{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_4954/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_4954","id":"gutenberg_4954","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4954","summary":null,"tags":["Category: American Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian fiction","New York (State) -- Fiction","Parishes -- Fiction"],"text":"LAICUS;\n\nOR, THE EXPERIENCES OF A LAYMAN IN A COUNTRY PARISH.\n\nBY LYMAN ABBOTT.\n\nNEW YORK:\n\n1872.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n\n\nI. HOW I HAPPENED TO GO TO WHEATHEDGE\n\nII. MORE DIPLOMACY\n\nIII. WE JOIN THE CHURCH\n\nIV. THE REAL PRESENCE\n\nV. OUR CHURCH FINANCES\n\nVI. AM I A DRONE\n\nVII. THE FIELD IS THE WORLD\n\nVIII. MR. GEAR\n\nIX. I GET MY FIRST BIBLE SCHOLAR\n\nX. THE DEACON'S SECOND SERVICE\n\nXI. OUR PASTOR RESIGNS\n\nXII. THE COMMITTEE ON SUPPLY HOLD AN INFORMAL MEETING\n\nXIII. MAURICE MAPLESON DECLINES TO SUBMIT TO A COMPETITIVE\nEXAMINATION\n\nXIV. THE SUPPLY COMMITTEE HOLD THEIR FIRST FORMAL MEETING\n\nXV. OUR CHRISTMAS AT WHEATHEDGE\n\nXVI. MR. GEAR AGAIN\n\nXVII. WANTED--A PASTOR\n\nXVIII. OUR PRAYER-MEETING\n\nXIX. WE ARE JILTED\n\nXX. WE PROPOSE\n\nXXI. MINISTERIAL SALARIES\n\nXXII. ECCLESIASTICAL FINANCIERING\n\nXXIII. OUR DONATION PARTY--BY JANE LAICUS\n\nXXIV. MAURICE MAPLESON\n\nXXV. OUR CHURCH-GARDEN\n\nXXVI. OUR TEMPERANCE PRAYER-MEETING\n\nXXVII. FATHER HYATT'S STORY\n\nXXVIII. OUR VILLAGE LIBRARY\n\nXXIX. MAURICE MAPLESON TRIES AN EXPERIMENT\n\nXXX. MR. HARDCAP'S FAMILY PRAYERS\n\nXXXI. IN DARKNESS\n\nXXXII. GOD SAID \"LET THERE BE LIGHT\"\n\nXXXIII. A RETROSPECT\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\n\n\n\nThis book was not made; it has grown.\n\nWhen three years ago I left the pulpit to engage in literary work\nand took my seat among the laity in the pews, I found that many\necclesiastical and religious subjects presented a different aspect\nfrom that which they had presented when I saw them from the pulpit.\nI commenced in the CHRISTIAN UNION, in a series of \"Letters from a\nLayman,\" to discuss from my new point of view some questions which\nare generally discussed from the clerical point of view alone. The\nletters were kindly received by the public. To some of the\ncharacters introduced I became personally attached. And the series\nof letters, commenced with the expectation that they might last\nthrough six or eight weeks, extended over a period of more than a\nyear and a half--might perhaps have extended to the present it other\nduties had not usurped my time and thoughts.\n\nThis was the beginning.\n\nBut after a time thoughts and characters which presented themselves\nin isolated forms, and so were photographed for the columns of the\nnewspaper, began to gather in groups. The single threads that had\nbeen spun for the weekly issue, wove themselves together in my\nimagination into the pattern of a simple story, true as to every\nsubstantial fact, yet fictitious in all its dress and form. And so\nout of Letters of Layman grew, I myself hardly know how, this simple\nstory of a layman's life in a country parish.\n\nI cannot dismiss this book from my table without adding that I am\nconscious that the deepest problem it discusses is but barely\ntouched upon. This has obtruded itself upon the pattern in the\nweaving. It was intended for a single thread; but it has given color\nand character to all the rest. How shall Christian faith meet the\ncurrent rationalism of the day? Not by argument; this is the thought\nI hope may be taught, or at least suggested, by the story of Mr.\nGear's experience,--and it is a true not a fictitious story, except\nas all here is fictitious, i.e. in the external dress in which it is\nclothed. The very essence of rationalism is that it assumes that the\nreason is the highest faculty in man and the lord of all the rest.\nGrant this, as too often our controversial theology does grant it,\nand the battle is yielded before it is begun. Whether that\nrationalism leads to orthodox or heterodox conclusions, whether it\nissues in a Westminster Assembly's Confession of faith or a\nPositivist Primer is a matter of secondary importance. Religion is\nnot a conclusion of the reason. The reason is not the lord of the\nspiritual domain. There is a world which it never sees and with\nwhich it is wholly incompetent to deal. And Christian faith wins its\nvictories only when by its own--heart life it gives some glimpse of\nthis hidden world and sends the rationalist, Columbus-like, on an\nunknown sea to search for this unknown continent.\n\nI am not sure whether this preface had not better have remained\nunwritten; whether the parable had not better be left without an\ninterpretation. But it is written and it shall stand. And so this\nsimple story goes from my hands, I trust to do some little good, by\nhinting to clerical readers how some problems concerning Christian\nwork appear to a layman's mind, and by quickening lay readers to\nshare more generously in their pastors' labors and to understand\nmore sympathetically their pastor's trials.\n\nLYMAN ABBOTT.\n\nThe Knoll, Cornwall on the Hudson, N. Y.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLAICUS.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nHow I happened to go to Wheathedge.\n\n\n\n\n\nABOUT sixty miles north of New York city,--not as the crow flies, for\nof the course of that bird I have no knowledge or information\nsufficient to form a belief, but as the Mary Powell ploughs her way\nup the tortuous channel of the Hudson river,--lies the little village\nof Wheathedge. A more beautiful site even this most beautiful of\nrivers does not possess. As I sit now in my library, I raise my eyes\nfrom my writing and look east to see the morning sun just rising in\nthe gap and pouring a long golden flood of light upon the awaking\nvillage below and about me, and gilding the spires of the not far\ndistant city of Newtown, and making even its smoke ethereal, as\nthough throngs of angels hung over the city unrecognized by its too\nbusy inhabitants. Before me the majestic river broadens out into a\nbay where now the ice-boats play back and forth, and day after day\nis repeated the merry dance of many skaters--about the only kind of\ndance I thoroughly believe in. If I stand on the porch upon which\none of my library windows opens, and look to the east, I see the\nmountain clad with its primeval forest, crowding down to the water's\nedge. It looks as though one might naturally expect to come upon a\ncamp of Indian wigwams there. Two years ago a wild-cat was shot in\nthose same woods and stuffed by the hunters, and it still stands in\nthe ante-room of the public school, the first, and last, and only\ncontribution to an incipient museum of natural history which the\nsole scientific enthusiast of Wheathedge has founded--in imagination.\nLast year Harry stumbled on a whole nest of rattlesnakes, to his and\ntheir infinite alarm--and to ours too when afterwards he told us the\nstory of his adventure. If I turn and look to the other side of the\nriver, I see a broad and laughing valley,--grim in the beautiful\ndeath of winter now however,--through which the Newtown railroad,\nlike the Star of Empire, westward takes its way. For the village of\nWheathedge, scattered along the mountain side, looks down from its\nelevated situation on a wide expanse of country. Like Jerusalem of\nold,--only, if I can judge anything from the accounts of Palestinian\ntravelers, a good deal more so,--it is beautiful for situation, and\ndeserves to be the joy of the whole earth.\n\nA village I have called it. It certainly is neither town nor city.\nThere is a little centre where there is a livery stable, and a\ncountry store with the Post Office attached, and a blacksmith shop,\nand two churches, a Methodist and a Presbyterian, with the promise\nof a Baptist church in a lecture-room as yet unfinished. This is the\nold centre; there is another down under the hill where there is a\ndock, and a railroad station, and a great hotel with a big bar and\ngenerally a knot of loungers who evidently do not believe in the\nwater-cure. And between the two there is a constant battle as to\nwhich shall be the town. For the rest, there is a road wandering\nin an aimless way along the hill-side, like a child at play who is\ngoing nowhere, and all along this road are scattered every variety\nof dwelling, big and little, sombre and gay, humble and pretentious,\nwhich the mind of man ever conceived of,--and some of which I\ndevoutly trust the mind of man will never again conceive. There are\nsolid substantial Dutch farm-houses, built of unhewn stone, that\nlook as though they were outgrowths of the mountain, which nothing\nshort of an earthquake could disturb; and there are fragile little\nboxes that look as though they would be swept away, to be seen no\nmore forever, by the first winter's blast that comes tearing up the\ngap as though the bag of Eolus had just been opened at West Point\nand the imprisoned winds were off with a whoop for a lark. There are\nhouses in sombre grays with trimmings of the same; and there are\nhouses in every variety of color, including one that is of a light\npea-green, with pink trimmings and blue blinds. There are old and\nvenerable houses, that look as though they might have come over with\nPeter Stuyvesant and been living at Wheathedge ever since; and there\nare spruce little sprigs of houses that look as though they had just\ncome up from New York to spend a holiday, and did not rightly know\nwhat to do with themselves in the country. There are staid and\nrespectable mansions that never move from the even tenor of their\nways; and there are houses that change their fashions every season,\nputting on a new coat of paint every spring; and there is one that\ndresses itself out in summer with so many flags and streamers that\none might imagine Fourth of July lived there.\n\nAll nations and all eras appear also to be gathered here. There are\nSwiss cottages with overhanging chambers, and Italian villas with\nflat roofs, and Gothic structures with incipient spires that look as\nthough they had stopped in their childhood and never got their\ngrowth, and Grecian temples with rows of wooden imitations of marble\npillars of Doric architecture, and one house in which all nations\nand eras combine--a Grecian porch, a Gothic roof, an Italian L, and a\nhalf finished tower of the Elizabethan era, capped with a Moorish\ndome, the whole approached through the stiffest of all stiff avenues\nof evergreens, trimmed in the latest French fashion. That is Mr.\nWheaton's residence, the millionaire of Wheathedge. I wish I could\nsay he was as Catholic as his dwelling house.\n\nI never fancied the country. Its numerous attractions were no\nattractions to me. I cannot harness a horse. I am afraid of a cow. I\nhave no fondness for chickens--unless they are tender and\nwell-cooked. Like the man in parable, I cannot dig. I abhor a hoe. I\nam fond of flowers but not of dirt, and had rather buy them than\ncultivate them. Of all ambition to get the earliest crop of green\npeas and half ripe strawberries I am innocent. I like to walk in my\nneighbor's garden better than to work in my own. I do not drink\nmilk, and I do drink coffee; and I had rather run my risk with the\naverage of city milk than with the average of country coffee. Fresh\nair is very desirable; but the air on the bleak hills of the Hudson\nin March is at times a trifle too fresh. The pure snow as it lies on\nfield, and fence, and tree, is beautiful, I confess. But when one\ngoes out to walk, it is convenient to have the sidewalks shoveled.\n\nAt least that is what I used to think five years ago. And if my wife\nhad endeavored to argue me out of my convictions, she would only\nhave strengthened them. But my wife:--\n\nStop a minute. I may as well say here that this book is written in\nconfidence. It is personal. It deals with the interior history of a\nvery respectable church and some most respectable families. It\ncontains a great deal that is not proper to be communicated to the\npublic. The reader will please bear this in mind. Whatever I say,\nparticularly what I am going to say now, is confidential. Don't\nmention it.\n\nMy wife is a diplomate. If ever I am president of the United\nStates--which may Heaven forbid,--she shall be secretary of State. She\nnever argues; but she always carries her point.\n\nShe always lets me have my own way without hinting an objection. But\nit always ends in her having her own. She would have made no\nobjection to letting Mason and Slidell go--not the least in the\nworld. But she would have somehow induced England to entreat us to\ntake them back--I am sure of it. She would not have dismissed\nCatacazy--not she. But if she did not like Catacazy, Gortschakoff\nshould have recalled him, and never known why he did it.\n\n\"John,\" said my wife, \"where shall we spend the summer?\"\n\nIt was six years ago this spring. We were sitting in the library in\nour city house, Harry was a baby; and baby was not. I laid down the\nEvening Post, and looked up with an incipient groan.\n\n\"The usual way I suppose,\" said I. \"You'll go home with the baby,\nand I--I shall camp out in New York.\"\n\n\"Home\" is Jennie's home in Michigan, where she had spent two of the\nthree summers of our married life, while I existed in single misery\nin my empty house in 38th street. Oh, the desolateness of those\nsummer experiences. Oh, the unutterable loneliness of a house\nwithout the smile of the dear wife, and the laugh and prattle of the\nbaby boy. I even missed his cry at night.\n\n\"It's a long, long journey,\" said Jennie, \"and a long, long way off;\nand I did resolve last summer I never would put a thousand miles\nagain between me and my true home, John. For that is not my home--you\nare my home.\"\n\nAnd a soft hand stole gently up and toyed with my hair.\n\nVanity of vanities, all is vanity, saith the preacher. To which I\nadd, especially husbands. No man is proof against the flatteries of\nlove. At least I am not, and I am glad of it.\n\n\"You can't stay here, Jennie,\" said I.\n\n\"I am afraid not,\" said she. \"It is Harry's second summer, and I\nwould not dare.\"\n\n\"The sea shore?\" said I, interrogatively.\n\n\"Not one of those great fashionable hotels, John. It would be worse\nfor Harry than the city. And then think of the cost.\"\n\n\"True,\" said I reflectively. \"I wish we could find a quiet place,\nnot too far from the city so that I could come in and out during\nterm time, and stay out altogether during the summer vacation.\"\n\n\"There must be some such, many such,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"But to look for them,\" said I, \"would be, to use an entirely new\nsimile, like looking for a needle in a haystack. There must be some\nhonest lawyers at the New York bar, and some impartial judges on the\nNew York bench, but I should not like to be set to find them.\"\n\nI had been beaten in an important case that afternoon and was out\nwith my profession.\n\n\"Suppose you let me try,\" said Jennie--\"that is to find the quiet\nsummer retreat, not the honest lawyer.\"\n\n\"By all means, my dear,\" said I. \"And I have great confidence that\nif you are patient and assiduous, you will find a place in time for\nHarry to settle down in comfortably when he gets ready to be\nmarried.\"\n\nJennie laughed a quiet little laugh at my incredulity, and sat\nstraightway down to write half a dozen letters of inquiry to as many\ndifferent friends in the environs of New York. I resumed the Evening\nPost. As to anything coming of her plans I no more dreamt of it than\nyour grandfather, reader, dreamt of the Atlantic cable.\n\nBut though I had been married three years I did not know Jennie then\nas well as I know her now. I have since learned that she has a habit\nof accomplishing what she undertakes. But this again is strictly\nconfidential.\n\nThat June saw us snugly ensconced at Mr. Lines'. Glen-Ridge is the\neuphonious title he has given to his pretty but unpretending place.\nJennie had written among others to Sophie Wheaton, n\u201ae Sophie\nNichols, an old school-fellow, and Sophie had sent down an\ninvitation to her to come and spend a week and look for herself, and\nshe had done so; save that two days had sufficed instead of a week.\nGlen-Ridge had taken her fancy, Mr. Lines had met her housewifely\nidea of a good house-keeper, and she had selected the rooms and\nagreed on terms, and left nothing for me to do except to ratify the\nbargain by a letter, which I did the day after her return. And so in\nthe early summer of 1866 the diplomate had carried her first point,\nand committed me to two months' probation in the country; and two\nvery delightful months they were.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nMore Diplomacy.\n\n\n\n\n\nI now verily believe that Jennie from the first had made up her mind\nthat we were to settle in Wheathedge. Though I never liked the\ncountry, she did. And I now think that summer at Wheathedge was her\nfirst step toward a settlement there. But she never hinted it to me.\n\nNot she. On the contrary, she often went down to the city with me,\nand shortened the car ride by half. We kept the city house open. She\nexercised a watchful supervision over the cook. The sheets were not\ndamp, the coffee was not muddy, the library table was not covered\nwith dust. I blessed her a hundred times a week for the love that\nfound us both this Wheathedge home, and made the city home so\ncomfortable and cosy. Yet I came to my house in the city less and\nless. The car ride grew shorter every week. When the courts closed\nand the long vacation, arrived I bade the cook an indefinite\ngood-bye. My clients had to conform to the new office hours, 10 to\n3, with Saturdays struck off the office calendar, and, in the dog\ndays, Mondays too. Yet I was within call, and business ran smoothly.\nThe country looked brighter than it used to do. I learned to enjoy\nthe glorious sunrise that New Yorkers never see. I discovered that\nthere were other indications of a moonlight night than the fact that\nthe street lamps were not lighted. Harry grew fat and rosy, and his\nlittle chuckle developed into a lusty laugh. Jennie's headaches were\nblown away by the fresh air that came down from the north. I found\nthe fragrance of the new mown hay from the Glen-Rridge meadow more\nagreeable than the fragrant odors which the westerly winds waft over\nto Murray Hill from the bone boiling establishments of the Hudson\nriver. Every evening Jennie met me at the train with Tom--Mr. Lines'\nbest horse, whom I liked so well that I hired him for the season;\nand we took long drives and renewed the scenes of five years before,\nwhen Jennie was Jennie Malcolm, and I was just graduating from\nHarvard law-school. And still the diplomate never hinted at the idea\nof making a home at Wheathedge.\n\nBut one day as we drove by Mr. Sinclair's she remarked casually,\n\"What a pretty place!\"\n\nIt was a pretty place. A little cottage, French gray with darker\ntrimmings of the same; the tastiest little porch with a something or\nother--I know the vine by sight but not to this day by name--creeping\nover it, and converting it into a bower; another porch fragrant with\nclimbing roses and musical with the twittering of young swallows who\nhad made their nests in little chambers curiously constructed under\nthe eaves and hidden among the sheltering leaves; a green sward\nsweeping down to the road, with a few grand old forest trees\nscattered carelessly about as though nature had been the landscape\ngardner; and prettiest of all, a little boy and girl playing horse\nupon the gravel walk, and filling the air with shouts of merry\nlaughter--all this combined to make as pretty a picture as one would\nwish to see. The western sun poured a flood of light upon it through\ncrimson clouds, and a soft glory from the dying day made this little\nEden of earth more radiant by a baptism from heaven.\n\nI wonder now if Jennie had been waiting for a favorable opportunity\nand then had spoken. I do not know; and she will never tell me. At\nall events the beauty so struck me, like a landscape fresh from the\nhand of some great artist--as it was indeed, fresh from the hand of\nthe Great Artist--that I involuntarily reined in Tom to look at it.\n\"It's for sale, too,\" said I, \"I wonder what such a place costs.\"\n\nThe artful diplomate did not answer. The books and newspapers talk\nabout women's curiosity. It's nothing to a man's curiosity when it\nis aroused. Oh, I know the story of Bluebeard very well. But if Mrs.\nBluebeard had been a strong minded woman, and had killed her seven\nhusbands, I wonder if the eighth would not have taken a peep. He\nwould not have waited for the key but would have broken in the door\nlong before. If men are not curious why do the authorities always\nappoint them on the detective police force?\n\n\"Mr. Lines,\" said I that evening at the tea table, \"you know that\npretty little cottage on the hill just opposite the church. I see\nthere is a sign up 'for sale.' What is the price of it, do you\nknow?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Lines. \"But you can easily find out. It belongs to\nCharlie Sinclair; he lives there and can tell you.\"\n\nThree days after that, as I was driving up from the station, it\nstruck my fancy I should like to see the inside of that pretty\nhouse. \"Jennie,\" said I, \"let's go in and look at the inside of that\npretty cottage.\" But I had no more idea of purchasing it than I have\nnow of purchasing the moon.\n\n\"It would hardly be the thing for me to call,\" said the diplomate.\n\"Mrs. Sinclair has never called on me.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to make any call,\" said I. \"The house is for sale.\nI am a New Yorker. I am looking about Wheathedge for a place. I see\nthis place is for sale. I should like to look at it. And of course\nmy wife must look at it too.\"\n\n\"Oh! that indeed,\" said my wife, \"that's another matter. I have no\nparticular objection to that.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said I, \"I really should like to know the price of such a\nplace in Wheathedge.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said Jennie.\n\nSo we drove up to the gate, fastened the horse, and inquired of Mrs.\nSinclair, who came in person to the door, if we could see the house.\nCertainly. She would be very happy to show it to us. And a very\npretty house it was--and is still. There was a cozy little parlor\nwith a bay window looking out on the river, there was an equally\ncozy little dining-room, and there was an L for a sitting-room--which\nI instantly converted in my imagination into a library--which looked\nwith one window on the river and with another on the mountains.\nThere was a very convenient kitchen built out in a wing from one end\nof the dining-room, and three chambers over the three downstairs\nrooms, from the larger one of which, over the sitting-room, we could\ntake in at a glance the Presbyterian church, the blacksmith's shop,\nand the country store, with the wandering and aimless road, and a\nscore or two of neighbor's homes which lay along it; for the cottage\nwas on the hillside, and elevated considerably above the main\nroadway. It was charmingly furnished too, and was full of the\nfragrance of flowers within, as it was embowered in them without.\n\nBesides looking at the house we asked the usual house-hunting\nquestions. Mr. Sinclair was in the city. He wanted to sell because\nhe was going to Europe in the spring to educate his children. He\nwould sell his place for $10,000 or rent it for $800. For the\nsummer? No! for the year. He did not care to rent it for the summer,\nnor to give possession before fall. Would he rent the furniture?\nYes, if one wanted it. But that would be extra. How much land was\nthere? About two acres. Any fruit? Pears, peaches, and the smaller\nfruits--strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries. Whereupon Jennie\nand I bowed ourselves out and went away.\n\nAnd nothing more was said about it till the next February. The\ndiplomate still kept her own counsel.\n\nThen I opened the subject. It was the evening of the first day of\nFebruary. I had been in to pay my rent. \"Jennie,\" said I, \"the\nlandlord raises our rent to $2,500.\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" said she quietly; \"pay it?\"\n\n\"Pay it!\" said I. \"No. It's high at $2,000.--We shall have to move.\"\n\n\"Where to?\" said Jennie.\n\nI shrugged my shoulders. I had not the least idea.\n\n\"What are you going to do next summer?\" said she.\n\n\"Glen-Ridge?\" said I interrogatively.\n\n\"I am afraid I shall have to be in my own home next summer,\" said\nJennie. \"The mother cannot leave her nest to find a home among\nstrangers when God sends her a little bird to be watched and tended.\nAnd I hope, John, God is going to send another little bird to our\nnest this summer.\"\n\n\"You shall have your own home, Jennie dear,\" said I. \"I will tell\nthe landlord to-morrow that we will keep it. But it is an\nimposition.\"\n\n\"I am so sorry to give up our summer at Wheathedge,\" said she. \"We\ndid enjoy ourselves so much, John, and Harry grew and thrived so.\"\n\n\"It can't be helped, Jennie,\" said I.\n\n\"No\"--said she slowly, and as if thinking to herself; \"no--unless we\ntook the Sinclair cottage for the summer.\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought of that,\" said I.\n\n\"What was the rent?\" asked the diplomate. She knew as well as I did.\n\n\"Eight hundred dollars a year,\" said I.\n\n\"That is a clear saving of $1,700 a year,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"That's a fact,\" said I.\n\n\"If we did not like it we could come back to the city in the fall,\nand get a house here; if we did we could stay later and come in to\nboard for three or four months. I shouldn't mind if we did not come\nat all.\"\n\n\"No country in the winter for me, thank you,\" said I; \"with the wind\ndrawing through the open cracks in your country built house half\nfreezing you, and when you try to keep warm your air-tight stove\nhalf suffocating you; with the roads outside blocked up with great\ndrifts, and the trains delayed just on the days when I have a\ncritical case in court.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Jennie. She is too much of a diplomate to argue.\n\"When the snow comes we can easily move back again, as easily as\nfind a new house now. To tell the truth, John, I have no heart for\nhouse-hunting now.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I. \"I will see Sinclair to-morrow. And if his house is\nin the market, Jennie, we we will move there as soon as the spring\nfairly opens.\"\n\nIt was in the market. He was anxious to be rid of it. I hired it for\nthe year, together with the furniture, at $800,--and he agreed that\nif I bought it in the Fall the half year rent should go on the\npurchase money. I did not pay him any rent. I did not move into the\ncity when the snow came. The diplomate had her own way as she always\ndoes. We live in the country; and I--I am very glad of it. I can\nharness Katie on a pinch. I am not afraid of the cow. I am not\nskilful with the hoe, but I am as proud of my flower garden as any\nof my neighbors. And as to the relative advantages of city and\ncountry, I am quite of the opinion of Harry.\n\n\"Harry,\" said his grandfather the other day, \"don't you want to go\nback to the city and live?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Harry, with the utmost expression of scorn on his face.\n\n\"Why not, Harry?\"\n\n\"It smells so.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWe join the Church.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"I have bought the house, Jennie,\" said I.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Jennie. She said it softly, but her eyes said it\nmore plainly than her voice. I had hesitated a little before I\nfinally closed the purchase. But Jennie's look and her soft \"Thank\nyou\" made me sure I had been right.\n\nSince the baby has come we have converted the chamber over the\nlibrary into an upstairs sitting-room. I found her there before the\nopen fire, on my return from New York. The baby was sleeping in her\narms; and she was gently rocking him, pressed close to her bosom.\n\n\"I wish you would have a nurse for the baby, Jennie,\" said I. \"I\ndon't like to see you tied to her so.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't take baby from me would you, John?\" said she\nappealingly, nestling the precious bundle closer to her heart than\nbefore, as if in apprehension. No I wouldn't. I was obliged to\nconfess that, to myself if not to her.\n\n\"John,\" said Jennie, \"Mrs Goodsole has been here this afternoon. She\nwants to know if we won't take our letters to this church the next\ncommunion. It is the first of September.\"\n\n\"Well?\" said I, for Jennie had stopped.\n\n\"She says that if we are going to make Wheathedge our home she hopes\nwe can find a pleasant home in the church here. I told her I could\nnot tell, we had only hired the house for the summer and might leave\nin the fall. But if you have bought it, John, and I am, oh! so glad\nyou have and thank you so much\"--one hand left the baby gently, and\nwas laid on my arm with the softest possible pressure by way of\nemphasizing the thanks again,--\"perhaps we ought to consider it.\"\n\n\"I have no notion of joining this church,\" said I. \"It's in debt,\nand always behind hand. I am told they owe a hundred dollars to\ntheir minister now.\"\n\n\"That's too bad,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"And we can't do much if we do join it. I have no time for church\naffairs, and you--you have all you can do to attend to your infant\nclass at home, Jennie.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"Besides it is a Presbyterian church and we are Congregationalists.\"\n\nJennie made no reply.\n\n\"And I can't bear the idea of leaving the Broadway Tabernacle\nchurch. I was brought up in it. I have been in its Sunday-School\never since I can recollect. It was dear to me in its old homely\nattire as a Congregationalist meeting-house. It is dear to me in its\nnew aristocratic attire as a Congregationalist cathedral. And Harry\nwas baptized there. And there are all our dearest and best friends.\nIt would be like pulling a tooth to uproot from it.\"\n\n\"It is dear to me too, John,\" said Jennie softly, \"for your sake, if\nnot for my own.\"\n\n\"And all our friends are there, Jennie,\" continued I. \"Except the\nLines and Deacon Goodsole we hardly know anybody here.\"\n\n\"Though I suppose time will cure that,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"I do not know that I care to cure it,\" said I.\n\nJennie made no response.\n\nWas it not at Bunker Hill that the soldiers were directed to reserve\ntheir fire till the attacking party had exhausted theirs? That is\nthe way Jennie conducts an argument--when she argues at all, which is\nvery seldom. She accepted every consideration I had offered against\nuniting with the Wheathedge church, and yet I knew her opinion was\nnot changed; and somehow my own began to waver. I wonder how that\nmethod of arguing would work in the court-room. I mean to try it\nsome time.\n\nI had exhausted my fire and Jennie was still silent. Silence they\nsay means consent. But I knew that it did not in her case. It\ndepends so much upon the kind of silence.\n\n\"What do you say Jennie?\" said I.\n\n\"Well, John,\" said she slowly and thoughtfully, \"perhaps there are\ntwo sides to the question. I don't like to leave the Broadway\nTabernacle. But it seems to me that we have left it. We cannot\nattend its prayer-meetings, or go to its Sabbath-school, or worship\nwith its members on the Sabbath, or even mingle much with its\nmembers in social life. We have left it, and we ought to have\nthought of that before we left--not after. Perhaps I am to blame,\nJohn, that I did not think of it more. I did not think of what you\nwere giving up for me when you took this beautiful home for my\nsake.\"\n\nI had not taken it for her sake--that is, not wholly for her sake.\nAnd as to the giving up! Why, bless you, that little sitting-room,\nwith the wife and baby it contained, was worth a thousand\nTabernacles to me; and I managed to tell Jennie so, and emphasize\nthe declaration with a--well no matter. But she did not need the\ninformation, she knew it very well before, I am sure.\n\n\"The real question seems to me, John, to be whether we mean to be\nchurch members at all?\" said Jennie.\n\n\"Church members at all!\" I echoed.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she. \"We are not members of the Broadway Tabernacle any\nmore--except in name. What is a foot or an arm fifty miles away from\nthe body? Can they keep loving watch and care over us; or we over\nthem? It is not a question between one church-home and another,\nJohn; it is a question between this church-home and none at all.\"\n\n\"But, Jennie,\" said I, \"the finances here are in a fearful state.\nThey are always coming down on the church for contributions, and\nholding fairs in summer, and tableaux and what not, in winter, and\ngenerally waiting for something to turn up. If I had the naming of\nthis church I would call it St. Micawber's church.\"\n\nJennie laughed. \"Well, John,\" said she, \"I think you are ready\nenough with your money.\" (I am not so sure of that. I am inclined to\nthink that is Jennie's way of making me so.) \"And I have nothing to\nsay about the finances.\"\n\n\"Besides, Jennie,\" said I--for I really had no faith in the financial\nargument--\"this is a Presbyterian church and we are\nCongregationalists.\"\n\n\"It is a church of Christ, John,\" said Jennie soberly, \"and we, I\nhope, are Christians more than Congregationalists.\"\n\nThat was the last that was said. But the next morning I carried down\nwith me, to New York, a letter addressed to the clerk of the\nBroadway Tabernacle, asking for letters of dismission and\nrecommendation to the Calvary Presbyterian church at Wheathedge. And\nso commenced our parish life.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe Real Presence.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"JENNIE,\" said I, \"I don't believe in Mr. Work's sermon this\nmorning, do you?\"\n\n\"I don't think I do, John; but to be candid I did not hear a great\ndeal of it.\"\n\nIt was Sunday evening. Harry was asleep in his room. The baby, sung\nto her sweet slumbers pressed against her mother's heart, had been\nlain down at last in her little cradle. Jennie, her evening work\nfinished, had come down into the library and was sitting on the\nlounge beside me.\n\n\"I was not so fortunate,\" said I. \"Blessed are those who having ears\nhear not--sometimes. I listened, and took the other side. My church\nwas converted into a court-room, I into an advocate. If I believed\nMr. Work's doctrine was sound Protestantism I should turn Roman\nCatholic. Its teaching is the warmer, cheerier, more helpful of the\ntwo.\"\n\nThen I took up the open book that lay on my library table and read\nfrom Father Hyacinthe's discourses the following paragraph--from an\naddress delivered on the first communion of a converted Protestant\nto the Roman Catholic Church:\n\n\"Where (in Protestantism) is that real Presence which flows from the\nsacrament as from a hidden spring, like a river of peace, upon the\ntrue Catholic, all the day long, gladdening and fertilizing all his\nlife? This Immanuel--God with us--awaited you in our Church, and in\nthat sacrament which so powerfully attracted you, even when you but\nhalf believed it. In your own worship, as in the ancient synagogue,\nyou found naught but types and shadows; they spoke to you of\nreality, but did not contain it; they awakened your thirst, but did\nnot quench it; weak and empty rudiments which have no longer the\nright to rest, since the veil of the temple has been rent asunder\nand eternal realities been revealed.\"\n\n\"Yes, Jennie,\" said I. \"If I thought Father Hyacinthe were right, I\nshould turn Roman Catholic. And Mr. Work this morning confirmed him.\nHe took away the substance. He left us only a type, a shadow.\"\n\nThe sermon was on the words--\"Do this in remembrance of me.\" It was a\ndoctrinal sermon. I am not sure that it might not have been a useful\none--in the sixteenth century. It was a sermon against Romanism and\nLutheranism and High Church episcopacy. The minister told us what\nwere the various doctrines of the communion. He analyzed them and\ndismissed them one after another. He showed very conclusively, to us\nProtestants, that the Romanists are wrong, to us Presbyterians that\nthe Episcopalians are wrong, to us who are open Communionists that\nthe close Communionists are wrong. As there does not happen to be\neither Romanist, Episcopalian, or close Communionist in our\ncongregation, I cannot say how efficacious his arguments would have\nbeen if addressed to any one who was in previous doubt as to his\nconclusions. Then he proceeded to expound what he termed the\nrational and Scriptural doctrine of communion. It is, he told us,\nsimply a memorial service. It simply commemorates the past. \"As,\"\nsaid he, \"every year, the nation gathers to strew flowers upon the\ngraves of its patriot soldiers, so this day the Christian Church\ngathers to strew with flowers of love and praise the grave of the\nCaptain of our salvation. As in the one act all differences are\nforgotten, and the nation is one in the sacred presence of death, so\nin the other, creeds and doctrines vanish, and the Church of Christ\nappears at the foot of Calvary as one in Christ Jesus.\"\n\nMr. Wheaton asked me, as we came out of church, if the sermon was\nnot a magnificent one. I evaded the question. I was obliged to\nconfess to myself that it was unsatisfactory. If I were obliged to\nchoose between the Protestantism of Mr. Work and the Romanism of\nFather Hyacinthe, I am afraid I should choose the latter.\n\n\"But,\" said Jennie, \"Mr. Work's sermon was not true Protestant\ndoctrine, John. There is a Real Presence in the communion. Only it\nis in the heart, not in the head, in us, not in the symbols that we\neat. Did you not feel the Real Presence when Father Hyatt in the\nafternoon broke and blessed the bread? Did you not see the living\nChrist in his radiant face and hear the living Christ in his\ntouching words, and his more touching silence?\"\n\nYes! I did. Father Hyatt had disproved the morning's sermon, though\nhe said never a word about it.\n\nFather Hyatt is an old, old man. He has long since retired from\nactive service, having worn out his best days here at Wheathedge, in\nyears now long gone by. A little money left him by a parishioner,\nand a few annual gifts from old friends among his former people, are\nhis means of support. His hair is white as snow. His hands are thin,\nhis body bent, his voice weak, his eyesight dim, his ears but half\nfulfil their office; his mind even shows signs of the weakness and\nwanderings of old age; but his heart is young, and I verily believe\nhe looks forward to the hour of his release with hopes as high and\nexpectations as ardent as those with which, in college, he\nanticipated the hour of his graduation. This was the man, patriarch\nof the Church, who has lived to see the children he baptized grow\nup, go forth into the world, many die and be buried; who has\nbaptized the second and even the third generation, and has seen\nWheathedge grow from a cross-road to a flourishing village; who this\nafternoon, perhaps for the last time--I could not help thinking so as\nI sat in church--interpreted to us the love of Christ as it is\nuttered to our hearts in this most sacred and hallowed of all\nservices. Very simply, very gently, quite unconsciously, he refuted\nthe cheerless doctrine of the morning sermon, and pointed us to the\nProtestant doctrine of the Real Presence. Do you ask me what he\nsaid? Nothing. It was by his silence that he spoke.\n\nA few tender, loving, reverential words as he broke the bread. Three\nminutes of silver speech, the rest of his part of the service a\ngolden silence. But those few words were radiant with the presence\nand the love of a risen, a living Saviour. It was not of the Christ\nthat died, but of the Christ that now lives, and intercedes, and\nguides, and preserves, and saves, he spoke, with voice feeble with\nold age, but strong with love. And as he spoke, it seemed to me, I\nthink it seemed to all of us, that the Christ he loved so much and\nserved so faithfully was close at hand, near and ready to bless us\nall, not with a sacred memory only, but with a Real Presence, the\nmore real because unseen.\n\n\"Yes, Jennie,\" said I after we had sat for a few minutes in silence\nrecalling that sacred hour, \"Yes, Jennie, there was a Real Presence\nin Father Hyatt's breaking and blessing of the bread. But what do\nyou say of the disquisition of Mr. Work on transubstantiation which\nfollowed it?\"\n\n\"I didn't hear it, John. Was it really about transubstantiation?\nPerhaps I ought to have listened--but I could not, I did not want to.\nA higher, holier voice was speaking to me. I was absorbed in that. I\nwas thinking how of old time Christ appeared in the breaking of\nbread to the disciples whose eyes were holden. And to-night, John,\nas I have been rocking baby to sleep I have been reading Tennyson's\nHoly Grail, and thinking how often, in our modern life, Calabad and\nPercivale kneel at the same shrine, and how often what is but a\nmemorial service to the one affords a beatific vision of a living\nand life-giving Lord to the other.\"\n\nAnd Jennie repeated in a low soft voice a verse from that strange\npoem, whose meaning, I sometimes think, is but half understood even\nby its admirers:\n\n    \"And at the sacring of the Mass, I saw\n    The holy elements alone: but he\n    'Saw ye no more? I, Galahad, saw the Grail,\n    The Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine:\n    I saw the fiery face as of a child\n    That smote itself into the bread, and went,\n    And hither am I come; and never yet\n    Hath what thy sister taught me first to see\n    This holy thing, failed from my side?'\"\n\n\"Ah! yes, John, Father Hyacinthe is mistaken, and Mr. Work is\nmistaken too. There is more in our communion than can be explained.\nThe reason is a great deal, a great deal, but it is not everything.\nAnd there are experiences which it can neither understand nor\ninterpret. Baby is not only up-stairs, John; he is in my heart of\nhearts. And you are never away from home, husband mine, though often\nin the city, but are always with me. And my Saviour he is not far\naway, he is not in the heaven that we must bring him down, nor in\nthe past that we must summon him from centuries long gone by. He is\nin our hearts, John. Do I believe in the Real Presence? Do I not\nknow that there is a Real Presence? And neither priest nor pastor\ncan take it from me.\"\n\n\"I wish you could have administered the communion this afternoon,\nJennie,\" said I, \"instead of Mr. Work.\"\n\n\"I wish some good friend of Mr. Work would advise him not to talk at\nthe communion,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"Write him a note,\" said I.\n\nJennie shook her head. \"No,\" said she. \"It would only do harm. But I\nwish ministers knew and felt that at the communion table there is a\nReal Presence that makes many words unfitting. When we are on the\nmount of Transfiguration, we do not care much for Peter, James or\nJohn. And so, dear, I recommend you to do as I do--if the minister\nmust give us a doctrinal disquisition, or a learned argument, or an\nelaborate arabesque of fancy work, or an impassioned appeal, let him\ngo his way and do not heed him. I want silence that I may commune\nwith the Real Presence. If the minister does not give it me, I take\nit.\"\n\nJennie is right, I am sure. What we laymen want at the communion\nservice, from our pastors, is chiefly silence. Only a few and simple\nwords; the fewer and simpler the better. Oh! you who are privileged\nto distribute to us the emblems of Christ's love, believe me that\nthe communion never reaches its highest end, save when you interpret\nit to us, not merely as a flower-strewn grave of a dead past, but as\na Mount of Transfiguration whereon we talk with a living, an\nascended Saviour. Believe me too, we want at that table no other\nmessage than that which a voice from on high whispers in our hearts:\n\"This is my beloved Son, hear ye him!\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nOur Church Finances.\n\n\n\n\n\nI FOUND one evening last week, in coming home, a business-like-\nlooking letter lying on my library table. I rarely receive letters\nat Wheathedge; nearly all my correspondence comes to my New York\noffice. I tore it open in some surprise and read the note as\nfollows:\n\nWHEATHEDGE, Oct. 9th.\n\n\"Dear Sir,--A meeting of the male members of the congregation of the\nCalvary Presbyterian Church will be held on Thursday evening, at 8\nP. M., at the house of Mr. Wheaton. You are respectfully invited to\nbe present.\n\n\"Yours, Respectfully,\n\n\"JAMES WHEATON, \"Ch'n. B'd. Trustees.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I to myself, \"I wonder what this means. It can't be a\nmale sewing society, I suppose. It can hardly be a prayer-meeting at\nJim Wheaton's house. Male members! eh? I thought the female members\ncarried on this church.\" In my perplexity, I handed the note to my\nwife. She read it with care. \"Well,\" said she, \"I am glad the people\nare waking up at last.\" \"What does it mean?\" said I. \"It means\nmoney,\" said she. \"Or rather it means the want of money. Mrs. Work\ntold me last week she believed her husband would have to resign. All\nlast quarter's salary is overdue, and something beside. It seems\nthat Mr. Wheaton has begun to act, at last. I don't see what they\nwant to make such men church officers for.\"\n\nMy wife has not very clear ideas about the legal relations which\nexist between the Church and the Society. Mr. Wheaton is an officer,\nnot of the church but of the society; but I did not think it worth\nwhile to correct the mistake.\n\n\"I do want to think kindly of every body,\" said Jennie; \"but it\nmakes me indignant to see a minister defrauded of his dues.\"\n\n\"Defrauded is a pretty strong word, Jennie,\" said I.\n\n\"It is a true word,\" said she. \"The people promise the minister\n$1200 a year, and then pay him grudgingly $900, and don't finally\nmake up the other $300 till he threatens to resign; if that is not\ndefrauding, I don't know what is. If Mr. Wheaton can't make the\nBoard of Trustees keep their promises any better than that, he had\nbetter resign. I wish he would.\"\n\nMr. Wheaton is not a member of the church; and, to tell the truth,\nhis reputation for success is greater than his reputation for\nintegrity. But he is president of the Koniwasset branch railroad,\nand a leading director of the Koniwasset coal mines, and a large\noperator in stocks, and lives in one of the finest houses in\nWheathedge, and keeps the handsomest carriage, and hires the most\nexpensive pew, and it was considered quite a card, I believe, to get\nhim to take the presidency of the Board of Trustees.\n\n\"Of course you'll go, John,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"I don't know about that, Jennie,\" said I. \"I don't want to get\nmixed up with our church finances in their present condition.\"\n\n\"I don't know how they are ever to get in a better condition, John,\"\nsaid she, \"unless some men like you do get mixed up with them.\"\n\nJennie, as usual, knew me better than I knew myself. I went. I was\ndelayed just as I was starting away, and so, contrary to my\ncustom--for I rather pride myself on being a very punctual man--I was\na little late. The male members of the Calvary Presbyterian\nCongregation were already assembled in Mr. James Wheaton's library\nwhen I arrived. I was a little surprised to see how few male members\nwe had. To look round the congregation on Sunday morning, one would\ncertainly suppose there were more. It even seems to me there were at\nleast twice as many at the sewing society when it met at James\nWheaton's last winter.\n\nI entered just as Mr. Wheaton was explaining the object of the\nmeeting. \"Gentlemen,\" said he, suavely, \"the Calvary Presbyterian\nChurch, like most of its neighbors, has rather hard work to get\nalong, financially. Its income is not at all equal to its\nexpenditures. The consequence is we generally stand on the debtor\nside of the ledger. As probably you know, there is a mortgage on the\nchurch of four thousand dollars. The semi-annual interest is due on\nthe first of next month. There is, I think, no money in the treasury\nto meet it.\"\n\nHere he looked at the treasurer as if for confirmation, and that\ngentleman, a bald-headed, weak-face man, smiled a mournful smile,\nand shook his head feebly.\n\n\"The Board of Trustees,\" continued the President, \"have directed me\nto call this meeting and lay the matter before you.\"\n\nThere was a slight pause--a sort of expectant silence. \"It isn't a\nlarge sum,\" gently insinuated the President, \"if divided among us\nall. But, in some way, gentlemen, it must be raised. It won't do for\nus to be insolvent, you know. A church can't take the benefit of the\nbankrupt act, I believe, Mr. Laicus.\"\n\nBeing thus appealed to, I responded with a question. Was this\nmortgage interest all that the church owed? No! the President\nthought not. He believed there was a small floating debt beside.\n\"And to whom,\" said I, \"Mr. Treasurer, is this floating debt due?\"\nThe Treasurer looked to the President for an answer, and the\nPresident accepted his pantomimic hint.\n\n\"Most of it,\" said he, \"I believe, to the minister. But I understand\nthat he is in no special hurry for his money. In fact,\" continued\nhe, blandly, \"a debt that is due to the minister need never be a\nvery serious burden to a church. Nominally it is due to him, but\nreally it is distributed around among the members of the church.\nPart is due to the grocer, part to the tailor, part to the butcher,\npart to the dressmaker, and part is borrowed from personal friends.\nI lent the parson twenty-five dollars myself last week. But mortgage\ninterest is another matter. That, you know, must be provided for.\"\n\n\"And pray,\" said I, for I happened to know the parson did need the\nmoney, \"how much is the pastor's salary? And how much of it is\noverdue?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the President, \"I suppose his salary is about--two\nthousand dollars. Yes,\" continued he, thoughtfully, somewhat\naffectionately playing with his gold watch-chain, \"it must net him\nfully that amount.\"\n\nI was wondering what this \"about\" meant, and whether the minister\ndid not have a fixed salary, when Deacon Goodsole broke in abruptly\nwith, \"It's twelve hundred dollars a year!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" responded the President, \"it is nominally fixed by the Board\nat twelve hundred dollars. But then, gentlemen, the perquisites are\nsomething. In the course of a year they net up to a pretty large\namount. Last winter, the ladies clubbed together and made the parson\na present of carpets for his parlors; the year before we gave him a\ndonation party; almost every year, Deacon Goodsole sends him a\nbarrel of flour from his store; in one way or another he gets a good\nmany similar little presents. I always send him a free pass over the\nroad. And then there are the wedding fees which must amount to a\nhandsome item in the course of the year. It can't be less than two\nthousand or twenty-five hundred dollars all told. A very snug little\nincome, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"Double what I get,\" murmured Mr. Hardcap. A very exemplary\ngentleman is Mr. Hardcap, the carpenter, but more known for the\nvirtue of economy than for any other. He lives in three rooms over\nhis carpenter shop down in Willow lane. If our pastor lived there he\nwould be dismissed very soon.\n\nI wondered, as the President was speaking, whether he included the\nprofit he made in selling Koniwasset coal to the Newtown railroad\namong his perquisitis, and as part of his salary. But I did not ask.\n\n\"Week before last,\" said Deacon Goodsole, \"the parson was called to\nattend a wedding at Compton Mills. He drove down Monday, through\nthat furious storm, was gone nearly all day, paid six dollars for\nhis horse and buggy, and received five dollars wedding fee. I wonder\nhow long it would take at that rate to bring his salary up to\ntwenty-five hundred dollars.\"\n\nThere was a general laugh at the parson's mercantile venture, but no\nother response.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said the President, a little gruffly, I fancied,\n\"let us get back to business. How shall we raise this mortgage\ninterest? I will be one of ten to pay it off.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said I, gently, \"but before we begin to pay our debts,\nwe must find out how much they are. Can the Treasurer tell us how\nmuch we owe Mr. Work?\"\n\nThe Treasurer looked inquiringly at the President, but getting no\nresponse, found his voice, and replied, \"Three hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"The whole of last quarter?\" said I.\n\nThe Treasurer nodded.\n\n\"I think there is a little due on last year,\" said Deacon Goodsole.\n\n\"A hundred and seventy-five dollars,\" said the Treasurer.\n\n\"The fact is, gentlemen,\" said the President, resuming his blandest\nmanner, \"you know the Methodists have just got into their new stone\nchurch. The trustees thought it necessary not to be behind their\nneighbors, and so we have completely upholstered our church anew, at\na cost of five hundred dollars.\" (\"And made the parson pay the\nbill,\" said Deacon Goodsole, soto voce.) \"We should have frescoed\nit, too, if we had had the money.\" (\"Why didn't you take his wedding\nfees?\" said the Deacon, soto voce.)\n\n\"Well, for my part,\" said I, \"I am willing to do my share toward\npaying off this debt. But I will not pay a cent unless the whole is\npaid. The minister must be provided for.\"\n\n\"I say so, too,\" murmured Mr. Hardcap. I was surprised at this\nsudden and unexpected reinforcement. The Deacon told me afterwards,\nthat Mr. Hardcap had been repairing the parson's roof and had not\ngot his pay.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" continued I, \"we can fund this floating debt, make the\nmortgage four thousand five hundred, raise the difference among\nourselves, and so clear it all up. Who holds the mortgage?\"\n\nThis question produced a sensation like that of opening the seventh\nseal in heaven. There was silence for the space of--well, something\nless than half an hour. The Treasurer looked at the President. The\nPresident looked at the Treasurer. The male members of the\ncongregation looked at each other. The Deacon looked at me with a\nvery significant laugh lurking in the corners of his mouth. At\nlength the President spoke.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said he, \"I suppose most of you know I hold this\nmortgage. I have not called you together because I want to press the\nchurch for the money. But a debt, gentlemen, is a debt, and the\nchurch, above all institutions, ought to remember the divine\ninjunction of our blessed Master (the President is not very familiar\nwith Scripture, and may be excused the blunder): 'Owe no man\nanything.' (\"Except the minister,\" said Deacon Goodsole, soto voce.)\nThe proposition of our friend here, however, looks like business to\nme. I think the matter can be arranged in that way.\"\n\nArranged it was. The President got his additional security, and the\nparson got his salary, which was the main thing Jennie cared for.\nAnd to be perfectly frank with the reader, I should not have gone\nnear Jim Wheaton's that night if it had not been that I knew it\nwould please Jennie. I wait with some curiosity to see what will\nbecome of a church whose expenditures are regularly a quarter more\nthan its income. Meanwhile, I wonder whether the personal presents\nwhich friends make for affection's sake to their pastor ought to be\nincluded by the Board of Trustees in their estimate of his salary?\nand also whether it is quite the thing to expect that the pastor\nwill advance, out of his own pocket, whatever money is necessary to\nkeep his church from falling behind its neighbors in showy\nattractions?\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nAm I a Drone?\n\n\n\n\n\nDEACON Goodsole wants me to take a class in the Sabbath-school. So\ndoes Mr. Work. So I think does Jennie, though she does not say much.\nShe only says that if I did she thinks I could do a great deal of\ngood. I wonder if I could. I have stoutly resisted them so far. But\nI confess last Sunday's sermon has shaken me a little.\n\nI was kept in the city Saturday night by a legal appointment, and\nwent the next day to hear my old friend Thomas Lane preach. His text\nwas \"Why stand ye here all the day idle?\"\n\nHe depicted very graphically the condition of the poor in New York.\nHe is a man of warm sympathies, of a large and generous heart. He\nmingles a great deal with the poor of his own congregation. To his\ncredit and that of his wife be it said, there are a good many poor\nin his congregation. But he does not confine his sympathies to his\nown people. He told us of that immense class who live in New York\nwithout a church-home, of the heathen that are growing up among us.\n\n\"You need not go to Africa,\" said he, \"to find them. They come to\nyour door every morning for cold victuals. God will hold you\nresponsible for their souls. Are you in the Sabbath-school? Are you\nin the Mission-school? Are you in the neighborhood prayer-meeting?\nAre you a visitor? Are you distributing tracts? Are you doing\nanything to seek and to save that which is lost?\" Then he went on to\nsay what should be done; and to maintain the right and duty of\nlaymen to preach, to teach, to visit, to do all things which belong\nto \"fishers of men.\" \"There are a great many church members,\" said\nhe, \"who seem to suppose that their whole duty consists in paying\npew rent and listening to preaching. That is not Christianity. If\nyou are doing nothing you are drones. There is no room in the hive\nfor you. The Church has too many idle Christians already. We don't\nwant you.\"\n\nHe did not argue. He simply asserted. But he evidently felt the\ntruth of all that he said. I believe I should have decided at once\nto go into the Sabbath-school as soon as I came home, but for a\nlittle incident.\n\nAfter church I walked home with Mr. Lane to dine with him. Mr. Sower\njoined and walked along with us. He is at the head of a large\nmanufacturing establishment. He is one of Mr. Lane's warmest\nfriends. Mr. Lane believes him to be a devoted Christian. \"Well,\nparson,\" said he, \"I suppose after to-night's sermon there is\nnothing left for me to do but to take a letter from the Church--if\nyou don't excommunicate me before I get it.\"\n\n\"What's the matter now?\" said the parson.\n\n\"I am neither visiting,\" said Mr. Sower, \"nor distributing tracts,\nnor attending a tenement-house prayer-meeting, nor preaching, nor\nworking in a mission, nor doing anything in the Church, but going to\nits service and paying my pew rent, and sometimes a little something\nover to make up a deficiency. The fact is every day in the week I\nhave my breakfast an hour before you do, and am off to the factory.\nI never get home till six o'clock, sometimes not then. My day's work\nuses up my day's energies. I can't go out to a tenement-house\nprayer-meeting, or to tract distribution in the evening. I can\nhardly keep awake in our own church prayer-meeting. If it were not\nfor Sunday's rest my work would kill me in a year. I sometimes think\nthat perhaps I am devoting too much of my time to money-making. But\nwhat shall I do? There are four hundred workmen in the factory. Most\nof them have families. All of those families are really dependent on\nme for their daily bread. It takes all my life's energies to keep\nthem employed. Shall I leave that work to take hold of tenement-\nhouse visitation and tract distribution?\"\n\nMr. Lane replied promptly that Mr. Sower was to do no such thing.\n\"Your factory,\" said he, \"is your field. That is the work God has\ngiven you to do. It is your parish. Do not leave it for another--only\ndo not forget that you have to give an account of your parochial\ncharge. You are to study, not how to get the most money out of your\nfour hundred workmen, but how to do them the most good. That is\nChristian duty for you. But your case is very peculiar. There is not\none man in a thousand situated as you are.\"\n\nThen I began to think that perhaps my law office was my field. It\ngives me enough to do I am sure. We are not all drones who are not\nworking for the Church. There is a work for Christ outside. And I do\nnot want to take a Sabbath-school class. I want Sunday mornings to\nmyself. Every other morning I have to be an early riser. I do enjoy\nbeing lazy Sunday morning.\n\nBut then there is that class of young men from the mill. Deacon\nGoodsole says they don't know anything. He has no one who can manage\nthem. And Mr. Work thinks it's a dreadful sin, I do not doubt, that\nI do not take it at once. I do not care much for that. But Jennie\nsays I am just the one to manage these boys if I feel like\nundertaking it. And I would like to prove her good opinion of me\ntrue.\n\nI was just in that perplexity when night before last a meeting on\nbehalf of the City Mission Society was held here. Mr. Mingins, the\nSuperintendent of city missions, was one of the speakers.\n\nHe made an earnest and at times a really eloquent speech. He would\nhave made a splendid jury lawyer. He depicted in the most lively\ncolors the wretched condition of the outcast population of New York.\nWith all the eloquence of a warm heart, made more attractive by his\nbroad Scotch, he pled with us to take an active part in their\namelioration. \"Pure religion and undefiled, before God and the\nFather, is this,\" cried he, \"to visit the fatherless and widows in\ntheir affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.\"\n\nI resolved to take up that class of Mission boys straightways. But\nas I came out I met Hattie Bridgeman. She is an old friend of\nJennie's and has had a hard, hard life. Her husband is an invalid.\nHer children are thrown on her for support. As I met her at the door\nshe pressed my hand without speaking. I could see by the trembling\nlip and the tearful eye, that her heart was full. \"I wish I had not\ncome to-night,\" she said, as we walked along together. \"Such stories\nmake my heart bleed. It seems as though I ought to go right out to\nvisit the sick, comfort the afflicted, care for the neglected. But\nwhat can I do? My children are dependent on me. These six weeks at\nWheathedge are my only vacation. The rest of the time I am teaching\nmusic from Monday morning till Saturday night. Sunday, when I ought\nto rest, is my most exhausting day. For then I sing in church. If I\nwere to leave my scholars my children would starve. How can I do\nanything for my Savior?\"\n\nIt was very plain that she was to serve her Savior in the music\nlesson as indeed she does. For she goes into every house as a\nmissionary. She carries the spirit of Christ in her heart. His joy\nis radiant in her face. She preaches the Gospel in houses where\nneighborhood prayer-meetings cannot be held, in households which\ntract-distributors never enter. The street that needs Gospel\nvisitation most is Fifth avenue. That is in her district. And,\nnobly, though unconsciously, she fulfils her mission. More than one\nperson I have heard say, \"If to be a Christian is to be like Mrs.\nBridgeman, I wish I were one.\" Our pastor preaches no such effective\nsermons as does she by her gentleness, her geniality, her patience,\nher long suffering with joyfulness. And when the Sabbath comes, her\nvoice, though it leads the service of song in a fashionable city\nchurch, expresses the ardor of her Christian heart, and is fraught\nwith quite as true devotion as the prayers of her pastor.\n\nSomething like this Jennie told her as we walked along from church;\nand she left us comforted. And I was a little comforted too. It is\nvery clear, is it not, that we are not all drones who are not at\nwork in the church. There are other fields than the Sabbath-school.\n\nDo I carry Christ into my law office, and into the court-room, as\nMrs. Bridgeman does into the parlor and the chair? That is the first\npoint to be settled. The other comes up afterward. But it does\npersist in coming up. It is not settled yet. Will it hurt my Sunday\nto take that class for an hour? I doubt it.\n\nI must talk it over with Jennie and see what she really thinks about\nit.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nThe Field is the World.\n\n\n\n\n\nLAST evening before I had found an opportunity to talk it over with\nJennie, Dr. Argure and Deacon Goodsole called. I suspect the\ndeacon's conscience had been quickened even more than mine\nrespecting my duty to that mission class by Mr. Minging's address.\nFor I have noticed that our consciences are apt to be quickened by\nsermons and addresses more respecting our neighbors' duties even\nthan respecting our own.\n\nDr. Argure had come down the day before from Newtown to attend the\ncity mission meeting. He is a very learned man. At least I suppose\nhe is, for everybody says so. He is at all events a very sonorous\nman. He has a large vocabulary of large words, and there are a great\nmany people who cannot distinguish between great words and great\nthoughts. I do not mean to impugn his intellectual capital when I\nsay that he does a very large credit business. In sailing on lake\nSuperior you can sometimes see the rocky bottom 30 or 40 feet below\nthe surface--the water is so clear. You never can see the bottom of\nDr. Argure's sermons. Perhaps it is because they are so deep; I\nsometimes think it is because they are so muddy. Still he really is\nan able man, and knows the books, and knows how to turn his\nknowledge to a good account. Last summer he preached a sermon at\nWheathedge, on female education. He told us about female education\namong the Greeks, and the Romans, and the Hebrews, and the Persians,\nand the Egyptians--though not much about it in America of to-day. But\nit was a learned discourse--at least I suppose so. Three weeks after,\nI met the President of the Board of Trustees of the Polltown Female\nSeminary, I mentioned incidentally that I was spending the summer at\nWheathedge.\n\n\"You have got a strong man up there somewhere,\" said he, \"that Dr.\nArgure, of Newtown. He delivered an address before our seminary last\nweek on female education; full of learning sir, full of learning. We\nput him right on our Board of Trustees. Next year I think we shall\nmake him President.\"\n\nA month or so after I found in the weekly Watch Tower an\neditorial,--indeed I think there were three in successive numbers--on\nfemale education. They had a familiar sound, and happening to meet\nthe editor, I spoke of them.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he \"they are by Dr. Argure. A very learned man that sir.\nDoes an immense amount of work too. He is one of our editorial\ncontributors as perhaps you see, and an able man, very learned sir.\nThose are very original and able articles sir.\"\n\nThis fall I took up the Adriatic Magazine, and there what should my\neye fall on but an article on female education. I did not read it;\nbut the papers assured their readers that it was a learned and\nexhaustive discussion on the whole subject by that scholarly and\nerudite writer, Dr. Argure. And having heard this asserted so often,\nI began to think that it certainly must be true. And then in January\nI received a pamphlet on female education by Dr. Argure. It was\naddressed to the Board of Education, and demanded a higher course of\ntraining for woman, and was a learned and exhaustive discussion of\nthe whole subject from the days of Moses down.\n\n\"An able man that Dr. Argure,\" said Mr. Wheaton to me the other day\nreferring to that same pamphlet.\n\n\"Yes, I think he is,\" I could not help saying. \"I think he can stir\nmore puddings with one pudding stick than any other man I know.\"\n\nStill he stirs them pretty well. And if he can do it I do not know\nthat there is any objection.\n\nBut if I do not believe in Dr. Argure quite as fully as some less\nsceptical members of his congregation do, Deacon Goodsole believes\nin him most implicitly. Deacon Goodsole is a believer--not I mean in\nanything in particular, but generally. He likes to believe; he\nenjoys it; he does it, not on evidence, but on general principles.\nThe deacons of the stories are all crabbed, gnarled, and\ncross-grained. They are the terrors of the little boys, and the\nthorn in the flesh to the minister. But Deacon Goodsole is the most\ncheery, bright, and genial of men. He is like a streak of sunshine.\nHe sensibly radiates the prayer-meeting, which would be rather cold\nexcept for him. The little boys always greet him with a \"How do you\ndo Deacon,\" and always get a smile, and a nod, and sometimes a stick\nof candy or a little book in return. His over-coat pockets are\nalways full of some little books or tracts, and always of the bright\nand cheery description. Always full, I said; but that is a mistake;\nwhen he gets home at night they are generally empty. For he goes out\nliterally as a sower went out to sow, I do not believe there is a\nchild within five miles of Wheathedge that has not had one of the\nDeacon's little books.\n\nI suspected that the Deacon had come partly to talk with me about\nthat Bible class, and I resolved to give him an opportunity. So I\nopened the way at once.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Well Deacon, how are church affairs coining on; pretty smoothly;\nsalary paid up at last?\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--Yes, Mr. Laicus; and we're obliged to you for it too. I don't think\nthe parson would have got his money but for you.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Not at all, Deacon. Thank my wife, not me. She was righteously\nindignant at the church for leaving its minister unpaid so long. If\nI were the parson I would clear out that Board of Trustees and put\nin a new one, made up wholly of women.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--That's not a bad idea. I believe the women would make a deal better\nBoard than the present one.\n\nDr. Argure: [(with great solemnity).]\n\n--Mr. Laicus, have you considered the Scriptural teachings concerning\nthe true relations and sphere of women in the church of Christ. The\napostle says very distinctly that he does not suffer a woman to\nteach or to usurp authority over the man, and it is very clear that\nto permit the female members of the church to occupy such offices as\nthose you have indicated would be to suffer her to usurp that\nauthority which the Scripture reposes alone in the head--that is in\nman.\n\nLaicus: [(naively).]\n\n--Does the Scripture really say that women must not teach?\n\nDr. Argure.:\n\n--Most certainly it does, sir. The apostle is very explicit on that\npoint, very explicit. And I hold, sir, that for women to preach, or\nto speak in public, or in the prayer-meeting of the church, is a\ndirect violation of the plain precepts of the inspired word.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--I wonder you have any women teach in your Sabbath School? Or have\nyou turned them all out?\n\nMrs. Laicus,: [(who evidently wishes to change the conversation).]\n\n--How do affairs go on in the work of your church.\n\nDr. Argure,: [(who is not unwilling that it should be changed).]\n\n--But slowly, madam. There is not that readiness and zeal in the work\nof the church, which I would wish to see. There are many fruitless\nbranches on the tree, Mrs. Laicus, many members of my church who do\nnothing really to promote its interests. They are not to be found in\nthe Sabbath School; they cannot be induced to participate actively\nin tract distribution; and they are even not to be depended on in\nthe devotional week-day meetings of the church.\n\nDeacon Goodsole,: [(who always goes straight to the point).]\n\n--Mr. Laicus here needs a little touching up on that point, Doctor;\nand I am glad you are here to do it. How as to that Bible class, Mr.\nLaicus, that I spoke to you about week before last? There are four\nor five young men from the barrow factory in the Sabbath School now.\nBut they have no teacher. I am sure if you could see your way clear\nto take that class you would very soon have as many more. There are\nsome thirty of them that rarely or never come to church. And as for\nme, I can't get at them. They are mostly unbelievers. Mr. Gear\nhimself, the superintendent, is a regular out and out infidel. And I\nnever could do anything with unbelievers.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Deacon, I wish I could. But I am very busy all through the week,\nand I really don't see how I can take this work up on Sunday. Beside\nit would require some week-day work in addition.\n\nDr. Argure.:\n\n--No man can be too busy to serve the Lord, Mr. Laicus; certainly no\nprofessed disciple of the Lord. The work of the church, Mr. Laicus,\nis before every other work in its transcendant importance.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--I don't know about that. Seems to me, I have seen somewhere that if\na man does not provide for his own family he is worse than an\ninfidel.\n\nDr. Argure,: [(putting this response away from him majestically).]\n\n--It is unfortunately too common an excuse even with professors of\nreligion that they are too busy to serve in the work of the Lord.\nThere is for example the instance of Dr. Curall. He was elected at\nmy suggestion last summer as an elder in our church. But he declined\nthe office, which the apostle declares to be honorable, and of such\na character that if it be well used they who employ it purchase to\nthemselves a good degree. Alas! that it should be so frequently so--\nourselves first and Christ afterwards.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Is that quite fair Dr? Must Dr. Curall be put down as refusing to\nfollow the Master because he refuses to leave the duties of his\nprofession which he is doing well, to take on those of a church\noffice which he might do but poorly? May not he who goes about\nhealing the sick be following Christ as truly as he who preaches the\nGospel to the poor? Is the one to be accused of serving the world\nany more because of his fees than the other because of his salary?\nCan an elder do any more to carry the Gospel of Christ to the sick\nbed and the house of mourning than a Christian physician, if he is\nfaithful as a Christian?\n\nDr. Argure shook his head but made no response.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--That may do very well in the case of a doctor, Mr. Laicus. But I\ndon't see how it applies in your case, or in that of farmer Faragon,\nor in that of Typsel the printer or in that of Sole the boot-maker,\nor in that of half a score of people I could name, who are doing\nnothing in the church except pay their pew rent.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Suppose you pass my case for the moment, and take the others. Take\nfarmer Faragon for example. He has a farm of three hundred acres. It\nkeeps him busy all the week. He works hard, out of doors, all day.\nWhen evening comes he gets his newspaper, sits down by the fire and\npretends to read. But I have noticed that he rarely reads ten\nminutes before he drops asleep. When he comes to church the same\nphenomenon occurs. He cannot resist the soporific tendencies of the\nfurnaces. By the time Mr. Work gets fairly into secondly, Farmer\nFaragon is sound asleep. So he does not even listen to the\npreaching. Is he then a drone? Suppose you make a calculation how\nmany mouths he feeds indirectly by the products of his farm. I\ncannot even guess. But I know nothing ever goes from it that is not\ngood. The child is happy that drinks his milk, the butcher fortunate\nwho buys his beef, the housewife well off who has his apples and\npotatoes in her cellar. He never sends a doubtful article to market;\nnever a short weight or a poor measure. I think that almost every\none who deals with him recognizes in him a Christian man. He does\nnot work in Sunday School, it is true, but he has brought more than\none farm hand into it. Christ fed five thousand by the sea of\nGalilee with five loaves and two small fishes. Was that Christian?\nFarmer Faragon, feeds, in his small way, by his industry, a few\nscores of hungry mortals. Is he a drone?\n\nOr take Mr. Typsel the printer. He publishes the Newtown Chronicle.\nHe sends a weekly message to 10,000 readers, at least twenty times\nas many as Dr. Argure's congregation. I do not know how good a\nChristian he is; I do not know much about the Newtown Chronicle. But\nI know that the press is exerting an incalculable influence over the\npeople, for good or for ill and the man who devotes his energies to\nit, and really uses it to educate and elevate the community, is\ndoing as much in his sphere for Christ as the minister in his. He\nhas no right to neglect the greater work God has given him to do for\nthe lesser work of teaching a Sabbath School class.\n\nJennie.:\n\n--That is if he cannot well do both.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Yes--of course. If he can do both, that is very well.\n\nDr. Argure.:\n\n--That's a very dangerous doctrine Mr. Laicus.\n\nLaicus,: [(warmly).]\n\n--If it is true it is not dangerous. The truth is never dangerous.\n\nDr. Argure.:\n\n--The truth is not to be spoken at all times.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--That's a very unnecessary doctrine, Dr., to teach to a lawyer.\n\nDr. Argure,: [(indifferent alike to the sally and to the laugh\nwhich follows it).]\n\n--Consider, Mr. Laicus, what would be the effect on the church of\npreaching that doctrine. It is our duty to build up the church. It\nis the church which is the pillar and ground of the truth. It is the\nchurch which is Christ's great instrumentality for the conversion of\nthe world. When the kingdoms of this world become the kingdoms of\nour Lord and of his Christ, then the church will have universal\ndominion. Here in Wheathedge, for example, Mr. Work is laboring to\nbuild up and strengthen the church of Christ. And you tell his\npeople and the people of hundreds of similar parishes all over the\nland, that it is no matter whether they do any work in the church or\nnot. Consider the effect of it.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--It seems to me, Dr., that you entertain a low, though a very\ncommon, conception of your office. The ministers are not mere\nbuilders of churches. They are set to build men. The church which\nwill have universal dominion is not this or that particular\norganization, but the whole body of those who love the truth as it\nis in Christ Jesus. Churches, creeds, covenants, synods, assemblies,\nassociations, will all fade; the soul alone is immortal. If you are\nreally building for eternity you cannot merely build churches.\n\nDr. Argure.:\n\n--Consider then, Mr. Laicus, the effect of your doctrine on the\nhearts and souls of men. Consider how many idle and indifferent\nprofessors of religion there are, who are doing nothing in the\nchurch, and nothing for the church. And you tell them that it is\njust as well they should not; that they are just as worthy of honor\nas if they were active in the Lords vineyard?\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--It is just as well if they are really serving Christ. It does not\nmake any difference whether they are doing it in the church or out\nof the church. Christ himself served chiefly out of the church, and\nhad it arrayed against him. So did Paul; so did Luther.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--Do you mean that it makes no difference, Mr. Laicus, whether a man\nis a member of the church or not?\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Not at all. That is quite another matter. I am speaking of church\nwork, not of church membership; and I insist that church work and\nChristian work are not necessarily synonymous. I insist that\nwhatever tends to make mankind better, nobler, wiser, permanently\nhappier, if it is work carried on in the spirit of Christ is work\nfor Christ, whether it is done in the church or out of the church. I\ninsist that every layman is bound to do ten-fold more for Christ out\nof the church than in its appointed ways and under its supervision.\nI have read, Dr., with a great deal of interest your learned and\nexhaustive treatise on the higher education of women, (I am afraid I\ntold a little lie there; but had not the Dr. just told me that the\ntruth was not to be told at all times), but I declare to you, that\nso far as the elevation of woman is concerned, I would rather have\ninvented the sewing machine than have been the author of all the\nsermons, addresses, magazine articles, editorials and pamphlets on\nthe woman question that have been composed since Paul wrote his\nsecond Epistle to the Christians.\n\nDr. Argure,: [(shaking his head).]\n\n--It is a dangerous doctrine, Mr. Laicus, a dangerous doctrine. You\ndo not consider its effect on the minds of the common people.\n\nLaicus,: [(thoroughly aroused and thoroughly in earnest).]\n\n--Do you consider the influence of the opposite teaching, both on the\nchurch and on the individual? We are building churches, you tell us.\nThe \"outsiders,\" as we call them, very soon understand that. They\nsee that we are on the look-out for men who can build us up, not for\nmen whom we can build up. If a wealthy man comes into the\nneighborhood, we angle for him. If a devout, active, praying\nChristian moves into the neighborhood, we angle for him. If a\ndrunken loafer drops down upon us, does anybody ever angle for him?\nIf a poor, forlorn widow, who has to work from Monday morning till\nSaturday night, comes to dwell under the shadow of our church, do we\nangle for her? Yes! I am glad to believe we do. But the shrewdness,\nthe energy, the tact, is displayed in the other kind of fishing.\nDon't you suppose \"the world\" understand this? Don't you suppose our\nMr. Wheaton understands what we want him in the board of trustees\nfor? Such men interpret our invitation--and they are not very\nwrong--as, come with us and do us good; not, come with us and we will\ndo you good.\n\nConsider, too, its effect on the individual. I attended a morning\nprayer meeting last winter in the city. A young man told his\nexperience. He started in the morning, he said, to go to the store.\nBut it seemed as though the Lord bid him retrace his steps. A voice\nwithin seemed to say to him, \"Your duty is at the prayer meeting.\"\nThe battle between Christ and the world was long and bitter. Christ\nat length prevailed. He had come to the prayer meeting. He wanted to\ntell the brethren what Christ had done for his soul. The experience\nmay have been genuine. It may have been his duty to leave the store\nfor the church that particular morning. But what is the effect of a\ntraining which teaches a young man to consider all the time he gives\nto the store as time appropriated to the world? It is that he can\nserve both God and mammon; that he actually does. It draws a sharp\nline between the sacred and secular. And most of his life is\nnecessarily the secular.\n\nI forgot to mention that Mrs. Goodsole had come over with her\nhusband. She and Jennie sat side by side. But she had not opened her\nmouth since the salutations of the evening had been interchanged.\nShe is the meekest and mildest of women. She is also the most timed.\nIn public she rarely speaks. But it is currently reported that she\navenges herself for her silence by the curtain lectures, she\ndelivers to her good husband at home. Of that, however, I cannot be\nsure. I speak only of rumor. Now she took advantage of a pause to\nsay:\n\nMrs. Goodsole.:\n\n--I like Mr. Laicus's doctrine. It's very comforting to a woman like\nme who am so busy at home that I can hardly get out to church on\nSundays.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--I don't believe it's true. Yes I do too. But I don't believe it's\napplicable. That is--well what I mean to say--I can't express myself\nexactly, but my idea is this, that the people that won't work in the\nchurch are the very ones that do nothing out of it. The busy ones\nare busy everywhere. There is Mr. Line, for example. He has a large\nfarm. He keeps a summer hotel, two houses always full; and they are\ncapitally kept houses. That, of itself, is enough to keep any man\nbusy. The whole burden of both hotel and farm rests on his\nshoulders. And yet he is elder and member of the board of trustees,\nand on hand, in every kind of exigency, in the church. He is one of\nthe public school commissioners, is active in getting new roads laid\nout, and public improvements introduced, is the real founder of our\nnew academy, and, in short, has a hand in every good work that is\never undertaken in Wheathedge. And there is Dr. Curall, whose case\nMr. Laicus has advocated so eloquently and who is too busy to be an\nelder; and I verily believe I could count all his patients on the\nfingers of my two hands.\n\nMrs. Goodsole,: [(inclined to agree with everybody, and so to live\nat peace and amity with all mankind).]\n\n--There is something in that. There is Mrs. Wheaton who has only one\nchild, a grown up boy, and who keeps three or four servants to take\ncare of herself and her husband and her solitary son, and she is\nalways too busy to do anything in the church.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--On the other hand there is not a busier person in the church than\nMiss Moore. She supports herself and her widowed mother by teaching.\nShe is in school from nine till three, and gives private lessons\nthree evenings in the week, and yet she finds time to visit all the\nsick in the neighborhood. And when last year we held a fair to raise\nmoney for an organ for the Sabbath school, she was the most active\nand indefatigable worker among them all. Mrs. Bisket was the only\none who compared with her. And Mrs. Bisket keeps a summer\nboarding-house, and it was the height of the season, and she only\nhad one girl part of the time.\n\nDr. Argure rose to go, Deacon Goodsole followed his example. There\nwere a few minutes of miscellaneous conversation as the gentlemen\nput on their coats. As we followed them to the library door Deacon\nGoodsole turned to me:--\n\n\"But you have not given me your answer yet, Mr. Laicus,\" said he.\n\nBefore I could give it, Jennie had drawn her arm through mine, and\nlooking up into my face for assent had answered for me. \"He will\nthink of it, Mr. Goodsole,\" said she. \"He never decides any question\nof importance without sleeping on it.\"\n\nI have been thinking of it. I am sure that I am right in my belief\nthat there are many ways of working for Christ beside working for\nthe church. I am sure the first thing is for us to work for Christ\nin our daily, secular affairs. I am sure that all are not drones who\nare not buzzing in the ecclesiastical hive. But I am not so sure\nthat I have not time to take that Bible-class. I am not so sure that\nthe busy ones in the church are not also the busy ones out of the\nchurch. I remember that when Mr. James Harper was hard at work\nestablishing the business of Harper & Brothers, which has grown to\nsuch immense proportions since, at the very time he was working\nnight as well as day to expedite publications, he was a trustee and\nclass-leader in John Street Methodist Church, and rarely missed the\nsessions of the board or the meetings of the class. I remember that\nMr. Hatch, the famous banker, was almost the founder of the Jersey\nCity Tabernacle Church, and his now President of the Howard Mission.\nYet I suppose there is not a busier man in Wall street. I remember\nthat Wm. E. Dodge, jr., and Morris K. Jessup, than whom there are\nfew men more industrious, commercially, are yet both active in City\nMissions and in the Young Men's Christian Association; the former is\nan elder in an up-town church, and very active in Sabbath School\nwork. I remember Ralph Wells, bishop of all the Presbyterian Sabbath\nSchools for miles around New York, who was, until lately, active in\ndaily business in the city. Yes I am sure that hard work in the week\nis not always a good reason for refusing to work in the church on\nthe Sabbath.\n\n\"Jennie, I am going to try that Bible class, as an experiment, for\nthe winter.\"\n\n\"I am glad of it, John.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nMr. Gear.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"JENNIE,\" said I, \"Harry and I are going out for our walk.\"\n\nIt was Sunday afternoon. I had enjoyed my usual Sunday afternoon\nnap, and now I was going out for my usual Sunday afternoon walk.\nOnly this afternoon I had a purpose beside that of an hour's\nexercise in the fresh air.\n\n\"I wish I could go with you John,\" said Jennie, \"but it's Fanny's\nafternoon out, and I can't leave the baby. Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Up to the mill village, to see Mr. Gear,\" said I. \"I am going to\nask him to join the Bible class.\"\n\n\"Why John he's an infidel I thought.\"\n\n\"So they say,\" I replied. \"But it can't do an infidel any harm to\nstudy the Bible. I may not succeed; I probably shan't; but I\ncertainly shan't if I don't try.\"\n\n\"I wish I could do something to help you John. And I think I can. I\ncan pray for you. Perhaps that will help you?\"\n\nHelp me. With the assurance of those prayers I walked along the road\nwith a new confidence of hope. Before I had dreaded my errand, now I\nwas in haste for the interview. I believe in the intercession of the\nsaints; and Jennie is a--but I forget. The public are rarely\ninterested in a man's opinion about his own wife.\n\nThe mill village, as we call it, is a little collection of cottages\nwith one or two houses of a somewhat more pretentious character,\nwhich gather round the wheel-barrow factory down the river, a good\nmile's walk from the church. It was a bright afternoon in October.\nThe woods were in the glory of their radiant death, the air was\ncrisp and keen. Harry who now ran before, now loitered behind, and\nnow walked sedately by my side, was full of spirits, and there was\neverything to make the soul feel hope and courage. And yet I had my\nmisgivings. When I had told Deacon Goodsole that I was going to call\non Mr. Gear he exclaimed at my proposition.\n\n\"Why he's a regular out and outer. He does not believe in\nanything--Church, Bible, Sunday, Christ, God or even his own\nimmortality.\"\n\n\"What do you know of him?\" I asked.\n\n\"He was born in New England,\" replied the Deacon, \"brought up in an\northodox family, taught to say the Westminster Assembly's Catechism\n(he can say it better than I can today), and listened twice every\nSunday till he was eighteen to good sound orthodox preaching. Then\nhe left home and the church together; and he has never been to\neither, to remain, since.\"\n\n\"Does he ever go to church?\" I asked.\n\nThe Deacon shrugged his shoulders. \"I asked him that question myself\nthe other day,\" said he. \"You never go to church, Mr. Gear, I\nbelieve?\" said I.\n\n\"Oh! yes I do,\" he replied. \"I go home every Christmas to spend a\nweek. And at home I always go to church for the sake of the old\nfolks. At Wheathedge I always stay away for my own sake.\"\n\n\"And what do you know of his theology?\" said I.\n\n\"Theology,\" said the Deacon; \"he hasn't any. His creed is the\nshortest and simplest one I know of. I tried to have a religious\nconversation with him once but I had to give it up. I could make\nnothing out of him. He said he believed in the existence of a God.\nBut he scouted the idea that we could know anything about Him. He\nwas rather inclined to think there was a future life; but nobody\nknew anything about it. All that we could know was that if we are\nvirtuous in this life we shall be happy in the next--if there is a\nnext.\"\n\n\"He does not believe that the gates are wide open there,\" said I.\n\n\"No,\" said the Deacon; \"nor ajar either.\"\n\n\"And what does he say of Christ and Christianity,\" said I.\n\n\"Of Jesus Christ,\" said the Deacon, \"that--well--probably such a man\nlived, and was a very pure and holy man, and a very remarkable\nteacher, certainly for his age a very remarkable teacher. But he\nridicules the idea of the miracles; says he does not believe them\nany more than he believes in the mythical legends of Greek and Roman\nliterature. And as to Christianity he believes its a very good\nsort of thing, better for America than any other religion; but he\nrather thinks Buddhism is very likely better for India.\"\n\n\"But I wish you would go and see him,\" continued the Deacon.\n\"Perhaps you can make something out of him. I can't. I have tried\nagain and again, and I always get the worst of it. He is well read,\nI assure you, and keen as--as,\" the Deacon failed in his search for a\nsimile and closed his sentence with--\"a great deal keener than I am.\nHe's a real good fellow, but he doesn't believe in anything. There\nis no use in quoting Scripture, because he thinks it's nothing but a\ncollection of old legends. I once tried to argue the question of\ninspiration with him. 'Deacon,' said he to me, 'suppose a father\nshould start off one fine morning to carry his son up to the top of\nHuricane Hill and put him to death there, and should pretend he had\na revelation from God to do it, what would you do to him?' 'Put him\nin the insane asylum,' said I. 'Exactly,' said he. 'My boys came\nhome from your Sabbath School the other Sunday full of the sacrifice\nof Isaac, and Will, who takes after his father, asked me if I didn't\nthink it was cruel for God to tell a father to kill his own son.\nWhat could I say? I don't often interfere, because it troubles my\nwife so. But I couldn't stand that, and I told him very frankly that\nI didn't believe the story, and if it was true I thought Abraham was\ncrazy.' He had me there, you know,\" continued the Deacon, good-\nnaturedly, \"but then I never was good for anything in discussion. I\nwish you would go to see him, may be you would bring him to terms.\"\n\nAnd so I was going now, not without misgivings, and with no great\nfaith in any capacity on my part to \"bring him to terms,\" as the\nDeacon phrased it, but buoyed up a good deal, notwithstanding, by\nthe remembrance of those promised prayers.\n\nAnd yet though Mr. Gear is an infidel he is not a bad man. Even Dr.\nArgure, and he is fearfully sound on the doctrine of total\ndepravity, admits that there are some good traits about him,\n\"natural virtues\" he is careful to explain, not \"saving graces.\"\n\nOf his thorough, incorruptible honesty, no man ever intimated a\ndoubt. In every business transaction he is the soul of honor. His\nword is a great deal better than Jim Wheaton's bond.\n\nIn every good work he is a leader. When the new school-house was to\nbe built, Mr. Gear was put, by an almost unanimous consent, upon the\nBoard, and made its treasurer. When, last Fall, rumors were rife of\nthe mismanagement of the Poor-house, Mr. Gear was the one to demand\nan investigation, and, being put upon the Committee, to push through\nagainst a good deal of opposition, till he secured the reform that\nwas needed. In his shop there is not a man whose personal history he\ndoes not know, not one who does not count him a personal friend.\nThat there has not been a strike for ten years is due to the\nworkmen's personal faith in him. When Robert Dale was caught in the\nshafting and killed last winter, it was Mr. Gear who paid the\nwidow's rent out of his own pocket, got the eldest son a place on a\nfarm, and carried around personally a subscription to provide for\nthe family, after starting it handsomely himself. He is appointed to\narbitrate in half the incipient quarrels of the neighborhood, and\nsettles more controversies, I am confident, than his neighbor,\nSquire Hodgson, though the latter is a Justice of the Peace. There\nis always difficulty in collecting our pew rents. Half the church\nmembers are from one week to one quarter behind-hand. Mr. Gear has a\npew for his family, and his pew-rent is always paid before it\nbecomes due. The Deacon tells me confidentially, that Mr. Work does\nnot think it prudent to preach against intemperance because Jim\nWheaton always has wine on his table New Year's day. Mr. Gear is the\nhead of the Good Templars, and has done more to circulate the pledge\namong the workmen of the town than all the rest of us put together.\nHe is naturally an intensely passionate man, and I am told rips out\nan oath now and then. But that he is vigorously laboring with\nhimself to control his temper is very evident, and it is equally\nevident, so at least the Deacon says, that he is gaining a victory\nin this life-campaign.\n\n\"It is very clear,\" said I to myself, as I walked along, \"that there\nare some good points in Mr. Gear's character. He must have a side\nwhere Christian truth could get in, if one could only find it; where\nindeed it does get in, though he thinks, and every one else thinks,\nit does not. Be it my task to find the place.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nI get my first Bible Scholar.\n\n\n\n\n\nA pretty little cottage-white, with green blinds; the neatest of\nneat fences; a little platform in front of the sidewalk with three\nsteps leading up to it,--a convenient method of access to our high\ncountry carriages; two posts before the gate neatly turned, a\ntrellis over the front door with a climbing rose which has mounted\nhalf way to the top and stopped to rest for the season; another\ntrellis fan-shaped behind which a path disappears that leads round\nto the kitchen door; the tastiest of little bird houses, now\ntenantless and desolate,--this is the picture that meets my eye and\nassures me that Mr. Gear is a man both of taste and thrift, as\nindeed he is.\n\nMrs. Gear who comes to the door in answer to my knock and who is a\ncheerful little body with yet a tinge of sadness in her countenance,\nas one who knows some secret sorrow which her blithe heart cannot\nwholly sing away, is very glad to see me. She calls me by my name\nand introduces herself with a grace that is as much more graceful\nas it is more natural than the polished and stately manners which\nMrs. Wheaton has brought with her from fashionable society to\nWheathedge. Mr. Gear is out, he has gone down to the shop,--will I\nwalk in,--he will be back directly. I am very happy to walk in, and\nMrs. Gear introducing me to a cozy little sitting-room with a\nlibrary table in the centre, and a book-case on one side, well\nfilled too, takes Harry by the hand, and leads him out to introduce\nhim to the great Newfoundland dog whom we saw basking in the\nsunshine on the steps of the side door, as we came up the road.\n\nI am accustomed to judge of men by their companions, and books are\ncompanions. So whenever I am in a parlor alone I always examine the\nbook-case, or the centre table--if there is one. In Mrs. Wheaton's\nparlor I find no book-case, but a large centre table on which there\nare several annuals with a great deal of gilt binding and very\nlittle reading, and a volume or two of plates, sometimes handsome,\nmore often showy. In the library, which opens out of the parlor, I\nfind sets of the classic authors in library bindings, but when I\ntake one down it betrays the fact that no other hand has touched it\nto open it before. And I know that Jim Wheaton buys books to furnish\nhis house, just as he buys wall paper and carpets. At Mr. Hardcap's\nI find a big family Bible, and half a dozen of those made up volumes\nfat with thick paper and large type, and showy with poor pictures,\nwhich constitute the common literature of two thirds of our country\nhomes. And I know that poor Mr. Hardcap is the unfortunate victim of\nbook agents. At Deacon Goodsole's I always see some school books\nlying in admirable confusion on the sitting-room table. And I know\nthat Deacon Goodsole has children, and that they bring their books\nhome at night to do some real studying, and that they do it in the\nfamily sitting-room and get help now and then from father and from\nmother. And so while I am waiting for Mr. Gear I take a furtive\nglance at his well filled shelves. I am rather surprized to find in\nhis little library so large a religious element, though nearly all\nof it heterodox. There is a complete edition of Theodore Parker's\nworks, Channing's works, a volume or two of Robertson, one of\nFurness, the English translation of Strauss' Life of Christ, Renan's\nJesus, and half a dozen more similar books, intermingled with\nvolumes of history, biography, science, travels, and the New\nAmerican Cyclopedia. The Radical and the Atlantic Monthly are on the\ntable. The only orthodox book is Beecher's Sermons,--and I believe\nDr. Argure says they are not orthodox; the only approach to fiction\nis one of Oliver Wendell Holmes' books, I do not now remember which\none. \"Well,\" said I to myself, \"whatever this man is, he is not\nirreligious.\"\n\nI had just arrived at this conclusion when Mr. Gear entered. A tall,\nthin, nervous man, with a high forehead, piercing black eyes, and a\nrestless uneasiness that forbids him from ever being for a moment\nstill. Now he runs his hand through his hair pushing it still\nfurther back from his dome of a head, now he drums the table with\nhis uneasy fingers, now he crosses and uncrosses his long legs, and\nonce, as our conversation grows animated, he rises from his seat in\nthe vehemence of his earnestness, and leans against the mantel\npiece. A clear-eyed, frank faced, fine looking man, who would compel\nyour heed if you met him anywhere, unknown, by chance, on the public\nstreet. \"An infidel you may be,\" I say to myself, \"but not a bad\nman; on the contrary a man with much that is true and noble, or I am\nno physiognomist or phrenologist either.\" And I rather pride myself\non being both.\n\nWe lawyers learn to study the faces of our witnesses, to form quick\njudgments, and to act upon them. If I did not mistake my man the\ndirectest method was the best, and I employed it.\n\n\"Mr. Gear,\" said I, \"I have come to ask you to join my Bible class.\"\n\n\"Me!\" said Mr. Gear unmistakeably surprised. \"I don't believe in the\nBible.\"\n\n\"So I have heard,\" I said quietly. \"And that's the reason I came to\nyou first. In fact I do not want you to join my Bible class. I have\nnot got any Bible class as yet, I want you to join me in getting one\nup.\"\n\nMr. Gear smiled incredulously. \"You had better get Deacon Goodsole,\"\nsaid he,--\"or,\" and the smile changed from a goodnatured to a\nsarcastic one, \"or Mr. Hardcap.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt they would either of them join me,\" said I. \"But\nthey believe substantially as I have been taught to believe about\nthe Bible. They have learned to look at it through creeds, and\ncatechisms, and orthodox preaching. I want to get a fresh look at\nit. I want to come to it as I would come to any other book, and to\nfind out what it means, not what it seems to mean to a man who has\nbeen bred to believe that it is only the flesh and blood of which\nthe dry bones are the Westminster Assembly's Catechism.\"\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" said Mr. Gear, \"I thank you for the honor you do me.\nBut I don't believe in the Bible. I don't believe it's the word of\nGod any more than Homer or Tacitus. I don't believe those old\nHebrews knew any more than we do--nor half so much. It says the world\nwas made in six days. I think it more likely it was six millions of\nyears in making.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said I.\n\n\"It says God rested on the Sabbath day. I believe He always works,\nday and night, summer and winter, in every blazing fire, in every\ngathering storm, in every rushing river, in every growing flower, in\nevery falling leaf.\"\n\nHe rose as he spoke and stood, now leaning against the mantel piece,\nnow standing erect, his dark eyes flashing, his great forehead\nseeming to expand with great thoughts, his soul all enkindled with\nhis own eloquence: for eloquent he really was, and all unconscious\nof it.\n\n\"Your Bible,\" said he \"shuts God up in a Temple, and in an ark in\nthat, and hides him behind curtains where the High priest can find\nhim but once a year. My God is every where. There is no church that\ncan hold him. The heavens are his home; the earth is his footstool.\nAll this bright and beautiful world is his temple. He is in every\nmountain, in every cloud, in every winter wind and every summer\nbreeze.\"\n\nHe looked so handsome in his earnest eloquence that I had no heart\nto interrupt him. And yet I waited and watched for any opening he\nmight give me, and thought of Jennie, and her prayers at home, and\ndeclared to myself by God's help I would not let this man go till I\nhad caught him and brought him to know the love that now he knew\nnot.\n\n\"Your Bible, Mr. Laicus,\" said he, \"sets apart one day for the Lord\nand gives all the rest to the world, the flesh, and the devil. I\nbelieve all days are divine, all days are the Lord's, all hours are\nsacred hours and all ground is holy ground.\"\n\nI wanted to tell him that my Bible did no such thing. But I had\nfully considered what I would do before I had sought this interview.\nI had resolved that nothing should tempt me into a contradiction or\nan argument. I had studied Jennie's method, and I reserved my fire.\n\n\"Your Bible tells me,\" said he, \"that God wrote his laws with his\nfinger on two tables of stone; that he tried to preserve them from\ndestruction by bidding them be kept in a sacred ark; and that\ndespite his care they were broken in pieces before Moses got down\nfrom the mountain top. I believe he writes them impartially in\nnature and in our hearts, that science interprets them, and that no\nMoses astonished out of his presence of mind can harm them or break\nthe tablets on which they are engraven.\"\n\nSo true, yet oh so false. Oh God! help me to teach him what my Bible\nreally is and what its glorious teachings are.\n\n\"I don't believe the Bible is the Word of God. I can't believe it. I\ndon't believe the laws of Moses are any more inspired than the laws\nof Solon, or the books of Samuel and Kings than the history of\nTacitus, or the Psalms of David than the Paradise Lost of Milton,\nor--you'll think me bold indeed to say so Mr. Laicus,\" (he was cooler\nnow and spoke more slowly), \"the words of Jesus, than the precepts\nof Confucius or the dialogues of Plato.\"\n\nIn that sentence he gave to me my clue. I seized it instantly, and\nnever lost it from that moment. Never case in court so thrilled me\nwith excitement as I too arose and leaned against the mantel-piece.\nAnd never was I, in tone and manner, calmer.\n\n\"As much so?\" I asked carelessly.\n\n\"Yes.....\" said he, hesitatingly, \"yes..... as much so I suppose.\"\n\n\"The ten commandments have been before the world for over three\nthousand years,\" said I. \"The number that have learned them and\naccepted them as a guide, and found in them a practical help is to\nbe counted by millions. There is hardly a child in Wheathedge that\ndoes not know something of them, and has not been made better for\nthem; and hardly a man who knows Solon even by name. We can hardly\ndoubt that the one is as well worth studying as the other, Mr.\nGear.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Gear. \"I don't deny that they are worth studying. But\nI do deny that they are inspired.\"\n\n\"The Psalms of David have supplied the Christian church with its\nbest psalmody for nearly three thousand years,\" continued I. \"They\nconstitute the reservoir from which Luther, and Watts, and Wesley,\nand Doddridge, and a host of other singers have drawn their\ninspiration, and in which myriads untold have found the expression\nof their highest and holiest experiences, myriads who never heard of\nHomer. They are surely as well worth studying as his noble epics.\"\n\n\"I don't deny, they are worth studying,\" said Mr. Gear. \"I only\nassert that they ought to be studied as any other books of noble\nthoughts, intermingled with grossest errors, should be studied.\"\n\n\"The words of Jesus,\" I continued more slowly than before \"have\nchanged the life and character of more than half the world, that\nhalf which alone possesses modern civilization, that half with which\nyou and I, Mr. Gear, are most concerned. There was wonderful power\nin the doctrines of Buddha. But Buddhism has relapsed everywhere\ninto the grossest of idolatries. There is a wonderful wealth of\nmoral truth in the ethics of Confucius. But the ethics of Confucius\nhave not saved the Chinese nation from stagnation and death. There\nis wonderful life-awaking power in the writings of Plato. But they\nare hid from the common people in a dead language, and when a Prof.\nJowett gives them glorious resurrection in our vernacular, they are\nstill hid from the common people by their subtlety. Every\nphilosopher ought to study Plato. Every scholar may profitably study\nBuddha and Confucius. But every intelligent American ought to study\nthe life and words of Jesus of Nazareth.\"\n\n\"I do,\" said Mr. Gear. \"I do not disesteem Jesus of Nazareth. I\nhonor him as first among men. I revere his noble life, his sublime\ndeath, and his incomparable teachings. I have read his life in the\nGospels; I have read it as Strauss gives it; and as Renan gives it;\nand now I am devoting my Sunday afternoons to reading it as\nPressense gives it. You see I am an impartial student. I read all\nsides.\"\n\n\"You think Christ's life and teaching worth your study then?\" I said\ninquiringly.\n\n\"Worth my study? Of course I do,\" said he. \"I am an infidel, Mr.\nLaicus; at least people commonly call me so, and think it very\ndreadful. But I do not mean to be ignorant of the Bible or of\nChristianity as Jesus Christ gave it to us. It needs winnowing. We\nhave grown wiser and know better about many things since then. But\nit is well worth the studying and will be for many years to come.\"\n\n\"All I ask of you,\" said I, \"is to let me to study it with you.\"\n\nHe made no answer; but looked me steadily in the eye as if to try\nand fathom some occult design.\n\n\"No,\" said I, \"that is not all. As I came by Joe Poole's I saw half\na dozen of the men from your shop lounging about the door. They\ncould spend the afternoon to better purpose, Mr. Gear, in studying\nthe life and words of Jesus.\"\n\n\"I know they could,\" he said. \"No man can say that any word or\ninfluence of mine helped carry them to Joe Poole's bar.\"\n\n\"Will you lend your word and influence with mine to summon them\naway?\" said I.\n\nHe made no answer.\n\n\"I saw a dozen others engaged at a game of ball upon the green as I\npassed by.\"\n\n\"A harmless sport, Mr. Laicus, and as well done on Sunday as on any\nother holiday.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said I. \"But an hour and a half from their Sunday in\nstudying the life and words of Jesus would do them no harm, and\ndetract nothing from their holiday. They do not study so hard\nthroughout the week that the brain labor would be injurious.\"\n\nMr. Gear smiled.\n\n\"There is not a man in your shop, Mr. Gear, that would not be made a\nbetter workman, husband, father, citizen, for studying that life and\nthose teachings one hour a week.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said he.\n\n\"You organized a Shakspeare club last winter to keep them from Joe\nPoole's,\" said I. \"Was it a good thing?\"\n\n\"Worked capitally,\" said Mr. Gear.\n\n\"Won't you join me in organizing a Bible club for Sunday afternoons\nthis winter for the same purpose?\"\n\n\"There is so little in common between us,\" said he; and he looked me\nthrough and through with his sharp black eyes. What a lawyer he\nwould have made; what a cross examination he could conduct.\n\n\"You believe in the literal inspiration of the New Testament\nScripture. I believe it is a book half legend half history. You\nbelieve in the miracles. I believe they are mythical addition of a\nlater date. You believe that Jesus Christ was conceived of the Holy\nGhost and born of the Virgin Mary. I believe his birth was as\nnatural as his death was cruel and untimely. You believe that--he\nwas divine. I believe he was a man of like passions as we ourselves\nare,--a Son of God only as every noble spirit is a spark struck off\nfrom the heavenly Original. You believe that he bears our sins upon\na tree. I believe that every soul must bear its own burdens. What is\nthere in common between us? What good could it do to you or to me to\ntake Sunday afternoon for a weekly tournament, with the young men\nfrom the shop for arbitrators?\"\n\n\"None,\" said I calmly.\n\n\"What would you have then?\" said he.\n\n\"When you organized that Shakspeare club last winter,\" said I, \"did\nyou occupy your time in discussions of the text? Did you compare\nmanuscripts? Did you investigate the canonicity of Shakspeare's\nvarious plays? Did you ransack the past to know the value of the\nlatest theory that there never was a Will. Shakspeare save as a nom\nde plume for Lord Bacon? Did you inquire into the origin of his\nseveral plots, and study to know how much of his work was really his\nown and how much was borrowed from foreign sources. Or did you leave\nthat all to the critics, and take the Shakspeare of today, and\ngather what instruction you might therefrom?\"\n\nMr. Gear nodded his head slowly, and thoughtfully, as if he\npartially perceived the meaning of my answer. But he made no other\nresponse.\n\n\"There is much in common between us, Mr. Gear,\" I continued\nearnestly, \"though much, very much that is not. We can find plenty\nof subject for fruitless debate no doubt. Can we find none for\nagreement and mutual helpfulness? Jesus of Nazareth you honor as\nfirst among men. You revere His noble life, His sublime death, His\nincomparable teachings. So do I. That noble life we can read\ntogether, Mr. Gear, and together we may emulate His example without\na fruitless debate whether it be divine or no. Those incomparable\nteachings we can study together, that together we may catch the\nspirit that dictated them, without a theological controversy as to\ntheir authority. And even that sublime death I should hope we might\ncontemplate together, without contention, though in the suffering\nChrist you see only a martyr, and I behold my Saviour and my God.\"\n\nHe made no answer, still stood silent. But he no longer looked at me\nwith his sharp eyes. They had retired beneath his shaggy eyebrows as\nthough he would search his own soul through and through, and read\nits verdict. He told me afterwards the story of his battle; I\nguessed it even then.\n\n\"We may not agree on the Gospel of John, Mr. Gear,\" said I, \"but we\nshall not quarrel about the Golden Rule and the Sermon on the\nMount.\"\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" said Mr. Gear at length, very slowly. \"I thank you for\ncoming to me, I thank you for speaking plainly and frankly as you\nhave; I thank you for the respect which you have shown to my\nconvictions. They are honest, and were not arrived at without a\nstruggle and some self sacrifice. You are the first Christian,\" he\nadded bitterly \"that ever paid them the regard of a respectful\nhearing. I will join you in that Bible Class for this winter, and I\nwill prove to you, infidel that I am, that I as well as a Christian,\ncan respect convictions widely different from my own. If we quarrel\nit shall not be my fault.\"\n\n\"I believe you, Mr. Gear,\" said I. \"God helping me it shall not be\nmine, and there's my hand upon it.\"\n\nHe grasped it warmly.\n\n\"When shall we begin?\" said I.\n\n\"Next Sunday.\"\n\n\"Where?\" said I.\n\n\"As you please?\" said he.\n\n\"Here, or in my house, or at the church parlors, or wherever we can\ngather the young men,\" said I.\n\n\"The mill school-house is better than either,\" said he. \"The boys\nwill come there. They are used to it.\"\n\n\"The mill school-house be it,\" said I. \"Next Sunday afternoon at 3\no'clock. I will bring the Bibles; you will bring the boys.\"\n\n\"As many as I can,\" said he.\n\n\"Jennie,\" said I that evening. \"Mr. Gear and I are going to take the\nBible Class together.\"\n\nTears stood in her eyes as she looked up at me with that smile I\nlove so much. But she only said. \"I knew you would succeed John.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe Deacon's Second Service.\n\n\n\n\n\nIT has been made the subject of some comment lately that Deacon\nGoodsole habitually absents himself from our Sabbath evening\nservice. The pastor called the other day to confer with me on the\nsubject; for he has somehow come to regard me as a convenient\nadviser, perhaps because I hold no office and take no very active\npart in the management of the Church, and so am quite free from what\nmay be called its politics. He said he thought it quite unfortunate;\nnot that the Deacon needed the second service himself, but that, by\nabsenting himself from the house of God, he set a very bad example\nto the young people of the flock. \"We cannot expect,\" said he,\nsomewhat mournfully, \"that the young people will come to Church,\nwhen the elders themselves stay away.\" At the same time he said he\nfelt some delicacy about talking with the Deacon himself on the\nsubject. \"Of course,\" said he, \"if he does not derive profit from my\ndiscourses I do not want to dragoon him into hearing them.\"\n\nI readily promised to seek an occasion to talk with the Deacon, the\nmore so because I really feel for our pastor. When I first came to\nWheathedge he was full of enthusiasm. He has various plans for\nadding attractiveness and interest to our Sabbath-evening service,\nwhich has always flagged. He tried a course of sermons to young men.\nHe announced sermons on special topics. Occasionally a political\ndiscourse would draw a pretty full house, but generally it was quite\nevident that the second sermon was almost as much of a burden to the\ncongregation as it was to the minister. Latterly he seems to have\ngiven up these attempts, and to follow the example of his brethren\nhereabout. He exchanges pretty often. Quite frequently we get an\nagent. Occasionally I fancy, the more from the pastor's manner than\nfrom my recollection, that he is preaching an old sermon. At other\ntimes we get a sort of expository lecture, the substance of which I\nfind in my copy of Lange when I get home. Under this treatment the\ncongregation, never very large, has dwindled away to quite\ndiminutive proportions; and our poor pastor is quite discouraged.\nUntil about six weeks ago Deacon Goodsole was always in his pew. I\nthink his falling off was the last straw.\n\nLast Sabbath evening, on my way to church, I stopped, according to\npromise, to see the Deacon. As I went up the steps I heard the sound\nof music, and waited a moment lest I should disturb the family's\nevening devotions. But as the music continued, and presently the\ntune changed, I concluded to knock. Nettie, the Deacon's youngest\ndaughter, who by the way is a great favorite with me, answered the\nknock almost instantly. The open hymn-book was in her hand, and\nbefore I could get time to ask for the Deacon, she had, in her\ncharmingly impulsive way, dragged me in, snatched my hat from my\nhand, deposited it on the table, and pushed me into the parlor. In\nfact, before I well knew what I was about, I found myself in the big\narm-chair with Nettie in my lap, taking part in the Deacon's second\nservice.\n\nHis family were all about him, including the stable boy, whose hair\nlooked as sleek as the Deacon's horse. For the Deacon has some queer\nnotions about the duties of employers to their servants, and, though\nthe very kindest of men, is generally thought by the neighbors to be\n\"a queer stick.\" The Deacon's wife, who has a very sweet soprano\nvoice, which, however, she never could be persuaded to use in our\nchoir, was presiding at the piano. The children all had their hymn\nand tune-books, and they were \"singing round\"--each member of the\nfamily selecting a hymn in turn. As they were limited to two verses\neach--except where two clubbed together to secure an entire hymn--the\nexercise was not prolonged, and certainly did not become tedious.\nAfter the singing, the Deacon asked the children if they were ready\nwith their verses. They all raised their hands. The Deacon then\nrepeated a short piece of poetry, his wife followed, and then all\nthe children one after another, even down to Bob--a little\nthree-year-old, who just managed to lisp out, with a charming\nmixture of pride and bashfulness,\n\n    Jesus, tender Seperd,\n    Has' thou died faw me,\n    Make me vewy fwankful\n    In my heart to thee.\n\nThen the Deacon took down the family bible and opened it to the\nstory of Joseph. He asked the children how far he had got. They\nanswered him very sagely, and their responses to a few questions\nwhich he put to them showed that they understood what had gone\nbefore. Then he read part of one chapter, that which describes the\nbeginning of the famine, and, asking Joe to bring him the full\nvolume of Stanley's Jewish Church, he read the admirable description\nof an Egyptian famine which it contains. By this time Bob was fast\nasleep in his mother's arms. But all the rest of us kneeled down and\nrepeated the Lord's prayer with the Deacon--another of his queer\nnotions. The neighbors think he is inclined to be an Episcopalian,\nbecause he wants it introduced into the church service, but he says\nhe does not really think that the Lord was an Episcopalian, and if\nhe was it would not be any good reason for not using his prayer.\nThen the children kissed good-night, all round, and went to bed.\nMrs. Goodsole took Bob off to his crib, and the Deacon and I were\nleft alone. It was long past time for church service to begin, so I\nabandoned all idea of going to church, and opened to the Deacon at\nonce the object of my errand. I told him very frankly that we not\nonly missed him from the church, but that the pastor felt that his\nexample was an unfortunate one, and that the church generally were\nafraid he was growing luke-warm in the Master's service, and I\ngently reminded him of the apostle's direction not to forget the\nassembling of ourselves together.\n\n\"Well,\" said he--though in trying to give his answer in his own\nlanguage, I am obliged to condense the conversation of half-an-hour\ninto a single paragraph--\"Well, I will tell you how it is. You know I\nused to be pretty regular in attendance on church, and in fact a\npretty busy man on Sundays. We had breakfast early. Right after\nbreakfast I sat down to look over my Sunday-school lesson for the\nlast time. At nine o'clock I went to Sunday-school, where I had a\nBible-class. At half-past ten came church. After service I had\nbarely time to get a lunch, and then had to hurry away to our\nMission. We almost always had some sort of a teachers' meeting after\nthe regular session, so that it was generally tea-time before I got\nhome. After tea I was off to church again. I almost always woke up\nMonday morning tired, and a little cross. My children are pretty\ngood ones, I think, but they had a queer distaste for Sunday, which\nI put down to total depravity. And, strangest of all, my wife, who\nonly went to church Sunday morning, and would not even sing in the\nchoir, seemed to be as tired Monday morning as I was, only as it was\nwashing-day she could not sleep as late. About two months ago I was\nlaid up with a boil, and could not go to church. Of course I did not\nhave my Sunday-school lesson to learn, and I was surprised to\nnotice, for the first time, how hard my wife had to work to get the\nchildren off to Sunday-school. They stayed at church--as they always\ndo--and for an hour after dinner they got along very well, reading\ntheir library books, but then began the labors of the day. First I\nheard Joe out in the yard frolicking with the dog, and rousing all\nthe neighborhood with his racket. Of course I called him in. Next I\nheard my wife calling Lucy and Nettie to come down out of the swing.\nThe next thing Bob was playing horse with the chairs in the parlor.\nSo it went all the afternoon. The children had nothing to do. They\ncould not read Sunday-school books all day. I am heterodox enough to\nwonder how they can read them at all--and of course they got into all\nsorts of mischief. And when at last poor Bobby came to me in utter\ndespair, and lisped out, \"Papa, what did God make Sunday for?\" I\nbroke down. I gathered the children about me, and proposed to them\nthis evening service. I told them that if they would learn a hymn\nevery Sunday I would stay at home in the evening with them. They\ncaught at the idea enthusiastically. There is no law about it. They\nneed not learn if they do not want to. But even Bobby has caught the\nenthusiasm, and gets a book and goes to his mamma every Sunday\nafternoon to teach him a verse. I have given up my class in the\nMission, and made one of my Sunday-school Bible-class take it. I lie\ndown and take a little nap after dinner. Then I learn my own hymn,\nand make my preparation for our evening service. About an hour\nbefore tea the children gather about me in the arbor and I read to\nthem. I have just got Dr. Newton's \"Bible Wonders,\" and am reading\nit chapter by chapter. My wife takes that opportunity to rest. The\nconsequence is that we both really get refreshed, instead of jaded\nout by our Sunday, and I think the children really look forward with\nanticipations of delight to its coming. \"My Bible,\" continued the\nDeacon good naturedly, \"says something about resting on Sunday. I\nwish our pastor would tell us what that means sometime.\"\n\nI told the Deacon I thought he ought to tell his brethren, at some\nprayer-meeting, the reason why he stayed away from church; that it\nwas due both to himself and to them. He agreed to do so. As for\nmyself I am somewhat puzzled. I do not want our pastor left to\npreach to empty pews. But I am greatly enamored of the Deacon's\nsecond service.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nOur Pastor Resigns.\n\n\n\n\n\nALL Wheathedge is in a fever of excitement. \"Blessings brighten as\nthey take their flight.\" We have just learned that we have enjoyed\nfor these several years the ministry of one of the most energetic,\nfaithful, assiduous, eloquent, and devoted \"sons of thunder,\" in the\nState. We never appreciated our dominie aright till now. But now no\none can praise him too highly. The cause of this his sudden rise in\npublic estimation is a very simple one. He has been called to a New\nYork City parish. And he has accepted the call.\n\nThis is a curious world, and the most curious part of it is the\nChurch. While he stayed we grumbled at him. Now he leaves we grumble\nbecause he is going.\n\nI first heard of this matter a couple of weeks ago. No. Some rumors\nof what was threatened were in the air last summer. One Sabbath, in\nour congregation, were three gentlemen, in one of whom I recognised\nmy friend, Mr. Eccles, of the--street Presbyterian Church of New\nYork City. He was there again the second Sabbath. It was rumored\nthen that he was on a tour of inspection. But I paid little\nattention to the rumor. In October, our pastor takes his vacation. I\nthought it a little strange that he should spend half of it in New\nYork, and seek rest from preaching in his own pulpit by repeating\nhis sermons in a metropolitan church. But I knew the state of his\npurse. I therefore gave very little heed to the gossip which my wife\nrepeated to me, and which she had picked up in the open market. For\nSunday is market day, and the church is the market for village\ngossip in Wheathedge. And Jennie, who is constitutionally averse to\nchange, was afraid we were going to lose our pastor, and said as\nmuch. But I laughed at her fears.\n\nHowever, the result proved that the gossips were, for once, right.\nAbout two weeks ago, Mr. and Mrs. Work came into my house in a high\nstate of subdued excitement. Mr. Work handed me a letter. It was a\ncall to the--street Presbyterian Church in New York--salary $4000 a\nyear. It was accompanied by a glowing portraiture of the present and\nprospective usefulness which this field opened. The church was\nsituated in a part of the city where there were few or no churches.\nThe ward had a population of over fifty thousand, a large majority\nof whom attended no church. More than half were Protestants. There\nwas a grand field for Sabbath-school labor. The church was\nthoroughly united. Its financial condition was satisfactory, and its\nprospects encouraging. And the hearts of the people had been led to\nunite as one man upon Mr. Work.\n\n\"I cannot but think,\" said Mr. Work, \"that it is Providential. The\nposition is entirely unsought. Yet I do not really feel equal to a\nplace of such importance. I am sensible how much wider is the sphere\nof usefulness. But am I able to fill it? That is the question.\"\n\n\"Well, for my part,\" said Mrs. Work, \"I confess that I am mercenary.\nThere is a great deal of difference between $1,200 and $4,000 a\nyear. It will put us at our ease at once. And just think what\nadvantages for the children.\"\n\nThey wanted my advice. At least they said so. It is my private\nopinion that they wanted me to advise them to go. I told them I\nwould think about it and tell them the result the next week. They\nagreed meanwhile to wait.\n\nThere were two considerations which operated on their minds, one\nusefulness, the other salary. I undertook to measure those two\nconsiderations.\n\nThe very next day gave me an opportunity to investigate the former.\nI met my friend Mr. Eccles at Delmonico's. We talked over the\naffairs of his church at the table.\n\n\"You are trying to get our minister away from us,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he. \"And I think we shall get him. He is a sound\nman--just the man to build us up.\"\n\n\"And how are you prospering?\" said I.\n\n\"Capitally,\" said he. And then he proceeded, in answer to a\ncross-examination, to interpret his reply. The Church had almost a\nmonopoly of the ward. Its debt was but $10,000, which was in a\nmortgage on the property. There was also a small floating debt which\nwould be easily provided for. It paid its former pastor $4,000, just\nwhat it offered Mr. Work. Its pew rents were about $3,500. The\ndeficiency was considerable, and had to be made up every year by\nsubscription. \"But our minister,\" said M. Eccles, confidentially,\n\"was a dull preacher. I liked him--my wife liked him. All the church\nfolks liked him. But he did not draw. And it is not enough in New\nYork city, Mr. Laicus, for a minister to be a good man, or even a\ngood preacher. He must draw. That's it; he must draw. I expect the\nfirst year, that we shall have a deficit to make up, but if next\nspring we don't let all our pews, why I am mistaken in my man,\nthat's all. Besides they say he is a capital man to get money out of\npeople, and we must pay off our debt or we will never succeed, and\nthat's a fact.\"\n\nI got some figures from Mr. Eccles, and put them down. They give the\nfollowing result:\n\nIncome.\n200 pews at present average-$30 a pew\n$6,000\n\nExpenses.\nSalary\n$4,000\nInterest\n700\nMusic\n1,200\nSexton, fuel, light, &c.\n1,200\nTotal\n$7,100\n\nWhen I showed the footing to Mr. Eccles he shrugged his shoulders.\n\"We shall have to raise our pew rents,\" said he. \"They are\nunconscionably low, and we must pay off our debt. Then we are all\nright. And if we get the right man, one that can draw, he will put\nour heads above water.\"\n\nWith that we separated.\n\nNot, however, till I got some further information from him. He\nremarked casually that he had a notion of moving out of town, and\nasked me about prices at Wheathedge. \"It costs a fortune to live\nhere,\" said he. \"My wife has an allowance of $300 a month for\nhousehold and personal expenses. My clothing and extras cost me\nanother $500. And the \"sundries\" are awful. You can't go out of your\nhouse for less than a dollar. I have no doubt my incidentals are\nanother $500. It is awful--awful.\"\n\nI advised him to move up to Wheathedge, the more cordially because I\nhave a lot I would like to sell him for about a thousand dollars. I\nreally believe he is thinking seriously of it.\n\nThe next day I went into the office of my friend Mr. Rental, the\nbroker. I told him I was looking for a house for a friend, and asked\nthe prices. He showed me a list-rents $2,000, $2,500, $3,000. They\nwere too high. Would property in Brooklyn or Jersey City do? No. It\nmust be in New York. It must be in the -- ward. It must be a good,\ncomfortable, plain house, without any show or pretension.\n\n\"There are none such to let in the city,\" said Mr. Rental. \"Land\ncosts too much. The few plain houses are all occupied by their\nowners.\" The very best he could do was one house, half a mile from\nthe church, for $1,800. He had one other for $1,500, but it was\nopposite an immense stable, and had neither cellar nor furnace, and\ncroton only on the first floor. I thanked him and said I would look\nin again if either of them suited.\n\nLast week, according to appointment, our pastor and his wife came in\nfor a second consultation.\n\n\"There are,\" said I, \"two considerations which might lead you to\naccept this call-increased usefulness and increased salary. I do not\ndeny the importance of a New York city parish, nor fail to recognize\nthe good work the city ministers are doing. But you must not fail to\nrecognize the difficulties of the situation. New York is\nsensation-mad. The competition in churches is as great as in\nbusiness. There are perhaps half a dozen men of genius who fill\ntheir churches with ease, or whose churches are filled because they\nare the resort of \"good society.\" The rest of the ministers are\ncompelled to devote three-quarters of their energies to keeping a\ncongregation together, the other quarter to doing them good. They\naccomplish the first, sometimes by patient, persistent, assiduous,\nunwearying pastoral labor, sometimes by achieving a public\nreputation, sometimes by the doubtful expedient of sensational\nadvertisements of paradoxical topics. But in whatever way they do it\nthe hardest part of their work, a part, country parsons know next to\nnothing of, is to get and keep a congregation. What you are wanted\nfor at the--street Presbyterian Church is to 'build it up.' The one\nquality for which you are commended is the capacity to 'draw.'\nDoubtless there are devout praying men and women who will measure\nyour work by its spiritual results, by the conversion of sinners and\nthe growth in grace of Christians. But what the financial managers\nwant is one who will fill up their empty pews, enable them to add\nfifty per cent. to the rentals, and in some way pay off their debt.\nThat will be their measure of your usefulness.\"\n\nIt was quite evident that my good pastor and his wife thought me\nuncharitable. Was I?\n\n\"As to salary,\" said I, \"you country clergymen are greatly mistaken\nin supposing that city salaries are prizes to be coveted. Six\nthousand dollars is only a moderately fair support for a New York\nclergyman, and there are comparatively few who get it. You must pay\nat least $1,800 rent. You must dress as well as the average of your\nbest families. You must neither be ashamed for yourselves nor for\nyour children in the best society. You must keep open house. You\nmust set a good table. You must be \"given to hospitality.\" You must\ntake a lead in organizing the missionary and charitable movements of\nyour Church, which you cannot do without some money. You must be\nready to co-operate in great public, church, and philanthropic\nmovements. You must take a vacation of six weeks every summer, which\nof itself, at the lowest estimate, will cost you $150 or $200 a\nyear. I have made some inquiries of three or four economical friends\nin New York. Here is the result of my inquiries. You may reduce the\nfigures a little. But it will require quite as much economy to live\nin New York on $4,000 a year as in Wheathedge on $1,200.\"\n\nWith that I showed them the following memorandum:\n\nRent\n$1,800\nHousehold expenses (a low estimate)\n1,800\nDress for Mrs. Work and the two children\n600\nDress and personal expenses of Mr. Work\n500\nSummer vacation\n150\nIncidentals\n500\n\n$5,350\n\nMr. and Mrs. Work thanked me for my advice, and took my memorandum\nhome with them. But it was quite evident that Mrs. Work was not\nsatisfied that $4,000 was not a great advance on $1,200. And I was\nnot at all surprised when Mr. Work read his resignation from the\npulpit last Sabbath. Next Sabbath he preaches his farewell sermon.\n\nI hope I may prove a false prophet. But I think Mrs. Work will find\nher arithmetical powers taxed in New York as they never were in\nWheathedge, and I shall be more pleased than I can tell if in five\nyears Mr. Work does not retire from his post a disappointed man, or\nfind that he has purchased success at the price of his health, if\nnot his life.\n\nMeanwhile we are beginning already to look about for his successor.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nThe Committee on Supply hold an informal Meeting.\n\n\n\n\n\nMR. Work has preached his last sermon. A committee has been\nappointed to supply the pulpit, and secure a candidate for the\npastorate. I believe this sort of business is generally left to the\nsession; but on Deacon Goodsole's motion a special committee was\nappointed partly out of respect to the congregational element which\nis considerable in this church, and partly, I suspect, as a\ncompliment to Mr. Wheaton. It consists of Mr. Wheaton and Mr. Gear,\non behalf of the society, and Deacon Goodsole, Mr. Hardcap and\nmyself on behalf of the church. I forgot to mention that since our\nBible-class was commenced, Mr. Gear has begun to attend church,\nthough not very regularly. Mr. Goodsole nominated Mr. Gear on the\ncommittee, and of course he was elected. I was rather sorry for I\nwould have preferred that he did not know about the internal\nworkings of this church. I do not think it will enhance his respect\nfor religious institutions. Still I could make no objection. I did\nmake objections to taking a place on the committee myself, but\nJennie persuaded me to relinquish them. She has often heard me\narguing that politics is a duty, that citizens are bound to take and\nadminister public office for the benefit of the State. By a neat\nlittle turn she set all these arguments against me, and as I could\nnot answer them I was obliged to yield. Our wives' memories are\nsometimes dreadfully inconvenient.\n\nOur committee held a sort of informal meeting last night, at the\nPost-Office, where we all met by chance, the usual way. In the\nPost-Office is the news exchange of Wheathedge, where we are very\napt to meet about the time of the arrival of the evening mail.\nDeacon Goodsole had been delegated to get a supply for the next two\nSabbaths till we could discuss the merits of candidates. He reported\nthat he had engaged the Rev. Mr. Elder, of Wheatensville. \"He has\nthe merest pittance of a salary,\" said the Deacon, \"and I knew the\ntwenty dollars would be acceptable to him. Besides which he is not\nonly an excellent man but a sound preacher.\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't he be the man for us?\" said I.\n\nMr. Wheaton exclaimed against me, \"Too old,\" said he.\n\n\"Besides he's got five children,\" said Mr. Hardcap.\n\n\"What's that got to do with it?\" said I. \"So has Deacon Goodsole;\nbut he's none the worse for that.\"\n\n\"We can't afford to support a man with a large family,\" said Mr.\nHardcap. \"We must get a young man. We can't possibly afford to pay\nover $1,200 a year, and we ought not to pay over $1,000.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said I; \"do we grade the ministers' salaries by the number of\nthe minister's children?\"\n\n\"Well we have to consider that, of course,\" said Mr. Hardcap.\n\n\"Solomon wasn't so wise as he is generally thought to be,\" said Mr.\nGear sarcastically, \"or he never would have written that sentence\nabout blessed is he whose quiver is full of them!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"all I've got to say is, if you get a man\nhere with five children you can pay his salary, that's all.\"\n\n\"When you take a job Mr. Hardcap,\" said I, \"do you expect to be paid\naccording to the value of the work or according to the size of your\nfamily?\"\n\n\"Oh! that's a very different thing,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"very\ndifferent.\"\n\n\"Any way,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"Mr. Elder is entirely out of the\nquestion--entirely so. Mr. Laicus can hardly have proposed him\nseriously.\"\n\n\"Why out of the question, gentlemen?\" said I. \"He is a good\npreacher. Our congregation know him. He is a faithful, devoted\npastor. We shall do Wheatensville no injustice, for it cannot give\nhim a support. As to age, he is certainly not infirm. I do not\nbelieve he is a year over forty-five.\"\n\n\"No! no!\" said Mr. Wheaton, decidedly. \"It is utterly out of the\nquestion. We must have a young man, one who is fresh, up with the\nspirit of the age; one who can draw in the young men. The Methodists\nare getting them all.\"\n\n\"And the young girls too,\" said Mr. Gear dryly.\n\nI wish Mr. Gear were not on this committee. The Deacon meant well.\nBut he made a blunder.\n\n\"Very well, then, gentlemen,\" said I; \"if we want a fresh man let us\ngo right to the theological seminary and get the best man we can\nfind there.\"\n\n\"The seminary!\" said Mr. Wheaton. He received this suggestion even\nmore disdainfully than the previous one. \"We must have a man of\nexperience, Mr. Laicus. A theological student would never do.\"\n\n\"Experience without age!\" said I; \"that's a hard problem to solve.\nFor the life of me I do not see how we are going to do it.\"\n\n\"Well you must consider, Mr. Laicus,\" said Mr. Wheaton, adding force\nto his words by a gentle and impressive gesture with his forefinger,\n\"that this is a very important and a very peculiar field-a very\npeculiar field indeed, Mr. Laicus. And it requires a man of very\npeculiar qualifications. It is really a city field,\" he continued.\n\"To all intents and purposes Wheathedge is a suburb of New York\nCity. In the summer our congregation is very largely composed of\ncity people. They are used to good preaching. They won't come to\nhear a commonplace preacher. And at the same time we have a very\npeculiar native population. And then, apart from our own people,\nthere is the Mill village which really belongs to our parish, and\nwhich our pastor ought to cultivate. All these various elements\ncombine to make up a diverse and conflicting population. And it will\nrequire a man of great energy, and great prudence, and no little\nknowledge of human nature, and practical skill in managing men, to\nget along here at all. I know more about Wheathedge than you do, Mr.\nLaicus, and I assure you that it is a very peculiar field.\"\n\nI believe that in the estimation of supply committees all fields are\nvery peculiar fields. But I did not say anything.\n\n\"And we need a very peculiar man?\" said Mr. Gear inquiringly.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Wheaton, decidedly; \"a man of peculiar abilities and\nqualifications.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" said Mr. Gear, \"I hope you are prepared to pay a\npeculiar salary. I don't know much about church matters gentlemen. I\ndon't know what you put me on the committee for. But in my shop if I\nwant a peculiar man I have to pay a peculiar salary.\"\n\nThere was a little laugh at this sally, but Mr. Gear evidently meant\nno joke, and as evidently Mr. Wheaton did not take any.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"so far as salary goes I am prepared to vote for an\nincrease to $1,500 and a parsonage. I don't live on less than twice\nthat.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap struck his hands down resolutely into his pockets and\ngroaned audibly.\n\n\"I am afraid we can't get it, Mr. Laicus,\" said Mr. Wheaton. \"I\nbelieve a minister ought to have it, but I don't see where its\ncoming from. We musn't burden the parish.\"\n\n\"And I believe,\" I retorted, \"that the laborer is worthy of his\nhire; and we must not burden the pastor.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"I won't give my consent to a\ndollar over $1,200 a year. I ain't goin' to encourage ministerial\nluxury nohow.\"\n\n\"Well, for my part,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"I don't care so much about\nthat. But we must have a first rate man. He has to preach here in\nthe summer time to city congregations. They are critical sir,\ncritical. And we have got to have just as good a man as the Broadway\nTabernacle. But as to paying a city salary, that you know is absurd,\nMr. Laicus. We can't be expected to do that.\"\n\n\"Bricks without straw,\" murmured Mr. Gear.\n\nJust then the Post-Office window opened, and we made a rush for our\nmail. But before we separated we agreed to hold a formal meeting at\nmy house a week from the following Thursday evening for a further\ncanvass of the whole matter.\n\nMeanwhile I am perplexed by the double problem that our informal\nmeeting has suggested. I have been sitting for half an hour\npondering it. The children have long since gone to bed. I have\nfinished my evening paper, and written my evening letters. The fire\nhas burned low, and been replenished. Jennie sits by my side engaged\nin that modern imitation of Penelope's task, the darning of\nstockings. And for half an hour, only the ticking of the clock and\nthe sighing of the wind outside have disturbed the silence of the\nroom.\n\n\"Jennie,\" said I, at length, \"when I told you to-night of our talk\nat the Post-Office you said you hoped we would get a young man.\nWhy?\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Jennie.\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"I can understand why Mr. Hardcap wants a young man.\nIt is for the same reason that he employs half taught apprentices in\nhis shop. They are cheap. Of course our good friend Maurice\nMapleson, with neither wife nor children, can more easily lay up\nmoney on $1,000 a year than Mr. Elder, with his five children can on\n$1,500 or $2,000. But I don't think you and I, Jennie, want to\neconomize on our minister.\"\n\n\"I am sure we don't John,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"And I can understand why Mr. Wheaton wants a young minister. Young\nministers do draw better, at least at first. There is a certain\nfreshness and attractiveness in youth. Curiosity is set agog in\nwatching the young minister, and still more in watching his young\nbride. A ministerial honey-moon is a godsend to a parish. Whether we\nought to hire our pastors to set curiosity agog and serve the parish\nas a nine-day's wonder may be a question. But I suspect that we very\noften do. But, Jennie, I hope you and I don't want a minister to\nserve us as food for gossip.\"\n\n\"I am sure not, John,' said Jennie earnestly.\n\n\"Why is it then, Jennie,\" said I, \"that you and I want youth in our\nminister? Young lawyers and young doctors are not in requisition.\nAge generally brings confidence even when it does not endow with\nwisdom. I believe that Judge Ball's principal qualification for his\noffice was his bald head and grey beard. When you discovered a\ncouple of grey hairs on my head a little while ago, I was delighted.\nI should like to multiply them. Every grey hair is worth a dollar.\nDr. Curall has hard work to get on in his profession because he is\nso young and looks still younger than he is. If there was such a\nthing as grey dye it would pay him to employ it. Lawyers and doctors\nmust be old-ministers must be young. Why, Jennie?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Jennie, \"we want in our ministers enthusiasm more\nthan wisdom.\"\n\n\"Enthusiasm,\" said I. \"That might do for the Methodists. But it does\nnot apply to the Congregationalists, and the Episcopalians, and the\nstaid and sober Presbyterians.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" said Jennie. \"What we want of our\npreachers is not so much instruction as inspiration. We want some\nbody not to think for us but to set us to thinking. Our souls get\nsluggish, and they want to be stirred up. I do not want some one to\nprove the authority of the ten commandments, John, but some one to\nmake me more earnest to obey them. I do not care much about Dr.\nArgure's learned expositions of the doctrine of atonement. But I do\nwant some one who shall make me realize more and more that Jesus\ndied for me.\"\n\n\"And what has that to do with youth, Jennie?\" said I.\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Jennie, thoughtfully; \"unless it is that the\ntruth seems somehow new and fresh to the young minister. Besides it\nis not youth, John, altogether. It is freshness, and warmth, and\nenthusiasm, and spiritual life. Mr. Beecher is not young nor is\nSpurgeon, nor Dr. Hall, nor Dr. Tyng, nor John B. Gough. But they\nare all popular. Father Hyatt isn't young, John, but I had rather\nhear him than Dr. Argure any day.\"\n\nI rather think Jennie is right. It is not youth we want at\nWheathedge, but spiritual life and earnestness. At least it is to be\nthought of.\n\nBut as to salary-how we are to get a first class man at a third\nclass salary puzzles me. I shall have to refer that to Mr. Wheaton.\nHe is the financier of our church I believe.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nMaurice Mapleson declines to submit to a competitive examination.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"I have a letter from Maurice Mapleson,\" said I to Jennie.\n\n\"What does he say? Will he come?\" said she eagerly.\n\n\"No!\" said I. \"He won't come.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" said she. \"It's too bad of him.\"\n\n\"You won't think so, my dear,\" said I, \"when you hear his letter.\nYou'll be more sorry; but you'll think better of him than you did\nbefore.\"\n\nWe were at the tea-table. It is the rule of our meal hour to have\nthe conversation one in which the children can engage-in which at\nall events they can take an interest. So the topic was suffered to\ndrop till they were in bed, and we were alone in the library.\n\nMaurice Mapleson was a young minister that I thought a good deal of.\nSo when two Sundays before, Mr. Wheaton suggested him to me as a\nsuccessor to our retiring pastor, I welcomed the suggestion.\n\n\"You know that young Mapleson, don't you Mr. Laicus,\" said he, \"who\npreached for us two Sundays last summer. I think he stopped at your\nhouse.\"\n\nI assented.\n\n\"I wish you would write him, quite informally you know, to come down\nand preach for us a Sunday or two. The folks at our house were quite\ntaken with him, and I think the people were generally. I shouldn't\nwonder if he were the 'coming man,' Mr. Laicus.\"\n\nSo that evening I stayed at home from church and wrote to him. I\nremembered what Mr. Wheaton had said about this being a peculiar\nparish, and our people a peculiar people, and I waxed eloquent as I\nwrote. I reminded Mr. Mapleson of our glorious scenery. I told him\nwe were but a suburb of New York and he would have a city\ncongregation, and I did not tell him that he would have to pay very\nnearly city prices for everything, and would not have anything that\nwould approximate a city salary. I told him of the Mill village and\nthe opportunities of Christian labor it opened before him. I\nassured him that he would find the people remembering him kindly,\nand ready to welcome him warmly. In short I considered myself\nretained as advocate In re the Calvary Presbyterian Church, and I\nrather laid myself out to produce an impression.\n\nAnd I rather flatter myself that I did produce an impression. But I\ndid not get a verdict. Here is his answer as I read it to Jennie\nthat evening. KONIWASSET CORNERS, Tuesday. JOHN LAICUS, ESQ.,\n\nDear Sir,--I thank you very warmly for your kind letter of the 6th\ninstant. Kind it certainly is, and though I must decline the\ninvitation it presents so cordially to me, I am none the less\ngrateful for it, notwithstanding the fact that it has been a strong\nand not easily resisted temptation to violate my settled convictions\nof duty.\n\nIf I were writing formally to the committee it would be enough to\ndecline your invitation without entering into any explanation. But\nthe remembrance of the pleasant week I spent at your house last\nsummer, and the tone of your letter, makes me feel as though I were\nwriting to a personal friend. This is my excuse (if one is needed)\nfor giving you more fully than I otherwise should, my reasons for\ndeclining. Those reasons are not in any way connected with the\nparish at Wheathedge. I am not insensible to the attractions which\nthe place possesses as a residence, nor to that which the parish\npossesses as a field of labor. But I resolved when I first entered\nthe ministry that I would never preach as a candidate. I never have,\nand I never will. I began my work in a mission school in New York\nCity, while I was yet in the Seminary. When I left the Seminary, Mr.\nMarcus who is one of the trustees of the mission asked me to come up\nto this church. It is a sort of mission among the miners, being half\nsupported by Mr. Marcus who is one of the directors of the\nKoniwasset Coal Co. I came for six months. The congregation asked me\nto remain, and I remained. And here I purpose to remain till God\nshall call me to another field. Another field I will not seek,\nthough I should live and die here. I pretend to believe that Christ\nis my Bishop; and I shall not move without orders from him.\n\nSo long as I am pastor here I cannot preach with honor as a\ncandidate in other parishes. I know other ministers do it-and I do\nnot judge them. But I cannot. Suppose my people were to take\nadvantage of my absence for a week to try a candidate. I wonder what\nI should say to that. And I cannot see that settled ministers have\nany more right to try other parishes with reference to a change of\nplace, than parishes with settled ministers have to try other\nministers with reference to a change of pastors. In a word I do not\nbelieve in free-love as applied to churches.\n\nBut apart from that I cannot preach as a candidate. The minister is\nordained to preach to convert impenitent sinners and to build up and\nstrengthen Christians. Do you suppose I should do either if I came\nto Wheathedge on your invitation to preach as a candidate? Not at\nall. The people would come to criticise, and I should go to be\ncriticised. They would be judges and would expect to put me through\nmy ministerial faces to try me. Come, the congregation says in\neffect to me in such an invitation, let us see how you can preach,\nexhibit your proficiency in the doctrines, try your skill in\narousing sinners, see what you can do in interesting the saints,\nread us a hymn or two, as a test of your elocution, and display to\nus your \"gifts in prayer;\" and then when the service is over, spend\na week and take tea with two or three of our principal families and\nshow us what your social qualifications are, and give our children\nan opportunity to quiz you. That it is in effect Mr. Laicus, though\nit may seem somewhat presumptuous in me to say it. And to such a\nquizzing I am not at all inclined to submit. I never preached but\none trial sermon-that was when I was licensed and I never mean to\npreach another.\n\nImagine Paul preaching as a candidate to the people of Athens or\nCorinth, and submitting his claims as an apostle to the popular\nverdict!\n\nOr imagine, Mr. Laicus, a client coming to you and saying I have an\nimportant case to be tried sir, and I think of placing it in your\nhands. Will you oblige me by making a neat little speech for me. I\nwant to see what kind of a speech you can make.\n\nSince I wrote that last sentence I have read this letter over, and\nhave been on the point, two or three times, of tearing it up and\nsending in its place a simple declination. But I feel as though I\nwere writing to a friend, and it shall go. I am sorry it must be so.\nI should like to go to Wheathedge. That it is a beautiful place, and\nhas pleasant people, and is a far more important field of labor than\nthis I recognize fully; and then, what possibly influences me quite\nas much, Helen, whom your wife knows very well, is waiting patiently\nfor me, and I am waiting impatiently for her, and I never can marry\non the little pittance I receive here. But she is of one mind with\nme in this matter, I know, for we have often talked it over\ntogether, and she holds me nobly to my resolution. She, I am sure,\nwould not have me write other than I do.\n\nMy kind regards to Mrs. Laicus and my sincere thanks to yourself. A\nkiss to Harry too, if you please, if he is not too old to take one.\nThe baby I have never seen. Yours sincerely, MAURICE MAPLESON.\n\n\"Well,\" said Jennie after I had finished reading the letter, \"I\nbelieve he is right; but I am sorry John; sorrier than I was\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Sorry that he won't come, Jennie?\"\n\n\"Sorry that he is right,\" said Jennie. \"That is, if he is right.\"\n\n\"Do you doubt it, Jennie?\" said I.\n\n\"Well I don't know, John. I go with him. I like him better for his\nletter. I cannot gainsay it. And yet it seems to me that it puts the\nministers in a rather hard position.\"\n\n\"Yes?\" said I interrogatively.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jennie. \"You know perfectly well John that our church\nhere wouldn't call a man that isn't settled somewhere. The very fact\nthat he was out of a parish,, would be almost conclusive against\nhim. And they won't call a man without trying him. Must Maurice\nMapleson live and die in that little out of the way corner? And if\nhe is ever going to get out of it, how is it to come about? How does\na minister have any chance for a change if he takes such a ground as\nthat? It's high and noble John, and I honor him for it; but I am\nafraid it isn't practicable.\"\n\n\"Little woman,\" said I, \"whatever is truly high and noble is\npracticable, and you would be the first to tell me so another time.\nDon't let our wanting Maurice Mapleson here blind us to that.\"\n\nJennie smiled her assent. \"Well John,\" said she, \"what you are going\nto do about it?\"\n\n\"Do?\" said I. \"Nothing. There is nothing to be done, except to read\nMr. Mapleson's letter to the committee, to-morrow night at our first\nmeeting. And I am curious to see what they'll say to it.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nThe Supply Committee hold their first formal Meeting.\n\n\n\n\n\nPLACE: James Wheaton's library.--Hour: seven and a half o'clock in\nthe evening.--Present: James Wheaton, Thomas Gear, James Goodsole,\nSolomon Hardcap, and John Laicus.--John Laicus in the chair.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Gentlemen the first business in order is to appoint a secretary.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--Oh, you can keep the minutes. We don't want much of a record.\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Very good, if that is agreed to. My minutes will be very simple.\n\nJames Wheaton.:\n\n--That's all right. What do you hear from Mr. Mapleson? Anything?\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--Yes I have his letter in my pocket.\n\nJames Wheaton.:\n\n--When will he come?\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--He declines to come.\n\nJames Wheaton,: [(astonished).]\n\n--Declines to come. Why a church mouse would starve on the pittance\nthey pay him at Koniwasset Corners. What's his reason?\n\nLaicus.:\n\n--His letter is a rather singular and striking one, gentlemen.\nPerhaps I had better read it.\n\nWhich he thereupon proceeds to do, slowly and distinctly, till he\nreaches the closing paragraphs, which he omits as being of a purely\npersonal character.\n\nJames Wheaton.:\n\n--That fellow's got stuff in him and no mistake. By Jove I believe if\nI was running this church I would take him on trust.\n\nSolomon Hardcap.:\n\n--I think it a very presumptuous letter. The idea. What does he\nexpect? Does he think we're goin' to take a preacher without ever\nhavin' heard him preach?\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--We have heard him preach, Mr. Hardcap. He preached here two Sundays\nlast summer. Don't you recollect?\n\nSolomon Hardcap.:\n\n--Yes. I remember. But I didn't take no notice of his sermons; he\nwan't preachin' as a candidate.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--Gentlemen I am not very much acquainted with church affairs and I\ndon't think I understand this business very well. What do you mean\nby preaching as a candidate? I thought a candidate was a man who\napplied for an office. Am I to understand that whenever a pulpit is\nvacant the church expects different ministers to apply for it, and\nputs them on trial, and picks out the one it likes the best?\n\nMr. Hardcap.:\n\n--That's it exactly.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--You don't really mean to say that any decent ministers apply for\nthe place on those terms.\n\nDeacon Goodsole,: [(warmly).]\n\n--Indeed they do Mr. Gear. There is never any lack of candidates for\na favorable parish. I have got half a dozen letters in my pocket\nnow. One man writes and sends me copies of two or three letters of\nrecommendation. Another gives me a glowing account of the revival\nthat has followed his labors in other fields. Then there's a letter\nfrom a daughter that really moved me a good deal. She pleads hard\nfor her father who is poor and is getting old, and needs the salary\nsadly-poor man.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--Well, all I have got to say, is that when any of those candidates\ncome to preach I hope you'll notify me, and I'll stay away.\n\nMr. Hardcap.:\n\n--I have no patience with these new fangled notions of these young\nup-start preachers. I reckon the ways our fathers got their\npreachers are good enough for us.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--And what do you say as to that point he makes about Paul's\npreaching as a candidate, Mr. Hardcap?\n\nMr. Hardcap.:\n\n--Oh! that's different, altogether-very different. The apostle was\ninspired, Mr. Gear.\n\nI notice that this is a very popular style of argument with Mr.\nHardcap. Whenever he is posed in argument his never failing\nrejoinder is \"Oh! that's different, altogether different.\" And I\nthink I have observed that the Hardcap logic is not confined to Mr.\nHardcap, but is in high regard in other quarters, where I should\nleast look for it.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--Well I don't think much of apostolic authority myself. But I\nsupposed the rest of you thought you were bound by any precedents\nPaul had set.\n\nMr. Hardcap.:\n\n--It's mighty high seems to me for a young man to be making of\nhimself out as good as the apostle Paul.\n\nMr. Wheaton.:\n\n--I like that young Mapleson, and I like his letter. I wish we could\nget him. Is there any chance of persuading him to come, Mr. Laicus?\nnot as a candidate you know, but just to preach, in good faith like\nany other man.\n\nMr. Gear shrugs his shoulders.\n\nLaicus,: [(decidedly).]\n\n--No! and I should not want to be the one to try.\n\nMr. Wheaton.:\n\n--Well then who stands next on our list?\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--Excuse me gentlemen, but if he can't come to us why shouldn't we go\nto him. Why not try him as we would try any other man.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--How do you mean Mr. Gear?\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--If I want a workman at my factory I don't invite one to come from\nmy neighbor and try his hand for a day while I stand over and watch\nhim. We try our apprentices that way, but never a good workman. I go\nto his shop, inquire as to his character, and examine the work that\nhe has done. If he has done good work in another man's shop he will\ndo it well in mine. At least that's the way we reason in our\nfactory.\n\nMr. Hardcap.:\n\n--That's a very different case Mr. Gear, altogether different.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--Suppose this Mr. Whats-his-name comes, what more will you know\nabout him than you know now?\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--We shall hear him preach and can judge for ourselves.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--One good sermon does not make a good preacher.\n\nMr. Wheaton.:\n\n--No! But you don't need to drive a horse more than five miles to\nknow what are his paces.\n\nMr. Gear.:\n\n--I don't know much about church management but I like the tone of\nthat man's letter, and I should like to know more about him. I\nbelieve if we were to appoint a committee to go out to Koniwasset\nCorners, hear him preach, look in on his Sabbath-school, find out\nwhat kind of a pastor he is, and in a word see what sort of work\nhe's doing where he is now, we would get his measure a great deal\nbetter than we should get it by having him come here, and give us\none of his crack sermons-even if he would do it, I honor him because\nhe won't.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--I am afraid it wouldn't do Mr. Gear-not with our people. I wouldn't\nmind it myself.\n\nMr. Wheaton,: [(blandly).]\n\n--You see Mr. Gear you don't understand church matters altogether. It\nwould not be ecclesiastical-not at all.\n\nMr. Gear,: [(sarcastically and sotto voce).]\n\n--I hope I may never learn.\n\nLaicus,: [(desiring to prevent controversy).]\n\n--Gentlemen, I for one agree with Mr. Gear. But we are evidently in\nthe minority; so there is nothing more to be said about it. We both\nbelieve in government by the majority, and shall submit. What next,\nDeacon? Are there any of your letters you want to read to us?\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--Oh no! It isn't worth while to read any of them. Though I am sorry\nfor that poor old man and his pleading daughter.\n\nMr. Wheaton.:\n\n--The Deacon's list are all too anxious.\n\nDeacon Goodsole.:\n\n--I suppose there is nothing to do but to pursue the usual course. I\nmove that Mr. Laicus and Mr. Wheaton be appointed to open a\ncorrespondence with candidates.\n\nLaicus,: [(decidedly).]\n\nYou must excuse me gentlemen. I don't believe in candidating, and I\ncan't be accessory to it. I will substitute Deacon Goodsole's name\nfor my own. And as so amended will put the motion.\n\nAs so amended the motion was put, and carried, and the committee on\nsupply adjourned to meet at the call of Deacon Goodsole and Mr.\nWheaton. But as we walked along toward my home, M. Gear remarked to\nme that he wished I would let him know when we got a parson so that\nhe could come to church again; for said he, \"I have no inclination\nto serve as a parson tester.\" And I confess I am quite of mind with\nhim.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nOur Christmas at Wheathedge.\n\n\n\n\n\nIS there any reason why Episcopalians, Lutherans and Roman Catholics\nshould have a monopoly of Christmas? Is its glorious old patron\nSaint partial? Has the Christ-child no gifts for us as well as for\nother folk? Have the December heavens no brightness-the angel host\nno song for \"blue Presbyterians?\" May we not come to the sacred\nmanger too? Are our Church festivals so many that we need dread to\nadd another? Is our religion so inclined to gayety and money-making\nthat we need curb its joyous tendencies? The very air of Christmas\nis marvellous. The heavens are never so blue, the sun never shines\nwith a profuser generosity. The very earth clothes itself in the\nspotless white of the heavenly robe, as if to prepare for the coming\nof its Lord.\n\nAlas for him who does not believe in Christmas! May the ghost of\nScrooge haunt him into a better mind.\n\nThis was what I mentally ejaculated to myself last Saturday\nafternoon after Mr. Hardcap's protest against our Christmas\ncelebration.\n\nThe Sabbath morning previous, Miss Moore came to me mysteriously\nafter church. \"I want to walk home with you, Mr. Laicus,\" said she.\nI have a wife and children, and I felt safe. \"I shall be delighted\nwith the honor,\" I replied. But Miss Moore's honors are never empty\nones. I knew that she wanted something; I wondered what. I had not\nlong to wonder; for we had not crossed the road before she opened\nthe subject.\n\n\"We are going to trim the Church for Christmas,\" said she, \"and we\nwant you to superintend getting the evergreens.\"\n\n\"What?\" said I, aghast.\n\nConfidentially, please not mention it, I have been in the habit for\na good many years of taking my wife and my prayer-book to the\nEpiscopal Church on Christmas-day. Dickens converted me to its\nobservance ten years or more ago. But none are so sound as those who\nare tinged with heresy. And am I not a \"blue Presbyterian?\" It would\nnot do to lend my countenance too readily to indecorous invasions of\nthe sanctuary with festivals borrowed from the Roman Catholics.\nBesides, what would the elders say? I asked Miss Moore as much.\n\n\"Deacon Goodsole will lend us his pung,\" was the reply.\n\n\"And the trustees?\" said I.\n\nBut Miss Moore never leaves a point unguarded.\n\n\"Young Wheaton is home from school,\" said she, \"and he will go with\nyou to the woods. He will call to-morrow, right after breakfast.\"\n\nFor a difficult piece of generalship give me a woman. Not fitted for\npolitics! Why, they are born to it. Here was Miss Moore bent on\ntrimming the church. And lawyer Laicus was to go in Deacon\nGoodsole's sleigh with the son of the President of the Board of\nTrustees to get the \"trimmings.\" He who dares to complain after that\nenlists two dignitaries and one very respectable layman against him\nat the outset.\n\n\"Very well,\" said I, \"I will go.\"\n\n\"Go!\" said Miss Moore, \"of course you'll go. Nobody doubted that.\nBut I want to tell you where to go and what to get.\"\n\nThe next morning I was just finishing my second cup of coffee when I\nheard the jingle of bells, and, looking up, saw Jim Wheaton and the\nDeacon's sleek horse at my door. So, bidding Harry, who was to go\ntoo, \"be quick,\" an exhortation that needed no repeating, we were\nvery soon in the pung, armed I with a hatchet, Harry with a pruning\nknife.\n\nThat ride was one to be remembered. The air was crisp and clear.\nJust snow enough had fallen in the night to cover every black and\nnoisome thing, as though all nature's sins were washed away by her\nSabbath repentance, and she had commenced her life afresh. There was\nluxury in every inhalation of the pure air. The horse, more\nimpatient than we, could scarcely wait for leave to go, and needed\nno word thereafter to quicken his flying feet. Down the hill, with\nmerry ringing bells, ever and anon showered with flying snow from\nthe horse's hoof; through the village street with a nod of\nrecognition to Deacon Goodsole, who stood at his door to wave us a\ncheery recognition; round the corner with a whirl that threatens to\ndeposit us in the soft snow and leave the horse with an empty\nsleigh; across the bridge, which spans the creek; up, with unabated\nspeed, the little hill on the other side; across the railroad track,\nwith real commiseration for the travelers who are trotting up and\ndown the platform waiting for the train, and must exchange the\njoyous freedom of this day for the treadmill of the city, this air\nfor that smoke and gas, this clean pure mantle of snow for that\nfresh accumulation of sooty sloshy filth; pass the school-house,\nwhere the gathering scholars stand, snowballs in hand, to see us run\nmerily by, one urchin, more mischievous than the rest, sending a\nball whizzing after us; up, up, up the mountain road, for half a\nmile, past farm-houses whose curling smoke tell of great blazing\nfires within; past ricks of hay all robed in white, and one ghost of\na last summer's scare-crow watching still, though the corn is long\nsince in-gathered and the crows have long since flown to warmer\nclimes; turning off, at last, from the highway into Squire Wheaton's\nwood road, where, since the last fall of snow, nothing has been\nbefore us, save a solitary rabbit whose track our dog Jip follows\nexcitedly, till he is quite out of sight or even call.\n\nHere we are at last. And here the evergeens are about us in a\nprofusion which would make the eyes water of my honest friend the\nDutch grocer who supplied me with my family trees so many years in\nNew York. Our smoking nag is over his impatience now, and, being\nwell blanketed, understands what is wanted of him quite as well as\nif he were tied, and stands as still as if he were Squire Slowgoes'\nfat and lazy \"family horse.\" With pants tied snugly over our\ntopboots to keep out the intruding snow, we plunge into the woods.\nThe ringing blows of our hatchets on the cedar-trees bring down a\nmimic shower on our heads and backs. Young Wheaton understands his\nbusiness, and shows me how the fairest evergreens are hid beneath\nthe snow, and what rare forms of crystalline beauty conceal\nthemselves altogether beneath this white counterpane. So, sometimes\ncutting from above and sometimes grubbing from below, we work an\nhour or more, till our pung is filled to its brim. Long before we\nhave finished Jip has returned from his useless search, and the\nneighing horse indicates his impatience to be off again.\n\nWhen we got back to the Church we found it warm with a blazing fire\nin the great stove, and bright with a bevy of laughing girls, who\nemptied our sleigh of its contents almost before we were aware what\nhad happened, and were impatiently demanding more. Miss Moore had\nproposed just to trim the pulpit-oh! but she is a shrewd manager-and\nwe had brought evergreens enough to make two or three. But the plans\nhad grown faster by far than we could work. One young lady had\nremarked how beautiful the chandelier would look with an evergreen\nwreath; a second had pointed out that there ought to be large\nfestoons draping the windows; a third, the soprano, had declared\nthat the choir had as good a right to trimming as the pulpit; a\nfourth, a graduate of Mount Holyoke, had proposed some mottoes, and\nhad agreed to cut the letters, and Mr. Leacock, the store keeper,\nhad been foraged on for pasteboard, and an extemporized table\ncontrived on which to cut and trim them. So off we were driven\nagain, with barely time to thaw out our half-frozen toes; and, in\nshort, my half morning's job lengthened out to a long days hard but\njoyous work, before the pile of evergreens in the hall was large\nenough to supply the energies of the Christmas workers.\n\nOf course, we must trim the Sunday school-room as well as the\nChurch, for the children must have their Christmas; and trimmed it\nwas, so luxuriantly that it seemed as though the woods had laid\nsiege to and taken possession of the sanctuary, and that nature was\npreparing to join on this glad day her voice with that of man in\nsinging praise to Him who brings life to a winter-wrapped earth, and\nwhose fittest symbol, therefore, is the tree whose greenness not\neven the frosts of the coldest winter have power to diminish.\n\nOf course Christmas itself passed without recognition. I went, as is\nmy wont, with my wife and my prayer-book, to the Episcopal Church.\nOur Christmas waited till Sunday. A glorious day it was. The sun\nnever shone more brightly. The crisp keenness was gone from the air.\nThe balmy breath of spring was in it. The Church never was so full\nbefore and never has been since. The story of its decorations had\nbeen spread far and wide, and all Wheathedge flocked to see what the\nPresbyterians would make of Christmas. The pulpit, the walls, the\ngallery, the chandelier were festooned with wreaths of living green.\nA cross-O tempora! O mores!-of cedar and immortelles, stood on the\ncommunion table. Over the pulpit were those sublime words of the\nsublimest of all books, \"He shall save His people from their sins.\"\nOpposite it, emblazoned on the gallery, was heaven and earth's\nfitting response to this sublime revelation, \"Glory be to God on\nhigh.\" Miss Moore was better than her word. She managed both choir\nand minister. Both were in the spirit of the occasion. The parson\nnever preached a better sermon than his Christmas meditation. The\nchoir never sung a more joyous song of praise than their Christmas\nanthem. And before the influence of that morning's service I think\nthe last objection to observing Christmas faded out.\n\nFor there had been some objections. I heard of two.\n\nOne came from Mr. Wheaton. Monday afternoon, going by the Church, he\nsaw the door open, went in, found it full of busy workers; ceiling,\naisles, pulpit, and gallery, strewed with evergreens, and the\nclatter of merry voices keeping pace with the busy fingers. It was\nhis first intimation of what was going on.\n\n\"Heyday!\" said he. \"What is all this? Who authorized it, I should\nlike to know?\"\n\nThe chatter of merry voices ceased. The young ladies were in awe.\nMiss Moore was not there to answer for them. No one dared act as\nspoksman. Young Jim Wheaton was on a step-ladder rather dangerously\nresting on the backs of two pews. He was tacking the letter G to the\ngallery. He noticed the silence and discerned the cause.\n\n\"Father,\" said he, \"I wish you would hold this ladder for me a\nminute. It is rather ticklish.\"\n\n\"Ah, Jim, is that you?\" said the old man. Pride in Jim is the\nfather's weak point. The ladder was held. Then his advice was asked\nabout the placing of the mottoes; and it was given, and that was the\nlast of Mr. Wheaton's objection.\n\nThe other objection came from Mr. Hardcap, the carpenter. I met him\nat the door of the church Saturday afternoon, just as the last\nrubbish had been swept out and we were closing the door.\n\n\"Looks beautiful, doesn't it Mr. Hardcap?\" said I.\n\n\"They'd better have spent their time on their knees than with these\nfixins,\" growled Mr. Hardcap; \"'twould ha' done the Church more\ngood, a deal sight.\"\n\n\"Did you spend your time on your knees?\" I could not refrain from\nasking.\n\nBut Mr. Hardcap did not answer.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nMr. Gear Again.\n\n\n\n\n\nOUR Bible class at the Mill has prospered greatly. Mr. Gear was\nbetter than his word. The first Sabbath he brought in over a dozen\nof his young men; the half dozen who were already in the Sabbath\nSchool joined us of course. Others have followed. Some of the\nchildren of the Mill village gathered curiously about the\nschool-house door from Sunday to Sunday. It occurred to me that we\nmight do something with them. I proposed it to Mr. Gear. He\nassented. So we invited them in, got a few discarded singing books\nfrom the Wheathedge Sabbath-school, and used music as an invitation\nto more. Mrs. Gear has come in to teach them. There are not over a\ndozen or twenty all told as yet. If the skating or the sliding is\ngood they are reduced to five or six. Still the number is gradually\nincreasing, and there are enough to constitute the germ of a\npossible Mission-school. I wish we had a Pastor. He might make\nsomething out of it.\n\nMr. Gear adheres to his pledge, and I to mine. We have no\ntheological discussions in the class. Occasionally, indeed pretty\nfrequently, we get on themes on which we are not agreed. But we\nnever debate. Mr. Gear has made several attempts at a theological\ndiscussion out of the class, but I have avoided them. I hope he does\nnot think I am afraid of discussion.\n\nI am not. But I am convinced that no mere intellectual opinion is a\nsin. If Mr. Gear is in darkness it is because he neglects some known\nif not some recognized duty. My work is not to convince him of the\nerror of his opinions. I probably never could do that. And his\nopinions are not of much consequence. My work is to find out what\nknown duty he is neglecting, and press it home upon his conscience.\nAnd so far I have not discovered what it is. He is one of the most\nconscientious men I ever knew. Yet something is wanting in Mr. Gear.\nI believe he half thinks so himself. He is mentally restless and\nuneasy. He seems to doubt his own doubts, and to want discussion\nthat he may strengthen himself in his own unbelief. But still I make\nno progress. Since that first night I have got no farther into his\nheart.\n\n\"John,\" said Jennie, \"I wish you would call and see Mr. Gear. He has\nnot been in church for six or eight weeks.\"\n\n\"It is no use,\" said I, \"I have asked him once or twice, and he\nalways says that he is not coming till we get a Pastor. He says he\ndoes not care to hear candidates; he does not consider himself a\ngood judge of the article. 'Hardcap,' says he is a ministerial\nexpert, but I am not.\"\n\n\"How is he getting on?\" said Jennie.\n\n\"To tell the truth, Jennie, I don't know,\" I replied. \"I don't see\nthat he gets on at all. He seems to be just where he was.\"\n\nJennie drew a long sigh.\n\n\"Patience, Jennie, patience,\" said I, \"time works wonders.\"\n\n\"No, John,\" said Jennie, \"time never works. It eats, and undermines,\nand rots, and rusts, and destroys. But it never works. It only gives\nus an opportunity to work.\"\n\nPerhaps Jennie is right. Perhaps we expect time to work for us, when\ntime is only given us that we may work.\n\n\"Besides,\" said Jennie, \"there is that volume of Theodore Parker's\nsermons which you borrowed of him the other day, you have never\nreturned it.\"\n\nNo! And I had never read it. Our theme in Bible class had touched on\nprayer. After the class Mr. Gear had tried to get me into a\ntheological discussion about prayer. I had been silent as to my own\nviews, but had asked him for his. And he had handed me this volume\nin reply. It contained a sermon by Theodore Parker on the subject\nwhich Mr. Gear said expressed his own views exactly. Jennie's remark\nbrought this volume to mind, I took it down from the shelf, opened\nto the sermon, and read it aloud to Jennie.\n\nWe both agreed that it was a good sermon, or rather, to speak more\naccurately, a sermon in which there was good. It is true that in it\nMr. Parker inveighed against the orthodox philosophy of prayer; he\ndenied that God could really be influenced or his plans changed. But\non the duty of prayer he vehemently insisted. Mere philanthropy and\nhumanity, he said, are not religion. There must also be piety. The\nsoul must live in the divine presence; must inhale the Spirit of\nGod; must utter its contrition, its weaknesses, its wants, and its\nthanks-givings to its Heavenly Father.\n\nThat evening's reading suggested a thought to me. The next evening I\nstarted for Mr. Gear's to try if it were time, and to try the\npracticability of the plan it had developed in my mind. Mr. Gear\nwelcomed me cordially. Mrs. Gear went off almost immediately on\npretence of putting the children to bed, and left us two alone\ntogether. I opened the conversation by handing her husband the\nvolume of sermons and thanking him for it.\n\n\"What do you think of the sermon?\" said he.\n\n\"I liked a great deal of it very much indeed,\" said I. \"I believe\nyou told me that you liked it.\"\n\n\"Very much,\" said he. \"I think its one of Theodore Parker's ablest\nsermons.\"\n\n\"And you believe in it?\" said I interrogatively.\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said he. \"Who can believe that the Great\nInfinite First Cause can be influenced, and his plans changed by the\nteasing of every one of his insignificant little creatures?\"\n\n\"But the rest of the sermon,\" said I. \"Do you believe that?\"\n\nLast Sunday Professor Strait preached for us. He preached against\nwhat he called humanitarianism. He said it was living without God;\nthat there was very little difference between ignoring God and\ndenying his existence, and that the humanitarians practically\nignored him; that they believe only in men.\n\n\"It is not true,\" said Mr. Gear, somewhat bitterly. \"You can see for\nyourself that it is not true. Theodore Parker believes in prayer as\nmuch as Professor Strait. I don't believe but that he prayed as\nmuch.\"\n\n\"And you agree with him?\" said I, with a little affectation of\nsurprise.\n\n\"Agree with him, Mr. Laicus!\" said he, \"of course I do. There can be\nno true religion without prayer, without piety, without gratitude to\nGod, without faith in Him. Your Church has not the monopoly of faith\nin God, by any means, that it assumes to have.\"\n\n\"And you really believe in prayer?\" said I.\n\n\"Believe in prayer? Why, of course I do. Do you take me for a\nheathen?\" replied he, with some irritation.\n\n\"And every night,\" said I, \"you kneel down and commend yourself to\nour Heavenly Father's protection? and every morning you thank him\nfor His watchfulness, and beseech divine strength from Him to meet\nthe temptations of the day; and every day you gather your family\nabout His throne, that you may teach your children to love and\nreverence the Father you delight to worship?\"\n\nThere was a long pause. Mr. Gear was evidently taken by surprise. He\nmade no answer; I pressed my advantage.\n\n\"How is it, my friend?\" said I.\n\n\"Well, n--no!\" said he, \"I can't honestly say that I do.\"\n\n\"You believe in prayer, and yet never pray,\" said I, \"is that it?\"\n\n\"It is so much a matter of mere habit, Mr. Laicus,\" said he,\nexcusingly; \"and I never was trained to pray.\"\n\n\"All your lifelong,\" said I, taking no heed of the excuse, \"you have\nbeen receiving the goodness of God, and you never have had the\ncourtesy to say so much as 'thank you.' All your lifelong you have\nbeen trespassing against Him, and never have begged his pardon,\nnever asked his forgiveness. Is it so?\"\n\nThere was a moment's pause. Then he turned on me almost fiercely.\n\n\"How can I thank him Mr. Laicus,\" said he \"when you say that I do\nnot love him, and cannot love him.\"\n\n\"Did I ever say that you do not love God?\" said I gently.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Mr. Gear, \"I say it. There is no use in beating\nabout the bush. I say it. I honor him, and revere him, and try to\nobey him, but I do not particularly love him. I do not know much\nabout him. I do not feel toward him as I want my children to feel\ntoward me. What would you have me do Mr. Laicus? Would you have me\nplay the hypocrite? God has got flatterers enough. I do not care to\nswell their number.\"\n\n\"I would have you honest with him as you are with me,\" I replied. \"I\nwould have you kneel down, and tell him what you have told me; tell\nhim that you do not know him, and ask him that you may; tell him\nthat you do not love him and ask him that you may.\"\n\n\"You orthodox people,\" said he, \"say that no man can come to God\nwith an unregenerate heart; and mine is an unregenerate heart. At\nleast I suppose so. I have been told so often enough. You tell us\nthat no man can come that has not been convicted and converted. I\nhave never suffered conviction or experienced conversion. I cannot\ncry out to God, \"God be merciful to me a sinner.\" For I don't\nbelieve I am a sinner. I don't pretend to be perfect. I get out of\ntemper now and then. I am hard on my children sometimes, was on\nWillie to-night, poorly fellow. I even rip out an oath occasionally.\nI am sorry for that habit and mean to get the better of it yet. But\nI can't make a great pretence of sorrow that I do not experience.\"\n\n\"You have lived,\" said I, \"for over thirty years the constant\nrecipient of God's mercies and loving kindnesses, and never paid him\nthe poor courtesy of a thank you. You have trespassed on his\npatience and his love in ways innumerable through all these thirty\nyears, and never said so much as I beg pardon. And now you can look\nback upon it all and feel no sorrow. I am sorry if it is so, Mr.\nGear. But if it is, it need not keep you from your God. You can be\nat least as frank with him as you have been with me. You can tell\nhim of your indifference if you can not tell him of your penitence\nor your love.\"\n\nThere was a pause.\n\n\"You believe in prayer,\" I continued. \"You are indignant that I\nsuspected you of disbelief; and yet you never pray. Are you not\nliving without God; is it not true of you that 'God is not in all\nyour thoughts?'\"\n\nHe was silent.\n\n\"Will you turn over a new leaf in your lifebook?\" said I. \"Will you\ncommence this night a life of prayer?\"\n\nHe shook his head very slightly, almost imperceptibly. \"I will make\nno promises,\" said he. But still he spoke more to himself than to\nme.\n\n\"Mr. Gear,\" said I, \"is it not evident that it is no use for you and\nme to discuss theology? It is not a difference of doctrine that\nseparates us. Here is a fundamental duty; you acknowledge it, you\nassert its importance, but you have never performed it; and now that\nyour attention is called to it you will not even promise to fulfil\nit in the future.\"\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" said he, \"I will think of it. Perhaps you are right. I\nhave always meant to do my duty, if my duty was made clear. Perhaps\nI have failed, failed possibly in a point of prime importance. I do\nnot know. I am in a maze. I believe there is a knowledge of God that\nI do not possess, a love of God that I do not experience. I believe\nin it because I believe in you M. Laicus, and yet more because I\nbelieve in my wife. But may be it will come in time. Time works\nwonders.\"\n\nMy very words to Jennie. And Jennie's answer was mine to him.\n\n\"Time never works Mr. Gear. It eats, and undermines, and rots, and\nrusts, and destroys. But it never works. It only gives us an\nopportunity to work.\"\n\nAnd so I came away.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nWanted--A Pastor.\n\n\n\n\n\nWE are in a sorry condition here at Wheathedge. The prospects are,\nthat it will be worse before it is better. For weeks now (it seems\nlike a year or two) we have been without the Gospel. I do not mean\nthat literally the preaching of the Gospel has been dispensed with.\nOn the contrary, I have heard more sermons on the text, \"I am\ndetermined to know nothing among you save Jesus Christ, and Him\ncrucified,\" than I ever heard before in my life. We are hearing\ncandidates, and every candidate seems to feel it necessary to\ndeclare himself, to propound a sort of religious platform. The\nsermons seem to me to have about as much relation, as a general\nthing, to the spiritual condition of the hearers as Gov. Hoffman's\nlast message to the real interests of the people of the State. In\nfact, if the truth were told, it is not a sermon we want, but a\nplatform. We invite the candidate to preach, not that we may profit\nby the Gospel, but that he may show us his face. It has become a\npsychological curiosity to see how many different sermons can be\nevolved from that one text. I wonder sometimes if St. Paul would\nknow himself in his modern attire.\n\nI am very glad that Maurice Mapleson did not accept my invitation to\ncome to Wheathedge, to preach as a candidate. For listening to a\ncandidate and listening to the Gospel are two very different things.\nThe candidate preaches to show us how he can do it. We listen to\nhear how he can do it. From the moment he enters the pulpit all eyes\nare fixed upon him. His congregation is all attention. Let him not\nflatter himself. It is as critics, not as sinners, that we listen.\nWe turn round to see how he walks up the aisle. Is his wife so\nunfortunate as to accompany him? We analyze her bonnet, her dress,\nher features, her figure. If not, he monopolizes all attention. In\nfive minutes we can, any of us-there are a few rare exceptions-tell\nyou the cut of his coat, the character of his cravat, the shape of\nhis collar, the way he wears his hair. If he has any peculiar pulpit\nhabit, woe betide him; he is odd. If he has not, woe betide him; he\nis commonplace and conventional. He rises to invoke the blessing of\nGod. If he goes to the throne of God he goes alone. We go no farther\nthan the pulpit. We tell one another afterwards that he is eloquent\nin prayer, or that his prayers are very common. If his style is\nsolemn, we condemn him as stilted. If it is conversational, we\ncondemn him as too colloquial and familiar. He reads a hymn. We\ncompare his elocution with that of our own favorites, or with some\nimaginary ideal, if we have no favorites. He preaches. We can, any\nof us, tell you how he does it. But what he says, there are not half\na dozen who can tell. Does he tell us of our sins? We do not look at\nour own hearts, but at his picture, to see if it is painted well.\nDoes he hold before us the cross? We do not bow before it. We ask,\nis it well carved and draped? The Judgment is only a dramatic poem;\nthe Crucifixion only a tableau.\n\nSo, though we have preaching, we have no Gospel at Wheathedge.\n\nPerhaps the lack of the parish is quite as painfully felt in other\ndepartments as in the pulpit. The Church is without a head. It\nflounders about like a headless chicken; excuse the homely simile,\nwhich has nothing but truth to commend it. When Mrs. Beale died last\nweek, we had to send to Wheatensville to get a minister to attend\nthe funeral. When Sallie D. was married she sent there, too, for a\nminister. He was out of town, and the ceremony came near being\ndelayed a week for want of him. The prayer-meeting lags. Little\ncoldnesses between church members break out into open quarrels.\nThere is no one to weld the dissevered members. Poor old Mother\nLang, who has not left her bed for five years, laments bitterly her\nloss, and asks me every time I call to see her, \"When will you get a\npastor?\" The Young People's Association begins to droop. Even the\nSunday-school shows signs of friction, though Deacon Goodsole\nsucceeds in keeping it in tolerably good running order by his\nimperturbable good humor. One advantage we have gained by this\ninterregnum-only one. Even Mr. Hardcap is convinced that pastoral\nlabors are not so unimportant as he had imagined.\n\nFor myself, I am in despair. I made no very serious objection to\nbeing put on the supply committee. I fancied the task a\ncomparatively easy one. I had understood that there was no lack of\nministers wanting places. There is none. We have applications three\nor four deep, of all sorts and kinds, from parishless clergymen. But\nsuch a jury as the Wheathedge congregation affords, I never saw and\nhope never to see again. I only wish there was some law to treat\nthem as other juries are treated: shut them up in the jury-room till\nthey agree on a verdict.\n\nThe first minister was too old; he would not suit the young folks.\nThe second, just out of the seminary, was too young; the old folks\nsaid he had not experience. The third had experience. He had been in\na parish three years. He was still young, with the elastic hopes and\nstrong enthusiasm of youth. But he was a bachelor. The people pretty\nuniversally declared that the minister should have a wife and a\nhouse. The women all said there must be somebody to organize the\nsewing circles, and to lead the female prayer-meetings. The fourth\nwas married, but he had three or four children. We could not support\nhim. The fifth was a most learned man, who told us the original\nGreek or Hebrew of his texts, and, morning or evening, never came\nnearer to America than Rome under Augustus C\u2018sar. He was dull. The\nsixth afforded us a most brilliant pyrotechnic display. He\nspluttered, and fizzed, and banged, as though Fourth of July himself\nhad taken orders and gone to preaching. The young people were\ncarried away. But the old folks all said he was sensational.\n\nThen, besides those we have heard, there are several we have talked\nabout. There is the Rev. Mr. C-- who has the reputation of being a\nmost excellent pastor. He is indefatigable in visiting the sick, in\ncomforting the afflicted, in dealing with the recreant and the\nunconverted. But Mr. Wheaton says emphatically he will never do for\nour people. \"He is no preacher, Mr. Laicus,\" says he; \"and our\npeople demand first-rate preaching. We must have a man that can\ndraw.\"\n\nWe talked over Mr. K--. He is a rare preacher, by all accounts. I\nunderstand that his health has suffered somewhat by excessive study,\nand he would like another parish, a quieter one, where he can have\nmore time to his study, and can use his old sermons. He preached\nonce or twice in exchange with our old pastor before he left. But\nSolomon Hardcap would not hear of him, and even Deacon Goodsole\nshook his head at his suggestion, \"He is not social,\" said the\nDeacon. \"He does not know half the people in Highkrik, where he has\nbeen settled for over five years. He often passes his best friend\nwithout noticing him, on the street.\" \"Never would do,\" says Mr.\nHardcap. \"He only visits his people once a year. I want to know my\nminister. We want a man who will run in and out as though he cared\nfor us. Preaching is all very well, but we don't want a minister who\nis all talk.\"\n\nI am in despair. And despite the breach of ecclesiastical etiquette,\nI have resolved to resort to advertising. I have not submitted my\nadvertisement to the other members of the committee, but I am sure\nthat it is in accord with the general feelings of the Church.\n\n\"Jennie, what do you think of my sending this advertisement to the\nChristian Union?\"\n\nWANTED.-A pastor. He must be irreproachable in his dress, without\nbeing an exquisite; married, but without children, young, but with\ngreat experience; learned, but not dull; eloquent in prayer, without\nbeing colloquial or stilted; reverential, but not conventional;\nneither old nor commonplace; a brilliant preacher, but not\nsensational; know every one, but have no favorites; settle all\ndisputes, engage in none; be familiar with the children, but always\ndignified; be a careful writer, a good extempore speaker, and an\nassiduous and diligent pastor. Such a person, to whom salary is less\nan object than a \"field of usefulness,\" may hear of an advantageous\nopening by addressing Wheathedge, care of \"The Christian Union,\" 27,\nPark Place.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nOur Prayer-Meeting.\n\n\n\n\n\nONE thing we have gained by losing our pastor-the promise of better\nprayer-meetings.\n\nNot that he was recreant in his duty. He performed it only too well.\nWe learned to depend on him. He suffered us to do so. It was only by\na delicate irony that the prayer-meeting could be termed one of the\n\"social meetings\" of the Church. A solemn stillness pervaded the\nroom. No one ever spoke after he entered the awful presence, unless\nhe rose, formally addressed \"the chair,\" and delivered himself of a\nset address. Occasionally one bolder than the rest spoke in a\nsepulchral whisper to his neighbor-that was all. In other social\nmeetings the ladies, according to my observation, bear their full\nburden of conversation. In our prayer-meetings no woman ever\nventured to open her mouth. In fact, I hardly know why they were\ncalled prayer-meetings. We rarely had any greater number of prayers\nthan in our usual Sabbath service. Yes, I think we usually had one\nmore.\n\nThe minister entered solemnly at the appointed hour, walked straight\nto his desk, without a word, a bow, a smile of recognition; read a\nlong hymn, offered a very respectable imitation of the \"long\nprayer,\" gave out a second hymn, and called on an elder to pray, who\nalways imitated the imitation, and included in his broad sympathies\nall that his pastor had just prayed for-the Church, the\nSabbath-school, the unconverted, backsliders, those in affliction,\nthe President and all those in authority, the (Presbyterian) bishops\nand other clergy, not forgetting the heathen and the Jews. Then\nfollowed a passage of Scripture for a text from the pastor, with a\nshort sermon thereafter. Nor was it always short. I fancied he felt\nthe necessity of occupying the time. It was not unfrequently long\nenough for a very respectable discourse, if length gives the\ndiscourse its respectability. Then we had another prayer from\nanother layman, and then the invariable announcement, \"the meeting\nis now open,\" and the invariable result, a long, dead pause. In\nfact, the meeting would not open. Like an oyster, it remained\npertinaciously shut. Occasionally some good elder would rise to\nbreak the painful silence, by repeating some thought from the\nprevious Sunday's sermon, or by telling some incident or some idea\nwhich he had seen in a previous number of \"The Christian Union.\" But\nas we had all been to church, and as most of us take \"The Christian\nUnion,\" this did not add much to the interest of the meeting.\nGenerally another prayer and hymn, sometimes two, sufficed to fill\nthe hour. The pastor kept his eye on the clock. When the hand\npointed to nine he rose for the benediction. And never did a crowd\nof imprisoned schoolboys show more glad exultation at their release\nthan was generally indicated by these brethren and sisters when the\nwords of benediction dismissed them from their period of irksome\nrestraint. Every man, and every woman, too, found a tongue. We broke\nup into little knots. A busy hum of many voices replaced the dead\nsilence. The \"social meeting\" commenced when the \"prayer-meeting\"\nended. This, I think, is a fair portraiture of our prayer-meetings\nat Wheathedge as they were during our late pastor's presence with\nus.\n\nThe fault was not his-at least it was only proximately his. He felt\nthe burden, groaned under it, tried hard, poor man! to remedy the\nevil. He often came to consult me about it. He tried various plans.\nHe gave a course of weekly lectures. The prayer-meeting was less a\nmeeting of prayer than before. No man was willing to follow his\nelaborate lecture with a fragmentary talk. He announced from the\npulpit, the preceding Sabbath, the topic for the next meeting. Worse\nand worse! A few members conscientiously studied up the passage in\n\"Barnes's Notes\" and the \"Comprehensive Commentary,\" and brought us\nthe result of their investigations in discourse powerfully prosy,\nand recondite with second hand learning. The Minister at last gave\nup the matter in despair. I think the condition of our\nprayer-meetings was one consideration which greatly influenced him\nin deciding to leave.\n\nI thought that there was nothing left in them to be lost, that no\nchange could be other than for the better; but after he went what\nlittle meeting we had fell away. The few who had been attracted by\nhis personal presence ceased to come. In vain we endeavored to\nrevive our flagging spirits by continually reminding one another\nthat the promise was to two or three gathered together. That was our\nstandard text. Every leader referred to it in his prayers, and\ngenerally in his opening remarks. We had need of it. For the last\ntwo weeks there were not members enough present to serve as\npall-bearers for the dead prayer-meeting.\n\nThis brought about a crisis. Two weeks ago, Deacon Goodsole came to\nme to talk over the spiritual condition of our church. I agreed with\nhim that the prayer-meeting was a fatal symptom if not a fatal\ndisease. We agreed to do what we could to remedy it. We asked the\nsession to put it into our hands. They were only too glad to do so.\nWe spoke quietly to two other of the brethren to co-operate with us.\nWe divided the parish among ourselves, and undertook to visit all\nthe praying and waking members-not a very onerous task. We talked\nwith one by one, concerning the spiritual condition of the church,\nasked them to come next week to the prayer-meeting, and to bring\nwith them warm hearts. \"Come,\" we said, \"from your closets. Come in\nthe spirit of prayer.\" Fifteen minutes before the hour of meeting we\nfour met in the Bible-class room. One agreed to act that night as\nleader. It was Deacon Goodsole. He told the rest of us his subject.\nThen we all knelt together and asked God's blessing on our\nprayer-meeting. From that brief and simple conference we went\ntogether to the conference-room. Each one agreed to carry some\noffering with him-a word, a prayer, a hymn. Each one agreed also to\nbring in speech but a single thought, and in prayer but a single\npetition. The leader himself should occupy but five minutes. Our\nhearts were aglow. We never had such a prayer-meeting in Wheathedge.\nDeacon Goodsole did not have to announce that the prayer-meeting was\nopen. It opened itself. We had hard work to close it. The meeting\nlast week was preceded in the same manner by fifteen minutes of\nprayer. It was characterized by the same warmth and freshness. We\nare astonished to find how short our hour is when we come to the\nmeeting from our knees, when we bring to it, in our hearts, the\nspirit of God. We have no long speeches. So far we have had few\nexhortations and much true experience. Shall we fall back again into\nthe old ruts? Perhaps. It is something that we are not in them now.\nMeanwhile, from this brief experience I cull five proverbs for my\nown reflection.\n\nThe minister cannot make a good meeting.\n\nWarm hearts are better than great thoughts.\n\nSolemn faces do not make sacred hours.\n\nLittle leading makes much following.\n\nBrevity is the soul of the prayer-meeting.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nWe are Jilted.\n\n\n\n\n\nWHEATHEDGE is in a fever of excitement-not very agreeable\nexcitement. Disappointment and anger are curiously commingled.\nLittle knots of men and women gathered after church on Sunday in\nexcited discussion. A by-stander might overhear in these conferences\nsuch phrases dropped as \"Shameful.\" \"It's too bad.\" \"If he is that\nsort of man it's very fortunate we did not get him.\" \"I have no\nfaith in ministers,\" and the like. Do you ask what is the matter? We\nhave been jilted.\n\nI will not give names, at least not the true ones. For I have no\ninclination to involve myself in a newspaper controversy, and none\nto injure the prospects of a young man who possesses qualities which\nfit him for abundant usefulness if vanity and thoughtlessness do not\nmake shipwreck of him.\n\nFor six months now we have been without a pastor. We are hard to\nsuit. Mr. Wheaton was right. Wheathedge is a peculiar place, and\nrequires a very peculiar man. But about six weeks ago there came\nalong a very peculiar man. He seemed to be just adapted to the\nplace. He was fresh from the seminary. He had a wife but no\nchildren. He was full of enthusiasm. As a preacher he was free from\nconventionalism, bright, sparkling, brilliant; more brilliant than\nwarm. In private life he was social, genial, unministerial. Old Aunt\nSue did indeed complain that when he called there he did not offer\nto pray with her. And good old Father Haines said he wished that\nthere was less poetry and more Christ in his sermons. But neither\nold Aunt Sue nor old Father Haines contribute much to the support of\nthe Church, and their criticisms did nothing to abate the general\nenthusiasm. Jim Wheaton said he was just the man, and promised to\ndouble his subscription, if necessary, to get him. Deacon Goodsole\nwas scarcely less enthusiastic. I do not think there was a\ndissenting voice among the ladies; and the young folks were\nabsolutely unanimous.\n\n\"If we can only get Mr. Uncannon,\" said Jim Wheaton to me one\nmorning, as we rode to the city in the cars together, \"in three\nweeks we will drain the Methodist church dry of its young folks.\"\n\nPersonally, I have no taste for foraging in other men's fields. But\nI knew that Jim Wheaton would not appreciate my sentiments, and so I\nkept silence.\n\nMr. Uncannon preached for us two Sabbaths. He spent the intervening\nweek in Wheathedge. He visited with Deacon Goodsole most of the\nleading families. He stopped at Mr. Wheaton's. If the people had\nbeen charmed with him in pulpit they were delighted with him in the\nparlor. The second Sabbath I do not think there would have been a\ndissenting voice to the call.\n\nThere was only one difficulty. It was considered very doubtful if we\ncould get him. That doubt I undertook to solve.\n\nMonday he returned to the city. I went down in the same train, and\ntook occasion to fall into conversation with him. I told him frankly\nthe state of feeling. I represented that it was very desirable that\nthe matter should go no further unless there was a prospect that he\nwould consider favorably a call if it were given him. He replied\nwith equal frankness. He said that he was delighted with the place\nand with the people. He wanted to come. There was only one obstacle.\nHe understood that we paid our former pastor only $1,200 a year. He\ncould not undertake to live on that.\n\n\"In fact,\" said he, \"they want me very much at North Bizzy, in\nConnecticut. They pay there $1,500 a year. It is a manufacturing\ntown. I do not think either the society or the work would be as\ncongenial as in Wheathedge. I like the quiet of your rural parish. I\nappreciate the advantages it would afford me for study. But $300 is\na good deal of money. I do not want to be mercenary, Mr. Laicus, but\nI do not want to be pinched.\"\n\nI assured him that no such difficulty should stand in his way. When\nI returned, I found he had expressed the same sentiments to Deacon\nGoodsole and Mr. Wheaton. We were all agreed that we would do as\nwell as North Bizzy. So we gave him a call at $1,500. Possibly we\npresumed too much; but we generally considered it as good as\nsettled.\n\nThe Sabbath after the call he came to Wheathedge. This time he\nbrought his young wife with him. The ladies were more charmed than\never. All Wheathedge turned out to see and hear our new minister. He\nremained over to our weekly prayer-meeting. It was astonishing what\na spirit of devotion was awakened in our church. I have never seen\nthe prayer-meeting so fully attended. He seemed fully to reciprocate\nour enthusiasm. He and his wife were tireless in the praises of the\nbeauties of Wheathedge. \"It is just the place,\" said Mrs. Uncannon,\n\"in which I should choose to spend my days.\" Of course this saying\nwas repeated all over the parish, and this evidence of her\nappreciative taste increased very measurably her own and her\nhusband's popularity.\n\nHe went away Thursday morning without giving a final and definite\nanswer. Deacon Goodsole indeed asked him point blank for one. He\nreplied that though his mind was about made up, still he felt that\nso solemn a connection ought not to be made without a prayerful\nconsideration. This was all very proper. We waited, with patience,\ntill this decorous delay should be over. But we already considered\nhim our pastor.\n\nIt was the next week that Deacon Goodsole came into my house one\nevening, in a state of great excitement. He had an open letter in\nhis hand. \"Look there,\" said he. \"The Church at North Bizzy is\ntrying to get our minister away from us.\"\n\nThe letter was from Mr. Uncannon. It was to the effect that the\nChurch at North Bizzy were taking measures to secure a parsonage. He\npreferred to come to Wheathedge, but he did not know what he should\ndo for a house. There had been, he believed, some talk of building a\nparsonage at Wheathedge. He felt very desirous to take his bride to\nher \"home\"--not to depend on boarding-houses or landlords. If this\ncould be provided he thought it would settle the question; for both\nhe and his wife infinitely preferred the clear air and sunny skies,\nand grand old mountains, and glorious river basking in the golden\nsunlight, &c., &c., to the dust and soot and noise of man's busy but\ndirty industry.\n\n\"Very well,\" said I. \"I do not care to bid against the Church at\nNorth Bizzy. But I have always wanted a parsonage at Wheathedge. I\nwill be one of five to pay the rent for this year, and one of ten to\nbuild one next year.\"\n\nDeacon Goodsole started a subscription paper on the spot. In a few\ndays we had secured a house for the year, and money enough to make\nour building operation certain. The Deacon wrote Mr. Uncannon\naccordingly. We expected his answer forthwith, and his arrival soon\nafter. Wheathedge was at last satisfied.\n\nImagine, then, if you can, the chagrin and disappointment which was\ncaused when, last Sunday morning, a letter was read from Mr.\nUncannon to Mr. James Wheaton, Chairman of the Board of Trustees,\ndeclining the call. Mr. Uncannon had given it his most prayerful\nconsideration. He was deeply moved by the warm welcome which had\nbeen accorded to him. He had hoped that the Lord would make it plain\nthat it was to be his privilege to cast in his lot with us. But the\nLord had ordered it otherwise. The Providential indications seemed\nto him clear that it was his duty to labor in another field.\n\nBut he united his prayers with ours that the Great Bishop would soon\nsend us a pastor who should feed us with the bread of life.\n\nDeacon Goodsole says that the Providential indications are a salary\nof $1,800 and a parsonage; and Mr. Wheaton says if any other young\nman succeeds in playing us off against a rival parish he is\nmistaken; that's all. Even gentle Jennie is indignant. \"Of all\nflirtation, ministerial flirtation seems to me to be the worse,\" she\nsays; and truth to tell, she never had much patience with any other.\n\nI do not want to judge Mr. Uncannon too harshly. In fact I am not in\na very judicial frame of mind. But, whatever his intent, his\nministerial coquetry has injured the cause of Christ in Wheathedge\nmore than a year of preaching can benefit it in North Bizzy.\nMeanwhile, the parsonage, which we hired, lies vacant on our hands,\nand waits for an occupant.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nWe propose.\n\n\n\n\n\nWE are in the valley of humiliation. Since the church has been\nrejected, it has an opportunity to understand how a candidate feels\nwhen he is rejected. I am inclined on consideration to recall the\nlast paragraph of the last chapter. I am inclined to think Mr.\nUncannon may prove a \"means of grace\" to us yet. He has certainly\nbeen a thorn in the side.\n\nOn further consideration, I do retract it. I here emphatically\nrecord that first thoughts are not always best thoughts, and that it\nis my sober second judgment that Mr. Uncannon has done us more good\nthan he has the parish at North Bizzy. We gave him to them\ngrudgingly. But it has been a case in which the proverb applies: It\nis more blessed to give than to receive. For Mr. Uncannon's\nflirtation has probably given us Maurice Mapleson for a pastor.\n\nTwo weeks ago I was coming up from New York on the train. Deacon\nGoodsole was in the seat in front of me. My satchel was my only\ntraveling companion. And I, according to custom, was enjoying a\ntrain nap, when I was aroused by a hand on my shoulder coupled with\na hearty \"Hallo! you could not be sounder asleep if you were in\nchurch and Dr. Argure was in the pulpit.\"\n\nIt was Mr. Wheaton.\n\n\"Good afternoon,\" said I. \"Sit down.\" And my satchel exchanged its\nseat for a place in my lap in order to make room for Mr. Wheaton on\nthe seat beside me.\n\n\"Look here, gentlemen,\" said Mr. Wheaton, taking the proffered seat,\n\"we've been fooling about this minister business long enough.\"\n\n\"Been fooled you mean,\" said Deacon Goodsole.\n\n\"I tell you,\" said Mr. Wheaton, slapping his knee by way of\nemphasis, \"that young Maurice Mapleson is the man for us. The more I\nthink of it the more I am sure of it.\"\n\n\"He is a right earnest man,\" said the Deacon. \"I think he was the\nfirst spark we have seen in the ashes of our prayer meeting for many\na day.\"\n\n\"Can't you get him to come down, Mr. Laicus?\" asked Mr. Wheaton.\n\nI shook my head resolutely.\n\n\"Not as a candidate you know, but on some dodge or other. Invite him\nto spend a week with you, and book on to him for the pulpit when\nSunday comes.\"\n\n\"He isn't the man for dodges,\" said the Deacon, doubtfully.\n\nI shook my head as decidedly to the second proposition as to the\nfirst.\n\n\"Well then,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"if he won't come here we will have\nto go there. It isn't far.\"\n\nThe Deacon doubted whether the church would agree to deviate from\nthe old paths.\n\n\"They wouldn't have done it,\" said Mr. Wheaton. \"But they'll agree\nto anything now I think.\"\n\n\"Mr. Gear recommended that plan when we first met,\" said I. \"He will\napprove of it. But how as to Mr. Hardcap?\"\n\n\"Oh! no matter about Hardcap,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"he's no account.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said I, \"he is one of our committee and is of account.\"\n\nSo after some consultation it was finally agreed that we should get\noff at the Mill Village Station to see Mr. Gear, and then walk up to\nWheathedge. Deacon Goodsole also proposed to put Mr. Hardcap on the\nspecial committee to go to Koniwasset Corners, and Mr. Wheaton said\nhe would furnish a free pass over the road to all who would go. No\nman is impervious to compliments if they are delicately\nadministered. At all events Mr. Gear was sensibly pleased by having\nus call on him in a body. And Mr. Hardcap, when he found that the\nnew plan involved a free ride on the railroad and a Sunday excursion\nfor himself, withdrew all objections.\n\nMy wife says, \"For shame, John,\" and wants me to strike that last\nsentence out. But it is true, and I do not know why it should not\nstand. It is in confidence you know.\n\nThe next Saturday Mr. Wheaton, Mr. Hardcap and Deacon Goodsole\nstarted for Koniwasset Corners. They reached it, or rather they\nreached Koniwasset, the nearest point, Saturday evening, and Sunday\nmorning rode over, a drive of five miles. It was a beautiful day;\nthe congregation turned out well; the little church was full, and\nMaurice, unconscious of the presence of a committee, and preaching,\nnot to fish for a place, but to fish for men, was free,\nunconstrained and, as Providence willed it, or as good fortune would\nhave it (the reader may have his choice of expressions, according as\nhe is Christian or heathen), was in a good mood. Deacon Goodsole was\ndelighted. Jim Wheaton was scarcely less so, and even Mr. Hardcap\nwas pleased to say that it was \"a real plain Gospel sermon.\" Deacon\nGoodsole found an old friend in one of the congregation and went\nhome with him to dinner, while Mr. Wheaton and Mr. Hardcap went back\nto the hotel. Deacon Goodsole joined them in the evening and brought\na good report of the Sunday-school, where he had watched the\nunconscious parson (who superintends his own school), and had even,\nto avoid suspicion, taken the place of an absent teacher for the\nafternoon.\n\nMr. Wheaton had to return the next day, but the Deacon found no\ngreat difficulty in persuading Mr. Hardcap to stay over, and Tuesday\nevening they went to the weekly prayer-meeting. Meanwhile they\ninquired quietly in the neighborhood about the preacher at the\nCorners, giving however no one a hint of their object, except the\nparson at Koniwasset who commended Maurice very highly for his piety\nand his efficiency. As to his preaching, he said he should not call\nhim eloquent, \"but\" he added, \"there is one thing; Maurice Mapleson\nnever speaks without having something to say; and he is very much in\nearnest.\"\n\nBoth the Deacon and Mr. Hardcap were very much pleased with the\nspirit of the prayer-meeting--the Deacon said Mr. Mapleson could\nmake more of a fire with less fuel than any man he knew--and when the\ncommittee made their report, which they did at the close of our\nWednesday evening meeting, it was unanimous in favor of giving\nMaurice a call.\n\nTo call a man without hearing him was not the orthodox way, and the\nobjections which Mr. Hardcap had originally proposed in the\ncommittee meeting were renewed by others. In reply it was said, very\ntruly, that the church really knew more about Mr. Mapleson than they\ncould possibly learn from a trial sermon, or even from half a dozen\nof them, that a careful investigation by a committee into his actual\nworking power was a far better test than any pulpit exhibition,\nhowever brillant. I added that Mapleson's letter was positive, and\nhis convictions settled, and that I felt reasonably certain he would\nnot preach as a candidate. On the whole this increased the desire to\nget him; and finally a second committee was appointed to go and hear\nhim. A couple of ladies were put, informally, on this committee, and\nthe church paid the expenses of the four. I say informally. Deacon\nGoodsole nominated Miss Moore and Mrs. Biskit, and quoted the case\nof Phoebe from the sixteenth chapter of Romans to prove that it was\napostolic. But the ladies shook their heads, as did some of the\nelders of the church and Mr. Hardcap entered a vigorous protest. The\nDeacon was a born and bred Congregationalist, and is radical, I am\nafraid, in church matters. A compromise was finally effected by\nappointing two of the elders, who agreed to take their wives.\n\nThey came back as well pleased as the first committee had been, and\nthe result was, to make a long story short, that last week a\nunanimous call was sent to Maurice, and as I write this letter I\nhave before me a private note from him, saying that he has received\nit, and that, if agreeable to us, he will come down and spend a week\nwith me. He says he wants to see our prayer-meeting, our\nSabbath-school teachers' meeting, and our Sabbath-school. He adds\nthat he will preach for us on Sunday if we desire, but that he does\nnot want it known that he will be here at the prayer-meeting, as he\nwants to take a back seat and see how it goes.\n\nIn short he gives me to understand that it is the church which is on\ntrial, not the minister, and that whether he comes or not depends on\nwhat kind of a church he finds it to be. This reversal of the\nordinary course of things is a little queer; but I guess it is all\nright. At all events it will not do the church at Wheathedge any\nharm. Meanwhile until we get a final answer from Maurice Mapleson\nour pulpit is no longer in the market. For after our experience of\nministerial coquetry I do not think there will be any inclination on\nour part for a flirtation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nMinisterial Salaries.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"MR. Wheaton,\" said I, \"we made a queer blunder the other night; we\ndid not settle on any salary when we made out our call to Mr.\nMapleson.\"\n\n\"No blunder,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"I left it out on purpose. I thought\nmay be we could get him for less than fifteen hundred dollars. What\ndo you think? Wouldn't he come on twelve hundred, and the\nparsonage?\" And Mr. Wheaton smiled on me with an air of\nself-satisfaction which seemed to say, 'Jim Wheaton is the man to\nmanage church business.'\n\nI confess I was indignant at the idea of driving a sharp bargain\nwith a minister, but I rather suspect Jim Wheaton never makes any\nother than a sharp bargain.\n\n\"Not with my advice,\" said I. \"I told him the church ought to pay\nfifteen hundred a year and a parsonage, and I presumed it would. But\nI recommend him not to come till he knows.\"\n\nWe were in the Post Office, waiting for the distribution of the\nevening mail. Mr. Hardcap was one of our group. So was Deacon\nGoodsole. It was indeed a sort of extemporized and unintentional\nmeeting of our supply committee, only Mr. Gear being absent.\n\n\"The church won't give mor'n 1,200 with my advice,\" said Mr. Hardcap\ndecidedly. \"And that's mor'n I make. I would just like to contract\nmy time for the year at four dollars a day. And I have to get up at\nsix and work till sunset, ten hours, hard work. I don't see why the\nparson should have half as much again for five or six hours' work. I\nhave heard our old pastor say myself that he never allowed himself\nto study mor'n six hours a day.\"\n\n\"But the pastoral work, Mr. Hardcap?\" said I. \"You make no account\nof that.\"\n\n\"The calls, do you mean?\" said he. \"Well, I should like to be paid\nfour dollars a day for just dressin' up in my best and visitin',\nthat's all.\"\n\n\"Not only the calls,\" said I, \"though you would find calling\nanything but recreation, if it was your business. But there are the\nprayer-meetings, and the Sabbath-school, and the whole management\nand direction of the church.\"\n\n\"Prayer-meetin' and Sabbath-school!\" replied Mr. Hardcap; \"don't we\nall work in them? And we don't ask any salary for it. I guess it\nain't no harder for the parson to go to prayer-meetin' than for\nme.\"\n\nI shrugged my shoulders. The deacon interposed.\n\n\"I agree with you, Mr. Laicus,\" said he. \"We have got to pay a good\nsalary. I wish we could make it two thousand a year instead of\nfifteen hundred.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap opened his eyes and pursed his mouth firmly together, as\nthough he would say 'Do my ears deceive me?'\n\n\"But,\" continued the deacon, \"there is something in what Mr. Hardcap\nsays. There are half-a-dozen farmers in our Wheathedge congregation\nwho don't handle fifteen hundred dollars in money from one year's\nend to the other. Mr. Hardcap isn't the only man to whom it seems a\nbig sum to pay. Mr. Lapstone the shoemaker, Mrs. Croily the\nseamstress, Joe Hodgkins the blacksmith, and half-a-dozen others I\ncould name, have to live on less. And you must remember their\nincomes, Mr. Laicus, as well as yours, and mine, and Mr. Wheaton's\nhere.\"\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"we've got to pay a good\nsalary, but I think we ought to keep expenses down all we can.\"\n\n\"I don't believe in makin' preachin' a money makin' business\nno-how,\" said Mr. Hardcap. \"Parsons hain't got no business to be a\nlayin' up of earthly riches, and fifteen hundred dollars is a good\ndeal of money to spend on bread and butter, now I tell you.\"\n\n\"Mr. Hardcap,\" said I, \"what do your tools cost you?\"\n\n\"My tools?\" said he. \"Yes,\" said I, \"your tools. What do they cost\nyou?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"they range all the way from ten cents up to five\ndollars, accordin' to the article and its quality.\"\n\n\"Did you ever consider,\" said I, \"what a minister's tools cost?\"\n\n\"Minister's tools!\" said he, \"I didn't know he had any, except his\npen.\"\n\n\"My dear sir,\" said I, \"his tools alone cost him between one and two\nhundred dollars a year.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap expressed his incredulity by a long whistle; and even\nDeacon Goodsole expressed a quiet doubt. But my father was a\nminister and I know something about it.\n\n\"Look here,\" said I. \"He must have at least two religious weeklies,\none of his own denomination, and one of a more general character,\"\nand I took out a pencil and paper and noted down my list as I made\nit, \"that's six dollars. He ought to have at least two of the\npopular magazines, that's eight dollars. He ought to have a good\nscientific magazine of some kind, four dollars more; and his\ntheological quarterly is indispensable, four dollars more; and at\nleast one of the daily newspapers, he ought really to read on both\nsides, but we will allow only one, that's ten dollars, and here is\nthe footing of his periodical literature: Two religious weeklies $6\nPopular Magazines 8 Scientific Magazine 4 Theological Quarterly 4\nDaily Paper 10 $32\"\n\n\"That's what it will cost him,\" said I, \"simply to keep up with the\ntimes.\"\n\nThe other gentlemen looked at my figures a moment in silence. Deacon\nGoodsole was the first to speak. \"That is a pretty liberal\nestimate,\" said he. \"A great many ministers get along on less than\nthat.\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" said I, \"and grow dry and dull in consequence. Little food\nmakes lean men.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap shook his head resolutely, \"I don't believe in preachin'\nto the times,\" said he. \"It's scripter interpretation and the\ndoctrines we want.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said I, \"the tools for that work cost more yet. Yours\ncost you from ten cents to five dollars, his from five dollars to a\nhundred. A single volume of Lange, or Alford, or the Speaker's\nCommentary cost five dollars; a good Bible Dictionary, from twenty\nto thirty; a good Encyclopedia, from fifty to a hundred. And\ntheological treaties have a small market and therefore a high\nprice-very high for their value. And his tools grow old too, and\nhave to be replaced oftener than yours do, Mr. Hardcap.\"\n\n\"I don't see that, Mr. Laicus,\" said he. \"A book, if you keep it\ncareful, will last a great many years. I am reading out of a Bible\nthat belonged to my grandfather. And I expect 'll belong to my\ngrandson yet.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Hardcap,\" said I, \"the leaves and covers and printed\nworks do not make the book. Ideas make the book. You can use your\ntools over and over again. If your plane gets dull out comes the\nhones and the dulled edge is quickly sharpened again. But ideas are\ngone when they are used.\"\n\n\"I don't see it,\" said Mr. Hardcap. And I do not suppose he does. I\nwonder if he knows what an idea is.\n\n\"It is so,\" continued I, \"with all student-tools. There are a few\nwhich the minister uses over and over again; his dictionaries,\ncommentaries, and cyclopedia, if he has one. There are a few\ntreaties that are worth reading and re-reading; but they are\nexceptional. Generally the student gets the gist of a book in one\nreading, as a squirrel the kernel of a nut at one crack. What\nremains on his shelves thereafter is only a shell. A book that has\nbeen dulled can rarely be sharpened and put to use again. There is\nno ministerial hone. The parson must replenish his bench every year.\nAt least he ought to.\"\n\n\"I haven't no great opinion of larned ministers no-how,\" said Mr.\nHardcap. \"It isn't larnin' we want, Mr. Laicus. It is the Gospel,\nthe pure, unadulterated Gospel.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap was incorrigible. I might as well try to explain to a\nNorth American Indian the cost and the value of a modern cotton mill\nas the cost and the value of student tools to Mr. Hardcap.\n\nBut I believe I produced some impression on the others. Deacon\nGoodsole still pondered my figures. \"I never thought of the cost of\nminister's tool before,\" said he. \"It's quite an item.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"for my part I don't see why the parson\ncan't live on a thousand dollars a year as well as I can.\"\n\nI had failed to produce conviction on the subject of tools. I\nresolved to try another tack. \"What do you pay for help?\" said I.\n\n\"Help?\" said he interrogatively.\n\n\"Yes,\" said I. \"What do you pay your cook and chambermaid?\"\n\n\"Hoh!\" said he contemptuously. \"I don't keep no help. My Bible tells\nme that God made the wife to be a help-meet for man, and my wife is\nall the help I want. I wouldn't have a servant round my house at no\nprice.\"\n\n\"Do you suppose our pastor and his wife can get along the same way?\"\nI asked.\n\n\"Don't see why not,\" said he sententiously.\n\n\"What!\" said Mr. Wheaton. \"Would you have your pastor's wife do her\nown work, Mr. Hardcap? I hope we haven't got so poor as that. She\nmust be a lady, Mr. Hardcap; a lady, sir.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"and can't a lady do her own work? High\nand mighty notions these that a woman must eat the bread of idleness\nto be a lady.\"\n\n\"Oh! it's all very well, Mr. Hardcap,\" said Mr. Wheaton; \"but our\npastor's wife has a position to maintain. She owes a duty to the\nparish, sir. She can't be maid of all work at home. I should be\nashamed of the church to suffer it.\"\n\n\"There certainly is a difference, Mr. Hardcap,\" said the Deacon.\n\"Mrs. Hardcap may do her own washing. And if anybody finds her over\nthe washtub Monday morning no one thinks the worse of her for it.\nBut it really wouldn't do for our pastor's wife.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap shook his head resolutely. \"I don't see it,\" said he. \"I\ndon't believe a minister's wife is too good to work.\"\n\n\"She isn't,\" said the Deacon. \"But if she washes Monday, and irons\nTuesday, and sweeps Wednesday, and bakes Thursday, and sews Friday\nand Saturday, what time has she left to make calls or receive them?\"\n\nMr. Hardcap only shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"How many calls does your wife make in a year?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh! we don't make no calls,\" said Mr. Hardcap. \"We've got other\nwork to do.\"\n\n\"And yet you expect your minister and his wife to call on you?\" said\nI interrogatively.\n\n\"I s'pose so,\" said he.\n\n\"I remember hearing you say that you thought it rather hard of Mrs.\nWork, just before they left, that she hadn't been inside of your\nhouse for six months. How many calls do you suppose Mrs. Mapleson\nwould have to make in a year in order to call on every family once\nin six months?\"\n\n\"Don't know,\" said Mr. Hardcap, shortly.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Deacon, \"we've got over a hundred families in our\nparish. It would take nearly one call every day.\"\n\n\"Beside extra calls on the sick,\" I continued. \"You will either have\nto give Mrs. Mapleson a servant or relinquish your expectation of\nreceiving any calls from her; that is very evident.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap made no reply.\n\n\"There are one or two other items that ought to be considered in\ndeciding what the pastor's salary should be,\" said a gentle but\ntremulous voice at my side. I turned about to see the speaker. It\nwas old Father Hyatt, who had joined our group, unperceived.\n\n\"I suppose Mr. Hardcap's best broadcloth coat and Mrs. Hardcap's\nblack silk gown last them a good many years. Isn't it so, Mr.\nHardcap?\"\n\nMr. Hardcap confessed that it was.\n\n\"The minister has to wear broadcloth, Mr. Hardcap, all the week. He\nmust be always in society dress. So must his wife. With the utmost\neconomy their bill for clothes mounts up to a frightful sum. I know,\nfor I have tried it.\"\n\n\"There is something in that,\" said Mr. Hardcap.\n\nOld Father Hyatt is a great favorite with Mr. Hardcap, as indeed he\nis with all of us. And no one ever accused Father Hyatt of\nextravagance.\n\n\"I know a city clergyman,\" continued the old man, \"who always\npreaches in a silk gown, though he is a Congregationalist. 'It saves\nmy coat', said he to me once in explanation. 'I can wear a seedy\ncoat in the pulpit and no one is the wiser.' 'But,' said I, 'how\nabout the silk gown?' 'Oh!' said he, 'the ladies furnish the gown.'\"\n\nWe laughed at the parson's shrewdness. Even Mr. Hardcap smiled.\n\n\"And there are some other items, too, gentlemen,\" added Father\nHyatt, \"which I hope you will consider. The churches don't\nordinarily know about them. At least they do not consider them. The\ncompany item alone is an enormous one. Not once in six months now do\nI have a friend to pass the night with me. But when I was settled\nhere my spare room always had a guest, and half the time my stable\nan extra horse. Every benevolent agent, every traveling minister,\nevery canvasser makes straight for the minister's house. He has to\nkeep an inn for the benefit of the parish, and gets no pay for it.\"\n\n\"Cut them off,\" said Mr. Hardcap. But he said it good naturedly.\n\n\"'Given to hospitality,' says the Apostle,\" replied Father Hyatt.\n\n\"Well,\" said Deacon Goodsole, with a sigh, \"we ought to pay the\nfifteen hundred a year. It's none too much. But I don't see where\nit's coming from.\"\n\n\"Oh! never you fear,\" said Mr. Wheaton. \"Mr. Mapleson is worth\nfifteen hundred, and we'll have to pay it. We'll get it somehow.\nWrite him it's fifteen hundred, Mr. Laicus. You'll be safe enough.\"\n\nWith which our informal conference came to an end. But I have not\nwritten. I wonder if Jim Wheaton runs the Koniwasset Coal Company,\nand the Newtown railroad, and the Wheathedge bank on the \"somehow\"\nprinciple. I wish had asked him. I am glad I have no stock in them.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nEcclesiastical Financiering.\n\n\n\n\n\nBUT though I have no stock in the Koniwasset Coal Company or the\nNewtown railroad or the Wheathedge Bank, I have some in the Calvary\nPresbyterian Church, and I decidedly object on consideration to\ncarry on that institution on the \"somehow\" principle. So I intimated\nas much to Mr. Wheaton the other day, after thinking the whole\nmatter over, and taking counsel with Jennie about it.\n\n\"Oh! go ahead,\" said Mr. Wheaton. \"Tell him we'll pay him $1,500 and\na parsonage. The church will back you, Mr. Laicus.\"\n\n\"And if the church don't,\" said I, \"will you pay the deficit?\"\n\nMr. Wheaton shook his head, very decidedly. I was equally decided\nthat without a responsible backer I would not \"go ahead.\" So on my\ndemand a meeting of the Board of Trustees was called. The Supply\nCommittee met with them. James Wheaton, Esq., Chairman of the Board\nof Trustees, was in the chair.\n\nOn behalf of the Supply Committee I stated the object for which the\nBoard was convened. The church had hitherto paid $1,200 salary. It\nwas quite inadequate. No one doubted that. It was unreasonable to\nexpect that Maurice Mapleson would come for less than we had offered\nMr. Uncannon-$1,500 a year and a parsonage. But in the call, by a\nstrange omission, the church had neglected to mention any salary.\nThe Committee wished to write Mr. Mapleson on the subject. Would the\nBoard sustain us in pledging the church to $1,500 and the parsonage?\n\nUpon this there was an informal expression of opinion all round the\nBoard. Mr. Wheaton led the way. He had no doubt on the subject. We\nmust have a minister, a good minister, a live, wide-awake, practical\nman. Such men were in demand. If one could not be got for $1,200, we\nmust pay $1,500. That was the way in which he managed railroads; and\nbusiness was business, whether in church or railroad. Not pretending\nto be a saint, he naturally took a worldly view of the matter; but\nhe at least tried to conduct worldly matters on equitable\nprinciples. It was certainly true that the laborer was worthy of his\nhire.\n\nSo, in substance, said James Wheaton, Esq., Chairman Board of\nTrustees, etc., etc.; and so, in substance, said they all. Even Mr.\nHardcap acquiesced, though with a mild protest against modern\nextravagance.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said Mr. Wheaton, \"this is just what I expected;\nyes, let me say, just what I was sure of. In fact, I told Mr. Laicus\nhe might depend on having $1,500 a year; but he was not satisfied\nwith my assurance-he wanted yours. I hope he is satisfied.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said I, \"if I seem unreasonable, but I am not\nsatisfied; and I should certainly have been so with Mr. Wheaton's\nassurance. I never doubted that he was good for $1,500 a year. But,\nin dealing with a church board, to be frank, I want to know where\nthe money is coming from. Pray, Mr. Treasurer, what was our income\nlast year?\"\n\nThe Treasurer murmured something about not having his accounts.\n\n\"In round numbers,\" said I.\n\n\"Between fourteen and fifteen hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"And our expenses?\"\n\n\"Not far from eighteen hundred dollars.\"\n\n\"And, pray, how,\" continued I, \"was the deficit made up?\"\n\nA part, it appears, was made up by a special subscription, and a\npart is still due as floating debt, and part went in to increase the\nmortgage. Perhaps I would remember the meeting in the fall at Mr.\nWheaton's house.\n\nI did remember it very well. But I was anxious that the other\ngentlemen should not forget it.\n\n\"And now, gentlemen,\" said I, \"you propose to add three hundred\ndollars to that annual deficit. Where is the money to come from?\"\n\nThere was a momentary silence. The question was evidently a new one.\nApparently not a member of the Board had considered it. At length\none gentleman suggested that we must raise the pew rents. This\nbrought an indignant protest from Deacon Goodsole, who is a strong\nadvocate of the free-pew system.\n\n\"Never,\" said he, \"with my consent. Any pew-rent is bad enough.\nTrafficking in the Gospel is abominable at best. It shuts out the\npoor. Worse than that, it shuts out the godless, the irreligious,\nthe profane--the very men we want to catch. The pew-rents are too\nhigh now. We must not raise them.\"\n\nThe Treasurer also added a mild protest. The pew-holders would not\nstand it.\n\n\"What do you say, Mr. Wheaton?\" said I.\n\n\"Say?\" said he: \"why, I say you cannot carry on a church on the same\nprinciples on which you carry on a railroad or a bank. It is a\ndifferent affair altogether. You must trust the Lord for something.\nI think that we can safely trust Him to the amount of three hundred\ndollars at least. Where's your faith?\"\n\n\"Making false promises and trusting the Lord to fulfil them isn't\nfaith,\" said Deacon Goodsole.\n\n\"I say, Jim,\" said Mr. Jowett, \"you trust Him for your interest\nmoney--that will set us all right.\"\n\nThere was a little laugh at this suggestion. Mr. Wheaton holds a\nmortgage on the church. He did not take kindly to this practical\napplication of the doctrine of faith.\n\n\"Oh! well,\" said he, \"we can raise it somehow. Never fear. A good\nminister will fill up our empty pews. Then in the summer we must\nmanage to bleed the boarders a little more freely. It won't hurt\nthem. What with a concert, or fair, or a subscription, or a little\nextra effort our plate collections, we can manage it, I have no\ndoubt.\"\n\n\"For my part,\" said I, \"I agree with one the gentlemen, who told us\nearly in this discussion that we must carry on church affairs on\nbusiness principles. I don't see any business principles in agreeing\nto pay money which we have not got and don't know where to get.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Mr. Jowett, \"Mr. Laicus is right. The shamefully\nloose ways in which our Protestant churches carry on their finances\nis a disgrace to the Christian religion.\"\n\nMr. Jowett is a broker. He assured me after the meeting that it was\nalmost impossible to get a loan on church property because churches\nwere so notoriously slack in paying their interest.\n\nMr. Hardcap murmured an assent. \"I don't b'lieve, gentlemen, in\nagreein' to pay what we hain't got. If we'd got the $1,500, I'd say\ngive it to him. I don't grudge him the money. But I don't want this\nchurch to make no promises that it aint' a goin' to keep.\"\n\n\"Mr. Hardcap has had some experience with promise-breaking\nchurches,\" said Deacon Goodsole.\n\nIt seems that Mr. Hardcap did the carpenter work in some repairs on\nthe Methodist church here last summer. When he got through he\ncarried in his bill to the President of the Board of Trustees. The\nPresident referred him to the Treasurer. The Treasurer reported no\nfunds and referred him to the Chairman of the Building Committee.\nThe Chairman of the Building Committee explained that it was his\nbusiness to supervise the building, not to raise the funds, and sent\nhim back to the President. It was not till Mr. Hardcap, whose stock\nof patience is small, threatened the church with a mechanic's lien\nthat the remedy was forthcoming.\n\n\"Well, gentlemen,\" said I, \"I will not be a party to getting a\nminister here on-excuse the term,--false pretences; on the assurance\nthat we can pay him $1,500 a year when it is a hard matter to pay\nhim $1,200. There are ten of us here. I will put my name down now\nfor $30, if the rest will do the same. If the Lord sends the $300,\nor if the ladies raise it by a fair, or if Mr. Wheaton gets up a\nconcert, or the summer boarders come to our rescue, we shall have\nnothing to pay. If none of these things happen, the minister will\nnot have it all to lose.\"\n\nThe matter was eventually settled in that way. We raised a\ncontingent fund of $250 then and there, which we have since made up\nto $400. So that now we can offer $1,500 a year with a clear\nconscience.\n\nAs a lawyer I have had some experience dealing with corporations.\nAnd I record my deliberate conviction here that of all corporations\nchurch corporations are financially the worst; the most loose and\ndilatory and unconsciously dishonest. I record it as my deliberate\nconviction, having had some opportunities for knowing, that in the\nCalvinistic church, of the others I don't pretend to know anything,\non the average not one half the ministry get their meagre salaries\npromptly. This injustice is the greatest and most scandalous feature\nin the treatment to which the churches subject their ministers. That\nministers are subjected to hardships is a matter of no consequence.\nSo are other people. It is the injustice, the absolute and\nindefensible injustice, the promising to pay their meagre salaries\nand then not paying even those-the obtaining of their services under\nfalse pretences-that I complain of. If I were a minister I never\nwould accept a call without knowing thoroughly the income and the\nexpenditure of the church.\n\nAs I write there lies before me a letter from my late pastor. He\nwants to borrow $300 for a few weeks. His Board of Trustees are thus\nmuch behind-hand in the first quarter's payment. He has not the\nmeans to pay his rent. The duty of the Board in such a case is very\nevident. The very least they can do is to share in providing\ntemporarily for the exigency. The very most which a mean Board could\ndo would be to ask the minister to unite with them in paying up the\ndeficiency. In fact, he who is least able to do it has to carry it\nall. Nobody else will trust the church. He has to trust it for\nhundreds of dollars. And then when his grocer and his landlord and\nhis tailor go unpaid, men shrug their shoulders and say, pityingly,\n\"Oh! he's a minister, he is not trained to business habits.\" And the\nworld looks on in wonder and in silent contempt to see the Christian\nChurch carrying on its business in a manner the flagrant dishonesty\nof which would close the doors of any bank, deprive any insurance\ncompany of its charter, and drive any broker in Wall street from the\nBrokers' Board.\n\nJennie says this last is pretty sharp writing; and she shakes her\nhead over it. But it is time, and I decline to cancel it.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nOur Donation Party--by Jane Laicus.\n\n\n\n\n\nMY husband wants me to write an account of the donation we gave our\nnew minister. He wants it to put in his book.\n\n\"Why, John,\" said I, \"I can't write anything for a book. I never\nwrote anything for print in my life. You mustn't think I am clever\nbecause you are.\"\n\n\"My dear Jennie,\" said he, \"there is no magic in print. Write just\nsuch an account as you wrote your mother. If you had that letter you\ncould not do better than give me that to put in.\"\n\n\"I can't possibly write, John. I would indeed if I could.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said John, \"it can't go in at all. For I was not here. I\ncannot describe it.\"\n\nHe was so earnest about it I finally had to yield. He says I always\nhave my own way. I didn't this time I am sure. There is only one\nthing that reconciles me to it. I do not believe the publishers will\nprint it. I told John I wouldn't trust my writing to his judgment. I\nwouldn't you know, of course because he would be sure to say it was\ngood. So we agreed to leave it to the publishers. If they don't like\nthis chapter they are going to leave it out. John is going to leave\nthem to read the proof, and we shan't either of us know till the\nbook is published whether \"our donation party\" gets in or not. I\nconfess to a little hope it will get in.\n\nLet me see how it happened. Oh! this was the way: Maurice was at our\nhouse the Sunday he supplied our pulpit. He told my husband that he\nthought he should accept our call. But he said he didn't think the\nparsonage would do him any good. He wanted to go to housekeeping,\nbut he had not the money to furnish it with, and he would not run in\ndebt.\n\nThat set me thinking. I talked the matter over with Miss Moore and\nfound she was quite of my mind; and the week after, we got Maurice's\nletter accepting the call, we proposed to the ladies at the sewing\nsociety to undertake to furnish the parsonage. The idea took at\nonce. In fact the having a parsonage is a new thing at Wheathedge,\nand we feel a little pride in having it respectable, you know; at\nleast so as not to be a disgrace to the church. Mrs. Goodsole\nthought it doubtful about raising the money, and Mrs. Hardcap said\nthat \"her husband wasn't in favor of the parsonage nohow, and she\ndidn't believe would think much of fixin' of it up;\" but Miss Moore\nreplied to Mrs. Goodsole that she could try at any rate, and to Mrs.\nHardcap that she would be responsible that Mr. Hardcap would do his\nshare; a remark which to some of us seemed a bold one, but which\npleased Mrs. Hardcap for all that.\n\nMr. Hardcap, I believe, means well, though to some of us his ideas\ndo seem very contracted, sometimes. But my husband says that narrow\nmen are needed as well as broad ones, and that if there were no Mr.\nHardcap to count the cost of every venture before it was undertaken,\nthe church would have been bankrupt long before this time.\n\nWe appointed committees that evening; one to raise the money-of\ncourse Miss Moore was at the head of that--one to furnish the\nkitchen, one to furnish the parlor and bed-room, (as I knew the\nbride, I was put on that committee,) and one to provide a supper.\nSome of the ladies wanted to have a grand reception. They said it\nwould be a good thing to surprise the new pastor with a\nhouse-warming. Mrs. Hardcap proposed that the sewing society meet\nthere that afternoon. But Miss Moore objected strongly. She said it\nwould cost nearly as much to provide a supper for the whole\ncongregation as to furnish a good bed-room set. I think, though, it\nwas really little Miss Flidgett who put a quietus on that plan.\n\n\"Why,\" said she in an injured tone, \"I want to be there and see how\nthey like it.\"\n\nNobody dared advocate the plan after that speech. I really think\nthat they all felt very much the same way, however.\n\nThe next day some of us met at the parsonage to take a survey. Last\nyear the house was without a tenant, and it had come to be in rather\na dilapidated condition. The fence gate was off the hinges. The\ngarden was over-grown with weeds. The sink in the kitchen was badly\nrotted. One of the parlor blinds was off. There was a bad leak over\nthe back porch, and the plastering looked just ready to fall, and\nthe whole looked dingy,--it needed outside painting sadly.\n\n\"We needn't let these things go so,\" said Miss Moore. \"The landlord\nmust put the house to rights.\"\n\nSo off we posted to the landlord, who is a queer, crusty old\nbachelor, who has, I verily believe, a kind heart, and does a good\ndeal of good in his own fashion; but his fashion is never like any\none else's. Not a thing could Miss Moore get out of him. He had\nrented the house as it stood, he said. If the trustees didn't like\nit they needn't have taken it. They paid little enough rent to\nrepair it themselves. He had nothing more to do except to get his\nrent regularly, and that she might depend he would do.\n\nMiss Moore returned somewhat disappointed, but nothing daunted. \"So\nmuch the better,\" said she. \"It will give Mr. Hardcap a chance to do\nsomething.\"\n\n\"How about the painting?\" said Mrs. Wheaton. \"It ought to be\npainted.\"\n\nMiss Moore shook her head. \"So it ought,\" she said, \"and so I told\nMr. Quirk; but he won't do anything,--and we can't afford to paint\nit; we shouldn't have money left for furnishing.\"\n\nSo we took the measure of the floors for the carpets, settled on\nwhat furniture we would get, and adjourned.\n\nNext week I went down to New York and called on the young lady to\nwhom Maurice is engaged. Her home is in New York, or rather it was\nthere; for to my thinking a wife's home is always with her husband;\nand I never like to hear a wife talking of \"going home\" as though\nhome could be anywhere else than where her husband and her children\nare. Maurice and Helen were to be married two weeks from the\nfollowing Friday, for Maurice proposed to postpone their wedding\ntrip till his next summer's vacation; and Helen, like the dear,\nsensible girl she is, very readily agreed to that plan. In fact I\nbelieve she proposed it. She had some shopping to do before the\nwedding, and I had some to do on my own account, and we went\ntogether. I invented a plan of refurnishing my parlor. I am afraid I\ntold some fibs, or at least came dreadfully near it. I told Helen I\nwanted her to help me select the carpet; and though she had no time\nto spare, she was very good-natured, and did spare the time. We\nladies had agreed-not without some dissent-to get a Brussels for the\nparlor, as the cheapest in the end, and I made Helen select her own\npattern, without any suspicion of what she was doing, and\nincidentally got her taste on other carpets, too, so that really she\nselected them herself without knowing it. Deacon Goodsole\nrecommended me to go for furniture to Mr. Kabbinett, a German friend\nof his, and Mrs. Goodsole and I found there a very nice parlor set,\nin green rep, made of imitation rosewood, which he said would wear\nabout as well as the genuine article, and which we both agreed\nlooked nearly as well. We would rather have bought the real\nrosewood, but that we could not afford. Mr. Kabbinett made us a\nliberal discount because we were buying for a parsonage. We got an\nextension table and chairs for the dining-room, (but we had to omit\na side-board for the present), and a very pretty oak set for the\nchamber. We did not buy anything but a carpet for the library, for\nMr. Laicus said no one could furnish a student's library for him. He\nmust furnish it for himself.\n\nWhen we got back to Wheathedge, Tuesday afternoon, we found the\nparsonage undergoing transformations so great that you would hardly\nknow it. Miss Moore had got Mr. Hardcap, sure enough, to repair it.\nShe had agreed to pay for the material, and he was to furnish the\nlabor. The fence was straightened, and the gate re-hung, and the\nblinds mended up, and Mr. Hardcap was on the roof patching it where\nit leaked or threatened to. Deacon Goodsole had a bevy of boys from\nthe Sabbath-school at work in the garden under his direction. If\nthere is anything the Deacon takes a pride in, next to his horse, it\nis his garden, and he said that the parson should have a chance for\nthe best garden in town. Great piles of weeds stood in the walk. Two\nboys were spading up; another was planting; a fourth was wheeling\naway the weeds; and still another was bringing manure from the\nDeacon's stable. Miss Moore was setting out some rose-bushes before\nthe door; and the Deacon himself, with his coat off, was trimming\nand tying up a rather dilapidated looking grape-vine over a still\nmore dilapidated grape arbor.\n\nThe next morning, about eleven o'clock, little Miss Flidgett came\nrunning into our house, without ever knocking, in the greatest\npossible excitement.\n\n\"Mrs. Laicus,\" said she, \"the painters have come.\"\n\n\"The painters!\" said I. \"What painters?\"\n\n\"Why didn't you order them?\" said she.\n\n\"They are painting the parsonage. I supposed of course you ordered\nthem.\"\n\nIt was very evident that she did not suppose anything of the kind,\nbut was dying of curiosity to know who did. I confess I had some\ncuriosity to know myself. So I put on my bonnet and shawl, and ran\nover with her to find out about it. Sure enough the painters were\nthere, three or four of them, with their ladders up against the side\nof the house, and the parsonage already beginning to change color\nunder their hands. Some of the ladies were in the kitchen\nsupervising the repairs of the sink, and the putting up of some\nshelves in the pantry, but they knew nothing about the painters. I\nasked one of the hands, at work on the front door, who sent him.\n\n\"The boss, ma'am,\" he replied, very promptly.\n\n\"And who is the boss?\" said I.\n\n\"Mr. Glazier, ma'am.\"\n\nMr. Glazier is the painter himself, the head-man. So I was no better\noff than before. I was afraid Mrs. Wheaton had ordered them, and I\nknew our funds were getting low, for we had overrun our estimate for\ncarpets; and I have the greatest horror of running in debt. So I\nresolved to go right over to Mrs. Wheaton's and get at the bottom of\nthe mystery. But Mrs. Wheaton knew nothing of the matter. We were\nboth sure Miss Moore would not have ordered them, and I was\nreturning as wise as I started, when, as I passed the parsonage, I\nsaw Mr. Glazier and Mr. Quirk in the yard, talking together. So I\nturned in to ask Mr. Glazier about it. As I passed up the walk Mr.\nQuirk called out to me.\n\n\"You ladies are in possession, I see,\" said he. \"You mean to make\nthe parson comfortable and contented if you can.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir,\" said I, \"though we are not responsible for the greatest\nimprovement, the painting. I think Mr. Glazier must be responsible\nfor that himself. I can't find any one that ordered it done.\"\n\nI thought that would bring the information, and it did.\n\n\"Oh! that's Mr. Quirk's orders,\" said he.\n\n\"Yours?\" said I turning to the crusty old landlord who wouldn't do\nanything.\n\nHe nodded. I think he enjoyed my perplexity. I spoke on the impulse\nof the moment. If I had given it a second thought I should not have\ndone it; and yet I am not sorry I did.\n\n\"Mr. Quirk,\" said I, \"my husband was right and I was wrong. We\nladies thought very hard of you that you would not do anything\ntoward repairing the parsonage. For one I want to apologize.\"\n\n\"Judge not, that ye be not judged,\" said the old man; and he turned\non his heel and went away. He is the queerest man I ever saw.\n\nI wish you could have seen that parsonage last Friday, the day that\nMr. Mapleson and his wife were to arrive. The walks were trim. The\nplot before the piazza had been new sodded. The grapevine was\nalready putting out new buds as if it felt the effect of the\nDeacon's tender care. There was not a weed to be seen. The beds,\nwith their rich, black loam turned up to the sun, had a beauty of\ntheir own, which only one who loves to dig among flowers as much as\nI do can appreciate. Mr. Glazier had made the dingy old house look\nlike a new one. After all there is nothing I like better for a\ncottage than pure white with green blinds. Inside we had a lovely\ncarpet on the parlor, and the new set of imitation rosewood. A\nbeautiful bouquet from Mrs. Wheaton's garden stood in the bay\nwindow, which looks out upon the river. My girl, lent for the\noccasion, was in the kitchen; and in the dining-room there was\nsupper spread just for two, with cake, preserves, and pies enough in\nthe closet (every body in the parish had sent in supper for that\nevening) to keep the parson supplied for a month at least. I was the\nlast to leave the house, and I did not leave it till I heard the\nwhistle of the train. Then I ran over to Miss Moore's little\ncottage, which is right across the way. Her parlor window was full\nof ladies peering out, first and foremost of whom was little Miss\nFlidgett, who thus gratified her wish to see how they would take it.\nThe Deacon, who was fixing something about the stable, was almost\ncaught. But he heard the carriage-wheels just in time to run into\nthe shed, and I could see him there holding the door open a crack\nand peering out to see what passed. Even dignified Mrs. Wheaton\ncould not resist the temptation to be passing along, accidentally of\ncourse, just as the parson drove up. Mr. Wheaton had called for them\nat the depot. It was arranged (with them, that is) that he was to\ntake them right to our house, and they were to stay there till they\ncould decide whether to board or keep house. He proposed to them,\nhowever, according to pre-arrangement, to stop a minute at the\nparsonage on the way. \"Mrs. Mapleson,\" he said, \"can see what it is\nand how she likes the house, and the location; and besides I have an\nerrand to do at the store.\"\n\nWe saw him get out and hand them out. Just then Mrs. Wheaton passed\nby, and he introduced her to them. Mrs. Wheaton took a seat in the\nnow vacant carriage to go with her husband to the store; and Mr. and\nMrs. Mapleson went up the walk. We saw them go in and shut the door.\nIn a moment they came out again. Maurice looked up and down the\nstreet in perplexity; then he stepped back a few paces and looked up\nat the house. His wife stood meanwhile on the door-step. Suddenly\nshe beckoned to him, and pointed out something on the side of the\ndoor just over the bell-handle. They had discovered the little\nsilver plate on which was engraved \"Rev. Maurice Mapleson.\" At that\nmoment the expressman drove up with their trunks. Maurice settled\nwith him, looked up and down the street as if looking for Mr.\nWheaton, who did not make his appearance as you may believe; and\nthen parson, wife, and trunks all went into the house together, and\nwe dispersed.\n\nAs to the Deacon, he had to climb out of a back window into an ally\nthat runs behind the house in order to get out of his position\nwithout being discovered.\n\nAnd that is the way we gave our donation party in Wheathedge.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nMaurice Mapleson.\n\n\n\n\n\nIT is not six weeks since Maurice Mapleson preached his first sermon\nhere, at Wheathedge, and already events prove the wisdom of our\nselection. I have been studying somewhat and pondering more the\nsecret of his success, and I have sat down this evening to try and\nclear up my own shadowy thoughts by reducing them to form. I often\ntake my pen for such a purpose. Is it not Bacon who says the pen\nmakes an accurate thinker?\n\nMaurice Mapleson certainly is not what I should call a great\npreacher. He is not learned. He is not brilliant. He seldom tells us\nmuch about ancient Greece or Rome. He preached a sermon on Woman's\nfunction in the church, a few Sundays ago. I could not help\ncontrasting it with Dr. Argure's sermon on the same subject. Maurice\ncould not have made a learned editorial or magazine article out of\nhis sermon. He did not even discuss the true interpretation of\nPaul's exhortations and prohibitions. He talked very simply and\nplainly of what the women could do here at Wheathedge.\n\nHe thanked them with unmistakeable sincerity for what they had\nalready done, and made it an incentive to them to do more-more for\nChrist, not for himself.\n\nJennie says that is the secret of Maurice's success. He is\nappreciative. He never scolds. He commends his people for what they\nhave done and so incites them to do more. She thinks that praise is\na better spur than blame. She always manages her servants on that\nprinciple. Perhaps that is the reason why they are not the greatest\nplague of life to her.\n\nBut if Maurice's sermons are not great, neither are they long. He\nlays it down as a cardinal rule in moral hygiene that a congregation\nshould not go away from the church hungry. Harry no longer begs to\nstay at home Sunday mornings, and even Mr. Hardcap rarely gets\nasleep.\n\nIf I compare Mr. Mapleson with Mr. Uncannon, I should say\nunhesitatingly that the latter was the more brilliant preacher of\nthe two. No one ever comes out of church saying \"What a powerful\ndiscourse! What a brilliant figure! What a pretty illustration! How\neloquent!\" But I find that we very often spend our dinner hour in\ndiscussing not the sermon, but its subject.\n\nThere are however two or three peculiarities which I observe about\nMaurice Mapleson's preaching. Dr. Argure tells me that he never\nwrites a sermon without a reference to its future use. I once asked\nhim whether he ever preached extemporaneously. \"No,\" said he. \"I\nhave meant to. But I have so many fine sermons waiting to be\npreached that I could never bring myself to abandon them for a mere\ntalk.\"\n\nI do not think Maurice has any fine sermons waiting to be preached.\nIndeed I know he has not. For one evening when he excused himself\nfrom accepting an invitation to tea, because he was behind-hand in\nhis work and had his sermon to prepare, I replied, \"You must have a\ngood stock on hand. Give us an old one.\"\n\n\"I haven't a sermon to my name,\" he replied.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said I.\n\n\"I mean,\" said he, \"that a sermon is not an essay; that every sermon\nI ever preached was prepared to meet some special want in my parish,\nand that when it was preached, there was an end of it. I could no\nmore preach an old sermon than I could fire a charge of gun powder a\nsecond time.\"\n\n\"But experiences repeat themselves,\" said my wife. \"What your people\nat Koniwasset Corners knew of doubt, of trouble, of sorrow, of\nimperfect Christian experience, we know too. As in water face\nanswereth to face, so the heart of man to man.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said Maurice thoughtfully. \"But there are no two\nfaces exactly alike. And my sermon is meaningless to me, if not to\nmy people, unless I can see the want and bring out the truth to meet\nit.\"\n\n\"But the truth is always the same,\" said Jennie, \"and the wants of\nthe human heart are not widely different.\"\n\n\"That is both true and false,\" said he. \"The truth is always the\nsame; but not always the same to me. I fell into conversation with\nMr. Gear last night on the subject of the atonement. He thinks it\nrepresents God as revengeful and unforgiving. Can I answer him with\nan old sermon? God's love is immutable. But I hope I understand it\nbetter and feel it more than I did three years ago. I cannot bring\nan old experience to meet a new want. No! a sermon is like a flower,\nit is of worth only when it is fresh.\"\n\nHis sermons at all events are always fresh. They are his personal\ncounsel to personal friends. I dimly recognize this element of power\nin them. But this is not all. There is something more, something\nthat I missed in Dr. Argure's learned essays, and in Mr. Uncannon's\npulpit pyrotechnics. But it is something very difficult to define.\n\nDid you ever consider the difference between a real flower and a wax\nimitation? The latter may be quite as beautiful. It may deceive you\nat first. And yet when you discover the deception you are\ndisappointed. \"The lack of fragrance,\" Jennie suggests. No! the\nflower may be odorless. It is the lack of life. I do not know what\nthere is in that mystic life that should make such a difference. But\nI am sure that the charm of the flower is in its life.\n\nThe most beautiful statue that Powers ever chiseled does not compare\nfor grace and beauty with the Divine model. The same mystic element\nof life is wanting.\n\nThere is life in Maurice Mapleson's sermons. What do I mean by life?\nEarnestness? No! Mr. Work was earnest. But this mysterious life was\nwanting. I can feel it better than I can define it. It is not in the\nsermon. It is in the man. I get new information from Dr. Argure. I\ndo not get much new information from Maurice Mapleson. I used to get\nnew ideas occasionally from Mr. Work. I rarely get a new idea from\nMaurice Mapleson. But I get new life, and that is what I most want.\n\nThis element of life enters into all his work. It is in the man\nrather than in his productions.\n\nOur prayer-meetings have improved wonderfully since he came. \"How do\nyou prepare for the prayer-meeting?\" I asked him the other day.\n\n\"By an hour of sleep and an hour of prayer,\" he replied. \"I always\ntry to go into the meeting fresh.\"\n\nAnd he succeeds. His coming into the meeting is like the coming of\nSpring. He brings an atmosphere with him. It is indescribable, but\nits effect is marvelous. Jennie says she never understood before as\nshe does now what was meant by the declaration in Acts concerning\nthe Apostles, that though they were unlearned men, the people took\nknowledge of them that they had been with Jesus.\n\nAnd it is this life which makes him so admirable as a pastor. \"Is he\nsocial?\" a friend asked me the other day. Yes. He is social. But\nthat is not all. Mr. Work was social. But he was always a minister.\nHe went about the streets in a metaphysical white choker and black\ngown. He was everywhere professional. When he opened the subject of\npersonal religion he did it with an introduction as formal and\nstately as that with which he habitually began his sermons. He\nformally inducted you into the witness box and commenced a\nprofessional inquisition on the state of your soul. I confess I have\nno fancy for that sort of Presbyterian confessional. I like the\nPapal confessional better. It does not invade your house and attack\nyou with its questionings when you are in no mood for them. I told\nMr. Work so once, whereat he was greatly shocked and somewhat\nindignant.\n\nMr. Uncannon too was very social. But he was never a minister.\nOutside the pulpit he never introduced the subject of religion. I\nthink it is perfectly safe to say that no one would have taken\nknowledge of him that he had been with Jesus. As to pastoral calls\nhe expressly disavowed any intention of making any. \"I have no\ntime,\" said he, \"for gadding about and spiritual gossiping. It's as\nmuch as I can do to get up my two sermons a week.\"\n\nBut Maurice is social in a different way. I asked him once what\nsystem he pursued as to pastoral calls.\n\n\"A very simple system,\" said he, \"mix much with my people and be\nmuch with Christ. If I do both, Mr. Laicus, I shall not fail to\nbring them together. I don't trouble myself about ways and means.\"\n\nThe week after Mr. Mapleson came to Wheathedge, some ecclesiastical\nbody met at Albany. I had a case before the Court of Appeals, and\nMaurice and I happened to take the same train. As we waited in the\nstation he addressed himself to a surly looking baggage-master with\nthis question, \"What time will the train get to Albany?\"\n\n\"Can't tell,\" said the surly baggage-master. \"Nothing is certain to\nrailroad men.\"\n\n\"Except one thing,\" said Mr. Mapleson.\n\n\"What's that?\" said the surly baggage-master.\n\n\"Death,\" said Mr. Mapleson.\n\n\"That's a fact,\" said the surly baggage-master. \"Specially certain\nto railroad men.\"\n\n\"And there is one other thing certain,\" added Maurice.\n\n\"What's that?\" asked the baggage-master, no longer surly.\n\n\"That we ought to be ready for it.\"\n\nThe baggage-master nodded thoughtfully. \"So we ought,\" said he; and\nhe added as he turned away, \"I hope you're readier than I be.\"\n\nI note this little incident here because it revealed so much of\nMaurice Mapleson's character to me. I think it did more to disclose\nto me the secret of his success than any sermon he has ever\npreached. Mr. Work when he went away read us the statistics of his\nministerial industry. He told us how many sermons he had preached,\nhow many prayer meetings he had attended, how many sick he had\nvisited, and how many religious conversations he had held with the\nimpenitent. I should as soon think of Maurice Mapleson's keeping a\nrecord of the number of times he kissed his wife or taught his\nchildren-if he had any.\n\nWhile I have been writing in a vain endeavor to put my vague and\nshadowy ideas of Maurice Mapleson's magnetic power into words,\nJennie has come in and has seated herself beside me.\n\n\"Jennie, I cannot get into clear and tangible form my shadowy ideas.\nWhat is the secret of ministerial success? What is the common\ncharacteristic which gives pulpit power to such widely dissimilar\ncharacters as Chalmers, Whitefields, the Westleys, Spurgeon and\nRobertson in England, and Edwards, Nettleton, Finney, the Beechers,\nfather and son, Murray, John Hall, Dr. Tyng, and a score of others I\ncould mention in this country?\"\n\n\"Hand me your New Testament, John.\"\n\nIt was lying on the table beside me. She took it from my hand and\nopened it.\n\n\"I don't know as to all the names you have mentioned, John, but I\nthink the secret of true pulpit power, the secret of Paul's wondrous\npower, the secret of Maurice Mapleson's power--the same in kind\nthough smaller in measure--is this. And she read from Galatians, the\nsecond chapter and twentieth verse:\n\n\"'I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live; yet not I, but\nChrist liveth in me, and the life which I now live in the flesh, I\nlive by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself\nfor me.'\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nOur Church-Garden.\n\n\n\n\n\nONE needs no other evidence that Maurice Mapleson is working a\nwonderful transformation in this parish than is afforded by the\nchange which has been made in the external appearance of the church.\nIt is true that Miss Moore always was a worker. But I do not believe\nthat even Miss Moore could have carried out her plan of a church\ngarden under Mr. Work. And Mr. Work was a good minister too.\n\nWhen I first came to Wheathedge the Calvary Presbyterian church was\nexternally, to the passer-by, distinguished chiefly for the severe\nsimplicity of its architecture, and the plainness, not to say the\nhomeliness, of its surroundings. It is a long, narrow, wooden\nstructure, as destitute of ornament as Squire Line's old fashioned\nbarn. Its only approximation to architectural display is a square\ntower surmounted by four tooth-picks pointing heavenward, and\nencasing the bell. A singular, a mysterious bell that was and is. It\nexpresses all the emotions of the neighborhood. It passes through\nall the moods and inflections of a hundred hearts. To-day it rings\nout with soft and sacred tones its call to worship. To-morrow from\nits watch-tower it sees the crackling flame in some neighboring barn\nor tenement, and utters, with loud and hurried and anxious voice,\nits alarm. Anon, heavy with grief, it seems to enter, as a\nsympathising friend, into the very heart experiences of bereaved and\nweeping mourners. And when the rolling year brings round\nIndependence day, all the fluctuations of feeling which mature and\nsoften others are forgotten, and it trembles with the excitement of\nthe occasion, and laughs, and shouts, and capers merrily in its\nhomely belfry, as though it were a boy again.\n\nPardon the digression. But I love the dear old bell. And its voice\nis musical to me, albeit I sometimes fancy, like many another\nsinger's it is growing weak and thin with age.\n\nThe surroundings of the church were no better than the external\naspect. The fence was broken down. The cows made common pasture in\nthe field-there is an acre of ground with the church, I believe-till\nthe grass was eaten so close to the ground that even they disdained\nit. A few trees eked out a miserable existence. Most of them,\ngirdled by cattle, were dead. A few still maintained their \"struggle\nfor life,\" but looked as though they pined for the freedom of the\nwoods again. Within, the church justified the promise of its\nexternal condition. The board of trustees are poor. Every man had\nbeen permitted to upholster his own pew. Some, without owners, were\nalso without upholstering. In the rest, the only merit was variety.\nThe church looked as though it had clothed itself in a Joseph's coat\nof many colors; or rather, its robe presented the appearance of poor\nJoe Sweaten's pantaloons, which are so darned and pieced and mended\nthat no man can guess what the original material was, or whether any\nof it is left. There was but one redeeming feature-the bouquet upon\nthe pulpit. Every Sunday, Sophie Jowett brought that bouquet. As her\nfather had a large conservatory, the bouquet was rarely missing even\nin winter. As she has admirable taste it was always beautiful even\nwhen the flowers were not rare. She had done her work very quietly,\nhad asked no permission, had consulted with no one. One Sabbath the\nbouquet appeared upon the pulpit. After that it was never missing,\nexcept one Sunday when Miss Sophie was sick, and for three weeks in\nthe Fall, when she was away from home.\n\nSuch was the condition of the church at Wheathedge when I bought my\nhouse.\n\nLast spring Miss Sophie was married. There were more tears and less\nradiance than usual at that wedding. Mr. Line said that he never\ncould supply the place in the Sunday-school. Mr. Work came up from\nNew York to marry them. His voice was tenderer than usual when he\npronounced the marriage ceremony. The first Sabbath after that\nwedding the pulpit was without flowers. Was there any who did not\nmiss them, and in missing them did not miss her? It took the last\nornament from our church, which thenceforth looked desolated enough.\n\nWhen Maurice Mapleson came the bouquet came back. But it was made\nmostly of wild flowers. I think his wife began it. Perhaps it was\nthis which suggested to Miss Moore's fertile brain the idea of a\nchurch-garden.\n\nAt all events one Wednesday after prayer-meeting Miss Moore and Mrs.\nBiskit came to me. \"We want a dollar from you,\" said Miss Moore.\n\n\"What for?\" said I. Not that I thought of questioning Miss Moore's\ndemand,--no one ever does that; but because I naturally liked to know\nwhat my money was going to do.\n\n\"We are going to start a church-garden,\" said she. \"The trustees\nhave given us the ground, and we want to raise about ten dollars for\na beginning.\"\n\nI gave her the dollar and thought no more about it; indeed, I should\nhave accounted the scheme quite chimerical if there had been any one\nat the head of it except Miss Moore.\n\nHowever, the next week, as I was passing the church, I saw Miss\nMoore and Mrs. Biskit at work in the churchyard. A little plot had\nbeen spaded up at one side, one or two walks laid out, and they were\nbusy putting in some flower seed. I thought of offering my services.\nBut as my agricultural education was neglected in my youth, and as\nmy knowledge of gardening is very limited, I passed on.\n\nMy chance came pretty soon. When Miss Moore has anything to do for\nthe church every one gets an opportunity to help.\n\nIt could not have been more than two or three days later, when, as I\npassed, I perceived that she had already increased her stock of\ngardeners. Half a dozen young men were working with a will. She had\nhalf of the minister's Bible-class engaged. Two of them had brought\na load of gravel from down under the hill as you go to the Mill\nvillage. They were shoveling this out at the front gate, while some\nothers were spreading it in a broad walk up to the church-door. A\ngreat pile of sods lay right by the side of the growing gravel-heap.\nDeacon Goodsole, in his shirt sleeves, was raking over the ground\npreparing it for grass-seed. \"Rather late for grass-seed,\" he had\nremonstrated, but the inexorable Miss Moore had replied, \"Better\nlate than never.\" Four or five of the boys, who had used the church\ncommon as a ball-ground, were enlisted-a capital stroke of policy\nthat. Among them was Bill Styles, who prides himself on throwing a\nstone higher and with surer aim than any other boy in Wheathedge,\nand had demonstrated it by stoning all the glass out of the tower\nwindows. A melancholy-looking cow, transfixed with astonishment, had\nstopped in the middle of the road to look with bewilderment upon\ntheir invasion of its ancient territory. I leaned for a moment on\nthe tottering fence and looked, equally bewildered, on the busy\nscene.\n\nBut Miss Moore never suffers any one to look on idly where she is\nlaboring. \"Ah! Mr. Laicus,\" said she, cheerily, \"you are just the\nman we want. That cow will come in through these gaps in the fence\nand undo our work in an hour after we leave it. I wish you would get\nhold of somebody and fix it up.\" With that she was off again, and I\nwas in for an office.\n\nDeacon Goodsole afterwards told me confidentially that he was caught\nin the same way.\n\nNow, though I am no gardener, I am a bit of a carpenter. So, after\ntaking the dimensions of the fence, mentally, I started off for the\nmaterial, which Mr. Hardcap gave, and, with the aid of a volunteer\nor two, I succeeded in so far filling the breach that the melancholy\ncow gave up her little game, and walked philosophically away.\n\nTo make a long story short, the result of Miss Moore's energetic\nendeavors was seen the next Sabbath, in part, in an entirely new\naspect of affairs, which has been constantly improving since. The\nboard of trustees, moved thereto partly by the energies of Miss\nMoore, partly by those of their Baptist neighbors who have just got\ninto a new church, have commenced to build a new fence. A graveled\nwalk, free from dust in drought and from mud in rainy weather, leads\nup to the church-door. A border of sod on either side melts\ngradually away into the beginning of a lawn of grass which will be\nfuller and better next year than this. On a couple of fan shaped\nlattices, in which I take a little pride as my own handiwork, a\nhoney-suckle on one side of the church-door and a prairie rose on\nthe other are planted. In imagination I already see them reaching\nout their tendrils in courtship over the door. I should not wonder\nif next Spring should celebrate their nuptials. Some ivy, planted by\nMiss Moore, on the eastern side of the church promises in time to\nembosom it in green. A parterre of flowers in the rear, has already\nhelped to furnish the pulpit every Sunday with a bouquet, and, Miss\nMoore declares, will, another summer, give the minister a bouquet on\nhis study table all the week, and messengers of beauty to add to the\ncomfort of many a sick-room. And in the Fall Deacon Goodsole and I\nwith half a dozen young men from the pastor's Bible-class are going\nup into the woods for some maples to set out in the place of the\ndead sticks which served only as monuments of the departed.\n\nBut Miss Moore is in a quandary. She does not know what to do with\nher ten dollars. All the work was given. Even Pat Maloney, Roman\nCatholic though he is, would not take anything for spading up the\nground for \"our church garden.\"\n\nI am a conservative man. But I do wish Miss Moore could be chairman\nof our board of trustees for a year or two.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nOur Temperance Prayer-Meeting.\n\n\n\n\n\nIT is late in the fall. The summer birds have fled southward. The\nsummer residents have fled to their city homes. The mountains have\nblossomed out in all the brilliance of their autumnal colors; but\nthe transitory glory has gone and they are brown and bare. One\nlittle flurry of snow has given us warning of what is coming. The\nfurnace has been put in order; the double windows have been put on;\na storm-house has enclosed our porch; a great pile of wood lies up\nagainst the stable, giving my boy promise of plenty of exercise\nduring the long winter. And still the summer lingers in these bright\nand glorious autumnal days. And of them the carpenters and the\npainters are making much in their work on the new library-hall.\n\nDo not let the reader deceive himself by erecting in his imagination\nan edifice of brick or stone, with all the magnificent architectural\ndisplay which belongs to the modern style of American cosmopolitan\narchitecture. Library-hall is a plain wooden building, one story\nhigh, and containing but three rooms. It is to cost us just $1,000,\nwhen it is finished. Let me record here how it came to be begun.\n\nTemperance is not one of the virtues for which Wheathedge is, or\nought to be, famous. I know not where you will find cooler springs\nof more delicious water, than gush from its mountain sides. I know\nnot where you will find grapes for home wine-that modern recipe for\ndrunkenness-more abundant or more admirably adapted to the vintner's\npurpose. But the springs have few customers, and one man easily\nmakes all the domestic wine which the inhabitants of Wheathedge\nconsume. But at the landing there are at least four grog-shops which\ngive every indication of doing a thriving business, beside Poole's,\nhalf-way to the Mill village; to say nothing of the bar the busiest\nroom by all odds, at Guzzem's hotel, busiest, alas! on the Sabbath\nday.\n\nMaurice Mapleson is not one who considers that his parish and his\ncongregation are coterminus. \"I like the Established Church for one\nthing,\" he says. \"The parish is geographical, not ecclesiastical.\nAll within its bounds are under the parson's care. In our system the\nminister is only responsible for his own congregation. It is like\ncaring for the wounded who are brought into hospital, and leaving\nthose that are on the field of battle uncared for.\"\n\nA little incident occurring soon after he came, first opened\nMaurice's eyes, I think, to the need of temperance reform in the\ncommunity.\n\nHe had occasion, one evening after prayer-meeting, to visit a sick\nchild of his Sabbath-school. The family were poor and his road led\nhim down near the brickyard toward \"Limerick,\" as this settlement of\nhuts-half house, half pig-stye-is derisively called. The night was\ndark, and returning, abstracted in thought, he almost fell over what\nhe first took to be a log lying in the street. It was a man, who, on\na cursory examination, proved to be suffering under no less a\ndisorder than that of hopeless intoxication. It was a dangerous bed.\nMaurice made one or two unsuccessful attempts to arouse the fellow,\nbut in vain. Retracing his steps a few rods to the nearest hut, he\nsummoned assistance, and with the aid of Pat sober, got Pat drunk\nupon his feet. But he was quite too drunk to help himself, and too\nlarge and heavy to be left to the sole charge of Pat sober, who\nhappened to recognize a friend, whose home he said was a quarter of\na mile down the valley. Maurice, who had preached a few Sundays ago\non the parable of the Good Samaritan, could not bring himself to\nimitate the example of the Priest and Levite; so steadying the tipsy\npedestrian on one side, while sober Pat sustained him on the other,\nthey half led, half dragged the still unconscious sleeper to a\nlittle round hut, which he called home. The wife was sitting up for\nher husband and received both him and his custodians with\nobjurgations loud on the first, and thanks equally loud addressed to\nthe others. No sooner was the stupid husband safely deposited on the\nbed than, begging them to wait a moment, she went to the cupboard\nand taking down a big, black bottle, half filled a cracked tea-cup\nwith whiskey, which she offered to Maurice as an expression of her\ngratitude. \"I do not know,\" said Maurice to me, as he told me the\nstory, \"that she will ever forgive me for declining, though I\ncouched my declension as courteously as possible.\"\n\nComing home and pondering this incident, he made up his mind that\nsomething must be done for the temperance cause in Wheathedge; and\nfurther pondering led him to the conclusion that he must begin at\nthe church.\n\nSo one evening last week he came round to talk with me about it.\n\n\"The first thing,\" said he to me, \"is to arouse the Church. I\nbelieve in preaching the gospel of temperance to the Jews first, and\nafterwards to the Gentiles. I will begin in the Synagogue.\nAfterwards I will go to the streets, and lanes, and highways.\"\n\n\"You will meet with some opposition,\" said I. \"A temperance meeting\nin the church has never been heard of in Wheathedge. You will be\ndeparting from the landmarks.\"\n\n\"Do you think so?\" said Maurice.\n\n\"I am sure of it,\" said I.\n\n\"Very good,\" said he, \"if I meet with opposition it will prove I am\nright. It will prove that the Church needs stirring up on the\nsubject. If I am not opposed I shall be inclined to give up the\nplan. However I will not wait for opportunity. I will challenge it.\"\n\nThe next Sunday he gave notice that that evening there would be a\nTemperance prayer and conference meeting in the church, in lieu of\npreaching.\n\n\"The town,\" said he, \"is cursed with intemperance. There is one\nmiscellaneous dry-goods and grocery store, one drug store, one mill,\nabout half a bookstore, and an ice-cream saloon; and within a radius\nof half a mile of this church there are ten grog-shops and two\ndistilleries, quite too large a proportion even for those who\nbelieve, as I do not, in moderate drinking. I have no remedy to\npropose. I have no temperance address to deliver. What I do propose\nis that we gather to-night and make it the subject of earnest prayer\nto God, and of serious conference among ourselves, that we may know\nwhat our duty is in the case, and knowing, may do it bravely and\nwell.\"\n\nAs we came out of church the proposed Temperance prayer-meeting was\nthe theme of general discussion.\n\nMr. Guzzem was sorry to see that this church was threatened with an\nirruption of fanaticism. He thought the minister had better stick to\nhis business and leave side-issues alone.\n\nMr. Wheaton thought the true remedy for intemperance was the\ncultivation of the grape, and the manufacture of modern wines. He\ndid not believe in meetings.\n\nMr. Hardcap was as much a foe to intemperance as any one; but he\nthought the true remedy for intemperance was the preaching of the\nGospel. Paul was the model for preachers, and Paul knew nothing but\nJesus Christ and Him crucified. Deacon Goodsole inquired who that\nman was that preached before Felix of righteousness, temperance, and\njudgment to come. But Mr. Hardcap apparently did not hear the\nquestion, at least he did not answer it.\n\nElder Law thought it might be very well, but that the minister ought\nnot to change the service of the Sabbath without consulting the\nSession. It was a dangerous precedent.\n\nDeacon Goodsole thought it a move in the right direction, and vowed\nhe would give the afternoon to drumming up recruits. Miss Moore said\nshe would go with him.\n\nMr. Gear, who has not been inside a prayer-meeting since he has been\nat Wheathedge, declared when I told him of the meeting, that it was\nthe first sensible thing he had ever known the church to do; and if\nthey were really going to work in that fashion he would like to be\ncounted in. And sure enough he was at the prayer-meeting in the\nevening, to the great surprise of everybody, and to the\nconsternation of Mr. Hardcap, who found in the fact that an infidel\ncame to the meeting, a confirmation of his opinion that it was a\ndesecration of the Sabbath and the sanctuary.\n\nMrs. Laynes, whose eldest boy jumped off the dock last Spring in a\nfit of delirium tremens, came to Maurice with tears in her eyes to\nthank him for holding a temperance meeting. \"I can't do anything but\npray,\" she said; \"but oh, Pastor, that I can and will do.\"\n\nThe meeting was certainly a remarkable success, there was just\nopposition enough to make it so. Those that were determined it\nshould succeed were there ready to speak, to sing, to pray. Those\nthat did not believe in it were there to see it fail. Those that\nwere indifferent were there, curious to see whether it would succeed\nor fail, and what it would be like. And Deacon Goodsole and Miss\nMoore were there with their recruits, a curious and motley addition\nto the congregation. The church was full. Every ear was attention;\nevery heart aroused. And when finally good old Father Hyatt, with\nhis thin white hair and tremulous voice, and eyes suffused with\ntears, told in tones of unaffected pathos, the sad story of Charl.\nPie's death, I do not believe that even Jim Wheaton's eyes were dry.\nAt all events I noticed that when, at the close of the meeting,\nMaurice put the question whether a second meeting should be held the\nfollowing month, Jim Wheaton was among those who voted in the\naffirmative. There were no dissentients.\n\nWhen I came home from this meeting, I put on paper as well as I\ncould Father Hyatt's pathetic story. It is as follows:\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nFather Hyatt's Story.\n\n\n\n\n\nIF you had known Charlie P., and had seen his little struggle, and\nhad felt as I did the anguish caused by his tragic death, you would\nnot talk of moderate drinking as a remedy for intemperance.\n\nI was away from my parish when I first heard of it. I very well\nremember the start with which I read the first line of the note,\n\"Charlie P-- is dead;\" and how after I had finished the account,\nwritten in haste and partaking of the confusion of the hour, the\nletter dropped from my hands, and I sat in the gathering darkness of\nthe summer twilight, rehearsing to myself the story of his life, and\nthe sad, sad story of his tragic death. Years have passed since, but\nthe whole is impressed upon my memory in figures that time cannot\nfade. If I were an artist, I could paint his portrait, I am sure, as\nI see him even now. Such a grand, open-hearted, whole-souled fellow\nas he was.\n\nIt was about a year before that I first saw him in my church. His\npeculiar gait as he walked up the center aisle, first attracted my\nattention. He carried a stout cane and walked a little lame. His\nwife was with him. Indeed, except at his office, I rarely saw them\napart. She loved him with an almost idolatrous affection; as well\nshe might, for he was the most lovable man I ever knew; and he loved\nher with a tenderness almost womanly. I think he never for a moment\nforgot that it was her assiduous nursing which saved his life. His\nface attracted me from the first, and I rather think I called on the\nnew-comers that very week. At all events we soon became fast\nfriends, and at the very next communion husband and wife united with\nmy church by letter from --, but no matter where; I had best give\nneither names nor dates. They lived in a quite, simple way, going\nbut little into society, for they were society to each other. They\nrarely spent an evening out, if I except the weekly prayer-meeting.\nThey came together to that. He very soon went into the\nSabbath-school. A Bible-class of young people gathered about him as\nif by magic. He had just the genial way, the social qualities, and\nthe personal magnetism to draw the young to him. I used to look\nabout sometimes with a kind of envy at the eager attentive faces of\nhis class.\n\nJudge of my surprise when, one day, a warm friend of Charlie's came\nto me, privately, and said, \"Charlie P. is drinking.\"\n\n\"Impossible,\" said I.\n\n\"Alas!\" said he, \"it is too true. I have talked with him time and\nagain. He promises reform, but keeps no promise. His wife is almost\nbroken-hearted, but carries her burden alone. You have influence\nwith him, more than any one else I think. I want you to see him and\ntalk with him.\"\n\nI promised, of course. I made the effort, but without success. I\ncalled once or twice at his office. He was always immersed in\nbusiness. I called at his house. But I never could see him alone. I\nwas really and greatly perplexed, when he relieved me of my\nperplexity. Perhaps he suspected my design. At all events one\nmorning he surprised me by a call at my study. He opened the subject\nat once himself.\n\n\"Pastor,\" said he, \"I have come to talk with you about myself. I am\nbringing shame on the Church and disgrace on my family. You know all\nabout it. Everybody knows all about it. I wonder that the children\ndo not point at me in the street as I go along. Oh! my poor wife! my\npoor wife! what shall I do?\"\n\nHe was intensely excited. I suspected that he had been drinking to\nnerve himself to what he regarded as a disagreeable but unavoidable\nduty. I calmed him as well as I could, and he told me his story.\n\nHe was formerly a temperate though never a total abstinence man. He\nwas employed on a railroad in some capacity-express messenger I\nthink. The cars ran off the track. That in which he was sitting was\nthrown down an embankment. He was dreadfully bruised and mangled,\nand was taken up for dead. It seemed at first as though he had\nhardly a whole bone in his body; but by one of those marvelous\nfreaks, as we account them, which defeat all physicians'\ncalculations, he survived. Gradually he rallied. For twelve months\nhe lived on stimulants. His wife's assiduous nursing through these\ntwelve months of anxiety prostrated her upon a bed of sickness. From\nhis couch he arose, as he supposed, to go through life on crutches.\nBut returning strength had enabled him to substitute a cane. Her\nattack of typhoid fever left her an invalid, never to be strong\nagain. Alas! his twelve months' use of stimulants had kindled a fire\nwithin him which it seemed impossible to quench.\n\n\"I cannot do my work,\" said he, \"without a little, and a little is\nenough to overset me. I am not a hard drinker, Pastor, indeed I am\nnot. But half a glass of liquor will sometimes almost craze me.\"\n\nI told him he must give up the little. For him there was but one\ncourse of safety, that of total abstinence. He was reluctant to come\nto it. His father's sideboard was never empty. It was hard to put\naside the notions of hospitality which he had learned in his\nchildhood, and adopt the principles of a total abstinence, which he\nhad always been taught to ridicule. However, he resolved bravely,\nand went away from my study, as I fondly hoped, a saved man.\n\nI had not then learned, as I have since, the meaning of the\ndeclaration, \"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.\"\n\nI saw him every few days. He never showed any signs of liquor. I\nasked him casually, as I had opportunity, how he was getting along.\nHe always answered, \"Well.\" I sounded others cautiously. No one\nsuspected him of any evil habit. I concluded he had conquered it.\nThough I did not lose him from my thoughts or prayers, I grew less\nanxious. He kept his Bible-class, which grew in numbers and in\ninterest. Spring came, and I relaxed a little my labors, as that\nclimate-no matter where it was, to me the climate was bad\nenough-required it. Despite the caution, the subtle malaria laid\nhold of me. I fought for three weeks a hard battle with disease.\nWhen I arose from my bed the doctor forbade all study and all work\nfor six weeks at least. No minister can rest in his own parish. My\npeople understood that, as parishes do not always. One bright spring\nday, one of my deacons called, and put a sealed envelope into my\nhand to be opened when he had left. It contained a check for my\ntraveling expenses, and an official note from the officers of the\nchurch bidding me go and spend it. In three days I was on my way to\nthe White Mountains. It was there my wife's hurried note told me the\nstory of Charlie's death. And this was it:\n\nThe habit had proved too strong for his weak will. He had resumed\ndrinking. No one knew it but his wife and one confidential friend.\nHe rarely took much; never so much as to be brutal at home, or unfit\nfor business at the office; but enough to prove to him that he was\nnot his own master. The shame of his bondage he felt keenly,\npowerless as he felt himself to break the chains. The week after I\nleft home his wife left also for a visit to her father's. She took\nthe children, one a young babe three months old, with her. Mr. P.\nwas to follow her in a fortnight. She never saw him again. One night\nhe went to his solitary home. Possibly he had been drinking-no one\never knew-opened his photograph album, covered his own photograph\nwith a piece of an old envelope, that it might no longer look upon\nthe picture of his wife on the opposite page, and wrote her, on a\nscrap of paper torn from a letter, this line of farewell:\n\n\"I have fought the battle as long as I can. It is no use. I will not\nsuffer my wife and children to share with me a drunkard's shame.\nGod-bye. God have mercy on you and me.\"\n\nThe next morning, long after the streets had resumed their\naccustomed activity, and other houses threw wide open their shutters\nto admit the fragrance of flowers, and the song of birds, and the\nglad sunshine, and all the joy of life, that house was shut and\nstill. When the office clerk, missing him, came to seek him, the\ndoor was fast. Neighbors were called in. A window was forced open.\nLying upon the bed, where he had fallen the night before, lay poor\nCharlie P. A few drops of blood stained the white coverlet. It oozed\nfrom a bullet wound in the back of his head. The hand in death still\ngrasped the pistol that fired the fatal shot.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nOur Village Library.\n\n\n\n\n\nTO that prayer-meeting and Father Hyatt's story of Charlie P.,\nWheathedge owes its library.\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" said Mr. Gear as we came out of the meeting together,\n\"I hope this temperance movement isn't going to end in a\nprayer-meeting. The praying is all very well, but I want to see some\nwork go along with it.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said I, \"what do you propose?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said he. \"But I think we might do something. I\nbelieve in the old proverb. The gods help those who help\nthemselves.\"\n\nThat very week Mr. Mapleson called at my house to express the same\nidea. \"What can we do to shut up Poole's?\" said he. \"It's dreadful.\nHalf our young men spend half their evenings there lounging and\ndrinking away their time.\" He proposed half a dozen plans and\nabandoned them as fast as he proposed them. He suggested that we\norganize a Sons of Temperance, and gave it up because neither of us\nbelieved in secret societies; suggested organizing a Band of Hope in\nthe Sabbath-school, but withdrew the suggestion on my remarking that\nthe Sabbath-school would not touch the class that made Poole's bar\nthe busiest place in town; hinted at trying to get John B. Gough,\nbut doubted whether he could be obtained. I told him I would think\nit over. And the next evening I walked up to Poole's to survey the\nground a little. I found, just as you turn the corner from the Main\nstreet to go up the hill, what I had never noticed before-a sign,\nnot very legible from old age and dirt, \"Free Reading-room.\" Having\nsome literary predilections, I went in. A bar-room, with three or\nfour loungers before the counter, occupied the foreground. In the\nrear were two round wooden tables. On one were half a dozen copies\nof notorious sensation sheets, one or two with infamous\nillustrations. A young lad of sixteen was gloating over the pages of\none of them. The other table was ornamented with a backgammon board\nand a greasy pack of cards. The atmosphere of the room was composed\nof the commingled fumes of bad liquor, bad tobacco, kerosene oil and\ncoal gas. It did not take me long to gauge the merits of the free\nreading-room. But I inwardly thanked the proprietor for the\nsuggestion it afforded me.\n\n\"A free reading-room,\" said I to myself; \"that is what we want at\nWheathedge.\"\n\nThe same thought had fortunately occurred almost simultaneously to\nmy friend Mr. Korley, though his reason for desiring its\nestablishment were quite different from mine. His family spends\nevery summer at Wheathedge. His wife and daughters found themselves\nat a loss how to spend their time. They had nothing to do. They\npestered Mr. Korley to bring them up the last novels. But his mind\nwas too full of stocks; he always forgot the novels. On Saturday he\nwent over to Newtown, hearing there was a circulating library there.\nHe found the sign, but no books. \"I had some books once,\" the\nproprietor explained, \"but the Wheathedge folks carried them all off\nand never returned them.\" Thus it happened that when the week after\nmy visit to the free reading-room, I met Mr. Korley on board the\ntrain, he remarked to me, \"We ought to have a circulating library at\nWheathedge.\"\n\n\"And a reading-room with it,\" said I.\n\n\"Well, yes,\" said he. \"That's a fact. A good reading-room would be a\ncapital thing.\"\n\n\"Think of the scores of young men,\" said I, \"that are going down to\nruin there. They have no home, no decent shelter even for a winter's\nevening, except the grog-shop.\"\n\n\"I don't care so much about the young men,\" said Mr. Korley, \"as I\ndo about the middle-aged ones: My Jennie pesters me almost to death\nevery time I go down, to buy her something to read. Of course I\nalways forget it. Besides, I would like a place where I could see\nthe papers and periodicals myself. I would give fifty dollars to see\na good library and reading-room in Wheathedge.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" said I, \"I will put you down for that amount.\" So I\ntook out my pocket-book and made a memorandum.\n\n\"What! are you taking subscriptions?\" asked Mr. Korley.\n\n\"Have taken one,\" said I.\n\nThat was the beginning. That night I took a blank book and drew up a\nsubscription paper. It was very simple. It read as follows:\n\n\"We, the undersigned, for the purpose of establishing a library and\nreading-room in Wheathedge, subscribe the sums set opposite our\nnames, and agree that when $500 is subscribed the first subscribers\nshall call a meeting of the others to form an organization.\"\n\nI put Mr. Korley's name down for $50, which started it well. Mr.\nJowett could do no less than Mr. Korley, and Mr. Wheaton no less\nthan Mr. Jowett; and so, the subscription once started, grew very\nrapidly, like a boy's snowball, to adequate proportions. The second\nTuesday in July I was enabled to give notice to all the subcribers\nto meet at my house. My parlors were well filled. I had taken pains\nto get some lady subscribers, and they were there as well as the\ngentlemen. I read to the company the law of the State providing for\nthe organization of a library association. Resolutions were drawn up\nand adopted. Stock was fixed at $5, that everybody might be a\nstockholder. The annual dues were made $2, imposed alike on\nstockholders and on outsiders. A Board of trustees was elected. And\nso our little boat was fairly launched.\n\nWe began in a very humble way. The school trustees loaned us during\nthe summer vacation a couple of recitation-rooms which we converted\ninto a library and conversation-room. The former we furnished in the\nfirst instance with the popular magazines and two or three of the\ndaily newspapers. We forthwith began also to accumulate something of\na library. Mr. Wheaton presented us with a full assortment of Patent\nOffice reports, which will be very valuable for reference if any\nbody should ever want to refer to them. We also have two shelves\nfull chiefly of old school-books, which a committee on donations\nsucceeded in raising in the neighborhood.\n\nBut apart from these treasures of knowledge our collection is\neminently readable. Maurice Mapleson is on the library committee,\nand Maurice Mapleson is fortunately a very sensible man. \"The first\nthing,\" he says, \"is to get books that people will read. Valuable\nbooks that they won't read may as well stay on the publishers'\nshelves as on ours.\" So as yet we buy only current literature. We\nrarely purchase any book in more than two volumes. We have a good\nliberal assortment of modern novels-but they are selected with some\ncare. We sprinkle in a good proportion of popular history and\npopular science. The consequence is our library is used. The books\nreally circulate. Our conversation-room has proved quite as popular\nas the library. It is furnished with chess and checkers. What is\nmore important it is furnished with young ladies. For the Wheathedge\nlibrary knows neither male nor female. And the young men find our\ncheckers more attractive than Tom Poole's cards. They are ready to\nexchange the stale tobacco smoke and bad whiskey of his bar-room for\nthe fair, fresh faces that make our reading-room so attractive. The\nboys, too, as a class are very willing to give up the shameless\npictorial literature of his free reading-room for Harper's and the\nIllustrated Christian Weekly. In a word the Wheathedge library\nbecame so universally popular that when the opening of the school\nthreatened to crowd us out of our quarters, there was no difficulty\nin raising the money to build a small house, large enough for our\npresent and prospective needs. The only objection was Mr. Hardcap.\nFor Mr. Hardcap does not approve of novels.\n\nThis objection came out when I first asked him for a subscription,\npayable in work on the new building.\n\n\"Do you have novels in your library?\" said he.\n\n\"Of course,\" said I.\n\n\"Then,\" said he, \"don't come to me for any help. I won't do anything\nto encourage the reading of novels.\"\n\n\"You do not approve of novels, then, I judge, Mr. Hardcap?\" said I.\n\n\"Approve of novels!\" said he, energetically. \"If I had my way, the\npestiferous things should never come near my house. I totally\ncondemn them. I don't see how any consistent Christian can suffer\nthem. They're a pack of lies, anyhow.\"\n\n\"Do you not think,\" said I, \"that we ought to discriminate; that\nthere are different sorts of novels, and that we ought not to\ncondemn the good with the bad?\"\n\n\"I don't believe in no kind of fiction, nohow,\" said Mr. Hardcap,\nemphatically. \"What we want is facts, Mr. Laicus-hard facts. That's\nwhat I was brought up on when I was a boy, and that's what I mean to\nbring my boys up on.\"\n\nI thought of Mr. Gradgrind, but said nothing.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Hardcap, half soliloquizing, \"there is Charles\nDickens. He was nothing in the world but a novel writer, and they\nburied him in Westminster Cathedral, as though he were a saint; and\npreached sermons about him, and glorified him in our religious\npapers. Sallie is crazy to get a copy of his works, and even wife\nwants to read some of them. But they'll have to go out of my house\nto do it, I tell ye. Why, they couldn't make more to do if it was\nBunyan or Milton.\"\n\n\"Bunyan?\" said I. \"Do you mean the author of Pilgrim's Progress?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said he: \"that is a book. Why, it's worth a hundred of your\nmodern novels.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" said I. \"Pilgrim's Progress, if I mistake not, is\nfiction.\"\n\n\"Oh! well,\" said .Mr. Hardcap, \"that's a very different thing. It\nisn't a novel. It's a allegory. That's altogether different.\"\n\n\"What is the difference?\" said I.\n\n\"Oh! well,\" said he, \"that's altogether different. I suppose it is\nfictitious; but then it's altogether different. It's a allegory.\"\n\n\"Now I don't approve,\" continued Mr. Hardcap, without explaining\nhimself any further, \"of our modern Sunday-school libraries. I have\ncomplained a good deal, but it's no use. Tom brings home a story\nbook every Sunday. I can't very well say he shan't take any books\nout of the library, and I don't want to take him out of\nSunday-school. But I don't like these Sunday-school stories. They\nare nothing but little novels anyhow. And they're all lies. I don't\nbelieve in telling stories to teach children. If I had my way, there\nwouldn't be but one book in the library. That would be the Bible.\"\n\n\"You could hardly leave in all the Bible,\" said I. \"You would have\nto cross out the parable of the prodigal son.\"\n\n\"The parable of the prodigal son!\" exclaimed Mr. Hardcap, in\nastonishment.\n\n\"Yes,\" said I: \"that is, if you did not allow any fiction in your\nSunday reading.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said he, \"that's very different. That's not fiction; that's a\nparable. That's entirely different. Besides,\" continued he, \"I don't\nknow what right you have to assume that it is a story at all. I have\nno doubt that it is true. Christ says distinctly that a man had two\nsons, and one came and asked him for his portion. He tells it all\nfor a fact, and I think it very dishonoring to him to assume that it\nis not. I have no doubt that he knew just such a case.\"\n\n\"And the same thing is true of the parable of the lost sheep, and\nthe lost piece of money, and the sower, and the merchantman, and the\npearl, and the unfaithful steward?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"I have no doubt of it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"that is at least a new view of Scripture teaching.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt it is the correct one,\" said he. \"I don't believe\nthere is any fiction in the Bible at all.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"when you get home you read Jotham's story of the\ntrees, in the Book of Judges; I think it's about the ninth chapter.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said he; \"but if it's in the Bible I have no doubt it is\ntrue, no doubt whatever.\"\n\nBut in spite of Mr. Hardcap, the Wheathedge library flourished; and\nnext week our new quarters are to be dedicated to the cause of\nliterature and temperance by a public meeting. And I am assured by\nthose that know, that Tom Poole's business was never so poor as it\nhas been since we started our opposition to his free reading-room.\n\nMiss Moore asked Maurice Mapleson last week to suggest a subject for\nan illuminated motto to hang on the wall of the reading-room over\nthe librarian's desk.\n\n\"Overcome evil with good,\" said he.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nMaurice Mapleson Tries an Experiment.\n\n\n\n\n\nFIVE or six weeks ago Maurice came to me in some excitement. \"Mr.\nLaicus,\" said he, \"is it true that ten of you gentlemen have to\ncontribute thirty dollars a piece this year to make up my salary?\"\n\n\"No,\" said I.\n\n\"Why, John,\" said Jennie.\n\n\"We didn't have to do it,\" I continued. But in point of fact we do\nit.\"\n\n\"I don't like that,\" said he soberly. \"If the church can't pay me\nfifteen hundred dollars a year I do not want to receive it. I\nthought the church was strong and well able to do all it professed\nto do.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Mapleson,\" said I, \"you attend to the spiritual\ninterests of the church and leave its finances to us. If we cannot\npay you all we have promised, we will come and beg off. Till then\nyou just take it for granted that it's all right.\"\n\nMaurice shook his head.\n\n\"Why, my dear friend,\" said I, \"how much do you suppose I pay for\npew rent?\"\n\n\"I haven't the least idea,\" said he.\n\n\"Fifty dollars,\" said I. \"That provides myself and wife and Harry\nwith a pew in church twice on the Sabbath if we want it. It pays for\nHarry's Sabbath-school instruction and for your service as a pastor\nto me and to mine. But we will make no account of that. Fifty\ndollars a Sabbath is a dollar a week, fifty cents a service, twenty\ncents a head. Harry half price, and the Sabbath-school, and the\nprayer-meetings, and the pastoral work thrown in. It is cheaper than\nany lecturer would give it to us, and a great deal better quality\ntoo. My pew rent isn't what I pay for the support of the Gospel. It\nis what I pay for my own spiritual bread and butter. It won't hurt\nme, nor Deacon Goodsole, nor Mr. Wheaton, nor Mr. Gowett, nor any\none else on that list to contribute thirty dollars more for the\ncause of Christ and the good of the community.\"\n\nMaurice shook his head thoughtfully, but said nothing more about it\nthen, and the matter dropped.\n\nThe last week in December we have our annual meeting. It is\ngenerally rather a stupid affair. The nine or ten gentlemen who\nconstitute the board of trustees meet in the capacity of an\necclesiastical society. In the capacity of a board of trustees they\nreport to themselves in the capacity of a society. In the capacity\nof a society they accept the report which they have presented in the\ncapacity of a board of trustees, and pass unanimously a resolution\nof thanks to the board, i. e. themselves, for the efficient and\nenergetic manner in which they have discharged their duties. They\nthen ballot in a solemn manner for themselves for the ensuing year\nand elect the ticket without opposition. And the annual meeting is\nover.\n\nBut this year our annual meeting was a very different affair. The\nSabbath preceding, the parson preached a sermon on the text: \"The\npoor have the Gospel preached to them.\" In this sermon he advocated\na free-pew system. His arguments were not very fresh or new (there\nis not much that is new to be said on the subject) till he came to\nthe close. Then he startled us all by making the following\nproposition:\n\n\"The chief objection,\" said he, \"to the free-pew system is the\nquestion, 'Where shall the money come from?' From God, I answer. I\nbelieve if we feed his poor, he will feed us. I, for one, am willing\nto trust Him, at least for one year.\"\n\nIt slipped out very naturally, and there was a little laugh in the\ncongregation at the preacher's expense. But he was very much in\nearnest.\n\n\"I propose to the society to throw open the doors of this church,\nand declare all the pews free. Provide envelopes and papers, and\nscatter them through the pews. Let each man write thereon what he is\nwilling to pay for the support of the Gospel, and whether he will\npay it weekly, monthly, quarterly, semi-quarterly or annually. Give\nthese sealed envelopes to me. No one shall know what they contain\nbut myself and the treasurer. I will pay out of the proceeds all the\ncurrent expenses of the church, except the interest. Whatever\nremains, I will take as my salary. The interest, the trustees will\nprovide out of the plate collections and with the aid of the ladies.\nThis is my proposition. Consider it seriously, earnestly,\nprayerfully, and come together next Wednesday night to act\nintelligently upon it.\"\n\nI hardly think the minister's eloquence would have sufficed to carry\nthis plan, but the treasurer's balance-sheet helped his case\namazingly.\n\nI supposed there would be a small deficit, but thought I knew it\ncould not be very great. But I had not reckoned on the genius for\nincapacity which characterises church boards. To have the unusual\ndeficit, which was involved by the increase of the parson's salary,\nprovided for by a special subscription was more than they could\nbear. They had regarded it as their duty, made plain by the example\nof their predecessors in office for many years, to bring the church\nin debt, and nobly had they fulfilled their duty. On the strength of\nthat extraordinary subscription they had rushed into extraordinary\nexpenditures with a looseness that was marvellous to behold.\n\nHere is the annual exhibit as it appears in the treasurer's report:\n\nBALANCE SHEET.\nCr.\nPew-rents\n$1,250.00\nSunday Collections\n325.25\nReceived by a Ladies' Fair\n113.34\nSpecial Subscription\n300.00\n\n$1,988.59\n\nDr.\nMinister's Salary\n$1,500.00\nOrganist (a new expenditure advocated by Mr. Wheaton because of the Special\nSubscription), Six months' salary\n100.00\nChurch Repairs, (a new fence and new blinds, &c., advocated by Mr. Wheaton\nbecause of the Special Subscription)\n134.75\nReed Organ for the Sabbath-School (advocated by Mr. Wheaton because of the\nSpecial Subscription)\n150.00\nInterest on Mortgage\n315.00\nSexton\n200.00\nFire, lights and incidentals\n225.00\nCommission for collecting pew-rents\n55.75\n\n$2,680.50\n\n1,988.59\nDeficit\n$691.91\n\nOf course, the minister's salary was behind; and, of course, the\nminister was behind to the grocer, and the baker, and the butcher,\nand the dry-goods dealer; and, of course, everybody felt blue. There\nwas a good deal of informal discussion before the parson's\nproposition was taken up. Mr. Hardcap wanted to decrease the\nminister's salary. Mr. Wheaton wanted to raise the pew rents. Mr.\nLeacock thought Mr. Wheaton could afford to give up his mortgage on\nthe church. Mr. Line proposed to take up a subscription, pay the\nbalance off on the spot, and begin the new year afresh. Mr. Gazbag\nthought it ought to be left to the ladies to clear off the debt with\na concert or something of that sort. Mr. Cerulian thought (though he\nsaid it very quietly) that if we had a minister who could draw\nbetter, we shouldn't have any difficulty.\n\nThe parson kept his own counsel till these various plans had been,\none after another, proposed and abandoned. Then he again proposed\nhis own.\n\n\"I do not want,\" he said, \"any more salary than this church and\ncongregation can well afford to give. I am willing if it is poor to\nshare its poverty. I believe if it is prosperous it will be willing\nto share with me its prosperity. I have studied this matter a good\ndeal; I believe the pew rent system to be thoroughly bad. It\nexcludes the poor. What is more to the purpose it excludes those\nwhom we most need to reach. The men who most need the Gospel will\nnot pay for it. The law of supply and demand does not apply. No man\npays a pew rent who does not already at least respect religion, if\nhe does not personally practise it. The influence within the church\nof selling the Gospel in open market is as deadly as its influence\nwithout. It creates a caste system. Practically our pews are\nclassified. We have a parquette, a dress circle, a family circle,\nand an amphitheatre. The rich and poor do not meet together. We are\nnot one in Christ Jesus. Moreover I believe it to be as bad\nfinancially as it is morally. When an American makes a bargain he\nwants to make a good one. What he buys he wants to get as cheap as\nhis neighbor. If you rent your pews, every renter expects to get his\nseat at the lowest rates. But Americans are liberal in giving. If\nthey contributed to the support of the Gospel, if what they gave the\nchurch was a free gift, I believe they would give with a free hand.\nAt all events I would like to try the experiment. It can be no worse\nthan it has been this year. The trustees can have no difficulty in\nraising interest money from the plate collections and a special\nsubscription. There can be no injustice in requiring them to secure\na special fund for any special expenditures. And all the other\nexpenditures I will provide for myself out of the free gifts of the\ncongregation. I am willing to run all the risks. It may do good. It\ncan do the church no harm.\"\n\nA long discussion followed this proposal.\n\nMr. Wheaton was at first utterly opposed to the plan. He thought it\nwas tempting Providence to make no more adequate provision for our\ndebts. Six of us quietly agreed to assume the mortgage debt, that is\nto say to insure him that the plate collections and the ladies\ntogether would pay the interest promptly. That changed his view. He\nsaid that if the minister had a mind to risk his salary on such a\ncrazy scheme, very well. And at the last he voted for it.\n\nMr. Hardcap thought it was a first-rate plan. It was noticed\nafterward that he moved from a plain seat in the gallery to a\ncushioned and carpeted seat in the center aisle. Whether he paid any\nmore contribution than he had before paid of pew rent, nobody but\nthe parson knows. But nobody suspects him of doing so.\n\nMrs. Potiphar thought it was horrid. What was to prevent any common,\nlow-born fellow, any carpenter's son, right from his shop, coming\nand sitting right alongside her Lillian? She couldn't sanction such\ncommunist notions in the church.\n\nDeacon Goodsole warmly favored the minister's idea-was its most\nearnest advocate, and was the man who first started the plan for\nbuying Mr. Wheaton's acquiescence.\n\nMr. Line hadn't a great deal of faith in it. This was not the way\nthe church used to raise money when he was a boy. Still, he wanted\nto support the minister, and he wanted to have the poor reached, and\nhe hadn't anything to say against it.\n\nSquire Rawlins said, \"Go ahead. The minister takes all the risk,\ndon't you see? He's a big fool in my opinion. But there's no law\nagin a man makin' a fool of himself, ef he wants ter.\"\n\nMiss Moore organized that very night a double force to carry the\nplan into effect. One was a ladies' society to pay the interest; the\nother was a band of workers, young men and young women, to go out on\nSunday afternoons and invite the people who now do not go anywhere\nto church, to come to ours.\n\nOn the final vote the plan was carried without a dissenting voice. I\nbeg Mrs. Potiphar's pardon. Her voice was heard in very decided\ndissent as the meeting broke up. But as the ladies do not vote in\nthe Calvary Presbyterian Church, her protest did not prevent the\nvote from being unanimous.\n\nMaurice Mapleson is sanguine of results, I am not. I am afraid he\nwill come out bankrupt himself at the end of the year. I wanted to\nraise a special subscription quietly to ensure his salary. But he\nwould not hear of it. He replied to my suggestion, \"I said I would\ntrust the Lord, and I will. If you want to add to your envelope\ncontribution, very well. But I do not want any more than that will\ngive me.\"\n\nBut one thing I notice and record here. Our congregation have\nincreased from ten to twenty per cent. Miss Moore's invitations have\nmet with far greater success than I anticipated. I never could get\nany of the boys from the Mill village to come to church at all\nregularly under the old system. When this change was made I gave\nnotice of it, and now over half my Bible-class are in the\ncongregation. But I can get no intimation from Maurice how the plan\nis prospering financially. All he will say is, \"We shall all know at\nthe close of the year.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nMr. Hardcap's Family Prayers.\n\n\n\n\n\n\"JENNIE,\" said I, the other evening, \"I should like to go and make a\ncall at Mr. Hardcap's.\"\n\nOur new pastor had preached a sermon on that unapplied passage of\nScripture, Luke xiv: 12-14. It had made a great stir in our little\nvillage. Mr. Wheaton thought it was a grand sermon, but\nimpracticable. Mrs. Potiphar resented it as personal. Deacon\nGoodsole thought it was good sound doctrine. I thought I would give\nthe sermon a trial; meanwhile I reserved my judgment.\n\nIt is not a bad method, by the way, of judging a sermon to try it\nand see how it works in actual experiment.\n\nJennie assented with alacrity to my proposition; her toilet did not\ntake long, and to Mr. Hardcap's we went.\n\nIt was very evident that they did not go into society or expect\ncallers. In answer to our knock we heard the patter of a child's\nfeet on the hall floor and Susie opened the door. As good fortune\nwould have it, the sitting-room door at the other end of the hall\nstood invitingly open, and so, without waiting for ceremony, I\npushed right forward to the common room, which a great blazing wood\nfire illuminated so thoroughly that the candles were hardly\nnecessary. Mrs. Hardcap started in dismay to gather up her basket of\nstockings, but on my positive assurance that we should leave\nforthwith if she stopped her work she sat down to it again. Luckily\nthe night was cold and there was no fire in the stove of the\ncheerless and inhospitable parlor. So they were fain to let us share\nwith them the cheery blaze of the cozy sitting-room. We did not\nstart out till after seven, and we had not been in the room more\nthan ten minutes before the old-fashioned clock in the corner rang\nout the departure of the hour and ushered in eight o'clock--whereat\nJames laid aside his book, and at a signal from his father brought\nhim the family Bible.\n\n\"We always have family prayers at eight o'clock,\" said Mr. Hardcap,\n\"before the children go to bed; and I never let anything interfere\nwith it.\"\n\nThis in the tone of a defiant martyr; as one under the impression\nthat we were living in the middle ages and that I was an Inquisitor\nready to march the united family to the stake on the satisfactory\nevidence that the reading of the Bible was maintained in it.\n\nI begged him to proceed, and he did so, the defiant spirit a little\nmollified.\n\nHe opened at a mark somewhere in Numbers. It was a chapter devoted\nto the names of the tribes and their families. Poor Mr. Hardcap! If\nhe was defiant at the first threatening of martyrdom, he endured the\ninfliction of the torture with a resolute bravery worthy of a\ncovenanter. The extent to which he became entangled in those names,\nthe new baptism they received at his hands, the singular contortions\nof which he proved himself capable in reproducing them, the\nextraordinary and entirely novel methods of pronunciation which he\nevolved for that occasion, and the heroic bravery with which he\nstruggled through, awoke my keenest sympathies. Words which he\nfought and vanquished in the first paragraph rose in rebellion in a\nsecond to be fought and vanquished yet again. The chapter at length\ndrew to an end. I saw to my infinite relief that he was at last\nemerging from this interminable feast of names. What was my horror\nto see him turn the page and enter with fresh zeal upon the conquest\nof a second chapter.\n\nLittle Charlie (five years old) was sound asleep in his mother's\narms. Her eyes were fixed on vacancy and her mind interiorly\ncalculating something. I wondered not that James snored audibly on\nthe sofa. Susie never took her eyes off her father, but sat as one\nthat watches to see how a task is done. My wife listened for a\nlittle while with averted face, then wandered off, as she afterwards\ntold me, to a mental calculation of her resources and expenses for\nthe next month. And still Mr. Hardcap rolled out those census tables\nof Judea's ancient history. It was not till he had finished three\nchapters that at length he closed the book and invited me to lead in\nprayer.\n\nHalf an hour later, after Jamie had been roused up from his corner\nof the sofa and sent off to bed, and Charlie had been undressed and\nput to bed without being more than half aroused, Mrs. Hardcap asked\nmy advice as to this method of reading the Bible.\n\n\"Mr. Hardcap,\" said she, \"read a statement the other day to the\neffect that by reading three chapters every day and five on Sunday\nhe could finish the Bible in a year. And he is going through it in\nregular course. But I sometimes doubt whether that is the best way.\nI am sure our children do not take the interest in it which they\nought to; and I am afraid those chapters of hard names do not always\nprofit me.\"\n\nThe martyr in Mr. Hardcap re-asserted itself.\n\n\"All Scripture,\" said he solemnly, \"is given by inspiration of God\nand is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction and for\ninstruction in righteousness. We cannot afford to pass by any part\nof the word of God.\"\n\n\"What do you think about it, Mr. Laicus?\" said Mrs. Hardcap.\n\n\"Think!\" said I; \"I should be afraid to say what I think lest your\nhusband should account me a hopeless and irreclaimable unbeliever.\"\n\n\"Speak out,\" said Mr. Hardcap; \"as one who at the stake should say,\n'pile the fuel on the flame, and try my constancy to its utmost.'\n\"Where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"if I were to speak out, I should say that this way\nof reading the Bible reminds me of the countryman who went to a city\nhotel and undertook to eat right down the bill of fare, supposing he\nought not to call for fish till he had eaten every kind of soup. It\nis as if one being sick, should go to the apothecary's shop, and\nbeginning on one side, go right down the store taking in due order\nevery pill, potion, and powder, till he was cured-or killed.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap shook his head resolutely. \"Is it not true,\" said he,\n\"that all Scripture is profitable?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I, \"but not that it is all equally profitable for all\noccasions. All the food on the table is profitable, but not to be\neaten at one meal. All the medicine in the apothecary's shop is\nprofitable, but not for the same disease.\"\n\n\"There is another thing,\" said Mrs. Hardcap, \"that I cannot help\nbeing doubtful about. James is learning the New Testament through as\na punishment.\"\n\n\"As a punishment!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she. \"That is, Mr. Hardcap has given him the New\nTestament, and for his little offences about the house he allots him\nso many verses to learn; sometimes only ten or twelve, sometimes a\nwhole chapter. I am afraid it will give the poor boy a distaste for\nthe word of God.\"\n\n\"There is no danger,\" said Mr. Hardcap, oracularly. \"The word of God\nis sharper than a two edged sword, and is quick even to the dividing\nasunder of the joints and the marrow. It is the book to awaken\nconviction of sin, the proper book for the sinner. There is no book\nso fitting to bring him to a sense of his sinfulness and awaken in\nhim a better mind.\"\n\n\"And how,\" said I, \"do you find it practically works? Does he seem\nto love his Bible?\"\n\n\"Says he hates it awfully,\" said his mother.\n\n\"Such,\" said Mr. Hardcap, \"is the dreadful depravity of the human\nheart. It is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.\"\n\nIt was quite idle to argue with Mr. Hardcap. We left him\nunconvinced, and I doubt not he is still reading his three chapters\na day and five on Sunday. But I pity poor James from the bottom of\nmy heart; and as my wife and I walked home I could not but help\ncontrasting in my own mind Mr. Hardcap's way of reading the Bible\nand that which Deacon Goodsole pursues in his family.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nIn Darkness.\n\n\n\n\n\nLAST Tuesday night Jennie met me at the station. It is unusual for\nher to do so. The surprise was a delightful one to me. But as I sat\ndown beside her in the basket wagon she did not greet me as joyously\nas usual. Her mien was so sober that I asked her at once the\nquestion:\n\n\"Jennie, what is the matter? You look sick.\"\n\n\"I am sick, John,\" said she; \"sick at heart. Willie Gear is dead.\"\n\n\"Willie Gear dead!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Jennie. \"He was skating on the pond. I suppose this warm\nweather has weakened the ice. It gave way. Three of the boys went in\ntogether. The other two got out. But Willie was carried under the\nice.\"\n\nJennie was driving. Instead of turning up the hill from the depot\nshe kept down the river road. \"I thought you would want to go down\nthere at once,\" said she. \"And so I left baby with Nell and came\ndown for you.\"\n\nWe rode along in silence. Willie Gear was his father's pride and\npet. He was a noble boy. He inherited his mother's tenderness and\npatience, and with them his father's acute and questioning\nintellect. He was a curious combination of a natural skeptic and a\nnatural believer. He had welcomed the first step toward converting\nour Bible-class into a mission Sabbath-school, and had done more\nthan any one else to fill it up with boys from the Mill village. He\nwas a great favorite with them all and their natural leader in\nvillage sports and games. There was no such skater or swimmer for\nhis age as Willie Gear, and he was the champion ball-player of the\nvillage. But I remember him best as a Sabbath-school scholar. I can\nsee even now his earnest upturned face and his large blue eyes,\nlooking strait into his mother's answering gaze, and drinking in\nevery word she uttered to that mission-class which he had gathered\nand which she every Sabbath taught. He was not very fortunate in his\nteacher in our own church Sabbath-school. For he took nothing on\ntrust and his teacher doubted nothing. I can easily imagine how his\nsoul filled with indignation at the thought of Abraham's offering up\nhis only son as a burnt sacrifice, and how with eager questioning he\nplied his father, unsatisfied himself with the assurances of one who\nhad never experienced a like perplexity, and therefore did not know\nhow to cure it.\n\nAnd Willie was really gone. Would it soften the father's heart and\nteach him the truth of Pascal's proverb that \"The heart has reasons\nof its own that the reason knows not of;\" or would it blot out the\nlast remnant of faith, and leave Mr. Gear without a God as he had\nbeen without a Bible and without a Saviour?\n\nI was still pondering these problems, wildly thinking, not\naimlessly, yet to no purpose, when we reached the familiar cottage.\nIs it indeed true that nature has no sympathy? There seemed to me to\nbe on all around a hush that spoke of death. There needed no\nsorrowful symbol of crape upon the door; and there was none. I\nalmost think I should have known that death was in the house had no\none told me.\n\nAs I was fastening my horse Mr. Hardcap came up. We entered the gate\ntogether.\n\n\"This is a hard experience for Mr. Gear,\" said I to Mr. Hardcap.\n\n\"The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether,\"\nreplied Mr. Hardcap, severely.\n\nI could feel Jennie tremble on my arm, but I made no response to Mr.\nHardcap.\n\nMr. Gear opened the door for us himself before we had time to knock.\nHe was perfectly calm and self-possessed. Jennie said afterward she\nshould not have guessed, to have seen him elsewhere, that he had\neven heard of Willie's death. But I noticed that he uttered no\ngreeting. He motioned us into the sitting-room without a word.\n\nHere, on a sofa, lay, like a white statue, the form of the dear boy.\nBy the side of the sofa sat the mother, her eyes red and swollen\nwith much weeping. But the fierceness of sorrow had passed; and now\nshe was almost as quiet as the boy whose sleep she seemed to watch;\nshe was quite as pale.\n\nShe rose to meet us as we entered, and offered me her hand. Jennie\nput her arm around the poor mother's waist and kissed her tenderly.\nBut still nothing was said.\n\nMr. Hardcap was the first to break the silence. \"This is a solemn\njudgment,\" said he.\n\nMr. Gear made no reply.\n\n\"I hope, my friend,\" continued Mr. Hardcap, \"that you will heed the\nlesson God is a teachin' of you, and see how fearful a thing it is\nto have an unbeliev'n heart. God will not suffer us to rest in our\nsin of unbelief. If we lay up our treasures on earth where moth and\nrust doth corrupt, we must expect they will take to themselves wings\nand fly away.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap's horrible mutilation of Scripture had always impressed\nme in a singular manner. But I think its ludicrous side never so\naffected me before. What is it in me that makes me always appreciate\nmost keenly the ludicrous in seasons of the greatest solemnity and\ndistress? The absurdity of his misapplication of the sacred text\nmingled horribly with a sense of the insupportable anguish I knew he\nwas causing. And yet I knew not how to interfere.\n\n\"I hope he was prepared,\" said Mr. Hardcap.\n\n\"I hope so,\" said Mr. Gear quietly.\n\n\"He was such a noble fellow,\" said Jennie to the weeping mother. She\nsaid it softly, but Mr. Hardcap's ears caught the expression.\n\n\"Nobility, ma'am,\" said he, \"isn't a savin' grace. It's a nateral\nvirtoo. The question is, did he have the savin' grace of faith and\nrepentance?\"\n\n\"I believe,\" said Mrs. Gear, earnestly, \"that Willie was a\nChristian, if ever there was one, Mr. Hardcap.\"\n\n\"He hadn't made no profession of religion you know, ma'am,\" said Mr.\nHardcap. \"And the heart is deceitful above all things and\ndesperately wicked.\"\n\nMr. Hardcap is very fond of quoting that text. I wonder if he ever\napplies it to himself.\n\n\"It seems kind o' strange now that he should be taken away so sudden\nlike,\" continued Mr. Hardcap, \"without any warnin'. And you know\nwhat the Scripture tells us. 'The wages of sin is death.'\"\n\nMr. Gear could keep silence no longer. \"I wish then,\" said he\nhoarsely, \"God would pay me my wages, and let me go.\"\n\n\"Oh! Thomas,\" said his wife appealingly. Then she went up to Mr.\nHardcap, and laid her hand gently on his arm. \"Mr. Hardcap,\" said\nshe, \"it was very good of you to call on us in our sorrow. And I am\nsure that you want to comfort us, and do us good. But I don't\nbelieve my husband will get any good just now from what you have to\nsay. We are stunned by the blow that came so suddenly, and must have\na little time to recover from it. Would you feel offended if I asked\nyou to go away and call again some other time?\"\n\n\"The word must be spoken in season and out of season,\" said Mr.\nHardcap doggedly. Nevertheless he turned to leave. He offered his\nhand to Mr. Gear, who was leaning with his head upon his hand\nagainst the mantel-piece, and possibly did not notice the proffered\nsalutation. At all events he never moved. Mr. Hardcap looked at him\na moment, opened his mouth as if to speak, but apparently\nreconsidered his purpose, for he closed it again without speaking,\nand so left the room. Mrs. Gear went with him to the door, where I\nheard her ask him to pray for her and for her husband, and where I\nheard him answer something about a sin unto death that could not be\nprayed for. Jennie followed Mrs. Gear softly out; and so Mr. Gear\nand I were left alone.\n\nAlone with the dead.\n\n\"That's your Christian consolation,\" said Mr. Gear bitterly.\n\n\"Is that just to your wife?\" I answered him quietly.\n\n\"No! It is not just to my wife,\" he replied. \"I would give all I\npossess to have her faith. She is almost heart-broken,--and yet-yet-I\nwho ought to sustain her would be crazed with grief if I had not her\nto lean upon. And she-she leans on I know not what. Oh! if I did but\nknow.\"\n\n\"She leans on Him who not in vain Experienced every human pain,\" I\nanswered softly.\n\n\"He was such a noble boy,\" continued Mr. Gear speaking half to\nhimself, and half to me. \"He was so pure, so truthful, so\nchivalrous, so considerate of his mother's happiness and of mine.\nAnd he was beginning to teach me, teach me that I did not know all.\nI was afraid of my own philosophy for him. I wanted him to have his\nmother's faith, though I never told him so. I never perplexed him\nwith my own doubtings. I solved what I could of his, I was coming to\nbelieve little by little that there was a clearer, better light than\nthat I walked in. I was hoping that he might find it and walk in it.\nI even dreamed, sometimes, to myself, that he would yet learn how to\nshow it to me. And now he is gone, and the glimmer of light is gone,\nand the last hope for me is gone with him.\"\n\n\"He is gone,\" I said softly, \"to walk in that clearer, better light,\nand beckons you to follow.\"\n\nMr. Gear made no answer, hardly seemed to note the interruption.\n\n\"And this is the bitterness of the blow to me,\" he continued, still\nspeaking half to me, half to himself. \"I thought I believed in\nimmortality. I thought I believed in God. These two beliefs at least\nwere left me. And now nothing is left. My wife says 'he is not dead\nbut sleepeth.' But I cannot see it. To me he is gone, for ever gone.\nIf on the other side of that veil which hides him from me, that\nmystic something which we call his spirit still lingers, I do not\nsee it. I had a dream of that better land once and called it faith.\nBut this cruel blow has wakened me, and the dream has passed in the\nvery hour when I need it most. And nothing is left me; not even that\npoor vision.\"\n\n\"Not even God?\" said I softly.\n\n\"Not even God,\" he answered with terrible deliberation. \"For a bad\nGod is worse than no God at all. And how can I believe that God is\ngood? He looks down on our happy home. He looks on our dear boy, its\nlife and joy. He knows how our life is wrapped up in him. He sees\nhow little by little Willie is leading me up into a higher, happier,\nholier life. And then He strikes him down, and leaves my wife\nheart-broken, and me in darkness, bereft by one blow of my child and\nof my faith.\"\n\nThen he pointed to the dead boy who lay on the lounge before us.\n\"How can I reconcile this with the love of God?\" he cried. \"How can\nyou, Mr. Laicus?\"\n\nAll bitterness was gone now. He looked me earnestly in the eye, and\nasked eagerly, as one who longed for a solution, and yet was in\ndespair of finding it.\n\n\"I cannot,\" I answered, \"and dare not try. If I had only life's book\nto read, Mr. Gear, I should not believe in a God of love. I should\nturn Persian, and believe in two gods, one of love and good-will,\none of hate and malice.\"\n\nHe looked at me in questioning surprise.\n\n\"Love, Mr. Gear, is its own demonstration. I know that God loves\nme.\"\n\n\"How?\" said he.\n\n\"How?\" said I. \"Do you remember when we first met, Mr. Gear, that\nyou told me your God was everywhere, in every brook, and mountain,\nand flower, and leaf, and storm, and ray of sunshine.\"\n\nHe nodded his head reflectively, as one recalling a half forgotten\nconversation.\n\n\"My God is in the hearts of those that seek Him,\" said I. \"And in my\nheart I carry an assurance of His love that life cannot disturb. I\nknow His love as the babe knows its mother's love, lying upon her\nbreast. It knows her love though it neither understands her nature\nnor her ways.\"\n\nHe shook his head sadly.\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" said he, \"I believe you, but I do not comprehend you.\nI believe that you have a faith that is worth the having. I would\ngive all I possess or ever possessed to share it with you in this\nhour. I do not know-I sometimes think it is only a pleasant dream.\nWould God I could sleep and dream such dreams.\"\n\n\"It is no dream, Mr. Gear, but truth and soberness,\" said I. \"A\ndream does not last through eighteen centuries, and raise half a\nworld from barbarism to civilization. A dream does not carry mothers\nthrough such sorrows as this with outlooking anticipations so clear\nas those which give Mrs. Gear her radiant hope. No! Mr. Gear. It is\nyou who have been dreaming, and life's sorrow has awakened you.\"\n\n\"Mr. Laicus,\" he cried almost passionately, \"I said I believed in\nnothing. But it is not true. I have no creed. I do not even believe\nin God or immortality any more. I have no God. I am without hope.\nBut I believe in my wife. I believe in you. I believe that you and\nshe have something-I know not what-that supports you in temptation\nand sustains you in sorrow. Tell me what it is. Tell me how I may\nget it. I will cast my pride away. I would believe. Help my\nunbelief.\"\n\n\"Mr. Gear,\" said I, laying my hand upon his arm, \"here in the\npresence of this dear boy, be the solemn witness of your petition\nand your vow, will you kneel with me to ask of God what you have\nasked of me, but what He alone can give you, and record before Him\nthe promise you have made to me, but which He alone can receive at\nyour hands?\"\n\nHe made no answer-hesitated a moment-then knelt, with the dear boy's\nhand fast clasped in his, while kneeling at his side I echoed the\nprayer he had already uttered: \"I believe; help Thou mine unbelief.\"\n\nAnd as we rose I saw the tears streaming down his softened face, the\nfirst tears he had shed since I had entered his house. I knew that\nWillie had taught him more in his death than by his life, and felt\nthat now, to my own heart though not to his, I could answer the\nquestion he had asked me, \"How can you reconcile this with the love\nof God?\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nGod said, \"Let there be Light.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nFROM Mr. Gear's Jennie and I drove directly to Maurice Mapleson's.\nFortunately we found him at home. Briefly I told him of my visit.\n\n\"What can we do,\" I said at the close, \"to save this man from the\ndespair of utter skepticism?\"\n\n\"He is in good hands,\" said Mr. Mapleson, with calm assurance.\n\n\"No! Mr. Mapleson,\" said I, \"I can do nothing more with him. So long\nas I had only the intellect to deal with, I thought I knew what to\nsay and when to keep silence. But I dare neither speak nor keep\nsilence now.\"\n\n\"I did not mean your hands,\" said Mr. Mapleson.\n\n\"What then?\" said I.\n\n\"He is in God's hands,\" replied the pastor. \"God has taken him out\nof your hands into His own. Leave him there.\"\n\n\"Is there then nothing more to be done?\" I said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said he, \"but chiefly prayer.\"\n\nThen after a moment's pause he added: \"I believe, Mr. Laicus, in the\noft quoted and generally perverted promise: If two of you shall\nagree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be\ndone for them of my Father which is in heaven. I believe it was\nintended for just such exigencies as this. It is not a general\ncharter, but a special promise. Now is the time to plead it. Who\nbeside yourself in our church is Mr. Gear's most intimate\nacquaintance and warmest friend?\"\n\nI thought a moment before I answered. Then I replied, \"To be honest,\nMr. Mapleson, I do not believe there is one in the church who\nunderstands him. But Deacon Goodsole has had more to do with him\nthan any other, and perhaps understands him better.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Mr. Mapleson. \"Will you meet Deacon Goodsole at my\nhouse to-morrow evening, half an hour before the prayer-meeting, to\nunite in special prayer for Mr. Gear? I will see the Deacon. I am\nsure he will come.\"\n\n\"I am sure he will,\" I added warmly; \"as sure as that I will be\nthere myself.\"\n\nWith that I bade Mr. Mapleson good-night and hurried away. For tea\nhad long been waiting, the children's bed hour was near, and Jennie\nwas growing impatient to be at home.\n\nWednesday evening Mr. Mapleson, the Deacon and I went into our\nchurch prayer-meeting from half an hour spent in Mr. Mapleson's\nstudy in prayer for Mr. Gear. Mr. Mapleson had seen Mr. Gear that\nmorning. But the stricken father was very silent; he offered no\ncommunication; and Mr. Mapleson had pressed for none. I confess I\nhad hoped much from Mr. Mapleson's interview, and I went into the\nprayer-meeting burdened and sorrowful.\n\nI think I have already remarked that Mr. Mapleson's conduct of a\nprayer-meeting is exceedingly simple. He seldom says much. He sets\nus all an example of brevity. A few words of Scripture, a few\nearnest words of his own or a simple prayer, usually constitute his\nsole contribution to the meeting, which is more truly a meeting for\nprayer than any other prayer-meeting I ever attended.\n\nThat evening he seemed loath to open the meeting. We were little\nlate in beginning. When we did begin we were late in getting into\nthe heart of it. He called on one after another to lead in prayer. I\ndid not know but that he was going to omit the reading of Scripture\nand his own remarks altogether. Our prayer-meeting commences at\nhalf-past seven. The pastor never allows it to overrun an hour. And\nit was after eight when he arose to read. He read from the twelth\nchapter of Acts, the account of Peter's deliverance from prison. He\nread it from beginning to end without a comment, and then he spoke\nsubstantially as follows. His words were very simple. But that\nmeeting has left an impression upon me that time will never\nobliterate. I believe I could repeat his words to my dying day.\n\n\"A great deal is said and written,\" said he, \"about the apostolic\nfaith. But the apostles were men of like passions as we ourselves.\nThey fought the same doubts. They prayed in the same hesitating,\nuncertain, unbelieving way. Peter was in prison. His friends could\ndo nothing to effect his deliverance-nothing but pray. So they\nassembled for that purpose. They had the promise of the Lord, 'If\ntwo of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall\nask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in Heaven.' But\nthey did not believe it. They took some comfort in praying-as we do.\nBut they did not expect any answer to their prayers. The thought\nthat God might really afford deliverance never seems to have\noccurred to them. And when Peter, delivered by the angel of the\nLord, came knocking at the gate of the house, and the startled\ndisciples wondered what this midnight summons might mean, and the\nservant returned to report that Peter stood without, they laughed at\nher. You are mad, said they. And when he persisted in his knocking,\nand she in her assertion, they added with trembling and under-breath\nto one another, in mortal fear, \"It is his ghost.\" Anything was more\ncredible to their minds than that God should have answered their\nunited prayers.\n\n\"The promise of God is to the prayer of faith. But God is constantly\nbetter than his promise. He does not limit Himself by our\nexpectations. He does exceedingly abundantly more than we can ask or\neven think. We are not therefore to be driven from our knees by our\nwant of faith. I hear men talk as though prayer were of no avail\nunless we believe beforehand with assurance that we were going to\nreceive all for which we asked. It is not true. We are not heard for\nour much asking, nor for much our believing, but for God's great\nmercy's sake.\n\n\"When the mission was first started at the Mill village, if I have\nunderstood aright, it was started on the application of the children\nthemselves. They gathered around the school-house when the\nBible-class assembled. They had no expectation of instruction. When\nthe first person came to the door to invite them in, probably half\nof them scampered away in fright. Did they expect all that has come?\nOr would any Christian worker have said, 'They shall not have a\nSabbath-school till they ask it, and believe that it will be\nprovided for them?' And our Father does not wait for the prayer of\nfaith. Like the father in the parable he comes while we are yet afar\noff. If we have faith enough to look wistfully and yearningly for a\nblessing, He has superabundant love to grant it.\"\n\nAnd then he read, and we sang that most beautiful hymn:\n\n    \"Oh! see how Jesus trusts himself\n        Unto our childish love!\n    As though by His free ways with us\n        Our earnestness to prove.\n    His sacred name a common word\n        On earth He loves to hear;\n    There is no majesty in Him\n        Which love may not come near.\n    The light of love is round His feet,\n        His paths are never dim;\n    And He comes nigh to us when we\n        Dare not come nigh to Him.\n    Let us be simple with Him, then,\n        Not backward, stiff, nor cold,\n    As though our Bethlehem could be\n        What Sinai was of old.\"\n\nMr. Mapleson is very fond of music. Singing is a feature of all our\nprayer-meetings. I have heard him say that he thought more people\nhad been sung into the kingdom of heaven than were ever preached\ninto it. Usually his rich voice carries the bass almost alone. But\nduring the singing of this hymn he sat silent, leaning his head upon\nhis hand. This silence was so unusual that it almost oppressed the\nmeeting. When the hymn closed there was a solemn hush, a strange\nexpectancy; it seemed as though no one dared to break the sacred\nsilence.\n\nOur lecture-room occupies half the basement of the church. I sat in\na front seat, close by the little desk-a low platform furnished only\nwith a light stand on which rests the minister hymn-book and a\nsmall Bible. The room was full, but it had filled up after I came\nin.\n\nThe prolonged silence grew painful. Then I heard a rustle as of one\nrising to his feet. Then a voice; I startled, half turned round,\nrestrained myself, thank God, and only cast on Jennie, at my side, a\nlook of wonder and of thanksgiving. The voice was that of Mr. Gear.\n\n\"Fellow-townsmen,\" said he,--he spoke hesitatingly at first as one\nunused to the place and the assemblage,--\"I have come here to make a\nrequest. You are surprised to see me here. You will be more\nsurprised to hear my request. I want to ask you to pray for me.\"\n\nHe had recovered from his hesitancy now. But he spoke with an\nunnatural rapidity as though he were afraid of breaking down\naltogether if he stopped a moment to reflect upon himself and his\nposition.\n\n\"You know me only as an infidel. I am an infidel. At least I was.\nYes! I suppose I still am. My mother died when I was but a babe. My\nfather brought me up. He was orthodox of the orthodox. But oh! he\nwas a hard man. And he had a hard creed. I used to think the creed\nmade the man. Lately I have thought perhaps the man made the creed.\nAt all events both were hard. And I repudiated both. At fourteen I\nabhorred my father's creed. At eighteen I had left my father's roof.\nI have never returned except on occasional visits.\"\n\nHe had gained more self-possession now, and spoke more slowly and\ndistinctly. The room was as still as that room of death in which the\nevening before I had prayed with him, kneeling by the corpse of his\nlittle boy.\n\n\"What I have been at Wheathedge you know. I cannot come here\nto-night on a false pretence. I cannot call myself a desperate\nsinner. I have wronged no man. I have lived honestly and uprightly\nbefore you all. I owe no man anything. I have depended on my daily\nlabor for my daily bread. Out of it I have provided as I had\nopportunity for the poor around me. No one ever went hungry from my\ndoor away. My creed has been a short and simple one, 'Do unto others\nas you would have others do unto you.' I have tried to live\naccording to my creed.\n\n\"But I begin to think that my creed is not all the truth. Mr. Laicus\nfirst led me to think so. No! my boy first led me to think so. I was\nsatisfied with my creed for myself. But I was not satisfied with it\nfor my boy.\n\n\"Then I met Mr. Laicus. We commenced to study the Bible together. If\nhe had attempted to prove my opinions wrong I would have defended\nthem. But he did not. We studied the undoubted truth. The doubtful\npoints he left alone. I learned there was more in the Bible, more in\nhuman life and the human heart than I had thought. I grew little by\nlittle sure that I had not all the truth. But I was unwilling to\nconfess it. I was-yes, I was too proud.\n\n\"Yesterday\"--his voice trembled and he spoke with difficulty for a\nmoment, but quickly recovered himself--\"yesterday we lost the light\nand life out of our house. No! I am wrong. My light was\nextinguished, and my life was quenched in death. But my wife's was\nnot. The dear boy was as dear to her as he was to me. But she lives\nand hopes; I am in darkness and almost in despair. My father's hard\ncreed drove me into infidelity. My wife's, my friend's tenderer and\nhappier faith calls me back again. But I do not know the way.\n\n\"Last night, kneeling by the side of my dear boy, I vowed that I\nwould cast away my pride and seek that light in which my wife and my\nfriends are walking. An hour ago the thought occurred to me-where\nseek it better than where they are gathered who are walking in this\nlight? It seemed to me I could not come. But I had made the vow. I\nwould not go back from it. I have cast away my pride. Oh! friends,\nhelp me to find that light in which you walk.\n\n\"Do not misunderstand me. I will not have your prayers on false\npretences. I am, if not still an infidel, at least an unbeliever. I\nhave no creed. I only believe that there is light somewhere, for\nothers live in it. And I long to come into that light myself. Help\nme to find the way. And yet-I hardly know why I came here to-night.\nIt was not for counsel. I do not want words now. The kindliest only\npain me. Discussion and debate would arouse all the old devil of\ncontradiction in me. Leave me alone. No! Do not leave me alone. Give\nme your prayers. Give me your Christian sympathies. But for the\nrest, for a little while, I want to be alone.\"\n\nHe sat down. There was a moment of perfect stillness. Then the\npastor arose.\n\n\"Christ's sympathies are broader and His love is larger than we\nthink,\" said he. \"We hedge him round with our poor creeds, and shut\nHim up in our little churches, and think He works only in our\nappointed ways. He breaks over the barriers we put about him, and\ncarries on His work of love in hearts that we think are beyond all\nreach of Him or us. We cannot tell our brother how to find the\nlight. The light will find him. 'Jesus Christ is the light which\nlighteth every man that cometh into the world.' And when the heart\ncasts its pride away the light enters. For thus saith the High and\nLofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in\nthe high and holy place; with him also that is of a contrite and\nhumble spirit, to revive the heart of the contrite ones. Into His\nhands let us commit our brother's spirit.\"\n\nAnd he poured forth his soul in a prayer which carried heavenward\nmany an unbreathed cry for help, and received in the beating of many\nhearts a warmer, truer response than any spoken words could have\ngiven to it.\n\nAfter service I walked along with Maurice Mapleson.\n\n\"I was never more astonished in my life,\" said I, \"than when I heard\nMr. Gear's voice in the prayer-meeting to-night.\"\n\n\"I was not astonished,\" said Mr. Mapleson. \"I went to that\nprayer-meeting sure that God had in store for us a better answer to\nour prayers than we had thought. I do not believe in presentiments;\nbut I had a strange presentiment that Mr. Gear would come to our\nmeeting to-night, that God would rebuke our little faith by His\nunexpected answer. I even waited for Mr. Gear's coming. I saw him\nenter. I took that chapter of Acts-which God seemed to give me at\nthe moment-partly that I might lead him on to fulfil the purpose\nwhich I fully believed had brought him there. While you were\nsinging, I was praying. And when the hymn and the prayer were ended\ntogether, I knew God would not let him go away unblest.\"\n\n\"I shall never again doubt,\" said I, \"the truth of God's\npromise-'that if two of us shall agree on earth as touching anything\nthey shall ask, it shall be done for them.'\"\n\n\"Shall you not?\" said he, with a smile. \"I wish I could be as sure\nfor myself.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nA Retrospect.\n\n\n\n\n\nI am sitting in my library. The fire burns cheerily in the grate. A\ndear voice is singing sweetly by my side. For baby is restless\nto-night and Jennie has brought him down to rock him to sleep here\nand keep me company.\n\nThe years pass in review before me. Thank God for the dear wife who\nthree years ago persuaded me that I was a Christian more than a\nCongregationalist. The years have not been unfruitful. The work has\nbeen, oh! so little, and the harvest so great!\n\nI believe the whole church is satisfied with the result of our\npeculiar method of candidating. I am sure there is no one who would\nwillingly exchange Mr. Mapleson for Mr. Uncannon. There have been\nrumors once or twice that there was danger Maurice Mapleson would\nleave. He has twice had invitations to preach in city churches whose\npulpits were vacant. But he has declined. \"I hope,\" he says, \"to\nlive and die here. It is as God wills. But I have no ambition for a\nlarger field of usefulness. It is all I can do to cultivate this\nfield.\"\n\nMy prophesy has proved true respecting Mr. Work. He has broken down,\ngiven up preaching, nominally because of a throat trouble; really, I\nbelieve, because of spirit trouble, and has opened a young ladies'\nschool in one of the suburbs of the city. Mr. Uncannon has left\nNorth Bizzy after a year's pastorate, for one of the great cities of\nthe West, where he is about equally famous for his fast horses, his\ngood cigars, and his extraordinary pulpit pyrotechnics.\n\nMaurice Mapleson's experiment has proved a complete success. Our\nchurch at last is out of its financial difficulties. We held our\nannual meeting last week. And here is the financial exhibit as it\nappeared in the treasurer's report:\n\nCr.\nMonthly Subscriptions\n$1,675.00\nSunday Collections\n395.85\nLadies' Entertainments (a special fair having been organized by\nMiss Moore to secure the interest money.)\n251.06\n\n$2,321.91\n\n2,276.90\nBalance in Treasury\n$45.01\n\nDr.\nMinister's Salary\n$1,500.00\nOrganist, (the office was discontinued, congregational singing\nestablished, and Deacon Goodsole's eldest daughter voluntered to play.)\nNothing\nChurch Repairs-Sundries\n55.50\nInterest on Mortgage\n315.00\nSexton (Salary reduced by himself as a contribution to the support\nof the church.)\n175.00\nFire, lights and incidentals\n231.40\n\n$2,276.90\n\nThe church has never before had a balance in its treasury, and it\nwas bewildered with astonishment at the result. The money was really\ndue to Maurice, who was to pay, the reader will recollect, the\nincidental expenses out of the monthly subscriptions and take the\nremainder as his salary. But Maurice positively refused to take it.\nHe, however, has long wanted the old pulpit cut down and a low\nplatform substituted. The money was voted for that purpose, and the\nalterations are now going on.\n\nThough the pews are free, the pew system is not wholly abandoned.\nEach attendant selects a seat for himself or a pew for his family.\nThis is regarded his as much as if he paid pew rent for it. But\ninstead of a fixed rent he pays what he will. No one has paid less\nthan the old rates and some have nearly doubled them. But the\nimprovement in finances is not the only nor even the best result of\nMaurice Mapleson's experiment. The congregation has increased quite\nas much as the income. Not less than a score of families are regular\nattendants on our church who never went to church before. With one\nor two exceptions every pew is taken. We are beginning to talk\nquietly about an enlargement.\n\nI think this change had something to do with the revival last\nSpring. Maurice thinks so at all events. And any attempt to go back\nto the old system would meet with as much opposition from Deacon\nGoodsole as from Jim Wheaton. The only member of the congregation\nwho regrets the change is Mrs. Potiphar. She turns up her nose\n--metaphorically I mean--the natural nose is turned up all the time at\nthat revival. \"It did not reach any of our set,\" she says. \"Why,\nbless you, I don't believe it added fifty dollars to the church\nincome.\"\n\nOne would think to hear her talk that Mrs. Potiphar supported the\nchurch. If she does, her right hand does not know what her left hand\nis doing.\n\nThe immediate precursor of that revival was the prayer-meeting which\nMr. Gear attended, and in which he asked the prayers of the church.\nWhen in June he stood up before the congregation to profess his\nfaith in Christ as a Savior from sin, and in the Holy Spirit as a\nDivine Comforter in trial and in sorrow, he did not stand alone.\nTwenty-eight stood with him. Among them were nine of the boys from\nour Mill village Bible-class. Of that brightest of Sabbath days I\ncannot trust myself to speak. The tears come to my eyes, and my hand\ntrembles as I write. I must pass on to other thoughts.\n\nI have already explained how the Bible-class gathered to itself a\nsecond class of which Mrs. Gear took charge. Both classes have grown\nsteadily, and latterly, rapidly, and are now beyond all that the\nmost sanguine of us ever anticipated. There is a flourishing\nSabbath-school at the Mill village. Mr. Gear superintends it. Nearly\nhalf of my old scholars are teachers now. But others have come to\ntake their places. My own class is larger than ever. Once a month\nMr. Mapleson preaches in the school-house, and in the summer his\ncongregation overflows upon the green sward without. Once or twice\nhe has been forced into the grove adjoining. It is evident that the\nold school-house will not serve us much longer. Mr. Gear is already\nrevolving plans for the erection of a chapel. It seems to me rather\nchimerical. No! On second thoughts nothing seems to me chimerical\nany more. And as Mr. Gear and Miss Moore are both engaged in this\nenterprize, I am confident it will succeed.\n\nThere is not in our church a more active, earnest, devoted Christian\nworker than Mr. Gear. He is one of the board of trustees, and about\nthe only man on it who is not afraid of Jim Wheaton. He rarely\nmisses a prayer-meeting, and though he does not speak very often he\nnever speaks unless he has something to say. And that is more than\ncan be said of some of those who \"occupy the time\" in our\nprayer-meetings. I understand that Mr. Hardcap was not altogether\nsatisfied with Mr. Gear's \"evidences\" when he appeared before the\nsession. But if daily life affords the true \"evidences\" of Christian\ncharacter, there are very few of us that might not be glad to\nexchange with Mr. Gear. I doubt whether Dr. Argure would think he\nwas sound in the faith. And if the \"faith\" is synonymous with the\nWestminster Assembly's Confession of it, I do not believe he is.\nDeacon Goodsole has confidentially hinted to me his fear that Mr.\nGear has some doubts concerning the doctrine of election; and that\nhe is not quite clear even on the doctrine of eternal punishment. It\nis not impossible. But I do not believe there is a member of our\nchurch whose faith in a present, prayer-hearing God is stronger. His\nfirst step toward securing a chapel for the Sabbath-school has been\ntaken already. It was a meeting of the Sabbath-school teachers at\nhis own house to pray for a chapel. And he builds on that\nprayer-meeting a strong assurance that he will get it. I do not\nthink he is quite sound in the catechism. I wish I were as sound in\nthe faith.\n\nI have often wished to know how he solved his old doubts. If I could\nfind his specific for skepticism, I thought to myself, it would be\nof inestimable value to others. So with some hesitation, lest I\nshould awaken the old unbelief, I asked him the question the other\nday.\n\n\"How did you finally settle your old difficulties concerning\nChristian truth?\" said I.\n\n\"I never have,\" said he quietly. \"They disappeared of themselves, as\nthe snow disappears from Snow-cap when May comes.\"\n\nThe fire burns low upon the hearth. The risen moon casts her soft\nlight through the Eastern window and bathes the room with her\nradiance. The mountains, mist clad, stand as shadows of their daily\nself, more beautiful in their repose than in the full glory of the\nbusy day. The baby sleeps quietly, nestled close to his mother's\nbreast, too big I tell her for her arms; but she protests I'm wrong.\nAnd still I sit, silent, and the past defiles before me.\n\nAt length Jennie breaks the silence. \"What are you pondering so\ndeeply, John?\"\n\n\"I was thinking, Jennie, how much I owe the little woman who\npersuaded me to this dear home, who convinced me that I was, or at\nleast ought to be, a Christian more than a Congregationalist, and\nwho taught me that I could work for Christ without infringing on my\ndaily duties, and so brought to me all the flood tide of happiness\nthat makes my life one long song of joy.\"\n\nTHE END.","title":"Laicus; Or, the Experiences of a Layman in a Country Parish.","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":65594}