Life — January 3, 1907 — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

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Head pieces, iaitist Itheat color Ie by ena fin bes APPLICATIONS SHOULD CO DIRECT TO. with you,’ THE GATES POTTERIES 645 Chamber of Commerce, Chicago “ For weeks I have quietly discussed beliefs with members of my church, with my vestry, and, better than all, with Bishop Cheltenham.” “And the result?” “The result,” replied the Rev. Crabtree Cunningham, ‘is simply astounding. To a man, they agree with me.” “You mean”— “T mean that every one of the members of my vestry believes exactly as Ido. They have stated it to me privately and decisively. I mean that many of the more advanced ladies in the congregation are with me to a woman. And last week, in a private interview which I had with the Bishop, in which my position was discussed at length, he leaned over in his delightful, fatherly manner—which you know so well—and said to me, ‘Cunningham, I agree He said mére than this, my dear. He alluded to what he called the intermarriage of science and religion, and showed that the faith of the future, independent of scriptural authority, would be something grander and higher that at present we could conceive of. He agreed with me about the miracles, thought my position on the Atonement was absolutely correct, and when I left him I experienced one of the greatest and most thrilling emotions of my whole ministe: The Rev. Crabtree Cunningham’s wife leaned forward, her lips parted in a most intense curiosity. “Quick,” she murmured, “what did you do then? Did you do any- thing”—— This lady had been on a visit for a week and had just retumed that morning. Her anxicty for her husband therefore was plainly excusable. “Did I do anything?” said the Rev. Crabtree Cunningham, ‘Well, I should say I did. Having my way so clearly marked out for me, I wasted not a moment. Three days ago I forwarded an open letter to the Bishop. ‘This letter has just appeared in the Divine Press. I have challenged the Church. Knowing that I have so many friends, the outcome is plain. I have stated my position fully and freely, and have asked the Bishop what it shall be—whether I shall remain in the Church under these conditions, or not. The issue is therefore plainly drawn, the gauntlet has been thrown down. I have no fear of the issue.” At this utterance Mrs. Crabtree Cunningham behaved ina very peculiar manner. She rose up in her chair, waved her arms in the air and burst into tears. “We are ruined!” she cried. “Ruined?” “y Our doom is already sealed.” Her husband smiled complacently, his clerical mind not being so moved by a woman’s tears as some other lay and coarser natures might have been. “Hat ha!” he said. “How little you know of the real state of thi Don’t you see that my friends will stand by me? Don’t you sce it mea the agitation of an important question?” “Don’t you see,” repeated his wife, “that the thing has been before? That it was only a y¢ar ago that Mr. Cannister was tr . Crabtree Cunningham, “that was enti different. He did it without any precedent whatever. He plunged into the thing, as it were. He didn’t know his friends.” At this moment the door opened and the maidservant brought in a letter. “Here we are,” said the Rev. Crabtree Cunningham. “From the Bishop. Now we shall sce what we shall see.” He tore open the dignified epistle. At the top left-hand comer his wife, looking over his shoulder, read the words: ‘Private, confidential, and not for publication.” When he had finished, the letter fell from his hand on the table. “Well,” he said, with a slightly modified voice, “the Bishop, you see, feels that possibly I may have made a mistake. But still his letter is’ —— he looked at his wife inquisitively, “I should say friendly, shouldn't you?” Mrs. Cunningham smiled a wan smile. es,” she said. “Quite friendly.” She picked up the letter. “Tam sorry,” wrote the Bishop, ‘that you were so precipitate. You know, my dear friend, in the present state of the Church perhaps a little more thought would have made you hesitate. However, you of course are the supreme judge of your own conscience. This is written only to say that I am still your friend, as I shall always be.” “Hum,” said the Rev. Crabtree Cunningham, tapping the letter thought- fully on the table. “The Bishop is a trifle noncommittal, isn’t he, my dear?” comicbooks.com