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 SECOND EDITION

Learning JavaScript

Shelley Powers

Beijing • Cambridge • Farnham • Köln • Sebastopol • Taipei • Tokyo

Learning JavaScript, Second Edition
by Shelley Powers

Copyright © 2009 Shelley Powers. All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North, Sebastopol, CA 95472.

O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. Online editions
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Copyeditor: Audrey Doyle Interior Designer: David Futato
Proofreader: Sumita Mukherji Illustrator: Jessamyn Read

Printing History:
October 2006: First Edition.
December 2008: Second Edition.

Nutshell Handbook, the Nutshell Handbook logo, and the O’Reilly logo are registered trademarks of
O’Reilly Media, Inc. Learning JavaScript, the image of a baby rhino, and related trade dress are trade-
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While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume
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tained herein.

TM

This book uses RepKover, a durable and flexible lay-flat binding.

ISBN: 978-0-596-52187-5

[M]

1228405087
 Table of Contents

Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi

1. Hello JavaScript! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Hello World! 1
Hello World! Once Again 2
The script Tag 3
JavaScript Versus ECMAScript Versus JScript 5
Defining Functions in JavaScript 6
Event Handlers 7
The document Browser Object 8
The property Operator 9
The var Keyword and Scope 10
Statements 10
Comments 11
What You Didn’t See: HTML Comments and CDATA Sections 12
JavaScript Files 14
Accessibility and JavaScript Best Practices 15
Accessibility Guidelines 16
noscript 17

2. JavaScript Data Types and Variables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19

Identifying Variables 20
Naming Guidelines 21
Primitive Types 23
The String Data Type 24
String Escape Sequences 25
String Encoding 26
Converting to Strings 28
The Boolean Data Type 30
The Number Data Type 31
The null and undefined Variables 34
Constants: Named but Not Variables 36

v
 Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 36
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 37

3. Operators and Statements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

The Format of a JavaScript Statement 39
The Assignment Statement 41
The Arithmetic Operators 41
The Unary Operators 43
Operator Precedence 44
A Handy Shortcut: Assignment with Operation 45
The Bitwise Operators 45
Conditional Statements and Program Flow 47
The if…else Conditional Statement 49
The switch Conditional Statement 51
The Conditional Operators 54
The Equality and Identity (String Equality) Operators 54
Other Relational Operators 57
The One and Only JavaScript Ternary Operator 59
The Logical Operators 59
Advanced Statements: The Loops 61
The while Loop 61
The do…while Loop 62
The for Loops 63
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 65
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 66

4. The JavaScript Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69

Primitive Data Types As Objects 69
Boolean, Number, and String 71
The Boolean Object 71
The Number Object, Static Properties, and Instance Methods 73
The String Object 75
Regular Expressions and RegExp 81
The RegExp Methods: test and exec 82
Working with Regular Expressions 84
The Date Object 89
The Math Object 92
The Math Properties 92
The Math Methods 93
JavaScript Arrays 95
FIFO Queues 97
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 100
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 100

vi | Table of Contents
5. Functions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Declarative Functions 103
Function Naming Conventions and Size 104
Function Returns and Arguments 104
Anonymous Functions 107
Function Literals 109
Functions and Recursion 111
Nested Functions, Function Closure, and Memory Leaks 113
Callback Functions 116
Function Type Summary 118
Function Scope 119
Function As Object 120
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 120
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 121

6. Troubleshooting, Debugging, and Cross-Browser Issues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123

Simple Ways to Debug 123
Development and Debugging Tools by Browser 124
Firefox and Firebug 124
Using console.log 127
Firefox, the Web Developer Toolkit, and NoScript 129
Opera and Dragonfly 130
Safari/WebKit and the Web Inspector 132
Internet Explorer 133
Dealing with Cross-Browser Differences 134
Object Detection 135
Where Object Detection Fails 138
DOCTYPE, X-UA-Compatible, and Quirks Mode 141
Breaking Backward Compatibility: The IE8 http-equiv Meta Tag 141
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 142
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 142

7. Catching Events . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145

The Events 145
Level 0 Event Handling 146
The Event Object 149
Event Bubbling 152
Event Handlers and this 154
The DOM Level 2 Event Model 156
Generating Events 162
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 163
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 163

Table of Contents | vii

 8. Forms, Form Events, and Validation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Attaching Events to Forms: Different Approaches 166
Cross-Browser Event Handling 166
Canceling an Event 167
Selection 168
Dynamically Modifying the Selection 171
Selection and Auto-Selection 172
Radio Buttons and Checkboxes 175
The text, textarea, password, and hidden Input Elements 178
Text Validation 180
Input Fields and Regular Expression Validation 182
Forms, the Sandbox, and XSS 184
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 186
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 186

9. Browser As Puzzle Box . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189

The Structure of the Browser at a Glance 189
The window Object 190
Creating and Controlling Windows 191
The Dialogs: alert, confirm, and prompt 191
Creating Custom Windows 192
Modifying a Window 195
Frames 199
The location Object 201
Remote Scripting with the iframe 203
Adding and Controlling Timers 207
The history, screen, and navigator Objects 209
The history Object 209
The screen Object 210
The navigator Object 210
The history, screen, and navigator Properties in Action 211
The Document Object 214
Links 214
Images 215
innerHTML 217
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 219
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 219

10. Cookies and Other Client-Side Storage Techniques . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

The JavaScript Sandbox and Cookie Security 221
The Same-Origin Security Policy 222
Using document.domain 222
All About Cookies 223

viii | Table of Contents

 Storing and Reading Cookies 223
Flash Shared Objects, Google Gears, and HTML5 DOM Storage 228
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 231
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 231

11. The DOM, or Web Page As Tree . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233

A Tale of Two Interfaces 233
The DOM HTML API 234
The DOM HTML Objects and Their Properties 235
DOM (HTML) Collections 239
Understanding the DOM: The Core API 242
The DOM Tree 243
Node Properties and Methods 245
The DOM Core Document Object 249
Element and Access in Context 253
Modifying the Tree 255
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 259
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 260

12. Dynamic Pages . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261

JavaScript, CSS, and the DOM 261
The Style Property/Attributes 261
Fonts and Text 265
Font Style Properties 266
Text Properties 267
Position and Movement 269
Dynamic Positioning 270
Drag-and-Drop 274
Size and Clipping 277
Overflow and Dynamic Content 278
The Clipping Rectangle 280
Display, Visibility, and Opacity 282
The Right Tool for the Right Effect 283
Just-in-Time Information 283
Revisiting the DOM: Collapsing Forms, Query Selectors, and Class Names 286
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 291
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 291

13. Creating Custom JavaScript Objects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293

The JavaScript Object and Prototyping 293
Prototyping 293
Creating Your Own Custom JavaScript Objects 296
Enter the Function 296

Table of Contents | ix
 Public and Private Properties and Where this Enters the Picture 299
Getters and Setters 300
Object Encapsulation 301
Chaining Constructors and JavaScript Inheritance 308
One-Off Objects 311
Object Libraries: Packaging Your Objects for Reuse 314
Advanced Error Handling Techniques (try, throw, catch) 315
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 318
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 319

14. Moving Outside the Page with Ajax . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321

How Ajax Works 321
Hello Ajax World! 322
The XMLHttpRequest Object and Preparing to Send the Request 325
Object, Object, Who Has the Object? 327
The XMLHttpRequest Methods 328
Processing the Web Request Return 331
Checking the readyState and status of an Ajax Request 331
Processing the Web Request Result 333
Ajax: It’s Not Only Code 335
The Dynamic Nature of Ajax 335
Ajax Accessibility and Degrading Gracefully 336
Security and Workarounds 337
JavaScript and Ajax Libraries 338
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 341
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 342

15. Ajax Data: XML or JSON? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343

XML-Formatted Ajax Results 343
The Data’s MIME Type 343
Generating the XML on the Server 344
Processing the XML on the Client 347
JavaScript Object Notation 350
A Simple JSON Application 351
The JSON Object 354
Test Your Knowledge: Quiz 358
Test Your Knowledge: Answers 360

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363

x | Table of Contents
 Preface

JavaScript was originally intended to be a scripting interface between a web page loaded
in the browser client (Netscape Navigator at the time) and the application on the server.
Since its introduction in 1995, JavaScript has become a key component of web devel-
opment, and has found uses elsewhere as well.
This book covers the JavaScript language, from its most primitive data types that have
been around since the beginning of the language, to its most complex features, includ-
ing those that have to do with Ajax and dynamic page effects. After reading this book,
you will have the basics you need to work with even the most sophisticated libraries
and web applications.

Audience
Readers of this book should be familiar with web page technology, including Cascading
Style Sheets (CSS) and HTML/XHTML. Previous programming experience isn’t
required, though some sections may require extra review if you have no previous
exposure to programming.
This book should help:
• Anyone who wants, or needs, to integrate JavaScript into his own personal website
or sites
• Anyone who uses a content-management tool, such as a weblogging tool, and
wants to better understand the scripting components incorporated into her tool
templates
• Web developers who seek to integrate JavaScript and some of the dynamic web
page/Ajax features into their websites
• Web service developers who want to develop for a new market of clients
• Teachers who use web technologies as either the focus or a component of their
courses

xi
 • Web page designers who wish to better understand how they can enliven their
designs with interactive or animated effects
• Anyone interested in web technologies

Assumptions and Approach

As stated earlier, this book assumes you have experience with HTML and CSS, as well
as a general understanding of how web applications work. Programming experience
isn’t necessary, but the book covers all aspects of JavaScript, some of which are rela-
tively sophisticated. Though the heavier pieces are few, you will need to understand
JavaScript well enough to work with the newer Ajax libraries.

The Development Environment

Working with JavaScript can be especially challenging because your applications have
to work not only on different types of machines, but also in several different browsers.
If you look at web server logfiles for a site, you can see accesses from modern browsers,
such as Firefox 3 and IE8, as well as ancient browsers such as IE5.
You can get caught up in trying to create JavaScript for all possible variations of oper-
ating system and browser, but a better bet is to pick a group of target browsers that
matches the browsers used by most of the people accessing your web pages, and use
these to test your applications. You may find that your applications won’t work with
older browsers, but at some point, you won’t be able to support all environments for
all people.
Throughout this book, I’ll be mentioning “target browsers” when I mention how a
piece of JavaScript works. For the book, my target browsers are Firefox 3.x, Opera 9.x,
Safari 3.x (including recent builds of WebKit, the infrastructure that forms the basis of
Safari), and primarily IE8, the next version of Internet Explorer. Most of the examples
for IE should also work with IE 7.x and IE 6.x, and I’ll try to note otherwise. Here is a
list of the URLs where you can access these browsers:
• You can download Firefox from http://www.mozilla.com/en-US/firefox/.
• Safari is installed with Mac OS X, but you can also access it for the Mac and Win-
dows at http://www.apple.com/safari/. Safari is based on the open source WebKit
project, which provides nightly builds for testing at http://webkit.org/.
• You can access Opera at http://www.opera.com/.
• Internet Explorer is built into Windows, but you can access the IE8 beta at http://
www.microsoft.com/windows/internet-explorer/beta/default.aspx.
JavaScript and browser development is very dynamic, and this adds a unique challenge
when writing a book on JavaScript. Though I tried to include the most updated coverage
of JavaScript, both the JavaScript specification (the ECMAScript specification, to be

xii | Preface
more accurate) and the browsers themselves were undergoing significant changes. For
instance, as I was in the editing phase of this book, the ECMAScript working group
announced plans to abandon work on what was known as JavaScript 2 and focus on a
new interim specification release, ECMAScript 3.1. However, most of the changes in
the newer ECMAScript aren’t implemented in many of the target browsers. In the cases
where I was relatively confident that the specification introduced a functionality that
will be implemented in future browsers, I made a note, at a minimum, of upcoming
changes.
In addition, browser makers are always introducing new versions of their tools. The
target browsers used to test examples in this book reflect the state of the browsers at
the time I wrote the book, which may not quite reflect what you’ll find when you read
the book.
However, most of the material I’ve focused on is “classic” JavaScript, which not only
is stable, but also will always form the platform on which new changes to both browser
and scripting language are based. Most, if not all, of the examples in this book should
work in older and future browsers, as well as the target browsers used to test the
examples.
Knock on wood.

How the Book Is Organized

The book is organized into six loosely grouped sections.
Chapters 1 through 3 provide an introduction to the structure of a JavaScript applica-
tion, including the simple data types supported in the language, as well as the basic
statements and control structures. These establish a baseline of understanding of the
language for the sections that follow.
Chapters 4 and 5 introduce the main JavaScript objects, String, Number, and Boolean,
in addition to other built-in objects, such as Math, RegExp (for regular expressions),
Array, and the all-important Function.
Chapter 6 takes a breather from the language bits and prepares the reader for the more
complex scripting examples later in the book by introducing the browser debugging
tools, as well as troubleshooting techniques.
Chapter 7 introduces event handling, and Chapter 8 then expands on the subject by
covering form events and JavaScript applications with forms.
Chapters 9 through 11 delve into the more sophisticated aspects of web page develop-
ment. These chapters cover the Browser Object Model (BOM) and the newer Docu-
ment Object Model (DOM), and show how you can create your own custom objects.
Understanding these models is essential if you wish to create new windows, or indi-
vidually access, modify, or even dynamically create any page element. In addition, with
custom objects, you can move beyond the capabilities that are pre-built into either

Preface | xiii
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
his contemplated marriage. Not to delay with moralizing, an
Evangelist by the name of Coyt made his advent into the quiet town
where Ernest lived, on the invitation of the Presbyterian church.
Great expectations had been formed by many of the more pious
brethren, who had read accounts of Dr. Coyt’s wonderful success at
other places. His services were eagerly desired and sought all over
the country.
At last he entered the little town of —— and began a series of
earnest, soul-searching sermons, which he had repeated so often
that he could frequently predict what result would follow the delivery
of each. Large, expectant congregations attended his meetings from
the very outset, since his evangelistic fame had preceded him. For
several days the preacher produced no great visible effects, and
there were scarcely any signs of spiritual life, except such as were
discernible in the numerous petitions sent in by anxious brethren,
requesting prayer for sons, daughters, wives, or other relatives and
friends. At length this request was read out to the congregation:
“Please pray for a young lawyer, who is moral and worthy in every
respect, but is lacking the one thing needful.”
Ernest was present, and heard the reading of this petition. Who
could it be but himself? At first, a flash of displeasure, to call it by
the mildest name, passed over his handsome face. Who was the
person that had the impudence to direct attention to him? But all
harsh thoughts soon passed away, when he reflected that the
petitioner, whoever it might be, desired only his good. The process
of rigid introspection succeeded his first unpleasant thoughts, and he
at once gave attention to the contest between conscience and
passion that had mysteriously begun. He seemed to be only a
spectator of the conflict of antagonistic forces in his soul. There are
times, says one of the most profound and philosophical women of
the nineteenth century, when our passions speak for us, and we
stand by and look on in astonishment. There is something similar to
this in the process of spiritual regeneration. Questions and answers
suddenly arise in the mind, as of concealed beings in whispered
consultation, and we appear to ourselves to be listening to the
mysterious dialogue. So it was with Ernest Edgefield, as he sat in the
church engaged in self-examination. It appeared to him that he had
suddenly awakened out of an alarming dream. He had been in a
moral sleep all his life, and had never reflected seriously upon the
unknown eternity which was distant but a single step. A “still small
voice” seemed to come on the very breeze, and whispered: “What
folly this young man has displayed in thinking of nothing but the
things of time and sense.” Ernest almost started. “What am I living
for?” he asked himself. “In a few weeks I shall be married, and will
give renewed attention to business. But time will flow on: and if I
live, I will soon be an old man, and I must die, and then—and then
—what?” Ernest was neither infidel nor skeptic: indeed, he only
needed that his fears should be aroused as a precedent condition to
becoming an active Christian. After prayer had been offered up for
the “young lawyer,” and while thoughts, conclusions and convictions
were all mingling together in the mind of Ernest, he looked at Clara,
who was sitting where he could see her face. Their eyes met. She
was gazing at him with an expression which he could easily
interpret, and if she had spoken in an audible voice, he could not
more clearly have understood her to say: “Isn’t it ridiculous?” The
young man almost shuddered. Why did a great yawning abyss seem
to open suddenly between them? The depression which had for
some days weighed down his spirits, all at once appeared like a
heavy rock upon his breast, causing something like a sickening
sensation to creep through his troubled heart. However, in his
present state of newly aroused emotions, to which he had been such
an utter stranger all his life, he felt that a subject of more vital
importance than even his marriage deserved his immediate
attention. Accordingly he turned his gaze upon the preacher, who
announced his text: “Thou art weighed in the balances, and art
found wanting.” Dr. Coyt, in the progress of his discourse, drew a
word-picture, upon which his audience gazed in profound, breathless
silence. No one looked upon this picture more intently than Ernest.
He saw himself alone with his Creator and the balances which were
to determine his everlasting destiny. Never before had Ernest’s
relations to time and eternity appeared in so vivid a light. The next
morning after this, as the sun kissed the glowing horizon, darkness
and doubt were dispelled from the soul of Ernest by the enlightening
beams of the Sun of Righteousness. He had found that “peace which
passeth all understanding,” and he was strangely happy.
That day, without saying a word to any one upon the subject, he
went forward to indicate his purpose of joining the church.
“Which church do you desire to join?” asked Dr. Coyt.
“I have not yet determined,” replied Ernest. “I only wish now to let it
be known that I have come out upon the Lord’s side. I intend to
investigate the doctrines of the different denominations, and I shall
join that one I like best.”
“That is right,” replied the Doctor. “Take time for reflection, so that
you will have no trouble in the future. Select that church in which
you think you can be the happiest.”
Those who feel any interest in this story will, of course, desire to
know what effect the meeting had upon Clara. Ernest had been so
absorbed in his own spiritual troubles that he had had no
conversation with her since the hour when he had become
interested upon the subject of his personal salvation. But that
evening, after he had signified his intention of attaching himself to
the church, he paid her a visit. She was not present at the morning
service, and knew nothing of the step he had taken. After the
exchange of ordinary civilities, she said with a significant flippancy
which was chilling to Ernest’s heart:
“How have you enjoyed the show?”
“Show!” exclaimed Ernest, bestowing upon her a solemn look of
inquiry.
“Yes,” said Clara, not seeming to notice his serious air. “It is as good
as any show. Wasn’t it funny to have them all praying for you?”
“I do not see where there was any fun,” said Ernest with an
expression of disappointment upon his face, “and I am truly sorry to
hear you talk so lightly about such solemn things. They are too
sacred to admit of sport.”
“So, they have got you, too, have they?” asked Clara, breaking into a
merry laugh. “Well, I confess I am astonished.”
“Why should you be? I cannot see that it is a matter of such
profound amazement for a man to join the church.”
“Have you really joined the church?”
“I have, or at least gave notice this morning that I would do so, and
I earnestly wish, my dear Clara, that you would make up your mind
to the same thing. That is needed to complete our happiness.”
She made no reply, but laughed in a tone which it would have
required no expert physiognomist to pronounce one of derision.
“What is it that is so amusing?” asked Ernest in vexation. “I had
hoped that you would talk seriously about this matter of such vital
importance.”
“The idea of my joining the church, and giving up my dancing and all
other amusements, is simply preposterous. It is funny.”
“But suppose you were to die,” said Ernest, “what would become of
you? Are you willing to sacrifice your soul for a few worldly pleasures
which, after all, add nothing to your happiness?”
“Why, are you going to turn preacher, too?” said Clara with an
amused expression. “That’s just the way Dr. Coyt has been
preaching for the last five or six days.”
“I am no preacher, and never expect to be,” replied Ernest, “but that
is no reason why I should not want my friends saved, especially such
a friend as you will be.”
Clara bit her cherry nether lip, and laying aside her mood of levity,
said:
“I should like to know what we are to do in this world, if we are
forbidden to enjoy life. That is what I dislike about religious people.
They are so gloomy, and can talk about nothing but death. I hate to
be with them.”
This was spoken in such a way as to cause Ernest to see again the
yawning chasm gaping between them.
“O, my dear Clara!” he exclaimed with trembling tenderness, “how
you are mistaken!”
“Why, how do you know?” she asked in surprise. “You have not been
one of them long enough to find out, I should think. How did you
become so wise, all of a sudden?”
Ernest was not at all pleased with the manner in which she
addressed him, but he durst not manifest the least vexation in the
critical juncture of his amatory affairs. He felt that a quarrel might
terminate in a final overthrow of the fond hopes upon which his
heart had fed for months past. He, therefore, spoke as mildly and
affectionately as possible:
“I have learned something about it even in the last few hours. I have
never experienced such a sense of love, joy and peace in all my
previous life. I am astonished at myself for never having turned my
attention sooner to eternal things. All these years, since I reached
the line of moral responsibility, have been almost wasted, or, at
least, the spiritual enjoyments of all this time have been lost to me;
and how I regret it!”
“How you do talk!” exclaimed Clara. “Do you expect to keep up such
lecturing all our lives? If you do, we may as well—”
“May as well what?” asked Ernest with a sinking heart.
“May as well follow divergent paths,” she said with a timidity which
implied that she, by no means, desired the proposition to be
accepted.
“No, my dear Clara, I shall not mention it again if it is unpleasant to
you. I shall leave you in the hands of God and continue to pray for
you. I think you will take a different view of the matter after a
while.”
“But I would as soon you would talk to me as to look at me as if I
were a criminal.”
“I do not think,” said Ernest, “that religion will convert me into a
long-faced monk. On the contrary, I expect to be more cheerful and
happy than I could be otherwise. You are the one to look solemn
and gloomy.”
“You expect,” said Clara, not appearing to notice the last remark,
“you expect to give up dancing, as most church people do.”
“Certainly. I cannot do violence to my conscience by indulging in an
amusement which I regard as of doubtful propriety, to say the least
of it.”
“Where is the harm in dancing? Church people condemn it, but I
never could see any sin in it—not the least.”
“But there would be sin in it to me with my present views,” said
Ernest.
“You used to like it as well as I did.”
“Yes, that is true; but the time has come when I must and will
renounce it.”
“You expect me to give it up, too?”
“That is a matter to be determined by your own conscience. I shall
not interfere.”
“There is the theatre—you will give that up too?”
“I feel that I must do that, too.”
“Then,” said Clara with a slight frown, “what congeniality of taste
and pursuits is there between us?”
“Why, my loved one,” said Ernest with a smile, “fortunately theatres
and dances occupy but a small portion of our time.”
“Who will escort me when I want to go?”
Ernest loved his affianced with such an intensity that he dreaded to
get into an unpleasant controversy that might culminate fatally to his
hopes. If he were too puritanical and inflexible, he thought, she
might sever all the ties between them—an event which made him
shudder to contemplate; so he replied:
“All congeniality of taste between us need not be destroyed because
you may fancy some amusements which I do not. It could scarcely
be expected that two human beings should think exactly alike. With
regard to your dancing, I leave it to your conscience and to time
which usually destroys our relish for most of the sports and
enjoyments of youth. I have strong hopes that you will sooner or
later perceive the necessity of leaving the paths of moral ruin and
renouncing the pleasures of sin for the more solid and substantial
pleasures of religion.”
Clara said nothing, but sat still gazing into the forest which spread
out in the distance—gazing with that vacant air which indicates the
absence of attention to any object upon which her eyes might be
fixed. Ernest could form no idea as to the character of her thoughts
from the expression of her fair countenance, and he began to fear
that he had said too much, and thought that perhaps he would
better endeavor to remove every difficulty that might prove an
obstacle to their union. He did not want to leave any grounds for
one of those unfortunate misunderstandings between lovers which
so frequently grow out of nothing. He therefore said with an air of
cheerfulness and tenderness:
“You need not suppose, my loved one, that I will be forever
preaching to you. That is not my calling. Have I given you offence by
anything I have said? I mean by all I have said only that there is a
time for all things—a time to dance and a time to give religion a
prominent place in our thoughts.”
“O, no; I’m not offended, but you make me feel gloomy. It is bad
enough to hear these things about death at church, where we
expect it. I didn’t know that we had to make religion a topic of
private conversation.”
“No, we are not forced to do so; but I thought it a suitable time to
talk about it now when the subject is occupying the attention of the
whole community.”
“I candidly confess I don’t like to talk about such things,” said Clara
with a serious air. “I have always had a sort of horror of religion. In
my mind it is associated with death and other disagreeable things.”
“But these disagreeable things,” said Ernest, “as you call them, are
stubborn realities which we cannot avoid. Sooner or later, we must
face them, whether we like or not. Would we not, then, better
regulate our lives so that these very gloomy things shall become
sources of pleasure?”
“O, I suppose so,” said Clara dryly, “if death could ever be a pleasant
subject of conversation.”
“Not long since,” replied Ernest with the deepest solemnity, “I
entertained the very same views which you do. I would not think
about death when I could possibly banish it from my mind, and I
contemplated it for an instant as some horrible monster which I
must face after a while. I regarded it with as much dread as ever the
celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson did. But now,” and as he spoke an
expression of deep joy flashed over his features, “I do not dread the
event as such an awful calamity. I even love to think about it.”
“What! do you want to die?” cried Clara.
“No: I did not say that,” calmly replied Ernest.
“No man in the enjoyment of health really desires to die; for in some
respects, it is a terrible ordeal from which poor, weak human nature
shrinks. I have no disposition to court death: I want to live for your
sake, for you know with what depth and intensity I love you, and
loving you thus, I should like, above all things, to see you in a
condition that would enable you to exclaim with rapture, ‘O death,
where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’ What a happy
thought to me that we should be one on earth, and then when we
cross over the dark river, our purified souls should be knit together in
the bonds of a higher, nobler affection than is possible here; and
then that we should stroll hand-in-hand in the heavenly groves,
along the banks of the crystal river, under the fruit trees whose
leaves are for the healing of the nations, never more to be disturbed
by any misapprehensions, nor even by a discordant word or thought.
We shall be one in heart, soul and mind. This is what I call true
marriage. It is a contract not to end with time, but it goes on
through the numberless ages of eternity. O, what a glorious
prospect!” he exclaimed with features lit up with pure, holy joy; and
then he paused for an instant as if overwhelmed and lost in the
contemplation of indescribable scenes which “eye hath not seen nor
ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man.” After a
moment he continued: “On the other hand, what an awful thought!
It makes me shudder. O, if you remain as you now are, we shall be
separated forever, when we part at the grave. Then where will you
go? If you miss the glory-land, there is only one more place—the
lake that burns with fire and brimstone—a place where their worm
dieth not and the fire is not quenched. If there is no fire there, as
some contend, then it is a place of black, thick darkness. The lost
soul, cast out into the illimitable regions of uninhabited space, away
beyond the last star that glitters on the outskirts of visible creation,
will go wandering round and round, or if too weary to make an
effort, it will begin falling, like a bird with folded wings, and keep on
falling, falling, down and down, forever down—no company but your
own thoughts—no sound heard but your own breathing—no sweet
music—no voice of friend—no light—nothing but the horrors of
eternal, impenetrable darkness. You may suppose you will have
companions—but what will be their character? Not kind friends, to
speak words of consolation, but malevolent fiends whose delight it
will be to torment. All the horrors so graphically described by Dante
may be awful realities. Can you blame me, then, for feeling the
deepest anxiety on your account? I should be the happiest man in
town if you could make up your mind to join the church.”
“O, I could not think of such a thing!” exclaimed Clara. “You have
already given me the blues. I fear you will never be yourself again.
You are so changed. But reading that awful old Dante is enough to
frighten any one out of his senses. I tried to read it not long since,
but it was so foolish and absurd, I dropped it in disgust. But haven’t
you preached long enough? I do believe you will be a preacher yet.”
“No; I have no such idea as that. But I should be sorry to think that
preachers are the only persons to whom it is allowable to talk about
religion. However, I am a changed man, and I am glad you can
perceive it. I hope I may never again be the wicked man I have
been. But I shall not further press the subject upon your attention,
and I promise not to mention it again till you are in the proper mood
to talk about it.”
The foregoing conversation is no integral part of the present story,
and might have been omitted entirely, but we have recorded it at
length to show what different views young people entertain in
regard to the highest destiny a human being can achieve. What
makes such a vast difference, when there are precisely the same
incentives to action in both? Some quickly cut the Gordian knot by
attributing it to the difference in their wills, which, we may bring this
chapter to an end by saying, is quite a convenient way of avoiding
Deep Waters.
 CHAPTER III.

THE MYSTERIOUS VOICE.

The protracted meeting, which had continued fourteen days, was

ended. Dr. Coyt, the Evangelist, took his leave in order to carry
blessings to other places. No one could deny that a wonderful
change had taken place in the moral aspect of the town. Some, who
had been regarded as the worst characters in the community,
astonished their neighbors by an immediate reformation. Saloon-
keepers joined the church. Gamblers forsook their evil ways.
Lukewarm church members were fired with renewed zeal. The whole
town seemed to be animated by one impulse and one purpose. But
such a great disturbance of public thought could not in the nature of
things be maintained for any lengthy period. Public feeling, like
water, seeks its level. A state of effervescence is not its normal
condition. Consequently the foam-crested waves must soon subside
into customary tranquillity. Men return to their vocations, and their
thoughts revert to trade and traffic. The things of eternity which had
so recently absorbed attention, must now be partly laid aside.
Ernest was not different from other men in the general aspect of
human nature. He too had to resume his books and legal
documents. Judging from his outward conduct, no one could have
imagined the depth of the work of grace in his heart. But internally,
he was leading a quite different life. His energies were put forth for
the accomplishment of one object—his personal salvation. In the
short space of a week he had lost that ambition whose only object is
self-gratification. It is not meant that he had no desire to excel and
to rise to a high position in his profession, for religion does not
require the suppression of every impulse of this character, but Ernest
had no disposition to gain victories merely to elicit the admiration
and applause of his fellow men. After the meeting, he endeavored to
apply himself to business with his former diligence. But there was
one peculiarity in his efforts for which he could not account, and
which he did not understand clearly till some years afterwards. He
could not and did not feel the same interest in his profession, for
which so lately he had a most enthusiastic love. Try never so hard to
confine his attention to his law books, his mind would wander off to
very unsecular affairs. Endeavoring to plunge into the profundities of
Kent’s Commentaries, he would meet with a sentence or a word
which would remind him of some theological commentary. Ernest, in
a short time after his conversion, had become so much interested in
the study of the Holy Scriptures that he had added to his library the
commentaries of Henry, Clarke and Scott. He found himself more
frequently pondering over the signification of passages of holy writ
than paragraphs of law. He spent much time in reading and
searching the Scriptures—like the Bereans—time, which the spirit of
the world said should have been given to the duties of his calling.
This internal conflict threw Ernest into a state of perplexity. He was
becoming an enigma to himself. He could not imagine why his
vocation should become distasteful. The finger of destiny was
pointing in a new direction, but it was concealed by the mists of the
future. For some wise reason the path of duty is not always clearly
indicated. The divine economy is so inwrought with human affairs
that no man can determine the extent of the supernatural guidance
that may be furnished.
While in this state of mind, Ernest went to church one Sabbath. The
minister, who was a stranger, read the fourteenth chapter of John as
his lesson, and at the proper time announced as his text the first
and second verses—“Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in
God, believe also in me,” etc. Ernest assumed a comfortable physical
posture in the expectation of hearing a soul-thrilling sermon—an
expectation justified by the abundant consolation which can be
legitimately drawn from the entire chapter. There was a large
congregation and all seemed to be eager to catch every word that
should be uttered. The preacher began in a rather low nasal “whine,”
as the people called it—a not very classical term to be sure, but very
expressive and generally understood, if nothing else could be said in
its favor. His manner was cold and not at all en rapport with his
environments, but Ernest thought and hoped that he would “warm
up” with his subject as he proceeded. He was doomed to
disappointment: for the preacher kept on with the same whine, with
no more variation than there is in the ringing of a bell. The vocal
part was utterly incongruous with the theme. The preacher stood
stone still, nothing moving but his lips, and looking like a talking
statue. His hands were gently folded on his breast and his eyes were
fixed with immovable rigidity upon something on the floor
immediately in front of the pulpit. His whole manner was the best
imaginable remedy for insomnia, which was soon proved by the
state of delightful unconsciousness into which many of the audience
had fallen at the expiration of the first half-hour. Ernest made brave
and persistent efforts to confine his attention to the minister’s
monotonous sentences and to resist the feeling of somnolence which
was quietly and gradually creeping over him. When the service
finally ended, Ernest left the church with a feeling of spiritual
lassitude—a consciousness that the hour had been unprofitable, not
to say that he was a little vexed, too.
“Why does the Church send out such men to preach?” he asked
himself as he walked slowly homeward. “This man’s intentions, no
doubt, are good, but his education is wofully deficient, and he does
not seem to understand the first rudiment of oratory. The
ecclesiastical body that put him in this responsible position are more
censurable than he is. What a grand text he had! If a man could
preach at all, it does seem that he could get a splendid sermon out
of that passage. I believe I could do it myself. Let me see. There is
that old college speech of mine—Man was made to mourn,—it would
apply admirably to the first head. Look abroad over the world. How
many things there are which are calculated to trouble the heart. Of
all this the preacher never said a word. I moved an audience to
tears with the same subject when there was nothing but human
sympathy to which I could appeal. But with the precious hopes and
promises of the gospel in his hands, he put a portion of his
congregation to sleep. Then there are the blessed mansions which
the Savior promised to His true followers. ‘I go to prepare a place for
you,’ said our Lord. Why there is a grand sermon in that one brief
sentence. ‘I go,’ said Christ. Where did He go? Why did He go? Why
did He not remain forever on earth? The answer is, that He might
send the Comforter. Then, for what purpose did He go? To prepare
mansions for all true believers. What a glorious thought! What does
He prepare? A place. Then the conclusion is, that heaven is a
tangible locality. For whom is He preparing a place? ‘For you.’ But the
disciples stood there as the representatives of all true believers for
all time. So I should have said, had I been in that preacher’s place
to-day: ‘Brethren, Jesus says I am preparing a place for you.’ Then I
would go on to describe this blessed place from intimations thrown
out in the Bible itself. There are the shining city, the jasper walls, the
golden streets, the crystal river, the Trees of Life, the Great White
Throne, and the mighty multitude which no man can number. With
these grand and sublime thoughts in easy reach, the preacher never
said one word to brighten our hopes and strengthen our faith. But
instead of producing such an effect, he threw us into a state of
stupid, half-unconsciousness. What a failure!”
Presently, while Ernest was musing in this loose, random way, a
voice—a “still, small voice,” as it were, seemed to come out of the
atmosphere, and ask: “Why not then preach yourself?” It was the
fiery finger of destiny flashing before him, and Ernest was startled.
He answered, almost speaking in audible tones: “Because I am not
qualified. I have no call to such work. I am a lawyer. I do not know
how to preach.”
“But you have just preached a sermon,” quickly answered the voice.
“I only thought what the preacher might have said,” replied Ernest.
“Then why not speak your thoughts to a congregation?” asked the
mysterious voice.
We do not wish, by any means, to make the impression that this was
an actual supernatural dialogue. It was probably subjective. We use
the word “probably,” because we have no right to affirm that God,
even in this age of skepticism, never addresses men in audible
tones; or what amounts to the same thing. He, no doubt, so
operates upon the human conscience as to make subjective mental
processes appear objective. At any rate, Ernest was a little startled
by this colloquy, which had the appearance of reality. He was so
absorbed that he did not notice where he was. He was slowly
walking with his head bowed down, and ran against some one soon
after the voice appeared to utter the last words. It was Mr. Hillston,
at whose house Ernest was still boarding. The collision occurred at
the gate. Ernest sprang back, and looked in surprise.
“O, Mr. Hillston,” he cried, “I beg your pardon, sir. I was not looking
up. I was thinking, yea, almost talking.”
“And to whom were you talking, my young friend?” asked the old
gentleman.
“I scarcely know, sir, that is, I can hardly determine whether it was
to myself, or some invisible being in the air?”
“That is a little strange; but what was the subject of your
conversation?”
“I will tell you how it was.”
Ernest then related what had occurred. When he had finished, he
could not fail to notice the serious expression of Mr. Hillston’s face.
“What do you think about it?” asked Ernest.
“Do you think the circumstance needs interpretation?” asked Mr.
Hillston. “Do you not perceive the meaning?”
“I do not know that it has any particular meaning,” answered Ernest.
“My boy,” spoke the old man with deep solemnity, “does it not occur
to you that it is God’s call to the ministry?”
“No sir,” quickly replied Ernest. “Do not tell me that. I cannot believe
it. I will not think it upon such evidence?”
“Yes, you will think it, and believe it, too. You may decline, if you
will; you may offer resistance, but that voice will follow you up, and
haunt you like a ghost. If you will not go into the work willingly, God
will drive you into it, as he did Paul.”
“What! smite me with blindness?”
“I do not say that,” answered Mr. Hillston slowly, “but He will so
shape and direct circumstances as to force you to do His bidding.
You may flee like Jonah, but events, possibly misfortunes, will be the
‘great fish’ to swallow you up, and cast you out where you will be
glad to cry aloud to men to repent.”
“You almost frighten me,” exclaimed Ernest. “I cannot regard what I
have told you as constituting a call from God to preach. I am not
superstitious. I do not believe as you do, anyhow.”
“What do you mean, my boy?” asked the old man, looking at him in
surprise.
“Do you not remember what you said the other day about election
and free agency. I believe in free agency. I do not think that God
forces men to do things. But you,” continued Ernest with a laugh,
“are a regular old blue-stocking Presbyterian.”
“I cannot suffer you, my young friend, to give up to the
Presbyterians exclusively the most precious doctrines of the Bible.
You are very much mistaken if you think that Presbyterians are the
only people who believe in election and the final perseverance of the
saints.”
“Do you believe that other horrid doctrine of Predestination? No;
surely not.”
“You have asked me a direct question,” said Mr. Hillston, “and have
presumed to answer for me. But your answer is incorrect: for as
much as you may be surprised, I tell you that I do believe the ‘horrid
doctrine’ of Predestination.”
“Well, I am surprised to hear you say so. For I thought that even
Presbyterians shrank from averring it openly.”
“You may be surprised now; but when you investigate more closely,
you may be a Predestinarian yourself, if you will lay aside prejudice.”
“I do not see how I ever can be, with all deference to you, sir; for
the doctrine is horrible to me.”
“What is so horrible, my boy?” asked the old man kindly. “But let us
go into the house. Now,” continued Mr. Hillston, as they both seated
themselves, “tell me what is so horrible?”
“Why, that God should condemn men to eternal torment even before
they are born. What can be more cruel and unjust?”
“That would be ‘horrible’ if God were blind, as men are. But let us
look at this ‘horrible doctrine’ from other standpoints. You probably
know that some people, in order to avoid the difficulties of Divine
sovereignty, strip God of one of His attributes by saying that the
Lord does not choose to fore-know human destiny, that is, individual
destiny. Now if that were true, man would be a perfect free moral
agent, would he?”
“Undoubtedly, he would, sir.”
“That is what a great many people say,” answered Mr. Hillston, “in
the very face of Scriptures to the contrary. But never mind: for the
present, we will assume that God does not choose to exercise His
foreknowledge. Well, men follow the bent of their owns wills, and
shape their own destinies. At last the world comes to an end. God
opens the Books—that is, He looks back over the past, and discovers
what men have done, and settles their doom according to their
deeds, do you think that would be right?”
“O, yes,” said Ernest, “that would certainly be just, according to my
ideas.”
“Very well. In looking back, the mere knowledge which God acquires
does not affect men’s conduct, does it?”
“What do you mean by ‘affect’?”
“I mean His knowledge would not change their deeds, one way or
the other?”
“No: of course, His knowledge would have no effect upon their past
conduct.”
“Then, if you please, tell me what is the difference between God’s
looking back over the past and looking forward over the future. How
would His knowledge affect human destinies in the one case more
than in the other?”
Ernest thought for a moment, and then said:
“Why, there is this difference: whatever God foreknows must take
place.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Mr. Hillston, “but does God’s after-knowledge
affect the conduct of men?”
“No, sir.”
“Then how does God’s foreknowledge differ from his after-
knowledge—that is the question. Is there any difference?”
“Just at this moment,” replied Ernest in some confusion, “I am not
prepared to say; but it does seem to me unjust in God to sentence
men to torment before they are born.”
“But if the condemnation is for the same sins, why not condemn
before they are born as well as after?”
“You have taken a turn that I was not expecting,” answered Ernest.
“I confess I had never thought of it in that way.”
“No, and that is what is the matter with the most of those who
oppose the doctrine of predestination. They even deny fore-
knowledge to God, not pausing to reflect that mere knowledge has
no effect upon the destinies of men. They represent God as in the
attitude of a human judge. But we must never forget that His ways
are not as our ways, and His thoughts, not as our thoughts.
Predestination is a mysterious doctrine, and there is something
about it which no man can understand. And yet, when we
investigate it in the light of the Holy Scriptures, and study the
examples illustrating it, there is not as much difficulty as some
people imagine. I do not think you have investigated in this way.”
“No, sir; but I intend to do so.”
“That is right. Study your Bible closely; honestly mark all the
passages that teach this ‘horrid doctrine,’ and let us talk about it
again. I have no doubt that you will study the Bible more closely
than you have ever done, since you are going to be a minister of the
gospel.”
“There, you are reckoning without your host,” said Ernest. “I have no
idea of ever being a preacher. I am not qualified. Why, it would be
presumption in me to think about it.”
“Mark my words, Ernest,” said Mr. Hillston solemnly, “you will be a
preacher or a ruined man. The Holy Spirit, if I am not very greatly
mistaken, is opening the way, and showing you the path. I beg you,
do not neglect and disregard plain indications. I cannot help thinking
that you are a chosen vessel for some great purpose, and if so, you
will see no peace till you obey the voice of God. If you are in doubt,
pray to the Lord for light, and it will be given. The Master will
certainly make clear the path of duty.”
Ernest was silent, and Mr. Hillston concluded it would be prudent to
say nothing more at that time. The young man went to his office
soon after, and fell into deep thought. Was it possible, he asked
himself, that he was destined to become a preacher? The thought
became more intolerable as he reflected upon it. He wished that he
had not tried his power of sermonizing, for it was this that had given
origin to what Mr. Hillston had the boldness to pronounce a call to
the ministry. Was it in this way that God chose his ministers? But
suppose this was a divine call, how could he refuse to obey? Would
he rebel against God’s expressed will? But surely this was no call, at
least it was not sufficient. There certainly was no voice. He would
wait, and pray for more light. Would he not lose Clara Vanclure?
Would she ever consent to be a preacher’s wife?
This latter question, propounded to himself, had some influence,
probably in causing him to come to the conclusion not to rush hastily
into the ministry upon an invitation which existed, he thought, only
in his imagination. Accordingly, he endeavored to dismiss the
perplexing subject from his mind. To his great relief, he found no
difficulty in losing himself in the pages of a volume which he took
from one of the shelves of his library. It was Dr. Dick’s “Philosophy of
a Future State.” For pleasant and profitable Sunday reading, no
better books can be found than Dick’s several volumes on moral and
religious subjects. Ernest was so absorbed in his book that he
thought no more about the “call to preach” for the remainder of the
Sabbath evening.
The next morning when he returned to his office as usual and began
reading Blackstone, the words of the preacher’s text on the previous
day suddenly flashed into his mind. He quickly dropped his book and
began thinking. Presently he almost sprang from his seat, for on the
opposite side of the table, on which his head had been resting, there
sat a visitor, who was curiously gazing at him.
“Ah! been asleep, have you?” said Mr. Vanclure, for it was he.
“No, sir,” said Ernest confusedly, “I was in a sort of reverie.”
“Things of that sort don’t pay much—no, sir, don’t pay much. I have
been too busy all my life for anything of that kind. People must keep
wide awake in this world to succeed—yes, sir, to succeed.”
“My vocation is different from yours, Mr. Vanclure, you know. When
we lawyers meet with a knotty problem sometimes, we stop to think,
and occasionally we get to dreaming: it is not unnatural.”
“Well,” said the old merchant abruptly, “I have come to say
something about a delicate matter—a delicate matter. If it was
ordinary business, I’d know how to begin—how to begin. But it’s
another sort of affair.”
“Just suppose it to be business of an ordinary character, Mr.
Vanclure, and begin at once,” said Ernest with a feeling of dread.
“Well,” said the merchant in a fidgety manner, “I thought you and
Clara were engaged to be married—engaged to be married pretty
soon, and things were floating along smoothly, you know. Yes, sir,
and I had given my consent, you remember, at your solicitation, and
I was making my arrangements accordingly, for you see I had
confidence in you, Ernest, since I have known you from a child—yes
from a child. I told you, don’t you remember, that I had some
business affairs which I could not manage—could not manage,
because I’m no lawyer.”
“Well,” interrupted Ernest, “you can tell me what the business is, and
I will do the best I can with it.”
“But you don’t understand, Ernest—you don’t understand. It
wouldn’t be proper just yet to tell you. I said it was a delicate matter
—a delicate matter, just as things now are. You see I thought
everything was working well. I thought this contract between you
and Clara would soon be executed—would soon be executed, and
then I could with propriety put this business in your hands—in your
hands, Ernest, because you would, you would sustain a closer
relation to me than you do now, and then I could let you know all
my plans—know all my plans, which wouldn’t be proper just yet—
just yet, you know. You understand how I am situated.”
“I cannot say that I do,” replied Ernest with a smile, “for you have
told me nothing in regard to your situation.”
“I have told you all I can, Ernest—all I can till that affair comes off—
comes off.”
“What affair, Mr. Vanclure?”
“The engagement between you and Clara, of course, of course. I
thought all would be over in a few weeks—yes, in a few weeks. But I
fear there is a misunderstanding somewhere, and I thought there’d
be no harm in finding out—in finding out, you see.”
“What is it you wish to find out, Mr. Vanclure?”
“Well, you see, I got a hint from Clara, a hint from Clara, and I
thought I’d better find out,—better find out.”
“I am perfectly willing to give you any information in my possession,”
said Ernest.
“I thought so, I thought so, and I’ll come to the point at once. You
see it was a lawyer I wanted. A preacher and a lawyer are very
different people. I could make no use of a preacher—no, sir, no use
of a preacher, you understand?”
“I do not understand, Mr. Vanclure.”
“I got a hint from Clara—a hint from Clara, and I thought I’d better
come, and find out about it, before it’s too late.”
“What is it you wish to find out, Mr. Vanclure?” interrupted Ernest.
“Why, I thought you’d see at once—yes, at once, after my
explanation.”
Ernest smiled internally.
“I confess, Mr. Vanclure, that I am so obtuse mentally, that I have
failed to understand your explanation.”
“What? can’t you see—can’t you see that a lawyer and a preacher
are two different people—two different people?”
“Yes, sir; I see that clearly.”
“Well, I gave you to understand that a lawyer would suit me—would
suit me, and I thought you were a lawyer.”
“So I am.”
“But are you going to give up law, and be a preacher—be a
preacher?”
“Who said I was, Mr. Vanclure?”
“I told you I got a hint from Clara—a hint from Clara, you
understand?”
“I believe I do,” said Ernest thoughtfully. “It seems that Miss Clara
has thrown out a hint that I would be a preacher?”
“Precisely, precisely.”
“And suppose I should be, Mr. Vanclure, how could it affect present
relations?”
“Why, you see, a preacher is not the sort of man, the sort of man,
that would suit my purposes. A preacher is no business man, Ernest
—no business man. This thing of going over the country, with your
ward-robe in a pair of saddle-bags—yes, in a pair of saddle-bags,
and living from hand to mouth—well, I can’t see the necessity of it in
this case, in this case. Although Clara gave me a hint, I didn’t much
believe it—I didn’t much believe it—because, Ernest, there is no
necessity for it, no earthly necessity for it. You will not be forced to
go into that poor business—that poor business; but don’t
misunderstand; I’m not opposed to the Church—it’s a very good
thing in its place—a very good thing, and I pay my part to keep it
going. But, as I said, a preacher is not the sort of man I bargained
for—it was a lawyer I wanted, and I had my heart set on this matter,
and I expected to put the business in your hands—in your hands.”
“Why are you opposed to preachers, Mr. Vanclure?”
“You misunderstand, Ernest, you misunderstand. I haven’t said I was
opposed to them. I have nothing against them, nothing against
them. They are useful men, in some respects, in some respects; but
they are not business men, not business men. How could a preacher
attend to my business? I don’t see why you should want to quit your
profession, quit your profession, and be a preacher; you understand,
don’t you?”
“I gather from your remarks, Mr. Vanclure, that if it is my intention to
be a preacher, you would oppose the marriage of Miss Clara and
myself—is that your meaning?”
“Well, I didn’t say that I’d oppose it: I only said that a preacher
wouldn’t suit me; no, wouldn’t suit me. A preacher wouldn’t have
time to attend to business, even if he were a business man, and I
never saw one that was—one that was.”
“I have no idea of ever being a preacher, Mr. Vanclure, and I cannot
imagine why Miss Clara should have drawn such an inference from
anything I said.”
“I told Clara that she must be mistaken, must be mistaken. Then I
understand that you never will be a preacher?”
“I have no such intention, sir.”
“Well, that’s enough said; I’ll go now, and I’d advise you to see Clara
about this affair, and give her the assurance you have given me.” Mr.
Vanclure left hurriedly.
Ernest had an interview with Clara that evening, which terminated in
the assurance, on her part, that if he ever became a preacher, she
would at once file an application for a divorce.
 CHAPTER IV.

A RIVAL.

An event soon occurred in the town which aroused feelings and

emotions in the breast of Ernest, the statical condition of which had
never before been disturbed. A family moved into the town, among
whose members was a young man about the age of Ernest. A few
days after their arrival, a sign was seen over a store-door in large
black letters—A. J. Comston & Son. The “son” belonging to this firm
is the only one of the family whose life projects into the present
history. Xerxes Comston was the equal of Ernest in physical
attractions, and his superior in almost everything pertaining to the
elegant frivolities and conventional refinements of fashionable
society. He was emphatically a man of the world—a disciple of
Chesterfield, who had made social etiquette a special study. He had
no depth of intellect and no solid education, but was master of that
small talk, silvery nonsense, so delightful to vacuous minds. It is a
well-known fact that truly educated men, who have “drunk deep of
the Pierian spring,” rarely ever shine in promiscuous society. They
appear timid and destitute of ideas, while men who have collected
only the scum of ephemeral literature, and studied terpsichorean
gymnastics, and committed to memory a stock of witticisms pleasing
to light-headed women, pass in society at a value far more than
their real worth. Xerxes was a man of this description. He had
studied dinner-table etiquette and ball-room dynamics more than
any other branch of human literature. The comparison between
Ernest and Xerxes in regard to moral excellences would be like that
of Brobdingnag and Liliputian. Yet in fashionable assemblies, where
Ernest would sit in embarrassed silence, Xerxes would rattle away
with astonishing and entertaining volubility—a volubility without
ideas, but still, necessary to preserve the regular flow of the stream
of conversation. Men like Ernest are frequently voted “stupid” by the
gilded butterflies of society, when the truth is, they can scarcely ever
find a “pleasure-party” that can appreciate the subjects with which
they are familiar. They are not unsocial, as is generally supposed,
but they dwell in a world of thought, a world which is so sparsely
settled that they necessarily spend much or most of their time in
solitude. This class is quite small. Hence, speaking metaphorically,
they live in a wilderness in which there is here and there a house
inhabited by a literary recluse.
Ernest and Xerxes were, as to moral character, like Zenith and Nadir.
Not many days elapsed before Xerxes sought and formed the
acquaintance of Clara Vanclure. Her prospective fortune made a
deep impression upon his heart. He had heard of the relation
between Ernest and the young lady, but he acted toward her as
though he were perfectly ignorant of the ties which bound her to
another. The civil law had given no validity to this gossamer tenure,
and till that should be done, the conscience of Xerxes stood not in
the way of his endeavoring to produce an alienation between the
engaged lovers. However, he never intimated to any one that he
entertained such a purpose.
At length there was to be a grand ball in the town, and the young
people generally were filled with delightful expectations. A few days
before it occurred, Ernest called upon his intended. He had visited
her regularly three or four times a week since his profession of
religion, and had not once alluded to the subject which was so
repulsive to her. When there was a pause in the conversation on the
evening just referred to, she suddenly said:
“Are you going to the ball, next Tuesday evening?”
He looked earnestly at her, while a shade of sorrow and
disappointment passed over his face.
“My dear Clara,” he said in a subdued tone, “how can you ask me
such a question, after the conversation we once had on this
subject?”
“I didn’t know but that you might have changed your notion,” she
replied.
“I thought you would give me credit for more stability of purpose
than that.”
“Well, I’m sure I can see no harm in going to a ball,” was her
rejoinder.
“That means you are going, does it?” asked Ernest.
“I rather think I shall,” she replied with an air of firmness, indicating
expectancy of opposition.
“Well, do as you please,” he said.
“I am sorry you cannot go,” she remarked, after a brief pause,
“because I shall be forced to accept another escort.”
“Who?” asked Ernest with an air of indifference that nettled Clara’s
feelings.
“Mr. Comston.”
Ernest made a sudden movement which she noticed with pleasure.
The first pang of jealousy had shot through his heart, stinging,
tearing, sickening, shocking like a barbed arrow. It had not seriously
occurred to him before, that there might be a rupture of the
engagement into which she had so solemnly entered. He had
regarded her as his wife, or at least, so near to that relation that the
possibility of losing her, had not disturbed his thoughts. Suddenly
this peril flashed into his mind, accompanied by a feeling of strong
dislike toward the young man, whose name she had just pronounced
with alarming tenderness. He tried to re-assure himself. Why should
he for a moment doubt her constancy? How could she possibly
prefer this dude to himself? No, no; how could she? And yet—. He
dreaded to give definite shape to the vague thought confusedly
working to the surface. Clara perceived her advantage.
“You would not go,” she said, “what then, was I to do? I’m bound to
have an escort.”
“I have offered no objection,” Ernest replied in a sorrowful tone,
“and yet,” he continued timidly, “might you not have accepted an
escort with more congeniality than exists between you and that
one?”
“I don’t see the necessity of so much congeniality in a dancing
companion,” she answered. “Besides, Mr. Comston is a nice, elegant
gentleman, and is, by no means, dull.”
The last remark was like gall to Ernest, and he felt strongly tempted
to express his opinion about the moral character of his rival: but on
second thought, he concluded that silence on that head would be
prudent. He at once changed the subject of conversation, and
nothing more was said about the dance.
At the time appointed, Xerxes called to escort Clara to the ball. That
evening he paid her very marked attention, and endeavored in every
possible way, except the agency of the tongue, to convey to her the
knowledge that she occupied a conspicuous place in his affections.
Clara was at no loss to interpret his look and manners. She
understood that earnest, inquiring gaze which seemed to be
searching into the depths of her soul. It was not the bold, impudent
stare of the accomplished libertine, but the skillful maneuvering of a
man who knew how to express tender feelings silently, whether they
had real existence or not. He gazed, it is true, but in such a way as
to make the impression upon the young lady that it was the timid,
stealthy act of a despairing lover. He acted as though he had
unintentionally betrayed the state of his affections, and yet he was