第71部分(第6/7 页)

han　pleasure　in　the　tone　and　words　in　which　the　sentiment　was　manifested；　and　never　did　he　seem　to　roam　the　moors　for　the　sake　of　their　soothing　silence—never　seek　out　or　dwell　upon　the　thousand　peaceful　delights　they　could　yield。

Inmunicative　as　he　was；　some　time　elapsed　before　I　had　an　opportunity　of　gauging　his　mind。　I　first　got　an　idea　of　its　calibre　when　I　heard　him　preach　in　his　own　church　at　Morton。　I　wish　I　could　describe　that　sermon：　but　it　is　past　my　power。　I　cannot　even　render　faithfully　the　effect　it　produced　on　me。

It　began　calm—and　indeed；　as　far　as　delivery　and　pitch　of　voice　went；　it　was　calm　to　the　end：　an　earnestly　felt；　yet　strictly　restrained　zeal　breathed　soon　in　the　distinct　accents；　and　prompted　the　nervous　language。　This　grew　to　force—pressed；　condensed；　controlled。　The　heart　was　thrilled；　the　mind　astonished；　by　the　power　of　the　preacher：　neither　were　softened。　Throughout　there　was　a　strange　bitterness；　an　absence　of　consolatory　gentleness；　stern　allusions　to　Calvinistic　doctrines—election；　predestination；　reprobation—were　frequent；　and　each　reference　to　these　points　sounded　like　a　sentence　pronounced　for　doom。　When　he　had　done；　instead　of　feeling　better；　calmer；　more　enlightened　by　his　discourse；　I　experienced　an　inexpressible　sadness；　for　it　seemed　to　me—I　know　not　whether　equally　so　to　others—that　the　eloquence　to　which　I　had　been　listening　had　sprung　from　a　depth　where　lay　turbid　dregs　of　disappointment—where　moved　troubling　impulses　of　insatiate　yearnings　and　disquieting　aspirations。　I　was　sure　St。　John　Rivers—　pure…lived；　conscientious；　zealous　as　he　was—had　not　yet　found　that　peace　of　God　which　passeth　all　understanding：　he　had　no　more　found　it；　I　thought；　than　had　I　with　my　concealed　and　racking　regrets　for　my　broken　idol　a