/, 
 
 
 • rf r 
 
 
 / 
 
 'v// ,/,■ 
 
 Jll«'- ■%„ 
 
 •.;';^»<= 
 
 
 ***>*«■.«»' '^■*" 
 
 /■.■.-" 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 *■• Oi- 
 
 ■^: 
 
 CLERICAL LIFE. 
 
 ,.f '-..:;_■■... ;.,^ 
 
 ■■■■ \ - -'■_' " '' 
 
 \i\ i-'-'w*.-'- 
 
 
 
 BY THE 
 
 KEY. WILLIAM CHEETHAM. 
 
 «• To serve God and love Him is higher and better than happiness, thongh 
 it be with wounded feet, and bleeding brow, and hearts loaded with sorrow."— 
 Enigmas of Life. 
 
 " Troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not in despair ; 
 persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not destroyed." — PAUL. 
 
 LOVELL PRINTING AND PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 1879. 
 
Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the 
 year one thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine, by 
 William Chektham, in the office of the Minister of Agricul- 
 ture, Ottawa. 
 
\ i 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The following pages have been written during an 
 inevitable temporary cessation of stated ministerial 
 labor, and in the sincere hope that they may do 
 some good, and in some humble measure further 
 the interests of truth, and promote the glory of 
 
 Of the merits of the work the Author has nothing 
 to say, except that he has done his best to produce 
 something not entirely void of interest and instruc- 
 tion. His object has been to keep within the limits 
 of charity, truth, and probable fact. " To hold " 
 (in this particular department of life) " as 'twere 
 the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own 
 feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and 
 body of the time his form and pressure." 
 
 That certain weaknesses are inherent in all Chris- 
 tian organizations, and that certain abuses have 
 crept into the Church, the most superficial observer, 
 
iv • PREFACE. 
 
 if he has any candor, will freely admit. Some of 
 these are freely dealt with in the light of reason, 
 principle and Scripture. 
 
 In delineating character, and in reading such 
 delineations, two things should guide writer and 
 reader alike, — truth and charity. 
 
 That there is a wide difference, in many points, 
 in human nature and actual life, all must freely 
 admit. At the same time we should remember 
 that our knowledge of men is necessarily fragment- 
 ary and imperfect. Some very good people might 
 not appear so good if we knew them better, and 
 some whose characters are not so attractive may be 
 much better tha^ our surface knowledge of them 
 reveals. 
 
 It is a consolatory reflection that the final judg- 
 ment, in relation to all human affairs, is in the hands 
 of One who combines perfect knowledge with the 
 most impartial justice and the tcnderest mercy. 
 
 '. 'V:WS. 
 
 Brockville, Ontario, 1879. 
 
Lights and Shadows of Clerical Life. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Paul Vincent — Bewdley College — The sweating process — 
 The Professors — First experience in Candidating — Tan- 
 borough — The extending of a call discouraged for certain 
 reasons, both wise and sufficient. 
 
 Paul Vincent was within six months of the com- 
 pletion of his college curriculum. He had been 
 several years in one of those institutions which 
 undertake to educate, almost gratuitously, promis- 
 ing young men for the Ministry. He had gone 
 through an extended course of study, the final 
 examination was passed with honors, and now he 
 was calmly looking forward, and trying to get a 
 glimpse of the dim, uncertain future. Strain his 
 mental vision as he might, he could not cast the 
 horoscope of his future destiny, and no friendly 
 Sibyl was at hand to help him out of his difficulty. 
 He did not then realize so vividly as afterwards 
 how wise and beneficent is that arrangement which 
 hides the future from us. Had he been able to see 
 what he so much desired he might have sunk down 
 
6 • LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 in utter dismay at the prospect, so manifold were 
 the difficulties of the way which Providence had 
 marked out for him. 
 
 He was not of a sanguine temperament ; was ner- 
 vous, sensitive, and somewhat foreboding; liable to 
 expect trial, and anticipate difficulty ; but he was 
 endowed with a strong will, a good deal of self-con- 
 trol, and great patience. His natural and acquired 
 capabilities for the work to which he had consecrated 
 his life were above the average. He had an indomi- 
 table love of truth for its own sake, and duty was 
 to him as precious and sacred as life. Although 
 not void of ambition, it was by no means dominant 
 in him, and it was subordinated to the accomplish- 
 ment of a higher will than his own. What the 
 All-Wise meant him to be and to do he desired 
 above all else. Still he did not contemplate as by 
 any means beyond the range of possibility that he 
 might attain considerable eminence and distin- 
 guished usefulness. The day-dreams of youth had 
 their way with him, like other mortals of his class. 
 He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, 
 and great self-denial and perseverance were required 
 to attain his present position. He, therefore, ex- 
 pected a fuller and wider exercise of these qualities 
 in the future. 
 
 The Seminary building, in which he was acquir- 
 ing his preparatory education, and whose classical 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 7 
 
 precincts he was destined in a few months to leave, 
 was situated on the summit of a hill. It was a fine 
 commodious stone edifice, built very recently, and 
 opened on the day of his entrance. The architecture 
 was Gothic, and the noble pile of solid masonry was 
 certainly very imposing. Its grounds, of seven 
 acres, were laid out with great taste and artistic 
 finish. In the centre of the building were the 
 library, of considerable dimensions; the lecture 
 hall, where all the literary and theological skinning 
 was periodically done ; the dining hall, capable of 
 seating about fifty, and the private apartments of 
 the Professors, and class rooms. The cooking and 
 gossiping region was in the rear, in close proximity 
 to the kitchen garden and the wood and coal supply. 
 The wings contained fifty-two small rooms, two of 
 which, a dormitory and a study, were allotted to 
 each student. At the base of the hiU upon which 
 this classical edifice stood a small river meandered 
 through countless acres of well cultivated land ; the 
 railway horse snorted and puffed and ploughed its 
 way a little beyond ; and the smoke of countless 
 chimneys, rising out of two great manufacturing 
 towns in the distance, added a sombre coloring, but 
 did not destroy the beauty of the scene. 
 
 About two miles in the rear might be found the 
 small straggling viUage of Bewdley, from which the 
 college took its name, and whose principal object of 
 
.8 LIGHTS, AND SHADOWS 
 
 interest was an old church, which dated back to 
 troublous times ; where a good man preached, and 
 where the students were expected to attend, once or 
 twice, every Sabbath. Sometimes they had to 
 preach, to assist the good man, whose health was 
 failing. This was always looked upon by them as a 
 very trying ordeal. Why? Because their fellow 
 students were there, with their newly sharpened 
 wits, ready for a complete dissection of the body of 
 the sermon ; and the Professors were present, able, 
 if they were so disposed, to cut even to the joints 
 and marrows. As might be expected, under such 
 circumstances, it was a sweating process, and con- 
 fusion worse confounded was the order of the day. 
 There was one source of satisfaction, however; as 
 each one had to take his turn in this duty, it neces- 
 sarily become the fortune of each to be at one time 
 the subject of dissection, and at another the dis- 
 sector. For every time that one had to endure the 
 knife, he had the ultimate satisfaction of using it 
 twenty times upon his fellows. This was grim 
 satisfaction, but it was satisfying nevertheless. 
 
 The Professors, three in number, were men of con- 
 sequence and note. , -^j. ,, :* ,, . > ' 
 
 The President was a thorough out and out theo- 
 logical John Bull. He was a fine, fatherly, staunch 
 old fellow ; hale and hearty, though in the sere and 
 yellow leaf; passionately and fondly attached to 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFK. 9 
 
 the young ineii under his care ; dignified as a gene- 
 ral, yet compassionate and tender ; careful of his own 
 reputation, and equally careful of that of others ; 
 ravenously fond of Hebrew roots, and the Hebrew 
 Bible was the breath of his life. He could speak 
 sternly to his students aboit their little weaknesses 
 and follies ; but woe be to the man who attempted 
 the same operation in his presence. He would de- 
 fend them, through thick and thin, when anybody 
 else began to pick holes, and find fault in them. 
 
 The Resident and Classical Professor was a man 
 of an entirely different stamp. He was much 
 younger, rather feminine, more of a gentleman than 
 a man. He was very learned, and very fond of 
 books. He could write anything from a critical 
 dissertation on the " Babes in the Wood " to one 
 equally critical on the Greek article. In class, he 
 could stretch out his critical paw, and crush a poor 
 unthinking mortal with the stealthy strength and 
 suddenness of a tiger. His questions were not al- 
 ways intended to elicit the actual knowledge of the 
 pupil of the question in hand ; they too often had 
 the apparent intention of inviting defeat, and pro- 
 ducing discomfiture. Many a face " sicklied o'er 
 with the pale cast of thought " has become suddenly 
 the very picture of health in his presence, but the 
 blanch that has followed has been fearful to behold. 
 Still the smooth-coated tiger would come again, 
 
10 . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 until his prey would fairly gasp for breath, and wish 
 to sink under the floor, to escape from that relentless 
 presence. This, however, was a vain wish. The 
 floor would not open and give him a welcome sub- 
 terranean embrace. Both the man and the hour 
 were there, and he must abide both until the dinner 
 bell rings, and then the torture is over. He was not 
 a bad man ; he was a good man taken as a whole. 
 He had immense erudition, but he was not great. 
 His sensibilities did not seem to extend far beyond 
 himself. It was a serious flaw in an otherwise good 
 character, that a self-forced exhibition of the differ- 
 ence between his own vast acquirements and the 
 slender information of others should be a source of 
 transient gratification to him. 
 
 The Assistant Professor was a Goliath in stature ; 
 tall, broad, stout, and with a countenance open and 
 manly ; but with two eyes, deeply sunk in their 
 sockets, which somewhat marred the general expres- * 
 siou. He was emphatically a good man, and a good- 
 natured man, but when that is said the description 
 is about complete. He was not overburdened with 
 classic lore, but he had sense enough to know it, and 
 honesty enough not to wish to pass for what he 
 was not. He did not shine as a classic, but he did 
 shine as a man. There was an innate modesty in 
 him which tended to make his mental diminutive- 
 ness still more apparent ; but he did his work kindly, 
 
OF CLERICAL Lift. 11 
 
 considerately, manfully, conscientiously, and up to 
 the full measure of his capacity. 
 
 It was under these gentlemen, of such opposite 
 temperaments and qualifications, that Paul Vincent 
 had been drilled for some years. He had profited 
 by the instructions of his tutors, and was well-nigh 
 ready for his work ; but where he was to go, or 
 where to settle, was yet an unsolved problem. 
 
 One morning he received a letter containing an 
 invitation to spend his last short vacation, occur- 
 ring about Christmas time, with a church in the 
 large provincial town of Tanborough. This place 
 afforded a possible opening for a settlement, and 
 therefore he took care to preach his best sermons, 
 that they might produce the desired effect in that 
 direction, — a proceeding of doubtful wisdom, truly, 
 but, as it is practised by older and, should be, wiser 
 men, it need not be severely condemned in so young 
 a man. He was anxious to produce a good impres- 
 sion, laudable enough in itself, and secure a footing 
 and beginning in so important a sphere. The town 
 had a large population, mostly of the middle and 
 working classes ; had immense manufactories, whose 
 chimneys spouted large volumes of smoke, causing 
 dimness to reign everywhere, and obscuring the rays 
 of the sun ; and boasted the possession of the largest 
 enclosed market in the county. 
 
 The church was a solid square brick building. 
 
12 . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 not by any means elegant or imposing, nor in an 
 elegant situation. It was situated in what was 
 technically called a lane, but it was a lane of more 
 than usual width, being about thirty yards wide. 
 
 If the exterior of this ecclesiastical structure was 
 uninviting, the interior was more so. It was quite, 
 or nearly, square, with a deep gaUery running right 
 across at one end, a pulpit with more the appearance 
 of a medium-sized puncheon than anything else, a 
 large square space for^the choir below, and high- 
 backed pews which seemed formed to invite the 
 worshippers to sleep. In this place for three succes- 
 sive Sundays the young preacher had to pour forth 
 his sonorous eloquence, the effect, or non-effect, of 
 which was to decide whether he was a fit and proper 
 person to become pastor of the flock worshipping 
 there. His success was far beyond his expectations. 
 It soon began to be whispered abroad by the know- 
 ing ruling few that Mr. Vincent was evidently the 
 coming man; that under his regular ministrations 
 the congregation would soon outgrow the old edifice ; 
 that a new and larger one would have to be built, 
 
 Paul, although a young man, was not of a san- 
 guine temperament, and he was not carried away 
 with the rising tide of enthusiasm and rosy expect- 
 ation, but he nevertheless kept his thoughts to 
 himself; he did the thinking while others were 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 13 
 
 doing the talking. Some things regarding the past 
 history of the Tanborough church had come to his 
 knowledge which were anything but satisfactory or 
 re-assuring. He happened to know, from indu- 
 bitable evidence, that it had an established reputation 
 for getting rid of pastors more expeditiously and 
 less ceremoniously, than it got them. He, therefore^ 
 wisely made up his mind to regulate his movements 
 with extreme caution — knowing that, if he com- 
 menced his ministerial career with a church that 
 might suddenly turn round and manifest a diposi- 
 tion to kick him out, his prospects for tho future 
 would not be improved. 
 
 The vacation came to an end, and he returned to 
 his academical retreat. He had not been back two 
 weeks before he received an invitation to preach in 
 the same place two Sundays more. This he prompt- 
 ly declined, and for two reasons. First, because his 
 small stock of sermons was w^eU-nigh run out ; and 
 second and mainly, because he had in the meantime 
 made up his mind that it was better not to give any 
 encouragement to the extending of a call which, 
 judging from his present feelings, he would probably 
 decline. Some reverend gentlemen pursue the 
 opposite course ; they resort to all sorts of petty 
 artifices to encourage calls, with no intention of 
 accepting them, but simply using them to create 
 and bolster up a fictitious importance and reputation. 
 
 ■'■> 
 
14 • LIGHTS AND SHADQWS * : ! 
 
 A discerning public may be left to judge whether 
 such a course is honorable, or worthy of honorable 
 
 men. ' '^'v,. 'M?-^r.y>..^^:M^'^'MMf^ : ' -W'^^-^m'-. ' ' 
 
 Upon the receipt of Mr. Vincent's letter, declining, 
 very courteously but firmly, to visit the church again, 
 a letter was received in a few days, explaining to him 
 the reasons for their wishing to have a further hear- 
 ing of two Sundays. The writer explained, at con- 
 siderable length, that there was an almost universal 
 appreciation of his personal qualities, and his abili- 
 ties as a preacher ; that, at the meeting held to con- 
 sider the extending of a call, there was not a dis- 
 sentient voice ; that a vote to extend the call was 
 moved, seconded, and would undoubtedly have been 
 carried unanimously, but that the chairman, who 
 was no other than himself, at this juncture inter- 
 posed, and recommended a little further considera- 
 tion and delay. For what reason ? Because a city 
 gentleman of considerable repute had declared that, 
 as a church, they had, in the past, shown less dis- 
 cretion and care in the choice of a pastor than he 
 was accustomed to bestow upon the selection of a 
 domestic servant. Having this very caustic remark 
 in view, and smarting somewhat under its influence, 
 they wished to be so deliberate in this case as to 
 ensure a better character for circumspection in the 
 future. This was no doubt a laudable wish ; and it 
 was especially complimentary to the candidate, that 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 15 
 
 the further trial which was desired was simply a 
 ceremonious concession to outside opinion, and not a 
 distrust of his suitability and powers. His mind, 
 however, was made up, and he saw no adequate 
 reason for changing it. He, however, visited the 
 church once more, to show that the attitude he had 
 assumed, adverse to their wishes, was not regulated 
 by ill-will but by sound judgment. 
 
 
 UiA 
 
 '"I^..jc>';^^^'^"■;^^iA = !,:->' 
 
16 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ; CHAPTEE II. f ? 
 
 Paul Vincent receives an invitation to visit Shepherdston — 
 Second experience in Candidating — Mortimer Shelburne^ 
 Esq. — His eminent qualifications — Travelling experiences 
 — The little Shelburnes — The old church — A ride in a 
 one horse chaise with a model Deacon— A model call 
 respectfully declined. 
 
 A FEW weeks after the closing of the correspondence 
 with the church in Tanborough, Mr. Vincent received 
 the following letter : 
 
 ;;;, Shepherdston, JtfarcA 13, 18— 
 Mb. Paul Vincent, " ■ " ^ 
 
 ■^^''^ ^' Bewdley College. ■--;-''", .''^ .^'v^- ,..■ '/^v/-- iV' 
 
 Dear Sir, — I have been duly informed by a reliable and 
 worthy gentleman of my acquaintance that your academical 
 studies are drawing to a close. I presume, therefore, you are 
 now contemplating the time when you \vill, with much emo- 
 tion and a deep feeling of responsibility, commence your life- 
 work. The church in Shepherdston has been, utifortunately, 
 without an under-shepherd for some time. The friends are 
 de8ij*ous of supplying this great want as soon as possible. I 
 am, therefore, earnestly requested to invite you to supply the 
 pulpit for two Sabbaths. May the Lord direct both you and 
 us. I remain, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 Mortimer Shelburne. 
 
of CLDHlCAL llt*B. 17 
 
 This letter was somewhat of a surprise, but it was 
 duly considered, and in a short time an acquiescent 
 reply was duly despatched. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer Shelbume was what is called, 
 in some church circles, a head deacon. That is, 
 he reigned supreme in the Shepherdston church 
 community. It was his special prerogative and 
 business to rule everybody in the church — the 
 pastor included. From his oracular decision, in 
 any matter, there could possibly be no appeal. 
 His will was law. Not that these mons^'.rous doc- 
 trines were openly promulgated, or that these pre- 
 rogatives were openly arrogated by the good deacon. 
 These assumptions of power were not openly 
 proclaimed, but they were silently acquiesced in 
 by the great body of the community. They had 
 somehow come to the conclusion that Deacon Shel- 
 burne knew a great deal more than they did about 
 things in general, and church affairs in particular ; 
 that he gave a great deal more than anybody else to 
 the support of the cause, according to his means ; 
 that he never missed a prayer meeting, not even 
 when there was sickness in his family, or when he 
 had the toothache himself; that, in short, he was 
 the life and soul, bones and marrow, of the whole 
 concern ; and what could they do without him ? 
 No one was better qualified than he to drop a gentle 
 admonition to the pastor about the necessity of not 
 
 9 
 
18 • LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 being conformed to this world ; and he could labor 
 with erring brethren, and bring them back to re- 
 pentance and a more consistent life. He also could 
 " carry the bag," but in a much nobler and purer 
 spirit than his illustrious predecessor, who, stung 
 with guilty remorse, went out and hanged himself. 
 Not the least important of his qualifications was 
 the nice, conscientious, and perfectly clean, way he 
 had of performing very disagreeable duties. If, for 
 instance, his keen scent told him that the cause was 
 failing, and that " Zion " was languishing, and that 
 great dissatisfaction was spreading on every side, he 
 could inform the pastor, with tears in his eyes, that 
 a change was inevitable and desirable. He had seen 
 this dark, inauspicious cloud rising for some time, 
 but he had hoped it might pass over, and leave a 
 clear sky ; but instead of that it deepened, and must 
 soon burst in torrents of resistless fury. He there- 
 fore felt it to be his solemn and sorrowful duty to 
 adjure his dear pastor " to escape for his life, and 
 stay not in all the plain." If the church was vacant, 
 and a pastor was to be settled, he took a leading part 
 in the business. If a candidate for the position was 
 before them, no one thought it prudent or necessary 
 to express an opinion until Deacon Shelburne had had 
 his say, and given his verdict. Thus by long, patient 
 working, overground and underground, he had, by 
 general consent, acquired a prescriptive right to have 
 
6^ CLERICAL LIFE. l9 
 
 his own way. It was the general opinion, founded 
 upon many years of close observation and experience, 
 that the good deacon would have his way ; and that 
 he was so spiritually-minded, and gifted with so 
 much humility, that he couldn't see how the church 
 could succeed, unless on all occasions he was per- 
 mitted to prevail. 
 
 This much being premised, it will be readily 
 understood why the invitation to Mr. Vincent, to 
 supply the church in Shepherdston for two Sundays, 
 came from Deacon Shelburne. Who else could 
 know that Mr. Vincent was open to such an invita- 
 tion, and a likely candidate for the office of pastor ? 
 Who else would dare to take upon himself such 
 grave responsibility ? Who else was likely to know, 
 in advance, by the very handwriting of the young 
 academician, and the terms in which he addressed 
 his superiors in social status, what kind of a man 
 he was ? Who else was so deeply concerned for the 
 welfare of the Shepherdston Zion? 
 
 Mr. Vincent not only accepted the invitation with 
 alacrity, but he soon put himself in a position to fill 
 the engagement. He was to be in the Shepherdston 
 pulpit on the following Sunday, and he must contrive 
 to be at his destination on the Saturday, at least. 
 He packed his valise, taking special care to put his 
 sermons among his clean linen, as they — the linen 
 and the sermons — would be required almost simul- 
 
2d ■ LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 taneously. Fifteen minutes brisk walking brouglit 
 him to the railway station, at which he took his 
 ticket for Framingham, one of the principal manu- 
 facturing towns in tha^ part of the country. Arrived 
 in Framingham about 9 o'clock p.m., it was a neces- 
 sary part of his programme to stay there the night, 
 and leave by an early train on the morrow for Shep- 
 herdston, which he hoped to reach about 4 o'clock 
 p.m. He stayed the night at a Temperance Hotel. 
 The real, though not the ostensible, reason for his 
 selection of such a place was, that the state of his 
 exchequer necessitated temperance, on his part, in 
 every possible acceptation of that word. He retired 
 to rest supperless, because he had a conscientious, 
 pecuniary objection to taking supper. He rose very 
 early the next morning, feeling somewhat chilly, 
 drowsy, and, if it must be confessed, creepy. He 
 found himself exactly at six o'clock a.m. seated in 
 a large airy carriage, — especially airy, — with a ticket 
 in his side pocket, which had been issued to him upon 
 the distinct understanding that he should be put 
 down, all safe and sound, in Shepherdston, precisely 
 in ten hours. It was that kind of a raw cold morn- 
 ing, peculiar to that part of the country, which makes 
 the flesh creep, and the nerves quiver. He felt the - 
 cold keenly, coming as it did from certain open 
 windows, which some accommodating people would 
 insist upon keeping open, to let, as they said, the 
 
OF CLEBICAL LIFE. ^1 
 
 fresh air in. Like a true philosopher, as he could 
 not bring his circumstances and surroundings to his 
 mind, he brought his mind to his circumstances. 
 To improve matters, the train in which he was being 
 whirled along at the rate of something over ten 
 miles an hour had the eccentric habit, common to its 
 class, of shunting off, for indefinite periods, in par- 
 ticular out-of-the-way places. As there was nothing 
 particular to see outside except a stray cow or sheep, 
 it was necessarily very dreary and monotonous work. 
 Exactly to the minute, however, at 4 o^clock p.m., 
 the train drew up at Shepherdston, and Paul Vincent, 
 valise in hand, and feeling very cold, alighted. 
 Kubbing his eyes, and looking about for the purpose 
 of taking a deliberate view of his whereabouts, he 
 was somewhat chagrined to find that Shepherdston 
 was not in his immediate visual proximity. He 
 began to think that, possibly, he had been made the 
 dupe of a pious, but cruel hoax. He made some 
 enquiries, however, and was soon relieved of his 
 temporary perplexity by the assurance that Shep- 
 herdston was about a mile and a half from the station, 
 in a north-easterly direction. Thither he quickly 
 bent his steps. He had a conscientious objection to 
 taking a cab, which might have kept his boots clean, 
 and saved him much trouble and annoyance-~-for the 
 same cogent reason which influenced him to refrain 
 f)^om supper the preceding night, As he was neoes« 
 
22 * LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 sitrted to commence the journey upon temperance 
 prirciples, he thought he would be artistically con- 
 sistent, and end it on the same. 
 
 Shepherdston was a small country town, having a 
 population of about nine thousand, composed mostly 
 of small tradesmen and very poor people. Its archi- 
 tectural pretensions were not great. It had the appear- 
 ance of a triangle considerably elongated, with shops 
 ranged on two sides and one end, and the market 
 house dumped down in the middle. The miller, the 
 maltster, the draper, the banker, the grocer, the apo- 
 thecary,^a retired clergyman, and Mortimer Shel- 
 burne, were the chief magnates of the place. To the 
 residence of the last-named gentleman Paul Vincent 
 wended his way. He was received graciously, and due 
 enquiry was made as to his health, which enquiry 
 was duly answered by the bland and polite affir- 
 mation, that it was never better than now. He was 
 ceremoniously introduced to Mrs. Shelburne, a stout, 
 rosy, matronly iady, with a winsome, open coun- 
 tenance, and also to the little Shelburnes, of whom 
 there were about ten. These latter were very hearty* 
 but somewhat unmethodical, in their demonstrations 
 of delight at the appearance of the new preacher. 
 They kissed him, and pulled his fine flowing locks, 
 in which he took great pride ; trod upon his new 
 boots and corns ; whirled round him, catching hold 
 of t}ie tails of bis fine new frock coat, which hj 
 
OF CLEllICAL LIFE. . 23 
 
 these youthful antics ran the risk of being torn to 
 tatters. He heard a crack once or twice, wliich 
 sent the conscious blood to his cheeks, fearful of a 
 broadcloth wreck, which his slender finances would 
 scarcely be adequate to repair. He took all in 
 good humor, however, and praised the children, 
 which of course he was expected to do ; declaring 
 that they were fine, healthy, good-looking children 
 and exact fac-siiniles of their progenitors. 
 
 Mortimer Shelburne has appeared in these pages, 
 as yet, only in his official character. What he was 
 as a man, and what his outward appearance, have 
 not yet been touched upon. A few words will 
 suffice. He was tall, lean, wiry, with twinkling 
 downcast eyes, and a complexion the exact tint of a 
 tallow candle. He was shrewd, intelligent, and ner- 
 vous. He had the undoubted opinion that Mortimer 
 Shelburne was equal, if not superior, to anybody, 
 and everybody, and somebody else, besides. Place 
 a suit of gray cloth on a bean pole, and the descrip- 
 tion is complete. 
 
 The church in which Mr. Vincent was expected 
 to preach on the morrow was situated a little out- 
 side of the triangle. It was built, doubtless, many 
 years before the triangle was thought of. A narrow 
 gateway, and a perfectly smooth path, led to this 
 ecclesiastical structure. On either side of the path 
 there was a long stretch of greeu sward, dotted 
 
24 • LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 in the spring time with buttercups and daisies, 
 and adorned with a weeping willow here and there. 
 The uneven surface showed plainly that many- 
 were there lowly laid in the quiet sepulchre of rest 
 who had fretted their little life upon the stage, and 
 passed away to another, and let us hope a better 
 
 world. *:;.:i^,v,-->..**,x. -«.v- ^.:^:,., .^.y.'--j-' -^^i.-^rrju-.^ 
 
 The church, which was very old and very dilapi- 
 dated, had a unique appearance. The main part of 
 the building, which was the church proper, was of 
 brick, and almost square ; low roofed, and with 
 small windows through which the light had to 
 struggle for an entrance. A school room, which 
 was evidently an aftor-thought and an after-growth, 
 stood in the closest proximity on the north side, and 
 on the north of that a small parsonage. The interior 
 of the church was, if possible, still more unique. A 
 deep gallery at one end and running along the two 
 sides, with a big hole knocked through the wall on 
 the north side, to utilize the upper school room for 
 the accommodation of worshippers when occasion 
 required. There was a veritable box of a pulpit, 
 which required leanness in the man who entered ; 
 a small window on each side, which, with the addi- 
 tional ingenious contrivance of a sort of glass bird 
 cage in the [centre of the roof, afforded the only 
 means for lighting the edifice. Trul^ it Wf^9 ^ diiUi 
 religious light, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 25 
 
 In this peculiar building, commonly called a 
 church, Paul Vincent was to " hold forth " two Sab- 
 baths. The day came, the hour, and the man. As 
 he entered the pulpit all eyes were fixed upon him. 
 The youthful aspirant for office was closely scanned 
 from every nook and comer' in the quaint edifice. 
 Knowing nods and almost imperceptible winks were 
 exchanged on every side. His first words— "Let 
 us pray " — uttered in a deep bass voice, produced a 
 visible effect, and all heads instinctively bowed before 
 that Majesty, which is so intangible and yet so real. 
 He read the grand old hymns with deep feeling, and 
 the Scriptures with that just emphasis which is said 
 to be the best commentary. He preached to them, 
 with the fervor worthy of a Melancthon, of a living 
 Christ, of a dying Christ, of the nails, and the spear, 
 and " the side from whence flowed blood and water," 
 and of that infinite compassion which could suffer so 
 much and forgive so much simultaneously. That 
 he did not exert his youthful powers in vain was 
 sufficiently evidenced by audible sobs and stream- 
 ing eyes, and now and then a devout amen, which 
 would not be repressed, The effect was a full attes- 
 tation of his sincerity and powers, and he was abun- 
 dantly worthy of so giatifying a result. He was 
 poor in worldly substance, but he had a clear head, 
 ft pure soul, m unwavering faith, and a warm heart, 
 which enshrined a mine of wealth, every sepwftte 
 
26 . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 coin of which bore the image and superscription of 
 the Great King. 
 
 The Shepherdston commui^ity in general, and 
 Mortimer Shelburne in particular, were so well 
 pleased with the services rendered by Mr. Vincent 
 for the two Sabbaths, that they condescended to 
 invite him to remain two Sabbaths more. It is 
 almost needless to say that he accepted the invita- 
 tion readily, fully assured, in his own mind, that the 
 further trial would deepen the favorable impression 
 already made. He discoursed with the same simple, 
 fervid eloquence which characterized his previous 
 efforts. He visited the sick and the dying, com- 
 forted the mourner, and helped the poor and needy, 
 as far as his slender finances would admit. He 
 gratefully accepted all the kind attentions and hos- 
 pitalities which were so freely tendered him. The 
 ^' head deacon " was very affable, and was so con- 
 descending as to take him for a ride in his one-horse 
 chaise, showing him the country round, and explain- 
 ing the various objects of interest, archseological and 
 otherwise, that were met with. He also dwelt with 
 much emotion and rare amplitude upon the origi- 
 nal powers and brilliant qualities of the previous 
 beloved pastor of the church, who was with them so 
 many years, and whose loss they all deeply deplored. 
 He had worked well with the pastor, and the pas- 
 tor had worked well with him, and it was the de- 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 27 
 
 lightful conviction of both that one was a model 
 pastor, and the other a model deacon. They had 
 always understood each other perfectly, and together 
 they had pulled the church gloriously and smoothly 
 along. They never differed about who was to be 
 the head, inasmuch as they had a perfect under- 
 standing by which the honor of the post was divided 
 equitably between them. The pastor was nominally 
 the head, he really so, and both were satisfied. This 
 was an admirable arrangement, and, in the profound 
 judgment of the deacon, was absolutely necessary 
 to the welfare of any church. 
 
 What could Paul Vincent say in reply to all this 
 astute reasoning.? Not much. Like most young 
 men of his class, he had much book-learning, and 
 little worldly wisdom. He supposed that every 
 man was strictly straightforward and honest, be- 
 cause he was so himself. The great world of in- 
 trigue and deceit he had not yet entered, and was 
 not even aware of its existence. He did not know 
 much of the actual working of churches, but he had 
 some knowledge, which he owed to his faithful 
 tutors, of those divine principles upon which churches 
 are supposed to be founded. He therefore ventured, 
 humbly and reverentially, to suggest that some of 
 the propositions laid down by the good deacon were 
 not in exact accordance with New Testament polity. 
 Ah I young man, letter mi wiser would it havQ 
 
28 * LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 been for you «o have bitten your tongue through, 
 than have uttered, however deferentially, such sen- 
 timents in such a presence, '.^-i^^a.^j^air^^ a; ,>:>^i/( 
 
 The deacon fell into a profound silence, relieved 
 only here and there, by a casual, meaningless 
 remark. He was evidently rapt in the contempla- 
 tion of the beauties of nature, which had before 
 escaped his attention. He was a little cold and shy. 
 Mr. Vincent noticed the difference, but he attributed 
 it to any and every cause except the true one. He 
 thought he had a slight attack of colic, and the 
 appearance of the good deacon's face gave a coloring 
 of probability to such a supposition ; or, if not that, 
 some prospective and difficult business transaction — 
 such as meeting a note for a considerable amount in 
 three days — might be occupying his mind, and 
 causing him to be nervous and silent; or, which 
 was the likeliest supposition, but his travelling 
 companion did not think of it, he might be revolv- 
 ing in his massive brain some deep-laid scheme, the 
 execution of which should avert threatening difficul- 
 ties, and secure the perpetual welfare of the Shep- 
 herdston Zion . . . The one-horse chaise arrived 
 at last in front of Mortimer Shelburne's residence, 
 and Paul Vincent took his temporary leave of that 
 gentlepaan, and retired to his temporary lodgings. 
 It was Ills £rst ride in that memorable dtie-lipr^^ 
 cbaisei and it proved to be tbe last* 
 
tf CtMckt IM. 59 
 
 Hierc were other in6fi of note in that community 
 besides the " head deacon." The apothecary com- 
 bined in himself three men, and in his business three 
 (iistinct departments of worldly dealing. He was a 
 semi-doctor, consulted by the poor, who could not 
 afford the services of a regular practitioner. He was 
 a dispenser of drugs, which was his legitimate call- 
 ing, and he was a printer. 
 
 The miller was a rosy-faced, chubby little fellow, 
 nearly as round as a ball. He was always good- 
 tempered, and on the best of terms with himself and 
 everybody else. He was an enthusiastic admirer of 
 Mr. Vincent; thought he was the right man in the 
 right place ; was exceedingly well pleased with him, 
 as indeed he was with everybody. Miller was his 
 name and miller was his trade, and a good smiling 
 soul he was. 
 
 The draper was a little consequential, but very 
 urbane and pleasant. He had good possessions to 
 boast of, a charming wife, a beautiful daughter, a 
 promising son, and a good paying business. He 
 and ?11 his were deeply attached to Mr. Vincent. 
 
 The retired clergyman had in his day been " a 
 burning and shining light" in the Shepherdston 
 pulpit, and, after passing through much tribulation, 
 had prudently retired. He was advancing consid- 
 erably in years, and the sun was getting a little too 
 hot for him. He had a good living, however, provid- 
 
86 LIGriTS k^t) SttADOWS 
 
 ed by the indefatigable industry of his noble wife, 
 whose appearance was as regal as a queen's. They 
 endorsed Mr. Vincent's candidature very fervently. 
 
 So far all things seemed favorable to the youthful 
 aspirant. His abilities were of no mean order, and 
 they were recognized and appreciated. He was 
 beloved by all classes. There was every outward 
 appearance of the utmost unanimity of opinion and 
 feeling in the community. Everybody said, and 
 surely everybody must be right, that Mr. Paul 
 Vincent, of Bewdley College, near Framingham, 
 would certainly be called, heartily and unanimously, 
 to the pastorate of the important church in Shep- 
 herdston. ...,,;.•; v. .v \; 
 
 This unfortunate world does seem well nigh full of 
 contradictions, illusions, and disappointments, and, 
 unfortunately, they come in and thrust themselves 
 before us at the most inconvenient times. If they 
 would deign to give us a short notice of their inten- 
 tion to wait upon us, we might make some sort of 
 preparation to meet them ; but no, on they come, 
 without being polite enough to say, " by your leave." 
 As Shepherdston was a part, and a not unimportant 
 part, of this veritable world, the common experience 
 of mundane vicissitude fell to its lot. About ten 
 days after the memorable chaise-ride, rumors were 
 industriously and quickly circulated that Mortimer 
 Shelburne was not so favorable to Mr. Vincent's 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. Sl 
 
 candidature as he had been. He had dropped hints, 
 here and there, that possibly they might do better 
 by waiting a little longer ; that it was not wise to be 
 in a hurry in so momentous a matter ; that one a 
 little older, and with more experience, might be more 
 suitable for so important a sphere ; and he had rea- 
 son to know that such an one, eminently suited to 
 the post, might be had. 
 
 Mr. Vincent had finished his allotted term of pro- 
 bationary service, and was already back again among 
 his books in Bewdley College, there awaiting the 
 expected call. That model communication came at 
 last, and with nervous trembling he read as follows : 
 
 Shepherdston, -4jpri720, 18— . 
 Mr. Paul Vincent, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 At a meeting of the Church in Shepherdston, called for the 
 purpose of electing a pastor, the following motion was moved, 
 seconded, and carried :— " That Mr. Paul Vincent, who has 
 supplied our pulpit so acceptably for the last four Sabbaths, 
 be, and is hereby invited to become pastor of this Church." 
 For the motion 83,— against 3.S. 
 
 The following motion was then moved, seconded, and car- 
 ried : " That Mr. Paul Vincent be invited to supply this 
 Church for three months." For the motion 73,— against 43. 
 It is my duty, my dear Sir, to notify you that you are expected 
 to inform me, as early as possible, whether you accept the 
 invitation for three months. 
 
 I remain, 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 Mortimer Suelburne* 
 
3^ LiGttTS AND SMAbdWfe 
 
 There are some things you cannot touch witliout 
 spoiling, — the delicate bloom of a plum, for instance. 
 You may look at it, and admire it as much as you 
 like, but don^t handle it, you will spoil it if you do. 
 All the beauty is on the surface. Eub that off, and 
 there is nothing left but a thin skin, a little fruit, 
 and a small stone. There are some productions of 
 the human mind, or of collective mind, that are so 
 inimitably unique and chaste, that they should not 
 be touched with rough, unsanctified hands. The 
 above letter is a specimen. How that massive, 
 sanctified, diaconate brain must have schemed and 
 worked to produce such a masterpiece of sincerity 
 and straightforwardness ! No wonder his complex- 
 ion was the opposite of blooming, if he had come to 
 regard such work as dignified, legitimate, and worthy 
 of his best powers. An invitation to the pastorate, 
 carried by a large majority. And then on the top of 
 that an invitation for three months, carried by a large 
 majority too ! ! It was an excess of kindness that 
 might melt the hardest heart. Well done, Mortimer 
 Shelburne ! You knew what you were about, didn't 
 you ? Never mind whether the poor simple flock, 
 who meant to do right, did or not. It was a master- 
 stroke worthy of Machiavelli, or Kichelieu, and your 
 bones ought to rest with theirs. Then how kind it 
 was to sharpen the young gentleman's dull wits by 
 pointing out to him that it wa3 the latter resolution 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 33 
 
 he was to pay particular attention to. The first 
 was nothing; that is, nothing to him. Take the 
 advice of an old friend, and mend your ways in time. 
 If you keep on like that, you will not be likely to 
 attain a distinguished position in the upper world, 
 whatever your position in this may be. They don't 
 encourage such tricks there. The entrance is effec- 
 tually barred to everything " that defileth, or that 
 worketh abomination, or that maketh a lie." No- 
 thing is admitted but what will bear to be looked at 
 in the full glare of that sun that never sets. 
 
 Paul Vincent, upon first reading the letter, was sur- 
 prised ; then he had a feeling of disappointment ; then 
 disappointment was succeeded by a hazy kind of be- 
 wilderment ; then he called to mind the ride in the 
 chaise, and starting from that point, a logical sequence 
 of thought led him to the light. With a sigh, 
 scarcely perceptible, he quietly took his pen, and 
 indited a letter declining the call for three months, 
 and took his leave of Shepherdston for ever. 
 
.34 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ■;;;;,;-; ,--:;•' ;■: CHAPTER III/-' •■■;';;/;. ;',,''^'-, 
 
 Paul gets discouraged — He receives an invitation to visit 
 Crossberry — Douglas Sinclair looks in upon his old 
 chuni) and states his views and experiences — The 
 journey to Crossberry — Mr. BuUethead and his trunk — 
 The Gorilla question — Simon Jehu and his old tumble- 
 down coach — A loquacious companion — Josiah Bun- 
 combe of the Nag's Head— A bird's-eye view of Cross- 
 l^erry — Samuel Chedworth, Mrs. Chedworth, and nine 
 little Chedworths— The old church redolent of the 
 memory of Bunyan. 
 
 The young candidate for ministerial honors was 
 grievously disappointed, as what else could he be 
 under the circumstances, even more so than he cared 
 to admit to himself or express to anyone else. He 
 was cast adrift once more upon the dreary sea of 
 uncertain expectancy. In what direction to steer 
 his frail bark he knew not. A few weeks more 
 would bring him to the close of his college 
 course, and the future was full of darkness and 
 uncertainty. He began to think that possibly 
 he had mi&taken his vocation; that, notwith- 
 standing the generous and unstinted commen- 
 dation of his tutors, examinations successfully 
 passed, and evidences, too marked to be mistaken, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 35 
 
 of a rare aptitude for usefulness, he might be in 
 the wrong path. He searched his heart in vain 
 for any design that was not honest, for any mo- 
 tive that was not as pure as could be expected 
 from an erring mortal. His sky was overcast. He 
 was stumbling along in the dark, as best he could, 
 trying to catch a glimpse of light that might point 
 out the right way ; he did not look long in vain. 
 The darkness which enveloped him passed away, 
 and the sun shot his beams athwart his path 
 once more. His name and fame had travelled 
 somewhat, and he received a pressing invitation 
 to supply the vacant pulpit of the Church in 
 Crossberry for a few Sabbaths. Where Crossberry 
 was he had to find out by consulting that handy 
 book of reference — " Bradshaw." What Cross- 
 berry was would take a little longer time to find 
 out. Whether it was a city, a town, a village, 
 or a long stretch of habitable continuity, with 
 •its centre everywhere and nowhere, or whether 
 it was a mere geographical expression, were 
 important points that remained to be resolved 
 in due course. A minute examination of the out- 
 side of the envelope revealed the important and 
 gratifying fact that Crossberry had a post ofiace, for 
 there the name was stamped plainly enough. It 
 was a most decisive stamp too— plain, clear, full, 
 with every atom of every letter fully brought out; 
 
 A. 
 
86 • LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 showing that the postmaster, at least, had an idea 
 that the name and the place were of some conse- 
 quence. While he was taking a last lingering look 
 at that decisive stamp there was slight tap at his 
 study door. "Come in," said Mr. Vincent. 
 
 In stepped a fine gentlemanly young man about 
 Mr. Vincent's age — Douglas Sinclair, student, and 
 senior of his year. 
 
 " Hollo, Vincent ! how are you this morning, old 
 fellow ? What — what is this assaults my sense ? 
 Fe-fo-fan, I smell — offering incense at the shrine of 
 * Bacca ' very early this morning, eh Vincent ? 
 Don't you know that you are breaking the sixth 
 and last article in the constitution of this illustrious 
 institution. Look here : * No smoking allowed in the 
 College, or on the front terrace.' That's plain enough 
 sure, ah, well, I won't peach on you, old fellow. 
 Hand me a match, and we'll make the transgression 
 mutual." 
 
 Mr. Sinclair lighted his meerschaum, and while he 
 was getting the steam up, and getting red in the 
 face over it, silence and smoke reigned supreme. 
 When the steam was fairly up Douglas Sinclair re- 
 sumed his discourse. • 
 
 " I say, Vincent, I have a particular conscientious 
 regard for that sixth article in the constitution. 
 That, and the first, which enacts that the young 
 gentlemen shall rise at six a.m., take my fancy 
 
Of CLERICAL LIFE. 37 
 
 amazingly. Tliose two articles were no doubt in- 
 tended, by the wise heads that framed that constitu- 
 tion, to be repressive of vice, and promotive of 
 virtue. I have observed that they invariably have 
 the effect intended for the first six months, and 
 then, like a good many other kinds of medicine, 
 they gradually lose their influence. It was so with 
 the humble individual who is now addressing you. 
 For the first six months, — that is, until the first 
 examination was passed, and I was deemed a fit 
 and proper person to be placed upon * the found- 
 ation,' — I invariably rose at the first dong of the 
 bell, and appeared exactly at half-past six a.m. at 
 prayers, seven times in the week. After that I had 
 a virulent and protracted attack of somnolence, and 
 it was necessary to relax the rule to accommodate 
 the disease, and I have been suffering from it, more 
 or less, ever since. Still I hold to the theory of 
 early rising, and I believe those old * fogies ' meant 
 well who ordained that we should rise at six. 
 Whether they reduce the theory to practice, and 
 thus far honor the said constitution, is a matter I 
 have not yet been able to determine. I have 
 broached the subject once or twice with one or two, 
 but the response has invariably been a dignified 
 reserve. I took that to mean : * Young gentleman, 
 you had better mind your own business,* so I 
 leashed my tongue, and was mum. And then as to 
 
38 ■ LIGHTS AKD SHADOWS . 
 
 the incense. For the first six months I offered that 
 morning, noon and night outside the college walls, 
 but after I was placed on the foundation I felt a 
 growing interest in this fine aggregation of solid 
 masonry, and transferred the offering to my study. I 
 found the alteration work well, notwithstanding the 
 rule, and so I continued it." 
 
 " Sinclair, you are very philosophical, and your 
 reasoning is worthy of a devout student of Whateley, 
 no doubt ; but I have, just now, something on my 
 mind more important than all this — listen." 
 
 " Well, what is it old fellow ? I am all ears. If 
 it's anything I can help you in, I am your most 
 humble servant." 
 
 " I have just received an invitation to Crossberry 
 to preach a few Sabbaths ; and I am considering 
 whether I had better go. Do you know the place, 
 or the people ? " 
 
 " Crossberry ? " Mr Sinclair knitted his manly 
 brow to quicken the circulation in the region of 
 his massive brain. "Crossberry? Why, yes, I 
 know Crossberry. Now I remember T have an old 
 aunt living there whom I visited once, and from 
 whom I have certain expectations, which may bear 
 fruit when the old lady has * shuffled off this mortal 
 coil,' as the immortal bard says. Crossberry is con- 
 siderably in the interior ; it's a queer old town, but 
 there are some good people in it. A little old- 
 
■ ■■y\'l,^:'''--i OP CLERICAL LIFE. ? 3d 
 
 fashioned they are, but hearty and good. You get 
 off at Crossberry junction, and, after a seven miles 
 ride, in an old tumble-down coach, you arrive at 
 Crossberry. But I say, Vincent, changing the sub- 
 ject for a little while with your permission, I had a 
 remarkable experience last Sunday. It was as good 
 as a pantomime. I was preaching the * Anniversary 
 Sermons ' at Bockden, and I had the good fortune 
 to make an important addition to my stock of know- 
 ledge. I found out that D. V. have a meaning other 
 than that usually attached to those orthodox letters. 
 I was preaching in the morning, and just as I reached 
 the third head of my eloquent discourse I heard 
 something like a crackle in the vestry, close to the 
 pulpit stairs. By and by, I smelt something that 
 had the odor of mutton chops, and, carrying on two 
 mental processes at once, I came to the conclusion 
 that my dinner was in closer proximity than I had 
 imagined. It is almost needless to observe that I 
 brought my discourse to a somewhat abrupt termin- 
 ation, feeling that the outward man needed to be 
 renewed. I pronounced the benediction, opened the 
 pulpit door, stepped down about twenty steps at 
 three strides, entered the vestry, and there, sure 
 enough, the frying pan was on the fire, and the chops 
 cooking. Over the fire place was a large handbill 
 two letters of which, printed large, and enclosed in 
 brackets to make them significant, fully explained 
 
40 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 this extraordinary phenomena, ' Bockden — Anniver- 
 sary Sermons. Two sermons will be preached in 
 the above place (D. V.) on Sabbath, June 18th, 18- 
 by Mr. Douglas Sinclair, of Bewdley College, &c/ I 
 saw it all at a glance — quite a new light — dinner 
 in the vestry.** 
 
 " Well done, Sinclair. That was quite an acquisi- 
 tion, a new light, as you say ; but as you have now 
 had your say, and I have listened very patiently, 
 let us return to the subject in hand — Crossberry." 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, I have not much more to 
 say now. I hope you will accept the invitation. Go 
 by all means, and see the place. Give my kind re- 
 gards to my old aunt, and teU her that her hopeful 
 nephew is always thinking about her. I hope you 
 will come back with a hearty and unanimous call in 
 your pocket. Adieu, for the present, and keep a 
 stout heart. There goes the bell for the Hebrew 
 class, I must be off, and face the music." 
 
 The irrepressible Douglas gone to his Hebrew, 
 Paul was left to his silent cogitations once more. 
 Should he accept the invitation ? Yes, he should, 
 and would. He quickly took his pen, and indited 
 a letter, and addressed it to Samuel Chedworth, Esq., 
 Crossberry, near Crossberry Junction, for from that 
 gentleman the invitation had come. The letter 
 was duly despatched by the next mail, leaving at 
 4 p. m. J and would probably be delivered in Cross- 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFfi. 41 
 
 berry about noon the following day. From the 
 date fixed in the letter of invitation, Mr. Vincent 
 would be expected in the Crossberry pulpit the 
 following Sunday. No time must be . *". Imme- 
 diate preparation must be made for the journey, 
 which was a long one. In two days the valise was 
 again packed with a small assortment of clean 
 linen and old sermons; also a number of other 
 things of various and indispensable utility. 
 
 The train which whirled him along the line of 
 the Great Northern was of the slow-coach, eccen- 
 tric kind, affording him ample time for reflection 
 before he reached Crossberry Junction. His main 
 occupation during the journey was making various 
 and sundry annotations on " Bradshaw, " commit- 
 ting choice parts of it to memory ; and making a 
 complete and compendious catalogue of its many 
 advertisements, for convenience of future refer- 
 ence. These, with now and then a stretch of the 
 legs and " a whiff," when the train took a notion of 
 shunting off on a siding, pleasantly, if not profitably, 
 occupied the time. 
 
 A great deal might be written upon that much- 
 neglected subject, "how to conduct yourself in a 
 railway train." There are some poor mortals as 
 unfit to travel by rail as a North American Indian. 
 They are so restless and boorish, and manifest such 
 utter disregard for the feelings of others. They are 
 
42 :: ; LIGHTS AifD SHADOWS ^ ' i'^-^ 
 
 a perpetual nuisance to the guard, the station 
 masters, the porters, the passengers, and, in fact, 
 everyhody. There was one of this class in the 
 compartment in which was Mr. Vincent, and in 
 consequence that gentleman's devout study of 
 " Bradshaw " received constant interruption. He 
 had a large trunk in the luggage van, duly and 
 fully described as to its projected destination, about 
 which he was as perpetually anxious as if it had 
 been chuck full of gold pieces. Every time the 
 train stopped, he popped his bullet head out of the 
 window, and bawled out, at the top of his voice : 
 " Guard ! Is my trunk all right ? " " Yes, all right," 
 blandly replied the guard. But the question was 
 repeated so often, in the progress of the journey, 
 that the guard very rightly lost his patience, and 
 silenced the officious intruder by telling him in 
 plain English that he wished Mr. Bullethead was 
 an elephant instead of an ass that he could take 
 care of his own trunk. He was, unfortunately, not 
 the only nuisance. There was his mate sitting 
 near him ; this " customer " seemed half drunk, and 
 he fixed his fiendish eyes on a little nervous gentle- 
 man that sat opposite him. He was evidently 
 intending to have some fun, as he thought, and so 
 he commenced : " I say, Governor, what's your 
 name, and what's your occupation? What does 
 your mother call you, and what do you do for a 
 
of CLERICAt LIFE. 43 
 
 living?" The nervous gentleman meekly replied 
 that he was not aware that that was any business 
 of his. 
 
 " 0, yes, it is, but if you don't like to answer the 
 aforesaid questions answer me this: Are you a 
 man ? " 
 
 -' The nervous gentleman, thinking he must alter 
 his tactics, again meekly replied that he had been 
 accustomed for several years to look upon himself 
 in that light. 
 
 "Well, then", said the irrepressible, "I beg 
 : leave to inform you that you are very much 
 mistaken. I've been reading some clever books 
 lately, by Darwin and others, and I've come to the 
 conclusion that we're all gorillas. I'm a gorilla and 
 you're a gorilla, and the only difference is that I'm 
 a big goriUa and you're a little gorilla, Now 
 don't call yourself a man again, it ain't scientific. " 
 
 Just at this point of this interesting dissertation 
 the train slackened, and then came to a stand, and 
 the shrill voice of the porter called out Crossberry 
 Junction. Paul Vincent picked himself up out of 
 the corner of the carriage, and seizing his valise 
 stepped out, wondering how long the gorilla ques- 
 tion would hold out, and glad to be out of hearing 
 of it. 
 
 The old tumble-down coach which Douglas 
 Sinclair had made mention of was outside the 
 
44 ' LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ...;..,:i,). 
 
 station, waiting for its complement of passengers for 
 Crossberry. Mr. Vincent paid his fare in advance, 
 and stepped in, or rather stepped out, for, as there 
 were more passengers than the interior would accom- 
 modate, he took his seat with the driver on the box. 
 Simon Jehu, for that was the driver's name, after 
 calling out " all right," drove off at a rattling pace. 
 When the horses had settled down to a good easy 
 trot Mr. Vincent ventured a remark or two, with 
 the view of drawing out of the old driver some 
 information about Crossberry. . 
 
 " Mr. Jehu, you seem to be advanced considerably 
 in years. Have you resided long in Crossberry ? " 
 
 " Wa'U, yes, young man, I'se be sixty-two next 
 May, and I'se lived in Crossberry £vll my life." 
 
 " I trust your long life has been pleasant and 
 enjoyable on the whole ? " 
 
 " Wa'll yes, its been purty fair, but I'se had my 
 ups and downs, like bigger and better folks. We 
 had lots o' chil'en — my missus and me — but they 
 died young mostly ; some wi' hooping-cough and 
 some wi' measles, and some, as lived longer, died o' 
 consumption; and then my old missus died, twelve 
 months come next June, and I be lonely now. But, 
 excuse me, sir, if I may make so bold, what be your 
 name, and baint you been in Crossberry before ? " 
 
 " My name is Paul Vincent, and I have not had 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 45 
 
 the pleasure of visiting Crossberry before. It is 
 my first visit." 
 
 " ! you be the new preacher, baint you ? Ah ! 
 they be looking out for you. They be talking 
 about you a great deal. They say you be very 
 clever, and very larned, and very handsome, and 
 very — what do they call it ? " 
 
 " Eloquent," suggested Mr. Vincent. 
 
 " Ah ! that's it, eiocunt." 
 
 " Well, I don't know how they can have arrived at 
 Ithe conclusion that I am handsome, as I am not 
 |aware that any of them have seen me yet." 
 
 "Ah ! well, I 'spose they expect you to be that. 
 It's one o' the qualifications, like. They 'spose you 
 be young, and, in consequence, they *spose you be 
 handsome." 
 
 " Well, my friend, I hope they may not be disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 " Wa'U, yer passable, I think, from what I see wi* 
 yer hat on. The last minister they had was an old 
 gentleman, as old as me. He weren't young enough, 
 nor handsome enough to suit the young folks, so 
 they thought they'd rather have a younger man; 
 and the old gentleman he got to hear of it and left." 
 
 " Did he seem to regret his leaving much ? " asked 
 Mr. Vincent, with much concern, and -:ith evident 
 manifestations of sympathy. 
 
 " \Va'll,he didn't shov^ it much like, because ye see, 
 
46 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 sir, he were a kind o* big sort o' man in his younger 
 da^s like, and he respected hisself a good deal, so 
 he didn't show his feelings. But I 'spose he did 
 feel it, for ye see a good many o' the older folks 
 liked him, and he were sorry to part wi' um." 
 
 Mr. Vincent was silent, but the old man con- 
 tinued. ;,, ;' 
 
 " Ye see, sir, there's lots o' young ladies in the 
 church, and they think a minister should be hand- 
 some like, and their fathers and mothers, as should 
 know better, don't correct um." ^i - 
 
 Mr. Vincent was still silent. Not a question 
 more would he ask. He had heard enough to 
 satisfy him, for the present. He was thinking 
 deeply, painfully, of the old man that was gone, 
 who was not considered handsome ; of the young 
 man that was coming that might be so considered, 
 or might not. He felt he had been subjected to a 
 process of pre-degradation. He felt it a mortal 
 offence, in advance, that looks were to weigh in the 
 scale of fitness for a spiritual work. So the world 
 wags, Mr. Vincent, and the church too ; keep straight 
 on and keep your eyes open and you will learn 
 many things yet. You have completed your educa- 
 tion, and you are just beginning it. You are enter- 
 ing another college where sterner lessons are taught, 
 and not so cheaply as in the one you left yesterday. 
 There you got your education free, and your board 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 47 
 
 for nothing, and only had to pay for certain inevit- 
 able et ceteras. Here, in this more practical 
 academy, you will pay for every lesson, and twice 
 or thrice over, if you don't keep a sharp look out. 
 You will find a tremendous necessity for the 
 admonition — " Let thine eyes keep straight before 
 thee." 
 
 These practical moralizings, and Mr. Vincent's 
 deep thinking, must stop here, as, from all appear- 
 ;ances, the old tumble-down coach has already pulled 
 up at the * Nag's Head '. Mr. Vincent rouses himself, 
 and jumps down, valise in hand, from the box seat, 
 and, looking around, finds himself in the small town 
 of Crossberry. He took his position for a few min- 
 utes on the pavement in front of the * Nag's Head ', to 
 get a cursory view, from so favorable a position for 
 observation, of this medium-sized hamlet, which was 
 technically and ostentatiously called a town. The 
 hostelry behind him was evidently considerably 
 advanced in years, small, low-roofed, and with its 
 main entrance through an archway, about six 
 feet wide, through which Simon Jehu had just 
 driven his two nags and coach — the former to be left 
 in the stables, the latter to be dumped down in the 
 yard, tiU they would be required the following day. 
 These latter operations were performed rather quick- 
 ly, as the old driver was already in the bar-room, 
 quietly blinking at the blooming maid behind the 
 
■ LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 counter^ and smacking his lips, not over the maid, 
 but over a glass of something hot. This was his 
 usual mode of driving the cold out, and warming up 
 after a journey. 
 
 The landlord, Josiah Buncombe, was a stout red- 
 faced, blustering fellow, fond of dogs and wine, 
 with a voice like thunder, and lungs made of leather. 
 When he was roused his delicate intonations were 
 very much like the roar of a lion. The story was 
 current in the town that, in once submitting to a 
 medical examination, for the purpose of effecting an 
 insurance upon his valuable life, the physician ven- 
 tured to ask as a final question, somewhat ironically, 
 whether his lungs were sound. Yes ! roared out 
 Josiah, would you like to hear me '* holler?" The 
 physician intimated that he was perfectly satisfied 
 with what he had already heard, and begged him not 
 to " holler/' as it would cost considerable to replace 
 the roof of his family residence, if it should happen 
 to go off in the explosion. Mr. Buncombe was duly 
 passed, and certified as a fit and proper person to be 
 insured, for one thousand pounds, — plus an extra 
 premium for being a publican. Had the premium 
 been increased in the due proportion of his being a 
 sinner also, it might have been rather heavy. 
 
 -The market place, opposite the " Nag's Head, " 
 resembled a menagerie in the under portion of it. 
 It was cased in with perpendicular iron bars, through 
 
Ot CLERICAL LIFfi. 4d 
 
 \vliic}i you could look, and grin, ahd notliing more. 
 The upper part would hold about a hundred medium- 
 sized bags of different kinds of grain. In this 
 menagerie the farmers from the country round 
 met once a week to do business, discuss politics, 
 and scandalize their neighbors. Crossberry was 
 made up of one long street, the High Street, run- 
 ning from east to west, with two streets branching 
 off, north and south, about three parts of the way 
 down, thus forming a cross. From this singular 
 ! conformation it probably took its name. 
 i Mr. Vincent, having made a note of these and 
 sundry other observations, personal and geographical* 
 turned his steps eastward, and soon arrived at the 
 residence of Samuel Chedworth, Esq. This residence, 
 situated on the east end of the High Street, on a 
 small piece of rising ground, was covered with a 
 tliick growth of ivy, with sundry openings, as if cut 
 through the ivy, for door and windows. It had 
 about two acres of ground behind, and about the two 
 hundredth part of an acre in front. The house turned 
 completely round would have been a decided im- 
 provement. Here, however, Mr. Chedworth, Mrs. 
 'hedworth, and nine little Chedworths, spun out 
 iheir existence as best they could. Mr. and Mrs. 
 hedworth hoped Mr. Vincent might enjoy his visit 
 Crossberry, and that it might prove a permanent 
 dvantage to himself and the Church. The little 
 
 9 
 
50 tlGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Chedworths didn't say anything about the Church, 
 but they manifested their respectful attention in 
 other ways. Two jumped on his knees instanter, 
 one climbed on the back of his chair and performed 
 sundry operations with his black flowing locks ; two 
 others made a simultaneous side attack, and balanced 
 themselves on the chair by clutching th« sleeves of 
 his black cloth coat, and the remaining four whined 
 and waited till the others were tired of their pranks, 
 so that they could commence the same operations. 
 All of which attentions the aforesaid young gentle- 
 man received cheerfully and gratefully, and made a 
 desperate attempt to seem pleased. Tea was an- 
 nounced, and the little Chedworths dismissed to the 
 nursery, much to their mortification, and much to 
 the inward delight of Mr. Vincent, for after the long 
 ride in the train, and the after excursion in the old 
 tumble-down coach, he felt tired and hungry. The 
 smoking urn was brought in, and placed in front of 
 Mrs. Chedworth. Mr. Chedworth placed himself in 
 a position exactly opposite the toast, and where he 
 could have a good front view of Mr. Vincent. Mr. 
 Vincent was opposite Mr. Chedworth, and took 
 under his special supervision and care the cake and 
 marmalade. After a blessing, asked by Mr. Vincent 
 at Mr. Chedworth's special request, the three fell to 
 a general exchange of tea, toast, marmalade and 
 small talk. While they are thus pleasantly and 
 
6^ CttelltCAL LiPt . '. 61 
 
 profitably engaged, let us fix the apparatus, and 
 take " a view " of the interesting trio. .^ ' ; > , - , 
 
 Mr. Vincent is about twenty-two years of age. 
 He is a little over the medium height, only two 
 inches short of six feet. His hair is long, black, and 
 glossy as a raven, with a slight tendency to curl. 
 The figure is erect, the brow high and intelligent, the 
 eyes gi*ey, and expressive more of deep thought 
 than vivacity. The predominant expression of the 
 countenance is honesty. An acute observer had 
 said, — " You won't find two sides to his face." Nine 
 persons out of ten from a casual, or even an ex- 
 tended, observation would say : " There goes an 
 honest man; that man may differ from you, and 
 hold his own against all comers, but he won't trick 
 you ; if he strike you, metaphorically speaking, it will 
 be fairly in the face, and not behind." 
 
 A strictly honest man, honest in every sense, is not 
 only the noblest, but the rarest work of God. An 
 honest man will not cheat; will not fawn ; will not 
 unduly praise; will not bear false witness against his 
 neighbor, even to a confidential friend ; will not stab 
 behind ; will not seem to be what he is not ; will not 
 work under ground like a mole ; will not be pleasant 
 with his lips to another, when his heart is far from 
 him ; will not barter the fair fame of another for an 
 idle word ; will bear good fortune with meekness, 
 and ill-fortune with constancy; will act as in the 
 
6^ - llGlni ANb SHADOWS 
 
 sight of the All-Seeing always. He will not bartel^ 
 principle for pelf, and he will go to the cannon's 
 mouth, if duty call, and save his life by losing it. 
 
 Mrs. Chedworth— begging her ladyship's pardon 
 for not taking her photograph first — is under the 
 medium height, and ladylike in appearance ; some- 
 what thin, but not disproportionately so ; an oval face, 
 with a skin not of the smoothest, and a complexion 
 of a decidedly dark cast. The eyes are keen, 
 piercing, fiery, and can,"when occasion calls, pour forth 
 any quantity of burning lava, like two slumbering 
 volcanoes. She has a firm decided, imperious temper, 
 and yet a perfectly smooth manner ; slow, protracted, 
 wily in giving offence, but quick to take it, and 
 quietly pertinacious in remembering it. 
 
 Mr. Chedworth is a thin, wiry man; nervous, 
 restless, impetuous, but withal good-natured, and 
 fairly good-tempered. He is of medium height and 
 age, very fond of children — which he needs to be — 
 of whom he has nine, with a fair prospect of each 
 one being duplicated in the ordinary constitution 
 and course of nature. He is the head man in the 
 Crossberry Zion, combining in himself the three im- 
 portant offices of Deacon, Treasurer and Sunday 
 School Superintendent. He has great reverence for 
 the sacred office, and for any one who happens to 
 fill it according to his ideas, which, it must be con- 
 fessed, are a little straight-laced. Fifty-two times in 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 53 
 
 the year he is punctually in his place in the Sunday 
 School. Twelve times in the year he punctually and 
 reverently distributes " the elements ; " and to the 
 day — which is saying a great deal — he, with business 
 regularity, pays the pastor's salary. He is fond of 
 power, and has his weaknesses and faults, but they 
 mostly lean to virtue's side. He always tries to be 
 a friend, where compatibility of temper admits of it, 
 and when he cannot be a friend, he tries to be not 
 an ungenerous enemy. . . , ~. . : , v 
 
 By this time the tea, toast, cake and marmalade 
 are well-nigh disposed of, and consigned to that gas- 
 tronomical limbo where they undergo the process of 
 dying with a certain hope of resurrection in the shape 
 of new blood, renewed nerves, and strengthened 
 muscles. The cloth was removed, the tea things 
 stowed away on a very neat tray by a very neat 
 servant, and conversation resumed until nine o'clock. 
 Then the nursery door was opened, and the little 
 Chedworths came trooping in. The grand old Bible 
 was handed out, and devoutly read, and prayers as 
 devoutly said. After which Mr. Vincent retired for 
 the night ; glad enough to stretch his weary limbs, 
 and recline his weary head and rest. He tried to 
 sleep, but succeeded only in dozing and dreaming. 
 The events of the day danced before his wayward 
 fancy: Mr. BuUethead and his trunk; the gorilla 
 pantomme ; the old tu^lble-dow^ coach and Mr, 
 
64 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Simon Jehu ; the edifying conversation with that 
 gentleman ; the old pastor who was not considered 
 handsome, and the young one that might he ; the 
 thundering, roaring voice of Josiah Buncomhe ; the 
 polite attentions of the little Chedworths, etc. He 
 rose in the morning not much refreshed, but resolved 
 to do his appointed work manfully and well. 
 Preaching was to him what the bugle, the smell of 
 powder, and the gleaming sabre, are to the war 
 horse ; it roused his metal, and made him all him- 
 self. 
 
 He wended his way to the church, accompanied 
 by the whole of the Chedworths, forming quite a 
 procession of no mean dimensions; walking through 
 green fields and along smooth, gravelly walks, for 
 a mile and a half, until a turn in the path brought 
 him in sight of half-a-dozen cottages, and the Cross- 
 berry Zion. It was a plain brick building, with no 
 pretensions to elegance, but of ancient date. It was 
 a sacred spot, hallowed with the memories of two 
 hundred years. Some had met there who had, un- 
 flinchingly, paid for their fidelity to conscience by 
 submitting to the pillory and the dungeon. It was 
 redolent of the memory of Bunyan, for there the 
 " Immortal Dreamer " had lifted up his voice more 
 than once, and exhorted the faithful to stand fast 
 in the liberty wherewith Christ had made them free. 
 Probably he had discoursed, iu his plain inimitable 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. r .J ; 55 
 
 way, of " the land of BeTilah" and " the Delectable 
 Mountains," and " the Shining Ones. Paul Vincent 
 was in a delicious reverie when he ascended the 
 pulpit, thinking of these things, and feeling that he 
 was indeed " compassed about by a great cloud of 
 witnesses." Boused with such touching memories 
 and overshadowed by such a presence, he spoke, 
 pathetically and eloquently, of the Cross and Passion, 
 of the World's Sacrifice ; of the mighty sufferings, 
 and the still mightier love; of that unexampled 
 natural phenomena, " when all nature shuddered at 
 the groans of its expiring God." For five consecu- 
 tive Sundays he preached in the Crossberry pulpit, 
 with increasing earnestness, and it must be added, 
 with increasing acceptance. Whether he was con- 
 sidered handsome is not of sufficienc importance to 
 mention, but he was regarded as answering fully 
 to the other characteristics mentioned by old Jehu. 
 During his temporary stay he paid a short visit to 
 Douglas Sinclair's old aunt, that he might be able 
 to render a satisfactory report to that gentleman on 
 his return, 
 
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 •;■--'■ i 'I .. ■■■.^ 
 
 
 iA'A^.^:Ol:.rL 
 
 -. '..i'-i^''V ,'/'^'■:>r'-:f.:■■i;'■■,.■^* •■ ' J^y^:"' ^^vii- 
 
 \,^'::ajf^'i:S- -y'l^i ' ■■ 
 
 ;.■■'■, ^^r.:^f 7 ■ . :>>/ ■■y^-y:y}.;y,^::M:'kf;.:':--''l 
 
 - 
 
 :-.E^.v ''^:V-^i:vA''>:^" 
 
 • -■. : "'. -• "- 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Paul Vincent receives the hearty commendation of Samuel 
 Chedworth — The little Chedworths mourn his departure 
 > — He returns to Bewdley College — Old Jehu discourses 
 .^ on the young lady, the " Ched'orths " and the family 
 *♦ Consarn " — A matrimonial plot — Douglas Sinclair wel- 
 comes his old chum back again — Some things learned 
 outside the College — A call from Crossberry received and 
 accepted — Paul Vincent becomes the Rev. Paul Vincent, 
 and effects two important settlements simultaneously — 
 He marries " the girl he left behind him." 
 
 Samuel Chedworth expressed to Mr. Vincent, at the 
 close of his five weeks term of probationary service, 
 the pleasure and profit with which he, and the 
 church generally, had listened to his ministrations. 
 He was very warm in his personal expressions of 
 approval, and hoped if the church, in its wisdom, 
 should see fit to extend a call, Mr. Vincent would 
 see it his duty to accept it. He expected to com- 
 municate with him, upon this inportant subject, in a 
 very few days, or, at most, a week. He had made 
 it his business to ascertain the feelings of the people 
 in the church and out of it, and ho was happy to 
 say that the impression was very favorable. He 
 handed Mr, Vincent a good round sum, in solid cash 
 
:; OF CLEKICAL LIFE. 57 
 
 as a pecuniary acknowledgment of his services ; and 
 intimated that all the points which had passed in 
 review between them, in view of a settlement, 
 should be attended to, and, if possible, adjusted to 
 meet his wishes. ,. ,-r-..^.r 
 
 The little Chedworths were loud in their lamenta- 
 tions at the prospect of the new preacher's departure, 
 but, when quietly informed by Mrs. Chedworth that 
 Mr. Vincent might come back and stay with them 
 
 always, they dried their tears, and kissed him good- 
 hye. ■--■\- -'.- ', ■ ,..,.,. ,, v- ,.. , 
 
 Mr. Vincent, passing quickly down the street, 
 valise in hand, once more found himself in front of 
 the Nag's Head, waiting for old Simon, and his 
 tumble-down coach, to convey him to Crossberry 
 junction. Having waited some time without seeing 
 that redoubtable individual, he ventured to peep 
 into the bar, and saw a full explanation of the delay. 
 The old driver was, as usual, blinking at the maid, 
 and smacking his lips over a glass of someting hot 
 preparatory to his departure. It was evidently an 
 inflexible rule with him to regale himself in this 
 manner at both ends of the journey, for the double 
 purpose of keeping the cold out and driving it out. 
 It was not so much that he liked the liquor, as the 
 necessity he felt for warming up, and preserving his 
 health ; and also because he felt so lonely since his 
 '* old missus died, twelve months come next June.'' 
 
58 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 He made his appearance in about five minutes, 
 smacking his old lips, and cracking his whip ; jumped 
 on the box seat by the side of Mr. Vincent, and 
 crying " all right," went off at a rattling pace. When 
 he had cleared the High street, and got about half 
 a mile out of Crossberry, he distinctly heard the 
 melodious voice of Josiah Buncombe calling after 
 him ; but, after a moment's reflection, he whipped 
 his horses and went on. . 
 
 " Whose voice was that ? " asked Mr. Vincent of 
 the old driver. ,-,<f< --I'-v .vm? v-v-d- ^v^^y'-v ^v.'-r-^v: 
 " Wa'll, sure ; don't yer know ? That's Josiah ; 
 nobody else in Crossberry could make sich a noise 
 as that." -'- ■ '- ■-■• ' '■ -^"■' '-'< '■''' '—^'■'' *' '■ " ' ^ ■ '' - - 
 
 " Well, my friend, had you not better wait a little ? 
 Maybe a passenger for the Junction has arrived late 
 and wants to get on to meet the train. It will only 
 make a difference of two or three minutes, and we 
 have plenty of time. Pull up and wait a little." 
 ;' " Wa'll, no, I shall go on. It's only one o' Josiah's 
 pranks. He be fond o' tricks, and he likes * holler- 
 ing,* and airing his lungs." 
 
 " You don't mean to say, my old friend, that he 
 
 ' uses his lungs that way for simple amusement ? " 
 
 " Wa'll, yes ; he knows he be a good hollerer, and 
 
 he's as fond o' hollering as a child likes sugar. Queer 
 
 chap, Josiah, good chap too. Ye should hear him 
 
 boUer when he's fresh like, It's like 'Ombwell's 
 
. •' OF CLERICAL LIFE; 59 
 
 menagerie. If I may make so bold, Sir, be ye com- 
 ing back to Crossberry ? '* 
 
 " Well, that is a question I am scarcely in a posi- 
 tion to answer. It depends upon a decision I am 
 yet to be made acquainted with." ^^ *'-'*^^- '^- - 
 
 " Wa'll, I hear they be going to give ye an — 
 What do they call it?" -on ^: dr- i - 
 
 " Invitation," suggested Mr. Vincent. ^^ -^ '' 
 
 "Ah! yes, that's it, an inwitation. Sammy 
 Ched'orth likes yer, and the inissus, and the chil'en, 
 and most every body likes what they like." 
 
 As the old driver had volunteered so much infor- 
 mation bearing upon Mr. Vincent's future prospects, 
 and as he seemed to be of a very gossiping and 
 garrulous nature, he thought he might as weU drain 
 him of that article at once, and have done with it. 
 He adopted a shorter and more distant tone. " Have 
 you any further information, Mr. Jehu ? " 
 
 " Wa'U, yes, they say ye be clever, and lamed, 
 and handsome, and — What do they call it ? " 
 
 " Eloquent," again suggested Mr. Vincent, out of 
 sheer compassion for the old man. 
 
 " Ah, yes, that's it — elocunt." 
 
 " Anything else ? " asked Mr. Vincent, with some 
 asperity. 
 
 " Wa'll, yes ; they say it's an ad wantage ye're not 
 mwiecl," 
 
60 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 " Why so ? " asked Mr. Vincent with a touch of 
 indignation in his tone. 
 
 " Wa'll, ye see, sir, there's lots o* young ladies in 
 the church, as I told ye before, and they think ye 
 be the right kind o' man to make a good husband 
 for one of urn." • v^^k; 
 
 " Am I to understand, from the latter part of your 
 observations, Mr. Jehu, that the good people in 
 Crossberry have actually been so concerned for my 
 welfare as to pick me out a wife — some one particu- 
 lar person, who is deemed by them very suitable ; 
 and that they intend to stimulate my uxorious 
 proclivities in that particular direction by all avail- 
 able means, if they get the chance ? " < ^ vJ'rJ : r' 
 
 " Wa*ll, yes, if I understand yerelocunt question, 
 Sir, there is a young lady in particular as thinks 
 ye very handsome, although she baint very hand- 
 some herself. She be a teacher in the Sunday 
 school, and has a little money, and is a great friend 
 0* the Ched'orths. They think a world on her, 
 especially Sammy; and they would feel a kind 
 o' 'bliged if the future minister should happen to 
 hev the same wiews." 
 
 " But suppose the future minister did not enter- 
 tain the same views, and did not, in consequence, 
 marry this useful young lady ? What then, Mr. 
 Jehu ? " 
 
 <♦ Wa'll, sir, that's more'a I be able to toll, 
 
' >^^ OF CLEiiicAL Life. 6i 
 
 Maybe the young lady might change her wiews about 
 the minister, and mightn't think him handsome; 
 and the Ched'orths might change their wiews, and 
 then what ud happen I baint able to tell. Ye see, 
 sir, it's a family consarn, and they hang on to one 
 another." , . 
 
 " What do you mean by a family concern, Mr. 
 Jehu ? Please explain yourself. I confess to a feel- 
 ing of some little interest in this benevolent scheme, 
 which you seem to know so much about. It's a 
 new phase of life to me. Pray go on." > ^>-- v :■ • 
 
 " Wa'll, ye see, sir, this young lady's brother sets 
 the tunes, and Sammy Ched'orth be her uncle, and he 
 gives the hymns out, and he be most everything else 
 beside, so that if the new minister meets their wiews 
 and marries this young lady, Sammy's niece, the 
 consarn will be in the family. It'll be snug like, all 
 round." 
 
 The old driver filled his two-inch pipe, and 
 commenced smoking, and Mr. Vincent, in an under 
 tone, said, whew! pnd remained silent, wrapt in 
 meditation until the old tumble-down coach reached 
 Crossberry Junction. Here they both alighted from 
 the box seat, and the passengers, of whom there was 
 a full complement inside, stepped out. The old 
 driver soon put up his horses in the stables of the 
 Junction Hotel, and quickly made his way to the 
 bar, where he was soon engaged in the agreeable 
 
tiGtiTS aMd SriAi)OWd 
 
 occupation of slnacking his lips over something hot. 
 Mr. Vincent went into an ante-room, to wait the 
 arrival of the train, which was due in twenty min- 
 utes. As he had a long journey in prospect, he 
 thought he could not do better than occupy this short 
 space of time by taking a few sandwiches and a cup 
 of hot coffee. On time to the minute the tiain steamed 
 into the station, and he stowed himself away, as 
 comfortably as he could, in the corner of one of the 
 carriages. Mr. Jehu, who had by this time finished 
 his something hot, and crossed over to the station, 
 bid him good-bye for the present, and hoped to see 
 him again soon ; and, as their intercourse on the box 
 seat had made him somewhat familiar, he bade him 
 remember the young lady and the Ched'orths and 
 the family consarn. .^. ^ . .—. 
 
 After a journey of ten hours, with nothing to 
 lighten the tedium except more extended annota- 
 tions on " Bradshaw," he arrived at Bewdley College. 
 He was met by his old chum, Douglas Sinclair 
 who greeted him with demonstrations of delight. 
 
 " How are you, old fellow ? Glad to see you. I 
 thought you were not coming back to * this land which 
 yields us no supplies ' any more. Got a hearty and 
 unanimous call in your pocket, eh ? " 
 
 " Well no, I haven't a call in my pocket, Sinclair 
 but it's coming, I expect, in a few days, or a week at 
 the most." 
 
.• , OP CLtailCAL LIPD. -; ^t 
 
 " Did you ride in the old tumble-down coach ? Did 
 you take the box seat by the side of old Jehu ? I 
 look upon that as the post of honor. Besides, the 
 old chap's quite a character in his waj, and as 
 loquacious as a washer- woman." 
 
 " Yes, I had the post of honor both ways, and 
 the garrulous old fellow talked to his heart's con- 
 tent. He is a character, as you say. He seems to 
 know everybody, and every body's business, besides 
 his own, and perhaps better than his own. I got 
 a good deal of information from him, and one 
 piece of intelligence I didn't much like." 
 
 " What was that, my dear fellow ? " 
 
 " Why the holy and secret conclave in Crossberry 
 has picked me out a wife, in advance." 
 
 " Whew ! " said Mr. Sinclair. " Vincent, that's ra- 
 ther awkward. Doesn't at all fit in with either the 
 past or the present. What would ' the girl you left 
 behind you ' in Eastborough say, if she heard of that 
 nice little arrangement ? " 
 
 " WeU, Sinclair, from all I can see, or hear, or 
 think, ' the girl I left behind me ' has nothing to fear. 
 I regard an honorable engagement as sacred and bind- 
 ing as an honorable marriage, so I'm not likely to 
 add one to the long list of broken hearts. Besides, 
 taking the lowest view, a change might not be, by 
 any means, an improvement. No, I shall stick 
 
64 LiciiTs Aifi) sttAboWsi 
 
 like a leech where I am, true to my first and only 
 attachment." 
 
 " That's right, old fellow. You are honest, anyhow. 
 But did you see my old aunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw her, but I had nearly forgotten all 
 about that business till about the last day, when, 
 to oblige you, I called to see her." 
 
 " Ah ! I'm glad you did. I hope the old lady' s 
 well, but drawing gently nigh the land of rest." 
 
 " Well, she seems very hearty and strong, and she 
 made a good many enquiries about her hopeful ne- 
 phew. You may be sure I served an old chum by 
 giving as favorable a report as the limits of truth 
 would fairly allow. But as to drawing nigh the land 
 of rest ; if that operation is going on, and I sincerely 
 hope it is, it is progressing, from all appearances, 
 very slowly. She's tough, evidently, and may live 
 a great many years yet. Don't be too sanguine and 
 expectant, Sinclair ; she might outUve you. Wait- 
 ing for dead people's shoes is not an ennobling occu- 
 pation, and is not always a profitable one. * Blessed 
 is he that expecteth nothing.' " 
 
 *' Why, Vincent, you 're getting quite a philoso- 
 pher. You'll be fit for the Professor's chair in no 
 time if you keep on like that. Eeally, now, speak- 
 ing, not metaphorically, but literally, where did you 
 pick up that aptitude for moralizing, etc. ? " 
 
 " Well, Sinclair, I've picked up something the last 
 
of CLERICAL LIl'E. 65 
 
 few months that I never would pick up within these 
 walls if I stayed here till doomsday, or lived as long 
 as Methuselah. My visits to Tanborough, Shepherd- 
 ston and Crossberry have not been wholly in vain. 
 I have seen and learnt many things. I am begin- 
 ning to experience the first dawn of the very prac- 
 tical idea, that, possibly, there is a good deal of 
 trickery and unreality in the world ; that things are 
 not always what they seem ; that men are perpetu- 
 ally engaged in carrying out their little schemes for 
 personal and selfish ends ; that the question is not, 
 how to secure the greatest good for the greatest 
 number, but how can I secure my own individual 
 advancement and profit ? that the glory of God as 
 the chief end of man is perpetually lost sight of; 
 that there is more truth than poetry in the state- 
 ment that the ' heart is deceitful above all things 
 and desperately wicked ; ' that the Church itself is 
 not free from the blighting, blasting contagion of 
 trickery and devilishness, which reigns supreme in 
 the world. Ah ! Sinclair, as I have gone thus far, 
 let me out with a truth or tw^o that may possibly 
 be of some benefit to you some day. Here in this 
 Institution, which good men founded, and which 
 good men continually support, w^e are diilled, morn- 
 ing, noon, and night, in Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Ger- 
 man, French, Mathematics, History, Natural and 
 Moral Philosophy, Logic, Rhetoric, and mar.y other 
 
 E 
 
66 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 things which would make a list as long as your aim 
 from your shoulder to the tip of your middle finger. 
 We get a little smattering, too, of Hebrew criticism 
 and New Testament Exegesis. But the great prob- 
 lems of human life are never touched upon, and, 
 above all things, we are never told how widely at 
 variance are both the Church and the world with 
 those grand principles the exposition of which is to 
 be the occupation of our future Hfe. We, therefore, 
 go from this place with a fair knowledge of books, 
 and of what men should be, and in the guileless- 
 ness of our hearts we expect them so to be, but we 
 soon get disappointed. We find that the silent 
 assent of the understanding is given to a thousand 
 things from which the homage of the heart and the 
 service of the life are perpetually withheld. Here 
 are older and wiser heads who have gone through 
 the mill, perhaps more than once, and know both 
 the world and the church thoroughly ; and yet they 
 never throw out a hint for our benefit about the 
 wickedness of the one or the deceitfulness of the 
 other. New Testament Exegesis, fiddlesticks ! If 
 they would give us some human heart and life 
 exegesis it would be more to the point and more 
 
 useful*" . - ^;is;i'>v''% \i'<:':m'i'/f 
 
 Mr. Sinclair fairly gasped at the conclusion of 
 this rhetorical explosion proceeding from his old 
 chum, and as he was not disposed to dissent from 
 
of CLERICAL LIf E. 6*? 
 
 any of the propositions laid down, nor was likely to 
 gain any further information about his old aunt, he 
 judged it prudent to retire. 
 
 In less than a week the expected call from Cross- 
 berry came, and, as there is generally something 
 unique about such documents, a copy is here pre- 
 sented : 
 
 Crossberry. — Near Crossherry Junction, July 1,18 — 
 
 Mr. Paul Vincent, 
 
 Bewdley College, - 
 
 Dear Sir, . ;; . '■,.„-: - ■ .,■ - ;. . 
 
 Although you are already aware of the nature of the feel- 
 ings of the people here regarding yourself and your ministry, 
 and their wishes for a continuance of the latter, it neverthe- 
 less becomes my duty thus officially to inform you of the 
 precise result of the meetings held on June 24th and 27th. 
 At the former, which was exclusively a church meeting, and 
 largely attended, a resolution calling you to the pastorate of 
 this church was unanimously passed. The expressions of 
 approval of yourself personally, and of your capabilities for 
 filling this important position, were warm, enthusiastic, and 
 unanimous. I am happy to say, my dear sir, there was not 
 a dissenting voice. On the 27th there was a meeting of the 
 church and congregation combined, when the same gratify- 
 ing result was reached. We willingly accede to your request 
 for four Sundays in the year as a vacation. We purpose 
 giving you a very liberal pecuniary support to begin with, 
 and shall do what we can to increase it; and, should your 
 ministry prove as acceptable as we anticipate, we may reason- 
 ably expect soon to be able to do so. And now, my dear 
 sir, let me conclude by saying that I sincerely pray, and 
 fervently hope, that He " who holdeth the seven stars in his 
 right hand, and walkcth in the midst of the seven golden 
 
6^ LiGliTS Ais^D SiLVDOWi^ 
 
 candlesticks," may incline yonr heart to accept of this 
 invitation. Let me hear from you as soon as possible. 
 
 Believe me, j 
 
 ; Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Samuel Chedworth. 
 
 Mr. Vincent was not long in considering what 
 answer to return to this document. He must make 
 a beginning somewhere, and Crossberry, from all 
 appearances, was not an unpropitious opening. He 
 was within three weeks of the termination of his 
 college career, and this seemed to be a sphere pro- 
 videntially opened for the exercise of his abilities. 
 He notified his acceptance in a brief note to Samuel 
 Chedworth, and was soon after informed by that 
 gentleman that the communication had been re- 
 ceived with enthusiastic delight by the Crossberry 
 community. 
 
 He was expected to commence his stated labors 
 in a month. What remained to be done in the 
 meantime ? Get married, of course, like a sensible 
 man, and effect two important settlements simul- 
 taneously — take the responsibility of a church and 
 a wife at the same time. Such an arrangement 
 would double the burden and divide it, too. There 
 would be two to bear it. Besides, if there was any 
 truth in Mr. Jehu's suspicions about the matrimo- 
 nial plot, it would be the quietest and most effec- 
 tual method of squashing that little arrangement. 
 *'The girl he left behind him " was quietly informed 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE; , 69 
 
 of his intentions, and no objections were made, 
 except such delicate little hair-splitting and femi- 
 nine evasiveness as were meant to be the orthodox 
 preliminaries of a full acquiescence. 
 
 If there is one thing in particular which the 
 inhabitants of this prosaic world could be well 
 pardoned for being effectually sick of, it is that of an 
 elaborate description of a wedding, with all its 
 major and minor accessories. As far back as the 
 memory of the oldest man there has been the same 
 humdrum description of the " brilliant affair ; " the 
 youthful, blushing, blooming bride; the manly, 
 handsome bridegroom; the magnificent trousseau; 
 the fashionable assemblage ; the costly and elegant 
 presents ; the fair youthful bridesmaids and the 
 handsome groomsmen ; and finishing up with a 
 poetical and highly figurative description of the 
 immaculate whiteness and gossamer texture of the 
 bride's attire. ^ ;. *: f v ^ • • . . 
 
 Mr. Paul Vincent's exchequer would not admit 
 of a " brilliant affair," neither did his taste or 
 desires prompt him in that direction ; and " the girl 
 he left behind him " had the good sense to coincide 
 with him. There were two hearts as soft as the 
 finest gossamer, and true as steel, which more than 
 made up for the usual fashionable accessories. 
 Accessories there were, but they were such as were 
 absolutely necessary to clothe decently the central 
 
70 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 fact : — a modest, unassuming ceremony in a plain 
 edifice, one bridesmaid and one groomsman, a fair 
 assemblage of sensible people and a good breakfast, 
 two carriages and two pairs of greys, plenty of good 
 wishes and an old shoe, and two or three lines of an 
 official announcement in the Eastborough Gazette, to 
 wit : ''At Eastborough church, on the 21st instant, 
 by the Eev. Alonzo Winfield, assisted by the Eev. 
 W. J. Betworth, the Rev. Paul Vincent, late of 
 Bewdley College, to Miss Amelia Fairchild, eldest 
 daughter of the late Robert Fairchild, Esq., of East- 
 borough." 
 
 For the special benefit and gratification of the 
 weather-wise, it may be briefly stated that the 
 morning of that auspicious day opened with thick 
 heavy clouds, which soon developed into a down 
 pouring of rain that had the appearance of a deluge, 
 making a literal inundation in the streets and 
 gutters. Then the sun burst out and shone as if it 
 had been that luminary's first appearance for many a 
 day, and so resolved to do his best. Whether this 
 was a true augury of the future of the happy pair 
 remains to be seen. The honeymoon was spent in 
 one of those pleasant watering-places on the northern 
 coast, but it soon passed away, as all things earthly 
 do, and these two, one now, were summoned to 
 real life, to common joys, common hopes, commou 
 sorrows, and common victories, 
 
OF CLEKICAL LIFE. 71 
 
 :.i-^ - --m.\'' :-'■ ■■■■■ ^^■ly ^ 1t 
 
 r^v 
 
 
 ■V'-^ 
 
 ■„f- ..- 
 
 ■;U.;,^.-.;,,.,;,,;r.t--f;.3- 
 
 ■* t". 
 
 %t^'-¥^^ 
 
 -,. ' -"T'- 
 
 ■" ■ **^' 
 
 %' ' ■ * •-'■-•. 
 
 ''(■ 
 
 - '-C r, 1 ■ 
 
 :' '' 
 
 , ,-■- 
 
 ^'"- •^/-^;!k■r'^; V / ■■ 
 
 
 ':?:■■:'''' 
 
 » i '"■ 
 
 ,,. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Reception of the new Pastor and his wife — The first sermon — 
 Old Jehu and Josiah Buncombe welcome " the elect of 
 Crossberry " — Settling down to house-keeping — Squire 
 Rosewood and his family — Visit to Crossberry Park — 
 The old mansion redolent of the memory of " The Merry 
 Monarch " — Pen-and-ink sketches of the Squire and his 
 family— Little Toppy — The Squire states his views on 
 ministerial support. 
 
 That bright little spot of blooming green, the honey- 
 moon, is past, the first ripe fruit of the nuptial tree 
 is plucked, the journey to Crossberry is an accom- 
 plished fact temporary apartments are secured, con- 
 gratulations on a somewhat limited scale have been 
 exchanged, and the Eev. Paul Vincent and his 
 newly- wedded wife, await with some anxiety, not 
 unmixed with pleasure, their first appearance in 
 that quaint old edifice redolent of the memory of 
 Bunyan : — the former to be heard and seen ; the lat- 
 ter to be scrutinized with eager and pardonable 
 curiosity. That Sabbath morn was warm, and bright, 
 and clear, answering well to the warmth and bright- 
 ness in the two hearts that now beat in unison as 
 
72 . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 one. A pleasant walk of a mile and a half brought 
 them to the Crossberry Zion ; the scene of much 
 future labor and holy toil. Samuel Chedworth and 
 the other officers of the church received them warm- 
 ly, and with much seeming urbanity and kindness. 
 Punctually, to the minute, the youthful Pastor as- 
 cended that pulpit fragrant with so many pleasing 
 memories. His youthful wife was allotted a seat in 
 a pew at the foot of the pulpit stairs, where she was 
 well nigh as conspicuous as her husband. Both 
 could be well seen, and it might be intended they 
 should be. Whether this was the motive of the 
 arranged close proximity of the interesting pair, or 
 whether it was intended as a benevolent concession 
 to a supposed wish to be as near each other as pos- 
 sible, is a question which must be consigned to the 
 limbo of insoluble motives and facts. Human nature 
 is somewhat mixed, and its motives are not always 
 easy to understand. The Pastor could not help ob- 
 serving, from certain quick furtive glances cast to a 
 quarter contiguous to himself, that the attention paid 
 to him, though good, was not altogether undivided. 
 There was evidently a mute eloquence in the corner 
 pew, contending somewhat with the vocal and more 
 demonstrative eloquence of the pulpit. During the 
 singing of the first hymn, the Pastor, who with a 
 quiet eye and an attentive ear was taking in every- 
 thing worth observation, noticed a deep bass voicQ 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 73 
 
 more than usually loud, and taking a furtive glance 
 over the side of the pulpit, saw at once from whom 
 the huge volume of sound proceeded. It was Josiah 
 Buncombe, of the Nag's Head, using his leather 
 lungs with all his might, and by his side was Simon 
 Jehu, driver of the old tumble-down coach. With 
 sorrow it must be confessed that it was not any 
 particular reverence for the house of God that 
 brought them to the sanctuary, but rather the novelty 
 of the occasion. The Pastor was glad to see them, 
 nevertheless. Coming once, they might come again, 
 from a better motive, and receive some good. He 
 remembered with glowing compassion and tender- 
 ness that the Master whom he served came, not to 
 call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. He 
 discoursed with much unction, simplicity and power, 
 upon the mutually dependent life subsisting between 
 pastor and people ; and concluded by exhorting his 
 hearers to cultivate unwavering faith and steadfast- 
 ness in every good work. The gist of the sermon 
 may be expressed tersely in the well-known 
 aphorism : " United we stand, divided we fall." 
 A truth which other churches may take to heart 
 as well as the one in Crossberry. The church's 
 welfare and the pastor's are indefeasibly identical. 
 They stand or fall together. If one be injured, the 
 other wiU be equally affected. If one be blessed, the 
 other will share the blessing. Lower the character 
 
 '>\ 
 
74 LIGIITB AND SHADOWS 
 
 and standing of the pastor, and you lower the 
 character and standing of the church. Eaise the 
 character and standing of the pastor, and you raise 
 the character and standing of the church. These 
 simple principles, obvious enough to " the children of 
 this world, who are wiser in their generation than the 
 children of light," unhappily, if understood, are little 
 acted upon by the Christians of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury. Many a minister is shorn of his character 
 and standing by the petty malignity and diabolic 
 malice of those who should know better ; and who 
 are insane enough to suppose they will even profit 
 by his misfortunes. It is well if he has patience 
 enough to take with equanimity the spoiling of his 
 goods, and the loss of all things, till the final adjudi- 
 cation is given, from which there will be no appeal. 
 But it need not be a matter of surprise if there 
 should be one now and then of this unfortunate 
 class, less patient and more human than his fellows, 
 who, having been shorn of his reputation by the 
 Philistines, like Samson of his locks, should lay out 
 his last remaining strength to pull the temple down, 
 and lay himself and his malignant traducers in one 
 common ruin. :R^^m- 
 
 The sermon was concluded, the last hymn sung, 
 and the benediction pronounced. Then commenced 
 the usual round of handshaking and mutual con- 
 gratulation between the Pastor and his flock. The 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 75 
 
 saints underwent this ceremonious operation inside, 
 while the publicans and sinners, the outside sup- 
 ports, waited outside for an opportunity of grasping 
 the new preacher's hand, and wishing him well. 
 Foremost among the latter were Josiah Buncombe 
 and Simon Jehu. Simon blinked his eyes, and ex- 
 tended his old palm to be pressed first. " I'se be 
 glad to see ye, sir, and glad to hear ye. May be an 
 old man's blessing baint worth much, but I give it 
 ye freely, and I wish you well, sir." Then taking 
 him aside a step, still holding his hand, he whispered 
 softly in his ear, not to say anything about what 
 had passed between them respecting "the young 
 lady, the Ched'orths and the family consarn." 
 He bid the old man rely upon his discretion, and 
 have no fear on that score. ' **' ^ = ,^ . 
 
 Josiah next stepped forward, introduced by his 
 friend Jehu. He grasped the preacher's hand like a 
 vice, and made the blood leave that region instantly, 
 and the bones crack. ,- 
 
 " I am glad, sir, to have this opportunity of paying 
 my humble respects to the elect of Crossberry. I 
 came down this morning to hear you, not because 
 this is my general habit, but to oblige Simon. He 
 likes you, sir, and speaks well of you. Glad I came. 
 I like your voice, sir. You've a good voice. Lungs 
 sound I should say. A good voice produces a tre- 
 mendous impression, sir. It's like a sledge hammer; 
 
76 LIGHTS XND shadows 
 
 when it comes down it's sure to tell, and break 
 something." .. , .- 
 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Buncombcf 
 for your kind wishes and appreciation, and I hope 
 you will come again, and often. I knew you were 
 here by observing your remarkable voice in the 
 singing." ^-'^ -■:'■' -^ >!■'••'»■ ■^■? ♦^-v.' r / yr ;,■; 'w/fdii,'.^ ..■.,:..' L 4,..J. ,■...•■ 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! did you hear me sing, sir ? Glad of 
 that. Shows you noticed me. I like to be noticed 
 by other and better folk. Does a man good, sir, to 
 know he's noticed by a distinguished gentleman 
 like yourself." , • ^ - u.-> ^.-^ w r 
 
 " Well you would be sure to be noticed, Mr. Bun- 
 combe, in any assembly and at any time, your vocal 
 powers are so remarkable. I distinguished your 
 voice above all the rest in the congregation." ;: ^w 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah ! that was nothing, sir, would you 
 like to hear me * holler,' sir ? Beg your pardon, 
 sir ; I didn't mean that ; I'd forgotten it was Sunday. 
 But some day, sir, ye shall hear me * holler.' I 
 should like to have your opinion, sir, about the 
 soundness of my lungs. Good morning, sir." 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Buncombe." 
 
 The first Sabbath in Crossberry passed pleasantly 
 and profitably, and Mr. Chedworth expressed to ' 
 his Pastor, at its close, the pleasure and profit with 
 which he and the people generally had listened to 
 his ministrations, Monday came with its inevitable 
 
6t CLERICAL LIFE. 77 
 
 Mondayisliness, and yet, withal, a feeling of tempor- 
 ary relief from the urgency of theological thought. 
 The first and most urgent thing requiring attention 
 and settlement was the securing of a suitable house. 
 Crossberry did not boast the possession of a parson- 
 age, which was certainly a defect, and somewhat of 
 an inconvenience. Every church, especially in 
 rural parishes, should have a parsonage. There are 
 many advantages incident to such an arrangement. 
 It is a permanent addition to the salary. It secures 
 a residence without trouble and without fail, and 
 within an easy distance, generally ; and it obviates 
 the necessity of removal at a time when it may be 
 inconvenient, and, consequently, imparts a feeling of 
 homely security. After a not very extended search 
 two houses presented themselves, varying consider- 
 ably in size and rent. The more eligible one in 
 point of convenience and situation was selected. 
 It was soon furnished, not luxuriously, but com- 
 fortably, and the young Pastor and his wife settled 
 down to house-keeping. One servant of all work 
 was engaged and added as a necessary adjunct to a 
 small family. The house was somewhat large, 
 detached, airy, roomy, and at the western extremity 
 of the town. It had a large conservatory at the 
 south side, with gi'ape vines already showing ripe 
 clusters of luscious fruit, purple and white ; a 
 garden of about three-quarters of an acre, stocked 
 
78 LIGHTS A.-^ SHADOWS 
 
 with every variety of fruit tree, and enclosed in a 
 brick wall about six feet high. 
 
 The various members of the community soon 
 commenced their kindly calls, and were kindly and ; 
 courteously received. Invitations poured in, which 
 had to be attended to as circumstances and time 
 would permit. One httle billet, enclosed in a large 
 envelope, intimated that Mr. and Mrs. Eosewood, of 
 Crossberry Park, would be glad to be favored with 
 the Rev. Mr. Vincent and Mrs. Vincent's company 
 to lunch the following day ; and that their carriage 
 should call for them exactly at twelve o'clock. The 
 invitation was accepted, and an answer to that effect 
 immediately despatched. On the morrow, punctual 
 to the minute, the family coach of Roscoe Rosewood, 
 Esq., arrived. The Pastor and his wife stepped in, 
 and had a pleasant drive to Crossberry Park, which 
 was about a mile from the town. The kind host 
 and hostess stepped out in front of the old mansion, 
 to give their guests a kindly and welcome greeting. 
 After fifteen minutes spent in introductions and 
 mutual congratulations, lunch was announced. It 
 was served in the old dining-room, wainscoted with , 
 cedar, and redolent of much merriment and feasting 
 in the far-off retrospect of years. Here the " Merry 
 Monarch " of England had more than once feasted 
 with his favorite concubine ; and that is her portrait 
 looking pleasantly down upon you, and smiling so 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 79 
 
 bewitcliingly, with a basket of flowers upon her left 
 arm. Ah ! thought Mr. Vincent, as he gazed upon 
 the enchanting piece of canvas, beaming, and so life- 
 like, it is no wonder that a monarch of such loose 
 principles was attracted by such a face. Then he 
 thought of the last act in that merry, but, in the 
 moral aspect, sad life, when the dying King bid his 
 brother, who was to succeed him in the regal ofiice, 
 " not to let poor Nellie starve." The table groaned 
 under the weight of joints of beef, roast and boiled, 
 turkeys, geese, fowls, boiled ham, vegetables, etc. 
 This bountiful repast, technically called a lunch, 
 being disposed of, the ladies adjourned to the draw- 
 ing-room, while Mr. Rosewood and Mr. Vincent 
 took a quiet stroll around the place. While they are 
 thus occupied, let us make a rough pen-and-ink 
 sketch of the former gentleman. He is eminently 
 worthy of a better artist, for he is one of Nature's 
 gentlemen. 
 
 Roscoe Rosewood is about forty-five years of age, 
 broad, stout, slightly stooping, florid complexion, an 
 open countenance ; a high forehead, and tending to 
 baldness; eyes indicative of shrewdness, and a 
 mouth indicative of moderate firmness. The pre- 
 vailing expression is benevolence. The hungry 
 and the destitute, coming to his door, are never 
 turned empty away. Kindness and goodness flow 
 out of him as naturally and spontaneously as water 
 
80 LmitfS k-^D SflADdVrS 
 
 from a spring. He is not a member of the Cross-* 
 berry Church, but he and his family are regular 
 attendants, and he is a liberal supporter of the causei 
 His kindliness of heart and benevolence of life put 
 to shame the meagre philanthropy of many whose 
 pretensions are higher, aud who profess to be the 
 followers of Him who spent all His life in doing 
 good. If a poor laboring man brings him a message 
 from a distant neighbor, he is not permitted to depart 
 with a supercilious look, or a cold " thank you " ; 
 a full supply of food and drink is placed before him, 
 and he can eat and drink till he is satisfied before he 
 departs. If an unthinking boy should be found out 
 in a slight trespass, or a small depredation, he is 
 not hauled up before the magistrate, and sentenced 
 to six months imprisonment, for so slight an offence 
 as stealing a turnip. He is taken in, and locked up 
 for an hour ; and then released, and fed, and sent 
 home with a kindly warning, and a kind admonition 
 to be a better boy in future. Said a laboring man 
 once : " The man who injures Squire Rosewood 
 ought to be hanged." 
 
 Mrs. Eosewood is physically robust and stout like 
 her husband, but taller by four or five inches. A com- 
 plexion not florid, bat dark ; a forehead indicative of 
 moderate intelligence. Sundry twitches of a some- 
 what small mouth, and constant, unconscious blinking 
 of the eyes, show a highly sensitive organization, and 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 81 
 
 indicate that she is probably a considerable nervous 
 suiferer. These things, clearly observable, partly 
 obscure, but cannot wholly hide, the general expres- 
 sion of kindliness and great benevolence. 
 
 They have seven children, pledges of wedded love, 
 and the source of wedded joy ; all girls, and vary- 
 ing in age from six years to fifteen. Without 
 exception, they have inherited from their parents 
 the general expression and character of unostenta- 
 tious benevolence. It is their evident delight to be 
 kind, affable, and useful to others. A happy family, 
 blessed with contentment, and with that medium 
 condition which is the seed plant of true social 
 enjoyment; a commodious r jidence replete with 
 every co'wenience, and emuowered in oak and 
 chestnut ; a plentiful endowment of worldly sub- 
 stance, more than enough to gratify every lawful 
 wish or desire ; the possession of both the power 
 and the wish to throw the mantle of kindly practi- 
 cal benevolence over their less fortunate neighbors ; 
 and the desire to please breathing in every word, 
 and running like a golden thread through every 
 action. 
 
 Squire Rosewood and the Pastor have been making 
 a pleasant tour through the conservatories and the 
 well-kept garden, and have been looMng at the prize 
 cattle and the poultry, and now tliey are just enter- 
 ing the park again. The clink of the gate has 
 
 IT 
 
82 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 startled up from his cool retreat, under a wide- 
 spreading oak, a Highland pony. He is little more 
 than the size of a Newfoundland dog. He has a 
 long tail, and shaggy coat and mane ; he cannot see, 
 but he pricks his ears, and immediately recognises 
 the locality of the sound, and starts off at an easy 
 trot in the direction of the Squire. He at once 
 knows his kind master when he hears the kindly 
 voice and feels the familiar hand stroking his shaggy 
 mane ; he paws his feet and pricks his ears and rolls 
 his sightless eyeballs in mute eloquence, and would 
 speak if he could. 
 
 " That is the smallest pony I think I ever saw, 
 Mr. Eosewood ; he seems to know you well, and 
 seems very fond of you." 
 
 " Yes, sir, this is Toppy. I bought him several 
 years ago, and had a little gig made to fit him ex- 
 actly. The gig holds two of moderate size comfort- 
 ably. Mrs. Rosewood and I used to drive him, but 
 he's getting old now and is stone blind, and we don^t 
 like to trust him with the children. He's a good 
 goer though, and for eight or ten miles he'll go as 
 fast as my grey mare, but he requires careful hand- 
 ling ; he does nothing now, and has plenty to eat, 
 and lives like a gentleman. I don't like to sell him, 
 because he might not get good usage. The gig is in 
 good order, and will accommodate you . and Mrs. 
 Vincent well ; and you can have both any time you 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 83 
 
 want. He's doing nothing, and a journey now and 
 then will do him good." r< 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Eosewood, for 
 your kindness. I'm not much of a driver, but I think 
 I can manage him. Mrs. Vincent and I will take 
 a ride with him some day. We can make a day of 
 it, and visit several families at a distance." 
 
 At a word from the Squire Toppy trotted off again 
 to his cool retreat under the oak, while Mr. Eose- 
 wood and Mr. Vincent walked up the avenue in the 
 direction of the mansion. * - ^ - ■'■-■ 
 
 "You have a pleasant home, and seem to be 
 possessed of almost every earthly comfort, Mr. Eose- 
 wood." ■■:: -v^- -:■'.';• 5-;.,- 
 
 " Yes, sir, I've a good deal to be thankful for. I've 
 five hundred acres, a pretty fair balance at the 
 banker's, a pleasant home, as you say, and I am 
 blessed with a good wife, and seven affectionate, 
 dutiful children. I had a queer bringing up though 
 in my young days. My mother died when I was 
 quite a youngster, and my father took to bad habits, 
 and was drunk most of his time. His unfortunate 
 example might have ruined me, but it created in mo 
 a feeling of disgust, and I fortunately took the right 
 turn, and by the blessing of God have done woU." 
 
 " You realize that you are a steward of God's 
 mercies, Mr. Eosewood ? " 
 
 " I do, sir; I make no profession ; I'm very thank- 
 
84 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ful, and very happy ; I like to do a good turn to a 
 neighbor, and I always hold what I have with a 
 loose hand. That's my principle, sir, — not to hold 
 too tightly what you have. There are some folks 
 stick like a leech to everything, great or small. To 
 get anything out of them, for any purpose, is like 
 drawing their heart's blood. They squirm like an 
 eel at the bare mention of money, unless you have 
 some to give them, and then the change k instan- 
 taneous and marvellous. When I knew that you 
 were coming to Crossberry, sir, I doubled my sub- 
 scription, without asking, and so did others ; and I 
 shall be glad to give more if it be necessary. I 
 believe in a minister having a good salary, not 
 only enough to keep him and his family respectably, 
 and place him above worldly care, but enough to 
 meet every requirement of his standing, education, 
 and taste, and enough to leave a sufficient surplus 
 for his family in any event, and for old age when it 
 comes. Yes, sir, * the laborer is worthy of his hire,* 
 for he has given up every prospect of worldly 
 advantage to serve the highest interests of others, 
 and^his support is not a charity, but a plain duty." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you^express such broad, liberah 
 and, I may add, common-sense views, Mr. Eosewood. 
 I wish they were more generally held, and more 
 generally acted upon. It would be an immense 
 advantage to men of my class if they were, but, un- 
 
of CLERICAL LIFE. 85 
 
 fortunately, they are not. We feel a delicacy in 
 expressing ourselves upon this question, fearing that 
 our motives may be misconstrued. Now and then, 
 an old veteran, who has grown venerable and in- 
 fluential in the service, especially if he has plenty 
 of means, and is independent of everybody, may 
 stand up with impunity, and give the churches a 
 good drubbing upon this question ; but a young man 
 is supposed to keep quiet, take what he can get, 
 much or little, and be thankful for small mercies. 
 Why, a minister can scarcely refer to money in any 
 shape, or in any connection, how^ever innocent, with- 
 out incurring the liability of being charged with 
 mercenary feelings." 
 
 " That is so, sir. I hear them sometimes talking 
 that way about a minister being fond of money, and 
 I just laugh at them for their simplicity and folly. 
 I tell them there's very little liability cf a minister 
 getting worldly-minded, because they afford him so 
 little chance. They think there is a vital connec- 
 tion between poverty and spiritual-mindedness, — 
 that the former produces the latter, but they don't 
 recognize the connection as having any possible 
 application to themselves. There's many a man, 
 pretty well to do, who doesn't pay as much towards 
 the salary of his minister in the course of the year 
 as I pay a small boy for blacking shoes and doing 
 odd jobs." 
 
86 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 " But, Mr. Eosewood, judging from your stand- 
 point, how do you account for the prevalence of 
 these small views and this meagre liberality, in 
 relation to ministerial support ? It cannot be be- 
 cause the Bible is either silent or not sufficiently 
 explicit upon the question. The references, exhor- 
 tations and illustrations are abundant. * Freely ye 
 have received, freely give.' * If we have sown 
 unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if we 
 shall reap your carnal things ? * * The laborer is 
 worthy of his hire.' * Thou shalt not muzzle the 
 mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn.* 
 ' Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse.' 
 •There is that scattereth and yet increaseth, and 
 there is that withholdeth more than is meet, and it 
 tendeth to poverty.' And there are many others 
 that might be mentioned. Besides, the genius of 
 the Gospel is the very essence of munificence and 
 liberality." ■ . ,-...;, 
 
 " Well, I am not able to go very deeply into the 
 scriptural argument, sir. You are much better 
 qualified for that than I, but from my standpoint, 
 which is an outside one, and, judging by common 
 observation and common sense, the causes are many : 
 there is first the inherent selfishness of human 
 nature, which is sufficiently marked in all, but more 
 marked in son.e than in others. Then there is a 
 considerable lack of proper instruction and training. 
 
0^ CLEIUOAL LIFE. -87 
 
 People should be informed, guided and drilled in 
 the performance of this duty, as well as any other. 
 If to give be a sacred duty, and not something 
 which people may do, or leave undone according to 
 their pleasure, it should be illustrated and enforced 
 with as much amplitude and persistency as its im- 
 portance merits. If it be not a duty, why leave it 
 alone ; don't say anything about it, even on special 
 occasions, but leave people to do just as they please. 
 Excuse me, sir, if I suggest that ministers are not 
 unfrequently remiss in explaining and enforcing 
 this duty from the pulpit. They should not mind 
 what people may say and do say. If it be a part 
 of *the whole counsel,' they should declare it, 
 whether men will hear or forbear. V 1 1 then it 
 may be, sir, that sufficient attention is not paid to 
 small subscriptions and small subscribers. There 
 are many, and they are generally the largest 
 number, who cannot give much, but they should be 
 encouraged to give what they can, however small. 
 A.S the Scotch say : — ' Many mickles make a 
 muckle.' Why, sir, one of the main elements in 
 the very successful financial policy of the great- 
 est finance minister the world ever produced was 
 the scrupulous attention he paid to littles. A 
 friend of mine, the other day, bought a large estate 
 from a nobleman, who was obhged to sell on account 
 of the failure of his fortune from extravagance in 
 
SB' LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 various shapes. He bought the whole as it stood ; 
 land, mansion, furniture, everything. In coming 
 into possession he noticed the absence of a small 
 cabinet, curiously inlaid, in one of the rooms. He 
 mentioned the matter to His Lordship, who admitted 
 . it had been removed by his orders, and did not sup- 
 pose that so small a thing would be either prized or 
 missed, as it was of little worth except as a family 
 keepsake. ' Allow me to remind your Lordship,' said 
 the purchaser, * that if I had not, all my life, paid 
 strict attention to little things, I should probably not 
 have been able to buy your estate ; and allow me to 
 suggest that, possibly, if your Lordship had been 
 more careful of littles, you might have been under 
 no necessity to sell it.' There was more truth than 
 poetry in that quiet rebuke, sir. And then I have 
 two neighbors here, not many miles off ; they are 
 brothers, have fine estates, and are worth millions. 
 Have any dealings with them, even on a small scale, 
 and you will find how the smallest account will 
 undergo their personal supervision. They will 
 scrutinize every item closely, and see that they have 
 their money's worth before they pay down the cash. 
 And then, sir, there is one other matter I wish to 
 mention. Every subscriber, however small his sub- 
 scription, if it be in full proportion to his means, 
 should be treated as courteously, as respectfully, and 
 as gratefully as the largest subscriber. Let him feel 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 89 
 
 that he is recognized and appreciated, when he has 
 done up to the full measure of his capacity." 
 
 Kow long the Squire might have continued 
 in this eloquent, common-sense strain, if the ladies 
 had not been seen coming down the avenue to en- 
 quire, i|i a somewhat bantering tone, the reason of so 
 long an absence of the two gentlemen, it is difficult 
 to conjecture. 
 
 They took a quiet stroll round the park together. 
 The children came trooping along behind, and were 
 soon enjoying themselves among the haycocks, and in 
 taking rides, in turn, upon little Toppy, who seemed 
 to enjoy the fun as much as they. They watched 
 the children in their gambols and frolic, and won- 
 dered which was best, the poetry or the prose of 
 life. A child, or a philosopher, might say both ; but 
 most people would probably dispute the point, and 
 arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. Both are best 
 in their proper season. ,,: «> . ■ - 
 
 The Pastor and his wife reluctantly signified 
 their wish to return^ as they expected to make some 
 calls before the evening closed upon them. They 
 were pressed to stay longer but could not. The 
 carriage was ordered round to convey them home, 
 but they preferred to walk ; and bidding a hearty 
 and thankful adieu for the present to the Squire and 
 his wife, they sped slowly along, the Pastor's wife 
 talking, while he was quietly musing. He was think- 
 
00 LIGMTS AiTD SHAboWS 
 
 ing of the Squire's liberal views and common-sense 
 observations upon an important and practical sub- 
 ject; of his having made no j^rofession, and yet 
 withal so kindly, benevolent, and enlightened ; and 
 he thought that, possibly, he would preach next 
 Sunday from the text : " The children of this world 
 are wiser in their generation than the children of 
 
 light." 
 
 !<■ !' ,- ;^ ; 
 
 r .■.,,'■•;;.. ■;i«\ ..V.-: .<■/. , . ■, ,,, i , v> ,,. , ■ 
 
 ■r,ii>:}.<:: -f-Mii-i':;.^ 
 
 Ki'i'u '■, n ■ 
 
OF CLEKICAL LIFE; 91 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Non-statistical — Sketch of work — Peculiarities of the sphere 
 and people — Class distinctions — A difficult problem — 
 A pastoral reverie — "The gates ajar" — One step from 
 the sublime to the ridiculous — An important meeting' 
 at which Josiah Buncombe and others state their views 
 — Equine accommodation — Theology and finance. 
 
 Those who expect, in these pages, elaborate statis- 
 tical statements of what are called " spiritual re- 
 sults " will be liable to considerable disappointment. 
 There will be a modest record, here and there, of 
 " something attempted, something done " ; but the 
 various articles will not be ticketed and marked in 
 such large flaming characters as to attract public 
 attention. Neither will they be subjected to the 
 arithmetical process, multiplied and re-multiplied, 
 and then multiplied again, so as to present an array 
 of facts and figures that shall redound to the glory 
 of the modest hero or any one else. 
 
 Every century is marked with some dominant 
 characteristic, or some special peculiarity. The lat- 
 ter part of the nineteenth century is a statistical 
 period. Everything is tried by statistics ; measured 
 by statistics; proved or disproved by statistics, 
 
92 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Every piece of individual, collective, ecclesiastical, 
 or naticnal glorification is built upon a statistical 
 foundation. The great question, paramount above 
 all others, is, not what an individual, a social com- 
 munity, a church, or a nation has done, but what 
 can they, individually or collectively, show they 
 have done, in such a way that others can see as well 
 as themselves. Can they put the results in the 
 window, and let others look, and wonder ; or, what 
 is better, put them in figures that a school boy, who 
 has just learnt the multiplication table, can under- 
 stand. Statistics, — large pictures for small boys, — 
 are the distinctive feature and glory of the age in 
 which we live. They form a ready, formidable, and 
 unimpeachable argument, by which anything and 
 everything can be proved or disproved, applauded 
 or condemned. People seem to forget that there is 
 another book, writ with an immortal pen, wherein 
 every human thought and transaction are carefully 
 recorded ; and that, possibly, at the last day it may 
 be discovered that there is a considerable divergence 
 between that record and the statistical records of the 
 world and the church. 
 
 It may be presumed that the pastor of the Cross- 
 berry church, if he lived in the statistical period, 
 was but slightly affected by the prevailing statisti- 
 cal distemper. The Crossberry community had 
 already come to the conclusion that their young 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. ^ 93 
 
 pastor was somewhat of a character in his way, 
 possessing, in a marked degree, originality of thought 
 and fearless independence, both in speaking and 
 acting; that, though young, ho was a little old- 
 fashioned and not fond of dumb show, and that he 
 brought to the exercise of his chief function modesty 
 of demeanor, solid ability, and a judicious reserve of 
 real power. He told his congregation more than 
 once, or twice, or thrice, in simple direct terms, that 
 he was more concerned about being good and doing 
 good, than seeming to be the one or being able to 
 prove the other. That he was desirous, above all 
 things, of doing his duty faithfully, and that he 
 could confidently leave the results in His hands 
 whose bounden duty and pleasure it was to take 
 care of them. That he did his work fuUy, as well 
 as conscientiously, is evident from a plan drawn out 
 carefully and gummed neatly to his study wall. 
 It was not meant for any eye except his own, but 
 another may assume the office of noting its various 
 particulars and publishing them. 
 
 Sunday, preaching : morning, half-past ten ; after- 
 noon, half-past two ; evening, half-past six, Mon- 
 day evening, prayer meeting, at 8 o*clock. Tues- 
 day evening, preaching, at 7 o'clock, to a small, 
 affiliated congregation, in a neighboring parish, 
 Wednesday evening, meeting for religious conversa- 
 tion. Thursday evening, a lecture. Friday eveq,^ 
 
94 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ing, Teachers' meeting. Saturday evening, prayer 
 meeting. Friday, work in the study, from nine a.m 
 to six p.m. Saturday, ditto. In addition to these 
 duties may be added those of visiting the sick and 
 the mourners, burying the dead, and marrying the 
 
 living. ,;-.v,».;. r.;„ :...,.;..,.;...,.... ,,;. -y ^^ ,.-..,,,,.-,.. -:..,v. ■- 
 
 It will be seen from this sketch of labor, which 
 the Pastor never showed to others, except so far as 
 it was made apparent by hard, persistent work, that 
 his position was not in his own estimation, and 
 could not be in that of others, a sinecure. It 
 was quiet, hard work all the week through, and he 
 evidently meant it to be such. He desired to be 
 " a workman needing not to be ashamed, rightly 
 dividing the word of truth.^' The amount of head 
 and heart work involved in the foregoing list of 
 weekly engagements cannot be estimated bj the 
 many — the few only can understand. Four ser- 
 mons, one lecture, four meetings, two days of pro- 
 tracted hard study, visiting, and other duties, in one 
 week, and these repeated the year throughout, are 
 certainly enough to tax to the utmost the most com- 
 plete consecration and the most splendid abilities. 
 The amount of nervous force expended in the per- 
 formance of such manifold duties is immense, but, 
 unfortunately, seldom thought of until it is sudden- 
 ly discovered, from certain unmistakable symptoms, 
 that nature refuses to be further imposed upon, and 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 95 
 
 imperiously demands a season of protracted rest 
 for the recuperation of her powers. It is singular, 
 too, how curiously and complacently good men can 
 look on, and never utter a word of kindly expostu- 
 tion or warning, while a pastor is visibly working 
 himself to death ; as if, like De Quincy, they con- 
 sidered murder, and especially self-murder, one of 
 the fine Arts. ':-':'^^-.:-;n:' '-■-^'/^p<''>'t<y:-:i. ''i:-^'^^ .- 
 
 The inhabitants of Crossberry were what is called, 
 in a general way, an agricultural community, being 
 made up of a few rich men, a fair number of small 
 tradesmen, some well-to-do farmers, and a large per- 
 centage of dependent, poor people. Class distinc- 
 tions were di'awn with a firm, imperious hand. 
 These distinctions were observed, where, above all 
 other places, they should never be, in the house of 
 God ; but the Jewish plan was reversed, the poor 
 occupying the higher seats in the synagogue. They 
 mounted the stairs on all occasions, special or other- 
 wise, and reverentially looked down upon their more 
 opulent brethren below. The spirit of distinctive- 
 ness was carried even further than this. While the 
 richer part of the community, occupying the body 
 of the church, sat in families, and promiscuously, 
 the sexes were divided in the galleries, the mascu- 
 line portion oc< upying one side and the feminine 
 portion the other. The Pastor noticed this arrange- 
 ment as somewhat singular, and asked the reason of 
 
WGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 it, thinking there might be some special cause for so 
 exceptional a phenomenon. He received the answer, 
 vhich is always given, when no intelligent or suffi- 
 cient reason is at hand, — " it has always been so." 
 
 The poorer and more dependent portion of the 
 commuuity, with one or two exceptions, formed the 
 church; while the opulent and more intelligent 
 were, what Lord Brougham claimed to be in relation 
 to the Established Church, regular attendants and 
 outside supports. Thus, unfortunately, the legisla- 
 tive functions, so far as they existed, were exercised 
 by the dependent and least intelligent class ; while 
 the main support constantly lay with those who had 
 nothing to do with the management of affairs. The 
 evils attendant upon this anomalous condition were 
 constantly felt. Two, especially, were early noted 
 by the young pastor. First, it gave a preponde- 
 rating influence to the two or three more intelligent 
 ones who happened to be in the inner circle ; and, 
 second, it constantly exercised a depressing influ- 
 ence upon the outsiders, whose good- will and sup- 
 port were, in no small measure, necessary to the 
 stability and prosperity of the cause. 
 
 In the political world taxation without represen- 
 tation is said to be tyranny, and there is much logical 
 plausibility in the proposition. Some have gone so 
 far as to apply this principle to the Church, and hence 
 have arrived at the conclusion that the Church should 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. ' ^^ 
 
 tiot take support, or even expect it, from any one 
 outside of its pale. Whatever may be said about 
 the tenability or correctness of the premises, one 
 thing is certain, if they are once granted the conclu- 
 sion is irresistible. Perhaps a solution of the prob- 
 lem might be found where truth is generally found, 
 in a middle course. Let the Church occupy itself 
 with its spiritual functions and luorkj and accord, 
 at the same time, to the whole community of 
 worshippers and supporters the right to manage all 
 matters which are related to business and finance. 
 
 " The spirit of hearing " in the Crossberry com- 
 munity was considerable. The attendance upon the 
 services was invariably good. They never seemed 
 tired of hearing good sermons preached, and they 
 loved their young pastor, not only for his personal 
 qualities, but especially for the clearness and fidelity 
 with which he exhibited the truth. 
 
 The Sabbath day was strictly and devoutly 
 observed by all classes. Not a brawl or anything 
 unseemly was to be seen or heard in the streets, but 
 quietness and decorum reigned supreme. Not a 
 drunken person was to be seen the year throughout ; 
 and this was not the result of legislative or muni- 
 cipal enactments, but of the moral sense of the com- 
 munity which constantly frowned down all excess 
 and unseemly exhibitions. 
 
 Next to the flock of which the young pastor had 
 
 G 
 
98 LICfllTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 been made overseer, the object which most engaged 
 his reverential affections was the qnaint old edifice 
 in which he preached. He loved to stroll into the 
 chuich, and seating himself in a comer pew, all alone, 
 indulge in a delicious reverie for hours. See him 
 there now, — he, the living, surrounded by the piotis 
 and noble dead of two centuries. The graveyard 
 is full of noble dust, and monumental marble, and 
 numerous tablets adorn the walls of the sanctuary. 
 There is one small tablet, on the right hand side of 
 the pulpit there, which speaki^ of one held in grateful 
 and undying remembrance, as " the sagacious coun- 
 sellor, the faithful pastor, and the eloquent preacher." 
 He served the Church seventeen years, and then was 
 called up higher to do better and holier service there. 
 Another attests the seraphic fervor and indefatigable 
 industry of one who finished his course joyfully, 
 after forty years of holy, fruitful toil. That one 
 built in the solid wall there which divides the church 
 from the vestry carries you back to a time when 
 "the Immortal Dreamer " must have been hovering 
 about here, with his homely garb, his broad face, his 
 manly brow, his plain speech, and his almost 
 inspired capacity for telling what "eye hath not 
 seen, nor ear heard." A goodly company bowing 
 before the throne now, and blending their voices 
 with "the multitude which no man can number/* 
 were first taught to tune their harps here. Near, 
 
OF CLERICAL Lift. • 99 
 
 perhaps very near, this " cloud of witnesses " may 
 be now, looking with eyes that flash celestial bright- 
 ness upon the sacred spot, upon the cold marble 
 tablets on the wall, upon the youthful figure wrapt 
 in delicious reverie in the corner pew. An intangi- 
 ble presence fills the solitude, the shadows deepen, 
 the clouds begin to roll, and swathe themselves into 
 rainbow brightness, and a path of gold ; a momentary 
 glimpse of unspeakable magnificence, is obtained ; 
 an echo of the far-off distant choir is heard ; ' there 
 are the shining ones,' ' the great white throne,* * the 
 pure river of water of life clear as crystal,* * the 
 flowery meads,* 'the jasper pavements,* 'the golden 
 streets,' 'the white-robed throng,* 'the King in 
 His beauty.' The youthful figure slowly rises, and 
 steps out of the corner pew. It was a dream, and 
 yet not all a dream. His reverie will be profitable 
 to others as well as himself, for next Sabbath he 
 thinks he will preach from the text : ' It doth not 
 yet appear what we shall be.* 
 
 There is but one step from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous — so the Pastor found, after stepping out 
 of the church, where he had been enjoying a delight- 
 ful thought communion with the great and good 
 of^the past. He was greeted by a dbzen members 
 of his congregation, who were engaged in the very 
 prosaic, but necessary occupation, of examining 
 gome old rickety, wooden sheds, which were de- 
 
lOO LIGHTS AKD- SHADOWS 
 
 signed to afford temporary accommodation for the 
 horses and vehicles of those members of the congre- 
 gation who were under the necessity of driving to 
 church. They had been allowed to fall into a con- 
 dition of great dilapidation, and were very much in 
 need of thorough repair, if not of re-building. The 
 Committee of Ways and Means consisted of all 
 those who made constant use of them. There were 
 present: Squire Rosewood, Samuel Chedworth, 
 Nathan Rosewood (brother of the Squire), Deacon 
 Graswell, John Swellew, Phineas Cumbermore, 
 Obadiah Walker, Ebenezer Scamp, Walter Petti- 
 grew, Robert Small well, Josiah Buncombe and 
 Simon Jehu. The latter two gentlemen had been 
 induced to attend the church pretty regularly since 
 the new pastor's settlement, and, in common with 
 others, had made free use of such equine accommo- 
 dation as was afforded. They were, therefore, con- 
 sidered as having some interest in the present 
 movement, and had been summoned to assist in the 
 deliberations upon the " ways and means." 
 
 Squire Rosewood, being the one of most conse- 
 quence and influence, financially, was unanimously 
 voted to the chair. The latter article not being on 
 hand he took his seat on the stump of a tree, and 
 immediately called the meeting to order and said : — 
 " Gentlemen, the object of our meeting is tolerably 
 well known to most, if not all, of you. Neverthe- 
 
OF CLEKICAL UfJC. 101 
 
 less, a few words of formal explanation may not be 
 out of place or totally unnecessary. (Hear, hear.) 
 You must not, gentlemen, jump at once to the con- 
 clusion that I am going to offer these explanations, 
 because you hear me thus speak. I have no such 
 intentions. I shall confine myself exclusively to my 
 duties as chairman, and do all I can to guide your 
 deliberations to a successful issue. There is one 
 present, whom we all highly respect and delight to 
 honor, who can state briefly and clearly the object 
 of this meeting — I refer to our highly respected 
 Pastor. I would venture the conjecture that he 
 has had more to do with bringing us together on 
 this occasion than appears on the surface. We all 
 know his innate modesty, and that he loves to do 
 good by stealth. (Hear, hear.) Were he not present 
 I could and v/ould say more ; but I know it would 
 be painful to him to hear even his just praises 
 sounded here, or anywhere else. I call upon the 
 Pastor to address you." 
 
 The Pastor responded and said, — "^My friends, 
 I may as well, at the very outset of my few remarks, 
 frankly admit the soft impeachment thrown out by 
 the Chairman, that I have had something to do 
 with your coming together on this occasion. As I 
 have been furtively, but publicly, challenged upon 
 this point, it would be false modesty in me to affect 
 ignorance or perpetuate concealment, It was cev- 
 
102 LIQIITS AND SHADOWS 
 
 tainly my wish, if not my design, that you should 
 meet here on this occasion, to consider and devise 
 means for remedying an existing evil, which is too 
 apparent to every eye to need any description. I 
 have full confidence in your wisdom and liberality. 
 The need of something being done will, I presume 
 not be questioned ; therefore, the only questions 
 remaining for consideration are two : — Shall these 
 old sheds, which have afforded shelter and accom- 
 modation for your horses and vehicles so long, be 
 pulled down and new ones erected in their stead; 
 or are they capable of such solid repairs as will 
 make them available and serviceable for many 
 years to come ? And then there is the further 
 question, are you, gentlemen, who are most intim- 
 ately concerned in this matter, prepared to meet 
 the expense incident to such re-building or such 
 repairs ? " 
 
 At the conclusion of this speech, the chairman, 
 seconded by a general call, requested Mr. Buncombe 
 to state his views. That gentleman responded with 
 alacrity, and clearing his throat with about a dozen 
 ahems, commenced : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I wish to know, in the first place, 
 whether I am speaking sufficiently loud ? " 
 
 " Yes, go on Josiah ; we hear ye well enough, no 
 fear o* that Josiah/' whispered Simon Jehu. 
 
 The chairmai; also ii^timated that, possibly, Mr, 
 
OF CLERICAL UFE, 103 
 
 Btincombe's very mildest tones would be distinctly 
 heard, and be most acceptable. ^ '' ''' 
 
 When this interruption had subsided, the speaker 
 cleared his throat again, and re-commenced : — 
 
 " Gentlemen, I am glad to have that distinct, 
 emphatic, and I may add, universal assurance, that 
 you can hear me ; for what is the use of a man speak- 
 ing if he cannot be heard. It is always a pleasure to 
 me, gentlemen, to lift up my voice. (Hear, hear.) I 
 may say, gentlemen, that I like the elect of Cross- 
 berry, whose presence and counsel we are favored 
 with on this occasion, because he has a good voice, and 
 knows how to use it. Like the prophet, he lifts up 
 his voice with strength,Tand is not afraid. As to the 
 immediate question in hand, I think I could soon 
 prove to you, gentlemen, the necessity not only of 
 repairing, but of re-building, that dilapidated equine 
 establishment. It is in such a perfectly rotten con- 
 dition that I have every confidence I could blow 
 the roof off by ' hollering* at it. (Hear, hear.) Will 
 it be acceptable to you, gentlemen, if I put that little 
 theory of mine to a practical test ? (No, no, echoed 
 on aU sides.) Well, gentlemen, I am sorry your 
 unanimous voice denies me what would be both a 
 pleasure and a privilege. I often think when I put 
 my nag in there, that he must think, if he thinks 
 at all, that there is a strange connection between 
 singing and bad accommodation, I go [in for re- 
 
104 . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 building, gentlemen. Knock the old concern down, 
 and put up something that the poor beasts will 
 regard as respectable. The financial aspect of the 
 question, gentlemen, is, I confess, a little too deep for 
 lae, and I leave that willingly for more capacious 
 minds to grasp, and move eloquent tongues to des- 
 cant upon." 
 
 Mr. Buncombe made full use of his immense 
 lung power to lay particular emphasis upon the last 
 sentence in his remarkable speech. At his sugges- 
 tion too, and with the general concurrence, the chair- 
 man called upon Simon Jehu. 
 
 The old driver, with great diffidence, responded as 
 follows : — 
 
 ** Respected friends and neighbors, I'se be no 
 speaker. I be sixty-three next May, and I ne ^r 
 wor a speaker ; but as I hev been honored by being 
 called on this occasion, I may obsarve that I agree 
 in the remarks as has been remarked upon by Josiah, 
 and the Pasture, and the Squire. Fse nothing 
 more to say, friends, and I beg leave to retire." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, the old man, all 
 unconscious for the time being of his own where- 
 abouts, or the precise geographical location of any 
 one else, stepped back, and trod upon Mr. Bun- 
 combe's toes ; and that gentleman, being particularly 
 sensitive in that region, set up a tremendous howl, 
 which, i» the stillness of the graveyard, resoundecl 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 105 
 
 like the crack of doom. All present felt the stunning 
 effect of the tremendous vocal concussion ; the old 
 sheds seemed not wholly unconscious, and an effec- 
 tual damper was put upon any further speechifying. 
 The conservative proclivities of the gentlemen pre- 
 sent being in the ascendant, it was resolved that the 
 sheds should be thoroughly repaired ; that Deacon 
 Graswell should superintend the work, and that the 
 Pastor should be respectfully requested to collect 
 the necessary funds. The meeting separated, after 
 passing the usual vote of thanks to the chairman. 
 The Pastor took his seat along with Samuel Ched- 
 worth, at that gentleman's invitation, and the two 
 drove off together in the direction of Crossberry. As 
 soon as the horse had taken the turn, got into the 
 high road, and settled down to an easy pace, a desul- 
 tory conversation commenced. 
 
 " What do you think of the meeting, Mr. Ched- 
 worth ? Is the result satisfactory, and such as you 
 expected ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I think we got through tolerably well. 
 I was a little afraid, at one time, that Mr. Buncombe 
 would spoil everything. There is no saying nay to 
 him, when he once begins. What is in him must 
 come out of him, and in his own peculiar fashion. I 
 am glad, though, he has taken a notion of coming to 
 church, and sending his children to Sunday School. 
 He and they may receive some good ; anyhow they 
 can get no ham/' 
 
106 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 " Well, do you know, Mr. Chedworth, I have Ijiikeij 
 quite a fancy to that man, with all his eccentricities 
 and boisterous, rollicking humor. There's a great 
 deal of individuality in him. He's quite a character ; 
 his physical vitality seems to be immense. He has 
 enough of that article to stock a dozen men, a,n4 ke^p 
 them going for a life time. It seems almost as if 
 he would burst, if he didn't take a pride In using 
 his lungs well on every available occasion. His 
 overflowing vitality seems to find a vent in that 
 particular direction. I am glad, as you say, he has 
 taken a notion of coming to church pretty regularly. 
 I trust he may become savingly affected. Why, if • 
 he were a converted man, and his spiritual fervor 
 bore any sort of proportion to his physical vitality, 
 he might become a prodigy for usefulness ; in fact, a ' 
 second Paul. Let you and I, Mr. Chedworth, take 
 God at His word, instantly, as touching this one ; 
 thing, and pray for him. Who knows what 
 Almighty grace may do for him, and through him." 
 
 Mr. Chedworth was silent for a few moments, 
 evidently musing, — then he said : 
 
 " Well, sir, I confess I am not so sanguine as you 
 are, and perhaps I have not as much faith. I have 
 known Mr. Buncombe many years, and I confess 
 my knowledge does not help my faith. I know 
 God can do wonderful things when He willeth to do 
 them, If God willed this He wQuld, no doubt, do 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 107 
 
 it ; but how can we ascertain anything decisive or 
 satisfactory about it ? '* 
 
 "Why, easy enough, Mr. Ched worth, — take His 
 word for it. God stakes His own existence upoi the 
 reality of His willingness. ' As I live, saith the 
 Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the 
 wicked.' Surely, that is plain enough." j.^ 
 
 " Yes, niy dear sir, that is true enough, but, bear in 
 mind, it is a general statement. Wlion we come to 
 a particular application, the case is different. The 
 question is, not what God willeth in general, but 
 does He will in that particular direction, and in this 
 particular case ? " 
 
 " I think so, Mr. Ched worth, and for this reason, — 
 the greater includes the less. If God's designs of 
 mercy are toward mankind in general, and as a 
 whole, they must, as a matter of logical necessity, 
 be toward any particular individual. Besides, God 
 must be as full and impartial in His willingness to 
 bestow spiritual benefactions, as He is in the bestow- 
 ment of temporal blessings." 
 
 Mr. Chedworth was again silent for a few 
 moments and mused. It is difficult to admit a con- 
 sciousness of defeat, in any matter, great or small. 
 The Pastor judged that he was Wishful to discontinue 
 the discussion of the subject, without being under 
 the necessity of saying so. He, therefore, judiciously 
 contyivecl to cut tjie me^tter shorty and let his tlaeo. 
 
108 LIGHTS AND SUADOWS 
 
 logical antagonist down easy, by resuming his obser- 
 
 vations : 
 
 " Mr. Chedworth, this is a difficult subject, and one 
 
 which has been a battle-ground for centuries, for 
 
 some of the acutest intellects. It is, therefore, not 
 
 very likely that we can settle the matter in a day. 
 
 With your permission we can talk over the subject 
 
 again, another time." 
 
 At the conclusion of these judicious observations 
 Mr. Chedworth brightened up again, and seemed, 
 ready to resume conversation, but upon a different 
 topic. 
 
 " What do you think of your appointment this 
 afternoon, sir ? " 
 
 " What appointment, Mr. Chedworth ? " 
 
 " Why, to collect the funds for repairing the 
 sheds." 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, frankly, Mr. Ched- 
 worth, I do not like it. I thought at the time that 
 some one else would have been more suitable for such 
 an office. I did not care to say so, because it might 
 have thrown a damper upon the whole affair ; and 
 it might have been construed into an unwillingness 
 on my part to take a practical interest in the work. 
 It is not the work I object to, but the principle in- 
 volved in it. T think a minister should have no- 
 thing to do with financial affairs, except to take his 
 j^^lary when it ig due. The less he CQucerns himself 
 
OF CLERICAL LIB'E. l09 
 
 about money matter.c the better. It should never 
 be necessary for him to do so. Least of all should 
 he have occasion to collect money for any purpose. 
 He may explain general principles bearing upon 
 Christian liberality, and he may apply those princi- 
 ples, so far as Scripture warrants him in doing so, 
 to the individual conscience. If there be a neces- 
 sity for it he should not hesitate to urge the duty of 
 giving with as much persistency and fearlessness as 
 any other duty. He may even be justified, within 
 certain reasonable limits, in urging his own personal 
 claims, if they be unduly neglected." 
 
 " I am very pleased to hear you make such 
 observations, sir, for I have the good fortune this 
 time to agree with you in most of them. I endorse 
 your opinion thoroughly about ministers having as 
 little to do with finances as possible. I cannot help 
 wishing you had been spared the doubtful honor of 
 that appointment this afternoon. You may ask 
 people for money, for this object, who in their hearts 
 don't want to give, and yet they will not like to 
 refuse you. They may give, but they will be liable 
 to look upon it as a kind of benevolent concession 
 made to you, personally ; and you are thereby 
 thrown into a false position at once. No, I wish 
 some one else had been appointed, the Treasurer of 
 the church for instance." 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion, Mr. Chedworth, 
 
llO tIGttTS AND StiABOWS 
 
 that sucli work is liable to place a minister in an 
 invidious position ; but, as I have been entrusted 
 with the duty, I will endeavor to discharge it. Do 
 you anticipate my finding any difficulty in raising 
 the money ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I think not ; at least, I hope not. I 
 will give you a fair subscription, but I would advise 
 you to commence with Squire Eosewood ; he is pretty 
 liberal generally, and it is best to have the largest 
 subscription to begin with. Others will be influ- 
 enced, in a measure, by what he does. You may 
 rely upon mine." 
 
 At this point of the discussion the carriage drew 
 up in front of the Pastor's residence, and he, stepping 
 out and shaking hands with Mr. Chedworth, bid him 
 good evening. 
 
Of CLERICAL LIFB. Ill 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The medium condition— A mental picture — Many things to 
 be thankful for — A few stray clouds — A model man — 
 The rich and the poor — A prevalent practice severely- 
 condemned — The distinguishing characteristic of Mes- 
 siah's Advent— Nineteenth Centnry Christianity— The 
 rich have the Gospel preached unto them. 
 
 It may be safely affirmed of man, Id any given con- 
 dition or circumstances, that he hath three stages. 
 In the first he is pretty well satisfied with €very 
 tking and every body. This is the period of what 
 may be called blissful ignorance. He has not yet 
 eaten of " the tree of knowledge of good and evil." 
 He supposes everything fair because, upon the first 
 blush, it seems so; every man honest and good 
 because, upon first acquaintance, he has no palpable 
 reason to come to any other conclusion. 
 
 The second stage is a modification of the first. 
 He is satisfl!ed with many things yet, but observation 
 and experietioe have taught him to be dissatisfied 
 with others. Actual contact has revealed certain 
 <Iefects which were not at first recognised. All 
 things, and all men, are not what they seem. 
 This condition is the average mundane experience. 
 
112 LIGHTS^ AND SilADoWSI 
 
 The third stage, which unhappily is sometimes 
 reached, is the very antipodes of the first. A man 
 becomes dissatisfied with almost every thing and 
 every body. Nothing plcv 3s or satisfies. Every 
 thing that touches the lips is gall. All contact 
 with humanity is irritating. Unfortunate condition 
 this, and it is sure to end in something worse, if it 
 continue. It is not always, purely or wholly, the 
 result of personal fault. In many cases it may be 
 so, and in most cases it is partly so, but the case is 
 conceivable and actual where darkness and suffering, 
 almost unbearable, supervene vicariously. 
 
 It may be proper to state that the Eev. Paul 
 Vincent had passed the first stage, and arrived at 
 the second ; and there, judging from his feelings and 
 surroundings, he is likely to remain some time. 
 His condition is eminently desirable and enjoyable 
 on the whole. He has many, very many, sources 
 of pleasure and satisfaction, with only here and 
 there a flickering shadow athwart his sunny path. 
 Let us endeavor to present such a view as he men- 
 tally presented to himself at this time. 
 
 He has been two years a husband, and is now a 
 father, and his young wife a mother, and two years 
 the pastor of the Crossberry church. He is sitting 
 thoughtfully in his arm chair, in his little study, 
 surrounded by his books ; the walls adorned with 
 pictures, which are intimately connected with his 
 individual history. His young wife is sitting opposite 
 
OF CLEIUCAL LIFB. 113 
 
 him, and the two are complacently and affectionately 
 looking upon little Amy, seated on the hearthrug 
 between them, alternately nursing her doll and hug- 
 ging her feeding bottle. He is making a mental pic- 
 ture of the sum of God's mercies tr him and his ; not 
 leaving out the few stray clouds which form an 
 appropriate background to the scene. First, per- 
 sonal and social. He has good health, and a mind to 
 work, and increasing interest in his work. He has a 
 good, loving wife ; as true and genuine as woman 
 can be. They loved each other in early years, and 
 • have had no other love, and never wished for any 
 ' other. They suit each other well. He is strong- 
 willed naturally; while she is, as naturally, of a 
 yielding temperament. The oak and the ivy; one 
 willing and able to give support, the other instinc- 
 tively looking for it all the time ; and both satisfied 
 with their relative characteristics and position. Their 
 : natures are already doubly blended and interlocked 
 in the little image scrambling on the floor, that has 
 already commenced lisping those two magic words, 
 which send a thrill through the parental heart. 
 
 He has a good home neatly and sufficiently 
 furnished, and having every useful and necessary 
 accommodation ; a large garden, enclosing it on three 
 sides, worked diligently with his own hands, and 
 yielding an abundant supply of vegetables and 
 fruit. He feels this to be no small advantage, as he is 
 
 H 
 
114 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 fond of nature and nature's fruit. He spends one 
 hour a day in such light healthful occupation as a 
 garden affords ; — trimming the grape vines; tying up 
 the raspberry canes ; training the branches of the 
 cherry, x^him, peach, and apricot trees ; grubbing the 
 cabbage plants ; trimming the box edges, and keep- 
 ing a clean, clear path fit for a queen to walk on. 
 
 He has a chuich to preach in, which, although it 
 can lay no claim to architectural elegance, is rich in 
 historical reminiscences, which will cast a halo of 
 glory over the old edifice as long as it stands, and 
 over the sacred spot " till time shall be no longer." 
 
 He has a kind, appreciative, liberal people. All 
 classes honor and love him for what he is and for 
 what he does. The intelligent appreciate his broad 
 culture, the poor his heartfelt sympathy, and all 
 recognize his strong individuality, and unflinching 
 fidelity to truth. 
 
 They know he is what he seems to be, and have 
 confidence in him. They are not unmindful of his 
 wants. They made him a present of a good sum of 
 money six weeks after his settlement, no doubt 
 with the intention of rendering a delicate and valu- 
 able service, at a seasonable time. The receipts for 
 the first year showed a handsome surplus over in- 
 cidental expenses and the stipulated salary, which 
 was promptly handed over to him by Samuel Ched- 
 worth, the Treasurer of the Church, with the sincere 
 
OF CLEUICAL LIFE. ' 115 
 
 hope that it might be larger next year. Little gifts 
 are constantly coming in, which, in the course of the 
 year, amount to something considerable ; and they 
 arc doubly welcome and valuable as the expression 
 of thoughtful kindness, and feeling hearts. 
 
 By the kindness of Squire Rosewood little Toppy 
 and the gig are as much at his disposal as if they 
 belonged to him. He has all the carriage accom- 
 modation he needs, without expense or trouble. 
 " Take them whenever you want," said the Squire, 
 ^' whether I am here or not. Bill is always somewhere 
 about the place, and he will harness up for you, and 
 attend to the unharnessing when you come back. 
 Command him, sir, in this matter, as if he were 
 your own servant. He is mine, and that is my will, 
 and he knows it, and will attend to you on all oc- 
 casions Ayithout 1 murmur." 
 
 Of social intercourse he has enough ; not highly 
 cultured, it is true, but kindly, affable, pleasant, 
 polite, and always savoring, more or less, of the fra- 
 grance of a teeming and fruitful earth. Farmers 
 will talk, if they talk at all, about what most con- 
 cerns them, and what they thoroughly understand, — 
 cattle, crops, markets, agricultural shows, — and he 
 always likes to hear them. There is the Squire, who 
 never goes into a show Avithout bringing out several 
 prizes. His side-board in the old dining-room, 
 groans under the weight of large silver cups, with 
 their appropriate inscription, notifying when they 
 
116 LIGHTS A^fD SHADOWS 
 
 were given, and for what. He takes just pride, 
 espec.'ally, in showing a fine set of solid silver ware, 
 which he gained for the best cultivated farm. That 
 he looks upon as a trophy indeed. He tells you, 
 with honest glee, how, when the judges came round, 
 he set before them the best he had ; and how they 
 went away as well satisfied with their gastronomical 
 entertainment, as with the well-kept farm, praising 
 both in no stinted terms. v/ri -j »«*.. ; ,• v^ -„,«,, 
 
 Then as to the deacons of the church, who have, 
 necessarily, such a close relation to the Pastor ; they 
 are not only Christians, they are men, yea, gentle- 
 men — a not unimportant matter in these days. While 
 having minds of their own which they know how to 
 use independently and effectually, they have an 
 innate reverence for the sacred office, and for the 
 man who fills it conscientiously, and up to the full 
 measure of his capacity. j 
 
 The prayer meetings, too ; these are the Pastor's 
 delight. The most constant attendants are the poor 
 and needy. They find solace there in pouring out 
 their full hearts to God. And such prayers ! so 
 sincere, so simple, so earnest ; such a world of pathos 
 and meaning in them. With tears trickling down 
 his aged cheeks, an old saint, too decrepid to kneel, 
 will stand, leaning upon his staff, and pray : — " 
 Lord do bless our dear Pastor. We are very thankful 
 to Thee for him — do bless him. Give him strength. 
 
OF CLEIUCAL UVE. 117 
 
 Lord, at all times. When he is tried and troubled 
 do Thou ])e his lielp and consolation. We know he is 
 troubled sometimes, and wo feel for him, and he feels 
 for us, when we are troubled ; but Thou canst help 
 us all." The prayer would come to an abrupt ter- 
 mination, htjcause the heart was too full for further 
 utterance. Ah ! such prayers are like rivers of 
 water in a dry place, and like the shadow of a great 
 rock in a weary land. They, at once, enter into the 
 ears of the Lord of Sabaoth, and bring down a bless- 
 ing. " "'- 
 
 So far the review is eminently satisfactory ; the 
 mental picture is bright and clear, without a touch 
 of darkness or gloom. But, as the Pastor continues 
 to muse, a cloud or two begin to steal across the 
 sunny landscape, which thought and reflection have 
 conjured up, and made actual for the time being. 
 Oh ! how thankful he is for his health, his wife, his 
 child, his home, his garden, his old church, his kind, 
 generous, warm-hearted people; his deacons; his 
 poor people who feel for him so genuinely, and pray 
 for him so heartily and constantly ; and for many 
 seals to a faithful, but imperfect ministry, but — 
 But, what ? What are these buts, these little clouds 
 which modify, but cannot hide, the perfect sunshine 
 and beauty of the scene ? 
 
 First, it is a source of regret and real godly 
 concern to him that so many good, warm-hearted, 
 
118 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 intelligent people arc out of the cliiircli. Men 
 who could be so much more useful if they were in. 
 • Men whom the church really needs. They are 
 outside supports when it would be much better 
 for themselves, their families, and the church, 
 if they were pillars in the temple. There is 
 Squire Eosewood, for instance. His peer, for natu- 
 ral goodness, common-sense, and a charming enthral- 
 ing influence on all around, is not to be found. 
 It seems a necessity of his nature to be good and 
 do good, according to his lights and opportunities. 
 If any one could get to heaven by genuine kind- 
 liness of heart and good works he is the man. Oh, 
 if that really noble nature could be regenerated and 
 consecrated to the highest ends what a blessing it 
 would be I If in him the si3iritual bore any sort of 
 proportion to the natural what a mighty power 
 for good he might become ! Christianity would have 
 a noble setting in him — the picture would show 
 well in such a frame ; Christ-like character and true 
 benevolence would shine forth with the splendor of 
 the noonday sun; he would, indeed, shine before 
 men, and they would see the good works, and glorify 
 the Father in Heaven. If he were a deacon, how 
 kind, charitable, loving, appreciative he would be ; 
 how always ready to help the poor and needy of the 
 flock ; how quick to defend the reputaiion of his pas- 
 tor, should it be thoughtlessly or maliciously assail- 
 
Ot CLERICAL Lllfi. 119 
 
 ed ; how ready to lead the way in every good work ; 
 how effectively he could speak to others about the 
 duty of giving a full share of their substance to 
 God's cause, because of his own manifest benevolence 
 and large philanthropy. In this matter he would 
 be able to say with truthful simplicity and godly 
 sincerity : — " Brethren, be ye followers of me as I 
 am also of Christ." If he were the treasurer, the 
 church would never be in debt, or never know it. 
 His largeness of heart and the looseness of his 
 purse-strings would supply every ordinary deficiency, 
 and every extraor:linary one would be met with that 
 promptness and conscientiousness wdth which an 
 honest man meets his obligations. He would train 
 men to be honest in those things which are incident 
 to their spiritual relationships. A mortgage upon 
 the house of God he would look upon, not as an 
 ornament, but as a disgusting and sinful appendage, 
 of which good men ought always to be ashamed. 
 An impossible, ideal, imaginative character, you 
 say ! Nothing of the kind. It is an actual one, 
 and the Pastor feels that Squire Eosewood would be 
 all this, and more, if he were a regenerated man, 
 and within the pale of the church, and he mourns 
 that he is not. Anyhow, it is a fact, incontestable 
 and clear, that his natural characteristics and devel- 
 0].ment3 shine more resplendently than the spiritual 
 attributes of many. He wonders why it is that 
 
 ^ 
 
120 LIGHTS AKD SHADOWS 
 
 Omnipotent Grace doesn't convert such men, and 
 compel them, by a sweet and sacred violence, to 
 come in. Why ? There's a stone wall there, and he 
 must stop — he can neither loor over it, nor under it, 
 nor through it ; he must wait for that, as for many 
 other things that are equally insoluble to the mind 
 of man. 
 
 The Pastor thinks, too, with much regret, of those 
 class distinctions which are so rigidly drawn, and 
 so imperiously maintained. He would not strike 
 them down wholly, nor is he foolish enough to sup- 
 pose that all men can be made equal ; but he thinks 
 there is a just medium, where truth and justice 
 are found. Superiority, whether it be physical, 
 mental, or moral, will assert itself, will, in a measure, 
 become dominant, exact homage and reign. Infe- 
 riority, too, of whatever kind, will inevitably be- 
 come manifest; it cannot be successfully hidden. 
 The better and the stronger will hold rule and sway 
 the sceptre — no power on earth can prevent. These 
 things belong to the domain of unimpeachable facts 
 and truths. The world full of Acts of Parliament 
 would not equalise or keep equal the human race 
 in any one particular. It is the working out of an. 
 inexorable law of life, with the making of which we 
 had nothing to do, that there will be master and 
 servant, learned and unlearned, wise and foolish, 
 polished and uncultivated, to the end of the world. 
 
6t CtEKICAL LIFK. I2l 
 
 Me tlrinks, however, making all due allowance for 
 these considerations, that there is force enough in 
 the nature of things to create inevitable disparity, 
 without adding to it by arbitrary rules and fixed 
 conventionalities. Not in this world should a great 
 gulf be fixed between them, who, by an inscrutable 
 degree of the All-Wise, have been made to differ in 
 social condition. Least of all does he like to see an 
 open and constant repetition, in the house of God, of 
 a practice which was noted and severely condemned 
 eighteen hundred years ago. " If there come into 
 your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly 
 apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile 
 raiment ; and ye have respect unto him that weareth 
 the gay clothing, and say unto him, sit thou here in 
 a good place ; and say unto the poor, stand thou 
 there, or sit here under my footstool : Are ye not 
 then partial in yourselves, and are become judges 
 of evil thoughts ? Hearken, my beloved brethren, 
 Imth not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in 
 faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath pro- 
 mised to them that love him But if ye have 
 
 respect to persons, ye commit sin, and are convinced 
 of the law as transgi'essors.'* 
 
 One would think the almighty critics had stepped 
 in, and oracularly pronounced this passage to be 
 spurious, not supported by the best manuscripts, and 
 therefore unworthy of a place in the sacred volume, 
 
122 UGliTS .ANt) SHADOWS 
 
 SO little is it no'^ed or lieededby the Christians of the 
 nineteenth century. One cannot help wondering, 
 sometimes, what God thinks of people who profess 
 to have so much reverence for His word, and yet so 
 perpetually, and with such horrible uniformity, 
 violate it. Go into the Cros sherry church, or any 
 other, and you may look around at the assembled 
 worshippers, and make a very correct estimate of 
 the worldly standing and substance of each, by the 
 location and general appearance of his pew. The 
 poor are perched up in the galleries, or squatted 
 down in close proximity to the entrance, where there 
 is plenty of ventilation ; or seated close to the pul- 
 pit, w^here the hearing is supposed to be good, and 
 where they must humbly contemplate the floor all 
 the time, or give their necks an unpleasant twist by 
 looking up. The rich must have the happy medium, 
 and the convenient location ; not too near, not too 
 far off; far enough away from gusty winds and 
 chilly ventilation, and yet where it is warmest in 
 winter, and coolest in summer. They must be, too, 
 where they can be seen by the minister and the peo- 
 ple. They must have spring seats, back rests, feet 
 rests, arm rests, and soul rest is expected to be sup- 
 plied to them from the pulpit. Why not ? Don't 
 they pay for it ? Certainly. " You pay your 
 money, and you take your choice." Isn't it fair, 
 and square, and equitable, and just, and all that sort 
 
; . : ;,, OF CLERICAL LIFE. 123 
 
 of thing, fi'om a business point of view ? Decidedly 
 so. Don't the men who pay the largest rent get the 
 best stall in the market and the most convenient 
 position on the Exchange ? It is to be presumed, 
 most unquestionably, that they do. Tlien why 
 shouldn't a man have a good, large, convenient pew, 
 in the best possible location, when he pays a good 
 round sum for it ? Just so : If he be a Christian, 
 however, and if it be the house of God in which he 
 sits, he should not be partial ; he should not be guilty 
 of sinful invidiousncss ; he should have some respect 
 for the laws of that Being whom he professes to 
 worship ; he should remember that it is one of the 
 distinguishing features of the Most High that He is 
 not a respecter of persons ; and he should have some 
 recollection of that old familiar circumstance, %v-hcn 
 the Master came down to the Temple, and, seeing it 
 liad been made a place of merchandise. He upset the 
 tables of the money changers, and scourged the 
 moneyocracy out of His Father's House. 
 
 It was the evident wish of the Founder of Chris- 
 tianity that the preaching of the Gospel to the poor 
 should be recognized as the most distinct and em- 
 phatic characteristic of His advent and reign. Tell 
 John that " the poor have the gospel preached unto 
 them," and he will know by that sign, above all 
 others, that I am He that should come. When he 
 hears that he will not be in doubt one moment, con- 
 
124 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ;^ 
 
 cerning the identity of my Person, and the reality of 
 my work. His whole life was in i)erfect consonance 
 with this dominant characteristic. His prevailing 
 sympathies were with the down-trodden, and the 
 oppressed. He never tired of listening to their tales 
 of woe, and He helped them to the full measure of 
 their real needs, and His Divine capacity. He 
 accounted it a greater honor " to bind up the broken- 
 hearted and set the captive free,'^ than to be endowed 
 with the glory of a conqueror, or the lustre of a 
 crown. 
 
 " The common people heard Him gladly." No 
 wonder they did. He understood them perfectly. 
 He did not patronize them ; He loved them, and they 
 knew it, and such knowledge thrilled their hearts. 
 They were drawn, irresistibly, to One " who was meek 
 and lowly in heart, and they found rest for their 
 souls." Such a ministry was a new thing in the 
 world, a moral revolution, and it received no coun- 
 tenance from the men who wore broad phylacteries, 
 and sat in Moses* seat. It is eighteen hundred 
 years since then, and the phylacteries are in fashion 
 yet. That which was the chief glory of Messiah's 
 mission has been reversed, for the distinguishing 
 feature of the nineteenth century Christianity is 
 that the rich have the Gospel preached unto them. 
 They must be cared for by all means ; they must 
 havQ fine churches in choice localities, far away 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFK. 125 
 
 from all dust and noise, and anything common or 
 unclean ; they must have refined preaching to meet • 
 the necessities of their broad culture ; they must 
 have operatic singing that shall suit exactly their 
 refined sensibilities and waft them on angel wings ; 
 they must have in the pulpit one who is the very 
 pink of fashion and the very embodiment of refine- 
 ment. A Boanerges, a Paul, a Knox, a Luther 
 would not do at all, — altogether too vulgar. They 
 don't want to be frightened out of their wits by having 
 explained to them in horrible and disgusting detail : 
 " How hardly shall they that have riches enter into 
 the kingdom of God." They want the Gospel of re- 
 fined peace. Sinai to them is an obsolete geographical 
 expression, and an exploded moral fact ; right enough 
 under the old dispensation, when people had a simple 
 choice between fire and brimstone, but not at all 
 suited to the high culture of these latter days. 
 
 They are not unmindful of the poor either. They 
 build a mission chapel in a locality where the poor 
 are obliged to live, and pay a minister to preach to 
 them for nothing. The connection is maintained by 
 a quarterly supply of funds, and a yearly report. 
 Thus the very essence of Christianity is ostensibly 
 maintained; but in a way to harmoniae perfectly 
 with the prevailing characteristics of the prQseat 
 age. " How long, Lord, how long ? '" 
 
126 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTEll VIII. 
 
 Some thinga a fellow can't uiiderstand — An edifying ami elo- 
 quent discourse — A grateful audience — Entertaining 
 angcla unawares — Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum, of Battle- 
 mount — The Nag's Head — Messrs. Buncombe, Duffy and 
 Slocum eat roast beef, and exchange views. 
 
 Perhaps one of the most difficult problems of human 
 life is that of knowing when your circumstances 
 and surroundings are as satisfactory as you have 
 any just right to expect, and with which, therefore, 
 you ought to be perfectly satisfied ; at least, as per- 
 fectly satisfied as any imperfect mortal can be ex- 
 pected to reach perfection in that particular direc- 
 tion ; — contentment and gratitude unconnected with 
 any immediate desire of change. The medium con- 
 dition is not only the best, philosophically considered, 
 but it seems to be that which Providence has 
 marked out for men generally, as the most conducive 
 to earthly comfort and enjoyment. That is practi- 
 cable, attainable, and maintainable to most men, if 
 they would make it the goal of their ambition, in- 
 stead of the first stage in a long and doubtful journey. 
 Unfortunately they are not content with this. They 
 
,' OF CLERICAL LIFE. 127 
 
 must all strive to reach the pinnacle of wealth and 
 worldly fame, and for one who reaches the summit 
 ten thousand roll back again, completely exhausted, 
 into utter discomfiture and ruin. If a man, by the 
 time he has reached his fortieth }'ear, has learned to 
 " fling away ambition," by which sin the angels fell, 
 and by which he cannot hope to win, it is well. He 
 may yet save himself from overwhelming disaster, 
 and expect to live the rest of his days as some one 
 wiser than he meant him to do. 
 
 The experiment of putting old heads upon young 
 shoulders has been talked about a great deal, but it 
 has never been tried. That it would not improve 
 the bodily appearance is too obvious to need men- 
 tioning. And then, how a matured brain, with its 
 immense consuming power, would work in connec- 
 tion with immature physical faculties, is a matter 
 that physiologists could pronounce upon with some 
 degi'ee of probability, if not of certainty. A matter- 
 of-fact man would say that such an arrangement 
 would soon smash the machine, and the matter-of- 
 fact man would not be far from the truth. 
 
 We are forced to take things as they are ; their 
 essential nature we cannot alter. Men must go 
 through the school of experience, and pay a good 
 round sum for their schooling, and perhaps contract 
 an eternal indebtedness before they get out. While 
 the judgment is still immature they must face 
 
128 LIGHTS AND SHAPOWS 
 
 grave problems, and come to impoitaut decisions, 
 which may stamp the character of the whole of 
 their future life. If it be necessity that man shall 
 be a reasoning animal, and a responsible being, 
 why not make him a machine to move automatically, 
 or endow *him with unerring instinct until he is 
 matured enough to meet, with some probability of 
 success, the various problems and duties of life ? 
 Why should it be necessary for him, in the nature of 
 thiii'ji , to stumble so, and for so long, even with the 
 very best intentions, before he learns to walk aright ? 
 Why should he, when he agonizes to see right and 
 do right, be permitted to go wrong, or, at least, seem 
 to do so ? Such a case is conceivable and actual. 
 Oh ! tell me why ? There is only one who could ex- 
 plain, and he, for some wise reason, no doubt, pre- 
 serves a dignified silence. 
 
 These observations may not at first seem apivpoa 
 in the present stage of this narrative. Wait a little 
 and see. The Pastor of the Crossberry church is a 
 young man. His book learning is ample, but his 
 experience is limited. He has learnt some things 
 in the higher and >yider university, which embraces 
 the world and the church, but he hasn't matriculat- 
 ed ; he hasn't taken his degree, not even Bachelor 
 of Arts, much less Master of Arts. In the broad 
 culture of a rich and varied experience he is com- 
 paratively a neophyte. He is so little suspicious o 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 129 
 
 the cunning and craft of others, that he supposes 
 men and things, on the whole, are what they seem, 
 with a very few exceptions. True, he had his eyes 
 opened a little, by contact with Mortimer Shelburne, 
 but he has always looked upon him as by no means 
 a fair average sample of sanctified humanity. He 
 was consigned, long ago, to the limbo of notable ex- 
 ceptions. He has had nothing in his present pas- 
 torate to rouse any unpleasant suspicions of human 
 nature, but everything to strengthen his confidence 
 in men who profess to be good. He is spending an 
 enjoyable and useful life among a peopla who love 
 him, and appreciate him thoroughly. He is not 
 wealthy, but he is comfortably provided for. He 
 has no thoughts of changing his sphere, and no wish 
 to do so. Although not void of ambition, that quali- 
 ty is by no means dominant in him. His circum- 
 stances and surroundings are as good as he thinks he 
 has any just right to expect ; and much better than 
 some not so fortunately situated, but just as worthy. 
 So far as present appearances go, he could be well 
 content to spend his whole life in Crossberry. Such 
 are his present position of feelings. " Man proposes, 
 God disposes." He is much nearer a change than 
 he is aware of. He is not'planning it, has no thought 
 of it, and does not desire it ; but it is coming steadily 
 and surely. All unconscious to him the Invisible 
 Hand is beginning to unroll the map of a trying, 
 
 I 
 
130 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 mysterious future. He is to be honored with a 
 baptism of fire. 
 
 Sunday morning, half-past ten. The Pastor ia in 
 his time-honored plupit. The devotional exercises 
 through, he announces his text : " For now we see 
 through a glass, darkly ; but then face to face ; now 
 I know in part ; but then shall I know even as also 
 I am known.^* He begins by speaking of the innate 
 tendency in human nature to pry into the future, and 
 yet that every attempt to draw aside the invisible 
 curtain is unavailing. The future we try to live 
 in, not the present. We are always wondering what 
 we shall be a few years hence. We are ever grasp- 
 ing at the shadowy unknown. This is the predomi- 
 nating characteristic of man from his earliest years. 
 The boy at school is always looking forward co 
 the time when he will be a young man ; when he 
 will be able to throw off the restraint consequent 
 upon immaturity, and assume the freer exercise of 
 maturity. To be freed from the fetters of school- 
 boy experience is, at present, the goal of his ambi- 
 tion. Only let him arrive at the time when he can 
 say good-bye to school and lessons for ever, and he 
 will be content. In a few years he attains that 
 much-coveted position, but he finds he is not satis- 
 fied ; he is as far. froiji that as ever. He looks for- 
 ward from the proud eminence of youthful aspira- 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. ; ^ 131 
 
 tion to another far above him. Again, he lives in 
 the future. That point upon which he has set his 
 anxious eye he must gain, and then he will be 
 happy ; then he will settle down, and be content. 
 He reaches that point, too ; he becomes, what he is 
 pleased to call, comfortably settled in life. He is 
 the centre and ruler of a little happy world called 
 home. Is he satisfied ? No, his restless, ambitious 
 spirit still pants for the future ; still longs for that 
 which is to come. Acquisition simply whets the 
 appetite for acquiring and never satisfies it. 
 
 Thus' man, unfortunately, goes on to the end of 
 his days, ever undervaluing and neglecting present 
 mercies, and pursuing a shadow — some fancied good 
 that the future is supposed to hold in its grasp. 
 Even when he grows old, is tottering upon the verge 
 of the grave, and death is imminent, he still more 
 anxiously asks : What is that future to which I am 
 fast hastening ? What will be my mode of ex- 
 istence in that world which is to come ? There is no 
 answer. AU is dark, dark as midnight. Only then, 
 when we see in the light of God's light, shall we 
 know. 
 
 Whence this tendency to pry into the future ? 
 How is it we do not seek to act, and think, and see 
 in the living present, and leave the future, wholly, 
 and with the faith of little children, in His hands, 
 who knows no future, but to whom the vast roll of 
 
132 \ LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 unending years is one everlasting present ? Why do 
 we not take to-day, appreciate it, understand it, and 
 enjoy it ? Why should we be unceasingly grasping at 
 the unknown, the intangible, the impracticable, nay, 
 the impossible, to the neglect of the possible and the 
 real ? Such a tendency is the proof, the mother, 
 and the offspring of moral defectiveness. Perfect 
 beings feel not thus — act not thus. They are per- 
 petually and completely occupied with the everlast- 
 ing present, — present duties and enjoyments. 
 
 The future of this life is mercifully hidden from 
 U8. It is a wise concession to our weakness. Life 
 would be unbearable if we knew all in advance. It 
 is meted out to us, in small portions, day by day, 
 as we can bear the pain or enjoy the pleasure. As 
 to the eternal future, that is necessarily unknown. 
 Not that it cannot be revealed, but it could not be 
 borne or understood by finite minds, if disclosed in 
 all its unshorn radiance and glory. We can form 
 no reliable conception of heavenly things from 
 earthly analogies. The most ornate and splendid 
 imagery fails utterly in conveying adequate or 
 truthful impressions. What pen can describe, what 
 tongue can teU the joys of the world to come ? *Tis 
 true our feelings wiU be so intense, so delightful, that 
 we shall " rejoice with joy unspeakable, and full of 
 glory." But who can describe that glory, who can 
 tell that joy ? They transcend our highest thoughts, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 133 
 
 they outstrip the loftiest imaginatio?i. We can 
 form no conception of those seraphic feelings which 
 the first glimpse of the golden streets, the pearly 
 gates, and the white-robed throng will excite within 
 us ! We cannot tell with what high and holy sensa- 
 tions we shall listen to the first note of Heaven's 
 music, or behold, for the first time, the unveiled 
 glory. No, we must wait, and wait patiently. We 
 must await the loosing of the silver cord, and then 
 our souls, freed from their defilement, and wafted to 
 Heaven, will see the King in His beauty, and with 
 untold rapture behold the glories of the future world. 
 Then shall we know, then shall we see, not as 
 through a glass darkly, but face to face. 
 
 This is a faint sketch — a sentence selected here 
 and there — of the sermon preached, by the young 
 Pastor, on that Sabbath mom. He seemed to be 
 lifted, for the time being, far above himself. Like 
 another, and his name's sake, the Apostle of the 
 Gentiles, he scarcely knew whether he was in the 
 flesh or out of it, so completely did his high and 
 holy theme enthral his every faculty. The atten- 
 tion paid to the discourse was of the same intense 
 and rapt description. All were transported for a 
 short season to a higher plane of existence and feel- 
 ing, far above the trifles and vanities of the world. 
 It was good to be there. It was a season of solid 
 instruction and spiritual refroshment long remem- 
 
134 LIGHTja AND SHADOWS 
 
 bered. The service closed with the benediction and 
 the grand old hymn, in which all heartily joined : 
 
 "There is a heaven of perfect peace. 
 
 The eternal throne is there ; 
 But what that tearless region is — 
 
 It doth not yet appear. 
 And there are angels strong and fair, 
 
 Who know not sin nor fear ; 
 But what the robes of white they wear, 
 
 It doth not yet appear. 
 And there are ransomed spirits too. 
 
 Who once were pilgrims here ; 
 But how the Saviour's face they view — 
 
 It doth not yet appear. 
 And there are sweet commingling thoughts. 
 
 And blest communion there ; 
 But how they blend their heavenly notes — 
 
 It doth not yet appear. 
 And there is worship in the sky. 
 
 And songs of loftiest cheer ; 
 But how they sweep their harps on high. 
 
 It doth not yet appear. 
 Then, O my soul, with patience wait, 
 , The happy hour is near. 
 
 When thou shalt pass the pearly gate. 
 
 Where it will all appear 1 
 
 » 
 
 As the Pastor descended from the pulpit, he was 
 surrounded by quite a group of his hearers, who 
 wished to testify their appreciation of the discourse. 
 Samuel Chedworth, Squire Rosewood, Deacon Gras- 
 well, Josiah Buncombe, Simon Jehu, and many 
 others shook him warmly by the hand, and with full 
 
OF CLERICA.L ~IFE. 135 
 
 hearts expressed the pleasure and profit the service 
 had afforded them. 
 
 In addition to these, two gentlemen, strangers in 
 Crossberry, who had been present at the service, 
 stepped forward, and begget' a formal introduction 
 to the Pastor. This was imm^^tely accorded, and 
 they were announced as Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum 
 of the city of Battlemount. They expressed the 
 pleasure and profit with which they had listened to 
 the sermon, and desired the favor of a private inter- 
 view. This the Pastor very readily granted, but 
 expressed a wish to have it postponed till the close 
 of the evening service, when, the labors of the day 
 being done, he would be able to give a more un- 
 divided attention to what they might have to com- 
 municate. This suggestion was readily adopted, and 
 the promised interview fixed for half-past eight p.m. 
 The Pastor, wishing to be mindful of his duty to 
 entertain strangers, " whereby some have enter- 
 tained angels unawares," invited Mr. Duffy and Mr. 
 Slocum to repair with him to his house, and partake 
 of such accommodation and hospitality as his 
 humble home afforded. This, however, was declined, 
 for the very sensible and considerate reason, that 
 they would not intrude upon his privacy, but wait 
 till the evening, when they would do themselves 
 the pleasure of waiting upon him, to ascertain his 
 views regarding the object of their visit. They had 
 
136 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 secured accoir.modation at the Nag's Head, and 
 thither they bent their steps with the intention of 
 refreshing the inner man with such good cheer as 
 Josiah Buncombe could set before them. That 
 gentleman laid himself out to cater for his casual 
 guests in such a manner as to add to the reputation 
 of his house. He had observed them at church in 
 the morning, and this fact stimulated his curiosity, 
 and added considerably to the interest he took in 
 them. He therefore gave strict orders to Mrs. 
 Buncombe to set before the two gentlemen a dinner 
 fit for a lord. He also quietly intimated to his 
 spouse that he thought there was something stirring 
 in the wind, in connection with these strangers, and 
 he meant to keep a sharp look out. 
 
 " Well, Josiah, how you do talk. I don't see any- 
 thing remarkable in these gentlemen being heVe, and 
 I don't see anything particular in their attending 
 church this morning. We have lots of folks come 
 here, and go away again when they've done their 
 business, and some attend church and some don't, if 
 they happen to be here on Sunday." 
 
 " WeU, you see Maria, I think I do see something 
 particular about these strangers. They come in here 
 late Saturday night, and they expect to leave by 
 the first train on Monday morning ; so they will 
 require an early breakfast, don't forget that. So that 
 you see, Maria, whatever their business may be, it 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 137 
 
 looks like Sunday business. And then I noticed 
 how particularly they observed our young minister 
 this morning. Thoy stared at him awfully, and paid 
 very particular attention to what he said. They 
 handed bits of paper to one another with writing on, 
 and sometimes they gave a sly wink at one another. 
 Now, I tell you, wife, there's something up as sure 
 as you and I live." 
 
 " Well, what do you think is up, Josiah ? You do 
 talk queer, to be sure,'' 
 
 " If I tell you what I think, Maria, don't go and 
 tell your sister, or your mother : because, if you do, 
 everybody in Crossberry will know in no time. I 
 think these chaps, I mean these gentlemen, are after 
 the minister. They're a kind a prospecting like, 
 taking a view, seeing how things look, hearing all 
 they can on the sly, and then they'll go back where 
 they^come from and tell everything, and goodness 
 knows what may come of it. They've invited me to 
 dine with them. I think I know what that means. 
 Catch a weasel asleep. Catch Josiah Buncombe 
 napping. Not much." 
 
 The bell rung for dinner, and Josiah joined Mr. 
 Duffy and Mr. Slocum in the dining room. Mr. 
 Duffy introduced Mr. Slocum, Mr. Slocum introduced 
 Mr. Duffy, and Mr. Buncombe introduced himself. 
 The trio sat down to roast beef and small talk. Mr. 
 Duffy deemed it a necessary preliminary to inform 
 
138 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Mr. Buncombe that his friend Slocum was rather 
 deaf, to which Mr. Buncombe responded by saying 
 he would be able to accommodate him in that par- 
 ticular. 
 
 " What is the population of Crossberry ? ** asked 
 Mr. Duffy of Mr. Buncombe. 
 
 " To the best of my recollection about five thou- 
 sand, sir. I think it was that at the last census, so 
 it may be more or less now by a few hundreds, either 
 way." 
 
 " I and Mr. Slocum," said Mr. Duffy, " were very 
 much interested in the appearance of the church this 
 morning. A very old edifice, I should think. How 
 old do you suppose, Mr. Buncombe ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, that church is old ; more than two 
 hundred years I know. Why, sir, Bunyan preached 
 there. We take great pride in that historical fact, 
 sir ; we think it's something worth reflecting on. 
 Very old church, sir ! very, very." 
 
 ^' Is that an authentic fact about Bunyan, Mi. 
 Buncombe ? Because if it be so it is a very interest- 
 ing reminiscence." 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is authentic, at least as authentic as 
 such things generally are. It rests on very good 
 evidence. A very old man, who died a few years 
 ago in Crossberry, recollected hearing his grandfather 
 say that when he was quite a youngster he heard 
 Bunyan preach on that spot, sir. He was about 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 139 
 
 these parts a good deal, both before they put him in 
 jail and after they let him out. Wouldn't I like to 
 have heard him. He must have been a rouser to 
 make so much stir, and make people think about him 
 so long after he was gone. He must have been a 
 fine character and no mistake." 
 
 *^ Ahem ! I noticed, Mr. Buncombe, a good many 
 marble tablets on each side of the pulpit in the 
 church. These, I suppose, have been put there at 
 different times in affectionate remembrance of de- 
 ceased pastors.*' 
 
 " Yes, sir, they have, and it speaks well for the 
 church. There's been very little of the kicking out 
 process here, sir. The people in Crossberry have 
 too much respect for themselves and their pastors 
 for that. They've come here, and lived here, and 
 died here. They've been honored while living, and 
 held in affectionate remembrance when dead. You 
 should hear some of the old folks talk about the 
 old pastors, sir. It would do your heart good and 
 wet your eyes to hear them. They remember 
 them, sir." 
 
 *' Have most of the pastors in Crossberry lived, 
 and labored here till they died ?" 
 
 *• Yes, sir, there may have been one or two excep- 
 tions in the course of two hundred years, but that 
 has been the general rulf; People had an old- 
 fashioned notion, and a very proper one, I think* 
 
140 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 that it was as necessary and natural for a pastor'to 
 remain with his church till he died, as for man and 
 wife to remain together until death should separate 
 them. But excuse me, gentlemen, if I ask a ques- 
 tion or two now. You come from the city of 
 Battlemount, I believe, and I presume you are con- 
 nected with the church there. Have you any 
 monumental tablets in memory of deceased pastors 
 in your church ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Buncombe, speaking for myself and 
 Mr. Slocum, I cannot say that the walls of our 
 church are thus adorned. No, not a single adorn- 
 ment of that kind can we boast of." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Buncombe. " YouVe had a 
 good many pastors, I presume. Strange, very, very 
 strange ; singular coincidence that you shouldn^t 
 have one tablet. I look upon those tablets as an 
 ornament, sir." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Buncombe, we have had a good many 
 pastors, but they haven't stayed long with us ; our 
 pastors' settlements have not averaged more than 
 two years." 
 
 " Strange, very strange ; how do you account 
 for it, sir ? Surely you don't adopt the kicking 
 out process ; neither do you, I hope, make the 
 atmosphere so hot by artificial means, that the good 
 man feels it necessary to move on account of the 
 danger to his general health ? " 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 141 
 
 The conversation was evidently taking a turn 
 that did not comport with either the designs or the 
 comfort of Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum, so the latter 
 gentleman essayed to change the tone of remark by 
 observing : — 
 
 "We don't precisely kick them out, Mr. Bun- 
 combe ; but, when we have come to the conclu- 
 sion that a change in the pastorate is desirable, we 
 generally communicate with the pastor, confidential- 
 ly, and affectionately advise him as to what is best 
 to be done to meet the case. We come to a private 
 understanding with him, and that generally settles 
 the matter quietly. But, changing the subject for 
 the present, Mr. Buncombe, with your leave, what 
 do you think of the sermon this morning ? " 
 
 " What do I think of the sermon, sir ? Why, I 
 think it was a splendid sermon, sir. I tell you, 
 gentlemen, the Pastor of Crossberry knows how to 
 preach, and no mistake. He's a * stunner.' " 
 
 " Does he always preach as well as that ? mildly 
 suggested Mr. Duffy." 
 
 " Yes, sir, he always preaches like that. He never 
 preaches a poor sermon ; he's always up to the mark 
 there. I never attended church before he came, but 
 I took a great liking to him, and now I go regularly, 
 and my * Missus ' as often as she can, and the 
 children gp to Sunday school. That good young 
 man's influence has made a change for the better, 
 
142 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 sir, and I'm thankful for it. I went to hear him 
 first out of curiosity, and to oblige old Simon, and 
 we both liked him, and have continued to attend 
 church ever since. Old Simon likes him amazingly, 
 and so do all the folks, rich and poor. He's got a 
 conscience, sir, that he uses every day of his life, 
 and in every act of his life. He doesn^t put his 
 religion on with his Sunday coat, and then take it 
 off again, like some folks. He keeps it on all the 
 time, and acts by it. He's as true as steel, sir. If 
 he says he'll do anything you may make your mind 
 easy about it's being done. His equal is not to be 
 found for miles round. He wouldn't like to hear 
 me say these things, because he's modest, and has 
 a very humble opinion of himself. He only needs 
 a little more brass in his cheeks, and then he'd 
 shine, sir, in any position, with the best of them." 
 
 " Is his health generally good — that is, I mean on 
 the whole ? — asked Mr. Slocum, in a very mild and 
 gentlemanly tone." 
 
 " Yes, I should think it is. He's tough enough, I 
 tell you. Got a good voice, sir; sound lungs I 
 should say. There's only one man in Crossberry 
 can beat him there, and that's your humble servant. 
 I wish to know, Mr. Slocum, whether you can hear 
 me distinctly, because if you can't I can bring out 
 my reserve force." 
 
 Mr. Slocum blandly assured Mr. Buncombe that, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 143 
 
 although somewhat deaf, he could hear his slightest 
 intonation very distinctly. 
 
 Upon the subsidence of this brief interruption to 
 the ordinary flow of conversation, Mr. DufiTy, who 
 was evidently very desirous of sifting every pos- 
 sible particular regarding the Pastor of the Cross- 
 berry Zion, recommenced his interrogatories. 
 
 " How long has the Rev. Mr. Vincent been pastor 
 here, Mr. Buncombe ? " 
 
 " Not less than two, not more than three years ; 
 but nearer three, I think, than two." 
 
 " Are his general standing, character, and repu- 
 tation good in the community at large ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? If you mean, can he 
 stand as straight as a poker ? — Yes, sir. If you 
 mean, is his character as straight and unbending 
 to all evil as that necessary article of house fur- 
 niture ? — ^Yes, sir. If you mean, do people, whose 
 opinion is worth anything, think and speak well of 
 him ? — Yes sir. Didn't I tell you he was a * stun- 
 ner,' sir ? Perhaps you don't understand that class- 
 ical reference, sir. When I say a man is a * stun- 
 ner,' I mean he is about as good every way as he 
 ought to be, and a great deal better than most 
 men." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Buncombe, that is a little more than 
 I meant, and yet a little less. There is many a 
 character very fair to look upon, and, on the whole, 
 
144 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 very substantial and good ; but there ia perhaps a 
 little flaw, the fly in the pot of ointment, which 
 spoils everything. I was wondering whether there 
 wasn't something in the Rev. Mr. Vincent, some 
 small thing, perhaps, in his own estimation, that 
 might be a source of objection to others." 
 
 " My dear sir, if I do know what you are driving 
 at, let me set your mind at rest once for all. If you 
 take a full, square, steady look at the Pastor of 
 Crossberry you will probably come to the conclu- 
 sion that he's a man. If you put him under a 
 microscope you will probably see that he isn't an 
 angel. You won't find any wings, not even the 
 stumps. We are not microscopically inclined in 
 Crossberry, and we have an idea that few men would 
 look well-proportioned or handsome under a micro- 
 scope. We are content with our plain sense of 
 seeing. There, probably, will be a microscopical 
 examination of every one of us, some day; and, 
 with aU who undergo that successfully, it wiU be 
 well." 
 
 These just and discriminating sentiments, deliv- 
 ered hy Mr. Buncombe in his most emphatic tone, 
 were no doubt intended by that gentleman to wind 
 up the conversation, at least for the present. He 
 had no wish to submit to any further questioning 
 about "the elect of Crossberry," and he had no 
 wish to say so, in so many words, as he might give 
 
OP CLERICAL LIPE. 145 
 
 offence to his guests, whose good will, as a matter 
 of business, it was his bounden duty to cultivate. 
 He was in the act of rising from the table when Mr. 
 Duffy, who had his own game to play, and meant 
 to play it out fully, arrested him before the com- 
 pletion of that movement by observing :-^ 
 
 " What you say, Mr. Buncombe, may be correct 
 in the main. We are none of us perfect. Perhaps 
 no man would emerge from a microscopical examin- 
 ation without some marks being chalked up against 
 him ; but, you see, ministers occupy so conspicuous 
 and so responsible a position, that it is very neces- 
 sary they should be as near perfection as possible. 
 , Not only should they have unquestionable purity 
 and complete consecration, but the outward life 
 should, in all respects, be such as to " give no offence 
 in anything that the Ministry be not blamed." 
 
 " I am not quite sure, Mr. Duffy, whether I under- 
 stand you. You probably know more about these 
 matters than can fairly be expected from me. I 
 understand next to nothing of theological jargon 
 and hair-splitting. I am a plain man. I do not 
 profess to be a religious man, except so far as attend- 
 ing church may give me a title to that distinction. 
 I have to judge of things by such plain sense as I 
 happen to be possessed of. If you mean a minister 
 should be consistent, I agree with you ; but so ahould 
 every man, whether he is a minister or not. If you 
 
 K 
 
146 LIGHTS. AND SHADOWS 
 
 mean that he should be careful to have his example 
 tend in the direction of good, and not evil, I think 
 you are right ; but so should every man be so con- 
 cerned. If you think he should be right in every- 
 thing, according to what everybody may think is 
 right for him, I must beg leave to say that you are 
 stipulating for an impossible and an undesirable 
 attainment. If you mean that he is to be judged 
 by a higher and stricter law than that by which you 
 judge other people who stand on the same plane, and 
 make the same profession, I think you are totally 
 wrong. If you mean that he is never to appear as a 
 man of like passions with other men, in any circum- 
 stances, and under any stress of provocation, I think 
 you are very unreasonable. If you mean that one 
 man, or a number of men, have a right to set up a 
 standard of ideal rectitude and excellence, and judge 
 all his acts by that, I think you are making a mis- 
 take. If you mean that there is to be one law for 
 his church, and another law for him, I think you are 
 wrong. It isn't sense, sir ; I don't know whether 
 it's scripture or not. I have found, sir, that men, 
 present company of course excepted, are strongly 
 inclined to condemn in others, and especially in 
 ministers, what they secretly approve in themselves. 
 If a man be inclined to indolence, you may trust him 
 for detecting the same quality, and condemning it 
 in no measured terms, in others. If a man be 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 147 
 
 worldly-minded, fond of money, and all that sort of 
 thing, you wiU see with what righteous indignation 
 he will denounce others who have the same failing. 
 If a man be fond of power, and wants to rule every- 
 body, with what alacrity and vigor he will take up 
 the first stone, and cast it at his neighbor, whom he 
 imagines to be possessed of the same disposition. If 
 a man be suspected of a grave offence, get a jury 
 empannelled who are secret abettors of the same 
 crime, and you will be sure to have a verdict of 
 guilty pronounced. The bad are intolerant; the 
 good are charitable. The man who is good for 
 nothing, whether in the world or in the church, is 
 always grumbling, and finding fault ; while he v»ho 
 is usefully employed has no time for, and no tempt- 
 ation to, such undignified occupation. I heard a 
 sermon the other Sunday from the text : " He that 
 is without sin among you let him first cast a atone 
 at her," and a good sensible sermon it was, sir. I 
 think if that were acted upon there wouldn't be 
 much stone throwing." 
 
 At the conclusion of these remarks Mr. Duffy 
 was mum, and Mr. Slocum was ditto; so Mr. Bun- 
 combe seized the opportunity as a favorable one for 
 retiring. 
 
'■,. * ■ 
 
 148 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Pastor of Crossberry is interviewed by Mr. Duffy and Mr. 
 Slocum — Visit to Battlemount — "Bread cast upon the 
 waters" — Old Jehu, and his forebodings — The Grand 
 Occidental Railway — The Rev. Paul Vincent's first 
 appearance in the Battlemount pulpit — First impressions 
 — The Sabbath School — Pious tactics — Hezekiah Shan- 
 key sails under false colors — A rare treat — The Battle- 
 mount Music Hall, and the famous Prima Donna — 
 ** Home, sweet Home." 
 
 Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum spent the afternoon in 
 taking a quiet stroll round Crossberry, examining 
 the various objects of interest in the quaint old town, 
 and, as opportunity presented itself, making such 
 observations and enquiries, respecting the man 
 whose character and standing they had come to find 
 out on the sly, as they could. The result of their 
 benevolent activities was such as to leave a favorable 
 impression upon their minds regarding the Pastor. 
 He was evidently, they thought, entrenched in the 
 hearts and affections of the community at large. 
 All thought well of him, and spoke well of him. 
 They were further convinced he was a man of 
 marked individuality, irreproachable life, and for 
 
; . OF CLERICAL LIFE. 149 
 
 SO young a man, rare amplitude of powers. They 
 had already come to the conclusion that he was just 
 the man needed for che ^larger and more important 
 sphere in the city of Battlemount, if he could only 
 be secured; and to the accomplishment of this 
 desirable object they proposed to bend their influ- 
 ence and efforts. Were they not the angels, or 
 messengers, of the Church in Battlemount, invested 
 with due authority, and all needed discretionary 
 power in this matter? Certainly. Their honest 
 hearts swelled with deep emotion, w'len they reflected 
 upon the fact that they had been thought worthy 
 of so distinguished an honor, and so important a 
 trust. They would endeavor to discharge the duty 
 imposed on them judiciously and successfully. At 
 the close of the evening service, which they attended, 
 and with which they were again favorably impressed, 
 they walked with the Pastor to his home, and ob- 
 tained the promised interview. Embarrassment on 
 both sides was avoided by the Pastor at once 
 requesting his visitors, if they were so inclined, to 
 state their wishes. Mr. Duffy responded for him- 
 self and his friend Slocum. 
 
 " We come, sir, as perhaps you are already aware, 
 from the City of Battlemount. The church with 
 which I and my friend Mr. Slocum are connected is 
 in many respects an important one, but, unfortun- 
 ately, the pastorate has been vacant for more than 
 
150 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS / 
 
 twelve months. Many attempts have been made to 
 fill the vacancy, but all so far have ended in failure ; 
 in consequence of which we are getting quite dis- 
 couraged. We happened to hear of you through a 
 member of our church, who, having some relations 
 in Crossberry, was here on a visit, a few weeks ago. 
 She heard you well spoken of, and mentioned the 
 fact on her return. I must say for myself, and my 
 friend here will, I have no doubt, endorse my sen- 
 timents, that what' I have seen and heard to-day 
 has given me a very favorable impression of your 
 character and abilities. You seem to stand high in 
 the estimation and affections of the people here. If 
 you have no objection we shall be pleased to have 
 you pay Battlemount a visit, and preach for us, say 
 next Sunday, if you could make it convenient. I 
 am sure our friends would be glad to see you, and 
 accord you a hearty welcome." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, Mr. Duffy, for your 
 complimentary remarks regarding myself, and for 
 your kind invitation to visit Battlemount. Your 
 visit is unexpected, and a surprise to me. Whether 
 it would be wise for me to visit Battlemount, even 
 for one Sunday, under such conditions as you des- 
 cribe, and with my present views and feelings re- 
 garding my own church, it is somewhat difl&cult to 
 determine. You are wanting a pastor; I am not 
 wanting a church, having every reason to be satisfied 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 151 
 
 with the one I have. I should be very sorry if an 
 occasional visit to Battlemount should give rise to 
 any expectations that might not be realized. If my 
 going to preach for you for one Sabbath would be 
 a service which the fr'ends there would regard as a 
 benefit in its true light, and without reference to 
 any ulterior object, I should be willing. But I 
 should wish it to be distinctly understood that I 
 have no desire to be a candidate for the vacant of&ce. 
 In fact, I shall esteem it my duty to decline going, 
 if there be any danger of my visit being regarded in 
 that light." 
 
 - " Excuse me, sir, if I ask whether you are mova- 
 ble?" 
 
 " No, I am not movable, but when I say that, I don't 
 mean you to infer that I am immovable. I am not 
 movable in the ordinary acceptation of that word, 
 that of desiring a change in my pastoral relations. 
 I am not looking out for a change. I have no rea- 
 son to desire one. I am not immovable in this 
 sense. If God chose to show me that my work 
 here was done, and that it was His will I should 
 labor in another sphere in the future, I would not, I 
 trust, be disobedient to the heavenly monition. I 
 wish to subserve His will, here or elsewhere, as He 
 shall chose or direct. But I must say that I see 
 at present no indications of that kind. Every indi- 
 cation I can discern points to the duty of serving 
 
152 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 God here, and contentment with my present lot. 
 There is no discord among us. We preserve the 
 unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. My people 
 have no wish for a change, and I have none. No 
 minister can have a kinder or more appreciative 
 people than I have, and I think I am as much at- 
 tached to them as they are to me. I wish to treat 
 you courteously, gentlemen, but I wish also to be 
 plain, so that there may be no unfounded expecta- 
 tions, and no hopes which may prove illusory." 
 
 " You have no objections to preach for us next 
 Sunday, sir ? " 
 
 " No, I have no objection, if my doing so will be a 
 temporary advantage and service to the church; 
 but it must be upon the distinct understanding that 
 I am not a candidate for the vacant office." 
 
 With this explicit statement Mr. Duffy and Mr. 
 Slocum professed themselves well satisfied, and, bid- 
 ding the Pastor good-night, retired. 
 
 Perhaps no more discriminating observation was 
 ever made concerning the character of the Kev. 
 Paul Vincent than that one by Josiah Buncombe, 
 in his conversation with Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum : 
 — " If he says he'll do anything, you may make 
 your mind easy about its being done." It is to be 
 feared there are not a great number of whom this 
 can be with justice or truth said. Some there are, 
 it is true, who answer to the description, but many, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 153 
 
 very many, fall far short of it. Conscience in small 
 matters, as well as in great affairs, is of considerable 
 importance to the general convenience and happi- 
 ness of mankind. Untold misery is caused by faith- 
 lessness, not only in act, but in word. A man has 
 no more right to cause others to hope and confide 
 in him, and then abuse their confidence, than he has 
 to break the whole of the commandments in the 
 Decalogue. It is a moral delinquency of no small 
 dimensions to disappoint the just expectations of 
 others, when those expectations are fairly founded 
 upon explicit statements and distinct promises. A 
 man's word should be his bond in all the affairs of 
 life. " By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by 
 thy words thou shalt be condemned." If that 
 oracular, inspired sentiment means anything, it 
 means that a man will be held to a strict account 
 for his verbal, as well as his actual, faithlessness. 
 Some people, and it is to be feared a great many, 
 are very punctual in their unpunctuality, and very 
 faithful in their faithlessness. They are so faithful 
 that, out of ten things which they promise to do, 
 you may calculate to a certainty that nine will be 
 left undone. It is not always a want of heart ; it is 
 more frequently a want of thought, but that will 
 not be accepted as a valid excuse before that tri- 
 bunal from which there will be no appeal. 
 
 The Pastor of the Crossberry church was deeply 
 
154 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 imbued with these sentiments, and he sought to 
 regulate his life by them. He was ever wishful, as 
 a matter of principle, not to promise what he felt 
 ho could not, or would not, perform. On this 
 account he thought it his duty to be very explicit 
 in defining his position and intentions to Mr. Duffy 
 and Mr. Slocum. He gave them clearly to under- 
 stand, that they were to entertain no ulterior design 
 in connection with Ids visit to Battlemount. That 
 he simply meant to render a timely service to a 
 vacant church. It might seem presumptuous, on 
 his part, to offer these explanations in advance ; as 
 they seemed to take for granted that his visit would 
 produce a state of feeling in the Battlemount com- 
 munity, regarding himself, which the ultimate event 
 might not justify. This he fully realized, but, of 
 the two things, he preferred being thought a little 
 presumptuous to being regarded as in any wise 
 deceitful. He had a tender, conscientious regard 
 for the feelings of others, although perfect strangers 
 to him ; and he would not voluntarily excite hopes 
 that might not be realized. He had promised to 
 preach in Battlemount one Sabbath, with a distinct 
 proviso that nothing beyond that was to be expected 
 from him, and this service he would faithfully and 
 punctually render. Early in the week he com- 
 menced making the necessary preliminary arrange- 
 ments. With some difficulty he secured a supply 
 
OF CLERICAL UFE. 155 
 
 for his own pulpit in his absence. He despatched 
 a note to Mr. Slocum, notifying that gentleman of 
 the day and hour he might expect him at Battle- 
 mount Station, as he had promised to meet him if 
 so advised. The old valise, which had done good 
 service as a necessary adjunct in past preaching 
 expeditions, but which had been lying idle for some 
 considerable time, was again brought out of its 
 dusty hiding-place, and re-packed with a general 
 assortment of useful articles, from a tooth brush to 
 a good sermon in manuscript. 
 
 There was now a prospect of another ride with 
 old Simon on the box seat of the old tumble-down 
 coach to Crossberry Junction. 
 
 Saturday morning came, the day of departure, and 
 eight o'clock a.m. found the Pastor in front of the 
 Nag's Head, waiting for the old driver and his coach. 
 That worthy individual soon appeared, cracking his 
 whip, as usual ; blinking his old eyes, but not smack- 
 ing his lips. He had been induced to leave off that 
 constant imbibing of something hot, which invari- 
 ably induced the latter operation. He had become 
 a bfitter man than he was when he first made the 
 acquaintance of the Crossberry Pastor. After the 
 usual cry of " all right " he drove off, with his full 
 complement of passengers inside, and the Pastor 
 seated by his side. The old fellow's natural inclina- 
 tion to loquacity soon showoed itself. 
 
156 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 " Fine morning, sir. Long time since ye had a 
 ride wi' me, sir." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Jehu, it is nearly three years, now, 
 since I had occasion to go with you to Crossberry 
 Junction. Many things have happened in that 
 time — many changes." 
 
 " Yes, sir, there's been one change as may be you 
 don't know of. I be changed some, sir, thank God ! 
 I baint lonely now, sir, cause I hev Him near me 
 as says I be wi* ye always." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear that, Mr. Jehu. I have 
 noticed your regular attendance at the church with 
 satisfaction, and that some of your habits have 
 been modified, or dropped altogether; but I am 
 specially delighted to hear there has been an in- 
 ward change. That is indeed gratifying. How 
 long have you been the subject of this change ? " 
 
 " About six months, sir. I never said nothing to 
 nobody about it ; I just kept it to myself. I hev it, 
 sir. I know there is a change, but I be scarcely able 
 to understand it. Didn't ye preach the other Sunday, 
 sir, about there being a peace we can't understand ? '' 
 
 " Yes, I believe I did. It must be two or three 
 months ago." 
 
 " Wa'll that's it, sir. I be too old to understand 
 much, but I feel, sir ; I feel Jesus under me, and He's 
 carrying me, like. It's the in'ard evidence I hev, 
 and it's very comforting and sweet like. O 1 sir, it 
 
OF CLFTaCAL LIFE. 157 
 
 was a good day for me when ye came to Crossberry. 
 And Josiah, too ; he's different. I don't think he's 
 got the peace, but he's different, very different. Ye 
 baint going to leave Cros«berry, be ye, sir ? " 
 
 ** No, certainly not. I have no such intentions, at 
 present anyhow. Has some one been saying that I 
 am going to leave ? " 
 
 " Wa'U no, not exactly that, sir ; but ye be going to 
 preach at Battlemount, they say, sir." 
 
 " Yes, I am going to preach in Battlemount to- 
 morrow. I've engaged, to go and I am going; but I 
 expect to be back in a day or two." 
 
 " I be glad to hear that, sir. Don't stay, come 
 back soon, sir." 
 
 " Why, you seem quite concerned about my visit 
 to Battlemount, Mr. Jehu ; your manner betrays 
 more anxiety than your words even, and they are 
 tremulous enough. Come, old friend, out with it, 
 and tell me all you mean. Perhaps I can set your 
 mind at rest. If I can I shall be happy to d o so" 
 
 *' Wa'll, sir, I do be a little afraid. I like ye, sir, 
 very much, and so does Josiah, and all the folks do. 
 There's no family 'consam* now — that's done. 
 They're all one family about you, sir." 
 
 " Well, proceed my friend, you haven't come to 
 the end of your speech yet, I can see. Let me hear 
 it aU." 
 
 " Wa'll, sir, if I must, I want to say that may be 
 
158 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ye don't mean to stay in Battlemount long ; but 
 they may like ye, sir, as well as we do ; and they 
 might over-persuade ye like, and get ye to stay 
 longer ; and they might get to like ye so much as 
 they would wish ye to stay altogether. Now, I've 
 out with it, sir. That's what I be fearing." 
 
 " Well, I declare, Mr. Jehu, you are making me 
 feel a little afraid too. Your spirit of over-solici- 
 tude is infectious. However, you will see. I think 
 that I shall be back in Crossberry, where I like to 
 be, in three days from this time. That will do, 
 won't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. Glad to hear it, sir. God bless ye, 
 sir, and keep ye! '' 
 
 The old coach drew up at Crossberry Junction 
 just as the train for Battlemoun^^i steamed into the 
 station. There was not a moment to spare. The 
 Pastor shook the old driver warmly, but hurriedly, 
 by the hand, jumped down from the box seat 
 somewhat unceremoniously, made a direct line for 
 the ticket office, secured his ticket, and got into the 
 train just as it was moving off. He had a twelve 
 hours* ride before him, and, consequently, plenty of 
 time for reflection. He expected to reach Battle- 
 mount at nine p.m., barring unforeseen accidents. 
 
 Srugly ensconced in the corner of the carriage, 
 and with nothing particular to distract his attention, 
 he sinks into a musing mood. This is his general 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 159 
 
 habit, and forms one of his predominating character- 
 istics. It is a necessity of his nature to tliink. His 
 brain is ever active, ever at work at something. It 
 is a pleasure to him to think of the change in the 
 old driver ; that he doesn't feel lonely now, because 
 he has attained the friendship of One who is ever 
 near, and who " sticketh closer than a brother." 
 That one fact, if there was no other, is sufficient 
 compensation for all his toil in Crossberry. He has 
 been the honored instrument, and God the efficient 
 cause, of this moral transformation. He feels en- 
 couraged by this circumstance to sow beside all 
 waters, not knowing which shall prosper, whether 
 this or that. God is a sovereign, indeed ! He 
 thinks, with a slight touch of the melting mood, of 
 the old man's affection for himself personally ; and 
 then he thinks of another, who, although so holy and 
 so great, was not ashamed to call the poor and the 
 outcast His brethren ; He who came not to call the 
 righteous, but sinners to repentance. 
 
 Strong and masculine as his mind is, he yet can- 
 not wholly shake off the slight hovering conviction 
 which haunts him, namely, that the old man's fore- 
 bodings, in connection with this visit to Battle- 
 mount, may have a neasure of soundness and 
 reality in them. Who knows what lies in the 
 womb of the future ? Perhaps he is being led by a 
 way that he knows not, and in the direction of 
 
160 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 duties and trials of which he never dreams. And 
 yet, why should he dream of trial, or conjure up 
 fancied difficulties ? His lot, thus far, favored by a 
 gracious Providence, has been a happy one, and why 
 should it not so continue ? Yes, why ? He can ad- 
 duce no adequate reason, neither can any one ; and 
 yet how soon he may see a change — perhaps a com- 
 plete reversal of the plan of his life, — without seeing 
 the reason. Is this the end of all our boasted enlight- 
 enment in this nineteenth century, that we do not 
 know what a single day may bring forth ; that we can- 
 not, with any certainty, forecast the future, even to 
 the extent of that small fraction of time, a minute ? 
 It is even so. It is an indisputable, palpable, 
 everyday fact, and it is anything but gratifying to 
 our pride to recognize it. What do we know ? 
 Nothing absolutely, and certainly nothing per- 
 fectly. All present knowledge, grand and extensive 
 as it is said to be when compared with the acquire- 
 ments of past ages, is only an approximation. 
 Think of it in the light of a culture, which from its 
 very nature, must be eternally expansive, and it 
 sinks into nothingness visibly. Men are in the 
 habit, as a gratifying mental exercise, of comparing 
 the prodigiousness of the present with the compara- 
 tive diminutiveness of the past. The contrast, in 
 many respects, forms a picture that is pleasant to 
 look upon. It is gratifying to the feelings, and 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 161 
 
 feeds the natural vanity. It may be suggested, 
 however, that a more healthful exercise of this con- 
 trasting faculty would be to compare, as far as we 
 are able, the comparative diminutiveness of the 
 present with the grand and the eternally expanding 
 possibilities of the future. We should probably 
 get a less gratifying but a more correct estimate of 
 the present by looking forward than by looking 
 backward. There is wondrous philosophic instinct, 
 as well as devout poetic feeling, in the rapt excla- 
 mation of the Apostle : " O ! the depth of the riches 
 both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ; how un- 
 searchable are his judgments, and his Tvays past 
 finding out." 
 
 The journey to Battlemount was accomplished in 
 due course. There was an entire absence of those 
 interesting episodes which had characterized and 
 somewhat lightened the tedium of past journeys of 
 a similar nature, and for similar objects. Every- 
 thing had been as quiet and decorous as the greatest 
 recluse could desire. At half past nine p.m., half an 
 hour behind time, the train arrived at the terminus. 
 True to his promise Mr. Slocum was there to meet 
 Mr. Vincent, and he pounced upon him immediately 
 he alighted. Mr. Vincent looked round, expecting 
 to find an imposing looking station in so important 
 a centre as Battlemount, but he was miserably dis- 
 appointed. Instead of that he saw, as well as he 
 
 L 
 
162 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 could see by such dim light as was afforded, what 
 looked like an immense cattle shed, with part of the 
 two sides and one end knocked out. It seemed as 
 if some enthusiastic neophyte of an architect had 
 been at work, with the view of seeing how many 
 bricks he could use, without enclosing any definite 
 space ; or, as if he had strained his utmost energies 
 to rear a structure, which should be as unsuited as 
 possible for the specified purpose, combining repul- 
 siveness and inconvenience perfectly. Arriving at 
 night it would not be difficult for a stranger, by a 
 few stray steps, to get well nigh hopelessly lost, and 
 he would not be likely to extricate himself, until the 
 morning sun should deign to show him his exact 
 geographical location. Fortunately, for the Cross- 
 berry Pastor, Mr. Slocum was there to pilot him 
 through the dark labyrinths of that third-rate cattle 
 shed, technically called a depot. 
 
 " Is this the grand terminus of the Grand Occi- 
 dental Kail way, Mr. Slocum ?**' asked Mr. Vincent, in 
 a tone of undisguised surprise. 
 
 " Yes, I believe it is ; it is not quite all you ex- 
 pected, I presume ? " 
 
 " No, not quite. I confess I fail to see anything 
 answering to the epithet grand. I would like to 
 suggest to the directors of the Occidental, that they 
 have been somewhat unfortunate in the selection 
 of a name." 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 163 
 
 " I fear it would not avail much if you did. It is 
 too poor a concern Lo ue grand in reality, and they 
 want to preserve the grandeur in name." 
 
 " Well, I suppose, Mr. Slocum, that must be their 
 idea. Pity, though, they don't pay a little more 
 attention to the fitness of things. I wonder the res- 
 pectable inhabitants of this city don't protest against 
 such wretched accommodation." 
 
 " They do, but, so far, all protestations have been 
 of no avail." 
 
 "I suppose the official ear gets used to complaints 
 and they fail to produce any effect ?" 
 
 " That is about the state of the case, sir, I believe." 
 
 " But is there absolutely nothing grand about the 
 concern, Mr. Slocum ? " asked Mr. Vincent, with a 
 little insinuation in his tone. 
 
 " I don't know of anything, except the salaries of 
 a few leading officials. They are grand enough, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Well, I think that being the case the inhabi- 
 tants of Battlemount might, with propriety, suggest 
 a change in the name. Why not call it, * The Grand 
 Official Railway,^ or, what might be still better, 
 * Large Salaries and Small Dividends Railway Co., 
 Limited and Unlimited ?' " 
 
 The two gentlemen, walking arm-in-arm, as if they 
 had known each other for twenty years, emerged 
 from the station; and, as it was dark as pitch, 
 
164 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS -i'[,':'^r\.:': ^r:-^''.'' 
 
 and raining as if a second deluge threatened the 
 earth, Mr. Slocum called a cab in which they drove 
 off, and arrived at that gentleman's residence in about 
 ten minutes. 
 
 It is a slight inaccuracy to say * his residence,* 
 for Mr. Slocum was a young man, and unmarried, 
 and he had very respectable board, and all necessary 
 social convenience and attendance, in a very res-, 
 pectable family — for which no doubt he paid a very 
 respectable sum weekly, or monthly. Here, however, 
 as the honored guest of Mr. Slocum, Mr. Vincent 
 was to be domiciled during his temporary stay in 
 Battlemount. He took a little supper, which he 
 much needed after his long journey, and, after some 
 social chat^ retired to rest. Fortunately he slept 
 well, a thing which seldom happens under a strange 
 roof, and in a strange bed, and rose on the morrow, 
 feeling fresh and lively — ready to do battle, in a spi- 
 ritual way, with the powers of darkness in the Bat- 
 tlemount community, from the Battlemount pulpit. 
 Mr. Slocum accompanied him to church, as a mat- 
 ter of course, and, as he entered the vestry, Mr. Duf- 
 fy came forward, smiling, to receive him, and to 
 express the pleasure he felt at seeing him in the 
 portals of their honored sanctuary. Mr. Duffy also 
 did himself the pleasure of introducing him to sev- 
 eral other honored brethren of the Battlemount 
 Church, who were present, and evidently desirous 
 

 OF CLERICAL LIFE. . 165 
 
 of being introduced, — Mr. Hezekiah Shankey, Mr. 
 Duncan Smiler, Dr. Gammon, and Mr. John Chees- 
 man. These gentlemen, individually, expressed the 
 pleasure it afforded them of seeing the Eev. Mr. 
 Vincent amongst them, and hoped his visit might 
 prove pleasurable to himself, and spiritually profit- 
 able to the community. 
 
 The tones of a medium-sized organ began to 
 peal forth, which was a vocal reminder that it was 
 time to commence the service. Ascending a back, 
 gloomy, winding stairway, where it was absolutely 
 necessary to walk by faith and not by sight, the 
 platform was reached. Casting his eye round to 
 catch a glimpse of the dimensions of the edifice 
 and the number of the congregation he felt a sudden 
 chill seize him — that is, he felt anything but warm, 
 anything but that homely sensation he was accus- 
 tomed to feel when looking upon his congregation 
 in Crossberry. He saw that he was in an ecclesias- 
 tical edifice that was meant to be grand and impos- 
 ing. The architect had manifestly striven to carry 
 out the Gothic idea as much as possible, and he had 
 succeeded to the extent of producing a correct, but, 
 withal, a monotonous effect. From a casual, hurried 
 glance, he supposed the seating capacity was about 
 eight hundred, and the worshippers present about 
 one hundred. It was this, principally, that made 
 him feel a little chilly, because he had been accus- 
 
166 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 tomed to speak in a well-filled church, and to abont 
 five hundred eager listeners, every Sabbath. How- 
 ever, he roused himself, and resolved to do his duty 
 as faithfully and effectively as the state of his feelings 
 and the nature of his surroundings would admit of. 
 The event proved that his efforts gave more 
 satisfaction to his auditors than to himself. How- 
 ever, he had lived long enough to know that this 
 experience was not uncommon, and so was content 
 to be fairly satisfied with such imperfect service as 
 he had tried to render. 
 
 In compliance with the urgent request of Mr. 
 Shankey he visited the Sunday-school during its 
 afternoon session, and gave an address to the scholars 
 and teachers. He succeeded, happily, in enchain- 
 ing the attention of the little ones with a few plain, 
 useful truths, such as they could appreciate and 
 understand. He was impressed pretty much the 
 same with the school as he was with the congrega- 
 tion in the morning. The numbers were few, and 
 there seemed no manifestations of earnest purpose 
 or vigorous life. He was wise enough, however, to 
 make no remarks, answering to his feelings and ira • 
 pressions, for he knew that none object so strongly 
 to being told they are lifeless as those who answer 
 most fully to that description. 
 
 At the close of the school, Duncan Smiler drew 
 him aside for a few moments, with the view of 
 having a little confidential conversation. 
 
OF CLERICAL UFE. 167 
 
 This amiable gentleman smiled most winningly 
 and blandly upon him, and said : " I was very much 
 interested in your sermon this morning, Mr. Vin- 
 cent. Very good and profitable sermon it was. 
 Very applicable to our present position as a church. 
 Why, my dear sir, if you had known our exact cir- 
 cumstances, you could not have preached to us more 
 appropriately, or more acceptably." 
 i " I am very glad to hear you say so, Mr. Smiler. 
 It is satisfactory to know that the bow drawn at a 
 venture has hit the mark. If we preach the truth, 
 it will generally make its way and be found applic- 
 able." 
 
 " How do you like Battlemount, sir ? " 
 
 " Well, I am scarcely in a position to say. I was 
 never here h fore. This is my first visit, and I have 
 had but little opportunity of making any observa- 
 tions.'* 
 
 " You must look about the city to-morrow, and 
 see how you like it. We think it is beautiful for 
 situation, and although not * the joy of the whole 
 earth,' it is the joy of the inhabitants. They think 
 much of it, sir, and think it is something worth being 
 proud of. I trust you may like it so much as to 
 wish to settle here. We are in urgent need of a 
 pastor. Things have run down very much since 
 our late beloved pastor left us, and we wish to settle 
 again as ijoon as possible." 
 
168 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 " I fear, Mr. Smiler, I shall not be able to see much 
 of the beauties of Battlemount, architectural or other- 
 wise, as my present intention is to return to Cross- 
 berry by an early train to-morrow. As to the 
 pastorate of this church, I trust most sincerely you 
 may succeed in settling a suitable minister ; but I 
 must warn you kindly, but firmly, that it will not 
 be wise to cherish any expectations in relation to 
 myself. I have every reason to be content with 
 my present church, and have no adequate reason for 
 desiring a change ; neither do I desire one." 
 , Whether Mr. Smiler was pleased or displeased 
 by this plain open avowal it is difficult to say. It 
 is but fair to observe, however, that he smiled very 
 blandly as usual, but without venturing any further 
 remark upon the subject. 
 
 At the close of the evening service, which, it must 
 be candidly confessed, was but slimly attended, as. 
 in the morning, Mr. Vincent was again besieged by 
 a number of prominent members of the church, — 
 Mr. Shankey, Mr. Smiler, Mr. Slocum, Mr. Dufiy 
 and Mr. Cheesman. After expressing their high 
 appreciation of the services of the day, Mr. Shankey 
 ventured the query : 
 
 " Could you make it convenient, Mr. Vincent, to 
 supply the pulpit again next Sunday ? " 
 
 " No, I am sorry to say I could not. When I say 
 I could not, I do not mean that it is impossible for me 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 169 
 
 to render such a service, if the circumstances were 
 such as to make it advisable. I do not wish, neither 
 do I think it prudent, to be away from my own 
 pulpit next Sabbath." 
 
 "Could you come and preach for us again, 
 say a few weeks hence ?" mildly suggested Mr. Duffy. 
 
 " I think it would not be advisable to do so, and I 
 must therefore decline, and for this reason : If I 
 were to come and preach here again a few Sundays 
 hence, such a proceeding might occasion unpleasant 
 surmises with my own people. They might think 
 I was wishing to effect a change, and I should be 
 sorry to give them that impression." 
 
 " Could you not stay a day or two, and preach at 
 our regular Wednesday evening service ? " asked Mr. 
 Cheesman. 
 
 " No, I must decline that too. I have a special 
 engagement in connection with my own church on 
 that night, and I feel I ought not to neglect it." 
 
 " You surely must stay to-morrow over," said Mr. 
 Slocum, " as I have reserved for you what I hope 
 you will regard as a rare pleasure, the nature of 
 which I will explain presently." 
 
 " And," said Mr. Shankey, I wUl, if you will allow 
 me, call for you to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, 
 and take you for a pleasant drive round the city, so 
 that you may have an opportunity of judging what 
 Battlemount is." 
 
170 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Mr. Vincent, whatever his wishes or intentions 
 might be, could not decline these unsolicited favors 
 without seeming churlish, and so he consented to 
 remain over Monday, and leave for Crossberry on 
 Tuesday morning. 
 
 These six gentlemen then emerged from the 
 church and separated, Mr. Cheesman volunteering to 
 walk along with Mr. Vinpent to Mr. Slocum's lodg- 
 ings, on the plea that his own home lay in the same 
 direction. Hesoon began to expatiate, with consider- 
 able volubility and earnestness, upon the grand possi- 
 bilities of Battlemount as a sphere of labor ; the pre- 
 sent destitute and well nigh hopeless condition of the 
 church, on account of being so long without a pas- 
 tor ; what they were prepared to do for the right 
 man, if they could get him; and ending up with an 
 emphatic assurance that he believed, and many others 
 believed, that the right man was by his side, if only 
 he would begin to take the matter into consideration 
 as at least one of the possibilities of the future. 
 To all of which Mr. Vincent thought it prudent to 
 make no positive reply. He could not help think- 
 ing at that moment of the old driver's forebodings 
 and prognostications. By some mysterious process 
 the old man's instinctive affection had enabled him 
 to divine the truth a little way ahead. Here he 
 was, in spite of himself, surrounded by those very 
 pertinacious pleadings and circumstances which 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 171 
 
 Simon Jehu had predicted ; and what might further 
 transpire, as the result thereof, who could tell. 
 
 True to his word, Hezekiah Shankey called for 
 Mr. Vincent on the morrow, for the ostensible pur- 
 pose of giving him a perambulating view of Battle- 
 mount, and a pleasant drive in his one-horse buggy. 
 We say, the ostensible purpose advisedly, and 
 without malice aforethought, for the real one was 
 soon sufficiently manifest for the most obtuse mental 
 vision to see. Mr. Shankey was what is called a 
 cute man, and he took great pride in being thought 
 such by others as well as himself. To be " smart " 
 was the climax of his ambition. On this occasion 
 it was soon evident to Mr. Vincent that Hezekiah 
 Shankey was sailing under false colors. He was 
 pretending to afford him a pleasure by taking him 
 for a drive, while his real object was, evidently, that 
 of getting to know as much as possible of his views 
 and feelings regarding some questions which were 
 deemed important. The Crossberry Pastor, for- 
 tunately, had nothing to conceal, was naturally frank 
 and open, and, therefore, not likely to suffer any loss 
 from the close scrutiny of his self-constituted critic. 
 While Mr. Shankey was all the time nervously 
 twitching the reins, biting his finger-nails and jerk- 
 ing out questions, Mr. Vincent was enabled to pay 
 sufficient attention, and give such plain answers as 
 did not wholly divert his attention from surrounding 
 
172 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 objects. He saw enough to convince him that 
 Battleraount was, in many respects, a fine city, and, 
 as Duncan Smiler had said, " beautiful for situ- 
 ation." 
 
 The rarest and most exquisite pleasure was* 
 however, reserved for the evening — that of going to 
 hear the fair Scandinavian Prima Donna. That 
 pleasure was contrived by the ingenious brain, and 
 paid for out of the liberal purse, of Mr. Slocum. 
 There was a brilliant arfd fashionable assembly in 
 the Music Hall that night, which was the first and 
 last appearance of that famous personage in Battle- 
 mount. There was a rare muster of various talent, 
 bat all "paled their ineffectual fires " before the star 
 of the evening. All had paid their money, which 
 was by no means inconsiderable, to hear the world- 
 famed songstress warble her sweetest notes. She 
 appeared, clad with the most exquisite taste, radiant 
 with smiles, and decked, not immoderately or osten- 
 tatiously, with diamonds that flickered and flashed 
 their perennial fires. Her first appearance was 
 greeted with a perfect ovation, and, after acknow- 
 ledging the comphment in a graceful manner, and 
 smiling very winningly and gratefully upon the 
 audience, she gave a sweet and heart-thrilling render- 
 ing of " Angels ever bright and fair." That song, in 
 such a setting, became to the Crossberry Pastor ever 
 afterwards an undying and fragrant remembrance. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 173 
 
 Never before had he heard such a specimen of what 
 the human voice, combined with a cultivated tasto, 
 can accomplish. It was the perfection of vocal har- 
 mony and sweetness. It lifted him into such a state 
 of high spiritual feeling and poetic ravishment as he 
 had never before experienced. What, he thought, 
 will be my sensations, when for the first time I hear 
 ten thousand times ten thousand more gifted and 
 far sweeter sing the song of the Lamb before the 
 Everlasting Throne. The encore brought out an 
 exquisite rendering of ** Home, Sweet Home." Home 
 had never felt so sweet and precious to him as then, 
 while under the delicious enthrallment of those plain 
 homely sentiments, vivified bj' the tones of that 
 matchless voice. That night in the Battlemount 
 Music Hall was to the Eev. Paul Vincent a sweet 
 and undying memory. It was " a thing of beauty," 
 and fit to be •' a joy forever." One heart, at least, 
 was perpetually grateful to the fair Scandinavian. 
 
 " Mr. Slocum," said Mr. Vincent, as he and that 
 gentleman were leaving the Hall that night, " please 
 accept my eternal gratitude for the thoughtfulness 
 and liberality which have afforded me so rich and 
 exceptional a pleasure this evening." 
 
 The next morning found Mr. Vincent in the 
 grand terminus of the Grand Occidental Railway, 
 waiting for the train to convey him to Crossberry 
 Junction. In the evening he had the pleasure of 
 finding himself in his own sweet home. 
 
174 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ■;,^v;v;.i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Battleinount geographically considered — A peep behind the 
 scenes — The wise men of the East hold an important 
 consultation — A forlorn hope — Mesort?. Shankey, Smiler 
 and Cheesman express tiieir Rcntiments — A deputation 
 appointed — Some things pertaining to the past history of 
 the Battlemount Church. 
 
 The precise geographical location of the city of 
 Battlemount may be broadly but indefinitely indi- 
 cated by the statement, that it formed the Eastern 
 Terminus of the Grand Occidental Railway. This 
 railway (every individual shareholder in which 
 knew something experimentally of "hope deferred 
 which maketh the heart sick ") winded its serpentine 
 course, from west to east, a distance of many hun- 
 dred miles. The section of country contiguous to 
 and surrounding its Eastern Terminus was denomin- 
 ated Eastern as distinguished from the Western. 
 Battlemount was an Eastern city, its inhabitants 
 were Eastern men, its churches Eastern churches, 
 its associations, conventions, convocations, whether 
 social, political, or ecclesiastical, were Eastern. It 
 was a convenient epithet for describing things in 
 general, and was universally adopted, and well 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 175 
 
 understood. As wisdom came from the East eighteen 
 hundred years ago to worship at the shrine of Per- 
 fect Goodness, it was not altogether unnatural or 
 surprising that the inhabitants of Battleniount 
 should deem themselves specially endowed with 
 that attribute, which was the distinguishing char- 
 acteristic of the Magi. That wisdom was somehow 
 indigenous to the East was a comforting reflection, 
 and that they, in consequence, were wise, was a 
 proposition received by them with a beautiful, un- 
 questioning, and unwavering faith. Hezekiah 
 Shankey was regarded by many as one of the wisest 
 of the wise. He had somehow, and by some means, 
 acquired among his brethren the reputation of being 
 more than ord' arily shrewd, intelligent, sagacious, 
 long-headed. In personal appearance and mental 
 and moral characteristics, he was the exact fac-simile 
 of Mortimer Shelbume of Shepherdston. He might 
 have passed as the twin brother of that gentleman, 
 so much was he like him. He was exceedingly 
 fond of power, coupled with an opinion of himself 
 that bore the stamp of being undoubted and favor- 
 able. 
 
 No sooner was the Crossberry Pastor departed 
 than this sagacious individual called together a few 
 of his more immediate confreres, to consult with him 
 regarding matters of pressing and paramount impor- 
 tance relating to the church in general, and the 
 
176 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 • 
 
 settlement of a pastor in particular. Among those 
 who responded to the call were Duncan Smiler, Dr. 
 Gammon, Eollo Duffy, Alexander Slocum and John 
 Cheesman. In Hezekiah Shankey's big parlor, at 
 Hezekiah Shankey's special and particular request, 
 did these gentlemen meet. .-:■'' ^ • 
 
 Mr. Shankey, who, be it observed, was natural- 
 ly of a sanguine temperament, was nevertheless 
 on this occasion somewhat despondent. He intro- 
 duced the business by observing, that there were 
 some things weighing considerably upon his mind. 
 He felt saddened by the reflection that the church 
 was in such a low condition financially, numerically, 
 ppiritually. Perhaps, if they could succeed in set- 
 tling a suitable pastor speedily, they might get a 
 reaction, and taste of the sweets of revival and 
 prosperity once more. He had very serious doubts, 
 however, and was by no means sanguine. They 
 had tried a good many men during the past twelve 
 months, but all negotiations looking toward a set- ' 
 tlement had thus far proved unavailing. For his 
 part he had almost ceased to hope. Perhaps God 
 was displeased with them, and had forsaken them. 
 As to the Eev. Mr. Vincent, he liked him 
 very much, and he might do for the position, and 
 might eventually succeed, if he could be induced 
 to come to Battlemount, and settle as pastor : 
 but they knew that they had no particular encoui- 
 
OF CLEBICAL LIFE. 177 
 
 agement in that direction. He was evidently not 
 desiring, or seeking a new settlement. He felt also 
 that he was a man of marked individuality, and 
 would not be trifled with ; and should they succeed 
 in securing him, they would, possbily, have to be 
 somewhat more guarded and generous in their treat- 
 ment. He had, however, no expectations that they 
 could secure him, but still as it seemed to be the 
 last chance, a sort of forlorn hope, he had no objec- 
 tions to unite with others in trying what could be 
 done. * ■ ■ 
 
 Mr. Chcesraan was a little more hopeful in his 
 tone of remark. He even had the temerity to quietly 
 chide his brother Shankey for his despondent atti- 
 tude. Said he, in his blunt, bluff way, — " I don't see, 
 brethren, why we should be so much discouraged 
 and cast down. In faju, I think I see a reason 
 why we should be somewhat the reverse of that. 
 True, as a church we have been somewhat depleted 
 of late by certain defections, and discouraged by 
 many failures ; but we must try to stimulate our 
 waning spirits and take courage. What we want 
 is a good pastor settled over us as soon as possible, 
 and, in my humble judgment, the Eev. Mr. Vincent 
 is just the man we need. I am aware he has given 
 us little or no encouragement, but let us take little 
 notice of that, and try all we can to get him, by 
 hook or by crook. Go for him strong. Offer every 
 
 M 
 
178 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ' possible inducement. Use all available means and 
 influences. Offer him a big salary, and trust to the 
 qhapter of accidents for raising it. True, we have 
 ' failed in many previous cases, but we may succeed 
 in this. We must succeed. We must make up 
 our minds to do so. We will take no denial. Let 
 us preserve a confident attitude, and go forward and 
 win. What depresses brother Shankey, stimulates 
 me. I feel, like him, that it is about our last chance, 
 a kind of forlorn hope, and therefore we should 
 resolve to make the venture successful. If we 
 succeed in securing the Rev. Mr. Vincent as our 
 pastor, I predict a glorious future for our church ; 
 the walls of Zion will be rebuilt ; the waste places 
 will be inhabited ; the desert will blossom as the 
 rose ; and we may yet become a creditable christian 
 community, and a great power in Battlemount ; and 
 cease to be, what we have been in the past, a by- 
 word and a reproach." 
 
 Duncan Smiler, smiling very blandly and patron- 
 izingly, as was hig wont, thus delivered himself : — 
 
 " I heartily and fully reciprocate the sentiments 
 already expressed by my honored brethren, Mr. 
 Shankey and Mr. Cheesman. Our church has, 
 indeed, sunk into a very low condition. We need 
 a pastor to build us up again. It is very necessary 
 we should get the right man, and I, w. th others, 
 sincerely believe the Rev. Mr. Vincent to be that 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 179 
 
 man. But can we get him ? Is there the shadow 
 of a probability of our being so fortunate ? Is he 
 likely to accept a call, if we induce the church to 
 extend him one ? Like brother Shankey, I am far 
 from being sanguine about this. So far as I 
 know, or have the means of knowing, we have no 
 encouragement from our reverend brother in that 
 direction. In fact he has discouraged us. I 
 took the liberty to sound him upon the matter, 
 very cautiously but very decidedly, and he gave me 
 clearly to understand that he was far from wishing 
 a change in his pastoral relations. He was very 
 courteous, but very firm in his tone. He seems a 
 very honest man ; likely to say precisely what he 
 means and feels ; and my deliberate conviction is 
 that he has no wish for a change, and no occasion 
 for it. But then, what are we to do ? What is to 
 become of our church ? We are getting weaker 
 and fewer every day; and it would seem that 
 nothing but the settlement of a good pastor would 
 stem the downward tendency, cause us to hope, 
 and revive us again. It does seem unfortunate 
 that, having tried so many who might have come if 
 we had deemed them suitable, we should receive so 
 little encouragement from one who seems in every 
 respect eminritly suited to the position. Never- 
 theless, let us cheer up, brethren, bid adieu 
 to despondency, and try what we can do. We 
 
180 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 may, and as brother Cheesman says, we must succeed' 
 It is a forlorn hope, and fortune may favor us if only 
 we are brave. In order to give onr deliberations a 
 practical turn I would suggest, nay if necessary I 
 would move, that our two trusted brethren, Mr. 
 Duffy and Mr. Slocum, wait upon the Kev. Mr. 
 Vincent in person, and use their best influence to 
 induce him to take the matter into consideration of 
 accepting a call to the pastorate of this church." 
 
 This practical proposition was endorsed and sup- 
 ported by Dr. Gammon, Mr. Shankey and "Mr. 
 Cheesman ; and Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum not un- 
 willingly undertook the execution of the onerous 
 task imposed upon them by their brethren. 
 
 The only speech that calls for any observation is 
 the one made by Mr. Cheesman. He was one of 
 those rough and ready sort of men who not 
 unfrequently blurt out important truth unin- 
 tentionally and unsuspectingly. TJiere was much 
 significance in the latter part of his remark, 
 as pertaining to the past history of the Battle- 
 mount church. Unfortunately, its record, from 
 the very beginning, had been such as to make 
 it a by-word and a reproach. For years, it had been 
 the scene of division and intestine strife ; and these 
 constantly recurring ebullitions of brotherly love 
 had kept the church small and uninfluential. It 
 might have been a very strong church if unity had 
 been the rule of its life ; but the reverse of this was 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 181 
 
 the fact, and hence weakness, reproach and shame 
 formed its lot. " Unstable as water, thou shalt not 
 excel," had been literally, and with tremendous 
 judicial force, fulfilled in its experience. Its whole 
 history did not extend over many years, but its 
 pastors had been many. It was a significant and 
 admonitory fact, to any who happened to know the 
 dread secret, that the average pastorate had not 
 exceeded two years. The records of the church 
 showed clearly enough that the habit of getting rid 
 of pastors less ceremoniously than they got them 
 had been reduced to a system. 
 ' One beloved pastor had been subjected to what is 
 technically called the starving out process. Those 
 who wished him gone, for some reason or for no 
 reason at all, reduced their subscriptions or stopped 
 them altogether ; and he had the satisfaction of 
 seeing his meaus of subsistence grow beautifully 
 less day by day. With the fortitude of a philoso- 
 pher and the heroism of a Christian, he met this 
 constant shrinkage in his income by a corresponding 
 shrinkage in his homely diet. " We must make the 
 porridge a little thinner," was a favorite expression 
 of his, when informed that the quarterage was less 
 than he had a right to expect. 
 
 Another beloved pastor ha I the grim satisfaction 
 of having the door locked in his face, with a blunt 
 intimation to go elsewhere, and get his aixears of 
 
182 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 salary as best he could, and trust in Providence in 
 the meantime. Such a mode of augmentation, 
 being of the brute kind, was of course, simply un- 
 answerable. He submitted to physical necessity 
 and moved off; and his faithful adherents gathered 
 around him in an upper room, listened to his minis- 
 trations, and supported him as best they could. 
 
 All this and more was, however, as unknown to 
 the'^ Crossberry Pastor as to the babe unborn ; and it 
 evidently formed no. part of the plan of the wise 
 men to inform him of the disagi'eeable facts. 
 Whether ignorance was bliss, will be seen more 
 clearly as the narrative advances. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Battleinount church theoretically and practically con- 
 eidered — "Angels hovering round" — The Crossberry 
 Pastor again interviewed by Messrs. Duffy and Slocunj— 
 Some things of general application — The call to Battle- 
 mount — " In a straight betwixt two " — A trying ordeal — 
 Light dawns — A painful surprise — Resignation — The call 
 . to Battlemount accepted — Squire Rosewood cannot say: 
 « Thy will be done." 
 
 The Battlemount church, like other churches of the 
 same faith and order, was technically and theoreti- 
 cally a spiritual democracy ; that is, all legislative 
 and executive functions were supposed to be exer- 
 cised by the whole body of the members. A show 
 of this was generally made on all fitting occasions, 
 but it was a show, not a reality. Actually, the 
 many were ignored and the few, who were deemed 
 wise, ruled. It is necessary to bear these facts in 
 mind in order to understand the complete self-com- 
 placency and self-conscious authority which char- 
 acterized the proceedings of Mr. Shankey and his 
 confreres in the last chapter. It never once occurred, 
 to them that, possibly, some who had not been con- 
 sulted might not wholly endorse their proceedings. 
 
184 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 It was a contingency upon which they were not in 
 the habit of reckoning ; so engrossed and imtisfied 
 were they with their own self-constituted authority. 
 They represented the pith, marrow, money, brains 
 and energy of the church ; and, therefore, it was 
 only right, they thought, that, while conceding to 
 others a nominal right to have a voice in the 
 management of affairs, they, in fact, should lead and 
 hold sway. They had no doubt that if they could 
 get the Crossberry Pastor to promise to accept a 
 call, they could, by the exercise of their great moral 
 influence, weld the church into such a state of 
 acquiescence as to insure the giving of one, and that 
 unanimously. They had always managed the 
 matter that way before, and there could be no ques- 
 tion about its being so managed again. It will, 
 therefore, be seen by a process of reasoning per- 
 fectly transparent to all docile minds that when 
 Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum were commissioned by 
 their confreres to confer with the Kev. Mr. Vincent, 
 in regard to accepting a call, i was just the same, 
 practically, as if they had been so commissioned by 
 the whole church. 
 
 Armed with such undoubted and paramount 
 authority, Mr. Duffy and Mr. Slocum flew on the 
 wings of the morning, and on the wings of a locomo- 
 tive, along the track of " The Grand Occidental," and 
 in due course alighted at Crossbei lunction. The 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 185 
 
 old tumble-down coach and Simon Jehu took them, 
 at a much slower pace, to Crossberry. They occupied 
 seats inside the coach, and thus escaped the eagle 
 eyes and loquacious enquiries of the old driver. 
 They meant to discharge their mission quietly, but 
 pertinaciously. Alighting from the coach at the 
 Nag's Head, a few minutes* brisk walking brought 
 them to the Pastor's residence, which lay at the 
 western extremity of the town. They agreed, 
 between themselves, that Mr. Duffy should do the 
 talking, while Mr. Slocum remained silent. A most 
 unmistakable pull at the bell brought the servant to 
 the door. 
 
 " Was the Rev. Mr. Vincent at home ? " 
 
 " Yes. Please walk in." 
 
 The Pastor, at that moment, emerged from his study, 
 and with some surprise, yet with great cordiality, 
 received them. Mr. Duffy, who prided himself 
 upon his business capacity and his judicial training, 
 at once proceeded to explain the object of their visit. 
 
 " It affords me considerable pleasure, my dear sir, 
 to inform you that I and my friend and brother, Mr. 
 Slocum, have been so far honored with the confi- 
 dence of the church in Battlemount, that we have 
 been requested to wait upon you, personally, with 
 the view of using what powers of persuasion we 
 have, to induce you to take into consideration the 
 practicability of accepting a call. It is the opinion 
 
186 LIGHT'S AND SHADOWS 
 
 t 
 
 of many, upon whose judgment we are accustomed 
 to rely, that you are exactly suited to the vacant 
 position ; and we are certainly empowered to say 
 that a call will be immediately given if you will 
 give us any encouragement in that direction. As 
 you have refused to come before the church as a 
 candidate, in the regular way, this method of pro- 
 cedure is the only one left to us, and our necessity 
 must be our excuse for intruding ourselves and the 
 subject upon you, at this time." "■ 
 
 " Your visit, gentlemen," said the Pastor, "and the 
 object of it, alike take me by surprise. I must say 
 that my visit to Battlemount, although a pleasure to 
 me in many respects, — and especially was I indebted 
 to the liberality of Mr. Slocum for a very rare grati- 
 fication, — has not begotten in me a desire for a change 
 in my pastoral relations. I have a loving, appreciative, 
 praying, liberal people here, whom I do not wish to 
 leave, i have been greatly blessed. I am as happy 
 and useful as any ordinary minister can expect to be, 
 and I am, what is not always the case, fully content- 
 ed with my present lot. I do not undervalue your 
 good opinion, nor the flattering estimate placed 
 upon my slender abilities by those whom you repre- 
 sent ; but I cannot see how I can, with my present 
 views and feelings, give you any encouragement in 
 the matter upon which you and your brethren have 
 set your hearts. Did I see any immediate, or even 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 187 
 
 prospective cause for a change, the case might soon 
 assume a different phase, and a more hopeful one 
 for you. But this I fail to see. To give definite 
 encouragement, under such circumstances, would be 
 trifling with you, and this I would scorn to do, 
 as being below the dignity of a man and a minis- 
 ter." 
 
 At the conclusion of these observations Mr. Duffy 
 and Mr. Slocum eyed each other curiously and 
 somewhat doubtfully. There was a passing cloud, 
 evidently. It passfd, hov/ever, almost instantly, 
 and re-assurance supervened. As plainly as eye 
 could speak to eye, Mr. Slocum conjured his friend 
 Duffy to go for the pastor again strong, and with 
 newer and more cogent arguments. So Mr. Duffy 
 resumed: — -;^'^;> ; ^ -i ..^^.in. 
 
 " What you say, my dear sir, I have no doubt is 
 strictly and impartially true in every particular. 
 You are too transparently honest to misrepresent 
 your own feelings, or those of others. You are con- 
 tented with your present lot, and your people are 
 deeply attached to you. There is no desire or cause 
 for change on either side. This is a gratifying 
 state of things, very gratifying. We cannot w^ell 
 reason from your present relations to a change, but 
 let us look at our side of the question, and see what 
 arguments it may furnish to influence and mould 
 your decision. Battlemount has more than ten 
 
188. " LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 times the population o'l Crossberry, consequently it 
 offers a much wider sphere for the exercise of your 
 abilities, which, allow me to say, are of no mean 
 order. It is, too, a centre of considerable influence, 
 in relation to other churches of our denomination. 
 Upon its vigor and welfare depend, in no small 
 measure, the life and usefulness of other related 
 and affiliated bodies. Thus, denominationally, we 
 occupy a conspicuous, important, and responsible 
 position. The man who is destined to be honored of 
 God, in building up the Battlemount church, will 
 not only effect great good in his immediate sphere, 
 but he will be vastly useful to the churches in the 
 region round about. Our growth will be their 
 strength. This is, I submit, an important consider- 
 ation. And then, although it is somewhat humi- 
 liating to refer to this aspect of the case, we have so 
 far been uniformly unsuccessful in settliiij^ a pastor, 
 and this has been highly detrimental to our growth 
 and prosperity. Happily you came, saw, and con- 
 quered, at once. We would gladly welcome you. 
 In you we should all be able to unite. You would 
 be received with open arms as the sent of God. 
 Your coming would be the signal for the resuscita- 
 tion of an important christian community to renewed 
 life and enlarged usefulness. Let me suggest to 
 you, my dear sir, whether such circumstances may 
 not be a call of God to you, to personal sacrifice, 
 and increasing honor and usefulness." 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 189 
 
 " I confess, Mr. Duffy, that you have made out a 
 strong case. You have marshalled your arguments 
 with considerable dexterity and effect. I admit 
 their force in a measure, but T am not fully satis- 
 fied. I do not see the matter wholly as you see it. 
 If I did, my way would be much clearer. I can- 
 not say your arguments are inconclusive, inappli- 
 cable, or fallacious. I sympathize with you most 
 heartily. I wish some suitable man could be found 
 to fill, worthily and successfully, so important a 
 position. I wish vacant churches would turn their 
 attention to pastors who are without a charge, or 
 sincerely desirous, for proper and sufficient reasons, 
 for a change, instead of looking to ministers who 
 are comfortably and satisfactorily settled. This is 
 a great and growing evil. Too often the settlement 
 of one church simply means the undettlement of 
 another equally important, and thus no real pro- 
 gress is made. You rob Peter to pay Paul, and 
 then Peter robs somebody else to pay himself; and 
 thus the thing goes on endlessly and confusedly. 
 This is neither politic nor right. The better plan 
 would be for the vacant churches to look, first, to 
 the vacant pastors to supply their needs. Our 
 democratic principles, right enough in themselves, 
 have been developed to the point of absurdity, 
 inconvenience, and impracticableness. Our inde- 
 pendency has run to seed. There would be no 
 
% 
 
 190 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 • harm in cutting it back a little. It would be a 
 positive god to dwarf it somewhat. Some check 
 is required. Some strong hand should be stretched 
 out to stop its weed-like growth. It is bringing 
 itself into contempt, by the wonderful exuberance 
 of its leaves and the paucity of its fruit." 
 
 Mr. DufTy wisely abstained from following the 
 Pastor in these generalities, however excellent they 
 might be ; his design being to keep him, if possible, 
 at the main point ; and so he asked, with a percep- 
 tible touch of concern in his tone : , 
 "Would you, sir, accept a call to Battlemount, 
 if such call were unanimously extended to you ? " ' 
 " I am far from being able to say that I would." 
 " Would you give such a call a fair, deliberate, 
 and candid consideration ? " ^ ^ -' 
 
 "As a gentleman, a Christian, and a christian 
 minister, I should certainly be bound in duty so to 
 do." 
 
 " Can you give us any intimation that a call 
 might be favorably considered by you ? " 
 
 " No, I cannot give you such an intimation, 
 be(?ause I am far from being favorably disposed 
 towards it at present ; or rather, which will be the 
 more accurate statement of the two, — I am far from 
 being favorable to relinquishing my present posi- 
 tion. I do not wish to leave Crossberry." 
 
 " We purpose, my dear sir, giving a considerable 
 salary." 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 191 
 
 " That may be, I do not doubt it." 
 " A salary fully equal to the position a minister, 
 in the city of Battlemount, will be called to 
 
 occupy." . ,^^', ;.^i. .., =1 . . 
 
 " Yes, I have no doubts about your kind inten- 
 tions, or your liberality." <.? i.i iitv «, vvi - . ,' 
 
 " Such a sphere would afford you larger possibili- 
 ties of usefulness, and it might add something in the 
 way of social distinction." ^ ' 
 
 " I care little about social distinction. Useful- 
 ness I trust I shall ever value aft its full worth." 
 
 "Could you not give us one word that might 
 cause us to hope, and be good news to our brethren 
 who sent us on this delicate and difficult mission ? " 
 
 " Above all things, gentlemen, I must keep with- 
 in the limits of honesty and truth, even at the risk 
 of seeming unkind. I wish you well, I wish the 
 church you represent well, I wish your great and 
 pressing want could be supplied, and that soon. 
 I wish sincerely it could be supplied without dis- 
 turbing my present relations. If I could be two 
 men, you should have the second man, but that 
 cannot be. I do not wish to restrict your move- 
 ments, or put a bar upon the action of the church. 
 Do what you think is right, and trust in God, 
 Whatever you do, or do not, you may be assured 
 of honest and, as far as possible, considerate treat- 
 ment from me. Promises I will not make; fairness 
 
192 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 and true kindness you shall have. Act according 
 to your best judgment, and leave me perfectly free 
 to act as God's wisdom may guide me, in any 
 contingency that may arise. Gentlemen, with the 
 kindliest sentiments toward you, more than this 
 I cannot, i.iust not, will not say." 
 
 These ejuphati^. sentiments, uttered kindly but 
 iirmly, signalized the close of the interview. Mr. 
 Duffy and Mr. Slocum concluded they had accom- 
 plished all they could, though not all they desired. 
 They retired, thanking the Pastor for his urbanity 
 and honesty, and concluded by expressing a hope 
 that he might be induced, by a higher power, to 
 consider, favorably, an overture that might be made 
 to him in the course of a week, or ten days. These 
 last words sounded somewhat ominously in the 
 Pastor's ears, as he listened to the retreating foot- 
 steps of his interrogators along his well-kept gravel 
 walk. Notwithstanding so many protestations on 
 his part of a wish not to be disturbed in his present 
 relations and sphere, they seemed bent upon putting 
 him to the final test, that of extending a call. In 
 ten days the document came, from which resulted, 
 in the mysterious future, very important conse- 
 quences. 
 
 Battlemount, Sep. 13, 18—. 
 Eev. Paxil Vincent. , 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 It is my pleasure, as well as my duty, to inform you that, 
 in accordance with a notice duly given, a large and influential 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 193 
 
 meeting of the Church in Battlemount was held last evening. 
 At the said meeting it was resolved unanimously, and most 
 enthusiastically, that you should be invited to the pastorate 
 of the church/ and that the salary should be at the rate of 
 ' per annum. 
 We sincerely hope, and ardently trust, that you may see it 
 your duty to accept of this invitation, and that we may soon 
 see you among us to commence a long and successful 
 pastorate. 
 
 Believe me, 
 
 Yours in our common Lord, 
 
 J. H. Gammon, M.D.,^ 
 Church Clerk. 
 
 The inner workings of the mind, the deep experi- 
 ences of life, and the profound feelings of the soul, 
 are difficult at all times, adequately, to describe. 
 When any important crisis is reached, these are so 
 multiplied in complication and intensity that des- 
 cription is impossible. A man feels, and feels 
 strangely and deeply, but it is utterly futile to 
 attempt to convey to others a just idea of the depth 
 and complexity of his emotions. They are too deep 
 for utterance, but not too deep for personal experi- 
 ence. Only He who knows all can understand and 
 sympathize. 
 
 Into such a mood of thought and feeling was the 
 Crossberry Pastor thrown by the receipt of the call 
 from Battlemount. What was the meaning of all 
 this ? Was God speaking to him, and bidding him 
 arise and depart ? Was He leading him in a way he 
 
 N 
 
194 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 knew not ? Was He disturbing him, or permitting 
 him to be disturbed, in a sphere where he had so 
 much happiness and usefulness; and where he could 
 contentedly spend a long succession of years, if per- 
 mitted to do so ? What was to be done ? What was 
 his clear, unmistakable duty ? He wished to do right. 
 He wished to subserve God's purpose^,, even at 
 great personal sacrifice. He wished to move in the 
 direction which God might indicate, even although 
 it might be against his present predilections and 
 feelings. One thing, at least, v/as clear, he must 
 considei' the overture wnich had been made, dis- 
 passionately, prayerfully, faithfully. This, at least, 
 was right. This, and nothing more, had he promised. 
 This he was bound in all honor to do. This he 
 would do. He had discouraged the movement when 
 in an incipient state as much as he ought to do, 
 but now it had thus culminated, he must meet it 
 feirly, and act faithfully. 
 
 Is the question to be decided by feeling ? If so, 
 it would soon, and unhesitatingly, be dvicided in the 
 negative ; but he feels that duty, and not feeling, 
 should be the umpire in the case. Not my will, but 
 thine be done, ig his never-ceasing cry. Only show 
 me thy way, and I will walk therein, is the sincerest 
 and intensest aspiration of his heart. He feels that 
 to do God's will is the highest and noblest end of 
 bei '. Hethinks, and wrestles, and prays. He looks 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 195 
 
 at the question in its many sides and issues ; can- 
 vasses, with fearless head and heart logic, all the 
 arguments and considerations pro and con. Many 
 and cogent reasons incline him to disregard the 
 call, and remain in his present sphere. He ia 
 comfortable, peaceful, happy, useful. His people 
 love him, and he loves them. There is no root of 
 bitterness ; no vibration of discord ; all is harmony 
 and peace. He is well and sufficiently main- 
 tained. What more does he need, or ought he to 
 desire more ? More he does not desire. He has 
 contentment and godliness, and these, according to 
 an infallible authority, are great gain. On the other 
 hand Battlemount is, unquestionably, a larger sphere 
 of labor ; in many respects a more important one, 
 and, at the present time, a most needy one. He 
 has not sought it, it has sought him, harmoniously 
 and persistently. Is God thus calling him to per- 
 sonal sacrifice for His dear sake, and more extended 
 usefulness in His service ? He may be. " Show 
 me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path." 
 He may be consulting his own feelings and personal 
 interests to a sinful extent ; he may be mistaking the 
 ■ leadings of Providence, and he may be heedless of 
 , the voice of God, if he do not accept this call. He 
 has a tender conscience, and wishes to do right. 
 Unhappily, struggle and agonize as he may, he can- 
 not attain the full assurance either of insight or of 
 
196 LIGHTS' AND SHADOWS 
 
 faith, and yet it is necessary to decide. By and by 
 the waves of doubt and difficulty, in a measure, sub- 
 side, and a still small voice speaks to him, and says. 
 Go. Go in darkness, if need be, and trust in me. 
 " I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee." " As 
 thy day, so shall thy strength be." His full heart 
 responds : " Thou hast been my help, leave me not, 
 neither forsake me, O God of my Salvation." He 
 has taken counsel of God, he need take counsel of 
 no other. He has heard his Father's voice in the 
 darkness, and he will follow where He leads. Only 
 to one earthly being does he confide his decision, 
 and that is the partner of all his joys and sorrows. 
 She murmurs not, but is content to go where the 
 Great Father may lead him. 
 
 The Sabbath morn comes round, and the Pastor 
 ascends his pulpit. All eyes are reverently and ex- 
 pectantly fixed upon him. There is a chastened, 
 glowing expression upon his countenance, like that 
 which Moses had when he descended from the Mount, 
 for he too has been face to face with the Lord, not 
 on Mount Sinai, but before the Mercy Seat. He 
 prays, as he never prayed before, for the people of 
 his charge, and commends them, lovingly and fer- 
 vently, to the Great Shepherd of the sheep. He 
 preaches with an unction and power, enthralling in 
 its burning intensity of love and tenderness, from 
 the words of Jesus, " Let not your heart be troubled ; 
 ye believe in God, believe also in me." 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 197 
 
 At tho close, he announces that he lias a com- 
 munication to make, which he cannot trust himself 
 to speak, but must read : — 
 Brethren, Sisters and Friends, 
 
 I take this public opportunity of performing 
 what is to me an exceedingly painful duty. Would 
 that the pain which will necessarily flow from the 
 communication I have to make was confined to 
 myself. Unhappily, it will affect many true and 
 tender hearts, as it has already affected mine. I 
 would spare you if I could, but I feel I might be 
 mistaking the leadings of Divine Providence if I 
 did. The Church in Battlemount has extended me 
 a cordial invitation to become its pastor, and has 
 promised to accord me a most liberal support if I 
 accept the invitation. This invitation, after looking 
 at it carefully, I do not feel I can disregard, and 
 shall probably accept it in the cov.rse of a few days. 
 As a necessary preliminary to this, it becomes my 
 painful duty to relinquish my present pastorate, 
 which I now formally and publicly do, and I propose 
 closing my labors here the last Sabbath in this pre- 
 sent month. And now, my friends, with a full 
 heart I commend you to God and to the word of 
 His grace, which is able to keep you from falling, 
 and to present you faultless before His throne. 
 
 Consternation was stamped upon every counten- 
 ance at the conclusion of the reading of this docu- 
 
198 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ; • 
 
 ,; . ;■ ' "j: • - I '-■ ■' '.^_ '!■ 
 
 ment. As one man said afterwards : " I felt as if 
 a brick had fallen upon my head and stunned me." 
 To that succeeded a partial realization of a great 
 prospective bereavement, and few eyes there were 
 but what rolled out r silent tear. A real and bitter 
 Bwrow had fallen unexpectedly and suddenly upon 
 them. 
 
 The Pastor himself was visibly affected. With 
 a broken and hurried utterance, he pronounced the 
 benediction and sat down. ' 
 
 Squire Eosewood was the first to grasp his hand 
 as he descended the pulpit stairs, and that large, 
 true heart was full to overflowing, as in trembling 
 accents he enquired : 
 
 " Dear Pastor, what is the neaning of this ? Do 
 you really mean to leave us ? Is it your will ? Is 
 it God's will ? " 
 
 " Mr. Rosewood, it is even so. Absolutely it is 
 not my will, but I think it is God's will, and so far 
 as I know it to be His, it is mine. His will be 
 done." 
 
 " Well, sir, if it be God's will, it may be wrong in 
 me to feel and say it, but I am afraid I cannot say : 
 * Thy wiU be done." 
 
 " Don't say that, my dear friend. Wait a little 
 and be patient. You will feel better by and by." 
 
 Why dwell upon whe parting scene, with all its 
 heart-stirring, pathetic details. The call was in due 
 
4-^;:-:-,;,\;;r''"':-';-'T'': or clerical lifb. ••^'-•■^s.^:--'' 199 
 
 course accepted, the dear home was broken up, old 
 associations were relinquished, the last sermon in 
 the quaint old edifice was preached, and the Pastor 
 departed for his new home, and his new sphere, 
 laden with the sorrowful benedictions of a true- 
 hearted, loving people. 
 
 Let us follow him, and see what God will do with 
 him and by him there. 
 
 ■^.^. 
 

 200 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 <■ , 
 
 ■■v,''V! ■.••■■;;,;; 
 
 ■"i^sC,:,:^-- *,^-';■ 
 
 -V if :v^;/ :-' k- ^.,:p cHAPTEE XII. "":y ;' "; ' ," ' ' . '-^ , 
 
 The Kev. Paul Vincent and his family arrive in Battlemount 
 
 > — Duncan Smiler as a well-intentioned host — The duties 
 
 of hospitality — The first night — Forebodings — "A dream 
 
 which was not all a dream " — The Inaugural sermon — 
 
 • High expectations. ^ 
 
 Enough has been said already about Battlemount 
 to satisfy ordinary curiosity ; and it is no part of the 
 object of the present narrative to satisfy the extra- 
 ordinary and the morbid. As Duncan Smiler had 
 said, and as many othei's thought, " it was beautiful 
 for situation ; " and had its civic management at all 
 corresponded with, or fairly approximated to that, 
 it might have been one of the pleasantest and 
 healthiest cities in the world. Unhappily, this was 
 not the case. It had acquired an unenviable noto- 
 riety for unhealthiness of an easily preventible type. 
 Faction, too, reigned supreme. Civic mismanage- 
 ment and popular strife, of the worst and lowest 
 types, made it a by-word and a reproach. Light 
 and darkness constantly strove to put each other 
 out of countenance and out of existence. The lion 
 would not lie down peaceably with the lamb, 
 except upon the one indispensable and only condi- 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 201 
 
 tion, that the latter should be inside the former. 
 The lamb, very properly, objected to this one-sided 
 basis of peace, and hence chronic dissatisfaction 
 and anarchy reigned supreme. 
 
 These general characteristics of the entire com- 
 munity must be borne in mind by the reader, as they 
 wiU help him, in some measure, to understand the 
 subsequent attitude and conduct of that part of it 
 over which the Rev. Paul Vincent was called to 
 preside. What the tree was, that particular branch 
 of it, unfortunately, proved to be. But we must 
 not anticipate events. Two or tree items of pass- 
 ing interest must be thrcwn together here, in order 
 to preserve the proper chronological continuity of 
 our little history. The Pastor, in his letter of ac- 
 ceptance, remarked, amongst other weighty consider- 
 ations, the following : " Very much anxious thought 
 and prayer have brought me to my decision, which 
 is, that I cordially accept the invitation which you 
 have so cordially and unanimously given. It is at 
 the sacrifice of much personal feeling, and at the 
 call of what seems to me an important duty, that 
 I have done this. I have pought to do right ; this 
 has been my prevailing desire, and now I confidently 
 leave the issue ir His hands who dr, 3th all things 
 weU." Dr. Gammon acknowledged the receipt of 
 the communication, and replied, in his official 
 capacity, on behalf of the Church : — " Your letter 
 
202 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 was read to the friends last night. I need scarcely 
 say its contents were received with lively satisfac- 
 tion. The brethren did not fail to remember you 
 in their prayers." -^'viV;; : o; ;:i 
 
 Duncan Smiler voluntarily made a communi- 
 cation on his own behalf, showing much kindly 
 thought and consideration : " It was with much 
 pleasure that we learned you had accepted the 
 pastorate of our church. I am happy to offer you 
 the hospitalities of my home until you can make 
 arrangements for your accommodation otherwise.** 
 All this was seasonable, kind, and gratifying to the 
 Pastor. It helped to assuage somewhat that ten- 
 der feeling of regret which was still gnawing at his 
 heart as he thought of his dear people left, for the 
 
 ■time being, without a Shepherd. He felt he had 
 
 C indications that God was leading him where, indeed, 
 he might have harder work and greater responsibili- 
 
 " ties and difficulties, but where he would meet with 
 such affection, forbearance and kindness as had 
 
 ^ hitherto been his happy lot. All this was natural* 
 proper and right. And yet, " man proposes, God 
 disposes." " A man's heart deviseth his way, but 
 the Lord directeth his steps." A man's heart as 
 distinguished from a man's mind, — this deviseth his 
 way. The heart is the seat of the affections, and, 
 unfortunately, they are proverbially blind. They 
 are unsafe guides. God knows this, and He merci- 
 
: :^':'-r.:'' ''''./y;':,:' of clerical life. - ; ;: 203 
 
 fully "nterposea and directs our steps. So that in 
 another sense than that which the Apostle intended, 
 the thing we would, we do not, and the thing we 
 would not, we are morally necessitated to do. The 
 operation of this law, — the necessary and inevitable 
 subordination of the human to the Divine, — will go 
 far to explain some things whick are seemingly con- 
 tradictory in human conduct. 
 
 The Pastor and his family reached Eattlemount in 
 safety. Mr. Cheesman and Mr. Slocum were at 
 the grand terminus of " The Grand Occidental Rail- 
 way" to meet them, and from thence conducted 
 them to the residence of Duncan Smiler. This 
 gentleman and his family received the expected 
 guests with apparent cordiality, but unhappily in 
 such a way as to convey the impression that they 
 were conferring a benefit. That they, deliberately, 
 meant to convey such an impression, no one but a 
 perfect churl would affirm, but that such an im- 
 pression was produced the faithful historian feels 
 bound to place upon record. 
 
 This criticism is not meant unkindly, and it is 
 not made by one wholly incapable of observation. 
 It is int?nded to point a moral, and convey a useful 
 lesson to the docile and the teachable. The fault 
 alluded to is not an uncommon one, and the opposite 
 of it is one of the rarest of virtues. 
 
 As a host, or hostess, you discharge your duty to 
 
204 ' LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ^ ' 
 
 your invited guest so far as you succeed in convey- 
 ing the impression that you are receiving, rather 
 than conferring, a benefit. Only upon such condi- 
 tions can proffered kindness comport with personal 
 dignity, and be the source of real social enjoyment. 
 Otherwise, your well-spread table is laden with 
 tasteless viands, and your bed of down is a bed of 
 thorns. 
 
 5 A churlish philosopher has said, that one man 
 cannot receive benefit from another without one or 
 both suffering moral loss by the transaction. This 
 is doubtless an extreme view, and so far as it is ex- 
 treme, it is unsound. The defect is not in the act, 
 but in the actors ; and as such it is remediable. 
 
 The greatest of philosophers said : " It is more 
 blessed to give than to receive." If the giving and 
 receiving of benefits were performed in that spirit, 
 there would be small blame, and no loss. 
 
 That first night in Battlemount was long remem- 
 bered by the Pastor. Those near and dear to him 
 had retired to rest, and he sat, alone, musing. It 
 was a November night, and he felt chilly, but it was 
 more than the chilliness of the atmosphere. Did 
 coming events cast their shadows before them ? Was 
 the Divine hand sketching, upon his distant horizon, 
 a faint outline of those many things He would call 
 him to suffer for His name's sake ? The truth lies 
 midway of two opposite statements. He did and 
 
: - OP CLERICAL LIFE. { 205 
 
 he did not anticipate evil. There was nothing in 
 the appearance of things thus far that would lead 
 him to anticipate anything but good; and yet, in 
 spite of himself, and spite of appearances, he felt 
 lonely, and cold, and comfortless. The home of 
 Duncan Smiler did not feel so cosy and warm as 
 did that of Eoscoe Eosewood, of Crossberry Park, 
 They were two different men, — essentially different, 
 — the former was nearly all head ; the latter was 
 nearly all heart. They might be equal in meaning 
 well, and in intentional kindness, but the result was 
 totally different, and tremendously disproportionate. 
 The Pastor at last, fatigued with a long journey, 
 and with a dull under-<jurrent of agitated feeling, 
 sank to sleep, but not to rest. The seething brain 
 would not rest, and he dreamed, not of Crossberry, 
 nor of Battlemount, nor of Duncan Smiler, nor of 
 Roscoe Eosewood, but of one like unto the Son of 
 Man. The crown of thorns was on His head, — fit 
 emblem of sovereignty founded upon suffering, — and 
 the pallid brow throbbed with a strange blending of 
 inexpressible pain and infinite tenderness. Out of 
 those eyes, too, looked, in striking conjunction, the 
 God and the man. There, also, were the prints of the 
 nails and the spear in the hands, and feet, and side. 
 The tender wailings of an old prophet were inscribed 
 in characters as transparent as the moon, and as 
 bright as the sun, upon his breast. They were once 
 
206 LIGHTS AND SilADOWS 
 
 prophetic, but they had now become historical : 
 " He 18 despised and rejected of men ; a man of 
 sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and we hid as it 
 were our faces from him; he was despised, and we 
 esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our griefs, 
 and carried our sorrowt , yet we did esteem him 
 
 stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted The Lord 
 
 hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was 
 oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his 
 mouth ; he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and 
 as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth 
 not his mouth. He was taken from prison, and from 
 judgment ; and who shall declare his generation ? for 
 he was cut off out of the land of the living ; for the 
 transgression of my people was he stricken. And 
 he made his grave with the wicked, and with the 
 rich in his death ; because he had done no violence, 
 neither was any deceit in his mouth. Yet it pleased 
 the Lord to bruise him ; he hath put him to grief : 
 when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, 
 he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and 
 the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper in his hand. 
 He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be 
 satisfied : by his knowledge shall my righteous ser- 
 vant j ustify many ; for he shall bear their iniquities. 
 Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, 
 and he shall divide the spoil with the strong ; because 
 he hath poured out his soul unto death ; and he was 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 207 
 
 numbered with the transgressors ; and he bare the 
 sin of many, and made intercession for the trans- 
 gressors." ^ ■ .. 
 
 The shining, bleeding one touched him, and said : 
 " Follow me." The bright vision vanished, and he 
 awoke. It was a dream, and yet not all a dream. That 
 touch thrilled him. Real, or.urjeal, it seemed real to 
 him. It quickened his pulse and flushed his cheek. 
 He opened his eyes and looked around. The morn- 
 ing light was streaming in at the window. He was 
 wise enough not to give immediate voice to his 
 thoughts, and contented himself with the sage reflec- 
 tion that, possibly, *' there are more things in heaven 
 and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." 
 " Our little life is rounded with a sleep." Yes, and 
 perhaps with something else more mysterious and , 
 insoluble than that. " We are such stuff as dreams 
 are made of." May be we come very near the 
 border land sometimes, and things seemingly vision- 
 ary and intangible may be intensely real if only we 
 had the fuller perception to discern the facts and 
 their related phenomena. 
 
 The first sermon is a trying ordeal and a diffi- 
 cult achievement. So the Pastor felt as he ascended 
 the pulpit to preach his " inaugural " in Bcttle- 
 mount. Expectations ran very high. Opinions of the 
 most positive and high-flown character were freely 
 indulged in and as freely expressed. The coming 
 
208 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 man was represented as almost a paragon of perfec- 
 tion, and a very seraph for eloquence. Eminent 
 men had spoken highly of his gifts and graces, and 
 his past record contained not a flaw nor a blot. His 
 learning, though not pufficient to fit him for a Pro- 
 fessor's chair, was nevertheless deemed far above the 
 average. His presence was not weak, neither was his 
 speech contemptible. His reasoning and persuasive 
 powers were supposed to be of the first order. He was 
 old enough to have a fair amount of experience, and 
 yet young enough to be in the full flushing vigor 
 of a stalwart manhood. What might not be expected 
 from such a combination of qualities? His keen 
 wit and unflagging observation enabled him to 
 detect many of these things. He could not help 
 seeing that he was the subject of an exaggerated 
 estimate and of foolish and extravagant expectations. 
 The discovery did not please him, but he had the 
 good sense to keep his thoughts and feelings to him- 
 self. Secretly, he resolved to nail the true colors 
 to the mast and abide by the standard. He would 
 strike the key-note of his ministry with no uncer- 
 tain sound, and, therefore, he announced as his text : 
 " For to me to love is Christ and to die is gain." 
 Let these words, said he, be our motto, the culmina- 
 tion of our ambition, and the glory and strength of 
 our life. We can have nothing nobler, nor better. 
 There is no higher plane of existence possible to man 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 209 
 
 upon the earth. Christian is the highest style of 
 man. Christian life, which is life in Christ and for 
 Christ, is the holiest, the most blessed, the most 
 fruitful, the most enjoyable. It harmonizes with 
 man's highest nature and destiny. This life is a 
 reality ; not a sentiment, not a social convenience 
 or adjunct, not simply a creed, but a life in Him 
 who is the highest embodiment of life, and who liveth 
 for evermore. There is much that man seeks that 
 is far below him, and thus he is liable to sink lower 
 than his proper level. There is something above 
 and beyond fame, or wealth, or social distinction, it 
 is that ennobling rectification of being which comes 
 from a living conjunction with the Divine. " The 
 life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the 
 faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave 
 Himself for me.'' 
 
 This life is also a growth, as all life is. It canno*. 
 remain stationary. It is a necessity of its nature 
 to advance, to develop, to fructify and grow. There 
 is " first the blade, then the ear, after that the full 
 corn in the ear." '* The path of the just is as the 
 shining light, that shineth more and more unto the 
 perfect day." 
 
 This life is an eternal growth, hence death is 
 gain. Death, to the soul out of Christ, is loss, not 
 gain ; total, irremediable, eternal loss. But to him 
 whose " life is hid with Christ in God," death is but 
 
210 UOilTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 an incident, and scarcely an interruption ; a small 
 pebble in the bed of the mighty river ; the life is 
 not stayed in its course, but it flows on unceasingly 
 and endlessly, mixing and losing itself, ultimately, 
 in that vast sea of Divine benignity that is fathom- 
 less, and wilhout a shore. 
 
 This, and more, did that earnest man pour out o2 
 a full heart. He laid hold of his subject with the 
 grasp of the might of God and the tenderness of 
 Jesus; and by such heaven-wrought leverage sought 
 to raise his hearers above the weakness of human 
 wisdom and the frivolities of human life to a realiza- 
 tion of the great privileges and possibilities of a life 
 in Christ. With what effect, time cannot show, and 
 eternity, alone, will reveal. 
 
OF CLEHICAL LIFE. 211 
 
 '^:'^, ..- ■:.' , -.:rv. -■-, .. ■ ' ;■ ■ . '■ 
 
 ., ,. , CHAPTER XIII. .^ . , 
 
 In which the reader is introduced to some people of conse- 
 quence — A cup of tea and plenty of small talk — Pen and 
 ink sketches of Hezekiah Shankey, Duncan Smiler, 
 John Cheenman, Rollo Duffy, Dr. Gammon, The Rev. 
 Jeremiah Gamble, Alexander Slocum and Joel Gudgeon 
 — Unreported conversation. 
 
 We will ask the reader to take for granted, without 
 subjecting him to the labor of wading through the 
 dry details of a tedious description, that the Rev. 
 Paul Vincent is settled down in his new sphere ; 
 that all the orthodox preliminaries connected with 
 such an event are already things of the past ; that 
 he has excused himself from any further trespass 
 upon the kind hospitality of Duncan Smiler ; that 
 he has secured a house in the western part of the 
 city, and furnished it according to his taste, con- 
 venience, and means ; that he is located, comfortably, 
 in his new home, and has taken the measure of his 
 new sphere; that his active, vigorous mind has 
 already devised a 'simple but comprehensive plan 
 for work, and that things are moving steadily and 
 successfuUy along. 
 
212 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Should the reader kindly compass the result above 
 indicated, he may be rewarded by an immediate 
 acquaintance with a few people^ of some note and 
 consequence in the Battlemount community. 
 
 Hezekiah Shankey invited the Pastor and his 
 wife to tea, at his roadside, suburban mansion, and 
 he invited the aforesaid people of note to meet them, 
 to wit : Mr. and Mrs. Smiler, Dr. and Mrs. Gam- 
 mon, Mr. and Mrs. Gheesman, Mr. and Mrs. Duffy, 
 Rev. Jeremiah Gamble and Mrs. Gamble, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gudgeon, and Mr. Slocum. While these 
 interesting people are forming themselves into a 
 " Mutual Admiration Society," dealing in small 
 talk, and consuming tea, toast and marmalade, we 
 may as well fix the apparatus, and take " a view." 
 
 There is Mr. Shankey sitting at the head of the 
 table, exactly opposite his very agreeable and plea- 
 sant wife. He is the host on this occasion, and for 
 that, if for no other reason, he merits an early notice. 
 He is of medium height, thin, pale and bald. He 
 has a somewhat high forehead, thin lips, grey, rest- 
 less'eyes. He has a look of emaciation, doubtless 
 arising from a sluggish liver, and a disordered diges- 
 tion. He nervously bites his finger nails to the 
 quick, and is a perfect embodiment of b«3nes and 
 nerves. Physical form, he has none, except such 
 as may be predicated of a bean-pole. IVhatever may 
 be the length of his tailor's bill, or the excellence of 
 
OF CLEKICAL LIFE. 5 r 213 
 
 his tailor, his clothes cannot be said to fit; they 
 hang on him. His mental and moral characteristics 
 are exceptional and singular. A deep thinker he is 
 not, neither can he appreciate deep thinking, but he 
 has a reputation for shrewdness. He is very emo- 
 tional. He can weep copiously and easily, but he 
 seldom laughs ; and when he does attempt the latter, 
 it rises not above the dignity of a grin. If you reach 
 him, it must be through his heart, not his head. The 
 pathetic is his delight. He has an undoubted opin- 
 ion of himself, as why should he not ? He has a 
 good home, a pleasant wife, quite a number of olive 
 branches round his table, and a good paying business. 
 He is A 1 in the Battlemount Church, holding sev- 
 eral offices of dignity and usefulness, and he is a 
 liberal contributor to the cause. It is his proud 
 boast, that he never fails in anything he undertakes. 
 Succeed he must and will in aU things. He believes 
 there are few things impossible to him who wills to 
 do, and sticks to it. Nil Desperandum is his motto. 
 Unhappily, this motto is applicable more to his 
 inflexible power of resentment, when roused, than 
 anything else. 
 
 Duncan Smii.er is, as might be expected from 
 past intimations, a different stamp of man ; essen- 
 tially, and totally so. He has scarcely anything in 
 common with his brother Shankey, except that of 
 having a tolerably fair opinion of himself. As this 
 
214 ■; LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ^ v; 
 
 is a common failing in human nature, it need 
 occasion no irarprise that it is found in good men 
 sometimes. Smiler is his name, and smiler is 
 his nature. If he meets his best friend, or his 
 worst enemy, he smiles. If he met his Satanic 
 Majesty, suddenly and unexpectedly, as he turned 
 the corner of the street, he would instinctively smile, 
 and say, in the blandest manner : " Good morning, 
 sir ; I hope I see you well." He smiles all the time, 
 and very complacently, while he is listening to a 
 sermon he very much likes ; and a very good point, 
 when he happens to see it, makes him radiant as 
 the sun. He smiles when he sings, but he is spe- 
 cially benignant when he rises in meeting to address 
 a few words of exhortation to his brethren. He is 
 of medium height, and somewhat more than medium 
 age. He is not a good business man, but he is, 
 nevertheless, a sort of genius in his way ; possessing 
 the inventive and mechanical faculties, considerably. 
 What most people, who know him, consider his 
 weak points, he considers his strong ones. He has 
 the complexion of a Celt and the passions of a 
 Eoman in Eome's proudest days ; but his powers of 
 self-control are great, and he keeps his most turbu- 
 lent feelings in leash admirably. Now and then 
 the dam wiQ give way, and the boiling, resistless 
 flood is fearful to behold, and bears everything 
 before it. This, however, seldom happens. It is a 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 215 
 
 noble and interesting sight to see the furies and 
 the will contend for the mastery in him. He will 
 clench his teeth, bite his tongue, knit his brow, and 
 fairly gasp for breath, rather than betray a word of 
 passion. He has undoubted confidence in the cor- 
 rectness of his own views, holds them tenaciously, 
 and evolves them persistently. Knock him down 
 (metaphorically speaking), and think him dead, and 
 before you are aware of it he is up again, smiling 
 as ever, looking a pleasant defiance, and inviting 
 you to try your powers once more. Taken, all in 
 all, he is a good man ; comes of a fair stock ; 4b 
 tolerably well to do ; is surrounded by a pleasant 
 and intelligent family ; and has a good business that 
 would not have flourished if our first mother had let 
 the apple alone. Unfortunately, it is his nature to 
 clutch too tightly and hold too tenaciously the 
 " sordid dust," and he may, possibly, live to realize 
 the practical truth of the latter part of the inspired 
 proverb : " There is that scattereth, and yet in- 
 creaseth ; and there is that withholdeth more than 
 is meet, but it tendeth to poverty." He is a prom- 
 inent member of the Battlemount Church, and an 
 ofL^ial. He has been long connected with it, in fact 
 all his life, — and he bears the scars of many a con- 
 flict. 
 
 John Cheesman is one of the young rising men 
 in that spiritual community. He is of medium 
 
216 ' LIGHTS AND SHADOWS > 
 
 aeight, and swarthy complexion. A mass of hair, 
 as black and glossy as a raven, adorns a head fairly 
 well shaped and set. His eyes are dark, and flash 
 fire like Live coals. He is a diamond, but a very 
 rough one, and one that no amount of social friction 
 can polish. His grain is essentially and irremedia- 
 bly coarse, and it runs through the entire structure 
 of his being. It would be necessary to polish him 
 out of existence before you could get a smooth sur- 
 face. He was bred and born in the country, and 
 city life and ways don't fit him, but simply hang on 
 ^m, like brother Shankey's clothes. He is good- 
 tempered ; possesses fair intellectual power, or rather 
 the power of appreciating intellect in others ; and 
 is a little inclined to the melting mood. He prides 
 himself upon his independence of character and 
 strength of judgment, but, like many others, he is 
 weak where he thinks he is strong. A superior 
 mind, or a stronger will than his own, easily leads 
 him, but he is charmingly unconscious of it. He 
 thinks he is leading when he is only being led. He 
 is a good, but not a steadfast friend; not a very 
 vindictive enemy, but liable to be very inconsistent, 
 and unthinkingly unscrupulous. He has good 
 business capacity and great perseverance ; and there 
 is every prospect of his becoming well to do in ^^he 
 world. The substantial of this mundane sphere 
 are ever in his thoughts; in them he lives, and 
 
> - OF CLERICAL LIFFI. 217 
 
 moves, and has his being. He is very gushing; 
 somewhat amatory in his disposition ; and he loves 
 his little wife very dearly, and his children too. 
 His liberality is considerable, according to his means, 
 and he takes real pleasure in doing good to others, 
 as opportunity offers. Whatever his vagaries and 
 weaknesses may be, he wiU probably not cease to be 
 a good steward of the manifold grace of God. There 
 is a future for him, and he may attain considerable 
 excellence and goodness, but he is too much carried 
 about by every passing wind ever to become great. 
 ROLLO Duffy is a thick-set gentleman ; stumpy, 
 coarse, and crabbed by nature. He is fearfully 
 phlegmatic, and always seems to be asleep. Like 
 the sloth, he can scarcely be said to live, he exists. 
 He is largely a negative, but som :5what disagreeable 
 at that, as you find after you have rubbed off the 
 surface skin, which is rather thick. He has, seem- 
 ingly, no more sensitiveness than a rhinoceros, 
 whose skin is impervious to a musket ball. He is 
 not overstocked with sense. He knows little, but 
 he has the sweet consciousness that he knows a good 
 deal. How he and Mr. Slocum came to be selected 
 by " the wise men of the East ^' for the delicate mis- 
 sion of interviewing the Rev, Mr. Vincent is a 
 matter which must be hopelessly consigned to the 
 limbo of insoluble motives and facts ; unless we 
 suppose the selection was made for the same reason 
 
218 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 that indulgent parents give candy to their children, 
 when they are peevish and cross. Fortunately, Mr. 
 Duffy has a wife of good parts, considerable intelli- 
 gence, and good connections, which fact makes up 
 somewhat for his shortcomings. In early life, he 
 tried both the law and the gospel, and succeeded in 
 neither. Nevertheless he stumbles along some- 
 how, and makes a living, and not a bad one either. 
 He considers himself quite an oracle, but, un- 
 fortunately, few consult the oracle. His whole 
 being is made up of bare possibilities which never 
 can, without the intervention of a miracle, become 
 actualities. Perhaps pure, white-robed charity 
 might suggest that there is in him, deep down in 
 his sluggish nature, a mine of undiscovered, un- 
 thought of, unwrought precious ore ; but so overlaid 
 with a hard unmeaning exterior, that it will never 
 be brought to the surface to enrich and bless the 
 world. Perhaps he is a flower blushing not unseen, 
 but still wasting its sweetness on the desert air. 
 Perhaps ? There are some men, and not a few in this 
 unfortunate world, who are never understood, never 
 appreciated, as they think they should be. How 
 sweet it is to be charitable, especially when the 
 sphere for the exercise of that queen of virtues is so 
 contracted. In you, friend Dufify, the resurrection 
 will have plenty of scope, and may effect a mar- 
 vellous transformation. Cheer up. Never despair. 
 
; OF CLERICAL LIFE. 219 
 
 Look to the future, and the future world. You may 
 have a chance there. 
 
 Dr. Gammon ia a rising physician, of increasing 
 reputation and practice, in the city of Battlemount. 
 He is a member of the church, as his good old father 
 was before him, and occupies an official position. 
 His complexion is sallow and his form slim ; weigh- 
 ing no more than about a hundred and twenty 
 pounds, avoirdupois. He is modest to a fault and 
 very gentle. His disposition is naturally docile 
 and benevolent ; and there is nothing he would more 
 instantly recoil from than the thougl't of inflicting 
 injury upon anybody or anything. The author of 
 the " Olney Hymns," if now living, would doubtless 
 place him upon his list of friends, for did not that 
 moody but excellent Poet declare, that he would not 
 place upon his list of friends the man who would 
 needlessly set foot upon a worm. Dr. Gammon 
 would be Cowper's beau ideal of a man, for he cer- 
 tainly would not perpetrate such a wickedness. 
 His knowledge of the theory of his profession is 
 unquestionably thorough and sound, and should his 
 practice ever become as extensive, he will be endowed 
 with rare opportunities of usefulness to his suffering 
 fellows, and may become what he is not now, rich. 
 There are no angularities in his character ; he ia per- 
 fectly smooth all round. You might knock your- 
 self against him for ever, and you would be in no 
 
* /' 
 
 220 ',-[ LiGftTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 danger of hurting yourself, for, like a good feather 
 bed, he always yields. His one prevailing weakness 
 is that of having a strong penchant for office ; not 
 that he obtrudes himself, or pushes his claims, but 
 he is well pleased with the little bit of red ribbon 
 when it falls into his lap. His retiring and modest 
 disposition will prevent his getting his full due in 
 this world, and he must be content to look for the 
 balance in the next. ' 
 
 TBe Eev. Jeremiah Gamble, who is destined to 
 play an important part in the subsequent events of 
 this history, is a retired clergyman. He is about 
 sixty years of age, but still strong, hale and 
 hearty. For his years, and the amount of toil and 
 trial he has undergone, he is exuepticnally healthy 
 and robust. It would be difficult to find his peer. 
 He is tall, stout, and solidly built ; has a ruddy 
 complexion ; is but slightly bent ; and has a firm, 
 decisive step. His eyes are bright, but touched with 
 a nervous twinkle ; the forehead is large and well- 
 developed, showing fair intelligence; the head is 
 well shaped, and well set upon a solid foundation of 
 neck and shoulders. In spite of many indications 
 to the contrary, there is one unmistakable sign of 
 age, " the almond tree has flourished " j but it is to 
 him a crown of glory, because found in the way of 
 righteousness. He has brought up a family, and 
 educated them weU, upon means which have been 
 
•> OP CLERICAL LIFE. 221 
 
 far from affluent; and yet he is not without the 
 wherewithal to make him comparatively independent 
 in his declining years. His culture is broad, but not 
 deep ; his knowledge is varied, but not profound ; 
 his thoughts and speech are sagacious, but not 
 always interesting. There was probably considera- 
 ble fire in him in his younger days, of which there 
 is scarcely a trace now, except on extraordinary 
 occasions. If not a profound, he is a consistent 
 thinker, and is a fair logician. He holds the verities 
 of his craft with a firm grip, and, in points of dis- 
 pute, is liable to prove a "formidable antagonist. To 
 him, convictions are not small change, which the 
 affluent and the thoughtless may scatter to the 
 gaping crowd, but solid gold, fit to be prized and 
 kept, and whose worth is intrinsic and real. His 
 love is strong, and his resentment transitory and 
 mild. He is a staunch friend, and an honest man ; 
 and we have been told so often that the latter is " the 
 noblest work of God " that we ought by this time to 
 believe it. He is a part of that " salt of the earth " of 
 which the Great Teacher spoke ; and which is made 
 up of men who know how to hold the truth, and, 
 if need be, suffer for it, in the spirit of Christ. Men, 
 to whom the world owes so much, and thinks it is 
 indebted so little. Men, " of whom the world is not 
 worthy." 
 Alexander Slocum, whose pardon we beg a 
 
222 LIOftTB AND SHADOWS 
 
 thousand times for not giving him a more than 
 fragmentary notice hitherto, is a young man, of 
 about thirty-five years of age, and unmarried. 
 Single though he be, he has a strong penchant for 
 dabbling in matrimonial projects personal and rela- 
 tive. It is difficult to determine whether it be 
 wholly his fault that he is still wandering in the 
 mazes of single blessedness. He thinks it is ; net 
 that he is in any wise faulty himself, but he has 
 hitherto failed to find that rare combination of 
 female excellence and loveliness which is his beau 
 ideal, and which alone would answer to his nice 
 discrimination and fastidious taste. He has been 
 looking through the world these many years, aided 
 by the dim light of his own lantern-like intelli- 
 gence, to find a perfect woman. Hitherto, his search 
 has been fruitless, nor is it likely ever to be crowned 
 with success. He is of Scotch extraction, and the 
 two main characteristics of his race are in him 
 preternaturally developfid, slowness and caution. 
 Although very wary, it must not be supposed that 
 he has wholly escaped Cupid's darts. Now and then 
 has he been temporarily struck, but while he has 
 been critically analysing his sensations, and looking 
 up wistfully at the luscious fruit, wondering whether 
 it wouldn't some day, when fully ripe, fall into his 
 lap, some less scrupulous hand has been stretched 
 out to grasp the fruit ere it fell. He doesn't seem 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 223 
 
 to realize that, in these matters especially, fortune 
 favors the adventurous and the brave. Still he 
 yawns and wearily and wistfully waits, hoping that 
 some day a fit mate for so much excellence as is 
 found in himself may peradventure be met with. 
 He is somewhat of a dandy in his way ; dresses well 
 and with good taste, and has plenty of means to buy 
 the feathers. He has his good points, and is neither 
 a miser nor a niggard. He is naturally benevolent 
 and open-handed. Alexander Slocum, take a friend's 
 advice in time. Drop your wings and come down 
 to a plain stare at the solid realities of life. The 
 sight may do you much good. Break the social 
 dam, and let the current of your being flow. A 
 Mrs. Slocum and half a dozen little Slocums round 
 your home table would refine your sensibilities, im- 
 prove your temper, sweeten your life, ease your 
 conscience, crown your manhood, and make you 
 more than a unit in society. It may be s.*fely and 
 most solemnly affirmed that matrimony would im- 
 prove you amazingly. In a few years your friends 
 would scarcely know you. There are charms in 
 the double state you little dream of. The sweet 
 tones of a loving help-meet and the prattle of chil- 
 dren are better than the music of the spheres. 
 What if you had occasionally to get up at night to 
 make something warm for the wailing little one. 
 Such occupation would be a wholesome diversion 
 
224 LlOirrS AND SHAD0W8 
 
 for you, and would tend to break the dull monotony 
 of your life. And when you come to die, how much 
 better to have the ministry of love attend you, and 
 gently close your eyes in death. 
 
 Joel Gudgeon, who sits between his estimable 
 wife and Mr. Slocum at Mr. Shankey's hospitable 
 board, is positively the last of these notabilities that 
 we shall notice at present. It would be radically un- 
 fair not to let his image and superscription descend 
 to an admiring posterity. Physically, he is an 
 overgrown, good-looking Tom Thumb, short, stout, 
 and almost as round as a ball. He is wily, politic, 
 and good tempered. Usually he shows a very 
 benign and peaceful aspect, and appears a fair 
 embodiment of humility. When he gets roused, as 
 he does sometimes, he puts on an air of consequence 
 which doesn't at all harmonize wilii his diminutive 
 stature. It makes him look supremely ridiculous. 
 He struts and crows like a bantam rooster. He 
 was married to the present Mrs. Gudgeon about 
 fifteen years ago, on a fine June morning, and he is 
 never tired of declaring vhat it was the luckiest bar- 
 gain he ever made, or ever hopes to make. He is 
 already blessed with a numerous progeny, all of 
 whom bear unmistakable signs of their paternity 
 His wife and he are alike economically inclined, 
 and in that matter suit each other exactly. In 
 business he has fair capacity, and is a rising man. 
 
OF CLERICAL UFE. 225 
 
 He is Scotch, and has the Scotchman's proverbial 
 knack of taking good care of the " siller." Not that 
 he is miserly, or lacking in benevolence, but he is 
 very careful. He in a good friend, so long as the 
 friendship doesn't assume a cash basis, and he is 
 not an ungenerous or malignant foe. His relations 
 as a member of a christian community are sound, 
 and his standing is good. He is a member of the 
 church, and a not inconsiderable contributor to the 
 funds. The world and the church would be none the 
 worse if they had more of his stamp. 
 
 Is it necessary to advance more upon these per- 
 sonal points? Perhaps not. It may be wise to 
 forbear, or we might soon get into the domain 
 of uncomplimentary facts. Perhaps some may 
 think we have got there already, and have been 
 there all the time. Alas ! for human nature as it is. 
 Shall we give a faithful record of the conversation 
 of these interesting people for the last couple of 
 hours V To this, a slight demur may be wisely 
 made. Unfortunately, the conversation of religious 
 people is not always classical j not always theologi- 
 cal ; and not always such as the recording angel 
 will note with pleasure. They might stand aghast 
 at it if they saw it dressed in plain black and white. 
 Let us draw the curtain upon this, and pass to more 
 active scenes, which may, perchance, convey some 
 useful instruction, point a moral, and adorn our tale. 
 
 P 
 
226 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Moving quickly — Two years labor and its results — Prosperity 
 dawned, realized, and enjoyed — A cloud appears, the 
 size of a man's hand— A sudden change — A painful sur- 
 prise — An important conversation — Mr. Shankey puts 
 his foot down, and means to keep it there. 
 
 At this juncture it is absolutely necessary to make 
 the reader a full and unreserved present of a piece 
 of information which may be pleasant or otherwise 
 according to his peculiar mood. It is this. We must 
 either put on our seven-league boots, and walk for a 
 short time very fast, getting ovet events quickly ; or, 
 boy-like, we must take a hop, a skip, and a jump, 
 clearing the space of two years at a single bound. 
 There will be a measure of abruptness about either, 
 but the alternative is unavoidable, and we must 
 make our choice, and that quickly. Suppose we 
 adopt the former course, giving a short resume of the 
 events which stretch over the aforesaid period, and 
 then pass on. 
 
 The PiiStor was not slow to perceive that in com- 
 ing to Battlemount he had undertaken a gigantic 
 task, and one that would tax all his powers of work, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 227 
 
 of patience, and of endurance. It must be confessed 
 he had a momentary sinking of the heart as he 
 survf yed the prospect, but it was only transitory, 
 and soon passed away, " like the morning cloud and 
 the early dew." He braced himself to the task, and 
 resolved to attempt great things, and expect great 
 things. It was with no small concern, however, that 
 he saw that the expectations of the people were 
 wholly fixed upon himself; that the great work that 
 was to be done was expected to be done mainly, if 
 not exclusively, by him, unaided and alone. They 
 seemed to be quite oblivious of the plain fundamental 
 truth that the strength of a church lies not, alto- 
 gether, in its pastor, but in the strength of each 
 individual member, and in the direction of a solid 
 accumulated force to the accomplishment of spiritual 
 results. His first efforts must be wisely directed to 
 the uprooting of a fatal error, and the implanting, in 
 its stead, of an important truth. This must be done 
 by biblical instruction, by the faithful proclamation 
 of heaven-bom spiritual truths, by patient seed- 
 sowing, by showing the way and walking in it. All 
 this did the Pastor attempt and do, in the might of 
 God, and the glowing tender spirit of Christ, 
 
 It was slow work, as all good work is, but the 
 gentle truth won its way, and the luminous example 
 became infectious, and made its power felt. The 
 people soon discovered that they had an earnest God- 
 
228 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 fearing man to deal with ; one who valued truth and 
 fealty to God more than aught else ; and one whose 
 thoughts and modes of expression were alike trans- 
 parent. It was his ambition to say, at all times, 
 what fidelity to truth demanded, and in a way that 
 the dullest could not fail to comprehend. His in- 
 dividuality and originahty were soon recognised. 
 That he did not move in the ordinary commonplace 
 track of thought and expression was manifest tc^ 
 the most obtuse of his hearers. Now and then they 
 were, for the moment, startled out of their ordinary 
 composure by the presentation of a common idea in 
 a very direct if not a novel manner ; as, for instance, 
 the following : " My hearers, and my brethren and 
 sisters in Jesus Christ, — There is much work to be 
 done here as you can see. The gates of this Zion 
 are not thronged. This temple of God is not full of 
 earnest worshippers. You wish it to be so ; so do I. 
 We are all agreed as to our wishes ; we may not be 
 wholly agreed as to the plan of their fulfilment. 
 You may be thinking too much of, and expecting 
 too much from the feeble instrument whom God has 
 Bent among you. You may be practically expect- 
 ing a miracle. Disabuse your minds at once, and 
 come down to plain ideas and plain sense. Many 
 think, perhaps you do not, but many think that the 
 province of a minister is to fill the church, and make 
 the organization pay. To use the mildest term% 
 
C ' CLERICAL LIFE. 229 
 
 such a conception is a mistake ; albeit, a very com- 
 mon one. It is more than a mistake, it is a fatal 
 delusion. It is even more than a delusion ; it is a 
 snare, and one pregnant with great and evil results. 
 A minister's du' i is to fill the pulpit ; it is the 
 people's duty to Jivi the church. A well-filled pul- 
 pit and a well-filled church form one of the grand- 
 est sights that human eyes can behold. In God's 
 name, and by the help of God's grace, I will strive 
 to accomplish the former ; I lay the latter upon your 
 conscience as a most solemn and lasting obligation. 
 See ye to it." 
 
 This is plain truth, plainly spoken. There surely 
 could be no excuse for mistaking its import. It is 
 sagacious, candid and clear. And yet, perchance, it 
 may be mistaken by some who have a natural aptitude 
 for taking things the wrong way. They may quiet- 
 ly assume that the Pastor meant to propound the 
 horrible doctrine that he had no duties outside the 
 pulpit ; that when he had prepared and preached two 
 sermons a week, and attended one prayer meeting, 
 all his obligations to God and man were discharged. 
 Be not too facile in jumping to a conclusion. Be 
 not too swift to complain and to condemn. The 
 Pastor meant no such thing, said no such thing ; 
 nothing was further from his thoughts than to con- 
 vey such an impression. But he did mean to lift 
 his people into that region where there is a holy 
 
230 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ri\ Jilry in doing good, and a noble reciprocity of soul 
 in the best of all the works which can tax the 
 energies or enthral the faculties of man. And he 
 did mean that amid all the multifarious duties of a 
 minister — all of which should be, as far as possible, 
 faithfully discharged — the one that merits the com- 
 pletest consecration of his noblest powers is that of 
 an intelligent and faithful proclamation of the truth 
 as it is in Jesus Christ. He did mean that above 
 and superior to all else he would strive to be " a 
 workman that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly 
 dividing the word of truth" 
 
 He succeeded. He who is careful to note the 
 falling of a sparrow, or the smallest endeavor put 
 forth in His name and for His glory, gave the blessing. 
 At one time it seemed the height of temerity to 
 predict that the dry bones would ever assume life, , 
 consistency, and beauty again. Two years of hard 
 persistent labor and faithful teaching, with the bless- 
 ing of God thereupon, wrought a marvellous trans- 
 formation in the community. Duties unthought of 
 before were recognized and faithfully discharged. 
 Willing worshippers thronged the temple gates, and 
 heard with gladness the reconciling word. Many 
 received the truth and publicly professed it. The 
 true harmony which springs from holy toil became 
 daily more manifest. Personal consecration became 
 a sweet reality, a high privilege, and a sacred 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 231 
 
 passion. The day of reproach had passed away, and 
 the sweets of revival and prosperity long looked 
 for had come. The angels rejoiced over many a 
 prodigal returning to his father's house. The sons 
 of the morning again sang for joy. Pastor and 
 people rejoiced together, and they had abundant 
 reason to do so. After long waiting and working 
 they had at length exchanged the hope deferred 
 which maketh the heart sick for the fulfilment of 
 desire, which when it cometh is a tree of life. The 
 thirsty land had become a pool, and the small 
 streams rivers of water. 
 
 Alas ! even this state of things must not pass 
 unchallenged. This work must go through the fire. 
 This gold must have its aUoy. These sweets must 
 have their bitter. This rose must have its thorn, 
 and in the plucking thereof prick some tender hand. 
 Humiliation must accompany exaltation, or the 
 latter might become unduly developed. The devil 
 is permitted to put his foot down there with the 
 intent of stamping out the good. 
 
 It is a true saying: "The prosperity of fools 
 shall destroy them : " so it often proves. In some 
 minds it occasions a gnawing satiety instead of a 
 sublime satisfaction. They in the very act of swal- 
 lowing the sweetest draught turn it by base ingrati- 
 tude into the bitterest gall. 
 
 It was Hezekiah Shankey's deep misfortune to 
 
232 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 be of this class. Taking the Pastor by the hand at 
 the close of a prayer meeting, he requested the 
 privilege of a few noments private conversation. 
 The request was readily granted. The room was 
 soon clear, and the Pastor and Mr. Shankey were 
 left alone. Conversation did not commence all at 
 once. There was a long pause ; the Pastor sitting, 
 while Mr. Shankey, evidently ill at ease, was walk- 
 ing about, knitting his pale brow and biting his 
 finger nails. The silence was becoming painful, so 
 the Pastor essayed to break it by observing that 
 what he had to say he might speak out in the 
 fullest confidence. This trite observation had the 
 desired effect, and Deacon Shankey found his tongue. 
 
 " My dear pastor, I have been a member of this 
 church many years. Of that no doubt you are 
 aware." 
 
 " Yes, so I believe, brother Shankey." 
 
 " I know its history thoroughly, its ups and 
 downs, its joys and its sorrows." 
 
 " I have no reason to doubt that your knowledge 
 of the church is considerable, and that you take 
 great interest in its welfare." 
 
 "That I do, sir. No one more than I, although I 
 do say it myself. This church is the apple of my 
 eye, so to speak. I have watched its growth and 
 prosperity for the past two years with great plea- 
 sure. You have under God done good service. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 233 
 
 very good service, sir ; but — it grieves me to say- 
 it — I think the time has come for a change in the 
 pastorate. You have done well, but I think your 
 work is done now. You will excuse me, I am sure, 
 being so bold as to advise you to resign. If a 
 pastor doesn't resign when he is advised in a friendly 
 way to do so it makes unpleasantness, and I don't 
 like unpleasantness in a church." 
 
 If a thunderbolt had fallen at the Pastor's feet he 
 could not have been more surprised. If the accu- 
 mulated woe of ages had been compacted into one 
 solid avalanche, and hurled at him in resistless might 
 and fury, he could not have felt more sorrowful than 
 he did at that moment. It is not a figure of speech 
 to say he was petrified ; he was literally so. His 
 heart almost ceased to beat. He rallied and replied 
 in the mildest terms he could command. 
 
 " You surprise me, brother Shankey, very much. 
 You pain me exceedingly. I find it difficult to realize 
 that you mean what you say." 
 
 " I certainly mean what I say. If I have given 
 you pain I am sorry for it, but you should not be 
 surprised. We have been accustomed to do things 
 in this way in this church ever since the church 
 was formed. Our pastors, as a rule, have not stayed 
 long with us. They have not averaged more than 
 two years. Your pastorate, already, has reached the 
 average. I may say also, and it is only right I should 
 
234 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 say it, that in point of usefulness it has been above 
 the average." 
 
 " I accept the compliment, contained in the latter 
 part of your remarks, so far as it is founded upon 
 truth, no further. I am surprised to hear, for the 
 first time, that the average pastorate has been so 
 short. But allow me to ask in all kindness : Sup- 
 pose I should have other views of my duty than those 
 you propound, what then ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose the result would be trouble, and 
 I don't like trouble in a church. It would perhaps 
 end in your resigning and going away in time, 
 somewhat in disgrace, and with not so good a name 
 as you came. We have had several instances of the 
 kind in the history of our church ; in fact a good 
 many." 
 
 " Mr. Shankey you surprise me again. This time 
 it is your candor. I assume that what you say is 
 true, but it is far from complimentary to the church, 
 or to those who have guided its affairs. Am I reaUy 
 to understand that the changing of pastors has been 
 reduced to a system ; and that, by means which we 
 will not now enquire into, the changes have been 
 effected very ^^methodically, and with a tolerable 
 amount of regularity ? " 
 
 "Well, I guess it has been about so, if I understand 
 the drift of your remarks. We have been pretty 
 regular in these matters, and in the main pretty 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 235 
 
 successful. Some, as I tell you, have shown a little 
 fight, and didn't at first take their orders quietly ; 
 but, in the end, they have had to submit, and carry 
 away with them ruined health and a damaged 
 reputation. I think they lacked sense, it wasn^t 
 wise. They hurt themselves and us too." 
 
 " Have you, Mr. Shankey, a substantial reason, or 
 any reason at all, for advising me to resign ? If so, 
 let me hear it. I am open to common sense and 
 conviction." 
 
 " Well, no particular reason that I know of, ex- 
 cept that I think a change is desirable." 
 
 " Have you any personal objection ? " 
 
 " Nothing particular." 
 V " Can you give me the names of any who are 
 dissatisfied ? " 
 
 " No, and then I would not wish to do that, any- 
 how. It would make a disturbance." 
 
 " Then in the name of common sense, to say no- 
 thing of Christianity, do you wish me to act, in 
 so momentous a matter, simply upon your ipse dixit ? 
 Are you wholly oblivious of the obvious truth that 
 I am personally responsible to a higher power for 
 what I do ? Don't you know if I take a wrong 
 step it will avail me nothing, either at the bar of 
 human opinion or at the bar of God, to say Mr. 
 Shankey advised me. Surely you can see the 
 reasonableness of this view of the case. " 
 
236 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Mr. Shankey was silent, and in the meantime 
 his finger nails were suffering dreadfully. The 
 Pastor was the first to break the silence and thus 
 resume : 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Shunkey, that our church is 
 a spiritual democracy ? " 
 
 " Yes, I guess it is, theoretically." 
 
 "Then the voice of the church is authoritative 
 and paramount ? " 
 • " Yes, I guess it is, theoretically." 
 
 " But it is practically as well as theoretically, is 
 it not ? " 
 
 Mr. Shankey shook his head and tugged away, 
 with his teeth, at his finger nails. 
 
 " The church has a constitution, made and adopted 
 many years ago, vesting the management of affairs 
 in the church as a body : Has it not, Mr. Shankey ? " 
 
 " Yes, I believe so, although I haven't seen it 
 lately." 
 
 " Has the church at any time passed a resolution 
 transferring its legitimate authority to any man, or 
 any dozen men ; thus giving them the power to act 
 for it and do its business ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 " Then, my friend, are you not assuming a very 
 grave responsibility in advising me to resign ? If 
 the members got to hear of it might they not dis- 
 approve and be disposed even to condemn ? " 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 237 
 
 " They might, but I could bear it, as I have be- 
 fore. Their condemnation would not be very severe, 
 at least, I am not afraid of it. Their ire wouldn't 
 last long. They would soon cool down and accept 
 the circumstances." 
 
 *' Are you very much accustomed to these things, 
 Mr. Shankey?" 
 
 " Yes, rather. I*ve been through many a storm in 
 my time. This is nothing to speak of. And I may 
 say, for your information, that I always succeed in 
 anything I undertake. I make it a point of honor, 
 of christian honor I mean, never to fail. If I set 
 my mind on anything I keep pegging at it until 
 I succeed. Nil desperandum is my motto." 
 
 " You are a living enigma to me, Mr. Shankey." 
 
 " Maybe I am. Maybe you'll understand me 
 better by and by. When I put my foot down I 
 keep it down. My foot is down now, and down it 
 shall remain, unless I see a very good reason for 
 taking it up, which is not very likely." 
 
 " Will you, Mr. Shankey, please so far accommo- 
 date my dull perceptions, and my limited intelli- 
 gence, as to condescend to explain precisely what you 
 mean by putting your foot down, and its application 
 to present circumstances ? " 
 
 " Well, I have no particular objection to explain 
 so far as I am able. I mean by putting my foot 
 down that I have advised you to resign, and having 
 
238 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 done so I shall not be likely to go back on myself. 
 I don't believe in going back on myself. My plan 
 is to advance." 
 
 " But God may show you that the position you 
 have so suddenly and so unaccountably assumed is 
 baseless, unreasonable, inconsistent, and wrong." 
 
 " Maybe He will, and maybe He will not. You 
 don't doubt my sincerity, Sir ? I am sincere. I have 
 the welfare of this Zion at heart. I think I am 
 doing God service." 
 
 " So others have before you, Mr. Shankey. They 
 have been equally sincere, and equally mistaken. 
 There is a celebrated case in point which you know 
 well. The apostle of the Gentiles thought he was 
 doing God service when he was pouring out his 
 wrath and fury upon the saints of God ; everywhere 
 hailing men and women to prison. God opened his 
 eyes ; he may open yours." 
 
 Mr. Shankey couldn't stand scriptural argument 
 or illustrations. They made him dumb. He was 
 silent for a few moments, and then resumed : 
 
 " I would strongly advise you to resign, sir ; and I 
 would suggest that you close your labors in about 
 three months from now. Do it quietly. Don't say 
 anything about it to anybody. I will see that some 
 laudatory resolutions are passed, and a purse of 
 money shall be got together for your benefit." 
 
 " Mr. Shankey, you could not blame me if I were 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 239 
 
 angry with you — very angry. I will not be angry. 
 This much, however, I will say. I could not take 
 your advice, and act upon it, without seriously and 
 grossly affronting my own common sense, doing 
 wrong to the confidence and love of others, and prov- 
 ing recreant to my most sacred and cherished con- 
 victions. One thing I will consent to freely. You 
 may call the church together, — ^but it must be on 
 your own responsibility, — and lay this matter before 
 all the members, and if they are of your mind I will 
 resign at once. From them I received my call to 
 labor ; from them only could I, consistently, take 
 my call to cease labor.*' • 
 
 " 0, my dear sir, I would not for the world call a 
 meeting. It would only make a disturbance, and 
 that wouldn't be agreeable. It is better, in my judg- 
 ment, to do these things quietly and peaceably." 
 
 " But, Mr. Shankey, you surely don't wish to 
 hoodwink the people, and deprive them of their just 
 rights and privileges. They have a right to know ; 
 and such important matters should not be passed 
 over without their privity and consent. They call 
 a pastor ; they support a pastor ; and only by their 
 entire approval should the connection cease." 
 
 " Well, you may be right in prin'^iple. You are 
 a splendid theorist I must confess ; but I fear you 
 have too high an opinion of our church members 
 generally. You haven't known them as long as I 
 
240 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 have. Take a few wise heads out, and you have 
 nothing but mere riffraff left." 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Shankey ? " 
 
 " I mean just what I say." 
 
 " I am sorry you have so poor an opinion of the 
 majority of your fellow members." 
 
 " My opinion is good enough." 
 
 " Really, Mr. Shankey, as pastor of this church, 
 I must beg leave to cast back such an imputation 
 upon the people as that which your words imply. 
 It is neither generous, fair nor honest. It is not 
 right. Your own calm judgment must, on the mor- 
 row, disapprove it." 
 
 " So be it. We shall see." 
 
 " You will surely retract such an ungenerous im- 
 putation. It is unworthy of you, both as a man 
 and a Christian." 
 
 " I never retract. It isn't my style. I always go 
 ahead. Onward's the word for me." 
 
 " Have you any further communication to make, 
 Mr. Shankey ? " 
 
 " Again, sir, I advise you to resign. You will 
 have a heap of trouble if you don't.*' 
 
 " Let me teU you, Mr. Shankey, as you have push- 
 ed me to such a declaration, that there are only two 
 authorities I can recognise in this matter ; the first 
 is the voice of God, the second is the will of the 
 church, legitimately and constitutionally expressed. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 241 
 
 What is more, and I say it in all kindness, my self- 
 respect compelling me to it, I do not solicit any 
 further augmentation of such advice as is meant to 
 assume the character and dimensions of a command." 
 
 " You are very plain, sir, and so will I be. I have 
 embarked in this business, and I shall go on with 
 it. I have, for many years, been the ruling spirit 
 here, and I mean to remain so. I ha^e great in- 
 fluence in the church if I choose to exercise it. I 
 give you fair warning that I will spend twelve 
 months trying to get you out. If I succeed, well. 
 If I fail, I will go out myself." 
 
 " I am grieved exceedingly to hear you thus speak. 
 Good night, Mr. Shankey, and may God give you a 
 better mind, a more feeling heart, and a juster 
 appreciation of the rights of others. The position 
 you have assumed is a most extraordinary one, and 
 allow me to suggest that it may be the part of wis- 
 dom to recede from it in time. Good night, Mr. 
 Shankey." 
 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 Q 
 
242 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Clouds hovering round — A heavy heart — A restless night- 
 Dreamland again — A holy resolve — Legislative and exe- 
 cutive defectiveness — Mr. Shankey sets to work with a 
 will — ^The thin end of the financial wedge — ^The Sabbath 
 School — Mr. Shankey makes a bold push — ^He seems to 
 succeed — An in)portant communication. 
 
 That night the Pastor wended his way home with 
 a heavy heart. How heavy, He alone can tell by 
 whom ** the very hairs of our head are all numbered." 
 The first cloud, though no larger than a man's hand, 
 was already flickering its baleful shadow athwart 
 his hitherto untroubled path. Though neither 
 superstitious nor wanting in courage, he felt he 
 had just cause for apprehension and unrest. A wil- 
 fur determined man can do much evil in a christian 
 community ; and such Hezekiah Shankey, from his 
 tone of remark, seemed to be. The Pastor was not 
 slow to perceive that for such a man to assume such 
 an attitude in relation to himself — however unwar- 
 rantable, unnecessary and capricious it might be — 
 was placing him in a cruel dilemma, on one or 
 other of the horns of which his soul was doomed to 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 243 
 
 be impaled. He saw already, in dim outline, that 
 he had b. t a choice of evils ; that either he must 
 act upon the imperious dictum of one man, and 
 ever afterwards despise himself for his paltriness of 
 spirit and recreancy to principle ; or, he must quiet- 
 ly ignore this self-constituted law-giver, and be pre- 
 pared to take patiently, and in the spirit of Christ, 
 all that might come from the pursuance of such a 
 course. The veriest neophyte in church polity 
 would declare that the latter was the only alternative 
 that a self-respecting christian man could adopt. 
 
 Such a conclusion was reached, but not so speed- 
 ily as might at first be supposed. It was easy 
 to reject, with instant and decisive scorn, the 
 former alternative, but not quite so easy to bring a 
 mind, perturbed by an unusual experience, to see 
 the wisdom of adopting the latter. 
 
 The first instinct of an active mind, when roused, 
 is to meet opposition actively — fire with fire, — but 
 calmer reflection generally shows that the passive 
 attitude is the most effectual, and the one which 
 accords best with the sentiments of the New Testa- 
 ment and the spirit of Christ. " Recompense to 
 no man evil for evil " is both politic and christian. 
 Indeed, it will be found upon close examination 
 that all those sentiments of the New Testament, 
 which are intended for the regulation of human 
 conduct, are based not only upon Divine principles. 
 
244 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 . -• ,;■■-*-„"■ ■;■ ■■...■■ .'.; \: * .-■■:- 
 
 ■■'-■' ■.'*-■■■ . * ;■.■•"-,,' .,■■ -.■. ■ ■ "> 
 
 but also upon a deep and intimate acquaintance 
 with human nature, and upon common-sense. Act- 
 ing upon them, in the various contingencies of 
 life, is not only the sure way to God's favor, but it 
 is also the straight road to real success in dealing 
 with men. There is true philosophy in them. In 
 embodying them in our lives we not only please God 
 but we conserve our present interests. It is thus 
 that " godliness is profitable into all things, having 
 the promise of the life that now is, and of that 
 which is to come." 
 
 It is somewhat of a pity that this aspect of our 
 holy religion is not more commonly dwelt upon and 
 more fully appreciated. We too often lose ourselves 
 in vague, and, for the most part, unprofitable specu- 
 lations concerning that future, of which we have 
 this positive assurance, that " eye hath not seen, 
 nor ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of 
 man to conceive." The present, though not of 
 supreme, is of great interest ; and Christianity has 
 a ceaseless and important bearing upon its develop- 
 ijj/jnt and progress. God meant us to enjoy the 
 present ; to embody our Christianity in the present ; 
 to glorify Him in the present. Whatever we do, 
 we should do all to the glory of God. These obser- 
 vations may appear to the superficial observer some- 
 what wide of the mark, but a closer scrutiny will 
 show that they are not really so. They have an 
 
'•y : :• OF CLERICAL LIFE. - 245 
 
 intimate connection with, and an important bearing 
 upon, what is to follow. 
 
 It would be vain to deny that the unexpected 
 attitude, so suddenly and causelessly assumed by 
 Hezekiah Shankey, had a painful influence upon the 
 Pastor. It saddened and grieved him greatly, and 
 not aU at once was he able to rise above it. That 
 night his otherwise cool brain burned like fire, and 
 neither Christian philosophy nor stern resolution 
 could materially affect, for the time being, the cra- 
 nial temperature. Sleep, for once, refused to per- 
 form its kindly office of weighing down the eyelids, 
 and putting the seething brain into calm repose. 
 This state of mental perturbation was caused, not 
 so much by apprehension of possible evil, as by 
 the excessive and startling novelty of an unex- 
 pected and painful experience. Amid all the con- 
 tingent evils of his life this he had never anticipated. 
 It had not once occurred to him, as in the remotest 
 degree possible, that any man, much less a profess- 
 edly good man, could be so oblivious of past facts and 
 present obligations, as to assume such a thoughtless 
 and remorseless attitude. What was to be done ? 
 Bow to personal domination, and prove recreant to 
 Divine impulses and commands ? Never ! What 
 then ? Upon that the burning brain revolved, 
 until, dazed and tired by its own efforts, it sank into 
 partial and welcome repose. He was in dreamland 
 
246 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 once more. Roscoe Rosewood, Hezekiah Shankey, 
 the old driver and his prognostications, Mr Duffy, 
 Mr. Slocum, Crossberry and Battlemount were all 
 jumbled together in his heated fancy, and formed 
 one grand mental phantasmagoria. How near the 
 great God was to the restless sleeper who can tell I 
 How near the suffering Jesus ! How near the 
 unshorn radiance and glory ! The lips moved, and, 
 all unconscious, sent forth a feeble cry, as broken 
 and plaintive as the wail of an infant : Guide me, 
 lead me. " Thou hast been my help, leave me not, 
 neither forsake me, God of my salvation." Let me 
 not go wrong. " Shew me thy way, O Lord, and 
 lead me in a plain path." " Not my will, but thine 
 be done." The phantasmagoria gradually passed 
 away ; the figures retired into the shades of compara- 
 tive indistinctness, and another form came into view, 
 one whose countenance was radiant as the sun, and 
 fair as the moon. It was the same sweet vision 
 of two years ago over again. The Son of man 
 was there ; the promise was again fulfilled : " I 
 will come again." It was the same sweet 
 voice ; the same tender touch ; the same look 
 of inexpressible benignancy ; the same bleeding 
 brow; the same prints of the nails, and of the 
 spear ; the same " despised and rejected of men ; " 
 the same all-potent, commanding utterance, " Follow 
 me." 
 
A - OF CLERICAL LIFE. , 247 
 
 The troubled night passed, and the Pastor awoke, 
 refreshed in spirit, though not in body. God's finger 
 was upon him. God's voice was in his ear. God's 
 peace was in his soul. What was to be done? 
 Simply, calmly, and only this : " Endure as seeing 
 him who is invisible." " Trust in the Lord, and do 
 good." 
 
 Whether the passive attitude, under the circum- 
 stancfc^a, was a wise one, some may be disposed 
 to doubt, but that it was Christ-like admits, one 
 would fain think, of no doubt; and Christian men, 
 at least, will think that what is Christ-like has in it 
 ultimate wisdom. As the result of what he believed 
 to be Divine impulsion, the Pastor resolved to abide 
 where God had placed him and blessed him ; and 
 do and bear valiantly and uncomplainingly. Much 
 ^ould doubtless have to borne, but did not *^ Christ 
 suffer for us, leaving us an example that we should 
 walk in his steps." And Xvas it not that majestic 
 suffering passivity that ultimately triumphed ? Ah ! 
 there is a wonderful talismanic power in suffering 
 wrong, nobly and quietly. It contains an eloquence 
 and a potency which may, perchance, reach the most 
 obdurate of mortals — it is Christ-like. 
 
 Perhaps it may be contended, with jsome show 
 of reason, that Hezekiah Shankey should not have 
 been permitted to assume such an attitude of deliber- 
 ate and intentional hostility to the Pastor, without 
 
248 -LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 being called to account for it before the tribunal of 
 the Church, and made the subject of collective re- 
 monstrance, or of discipline. He was certainly guilty 
 of the intention of creating a schism in the body, with 
 malice aforethought. He deliberately intended to 
 operate against him whom his office bound him, in 
 all honor, to support. Why not hold him to a strict 
 account for so glaring and grave an offence ? Why 
 not say to him : " as a member of the body you cannot 
 and must not so purpose and so act; and if you 
 persist we must exclude you from our fellowship " — 
 Why not ? Such a course would be scriptural, and 
 in perfect accord with the law of Christ. Then why 
 not enforce the law ? Because, unfortunately, in 
 many cases, it is highly impracticable, and in some 
 instances absolutely in;possible. Why ? Because of 
 the sad imperfection of the human machinery which 
 has to put the Divine law into force. This is the 
 one great prevailing weakness in an excellent, and, 
 as we believe, scriptural system. It is fraught with 
 much evil, but it is unavoidable so long as it remains 
 a part of the whole. It is a serious leakage, and it 
 lets the water out continually. The legislative 
 functions of a church are not always well exercised, 
 but the executive are well nigh a dead letter. It 
 is next to impossible to get two or three hundred or 
 more of sanctified human beings, of all grades of in- 
 telligence and varied surroundings and connections, 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 249 
 
 to see, as with one eye, the law of Christ in its 
 application to any particular case, and then, as one 
 man, to apply that law fairly and faithfully. There 
 are many openings for unsoundness, hesitancy, and 
 indecision to Ltep in and mar the result, or destroy 
 it totally. 
 
 There were not many calm judicial minds in the 
 Battlemount church, and therefore nothing could be 
 successfully attempted, or successfully accomplished, 
 in that direction. It was inevitable, as well as pru- 
 dent, to let the turbulent spirit alone, in the hope 
 that the slumbering embers of personal faction, 
 fanned by no outward breeze, might die out, and 
 remain forever extinguished. Unfortunately, this 
 modest hope was not realized. Of all things that 
 Hezekiah detested — and they were many — that of 
 being let alone excited his abhorrence the most. To 
 pass him or his opinions over in silence was indeed 
 a heinous offence that must in some way be expia- 
 ted. He thought, indeed, there was something seri- 
 ously wrong, if the movement of his little finger 
 did not cause a stir. But when he spoke, and spoke 
 deliberately and decisively, as he had done to the 
 Pastor, his foot was down, and down it must remain. 
 Sooner or later, by hook or by crook, he would have 
 his way. Why not t What could the church do 
 without him ? He had cradled it, and nursed it for 
 many years. Out of the light of his favor it could 
 
250 ^ . LIGHTS AND SHADOWS v ' j 
 
 scarcely be expected to maintain an existence, much 
 less a vigorous life. He was both its sun and its 
 shield, consequently it must some day, not far dis- 
 tant, adopt his views. It was only a question of 
 time, and he could wait and work. Nil desperan- 
 dum. 
 
 Unfortunately, his first efforts were somewhat ill- 
 timed and clumsy, and were met with a perfect 
 storm of indignation from his brethren. All were 
 down on him at once, and he felt the full force of 
 the wrathful hurricane which he had so unskilfully 
 provoked. Not now was the time, and not thus. 
 He meekly bowed his head, and let the storm pass 
 over. He learnt a useful lesson. He saw that the 
 citadel was not to be taken by a coup-de-main. It 
 must be done by sapping and mining. That was an 
 important discovery, for working underground suited 
 his peculiar talents admirably. He saw that an 
 open assault might end in personal and, perhaps, 
 complete discomfiture. Silently must he work, and, 
 when the mine is ready, spring it in a moment. Let 
 us follow this sagacious individual, and see how he 
 works with a given object in view all the time. 
 
 He first calls on Mr. Smallwire, treasurer of the 
 
 • church, and, with ostentatious reluctance, intimates 
 
 that, as times are so hard, he really must reduce his 
 
 subscription fifty per cent. He also insinuates that, 
 
 as business is so depressed generally, losses so large, 
 
- OF CLERICAL LIFE. 251 
 
 and gains so small, it would be well perhaps not to 
 press the prompt and full payment of the pew rents. 
 People must find it hard to pay these times, how- 
 
 ■ ever willing they may be, Mr. Smallwire stares at 
 Deacon Shap''ey for a few moments, wondering 
 what has come over him, and then silently acqui- 
 esces, supposing that so sagacious a man has good 
 
 » reasons for tendering such advice. It never once 
 occurred to Mr. Smallwire that* Deacon Shankey 
 didn't know everything, and something else besides. 
 He quietly accepts the intimation, makes his 
 arrangements accordingly, and the financial barom- 
 eter begins to fall. Thus Mr. Shankey very adroitly 
 inserts the thin end of the financial wedge, and he 
 can trust to his mild insinuations, and the infectious- 
 ness of his personal example, to drive it home. 
 
 He is also Superintendent of the Sabbath School, 
 and he at once sees what a fine chance his position 
 gives him to quietly snub the Pastor, and gradually 
 lower him in the esteem of the working element of 
 the church. He does not tell him that a cessation of 
 his usual visits will be personally agreeable, but he 
 gives him to understand as much by look and deed. 
 The Pastor's keen sensibilities are not slow to dis- 
 cern the trick, and mourn the possible consequences. 
 Again he feels that he is forced upon the horns of 
 a dilemma. He has the alternative of remonstrant, 
 open complaint, or of uncomplaining silence. In 
 
252 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 either case he will be misunderstood, and his moral 
 influence more or less abridged. He chooses the 
 latter, knowing that his Great Master did *' not cry 
 nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the 
 street." He is too much of a man to complain, and 
 too much of a Christian to resent. He calmly 
 possesses his soul in patience, believing that the 
 wrong cannot ultimately succeed, and that the right 
 must ultimately triumph. He reads also in an old 
 book, which he loves, these words : " No weapon 
 that is formed against thee shall prosper ; and every 
 tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou 
 shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants 
 of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith 
 the Lord." 
 
 Mr. Shankey, somewhat emboldened by the 
 success of his eiforts in church finance and in the 
 Sr.bbath School, next proceeds, very warily, to sow 
 the seeds of distrust and dissatisfaction in the minds 
 of his fellow deacons. He dare not approach them 
 as a body ; he did that once and failed. He must 
 take them singly, and shake their confidence in the 
 Pastor, one by one. It will take a little longer 
 time, but he will succeed ultimately ; at least, so he 
 thinks. Nil Desperandum comes to his aid again. 
 Upon mature reflection he arrives at the conclusion 
 that RoUo Duffy, of all his fellow-deacons, will be 
 most assailable, and, therefore, he resolves to try him 
 
OF CLEIIICAL LIFE. 253 
 
 first. Deacon Duffy is, unfortunately, crabbed by 
 nature, and is never so happy as when he has a 
 grievance, fancied or real. Mr. Shankey calls upon 
 Mr. Duffy, and, after cautiously introducing the sub- 
 ject, is pleased beyond measure to find that hia 
 dear brother has already a small score against the 
 the Pastor. Deacon Duffy tells Deacon Shankey, 
 in the strictest confidence of course, that the Pastor 
 is no doubt a very excellent man, and a good 
 preacher ; but he preached a sennon once he didn't 
 like, and since then, he must confess, he has felt a 
 little cool towards him. He would not propose a 
 change, as such an effort would lay an unwelcome 
 tax upon his energies, but he would not say nay if 
 his brother Shankey felt it his duty to make an 
 effort in that direction, discreetly and quietly. If 
 permitted to say a word upon the matter, in its pre- 
 sent incipient state, he would humbly suggest that 
 the said effort should not go beyond a diaconate 
 recommendation to the Pastor to resign. Mr. 
 Shankey was delighted with his brother Duffy, and 
 in the transport of a new found joy took him to his 
 fraternal embrace, vowing an undying attachment 
 to him. With which unusual demonstration Mr.. 
 Duffy felt complimented and flattered, vowing his 
 eternal at^^achment in return. Truly a fellow feel- 
 ing makes us wondrous kind. 
 
 Mr. Shankey, still more emboldened by this 
 
254 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 additional success, next proceeds to lay his plans 
 for entrapping and bringing into his coils Mr. 
 Cheesman. John Cheesman is a young man, 
 and a young deacon. He has been but a short 
 time in office, and Mr. Shankey thinks he may 
 not have forgotten to whose influence he owes 
 his ecclesiastical promotion. He can also, if need 
 be, by a sly look or word, remind him of cer- 
 tain other obligations of recent date ; obligations of a 
 very solid and substantial character. Mr. Cheesman, 
 be it observed, is a very ardent admirer of the 
 Pastor ; thinks much of him, and has abundant rea- 
 son to do so ; is greatly indebted to him for mental 
 development and spiritual growth; and thinks, 
 without a shade of doubt, that he has done well, and 
 is doing well in Battlemount. He has, in the 
 Pastor, the simple love and trust of a child, and the 
 confidence of a brother. Mr. Shankey knows aU 
 this, and yet he has full confidence that he can win 
 him to his side, and he means to do so. Upon the 
 first mention of the subject Mr. Cheesman strongly 
 and even wrathfully objects. He could not think 
 of lending his influence to the unsettling of so .sjood 
 and so useful a man. The bare mention of Mr 
 Shankey's design is a real sorrow to him. He 
 would rather cut off his right hand, or pluck out 
 his right eye, than have anything to do with the 
 business. He would scorn to help in the pursuance 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 255 
 
 of SO ungrateful and so suicidal a policy. That Mr. 
 Cheesman felt and meant all he said there can be 
 no doubt ; but by and by he feels the controlling, 
 thwarting influence of a stronger will than his own. 
 He finds out, what to the intense disgust and 
 sorrow of the whole race was discovered six thousand 
 years ago, that " the serpent is more subtle than 
 any beast of the field." The r nstant dropping of 
 water will wear away a stone, and so Mr. Chees- 
 man's admiration evaporates, his constancy wanes, 
 his good resolutions and earnest love are scattered 
 to the winds ; he succumbs, and falls. Mr. Shankey 
 receives the welcome assurance that he will not 
 actively oppose his plans. &':.;-: ' . j 
 The good deacon scratches his bald pate with 
 evident, unmingled satisfaction. He cannot help 
 surveying his gains, and indulging in a little arith- 
 metical calculation. Very slowly he repeats the 
 words, so ominous to one who is all unconscious, but 
 so welcome to him ; Shankey, one ; Duffy, two ; 
 Cheesman, three. Hurrah ! that's good. Now here 
 goes for the fourth — Deacon Gammon. He ap- 
 proaches Dr. Gammon, very cautiously, of course, as 
 he well knows how. If he can get him, and he feels 
 sure he can, he will have a majority of the diaconate, 
 and the remainder of his benevolent plans will be 
 comparatively easy of execution. A favorable 
 opportunity soon presents itself. An aged member 
 
256 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ,„ < ■ ' 
 
 of the church dies ; the funeral day is fixed. The 
 Pastor is there, in that abode of sorrow, where often 
 he has been ; and where he has often helped to 
 dispel the gloom by his presence, his prayers, his 
 counsel, and his means. Mr. Shankey is there for 
 the first and last time, and his horse and buggy 
 stand at the door. Dr. Gammon is there;. The 
 funeral service over, Mr, Shankey speaks to Dr. 
 Gammon, giving him a more than usualhr warm 
 shake of the hand, and inviting him to take a seat 
 with him in his buggy for a quiet ride to the ceme- 
 tery and back. They will move very slowly, of 
 course, and there will be plenty of time to talk, and 
 none to interfere. The ride is a long one, and the 
 talk too, and very quiet and orderly. It could not 
 be otherwise with Deacon Gammon. He never 
 opposed anybody, and wouldn't for the world crush 
 a moth. He didn't want to oppose the Pastor, 
 neither did he feel disposed to oppose Deacon 
 Shankey. He did like to be a deacon, and he liked 
 the benevolent office of distributing the charity of 
 the church to the poor. And if, as Deacon Shankey 
 most solemnly assured him, the majority of the 
 deacons were going against the Pastor, why, how- 
 ever reluctantly, he must go with them. It is the 
 prerogative and destiny of a few brave spirits to 
 breast the current; the many flow on with it 
 whithersoever it shall go. To the latter class Dr. 
 Gammon, by nature and inclination, belonged. 
 
■J OF CLEKICAL LIFE. 257 
 
 Hezekiah Shankey is well nigh intoxicated with 
 his success. Now he has three deacons, and he 
 himself makes four. He even conceives .the bold 
 idea of sweeping the whole board, and carrying, not 
 a majority only, but the whole of the deacons with 
 him. Why should he not ? He will try. Every 
 step taken makes each succeeding one more easy. 
 There is a grim shade of satisfaction upon his pale 
 brow as he lays the flattering unction to his soul, 
 and says : " Hezekiah, you have done well ; go ahead, 
 you will win, sure. Never despair ! " Stimulated by 
 his own notes of cheer Hezekiah goes ahead. He 
 is not the man to slacken his efforts with certain 
 victory in view. He must, and will win. Did he 
 not say so, and must he not fulfil his own prophecy ? 
 Certainly. He thinks he has scripture on his side, 
 too ; for he has a dim recollection of a passage which 
 says something about a man not being worth much 
 who looks back after having put his hand to the 
 plough. With a more confident attitude now, he 
 calls upon Deacon Smiler, and explains his views. 
 That gentleman receives him courteously, listens to 
 him with a very dignified demeanor, and then honors 
 him with a gracious smile. That is about as far as 
 • Duncan Smiler usually goes when he doesn't want 
 to say anything. Deacon Shankey, grown bold by 
 success, resolves to get at him, and make him show 
 his hand if possible. He tells him, in a quiet con- 
 
 E 
 
■ I '■■ 
 
 258 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 fident tone, that the matter is weighing much on 
 his mind ; that he has thought much about it ; that 
 he has made it a matter of earnest prayer ; and that 
 Deacons Duffy, Cheesman and Gammon think as he 
 does, and that they are all very anxious not to move in 
 the matter without his commanding influence and 
 indispensable concurrence. Who could resist such 
 insinuating, charming, complimentary eloquence ? * 
 Not Duncan Smiler. He did not want a change in 
 the pastorate, but then how flattering it was to be 
 informed that his brethren would not move with- 
 out him. After such a display of deference and ^, 
 confidence it might look churlish in him any longer 
 to refuse his assent to the plans of his fellow dea- 
 cons. Still he must insist that he would not go be- 
 yond a diaconate recommendation. To this stipu- 
 lation Mr. Shankey willingly assented. 
 
 Only one deacon now remains, and if he can be 
 won the board is swept, the triumph is complr',e. - 
 Deacon Christie is approached, but he rejects the^ 
 proposal of Mr. Shankey with a perfect hurricane :' 
 of indignation and scorn. He will not give his 
 countenance to such a scheme. If all forsake the 
 Pastor he will stand by him, firm as adamant. He 
 loves him ; he has grown in grace under his faith- 
 ful ministrations ; and his children have been 
 brought into the fold of Christ by his instrumental- 
 ity. How much he and his have been blessed he 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 259 
 
 cannot compute, and he will not prove unthankful 
 or unfaithful to the servant of God. ./V , 
 , A gust of real manliness and true godly sincerity- 
 Mr. Shankey could not stand ; he was swept before 
 it like the chaff off the summer threshing floor. For 
 a moment he was cowed, and remained silent. He 
 was satisfied nothing would move brother Christie, 
 and he must work his darling scheme without his 
 approval. So be it! There are five against one, 
 and these are considerable odds, and likely to 
 succeed. The train is now laid, and he can apply 
 the match. He asks his brother deacons to meet 
 him, for an hour's conference, in his big parlor. 
 They respond. We will not weary the reader with 
 a record of all that passed. The result may be briefly 
 stated — the Pastor received the following missive, 
 by a special messenger, the following morning : 
 
 July 18, 18— 
 Rev. Paul Vincent, 
 
 Dear Brother, 
 
 At a meeting of the deacons of the church, held last evening, 
 the following resolution was passed: That we, the deacons of 
 the church, with one exception, think it desirable you should 
 resign your pastoral position; and we hereby take the liberty 
 of recommending you to do so. And we would also suggest 
 that the said '•esignation should take effect on or before the 
 first of October next. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 Hezekiah Shankey, 
 RoLLo Duffy, 
 John Cheesman, 
 J. H. Gammon, M.D. 
 Duncan Smiler. 
 
260 LlOlfrS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 -■■■ ■', f 
 
 "'■■s. 
 
 Mr. Shanlcey continnes his operations — Another important 
 
 communication — Officiai unwisdom — Mr. Sliankey springs 
 
 a mine — A touching scene — An appropriate sermon — 
 
 ** Part in peace " — Duncan Smiler*8 note — Official policy 
 
 reviewed — No confidence. 
 
 The Pastor was intensely grieved, but not wholly 
 surprised, to receive the communication which closes 
 the last chapter. In fact, if the veritable truth 
 must be confessed, he rather expected it. Mr. Shan- 
 key's movements although meant to be secret were 
 not really so. Murder, and all evil, will out. That 
 which is done in secret is sure, sooner or later, to be 
 proclaimed upon the house-top. The mole may 
 work secretly, and in darkness, but the little hills 
 thrown up on the surface show its location and acti- 
 vity. It was even so with Hezekiah Shankey. He 
 worked, secretly, but the results could not be wholly 
 obscured. Little inequalities and discordances ap- 
 peared upon the surface of the church life, which 
 unmistakably testified to the indefatigable industry 
 of the silent worker. 
 
 It is difficult, nay impossible, to gauge with cer- 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 261 
 
 tainty the motives of men ; difficult to do it with 
 even a small approximate success ; impossible to do 
 it perfectly. And yet there is a constant effort to 
 sink below the surface of human action to find out, 
 if possible, what is there. There is enough of the 
 child in us to wish to know what is largely forbid- 
 den to be known. Without claiming the power to 
 divine human motive we may venture to affirm that 
 Mr. Shankey had no tangible or sufficient reason for 
 the course he was pursuing ; at least, not such a 
 reason as would be necessary to satisfy a strong, 
 well-balanced mind. Impulsiveness was his pre- 
 vailing weakness, his besetting sin ; and, in an evil 
 hour, he had committed himself to this disagreeable 
 self-imposed task, and he felt his personal honor 
 demanded he should go on with it, whatever the re- 
 sul might be to himself or to others. 
 
 Unfortunately, he was not made of such noble 
 stuff as enablos a man to retreat promptly and with 
 dignity from a false position, and he did not see 
 that, possibly, his rash vow might be more honored 
 in the breach than in the observance. He failed to 
 see the full and ultimate consequences of his course, 
 or even he, wilful as he was, might have drawn 
 back. He persuaded himself that, when he had 
 induced the majority of his brother deacons to act 
 with him, he would achieve an instant and com- 
 plete victory. He made one simple but fatal mis- 
 
262 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 take. He left out of his calculation the principal 
 factor in the case, the Lord Jesus Christ, He " who 
 holdeth the seven stars in his right hand and 
 walketh in the inidst of the seven golden candle- 
 sticks." He forgot that he himself might be 
 another Balaam going to curse Israel, at the instiga- 
 tion of an imperious lust of power, and that the 
 Spirit of the Lord might dispute every inch of his 
 progress. Like that luckless prophet he became 
 utterly infatuated, and went forth with a lie in his 
 right hand. .?v"l ; '^^.v? ^«/yr;.i:J:iv - 
 
 Passing from him to the other deacons who 
 joined him in the recommendation, it may be safely 
 affirmed that had they seen, or in the remotest 
 degree suspected, the ultimate consequences of that 
 incipient official act, not ten thousand Hezekiah 
 Shankeys would have been able to persuade them 
 to it. At least, it is only charitable and right to 
 suppose this, and we had better err, if we do err, on 
 the side of charity. 
 
 In sorrow, as has been already stated, the Pastor 
 received the communication, in silence he quietly 
 folded it up and placed it where such treasures were 
 usually kept, and imitating, as best he could, the 
 noble self-repression of his. great Exemplar, " he 
 answered not a word." 
 
 Did he reach this self-abnegating conclusion 
 speedily ? By no means. Hours, days, weeks of 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 263 
 
 thought and prayer brought him to it. He was not 
 wholly divested of natural feeling. He was neither 
 spiritless nor tame. The natural man within him 
 could and would have disputed, stormed, retaliated, 
 but the new man strove for the mastery, and, after 
 a fierce struggle, won. It then seemed best to him, 
 most christian, most noble, not to dispute, not to 
 acquiesce, not to answer, but to bear. He heard a 
 voice which said : " Be still, and know that I am 
 God." He remembered one who was " oppressed 
 and afflicted, led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as 
 a sheep before her shearers was dumb, so he opened 
 not his mouth." And that one said: "Follow me." 
 Not by the Pastor was the antagonistic act of 
 the diaconate published abroad. Dame Rumor 
 floated it, however, and it excited profou.:d sorrow 
 and indignation in the community ; sorrow for the 
 Pastor who would not tell his grief, or appear as if 
 he suffered, and indignation at the men w^ho pre- 
 sumed thus to ignore the wishes of the body, and 
 usurp the functions of the church. At once 
 would they have been hurled from office, see- 
 ing they had so manifestly and wilfully miscon- 
 strued their prerogatives and their duties, but 
 the silent influence of the Pastor prevailed, and 
 order and quiet were once more restored. For 
 a time there was a lull in the storm. It seemed 
 as if the majesty and sweetness of silent forbearance 
 
264 LIGJITS AND SHADOWS 
 
 had prevailed, but, unfortunately, appearances were 
 illusory. Not thus, and not so easily, will an un- 
 holy purpose be baffled, or overthrown. 
 
 Three months subsequent to the date of the diacon- 
 ate recommendation, the Pastor entered the vestry of 
 his church, on a Sabbath morning. He noticed, as 
 something unusual, that no one was present, and, 
 as far as he could see, no one within call. Even 
 Dr. Gammon was not there, a very unusual omission 
 on his part. Casting his eye on the table he saw a 
 letter, and found, upon examination, that it was 
 addressed to himself. It was the work of an in- 
 stant to take it up, break it open, and read the con- 
 tents ; they were as follows : 
 
 Battlemount, Oct. 26, 18 — . 
 Rev. Paul Vincent, 
 
 Dear Brother, 
 
 You will please read the following notice at both morning 
 
 and evening service : — A church meeting will be held on 
 
 Friday evening next at 8 o'clock. The deacons request a full 
 
 attendance of members, as matters of unusual interest will be 
 
 presented. 
 
 Hezeeiah Shankey. 
 
 Duncan Smiler. 
 
 J. H. Gammon, M.D. 
 
 John Gheesman. 
 
 BoLLO Duffy. 
 
 This was, indeed, springing a mine with unscru- 
 pulous and almost barbarous vengeance. Whose 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 266 
 
 haindy-work it was the observant eye of the Pastor 
 saw at a glance. It was ^ezekiah Shankey's. 
 
 That the same hand wrote the notice and the 
 first signature was too plain to be mistaken. There 
 seemed, in fact, to be no attempt at concealment. 
 Perhaps it was kindly and benevolently intended 
 that the Pastor should see who had written the 
 words : " You will please," etc., instead of, " will you 
 please." What a difference a slight transposition 
 makes ! What should have been a polite request 
 was put in such a shape as to assume the appear- 
 ance of a polite command. In that form, Hezekiah 
 thought it might rouse the Pastor from his passive 
 attitude, and sting him into active resistance. He 
 fancied that, if his thinly- veiled command produced 
 that effect, an important point would be gained. 
 Not thus, however, was he permitted to succeed. 
 Once more the grace of God signally triumphed, and 
 the simple majesty of silent forbearance confound- 
 ed the plotter. " In vain the net is spread in the 
 sight of any bird." 
 
 It was a cruel, trying moment. An important 
 decision was to be reached in a very short space of 
 time ; a decision upon the wisdom or unwisdom of 
 which much might depend. Should he give out a 
 notice, the underlying import of which he was 
 utterly unacquainted with ? What was the business 
 of unusual interest which was to be brought before 
 
2GG LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 the meeting ? He might surmise, but he did not 
 know. He was totally ignorant of the hidden 
 purpose, and no one was present to answer a 
 question, or throw any light upon the subject. 
 What was to be done ? He must decide, decide at 
 once, decide aloile, and in the dark. The orgt>,n was 
 pealing fortli its inspiring notes, and, without further 
 delay, he must ascend the pulpit, and commence 
 the service. With the heartfelt ejaculation, " God 
 help me to decide aright," he rose in his place, and, 
 pale with suppressed emotion that could not wholly 
 be concealed, he said : *• Let us pray." 
 
 Fortunately for him, in his perturbed condition, 
 it was not necessary in the opening prayer to use 
 extemporaneous utterance. His invariable practice 
 was to repeat that simple, but sublime and compre- 
 hensive outpouring of the soul, in which the Lord 
 first taught His disciples to prciy : " Our Father 
 which art in heaven," etc. The short sententious 
 nature of that matchless composition harmonized 
 well with his broken utterances, and partly obscured 
 what he could not wholly conceal. Never before 
 did he pronounce the words so deliberately, so feel- 
 ingly, so emphatically. When he came to the clauses : 
 " Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that 
 trespass against us," and " deliver us from all evil," 
 his chastened spirit and faltering tones lent an 
 enchantment to the words which gave them 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 267 
 
 a present meaning and power, and sent a thrill 
 through the whole mass of kneeling worship- 
 pers. They instinctively divined that he who thus 
 prayed was tenderly touched, and that he was pos- 
 sessed with a new and present sorrow. He gave 
 out a hymn, the opening one. He read the Scrip- 
 tures, and unintentionally hit upon the third psalm, 
 where David so pathetically mourns the far-reach- 
 ing treachery of Absalom. " Lord, how are they 
 increased that trouble me, many there be which 
 rise up against me. Many there be which say of 
 my soul there is no help for him in God. But 
 thou, Lord, art a shield for me ; my glory and the 
 lifter up of my head." He prayed again, and by 
 this time the balm of truth had somewhat staunched 
 and healed the fresh bleeding wound. The voice 
 was less faltering, and the bowed spi^-'t more con- 
 fident and erect. Then came the collecti m and the 
 notices. The ordinary announcements for the 
 week were soon disposed of, and then, after a signifi- 
 cant pause, he said : " My friends, and my brothers 
 and sisters in Jesus Christ. You may perceive 
 that I am not wholly unembarrassed. I am in a 
 strait betwixt two. I am unfortunately called 
 to decide what is right to do in a given circumstance, 
 without having the time for consideration which 
 the gravity and importance of the question demands. 
 When I entered the vestry this morning I found on 
 
268 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 the table a note addressed to me. Who placed it 
 there I know not, and there was no one present to 
 explain. It contain'3 a notice of a church meeting 
 for Friday evenin'^ next, with a request, signed by 
 five deacons of ttia church, that I will give out the 
 said notice morning and evening. It is stated that 
 business of unusual interest is to be brought before 
 you, and a full attendance of members is requested. 
 Whether it is right or prudent to make this an- 
 nouncement I have no time to decide. It may, or 
 it may not be. I do not know what the business 
 is. No one has deigned to give me any previous 
 intimation of the meeting or the nature of the 
 matters of unusual interest which are to be brought 
 forward. I must make, or refuse to make, this 
 announcement — this is the difficult alternative, 
 and I must decide at once. I decide to make the 
 announcement, and, by this explanation, attach the 
 responsibility where it belongs. It is as follows : 
 " A church meeting will be held on Friday even- 
 ing next, at eight o'clock. The deacons request a 
 full attendance of members, as matters of un- 
 usual interest will be presented.'^ Preceding 
 this is the following intimation : " You will please 
 read the following notice, at both morning and 
 evening service :" — Signed, Hezekiah Shankey,Dun- 
 can Smiler, J. H. Gammon, M.D., John Cheesman, 
 Kollo Dufify. I leave the matter in your hands. 
 
Oi' CLERICAL LIFE. 269 
 
 Deal with it prudently, and in such a way as 
 may seem right and good. If any evil come of it, 
 which may God in His mercy prevent, you will 
 know where to attach the responsibility. I fear 
 the result will too closely harmonize with the inten- 
 tion, and that the actual event will show the for- 
 mer to be, what an unbiassed judgment will pro- 
 nounce the latter, not good. 
 
 The aforesaid gentlemen looked anything but 
 heavenly during the delivery of these calm, judicial 
 sentiments. They had evidently not reckoned 
 upon such personal publicity. The remainder of 
 the congregation, however, showed unmistakably 
 that they were wound up to a pitch of intense and 
 p nful excitement. To them, as well as to the 
 Pastor, it was a complete surprise. More than one 
 heart throbbed with deep emotion and a new-found 
 sorrow. More than one eye in that assembly 
 distilled the silenttear ; and as that outward token 
 of an inward grief stole its wa y down many a 
 flushed and burning cheek, it was not unnoted by 
 the Pastor's sympathetic soul, and perchance not 
 unnoted by Him who when upon the earth had 
 occasions of weeping. 
 
 The sermon which followed was suited to the 
 occasion. It was on that saying of Jesus to His 
 sorrowing disciples : " These things I have spoken 
 unto you that in me ye might have peace." The 
 
270 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 text could not have been selected, and the sermon 
 on it prepared, in view of the event, as the Pastor 
 was as ignorant of what was to transpire as the 
 babe unborn ; but He, without whose knowledge 
 a sparrow falleth not to the ground, knew, and so 
 directed His servant. A few of the sentiments 
 uttered may suitably, and perhaps not unprofitably, 
 find a place here. Out of a full heart, and with a 
 chasened eloquence which genuine feeling alone 
 can inspire, the Pastor spoke thus : Faith and 
 peace are as closely allied as cause and effect ; the 
 one existeth not without the other. Eeal, pure, 
 deep, abiding peace is a rarity, even amongst 
 Christians ; and that mainly because real, strong, 
 abiding faith is also rare. Do not misunderstand 
 me. I do not say that faith is rare, but strong faith 
 is. I do not say that peace is rare, for every child 
 of God has it, but deep, abiding peace is. Only as 
 we abide in Jesus can we have peace, the peace 
 which is incomprehensible and inexpressible. Faith 
 is the most important part of the Christian's armor. 
 Clad with it you may repel every dart of the enemy. 
 The balls, coming from whatever part of the invading 
 host, striking against that, fall flattened and harm- 
 less at your feet. Its protective power is immense. 
 There is a wide-spread conspiracy whose object is to 
 rob us of our faith. The enemy of souls knows full 
 well its sustaining and protect -ng power, and if he 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 271 
 
 can, by any means, get it away from us, he lays us 
 low at his feet helpless and undone. When you 
 feel the shield of faith tottering in your feeble grasp 
 fall upon your knees, and ask God to help you to 
 keep your hold upon it. You are lost without it. 
 With it you are valiant, strong, invincible. Faith in 
 Christ and peace in Christ are indissolubly connected. 
 They would not, however, be so if he were only a 
 man. It is because He is the God-man that they 
 are thus united. Faith in any man, however wise 
 or powerful, cannot tranquilize the mind. It is 
 because Christ is not only the Saviour but also the 
 Ruler of the world that faith in Him gives peace to 
 the troubled soul. He told His sorrowing disciples 
 that many things were coming that they would find 
 hard to bear. They would be persecuted, put out of 
 the synagogues, and some might even kill them who 
 would think, in doing so, that they were doing God 
 service. The most sorrowful fact of all was that they 
 were soon to be deprived of His bodily presence. He 
 would submit to death, and His enemies would 
 achieve an apparent victory. This would occasion 
 them sorrow, but theii sorrow would soon be turned 
 into joy. Jesus would die, but the Lord would rise, 
 and live, and reign for evermore. Not in this un- 
 stable world, with its ever-shifting scenes and painful 
 surprises, is peace to be found ; but in Him who is 
 " the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." 
 
272 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 Truly it was good to be there ; and all felt that 
 there was a more than usual manifestation of the 
 Divine presence and power. Many a wound was 
 healed, many a sigh was hushed, many a tear was 
 dried, many a soul felt the majesty of truth, and the 
 presence of a living Christ, as the whole congrega- 
 tion rose and sung : • : ;> ; 
 
 • ^ ' ' ** Part in peace, Christ's life was peace, 
 i; ' "^'v Let us live our life in Him ; 
 
 Part in peace, Christ's death was peace, . ' .. 
 
 Let us die our death in Him. ', 
 
 Part in peace, Christ promise gave 
 Of a life beyond the grave, ■ ' ' 
 
 - Where all mortal partings cease; ' 
 
 Holy brethren part in peace 1 " 
 * * * ♦ ♦ * ♦ 
 
 It is Friday evening, and eight o'clock. The mem- 
 bers of the Battlemount church are met in the large 
 basement school-room. The call of the deacons has 
 been responded to with considerable promptitude 
 and by considerable numbers. All but a very few 
 are, evidently, on the alert. One thing is certain, 
 there is to be a stir of some kind, and they want to 
 see and hear what it is. The room is not packed* 
 but it is tolerably well filled. There are but few 
 vacant seats. AU the prominent members are pre- 
 sent, and large number? of the rank and file, the 
 " ritf raff" as Deacon Shi\nkey condescended to call 
 them. The Kev. Jeremiah Gamble, through the 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 273 
 
 pressure of other engagements, is not often present 
 at church meetings, but he has made a special effort 
 to be present on so important an occasion. He is 
 easily recognisable by his erect figure, his silvery 
 locks, his unusually ruddy face, for so old a man, 
 his sharp piercing eye and his calm venerable look ; 
 he is a cedar in Lebanon. Duncan Smiler is there, 
 smiling as blandly as ever. There is Hezekiah, too, 
 alternately scratching his bald pate and nervously 
 biting his finger nails. The latter will suffer dread- 
 fully before the evening is past. Unlike his brother 
 Smiler he has not taken a front seat. He is seated 
 behiud,among the " riff raff." Perhaps such a location 
 suits his modest and retiring nature. Eollo Duffy is 
 rolled up in a seat in a corner of the room, and his 
 intelligent wife sits beside him to keep him awake, 
 which, happily, she succeeds in doing by now and 
 then giving him a tremendous dig in the ribs. The 
 Pastor occupies the chair, and opens the meeting 
 with devotional exercises. These over, he proceeds 
 to explain the object of the meeting, and says : 
 
 " My friends, when I announced this meeting on 
 Sunday last I was as ignorant as the majority of 
 you now are of the object fc which we were called 
 together. Since then my darkness has been en- 
 lightened. One of the conveners, evidently com- 
 passionating my inevitable ignorance, very kindly 
 sent me a note, by special mes^ anger, clearly ex- 
 
 
 
274 , RIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 plaining what those matters of unusual interest are 
 that were intended to be brought before you. This 
 is my only means of information, and perhaps I can- 
 not do better than read the letter, and let it speak 
 for itself. It is as follows : 
 
 Dear Brother Vincent, ■ 
 
 Lest you should still further have occasion to plead ignor- 
 ance of the important business which some of tlie deacons 
 wish to lay before the church on Friday night, it might be 
 well for me to communicate, so far as I know, the nature of 
 that business. Some time ago I and four of my brethren 
 sent you a joint note, advising you to resign your pastoral 
 charge. Up to the present time this recommendation, as you 
 are perfectly aware, has been without effect. We feel that 
 our dignity and influence are thereby compromised. Our 
 action, which we meant to be private, and desired to produce 
 its appropriate effect without making a stir, has somehow 
 leaked out, and many unfavorable comments have been pasped 
 upon it. We therefore desire to lay before the members of 
 the church this action for their approval or disapproval. 
 Should they disapprove, we shall then have the opportunity of 
 resigning, and afford them an opportunity of appointing others 
 who may more truly reflect their views. 
 
 I am, yours truly, 
 
 Ddnoan Smileb. 
 
 " This then, my friends, is the business before you 
 to-night. It is for you to take it up, and consider 
 it fairly and dispassionately. Dismiss all prejudice 
 from your minds, and look at the matter calmly and 
 judicially. The facts are admitted. About them 
 there can be no dispute. Such a letter was aent and 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 275 
 
 received. It did not produce the effect intended. 
 These brethren feel, and I think rightly, that, possibly, 
 they do not reflect your views. They ask you to 
 pronounce judgment upon what they thought it 
 prudent to do — to approve or disapprove. It is a 
 disagreeable task, but you have no alternative. I 
 have not desired it, neither have you, but they have. 
 Where the right or the wrong, the folly or the wis- 
 dom lies is for you to determine, and you alone. I 
 leave the matter with you, and may God's good 
 spirit guide you to a right conclusion ! " 
 
 Mr. Smiler at once took the floor, and said : " My 
 friends, I confess I am the writer of that letter which 
 the Pastor has just read. It fairly expresses my senti- 
 ments, and the sentiments of those who have acted 
 with me. I was not the originator of that recommend- 
 ation, which was sent to the Pastor some time ago, but 
 I gave ' " my adhesion to it. I thought, at the time, 
 it would be instantly acted upon, and there the mat- 
 ter would end. Unfortunately, such has not been 
 the case. I frankly confess I am not personally op- 
 posed to the Pastor. No one can fail to admire his 
 uncomplaining patience, his simple faith, his un- 
 doubted fidelity, his spotless life, and his more 
 than average ability as a preacher of the Gospel. 
 But I think he should have acted upon that 
 recommendation, and at once resigned. Many of 
 our pa,stors have resigned when they have been 
 
276 LIOHTS AND SHAD0W8 
 
 SO advised, and in cases where they have not, 
 the result has generally been disastrous to them- 
 selves. If you approve our action I have every 
 confidence the Pastor will resign, as he v/ill take that 
 as the voice of the Church indirectly but legitimate- 
 ly expressed. If you disapprove our action we must 
 and will resign ; and you must appoint others to 
 fill the offices we have occupied so long, so honor- 
 ably, and up to the present time, may I venture to 
 add, so acceptably. I do not wish to intimidate you 
 or influence your judgment unfairly, but I would 
 beg to add that it may not be very easy to find suit- 
 able men to fill our places, if we, by your adverse 
 judgment, are called upon to vacate them. Let me 
 also mildly intimate that I and my brother deacons 
 are, without doubt, the largest contributors to the 
 funds of the church and the support of the ministry. 
 Brother Small wire, the treasurer, will be able to 
 verify my statement." 
 
 Upon which Brother Small wire, somewhat abashed 
 by this personal reference, scrambled upon his 
 slim perpendiculars, and was understood to say, in 
 effect, that what Deacon SmJler had said about the 
 subscriptions was true, and he couldn't see how the 
 church could be run without the continued aid and 
 full co-operation of the large subscribers. 
 
 Brother Gumming rose, and in a few well-chosen 
 words intimated that the assembled brethren would 
 
OP CLERICAL LIFE. 277 
 
 doubtless be glad to hear what Deacon Shankey had 
 to say upon the subject. Whereupon, Hezekiah 
 looked daggers, trembled visibly with suppressed 
 emotion, scratched his head, bit his finger nails, and 
 refused to take the floor. 
 
 There was a momentary pause. No one seemed 
 disposed to speak. Then the Kev. Jeremiah Gamble 
 slowly elevated his venerable form, and, standing 
 perfectly erect, said : " My very dear friends, — I am 
 pained exceedingly, and surprised beyond measure, 
 at the audacity and ignorance of men whom I have 
 been accustomed to respect, and who have had such 
 abundant opportunities of knowing and doing better. 
 Is it possible that our deacons did not know, in 
 sending that recommendation to the Pastor to resign, 
 and expecting him to act upon it without ascertain- 
 ing our views, or consulting our wishes, that they 
 were overstepping their appropriate duties, and 
 usurping our functions ? Is it possible, I ask, that 
 there could be so much ignorance and folly, where 
 we had a right to expect both knowledge and wis- 
 dom ? I confess that the like of this I have never 
 seen in all my experience, which is by no means 
 inconsiderable. For my part I feel I cannot too 
 much admire the noble self-repression and bearing 
 of our beloved Pastor in quietly ignoring so uncon- 
 stitutional an act. He doubtless meant that silence 
 should teach thoae capable of being ta'-cght a lesson 
 
278 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 which no amount of disputation could impart. The 
 whole conduct of the affair, so far as he is concerned, 
 evinces a maturity of judgment and christian feel- 
 ing which could scarcely be expected from his years. 
 I am exceedingly sorry that our deacons have 
 brought themselves into this difficulty, but it is by 
 their own purpose and act. We are placed in a 
 dilemma, and a painful one. If we approve, we 
 aid and abet what is plainly unconstitutional, and 
 thereby aim a serious blow at the vital princijjle 
 upon which the church is founded. If we disap- 
 prove, we have to dispense with men upon whose 
 judgment and services we have been accustomed to 
 rely. This is the dilemma. These are the two evils. 
 Wisdom would say, choose the least. At all hazards 
 and at all costs principle must be maintained, and 
 therefore we cannot approve, but must, however 
 reluctantly, condemn. It is not safe to shrink 
 from duty though it involve considerable sacrifices. 
 Dare to do right ; dare to be true." 
 
 There was ; ^ong pause at the close of Brother 
 Gamble's speech. All felt it to be clear, convin- 
 cing, and unanswerable. Even the deacons for 
 the time being seemed to realize that they had not 
 been very wise. 
 
 Brother Murphy moved, and Brother Gumming 
 seconded the following motion : " That we, as a 
 church here asseir' '3d, and in the exercise of our 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 279 
 
 just rights and privileges, do hereby disapprove of 
 the action of the deacons regarding the Pastor." 
 
 The scrutineers appointed by the Meeting 
 counted the ballots, and gave in their report, which 
 was that the motion was carried and the vote 
 adopted. 
 
 Thus concluded a meeting memorable in the 
 annals of the Battlemount Church. The common 
 sense of the community vindicated an important 
 principle, and redressed, so far as human interven- 
 tion could redress, a deep wrong, V -^ '''^..'y" ^ -,)■'':■ ^ ■ ^ 
 
280 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ,'-'■".■ ■>■■■<, ■'•.■'" 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI^- -^ V 
 
 The manhood of Christ — Deep waters — Self-repression — 
 Official infidelity and folly — " Let this cup pass from 
 me " — Dear old Crossberry — Douglas Sinclair — A fight 
 for dear life — Dr. Gammon rejected — Deacon Christie 
 re-elected — Joel Gudgeon becomes Deacon Gudgeon — 
 " Braying a fool in a mortar." 
 
 • 
 
 The Saviour of men never uttered a more heart- 
 breaking appeal than that when, on the occasion of 
 a general defection among his disciples, he plain- 
 tively said to the twelve : " Will ye also go away." 
 It was not the God that was speaking, but the 
 great lonely human soul that was in Him. Of 
 necessity He felt lonely at all times, because He was 
 the only perfect being in human form then walking 
 the earth. Fellowship in the fullest and strictest 
 sense there could not be, for He had no equal 
 among human-kind. He was " alone, and yet not 
 alone, because the Father was with Him." Yet He 
 was so really and intensely human that he could in- 
 stantly, and even d^,eply, feel the waning of human 
 friendship. When he perceived that a certain 
 number " of His disciples went back and walked 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. - 281 
 
 no more with Him," He became concerned about that 
 inner and more immediate circle called "the 
 twelve, " as if for an instant He entertained the 
 fear that they, too, might forsake Him. So truly 
 " was He in all points tried like as we are." 
 
 It was with feelings nearly akin to those of the 
 Saviour that the Pastor of the Battlemount Church 
 surveyed his position and surroundings on the day 
 following the events recorded in the last chapter. 
 There was this difference, however : the circum- 
 stances were transposed. The large outer circle of 
 those who had learned to love him was in the main 
 intact. It was in the inner circle he had to mourn 
 over defection. He had something of the feeling 
 of David, too, when ha said : " Yea, mine own fami- 
 liar friend in whom I trusted, which did eat of my 
 bread, hath lifted up his heel against me." Espe- 
 cially did he feel thus towards Deacon Cheesman, 
 whose strength and loyalty of attachment he had 
 never doubted, and whom he had loved as a 
 brother, and trusted as a very dear friend. How 
 much the Pastor felt, and how deeply, wiU not 
 be fully known until the inscriptions upon the 
 fleshy tablet of that feeling heart stand out in start- 
 ling clearness, in that light by which all that is 
 secret will be made manifest. It was with no small 
 grief that he saw men, who from their position should 
 have been patterns of wisdom, permitting them- 
 
282 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS * ' • y\\:Uy 
 
 selves to be seduced into a course of proceeding 
 which a calm judgment could not by any possibility 
 approve. He did not remonstrate with them, be- 
 cause he saw how utterly useless it was to attempt 
 any oper. interference with men who never, for a 
 moment, seemed to doubt that they were perfectly 
 wise, and well-nigh omnipotent. There was the 
 danger, too, clearly discerned by the Pastor, of the 
 mildest remonstrance leading to unpleasant disputa- 
 tion ; and that in its turn leading to a widening of 
 the breach between him and them, which one false 
 step on their part had already made wide enough. 
 He preferred, therefore, to trust to the power of 
 silence and Christian forbearance. These could not 
 aggravate, and they might, perchance, lessen the evil. 
 He imposed upon himself a hard but a Christian 
 task. It was anything but easy not to speak in 
 wrath, and still more difficult not to speak at all, 
 when there was so much to irritate and inflame the 
 human passion that slay slumbering in tLa depths of 
 his nature. It was there, ready to burst out at any 
 moment, but he kept it down under all provocation, 
 because it was both politic and Christ-like to do so. 
 He sternly resolved that, whoever might, he would 
 not add fuel to the fire ; and that, however great the 
 temptation to retaliate, he would not curse but bless. 
 He had another and a still higher motive for self- 
 repression. In the midst of much unrest there was 
 
. ;. 7 OF CLERICAL LIFE. 283 
 
 a great work of grace going on. Many, very many, 
 were being converted and brought into the fold of 
 Christ. It was a painful time, but a fruitful one ; 
 and perhaps the pain was in some mysterious 
 manner productive of the fruit. Anyhow, he would 
 not, dare not hinde?. At such a time, and surrounded 
 by such ever-increasing spiritual results, he had the 
 seal of the Divine approval upon his work, and he 
 would not lay down the^ trowel by which he was 
 instrumentally building up the church of God, to 
 wield the sword of unfruitful disputation and party 
 strife. Only when we remember that " God's ways 
 are not as our ways and His thoughts are not as 
 our thoughts," can we get an approximate under- 
 standing of how such a large and increasing work 
 of grace could go on in the face of such manifold 
 difficulties, and in an atmosphere so uncongenial to 
 the great Author of conversion. 
 
 The self-rep"'ession constantly exercised by the 
 Pastor, though eminently Christlike and productive 
 of most happy results, personally and relatively, was 
 attended by one serious disadvantage of a physical 
 character. His nervous system showed symptoms 
 of irritation, and nights of unresting weariness 
 became his portion. His brain would not, could 
 not rest. There was a flood, and the superincum- 
 bent weight of the moral purpose dammed up the 
 natural outlet. It seems to be a law of our being 
 
284 LIGSTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 that talking of sorrow will, in some measure, alle- 
 viate it. Nature, smarting under feelings of out- 
 rage and injustice, if permitted to "let out," in word 
 or act, seems to find a healing balm in the process. 
 The Pastor, supported by Divine grace, would not 
 "let out," would not complain under any stress of 
 provocation, and, while the moral attitude was such 
 as to command the admiration of friend and foe 
 alike, the physical result to himself was somewhat 
 disastrous. There was no diminution, but rather 
 an accession, of mental power. With more than 
 ordinary assiduity he bent himself to a faithful and 
 effective presentation of Divine truth, to the increas- 
 ing delight of all who came under the sound of his 
 voice. There was no particular outward sign to 
 show the wear and tear going on within, neverthe- 
 less it was sadly true that he was trimming his 
 amp with the melted marrow out of his own bones. 
 The Pastor was not unmindful of, or unthankful 
 for, the result of the meeting. He had not antici- 
 pated it. In fact he could not, with any degree of 
 certainty, surmise what the result might be, but he 
 was gratified to find his attitude approved by a 
 faithful and loving people. The action of the deacons 
 was a complete surprise, and the notice for so im- 
 portant a meeting was short ; but the people quickly 
 discerned the gravity of the emergency, responded 
 to the call, sprung to the front, and fought valiantly 
 in deft^"<»A "^ tbpir inst rights and privileges. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 28^ 
 
 The whole course of the deacons, which ended so 
 disastrously to themselves, had its commencement 
 in an over-estimate of their importance and power. 
 Official pride was at the bottom of it, and we know 
 that pride goeth before a fall. They forgot that 
 they were the servants, and thought they were the 
 masters of the church. Then followed a series of 
 false steps, unparalleled for unwisdom in diaconate 
 life. It was unwise and unmanly for four men of 
 sound mind to allow themselves to be seduced into a 
 suicidal course by the sophistical reasoning, and in- 
 sinuating address of Hezekiah Shankey. It was 
 unwise, and even childish, for them to suppose that 
 a single sentence, with their signatures attached, • 
 would arrest in a career of distinguished usefulness 
 one who was absorbed with the controlling ideas of 
 glory to God and good to men. It was the height 
 of arrogance and imprudence to send such a commu- 
 nication to the Pastor, unknown to the church, and 
 in the fuU expectation that it would be instantly 
 acted upon. It was unwise to call such a meeting, 
 and in such a way, so suddenly, and so unex- 
 pectedly and with such utter disregard to the feel- 
 ings of both Pastor and people. It was unwise to 
 present to the church the cruel and unnecessary 
 alternative of endorsing their unconstitutional act, 
 or of dispensing, henceforth, with their services 
 altogether. The members of the church did not, 
 
286 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS ^ 
 
 then at least, wish to be deprived of the services of 
 men who had served them, in the main, faithfully ; 
 neither did they wish to dispense with the services 
 of the Pastor. They wanted to pi .cerve " the 
 unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace," but the 
 cruel alternative was inexorably and rigorously 
 insisted upon. The choice was inevitable, and it 
 was made, made deliberately, but painfully, and 
 with what result has been already told. 
 
 Now, thought the Pastor, as he calmly surveyed 
 the position, the judgment of the body has been 
 sought and obtained, the verdict has been pro- 
 nounced by the rightful authority, wiser counsels 
 may prevail, and the Angel of Peace may extend 
 his brooding wings over us once more. It was a 
 holy aspiration, but, unhappily, doomed not to be 
 realized. More unwisdom was to issue from the 
 same source from which so much had already come. 
 Those who thought themselves humiliated by dis- 
 comfiture resolved not to observe their plighted 
 word ; resolved not to do what they had most solemn- 
 ly and publicly said they would ; resolved to retain 
 their official position ; resolved to ignore, and even 
 set at defiance, the wishes of the body ; and resolved 
 to use the vast influence >vhich their now usurped 
 positions afforded for a more relentless prosecution 
 of an unholy crusade against the fair name and use- 
 fulness of the Pastor, and the peace and prosperity 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 287 
 
 of the church. ' Alas ! for human nature as it is 1 
 Arise, O Lord, and plead Thine own cause. 
 
 Tlie Pastor heard of these new intentions and plans 
 in silence, in sorrow, and almost in dismay. He was 
 not angry, but he deeply commiserated men who 
 could thus openly break their own solemn word, and 
 who could do it with the deliberate intention of 
 affording an important vantage-ground for conspir- 
 ing against the peace and well-being of their fellow- 
 christians. He, at last, reluctantly came to the con- 
 clusion that they had given the final touch to the 
 proof of how unfitted they were, notwithstanding 
 their experience, for the positions they occupied, 
 and which they resolsred to maintain. What was to 
 be done ? Simply, do and bear. He could not see 
 it to be his duty to leave a confiding and loving 
 people, and desert the post where God had placed 
 him, and blessed him with so many tokens of his 
 favor, because a few unquiet and unwise spirits 
 had deliberately made up their minds to make the 
 bed on which he lay a bed of thorns. It was indeed 
 a bed of thorns, as what else could it be under such 
 circumstances ? Often did he ask God on bended 
 knees, and with aching heart and streaming eyes, 
 to let this cup pass from him ; or that he might have 
 His permission to go away and leave the bitter 
 draught untasted ; but he had grace to add : " Never- 
 theless not as I will, but as Thou wilt." The only 
 
288 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 * 
 
 answer which came from Him who sat upon the 
 throne was a look of infinitft tenderness, and those 
 precious words : " When thou passest through the 
 waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers 
 they shall not overflow thee ; when thou walkest 
 through the fire thou shalt not be burned, neither 
 shall the flame kindle upon thee ; for I am the Lord 
 thy God, the Holy One of Israel, 1 y Saviour." 
 
 Often in the silent watches of the night, when 
 sleep would not woo his tired soul to re?\ would he 
 think of his beloved Crossberry, of the kind gener- 
 ous souls there, of his old church, of his old home. 
 How gladly he would go back, if it were God's will. 
 How gladly the dear people would welcome him 
 back, if they knew all he suffered, and if the door 
 was still open. It was shut. God's hand had shut 
 it. His very dear friend and class-mate, Douglns 
 Sinclair, had succeeded him at Crossberry ; and was 
 well, happy, and useful. He could not be other- 
 wise with such a people. He did not write to them 
 of his deep perplexity and wearing sorrow, but s*- me 
 rumors floated on the breeze reached them, and many 
 a heart ached for him. Anon on the wings of a 
 vivid fancy would he fly, and with a blessed dis- 
 tinctness realize himself, as of yore, quietly seated 
 in the corner pew of the old church. All the 
 world shut out, and he looking, wistfully and 
 thoughtfully, at the monumental tablets on the 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 289 
 
 wall. He the living surrounded by the blessed dead 
 once more. His breast would heave, and a sigh 
 escape, and for a moment the wish would possess 
 him that if it were God's will He might take him 
 from all the evil ; and that his body might rest, till 
 the resurrection morn, in that q[uiet resting place. 
 There, in the old Crossberry graveyard, would he of 
 all places choose to lie down, and be forever at rest. 
 It is liuked with the past, and his pasty and time 
 will never efface the blessed memories which cluster 
 around it. But not yet will the summons come ; 
 not yet is all God's purpose concerning him accom- 
 plished. 
 
 The unholy crusade, set on foot by Mr. Shankey 
 and his coadjutors, deepened and broadened in malig- 
 nity and intensity, day by day. The methods of 
 action were unchanged, but the motive was some- 
 what difterent, for now they had realized their danger 
 and were fighting for dear official life. Knowing 
 that they continued to hold their offices in violation 
 of their own solemn and voluntary engagement, they 
 were anxious, by all means possible, to produce a 
 speedy change in the feelings of the great mass of 
 the people toward the Pastor. They thought if they 
 C/Ould affect the loyalty of the people, turn the tide 
 of feeling, and get the vote of the majority recorded 
 against the Pastor, his official connection would 
 terminate, and theirs might be saved. He was to 
 
 I 
 
290 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 be the lamb offered as a sacrifice for their sins. 
 
 * Only thus could they expect forgiveness, and a con- 
 
 ' tinuance of ofiftcial life. 
 
 One event occurred at this time which should 
 have convinced them that their course was one of 
 cumulative folly, and could only end in complete 
 disaster. Deacun Gammon and Deacon Christie 
 had served the term for which they were elected. 
 They must be re-elected, or others chosen in their 
 stead. The time of election came, and a large 
 
 . number of members were present, resolved to testifyj 
 in an indirect way, their disapproval of the diaconate 
 policy. Deacon Christie, who stood firm as a rock, 
 true in his allegiance to the people, and firm in his 
 attachment to the Pastor, was re-elected by a large 
 majority. Deacon Gammon, who, unfortunately for 
 so good a man, had yielded^ to the seductive influence 
 of Hezekiah Shankey, and formed one of the five 
 committed to a policy of relentless opposition, was 
 rejected. Joel Gudgeon, an honest man and a good 
 Christian and one whose loyalty and wisdom had been 
 proved, was elected by a large majority in his stead. 
 It must not be assumed from this that Dr. Gammon 
 was personally unpopular. By no means. He was 
 of too passive a nature to arouse much hostility, or 
 make himself very objectionable ; but he was one 
 of the conspiring league which was aiming a most 
 determined blow at the peace of the Pastor, and the 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 291 
 
 liberties of the church. It was necessary to mani- 
 fest the continued disapprobation of the community 
 of such attitude, and also necessary to give Deacon 
 Christie a colleague of like views and sympathies, 
 and the Pastor a true helper in his work. For these 
 reasons Joel Gudgeon was made Deacon Gudgeon. 
 
 Now, thought the Pastor, as he again looked 
 afar and surveyed the position, this lesson will 
 surely be heeded, the unwise will take warning, 
 better counsels will now prevail, and peace will 
 be restored. Alas ! how frequently our most modest 
 expectations are doomed to disappointment. That 
 book to whose instructions it is well that we all 
 give heed, says : " Though thou shouldest bray a 
 fool in a mortar, among wheat with a pestle, yet will 
 not his foolishness depart from him." It was even 
 so with these men who were old enough to be 
 wise, and certainly old enough to learn wisdom by 
 bitter experience. Notwithstanding all the "bray- 
 ing," their foUy remained and increased. Notwith- 
 standing that the Spirit of the Lord stood in the 
 way, and repeatedly said to them, " thus far, but 
 no further," they, with their eyes open, took the 
 final leap, and rushed upon destructioA. 
 
292 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 The last act in an ecclesiastical drama — Motion and connter- 
 motion — John Cheesman and Duncan Smiler put the 
 best foot first — The Rev. Jeremiah Gamble delivers a 
 noble and eloquent defence — Victory — "Praise God from 
 whom all blessings flow.' 
 
 » 
 
 Again it is Friday evening, and eight o'clock. The 
 members of the Battlemount church are met to- 
 gether, by special and official request. The basement 
 school room is crowded to its utmost capacity. 
 Scarcely a member of t^e church is absent, and 
 every countenance is stamped with anxious ex- 
 pectancy. The Pastor is in the chair. He is 
 looking somewhat pale, but the soul shines through 
 the pallor, and lights up his expressive countenance. 
 He gives out a hymn, reads the Scriptures, and 
 engages in prayer. He prays earnestly that He 
 who was with the three Hebrews in the fiery 
 furnace may be with them to console and direct. 
 He then rises and, with great calmness and delibe- 
 ration, says : " My Brothers and my sisters in Jesus 
 Christ. You are called together on this occasion 
 to consider a proposition of which due notice has 
 
OF CLEBICAL LIFE. . 293 
 
 been given by Brother Cheesman. It is to this 
 efifect : * That, for the welfare and prosperity of this 
 church, it is advisable and necessary that the Pastor 
 should resign.' I will not trust myself to say 
 much. I am too full for utterance. I will not 
 give a history of this movement; how it was 
 commenced, and how it has been carried on. You 
 know it as well as I, in all its bearings and develop- 
 ments, and you must judge. You may think it 
 unnecessary to be thus summoned together again so 
 soon. So be it ! It is not my work, nor is it my 
 wish. One thing I will say : if you choose to give 
 your deliberate affirmation to that proposition your 
 wishes shall be gratified. At your call I came to 
 labor, and under circumstances which imposed pe- 
 culiar obligations upon you ; at your call I will 
 cease from labor, if such be your will. The matter 
 is in your hands ; deal with it prudently, as in the 
 sight of Him who knoweth aU things. I now call 
 upon Brother Cheesman to move the resolution of 
 which he gave notice." 
 
 Brother Cheesman rose, and thus delivered him- 
 self : " I must commence, my dear friends, by craving 
 your indulgence. I am a young man, and not much 
 accustomed to speak in public. I feel somewhat 
 abashed at my position, and o})pressed with the task, 
 which I freely admit is self-imposed, I gave notice 
 of that resolution. I am here to argue its reason- 
 
294 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 ableness, and move its adoption in the best way I 
 can. That I shall do my work imperfectly I am 
 fully and deeply sensible. I have nothing particu- 
 lar to urge against the Pastor, except that he has re- 
 fused to take the advice of the officers of the church. 
 I am under great obligations to him, personally, and I 
 confess I have derived more benefit from his faithful 
 and able ministrations, than from any one it has ever 
 been my privilege to listen to. I think he is strong- 
 willed and self-willed, and it is difficult for any one to 
 approach him. I think it is better to have a pastor 
 that we feel we can say anything to ; one that we can 
 slap heartily on the back, and be hail-fellow-well-met 
 with. We do not like to feel that there is a great 
 distance between him and us, mentally and spiritu- 
 ally. I do not think the Pastor took hold of the 
 great and glorious revival we have had so heartily 
 and thoroughly as he might. It is true we have 
 had a great work of grace, and many have been 
 converted, and added to the church ; but the work 
 has been mainly in the Sabbath school, and Brother 
 Shankey and the teachers may be justly credited 
 with that. If the Pastor had made more of Brother 
 Shankey, who is very sensitive in regard to his per- 
 sonal dignity, and consented to work the church along 
 with him, aU the rest of us would have been perfectly 
 satisfied, and all the trouble might have been 
 avoided. But we have got into a fix now — ^how, I 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 296 
 
 will not explain — and, in my judgment, the best 
 way out of the difficulty is for the Pastor to resign. 
 To show you that, though excellent, in many 
 respects, he is very impracticable, I will state a fact 
 which is perhaps not generally known. We offered 
 him, not directly, but indirectly, a considerable sum 
 of money if he would resign. Will you believe it, 
 when I teU you, that he was foolish enough not to 
 give the proposition a moment's consideration ; and, 
 may I say, insane l nough to look upon the offer as 
 a personal insult ? Did you ever hear anything 
 like that? I never did. I must say it is very- 
 extraordinary. We have it on a very high authority 
 that * money answereth rll things,' and it might, I 
 think, have answered in this case ; but then, as you 
 know, our Pastor is very peculiar in some things. 
 He talks about the sacredness of convictions and 
 duties, and the necessity of certain principles we 
 profess being maintained. What does it all amount 
 to ? In my humble judgment, not much. The 
 substance of the whole thing is this : We advised 
 him to resign, and he didn't take our advice. We 
 think he should have done so. It is true you disap- 
 proved our action, but you do not know what is 
 necessary for the welfare of the church as well as 
 we ; and, my word for it, you must come round to 
 our views ultimately. You cannot do without us. 
 If we reduce our subscriptions, or stop them alto- 
 
296 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 gether, the current expenses of the church cannot 
 be met. Let me advise you most strongly, and yet 
 very affectionately, to be wise in time, and vote for 
 the motion which stands in my name, and which I 
 liow beg to move. 
 
 Duncan Smiler rose instanter, and, smiling very 
 sweetly on all around, said : " I rise, sir, to second the 
 motion which has been so ably moved by Brother 
 Cheesman. I heartily concur in all the remarks 
 he has made, especially the latter. Indeed, I have 
 taken the trouble to make a minute calculation, and 
 I find that about one-third of the income of the 
 church comes from about a half-dozen subscribers 
 whom I could name, but modesty forbids. Can 
 you do without these subscribers ? If you cannot 
 you had better vote for Brother Cheesman's motion. 
 I may be permitted to make plain to the dullest 
 understanding, by a very simple illustration, the 
 position in which we are placed. Some people 
 are richer than others. In keeping house we have 
 to regulate our expenses by our incomes. A man 
 who has a large income may safely indulge in a 
 liberal expenditure. He can afford many things 
 that are of necessity denied to his less opulent 
 neighbor. Servants are a necessity in a household. 
 Some who are wealthy can afford to keep three, — 
 a chambermaid, a housemaid, and a cook. Some 
 who are not so well off can only afford to keep 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 297 
 
 two, and some who are comparatively poor, and yet 
 want to live respectably, only one, — a servant of 
 all work. This illustration may be applied to 
 churches. Some very rich churches can afford to 
 keep two pastors ; one to visit, and the other to 
 preach. Most churches are so poor they can only 
 afford to keep one. We belong to the latter class. 
 Now our Pastor, as we all know and freely admit, 
 is a very good cook; that is, I mean a very good 
 preacher. He satisfies us in that respect. No one 
 knows better than he how to serve up a feast of fat 
 things, out of the Divine word, for us to feed upon 
 and be satisfied. But we want something more than 
 a good cook ; that is, I mean, something more than a 
 good preacher. We want one who can attend to 
 every duty to our complete satisfaction, because we 
 are not rich, and can only afford to keep one servant 
 in our household of faith. We want one who can 
 nurse the babes in Christ, and, so to speak, dandle 
 them on his knee, and take great interest in the 
 work ; as well as being able to give strong meat and 
 vigilant attention to those who are men and women 
 in Christ. This, in short, is what we want; a 
 minister who has every conceivable qualification 
 developed to the fullest possible extent. I freely 
 admit, and think we must all admit, that our Pastor 
 has done well, very well, in the time he has been 
 with us. Perhaps few could have done better ; but 
 
298 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 we want a change now, and I, for one, say we must 
 have it. If you do not vote for Brother Cheesman's 
 motion you will have to dispense with our services, 
 and perhaps with something else as valuable. You 
 must make up your minds how you are going to 
 support the Pastor before you vote to sustain him. 
 I second Brother Cheesman's motion, and sincerely 
 hope it may be carried unanimously." 
 
 Deacon Duffy managed by a series of gymnastic 
 performances to wriggle himself out of his corner 
 seat, and standing up with one hand thrust into his 
 vest pocket, and the other performing sundry opera- 
 tions with his eyes, was understood to say something 
 about the church being like two dogs who were 
 contending for a bone which lay between them ; 
 and that the best thing to do was to take the bone 
 away, and let the dogs be quiet. He contended 
 that his parable was plain, and the lesson obvious. 
 
 Whereupon Brother Murphy suggested that it 
 might not be very easy, or very safe to take the bone 
 from the two dogs, and that the lesson to be derived 
 from that view of the case was obvious too. 
 
 At this temporary interruption Deacon Duffy got 
 very red in the face, and darting a look of supreme 
 contempt upon his antagonist, said : " Brother 
 Murphy, I am surprised that you should dare to let 
 your voice be heard at all on this occasion. Let me 
 remind you, of what you are fully aware, that you 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 299 
 
 encouraged us to proceed in this business, and that 
 we had a right to calculate upon your support ; and 
 now, in the hour of our need, you are evidently 
 turning against us. You ought to be ashamed of 
 yourself." 
 
 Here the Pastor intervened, and suggested, in sooth- 
 ing but authoritative tones, that it was absolutely 
 necessary to abstain from all personalities. What 
 had previously passed, in conversation, between 
 Deacon Duffy and Brother Murphy was not the point 
 at issue. All side issues must be avoided. 
 
 Whereupon Deacon Duffy and Brother Murphy 
 simultaneously subsided. 
 
 There was a pause, and then a call for Deacon 
 Shankey. Hezekiah shook his head, indicating his 
 unwillingness to respond. Other fingers than his 
 were picking the chestnuts out of the fire, and he 
 thought there was no necessity for him to unduly 
 expose his valuable claws. 
 
 The Pastor was about to put Brother Cheesman's 
 motion, when the Rev. Jeremiah Gamble slowly ele- 
 vated his venerable form, and said : — 
 
 " Sir, and my very dear friends, — I rise for the pur- 
 pose of moving an amendment to the motion which has 
 been introduced by Brother Cheesman, and seconded 
 by Brother Smiler. My amendment is this : * That 
 the Rev. Paul Vincent, our beloved and faithful 
 minister, be sustained in his office as pastor of this 
 
300 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 church.' I make this amendment with pleasure, 
 not only because it is right, but because I think it 
 will be endo^aed by the great majority of tliose who 
 are hero present. I am far from thinking, with the 
 mover and seconder of the resolution, that it would 
 be for the welfare of the church that the Pastor 
 ; should resign. The reverse of that, in my judgment, 
 is the fact. The welfare of this or any other church 
 can never be secured by the wishes of a few being 
 gratified at the expense of the wishes of the many. 
 The principles we profess, and most sacredly hold, 
 should be developed and maintained, and maintained, 
 if need be, at all hazards, and at all costs. Our form of 
 government, as you know, is democratic. I would 
 respectfully remind those who have spoken before 
 me to-night that we are not an oligarchy but a de- 
 mocracy. We are all equal, and have but one su- 
 perior, one head ; and the legislative and executive 
 functions inhere in us, and abide with us equally. 
 * One is your master even Christ, and all ye are 
 brethren.' We may differ in social status and 
 mental endowment ; but before the Lord who made 
 us and redeemed us we are all poor sinners, ran- 
 somed by the same precious blood, standing on the 
 same level of a common brotherhood ; and let us 
 not forget that, in this kingdom, which is an ever- 
 lasting kingdom, there is neither Jew nor Gentile, 
 there is neither bond nor free. I am exceedingly 
 
OF CLEKICAL LIFE. , 301 
 
 sorry that one of our number has, in the heat of con- 
 flict, allowed himself to speak so contemptuously 
 and disrespectfully of his brethren, who are beneath 
 him in worldly wealth and social position. He 
 should not forget that they are members of the 
 same body, subjects of the same kingdom, and 
 expectant inheritors of the same glory. 
 
 " I must confess, after surveying calmly all the 
 facts, that the case presented by those who wish a 
 change in the pastorate is of the lamest description 
 possible. And with deep sorrow and holy indigna- 
 tion do I aver that the means employed for compass- 
 ing that end have not been such that Christian men 
 ought to use. I will not indicate the nature of those 
 means further than this, that, to my certain know- 
 ledge, tliere is scarcely a member of this church who 
 has not been, at one time or another, alternately 
 entreated and threatened with the view of shaking 
 his loyalty to the Pastor. I myself, old as I am, 
 have been cautiously approached, and sounded upon 
 this subject, more than once. Not only so, but some 
 who need not be named, have ransacked the Pastor's 
 character, reputation and clerical history, to find out 
 some stone to throw at him ; but such efforts, I am 
 pleased to find, have signallji failed of their object* 
 and ended in fruitlessness and folly. Every public 
 man dwells more or less * in that fierce light which 
 beats upon a throne and blackens every blot ; * but 
 
302 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 in this case a deep malignity has concentrated the 
 burning rays of scrutiny, and I am amazed to find 
 that so little of the necessary imperfection of human 
 nature has been revealed. I do not mean by this 
 to insinuate that our Pastor is perfect. No one is 
 more conscious of weakness and imperfection than 
 he ; but I am speaking of the actual intentions of 
 others, and the actual result of those intentions ; and 
 from these I unhesitatingly infer that his character 
 is without reproach, and his devotion to his Master's 
 cause cannot be impeached. He has his shortcom- 
 ings, and I am satisfied that no one will more 
 readily admit the truthfulness of that statement 
 than he. He does excel in the pulpit — that we all 
 know, and his enemies confess — he may not excel 
 out of it. No man can perform every duty that 
 falls to his lot with equal excellence and effect. 
 But in reference to those duties that are incumbent 
 upon our Pastor outside of his pulpit, lean say this 
 much, fearlessly and conscientiously, and many 
 others will bear me out in the statement, that those 
 who know him best appreciate him the most. His 
 heart does not respond suddenly, but when it does 
 come forth, at the call of sorrow or distress, it is found 
 to be tender and true. In my family, and in many 
 others that I know intimately, the call of the sor- 
 rowful, of the sick and of the dying, has never been 
 unheeded. 
 
OF CLERICAL LIFE. 303 
 
 " Then there is another matter to which the Pastor 
 incidentally alluded, and to which I, as a private 
 member of the church, may briefly advert. The 
 circumstances under which he came among us were 
 such as to impose peculiar obligations upon us. 
 He was under no necesdity to leave his previous 
 sphere of labor. He was happy, contented and use- 
 ful where he was. He had no wish to leave, and 
 no occasion for it. It was the continued importun- 
 ity of these very brethren, who have harassed him 
 for a whole year, that ultimately prevailed upon 
 him to come. He did come, and he has labored con- 
 tinuously and successfully. Our congregations are 
 doubled, our Sabbath school is flourishing, and our 
 membership has been increased a hundred per cent. 
 The past year's history of the church is, I know, 
 unexampled for prosperity ; but what might it have 
 been if there had been, all that time, peace within 
 our borders. We ought to go down on our knees 
 and thank God for such prosperity ; and we ought 
 to be perpetually grateful to Him for sending us a 
 pastor whom He in so distinguished a manner has 
 deigned to honor and bless. I maintain that it is 
 not for the welfare of the church that the Pastor 
 should resign. I maintain, on the other hand, that, 
 so far as human eyes are permitted to see, it is for 
 our welfare that he should remain, and that we by 
 a united voice should sustain him in the ofi&ce he 
 
304 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 has hitherto filled with the approval of God, and to 
 the satisfaction and profit of his people." 
 
 Deacon Christie rose and said : " It would ill 
 become me to say much after so much has been so 
 ably said by our venerable Brother Gamble. I wish 
 to have the privilege of seconding the amendment 
 moved by him. Every one knows I am deeply 
 attached to the Pastor, and that I have every reason 
 to bo so. My soul has been much blessed under 
 his ministry, and my children have been converted. 
 Brother Shankey tried to shake me, but I am thank- 
 ful to say he failed. Time after time he came to 
 me, and hour after hour he talked to me, but it was 
 all in vain. With all my heart and soul I second, 
 and will support with my vote, Brother Gamble's 
 amendment, that the Pastor be sustained," 
 
 The vote was taken on the amendment, yeas and 
 nays. The scrutineers appointed by the meeting 
 collected and counted the ballots, and gave in their 
 report, which was that the yeas had it by a large 
 majority. Tim Pastor was sustained. The meet- 
 ing was closed by singing the doxology : 
 
 ** Praise God from whom all blessings flow, 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below ; 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, 
 Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost." 
 
OF CLERIOAL LITE. 805 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 The writer of these pages feels he must draw his 
 narrative to a close. 
 
 He has no intention of drawing upon his imagin- 
 ation to furnish a sensational scene which shall 
 thrill the soul of the reader, and hold him spell- 
 bound by an artistic lie. No imaginary scenes of 
 sorrow and death shall stain these pages. Life 
 furnishes more than enough of real sorrow and real 
 death. Actual life and its lessons can alone in- 
 struct aright. 
 
 Hezekiah Shankey, Duncan Smiler, John Chees- 
 man and BoUo Duffy reluctantly tendered their 
 resignations, and they were at once accepted. They 
 prophesied all sorts of evil to come when the (ihurch 
 was left without their wisdom to guide it, bat 
 happily the prophecy was not fulfilled. 
 
 Brethren Sumner, Cheney, Orton, and Eastmure 
 
 U 
 
306 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 were elected, almost unanimonsly, to succeed them. 
 They had never been in office before, and therefore 
 lacked official experience, but they had the full con- 
 fidence of the church and the Pastor. They took 
 to their new duties kindly and humbly, and dis- 
 charged them faithfully, up to the full measure of 
 their capacity. 
 
 Hezekiah stuck to his word, fulfilled his vow, and 
 went out ; and let us hope that he afterwards be- 
 came a wiser and a better man. Some went with him 
 to keep him company, and cheer his lonely heart. 
 He still retained ^il Desperandum as his motto. 
 
 A brighter day dawned upon the Battlemount 
 church. All felt that its historical reproach was 
 effectually taken away, and its m'^ral reputation, in 
 the eyes of the whole community, augmented 
 rapidly. The demon of discord was laid, the long 
 night of darkness and weariness was past, and the 
 day spring from on high appeared. All realized 
 " how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to 
 dwell together in unity." The old time promises 
 were fulfilled in their experience ; perhaps not in 
 their fulness of preciousness and glory, yet in 
 a Mr measure, and to an enjoyable extent : ** In 
 my wrath I smote thee, btit in my favor have 
 I had mercy on thee. The sons of them that 
 afflicted thee shall come bending unto thee; and 
 they that despised thee shall bow themselves down 
 
07 CLERICAL LIFE. 307 
 
 at thy feet. Violence shall no more be heard with- 
 in thy land ; wasting nor destruction within thy 
 borders ; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, 
 and thy gates Praise." 
 
 The Pastor himself was not unblessed by the pain- 
 ful scenes through which he was called to pass. His 
 trials had a mellowing influence upon him. True, 
 it cannot be said of him *' that the smell of fire had 
 not passed upon him, neither was a hair of his head 
 singed ; " but it may safely be afi&rmed that he 
 emerged from the furnace chastened and benefited. 
 It was good for him that he was afflicted. He had 
 a deeper attachment to Him who is " a very present 
 help in every time of trouble." His views of God's 
 dealings, and of Divine truth were enlarged. His 
 patience and faith were tested and strengthened. 
 He had proved, by actual experience, how faithful 
 God is, and how he will not disappoint him who 
 trusts Him, utterly, in the darkest hour. The per- 
 sonal intervention of God in human affairs wais, ever 
 afterwards, a truth most surely believed by him. 
 The companionship of Jesus was more than a sen* 
 timent — it was a reality. The headship of Christ 
 was taken out of the domain of theory, and placed 
 in the catalogue of truths which actual experience 
 had satisfactorily demonstrated. The utility and 
 blessedness of embodying Divine precepts in human 
 life were placed beyond a doubt. The inherent ten- 
 
308 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 dency and power of right ultimately to overcome 
 wrong-doing was fuUy made manifest. Thus impor- 
 tant convictions ripened and strengthened, and the 
 Pastor bect>me, by such heavenly discipline, more 
 fitted for the work which God gave him to do. 
 
 Douglas Sinclair is happy and prosperous as pas- 
 tor of the Crossberry Church. His old aunt, after 
 his settlement there, conceived a growing attach- 
 ment to her hopeful nephew. When she died he 
 found that his expectations were not unfounded. 
 He came into the possession of a fair competency. 
 
 Roscoe Rosewood,. of Crossberry Park, and Simon 
 JehUj the old. driver, are both gone to " that undis- 
 covered country from whose bourne no traveller 
 returns.". They were complete opposites in social 
 status, but both were tender and true. A truer or- 
 more feeling heart than Boscoe Rosewood's never 
 throbbed. He was the friend of all, and the enemy 
 of none. His wife, his children, and his many 
 friends miss him sadly. Let us hope he is reserved 
 for the resurrection of the just. It would be 
 indeed a pleasure to meet him in the regions where 
 the sun never sets. 
 
 The old driver has gone where he can never feel 
 loKely. Perhaps he has met his "chil'en/* already 
 grown more fair, and his old " missus," who forded 
 the dark river before him. Inthat better land" they 
 shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; 
 
OF CLEBICAL LIFE. 309 
 
 neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat; 
 for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne 
 shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living 
 fountains of waters ; and God shall wipe away all 
 tears from their eyes." 
 
 Mortimer Shelbume, of Shepherdston, continued 
 his benevolent scheming for the welfare of the 
 Shepherdston Zion, but was ultimately taken in his 
 own net. He got " the more experienced minister " 
 with whom he expected to run the Church. 
 Unhappily things did not run smoothly very long ; 
 division ensued, and, lil his twin brother Heze- 
 kiah, he soon had the grim satisfaction of counting 
 himself among the " outs." Adversity taught him 
 wisdom, and took away some of that pride which 
 produced his fall. 
 
 Bewdley College still stands, and is regarded, 
 justly, as an ornament and credit to the denomina- 
 tion to which it belongs. The old Professors are 
 gone, and younger men have assumed their func- 
 tions, and are discharging their duties. Many faith- 
 ful ministers of the Gospel have been trained, and 
 have gone forth thence, since Paul Vincent's time. 
 His old classmates are scattered all over the world, 
 prosecuting the same work, and bent on the same 
 errand of mercy to perishing men. They may be 
 found in England, Ireland, Scotland, the United 
 States, Canada, Australia, Africa. A few have gone 
 
310 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OP CLERICAL LIFE. 
 
 up higher, and are already before the throne, serving 
 God day and night in His temple. The Great 
 Father will bring them all together some day, and 
 then, with eternal gratitude, will they think of all 
 the way He hath led them. 
 
 THE END.