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'^ I've earned some money by teaching, and father is going to help me," said this true-hearted Canadian girl ; " and I ni going to the Ladies' College, at Went- worth, for a year or two." " Well, if you catch the inspiration of my old friend, Dr. D wight, who is now President of that institution," said Lawrence, mindful of his own college days, "you vdW receive an intellectual impetus which you will feel for the rest of your life." i )ouncled b^ CHAPTEE III. and father GIRL GRADUATES AND COLLEGE HALLS. " 111 shouts, and knells, and dying throes, And merry marriage chimes, The plastic Present forward goes To shape the aftei'times.'" liHV. SAMUKL WRAY. UO our young friend soon found herself duly enrolled KJ with II hundred others in the large and flourishing Ladies' College of Wentvvorth, under the charge of the Rev. Dr. D wight. At first she felt somewhat lonesome, although forming part of so large a family. The other girls were a little reserved in manner, and all of them scrutinized her with that feminine criticism which took in at a glance every item, however minute, of her dress and appearance. These did not seem to give universal satisfaction ; for, as she passed through the corridor, she became aware, by a mysterious intuition, that a group of school-girls who were laughing and giggling about the stove were speaking about her. One of these, an American girl w^iose father hau " struck oil ' in the Pennsylvania Oil-Dorado, and who wore as much of a stylish New York costume as the school discipline would allow, exclaimed, with a satirical laugh, — " What a guy ! I wonder who's her dressniaker ; I believe she made it herself ! " " Where does she come from, anyhow ? '' asked another. 2 id LTFE IX A PABSOXAGK w ''From the wilds of Muskoka, I beard some one sav,' remarked a third. '' Where is that, 1 wonder ? " asked Uio first. "()! somewhere buck of the north wind," replied a fom'th. " She looks as if she might have come from back of the North Pole/" sneered the girl from Oil-Dorado ; " 1 wonder she doesn't wear an Indian blanket. But here she comes ; mum's the word/" and she demurely assumed a long face as Edith passed by. The new student could not help hearing enough of these rude remarks to make her feel very uncomfort- able. She felt vexed at herself to think tliat the sting- ing of such a gnat should irritate her. She thought herself too much of a philosopher to be affected by such shallow chatter. But when does a woman become quite insensible to adverse criticism of her dress and appearan'e ? Certainly our unsophisticated friend had not reached that point. She soon had the satisfaction, however, in the class- rooms, of finding that her hostile critic was much more vulnerable to criticism in a much more important respect. She proved herself ignorant, incapable, ill- trained, and was at or near the foot of almost every class. The superior abilities and training of the new comer soon showed itself in her class standing, and in her rapid progress in study. She soon formed con- genial friendships with both teachers and the more thoughtful scholars, which enriched her entire social being. Under the skilful guidance of Dr. Dwight in mental and moral philosophy, and in the fascinating study of science with Professor Kectus, she felt her whole mental horizon exi)anding day by day, and ex- perienced the unspeakable joy of conscious growth. Nor did her higher nature lack the opportunity of generous nurture. The religious life and services of the institution sarrouuded her with an atmosphere most favourable to the growth of the moral graces, the result of which she realised in the deepening of her GTUL graduates AXD rOT.LKGE HALLS. 19 le one say, piety and the richer communion of her soul with (lod. So the long winter passed rapidly away, the routine of school life broken pleasantly l)y a visit home at (Jhristmas. Every week came an expected and wel- come missive that caused her eye to brighten and her cheek to glow^ and filled her heart with sweet imagin- ings. One day in the leafy month of June came a summons to receive a caller in the reception room. The Conference of the Methodist Church was being held in a neighbouring town, and Mr. Temple could not resist the temptation to seek an interview with his jiancee. The good Doctor Dwight, wlio maintained an Argus-like care of his precious charge, had hrst to lie encountered. But he, after a little good-natured banter, granted the interview sought, and added an invitation to dine in the Institution — an invitation which Temple very gladly accepted. He felt a little disconcerted, however, at bcnng made the target of the hundretl pairs of keen and critical eyes which noted at a glance every item of his appearance, dress, and deportment. By a sort of intuition, known only to female minds, the girls all divined the relation subsisting between the young backwoods preacher and the most accom- plished student of the college. ISIany were the whispered comments at the table, and much was the school-girl gossip that followed, of whicli had the object of it been aware, his ears would have been uncommonly warm, if tliere be any truth in the popular adage on the subject. The general verdict was that if he was not very handsome, he looked at least rather '' clever; '' and if his country-made coat did not particularly adorn his manly hgure, he had, at least, a ratlier distinguished air. The American girl from Oil-Dorado wondered how any one could throw herself away on such an awkward creature, or bear the thought of becoming "a humdrum country parson's wife, to teach stupid girls in a Sunday School, and make possets for all the sick poor of the parish." 20 LiFi-: f\ A p A 1? SON An/: i ' M Tills style of j)h)li])i)io, how( ver, did not meet with much favour. Cxirls, for the most part, are more mtici- less critics of their own than of the op[)osite sex ; and while some thought that their schoolmate might " do better," others thought that she had "done well " to accept him ; with which I presume the parties most concerned were quite content. The slight brusqueness which he nianifesied under a somewhav stem exterior attracted general favour, So, too, the quick, decisive speech and somewhat imperious manner of the Presi- dent of the college commanded the respect and admir- ation of all the students — we suppose, because women, however they may protest to the contrary, admire the influence of a strong will ; in fact, as one of themselves expressed it, " they like being bossed."' But we must not delay upon these halcyon college days. They passed all too quickly, and even the tasks which looked irksome at the time were looked back to witii a lingering regret. The months spent in this seemingly monotonous routine were regarded by Edith Korris as amongst the most protitable of her life. She experienced sach a mental development and received such an inte lectual stimulus as gave her greater j^ower of study, and keener appreciation of its pleasures and privileges for .:he rest of her life. When she left those college halls, it was not without a dislocating wrench in the severance of many tender ties of friendship. Many were the exchanges of keepsakes and photo- graphs, and the pledges of faithful correspondence and mutual visit . Even the haughty damsel from Oil- Dorado wept a few furtive tears, and declared that she had heartily recanted her unkind judgment, and with a very effusive embrace gave Edith, as a parting gift, a handsome locket, containing some of the donor's hair, with the injunction : — " Now, you must wear this upon the happy day, so that you will be sure to think of me ; I wish I were only more worthy of your thought.'' " Thanks, dear," said Edith, kissing her fondly ; (iTUJ. auADJWTF.s, .\\i> cnj.ijun: j falls. 21 u we hav€* learned to know eacli other better. You must come and see me in my new home." " Be sure I will if ever I can."* said the im]»ulsive girl ; and, amid a cliorus of " good-bves," Kdith rode nway. Although life was opening so beautiful and so bright before her, it was not without a twinge of regret that she turned her back upon the dear old college halls. These thoughts, however, were soon forgotten in the anticipation of deeper and richer joys. It comes not within our scope to describe the modest marriage ceremony at the Elms. It was observed with an innocent hilarity which might have marked the marriage feast of Cana of Galilee. And the ^Master Himself was present, sanctifying and blessing the union there formed. With mingled smiles and tears the parents saw the daughter of many hopes and prayers pass from the shelter of their roof to meet new responsibilities, and doubtless new trials as well as new joys. After a short wedding journey, in which Edith enjoyed the rare delight of travel amid some of the fairest scenes of her native land, the youthful pair addressed themselves with the enthusiasm of Christian confidence and zeal to their life-work. We have now brought down our narrative to the period of the opening of our story. We must postpone to another chapter the account of the reception of the young pastor and his wife at the village of Fairview. and of their initiation into their new relations, and into itinerant life and work. chaptp:k IV. IM TFIE RECEPTION. " Play thy i)ai't, aii«l i)lay it well ; Joy in thine aiipointed task : And if pvide or flesh I'ebel, Courage of thy Father ask.'"— Emma Tatijam. " WTELCOME to Fairview ! " exclaimed a cheery T T voice, as Lawrence and his wife drove up to tlie broad piazza'd house of Father Lowrv, wliich tliey had been invited to make their home for a time. Tlie cheery voice belonged to a h\rge clieery-looking man with twinkling black eyes, iron-grey hair, and merry wrinkles written all over his broad cheery face, " An' is this the Missis ? " he went on, after shaking Lawrence with immense energy by the hand. " Bless- ings on your bonny face, jNla'am ; the blessing that maketh rich be upon you! But hurry into the house, we are all waiting for you. "i'ou're just in time to 'scape the shower ; " and he gallantly helped Edith out of the carriage. " Here, Tom, take the preacher's horse, and give him of the best," he said to a long, lank, shy-looking youth who was taking furtive glances at the new arrivals. Passing through an elm-shaded gateway and up a gravelled walk, bordered on either side by fi. grant THE JiECEPTION. 2'.\ .Tune roses, tlicy wrrc met on the verandah l\v a miitronly-looking woman, wlio grasped Lawrmee's hand with hotli of liers, and said: " Hh'ssed is he that conieth in the name of the I^onh' Then throwing lier arms around K(hth, sh<' kissed her with motherly ttMuUMiiess on hot h cheeks and said, '• Wek'ome, my dear, to our hearts and honu'. Here are some of our folk come to wisli you joy and l>id you weh'ome ; " and she introchieed several blushing girls and some of the village matrons who were present to iissist at the reception. Father Lowry meantime introduced Lawren('(^ to a few of the circuit oflKcials. ''This is r-\'le Jahez, our class-leader; he is everybody's uncle, vou know. And this is P'ather Thomas, our local preacher ; he will be your right-hand man. And this is Hrother Man- ning, the circuit steward; he will be one of your best friends." Thus Lawrence was made acquainted with his future* allies and co-workers in the cause of (rod, and in tuin introduced them t his wife. Personally the new comers felt far mor. at home than they could have imagined it [)0ssible to become so soon among strangers. They felt not only that they were among friends, but that they were knit together by bonds of spiritual kinship far stronger than the ordinary ties of friend- ship. "' The new preacher and his wife must be tired and hungry after their long ride," said the matronly Mrs. Lowiy ; " let us have supper ; " and she bustled about, on hospitable thoughts intent," to serve the bounti- ful repast prepared in honour of the occasion. Nothing tends more to promote ac(piaintance and good fellowship than th(* enjoyment of a common hos])itality. Under the genial influences of tea and cake the last ice of timidity or reserve melts away. The good farmer folk asked Lawrence many questions about his last circuit, about the soil, the crops, and other bucolic matters, and seemed somewhat surprised u 94 LIFE l\ .1 PAIfSnXACK \s ' ill VI IliMt lie know a]»i»nr(»ntly as mucli iilxmt r»ir;il siilijccts iis t liciiisclvrs. Thr iiiiitrons pniiscd llicir liostcssn ^()(»(l ten iiiid discussed domestic iiiMttcrs. iiiid kept up nu'Jinwliilc a pretty keen and critical obscrvat ion of'tlic young }>rcacli('i's wife — for the most ))art apparently with v<'ry f"avourahl(! n'sults. In listening to the con- versation, even the most bashful boy becanw uncon- sciourf of his shyness and general Jiwkwardness, and the most timid girl forgot to blush when that awful dignitary, the new }>reacher, asked her sonu' (juestion, in order to ''draw her out" and get ac(piainted. After tea, as the rain had cleared off, and the fresh fragrance of the roses drifted in at the open windows, in the long twilight several of the village friends dropped in. Kditli felt a pleasant sense of enjoyment at the manner in which their kind hosts seemed to take possession of them, and introduce them as "our new preacher," and '' our new preacher's wife." It was not without some feelings of endiarrassment that she found herself the object of so much interest, especially when a somewhat severe-looking ])erson, old Mrs. jNIarshall, in a black bombazine gown, said to her, " You must be president of our Dorcas Society," and a chorus of matrons echoed, '' () yes, and we want you to lead the young i)eoi)le's class, and take charge of the female prayer-meeting." " Wait till you get settled a bit, dear," said Mrs. TiOwry, '' and see where you are, and get to know the peoi)le ; then you'll take a class in the Sunday School, won't you ? " " I am sure I will be glad to do anything I can," faltered Edith, a little disconcerted by this array of honours and duties thrust upon her. " But I have had no experience except as a Sunday School teacher.'' " 0, we shall look up to you as our leader in every good word and work," said Mrs. ]Marshall, smoothing her silk apron. " As the preacher's wife, you will be expected to take your place as his help-nriate, you know." ill THE JIKCKPTJON. •-»:, To two iKM'sons Kditli felt Imt Ih'MiI drawn <»ul in loving syuii»at liy — the kintl motherly Mrs. Lowry, .ind a pale dt'licate girl with violet eyes and golden hair, Carrie Mason l>v name, the only danghter otan invalid and widowed mot her. '• Voii'll come and see my mother soon, wont you?" shily whispered, in the twilight, the timid girl; •• she is siek and eannot come to see you."' '' Ves, dear," rejilied Mdith, kissing her smooth white forehead. "It shall l)e the lirst eall I will make," and they fell into loving eonverse, and soon felt like very old friends indeed. CHAPTER V. PUBLIC OPINION. " Opinion is that high and mi.c^hty damo Which rules the worUl, and in the mind doth frame Distastes or likings ; for in human race She makes the fancy various as the face." Howell. '' TTTELIi, I must say," remarked Mrs. Manning, the T T small but bustling wife of the circuit steward, to her neighbour, Mrs. ^Marshall, the tall ascetic lady who wore tlie costume of severe black, as they walked home together through the elm-shaded street — " Well, I must say she is not a bit stuck up ; if she hev been to college, as they say she hev, though for my part what call girls hez to go to college I can't see. There's my girls, now, they've never been to no college, an' more capable girls, and better housekeepers and butter- makers you wont tind nowheres, if I do say it myself." "That's so, Mrs. INIanning," replied :Mrs. jMarshall, with a sigh of resignation. " The times is changed since you and T was girls. It's nothing but music, an' book larnin', and fine art now. For my part, I think they just spoils women. The preacher's wife don't seem to have a realizin" sense of her duties and respon- sibilities ; do you think she hev now ? " " 0, we mustn't expect too much at first, you know," rVBLTC OPIXTOX. said the fussy little matron, in a chirping, bird-like manner; ''she's only a young thing, and will learn her duty, I make no doul)t. under your instruction. You always was famous for guiding the prejichers' wives.'' "Well, I feel it an obligation to tell them their duty," said Mrs. Marshall with another sigh. She almost always sighed when she spoke, especially in class-meeting, when she told of her trials ;md tribula- tions as a pilgrim through this '' howling wilderness," and lamented over the degeneracy of the times. Mr. Manning and Uncle Jabez, who walked liehind the ladies, confined their remarks to the preacher himself, as coming more within their purview than his wife. "Well, Uncle Jabez, how d'ye think he'll do?" asked the circuit steward, with an air of considerable ])ersonal responsibility in "running the circuit," as he was wont to phrase it. " Well, he seems to have the root of the matter in him, and that's the main thing, I 'low, " replied the old man, who was of a sweet, spiritual nature, and always looked at the spiritual aspects of character. " He seems modest, and sensible, and hearty. He shakes hands as if he meant it ; and they are hands that have seen hard work, you can tell by the grip of his muscle. He knows how to swing an axe, T 'low.'' The latter expression, a somewhat common contraction in parts of Canada for " T allow,'' was evidently, through force of habit, a favourite with the old man. " 0, there's no nonsense about him, you can see that,'' said the rather more worldly-minded steward; which quality, we suppose, was one of the principal reasons for his appointment to that office. " He've kep' his eyes open. Was riglit peart at college, I hear tell."' " I don't, as a gineral thing, think much o' these coUege-larnt, man-made ministers," said Uncle Jabez; " they is apt to be perky and stuck up, and ain't no 28 LIFE TN A PAIiSONAGE. 1.1' iiii! ways as good prenchors as some as never see a college. There now was William Ryerson, and Ezra Adams, and Henry Wilkinson, and others of the old pi'neers, who never saw the inside of a college; and yet there's no young men now-a-days can ])re;ich like they could, I "low."' The old man, like most of those who are haunted with a feeling that they '' lag superfluous on the stage,"' was rather a laudator temporis acti ; but the pious sweetness of his spirit prevented any bitter- ness of expression. '• [ guess there's preaching timber in him," said the steward, " if he is like his ftither, whom l used to hear, years a gone, out to the front. An" they say he's a chip off the old block. I think his comin' would have been a main chance for the Fairview Circuit, if it wasn't for his wife ; not that I have anything against her — she seems a nice-mannered young thing. But, you know, we didn't expect to be sot off as a separate circuit this year, an' we can't afford to keep a married man. Where's he going to live, I'd like to know ? " " Why can't he and his wife live round among the people ? " asked Uncle Jabez. " They'll be expected to visit a great deal. I'm sure they're welcome to stop at my liouse as often and as long as they like," he went on, in the genial hospitality of his heart. " That's the way the old pi'neers used to do." " Yes, " said Mr. Manning, with a dubious expression, " but times is changed, and not for the better, either, as far as I see. Preachers expect jMrsonages, and furniture, and everything fixed up slick, now-a-days." " Well, it would he nice if we had one," said genial Uncle Jabez; "I'm sure I wouldn't grudge it to 'em. The labourer is, worthy of his hire, an' they do have to labour purty hard. The Lord'll provide, some way, Brother Planning, doan't you be afeared," said this optimistic philosopher. " Yes, but the Lord works by means," remarked, a little testily, the more practical steward. '' He woi^'t work a miracle to do what we can do for ourselves."' priiLic OPIxrOA. on " Doiin't be afeared. Brother Claiming,'" said the old man, "the liord'll provide, thats my motter — 'The Lord'll provide."" And tlie two Church officials parteMl for the night. But the steward, who felt the financial responsiliiht y of the circuit resting, to a large extent, upon himself, passed a rather restless time. Probjibly the Chancellor of the Exchequer of a kingdom, in prospect of a deficit of the budget, might have been less anxious and dis- quieted than this honest farmer, who did not see how the young and comparatively weak circuit, of which he was financial minister, was going to meet its in- creased obligations. It had, as has been intimated, previously formed part of a large and influential circuit, and was quite willing to remain so. But the expansion of the work had led to its being '• set off."" There was, as yet, no parsonage, nor any })rovision for a married man ; and this caused the officials considerable })er- plexity when the Chairman of the district wrote that Conference had found it imjjossible to send a young man, but that the minister whom it did send would be found just the man to "build up the circuit, and prove a great success."' Like loyal jNlethodists, the officials resolved to make the best of it, to give the new preacher a warm welcome, and do as well for him as they could. The members of the society and congregation expressed, without reservation, their delight at having a minister all to ihemselves. It added, in no small degree, to the dignity of the village to become the head of a circuit, with the i»ros})ect of a parsonage and resident ministers family. It ad*^ -d a new element of social interest to the little comdiunity of Fairview. This general feeling found expression in the words of Carrie Mason, as she recounted to her mother the events of the reception, and answered her questions about the new minister's wife. " 0, mother,"' said the impulsive girl, " she is just perfectly splendid. She is as nice as ever she can be. m LIFE IN A PAltSONAGR She kissed me, just like a sister, and promised tliilt her very first visit would be to come and see you. I'm sure I shall love her ever so much. And she's going to lend me some of her books. And though she's been to college, and knows ever so much, yet she isn't the least bit proud. And she is to teach in the Sunday School. She'll have all the grown girls in the village. It will be so nice to have a minister's wife of our own to come and see you when you are ill, and everything." " Yes, dear,'' said the patient sufferer, " a minister's wife has a very important part to play, and can do a deal of good, when sometimes her husband, no matter how good or how clever, could not. A woman's tact and a woman's heart can comfort the suffering and the sorrowing as nothing else can." And she g:-.e herself up to })leasing anticipations of the congenial society and sympathy of a lady of superior culture and refine- ment. For, though now in reduced circumstances, Mrs, Mason had once moved in a much higher social rank. The daughter of a British officer, and widow of an accomplished physician, she felt a yearning for intellectual conversation, and sympathy with books, and art, and science, that found slight opportunity for indulgence in the rural community in which, since her husband's death, her lot was cast. CHAPTER VI. GETTING SETTLED. •' Sweet are the joys o£ home, And pure as sweet ; for tli^y. Like (lews of morn and evening, come To wake and elose the day." lk)WKiN(i. WHP^X Lawrence found himseif alone witii his wife, after the reception, he patted her cheek, as he would that of a good child, and said, — " Well, and how did you like the initiation ? " " It 'vas not quite such an ordeal as I feared," she laughingly replied ; " but, perhaps, the worst has to come yet. I'm sure they were kindness itself; and I love them very much. Do you think they liked me ? " " Of course they did. Didn't I tell you they couldn't help it ? " And he emphasized the remark as he had done before, while she blushed very prettily at the compliment. " I'm afraid they expect a great deal from me," she said, after a pause. " Old Mrs. Marshall — the lady of the rueful countenance, who wore the black bombazine dress, and always sighed when she spoke — laid down my duties pretty thoroaghly ; I am afraid I shall hardly come up to her expectations." " Well, my dear," said Lawrence, caressingly, " it is I who have married 3^ou, and not she ; and you will come up to my expectations, I am sure. You will try 32 I.IVK IN A PAHSOXAfiE. W to do your duty, I know. It will lie ii pleasure for us both to labour among such kind-hearted people. I already feel my soul knit to them. Our welcome to this hospitable home could not have been warmer. But we must not wear it out. We must get a home of our own as soon as we can." " yes/" exclaimed Kdith, and she gaily carolled, " ' Be it over so liuinble, there's no place like home ; ' I would rather live in the poorest cottage of our own than in a palace belonging to others. Home is woman's kingdom, you know, and I am eager to assume my sceptre and rule you with a rod of iron.*' Lawrence laughed as if he were not very much afraid, and then, putting on as much of a look of resignation as he could, he said: "Well, I have put the yoke of bondage on my own neck, and I suppose I must bear it with idl the fortitude I can summon. About this home business, however, I fear there may be a little difficulty. It seems there is not a house to be had in the village, except a large dilapidated one on the bluft' above the lake. It was built for a mill -owner, and after the mill had sawn up all the timber within reach both mill and house were abandoned, and they have both gone a good deal to rack. I am afraid we should be lost in a large house ; and then we have very little to put in it. But if it is at all habitable, we can take up our quarters in the best rooms and use the rest as the outworks of our ruined castle. It will be quite romantic, wont it?"' The next day they set out to have a look at " The Castle," as they called it. Their kind host and hostess strongly remonstrated, and with true warm-hearted Irish hospitahty insisted on Lawrence and his wife remaining their guests till a suitable house could be provided. " We will want to come and see you often," said Edith, " and we don't want you to get tired of us at first." " Never a fear of that,"" interrupted the hostess. liiiiii GETTIXG SETTLED, 83 " And besides, Mrs. Lowry," Edith went on, " how would you like to be without a home yourself — a real home that you could call your own?" "True for you, dear," said that motherly soul; *' I don't wonder that you want to be mistress of your own home, and I'll be willing to let you go as soon as ever a fit house can be found." To "The Castle," therefore, Edith and Lawrence went. Though ruinous enough, it was certainly not very romantic. Indeed, so utterly prosaic was it that Edith burst into a laugh, and exclaimed, — " Another of my chateaux en Espagne demolished ! No, it certainly is not the least like a castle." It had been rather a fine house in its time. It stood on a high bluff, commanding a magnificent view for miles of the lake and islands. It was a rambling structure, with a great hall running through the middle, and there were several large apartments on either side, and in the ^ear. But through disuse and neglect it wore an indescribably dilapidated appearance, and the broken windows looked like the eyeless sockets of a skull. A broad piazza ran around three sides. Just beneath the bluff were the remains of the old dismantled saw-mill, adding still more to the forlorn- ness of the scene. " Well, my fair chatelaine, what do you think of it ? " asked Lawrence, as they explored the tumble- down barracks. " It is not quite my ideal of ' love in a cottage,' " she laughed, " but it is a place of splendid possibilities. The magnificent view from the piazza might make amends for considerable discomfort indoors. If one half of the house were repaired and put in order, I think it could be made quite habitable." So Lawrence went to see the agent of the estate, who was somewhat surprised at the request. '* 0," he said, " it is not worth much, but I suppose we must ask something, just to retain our title, you know. Suppose we call it a dollar a month ? " 3 34 LIFE IN A PABSONAGE. i 19 Lawrence asked if anything would be done to improve the premises so as to make them worth more rent ; but the agent '' guessed it wouldn't be worth while, for nobody would be likely to stay there longer than he could help." At the official meeting of the Church, which was soon held, the project met with slight favour; but no other alternative presented itself, except that proposed by good Uncle .Tabez, that the preacher should " board round," like the schoolmaster and " pi'neer preachers " of the olden time. But though some of the board favoured this plan for reasons of economy, yet Lawrence strenuously objected. " No, brethren," he said, " I've been boarding round for the last six years, and I've nothing io say against it for a single man ; but I must have a home, a home of my own, now, I care not how homely." " Our minister is right," said good P^ather Lowry ; " my house is at his service as long as he likes, and 1 know yours are, too ; but he has a right t-^ one of his own. Till we can build a parsonage, we must make him as comfortable as possible at the Old Mill," by which designation " The Castle " was best known. So it was arranged that the village carpenter was to repair at least half of the house, and that immediately after " haying " a " bee " was to be made to put the grounds in order. Some furniture — rather plain and not too much of it — was purchased. Some rooms were papered by Lawrence himself. His books were un- packed and put in a book-case, making the best and noblest adornment any room can possess ; introducing, even into a cabin, the mighty kings of thought and laurelled priests of poetry. Edith set out some beds of flowers, and draped the windows with tasteful though inexpensive curtains. Some cool summer matting covered the bare floors. Her prize books and parlour bric-a-brac were displayed upon the table. A tinted photograph of the Dresden Madonna — the loveliest of Raphael's works — a chromo of the Pfalzburg on the GETTIXO SETT I . ED. 35 un- it and Rhine, two water-colour sketches, by her own hand, of tlie rock scenery of Lake Muskoka, a steel portrait of Wesley, and another of the poet Dante, gave the needed touch of colour to the walls and an air of retinement to the little parlour not surpassed by any in the village. Beauty and elegance depend not so much on the purse as on good taste. A cabinet organ, her father's wedding- gift, with some familiar music, bestowed on the room a still more home-like effect. *' It's just perfectly lovely," said Currie Mason, who had herself contributed largely to the transformation, to her mother. " It is the prettiest little parlour in all P^airview." '' Why, here you be, as snug as a bug in a rug," said P'ather Lowry, in his cheery way, to Edith, when he came to see how she was getting settled. ''It's perfectly wonderful the change you have made," said Mrs. Manning, who, with her friend, Mrs. Marshall, had dropped in to give her advice on the matter. '' I guess I must ask your advice about brightening up my own parlour, instead of giving any about your own." And certainly the bright sunny room was a great con- trast to the gloomy apartment, from which, excejit on high festival occasions, every ray of light was excluded, with its heavy hair-cloth sofa and chairs arranged in solemn order, like mutes at a funeral, around the walls. " For my part," said Mrs. Marshall, with her cus- tomary sigh, as they walked home together, " I wouldn't want a lot of kickshaws like these a-litterin' up my room; and that Papish pictur' of the Virgin Mary on the wall I think perfectly scandalous in a Protestant's house, and he a minister, too. Besides, as the aymn says, ' ' ' Tliis world is all a fleetin' show, For man's delusion given.' And it's clean flying in the face of Providence this adomin' our houses as if we was to live in them for ever." CHAPTER Vir. li '' THP: first SUNDAY AT FAIRVIEW. " day of rest 1 How beautiful and fair, Day of the Lord, and truce to earthly care ! Day of the I^ord, as all our days should l)e.'' Longfellow, Christm, Part iii. IT was something of an ordeal for Edith Temple to attend the public service on the first Sunday after her arrival at Fairview. Although remarkably free from self-consciousness, she could not but feel that she was an object of curious interest to the whole com- munity — the observed of all observers, the cynosure of every eye. As she walked, with her husband, down the broad, elm-shaded \illage street, she became aware that she was the target for many curious glances from spectators half concealed behind window-blinds or curtains. But the Sabbath calm that brooded over the the scene seemed to tranquillize and reassure her soul. The street, which the day before had been filled with farmers' waggons, and the stores, which had been crowded with farmers' wives and daughters, were strangely quiet. Not a team was to be seen but that of Squire Whitehead, and those of some others of the congregation who lived in the country. The drowsy hum of the bees filled the air, and the distant bark of a dog jarred on the ear as an incongruous sound. On the broad " stoop " of the village inn was a knot t] f( 01 w a THE FIB ST SUNDAY AT FAIRYTFAV \M of idle boys and young men, and some old ones, who kept up on Sunday their week-day habit of "loafing"' about that centre of jjernicious attraction. These gazed, some with a loutish exi)ression, some with brazen stare, at Lawrence and his wife as they passed ; and one of them, the village blacksmith, who was more often found at the tavern than at his shop, and who was not yet quite sobered from his Saturday night's dissipation, said, with jm admiring glance, as he shifted the quid of tobacco from one bulging cheek to the other, '" She's a daisy ; an' I'll fight any man as says she ain't." " Come, Saunders, behave yourself," said Jim Larkins, the burly tavern-keeper, coming out of the open door. " You had better go home and get sobered off." " I meant no offence," said the half-tipsy fellow, " an' it's willing enough you were to have me here last night, as long as my money lasted." " You fellows had better go to church," continued Larkins. " It don't look well to see you hanging round here of a Sunday, as if it were a fair-day. I'm going to hear the new preacher myself ; " and, accompanied by two or three of the group, he sauntered along. " How dreadful it is," said Edith to her husband, " to see such a man-trap baited for its victims in this lovely spot ! I feel already that our Eden has its tree of knowledge of good and evil, and many, I fear, taste its bitter fruit." " Yes," said Lawrence, with a sigh, " I fear that that devil's pulpit will do more to demoralize the people than I can to do them good. Go where you will in this fair Canada of ours, in every village and hamlet, for every church or school you will find two or three or more of these ante-chambers of hell." As they approached the modest church, painted white, with the little " God's acre " in the rear, " Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap," a group of the farmer lads and village youths about the ! BR LIFE IX A PAnSONAGK. door subHidcfl into silence, and even the women in the vestibule dp'W bjick with what Milton calls "a noble Khaniefacedness " in the unwonted presence of the new preacher and his wife. (lood iMrs. Lowry, however, came forward with her warm-hearted shake-hands and kindly smile, saying, — " I'm waiting for you; I thought you'd feel strange like. But you'll soon tind that we're all your friends ; " and she introduced some of the matrons that were standing near. '' I feel that already," said Edith, with a brig) it smile, shaking hands frankly. " We shall soon know each other better." Plere Brother Manning, the circuit steward, took Lawrence and his wife and conducted them to the " preacher's pew," one of conspicuous honour in the front row, at the right hand of the pulpit, and in full view of every soul in the church. The young wife would much have preferred a less prominent position, but she would not object to what was meant for a kind- ness. The little church had not arrived at the dignity of a separate vestry ; so Lawrence left his hat in the pew and entered the pulpit. Edith soon becan.'i intensely conscious that she was the focus to which was directed every eye in the house. She felt her cheeks painfully flush ; she saw row behind row of curious faces, but in her nervous agitation she could not recognize one. At last, just opposite her, she caught the loving glance of sweet Carrie Mason, and the broad, matronly smile of Mother Lowry, but also the sharp ferret look and keen, cold criticism of the austere Mrs. Marshall. But, glancing out of the window beside her, she beheld beyond the stately elm that shaded the graveyard, the noble vista of the lake and islands, and then close at hand the quiet graves, with bee and butterfly haunting the clover bloom, and the summer breeze fluttered the hymn-book on the open window. And as her husband's voice gave out the hymn, and she joined with the congregation in its TUK rrnsT suxday at FArnvrEw. 39 'aeh holy harmony, she felt her soul attunod for worship by tliese sweet ministries of nature jmd of grace. After the service, as Mrs. Manning and her friend, .Mrs. Marshall, walked down the street together, the latter lady with a dolorous sigh remarked, — " Did vou see her bonnet, them satin ribbons and that flower — and she the minister's wife ? Well, I never! Not a girl in the village but will be nping her fine lady airs." "Well, you know, it's her wedding bonnet, and I'm sure it was tasteful — the neatest ancl most elegant in the house. An' as for her manners, I think they was just beautiful. Ah she sat looking up into her hus- band's face all through the sermon, she looked just like that pictur' of the Virgin on her parlour wall." " That Papish thing ! Well, I wouldn't want to look like it, I'm sure ; " and she put on an even more than usual vinegar aspect. " What a beautiful sermon that was ! " said Mrs. Lowry, coming up. " It just did one's soul good to hear l\im." "Yes," said the circuit steward, with a critical air, " I guess he'll do. And wasn't the church full ! I ho[)e it'll keep on so. I see the Crowle boys there, as I hav'n't seen to church since last winter, when they put pepper on the stove! And they put sixpence each in the collection, too, a thing I never know'd 'em to do afore." CHAPTER VIII. AN AWKWARD ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FRIEND. 1 if ' " You behold in mc Only a travelling physician." Longfellow, The Golden Legend. IN the afternoon Edith rode with Lawrence to his appointment at the village of Morven, six miles distant, at the head of the lake. Lawrence gladly assented to her wish to accompany him. " But," he said, " I give you warning that if you follow me around like this, you will often hear an old sermon." " 0, I have to hear a sermon two or three times," she said, "before I can fully understand it." " That must be because I am so profound," said he. " Or because I am so shallow," she replied. "Nay, not that," he said. "It must be that I am obscure ; but if I am very taciturn you must excuse me, as I must think over my sermon." So they drove over the rolling hills, gaining glorious views from time to time of the far-extended lake, with its islands and headlands and indented bays and upland slopes, green and golden with waving forest and ripen- ing grain. At last they descended into a hollow, and the road lay for a time through a dense forest of the tall, straight trees known as Norway pines, each fit " to be AWKWARD ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FRIEND. 41 i ho mast of some great ammiral." The horse's tread was scarcely heard upon the thick matting of pine needles, and the wheels of the carriage rolled noiselessly over them. Through the openings to the sky broad, bright glints of sunlight streamed and made a glory all around. '' Truly," said Edith, in a reverent tone, " ' The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed The lofty vault to gather and roll back The sound of anthems, in the darkling wood, Amid the sweet, cool silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication .... Let me Here, in the shadow of the aged wood. Offer one hymn — thrice happy if it find Acceptance in His ear.'" And she sweetly carolled the noble hymn, beginning, " God is in this and every place." They soon passed through this dense forest into a more open region, where the road ran for a mile or more over a rough causeway of logs across a swamp. The elderberry bushes were in their richest foliage of an intensely vivid green. The pure white lilies rose from the black and muddy ooze of the swamp, and breathed forth their fragrance on the air, like the Christian graces blooming in beauty amid a foul environment. The crimson cardinal flowers blushed a deeper scarlet by contrast with their snowy whiteness, like vice abashed in the presence of saintly purity. The noisy blue-jay, the flashing humming-birds, the lithe lizards on the ground, gleamed like living jewels amid the emerald setting of the forest. " How lovely ! " exclaimed Edith. " What splendid ferns ! What magnificent orchids ! You must bring me here to botanize some day." Here her exclamations of delight were interrupted by a loud shouting ahead of them. 42 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. " Hi I Hallo there ! Turn out, or there'll be trouble ahead." The shouts proceeded from a kirge, burly individual, perched aloft in the single narrow seat of a high, two- wheeled vehicle, which is known in Canada as a " sulky ; " we presume because one person only can ride in it. This vehicle came bouncing and bumping forward over the rough logs. " Didn't you see the turning-out place back there ? " said the florid-faced driver, as he halted his horse, and pointed to the road a few rods behind them, where a double width of logs had been laid down so as to give room for waggons to pass. " No," said Lawrence, " I did not, I'm sorry to say. This is the first time 1 ever travelled this road." " Well, young man," said the first speaker, " the next time you drive this way, don't pass that spot till you see the road is clear ahead of you. Beg your pardon. Ma'am," he went on, with a polite bow to Edith, '' don't be alarmed, I'll manage to turn around, and give you the right of way. Place aux dames, you know ! " For the vehicles to pass one another was impossible, so narrow was the causeway, and on either side was a deep ditch, filled with black swamp water and mud. But with much skill the driver of the sulky turned his vehicle and pony about on the narrow causeway almost as if they were on a pivot, although it was a feat somewhat like that of an elephant balancing on an upturned tub. " I am greatly obliged for your kindness," said Lawrence, as he drove up. " JNIay I have the pleasure of knowing the name of so courteous a gentleman ? " " My name's Norton — Dr. Norton — if you mean me," said with a merry laugh the burly doctor, who was splashed with mud from head to foot. " We are not much used to such compliments out here in the bush, Ma'am," he went on, with another polite bow to Edith. " Jt's hard to feel one is a gentleman beneath so much mud," and he looked ruefully at his bespattered clothes. a ti( give said AWKWAIiJ) ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FBI END. 43 *' And you ? " he added, with an interrogative inflec- tion, turning to Lawrence. " Temple is my name. I'm the new Methodist preacher at Fairview, and this is my wife." " Happy to make your acquaintance, and ]Mrs. Temple's," said the Doctor, again bowing to that lady. " We are likely to meet often. Sir. There is one thing our callings have in common : we are both nuich in request with the sick and poor, and we must get our reward in the other world if we get it at all." " I trust we shall not miss that," said Lawrence, gravely, " whatever else we gain or lose." " Amen to that," said the Doctor, with a slight tremor of the voice. '' I'm not a religious man, Mr. Temple," he added, " but I've seen enough of sickness and death to feel that there are ills too deep for drugs to cure, and that amid the gathering shadows of the grave man needs more potent healing than any the doctor's wallet contains. Often men ask us Macbeth's question : — '' ' Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart ? ' I have learned, too, vSir, in many a sick room, to respect the character and appreciate the generous services of men of your cloth. 1 hope we shall be friends ; " and with a frank bow to Lawrence, and politely raising his hat to ildith, he resumed his journey. CHAPTER IX. i A BACKWOODS SERVICE. " He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor." Holmes, Urania. rilHE afternoon service was at a little hamlet, where J. the only public buildings were a log school-house and that ubiquitous curse of Canada, the village tavern. Around the former a few horses were tied to the trees, and a couple of rough farm waggons were drawn up be- side the fence. One could not but wonder where all the people came from in that lonely place. The little village had only half-a-dozen houses, and scarce another was in sight ; yet the school-house was packed — we were going to say, if it were not perpetrating a bull, both within and without, for there were more persons about the doors and windows than there were inside The " meeting " fulfils an important place in the social economy of the backwoods of Canada. Amid the isolation of their solitary farm life, the people — the female portion of the household especially — see little of each other except at these weekly or fortnightly gatherings. In consequence of the divergence or inaccuracy of their clocks and watches — many of which take their time from the sun by a rude astronomical observation of noontide by their owners, or by a com- parison of " sun-up " or " sun-down " with the time in- A BACKWOODS SERVICE. 4S dicated ia the almanack procured at the village drug store — the people go to meeting early, so as to be sure to be in time. Sometimes the preacher is delayed by the bad roads^ or by mishap, and the congregation often employ the time in social converse. The good wives discuss the various ailments and infantile characteristics of their domestic brood, or the sickness or convalescence of some neighbour; and in a new country any one within five miles is a neighbour. The girls are apt to compare ribbons and gowns. The men and boys out of doors are prone to drift into rather secular talk — the crops, the weath' r, the good points or otherwise of the horses hitched to the trees and fence, imd of other horses elsewhere. If the delay of the preacher in coming is long, some one more spiritual-minded, perhaps the class-leader, gives out a hymn, and then another and another, and a grand service of song is held, the heavenly truths gliding into the soul with the sweet harmonies, and attuning and preparing the mind for the worship of Grod. The music may be pitched too high, and have more shakes and quavers than the com- poser designed; but it fulfils its mission to the human soul no less than if it rolled from golden organ pipes beneath cathedral's vaulted aisles. As Mr. Temple and his wife drove up, a silence fell upon the group without and the singers within. Lawrence shook hands frankly with the men standing near, as if he had known them all his life, and asked for the class-leader. He was in the school-house lead- ing the singing : but, seeing the preacher drive up, he came out. He was a man unheroic^ in stature and unbeautiful to look upon. His Sunday suit of clothes was the same for summer and winter, he could not afford the luxury of two suits ; and as the day was warm, he looked, after his violent exercise in singing — and he believed in doing whatever he did, singing, praying, working, with all his might — he looked, we say, as if threatened with apoplexy. His hair, it must be confessed, was a staring red, and so was the fringe 46 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. of beard around his florid face. Indeed, the wags at the village tavern asserted that the picture of the " Rising Sun " on its creaking sign was a portrait of the honest miller, John Crumley. A broad white collar framed his face, and a black neckerchief was wound almost to the point of strangulation about his neck. Yet this was the man, though poor, unlettered, and uncouth, who was chosen by his neighbours to be their spiritual leader and guide, the under shepherd and lay colleague of their minister and chief pastor. His older and comparatively wealthy neighbours accepted his godly counsels and admonitions, as to them the voice of the Church and of God. Such a fact, multiplied ten thousand times in as many rural communities, illustrates the grand democracy of Methodism ; or, rather, it illustrates the grandest aristocracy on earth ; passing by the claims of wealth and learning and social rank, for the nobler criterion of moral worth. " An' yon be the noo preacher," said honest John, grasping Lawre-^ce's hand. " Oi be right glad to see ye. An' so be us all. We'me a-been a-prayin' for the Lord to send us a mon after 'Is oan heart, an' us accepts you as comin' in the name o' the Lord." Lawrence made a way for himself and his wife through the crowded congregation to the school-mistress's stand at the end of the room. The pulpit was a simple table on a small platform, raised about a foot above the floor. It was a capital place to learn to speak without notes. Woe to the unfortunate man who depended upon such adventitious helps, or who was easily disconcerted by trifles. There was a row of children perched along the front of the platform, so crowded was the house ; and more than once one of these fell asleep and tumbled off during the sermon. Others trotted across the baok of the teacher's stand. Several of the men got up and went out to look after restive horses, and two or three women carried out crying children. A dog, of an imaginative turn of mind, asleep beneath a bench, was apparently pursuing his prey in a dream, or, perhaps, a A BACKWOODS SERVICE. 47 was troubled with nightmare, and expressed his excite- ment in strange noises, and had to be ignominiously expelled. But the people hung upon the preacher's lips with intensest interest. Ever and anon a hearty "Amen!" or "Hallelujah!" attested their deep emotion, and around the windows crowded eager listeners. Tlie preacher felt that he was not beating the air. No moral miasma of scepticism poisoned the souls of his hearers and rendered tlT^m insensible to the appeals of the Gospel. To each f them, though perchance they were living careless or even reckless lives, its every word was the voice of Grod ; its threaten- ings were dread realities ; its hell was an everlasting fire ; its heaven a city of eternal joy. The preacher could grapple with their consciences, which were not benumbed and paralysed by doubt. Edith was greatly interested in this simple service, to which she was not unaccustomed, for she had witnessed many such scenes in the wilds of Muskoka. She joined heartily in the singing, her rich and pure soprano voice giving a noble quality to the rather uncultured service of song. After the sermon the matrons thronged about her with hearty invitations to come soon and pay them a visit. " We likes to know the preacher's wife," said one. " We never but oncet before had one come to the meetin'. We hopes you'll come oftens." " We mayn't be very fine," said a stout Yorkshire dame, " but you're iust as welcome to we're whoams as welcome can be." John Crumley, who was also from the " north country " of old England, and used some of the old-fashioned forms of speech, asked the preacher to " stop and bait " at his house, which request his good wife warmly seconded. " Us will be proud," she said, " to have you stop. We're hoose hev alius bee^ the preacher's tavern, an' ye mus'n't make strange, ye know." The house was a tiny on6 of logs beside the tiny 48 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. mill. The great wheel of the latter stood still, but the waste water from the sluice made a musical tinkle, as it splashed over the mossy timbers and flashed rainbow colours in the afternoon light. The good wife bustled about her tiny kitchen, and set forth a meal that would have beguiled the appetite of the sternest ascetic — home-made bread, golden butter, amber-coloured honey, redolent of clover bloom and thyme, and red, ripe strawberries, buried in rich, yellow cream. " Bless the Lord," said honest John, " we'me getten a preacher of we're oan. Us will look for a graat work of graace. Peggy an' Oi's been a-prayin' for a graat revival, an' Oi believe we'me a-goin' to have it ; " and the good man, in the gladness of his heart, burst forth into sacred song in the midst of the meal. It is true that he was unpolished in manners, and it must be confessed that he ate with his kniife, but Edith felt that he was one of God's noblemen, and reverenced with all her soul his simple, earnest piety. As she rode home with Lawrence in the golden sunset, and then in the purple gloaming, she felt how great and blessed was the privilege of working with him for the spiritual welfare of these simple-minded, generous- hearted people. And any gifts of culture or talents that she possessed, she felt to be only a sacred trust to be used in their behalf. After an evening service at " early candle-light " at Fair view, as, weary in body, yet enjoying sweetest rest of soul, she sat on the piazza of their humble home, watching the moonlight sparkle on the waves, she said to her husband, "This has been one of the happiest days of my life. I have felt, as I never did before, a breadth of meaning in those words of the Creed, ' I believe in the communion of saints.' I have realized that amid the diversities of rank, condition, and culture of Christ's disciples, is the same indwelling Spirit. My soul is knit to these people. I shall be glad to do all in my power for their good." " Let us learn, dear wife," said Lawrence, " more and n f; I \ A BACKWOODS SERVICE. id more the universal brotherhood of man, the universal fatherhood of Grod, and we shall feel that — i( ( There's a wideness in God's mercy Like the wideness of the sea ; There's a kindness in His justice Which is more than liberty. '* * For the love of God is broader Than the measure of man's mind ; And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind. " ' If our love were but more simple, We should take Him at His word, And our lives would be all sunshine In the favour of our Lord.' " i a CHyVPTER X. PREPARING THE CAMP. " Ah, why Should wc in this world's riper years neglect fJod's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have made ? " BiiYANT, A Forest Hymn. ri'^HE great event of the season on the Burg-Royal T District, of which Fairview, at the time of which we write, formed a part, was the District Camp-meet- ing. This had been in the early days of Methodism a most potent institution in those parts. In those times meeting-houses, or even school-houses, were few and far apart, and the camp-meeting was made a grand rallying-place for all the settlers far and near. Two famous camp-meeting preachers were Elder Case and Elder Metcalfe in their early jmme, and marvellous were the scenes of religious revival and spiritual power which they witnessed, and in which they took part. With the multiplication of religious agencies and increase in the number of churches, the pressing need for these special services became less. They no longer attracted persons from so great a distance, neither were they the scenes of such extraordinary manifestation. But they were still occasions of great interest, and * PREPAIITNG THE CAMP. 51 were attended by several hundred, and on Sunday l)y two or three thousand, persons. The Methodist families throughout the ])istrict looked forward to this season of dwelling in tents with somewhat kindred feelings, we sui)i)ose, to those of (he ancient Israelites in anticipation of their annual Feast of Tabernacles. By the more devout it was regarded as a high religious festival and as a spiritual harvest- time. It was the subject of much prayer and pious desire for weeks beforehand in the class and prayer- meetings. The heads of families made arrangements' as far as possible, to allow the attendance of their whole households — their children and servants, and " the strangers within their gates," as the hired men were described in their prayers. Pious parents longed and prayed for the conversion of their children ; and even those who were not over pious themselves, knew that a converted farm-servant was more trustworthy and efficient, that is, possessed a higher money value, than any other ; and therefore freely allowed their hired help to attend the camp-meeting, at least on the Sunday, if not longer. To the young folk the occasion offered very special attractions — the charm of a change from the regular routine of life ; the charm of kindred youthful com- paniouship, and the excitement of picnicking for a week or more in the woods. All this was tempered, how- ever, with some shade of austerity, from the necessity of attending so many religious services, and in some cases by the haunting fear that they might be con- vert 8d in spite of themselves, and so be cut oft' from the enjoyment of all the social junketings and dances and worldly dissipations of the neighbourhood. Some- times the attractions of a travelling circus, with its attendant side-shows, which were felt to be incom- patible with a religious profession, were allowed to deaden the religious susceptibilities and stifle the convictions of a quickened conscience. The principal burden of preparation for the ramp- I li 52 LIFE IN A PAItSOXACfK, meeting fell upon the good matrons of the congregji- tions. For many days beforehand the great farm kitchens were scenes of unwonted bustle and activity. The good wives, "on hospitable thoughts intent," were making lil)eral provision, not only for their own households, but also for the entertainment of troops of friends, yes, and even of utter strangers. The open- hearted hosi)itality of the camp-ground was almost like a revival of the religious communism of the ]»riniitive believers, when "neither said any of them that aught of the things which he possessed was his own ; but they had all things common." The great out-of-door ovens were filled to repletion with generous batches of bread, which came forth brown and fragrant ; and manifold was the baking of pies and cakes, the roasting of turkeys and pullets and young porkers, and the boiling of hams for the generous and substantial sandwiches which were so much in request for the sustenance of the outer, while the preachers laboured for the refreshment of the inner, man. Some of the attendants at the meeting, however, we are sorry to say, seemed to have confused notions as to which tvas the outer and which the inner man ; and were much more sedulous in their attention to the well-filled tables than to the religious services. The favourite time for holding the camp-meeting was either during the brief respite in farm labour after " haying " and before harvest, or in the more ample leisure, and the golden September weather, after harvest and before " seeding." The latter was the season selected for holding the Burg-Royal District Camp-meeting. The chosen spot was a famous camp-ground on the shores of Lac de Baume, which had been from time immemorial a favourite camping-place of the Indians. It had, therefore, been adopted by Elder Case, the father of Methodist missions to the Indian tribes of Canada, on account of its convenience of access either by water or by the forest trails. It also presented in pPFP.inmf? THJ': camp. 58 •ngrega- it farm iictivity. t," were ;ir own f troops le open- almost of the 3f them was his ppletion e forth king of lets and for the ivere so r, while of the leeting, onfused le inner tention /ices, oieeting iir after ample after ras the District on the n time ndians. 5e, the ibes of either ited in itself admirable advantages for the purpose. An ample area of forest land sloped down to a beautiful little bay. The noble elms and maples lifted their leafy arms high in air, and completely shaded the open space below. As this spot lay within the bounds of the Fairview Circuit, it fell to the lot of Father F^owry, Mr. Man- ning, P'ather Thomas, John Crumley, and a few others of the neighbouring farmers, to prepare the camjn ground. ]5ut little recjuired to be done, except to repair the dilapidations caused by the winter storms. Around an area of about half an acre were a row of rough board buildings or " tents," as by a rather bold metaphor they were called. These consisted, for the most part, of only one room, the principal use of which was as an eating-room by day and a sleeping-room by night. Between the religious services relays of hungry people would fill every corner, and at night the board tables were removed, and quilts and curtains divided it into two sleeping apartments. The same articles furnished the doors and windows, so that, if not tents exactly, these " lodges in the wilderness " still possessed to the imagination of their occupants quite an oriental character, as was becoming to a " feast of tabernacles." The kitchen arrangements were in the rear of each tent, beneath the shadow of the trees, or perhaps of a booth of boughs. They consisted chiefly of open fires with a crotch-stick at each side and a cross-piece at the top, from which hung the kettles for boiling water for the tea and coffee, the making of which was the chief culinary operation of the camp. The preacher's tent differed little in character from the others, except that before it was a platform elevated about a yard from the ground. Along the front of this ran a flat board by way of desk ; at the back was a long bench ; the whole making a pulpit large enough to accommodate a dozen men. The room in the rear was occupied by one enormous bed, greater than the Great Bed of Ware or than the iron bedstead of Og, King of Bashan. But it was generally pretty well filled with 54 LIFE JA A PARSONAGE. clerical occupants, on such occasions, and, with the aid of plenty of straw and buffalo robes, was by no means uncomfortable. In front of the preacher's stand were rows of plank benches resting on sections of saw-logs set on end, and the ground was plentifully strewn with straw. At the four corners of this area were four elevated platforms about six feet high, covered with earth, on which at night were kindled fires of pine knots for lighting up the camp, which they did very efficiently. 1 the aid means P plank id, and At the itforms hich at ing up CHAPTER XI. THE CAMP-MEETING. " To its inmost glade The living forest to thy whisper thrills, And there is holiness in every shade." Mr9. Hemans. rpHE camp-meeting began on Friday evening of the -L first week in September. All day long teams con- tinued to arrive, laden with bedding, household stuff, and provisions. With much innocent hilarity the farmers' boys unloaded the waggons, and the girls and matrons unpacked the boxes and set their houses in order for their ten days' encampment in the woods. Lawrence Temple had a tent of his own, and Edith exhibited in its dainty curtains and in the pictures on the walls the same refined taste that characterized her little parlour at home. Mother Lowry had invited the minister's wife to share her larger tent, and to let Lawrence " share and fare " with the visiting preachers; but the young matron replied: "No, I want the opportunity to exercise hospitality as well as you. As we are on our own circuit, my tent must be a sort of headquarters for the preachers' wives." " What a cosy nest of a place you have here ! " said Mrs. Manning, as, with her friend Mrs. Marshall, she made a brief call ; "I declare it's as pretty as a picture." 66 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. "What does she want with all them gimcracks out here in the woods ? " said her ascetic companion, as they walked away. " A prayer-meeting won't be any better for all them pictures on the wall." " I don't know but it will," replied Mrs. Manning, " if they help to put people in a pleasant frame of mind." She was evidently unobservant of the contrary effect which they seemed to have had upon her friend. Upon the borders of the lake were two Indian missions, and the Indian,^ turned out in full force to the camp-meeting. It was a sort of reminiscence of the great councils and pow-wows of their nation. Along the shore on each side of the camp they pitched their wigwams and drew up their bark canoes. The main body arrived in quite a flotilla of canoes, which rode lightly over the waves, some of them spreading a blanket sail to catch the breeze. A band of sturdy rowers urged on the other canoes, chanting, as they kept time with their oars, the words of an Indian hymn. Fragile as the canoes seemed, their sides not much thicker than stout paper, and weighing in all but a few pounds, it was extraordinary what loads they would carry — squaws, papooses, pots, blankets, hatchets, guns, fishing-tackle, and fish. These loads were soon disem- barked, and in a very short time the squaws had fires made and water boiling for tea — of which they are very fond — and freshly-caught fish broiling on the coals. The men had almost as speedily cut poles for their wigwams, and stripped the bark from the great birch trees growing near the water's edge to cover the poles. In a very short time nearly a hundred lodges were pitched, and their camp had the look of long occupancy ; the Indians smoking stolidly in groups, the women cooking at the fires, at which they seemed to be engaged most of the time, and the boys shaping arrows, or fishing from a rocky headland. As evening drew on, the row of fires around the shores of the little bay, each mirrored in the rippling THE CAMP.MEETIXG. 57 waves, the groups of wigwams, and the dark forest behind, were exceedingly impressive. But a few years before, such a gathering of red-skins would have carried terror to the entire neighbourhood, and would have excited apprehensions of midnight massacre by the tomahawk and scalping-knife. But through the apos- tolic labours of Elder Case these once savage tribes had become civilized and Christianized, and now instead of pa,'" m orgies — the hideous medicine-dance, the sacrifice of the white dog, and beating of the conjurer's drum — was heard in every lodge the sound of Christian prayer and praise. As the darkness fell, the pealing strains of a huge tin trumpet — like an Alpine horn, some six feet long — blown by stentorian lungs, rolled and re-echoed through the woods. Soon, from every tent and lodge, the occu- pants were streaming towards the auditorium — only that was not what they called it — it was "the evenin' preachin*." The fires were kindled on the elevated stands, which soon blazed like great altars, sending aloft their ruddy tongues of flame, brightly lighting up everything around, changing the foliage of the trees above them apparently into fretted silver, and leaving in deep Rembrandt-like shadow the outskirts of the encampment and the surrounding forest. The first sermon was by the Chairman of the District. It was of rather an official character; indeed, Mrs. Marshall pronounced it rather a tame affair ; " milk- and-watery " was the phrase she used. She liked to see the sinners catch it red-hot : and this was a calmlv argued discourse, urging upon the members of the Church the duty of personal consecration to Grod, and of waiting upon Him, that they might be endued with power from on high and prepared to work for Him ; which topic was not so much to her taste. At the morning and afternoon service, the next day, the attendance was not so large ; a good many being engaged in completing the arrangements of the camp. A great many new arrivals came on the ground, some 58 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. I to remain only over the Sunday, and others to remain till the close. In the evening a very large congregation was as- sembled, and seemed full of expectancy. The preacher for the occasion was the Kev. Henry Wilkinson, a fiery little, black-eyed, black-haired man, a perfect Vesuvius of energy and eloquence, pouring forth a lava-tide of impassioned exhortation and appeal. When warmed up with his them* he reminded one, says Dr. Carroll, of nothing so much as " a man shovelling red-hot coals." The effect of the sermon was electrical. Shouts of " Amen ! " and " Hallelujah ! " were heard on every side, and also sounds of weeping and mourning. The Indians who sat in a group n the ground near the preacher were aroused from their characteristic stolid Indifference by the magnetic energy of the speaker, even though they did not understand his words ; and when his discourse was afterwards interpreted to them by one of their number, chosen for that purpose, they were deeply moved. At the singing of the hymn, " All hail the power of Jesu's name," to the grand old tune of " Coronation," they joined in heartily in their own language, and it seemed an earnest and foretaste of the fulfilment of the closing prayer of the hymn — "Let every tribe and every tongue Before Him prostrate fall, And shout in universal song The crowned Lord of all." After this another preacher gave a fervent exhorta- tion, and invited penitents to the " mourners' bench," as the foremost row of seats was called. This was soon filled with earnest seekers of salvation, and a fervent prayer-meeting followed. It must be confessed that, to a person not in sympathy with the services and observing them from the outside, they would have seemed confusing, if not disorderly. Cries, tears, groans, ejaculations, and at times two or three persons praying at once, appeared unseemly, if not irreverent. But the power of the Most High rested upon the THE CAMP- MEETING. 69 remain was as- ireacher , a fiery esuvius ■tide of ivarmed Carroll, ^ coals." outs of I every \. The ear the 3 stolid peaker, Is ; and them e, they hymn, md old n their re taste mn — diorta- lench," s soon ervent that, 3s and have tears, >ersons ^erent. n the assembly, notorious sinners were deeply convinced, and some soundly converted. When the tide of excitement rose immoderately high, the presiding minister, who lield the meeting well in hand, would give out a hymn, whose holy strains would have a tranquillizing effect on the minds of all present. It is seldom in our modern fashionable watering-place camp-meetings that such scenes of Divine power are witnessed, and to many minds they would be rather '■disconcerting if they were to occur. But these old- fashioned preachers came together for this very purpose — to see souls converted ; and they were not disturbed by a little noise, if only the desired result were ac- complished. We doubt not that on the day of Pentecost, when the great mulLitude were pricked in their heart and cried out, '* Men and brethren, what shall we do ? " and when three thousand souls were converted in one day, a good deal of excitement was manifested. Strange that men who would shout them- selves hoarse at a political meeting, or at a stock exchange, or at a boat race or lacrosse match, and expect others to share their enthusiasm, should be so shocked when men aroused to a sense of sin and its guilt and danger cry out in their anguish, and seek to flee from the wrath to come. The wonder rather is, that, with the tremendous issues of eternity and the soul's salvation at stake, men are so apathetic, so torpid, and so dumb. CHAPTER XIT. " AS A BIRD OUT OF THE SNARE OF THE FOWLERS." " Touch the goblet no more ! It will rauke thy heart sore To its very core ! " Longfellow, Golden Legend. THE general impressi* i made on the community by the camp meeting may be inferred from the re- marks of Bob Crowle, a notorious scapegrace, famous for all manner of wicked and reckless exploits in disturbing previous camp-meetings and other religious services. He was conversing with Jim Larkins, the keeper of the •' Dog and Gun " tavern in the village, who stood by, a sinister observer of the proceedings. " Why, bless my eyes," exclaimed that individual, " if that ain't Bill Saunders a-roarin' like a bull o' Bashan, there at the mourners' bench. Well, wonders will never cease. I'd as soon expec' )3 see you there as Bill Saunders." " You've often seen me in a worse place," said Crowle, " and where I had better reason to be ashamed of myself than Bill Saunders has. I guess he won't spend so much of his earnings at your bar ; and that'll be a good thing for his wife and kids." " Why, you ain't j'ined the temperance, has you, Bob ? " asked Jim, in real or affected dismav. " You'll be goin' for 'ad to the mourners' bench yourself, ''AS A JilBB OUT OF THE SNAUEr 61 I reckon." This was said with an intensely contemp- tuous sneer. " Well, if I did, it would be nuthin' to be jisliamed of," replied Crowle. " If a man's got a soul, I don't see why he shouldn't try to save it. I've served the devil long enough, and what have I ever gained by it? I've spreed away a good farm and drinked up a small fortune — most of which has gone into your till, Jim Larkins. I'm thinking it was about time I was turn- ing over a new leaf." At this moment the vast assemblage were singing a hymn of invitation, the refrain of which rang sweetly through the forest aisles : " Will you go \ Will you go \ O say, will you go to the Eden above ? " Edith Temple had been a not uninterested observer of the colloquy between Crowle and Larkins. She knew who they were from having seen them at the Fairview church. Yielding to an impulse for which she could not account, she walked toward Crowle, and stopped before him, still singing, * ' say, will you go to the Eden above 1 " There was an irresistible spell in the thrilling tones of her voice and in her appealing look. " By the help of Grod, I will," said Crowle, with a look of solemn resolution in his eyes, and, taking her proffered hand, he followed her to the altar for prayer. Mrs. Marshall was rather shocked to see the preacher's wife going forward with the dissipated-looking creature, who was chiefly noted for hanging around the village tavern ; and even Mr.^i. Manning thought it a very bold proceeding ; but Edith was sustained by the conscious- ness that she was doing a right and Christian act. One of the advantages of these free forest assemblies is that they break down the conventionalities of the more formal indoor service, and one feels more at liberty to follow the promptings of conscience and the guidings of the good Spirit of God. fi2 LIFE IX A PARSON AG K m It was certainly very noisy in that prayer circle. Strong crying and sobs and groans were heard, and tears fell freely from eyes unused to weep. One dapper little gentleman — a theological student from the Burg- Koyal College — retired in protest to the preachers tent, saying as he did so : " This ranting and raving is terrible. God is not the author of confusion. Does not St. Paul expressly say, ' Let all things be done decently and in order ' ? " This gentleman afterwards found that Methodism was too raw and rough a religion for his delicate sensibilities. He therefore joined a highly ritualistic church, wore a very long clerical coat, a high-buttoned vest, and a very stiff, straight-band collar, and intoned the prayers most sesthetically for a fashionable congregation. We observed, however, that the learned and cultured president of the college did not seem at all disconcerted by the noise and the non-observance of the conventionalities of public worship, and laboured earnestly with his colleagues in the good work in progress. Poor Saunders, the village blacksmith, who was also, as we have seen, a zealous patron of the " Dog and Grun," had indeed a terrible time of it. He was a large and powerful man, and as he wrestled in an agony of prayer, the beaded sweat-drops fell from his brow, and the veins stood out like whipcords on his forehead. His weeping wife — a godly woman and loving consort, but bearing on her cheek the marks of a cruel blow received from her husband in a drunken bout, though kinder man ne'er breathed when he was sober — knelt by his side, trying to comfort him and to point him to the Saviour, Who had been her own support and solace during long years of trouble and sorrow. At length, with a shout of deliverance, he sprang to his feet and exclaimed, — ''^ I've done it ! I've done it ! I've done it ! I've given up the grog for ever ! I thought I never could ; the horrid thirst seemed raging like the fire of hell within me. But I vowed to God I'd never touch it ''AS A BIRD OUT OF THE SXARE: rt3 more, and that very moment it seemed as if the devil lost his grip upon my soul, the evil spirit was cast out, and God spoke peace, through His Son, to my troubled heart. " ! Mary," he went on, " I've been a bad husband and a l^ad father, but by God's grace we'll be happy yet." A great shout of praise and thanksgiving went up from the people, and few eyes in the assembly were unwet with tears. Yet it was certainly a most dis- orderly assembly. But there was joy in heaven and joy on earth over the repentant sinner, and we tliink we could pardon even a greater confusion from which such hallowed results should flow. Amid the general joy poor Crowle seemed forgotten. He remained with head bowed down, but his mind, he said, was all dark, not a ray of light gleamed amid the gloom. Even after the meeting was dismissed, he still knelt upon the ground. Presently he felt a soft hand laid upon his shoulder, and a soft voice spoke gently in his ear : " I waited patiently for the Lord ; and He inclined unto me, and heard my cry." " ril wait," he replied. *' He waited many a year for me ; H'l wait His good time." And, with a gentle pressure of his hand, Edith glided away. And wait he did till after midnight, with two or three who remained to pray with and counsel him ; and after that, all night long he waited in the silent forest, WTestling with Grod as Jacob wrestled with the angel, saying, " I will not let Thee go, except Thou bless me." But still the blessing came not. Still the burden was unremoved. M&A CHAPTEK XIII. AS A BKAND FKOM THE BURNING. ti " And can it be that I should gain An interest in the Saviour's blood? Died He for me, who caused His pain ? For me, who Him to death pursued ? Amazing love ! how can it be That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me ? " Charles Wesley. THE Sabbath morning dawned bright and beautiful. The dew-drops hung like sparkling jewels on every leaf and shrub and blade of grass. The lake and islands and the surrounding forest lay fair as Eden on the first Sabbath which dawned upon the world. And not unlike " the voice that breathed o'er Eden " was the sound of prayer and praise from many an Indian wigwam, from many a rustic tent. It was a day of high religious festival, and from near and far multitudes early began to gather for the public services. Shortly before the preaching was to commence, Lawrence Temple came to a tent where a prayer-meeting was being held, and beckoned to his wife to come out. " Bob Crowle wants to see you," he said ; " come and see if you can help him. He is in deep distress." " Poor fellow ! " Edith replied ; "he is like the man in the Grospel, out of whom the evil spirit would not depart." " ' This kind,' " said Lawrence, " ' goeth not out but AS A liliAND FliOM THE JiUIiNIXO. »).) a 5LEY. autiful. a every ke and iden on And was Indian day of titudes Shortly wrence Qg was out. ne and le man lid not ut but by prayer and fastiiiir,' and vet T nm sure he has tried both." On a little knoll overlooking the lake sat Crowle, looking haggard in tlie morning light. H<' gazed with tixed stare into space, as though he saw nought. Me heaved a deep and lieavy sigh, as Edith took his hand and asked him in sympathetic* tones how he was. " It's good o' you to come and see a [)oor wretch like me," he said, " but Tm Jifeard it's too late. I'm afeanl I've sinned away my day of grace. Tm afeard I've committed the sin for which there's no forgiveness either in this world or in the world to come. I know what the Scriptur' says about it; for, though I've been a drunken vagabond for years, I was brought up in the Sunday School. But I hardened my heart like Pharaoh, and resisted the Spirit of God, and made a mock of religion. Perhaps you've heard how at the revival last winter I did the devil's work, tryin' to break up the meetin' by putt in' pepper on the stove. Since then, I took to drink worse than ever, and got kinder past feelin', I 'low," and he gazed with stony stare on the dimpling waters of the lake, but evidently saw them not. '* But you're not past feeling, my brother,'' said Edith. "You feel deeply concerned about your soul. The very fear that you have committed this sin is a proof that you are not ; for if God's Spirit had indeed left you, you would be perfectly indifferent about it." " No, thank God," he said, " I'm not indifferent, I'm in dead earnest ; and if I perish, I will perish at the foot of the cross ; " and a look of fixed resolve lighted up his face. *' None ever perished there," said Edith. And she began to sing softly the sweet refrain : " ' There is life for a look at the Cnicified One, There is life at this moment for thee, Then look, sinner, look imto Him and be saved, Unto Him who was nailed to the tree.' '' (5G LIFE IX A PAR SON A CE. ■ . \) III "I soo it! I wee it!" oxclsiimed llic ponitent sonl, after soirK^ furtlier counsel from Lawrenee and his wife. " I've been doubting and mistrusting the bh'-ssed Lord, thougli lie died on the cross to save me ; and bh'ss tlie Lord, He saves me now! I do trust Him! I'll never doubt Him more ! Let me go and tell my l)rother Pliin. We wuz companions in sin. We ought to be companions in salvation as well." "Go," said Edith, "like Andrew of old, and bring your brother to Jesus ; " and she placed her soft hand in his brown and horny palm, with a gentle pressure of sympathy and congratulation. Bob C'rowle soon found his brother Phineas loitering on the outskirts of the camp-ground with a number of boon companions, among whom was Jim Larkins, the landlord of the " Dog and Gun." " Come with me, Phin," said Bob, " I want you.** "What's the matter. Bob?" asked his brother, as they walked through the forest aisles. " Larkins was telling the boys the preacher's wife carried you otif by the ear last night just as a colley dog would a sheep."' " She's been my good angel, Phin, and she'll be yours if you'll let her. I've led you into wickedness many a time. I want now to lead you away from it." " Well, I don't want no women running after me, I'm feart o' them. I know I'm as awkward as an ox, an' if such a fine lady as the preacher's wife was to tackle me, I'd be sure to act like a fool. I know I should." " She's just an angel, Phin. W^hy, she laid her hand on my arm and called me ' Brother ' — me ! a poor drunken wretch — just as if I were her own brother for certain. An' I thought, if this woman that knows nothin' about me but what's bad is so much concerned about my soul, the good Lord That bought me will not cast me off."' Happy the one whose human love and sympathy is the first revelation to a fallen sinner of the infinite goodness of the merciful All-Father, and of the loving Elder Brother of our souls I AS A Jilt AND FRov ruj: nrnxrxG. 67 as " Why, Phin, the very world Heems changed," ex- claimed the new eonvert aft<'r a pause. " Tlie sky seems higher, the sunlight brighter, the forest a fresher green, and the hike a deeper blue. It seems as if I liad just come out of a dungeon into a bright and beautiful garden. IMy heart is as light as a bird's, and I can't help but sing.*' And he burst fortli into a glad carol of joy. "0, Phin," he went on, "won't you come to the blessed Lord yourself?'' " I wish to goodness I could," said Phin, with a great sigh. " I feel that me.an and ashamed of myself, and mad at myself, after coming otf' a spree, that I have often wished I wuz a dog that had no soul to lose." " But you've one to save, Phin, and the blessed Lord that saved mine will save yours too. Let it be this very day." " I've often thought I'd try, Bob ; but then the devil 'ud get his hooks into me, and temptation 'ud get the better o' me ; and when the liquor's in, the sense is out, and I care for neither God nor man." " Dear Phin," said Bob, " stay away from Larkins and the rest, and come with me to the meeting. ! Phin, the text o' that preacher last night just makes me shudder : ' One shall be taken, and t'other left.' God forbid it should be one of us ! " " Amen to that. Bob. I'll try, dear old fellow ; " and for a time the brothers parted. I CHAPTER XIV. THE TRANCE. " 8 peak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet, From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low." Mrs. Browning. THE afternoon service was attended by an immense assemblage of persons. A powerful sermon was preached by Elder Metcalf, and after that a fervent exhortation wa^: given by another of the ministers. The presence of so vast a multitude seemed to cause a tide of magnetic sympathy to roll over the congrega- tion, and, on the invitation being given for penitents to approach the " mourners' bench," a large number went forward spontaneously. The exhorter was a man of intensely emotional temperament, and communi- cated his own emotions to many of his hearers, especially to those of more sympathetic sensibilities. Tears fell freely, sobs and cries were heard, and im- passioned prayers and shouts of praise to Grod. At length one of the kneelers at the bench, a young girl who appeared deeply affected, fell prostrate on the ground, as if stricken dead. The old camp-meeting generals seemed not at all alarmed by the occurrence. One of them burst into a hymn, the refrain of which was : " Send the power, send the power, Just now ! " in which the whole assembly joined with thrilling effect. Mi'l m THE TRANCE. 69 5VNING. mmense ion was fervent inisters. o cause ngrega- enitents number s a man mmuni- learers, bilities. md im- od. At ung girl on the meeting urrence. ich was : ig effect. Two others conveyed the apparently lifeless form of the young girl to the tent occupied by Lawrence Temple and his wife. Edith had hastened at once to prepare a couch, and, having never before witnessed anything of the sort, was much alarmed at the condition of her young friend, Carrie Mason, for she it was. " (to and get Dr. Norton," she said, hurriedly, to Lawrence ; " I saw him on the grounds." " She needs no doctor, sister," said good Elder Met- calf. " I've seen a many just as she is. It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes. She'll come out all right." Dr. Norton was at hand in a moment. He found Edith fanning the face of her friend, who seemed to be in a sweet and placid sleep. Her hands were pressed together as in prayer, like the hands of the marble effigies on the tombs of an old cathedral : indeed, she looked herself like a marble effigy. A sweet smile rested on her face. Her breathing was so gentle and low as to be almost imperceptible ; and when the Doctor felt her pulse, it was soft and g(»ntle, and very slow. He tried to part her hands, but they remained rigid and fixed. " This beats me," he candidly avowed ; " I never saw a similar case. It is like what the books describe as catalepsy, or trance — an obscure psychical condition which makes us feel the limitations of science. I can do nothing for her, nor needs there that I should. She is in no danger." Edith sat in a sort of strange spell by the side of her fair friend, whose face seemed transfigured and glorified by a light from heaven, as if she were in converse with the spirit world — like an alabaster vase, through whose translucency shone the light of a lamp within. Hour after liour passed by without change or motion. The evening congregation assembled ; the singing of the great multitude, like the sound of many waters, awoke her not from her peaceful trance. A deep mysterious awe fell upon the congregation under I 70 LIFE IN A PAUSONAGE. |i! the influence of this strange manifestation of Divine power. The preacher for the evening deepened the impression by his sermon on the nearness and tlie mysteries of the spirit-world, and tlie terrors of the Judgment Day. The preachers at the cjimp-meeting did not hesitate to declare the whole counsel of God concerning the perdition of ungodly men, and their hearers had no sceptical creed to serve as a lightning- rod to convey away from them the thunderbolts of God's wrath. Deep convictions seized upon strong men. Scoffers were silenced, and desperate and hardened sinners were smitten down before the power of God. One old reprobate fairly roared for mercy, as he realized the terrors of an angry Judge. Many souls struggled into the liberty of the children of God ; but some, among them Phin Growl e, resisted the strivings of the Spirit, and plunged the more madly into sin, to stifle and drown the upbraidings of conscience. " I^et us get out of this," said Jim Larkins, to a group of his cronies and patrons of his bar. " Let us get out of this. These people are all going crazed ; and if you don't look out, they will make you as crazy as themselves. Come along ! There's free drinks at the ' Dog and Gun ' for all hands. Let's make a night of it;" and a band of them broke away, as if under the guidance of an evil spirit, from that place of sacred influence. As they reeled through the shadowy forest — for some of them had brought liquor, and were already under its influence — they tried to keep their courage up by roaring drinking and hunting songs. At length, when they had got away from the camp, certain strange forest voices — the snarl of a wild cat, the yelp of a fox, and the melancholy cry of a loon on the lake, smote upon their ears, mingled with a strange hooting more unearthly still. " The saints preserve us ! what is that ? " exclaimed Phin Crowle, as almost directly above his head a strange cry, as of a soul in mortal fear, burst forth. Then he caught sight of a pair of large and fiery eyes glaring TUE TBAXCE, 71 at him, and a great horned and snowy owl, perched on a mossy branch, uttered again its weird " to-whit, to-whoo," and sailed on muffled and silent pinion directly acro^*« his path. " Mercy on us ! " he cried, " I thought it was a ghost." His companions burst forth in scurrile mockery at Phin, for being afraid of an owl ; and their ribald laughter and wicked oaths rose on the still air of night, and fell back from the patient skies, like the laughter of evil spirits. From the tent w^here she sat, keeping her solitary vigil beside her entranced and unconscious friend, for every one else had gone to the service, Edith Temple could hear on the one side the unhallowed sounds of the blasphemies, and on the other the singing and praying of the camp-meeting. (.)ne solemn refrain, which was sung over and over in a sad minor key, mingled weirdly with the sighing of the night-wind among the trees — a refrain like the awful D'lef^ Ira' : " O ! there'll be mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning ; O ! there'll be mourning at the judgment-seat of Christ." The thought of the tremendous issues of life and time, and of death and eternity and tlie Judgment Day, almost overwhelmed her, and she sought refuge and strength in prayer to Grod — prayer for the prayerless and the careless who spurned His proffered grace, and con- tinued to madly lay up wrath against the day of wrath. While thus engaged, she heard a soft whisper, and, looking at the alabaster form before her, she saw the lips move. Bending over the trance-like sleeper, she caught the gently whispered words, " Grlory ! glory ! glory!" softly and slowly repeated over and over again. At length the eyes slowly opened, but gazed with tix(Ml vision as if on the, to us unseen, realities of the eternal world. The pupils were dilated, but beaming with a holy light, as if, like Paul, the fair sleeper had been caught up to the third heaven, and had seen things which it is not lawful for man to utter. Edith sat awed and breathless, but presently her 72 LIFE IN A PAIiSOXAGE. I I t friend observed her. A sweet smile broke over the long-impassive features, and the awakening girl reached forth her hand in loving greeting. The rigidness passed away from her limbs. She sat quietly up, but with a somewhat dazed expression, as if aroused from a strange dream. She scarce, for a time, knew where she was, and did not at first remember the surroundings of her last moments of consciousness before her pros- tration. On resuming the connected thread of her every-day experienc*^, that of her hours of trance seemed to fade out of her mind, for she spoke not of it, and, when questioned about it, wore an abstracted and distraught air, as of one who half recollects and half forgets some strange vision of the night. She seemed, however, more saintly in character, more angelic in speech, than ever, as if her eyes had indeed seen the King in His beauty, and beheld the land that is very far off. Shortly after her awaking, liawrence and Dr. Norton had come into the "tent,*' or room. The latter care- fully noted with scientific observation the coiidition of his patient, as he professionally called her. Beckoning to Lawrence, he walked forth beneath the trees. The services were now all over, the worshippers had departed, and the auditorium lay deserted in the moonlight. " This is beyond my depth," said the Doctor. " There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. I've been sometimes half in- clined to be a sceptic. Our profession has a tendency to make men materialists. But this staggers me. Call it ecstasy, catalepsy, trance, what you please ; that does not explain the strange phenomenon. I am inclined to accept the theory of your old camp-meeting general, that it is a manifestation of the almighty power of Grod." "We live on the border-land," said Lav^rence, "be- tween time and eternity. What marvel that the penumbra of the latter should sometimes be projected across our life-pathway ? " * * In the above account the author but dejicribes — nomme mutato — what he has witnessed with his own eyes. CHAPTER XV. THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP-MEETING. " Blest be the dear uniting love, That will not let us part. " Charles Wesley, THE last day of the camp-meeting had come. It had been a time of great spiritual power. Many souls had been converted ; but, as always happens through the rejection of religious opportunities, some, alas ! had become the more confirmed and hardened in their wickedness. This last day was devoted to the strengthening and encouragement and counselling of believers, especially of the recent converts. First, a lovefeast or fellowship meeting was held. It was an occasion of intensest interest. Many testimonies were given, from that of the old camp-meeting veteran, the hero of a score of such triumphs, exulting like an ancient warrior — a Gideon or Barak — over the victories of Israel, to that of the timid girl who had just given her heart to the Saviour. Joyous were the bursts of song, and thrilling were the words of glad thanksgiving, as parents rejoiced over children, and wives over husbands brought to Grod. " Our home's been just like heaven below," said Mary Saunders, with streaming tears, " since my William gave up the drink and gave his heart to Gfod. I'd been a-prayin' for him for years, and hopin' against 74 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. . I,; \ J hope ; and now the Lord has answered all my prayerfj. My cup runneth over." "God bless the little woman for it! " said Saunders, the blacksmith, as he rose to his feet. " I've know'd she was a-prayin' for me this many a year. An' some- times it made me mad enough to kill her. I believe the Lord stayed my hand many a time, or I'd 'a' done it. But, bless the Lord, He've answered her prayers ; and God help me to make up in the futur' for my wicked, wasted past ! " A thrill of sympathy ran through the entire assemlily, and a chorus of hearty " Amens " went up to God. In broken words Bob Crowle told what the Lord had done for him, and tears streamed down his face as he besought the prayers of the people for his still prodigal and impenitent brother. Then after a sermon of wise counsels, and admo- nitions, and encouragement, the sacrament of the liord's Supper was administered. Kude were the surroundings. No canopy but the blue sky was over- head. No stately altar with gold or silver chalice or paten bore the sacred emblems. No surpliced priest broke the bread and poured the wine. On a rude board table, covered with a fair white cloth, were Y)laced the consecrated elements in earthen platters and plain glass vessels. The participants of the sacred feast knelt in the straw before a wooden railing, and received in horny palms, worn with toil, the emblems of the broken body and shed blood of their crucified Redeemer. Coarse frequ-ently was the garb, and uncouth the form it covered, but they were the sons and daughters of the Almighty, and the heirs of an immortal destiny ; and as the Master revealed Himself to His disciples in the breaking of bread at Emmaus, so He again manifested Himself to His humble followers in the wilderness, no less than if beneath cathedral fretted vaults they knelt upon mosaic marble floor. The simplicity of the rite passed into the sublime. It brought to mind the sacramental celebration of the THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP-MEETTXG. 7') saints of God amid the mountain " nuiirlands " of Scotland, of the persecuted Huguenots in the Desert of the Cevennes, and of the primitive believers in tlie dim crypts of the Catacombs. At the close of the solemn service, the interesting ceremony of leave-taking and '' breaking up the camp " followed. Every person on the grounds, except the few who were detained in the ten^s by domestic duties, joined in a procession, and walked, two and two, headed by the preachers, round and round the inside of the encampment, singing such hymns and marching songs as, " Come, ye that love the Lord, And let your joys be known," with its grand refrain, in which every voice pealed forth in ringing chorus : " Then let your songs abound And every tear bo dry ; We're niarchini? through Imuianuors ground, To fairer worlds on high." Another favourite hymn on these occasions was the follov\-ing : " We part in body, not in mind, Our minds continue one ; And each to each in Jesus joined. We hand in hand go on. We'll march around Jerusalem ! We'll march around Jerusalem ! When we arrive at home.'' But though they might sing heartily, " Let every tear be dry," there were few that succeeded in fulfilling the pledge. Their hearts, filled and thrilled with deep emotion, were like a beaker brimming with water, which the slightest jar causes to overflow. Often the most joyous songs were sung with tears in the voice, and frequently with tears Rowing from the eyes. Beyond the parting here, they looked to the great gathering in the Father's house on high, and sang with deepest feeling : 'tJ *' 76 LIFE IN A PABSONAGE. " And if our fellowship below In Jesus be so sweet, What heights of rapture shall we know When round His throne we meet ! " Another hymn of kindred spirit ran thus : " Here we suffer grief and pain, Here we meet to part again, In heaven we part no more. What ! never part again ] No, never part again ! For there we shall with Jesus reign, And never, never part again ! O ! that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, To meet to part no more." Yes, Methodism is an emotional religion, and thank Grod for such hallowed emotions as stir the soul to its deepest depths, as break up the life-long habit of sin, as lead to intense conviction and sound conversion, and as fill the heart with joy unspeakable and full of glory. It may well bear the reproach of being " emotional," if these emotions lead to such blessed and enduring results. Some of these hymns were of a quaint, admonitory sort, more valuable for their religious teaching than for their poetic form. One of these ran thus : " O ! don't turn back, brothers, don't turn back ; There's a starry crown in heaven for you, if you don't turn back. " O ! don't turn back, sisters, don't turn back ; There's a golden harp in heaven for you, if you don't turn back ; " and so with indefinite repetition. At length the preachers all took their place in front of the pulpit or preacher's stand, and shook hands with every member of the procession as they passed by. After this the procession continued to melt away, as it were, those walking at the head falling out of rank and forming in single* line around the encampment, still shaking hands in succession with those marching, till every person on the ground had shaken hands with i<:l THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP.MEETIXG. 77 I't I't front with by. as it i and still „ till with everybody else — an evolution difficult to describe in- telligibly to one who has never witn'^^sed it ; yet one that is very easily and rapidly perforr ed. The greet- ing was a mutual pledge of brotherlic id and Christian fellowship. Warm and fervent were the hand-clasps, and touching and tender the farewells. Then the doxology was sung, the benediction pronounced, and the Burg-Royal District Camp-meeting of 18 — was over All this had taken place by noon, or shortly after. Soon a great change passed over the scene. It was like coming down from a Mount of Transfiguration to the e very-day duties ;f ^^fe. The last meal in camp was hastily prepared an„ eaten ; somewhat as, we may imagine, was the last meal of the Israelites before the Exodus. The afternoon was full of bustle and activity, breaking up the encampment, loading up teams, and the driving aw ■' to their respective homes of the people who, for over a week, had held this Feast of Tabernacles to the Lord. Several of the preachers, the light cavalry of Metho- dism, were early on the march, astride their sturdy nags, with their little leathern portmanteaus, containing a few changes of linen, their Bible, and hymn-books. Before night they were far on their way to their several circuits, carrying the holy fire of revival all over the land — like the bearers of Scotland's cross of fire, but summoning the people, not to violence and blood, but to holiness and life. The Indians struck camp with the utmost celerity. Their wigwams were soon dismantled. Their canoes were soon loaded, and, gliding over the water, vanished in the distance. Soon only the blackened embers of their camp-fires told of their occupancy of the shore. At length the last waggon had gone, the last loiterer had departed, and the silent camp, but late the scene of so much life, was left to the blue birds and the squirrels. But in many a distant home, and in many a human heart, the germs of a new life had been planted, to bring forth fruit unto life eternal. CHAPTER XVI. w AUTUMN RECREATIONS. "I love to wander throup^h the woodlands hoary, In the soft light of an autumnnl day, When Summer p^athers up her robes of 'jlory, And, like a dream of beauty, glides away." Miis. Whitman. rPHK mellow days of October soon swiftly passed. X The great sweep of woodland on either side of the valley in which the village of Fairview nestled was ablaze with crimson, and scarlet, and purple, and gold. The fields stood reaped and bare. The great round pumpkins e^leamed amid the yet ungathered corn that, plumed and tasselled like an Indian chief, rustled in the autumn wind. What a glorious beauty Nature wears " when autumn to its golden grandeur grows ! " " How the forest glows and glares and flickers," said Lawrence, one sunny afternoon, "like Moses' bush, for ever burning, ever unconsumed ! " " Nay," said Edith, " it seems to me rather like Joseph's coat of many colours, which his brethren dipped in blood and brought to the patriarch Jacob." " Is not that tall ash tree," asked Lawrence, " like a martyr dying amid ensanguined flames ? " " It seems to me," replied Edith, *' like the haughty Sardanapalus self-immolated on his funeral pyre; and A UTUMN HE (RE A TTONS. 79 see,'' she added, ''how llie tidl pophirs flare like great lihizing torches in the wind." "The world is very beautiful," said Lawrence, and. going into the garden, he sat down on a rustic seal, and in full view of the lovely lake, })laci(l as a niirror, so clear and unruffled that the gorgeous islands seemed to float swan-like on the wave, each tint and shade reflected so perfectly in the water that it was ditHcult to discriminate between the substance and the shadow. After writing for a time in his note-book, he came back and read to Edith the following sonnets suggested by the scene : Still stand the trees in the soft hazy light, Bathing their branches in the ambient air ; The liush of beauty breatheth everywhere : In crimson robes the forests all are dight, Autumn flings forth his banner in the field, Blazoned with heraldry of gules and gold ; In dyes of blood his garments all are rolled, The gory stains of war are on his shield. Like some frail, fading girl, her death anear, On whose fair cheek blcjoms bright the liectic rose, So burns the wan cheek of the dying year. With beauty brighter than the summer knows ; And, like a martyr, mid ensanguined fires, Enwrapped in robes of Hame he now expires. Like gallant courtiers, see, the forest trees Flaunt in their crimson robes with broidered gold ; And like a king in royal purple's fold. The oak flings largess to the beggar breeze. For ever burning, ever unconsumed. Like the strange portent of the prophet's bush. The autumn flames amid a sacred hush ; The forest glory never brighter bloomed. Upon the lulled and drowsy atmosphere Falls faint and low the far-off nmffled stroke Of woodman's axe, the schoolboy's ringing cheer, The watch-dog's bay. and crash of falling oak ; And gleam the apples through the orchard trees, Like golden fruit of the Hesperides. " Why, you are quite a poet," said Edith ; " I did not know that that was one of your accomphshments. I must crown you as the ladi(^s crowned Petrarch at the capitol 80 LIFE IN A PARSOXAGE. bf at Rome ; " and she placed on his h(Md a wreath of the ivy green whieh clambered ov(ir the verandah. "I am afraid I look more like an ox garlanded for the altar, than like a crowned poet," laughed Lawrence ; *' but it is now your turn to weave the tuneful verse. I am sure you can produce something far better than my humble lines." " I am sure I ^'ould not," said Edith, " I never tried in my life. But I'or the fun of the thing T don't mind trying the first chance I get. What shall I write about ? " " What better subject can you have than this golden autumn weather, and the varied [ispects and sugges- tions of nature ?" "All right," said Edith with a laugh. *' Now give me a new pencil, one that hjis never been profaned by any other task, and I'll begin first thing in the morn- ing." Alas that she let the golden opportunity slip ! Towards evening the clouds began to gather heavily round the setting sun, which went down lurid and i\\\. With the night a cold and dreary rain-storm set in, and the wind howled drearily through the trees, and the waves made melancholy moan upon the shore. When Edith looked forth in the morning, what a change had taken place ! The ground was strewn with the dank and sodden leaves, but yesterday so gorgeous and gay. The autumn flowers, half-wrenched from their stalks, looked forlorn and desolate. The leaden clouds hung low and drifted wildly over the lake upon whose leaden waters the "white caps" wildly careere 1. As Edith came to the breakfast -room, she quoted for- lornly Tennyson's lines : " My very heart faints and my whole soul grie /es At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves ; Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave in the earth so chilly ; Heavily hangs the hollyhock ; Heavily hangs the tiger lily." . I TrTTMX 7? ECTl EA TIOXS. 81 of the led for Tenee ; verse. r than 3r tried t mind ' write golden sugges- >w give med bv morn- y slip! heavily nd re/t. set in, es, and shore, change ith the orgeous [ from leaden :e upon ireen- \ ted for- es " O, you've missed your chance ! " said Lawrence, over his coffee and toast. "The inspiration of yesterday has gone for ever." After breakfast Kditli retired to her little hondoir, and after a cou[)le of lioiirs came forth with the marks of tt^ars on her face, and silently handed Lawrence some sheets of [)apo speak in the s nas tree len Dr. n coat. A DArcriirEn of eve. %\\ powdered with salt, to represent Santa Claus, they fairly screamed with joy. At Lawrence's request he anil Miss Hurton distributed the presents, iuid the latter played her part with the grace and dignity of a queen. Then there was tea, and talk, and music; Miss l^urton winning new laurels by her l)rilli;nit singing, between the Christmas carols of the children, '" Well, she's real grit, if she is a "\'ankee gal," said iSIrs. ^Manning. "Seems to improve on ac(piaintance," said Mrs. ISIarshall, even her austerity meUing under the spell of her fascination ; and everybody declared that such a Christmas festival in Fairview had never been known. Chief l^ig I^ear, from the Indian village of ]Min- nehaha, across the lake, was present, and invited Lawrence and his wife to drive over to share a Christ- mas dinner, the ice being in fine condition. " And bring the "i'ankee gal anc! the great medicine man along," he said; "we'll give you the best bear steaks and beaver tail you ever ate in your life." Miss Burton jumped at the invitation, which pro- mised such a novel pleasure. " Are you not afraid,'" asked Dr. Norton, " that this great chief will capture you and make you his squaw ? " "I always was ambitious," replied Miss Burton; " perhaps I may make a conquest j'nd come back with his scalp at my belt — metaphorically, that is." " You have made a conquest already, if you only knew it," said the young man to himself, and he gazed with admiration at the imperious beauty. " What a splendid woman she would make," said Lawrence to his wife, that night, " if she were only soundly converted ! " " Yes," said Edith, " there are in her vast possibi- lities of good. She has a noble nature. I hope she may be guided aright." IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) /. s^ 1.0 I.I ■so |2£ U, ^ ■ u lii m us Li 2.2 L& 12.0 WUt. I 1.25 III 1.4 ||,.6 ^ 6" ■■ ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M580 (7U) 873-4503 o I. CHAPTER XIX. THE INDIAN MISSION. iiJi ( * u if;: ti; ; •' Then the Black-Robe chief, the prophet, Told his message to the people, Told them of the Virgin Mary, And her blessed Son the Saviour, How in distant lands and ages He had lived on earth as we do, How He fasted, prayed, and laboured ; How the Jews, the tribe accursed, Mocked Him, scourged Him, crucified Him ; How He rose from where they laid Him, Walked again with His disciples, And ascended into heaven. . . . ' Peace be with you, Hiawatha, Peace be with you and your people. Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon.' " Longfellow, iSowj of Hiawatha. ON Christmas morning Lawrence and his wife, and Dr. Norton and Miss Burton, set out in two " cutters " to cross the lake on the ice to the Indian village of Minnehaha, to attend the Indian Christmas feast. The day was bright and beautiful. The snow, pale pearl-colour in the shade, was dazzling white in full sunlight. The road was marked out by spruce boughs, stuck in the ice, so that in snowstorms or at night travellers might not lose the way. Where in places the snow was blown from the path, the ice was so clear that Jessie, the lively little mare, started to one side as if in fear of plunging into open water. riiE ixniAy mtssiox. 95 k| "uin'utha, seife, and in two le Indian hristmas le snow, white in ^ spruce ns or at ^here in ice was arted to er. The bright sunlight, the frosty air, the swift motion, the tinkling of the sleigh-bells, the ringing of the steel upon the ice, the happy hearts within — all made the blood tingle in the veins ; and the merry laugh of Nellie Burton rang out upon the air as musical as silver chimes. Dr. Norton had purchased an elegant wolf-skin robe in honour of the occasion, and some of Lawrence's friends had presented him with a handsome crimson-trimmed buffalo robe : so, keen as was the wind sweeping over the ice, no one suffered from cold. The four or five miles of ice were soon passed, and the Indian village reached. It was a straggling but thrifty-looking hamlet ; the small wooden houses, for the most part, ranged along the shore, for the con- venience of the half amphibious summer life of their occupants, who at that season spent most of their time on the water, fishing, fowling, and the like. There were only two houses of more than one story ; one of ihese was that of the resident missionary, the other that of Chief Big Bear. In front of the latter was a tall flag-staff', from which gaily fluttered, in honour of the day, a Union Jack. Big Bear felt that he in some sort represented the Grreat Mother across the sea, and so must maintain the dignity of the empire on this important occasion. He had watched the progress of the sleighs across the ice, and was at the landing with a number of his satellites to welcome his guests. He wore a new blanket-coat, with huge horn buttons, and with a piece of blue flannel, looking like a rudimentary epaulet, on each shoulder. A crimson scarf around his waist was the receptacle for his tobac<;o pouch and pipe. He wore leather leggings and moccasins, both trimmed with bright-coloured bead-work. On his breast, suspended by a blue ribbon, was a large silver medal, bearing the effigy of King Greorge III., a family heirloom, which his father had received for valour at the battle of Queenston Heights. The most incongruous feature of his attire was his black beaver hat, not of the latest Paris style, adorned wiih a crest of red 96 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. I \\ herons' feathers. A broad and well-starched shirt collar, which seemed to imperil the sjifety of his ears, was the finishing touch of civilization. " Welcome to Minnehaha," said the Chief, with a certain stately courtesy, as he politely assisted the ladies out of the cutters. At the wave of his hand a motley group of Indians, who formed a sort of guard of honour hred off n feu dejoie in honour of the guests. " I hope you are hungry," he said, " so that you can do justice to our feast." " I'm fairly starving," said Miss Burton, struggling out of her wrappings. *' I could almost eat a big bear myself." " You had better take care that Big Bear don't eat you," said the Chief; '' I'm sure that you look good enough to eat ; " and he laughed heartily at his little joke. The Doctor was a familiar visitor to the village, and took occasion, as they proreeded to the church, where the feast was given, to ask how old Bald Eagle, and Widow Muskrat, sick patients of his, were getting on. The church was a good-sized wooden building, >vith a tin-covered spire which glistened brightly in the sun. It was a scene of unwonted activity ; Indians, souaws, and young folk were swarming in and out " like uees about their straw-built citadel." The good missionary and his wife were busy directing and assisting. The room was nicely festooned with evergreen?, long tables were laid lengthways, and a shorter one on a raised plat- form, or dais, at the end for the white guests. The tables fairly groaned beneath the weight of good things. The air was laden with the savoury odour of coffee, and of roast goose, roast bear, beaver tails, and other tooth- some viands. Now ensued a curious scene : generous portions of everything that was good were set apart and sent to Bald Eagle, Widow Muskrat, and other sick, aged, or infirm people, who were not able to be present. Not until this was done did the Indians sing the grace and devote themselves to the main business of the day. And almost a day's business they made of THE IXDIAS MISSION. 97 it. One would think that they were laying in supplies for }i week. After the white guests had partaken of the various dainties, including beaver tails, roast bear, and squirrel pie, and pronounced them very good, they found much amusement in observing the enjoyment of their copper-coloured hosts. The gathering was a wonderful example of the in- fluence of Christian civilization. jNIany of those present had been born pagans, and, instead of celebrating with comely observance this Christian festival, had been wont to sacrifice the white dog, and dance, to the hideous beating of the conjurer's drum, the frenzied medicine-dance ; and well was it if their orgies did not end in bloodshed or murder, inspired by the white man's accursed "fire-water." But Elder Case sought out these wandering children of the forest, and preached in their lodges the Crospel of love, and gathered them into settlements, and sent missionaries among them ; among whom were some who became the foremost men of Canadian Methodism, as Egerton, William, and John Ryerson, James Richardson, Sylvester, Thomas, and Erastus Hurlburt, Samuel Rose, James Evans, Greorge Macdougall, and others ; and from among the red men themselves have risen up preachers of the Gospel like Peter Jones, John Sunday, Allan Salt, and Henry Steinhauer, to become missionaries to their red brethren. Chief Big Bear, the translation of whose Indian name we have given as more picturesque than his English name, Silas Jones, was himself a striking instance of the elevating influence of Christian civilization. His father was a famous pagan chief, whose breast was scarred with wounds received at Queenston Heights and Lundy's Lane, in fighting for King (ieorge, whom he considered his ally, superior to himself only in possessing the suzerainty of many tribes. The son in youth followed the wanderings of his tribe, but by Elder Case's perseverance was placed in the ^Nlount Elgin Industrial School, a missionary institution for training in religion and industry Indian youth. Here he learned 7 98 LIFE IX A PAIiSOXAGE. \\ to read, and write, and cipher, and to fjirm and build. His shrewd intellect was awakened and cultivated. He went back to his })eople, and was in course of time chosen chief of the tribe. He received Her jNIajesty's commission as a Justice of the Peace, and did no disgrace to his office. He became a man of influence in the councils of his people. He secured for them a grant of land as ji permanent home on the shores of the lovely Lac de Baufne, w^here as a lad he had hunted the red deer, and sometimes his fellow red men. He taught them the arts of agriculture and building. His own house and farm were models of neatness and thrift. He also built an elegant yacht, in which he skimmed the lake. He be«ime a class-leader and a local preacher. We have seen side by side in his house Wesley's Sermons, and the Consolidated Statutes of Canada. He dispensed both law and Gospel to his people, and sometim.es medicine as well. He sent his daughter, who bore the pretty Indian name of " Wind Flower," which well described her graceful beauty, to the Wentworth Ladies' College, where she became one of its brightest pupils. She brought back, not merely what seemed to her kinsfolk an amazing amount of knowledge, but, what they ap- preciated more highly, an acquaintance with the refine- ments of civilization. She taught the Indian girls how to trim their hats and wear their dresses somewhat in the style of city belles ; and we are afraid she was responsible for the introduction of the occasional crino- line and chignon which found their way among this unsophisticated community. But, better still, she taught the children the Word of God in the Sunday School, and played the organ in the village choir, and aided the missionary's wife in cultivating thrift and neatness and household economy among the Indian women of the village. On the present occasion, when dinner was over, she played the organ, while the choir sang very sweetly some Christmas hymns and anthems. Then the mis- m\ build. ited. He 3 of time jNlajesty's 1 did no influence r them a shores of I he had red men. building. tness and which he ler and a his house tatutea of lel to his )ty Indian ribed her ' College, lils. She kinsfolk they ap- he refine- girls how ewhat in she was nal crino- long this still, she Sunday :hoir, and hrift and le Indian over, she f sweetly the mis- THE IXDIAN MISSION. 99 sionary gave a short religious address, suitable to the occasion, and Lawrence and Dr. Norton both made short speeches. Then, by s^jccial request of Chief Big Bear, INIiss Burton sang in her brilliant style some of her best pieces, and the Chief ended the feast with a speech of congratulation and good counsel, and wise and witty remarks, which were vociferously applaiuded. All the Indians, except a few of the oldest squaws, understood and spoke English, and gave an appreciative hearing to the addresses. Indeed, their intelligent attention might be a lesson to many a white-skinned audience. As their guests departed, almost the entire po})ula- tion went down to the landing and ranged themselves in single tile along the shore. '"Must we run the gauntlet of all these people? " asked Miss Burton, with a laugh ; ''I hope they will not beat us as their ancestors did the early French missionaries." ft/ (It was an old custom of the Iroquois savages to make their prisoners '' run the gauntlet," as it was called, between two rows of Indians, who beat them with sticks, sometimes till they died.) " It is a gauntlet of a very different sort," replied Dr. Norton. " I'm not a Methodist, Miss Burton, but I admit that the Methodist Missions have wrought moral miracles in these people." As the departing guests approached the shore, Chief Big Bear remarked that the Indians would like to bid them good-bye. Accordingly, as they walked down the line, they exchanged a hearty shake-hands with each of their kind entertainers. Edith and Miss Burton were made the recipient!, of pretty little presents. The latter received from '' Wind Flower," the Chief's pretty daughter, an elegant bead-embroidered bag, with many messages of love to the teachers of the Wentworth Ladies' College. Tears came into the eyes of the generous-hearted girl at this kindness from her red sister, and the pampered daughter of fashion, throwing her arms aroind the child of the forest, gave her an aft'ectionate kiss. 100 LIFE TX A PAnSONAGE. Just as the party were getting into their sleighs, an old man who had been delayed by his lameness hobbled down the bank, and the ceremony of handshaking had to be gone through again with him. " This is (juite like holding a ^eve/^,'' said Miss Hurton. " I will know how to do it when I open my fudon in 'aris. As they drove away, waving kind farewells, the Indians fired another feu de joie, and gave a hearty cheer, and stood watching the sleighs till they disap- peared in the golden haze of the setting sun. The ride home was delightful. The snow had a delicate pinkish tinge, which deepened to a tender roseate hue. Some cubes of ice that were cut out for storage, flashed like diamonds or crystals of living topaz. The leafless trees upon the islands rose like branches of coral in the red sea of the ruddy twiMght. (Longfellow has somewhere made a similar comparison.) The exquisite gradations of tint in the western sky grew deeper and deeper, then paled to ashen grey, and the rising moon cast over lake and shore a pearly gleam, and the stars came out like sentinels in silver mail on heaven's crystal wall. Later still, a rose- coloured aurora in the north flashed and gleamed, its mysterious streamers sweeping from horizon to i;enith, and shifting like the evolutions of some stately dance. It was an hour of deep delight ; and amid many later happy Christmas days the memory of this day upon the ice, and with the simple-minded Indians of Min- nehaha, kept a cherished place. Early in the following week Miss Burton sent over crimson -coloured handkerchiefs, enough fcr all the old women in the village, as well as a locket containing a miniature portrait of herself to " Wind Flower." Dr. Norton, who was her messenger, pleaded hard for the miniature for himself, but Miss Burton was inexorable. " We must not forget the sterner sex," said the Doctor, and he supplemented the gift with a liberal allowance of tobacco for the men. M CHAPTER XX. THE WORK-DAY WORLD. *' All true Work is sacred ; in all true Work, were it but true baud- labour, there issomethinj^ of divineness." Carlyle, Work. THE holidays soon passed, and Miss Burton returned to College, having greatly enjoyed her visit. " As I see your earnest useful life here," she said to Edith, " I feel that mine has been very shallow and empty. I feel greatly dissatisfied with my past, and I hope that my future may be more worthy of a rational and immortal being." " Be assured, Nellie dear," replied Edith, " we shall find more real happiness in trying to help others than in seeking only our own pleasure. So shall we be followers, in a humble degree, of Him Who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many." After the festivities of the holiday season, the village and rural community settled down to steady winter work. Trees were felled in the pine woods, and, with much "hawing" and " geeing" of oxen, the logs were dragged to the lake-shore and rolled down the steep banks upon the ice. Railway ties, stave-bolts, cord- wood, and the varied wealth of the forest were prepared for the market. One day in January, a few of the neighbours R ii 108 LTFE TIV A PAnsnXACwE. gathered, in ii sort of informal ''bee,*' to replenisli the wood pile in the parsonage yard. Early in the winter, as soon as the ice on the lake wonld bear, Lawrence had procured a few loads of the drift-wood that lay strewn along the shore, including some of the timbers of a vessel that had been wrecked and gone to pieces on one of the islands. But it proved W(;t and " soggy "' wood, sputtering and smouldering in a very melancholy way on th(; hearth. Edith said it reminded her of Long- fellow's pathetic poem : *' O flames that flowed ! () hearts that yearnocl ! Yo were indoiid too innch akin, The drift-wood fire without that burned. The thoughts th.at glowed and burned within." Father Lowry, therefore, made liawrence a pi'esent of several standing trees of hard maple, and early one morning several axemen and teamsters assembled to convert these noble and stately trees into the plain prose of firewood. Lawrence shouldered his axe with the rest, and soon gave ])roof that he had not forgotten the skill acquired in the lumber camp on the Mattawa. As his sharp axe, wielded by his long and vigorous arms, bit into the boles of a mighty maple and soon made it totter to its fall, he gained the admiring respect of several athletic young men, as he never had by the most eloquent passages of his sermons. " He's no fool with his axe, ain't the preacher," said Phin Crowle to his brother ; " I guess he's handled one before, or I'm mistaken."' " Perhaps he understands some other things, too, better than you give him credit for," replied Bob ; and certain it is that these young stjd warts of the logging bee listened with more respectful attention to Lawrence's sermons thereafter. Before night a small mountain of logs was piled up in the parsonage yard. Edith, with the help of Mother Lowry and Carrie Mason, had prepared a sumptuous dinner and supper, to which the sturdy axemen did ample justice. Thus the generous helpfulness of these I THF WOnh'-nAV WOULD. lo:? friendly lu'igliboui's conforrcil ji suhstaiitijil IxMietit \\\)in\ their piistor, and also established him more lirmly in their kind regards. It was a favourite exercise of Tiawrence'a, after a few- hours in the study, to grasp the axe, and, v imting a mighty log, to reduce it to a mnnageahle size for use in the stove or broad, old-fashioned fireplace. He was a great enthusiast in praise of the axe. '' It exercises e\'erv muscle," he said, " it expands and dev«dops the lungs, and it oxygenates the blood, and sends it ting- ling through every artery." If some of the dyspeptic, nerveless preachers, who find the least exercise a weariness, would buy an axe and keep a stout hickory log in the back yard, by way of a piece -de resistance, they wcMild lind that their sermons would be better, and life much more enjoyabK-. CHAPTER XXI. TEMPTATION AND FALL. il ' 1/ '\ '* Tell me I hiite the howl I ' Hate " is il fcoblo word ; 1 loathe, abhor, my very soul With deep disgust is stirnnl, Whene'er I see, or hear, or tt'll Of the dark beveraji^e of hell ! " EVER since the beginning of the winter Lawrence had been preaching a series of expository sermons on the Gospel of St. John, especially on the words of our Lord as therein recorded. He became more and more absorbed in the study, as week after week he pored over those sublime, those Divine words. The interest of the congregation also was strongly mani- fested, and the Sunday evening meetings were crowded. He found, as every earnest-hearted man will find, that there was no need of bizarre and sensational per- formances, which degrade the pulpit to the level of a mountebank's platform, to secure the attention and enlist the sympathies of his hearers. He found that the words of Christ are still true as when they were first uttered : " And T, if 1 be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto Me " (John xii. 32). A feeling of deep seriousness pervaded the congregations, and several conversions, especially among the young people, drawn by the perennial attraction of an uplifted Saviour, took place. TKMPTATTry AXD FALL. 105 Lawrence threw himself also vigorously into tem- perance work. Indeed, he found the village tavern, the " Dog and Gun," the centre and source of such malign influence, that he organized a lodge of (rood Templars as a counter-influence to rescue the drunkard, and to save the young from falling into the toils of the tempter. Personally he had little liking for the regalia and paraphernalia of the lodge-room, for its signs^ l)asswor(ls, and ceremonies; but he recognized their value as a counter-attraction to the tem})tations of the bar-room, and as giving a social interest to the tem- perance movement. What more than anything else led him to establish the lodge, and to devote much of his time to its meet- ings, was a painful and almost tragical event which occurred not long after the cami)-meeting. We have mentioned the conversion to sobriety and godliness, after a desperate struggle with his besetting sin, of Saunders, the village smith. At that time, Jim i^arkins, the tavern-keeper, said that the smith would not long keep his vows of amendment, and deliberately set himself with tiend-like persistency to bring aliout the fulfilment of his prediction. At first he tried taunting and ridicule. " How is it that we don't see you any morti at the * Dog and (run ' ? " he asked Saunders one day. " Got to be too good for your old neighbours, have you ? Trying to come the pious dodge, eh ? " " God knows I've spent only too much time in your tavern," replied Saunders, " and by His help I'll never cross its threshold again." "You think so, do you, my pious friend?*' said Larkins. " Before a month you'll be gia<' ^o." " God forbid ! I'll die first ! " ejaculated Saunders, as he hurried away as from a place of baleful enchnnt- ment. Larkins now tried a more infamous scheme to ensnare in the toils of evil habit the victim who had escaped " as a bird out of the snare of the fowler." iTi lor. LTFE IN- A PABSONAGE. . -f .<•. f 1 A few weeks later the autumn " fall " or fair was held in the village. It was a very busy time for Saunders, who was kept at work early and late, shoeing horses, setting tires, and the like, and was making good wjiges. One day, amid the crowd of loafers at the tavern, Larkins suggested the idea, " What fun it would be to get Saunders drunk once more ! He's on tlie pious lay, and thinks himself too good for any of us, you know." " It would be rare fun if you could manage it,'' said Jake Jenkins, a rough-looking teamster ; " but you can't, he's on the other tack, lectures me like a preacher every time I drop into his smithy. I 'most hate to go there now, but I've got to get my off horse shod to-day." " Well, look here," said Larkins, a wretched plot coming into his mind. " You've got some cider in that jug. Saunders won't refuse to take a drink of ihat, it's regular temperance stuff, you know. Just let me doctor it a bit, an' ef that won't fetch him, well, I'm mistaken ; " and taking the cider jug, he poured part of its contents out, and replenished it with strong brandy. Jake Jenkins had taken enough liquor himself to make him the reckless and facile tool of the tavern- keeper, and agreed, with a perfidy akin to that of Judns, to attempt the betrayal of his friend. A few minutes later he was in the village smithy, waiting while his horse was being shod. " Hot work, Saunders," he said, when the job was completed, as the smith wiped the beaded sweat from his brow and brawny breast. " Makes you thirsty, don't it ? " " Yes, that it do. I've drinked about a gallon of water this morning," said the smith. " Bad for your constitution, so much watf. Take a drink of new cider — nice and cooling, you know ; " and Jake handed him the jug. '' Don't mind if I do," said Saunders, and, lifting the jug to his lips, he drank a long and copious draugbt. s held in lers, who , setting !S. One Lark ins 3 to get hiy, and V. it," said ou can't, preacher hate to rse shod led plot r in that ihat, it's let me ivell, I'm ed part strong in self to tavern- if Judas, iii mites liile his job was at from |y, don't dlon of Take a ; '' and ling the raugbt. TE.VPTATWX AXD FALL. 107 "Tastes queer for cider," he said, as he set down the jug and went on with his work. " May be some of last year's wiiz in the bottom of the barrel,", said Jake; and taking another drink himself, he offered it again to Saunders. Scarce knowing what he did, the smith drank again and again, till between them the jug wjis emptied. By this time Saunders was visibly under the intiuence of the brandy. The slumbering appetite was aroused within him, and, like a tiger that has tasted blood, was clamouring for more. It recjuired slight persuasion to induce the half- demented man to accompany Jake Jenkins to the tavern to appease the insatiable craving which was rekindled in his breast. " Come at last, have ye ? " sneered Lnrkins ; "I knowed ye couldn't stay away long. I'll set up drinks for the crowd, just to welcome ye back to your old friends. Come, boys ! " and he gave each what he asked, except that when Saunders hiccoughed out a request for cider, he filled his glass with brandy. The unhappy man madly drank, and drank, and drank again, till delirium built its fires in his brain, and the scoundrel tempter sent him raving like a maniac to his home. As he reeled through the door of his cottage, his wife, who had be-v i; . inging gaily at her work, stopped suddenly, her face blanched white as that of a corpse, and she burst into a flood of tears. Her small home-palace, but now so happy, seemed shattered in ruins to the ground. The husband of her love, the father of her babes, had become like a raging fiend. Those lips which that very morning had prayed for strength against temptation and deliverance from sin were now lilistered with cursing and blasphemies. " Cxod," she cried in the bitterness of her anguish, " would he had died before he had left the house ! Rather would I see him in his shroud than snared again in the toils of hell." With a love and tenderness that — like the Divine 108 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. iiila ■; ; compassion of Him Who came to save the lost — wearieth not for ever, the heart-broken wife, unheeding the maundering and curses of the wretched man, endea- voured to soothe and calm his frenzied mind and get him to bed. One of the boys she sent for the minister, the unfailing source of sympathy and succour for the suffering and sorrowing in many a village community. When Lawrence arrived, he was shocked beyond measure to find his friend, o^^r whose rescue he had rejoiced, lying on the floor, for he would not go to bed, and calling for brandy, to satisfy the raging thirst that consumed him. He sent instantly for Dr. Norton, and as he knelt beside the unhappy man he registered a vow in heaven, Grod helping him, to fight against the accursed monster Drink while life should last. The doctor soon arrived, and with a quiet, firm authority, which even the half- crazed man felt, took cl large of his patient. He treated him for acute mania, gave him sedatives and soporifics, but could not ward off an attack of delirkivn tremens which soon super- vened. It was dreadful to witness the sufferings of the wretched creature. The most frightful delusions haunted his mind. At times he would roar with terror, as he fancied himself pursued by hideous, mocking, mouthing, gibbering fiends. Then he implored the bystanders, how eagerly ! to save him from the horrid things, and, cowering with horror, he would cover his head with the bedclothes. Then starting up, he would stare with dilated eyes, as if frozen with fear, at vacancy, and make a sudden leap from the bed to escape the dreadful sight. But worst of all was the blood-curdling, mocking laugh which rang through the room, when, like a raving maniac, the v'ictim fancied for the time that he had eluded or overcome his ghostly foes. It was a scene which, once witnessed, one would wish never to see again. After a long illness, in wliich he was brought almost to death's door, he began slowly to recover. As he TEMPTATION' AND FALL. 109 crept out into the sunlight, the very shadow of his former self, a nameless fear filled the soul of his wife, lest he should fall again a victim to the tempter. " I would rather die in this chair, Grod knows,'' said the remorseful man, " but I cannot be sure of myself. I dare not say that I shall not fall again. There is a traitor within, which conspires with the tempter without, to beguile me to my undoing. The very sight, or smell, or thought of liquor comes over me at times with almost overmastering power." The devoted wife went one day to implore the tavern-keeper, the haunting terror of her life, the tempter who had crushed her happy home, not to sell her husband any more liquor. He heard her im- patiently, and then in cold-blooded words, which froze her very heart, he said, — " See here, my good woman, do you see that licence there ? " pointing to a framed document on the wall. " I paid fifty dollars for that. Mine's a legitimate business, I'd have you know. I've got to get my money back. A fellow must live. So long as Bill Saunders can pay for liquor, he shall have it. If he takes too much, that's his look out, not mine." So petrifying, so soul-benumbing is the influence of this debasing traffic upon an originally not unkindly nature. "The curse of God rest on you and your guilty traffic ! " exclaimed the unhappy wife, in a sudden access of anguish and terror for him whom she loved most on earth. " See heie, Missis," said Larkins, cowering under her angry glance and fiery words, " I won't have none of your abuse. My business is under the protection of the law. So you jest get out, or I'll put you out;" and he bustled out from behind the bar with a threaten- ing gesture. " G-od forgive you, for you need it ! " exclaimed the grief-stricken woman, with something of an angel's pity, nobly inconsistent with her previous ^assionate outburst ; and she moved away in tears. i ■ !: m m -olpfSS^ s Bil^^SniiS^ : a^^SmJLA^w ^AmPI^^^^HH 1 wSS^MjLni^ w ^^1 f <^^riE sM ^WiTwiS!!] pESplSiiPna^^^^ ^ ^**F • • CHAPTEK XXII. ( I f! I i 1 A MIDNIGHT ADVENTUKE. •• Moving accidents by flood and field." Shakespeare, Othello. rpHE winter passed rapidly away. Lawrence was X much from hojne, attending missionary meetings, and conducting, for six weeks, a revival service of great power at one of his distant appointments. The revival was a great success. The whole neighbourhood was profoundly stirred. Night after night the school-house was crowded. Many promising converts were added to the Church, including more than one young man of much force of character, who had been as conspicuous for boldness in sin as they afterwards became for boldness in confessing Christ. Lawrence frequently drove home at night on the ice, which offered a shorter, smoother, and easier route than that by land. He met, however, one right with an adventure that made him content to take the longer and more difficult route. It was in the early spring, the roads were very muddy, and it was raining heavily. He declined all invitations to remain all night, and determined to take the track on the ice, as for domestic reasons he was very anxious to return home. Instead of following the direct road he kept pretty close to the shore, fearing A MTDXIGHT ADVEXTURE. Ill , Othello. nee was leetings, of great ; revival ood was ol-house added man of jpicuous Lme for Iquently |shorter, 'e met, Ide him ite. fe very Ined all take le was [ng the fearing that if he got out of sight of land he should get k)st on the ice. The hills loomed vaguely through the dark- ness, and not a friendly light was to be seen in any of the farmhouses along the shore. Suddenly his lively little mare, Jessie, stopped stock-still and refused to proceed. Lawrence peered eagerly into the darkness, but could see no cause for alarm ; so he chirruped encouragingly to the faithful creature and urged her on. Ke-assured by the sound of his voice, she took a step forward, and instantly disappeared completely out of sight. The ice had been weakened by the rain, and by the effects of a swollen stream which flowed over its surface, and as soon as the weight came upon it, it crashed through like glass. The cutter had followed into the hole in the ice ; and when Lawrence had scrambled out of it upon the ice, its buoyancy brought the little mare to the surface, and her own efforts prevented her from again sinking. Lawrence was in a perilous predicament. There was no help near, not a single light was visible, and there was no use calling for aid, for all the farm folk in the scattered houses along the shore would be fast asleep. There was also no time to spare if he would save the faithful animal, struggling in the water, before she should become benumbed and exhausted. 80, lifting up his heart to Grod, he crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the broken ice, patted Jessie on the nose, and cheered and encouraged her by repeating her pet name. Meanwhile he had loosed the mare from the cutter, and then fastened the reins around her neck. Placing her fore feet on the edge of the firmer ice, and taking the reins over his shoulder, he turned and stramed, it seemed to him, with super- human energy. At length, with a desperate effort of his own and the mare's, she managed to scramble out upon the ice. She whinnied with joy and rubbed her nose against Lawrence's cheek, and then stood stock- still, though shivering with cold, till he dragged the cutter upon the ice and harnessed her again thereto. 112 LIFE IN A P ARSON AQE. Lawrence then set off on a trot across the ice, both to restore warmth to h^s benumbed frame, and to sound the ice ; and Jessie followed closely after. Fortunately they were near land. Lawrence made his way to the shore where a point of land jutted out into the lake. With difficulty he got the mare up the steep bank, leaving the cutter on the ice. Whereabouts he was he did not know ; but, looming through the darkness, he saw the shadowy outline of a farmhouse. Towards it he made his way, and knocked with his whip-handle loudly at the door. The mufflied bark of a dog was heard, but nothing more, when Lawrence again loudly knocked and called out : " Halloa ! who lives here ? Help is wanted." A window rattled in its frame, and was cautiously raised, and a shock-headed figure appeared thereat. " Who's out at this time of night, and such a night as this ? " asked a husky voice, with a strong Tipperary brogue. " My name is Temple, I am the Methodist preacher," said Lawrence. " My mare broke through the ice, and I don't know where I am." " The Methody praicher ! The saints defend us ! The praist towld us ye wor a bad man, deceavin' the payple, and warned us never to hark till a worrud ye sjiid. But Dennis McGuire's not the man to turn even a dog from his dure sich a noight as this ; " and he hurried to open the door. A heap of logs lay smouldering on the ample hearth, half smothered with ashes. At a kick of his foot the logs fell apart and burst into a blaze, revealing every corner of the room, and revealing also the dripping clothes and bedraggled form of the half-drowned preacher. Honest Dennis McGruire hastened out into the rain to help Lawrence with his horse and cutter, but instantly came back to tell his wife to " brew the parson a good stiff bowl of hot punch." When Lawrence inquired the road to Fairview, and how far it was, both to sound iunately y to thxi he lake. ;p baixk, e was he :ness, he •wards it p-handle dog was n loudly autiously ;reat. 1 a night Cipperary ireacher," ice, and us! The ^e payple, ye said. en a dog hurried |e hearth, foot the ig every I dripping -drowned out into Id cutter, Ibrew the new, and A MIDXIGHT ADVEXrURE. 113 " It's five miles, ef it's a fut,"' said Mr. lMc(iuire ; " but not a step ye'll take afore the morn." " 0, but I must ! " said Lawrence ; " my wife will be greatly alarmed if I do not come home as I promised." " Ef it's to kape ye're wurrud to that swate lady that visited the Widdy jMuUigan when her childer wuz down with the mayzles, there's no more to be said. But ye'll have some dhry duds on ye afore you go." And when he returned to the house, Dennis Inought out his Sunday coat of blue cloth, with brass buttons and stiif collar. *' It's not fit for the likes o' ye," said Dennis, " but it's the best I have, and it may kape ye from catching the cowld — more belike if ye have a good hot whiskey- punch under ye're vest. Is it ready, Biddy ? " Shure is it," said that cheerful, black-eyed matron, as she bustled about in a mob cap and linsey-wolsey petticoat, and poured into an old-fashioned punch-bowl the contents of a black bottle, and hot water from the tea-kettle. " That's the rale craythur," said Dennis, as he sniffed its pungent odour. " That niver paid no excise, nor custom's duty. It's genooine potheen from the ould sod ; ye can smell the reek of the turf in it still.'* " Many thanks," said Lawrence, " you are very kind ; but I cannot touch it. It's against my principles, and, believe me, Mr. McGuire, you would be a great deal better without it yourself." " Hear till him ! " said Dennis to his wife in a tone of amazed incredulity. " Heard any man ever the likes of that? Shure, an' Father McManus has no such schruples. He dhrinks it fis he would milk, and says it's a good craythur of Grod ; and no more schruples have I ; " and he tossed off the bowl, smacked his lips, and drew the back of his hand over them with a sort of lingering gusto. Lawrence was too much of a gentleman to decline the kindness of his host in lending his Sunday coat, 8 114 LIFE IN A PAItSONAGE. So, putting k on, and over it a big Irish frier^e cloak, with two or three c ipea, and Mr. ISlcCTuire'fi Sunday hat, a venerable beaver, rather limp in ;he rim — his own was lost on the ice — he again set out for home. It was after midrtight wlu»n he arrived. The li^ht was still shining in the parsonage window — for T'^chth, when she expected her husband home, always sat up for him, however late he might be — and a more wel- come sight Lawjence had seldom seen. When, after stabling and grooming his mare, he came to the hoiise, his clothes saturated with water, bare-headed and hi.^ hair matted with the rain — he had left Dennis's old beaver in the kitchen — Edith sprang up with dilated eyes of terror, and, flinging her arms around him, eagerly asked what had happened. " Well, I have got wet, my dear," said I^awrence, trying to smile, his teeth chattering meanwhile with cold, " wet enough for both of us ; so it is superfluous for you to make yourself as wet as I am;" and he gently dis- engaged her arms, and briefly recounted his adventure. " Thank God, you are safe ! " she exclaimed. " "i'ou must promise me not to go on the ice again. I have been haunted with terror lest something would happen. But wherever did you get that cloak ? " she asked ; and ohen, as he removed it and she beheld the sky- lilue coat with the brass buttons, she burst into uncon- trollable laughter. " Well, I suppose I am a ridiculous-looking guy,'' said Lawrence, somewhat ruefully ; " but the owner of this old coat has as kind a heart as ever beat beneath broadcloth or velvet, and I would not hurt his feelings for the world." *' Forgive me," said Edith, a little remorsefully ; and she bustled about to get dry clothes, make hot coffee, and give Lawrence a warm supper, to ward off, if pos- sible, any bad resuit from his exposure. Next day neither he nor Jessie seemed any the worse for their adventure, except that both appeared to be a little stiff in their movements. ze cloak, I 8undiiy riin — his liouie. Mie light lY Kdith, Ti' sat up noiT wel- len, after lie hoiise, [ and hi.^ inis's old ,h dilated ind him, Lawrence, hile with ffluous for jently dis- dventure. 1. " Yon I have 1 happen, e asked ; the riky- o unoon- owner of beneath feelings dly ; and )t coffee, f, if pos- any the [appeared CHAPTER XXIII. THE TRAMP WITH THE) BAG. " ! what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! " ShakespeAUK. Mrt'chant of Venice. OUR readers will have discovered before this that there is no " plot " to our little story ; that it consists simply of truthful pictures of itinerant life. Human life, for the most part, neither in a parson- age nor out of it, is evolved on the " plot " principle ; but is largely the result of the action and reaction on each other of the environment without, and moral forces within. And while facts are often stranger tlian fiction, they seldom hold to each other the rela- tions of cause or consequence developed in the plots of tlie sensational story-writer. We proceed now to exhibit another picture in our magic lantern, which, while an authentic episode, has no special relation to anything that has preceded or that shall follow. In Canada we are comparatively free from the pre- dations of " pious tramps," and fraudulent soi-disant agents of philanthropic or religious organizations. The general intelligence of our people, and the com- parative completeness of the organization of the sevei-al Churches, render our country an unpropitious field for such " bogus " missionary enterprises as that to Borio- boolagha satirized by Dickens. 116 LIFE IX A PAnSONAOE. ii Occasionally, however, we are afflicted with the visit of some plausible sneak-thief, who preys upon the generosity of the religious community, especially of ministers of religion. One such found his way to the village of Fairview. It was towards the close of a hot summer day that he arrived by stage. He was a tall, dark-complexioned man, with great cavernous eyes, shaggy eyebrows, and straggling whiskers. A long linen "duster" partially concealed his rusty black suit. He carried a black glazed bag and faded alpaca umbrella, and wore a limp and not over-clean shirt- collar, and a beaver hat that had once been black, but now exhibited a decided tinge of brown, especially at the rim and crown. He inquired at the post-office the name of the Methodist minister in the place, and the way to his house. Taking his glazed bag in his hand, he soon presented himself at the parsonage door. His knock was answered by Edith herself, when he asked if Mr. Temple was within. Edith supposed from his appearance that he was a book-pedlar, and knowing that Lawrence was busy at his Sunday's sermon — it was Saturday afternoon — she replied that he was engaged. " Just take hira this, sister," said the stranger, in a slightly foreign accent, taking from a pocket wallet, that smelt strongly of tobacco, a somewhat crumpled card ; " and tell him that a brother minister wishes to confer with him on the Lord's work." Edith rather resented the familiarity with which he addressed her, but she nevertheless invited him into the parlour, and carried his card to Lawrence. On the card were printed the words, " Rev. Karl Hoffmanns Van Buskirk, Agent of the Society for the Propagat'on of the Gospel among the Jews." " I do not know this gentleman," said Lawrence ; " I never heard of him before." " He seems to know you, though," said Edith, " and wants to confer with you on the Lord's work ; " and she imitated the stranger's sanctimonious whine. " I the visit [)on the ^ially of y to the of a hot IS a tall, LIS eyes, A long :y black d alpaca in shirt - lack, but ciallj at )ffice the and the lis hand, or. His he asked from his knowing moil — it he was er, in a wallet, rumpled ishes to lich he im into On the Fmanns lagat'on Ice; u a and " and |e. a THE TRAMP WITH THE Jt AG. 117 believe," she went on, "that he is a canting humbug. I don't like the look of iiim." << Well, I must see him, \ suppose," said LawnMice, and he proceeded to the parlour. He found the Kev. Karl Van Buskirk reclining at full length upon the sofa, with his dust -soiled feet resting on one of Edith's crocheted "antimacassars," as, with a suggestive literalness, they were called. " Ah, I knew T might take the liberty, in a brotlicr minister's house, of resting this wenry frame," said the strfinger; "I'm exceedingly wearied in the service of the Lord, but not wearv .)f it, thank (lod ! " Lawrence bowed, accepted the proffenid hand, and said — somewhat conventionally, we are afraid — that he was glad to see the stranger. " I knew you would be," said the Keverend Karl, again taking his seat, and liawrence, out of politeness, also sat down. " I knew you would be. We are lioth servants of the same blaster, though labouring in diffe mt parts of the same vineyard." " \ ''here has your field of labour been ? '' asked Lawrence. " Mine has been a most interesting field — the most interesting, I think, in the world — in the liOrd's Land itself, the very land where His feet have trod, and where His kinsmen according to the flesh are to be gathered together before His coming again." Lawrence was by no means convinced of the correct- ness of the theory of the pre-millennial restoration of the Jews, but he did not choose to make it then a point of controversy ; so he merely bowed in silence. " Allow me to show you some of my testimonials," continued the stranger ; " I have the best of testi- monials ; " and he took from his wallet a number of well-thumbed documents. " There is one," he went on, "from Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Beirut, in Syria ; and this is from the American Consul at Jaffa — the ancient Joppa, you will remember ; we have a very flourishing school there. And this is one I prize very 118 ] LIFE IN A PAnS0yA(fE. I ; highly from Dr. Gohnt, tlie l*rnHsi;iii liishoj) of .Icni- salein, yon know ; Jind here are nonu^ from my olromptly he said le. to woo re sleep tly and a hot second visit laid his linger on her rapid pulse, a grave look came into his eyes, ali hough he still strove to wear his accustomed smile upon his lips. His fair patient was evidently on the verge of a low fever, into whicli, in spite of every effort to prevent it, she gradually sank. Day after day the fondest affection ministered at her bedside ; but much of ihe time she was unconscious of the brooding love thjit watched over her. Her mind, in wandering mazes lost, groped amid the stransfe experiences of the past, but chiefly dwelt upon the t rrible drowning scene. " Help ! help me. mother," she would cry piteously. " I am sinking down, down : help ! The waves are roaring in my ears ; I see strange lights before my eyes, I cannot breathe — more air ! more air ! " and she would struggle convulsively till her strength was com- pletely exhausted. Then she would lie for hours in a state of seeming coma, utterly unconscious of the soft caresses of her mother's hand, or of the furtive tear that fell upon her brow. 8till nothing seemed to soothe her quivering nerves like the touch of her mothers fingers, as she sat with unwearying love by her side, scarcely leaving the room for an hour, day or night. By a gentle constraint, Edith Temple at length insisted on the invalid mother seeking some needed rest, while she herself caressed the sick girl's fevered brow, and softly answered her wandering words. In her most delirious moanings she seemed strangely calmed by the presence of Dr. Norton. Her hot little hand rested quietly in his broad palm as he felt her fluttering pulse. His deep rich voice asserted a control over her that no other could, and she took from him with an utter trustfulness the bitter potions from which she recoiled when given by others. Often, too, in her unconscious moanings his name would escape in low murmurings from her lips, and she seemed to feel his strong arm rescuing her from a watery ^rave, although it was not he, but Lawrence, who had saved her in the hour of peril. These aberrations, however, occurred 140 LIFE IN A PARSONAGE. only in the Doctor's absence. When he was near her, the spell of his presence seemed to quiet her nerves and give her a self-control which she did not at other times possess. At last, after many days, as the morning light shone on her face, the love-quickened discernment of her mother observed that her eyes had no longer the restless look, like that of a hunted animal. A quiet light of intelligence beamed forth, a wan smile flickered about her lips, as she whispered, " Kiss me, mother ! " As her fond parent bent over her, the sick girl faintly said, " Have I been long asleep, mother ? I have had such a strange and troubled dream," and her thin hand caressed her mother's face. " Yes, darling, You have been very ill. But you are better now, and it will be only as a dream when one awaketh, now that we have you back with us again." " Have I been long away, mother ? " dreainily asked th(. ^ laiden. " Yes, I know. I seemed drifting, drift- ing away upon a shoreless sea. But a strange spell seemed to follow me, a deep strong voice seemed to call me back. At times, mother, it seemed like Dr. Norton's, and at times I seemed to see you on the shore beckoning me to return. But I was powerless to move, and lay idly drifting, drifting on the sea." "Yes, darling," said the glad mother, returning caress for caress. " Under Grod it was the skill of Dr. Norton that brought you back to us. You seemed, indeed, drifting away from us all. Thank God, thmk Grod, we shall soon have you well again." Yet, when Dr. Norton came to visit his patient again, to his surprise, he found that she exhibited a degree of shyness and reserve that he had never noticed before, and that seemed to deepen with each successive visit. He thought little of it, however, attributing it to the unreasoning caprice of sickness. During her convalescence she would lie and read and muse for hours in self-absorbed thought, very gentle \ ''IIEAVEX'S MORNING JiREAKSr 141 tear her, r nerves at other [it shone of her J restless light of d about ick girl her ? I and her 3ut you m when with us Ly asked g, drift- ^e spell med to ike Dr. le shore less to ja." urning of Dr. eemed, thrnk again, yree of Defore, visit, to the d and gentle and patient, but with an air of utter lassitude, as if a-weary of the world. Slowly, very slowly, the invalid seemed to drift back again, like flotsam borne upon a tide, to the shores of time. But she failed to recover strength. On warm and sunny days she was carried out to her favourite garden seat, commanding a view of the broad valley, the elm-shaded village, and the beautiful lake. Autu'Tin was once more in the pride of its golden glory. A 3ft haze filled the air and veiled the outline of the distant hills. The Virginia cret per gleamed dark crimson in the sunlight, and the sugar- maple flung its scarlet blazonry to the autumn breeze. " How exquisite ! " said the sick girl to her friend, Edith Temple, who sat by her side. " I think 1 never saw the valley look so lovely before." " That is because you have been a prisoner so long," said Edith. " We will soon have you out again ; the village does not seem like itself since you have been sick." " I shall never see another autumn, dear," anfswered Carrie, in a low soft voice, gazing with a far-off look in her eyes at the distant hills, as though she beheld the golden battlements of the City of God. " You must not talk that way, child," said Edith, with a start. " That is only a sick girl's nervous fancy. With Grod's blessing, you will soon be well agbin." "It is no fancy, dear," replied Carrie, with a wan smile flickering about her lips ; "I know it ; and indeed, were it not for mother, I would not wish to live." '^ But life has many joys and many duties that more than counterbalance its sorrows and pains," responded Edith, seeking to argue down what she thought the sick fancy of her friend. " yes ! " said the fair girl, a bright light kindling in her eyes ; " Grod's world is very lovely, so lovely that often it has touched my soul to tears ; and though I 142 LIFE IX A PAItSONAGE. !l' have endured ao much pain and weakness, yet, as Mrs. Browning says, * With such large joys and sense and touch, Beyond what others couAt as such, I am content to suffer much,' But Grod has provided even better thiags for those who love Him." " Yes, dear, but we must wait His good time, till He calls us home," said Edith, with her usual sense of duty dominant in her mind. " While there is work to do in God's world, we must not shrink from doing it." " My little work is almost done," said Canie, with a sigh. " Alas ! that is so small — ' Nothing but leaves, No garnered sheaves Of life's fair ripened grain.' But, poor as it is, He will accept it for the love's sake seen therein. Nay, dear, to live on would be but to drag a lengthening chain. God is kindly taking me away from a burden I could not bear, from a sorrow I could not endure." " You speak in riddles, child ; I do not understand," responded Edith expectantly. " Perhaps it is better I should tell you," replied the sick girl with hesitating speech. " You are my other self. From you I can have no secrets. You may tell him, perhaps, when I am gone. I did not know," she went on, " till since I have been sick, what my real feelings toward Dr. Norton were ; " and a pink flush overspread her face as she mentioned his name. " I always admired the nobleness of his nature, his kind- ness to the poor, his tenderness to the sick and suffer- ing, his patience with the unthankful and unworthy ; but while I have communed with my own heart upon my bed, I have become aware of a deeper, a tenderer, a more sacred feeling, a feeling the nature of which he must never know, till I have passed away from time. UK Mrs. ose who , till He jense of work to a doing , with a e's sake be but ing me lorrow I 'stand," Led the y other lay tell w," she ly real flush le. "I kind- suffer- orthy ; upon erer, a Lch he time. '' HEAVEN'S MOnXJXG JilfEAKS:' 148 Of this he does not dream. His heart is another's. I pray God daily that his love may be rewarded, that his life may be happy." " I never thought of this," said ¥Ai\h, gazing wist- fully at her friend. " Nor would I have breathed it, even to you," said the fair, frail girl, "but that after I am gone you miglit tell him of my daily prayer that hereafter, in that world where they neither marry nor are given in marriage, our souls might meet before the throne of God." After a pause she went on : '* I used to be much troubled at one thing. He is not what the world calls a Christian. I know that he has his doubts and scruples about some things which most Christians accept. He has even been called by the censorious an infidel. But I know his lidelity to the convictions of conscience, his loyalty to all things noble and good and true; and such a nature God will not sutler to wander far away. Over such a soul the Saviour yearns and says, 'Thou art not far from tlie kingdom of heaven.' " " He is more of a Christian in spirit and life," said Edith impetuously, " than many who call themselves by that sacred name. God will reward his noble treat- ment of poor Saunders ; when others spurned him as an irreclaimable drunkard, he never lost faith or hope in him, but clung to him and helped him up from the ditch and from the grave to life and manhood again. I can never join the unchristly tirade against those who cannot see truth just as we see it." " Bless you for these words!" exclaimed the sick girl. " I could not die content, I could not be happy, even in heaven, if I thought that he, with his noble aspira- tions, his impassioned search for truth, should grope blindly after God and never find Him." " 0, fear it not," replied her friend, " God will not hide Himself from any that entreat." The long and absorbing conversation in the garden 144 LTFB IN A PARSONAOE. i seemed to have exhausted the strength of the invalid. It was her hist day ahroad. She returned to the house weary and worn. The next day came on a bleak autumnal storm : ** The wind like a broken lordling wailed, And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands drove through the air." The beautiful laburnum near the window, nipped by an autumnal frost, seemed an emblem of her own stricken life, and slie visibly drooped and failed from day to day. Dr. Norton came often to see his gentle patient; and his large manly form, his bluff hearty manner, his exuberant life, brought colour to the cheek, and light to the eye, and, seemingly, life to the weary frame of the sick girl. But, to the quickened appre- hension of Edith Temple, who now possessed the key to her strange distraught air, she evidently set a watch upon her words and looks, lest she should by sign or token betray the secret locked within her breast. The dreary weeks of November dragged on : " The melancholy days had come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sere." Then came the short days of December, with its wintry frosts and snows, which to the hale and strong but heighten the enjoyment of the season, but to the feeble and the sick bring depression and weariness. The cheery doctor strove to encourage his patient by holiday talk and anticipations of the approaching Christmas festivities. "You remember what a jolly time we had last Christmas. What a success that Christmas tree was, and the Indian feast ! " "And dear Nellie Burton," exclaimed Carrie, with generous praise, " how full of joyous life and merri- ment she was ! " and as she noticed how eagerly the Doctor drank in her words of praise, she went on, though it cost her a pang : " Compared with her exu- " HE A VEy\s MO nmxo im k. i ks. " 146 invalid, le house a bleak ipped by her own led from s gentle Ef hearty le cheek, he weary d appre- the key b a watch y sign or ist. The le year, brown with its id strong ut to the weariness, itient by )roaching had last :ree was, trie, with Id merri- rerly the rent on, I her exu- berant life and ove^rHowing health, poor pale me seemed but a 'rath primrose of the spring' beside the full- blown rose.'' Her mother, who hung wistfully on every word and look, kissed her wasted lingers, and gazed through dimming tears on the pale cheek, and said : " But the primrose is very dear to hearts that love it, and would not exchange its pale beauty for the reddest rose." But even the doctor's well-meant etibrts at cheer- fulness failed, and the smiles that came were often- times akin to tears. Sweet Carrie Mason was really the most cheerful t)f the household group. To her mother, to whom the very thought of parting was an unutterable pang, shw not what !re only the hat. When we shall see ipleteness, I .ngle in the essential to Bome of my Henceforth L future with 3vingly with d Aylesbuiy.