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LIFE IN A PAESONAGE;

^TQ;btfJ unir <S^baboi\3S of tbc v^tincrnnnr.

W. H. WITHKOW, D.D.

ALTIlim OK

"thi; kino's .mrsskn(;kh; ok, lawrknci; tkmpi.k's niouATiriN," "vai.kuia,

THE MARTYR OP THE CATACUMHS," KIV,

LONDON:
T. WOOLMER, 2, CASTLE STREET, CITY ROAD, EC,

AND (jfi, PATEllNOSTEU ROW, E.C.

1885.

^S9$9B

Frinted by Hozell, Watson, & Vlney, Limited, London and Aylesbury,

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

I. FlllST GLIMPSE OF FAIEVIEW .
II. A BETttOSPECT. ....

III. GUIL OfiADUATES AND COELEGE HALLS
IV. THE RECEPTION ....

V. PUBLIC OPINION ....

YI. GETTING SETTLED ....
VII. THE FIJ19T SUNDAY AT FAIllVIEW .
YIII. AN AWKWARD ENCOUNTER AND A NEW I;
IX. A BACKWOODS SERVICE .

X. PREPARING THE CAMP
XI. THE CAMP-MEETING.

XII. "AS A BIRD OUT OF THE SNARE OF
FOWLERS " ....

XIII. AS A BRAND FROM THE BURNING .

XIV. THE TRANCE

XV. THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP-MEET1N(. .

XVI. AUTUMN RECREATIONS
XVII. LITERARY AMBITIONS AND HOME JOYS

RIEND

THE

PAGE

7
11
17
22
26
31
3()
40
44
50
55

60
64
68
73
78
83

COXTILXTS.

(HAP.

XVIII. A DAUOllTEft OF tVE
XIX. THE INDIAN MISSION
XX. THE WOIIK-DAY WOELD .
XXI. TEMPTATION AND FALL .
XXII. A MIDNIGHT ADVLNTURE

XXIII. THE TEAMP WITH THE KAO

XXIV. ABOUT BO')K8 .
XXV. THE EXCLHSION

XXVI. "heaven's MOENINCI BEEAKS
XXVII. GAIN THEOUGH LOSS
XXVIII. life's CHEQUEEED PATHS

PAGE

. 88
. 94
. 101
. 104
. 110
. 116
. 125
. 132
. 138
. 150
. 154

- — ^^

LIFE IN A PAESONAIGE;

OB,

LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF THE ITINERANCY.

CHAPTER I.

FIRST GLIMPSE OF FAIRVIEWi

" She ifl most fair, and thereunto
Her life doth rightly harmonize."

James Russell Lowell.

IT was the close of a sultry summer day ; not a breath
of air was astir, and the leaves hung as if lifeless
from the trees. A feeling of languor seemed to pervade
all nature, vast masses of thunderous-looking clouds
were piled up almost to the zenith, and their snowy
and golden heights and dark ravines were brought into
sharp contrast by the light of the setting sun. Ever
broader grew the shadows, and afar off could be heard
the sullan rolling of the thunder.

"0, Lawrence, drive on faster ! We shall be caught
in the rain."

The speaker was a fair young matron, with soft brown
eyes and a wealth of chestnut hair. She was en-
veloped from head to foot in the voluminous folds of a

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

linen " duster," but even that could not disguise the
grace of her slight and girlish tigure. Her companion
was a tall spare young man with a fair complexion,
embrowned by the sun, and with hair of the sort
politely known as " sandy." He was neither an Aix)llo
nor an Antinous, although one might imagine that he
possessed the combined manly beauty of both, to judge
by the love-lit look with which his young wife re-
garded him.

" Jessie is going as fast as she ought this sultry
day, after our long drive,*' he said. Nevertheless he
touched his active little mare lightly with the whip,
and the willing creature put forth extra speed which
carried them swiftly over the ground. The vehicle in
which they rode was a somewhat old-fashioned, but
comfortable, covered carriage ; and he who was ad-
dressed as Lawrence drew up a leathern apron to pro-
tect them both from the threatened storm.

" Are we getting near there ? " asked the lady with
some little anxiety of tone.

" It can't be more than a mile or two," replied her
husband. " From the top of yonder hill we ought to
be able to see Fairview."

" I hope it will correspond with IL me, when we do
aee it," said the young wife. " I confess I am half
afraid to meet so many strangers." And the words,
which began with an effort at a laugh, ended with
something very like a sigh.

" Cheer up, Edith dear ! They will receive you not
like strangers, but like old friends. See what it is to
be a preacher's wife. You have friends made for you
beforehand."

*' Yes, I know," said the lady, " but I miss my old
friends for all that. Do you think they will like me,
Lawrence? "

" Like you ! of course they will like you. They
can't help it, you know." And as there was no envious
eye to witness the act, he gave her a kiss on the spot
to emphasize the remark.

rm.^T OLiMPSE OF FAiin //nr.

"Well, there is one I know who will," said the young
wife, hetween smiles and blushes, happy in her
husband's love ; " and so long as he does, I am perfeetly
content." Ami then, as thev reached the crest of the
hill, she sprang to her feet and cried, " (), Lawrence I
isn't that glorious?" and she stood with dilating
eyes and quickened breath, drinking in the beauty
of the scene.

And a beautiful scene it was, well worthy such keen
api)reciation. For iive-and-twenty miles before their
eyes stretched one of the loveliest lakes of even this
land of lovely lakes — the Lac de Baume, as the first
French explorers had named it from the wealth of
balsam foliage by which it was surrounded — like a
8''pphire in a setting of emerald. Numerous wooded
headlands jutted out into the lake, and several rocky
islands, clothed with richest verdure,, studded its azure
expanse, while broad uplands, covered with fields of
ripening grain, swept to the far horizon. In a valley
between two richly cultivated hills nestled the village
of Fairview — a single, broad, elm-shaded street, with
pleasant villas and gardens climbing the slopes on
either side. Over all hung the vast rain-cloud, black
in the shadow, golden in the sun, and spanned by
a glorious rainbow, where the trailing fringes of the
storm swept up the lake.

The young wife clapped her hands in almost child-
like glee. " Could the young earth have been more
fair when Grod pronounced it very good, and placed
thereon —

' Adam, the goodliest man of men since b(jrii
His sous ; the fairest of her daughters, Eve W

And of all her sons and daughters were any ever
happier than we ? And that glorious bow is Grod's
pledge of faithfulness to His covenant."

" It looks indeed an Eden," said Lawrence. " Pray
God the serpent mar not its beauty and its peace.
' Seed-time and harvest shall not cease.' Lo, now the

LIFE L\ A PAItSOyAGK.

liarvest of souls awaits the sickle. Gocl give me grace
to thrust in the Gospel sickle, for the fields indeed are
white unto th<» harvest.''

While the happy jwiir drive down the long hill to
the village, let us briefly indicate who they are, and
how they came thus into the field of vision of our story
— a sort of c(cmera obscttra across which shall flit, like
pictures in a magic lantern, certain scenes of Canadian
social life.

CHAPTER II.

A HETUOSPECT.

*' The reason firm, the temperate will,
Enduiance, foresifjjht, strength, and skill ;
A perfect woman, n(»bly plann'd."

Wordsworth.

LAWRENCE TEMPLE, it will be remembered by
readers of The King's Messeufjerj a previous story
by the present writer, was an ingenuous Canadian
youth, the son of a Methodist preacher, who died,
leaving his family, of whom Lawrence, then a mere
boy, was the eldest, with very meagre means of
support. Eager to help his mother and sisters, and to
earn the means of obtaining an education, he went to
a lumber camp far up the Mattawa, where he laboured
as axeman, teamster, and clerk, with a sturdy strength
of character which was the sure guarantee of success.
Having earned enough money to pay his way at college
for a while, he devoted himself with as much enthu-
siasm to mental as he had to manual labour, and laid
at least the foundation of a broad and liberal education.
The Church of his choice, discerning his gifts and
religious graces, laid its hand upon him, and employed
him first as a lay preacher, and afterwards as a
Missionary amid what was then the wilderness of
Muskoka, as a probationer on trial as to his fitness for
the regular ministry. His own heart responding to

X//7v* TN A PAnSONAai'l

this call of the Church, and to wliat he felt was a call
of (iod, to preach the Gos[)el, he lahoured with great
diligence^ and success in the hard work of a pioneer
preacher.

On this ])ackwoods circuit lived a family of singular
refiriement and culture, that of ]Mr. Norris, a village
schoolmaster. Tiie fair l^^dith Norris, the assistant of
her father in the school, a young lad}^ of rare cliarms of
person and of mind, made a deep impression upon the
heart cf tlie young preacher. Although he cherished
her image in his soul as the ideal of all that was
loveliest in woman — heauty, culture, piety — yet, as a
probationer will: hit; future undetermined, he did not
feel at liberty to divulge his feelings or seek to engage
her atfections. Even after his probation was success-
fully accomplished and lie was ordained to the regular
work of th(^ ministry, it was some time before he could
ask one who seemed to his chividric soul almost of a
sui)erior order of being, to share the hardships, and
trials, and uncertain fortunes of an itinerant Methodist
[)reacher.

But so great was the fascination and inspiration of
her society, that he hailed with peculiar joy the
occasion of his fortnightly visit to the preaching
appointment where dwelt the kindly Norris family,
with whom was his home during his transient sojourn.
Their house was situated on the banks of the lovely
Lake Mu^koka, with its islet-studded expanse and
rock-rilibed, tree-covered shore. It was a great delight
to the young preacher, in whom was a strong poetic
sense of beauty, to sail over its glassy surface and to
gaze into its crystal depths; and the delight was ten-
fold greater if he could on these occasions enjoy i\ e
society of the fair Edith Norris.

One lovely summer evening, when the whole western
heaven was ablaze with gold, she had accepted his
invitation to share with him a sunset sail upon the
lake. T''e tender crescent moon hung low in the sky,
and soft Hesper gleamed like a lamp in 'e casement

A liETIiOSPHCT.

of heaven. The spiritual pensivenes!;! of tlie hour
bro( ' 'd over them like a spell. Every rock and
woody cape, every tree and leaf, and the gorgeous
clouds of even, and the golden glory of the sunset,
were mirrored in the glassy wave.

" Is it not," said the maiden, all her soul glowing in
her eyes, " like the sea of glass, mingled with fire, on
wliich stand the redeemed and sing the song of Moses
and the Lamb, saying, ' Great and marvellous are Thy
works, Lord God Almighty ' ? "

And they talked of the holy city, tlie new Jerusalem,
with its gates of pearl, and streets of gold, and river of
water of life ; but of the deep desire that was burning
in his heart the young man said not a word.

As they walked home, after landing, through the
lingering twilight, the whi})-poor-will uttered its
plaintive cry, and the balmy odours of the forest
breathed forth, and Lawrence, gaining courage, per-
haps, from the sympathetic aspect of nature, after
faltering once or twice, began :

" I wished very much. Miss Norris, to say something
when we were on the water, but I thought it un-
generous to take advantage of you when you could
not escape ; but now that you are almost home, will
you let me say it here ? '

"I am sure that you would not say anything
ungenerous here or elsewhere," replied Edith, trem-
bling a little with a woman's prescience of the great
crisis of her life. She knew by the swift intuitions of
her heart what his wish would be, and the same monitor
revealed what must be her own response.

" I have spoken to your father, who loves you as his
life, and have his permission to tell you the great wish
of my heart. I wished to ask you," continued the
young man, taking her hand as reverently as he would
the hand of a saint, " if you would sail with me down
the stream of time on the voyage of life, till we, too,
reach the haven of everlasting rest, and stand within
the Golden City ? "

LI 11'] f\ A I'AItSOXAaK.

Her hand trembled a little, but she did not remove
it from his grasp ; and presently in a low soft voice she
whispered, ''Whitlier ^liou goest I will go; thy people
shall be my people, and thy fortunes shall be mine."

" 0, Edith ! '" exclaimed the young man, a new and
strange joy thrilling liis soul, ''you have made me
happier than I dared to hopi ; " and there in the
twilight hush, beneath tlie beaming stars, the holy
compact was sealed that knit two loving souls together
for time and for eternity, and in sacred lovers' talk the
swift hours passed away.

" Your blessing, mother," said Lawrence, as he led
the blushing girl into her parents' presence. " Your
daughter has made me rich and hap[)y beyond my
utmost dream of joy.''

" Bless you, my son," said the matron, printing a
kiss ui)on his forehead, and then folding her daughter
in her arms ; and the father warmly wrung his hand,
saying, " Take her, my son ; she has been a good
daughter, she will be a good wife."

►?o these two young lives were brought together like
streams which had their sources far asunder, but which
after many windings meet, and blend their waters into
one, and flow on together to the sea.

liawr'^nce ab;ited no whit of his zeal and energy in
his sacred cnlling. On the contrary, he preached with
unwonted power, and only on the occasions of his
regular fortnightly preiu'hing appointments permitted
himself the great joy of a visit to the home of his
betrothed ; the vast extent and many engagements of
his circuit em})loying every other hour.

The stern necessities of the itinerancy, the roughness
of the field, and the poverty of the people, often
rendered it impossible for these backwoods missions to
support any but a single man. It was so in this case,
and Lawrence, cheered by the great hope shining star-
like in the future, devoted all his energies to toil and
study in his great life-work.

One Saturday, when he reached Llms, as the pleasant

A RETROSPECT.

home of the Norrises was named — it \v;is in the fall,
and the whole forest was ablaze with the briglit crim-
son, and gold, and russet, and purple of the trees,
arrayed like Joseph in their coat of many colours — he
was met in the porch by the fair Edith. As she stood,
framed, like an exquisite picture, by the crimson
foliage of the Virginia creeper, she exclaimed : " I
have news for you, my preux chevalier; father has
given me leave to go to college for a year, perhaps
for longer. It is what I have been longing for, I cannot
tell you how much."

" But how do you know that / will give consent ? "'
replied Lawrence, with rather a crestfallen air.

" 0, I am sure of that,'' replied Edith. " You will
be glad that I have a chance to go. We girls ought
to go to college just as well as you men. If I am to be
a help-meet to you in your work," she added, blushing
prettily, " I want to be able to keep up with your
studies and reading."

"You are right, as usual," said the young man;
" the chief advantage of college is not what one learns
while there, but learning how to learn afterward — the
systematic habits of study, the mental drill and train-
ing of the faculties. Education is the work of a life-
time — something always going on, but never ended.
We will, by God's grace, pursue this glorious object
through the long future, keeping step side by side
through the march of life, and then through the grand
for ever. For eternity, I believe, will be a continual
unfolding of all the powers and faculties of the being
in the light of Grod's countenance, as a flower unfolds
petal after petal of its blossoms in the light of the sun."
" And yet," said Edith, " how many waste their lives
and dwarf their faculties, by neglect of the (iod-given
powers within them ! A_nd how many are cramped by
circumstances, and denied the opportunity of growth
and development ! "

" Yes," replied Lawrence, "that is true of many, the
toiling men and women who bear the world's burden

LIFE IX A PAIiSONAGE.

and care, and who have had scant schooling, if any, in
their youth. To such tlie services of God's house are
almost the only influence to lift them above the sordid
cares and grovelling thoughts of a life bounded b^ '^"«
narrow horizon of time. Yet the younger gener?
thanks to our common schools, within the reach c
have placed in their hands the key which can muucK
all the stores of knowledge in the universe. If they
have avakened within them the sacra fames — the
sacred hung(^r and tliirst for knowledge, they can
conquer every difficulty. Any education that is worth
anything \\\ this world must be largely -s-e^/'-cducation.
Mj!>tprs and utors can only helj) one to help himself."'

" I'es, I know that,'" said Edith. "After a single
term of French, I read the whole of Corneille during
a summer vacation. 1 used to read thirty pages every
morning before breakfast. At school it would have
taken a whole year."

" All you want," said Lawrence, " is help to help
yourself, and that you will get at any college where
they understand their business. I once taught a class
of girls to read Virgil in a single winter, a thing which
often takes two years at college. But there were only
six girls in the class, all anxious to learn, and I helped
them all I could."

'^ I've earned some money by teaching, and father
is going to help me," said this true-hearted Canadian
girl ; " and I ni going to the Ladies' College, at Went-
worth, for a year or two."

" Well, if you catch the inspiration of my old friend,
Dr. D wight, who is now President of that institution,"
said Lawrence, mindful of his own college days, "you
vdW receive an intellectual impetus which you will feel
for the rest of your life."

)ouncled b^

CHAPTEE III.

and father

GIRL GRADUATES AND COLLEGE HALLS.

" 111 shouts, and knells, and dying throes,
And merry marriage chimes,
The plastic Present forward goes
To shape the aftei'times.'"

liHV. SAMUKL WRAY.

UO our young friend soon found herself duly enrolled
KJ with II hundred others in the large and flourishing
Ladies' College of Wentvvorth, under the charge of the
Rev. Dr. D wight. At first she felt somewhat lonesome,
although forming part of so large a family. The other
girls were a little reserved in manner, and all of them
scrutinized her with that feminine criticism which took
in at a glance every item, however minute, of her dress
and appearance. These did not seem to give universal
satisfaction ; for, as she passed through the corridor, she
became aware, by a mysterious intuition, that a group
of school-girls who were laughing and giggling about
the stove were speaking about her. One of these, an
American girl w^iose father hau " struck oil ' in the
Pennsylvania Oil-Dorado, and who wore as much of
a stylish New York costume as the school discipline
would allow, exclaimed, with a satirical laugh, —

" What a guy ! I wonder who's her dressniaker ; I
believe she made it herself ! "

" Where does she come from, anyhow ? '' asked
another.

LTFE IX A PABSOXAGK

''From the wilds of Muskoka, I beard some one sav,'
remarked a third.

'' Where is that, 1 wonder ? " asked Uio first.

"()! somewhere buck of the north wind," replied a
fom'th.

" She looks as if she might have come from back
of the North Pole/" sneered the girl from Oil-Dorado ;
" 1 wonder she doesn't wear an Indian blanket. But
here she comes ; mum's the word/" and she demurely
assumed a long face as Edith passed by.

The new student could not help hearing enough of
these rude remarks to make her feel very uncomfort-
able. She felt vexed at herself to think tliat the sting-
ing of such a gnat should irritate her. She thought
herself too much of a philosopher to be affected by
such shallow chatter. But when does a woman become
quite insensible to adverse criticism of her dress and
appearan'e ? Certainly our unsophisticated friend had
not reached that point.

She soon had the satisfaction, however, in the class-
rooms, of finding that her hostile critic was much more
vulnerable to criticism in a much more important
respect. She proved herself ignorant, incapable, ill-
trained, and was at or near the foot of almost every
class. The superior abilities and training of the new
comer soon showed itself in her class standing, and in
her rapid progress in study. She soon formed con-
genial friendships with both teachers and the more
thoughtful scholars, which enriched her entire social
being. Under the skilful guidance of Dr. Dwight in
mental and moral philosophy, and in the fascinating
study of science with Professor Kectus, she felt her
whole mental horizon exi)anding day by day, and ex-
perienced the unspeakable joy of conscious growth.
Nor did her higher nature lack the opportunity of
generous nurture. The religious life and services of
the institution sarrouuded her with an atmosphere
most favourable to the growth of the moral graces, the
result of which she realised in the deepening of her

GTUL graduates AXD rOT.LKGE HALLS.

le one say,

piety and the richer communion of her soul with (lod.
So the long winter passed rapidly away, the routine
of school life broken pleasantly l)y a visit home at
(Jhristmas. Every week came an expected and wel-
come missive that caused her eye to brighten and her
cheek to glow^ and filled her heart with sweet imagin-
ings. One day in the leafy month of June came a
summons to receive a caller in the reception room.
The Conference of the Methodist Church was being
held in a neighbouring town, and Mr. Temple could
not resist the temptation to seek an interview with his
jiancee. The good Doctor Dwight, wlio maintained an
Argus-like care of his precious charge, had hrst to lie
encountered. But he, after a little good-natured
banter, granted the interview sought, and added an
invitation to dine in the Institution — an invitation
which Temple very gladly accepted. He felt a little
disconcerted, however, at bcnng made the target of the
hundretl pairs of keen and critical eyes which noted
at a glance every item of his appearance, dress, and
deportment.

By a sort of intuition, known only to female minds,
the girls all divined the relation subsisting between
the young backwoods preacher and the most accom-
plished student of the college. ISIany were the
whispered comments at the table, and much was the
school-girl gossip that followed, of whicli had the object
of it been aware, his ears would have been uncommonly
warm, if tliere be any truth in the popular adage on
the subject. The general verdict was that if he was
not very handsome, he looked at least rather '' clever; ''
and if his country-made coat did not particularly adorn
his manly hgure, he had, at least, a ratlier distinguished
air. The American girl from Oil-Dorado wondered how
any one could throw herself away on such an awkward
creature, or bear the thought of becoming "a humdrum
country parson's wife, to teach stupid girls in a Sunday
School, and make possets for all the sick poor of the
parish."

LiFi-: f\ A p A 1? SON An/:

i '

Tills style of j)h)li])i)io, how( ver, did not meet with
much favour. Cxirls, for the most part, are more mtici-
less critics of their own than of the op[)osite sex ; and
while some thought that their schoolmate might " do
better," others thought that she had "done well " to
accept him ; with which I presume the parties most
concerned were quite content. The slight brusqueness
which he nianifesied under a somewhav stem exterior
attracted general favour, So, too, the quick, decisive
speech and somewhat imperious manner of the Presi-
dent of the college commanded the respect and admir-
ation of all the students — we suppose, because women,
however they may protest to the contrary, admire the
influence of a strong will ; in fact, as one of themselves
expressed it, " they like being bossed."'

But we must not delay upon these halcyon college
days. They passed all too quickly, and even the tasks
which looked irksome at the time were looked back
to witii a lingering regret. The months spent in this
seemingly monotonous routine were regarded by Edith
Korris as amongst the most protitable of her life. She
experienced sach a mental development and received
such an inte lectual stimulus as gave her greater j^ower
of study, and keener appreciation of its pleasures and
privileges for .:he rest of her life. When she left those
college halls, it was not without a dislocating wrench
in the severance of many tender ties of friendship.
Many were the exchanges of keepsakes and photo-
graphs, and the pledges of faithful correspondence and
mutual visit . Even the haughty damsel from Oil-
Dorado wept a few furtive tears, and declared that she
had heartily recanted her unkind judgment, and with
a very effusive embrace gave Edith, as a parting gift, a
handsome locket, containing some of the donor's hair,
with the injunction : —

" Now, you must wear this upon the happy day, so
that you will be sure to think of me ; I wish I were
only more worthy of your thought.''

" Thanks, dear," said Edith, kissing her fondly ;

(iTUJ. auADJWTF.s, .\\i> cnj.ijun: j falls.

we hav€* learned to know eacli other better. You
must come and see me in my new home."

" Be sure I will if ever I can."* said the im]»ulsive
girl ; and, amid a cliorus of " good-bves," Kdith rode

nway.

Although life was opening so beautiful and so bright
before her, it was not without a twinge of regret that
she turned her back upon the dear old college halls.
These thoughts, however, were soon forgotten in the
anticipation of deeper and richer joys.

It comes not within our scope to describe the modest
marriage ceremony at the Elms. It was observed with
an innocent hilarity which might have marked the
marriage feast of Cana of Galilee. And the ^Master
Himself was present, sanctifying and blessing the
union there formed. With mingled smiles and tears
the parents saw the daughter of many hopes and
prayers pass from the shelter of their roof to meet
new responsibilities, and doubtless new trials as
well as new joys. After a short wedding journey, in
which Edith enjoyed the rare delight of travel amid
some of the fairest scenes of her native land, the
youthful pair addressed themselves with the enthusiasm
of Christian confidence and zeal to their life-work.

We have now brought down our narrative to the
period of the opening of our story. We must postpone
to another chapter the account of the reception of the
young pastor and his wife at the village of Fairview.
and of their initiation into their new relations, and
into itinerant life and work.

chaptp:k IV.

TFIE RECEPTION.

" Play thy i)ai't, aii«l i)lay it well ;
Joy in thine aiipointed task :
And if pvide or flesh I'ebel,
Courage of thy Father ask.'"— Emma Tatijam.

" WTELCOME to Fairview ! " exclaimed a cheery
T T voice, as Lawrence and his wife drove up to tlie
broad piazza'd house of Father Lowrv, wliich tliey had
been invited to make their home for a time. Tlie
cheery voice belonged to a h\rge clieery-looking man
with twinkling black eyes, iron-grey hair, and merry
wrinkles written all over his broad cheery face,

" An' is this the Missis ? " he went on, after shaking
Lawrence with immense energy by the hand. " Bless-
ings on your bonny face, jNla'am ; the blessing that
maketh rich be upon you! But hurry into the house,
we are all waiting for you. "i'ou're just in time to
'scape the shower ; " and he gallantly helped Edith out
of the carriage.

" Here, Tom, take the preacher's horse, and give
him of the best," he said to a long, lank, shy-looking
youth who was taking furtive glances at the new
arrivals.

Passing through an elm-shaded gateway and up
a gravelled walk, bordered on either side by fi. grant

THE JiECEPTION.

2'.\

.Tune roses, tlicy wrrc met on the verandah l\v a
miitronly-looking woman, wlio grasped Lawrmee's hand
with hotli of liers, and said: " Hh'ssed is he that
conieth in the name of the I^onh'

Then throwing lier arms around K(hth, sh<' kissed
her with motherly ttMuUMiiess on hot h cheeks and said,
'• Wek'ome, my dear, to our hearts and honu'. Here
are some of our folk come to wisli you joy and l>id you
weh'ome ; " and she introchieed several blushing girls
and some of the village matrons who were present to
iissist at the reception.

Father Lowry meantime introduced Lawren('(^ to a
few of the circuit oflKcials. ''This is r-\'le Jahez, our
class-leader; he is everybody's uncle, vou know. And
this is P'ather Thomas, our local preacher ; he will be
your right-hand man. And this is Hrother Man-
ning, the circuit steward; he will be one of your best
friends."

Thus Lawrence was made acquainted with his future*
allies and co-workers in the cause of (rod, and in tuin
introduced them t his wife. Personally the new
comers felt far mor. at home than they could have
imagined it [)0ssible to become so soon among strangers.
They felt not only that they were among friends, but
that they were knit together by bonds of spiritual
kinship far stronger than the ordinary ties of friend-
ship.

"' The new preacher and his wife must be tired and
hungry after their long ride," said the matronly Mrs.
Lowiy ; " let us have supper ; " and she bustled about,
on hospitable thoughts intent," to serve the bounti-
ful repast prepared in honour of the occasion.

Nothing tends more to promote ac(piaintance and
good fellowship than th(* enjoyment of a common
hos])itality. Under the genial influences of tea and
cake the last ice of timidity or reserve melts away.
The good farmer folk asked Lawrence many questions
about his last circuit, about the soil, the crops, and
other bucolic matters, and seemed somewhat surprised

LIFE l\ .1 PAIfSnXACK

\s '

ill

IliMt lie know a]»i»nr(»ntly as mucli iilxmt r»ir;il siilijccts
iis t liciiisclvrs. Thr iiiiitrons pniiscd llicir liostcssn
^()(»(l ten iiiid discussed domestic iiiMttcrs. iiiid kept up
nu'Jinwliilc a pretty keen and critical obscrvat ion of'tlic
young }>rcacli('i's wife — for the most ))art apparently
with v<'ry f"avourahl(! n'sults. In listening to the con-
versation, even the most bashful boy becanw uncon-
sciourf of his shyness and general Jiwkwardness, and the
most timid girl forgot to blush when that awful
dignitary, the new }>reacher, asked her sonu' (juestion,
in order to ''draw her out" and get ac(piainted.

After tea, as the rain had cleared off, and the fresh
fragrance of the roses drifted in at the open windows,
in the long twilight several of the village friends
dropped in. Kditli felt a pleasant sense of enjoyment
at the manner in which their kind hosts seemed to
take possession of them, and introduce them as "our
new preacher," and '' our new preacher's wife." It
was not without some feelings of endiarrassment that
she found herself the object of so much interest,
especially when a somewhat severe-looking ])erson, old
Mrs. jNIarshall, in a black bombazine gown, said to her,
" You must be president of our Dorcas Society," and a
chorus of matrons echoed, '' () yes, and we want you
to lead the young i)eoi)le's class, and take charge of
the female prayer-meeting."

" Wait till you get settled a bit, dear," said Mrs.
TiOwry, '' and see where you are, and get to know the
peoi)le ; then you'll take a class in the Sunday School,
won't you ? "

" I am sure I will be glad to do anything I can,"
faltered Edith, a little disconcerted by this array of
honours and duties thrust upon her. " But I have
had no experience except as a Sunday School teacher.''

" 0, we shall look up to you as our leader in every
good word and work," said Mrs. ]Marshall, smoothing
her silk apron. " As the preacher's wife, you will be
expected to take your place as his help-nriate, you
know."

ill

THE JIKCKPTJON.

•-»:,

To two iKM'sons Kditli felt Imt Ih'MiI drawn <»ul in
loving syuii»at liy — the kintl motherly Mrs. Lowry, .ind
a pale dt'licate girl with violet eyes and golden hair,
Carrie Mason l>v name, the only danghter otan invalid
and widowed mot her.

'• Voii'll come and see my mother soon, wont you?"
shily whispered, in the twilight, the timid girl; •• she
is siek and eannot come to see you."'

'' Ves, dear," rejilied Mdith, kissing her smooth white
forehead. "It shall l)e the lirst eall I will make," and
they fell into loving eonverse, and soon felt like very
old friends indeed.

CHAPTER V.

PUBLIC OPINION.

" Opinion is that high and mi.c^hty damo
Which rules the worUl, and in the mind doth frame
Distastes or likings ; for in human race
She makes the fancy various as the face."

Howell.

'' TTTELIi, I must say," remarked Mrs. Manning, the
T T small but bustling wife of the circuit steward,
to her neighbour, Mrs. ^Marshall, the tall ascetic lady
who wore tlie costume of severe black, as they walked
home together through the elm-shaded street — " Well,
I must say she is not a bit stuck up ; if she hev been
to college, as they say she hev, though for my part
what call girls hez to go to college I can't see. There's
my girls, now, they've never been to no college, an'
more capable girls, and better housekeepers and butter-
makers you wont tind nowheres, if I do say it myself."
"That's so, Mrs. INIanning," replied :Mrs. jMarshall,
with a sigh of resignation. " The times is changed
since you and T was girls. It's nothing but music, an'
book larnin', and fine art now. For my part, I think
they just spoils women. The preacher's wife don't
seem to have a realizin" sense of her duties and respon-
sibilities ; do you think she hev now ? "

" 0, we mustn't expect too much at first, you know,"

rVBLTC OPIXTOX.

said the fussy little matron, in a chirping, bird-like
manner; ''she's only a young thing, and will learn
her duty, I make no doul)t. under your instruction.
You always was famous for guiding the prejichers'
wives.''

"Well, I feel it an obligation to tell them their
duty," said Mrs. Marshall with another sigh. She
almost always sighed when she spoke, especially in
class-meeting, when she told of her trials ;md tribula-
tions as a pilgrim through this '' howling wilderness,"
and lamented over the degeneracy of the times.

Mr. Manning and Uncle Jabez, who walked liehind
the ladies, confined their remarks to the preacher
himself, as coming more within their purview than
his wife.

"Well, Uncle Jabez, how d'ye think he'll do?"
asked the circuit steward, with an air of considerable
])ersonal responsibility in "running the circuit," as he
was wont to phrase it.

" Well, he seems to have the root of the matter in
him, and that's the main thing, I 'low, " replied the
old man, who was of a sweet, spiritual nature, and
always looked at the spiritual aspects of character.
" He seems modest, and sensible, and hearty. He
shakes hands as if he meant it ; and they are hands
that have seen hard work, you can tell by the grip
of his muscle. He knows how to swing an axe, T 'low.''
The latter expression, a somewhat common contraction
in parts of Canada for " T allow,'' was evidently, through
force of habit, a favourite with the old man.

" 0, there's no nonsense about him, you can see
that,'' said the rather more worldly-minded steward;
which quality, we suppose, was one of the principal
reasons for his appointment to that office. " He've
kep' his eyes open. Was riglit peart at college, I
hear tell."'

" I don't, as a gineral thing, think much o' these
coUege-larnt, man-made ministers," said Uncle Jabez;
" they is apt to be perky and stuck up, and ain't no

LIFE TN A PAIiSONAGE.

1.1'

iiii!

ways as good prenchors as some as never see a college.
There now was William Ryerson, and Ezra Adams, and
Henry Wilkinson, and others of the old pi'neers, who
never saw the inside of a college; and yet there's no
young men now-a-days can ])re;ich like they could,
I "low."' The old man, like most of those who are
haunted with a feeling that they '' lag superfluous on
the stage,"' was rather a laudator temporis acti ; but
the pious sweetness of his spirit prevented any bitter-
ness of expression.

'• [ guess there's preaching timber in him," said the
steward, " if he is like his ftither, whom l used to hear,
years a gone, out to the front. An" they say he's a
chip off the old block. I think his comin' would have
been a main chance for the Fairview Circuit, if it
wasn't for his wife ; not that I have anything against
her — she seems a nice-mannered young thing. But,
you know, we didn't expect to be sot off as a separate
circuit this year, an' we can't afford to keep a married
man. Where's he going to live, I'd like to know ? "

" Why can't he and his wife live round among the
people ? " asked Uncle Jabez. " They'll be expected
to visit a great deal. I'm sure they're welcome to stop
at my liouse as often and as long as they like," he
went on, in the genial hospitality of his heart. " That's
the way the old pi'neers used to do."

" Yes, " said Mr. Manning, with a dubious expression,
" but times is changed, and not for the better, either,
as far as I see. Preachers expect jMrsonages, and
furniture, and everything fixed up slick, now-a-days."

" Well, it would he nice if we had one," said genial
Uncle Jabez; "I'm sure I wouldn't grudge it to 'em.
The labourer is, worthy of his hire, an' they do have
to labour purty hard. The Lord'll provide, some way,
Brother Planning, doan't you be afeared," said this
optimistic philosopher.

" Yes, but the Lord works by means," remarked, a
little testily, the more practical steward. '' He woi^'t
work a miracle to do what we can do for ourselves."'

priiLic OPIxrOA.

" Doiin't be afeared. Brother Claiming,'" said the old
man, "the liord'll provide, thats my motter — 'The
Lord'll provide."" And tlie two Church officials parteMl
for the night.

But the steward, who felt the financial responsiliiht y
of the circuit resting, to a large extent, upon himself,
passed a rather restless time. Probjibly the Chancellor
of the Exchequer of a kingdom, in prospect of a deficit
of the budget, might have been less anxious and dis-
quieted than this honest farmer, who did not see how
the young and comparatively weak circuit, of which
he was financial minister, was going to meet its in-
creased obligations. It had, as has been intimated,
previously formed part of a large and influential circuit,
and was quite willing to remain so. But the expansion
of the work had led to its being '• set off."" There was,
as yet, no parsonage, nor any })rovision for a married
man ; and this caused the officials considerable })er-
plexity when the Chairman of the district wrote that
Conference had found it imjjossible to send a young
man, but that the minister whom it did send would
be found just the man to "build up the circuit, and
prove a great success."' Like loyal jNlethodists, the
officials resolved to make the best of it, to give the
new preacher a warm welcome, and do as well for him
as they could.

The members of the society and congregation
expressed, without reservation, their delight at having
a minister all to ihemselves. It added, in no small
degree, to the dignity of the village to become the
head of a circuit, with the i»ros})ect of a parsonage and
resident ministers family. It ad*^ -d a new element
of social interest to the little comdiunity of Fairview.
This general feeling found expression in the words of
Carrie Mason, as she recounted to her mother the
events of the reception, and answered her questions
about the new minister's wife.

" 0, mother,"' said the impulsive girl, " she is just
perfectly splendid. She is as nice as ever she can be.

LIFE IN A PAltSONAGR

She kissed me, just like a sister, and promised tliilt
her very first visit would be to come and see you. I'm
sure I shall love her ever so much. And she's going
to lend me some of her books. And though she's been
to college, and knows ever so much, yet she isn't the
least bit proud. And she is to teach in the Sunday
School. She'll have all the grown girls in the village.
It will be so nice to have a minister's wife of our
own to come and see you when you are ill, and
everything."

" Yes, dear,'' said the patient sufferer, " a minister's
wife has a very important part to play, and can do a
deal of good, when sometimes her husband, no matter
how good or how clever, could not. A woman's tact
and a woman's heart can comfort the suffering and the
sorrowing as nothing else can." And she g:-.e herself
up to })leasing anticipations of the congenial society
and sympathy of a lady of superior culture and refine-
ment. For, though now in reduced circumstances,
Mrs, Mason had once moved in a much higher social
rank. The daughter of a British officer, and widow
of an accomplished physician, she felt a yearning for
intellectual conversation, and sympathy with books,
and art, and science, that found slight opportunity
for indulgence in the rural community in which, since
her husband's death, her lot was cast.

CHAPTER VI.

GETTING SETTLED.

•' Sweet are the joys o£ home,
And pure as sweet ; for tli^y.
Like (lews of morn and evening, come

To wake and elose the day." lk)WKiN(i.

WHP^X Lawrence found himseif alone witii his wife,
after the reception, he patted her cheek, as he
would that of a good child, and said, —

" Well, and how did you like the initiation ? "

" It 'vas not quite such an ordeal as I feared," she
laughingly replied ; " but, perhaps, the worst has to
come yet. I'm sure they were kindness itself; and
I love them very much. Do you think they liked me ? "

" Of course they did. Didn't I tell you they couldn't
help it ? " And he emphasized the remark as he had
done before, while she blushed very prettily at the
compliment.

" I'm afraid they expect a great deal from me," she
said, after a pause. " Old Mrs. Marshall — the lady of
the rueful countenance, who wore the black bombazine
dress, and always sighed when she spoke — laid down
my duties pretty thoroaghly ; I am afraid I shall hardly
come up to her expectations."

" Well, my dear," said Lawrence, caressingly, " it is
I who have married 3^ou, and not she ; and you will
come up to my expectations, I am sure. You will try

I.IVK IN A PAHSOXAfiE.

to do your duty, I know. It will lie ii pleasure for us
both to labour among such kind-hearted people. I
already feel my soul knit to them. Our welcome to
this hospitable home could not have been warmer.
But we must not wear it out. We must get a home
of our own as soon as we can."

" yes/" exclaimed Kdith, and she gaily carolled,

" ' Be it over so liuinble, there's no place like home ; '

I would rather live in the poorest cottage of our own
than in a palace belonging to others. Home is woman's
kingdom, you know, and I am eager to assume my
sceptre and rule you with a rod of iron.*'

Lawrence laughed as if he were not very much afraid,
and then, putting on as much of a look of resignation
as he could, he said: "Well, I have put the yoke of
bondage on my own neck, and I suppose I must bear
it with idl the fortitude I can summon. About this
home business, however, I fear there may be a little
difficulty. It seems there is not a house to be had in
the village, except a large dilapidated one on the bluft'
above the lake. It was built for a mill -owner, and
after the mill had sawn up all the timber within reach
both mill and house were abandoned, and they have
both gone a good deal to rack. I am afraid we should
be lost in a large house ; and then we have very little
to put in it. But if it is at all habitable, we can take
up our quarters in the best rooms and use the rest as
the outworks of our ruined castle. It will be quite
romantic, wont it?"'

The next day they set out to have a look at " The
Castle," as they called it. Their kind host and hostess
strongly remonstrated, and with true warm-hearted
Irish hospitahty insisted on Lawrence and his wife
remaining their guests till a suitable house could be
provided.

" We will want to come and see you often," said
Edith, " and we don't want you to get tired of us at first."

" Never a fear of that,"" interrupted the hostess.

liiiiii

GETTIXG SETTLED,

" And besides, Mrs. Lowry," Edith went on, " how
would you like to be without a home yourself — a real
home that you could call your own?"

"True for you, dear," said that motherly soul; *' I
don't wonder that you want to be mistress of your own
home, and I'll be willing to let you go as soon as ever
a fit house can be found."

To "The Castle," therefore, Edith and Lawrence
went. Though ruinous enough, it was certainly not
very romantic. Indeed, so utterly prosaic was it that
Edith burst into a laugh, and exclaimed, —

" Another of my chateaux en Espagne demolished !
No, it certainly is not the least like a castle."

It had been rather a fine house in its time. It stood
on a high bluff, commanding a magnificent view for
miles of the lake and islands. It was a rambling
structure, with a great hall running through the
middle, and there were several large apartments on
either side, and in the ^ear. But through disuse and
neglect it wore an indescribably dilapidated appearance,
and the broken windows looked like the eyeless sockets
of a skull. A broad piazza ran around three sides.
Just beneath the bluff were the remains of the old
dismantled saw-mill, adding still more to the forlorn-
ness of the scene.

" Well, my fair chatelaine, what do you think of
it ? " asked Lawrence, as they explored the tumble-
down barracks.

" It is not quite my ideal of ' love in a cottage,' "
she laughed, " but it is a place of splendid possibilities.
The magnificent view from the piazza might make
amends for considerable discomfort indoors. If one
half of the house were repaired and put in order, I
think it could be made quite habitable."

So Lawrence went to see the agent of the estate,
who was somewhat surprised at the request.

'* 0," he said, " it is not worth much, but I suppose
we must ask something, just to retain our title, you
know. Suppose we call it a dollar a month ? "

LIFE IN A PABSONAGE.

i 19

Lawrence asked if anything would be done to improve
the premises so as to make them worth more rent ; but
the agent '' guessed it wouldn't be worth while, for
nobody would be likely to stay there longer than he
could help."

At the official meeting of the Church, which was
soon held, the project met with slight favour; but no
other alternative presented itself, except that proposed
by good Uncle .Tabez, that the preacher should " board
round," like the schoolmaster and " pi'neer preachers "
of the olden time. But though some of the board
favoured this plan for reasons of economy, yet Lawrence
strenuously objected.

" No, brethren," he said, " I've been boarding round
for the last six years, and I've nothing io say against it
for a single man ; but I must have a home, a home of
my own, now, I care not how homely."

" Our minister is right," said good P^ather Lowry ;
" my house is at his service as long as he likes, and 1
know yours are, too ; but he has a right t-^ one of his
own. Till we can build a parsonage, we must make
him as comfortable as possible at the Old Mill," by
which designation " The Castle " was best known.

So it was arranged that the village carpenter was to
repair at least half of the house, and that immediately
after " haying " a " bee " was to be made to put the
grounds in order. Some furniture — rather plain and
not too much of it — was purchased. Some rooms were
papered by Lawrence himself. His books were un-
packed and put in a book-case, making the best and
noblest adornment any room can possess ; introducing,
even into a cabin, the mighty kings of thought and
laurelled priests of poetry. Edith set out some beds
of flowers, and draped the windows with tasteful though
inexpensive curtains. Some cool summer matting
covered the bare floors. Her prize books and parlour
bric-a-brac were displayed upon the table. A tinted
photograph of the Dresden Madonna — the loveliest of
Raphael's works — a chromo of the Pfalzburg on the

GETTIXO SETT I . ED.

un-
it and

Rhine, two water-colour sketches, by her own hand, of
tlie rock scenery of Lake Muskoka, a steel portrait of
Wesley, and another of the poet Dante, gave the needed
touch of colour to the walls and an air of retinement to
the little parlour not surpassed by any in the village.
Beauty and elegance depend not so much on the purse
as on good taste. A cabinet organ, her father's wedding-
gift, with some familiar music, bestowed on the room
a still more home-like effect.

*' It's just perfectly lovely," said Currie Mason, who
had herself contributed largely to the transformation,
to her mother. " It is the prettiest little parlour in
all P^airview."

'' Why, here you be, as snug as a bug in a rug," said
P'ather Lowry, in his cheery way, to Edith, when he
came to see how she was getting settled.

''It's perfectly wonderful the change you have made,"
said Mrs. Manning, who, with her friend, Mrs. Marshall,
had dropped in to give her advice on the matter. '' I
guess I must ask your advice about brightening up my
own parlour, instead of giving any about your own."
And certainly the bright sunny room was a great con-
trast to the gloomy apartment, from which, excejit
on high festival occasions, every ray of light was
excluded, with its heavy hair-cloth sofa and chairs
arranged in solemn order, like mutes at a funeral,
around the walls.

" For my part," said Mrs. Marshall, with her cus-
tomary sigh, as they walked home together, " I
wouldn't want a lot of kickshaws like these a-litterin'
up my room; and that Papish pictur' of the Virgin
Mary on the wall I think perfectly scandalous in a
Protestant's house, and he a minister, too. Besides, as
the aymn says,

' ' ' Tliis world is all a fleetin' show,
For man's delusion given.'

And it's clean flying in the face of Providence this
adomin' our houses as if we was to live in them for ever."

CHAPTER Vir.

li ''

THP: first SUNDAY AT FAIRVIEW.

" day of rest 1 How beautiful and fair,
Day of the Lord, and truce to earthly care !
Day of the I^ord, as all our days should l)e.''

Longfellow, Christm, Part iii.

IT was something of an ordeal for Edith Temple to
attend the public service on the first Sunday after
her arrival at Fairview. Although remarkably free
from self-consciousness, she could not but feel that she
was an object of curious interest to the whole com-
munity — the observed of all observers, the cynosure of
every eye. As she walked, with her husband, down
the broad, elm-shaded \illage street, she became aware
that she was the target for many curious glances from
spectators half concealed behind window-blinds or
curtains. But the Sabbath calm that brooded over the
the scene seemed to tranquillize and reassure her soul.

The street, which the day before had been filled
with farmers' waggons, and the stores, which had been
crowded with farmers' wives and daughters, were
strangely quiet. Not a team was to be seen but that
of Squire Whitehead, and those of some others of the
congregation who lived in the country. The drowsy
hum of the bees filled the air, and the distant bark
of a dog jarred on the ear as an incongruous sound.

On the broad " stoop " of the village inn was a knot

t]
f(

THE FIB ST SUNDAY AT FAIRYTFAV

of idle boys and young men, and some old ones, who
kept up on Sunday their week-day habit of "loafing"'
about that centre of jjernicious attraction. These
gazed, some with a loutish exi)ression, some with brazen
stare, at Lawrence and his wife as they passed ; and
one of them, the village blacksmith, who was more
often found at the tavern than at his shop, and who
was not yet quite sobered from his Saturday night's
dissipation, said, with jm admiring glance, as he shifted
the quid of tobacco from one bulging cheek to the
other, '" She's a daisy ; an' I'll fight any man as says
she ain't."

" Come, Saunders, behave yourself," said Jim Larkins,
the burly tavern-keeper, coming out of the open door.
" You had better go home and get sobered off."

" I meant no offence," said the half-tipsy fellow, " an'
it's willing enough you were to have me here last night,
as long as my money lasted."

" You fellows had better go to church," continued
Larkins. " It don't look well to see you hanging round
here of a Sunday, as if it were a fair-day. I'm going
to hear the new preacher myself ; " and, accompanied
by two or three of the group, he sauntered along.

" How dreadful it is," said Edith to her husband, " to
see such a man-trap baited for its victims in this lovely
spot ! I feel already that our Eden has its tree of
knowledge of good and evil, and many, I fear, taste its
bitter fruit."

" Yes," said Lawrence, with a sigh, " I fear that that
devil's pulpit will do more to demoralize the people
than I can to do them good. Go where you will in
this fair Canada of ours, in every village and hamlet,
for every church or school you will find two or three
or more of these ante-chambers of hell."

As they approached the modest church, painted white,
with the little " God's acre " in the rear,

" Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap,"

a group of the farmer lads and village youths about the

LIFE IX A PAnSONAGK.

door subHidcfl into silence, and even the women in the
vestibule dp'W bjick with what Milton calls "a noble
Khaniefacedness " in the unwonted presence of the new
preacher and his wife. (lood iMrs. Lowry, however,
came forward with her warm-hearted shake-hands and
kindly smile, saying, —

" I'm waiting for you; I thought you'd feel strange
like. But you'll soon tind that we're all your friends ; "
and she introduced some of the matrons that were
standing near.

'' I feel that already," said Edith, with a brig) it smile,
shaking hands frankly. " We shall soon know each
other better."

Plere Brother Manning, the circuit steward, took
Lawrence and his wife and conducted them to the
" preacher's pew," one of conspicuous honour in the
front row, at the right hand of the pulpit, and in full
view of every soul in the church. The young wife
would much have preferred a less prominent position,
but she would not object to what was meant for a kind-
ness. The little church had not arrived at the dignity
of a separate vestry ; so Lawrence left his hat in the
pew and entered the pulpit.

Edith soon becan.'i intensely conscious that she was
the focus to which was directed every eye in the house.
She felt her cheeks painfully flush ; she saw row behind
row of curious faces, but in her nervous agitation she
could not recognize one. At last, just opposite her,
she caught the loving glance of sweet Carrie Mason,
and the broad, matronly smile of Mother Lowry, but
also the sharp ferret look and keen, cold criticism of
the austere Mrs. Marshall. But, glancing out of the
window beside her, she beheld beyond the stately elm
that shaded the graveyard, the noble vista of the lake
and islands, and then close at hand the quiet graves,
with bee and butterfly haunting the clover bloom, and
the summer breeze fluttered the hymn-book on the
open window. And as her husband's voice gave out
the hymn, and she joined with the congregation in its

TUK rrnsT suxday at FArnvrEw.

'aeh

holy harmony, she felt her soul attunod for worship by
tliese sweet ministries of nature jmd of grace.

After the service, as Mrs. Manning and her friend,
.Mrs. Marshall, walked down the street together, the
latter lady with a dolorous sigh remarked, —

" Did vou see her bonnet, them satin ribbons and
that flower — and she the minister's wife ? Well, I
never! Not a girl in the village but will be nping her
fine lady airs."

"Well, you know, it's her wedding bonnet, and I'm
sure it was tasteful — the neatest ancl most elegant in
the house. An' as for her manners, I think they was
just beautiful. Ah she sat looking up into her hus-
band's face all through the sermon, she looked just like
that pictur' of the Virgin on her parlour wall."

" That Papish thing ! Well, I wouldn't want to look
like it, I'm sure ; " and she put on an even more than
usual vinegar aspect.

" What a beautiful sermon that was ! " said Mrs.
Lowry, coming up. " It just did one's soul good to
hear l\im."

"Yes," said the circuit steward, with a critical air,
" I guess he'll do. And wasn't the church full ! I ho[)e
it'll keep on so. I see the Crowle boys there, as I
hav'n't seen to church since last winter, when they put
pepper on the stove! And they put sixpence each in
the collection, too, a thing I never know'd 'em to do
afore."

CHAPTER VIII.

AN AWKWARD ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FRIEND.

if '

" You behold in mc
Only a travelling physician."

Longfellow, The Golden Legend.

IN the afternoon Edith rode with Lawrence to his
appointment at the village of Morven, six miles
distant, at the head of the lake. Lawrence gladly
assented to her wish to accompany him. " But," he
said, " I give you warning that if you follow me around
like this, you will often hear an old sermon."

" 0, I have to hear a sermon two or three times," she
said, "before I can fully understand it."

" That must be because I am so profound," said
he.

" Or because I am so shallow," she replied.

"Nay, not that," he said. "It must be that I am
obscure ; but if I am very taciturn you must excuse
me, as I must think over my sermon."

So they drove over the rolling hills, gaining glorious
views from time to time of the far-extended lake, with
its islands and headlands and indented bays and upland
slopes, green and golden with waving forest and ripen-
ing grain.

At last they descended into a hollow, and the road
lay for a time through a dense forest of the tall,
straight trees known as Norway pines, each fit " to be

AWKWARD ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FRIEND. 41

i ho mast of some great ammiral." The horse's tread was
scarcely heard upon the thick matting of pine needles,
and the wheels of the carriage rolled noiselessly over
them. Through the openings to the sky broad,
bright glints of sunlight streamed and made a glory
all around.

'' Truly," said Edith, in a reverent tone,

" ' The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them, — ere he framed
The lofty vault to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems, in the darkling wood,
Amid the sweet, cool silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication ....

Let me
Here, in the shadow of the aged wood.
Offer one hymn — thrice happy if it find
Acceptance in His ear.'"

And she sweetly carolled the noble hymn, beginning,

" God is in this and every place."

They soon passed through this dense forest into a
more open region, where the road ran for a mile or
more over a rough causeway of logs across a swamp.
The elderberry bushes were in their richest foliage
of an intensely vivid green. The pure white lilies
rose from the black and muddy ooze of the swamp,
and breathed forth their fragrance on the air, like the
Christian graces blooming in beauty amid a foul
environment. The crimson cardinal flowers blushed a
deeper scarlet by contrast with their snowy whiteness,
like vice abashed in the presence of saintly purity.
The noisy blue-jay, the flashing humming-birds, the
lithe lizards on the ground, gleamed like living jewels
amid the emerald setting of the forest.

" How lovely ! " exclaimed Edith. " What splendid
ferns ! What magnificent orchids ! You must bring
me here to botanize some day."

Here her exclamations of delight were interrupted by
a loud shouting ahead of them.

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

" Hi I Hallo there ! Turn out, or there'll be trouble
ahead."

The shouts proceeded from a kirge, burly individual,
perched aloft in the single narrow seat of a high, two-
wheeled vehicle, which is known in Canada as a
" sulky ; " we presume because one person only can ride
in it. This vehicle came bouncing and bumping
forward over the rough logs.

" Didn't you see the turning-out place back there ? "
said the florid-faced driver, as he halted his horse, and
pointed to the road a few rods behind them, where a
double width of logs had been laid down so as to give
room for waggons to pass.

" No," said Lawrence, " I did not, I'm sorry to say.
This is the first time 1 ever travelled this road."

" Well, young man," said the first speaker, " the next
time you drive this way, don't pass that spot till you
see the road is clear ahead of you. Beg your pardon.
Ma'am," he went on, with a polite bow to Edith, '' don't
be alarmed, I'll manage to turn around, and give you
the right of way. Place aux dames, you know ! "

For the vehicles to pass one another was impossible,
so narrow was the causeway, and on either side was a
deep ditch, filled with black swamp water and mud.
But with much skill the driver of the sulky turned
his vehicle and pony about on the narrow causeway
almost as if they were on a pivot, although it was a
feat somewhat like that of an elephant balancing on an
upturned tub.

" I am greatly obliged for your kindness," said
Lawrence, as he drove up. " JNIay I have the pleasure
of knowing the name of so courteous a gentleman ? "

" My name's Norton — Dr. Norton — if you mean me,"
said with a merry laugh the burly doctor, who was
splashed with mud from head to foot. " We are not
much used to such compliments out here in the bush,
Ma'am," he went on, with another polite bow to Edith.
" Jt's hard to feel one is a gentleman beneath so much
mud," and he looked ruefully at his bespattered clothes.

ti(

give

said

AWKWAIiJ) ENCOUNTER AND A NEW FBI END. 43

*' And you ? " he added, with an interrogative inflec-
tion, turning to Lawrence.

" Temple is my name. I'm the new Methodist
preacher at Fairview, and this is my wife."

" Happy to make your acquaintance, and ]Mrs.
Temple's," said the Doctor, again bowing to that lady.
" We are likely to meet often. Sir. There is one thing
our callings have in common : we are both nuich in
request with the sick and poor, and we must get our
reward in the other world if we get it at all."

" I trust we shall not miss that," said Lawrence,
gravely, " whatever else we gain or lose."

" Amen to that," said the Doctor, with a slight
tremor of the voice. '' I'm not a religious man, Mr.
Temple," he added, " but I've seen enough of sickness
and death to feel that there are ills too deep for drugs
to cure, and that amid the gathering shadows of the
grave man needs more potent healing than any the
doctor's wallet contains. Often men ask us Macbeth's
question : —

'' ' Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain ;
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart ? '

I have learned, too, vSir, in many a sick room, to respect
the character and appreciate the generous services of
men of your cloth. 1 hope we shall be friends ; " and
with a frank bow to Lawrence, and politely raising his
hat to ildith, he resumed his journey.

CHAPTER IX.

A BACKWOODS SERVICE.

" He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor."

Holmes, Urania.

rilHE afternoon service was at a little hamlet, where
J. the only public buildings were a log school-house
and that ubiquitous curse of Canada, the village tavern.
Around the former a few horses were tied to the trees,
and a couple of rough farm waggons were drawn up be-
side the fence. One could not but wonder where all
the people came from in that lonely place. The little
village had only half-a-dozen houses, and scarce another
was in sight ; yet the school-house was packed — we were
going to say, if it were not perpetrating a bull, both
within and without, for there were more persons about
the doors and windows than there were inside

The " meeting " fulfils an important place in the
social economy of the backwoods of Canada. Amid the
isolation of their solitary farm life, the people — the
female portion of the household especially — see little
of each other except at these weekly or fortnightly
gatherings. In consequence of the divergence or
inaccuracy of their clocks and watches — many of which
take their time from the sun by a rude astronomical
observation of noontide by their owners, or by a com-
parison of " sun-up " or " sun-down " with the time in-

A BACKWOODS SERVICE.

dicated ia the almanack procured at the village drug
store — the people go to meeting early, so as to be sure
to be in time. Sometimes the preacher is delayed by
the bad roads^ or by mishap, and the congregation often
employ the time in social converse. The good wives
discuss the various ailments and infantile characteristics
of their domestic brood, or the sickness or convalescence
of some neighbour; and in a new country any one
within five miles is a neighbour. The girls are apt to
compare ribbons and gowns. The men and boys out of
doors are prone to drift into rather secular talk — the
crops, the weath' r, the good points or otherwise of the
horses hitched to the trees and fence, imd of other
horses elsewhere. If the delay of the preacher in
coming is long, some one more spiritual-minded,
perhaps the class-leader, gives out a hymn, and then
another and another, and a grand service of song is held,
the heavenly truths gliding into the soul with the sweet
harmonies, and attuning and preparing the mind for
the worship of Grod. The music may be pitched too
high, and have more shakes and quavers than the com-
poser designed; but it fulfils its mission to the human
soul no less than if it rolled from golden organ pipes
beneath cathedral's vaulted aisles.

As Mr. Temple and his wife drove up, a silence fell
upon the group without and the singers within.
Lawrence shook hands frankly with the men standing
near, as if he had known them all his life, and asked
for the class-leader. He was in the school-house lead-
ing the singing : but, seeing the preacher drive up,
he came out. He was a man unheroic^ in stature and
unbeautiful to look upon. His Sunday suit of clothes
was the same for summer and winter, he could not
afford the luxury of two suits ; and as the day was
warm, he looked, after his violent exercise in singing —
and he believed in doing whatever he did, singing,
praying, working, with all his might — he looked, we
say, as if threatened with apoplexy. His hair, it must
be confessed, was a staring red, and so was the fringe

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

of beard around his florid face. Indeed, the wags at
the village tavern asserted that the picture of the
" Rising Sun " on its creaking sign was a portrait of the
honest miller, John Crumley. A broad white collar
framed his face, and a black neckerchief was wound
almost to the point of strangulation about his neck.
Yet this was the man, though poor, unlettered, and
uncouth, who was chosen by his neighbours to be their
spiritual leader and guide, the under shepherd and lay
colleague of their minister and chief pastor. His older
and comparatively wealthy neighbours accepted his
godly counsels and admonitions, as to them the voice
of the Church and of God. Such a fact, multiplied
ten thousand times in as many rural communities,
illustrates the grand democracy of Methodism ; or,
rather, it illustrates the grandest aristocracy on earth ;
passing by the claims of wealth and learning and social
rank, for the nobler criterion of moral worth.

" An' yon be the noo preacher," said honest John,
grasping Lawre-^ce's hand. " Oi be right glad to see ye.
An' so be us all. We'me a-been a-prayin' for the Lord
to send us a mon after 'Is oan heart, an' us accepts you
as comin' in the name o' the Lord."

Lawrence made a way for himself and his wife through
the crowded congregation to the school-mistress's stand
at the end of the room. The pulpit was a simple table
on a small platform, raised about a foot above the floor.
It was a capital place to learn to speak without notes.
Woe to the unfortunate man who depended upon such
adventitious helps, or who was easily disconcerted by
trifles. There was a row of children perched along the
front of the platform, so crowded was the house ; and
more than once one of these fell asleep and tumbled
off during the sermon. Others trotted across the baok
of the teacher's stand. Several of the men got up and
went out to look after restive horses, and two or three
women carried out crying children. A dog, of an
imaginative turn of mind, asleep beneath a bench, was
apparently pursuing his prey in a dream, or, perhaps,

A BACKWOODS SERVICE.

was troubled with nightmare, and expressed his excite-
ment in strange noises, and had to be ignominiously
expelled. But the people hung upon the preacher's
lips with intensest interest. Ever and anon a hearty
"Amen!" or "Hallelujah!" attested their deep
emotion, and around the windows crowded eager
listeners. Tlie preacher felt that he was not beating
the air. No moral miasma of scepticism poisoned the
souls of his hearers and rendered tlT^m insensible to
the appeals of the Gospel. To each f them, though
perchance they were living careless or even reckless
lives, its every word was the voice of Grod ; its threaten-
ings were dread realities ; its hell was an everlasting
fire ; its heaven a city of eternal joy. The preacher
could grapple with their consciences, which were not
benumbed and paralysed by doubt.

Edith was greatly interested in this simple service,
to which she was not unaccustomed, for she had
witnessed many such scenes in the wilds of Muskoka.
She joined heartily in the singing, her rich and pure
soprano voice giving a noble quality to the rather
uncultured service of song. After the sermon the
matrons thronged about her with hearty invitations
to come soon and pay them a visit.

" We likes to know the preacher's wife," said one.
" We never but oncet before had one come to the
meetin'. We hopes you'll come oftens."

" We mayn't be very fine," said a stout Yorkshire
dame, " but you're iust as welcome to we're whoams as
welcome can be."

John Crumley, who was also from the " north country "
of old England, and used some of the old-fashioned
forms of speech, asked the preacher to " stop and bait "
at his house, which request his good wife warmly
seconded.

" Us will be proud," she said, " to have you stop.
We're hoose hev alius bee^ the preacher's tavern, an'
ye mus'n't make strange, ye know."

The house was a tiny on6 of logs beside the tiny

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

mill. The great wheel of the latter stood still, but the
waste water from the sluice made a musical tinkle, as
it splashed over the mossy timbers and flashed rainbow
colours in the afternoon light. The good wife bustled
about her tiny kitchen, and set forth a meal that would
have beguiled the appetite of the sternest ascetic —
home-made bread, golden butter, amber-coloured honey,
redolent of clover bloom and thyme, and red, ripe
strawberries, buried in rich, yellow cream.

" Bless the Lord," said honest John, " we'me getten
a preacher of we're oan. Us will look for a graat work
of graace. Peggy an' Oi's been a-prayin' for a graat
revival, an' Oi believe we'me a-goin' to have it ; " and
the good man, in the gladness of his heart, burst forth
into sacred song in the midst of the meal.

It is true that he was unpolished in manners, and it
must be confessed that he ate with his kniife, but
Edith felt that he was one of God's noblemen, and
reverenced with all her soul his simple, earnest piety.
As she rode home with Lawrence in the golden sunset,
and then in the purple gloaming, she felt how great
and blessed was the privilege of working with him for
the spiritual welfare of these simple-minded, generous-
hearted people. And any gifts of culture or talents
that she possessed, she felt to be only a sacred trust to
be used in their behalf.

After an evening service at " early candle-light " at
Fair view, as, weary in body, yet enjoying sweetest rest
of soul, she sat on the piazza of their humble home,
watching the moonlight sparkle on the waves, she said
to her husband, "This has been one of the happiest
days of my life. I have felt, as I never did before, a
breadth of meaning in those words of the Creed, ' I
believe in the communion of saints.' I have realized
that amid the diversities of rank, condition, and culture
of Christ's disciples, is the same indwelling Spirit. My
soul is knit to these people. I shall be glad to do all
in my power for their good."

" Let us learn, dear wife," said Lawrence, " more and

n
f;

I \

A BACKWOODS SERVICE.

more the universal brotherhood of man, the universal
fatherhood of Grod, and we shall feel that —

i( (

There's a wideness in God's mercy
Like the wideness of the sea ;

There's a kindness in His justice
Which is more than liberty.

'* * For the love of God is broader

Than the measure of man's mind ;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

" ' If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at His word,
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the favour of our Lord.' "

CHyVPTER X.

PREPARING THE CAMP.

" Ah, why
Should wc in this world's riper years neglect
fJod's ancient sanctuaries, and adore
Only among the crowd, and under roofs
That our frail hands have made ? "

BiiYANT, A Forest Hymn.

ri'^HE great event of the season on the Burg-Royal

District, of which Fairview, at the time of which
we write, formed a part, was the District Camp-meet-
ing. This had been in the early days of Methodism
a most potent institution in those parts. In those
times meeting-houses, or even school-houses, were few
and far apart, and the camp-meeting was made a grand
rallying-place for all the settlers far and near. Two
famous camp-meeting preachers were Elder Case and
Elder Metcalfe in their early jmme, and marvellous
were the scenes of religious revival and spiritual power
which they witnessed, and in which they took part.

With the multiplication of religious agencies and
increase in the number of churches, the pressing need
for these special services became less. They no longer
attracted persons from so great a distance, neither were
they the scenes of such extraordinary manifestation.
But they were still occasions of great interest, and

PREPAIITNG THE CAMP.

were attended by several hundred, and on Sunday l)y
two or three thousand, persons.

The Methodist families throughout the ])istrict
looked forward to this season of dwelling in tents with
somewhat kindred feelings, we sui)i)ose, to those of (he
ancient Israelites in anticipation of their annual Feast
of Tabernacles. By the more devout it was regarded
as a high religious festival and as a spiritual harvest-
time. It was the subject of much prayer and pious
desire for weeks beforehand in the class and prayer-
meetings. The heads of families made arrangements'
as far as possible, to allow the attendance of their
whole households — their children and servants, and
" the strangers within their gates," as the hired men
were described in their prayers. Pious parents longed
and prayed for the conversion of their children ; and
even those who were not over pious themselves, knew
that a converted farm-servant was more trustworthy
and efficient, that is, possessed a higher money value,
than any other ; and therefore freely allowed their
hired help to attend the camp-meeting, at least on the
Sunday, if not longer.

To the young folk the occasion offered very special
attractions — the charm of a change from the regular
routine of life ; the charm of kindred youthful com-
paniouship, and the excitement of picnicking for a week
or more in the woods. All this was tempered, how-
ever, with some shade of austerity, from the necessity
of attending so many religious services, and in some
cases by the haunting fear that they might be con-
vert 8d in spite of themselves, and so be cut oft' from
the enjoyment of all the social junketings and dances
and worldly dissipations of the neighbourhood. Some-
times the attractions of a travelling circus, with its
attendant side-shows, which were felt to be incom-
patible with a religious profession, were allowed to
deaden the religious susceptibilities and stifle the
convictions of a quickened conscience.

The principal burden of preparation for the ramp-

LIFE IN A PAItSOXACfK,

meeting fell upon the good matrons of the congregji-
tions. For many days beforehand the great farm
kitchens were scenes of unwonted bustle and activity.
The good wives, "on hospitable thoughts intent," were
making lil)eral provision, not only for their own
households, but also for the entertainment of troops
of friends, yes, and even of utter strangers. The open-
hearted hosi)itality of the camp-ground was almost
like a revival of the religious communism of the
]»riniitive believers, when "neither said any of them
that aught of the things which he possessed was his
own ; but they had all things common."

The great out-of-door ovens were filled to repletion
with generous batches of bread, which came forth
brown and fragrant ; and manifold was the baking of
pies and cakes, the roasting of turkeys and pullets and
young porkers, and the boiling of hams for the
generous and substantial sandwiches which were so
much in request for the sustenance of the outer, while
the preachers laboured for the refreshment of the
inner, man. Some of the attendants at the meeting,
however, we are sorry to say, seemed to have confused
notions as to which tvas the outer and which the inner
man ; and were much more sedulous in their attention
to the well-filled tables than to the religious services.

The favourite time for holding the camp-meeting
was either during the brief respite in farm labour after
" haying " and before harvest, or in the more ample
leisure, and the golden September weather, after
harvest and before " seeding." The latter was the
season selected for holding the Burg-Royal District
Camp-meeting.

The chosen spot was a famous camp-ground on the
shores of Lac de Baume, which had been from time
immemorial a favourite camping-place of the Indians.
It had, therefore, been adopted by Elder Case, the
father of Methodist missions to the Indian tribes of
Canada, on account of its convenience of access either
by water or by the forest trails. It also presented in

pPFP.inmf? THJ': camp.

•ngrega-
it farm
iictivity.
t," were
;ir own
f troops
le open-
almost
of the
3f them
was his

ppletion
e forth
king of
lets and
for the
ivere so
r, while

of the
leeting,
onfused
le inner
tention
/ices,
oieeting
iir after

ample

after

ras the

District

on the
n time
ndians.
5e, the
ibes of
either
ited in

itself admirable advantages for the purpose. An ample
area of forest land sloped down to a beautiful little bay.
The noble elms and maples lifted their leafy arms high
in air, and completely shaded the open space below.

As this spot lay within the bounds of the Fairview
Circuit, it fell to the lot of Father F^owry, Mr. Man-
ning, P'ather Thomas, John Crumley, and a few others
of the neighbouring farmers, to prepare the camjn
ground. ]5ut little recjuired to be done, except to
repair the dilapidations caused by the winter storms.
Around an area of about half an acre were a row of
rough board buildings or " tents," as by a rather bold
metaphor they were called. These consisted, for the
most part, of only one room, the principal use of which
was as an eating-room by day and a sleeping-room by
night. Between the religious services relays of hungry
people would fill every corner, and at night the board
tables were removed, and quilts and curtains divided
it into two sleeping apartments. The same articles
furnished the doors and windows, so that, if not tents
exactly, these " lodges in the wilderness " still possessed
to the imagination of their occupants quite an oriental
character, as was becoming to a " feast of tabernacles."

The kitchen arrangements were in the rear of each
tent, beneath the shadow of the trees, or perhaps of a
booth of boughs. They consisted chiefly of open fires
with a crotch-stick at each side and a cross-piece at the
top, from which hung the kettles for boiling water for
the tea and coffee, the making of which was the chief
culinary operation of the camp.

The preacher's tent differed little in character from
the others, except that before it was a platform elevated
about a yard from the ground. Along the front of this
ran a flat board by way of desk ; at the back was a long
bench ; the whole making a pulpit large enough to
accommodate a dozen men. The room in the rear was
occupied by one enormous bed, greater than the Great
Bed of Ware or than the iron bedstead of Og, King of
Bashan. But it was generally pretty well filled with

LIFE JA A PARSONAGE.

clerical occupants, on such occasions, and, with the aid
of plenty of straw and buffalo robes, was by no means
uncomfortable.

In front of the preacher's stand were rows of plank
benches resting on sections of saw-logs set on end, and
the ground was plentifully strewn with straw. At the
four corners of this area were four elevated platforms
about six feet high, covered with earth, on which at
night were kindled fires of pine knots for lighting up
the camp, which they did very efficiently.

the aid
means

P plank
id, and
At the
itforms
hich at
ing up

CHAPTER XI.

THE CAMP-MEETING.

" To its inmost glade
The living forest to thy whisper thrills,
And there is holiness in every shade."

Mr9. Hemans.

rpHE camp-meeting began on Friday evening of the
-L first week in September. All day long teams con-
tinued to arrive, laden with bedding, household stuff,
and provisions. With much innocent hilarity the
farmers' boys unloaded the waggons, and the girls and
matrons unpacked the boxes and set their houses in order
for their ten days' encampment in the woods. Lawrence
Temple had a tent of his own, and Edith exhibited in
its dainty curtains and in the pictures on the walls the
same refined taste that characterized her little parlour
at home. Mother Lowry had invited the minister's
wife to share her larger tent, and to let Lawrence
" share and fare " with the visiting preachers; but the
young matron replied: "No, I want the opportunity
to exercise hospitality as well as you. As we are on
our own circuit, my tent must be a sort of headquarters
for the preachers' wives."

" What a cosy nest of a place you have here ! " said
Mrs. Manning, as, with her friend Mrs. Marshall, she
made a brief call ; "I declare it's as pretty as a
picture."

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

"What does she want with all them gimcracks out
here in the woods ? " said her ascetic companion, as
they walked away. " A prayer-meeting won't be any
better for all them pictures on the wall."

" I don't know but it will," replied Mrs. Manning,
" if they help to put people in a pleasant frame of
mind." She was evidently unobservant of the contrary
effect which they seemed to have had upon her friend.

Upon the borders of the lake were two Indian
missions, and the Indian,^ turned out in full force to
the camp-meeting. It was a sort of reminiscence of
the great councils and pow-wows of their nation. Along
the shore on each side of the camp they pitched their
wigwams and drew up their bark canoes. The main
body arrived in quite a flotilla of canoes, which rode
lightly over the waves, some of them spreading a
blanket sail to catch the breeze. A band of sturdy
rowers urged on the other canoes, chanting, as they
kept time with their oars, the words of an Indian
hymn.

Fragile as the canoes seemed, their sides not much
thicker than stout paper, and weighing in all but a few
pounds, it was extraordinary what loads they would
carry — squaws, papooses, pots, blankets, hatchets, guns,
fishing-tackle, and fish. These loads were soon disem-
barked, and in a very short time the squaws had fires
made and water boiling for tea — of which they are very
fond — and freshly-caught fish broiling on the coals.
The men had almost as speedily cut poles for their
wigwams, and stripped the bark from the great birch
trees growing near the water's edge to cover the poles.
In a very short time nearly a hundred lodges were
pitched, and their camp had the look of long occupancy ;
the Indians smoking stolidly in groups, the women
cooking at the fires, at which they seemed to be
engaged most of the time, and the boys shaping arrows,
or fishing from a rocky headland.

As evening drew on, the row of fires around the
shores of the little bay, each mirrored in the rippling

THE CAMP.MEETIXG.

waves, the groups of wigwams, and the dark forest
behind, were exceedingly impressive. But a few years
before, such a gathering of red-skins would have carried
terror to the entire neighbourhood, and would have
excited apprehensions of midnight massacre by the
tomahawk and scalping-knife. But through the apos-
tolic labours of Elder Case these once savage tribes had
become civilized and Christianized, and now instead of
pa,'" m orgies — the hideous medicine-dance, the sacrifice
of the white dog, and beating of the conjurer's drum —
was heard in every lodge the sound of Christian prayer
and praise.

As the darkness fell, the pealing strains of a huge
tin trumpet — like an Alpine horn, some six feet long —
blown by stentorian lungs, rolled and re-echoed through
the woods. Soon, from every tent and lodge, the occu-
pants were streaming towards the auditorium — only
that was not what they called it — it was "the evenin'
preachin*." The fires were kindled on the elevated
stands, which soon blazed like great altars, sending
aloft their ruddy tongues of flame, brightly lighting
up everything around, changing the foliage of the
trees above them apparently into fretted silver, and
leaving in deep Rembrandt-like shadow the outskirts
of the encampment and the surrounding forest.

The first sermon was by the Chairman of the District.
It was of rather an official character; indeed, Mrs.
Marshall pronounced it rather a tame affair ; " milk-
and-watery " was the phrase she used. She liked to
see the sinners catch it red-hot : and this was a calmlv
argued discourse, urging upon the members of the
Church the duty of personal consecration to Grod, and
of waiting upon Him, that they might be endued with
power from on high and prepared to work for Him ;
which topic was not so much to her taste.

At the morning and afternoon service, the next day,
the attendance was not so large ; a good many being
engaged in completing the arrangements of the camp.
A great many new arrivals came on the ground, some

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

to remain only over the Sunday, and others to remain
till the close.

In the evening a very large congregation was as-
sembled, and seemed full of expectancy. The preacher
for the occasion was the Kev. Henry Wilkinson, a fiery
little, black-eyed, black-haired man, a perfect Vesuvius
of energy and eloquence, pouring forth a lava-tide of
impassioned exhortation and appeal. When warmed
up with his them* he reminded one, says Dr. Carroll,
of nothing so much as " a man shovelling red-hot coals."
The effect of the sermon was electrical. Shouts of
" Amen ! " and " Hallelujah ! " were heard on every
side, and also sounds of weeping and mourning. The
Indians who sat in a group n the ground near the
preacher were aroused from their characteristic stolid
Indifference by the magnetic energy of the speaker,
even though they did not understand his words ; and
when his discourse was afterwards interpreted to them
by one of their number, chosen for that purpose, they
were deeply moved. At the singing of the hymn,
" All hail the power of Jesu's name," to the grand old
tune of " Coronation," they joined in heartily in their
own language, and it seemed an earnest and foretaste
of the fulfilment of the closing prayer of the hymn —

"Let every tribe and every tongue
Before Him prostrate fall,
And shout in universal song
The crowned Lord of all."

After this another preacher gave a fervent exhorta-
tion, and invited penitents to the " mourners' bench,"
as the foremost row of seats was called. This was soon
filled with earnest seekers of salvation, and a fervent
prayer-meeting followed. It must be confessed that,
to a person not in sympathy with the services and
observing them from the outside, they would have
seemed confusing, if not disorderly. Cries, tears,
groans, ejaculations, and at times two or three persons
praying at once, appeared unseemly, if not irreverent.
But the power of the Most High rested upon the

THE CAMP- MEETING.

remain

was as-
ireacher
, a fiery
esuvius
■tide of
ivarmed
Carroll,
^ coals."
outs of
I every
\. The
ear the
3 stolid
peaker,
Is ; and
them
e, they
hymn,
md old
n their
re taste
mn —

diorta-
lench,"
s soon
ervent

that,
3s and

have
tears,
>ersons
^erent.
n the

assembly, notorious sinners were deeply convinced, and
some soundly converted. When the tide of excitement
rose immoderately high, the presiding minister, who
lield the meeting well in hand, would give out a hymn,
whose holy strains would have a tranquillizing effect on
the minds of all present.

It is seldom in our modern fashionable watering-place
camp-meetings that such scenes of Divine power are
witnessed, and to many minds they would be rather
'■disconcerting if they were to occur. But these old-
fashioned preachers came together for this very purpose
— to see souls converted ; and they were not disturbed
by a little noise, if only the desired result were ac-
complished. We doubt not that on the day of
Pentecost, when the great mulLitude were pricked in
their heart and cried out, '* Men and brethren, what
shall we do ? " and when three thousand souls were
converted in one day, a good deal of excitement was
manifested. Strange that men who would shout them-
selves hoarse at a political meeting, or at a stock
exchange, or at a boat race or lacrosse match, and
expect others to share their enthusiasm, should be so
shocked when men aroused to a sense of sin and its
guilt and danger cry out in their anguish, and seek
to flee from the wrath to come. The wonder rather is,
that, with the tremendous issues of eternity and the
soul's salvation at stake, men are so apathetic, so
torpid, and so dumb.

CHAPTER XIT.

" AS A BIRD OUT OF THE SNARE OF THE FOWLERS."

" Touch the goblet no more !
It will rauke thy heart sore
To its very core ! "

Longfellow, Golden Legend.

THE general impressi* i made on the community by
the camp meeting may be inferred from the re-
marks of Bob Crowle, a notorious scapegrace, famous for
all manner of wicked and reckless exploits in disturbing
previous camp-meetings and other religious services.
He was conversing with Jim Larkins, the keeper of
the •' Dog and Gun " tavern in the village, who stood
by, a sinister observer of the proceedings.

" Why, bless my eyes," exclaimed that individual,
" if that ain't Bill Saunders a-roarin' like a bull o'
Bashan, there at the mourners' bench. Well, wonders
will never cease. I'd as soon expec' )3 see you there
as Bill Saunders."

" You've often seen me in a worse place," said
Crowle, " and where I had better reason to be ashamed
of myself than Bill Saunders has. I guess he won't
spend so much of his earnings at your bar ; and that'll
be a good thing for his wife and kids."

" Why, you ain't j'ined the temperance, has you,
Bob ? " asked Jim, in real or affected dismav.
" You'll be goin' for 'ad to the mourners' bench yourself,

''AS A JilBB OUT OF THE SNAUEr

I reckon." This was said with an intensely contemp-
tuous sneer.

" Well, if I did, it would be nuthin' to be jisliamed
of," replied Crowle. " If a man's got a soul, I don't see
why he shouldn't try to save it. I've served the devil
long enough, and what have I ever gained by it? I've
spreed away a good farm and drinked up a small
fortune — most of which has gone into your till, Jim
Larkins. I'm thinking it was about time I was turn-
ing over a new leaf."

At this moment the vast assemblage were singing a
hymn of invitation, the refrain of which rang sweetly
through the forest aisles :

" Will you go \ Will you go \
O say, will you go to the Eden above ? "

Edith Temple had been a not uninterested observer
of the colloquy between Crowle and Larkins. She
knew who they were from having seen them at the
Fairview church. Yielding to an impulse for which
she could not account, she walked toward Crowle, and
stopped before him, still singing,

* ' say, will you go to the Eden above 1 "

There was an irresistible spell in the thrilling tones of
her voice and in her appealing look.

" By the help of Grod, I will," said Crowle, with a
look of solemn resolution in his eyes, and, taking her
proffered hand, he followed her to the altar for prayer.

Mrs. Marshall was rather shocked to see the preacher's
wife going forward with the dissipated-looking creature,
who was chiefly noted for hanging around the village
tavern ; and even Mr.^i. Manning thought it a very bold
proceeding ; but Edith was sustained by the conscious-
ness that she was doing a right and Christian act.
One of the advantages of these free forest assemblies is
that they break down the conventionalities of the more
formal indoor service, and one feels more at liberty to
follow the promptings of conscience and the guidings
of the good Spirit of God.

fi2

LIFE IX A PARSON AG K

It was certainly very noisy in that prayer circle.
Strong crying and sobs and groans were heard, and
tears fell freely from eyes unused to weep. One dapper
little gentleman — a theological student from the Burg-
Koyal College — retired in protest to the preachers
tent, saying as he did so : " This ranting and raving is
terrible. God is not the author of confusion. Does
not St. Paul expressly say, ' Let all things be done
decently and in order ' ? " This gentleman afterwards
found that Methodism was too raw and rough a religion
for his delicate sensibilities. He therefore joined a
highly ritualistic church, wore a very long clerical coat,
a high-buttoned vest, and a very stiff, straight-band
collar, and intoned the prayers most sesthetically for a
fashionable congregation. We observed, however, that
the learned and cultured president of the college did
not seem at all disconcerted by the noise and the
non-observance of the conventionalities of public
worship, and laboured earnestly with his colleagues in
the good work in progress.

Poor Saunders, the village blacksmith, who was also,
as we have seen, a zealous patron of the " Dog and
Grun," had indeed a terrible time of it. He was a
large and powerful man, and as he wrestled in an
agony of prayer, the beaded sweat-drops fell from his
brow, and the veins stood out like whipcords on his
forehead. His weeping wife — a godly woman and
loving consort, but bearing on her cheek the marks of
a cruel blow received from her husband in a drunken
bout, though kinder man ne'er breathed when he was
sober — knelt by his side, trying to comfort him and
to point him to the Saviour, Who had been her own
support and solace during long years of trouble and
sorrow. At length, with a shout of deliverance, he
sprang to his feet and exclaimed, —

''^ I've done it ! I've done it ! I've done it ! I've
given up the grog for ever ! I thought I never could ;
the horrid thirst seemed raging like the fire of hell
within me. But I vowed to God I'd never touch it

''AS A BIRD OUT OF THE SXARE:

rt3

more, and that very moment it seemed as if the devil
lost his grip upon my soul, the evil spirit was cast out,
and God spoke peace, through His Son, to my troubled
heart.

" ! Mary," he went on, " I've been a bad husband
and a l^ad father, but by God's grace we'll be happy
yet."

A great shout of praise and thanksgiving went up
from the people, and few eyes in the assembly were
unwet with tears. Yet it was certainly a most dis-
orderly assembly. But there was joy in heaven and
joy on earth over the repentant sinner, and we tliink
we could pardon even a greater confusion from which
such hallowed results should flow.

Amid the general joy poor Crowle seemed forgotten.
He remained with head bowed down, but his mind, he
said, was all dark, not a ray of light gleamed amid the
gloom. Even after the meeting was dismissed, he still
knelt upon the ground. Presently he felt a soft hand
laid upon his shoulder, and a soft voice spoke gently
in his ear : " I waited patiently for the Lord ; and He
inclined unto me, and heard my cry."

" ril wait," he replied. *' He waited many a year
for me ; H'l wait His good time." And, with a gentle
pressure of his hand, Edith glided away.

And wait he did till after midnight, with two or
three who remained to pray with and counsel him ;
and after that, all night long he waited in the silent
forest, WTestling with Grod as Jacob wrestled with the
angel, saying, " I will not let Thee go, except Thou
bless me." But still the blessing came not. Still the
burden was unremoved.

M&A

CHAPTEK XIII.

AS A BKAND FKOM THE BURNING.

" And can it be that I should gain

An interest in the Saviour's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain ?
For me, who Him to death pursued ?
Amazing love ! how can it be
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me ? "

Charles Wesley.

THE Sabbath morning dawned bright and beautiful.
The dew-drops hung like sparkling jewels on every
leaf and shrub and blade of grass. The lake and
islands and the surrounding forest lay fair as Eden on
the first Sabbath which dawned upon the world. And
not unlike " the voice that breathed o'er Eden " was
the sound of prayer and praise from many an Indian
wigwam, from many a rustic tent. It was a day of
high religious festival, and from near and far multitudes
early began to gather for the public services. Shortly
before the preaching was to commence, Lawrence
Temple came to a tent where a prayer-meeting was
being held, and beckoned to his wife to come out.

" Bob Crowle wants to see you," he said ; " come and
see if you can help him. He is in deep distress."

" Poor fellow ! " Edith replied ; "he is like the man
in the Grospel, out of whom the evil spirit would not
depart."

" ' This kind,' " said Lawrence, " ' goeth not out but

AS A liliAND FliOM THE JiUIiNIXO.

»).)

5LEY.

autiful.

a every

ke and

iden on

And

was

Indian

day of

titudes

Shortly

wrence

Qg was

out.

ne and

le man
lid not

ut but

by prayer and fastiiiir,' and vet T nm sure he has
tried both."

On a little knoll overlooking the lake sat Crowle,
looking haggard in tlie morning light. H<' gazed with
tixed stare into space, as though he saw nought. Me
heaved a deep and lieavy sigh, as Edith took his hand
and asked him in sympathetic* tones how he was.

" It's good o' you to come and see a [)oor wretch like
me," he said, " but Tm Jifeard it's too late. I'm afeanl
I've sinned away my day of grace. Tm afeard I've
committed the sin for which there's no forgiveness
either in this world or in the world to come. I know
what the Scriptur' says about it; for, though I've been
a drunken vagabond for years, I was brought up in the
Sunday School. But I hardened my heart like Pharaoh,
and resisted the Spirit of God, and made a mock of
religion. Perhaps you've heard how at the revival last
winter I did the devil's work, tryin' to break up the
meetin' by putt in' pepper on the stove. Since then, I
took to drink worse than ever, and got kinder past
feelin', I 'low," and he gazed with stony stare on the
dimpling waters of the lake, but evidently saw them
not.

'* But you're not past feeling, my brother,'' said
Edith. "You feel deeply concerned about your soul.
The very fear that you have committed this sin is
a proof that you are not ; for if God's Spirit had
indeed left you, you would be perfectly indifferent
about it."

" No, thank God," he said, " I'm not indifferent, I'm
in dead earnest ; and if I perish, I will perish at the
foot of the cross ; " and a look of fixed resolve lighted
up his face.

*' None ever perished there," said Edith. And she
began to sing softly the sweet refrain :

" ' There is life for a look at the Cnicified One,
There is life at this moment for thee,
Then look, sinner, look imto Him and be saved,
Unto Him who was nailed to the tree.' ''

(5G

LIFE IX A PAR SON A CE.

■ . \)

III

"I soo it! I wee it!" oxclsiimed llic ponitent sonl,
after soirK^ furtlier counsel from Lawrenee and his wife.
" I've been doubting and mistrusting the bh'-ssed Lord,
thougli lie died on the cross to save me ; and bh'ss tlie
Lord, He saves me now! I do trust Him! I'll never
doubt Him more ! Let me go and tell my l)rother
Pliin. We wuz companions in sin. We ought to be
companions in salvation as well."

"Go," said Edith, "like Andrew of old, and bring
your brother to Jesus ; " and she placed her soft hand
in his brown and horny palm, with a gentle pressure of
sympathy and congratulation.

Bob C'rowle soon found his brother Phineas loitering
on the outskirts of the camp-ground with a number of
boon companions, among whom was Jim Larkins, the
landlord of the " Dog and Gun."

" Come with me, Phin," said Bob, " I want you.**

"What's the matter. Bob?" asked his brother, as
they walked through the forest aisles. " Larkins was
telling the boys the preacher's wife carried you otif by
the ear last night just as a colley dog would a sheep."'

" She's been my good angel, Phin, and she'll be
yours if you'll let her. I've led you into wickedness
many a time. I want now to lead you away from it."

" Well, I don't want no women running after me,
I'm feart o' them. I know I'm as awkward as an ox, an'
if such a fine lady as the preacher's wife was to tackle
me, I'd be sure to act like a fool. I know I should."

" She's just an angel, Phin. W^hy, she laid her
hand on my arm and called me ' Brother ' — me ! a
poor drunken wretch — just as if I were her own brother
for certain. An' I thought, if this woman that knows
nothin' about me but what's bad is so much concerned
about my soul, the good Lord That bought me will
not cast me off."'

Happy the one whose human love and sympathy
is the first revelation to a fallen sinner of the infinite
goodness of the merciful All-Father, and of the loving
Elder Brother of our souls I

AS A Jilt AND FRov ruj: nrnxrxG.

" Why, Phin, the very world Heems changed," ex-
claimed the new eonvert aft<'r a pause. " Tlie sky
seems higher, the sunlight brighter, the forest a fresher
green, and the hike a deeper blue. It seems as if I
liad just come out of a dungeon into a bright and
beautiful garden. IMy heart is as light as a bird's,
and I can't help but sing.*' And he burst fortli into
a glad carol of joy.

"0, Phin," he went on, "won't you come to the
blessed Lord yourself?''

" I wish to goodness I could," said Phin, with a
great sigh. " I feel that me.an and ashamed of myself,
and mad at myself, after coming otf' a spree, that I
have often wished I wuz a dog that had no soul to
lose."

" But you've one to save, Phin, and the blessed
Lord that saved mine will save yours too. Let it be
this very day."

" I've often thought I'd try, Bob ; but then the
devil 'ud get his hooks into me, and temptation 'ud
get the better o' me ; and when the liquor's in, the
sense is out, and I care for neither God nor man."

" Dear Phin," said Bob, " stay away from Larkins
and the rest, and come with me to the meeting. !
Phin, the text o' that preacher last night just makes
me shudder : ' One shall be taken, and t'other left.'
God forbid it should be one of us ! "

" Amen to that. Bob. I'll try, dear old fellow ; "
and for a time the brothers parted.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE TRANCE.

" 8 peak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet,
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low."

Mrs. Browning.

THE afternoon service was attended by an immense
assemblage of persons. A powerful sermon was
preached by Elder Metcalf, and after that a fervent
exhortation wa^: given by another of the ministers.
The presence of so vast a multitude seemed to cause
a tide of magnetic sympathy to roll over the congrega-
tion, and, on the invitation being given for penitents
to approach the " mourners' bench," a large number
went forward spontaneously. The exhorter was a man
of intensely emotional temperament, and communi-
cated his own emotions to many of his hearers,
especially to those of more sympathetic sensibilities.
Tears fell freely, sobs and cries were heard, and im-
passioned prayers and shouts of praise to Grod. At
length one of the kneelers at the bench, a young girl
who appeared deeply affected, fell prostrate on the
ground, as if stricken dead. The old camp-meeting
generals seemed not at all alarmed by the occurrence.
One of them burst into a hymn, the refrain of which was :

" Send the power, send the power,
Just now ! "

in which the whole assembly joined with thrilling effect.

Mi'l

THE TRANCE.

5VNING.

mmense
ion was
fervent
inisters.
o cause
ngrega-
enitents
number
s a man
mmuni-
learers,
bilities.
md im-
od. At
ung girl
on the
meeting
urrence.
ich was :

ig effect.

Two others conveyed the apparently lifeless form of
the young girl to the tent occupied by Lawrence
Temple and his wife. Edith had hastened at once to
prepare a couch, and, having never before witnessed
anything of the sort, was much alarmed at the condition
of her young friend, Carrie Mason, for she it was.

" (to and get Dr. Norton," she said, hurriedly, to
Lawrence ; " I saw him on the grounds."

" She needs no doctor, sister," said good Elder Met-
calf. " I've seen a many just as she is. It is the
Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes. She'll
come out all right."

Dr. Norton was at hand in a moment. He found
Edith fanning the face of her friend, who seemed to
be in a sweet and placid sleep. Her hands were
pressed together as in prayer, like the hands of the
marble effigies on the tombs of an old cathedral :
indeed, she looked herself like a marble effigy. A
sweet smile rested on her face. Her breathing was so
gentle and low as to be almost imperceptible ; and
when the Doctor felt her pulse, it was soft and g(»ntle,
and very slow. He tried to part her hands, but they
remained rigid and fixed.

" This beats me," he candidly avowed ; " I never saw
a similar case. It is like what the books describe as
catalepsy, or trance — an obscure psychical condition
which makes us feel the limitations of science. I can
do nothing for her, nor needs there that I should.
She is in no danger."

Edith sat in a sort of strange spell by the side of
her fair friend, whose face seemed transfigured and
glorified by a light from heaven, as if she were in
converse with the spirit world — like an alabaster vase,
through whose translucency shone the light of a lamp
within. Hour after liour passed by without change or
motion. The evening congregation assembled ; the
singing of the great multitude, like the sound of many
waters, awoke her not from her peaceful trance. A
deep mysterious awe fell upon the congregation under

LIFE IN A PAUSONAGE.

|i!

the influence of this strange manifestation of Divine
power. The preacher for the evening deepened the
impression by his sermon on the nearness and tlie
mysteries of the spirit-world, and tlie terrors of the
Judgment Day. The preachers at the cjimp-meeting
did not hesitate to declare the whole counsel of God
concerning the perdition of ungodly men, and their
hearers had no sceptical creed to serve as a lightning-
rod to convey away from them the thunderbolts of
God's wrath. Deep convictions seized upon strong
men. Scoffers were silenced, and desperate and
hardened sinners were smitten down before the power
of God. One old reprobate fairly roared for mercy,
as he realized the terrors of an angry Judge. Many
souls struggled into the liberty of the children of
God ; but some, among them Phin Growl e, resisted the
strivings of the Spirit, and plunged the more madly into
sin, to stifle and drown the upbraidings of conscience.

" I^et us get out of this," said Jim Larkins, to a
group of his cronies and patrons of his bar. " Let us
get out of this. These people are all going crazed ;
and if you don't look out, they will make you as crazy
as themselves. Come along ! There's free drinks at
the ' Dog and Gun ' for all hands. Let's make a night
of it;" and a band of them broke away, as if under
the guidance of an evil spirit, from that place of sacred
influence. As they reeled through the shadowy forest
— for some of them had brought liquor, and were
already under its influence — they tried to keep their
courage up by roaring drinking and hunting songs.
At length, when they had got away from the camp,
certain strange forest voices — the snarl of a wild cat,
the yelp of a fox, and the melancholy cry of a loon on
the lake, smote upon their ears, mingled with a strange
hooting more unearthly still.

" The saints preserve us ! what is that ? " exclaimed
Phin Crowle, as almost directly above his head a strange
cry, as of a soul in mortal fear, burst forth. Then he
caught sight of a pair of large and fiery eyes glaring

TUE TBAXCE,

at him, and a great horned and snowy owl, perched on

a mossy branch, uttered again its weird " to-whit,

to-whoo," and sailed on muffled and silent pinion

directly acro^*« his path.

" Mercy on us ! " he cried, " I thought it was a ghost."

His companions burst forth in scurrile mockery at

Phin, for being afraid of an owl ; and their ribald

laughter and wicked oaths rose on the still air of night,

and fell back from the patient skies, like the laughter

of evil spirits.

From the tent w^here she sat, keeping her solitary

vigil beside her entranced and unconscious friend, for

every one else had gone to the service, Edith Temple

could hear on the one side the unhallowed sounds of

the blasphemies, and on the other the singing and

praying of the camp-meeting. (.)ne solemn refrain,

which was sung over and over in a sad minor key,

mingled weirdly with the sighing of the night-wind

among the trees — a refrain like the awful D'lef^ Ira' :

" O ! there'll be mourning, mourning, mourning, mourning ;
O ! there'll be mourning at the judgment-seat of Christ."

The thought of the tremendous issues of life and
time, and of death and eternity and tlie Judgment Day,
almost overwhelmed her, and she sought refuge and
strength in prayer to Grod — prayer for the prayerless and
the careless who spurned His proffered grace, and con-
tinued to madly lay up wrath against the day of wrath.

While thus engaged, she heard a soft whisper, and,
looking at the alabaster form before her, she saw the
lips move. Bending over the trance-like sleeper, she
caught the gently whispered words, " Grlory ! glory !
glory!" softly and slowly repeated over and over again.
At length the eyes slowly opened, but gazed with tix(Ml
vision as if on the, to us unseen, realities of the eternal
world. The pupils were dilated, but beaming with
a holy light, as if, like Paul, the fair sleeper had been
caught up to the third heaven, and had seen things
which it is not lawful for man to utter.

Edith sat awed and breathless, but presently her

LIFE IN A PAIiSOXAGE.

I I

friend observed her. A sweet smile broke over the
long-impassive features, and the awakening girl reached
forth her hand in loving greeting. The rigidness
passed away from her limbs. She sat quietly up, but
with a somewhat dazed expression, as if aroused from a
strange dream. She scarce, for a time, knew where she
was, and did not at first remember the surroundings
of her last moments of consciousness before her pros-
tration. On resuming the connected thread of her
every-day experienc*^, that of her hours of trance
seemed to fade out of her mind, for she spoke not of
it, and, when questioned about it, wore an abstracted
and distraught air, as of one who half recollects and half
forgets some strange vision of the night. She seemed,
however, more saintly in character, more angelic in
speech, than ever, as if her eyes had indeed seen the King
in His beauty, and beheld the land that is very far off.

Shortly after her awaking, liawrence and Dr. Norton
had come into the "tent,*' or room. The latter care-
fully noted with scientific observation the coiidition
of his patient, as he professionally called her. Beckoning
to Lawrence, he walked forth beneath the trees. The
services were now all over, the worshippers had departed,
and the auditorium lay deserted in the moonlight.

" This is beyond my depth," said the Doctor. " There
are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt
of in our philosophy. I've been sometimes half in-
clined to be a sceptic. Our profession has a tendency
to make men materialists. But this staggers me. Call
it ecstasy, catalepsy, trance, what you please ; that does
not explain the strange phenomenon. I am inclined to
accept the theory of your old camp-meeting general,
that it is a manifestation of the almighty power of Grod."

"We live on the border-land," said Lav^rence, "be-
tween time and eternity. What marvel that the
penumbra of the latter should sometimes be projected
across our life-pathway ? " *

* In the above account the author but dejicribes — nomme
mutato — what he has witnessed with his own eyes.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP-MEETING.

" Blest be the dear uniting love,
That will not let us part. "

Charles Wesley,

THE last day of the camp-meeting had come. It
had been a time of great spiritual power. Many
souls had been converted ; but, as always happens
through the rejection of religious opportunities, some,
alas ! had become the more confirmed and hardened in
their wickedness.

This last day was devoted to the strengthening and
encouragement and counselling of believers, especially
of the recent converts. First, a lovefeast or fellowship
meeting was held. It was an occasion of intensest
interest. Many testimonies were given, from that of
the old camp-meeting veteran, the hero of a score of
such triumphs, exulting like an ancient warrior — a
Gideon or Barak — over the victories of Israel, to that
of the timid girl who had just given her heart to the
Saviour. Joyous were the bursts of song, and thrilling
were the words of glad thanksgiving, as parents rejoiced
over children, and wives over husbands brought to Grod.

" Our home's been just like heaven below," said
Mary Saunders, with streaming tears, " since my
William gave up the drink and gave his heart to Gfod.
I'd been a-prayin' for him for years, and hopin' against

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

. I,;

\ J

hope ; and now the Lord has answered all my prayerfj.
My cup runneth over."

"God bless the little woman for it! " said Saunders,
the blacksmith, as he rose to his feet. " I've know'd
she was a-prayin' for me this many a year. An' some-
times it made me mad enough to kill her. I believe
the Lord stayed my hand many a time, or I'd 'a' done
it. But, bless the Lord, He've answered her prayers ;
and God help me to make up in the futur' for my
wicked, wasted past ! "

A thrill of sympathy ran through the entire assemlily,
and a chorus of hearty " Amens " went up to God.

In broken words Bob Crowle told what the Lord had
done for him, and tears streamed down his face as he
besought the prayers of the people for his still prodigal
and impenitent brother.

Then after a sermon of wise counsels, and admo-
nitions, and encouragement, the sacrament of the
liord's Supper was administered. Kude were the
surroundings. No canopy but the blue sky was over-
head. No stately altar with gold or silver chalice or
paten bore the sacred emblems. No surpliced priest
broke the bread and poured the wine. On a rude
board table, covered with a fair white cloth, were
Y)laced the consecrated elements in earthen platters
and plain glass vessels. The participants of the sacred
feast knelt in the straw before a wooden railing, and
received in horny palms, worn with toil, the emblems
of the broken body and shed blood of their crucified
Redeemer. Coarse frequ-ently was the garb, and
uncouth the form it covered, but they were the sons
and daughters of the Almighty, and the heirs of an
immortal destiny ; and as the Master revealed Himself
to His disciples in the breaking of bread at Emmaus,
so He again manifested Himself to His humble followers
in the wilderness, no less than if beneath cathedral
fretted vaults they knelt upon mosaic marble floor.
The simplicity of the rite passed into the sublime.
It brought to mind the sacramental celebration of the

THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP-MEETTXG. 7')

saints of God amid the mountain " nuiirlands " of
Scotland, of the persecuted Huguenots in the Desert
of the Cevennes, and of the primitive believers in tlie
dim crypts of the Catacombs.

At the close of the solemn service, the interesting
ceremony of leave-taking and '' breaking up the camp "
followed. Every person on the grounds, except the few
who were detained in the ten^s by domestic duties,
joined in a procession, and walked, two and two,
headed by the preachers, round and round the inside
of the encampment, singing such hymns and marching
songs as,

" Come, ye that love the Lord,
And let your joys be known,"

with its grand refrain, in which every voice pealed
forth in ringing chorus :

" Then let your songs abound
And every tear bo dry ;
We're niarchini? through Imuianuors ground,
To fairer worlds on high."

Another favourite hymn on these occasions was the
follov\-ing :

" We part in body, not in mind,

Our minds continue one ;
And each to each in Jesus joined.

We hand in hand go on.
We'll march around Jerusalem !
We'll march around Jerusalem !

When we arrive at home.''

But though they might sing heartily, " Let every
tear be dry," there were few that succeeded in fulfilling
the pledge. Their hearts, filled and thrilled with
deep emotion, were like a beaker brimming with
water, which the slightest jar causes to overflow.
Often the most joyous songs were sung with tears in
the voice, and frequently with tears Rowing from the
eyes. Beyond the parting here, they looked to the
great gathering in the Father's house on high, and
sang with deepest feeling :

'tJ

76 LIFE IN A PABSONAGE.

" And if our fellowship below
In Jesus be so sweet,
What heights of rapture shall we know
When round His throne we meet ! "

Another hymn of kindred spirit ran thus :

" Here we suffer grief and pain,
Here we meet to part again,

In heaven we part no more.
What ! never part again ]
No, never part again !
For there we shall with Jesus reign,
And never, never part again !
O ! that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
To meet to part no more."

Yes, Methodism is an emotional religion, and thank
Grod for such hallowed emotions as stir the soul to its
deepest depths, as break up the life-long habit of sin,
as lead to intense conviction and sound conversion,
and as fill the heart with joy unspeakable and full of
glory. It may well bear the reproach of being
" emotional," if these emotions lead to such blessed
and enduring results.

Some of these hymns were of a quaint, admonitory
sort, more valuable for their religious teaching than for
their poetic form. One of these ran thus :

" O ! don't turn back, brothers, don't turn back ;

There's a starry crown in heaven for you, if you don't
turn back.

" O ! don't turn back, sisters, don't turn back ;
There's a golden harp in heaven for you, if you don't
turn back ; "

and so with indefinite repetition.

At length the preachers all took their place in front
of the pulpit or preacher's stand, and shook hands with
every member of the procession as they passed by.
After this the procession continued to melt away, as it
were, those walking at the head falling out of rank and
forming in single* line around the encampment, still
shaking hands in succession with those marching, till
every person on the ground had shaken hands with

i<:l

THE CLOSE OF THE CAMP.MEETIXG.

I't

front
with

by.

as it
i and

still
„ till

with

everybody else — an evolution difficult to describe in-
telligibly to one who has never witn'^^sed it ; yet one
that is very easily and rapidly perforr ed. The greet-
ing was a mutual pledge of brotherlic id and Christian
fellowship. Warm and fervent were the hand-clasps,
and touching and tender the farewells. Then the
doxology was sung, the benediction pronounced, and
the Burg-Royal District Camp-meeting of 18 — was over

All this had taken place by noon, or shortly after.
Soon a great change passed over the scene. It was like
coming down from a Mount of Transfiguration to the
e very-day duties ;f ^^fe. The last meal in camp was
hastily prepared an„ eaten ; somewhat as, we may
imagine, was the last meal of the Israelites before the
Exodus. The afternoon was full of bustle and activity,
breaking up the encampment, loading up teams, and
the driving aw ■' to their respective homes of the people
who, for over a week, had held this Feast of Tabernacles
to the Lord.

Several of the preachers, the light cavalry of Metho-
dism, were early on the march, astride their sturdy
nags, with their little leathern portmanteaus, containing
a few changes of linen, their Bible, and hymn-books.
Before night they were far on their way to their several
circuits, carrying the holy fire of revival all over the
land — like the bearers of Scotland's cross of fire, but
summoning the people, not to violence and blood, but
to holiness and life.

The Indians struck camp with the utmost celerity.
Their wigwams were soon dismantled. Their canoes
were soon loaded, and, gliding over the water, vanished
in the distance. Soon only the blackened embers of
their camp-fires told of their occupancy of the shore.

At length the last waggon had gone, the last loiterer
had departed, and the silent camp, but late the scene
of so much life, was left to the blue birds and the
squirrels. But in many a distant home, and in many a
human heart, the germs of a new life had been planted,
to bring forth fruit unto life eternal.

CHAPTER XVI.

AUTUMN RECREATIONS.

"I love to wander throup^h the woodlands hoary,
In the soft light of an autumnnl day,
When Summer p^athers up her robes of 'jlory,
And, like a dream of beauty, glides away."

Miis. Whitman.

rPHK mellow days of October soon swiftly passed.
X The great sweep of woodland on either side of the
valley in which the village of Fairview nestled was ablaze
with crimson, and scarlet, and purple, and gold. The
fields stood reaped and bare. The great round pumpkins
e^leamed amid the yet ungathered corn that, plumed
and tasselled like an Indian chief, rustled in the
autumn wind. What a glorious beauty Nature wears
" when autumn to its golden grandeur grows ! "

" How the forest glows and glares and flickers," said
Lawrence, one sunny afternoon, "like Moses' bush,
for ever burning, ever unconsumed ! "

" Nay," said Edith, " it seems to me rather like
Joseph's coat of many colours, which his brethren
dipped in blood and brought to the patriarch Jacob."

" Is not that tall ash tree," asked Lawrence, " like a
martyr dying amid ensanguined flames ? "

" It seems to me," replied Edith, *' like the haughty
Sardanapalus self-immolated on his funeral pyre; and

A UTUMN HE (RE A TTONS.

see,'' she added, ''how llie tidl pophirs flare like great
lihizing torches in the wind."

"The world is very beautiful," said Lawrence, and.
going into the garden, he sat down on a rustic seal, and
in full view of the lovely lake, })laci(l as a niirror, so
clear and unruffled that the gorgeous islands seemed
to float swan-like on the wave, each tint and shade
reflected so perfectly in the water that it was ditHcult
to discriminate between the substance and the shadow.
After writing for a time in his note-book, he came back
and read to Edith the following sonnets suggested by
the scene :

Still stand the trees in the soft hazy light,

Bathing their branches in the ambient air ;

The liush of beauty breatheth everywhere :
In crimson robes the forests all are dight,
Autumn flings forth his banner in the field,

Blazoned with heraldry of gules and gold ;

In dyes of blood his garments all are rolled,
The gory stains of war are on his shield.
Like some frail, fading girl, her death anear,

On whose fair cheek blcjoms bright the liectic rose,
So burns the wan cheek of the dying year.

With beauty brighter than the summer knows ;
And, like a martyr, mid ensanguined fires,
Enwrapped in robes of Hame he now expires.

Like gallant courtiers, see, the forest trees

Flaunt in their crimson robes with broidered gold ;
And like a king in royal purple's fold.

The oak flings largess to the beggar breeze.

For ever burning, ever unconsumed.

Like the strange portent of the prophet's bush.
The autumn flames amid a sacred hush ;

The forest glory never brighter bloomed.

Upon the lulled and drowsy atmosphere

Falls faint and low the far-off nmffled stroke

Of woodman's axe, the schoolboy's ringing cheer,
The watch-dog's bay. and crash of falling oak ;

And gleam the apples through the orchard trees,

Like golden fruit of the Hesperides.

" Why, you are quite a poet," said Edith ; " I did not
know that that was one of your accomphshments. I must
crown you as the ladi(^s crowned Petrarch at the capitol

LIFE IN A PARSOXAGE.

at Rome ; " and she placed on his h(Md a wreath of the
ivy green whieh clambered ov(ir the verandah.

"I am afraid I look more like an ox garlanded for
the altar, than like a crowned poet," laughed Lawrence ;
*' but it is now your turn to weave the tuneful verse.
I am sure you can produce something far better than
my humble lines."

" I am sure I ^'ould not," said Edith, " I never tried
in my life. But I'or the fun of the thing T don't mind
trying the first chance I get. What shall I write
about ? "

" What better subject can you have than this golden
autumn weather, and the varied [ispects and sugges-
tions of nature ?"

"All right," said Edith with a laugh. *' Now give
me a new pencil, one that hjis never been profaned by
any other task, and I'll begin first thing in the morn-
ing."

Alas that she let the golden opportunity slip !
Towards evening the clouds began to gather heavily
round the setting sun, which went down lurid and i\\\.
With the night a cold and dreary rain-storm set in,
and the wind howled drearily through the trees, and
the waves made melancholy moan upon the shore.
When Edith looked forth in the morning, what a change
had taken place ! The ground was strewn with the
dank and sodden leaves, but yesterday so gorgeous
and gay. The autumn flowers, half-wrenched from
their stalks, looked forlorn and desolate. The leaden
clouds hung low and drifted wildly over the lake upon
whose leaden waters the "white caps" wildly careere 1.
As Edith came to the breakfast -room, she quoted for-
lornly Tennyson's lines :

" My very heart faints and my whole soul grie /es
At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves ;
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over its grave in the earth so chilly ;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock ;
Heavily hangs the tiger lily."

. I TrTTMX 7? ECTl EA TIOXS.

of the

led for

Tenee ;

verse.

r than

3r tried
t mind
' write

golden
sugges-

>w give

med bv

morn-

y slip!
heavily
nd re/t.
set in,
es, and
shore,
change
ith the
orgeous
[ from
leaden
:e upon
ireen- \
ted for-

" O, you've missed your chance ! " said Lawrence, over
his coffee and toast. "The inspiration of yesterday
has gone for ever."

After breakfast Kditli retired to her little hondoir,
and after a cou[)le of lioiirs came forth with the marks
of tt^ars on her face, and silently handed Lawrence
some sheets of [)ap<M*, on which was written the follow-
ing—

LAMENT FOR SIMMER.

O ! how 1 loatho this sad autumn weather !

Clouds tliat lower and winds tliat wail ;
Tile rain and the leaves eonio down together,

And tell to each other a sorrowful tale.

The beauty of Suniiuer, ahis ! lias perished,

Tlie ghosts of tlie Howers stand out in tlie rain —

The faiiy flowers that we fondly cherished,
But cherished, alas ! in vain, in vain I

The wind it wails, it wails for ever,

Like a soul in pain and in dread remorse ;

Like a n)urderer vile, whose pain can never
Cease, as he thinks of his victim's corse.

For the Summer now on her bier is lying,

Lying silent and cold and dead ;
And the sad rains weep and bewail her dying.

Over her drear and lowly bed.

Pallid and wan she grew ; yet fairer
Tlian in richest wreaths of leafy green ;

The hectic tiush on her cheek was rarer
Than ever seen in health, 1 ween.

Thus all things fair, as they fade, grow dearer.

Dearer and fairer till hope has Hed ;
We closer clasp, as the hour draws nearer,

That bears them for ever away to the dead.

Through the grand old woods, a cathedral hoary,
The organ chant of the winds doth roll.

As bearing aloft to tlie realms of glory
On its billows of sound her w ary soul.

The clouds like funereal curta i ^ lower

Darkly and heavily round he. grave.
And the trailing vines of the summer bower

Like the plumes of a gloomy catafah^ue wave.

LIFE IX A PAIiSOXAGE.

The lofty pines toss their phr nes so sadly,
And chant aloud their dirge of woe ;

Now high and wild rise the notes, and madly
They wail — and now they are moaning low.

All nature grieveu and weeps, bemoaning
The fair, fond Summer, for ever fled ;

And bends, in lier sorrow inly groaning,
Over the bier of the early dead !

Why," said Lawrence, "this is splendid. It reflects
the gloom far better than mine did the glory of autumn.
It is saturated through and through with its spirit of
sadness. There are tears in every verse."

" I know I cried while I wrote them," said Edith,
"and felt exquisitely miserable till I got them off my
mind."

I'i:'

<«

reflects
utuinn.
pirit of

Edith,
off my

CHAPTER XVir.

LITERARY AMBITIONS AND HOME .JOYS.

•• We cultivate literature on a little oatmeal." -Sydney Smith.
•• Tu stay at home is best." — Longfellow.

BUT the gloomy autumn weather brought its compen-
sations. The roads were ^ bad that Lawrence
could not be much abroad, so he brought up his arrears
of reading and study. He began to find, too, new joys
in writing. About this time there fell in his way —
and he devoured them with eagerness — Lecky's History
of European Morals, and Draper's Intelledaal Develop-
rtient of Europe. His meagre salary did not permit
him to buy many books, except the commentaries, and
other critical apparatus needful for his Biblical studies.
But liis ohl friend, the accomplished and scholarly
Dr. Fellow?, President of the Burgh Koyal University,
kindly placed at his disposal the above-mentioned
volumes and others from his well-hlled library. Lecky
and Buckle, Dra^^er and Spencer, were valuable to
Lawrence, not for the information which they im-
parted, but for the antagonism that they aroused.
They taught him to think for himself — to call no man
master, in the servile sense, in the philosophy of history,
and of mental and moral science. He, therefore, began
to construct his own theories of intellectual develop-
ment. He got down his lx)oks of history, his Grote

LIFE ly A PAIiSONAGE.

and Gribbon, and Milman and Neander, littering up all
the chairs and tables in the room, and began to read
critically, to compare, and to write, till, before he was
aware, he had a l)ig pile of manuscrii)t for which he
had no name. Parts of it he read to Kditli, and the
whole of it he submitted to the examination of his early
" guide, philosopher, and friend,'" Dr. Fellows. That
much-enduring man, as if he had not enough of that
sort of thing to do for the students of the university,
waded patiently through the heavy folios, carefully
annotating, criticising, and making suggestions,

" ^^'ell, Temple,"" he said, when Lawrence, bashful
and blushing, presented himself in tlie old college halls
for the learned Doctor's opinion, " you are on the right
track. Think for yourself. Fight it out with these
fellows — no pun intended this time. Your essay reads
quite like a review article. F'urbish it up a bit and it
will look first-rate in print. I've seen many a worse
thing published."

" That's not saying much," said T^awrence, " Fve seen
dreadful rubbish in print myself. Bui I never thought
of that ; I only wrote because I felt that I must."

" Well, keep it by you a year or two, read it over a
dozen times, and write it out twice or thrice, and then,
if you think you've said anything new and true, send
it to the editor of the Transcendental Quarterly, on
its merits. On its merits, mind. Never ask any one
to stand godfather to your writings. If they are worth
having, the editor will be glad to have them ; if they
are not, he is not the man for his place if he would
print them at any price."'

We may here remark proleptically, that a couple of
years afterwards l^awrence, having obeyed to the letter
Dr. Fellows' half-jocular advice, did actually muster
courage to send his manuscript to the famous editor
of the Tra"^ ..idental Quarterly Review. After wait-
ing about six months he received a brief note to the
effect that his essay was accepted, and put on file for
publication. After eighteen months more, he received

up all

read
he was
ich he
ad the
s early

That
Df that
/ersity,
irefully

bashful
re halls
e right

1 these
,y reads

aud it
a worse

've seen
liought

over a
d then,
|ie, send
rly, on
my one
e worth
if they

would

)uple of
letter

muster
editor
wait-
to the

file for

eceived

LITEBARY AMBITIOXS AXD HOME JOYS.

a copy of the Revi&iv containing his article. It was
the proudest moment of his life. He opened the
volume, cut the leaves, glanced at the beginning,
looked at the end, threw it down on the table that he
might have the pleasure of taking it up casually as it
were, and that he might experience the gentle surprise
of coming upon his article as if by accident. Then,
we are sorry to say, he counted the pages and began to
compute what wtmld be the probable cash value of his
article. But he soon felt that this was a sordid
thought, which he must banish from his mind. Then
he went to the kitchen, where Edith was preparing
dinner.

" You said you were sure they would print it, you
remember," he exclaimed, in a tone of exultation.
" Well, yoii see they have," and he held the Ravieio
triumphantly towards her.

'^ Let me see it," she said, while she stopped peeling
the potatoes, as if only ocular demonstration could
satisfy her mind as to the fact.

" Lawrence, it looks very nice," she exclaimed.
" How beautifully it is printed ! How much do you
think they will give you for it, de.u' ? "

"You mercenary creature! ' Lawrence rather hyjw-
critically exclaimed, for the same thought was in his
own mind, and he had already ordered in imagination
the new Cyclopaedia he had been wanting so long.

'' You shall read it to me after dinner, dear," she
said, and went on with lier work ; for dinner must
be prepared, though the sky should fall.

But Lawrence could not wait so long ; so, going
back to his study, he settled himself comfortalily in his
arm-chair to read his own review article, which to him
had just then greater attractions than the genius of
both Shakespeare and Bacon together. Pardon him
friends ! It is only once in a lifetime that a man can
read his first review article. As he counted the pages
once more, it struck him that it did not miike nearly
so much as he had estimated that it would. Then, as

LIFE IN /i PARSONAGE.

li I'

he began to read, he mif^sed fiome of his most striking
phrases ;ind strongest epithets. Then a long passage
of eloquence which he had especially elaborated was
altogether gone. He glanced over the rest of the
article to see if it had got transpo^ ed. But no, it was
gone, and paragraphs on each side were changed so as
to make the omission less marked. Poor fellow ! he
had not quite so much pleasure in reading his essay to
his wife as he had anticipated ; and when at her
suggestion he wrote, after an interval of three weeks,
to inquire if he might draw on the publisher for the
modest sum to which he thought himself entitled, he
was somewhat chagrined to receive an answer to the
effect that they 7iever paid new contributors, only those
who were on the regular staff.

Yet such was his infatuation with his pen that he
did not quit his writing, but often spent at his desk
many an hour when he oughl to be in bed. Sometimes
he received a polite printed note from the editor to
whom he sent his lucubrations, regretting that " his
manuscript was unavailable for use " in the Pacific
Monthly, or Transcendental Quarterly, as the case
might be. But we believe that eventually he did
succee I "^ter years of discipline, study, and practice,
in getting his articles pubHshed in both these periodi-
cals, and got paid for them too, at a rate a little less
than he used to receive for chopping dowm trees in the
lumber camp on the Mattawa. This infatuation is
something like the bite of the tarantula : whoso is
bitten never gets over the effects, but must keep on
the perpetual motion of his pen — the wasting of much
good ink and spoiling of much good paper.

It is true Lawrence used to say that he found a real
pleasure in bending over his desk half the day or night ;
that he never could think so well as when he had a pen
in his hand ; that his labour, like virtue, was its own
exceeding great reward ; that he felt himself amply
repaid, though he did not receive a cent, in the self-
education he obtained ; and that he hoped he might

'.i.v!<l^•^^

striking

passage

ited was

: of the

3, it was

^ed so as

[low ! he

essay to

at her

e weeks,

for the

itled, he

r to the

ily those

that he

his desk

metimes

'ditor to

lat "his

: Pacific

he case

he did

practice,

periodi-

tle less

s in the

ation is

hoso is

keep on

of much

id a real
r night ;
id a pen
its own
F amply
lie self"
! might

do a little good where Ids voice could w*f be heaai, pnd
after it sliould Ixi silent for ever. Bi. t what sort

<.'f a

world should we have if every one si* red rliat infatua-
tion? The world itself could not c ntitiii the Iwoks
that would be written.

But all this is by way of anticijnition. During the
long dark November nights, wlien the roads were
im])assable, and the rain fell drearily witliout, Edith
made her little parlour bright and beautiful ; and
Lawrence, after a hard day's work in his study, I'elt
that he might indulge in a few hours' relaxation in
lighter reading. Edith had resumed her studies in
French and German, and had even begun to spell her
way through the adventures of Silvio Pellico, in Italian,
and h()[)(Hl soon to be able to read the great Tuscan
bard of the Underworld and of Paradise. So, when
shut in from the outer world by " the tunuiltuous
privacy of storm," she would read her afternoon's work
to Lawrence, and he would rehearse his writing; and
then, while she deftly plied woman's porent weapon, the
flying needle, he beguiled the switt hours by the
sweetest songs of Longfellow a^- d Tennyson, tiie Brown-
ings and Whittier, and the ri^cor household poets
whose dainty blue and goh' -oluDies were a richer
adorning of their little parlou' , because of their noble
snggestiveness, than the costlie' * ornaments Ihat money
could buy. Lawrence had always iived too busy a life,
and had been tio much engro, ed in grave studies, to
indulge in the reading of fiction. Yet during those
happy nights he often sat reading to an eager listener
the fascinating pages of the Grreat Wizard of the North,
and of the great satirist and great moralist, Thackeray
and Dickens, although the melodramatic exaggeration
of the latter pleased them less than the admirable
historic pageants of Scott, or the keen mental analysis
and social dissections of Thackerav. Then an old-time
ballad or a favourite hymn would close an evening of
richer enjoyment vhan any gilded rout or brilliani: ball
that the tired devotees of fashion ever knew.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A DAUGHTER OF EVE.

" Beautiful in form and feature,
Lovely as the day,
Can there be so fair a creature
Formed of common clay ? "

Longfellow, Mastpw of Pandora.

SOME time before Christmas, Edith had written to
invite her friend Nellie Burton, the American girl
from Oil-Dorado, at the Wentworth Ladies' College, to
pay her a visit in the holidays. She soon received the
following very characteristic acceptance of the invita-
tion.

'•' I was just dying for some of the girls; to ask me to
their homes at Christmas, as mine was so far away/'
she wrote. " I never supposed that you would want
an outsider to intn:do on your honeymoon, which was
to last a whole year, you said. Bui when I got your
kind invitation, 1 threw overboard several others that
the girls gave me, and just jumped at yours. So if you
are sure that I won't be de trop — in the w^ay, you know
— I will gladly come."

Lawrence accordingly met Miss Burton at the nearest
railway station, and drove her out to Fairview, leaving
her big Saratoga trunk to follow by stage. She was in
wonderful sjurits and chattered like a magpie, as if she
had known Lawrence all her life, whereas she had only

A DAUGHTER OF EVK

ndora.

tten to
an girl
ege, to
ed the
invita-

me to

away/'
want
ch was
t your
rs that
if you
I know

learest
eaving
was in
1 if she
,d only

seen him once. As he was constitutionally somewhat
grave, and was rather reserved in the presence of such
fashionable ladies as Miss Burton, she had the talk
almost entirely to herself. But, so far from being
embarrassed by that fact, it seemed to be the very
tiling slie wanted ; at least she made incessant use of
her opportunity. She told Lawrence during their ten
miles' ride all about the college, and about her father's
business, and about Oil-Dorado — what a " horrid " place
it was, how everything smelt of oil, how even her sugar
tasted of it, and she fancied she could see it floating on
her tea. She was soon going to quit school for ever,
she informed him, and was going to Paris, and Rome,
and Switzerland, " and all that, you know." But she
was especially ecstatic over "dear, delightful Paris."

" I am to be presented at the Tuileries," she ex-
claimed. " 0, our minister to France has got to fix it.
That is what we keep him there for. Til mjike father
buy me lots of diamonds. And I will bring home six
trunks of Worth's dresses, and FU make father take a
house on Madison Avenue, in Xew York, and Edith
must come and make me a good long visit."

T^iawrence smiled gravely at this rhapsody, and
wondered how all these ideas got into the frivolous
little head of his light-hearted companion. As he
drew up to the door of the modest parsonage, she
sprang from the ■' cutter '" before he had time to assist
her ; and as Edith came out of tlie house, she flung
her arms about her, and hugged and kissed and danced
around lier, as if completely overjoyed.

And so she was. She had to be so awfully proper at
the college, she said, that she wanted to make good
use of her liberty while it lasted. She flounced into
the little parlour, whirling round like a dancing
dervish, and overturning with the train of her dress,
which was imnecessarily long for travelling, a small
easel in the corner.

*' What a love of a place!'' she exclaimed. "How
cosy you are here, and how happy you look ! '" and she

LIFE IN A PABSONAGE,

f! I

gave Edith another hug and kiss. Soon the old school
companions — and no coin})anionship is so strong and
tender as that of school or college — were deep in
confidences and reminiscences of their ha[»])y college
days, with inquiries about school friends and teachers,
and the world of college gossip which is comprehensible
only to the school-girl, mind,

" How awfully grave that husband of yours is ! " said
Nellie Burton, very frankly. "He never paid me a
single compliment, and I had to do all the talking
myself."

" Did you find that very difficult ? " asked Kdith with
a smile. " And are you very much afraid of him ? "

" No, indeed, I never saw tlie man yet that I was
afraid of — although I came nearer being afraid of
Dr. Dwiglit at tlie college than of anybody else. ])ut
I soon found that his bark was worse than his bite, and
I guess he rather liked me after all, though I never
could get a smile out of him at any of my pranks."

When the big Saratoga trunk arrived. Miss Burton
soon had it emptied on the bed, chairs, and tioor of her
room, and overwhelmed Edith with a number of
presents from herself, with thoughtful remembrances
from her old college friends ; among them — and they
were very characteristic of the giver — were a number
of elegant honboiinieres filled with choice French
candies ; and after these were opened, she, child-like,
was one of the best patrons of them herself. Her most
appropriate presents were some handsome Christmas
books for Edith, and a bronze inkstand — a figure of
Thalia with a scroll — for Lawrence.

"Well, isn't she charming?" said Edith to her
husband, the first time that they were together.

'*She is very clever,"' replied Lawrence a little
dubiously, '' but she is a feather-headed, rattle-
brained creature."

" She hints that you were not very g.dlant," said
Edith with a laugh, " that you never complimented her
once, and that she had to do all the talking herself."

i school
mg and
Jeep ill
college
eacliers,
;ieiisible

i ! " said

d me a

talking

ith with
m r

t I was

fiaid of

!e. r)Ut

)ite, and

I never

ks."

Burton

)r of her

nber of

ibrances

nd they

number

French

ild-like,

er most

u'istmas

gure of

to her
er.
li little
rattle-

t," said
ited her
self."

.1 DAUGHTEIi OF EVE.

"' She didn't give me a chance," replied he ; " but
I don't mind telling you that I think her very pretty.
I wouldn't tell her. She knows it too well already.*'

" She has plenty of heart beneath all lun* frolic/'
continued Edith.

" What a perfect cyclone she is ! She sweeps every
one into the vortex of her personal influence, "' added
her husband.

"I know some one she won't sweep into it," said
Edith, with a look somewhat of dismay, '' and that is
Mrs. Marshall;" and they lioth laughed, as they
thought of the impression that this glittering bubble
would make on that glittering icicle.

The advent of such a beautiful exotic did, of course,
make an extraordinary sensation in the village of
Fairview. Edith, indeed, suggested that it might be
as well to leave her bracelets and chatelaine behind
when she went to church. But the diamond eardrops,
fiasliing with every movement of her pretty head,
and the scarlet feather in her hat, were sufiiciently
noticeable.

"Did you ever! " said Mrs. Marshall, as she walked
home with Mrs. Manning; "I wonder now if them
wuf real dimuns ; I never seed any afore as I know."

" A girl," said Mrs. Manning, " that could wear a
real seal jacket like hern wouldn't wear no sham
dimuns, you may be sure."

The fail Nellie felt herself the cynosure of every eye,
and did not feel a bit discomposed by it either. She
evidently was accustomed to the sensation. She did
not even quail when Jim Larkins, at the door of
the " Dog and Clun," gave Phin Crowle a nudge in the
ribs as she passed, and said, —

" Ain't she a stunner, though ? "

The " Yankee girl," as the village folks called her,
fairly captured all hearts at the Christmas festival,
which was held in the Sunday School room on Christ-
mas Eve. Learning that there was to be a Christmas
tree, with a distribution of presents among the little

LIFE IN A PAHSONAGE.

,t •

folks, slie threw herself heart and soul into the enter-
prise. She bought u[» all the toys and candies in the
village store. She set to work — aided by Edith
Temple, Carrie Mason, and some more of the Sunday
School teachers — to make, of gaily coloured paper,
cornucoi)i;i-! and rosettes, and })ainted elegant orna-
mental designs. She sent for some of the village boys,
and directed them to procure a waggon-load of spruce
boughs and smilax — a task which they undertook as if
for a queen. Then she pressed into the service
Lawrence, Dr. Norton, Bob Crowle — who had become
an active worker in the Church — Frank Morris, the
clerk of the ^'illage store, and others. She ordered
them around with an imperious air which there was no
resisting, and before Christmas Eve the school-room
was decorated with admirable taste.

As the eventful evening arrived, Nellie Burton said
gaily to Edith, *' I'm going to wear all my vvar-paint
and feathers to-night, in honour of the occasion. I've
been longing for a chance."

And certainly she did look charming as she issued
from her room, her jew^els flashing in the light, but
her bright eyes flashing brighter still, her cheeks
blooming with health and happiness. vShe gave one
the impression of a rare exotic tlower, or of a rich and
delicate perfume, or of a fine strain of music.

" Well, you are certainly armed for conquest," said
Lawrence — which was the nearest approach to a com-
pliment he ever made. " You must have some mercy
on the hearts of our poor country beaux.'"

" Not a bit," she said, with a merry laugh ; " I must
drag them as victims at my chariot wheels ; " and
certainly willing victims she seemed to have, as the
boys and girls and young men sought excuses to speak
to her by asking if their respective shares in the
decoration met with her approval.

The delight of the little folks at tlie Christmas tree
— ablaze with light — was unbounded. When Dr.
Norton came in, dressed in his buffalo-skin coat,

I I ill

? enter-
in the
Edith
Sunday
paper,
t orna-
te boys,
spruce
)ok as if
service
become
ris, the
ordered
; was no
»ol-rooin

\:on said
ar-paint
n. I've

issued
jht, but
cheeks
<ive one
rich and

st,"' said
a com-
e mercy

■' I must
; " and
as the

>o speak
in the

nas tree
len Dr.
n coat.

A DArcriirEn of eve.

%\\

powdered with salt, to represent Santa Claus, they
fairly screamed with joy. At Lawrence's request he
anil Miss Hurton distributed the presents, iuid the
latter played her part with the grace and dignity of a
queen. Then there was tea, and talk, and music; Miss
l^urton winning new laurels by her l)rilli;nit singing,
between the Christmas carols of the children,

'" Well, she's real grit, if she is a "\'ankee gal," said
iSIrs. ^Manning.

"Seems to improve on ac(piaintance," said Mrs.
ISIarshall, even her austerity meUing under the spell
of her fascination ; and everybody declared that such
a Christmas festival in Fairview had never been
known.

Chief l^ig I^ear, from the Indian village of ]Min-
nehaha, across the lake, was present, and invited
Lawrence and his wife to drive over to share a Christ-
mas dinner, the ice being in fine condition. " And
bring the "i'ankee gal anc! the great medicine man
along," he said; "we'll give you the best bear steaks
and beaver tail you ever ate in your life."

Miss Burton jumped at the invitation, which pro-
mised such a novel pleasure.

" Are you not afraid,'" asked Dr. Norton, " that this
great chief will capture you and make you his
squaw ? "

"I always was ambitious," replied Miss Burton;
" perhaps I may make a conquest j'nd come back with
his scalp at my belt — metaphorically, that is."

" You have made a conquest already, if you only
knew it," said the young man to himself, and he gazed
with admiration at the imperious beauty.

" What a splendid woman she would make," said
Lawrence to his wife, that night, " if she were only
soundly converted ! "

" Yes," said Edith, " there are in her vast possibi-
lities of good. She has a noble nature. I hope she
may be guided aright."

IMAGE EVALUATION
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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M580

(7U) 873-4503

CHAPTER XIX.

THE INDIAN MISSION.

iiJi (

* u

if;:
ti; ;

•' Then the Black-Robe chief, the prophet,
Told his message to the people,
Told them of the Virgin Mary,
And her blessed Son the Saviour,
How in distant lands and ages
He had lived on earth as we do,
How He fasted, prayed, and laboured ;
How the Jews, the tribe accursed,
Mocked Him, scourged Him, crucified Him ;
How He rose from where they laid Him,
Walked again with His disciples,
And ascended into heaven. . . .
' Peace be with you, Hiawatha,
Peace be with you and your people.
Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon.' "

Longfellow, iSowj of Hiawatha.

ON Christmas morning Lawrence and his wife, and
Dr. Norton and Miss Burton, set out in two
" cutters " to cross the lake on the ice to the Indian
village of Minnehaha, to attend the Indian Christmas
feast. The day was bright and beautiful. The snow,
pale pearl-colour in the shade, was dazzling white in
full sunlight. The road was marked out by spruce
boughs, stuck in the ice, so that in snowstorms or at
night travellers might not lose the way. Where in
places the snow was blown from the path, the ice was
so clear that Jessie, the lively little mare, started to
one side as if in fear of plunging into open water.

riiE ixniAy mtssiox.

"uin'utha,

seife, and
in two
le Indian
hristmas
le snow,
white in
^ spruce
ns or at
^here in
ice was
arted to
er.

The bright sunlight, the frosty air, the swift motion,
the tinkling of the sleigh-bells, the ringing of the
steel upon the ice, the happy hearts within — all made
the blood tingle in the veins ; and the merry laugh of
Nellie Burton rang out upon the air as musical as
silver chimes. Dr. Norton had purchased an elegant
wolf-skin robe in honour of the occasion, and some of
Lawrence's friends had presented him with a handsome
crimson-trimmed buffalo robe : so, keen as was the
wind sweeping over the ice, no one suffered from cold.

The four or five miles of ice were soon passed, and
the Indian village reached. It was a straggling but
thrifty-looking hamlet ; the small wooden houses, for
the most part, ranged along the shore, for the con-
venience of the half amphibious summer life of their
occupants, who at that season spent most of their time
on the water, fishing, fowling, and the like. There
were only two houses of more than one story ; one of
ihese was that of the resident missionary, the other
that of Chief Big Bear. In front of the latter was a
tall flag-staff', from which gaily fluttered, in honour of
the day, a Union Jack. Big Bear felt that he in some
sort represented the Grreat Mother across the sea, and
so must maintain the dignity of the empire on this
important occasion. He had watched the progress of
the sleighs across the ice, and was at the landing with
a number of his satellites to welcome his guests. He
wore a new blanket-coat, with huge horn buttons, and
with a piece of blue flannel, looking like a rudimentary
epaulet, on each shoulder. A crimson scarf around his
waist was the receptacle for his tobac<;o pouch and
pipe. He wore leather leggings and moccasins, both
trimmed with bright-coloured bead-work. On his
breast, suspended by a blue ribbon, was a large silver
medal, bearing the effigy of King Greorge III., a family
heirloom, which his father had received for valour at
the battle of Queenston Heights. The most incongruous
feature of his attire was his black beaver hat, not of
the latest Paris style, adorned wiih a crest of red

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

I \\

herons' feathers. A broad and well-starched shirt
collar, which seemed to imperil the sjifety of his ears,
was the finishing touch of civilization.

" Welcome to Minnehaha," said the Chief, with a
certain stately courtesy, as he politely assisted the
ladies out of the cutters. At the wave of his hand a
motley group of Indians, who formed a sort of guard of
honour hred off n feu dejoie in honour of the guests.

" I hope you are hungry," he said, " so that you can
do justice to our feast."

" I'm fairly starving," said Miss Burton, struggling
out of her wrappings. *' I could almost eat a big bear
myself."

" You had better take care that Big Bear don't eat
you," said the Chief; '' I'm sure that you look good
enough to eat ; " and he laughed heartily at his little joke.

The Doctor was a familiar visitor to the village, and
took occasion, as they proreeded to the church, where
the feast was given, to ask how old Bald Eagle, and
Widow Muskrat, sick patients of his, were getting on.

The church was a good-sized wooden building, >vith
a tin-covered spire which glistened brightly in the sun.
It was a scene of unwonted activity ; Indians, souaws,
and young folk were swarming in and out " like uees
about their straw-built citadel." The good missionary
and his wife were busy directing and assisting. The
room was nicely festooned with evergreen?, long tables
were laid lengthways, and a shorter one on a raised plat-
form, or dais, at the end for the white guests. The
tables fairly groaned beneath the weight of good things.
The air was laden with the savoury odour of coffee, and
of roast goose, roast bear, beaver tails, and other tooth-
some viands. Now ensued a curious scene : generous
portions of everything that was good were set apart
and sent to Bald Eagle, Widow Muskrat, and other
sick, aged, or infirm people, who were not able to be
present. Not until this was done did the Indians sing
the grace and devote themselves to the main business
of the day. And almost a day's business they made of

THE IXDIAS MISSION.

it. One would think that they were laying in supplies
for }i week. After the white guests had partaken of
the various dainties, including beaver tails, roast bear,
and squirrel pie, and pronounced them very good, they
found much amusement in observing the enjoyment of
their copper-coloured hosts.

The gathering was a wonderful example of the in-
fluence of Christian civilization. jNIany of those present
had been born pagans, and, instead of celebrating with
comely observance this Christian festival, had been
wont to sacrifice the white dog, and dance, to the
hideous beating of the conjurer's drum, the frenzied
medicine-dance ; and well was it if their orgies did not
end in bloodshed or murder, inspired by the white man's
accursed "fire-water." But Elder Case sought out
these wandering children of the forest, and preached
in their lodges the Crospel of love, and gathered them
into settlements, and sent missionaries among them ;
among whom were some who became the foremost men
of Canadian Methodism, as Egerton, William, and
John Ryerson, James Richardson, Sylvester, Thomas,
and Erastus Hurlburt, Samuel Rose, James Evans,
Greorge Macdougall, and others ; and from among the red
men themselves have risen up preachers of the Gospel
like Peter Jones, John Sunday, Allan Salt, and Henry
Steinhauer, to become missionaries to their red brethren.

Chief Big Bear, the translation of whose Indian name
we have given as more picturesque than his English
name, Silas Jones, was himself a striking instance of
the elevating influence of Christian civilization. His
father was a famous pagan chief, whose breast was
scarred with wounds received at Queenston Heights
and Lundy's Lane, in fighting for King (ieorge, whom he
considered his ally, superior to himself only in possessing
the suzerainty of many tribes. The son in youth
followed the wanderings of his tribe, but by Elder
Case's perseverance was placed in the ^Nlount Elgin
Industrial School, a missionary institution for training
in religion and industry Indian youth. Here he learned

LIFE IX A PAIiSOXAGE.

to read, and write, and cipher, and to fjirm and build.
His shrewd intellect was awakened and cultivated. He
went back to his })eople, and was in course of time
chosen chief of the tribe. He received Her jNIajesty's
commission as a Justice of the Peace, and did no
disgrace to his office. He became a man of influence
in the councils of his people. He secured for them a
grant of land as ji permanent home on the shores of
the lovely Lac de Baufne, w^here as a lad he had
hunted the red deer, and sometimes his fellow red men.
He taught them the arts of agriculture and building.
His own house and farm were models of neatness and
thrift. He also built an elegant yacht, in which he
skimmed the lake. He be«ime a class-leader and a
local preacher. We have seen side by side in his house
Wesley's Sermons, and the Consolidated Statutes of
Canada. He dispensed both law and Gospel to his
people, and sometim.es medicine as well.

He sent his daughter, who bore the pretty Indian
name of " Wind Flower," which well described her
graceful beauty, to the Wentworth Ladies' College,
where she became one of its brightest pupils. She
brought back, not merely what seemed to her kinsfolk
an amazing amount of knowledge, but, what they ap-
preciated more highly, an acquaintance with the refine-
ments of civilization. She taught the Indian girls how
to trim their hats and wear their dresses somewhat in
the style of city belles ; and we are afraid she was
responsible for the introduction of the occasional crino-
line and chignon which found their way among this
unsophisticated community. But, better still, she
taught the children the Word of God in the Sunday
School, and played the organ in the village choir, and
aided the missionary's wife in cultivating thrift and
neatness and household economy among the Indian
women of the village.

On the present occasion, when dinner was over, she
played the organ, while the choir sang very sweetly
some Christmas hymns and anthems. Then the mis-

m\ build.

ited. He

3 of time

jNlajesty's

1 did no

influence

r them a

shores of

I he had

red men.

building.

tness and

which he

ler and a

his house

tatutea of

lel to his

)ty Indian

ribed her

' College,

lils. She

kinsfolk

they ap-

he refine-

girls how

ewhat in

she was

nal crino-

long this

still, she

Sunday

:hoir, and

hrift and

le Indian

over, she

f sweetly

the mis-

THE IXDIAN MISSION.

sionary gave a short religious address, suitable to the
occasion, and Lawrence and Dr. Norton both made short
speeches. Then, by s^jccial request of Chief Big Bear,
INIiss Burton sang in her brilliant style some of her best
pieces, and the Chief ended the feast with a speech of
congratulation and good counsel, and wise and witty
remarks, which were vociferously applaiuded. All the
Indians, except a few of the oldest squaws, understood
and spoke English, and gave an appreciative hearing
to the addresses. Indeed, their intelligent attention
might be a lesson to many a white-skinned audience.

As their guests departed, almost the entire po})ula-
tion went down to the landing and ranged themselves
in single tile along the shore.

'"Must we run the gauntlet of all these people? " asked
Miss Burton, with a laugh ; ''I hope they will not beat
us as their ancestors did the early French missionaries."

ft/

(It was an old custom of the Iroquois savages to make
their prisoners '' run the gauntlet," as it was called,
between two rows of Indians, who beat them with sticks,
sometimes till they died.)

" It is a gauntlet of a very different sort," replied
Dr. Norton. " I'm not a Methodist, Miss Burton, but
I admit that the Methodist Missions have wrought
moral miracles in these people."

As the departing guests approached the shore, Chief
Big Bear remarked that the Indians would like to bid
them good-bye. Accordingly, as they walked down the
line, they exchanged a hearty shake-hands with each
of their kind entertainers. Edith and Miss Burton
were made the recipient!, of pretty little presents.
The latter received from '' Wind Flower," the Chief's
pretty daughter, an elegant bead-embroidered bag,
with many messages of love to the teachers of the
Wentworth Ladies' College. Tears came into the eyes
of the generous-hearted girl at this kindness from her
red sister, and the pampered daughter of fashion,
throwing her arms aroind the child of the forest, gave
her an aft'ectionate kiss.

100

LIFE TX A PAnSONAGE.

Just as the party were getting into their sleighs, an
old man who had been delayed by his lameness hobbled
down the bank, and the ceremony of handshaking had
to be gone through again with him.

" This is (juite like holding a ^eve/^,'' said Miss Hurton.
" I will know how to do it when I open my fudon in
'aris.

As they drove away, waving kind farewells, the
Indians fired another feu de joie, and gave a hearty
cheer, and stood watching the sleighs till they disap-
peared in the golden haze of the setting sun.

The ride home was delightful. The snow had a
delicate pinkish tinge, which deepened to a tender
roseate hue. Some cubes of ice that were cut out for
storage, flashed like diamonds or crystals of living
topaz. The leafless trees upon the islands rose like
branches of coral in the red sea of the ruddy twiMght.
(Longfellow has somewhere made a similar comparison.)
The exquisite gradations of tint in the western sky
grew deeper and deeper, then paled to ashen grey, and
the rising moon cast over lake and shore a pearly
gleam, and the stars came out like sentinels in silver
mail on heaven's crystal wall. Later still, a rose-
coloured aurora in the north flashed and gleamed, its
mysterious streamers sweeping from horizon to i;enith,
and shifting like the evolutions of some stately dance.
It was an hour of deep delight ; and amid many later
happy Christmas days the memory of this day upon
the ice, and with the simple-minded Indians of Min-
nehaha, kept a cherished place.

Early in the following week Miss Burton sent over
crimson -coloured handkerchiefs, enough fcr all the old
women in the village, as well as a locket containing a
miniature portrait of herself to " Wind Flower." Dr.
Norton, who was her messenger, pleaded hard for the
miniature for himself, but Miss Burton was inexorable.

" We must not forget the sterner sex," said the
Doctor, and he supplemented the gift with a liberal
allowance of tobacco for the men.

CHAPTER XX.

THE WORK-DAY WORLD.

*' All true Work is sacred ; in all true Work, were it but true baud-
labour, there issomethinj^ of divineness." Carlyle, Work.

THE holidays soon passed, and Miss Burton returned
to College, having greatly enjoyed her visit.

" As I see your earnest useful life here," she said to
Edith, " I feel that mine has been very shallow and
empty. I feel greatly dissatisfied with my past, and I
hope that my future may be more worthy of a rational
and immortal being."

" Be assured, Nellie dear," replied Edith, " we shall
find more real happiness in trying to help others than
in seeking only our own pleasure. So shall we be
followers, in a humble degree, of Him Who came not
to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His
life a ransom for many."

After the festivities of the holiday season, the village
and rural community settled down to steady winter
work. Trees were felled in the pine woods, and, with
much "hawing" and " geeing" of oxen, the logs were
dragged to the lake-shore and rolled down the steep
banks upon the ice. Railway ties, stave-bolts, cord-
wood, and the varied wealth of the forest were prepared
for the market.

One day in January, a few of the neighbours

R ii

108

LTFE TIV A PAnsnXACwE.

gathered, in ii sort of informal ''bee,*' to replenisli the
wood pile in the parsonage yard. Early in the winter,
as soon as the ice on the lake wonld bear, Lawrence had
procured a few loads of the drift-wood that lay strewn
along the shore, including some of the timbers of a
vessel that had been wrecked and gone to pieces on one
of the islands. But it proved W(;t and " soggy "' wood,
sputtering and smouldering in a very melancholy way
on th(; hearth. Edith said it reminded her of Long-
fellow's pathetic poem :

*' O flames that flowed ! () hearts that yearnocl !
Yo were indoiid too innch akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned.

The thoughts th.at glowed and burned within."

Father Lowry, therefore, made liawrence a pi'esent
of several standing trees of hard maple, and early one
morning several axemen and teamsters assembled to
convert these noble and stately trees into the plain
prose of firewood. Lawrence shouldered his axe with
the rest, and soon gave ])roof that he had not forgotten
the skill acquired in the lumber camp on the Mattawa.
As his sharp axe, wielded by his long and vigorous
arms, bit into the boles of a mighty maple and soon
made it totter to its fall, he gained the admiring
respect of several athletic young men, as he never had
by the most eloquent passages of his sermons.

" He's no fool with his axe, ain't the preacher," said
Phin Crowle to his brother ; " I guess he's handled one
before, or I'm mistaken."'

" Perhaps he understands some other things, too,
better than you give him credit for," replied Bob ; and
certain it is that these young stjd warts of the logging
bee listened with more respectful attention to Lawrence's
sermons thereafter.

Before night a small mountain of logs was piled up
in the parsonage yard. Edith, with the help of Mother
Lowry and Carrie Mason, had prepared a sumptuous
dinner and supper, to which the sturdy axemen did
ample justice. Thus the generous helpfulness of these

THF WOnh'-nAV WOULD.

lo:?

friendly lu'igliboui's conforrcil ji suhstaiitijil IxMietit \\\)in\
their piistor, and also established him more lirmly in
their kind regards.

It was a favourite exercise of Tiawrence'a, after a few-
hours in the study, to grasp the axe, and, v imting
a mighty log, to reduce it to a mnnageahle size for use
in the stove or broad, old-fashioned fireplace. He was
a great enthusiast in praise of the axe. '' It exercises
e\'erv muscle," he said, " it expands and dev«dops the
lungs, and it oxygenates the blood, and sends it ting-
ling through every artery."

If some of the dyspeptic, nerveless preachers, who
find the least exercise a weariness, would buy an axe
and keep a stout hickory log in the back yard, by
way of a piece -de resistance, they wcMild lind that
their sermons would be better, and life much more
enjoyabK-.

CHAPTER XXI.

TEMPTATION AND FALL.

il '

1/ '\

'* Tell me I hiite the howl I

' Hate " is il fcoblo word ;
1 loathe, abhor, my very soul

With deep disgust is stirnnl,
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tt'll
Of the dark beveraji^e of hell ! "

EVER since the beginning of the winter Lawrence
had been preaching a series of expository sermons
on the Gospel of St. John, especially on the words of
our Lord as therein recorded. He became more and
more absorbed in the study, as week after week he
pored over those sublime, those Divine words. The
interest of the congregation also was strongly mani-
fested, and the Sunday evening meetings were crowded.
He found, as every earnest-hearted man will find,
that there was no need of bizarre and sensational per-
formances, which degrade the pulpit to the level of
a mountebank's platform, to secure the attention and
enlist the sympathies of his hearers. He found that
the words of Christ are still true as when they were
first uttered : " And T, if 1 be lifted up from the earth,
will draw all men unto Me " (John xii. 32). A feeling
of deep seriousness pervaded the congregations, and
several conversions, especially among the young people,
drawn by the perennial attraction of an uplifted
Saviour, took place.

TKMPTATTry AXD FALL.

105

Lawrence threw himself also vigorously into tem-
perance work. Indeed, he found the village tavern, the
" Dog and Gun," the centre and source of such malign
influence, that he organized a lodge of (rood Templars
as a counter-influence to rescue the drunkard, and to
save the young from falling into the toils of the
tempter. Personally he had little liking for the regalia
and paraphernalia of the lodge-room, for its signs^
l)asswor(ls, and ceremonies; but he recognized their
value as a counter-attraction to the tem})tations of the
bar-room, and as giving a social interest to the tem-
perance movement.

What more than anything else led him to establish
the lodge, and to devote much of his time to its meet-
ings, was a painful and almost tragical event which
occurred not long after the cami)-meeting. We have
mentioned the conversion to sobriety and godliness,
after a desperate struggle with his besetting sin, of
Saunders, the village smith. At that time, Jim i^arkins,
the tavern-keeper, said that the smith would not long
keep his vows of amendment, and deliberately set
himself with tiend-like persistency to bring aliout the
fulfilment of his prediction. At first he tried taunting
and ridicule.

" How is it that we don't see you any morti at the * Dog
and (run ' ? " he asked Saunders one day. " Got to be
too good for your old neighbours, have you ? Trying to
come the pious dodge, eh ? "

" God knows I've spent only too much time in your
tavern," replied Saunders, " and by His help I'll never
cross its threshold again."

"You think so, do you, my pious friend?*' said
Larkins. " Before a month you'll be gia<' ^o."

" God forbid ! I'll die first ! " ejaculated Saunders, as
he hurried away as from a place of baleful enchnnt-
ment.

Larkins now tried a more infamous scheme to
ensnare in the toils of evil habit the victim who had
escaped " as a bird out of the snare of the fowler."

iTi

lor.

LTFE IN- A PABSONAGE.

. -f .<•.

f
1

A few weeks later the autumn " fall " or fair was held in
the village. It was a very busy time for Saunders, who
was kept at work early and late, shoeing horses, setting
tires, and the like, and was making good wjiges. One
day, amid the crowd of loafers at the tavern, Larkins
suggested the idea, " What fun it would be to get
Saunders drunk once more ! He's on tlie pious lay, and
thinks himself too good for any of us, you know."

" It would be rare fun if you could manage it,'' said
Jake Jenkins, a rough-looking teamster ; " but you can't,
he's on the other tack, lectures me like a preacher
every time I drop into his smithy. I 'most hate to
go there now, but I've got to get my off horse shod
to-day."

" Well, look here," said Larkins, a wretched plot
coming into his mind. " You've got some cider in that
jug. Saunders won't refuse to take a drink of ihat, it's
regular temperance stuff, you know. Just let me
doctor it a bit, an' ef that won't fetch him, well, I'm
mistaken ; " and taking the cider jug, he poured part
of its contents out, and replenished it with strong
brandy.

Jake Jenkins had taken enough liquor himself to
make him the reckless and facile tool of the tavern-
keeper, and agreed, with a perfidy akin to that of Judns,
to attempt the betrayal of his friend. A few minutes
later he was in the village smithy, waiting while his
horse was being shod.

" Hot work, Saunders," he said, when the job was
completed, as the smith wiped the beaded sweat from
his brow and brawny breast. " Makes you thirsty, don't
it ? "

" Yes, that it do. I've drinked about a gallon of
water this morning," said the smith.

" Bad for your constitution, so much watf. Take a
drink of new cider — nice and cooling, you know ; " and
Jake handed him the jug.

'' Don't mind if I do," said Saunders, and, lifting the
jug to his lips, he drank a long and copious draugbt.

s held in
lers, who
, setting
!S. One

Lark ins
3 to get

hiy, and

it," said
ou can't,
preacher

hate to
rse shod

led plot
r in that
ihat, it's

let me
ivell, I'm

ed part
strong

in self to
tavern-

if Judas,
iii mites

liile his

job was
at from
|y, don't

dlon of

Take a
; '' and

ling the
raugbt.

TE.VPTATWX AXD FALL.

107

"Tastes queer for cider," he said, as he set down the
jug and went on with his work.

" May be some of last year's wiiz in the bottom of
the barrel,", said Jake; and taking another drink
himself, he offered it again to Saunders.

Scarce knowing what he did, the smith drank again
and again, till between them the jug wjis emptied. By
this time Saunders was visibly under the intiuence of
the brandy. The slumbering appetite was aroused
within him, and, like a tiger that has tasted blood, was
clamouring for more.

It recjuired slight persuasion to induce the half-
demented man to accompany Jake Jenkins to the
tavern to appease the insatiable craving which was
rekindled in his breast.

" Come at last, have ye ? " sneered Lnrkins ; "I
knowed ye couldn't stay away long. I'll set up drinks
for the crowd, just to welcome ye back to your old
friends. Come, boys ! " and he gave each what he
asked, except that when Saunders hiccoughed out a
request for cider, he filled his glass with brandy.

The unhappy man madly drank, and drank, and
drank again, till delirium built its fires in his brain,
and the scoundrel tempter sent him raving like a
maniac to his home. As he reeled through the door of
his cottage, his wife, who had be-v i; . inging gaily at her
work, stopped suddenly, her face blanched white as
that of a corpse, and she burst into a flood of tears.
Her small home-palace, but now so happy, seemed
shattered in ruins to the ground. The husband of her
love, the father of her babes, had become like a raging
fiend. Those lips which that very morning had prayed
for strength against temptation and deliverance from
sin were now lilistered with cursing and blasphemies.

" Cxod," she cried in the bitterness of her anguish,
" would he had died before he had left the house !
Rather would I see him in his shroud than snared
again in the toils of hell."

With a love and tenderness that — like the Divine

108

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

iiila

■; ;

compassion of Him Who came to save the lost — wearieth
not for ever, the heart-broken wife, unheeding the
maundering and curses of the wretched man, endea-
voured to soothe and calm his frenzied mind and get
him to bed. One of the boys she sent for the minister,
the unfailing source of sympathy and succour for the
suffering and sorrowing in many a village community.
When Lawrence arrived, he was shocked beyond measure
to find his friend, o^^r whose rescue he had rejoiced,
lying on the floor, for he would not go to bed, and
calling for brandy, to satisfy the raging thirst that
consumed him. He sent instantly for Dr. Norton, and
as he knelt beside the unhappy man he registered a
vow in heaven, Grod helping him, to fight against the
accursed monster Drink while life should last.

The doctor soon arrived, and with a quiet, firm
authority, which even the half- crazed man felt, took
cl large of his patient. He treated him for acute mania,
gave him sedatives and soporifics, but could not ward
off an attack of delirkivn tremens which soon super-
vened. It was dreadful to witness the sufferings of the
wretched creature. The most frightful delusions
haunted his mind. At times he would roar with terror,
as he fancied himself pursued by hideous, mocking,
mouthing, gibbering fiends. Then he implored the
bystanders, how eagerly ! to save him from the
horrid things, and, cowering with horror, he would
cover his head with the bedclothes. Then starting up,
he would stare with dilated eyes, as if frozen with fear,
at vacancy, and make a sudden leap from the bed to
escape the dreadful sight.

But worst of all was the blood-curdling, mocking
laugh which rang through the room, when, like a
raving maniac, the v'ictim fancied for the time that he
had eluded or overcome his ghostly foes. It was a
scene which, once witnessed, one would wish never to
see again.

After a long illness, in wliich he was brought almost
to death's door, he began slowly to recover. As he

TEMPTATION' AND FALL.

109

crept out into the sunlight, the very shadow of his
former self, a nameless fear filled the soul of his wife,
lest he should fall again a victim to the tempter.

" I would rather die in this chair, Grod knows,'' said
the remorseful man, " but I cannot be sure of myself.
I dare not say that I shall not fall again. There is
a traitor within, which conspires with the tempter
without, to beguile me to my undoing. The very sight,
or smell, or thought of liquor comes over me at times
with almost overmastering power."

The devoted wife went one day to implore the
tavern-keeper, the haunting terror of her life, the
tempter who had crushed her happy home, not to sell
her husband any more liquor. He heard her im-
patiently, and then in cold-blooded words, which froze
her very heart, he said, —

" See here, my good woman, do you see that licence
there ? " pointing to a framed document on the wall.
" I paid fifty dollars for that. Mine's a legitimate
business, I'd have you know. I've got to get my
money back. A fellow must live. So long as Bill
Saunders can pay for liquor, he shall have it. If he
takes too much, that's his look out, not mine." So
petrifying, so soul-benumbing is the influence of this
debasing traffic upon an originally not unkindly nature.

"The curse of God rest on you and your guilty
traffic ! " exclaimed the unhappy wife, in a sudden
access of anguish and terror for him whom she loved
most on earth.

" See heie, Missis," said Larkins, cowering under
her angry glance and fiery words, " I won't have none
of your abuse. My business is under the protection of
the law. So you jest get out, or I'll put you out;"
and he bustled out from behind the bar with a threaten-
ing gesture.

" G-od forgive you, for you need it ! " exclaimed the
grief-stricken woman, with something of an angel's
pity, nobly inconsistent with her previous ^assionate
outburst ; and she moved away in tears.

■ !:

-olpfSS^

Bil^^SniiS^

: a^^SmJLA^w ^AmPI^^^^HH

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^**F

•

CHAPTEK XXII.

( I

f! I

i 1

A MIDNIGHT ADVENTUKE.

•• Moving accidents by flood and field."

Shakespeare, Othello.

rpHE winter passed rapidly away. Lawrence was
X much from hojne, attending missionary meetings,
and conducting, for six weeks, a revival service of great
power at one of his distant appointments. The revival
was a great success. The whole neighbourhood was
profoundly stirred. Night after night the school-house
was crowded. Many promising converts were added
to the Church, including more than one young man of
much force of character, who had been as conspicuous
for boldness in sin as they afterwards became for
boldness in confessing Christ. Lawrence frequently
drove home at night on the ice, which offered a shorter,
smoother, and easier route than that by land. He met,
however, one right with an adventure that made him
content to take the longer and more difficult route.

It was in the early spring, the roads were very
muddy, and it was raining heavily. He declined all
invitations to remain all night, and determined to take
the track on the ice, as for domestic reasons he was
very anxious to return home. Instead of following the
direct road he kept pretty close to the shore, fearing

A MTDXIGHT ADVEXTURE.

Ill

, Othello.

nee was
leetings,
of great
; revival
ood was
ol-house
added
man of
jpicuous
Lme for
Iquently
|shorter,
'e met,
Ide him
ite.
fe very
Ined all
take
le was
[ng the
fearing

that if he got out of sight of land he should get k)st on
the ice. The hills loomed vaguely through the dark-
ness, and not a friendly light was to be seen in any of
the farmhouses along the shore. Suddenly his lively
little mare, Jessie, stopped stock-still and refused to
proceed. Lawrence peered eagerly into the darkness,
but could see no cause for alarm ; so he chirruped
encouragingly to the faithful creature and urged her
on. Ke-assured by the sound of his voice, she took a
step forward, and instantly disappeared completely out
of sight. The ice had been weakened by the rain, and
by the effects of a swollen stream which flowed over
its surface, and as soon as the weight came upon it, it
crashed through like glass. The cutter had followed
into the hole in the ice ; and when Lawrence had
scrambled out of it upon the ice, its buoyancy brought
the little mare to the surface, and her own efforts
prevented her from again sinking.

Lawrence was in a perilous predicament. There was
no help near, not a single light was visible, and there
was no use calling for aid, for all the farm folk in the
scattered houses along the shore would be fast asleep.
There was also no time to spare if he would save the
faithful animal, struggling in the water, before she
should become benumbed and exhausted. 80, lifting
up his heart to Grod, he crawled on his hands and
knees to the edge of the broken ice, patted Jessie on
the nose, and cheered and encouraged her by repeating
her pet name. Meanwhile he had loosed the mare
from the cutter, and then fastened the reins around
her neck. Placing her fore feet on the edge of the
firmer ice, and taking the reins over his shoulder, he
turned and stramed, it seemed to him, with super-
human energy. At length, with a desperate effort of
his own and the mare's, she managed to scramble out
upon the ice. She whinnied with joy and rubbed her
nose against Lawrence's cheek, and then stood stock-
still, though shivering with cold, till he dragged the
cutter upon the ice and harnessed her again thereto.

112

LIFE IN A P ARSON AQE.

Lawrence then set off on a trot across the ice, both to
restore warmth to h^s benumbed frame, and to sound
the ice ; and Jessie followed closely after. Fortunately
they were near land. Lawrence made his way to the
shore where a point of land jutted out into the lake.
With difficulty he got the mare up the steep bank,
leaving the cutter on the ice. Whereabouts he was he
did not know ; but, looming through the darkness, he
saw the shadowy outline of a farmhouse. Towards it
he made his way, and knocked with his whip-handle
loudly at the door. The mufflied bark of a dog was
heard, but nothing more, when Lawrence again loudly
knocked and called out :

" Halloa ! who lives here ? Help is wanted."

A window rattled in its frame, and was cautiously
raised, and a shock-headed figure appeared thereat.

" Who's out at this time of night, and such a night
as this ? " asked a husky voice, with a strong Tipperary
brogue.

" My name is Temple, I am the Methodist preacher,"
said Lawrence. " My mare broke through the ice, and
I don't know where I am."

" The Methody praicher ! The saints defend us ! The
praist towld us ye wor a bad man, deceavin' the payple,
and warned us never to hark till a worrud ye sjiid.
But Dennis McGuire's not the man to turn even a dog
from his dure sich a noight as this ; " and he hurried
to open the door.

A heap of logs lay smouldering on the ample hearth,
half smothered with ashes. At a kick of his foot the
logs fell apart and burst into a blaze, revealing every
corner of the room, and revealing also the dripping
clothes and bedraggled form of the half-drowned
preacher. Honest Dennis McGruire hastened out into
the rain to help Lawrence with his horse and cutter,
but instantly came back to tell his wife to " brew the
parson a good stiff bowl of hot punch."

When Lawrence inquired the road to Fairview, and
how far it was,

both to
sound
iunately

y to thxi
he lake.
;p baixk,
e was he
:ness, he
•wards it
p-handle
dog was
n loudly

autiously

;reat.

1 a night

Cipperary

ireacher,"
ice, and

us! The
^e payple,

ye said.

en a dog
hurried

|e hearth,

foot the

ig every

I dripping

-drowned

out into

Id cutter,

Ibrew the

new, and

A MIDXIGHT ADVEXrURE.

113

" It's five miles, ef it's a fut,"' said Mr. lMc(iuire ;
" but not a step ye'll take afore the morn."

" 0, but I must ! " said Lawrence ; " my wife will
be greatly alarmed if I do not come home as I
promised."

" Ef it's to kape ye're wurrud to that swate lady that
visited the Widdy jMuUigan when her childer wuz
down with the mayzles, there's no more to be said.
But ye'll have some dhry duds on ye afore you go."
And when he returned to the house, Dennis Inought
out his Sunday coat of blue cloth, with brass buttons
and stiif collar.

*' It's not fit for the likes o' ye," said Dennis, " but
it's the best I have, and it may kape ye from catching
the cowld — more belike if ye have a good hot whiskey-
punch under ye're vest. Is it ready, Biddy ?

" Shure is it," said that cheerful, black-eyed matron,
as she bustled about in a mob cap and linsey-wolsey
petticoat, and poured into an old-fashioned punch-bowl
the contents of a black bottle, and hot water from the
tea-kettle.

" That's the rale craythur," said Dennis, as he sniffed
its pungent odour. " That niver paid no excise, nor
custom's duty. It's genooine potheen from the ould
sod ; ye can smell the reek of the turf in it still.'*

" Many thanks," said Lawrence, " you are very kind ;
but I cannot touch it. It's against my principles, and,
believe me, Mr. McGuire, you would be a great deal
better without it yourself."

" Hear till him ! " said Dennis to his wife in a tone
of amazed incredulity. " Heard any man ever the likes
of that? Shure, an' Father McManus has no such
schruples. He dhrinks it fis he would milk, and says
it's a good craythur of Grod ; and no more schruples
have I ; " and he tossed off the bowl, smacked his lips,
and drew the back of his hand over them with a sort of
lingering gusto.

Lawrence was too much of a gentleman to decline
the kindness of his host in lending his Sunday coat,

114

LIFE IN A PAItSONAGE.

So, putting k on, and over it a big Irish frier^e cloak,
with two or three c ipea, and Mr. ISlcCTuire'fi Sunday
hat, a venerable beaver, rather limp in ;he rim — his
own was lost on the ice — he again set out for home.

It was after midrtight wlu»n he arrived. The li^ht
was still shining in the parsonage window — for T'^chth,
when she expected her husband home, always sat up
for him, however late he might be — and a more wel-
come sight Lawjence had seldom seen. When, after
stabling and grooming his mare, he came to the hoiise,
his clothes saturated with water, bare-headed and hi.^
hair matted with the rain — he had left Dennis's old
beaver in the kitchen — Edith sprang up with dilated
eyes of terror, and, flinging her arms around him,
eagerly asked what had happened.

" Well, I have got wet, my dear," said I^awrence,
trying to smile, his teeth chattering meanwhile with
cold, " wet enough for both of us ; so it is superfluous for
you to make yourself as wet as I am;" and he gently dis-
engaged her arms, and briefly recounted his adventure.

" Thank God, you are safe ! " she exclaimed. " "i'ou
must promise me not to go on the ice again. I have
been haunted with terror lest something would happen.
But wherever did you get that cloak ? " she asked ;
and ohen, as he removed it and she beheld the sky-
lilue coat with the brass buttons, she burst into uncon-
trollable laughter.

" Well, I suppose I am a ridiculous-looking guy,''
said Lawrence, somewhat ruefully ; " but the owner of
this old coat has as kind a heart as ever beat beneath
broadcloth or velvet, and I would not hurt his feelings
for the world."

*' Forgive me," said Edith, a little remorsefully ; and
she bustled about to get dry clothes, make hot coffee,
and give Lawrence a warm supper, to ward off, if pos-
sible, any bad resuit from his exposure.

Next day neither he nor Jessie seemed any the
worse for their adventure, except that both appeared
to be a little stiff in their movements.

ze cloak,
I 8undiiy
riin — his
liouie.
Mie light
lY Kdith,
Ti' sat up
noiT wel-
len, after
lie hoiise,
[ and hi.^
inis's old
,h dilated
ind him,

Lawrence,
hile with
ffluous for
jently dis-
dventure.
1. " Yon
I have
1 happen,
e asked ;
the riky-
o unoon-

owner of
beneath
feelings

dly ; and
)t coffee,
f, if pos-

any the
[appeared

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE TRAMP WITH THE) BAG.

" ! what a goodly outside falsehood hath ! "

ShakespeAUK. Mrt'chant of Venice.

OUR readers will have discovered before this that
there is no " plot " to our little story ; that it
consists simply of truthful pictures of itinerant life.
Human life, for the most part, neither in a parson-
age nor out of it, is evolved on the " plot " principle ;
but is largely the result of the action and reaction
on each other of the environment without, and moral
forces within. And while facts are often stranger
tlian fiction, they seldom hold to each other the rela-
tions of cause or consequence developed in the plots of
tlie sensational story-writer.

We proceed now to exhibit another picture in our
magic lantern, which, while an authentic episode, has
no special relation to anything that has preceded or
that shall follow.

In Canada we are comparatively free from the pre-
dations of " pious tramps," and fraudulent soi-disant
agents of philanthropic or religious organizations.
The general intelligence of our people, and the com-
parative completeness of the organization of the sevei-al
Churches, render our country an unpropitious field for
such " bogus " missionary enterprises as that to Borio-
boolagha satirized by Dickens.

116

LIFE IX A PAnSONAOE.

Occasionally, however, we are afflicted with the visit
of some plausible sneak-thief, who preys upon the
generosity of the religious community, especially of
ministers of religion. One such found his way to the
village of Fairview. It was towards the close of a hot
summer day that he arrived by stage. He was a tall,
dark-complexioned man, with great cavernous eyes,
shaggy eyebrows, and straggling whiskers. A long
linen "duster" partially concealed his rusty black
suit. He carried a black glazed bag and faded alpaca
umbrella, and wore a limp and not over-clean shirt-
collar, and a beaver hat that had once been black, but
now exhibited a decided tinge of brown, especially at
the rim and crown. He inquired at the post-office the
name of the Methodist minister in the place, and the
way to his house. Taking his glazed bag in his hand,
he soon presented himself at the parsonage door. His
knock was answered by Edith herself, when he asked
if Mr. Temple was within. Edith supposed from his
appearance that he was a book-pedlar, and knowing
that Lawrence was busy at his Sunday's sermon — it
was Saturday afternoon — she replied that he was
engaged.

" Just take hira this, sister," said the stranger, in a
slightly foreign accent, taking from a pocket wallet,
that smelt strongly of tobacco, a somewhat crumpled
card ; " and tell him that a brother minister wishes to
confer with him on the Lord's work."

Edith rather resented the familiarity with which he
addressed her, but she nevertheless invited him into
the parlour, and carried his card to Lawrence. On the
card were printed the words, " Rev. Karl Hoffmanns
Van Buskirk, Agent of the Society for the Propagat'on
of the Gospel among the Jews."

" I do not know this gentleman," said Lawrence ; " I
never heard of him before."

" He seems to know you, though," said Edith, " and
wants to confer with you on the Lord's work ; " and
she imitated the stranger's sanctimonious whine. " I

the visit
[)on the
^ially of
y to the

of a hot
IS a tall,
LIS eyes,

A long
:y black
d alpaca
in shirt -
lack, but
ciallj at
)ffice the

and the
lis hand,
or. His
he asked
from his
knowing
moil — it

he was

er, in a

wallet,

rumpled

ishes to

lich he

im into

On the

Fmanns

lagat'on

Ice;

and
" and

|e.

THE TRAMP WITH THE Jt AG.

117

believe," she went on, "that he is a canting humbug.
I don't like the look of iiim."

Well, I must see him, \ suppose," said LawnMice,
and he proceeded to the parlour. He found the Kev.
Karl Van Buskirk reclining at full length upon the
sofa, with his dust -soiled feet resting on one of Edith's
crocheted "antimacassars," as, with a suggestive
literalness, they were called.

" Ah, I knew T might take the liberty, in a brotlicr
minister's house, of resting this wenry frame," said the
strfinger; "I'm exceedingly wearied in the service of
the Lord, but not wearv .)f it, thank (lod ! "

Lawrence bowed, accepted the proffenid hand, and
said — somewhat conventionally, we are afraid — that he
was glad to see the stranger.

" I knew you would be," said the Keverend Karl,
again taking his seat, and liawrence, out of politeness,
also sat down. " I knew you would be. We are lioth
servants of the same blaster, though labouring in
diffe mt parts of the same vineyard."

" \ ''here has your field of labour been ? '' asked
Lawrence.

" Mine has been a most interesting field — the most
interesting, I think, in the world — in the liOrd's Land
itself, the very land where His feet have trod, and
where His kinsmen according to the flesh are to be
gathered together before His coming again."

Lawrence was by no means convinced of the correct-
ness of the theory of the pre-millennial restoration of
the Jews, but he did not choose to make it then a
point of controversy ; so he merely bowed in silence.

" Allow me to show you some of my testimonials,"
continued the stranger ; " I have the best of testi-
monials ; " and he took from his wallet a number of
well-thumbed documents. " There is one," he went
on, "from Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Beirut, in
Syria ; and this is from the American Consul at Jaffa —
the ancient Joppa, you will remember ; we have a very
flourishing school there. And this is one I prize very

118 ]

LIFE IN A PAnS0yA(fE.

I ;

highly from Dr. Gohnt, tlie l*rnHsi;iii liishoj) of .Icni-
salein, yon know ; Jind here are nonu^ from my ol<l
Oieologicjil Intors, Drs. Dt'litzscl), of Leii)zig. iind Tho-
Uick, of llalle;" and lie ('xlnl)ited some mncli worn
l)aj)ers, which, however, as they were written in (Jcrman,
liawrenee could not read, nlthongh he regarded with
reverence the writing of such world-famous men.

"These are very interesting," sjiid Lawrence, " very
interesting indee(l ; hut I have, of course, no personal
acquaintance with these gentlemen. Have you testi-
monials from any of our imblic men in Canada ? "

*' 0, one can have no better testimonials than these,"
said Mr. Van Buskirk; "but I have others. Perluips
you know this gentleman, the President of the Went-
worth liftdies' College;" and he presented a pa])er
bearing what looked like the bold signature of Dr.
Dwight.

" yes, I know him," said Lawrence, " and anything
that he endorses commands my perfect contidence."

"Dr. Dwiglit, you perceive, commends both myself
and my mission to the sympathies of the Churches,"
continued Van Buskirk. " I should like very much to
bring the cause I represent before your people to-
morrow. I shall be happy to preach for you if you will
give me an opjwrt unity."

]^awrence readily fell into the trap so skilfully baited.
He would have thought it discourteous to refuse the
use of his pulpit to any duly authorized minister ; and
having accepted the offer of the stranger's pul|)it
services, he felt that he could do no less than invite
him to share the hospitalities of the parsonage.

These the Rev. Karl Van Buskirk accepted with an
easy nonchalance which seemed to indicate that he
was an adept in the role he was playing. He coolly
took off his boots, asked for a pillow, and said that as
he was tired he would like a nap till supper was ready ;
" and," he continued with a familiar air, " I should like
something substantial, you know, as I have had a long
journey to-day."

27//; lit A Ml' WITH Tilt: HAG.

\\\)

of .Icru-

I my old
Jiiid Tlio-
ucli woni

(icmi.'iii,
(led \villi
men.
?e, " verv
• l)ers()i)al
r'ou testi-
i?"

II those,"
IVrlijips

le \\'eiit-

a })a])er

e of Dr.

anything
nee."
1 myself
lurches,"
much to
ople to-
you will

' baited,
use the
er ; and
pul^^it
invite
e.

^vith an
hat he
coolly
:hat as
ready ;
dd like
a long

Lawrence felt inclined to resent this familiarity, hut
he attributed it, as well as some slips in his ^Mwst's
Knghsh, to liis foreign extraction. As he communi-
cated to his wife the manner of tlie stranger's acc«!pt-
unce of his invitation, Ik; remarked, —

" I have heard of foreign l)rus(iuen(;ss, l)iit, if tins is
a s[)ecimen, 1 don't altogether like it."

"If he is recommended by Dr. Dwight, that is
enough for me," said Kdith, and she proceeded to
make ready the guest chamber and to prepare the
evening meal. The latter was api)etizing enough to
suit jm epicure — sliced cold beef, the best of bread,
golden butter, rich ripe strawberries and cream, and
fragrant tea — all elegantly served with snowy napery
and dainty china and glassware.

The guest, when summoned to the repast, cast a
hungry eye over the table, as if taking an inventory
of the materials of the su[)per, and then with brief
ceremony addressed himself to the task of making away
with as much of them as possible. After he had made
almost a clean sweep of everything on the well-spread
board, he said with a sigh, —

" Your su[)per is very nice, Sister Temple, very nice,
though a little light for a travel-worn man. ^'our cold
meat is very good indeed, but don't you think you
could have something warm for breakfast — a nice steak
now ? I am going to preach for Brother Temi)le, and
I always like a substantial meal before 1 preach, you
know."

" We never cook meat on Sundays," said Edith,
colouring. " We abstain as far as possible from all
needless work."

" Quite right, sister, (juite right," remarked the
Keverend Karl. " But this, you perceive, is a work
of inecessity — to support nature in the service of the
Lord. You would not want me to break down in my
sermon, I'm sure ; and after preaching I always like a
hot roast dinner.'

After supper, therefore, while Lawrence entertained

120

LIFE IN A PAItSONAGE.

his guest, who sat on the verandah, smoking a vile-
smelling pii)e, Edith went to the village butcher's for
a fresh supply of provisions. " Had Dr. Dwight known
the habits of the man," she thought, "he would not
have so highly commended him."

The steak for breakfast and the roast for dinner made
a serious inroad upon the sum set apart from their modest
income for provisions for the following week ; and as
she did all her own work, the prospect of fussing over
a hot stove to cook it was not an agreeable one.

The stranger's evening prayer was a very effusive
one, embracing not only the Jews, but also the Gentiles
of every name and race, and ending with the "hospitable
hosts of the servant of the Lord." Before he retired,
the free and easy guest took off his shoes in the
l)arlour, asked for a pair of slippeis, and requested that
the maid might clean the shoes for him. Edith was
about furtively to carry them off', when Lawrence took
them out of her hand and cleaned them himself.
Even when polished, they had, like their owner, a
vulgar, ill-bred look — run down a; the heels, and
cracked at the sides.

The Keverend Karl was in no hurry to appear in
the morning, but spent the best hours of the glorious
summer day in bed. When he did appear, he sniffed
the appetising odours of the broiled steak with much
satisfaction, and did ample justice to the meal.

" I always take up a collection for my mission,
wherever I preach. Brother Temple," he said after
breakfast. "The labourer is worthy of his hire, you
know\ 'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth
out the corn.' "

" Ox enough you are," said Edith to herself, and she
longed to muzzle him in good earnest.

I^awrence made no dissent, although the collections
were set apart by the trustees for a parsonage-fur-
nishing fund. Edith remained at home to prepare
dinner — a thing she had never done in her married life
before ; but she consoled herself with the thought that

THE TRAMP WITH THE BAG.

121

y a vile-
iher's for
it known
ould not

ler mjide
r modest
; and as
ing over

effusive
Gentiles
ospitable
1 retired,
3 in the
ited that
dith was
nee took

himself,
pwner, a
els, and

:)pear in
glorious
sniffed
h much
111.

mission,
id after
ire, you
readeth

md she

lections
ige-fur-
j)repare
ded life
ht that

she would get no good from the preaching of such a
sordid creature, if slie did go to church.

The sermon was chiefly an appeal for money "to
carry on the Lord's work among His own peculiar
people;" and the appeal was remarkably successful,
as the preacher paraded his testimonials from foreign
consuls, ecclesiastics, and especially from the great
Methodist authority, the Rev. Dr. Dwight. He also
announced after the collection, without consulting th<
pastor, that as some of the congregation might wish to
contribute something more, he would call on them
next day.

Edith spent the morning broiling over the hot stove
on a very hot day, and looked red and uncomfortable
at dinner and out of temper; for we are sorry to say
tluit even this paragon of perfection was capable on
provocation, such as our readers will probably admit
that she had now received, of exhibiting some signs of
— let us call it — moral indignation. The Reverend
Karl seemed, however, in thoroughly good humour
with himself— quite jovial indeed — probably from the
inspiriting effects of the large collection which he
stowed away in his glazed bag. He devoted himself
to the duties of the table with energy, and did ample
justice to the bountiful repast. After dinner he
declined an invitation to attend the afternoon appoint-
ment — probably because he learned that it was at a
school-house in the country, and that no collection
would be expected. Under the plea of fatigue, he
stretched himself upon the parlour sofa, whence his
melodious snores could soon be heard.

Edith always attended the Sunday School, but on
this occasion was too tired to go, and besides did not
wish, partly ^rom courtesy, and partly from distrust —
a strangely blended feeling — to leave the stranger in
the house. She, therefore, asked her friend, Carrie
Mason, to stay with her, chiefly from a vague feeling
of revulsion at being left alone in the house with her
strange guest.

122

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

In the evening he again declined to atlend the
ser\'ice, under the plea that he felt unwell — which,
however, did not prevent his making away \^ith what
was left of the dinner's roast beef. He then smoked on
the verandah his vile tobacco, and in the twilight dusk
returned to the little parlour; while Edith and her
friend com2)leted the household work in the kitchen.
When this was done, Edith proceeded with a lamp to
the parlour, when to her surprise she beheld her
Keverend — or rather U7ireverend — guest stooping over
her cabinet, a sort of combined work-box and writing-
desk, which she had received as a wedding present.
It contained her gold pen and ])enholder, her gold
thimble, fine scissor case, one or two lockets, and some
other trinkets, which she highly valued as presents
from dear friends. He had opened the cabinet, and
was furtively trying to open its several drawers. When
detected, he exhibited some degree of nervous em-
barrassment, but soon recovered his usual assurance,
and remarked, —

" I have been admiring your beautiful cabinet,
Sister Temple. I have never seen one so elegantly
fitted up."

Edith was so unresponsive in her manner that jNIr.
Van Buskirk, after repeated dislocating yawns, asked
for a lamp and went toliis room.

"That man's a thief," said Carrie Mason, after he
had gone, " or would be if he could. I wouldn't trust
him in a churchyard, for fear he would steal the
tombstones.''

" I don't know what to think," replied Edith. " If
it were not for liis letter from Dr. Dwight, I would
distrust him too."

" If he has one, he stole it," said Carrie impulsively.
" Have you seen it ? "

" No ; but I will to-morrow, before he leaves this
house," replied Edith, fast losing faith in her reverend
guest.

She communicated her suspicions to Lawrence on

end the
— which,
ith what
noked on
^ht dusk
and her
kitchen,
lam}) to
leld her
ing over
writing-
present,
her gold
nd some
presents
net, and
. When
ous em-
!isurance,

cabinet,
egantly

lat ]\Ir.
5, asked

^ter he

t trust

eal the

would

Isively.

es this
verend

ice on

THE TiiAMP wrni rrrE bag.

12B

his return, and they both decided that he musl not be
allowed to solicit money from the people of the village.
It was, however, an embarrassing thing to liroacli tlieir
susi)icioTis; ))ut when, after ])reakfast next day, the
t^ol-disant philanthropist asked Lawrence to ac'coinjtany
him on his round of begging — "Your intnxhicticm will
be of great service to me," he said — they both felt that
the time had come for an explanation.

"I regret that I cannot accompany you," said Law-
rence ; " I do not know enough of your work to so fully
endorse it."

" What ! after seeing all these documents and testi-
monials ! " said the philanthropist, with real or well-
feigned astonishment. "What does Sister Temple
say to this ? "

"I have not seen your testimonials," replied Edith,
with an involuntary recoil from the familiarity of his
address.

" Allow me to show them to you ; I am sure you will
recognize the importance of my mission ; " and he
effusively unfolded his wallet and displayed its contents.

She paid little heed to the foreign documents and
consuls' certificates, but rapidly opened and critically
examined the so-called testimonial from Dr. Dwight.

"This is not Dr. Dwight 's handwriting," she said
presently ; " I know it well. Besides, Dr. Dwight does
not spell his name D-w-i-g-t. This," and she looked
the discomfited tramp in the eye, " is a forgery, as I
suppose the others are, too."

" Madam ! " said the detected rogue, snarling and
showing his teeth iike a weasel caught in a trap; "I
will not argue with women. I have been grossly
insulted. I leave your house this instant ! " and he
looked as if he would strike her if he dared.

"That is the best thing you can do," said Lawrence
incisively, and involuntarily clenching his fist. " You
have imposed on my credulity, betrayed my confidence,
abused my hospitality, and lied before Gfod and man.
As I have to some degree given you countenance, I

124

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

give you warning that I shall do my best to counteract
your fraud."

Vengeful fires blazed in the dark scowling eyes of
the disconcerted cheat, as he snatched his glazed bag
and umbrella and strode down the garden walk with an
air of insulted dignity.

Edith first of all burst into a fit of laughter at his
ludicrous appearance, and then tears of vexation came
into her eyes as she exclaimed, —

" The hateful creature ! I'd as soon have a toad
touch me as have him call me ' Sister Temple,' in that
whine of his — the canting hypocrite ! "

An hour later Lawrence went to his wife's desk to
write to the Toronto Globe a letter exposing the arrant
impostor. He found, however, that her gold pen and
penholder and all her trinkets had been abstracted, and
that the mercenary wretch had added ingratitude and
petty theft to his foul mendacity. He was, however,
now beyond their reach. They learned afterwards from
the public prints, that while playing the role of a
converted priest, and lecturing on the secrets of the
confessional, he had been tarred and feathered by an
outraged community, disgusted with his vulgar
scandals ; and that he was afterwards arrested and
tried for burglary and sentenced to seven years in a
penitentiary.

mmr.

nteract

eyes of
;ed bag
with an

• at his
n came

a toad
in that

desk to

e arrant

[)en and

ted, and

ude and

lowever,

'ds from

5le of a

of the

by an

vulgar

ed and

irs in a

CHAPTER XXIV.

ABOUT BOOKS.

"God be thanked for bool- ! They .are the voices of the distant
and the dead, and make nf^ it-irs of the spiritual life of past ages."' —
Channing, On Si'If-Cvlfurf.

" A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, eml)almed
and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond. ... As good almost
kill a man as kill a good book. Books are not absolutely dead
things, but do contain a progeny' of life in them, to be as active
as that soul whose progeny they are." — Milton, Areojmgitira.

TT/'E turn now to a pleasanter episode in the life and
T f experience of the inmates of the Fairview par-
sonage. Under the inspiration of the sympathy and
efforts of the pastor, and especially of his wife, who
threw her whole soul into this labour of love, the
Sunday School became a very successful institution.
It was a factor of great importance in the educational,
religious, and social life of the community. The great
want of a country neighbourhood is frequently the lack
of books and other mental stimuli. In most houses
the supply of books is limited to a few old heirlooms,
a few school-books, and some cheap and showily bound
subscription books, which lie conspicuously on the
parlour table, but are never read. The secular news-
paper is the chief intellectual food of the adult popula-
tion ; and it is often filled with little less than bitter
partisan politics.

The late Superintendent of Public Instruction in
Ontario, the great and good Dr. Ryerson — one of the

126

LIFE IiY A PAnSONAGE.

truest, noblest, and most intelligent of patriots that
ever blessed with his life and labours any land —
endeavoured to supply this lack of good reading by
establishing, in connection with the public schools of
the country, libraries of standard authors. And this
plan was in many cases a great success, and the master-
pieces of English literature — the grandest legacy of
the past to the present — thus found their way into
many homes where they would otherwise have been
unknown. And doubtless many an active, eager school-
boy has had awakened, by contact with these immortal
minds, » ,n insatiable thirst for knowledge, which has led
him to drink deep at the Pierian spring. But in many
cases, through apathy on the part of the people, or
through lack of judgment in the selection of the books,
or of adaptation in the means employed in their circula-
tion, they remained an ineffective force, confined, like
spirits in prison, in seldom opened cases.

The Sunday Schools of the country have hitherto
largely supplied this lack of books. There is no other
agency which puts in circulation such a number. And,
notwithstanding the sneer sometimes heard at the
average Sunday School book, there is, in the aggregate,
no other collection of such magnitude containing so much
that is good and so little that is bad. It is, however,
of necessity limited in its range, and rather too juvenile
in character to meet the wants of an entire community.

Lawrence endeavoured to partially meet this felt
want by organizing a reading club in connection with
the Grood Templars' lodge which he had established.
A committee had been formed, which, at his suggestion,
ordered a number of the leading magazines and periodi-
cals of the day, both of Canada, Grre^-t Britain, and the
United States ; and representing the several political
parties, as well as agricultural and manufacturing
interests. It was astonishing what interest the ex-
penditure of a few dollars in this way added to life in
that village community. The membership of the lodge
increased, and farmers' and mechanics' boys, instead of

ots that
land —
ding by
^hools of
Vnd this
^ master-
egacy of
vay into
ive been
!r school-
mmortal
ti has led
in many
3ople, or
le books,
• circula-
ned, like

hitherto
no other
r. And,
at the
■gregate,
so much
lowever,
uvenile
munity.
his felt
ion with
Dlished.
gestion,
periodi-
and the
Dolitical
Lcturing
the ex-
life in
le lodge
stead of

ABorr HOOKS.

127

discussing horse-trots or prize-fights, took an intelligent
interest in the experiments of agricultural ciieniistry,
and the new api)lications of rlectricity described in the
Scientific Atnerican; and all classes fohowcd eagerly the
progress of the Ashantee war and Amt-ricjin Secession
in the llhcstrdted London News and Harpers Wee/di/.

Lawrence felt, however, that tliis organization was
constructed on too narrow a basis — that it confined to
a limited membership what he desired should benefit
the entire community. He endeavoured, therefore, to
establish in connection with the Church a lending
library of books of a liigher grade tlian those in the
Sunday School library. In this he was only partially
successful. Some of the old-fashioned members objected
to these new-fangled notions. To })rovi(le books of
history and travel and science was not tlie work of the
Church, they said, and was a departure from tlie usages
of earb' Methodism. In this they were egregiously
mistaken. For this is the very work to which John
Wesley, with his broad comprehensiveness of view,
devoted mucii labour and care, compiling with his own
hand grammars, histories, and books of science, and
employing an efficient organization for their distribu-
tion among the people.

Lawrence, indeed, formed in connection with the
Church a Society for Mutual Improvement, by the read-
ing of essays and criticisms on the books in the hmding
library. But, while it was very beneficial to those who
took j)art in it, it was limited in its range, and struggled
against the discouragements and apathy of many who
ought to have given it both sympathy and support.

" I don't see where the money's to come from for all
this," said Brother Manning, the careful circuit steward.
" People hev only so much to give ; and if they give
it all for this gimcrackery, they won't hev none left to
pay the preacher."

" We allers got along well enough without sich
things," said Mrs. "^larshall ; " an' if boys lams how to
plough and harrei, and gals how to make good butter

128

LIFE IN A PAIiSONAOE.

and cheese, I don't see what they want with so much
book larnin'."

At length Lawrence hit upon the happy idea of
ap})ealing to the co-operation of the entire community
— embrjicing all the Churches, and even those who
belonged to no Church — to organize a Mechsmics'
Institute, with library, reading-room, and winter night
classes. He first broached his idea to Messrs. Malcolm
and Mclntyre, the proprietors of the large foundry in
the village. They were intelligent Scotch Presby-
terians, and knew the value of trained intellects in
mechanical employment. They fell in with the plan
at once, and offered a hundred dollars to carry out the
scheme, on condition that their apprentices should have
the benefit of the classes and library free.

" I have no doubt it will be a good investment," the
senior partner shrewdly remarked, "and we shall get
our money back in improved labour."

Lawrence then went to the ' rge agricultural imple-
ment works of Messrs. Spokes and Felloes, who were
staunch Church of England men ; and they were not to
be outdone by their Presbyterian rivals, so they also
subscribed a hundred dollars under similar conditions.
Seeing what these had done, two Methodist store-
keepers came down handsomely, and even a Koman
Catholic employer of labour contributed liberally.
Thus one of the very first results of the effort was
to enlist men of different religious views and feelings
in a common object, for the general benefit of the
community. The reeve and council of the village
placed at the service of the new organization a room
in the town hall, and at a meeting of the friends and
supporters of the scheme Lawrence was unanimously
elected President of the Fair view Mechanics' Institute.

This office he did not covet, but he did not feel at
liberty to decline it, and devoted himself with energy
to the discharge of its duties. A library committee
was organized, book catalogues were studied, and a
selection was made of the most important standard

ABOUT HOOKS.

129

so much

' idea of
mmunity
lose who
echanics'
ter night
Malcolm
•undry in

Presby-
sllects in
the plan

out the
►uld have

mt," the
shall get

d imple-
'^ho were
re not to
hey also
iditions.
store-
Roman
iberally.
Drt was
feelings
of the
village
a room
ids and
mously
stitute.
feel at
energy
imittee
and a
andard

authors in history, travel, and science, not excluding
a certain amount of select fiction and poetry — the
works of the great masters of this department of
literature. In consideration of the large order, the
wholesale dealer at Toronto gave a large discount, and
Father Lowry brought out the heavy lx)xes from the
railway station without charge. Their arrival made a
great sensation in the village. They were the topic
of universal conversation. When the books were placed
upon the shelves, a public meeting was held to inaugu-
rate the institution. The reeve, a plain man of few
words, occupied the chair.

" I can't make a speech," he said, " but I believe in
this thing, and here's ten dollars toward its support.
When I was young, books were scarce ; but I am glad
that my boys will have a better chance than I had."

On the platform were the Church of England, Pres-
byterian, and Methodist ministers ; a thing that had
never happened before in the memory of the oldest
inhabitant.

After the speeches, the audience adjourned to the
library to see the books. Most of them had never
beheld so many before, and not a few mentally ex-
claimed with Dominie Sampson, " Prodeegious ! "

" Law sakes ! " said Mrs. Marshall, " I didn't think
there wuz so many books in the world afore. Who
writ 'em all, I wonder ? "

" Well, our preacher kinder sot his heart on a-gettin'
of 'em," said Brother Manning, the thrifty circuit
steward ; " though how it's a-goin' to benefit him, I
don't see. But it won't take nothin' off his salary, as
t'other plan would."

After the novelty of the thing wore off, however, it
required considerable effort to keep up the interest,
and especially to provide funds for the necessary ex-
penses. So Lawrence arranged a course of lectures on
popular science and literature, giving the first himself,
and inviting the local clergy and ministers from abroad
to take part in the course. These awakened so much

VM)

LIFE IN A PAESOXACfE.

r:v

1 .1

interest, and were so largely attended, that, as the
crowning event of the series, he decided to invite the
greatest living orator of the English-speaking race —
William Morley Punshon — alas that we can no longer
speak of him as a living orator! — to give his lecture
on '' Daniel in Babylon." This gretit man, who had an
ardent sympathy for every intellectual and moral
movement, kindly accepted the invitation. The Town
Hall was crowded, outside as well as within — if we may
use a Hibernian privilege of speech. He employed liis
matchless jjowers, and put forth his best efifbrts, to please
and edify that village audience, as much as if he were
addressing the cultured thousands of Exeter Hall. The
distinguished lecturer made his home at the parsonage,
and exhibited his high-bred courtesy amid its humble
accommodations no less than when entertained in the
palatial homes which were everywhere open to him.

As Lawrence handed him his lecture fee, which Was
much less than the usual amount, he generously
handed back half of it.

" I must charge some fee," he said, "or I should be
overrun with engagements to help those who will do
nothitig to help themselves. Besides, I like the luxury
of honestly earning money, and spending it as my
conscience and judgment suggest.'

Opinion in the village was somewhat divided as to
the greatness and character of the man.

Mrs. Marshall, when she saw him playing croquet on
the lawn with Lawrence and his wife and Carrie Mason,
rolled up her eyes in holy horror, and vowed that she
wouldn't hear such a man as that preach or lecture on
any account. (Lawrence found it expedient to lock up
his croquet set, which he got for the benefit of his
wife's health — not that he thought there was anything
wrong in its use, but to prevent the cavils of foolish
and unreasonable men and women.)

" Do you really think he is a good man ? " she asked
Mrs. Manning the next day.

" Do I think so ? I know so," was the emphatic

Alio IT BOOKS.

i:n

as the
'ite the

race —
) longer

lecture

had an
moral
e Town
we nuiy
•yed his
D please
tie were
1. The
son age,
humble

in the
lim.
ich was
erously

)uld be
vill do
luxury
as my

as to

uet on
^lason,
at she
ire on
)ck up
of his
thing
bolish

asked

ihatic

reply. "I never heard a sermon thnt so took hold o'
me as that lecture. As he described Dan'l ii-pniviii"
toward Jerusalem, with all the windows open, and then
tlirow'd into the lions' den, 'i)ears like I (-(.nld just sec
the hull thing; and when he recited that poctrv, well,
I never heard nothin' like it."

"I don't know," said Uncle J;d)ez ; '''pears to me
that old Ezra Adams, and William Kyersoii, and Henry
Wilkinson, wuz as good preachers as he is. He didn't
make me shout 'Hallelujah ! ' onc't, and Vw often been
shoutin' happy when Elder ( \ise or Ezra Adams preaclied."

Said sweet Carrie ^Nlason, all her soul beaming in licr
eyes, as she described the lecture to her invalid mother :
" As he recited —

'Clcon hath a thousand acres,
Ne'er a one have I,'

I saw a before undreamt-of meaning in t Ik; lines. Why,
words are living tilings as he uses them; they tin-ill
and throb with feeling till it is almost pain to hear."

" He ain't no slouch of a preacher," said Jim J.aikins
to an admiring throng in the bar-room of the " Dog
and Gun." " He can e'en a'most make your hair stand
on end. He beats a stage-playin' feller I see onc't at
the theayter up to Toronto all to bits. But hang him
and the Methody parson and their Institoot ! they're
gettiii' all the boys up there to their readin'-room o'
nights. But my last trick ain't phyed yet. Ini a-goin'
to get a brand new billiard table, and I'll give free
drinks to all the boys as play. That'll fetch "em, I
guess, better than their old books and papers."

We are happy, however, to say that Jim Larkins was
only partially successful in luring back to his lair t hose
who had tasted theattraction of higher intellectual enjoy-
ments. The billiard table came and the free drinks were
given ; but, as the result of the intellectual stimulus of
the library, a news-stand was established in i)art of the
post-office, and more books and papers were sold in Fair-
view in a month than there had before been in a year.

CHAPTKK XXV.

THE EXCURSION.

•' The Lake of the Isles !
How it sleeps with the islands enibracinj? it round
In its beautiful silvery silence profound !
The sweet ehaim of content is upon it, unbroken
l?y sound of unrest, or the presence or token
Of man.

And all nature has donned the adornings
Of beauty, and wears theni with grace like a queen.
Every islet seems glad in its garments of green ;
And far-away hills of the mainland are beaming
With brightness against the blue sky."

Oeraldhw : a Sovvoiir of the St. Lawrence.

ONE of the most marked effects on the village com-
munity of the establishment of the Mechanics'
Institute was its influence in uniting all classes, irre-
spective of denominational lines, in promoting one
common object. In the amateur concerts and other
entertainments which were gotten up, the adherents
of the different Churches met on a common ground.
Lawrence invited Father Mahan, the parish priest, and
the rector of the Anglican Church, together with the
Presbyterian minister, to act on the committee of
management ; and was greatly gratified to find that
they recognized the importance of the movement, and
cordially agreed to bear their share of responsibility in
promoting it. One Roman Catholic family of culture
rendered such valuable musical aid at these concerts

iiings

ge com-
Bchanit's'
les, irre-
ing one
id other
Iherents

ground,
est, and
^ith the
it tee of
nd that
9nt, and
lility in

culture
concerts

TUE EXrUIiSIOX.

i:U

that Lawrence called personally to thank them, and
became an occasional and welcome visitor at their
hospitable home. Here he sometimes met Father
Malum, and found him to be a genial Irish gentle-
man, whose i)reju(lice against the Methodists evidently
melted as he became better accpiainti'd with them.

The bane of small communities, when divided into
sectarian parties, is a narrowness and rancour of feeling
that warps the judgment and embitters the character.
Anything that will remove this sentinnnit, and broaden
the sympathies and mutual charity of those who shouUl
be good neighbours and friends, is to be desired ; and
nothing will so accomplish this result as united effort
in any common moral or ])hilanthropic movement.

About this time the (Government of the Province,
in order to encourage such an important educational
influence as the growth of Mechanics' Institutes and
classes, made legislative provision for the granting of
aid from the public chest to these Institutes, in pro-
portion to the work accomplished. To take advantage
of this offer, it was necessary to raise and expend a
considerable amount of money. In order to raise this
amount, Lawrence and his co-labourers resolved to get
up a grand excursion to a famous picnic-ground at the
further end of the beautiful Lac de Baume. The whole
country side was invited, a band of music was engaged,
and a steamboat chartered for the occasion. The public
responded warmly to the invitation. The village reeve
proclaimed a public holiday in honour of the event. It
was the first time Fairview had ever had the oppor-
tunity for such a pleasant excursion. A numerous
company assembled from far and near : country boys,
looking uncomfortably warm in their Sunday clothes —
they soon overcame the difficulty, however, by taking
off their coats, and going about in their shirt-sleeves
— and country girls, looking delightfully cool in their
muslin dresses and pretty ribbons. The hour had come
for departure, and still the boat did not move. There
was some unaccountable " hitch " in the proceedings.

134

LIFE IN A PAnsoNAGr:

At length the captain, a rough-tongiied, red-faced
fellow, recently promoted from " bossing " a lumber-
barge, ap])eared from his office, roundly declaring that
the boat should not move a fathom till the two hundred
dollars' charterage was paid. Here was an embarrassing
predicament. The committee were depending on the
fares to be collected to pay this sum. Lawrence had
not two hundred dollars in the world, and in the hurry
and confusion knew not whom to ask to lend it. As he
stood in embarrassed colloquy with the captain, up
came Mr. Malcolm, of Malcolm and Mclntyre, and
inquired the cause of the delay.

" I wants my money afore I starts this boat," said the
captain gruffly, " that's what's the matter."

" You do, eh ! " replied Mr. Malcolm. " You might
wait till you do your work first. But you had better
pay him at once, and have done with it," he said to
Lawrence.

" So I would, but I haven't the money," replied our
hero, feeling the burdens of his presidency heavier than
he anticipated.

" 0, that's the trouble, is it ? " said the wealthy
manufacturer. " We must try to raise the wind some-
how ; "" and, taking his cheque-book from his pocket,
he wrote a cheque for the amount. " Will that do ? "
he asked, as he handed it to the captain.

" That will raise the steam, if not the wind," said
the captain, as he put the cheque into his greasy wallet.
" Hollo there, all aboard ! cast off the head-line ! " and
taking his stand by the wheel-house, he rang the
signal-bell, the wheels began to revolve, and the
steamer moved on its watery way.

Except this somewhat disconcerting episode at start-
ing, the excursion was a great success. The sun shone
gloriously : a slight breeze cooled the air. The steamer,
with its happy human freight, glided, swan-like, in and
out among the archipelago of islands, each mirrored in
all its Midsummer loveliness in the placid lake. Into
a sequestered bay — as quiet, seemingly, as if in some

THE JCXCURSIOK.

135

red-faced
lamber-
•ing that
hundred
arrassing
^ on the
ince had
he hurry
/. As he
tain, up

yre,

and

' said the

)U might
d better
J said to

)lied our
der than

wealthy
id some-
pocket,
It do ? "

id," said
y wallet.
! " and
ang the
ind the

it start-
in shone
teamer,
, in and
rored in
3. Into
in some

primeval world before the advent of man -the steamer
glided, and the merry and hungry party (liseml^arked
for dinner. A return to the out-of-door life and primi-
tive instincts of the race is, for a time at least, a treat
that all enjoy. The gentlemen built cam^Htires ; the
ladies, gipsy-wise, made tea or coffee; hampers were
unpacked, and ample provision was made for eager
appetites.

" There the trees
Made a murmurous music as stirred by the breeze ;
The half-silence was sweet with the odours of tlowers ;
And pretty green islets, like shyly-hid bowers,
Slept there in the sun, with their green garments trailing
The water that kissed them, and seemed as if sailing
Adown a green river to seas undiscovered
By mortal. Some saint of the beautiful hovered
About the rare spot and enchanted it.

Verily,
Dnmer out-doors should be oaten quite merrily
Ever ; for half of the pleasiu'e you take in it
Lies in the jovial mirth that you make in it."

After dinner there were speeches, music, and games.
Some went tishing in sequestered nooks ; the golden
sunfish flashing in the crystal wave, the ladies scream-
ing with mingled sympathy and coquetry when one
would swallow the bait and soon lie floundering and
gasping out his life at their feet — only too true a
picture, said the bachelor schoolmaster, of the way they
treat the human victims, whom he accused them of
angling for. Some, sitting in Watteau-like groups,
crowned each other with iris and water-lilies and
cardinal flowers. Others went wandering down the
green forest aisles, as in the poet's pictures of Arcadian
days, when the bright world was young. Thus, like a
dream of beauty, the day glided swiftly by.

The length* 'uing shadows were creeping over wave
and shore before the happy isle was left; and in the
golden haze and rich after-glow of sunset the - <^eamer
glided on her way, over what appeared lik sea of
glass mingled with fire. Lawrence had th' asure

136

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

h i|

of repaying Mr. Malcolm the temporary loan which
had been so opportunely tendered, and had still a
handsome surplus left for the benefit of the Institute.

The shades of night were falling fast as the steamer
approached the landing-place, and the happiness of the
day came near being turned into sorrow by what might
have been a dreadful tragedy. As the passengers were
leaving the boat, somehow or other, no one knew how,
a little girl got separated from her friends and fell into
the water. A gallant sailor immediately plunged after
her, but in the gathering darkness could not at first
find her. Soon, however, he lifted her up on the
landing-stage, amid the cheers of the crowd of pas-
sengers. As the half-distracted father folded the
dripping child in his arms, she was heard to sob out :

" papa ! I'm all loet ! "

The ludicrous concern of the half-drowned child for
her spoiled holiday dress and ribbons relieved the
painful tension of feeling, and smiles ran round the
company, but now in tears of sympathy.

But not yet was the chapter of accid< nts ended.
The landing-stage was not a regular wharf, but a
floating barge, from which a long gangway, forming
part of the boom of the saw-mill, led to the shore. On
one side of this were a number of floating saw-logs,
slabs, and bark from the mill, so that the surface of the
water was covered, and the edge of the gangway was
not clearly defined. In the excitement consequent on
the rescue of the child, Carrie Mason, who had been
one of the blithest and merriest maidens of the haj)py
company, stepped off the edge and instantly sank out
of sight beneath the dark water. If she should come
up under the logs, she might be drowned before help
could be rendered. Lawrence took in the situation at
a glance, and his old log-driving experience came to
his help. He sprang upon one of the floating logs,
and though it spun rapidly round under him, he
maintained his footing till he caught sight of the
white dress appearing through the dark water, when

THE EXCUIiSIOX.

137

n which
1 still a
stitute.
steamer
ss of the
it might
ers were
lew how,
fell into
[ed after
at first
on the
of pas-
led the
5ob out :

ihild for
'ed the
md the

ended,
but a
orming
On
w-logs,
of the
ay was
ent on

been
happy
ik out

come
e help
ion at
ne to

logs,
fi, he
f the
when

he sprang in and supported the fainting girl in one
strong arm, while with the other he swam ashore. A
dozen stalwart fellows waded in to relieve him of his
precious burden, im})elled not only by common humanity,
but by a stronger feeling ; for sweet Carrie jNIason was,
for her beauty, her goodness, her orphan helplessness,
the favourite of the village. She was borne tenderly
to her widowed mother's house. The invalid started
up with dilated eyes and pallid cheeks, as her daughter,
the light of her eyes, the soul of her soul, was carried
in, looking whiter than even her snow-white dress.

"I'm not hurt, mother dear," said the brave girl,
turning her violet eyes, full of love, on her idolized
parent. "I only fell into the water, and will be all
right to-morrow."

" Thank God ! " exclaimed the widow devoutly,
throwing herself on her knees beside her child. " I
thought that you were dead ; " and with the strong
reaction of feeling she burst into tears.

Out of respect for her emotion, all present retired
except Edith Tem})le and the good neighbour who had
borne the widow company. Carrie was not " all right "
the next day, nor the next ; and, as we shall see, very
tragical results were yet to follow from this seemingly
trifling event.

Aroused from their apathy by the double accident,
the town council constructed a wharf to accommodate
the occasional vessels that called ; and so a public
benefit arose out of a private disaster.

The Mechanics' Institute, through the wise expendi-
ture of the money received from the excursion, was
able to take advantage of the liberal ofier of the
Government, and obtain a grant of four hundred dollars,
which, with what was raised locally, gave it a position
of permanent strength, and made its library and
reading-room an educative agency of great value, and
a strong counter-attraction to the billiard room and
free drinks for the players at the "Dog and Gun"
tavern.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"heaven's morning breaks."

" Pale and wan she grew and weakly,
Bearing all her p.ain so meekly,
That to them she still grew dearer,
As the trial hour drew nearer."

AS we intimated in our last chapter, the accident
whereby Carrie Mason was submerged in the water
of the lake was attended with more serious consequences
than were at first anticipated. Her fine-struiig nervous
system received a shock, from which it seemed to lack
the force to rally. The day after the accident, on
attempting to rise, she fainted away, to the great
alarm of her anxious parent. Dr. Norton was promptly
sent for, but he prescribed only rest and quiet.

" Dr. Quiet is my great ally in such cases," he said
in his cheery way ; " get all the sleep you can —

' Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care,
Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast. . . .
The best of rest is sleep.' "

His patient smiled a weary smile and sought to woo
the drowsy god ; but the more she tried, the more sleep
fled from her. Her eyes beamed more brightly and
became more dilated, her breathing quickened, a hot
flush mantled her cheek, and as the doctor on a second

''HEAVEYS MOIiXIXG BliEAKS:

1 :i:)

accident
lie water
quences
nervous
1 to lack
lent, on
le great
>romptly

he said

le.

to woo
re sleep
tly and
a hot
second

visit laid his linger on her rapid pulse, a grave look
came into his eyes, ali hough he still strove to wear his
accustomed smile upon his lips. His fair patient was
evidently on the verge of a low fever, into whicli, in
spite of every effort to prevent it, she gradually sank.
Day after day the fondest affection ministered at her
bedside ; but much of ihe time she was unconscious of
the brooding love thjit watched over her. Her mind,
in wandering mazes lost, groped amid the stransfe
experiences of the past, but chiefly dwelt upon the
t rrible drowning scene.

" Help ! help me. mother," she would cry piteously.
" I am sinking down, down : help ! The waves are
roaring in my ears ; I see strange lights before my
eyes, I cannot breathe — more air ! more air ! " and she
would struggle convulsively till her strength was com-
pletely exhausted. Then she would lie for hours in a
state of seeming coma, utterly unconscious of the soft
caresses of her mother's hand, or of the furtive tear that
fell upon her brow. 8till nothing seemed to soothe
her quivering nerves like the touch of her mothers
fingers, as she sat with unwearying love by her side,
scarcely leaving the room for an hour, day or night.
By a gentle constraint, Edith Temple at length insisted
on the invalid mother seeking some needed rest, while
she herself caressed the sick girl's fevered brow, and
softly answered her wandering words.

In her most delirious moanings she seemed strangely
calmed by the presence of Dr. Norton. Her hot little
hand rested quietly in his broad palm as he felt her
fluttering pulse. His deep rich voice asserted a control
over her that no other could, and she took from him
with an utter trustfulness the bitter potions from which
she recoiled when given by others. Often, too, in her
unconscious moanings his name would escape in low
murmurings from her lips, and she seemed to feel his
strong arm rescuing her from a watery ^rave, although
it was not he, but Lawrence, who had saved her in the
hour of peril. These aberrations, however, occurred

140

LIFE IN A PARSONAGE.

only in the Doctor's absence. When he was near her,
the spell of his presence seemed to quiet her nerves
and give her a self-control which she did not at other
times possess.

At last, after many days, as the morning light shone
on her face, the love-quickened discernment of her
mother observed that her eyes had no longer the restless
look, like that of a hunted animal. A quiet light of
intelligence beamed forth, a wan smile flickered about
her lips, as she whispered, " Kiss me, mother ! "

As her fond parent bent over her, the sick girl
faintly said, " Have I been long asleep, mother ? I
have had such a strange and troubled dream," and her
thin hand caressed her mother's face.

" Yes, darling, You have been very ill. But you
are better now, and it will be only as a dream when
one awaketh, now that we have you back with us
again."

" Have I been long away, mother ? " dreainily asked
th(. ^ laiden. " Yes, I know. I seemed drifting, drift-
ing away upon a shoreless sea. But a strange spell
seemed to follow me, a deep strong voice seemed to
call me back. At times, mother, it seemed like Dr.
Norton's, and at times I seemed to see you on the shore
beckoning me to return. But I was powerless to
move, and lay idly drifting, drifting on the sea."

"Yes, darling," said the glad mother, returning
caress for caress. " Under Grod it was the skill of Dr.
Norton that brought you back to us. You seemed,
indeed, drifting away from us all. Thank God, thmk
Grod, we shall soon have you well again."

Yet, when Dr. Norton came to visit his patient again,
to his surprise, he found that she exhibited a degree of
shyness and reserve that he had never noticed before,
and that seemed to deepen with each successive visit.
He thought little of it, however, attributing it to the
unreasoning caprice of sickness.

During her convalescence she would lie and read and
muse for hours in self-absorbed thought, very gentle

''IIEAVEX'S MORNING JiREAKSr

141

tear her,
r nerves
at other

[it shone
of her
J restless
light of
d about

ick girl
her ? I
and her

3ut you
m when
with us

Ly asked
g, drift-
^e spell
med to
ike Dr.
le shore
less to
ja."
urning

of Dr.
eemed,

thrnk

again,
yree of
Defore,
visit,
to the

d and
gentle

and patient, but with an air of utter lassitude, as if
a-weary of the world. Slowly, very slowly, the invalid
seemed to drift back again, like flotsam borne upon a
tide, to the shores of time. But she failed to recover
strength. On warm and sunny days she was carried
out to her favourite garden seat, commanding a view
of the broad valley, the elm-shaded village, and the
beautiful lake. Autu'Tin was once more in the pride of
its golden glory. A 3ft haze filled the air and veiled
the outline of the distant hills. The Virginia cret per
gleamed dark crimson in the sunlight, and the sugar-
maple flung its scarlet blazonry to the autumn
breeze.

" How exquisite ! " said the sick girl to her friend,
Edith Temple, who sat by her side. " I think 1 never
saw the valley look so lovely before."

" That is because you have been a prisoner so long,"
said Edith. " We will soon have you out again ; the
village does not seem like itself since you have been
sick."

" I shall never see another autumn, dear," anfswered
Carrie, in a low soft voice, gazing with a far-off look in
her eyes at the distant hills, as though she beheld the
golden battlements of the City of God.

" You must not talk that way, child," said Edith,
with a start. " That is only a sick girl's nervous
fancy. With Grod's blessing, you will soon be well
agbin."

"It is no fancy, dear," replied Carrie, with a wan
smile flickering about her lips ; "I know it ; and
indeed, were it not for mother, I would not wish
to live."

'^ But life has many joys and many duties that more
than counterbalance its sorrows and pains," responded
Edith, seeking to argue down what she thought the
sick fancy of her friend.

" yes ! " said the fair girl, a bright light kindling
in her eyes ; " Grod's world is very lovely, so lovely that
often it has touched my soul to tears ; and though I

142

LIFE IX A PAItSONAGE.

!l'

have endured ao much pain and weakness, yet, as Mrs.
Browning says,

* With such large joys and sense and touch,
Beyond what others couAt as such,
I am content to suffer much,'

But Grod has provided even better thiags for those who
love Him."

" Yes, dear, but we must wait His good time, till He
calls us home," said Edith, with her usual sense of
duty dominant in her mind. " While there is work to
do in God's world, we must not shrink from doing
it."

" My little work is almost done," said Canie, with a
sigh. " Alas ! that is so small —

' Nothing but leaves,
No garnered sheaves
Of life's fair ripened grain.'

But, poor as it is, He will accept it for the love's sake
seen therein. Nay, dear, to live on would be but
to drag a lengthening chain. God is kindly taking me
away from a burden I could not bear, from a sorrow I
could not endure."

" You speak in riddles, child ; I do not understand,"
responded Edith expectantly.

" Perhaps it is better I should tell you," replied the
sick girl with hesitating speech. " You are my other
self. From you I can have no secrets. You may tell
him, perhaps, when I am gone. I did not know," she
went on, " till since I have been sick, what my real
feelings toward Dr. Norton were ; " and a pink flush
overspread her face as she mentioned his name. " I
always admired the nobleness of his nature, his kind-
ness to the poor, his tenderness to the sick and suffer-
ing, his patience with the unthankful and unworthy ;
but while I have communed with my own heart upon
my bed, I have become aware of a deeper, a tenderer, a
more sacred feeling, a feeling the nature of which he
must never know, till I have passed away from time.

UK Mrs.

ose who

, till He
jense of
work to
a doing

, with a

e's sake
be but
ing me
lorrow I

'stand,"

Led the
y other
lay tell
w," she
ly real

flush
le. "I

kind-
suffer-
orthy ;

upon
erer, a
Lch he

time.

'' HEAVEN'S MOnXJXG JilfEAKS:'

148

Of this he does not dream. His heart is another's. I
pray God daily that his love may be rewarded, that his
life may be happy."

" I never thought of this," said ¥Ai\h, gazing wist-
fully at her friend.

" Nor would I have breathed it, even to you," said
the fair, frail girl, "but that after I am gone you miglit
tell him of my daily prayer that hereafter, in that
world where they neither marry nor are given in
marriage, our souls might meet before the throne of
God."

After a pause she went on : '* I used to be much
troubled at one thing. He is not what the world calls
a Christian. I know that he has his doubts and
scruples about some things which most Christians
accept. He has even been called by the censorious
an infidel. But I know his lidelity to the convictions
of conscience, his loyalty to all things noble and good
and true; and such a nature God will not sutler to
wander far away. Over such a soul the Saviour yearns
and says, 'Thou art not far from tlie kingdom of
heaven.' "

" He is more of a Christian in spirit and life," said
Edith impetuously, " than many who call themselves
by that sacred name. God will reward his noble treat-
ment of poor Saunders ; when others spurned him as
an irreclaimable drunkard, he never lost faith or hope
in him, but clung to him and helped him up from the
ditch and from the grave to life and manhood again.
I can never join the unchristly tirade against those
who cannot see truth just as we see it."

" Bless you for these words!" exclaimed the sick girl.
" I could not die content, I could not be happy, even
in heaven, if I thought that he, with his noble aspira-
tions, his impassioned search for truth, should grope
blindly after God and never find Him."

" 0, fear it not," replied her friend, " God will not
hide Himself from any that entreat."

The long and absorbing conversation in the garden

144

LTFB IN A PARSONAOE.

seemed to have exhausted the strength of the invalid.
It was her hist day ahroad. She returned to the house
weary and worn. The next day came on a bleak
autumnal storm :

** The wind like a broken lordling wailed,
And the flying gold of the ruined woodlands
drove through the air."

The beautiful laburnum near the window, nipped by
an autumnal frost, seemed an emblem of her own
stricken life, and slie visibly drooped and failed from
day to day. Dr. Norton came often to see his gentle
patient; and his large manly form, his bluff hearty
manner, his exuberant life, brought colour to the cheek,
and light to the eye, and, seemingly, life to the weary
frame of the sick girl. But, to the quickened appre-
hension of Edith Temple, who now possessed the key
to her strange distraught air, she evidently set a watch
upon her words and looks, lest she should by sign or
token betray the secret locked within her breast. The
dreary weeks of November dragged on :

" The melancholy days had come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown
and sere."

Then came the short days of December, with its
wintry frosts and snows, which to the hale and strong
but heighten the enjoyment of the season, but to the
feeble and the sick bring depression and weariness.
The cheery doctor strove to encourage his patient by
holiday talk and anticipations of the approaching
Christmas festivities.

"You remember what a jolly time we had last
Christmas. What a success that Christmas tree was,
and the Indian feast ! "

"And dear Nellie Burton," exclaimed Carrie, with
generous praise, " how full of joyous life and merri-
ment she was ! " and as she noticed how eagerly the
Doctor drank in her words of praise, she went on,
though it cost her a pang : " Compared with her exu-

" HE A VEy\s MO nmxo im k. i ks. "

146

invalid,
le house
a bleak

ipped by
her own
led from
s gentle
Ef hearty
le cheek,
he weary
d appre-
the key
b a watch
y sign or
ist. The

le year,
brown

with its
id strong
ut to the
weariness,
itient by
)roaching

had last
:ree was,

trie, with

Id merri-

rerly the

rent on,

I her exu-

berant life and ove^rHowing health, poor pale me seemed
but a 'rath primrose of the spring' beside the full-
blown rose.''

Her mother, who hung wistfully on every word and
look, kissed her wasted lingers, and gazed through
dimming tears on the pale cheek, and said :

" But the primrose is very dear to hearts that love
it, and would not exchange its pale beauty for the
reddest rose."

But even the doctor's well-meant etibrts at cheer-
fulness failed, and the smiles that came were often-
times akin to tears.

Sweet Carrie Mason was really the most cheerful t)f
the household group. To her mother, to whom the
very thought of parting was an unutterable pang, sh<?
spoi; e tranciuilly, nay, exultantly, of the joy of meeting

" 111 the home beyond the river."

And in her pure and flute-like voice she would softly
sing :

'* There is a laud of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign,
Intinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."

And she would often ask her mother to read the
beautiful descriptions of heaven in the seventh and
twenty-first and twenty-second chapters of the Revela-
tion, and would talk of its joys and blessedness, and
would sing of '' Jerusalem the Grolden," till

"Very near seemed the pearly gates,
And sweetly the harpings fall,
And her spirit seemed restless U) soar away.
And longed for the angel's call."

One day, when she felt a little stronger than usual,
she said to her mother :

" When the doctor comes, leave us together, please ;
I wish to speak to him alone."

" Don't fatigue yourself, dear," replied the mother,
as she kissed her brow and left the room.

14i\

LTFK TN A PARSOXAOE.

" Dr. Norton," said the sick girl when they were
alone, " I want to say something to you wliile T have
strength. Vm. not afraid to (He, Doctor. I know as
well as you that my days are very few, that the time of
my departure is at hand. Hut, though [ walk through
the valley of the shadow of death, 1 fear no evil ; for
my Saviour is with me, His rod and staff they comfort
me. Dr. Norton, the religion of Jesus is no cunningly
devised fable. It is a blessed reality. Can you believe
it ? Can you not accept my Saviour ? " nnd all her soul
went forth in the look of yearning wistfulness that
beamed in her eyes.

The strong man quivered with emotion, and with a
voice broken with sobs he exclaimed, —

" I do ! I do ! My unbelief is overcome. My doubts
are banished. My faith lays hold on God. This is not
the work of a day, but of months. You remember the
camp-meeting. I went there a sceptic, but, thiaik
Crod ! never a mocker at religion. I saw you in that
trance-like stnte. It baffled all my medical skill. I
could not understand nor explain it. I witnessed your
restoration to consciousness. I saw your face shine as
it had been the face of an angel. I heard your whis-
pered words of adoration, as if you talked with God
face to face. I felt that there was something here
beyond human philosophy, that it was the mighty
power of God. I sought illumination by prayer. God
has led me by a way that I knew not; the long-in-
sulted Saviour did not spurn me for my doubts ; but
He showed me, as He did unbelieving Thomas, evident
proofs of His divinity and His humanity ; of His power
and His love ; and now, with Thomas, my heart cries
out in truest and deepest adoration, '' My Lord and
my God ! " and he knelt at the bedside.

" Thank God ! Thank God ! " softly whispered the
dear girl, while the tears of gladness stole down her
wan and wasted cheek ; " now I can die content."

Strangely moved by her deep interest in his welfare,
and her intense sympathy, he took her thin white hand

^'Jir.AVE.ws mohmnu hhkaks.'

hey were
le I have

know as
le time of
c tliiough

evil ; for
y comfort
cunningly
DU believe
II her soul
ness that

nd with a

^ly doubts
rhis is not
ember tlie
ut, thank
lU in that
1 skill. I
3ssed your
shine as
r^our whis-
with Cxod
ling here

mighty
yer. Grod

long-in-
ubts ; but
s, evident
His power
leart cries
Lord and

pered the
down her
nt."

is welfare,
hite hand

in his, and, as devoutly as he wonld worship a saint,
he raised it to his lips; then rose, and siU'ntly left ihr

room.

Lawrence Temple was most sedulons in his ministra-
tions to tlie dying girl, hut lie confesscil that lu^
received more spiritual strength and instruction than
he was able to impart.

At length came Christmas Day, bright and clear and
cold without ; but in every honie in Kairview, what a
change from the joyous festival of one little year
before ! There was sorrow at every hearth that sweet
Carrie Mason lay upon her dying bed. Even the little
children had no heart for their Christmas games, and
the Christmas presents seemed to lose their power to
please.

As the short day drew to its close, a little group of
the more intimate friends of the stricken household —
Lawrence and his wife. Dr. Norton, and two or three
others — gathered in the room which so often had
seemed

" Privileged beyond the coinmon walks
Of virtuous life, quite on the verge of heaven."

The object of their common love lay supported by
pillows on her bed, whose snowy counterpane was scarce
more white than she. Her cheeks were thin and pale,
save for a hectic spot that burned in each ; her thin
hands were transparent, almost as alabaster. \^\xt
a strange light beamed in her eyes, like the dawn of
another world rising in her soul.

" How beautiful ! "' she exclaimed, as the light of
the setting sun flooded the room with glory. " Draw
aside the curtain, please, and let me see once more the
village, the valley, the church, the school, and the
garden ; " and as she gazed on each remembered spot,
endeared by a thousand tender recollections of child-
hood and youth, " I shall never forget it,"' she said ;
" even in heaven I shall remember it, as, next to heaven
itself, the dearest spot in all God's universe."

Then, as the setting sun transfigured and glorified

148

LTFE IN A PARSONAGE.

the whole scene, and its ravs were flashed back from
the village windows, and the village spire,

" It is a parable," she said ; " I go to the unsetting
sun. Sing, please, ' Sun of my soul ; ' " and from lips
that faltered as they sang, rose the sweet strains of
Keble's evening hymn :

" Sun of my soul I Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near ;
O may no earth-born cloud arise,
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes !

' ' When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, How sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast !

" Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live ;
Abide with me when night is nigh.
For without Thee I dare not die."

As she lay with closed eyeo, they thought she had
fallen asleep and ceased to sing. But she opened her
eyes and gazed long at the western sky, now ruddy
with the after-glow of the winter's sunset. Then she
faintly whispered, as she held her mother's hand,

' ' ' Beyond the skies where suns go down
I shall be soon.'

' I shall awake in Thy likeness and be satisfied — be
satisfied.' " Then, as the light faded and the shadows
fell, she whispered, " Sing again, ' Abide with me.' "

With tear-choked voices one after another took up
the strains of Lyte's pathetic hymn :

*' Abide with me ! fast falls the eventide ;
The darkness deepens ; Lord, with me abide !
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me !

** Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ;
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away ;
Change and decay in all around I see ;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me !

''HEAVEN'S MOBNIXG JillEAKSr

149

(k from

isetting
om lips
rains of

she had
ened her
►w ruddy

len she

fied — be
shadows
me.
took up

" I need Thy presence every passing hour :

What but Thy grace can foil tlie tempter's power ?
Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be I
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me ! "

Often they were compelled to stop, for sobs choked
their utterance. But when their voices failed, hors
faintly but sweetly took up the strain. The fourth
stanza she sang through almost alone, as if its exultant
strain enbreathed her soul with strength, her voice
swelling to its triumphant close :

' ' I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless :
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness :
Where is death's sting ? where, grave, thy victory I
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me ! "

Then her voice faltered and the others sang through
the last verse alone :

" Reveal Thyself before my closing eyes ;

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies ;
Heaven's morning lareaks, and earth's vain shadows tlee ;
In life, in death, Lord, abide with me ! "

As the song died into silence, she lay with closed
eyes for a moment ; then, starting up, she exclaimed,
gazing with transfigured face toward the waning light,
"Mother! 'heaven's morning breaks ! ' Angels! Jesus!
Grod ! " and the rapt spirit was with Him she loved.

CHAPTEK XXVII.

GAIN THROUGH LOSS.

' From little spark may burst a mighty flame."

Dante, Paradise, canto i., 1. 14.

" The wise ne'er sit and wail their loss,
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms."

Shakespeare, llcnnj IV.

EARLY in the New Year, Edith Temple received n
letter from her friend, Nellie Burton, of Oil-Dorado,
conveying most momentous intelligence. The briefest
way to communicate the tidings is to reproduce the
letter. It ran as follows :

" My dearest Edith, — I must write you all about it,
or I shall lose what little wits I have left. My brain
reels yet, and I start up in my sleep at night encom-
passed, as it seems, by flames. But I must begin at
the beginning, and tell my story in order, or you will
think I have taken leave of my senses.

" You must know the business season with us had
been an excellent one. Father's wells on Oil Creek
had been pumping splendidly, and one or two ' flowing
wells ' that had gone dry began to flow again. Every
oil-tank was full — they are huge iron things, you know,
as big as a great gasometer — and father had sent
millions of gallons by the pipe lines to Pittsburg.
They liave iron pipes laid for over a hundred miles
down the Alleghany valley to the great oil refineries
jind storage tanks at that city. But every place was

GATN Timor an loss.

151

:oi.,]. 14.

ns."
Jenry IV.

received ii
il-Dorado,
e briefest
)duce the

about it,
Vly brain
encom-
begin at
you will

I us had

lil Creek

flowing

Every

ou know,

lad sent

ittsburg.

id miles

efineries

lace was

full and overflowing with oil. At father's wells it
filled the tanks, and soaked the ground, and poured
into the creek, floating on the top of the water, and
shining in the sunlight with a strange iridescence, all
the colours of the rainbow. F.verything was reeking
with the smell of oil —

" * Oil, oil everywhere,

Ou the earth and in the air ! '

I used to smell oil, I believe, when I was asleep.

" Father gave the strictest orders to observe the
utmost precautions against fire, and absolutely pro-
hibited smoking about the works. But there are men
who will smoke, even though they were in a j)owder
magazine, or in a mine fllled with fire-damp. Well,
we had one such, a stoker in the boiler-house. At the
close of one of the dark days of December, just as the
men were leaving work, he laid down his pipe, which
he had been smoking, near some oil-soakecl rags ; and
in a moment — almost before the men could get out of
the building — the whole place was wrajiped in flames.
It was sauve qui pent., I assure you. The men had
to fly for their lives, almost without -ittemptiiig to
save a thing.

'^ We were just sitting down to tea when the alarm
was given, and father jumped up, almost upsetting the
table, and rushed out l3are-headed to the works. I ran
out on the verandah, and there the whole valley seemed
ablaze. The oil derricks caught fire one after another,
and flamed like great beacons against the dark pines
on the hill side, lighting up everything as bright as
day. Presently one of the great oil-tanks caught fire,
no one knew how, and shot up to the sky a great
column of flame and lurid smoke. Then the men
began to dig trenches from the tanks to the creek,
and I heard father shouting to bring the cannon, and
they dragged the twelve-pounder from the fire hall up
to the hill at the back of our house. Then they began
firing round shot against the tank, so as to draw ott" the
oil into the creek, to prevent it exploding and firing

152

LIFE IN A rAIiSONAGE.

the other tanks. Bang ! bang ! went the cannon.
Sometimes the balls missed the tank, sometimes they
glanced from the iron sides ; but at last two balls, one
after another, pierced the tank, and the black streams
of oil poured out and flowed into the creek ; thousands
of dollars' worth going to waste — enough to buy that
diamond set I wanted ten times over.

" How it was no one knew, but suddenly the oil in
the cr: k caught fire, and, like a flash, the flames ran
down the stream — a river of fire licking up everything
that could burn. 0, it was awful — the roar of the
flames, the crash of the falling derricks, the rolling
clouds of lurid sm ke ! Then the other tanks of oil,
one after another, caught fire, and some of them
exploded with a fearful noise, scattering the flames
far and wide. In an hour everything we owned,
except the house in which we lived, was destroyed, and
from being a rich man father had become a very poor
one. But he never lost heart or hope. He just said,
' Well, Nell, that is the third fortune I have made and
lost ; I must try to make another.' But at his time of
life it is not so easily done as if he were ten years
younger. I'm going to help him, Edith, all I can.
Heretofore I have been nothing but a bill of expense.
I never earned a dollar in my life. I had no idea how
expensive I was till one day I was sorting the papers
in father's desk for him, and found a lot of receipted
school and college bills, and music bills, and dress-
makers' and jewellers' bills. I declare it made me feel
ashamed of myself, as he came in, grey and haggard
and worn, with toiling for me. He has given me
everything I wanted, and I wanted everything I saw
or could think of. But now I am going to earn money
for him. My education has cost thousands of dollars,
and I am determined to turn it to some account. But
I find that I know scarcely anything well enough to
teach it, unless perhaps music, and that only because
I am so passionately fond of it. P^ather laughed when
I said I was going to give lessons and earn money ;

cannon,
nes they
)alls, one
: streams
housands
buy that

ae oil in

imes ran

erything

r of the

i rolling

cs of oil,

of them

e flames

! owned,

yed, and

^ery poor

ust said,

lade and

5 time of

en years

I can.

expense.

dea how

papers

eceipted

. dress-

me feel

haggard

ven me

I saw

1 money

dollars,

t. But

Dugh to

because

id when

money ;

GAIN Timor GIT LOSS.

15S

but I saw a tear come into his eyes, which he hastily
brushed away, and, laying his hand upon my head, lie
said, in a husky voice, ' Bless you, my child ; it is for
your sake I feel the loss more than for myself.' And
as I kissed his poor dear wrinkled hand, and said, ' Never
fear for me, father ; I can earn money enough to
support myself, and help you too,' he seemed to roll off
a load of care, and actually to become young again.

" But, Edith dear, I confess to a deep disappointment
about that trip to Europe, which I must now give up,
and, perhaps, never make at all. Give my love to
dear Carrie Mason. What a merry time we had last
year ! I hope Dr. Norton has sense enough to appreciate
her devotion. She was very fond of him, I could per-
ceive, though she tried to conceal it. But those stupid
male creatures often don't see what is right under their
noses. I hope your solemn husband will think better
of me now that I have ceased to be a silly butterfly of
fashion, and become a sensible honey-making bee — a
perfect pattern of industry.

As ever, your ' ownest own,'

"Nellie Btrton."

((

Between smiles and tears, Edith Temple read this
characteristic letter, with its mingled levity and depth
and tenderness of feeling. She had deferred writing
an account of Carrie Mason's death, till she should feel
more capable of describing the closing scene ; and now
it seemed as if she had been guilty of culpable neglect.

When she mentioned to Dr. Norton the news of the
change of fortune with the Burtons, although he was
very profuse in his expressions of sympathy, he did not
seem to be very forr^'' ; indeed, she thought she observed
a sort of exultation in his manner, as he said, —

" Well, I'm sorry for her father, of course ; but I am not
sure but it is the best thing that could have happened
for Miss Burton. It will give her a chance to sliow her
mettle ; and there is in her the making of a noble woman,
which, probably, only adversity would bring out."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LIFES CHEQUERED PATHS.

'' Thus hand in hand through life we'll go ;
Its chequered paths of joy and woe
With cautious steps we'll tread."

Cotton, The Fio'ctide.

" Thank God for life ! life is not sweet always ;
Still it is life, and life is cause for praise."

Susan Coolidge, Jkmrdicam- Domino.

A FEW weeks later Dr. Norton incidentally remarked,
during a call at the parsonage, that he was about
to take a little holiday trip.

" Isn't it a queer time of the year to take a holiday
trip ? " Lawrence blunderingly inquired.

" I dont know that the time of the year makes much
difference,'" replied the Doctor ; "a busy man must
take his holiday whe "le can get it."

As he did not seem disposed to be very communica-
tive, Lawrence forbore to ask whither his holiday-
making would lead him ; and Edith, who had a shrewd
suspicion, dexterously turned the conversation into
another channel.

Within a month he again made his appearance at
the parsonage, his face radiant with joy.

" Congratulate me," he exclaimed, shaking bis friends
heartily by the hands, " I've won her, the noblest girl
on earth, and all through that lucky fire."

LIFES CHEQVEHKB PATHS.

in5

Fircfiide.

Domino.

emarked,
ras about

a tioliday

ces much
lan must

imunica-
holiday-
a shrewd
ion into

trance at

LS friends
lest girl

" What is he talking ahout ? " said T.awrence, wlio
was rather slow-witted in reading riddles of this kind,
appealing to his wife. " Has the man gone crazy ? or
what is the matter with him ? "

" I do indeed congratulate you," said Edith, wnnidy ;
"you deserve it. You have won a prize. Ihit I could'
have told you that before you left. You men are s(^
stupid in reading our sex." And she lauglif-d archly
at both her husband and the Doctor.

" But what has tlie tire to do with it ?" asked I.aw-
rence, upon whom a glimmer of the facts of the case
began to dawn.

" Well, you know, I'm as proud as Lucifer," replied
the Doctor, " and so long as Miss Burton was a
millionaire's daughter and I a poor physician, my lips
were sealed. But when his riches took to themselves
wings of flame and tlew away, why, I mustered courage
to plead my suit — and — and, well, I was not rejected."

" And would not have been before," said Edith.
"Beneath her levity of manner, Nellie Burton had
a noble soul, one of great depth and strength of feeling,
and incapable of a sordid thought."

" Yes ! yes ! that is true, every word of it," said the
Doctor with exultation, " but the stern parent guards
her like a dragon. She is his only child, and he
lavishes on her the wealth of affection his strong nature
bestowed upon her mother, long since dead. He thinks
there is no man on earth good enough for his daughter,
in which he is not far astray. He is richer since the
lire than before it. It has revealed to him what a
treasure he has in his daughter. He is prouder of her
than ever. She is the apple of his eye. ' Well, young
man,' he said, as I asked her of lum, ' I'm getting old,
and can't long take care of my little girl, and I've very
little to leave her. I don't know but I can die all
the more content if I know that some honest fellow
will love and cherish and protect her, and I think you
will. I like you. You weren't scared away by our
misfortune, like some of them popinjay fellows from

156

LIFE IX A PAIiSOXAGK

New York, that were dangling after her when she had
lots of money, and now have become invisible. I
think I can trust her to you. Be good to her. Be
kind. If you were to treat her as some men treat
their wives, an old man's curse would smite you even
from the grave ! ' and he wrung my hand in his emotion
as if he would crush it. But God do so to me, and
more also," added the Doctor solemnly, " if it be not my
chief joy to make her happy ! "

In the excess of his new-found happiness, it seemed
a necessity of his nature to pour into the sympathizing
ears of his friends rhapsodies of talk about his plans
and prospects.

" I am so glad,"' he said, " for one thing, that the
dear girl is not to be disappointed of her trip to Europe,
although it will be made in a very different style from
what she anticipated ; yet I doubt not she will enjoy
it just as well, and perhaps learn a good deal more.
For professional reasons I have long desired to visit the
great hospitals and institutions of London, Paris, and
Vienna : I have saved a little money, and in no way can
I invest it better than in professional studies abroad,
and at the same time fulfil the life-dream of us both."

Soon after, a quiet wedding took place at Oil-Dorado.
The surroundings were utterly prosaic — the charred
and blackened valley, the skeleton derricks, the rusty
oil-tanks. But the budding trees and flowers of spring
were clothing with beauty the desolate scene ; and
love's young romance suffused with radiance the
austerities of the present, and spanned with a rainbow
of hope the future. The old man, but late a million-
aire, was now a foreman in extensive oil-works, but full
of indomitable energy, and determined to make another
fortune for his " little girl," as he persisted in calling
her. While proud of his daughter, and caressing her
with a yearning tenderness, he seemed half jealous of
the stalwart fellow who had come to carry her off.

" It's only for a year, father," said the affectionate
girl, returning his caresses ; " and when we come back.

L IFl<rS ( 'HEQ UKIiEl) PATHS.

ir,7

she had
ible. I
ler. Be
en treat
^ou even
emotion
me, and
e not my

) seemed
lathizing
lis plans

that the

) Europe,

yle from

ill enjoy

al more.

visit the

iris, and

way can

abroad,

both."

Dorado.

charred

he rusty

)f spring

le ; and

Qce the

rainbow

million-

but full

mother

1 calling

ing her

alous of

)ff.

ctionate
Qe back,

you must come and live with us, and never work any

more.

" That would be poor rest for me, my dear," he said
with a flickering smile ; " I've worked as long as I can
remember, and expect to work as long as God gives
me strength. It is a necessity of my nature; fortune
or no fortune makes no difference to me ; 1 must work
while 1 live." And in this he was but a type of a vast
number of his countrymen, and of our own as well.

Another year rolled swiftly round. Lawrence's three
years on the Fairview Circuit had been uncommonly
successful. The societies were built up in numbers
and in piety. A neat church had been erected for the
growing cause at the village of Morven, and had
just been successfully opened. A gallery had been
added to the church at Fairview, and a parsonage
built, which would be ready for the occupancy of tlie
next preacher. For, more than any other class of men,
the Methodist itinerants build houses in which other
men live, and sow fields which other men reap.

'^ Sic vos non vobis nUUficatis aves," etc.

The Mechanics' Institute had become a great success,
a centre of intellectual light and knowledge to the
neighbourhood. The " Dog and Gun " tavern was
almost deserted. Its sign still creaked drearily in the
wind, but the sign-post leaned suggestively out of the
perpendicular, as if symbolizing the effect of the pota-
tions procured within. The whole place had an air of
decay and dilapidation, quite in keeping with the
aspect of the miserable creatures who lounged about
the bar, or hung around the door. Among these was
Phin Crowle, more and more slouchy and degraded-
looking than ever ; resisting es^ery efibrt of his brother
Bob, now a zealous temperance worker, and of the
preacher and his wife, to reclaim him.

" 'Tain't no use tryin'," he would say to every loving
remonstrance and appeal: "the devil's got his hooks
into me and won't let go. It's too late, I tell ye ; 1

158

LIFE IN A PARSONAGK

If I

uin't got no power to reform, an' 1 iiin"t got no will,
naytlier. ' Ephraim's jined to his idols' — ain't that what
the preacher said ? — ' let him alone. There's no hope
for him.' I'll be found dead in the ditch some dav.
I've lived the life of a beast, let me die the death of
a dog."

Still his brother Bob prayed for him, and besought
him, and hoped against hope ; but, to all human
aj)pearance, without the least prospect of his reform.

William Saunders, after his fearful relapse, walked
very carefully and humbly before God, praying daily
with impassioned earnestness, "Lead us not into temj)-
tation, but deliver us from evil." His good wife, Mary,
rejoiced with trembling. Conscious of his weakness,
he gave her all his money to keep, and kept steadily at
his work ; avoiding, as he would the mouth of hell, the
temptation of the tavern door. When he had occasion
to pass it, he would ask his wife, as the guardian angel
of his life, to bear him company and save him from
the tempting fiends.

Again a little company were assembled at the hos-
pitable house of P^'ather Lowry — this time to bid, not
a welcome, but a farewell to the preacher and his wife.
Good Mother Lowry looked more motherly than ever,
with here and there a thread of grey in her hair, but
with her heart youthful and happy as ever. Mr.
Manning and Uncle Jabez were congratulating them-
selves on the fulfilment of their predictions of three
years ago, as to the success of the preacher.

" I knowed," said Uncle Jabez, " that he had the
right sort of grit in him by the way he shook hands
the first time I saw him — as if he meant it, you know.
Now some folk, you know, has no more soal in their
shake-hands than if you were to shake a cod-fish by
the tail."

Even Mrs. Marshall smoothed her austere front for
the time, and admitted in confidence to Mrs. Manning
that she hau been mistaken about the preacher's wife,
that she " wasn't a bit stuck up, for all she had been

no will,
hat wluit

no hope
)nie day.
death of

jesoiight
human
?form.
, walked
Qg daily
to temp-
fe, Mary,
weakness,
eadily at
hell, the
occasion
an angel
im from

the hos-
bid, not
his wife,
lan ever,
lair, but
Mr.
g them-
of three

lad the
^ hands
u know,
in their
-fish by

ont for
lanning
r's wife,
id been

LIFE'S CIlEqVKIiKD PATHS. IC9

to college. I'm afeard we won't sec another like her"
she added. '

"Why, my gals," ivplicd Mrs. .Manning, "just dote
on her. They think nobody can be like her. 1 wuz
afeared at first she wuz a-gt)in' to spile 'cm -lending
em books, and showin' 'em how to trim their bonnets,
and the likes. But I don't see l)ut they make just as
good butter as ever they did : an' if the preacher's wife
hadn't got into their good graces that way, I dont
believe they would have been brought into the church
at the revival last winter.*'

To Lawrence's great surprise, besides a very hand-
some present from the members and friends of the
Mechanics' Institute, a well-filled purse was given
him in the name of the Circuit on the occasion of the
farewell assembly. He was completely, he said, "taken
aback." He stammered and stumbled in his speech,
and never before made so miserable an attempt at an
address ; yet the most fluent eloquence would have
touched the people less than his evident emotion as
he strove to reply. When he recovered his voice and
his composure, he exhorted his friends to receive his
successor as kindly, and to work with him as har-
moniously, as they had received and worked with him.
" Don't tell him," he said, " either all the faults or all
the virtues of his predecessor. If you tell him the
first, he will think that you will say the same of him
when he leaves ; if you tell him the second, he will
think that you mean to contrast him with his prede-
cessor. No man can walk comfortably in another's
shoes. ' Let him gang his ain gait.' Accept him as
the messenger of God to you for good ; and God bless
you all, and bring us all to the great gathering-place,
the Father's house, the home of the soul on high."

Sweet Carrie Mason was not forgotten on this
occasion, and good Mother Lowry let fall a tear as she
spoke to Edith of her winsome presence on their first
meeting in that place. The village folk were deeply
interested in the romance of Dr. Norton's marriage,

IfiO

LIFE IN A PAItSOXAOE.

i\ i

and were glad to learn from Edith that he and his
bride; would soon be back among them, but were sorry
to hear that the proliabilities were that he would make
his future home in the fast growing city of Went worth,
where he would tind an ampler field for his v^'oft'^sional
skill. By a curious coincidence Lawrence was also
appointed to one of the churches of that city, which
had already, to himself and his wife, so m;iny interest-
ing associations. Kdith had many delightful letters
from her old friend Nellie Norton, describing, with all
the zest of a brilliant and sympathetic woman, her
visit to London, the great heart of the world ; to Paris,
the beautiful ; to Switzerland, the sublime ; and to
the stately splendour of Vienna and Berlin. She was
looking forward with eager delight to renewing her
intimate association with Edith in the same city where
they had so singularly become acquainted a few years
before. Her father was no longer foreman, but partner,
in the firm with which he engaged after the loss of
his property ; but made no change in his intense
devotion to business.

" How strangely Grod weaves the web of our lives ! "
wrote Nellie Norton in one of her letters. " Ofttimes
so tangled seem the threads that we know not what
the pattern will be like. But we see here only the
wrong side of the web, and only part of that. When
from the vantage ground of a higher life we shall see
the whole pattern in its beauty and completeness, I
believe that every seeming snarl and tangle in the
skein of life will be found to have been essential to
the perfect whole. God has frustrated some of my
plans only to fulfil them more blessedly. Henceforth
I can trust to the uttermost my unknown future with
Him, Who has dealt so graciously and lovingly with
my divinely guided past."

Printed by Hazell, Watson, <fe Viiiey, Limited, London and Aylesbury.

le and his
were sorry
^ould make
Ventworth,
)rofessioiial
3 was also
-ity, which
ly interest-
tful letters
[ig, with all
oman, her
1 ; to Paris,
le ; and to
L. She was
Qewing her
. city where
a few years
but partner,
the loss of
his intense

our lives ! "

" Ofttimes

>w not what

!re only the

hat. When

we shall see

ipleteness, I

.ngle in the

essential to

Bome of my

Henceforth

L future with
3vingly with

d Aylesbuiy.