FullReads

One dull day a man named Gregory, a sort of busybody in the neighbourhood, came into the store of Mr. Lane and said to him–“What do you think of our friend Rowley? Is he a good Christian?”

“He’s a pretty fair Sunday Christian,” replied Lane.

“What is that?” asked the man.

“A hypocrite, to use plain language.”

“That’s pretty hard talk,” said Gregory.

“Do you think so?”

“Yes. When you call a man a hypocrite, you make him out, in my opinion, about as bad as he can well be.”

“Call him a Sunday Christian, then.”

“A Sunday Christian?”

“Yes; that is, a man who puts his religion on every Sabbath, as he does his Sunday coat; and lays it away again carefully on Monday morning, so that it will receive no injury in every-day contact with the world.”

“I believe with you that Rowley doesn’t bring much of his religion into his business.”

“No, nor as much common honesty as would save him from perdition.”

“He doesn’t expect to be saved by keeping the moral law.”

“There’ll be a poor chance for him, in my opinion, if he’s judged finally by that code.”

“You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of our friend Rowley?”

“I own that. I used to go to church; but his pious face was ever before me, and his psalm-singing ever in my ears. Was it possible to look at him and not think of his grasping, selfish, overreaching conduct in all his business transactions through the week? No, it was not possible for me. And so, in disgust, I gave up my pew, and haven’t been to church since.”

The next man whom Gregory met he made the repository of what Lane had said about Rowley. This person happened to be a member of the church, and felt scandalized by the remarks. After a little reflection he concluded to inform Mr. Rowley of the free manner in which Mr. Lane had spoken of him.

“Called me a hypocrite!” exclaimed the indignant Mr. Rowley, as soon as he was advised of the free manner in which Mr. Lane had talked about him.

“So I understand. Gregory was my informant.”

Mr. Gregory was called upon, and confirmed the statement. Rowley was highly indignant, and while the heat of his anger was upon him, called at the store of Mr. Lane, in company with two members of his church, who were not at all familiar with his business character, and, therefore, held him in pretty high estimation as a man of piety and sincerity.

The moment Mr. Lane saw these three men enter his place of business, he had a suspicion of their errand.

“Can I have some private conversation with you?” asked Mr. Rowley, with a countenance as solemn as the grave.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Lane, not the least discomposed. “Walk back into my counting-room. We shall be entirely alone there. Do you wish your friends present?”

“I do,” was gravely replied; “I brought them for that purpose.”

“Walk back, gentlemen,” said Lane, as he turned to lead the way.

The four men retired to the little office of the merchant in the back part of the store. After they were seated, Lane said:

“Well, Mr. Rowley, I am ready to hear what you have to say.”

Mr. Rowley cleared his throat two or three times, and then said, in a voice that indicated a good deal of inward disturbance:

“I understand that you have been making rather free use of my name of late.”

“Indeed! in what way?” Lane was perfectly self-possessed.

“I am told that you went so far as to call me a hypocrite.” The voice of Rowley trembled.

“I said you were a Sunday Christian,” replied Lane.

“What do you mean by that?” was peremptorily demanded.

“A man whose religion is a Sunday affair altogether. One who expects to get to heaven by pious observances and church-goings on the Sabbath, without being over-particular as to the morality of his conduct through the week.”

“Morality! do you pretend to say that I am an immoral man?” said Rowley, with much heat.