good has its spiritual danger. Even good- ness itself develops vices of its own, harshness and narrowness 26 IF I WERE GOD of the soul, as beauty on the other hand leads to the soul's softness and laxity. Beauty is but one of the angels of God, and to worship her as though she were God Himself is to degrade and derange her by false honours, as it is to sensualise the worshipper by a one-sided worship. But Beauty is an angel, and. as such is a messenger of God, though on the way from man to God she may have for- gotten her message, grown deliriously arrogant by the incense from earthly altars. " There is the danger of your modern religion of beauty — you worship the 27 IF I WERE GOD messenger and neglect the message." " What message has Beauty Tke.„ beyond the message of Beah ' the gooa of God. of Beauty r \ i s •» » ttie goodness 01 her own beauty r of God. J asked the man. " The message of Beauty is the goodness of God," she replied. You have said interesting things," he had answered, " but you have hardly proved that ! You have said the world is beautiful, therefore God is good. Well, then, suppose we put your posi- tion into a formula, and say that God is as good as the world is beautiful. Then we must ask how beautiful is 28 IF I WERE GOD the world — and how ugly ? Behind the green mask beauiiful is ^ , . . , the world- Qt the Spring, IS there and how ^ ^ not a lonely monster gnashing his teeth, with beauty for his snare ; and all this green so delightful to our eyes, what is it but the vivid green of a gigantic grave, the plague-pit into which humanity has been thrown century after century ? The green world ! Yes ! the beautiful green grave of humanity, kept tidy by the sexton sun, and prettily set out with those tall daisies we call the stars." You are sad," she an- swered gently, your soul is very sick." 29 c IF I WERE GOD Who would not be soul- sick when he thinks on all the sorrow of the world — the green world ! " " Yes ! that is a good spirit — but it is a goodness too wild. God knows the sorrow of His world, and He smiles when we help Him to bear it ; but He would not have any of us try to take it all on our own narrow human shoulders. When we forget that He is bearing it too we are forgetting Him. Besides, God knows the meaning of the sorrow, and therefore He smiles, and Flis smile is beauty. Sad graves grow green, you say, — but 30 IF I WERE GOD that again is a mystic hint of God's purpose. If we If we knew kncw why graves grow why graves grow green. greCH, WC should IcHOW the beautiful meaning of death — and we are not left quite without sustaining glimpses of what that mean- ing may be." Words ! words ! What can be the meaning, what the excuse for so hideous a thing as death, and all the dark and cruel ways of disease ? " We are too near it all to know. But there is a meaning, be sure, a lovely meaning." You really believe that?" 3^ IF I WERE GOD " Yes, firmly — without a fear." ^i^ay "A lovely mean- meaning to , , death! jj^g ? " Yes." A lovely meaning to a story like this ? — A month or so ago I was staying at a friend's house in one of the greenest corners of the world. It was spring too, spring at its loveliest. If ever earth had a heavenly meaning it seemed to speak it in that valley, speak it all day long in every tenderness of sound and colour. The sky leaned over that little valley full of love. How kind the sun ! how soft the 32 IF I WERE GOD stars ! The very ground breathed gentleness, pushing Thefireen myriads of little mask of the spring. green hands, frond and blade and shoot, close pressed side by side in exquisite mul- titudes, as though to show how kind a heart was beating underneath. Sometimes the sense of urgent young life was such, that one could almost fancy the green hill heaved like the bosom of a sleeping woman, and one trod dain- tily lest one marred any little leaf of her wonderful robe. Indeed the world seemed too exquisite to tread upon. Had you been there, dear 33 IF I WERE GOD friend, you would have said, as you said to-day — ' Can you doubt God's goodness, when you look on so beauti- ful a world ? ' And I should have answered, ' Indeed, I cannot doubt it here ! ' But then, listen how the green veil of beauty was suddenly rent across in that little valley, and we of that household saw the face of The monster thc monstcr looking at the hack oftheivovid. out at US from the back of the world. In that household was a little maidservant, about eighteen years old, neat and sweet and blithe as a bird, pretty and innocent and 34 IF I WERE GOD merry, a child just begin- ning to dream the dream of a woman. The lads worshipped her, and her young heart was as full of the promise of life as a young heart can hold. She had never had so much as a headache in her life, and toothache was probably the saddest thing that had so far befallen her. Well, quite suddenly, one heavenly morn- ing, one of her feet began to pain her. It grew worse, so that she was obliged to go to bed. " We thought it a sprain, or the damp, till the other began. The doctor came 35 IF I WERE GOD and looked at them. They were curiously livid, and deathly cold — and this is what he had to tell my friend : that in this torture- This torture- ^ouse of the world, house of the . . wor/if. there is a device of disease so fiendish that you may go running on glad springing feet all your youth, eagerly chasing the hours, till unexpectedly some day, perhaps the loveliest day of the year, the loveliest day of your life, you will suddenly feel a strange cold scythe at your feet ; like that little maidservant, you will go to bed, your feet will grow colder, and perhaps — if God 36 IF I WERE GOD is good ! — you will die ; but if not, when you rise from your bed some months after, you will feel something new and frightful about yourself — God help you ! — your feet are gone ! " So was it to be with that poor, poor little girl. The monster had looked out from his green hill — and snapped." There was silence for a moment as he ceased, his face pale and excited. Then he said — " Tell me, friend, what is What is the the lovely meaning of lovely mean- ingofthat? that ? " Yes ! it is terrible — ter- 37 IF I WERE GOD rible/' ' she answered slowly, with an inward anguish in her voice, and the light in her face seemed to waver and darken for a moment — ter- rible, and no wise Christian would be silly enough to try to tell you its meaning. Only I know it has a meaning — yes, I dare believe, a lovely meaning. But, oh yes, yes, it is terrible." And some- thing in her voice seemed to say that she was thinking not only of that story she had just listened to, but of all the crowded agony of human life. Indeed, her thoughts had suddenly traversed the blue 38 IF I WERE GOD and radiant distance, and dropped down far behind the dreamy border of the world into a very different region, a region of foul air and narrow evil streets, where men and women had no thought of such sunny summits as that on which she sat talking in the sweet air. Her thoughts passed in and out of the houses, and familiar faces greeted her, worn with sorrow and stained with crime. She made an involuntary move- ment as though she must hasten back to this world of her thought, as though it needed her care. If the 39 IF I WERE GOD little candle burning for God jiiittic in those dark streets candle burn- ingfovGod. should fail, or be blown out, while she laughed among the hills! Yes, the Lover of Beauty was right. The world was very dark and very ugly too — who could dream how dark and ugly, as one gazed down those green slopes away to the happy white villages. Looking out from heaven, the earth might in- deed seem blest. Perhaps „ , ^ ^ , God only saw the world Perhaps God J only sees the * . - , . i • i ivoridatan like this trom on nign, enchanted ^ distance. nOthillg of thc bleeding scars, heard nothing of the woe. Nay, but God's 40 IF I WERE GOD Son had seen and suffered it all. Had He not walked by her side day and night through those foul streets, and in the light of His face had she not read the mean- ing of the darkness. *'Yes; it is terrible/' she repeated, coming out of her reverie, and when I first saw it all I thought like you. But as I came nearer to it, saw it oftener, knew it better ; looking beneath the awful face . . . somehow I cannot explain how, though my Those who ^ o y Ir/ri^T pity grew deeper, my faith also grew more and more, and my fear grew less. Sorrow is so strange 41 IF I WERE GOD a thing — shall we expect to learn its meaning in one terri- fied look that looks no more ? Some who have lived with sorrow have grown to love her strangely. Even you, I can see it in your face, are half in love with sorrow your- self. If one's own sorrows grow so dear, may not the sorrows of others wear crowns we do not see ? Though you may say that in one sense the sorrows of our fellows are shadows to us, in another sense it is no less true that they seem more awful than our own. We know our own, those of others frighten us the more because they are untried. A 42 IF I WERE GOD terrible thing is never so terrible when it has happened to ourselves." " How strange it is ! said the man presently, half to himself, but looking at her in a sort of admiring per- plexity. " What is strange ? " " Strange that you^ a woman so gentle, so wise, so full of love — should wish to defend such a being — such a . . The little hush was on her lips once more. You know," he con- tinued, that if you. If I were ' ^ ' if / were God, we could not even conceive so cruel an agony for a creature 43 IF I WERE GOD of our making as your God has decreed for that innocent little girl ? " " Without the powers of God/' was her answer, we Without the are no proper critics powers of no%%T'' of His purposes. And critics of His purposes. jf scems Strange to you that I should praise Him, how much stranger is it that you should question Him ! For the very power even to mock God comes from God Himself." Would you still feel like this of God whatever should happen to you ? " ''So I trust — for I can conceive no calamity so ter- rible as to lose my faith in 44 IF I WERE GOD God. Without that I should die/' " For you have suffered ? '' Yes, I have suffered." And God has consoled you : Yes ! " Did you never think that it was God who first made you suffer ? " Yes ! — that was a part of the consolation." Forgive me, but again 1 say — How strange ! " Then a long silence fell on the two. Far away across his palace floors the sun was preparing to leave the world, in a great pomp of parting, 45 ° IF I WERE GOD and the world seemed to stand still to watch him go. More immeasurable grew the depths of space, and with it the senses of the two watchers seemed to gain a power of infinite expansion and com- prehensiveness, as though there was room in their souls for still mightier solitudes, heights and deeps more pro- found, splendours more noble, Thcwovhi than these. How vast Jess, wonder- soul of mail, a world, yet a little eye could hold it all ! How wonderful, yet not so wonder- ful as the soul of man ! Presently the woman spoke again. " I have been thinking,'' 46 IF I WERE GOD she said, " if there is any way by which I can tell you just something of what my love for God is like. It seems impossible to put into words. But I have thought of an image which indeed is small by comparison, and which perhaps I should not use — but which you, I think, will not misunderstand. You, who love beauty, will know how poor often is the material symbol by which alone we can express a beautiful thought." The man assented, and she went on, gazing sadly into the sunset. " You must have known 47 IF I WERE GOD what it is to have some friend The Love whom you dearly loved Terrestrial. ^ . , — some rriend, too, quite unlike yourself, with different gifts and different dreams, perhaps with a dif- ferent religion — perhaps with none. Perhaps there was much in this friend that you couldn't understand, much you regretted, much even that you feared, something even that you hated. Maybe that friend has often been unkind, cruel, even mean — perhaps has sinned in ways you could not comprehend ; perhaps even has seemed at times foully in the wrong. It may even have happened that he IF I WERE GOD has outraged your most sacred ideals, and trampled under- foot the very love you brought him — and yet, you know not how, nor why, you have never for one moment ceased to love him, never for a moment doubted that your real friend, beneath those accidents of character and circumstance, was good and noble and wonderful in spite of all. Nothing he could do to all eternity could alter that. There was some saving virtue even in his bad actions which made them better than the good actions of others. Have you ever loved a friend like that ? 49 IF I WERE GOD *'Yes ! I once loved a woman like that/' replied the man. The woman's face grew wistful a moment, as though with a memory, and presently she continued — " Well, the love of the soul for God is something like that. You cannot explain it to The Love ^ Celestial. .1 another, you can give no reason why or how it came, why or how it stays. One day you found it, an awful blessed- ness in your soul, and you knew that while you lived it must remain for you the holiest thing in life. The love for God is a love which asks no questions, and 50 IF I WERE GOD though there may be much it cannot explain, much maybe that seems dark and strange to the understanding, its faith remains unshaken. When the soul has once known and loved God, it may tremble at His decrees, may even grow sick at heart sometimes with perplexity, seeing the evil God suffers to prosper in the world, and the hard, even ' cruel, processes of goodness — but it can never lose its faith. If you have once The love in God's eyes, .-i i • j ' seen the love in God s eyes, you can never fear for the world." " It is dangerous argument you are using," presently an- 51 UMVERSfTYOFnUWrs IF I WERE GOD swered the man, and put in another way you might hesitate to accept it. For is it not really the old excuse of power made so often for the demi-god, applied by you to God himself — made also for Beauty and Love, two of the most potent forms The eA'cttsc 0/ Power. ^£ power. In all strong actions — good or bad as we are accustomed to distinguish them — is there not a virtue in their mere strength which makes the average standards of right and wrong inapplic- able.^ Besides, perhaps even in the narrow sense of right and wrong, strength never does wrong in the long run. 52 IF I WERE GOD Many a so-called good act has become a bad one in the course of a generation, whereas some so-called bad acts, be- cause they were strong, -have borne good fruit for centuries. To be the moralist on the great scale, you must often seem the immoralist on the small. This, of course, is a commonplace with some thinkers, but I confess to surprise at finding it used by a Christian, for the Christian as a rule insists on the im- mediate colour of our actions, which he labels black or white as soon as committed, and makes no allowance for indi- vidual temperament, force of S3 IF I WERE GOD circumstances, or a possible result neither black nor white." Christianity is changing," she answered ; " not in its essence, but in its Clinslianiiy i6 changing, f^^^^^^ j^-g j^^^rt is as good as ever, but its head is better. It understands hu- manity better, or perhaps I should say humanity under- stands // better. So I shall be bold, and say ' Yes ' to what you have said. It was something like that which I meant — though I think you are only half - right Bad powcf, T 1 • 1 about power. I thmk there is such an element in the universe as i?ad power — 54 IF I WERE GOD but I think the coming Chris- tianity will be more wisely- seeing than the past in this, that it will oftener recognise that bad power in so-called good men and good actions. It will judge rather a man's self than his actions, will sepa- rate men and women into good and bad natures^ rather than into the well or the ill - behaved. It will judge men and women by a subtler test of the spirit than can be applied to mere surface actions, and it will become more as Christ meant it to be, a religion of love, a vast brotherhood of the loving and the lovable." 55 IF I WERE GOD You mean, then, that this love of God is a mystical revelation for which no Reason a blind Puide. rc . r jA ^ mere effort or the rea- son will avail.'' " Would reason avail to win that other revelation to which, perhaps wrongly, I have com- pared a love so transcendently greater ? " Will any effort avail to win this revelation ? " Only what I might call an effort of the heart, an attitude of humble expectancy, a sort of listening of the soul. Intellect Intellect is blind to blind to more , . ^ than it sees, more in life than it sees. The heart and even the senses — when sanely 56 IF I WERE GOD ordered — are a surer guide. Our simplest thoughts are our truest, our simplest im- pulses are our best — or our worst. " You, I know, have some- times the impulse to throw yourself on your knees to pray, but a hundred superior thoughts spring up and shame the impulse. You say to your- self that it is the force of old association, and not a real desire of your nature ; or you compromise and say that you can pray just as well in your .„ morning walks, or listen- The will o ' to pray. . • C ing to music. bo perhaps you can, if you will really pray ; but even in 57 IF I WERE GOD those moments you will find that at the bottom of your mind there is some last pride of your reason that has not kneeled. Till the whole nature kneels there is no prayer. The heart cannot open its doors to the love of God so long as there is one thought within that would keep them shut. God's love is always shining. Let the heart open its doors ever so little, and in a moment it will be flooded with light and a wonderful singing." " But what if the heart is Aheari hoTii Wiud, SO to Say .^^ " born blind. asked the man. 58 IF I WERE GOD " I do not believe that hearts are ever born blind, but if they are, this again is one of God's mysteries/' God's mysteries ! so you would explain all the evil in the world. Is it not too easy an explanation of so many hard things?" " No, it is sometimes very hard ; but you must remember that the mysteries are the mysteries of a love we have learnt to trust. And I should have thought that even one who saw life as you do, would have seen in it also much that clearly bears witness to Man ihc ^ 'cMcT' the love of God for the God. world. For if all we 59 IF I WERE GOD are and have comes from God, surely we owe Him something more than criticism of that in life which we can- not understand, owe Him some return of gratitude for the many joys and wonders of existence — for the revelation of beauty, for instance." I wonder," pondered the man — it is true there is much in life that is sweet, but it is tangled so cunningly with so much that is terrible, that one almost trembles to seize a joy lest it should turn into a serpent, to take a loved hand lest it should moulder to ashes in our grasp. " Yes ! life is a wonderful 60 IF I WERE GOD banquet — but the dishes are Life a all poisoned." wonderful t'tlnf- "Ah ! how wrong dishes all poisoned. you are ! Why should you take the evil of life as pointing the moral of the world ? Why not the good ? " " Because death is longer and stronger than life — and because, so far as I can Evil stronger til an good, j.'L r £ '1 * see, the forces or evil in the world are stronger than the forces of good." Death," she answered, " is only life hiding his face awhile, to reveal it lovelier in another world ; and I believe, too, that the forces of evil are only the armies of God in disguise. Yet, if you should be right, 6i E IF I WERE GOD and the evil really be stronger than the good — is there not all the more reason for you to be on God's side ? . . " Yes ! " she added pre- sently, as they rose and began to move down the hill home- wards, I shall some day meet you there." The man made no answer, but in his heart he said, " If I were God, I would create more women like you, that men might believe in me." Soon he returned once more to his own people, the lovers The lovers ^cauty ; but they were of Beauty. , . , no longer quite the same for him. He seemed to have learnt some meanings that were 62 IF I WERE GOD hidden from them, though he could hardly say what. Some- how they did not seem to understand even beauty. And often he would hear a clear sweet voice speaking from a mount of blue air : " You worship the messenger and neglect the message. . . . The message of beauty is the goodness of God " — though he did not forget to remind himself that that message also had a mes- senger. Sometimes he found him- self wishing to be back once more among those gentle, humorous people, with the kind ways and the happy 63 IF I WERE GOD lighted faces. Sometimes he craved to hear again those quaint childlike turns of phrase, to listen to their Sometimes Strange little stories of he — almost — prayed. answered prayers, to heal his heart with their wise simplicity. Sometimes he — almost — prayed . t'KVVlN BkOTllEKS, VVUKIXG AND LONDON. The Fiftieth Thousand Now Ready. Lon^ Svo, saved, is.; cloih extra, ^ilt, ^ilt top, 2s. The Child, the Wise Man, and the Devil. By COULSON KERNAHAN, Author of "God and the Ant." Some ©pfniona of tbe ipresa^ The Bookman says— "It is the author's special gift to stimulate the minds of Christian teachers. ... In this little work he has given us work which deserves to live. . . . No one can read these pages without emotion." The Daily Mail says— " The writer's views are expressed with bold and manly sincerity, and in a spirit of true reverence. His little book must make a very deep and abiding impression upon the hearts and minds of all who read it to the end." The Echo says— " There will be fevv/ readers of this work who will not allow with enthusiasm the moral earnestness, the poetic imagina- tion, and the literary charm of Mr. Kernahan's stern muse." The British Weekly says— " By far the best piece of work that Mr. Kernahan has done. . . . The spirit of the age, with its yearnings, its sorrows, its vague aspiration, finds expression in these pages." The Queen says— " A work of genius. No one who has read it will ever be likely to forget it." The Saturday Review says— "There is a touch of genius, perhaps even more than a touch, about this brilliant and original booklet." The Illustrated London News says— "All must recognise the boundless charit3% the literary power, and the intense sincerity of one of the most interest- ing works of the year." London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, Henrietta Street, W.C. IRew IRovel Josepb Ibocftina. Crown Svo, cloth gilt, 35. 6rf. The Birthright. By JOSEPH HOCKING, Author of " All Men are Liars," Andrew Fairfax," &c. With Illustrations by Harold Piffard, ©ptnlone of tbe ipteae* This volume proves beyond all doubt that Mr. Hocking has mastered the art of the historical romancist. 'The Birthright ' is, in its wa}^ quite as well constructed, as well written, and as full of incident as any story that has come from the pen of Mr. Conan Doyle or Mr. Stanley Weyman." The Spectator. *' We read Mr. Hocking's book at a sitting ; not because we had any leisure for the task, but simply because the book compelled us . . . We hold our breath as each chapter draws to an end, 3^et cannot stop there, for the race is unflagging. . . . We congratulate Mr. Hocking upon his book, for it is a great advance upon anything lie has done. We prophesy a big public for 'The Birthright." — The Daily Chronicle. "'The Birthright' will be appreciated on account of its successions of exciting scenes, its crisp dialogue, its play of varied character, and a certain eerie air of superstition with which it is pervaded. . . . Just such a stirring narrative as Mr. Hocking's readers will enjoy." — The Daily Mail. " A thoroughly enjoyable romance. . . . Mr. Hocking has woven a story which few will lay down unfinished. The interest never flags for a moment, and the faithfulness with which the scenery of the land of Tre, Pol and Pen is described, and the quaint dialect and traditions of its older inhabitants are reproduced, are beyond praise." — Weekly Times. " We feel certain that, were we still condemned to go to bed at nine, we should sleep with the book under our pillow, and wake with the birds to see what happened in Granfer Fraddam's Cove, and how Jaspar Pennington broke free from Trevose. ... A capital story of its class."-— J/zd Star. London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, Henrietta Street, W.C. SECOND EDITION NOW READY. Fcap 4/0, art canvas^ ^ilt^ 3s. (>d. The House of Dreams. AN ALLEGORY. By an Anonymous Author. " ' The House of Dreams ' belongs to the same class as Mrs. Oliphant's * A Pilgrim in the Unseen,' and may rival the great popularity of that striking fancy. ... A book of signal literary beauty, of profound tenderness, and deeply reverent throughout ; the work of a man who finds in earth and heaven alike the sign and token of the Cross." — The British Weekly. " A very beautiful allegory. . . . The author's deep reve- rence and exalted phantasy never ring false, and his work cannot fail to inspire the reader with reverence for ideals undreamed of in worldly philosophy." — The Pall Mall Gazette. " An allegory worthy to rank among the greatest achieve- ments of that form of literature. . . . The great gospel of love and hope shines out from these splendid pages. . . ' The House of Dreams ' is a book which religious teachers will find it abundantly worth their while to study." — Christian World. " It is in truth a prose poem, one of the most beautiful and delightful we have ever read. . . . Nothing could be better than that the leaders of all Churches should breathe the pure and tender atmosphere of ' The House of Dreams,' and carry it with them into the world of daily reality." Methodist Times. " A vision of extraordinary force and significance. . . . It seems to us that no thoughtful reader will be likely to rise from a perusal of this book without feeling himself heartened, so inspiring are certain of its passages. ... It is full of high suggestion, of pathos, and of poetry." — The Literary World. London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, HENRIETTA STREET, W.C Ubc Xaurel Xibravs— volume i. Second Edition now Ready. Crown Svo, cloth elegant, gilt top, 2s. Litanies of Life. By KATHLEEN WATSON. Mr. T. P. O'Connor, M.P., in The Weekly Sun A Book of the Week ") : " Fancy a woman ... so gifted, sitting down with the resolve to crush into a few words the infinite tale of all the whole race of her sex can suffer, and you have an idea of what this remarkable book is like. ... As wonderful an epitome of a world of sorrow as I have ever read." " A work of great charm, over which one likes to linger, and dream, and think. . . . The words flow with that tuneful felicity which belongs more to poetry than to prose." Liverpool Post. "The five short, poignant stories which make up this excellent little book, are remarkable for distinction of style, and interesting by reason of the writer's observation of life and character, and the originality of her reflections. . . . Miss Watson can tell a story in a way to cut the reader to the heart. . . . The reader of sensibility will find a chastened pleasure in every one of them." — The Morning. " So real is this first sketch, so human, so sensitively deli- cate, so successful in its curious mingling of boldness and tenderness, that the reader necessarily imagines it to be autobiographical, believing that only out of actual sorrow could be distilled so true a record of passion and of regret." The Daily Mail. " Written in most admirable prose, this collection of five beautiful, though sad stories, will appeal to all lovers of good literature. . . . It adds to its worth as a clever book the additional charm of being a good one." — Lloyd's Newspaper. London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, Henrietta Street, W.C. Ubc Xaurel Xibravy— volume ii. Crown Svo, cloth elegant, gilt lop, 2S. The Widow Woman. A CORNISH TALE. By CHARLES LEE. ©pinions of tbe t^tcee. "Such a delightfuU}' natural love story is this that even staid old people who have not read one for a score of years will admit that it is quite unromantic enough to be sensible. . . We close the book with a feeling of gratitude to the author who has supplied us with such a delightful study." Manchester Courier " A delightful little work. . . . Mr. Lee knows these fisher folk by heart, and has the ability to draw them to the life in a few bright strokes of droller}-. . . . The character sketching is admirable, the scenes and situations are most vividly brought out, and the pervading humour is of a genuine stamp." — Sheffield Independent. "An entertaining story. ... A clever, humorous and thoroughly enjoyable book." — Scotsman. "A fascinating book. . . . From beginning to end it is delightfully fresh and vigorous ; the vignettes of Cornish life and character are quaint and humorous ; and the snatches of unsophisticated philosophy, not without a dash of subtlety, are as amusing as they are original. . . . Nothing so deliciously witty as John Trelill's courtship has been written of late, and another story from the author's pen will be awaited with the keenest pleasure and interest." — Dundee Advertiser. "The story, simple and homel}' in its nature, is told with a humour and abandon that makes the book most delightful reading." — Glasgow Daily Mail. " The book is one to read, having the blessed quality of making you chuckle : the best of qualities in literature, one is inclined to say, in these tired days." — Black and White. London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, Henrietta Street, W.C mew Wovel Sban JF. BuUocf?. Crown Svo, cloih gilt, 3s. 6rf. The Charmer. A SEASIDE COMEDY. By SHAN F. BULLOCK, Author of " The Awkward Squads," " By Thrasna River," &c With Illustrations by Bertha Newcombe, " Mr. Anthony Hope at his best has given us nothing more deHcious in humour. The pages of the book ripple — as we turn them — with fun as sparkhng and spontaneous as the ripple of the salt water upon the sandy beach whither Mr. Bullock leads us. Surely no more delightful picture of Irish life and of Irish people — the people whom we love while we laugh at, and laugh at while we love — has been drawn than is to be found in ' The Charmer.' " — From an illustrated article on Mr. Bullock and his work in The Young Man. " It is some time since we have read so fresh and pleasant a work of fiction, and one rarely meets with such excellent pen pictures of life in an Irish village as are to be found in this volume." — Irish Daily Independent. "There is a delightful Irish and roguish flavour about ' The Charmer ' ... It is a bright, light story, and the reader who is not entertained by it must be hard to please." — The Scotsman. " Mr. Bullock has added very appreciably to the gaiety of the English-speaking peoples by * The Charmer ' ... All is comedy of the purest kind. . . . The delicious fooling is not to be conveyed by quotation." — Morning Leader. " Mr. Bullock must be recognised as one of the foremost of the very few present day writers who can interpret the rural Irish character with truth and sympathy. I am doubt- ful whether, taken altogether, he does not excel even Miss Jane Barlow in the ability to present the spirit and genius of the Irish peasant." — The Daily Mail. London : JAMES BOWDEN, 10, Henrietta Street, W.C. SECOND EDITION NOW READY. Crown Svo, handsomely bound, dotli extra, gilt top, 6s. Methodist Idylls. By HARRY LINDSAY. " Never has the Hfe that is lived among our people been handled more tenderly than in ' Methodist Idylls ' by Harry Lindsay. . . . We' trust thousands of our restive youn<^" people will ponder the things set down by Mr. Lindsay. . . . Worthy of any writer who has yet set himself to depict Methodist life. ... A very helpful and right religicnis book." — Methodist Times. " A book which in its lovely prose chapters gives an insight into the true romance, the April sunshine, of Methodist life. Mr. Harry Lindsay has won our gratitude for the string of stories trutlifuUy entitled ' Methodist Idylls ' which he has just given to the world. . . . We hope that the volume will find its way into every Methodist home. ... It is, we con- ceive, in the very highest degree a useful book. . . . Though it may be fictitious in form, it is true in substance and spirit. It gives a true rendering of the circuit life, the village life, the joy and sorrow of Methodism." — Methodist Recorder. "The outspoken,. tender-hearted old peasant-preacher is a splendid character." — Pall Mall Gazette. " Nothing finer than Simeon Tandy have I ever met with as the portrait of a good old-fashioned, genuine ' local.' . . . Truly some of these men were the salt of the earth. ... As a study in Methodism Mr. Lindsay's book can be cordially and heartily commended." — The Sun. " One of the very best volumes that has been issued of late years. . . . That it will be appreciated by Methodists goes without saying, but it will likewise be appreciated by all who relish strong, good stories dealing with phases of cha- racter common to humanity." — Lloyd's Nezvs. " Harry Lindsay's volume of ' Methodist Idylls ' belongs to the most enduring order of fiction. These unadorned annals of simple life will suit every season and all moods. They are for Sunday as well as Saturday, and however fashions in fiction may change, they will be found to possess a permanent interest and beauty." — Dundee Advertiser. London : JAMES BOWDEN, lo, Henrietta Street, W.C Crown Svo, Art Linen, 35. 6d. Orgeas and Miradou. Mitb ©tber pieces. By FREDERICK WEDMORE Author of " Renunciations," " English Episodes," &c. " The beautiful story of ' Orgeas and Miradou ' is specially typical of Mr. Wedmore's power of expressing and transla- ting the poignancy of human emotion. ... It is charged with depths of feeling, and vivid in its extreme reticence and discrimination of touch. In it there is nothing short of divination." — TJic A thciuvuni. " Of the always charming passages, there is one that haunts the imagination with persistence — it is the picture of Nancy at home." — The Saturday Review. " At once pure and elevated in tone and faultless in style. The volume deserves the warmest of w^elcomes. ... All credit is the author's due for the art with which into this ' dream of Providence ' he has imported just the right dream\* atmosphere. ... It is perhaps the author's masterpiece." The Illustrated London News. " The insight into character manifested in Mr. Wedmore's latest book, its alluring grace of style and the tenderness and humanity by which many of its passages are inspired, render its perusal a delightful indulgence. ' Orgeas and Miradou ' is a poem in prose, which captivates by its quality of unstrained pathos." — The Morning Post. " Mr. Wedmore has woven one of those webs of fancy and feeling that are exclusively his. ' Orgeas and Miradou ' is so true and so profoundly human that to think of the style of it seems cold and vulgar ; but the style is the reviewer's business, and it is simply faultless. We close the book, often to re-open it, with conhrmcd and growing ad- miration of the masterly method by which Mr. Wedmore's writings are distinguished." — Tlie World. London : JAMES BOWDEN, 10, Henrietta Street, W.C. / LONDON : MKS BOWDEN, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT (^ARDEN.