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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 NWs
 
 THE 
 
 SHADY SIDE; 
 
 n a 
 
 BY A PASTOK'S WIFE. 
 
 "The shadow creeps and creeps, and is always looking over the shoulder of 
 the sunshine." 
 
 "As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as 
 Ir.ivin^' nothing, and yet possessing all thin;:;;.'" 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 
 
 No. 530 BROADWAY. 
 
 1865.
 
 Shtercd according to Act af Congress, in the year 1663, by 
 
 -JOHN P. JEWETT & CO., 
 2a tte Clerk's Cfl..-e of the District Court of the District of MassnnhiuetU. 1 . 
 
 STEREOTYPED BT 
 
 HOBART t KOBBINS, 
 
 JtW ENGLAND TYPE AND STKREOTYPB FO 
 BOSTON.
 
 AFTER being for some time out of print, this Volume, which played 
 so useful a part in years gone by, is again republished. Though 
 the hand that traced this thrilling narrative is now palsied in death, 
 yet the object she sought to promote (>. e. an interest in the faithful 
 Pastor on the part of his congregation) is no less important now 
 than on its first publication, when more than FORTY THOUSAND COPIES 
 were sold to the multitudes who read with unflagging interest the 
 touching and only too truthful story.
 
 TO 
 
 MY HUSBAND, 
 
 FELLO W-PILG1U.M IN A PATH SIMILAR TO THAI 
 
 HEREIN FAINTLY SKETCHED, DARKSOME, YET ILLUMINED, 
 
 4IV'D BRIGHTENING MORE ONLY AS HEAVEN'S NEARER LIGHT FALLS 
 
 UPON IT, WHO, NOT SHUNNING FOR HIMSELF ITS ROUGHNESSES, HAS KVEB 
 
 SMOOTHED THE WAY FOR THESE TENDERER FEET, NO11LY 
 
 BEARING MORE THAN HIS HALF ITS BURDENS, 
 
 STJjfs Simple Narvatibe, 
 
 STRONGLY SUGGESTIVE OF OUR MUTUAL TRIALS, AND FEWER YET 
 
 FAR MORE EXCEEDING JOTS, 
 18 AFFECTIONATELY AND GRATEFULLY
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 LET not the gentle reader turn away froir the sombre 
 title of this book, fearful of too dark a picture. It has, 
 its lights as well as shades ; yet, as one sketch of the 
 same landscape has taken its title from the interspersed 
 brightness, the author of this has chosen its appellation 
 from the opposite feature of the scene ; confident, too, 
 that, however softened, gilded, or inly illumined, the 
 original presents to an observer's eye more shadow 
 than sunshine. 
 
 Neither let any say, " The thing is not new ; we have 
 had this before." So far as the book may seem to 
 traverse ground recently occupied by kindred publica 
 tions, justice to herself prompts the writer to say that 
 the idea originated in her own mind, two or three years 
 ago, and was shaping itself thus, before the appearance 
 of Sunny Side, that popular little book, now doubly 
 dear as one of the last legacies, from a gifted pen, to the 
 Christian community. That work led, indeed, to some 
 modification of these pages, lest the writer should seem 
 
 to follow in the footsteps of another. 
 1*
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 Nor, again, need any affirm this to be a book of 
 fiction. While it is not averred that every incident 
 occurred in the connection here presented, thus much 
 may be ventured ; that if any scenes seem to the 
 reader to be drawn from fancy, and not quite true to 
 nature, they are, doubtless, the literal, unvarnished inci 
 dents of veritable history. Indeed, so faithful is the 
 picture to truth, that it is quite possible the originals 
 may start up, here and there, aggrieved at what they 
 deem an unauthorized exposure of their features to the 
 world at large. To any such, the writer would say, in 
 all sincerity, that, so far as her own history supplied 
 materials for illustration, while she has much "exten 
 uated," she has " set down naught in malice ;" sure, 
 meanwhile, of her motive, so to set forth fact, as to 
 awaken attention to existing evils, and stimulate those 
 who have the power, to apply the remedy. 
 
 With this end, these simple annals of Parsonage life, 
 written hastily, under the pressure of multiform cares, 
 are committed to the Great Shepherd of the fold, and 
 to a candid Christian public.
 
 THE SHADY SIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Every beginning is shrouded in -a mist, 
 
 And the traveller setteth on his journey oppressed with many thought*. 
 Balancing his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the chaos : 
 So, he commence tli at a clue, unravelling its tangled skein, 
 And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him." 
 
 IT was a beautiful day in the early autumn of 183-. The 
 last rays of the setting sun shot aslant between a row of old 
 poplars, and illumined the windows of a substantial farm-house 
 in the valley of the Housatonic. It was such a house as one 
 might fijyl almost anywhere in the agricultural districts of New 
 England, two stories in front, with a back roof, long and 
 sloping, and a " lean-to " in the rear, just high enough from 
 the ground to receive under its eaves a hogshead as a reservoir 
 for the falling rain. On the old moss-covered well-sweep, high 
 in air, swung the oaken bucket, from which the tea-kettle had 
 just been filled in view of the evening meal. 
 
 From a capacious barn near by issued two rosy-cheeked, 
 bare-headed boys, fresh from a contested search of the hens' 
 nests ; one bringing the spoils in his cloth cap, and the other 
 in his well-worn palmleaf, at the imminent risk of their exit 
 through the crown. A third hardy little urchin was sitting 
 astride a door-sill in the old weather-beaten granary, plying his 
 jack-knife on a cross-bow, and looking up at every bird that,
 
 8 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 flitting by, rested its wing among the poplars. Presently his 
 quick eye caught sight of a black pony, pacing noiselessly up 
 the untravclled road, bearing on his back a gentleman who was 
 uo stranger there. But, instead of running down the deep 
 yard to open the gate, our young rogue scampered round the 
 corner of the house, clapping his hands, and shouting to his 
 brothers, " Boys, boys, Uncle Ned has come ! " 
 
 While the boys are making all speed toward the kitchen, to 
 dispossess themselves of their precious freight, and inform 
 mother of the arrival, there is a stirring of the white curtains of 
 one of the " north room " windows. A neat muslin cap-border 
 brings nearer the glass a much-wrinkled yet placid face, which 
 soon turns away again to an aged companion, with the words, 
 " See here, father ; is n't this our Edward ? " By this time, 
 three active boys hold the black pony by the bridle, inside the 
 gate : and, just as the old man opens the door, an agile foot is 
 on the stone step, and a voice, which is ever music to those 
 aged hearts, prefaces a kiss and an embrace with joyous greet 
 ings. A door from the kitchen suddenly opens, and sister 
 Laura accosts the newly-arrived with homely welcomings, and 
 ihe inquiry, what brings him hither so unexpectedly ; a trem 
 ulous voice chiming in, " Edward is always welcome, Chough he 
 takes us by surprise." All this passes in a minute, and our 
 traveller recrosses the threshold, saying he must not sit till he 
 has cared for his horse. " Brother James, I suppose, is yet in 
 the field," " Yes, but he will be home soon, and will be glad 
 to see you, too ; " and the busy housewife vanishes, intent on 
 her table cheen. The aged father totters into the yard, after 
 his son. Once more that placid face is pressed against the 
 window-pane, and the last ray of sunlight falls across the sil 
 very hair, emblem of a brighter light, inly shining at the close 
 of life's eventful day. 
 
 While the boys are as they suppose helping their uncle 
 take care of the tired horse, and grandpa is looking on, we may 
 aa well take the opportunity to state that the personage whoso
 
 LHE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 9 
 
 arrival makes such a sensation, is the Rev. Edward Vernoii, 
 who, eighteen months since, was ordained to the work of the 
 ministry, and installed over the Congregational Church and 
 Society in the quiet village of Salem, some thirty miles east 
 ward, in the valley of the Connecticut. He is the youngest 
 child of the aged couple whom we find at the old homestead, 
 not as the active head of the household, but as revered mem 
 bers of the family of their elder son, the two families having 
 merged in one upon the death of Edward's only sister, a few 
 years before. To obtain enough ready money from the small 
 farm to send a boy through college, required the utmost effort 
 of both father and son ; but they toiled together, and nobly 
 accomplished the task. And now that Edward* had graduated 
 with honor, and was settled in his profession, it was arranged, 
 by mutual consent, that James should take the farm, abide 
 at the old place, smooth the declining days of the aged pair, 
 support them to the close, and consider himself lawful owner 
 of whatever might be left. Edward's education was to be his 
 patrimony ; and it was more precious in his eyes than all the 
 goodly fields and meadows that lay around his birthplace. 'Not 
 that he was indifferent to these ; he never caught a glimpse of 
 the old familiar place without a thrill, such as no other spot on 
 earth could awaken in his bosom. This very evening, as he 
 rode up the green avenue to the farm-house, he had indulged 
 many a tender recollection ; and, as he led his horse around 
 to the stable, he would have relapsed again into reverie, for 
 he was a man given to reveries, had it not been for the noisy 
 little group that attended him. 
 
 " Is this your horse, uncle ? " 
 
 " See his sharp ears, Harry. What do you ctdl him, uncle ? 
 Our horse is as big as three of him." 
 
 " Grandpa, come and see Uncle Edward's colt. He says it 'a 
 only a colt. How black he is ! " 
 
 " So .you have really bought you a horse, Edward and a 
 pretty young one, too."
 
 10 THE SUADY^EIDE; OR, 
 
 " Yes, sir, he is ratlier younger than I liked, only two, last 
 spring, but he pleased me, and I shall be careful of him. 
 He has brought me along nobly to-day, though I have walked 
 up the hills." 
 
 " Well, I think he '11 do, my son, a3 you 've nobody to carry 
 but yourself." 
 
 The young man smiled ; his color heightened a little, and he 
 was evidently hesitating what to reply, when a voice from the 
 meadow shouted, " Holloa, there ! " and presently a cart, laden 
 with yellow pumpkins, slowly creaked through the barn-yard. 
 Its driver dropped his cart-whip, and, wiping his hands on a 
 corner of his brown frock, grasped the soft palm extended to 
 meet his, and reluctantly took on his unshorn cheek the prof 
 fered kiss. Master George was not fur behind ; but his saluta 
 tions were hurried through, as little Eddie pulled him to the 
 stable, which seemed the centre of attraction, now that the 
 colt was duly installed there. 
 
 " Black, is he ? " said George. " I believe it ; he 's as 
 black as Pompey." 
 
 " 0, Uncle Edward ! " said his little namesake ; " I wish 
 you would call this horse, I mean this colt, Pompey." 
 
 " And who is Pompey, pray ? " 
 
 " ! he 's just the blackest man you ever saw, right from 
 Guinea. May we call him so ? " 
 
 Their uncle smiled approvingly on his favorite ; and so the 
 name of the young minister's horse was established, according 
 to the law of the Medes and Persians, which changes not. 
 
 A call from the house to make ready for supper dispersed 
 the group ; and Edward walked with his father slowly in, and 
 took the arm-chair by his mother's side. The quick perception 
 of the mother detected an unwonted joy in those deep blue eyes, 
 now bent so lovingly on her, as he rested his elbow on her chair, 
 and his cheek upon his hand. She fondly put back the brown 
 ringlets from his temple, as she had done many a time in his 
 boyhood, and said, half-inquiringly, " I have not seen you look so
 
 LIFE IX A CODNTKY PARSON AOH 11 
 
 happy, Edward, this long, long time." He returned her gaze 
 with a steady, significant look, and then replied, in a soft, low 
 tone, " Yes, mother dear, I perceive you are reading my secret. 
 I have, indeed, a new source of happiness, and I have come thus 
 unexpectedly to tell you of it. I know you will rejoice with me 
 in my newly-found treasure, even as we wept together over our 
 common loss, when dear Abby died." A tear of mingled joy 
 and sadness stole down that furrowed cheek, and she warmly 
 pressed the hand which now, in obedience to a hurried call, led 
 her out to tea. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " A fair dwelling, furnished wisely, with a gentle tenant in it, 
 This is the glory of humanity." 
 
 " My heart sings like a bird, 
 At sound of that sweet word, 
 The sweetest ever heard, 
 
 Mary, Mary." 
 
 WE next find the family group, with the addition of a fifth 
 boy taken up from the cradle, assembled in the old north room, 
 the old people's room, for evening prayers. A stick or two 
 of dry maple is burning brightly in the ample fire-place, for 
 the aged are keenly sensitive to the first cool evenings of 
 autumn. Two candles are lighted on the mantel, and another 
 on the little stand which holds the family Bible. At hia 
 father's request, Edward leads the devotions of the hour. Hav 
 ing read a Psalm, they all kneel at the family altar, while the 
 sacrifices of contrition and praise are laid thereon, and incense 
 and a pure offering ascend to heaven. Who shall blame those 
 aged Christians, if their spirit rise to-night, on swifter wing, 
 toward the throne, as the beloved son, whom they have conse 
 crated to a holy calling, out of the depths of a rich spiritual 
 mind, and a heart full of all tender affections, makes known
 
 12 TUB SHADY SIDE; en, 
 
 their requests and thanksgivings unto God ? Thus, in mercy, 
 does nature sometimes minister unto grace. 
 
 The children now bid good-night, and their mother goes out 
 to see them safely pillowed. It is the time for which Edward 
 has waited to divulge his errand and converse upon his plans. 
 And so, with his usual good sense, he opens the matter without 
 hesitation and without reserve. He has resolved to marry ; 
 and Providence has, in his view, smiled most graciously upon 
 him. The elect lady is Mary Allison, daughter of a physician 
 in the old, aristocratic town of Mayfield, and sister of Wm. Alli 
 son, recently appointed to the Armenian mission. There ai" 
 two other children in the family by a previous marriage, one of 
 whom is a merchant in New York, and the other housekeeper 
 for her father, and mistress of the family, since the death of 
 Mary's mother, ten years ago. 
 
 Brother James inquires after the pecuniary interests of the 
 family, and is told that the doctor owns a beautiful situation, 
 but is dependent upon his profession, from year to year, which 
 affords him hitherto a handsome living. 
 
 Sister Laura has rejoined the circle, and is impatient to learn 
 some particulars of the young lady herself. Not being bashful, 
 she plies her questions in a direct and sententious manner. His 
 replies are of the same quality : 
 
 " Is she handsome ? " 
 
 " I have never heard her called so ; no " 
 
 " Light complexion ? " 
 
 " Not too white." 
 
 " What eyes and hair ? " 
 
 "Soft, hazel eyes, and rich, dark chestnut hair, in curls." 
 
 " Curls ! Ah ! did you say she was very pale ? " 
 
 " No, indeed ; she 's as blooming as health and a happy spirit 
 can make her." 
 
 " Gay, is she ? lively, I mean." 
 
 " She is cheerful and buoyant, and thinks it no sin to 
 laugh "
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 13 
 
 " Is she tall ? " 
 
 " I really cannot tell. I think she must be of that ele 
 gant height, where you would add nothing, and take nothing 
 
 away." 
 
 " I suppose it just suits you, then ; but, Edward, you are 
 such an admirer of beauty, it 's a pity she is not beautiful." 
 
 (With a smile,) " Who says she is not beautiful ? You 
 inquired if she were handsome. I think she is not called so." 
 
 " ! that's it ? Well, I don't see any difference." 
 
 " Any more questions, sister Laura ? " 
 
 " I think I have got a pretty good idea of her now ; but " 
 
 Brother James now interposed. 
 
 " It 's too bad, Laura. Edward, I know, will think you 
 rude." 
 
 " Why, has 'nt he come over on purpose to tell us about this 
 affair ? I know he expects to be questioned." 
 
 " Go on," said Edward; " you may not always find me in so 
 communicative a mood." 
 
 But sister Laura had some misgivings about her last ques 
 tion, and she looked very inquiringly at him a full minute, first. 
 At length it came, abruptly : 
 
 " How Old is this Miss Mary Allison ? " 
 
 For the first time, the young man showed some embarrass 
 ment ; and, bracing himself as if to meet remonstrance, replied 
 that she was eighteen. 
 
 " What ! Edward," said old Mr. Vernon, " such a little girl 
 as that ? " 
 
 " 0," said Laura, " he 's only fooling us." 
 
 " No, he 's not," interrupted the kind mother ; " but we 
 need not fear that Edward would agree to marry one who is 
 unsuitable for him. Wisdom and goodness do not depend on 
 age." 
 
 " No ; but experience does, wife ; and you know experience 
 is everything."
 
 14 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 No one replied, and conversation flagged. Sister Laura'i 
 fertile brain soon started a new track, and she asked, 
 
 " When does the wedding come off, Edward ? " 
 
 " Really," said he, " I am unable to tell you. I expect to 
 ask that question myself, before I return to Salem." 
 
 " Do your people know of your engagement ? " contin ued 
 the questioner. 
 
 " Some of them may have their suspicions awakened by my 
 occasional absences; but none, except my landlady and her 
 husband, are enlightened on the subject. To them I have con 
 fided my secret, and it is safe." Then turning to his father, 
 who had not spoken in some time, he gayly said, 
 
 " What do you think, sir, of my purchasing a house ? " 
 
 The good old man was in his second childhood, and somo- 
 what querulous. He curtly answered, " When you do so fool 
 ish a thing, I shall think you are not in your right mind." 
 
 An animated discussion followed, in which all agreed that, 
 as a general thing, it was unwise for a young minister to invest 
 money in a dwelling-house ; and especially unsafe to make such 
 a purchase without means of present payment. Edward, how 
 ever, was sure his case was an exception. He had talked con 
 fidentially with Mr. Cook, in whose family he boarded, who was 
 one of his best men, and well acquainted with the state of feel 
 ing in the parish. It was his opinion that the society would 
 not unite in building a parsonage. There was only one vacant 
 tenement in the village, a good house near the church, whose 
 late occupant died insolvent. Mr. C. thought it a favorable 
 opportunity to secure a dwell'ng for the minister ; indeed, it 
 seemed the only thing to be done. He had managed the busi 
 ness in his own name, and obtained the refusal of the place at 
 the low price of twelve hundred dollars. It was a place which 
 would be always salable. If the present minister should leave 
 Salem, the house might be advantageously rented to his succes 
 sor, or the society might, by that time, be willing to buy it for
 
 Lli'E IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 15 
 
 a parsonage. At any rate, it was offered now at so low a sum 
 that there could be little risk in taking it. 
 
 So plausible did this statement seem, that it induced the 
 acquiescence of James in his brother's plan, though not without 
 some misgiving, while their father assented to whatever " the 
 boys " should think best. Yet he could not forbear adding, 
 significantly, " You remember, Mr. Ely, Edward, and the fine 
 house for which he paid fifteen hundred dollars, mostly bor 
 rowed money, and which he was obliged to sell for a thousand, 
 at the end of twelve months." 
 
 " 0, his case was peculiar ; he lost his hold on his people, 
 before he made that unwise purchase, and ought to have known 
 that he could not reckon on staying a year." 
 
 "Well, well," said the old gentleman, soothingly, " I did 'ut 
 speak of that to tease you. But come, now, tell us how you 
 expect to raise the twelve hundred for your house." 
 
 To this the young man replied by asking advice. If he buy 
 the place, it must be a cash purchase as there are creditors 
 clamorous for the money. Out of his salary of six hundred 
 dollars, he has laid by, the first year, three hundred and fifty. 
 The savings of the current year, thus far, will increase the sum 
 to five hundred, and leave enough to pay for his horse, possi 
 bly to buy a carriage. But the other seven he must borrow on 
 the strength of his future income. 
 
 " I will arrange it for you, brother," said the practical young 
 farmer. " Captain N. will lend the money, to be paid in annual 
 instalments of a hundred dollars, and you can save that easily. 
 I will give my name as surety." 
 
 " But," said Edward, " will he not want other security ? " 
 
 " No," said sister Laura, laughingly, " not while ' Barnhill 
 Lot ' is ours. It 's the only piece of land between his farm and 
 the street, and he is always teasing father and James to sell it 
 to him. He'll only hope that, if he lends you the money, 
 you '11 not be able to pay, and he shall somehow or other get 
 possession of that field."
 
 10 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Edward deprecated the suspicion that his brother's estate 
 should ever become involved through his means, which elicited 
 some very fraternal sentiments in reply ; and so the family 
 separated for the night's repose. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " There 's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them as -we will." 
 
 " Smitten friends 
 Are angels sent on errands full of love." 
 
 ANOTHER day and night quickly passed, and when the sun 
 arose the following morning, it met our traveller some ten 
 miles on his homeward way, not retracing his steps, but 
 bending quite circuitously northward toward Mayfield. 
 
 The day promises to be a warm one for the season, and he 
 must take the ride leisurely over a hilly country. While he is 
 moving slowly down the hills, and walking up many a long 
 ascent, and pacing over an occasional level, halting at mid-day 
 to refresh both " man and beast," let us take the opportunity to 
 run back a distance, and gather up a few more items in the 
 past history of this youthful ambassador of Christ. 
 
 In his boyhood we find him intelligent, ardent and impulsive, 
 with a high sense of honor, and a quick indignation at injustice, 
 with passions easily aroused, and contrition as quickly 
 awakened, the angry word and clenched fist followed soon 
 by the repentant tear. Love of books and of sports are so 
 nicely balanced, that it is not easy to predict whether he will 
 come out a scholarly or a pleasure-seeking youth. 
 
 As he enters upon his teens he is fitful and restless, often 
 expressing a distaste for solid study, wishing Greek and Latin 
 to the winds, threatening to burn his Virgil and lose his
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 17 
 
 Reader, and making the most of every holiday for amusement. 
 Anon, something occasions a revulsion of feeling, and he labors 
 at his school-tasks like a hero, abridging his diversions in his 
 close application to books. It is evident that he is unusually 
 susceptible to impressions from without, and that he has not 
 yet received a decisive bias in the shaping of his future. The 
 influences of the family upon him, hitherto, have been gentle, 
 rather than stimulating. His brother being eight years his 
 senior, and his sister five, he has been their plaything and pet, 
 a child to be watched over and exempted from hardship ; 
 not impelled up the rough steep of science, but encouraged by 
 sympathetic words and kind smiles. His parents, too, thought 
 he was studious enough for a boy somewhat slight and delicate. 
 Though his father resolved to give him a collegiate education, 
 and deep in his mother's heart lay the cherished purpose to 
 train him for the pulpit, they thought there was time enough 
 yet for him to wake up in earnest to the pursuit of knowledge. 
 
 But, with his fifteenth year, a new era dawned in the history 
 of the boy. A change of teachers occurred in the old Academy. 
 The venerable preceptor retired, and was succeeded by a young 
 student fresh from his graduating honors at Yale. He was a 
 fine scholar, a man of energy and talent, and destined for the 
 bar. 
 
 Accustomed to study character, he could not fail to be inter 
 ested in a boy like Edward Vernon. He soon understood him 
 thoroughly, having won his confidence and admiration. He 
 saw in him latent capabilities, which needed only a motive- 
 power to make him a shining man. He felt, with the satisfac 
 tion which always attends such conscious supremacy, that the 
 springs of action in this undeveloped mind were, in a souse, 
 under his own hand, that, at his touch, some one of them 
 would f\sa to be the mainspring of the .soul. He chose 
 alas ! Ambition, his own master-passion ; and he did his 
 work well. 
 
 A great change, came over Edward. He had been a fair 
 2*
 
 18 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 scholar while without aim or end. Now that the fire of 
 ambition was kindled in his soul and his diligence was the fruit 
 of a conscious purpose to excel, there were no bounds to hia 
 progress. To go through college honorably, and study law, 
 was the model course ever in his eye. 
 
 He met with little counteraction in the race on which he 
 now entered. His brother looked upon the matter as a sudden 
 ebullition of boyish zeal, which the next vacation would doubt 
 less cool. His mother understood him better. She was pleased 
 to see him more studious, yet she feared for his health ; and 
 most of all, she instinctively trembled for his spiritual interests, 
 and sighed as she saw a new barrier rising between her long- 
 cherished desire and its fulfilment. His sister Abby entered 
 with all her soul into his new plans and feelings. He was her 
 darling, her pride ; and her heart beat warmly to his, in all 
 his aspirations for the future. With her he measured his prog 
 ress, and before her fond eyes wove his bright webs of coming 
 triumph. And when conscience whispered of selfish ambition, 
 or his mother's mild admonition crossed his path, he laid this 
 unction to his soul, that to please his dear and only sister was 
 one great motive in climbing to the temple of fame. 
 
 Two years of preparatory study passed rapidly away, and 
 Edward, in his eighteenth year, entered college, and took a 
 high stand in his class. This position he maintained through 
 out his course, and graduated one of the first three. He was a 
 quick mathematician, a fine linguist, and a good writer. Keeping 
 his chosen profession in view, he had improved his opportuni 
 ties for declamation with great success. It is not surprising, 
 therefore, that, when he entered the law-school, many predicted 
 for him a brilliant career. He himself saw before him an open 
 path to a long-desired goal. 
 
 " A man's heart deviseth his way, but the Lord directeth his 
 steps." Even now, influences were at work which should revo 
 lutionize our young friend's course in life. 
 
 A cloud had settled over the home of his childhxid. Hii
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 19 
 
 cherished sister was drooping under a slow decline. With the 
 progress of disease came new views of the life that now is, and 
 of that which is to come. Her strong sympathy with her 
 brother's ambitious projects was displaced by the one deep 
 desire to see him devoted, heart and hand, to the service of 
 Christ. It was not enough, now, that he was virtuous, moral, 
 and a respecter of religious things. Her wishes and prayers 
 for him, and pleadings with him, could not stop short of the 
 renewing grace of God. 
 
 But the rebellious heart did not soon or easily yield. 
 Edward remembered his mother's prayers through all his child 
 hood ; and, though she had never told him so in words, he felt 
 that she had in her closet dedicated him to the ministry. 
 Hence he had not been wholly at ease since the choice of his 
 profession. An unacknowledged misgiving had lain at his heart. 
 When his impressible nature became thoroughly aroused, under 
 the appeals of his dying sister, and the Holy Spirit kindled 
 within him convictions of ill-desert, and desires for reconcilia 
 tion with God, the inward struggle was greatly prolonged. He 
 had a latent feeling that, if he should become a Christian, duty 
 might require him to serve God in the ministry. To abandon 
 his chosen career, just opening so brightly before him, promis 
 ing the realization of his youthful visions and golden dreams, 
 
 this, he felt, would be hard indeed. During the last half 
 of his first year of professional study he was thus tossed to and 
 fro on the unquiet sea of conflicting thoughts. The vacation 
 that followed was an eventful crisis. In the quiet of a sick 
 room, with a loved object fading before his eyes, he read daily 
 lessons which cooled the fever of his ambition, and gave him 
 juster views of life. In that calm atmosphere, where patient 
 endurance and holy trust and heavenly hope were mingled, 
 the youthful aspirant for fame laid himself, a free-will offering 
 at the foot of the Cross. He made no compromises, no reserve ; 
 
 to be in God's hand, and subject to his appointments, wa? 
 enough.
 
 20 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 The time drew near for Edward's departure to resume his 
 studies. The last morning arrived, and as yet nothing had 
 been said of his future plans. It was a season of quickened 
 thought and emotion. The family worship was just concluded 
 in the invalid's room. The carriage was at the door, waiting 
 the young student's leave-taking. Ere another reunion of the 
 family group, a stern messenger was liable to enter, and set an 
 icy seal on those lips that were now framing tender adieus for 
 him who had been her pride and her pet, who was now her 
 beloved brother in Christ. She still retained his hand, as he 
 turned from her bed. There was something unsaid, which she 
 would find courage to speak. 
 
 " Dear Edward, do you go back to study law, or will you b, 
 a preacher of the Gospel ? " 
 
 His eye turned involuntarily to meet his mother's, who was 
 standing near. Its meek pleading told him how much her 
 heart also was in Abby's question. 
 
 " I will think of it, I will write," was all he could reply, 
 as he hurried from the house, with their parting benedictions. 
 
 Notwithstanding much thinking by the way, he reached the 
 distant city, at evening, in a state of painful incertitude. Not 
 that he was unwilling to give up his old preferences at the call 
 of duty ; but it was not easy for him, in this instance, to deter 
 mine what was duty. Were not good men men of high 
 Christian principle needed at the bar, as well as in the pul 
 pit ? Might not his turn of mind and habits of thought be 
 more consonant to the legal profession than the clerical ? But 
 the question hinged on another point, was he called of God 
 to the vocation of an ambassador of Christ ? Without such an 
 inward call to the holy work he would not dare assume its 
 responsibilities. He shut himself up in his room, and there 
 decided the matter, on his knees before God, solemnly dedicat 
 ing himself to the great work of preaching the unsearchable 
 riches of Christ. The satisfaction, the peace of soul, the new 
 impulse in holy living, which followed this decision, greatly
 
 LIIB IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 21 
 
 strengthened his belief that it was according to the will of 
 God. 
 
 Two months of his first theological term had passed, when 
 Edward was called home to see his sister die. 
 
 So slowly did life ebb away, in the bosom of the dying girl, 
 that many days of precious converse were allowed, making that 
 sick-room as the gate of heaven to the stricken household. 
 And when the pure spirit took its flight, it seemed to Edward 
 that he too moved upward with its blessed convoy, till he 
 caught glimpses of " the glory unutterable " beyond the veil. 
 Henceforth the memory of his sainted sister was interwoven, 
 with his great work in life, and beside her sleeping clay ho 
 bound himself anew to the service of his Master. 
 
 His sister's mantle of gentleness and grace appeared to have 
 faMen upon him ; so his mother thought, as he caressingly 
 soothed her grief, and whispered words that were balm to her 
 aching heart. A new element of character was here developed, 
 which, in after years, gave his presence an unwonted charm in 
 the eyes of many a child of sorrow. 
 
 Our young theologian's course through the seminary was far 
 from being smooth. He suffered much from ill health, the result 
 of bis former close application, and of prolonged nervous excite 
 ment, while balancing the great question of probation, and pass 
 ing through subsequent scenes of trial and bereavement. 
 
 With his physical prostration resolution flagged, intellect 
 wearied, and the whole machinery of his being*seemed to come 
 to a stand. He could not study ; he complained that he 
 could not think ; yet thought was torturing him with many a 
 suggestion of the adversary. Foremost among these was the 
 withering query, " May I not be, after all, mistaken in looking 
 toward the ministry ? " 
 
 His intervals of relaxation did, indeed, restore him to a com 
 fortable state of body and mind ; so that his study terms were 
 commenced with hopefulness and vigor. But the slough was 
 always waiting for him when he halted ; and, even in his best
 
 22 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 moods, he had the reproachful consciousness that he was net 
 making the most of himself, and should fall far behind the 
 expectations of his friends. There was cause for this conjec 
 ture, as might be gathered from such conversation as the fol 
 lowing, among a knot of convivial students : 
 
 " I say, Dexter, what has become of Vernon ? " 
 
 " Thrown himself away ; foolish fellow ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? "Where is he ? " 
 
 " Sunk his law-books, and gone over to the divinity-school." 
 
 "He was a fine fellow, would have made. a splendid 
 lawyer." 
 
 " Just so ; and now he '11 only make a splendiferous 
 cipher." 
 
 " Not so fast, Dexter," said another ; " I '11 be bound Ned 
 Vernon will make himself count anywhere." 
 
 " Humph ! you should see him, as I saw him to-day, coming 
 from lecture. You'd think he had been taking a nap in 
 Sleepy Hollow." 
 
 " What 's the matter ? What 's come over him ? " 
 
 " 0, he had better stuck to his profession ! He 's lost his 
 ambition ; lost a sister, too, they say ; and he took that hardly. 
 'T was she persuaded him to give up the law. Studying the 
 ology ! bah ! 't will be a dead loss." 
 
 " Too great a sacrifice, certainly. Vernon was a splendid 
 scholar. He was in my division, you know." 
 
 Such wise discussions as this a theological brother, who over 
 heard, was weak enough to report to the subject of it ; to whom 
 they were as coals to burning coals, and wood to fire. 
 
 The last year of professional study was passing rapidly away, 
 and with more profit to young Vernon than any which pre 
 ceded it. His health had improved, and his seasons of depres 
 sion were less frequent. Now was the time to bury his doubts 
 and fears so thoroughly that their ghosts shall not haunt hia 
 path as he goes to his field of toil. He resolved to investigate, 
 and examine, and settle anew, the great question of duty.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. "28 
 
 Light from above streamed in upon his mind. Grace from the 
 fountain flowed upon his heart. Desire kindled to a burning 
 glow in his soul. He was not only satisfied with his choice, but 
 he could say with the apostle, " Necessity is laid upon me, 
 yea, woe is me if I preach not the gospel." His humility deep 
 ened, faith took a strong hold of the promises, hope painted 
 her bow across the future, not with the fading hues of earth, 
 but with pencil dipped in the enduring tints above. Cheerful 
 lie girt on the harness for a life of toil, and longed to begin his 
 work. 
 
 Nor did he need to wait much for employment. As soon as 
 licensed, he was engaged to supply, a few Sabbaths, the vacant 
 pulpit in Salem. When a unanimous call was extended him, he 
 accepted with little hesitation, being strongly advised thereto 
 by his theological teacher and kind friend, Dr. . 
 
 Esquire Lewis met the reverend doctor at the close of the 
 ordination service, and thanked him for sending them so prom 
 ising a "candidate." "Very interesting young man, doctor; 
 we calculate he '11 be distinguished yet ; " which elicited the 
 reply, " He is and always will be an interesting man. As for 
 the other, give him fair play, Esquire Lewis, and he will make 
 a growing man ; over-work him the first year or two, and he 
 will be apt to get into a slough." 
 
 " Ay, ay, we '11 take care of that ; it 's for our interest, 
 you know ; " and the esquire rubbed his hands with evident sat 
 isfaction ; and the council departed, and the people dispersed, 
 and the young pastor was left alone with his field of toil. 
 
 The new minister was willing to work, his whole heart was 
 in his work, and the Lord gave him enough to do. Religion 
 soon became a topic of absorbing interest throughout the com 
 munity ; month followed month, laden with testimonials of 
 God's faithfulness in hearing prayer, and blessing the word. 
 Many sinners were renewed many a halting saint sent on his 
 way rejoicing. 
 
 That first fourteen months of his ministry was a memorable
 
 24 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 period in the history of Edward Vernon. Can he ever doubt, 
 again, that God hath called, him, putting him into the ministry, 
 and that a dispensation of the gospel is committed to him ? 
 
 But, precious as was tins attestation of his mission, his phys 
 ical frame felt the " wear and tear " of exhausting service. A 
 reaction was coming over him ; it was plain that he needed 
 rest. It was happy for him that there was a wise gray head 
 in Salem, whose word was seldom disputed. On the evening of 
 a hot Sabbath in June, when the young preacher had dragged 
 wearily through two sermons and a Bible-class exercise, good 
 Daacon Ely (dear man ! was there ever another such ?) sad 
 dled his old mare, and rode over to Mr. Cook's. " Mr. Ver 
 non," said he, " you may as well get ready to-morrow', and be 
 off somewhere on a play-spell, for three or four weeks. Esquire 
 Lewis and I will take care of the pulpit." 
 
 That first vacation, with its luxuriant sense of freedom 
 from care, of time for rest, of leisure for social converse and 
 miscellaneous reading, it was another notable era in his life ; 
 a green spot, to which, from many a far-on desert place, he 
 looked back with joy and gratitude ; memorable, not the least, 
 for his first acquaintance with her who was to be the companion 
 of his pilgrimage. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Ask her if, when storms are long, 
 She can sing a cheerful song 
 When the rude winds rock the tree, 
 If she "11 closer cling to thee." 
 
 WHILE we have been taking this too leisurely excursion up 
 the stream of time, it has kept noiselessly on its downward flow 
 to the setting of another sun. Our horseman, too, has travelled 
 patiently on, and the tall spires of Mayfield now shine before 
 him in the distance, like burnished gold, as they catch the last
 
 LIFK IN A COUNTUY PAKSONAGE. 25 
 
 rays of sunlight from the unclouded west. At this sight the 
 young man's thoughts suddenly concentrated on one point, often 
 revolved during his solitary ride : " How will my request for 
 an early day be received ? Will the doctor hearken to my rea 
 sons, and appreciate my condition ? How will the staid, house 
 wifely sister regard so sudden a movement? As to Mary her 
 self" Here he recollected that he was taking her by surprise, 
 making his first unannounced visit, and a smile, half-mis 
 chievous, half-expectant, displaced the shade of anxious thought ; 
 he drew his bridle-rein more firmly, and said to pony, " We are 
 almost there." 
 
 The twilight suddenly deepens as he enters the broad street, 
 lined with tall old trees, whose overhanging branches almost 
 exclude the midduy sun. Were he in some of his wonted 
 moods, he could not forbear to stop and enjoy the delicious awe 
 of early twilight in this grand alcove, with the plaintive music 
 of the first autumnal breezes, and the lone note of the whip- 
 poorwill. But lie is too intent on the object of his journey; so 
 he pushes on a quarter of a mile toward the upper end of the 
 street. The house he seeks is not yet lighted ; he does not 
 stop, as usual, at the front post, but rides softly under the old 
 elm to the side-gate, and, quietly dismounting, proceeds cau 
 tiously along the carriage-track toward the stables. 
 
 It is evidently his purpose to gain the rear unobserved. But 
 his eye, which has scanned every window as he passed, is sud 
 denly arrested, and with it his step. How can he but pause 
 and look at a well-known figure, sitting in the recess of the 
 library window, with her face so near the glass that the dark 
 curls rest upon the sash? Were she not completely absorbed in 
 an open letter, he would not stand so near her unnoticed. Shall 
 ho touch the window with his riding-whip ? Ah ! that" is not 
 needed now ; she has become aware that some one is gazing at 
 her from without, and in another moment she sees that it is 
 Edward Vernon. He notes each change on that expressive 
 face, perplexity, surprise, delight. She does not utter excia- 
 3
 
 26 THE SUAUY SIDE; ou, 
 
 malions, neither of them speaks, but she rises suddenly, 
 and he notes many letters in her hands, some open, others in a 
 package. He is at no loss to divine their author; his look, 
 she fancies, proclaims as much. He touches his hat gallantly, 
 throws her a respectful kiss from the tip of his glove, and leads 
 his horse slowly by ; while she tosses back her curls, shakes 
 her finger threateningly at him, and reseats herself in the 
 window. 
 
 Soon a stir is heard in the house. " Mr. Vernon has come ! " 
 and Dick is off to perform his duty as ostler. 
 
 "Ann, where 's Mary?'' 
 
 " She 's in the lib'ry , Miss Allison. I Ve told her, but she 
 doesn't act as if she believed it." 
 
 Mr. Vernon is soon seated in the back-parlor, and the usual 
 salutations passed. Miss Allison rises, and says she will speak 
 to Mary. She finds her still in the window-seat. 
 
 " Do you really know that Edward is here ? " 
 
 " I think I shall understand it by-and-by." 
 
 " If you were not looking so happy, one would think this an 
 unpleasant surprise. Come right out with me ; I know he is 
 impatient to see you." 
 
 The roguish girl says, he can wait a minute, she '11 be out 
 soon, and mentally exclaims, "How do I know but he has 
 been gazing at me the last half hour?" 
 
 Sister Harriet goes back, saying, " I think, sir, she hardly 
 realizes that you are here.' His peculiar smile puzzles her ; 
 she inwardly concludes that lovers are queer. 
 
 " Let me seek her in the library," replied he ; and, stepping 
 into the hall, he was soon at the further end of the passage, and 
 confronted Mary at the open door, just as she closed her writing- 
 case on the package of letters she had been folding. 
 
 " Why did you not write me you were coming, that I might 
 be ready to greet you ? " (her speaking face said, " that I 
 might have the pleasure of expecting you ? ") 
 
 " And why might I not, for once, have the pleasure of sur-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGB. 27 
 
 prising you ? Besides, had I not arrived unexpectedly, I 
 should not have known how you employ yourself at twilight. 
 You must have some interesting correspondence, to absorb you 
 so much in a re-perusal." 
 
 " 0, yes ! " said the young girl archly ; " I have some letters 
 that will bear a second reading, brother William's, for ex 
 ample." 
 
 This tete-a-tete was interrupted by a call to tea. "Afterward 
 came a quiet evening, all too short for the much that was to 
 be said and settled. 
 
 Mary was not prepared for the request, that asked the con 
 summation of her plighted faith with little delay. She could 
 tlii nk of many reasons why it was not best or wise. It would 
 give her little time to anticipate it, and her friends brief notice 
 for needful preparation. Her brother William was to spend as 
 much of the winter at home as possible, and it was his last, 
 previous to his departure from the country to his field of mis 
 sionary toil. She could not, moreover, be unmindful of her 
 youth and inexperience. She was only six months out of 
 school, and not yet initiated into the mysteries of good house 
 wifery. To qualify her in this respect, she relied on the com 
 ing winter, under the tuition of her expert, matronly sister. 
 
 Besides, if visions of a wedding ever floated through her 
 brain, they were of a bridal-hour in May, 'mid the genial airs, 
 and fresh verdure, and opening rose-buds, that for eighteen 
 years had crowned her birth-day. 
 
 The period, too, of her acquaintance with Mr. Yernon was 
 so short, only four brief months/ that, except just after a 
 letter or a visit, he seemed too much like a new acquaintance to 
 justify the near approach of the hour that should make them 
 one. Then it was so pleasant to be a child at home, and wateh 
 for his coming; to meet him after separation; to correspond 
 with him when absent; to be absorbed in s-tudying a character 
 which unfolded to her growing admiration and sympathy. How 
 could sho have this delightful order of things interrupted?
 
 28 TUB SHADY SIDE ', OK, 
 
 As all these and kindred misgivings passed through the 
 young girl's mind, some of them were distinctly urged before 
 her petitioner ; and others left for him to catch by that quick 
 intuition which enabled him to interpret her feelings by the 
 slightest clue. 
 
 The skilful pleader of his own cause, he had reserved his 
 arguments to follow her objections ; and he addressed himself to 
 the work with a smile of assurance that showed him somewhat 
 confident of success. 
 
 " As for the good doctor and his house-keeper, he would take 
 upon himself the responsibility of securing their acquiescence 
 in his wishes. True, it would be pleasant to spend a winter at 
 home, with her cherished brother ; but his time will be broken 
 up by his preparations to leave the country. They can ask 
 him to divide his stay between Mayfield and Salem ; and, as the 
 latter place is nearer his business, she will probably see about 
 as much of him as if remaining at home. William is not to 
 leave till the last of April, and it might be feared that a wed 
 ding in May would witness a tearful bride. 
 
 " What though she is young? he is willing to risk her inex 
 perience. Knowledge of household duty depends not so much 
 on years as on native judgment and tact." 
 
 With delicate ingenuity he draws from her the acknowledg 
 ment that only when he is away does he seem to her like a 
 comparative stranger. In his presence she feels as if she bad 
 known him long. 
 
 He playfully assures her that he hopes they are neither of 
 them like a book, with a " finis " to be reached after turning 
 a few leaves, more or less, but a life-long study ; and, while she 
 is marvelling how she has revealed to him so much of her secret 
 thoughts, he adds, that " even in their married home, she will 
 have opportunities to expect his coming, and that reunion after 
 absence will be no infrequent joy." 
 
 And now for his strong reasons, which are, mainly, two. 
 " A settled minister cannot be engaged in a long courtship,
 
 LIFB IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 29 
 
 without disadvantage to his people. The matter is taken up on 
 the lips of talkers gives rise to unprofitable speculations 
 takes him too frequently from home, to the complaint of some 
 who miss him at a sick-bed, or a funeral, and of others, who 
 notice the deficiency in his pulpit preparations." 
 
 Here Mary interposed. " She was sure his people could not 
 complain of his frequent absence on such an errand; he had 
 visited her only four times in the three months since his vaca 
 tion." " But," he told her, " she was taking no account of the 
 times he came invisibly; that, when absent in spirit from 
 his study and his parish, bodily presence profited little, and his 
 pulpit was almost sure to proclaim it on the Sabbath. It cer 
 tainly was for the edification of his people that this matter bo 
 speedily settled." 
 
 " And his other reason, which he judged might have some 
 weight, was his own personal need of the daily solace and sup 
 port of his chosen companion. He had worked hard in his field 
 of labor ; he had not recovered the elasticity lost by being 
 overtasked; he was wayworn, alone, and often dispirited; he 
 needed the sanctuary of home as a place of refuge ; he wanted 
 the steady light of a cheerful kindred spirit, to disperse the 
 clouds which threatened to gather over him ; he was all the 
 while losing ground by delay ; and, if he should fall into one 
 of his old ' seminary ' moods, there was but one harp that 
 could cast the evil spirit out, and he did not wish that to bo 
 played for such an end." 
 
 If Mary, at first, shook her head incredulously, she was now 
 persuaded that, so far as his duty and interest were concerned, 
 he was right. Though a tear twinkled in her eye, she assumed 
 a mischievous smile ; and, avoiding his glance, which she thought 
 was looking too deeply into her heart, she told Mr. Edward 
 Vernon that "she might have known when aminister asked for 
 her hand, that there would be ' a people ' somewhere to be taken 
 into the account, in deciding questions of duty and propriety. 
 If, therefore, she waived her objections, and let him arrange 
 3*
 
 80 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 matters as he liked, he need not consider it a tribute to himself, 
 but her first concession to his office. Henceforth she should 
 expect to yield to the claims of the profession only when she 
 chose to have her own way." 
 
 Much more she was gayly saying, in the same vein, but Ed 
 ward looked at her abstractedly, and grew quite serious. A 
 new train of thought was started in his mind. " Was it not 
 possible that he was introducing this bright young creature, 
 with her quick conscientiousness and her ardent response to 
 duty, into a life, in some sense, of self-sacrifice to an arduous 
 and much-exacting profession ? Was it right to take her, in 
 the fresh dew of youth, from her father's hearth, where she 
 had been sedulously shielded and cherished, to link her destiny 
 henceforth with one whose path must lie, much of it, on the 
 open heath, or rugged steep, beneath burning suns and sweep 
 ing storms ? " 
 
 He looked so tenderly and anxiously upon her, that she ques 
 tioned him of his thoughts, and he gave her the clue by asking 
 if she would not much rather have found a companion in some 
 other walk of life. 
 
 She tried to laugh, and inquired if the old strife between law 
 and theology was about to be revived. He told her, " No ; it 
 was for her sake, simply, he asked the question. The life of a 
 minister was one of peculiar trials, in which his wife must 
 inevitably share." 
 
 His evident depth of feeling checked her playfulness, while 
 she reiterated her sympathy in his choice of professions. She 
 would have been content, indeed, to walk through life with 
 him in any path he might have chosen ; but she was sat 
 isfied he was in just the sphere he was designed to fill. The 
 ministry was a noble work. She thought it not a hardship, but 
 a privilege, to join him in it. She wished she were equally 
 sure of her ability. 
 
 " But, when trials come, will you not look back, regret-
 
 * 
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTUY PARSONAGE. 81 
 
 ful on this dour home where your days have passed so 
 smoothly ? " 
 
 " 0, Edward ! " said she, half-reproachfully ; and then, smil 
 ing, added, " I do not anticipate such an amount of difficulty. 
 Things that look formidable to you, alone, perhaps will seem 
 trifling when we meet them together. But let that be as it 
 will, if I may only do some good, I will not mind the trial 
 with you." 
 
 The young minister felt reassured, as he looked down on 
 that earnest face, from whose brow of high resolve, and soft, 
 clear eje, and mouth expressive of mingled gentleness, endur 
 ance and cheerful trust, might be traced the elements of the 
 heroic Christian woman. 
 
 The evening was far spent, when Mr. Vernon suddenly 
 remembered that he must be in his saddle at an early hour in 
 the morning. It might, therefore, be wise to confer with his 
 future father, before he slept. He rose to seek him in the 
 library, yet lingered to remind Mary that she had only con 
 sented to the present month, without naming the day. She 
 gave him her pocket companion, "Daily Food," and 
 asked him to look for a marked date in October. He colored 
 slightly as he found the 30th, with the initials E. V. He did 
 not know how easily curious girls get access to sources of 
 information on such topics. He was well pleased, however, to 
 be married on his twenty-eighth birthday, and he reported to 
 the dtwtor their united wishes to this effect. 
 
 The proposal was more graciously entertained than he had 
 hoped. Dr. Allison was a sensible man, and appreciated fully 
 the situation of the young clergyman. 
 
 " He had hoped to keep Mary with him a few years longer; 
 but, if it seemed best, he was willing to give her up. The 
 worst struggle with himself was already over. It was when 
 he found another, and one hitherto a stranger, held the first 
 place in that young heart which had ever given him its best
 
 82 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 earthly love. He was astonished at his own selfishness ; he con 
 fessed, it cost him a great struggle." 
 
 " Mary is young," he added, " yet she has always been, with 
 all her playfulness, mature beyond her years; and, if she 
 makes as good a wife as daughter, you will have no reason to 
 complain." 
 
 During this quiet interview in the library, Miss Allison had 
 sought her sister in the parlor, and, learning the state of things, 
 was loud in her protestations against " such hasty proceedings." 
 
 " Get ready for a wedding and for house-keeping in less than 
 four weeks ! It is not to be thought of. Besides, Mary, what 
 do you know of house-keeping ? 0, it is so foolish ! and you 
 so young ! You little know what it is to have any care ; and 
 then, your poor father, what will he do without you ? It will 
 be so sudden to him, and William going so soon ! " 
 
 The tears were in Mary's throat, but she choked them down, 
 as she heard returning footsteps towards the parlor. The wise 
 sister turned now to the gentlemen, and told Mr. Vernon he 
 did not know what trouble he was bringing upon himself. 
 " Why, sir," said she, waxing warm, " this child is n't fit to 
 take care of you, this twelve-month. She has never made a 
 toaf of bread. I doubt whether she would get you up a decent 
 dinner. She has not yet looked into the mysteries of starch 
 and smoothing-irons. She sometimes makes a little cake, or 
 pastry, but she would not know when her oven was hot, or her 
 pies baked. She 'd make fifty mistakes a week. You can't 
 think of it. Take my advice, and leave her under my hand a 
 year. I '11 engage to turn her out a good house-keeper. Very 
 important, Mr. Vernon, for a minister to have a wife that 
 knows how " 
 
 " 0," said he, quite unmoved, " this thing comes from good 
 judgment and observation. Mary, having had so good an 
 example before her eyes, will go on as if by instinct. I have 
 no fear about that." 
 
 " Well, how should you know anything about it ? She ought
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTUY PAUSONAGB. 83 
 
 to know that it is one thing to see others go on right, and quito 
 another to undertake herself alone. It 's the practice she 
 \\ants. She might remember how some things are done at 
 home, but she must do them with her own hands, to know 
 how." 
 
 " Well, suppose that, considering her home-advantages, I 
 am willing to run the risk of it ; and that she consents to 
 begin under this disadvantage, to save the inconvenience and 
 trouble ? " 
 
 A quick reply was forthcoming, when the doctor laid his 
 hand on his daughter Harriet's shoulder, and told her that "the 
 thing being decided, we have only to make the best of it. Be 
 sides, you are a little in fault here. You have been over- 
 indulgent to Mary, or she would not be found, at eighteen^ 
 quite so ignorant of domestic matters as your words imply. I 
 believe, however, she has no foolish prejudice against this class 
 of duties. Her inexperience may cause her some discomfort, 
 but she will, without doubt, acquire skill. I foresee I must 
 spare you, to begin with her and set her out straight." 
 
 These words had a very lubricating effect, and Miss Allison 
 for she was a very energetic person entered warmly into 
 certain plans and arrangements in reference to the important 
 era so near at hand. She even listened with silent attention 
 to Mr. Vernon's history of his measures to secure a house in 
 Salem, and to his expressed purpose to take possession by the 
 midWe of November, allowing two weeks only for a wedding 
 tour. But, though silent, she was not meanwhile inactive. 
 Her fertile brain was busy in projecting, computing and devis 
 ing, maintaining its equipoise 'mid such an influx of hetero 
 geneous materials as fill out the elaborate advertisement of some 
 " dry goods and grocery establishment," and as would totally 
 inundate and overset a less evenly balanced mind. 
 
 Mary, who always has a thought for others, finds time tc 
 inquire after a poor, sick woman, whom Edward in his last let 
 ter spoke of visiting; also, if there were any new developments
 
 84 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 in the religious character of Esquire Lewia' daughters, about 
 whom the young pastor had expressed some solicitude. She learns 
 that Widow Harrison is still spared to pray, and that the Misses 
 Lewis continue attentive to the externals of a Christian life. 
 Perhaps he has wronged them by his doubt. He should think 
 of expressing it to no one but his other self. 
 
 The evening had passed rapidly on near to the midnight 
 hour, as Miss Allison gave her last look at the preparations for 
 early breakfast, and hastened toward her chamber. She thought 
 herself the last to retire ; but, as she stepped into the hall, a 
 light was burning in the library, and her father was sitting just 
 as Mary had left him, a half hour since, with her good-night 
 kiss. He looked absorbed and anxious. She uttered an 
 exclamation of surprise that he had not gone to his room, and 
 added, " This sudden marriage troubles you, father. Well, I 
 do not wonder. Mary seems to us a mere child ; and she is 
 too young. We may well have some fears on her account." 
 
 " Yes, Harriet ; I would rather she were two years older; 
 but then she is plastic, and will be the more easily assimilated 
 to her new sphere and relationships. Pier youth, on the whole, 
 does not much disturb me. I was thinking of him, of 
 Edward ; he is very sensitive, somewhat morbidly so, I 
 judge." 
 
 " I have n't noticed it. He always seems to take in good 
 part my plain way of speaking. He was cool enough, tonight, 
 when I spoke so warmly against his plans. I think you must 
 judge from the bumps; ho has rather a peculiar head." 
 
 " No ; I am more of a physiognomist, you know ; and his 
 face is quite a study. I can-not be mistaken in the full, humid 
 eye, pensive in repose; the finely-curved, full, flexible lip, 
 tremulous with every changing emotion ; in the reaction that 
 follows every flush of excited feeling, I feel it, too, when con 
 versing with him, in his quick detection and discrimination of 
 my own varying shades of emotion. I am often unconscious of 
 some variation of feeling till he responds to it by the curl of
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 85 
 
 his lip, or the flash of his eye. He is like a thermometer, 
 up or down with the atmosphere. I wish, for his own sake 
 and for Mary's, that his sensibilities were less exquisite." 
 
 " Why, Mary is just the one to sympathize with such a 
 nature. You have always said she had a world of sensi 
 bility. She will understand him and feel for him. I 
 should n't worry about that ;" and the turned away with a 
 "good-night." 
 
 " Feel for him ! yes, and with him, too exquisitely, I fear, 
 for her own happiness. But that I must trust to her best 
 Friend;" and in his heart he folded his darling the more 
 closely, and, with his blessing on her, struggled up the unspoken, 
 yet fervent wish, " 0, that I could enfold thee here, while I 
 live, and shield thee thus from the roughnesses of life ! " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " A prize to bo contested by the skill 
 Of mothers and their daughters." 
 
 " My son, of muckle speaking ill advised, 
 
 And where a little speaking had sufficed, 
 Cometh muckle harm. This was told mo and taught DM 
 In muckle speaking, sinning wanteth not." 
 
 " Rumor, in temporary things, is gigantic." 
 
 THE young pastor returned to Salem, to find his locret 
 known, and his usually quiet parish in somewhat of a ferment. 
 
 Esther Ann Brooks, the milliner, had been to the city, for 
 the fall fashions, and come home with important news. In the 
 shop where she traded was an apprentice, lately come from 
 Plympton, who had a sister doing housework in Mayfield, an 
 adjoining town. She lived close by Dr. Allison's, and knew of 
 hia daughter's engagement to the Salem minister. She had
 
 36 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 been home on a visit, and, for want of other topics, had detailed 
 this latest news from Mayfield ; exhausting nil that was known 
 and conjectured, and drawing on her imagination for enough to 
 fill out a good story. The shop-girl remembered the Salem 
 milliner, and laid up the precious piece of gossip till she should 
 see her at No. 7 Blonde-street. 
 
 Finding Esther Ann with both ears open, she imparted all 
 she had received, with her own speculations thereon. By the 
 time the ball had rolled on to Salem, it was grown quite for 
 midable in size, with its small admixture of truth very inge 
 niously distributed throughout its staple commodity, exaggeration 
 and error. 
 
 Esther Ann's little brown shop wa? now the centre of attrac 
 tion, not so much on account of its new millinery as of the 
 information there dispensed on the subject of the young minis 
 ter's " matrimonials." Almost every one was taken by sur 
 prise. Some, who had benevolently selected for him, were not 
 a little piqued. A few, who had still nearer hopes, sighed as 
 they were thus dashed at a single stroke. 
 
 Esquire Lewis' daughters were among the first that called, and 
 they were not easily suited in the choice of bonnets. One 
 after another was examined and rejected, being used as foils to 
 hide their excessive interest in the one topic on which they 
 resolved to pump Miss Brooks dry. 
 
 " You are sure this report is true ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am sure of it [that bonnet, Miss Lucrctia, is a good 
 fitj, for the girl said, her sister saw him every time he came. 
 He has visited her ever since last June [there, the brim wants 
 raising a little. I can lap it under the crown]. He met her 
 first away from home, somewhere she was visiting, that 
 time he was gone so long, you remember." 
 
 " Let me look at that drawn silk. What did you hear of the 
 family, Bather Ann ? " 
 
 "Well, as good as any in Mayfield; hold their heads 
 pretty high, I guess [that white straw, Miss Helen, will look
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAOE. 37 
 
 sweotly on you]. The girl said, her sister said, she heard the 
 gentleman where she lived say, that the doctor was a clever 
 man, and the girl well enough ; but he had a son in New York 
 [the price of that is three dollars], a half-brother of hers in 
 New York was a slippery kind of a man , lived in dashing 
 style. If his debts were paid he would n't own a cent." 
 
 " I don't quite like this white straw, Esther Ann. What 
 more did you hear of the young lady herself? " 
 
 " [Try this French lace.] Not much, except what I told you. 
 She 's young and pretty ; has always been kept at school [there, 
 that 's a complete fit. Just look in the glass]." 
 
 " Never mind ; finish what you were saying." 
 
 " They say her father has been very choice of her, because 
 she lost her mother so young ; and he 's brought her up tc 
 books, and music, and drawing, and all that sort of thing.' 
 The young ladies winked to each other under the shield of 
 the bonnets. " That girl's sister did n't seem to like her much. 
 She said there were some families in Mayfield that thought 
 hired girls good enough to associate with anybody ; but she had 
 lived six months right over the way from Dr. Allison's, and 
 had not been able to get acquainted with Miss Mary. She 
 said she was always flaunted out with her neck full of curls. 
 She '11 have to put 'ein up now, I guess [will you take those 
 two bonnets?]." 
 
 " You may lay them aside. We '11 not conclude till mother 
 lias been in and looked at them. You did n't hear when tho 
 wedding is to come off, did you? " 
 
 " No ; they guessed not in some time, she is so young ; but 
 I find some folks here think he has gone now to make arrange 
 ments." 
 
 " 0, no ; he has gone to his father's." 
 
 " Well, you know the Whitman place is to be sold; and they 
 
 say Mr. Cook talks of buying it. Since this thing has como 
 
 out, many think Mr. Cook is trying to get the place for Mr 
 
 Veruon. What would ho waat of another house himself! 
 
 4
 
 38 THE 8UADY SIDE J OB, 
 
 Miss Lcevy asked him about it, yesterday ; and he told her, if 
 he purchased it, there would be some one in this fall. I hope 
 Leevy will give it up now. She 's tried hard enough to catch 
 him." 
 
 The Misses Lewis could hear no more, but bit their lips for 
 vexation, and went home to report to their intriguing mania. 
 Mrs. Lewis was not prepared for the failure of her deep-laid 
 schemes. She had withdrawn her daughters from gay society, 
 taken them to hear every sermon, sent them to all the prayer- 
 meetings, drawn them in to the circle of inquirers, rejoiced over 
 their growing interest in religious things, encouraged them to 
 make an early profession of their faith, as fruits of the revival ; 
 and now to be disappointed thus ! Between the two, she had 
 thought herself secure. Lucretia was of just the right age, 
 twenty-five. Helen, she knew, was very pleasing, though she 
 had supposed her too young ; yet she was nineteen last month. 
 
 She tried to vent her disappointment in displeasure at the 
 innocent cause of it. " She would not have believed Mr. Ver- 
 non such a deceitful man ; coming here, so pleasantly, week 
 after week; so many interviews as he had had alone with 
 Lucretia, and so ready as he had been to ride in their carriage 
 to the neighborhood meetings. It was too bad. He could not 
 be the man she had thought him." 
 
 And there were others to echo this " too bad." There was 
 the shrewd, match-making Mrs. Pritchard, who had recom 
 mended no less than three of her favorites to Mr Vernon. 
 Another lady of the parish had boarded a niece from the city 
 two summers, with an eye to the cultivation of a special 
 acquaintance. No wonder she felt injured ! 
 
 Poor Olivia Cook, or " Miss Leevy," as she was generally 
 called, took the matter most to heart. She was a maiden of 
 twenty-eight, with many good qualities, yet placed by circum 
 stances on the very verge of that unenviable position in societ" 
 which exposes one to*-the derisive appellation of " spinster. 
 Like many others of this much-abused class, she was once a
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 39 
 
 bright young girl in a happy home ; but, early deprived of nat 
 ural guardians, and thrown on her own resources for a mainten 
 ance, sho had gone as seamstress from house to house these 
 many years, during all of which she was supposed to be on the 
 look-out for a settlement in life. And what harm in this fact, 
 einiply ? Her wandering life gave to the word " home " a 
 double charm, and she was consciously qualified for an indus 
 trious, frugal, and loving wife. Why should she be ridiculed 
 for coveting the relation ? 
 
 Miss Leevy had for some time been quite literary and theo 
 logical in her tastes. Indeed, it was said she might once or 
 twice have had a comfortable home, if she had not aspired to a 
 parsonage. She was a niece of Deacon Ely's wife ; and, as hia 
 house was her head-quarters, she saw a good deal of ministerial 
 company during the long interregnum that preceded the ordina 
 tion of Mr. A^ernon. With him she assiduously cultivated ac 
 quaintance, and made herself at times quite agreeable. She 
 was active during the revival ; and, though often officious, he 
 felt that she had at heart the welfare of the Redeemer's cause. 
 In the Sabbath-school and praying-circle she was ever at her 
 post. True, she might be thought to overstep the bounds of 
 maidenly reserve, in her frequent visits at Mr. Vernon's board 
 ing-place ; but Mr. Cook was her " second cousin," and she hao 
 always been in the habit of calling there. That she should 
 feel a deep and growing regard for her minister and such a 
 man, too was natural enough. That she had any special 
 expectations from him, she would not allow to her own tnoughts. 
 That he had become the centre of her thoughts, and hopes, and 
 movements, she was not aware till this fatal rumor reached her 
 ear. Was she not to be pitied ? Yet for cases like this soci 
 ety has no pity, it has only caustic words, or careless laugh 
 ter. 
 
 Among the many who called at the milliner's shop, came 
 Mrs. Deacon Ely, not to purchase a new bonnet, or a fresh
 
 40 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 ribbon for the old one, but to administer a few words of cau 
 tion to the gossiping Miss Brooks. 
 
 Mrs. Ely was a plain, sensible, matronly woman, open- 
 hearted and liberal-handed, a friend to everybody, and a quiet 
 yet fearless advocate of the truth. 
 
 We may not stop here to inquire how much the good deacon 
 was indebted to his help-meet for the fact that he was what 
 in these days is so rarely found a model in the deaconship. 
 
 Mrs, Ely talked like a mother to Esther Ann; told her that 
 " such roundabout stories as she had imported were sure to be 
 exaggerated ; perhaps it would turn out entirely false ; and 
 then how mortifying it would be to her ! But, even if the main 
 fact should prove true, how little judgment had she shown in 
 circulating reports about it that had set the whole parish in a 
 flurry ! It was not prudent, neither was it kind toward their 
 minister. We ought to have more confidence in him, than to 
 suppose he would marry ' a gay, idle young flirt,' as some are 
 calling her. 
 
 " She had really thought we were wiser here than some places 
 that make a breeze about their minister's marriage. She hoped 
 these reports would not reach Mr. Vernon's ear, his feelings 
 are so easily touched. It 's time he married ; and people ought 
 to be pleased that, so particular as he is, there is a prospect of 
 his being suited." 
 
 With such and many like words was the weak-minded girl 
 brought to feel her imprudence ; and with tears she promised 
 Mrs. Ely that she would not agitate the matter any more. 
 
 It was almost night, the night of his return, when the 
 unconscious subject of so much busy speculation entered the 
 village, with the reins lying loose on Pompey's neck, looking 
 here and there for a smiling welcome, after a five days' absence. 
 He met one and another, returning from their day's work in the 
 field, but their manner seemed to him peculiar. Some looked 
 at hiiu suspiciously, and others fixedly ; and one passed him 
 with averted eyes. What could it mean ?
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAGB. 41 
 
 At an angle of the green he met Esquire Lewis, who seemed 
 in haste, and less boisterous than usual in his salutations. A 
 something unwonted so impressed him, that he called after the 
 esquire, with an inquiry after his family, and the people in 
 general ; but only received a cool " All well, I believe." 
 
 He rode musingly across the green, and overtook two young 
 girls, to whom he spake, as ever, with pleasant greetings. One, 
 though cordial in her reply, colored deeply ; the other was Bes 
 sie Crampton, a favorite of his, to whom he had lately intro 
 duced a classmate. Bessie's face wore a comic expression, and 
 her roguish eyes flashed upon him such intelligence that ho 
 could not forbear an answering smile of conscious betrayal, and 
 a quick, sympathetic glance, which said plainly, " We under 
 stand each other." He knew that his secret was out. 
 
 He found Miss Leevy at Mr. Cook's when he entered. She 
 received him with a painfully embarrassed air, and was missing 
 when he came from his room to tea. 
 
 Mrs. Cook confirmed his conviction that tidings of his intended 
 marriage had reached Salem, wisely suppressing the embellish 
 ments that had caused such a sensation among the people. 
 
 Mr. Vernon was now open to inquiry respecting his plans; 
 and it was soon generally known that he had purchased a house, 
 and that he was to be married on the thirtieth instant 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "Echo, on 1he zephyrs gliding, 
 Bears a voice that seems to say, 
 ' Ears and hearts, come list my tiding, 
 This has been a wedding-day.' " 
 
 THE nuptial day of their minister passed not unnoted by the 
 people of his charge. As that beautiful October morning 
 dawned on hill-top and glebe, many a heart in Salem sent out 
 4*
 
 42 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 its fervent blessing on a union, in which was felt a near and 
 practical interest. Many a quick fancy traversed the thirty 
 miles of carriage-road to Mayfield, in season to witness the 
 marriage ceremony ; and, though they could see only the figure 
 of the bride, he who clasped her hand stood before their mind's 
 eye as distinct in form and feature as when they saw him in 
 the pulpit the last Sabbath. 
 
 Aunt Rachel, Mrs. Cook's invalid boarder, was almost beside 
 herself with joy. She declared it was the finest day o'f the 
 month, and that " heaven and earth were smiling on the union." 
 Having none but distant kindred, she loved her young minister 
 next to her God, with a love, too, that partook largely -of 
 reverence and worship. She had asked him the exact hour of 
 the ceremony; and when eight o'clock arrived, she was ner 
 vously fumbling the leaves of an old hymn-book, and it soon 
 became apparent that she was about to honor the event with a 
 song. True, she was very deaf, and her voice was a stringless 
 instrument ; but the psalm-tunes she sang in girlhood were 
 fresh in her memory, and she " made melody in her heart," if 
 not to the Lord, at least to the under-shepherd, who led her 
 into green pastures, beside the still waters of salvation. 
 
 As neighbors met, that day, the first thing that followed their 
 salutations was, " I suppose our minister is married this morn 
 ing." There were a few who followed up the theme by an 
 ominous shake of the head, and auguries of evil. 
 
 The afternoon of the same day, whether the coincidence 
 was designed does not appear, there was a gathering of the 
 ladies, a mile out of the village, at Deacon Ely's. Now that 
 the hurry of harvesting was over, Mrs. Ely found a pause in 
 which to quilt a comfortable that she had promised to a wretched 
 family in the neighborhood. She was a woman who found the 
 right time for everything. Hence there was no confusion in 
 her house, and nothing planned was given up for want of abil 
 ity to accomplish it. Four grown-up sons, without a sister, 
 made large demands upon her ; yet she always moved about 

 
 LIFE IN A COUNTKT PARSONAGE. 4d 
 
 with the same even, energetic step, and placid, motherly coun 
 tenance. 
 
 Two or three days before this gathering, she might have 
 been seen, after her dinner-work was done, stripping up the 
 skirts of old dresses, and putting them in proper shape for a 
 bed-covering. This done, a general invitation to the quilting 
 was circulated through the district, and sent over to the village. 
 As the result of this, .some twenty married ladies and maidens 
 met in the long dining-room, at two o'clock, with nimble fingers 
 and tongues, prepared, as usual, to carry on a double line of 
 operations. 
 
 After the work was marked off, the frame let down afc the 
 corners on the old kitchen chairs to the proper level, and duly 
 tied with tow strings, after the ladies, with much jostling 
 and running under the quilt, were all sorted, the choice of 
 thread discussed, and the size of needles compared, the way 
 was opened for conversation on any topic of general interest. 
 
 As might have been predicted, there was but one absorbing 
 theme; and that, introduced in a whisper, soon went round 
 the circle, till the loud hum of voices, and the warm expression 
 of various opinions, might have jarred on the ear of a disinter 
 ested spectator. 
 
 First, were collated all the historic items that had received 
 publicity through Esther Ann Brooks, and through the replies 
 of Mr. Vernon himself to those who had the assurance to ques 
 tion him. These, interspersed with various comments, occu 
 pied no little time ; so that the quilt was rolled twice on both 
 sides before the party reached the next broad field of remark 
 conjecture. At one right angle of the quilt several young 
 ladies discussed the wedding habiliments and arrangements ; 
 whether the bride would be attired in white, or in a travelling 
 dress, whether there would be a large or a small party, 
 would they have music at a morning wedding, in honor to 
 the new temperance movement, would they dispense with wine ; 

 
 44 THE SHADY SIDE; Ott, 
 
 and would the wedding-cake be any of it brought to Sa 
 lem for distribution. 
 
 There, a more elderly group were chatting about the houso 
 lately purchased, what repairs were needed and going for 
 ward, which rooms would be re-papered, and what would be 
 the quality of the furniture, and the style of living. Some 
 body wondered if Mrs. Vernon would bring her piano with 
 her. Carrie Wood, the youngest of the party, clapped her 
 hands at this suggestion, and " hoped so ; she should dearly 
 love to hear her play, as she had not yet seen a piano." The 
 city girl, who had come with her Aunt Hoadley to this novel 
 " sociable," put up her lip in a contemptuous curl, and looked 
 compassionately on the unsophisticated girl of fifteen, who had 
 never seen a piano. 
 
 Meanwhile, good Mrs. Ely had succeeded in enlisting half a 
 dozen ladies, among whom was Bessie Crampton, in her pro 
 posal to make up a little wardrobe for the coming necdUf the 
 destitute woman for whose benefit they were quilting. 
 
 The next turn the conversation took was upon the bearing? 
 of this new connection on the welfare of the parish. 
 
 One lady thought " it would have been a disastrous thing, had 
 it occurred last winter, in the height of the revival, it makes 
 so much talk! " Another said, " We could not expect the min 
 ister to visit as much as he had done among the people ; she 
 guessed some would miss him." A third, " thought it doubt 
 ful whether he would find as much time to study his sermons." 
 
 The good-natured Mrs. Cook said, " It would be a happy 
 thing for him, if it only kept off that melancholy look he had 
 nearly all last spring, when she used to ask him what was the 
 matter, and he told her, ' the blues.' " 
 
 The withered, sallow-looking Mrs. Buel thought " he ought 
 to consider what was for the good of the people." 
 
 Mrs. Ely came to the rescue, and asked " how it appeared 
 that he was not mindful of the interests of the people. A good 
 minister's wife was certainly an acquisition to any community
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 45 
 
 She helps the pastor, makes for him a pleasant home, increases 
 the social feeling between him and his people, and is a blessing 
 to them in many ways. There is no need of so much excite 
 ment. We should not be prejudiced so easily against one we 
 have never seen." 
 
 " Well," said the little, bustling Mrs. Colcman, " when she 
 comes, I hope she will get up some parties, or sewing-circles, or 
 something else ; it 's so horribly dull here. We only want a 
 person to take the lead, to have something going on here as well 
 as in other places." 
 
 " Take the lead ! " said Miss Leevy ; " who do you think will 
 look up to a young girl of eighteen ? " There was a significant 
 laugh around the circle. She felt a hand on the back of her 
 chair, and, looking round, saw Dr. Alden standing behind her. 
 
 He had come over to superintend the moving of some hay, 
 bought of Deacon Ely ; and, while th,e men were busy at the 
 barn, he took the liberty to look in upon the quilting party. 
 
 " What 's all this about ? " said the good doctor. 
 
 " 0," said one of the girls, " just as if you don't know, Dr. 
 Alden ; you have been in the door these ten minutes." 
 
 " Well, well," said he ; " be a little reasonable now, ladies. 
 This talk about youth and inexperience is all moonshine. Ono 
 would suppose you expected a good minister's wife to be found, 
 like some garments, ready cut and made, a complete fit. It 's 
 no such thing ; it 's the training in the sphere, that qualifies 
 them for it, though some have more native congeniality to the 
 station than others. I don't like this ado at prescribing what 
 sort of a woman a minister shall marry. For my part, I 
 would not have them all ' as like as two peas.' There are cer 
 tain fundamental things which every wise man and, of course, 
 every minister should look well to, at the beginning, good, 
 common sense, sincere piety, and mental culture, thoe lio 
 at the foundation. 
 
 " Take any young wcman with these essentials, and unite 
 her with one whom she loves with unselfish devotion ; let hia
 
 46 THE SHADY SIDE J OR., 
 
 profession be the ministry, and she will shape her course as 
 may best subserve his sphere in life. She may make some mis 
 takes for a while; but let her conscientiously discharge duties as 
 they rise, and it will not be long before she will settle down into 
 an exemplary minister's wife." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Pritchard, appealingly, " don't you think. 
 Dr. Alden, that, in such an important matter, a minister should 
 take advice, and be guided by the judgment of others ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly, ma'am," said the doctor, with assumed grav 
 ity ; " since she is to be the wife of the parish, hp should select 
 a committee of some half-dozen of his most experienced ladies, 
 and wed by proxy ; only he might be a little past his prime, 
 before they would agree in their choice." 
 
 " 0, doctor!" said Mrs. Coleman; " you are always so queer. 
 I shall make you own, now, that you think Mr. Vernon is tak 
 ing too young a bride." 
 
 "A little doubtful, Mrs. Coleman. If she is young, she will 
 have less to unlearn, and will be moulded the more easily, and 
 adapt herself with less difficulty to what is peculiar to the pro 
 fession. But, then," he added thoughtfully, " she may be 
 more susceptible to untoward influences from the people ; we 
 can do much, doubtless, to make her young life happy, or 
 uncomfortable." 
 
 " You are getting quite serious, doctor," said Mrs. Hoadley. 
 " I am sure, nobody wishes her any harm ; but who would 
 have thought Mr. Vernon would be the man to be attracted by 
 a pretty face ? " 
 
 " You have seen her, then," said he ; " you have the advan 
 tage of us." 
 
 " Now, doctor, you know better," replied the lady, with some 
 confusion. 
 
 " 0, your niece here, may have met her." 
 
 " No, no ; but we have all heard about her, from those who 
 have seen her." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," su'.J the doctor, rising " to be young
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAK30NAUK. 47 
 
 and pretty, one would think a crime." Several pairs of bright 
 eyes were suddenly raised from their work. " Well, well," 
 added he, " if it is, I know of some others in the same con 
 demnation ;" and, squinting slyly with his gray eyes toward 
 the corner of the quilt where sat Bessie and Carrie, he nodded 
 a " good day, ladies," and departed. 
 
 The needles were now plied with renewed diligence, as Mrs 
 Cook remarked that this room would be wanted to set the table 
 in, and the quilt must come off before tea. 
 
 Mrs. Ely called Leevy out to help her get tea ; and, when 
 they reached the pantry, she softly shut the door, and asked her 
 niece " what she meant by making such an imprudent remark 
 and begged her, for her own sake, to keep still ; people would 
 be drawing inferences from her appearance, and she ought to 
 be more careful ;" with many like words of caution. 
 
 To her surprise, Lcevy let fall two or three large tears, and 
 replied, " she was not aware she spoke so warmly till the words 
 were out of her lips; she was sorry, and would try to da 
 better." 
 
 "Yes," said her aunt; "and, when Mr. Vernon returns with 
 his wife, I hope you will not be backward, Leevy, in calling on 
 ner. You know, as well as I, how much has been said about 
 your visiting him ; now is your time to show people that they 
 have had no reason for talking as they have done." 
 
 To this Leevy madt) no reply, and her aunt, for once, was 
 puzzled what to think of her. 
 
 We will stay no longer at the quilting-party, for this is a 
 wedding-day, and it should bring us into a more genial atmos 
 phere. 
 
 In a capacious parlor in Mayfield, 'mid the perfume of fading 
 flowers, there linger yet the breath of warm hearts, and the 
 fragrance of honeyed lips, and the dew of gentle tears, and the 
 soft, faint echoes of the nuptial song, and the sweeter melody 
 Df farewell voices, and the lar-oft' solemn rustling of angd
 
 48 THK SHADY SI^E \ OK, 
 
 wings. Yet, to a casual observer, the place wears the stillness 
 of a deserted house. 
 
 The owner of the mansion, with feelings that make leisure 
 dreaded, has gone to visit a distant invalid. 
 
 Two or three young theologues are retracing their steps to 
 the seminary ; while twice that number of blooming girls are 
 wondering if they will ever find their way again to Mayfield. 
 
 The young missionary-elect is, by this time, seated in a train 
 of cars for " down-east," with a dark-eyed, thoughtful girl by 
 his side. 
 
 The New York brother and his gay wife are on the Sound. 
 The maiden mistress of the establishment, whose head, and 
 heart, and hands, have been so heavily taxed these many days, 
 has found her first leisure moment for a crying-spell ; and is 
 now alone in her chamber, actually indulging the unwonted 
 luxury of tears. 
 
 As for the newly-married pair, they have, since nine o'clock, 
 journeyed many a mile of carriage-road, over hill and dale, un 
 wearied by the long, rough way, with a joy in their hearts 
 too deep for a constant flow of words, and a sympathy so per 
 fect as to make a medium even of silence. 
 
 Already has Edward pointed out the spires of his native 
 town ; and now they leave the dusty thoroughfare, for the nar 
 row road, with its midway strip of green, that leads up to the 
 farm-house. 
 
 Nor is their visit unexpected, as the air of readiness, and 
 the many eager faces in waiting, amply testify. 
 
 Ere the carriage reaches the place, the new husband turns to 
 look at his bride ; he notices a sudden accession of color to her 
 cheek and a fluttering of the heart, as what bride does not 
 remember, who was presented a stranger to her husband's rela 
 tives? He tries to scan her with other eyes than his own, and 
 the result seems quite satisfactory ; for he whispers, " I know 
 they will love you, Mary." 
 
 Brother James is the first at the carriage-side, and has
 
 LIFE IN A COUMKY PARSONAGE. 49 
 
 looked iuto his new sister's face, and smiled, and oowed, ere 
 there is time for the formal words of presentation. She is 
 quite at her ease,as she feels the warm, brotherly grasp of his 
 strong hand, and responds to his cordial welcome with a kiss. 
 The four boys are straggling down the path from the door to the 
 gate, all, but one, awkward and confused, in the vain attempt 
 to recall what they were to say and do on this important occa 
 sion. Master Eddie alone is self-possessed ; and, disappointed 
 at seeing a large white horse before the carriage, he disregards 
 all ceremony, and vociferates, " Uncle Ned, why didn't you 
 come with black Pompey ? I say it's too bad." The aged 
 father is on the step, and sister Laura in the door-way with the 
 baby. But Edward makes his salutations brief till he gains 
 the hall, and clasps his mother in his arms. Nor does he pro 
 long his embrace, eager to consummate the meeting of the two 
 beings whom he loves best on earth. And how does his own 
 eye moisten as he sees the tears involuntary, start on either 
 side, the warm gush from the full cistern, the single bright 
 drop from the fountain nearly spent ! 
 
 To the aged matron, the scene recalled her buried daughter ; 
 and, by a similar force of association, Mary's lips no sooner 
 vibrated with the word " mother," than it awoke in her heart 
 the old memories of childhood and of her one great sorrow. 
 
 After a generous supper, which was waiting the arrival of 
 the youthful pair, they spent a pleasant hour in the " old north 
 room;" one on either side of mother's chair, alone with her. 
 Mary had never seen Edward look so happy or so lovable as 
 now, in the home of his childhood, by his mother's knee. 
 Blessed place ! where the man shakes off the dust and cares of 
 life, and becomes a child again. 
 
 An evening stroll in the glorious moonlight ! through the 
 orchard, beneath the large old apple-trees 7 down the smooth 
 green hill-side ; under the willows by the river bank, where 
 the boy angled for perch ; to the moss-covered rock, in whose 
 shaded niche the student was wont to con his book ; back to 
 fi
 
 50 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 the rustic perch, where the fragrant honey-suckle, so often 
 trained by hands that will never train it more, is yet studded 
 with blossoms; and the moon, looking thrcmgh the lattice, 
 makes mosaic of the sanded step. 
 
 That same moon, on the eve of this wedding-day, far to the 
 east, looks in through a muslin curtain to a homely, yet neat 
 and comfortable chamber, where, kneeling beside her bed, a 
 lowly maiden, alone with her Bible and her God, is striving to 
 calm a fevered spirit, and struggling for victory over self in its 
 most subtle guise. Poor Leevy ! 
 
 " 0, happiness ! 0, unrest ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ** She 's a woman one in whom 
 
 The spring-time of her childish years 
 Shall never lose its fresh perfume, 
 Though knowing well that life hath room 
 For many blights and tears." 
 
 " A thousand thoughts of all things dear, 
 
 Like shadows o'er me sweep ; 
 
 I leave my sunny childhood here, 
 
 0, therefore, let me weep ! " 
 
 THE people at the homestead could not fail to admire and 
 love Edward's young wife ; yet, in the brief acquaintance of a 
 few days, they did not come to appreciate her maturity and 
 strength of character. Occasionally they betrayed to Edward 
 that they regarded her rather as his pet than companion. The 
 old gentleman caressed her, and called her his " little girl." 
 Brother James would sometimes say, laughingly, " he should 
 like to see her taking care of a house." Sister Laura ventured 
 to ask her " what Salem people would say to a married lady, 
 and their minister's wife, too, with her neck full of curls ? " 
 Mary quietly replied, " that she had worn her hair in this way
 
 IN A COUNTEY PARSONAGE. 51 
 
 ever since she could remember ; and, of course, to her friends it 
 looked most natural and becoming ; but it was not stereotyped 
 thus, and she could put up the curls any time. Indeed, she 
 had tried it once, but " 
 
 " Edward objected, I venture," interposed sister Laura 
 She looked over her shoulder. He was there to speak for him 
 self. 
 
 " ! " said he, " it was the morning of our marriage. The 
 carriage was waiting. Mary carne from the library, whither 
 she^had gone to put on her bonnet. I saw the change, at a 
 glance, and whispered, ' What is this ? ' She answered, ' My 
 second concession to the good of the parish.' I told her we 
 were not going to Salem yet, but to my birth-place ; and 1 
 must take her there just as I had found her. So we were 
 delayed a half-hour, to rectify the mistake." 
 
 This incident led to a discussion as to how far a minister's 
 family should conform to the notions of their parishioners, in 
 regard to dress and style of living. Mary expressed her views 
 with sufficient modesty, yet with so much firmness that sister 
 Laura, in rehearsing the matter to her husband, declared her 
 surprise that " the girl was so spirited and independent." 
 
 The last afternoon of the visit, Master Eddie came home 
 from school, with loud complaints that his brothers had gone 
 off, and left him to play alone. His new aunt had taken quite 
 a fancy to the child. She told him she would play with him, 
 if that would do. 
 
 " ! but, auntie," said he, " you will not run with me in 
 the yard, and play catch." 
 
 " Certainly I will," she replied; and the romp began. 
 
 James and EJward stood in the porch, and watched them ; 
 both with pleasure, one with evident pride and satisfaction, 
 as the young bride's silvery laugh rung out, and the glow height 
 ened on her cheek, and the glossy curls were tossed to and fro 
 on her bare neck.
 
 52 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 " They are about the same age," said James. " It 's a pretty 
 picture, Ned ; but I fear she is too much of a child for you." 
 
 Edward's eyes were already moist with silent thanksgivings 
 that so bright and joyous a gift had been vouchsafed him. 
 When he spoke, it was with a feeling and emphasis that startled 
 his brother. 
 
 "It was this very thing, James, what you call childish 
 gayety ; this buoyancy and freshness of feeling, that won mo 
 at the first. I had grown old in spirit ; fevered with the heat 
 and burden of my professional cares, I was faint and worn 
 when I first met her ; and I welcomed her converse as you do 
 the cooling shade at noon, in your sun-burnt fields. It was 
 like the green grove and bubbling fountain to the heated travel 
 ler at mid-day. It seemed to take me back ten years, and 
 to renew my early youth. True, there were other qualities 
 which found a deeper place in my heart ; but it was this which 
 first attracted and charmed me." 
 
 " But," said James, " this ' freshness,' as you call it, cannot 
 last. The season of girlhood will soon be passed." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the other, quickly. " If it 
 were the mere effervescence of animal spirits, time might exhaust 
 the fountain ; but it is, with Mary, something more than that ; 
 it is part of her temperament; an element, too, that has 
 great tenacity of life. I believe it possible to retain it even till 
 old age ; and how delightful to be always young, always 
 fresh in feeling ! There may be much to try it, much to 
 quench it ; but, even to the last, traces of the old playfulness 
 will remain; like the effervescing draught, it will sparkle at 
 the bottom of the glass." 
 
 " You are quite eloquent, Edward ; and tears in your eyes, 
 too ! Well, I hope you will realize all you anticipate ; but 
 why look so grave ? I have not displeased you ? " 
 
 " No," said Edward ; " 1 was straining my eyes to look into 
 the distant future ; and a prophetic mood was fast coming ovei 
 me. You think I love too well, James."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 53 
 
 " I have not said that, brother. I don't know as I think it. 
 She loves you tenderly, I can see, notwithstanding she is some 
 what shy of caresses ; and you ought to give her all your heart, 
 that is, as much of it as you may lawfully give to any 
 earthly object. But do not make an idol of her, brother. Are 
 you not in some danger of this ? " 
 
 Edward's thoughts, just then, took a sudden impetus, as 
 Mary came tripping round the corner, with Eddie in full chase ; 
 and, bounding from the porch, he caught them both at once, and 
 put an end to the race. 
 
 It was the middle of November when Edward and Mary 
 returned from their wedding tour, and found the dear home in 
 Mayfield (never had it seemed dearer) alive with the bustle of 
 preparation for their house-keeping. The carpets had been 
 selected previously to the marriage, the floors they were to 
 cover measured, and they were now ready to be laid as soon as 
 wanted. The cabinet furniture, too, was purchased at the same 
 time, and stood boxed in the distant city, ready to be forwarded 
 per order. Three seamstresses, with busy needles, under Miss 
 Allison's supervision, had now nearly completed their task ; and, 
 in the expressive words of Ann, the domestic, there had been 
 " lots o' sewing done in this house since the wedding." 
 
 The eighteenth was a clear, frosty morning. The house was 
 a-stir before day-dawn. Mary woke with the first sound ; for 
 ^even in sleep she had not lost the consciousness that she was to 
 set forth to-day for a new home. Presently a light was 
 brought to her door, and she dressed as hastily as possible, that 
 she might have a little time to herself before breakfast. 
 
 Lighting her own lamp, she placed it on the shelf for 
 Edward, and, taking the other, slipped out, and round to her 
 own li;tle chamber, which had been her resting-place and sanc 
 tuary ever since her childhood. 
 
 Her heart was very, very full ; and the emotions, how min 
 gled, how tender, how strong! She sought her accustoired 
 place of prayer, and bowed her head ; but it was many minutes 
 5*
 
 54 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 ere she could command her voice. Then, when utterance came, 
 how earnest were the pleadings, and how often interrupted, 
 now for a gush of tears, and now for recollections which fur 
 nished new materials for supplication, or fresh matter for giving 
 of thanks ! 
 
 0, what a relief is prayer to the burdened Christian ! What 
 like this can still the convulsive heart-throbbings, or give com 
 posure and strength to the soul ? 
 
 Every believer has his signal visits to the mercy-seat; places 
 where, like Jacob, he sets up a memorial, to look back upon 
 through all his after pilgrimage ; times when, as a prince, he 
 had power with God, and prevailed. 
 
 Such was this early-morning interview to Mary. Tranquil 
 lized and refreshed, she rose, and drew the curtain toward the 
 rising day. A few stars were 'yet in the sky, and the faint 
 streaks of daylight rapidly brightened, till every feature of the 
 familiar landscape stood revealed. Distant, in the dusky twi 
 light, she could trace the white enclosure of the quiet church 
 yard ; and she gazed till the increasing dawn showed her the 
 weeping-willow by her sainted mother's grave. 
 
 But neither the sight of that consecrated spot, nor the thought 
 of what a home she was leaving, nor the image of her father, 
 Borrowing, as he should miss her, from day to day, nor the pres 
 sure of untried and weighty responsibilities, nor the lively sense 
 of her own weakness and deficiency, had power to disturb her 
 now. A holy peace was in her heart. That heart was stayed 
 on God, and its one deep aspiration was to honor Christ by a 
 life spent in doing good. 
 
 One hurried look around the chamber, and she went down to 
 the breakfast table, with traces of tears on her cheek, but with 
 a halo round her that told of sunlight in her heart. 
 
 Edward led the family worship. His prayer was brief and 
 tender. Mary felt that he must know something of what had 
 been passing in her own thoughts. He doubtless had some 
 appreciation of the circumstances, as they would naturally affect
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 55 
 
 one of her ardent susceptibilities. Beyond this, had he any 
 idea of the scope and depth of her emotions, at this great orisia 
 in hot history ? We trow not. Just now, and on this point, 
 Mary's father had for her a more perfect sympathy than her 
 husband. He could not trust himself to part with her here ; 
 BO he resolved to slip away from his business, for a single night, 
 and see her to house-keeping. 
 
 The cavalcade was soon under way. Dick was first sent off, 
 with the loaded team ; then the married pair were helped away ; 
 and, lastly, the doctor fairly started, with his elder daughter, 
 after sundry delays, caused by her " more last words " to Ann, 
 about the care of things during her absence. Every vehicle 
 was laden to its utmost capacity. The last article, which was 
 to go " this side up, with care," was a basket of provisions, pre 
 pared by the hands of the skilful housewife, which Edward 
 insisted might be dispensed with, as the generosity of his peo 
 ple would doubtless make it a work of supererogation ; to which 
 Miss Harriet, as she carefully deposited it at her feet, replied, 
 with a knowing look, " We shall see." 
 
 - 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Young wife, be not as a timid girl ; there is honor due to thino estate." 
 " It snowed within hi house, of meat and drink." 
 
 " happy lot, and hallowed, even as the joy of angels, 
 Where the golden chain of godliness is entwined with the roses of love f " 
 
 IT was at a late dinner-hour that our travellers entered the 
 village of Salem, and, passing through it, a quarter of a mile 
 beyond the church, stopped at the low, red house which hud 
 long been the minister's boarding place. 
 
 Sister Harriet, with her usual independence, rebelled some 
 what at this arrangement. " We had better go at once .0 the
 
 56 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 new house. We have enough to eat, and can make ourselves 
 quite comfortable." But Mr. Vernon had yielded a promise 
 to Mrs. Cook's earnest solicitation that he would bring the 
 bride to dine with her. So he just reminded their sister that 
 it was one thing to be mistress of ceremonies at Mayfield, and 
 quite another to be his guest in Salem. She must hold herself 
 at his disposal. 
 
 Aunt Rachel was in her element, and knew not which most 
 to admire, the gentle, blooming girl, or the kind, sensible, gen 
 tlemanly doctor, who patiently heard the story of her ailments, 
 and recommended several remedies which she had never tried. 
 
 After dinner, Mary asked Edward to let her take a peep at 
 his room, his " bachelor sanctum ;" but his landlady over 
 heard, and begged he would not go up stairs, as the chambers 
 were not in order to-day. Miss Allison, too, interposed, say 
 ing it would be needful to go to work at once, if they accom 
 plished anything toward furnishing the house before night. 
 Mrs. Cook informed them that she had seen to the cleaning, 
 and that the rooms were all dry and aired, ready to begin, and 
 she would go over with them. 
 
 The whole village was by this time aware of the arrival. 
 Many a stealthy glance was taken behind half-closed shutters, 
 or slightly drawn curtains, beside the open gaze from shop-doors 
 and wayside. Mary felt that many curious eyes were scanning 
 her, and she was glad to be fairly within the protecting walls 
 of her own dwelling. 
 
 Presently a group of ladies gathered, proffering their assist 
 ance, to whom the young pastor, as fast as they arrived, pre 
 sented his bride. A company of men were round the door, 
 helping the doctor and Dick take off the load ; and many a 
 pair of eyes from without peered curiously in, at every entrance^ 
 to get a glimpse of the minister's wife. 
 
 Mr. Vernon now told Mrs. Cook, if other ladies came she 
 must attend to them while he was gone to change his attire, 
 which he must do before he could go to work in earnest. She
 
 LltS IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAGE. 57 
 
 put her hand on his arm, as he was passing out, and said, " I 
 don't know as you will like it, sir, the liberty we 've taken ; 
 but I thought 't would help a good deal, it 's so near the last 
 of the week, if your s^Hy was moved over before you came ; 
 so we did it yesterday." 
 
 A troubled expression crossed his face, as he thought of books 
 and papers passing through hands unused to such freight ; but 
 his next thought was a grateful one, and a smile and word of 
 thanks were on his lips as the good woman added, " We were 
 very careful, sir, of everything. There were men enough to 
 lift, and so we took nothing out of the drawers, either in tho 
 library or secretary. Just run up, and see how you like it." 
 
 " Ah ! " said she, as they reached the door, " you will not 
 need to stoop here; ifc's higher between joints than our old 
 place." 
 
 " So, here we are, sure enough ! " said the minister, with a 
 delight which Mrs. Cook intensely shared. " Here 's my car 
 pet ; there, my lounge ; the library, secretary, old arm-chair, 
 everything but the bed, and I am not sorry to miss that. 
 My wardrobe, too, in the closet ! But how did you happen to 
 hit my fancy in the arrangement ? " 
 
 " 0," said his honest friend, " Aunt Rachel said that would 
 be the trouble, we should put nothing where you would want 
 it ; but Miss Crampton saw us, and she ran over, and said she 
 had been in here while the room was being papered, and heard 
 you speak about it. So she told us where things were to 
 stand." 
 
 " And she arranged the books, did she not ? I should not 
 know they had been touched." 
 
 " No ; she offered to help, but cousin Lcevy took them down, 
 ami she said she would put them up again herself, as she knew 
 just how they went." 
 
 " 0, ho ! 't was fhe, was it ? Well, Miss Olivia has a bump 
 of order. By the way, is she here ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; she hi-lpcd me a!>out the dinner to-day, and then
 
 58 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 went over to Deacon Ely's. She said her aunt would want to 
 come this afternoon, and she would stay and attend to the milk- 
 ing." 
 
 Mr. Vernon now recollected that hWiad left his wife alone 
 among strangers. He was hastening to go down, when sister 
 Harriet met him ; and, putting a carpet hammer and tacks in 
 his hand, bade him go to work in an adjoining chamber. 
 
 " But," said he, " don't be so authoritative. I must go and 
 find Mary first." 
 
 " There is no need of that trouble. The child can take care 
 of herself. She is as busy a*? a bee, and has set all those ladies 
 at work, too;" she did not add, as she might, " much against 
 my will." 
 
 The fact was, this peculiar and energetic personage would 
 have preferred to make no acquaintances in Salem till the house 
 was furnished and ready to receive company. Then, she had 
 no great estimate of the value of such kind of assistance. It 
 sadly conflicted with the systematic order of proceedings ar 
 ranged in her own brain. So, when Mary came to her, as she 
 was unpacking beds and linen, and asked her to step out and be 
 introduced to the company, and accept their offers of help, she 
 replied in a whisper, that " this was no time for compliments ; 
 better tell the ladies there was nothing they could do : 't would 
 hinder more than help ! " 
 
 But Mary suggested that they would be better pleased to be 
 allowed to do something, and she at length consented to go out 
 and see them. 
 
 One woman remarked, " We are ready to help, if you will only 
 Bet us to work." Miss Allison stood uneasily, and was silent. 
 Another proposed, as there was nothing done in the parlors, 
 to begin there, and spread the carpets, and put up the curtains. 
 This brought Miss Allison out; and she told the ladies that 
 " the parlors could be dispensed with for one day, but they 
 must have a place to eat and sleep in. The most she hoped to 
 Ho, this afternoon and evening, was to get the lodging-rooma
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 59 
 
 ready, and the dining-room so they could stay in it, and put 
 up a ^tove, and get out dishes enough to use for supper an^ 
 breakfJist." Having been thus communicative, she hastened 
 back to her task. 
 
 A bright fire was blazing on the kitchen hearth, over which 
 hung a kettle of boiling water. Taking a hint from this, Mary 
 told her new friends she thought the most difficult job, perhaps, 
 was the unpacking and washing of the crate of crockery. If 
 they chose to attempt it, she would begin there. 
 
 Mrs. Ely now arrived ; and, seeing how the others were 
 occupied, she set down her basket of provisions in the pantry, 
 and offered her services with Mrs. Cook in the sleeping apart 
 ments, where she was so perfectly at home, in laying palliasse or 
 mattress, shaking feather-bed or bolster, airing linen or blank 
 ets, that she won golden opinions from the very particular per 
 son who superintended these operations. 
 
 Meanwhile the young mistress of the parsonage, having ti< 'i 
 a white muslin apron over her plain travelling dress, movol 
 gracefully around, sustaining, with lady-like composure, th-i 
 many searching side-glances she could not fail to see, unflut 
 tered by the whispers, accidentally overheard, that were noi 
 designed for her ear, quietly guiding in the arrangement of 
 china-closet and cupboard, finding time for a pleasant word 
 to the gentletnen. as they passed in and out with the furniture, 
 improving opportunities, in some by-passage, to put her arm 
 round her dear father's neck, and press her lips to his cheek, 
 and keeping up a constant, though mostly imtte, correspondence 
 with her husband, as he contrived not to lose sight of her for 
 many minutes at a time, causing the color to heighten on her 
 check, occasionally, by his manifest admiration. 
 
 By six o'clock the parsonage began to look inhabitable, and 
 the ladies dispersed. Long before that time, Mary, with her 
 quick, intuitive perception of* 1 character, had formed estimates 
 of her new acquaintances. She felt, already, that there were 
 some people in Salem whom she could truft and love. Her
 
 60 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 heart warmed towards Mrs. Ely as to a mother. In Mrs. 
 Crarnpton she saw a friend on whose wisdom and fidelity sho 
 might rely, one who would make allowance for her youth, 
 and be considerate of her in all circumstances. The frank, 
 impulsive Bessie, she was previously prepared to love ; and, as 
 they moved side by side from kitchen to pantry, a telegraphic 
 chain was soon established between them. When they parted 
 at twilight, it was with a kiss and a warm pressure of the 
 hand, while Edward smiled fondly on them both. 
 
 In Mrs. Lewis, who, to save appearances, called a few min 
 utes, she saw more of the critic than the friend, and felt 
 relieved when the cold, gray eyes, which scanned her so envi 
 ously, withdrew. 
 
 The lively Mrs. Coleman interested her, she hardly knew 
 why ; though she only called at the door to tell Mr. Vernon 
 she was saving herself for a time when they would need her 
 more. She expected to make great efforts, by-and-by, to keep 
 his young wife from being moped to death in this dull place. 
 
 There were others, in regard to whom Mary only felt that 
 they were well-meaning women, who thought highly of their 
 minister. 
 
 Bessie Crampton had helped Mary set the tea-table ; and, 
 just after she left, there tripped up the steps a timid, beautiful 
 girl, all smiles and blushes, whom Edward introduced as Carrie 
 Wood. Mary spoke lovingly to her, and put her arm caress 
 ingly around the slight form to draw her in. But Carrie " could 
 not stay ; she had left mamma with one of her bad headaches, 
 and must hasten back. Here was a jar of strawberry jam, 
 with mother's love." Mary kissed her good evening, and she 
 ran lightly back, saying, as she reached her mother's room, u I 
 did not dare look at her much ; but she has the most beautiful 
 voice I ever heard, just like music. I loved her as soon as 
 she spoke." Dear Carrie ! The love which she inspired was 
 equally spontaneous and warm. Little did they imagine it 
 would ere long be put in requisition so sadly.
 
 LlVK IN A COUNTKY PARSONAGE. t$l 
 
 Mr. Vernon and sister Harriet, it will be remembered, had 
 a little difference of opinion on a certain point affecting the 
 credit of his people. He resolved it should be settled before 
 tea ; in order to which, he led her to the pantry, and pointed 
 triumphantly to the well-stored shelves. There were hams of 
 bacon, and dried beef; balls of golden butter, and a fine cheese; 
 before the window, a joint of roast meat, and a chicken pie, 
 which bore the familiar stamp of the deacon's wife. Here was 
 a row of mince pies, looking as much at home as if the pastry 
 had been rolled on the very kncading-board that lay by their 
 side. There were tins of cake and new biscuit, all unconscious 
 of transportation ; and a pan of milk, serenely forgetful of its 
 agitated passage hither in a wooden bottle. 
 
 Miss Harriet took the surprise quite coolly, and proceeded 
 to open her own basket of edibles, that Mrs. Ely, who was 
 present, might not suppose they meant to throw themselves on 
 the generosity of the parish. 
 
 How pleasant to the young minister was that tirst table- 
 gathering in his own house, with its novel sense of independ 
 ence and responsibility ! With what grace did Mary preside, 
 her father seated at her right hand, with eyes that moistened 
 whenever he looked at her ! The good deacon's wife seemed not 
 an interloper, but as one of the family ; while Miss Allison 
 looked the very genius of the occasion. 
 
 In the evening, Deacon Ely came for his wife, and made a 
 pleasant call ; in the course of which, he asked Mr. Vernon 
 about his young horse, whether he wag getting much accus 
 tomed to the harness, and at length said, abruptly, 
 
 " Well, Mr. Vernon, I have a proposal to make to you. 
 You will want to ride about considerable this winter, and your 
 colt is not very strong. You had hotter take one of my ha vs. 
 I am about through with my fall work now, and can got 
 with one. When I want the span, I can s^Vi for him ; but it 
 will not be often. So, I will keep your coH, .aid the boys will 
 6
 
 62 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 exercise him for you, if you '11 trust them. What do you think 
 of the matter ? " 
 
 " 0, thank you, thank you ! " said Mr. Vernon. " If I 
 accept, I shall have the best of the bargain. It would be a 
 nice arrangement." 
 
 " Another thing," said the good man, " if you will not think 
 aae inquisitive. What will you do for a vehicle ? " 
 
 Mr. Vernon did not know. He had thought of purchasing, 
 but concluded to wait till his horse had more power. The 
 deacon was about to suggest a way, when Dr. Allison quietly 
 informed him that he had ordered a carriage at the manufac 
 tory in Mayfield, which he should do himself the pleasure to 
 present to his children. 
 
 As the worthy parishioners were departing, Mr. Vernon sent 
 his best regards to Miss Leevy, and his thanks for her careful 
 hand in the removal of his library ; to which Mrs. Ely replied 
 that Leevy would come over and help them, if she could be of 
 any use. Miss Allison's face wore a demurrer, but it did not 
 prevent the response, " Tell her to come ; her needle will be 
 quite in place here ; besides, we want to see her ;" and Mrs. 
 Ely's last look was one of satisfaction. 
 
 " Edward, how could you ? " said sister Harriet. The young 
 man smiled ; he knew what he was about. 
 
 The cool evening gave a snug home air to the well-warmed 
 and lighted dining-room. Another half-hour of social converse 
 passed, and then this new Christian household was organized 
 by the setting up of the family altar. The young master of 
 the family entered upon his duties, as the priest of his own house, 
 with sacrifices of thanksgiving and praise. Toward this service 
 all his religious thoughts and affections had been, through the 
 day, converging. That first prayer as the head of his house ; 
 how tender, how earnest, how full of unction and power ! it 
 well became the occasion and the man. 
 
 0, how blessed the dwelling-place that is devoutly consecrated 
 to the God of all the families of the earth ! Whatever uncer-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSON AGE. 03 
 
 tainties hang, to human view, over its future history ; what 
 ever changes it may witness ; whether predominates there tho 
 voice of health and gladness, or the wail of sorrow and pain ; 
 whether its larder be filled with plenty, or made lean by pov 
 erty ; how oft soever its windows may be darkened by calamity 
 and death, one thing is sure. It is the abiding-place of the 
 Most High ; the angel of the covenant is there, and, in the 
 deepest night of grief, that dwelling has light, and hope, and 
 peace. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " She, round thy sweet domestic bower, 
 
 The wreath of fadeless love will twine ; 
 Watch for thy step at vesper hour, 
 
 And blend her holiest prayer with thine." 
 
 LET us look again into the old " Whitman place," now that 
 it has fairly established its new name on the lips of the people, 
 and is publicly known as " the Parsonage." 
 
 It is a wintry afternoon in December. In the little back- 
 parlor, a bright wood-fire is crackling and glowing in the open 
 " Franklin ;" for the forests about Salem were, in those days, 
 unfelled, and fuel was cheap ; hence, the luxury of an open fire 
 might be indulged, even in a parsonage, without the charge of 
 extravagance. In the centre of the room, on a piece of new 
 drugget, stands the tea-table, ready spread for the evening 
 meal. Between it and the fire, in a light cane-seat rocker, sits 
 the young mistress of the dwelling, her little work-stand at 
 her side, and in her hand a paper-covered volume, which she 
 has been for the last half hour, intently perusing, not the 
 latest novelette, but the October number of a well-known quar 
 terly, the Spectator. 
 
 A small French clock on the mantel strikes the half hour
 
 t)4 THE SHADY SIDE? OR, 
 
 after five, and that sweet, thoughtful face is raised from the 
 book to listen for a familiar step. Then the eyes return not to 
 the open page, but fall musingly on the blazing fire-light ; and 
 presently, over that mental attitude of happy expectation, steals 
 a dimness which makes the whole scene recede into a waking 
 dream of six months ago, -a dream oft repeated, of just such 
 a twilight hour, in some quiet parsonage, waiting his return to a 
 cheerful supper and a happy hearth. That seemed so life-like, 
 so real ; this so vague and dream-like. Which is the reality ? 
 
 A gust of wind breaks the thread of these cogitations, and 
 calls her to the window. She looks out toward the church and 
 the village green. The snow has been falling very quietly all 
 tie afternoon, ever since Edward started on foot to visit a sick 
 parishioner two miles distant. So still had the flaky shower 
 come down, that she was surprised to see how it had accumu 
 lated. Around the old Academy a few boys were lingering, to 
 finish a game at snow-ball ; and, as the sudden gale rapidly 
 increased, the whirling eddies of snow made her wish that 
 Edward was safely housed out of reach of the storm. 
 
 " Ah, he has come ! " She hears his step in the portico, and, 
 before he can shake the snow from his umbrella, she is at the 
 door to let him in. It is of no use for him to admonish her of 
 the driving snow and the chilling wind ; she will stand in the 
 door and brush the feathery flakes from his hat and wrapper, 
 till he forgets the discomfort of the walk in the pleasure of so 
 joyous a greeting, till there hangs, across her forehead and in 
 her curls, a snowy wreath more becoming than her bridal 
 pearls ; and a richer glow mantles her cheek as she leads the 
 way to the dear, cosey parlor, and adds another stick of maplo 
 to the glowing hearth. Gown and slippers are brought from 
 the adjoining room ; and now the tea comes in, and Mary 
 listens to the particulars of the pastoral visit, and to the pre 
 vious history of the afflicted family. 
 
 While the " tea things " are being removed, Edward goes to 
 the barn tc see the old bay horse disposed for the night.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 65 
 
 When ha returned, the table, with its rich, dark cover, was 
 drawn nearer the fire ; the astral burning brightly in the centre. 
 On one side, Mary with her knitting, and by the other, an easy 
 chair drawn up for him. 
 
 ] [e had many questions to ask of her first afternoon alone, 
 ind she had much to answer. 
 
 She had written a letter home, which was left unsealed for 
 him to add a line 4 and she watched his varying featui-es while 
 he read, now with a smile, some playful passage, and now, 
 with graver mien, some expression of earnest desire to do good, 
 or of inward perplexity in her new vocation, which, with her 
 wonted freedom, she had confided to her only parent. 
 
 Then the miscellany theological and literary which she 
 had been reading, came in for a share of attention. Some pas 
 sages she had faintly marked with her pencil, that she might 
 recall them for discussion with him. And this was not the first 
 time he was surprised at the pertinence of her criticisms, and 
 the vigor of her thoughts, on those abstruse themes on which 
 he had been wont to read and meditate alone. She smiled as 
 he said, with emphasis, " Two are better than one." 
 
 And now followed lighter discourse, as Mary's fancy took an 
 excursion to her childhood's home, and she pictured the group 
 around that other fireside, more familiar than her own. Very 
 pleasantly passed the evening, till nine o'clock brought the hour 
 of prayer. 
 
 " Truly," thought Edward, " this is better than my poor 
 bachelor room at Mr. Cook's." An instant after, a whispering 
 thought questioned, " Where are the sermons for the Sabbath 
 just at hand ? " and a faint echo answered, " Where ? " 
 
 ISdward and Mary felt but just settled in their new abode 
 The three weeks since their entrance had flown rapidly by, 
 though on heavy-laden wings. 
 
 Their house was in prime order, Miss Allison doing nothing 
 " by halves." But it had troubled her greatly, that she could 
 find no means to induct her young sister into the science of 
 6*
 
 66 THE SIIADT SIDE; OB, 
 
 house-keeping, especially that department which provided fur 
 the table. Time, in those days, was too precious to spend in 
 experimenting. Then, she had so little confidence in Mary's 
 capability; and, to increase the difficulty, "Thanksgiving," 
 that notable state festival, was just at hand, demanding the 
 highest culinary skill. 
 
 Very pleasant was it, truly, to have so experienced a man 
 ager at the domestic helm ; and Edward jnsisted there was 
 time enough hereafter for Mary's season of apprenticeship ; 
 and sister Harriet soon settled it, in her mind, that she never 
 would learn, till left alone to depend on her own resources. 
 
 The family gathering at " the feast " was delightful. The 
 doctor and William arrived the night before, and a joyous occa 
 sion they made of it. 
 
 Edward had but a day and a night to bestow on his sermon ; 
 but he did not labor in vain. He had, indeed, no nicely-spun 
 logic in favor of " conservatism" or burning rhetoric in behalf 
 of " agitation" He entered into no elaborate analysis of the 
 great national compact, nor made an effort to solve the oft- 
 mooted question, whether a certain form of evil is sin ''per 
 se," He broached no new philosophical theories, nor denounced 
 the innovations of liberal thinkers in theology. Yet his dis 
 course was by no means tame. His own heart was alive to the 
 divine goodness. And when he named the passage, " All my 
 springs are in thee," and, in the exuberance of his own joy and 
 gratitude, led an excursion up many a stream which, for a 
 twelve-month, had been flowing in with blessing, tracing each 
 by a different channel to the same fountain-head, not an audi 
 tor was weary ; and wherever devout affection burned, it waa 
 kindled to a brighter flame. 
 
 The good people of Salem were wont to " send portions to 
 them for whom nothing was provided." Yet it was a new 
 pleasure to have a minister's family on whom to shower their 
 benefactions ; and the gifts were neither few nor small. 
 
 It was a bountiful table round which the happy circle at ths
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 67 
 
 parsonage discussed the excellence of the viands, and tra gen 
 erosity of the people, and the mercies, providential and spirit 
 ual, which made their cup to overflow. 
 
 There was some drawback to Mary's enjoyment, in the oft- 
 recurring thought that she was to lose sister Harriet on the 
 morrow. That worthy lady had a plan which she had not 
 divulged. Many a time, the last few days, she had asked 
 Mary, "What will you do, poor child, when I am gone?" and 
 though the reply was always a hopeful one, it did not seem to 
 settle the question. 
 
 True, Mr. Vernon had offered, as a matter of course, to pro 
 vide domestic help ; but his young wife declined, till she should 
 have put her own hand to the business, and thus become able 
 to guide others in the affairs of her house. She would con 
 sent to hire a day's labor weekly ; but beyond this she chose 
 to put herself to the work, till she acquired skill by expe 
 rience. 
 
 Sister Harriet had not been at the parsonage many days, 
 before she was convinced that this plan was, at present, imprac 
 ticable. The difficulty was, to get time to do all that was 
 requisite, even in a family of only two members. There were 
 BO many calls, and so many invitations, and such projects hinted 
 at, whose shadows were already visible, it was plain the new 
 minister's wife was to be put thoroughly in requisition. 
 
 " If father is willing," thought the kind-hearted sister, " Ann 
 shall come down when I leave, and stay awhile, till Mary gets 
 through making acquaintances among the people." Father was 
 willing, and so the secret was announced, much to the satisfao 
 tion of all parties. 
 
 The doctor could not be persuaded to prolong his visit another 
 day. Two nights in succession was a longer absence than he 
 often ventured ; and he always had extra calls for a week after 
 Thanksgiving. 
 
 And was not Mary very lonely after their departure ? 
 Edward had an exchange of pulpit services for the next
 
 68 THE SHADY SIDE,' OK, 
 
 Sabbath, and so chose to consider himself quite at leisure. It 
 was very pleasant to be alone with him. There was no painful 
 solitude in the parsonage yet. 
 
 The following Tuesday called him to assist at an ordination, 
 wnich would keep him from home over night. With Mary's 
 consent, he asked Olivia Cook to stay with her during his 
 absence. 
 
 Miss Leevy's growing familiarity at the parsonage surprised 
 and puzzled the gossips of the parish. That she should feel so 
 much at her ease there, was matter of surprise to herself. 
 When she received the first message, through Mrs. Ely, she 
 resolved, from a sense of duty, to go, expecting to have an awk 
 ward and embarrassed time of it. But not so was poor Leevy's 
 night of penitence, and conflict, and noble resolve, to be rewarded. 
 Her minister, if he knew her weakness, was too generous to 
 seem aware of it, and too nice in his adaptation of himself to 
 circumstances to fail in the present instance. Miss Olivia was 
 received with such a mixture of cordiality and respect, both by 
 himself and wife, as soothed her spirit, while it freed her from 
 all constraint and embarrassment. 
 
 Instead of a day, she stayed a whole week, making herself 
 very useful, even in the estimation of Miss Allison. She seemed 
 to drop at once into a niche ready-made, which she felt might 
 properly belong to her, and was quite agreeable. Admitted to 
 the generous confidence of the family, and treated like a tried 
 friend, she never gave them occasion for regret ; while slander 
 ous tongues were silenced, because they knew not what to say. 
 
 After those two days alone with Mary, Leevy told her aunt 
 that people would find the minister's wife, though young, was 
 not a child. She had a mind of her own ; and, though unas 
 suming, and willing to listen to the opinion of Bothers, her own 
 judgment seemed to be formed on almost everything connected 
 with her relations to the people. 
 
 This long piece of road, which we went back to travel, brings 
 us up again to the snowy day with which our chapter opens
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. G9 
 
 and the next Jay, as Mary prophesied, the fine sleighing brought 
 an arrival from May field. It was Dick and the delighted Ann, 
 with a package of letters and of love, to say nothing of (rther 
 packages quite substantial. 
 
 Now there will be some one in the kitchen, and we shall 
 hear of the minister's wife out among the people. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " [She] knows 
 
 Herself the mark of scrutinizing eyes, 
 And curious observations. Apt remarks 
 Are ventured, subtle questions asked, to prove 
 And fathom [her] opinions." 
 
 "WHAT'S the use," said Aunt Deborah, "of having a min 
 ister's wife, if she will not go ahead in all kinds of benevolent 
 effort ? " 
 
 " Sure enough," thought Mrs. Pritchard ; " and it is time we 
 knew whether our pastor's wife is good for anything in this 
 line. / will find out." 
 
 It was the middle of the morning, and Mary's hands were in 
 her pastry, when she heard sleigh-bells at the gate, and, send 
 ing Ann to the door, hastily washed off the flour, and laid aside 
 her kitchen apron, preparatory to a call. 
 
 Mrs. Pritchard swept into the back parlor, with a business 
 like air. (Mary had seen her before, and she was not a woman 
 to be easily forgotten.) " She supposed Mrs. Vernon was not in 
 the habit of receiving calls at this hour; but she had come in to 
 have a little conversation on a matter of some importance. 
 Things had got very much behindhand in Salem, since their 
 former pastor was dismissed, six years ago. They had no ladies 
 who were willing to take the lead, especially in the village. It 
 was a long time since they had sustained a female pi ay or- meet
 
 70 Tl SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 ing in this neighborhood ; but she presumed there was one 
 noto." [A pause.] Mary had " not heard of one." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied Mrs. P. ; "I hoped you had started one 
 before now ;" and she proceeded to inform Mrs. Vernon that 
 " she had resolved to see to the formation of a sewing society, 
 and had come over to the village, this morning, for that pur 
 pose. She had called on several ladies, who seemed willing to 
 have something done ; and s/ie meant to have it arranged 
 before she went home." 
 
 Mrs. Vernon was ready to cooperate with others in any 
 movement of the kind. She thought such an association pleas 
 ant and profitable. 
 
 Mrs. P. was " glad she approved the project. Indeed, she was 
 sure she would ; and she had ventured to make an appointment 
 for to-morrow, at her own house. Would Mrs. Vernon draw 
 up a ' constitution,' and bring over with her, that they might 
 be ready to organize ; and would she ask Mr. Vernon to come 
 over to tea ? " with a manner that plainly said, " I shall not 
 expect him till tea." 
 
 This interview ended, Mary's first impulse was to run up to 
 the study and make report ; but the thought of her half-made 
 pics sent her in haste to the kitchen, where she found Ann, in 
 the height of successful experiment, just taking them from the 
 oven. 
 
 The girl was about as much of a novice as her mistress, in 
 the nicer arts of the housewife. Though she had been under 
 the tutelage of Miss Allison a twelve-month, she had been 
 intrusted with no responsibility, scarcely allowed a hand in 
 compounding aught for the table. 
 
 Mary's house-keeping noviciate was, on the whole, a difficult 
 one. Unaccustomed to this department of labor, unused, as 
 yet, to the habit of constant forethought, which makes the task 
 comparatively easy to the initiated ; with many watchful eyes, 
 to note her failures, there were times when she did most bit 
 terly regret that her girlhood was passed in such freedom from
 
 LIF.H IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 71 
 
 contact with domestic duties. Once and again she tried to 
 make Edward acknowledge his mistake in hastening their mar 
 riage ; but that gentleman was never sufficiently penetrating to 
 perceive any mistake. He would only smile, and say, he " was 
 satisfied," or, " she was doing nobly," or, " she would make the 
 best- housekeeper yet in the professional sisterhood." 
 
 Mary, indeed, resolved to be mistress of the science ; and she 
 did eventually attain her standard. But these initial lessons 
 were attended with many a mortification, and a transient heart 
 ache, and some secret tears, tears which were recalled, 'mid 
 the trials of after years, with much the same feeling as tho 
 perplexed school -girl, in her teens, looks back to those she shed 
 over her first broken doll. 
 
 Now, in addition to her home duties, she begins to realize 
 that the parish look upon her as a sort of public functionary. 
 It seems a mere matter of course that she should draw up a 
 " constitution," and organize a sewing circle. She meditated 
 the subject, half-mirthfully, half-gravely, till Edward cam* 
 down to dinner, and, in the same mingled mood, laid it before 
 him. 
 
 He did not doubt such an association might be made very 
 useful ; but he feared Mrs. Pritchard's zeal would soon cool. 
 " As she did not succeed in choosing a wife for the minister, 
 she resolves to know how he has succeeded himself. "Well, you 
 can help her form a 'sewing society,' if she desires it, Mary." 
 
 " 0, yes ! " was the reply ; " but about the ' constitution ' ? 
 How do I know what kind of organization would suit her ? " 
 
 " Ah ! if you did, you would be wiser than she is herself. 
 You must make an outline, and let the ladies talk it over and 
 fill it up, when you come together ;" and Edward retired to his 
 study, answering only with a laugh the question which followed 
 him, " whether the document should have ' thirty-nine ' 
 articles." 
 
 Dressing quickly for the afternoon, Mary seated herselfj 
 with pen and paper, in wielding the pen she was no novice,
 
 72 THE SHADY SIDE J OB, 
 
 that she might dispose of the business she could not exactly 
 see through. 
 
 She wrote the word ' ocEtitution," and " article first," and 
 held her pen suspended a long time thereafter. 
 
 By-and-by there was a gentle knock at the study-door, which 
 was as quietly answered ; but the respondent only raised his 
 eyes toward the* intruder, mischievous eyes those sometimes 
 were, and plied his pen as diligently as ever. 
 
 Very softly a cushioned footstool was pushed to the table- 
 side, and from that low seat a pair of eyes looked pleadingly 
 up, and a sheet of paper was lightly insinuated between that 
 busy pen and the well-filled page upon the table. Who could 
 resist so meek an appeal for aid ? 
 
 " Well," said Edward ; " you want a name, I suppose, tho 
 first thing ; ' This society shall be called,' &c. " 
 
 " 0, that is easily disposed of! I will just leave a blank for 
 Mrs. Pritchard to fill." 
 
 " For your next ' article ' you want a list of officers, with 
 specifications relating to their choice. Then must follow a 
 statement of the duties appertaining to each office. Another 
 article must relate to the stated meetings of the society ; and 
 another still to the object." 
 
 " 0," said Mary, roguishly, " that can be filled out before 
 hand ! 'to test the resources of the wife of our pastor.' But, 
 seriously, Edward, what object do you suppose they will think 
 of aiding ? What will be best ? " 
 
 " There will be enough, without me, to make suggestions on 
 that point," was the reply. " Where money is to be appropri 
 ated, there are many advisers. There will doubtless be as 
 many different ' objects ' named as there will be dollars earned. 
 I made some acojuaintance with such industrial associations while 
 I was in the seminary." 
 
 "Come; we must proceed with this precious document. I 
 am so sorry to hinder you ! and to-morrow, too, will be broken
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 78 
 
 up, first to take me over to this gathering, and then to come 
 for me, which you must be sure and not do till tea-time." 
 
 Edward looked a shade more thoughtful. He had hoped to 
 have the morrow in his study, without interruption. It was 
 only for a moment. " There, my dear," said he, " the outline 
 you have is enough to begin with ; and, in the hands of the 
 ladies, it will soon grow to a ' constitution.' " 
 
 It was with a palpitating heart that Mary responded to her 
 husband's, good-by, at Mrs. Pritchard's door, and turned 
 toward the parlor. That worthy lady left her to enter alone, 
 while she ran down the steps after Mr. Veruon, to say that she 
 should have tea precisely at six. 
 
 There was quite a group of ladies already assembled in the 
 large parlor ; and a busy hum of voices, which, upon the 
 entrance of the minister's wife, subsided into an awkward 
 silence, broken by an occasional whisper. 
 
 Her quick glance around, as she bowed and spoke to those 
 whom her eye met, soon noted the absence of some she had 
 expected to see on this occasion. Neither Mrs. Ely, nor Misa 
 Olivia, nor dear Bessie, was there. Could there be any design 
 in this ? 
 
 The course of proceeding was after the usual fashion of 
 things in such a community. No one would propose anything, 
 and the pauses were long and embarrassing. 
 
 Mrs. P. called on Mrs. Vernon for a " constitution ;" and 
 she took out the paper, with the remark that it was a mere plan, 
 to be filled up by mutual consultation and agreement. When 
 asked to read it, she replied that it was not yet in a readable 
 fihapc, and passed it to Mrs. P., who declined taking it. 
 
 Mary then remarked that the first article referred to the 
 name by which we would call our association ; and added, 
 smilingly, " Will not some of the ladies propose a name ? " A 
 pause ensued, till it became irksome, when a knot of women in 
 one corner commenced a low-toned conversation between theni- 
 7
 
 74 THE SHAPY SIDE ,* OR, 
 
 selves, and a bevy of girls opposite began to whisper and 
 
 Mary appealed to Mrs. Pritchard for a name, but that lady 
 referred the matter back to herself; and it was plain she did 
 not intend to smooth the way for the young minister's wife, but 
 rather enjoyed her rising embarrassment. She said, coolly, 
 " We don't know much about such business matters here. Mrs. 
 Vernon is probably familiar with them, and we wish she would 
 arrange it. We shall all be willing to trust it to her ;" and she 
 exchanged glances with Mrs. Buel, who said, with her wonted 
 nasal drawl, " Certainly, Mrs. Vernon is the fittest person to 
 draw up the writings." 
 
 Mary's spirit began to be somewhat stirred, and to gather 
 itself up for the emergency. Enough of this delay, some 
 thing should be done. 
 
 She proposed a name, and moved its adoption. Some thought 
 less girls laughed ; and all were silent but Mrs. P., who thought 
 it might do, if there was nothing more appropriate. 
 
 Mary's quick thought hit upon a happy expedient. She 
 said, it seemed difficult to get an expression of opinion. It 
 .might be well to presume that the ladies acquiesced in what 
 ever was proposed, unless some one should offer objections. 
 Thus, making silence the token of affirmation, she quietly sug 
 gested one thing after another, till the blanks she had left were 
 nearly filled. 
 
 When she reached " the object " for which the society would 
 labor, Mrs. P., with a little help from her echo, Mrs. B., ob 
 jected to everything proposed. When urged to express her 
 own preference, she declined to say more ttan that she would 
 be pleased with something upon which all could unite. She 
 evidently thought she had reached another difficult place, which 
 would test the wisdom of their leader. To her surprise, Mrs. 
 Vernon waived the decision till a future meeting, that there 
 might be more time for consideration and conference. 
 
 The rest was easily despatched , and, after some pleasant 

 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 75 
 
 remarks on the propriety of observing certain business forms, 
 though it did seem rather an awkward thing for ladies to vote, 
 the constitution was read, and actually adopted by a show of 
 hands. 
 
 This damper to conversation being withdrawn, sociability 
 increased, and the ways and means of raising money by the 
 noodle were somewhat freely discussed. 
 
 The afternoon was nearly spent, and Mary was just dismiss 
 ing the vexation she had suffered, and beginning to feel less of 
 a stranger, when Mrs. P. whispered to several ladies, and soon 
 there was an ominous silence. The lady then proceeded to say 
 she was pleased with the regulation requiring some religious 
 exercise at these gatherings. She supposed the meetings would 
 be opened or closed with prayer ; and she looked inquiringly 
 toward the minister's wife, who replied, " Yes, or with devo 
 tional .singing." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. P., " I should like to have a prayer this 
 afternoon. As some of the ladies must leave immediately after 
 tea, had n't you better close the meeting now with prayer, Mrs. 
 Vernon ? It 's half past five, already." * 
 
 Mary felt that every eye was upon her ; nor did the signifi 
 cant interchange of glances between Esther Ann Brooks and 
 Miss Lewis escape her notice. One moment conscience whis 
 pered, " Ought you not ? " the next sensibility shrank, and 
 baid, " I cannot" With more composure in her manner than in 
 her feelings, she replied that Mr. Vernon would be in soon, and 
 perhaps we had better wait for him to close for us. " That 
 would be pleasant, of course," said Mrs. P., " if there would be 
 time." Yet she made her request more urgent, and Mrs. Buel 
 added her opinion somewhat decisively and one or two others 
 spoke of its getting late, and of having far to go. And again 
 the young minister's wife said to herself, " What shall I do ? " 
 She felt that it was hard and ungenerous to press her so, and 
 she plainly saw that the motive was merely a cold curiosity to 
 hear her pray. 

 
 76 " THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 
 
 More words passed, till Mary felt her self-rkapect touched, 
 and resolved to end the matter. She half-regretted that she 
 had hesitated, at first ; but now, indeed, she was in no fit 
 mood for the service. A sense of injustice brought a sudden 
 glow to her cheek, and a choking in her throat. At length, 
 with gentle dignity, she said, " If the ladies wish it, Mrs. 
 Pritchard, and you will lead the exercise, I have no objection to 
 close the meeting now," " I ! 0, no ! " interrupted that lady, 
 " if you refer it to me, I prefer to wait till Mr. Vernon comes, 
 and call on him. He must be in soon. Do not delay your tea 
 for him, if it is ready." 
 
 The amiable hostess vouchsafed no reply, but went quickly 
 out to inspect her table. Gradually the hum of voices again 
 filled the parlor ; but there was one young heart that ached. 
 Even through the entrance of the minister, and the supper, and 
 the prayer, and the parting salutations, the rudely-swept chords 
 of that sensitive heart continued to vibrate painfully. Edward 
 needed no one to tell him that his young wife had been ungen 
 erously treated, and her feelings pained. 
 
 As he put Mflry into the sleigh, and their hostess stood in 
 the door to smile and bow them away, he relieved his feelings 
 by an energetic snap of the whip, that said to the " old bay," 
 " Take us hence as fast as possible." When fairly on the road 
 and an arm was spared from the rein to be put protectingly 
 around her, and lips near her face said, tenderly, " What is it, 
 darling 2 " it was no wonder that Mary burst into tears. 
 
 0, child of sensibility ! thou must patiently school thy heart 
 to many a harder lesson, ere thou finish thy earthly tuition 
 and win the priz?.
 
 LWB IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 77 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " He is not the flower of courtesy." 
 " Sweet are the uses of adversity." 
 
 ONE ple<*sant day, near the close of December, Mr. Vernon 
 asked Mary to dispense with a regular dinner, take an early 
 lunch, and be ready at twelve for a ride to West-woods. To 
 Mary's query, whether the case were very urgent, he repeated 
 a remark made to him the evening previous, at the prayer- 
 meeting, by an inhabitant of that district : " I guess you are 
 pretty choice of that young wife of yours. Folks our way are 
 feeling a little slighted, begin to think you don't mean to 
 show her over our side." 
 
 " Why, Edward ! " exclaimed she, " is Mr. Dennis such a 
 coarse man ? He looks quite differently in church." 
 
 " 0, yes ! he has been a very rough character, a great 
 talker, and a sort of acknowledged wit among his comrades. It 
 is less than a year since he became interested in religious things, 
 and what civilization he has is due to this source. There is a 
 marked change in him; but he is still rude in manners and in 
 speech. He is the only Christian man in that neighborhood, 
 It is a hard place ; but it forms part of my field, of our 
 field, rather, and we must cultivate it." 
 
 Mary laughed, and said it was a curious idea this, of being 
 exhibited round the parish. She feared she would contribute 
 little by this visit to the cultivation of anything but curiosity. 
 
 " A.h ! " was the response, " be not so faithless. I expect 
 the people will behave much better than usual, because you are 
 with me. The fact is, some of them are about half wild. You 
 will enjoy the ride, at any rate."
 
 78 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 And a romantic drive it was, after a distance of two miles 
 from the village. The ground was bare and frozen, and the 
 road was continually varying. Now, a broad strip of worthless 
 common ; anon, a narrow track, which would not admit two 
 vehicles to pass each other ; here, a smooth path of half a mile 
 through a clean grove ; onward., a rocky and precipitous asceiit. 
 After many windings and abrupt turnings, the road entered a 
 dense forest, thick, it ieerned, even in winter, with the trees 
 stripped of foliage. Here were gigantic oaks, with limbs 
 gnarled and bare ; lofty maples, with a few scarlet leaves still 
 clinging to their lower branches ; elms, graceful despite the 
 want of room, their giant trunks embraced by huge bald grape 
 vines in many a convolution ; while here and there a towering 
 pine, in its greenest robes, relieved and beautified the scene. 
 An occasional opening in the forest revealed the gray mountain- 
 ledge beyond, at the base of which were the group of dwellings 
 which sheltered the inhabitants of West-woods. 
 
 Once and again did Mary exclaim, " How delightful this 
 drive must be in summer ! " and the vacant assent of him who 
 sat by her side told that his mind was on another theme. He 
 was thinking of the moral degradation of these secluded peo 
 ple. If his ministry reached and blessed them, it must be car 
 ried, to them. They must be sought as wandering sheep on the 
 mountains. 
 
 There were only nine families, and their pastor resolved to 
 be impartial, and call at every house. 
 
 Those calls ! They were at once painful and ludicrous, yet 
 not unmixed with mutual profit. 
 
 The arrival of the carriage at the door of a dwelling gen 
 erally brought all the inmates to the window. Sometimes half 
 a dozen faces were thus exposed, when there would ensue a 
 general scampering; and the minister, upon entering with his 
 bride, would find some aged matron alone at her spinning- 
 wheel, or a demure maiden, who only stayed because she could
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 79 
 
 not get away, quietly knitting, as if she had not spoken *nce 
 morning. 
 
 A group of half-grown children followed them from house to 
 house, by the back passages, jostling each other in the old 
 kitchen entries, to get a peep at " the parson's wife " through 
 the crevices of the shrunk ceiling, or of the door set ajar for 
 that purpose. There was one pair of large, saucy eyes, with 
 which Mary became in this way quite familiar. 
 
 Among these irreligious households were two aged women, 
 infirm in body and shattered in mind, to whom the prayer of 
 their young pastor, and his few simple words upon the love of 
 Jesus and the heavenly rest, were as cold water to a thirsty 
 soul. Occasionally, a child more tame than the rest was at 
 tracted 'to Mary's side by the offer of a gay picture-book, and 
 charmed there by her gentle kindness. Shy as were most of 
 these people, they all felt gratified at" so early an introduction 
 to the minister's wife, especially when they heard, from her 
 own lips, that she had not yet completed the tour of more than 
 half the parish. They were not left till the last. O, human 
 nature ! thou wearest the same stamp in the lofty and the 
 lowly. 
 
 When the pastor and his wife alighted at the door of Mr. 
 Dennis, they were met with a boisterous welcome. Mary's 
 hand was grasped as in a vise and the first words of salutation 
 were, 
 
 " So, you ain't afraid to come round among these outside bar 
 barians ! Wai, I guess they 're 'fraid enough of you, for there '3 
 been such a skitin', and dodging, and racing, hereabouts, as if a 
 flock of scared sheep was up, and running for life." Where 
 upon he laughed so loud, that Mary looked up to the low, 
 cracked wall overhead, as though she feared it might feel the. 
 concussion. The jovial man saw the expression of her eye, and 
 saiil, "Never fear, Miss Vernon ; it won't come down, it's 
 used to 't." 
 
 Mrs. Dennis, a sharp thin-visaged woman, now entered, with
 
 80 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 teakettle in hand, which she held through the ceremony of in 
 troduction, and then proceeded to hang, in primitive fashion 
 on the great black trammel in the huge fire-place, over burning 
 logs that would have fed a moderr. cook-stove many days. She 
 then turned back, and, wiping her hands on her apron, told Mrs. 
 Vernon she was ready to take her " things." Mary looked 
 doubtfully toward her husband, and he was about to speak, 
 when his garrulous host saved him tho trouble. 
 
 " Stay to tea in such a place ? To be sure you will ; he 's done 
 it many a time, and he 's alive yet." 
 
 Mr. Vernon smiled assent, and Mary laid off her bonnet, half- 
 amused, half-vexed by the coarse volubility, which left not a 
 pause unimproved. At length, the feeling of annoyance deep 
 ened to disgust ; and she was thinking what a trial it was to 
 have to do with such uncultivated people, when Mr. Dennis 
 said abruptly 
 
 " We are homely folks out here, Miss Vernon ; but not so 
 bad as we might be, nor as we have been either, for that mat 
 ter, I hope. Miserable creaturs we were, as he can tell 
 you, a frolickin', and drinkin', and swearing ; but the Lord 
 had mercy on us :" and his voice took a subdued tone, and his 
 face the same expression it wore every Sabbath, as he listened 
 to the Gospel message. 
 
 Mary's feelings underwent a rapid change, and her interest 
 deepened, as this refomed sinner went to his cupboard over the 
 mantel, and took down a black bottle half filled with liquor. 
 
 " This," said he, " was my companion ; but I have something 
 better now ;" and he drew from the side-pocket of his coarse 
 jacket a much-soiled Testament, adding, " You see, I had 
 carried black Betty here so long, that I felt kind o' lonely 
 without something, and so I clapped in this here Testament, 
 and I Ve carried it ever since." 
 
 "A good exchange," said Mary, feelingly; "two very dif 
 ferent companions." 
 
 'True," said he, "they're not much alike, yet there '
 
 LIFE IN A COCNTRY PARSONAGE. 81 
 
 fpertt in 'era both ; but different kinds o' sperit, I reckon. No 
 offence, I hope, Mr. Vernon," seeing the minister look grave. 
 
 " You mean none, Mr. Dennis ; but, to me, the comparison 
 seemed hardly reverent." 
 
 " There it is, now," said he, " I have so long played the fool, 
 and been in the habit of turning everything, that it 's come to 
 be second natur." 
 
 He put the bottle on the shelf again, saying, with.emphasis, 
 " Not a drop of that cussed stuff has wet my lips since you and 
 Deacon Ely stayed with me a year ago next week." Then 
 turning to Mrs. Vernon, 
 
 " If they had left me that night, I should ha' took to drink 
 ing for relief. The Lord had sent to my soul an arrow of truth, 
 headed at loth ends, and I could n't get rid of it. I thought, 
 if I only could have a drop from my bottle, I could bear up 
 better under my distress ; but they warned me against it ; and 
 they did/i Y leave me till I found peace in Jesus. The Lord 
 reward 'cm for it." 
 
 He looked up, and, seeing a moisture in those soft eyes before 
 him, he added, " You ought to have been here in that are 
 revival ; 't was a blessed time." 
 
 This was a new scene to Mary. She glanced at Edward ; 
 there was an unusual light in his eye, which, somehow, brought 
 to her mind that passage, " He that converteth a sinner from 
 the error of his ways, shall save a soul from death, and shall 
 lil le a multitude of sins." 
 
 All this while the taciturn wife of Mr. Dennis was passing 
 back and forth from kitchen to pantry, preparing an early 
 supper. 
 
 A clean, white cloth, of homespun linen, was spread on the 
 rickety table; cups arid plates, of coarse blue and white ware. 
 placed around ; dried beef, and cheese, and pickles, and apple 
 sauce, made their entree at suitable intervals; then a plate of 
 golden butter, and the sweet brown-bread, and boiled cakes so 
 hu<re and uncouth as well to merit the name of "wonders;'
 
 82 THE SHADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 with a platter of " cold victuals," set on the most unnoticeabla 
 corner, it being to the hearty farmer an indispensable appen 
 dage. The black earthern tea-pot was taken up from the 
 embers and set upon the table ; each one drew up a chair for 
 himself, and Mary was seated at the homeliest tea-drinking in 
 which she had ever participated. Mr. Dennis was highly 
 gratified that she seemed to relish their plain fare, and quite 
 delighted that she offered to help him eat his boiled beef and 
 cold turnip. "A woman," he said, " that can eat cold victuals 
 is worth somethin'." 
 
 After supper, the eccentric man took from his pocket an old 
 tin tobacco-box, and, opening it in Mr. Yernon's face, said, with 
 evident triumph, " There's that last quid, stays there yet ;" 
 explaining to the lady, who was thinking the display no way 
 promotive of digestion, "You see, miss, this good man of 
 yours wanted to cure me of all my bad habits, and so he at 
 me about chawing; asked if it didn't make me hanker after 
 the bottle. I 'd thought o' that myself. So, you see, I chopped 
 right off. That's the very quid I had in my mouth ; I clapped 
 it in there, and it'll stay there, I reckon." 
 
 Was there nothing heroic in this denial of appetite, this bat 
 tling with the hindrances to a life of godliness ? 
 
 The carriage was at the door, when Mr. Vernon remarked 
 the growing mildness of the weather, and said to Mr. Dennis, 
 " You must have had a hard walk home last night it was so 
 cold and windy." 
 
 " Ay," said the converted man ; " it was a stiff Nor'wcster ; 
 but I did n't feel it, sir ; we had such a good meeting, I walked 
 home light as a feather. What you said about ' loving much 
 where there's much forgiven,' and Deacon Ely's prayer, set me 
 right up ;" and Mary noticed that the back of his rough hand 
 was drawn across eyes that had suddenly filled with emotion. 
 
 In a moment the melting mood was gone, and he said, 
 " What cur'ous chap was that you changed with, last Sunday \ 
 With all his fine words, I could n't make nothin' out by him
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 83 
 
 I 've lived all the week on what you gi 'n us the Sunday afore ; 
 as the sailor, you know, lived a fortnight on the smell of a jack- 
 knife that had cut pork." 
 
 M;iry had now taken her seat in the carriage, and as Mr. 
 Vernon was still on the ground, his out-spoken parishioner took 
 occasion to tell him, in a confidential tone, which she ^ould 
 have heard at three times the distance, that he " was glad 
 the minister had got so good a wife ;" that she was " a real com- 
 moj'um," and he " must fetch her out here agin." 
 
 Notwithstanding the sun was already behind the mountain, 
 and the parsonage was four miles distant, the young pastor re 
 solved to take the longer route, that led by " Roaring Brook," 
 and introduce Mary to one more dwelling. 
 
 The evening was clear and moonlit; and they rode on silently, 
 till each guessed the other's thought. It w^s of the future 
 home of the righteous ; where the many members of " the one 
 body " shall be refined from all their earthly grossness*and in> 
 purities ; where the harmony shall be so perfect that the finest 
 ear and most sensitive heart-strings shall be rudely jarred never 
 more. 
 
 Thus, they brought to their hearts lessons of patience and 
 gentle forbearance with what is repulsive in others, especially 
 those who are under the hand of the great Polisher, and yet to 
 shine as living stones in the spiritual temple on high. 
 
 When they crossed the dashing rivulet, and drew up before a 
 low, brown cottage, Mary shrunk from another call. Her fre 
 quent alternations of feeling, for the last six hours, had wearied 
 her ; and the single remark of Edward, in reference to the 
 dwelling before them, that " it contained the poorest family in 
 his flock, ' made her anticipate a scene to which she felt inad 
 equate. 
 
 Yet, Mr. Yernon did not look as if he were performing an 
 unpleasant duty. Two or three bars were let down, and, step 
 ping over, they were at the door. To Mary's surprise, he led 
 her into a room so clean and cheerful, that she scarce noticed
 
 84 THE SIIADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 immediately, how scantily it was furnished. A stinted fire was 
 burning on the broken hearth ; a bed in one corner, with a clean, 
 but oft-patched counterpane, a single chair and stool, and ail 
 old chest, formed the only furniture, except the much- worn 
 rocking-chair, in which was the venerable woman of nearly 
 fourscore, totally blind ; she, with her widowed daughter and 
 grandchild, forming the family. On a rough shelf, under the 
 south window, stood a monthly rose arid geranium, carefully nur 
 tured, tokens of the tastes and habits of more prosperous days. 
 
 The aged matron was alone when her visitors arrived. She 
 knew her minister's step, and spoke his name before he crossed 
 the threshold ; she knew, also, that one was with him of lighter 
 step than himself, and was prepared to welcome his young wife : 
 BO preternaturally quickened, upon the loss of one, are the re 
 maining faculties. 
 
 Mary sat by her side, and held the wrinkled, wasted hand in 
 hers, alid listened with a full heart as this handmaid of the 
 Lord spoke of his great goodness, of his comforts which de 
 lighted her soul, and of that better land where is no darkness 
 no night. Neither did she omit to mention the kindness of 
 her pastor in days gone by, and his consideration of her, in 
 bringing his " dear young wife to this humble cottage." In all 
 that she said, there was that peculiar refinement and delicacy 
 of feeling which long years of intimate communion with heaven 
 never fail to produce, be the outward allotment what it may. 
 
 She asked Mary several questions ; and, being once reminded 
 by her daughter that she had made that inquiry before, replied 
 with great simplicity, " Perhaps I have ; but she will excuse 
 me. I do so love to hear her voice ; it reminds me of su?i- 
 shine and the flowers ; and it helps me form an idea of her 
 face, a swedt face, I am sure." 
 
 It was good to talk with these afflicted disciples of Christ ; 
 precious to get a glimpse of the rich consolations which 
 abounded in the midst of their deep poverty and many trials. 
 Their faith in God and patience- in tribulation refreshed the
 
 LUTB IN A COUNTRY' PARSONAGE. 55 
 
 beholder. As Edward said, on his way home, " When I get 
 very low and desponding, and feel that I need preaching to, I 
 come over and sit an hour with old Mrs. Harrison." 
 
 Mary went home soothed, though weary ; and that night she 
 dreamed of mighty forests and ancient ruins, and untamed 
 heathen children ; and, above the whole, let mid-way down 
 from heaven, the New Jerusalem, where walked the just made 
 perfect, in immortal youth. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " The letters were right long, and written fair 
 I merely take a sentence here and there, 
 "When, as methinks, they did express it well." 
 
 A FREQUENT correspondence with her father was to Mary a 
 source of great pleasure and profit. From a tender age, he 
 had supplied to her the place of both parents, and encouraged 
 her to a free and most beautiful confidence in himself as her 
 repository and counsellor. Now that she had entered on a new 
 sphere, it was quite natural that she should make him the 
 sharer of her passing joys, arid trials, and perplexities. 
 
 No circumstance of her life in Salem had as yet given her 
 so much uneasiness, as the occurrence at the formation of tho 
 sewing society. She had made no progress, since, in Mrs. 
 Pritchard's acquaintance ; and occasional remarks, that came to 
 her ears, made it evident that the thing had been used to her 
 disadvantage. At a subsequent meeting, one good Christian 
 woman had said to her, with much trembling, ' I hope, Mrs. 
 V r ernon, if you are asked to pray this afternoon, you will not 
 excuse yourself." 
 
 The matter pressed upon her conscience, and she waited 
 anxiously for her fathers judgment. lie expressed much s_, in- 
 pat hy for her in her peculiar position, and added: 
 8
 
 86 THE SHADY SIDE J OH, 
 
 " It might have beca best had you, at first, complied with the 
 request It is a service which, in these days, is expected of a 
 minister's wife, and which she ought to be prepared to perform. 
 Yet, there was great allowance to be made for your declinature ; 
 and, after the thing was pressed to the exteat you speak of, I 
 think your quiet adherence to your decision was justifiable and 
 becoming. I fear you have laid the thing to heart more than 
 was needful, though I would not impair that niceness of moral 
 sense which I have helped you to cultivate. But do not dis 
 tress yourself about it more. You will have constantly recur 
 ring opportunities to show that you do not shrink from duty, 
 even at the expense of that unobtrusiveness which often ren 
 ders a service, of the kind alluded to, more of a trial than most 
 of our sex could imagine it to be. 
 
 " I am glad to hear of your little stated prayer-meeting. 
 It was right, my daughter, it was like yourself, not to defer 
 what you felt might be properly required of you. The Lord 
 will bless you in this good beginning ; and I trust the time is 
 not distant, when these religious interviews with Christian sis 
 ters, at the mercy-seat, will be to you a sacred privilege, a 
 source of consolation and strength. 
 
 " The ' report ' about which you ask, ought not to have been 
 mentioned to you. It is surely not worth the ink or paper it 
 would require in the detail, to say nothing of a more precious 
 commodity time. As your sister's allusion to it has excited 
 your curiosity, I will just say, succinctly, that our minister 
 returned from consociational meeting, having seen at his stop 
 ping-place a woman from your church, who regaled him with 
 large doses of Salem gossip. Among other things, she asked 
 if Mr. Vernon's wife did not belong to the aristocracy of May- 
 field ! and said she did n't visit enough to suit the people, 
 though there were some families whom she called on pretty 
 often ; but there were many people, of poor advantages, and 
 some invalids, among whom she might, if disposed, do a great
 
 LIFE. IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 87 
 
 deal of good. Mr. Baxter heard her, you can imagine 
 how, in his cool, -quiet way, -till he thought it was enough ; 
 when, rising abruptly, he said, 'Why, my good woman, I 
 married Miss Allison myself, and I want to say to you that 
 I married her to Mr. Edward Vernon, ?iot to the parish of 
 Salem ! " 1 ic effect of this timely hint was such that Mr, 
 Baxter, grave as he is, laughs outfight when he recalls it. 
 
 " But do not trouble your little head too much about what 
 rumor says of you. The world is full, not only of wicked men, 
 but of unreasonable men and women, too. 
 
 " Ah ! I am interrupted by a messenger from Mr. Smith's. 
 His hired man has contrived to fall, and fracture his skull, 
 another achievement of King Alcohol. When you come, 
 let Mr. Vernon bring his last temperance lecture, to preach in 
 the evening. In haste, fondly, 
 
 "YouR FATHER." 
 
 In Mary's next letter, she speaks of finding it needful to 
 guard against a sense of loneliness, which would steal upon her 
 at evening, as she sat alone in her quiet back-parlor, while 
 Edward was sermon-making in the study. She proceeds : 
 
 " I have several times opened the piano for company ; but the 
 music is sure to bring him down. Then, there is so much lost 
 time to be recovered somewhere, and it is generally taken from 
 his sleeping hours. I am sorry the evening is his favorite sea 
 son for study, not so much on my own account ; I fear it is 
 not well for him. He frequently makes late hours, and the 
 next day finds him pale and languid. Is it right ? I am just 
 getting my eyes open to the importance of regulating my 
 household affairs and my own habits so as to guard against 
 encroachments upon his time. For this reason, I do not get on, 
 as fast as seems desirable, in my acquaintance with the people 
 Our population is scattered, and it is slow traversing the field. 
 Whenever I go out, Edward must accompany me, and I think 
 he is becoming somewhat disheartened about his pulpit prepara 
 tions.
 
 88 THE SHADY BIDE J OE, 
 
 " I have one day's memorable experience, in pastoral visiting, 
 which I must save to tell you at my next visit home. We 
 called on ten families ; which was doing a little too much. It 
 took me several days to recover from the fatigue and excite 
 ment. As a set-off to the reports which have reached you, I 
 must tell you of a compliment I received at one of the ten 
 places above mentioned. The master of the house followed us 
 to the carriage, and told Edward he was glad to find that his wife 
 was ' a real commodium,' I am not sure of the orthography, 
 
 an epithet which I confess myself at a loss to define, though 
 I am very certain it was designed to be highly complimentary. 
 
 " Edward exchanged last Sabbath. Passing, on his way, the 
 house of a distant parishioner, he was hailed by the inquiry, 
 ' Going to swap to-day, Mr. Yernon ? Then I guess I '11 try 
 to go up to meetin'.' 
 
 " The new preacher, Mr. C., is an odd genius, a bachelor, 
 in rather a low state of civilization. He managed his plate at 
 table in a way that recalled that favorite observation of your 
 colleague-doctor, ' I am fond of compounds.' At noon he 
 lay down to rest, and left the marks of his boots on the white 
 counterpane. He was not slow to declare his supreme indiffer 
 ence to females in general, though quite deferential to me in 
 particular. If Mr. Baxter should entertain him over one Sab 
 bath, I almost think he would reiterate, in earnest, what he so 
 often says playfully, that there is need of a new professorship 
 for theologues. But his preaching was the most eccentric, 
 though not without talent. His morning discourse was on the 
 Bubject of ghosts and witches ; the other, on the natural attri 
 butes of the angels. One of these, he said, was exceeding 
 swiftness ; and his proof, the angel who visited Daniel, who 
 left heaven in the morning, and reached this planet at the tinm 
 of the evening sacrifice. ' From heaven to earth in twelve hours ! 
 
 and, recollect, it is two millions of miles from the sun hither. 
 Amazing swiftness ! ' 
 
 " I thought, dear father, you would hardly call this a math 
 ematical demonstration.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAOB. 6 
 
 " I was giving Edward an account of the sermon, after his 
 return, and he said I was rather a severe critic ; it might do 
 his sermons good to be picked to pieces in that way. After a 
 while, he asked me seriously to criticize his preaching, and 
 insisted that it was proper I should do it, and would be for his 
 profit ! What do you think, dear father ? 
 
 " The twilight is fast deepening, and my fourth page is nearly 
 filled. Do not my long letters weary you? My heart tells 
 me, Nay. How sweet this privilege of writing to the absent ! 
 Sweeter still between us is the tie of prayer ! Will you not, 
 father, write me often ; and pray still oftencr for your child, 
 who needs 0, how much ! larger supplies of heavenly 
 wisdom and grace ? 
 
 " The shadows are gathering fast. How typical of life ! 
 Shadmvs everywhere, under the brightest sky. But no 
 matter, if sunshine only prevail in the heart. 
 
 " Dutifully, MARY." 
 
 From Dr. Allison's reply to this letter, we extract the fol 
 lowing sentiments on a subject of some importance : 
 
 " What do I think of your criticizing your 
 
 husband's pulpit performances ? It is a point upon which 
 much might be said. I should prefer to talk with you about 
 it, and at some length. I may write unguardedly, or be inter 
 rupted before I finish. I should want to make some confes 
 sions, too, in view of my own practice, in years gone by. My 
 children were trained to hear more strictures upon the pulpit 
 than it was best to utter. It was a habit with me, acquired I 
 hardly know how ; but, I am sensible, not profiting much, spir 
 itually. The style and logic of the preacher, his doctrine and 
 its seasonableness, were, you well remember, topics of frequent 
 discussion in the family, so that I ought not to be surprised 
 that you hear preaching critically. After a certain standard, 
 your judgment of pulpit ministrations is pretty well fonned. 
 As you are a minister's wife, this may be of service to you
 
 90 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 You may call Edward's attention to some things which he 
 might overlook. You can judge, better than he, how a thing 
 will strike the hearer. A minister's wife should keep her eyes 
 and ears open, and hear her husband us critically, at least, as 
 she would another. Yet, there is need of caution, lest you 
 carry the habit so far as to impair your comfort, if not your 
 spiritual improvement, in hearing the word. My poor sister 
 your aunt Deborah wore herself out early ; and of her it 
 was often said, she was more fatigued than her husband, after 
 the labors of the Sabbath. He was not an easy preacher, and 
 she heard him with a degree of sympathy and nervous solici 
 tude that almost precluded enjoyment. On the other hand, 
 here is our devout Mrs. Baxter, who sits at church, you know, 
 so complacently, with her eyes half-closed, as if resigning her 
 self to a safe current that was to float her to the haven. Good 
 woman ! she probably never entertained the idea that her hus 
 band could say or do anything that was not quite to the pur 
 pose ; while, in regard to some unpleasant peculiarities, his 
 people have said, a hundred times, ' It 's a wonder his wife 
 does n't tell him.' 
 
 " Shunning either extreme, my daughter, as I believe your 
 own good judgment will incline you, make yourself as useful to 
 Edward as you may, freely discussing if it suits him 
 whatever relates to his success as an ambassador of Christ." , , 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Every pastor stands in need of encouragement, of cheerfulness, of 
 penoe, in his own home, to enable him to bear what life brings with it, and 
 itill to preserve the power of working for the bene5t of mankind." 
 
 IT is the evening of the New Year's Sabbath, and the clock 
 ia the little back-parlor of the Salem parsonage strikes the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 91 
 
 h'ur of ten. Till that sound, no word has been spoken thero 
 for the last half-hour. Mary has been writing a letter home ; 
 and she supposed that Edward, in his easy-chair, with his hand 
 over his eyes, was resting after the extra labors o* the day. 
 
 The lateness of the hour reminded her of his last night's 
 vigils, and she quickly laid aside her pen, with the exclamation, 
 11 1 am keeping you up, Edward! " 
 
 To her surprise, he answered, in a voice that told of deep 
 emotion, " I may as well be here, as on the pillow ; I could n't 
 sleep." Her tender and earnest inquiries into the cause of his 
 distress, at length elicited the fact that he was deeply mortified 
 by what he called " the utter failure of his New- Year's ser 
 mon." 
 
 It was in vain that Mary assured him " the discourse was 
 edifying." He had meant it should be more than that; and 
 it would have been, had his good beginning been carried 
 through. 
 
 ".But," said Mary, " you have had too much to do this 
 week ; that wedding Thursday evening, and so many calls ; 
 then your lecture, and to-day two sermons, besides the ' com 
 munion ' service, and your Bible-class this evening, you 
 ought to have omitted that ; it has been too much." 
 
 " Too much ! Yes, unless it were better," he replied, bit 
 terly ; " it 's all been a failure, from the lecture through, and I 
 feel ashamed to look my people in the face again." 
 
 " 0, Edward ! you must not feel so ; they know how you 
 were hindered. Besides, they were really interested, Deacon 
 Ely I noticed particularly." 
 
 " Ah ' so did I ; and I thought, too, of what he said when he 
 first spoke of my marriage." (Here his voice began to soften.) 
 " Why did I want to allude to that ? It is too bad." 
 
 " But you must tell me now," said the young wife. 
 
 " It vexed me at the time," he continued, " and perhaps it 
 will you, although the deacon is such a favorite. His congrat 
 ulations were cordial enough ; but he followed them with the
 
 92 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 ' hope that this connection would not be the means of drawing 
 off my heart from my great work, or diminishing the labor I 
 was wont to bestow on my sermons.'. It was the hardest thing 
 he ever said to me. I suppose he will think, now, there was 
 some occasion for it ;" and again his head sank upon his hand. 
 
 " ! " said Mary, playfully, " he didn't know me then ; he 
 was quite excusable." After a few moments' silence, in which 
 she inly resolved that the deacon's caution should not prove a 
 prophecy, so far as she could help it, she asked Edward, ten 
 derly, yet a little archly, what remedy he would administer to 
 one of his people in such a state of mind as his own. " Would 
 he not think the probe needful, to develop some such feeling as 
 wounded pride ? If you have done the best you could, in the 
 circumstances, have you reason to distress yourself? " 
 
 " But," said he, " I have not done as well as I could. Bid 
 I not have an exchange, last Sabbath, on purpose to leave me 
 time for extra effort ? But it 's of no use. I '11 never exchange 
 again, in such circumstances. It does n't help me. I only pre 
 sume on the time, and let it slip between my fingers. The fault 
 is in myself, Mary, and not in circumstances." 
 
 This idea was not to be allowed, for a moment, by his fair 
 apologist. " Was it not to be expected that the cares of a first 
 season at house-keeping would somewhat derange his plans for 
 study, and crowd upon his time ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I have excused myself on that account long 
 enough.- I have hardly written a Decent sermon in three 
 months. I have been looking forward to more leisure. I 
 ehould have buckled on the harness, and made up my mind that 
 I was to work, for the future, amid a constant pressure of 
 engagements. There is no easier time coming." 
 
 " Yet," said Mary, " your self-reproaches are not just. You 
 ought to allow something for the transfer of yourself to a new 
 routine of living. I am sure the path will be smoother by -and- 
 by, when all things get settled and accommodated to each 
 other." She did not ask if he looked back regretfully to his old-
 
 Lli'i IN A COONTUY PARSONAGE. 93 
 
 bachelor state. Her faith had no such mistrust ; yet there was 
 something in her tone that touched a chord of tender feelings in 
 the heart so full of bitter self-accusings. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, gently, " things have gone too smoothly 
 Blest with such a home, I have given myself up to the enjoy 
 ment of the passing hours till severe study has seemed irksome. 
 'But I ought never to have distressed you with these wretched 
 feelings. They are nothing new. I have been in such a mood 
 before, and doubtless shall be again." 
 
 " And why should not I share in everything that afflicts 
 you ? " said this true wife ; " especially when, if there is any 
 fault, it is mine, as well as yours. I have not been sufficiently 
 aware of the value of time to you. Hereafter we will have our 
 whole domestic life arranged with the study in tlie centre, and 
 I shall hope for great results." 
 
 Edward shook his head ; and yet this cheerful courage was 
 infectious, and he was soon talking calmly and hopefully of lib 
 plans and prospects. 
 
 Among other things, Mary suggested the idea of more system 
 in his study-hours, of taking, regularly, the earlier part of 
 the day. She spoke of her minister as using .the morning, 
 invariably, and unless the case was urgent refusing to see 
 any one before dinner. 
 
 Edward replied, " In a place like this, a minister cannot 
 deny himself to his people. He must see them when they 
 choo.se to call. Besides, I cannot study by rule. System is 
 well for such men as Mr. Baxter; but I have my moods, and 
 must take advantage of them. When the afflatus comes over 
 me, I must write, even if the night overtake me. Without it, 
 it 's not of much use for me to try. I might hold my pen a 
 half-day in vain." 
 
 Mary was on the point of asking if this were not owing 
 greatly to habit ; but she checked the remark, lest it should lead 
 him to new self-reproaches.
 
 94 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 " There is one thing," continued he, half-soliloquizing ; " I 
 might decide upon my subjects earlier, and save the time I lose 
 by vacillating in the choice of themes. My extempore dis 
 course, too, might be studied first, and the 'brief prepared. 
 Then I might pursue my written theme with more freedom, to 
 the last hour. I will try this ; though I doubt, after all," said 
 he, smiling, " whether I can be fettered by such rules." 
 
 " And now," said Mary, " what are you going to preach 
 about next Sabbath ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, quite gayly, " you are for a practical appli 
 cation of the rule, I see;" and notwithstanding she recalled 
 the question, insisting that he was too weary to take another 
 thought for the future till he had rest, he felt the impulse of 
 their conference, arid went to the study for his book of 
 " Themes." But it contained only single topics, and he was 
 resolved upon a " series." 
 
 Mary had heard her father say he wondered ministers did 
 not make more use, in their preaching, of Scripture biography ; 
 and she mentioned this to Edward. 
 
 After a few moments' thought, he exclaimed, " That will be 
 just to my purpose. It will give me a fine opportunity to say 
 some things I could not well come at in any other way. I will 
 write a biographical series. In the course of it, I shall tako 
 Balaam, and have a ' particular demonstrative ' on the sin of 
 covetousness. But who would have thought," he added, 
 abruptly, " that I should ever have had such a talk as thia 
 with ymi, that I should have admitted a witness to these 
 heart-struggles ? Many a time have I tossed feverishly all 
 Sunday night, consumed with anguished thought; but you are 
 a blessed comforter." 
 
 The fire had burned to ashes, on the hearth, and the lamp 
 was dim ; but the light of love burned brightly there, and the 
 flame of gratitude kindled warm on one heart-altar. Truly, a 
 man of Edward Vernon : s temperament had great cause of
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 95 
 
 thankfulness, that the Lord had given him not only a wife of 
 tender affections, but a "woman of wise and understanding 
 heart. 
 
 " So, hope, and love, and gratitude, 
 Dispelled that miserable mood 
 Of darkness and of doubt " 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " It is true, there are shadows, as well as lights ; clouds, as well as sun 
 shine ; thorns, as well as roses ; but much happiness, after all." 
 
 NOT long after the events of the last chapter, another letter, 
 we find, was written from the parsonage to the dear Mayfield 
 home. In it Mary writes : 
 
 " You may smile to hear me say that I am growing miserly, 
 miserly of time. Everything is planned with an eye on the 
 fact that there are but six days in a week, from Sabbath to 
 Sabbath. ' The great hebdominal wave ' as your favorite 
 D.D. calls it, punctual, inexorable, rolls in upon us, with its 
 freight of Sabbath duties ; and often it seems as if Edward had 
 but just buffeted it, and taken breath, when in rolls its successor. 
 The insufficiency of time for all that it seems desirable to do 
 ia a great drawback to the pleasures of ministerial life. To pre 
 pare two sermons so as to satisfy himself, is alone as much as 
 Mr. Vernon ought to do in a short week ; and, putting the ser 
 mons out of the account, the miscellaneous duties involved in 
 the care of & family and parish, with the reading of periodicals, 
 would of themselves fill up the week. The two together crowd 
 and jostle, and keep him all the time overworked. I wonder if 
 it is BO with all ' the profession.' I suspect that he docs more 
 pastoral duty than most of his brethren. 
 
 " Beginning here, without a family, and finding himself soon
 
 96 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 'mid the multiplied duties of a ' revival,' he has labored more 
 from house to house, than ought to be expected of him here 
 after. Yet, it is difficult now to do less, without causing dis 
 satisfaction among the people. Deacon Ely tells him he must 
 spare himself, and not heed any murmurs of discontent. You 
 must see more yet, dear father, of this good deacon. He came 
 in last evening, "and, as he made no errand, after sitting awhile, 
 I offered to call Mr. Vernon. ' No, no,' said he ; ' let him 
 study ; I came to see you.' Was it not very kind in him ? 
 Edward has commenced a series of discourses, in which Deacon 
 Ely is much interested. So, he sat and talked about the preach 
 ing, and had many things commendatory to say of his young 
 minister, as he called him ; some of which I took care to 
 report to that gentleman ; and it did him, as your poor 
 patient would say, ' a power of good.' 
 
 ..... " When you write to New York, please thank 
 brother Henry for his gift. I don't know what our people 
 will say to such curtains of fine embroidered muslin. They are 
 too beautiful for my parlor; but, as they are a gift, I shall 
 venture to put them up. 
 
 <; I am looking for brother William every day. Will you send 
 by him those pieces of simple music in the library, with my old 
 instruction-book? I have offered to teach Carrie Wood, and 
 she is eager to begin. Her father has a notion that it would 
 injure his patronage in the Academy, to send his own daughter 
 away to school. I love the dear child like a younger sister. 
 
 " What a delightful thing it is, dear father, to feel that one 's 
 life is a joy and blessing to others ! Such a feeling makes 
 me very happy. Is not this a beautiful world ? A.nd life, 
 though earnest, though laborious, may it not be made eery 
 bright?" .... 
 
 The new curtains certainly made some sensation in Salem , 
 but Miss Leevy took it upon her to explain the matter. When 
 it became generally known that they were a present from the
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 97 
 
 rich half-brother, everybody was satisfied, and rejoiced in the 
 good fortune of the minister's wife. There are people in the 
 world who would have felt all the worse for that. 
 
 Notwithstanding the disadvantages under which she entered 
 the field, the young pastor's wife was gradually gaining ground 
 in the confidence and affection of the people. True, the stream 
 of her popularity was obstructed by many an eddy and counter- 
 current ; but it widened and deepened constantly, though almost 
 imperceptibly. 
 
 Olivia Cook was a woman of so much character, and her 
 presence in the parish so pervading, that her friendship for the 
 minister's family was invaluable, in correcting those false im 
 pressions, begotten by lying rmior, in the minds of the ignorant 
 and credulous. There was one thing worthy of mention in 
 regard to Miss Leevy ; she kept, as far as possible, the 
 knowledge of this petty scandal from entering the parsonage. 
 Indeed, Mary's ear was never open to things of this nature. 
 She luid no great curiosity to know what was said of her affairs. 
 One instance, however, was so amusing, that Miss Olivia could 
 not forbear reporting it to Mr. Vernon himself. 
 
 At a meeting of the sewing circle, Miss Lewis and Esther 
 Ann Brooks were observed in secret conference, as on some 
 " high thought intent." After a while, Esther Ann exchanged 
 ominous whispers with other kindred spirits, from whom was 
 heard an occasional ejaculation, " You don't say so ! " or 
 " Do tell ! " with many stolen glances at MrsT Vernon. The 
 bull was rolling. Not many days passed, ere it was hinted 
 aloud that, " some strange doings had been seen at the parson 
 age " A little more, and Mrs. Buel was heard to say, " she 
 wondered what it was, about Mrs. Vernon. It could n't be she 
 did not live happily with her husband. There was some mys 
 tery there. The person who had put her on the alert, said she 
 was not at liberty to tell ; but she ' should think Mr. Vernon 
 would be ashamed of his wife.' " Another whisperer affirmed 
 her purpose not to enter the parsonage through the kitchen- 

 
 98 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 door ; from which it was inferred, that the trouble had to do 
 with the " domestic." And, above all others, came the remark 
 of Mrs. Lewis, that, she " would n't have thought the minis 
 ter's wife was such a child" 
 
 What could all this mean ? 
 
 Miss Leevy took it upon herself to ferret out and hunt down 
 the scandal ; and, pursuing it to "the death," it was found to be 
 simply this : Mrs. Lewis' dressmaker went over to the par 
 sonage to look at Mrs. Vernon's cloak. Passing in, through 
 the kitchen to the back-parlor, she surprised the young wife 
 sitting cm, the carpet playing with a pet kitten. Mirabilo 
 dictu ! 
 
 For a more particular account of Mary's relations to the 
 people, at this period of her history, we must refer to her own 
 pen. 
 
 " PARSONAGE, SALEM, Feb. , 183-. 
 " MY OWN DEAR PAPA, 
 
 " How I wish I might exchange pen and paper for a seat by 
 your side, in the dear library, and a two-hours' talk, with my 
 hand in yours, and my head on your arm, as in days gone by ! 
 I have so much to say, that the very thought of slipping it all 
 off the point of my pen, is a weariness. But, I ought to be 
 thankful for even this resort, and would not waste further 
 words, if I only knew where to begin. 
 
 " I cannot tell you all my gratitude for your good, kind let- 
 ters. The last was just what I needed; the advice so consid 
 erate ; the sympathy so precious. Even the commendation was 
 timely. We are not always in a fit mood to receive the latter 
 safely ; yet, at that time, I was self-distrusting, and needed a 
 little lifting up. And I feel a security in taking praise from 
 your lips, dear father, that I never do from others. 
 
 " In your hint upon the wisdom of confiding everything to 
 my husband, I understand all you would say ; and my practice, I 
 trust, accords with it. I have conferred with him on every point 
 I liave mentioned to you, and with much benefit. But then,
 
 LIFE IX A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 99 
 
 dear father, he has not the advantage of your experience, or 
 your position as one of the people ; and, where I am concerned, 
 he is, I fear, too lenient and partial. 
 
 " You will rejoice to know that I am getting somewhat into 
 the affection and confidence of our people. I believe some of 
 them, at first, were jealous of me, for Mr. Vernon's sake ; at 
 least, I give them credit for this feeling, and it makes me quite 
 tolerant of their criticisms. One woman loves her minister so 
 well she is afraid he has not so good a wife as he deserves. 
 Another fears his house will not be kept with the nicest regard 
 to his comfort. A third inspects his person, with careful eye, 
 and thinks it ' too bad' if his linen is not as smooth and white 
 as it used to be under the hand of a skilful laundress. A 
 fourth shakes her head, as she sees us taking a ride or walk, 
 and- fears that, ' what with writing sermons, and doing parish 
 duty, a?ul waiting so muck upon his ivife, he '11 break down 
 before long.' But, as it is all out of pure love to their minis 
 ter, how can I complain ? Some persons take the liberty to 
 enlighten me on the subject of his preferences in regard to table 
 fare ; and so many favorite dishes have been named that I am 
 led to believe he must have a most accommodating palate. 
 
 " There are some strictures passed, however, which have no 
 reference to his comfort. When brother William was here, he 
 and I took some nice sleigh-rides together, and I enjoyed it 
 much. I was not aware of indulging an excess of spirits ; but 
 some young ladies were quite disturbed, and "reported that I 
 was very gay, and that, as I left the house, equipped for a ride, 
 my laugh might be heard across the street. This reminds mo 
 of something else, of a very different nature, that troubles me. 
 
 " Did you ever think, dear papa, that I have an unusually 
 quick perception of the ludicrous ? I never met so much to 
 call it out as since I have been a minister's wife. It really 
 gives me trouble ; sometimes distresses me greatly. 
 
 "Last Sabbath Edward exchanged with Father Smith, a 
 man who stoops very much, though not from age, and whose
 
 100 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 nasal organ is very prominent. As he wished to go home, after 
 the third service, he rode his horse over to the conference-room. 
 He was moving slowly along, half bent, and I was walking, at 
 a little distance, with that solemn-faced Mr. Fenton, when a 
 pert young miss, before me, said to her companion, quite 
 gravely, ' Mr. Smith's Twse will get to meeting some time 
 before he does.' I laughed, involuntarily, and looked toward 
 Mr. F. ; but his face did not relent in the least. The roguish 
 girls, however, saw that my gravity was disturbed, and they 
 took advantage of it to keep up their sport, looking over their 
 shoulder, occasionally, at me, then at the unconscious subject 
 of their mirth, with deprecating glances at Mr. Fenton, who 
 frowned upon them with his sourest visage. I don't know what 
 he thought of me. 
 
 " I regretted this the more, as only a few days pre 
 viously I lost my self-possession from a similar cause. It was 
 before the weekly church prayer-meeting. Several persons had 
 called, and, among others, a poor man, in failing health, who 
 wished to ask assistance from his brethren. He had a sub 
 scription paper, drawn up by a friend of more literacy preten 
 sions than himself, which he handed to Mr. Vernon, with the 
 request that he would present it to the church, and have it cir 
 culated after meeting. Edward read it, and passed it to me. 
 I took it unsuspectingly, though I thought there was a curious 
 twinkle in his eye. It was a singular document. I began to 
 read, but coming to the statement that the applicant had 
 ' always been a very disenabled-bodied man,' I could get no 
 further. Rising, suddenly, to conceal my risibility, I met 
 Edward's eye (was he not wicked ?), and failed to recover my 
 self-possession till I had attracted the notice of all present, 
 except the poor man himself, who sat with an expression of 
 complacent ruefulness, of itself quite ludicrous. 
 
 " Since I am upon this topic, I may as well tell you what 
 happened at a wedding, not long ago, though you will think me 
 a foolish child; and. indeed, I am.
 
 LIFE IN .A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 101 
 
 " The bridegroom was from an adjoining town. His name 
 was Hart. He had with him two sisters, a brother, and a 
 cousin, of the same name. In offering the invocation, Edward 
 prayed for a 'blessing on these hearts' [Harts], which struck 
 me so ludicrously that I lost the rest of the prayer, in my 
 remorseful feelings, at this intrusion upon the spirit of devotion. 
 I cannot think of it without self-reproaches ; neither can I with 
 out a smile. What shall I do ? 
 
 " This letter was interrupted, last evening, by a call from 
 Dr. Alden. He came, as he often does, to hear me play and 
 sing ; but I declined, this time, for fear of disturbing Mr! Ver- 
 non, who is very busy, this week, upon his sermon. He has 
 taken quite an impulse in his studies, since New- Year's. The 
 doctor alluded to it, in his facetious way. The congregation 
 seems unusually attentive. 
 
 " It is time this long letter drew to a conclusion. Tell sister 
 Harriet (with our best regards) we see no prospect of being 
 able to relinquish Ann at present. 
 
 " What a cheerful rain we have had to-day; -not. falling 
 reluctantly, but in a succession of hearty showers. I have 
 been just in the mood to sympathize with it. It has rained so 
 easily, so spontaneously, so freely, as if it could n't help it, 
 and would not, if it could. I have watched the showers, and 
 thought, ' like this should be our charities^ given with the same 
 spontaneity and gladness.' 
 
 " Edward has come from the study, and, looking over my 
 shoulder, quite disconcerts me with the exclamation, ' Capi 
 tal illustration that ! See if I do not use it in my next mis 
 sionary seriiKn.' What can I add, after this, except our 
 united love 
 
 " Affectionately and dutifully, MABT ' 
 
 9*
 
 102 THE SHADY SIDE? -OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ' They joy before thee according to the joy in harvest." 
 
 THE winter months sped rapidly by, and the opening spring 
 witnessed an unusual sei'iousness in the Sabbath audiences at 
 Salem. Soon one and another inquiring soul sought the pas 
 tor's "study, for religious counsel and sympathy. His words 
 dropped as the rain, and his speech distilled as the dew. 
 
 The merciful visitation of the previous year had shaken the 
 whole field, and gathered many souls into the garner of Christ. 
 This was as the gleanings after harvest. The subjects were 
 not numerous, but scattered, here and there, over the whole 
 parish. Their treatment, too, required an unusual amount of 
 time and skill. They were mostly persons who had been long 
 thoughtful on the concerns of the soul, or who had, at a former 
 period of awakening, voluntarily suppressed solicitude, and 
 banished thought. Frequent personal interviews were the 
 principal kind of labor needed ; but some prominent individuals 
 thought there should be an extra sermon or two a week, in 
 such an interesting state of things. To meet both, made large 
 demands upon the minister, especially as he had now his own 
 domestic cares. 
 
 At the close of the first week, Mary knew he had not had 
 twenty-four hours to bestow upon his pulpit preparation, and 
 she asked him, anxiously, what he could do for the morrow. 
 He replied, cheerfully, " he had no fear but what he could preach 
 to-morrow ; whether he could sleep to-night was doubtful." 
 
 In one of his temperament and endowments, intellectual 
 activity was greatly quickened by intense emotion. His mind 
 felt the kindling glow, and grew malleable and ductile in the 
 uperaided heat of the affections. Hence he was seldom
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 10? 
 
 unequal to " the occasion," provided it touched his sensibilities. 
 His zeal, unlike that which runs loose, without the judgment, 
 had too much to carry to lose its balance, or make dangerous 
 speed. It was according to knowledge. 
 
 The readiness with which he preached from brief notes, after 
 so short a time. in his study, surprised Mary. Not only was he 
 fluent and fervent, but logical and close in reasoning. The 
 fact was, alas ! that it is not always so, he preached with a 
 definite object in view ; lie knew what he was driving at, and 
 aimed every blow at a given result. Illustration, argument, 
 counsel, entreaty, all concentrated on the point he wished to 
 gain. It was this, too, that gave such a freshness and charm 
 to every neighborhood meeting for conference and prayer. The 
 words of the pastor were no indefinite commendation of godli 
 ness, or vague exhortation to repentance and faith. They were 
 chosen to meet some specific want. There was some objection 
 to be silenced, some doubt solved, some difficulty to be removed, 
 some impression deepened in the minds of particular inquirers 
 for the way of life. There was nourishment of the right kind 
 to be judiciously administered to new-born souls. There was 
 stimulus needed for the faith and prayers of fellow-laborers. 
 
 Such a work will call out a pastor, and develop his resources. 
 Mr. Vernon's people needed not this new demonstration of his 
 power. They remembered the revival scenes of the previous 
 twelve-month, and they might have remembered his consequent 
 exhaustion. But these ministrations were so edifying there 
 were few to think or suggest that the pastor could do too 
 much. 
 
 The good deacon (" Was there only one deacon in Salem ? " 
 some may ask. Yes, there was another ; but he was only a 
 left-hand cipher] the good deacon feared how it might be in 
 the end, and did all that one man could do to restrain, advise, 
 and aid. Giving up his own time to the work, he also took it 
 upon him, though living a mile distant, to look a little after 
 Mr. Vernon's secular cares, sending " one of the boys," ooca-
 
 104 THE SHADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 Hionally, to saw his wood, and, often, to cut the hay, and pre 
 pare the mess for the horse, that he need not have this to do, 
 after returning late from a distant meeting. No wonder Dr. 
 Alden told Mr. Vernon, " Deacon Ely was the breath of hia 
 nostrils." 
 
 There are, in every parish, a multitude of miscellaneous 
 services, which, unless there are self-sacrificing laymen, fall 
 heavily on the minister, dividing his time, and consuming hia 
 strength. To spare his minister these, was the noble purpose 
 of this excellent man. Hence he bore many burdens which 
 should have been equalized among the brethren. He performed 
 some disagreeable services which did not strictly belong to him. 
 No one else would do them, and he determined they should not 
 come upon the young pastor, who gave himself unsparingly to 
 his proper work. " Why should the laborer in word and doc 
 trine turn aside to serve tables ; to be a door-keeper of the 
 sanctuary ; to warm, and light and ventilate, the room for 
 evening prayer ; to see that provision is made for the poor ; to 
 circulate subscription papers, and collect charities ; to distribute 
 missionary periodicals ; to provide for the temperance agent and 
 his horse; to notify church appointments, and do such like 
 service, whose name is ' legion ' ? While he lived, he would 
 stand as much as possible between a pastor and these." Thus 
 reasoned Deacon Ely, and thus practised ; but it was as a coad 
 jutor in rdigwus duties that his aid was invaluable. 
 
 Was there a case of open scandal or of alienation among 
 brethren, Mr. Vernon generally found that the deacon had 
 gone before him, as a reprover or a peace-maker. Were there 
 instances of neglect of covenant duty, he needed no persuasion 
 to look after the delinquents, and unite his influence with his 
 pastor's in correcting the evil. Were there young disciples to 
 be cajred for, he watched and cherished them, as a nurse her 
 children, looking diligently, lest any should fail of the grace of 
 God. One youthful invalid, when visited by the pastor, showed 
 him a note she had received from Deacon Ely, in which, after
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTUY PARSONAGE. 105 
 
 expressing his sympathy in her affliction, he gives her what ha 
 calls " the Christian paradox," "As chastened, and not killed ; 
 cast down, but not destroyed ; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing ; 
 as having nothing, and yet possessing all things," request 
 ing her to solve the riddle at her leisure, and send him the 
 answer. The young minister's eyes glistened as he read tho 
 note, and he laid it down, saying, " That is just like Deacon 
 Ely." He always felt that this co-worker with him in the 
 gospel, had his eye upon the field, and would give him timely 
 notice of any case that needed his special attention. 
 
 Many an impulse, too, in sermon-making, did Mr. Vernon 
 get from this intelligent student of the Scriptures, as they 
 compared their views of truth, and communed upon the topics 
 of doctrine or practice, presented from the pulpit. 
 
 " I never hear anything from my sermons," said one minis 
 ter, sorrowfully. Mr. Vernon felt the advantage of a freo 
 conference with a thinking, discriminating hearer, on the subject 
 of his preaching. 
 
 This watchful friend saw, too, when he needed rest ; and, as 
 he took but little care of himself, he was thus cared for, and 
 relaxation often urged upon him before he was quite aware of 
 its importance. 
 
 During this precious season of spiritual refreshing, their 
 hearts were more closely knit together. Very beautiful were 
 their love and fellowship. One raw, chilly evening in the last 
 of March, the deacon stopped at the parsonage gate, just as Mr. 
 Vernon was leading Pompey from the stable, for a ride to the 
 most remote district. 
 
 " Put up the colt, if you please," said he ; "I want the 
 privilege of leading the meeting to-night. You were very 
 hoarse last evening, and this is n't the right sort of air to 
 improve a cold." 
 
 " But," said the minister, " there are one or two persons, out 
 there, I want particularly to see." 
 
 " I '11 take <f re of them," was the reply ; " not as well as
 
 106 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 you would, perhaps ; but we want to save you a little longer." 
 So Pompey was put back, rather reluctantly, into the stall ; and 
 Mary, who stood in the portico, and heard the whole, could not 
 forbear saying, " 0, Deacon Ely, how very kind arid thoughtful 
 you are ! The Lord will Teward you." 
 
 Those days of special religious interest were days long to be 
 remembered by her, whose whole being was more and more 
 identified with the pastor and his work. To the success and 
 progress of that work, her heart became more tenderly alive. 
 An increasing sense of her responsibility, in reference to the 
 salvation of others, pervaded her prayers and her example. As 
 yet, she had not summoned courage to speak to the irreligious 
 directly on the subject of personal duty. Not that courage, 
 was exactly what she lacked ; she was so humble and self- 
 distrusting, as to feel that it would be assuming, in her, to 
 attempt such effort. Many a young person, as they entered to 
 converse with their pastor, looked wishfully at her, as if hoping 
 something from the sympathy visible in her face. Yet she 
 could not utter a word. She spoke sadly of this to Edward, 
 asking him what was duty ; but he told her she must follow 
 the impulses of her own heart, unconstrained ; he could not 
 prescribe what would be right for her. Even her dear pet and 
 pupil, Carrie Wood, came day after day to her music lesson, 
 with a deep shade over her bright, sunny face ; and though 
 Mary looked at her anxiously, till her own eyes filled with 
 tears, her tongue seemed fettered when she would speak a word 
 of Christian counsel. But this could not last. 
 
 One afternoon Carrie came as usual ; but the first strain of 
 music brought a gush of tears, and she silently took her bonnet 
 and hurried back to her home across the street. Mary was 
 greatly distressed. She prayed for grace to overcome her 
 weakness ; then, seizing her pen, wrote : 
 
 " Dear, dear Carrie ! come back and tell me all. Come 
 without delay." 
 
 Ann carried the note, and, ere five minutes elapsed, the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 107 
 
 broken-hearted child was on the carpet, with her face buried in 
 Mary's lap, sobbing as only a child can weep. Mary's arm 
 \vas around her, and her tears dropped on the young girl's 
 auburn hair. 
 
 But a calmer interval succeeded ; and Carrie told how a 
 feeling of ill-desert had pierced her heart these many days ; 
 and she could not talk with her father, as he did not question 
 her ; and she felt afraid to come to Mr. Vernon ; and mama 
 was suffering with a fit of nervous headache, and could not be 
 troubled. 
 
 " ! " said Mary, " I have done very, very wrong not to ask 
 you to open your heart to me before. Yet," she added, ear 
 nestly, " it is but little / can do for you. Jesus can help you, 
 Carrie ; he is willing, and waiting to receive you, more wil 
 ling than you are to go to him." 
 
 " 0, no ! " said the humbled child ; " not more willing than 
 /, if I could only find him. 0, if I knew what to do ! " 
 
 " What does he want of you, my child, but that you should 
 give him your heart, and let him save you ? " 
 
 " But I must do something myself." 
 
 " And what have you been trying to do ? to make yourself 
 better ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have tried and tried, and I only grow worse." 
 
 " This is not what he wants of you, child. You have been 
 trying to do his part of the work. You feel that you are a 
 great sinner, dear Carrie ? " 
 
 " 0, yes ! " 
 
 11 This grieves you, and you desire to be forgiven, and be 
 made holy ? " 
 
 " 0, very much ! " 
 
 " And you believe Jesus is able tnd willing to do this for 
 you ? Now, what have you to do, b.it to trust him for it ? 
 This is all you can do it is enough Trust him with jout 
 heart, just as it is, to make it what he would have it." 
 
 Carrie was silent.
 
 108 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 \ 
 
 " Since he has shown his love in dying for you, since ha 
 offers to forgive you freely, cannot you commit your heart to 
 him, and confide in him to do all that is needful for its salva 
 tion ? " 
 
 The young girl looked up with a beam of hope. " And may 
 I trust him tuno ? Will he love me as I am ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my darling ; every moment's delay grieves him 
 But you must venture upon his promise and his grace with 
 your whole heart. There must be no mistrust, no doubt, no 
 reserve. He is able to save to the uttermost ; he makes you 
 the offer ; he waits for you to accept it." 
 
 " 0, how kind ! I don't deserve this ; but I will accept it. 
 I will trust him. How can I help it, it seems so easy now ? 
 "Why did I not see this before ? " 
 
 Again the two wept together ; but they were tears of deli 
 cious joy, intermingled with smiles. And then, kneeling 
 together, with Carrie's hand in hers, Mary offered a simple, 
 earnest prayer of consecration to Christ ; magnifying the riches 
 of his grace, and beseeching strength to lead a holy life. The 
 scene was one a painter might have coveted. It had a holier 
 use, joyed over by angels. 
 
 " Now," said Mary, " let us go to the study and see Mr. 
 Vernon." But when they actually stood before him, she burst 
 into tears, and could not speak. Carrie had to tell her own 
 story, which she did with a self-possession that surprised him, 
 while her face was radiant with the peace and hope of a believ 
 ing spirit. 
 
 This incident was an eventful one to Mary. It lessened her 
 timidity, and broke in upon her plea that she should do more 
 harm than good, by attempting to direct inquiring souls. It 
 stirred deeper in her heart the fountains of Christian feeling, 
 and sent her to the praying circle with a soul raised above the 
 fear of fellow-worms. It gave a new unction to her appeals 
 in her Sabbath-school class; and, before the season closed, she 
 had the joy of seeing many of them converted to God ; a joy
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 109 
 
 deepened by the fact that more than one traced their special 
 seriousness to her faithful application of Bible truth. 0, 
 what satisfaction is superior to that of winning souls to tho 
 ways of heavenly wisdom ! " They that turn many to right 
 eousness, shall shine as the stars for ever and ever." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " A chosen vessel to bear iny name among tho Gentiles." 
 
 " My reward is with me to give to every man as his work shall be. " 
 
 APRIL, with its suns and showers, apt emblem of life's chang 
 ing day, brought to the Allison family the long-anticipated 
 departure of the son and brother to his missionary work. Fain 
 would the father, who was thus sparing from underneath him 
 his chief earthly prop, fain would the sister, whose heart had 
 grown from infancy to him the only son of her lost mother, 
 gladly would all the household band have indulged their part 
 ing tears, and sighed their last adieus, unobserved, around tho 
 old hearth-stone. But the event about to separate them was 
 in some sense a pullic one. William was to go forth as a 
 servant of the Church, and the Church had for him her commis 
 sion, and her parting counsels and prayers. 
 
 There was, moreover, another deeply-interested family circle, 
 who were to welcome him into their group, only to extend tho 
 parting hand as he should bear away their best-beloved to an 
 almost returnless distance. 
 
 " Surely," said the doctor, " it is not an occasion that leaves 
 us to the luxury of secret grief! " 
 
 So he kept down his swelling heart, and went with Edward 
 and Mary to the Eastern City, where many gathered to wit 
 ness the young missionary's marriage and ordination, and l<juve 
 taking. 
 
 There was a murmur of disappointment in the gathered audi- 
 10
 
 110 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 enco, when, as the hour of service arrived, and the parties 
 entered the church, it was whispered that the marriage cere 
 mony had just been performed at the house ofj;he bride. Her 
 mother claimed this as her duCj saying, very justly, " Though 
 Emily has given herself to the cause of missions, and belongs 
 in some sense to the Christian public, she is still our child, 
 and we must have the marriage-altar erected at our own 
 fireside." 
 
 There was, however, little need of this preliminary service, 
 to add interest to the occasion. The " consecration," the 
 " charge," the " fellowship," the parting counsels and benedic 
 tions, came from lips that seemed touched with a coal from the 
 heavenly altar. 
 
 Some of the spectators watched with curious eye the chang 
 ing expression of the youthful pair, while thus set apart to a 
 sacred work. Others looked at them, and marvelled at the 
 strength of that compassion for benighted souls, which could 
 lead to the voluntary severance of the tics that bind to home 
 and friends and native land. Others, still, and among them 
 more than one careworn country pastor's wife, shed tears of 
 sympathy, and in their humility took a low place before these 
 devoted servants of Christ, who were forsaking all things for 
 his kingdom's sake. To these, the young missionary might 
 have responded, " Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves 
 and your children." He had only given himself to the service 
 of his Lord. What had he done more than they ? They were 
 toiling obscurely on, wearing put by trials locked up in their 
 own bosoms ; he was starting for the field, mid the sound of 
 the trumpet and the loud acclaim of many a banded host of 
 God's elect. A far-off field, truly ; yet, for that reason, more 
 conspicuous, where his prowess would be noted from the watch- 
 towers of Zion, and heralded to a multitude of sympathizing 
 hearts. But what need of this comparison ? The record of 
 all God's servants is on high, and their reward is sure. 
 
 We stop not over the embarkation scene. After the fare-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 11] 
 
 well hymn was sung, and the last adieus spoken, and the silent 
 embrace taken, and the vision strained to catch the last faint 
 outline of receding forms, and waving handkerchiefs, Dr. Alli 
 son folded his daughter to his heart, and Mary returned to her 
 happy home with a feeling almost of self-repro-ich, at the thought 
 of her privileged allotment. In blessed ignorance of the future, 
 she wrote lo her father : 
 
 " My haart covets for dear William a home like mine, in our 
 own beautiful New England, mid the circle of our kindred ; in 
 a quiet village parsonage, with a church to be his co-workers 
 in the gospel, and a christianized congregation looking up to 
 him with esteem and affection ; surrounded by all the nameless 
 desirable influences that attend the ministration of the word m 
 our well-ordered communities. True, we have some trials even 
 here, but they seem to me light compared with his on mission 
 ary ground. It seems almost selfish in me to be so happy, 
 when I think of his lot." 
 
 Ah, tender-hearted sister ! thou foreseest not the time when 
 his heart shall yearn toward thee, across the blue waters, with 
 unspeakable pity, and a juster commiseration. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " 'T is over soon the cause, not soon 
 The sad effects pass by." 
 
 " No matter where the storm has driven, 
 A saving anchor lives in prayer." 
 
 THE summer months found Mr. Vernon again in a state of 
 physical prostration and mental depression. The early sum 
 mer brought him a visit from his old chum, Frederick Morton, 
 who was glad to take up hu abode for two or three weeks at 
 the parsonage, and pursue his acquaintance with our young 
 friend, Bessie Grampton.
 
 112 THE SHAD7 SIDE; OE, 
 
 Morton's visit was not productive of good to his classmate. 
 He was a man of fine social qualities, a man of talent and 
 ambition, recently admitted to the bar. A professor of god 
 liness, withal ; but his piety, if genuine, had never gone, with 
 its melting power, to the depths of his nature, firing and fusing 
 the soul, and working an amalgamation conformable to that 
 apostolic model, " I count all things but loss for the excellency 
 of the knowledge of Christ Jesus, our Lord." 
 
 His friend's change of profession had always vexed him. 
 Now that he saw his unwearied efforts for the prosperity of his 
 people, and saw, too, that these efforts were often at the expense 
 of his own mental culture and finish of style and execution, 
 he vented his sentiments in a way that did more mischief than 
 he imagined. 
 
 It was at the close of the Sabbath, when Edward was in 
 wardly chafing with the thought that his sermon had fallen far 
 below his design, that Morton said, abruptly : 
 
 " What a fool you are, Vernon, pardon me, to waste so 
 much time in running after your people ! You had a splendid 
 sermon there, in conception, but you gave yourself no time to 
 elaborate it. Why, my dear fellow, the materials you had in 
 that discourse, wrought up as you are capable of doing it, would 
 electrify the most cultivated audience in our land. You are 
 doing everything for the people, and too little for yourself." 
 
 Edward's face flushed, and a bitter smile played on his lip. 
 (Had not his own heart been saying the same thing, though it 
 durst not frame it in words ?) He made no reply, and Mor 
 ton continued : " I see how it is. You lay down your book, 
 or your pen, and start off to every sick child or whimpering 
 woman that takes a fancy to see the minister. I would n't do 
 it. I would cultivate myself for a higher field. The people 
 here don't appreciate such a thinker and writer as you are." 
 
 Already, at the thought of the sick "and tempted to whom 
 he had the past week been a messenger of comfort and succor, 
 Edward's bitter feelings gave place to gentkr emotions, and
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 113 
 
 remorse smote his heart. He ga/e Morton a sad, earnest look, 
 as if in doubt whether explanation were not labor lost on a man 
 of so little Christian sensibility. Mary entered soon, and tho 
 topic wa$ not pursued. Morton evaded it during the few days 
 that remained of his visit. Perhaps he liked not to encounter 
 another such glance of Vernon's eye ; but his words had sunk 
 deep in a sensitive nature, and they rankled there. Their 
 author was littla aware of the evil he had done, not by these 
 bold words merely, but by the whole tone of his intercourse, 
 during that fortnight's visit. 
 
 It was. he said, a delightful visit. He was charmed with 
 the rural quiet of the place. lie was charmed with the young 
 mistress of the dwelling. He was in a mood to be pleased with 
 everything; for he had obtained a promise from a frank, im 
 pulsive girl, which made him very happy. In this genial mood 
 he wrote to one of the old college clique : 
 
 " You ask me to describe to you our class-mate's ' bright par 
 ticular star.' You would have made as modest a request, had 
 you asked me for a bottle of this delicious sunshine, as I watch 
 't from my window, falling over the forest of endlessly varied 
 green, and sparkling in the spray of the mill-dam ! You must 
 sec Edward Vernon's wife, to get a portrait of her before your 
 mind. But, to allay your curiosity, I will try my hand at 
 description. I should say, she is sufficiently tall, and rather 
 slight in figure ; of a delicate conformation, or cast of mind and 
 body ; an ardent, susceptible nature, tempered with unusual gen 
 tleness ; sterling sense, set off by a quiet humor, with some arch 
 ness, and a nice regard for the feelings of others. Pshaw ! how 
 tame ! I give it up. This kind of description, you know, is not 
 my forte. The simplest rogue might run at large for all my 
 posting. 
 
 " But Vernon is a lucky fellow. His Mary is just the Mary for 
 
 him. She has a certain childish playfulness and grace mingled 
 
 with sweet seriousness and womanly dignity. She captivates his 
 
 fancy, and he reposes his whole soul on her affection and judgment 
 
 10*
 
 114 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 " Lest you should think I covet this rare gem, I may as wel. 
 inform you that there is in the same neighborhood a pair of 
 darker, more brilliant eyes, ay, laughing eyes they are, 
 with carnation lips and cheeks to match, which, if fyey were 
 tnine, 1 would not exchange for any I have seen ; and which 
 may, one day, who knows ? ' Verlum sat.'' "... 
 
 It is needless to say that the Christian minister strove against 
 the latent workings of worldly ambition. What renewed heart 
 does not take the alarm at the approach of moral evil in a pal 
 pable shape ? Yet his resistance was too weak and intermitted. 
 He was in ill health, and in poorer spirits. Satan made the 
 most of these facilities to harass and ensnare him. Morton had 
 spoken of one and another of their class who bade fair to rise 
 to eminence in the legal profession ; and, as the tempted man 
 thought thereon, the suggestion would come to his mind, " This 
 is what was expected of you. Instead of this, you are only an 
 Ordinary parish minister, and dwindling even here." But the 
 wickedness of the suggestion always distressed him more than 
 the fact involved in it. 
 
 It required all Mary's philosophy and affection to keep sun 
 shine in her heart and in her house ; yet she succeeded, and 
 was well repaid. It was a discipline of self-control and of 
 compulsion to the only sure refuge and support, which she 
 needed to learn early, and which was never forgotten. 
 
 In days of spiritual prosperity, Edward had asked Mary to 
 lead their united devotions at the mercy-seat ; but she had 
 always declined. She felt no freedom for such a service with 
 him. She thought it almost impracticable. But now, in these 
 days of gloom, when he was troubled oil every side, and the 
 billows of temptation were surging over him ; now, when he 
 asked her, with child-like entreaty, if she could not pray, she 
 assented willingly. But not there at his wonted place. She 
 drew him instinctively to her own room, and bowed the knee 
 with him at her own place of communion with Heaven. And 
 such prayer he had seldom heard. He rose humbled, rebuked.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 115 
 
 comforted. It was as if an angel from heaven strengthened 
 him. 
 
 The summer dragged wearily away. Those were sad days ; 
 and yet, in passing, they seemed not so dark to Mary, as when 
 she looked back upon them in the sunlight of restored serenity 
 and joy. 
 
 And what, meantime, became of the parish ? The pastor had 
 never deserted it. He attended the sick ; he buried the dead 
 he wrote an occasional sermon ; exchanged pulpits with his 
 brethren ; repeated, now and then, an old sermon, and extem 
 porized new ones when he could not avoid it. The people 
 petted him in his moods ; inquired often and tenderly after him ; 
 taid he had worked too hard ; shook their heads ominously, and 
 feared he would die young. 
 
 Deacon Ely thought he understood the case. " Was not 
 this the natural reaction of over-exertion in one of so excitable 
 a temperament and delicate constitution ? The spiritual con 
 flicts were they not a part of God's gracious plan to deepen 
 the foundations of piety, and prepare his servant, by a richer 
 personal experience, for stil] more abundant success in his holy 
 calling ? " " Ah ! " sighed the desponding man, " he judges 
 more favorably of me than I deserve. If he could look into 
 my heart, I fear he would not wish to hear me preach again." 
 
 In the midst of this season of darkness came sorrowful 
 tidings from the home of his childhood. He was suddenly sent 
 for to see his mother die. Mary could not accompany him ; 
 so, while hastening his departure, she despatched a messenger 
 for Miss Olivia's company during his absence. Leevy was 
 greatly shocked and alarmed. " 0, uncle ! " said she, " what 
 will become of Mr. Vernon now ? lie had as much as he could 
 bear before." " He will rise above it," said Deacon Ely ; ' the 
 Lord knows how to deal with him ;" and the deacon's phiiooo- 
 phy was sound. One real calamity scatters a host of fancied 
 sorrows to' the wind. One heavy grief absorbs the sens* f
 
 116 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 many lighter sorrows. God stays his rough wind in the day 
 of his east wind. 
 
 Mr. Vernon came home from his mother's grave an altered 
 and a better man. His old despondency was displaced by a 
 sweetly sad and tender filial regret. He had humbled himself 
 under the hand of his chastening God. Earthly aspirations 
 sank into their proper insignificance before the eternal weight 
 of glory, the inheritance, upon which his sainted mother had 
 entered. That glory and reward, lately seen so far off, seemed 
 to approach nearer, in condescension to the weakness of his 
 struggling faith. He strengthened his grasp on eternal reali 
 ties, felt afresh the value of the soul, and laid himself anew at 
 the foot of the Cross. In the soft flow of gentle tears, with 
 which he met Mary on his return, was the promise of returning 
 health and freshness to his soul. 
 
 " Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his 
 saints." As this text was named, the next Sabbath morning, 
 an unwonted stillness pervaded the full assembly. Sympathy 
 with the preacher riveted the attention of many an indifferent 
 hearer, while his sympathy with his theme carried the truth 
 with power to the heart. 0, ye, who expound the oracles of 
 God ! if you would make the word quick and powerful, bring 
 it forth not only fresh from your own mental laboratory, but 
 glaunng from a close contact with your own heart. " 1 
 believed, and therefore have I spoken."
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 M The promise is unto you and to your children. " 
 
 " A silent awe is in my room, 
 
 I tremble with delicious fear; 
 The future, with its light and gloom, 
 Time and eternity are here.'.' 
 
 WHEN autumn, in her gayest robes, once more dressed the 
 earth, and the cricket's chirp began to break the stillness of the 
 cool October evenings, there woke within the parsonage walls a 
 new human life; and with it oped a new fount of love, pure 
 and perennial, in two glad hearts. 
 
 Upon this infant daughter, Edward bestowed the name of hia 
 sainted mother and sister. The tiny babe lay in its nurse's 
 arms, and opened its large blue eyes dreamily, all unconscious of 
 the interest it excited, and the attention it received, as an inte 
 gral part of the pastor's family, and thus, in a sense, the com 
 mon property of the parish. 
 
 Many were the curious eyes that peered into the nursery to 
 see the minister's baby. The little stranger could hardly take 
 a long sleep, undisturbed ; for every visitor that called, who, 
 by the way, was careful to say she should n't think it best for 
 many to cgme in, but she, feeling particularly interested, could 
 not delay, every visitor must see the child in a good light, 
 and with its eyes open, that there might be no doubt whether 
 their color was blue or hazel, and that every feature might be 
 properly examined, and resemblances traced and settled. What 
 a pity that the baby face would develop so contrary to first 
 judgments, that, what was settled this week, must be reversed 
 the next !
 
 118 TIIK SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 As the young mother pressed this new treasure to her bosom, 
 it was not without a feeling of awe at the magnitude of the 
 responsibility involved in the nurture of an immortal soul. 
 She almost marvelled that so sacred a trust should be commit 
 ted so generally to parents insensible of its solemnity and great 
 ness. Once and again was this little one borne, on the arms of 
 faith, to the throne of a covenant God, and acknowledged as a 
 lent treasure to be improved for his glory. As the time drew 
 near for its public dedication to him, Mary wrote feelingly to 
 her father : 
 
 " It seems strange to me that I have been content to hold sc 
 vaguely the doctrine of ' infant baptism,' which occupies so 
 prominent a place in our creed. Since I have looked at the 
 ordinance, in relation to my own child, I feel that it must have 
 a deeper meaning and minuter relations than my superficial 
 views have ever grasped. 
 
 " I have conversed with several clergymen ; but all their acu 
 men seems to have been expended on the question of its obligation 
 and validity, rather than on its inherent nature and efficacy. 
 Even Edward confesses that his investigations have been more 
 occupied with the divine appointment of the ordinance, and its 
 propriety, than in studying the philosophy of its theory, or tho 
 law of its influence. I could get very satisfactory views of the 
 subject from the Bible and my own Christian instincts ; but, 
 looking around on the families of the church, I am again thrown 
 into perplexity. 
 
 " Do write me, dear father, soon, and freely. You, I am 
 sure, must have thought deeply on the matter, and settled it to 
 your own satisfaction." 
 
 In reply, Dr. Allison says : 
 
 " I do not know, my daughter, as it is best for me to say 
 much to you on this topic, in respect to which I was once in a 
 sea of trouble and mist. My views are somewhat peculiar, 
 and your good husband may not think me exactly orthodox. It 
 seems to me that a large proportion of believers in our connec-
 
 LlFfi IN A COUNTBY PARSONAGE. 119 
 
 tion, while retaining the form, have let slip the most precioua 
 and vital elements of its spirit. 
 
 " Your little one, whose animal life is so lately separated 
 from your own, is still, in its spiritual life, a part of yourselves ; 
 it has yet no accountability, no individuality. Its soul is linked 
 with yours. Why should it not be included with you in the 
 fold of the good Shepherd? You are, under God, to mould 
 and stamp it after your own renewed image. Hence, you put 
 upon it the outward seal, the washing of water, to sym 
 bolize the fact of its expected transformation into the likeness 
 of Christ, its prospective regeneration by the Holy Ghost. 
 You have a right to presume on its being a child of God, soon 
 after it can discern between good and evil. This ordinance is 
 to contribute to this result by your own faith, not in anj 
 mystic virtue in it, but faith in God's plan to include in his 
 covenant the children of his people. But let not your faith 
 waver, or your purpose falter. As you bring your darling to 
 its public consecration, let the language of your hearts, speaking 
 in the ordinance, be, ' This unconscious child is a part of our 
 selves ; we purpose it shall be the Lord's ; we will nurture it 
 in a holy atmosphere, and trust the divine grace to bless our 
 endeavors and renew it unto holiness, that it may grow up u 
 child of God, in the family of Christ. Presuming on this re 
 sult, we dare label it now as the Lord's ; a partaker with us of 
 the faith and promises of the Gospel.' 
 
 " And, remember, Mary, this step throws upon you the duty 
 of watching the growth of the child's moral being, as you would 
 daily watch your mon heart and life; to secure, by God's help, 
 penitence toward him, for its first voluntary acts of disobe 
 dience, trust in him for all needed mercy, and love to him 
 for what he is, and what he bestows. To do this, requires 
 more patient watchfulness, and a more careful ordering of their 
 own temper and conduct, than many believing parents are will 
 ing to be troubled with. The consequence is, that the precious 
 lauibe of the flock, instead of being tenderly nurtured under
 
 120 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 the ample provisions of the covenant, are let loose from the 
 fold, to take their chance with others on the unsheltered com 
 mon. There are exceptions, of course, to this fate ; and amon^ 
 them, I trust, will be our darling;. It is your privilege, my 
 daughter, to lead her by your side in the paths of the good 
 Shepherd. 
 
 " I little thought, when I began, of saying all this. There 
 is another point, too, upon which I would like to talk with Mr. 
 Vernon ; that is, what relation has the church to the baptized 
 children of her members, and what duties? Her general prac 
 tice says, 'none ;' but is it so ? The Lord lead you into al] 
 truth, and multiply his blessings upon you twain, and upon 
 your offspring." 
 
 It was in the spirit of such views of parental obligation, that 
 little Abby Vernon was carried to the Lord's house, and bap 
 tized into the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy 
 Ghost, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " A rose nipp'd in the bud." 
 
 Or all who " affectioned" the blue-eyed baby of the parsonage 
 none, beyond its kindred, loved it so tenderly, so devotedly, 
 as the gentle Carrie Wood. She could sit, by the hour, and 
 rock its cradle, or hold it in her arms, and watch its unfolding 
 intellect and budding charms. Let no one smile, and call her a 
 simple child ; that is no mean study for older and wiser minds. 
 
 This dear girl was ardently beloved by her pastor and his wife. 
 They, indeed, supplied to her, what was ever wanting in her 
 own home, : a quick appreciation of her deeper and subtler 
 emotions, and friends upon whom she could lean without fear 
 of being burdensome. 
 
 Her father was a man of the old Puritanic sort ; inflexible 
 in his pursuit of right, yet prompted therein more by a sense
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 121 
 
 of duty than i feeling of pleasure. lie had taught the village 
 Academy twenty years, where he ruled with a just, but rigid 
 hand. Carrie was his only daughter ; both she and her threo 
 young brothers loved their father truly ; but it was love con 
 taining a large proportion of reverence and awe. The stern 
 face relaxed indeed, as whose could help ? under Carrie'a 
 bright smile, and softened in her winsome ways ; but she never 
 opened to him quite all her heart, lest he, so grave and wise, 
 should pronounce her foolish. 
 
 The mother had been many years an invalid ; a fond, indul 
 gent mother, yet yielding step by step to that insidious tendency 
 of protracted illness, absorbing and selfish interest in her own 
 bodily infirmities. 
 
 Between the two parents, the beautiful girl grew up, as we 
 find her at the age of fifteen, neither chilled by restraint, nor 
 spoiled by indulgence. And at this critical period of her his 
 tory began her acquaintance at the parsonage. There entered, 
 now, a new element into the formative influences around her, 
 under which her character rapidly developed in beauty and 
 strength. This result was partly effected by the unconscious 
 influence of the pastor and his wife, but more by their con 
 scious aim, and pains-taking ; yet, it was a labor that brought 
 its own reward. The sensitive, shrinking girl, could not make 
 a confidant of her father. In respect to the other parent, the 
 order of nature was becoming gradually reversed ; the mother 
 was leaning upon the child. " Mama must not be worried," 
 was her daily motto, till she acquired a habit of self-sacrifice, 
 )f yielding her own wishes, and submitting cheerfully to little 
 iisappointments and privations. If her mother's head would 
 not bear the light, nor her mind solitude, Carrie was ready to 
 resign her favorite book or icedle-work, and sit by the hour in 
 dor darkened room. When an interval of comparative comfort 
 ullowed her the privilege, she would step across the street, and, 
 by the side of her dear Mrs. Vernon, or at the loved piano, 
 regain her elicsticity and freshness. 
 11
 
 122 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 When Dr. Allison made his New- Year's visit at the parson 
 age, the young girl was present on his arrival. She had been 
 suffering two or three weeks from a severe cold ; but that after 
 noon she looked, to Mrs. Vernon's eye, quite well again. After 
 she left, Mary said to her father : 
 
 " Is n't she beautiful ? " 
 
 His reply startled her : " Beautiful ! Ah ! in our profes 
 sion we see it often ; it is a kind of beauty I cannot behold 
 without pain." 
 
 " Why, father, your words and look alarm me ; you can't 
 mean you don't think " 
 
 " I have noticed it from the first, and told you she was frag 
 ile as a leaf. But now, indeed, it is too certain." 
 
 " But she is so blooming, to-day, and her eye so bright." 
 
 w Yes, those are the tokens ; it is the hectic flush." 
 
 " 0, do not say so, dear father ! Would not her friends 
 perceive it ? They do not seem alarmed ; it cannot be." 
 
 " It makes me sad to grieve you, Mary ; but you must, I 
 fear, make up your mind to part with your dear Carrie. She 
 may linger for many months ; but I shall not be surprised if 
 she leaves you before the flowers come again." 
 
 Mary's emotion was at its height, and she wept passionately. 
 Her father soothed and reasoned her into a calmer mood. 
 
 Edward soon came in, and, learning the cause of her agita 
 tion, confessed that he had entertained the same fears their 
 father expressed. " There was," he said, " something about her 
 too ethereal for earth, and her growing maturity had of late 
 surprised him." 
 
 Mary insisted that the family should be apprized of these 
 fears. Mrs. Wood, she said, had no thought that Carrie had 
 anything hard to do. The house-keeper was an efficient, 
 thorough woman, and able, also, to do the common sewing. 
 The nameless, numberless steps taken daily by the devoted girl 
 in her ministry of love, the poor invalid scarcely considered a 
 fatiguing exercise. Yet, between these, in her mother's in-
 
 LIFK IN A COUNTUV I'AUfcOXAlJE. 123 
 
 areasing debility, and her school studies, she had, for the last 
 twelve-month, taken far less relaxation, in the open air, than her 
 delicate constitution required. 
 
 When out of school, it was, " Carrie, dear, another pillow in 
 my chair;" or, " my bottle from the shelf;" or, " move my foot- 
 ptool," or " dress my hair," or " prepare a lunch ;" " run up stairs, 
 darling, for this into the kitchen for that ;" and so on, twenty 
 times a day. And the loving child stepped so quick, her 
 foot-fall was so light, her smile so cheerful, and her manner so 
 easy, that-, although Mrs. Wood often said, "tJarrie was a 
 great comfort to her," she little realized how the slender frame 
 was overtasked. 
 
 It would, as Mary said, have done no good to alarm the 
 mother's fears. Mr. Vernon resolved to speak to Mr. Wood. 
 But he deferred a day or two for a fitting opportunity, and 
 soon there was no need of caution. Dr. Alden was seen to 
 enter the house in haste ; after a while, he stepped across to the 
 parsonage, with a grave expression on his naturally humorous 
 face Mary's thoughts, like a vigilant sentinel, gave the alarm, 
 and her heart beat fast. 
 
 " Mrs. Vernon," said the eccentric doctor, " do go over 
 there." 
 
 " Carrie ? Tell me," she said, hurriedly. 
 
 " Yes-; she has been bleeding profusely at the lungs. Stay, 
 you need n't run over without your bonnet ; she is safe now, 
 for the present. I want some sensible body, that's not easily 
 frightened out of their wits, to go in and sit two or three hours, 
 and keep her quiet." 
 
 "And will she be well again, doctor?" 
 
 " Well? Never! She'll go down fast, poor child. No, 
 nut poor ; she is half an angel now; it will not be hard for 
 her to die. But the Lord help 'em there, when she 's gone ! 
 There '11 not be a streak of sunshine in the housed" 
 
 Mary hurried over. Low moans from the mother's room
 
 124 THE SHADY SIDE; OH, 
 
 met her ear in the hall, as Mrs. Colemai opened the door to 
 see who had come. 
 
 " Can I be of use, there ? " asked Mrs Vernon. 
 
 " No," said the lively little woman ; " no, it 's nothing now. 
 The doctor has given her a heavy opiate, and she will be asleep 
 soon. You would n't mind this, if you had seen the way she 
 was taking on, when I first came in ; it distressed Carrie so 
 much." 
 
 " Is she above?" interrupted Mrs. Vernon, fearful of being 
 detained to h%ar a long story. " I had better go to her." 
 
 " Yes, do. She is very quiet now ; her father has just come 
 down ; but she fainted twice after I came." 
 
 Mary stayed not longer, but stepped softly up to Carrie's 
 room. Standing at the door a moment, unobserved, she looked 
 in upon the bed. The dear girl was very pale, and lay with 
 her eyes closed. The house-keeper was watching beside her, 
 and beckoned Mrs. Vernon to approach. She took a seat 
 noiselessly, and strove to calm her feelings by a silent uplifting 
 of her soul to God. Presently, Carrie opened her eyes, and 
 met the tender gaze of her beloved friend with a sweet smile. 
 She had been trying, in vain, to sleep. Mary sent the house 
 keeper below, and took her place. Then she kissed the pale 
 cheek, and whispered precious words of consolation. 
 
 " My poor mother ! " said the unselfish child. 
 
 " She is quiet now, dear Carrie. The Lord will comfort 
 her ; He doeth all things well. Let us take no thought for the 
 morrow. He will order everything for us, and just as smoothly 
 aa is consistent with our best good. It is sweet to lie passive 
 in his hand, and know no will but his." 
 
 One more smile, and the weary eyelids drooped, the thin, 
 white hand nestled between the two that held it so protectingly, 
 and the exhausted girl sunk into a gentle slumber. 
 
 Some minutes after, Mr. Wood looked in upon the scene. 
 Carrie's sleep had brought a faint flush to her check, across 
 Which lay one golden curl ana her parted lips wore a smile of
 
 LIKE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 125 
 
 heavenly peace ; while Mrs. Vernon still held her hand, and 
 eat with closed eyes, through which the tears were slowly trick 
 ling, and a drooping posture, betokening the most tender grief. 
 Stern man as he was, the scene touched his heart to its depths, 
 and he turned away with a sharp pain at the thought of what 
 he was about to lose, and a fervent blessing upon the young 
 pastor's wife. 
 
 Dr. Alden's prediction, concerning his patient, was painfully 
 verified. Her decline was rapid and unremitting. Her char 
 acter shone with increasing lustre to the end, her cheerful 
 trust in the lledeemer, her patient endurance of suffering, her 
 generous self-forgetfulncss and care for others. 
 
 It was touching to see the rallying of maternal affection in 
 tha bosom of the wasted invalid. She " must do something 
 for the dear child," and almost every day insisted on being car 
 ried to her chamber, though her want of self-control often 
 made her presence more of a trial than a comfort. 
 
 A neighbor, one day, in the sick-room, expressed her sym 
 pathy for the afflicted mother. " 0, yes !" said the considerate 
 girl, " poor mania feels sadly ; but her sorrow will not last 
 long, she will follow me soon. Dear father will suffer tho 
 most ; he will keep his grief to himself, and have no comforter. 
 I forget, Jesus can find access to him, and his sympathy is 
 worth more than all beside." 
 
 Mr. Vernon and his wife were untiring in their attendance 
 upon the afflicted family. His counsels and prayers, always 
 prized by Mrs. Wood, were now indispensable to her ; while his 
 presence had, for Carrie, a double charm. She loved him as a 
 dear, valued friend; she confided in him as her spiritual guide 
 and counsellor. Every moment that Mary could spare from 
 her other engagements was devoted to her young friend. 
 Though there were many others to sympathize, and watch, and 
 help, none of them all could supply to Carrie the place of her 
 dear Mrs. Vernon. No step in the sick-chamber was so light 
 as hers ; no voice so soft and nicely modulated to the sufferer's 
 11*
 
 126 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 sensitive ear ; no hand could quite so delicately smooth tha 
 pillows, and administer the bitter potion, or refreshing draught; 
 no lips speak so sweetly to her heart of the precious things 
 that make a dying bed feel " soft as downy pillows are ;" 
 no heart so closely intertwined with hers in the bends of natural 
 and Christian sympathy. 
 
 March, with its chilling winds and funereal gloom, brought 
 the final scene ; a scene- within , that contrasted 0, how 
 brightly ! with the drear and desolate, without. If there 
 was any one epithet that could express the whole, it was "per 
 fect peace." With sweet serenity Carrie's farewell words were 
 all spoken. Even the wild grief of the stricken mother was 
 hushed into subdued tears. The father, with bowed head, and 
 arms folded on his breast, was ^tilling his rebellious heart be 
 neath the righteous decree of a sovereign God, and trying to 
 plant himself, with a firmer confidence, on the Rock of ages. 
 The young brothers were awed into silence by the mj'sterious 
 presence of death. It was early morning, and two neighbors, 
 who had watched through the night,- waited to see the end. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vernon had been hastily summoned. He had 
 offered fervent prayer, and now stood at the bedside, his eye 
 moist with chastened sorrow, and bright with the new beams 
 of glory let in from the life and immortality beyond the vail. 
 Mary held the hand of the dying girl in hers, and took the 
 last cold parting kiss, and whispered a word of Jesus, and bent 
 to catch the faint reply, " He is with me, all is peace." 
 None thought she would speak again ; but presently, in broken 
 whispers, she said, " Sing Jesus lover of my soul." 
 Seeing Mary hesitate, as unequal to the task, she turned her 
 eye expressively on her pastor, who caught her meaning, and 
 began the hymn with low, soft melody. With her voice thus 
 supported, Mary was able to go through, and the clear, sweet 
 strains rose solemnly up, and mingled with the angel choir, 
 whose music seemed now, rather than these earthly notes, txj 
 catch the spirit's sense ; for Carrie, with her eyes turned hear-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTUY PARSONAGE. 127 
 
 enward, was no longer conscious of earthly things. A fetr 
 quick gasps, and the pastor's voice broke the stillness : " Into 
 thy hands, blessed Jesus, we commend this departing spirit." 
 The mother had covered her face with her hands, that sho 
 might not see her child die ; but, at these words, knowing that 
 all was over, she gave a piercing shriek, and was borne sense 
 less from the chamber. The others followed, leaving Mary 
 alone with the dead. She embraced the lifeless form, still so 
 dear ; closed the eyes which had ever met hers with a look of 
 fondness; composed the features, beautiful in their last sleep; 
 and, dropping on her knees beside the bed, gave way to a pas 
 sionate flood of tears. 
 
 Mr. Wood came back and found her thus. " Tears," said 
 he, " are a blessed relief; but they are denied to me. My heart 
 can ache, but my eyes are dry." She rose, and gave him her 
 hand, but could not speak. He grasped it warmly, and said. 
 as he noticed her pale face, " You have worn yourself out for 
 us, and I want to thank you. She loved you with all her 
 heart. I shall never forget your kindness. Mr. Vernbn, too, 
 has been very faithful. May Heaven reward you ! " Ay, he 
 may well keep this kindness in perpetual remembrance, suffer 
 ing no breath of coldness to damp his grateful love toward 
 those who so tenderly cherished his darling child. 
 
 And will he never forget it ? 0, human heart, strangely 
 erratic and perverse! Time only can determine.
 
 128 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "And ho said, 'Go look.' And he said, ' There is nothing.' 'Look 
 again, seven times.' And he said, ' Behold, there ariseth a little cloud out 
 of the sea, like a man's hand.' " 
 
 " It was not an enemy that reproached me : then I could have borne it ; 
 neither was it he that hated me, that did magnify himself against me." 
 
 A YEAR and a half roll swiftly by, ere we take another look 
 into the Salem parsonage. The baby has, by this time, grown 
 to be a prattling child, with large, spiritual eyes, through which 
 the soul gazes, as if looking from another and purer sphere 
 upon this sin-stained earth. The mother is still young and 
 fair, though with perceptibly lessened bloom. Her brow, still 
 open and serene, wears an expression of deeper and mere anx 
 ious thought. There is the same cheecful face, yet with a 
 chastened look, as if tears had been there in April showers, 
 and, despite the quick-returning sunshine, left their memorial. 
 A close inspection of " the study " will satisfy us that the pas 
 tor is still the diligent scholar, and the vigorous writer, and the 
 faithful preacher. On the table lies the half-written sermon 
 for the coming Sabbath, the last paragraph bearing the marks 
 of an agitated mind and tremulous hand ; the pen has evidently 
 been dropped in haste, and the writer is away. If we pursue 
 the matter, we may find him in a corn-field, half a mile west 
 ward, in close and earnest conference with Deacon Ely. 
 
 It is noon, and the school-children are dispersing for din 
 ner. In the door of the old Academy stand Esquire Lewis 
 and Mr. Wood, as in grave consultation. What has thus 
 drawn together the careless, loose-jointed, jovial squire, and the 
 precise, orthodox, sober schoolmaster ? A church meeting is 
 to be held at four o'clock, at which two or three cases of dis- 

 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 129 
 
 cipline, s.>me time pending, are to be issued. These things look 
 a little ominous, though mere gpecks on the border of the hori 
 zon. Throughout the parish there is general quiet, a growing 
 attachment to the pastor's family, and unbounded confidence in 
 the minister of their choice. Yet the last eighteen months 
 have wrought some changes in the community, and brought a 
 new inmate to the parsonage. A few historical facts will 
 enable us to understand the position of things. 
 
 As the result, partly, of the last special work of grace, the 
 public sentiment of the church was greatly improved, and the 
 standard of Christian practice elevated. A class of youngerly 
 men, who had become hopefully pious under Mr. Vernon's min 
 istry, were fast becoming the bone and sinew of the church. 
 Uniting with the most spiritual of its former members, they 
 were soon strong enough to attempt the reform of certain 
 abuses, long tolerated to the reproach of the Christian cause. 
 Stimulated by the discriminating, pungent appeals of the pulpit, 
 and led by their pastor, whose zeal was tempered by charity, 
 and whose judgment was aided by the wise counsels of his aged 
 deacon, they prosecuted the work with great prudence and 
 energy, and much success. 
 
 But Satan does not take such blows as these without resist 
 ance. He would rather resign the chief seat in a den of 
 iniquity, than be ousted from a very obscure and low place in 
 the fold of Christ. He would rather have his synagogue 
 whitewashed, than the church purified. But he could not do 
 much to stay the work in Salem, unless he employed as agents 
 other than his known adherents. If he can stir up some par 
 tially good men to hinder the progress of reform, he may laugh 
 in his sleeve ; and, unfortunately, such instruments are seldom 
 wanting. 
 
 There are some loose disciples in every church, at present in 
 good standing, who are afraid to have the reins of discipline 
 drawn closely, lest they shall, ere long, feel the bit. Thero 
 were a few such in Salem. Yet they could make but littla
 
 130 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 trouble, without some better men as coadjutors. One such they 
 found in Rsquire Lewis. 
 
 The 'squire, at the first, really liked his minister, and did not 
 share the feelings of the family, even when it was found he 
 was about to take a wife from abroad. He was not only too 
 gooti-natured but too indolent to be any man's active foe; it 
 was too much trouble 'for him to take care of a quarrel. But 
 what man is proof against constant home influences ? " The 
 waters wear away the stones." By degrees he caught the 
 atmosphere of his house, and his warm cordiality toward Mr. 
 Vernon was gradually chilled. The daughters were still un 
 married, and Mrs. Lewis could not forgive Mr. Vernon the 
 disappointment of her ambitious hopes. She artfully incited 
 her husband to oppose this new movement in the church, and 
 from her lips he took his cue. His opposition was in the popular 
 form of harangue ; he talked against it here and there, till he 
 was relied upon by the delinquents and their defenders as one of 
 their party. His talk was on this wise : " He liked to keep 
 things straight, as well as anybody. The openly immoral, of 
 course, should be cut off; but he was not for such extreme 
 measures with all. We must not make a man an offender for 
 a word. If we bear with them, they may come round yet. 
 The difficulty "with some of them is, they never have liked the 
 minister, 'specially since he came out so strong on temperance. 
 We have always had peace here. These measures are going to 
 divide and break us up. We don't want the minister to drive a 
 ploughshare through the church. Why can't he wink at some 
 things for the sake of peace ? " Such were the 'squire's views. 
 
 As the time approached for decisive action, he stepped over 
 to ask Mr. Wood to be present, and help carry a motion for 
 postponement. 
 
 But what hope was there of the cooperation of such a man 
 in opposing the discipline of the church ? With his regard for 
 justice, his inflexible integrity, his. strict orthodoxy, and exem 
 plary practice, we should count upon him as a most reliable
 
 UJ?B IX A COUNTUY PAESONAOE. ' 131 
 
 man in a course of disciplinary measures. How came it to 
 pass, then, that, while his conscience forbade him to oppose, ho 
 stood aloof and left his brethren to proceed without him ? What 
 has come over him that Esquire Lewis should presume to solicit 
 his influence against that of his minister ? Thereby hangs a 
 talo, and, as it involves the very topic of Mr. Vernon's earnest 
 conference with Deacon Ely, we may as well bring it forward. 
 After Carrie's death, Mrs. Wood declined rapidly, till three 
 months of intense suffering released her to join the dear one 
 whose loss shn daily bemoaned. All this time the pastor and 
 his wife continued their kind attentions. Mr. Wood could 
 hardly have gone to his school from day to day, had he not 
 felt that, in case of an emergency, the parsonage was close by, 
 and the inmates ready, at the first call, to minister to his suf 
 fering wife. At her death a great change took place in his 
 domestic establishment. His sister became the presiding genius 
 of the place. She was much like her brother, of stroi;^ 
 mind and undoubted piety, but unsocial in her temper, and 
 with a certain independence of spirit that gave to her bearing 
 a degree of austerity in the eye of a stranger. Mary felt that 
 her presence threw a chill over the tender recollections and 
 associations connected with that familiar dwelling. Still they 
 were on friendly terms. Mr. Wood seemed to rely on his friends 
 at the parsonage for social and religious converse. His afflic 
 tions did not so much melt his soul as elevate it to more lofty 
 and earnest meditation on the great themes of immaterial exist 
 ence, and heavenly employments, and the rewards of immortal 
 ity. Mary often said of him, " He is a man of clear intellect 
 and spiritual mind ; what a pity he has n't more heart ! " Once, 
 indeed, he did exhibit more. He was noticing little Abby with 
 something of fondness, and her mother asked him if her hair 
 did not remind him of Carrie's. He said he thought it darker. 
 Whereupon, she took from a casket on the shelf a golden curl, 
 that she kept as a sacred relic, and laid it across the forehead 
 of the child, remarking, with a subdued voice, that it was a
 
 132 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 shade lighter, but Abbj's had the same wavy curl and softness. 
 Mr. Wood was taken by surprise, and quite unmanned; ha 
 bowed his head, and two large tears rolled oil his cheek. Mary 
 said, afterward, she should feel more tenderly toward Mr. 
 Wood, now she knew he had in his nature, somewhere, a foun 
 tain of tears. This incident, however, is nothing to our pur 
 pose now. 
 
 It is about three months since Mr. Rogers, pastor of an 
 adjoining parish, rode over to brother Vernon's to tell his story 
 of disappointment and perplexity. He was a man somewhat 
 past the prime of life, with humble gifts, and had exercised his 
 vocation in his present field, more than a dozen years, on a sal 
 ary of four hundred and fifty dollars. Like his illustrious 
 ancestor of the same name, he had a wife and nine children, 
 with one at the breast. To meet their simplest wants, and 
 rear them thus far on his stinted support, had, with his profes 
 sional cares, silvered his locks and wrinkled his cheeks, and 
 bowed his form, long before he reached his threescore years. 
 His oldest daughter was just seventeen. We may not stop to 
 relate all his shifts and turns in order to give Julia a good edu 
 cation. She was an apt scholar. If she could only have a 
 book in one hand, she would learn, despite the usual incum- 
 brance of a baby on the other arm. For the last year he had 
 managed to send her to a drawing-master and music-teacher, 
 as she had natural gifts in their line. He had looked forward 
 to this season as the time when she would relieve his straitened 
 income, by taking charge of the village school, and give his 
 younger children, with others, better instruction than they had 
 hitherto enjoyed. He had conferred with the district com 
 mittee, and engaged the place ; but, as the time drew near for 
 the opening of the summer term, there was quite a tempest in 
 the community. Some said, " They did not want Julia llogers, 
 with her new-fangled notions, to teach their children." Others 
 that " It was real selfish in the minister to put his daughter in 
 the school, and have her board at home, and take his pay for
 
 LIPE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 133 
 
 her board, besides her wages, when there were poorer folks than 
 he in the district." Some influential people uttered the vague 
 objection that it " would make jealousies, and might lead to the 
 dismission of the minister ;" and so the talk went round, till he 
 was glad to withdraw his claim, and stop the clamor. It had 
 occurred to him, lately, that, notwithstanding the summer was 
 so far advanced, there might be some small district in Salem 
 without a teacher, and he had rode over. If he should get 
 only sympathy, the ride would not be lost ; for he felt very low. 
 He had left Mrs. Rogers in tears (she was not up from her 
 last confinement), and Julia trying to comfort her. 
 
 But sympathy was not all he was destined to receive. Mr. 
 Vernon had often heard the want of a lady's school in the vil 
 lage lamented by his best families. The Academy was very 
 good and thorough in its way ; but other advantages were needed 
 for girls in their teens. He was confident that, with a little 
 effort, a small private school might be started ; the income 
 would be something, and Julia should be welcome for the pres 
 ent to a home in his own family ; an offer which Mary's kind 
 heart had already anticipated. 
 
 " But," said she, " what will Mr. Wood say to the school ? 
 Mrs. Crampton told me that they had tried several times for 
 one, but he was so opposed they had to give it up." 
 
 " If / undertake it," was the reply, " I think it will succeed, 
 if he docs oppose it." (Ah, Edward ! with that curl of the lip, 
 take care, or you will get into trouble.) " But he is a reasoc- 
 able man, and I can convince him that the public good requires 
 such a school. I will step out around the village, and see how 
 many names I can get." 
 
 Mary followed him to the door to say, " It is nearly time 
 for the Academy to be out ; had you not better talk with Mr. 
 Wood first ? " 
 
 " No, my dear," said he, with 'smiling decision, " I shall not 
 think it necessary to say to him, ' By your leave, sir.' " 
 
 The result was more successful than was expected ; twelre 
 12
 
 134 THE SHADY BIDE ; OB, 
 
 pupils were subscribed, five of whom were attending the Acad 
 emy ; a room was obtained, and the day appointed for the 
 opening of the term. Poor Mr. Rogers went home with a 
 light heart. 
 
 It was Mr. Vernon's purpose to call on Mr. Wood, the next 
 day, and state the case ; but he took it quite too leisurely ; the 
 day slipped by, and company in the evening occupied him. 
 The day following he went over early, but it was Saturday, and 
 a holiday ; the house was locked, and the family gone to the 
 city. Before their return the minister. was obliged to leave 
 home, on an exchange of Sabbath services ; so that Monday 
 morning came, and with it Miss Rogers, to commence her 
 school, while as yet the active agent in the new movement had 
 not conferred with the old instructor. But the latter was not 
 the while unconscious of what had transpired. Rumor is 
 many-mouthed and fleet of foot. What marvel that Mr. Wood 
 was first grieved and then indignant ? What marvel that he 
 saw in the little school a future formidable rival ? Aware of 
 the infirmity of human nature, might we not have anticipated 
 his cool, stern reception of the minister, when, at last, he 
 called to offer explanation ? It was useless, now, to reason with 
 him upon the need of such advantages as the Academy did not 
 furnish. It was vain to persuade him that this humble enter 
 prise would walk meekly on, in the shadow of his, well-estab 
 lished and of good repute. It was hopeless to touch his sym 
 pathies with the story of the young girl's disappointment and 
 destitution. All this might possibly have been effected days 
 ago; but now the immutable Mr. Wood had settled it in his 
 mind that some of his patrons were disaffected, and had formed 
 a conspiracy against him, and that the minister was lending 
 himself to their designs. " If there were no underhand plot 
 ting, if Mr. Vernon were self-moved in the matter, what 
 more natural than that he should come to me first, and consult 
 my feelings ? " Mr. Vernon rehearsed the circumstances ; but 
 the statement only met a cherished resentment that was not to
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 135 
 
 be mollified. His expression of regret, that he did not seek an 
 earlier interview, was of no avail, since it did not confess an 
 actual wrong, and offer reparation. Mr. Wood, in his suprem 
 acy, felt that he was the guardian and representative of the 
 educational interests of the village; and that no one, not even 
 the minister, had a right to do aught in this department with 
 out his knowledge and consent. To this high assumption, Mr, 
 'Vernon was not disposed to yield. It was, doubtless, proper 
 that, in this case, Mr. Wood should have been early advised of 
 proceedings. It would have been polite, as well as just, to con 
 sult him first ; but the independent spirit of the pastor only 
 half-admitted this to himself. In the face of Mr. Wood's over 
 bearing demeanor and unjust accusations, his feelings were 
 wounded, and he was in no mood for a humble apology ; and so 
 the painful interview ended ; the schoolmaster went his way 
 to cherish alienation and bitterness ; the pastor went to his 
 study with a weight upon his spirit. Yet the white slab over 
 Carrie's grave was plainly visible from both dwellings, and her 
 memory had not grown cold in either heart. 
 
 To Mary, this alienation was a source of exquisite grief, 
 adding a new and bitter element to the recollections hitherto 
 fraught with sweetly sad and gentle emotions. When Deacon 
 Ely rer-orted at the parsonage, as the result of his interview 
 with the offended brother, the emphatic declaration, " He has 
 injured me ; and though I shall never oppose him, I must and 
 shall let him alcnie" Mary could not forbear exclaiming, 
 " What an iron-hearted man ! " and sighing to herself, Poor, 
 doar Carrie ! " 
 
 It was shortly after this that the church commenced its dis 
 ciplinary measures, from which Mr. Wood kept aloof, much to 
 the grief of his good brethren, and the inward joy of the work 
 ers of iniquity. Several cases had been issued, with almost 
 entire unanimity ; but the two last elicited warm opposition. 
 The situation of affairs perplexed and distressed the young pas 
 tor. As the crisis drew near, he found it difficult to concen-
 
 136 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 trate his thoughts upon his sermon ; so he dropped the pen, as 
 we have seen, and sought the counsel of his worthy deacon. 
 
 Deacon Ely agreed with him that his difficulty with Mr. 
 Wood was most unfortunate for the cause of truth, and sug 
 gested that another effort be made for reconciliation. 
 
 Mr. Vernon was willing, but not very hopeful. 
 
 " How much," said the deacon, " are you willing to con 
 cede?" 
 
 The minister replied, "that he had already acknowledged 
 that he was inconsiderate and faulty in not opening the matter 
 sooner to Mr. Wood." 
 
 " And had he not some claim to be consulted first ? " 
 
 Mr. V. thought he might have had, but for the fact of his 
 opposition to previous efforts of the kind. 
 
 " Well, now," continued the peace-maker, " can you not say 
 that you regret having taken a step to open another school till 
 you had first laid the matter before him, and learned his 
 views ? " 
 
 " What ! when my regrets would be only for prudential 
 reasons ? That would be worse than useless. No ; if I say 
 anything, I must go to the bottom ; and you may judge whether 
 it would be very conciliatory. I should have to say to him, ' I 
 did not come to you at first, because I knew you to be an 
 impracticable man, resolutely set on your own ends. /, too, 
 have some independence and determination. I had set my 
 heart on the measure, and meant to carry it. I believed it 
 to be for the public good, and no loss to you in the end. I 
 presumed on our good understanding to prevent any serious dis 
 affection. After the thing had assumed shape, I ought to have 
 communicated with you at once, and would renew my apology 
 for this neglect,' " 
 
 The deacon smiled, and said it was always best to be honest 
 and outspoken ; and he was not certain that these very words, 
 uttered frankly to Mr. Wood, might not be thf kisis of restored
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 137 
 
 harmony. ' At any rate, we can try, if you are willing, after 
 meeting." 
 
 The church meeting passed off more peacefully than was 
 anticipated. Esquire Lewis did not get the cooperation he 
 sought. There had been much prayer and self-searching in the 
 closet. The majority came together with a tender solemnity 
 of spirit, that awed the opposition to silence. The power of 
 Christ was present, administering the discipline of his house in 
 firmness and love. 
 
 It was evening when Deacon Ely asked Mr. "Wood to go 
 over to the minister's study, and have an interview. 
 
 " It is of no use," said the inflexible man. The deacon 
 argued, but to no purpose. He offered to bring Mr. Vernon 
 there, but he was resolute j he did not wish the matter agi 
 tated further ; adding, resolutely, " I have always been friendly 
 to Mr. Vernon, and done what I could to sustain him, till he 
 set up the school in the way he did ; ttien I dropped him" 
 
 Alas I how many are the pastors who, for causes slight as 
 this, are made to realize the force of the proverb, " A brottier 
 offended is harder to be won than a strong city " ' 
 
 Edward Vernon was a man of too exquisite sensibility not to 
 be deeply wounded by this non-intercourse act. Said he to 
 Deacon Ely, " How can I live here, with this estrangement ; 
 reminded as I am of our former intimacy, with all its tender 
 associations, every time I look across the street ? I do not 
 think I shall bear it long." 
 
 " 0, sir," was the reply, " you must not dwell upon it. It 
 will wear away. I hope you will not think of quitting the 
 field for one man. Hold on patiently, and all will come out 
 well. I have hope of Mr. Wood yet, though he seems made 
 of sterner stuff than other men. He is, I trust, sound at heart, 
 and cannot hold his displeasure forever." 
 
 That night the deacon told his wife and Leevy tha t he trem 
 bled lest they should be call 3d, ere long, to part with their 
 minister. There wore parishes enough to call him, if it should
 
 138 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 be known that he was uneasy here. " I don't know," said he, 
 " but I have thought too much of the instrument, and too little 
 of the power that wields it. I have certainly leaned more on 
 this young man than on any other human helper. I fear tho 
 Lord is about to chasten me sorely, by his removal." 
 
 A few weeks more pass, and it begins to be rumored abroad 
 that the Salem minister is ill at ease, that the sky is not 
 exactly clear over his head A deputation from a distant 
 church pass a Sabbath under his preaching, and call to confer 
 with him about a transfer to their young and thriving manu 
 facturing village. He tries his own heart, by an imagined 
 leave-taking, and finds that many and strong are the cords that 
 hold him to his people ; and the first to feel is the tie between 
 him and his father in the Lord, the beloved deacon. There are, 
 indeed, some strong motives urging to a serious consideration 
 of the proposal. The change will introduce him to a larger 
 sphere of usefulness, and put his talents more thoroughly in 
 requisition for his Master's cause. Underneath this plausible 
 plea, did there lurk an unslain head of the old hydra, ambition ? 
 Who shall put his finger on the pulsations of that unknowable 
 thing, the deceitful heart, and say, this throb is from pure love 
 to God and man; that beat from desire of self-aggrandizement ; 
 here is an exultation at the power to move and mould others, 
 prompted by disinterested love ; there is the same joy springing 
 from the mere love of conscious skill and power ? Be this as 
 it may, Mr. Vernon discouraged the application ; yet scarcely 
 was the thing done ere it was half-repented of. And now He 
 who seeth all hearts tried his servant further, by a mys 
 terious dispensation. Deacon Ely was suddenly called to his 
 rest. Bitter, indeed, was this cup to many a lip. The young 
 pastor, heart-stricken, took up the lamentation of Elisha, " My 
 father ! my father ! the chariots of Israel, and the horsemen 
 thereof! " His almost rebellious heart asked not calmly for 
 the lesson God was teaching him, waited not for the still 
 small voice, after the cloud and storrn had passed over. True,
 
 LliE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 139 
 
 it said, " Thy will be done ;" but with the next breath, " Now, 
 indeed, I cannot stay in Salem." In less than a month from 
 this sad event, much to the general surprise and grief of his 
 people, he received and accepted a call to Millville. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " love ! thou hast a noble throne, 
 
 In bosoms where thy life-light falls ; 
 So warm and wide that they have sighed 
 At leaving even household walls." 
 
 A GARDENER, wishing to construct a new trellis for a favorite 
 vine, took the opportunity after fruit-gathering to disengage it 
 from the old frame, and substitute the new. But the work, he 
 found, required more time and patience than he had provided 
 for ; the branches more closely interlaced the paling, the ten 
 drils clung with a more tenacious grasp, and the points of con 
 tact, which had looked so few, seemed numberless. When, at 
 length, the work was completed, many a leaf was lying on the 
 ground, many a tendril torn and drooping, and here and there a 
 branch broken. 
 
 So, often, in the disruption of our social ties, the actual 
 experience overruns our calculation. This point had often 
 been revolved at the Salem parsonage : " Would it be 
 hard to leave, and seek a new home among strangers ? " At 
 such times, Mary was wont to say, " The trial will 1x3 greater 
 for you, Edward, than for me. The people have never loved 
 me as they do you. Entering first, you had the advantage. 
 If we go to a new place, we shall start iair." In a hasty Ict- 
 tei to sister Harriet, written amid the preparations for depart- 
 ure, she says : 
 
 " I find myself very strongly attached to this people ; and 
 I believe many of them are to me. My Sabbath-school class u
 
 140 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 very precious ; the praying circle too. It will take me long to 
 feel at home in another. Many families have shown us only 
 kindnesses, and those not a few, Mrs. Coleman, Mrs. Cramp- 
 ton, and Mrs. Cook. ! what do you think of aunt Rachel ? 
 she wants to go too, live with us, and make us her heirs. 
 The Lewises have always treated me coolly, and Mrs. Pritchard 
 never liked me. She is a woman of many good qualities, and 
 a natural ally of a minister's wife. I did not take the right 
 course with her. I see, now, that I might have conciliated her 
 regard. I am sorry to leave our new friend, sweet Julia 
 Rogers. Little Abby will miss her sadly. The circle of young 
 men, too, have been very polite to me. They love Edward 
 very much, and it is whispered that they are designing to make 
 us a parting gift. The thought of it makes rny eyes overflow. 
 I hope it will not .affect Edward as did a little occurrence on 
 his return from Millville. No one here knew the cause of his 
 absence. He had been aVay several times before, to see 
 his father twice. Mr. Cook saluted him, and, putting a five- 
 dollar note in his hand, said, ' There 's a little to help pay your 
 travelling expenses. It costs something to journey about, as 
 you have done lately, and you must have to calculate pretty 
 close to support your family and pay for the house.' Edward 
 could not decline it; but he came home distressed, saying, 'How 
 can I have it in my heart to leave such a people ? Anything 
 but this ; to be killed with kindness ! ' 
 
 " 0, there are many, many pleasant things here, though, it is 
 true, there have been some sad changes ! Bessie Crampton is 
 married, and gone. Our dear, lost Carrie, too, we must always 
 miss. If her father felt as he used to feel, if our good Dea 
 con Ely were alive, I believe this step would not be taken. 
 But God knows what is best, and we have tried to commit our 
 way to him. Dr. Alden says, some men consult Providence as 
 the ancients did their oracles, making their own wishes their 
 interpreter. I suppose he meant this for us ; but I trust it ia 
 not applicable. I know he thinks we ought not to leave. He
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 141 
 
 has been very kind to us, never making any charge for his 
 services. 
 
 " I intend to stop at home, for a good visit, on our way to 
 our new residence. We shall be almost as near you there as 
 here, only in an opposite direction. Ann would have deferred 
 her marriage some time, had we remained here. As it is, she 
 will not go to Millville, and I must have the trial of new help, 
 among a strange people. With your philosophy, you would 
 think this a small matter. Ah me ! my heart will look anxiously 
 into the future ; and I find myself clinging to these last days 
 here, as a child to its mother's neck. 
 
 " My love and duty to dear papa. I am so glad he thinks 
 it best for us to go ! though Edward looks a little serious upon 
 hearing the reasons. / do not think he aspires after a higher 
 place, or would be discontented here, if no one felt unjustly 
 toward him. At any rate, the severance is painful to him ; 
 more so than either of us anticipated." 
 
 Mr. Vernon had preached but a single Sabbath at Millville. 
 He felt the inspiration of a crowded, admiring auditory. He 
 was heard with a rapt attention, that always comes like a breath 
 of incense to a speaker's heart. He stopped a day or two, and 
 gave a temperance lecture to a large and popular assembly, 
 who scarce forbore to testify their interest by acclamation. 
 
 " 0, popular applause ! what heart of man 
 Is proof against thy sweet, seducing charms 1 " 
 
 Mr. Vernon returned to Salem, with an unwonted elas 
 ticity of mind and body. Mary had not seen his eye so 
 sparkling, or his step so buoyant, for many a month. But 
 after his call was received, and accepted, after his brethren 
 had met in council, and dissolved his pastoral relation, when 
 he sat down, in his quiet study, to pen his farewell sermon, 
 his feelings experienced a quick and powerful reaction. The 
 last sermon ! 0, how much is in that word,, the last ! 
 There, too, was the lust prayer-meeting ; not the promis 
 cuous weekly conference, but what at first was called " The 
 Young Convert's Meeting." This was a little band of praying
 
 142 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR. 
 
 men, ten or twelve in number, who had met every week sine* 
 the late revival, most of them fruits of the first work of grace 
 under Mr. Vernon's ministry. By social prayer and a free 
 comparison of personal experiences, they carried out the mu 
 tual-assistance principle of primitive times. They knew one 
 another's heart-trials ; they noted one another's progress in the 
 Christian life ; they enjoyed and exemplified the fellowship of 
 saints. Very precious was this communion to the pastor. How 
 could the last interview be otherwise than affecting ? While 
 all avoided, as a contraband theme, the subject of the approach 
 ing separation, there was a subdued tenderness that showed this 
 to be the burden of their thoughts. They went out, at the 
 close, in silence, all but our West-woods friend, Mr. Den 
 nis. He planted himself firmly in the door, seizing the pas 
 tor's hand as he approached, with the exclamation, " I a'n r t no 
 way reconciled to this. I hope it a'n't wicked ; but, if 't is, 1 
 can't help it. Bless me ! W T hat would Deacon Ely ha' said 
 to this ? It 's well he 's gone afore, for you was jes' like the 
 apple of his eye." 
 
 Mr. Vernon made an effort at self-control, and said, " It is not 
 good, Mr. Dennis, to lean too closely upon a fellow-creature." 
 
 " I know it, sir ; but a'n't there some excuse for a poor 
 critter like me, that you "ve nourished as gently as a nurse 
 her young ? There 's a text som'wher's about the strong staff 
 and beautiful rod, that keeps a comin' to my mind ever sin' the 
 ministers untied the knot between us ;" and he drew the back 
 of his rough hand across his eyes. Both were silent, the 
 pastor revolving words of comfort ; but Mr. Dennis rallied. 
 " They say you never would ha' gone, but for Mr. Wood. 
 He 's a man whose religion never done me much good, no 
 how ! " 
 
 " Take care, brother Dennis ; I cannot have you talk like 
 that ! " But the warm-hearted man had found a vent for his 
 overcharged feelings in indignation at Mr. Wood ; and he went
 
 LUK IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 143 
 
 off the steps, muttering, " I don'no but he 's got grace ; but 
 he 's allers been a stiff-sot man dread/idly stiff-sot." 
 
 The next morning, as Edward left the little back parlor, 
 after prayers, he turned back, and said to Mary, abruptly. 
 " My dear, I cannot bear scenes. A few more like the one 
 last night will quite unman me. Our parting calls must bo 
 few and brief." 
 
 " We must visit, you know, at Mrs. Ely's to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, now that we have promised ; but I regret the engage 
 ment. We will take that opportunity to ride beyond to ' lloar- 
 ing-brook,' and bid old Mrs. Harrison good-by." 
 
 Mary sighed. She knew how tenderly the aged blind 
 woman loved them both. 
 
 It was, indeed, a sorrowful leave-taking. She held on to 
 her young pastor's arm with- both her withered hands. " I did 
 not expect," said she, " that you would spend your ministry in 
 Salem ; but I did hope you might stay while my few sands hold 
 out." Then she thanked him for all his kindness, and asked 
 him to pray once more with her; and when, with husky voice, 
 the prayer was offered, and he gave her the parting hand, she 
 held it till she found words for a last request : *' Is it too 
 much to ask that, when I die, you will come to lay. me in the 
 grave, and preach my funeral sermon ? " 
 
 " If I outlive you, and it is possible," he replied. 
 
 Mary kissed her tenderly, and said, " We will not call this 
 a final good-by. We hope to return in a year, and visit among 
 the people." 
 
 " Ah," said the venerable matron, " I doubt not you will 
 come, and your voice will sound as sweetly as it does to-day ; 
 but I shall not be here to listen. Perhaps I may look down 
 and see you then, a privilege I am now denied. Farewell ! 
 The Lord bless you evermore." 
 
 They rode back to Mrs. Ely's, and it was more than her 
 equanimity could do to tranquillize her guests. She was calm 
 though sorrowful, the silent tears taking care of themselves
 
 144 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 without choking her voice, or diverting her hands from the 
 rites of hospitality. Olivia poor girl ! not much could be 
 expected of her but busy thought and agitated feeling. Mr. 
 Vernon'could talk only with " the boys," and upon indifferent 
 topics, so that little was accomplished by the visit ; and they 
 left, accepting Leevy's offer, in broken words, of help about 
 the packing, and promising to ride over again after the Sabbath. 
 
 But why linger further over these parting scenes, scenes 
 too experimentally familiar to many a reader of this simple 
 history ? How many a pastor, who, for slight cause, left his 
 flock, has confessed, with a sigh, " I did not imagine what this 
 dismission would cost my sensibilities ! " And how often has 
 the counterpart been uttered, " We never knew till now how 
 much we loved our minister ! " Blessed bond, of Heaven's own 
 creating! Alas ! that it should be ever trifled with, that it 
 should be lightly held, or rudely severed. 
 
 The Sabbath, with its solemn assembly and tearful wayside 
 groups, has passed. The last calls have been hurried through ; 
 the goods and chattels of the parsonage loaded for the morrow's 
 transportation ; the denuded dwelling left without light or 
 sound, and its inmates, worn and heartfull, are partaking the 
 hospitality of Mrs. Cook, at the old boarding-place. The sup 
 per finished, and little Abby put to sleep in the very chamber 
 that was Edward's bachelor sanctum, Mary put a shawl over 
 her head, and, taking Julia Bogers' hand, strolled down, in the 
 moonlight, to the deserted home. How beautiful it looked to 
 her, now that she was leaving it ! How vividly she recalled 
 her entrance hither ! How dear, as her first married home, 
 the birth-place of her child ! They went into the garden, 
 where the late flowers were just in bloom ; and, as Julia gath 
 ered a choice boquet, Mary stood in a reverie, wondering whose 
 hands would next lay out the garden walks, and train the roses 
 she had planted. A heavy dew was falling, and she must not 
 linger. 
 
 Once more in the street. The house opposite stands in tho
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 145 
 
 shadow, still and cold ; the shutters closed, and a dim light 
 gleaming through the kitchen window. The full rnoou is yet low 
 in the east, and its slant rays fall across the green, and through 
 the church-yard railing, and rest on a pure white marble pillar, 
 with a rose-bush at its side. Ah ! Mary kens ftill well who 
 sleeps there ; but she may not stop now for communion with 
 the dead. 
 
 On the morrow, ere the sun was up, from the last point 
 whence the parsonage was visible from the travelled road, two 
 pairs of eyes looked eagerly back to the familiar spot, and a 
 voice, cheerful, yet slightly regretful, said, " I wonder if we 
 can ever love another home as well ? " A manly voice, in a 
 hopeful tone, responded, " It is home wherever the heart is;" 
 while a sweet birdie caught the note, and echoed, " Home, 
 home, with dear papa." Those hearts were strong, though ten 
 der. The lips were tremulous with adieus to the past, but the 
 future was hailed with bright hopes and cheerful trust 
 
 CHAPTER XXIT 
 
 " Minds altogether set 
 On trade and profit." 
 
 " Thou ar-t not what thou seenist " 
 
 IT has been often remarked that manufacturing villages are 
 either much better, or much worse, than agricultural commu 
 nities. The reason of this is quite obvious. In such- villages, 
 a few leading men give tone to the spirit of the place. Its 
 business principles and habits, its moral and religious public 
 sentiment, its educational privileges, the complexion of its dom 
 inant influences, in all departments of society, and, to a great 
 extent, the individual character of its population, are deter 
 mined by one or two master-spirits, the chief owners and rep- 
 13
 
 146 THE SIIADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 resentatives of its commercial interests. If these are men of 
 the right stamp, skilful in the conduct of business, far-seeing, 
 liberal-minded, large-hearted, Christian men, the community 
 which bears their image and superscription is above the ordi 
 nary level of communities gathered on a more democratic basis. 
 Foundations are laid with a wise regard to the future and 
 higher interests of the many, and the prosperity oft the cause 
 of Christ. The operative is regarded as something more than 
 an available machine for enlarging the income of the employer. 
 His individuality is not lost sight of and absorbed in " the con 
 cern." He is a man, responsible and accountable, with sacred 
 rights, entitled to the privilege of an open path Jx> competence 
 and honor. Religious institutions and educational facilities are 
 provided, not with the least possible expense, as nominal ap 
 pendages to a civilized community, but upon a liberal policy, as 
 centres of interest and influence, around which everything else 
 is to revolve. Here and there, throughout our beautiful New 
 England, may be found some model villages answering to this 
 description. 
 
 The other extreme is, however, the most common ; crowded 
 settlements, gathered by the capitalist, whose end and aim is to 
 make his own fortune, whatever interests are sacrificed in the 
 process. These are the places where the largest amount of 
 labor is performed at the lowest wages, where the operatives 
 are selected wholly for what they may avail to swell the gains 
 of the employer, where the rudely-constructed "boarding- 
 house " is densely packed with a heterogeneous mass of human 
 ity, where trade is monopolized, and the price of living ia 
 high, where there is poor encouragement for frugality and 
 thrift, and every facility for reckless expenditure, where con 
 gregated iniquity flourishes as in a hot-bed, where common 
 schools are low, and the pulpit stands by sufferance, or both are 
 sought to be made subsidiary to the gain or aggrandizement of 
 the manufacturer. 
 
 And to which of these classes belonged Millville? Hav
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 147 
 
 patience, gentle reader, if the reply be, " Not quite to either." 
 It surely was fur from corresponding with the former ; the law 
 yers would pronounce it libellous to class it with the latter. 
 
 Millville was, at this time, a village of five years' growth, a 
 reclaimed marsh between the hills, with a stream on either side, 
 whose tortuous course would seem to indicate some early pre 
 science of their destined use, which led them to go much out 
 of their way, and take sundry dangerous leaps for the benefit 
 of the future lords of the soil. The discoverers of this rare 
 group of water-privileges blessed their guiding star, and mar 
 velled at the stupidity that had left them so long overlooked 
 and unimproved. Streams that were never dry ! Waterfalls 
 and millseats on every hand ! Golden visions rose, that for 
 once, at least, were destined to be " not all a dream." 
 
 Five years and what changes ! The quiet old town, half 
 a league distant on the other side of the western hill, could 
 hardly believe her eyes, or recognize this waste tract of her 
 ancient domain. A woollen factory and cotton-mill stand on 
 the twin streams at their nearest point of proximity, while 
 beyond them, on either side, rise the massive foundery and the 
 paper-mill. The bogs, drained and filled with gravel from the 
 hills, assume the form of respectable terra firma, across which 
 one street only deserves the name of " straight," the other 
 two conforming somewhat to the sinuosities of the stream. In 
 the centre of the village, erected before building-lots were at a 
 premium, with comfortable elbow-room, stands the oldest 
 church edifice, its tall spire struggling up between the hills, 
 in vain effort to see or be seen at a distance. Two other Chris 
 tian temples, of later date, are wedged in with a row of shops 
 and warehouses. A few spacious dwellings, and many smaller 
 ones, of all sorts and sizes, hurriedly erected, fill up the pic 
 ture. 
 
 What though the ground is low, and never sees the sun at 
 its rise or setting? what if the frost-king make here his 
 earliest visits, and his last ? what though the air is humid,
 
 148 THE SUADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 and unhealthy vapors after nightfall chill the blood ? h TO 
 throbs the restless, busy heart of a manufacturing village. It 
 is a stirring, thriving place. All kinds of people are wan to 1 
 here, and it has attractions for all. 
 
 The business of the place was mainly in the hands of threo 
 principal proprietors, men whose policy nicely harmonized, 
 and who monopolized the village trade at their respective estab 
 lishments, all giving their operatives " store pay," at high 
 prices. If there were any villagers who were not producers, 
 or whose interests were not in some way involved with the fac 
 tories, disposed to murmur at the price of merchandise, thera 
 was no remedy but a journey of some distance to a town where 
 competition made prices equitable. 
 
 The three moneyed men aforesaid held a nominal connection 
 with the Christian church ; but so absorbed were they in their 
 worldly schemes, that it was sometimes difficult to tell whether 
 they served God or mammon. They had too much conscience, 
 ay, and too much regard to their business interests, not to 
 support the institutions of the gospel ; but there was about 
 their own example little savor of practical godliness. They 
 were shrewd, cool, worldly-wise men. They wanted a hand 
 somely-furnished church, and a talented minister, and were 
 willing to offer a nominally generous salary. This done, they 
 felt at liberty to put him under the screw, as they would any 
 other operative in their pay ; that was all in the way of busi 
 ness. 
 
 Mr. Smith, their first pastor, began the enterprise of build 
 ing up a congregation. He was indefatigable, and worked hard, 
 and was quite -successful ; but they soon outgrew him, and he 
 must give place to a more popular man. They were " a grow 
 ing people," and they made large calculations. " They should 
 noon have a railway, and they meant to have a bank ; and in 
 half-a-dozen years they would become a borough ; and some 
 ten years thereafter they might be a city. Other sects were 
 towering up among them ; it was really important to get a
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 149 
 
 smart man as Mr. Smith's successor." So they ran to and fro, 
 and sent for many a theologue ; but none who came at their 
 call had, in their estimation, sufficient " pile of forehead" to 
 match their diadem. At length they borrowed a new city 
 notion, and despatched a delegation to sit under one and another 
 unsuspecting pulpit. 
 
 Their report from Salem was so glowing, that a resolution 
 was passed, at once, authorizing the committee to make a state 
 ment to Mr. Vernon, and invite him to preach a Sabbath in 
 Millville. This was met by a declinature, made in all sincerity, 
 which served only to strengthen desire on the part of the 
 applicants. They kept their eye on the Salem minister, and, 
 when circumstances seemed more favorable, renewed the re 
 quest. He came, as we have seen, and the waves of popular 
 approval ran high ; and definite proposals for settlement were 
 made with speed. The chairman of the committee, Mr. Moul- 
 ton, was a shrewd, plausible man. He talked largely and 
 fluently of the prosperous condition of Millville. He pointed 
 to the extensive business of the place, to his foundery in particu 
 lar, the largest establishment of the ku>d in New England. 
 He pointed to their handsome church and parsonage, asserting 
 tlrit in the last two years they had built the latter and fur 
 nished the former, in addition to the purchase of a fine- bell. 
 He spoke of their liberal appropriation for sacred music the 
 previous winter. And as to the salary,- 1 tfiey knew what it 
 cost to live ; they wanted their minister to live handsomely ; 
 they would give seven hundred dollars now, and doubted not 
 they would be able to increase the sum, after another year or 
 two, as they were " a growing people." To be sure, house-rent 
 was rather high ; they should be obliged to ask a hundred for 
 the parsonage ; but they got up splendid donation parties here, 
 which would nearly counterbalance this deduction. 
 
 These flattering items, which were received as sober verity, 
 we will bear in mind, as we shall have occasion to refer to thena 
 hereafter. 
 
 13*
 
 150 THE SHADY SIDE; OU, 
 
 The prospect looked bright to the young minister ; the plea*, 
 ing exterior caught his fancy ; he accepted " the call." Had 
 he known that it was the mere outside of the parish he haa 
 seen, and that the most imposing, had he been told that he 
 had not caught the first truthful glimpse of its interior life in 
 its relations to the pastorate, - he would have hesitated long to 
 leave an intelligent, reliable and confiding people, for the osten 
 tatious, slippery, fickle parish of Millville. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Is it true, think you 1 " 
 
 " Very true. AVhy should I carry lies abroad 7 
 
 MR. VERNON'S second installation is over, and his family 
 settled, as far as may be at present, in the parsonage. Let us 
 look a little into his pecuniary affairs, and see how they stand 
 at this era in his history. It is nearly three years since he 
 purchased his house in Salem. He has been able, as he ex 
 pected, to pay thr interest on his borrowed money, and reduce 
 the principal a hundred dollars yearly. But he is disappointed 
 now in not finding a purchaser. The society will not take it as 
 a parsonage, till they settle another minister, and this they 
 seem not likely to do in a hurry. There is no opportunity to 
 rent it at' present. So it stands solitary, and the door-key 
 hangs over Mr. Cook's kitchen mantel, sad reminder there, 
 calling forth many a burst of homely eloquence in pathetic 
 lamentation. 
 
 Black Pompey has gone with his master to Millville ; a 
 noble animal, truly, and a noble price it will cost to keep him 
 there, as his owner will find, when he gets his eyes open. 
 
 The expense of the transfer of household stuff has somewhat 
 overrun previous calculation. Several new pieces of furniture 
 have been purchased*and the well-filled purse, which was to bo
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 151 
 
 responsible tor the living of the first quarter, is (to begin with) 
 nearly empty. But Mr. Vernon anticipates no serious trouble; 
 he can borrow, or live on credit awhile ; his salary must be 
 ample enough to cancel all his obligations at the year's end. IIu 
 was sorry*on the whole, that he had not insisted on a quarterly 
 or semi-annual payment. He did mention it as desirable ; but 
 the reply was, " It is not best to bring up the^ thing in form 
 before the society ; there will be no difficulty about it. Call on 
 our treasurer for money, whenever you want it." It did not 
 occur to him that he might call on an empty treasury. 
 
 Not many hours after he entered the parsonage, Mr. Moullon 
 appeared, with his smiling face and smooth address. His wife 
 had sent a basket of provisions, and he called to say that he 
 had a good assortment of groceries at the brick store, and would 
 be happy to open an account with Mr. Vernon ; and, as the lat 
 ter bowed, and said he should need articles in that line, and 
 would remember it, Mr. M., in the most natural way, took a 
 pencil and card from his pocket, adding, " You have a good 
 many steps to take sir, just give me a list of what you want, 
 and I will step round to the store, put them up, and send my 
 man over with them." He then proceeded to enumerate, " tea : 
 sugar, coffee," Mr. Yernon assenting (all the while, unpacking 
 a box of goods), till it occurred to him that the list was swell 
 ing, and he said, abruptly, " Nothing more, Mr. Moulton ; what 
 you have will make something of a bill." The merchant 
 bowed in his most gentlemanly way, and responded, " Give 
 yourself no trouble about that; our firm (Moulton & Son) is 
 one of the largest supporters. Let the account run through 
 the year, and we will make a set-off. Anything you want in our 
 line, we shall be happy to furnish you.'' 
 
 A little after, the corpulent Mr. Elton came puffing in, on 
 tli.' si me errand, and, learning what had taken place, said, 
 gooJ-huiuorally, " You must divide your patronage among us, 
 Mr. Vernon." 
 
 In the course of the same day, the thin, sharp visage of Mi
 
 J.02 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Walter (proprietor of the cotton mill), was seen peering roui.J 
 the parsonage. He was a man of few compliments, who looked, 
 with eagle eye, at any chance of gain. He coolly asked the 
 cost of every new article he saw ; said he kept some " furnish 
 ing goods," at his warehouse, among other things, a lot of 
 cooking-stoves, and materials for upholstery ; and he added, sig 
 nificantly, " I suppose you will give the preference, in trade, to 
 your own people." 
 
 " A new state of things this, to me," said Edward, thought 
 fully ; as, before the week was through, he received offers of 
 hay, wood, butter, lard and vegetables ; in which cases, when 
 he spoke of payment, the reply invariably was, " We shall be 
 owing the society ; if you will give us an order we would like 
 to turn it." No matter if his purse were low ; what need of 
 ready money in so obliging a community ? 
 
 A letter of Mrs. Vernon's, at this time, admits us to her 
 first impressions of the place and people. 
 
 " MY DEAR FATHER, 
 
 " I know you must have waited anxiously for something more 
 from us than the hurried note, informing you of our safe 
 arrival. Days since then have come and gone, and I have 
 not found myself adequate to all the demands upon my time 
 and strength. It is well you decided for me that I should 
 not come till after the installation ; the excitement now is 
 more than you would judge altogether best for me. 
 
 " Our house-keeping arrangements have been greatly retarded. 
 The parsonage, during the ten months' interregnum, was rented 
 to a family not over-nice in their habits. They left only a 
 fortnight before our arrival ; then the house was to be purified, 
 some painting and papering done, and outside blinds put up. 
 Three days before we came they commenced operations, and a 
 tedious business they make of it. The paint in the parlorg 
 was too fresh to allow us to furnish ; the paper in the back 
 parlor did not hold out, and nothing could be done there till
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 153 
 
 they could send to the city for more. The protracted process 
 of putting on the blinds added to the confusion. We had to 
 niaki! ourselves comfortable in the kitchen, and unpack our 
 goods slowly as places were ready for them. The scene was 
 varied by frequent calls from the people, evidently curious to 
 get an idea of the minister's family ; besides two or three invi 
 tations to tea, at gatherings made specially for us, which we 
 declined as unseasonable, thereby incurring, I fear, the dis 
 pleasure of one aristocratic lady. I summoned Patience to my 
 side, and walked with her, feeling, however, that something 
 must be lacking in the parish, or the place would have 'been 
 ready for our reception. Nor was I at all consoled by the 
 remark, that fell from the lips of more than one who called 
 1 This is always the way of things in Millville.' 
 
 " Sunday, I went out to one service ; but I should not dare 
 write you all I felt on the occasion. The congregation had a 
 fashionable air, and were quite attentive. There was on every 
 hand a brusque air of expectation, as if they had come to be 
 entertained, rather than profited. They evidently admired the 
 preacher, and were interested in the preachment ; but I missed, 
 O, how sadly ! the spiritual atmosphere of our Sabbath 
 assemblies at Salem. I may misjudge ; but no, this is a 
 thing not to be observed, but felt ; the heart detects it uner 
 ringly. I have not been home-sick, except in church. There 
 my heart ached, and it was only by isolating my thoughts from 
 the scene, and fleeing as a bird to her mountain, that I found 
 peace. 
 
 " You will expect to hear my first impressions of this goodly 
 village. Let me tell you, then, of two or three things that 
 struck me at once. 
 
 " One was, a sense of imprisonment ; shut in, environed round 
 with hills, we seem to be down in the depths, not exactly in 
 tte ' valley of humiliation,' but low enough for that. I fel* 
 at first as if I could breathe freer up on the heights. 
 
 " Another thing was, that people live faster here than in any
 
 154 THE SHADY SIDE; OE, 
 
 place I have known. Everything moves with speei ; every 
 body is in a hurry. The nights are short. The musical beli 
 of the cotton-mill fulls on our drowsy ear at daybreak ; then 
 rings out the ponderous stroke of the foundery, and the others 
 follow in quick succession. The streets presently swarm with 
 the operatives hurrying to their toil, men and women, youth 
 and children. Six times a day this throng sweeps back and 
 forth. So much noise and bustle is strangely disagreeable ; 
 though I must confess to an impulse from the life and enterprise 
 around me. Even this poor quill must have been ' grown ' 
 hereabouts, for it dashes on at a pace which sorely tires the 
 hand that holds it. 
 
 " Little Abby, as grandpa' predicted, behaves finely among 
 strangers. It is well she is not a child to be easily spoiled by 
 flattery. I foresee her dear papa will wish he had more of -the 
 same humility and simplicity. The people shower him with 
 compliments, the tone of which I do not relish. He says it ia 
 not delicate enough to hurt him. It seems to me that they 
 praise him, as they do their wares, because he is theirs. It is 
 'our Mr. Vernon,' and 'our minister.' I fear the majority 
 think more of his building them up in reputation and numbers, 
 than in the graces of the Spirit. But I must not talk in this 
 way ; they are our people, and I mean to love them. 
 
 " In the matter of ' help,' I fear we have not done wisely. 
 The woman is an experienced house-keeper, but she is acquainted 
 with everybody here, and makes more gossip about my domestic 
 aflairs, than I could wish. 
 
 " We have just received a precious letter from brother Wil 
 liam, which I will enclose. It was directed to us at Salem. 
 How sad to think he will not know of our change of location 
 for three months to come ! 
 
 " We hope to welcome you to our new home as soon as your 
 business will allow. Meanwhile, and ever, you will continue, 
 dear father, to supplicate for us grace and wisdom from DO 
 high. We never needed you prayers more than now. I hope
 
 UJJB IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 155 
 
 we have not done wrong in coming here. I cannot feel at homo 
 yet, except at the closet and family altar. Thank God, there 
 need be no strangeness there ! The said has its sure abode, 
 its familiar rest. 
 
 " Love to all. Edward is too busy to add a line. 
 
 " Tenderly yours, 
 
 " MARY." 
 
 Mary's intuitive perception was not at fault, when she con 
 strued the people's praise of their minister into self-glorifica 
 tion. The place had risen so rapidly in the hands of its found 
 ers, as to make their heads a little unsteady. They were not 
 content to stop here, and rest awhile, and settle anew their 
 foundations. Full of restless aspirings, they wanted, they 
 knew not what, only something larger and more magnificent. 
 Their minister was a popular man, and they relied on him to 
 carry forward the religious end of the enterprise. The b)/^'.- 
 ness end, the heavier, they were willing to carry them 
 selves. 
 
 Society here was in its elements, discordant ones, many 
 of them, with little prospect of a speedy amalgamation. 
 Intricate and complicated as was the position of these hetero 
 geneous materials, Mr. Yernou was not slow in comprehending 
 it, though it made him feel like a man overreached in a 
 bargain. 
 
 The prominent business-men of the place were respectable, 
 church-going Christians, in their seats on the Sabbath ; finding 
 time even for a temperance or lyceum meeting, where their 
 minister was the orator ; and loud in their hosannas with the 
 multitude, while in every humble effort they forsook him. 
 The social prayer-meeting they habitually neglected, and any 
 personal activities in a religious way entirely eschewed. If 
 called on by an agent for charity, they turned him o\er to tho 
 minister ; tJiey were too busy. If a case of humble suffering 
 were to be patiently relieved, they commended it to their wives 

 
 156- THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 A curious state of things was this. It would seem that these 
 business-men conceived of their secular and their spiritual call 
 ing as two distinct interests, that would be injured by contact. 
 Therefore, they committed the latter, generally, to their pastor ; 
 particularly intrusting to their "better half" the keeping of 
 their conscience and Christian sensibility during business hours, 
 resuming them each Lord's day for purposes of devotion. And, 
 very faithful were these good women to the trust, considering 
 the peculiar nature of the consignment. 
 
 Mrs. Walter was a woman of sunny face and generous heart 
 not overmuch refined ; ready to acknowledge freely what her 
 husband ought to do, yet straitened in her charities by his 
 penuriousness, bestowing little else than her sympathies, arid 
 the crumbs that fell from her table. 
 
 Mrs. Moulton was a lady in every sense of the word ; a cul 
 tivated Christian woman ; quiet, warm-hearted, judicious ; the 
 constant friend of the ministry, the discriminating benefactress 
 of the poor, ordering well her own house ; the heart of her 
 husband safely trusting in her. 
 
 But Mrs. Elton was decidedly the ruling spirit of the vil 
 lage. She was a woman of superior intellect, of quick discern 
 ment, and uncommon activity ; with a religious experience 
 outwardly of the same type as her husband's business habits: 
 untiring and persevering in effort ; ambitious for the advance 
 ment of the Christian enterprise, upon which she had set her 
 heart. The movement, indeed, owed its origin to her ; and she 
 had kept her hand upon it, from the formation of the infant 
 church, to the selection of the last piece of crimson drapery for 
 the pulpit. True, it was said of her that she would have 
 things her own way; but what mattered it, so long as hei 
 way was generally right? She was a good woman, the main 
 stay of the female prayer-meeting, and of the various benevo 
 lent associations. If her piety abounded in externals, and 
 conferred largely with worldly wisdom, it also wrought in her 
 soul much deep and tender affection. She was the pastor'a
 
 L1FJB III A COUNTRY I'AllSONAOIE. 157 
 
 privy-counsellor and aid. The shop hands called her husband 
 " the general ;" and, now and then, a wag in the village applied 
 the title to her, as more appropriate. 
 
 There, too, were the Seldens, decided aristocrats, living on 
 their " interest-money," proud, worldly, exclasive. 
 
 Another element ii. the religious community was a class of 
 disciples, who if tb.) term were not too harsh might be 
 called fanatics. They were full of zeal, noisy, and declama 
 tory; bringing religious activity into disrepute by their ill- 
 timed and over-heated efforts. 
 
 Between this class, and the men of wealth and power who 
 stood at the other extreme, were a few substantial farmers, liv 
 ing in the outskirts of the village, on the cultivated slopes of 
 the western hills; plain Christian men, who left Dr. Mather's 
 church over the hill, to help form the nucleus of a religious 
 community in the village. True-hearted and stable, they were, 
 perhaps, the most reliable class in the church. Such were 
 farmer Wells and Mr. Norton. 
 
 Then, there were many small mechanics, and a host of tran 
 sient people, coming and going with the month or year ; and 
 the operatives in the factories, with few local attachments, 
 swayed hither apd thither by the prevailing current. 
 
 "With such a band of brethren as he left behind him in Salem, 
 the pastor would have girded himself for the work, with a light 
 heart. But, as he looked around for fellow-laborers, they were 
 lew arid quite uncongenial. In his natural allies, the deacons, 
 he finds neither an Aaron nor a Hur. That office was quite 
 out of the line of any of the dignitaries of Millville. The 
 plain agriculturists were too modest to accept it. It was. 
 therefore, given to niejn who would take it. 
 
 When Mr. Vernon became acquainted with his official co- 
 t<ljutors, he was ready to exclaim with the apostle, "Is it 
 jo, that there is riot a wise man among you ? " 
 
 Deacon Nobles was a man of undoubted \ ; ety, but of humble 
 14
 
 158 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 gifta , illiterate and uninformed ; very foggy in his views ; an 
 admirer and echo of Deacon Slocum. 
 
 Deacon Sydney Slocum was, by nature, a " radical ;" a man 
 of restless, active mind, pugnacious temperament, and tenacious 
 will. He was the most active religionist in Millville, and, 
 fortunately, there were but two or three others of the same 
 stamp. 
 
 His sister, Mrs. Rachel Harris, was a woman of similar 
 native qualities, with a larger admixture of grace, and a heart 
 alive to the degradation and woe of her species. Both she and 
 her brother were ardent agitators and reformers ; as such, their 
 good old mother rejoiced and gloried in them. 
 
 For a while after Mr. Vernon's settlement all these forces 
 moved, or rather existed, without collision. He was unbound 
 edly popular at home, and his name was heralded abroad. He 
 was fluent in debate, and the young men had him once or twice 
 in their " Club." When a manly youth said to him, enthusi 
 astically, " You argued our side of the question, sir, like a 
 lawyer," a chord vibrated to an old and well-remembered 
 touch. 
 
 His fame spread abroad, and he was asked to preach and 
 lecture far and near. To decline, was to displease his influen 
 tial parishioners, proud of their minister. To meet all demands 
 he toiled harder than ever before. Twice he tried his early 
 plan of extemporizing in the pulpit at one service. Deacon 
 Slocum was much edified ; but there followed significant hints, 
 from head-quarters, that written sermons gave thabest satis 
 faction. He was not a man to submit to dictation ; yet, after 
 this, he thought he should miss his wonted freedom of utterance. 
 So, as usual, he took for the morning a manuscript from his old 
 stores, and prepared a fresh discourse for the afternoon, often 
 an old theme carefully revised and elaborated. 
 
 There were many extras to prepare for. It was now a 
 speech to the " Temperance Juveniles," and now an address 
 before the Maternal Association. To animate the choir for the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 159 
 
 winter's campaign of rehearsals, the idea struck Mrs. Elton, of 
 inviting the pastor to preach a sermon on sacred music. Mrs. 
 Harris thought it would aid the work of tract distribution, if 
 Mr. Vernon would look into the mutter, and make a statement 
 to the congregation ; and she gave him two sheets of statistics. 
 
 Thus he went from one labor to another, at home and abroad, 
 performing an amount of service that astonished himself. There 
 are two sets of circumstances in which a man will go beyond 
 himself, and perform prodigies. One, when he is cut off from 
 all human appreciation and aid, and thrown solely on the divine 
 arm. The other, when great things are expected of him, and 
 he is cheered at every step by the praises of those for whom ho 
 toils. 
 
 Our young minister was, indeed, disgusted with much of the 
 adulation he received. When he could not exchange with his 
 very respectable and even gifted brethren in the vicinity, with 
 out being compelled to hear the thing sentimentally deplored, 
 he was ashamed of his people, and almost thought meanly of 
 himself. When, on one such occasion, it was reported to him 
 that Mr. Walter said, in the porch, " We ought to have boot 
 to-day ;" and, on another, Mrs. Selden asked, contemptuously, 
 " Where Mr. Vernon picked up this man to preach for us," he 
 was truly indignant. 
 
 Yet, aside from this fulsome applause, was the fact of his 
 popularity, his influence. This, with the consciousness that 
 he was earning it, was very gratifying to him. Thus, all that 
 winter, he toiled nobly. 
 
 Meanwhile, how fares it with our dear Mary ? Was she 
 quietly left, like the mistress of any other family, to take care 
 of her husband and her house ? No, indeed ! Was she not 
 the pastor's wife ? la it not fit and proper that she should 
 preside in the Maternal Association ? that she be first direct 
 ress of the sewing circle ? that she take the chair in the 
 Tract Society ? that she conduct the female prayer-meeting, 
 weekly, at her own house ? that she visit the sick, and keep
 
 160 TUE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 an open ear to every tale of want ? that sno grace the social 
 gathering with her presence, and be ready to receive calls and 
 visits from any of the hundred and twenty families represented 
 in the congregation ? As all these claims urged themselves 
 upon Mrs. Vernon, worn with the fatigue of household cares, 
 an untoward event released her for a while from the busy round 
 upon which she had entered. This was no less than the birth 
 of a son, quite in advance of any expectation of his arrival. 
 
 The gossips shook their heads, and " feared we were to have 
 another feeble minister's wife ; this was just the way Mrs. 
 Smith went down." But, thanks to a kind Providence and a 
 good constitution, and, in part, to the judicious attentions of 
 Mrs. Moulton, such a calamity was, for the present, averted. 
 One thing, however, was unfortunate, the situation of the 
 family was such, at New- Years', that, instead of the annual 
 gathering, yclept a donation party, the people were obliged to 
 send their gifts singly to the parsonage Mr. Vernon made 
 an estimate of everything at its maximum, and the aggregate 
 value was thirty dollars. This fact he had no intention to pro 
 claim publicly ; but Mr. Walter felt no delicacy about a ques 
 tion of dollars and cents, and he, from mere curiosity, asking the 
 sum, received an unequivocal answer. When this was noised 
 abroad, much chagrin was felt in the community. The spon 
 taneous cry was, " It is too bad ! " Everybody thought some 
 body must be to blame. Mrs. Walter ingenuously confessed, 
 that she " told Walter 't was real mean in him to carry so 
 little." Mrs. Elton said the young people should go by-and-by 
 and spend an evening at the parsonage, and make up a purse. 
 Mr. Moulton took occasion to apologize, in his smooth way, and 
 explain that " the thing was not generally understood ; the 
 people were put out of their wonted course, and there was some 
 mistake ; he was confident the arrearage would be more than 
 brought up another year." Mrs. Moulton testified her regrets 
 by quietly walking over to the brick store, selecting the nicest
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 161 
 
 piece of cotton shirting, with linen to match, and carrying it ou 
 her own arm aiross to the parsonage. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon's observation during her illness, made her some 
 what distrustful of her " hired help." Miss Polly, as she waa 
 called, was a smart widow of thirty-five ; who, in one capacity 
 or another, had become familiar with all the prominent families 
 of the village. She was an expert house-keeper, fond of 
 pursuing her own way without dictation or interference. Con 
 fined for weeks to her own room, Mrs. Yernon noticed, with 
 some uneasiness, that a majority of the ladies (?) who called on 
 her, desired to step into the kitchen a moment and see " Miss 
 Polly ;" and that such momentary calls often slid into a close 
 and protracted conference, which, she could not doubt, had 
 reference to her own domestic affairs. For the present, she 
 could not think of initiating new help ; so she bore the annoy 
 ance silently. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " A word fitly spoken." 
 " Alany men, of many minds." 
 
 How often does some thought, lightly stirred, and seemingly 
 inadequate to any great result, like a pebble cast into the lake, 
 produce concentric waves of feeling, till the whole soul moves 
 obedient to its power ! On a Saturday evening in February, 
 our young minister sat at his family fireside, looking long and 
 thoughtfully at the burning Lchigh. 
 
 " You are down early to-night," said the affectionate wife, as 
 she came from the nursery, with little Allison in her arms. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; " though I have not finished my 
 sermon." 
 
 " 0, Edward ! " said she, quickly ; " don't go back to youi 
 14*
 
 162 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 study to-night, you make so many late evenings, take an 
 old sermon." 
 
 " The very thing I have resolved to do," responded he. 
 " Yet, I find I have preached the best of them. The stock, 
 too, is getting low." 
 
 " Ah ! " said she ; " but for me, you would have fewer still. 
 I said you would some day regret having burned so many." 
 
 " Your prophecies," he replied, smiling, " do not often fail ; 
 but there, indeed, you were mistaken. Those sermons, over 
 whose conflagration you wasted some precious tears, made more 
 light in that way, poor things, than they could have done 
 in any other. Not but that I wrote some passable sermons in 
 Salem ; yet my style of sermonizing has changed somewhat since 
 then." 
 
 " Yes," replied she, hastily. " But I love lest to hear you 
 preach those old sermons, as you call them." 
 
 " What do you mean, Mary ? " said he, startled by her ear 
 nest tone. 
 
 She looked at him a moment, hesitatingly, then said, with 
 much emotion, " I know, my husband, that you study dili 
 gently, and write with care. Your sermons are more eloquent 
 and nicely finished ; there is often more originality and depth, 
 and grasp of thought ; but they strike me, most of them, so 
 differently from those in the old Salem pulpit." 
 
 ** What is the difference to your ear ? What is want 
 ing ? " 
 
 "To my ear nothing." 
 
 " What, then ? " persisted he. 
 
 " Tc my heart, spirituality, unction, Christ in the word, a 
 living pmver ! Forgive me, dearest ; I never said this to 
 myself before. I have felt it, but smothered the feeling.*' 
 She bent over the babe, but he saw a tear fall. 
 
 " A word fitly spoken," a word in due season, how good 
 is it! 
 
 It was late that night ere Edward Vernon slept. He waa
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 163 
 
 looking iuto his own heart as he had not done for months ; 
 questioning his motives ; scrutinizing his secret springs of 
 thought and feeling. Those few words, " spirituality," " unc 
 tion," " a living Christ," rung in his soul, and with them the 
 declaration of the Great Teacher, " My words are spirit and 
 life." 
 
 The next day he was too unsettled to preach well ; but from 
 that time he resolved to humble himself, and beg his sermons 
 of God in prayer. He detected the latent sparks of self-seek 
 ing and desire of fame. While he had been so long burnishing 
 the intellect, his heart had not, indeed, grown cold ; but he had 
 sometimes mistaken the kindling glow of natural sensibility for 
 the purer warmth of close communion with the source of vital 
 light and heat. 
 
 Henceforth the preaching in Millville pulpit was more pun 
 gent and practical. The conscience of loose, worldly professors 
 was a little stirred. This was certainly coming closer than 
 they liked ; but they knew it would suit the good old Christians 
 of the suburbs, and do somewhat to conciliate the radicals, who 
 were beginning to eye' the minister askance. So they bore it 
 patiently ; some with assumed nonchalance ; others with 
 bowed heads, as if taking a comfortable nap. (Doubtful 
 whether anybody slept in church about those days.) 
 
 Presently there was an unwonted stillness in the Sabbath 
 audiences The pastor's heart beat with hope and solicitude. 
 The leaven of truth was fermenting in the community. 0, that 
 the whole mass might be leavened ! 
 
 Very quietly he sought interviews, here and there, jro- 
 miscuously, to deepen the impressions of the pulpit. In the 
 same noiseless way, he set to work the most spiritual of the 
 brethren. One and another dropped in to the weekly prayer- 
 meeting, hitherto a solitary place, till the room was filled. 
 A few more weeks of continuous effort, in this way, and tha 
 work of God, gathering power in secret, will develop outwardly 
 in a strong and glorious conquest of the truth and spirit.
 
 164 THE SHADY SIIJE ; OR, 
 
 But Deacon Slocum is, by this time, in danger of explosion. 
 Two weeks ago, at the evening meeting, he rose, unasked, and 
 offered a prayer, in which, to Mr. Vernon's horror, was the 
 petition, " Lord, come now, by thy Spirit, and work salva 
 tion ! If thou never come again, come now ! " After the 
 prayer, he spoke, with little savor of meekness, informing the 
 hearers that " the Lord was coming among them with power, 
 He had not a doubt of it. The place was about to be shaken, 
 as with an earthquake. A great revival was at hand, and woe 
 unto those who came not up to the help of the Lord ! " Mr. 
 Vernon was greatly discomposed. At the close of the meeting, 
 he talked long and earnestly with the deacons, and told them 
 what would be lost by such precipitancy and extravagance. 
 Since that night, he had held them in, as it were, by bit and 
 bridle. 
 
 On the other hand, his prudent professors came to him, and 
 praised his conservatism. " They were glad to see a growing 
 seriousness, but deprecated excitement in such a community. 
 It was very judicious in the minister to have no extra meetings, 
 except a third service on the Sabbath," &c. &c. 
 
 With men of this extreme, the pastor had less sympathy, 
 even, than with the other. Between the two, he was almost at 
 his wits' end. But matters could not tarry long in this posi 
 tion. Mrs. Harris felt called upon to make amends for the 
 minister's moderation and the lukewarmness of the brethren, by 
 her own personal efforts with individual sinners ; and her con 
 science pointed to just those cases which her good sense and 
 modesty should have left to others. She had asked Mr. Ver 
 non for more preaching, and suggested the expedient of an 
 "anxious seat" aqd "inquiry meeting." 
 
 Both she and her brother were impatient at the slow progress 
 of things. They conferred with a few kindred spirits, and con 
 cluded it might be possible that the Lord could not work through 
 the instrumentality of a church so corrupt and worldly as their 
 own. Under this notion, they went in, of an evening to pray
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 165 
 
 with the Methodist brethren, among whom, as yet, all was 
 quiet. There they unburdened their hearts, and kindled a 
 spark that soon spread into a flame. The next movement was 
 the appointment of a "four days' meeting" at the Methodist 
 church. The community was astir with expectation ; the 
 current was in motion. 
 
 Then the worldly-wise Christians changed their ground. 
 They feared this competition would injure their society. Mr. 
 Walter wondered what Mr. Vernon meant by not having more 
 meetings. He ought to have kept the start of the Methodists." 
 Mr. Moulton insinuates his advice. " It may be best to hold 
 no more meetings in the lecture-room, but appoint them in the 
 church, and have preaching every evening, and let the bett be 
 rung and tolled at the hour." (It was the only church-bell in 
 the village.) 
 
 As matters are, the pastor sees no alternative ; but his heart 
 is heavy with disappointed hope. Both churches are crowded, 
 night after night ; great excitement prevails ; the people run 
 hither and thither ; many objectionable things are done, Mr. 
 Vernon not consenting, but unable to control the fanatical 
 clique, who piece out his meetings by a late after-sitting 
 with the Methodist brethren. By-and-by the commotion sub 
 sides; daily preaching is suspended; the prayer-meeting 
 reverts to the old lecture-room, whither the chief dignitaries, 
 as usual, do not follow; the pastor is exhausted, more by 
 his efforts to keep the ark from the profane touch of its 
 friends, than by aggressive movements upon the kingdom of 
 Satan ; a considerable number of converts enter the Methodist 
 class ; a smaller number propose to unite with Mr. Vernon's 
 church, but are wisely delayed. Meanwhile he establishes a 
 weekly meeting for their examination and instruction. It 
 makes upon him large demands ; but he will take any pains, 
 rather than overload the church with spurious disciples. The 
 sifting process goes on, and in three months he receives to his 
 church, the fruit of all his outlay and toil, ten persons: being
 
 166 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 all in regard to whose Christian character he is clearly satisfied. 
 He is humbled, and retraces the whole scene with sorrowful 
 perplexity. Ah ! he is not the only honest laborer for Christ 
 who has had such occasion to muse, sad and perplexed. 
 
 Mr. Vernon, however, may as well dismiss past troubles. 
 There are enough, present and prospective, to put all his Chris 
 tian philosophy in requisition. Of some active spirits in his 
 church, he might say, as David of the sons of Zeruiah, " They 
 are too hard for me." He looked on every side, in vain, for the 
 warm, fraternal hearts that used to beat with his in the Salem 
 praying circle. His soul missed the spiritual culture and joy 
 of that close fellowship. The pastor needs, why should he 
 not ? as well as the layman, the communion of the saints, as 
 a means of nourishment and strength. How often did he 
 recur to the little band who once stood around him, as a body 
 guard of soldiers round their leader ! There was not one, the 
 least gifted, but was to him more of a brother than any he had 
 found in Millville. His heart yearned for the old interchange 
 of prayer and experience. " ! " said he, one night, after 
 his return from the lecture-room, " if I could hear even brother 
 Dennis pray, rough and inaccurate as he is, it would quite 
 cheer me up. I would n't mind his asking that we might ' set 
 our faces, as a flint, Zionward,' or his favorite simile of ' an 
 arrow headed at both ends,' or his rude grasp of my hand, like 
 a vise." 
 
 "The last," replied Mary, "you ought to expect of him, aa 
 he has been a vicicnts man so long. Bui what has happened 
 to-night? You look really sick." 
 
 " I am heart-sick," said the poor minister. " Our meetings 
 have dwindled to about the old number. None present, to 
 night, from beyond the village, but Mr. Norton and his son. I 
 can see in them a growing spirituality. I went a little behind 
 the time, I believe, five minutes, or so. Well, would you 
 believe it ? Deacon Slccum had begun the meeting. There 
 he was, in my seat, by the desk, reading a portion of Scripture.
 
 I 
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 167 
 
 lie saw me enter, but finished the chapter, and then coolly 
 asked me if I would take the chair." 
 
 " Which you did, of course." 
 
 " Yes ; but he made, afterward, no explanation or apology." 
 
 " Deacon Nobles is more modest than to do such a thing, 1 * 
 said Mary. 
 
 " Perhaps he is," was the reply ; '* or too stupid to think of 
 it. lie is so ignorant ! We walked up together, from tho 
 meeting. Something led me to a remark on the subject of 
 Divine Providence, when he said that he believed in a general 
 Providence ; but he never liked to have every little occurrence 
 ascribed to Providence. It always seemed to him beneath so 
 great a being as God to attend to such small and unimportant 
 matters." 
 
 " Why, Edward ! What did you say to him ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Mr. Vernon. " I felt as if it would be 
 wasting words to try to set him right." 
 
 " But you must do it, my dear." 
 
 " I suppose I must try. 0, shade of Deacon Ely ! " 
 exclaimed the poor man, passionately. " I fear, Mary, I have 
 not the grace of patience to labor here." 
 
 Ah ! marvel not, thou servant of God, that thou shouldst be 
 put in the crucible. It may yet be needful to heat the furnace 
 one seven-times more than its wont ; but thou art under the 
 Refiner's hand, who will see that thy dross only is consumed in 
 the trial. 
 
 The weeks roll on, and the pastor with them, constantly on 
 the alert, like the anxious driver of an over-loaded vehicle, 
 drawn by animals many and ill-assorted. Foremost in the 
 multitudinous array is the zealous deacon. He would draw 
 with all his might, when he could lead, and carry all at his own 
 rate of speed ; but woe to the whole team if there come a pause ! 
 No use to put up the check ; he will take the bit in his teeth, 
 and dash right or left, no matter where, so he can but be mov 
 ing
 
 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 Sister Rajhel, thanks to the patience and wisdom of the pas 
 tor's wife, though impetuous, is kept within the traces. 
 
 And moving with the cavalcade, yet looking another way, are 
 the rich, the honorable, the prudent, who, like the nobles of 
 Tekoa, put not their necks to the work of their Lord, 
 
 The summer is nearly spent, when Mr. Vernon is summoned 
 to the old homestead, on the occasion of his aged father's 
 demise, an event long expected. 
 
 His purse was, at this time, very low ; indeed, it had foi 
 months been the receptacle of a single bill at a time, a five, or 
 ten ; oftener less, some marriage fee, or the remuneration for 
 lecturing abroad. He had, several times, asked the treasurer 
 to advance him a small sum ; but always, with one exception, 
 received the reply, that " there was no money in." His 
 salary was now nearly due, and, confident of success, he post 
 poned the application till ready for his journey. To his sur 
 prise, he met the old story, " no money in the treasury." 
 What should he do ? It was suggested that he might obtain it 
 3y calling on his prominent pew-holders He had no time to 
 lose. Mr. Elton was the nearest man. " He would be glad to 
 do it, but he was already used up. He wished he did owe the 
 society ; but, unfortunately, the society owed him more than 
 enough to cover his yearly contribution. They were in debt 
 for the bell, and he took the debt off their hands. It was 
 about thirty dollars." Without waiting for further particulars, 
 Mr. Vernon hurried over to the brick store. Mr. Moulton had 
 gone to the foundery. Thither he followed, and made known his 
 errand. Mr. Moulton " was astonished to hear the treasury was 
 empty, so near the end of the year ; Hbut, indeed, he did not see 
 as he could help the matter. Those blinds on the parsonage 
 were procured by subscription. It lay along, without being 
 closed, six months, when payment was demanded, and he found 
 there was a deficit of twenty dollars, and he paid it. He had 
 often done such things, and said nothing ; but he thought, this 
 time, he would !et it go toward his pew-rent."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 169 
 
 A long story, Mr. Vernon thought, when he found the 
 money was yet to be looked after. " Would Mr. Walter be 
 likely to advance it ? " said he, leaving hastily. " Stop, sir," 
 ?aid Mr. Moulton, " you are in haste, and it is too much trouble 
 to run after him." (He knew it was of no use, and he was 
 sensitive to the reputation of the society.) " Let me lend you 
 what you want for this emergency." And he placed ten dollars 
 in his pastor's hand, with the suavity of one who was receiving 
 a favor. It had not escaped his penetrating eye, that there 
 was in Mr. Vernon's face something expressive of a suddon 
 enlightenment in regard to the financial concerns of the parish. 
 
 A vague uneasiness about his pecuniary affairs haunted the 
 pastor's mind thereafter for many days. Upon his return, his 
 first leisure was devoted to a critical examination of his ex 
 penses during the year. To his astonishment, he found that 
 he had given orders to the amount of three hundred dollars, 
 for which he hardly felt that he could have had their equiva 
 lent. A large bill for provender was not included. His run 
 ning accounts with the merchants he had no means of estimat 
 ing, except at one shop, where the purchases were entered in a 
 little book kept by himself. Here, the amount surprised him, 
 and he began to fear that his salary would not cover his cur 
 rent expenses. The secret he had yet to learn. 
 
 Pay-day arrived, confirming his fears. He was fifty dollars 
 in debt ; and, to add to the confusion, the society proved delin 
 quent toward him in the same amount. 
 
 The leading men made the best of the matter. " It had 
 been a hard year for the society. The salary was a hundred 
 dollars more than thy had .paid formerly. On the whole, they 
 had done pretty well. Mr. Vernon must wait on them a while. 
 The next quarter's pew-rent will settle up." 
 
 But when he told them, seriously, that the whob salary, for 
 
 some reason, failed to meet his expenditures, their complacency 
 
 was evidently disturbed. Various were the ways in which tho 
 
 astounding fact was accounted for, among the people. The 
 
 15
 
 170 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 loudest outcry was, " The horse, that large, fine horse, which 
 had eaten him up ! " " A foolish piece of business," said Mr. 
 Walter. " What did he want of a horse ? " " Very mean 
 in you to talk so, Walter," said his outspoken wife (it waa 
 very difficult for her to follow Sara's example, and give hei 
 husband a title, when everybody else addressed him without it) 
 " very mean. You know he had all the people in the out- 
 skirts to get acquainted with." 
 
 Mrs. Selden tossed her head, and " thought, when she first 
 saw those splendid curtains at the parlor windows of the par 
 sonage, that Millville people would not be able to support such 
 extravagance. She did not think of such curtains herself. 
 Her daughter in the city had them, but they were very expen 
 sive." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Elton said, " Don't be alarmed. It 's only 
 their first year among us, and it takes something to get settled." 
 Mrs. Moulton suggested that they had incurred a sickness bill 
 at the parsonage, and that their " ' help ' was not the most 
 economical." Mrs. Harris looked distressed, and Deacon Slo- 
 cum " guessed the minister did n't work it right." 
 
 But the minister and his wife resolved to know the where 
 fore themselves. Diligently investigating, they found they had 
 received half their salary in " orders "; and that for every 
 article purchased at the village stores they had paid, at leas', 
 twenty-five per cent, on city prices. What marvel that they 
 were fifty dollars in debt ! 
 
 * 

 
 LIFE IN A COUNTKY PARSONA':::. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " There are more things in heaven 
 And earth, Horatio, than thou hast dreamt of 
 In thy philosophy." 
 
 is always happening most years," said 
 AVethereirs Dutch farmer. In respect to the year now 
 before us to be chronicled, it seemed as if everything was huj)- 
 peuing, and all together. It opened upon our minister in diffi 
 culty and doubt, and with many ominous shadows, stretching 
 toward him, of coming evil. Mindful of the inspired adage, 
 " A brother is born for adversity," he resolved upon a visit to 
 Norfield, to seek some relief from his present straits. 
 
 It was, indued, a comfort to feel the grasp of that strong 
 fraternal hand, and listen to words of hope and cheer. 
 
 " It is rather a narrow place," said brother James, " but we 
 will contrive, a way through ;" and sister Julia rallied him on 
 nis long face, till his saddened spirit caught the tone of theirs. 
 There, too, was the sense of protection under the old roof-tree, 
 such as he used to feel when a boy. It seemed easier, there, to 
 trust his heavenly Father's love. 
 
 " Let 's see," said James ; " you have a tenant in your own 
 house. When will the first half-year's payment be due for 
 rent? in two months ? Well, that will pay the interest due 
 Captain Newell on the four hundred." 
 
 " But the interest is due next week," said the anxious 
 debtor. 
 
 " Wait, Ned, and hear me through. My crops have come 
 in finely, and I am rather aforehanded for money. 1 will pay 
 the interest, and tell the captain he must wait for the principal 
 till you can sell the place. When you get your rent, you can 
 refund, if you dcn't want the money more for something else."
 
 172 TIIE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 
 
 Edward expressed his gratitude ; then added, sorrowfully, 
 " I cannot think of keeping a horse, hereafter ; so Pompey and 
 I must part." 
 
 " Leave him with me," said the kind brother, " and go home 
 by the stage-coach and cars. I can sell him to the best advan 
 tage. What deep thought strikes you now ? " 
 
 " O ! '' replied Edward, rousing from his reverie ; " I will 
 leave him, and thank you, too. But you need not sell him at 
 present. Wait till you hear from me. I was looking ahead, 
 that 's all. As for my debts in Millville " 
 
 "Square them off," said the farmer; " it hurts a minister's 
 credit to be in debt among his own people. Better borrow 
 fifty dollars, and give your note As to the other fifty, 1 
 should push the society pretty hard for it." 
 
 " And if you obtained it," responded Edward, " you might 
 have the satisfaction of feeling that it vras taken from the 
 resources upon which the next payment must depend. That 's 
 the way my parish keep up their boast of being out of 
 debt. They use up all their best men in advance." But he 
 resolved to take his brother's advice. James borrowed the 
 fifty dollars on his own security, and Mr. Yernon returned with 
 a lighter heart. 
 
 He sent in a statement of his circumstances to the society ; 
 and, after much shuffling, they made up the deficit, and voted 
 to render the salary hereafter in semi-annual payments. So 
 this matter was temporarily at rest. 
 
 Yet this was not the only source of disquiet. He was sensi 
 ble of a widening distance between himself and his fellow- 
 laborers, the deacons ; not that he had withdrawn from them, 
 but they were pressing onward, with rapidly increasing momen 
 tum, toward the farthest verge of ultraism. They wished a 
 separate organization for every department of moral effort. Mr. 
 Vernon would have but one " monthly concert " of prayer ; 
 they insisted upon two. By giving their favorite continent ita 
 proper share in the exercises of each monthly gathering he
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 173 
 
 staved off the matter for a while. But at length, finding the 
 minister decided, they bolted, and set up an anti-slavery con 
 cert for themselves. Yet, they were not satisfied with inde 
 pendency. Their opposition began to manifest itself openly. 
 Deacon Slocum was an outspoken man. He entered soon upon 
 a tirade against the churches. He even advanced the doctrine 
 that a minister's popularity with the world is in inverse pro 
 portion to his faithfulness; then pointed to the fact that the 
 young men of the village all liked Mr. Vernon. 
 
 On the other hand, the men of worldly influence in tho 
 church were increasingly sensitive, and fearful lest their minis 
 ter was becoming a too ardent philanthropist. 
 
 The ungodly multitude laughed at the blind zeal of the agi 
 tators, and sneered at the religion of the opposite class, that 
 permitted such selfish exactions, under the motto, " All 's fair 
 in trade." 
 
 The times, moreover, were getting bad. It was rumored 
 that money would soon be unprecedentedly scarce, and that a 
 great commercial crisis mast ensue. A leaden cloud seemed to 
 overspread Mr. Yernon's horizon. In his own sanctuary of 
 domestic love there were indeed sunshine and solace; yet even 
 here intruded the disquieting thought that one dearer than 
 himself was overtasked and fast losing her youthful bloom. 
 
 In his heart the day-star of Christian hope yet beamed, and 
 the flame of Jesus' love glowed brightly. Yet this constrain 
 ing love only seemed at times to intensify the painful conscious 
 ness that he was accomplishing little for the Master's cause. It 
 was with a sad foreboding that he perceived his freedom in 
 intellectual labor injuriously affected by these untoward things 
 around him. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was niore cheerful. Not that she any the less 
 appreciated their circumstances, but she guarded against des 
 pondency, that evil genius that once brooded with raven wing 
 over their first home. She dreaded a return of those dark 
 days, i-iiiJ strove to be happy, for her husband's as well as con-
 
 174 THE SHADY SIDE J OR. 
 
 Bcience' sake. But there was an insidious influence, against 
 which, not being forewarned, she was not forearmed. She had 
 a quick sense of injustice, especially when one dear to her was 
 the sufferer. Injuries that, falling on herself, would have been 
 met with forgiving gentleness, when committed against her hus 
 band, roused her spirit to indignation, or transient resentment. 
 A new acquaintance had no small share in developing these 
 tendencies to mischief. This was no less a person than Mr. 
 Clifton, an ex-minister, who had lost his health, and with it 
 lost his parish, and withal lost his voice, and so lost his profes 
 sion. His father residing in the village, he naturally came 
 home to recruit, and turn his thoughts to some new pursuit. 
 He was a man of unusual talent, and its common accompani 
 ment, excessive sensibility, and of much genial humor, orig 
 inally ; yet the world had not used him tenderly, and he owed 
 it a slight grudge. Some men, of fair exterior, he had dis 
 cerned to be whited sepulchres ; so he suspected many to be 
 tuch. He looked on the dark side of human nature, and drew 
 the picture with graphic skill. Being quite at leisure, he was 
 a frequent caller at the parsonage, where his conversational 
 gifts made him a pleasant guest, though his wit was piquant, 
 and his common vein sarcastic. 
 
 It was well for him that restored health and active toil in a 
 lucrative profession did at length wear away the keen edge of 
 his satirical temper, and induce a more genial flow of good- will 
 and forbearance toward his kind. At this period, certainly, 
 he looked upon the world through a discolored medium ; and, 
 though he meant it not, his intercourse at the parsonage was 
 among the bitter tributaries that helped to swell the uneven 
 current of life in those eventful days. 
 
 In our narrative, thus far, we have made no reference to a 
 diary ; but let not the reader hence imagine that such a source 
 of information has not been at hand. We hold that private jour 
 nals, records mainly of the interior life of the soul, are 
 mostly too sacred for the promiscuous eye. But there are, wa
 
 LIFK IS A COLXTUV PARSONAGE. 175 
 
 find, certain chapters, bearing date with the present epoch of this 
 humble history, which seem peculiarly to belong to the public ; 
 and which may givo a more vivid impression than our prosy 
 statements, of the next few months at the parsonage. We 
 open the diary near the beginning of the second year at Mill- 
 ville. 
 
 "October, Snuggery, 9| o'clock. Edward has gono to 
 his father's. Ah ! it is natural to write ' father's,' though that 
 honored head lies low; and the spirit is with the just made 
 perfect. I expected Edward home to-night; but, instead, a let 
 ter from him announces his purpose to leave the horse and car 
 riage at Norfield, and return by public conveyance. He will 
 come -in the morning mail-coach from S. 
 
 " Ah ! I shall miss the rides with Pompey, and so will the 
 dear children. Little Allie, he nestles now in the cradle by 
 my side, as if there were some mysterious telegraph between 
 my pen and his thought, little Allie has leariod to call ' Pom' 
 already. It is a trial to have the horse go ; yet how light 
 compared with many other things! The Lord give us grace to 
 bear nil our trials meekly, as from his hand. 
 
 " October. Evening again. It is the only time I get now 
 to write. Edward has gone to his study for another hour. Mr. 
 Wells has spent most of the evening with us. I dearly love 
 the good, plain farmer ; his call to-night has made my heart 
 lighter. He proposes, as our horse is gone, and we have hay 
 still at the barn, that we shall keep a cow. (Milk is five and 
 BIX cents a quart now.) lie has a fine heifer, which he offers us 
 below the market price, and he bids Mr. Vernon be easy about 
 the pay, he can -wait till spring. He and Edward had along 
 conversation upon society affairs ; and afterward slid into a 
 quiet, edifying talk upon practical godliness. For the moment, 
 I forgot the din, and smoke, and hollow seemings of this fac 
 tory-village, and had the old tranquil feeling as in the little 
 back-parlor, at Salem, when a neighbor had stepped in for an
 
 176 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 evening's converse. Presently, the bells rang, sending a quick 
 pain to my heart, as the illusion was dispelled. I believe I 
 could learn to love this place, if the people were more con 
 siderate toward their minister. 
 
 ' October. Deacon Slocum has seen Mr. Vernon to-day, 
 and offered to let him a horse and wagon whenever he shall 
 have occasion for them; he is obliged to keep a horse, and 
 has not constant use for him. Edward consented, fearing he 
 might be misconstrued, if he declined. I mentioned the cir 
 cumstance to Mr. Clifton, and he shook his head. ' I per 
 ceive,' said I, ' that you think the deacon has some sinister end 
 in view.' ' Why,' said he, ' the deacon is a fair man in his ordi 
 nary dealings ; but he has a monomania, under which he may 
 do some strange things. He is making no secret of his 'dislike 
 of the minister ; yet his talk is very specious. He told me, 
 the other day, that the young men stood aloof from religion, 
 and it was a pity they were not dealt more faithfully with, in 
 the time of the revival ; but the minister courts their favor.' 
 I told Mr. Clifton that the deacon knew but little of Mr. Ver 
 non 's efforts with that class of our congregation. To which he 
 replied : ' If Deacon Slocum wants to convert a man, he goes 
 at him with a sledge-hammer, and knocks him down ; if he get 
 up, a rebel still, the deacon's conscience acquits him as having 
 done his duty.' 
 
 " Oh, it is hard, after all Edward's toil and pains-taking, to 
 be accused of unfaithfulness to souls ! But let it pass. 
 
 " The month is just departing, and with it, the fourth year 
 of our married life ; days of bliss that have sped on swift 
 wing ! slow-footed hours of sorrow, few, yet well remem 
 bered ! tasks, whose reward was with them! seed sown 
 in tears, with long patience for the far-off reaping ! dear 
 household joys, heart-communings ! heart-achings, too, from 
 wounded sensibilities and o'er-fond affection ! Yet, over all, 
 high above, the rainbow of Christian hope, beneath all, in 
 the soul's depths, a well -spring of joy and peace untroubled,
 
 LIFE IX A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 177 
 
 springing ap and oft overflowing. Blessed bo our Rock, and let 
 the God of our salvation be exalted. 
 
 " Norei/iler. Attended a wedding last evening, in one of 
 our rich families. A little disappointed at the fee, especially 
 as the purse is, these many days, empty, only two dollars! 
 Tell it not in Gath ! 
 
 " Mr. Clifton has been in, anxious to learn how much the 
 richer we are for last night's service. I told him, ' though it 
 would hardly enable us to buy a village lot on speculation, or 
 make a bank deposit, yet, in the present state of the finances, it 
 was not to be despised.' Then, I magnified the occasion; a 
 large company ; a splendid table ; elegant service, and a half- 
 dozen varieties of cake, with fruits and confectioneries ; and I 
 treated him to a lunch from a loaf of cake, whose heavy frost 
 ing was gemmed with golden stars, gilt-paper ornaments. 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' said he, laughingly, ' you may depend, they put all 
 the gold on the cake ; your husband did n't get over two dollars 
 for marrying them.' 
 
 " I would not tell him he had guessed right. I am surprised 
 at his knowledge of this people, and of human nature. But, 
 poor man, he seems not very happy. I am sorry he is so 
 reserved on the subject of the interior, higher life. 
 
 " November. Thursday evening. Accompanied Mr. Ver- 
 non, last night, to the prayer-meeting. We hastened over, for 
 fear the chair would be preoccupied, which, I knew, would spoil 
 the meeting for me. Opportunity being given for the brethren 
 to speak, Deacon Slocum made some remarks on the passage, 
 ' If ye were of the world, the world would love its own ; but 
 tvrause ye are not,' &c. ; which he interpreted to mean, 'all 
 i'aithful Christians will be persecuted by the wicked ;' and he 
 prayed zealously for the martyr-spirit. I fear he knows little 
 of the daily martyrdom of patience. Afterward, Mr. Vernon 
 spoke again, showing the harmony between the passage just 
 quoted, and such as these : ' Commending ourselves by evil 
 report, and by good report.' ' Be ye wlso as serpents, &c.
 
 178 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 ' Let not your good be evil spoken of.' He closed by saying, in 
 our circumstances it is not so important to inquire whether we 
 could give our body to be burned, as, whether we daily exercise 
 that charity without which we are nothing. 
 
 " To-day, in our little female praying circle, some allusion 
 was made to last evening, when old Mrs. Slocum said, ' Mr. 
 Vernon did n't seem quite to agree with Sydney. No one 
 responded, and she added, 'Well, Sydney is a good "man, a 
 praying man.' 
 
 " After meeting, she lingered to advise me about little Allie. 
 He is teething, and very pale and fretful. She said he ' wanted 
 air and exercise ; it wasn't well for so great a baby to be car 
 ried in arms so much ; I must put him out of doors, and let 
 him run.' ' Why,' said I, ' you forget, ma'am, he is only a 
 year old, and docs not walk yet.' But she insisted he ought to 
 be put out o'doors every day of this fine Indian summer, and 
 added, ' No wonder you are most worn out, and Miss Polly, 
 too, lugging such a great child about.' I understand the secret 
 now. Miss Polly has been making complaint. This is one of 
 the lesser trials, which are becoming familiar to me. Would 
 that I found it as easy to rise above some other annoyances, as 
 I do those of this class. 
 
 " November. Feel too tired and sleepy, my dear Journal, 
 even to converse with you. I have only taken you up to whis 
 per a word of complaint in your ear. Do you not know that I 
 have neglected you entirely these three evenings ? At the last 
 meeting of the sewing society, Mrs. Elton asked me to take 
 home some unfinished work, and complete it. This, I felt, was 
 hardly kind ; though a poor family needed the garments sadly. 
 Mrs. Elton keeps a hired sempstress at home, and she knows 
 my cares. I could not put by niy own sewing, the children 
 were needing their winter flannels, so I have set up late, and 
 stitched till my tyes ached, and my fingers were a-weary. 1 
 began it grudgingly, I confess ; but a better spirit came over 
 me, t trust, and I have tried to do it as unto the Lord.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 170 
 
 " November. Went to the woollen-factory boarding-house, 
 and carried the garments to poor Mrs. T. She received them 
 coolly. Mrs. Harris had prepared me to expect little else, by 
 saying, in her distressed tone, ' They are an ungrateful set, but 
 we must not see them suffer.' What was rny surprise, then, 
 after a few words of inquiry about her children, and sympathy 
 for her troubles, to see the tears fall, and hear her say, pjission 
 ately, ' 0, ma'am, how good you are ! Thank you, thank 
 you ; I don't mean for the things, though Heaven knows 
 we need them enough, but for your kind words the first 
 that have gone to my heart this many a day. They 're worth 
 more than the clothes. The other woman, there, that come in 
 to ask if we needed help, didn't speak to me in this way; 
 she faulted me in everything. Why did n't I keep my house 
 cleaner ? And why did n't I mend up the ragged children ? 
 And what for did I let 'em rove about on the Sabbath ? And 
 my husband, she said, 'twas a wretched thing to have him ro 
 on so, as if I don't know it, and I must try to stop his 
 drinking, as if / could do it. And when she offered to fix 
 some clothes for us, I knew I ought to be grateful ; but, some 
 how, my heart ris right up, and I could n't thank her.' I have 
 learned a lesson from this scene. The poor, however abject, 
 crave sympathy. 
 
 " On my way home, I ran in a moment to see my old Scotch 
 woman. Her room was as tidy as ever, and her heart as warm. 
 I commended poor Mrs. T. to her attentions. ' Awcel,' said 
 she, 'it's nae so muckle good the holding forth will do tho 
 puir creatures, nor the alms; it's the fellow-feeling that gaea 
 to the heart.' 
 
 " November. Mrs. Selden, it seems, had a select, social 
 gathering to-day, and I was not invited. It troubles me very 
 little. I should not have been aware of it, but for Mrs. Harris. 
 She came in, supposing I was at the party, and it would be a 
 good opportunity to see Mr. Yernon, and say some things she 
 had long had on her mind. I ofivml to call him, and she asked
 
 180 ' THE SHADY SIDE J OE, 
 
 why she might not step up to the study. On being consulted,, 
 Edward bade her come. She staid an hour, going over, he 
 told me, the subject of brother Sydney's grievances, in regard 
 to the minister, and professing a desire to act the part 9f a 
 mediator. She allowed her brother went too far. On the 
 other hand, ' it was not strange that a young minister should be 
 warped by the views of such men as Mr. Moulton, Mr. Elton, 
 and others. Even Mrs. Elton confesses that her sympathies 
 are more with the deacon, than she dare express openly. But 
 Paul conferred not with flesh and blood,' &c., &c. She then 
 asked Mr. Yernon if he would not preach upon the ten com 
 mandments. Also, if there could not something be done for our 
 young men. 
 
 " Edward's manner toward her was very gallant and respect 
 ful. I wonder at his patience. 
 
 " Making her exit through the hall, she drew me toward her 
 and whispered, ' I asked Mr. Vernon to preach on the com 
 mandments. Won't you tell him that a sermon, just now, on 
 the seventh, would not come amiss ? Some men, that stand high 
 in the community, need a home-thrust on that subject.' ' In 
 deed ! ' I replied ; when she offered to mention names and par 
 ticulars ; but I declined the information. She had an air of 
 severe goodness and awful responsibility, as she might be an 
 angel set to guard the decalogue. Ah, this sounds unkind ! 
 I fear I do not feel exactly right toward sister Rachel. 
 
 " November. The people are beginning to think of their 
 pew-rent ; contriving, as usual, to pay in produce. Mr. Ver 
 non says, if he could raise the money, he would give cash for 
 everything he takes of the people, and put a stop to ' orders.' 
 It is not in human nature not to take advantage of such a mode 
 of payment. Mr. B. has been bringing wood all day, three 
 cords of maple, for which he wanted an order of ten dollars, 
 to cover his pew-rent. Mr. Clifton came over just at night, and 
 walked around the wood-pile two or three times, before ho came 
 in. Mr. Vernon asked him if the sticks were not short for
 
 LJFJi IN A COL NTH Y PARSON AG1J. 181 
 
 three-feet wood. He curled his lip, and muttered, ' The knav 
 ish fellow ! ' Edward's eye asked au explanation. ' Why,' said 
 he, ' the fact is just here ; old B. has been getting a lot of 
 three-feet wood for the cotton-mill, twenty or thirty cords. 
 Among it were some short, unmerchantable sticks, which were 
 thrown out. He has made up your three cords from these odds 
 and ends. He thought the minister would n't know the differ 
 ence; and that isn't all, Walter gave him but three dollars a 
 cord, and he has charged you two shillings more, to make out 
 his ten for the society.' Edward was silent, as he often is 
 when troubled ; and Mr. Clifton came out against the parish 
 with his most caustic epithets. I told him he was too severe. 
 ' Well,' said he, ' pardon me, if you think so, and hereafter I 
 will speak of them in the language of Scripture : " The best of 
 them is as a briar ; the most upright is sharper than a thorn- 
 hedge." ' I told him he was worse and worse ; that there were 
 many excellent people here, the Wells' and Nortons' and 
 Hines'. ' 0,' said he, ' those are the hill folks, very differ 
 ent people ; but the new cloth on the old garment only makes 
 the rent worse.' But the good women here, I added, the pray 
 ing women, are the strength of the church. ' Yes,' said he, 
 bitterly; ' Moulton and Co. are quite willing their wives 
 should do the praying, if they may be allowed to make tho 
 money.' 
 
 " There is too much truth in this. 0, why is our lot cast 
 among such a people ! 
 
 " November 30?A. Thanksgiving week has just closed. 
 Edward struggled hard over his sermon. Monday, Mr. M. 
 brought a load of hay, at the highest market price. It proves 
 to be musty, damaged in the curing. He was anxious Mr. 
 Vcrnon should not trouble himself to see to the unloading. 
 So goes our salary. No wonder the poor minister found it 
 hard to write a Thanksgiving sermon. 
 
 " We had very little sent in for our table ; nothing like tho 
 lilral gifts of our old people. Mr. C. says, 'They are saving 
 16
 
 182 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 themselves for a splendid manifestation at New- Years.' The 
 snow being very deep, I rode home from church with good 
 Mrs. Norton. She said something about my chicken-pie. J 
 told her my chicken-pie, this year, would have to be an oyster 
 soup. In her artless way she said, ' Have n't the village folks 
 sent you in any chickens ? ' ' Yes,' said I ; ' two, but they are 
 our turkey.'' After she left me, her husband whipped up the 
 horses, and in half an hour was back again at the gate, with a 
 smoking-hot chicken-pie, which, he said, ' Mother did n't know, 
 this morning, what she was making for. She had too much 
 chicken for the large one, and so she took some of the good 
 pieces and made a little one. She is so glad she did it, only 
 she would have made it larger if she had known it was for the 
 minister's folks.' I was so childish as to shed tears over that 
 little pie. My feelings were made very tender by the occa 
 sion. It was the first time since our marriage that we had 
 kept ' the feast ' alone. I was a little homesick. ! these 
 way-marks in life are touching remembrancers of the past ! 
 
 " December. I have persuaded Edward to have a new 
 overcoat. He hesitated long, and asked many questions about 
 my wardrobe. It is the first time, he says, since he entered 
 the ministry, that he did not feel able to purchase an article of 
 clothing whenever he needed it. He says my cloak is quite as 
 shabby as his outside garment. This is no news to me ; yet 
 his apparel is of more consequence than mine. Besides, I can 
 turn my cloak, and have it nearly as bright as new. It was 
 a part of my bridal outfit, and of the nicest quality. It was 
 time for a new one last winter ; but I was laid aside so early, 
 and confined so much of the winter, that I postponed the pur 
 chase. It seems strange to me to deny myself not luxuries ; 
 that I have often done but comforts and even necessaries. 
 Yet, an apostle took pleasure in necessities fur Jesus' sake ! 
 0, for more of the apostolic spirit, Christ in all things, and 
 all for his sake ! 
 
 " December. Mrs. Elton called to say, if it was agreeable
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 183 
 
 the people -would make their donation visit at New- Year's, a 
 week from to-day, afternoon and evening. She desired me to 
 prepare nothing for the occasion, they would take care of 
 themselves. Our curiosity puts us on the 'quivive;' but a 
 week is not long to wait. 
 
 " I put scissors to my old cloak to-day. Perhaps I may as 
 well lay it aside now, till after New-Years'." 
 
 " January od. The great event came off as was expected. 
 It was really, in many respects, a handsome affair, with a good 
 many curious incidents. Yesterday we computed the value of 
 the gifts. Cash, fifteen dollars (the times are getting hard) ; 
 staple articles, about twenty dollars ; and other things, which 
 Edward calls ' notions,' if estimated according to their act 
 ual cost, swell the whole to seventy-five dollars. Many of 
 the latter are useful articles, and others ornamental. It is 
 pleasant to have such things ; but we could do very well with 
 out them. Still, we value them highly as gifts of friendship. 
 We should look upon them with unmingled satisfaction, if our 
 salary were promptly paid, and in a way to support us well. 
 As it is, there is a drawback to our pleasure ; for it is evident 
 the people design this as an offset to the deficiency of our 
 support. They are congratulating themselves and us on the 
 result of the gathering. ' Seventy-five dollars ! they ought to 
 live now.' This I know is the feeling. As two beautiful 
 China vases were presented, and placed on the parlor mantel, 
 Mr. Clifton whispered me, 'They cost all of seven dollars; 
 you will be able to live now.' However, it was a pleasant 
 gathering, and furnishes materials for gratitude and joy. I 
 must leave journalizing and write tiie particulars to father and 
 sister Harriet." 
 
 From the letter here alluded to, and from other sources, wo 
 get so vivid an idea of the donation party, that we lay down 
 the diary, and take up again the historian's pen, that the world 
 may not lose the record of so bright a feature in " life at tha 
 parsonage."
 
 184 TOT: SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 It was New -Year's day, with a clear, frosty air and a tine 
 snow-path. The inmates of the parsonage were astir at an 
 early hour. " Miss Polly " moved energetically round, under 
 an awful sense of responsibility. She had assisted Mrs. Smith 
 on a similar occasion, and she gave significant hints of " such 
 doings as would astonish Mrs. Vernon, if she never saw a dona 
 tion party." Mrs. Vernon was not alarmed ; but she looked 
 on with a curious eye, as " Miss Polly " climbed to the top of 
 the pantry, and, clearing off bottles and broken dishes, moved 
 everything from the lower shelves, a peg higher ; muttering all 
 the while, that " they did n't build parsonage pantries larger, 
 when they expected to have such times." 
 
 " You forget," said Mrs. Vernon, " that they would then be 
 a world too wide for every day in the year but one." 
 
 This notable house-keeper had been scrubbing and scouring a 
 week, but She still found more of the same kind to do. She 
 was conscious that this was to be a great day in her domain. 
 She said, " If there should be a cobweb left, Mrs. Martin would 
 be sure to see it ; or a grease spot, Dolly Goodyear would make 
 it a town-talk." 
 
 Dinner was dispensed with ; and, after an early lunch, extra 
 fires were built ; all superfluous articles, likely to be in the way, 
 removed to the back chambers, the front passage to which was 
 securely fastened. The children were dressed, and all was 
 expectation. 
 
 Presently the " General's " man and boy came across with a 
 basket of crockery, from the store ; and Mrs. Moulton's colored 
 girl was not far behind, on the same errand. Nest came chairs, 
 two or three dozen. Then the first sleigh-load from the hill 
 side, followed quickly by another ; and now the plot thickens. 
 Cloaks and bonnets multiply in the dressing-rooms ; baskets in 
 the kitchen : horses in the carriage-room and wood-house ; and 
 the hum of voices, and the merry laugh, and the tramp of feet, 
 are heard from parlor to kitchen. 
 
 Now, tho mistress of the parsonage needs the gift of ubiquity,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSON AGE. 185 
 
 She is wanted everywhere at once. Mr. Vernon meets the 
 guests at the door ; but, once past the threshold, all system 
 is discarded. Some ascend to the chambers used as dressing- 
 rooms, and return anon to be ushered into " presence ' with all 
 the formality of a fashionable party. Others, with baskets, 
 budgets, packages in paper or napkin, proceed first to the 
 kitchen with their precious frei^it. Hence, as Mrs. Vernon 
 advances to greet a formal guest, some old lady, in cloak and 
 hood, comes between them with her basket, and pushes the 
 minister's wife before her to the kitchen, whispering her 
 " sorrow that her biscuits should have burned a little on the 
 bottom." As she is returning to those who still await her salu 
 tation, another good body pulls her by the sleeve into the bed 
 room, to present her gift of stocking-yarn ; detaining her to 
 open the package and explain that the crimson skein is for the 
 children, and the blue for Mr. Vernon. 
 
 Soon there is an outcry for " Mrs. Vernon." She is wanted 
 in the parlor. Answering the call, she finds a new group has 
 arrived, between whom and the door Mr. Vernon is dividing 
 his attentions. Scarcely has she bidden them welcome, ere she 
 is summoned to the kitchen ; and the ladies, perceiving the 
 nature of the call, follow en masse. The General's man has 
 come again, this time with Mrs. Elton and her basket of 
 provisions ; her husband will not leave his business till a later 
 hour. Everybody expects to look at what Mrs. Elton brings ; 
 and though she unloads the basket with a nonchalant air, sho 
 knows full well that many eyes are peering over her, and that 
 every article will be duly chronicled. When the last biscuit is 
 out, she takes the elegant damask oloth, and laying it carelessly 
 on the tal .le, says, " You may put my dishes, Polly, by them 
 selves. The table-cloth you need not return to the basket ; it 
 is for Mrs. Vernon." There is \io more to be seen, and the 
 stream settles back again toward the parlor, "Miss Polly" 
 holding Mrs. Vernon by the sleeve to deliver some of the many 
 S with which she had been laden Mrs. A. charged 
 16*
 
 186 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 her to toll that she brought this ball of butter ; and Mrs. B. to 
 apologize for her brittle frosting ; and Mrs. C. to mention that 
 this frozen spare-rib would need cooking soon, if there should 
 come a thaw. 
 
 Meanwhile, a group ol young ladies were busy with the 
 children in the nursery, to which Allie's energetic calls of 
 " Mama " soon brought her. Jennie Moulton had coaxed him 
 to stay with her ; but when one lady fried upon him a new 
 apron, and another a sack, and a third tied a string of con>l 
 in his sleeve, the little fellow became alarmed, and rebelled 
 against this mysterious kindness. 
 
 .Not so his gentle sister. As one gift after another was 
 lavished on her, her simple " Thank you, ma'am ; 't is very 
 pretty," was uttered with a self-possession and a grace that 
 called forth many exclamations at her maturity." 
 
 " How quietly that child takes everything ! " said Mrs. Wal 
 ter; " my little girls would be in ecstasies. 
 
 By four o'clock the guests are all in ; the pastor and his 
 wife begin to breathe more freely, being at liberty now to " do 
 the agreeable " in the way of social converse. No light task is 
 it to promote ease and sociability among so numerous a com 
 pany, from all classes in society, who meet in a social way but 
 once a year, and whose extremes are rife, the one with cold 
 exclusiveness, the other with rankling jealousy. Yet, so far as 
 it can be done, our pastor and his wife are the persons to suc 
 ceed. Polite to all, with a quick appreciation of the position 
 of every guest, they were particularly careful to shield the 
 sensibility of the humble, encourage the timid, and bring about 
 pleasant greetings between those who seldom met on a common 
 platform. With the best success, there would be some friction 
 and a few heartburnings. The Seldens wondered Mrs. Vernon 
 should think it needful to bestow so much attention on some 
 kinds of people. And Mrs. Vernon was quite willing, if there 
 must be fault-finding, that it should be at that e>id of the social 
 scale.
 
 LIFE IX A COUNTRY PARSON AGE. 187 
 
 Another hour passes, and now there is a stir about the sup 
 per. A number of ladies volunteer to serve, and, with two or 
 three at the helm, are under full sail for the kitchen and pantry. 
 Mrs. Vernon follows, but is sent back with many mirthful 
 protestations that she is quite in the way, and they cannot huve 
 her there. There is much haste and bustle, but the real prog 
 ress is slow, there are so many consultations to be held, and 
 various episodes enacted. " Shall coffee be made for the gen 
 tlemen ? and, was this new article of chocolate designed for to 
 day ? and, are those cold boiled meats to be served ? " One 
 "doubts," and another says "Yes," and another, still, "No, what 
 do we want of meat?" And the last question is referred back 
 to a committee of the whole. The murmur reaches the gentle 
 men, who are discussing the causes of the near commercial 
 crisis, when Mr. Elton, whose "corporation" claims are not to 
 be disputed, lays his hands, with mock solemnity, on his stom 
 ach, and says he " feels a great interest in the question the ladies 
 arc about to settle. A slice of cold ham, such hungry weather 
 as this, is not to be despised." 
 
 Amid much merriment, the ladies return to cut up the ham 
 and tongue. Behind the scene all sorts of feeling find expres 
 sion, at the investigation of the materials for supper. " How 
 beautiful ! " and " How mean ! " "I never saw the like ! " and 
 "I'm heartily ashamed!" " 'T was just like her!" "It's 
 as well as she knew how," &c. &c. Some of the edibles have 
 a suspicious look, and are thrust aside into the closet. One 
 whole basketful is pronounced unfit to appear ; they are 
 put under a bread-bowl, that they may seem to have been 
 overlooked. Nor is this the only " pious fraud " thought 
 needful. Some things provoke mirth ; others excite indigna 
 tion. Mrs. Walter laughs till the tears stand on her fat little 
 chei-ks. Mrs. Norton's face burns with inward disquiet, that 
 there arc no more substantial gifts, foreseeing that, after two 
 suppers, the larder will be lean. 
 
 When, at length, with the most skilful tactics, the provisions
 
 188 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 were sot forth, the first impression is that of dbui<dame ; the 
 Second, of variety. The collation, in its want of homogeneous 
 ness, not inaptly represented th.3 parish. Here was a plate of 
 generous biscuit, in reference to which, " the General," when 
 asked to take another, said " One loaf of bread was all he 
 needed at a meal." There, a plate of Liliputian size, sufficiently 
 delicate for the lady that " once ate a pea." Between were 
 all sorts and sizes, some well embrowned, and others pale as if 
 the sun had not lighted on them, nor any heat. The cake, too ! 
 none but a botanist could fail to wonder at the multitude of 
 species under one genus. Here were loaf-cake and pound, fruit 
 and sponge, silver-cake and gold, lemon and citron, in pyra 
 mids, in circles, in squares and parallelograms, some solid 
 and spicy, others inflated to a rare size, yet found to be a taste 
 less puff; a few both rich and good. There were cookies in 
 hearts, and oak-leaves, and diamonds; drop-cakes and jumbles; 
 crullers and doughnuts. Butter was set on in various stamped 
 balls, and an elaborate pine-apple pyramid, which, it was whis 
 pered, was merely on exhibition, and by no means to be meddled 
 with. 
 
 The table' service partook of the same motley character. 
 Mrs. Vernon's fine porcelain was replaced in the closet as too 
 choice for the liabilities of the occasion. The ladies who served 
 the liquids had no nice bump of harmony. At first some order 
 was observed; but, as demands multiplied, here was a large 
 brown coffee-cup in a small white saucer, bearing half a pint of 
 tea to some fashionable lady ; there a tiny tea-cup, with choco 
 late or coffee, passed among the gentlemen. Mr. Elton con 
 fused the young girl that served him, by asking her to bring 
 the second cup in her thimble. Plates, too, of all colors and 
 sizes, indiscriminately distributed, gave a unique appearance 
 to the various groups. But why weary further the reader's 
 patience ? 
 
 Supper ended, Mrs. Yernon was asked to play and sing; 
 after which, the minister made, to the hushed throng, a brief,
 
 UFJE IN A COUN1RY PARSONAGE. 189 
 
 pertinent address, suited to the festive occasion and the opening 
 year, with a graceful acknowledgment of their timely gifts; 
 then commended them in prayer to the God of all the families 
 of the earth. 
 
 As the fathers and mothers left the parsonage, the moonlight 
 fell on the cold snow, in striking contrast to the complacent, 
 cheerful faces, that told of a warm glow at the heart. 
 
 But this was not the end. Other guests were expected in 
 the evening, among them the young men of the village, and 
 the girls waited to receive them. Part busied themselves in 
 clearing away the tables; another circle surround the piano; 
 while a dozen of the gayest, most restless spirits, set off on an 
 exploring expedition through the house. Presently there was 
 an irruption through the back chambers, and a game of romp 
 up to the attic. Was not the house the property of the 
 parish ? 
 
 " You '11 believe me now, Mrs. Vernon," said Miss Polly. 
 " I told you what kind o' doings you might expect. Hear 
 them girls, now ! Some on 'em must ha' gone up the kitchen 
 way, and unlocked that door. Here's Mr. Vernon. Now, if 
 I was the minister, I "d go up and give 'em a ra'al serious talk." 
 
 A sudden thought struck the minister, as the young girls' 
 musical laugh rung down the passages. Said he, 
 
 " Miss Polly, I thank you for the hint ; I will go up imme 
 diately." 
 
 The young ladies in the kitchen looked troubled, but Mary'i 
 smile dispelled their fears. 
 
 As Mr. Vcrnon ascended the stairs, the girls, much abashed, 
 retreated behind the chimncjs, all but Jennie Moulton, who 
 was too self-possessed to run away. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Jennie," said he, " you have won the palm for 
 bravery." Tlie girls, reassured by his voice, ventured back. 
 " Young ladies, you are suffering for want of exercise. Come, 
 now," taking down a swing from under the. square roof, 
 " which of you shall I have the honor of swinging first ?" Tho
 
 190 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 young ladies looked doubtfully at each other. " What could it 
 mean ? " Jennie was soon seated, and, as she seemed to enjoy 
 the amusement, others tock courage and followed her, still 
 watching the minister's face, that wore a grave, undefinable 
 expression, though they were almost sure there was mischief in 
 his eye. Half-shy, yet fascinated, they each took their turn 
 at the swing. " And now," said he, " Miss Jennie, if they ask 
 you about this, down stairs, you will tell them how well I have 
 done my duty." Jonnie thought she understood it now. He 
 then asked them to his study, leading the way himself. Some 
 of them shrank from entering. A minister's study, they 
 thought must be an awfully solemn place. He told them he 
 hoped they were not afraid of him now ; and again they caught 
 that look, half-grave, half-humorous, which Fanny Elton after 
 wards declared was quite irresistible. So they followed him in, 
 and he showed them some fine engravings, and they looked over 
 the library till the twilight was gone, and their companions from 
 below summoned them to the parlors. The girls pronounced 
 this the best part of the visit. They had a new topic to talk 
 about, the gallantry of their grave young minister. Hence 
 forth he was immortalized among them. 
 
 The little French clock struck twelve before Mary's head 
 pressed the pillow, the close of the most fatiguing day in all 
 her past remembrance. 
 
 The next day little was done but to rest and reexanfine the 
 gifts. As to provisions, the hundred and fifty guests had left 
 many fragments, from which more than one poor family were 
 bountifully regaled. So all that goodly table show left them 
 no richer at the parsonage. But the hams of beef and pork, 
 the butter, cheese and lard, the apples and potatoes, were as 
 good as cash. The young men brought the money ; there were 
 various useful articles of apparel ; a good store of groceries, 
 and a fine assortmciit of writing-paper. But many of the gifts, 
 though pleasant mementoes of affection, were, as Mary said, 
 things they could do very well without Yet they swelled the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 191 
 
 estimate of substantial aid which the people took the credit of 
 rendering to their minister. Let 's see : there were materials, 
 beautifully embroidered for three pairs of slippers ; there were 
 nearly twice that number of card-baskets, of various forms and 
 fabrics ; a beautiful papier-mache portfolio, and a port-monnaie 
 to match ; lamp-mats, crochet'ed and netted ; three or four 
 watch-receivers, and as many tidy-spreads ; paper-folders, of 
 pearl and ivory ; pen-wipers and tablets ; a set of nut-pickers ; 
 an expensive coflfec-urn, and a silver fruit-knife ; a solar lamp, 
 and a book of splendid engravings. If they can't Hoe now ! 
 
 Before closing this chapter, we make a few more extracts 
 from the diary. 
 
 "Jan. Have received a long call from Mrs. Moulton. She 
 talked very feelingly about our circumstances, and the ex 
 penses of living in Millville. I had my cloak spread upon tho 
 carpet, all turned and ready to be transformed into the style of 
 the season. She advised me to put it together again without 
 cutting, it would be so nice to ride in, and every one needs 
 a second best. I told her this must be my only outside gar 
 ment for the winter. She said, ' No ; I must go to the store 
 with her, and select material for a new cloak. She would have 
 brought it on the 1st, only she thought some one else might do the 
 same.' How blest we are in such a friend ! Her way of bestow 
 ing favors is so beautiful, very different from Mrs. Elton'?. 
 She gives like a queen, Mrs. Moulton like a mother or sister. 
 
 "Feb. 1st. An incident has occurred which tried me much. 
 I have said some harsh thing?, perhaps indulged a wrong 
 spirit ; but the provocation is great, and I find it difficult to 
 analyze my emotions. Mr. Holcomb, a cabinet-maker, a mer 
 curial little man, and a member of our church, has, it seems, n 
 thievish cow, which he allows to prowl about the village, to the 
 annoyance of those who keep open yard or stable. Having had 
 supper repeatedly from Mr. Elton's meal-tubs, he threatened 
 last week to impound her at the next trespass. It soon
 
 192 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 occurred ; and as the officer was escorting the offender to safe 
 keeping, her owner appeared, and made a furious onset for her 
 deliverance, effecting which, he went off with flying colors. 
 Mr. Elton followed, demanding the officer's fee, and forewarn 
 ing him of the consequences of a refusal. Next morning, ho 
 received a writ, and,, alarmed at the prospect of a lawsuit, he 
 went first to Mr. Elton, then came to report him to the minis 
 ter, declaring that he was persecuted because he was a poor 
 man. Mr. Vernon reminded him he had just said the proceed 
 ings would be stopped, if he would pay the costs thus far, and 
 advised him to do it without delay ; thus avoiding the double 
 evil of a needless waste of money, and the scandal of a lawsuit 
 between brethren. But he was too angry for this, and declared 
 he would not pay a cent till compelled to. One might as well 
 have reasoned with a hurricane. He wanted the minister to 
 compel ' the General,' to let him off. Edward went to Mr. 
 Elton ; he was inflexible. Holcomb had presumed on his too- 
 easy nature, and the neighborhood would be glad to have him 
 taught a lesson ; yet, as he told him, if he would pay the costs 
 (a dollar and a quarter), the thing should be settled. Entering 
 Mr. Holcomb's, he found the wife in tears at the prospect of a 
 loss which their scanty resources would not bear without dimin 
 ishing their common comforts. She implored Mr. Vernon's 
 help. Edward asked Mr. Holcomb how much he would give to 
 settle it ; he threw down twenty-five cents, saying that was all. 
 Mr. Vernon took it, and, adding to it the only dollar he pos 
 sessed, offered the sum to Mr. Elton, with the inquiry if that 
 would stay proceedings. He said ' Yes,' and pocketed the 
 money without further questions ! This is enough to make one 
 ashamed of human nature. I cannot think Edward was called 
 upon to do it. Between a man worth his thousands, and a 
 thankless madcap, his poor purse must be emptied, and a whole 
 morning's study interrupted. I know his motive ; but I think, 
 as the lawyers say, ' It was travelling out of the record,' 
 loving his neighbor Letter than himself. Tie says, if the repu-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 198 
 
 tation and peace of the church had not been involved he would 
 not have done it. Both those men must have had their 
 suspicion that the thing was settled at his expense, and they 
 know his straitened circumstances. ' Oh ! it is but I forbear, 
 my poor Journal, to inflict on you more bitter words. 
 
 " February 2Sth. We had occasion for a new bedstead, 
 which Mr. Vernon purchased of Taylor instead of Holcomb; the 
 atter is so displeased at this, that he will not speak to his min 
 ister, or see him in the street. I said to Edward, ' Is this th<t 
 fruit of your dollar ? " He replied, with a meekness that 
 touched me, ' I have had my reward.' 
 
 " March 1st. Am sorry to add another cosmoramic view 
 from the dark side of the landscape. Mr. D. (the bachelor) 
 passed the door, and stopped to say that some time he would 
 like an ' order ' for those potatoes. He brought them last fall, 
 half-a-dozen bushels, and declined a settlement for them 
 then, saying ' It was no matter about it.' We thought he 
 must intend them for a present. They were at that time 
 twenty-five cents a bushel. Now, when he required the order, 
 Mr. Vernon asked him for how much. ' O,' said he carelessly, 
 ' it will be just three dollars, won't it ? Potatoes are selling 
 now for fifty cents a bushel.' Edward was confounded, and wrote 
 the order without saying a word. It must have been a matter of 
 calculation, as that just pays for his seat in church. It is a bare 
 faced imposition, to which I told Edward he ought not to submit. 
 Such things disturb my equanimity more than I should have 
 once supposed possible. ' Let patience have her perfect work.' 
 Alas ! I sadly need to refortify myself at the celestial armory. 
 
 " March Sth. The anniversary of my dear Carrie's death. 
 It has been a sad day to me. Memory recalls all the past, 
 connecU'il with that precious name, from my first glimpse of 
 the childish face, so wondrously beautiful, to the last look 
 beneath the coffin-lid. 0, if this were all-! if there were 
 no after-memories to trouble the clear fountain which death 
 left so peaceful ! How the heart longs, at times, for the quick 
 
 n
 
 194 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 coming of that day which shall correct all misunderstandings 
 between those who should be, and have been, allied in the 
 closest bonds ' My little Abby has been listening to the story 
 of Carrie with an interest altogether beyond her infant years ; 
 and when she asked me, in her serious way, ' Why should you 
 cry, mama, if Carrie was so good, and they wanted her in 
 heaven ? ' my fond heart, for a moment, foreboded a sorer be 
 reavement. ' Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast 
 thou ordained praise.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Ah ! storms and wintry weather 
 Are never absent long." 
 
 " What sect 
 
 Within the church, what party in the state, 
 Minutely in the parish imaged forth, 
 Shall find in him its ally'? " 
 
 WHILE our friends of the parsonage were nerving themselves 
 to bear the thickening evils of their allotment, they were des 
 tined to receive a shock to their sensibilities from an unexpected 
 quarter. We have already spoken of Mary's half-brother, 
 Henry, the city merchant. Led by a gay and fashionable wife, 
 his style of living subjected him to large expenditures, which, 
 with some reverses in business, plunged him into embarrass 
 ments of the most threatening nature. In this emergency, he 
 borrowed his father's credit to strengthen his own, and postpone 
 the crisis by the aid of a few thousands, raised in MaySeld. 
 He had then some faint hope of eventually extricating himself; 
 but as this grew less, and his perplexity increased, an organio 
 disease, which had been long lying in wait for him, suddenly 
 put an end to his days ; he died insolvent. The beautiful homo 
 in Mayfield would barely cover the amount in which Dr. Alli 
 son was holden for his son. In a letter to his daughter, among
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 195 
 
 other things he says : " The creditors are very considerate 
 toward me, and Avill leave the place in my hands ; but it is no 
 longer mine. For myself, I am growing old, and shall soon 
 need but a few feet of ground. Harriet has her portion from 
 her mother unencumbered. For you, dear Mary, I had fondly 
 dreamed to make comfortable provision, knowing how slender 
 arc the means of a minister's support. This hope is crossed. 
 Well, the Lord knows what is best, and he has, I trust, 
 something in store for you, far better than perishable treasures. 
 I rejoice that your heart is not set on these, my daughter. I 
 thank God for the belief that his favor far transcends, in your 
 regard, an earthly portion, yea, that you are willing to forego 
 any worldly good for the sake of Christ and souls. The dis 
 comforts of your present field of labor, it would seem, are 
 increasing ; but keep up heart, my dear girl ; encourage your 
 husband. The darker it grows without, the brighter keep the 
 light on his domestic altar, the light, not of human love only, 
 but of heavenly hope, and Christian trust. Like the wise virgins, 
 keep oil in reserve, ready for the neediest hour. O ! why 
 should we not take joyfully the spoiling of our goods, knowing 
 that we have another and an enduring inheritance?" 
 
 Mary felt deeply afflicted by these tidings. She felt for 
 sister Ellen, widowed and childless and reduced to penury. 
 She sympathized deeply with her beloved and revered parent. 
 She felt for herself as if a blow had unsettled the foundations 
 of her earthly security. She knew not, till now, what a prop, 
 amid their fluctuating circumstances, was the feeling that she 
 had a father's house to fall back upon, whatever might betide. 
 
 The expiration of another half year at Millville was at hand. 
 It was rumored that the society's treasury was yet empty. 
 Mr. Vernon had been some time inclined to seek another 
 field ; yet he feared the reputation of restlessness and discon 
 tent. Should the society prove true to their recent engage 
 ment, he would try to hold on for the present, and outlive 
 opposition If not paid promptly, he resolved that the year
 
 196 THE SHADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 (ecclesiastical) should close his connection with that people. 
 With these explanations we resume our extracts from the Diary. 
 
 " March 31s. The last day of this month of gloom, the 
 saddest month to me of all the year. I would not, however, 
 forget the light of that gloom, a light not born of earth. 
 Thanks for that light ! 
 
 " Returned three days ago from Mayfield. Have received 
 many calls ; some of sympathy, very precious ; others of mere 
 curiosity or cold formality. Our journey proved rather expen 
 sive ; the storm delayed us by the way one day and night at 
 a public inn. The deacon charged by the mile for the days we 
 travelled, and by the day for the time we rested ; the two will 
 make a large item in our bill of horse-hire. Mr. Clifton enlight 
 ened us on this subject ; Mr. Harris simple-minded man ! 
 had been heard to say that ' Brother Sydney charged the minis 
 ter high, so as to help starve'him out.' This is too bad to believe. 
 
 " April 2d. Pay-day has come and gone, and the society 
 is again fifty dollars in our debt ; and, what is worse, if we had 
 the money, it would not cancel our obligations. Edward haa 
 written to his brother to raise for him another hundred. 1 
 hope our place will soon be disposed of, and our debt extin- 
 guished. It is a miserable way of living ; it troubles me, I 
 think, more than Edward. He plunges into study and forgeta 
 it, is laboring hard this week over his Fast-day sermon. 
 
 " April 10th. The preaching, Friday, made quite a stir. 
 Subject The example of Christ as a citizen ; text ' Render 
 therefore unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto 
 God the things that are God's.' 
 
 " Mr. Selden is much offended. He ' wishes ministers would 
 preach the gospel, and let politics alone.' 'He is a large sup 
 porter,' Mr. Moulton says, ' and it would be well to conciliate 
 him.' Mr. Moulton actually asked Mr. Yernon if he could n't 
 give the subject of slavery the go-by in his futuie ministrations. 
 He knows very well that Mr. Vernon is not delving at that sub-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 197 
 
 jeot all the while. He goes into it seldom ; but when he does, 
 he strikes a strong blow. Mr. Moulton admitted this, but said 
 ' The prayers kept the wound fresh. If he could only ornrt it 
 there, if he would allow him to say to Mr. Selden that tho 
 minister had pledged himself.' I looked anxiously for Edward's 
 reply. He was perfectly calm and courteous, yet there was 
 that in his eye which might make the time-serving Christian 
 quail. 'Ah!' said he, 'as to my praying, I can give no 
 pledges. A believer's prayers, I presume we shall agree, are 
 guided by the Divine Spirit, and I cannot tell, beforehand, what 
 he may put in my heart to pray for.' With some apologies, 
 Mr. Moulton departed, looking a little troubled. 
 
 " He had not been gone an hour, when the deacons called, 
 or, rather, the deacon and his shadow. He expressed his strong 
 dissent from the doctrine of yesterday's discourse. The mercury 
 was soon up at boiling point.' ' Talk about our duties to tho 
 state ! We owe nothing to such a corrupt government as ours, 
 but revolution. 1 He then stated the object of the call, namely, 
 the appointment of a meeting to debate this matter before tho 
 public. Edward, of course, declined. 
 
 " ' So, my dear, your views are opposed on both sides.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said he, ' ministers in my position on this subject 
 and there are not a few of us find, as Richard Baxter said 
 of himself, that we have two enemies where other men have 
 but one. We are denounced from both extremes.' 
 
 " May. A long call from Mrs. Harris. Did not let her 
 go up to the study. ' She did not wish to dictate, but she had 
 hoped the^hint she gave Mr. Vernon would be improved. He 
 really had no idea of the immoralities prevailing here.' She 
 asked me to help form a Seventh Commandment Society, and 
 circulate M'DowaH's Journal. I told her it did not strike me 
 favorably; I would think more of the subject, and let her 
 know the result. After her departure, I told Mr. Vernon ; 
 and he said, with a deprecating tone. ' 0, sister Rachel ! why 
 wilt thou ? ' 
 
 17*
 
 198 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 "June. The month of roses has come. Nature is very 
 beautiful ; the air is full of fragrance ; the hill-sides are luxu 
 riantly green, and this beauty is open to all. I was detained 
 from church yesterday, all day, by illness. The factory chil 
 dren were lying in the meadows and roaming the fields from 
 morn till night. Poor things ! how my heart ached for them ! 
 Shut up and toiling all the week through noise, and steam, and 
 dust, no wonder they are glad to breathe the free air of heaven 
 one long, bright day, in the open fields. If they could have two 
 Sabbaths a week, one for the body and the other for the soul, 
 there might bo some hope of their spiritual culture. As it is, 
 the effort is almost useless. Alas ! there is wrong, somewhere. 
 
 " July 1st. Mr. Vernon asked for money to-day, but the 
 treasurer told the old story. His postage has run two quar 
 ters, and he has nothing to meet it. Little Abby brought me 
 her gold piece, the last birthday gift from ' grandpa,' and asked 
 if she might give it to papa. Precious child ! Allie saw her ; 
 and, climbing to the shelf for his tin box of pennies, emptied 
 them into my lap. I turned aside, and wept. 
 
 " July. Have made, to-day, the acquaintance of Mr. Nor 
 ton's sister, Aunt Hannah, about whom I have heard so much. 
 She is a maiden of fifty ; has been, as she says, in York state, 
 visiting, the last year and a half. She is very fond of minis 
 ters, and of gossip, and of tea-drinkings. I suppose she will 
 make the circuit of the village, and report herself often at the 
 parsonage. 
 
 "August. Everything looks toward the termination of 
 our stay in Millville. Our salary drags heavily. Opposition 
 is more manifest and decided. Edward begins to reel under 
 his heavy burdens. Whatever comes, he is determined to sus 
 tain himself in the pulpit ; but, a bill presented and urged, 
 when the purse is empty, or a fresh attack from these who 
 should be his fellow-laborers, sends him to his study with a 
 heavy heart ; and I often hear him pacing the room a long 
 time before he resumes the pen. His late evenings, too, -are
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 19U 
 
 undermining his health. Then there are so many extras, that 
 they have become ' ordinaries.' At first, his people encouraged 
 him to preach and lecture abroad ; latterly, they complain of 
 it. Mrs. Elton told him the other day that ' there was a great 
 field here for a minister. So much expected out of the pulpit, 
 and the standard of preaching so high (!), she thought the 
 places around should be more considerate than to call upon him 
 so much.' I suspect Edward is a little too independent. Mr. 
 Smith always consulted her about these things. When the 
 money faileth, it is quite convenient to have the purse replen 
 ished by a lyceum lecture. 
 
 "Evening. Since writing the above, a letter has arrived 
 from a classmate of Mr. Vernon's in S., inquiring if he medi- 
 tatis leaving Millville, and saying the second church in S. 
 would give him a call, if he were unsettled. This seems to be 
 a critical juncture. The Lord direct us." 
 
 Mr. Yernon now resolved to close up his connection with his 
 people, without much delay. While he was meditating in 
 what shape to bring the matter before them, he received a 
 hasty summons to NorBeld on business of importance. 
 
 His brother James had long cherished a purpose to emigrate 
 to the distant west, which was suddenly facilitated by an oppor 
 tunity to sell the old farm and homestead. Edward's affairs 
 were involved with his, and he had formed a plan to extricate 
 them. The "barn hill lot" would a little more than redeem 
 the notes held by Captain Newell. He proposed to appropriate 
 it to this purpose, if Edward would take his namesake, now a 
 fine boy in his tenth year, and fit him for college. The plan 
 met with a warm approval. 
 
 James rejoiced to see his brother so hopeful in regard to the 
 future, and encouraged him in his purpose to leave Millville. 
 
 " And now, dear Pompcy," said Edward, " you and I will 
 go home together." Master Eddie was to follow, as soon as 
 the family were ready to start for W isconsin, early in October.
 
 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Pompey was welcomed back with smiles and tears of joy 
 The children would not be satisfied till they had fairly hugged 
 him round the neck. The event of his return made some 
 talk in the village. What mine of gold had opened on the 
 minister's path, that he should venture again on the old extrav 
 agance of keeping a horse ! 
 
 The wonder was of short duration. The following Sabbath, 
 Mr. Vernon requested his people to unite with him in calling a 
 council to dissolve his pastoral relation. The thing created a 
 profound sensation. Mr. Moulton closely scrutinized the state 
 of feeling in the community, and, with Mrs. Elton's help, de 
 cided what was for the good of the parish. An early meeting 
 of the society was called ; and, to Mr. Vernon's surprise, in 
 stead of acquiescing in his proposal, a committee was appointed 
 to confer with him, and urge the withdrawal of his request. He 
 consults the neighboring pastors, and they all advise him to 
 stay. Ministerial brethren are not always the best advisers in 
 such a case. 
 
 The final conference with the committee arrives. Mr. Moul 
 ton pleads that the step proposed will be the means of breaking 
 up the society. He has found that Mr. Vernon is strongly 
 intrenched in the affections of the middle class in his congrega 
 tion. Mr. Wells, the Nortons, and others, threaten to go back 
 to the old church over the hill. Mr. Moulton knows very well 
 how much these men are worth, when money matters come to a 
 pinch ; and his foresight discovers narrow places ahead. They 
 have already opened their purse, in the present distress. The 
 committee are now able to promise immediate payment of all 
 arrearages, and they make many pledges for the future. But 
 the pastor hesitates. The want of Christian cooperation and fel 
 lowship is not so easily got over. He is not used to opposition in 
 the church. Mr. Moulton takes him aside, and whispers that 
 Deacon Slocuin and his clique will probably leave soon, and join 
 the Methodists. This, certainly, would be an alleviation. The 
 committee say many pleasant things, and talk hopefully of the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 201 
 
 future. He begins to yield. It may be duty to remain, 
 though inclination and self-interest point to another 6eld. 
 Though loath to stay, he is not " fully persuaded " to go. The 
 result is the withdrawal of his request The committee look 
 relieved and grateful. Their chairman makes out his report 
 for the society, and begs Mr. Vernon to allow him to say that 
 the tardiness with which the salary is rendered was the prime 
 cause of dissatisfaction. In this request, the wily diplomatist 
 has three objects in view, he seldom had fewer than this in 
 any movement, to conciliate the opposition, of whose seces 
 sion he had many doubts, by covering up Mr. Vernon 's estima 
 tion of them ; to insure more prompt payment hereafter from 
 the pew-holders; to gratify the honest farmers with the belief 
 that their contribution had met the difficulty, and retained the 
 minister. 
 
 And now it is reported, far and near, that the affair is hap 
 pily adjusted. The minister soon has reason to think otherwise. 
 Tie finds that the society has made no provision for the future. 
 Their spasmodic effort will only sink them the deeper in the 
 slough. As for the secession to the Methodists, it was only the 
 figment of Mrs. Elton's busy brain, which her best efforts were 
 never likely to place among the actualities of history. It took 
 an incredibly short time to open Mr. Vernon 's eyes to all this; 
 and he said to Mary, " I have acted very unwisely. We have 
 lost the opportunity of an eligible place, and I foresee plainly 
 we shall not stay in Millville another twelvemonth." 
 
 The traveller, who is half-convinced that, at an important 
 stage of his journey, he took the wrong road, loses soon his 
 elasticity of step and ardor of pursuit. So a man, haunted by 
 the conviction that some important step in life was wrongly 
 decided, is shorn of half his strength by misgivings and regrets. 
 Soon as Edward Vernon was satisfied of his mistake in con 
 senting to retain his present charge, a feeling of despondency 
 crept over him, which unnerved him for strong persistent 
 effort. The evils, from which he had vainly sought release
 
 1202 THE BUA DY SIDE J OR, 
 
 looked intolerable. His brooding thoughts augured loss of 
 reputation and strength, prophecies of evil that were their 
 own means of fulfilment. 
 
 For a few weeks there seemed to be a cessation of hostilities 
 on the part of his opposcrs. Deacon Slocum had little oppor 
 tunity now to aid in cutting off the supplies, his exorbitant 
 bill for horse-hire being paid, and his accommodations relin 
 quished. At twelve and a half cents a mile for horse and car 
 riage, he had made up a bill of seventy dollars, in a little less 
 than twelve months. It was evident he had no idea of being 
 shoved off from the religious connection in which he could agi 
 tate with such notoriety and effect. Indeed, we must give him 
 the credit, at this time, of an effort to draw once more in the same 
 harness with the minister. Some attributed this mollification 
 to the influence of his brother's widow, a woman of a heavenly 
 temper, who had come to pass her last days with her husband's 
 kindred. Be this as it may, the reform was of short continu 
 ance. Always restless and in search of novelties, he wearied 
 his pastor with his Quixotic schemes. Among other things, he 
 solicited Mr. Vernon's signature to a pledge for the better 
 observance of the Sabbath, which he proposed to circulate ; and 
 was curtly answered that we had better have a pledge to keep 
 the church covenant. 
 
 This was taken hardly. Soon after, a proposal to invite a 
 celebrated anti-church apostle of liberty to hold forth in the 
 village, being also negatived, the deacon " declared off" from 
 the minister, irrevocably. His wife, too, withdrew from the 
 female prayer-meeting, " not that she had aught against 
 Mrs. Vernon, she considered her a superior woman, but she 
 could not uphold an unfaithful ministry." Her place was more 
 than supplied by the sister-in-law, Mrs. Milk, between whom 
 and Mrs. Vernon there was all the sympathy of kindred souls. 
 Poor Mrs. Harris was in a state of betweenity, which made her 
 look more distressed and under greater responsibilities than 
 ver. One might have judged, from her phiz, that the ark of
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 203 
 
 the Lord rested on her shoulders, and that she was chief 
 mourner in all the separate ills of a groaning world. Sister 
 Rachel thought it her duty not to desert the camp ; and her 
 prayers for her pastor evinced the purpose to inform her pray 
 ing associates, as well as the Lord, what she deemed his errors 
 and deficiencies. To his sensitive wife this course was not a 
 little annoying. 
 
 Mother Slocum, too, was not inactive. With her bag on 
 her ami she sallied forth, retailing the gossip obtained from 
 Miss Polly, to the disadvantage of the pastor's family, seldom 
 failing to exalt her son, in the stereotyped phrase, "Sydney is 
 a good man, a praying man." 
 
 Mr. Vernon's power in the ptdpit had been the prop that 
 hitherto strengthened him against adverse influences. Now, 
 that power began to wane. Yet, there was many an effort to 
 recover what was lost. Whenever he could confine his atten 
 tion to some glorious truth of Revelation, how did it calm his 
 disquietude, chasten and elevate his thoughts, chain his affec 
 tion, fill and enlarge his vision, and raise him, in blissful forget- 
 fulness of his trials, to an atmosphere of its own, clear and 
 invigorating ! Then, he would write and speak like himself. 
 But such occasions were fast becoming rare. 
 
 The people were quick to note the change in the pulpit, a 
 change affecting quite as much the address of the preacher as 
 the character of his discourses. There were none here to pet 
 him in his moods, to pity his depression, and hold him all the 
 dearer for it, as did the people of his first love. 
 
 When Mrs. Elton was reported to have said, "she could n't 
 divine what ailed Mr. Vernon, to depreciate so rapidly in his 
 preaching," Mary's cheek flushed, and her heart ached, as that 
 of a minister's wife only can, in such circumstances. Poor 
 woman ! she had care enough, it would seem, without this 
 trouble. Her domestic duties were not light. Youni: Kdwanl 
 had arrived, as was expected, making one more object of her 
 provident attention. Mi?s Polly had fixed notions of her own
 
 204 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 sphere of service, and beyond the line she would not budge an 
 inch, let what would happen. With Mary's views of a mother's 
 duties, her two children made no small demand upon her time 
 and energies. But it was the miscellaneous services of a paro 
 chial nature that overtasked and crowded her. Her benevolent 
 heart could not resist the appeals of misery and want. Among 
 the poor were many who had seen better days, and who craved 
 a sympathy and appreciation which there were few to bestow. 
 The Seldens thought it very unbecoming in their minister's 
 wife to associate with the poor old Scotch woman, or to sit an 
 hour with the suffering Mrs. Ellis, whose daughter worked in 
 the cotton-mill, and whose husband, in his drinking sprees, 
 wasted the girl's earnings with his own. Mrs. Beach and 
 Susan were, indeed, a more reputable family ; yet they lived 
 in a factory boarding-house, and the daughter worked in the 
 packing-room of the paper-mill. How vulgar in Mrs. Yernon 
 to be on visiting terms with such people ! These aristocrats 
 saw no harm in her taking home the unfinished work of the 
 sewing circle, or in taxing her time and strength to receive 
 calls and visits, and attend social gatherings. 
 
 Mary had felt, from the first, that there were a multitude of 
 plaims upon her ; but now it seemed that everything would be 
 light, were it not for the incubus settling down, with leaden 
 weight, on her beloved and gifted husband. 
 
 Everything that she could do'was done ; her most assidu 
 ous ministries employed in his behalf. Life seemed an intense 
 effort to shield, to soothe, to stimulate, to aid, to inspire with 
 hope and courage, the struggling victim of despondency. When 
 he went to the study with a heavier cloud than usual upon his 
 brow, she would slip away from her cares below, and, tapping 
 at his door, ask to sit awhile with him. He knew not how 
 much he was indebted to those visits for what he did accom 
 plish. A cheerful countenance doeth good, like a medicine. 
 His malady was noi wholly proof against this remedy. 
 
 At first, she playfully asked him what text he was writing
 
 LIFB IN A. COUNTRY PARSONAGI. 205 
 
 from, and what he could find to say upon it. When she found 
 that he was thus led away from himself, till his enthusiasm 
 kindled, and his mind glowed on some track of lofty thought, 
 she resorted, often, to this expedient. Nor was this communion 
 upon pulpit themes without a reciprocal profit. While to him 
 it was stimulating, and often highly suggestive, to her it was a 
 sweet privilege, and a rich intellectual .repast. 
 
 Little Abby was always ready to amuse her brother, while 
 mama could go to the study. Catching her mother's spirit, she 
 would do anything " to comfort dear papa." 
 
 " What shall I do, when you are laid aside ? " said Edward, 
 pensively. " Ah ! that is selfish. You do far more for me 
 than I deserve." 
 
 " That sounds very humble," replied Mary. " Can this be 
 the same gentleman who, an hour ago, claimed the honor of 
 having sprung a splendid mine of thought ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, " the mines of Golconda were of little worth 
 to their owner, without being wrought." 
 
 Surely, surely ; and how is a man in the night-mare to use a 
 pickaxe ? there 's the rub. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " A something light as air, a look, 
 A word unkind, or wrongly taken." 
 
 " The vale may be deep, but there "s music around it, 
 And hope, 'mid our anguish, bright hope still is here." 
 
 LIFE, out of the parsonage, is not smooth at Millville, in 
 thase days. It is a time of trouble and perplexity. Uasincss 
 failures through the country are disastrously fmjuout, and tho 
 scarcity of money is increasing. The Millville manufacturers 
 curtail their operations, and struggle hard to keep their heada 
 IS 
 
 .
 
 206 THE SHADY SICE J OR, 
 
 out of R-ater. Much suffering ensues from the dismissal of 
 operatives. It is the season, moreover, when fevers prevail in 
 these low, unhealthy grounds, and distressing cases of sickness 
 add to the general confusion. The pastor is called to many 
 sick beds and many funerals 
 
 His family expenses, too are now multiplying. He has 
 physicians' and nurses' bills. We follow him into the nursery, 
 one Sabbath afternoon. A tiny babe, two weeks old, the second 
 daughter, lies in the cradle. The nurse is at her supper. He 
 draws aside the curtain, that he may look over the Herald, and 
 prepare for the missionary concert. " Ah, Mary ! " said he, " I 
 miss you here, as well as everywhere else." She was wont, 
 during the month, to cull many a missionary item, and treasure 
 it up for him. She made an effort now to explore the monthly 
 concert department of her brain. Her husband bethought him 
 self, and said, " This is hurting you, my dear, and I ought not 
 to have allowed it." 
 
 " 0, no ! " said the devoted wife ; " i am so glad to do something 
 for you, as I used to. Now let me look out the hymns." The 
 nurse came in, and prohibited the book, just as the task was 
 done. As Edward started for the evening service, he noticed a 
 bright spot on either cheek, and, turning back, cautioned Mary 
 to be quiet, and rest. 
 
 But when is a minister's wife sure of rest ? Intent on a 
 kind service, Aunt Hannah stepped in, thinking, by this time, 
 Mrs. Vernon would be glad to see somebody. The nurse 
 caught at the opportunity to ask leave of absence, for an hour. 
 Aunt Hannah did not mean to tire the sick woman, so she did 
 all the talking herself; and she had many things to say. Mrs. 
 Vcrnon did not mind it much, till a tbeme was reached upon 
 which she was rather sensitive. 
 
 " I have spent the Sabbath at Mrs. Clifton's," said the visitor, 
 " and the young man has had quite a talk with me about 
 parish matters. I wonder he should think Mr. Vernon was 
 foolish to remain here."
 
 LITE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 207 
 
 " Did he say that ? " asked the now eager listener. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; " and I didn't know, till he told me, 
 that Mrs. Elton is making complaints of the preaching. She 
 doesn't give up a minister till the last. Moulton, too, he says, 
 would as lief have him go as stay, only he feared the society 
 would run down. They are an ungrateful set, here. The way 
 they treated Mr. Smith, now, I always loved Mr. Smith, 
 they fairly kicked him out, after all he'd done, too." 
 
 Thankful was the excited invalid to hear the nurse's return 
 ing steps. But no sooner did Aunt Hannah leave, than, meeting 
 being out, Mrs. Harris "just stepped in, a minute." Being in, 
 ehe took the opportunity to tell how fast objects of charity were 
 accumulating in the village ; and she leaned against the bed 
 post, and gave the particulars of three half-starved families, that 
 had lately come to light. This reminded her, also, to speak of 
 half-a-dozen poor children, that must be clothed and got into 
 the Sabbath-school. 
 
 When Mr. Vcrnon entered, he found his wife in a high fever. 
 Dr. Gale was summoned, and, for the first time, expressed 
 alarm, and asked for counsel. A messenger, with the sorrowful 
 tidings, was despatched to Mayfield. For three days, the 
 scales of life and death seemed to hang in even balance. Poor 
 Edward ! he thought he had trouble before ; but what sorrow 
 was like this ? Yet the Lord in mercy spared him the stroke 
 that would have made his babes motherless, and widowed his 
 heart forever. 
 
 Though soon out of immediate danger, Mary's illness svas 
 long and heart-trying. She gained, at times, rapidly ; but 
 every betterment was followed by a relapse. The people, at 
 first, were attentive and sympathizing. Watchers and nurses 
 were obtained with little difficulty. Soon, however, they 
 wearied of it. The world has far less sympathy with a caso 
 of protracted debility than with one of brief, acute suffering. 
 Mr. Vernon's sensitive spirit shrinking from reluctant service, 
 he often studied his sermon while tending the sick-couch the
 
 208 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 livelong night. Those were dark days, at the parsonage ; yet 
 there shot athwart them a light that was not born of sun or 
 star, many a gleam, and all the more precious for the dark 
 ness they illumed. 
 
 Winter set in, a winter of unusual severity. The domes 
 tic affairs of the parsonage missed the careful supervision of 
 other days. The purse was soon empty, and money was no 
 where to be had. Mary denied herself many little comforts, 
 which could not well be procured on credit. 
 
 Mr. Vernon waited anxiously for his house-rent, but it did 
 not come. Presently a letter from Mr. Cook announces that 
 the debtor is a defaulter, and has run away. A journey to 
 Salem must be made, to secure the claim, and public convey 
 ances demand cash, and the purse is empty. He must take 
 Pornpey, though it is a long road, and the weather cold. Yet 
 he will need a little " change," for turnpike-tolls and horse-feed. 
 He applies to the society's treasury in vain. He calls on one 
 and another rich man, with no better success. He sets off, at 
 length, on his journey, resolving to call on a wealthy parishioner, 
 a mile and a half on his way. He is again denied, and, stung 
 to the quick, will not retrace his steps, though without a penny. 
 At the gates he promises to pay on his return. He is thought 
 to be a civil-spoken man, and they let him pass. Night over- 
 'takes him, but he has no means to procure shelter; so he 
 presses on, nor slackens rein till, at midnight, he reaches father 
 Allison's door. The next morning, supplied with enough filthy 
 lucre for the present distress, he pursues his course, and, on the 
 fourth day, reaches home again, dispirited by a bootless journey. 
 Real estate has fallen in Salem, as elsewhere, and his house is 
 destined to remain, for the present, unsold and tenantless. . 
 
 Not many days elapsed ere Mary received a letter from her 
 father, suggesting, in the tenderest, most delicate manner, that 
 her dear husband is in danger of becoming misanthropic ; with 
 an earnest caution to guard against the least sourness, or bitter- 
 of feeling. " To avoid this," he said, " requires more
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 209 
 
 grace than they are aware who have never met the temptation ; 
 yet it can be done, and, by divine grace, it must be done, 01 wo 
 make ourselves miserable, and give a poor illustration of the 
 religion of the Cross." These words awoke Mary, at once, to a 
 conviction of the danger alluded to, to the fact, moreover, 
 that she was accessory to it. Shall she tell Edward ? He 
 may be grieved ; yet, like a true wife, she resolves to show him 
 the letter. Together they analyze their thoughts and feelings, 
 make mutual confessions of wrong, pledge renewed watchful 
 ness, and beseech the Lord for strength to bear meekly and 
 without harsh judgments the ills that come upon them by thf 
 fault of others. 
 
 A letter, written by Mary to her brother, in these days, ia 
 too characteristic to be omitted. 
 
 " MILLVILLE, &c. 
 " MY PRECIOUS BROTHER, 
 
 " Your last package from home brought you the intelligence 
 of my dangerous illness and partial convalescence. I know you 
 will rejoice to see again the familiar hand, and be assured, from 
 my own pen, of returning health and vigor. Ah ! let me not 
 deceive you by that word vigor. I know little, yet, of such a 
 luxury. I have so much demand upon my strength that it is 
 used a little faster than I gain it. (Is that an Irish-ism ?) I 
 have three dear babes leaning upon me; and a husband, with a 
 nature as sensitive as a child's, if he were otherwise, I could 
 not love him half as well, in special need of sympathy and 
 comfort. The claims made upon me, too, from without, as tho 
 pastor's wife, are neither few nor light. Sister Emily, in her 
 sphere, knows little of these. Edward has written you of 
 h is trials here. I have felt them deeply, for his sake, felt 
 them with a bitterness of spirit that I knew not of, till tho 
 solemnities of eternity seemed but a step removed. A near 
 prospect of death is a wonderful revealcr of the heart. 
 
 " 0, my dear William ! would that I could lean my head on 
 your strong arm, and recount the sorrows and joys that hav 
 IS*
 
 210 THE SHALT SIDE; OR. 
 
 been my lot since we looked upon each other last. You have 
 been sick once and again, but I believe were never brought so 
 low as to abandon hope of life. Such an event is a solemn crisis 
 in one's history ; like a bridge connecting subsequent life, as a 
 separate portion, with what has gone before. As death seemed 
 approaching, my soul rallied with a wondrous energy, to settle 
 anew the foundations of its Christian hope, and looked forward, 
 with trembling solicitude, toward the end. Soon I was too 
 weak to reason, almost too low to think. Yet consciousness 
 remained ; everything seemed detached and moving ; every 
 thing but one, the Saviour's bosom, and on that I leaned 
 as an unreasoning babe on its mother's arm. Hour after hour 
 passed, and I lost the power of connected thought. I paw, 
 indeed, and knew the faces that bent over me; our kind, anx 
 ious father, with his finger upon my wrist ; sister Harriet, in 
 tears ; dear Edward, pale and fixed as marble : little Abby's 
 sweet, earnest face in the nurse's arms. I saw but I knew 
 not the how and wherefore. All was vague and dreamy, all 
 but that sure support beneath me, on which I rested in perfect 
 peace. (0, to be certain that this was no illusion of the fancy!) 
 Then the crisis passed ; and still, too feeble to talk, almost 
 too weak to think, I lay in a state of untroubled passivity, 
 with a delicious sense of new life in the slowly quickening tide 
 through heart and veins. After a few days, I gained rapidly ; 
 but many things have since conspired to prevent my full recov 
 ery. Yet how much have I to be thankful for ! My song shall 
 be of mercy, not of judgment. 
 
 " We hear of you in the public journals, and rejoice in the 
 growing spirit of inquiry among the A rmenians of your charge. 
 Hope you may be permitted not only to sow, but to reap. 
 What joy is like the joy of harvest, after a seed-time of clouds 
 and tears ? 
 
 " You asked me, in your last, to say more of my children. 
 Ah ! what fond mother shall dare give her pen 'carte llcmche, 1 
 on a topic so near her heart, and so exhaustless ? Abby, wa
 
 LITE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 211 
 
 humbly trust, is in favor with God. She is a tender-hearted 
 spiritually-minded child ; holding daily communion with Jesus 
 whom she has loved from her earliest knowledge of his name. 
 Divine grace seems to have renewed her unto holiness soon 
 after she knew the difference between right and wrong. This 
 was what I expected when I consecrated her in baptism ; and 
 the Lord has not disappointed me. ' According to your faith 
 be it unto you.' Allison is a fine boy ; less contemplative in 
 his turn, but much like his sister in many things. He is rightly 
 named, for he belongs to my side of the house, dark hair and 
 ha/el eyes. The baby little Nell is. named for brother 
 Henry's wife. She is very different from the other children; 
 more lively in her baby ways ; more irritable, too, than they. 
 The Lord make all the darlings yours and ours lambs of 
 the Saviour's flock, carried in the arms of the good Shepherd, 
 and borne in his bosom ! 
 
 " Besides our own, we have the care and training of a son 
 of Edward's brother, who was named for his Uncle Edward. 
 He is a lad of much promise ; yet high-spirited, and needing 
 the most judicious management. I sometimes call him my 
 eldest son. He gives me most gratifying proofs of affection, 
 and is quite docile in my hands. 
 
 " I had much more to say to you, dear brother, and designed 
 to fill another sheet, but my failing strength warns me to 
 desist; will if possible fill out a page for sister Emily, and add 
 aiuthcr line here before I send." 
 
 But it was not possible. Again was the easy rocker ex 
 changed for the bed of pain and languishing. The people 
 became impatient, and some thought the minister's wife did 
 not try to get well. Miss Polly aided this slander. She 
 " could n't see any reason why she should not get up ;" and, 
 indeed, it was beyond her ken. 
 
 Mrs. Elton said " she was sorry for Mr. Vernon. No wonder 
 he could not sustain himself in the pulpit, with so much sick-
 
 212 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 ness in his family. A minister with such a feeble, nervouh 
 wife, was to be pitied." 
 
 Ah ! how little did she know about it ! How little guess, 
 that but for those feeble arms around him, -he would have sunk 
 like a millstone to the nether depths ! Less, still, did she sur 
 mise that much of this debility, and these frequent relapses 
 arose from her constant thoughtfulness of him and his work. 
 
 There was much meddling, in those days, with affairs at the 
 parsonage. Many thought 't was time things were looked into. 
 Among others, Mrs. Deacon Nobles came, and, after a confer 
 ence in the kitchen, went in to talk with Mrs. Vernon. She 
 intimated that, in consequence of her illness, the minister was 
 confined at home, and things were getting loose in the parish. 
 " It was very bad, very unfortunate, indeed ! " Mrs. Vernon 
 joined in her regrets, saying, " It was not very pleasant to her 
 to be sick ; yet, she was sure she sorrowed more on Mr. Ver- 
 non's account, than on her own." The unfeeling rejoinder was. 
 " The people are sorry on their own account. We hope, for our 
 sake, you will try to get up soon." 
 
 Dr. Gale entered, as the deacon's wife departed. Finding 
 his patient in tears, he turned abruptly back to the kitchen, 
 and ordered Polly to. "call the parson." A rough man was 
 Dr. Gale ; tempestuous often, yet sensible. Christian princi 
 ples he did not profess ; but humane feeling he seldom lacked. 
 
 " Parson Vernon ! " said he, " I give it up. You may get 
 your wife home to her father's as soon as possible, if you mean 
 to have her well. J can't cure her here. Your religious folks 
 ha' n't a grain of sense to spare. A pretty fool I make of 
 myself, to come here and order sedatives, and rely on quiet, 
 when some old woman, who was made without nerves, will 
 bolt in, and upset it all ! " And the doctor went off in a 
 bluster. 
 
 Mrs. Nobles had stopped to report her interview to Mrs. 
 Elton, and the two ladies stood at the gate as the doctor 
 returned with quickened step. They stopped him to ask if
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 213 
 
 there was anything more alarming at the parsonage. He 
 growled a " no need of anything more," which they construed 
 into vexation with his patient. Whereupon, they proceeded to 
 lament that ministers should take for their wives, such feeble, 
 inefficient women ; and, especially, that Millville should be so 
 unfortunate in this respect. 
 
 The doctor was in no gentle mood, and he gave them a blast 
 which they were sorry to have provoked. 
 
 " Feeble women ! " said he ; " feeble women ! What makes 
 'em so ? They 've a right to be feeble, with a vengeance ! 
 Wonder any of 'em live ten years, pulled about hither and 
 thither, and kept on short allowance ! You expect to make 
 her do half enough to earn her hucband'? salary, with your 
 confounded societies ! It 's contrive, and cut, and stitch ; and 
 then you set her to praying, and talking, and reforming ; and 
 she must be dragged out here and there ; and at home, there 's 
 no peace for the calls and tea-drinkings, to say nothing of the 
 fault-findings. Mrs. Vernon, now, is not inclined to be sickly. 
 Good, fresh constitution ; but she 's worn and low, and you 
 don't give her any chance to get up." 
 
 " But," interposed Mrs. Nobles, " you '11 allow, doctor, that 
 Mrs. Vernon is very nervous 1 " 
 
 " Nervous ! " said he, contemptuously. " I wish the women 
 knew what they mean by that." 
 
 Mrs. Elton ventured, " If she had more hopefulness and 
 courage, doctor." 
 
 " You don't know her," said the doctor, less fiercely. "She 's 
 none of your milk-and-water ladies. She has all the hope and 
 courage there is in the house ;" and he turned away. Look 
 ing back, however, with a sudden thought, another explosive 
 burst of words followed. " If I 'd been a minister (no danger), 
 but if I had, I 'J ha' lived a bachelor all my days, before I 'd 
 ha' married a wife for the parish ! " 
 
 Dr. (lal v s last prescription at the parsonage was followed, 
 and proved highly efficacious. In the home of her childhood,
 
 214 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 amid the tender assiduities of father and sister, the two little 
 ones with her, and away from the friction of life in Millville, 
 Mary was restored, not to her former soundness, but to com 
 fortable health and activity. Aunt Hannah volunteered to 
 take the helm at the parsonage. Abby went to school with 
 her cousin Edward, and though her little heart pined for mama, 
 she made no complaints, but did her best to be a comfort to her 
 poor father. Now, so far as family cares were concerned, the 
 pastor had ample leisure to study, those six long weeks ; yet he 
 accomplished far less even than when he had "a feeble, nervous 
 wife upon his hands." His soul fretted like a pinioned giant. 
 
 He borrowed money till he was ashamed to ask, and, indeed, 
 unable to procure more. Mr. Moulton lent him his name at 
 the bank, for thirty days ; and when their expiration found 
 him still in straits, renewed the loan for thirty more. At the 
 end of sixty days, however, he was no better off than before. 
 He ran hither and thither without success. His three days of 
 grace were nearly out. Prayer seemed the only resort left 
 . him. Belief came from an unexpected source. 
 
 Susan Beach had earned large wages at the paper-mill. 
 From her last year's income, she had supported her feeble 
 mother, and saved fifty dollars, which she kept by her, in gold, 
 fearing to invest it, in a time of general insecurity. Soon as 
 she heard of Mr. Vernon's extremity, she asked her mother to 
 take the five eagles to the parsonage, and beg him to accept tho 
 loan, without interest, till it should be perfectly convenient to 
 refund it. This was indeed a God-send. The coin was wrapped 
 in a piece of writing-paper, on the inside of which was traced by 
 the widowed mother, in a tremulous hand, " Trust in the Lord, 
 arid do good ; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou 
 shalt be fed." 
 
 How tender were the hearts from which ascended devout 
 thanksgivings for this timely aid ! 
 
 Mr. Clifton had learned their straits, and called to see what 
 could be done. As he heard whence relief came, he said, bit-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 215 
 
 terly, "That is ever the way; the poor widow's mite; the 
 penitent outcast's box of ointment. Walter has money by him, 
 enough of it ; but he would sooner see his minister arrested 
 for debt, than run any risk of losing fifty dollars." 
 
 Mr. Clifton always had an irritating-plaster for every sore. 
 Why must he needs apply the caustic just as heavenly balm 
 was distilling on the wounded heart ? It was his besetting sin. 
 So, now, he added, that Slojum had been heard to say to hig 
 brother deacon, "Hold on a few months more; the minister 
 won't stay long after the bread-and-butter fails." Then he in 
 dulged in a strain of bitter humor on the evils of poverty ; said 
 it made a man mean to be compelled to such shifts and turns, 
 in order to live; he had lost his self-respect, only from debating 
 the question, when his study-fire was low, whether he should 
 afford two sticks of seasoned hickory, or try to keep warm 
 with one. He tried an agency a few weeks, and that made 
 him feel meaner yet ; to go cringing and bowing in at people's 
 back-doors, or following them to the fields, standing half an 
 hour, while some boorish man hoed hill after hill of corn or 
 potatoes, before he could stop to give him a civil answer. " On 
 the whole," said he, " much as I grieved to abandon my pro 
 fession, I am quite reconciled to it now." 
 
 Mary felt that there was a better view of the matter than 
 this. She did not endorse his sentiments ; yet his words rankled 
 in her heart. 
 
 Children's words often reveal the public sentiment around 
 them. One day, Edward came home from school with hia 
 gentle cousin, his face flushed and his dark eye flashing un 
 wonted fire. Mrs. Vernon heard Abby say 
 
 " Yes, Eddie, dear, we ought to tell mama ; she will know 
 in a minute if you were right." 
 
 " What is it, Eddie ? " said his aunt. 
 
 " Abby may tell," said he ; and he stood, half-proudly, half- 
 abashed, twirling his cap by the tassel, while that sweet voioa 
 rehearsed the story thus :
 
 216 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 " \Ye were coming from school, mama, and Annette Selden 
 said my new bonnet was nothing to be proud of; Mary Moul- 
 ton wore it all last winter, and, you will not feel bad, will 
 you, mama ? she said my father was too poor to buy me a 
 decent bonnet, and so Mary's mother took pity on me, and gave 
 me her old one." 
 
 Eddie watched his aunt's face, over which passed a sudden 
 flush. " And what did you say to this, my darling ? " 
 
 " / did n't say anything ;" and she looked at Eddie anx 
 iously. 
 
 " / did," said the ingenuous boy. " She is a mvjan-spirited 
 girl, and I told her so. I told her I could protect my cousin 
 against her insults, and that it was no crime to be poor. Be 
 sides that, my uncle no need to be poor unless he had chosen 
 to be a minister ; he could have earned as much money as her 
 father, if he had set out for it ; and, if there was any disgrace, 
 it belonged to her father, and the rest of the people here, that 
 did n't pay him any better. And when she made up faces at 
 me, I told her, for all her fine feathers, she was no lady." 
 
 " 0, Edward ! " said* his aunt, sorrowfully, " that was 
 wrong." 
 
 " So cousin Abby said; but I think the haughty girl deserved 
 it; a great girl, older than I am, teasing a little child ! " 
 
 A sweet voice replied, " \Ve must not do to those that 
 trouble us as they deserve, must we, mama ? That is not the 
 way Jesus does by us. I know cousin Eddie did it for me ;" 
 and, putting her arms around his neck, she kissed him, and then 
 made him sit down, while mama talked of the Bible-way to 
 treat those that use us ill. As the supper-bell rang, and Eddie 
 went to hang up his cap, he said, between a smile and a tear, 
 " I never expect to be as good as cousin Abby." 
 
 About this time, we find the following entry in the Diary : 
 
 "February 25. A mild, -pring-like day. Mrs. Ellis sent 
 <o inquire if 1 felt able tc ste.j, over to her room. T found h<T
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 217 
 
 very feeble ; she can scarcely last another month ; the wreck 
 of a noble woman. Our interview was very affecting. Her 
 husband is off on one of his drinking sprees ; has scarcely been 
 sober since he was dismissed from the paper-mill ; is always 
 srorse when out of work. Poor woman ! She wanted to ex 
 press her gratitude for all I had done for her, and ask one moro 
 favor. It stirred my heart with a grateful joy, which is a rich 
 reward, to hear her say, ' How can I thank you enough for 
 what you have done for me! not for my bodily comfort, 
 though I appreciate that, but for my soul ; for my larger 
 views of Providence ; my closer reliance on God ; my livelier 
 sense of the sympathy of Christ. 0, how much nearer my 
 Saviour's bosom have you led me ! And now I have a dying 
 request. My child ! what will become of her when I am gone ? 
 I have been thinking and praying over it, and it is a great 
 tiling to ask, yet the Lord seemed to put it into my heart, ->- 
 will you take Mabel and bring her up ? She is thirteen now, 
 and, in two or three years, will be able, perhaps, to do your 
 work. She is just the age to need a mother. If she were 
 provided for, I could die in peace.' 
 
 "This was a strong appeal. I talked and wept with the 
 poor woman. She asked me to pray with her, and I could not 
 refuse. I promised to confer with Mr. Vernon about her re 
 quest ; and, if it were possible, we would take charge of the 
 child. 
 
 " It would be a great care for me, to correct and instruct, 
 yet I like the appearance of the girl. But just now, when we 
 are so straitened to live. Miss Polly, too, will doubtless object, 
 ^et, what an opportunity to do good ! and what are our pro- 
 essions worth, if we are not willing to be at pains, and deny 
 >urselves for the sake of others ? 
 
 " Edward leaves the decision with me. I resolve to let 
 
 her come ; the Lord will provide. 
 
 " March 1. I used to think I had some equanimity of 
 temper ; yet I seem to be losing it fast If we remain hero
 
 218 THE fcHADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 much longer, I fear I shall become impatient and ir: liable. I 
 am alarmed and humbled. An incident occurred to-day, which 
 I cannot recall without a fresh ebullition of indignant feeling. 
 Is it best, then, to record it ? I will school my heart till I 
 can do it with Christian meekness, more in sorrow than in 
 anger. 
 
 " A load of ornamental trees has been brought, it seems, to 
 the village for sale. Mr. Yernon was passing down the street, 
 when Mr. Walter called him to the wagon, and told him here 
 was a good opportunity to fill up the broken row in front of the 
 parsonage. Edward had done it once, but they would not grow 
 in the poor soil, which was made from the cellar. He told Mr. 
 Walter he would assist in putting down the trees, when the 
 spring should open, if they thought best to purchase some. Tc 
 his surprise, the man coolly replied, ' O, the society would n'l 
 think it their business ! We expect the minister to do such 
 things.' Edward waived that point, and replied that his purse 
 was low ; he could not go into the thing very extensively. Mr. 
 Walter began to speak more positively ; said ' he was sorry to 
 see the parsonage running down. Mr. Smith took great pains 
 with the fruit and shrubbery. The peach trees had been left to 
 run out ; and the grape-vines were all dead, but one, south of 
 the house, and that ought to have a trellis to cover both win 
 dows. As for the trees in front, there must be another fir to 
 match the one that had got started. If we build a parsonage, 
 we expect the minister will take interest enough in it to see to 
 these things, and not let the place run down in his hands ! ' 
 Edward did n't choose to have further words before the gap 
 ing crowd ; so he took his last dollar from his pocket, and 
 bought one of the largest fir-trees. I doubt whether he did 
 right, notwithstanding the injunction, ' If any man will take 
 away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also.' It is not the dollar 
 that I care for, though it was the last, and though it was to 
 have bought me another lalf-dozen of porter (I am getting 
 strength, and shall do quite well without it, only father must
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSUNAGE. 219 
 
 not know it), but it was the exacting spirit. The inhuman 
 ity of the thing makes my heart ache. My spirit rises up 
 against such grinding oppression ; it makes me ashamed of 
 human nature. Ah, me! this will never do; these are scald 
 ing tears, not refreshing. I fear there is resentment under 
 neath. O, for grace to be ashamed of myself, that I can bear 
 no more patiently the infirmities of others ! I am reminded of 
 a shrewd, good-humored old lady in Salem, who had such an 
 arch way of saying, ' Well, it takes all sorts o' people to make 
 a world, and I'm glad I a'n't one of 'era.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " There 's not a flock, however watched and tended, 
 
 But one dead lainb is there ; 
 There 's not a household, howsoe'er defended, 
 But has one vacant chair " 
 
 IT is March again. The pastor's half-year's salary has 
 been mostly received in family necessaries, at exorbitant prices. 
 What remains he must again wait upon them for, till times are 
 easier. The pecuniary pressure is at its height ; the paper- 
 mill is closed ; the woollen and cotton factories are doing little 
 business ; the heavy strokes of the foundery, alone, boom on a* 
 steadily as ever. Still, the panic does not invade the domestic 
 comfort of the Millville manufacturers. They eat, and drink, 
 and dress as usual. Not so with their minister. He is one of 
 the operatives. His table misses some of its wonted fare ; his 
 wardrobe tells the tale of retrenchment ; his brow bears the 
 marks of corroding care. His wife, too, is plainly and scantily 
 attired. True, she looks well, but it is not by any adventitious 
 aid. Mrs. Selden is vexed that (he minister's wife can appear 
 so genteelly in such mean attire, without velvets, or cashmeres 
 or furs.
 
 220 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 With returning health, Mary redoubles her efforts for her 
 husband, but with less success than formerly. He writes a ser 
 mon not much oftener than once a month. What he does write, 
 is done well. Many unfinished "outlines" lie on and under 
 neath his study-table. He mates frequent exchanges with his 
 brethren , he repeats his former discourses, which have the 
 misfortune to be, most of them, too striking and original to 
 escape remembrance. He is harrowed ever by the echo of an 
 inward whisper, " Who would have thought it would come to 
 this ? " 
 
 Yet, he is far from being entirely wretched. God has not 
 wholly withdrawn the light of his countenance. There are 
 times when he casts his burden on the Lord, and is sustained. 
 Ever and anon, he dismisses all embittered feeling, humbles 
 himself under his Father's hand, and is ' holpen with a little 
 help.' He can sometimes say, " In the multitude of my 
 thoughts within me, thy comforts delight rny soul." The 
 Saviour's presence occasionally enlightens all his darkness ; he 
 feeds on heavenly manna, and feels, like Elijah, that he can go 
 in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights, 
 though, alas ! it seldom carries him many paces beyond the 
 juniper-tree. In his straits, moreover, he has had many provi 
 dential interpositions to acknowledge, a better commentary 
 on the promises than any his library could boast. There, too, 
 is the unequalled joy of being a son of consolation to many a 
 poor and way-worn pilgrim, who, in a chamber of suffering, or 
 on a dying-bed, blesses God for his words of comfort and salva 
 tion. 
 
 Many happy hours have also been granted in the bosom 
 of his family. What a companion to be thankful for ! 
 what loving babes to beguile him of his heavy thoughts ! He 
 cannot reflect, without perceiving that he has had many com 
 forts, far more than he has deserved at the hand of his God. 
 Neither can he review the past, without the conviction that he 
 has, in a sense been " weighe 1 ! in the balance and found want-
 
 LITE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 221 
 
 ing He has endured well a few things ; but the injunction 
 is to endure all things, to overcome, to hold fast, and be 
 patient unto the end. 
 
 And how has it been with the gentle, brave, devoted wife ? 
 lias she possessed her soul in patience, with the unruffled meek 
 ness, the unmixed charity, the unrecriminating forgiveness and 
 cheerful submission of an angel ? 0, no ! angels are rare on 
 earth, even in the form of the best of womankind. Ask Ma 
 ry's nearest friends, and they will tell you she has been most 
 exemplary in the trying circumstances allotted her. Her 
 husband will bear witness to her patien -e^ her fortitude, hei 
 denial of self, her heroic endurance, her lepaying of evil with 
 good, her smiles amid tears, her hope against hope, her cheer 
 ful trust in God, her childlike acquiescence in his blessed will. 
 He will tell you, in short, that she is a model of a Christian 
 woman, and that he does not deserve so good a wife. 
 
 But, ask Mary herself, or let her ask her own heart, and its 
 honest answer will be laden with many a penitent confession. 
 She has been frail and erring. Her estimate of the faults of 
 the people has not, with all her allowances, been the fruit of a 
 calm judgment. The heart has been too much in it, tinctured 
 with a bitterness that has often interfered with her own peace. 
 She has been at times restive under the rod, failing to look 
 beyond second causes to Him who appointed it. She has been 
 wounded at a vulnerable point, in the pride of a devoted wife 
 for a noble and gifted husband. Sensitive to his declining 
 fame, she has found it difficult to look charitably on a people 
 through whose means a blight has come over so much promise. 
 Her harsh censures of others, when she might have tranquil- 
 lized his spirit by soothing words, she now laments, as added 
 fuel to the fire that was consuming his peace. In after years, 
 she will look back to these days of trial with deep humility, 
 and with a new appreciation of God's design in so mysterious a 
 dispensation. 
 
 And now, their heavenly Father sees that a new stroke if 
 19*
 
 222 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 needed ; and though his heart of infinite compassion yearn over 
 his suffering ihildren, he will not, falsely indulgent, spare the 
 utmost virtue of the rod. 
 
 One bleak, raw day, in this fatal month of March, their 
 eldest darling comes from the heated school-room, and walks 
 slowly home, looking often round, and waiting for Eddie, who 
 has run back, at her earnest entreaty, to help a little urchin 
 that has lost his shoe in the mud and snow. Before morning, 
 the parents are alarmed by a hard breathing from the trundle 
 bed, and their fears are justly excited by the presence of that 
 destroyer of a multitude of parental hopes the croup. 
 
 The doctor was hastily summoned, and his skill sedulously 
 exerted; but all medical treatment was vain. Dear little 
 Abby ! From the first, she thought of death, drawing her 
 mother down to whisper in her ear, " If I should die, mama, 
 you know I am not afraid." No fond parent, who has lost a 
 child, need be told how at first these hearts shrunk from the 
 prospect, and the will, in imperative outcry, said, " It cannot 
 be ! It must not be ! O ! it will not be." None but a 
 parent can know the agony of seeing a child suffer for breath, 
 without the power to afford the slightest alleviation, till death 
 even is hailed as a relief. 
 
 Little Abby bore her suffering bravely, speaking such words 
 of courage, and affection, and Christian trust, as amazed those 
 who knew not the sweet, holy power of faith and love in the 
 heart of a child. Truly, of such are the kingdom of heaven. 
 At one time she said, " Mama, if Jesus wants me there, ought 
 you not to be willing ? " and she would not rest, till her mother 
 could assure her, through blinding tears, that she hoped she 
 was willing. " ! " said the dear child, " I wish you could 
 smile, and say it." Again, seeing her father look at her with 
 regretful tenderness, she interpreted his thought, and said, 
 " You will have Nellie." 
 
 She had a word for all. , To her cousin, she spoke of Jesus, 
 and heaven, and his own soul, and asked him, "If he would
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 223 
 
 please, sometimes, rock the baby, as she did, and let mama go 
 up to the study to comfort papa." 
 
 As the disease progressed, speech was more and more diffi 
 cult, yet her eye was eloquent with love and hope. 
 
 Toward the last, Mr. Vernon's fortitude forsook him. He 
 could not witness the distress of the child. But, mother-like, 
 Mary hushed the great agony of her heart, that she might not 
 lose a word or look, or pressure of the hand, while life re- 
 inained. 
 
 The second day, at the going down of the sun, it was evident 
 that the little sufferer could not much longer endure. The last 
 words of the dying child were characteristic of her, true to 
 the impulses caught from the mother's daily example. In a 
 short interval of less suffering, her father came in and kissed 
 her cold lips with something like composure, and told her she 
 had almost reached her heavenly home. She bent on him those 
 deep, spiritual eyes, where the soul seemed to reside, rather 
 than look through, and said, affectionately, " By-and-by, papa 
 will come; and mama, and Allie, and all, all come home." 
 With that word, commenced another distressing paroxysm. 
 Her father again retreated. Mr. Clifton took her in his arms, 
 and, during the dreadful struggle, the dear child, it seemed, heard 
 her father pacing up and down the adjoining room. Making an 
 effort to speak once more, she said, " Dear Saviour, com 
 fort papa" threw her arms round her mother's neck, and 
 soon expired. 
 
 Now was Mary's turn to bow her head like a bulrush. The 
 strong tide of feeling, rolled back, lest it should distress the 
 child, or unfit her for its care, returned with resistless force, 
 all the stronger for long constraint. The husband, now that 
 the fatal issue was past, now that there was no more sight 
 of suffering to unnerve him, stood by her side in manly com 
 posure ; a prop on which to lean, a tender counsellor, an able 
 comforter, next to her God, a strong support. He knew the 
 art. which too few understand, the art of effective sympathy
 
 224 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 and consolation. It was not long ere they could both look up 
 and thank God that their little one had gone to dwell with the 
 angels, before his face. 
 
 With a calm submission and holy trust, they laid the beau 
 tiful form in the village grave-yard, among strangers to her 
 kin ; while, on the burial scene, looked many tearful eyes, the 
 March winds wailing no gentle requiem. Among the few who 
 followed them to their bereaved home was their old Scotch friend, 
 who took them by the hand, and said, " Aweel, ye canna greet 
 ea very sair. She was mair like heaven than earth. Mony a 
 time I watched her in the kirk, and kend she wad be sent for. 
 Of sic' is the kingdom." 
 
 . CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " Joy hath its ministries, but griefs are fraught 
 With gentler blessings." 
 
 ONE week after little Abby's burial there was another death, 
 which left Mabel Ellis motherless. Faithful to her promise, 
 Mrs. Vernon took her home. Mabel was a stout girl, with 
 square face, and broad shoulders, and gray eyes; with strong 
 common sense, a quick appreciation of kindness, and a warm, 
 affectionate heart. 
 
 And now a new stream of gossip is set in motion, augment 
 ing as it flows. Two hired girls at the parsonage ! Who 
 could expect to live, with such extravagance ? Miss Polly, at 
 first, rebelled, and declared she would leave if that girl came 
 but, upon second thoughts, she resolved to stay, and make use 
 of the new comer to lighten her own tasks. 
 
 Soft and odorous as the perfume of crushed flowers is the 
 atmosphere at the parsonage, where the angel of death has left 
 two smitten hearts. These chastened ones are walking softly 
 before their God. Tears for the dead, welling up from tha
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 225 
 
 deep places of the heart, have softened and purified In their 
 flow How blessed is the grief that sinks its shaft so low, 
 that drives the ploughshare beneath every root of bitterness and 
 repining, making the soil mellow and fruitful ! 
 
 Nor was comfort wanting in that house of mourning. To 
 the eye of faith, One walked there whose form was like unto 
 that of the Son of God. " Fear not ; I am with thee." 
 There was a holy hush on those bowed spirits. " It is the 
 Lord, let him do what seemeth him good." 
 
 They sought not consolation at Lethe's cup, as did a young, 
 pleasure-loving mother, who, reminded of the darling she had 
 buried a twelve-month previous, said, " I don't wish to speak 
 of him, it makes me very unhappy." These Christian pa 
 rents did not purchase peace, by forgetfulness. The child was 
 not dead to them, only removed beyond their sight. Her 
 angel-presence was with them oft, in the stilly night, at 
 the day dawn, at the hour of prayer, in the . song of 
 praise. There is a new tie between their hearts and heaven. 
 They have a human treasure there. The home of glory is 
 nearer, it is more real. From their darkened dwelling they 
 catch new beams of the celestial light.. Their eyes, now often 
 upturned, see new revealings of the God of love. Their human 
 sympathies become a sanctified medium of spiritual blessings. 
 
 " Let us honor God," said Edward, " by our cheerful spirit 
 under his correction. Let not a sad, desponding countenance 
 belie our words of submission, and show that we valued the 
 gift, however precious, above the Giver." 
 
 What more touching and more honorable to divine grace, 
 than the sight of a bereaved household with the tenderest sen 
 sibilities, bowing meekly under the rod, smiling through their 
 tears, able to say, " Whom have we in heaven but Thee, and 
 there is none upon earth that we desire besides thee," 
 rejoicing in God through the longest, darkest night of sorrow, 
 with a song in the heart, even wb.3n the utterance is choked by 
 grief?
 
 226 TIIE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 And did not this new affliction at the parsonage rally the 
 flock around the stricken pastor ? In not a few hearts there 
 was, indeed, a livelier sympathy. But such things have less 
 influence in softening antipathies than a superficial observer 
 would suppose Mr. Vernon's oppcsers interpreted it as the 
 judgment of a frowning Providence. 
 
 While the bereavement was still fresh, Mary stood by the 
 dying bed of Mrs. Mills, Deacon Slocum's sister-in-law She 
 met with a cool reception from all except the dying woman, who 
 pressed her hand affectionately, and whispered, " My girls, 
 do care for them when I am gone." The doctor thought she 
 might last through the day, and Mrs. Vernon offered to lay off 
 her bonnet and remain a few hours. Old Mrs. Slocum seemed 
 much excited by the offer, and replied, " Oh, no ! you had 
 better not stay. Your health is so poor, you could n't do 
 much." 
 
 Mary answered, meekly, " It would be a privilege to sit by 
 her ; I might fan her, and moisten her lips." The old lady 
 interrupted her with the sharp remark, " I guess we shan't 
 neglect her." Mary hastily bade the last adieu, the eyes of 
 her dying friend following her with remorseful tenderness as 
 she left the room in tears. She went home with a wounded 
 spirit ; and, when the bell tolled at the going down of the sun, 
 said to Edward, " The last tie that bound us to that house i 
 broken." 
 
 The spring had gone, and, with the opening suramer, tho 
 times were easier, and business men began to breathe more 
 freely. Yet, to the poor pastor there came no relief. His 
 flour was gone, and there was none to be had, except for cash. 
 Of this he had not a penny. 
 
 The case became more urgent, and he bethought himself of a 
 curious gold coin in his secretary, the gift of his beloved sister, 
 in his boyhood. He had seen one or two extremities before, 
 when he thought of this resort. He had taken the piece in 
 his hand, but his heart r-se to his throat, and it seemed a sac-
 
 Ul'E IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 227 
 
 rilege to expend it. Hitherto, Providence had obviated the 
 necessity. Now, hjwever, there was no alternative. His wife 
 and children must have bread. So his dead sister's treasured 
 keepsake was appropriated beyond recall. 
 
 Mr. Vernon had no design of remaining in Millville beyond 
 the present year ; yet his departure was precipitated by other 
 agencies than his own. 
 
 The reigning influences in the society were betrayed by Aunt 
 Hannah, as, in one of her visiting rounds, she brought up at 
 the parsonage. The kind creature, wishing to make herself 
 useful, generally volunteered her aid at clear-starching and 
 crimping, at which she was an adept. With her bowl of starch 
 oa the kitchen table, and her irons in the cook -stove, and the 
 doors open to the back parlor, she promenaded the intervening 
 space, clapping the muslins and retailing the gossip. 
 
 " I do say, Mrs. Vernon, it 's a wonder your husband has 
 any patience with such a people. I wish he knew what Moul 
 ton is up to now. I wish he 'd get the start of 'em." 
 
 Mary sat revolving this, while Aunt Hannah went back for 
 another collar. 
 
 " Mrs. Pulton, too. I should n't have thought it, they were 
 both so anxious to have him stay, when he tried so hard to go. 
 Now, to put their heads together in this way. She wants him 
 to give the hint, and he thinks Elton might do it ; and deacon 
 says, unless they stir about it, he '11 bring it up in open meet 
 ing, and see what can be done." 
 
 i It had always seemed to Mary, that her husband's talents 
 were too confessedly superior, not to procure for him tolerance 
 in the failures arising from the pressure of such peculiar trials 
 as he had met in Millville. The drift of Aunt Hannah's 
 remarks awoke her to a new view of the subject. She wisely 
 forbore comment, and her visitor went into a collateral matter. 
 
 " I called at Mrs. Nobles' a minute. I don't know what 's 
 got into this people. She said I 'd better come up here she 
 should think you ~Mght. want a little more help. She wondered
 
 228 THE SHADY SIDE; OR 
 
 what you should want of two girls ; said you : d better send 
 one of 'era to poor Mrs. Hine, who was sick and could n't gel 
 anybody." 
 
 Mary sighed, gently, and replied, " Can they not appreciate 
 my motives in taking that child ? I thought every one knew 
 the circumstances. Mrs. Nobles must see her go to school 
 every day." 
 
 " None so blind as those that will not see ! " replied Aunt 
 Hannah. " I tell 'era, if they could be here awhile, and know 
 how much poor health you have, and how many cares, with 
 that fat baby, too, to nurse and lug about, they never would 
 Bay, again, what an easy life our minister's wife leads ! I tell 
 'em, if they want to fault Mr. Vernon, they need n't be putting 
 it off on you." 
 
 " 0, yes ! " said Mary, laughingly ; " I can endure it better 
 than he." 
 
 " You don't look like enduring much," said Aunt Hannah ; 
 " but Dr. Gale says, they may say what they like about the 
 parson's wife, she 's more courage and fortitude than half a 
 dozen of 'em." 
 
 Mary's eyes ached, and her cheek burned, and her heart was 
 heavy. She was glad when Aunt Hannah had crimped the 
 last ruffle, drank her third cup of tea, and said her last good 
 night. 
 
 That evening there was a long conference in the nursery. 
 Low, troubled voices mingled with the soft breathings of the 
 children ; and the voice of prayer arose there, long after thp 
 village was wrapt in slumber. 
 
 Mr. Vernon soon held an interview with Moulton, that con 
 firmed his suspicions, and, without further delay, f e renewed 
 his request for a dismission. It was received, by the majority 
 of the people, with profound regret ; by the conservatives, 
 with poorly feigned reluctance ; by his active opposers, with 
 open triumph. 
 
 The council heard the story, and gave their consent. As
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 229 
 
 Mr. Vernon told them of his straits, he alluded to the incident 
 of the flour and precious relic. Mr. Lampoon said, ' You should 
 never let your pnrse get so low. / always consider myself out 
 of money when I have but five dollars left." 
 
 Father Elliott looked over his glasses, and asked Mr. Vernon 
 how long he had been in the ministry. 
 
 " About six years," was the reply. " And," said the face 
 tious minister, " you have kept a pocket-piece so long ! You 
 may consider yourself, sir, more fortunate than most of your 
 brethren. It 's time you lost it, or you might doubt your 
 call ! " 
 
 When people from abroad asked the reason of Mr. Vernon's 
 dismission, Mrs. Elton's ready answer was, " He was very tal 
 ented, but unequal and moody. He did n't grow (!) as we 
 expected. He had to wait upon his wife so much, it took up 
 his time, and he became disheartened. She was quite intel 
 lectual, and had a good spirit ; but sick most of the time, and 
 nervous. He is very sensitive, and it 's no wonder it broke 
 him down. Wo have been very unfortunate in our ministers' 
 wives ! " 
 
 Good Mrs. Wells said she could n't be reconciled to parting 
 with the minister's folks. When Mr. Smith left, she declared 
 she never wpuld love another minister ; " but," said she, " I 
 could n't help it, Mr. Vernon was so pleasing in his ways ; 
 then, there 's something about him I never saw in any one else ; 
 sometimes he was just like a grieved child. His wife, too, a 
 perfect lady, put up with our plain ways ; and they took such 
 an interest, coining in and sitting right down in our kitchen, 
 as if they were to home, and now they must go. It a' 
 most breaks my heart ;" and she wiped her eyes on the corner 
 of her checked apron. " I wish I was back to the old church 
 on the hill." 
 
 In settling his pecuniary affairs at Millville, the poverty- 
 stricken pastor found himself " minus " in a larger sum than 
 he had anticipated. To liquidate all his obligations from the 
 20
 
 230 THK SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 first, required the amount of four hundred dollars. The people 
 did not see how it came to pass, especially, considering the 
 splendid donation party. Where should he turn for this sum ? 
 A part of the claims were urgent. There was Miss Polly's bill 
 for a year and a half. Susan Beach he could not leave unpaid. 
 He made a hasty journey to Salem, and tried to dispose of his 
 place , but wrote back that he could not do it without a great 
 sacrifice. 
 
 While he was gone, Mr. Moulton came in to look at the 
 piano. Jennie was taking lessons, and he was about to pur 
 chase. He knew this to be a fine-toned instrument, and called 
 to ask where it was purchased, and the cost. After he left, an 
 idea entered Mary's mind, which she revolved long and with 
 much emotion. She rose, at length, with a decided air, and 
 stepped across the street to Mr. Moultoa's, with a proposal that 
 was accepted. It was no less than this ; that her piano be 
 removed to Mrs. Moulton's parlor, for Jennie's use, in return 
 for which, the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars (half the 
 original cost) be loaned without interest. In short, Mary pro 
 posed to pawn the piano for its lowest value as a second-hand 
 instrument, with the understanding that she might redeem it 
 whenever she chose. This, she confidently expected, would be 
 soon, whenever they should sell the place in Salem. To do 
 this, cost her a struggle ; but hers was a heroic spirit. When 
 Edward returned, and his consent was asked, he suffered a still 
 harder conflict, but yielded at length to her entreaty, and rati 
 fied the contract. 
 
 Then followed the packing up and storage of household goods 
 and chattels ; then the leave-taking. The locality had few 
 charms for Mary ; still, it was leaving a place that had borne 
 the sacred name of home. There were a few friends, too, 
 whom she dearly loved. One spot alone chained her heart, 
 and was as consecrated ground, her darling's grave. Long 
 did she lean over that little marble pillar, in the summer mooo-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 231 
 
 light, and wish while she repelled the weakness that she 
 could carry with her the precious dust. 
 
 Here was a tie that linked this removal with their last ; and 
 her thoughts went back to that autumn evening, when the 
 moonbeams fell across Carrie's grave, in the old Salem church 
 yard. Again the electric chain was struck, and another link 
 was revealed ; her mother's tomb, in the gray twilight of a 
 winter's morning, to which she bade adieu from the chamber of 
 her girlhood's home. 
 
 We next find the minister's family quite at home in the old 
 mansion at Mayfield. Master Eddie is the doctor's pupil in 
 Latin ; in other branches, " Aunt Mary " hears his recitations. 
 Mabel Ellis is busy as a bee wherever she is wanted, in 
 nursery or kitchen, all the while receiving that careful 
 nurture which consists of daily instruction, correction, and 
 example. 
 
 Mr. Vernon is not the man to throw himself and family, 
 without a struggle, on the hospitality of a father-in-law, whose 
 utmost efforts but just keep his estate out of the hands of cred 
 itors. But what can he do ? He is in a condition worse, if 
 possible, than when making desperate exertions to sustain him 
 self in Millville pulpit. True, there burns in his soul no 
 resentment ; the fires of disappointed ambition, too, have gone 
 out, quenched in tears of penitence. He is humble and sub 
 dued ; has ceased to war with his allotment ; but the spring 
 of his mental activities, whose elasticity was so long tried by 
 lu'avy pressure, has snapped asunder, and left him prostrate. 
 He is dispirited, and incapable of effort ; doubts whether the 
 Lord will give him any more to do in his vineyard ; doubts his 
 ability to do ; distrusts his motives ; is willing to take a very 
 low place, and bid farewell forever to the world's applause, and 
 his old dreams of greatness. Withal, bodily indisposition is 
 too apparent and serious not to awaken the anxious fears of his 
 friends. Dr. Allison recommends a journey, and he resolves to
 
 THE SHADtf SIDE ; OR, 
 
 follow the prescription ; yet this is one of the " all things ' ; 
 which "-money " alone " answereth." 
 
 " ! " sighed he, " how could I be so foolish as to buy a 
 house ? If the money had been put into the savings bank, 
 instead " 
 
 " We should have spent it long ago, in our straits," inter 
 rupted Mary, playfully. 
 
 " What do you think," said he, " of selling Pompey ? " 
 
 " Why," said Mary, " he is decidedly too intelligent for a 
 minister's horse. He knows the difference between swamp-hay 
 and upland, and shakes his head too sagely over musty proven 
 der. But I would not sell him now" 
 
 Something, however, must be done. Ho makes another trip 
 to Salem. (Tears start, unbidden, at sight of the dear, quiet 
 old town.) He takes advice of Mr. Cook, and resolves to sell 
 his house at public auction. He values it at fifteen hundred 
 dollars ; it is knocked down at nine hundred ; four of which 
 he receives in ready money, and the rest in promissory notes, a 
 hundred annually, till the whole is paid. 
 
 Though pained at the sacrifice, still the minister and his wife 
 are thankful for ability to conform to the letter of the inspired 
 precept, " Owe no man anything.' There is barely enough left 
 to redeem the piano. Shall it be thus appropriated ? Edward 
 urges the affirmative. Mary's judgment has too long controlled 
 her feelings to be overcome here. The money is retained for 
 current expenses. 
 
 It is a sultry morning in August, when our invalid minister 
 starts on a distant journey, in pursuit of health. " The angel 
 of the covenant go with him, with healing for the spirit," was 
 Mary's benediction, as she stood under the drooping elm, and 
 watched him out of sight.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " We have sifted your objection*." 
 
 WE arc strongly tempted, here, to break the thread of oaf 
 story, and have a chat with our auditors. We seem to hear an 
 impatient movement among those who have listened quietly 
 thus far, to our plain, unvarnished tale. Voices are becoming 
 audible, on either side, whose murmur portends some decided 
 expression of individual opinion, not without some dissonance, 
 in reference to out friend, Mr. Vernon. Hear, hear ! 
 What says the gentleman on our right ? 
 
 " I think your minister an unaccountably foolish fellow ; 
 when he had a good profession, a noble profession, to which 
 he was, every way, adapted ; in which he might, by this time, 
 have grown rich and famous, to abandon it for such a thank 
 less, impoverishing business as preaching. He sees the end of 
 it now, and may blame himself. I know they want good men 
 in the pulpit ; but Vernon is too capital a fellow to be sacrificed 
 there." 
 
 Honorable sir, allow us to say, that you seem somewhat con 
 tracted in your views of things. Did you ever hear of such a 
 thing as conscience, in the choice of a profession ? Did you 
 evor read the history of one Paul, a man of splendid talents, 
 who abandoned the bar for the pulpit ? Will you examine the 
 matter a little closer, and tell us why the pulpit should not 
 command men capable of the clearest argument, the closest 
 logic, the most impassioned appeal ? If we need eloquent men 
 to defend our worldly rights, and our mortal lives, whom do we 
 need to plead our immortal interests, where the stake is worth 
 as much as heaven and the undying soul ? As to the " end," 
 dear sir, the end is not yet. What though the professidn 
 20*
 
 234 TIIE SUADT SIDE ; OB, 
 
 invoke the loss of all things? It is onlj a temporary loss. 
 When the judgment is rendered, the advocates will be rewarded 
 with a large draft on an unfailing treasury, an end which 
 some people are too near-sighted to discover, but which, after 
 all, is not very distant. 
 
 We will now hear the gentleman on our left. 
 
 " I wished to ask the historian, what means this frowning 
 Providence, if the man has not, after all, mistaken his calling ? 
 Ought not so many trials to confirm his old scruples, and justify 
 the conclusion that he is out of his sphere ? " * 
 
 A very lawful question, Mr. Foggyman, and one we will be 
 happy to clear up for you. When was ever the path of duty a 
 smooth, even course? God chastens in love oftener than in 
 wrath. With his ministering servants he has a double end to 
 secure by his providential treatment, the nurture of their 
 own souls, their personal salvation, and the qualifying of 
 them for their official work, so as best to subserve the spiritual 
 nurture of the flock committed to them. This double end often 
 demands a peculiar and more varied use of affliction than falls 
 to the lot of other men. If Mr. Vernon's trials bear at all on 
 your question, Mr. Foggyman, they would seem to indicate that 
 he was not mistaken in his calling ; but was rapidly undergoing 
 a salutary discipline, fitted to the nicer uses of the great Mas 
 ter-workman, and to his own more abundant entrance into rest. 
 
 We hear other voices, less dispassionate, two or three in a 
 breath. What is your trouble, friends ? 
 
 " We are out of patience with your minister. He is weak, 
 chicken-hearted ; worse than this, he is wicked. What ! a 
 minister of Christ indulge impatience and bitterness, flounce 
 under opposition, and finally lie down in the harness ! He is 
 not fit to be an ambassador of Christ. He ought to be ashamed 
 of his want of endurance. He is a very imperfect man. 
 Many a private Christian has borne, and not fainted, in worse 
 trials than his. After all, what has he suffered, to make such 
 an ado about ? It seems to us he has not sufficient courage as
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 235 
 
 a man, or grace as a Christian, for so holy a work as the 
 preaching of the Gospel." 
 
 You are rather severe, good friends ; yet Mr. Vernon doubt 
 less agrees \vith you. He is very low, just now, in his own 
 estimation, as well as in yours. But your views do not quite 
 accord with ours. Perhaps we see things from different stand 
 points. Must God's ambassadors be perfect ? Then why not 
 commit the Gospel to angels ? If He choose to commit the 
 treasure to earthen vessels, mind, not gold or silver, but 
 earthen, what* marvel that they crack over the furnace? 
 Are they, therefore, to be despised and discarded ? After all, 
 in whose hands will the Gospel do sinning men the most good, 
 and be best exemplified, in a holy angel's, or a fellow-sin 
 ner's ? Moreover, you make too light of our minis'ter's trials. 
 Perhaps, not being in your line, they are such as you cannot 
 readily appreciate. You do not see them from his point of 
 vision, and you do not feel them at all. 
 
 You intimate, also, that he has not improved his afflictions 
 aright, not ripened under them in Christian goodness, S 
 might have been expected. Wait a little longer for the result. 
 The choicest fruit of the earth does not mellow at once under a 
 fierce July sun. There must be time for every valuable process 
 of growth and culture. Jonah's gourd, indeed, sprung up in 
 a night ; but it lasted not well. Wait awhile, sirs, and you 
 may have occasion to look back, and acknowledge that the 
 grace of God is best magnified in just such messengers as he 
 chooses, to proclaim the unsearchable riches of Christ. The 
 excellency of the power is thus seen to be of God. Understand 
 us not to excuse any man's sin. To every one that serves in 
 word and doctrine we would say, " See thst ye be blameless 
 and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke; giving no 
 offence in anything, that the ministry be not blam<sd." But to 
 you we say, " A minister is but a man. See that ye bear with 
 his infirmities."
 
 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 Another hearer is anxious to speak. What wculdst thou, 
 man? 
 
 ' I only wish to say that it appears to me there is a plain 
 way of relief for your minister, and for all others who meet 
 with like trials. Let them abandon the work, and go about 
 s ):nething else. I do not believe God requires men to starve 
 i :i ';he ministry, in these days. If I were in Mr. Vernon's 
 place, I would seek some employment that would yield a fair 
 remuneration. I would go into the field, or the shop, and 
 work where my services would be requited." 
 
 Ah, friend ! you touch a delicate point. The adversary some- 
 limes tempts the Lord's servants in this way, when they are at 
 th.cir wit's end, and the iron enters into their soul. As Mr. 
 Vernon once said, " I work as hard as Moulton or Walter. I 
 had as much capital to begin with as they. I could have made 
 money as well. Now that I have relinquished such prospects, 
 ancT spent ten of my best years to qualify me for preaching, 
 why should they dole out to me of their abundance a mere pit- 
 ranee, and call it charity, and consider me as a pensioner upon 
 their bounty ? " and his lip curled, and Satan whispered, " You 
 are young enough yet to redeem what is lost, and enter the 
 lists with the strongest in the race for riches and honor." 
 Alas, poor heart ! it must break for this, and lie in sackcloth 
 at the Saviour's feet. 
 
 Let us tell you, well-meaning adviser, you know not of what 
 you speak, when you coolly say, " If a man is ill-used in the 
 ministry, let him seek another occupation." If he was called 
 of God to this work, if his whole heart be in it, he will 
 pursue it while ability lasts, though he fall a martyr to his 
 constancy. In all his straits, there lies at the bottom of his 
 heart a sentiment as old as the ministry itself. " Necessity is 
 laid upon me ; yea, woe is me if I preach not the Gospel ; for 
 the love of Christ constraineth me ; yea, doubtless I count all 
 things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Chris* 
 Jesus my Lord."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 287 
 
 One more voice asks to be heard. 
 
 " I would not advise a minister to give up his profession ; but 
 1 do say that churches who abuse a pastor as Millville church 
 did, ought to smart for it. The ministers should form a com 
 bination, and refuse to labor for such a people, till they learn 
 better views and better manners. I would like to see it tried." 
 
 And what, in the mean time, would become of the cause of 
 Christ? No, inconsiderate friend; the worse the community, 
 the more urgent the need of the leaven of the Gospel ; the more 
 worldly and self-serving the church, the greater the importance 
 of a faithful, unselfish ministry over it It is a hard rock to 
 hammer upon, and it breaks many an implement ; but it will 
 come gradually into shape, here a little and there a little. Your 
 advice is contrary to the genius of our religion. A ministerial 
 " strike " has been recommended, we are aware, by wiser heads 
 than yours ; but the Lord's work must not be deserted because 
 his stewards defraud the laborers. " Avenge not yourselves, but 
 rather give place unto wrath j for vengeance is mine, I will 
 repay, saith the Lord." 
 
 And now, dear hearers, one and all, will you hold your 
 prejudices in abeyance, take in good part our setting aside of 
 your opinions and allow us to resume our narrative ?
 
 238 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 CHAITER XXXI. 
 
 " ! sparkling clear thy waters glow, 
 
 And murmur as they glide 
 To the fair trees that bend below 
 
 To kiss the loving tide ; 
 And far above thy mountains stand, 
 Like watch-towers placed to guard a land, 
 Where all conspires to yield delight, 
 Where pleasure reigns by day and night." 
 
 As the lover of inland scenery travels from west to east, 
 through one of our fair New England commonwealths, let him 
 pause upon the height of a mountain-range that guards the 
 valley-town of Olney. The ascent has been long and winding ; 
 but, coming by a sudden turn to the well-defined summit, the 
 sense of vision absorbs all others, and, if you are a lover of na 
 ture, you forget at once the weary road behind, in the beautiful 
 panorama spread before you. 
 
 Beneath, at an almost perpendicular depth, you trace the 
 quiet river, whose liquid name, on Indian lips, glided as smoothly 
 as its waters flow, placid waters, of which you catch many a 
 glimpse between the marginal willows, here and there, like so 
 many little lakes reposing in the valley. Beyond its further 
 bank clusters the white village ; and, far up and down the long 
 sweep of low-land, isolated farm-houses lie in the arms of the 
 rich meadows. The rich purple of the upturned soil, and the 
 green of grassy fields, make a mosaic ground-work for the land 
 scape, while, away to the northward and the eastward, hills piled 
 on hills, in spiritual blue, frame it in. 
 
 Descending through overhanging woods, grand old forest 
 trees, you pace slowly up the wide-curved street of our little 
 town, resting in its redundant maple-shade. The church looks 
 out upon you, fair and grave, through its veil of leaves. Be
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAGE. 239 
 
 hind it is the burial-ground, omnipresent witness to man's 
 mortality, whose marbles, here as elsewhere, in summer *nd in 
 winter, by sunlight and by starlight, ever tell their story of the 
 grave ; whose flowers blossom in their well-remembered time, 
 even as our tears spring anew on that returning day which first 
 opened the fountain of grief in our hearts. But the traveller 
 lingers not here. On either side the broad thoroughfare stand 
 the abodes of thrift and comfort. A liUle further on, in a 
 recess, back from the dust of the highway, rises the modest 
 parsonage, an ordinary building, in itself devoid of orna 
 ment. Yet, somehow, the passer-by turns to give it a second 
 glance, to notice how abundantly the twining vines cover its 
 tiellised entrances, what wealth of roses cluster beneath its 
 windows, what nice commingling of fruit, and flower, and 
 shade, adorns the spot. A stranger cannot but think that it is 
 the home of taste and domestic peace 
 
 At the rear of the house a silver streamlet dashes by on its 
 sparkling run toward the waiting river, hasting to lose itself in 
 the calm, strong flow of the larger current; even as the 
 changing fancies and restless activities of youth are absorbed 
 in the fuller thought, the intenser purpose, the collected enthu 
 siasm, of a mature soul-life. Beyond the gay brook is a 
 little knoll, bearing a thick growth of the conical pine, that 
 tree which speaks to the wind in a strangely human voicf , full 
 of companionship to the understanding ear. 
 
 ! it is always beautiful, this pleasant retreat from the 
 crowded world, this shaded village-home, Nature's favorite, 
 nested beneath the sentinelship of one of her grand old moun 
 tains. That mountain is the crowning charm of the spot. 
 Whether its forest-side is dressed in the light verdure of the bud 
 ding year, or draped in the thick green of the ripe summer, 
 glorious in the many hues of the gorgeous autumn, or silvered 
 with the frozen rain of winter in dazzling brilliancy, the soul 
 if beauty is in it still. 
 
 How inexpressibly dear does it become to the heart of him
 
 240 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 who, in his joy and sadness, has often turned to its silent syrr. 
 pathy fc as, in the clearness of the early light, and the glory of 
 the sun-setting, in the soft fervor and flitting shadows of mid 
 day, in the leaden cloud hanging upon its cliffs, and the fantastic 
 mist wreathing its sides, in the bow which beameth upon the 
 shower, far below its summit, he feels its spirit answering back 
 in every shade unto his own ! 
 
 Such is Olney now ; such was it ten years ago, with a 
 single exception, the parsonage was not then built. 
 
 When the invalid returned to Mayfield, after a six weeks' 
 absence in pursuit of health, he found an invitation awaiting 
 him to preach in the vacant parish of Olney. Julia Rogers, 
 his Salem protege, had an uncle there, and so the invitation 
 came about. Mr. Rogers had written his brother on the sub 
 ject ; and the reply was, " Mr. Vernon is head and shoulders 
 above your place, but there is no foretelling what he may do. 
 He is rather eccentric, and just now disgusted with life in a 
 manufacturing village. He is out of health, too, and low-spir 
 ited. Perhaps he may come and preach a few Sabbaths in a 
 quiet place like Olney." 
 
 As Edward Vernon paused on the mountain eminence, and, 
 laying the rein on Pompey's neck, gazed off into that goodly 
 amphitheatre, its beauty and quiet came like balm to his soul, 
 breathing of " home " and " rest." When he passed the neat 
 embowered church, and saw the last rays of sunlight resting 
 on the grave-yard, he felt that he could die, and be buried 
 there. He was charmed even with the solitude that attended 
 him in his boarding-place, and felt not the lack of attentiqns as 
 a stranger among strange people. Attentions ! he had a surfeit 
 of them at his entrance to Millville. 
 
 There could not well be a more striking contrast than was 
 here presented to his late parish, both in the rural beauty of 
 its natural scenery, and the plain, simple manners of its agri 
 cultural population. 
 
 So he preached, and ere long the people sounded him on thii
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 241 
 
 subject of " settlement." To their surprise, he made no objec 
 tions, and no inquiries after terms. A formal call was soon 
 extended, and, after a single exchange of letters with Mayfield, 
 accepted. The minister seemed to act mechanically, or, rather 
 to resign himself passively to the current of circumstances 
 His "hundred and one" friends were greatly amazed; yot, 
 after all, it was not so very inexplicable. 
 
 The times were unsettled, and ministers held their places by 
 a precarious tenure. There were many " isms " abroad. So 
 ciety \vas rife with party tests and watchwords. The ministry, 
 too, had its " shibboleths," and it was no easy thing for an inde 
 pendent man to find a congenial niche. As one not " ower ' 
 refined D. D. remarked, " Many pastors were holding on, with 
 slippery fingers, to the tail end of their pulpit." 
 
 "Anything but this," thought Mr. Vernon, " to hold a place 
 by sufferance." He was faint under the noise, and strife, and 
 heat, of the times. He wished to hide, for a little season, till 
 the indignation be overpast. He was small in his own eyes, 
 not seeking for himself great things. It seemed a wonder of 
 condescension that God should employ him anywhere in hifl 
 vineyard. Moreover, he felt inadequate to any great effort. 
 The feeling that much was expected of him, would alone be 
 sufficient to crush him. He was worn in body, mind, and 
 spirit. Anything for rest, a sheltered spot, where he might 
 
 " See the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd." 
 
 When he read the terms of settlement, he did indeed say to 
 the Olney committee that he had never tried living on so small 
 a sum as five hundred dollars, that hs did not think it would 
 snable him to bring the year round. But they replied, it was 
 all they could afford to give. He believed their word, and 
 consented to the proposals, feeling that he had something to fall 
 back upon, if his expenditures should exceed his salary. The 
 21
 
 242 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 expenses of living, he thought, must be low in such a commu 
 nity. 
 
 One thing, however, he did insist upon, the building of a 
 parsonage. His prudecessor, Mr. Rice, had moved three times 
 during a ministry of five years, and finally left for want of a 
 suitable dwelling-house. 
 
 The people scowled somewhat at his request, and hoped he 
 would bring his family, and commence house-keeping in a corner 
 of the capacious building, known formerly as the brick hotel, 
 but latterly called " the old castle." This he positively de 
 clined ; and, as there was no other alternative, measures were 
 taken to build a house, and the installation postponed. The 
 business was committed to three trustees, who hired a carpenter 
 to do it by the job. These men had their own private interests 
 to look after, and could give only a general supervision to the 
 undertaking. The pastor elect kept his eye upon it, and 
 secured attention to many little things that would have been 
 otherwise neglected. Yet, his interference was considered 
 rather troublesome, and any great improvement in plan or exe 
 cution he was not able to effect. 
 
 To those familiar with the prevalent mode of parish building 
 for the minister, description here is not needed. When the 
 frame was up, it looked too slender to stand against a " reg'lar 
 nor'easter." The clapboards were added without lining ; and 
 when Mr. Vernon remonstrated with one of the trustees, the 
 truth-telling farmer replied, " I s'pose, if one of us were build 
 ing it for ourselves, we should have it lined ; but it 's a par- 
 tonage, you know, and we must get it up at the least expense." 
 
 " There is a fine place for a basement-kitchen," said Mr. Ver 
 non to another trustee. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Tuthill ; " if it were for myself I would 
 \iave one by all means." 
 
 Ah ! it is only a parsonage ; arid what does a minister's 
 family want of a room in the basement ? The Kitchen is nine 
 feet by twelve, with a small fire-place, and a narrow oven, and
 
 LWE IN A COUNTRY PARtttNAGE. 243 
 
 a little pantry. It 's only a parsonage ! Half the timber is 
 ill-seasoned, the fixtures are of the cheapest kind, the 
 second coat of paint kid on before the first is dry, the plas 
 ter coarse and incohesive, the floors constructed as if for ven 
 tilation, and of planks differing in thickness, presenting a varied 
 surface of hill and dale, the windows without blinds, loose 
 and shaking hi every breeze, as if with the ague. It wae. only 
 a parsonage! Then, the exterior was finished without orna 
 ment of pillar, cornice, or moulding, much more discarding 
 such luxurious appendages as a corridor, veranda, or portico. 
 They would add to the expense, and might foment pride within 
 the parsonage, and jealousies without. 
 
 " Do tell us," says some fair reader, " what kind of people 
 these were in Olney." 
 
 " ! " says another, " excuse us from any more familiar in 
 troductions to the ' all sorts of people ' that a minister must be 
 acquainted with. Our memory is burdened already." Well, 
 you shall be spared the infliction. Human nature, we allow, 
 is the same the world over ; yet, there are some phases of it 
 in Olney which, nicthinks, we have not met elsewhere since wo 
 'gan travel together. However, you shall not be bored with 
 any more full-length portraits, framed and labelled. You may 
 have the materials, and draw them for yourself. To avoid con 
 fusion, we may give a name here and there, as it is inther 
 more convenient, than to say, " Mr. So-and-So," or " a certain 
 woman." 
 
 To return from this awkward episode to the question of our 
 fair reader. We intend you shall learn what kinds of charac 
 ter make up the parish of Olney, as their minister did, from 
 the intercourse of years, when the history of that intercourse 
 shall be laid before you. As a clue to correct results, we will 
 ^ive you some hints that may be of service. 
 
 The parish consisted of a hundred families, among whom 
 there was no such thing as caste, although there was some 
 diversity of intellectual and social culture. They were a sens-
 
 244 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 ible, thrifty, frugal people, accumulating property by small 
 gains, of which they were very tenacious. They were under 
 the shadow of a large town a few miles southward, which 
 opened a market for their produce. The habit of running 
 thither, with a brace of fowls, or a dozen eggs, or a bushel of 
 early apples and potatoes, made them unconsciously parsimoni 
 ous and contracted respecting many things in which the far 
 mers of the larger inland towns are free as the milch kine of 
 their meadows. There was, moreover, in this little community, 
 an intense individualism. With few exceptions, everybody lived 
 for himself, and took care of number one. 
 
 Again ; there was no person, of superior wisdom and repu 
 tation, looked up to as guide and leader. Deacon Hyde was a 
 man who thought and read more than many of the people ; but 
 he held his opinions rigidly, and was not generally popular, 
 besides seeking his own interest too exclusively for a public 
 servant. Deacon \Vhite was a well-meaning, self-complacent 
 man, who carried his sentiments, like his money, in a deep, 
 out-of-the-way place, so that it took an age to fish either of 
 them up. Esquire Eaton, the richest church member, took some 
 lead in political matters ; but, in the department of religion 
 and morals, he was careful not to step out of the line, unless iu 
 the rear. Captain Brown, whose heart was always in the right 
 place, was too little cultivated, and too easy, to take the helm ; 
 while, of a minister's leadership, there was, throughout the 
 parish, a pervading jealousy. 
 
 In regard to preaching, they were not a very discriminating 
 people. If a man was sound in doctrine, fluent in speech, 
 pleasant in address, he was, in their estimation, " a smart 
 preacher." Their estimate of Mr. Vernon's talents was 
 derived mire from his reputation abroad, than from their own 
 judgment of his performances. Hence, though many said, at 
 first, "We cannot hope to settle a man of such gifts;" yet, 
 from the moment he consented to stay, he depreciated in their 
 eyes. " He cannet, after all, be anything groat, or he would
 
 IJJE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAGE. 245 
 
 not stay in Olney." Millville people magnified and exalted 
 him because he was their minister. Olney, lacking in self- 
 respect, for the same reason held him in less repute. 
 
 " Human natur i* cur'ous." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 " The parsonage 
 
 might well be made 
 
 A comfortable mansion." 
 
 THAT first winter in the new parsonage, was one of many dis 
 comforts. It was a new beginning at house-keeping, always 
 a time of unusual cares. The girl, Mabel, was Mrs. Vernon's 
 only help, and, though invaluable in the nursery, was yet to be 
 trained in the kitchen. The children suffered much from fre 
 quent colds. The house was damp, and bare of such conven 
 iences as accumulate with the occupancy of a dwelling. The 
 builder's work, too, was left very incomplete. He found he 
 had been screwed too close in the contract, and so revenged 
 himself on the house. To supply the deficiency, took all Mr, 
 Vernon's odd moments, and many a pound of nails, and more 
 pine stuff than the refuse afforded. The fences were still 
 unbuilt ; and, when the spring opened, the garden patch was 
 not only uninclosed, it was an unbroken turf; while, on all 
 the place, there was, as Trinculo said of his desert island, 
 ' neither bush, nor shrub, to bear off any weather at all." 
 
 For this naked half-acre, with a house and barn, the peoplo 
 charged the annual rent of seventy-five dollars, nearly six per 
 cent, on the cost. The minister did not conceal his surprise at 
 this disproportion between the house-rent and salary but there 
 was no appeal from the decision. 
 
 At New- Year's, the annual sale of pews occurred. Captain 
 21*
 
 246 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 Brown accosted Mr. Vernon with the air of one conferring a 
 favor, and bade him welcome, with his family, to the " minis 
 ter's pew ;" adding, " I suppose, if I should come in when my 
 own slip is crowded, Mrs. Vernon will not turn me out ? " 
 The new pastor did not understand. He turned to Deacon 
 Hyde for explanation ; and was told, with some embarrass 
 ment, that the minister here had always been in the habit of 
 paying for his pew in church ; that Captain Brown had just 
 bid it off, for seven dollars, as a present to Mr. Vernon. Mr. 
 Vernon's spirit rose against this exaction. He had not lost all 
 the old fire. He told the deacon he would resign the pulpit, 
 before he would pay a tax of this kind toward his own support. 
 There was no Deacon Ely in the parish, to cry shame on such 
 an illiberal policy. Indeed, the present incumbents of the 
 deaconship had no proper conception of the nature of their 
 office. 
 
 To attend upon the sacramental table ; to keep the alms of 
 the church ; to read a sermon in the minister's absence ; to 
 examine candidates for church- membership ; to pray at the 
 stated social meeting; this seemed the amount of their official 
 obligations. It appeared not to enter their thoughts that the 
 office had its origin in the commendable purpose to relieve the 
 pastor from solicitude and labor, respecting secular and collat 
 eral objects, that he might give himself with more freedom to 
 the ministry of the word. 
 
 To watch against annoyances in his pathway ; to shield him 
 from burdens not properly his own ; to stand between him and 
 the pecuniary requisitions which, thrown back by many a 
 defaulter, must rest somewhere, and are so apt to fall on the 
 minister ; to make all the surroundings of his professional work 
 as comfortable and pleasant as possible ; to help him in his 
 attendance upon the sick and suffering ; to proffer aid and sym 
 pathy in peculiar and trying services; the Olney deacons had 
 never opened their eyes on this part of their official work ; tho 
 department which, more than any other, required from the first,
 
 , LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 247 
 
 " men of wisdom and good repute. For all they will do, tho 
 pastor may be a hewer-of-wood and drawer-of-water for the 
 congregation, make the fires and keep the doors of the sanc 
 tuary, and provide, not only the beaten oil for the pulpit, but 
 the sperm oil for the evening lamps. 
 
 Late in the spring, Mr. Vernon presented the subject of 
 home missions, and informed the congregation that a collection 
 would be taken up the ensuing week. After church, he con 
 ferred with the deacons about collectors. They suggested one 
 and another, who " ought " to accept the service. The next 
 day the pastor renewed the search, but in vain. After spend 
 ing several hours in this way, he called upon Deacon Hyde, 
 saying, " Unless you can go, I believe I must turn collector 
 myself." The reply was, " I cannot see to it. I must finish 
 my garden this week." " Mine," said Mr. Vernon, " is un 
 touched." " It 's a busy season," said the other deacon ; if any 
 one is at leisure, it would n't be much to go over this district.'' 
 And so they let the minister collect the charities of the church 
 from door to door ; nor was it the last time that they aban 
 doned him, in a similar strait, to make provision for a like ser 
 vice. The next week Mrs. Vernon was in the garden, dropping 
 a few flower-seeds, when Deacon Hyde leaned over the fence 
 and asked if she had taken the garden in hand. She replied, it 
 was time something was done ; and he rejoined, with a satisfied 
 air, " My garden is planted." 
 
 Mrs. Vernon found the people unaccountably shy of hei 
 All her philosophy could never explain the matter. It seemed 
 as if it were the general impression that a minister's family 
 was a foreign and dangerous element in the community, an 
 object of suspicion and watchfulness. She dispensed with eti 
 quette, and sought acquaintance with the people at their own 
 homes ; but she felt, with pain, that they did not meet her with 
 open couQ'lcnce. Mrs. Plympton, when asked to call more 
 frequently, said "she had little time. Ladies, who kpt a 
 hired girl, might be able to run about and make calls; but wo 

 
 248 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, , 
 
 plain folks, that do our own work, find enough to keep us at 
 home." Many a housewife in Olney had a grown-up daughter, 
 or maiden sister, or widowed aunt, with whom to divide the 
 labor of the house ; but this was quite another affair from 
 " hired help." 
 
 Mary was fond of quiet, and had too many cares, to pine 
 over her loneliness ; yet she felt, at times, the want of social 
 intercourse. For weeks together, no female friend looked in at 
 the parsonage. The change was striking after a residence in 
 Millville. She would sometimes say, playfully, to Edward, 
 " I think I could endure Aunt Hannah now, with all her clear 
 starching and gossip ;" or, " Even a call from sister Harris, 
 would be tolerable, though she should come with a petition for 
 a double sermon on chastity, and five sheets of statistics in 
 reference to a charity school in Abyssinia." 
 
 It is a busy year, both with the pastor and his wife. A wise 
 economy is practised ; yet, though the semi-annual payment of 
 the salary is made promptly, and in cash, it requires little fore 
 sight to tell how matters will stand at the year's end. The 
 price of living has been higher than Mr. Vernon anticipated. 
 He must give for produce all it will bring in town. He bought 
 one ton of hay of a man who lived on the borders of the parish, 
 out of his society, and gave eleven dollars. Esquire Eaton 
 asked him why he did not purchase of his own people. He 
 had hay (not quite as good) which he would sell the minister 
 at twelve dollars. 
 
 Incvifintal expenses, too, were larger than he expected. 
 There was more transient company than at Millville. Trav 
 elling ministers and agents made frequent calls on his hospi 
 tality, which was always tendered without grudging. Mrs. 
 Eaton, who lived opposite, and noted the many calls, said to 
 Mrs. Vernon, " You keep the ministers too well, I know you 
 do, or they would not come so often." Mrs.' Plympton, on 
 the other sido, was greatly concerned about the large washings 
 hung out from the parsonage, and tried to sympathize with
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 249 
 
 Mabel ; but the girl was too affectionately and gratefully 
 devoted to her employers, to be made uneasy or untrue. So 
 she reported the thing to Mrs. Vernon, with the comment, " If 
 she thinks the washing too large, she might once in a while 
 take an agent, and make the line of sheets and pillow-cases 
 shorter." 
 
 The cause of temperance needed a vigorous impulse. The 
 people wished to hear some popular reformed inebriates. They 
 were highly entertained ; but the lecturer, of course, must be 
 taken care of at the parsonage. If the minister asked how the 
 man was to be paid, he was told, by subscription ; " they 
 would attend to it, and hand in the money in the morning." 
 Waiting till the last minute, he would give the lecturer a three 
 or a five, or a larger bill, from his own purse. By-and-by 
 there would come in half or two thirds the sum, in shilling con 
 tributions, from a few of the nearest temperance men. When 
 he spoke of the deficit to the deacons, they were very sorry, but 
 they had done their part. And after a while, he took the cool 
 advice they gave him, and learned " to be careful." Yet, what 
 pastor does not feel for the reputation of his people, and will 
 not sometimes empty his purse of its last shilling, rather than 
 have their meanness reported abroad ? Mr. Briggs was presi 
 dent of the temperance organization ; a man too prominent to be 
 overlooked. His buildings made as imposing an array as any 
 in the village. His dwelling-house and grocery were near the 
 green, and his fine grist-mill a few rods back, on the same tur 
 bulent stream that, a little higher up, dashed by the parsonage 
 Mr. Briggs was pronounced " a good liver," and " well to do in 
 the world ;" but, for some reason, he was far from being liberal 
 in his intercourse with the minister. On one occasion, he offered 
 to take the temperance agent for the night, but left his horse 
 to be cared for at the parsonage. 
 
 In the evening, Master Edward was sent to the mill for a 
 half bushel of oats, which the gentleman had requested for his 
 steed, and returned, saying, " Mr. Briggs took thirty cents foi
 
 250 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 them, uncle, though he knew they were for the lecturer's horse.' 
 Was this avarice, or thoughtlessness ? The minister could not 
 determine. 
 
 The annual payment, from Salem, came in due season. Mary 
 said to herself, " Six months more, and we shall be able to 
 redeem the piano." And her heart bounded at the thought 
 of the old familiar music. But the year ended, and there was 
 not a dollar left. 
 
 " I would tell them, frankly, Edward, that we cannot live on 
 five hundred dollars." 
 
 " Not quite yet, my dear," was the reply ; " let us try it 
 another year." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 " Secret griefs and silent joys ; thorns in the flesh, and cordials for the 
 spirit." 
 
 AFTER a lapse of three years and a half, let us look again 
 tuto that quiet valley, and see if we recognize the parsonage, 
 It is still in the old place, and it is the same plain building as 
 ever ; but its surroundings give it a totally different aspect. 
 That luxuriant growth of trees ! one can hardly believe it the 
 work of scarce five years. But, then, they were not very small 
 when transplanted hither ; they were selected and nurtured 
 with care ; they have sped their growth, as if in sympathy 
 with the brief, swiftly-run race of him who tends them. The 
 honeysuckle, brought from Mayfield, covers the green lattice at 
 the front entrance. The grape-vine, at the other door, has out 
 grown its white trellis, and spread itself on the kitchen roof. 
 The sweet-briar has climbed to the chamber windows, and a 
 yard of TDSCS, in numberless variety, perfumes all the summer 
 air. The stubborn garden has been subdued, and though it 
 can spare little room for the beautiful, that is well improved.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 251 
 
 Witness the tasteful arbor, and the flower-bordered walks. 
 Many u parishioner, who would have looked enviously at thesa 
 adornings, had the minister owned the place, smiled compla 
 cently, as he saw the property of the parish rising in value, 
 without cost to the society. 
 
 But let us look within the doors, and see what changes timo 
 hath wrought there. In that pleasant back room, whose wio 
 dows command the wide mountain range, and which is dining- 
 room, sitting-room, school-room, and nursery, we find the same 
 presiding spirit, the patient, cheerful, efficient wife and 
 u.other, still young and gentle, and scarce more matronly than 
 when W3 saw her last, though to her maternal charge has been 
 added the gift of two sweet babes. 
 
 Rose is a little gypsy, of three years, with dark eyes and 
 curling hair, her mother in miniature. The baby, of six 
 months, in the cradle, whose little head begins to look golden in 
 the sunlight, is the dear remembrancer of buried treasures. 
 
 " I suppose," said the kind Mrs. Rogers, " you will name 
 her for the child you lost ? " 
 
 " 0, no ! " said Mrs. Vernon, calmly ; " we cannot have two 
 of the same name in the family. My angel-child is not lost to 
 me. The children, too, feel that they have a sister Abby, 
 though she has gone to a happier home than theirs." 
 
 But there was a name, precious for her sake who bore it, 
 ;.ssociated, too, with the memory of her first-born ; and when 
 v.ns tiny babe opened a pair of large, blue eyes, in the samo 
 languid way as those she so well remembered, she overlooked 
 Mr. Wood's estrangement, and called it Carrie. 
 
 Allison is now a fine, studious boy of seven, and cousin 
 Edward is a tall, manly lad of fourteen. But where is Nelly, 
 the restless, active, inquisitive Miliville baby ? She must be 
 now a girl of five years. Yes ; but she has, for the present, 
 another home. Her city aunt has married again, married a 
 rich, miserly man, without children ; and she has offered to 
 *dopt her namesake. And could these parents, with their
 
 252 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 views of parental responsibility, and their tender' sensibilities, 
 give away the child ? No, indeed, especially to such a guar 
 dian ; and such a child as Ellen, sensitive and impetuous, need 
 ing peculiar wisdom in her discipline and training. Yet, in 
 the circumstances, they let her go for a few weeks. The chil 
 dren all had the whooping-cough* The mother's cares, present 
 and prospective, urged the acceptance of any relief. Dr. Reed 
 recommended a change of air for the child, whose lungs were 
 enfeebled. So, with many fears, and much weeping in secret 
 places, and such prayers as only a mother can offer, Mary 
 parted with the child, as she hoped, for a brief season. It was 
 now a year, and the way was not open for its return. 
 
 Mabel Ellis, with her large, open face, is still the faithful 
 domestic, able, now, to take the daily routine of a house-keep 
 er's duties. Yet even this bright spot has a hovering shadow. 
 Mabel has an indolent, wicked father, who would make his 
 child's labor available to his self-indulgence. More than two 
 years ago he came to see if she could help him, and peremp 
 torily forbade her staying at the parsonage without wages. To 
 retain her, her kind benefactors, who had sheltered and clothed 
 and schooled her, when she was of little use, were now obliged 
 to pay her a dollar a week for her services. Her father, too, 
 was ever and anon sending for her wages, and threatening to 
 place her in a factory. The girl bore herself nobly in these 
 trials. She wept at receiving wages from those who had sup 
 plied to her the place of parents, and whose dwelling was th 
 only happy home she had ever known. Poor child ! she, too, 
 had been matured in the furnace. She promised Mrs. Vernori 
 that she would not leave her while she could possibly avoid it ; 
 and for this end she stinted her wardrobe, that her unnatural 
 parent might be satisfied with the sums saved from her wages, 
 and let her remain. Such fruit of her careful nurture was, to. 
 Mary, a source of rich joy. 
 
 And how goes -ife with the dominie himself, through these 
 passing years ? He is gradually "regaining his health, and slowly
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 253 
 
 recoveiing his mental elasticity and vigor. He has not written 
 many sermons, but he has gathered materials for future useful 
 ness and a. tivity. He is a better mon. than he was. The 
 fruit of chastisement has at length ripened. Those deep furrows 
 of his soul, through which the ploughshare tore, and the fire 
 burned, irrigated by copious tears, under the blessed sunlight of 
 Heaven, are covered with springing verdure, and gemmed with 
 lowly flowers. 
 
 Success has early crowned his labors. Many precious youth, 
 and a few souls in maturer years, have embraced the offers of 
 mercy, and been gathered into the Saviour's fold. He has 
 evidently gained a strong hold of the community. Those who 
 turn away from his message respect and honor&m as a man 
 and a Christian. His example and intercourse, out of the pul 
 pit, have done much for the Gospel, in their influence on 
 worldly minds. Were Deacon Slocum here, he would doubt 
 less reiterate his judgment, " Woe unto you when all men 
 speak well of you ! " 
 
 The philosophy of the thing is very obvious. Religious men 
 in Olney, with few exceptions, were sharp, close, selfish men 
 in their business transactions. They were particularly tenacious 
 of their secular rights, pursuing a lawful claim to the uttermost 
 iarthing. They were, apparently, as eager to get and to save 
 as the most acknowledged worldlings around them. In their 
 charities, too, though their motives were not to be impeached, 
 though they gave from principle and conscience, their 
 standard of liberality was so low as to be often overreached by 
 some who professed not to be governed by the great law of 
 benevolence. Then, again, -here was, among Christian people, 
 BO little pains-taking and self-denial, to promote the welfare of 
 others and the public good, that religion missed one of its best 
 letters of commendation to the conscience of unbelievers. 
 What marvel that in such a community a minister of good pul 
 pit talent?, who was liberal-minded, warm-hearted, open-handed, 
 self-sacrificing, and courteous, in short, a Christian gentle. 
 22
 
 254 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 man, should win favor for himself and his office, in tte eyes 
 of intelligent, moral men of the world ? 
 
 But thus much wasunot gained without loss in another direc 
 tion. Mr. Vernon had not been in Olney a twelvemonth, 
 when he found out the besetting sin of his prominent religious 
 men. Nor did another twelvemonth pass ere he made the dis 
 covery that they were a people of more ample pecuniary 
 resources than he had supposed. While he was yearly expend 
 ing a hundred dollars of his former savings, to eke out his liv 
 ing, it did not add to his equanimity to learn that the people 
 were abundantly able to place him above solicitude, in regard 
 to temporal things, that scarcely a farmer in his parish but 
 had monej^t interest, snugly invested, and yearly increasing, 
 that, above all, the society had an ample fund, provided by 
 their fathers, which paid two thirds of the salary. 
 
 Stimulated by these facts, he brought the Gospel to bear on 
 the reigning selfishness of the community, urging, especially on 
 the church, the duty of a larger liberality, and a more unselfish 
 devotion to the Redeemer's cause. He was earnest, and san 
 guine of success, expecting, by the divine blessing, to bring 
 about a speedy change. After those revival scenes, in which 
 the brethren, borne along by his ardor, went beyond themselves, 
 and worked with some efficiency by his side, he said to Mary, 
 " What a pity, that so good a man as Deacon Hyde should 
 be so penurious ! He might have twice, yes, thrice, the power, 
 in this community, if he were only a generous, liberal soul. I 
 believe I can make him see it, and bring him up to a higher 
 standard. I am sure the inconsistency only needs to be set 
 before him, as /see it, to make him ashamed of himself." 
 
 Ah, joung minister! sooner than be ashamed of himself, he 
 will be offended with thee. Thou dost forget the power of long 
 habit, cf a life's growth. Go, and take the twist out of the 
 gnarled oak ! Hadst thou begun twenty years ago, thou mightst 
 have moulded these disciples after thine own enlarged views ; 
 but now, when that head begins to be silvered with age, thou
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 255 
 
 naayst modify, but thou canst not revolutionize, the inner man. 
 " Set the matter before him ! " He will see things through his 
 own glasses, till he reaches a world of perfect vision. 
 
 But Mr. Vernon meant to discharge his duty, and he made 
 this theme a prominent one in dividing the word. He only 
 sowed the seeds of future harvests, to be reaped by others, after 
 he had gone to his reward. 
 
 The result was what might have been anticipated from human 
 infirmity. Deacon Hyde inwardly chafed under the close 
 application of such Gospel truth. He resolved to know the 
 minister's opinion of him ; and so he asked him plainly, and was 
 candidly answered. He felt unappreciated, and thought he was 
 harshly judged. He was a man that brooded over wrongs, real 
 or fancied. He liked many things in the minister, but this one 
 bitter pill made the whole distasteful. He thought he was wil 
 ling to do his part ; and was always alleging this. He was told 
 this was not enough ; he must not measure himself by others ; 
 that Bible liberality supplied others' lack of service by more 
 abundant sacrifices and offerings. This was hard doctrine. It 
 exasperated the good deacon so much that he forgot truth, and 
 the respect due to his pastor, so far as to reply, " I believe / 
 give as much as my minister." As truly might one of those 
 respectable Jews, whom Jesus watched, have cast a mite into 
 the treasury, and assured the poor widow that he had given as 
 much as she. Not unlikely Mr. Ycrnon pushed the truth too 
 hard. He was fallible, like other men. Mary once said to 
 him, " I wish you would not allude to the subject of ' giving,' 
 for two months to come ; Deacon Hyde looks so troubled." 
 
 But the disquiet of this influential man was not infectious in 
 the parish, though the same illiberality was prevalent. The 
 people had not been in the habit of doing much for a minister. 
 Donations were few and far between. Exact remuneration wag 
 asked for little services, for which a Salem parishioner would 
 have felt hurt by the offer of payment. 
 
 At the expiration of the second year, Mr. Vernon called
 
 256 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 together Esquire Eaton, Mr. Briggs, and the deacons, to make 
 known his pecuniary circumstances. They seemed surprised. 
 Deacon Hyde told him he had nothing to complain of in the 
 way of salary ; and Esquire Eaton hoped he would not make 
 the matter more public, or take any steps about it at present ; 
 " there was talk of getting him a year's supply of wood, und 
 some had spoken of a donation party." 
 
 The third year, filled up with deeds of steady devotion to 
 the spiritual interest of the people, rolled away. A few indi 
 viduals sent in a chicken apiece at thanksgiving ; and a spare- 
 rib at the pork season ; and a few balls of butter at New- 
 Year's. But, as to the. " wood-bee," and "donation-party," 
 there was no one to set the thing forward, taking the lead ; 
 and certain persons were careful not to encourage so dangerous 
 a precedent in the parish. 
 
 In looking back upon the varied experience of more than four 
 years, we find many a passage, over which it were good to linger. 
 The revival and its consequents teemed with touching incident, 
 sad and joyous: commingled disappointment, and hope. The 
 pastor's own household shared largely in the blessing. Edward 
 and Mabel were hopeful subjects of renewing grace, while the 
 thoughtful Allie developed largely that love for religious things 
 which seemed very early implanted in his heart. Some bitter 
 disappointments, too, attended " the work." 
 
 Mr. Douglass, a widower, with five daughters, lived in a sub 
 stantial farm-house, a mile east of the village ; a man in easy 
 circumstances, of more liberal views, in the culture of his chil 
 dren, than generally prevailed in Olney. His daughters had 
 improved their advantages, and formed a most interesting 
 group, fair, yet frail, inheriting from their mother the seeds 
 of early decline. Under the preaching of the new pastor, they 
 were among the first to manifest special emotion. His heart 
 was greatly interested in them, and he labored unsparingly for 
 their salvation. Yet the season of merciful visitation passed, 
 and left them still out of the fold.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 257 
 
 At the village inn, there boarded a Mrs. Upton, and her son, 
 who was clerk in Mr. Briggs' temperance grocery. She was a 
 native of the place, who had returned after an absence of many 
 years, widowed and poor, with her only child, to die in this 
 beautiful spot, and be buried beside her father and mother. 
 Between her and the minister's family there sprung up a sweet 
 and congenial friendship. Frank Upton was an open, ardent, 
 impulsive youth of nineteen, well educated for business, of a 
 genial, social temperament, and a generous heart. Mr. Vernon 
 loved the young man, and won his affection in return. When 
 one and another of the dear youth of his charge gave their 
 hearts to God, his soul yearned over this young man, with 
 longings that would take no denial. Gay companionships kept 
 him aloof from the cross. His mother wept, and pleaded, and 
 warned in the hollow voice of the sepulchre. The pastor and 
 his wife set apart for him special seasons of prayer. At length, 
 his heart seemed suddenly to yield, and he consecrated himself 
 to the service of Christ. Very pleasant, now, was the inter 
 course between him and his pastor. To young Upton, Mr. 
 Vernon spoke freely, and in confidence, of many things that 
 would not have done for the public ear. Many a pleasant gift, 
 too, did the family receive from the young clerk ; a paper of 
 choice tea, or fine sugar ; a basket of eggs, when they were 
 scarce and dear ; a keg of oysters, or a present of fruit. He 
 seemed on the look-out to confer a favor ; and soon the pastor 
 began to lean on him, and to see in him a future reformer and 
 leader, one who would help bear public burdens, and give a 
 more liberal tone to the sentiment of the community. Alas! 
 how often does God disappoint such hopes, taking away the 
 strong props on which his servants lean, lest they should trust 
 in man, and make flesh their arm ! 
 
 Frank was popular everywhere, of good business tact, and 
 winning address. The eagle-eyed proprietor of the large liquor 
 establishment in the village offered him a good salary as ac 
 countant. The temptation was strong ; the duties of the new
 
 - 258 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 station were more congenial than to be boy-of-all-work at Mr. 
 Briggs' grocery. His mother, declining rapidly, needed all tha 
 comforts which the increased salary would procure her ; and so 
 he accepted the situation, against his pastor's advice and remon 
 strance. Expostulation, entreaty, and earnest prayers, followed 
 him, as he fell into this snare of Satan, and was led away from 
 Christian duty. The spirited youth was nettled by his pastor's 
 plain-dealing ; he soon became reserved with him, and at length 
 passed him with cold, averted eye. The mother, meanwhile, 
 attended by the most assiduous ministries of Mr. Vernon and 
 Mary, went calmly down the dark valley, and was gathered 
 unto her fathers. Was not here a tender chord, at whose touch 
 the wanderer might be brought back ? Again did kind admo 
 nition fall on unwilling ears. It was whispered that the young 
 man occasionally partook of the social wine-cup. Ah ! he knows 
 not what tears are shed over his waywardness, by one who loved 
 him as a child. And was the pastor alone in his efforts to 
 reclaim and save ? Was there not one, in all that Christian 
 brotherhood, who saw the danger, and interposed to avert it ? 
 Enough who saio, but not one to save. 
 
 " If my case is so critical," said the young man, " why have 
 not the deacons or some of the brethren spoken to me ? I be 
 lieve, sir, you are needlessly alarmed ;" and he turned away 
 to make the minister's solicitude for him a jest in the bar-room 
 and groggery. 
 
 " And he was one of your brightest converts," said Mary. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! " tras the reply ; " I fear he was mine, and not 
 the Lord's." 
 
 In view of this defection, the pastor said, with deep pathos, 
 at the grave of another whom he had begotten in the Lord, 
 " O ! the joy of a watchman for souls, when one, whom he has 
 instrumentally brought into the fold of Christ, has finished his 
 course, kept the faith, endured unto the end, and is safe from 
 Billing, eternally safe in the heavenly kingdom." 
 
 But he dii not abandon the backslider; and the young man
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 259 
 
 felt uncomfortable in his position. At length, he resigned his 
 place, and departed to a distant city. A tear stood in his eye, 
 and his hand trembled, at the pastor's parting benediction. 
 , Is there not many a pastor can say, with Bunyan, " If any 
 who were awakened by my ministry, did, after that, fall back, 
 1 can truly say their loss hath been more to me than if my own 
 children had been going to their grave. Nothing has gone so 
 near me as that, unless the fear of the loss of my own salva 
 tion." 
 
 Later still, we find Mr. Vernon a frequent visitor at Mr. 
 Douglass', on the hill-side. The rapid decline of two daughters, 
 in quick succession, calls him for six months, almost weekly, to 
 the farm-house. The lamb' of the flock was taken first, and 
 afterward the eldest daughter. The seed of truth, sown so 
 diligently months before, now evinced its vitality, after much 
 watering ; a trembling death-bed hope left some ground of 
 comfort to survivors. In this long season of affliction, the 
 family leaned on their minister far more than on the physician. 
 If there was any change, Mr. Vernon must be sent for. His 
 wife, too, was often put in requisition. Many a delicacy did 
 she prepare with her own hand for the invalids, often, when 
 the materials must be purchased for the occasion from .her 
 scanty purse. Mr. Douglass was grateful; so were the sorrow 
 ing sisters. They often said to the pastor, " The Lord reward 
 you ;" and to each other, "What should we do without Mr. and 
 Mrs. Vernon ? " Why did it never occur to the rich fanner, 
 with his orchards full of fruit, and his barns of hay and 
 grain, and his larder of beef and pork, and his dairy of butter 
 and cheese, why did it not occur to him, that he could pre 
 sent the over-tasked and poorly-paid minister a substantial 
 token of his gratitude and love ? True, the pastor and hia 
 wife labored not for the sake of remuneration, their favors 
 were such as money would not have purchased, yet, such a 
 tribute, as a token of appreciation, would have made their eye* 
 overflow with grateful tears.
 
 260 THE SHADY SIPE J 01, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 v 
 u Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ. 51 
 
 IN this imperfect review of the first few years at Olney, we 
 must not overlook the pleasures of intercourse with ministerial 
 brethren. It was Mr. Vernon's happiness to find congenial 
 souls in the ministry around him, whose frequent converse 
 made many a green spot, and gilded many a dark cloud, in his 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 There was father Bellamy, with the wisdom of age, and 
 the experience of thirty years in pastoral life ; with a heart 
 full of sympathy, and a voice of counsel, unobtruded, yet 
 ready whenever advice was sought. He began with a salary 
 of four hundred, and a " settlement ;" bought a farm with the 
 latter, when land was cheap, which he diligently cultivated, and 
 now has a handsome competence for his old age. He sometimes 
 forgets how far the produce of the farm contributed to the sup 
 port of his family, and almost wonders that there is so much 
 complaint of the inadequacy of modern salaries. 
 
 When a brother was ordained, in the vicinity, with a living of 
 four hundred and fifty dollars, the good old minister gave the 
 charge to the young pastor, in which he shut him up in rather 
 a narrow place, by the following injunctions : " Not to dissolve 
 the relation while he lived ; not to turn aside from his proper 
 work to other pursuits ; and, by all means, to live within his 
 income." To some present, this charge seemed almost equiv 
 alent to an exhortation to commit suicide by slow starvation. 
 The good father, when he thought of the salary, larger than 
 had sufficed him for many years, forgot that there was with 
 it no productive farm to furnish the staples of life. But he 
 was a dear old gentleman " for a' that."
 
 LITE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 
 
 Next to him was the parish of brother Catlin, who, with his 
 wife, had struggled eighteen years to serve in the Gospel, edu 
 cate their four children, and keep out of debt, on a salary of 
 five hundred and fifty dollars. He was the severe student, the 
 chaste writer, the acceptable speaker, dignified, grave, and taci 
 turn. She was the prudent wife, the efficient mother, the literary 
 woman, the Christian lady ; : supplying to the parish his lack 
 of social qualities, holding the pen of a ready writer, guiding 
 her household affairs with discretion, keeping up a telegraphic 
 communication with her husband's professional experience ; 
 watching, toiling, trusting, with a flashing eye that no trials 
 could dim, and a hope in her heart that many waters could not 
 quench ; destined to finish her work ere her sun cross the me 
 ridian ; the goodly tabernacle wearing fast by hard service, and 
 consuming faster still under the intenser life within. 
 
 Further south lived, 0, rare exception! the polished 
 Mr. Williams, with his rich young wife, and beautiful as rich, 
 and good as beautiful, whose anonymous benefactions deli 
 cate as timely, carry joy to many a heart. 
 
 On the other side was the complacent Mr. Hijl, with his 
 happified look, and credulous heart, and corpulent, good-natured 
 wife ; both endowed with sensibilities less acute than most of 
 the fraternity, thereby escaping many a heart-ache, ay, and 
 many a finer happiness, too, blissfully ignorant of worldly 
 wiles ; not troubling their simple souls with the suspicion that 
 their dear people can desire their removal, though certain hinta 
 to that effect were becoming frequent and emphatic. Their 
 income was five hundred a year, with six children to feed, and 
 clothe, and educate ; and a widowed mother, whose only de 
 pendence was her son. What wonder that he was in debt ? 
 
 Still nearer Olney was brother Merton, a fine, scholarly man, 
 between thirty and forty, who was, at that mature age, unex 
 pectedly caught in silken meshes, by a young, fuiry-like creature, 
 the most perfect child of nature in all that sisterhood. 
 
 Just over the mountain-gap was the latest accession to this
 
 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 little band, Mr. Langdon. He was fresh from the seminary 
 and the marriage altar ; and, after a short hearing, received a 
 call with an offer of five hundred and fifty dollars. He said, 
 frankly, " I like the place, but I cannot think of living on that 
 income." Another fifty was added, and the honest-hearted 
 theologue replied again, " I might live on that, by much self- 
 denial. If I were preaching the Gospel to a very poor people, 
 I would be willing to forego comforts and make sacrifices. But 
 here the case is different. None of you practise self-denial to 
 support the 'Gospel, and I shall not deny myself the comforts 
 of life to preach it to you. I will try on six hundred and 
 fifty." This excess of frankness availed him more than the 
 nicest prudence ; and he was settled on his own terms, though 
 they were a startling innovation on the customs of all the 
 region. 
 
 One important member of the group is yet unmentioned. 
 What circle of ministers is complete, without the single 
 brother, verging toward bachelorhood ? the inconsistent soul, 
 who now congratulates himself that he has no domestic chains 
 to bind him ; that he is free to come and go as he pleases ; no 
 wife or baby to intrude upon his study hours, or call him home 
 at night-fall ; and, anon, is in close conference with the mis 
 tress of some parsonage, declaring, if he knew of the right one 
 in the wide world for him, he would win her, if he could. 
 Such was Charles Herbert, who was a frequent and welcome 
 guest at the Olney parsonage. 
 
 And so the circle was complete, knit together in tender, 
 sympathetic bonds. Had they not pledged each other the right 
 hand of fellowship? It surely was something more than a 
 name. 
 
 Those monthly meetings ! what seasons of refreshing and of 
 cheer ! How valuable to the intellect, how improving to the 
 character, how precious to the heart ! " As iron sharpeneth 
 iron, so doth the countenance of a man his friend." What 
 trials were recounted, what mercies rehearsed, what per-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 263 
 
 plcxif ies solved, what impulses given and strengthened in 
 the common work, what counsels nterchanged, what 
 prayers conjoined, what blessings evoked on Zion ! The 
 relaxation, too, of a lighter hour has its peculiar charm. 
 What playfulness of fancy, what pungency of wit, what 
 aptness of repartee, what scintillations of thought, what 
 exuberant simplicity ! 
 
 Nor were these occasions unfruitful of good to the wives of 
 the brethren. Each, in her turn, spread the festive board, and 
 caught many a moment of pleasant converse with the guests, 
 and quietly enjoyed the whole, in her husband's joy. . 
 
 Then there was the nearer intimacy of a smaller circle, 
 -Irawn together by a peculiar congeniality, and cemented by 
 frequent interviews, the social visit, or the morning call. 
 The two families who were bound in this close familiarity with 
 the Vernons, were those of Mr. Catlin and Mr. Merton. It 
 was very pleasant, every few weeks, to ride over to brother 
 Catlin's, or receive a visit at the Olney parsonage. While the 
 ministers discussed a leading article in the last " Review," or 
 conferred upon a topic of debate at their next stated meeting, 
 or opened some parish trouble for advice and sympathy, Mary 
 prized highly the opportunity alone with Mrs. Catlin. She 
 leaned on her as an elder sister, appealing to her judgment 
 and Christian feeling with almost perfect confidence. Mrs. 
 Catlin had not all Mrs. Vernon's feminine softness and grace ; 
 yet she surpassed her in energy and comprehensiveness. Her 
 sphere of service was a warp of many threads and colors mul 
 tiform, and complicated tissue ; yet she kept the ends all in her 
 hand, and the pattern in her eye, and carried the various proc 
 esses along without confusion toward the finished web. After 
 communion with such a spirit, Mary went to her daily tasks 
 with fresh courage, and a more vivid sense of responsibility, 
 and a more patient looking unto the end. 
 
 What Mi's. Catlin was to her, was Mary to Mrs. Merton, 
 except that the latter made the largest demands for aid and
 
 i!64 . THE SUAUY SIDE; OR, 
 
 sympathy Living only three miles apart they indulged the 
 luxury of frequent interviews, and shared many a pleasure 
 in common. Sweet Lucy Merton ! Taken from the bosom 
 of a loving circle, in a young city, and transplanted two hun 
 dred miles to a strange soil, many fears were entertained 
 that her wise, sober husband, would not find her exactly an 
 help-meet for him. But her very helplessness drew around 
 her many a protecting arm. Because she had been tenderly 
 reared, and was unused to responsibility, it did not follow 
 that she would submit to no privation, and have no nerve for 
 toil. " She was such a child ! " said some. True, and she 
 always will be, thank Heaven ! if she live to threescore. A 
 child of unaffected simplicity, large conscientiousness, and ten 
 der sensibilities, true to nature, with a face as changeful 
 as an April day, guided by instinct in her preferences, yet 
 gentle and kind to all. She has two sweet babes, with a year 
 between them, upon whom she seldom gazes without having her 
 large blue eyes suffused with moisture, so full and over 
 flowing is the fountain of maternal tenderness. She was to 
 Mary as a younger sister, a pet, a darling to be cherished, and 
 soothed, and guided, with affectionate consideration. In return, 
 sister Lucy as she asked to be called regarded Mrs. Ver- 
 non with a mixture of love, and gratitude, and admiration, 
 wondering always if she should ever be as wise and good. Let 
 them meet as often as they might, she had a question of duty 
 ready for her oracle. 
 
 Mr. Merton, for the first two years of their life in Milton, 
 kept from his young wife the fact that their expenditures ex 
 ceeded their income! It pained his generous nature to mako 
 such a disclosure. When, at length, there was full confidence 
 between them on this subject, she came to Olney for counsel. 
 Sending her husband to Mr. Vernon in the study, she took 
 Mary's hand, and said, " Let me go right through to your littkt 
 snuggery. I must have a long talk with ycx" 
 
 So she drew a footstool to Mary's feet; and, sifting down,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PABSONAOB. 265 
 
 looked up earnestly into her face, with the question, " I want 
 to ask how you do to lice ? I thought we were as frugal as 
 you ; but we don't succeed at all." 
 
 " ! " said Mrs. Vernon, " our salary does not support ua, 
 We have other resources with which we make ourselves com 
 fortable." 
 
 " Ah ! then, perhaps, you would do as poorly as we, on the 
 five hundred alone. But what remedy is there ? Do we not 
 live as close as we can ? " 
 
 Mary smiled ; and, smoothing back the hair from that fair 
 forehead, replied, "Not quite as close as we might, do we, sis 
 ter Lucy ? I know we have few luxuries. Our families are 
 only comfortable ; yet there are some comforts we could dis 
 pense with, if worse come to worst. The fund that ekes out 
 our salary will soon be exhausted, and if we remain here on the 
 same income, I foresee we shall have to devise expedients. It 
 seems to me I shall contrive ways, rather than run in debt." 
 
 " ! is n't it too bad," said Lucy, " when our husbands 
 work so devotedly, that the people do not give them enough to 
 feed and clothe their families ? But come, tell me where I 
 can begin, in a closer economy." 
 
 " Why, sister Lucy, / cannot begin in your family." 
 
 " But do tell me, dear Mrs. Vernon, of some one thing you 
 would do. You know how we manage." 
 
 " Well, if it were my own case, as it may be soon, I could 
 dispense with tea, and coffee, and sweetmeats. I could make 
 my pastry plainer, and season with molasses and allspice. I 
 could give up all cake but gingerbread, except an occasional 
 loaf sacred to company. I could mend my clothes a little 
 closer, and turn them once more inside out ; and I might some 
 times keep no fire below, except in the kitchen, and thus save 
 fuel." 
 
 " ! you are not serious, Mrs. Vernon ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear," said Mary. 
 23
 
 260 THE SliADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 " And you advise me to this ? " said Lucy with a martyr look 
 cf gathering resolution. 
 
 " Not necessarily," was the reply ; " but I would do some 
 thing to avoid debt. Cannot Mr. Merton think of some way ? 
 Why could he not take two or three lads from abroad to fit for 
 college, if you were willing to have the care ? " 
 
 Lucy clapped her hands. " That 's it ! Why could we not 
 have thought of it ? It will do nicely. I can write to papa 
 to find us some scholars. But, then," said she, with a laugh, 
 "I must give up the retrenchment of table comforts, or the 
 boys would complain of a design to starve them." 
 
 This brought up again the subject of economy, and Mrs. Ver- 
 non told Lucy that she had learned to be cautious of small out 
 lays. " They seem trifling, and yet swell the amount of ex 
 penditure very rapidly. I now consider longer over a ribbon, 
 or a bit of lace, than over some large purchase that seems indis 
 pensable. ' Many littles make a mickle.' Avoid the shilling 
 outlays, which accumulate unawares." 
 
 . " ! Mrs. Vernon," said her young friend ; " do you know 
 I am so sorry I have such good clothing ? it makes so much 
 talk." 
 
 " I would not hear all that is said about it." 
 
 " Ah ! you could help it ; but how can I ? Nobody stands 
 in awe of me. Those furs brother Charles sent me ; and now 
 I have a new bonnet from sister Helen, and Ada a merino coat 
 embroidered with silk braid. I am sorry they were sent. 
 What grieves me is, that when our people know that these 
 are gifts, and that not one choice article I have came out of 
 Mr. Merton's salary, they will have it that he cannot live, for 
 my extravagance. Then, they make so many remarks about 
 my dress. I am sure I do not bestow half the thought upon 
 it myself. What would you do, my dear sister, not mind 
 what any of them say ? " 
 
 Mary smiled, and answered, ' ' Not exactly that, dear. You maj 
 get some useful hints from the well-meaning'ladies around you,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAG*. 267 
 
 as for the ill-disposed, I would not let their comments disturb my 
 peace. In the matter of dress, you must depend mainly on your 
 own views of propriety ; which will not, of course, overlook the 
 public sentiment around you. At Millville, I was complained 
 of for not donning a more rich and fashionable attire. Some 
 were ashamed to see their minister's family clothed so meanly. 
 Here, where I dress more plainly, there has been some fault 
 finding the other way. In following my own tastes and judg 
 ment, I may have made some mistakes; but this degree of 
 independence is safer than an effort to accommodate to the 
 diverse standards of others." 
 
 At this stage of the conversation, the ladies heard their hus 
 bands' footsteps in the passage. Lucy intercepted their entrance 
 with the entreaty, " 0, Mr. Vernon ! do please, take my 
 husband back to the study, and make him forget time half an 
 hour longer ; we have not finished our confab." 
 
 As they turned to go back, Mr. Merton said, " Kemember, 
 Lucy, I have a meeting to-night." 
 
 " Now we are quiet again," said the young wife, resuming 
 her seat. 
 
 " I fear," said Mary, gently, " that I shall detain you too 
 long, and your husband will be late at his meeting." 
 
 " 0, how thoughtful you are! " replied Lucy ; and she kissed 
 the willing lips that stooped to hers, and said, with swimming 
 eyes, and her quick little laugh, " How I wish some things 
 were contagious, as well as others! I have some hope, how 
 ever, that, living so near, /shall grow to be considerate too." 
 Tripping half-way up the stairs, she told Mr. Merton she was 
 ready ; and adding, " Don't forget, now, Mrs. Vernon, the rest 
 of that good advice, and come over as soon as ever you can," 
 again kissed good-night. But, while Mr. Merton was turning 
 the carriage, she stepped back once more, to announce the 
 important fact that baby Charlie had taken his first step in 
 walking this very day. 
 
 As the door was again closed. Mary sighed, " Dear child ! "
 
 268 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 " Who ? Sister Lucy ? " asked Edward ; and, as lie saw a 
 tear in her eye, he drew her arm in his, and walked back to the 
 fire, inquiring if she remembered a certain evening in the old 
 library, at Mayfield, when she asked the meaning of a sigh simi 
 larly freighted ? She recollected it well. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, " you understand it now ; and so do I, 
 better than T did then, or it would have been a deeper sigh, 
 a groan ' " 
 
 " O, no ! " said Mary ; " no, Edward ; say a lighter sigh 
 perchance, a song. Have not the joys far outweighed the 
 griefs ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 " The daily martyrdom of patience shall not be wanting of reward." 
 * Duty is a prickly shrub, but its flower will be happiness and glory. ' 
 
 WHILE the fifth year of the Olney settlement is rolling by, 
 let us take closer note of some matters and things at the par 
 sonage and in the parish. 
 
 The congregation has enlarged under Mr. Vernon's ministry. 
 The society is bound together by many a new ligament, of 
 which it is scarcely conscious. Unmistakable signs of pros 
 perity appear on every hand. The principal men feel satisfied 
 and very comfortable, if we except some uneasiness at that 
 repeated enforcement of liberality, which always hurts their 
 fi^elinss The church is increasing in numbers; the pastor has 
 his eye on the whole field ; everything is snug, and under good 
 cultivation ; then they get good preaching, that keeps the audi 
 ence awake, and all for so small a remuneration. " They 
 had rather hear their minister, by all odds, than that young 
 Mr Langdon, to whom the neighboring parish pays six hundred 
 and fifty ; they arc very fortunate."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 269 
 
 They can afford to compliment their minister handsomely. 
 Mr. Rogers, good honest soul, hears the congratulations at 
 the annual sale of pews, and volunteers to assure Mr. Vernon 
 of the prosperous state of things. He drops in at the parson 
 age, to say that the slips never sold so rapidly before ; and that 
 their income will leave a balance in the treasury of fifty dollars, 
 after all the annual expenses are met ! The innocent man did 
 not see that this was a two-edged compliment, or note how tho 
 pastor writhed under it. Was it so, then, that among all those 
 pew-holders, there was not one to say, " This surplus belongs to 
 our minister ; it has been brought in by his faithful services, 
 and should be added to his salary ? " Not one. 
 
 Hester Allen, the dress-maker, was at the parsonage when 
 Mr. Rogers called. Her cheek flushed, as, with the irony 
 habitual to her, she said, " I suppose the society will not 
 be able to devise any way of appropriating that fifty dollars." 
 
 " O, yes ! " said Mr. Rogers ; " 1 guess they will appropriate 
 it to a singing-school." 
 
 It was generally known that the salary did not support the 
 minister. Yet, Deacon Hyde inwardly rejoiced at the increas 
 ing demand for seats, as lessening the rent on single pews another 
 year. If they all sold, they could be marked a little less. 
 
 In these days, it was becoming common for ministers to take 
 a vacation of two or throe Sabbaths, and leave the people to 
 supply the pulpit. Mr. Vernon asked of his deacons the 
 privilege of a Sabbath or two, that he might visit friends, and 
 recruit. 
 
 They scowled and grumbled, and finally told him that, if ho 
 had a large society like Dr. B., or Mr. A., it might be reason 
 able ; but his duties here were not burdensome. It surely could 
 not be very fatiguing to look after so small a parish as Olney. 
 Besides, as to relaxation, they believed the minister and his 
 family rode about, now, more than any of the people. 
 
 Poor Mr. Vernon was confounded ; he went home stung to 
 the quick. 
 
 23*
 
 270 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 " Why did you not calmly reason the matter with them ?" 
 paid Mary. 
 
 " It 's of no use," he replied ; " they cannot appreciate it. 
 To argue the matter with such men, 1 must first find them, not 
 brains, but sensibility. They would work a man to his utmost 
 capacity, and half-starve him, meanwhile, with the smoothest 
 self-complacency." 
 
 A like obtuseness existed with reference to Mrs. Vernon's 
 labors. Because her duties were noiseless, and many of them 
 out of sight, and made up of so many small contributions, put 
 ting in requisition the head and heart, as well as the hands, she 
 was regarded by numbers as a person quite at leisure, living an 
 easy life. It was often said, "I should think Mrs. Vernon 
 might do this or that, as she keeps a girl." 
 
 " It 's nothing, I suppose," said Hester Allen, " to do the 
 sewing for her whole family." 
 
 " It may be something, as she does it," said Mrs. White ; 
 "but /can't afford to put in so many stitches." If the work 
 at the sewing society was incomplete, or wrongly done, who 
 should attend to it but Mrs. Vernon ? " What shall be done 
 with this garment, made up inside out?" "I can't be troubled 
 with it," says Mrs. Plympton ; "some one who has the leisure, 
 looking hard at Mrs. Vernon, had better take it home, 
 and rectify it;" and they leave it in Mary's hands. There are 
 times, too, when no place offers for a meeting. Mrs. C. cannot 
 have it, because it is so warm, or Mrs. D. because it is so cold; 
 but there is always a last 'resort, they can go to the par 
 sonage. 
 
 When the simple Milly Green, who knew only just enough 
 to understand the offer of salvation, made her circuits of the 
 neighborhood, it was sometimes convenient for some Christian 
 lady to shorten her stay, by recommending her to go to the 
 parsonage, and see if there were not something she could do for 
 Mrs. Vernon. The hint was sure to take ; and, Milly, in hei
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAQB. 271 
 
 simplicity, equally sure to report that Mrs. Eaton or Mrs. 
 Briggs thought she had better come. 
 
 Mary had a simple but unfailing antidote for the bitterness 
 of all such imposed burdens. Looking beyond human selfish 
 ness, she accepted the requisition, as from the Master whom she 
 B9rved, and discharged it heartily, as unto him-. What though 
 Milly's visits were disagreeable? she was one of the Lord's 
 little ones, and the service for his sake was light and its 
 reward sure. 
 
 With all her trials at Olney, Mary's affections were inter 
 twining here and there, and building up a nest, a home for 
 herself and loved ones. She found some kindred hearts, and 
 had learned to bear patiently with the faults of thoe in whom 
 she could see the image of her Lord. Her heart was tender 
 and forgiving. She prayed earnestly to be kept from resent 
 ments, and found a growing readiness to extenuate unkind- 
 nesses, as the result of thoughtlessness and early prejudices. 
 The obtuseness of the people, in respect to the temporal conv 
 fort of their minister, was, indeed, a grief to her ; it was also 
 a mystery. Yet, inasmuch as these trials came by her heav 
 enly Father's appointment, she regarded less the second cause, 
 and took them as part of the "all things" that should work for 
 her good. 
 
 Edward, too, was approximating those serene heights, where 
 the soul sits secure amid the storms of adversity, though by a 
 more tempestuous course. He had now nearly expended his 
 stock of sermons, and though he had some freedom in writing, 
 though he read, thought, investigated, and brought forth things 
 new and old, yet he suffered many a mental conflict, that con 
 sumed the day, and carried his labors far into the night. He 
 could not content himself with superficial performances, though 
 his elaborated discourses were seldom appreciated. On one oc 
 casion, having spent a fortnight on a single sermon, with much 
 of his old enthusiasm in the study of truth, he was listened 
 to with an eagerness and emotion quite unusual. For once, he
 
 272 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 thought, the audience appreciate a well-wrought sermon. But, 
 lo ! in the evening, a neighbor calls, and speaks of the discourse 
 as prepared with special reference to a public event, unknown 
 to the minister, that occurred the Friday previous! "It 
 was," he said, " a capital hit." 
 
 " And so," said the pastor, after Mr. Briggs was gone, " thej 
 thought I planned and wrote that sermon in one day ! " 
 
 During this twelvemonth, we find Mrs. Vernon adding a new 
 task to her other toils. Mr. Ellis had again appeared, and 
 demanded higher wages for Mabel, or she must leave "instanter." 
 What could be done ? They were already living on the strength 
 of the last hundred that would accrue from the sale of their 
 house. It would take all to pay off their yearly bills. But 
 were there no perquisites that could add twenty-five cents to 
 the girl's weekly wages ? None but marriage fees, which were 
 few and small. The farmers' sons were not cultivated on this 
 point, here, as in " the hill country." A young man, whose 
 father was worth a score of thousands, brought his bride to the 
 parsonage, and was married for a dollar. A " two " or " three " 
 was the average fee, though some, less able, gave more. What 
 ever it was, Edward always gave it to Mary ; but, in these days, 
 the act was a mere ceremony. She would lay it by, and, before 
 many days, have occasion to smile, archly, at the inquiry, " My 
 dear, have you any money in your purse ? " as she yielded it, 
 without a murmur, for some common necessary. This way 
 there was no relief. 
 
 The people knew the strait, and some offered sympathy truly 
 precious; yet none thought how easily a small contribution 
 would set the matter at rest. Mrs. Plympton said, "Miss Ver 
 non had been favored a good while, and ought not to complain." 
 One neighbor volunteered the remark, to Mabel's father, that 
 such a smart girl could command fifty cents more a week, any 
 where else. 
 
 For her children's sake, Mary felt like making any sacrifices 
 to avoid parting with one whom she had carefully trained, and
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 273 
 
 whose influence over them so nicely accorded with the parental 
 discipline of the house. How could she expose her little onea 
 to contact with low, unprincipled, or superstitious domestics ? 
 
 At this juncture, Susan Brown, a favorite at the parsonage, 
 ran in, to say to dear Mrs. Vernon, how she did hate to go 
 away to school ; and if she could only come and recite at the 
 parsonage, how happy it would make her ; and papa should pay 
 as much as they pleased to ask. Upon this hint, Mary planned 
 her course. Soon she had a class of eight young girls at her 
 room, who, with Eddie and Allison, made up quite a school. 
 Her strength was now tasked to the uttermost, and many incon 
 veniences were undergone. Mabel did her part well, and tried 
 to make things easy ; but duties would jostle. There was a 
 good deal of friction ; and Edward felt that it was a cruel neces 
 sity which thus multiplied the duties of a sphere already over 
 burdened. Yet the school flourished, and gave great satisfac 
 tion. 
 
 At the close of the first term, Deacon White called, and 
 asked an interview with the mistress of the parsonage, saying 
 there was much dissatisfaction with her teaching a private 
 school. Was there, then, a latent spark of sensibility kindling 
 at the reproachful fact, that what was withholden of adequate 
 compensation from the minister must be toiled for, in another 
 vocation, by his patient wife ? Ah ! this was not the trouble. 
 Deacon White objected on a different ground, namely, the 
 superior advantages of a few created jealousies among the peo 
 ple, and injured the primary school, by withdrawing patronage. 
 
 There was, in Olney, somewhat of the dog-in-the-manger 
 spirit, or something worse, which said, " I do not choose to give 
 my children advantages beyond a certain level ; therefore my 
 neighbor shall not do it for his, if I can prevent." In view of 
 thi? unworthy feeling, the class at the parsonage was dis 
 banded. 
 
 Mr. Vernon began, now, to think seriously of a new field of 
 labor ; and yet his heart sunk within him, at the thought. If
 
 274 THK SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 he were to accomplish anything for the Redeemer's cause, 
 anything proportionate to his outfit and ability, he must abide 
 in one place long enough to carry out matured plans, and con 
 summate his undertakings. It seemed so great a waste, now, 
 when fairly acquainted with the peculiarities of his field, with 
 his hand on the springs of character, ready to operate to the 
 best advantage ; now, when he was really behind the scenes, 
 and had a hold of men's consciences, and was established in 
 their confidence, to forsake this vantage-ground, and begin at 
 the foundation elsewhere, while it will take years of like fidelity 
 for his successor to reach his stand-point here; this were, 
 indeed, a double loss. 
 
 Another consideration, too, had its weight. This was his 
 third settlement. Should he now remove again, would he not 
 be marked as a man given to change, *- roving and restless ? 
 From such a reputation his sensitive spirit recoiled ; though 
 he had observed that, of the brethren who won laurels for the 
 gift of continuance, some outstayed their usefulness, and others 
 endured evils from which a proper self-respect would bid them 
 flee. 
 
 ! how often was this subject revolved by the anxious pas 
 tor and his helpmeet, late at evening, after the house was still, 
 and the babes asleep, till the fire went out, and the lamp burned 
 dim, leaving them as far as ever from a decision, yet nearer 
 the source of comfort and strength, their hearts bound, as 
 with fresh cords, to the horns of the altar. 
 
 As the year that exhausts their capital draws towards its 
 close, there is a necessity for some action. Mr. Vernon, at last, 
 resolves to make to his people a formal disclosure of his pecuni 
 ary disabilities. It cost his independence something of a strug 
 gle ; and such was his knowledge of the prevailing cupidity, he 
 had little hope of its procuring relief. Yet it would, at least, 
 prepare the way for his departure without blame. Mary, 
 meanwhile, had more confidence in the moral sense and good 
 fueling of the people. She was sure they would rally to the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 275 
 
 relief of their pastoi; when the case should be once clearly set 
 before them. Edward always shook his head at this hopeful 
 prediction, and she would retort playfully, " ' According to thy 
 laith, be it unto thee.' " 
 
 The important day arrived, and a goodly number was gath 
 ered, at the pastor's call, to hear his communication. 
 
 He told them, in few words, that when he received a call to 
 settle among them, on a salary of five hundred dollars, he 
 expressed the conviction that it was not a competent support. 
 Yet he was then ignorant of the cost of living here, as well as 
 their habits in regard to donations and private contributions. 
 Hence he resolved to try. The result had been, as was known 
 to most of them, that he had been obliged to add, from his own 
 capital, a hundred dollars, yearly, to defray his ordinary cur 
 rent expenses. This reliance was now about exhausted. 
 Unless some other provision could be made, he must soon 
 involve himself in debt, or seek another field. He reminded 
 them of his manner of life among them. He had devoted his 
 whole ability, such as it was, to his professional work, not turn 
 ing aside to any other pursuit. As to the fruit of his labors, 
 his acknowledgments were due elsewhere, even to Him who 
 hath given the increase. 
 
 One thing he would say, the Gospel is a debtor to no peo 
 ple, neither is the support of its ministry a charity. 
 
 If, for want of reflection, it seemed to any that five hurtdred 
 dollars must be an ample support, he would go into particulars, 
 and open the thing arithmetically. Figures will not lie. 
 
 $500 
 
 There is, first, for house-rent, $75 
 
 Horse-keeping (to say nothing of repairs on harness, 
 
 carriage, &c.), 75 
 
 Domestic help, (board and wages,) 100 
 
 These three items take half the salary, $250 
 
 before we come to the support of the pastor, his wife, 

 
 276 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 and four children. Fifty dollars more $50 
 
 will barely cover the expense of fuel, lights, sermou- 
 
 paper, and postage, $800 
 
 \ 
 
 leaving, again, $200 
 
 or less than four dollars a week, to feed and clothe a family of 
 six ; to entertain company, and pay sickness bills ; to buy books 
 and periodicals, and educate the children ; to meet incidental 
 expenses, and the calls of systematic benevolence. 
 
 With this explanation, Mr. Vernon retired, expecting that 
 the action of the society would be made known to him by their 
 committee. But he waited in vain for any response to his 
 communication, official or private. In the weeks that followed, 
 rumor brought, by piece-meal, to his ear, the facts which no 
 member of the society had the courage or courtesy to reveal to 
 him. 
 
 It appeared that a motion was made, by Mr. Rogers, to add 
 a hundred dollars to the salary ; but it was defeated by various 
 influences. Some thought it a hasty measure. Others, who 
 were in favor of the thing, differed as to the mode of doing it, 
 and had not largeness of soul enough to let relief come to the 
 straitened minister, unless it could be rendered in their way. A 
 few, beside, were strongly disinclined to the proposed increase 
 of salary, partly from native penuriousness, and partly from a 
 growing coldness toward a preacher who struck such blows at 
 their selfish illiberality and sloth. Among them formal action 
 was at an end. Many were disappointed, and^ agreed to help 
 the minister, individually, by seasonable donations. For a few 
 weeks, a stream of beneficence set toward the parsonage ; but, like 
 a spring freshet, it was soon exhausted. There was no native 
 current in that direction, fed by perennial fountains. Esquire 
 Eaton's .amount of help was a load of chestnut wood, which, 
 reliable as his generosity, crackled and blazed, and soon was not, 
 So acute and complex were the pastor's emotions, that it were 
 difficult to tell whether these bounties gave him more pleasure
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 277 
 
 or pain A half-dozen individuals sent an offering of money, 
 their fair proportion of the proposed addition to the salary. 
 
 Pastoral duties and sermon-making dragged heavily, at the 
 parsonage, in these patience-trying circumstances. There was 
 much wounded sensibility there, and some risings of " the old 
 man," and earnest cries for deliverance from temptation, and a 
 fresh pluming of faith's drooping wing, and an importunate 
 turning of parched lips from broken cisterns to the lining foun 
 tain. 
 
 " What, though the springs of life were broke, 
 
 And flesh and heart should faint; 
 God is my soul's eternal rock, 
 The strength of every saint." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 " Ah ! storms and wintry weathei 
 Reign merciless and strong." 
 
 THE months speed on, and our minister take& no steps toward 
 a new field of labor. He is not the man Uy elbow his way 
 amidst the aspirants for place. Indeed, he shrinks too sensi 
 tively from the mention of his name as a candidate abroad. 
 
 One evening, after a long reverie, he says to Mary, " I fore 
 see we shall be compelled to stay in Olney another year. Our 
 expenses, too, are increasing. What do you think of selling 
 Pompoy ? " 
 
 Mary started, as from sudden pain, and said, " What could 
 you do, Edward, without a horse ? " 
 
 " I don't know." said he, " because I have not tried ; but, I 
 do know that I cannot live with one." 
 
 This opened the way for the pros and cons, and it was finally 
 resolved to make the sacrifice. 
 
 The minister's fine horse had been often coveted. Many a 
 21
 
 278 THE SIIADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 time he had been pointed at, with the half-envious remark 
 ''Our minister drives the best horse in town;" or, "There 
 goes a horse worth a hundred and fifty, any day." But, as 
 Boon as it was known that Mr. Vernon wished to sell, the esti 
 mated value fell. True, Pompey had entered his teens, yet he 
 had been used with care, and was as young as many a steed at 
 ten. Mary entreated that he might not be sold to remain in 
 Olney, lest the frequent sight of him, in other hands, should 
 awaken too keen regrets. A business man would not have 
 parted with him at less than a hundred dollars. But when 
 did a poor, straitened minister ever sell an article at its max 
 imum value ? Advantage was taken of his necessity, and a 
 contract closed for seventy. 
 
 The day he was to leave, Mary fed him with apples, from 
 her own hand, which he took with an almost human look ; 
 her last act of kindness to the noble animal, that had been as 
 one of the family from its first organization until now. As 
 his new owner led him away, Mary thought his coat had never 
 shone so glossy black, or his neck arched so proudly, or his 
 step pranced so gayly as now. She had tried to prepare the 
 children for the sad event, and succeeded with all, but Master 
 Edward. Pompey was his special charge and pride ; how 
 could he give him up ? 
 
 Mr. Vernon went to his study in silence ; and came down at 
 length to dinner, with eyes that told a tale of weeping. Tears, 
 long pent-up, took occasion of this opening of the sluices, to 
 pour forth freely. The children got bravely through the din 
 ner ; but, afterwards, seeing her father look sadly out toward 
 the empty stable, little Bose climbed his knee, and whispered, 
 " Never mind, dear papa, we shall see Pompey again," " in 
 heaven," she was about to say, but, suddenly recollecting, 
 ehe added, " 0, no ! he has no soul, has he ? poor, dear Pom- 
 pey ! " and the tears rained fast through her chubby fingers, 
 with which she tried to hide them from papa. 
 
 When the time came for young Edward's recitation, he
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 27U 
 
 entered the study without his books, holding a folded letter, and 
 saying, " I have no lesson to-day, uncle. I have been writing 
 to i'ather and mother. Perhaps I ought to tell you," looking 
 down, confused, " that I have asked them to let me come and 
 live with them." 
 
 " What does this mean, Eddie ? Shall I read the letter ? " 
 
 " I did not write it, expecting you to see it, sir ; but, you 
 may as well. It will tell you my reasons." Here the poor 
 boy choked with emotion. 
 
 44 Shall I go down and read it with your aunt ? I think she 
 will have a word to say in this matter. You are her eldest 
 son, you know," said Mr. Vernon, smiling fondly. 
 
 Eddie could not return the smile ; he only said, " Auntie 
 will think some of it is wrong and wicked ; but, 0, I could not 
 help it ! I could not help it ! " The letter was not read with 
 out a renewal of tears. We copy it entire. 
 
 " OLNEY, February, 18. 
 14 MY DEAR PARENTS, 
 
 " I fear you will be greatly disappointed, when I tell you 1 
 do not wish to stay any longer in Olney. It is not any fault 
 in my uncle's family, and I hope not in myself. They have 
 been very, very kind to me, and I love them with all my heart. 
 But I do not think it would be right for me to stay here, and 
 be a care and expense to them any more. They have taken a 
 great deal of pains with me, and I know they do it cheerfully ; 
 but I have long felt that they were not able. I have noticed 
 how close they had to calculate ; and now, don't you think, 
 uncle has had to sell his horse to keep from running in debt ! 
 I cannot help crying about it. Poor, dear Pompey ! I loved 
 him, it seems to me, next best to dear little cousin Abby. I 
 suppose I ought not to say that, exactly, and perhaps it is not 
 just true. But, you know, dear parents, that I have been 
 brought up with Pompey. 0, I remember so well the first 
 time I saw him at our old home in Norfield ! And now to
 
 280 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 think he is sold where I shall never see him again, and all 
 because the people here are too stingy to support their minis 
 ter ! Auntie would n't like it, if she knew I said that ; but 
 it 's true, any way. I am afraid you will think I have made 
 a great ado about Pompey ; but I have kept it to myself. Aunt 
 Mary, told me all about it, after they had concluded to sell him, 
 before he was taken away. She said she relied on me to be 
 brave and manly ; ' for,' said she, ' your uncle is much grieved 
 about it, and if he sees that it distresses you, it will make mat 
 ters worse.' The tears were in her eyes all the while ; but 
 she is so good ! I expect she talked to the other children, too. 
 After Pompey was really gone, Uncle Edward came down from 
 the study to dinner, looking very sad, and Cousin Allie ex 
 changed glances with his mother, and they tried to talk and 
 laugh as though nothing had happened. But I must not fill 
 up my paper with this. I want you to hear all my reasons 
 for leaving here. This is the first one ; because they are poor 
 and troubled to live. Another is, they have cares enough 
 without looking after me. It takes up a good deal of uncle's 
 time to hear my recitations ; but, most of the care comes upon 
 auntie. She hears many of my lessons, and she is always 
 watching over me, and doing something for me. And she has 
 more than she ought to do, besides this. 0, mother ! I often 
 remember what you said before I came here, that auntie must 
 have an easy time, as she had no farm or dairy to take care of. 
 I guess you would think differently, if you were here. I don't 
 know of anybody that has so many cares. She has everything 
 to attend to ; yet she is so gentle, and patient, and loving, in 
 it all ! But you would be surprised at the change in her looks. 
 Her face is so long and pale, and her eyes don't look half so 
 dark as they used to. She keeps the same sweet smile yet; but 
 I hardly ever hear her laugh now, as merrily as when she 
 frolicked with me in the old yard. She has too much on her 
 mind, and too much on her hands ; and I ought not to tax her 
 any longer. Another thing, I know she is very anxious to
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 281 
 
 have Ellen home again ; and, if I were away, I suspect they 
 would take her from her aunt. I know she does n't have suck 
 training there as the rest of us do here, and I often think thej 
 feel unhappy about her. 
 
 " You will ask me, dear father and mother, where I will 
 to fit for college, if I leave uncle's. I hate to disappoint yoc, 
 but I do not want to go to college. I know you have hoped 1 
 would follow Uncle Edward's steps, but I never shall be gooa 
 enough to be a minister. And if I were, I cannot be a minis 
 ter ! / am forever set against it I I have seen too much 
 how they are treated. Dear uncle and aunt have done a great 
 deal of good, and they seem to take things at least auntie 
 does very cheerfully ; but it 's too bad ! I could n't stand it. 
 
 " There are some religious folks here, that I don't know about 
 getting to heaven. I should n't much want to see them there. 
 0, this is wrong ! What would Aunt Mary say to it ? You 
 see, my dear parents, I am so much exfited at thinking this all 
 over about Pompey's being sold, and about the other things 
 that you must make allowance for me. 
 
 " Please write soon, and tell me I may come out to you, and 
 go to work on your new farm. I am in a great hurry to make 
 some money, that I may help dear uncle and aunt, to whom I 
 owe so much ; though I am afraid they will wear out first. I 
 want to be earning something for myself, too, just so that I 
 may come and settle down here in old Olney, and show people 
 how to support a minister. Give my love to the boys, and 
 answer this soon. 
 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 
 " EDWARD." 
 
 We have not room for the process by which Mr. and Mrs. 
 V'ernon reached the affecting conclusion, that it was best for 
 Edward to abandon a collegiate course, and seek an entrance 
 into business. Mr. Vernon wrote immediately to his brother, 
 saying rur^ong other things, " With the boy's present foci- 
 24*
 
 U82 THE SHADY BIDE J OB, 
 
 ings, it is of no use to urge him to the pursuit of a liberal edu 
 cation. Its rewards are slow, and he is impatient. But do not 
 reproach him, dear James. He has, at the bottom, motives 
 the most generous and disinterested. We love the boy with all 
 our hearts, and know not how to give him up, yet fear a per 
 manent injury to him by a longer continuance here. It is sad 
 that a spirit so young should be embittered, and confidence in 
 Christian men shaken. I have not known, till now, what a 
 strong under-current of feeling was gathering force in his 
 bosom. Ah ! it is a trying ordeal this, for older hearts than 
 his. Well, let the boy have his way ; he is about right, I 
 believe. Who knows but he is raised up for this very purpose, 
 to be a staff and comfort, by and by, to some otherwise fainting, 
 famished minister ? " 
 
 Mary grieved sore at this turn of things. Nothing had, in 
 a long while, gone so near her heart. Much as she felt Ellen's 
 a.bsence, this was a harder trial still. 
 
 While waiting for his father's answer, Eddie's heart, too, often 
 failed him. How could he leave these foster parents ? how 
 part with the children ? His aunt resolved, before he left, to 
 correct some of his notions on the subject of the ministerial pro 
 fession. He was quite ready to converse upon the topic. " I 
 fear," said she, " that you are indulging some wrong views, as 
 well as unchristian feeling, on this subject." 
 
 " I think, Aunt Mary, I ought to know something about it. 
 I have lived with you in two places, and uncle has been 
 treated so abusively, I could not help feeling as I expressed in 
 my letter." 
 
 " But all parishes are not alike, Edward. There are places 
 where the minister and his family are treated with the most 
 tender consideration, where the relation is mutually pleasant 
 and satisfying ; he, ministering to their edification' in spirit 
 ual things, and they, in return, providing all things needful for 
 his temporal wants. True, there is not, anywhere, sufficient 
 provision made for accumulating something against old ago, or 
 

 
 LITE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 
 
 disability. Yet there is many a minister whose passing wants 
 are amply supplied ; so that the question, What shall we eat ? 
 or, What shall we drink ? or, Wherewithal shall we bo 
 clothed ? does not follow him like his shadow, and fill his 
 sermons with anxious interrogation points." 
 
 Edward smiled, and shook his head. " There must be such, 
 I suppose, auntie, if you say so ; but I guess they don't live 
 about here, unless this new Mr. Langdon is one. Mr. Wil 
 liams, though, is rich enough." 
 
 She resumed : "I cannot endure, my dear Edward, that your 
 young heart should be so wrung for us, or that you should 
 cherish bitterness and prejudice." 
 
 " It is not prejudice, auntie ; have n't I seen ? " 
 
 " I know, I know," said Mary, " you have seen many things 
 that ought not to exist. God only knows how wrong they are, 
 and how much suffering they occasion ; but there are other 
 things that help to counterbalance. There were some choice 
 people in Millville. Here, likewise, you can look around, and 
 count many kind-hearted Christian people. The narrow-mind 
 edness, in many instances, is not the fault of the heart, but of 
 early training and ignorance." 
 
 " Deacon Hyde is not an ignorant man," said Eddie ; " ha 
 rode by, last night, to the west-district meeting, without offer 
 ing to carry uncle, though he knew Pompey was sold, and he 
 would have to walk two miles in the snow." 
 
 "Well, we will not talk of him now. Perhaps he feared, if 
 he asked your uncle to ride once he would expect it again, till 
 he would grow burdensome. I wish to call your attention to 
 one thing which you seem to have overlooked. The trials are 
 not all on one side. The people have their forbearance and 
 patience fried with the minister. v 
 
 " I thought all ministers were good men,' said the boy, 
 hastily. 
 
 " Well, allowing that, my child, good men are imperfect, the 
 best of them ; and some of them have very glaring faulta
 
 284 THE SHADY SIDE J OB, 
 
 Why should not ministers, occasionally, be among this numoer ? 
 I know of a parish, not many miles distant, which has had a 
 succession for fifteen years, of pastors with very serious defects 
 of character. One was petulant and irritable, taking most 
 things he met across the grain, and in his rashness berating his 
 best friends. Another was endowed, as one of his gocd-natured 
 people said, with every kind of sense but common sense. Hia 
 poor judgment was always leading him into mistakes that he 
 had not the skill to rectify ; so that where he took two steps 
 forward, in a good cause, he was sure to take one backward, his 
 zeal surpassing his discretion. The third and last minister was 
 the worst of the three, a mean, parsimonious spirit, scandal 
 izing religion by the reputation of being the closest man at a 
 bargain in the parish. Yet, that patient, generous people, bore 
 with the failings of their ministers, and kept them until they 
 naked to be dismissed." 
 
 Edward clapped his hands. " I wish," said he, "you would 
 leave Olney, and let these ministers be all settled here, in suc 
 cession. I would n't care, though, if the stingy one were 
 divided between Olney and Millville." 
 
 " 0, Eddie, don't talk so ! There is some occasion for for 
 bearance with every minister. Your uncle has his infirmities." 
 
 " But that is no reason why he should not be paid for his ser 
 vices," said the honest boy. " Besides," and his dark eye 
 sparkled, " if ministers are faulty, I guess their tvives are 
 pretty nearly perfect. I know one that is." 
 
 Mary involuntarily pressed the hand she held in hers ; and 
 the emotion, which his assumed playfulness was designed to 
 conceal, burst forth in the passionate exclamation, " ! Aunt 
 Mary, who will talk to me so lovingly and patiently, when I 
 am far away from you ? I am so hasty, and my feelfhgs carry 
 me to such extremes! But you never leave a matter, til you 
 make me see the right and wrong of it. O ' what shall I do 
 without yDu? " And they wept together. 
 
 Another month brought the western letter. After saying
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 285 
 
 that the boy, of course, must come home ; and that, after a six 
 months' tug at clearing up western lands, he might be willing 
 to resume his books and go to college, brother James spoke out 
 with his wonted frankness, about the minister's position at 
 Gluey. " What has come over you, Ned, to stay and bear 
 with such a people ? You must have changed much, to endure 
 this. But, don't flatter yourself, my dear fellow, that you 
 have the general affection and confidence of the people. I 
 can't believe it ; there must be some covered mischief, some 
 secret antipathies. People who love and value a minister, do 
 not act in this way. It would be a curious state of things, 
 with an ample fund, and with ability, as you say, to support 
 the Gospel handsomely without it, to let their minister 
 expend all his own capital, and sell his horse, and drag on in 
 poverty. No ! there is something, depend upon it, that you 
 do not see ; and I would advise you to get away from the place 
 as quick as possible. We pity our home missionaries ; but their 
 four hundred is better here than your five. The public senti 
 ment with you requires a minister to live in better style than 
 with us. Your cloth must be finer, and not worn so close. 
 Your house must have better furnishings, and your table more 
 comforts ; or, even your own people would make a buzzing 
 about your ears, to say nothing of the ado of brother ministers 
 and travelling agents. What would an agent do in Massachu 
 setts, whose horse was left to eat post-meat, while he was fed 
 on boiled rice, the only edible the parsonage contained ? Such 
 things happen here, and are put up with. But our New Eng 
 land folks, though they mean their minister shall practise a 
 close economy, are not willing he shall be shabby, or rusty. 
 They want the full tale of brick, even when they scrimp the 
 straw." 
 
 " About my estimate among the people, I think brother 
 James mast be right," said Edward. 
 
 Mary replied, with unusual warmth, " We have known the 
 deacons did not like your independence and faithfulness ; but I
 
 286 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 cannot believe there is any secret disaffection through the par 
 ish. I know the body of the people love and honor you." 
 
 " Then why will they let us suffer ? " 
 
 " They do not appreciate our situation, or realize what strug 
 gles and turns we make to live ; then, they do so love their 
 motiey." 
 
 The day of young Edward's departure was a sad day at the 
 parsonage. The sensitive boy covered his emotion under glow 
 ing pictures of the future. In four or five years he hoped to 
 return with the first fruits of his industry, perhaps a fine 
 salary as clerk in a mercantile house, which was to be laid as a 
 free-will offering at the feet of his benefactors. " And," said 
 the vivacious boy, " when you look up street some day, and see 
 a black horse coming, with a curious load in the rear, you may 
 know that I have brought back Pompey, and redeemed the 
 piano, and that we are all coming home together." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Allie, " that Pompey will be gray by 
 that time." 
 
 " Well," resumed the young hero, " if he is too infirm for 
 service, we will keep him for the sake of old times, and have a 
 young horse besides, to draw the carriage." 
 
 " And a new rockaway ? " said Allie. 
 
 " 0, you ingenious castle-builders ! " said Mr. Vernon. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear boys," said Mary, " you are looking too tar 
 ahead. The future is all uncertain ; but we know where to trust 
 it, do we not ? and cheerfully, too. All will be right." 
 
 " Well, auntie, in less than six years I shall be of age, and 
 you see if I don't make a rich man ; and I shall be your boy 
 then, the same as now, and all shall be yours. Mabel, too, 
 shall have something. Yes, you are one of the family, and I 
 shall not forget ;" and he kissed them each, and jumped into 
 the stage-coach with all haste, not able to trust his self-restraint 
 another moment. 
 
 Yes, noble boy ! thou wilt, indeed, be rich and honorable
 
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 287 
 
 So far, thy hopes are prophecies. But, when that consumma 
 tion comes, these guardians of thy early days will be beyond 
 the need of thy generous requital and filial ministries, wearing 
 their angel robes and starry crown. They may, indeed, look 
 down from thence, and bless thee for thy kindness to the 
 orphans. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, 
 Each day shall see some task begun, 
 
 Each evening see it elose ; 
 Something attempted, something done, 
 
 Shall win a night's repose." 
 
 IT has been forcibly said, by Hugh Miller, that " the climax 
 is a favorite figure in the book of Providence ;" that " GotJ 
 speaks to us in his dispensations, and, in the more eloquent turna 
 of his discourse, piles up instance upon instance with sublime 
 and impressive profusion." The observation was recalled to us 
 by a bird's-eye view of the course of things, the next eighteen 
 months, at the Olney parsonage. We must be pardoned, if 
 our portraiture crowd naked events together in unnatural prox 
 imity. The path is filled with incident. We have room only 
 for jottings along the way, leaving those that follow us to add 
 the drapery from their own fancy, and do their moralizing at 
 leisure. 
 
 The first noticeable event, after young Edward's departure, is 
 the return of little Ellen, according to his prediction. How 
 those hearts had yearned for her these many months ! and how 
 often had the prayer been wafted on sighs that she might bo 
 kept " from the evil ! " It was a cruel necessity earthward, 
 it was cruel that removed the child, at that tender age and 
 critical period, from the only forming influences that could 
 reach her peculiar need. With tremulous tluinksgivings, she
 
 288 THE SIIADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 was again encircled in parental arms, whose fond pressure she 
 warmly returned. Yet, the mother's quick eye soon read the 
 whole. She was a petted child, and had sadly missed the nur 
 ture of the fold. 
 
 Now they have all the fledglings in the nest. There is 
 comfort in that ; though they must devise expedients to protect, 
 and nourish, and train them there. 
 
 We have somewhere intimated that our Mary had the pen of 
 a ready writer. One evening, as she was diligently mending a 
 coat, which was Mr. Vernon's second-best, taking out the 
 facing of the skirts to make a new under half to each failing 
 sleeve, supplying the cloth thus surreptitiously obtained, with 
 the breadth of an alpaca dress, her thoughts, with their 
 wonted activity, resolved themselves into a committee of ways 
 and means for the future. 
 
 Mabel was silently knitting, and rocking the cradle with her 
 foot, for Carrie, though fifteen months old, was a baby still, 
 when she was somewhat abruptly asked the question if she 
 could take any more household care without being overtasked. 
 Her hearty answer was, that she was well and strong, and could 
 carry her daily work into the evening, if needful ; and she re 
 spectfully suggested, if Mrs. Vernon thought it would help to 
 keep boarders, she 
 
 " No, Mabel, not that. I have thought of trying to write 
 some little books for Sunday-school children ; but then, I must 
 leave Rose and Carrie more to you, and sometimes give up 
 other cares." 
 
 " As to the house- work, I have no fears," said Mabel ; " the 
 children, too, I could have in the kitchen after Mondays. But, 
 will you be paid for it, ma'am ?" 
 
 Mrs. Vernon replied that it would bring in something ; and 
 every little now would help. 
 
 This arrangement was just beginning to move harmoniously, 
 and promise well, as peremptory orders came from Millville for 
 Mabel's immediate return to factory-life, where she could earn
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 289 
 
 two dollars a week, and board. This time there is no escape. 
 The spirited girl is roused beyond the melting mood. Though 
 her benefactor? speak to her in tones more gentle and sub 
 dued ; though the children surround her with their caresses 
 and lamentations, she leaves with dry eyes, and a burning 
 cheek, and compressed lips, and resolution in every rigid mus 
 cle, saying, " I shall be of age soon, and free to yield my ser 
 vice where I owe it. Then, if the Lord spare us, nothing shall 
 keep me from you." 
 
 No new successor fills Mabel's vacant place. Mrs. Vcrnon 
 resolves to get through the spring alone. Allie is a very con- 
 iderute boy, always ready to help his mother. Ellen can 
 look after the baby some; and, when the weather is warmer, 
 amuse her in the garden-arbor, or on the soft, green sward, 
 before the kitchen window. Rose her mother's girl let her 
 be where she will, is never in the way; the bright, happy, 
 musical child, whose eye scarce sheds a tear that is not twin 
 sister to a smile. 
 
 But what becomes of the effort at authorship? The evenings 
 are getting short, and the name of household cares is Legion. 
 We get glimpses now of the patient mistress of the parsonage, 
 toiling by day, and writing by night ; tasking and multiplying 
 herself, as it were, to fill the various offices, that need each a 
 perfect unit. To be maid-of-all-work in the kitchen, and re 
 ceive guests in the parlor ; to lead the female prayer-meeting 
 weekly, the maternal meeting monthly ; preside at the sewing- 
 circle, call upon the sick, and, at the same time, ply her busy 
 needle to make and mend for her own family ; be the teachet 
 of her own children, and her husband's counsellor and com 
 forter ; what time will she get for writing, beyond her neces 
 sary correspondence ? Yet, 'mid all these diverse occupations, 
 her mind holds unbroken, from evening to evening, the thread 
 of a simple story, which, borne on the printed page, shall fall, 
 like healing leaves, in many a household group. Days and 
 nights of not a moment's leisure, oft intervene to suspend its
 
 2JO THE SHADY SIDil, OR, 
 
 progress ; but her watchful eye seizes the first opportunity. 
 The writing-case is opened, and the single lamp placed behind 
 its sheltering lid, to screen the baby's face ; then she takes 
 the pen, and, with one foot on the cradle, plies her task ; nor 
 heeds the growing lateness of the hour, so long as Edward is qui 
 etly at work above. It is late ere her head presses the pillow ; 
 and the busy brain, not obedient to the will, oft resists " tired 
 nature's sweet restorer," making the night's repose shorter still. 
 Ah ! they who read the touching tale, or tender counsel, will 
 never know what night-vigils wasted the strength, and helped 
 cut short the life, of her who breathed her own sweet spirit into 
 ihe warm lines that go so quick to the heart. 
 
 Pecuniary remuneration is slow and scanty. But, when it 
 comes after a six months' waiting, first a ten dollars, and 
 then a five, and another ten, how precious seems the treasure! 
 How conscientiously, ay, how joyously, is one-tenth cast into 
 the Lord's treasury, with tears of thanksgiving for the ability 
 such as the rich cannot know ! " ! " said a poor widow, " if 
 I envy the rich, it is only for their ability to do good ; it mitsi 
 be so blessed to give" 
 
 In these days, we find passages like the following, in the lit 
 tle diary, whose entries were neither full nor frequent 
 
 " April. It is not without some misgivings, 
 
 and many a protest from Edward, that I have made this de 
 cision [to dispense with domestic help]. One thing, by the 
 grace of God, I resolve, not to let my multiplied cares draw 
 me away from the closet. Only there, are the sources of 
 strength. 
 
 "May. Have received to-day, a note signifying the ac 
 ceptance of my first MS. by the Sabbath School Union. It 
 has been my prayer, to-night, that the Lord would accompany 
 this little book with his own blessing, to thousands of young 
 hearts, long after the hand that penned it is cold in death. 
 
 " May 20th. My cares the last few weeks, have been
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 291 
 
 numerous and trying. Have found no time to devote to my 
 Journal, though I have enjoyed many precious seasons of com 
 munion with Heaven. Am somewhat encouraged to find, 'mid 
 engrossing cares, that religious affection is more easily kindled 
 than formerly. While my hands are engaged in worldly avoca 
 tions, my desire is toward the Lord. 
 
 " Evening. Feel very languid in body ; - it seems as if 
 this weary tabernacle were too weak to bear the tenant. 
 Thought is most active, and feeling most intense, at these 
 seasons of physical debility. I feel like a weary child, long 
 ing to recline on my heavenly Father's bosom, and hide beneath 
 the sh^Bow of his wing. ' So he giveth his beloved sleep.' 
 
 " May 30//i. Never so felt the need of wisdom and grace, 
 to be an help-meet for an ambassador of Christ. My dear hus 
 band is struggling with discouragement. He received, to-day, 
 an ungenerous retort from Deacon H., which cut him to the 
 quick. I have had a great struggle with my own feelings. 
 After much prayer and self-abasement, I can at last think 
 kindly of the Christian brother, who manifested so little con 
 sideration and sympathy for his pastor. ! how little under 
 stood is the crushing, life-consuming nature of a minister's 
 work ! Lord, open the hearts of thine own children to a 
 deeper appreciation of these things. Make us gentle and 
 patient, in our intercourse with unreasonable men. 
 
 " If I know my own heart, I would merge every personal 
 consideration in the desire to aid my dear husband in winning 
 souls. I do take pleasure in denying myself for this end. 0, 
 that I may do it as to the Lord ! 
 
 " June. 1st. Edward has been for ' help,' to-day. Has the 
 promise cf a young Irish girl after another week. I have, for 
 days past, been wholly inadequate to the demands of my fam 
 ily ; feel that relaxation must come soon, or too lute to save 
 me from prostrating sickness. Physical debility interferes sadly 
 with my comfort in religious duties. If I read ray Bible, my 
 head swims ; when I close my eyes in prayer, I seem to be
 
 292 THE SHADY SIDE , OR, 
 
 mounting to the ceiling ; if I pray aloud, the throbbing of my 
 heart makes me so weary. Even desire must abate its intensity, 
 or so fatigue the over-worn powers of nature, as to lose ita 
 sweetness. Yet, even now, there flits by me a glimpse of that 
 bright land, whose inhabitant shall no more say, ' I am sick ;' 
 and the brief vision is like an angel strengthening me. ! 
 for thy wings, thou dove ! 
 
 'No more fatigue, no more distress, 
 Nor siu, nor death, shall reach the place j 
 No groans to mingle with the songs 
 That warble from immortal tongues.' " 
 
 Soon is the prediction verified ; the overtasked frame refuses 
 further service ; and the spheres, so faithfully filled, resign 
 their occupant. A nervous fever baffles, for many days, the 
 skill of physicians. Life at the parsonage wears a new aspect. 
 The large, untidy Hibernian effects an entire metamorphosis of 
 kitchen and pantry. Had the walls a tongue, they would cry 
 out against such treatment. Strange faces meet us in the old 
 familiar places, where we miss the well-known footstep with 
 which the soft echoes always kept time. Sweet Julia Rogers 
 is providentially there, devoting herself, with experienced tact, 
 to the little flock, deprived of a mother's care. We may catch 
 many a glimpse of her, strolling up the stream with her charge, 
 or telling them stories in the arbor, or gathering pinks and 
 roses in a nosegay for mama. 
 
 By the sick-bed, over which the angel of the covenant fans 
 h*is win? soft as the breath of the June roses that wreathe the 
 
 O 
 
 open window, ministers, in turn, many a precious friend. Lit 
 tle Lucy Merton is there twice a week, with her finger on her 
 lip, lest she forget that her dear elder sister must not be wor 
 ried with questions. Once and again has the sufferer's head 
 been pillowed on Mrs. Catlin's bosom. Sister Ellen has watched 
 a day and a night there, in her silk dressing-gown, and carried 
 her namesake back to her city home. Kind neighbors have 
 come in to aid; and some whose active sympathy was not
 
 LIFE IX A CGCXTRY PAKSONAQK. 2yd 
 
 expected, have laid the pastor under a lasting debt of gratitude. 
 Mrs Plympton left her work to call once at the parsonage. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Catlin were entering as she left, and she paused 
 to speak with him, the minister of her native parish. " She 
 thought when she saw Miss Vernon undertaking so much, this 
 would be the end on't. Ministers' wives, in these days, have n't 
 much strength of constitution." 
 
 "That is a sensible, good woman," said Mr. Vernon, after 
 ward ; " but she wants something. What is it, brother 
 Catlin ? " 
 
 " Poor health, and six children," was the laconic reply. 
 
 Many prayers have ascended from the sick room, and some 
 praises too ; and there has been agonizing supplication in the 
 room above the pastor's study. Over, too, by the mountain- 
 Bide, in widow Johnson's lowly cot, there has been earnest 
 wrestling with God, to spare a life more precious than her own. 
 The little crippled boy, whose in-door solitude has been oft 
 relieved by a book from the minister's wife, comes ever and 
 anon to ask if she is better, and to bring a trout that he has, 
 by long patience, coaxed upon his hook. Letters from the 
 dear Mayfield home are read, in whispered tones, by the inva 
 lid's pillow. This is Allie's privilege, the gentle boy, between 
 whom and his mother there is the nicest sympathy. 
 
 "\Vith all these alleviations, there-have been much exquisite 
 suffering, and a silent dispensing with many comforts that 
 money might have purchased ; and an occasional relapse for 
 want of attention, when Edward must take rest to be ready for 
 the pulpit. And though the stroke, which many feared, is once 
 more mercifully averted, the return to health is slow and inter 
 rupted. Yet, how happy is the family group in its restored 
 tn>:i<iire, though the dear one moves but feebly in her accus 
 tomed place ! ^Vhat an atmosphere of odorous graces fills the 
 dwelling ! 
 
 Still, the blood comes lazily to the cheek, and the step regains 
 not its wonted elasticity. Dr. Reed is again consulted, and 
 25*
 
 294 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 earnestly advises change of air, a sea- voyage, or an easy jour 
 ney, with freedom from care. An easy prescription to make , 
 an impracticable one to follow. Whence shall come the means 
 for such a pursuit of health ? How make provision for the 
 duties of the wife and mother, accruing daily, and swelled by 
 long arrears ? Does any say, " How easily a purse might be 
 made up among the people ? " Ah ! my innocent friend, this 
 might be done in a poor parish, where money must be spared 
 at personal sacrifice and privation ; but expect not this of an 
 able people, that have let their minister labor for them six years 
 at his own charges. 
 
 Is it strange that the sensitive man, who would have given 
 his own life to save the mother of his babes, dwells, with some 
 bitterness of feeling, on the causes of his inability to employ a 
 remedy that may restore bloom to the faded cheek, and vigor 
 to the trembling nerves ? Was it easy to give the hand warmly 
 to his people ? to talk, and pray, and preach with whole 
 hearted freedom, under the vivid consciousness that their with 
 holding of his lawful dues made his dwelling the abode of 
 penury, and was wearing out his beloved companion in her 
 prime ? 
 
 Tt was not easy ; yet, by God's grace, it must be done. The 
 heart-burning must be repented of, and put away. Ah ! how 
 often would it return ! Put it to your own case, ye men of 
 loving hearts and ample means, who exhaust all remedies when 
 a beloved wife or daughter your heart's best treasure seems 
 about to be snatched from your embrace ! 
 
 But resignation was at last attained, and afterward God sent 
 relief and hope. Dr. Allison came for Mary, a two days' 
 journey in his family carriage, and took her home ; while 
 Hester Allen " the crusty old maid," as she was called by 
 many took her dress-making to the parsonage, and volun 
 teered gratuitous care and oversight, in the mother's absence. 
 
 Turning now to Mary's Journal, we find the following 
 entry :
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 295 
 
 u Once more in the dear home of my childhood. 
 
 Sweet and tender are the associations that cluster around me 
 here at even-tide, the evening of the precious Sabbath. Have 
 enjoyed, of late, unusual freedom in religious exercises; known 
 more of the meaning of that expression, ' liberty of the sons of 
 God.' 0, to be so united with Christ, that the currents of 
 spiritual life shall flow through my soul, warm and free from 
 their source ! 
 
 " How freshly, to-night, does the* view from my window recall 
 to mind my early days, when this precious spot was the centre 
 of my earthly affections and hopes ! I seem to forget the respon 
 sibilities of my own household, and to be a child again, nestling 
 under the protecting wing where I felt so safe during all the 
 bright, peaceful days of my girlhood. But, the vision will 
 not stay, it is of the past, the returidess past. It can seem 
 present only as I dream, or as memory and fancy hold me under 
 their spell. And do I send a regretful thought after the ease 
 and light-heartedness of those happy days ? It is a momentary 
 weakness. Life was meant for toil, and the more severe the 
 labor, the siveeter will be the rest ; the more exhausting the 
 care, the nearer the repose. Welcome conflicts, then wel 
 come toils welcome trials ! so that my God but give me 
 grace to endure unto the end. 
 
 " Am still weak in body ; my heart tender and sub 
 dued. It seem?, at times, that I could, with but a short strug 
 gle, give up all earthly endearments, and stretch forth my arma 
 to the heavenly rest. Have had a long, sweet talk with dear 
 father in the library. I stood before the window, leaning 
 against the sash, as I have done, so often, in my girlhood ! 
 He came in and laid his hand tenderly on my head, and gazed 
 with me at the golden clouds, behind which the sun had just 
 gone down ; then, kissing my forehead, said, ' O, my daughter, 
 I begin to know something of the spirit's longings for that bet 
 ter land ! ' He went out, and I covered my face and wept ;
 
 296 THE SHADY SIDi; J OK, 
 
 wept partly for joy, that the things above were so sweetly draw 
 ing him Upward to their embrace. 
 
 " When afflicted, tempest-tossed, distressed, it is not much to 
 choose death rather than life ; but, in the midst of health, and 
 friends, and worldly comforts, to turn, as it were, instinctively 
 away, and desire to be with Christ, as something far better , 
 this, this, must give assurance of -heirship and union with him, 
 not to be mistaken. 
 
 " Take my pen once more to record a precious inter 
 
 view with my dear, good papa. He has reviewed, with me, all 
 the way in which the Lord hath led me from my youth till now. 
 It began by my speaking with some enthusiasm of my Salem 
 home. ' ! ' said he, ' I reckon you are always looking back to 
 Salem, as the Hebrews did to the leeks and onions of Egypt. 
 Do you not know that " distance lends enchantment to the 
 view ? M You had your trials there. The roses were not with 
 out their thorns, and you would have felt the pricks more, 
 the more closely you had hugged them the longer you had 
 stayed.' 
 
 ."From this playful beginning, we went over the whole 
 ground together. Our trials at Millville ; our poor remuner 
 ation at Olney ; our loss of dear ones ; our sicknesses and sor 
 rows. He spoke of God's design in these dealings ; raised me 
 above human agencies, and bade me overlook the injustice of* 
 fellow-men, in gratitudeUo God for needed correction, which 
 had been so evidently blessed to our growing piety and useful 
 ness. (Ah-! he does not see how our poor hearts, even now, 
 sometimes rebel !) ' God,' said he, ' has been drawing -you 
 nearer to himself, by putting you into the furnace.' Then he 
 encouraged me so sweetly, by showing that I had been instru 
 mental of good in more ways than I had hitherto thought of. 
 (0, if it may be so, how little seem the hardships !) He said 
 he did not regret giving me away to Mr. Yernon. I had been 
 just the woman for him. (My tears fell fast at this.) ' And 
 now,' continued he, ' your sphere of usefulness is widening, iu
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 297 
 
 your own family, and in the larger circle of your influence, ami 
 God is qualifying you more and more for your work ; and 
 though my heart sometimes, in view of your griefs, cries, 
 " Spare my idols." yet, oftener, I can trust the hand that b 
 leading you, as one more intelligently and tenderly considerate 
 of your good than the fondest earthly parent. You will have 
 strength for your day, and leave a memorial behind you in 
 many hearts.' Afterwards, we talked cheerfully of little Alby 
 and of other dear ones whom God has taken ; and I shall never 
 forget the emphasis with which he said, ' Soon, my daughter, 
 if we live, the best, the larger part of our earthly treasures 
 will have been transferred to that upper home ; then, when 
 there will be such precious human ties to draw us thitherward, 
 how will our hearts abide on high ! ' 
 
 " I little thought of writing so much, and yet I have done 
 no justice to the conversation. I must leave now, and pack 
 my trunk for the morrow's journey. How my heart leaps at 
 the thought of returning to my dear husband and children ! 
 The Lord still watch between them and me, while absent from 
 each other." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 " I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of 
 the twenty to follow mine own teaching." 
 
 " Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to ooin- 
 fort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves 
 are comforted of God." 
 
 " Patience and sorrow strive 
 Which shall express her goodliest." 
 
 HAPPY in the return of his beloved, with increasing strength, 
 and something of the old buoyancy of spirit, Mr. Vernon again 
 finds his work easier, and his heart lighter. But the current
 
 298 THE BHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 of time is setting fast toward the annual rapids, whose whirl 
 will be stronger, and vortex deeper, this year, than ever before. 
 He always expects to have " the blues " at pay-day. These 
 yearly settlements are bad places to get by. He must then 
 look the fact of insufficient support full in the face. The past 
 year, with all their frugality, has brought some heavy extra 
 expenses. He has incurred for himself a dentist's bill of fifteen 
 dollars ; and Dr. Reed's account, during Mary's long illnes?, 
 ran up to twenty. The skilful doctor had an extensive practice, 
 yet he did not hold, with the large number of benevolent men 
 in his profession, that it was no loss to attend gratuitously upon* 
 the poor pastor's family. 
 
 The kitchen, with Irish " help," missed Mabel's frugal man 
 agement, especially when the mistress of the house was laid 
 aside. A new overcoat, too, has lately been added to the min 
 ister's slender wardrobe ; and the price of bread-stufis has risen 
 materially the last ten months. 
 
 The pastor has a hidden, suppressed consciousness of these 
 things, that makes him dread the day of settlement, though his 
 purse has been empty these many weeks. But on it comes, 
 bringing a season of extra professional cares, enough to bar out 
 anything less strong than the besieger that gnaws through stone 
 walls. 
 
 It is the first week in the year. He has a preparatory lecture 
 for Friday, a sacramental discourse for Sabbath morning, and 
 a New-Year's sermon for the second service, to say nothing 
 of the monthly concert, all to be brought fresh from the mint, 
 during the week, whose first secular day begins the year. His 
 work is before him ; and he selects his themes Sabbath even 
 ing. Let us follow him through the week, for though the 
 scenes enacted are no new thing at the Olney parsonage, nor, 
 peradventure, at many another, they may have the interest 
 of novelty to some of our readers. 
 
 Monday, we said, was New-Year's day. The minister's sal 
 ary is promptly paid. He spends the morning in looking over
 
 LIFK IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAdE. 299 
 
 his bills ; and, after settling all within walking distance of his 
 dwelling, sits him down at evening to commence his new-year's 
 sermon. The text written, he holds his pen a half hour over 
 the unsoiled page, till a deep sigh breaks his reverie, and he 
 becomes aware that he has been devising expedients to meet the 
 claims which he foresees will exceed the money in hand. This 
 will not do. He again reads his text, and glances over his plan, 
 yet is soon lost in a more troublous vision than before. He 
 now flings aside the pen, and goes below. The little ones have 
 been snugly pillowed, and Allie is learning his morrow's lesson 
 at the same table where his mother is writing to her Nellie. 
 The boy is sent up to the study, while Mr. Vernon consults 
 with Mary about selling the carriage, her father's gift. The 
 keeper of the livery-stable has once inquired after it, and would 
 probably take it, if sold at a sacrifice. It will cover the ac 
 count for horse-hire, which has been more than was anticipated ; 
 though the pastor has walked many a distance when poor'y 
 able, and his wife forbore, for the same reason, to ride, when 
 her delicate health required the exercise. 
 
 But did not their Christian neighbors own such a useful ani- 
 nuil as the horse ? A dozen of them, at least, within half a 
 mile ; yet no one of them, except the straitened Mr. Rogers, 
 ever offered to the pastor a word of sympathy, upon the sale of 
 Pompey, or said, " Take my horse, occasionally, and welcome, 
 when you wish to ride." It was whispered, indeed, that then? 
 was some secret murmuring, that the minister patronized 
 a livery stable when his own people had horses to let ! (0 ! 
 milk of human kindness, what has dried thee up ?) But this 
 digression is not to our purpose. Mary consents to part with 
 the carriage, and Edward spends the rest of the evening in 
 negotiating its sale for forty dollars. 
 
 Tuesday he goes to 8., the laige market- town, to make his 
 animal payments tK-re. Mary attends the sewing society, 
 occupied just now in fitting out a box of clothing for a mission 
 ary station. Mrs. Deacon Hyde was quite active. Ska thinks
 
 
 300 THE SHADY SIDE, OR, 
 
 we might fill a large box, as almost every one lias some article 
 of dress laid by, that is of no use to themselves. " ! " said 
 Hester Allen, in her impertinent way, " that 's the rule, is it, 
 Mrs. Hyde, to give what you don't want and can't use your 
 self? From our minister's last missionary sermon, it appears 
 he thinks there is not much virtue in giving, unless it costs us 
 some self-denial. Do you remember the way he said, ' Give, 
 till you fed it?' " 
 
 Mrs. Hyde reddened. Her memory needed no refreshing. 
 Mrs. Vernon looked deprecatingly at the dressmaker, and the 
 topic was dropped. Presently little Susan Brown whispered, 
 " Hester, how could you speak so plain ? " 
 
 " I will tell you," said she. " Last fall I was sewing at* the 
 deacon's, when Mrs. Vernon's girl came in for a pint of milk, 
 saying their cow had strayed from pasture, and they had none 
 for tea. - That woman measured the pint of milk, and took 
 two cents ! then gave the girl a small bit of liver to carry 
 home, saying, ' We have more than we can use ourselves.' And 
 I could fell you meaner things than that." Well, well, Hes 
 ter, it is not best. We would rather have you draw a veil over 
 them. Bat you may say to the ladies what is in your heart, 
 after Mrs. Vernon goes home. Ay, that she will, without 
 anybody's leave ; and the substance of it is this : that it is 
 well to work and send comforts to the ambassadors of Christ in 
 foreign lands; but rather inconsistent in a people who do 
 nothing for their own minister, when he is more needy than 
 the one they are aiding abroad. 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Eaton, " we would not like to offer Mrs 
 Vernon such gifts as many of these." 
 
 " Some of them, I guess, Mrs. Vernon would find use for. 
 As for half this trumpery I don't suppose it 's worth the 
 freight," was Hester's sharp retort 
 
 " We don't know much about poor people in Olney," said 
 the quiet Mrs. Rogers. " I often think there are not cases 
 enough to keep our compassion alive, as a community."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 301 
 
 " That 's true," said Hester ; " but as to Mr. Vernon E fam 
 ily, nobody thinks they 're poor. If they had half the lights 
 of their windows stuffed with old hats, ;md their children -were 
 ragged and dirty, they would get credit for poverty. It 's Mrs, 
 Vernon's misfortune that she can make a little go so far, and 
 keep up so good an appearance. She will mend by a thread 
 so as to hide the seam, and as long as a garment holds together 
 it is tidy and becoming." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Briggs, " / can hardly afford a vcl'/et 
 bonnet and silk coat." 
 
 " There it is again ! " said Hester, impatiently ; " you never 
 have been told, I suppose, that the velvet was an old bonnet of 
 her sister-in-law's, worn two seasons, which she altered hc;self ; 
 and the coat I helped her make, when she came back from May- 
 field, out of an old dress she had before her marriage ; and if 
 we did n't turn, and take out, and set in, and darn, till 1 
 thought I could earn a new one in the time ! But, doubtless 
 it was great extravagance. If Mrs. Vernon was slovenly, 
 or had as little sconce about dressing, as some folks, I guess 
 you 'd see their poverty fast enough. The fact is, we are starv 
 ing them out, and 1 hope they '11 go where they can be sun- 
 ported. With all her knack, she can't make things out ot 
 nothing, and it is fast coming to that." 
 
 " I could n't but think of it," said Mrs. Rogers, " when she 
 came in this afternoon, looking so feeble, and I knew she had 
 left so much to do at home ; and she sat down here, and con 
 trived, and worked so patiently, for that way-off Mr. Somebody. 
 I declare, it went to my heart." 
 
 "She has never got over that fit of sickness," said Mrs. 
 Plympton. 
 
 " And never will ! " said Hester, with such startling em 
 phasis that no one spoke again for ten minutes. But all this 
 is l>y the by. 
 
 Let us follow Mary home, where she arrived in season to 
 prepare a warm supper against Edward's return. She heaves a
 
 302 THE SHADY SIDE J OE, 
 
 Bigh, as she finds herself listening involuntarily for Pompey'a 
 step. Has that sigh a little sharpness, pointed by half a mur 
 mur ? It were not strange ; she is not yet perfect. 
 
 It is late ere the traveller, warmed and fed, opens bis pack 
 ages from " town." Mary longs to ask, " How are we coming 
 out, this year?" but oft as the question rises to her lips, some 
 thing checks its utterance. At last, with an equivocal smile, 
 the largest package is unbound, with the exclamation, " See ! I 
 have bought some books." 
 
 " You were able to pay off, then ? " said she, inquiringly. 
 
 " All we owe there," was the reply, with forced calmness ; 
 " but our house-rent is still unpaid, and there is not a cent left, 
 nothing for a new-year's toy for the baby." 
 
 " How happened this purchase of books, then ? " 
 
 " I have long been famishing for them, Mary, and I have 
 run in debt for food. My intellect will not submit to starva 
 tion. And, here are some for you." 
 
 0, Edward ! " 
 
 " I thought it all over ; and it seemed of no use to tr/ to 
 live. We cannot, with all our economy ; and I resolved no 
 longer to deny myself these books, so needful in my profession. 
 I wonder half the ministers do not plunge into debt, reckless 
 of consequences." 
 
 " You will feel differently, my dear, another day. You are 
 tired and sad," said Mary ; and her heart ached, O, so hard ! 
 Yet she interested herself in the books, and even thanked him 
 for being so thoughtful of her, in the selection ; while she 
 inwardly resolved that hers should be carefully laid aside, to be 
 returned the first opportunity. 
 
 After a night of tossings to and fro, unto the dawning of the 
 day, the minister kindled an early fire in his study, and ad 
 dressed himself once more to the work of preparation for the 
 Sabbath. But his soul was still the abode of tumultuous 
 thoughts, which neither his chapter in the Greek Testament, nor 
 his morning prayer in the closet, availed to quell. If, favored
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 303 
 
 with an idea upon his theme, he dipped his pen to write, thero 
 stalked between him and the paper the pressing query, M What 
 will you do about the house-rent?" Whereupon followed 
 burning cogitations, till his soul waxed hot, and he was driven, 
 alarmed, to his knees for help. So fared it all that day. At 
 night-full he had only completed the introduction of his dis 
 course, while his table was strown with many leaves of abortive 
 effort. He must do something to free his mind before evening. 
 After tea, he steps down the street to the treasurer of the Par 
 sonage Company, with a statement of the circumstances, and 
 asks if the rent can lie along ; is coolly told that the stock 
 holders will expect their dividend. Not a word of sympathy 
 not an offer of private assistance from Mr. Briggs. The 
 money is borrowed of Esquire Eaton, and by seven o'clock the 
 pastor is again in his study. But Satan went also, and stood 
 up to tempt him. He thought of everything that went to 
 aggravate his relations to the people. There rose to .his view, 
 not " all the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them," 
 but all his trials and the sharpness of them, till his brain 
 seemed on fire, and he came down to Mary to unburden his 
 heart. " O ! " said he, " how can I do anything heartily for 
 such a people ? I could go to Caffraria and preach the Gospel 
 to the poor Hottentots, and feel happy in privations. But here 
 they profess to appreciate the Gospel, and to reward a minister 
 for his services, while they do neither. 
 
 " I could go into a community where the wealth was in the 
 hands of wicked men, and, with a few to stand by me, set up 
 our banner in the name of the Lord, and live on bread and 
 water, till the Gospel should win its victories from the ranks 
 of the ungodly, and be able to support itself. But here, where 
 the Lord's stewards have the means, yet leave his ambassador 
 to suffer, all the sense of justice and honor within me rises up 
 in revolt. Men of five, ten and twenty thousand dollars, 
 adding to their capital yearly, and paying for their religious 
 privileges four or five dollars a year ! and, for the world's salva-
 
 304 THE SHADY SIDE; OB, 
 
 tion, the most liberal of them no more than another five ! and 
 not willing to do more, when they know this does not make the 
 Gospel laborer and his family comfortable ! To say nothing 
 of the morality of the thing, have I not reason to doubt the 
 affection of such a people ? It would be less intolerable, if 
 they seemed to appreciate what I do for them ; or, if they 
 would take hold of the work themselves and help." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mary, " if they were to do that, they would 
 soon provide liberally in temporal things. But you must not 
 forget, Edward, the few who are helping by their prayers and 
 godly example, some precious sisters, at least." 
 
 " ! " replied he, " my heart yearns for the fellowship of 
 those first days in the ministry. With one such man here as 
 Deacon Ely, his heart beating with mine, his shoulder 
 braced to my own, considering the work his as truly as the 
 pastor's, I could rise above poverty, or the opposition of the 
 world. The want of sympathy and cooperation from Christian 
 men, kills me. These things ought to excite a righteous indig 
 nation, such as Jesus felt when he made the scourge in the 
 temple. I confess I feel more than that. Ministers have 
 their lower nature, as well as others. The old Adam in me 
 takes advantage of this provocation to strive for the mastery. 
 ! it is no light thing for a people to be the cause of such 
 suffering as I have endured this week ; and it is not the first, 
 or the second time, either, ooly I believe I have not known 
 before the depths of Satan.' " 
 
 He was calmer now, and Mary began to insinuate words that 
 might soothe and elevate. " God permits these afflictions 
 There is no doubt but that his design is wise and merciful 
 Let us look simply at his hand, above proximate agencies. Let 
 the instrument go unheeded, while we receive the evil meekly 
 from him, and strive to apprehend his gracious intent in the 
 correction. It is no small attainment to be prepared to be a 
 sympathizing pastor. To this end, personal acquaintance with
 
 LIFB IN A COUXTRT PARSON AQJI. 805 
 
 grief is almost indispensable. Even the Captain of our salva 
 tion was made perfect through suffering. 
 
 " As to appreciation and sympathy, we do not depend for theso 
 on fellow-worms. We can be content to be unappreciated here, 
 so long as Christ understands us, and has a fellow-feeling for 
 us. It is for him we labor. One smile of his outweighs all 
 other commendation. To him we look for our reward ; and ! 
 is it not enough that he has promised it, at his coming ? It 
 will not be long to wait. Do our hearts crave human fellow 
 ship and sympathy ? We surely have it, in our great High 
 Priest. 0, how often should we faint, but for the humanity 
 of our divine Redeemer ! He is bone of our bone, and flesh of 
 our flesh ; yet he has an almighty arm for our deliverance ; 
 human to feel, divine to aid ; faithful over all our failures and 
 imperfections. What need we more ? 0, that tempted, de 
 sponding ministers would take to themselves the comfort of those 
 precious things they say to others ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said the pastor, " it is far easier to show others the 
 way than to walk in it ourselves. While you are talking, Mary, 
 I really seem to get above the darkness and clouds, into the 
 serene light of the upper presence. But, alas ! I have no wings 
 to keep me up ; and I sink, sink, into deep mire, where is no 
 standing. God could carry us through the needful discipline 
 of trial, without the aid of his people's injustice. This is the 
 ' unkindest cut of all,' that we are bound to Jhe rack, and tor 
 tured there by those that smile upon us, all unconscious of the 
 wrong, and call themselves our brethren, and profess to be 
 laboring in a common cause, and take the credit of paying us 
 for our toil. Here is the sting." 
 
 " Yet there is balm even for that," said the gentle wife. 
 
 " 0, that I could find it ! " sighed he of the wounded spirit. 
 " You have the same cause for bitterness, Mary. How do you 
 get around it ? " 
 
 She smiled, and said, " What panacea do you suppose I have 
 that is not accessible to you ? There are, I believe, several 
 26*
 
 806 THE SHADY SIDE , OR, 
 
 trays to cure this heart-burning. When one will not avail, I 
 try another. Sometimes I reason with myself after this 
 fashion : ' You believe Deacon Hyde is a good man, in the 
 main, that, with all his selfishness, he has some grace, and is 
 going to heaven. Well, be patient with him then, Jesus has 
 longer forbearance with you, and love him for what he witt 
 be, when we all awake in Jesus' likeness. Anticipate the day, 
 but just before us, when the scales shall fall from his eyes, and 
 his soul be expanded in the atmosphere of that better world. 
 Who knows but you and he will look back together on these 
 very scenes, he with astonishment and tender reprisals ; you 
 with a better knowledge, forbidding his self-reproach, as did 
 Joseph that of his brethren, in joy and gratitude, at the good a 
 gracious God brought out of the evil ? ' " 
 
 " 0, my dear, how you shame me ! I will try, by God's 
 grace, to do better." So they knelt, there, in prayer ; and, for 
 a few moments, light broke through the clouds. Presently it 
 was dark again, dark with thoughts of his own constitution 
 undermined, and the companion of his youth drooping before his 
 eyes, and his children, the dear lambs of the fold, turned, shel 
 terless, on the cold common. Take heart, servant of God ! 
 Thou art not in the crucible for naught. Thy dross is being 
 momently consumed. The vessel is fast meetening for the 
 Master's use ; preparing, also, unto glory. Be patient ; thy 
 rest is near. But alas for those so dear to thee, when it 
 
 comes 
 
 Another day passes, and, though there is a lull of the warring 
 elements, there is no final breaking up of the storm. The New- 
 Year's sermon makes some progress, and the theme chosen for 
 the lecture is abandoned for another, more pertinent to the 
 times. If any feel curious, let them go to the church- vestry, 
 and listen for themselves. The topic is Christian fellowship, 
 and the preacher is without notes. We are just in season to 
 catch the closing part of the application. 
 
 " Unless we can have some approximation toward this apos-
 
 LIFE 15 A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 307 
 
 tolic ideal, we may as well disband, and give up our church 
 organization. What do you know, brethren, the majority of 
 you, what do you know of each other's joys and sorrows, 
 hopes and fears, temptations and victories, as fellow-heirs of the 
 common salvation ? The minister is not to carry forward the 
 work of God alone, while you each ply the needle, and keep the 
 house, and drive the plough, and manage the shop, and make 
 sure everyone his gain from his quarter! You are to be 
 co-workers with him, and with each other, and with the Master 
 Builder. Now, what shall break down the separating walls, 
 and let heart meet heart? What is needful to this cooperation 
 and sympathy ? Only so much painstaking as you are willing 
 to bestow in forwarding your secular interests. Where is the 
 community more busy and industrious, in life's common callings, 
 than this ? Where the church more isolated and indolent, in 
 spiritual things? The fellowship of the saints, that precious 
 elementary doctrine of primitive piety, one would think it. 
 here, almost an exploded theory. Yet is there not more than 
 one heart that craves it, that cries out for it, that will 
 make sacrifices for so great a boon ? 
 
 " Brethren, will you, someliow, open your hearts to one 
 another ; so that when you come around the Saviour's board 
 you may come prepared to be conductors, as well as receivers, 
 from on high, with a union so complete that the electric 
 fluid of heavenly love, finding you all in communication with 
 each other and the vital Source, may circulate freely from 
 heart to heart? " . 
 
 The truth fell not powerless. Some heard it gladly ; others 
 could not bear it. 
 
 Mrs. Plympton thought it very severe. Mrs. Hyde said, if 
 he thought that this was the way to bring the church to duty, 
 he would find himself i^itaken. Deacon Hyde's revenge is 
 silence. He will let the minister terribly alone, and keep still, 
 and act out his non-intercourse spirit, unless which is very 
 possible God's grace bring him to a better mind.
 
 308 THE SHADY SIDE J OR. 
 
 Mr Vernon asked Mary if he preached with bitterness. 
 
 " No, ray dear," said his discriminating Mentor, " nothing 
 of that ; though you did use a lofty tone and vehemence, sug 
 gestive of the old prophets." 
 
 It is Friday night ; and is the storm now at rest, and the 
 sun shining in his strength ? Alas ! neither sun nor star has 
 yet appeared ; but the wind has changed, and it is blowing a 
 gale. The tempted minister has let go of the people. He has 
 enough to do with himself. The trouble is now betwen his own 
 soul and his God. 
 
 Another day, the last ; and still he is tempest-tossed, and 
 not comforted. " This kind goeth not out but by prayer and 
 fasting." It seems to Mary that her heart will break. Many 
 a time does she go to her closet, that little nook between the 
 trundle-bed and her pillow, and plead and weep, and tremble 
 for the issue. It is the hour of rest ; yet he comes not down. 
 One more prayer, and she goes to her solitary couch, to hear 
 him pacing the room above, under the plaint, " All thy waves 
 and thy billows have gone over me." But this lasted not long. 
 Soon the cloud lifts, and the proud waves are stayed. He 
 knows what conjugal solicitude is keeping night-vigil on his 
 account, and cornes softly down, to say that he has found deliv 
 erance. The morning overtakes him in the study, at his Sab 
 bath preparations, whence he comes forth, his face shining like 
 Moses', and with feelings too tender for many words. How 
 filial the spirit that leads the family worship, like a weaned 
 child on its mother's bosom-! 
 
 As he enters the pulpit, a whisper runs around, " How 
 pale our minister is, this morning ! " " Looks sick." " Wonder 
 what is the matter ? " But this is soon forgotten, as he comes 
 to them in the fulness of the blessing of the Gospel of peace. 
 
 Mary is surprised when he names the text and theme. It is 
 not the same as he had suid, early in the \\oek. It was chosen 
 after he had overcome temptation, and made his peace anew 
 with God It was " the mental sufferings of Christ," a touch-
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 309 
 
 ing theme, and handled with great power. The affectionate wife 
 cannot repress her tears, as she sees, throughout the discourse, 
 the imprint of the author's inner soul, and traces its workings 
 up from the depths of distress and borders of despair, to a firm 
 reliance on the Everlasting Arm. The week's experience is 
 mirrored there, and it is inexpressibly affecting to her heart. 
 The surging of the soul is stayed, its tumultuous throbbinga 
 hushed ; yet she can see the outline of the billows, as settled 
 peace meets them at the word of Jesus. So, once, at that same 
 word, was there a calm on Galilee ; not a smooth sea, but 
 mountain waves, suddenly transfixed, wild, yet quiet ; con 
 trasting the safety with the peril. 
 
 And how came on the New-Year's sermon ? It was nearly 
 finished, on paper; but as he looked it over, Sabbath noon, it 
 seemed so cold and unattuned to his present mood that he flung 
 it by, and, under the guidance of a sudden thought, turned to 
 the passage, " God requireth that which is past." When the 
 bell rung, for afternoon service, he had " a plan," upon a single 
 page, from which he preached with an unction and power that 
 told on many a heart. 
 
 " I wonder what has waked up our minister ! " said Mr. Doug 
 lass, on the way home from service. 
 
 " I should think," said the eminently pious widow Johnson, 
 " God had brought him out of some deep heart-trouble." 
 
 Days of prostrating sickness followed the excitement and 
 exertion of New- Year's week ; but the light of God's counte 
 nance made amends for all. Where, now, was the Deacon Ely, 
 tc take from the sick pastor all care of providing for the pulpit 
 to pray and commune with him, to take his place in the field 
 of pastoral effort ? Alas ! if Deacon Ely's mantle fell to earth, 
 it did not drop at Olney. 0, how does God's special presence 
 lighten any sorrow ! " Such views of Christ and redemption as 
 I have had to-day," said Edward, "ought to give ras au 
 impulse that shall last a life-time. 0, the goodness of God! 
 what docs he want, of any poor sinner, but that he give up his
 
 310 TIIE SUADY SIDE; OE, 
 
 heart, to be wrought upon and saved by this wonderful method 
 of grace ? " After two weeks, Mr. Vernon was again in the 
 pulpit and around the parish. His preaching was very practi 
 cal and mostly addressed to the professed children of God. 
 Such texts as these followed each other : "We are not ignorant 
 of his devices." " Blessed is he that endureth temptation." 
 "A bruised reed will he not break." " The victory that 
 overcometh the world." " Not every one that saith Lord, 
 Lord." " Repent, and do thy first works." " Let it alone 
 this year also, . . . after that thou mayst cut it down." The 
 word was with power. 
 
 Miss Loomis, a poor invalid, sent for the sermon on " Christ's 
 gentleness to afflicted souls ;" and returned it with a note of 
 thanks that brought the tears to the eyes of her pastor. " I 
 think," said Mary, " you can submit to suffering, if it brings 
 forth such fruit for others. Mr. Langdon told me, when he 
 last exchanged with you, ' that he was at home everywhere iu 
 a minister's work, only among the sick and bereaved ; he had 
 always enjoyed firm health, and never Ipst near friends ;' and, 
 said he, ' I feel awkward, and don't know what to say.' It is 
 a blessed privilege to be a son of consolation to God's afflicted 
 children." 
 
 A poor hypochondriac, too, spoke of the discourse on tempta 
 tion as " the only thing that ever reached his case ; and he 
 thought the minister must have looked into his heart." Ah ! 
 he had looked into his own veryclosely, which is much the 
 same thing; for, as in water face answereth to face, so doth 
 the heart of man to man. 
 
 And now, as might be expected, the church awakes from 
 her long slumber, and puts her mouth in the dust, if so be 
 there may be hope. Sinners flock to Christ ; and the pastor, 
 with tears of gratitude, exclaims, " Lord, what precious boon 
 is this, and how undeserved at thy hands ! " Meetings aro 
 multiplied, and, with them, the cares at the parsonage. The 
 pastor's wife has many guests ; some who call to convene
 
 LIFE IJi A COINTRT PABSONAQB. 311 
 
 with tlio minister, and wait his return from the tour of a dis 
 trict ; others from distant neighborhoods, because it is good to 
 be there, and a convenient place to stay over from meeting to 
 meeting. The flour is at this time low, and there is no money 
 in the purse. Mrs. Rogers saw the influx at the parsonage, 
 and sent in a baking or two of rye. Good woman ! " she did 
 what she could." 
 
 " What shall we do ? " said Mrs. Vernon to her husband, as 
 he was starting for a meeting at the hill-side ; " to-morrow is 
 baking-day, and the barrel is out." 
 
 " I will see, to-morrow," was the reply ; yet, somehow, he 
 felt less solicitude than the case seemed to demand. By-and- 
 by, the public carrier turned his teum up the avenue to the par 
 sonage, and, handing a letter to Mary, proceeded to lift out a 
 barrel of superfine flour, which, he said, a merchant in town 
 told him he had received an order to send to parson Vernon. 
 Mary knew the writing well. Many a note had she received in 
 that hand, years agone. It was from Frank Upton, the wan 
 derer ; and " in token of his pastor's former love and faithful 
 ness to his soul." ! how many tears fell over that note ! 
 What flour ever made so sweet bread ! 
 
 When Mr. Vernon knelt, that night, at his family altar, and 
 thanked God for the hope that some precious souls had, that 
 day, been brought to repentance, his joy, in view of' these, 
 began not to equal that with which he made mention of one 
 who he had feared was spiritually dead, but has reason to 
 think is alive again ; who was lost, but is found. And so the 
 word of God prospered. Even the deacons forgot their secret 
 alienation from the pastor, and labored as he had never seen 
 them before. " How tender are Deacon Hyde's prayers ! " said 
 widow Johnson ; " I never knew before that he was so spiritual 
 a man. The former minister used to think he did n't help 
 much." And did the pastor, as he might, say a word to lessen 
 thia good opinion ? Not a word. He was glad for the office'
 
 312 THE SHADY SIDE J OR, 
 
 sake, and for the individual's sake, that his reputation should 
 advance. 
 
 These were, to Mr. Vernon and Mary, their happiest day.3, 
 always excepting that three years at Salem, and perhaps 
 we ought not to except even those. Their joys, now set frff 
 by a dark counterpoise of grief, were the most precious and 
 the purest they had ever tasted. God was setting his own seal 
 to their labors. They had much evidence, too, that they had 
 commended themselves with the Gospel, to every man's con 
 science in the sight of God ; they had the public confidence, 
 and the warm affection of many Christian hearts. 
 
 It is again the fatal month of March, and the shadow of a 
 great bereavement is near. Without warning to divide the 
 blow, there comes to Mary the heavy tidings of her father's 
 Budden death. She reels, at first, under the terrible stroke, but 
 soon is able to say, " It is the Lord ! let him do what seemeth 
 him good." To Him she flies as to the shadow of a great rock 
 in a weary land. Yet, how can she think of her chiWhood's 
 home, as desolate, as in the hands of strangers ? That dear 
 old home ! 
 
 " The sunlight seems to her eyes brighter there 
 Than wheresoever else." 
 
 But, most of all, her dear father's counsel and sympathy, to 
 which,' 'mid all her trials, she has turned as to a green spot in 
 the desert, ! how can she miss this soktce for the remainder 
 of her pilgrimage ! 
 
 They send for sister Harriet to come to them. She must stay 
 and attend to the disposal of the personal estate ; and then, 
 if God wills, her home shall be henceforth with them. 
 
 " Surely, there is comfort in that," said Edward. 
 
 "Yes," was the reply; yet faint, as if the heart had some 
 misgiving. She would not utter it to him, but the thought 
 was, ' Sister Harriet has no idea how frugally we have to live; 
 $he cannot economize as /have." 
 
 But she did not come. 13y a singular coincidence of circum-
 
 UFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 813 
 
 Stances, maiden of forty-five though she was, she mam id, 
 and left the old ancestral home in three months after her father 
 went to his home in the skies. It was one of those stories of 
 romance in real life that shame the fancy of the novelist. A 
 poor, western minister, whom she had loved in early girlhood, 
 came and asked her to be the mother of his six children, in 
 their home toward the sun-setting. 
 
 It was a great aggravation of Mary's affliction, that she could 
 not go with Edward to her father's funeral. There would have 
 been a sorrowful satisfaction in looking at that dear face once 
 more, tliough it wore the signet of death. How thankful was 
 she, no\v, lor that long, sweet visit in the autumn ! Memory 
 went back, and gathered up every incident, and daguerreotyped 
 the whole anew upon her heart. That memorable talk by the 
 library window ! She feels again the tender pressure of the 
 hand upon her head, and hears those stirring words, " ! my 
 daughter, I begin to fool some spirit-longings for that better 
 land ! " 
 
 The March winds have but just given place to April's change 
 ful days, when the feeble wail of young babyhood is again heard 
 at the parsonage ; and the father's heart is gladdened by taking 
 in his anus a second boy. Little Willie is not strong as were 
 his predecessors, yet, by careful nursing, he may some day out 
 strip the rest in health and stature. The mother, too, after 
 many days, is gaining no strength ; having been disappointed 
 in her nurse, she is dependent on Milly Green, and the new, 
 inexpert Hibernian. Mr. Vernon is full of parochial cares ; 
 guiding the young Christians of his flock, and looking still with 
 diligence after some cases of inquiry that have not issued in 
 hope. Mary misses many a delicacy that she would have once 
 thought iodispeoaable at such a season. It seems to her, also, 
 that her constitution luts no recuperative power; that it would 
 be so easy just to lie down and die. Hut presently there is a 
 change. Instead of the dingy waiter, with tea and crackers, a 
 little stand with a snow-white napkin, and the nicest little bit 
 27
 
 814 THE SHADY SIDE; OR. 
 
 of toast, and smoking broth, with a familiar flavor, and soft 
 boiled custard for a dessert, is pressed against the pillow. Milly 
 Green has disappeared. Allie stands at the foot-board with 
 sparkling eye, reading his mother's altered look. The little girls 
 are on the lounge in the room adjoining, whispering, with soft, 
 pleasant hum, over new picture-books. Even the crying baby 
 is taking a longer nap than usual ; and now Mr. Vernon has 
 come in with a brighter face than he has worn these many 
 days. A quick, light step is passing in and out from nursery 
 to kitchen ; and it is very plain that Mabel has come back. 
 When Allie found he had a brother, he could not forbear 
 writing the news to Mabel ; and, from the letter, she gleaned 
 enough to know that her presence there would be sunshine in 
 a dark place. So she pleaded with Mr. Walter for a three 
 weeks' vacation ; and here she is, with money enough in 
 her purse for any little dainty which can coax back a fugitive 
 appetite. 
 
 But her presence and thoughtful care are more than all the 
 comforts money can procure. Her three weeks were prolonged 
 to five ; for she would not leave till Mrs. Vernon was once 
 more able to take the helm. And then, ah! little did she 
 think her visit was to end with tears ! the baby, who had 
 begun to thrive, whose growing intelligence was matter of 
 daily joy in the infant circle, the boy of eight weeks old, 
 suddenly closed his violet eyes in their last sleep. And Mabel 
 dressed him for the coffin, and they laid the little Willie 'mid 
 the May flowers in the quiet church-yard, and prattling Car 
 rie is again the baby. 
 
 Edward grieved, more than Mary, over this bereavement. 
 LucyMcrton looked on her own tiny babe, 'mid a rain of tears, 
 and wondered Mrs. Vernon could be so calm and cheerful. 
 But heaven seemed so near to Mary, and so many of her treas 
 ures were already there, there was something so blessed in 
 untried innocence, and God's will seemed so desirable and glo 
 rious, she acquiesced without a murmur.
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 315 
 
 " It is very sweet to me," she said, as her husband was 
 bemoaning the child, very sweet to think of another darling 
 safe in the heavenly home. Besides, Edward, it seemed to me 
 such a long, weary way, to get him as far as Allie on the path 
 of life." 
 
 Edward looked at her with concealed surprise. This was 
 not like Mary. A sudden revelation flashed upon him. Can 
 that bright spot in her cheek be the hectic flush, and is the 
 vital energy almost spent ? His heart would not tolerate 
 the thought, and he resolutely turned unbeliever; it could 
 not be. 
 
 The spring has fairly opened, and Mr. Vernon decides to 
 look for a new location. But, surely after the revival which 
 has blessed so many families, his people will rally, and pour out 
 freely of their temporal things, ibr one who has ministered so 
 unsparingly in spiritual things. There has been some talk to 
 this effect in the parish ; but nothing is done, except that pri 
 vate benefactions have become more frequent. 
 
 Sister Harriet makes them a parting visit, and puts a hun 
 dred dollars into Mary's hands, saying, "There, pay off what 
 you owe, and go where you can live." 
 
 " But what other place," said Mary, " can be home to me 
 like this?" 
 
 Does it seem to you, dear reader, that life in Olney, par 
 ticularly for the last eighteen months, has worn too sombre 
 an aspect to admit of many regrets at the prospect of a re 
 moval ? Ah ! then we have failed to supply to you what has 
 been present to our own experienced eyesight, a diamond 
 vein, running through the whole* flinty quarry; a fringe of 
 golden light bordering every leaden cloud ; gleams of sunshine 
 in the tangled wilderness ; fresh water from the rock on desert 
 sands ; way-side greenness and bloom all along the dusty thor 
 oughfare ; and, more than all, vital heat suffused throughout the 
 scene, reflecting a warm glow even where it cannot permeate, 
 giving a rich coloring to the rugged, deeply-shaded landscape.
 
 316 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 How often has Mary watched, from her window, the varying 
 shadows on the mountain-side, as they emblem forth her cheq 
 uered history ! The sun is past the meridian, and April clouds 
 are scudding low, or hanging in white masses, in the mid- 
 heavens. Up, almost to the old summit ridge, is a slope covered 
 with young ash and birch, whose tender foliage, as the sun 
 thines brightly there, is of the most delectable green. Under 
 the black o'erhanging cliffs, it nestles like a little Eden, the only 
 spot of sunshine on all the mountain. Presently the changing 
 clouds throw over it a pall ; when, as the whole view seems 
 dark and cold, a little lower down another spot of garden 
 verdure, with green of a different hue, is mapped off by the 
 sunlight ; and when this, too, is veiled and lost, further on 
 the evergreens suddenly stand out under a flood of refulgent 
 light. Slowly then, as the eye returns, the pall lifts from the 
 first fairy spot, yielding, however, to the glad sunshine only 
 half the territory that was so beautiful at the beginning. Yet 
 this looks brighter than before ; and even the gray beetling 
 cliffs adjacent soften as in sympathy with the restored joy. 
 When this again is lost, the eye is surprised with patches of 
 light and verdure, where they are least expected, now, high 
 up among the crags, and anon dancing along the mountain's 
 base. 
 
 " How apt the similitude ! " thought Mary ; " snatches of 
 sunshine all the way. Such, with me, has been life's kaleido 
 scope, turned oft in tears, yet never in rayless night never 
 in unmitigated gloom. Ah ! it is the shifting clouds unl the 
 changing earth that so variegate thfc picture. The light is ever 
 the same. 
 
 " Heaven smiles above, 
 
 Though storm and vapor intervene ; 
 That sun shines on whose name is Love, 
 
 Serenely o'er life's shadowy scene.''
 
 UfK IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 817 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 " Who goeth a warfare any time at his owu charges 1 . . Who feed' 
 eth a flock, and eateth not of the milk of the flock 1 " " Ihoa shall not 
 muzzle the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn." 
 
 " If we have sown unto you spiritual things, is it a great thing if we 
 shall reap your carnal things 1 " 
 
 THOUGH Mr. Vernon's intellect and scholarly grace have not 
 been fully appreciated in Olney, they have not been unnoted 
 from without. His ministerial brethren understand his power; 
 and, when it is known that he will seek another field, he is 
 recommended as the man to build up a new enterprise in the 
 suburbs of a distant city. He is sent for thither to preach a 
 Sabbath ; and, to avoid a stir among his people before the time, 
 directs his supply to exchange pulpits with brother Langdon. 
 Mr L. halted a moment at the parsonage, Saturday night, to 
 say that he had taken a notion to stop over Sabbath with 
 Captain Brown. Right welcome, too, was he made at the 
 warm-hearted farmer's, in whose ear he resolved, before he left, 
 to lodge some important truths. 
 
 It was Sabbath evening, and the fire blazed cheerfully in the 
 capacious Franklin, before which sat the farmer in his arm 
 chair, the young minister in the Boston rocker, and Mrs. 
 Brown. Susie had run over to the parsonage. A conversa 
 tion much like the following ensued : 
 
 Mr. Langdon. How many families have you in the parish, 
 Captain Broun ? 
 
 Captain Brown. About a hundred, I believe, sir. 
 
 Mr. L. You have a fund, I am told. How much of the sal 
 ary does it leave you to provide for from the pews ? 
 
 Capt. B. A hundred and fifty, or thereabouts. 
 
 Mr. L. How much do your ablest men pay a year ? 
 2*7*
 
 318 TOE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Capt. B. Well, I reckon the ablest don't pay the most. 
 There 's Esquire Eaton, his property goes into the list foi 
 about thirty thousand ; and Mr. Briggs, I suppose, is worth 
 twenty. Sometimes they bid off a seat for two or three dol 
 lars ; the highest are five, now, they used to be seven or 
 eight, but the congregation has increased. 
 
 Mr. L. And while you have been paying five and four and 
 three dollars apiece, to support the Gospel here, your minister, 
 it seems, has paid a hundred, besides giving himself! Is that 
 honest ? 
 
 Capt, B. (reddening). I don't think his salary is large 
 enough, sir ; but I believe there 's nothing dishonest about it. 
 We give him what we agreed. 
 
 Mr. L. You pay him the nominal sum at which his support 
 was rated ; but does not the contract between you, from its 
 nature, imply that, if he devote himself to your service in the 
 ministry, you are to be responsible for his temporal wants, to 
 give him a comfortable support ? 
 
 Capt. B. I suppose we are to give him what we promised. 
 
 Mr. L. But, underneath that promise, is there not a pledge 
 an obligation, si least to provide all things needful for 
 his bodily comfort, and his intellectual and social wants ? You 
 would be ashamed to say that you expected or desired a man to 
 labor here in the ministry, partly at his own charges, when you 
 are all aboveboard as to property, and made richer every year 
 by the influence of religious institutions. 
 
 Capt. B. Well, we thought five hundred would do it. 
 
 Mr. L. And, when you were frankly told that it did not, 
 what then ? Did not honesty require you to add to it ? Mr. 
 Vernon, I am told, has to struggle with poverty, and live very 
 closely. 
 
 Capt. B. I am willing to give him more. I am sorry for 
 their troubles ; yet, I suppose, really, my wife and L calculated 
 about as close, when we began life. 
 
 Mrs. B. 0, Mr. Brown, that was a very different thing'
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 319 
 
 We were not compelled to it. We did it, you know, for the 
 sake of laying up. 
 
 Air. L. Altogether different, sir. Suppose you had been at 
 work with all your might for some one else, who kept back 
 part of your earnings, and thus obliged you to deny yourselves 
 common comforts, would it have come as easy ? The fact is, 
 Captain Brown, half of you business men look upon us minis 
 ters us a set of poor fellows, that are glad to preach the Gospel 
 for the sake of a living. It never seems to occur to you that 
 we have relinquished or foregone business prospects bright as* 
 yours, with no more obligation to give them up than you, only 
 as the command of Christ to preach his Gospel presses upon 
 our conscience and heart. Why, just look, sir, at the clergy 
 right around us here. 
 
 There 's Mr. Catlin, a man of finished education, might ha\e 
 made himself rich by teaching. He was tutor at Dartmouth 
 and was offered a professorship ; but his heart was set on 
 preaching, and there he has been at it these twenty years, 
 all the while struggling with poverty, and his wife writing 
 books and turning every way to bring up their children. 
 
 Here, too, nearer still, is Mr. Morton, a man whom all 
 respect, a thorough scholar, particularly skilled in astronom 
 ical science. The way was once open for him to a place in the 
 National Observatory, with a salary of $2000 ; but he declined 
 the tempting offer, and is trying to live on five hundred, fitting 
 boys for college to make up a support. His people, I hear, are 
 beginning to complain that he does n't write as good sermons as 
 he did at first. 
 
 Capt. B. I suppose they do for him about what they are 
 able. 
 
 Mr. L. Perhaps they do, according to the prevailing stand 
 ard of ability. But let that pass. To speak of myself, next 
 in order, I was offered by my uncle a salary of a thousand dol 
 lars to go into his store as clerk. And here is your Mr. Ver- 
 DOQ, who gave up a profusion in which, with his talents, ho
 
 320 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 might now be worth his thousands. And yet, I venture, there 
 are people in this place who will give each other the wink, and 
 say, " He 's glad enough to stay and work on, even for what we 
 give him." He is glad to work for Christ, and look for his 
 reward in heaven ; but, as for feeling remunerated by the pit 
 tance you allow, were it not for the constraining love of Christ 
 and the sustaining grace of Ged, he would fling it in your face f 
 and wipe off the dust of his feet for a testimony against you. 
 
 Capt. B. I own it 's a shame \p3 don't give him more ; but 
 our deacons are opposed to it, and it is hard carrying mutters 
 over their heads. 
 
 Mr. L. I should n't mind much about such heads. But I 
 was about to say that the support of the Gospel is viewed toe 
 much as a charity. All these churches, whose preaching costs 
 them the merest moiety of their income, are living comfortably 
 themselves, educating their children, and increasing their pos 
 sessions, and willing to pay an equivalent for everything thej 
 procure, except the Gospel ! When they pay their lawyer, 
 or doctor, or schoolmaster, or shoemaker, it is for value re 
 ceived, a commercial operation ; but when they pay their 
 minister, it is a gratuity. : 
 
 Capt. B. I never feel like that. I think the Gospel is 
 worth all we pay for it, and more, too, even to our secular 
 interests. Some are for making it up to Mr. Vernon in pres 
 ents of produce ; but my motto is, " Money answereth all 
 things." I would give him salary enough to live on ; then, if 
 we want to make him presents, we can. 
 
 Mr. L. I hope you will not think I am giving you a lecture, 
 Captain Brown. I know you are more candid in these matters 
 than many men. I heard of a man, between this place and 
 mine, who said he thought ten dollars a Sabbath was a great 
 price for a minister to ask, for just preaching two sermons that 
 he could write in a week. Now, this shows another thing 
 overlooked. All these ministers have spent nine or ten of the 
 best years of their life, and from one to two thousand dollars,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PAKSONAGE. 321 
 
 to qualify them to write these two sermons a week. Think 
 what a lift the time and money thus consumed would have 
 given them in some worldly calling. Now, if you estimate 
 their 'abor on the mercantile principle, if you begin to talk 
 about " what it 's worth," you must consider the capital they 
 have invested in the business. Every week's labor, for ten 
 years, has cost them a week's preparation, at their own charges 
 Now, instead of fixing the compensation on this principle, the 
 question is, "What is the least our minister can live on ?" 
 And even here, he is not to be the judge and decide the ques 
 tion for himself. Yet, who so competent as he to tell ? What 
 is comfort for one, is not necessarily for another. Some farm 
 ers, captain, want twice the tools to work with that others do, 
 and more to keep the pot boiling. 
 
 Capt. B. Just so, sir, just so. 
 
 Mr. L. And you don't find it bad management to enrich the 
 soil by an outlay, now and then, for plaster and guano. 
 
 " It pays," said the captain, rubbing his hands ; " it pays' 
 
 Mr. L. And it 's no great advantage to the farm, to scrimp 
 the working cattle, or have the cows " spring-poor." 
 
 Capt. B. You hit it again, sir. 
 
 Mrs. B. I believe I said once that I thought a minister 
 might live on five hundred dollars ; but, when Mr. Vernon 
 came to make his statement to the society, I thought more of it, 
 and felt ashamed that I had ever said so. We ought to havo 
 (."iiliilence enough in our minister to trust him in such things. 
 1 have felt so sorry for them the past year. They have had so 
 man) trials, and they are so still about it, too. He preaches 
 like an apostle, and ishe never complains. 
 
 M>-. L. Yet there are ministers and in this county, too 
 poorer off than they. It is time the churches opened their 
 eyes to this thing. There arc fewer young men entering the 
 ministry. They are appalled by the prospect of poor remuner 
 ation, and want of sympathy. Do you know Mr. Smith, of T., 
 up back here on the mountain ?
 
 322 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Capt. B. I have seen him once at a consociation. 
 
 Mr. L. Well, he is twelve miles from me, but I exchanged 
 with him a while ago. He has six children, and a salary of 
 four hundred dollars ; and such destitution one would hardly 
 believe, unless they saw. Mrs. S. said they could not send all 
 the children to school together, because they could not clothe 
 them all decently at a time. They had to take their turns. 
 The church is small and poor, and is aided by our Domestic 
 Missionary Society. I came home and told my wife about it ; 
 and she, with a few ladies, made up a little purse, and de 
 spatched by mail. I presume they will think it a " God-send." 
 
 Capt. B. Can't something be done for such cases ? 
 
 Mr. L. The abler churches ought to relieve them. I was 
 thinking it over yesterday. Now, what does Dr. N., of that 
 great church in the city, with his nice house, his carpeted study, 
 and easy chair, and convenient table, and grand library, what 
 does he know of such hardships as poor brother Smith suffers ? 
 Not that the doctor is a whit too well cared for. He has no 
 provision for old age, but the promises. He must live as 
 handsomely as the middle class in his congregation. But I 
 would have him think of his poorer brethren. He might spare 
 a few well-read books from his library, or a disused garment 
 from his wardrobe. His church, too, with their munificent 
 benefactions to benevolent objects they are not doing a cent too 
 much but I would have them do a little more in another 
 direction. When they get their thousand dollars together, for 
 western colleges, let them throw down the odd change fifty 
 dollars, or twenty, as it may be for that poor pastor on the 
 mountain, so that his six children can be made decent, to go to 
 school together. That would be apostolic, and after primitive 
 fashion, would n't it, Captain Brown ? 
 
 The captain is rather absorbed just now. " I am thinking," 
 said he, " how we can get up this business of rising upon our 
 xuinister's salary."
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 323 
 
 Mr. L. Nothing easier, sir. You just call a meeting, and 
 make a motion to that effect, and 
 
 Capt. B. I ! / make a motion ? I never did such a thing 
 in my life. There 's Esquire Eaton, and Mr. Briggs, and the 
 deacons. I ? confound me, if I could ! 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 " Partings, such as press 
 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 That ne'er might be repeated." 
 
 " 'T is a time 
 For memory, and for tears." 
 
 AViiKN Mr. Vernon's call from the suburban church reached 
 the parsonage, Mary felt such a sinking of heart as she had 
 seldom experienced. She just finds how deeply interwoven are 
 the threads of her existence with the place and people. Truo, 
 the arguments for leaving are strong and incontrovertible : his 
 poor remuneration and want of sympathy here ; there, a 
 larger field of usefulness and an ample support, with facilities 
 fur educating their children. She tries to keep down her swell 
 ing heart. Providence surely leads this way. It will give 
 Edward some relief from his late exhausting night- studies, as he 
 can avail himself of previous preparation. Ellen, too, can be 
 theirs again ; and she heaves a sigh that always escapes at the 
 mention of the absent one. Brother William has signified his 
 purpose to send his oldest child to his native land ; and she has 
 so longed to take it to the bosom of her own family. That 
 wish can now be gratified. And, finally, 'mid the reviving of 
 other buried hopes, that brings a quick flush to the cheek, cornea 
 the thought of her lost piano. This treasure might be hers 
 again Ah ! how had she missed the beloved music, those 
 seven long years, at the family devotions, at the social gath-
 
 324 THE SHAD? SIDE; OK, 
 
 ering, in the lone evening, at times when her heart was heavy 
 with grief, or swelling high with joy! let heroic wife that 
 she was she had never worn her husband's sensitive heart 
 strings with a single regretful murmur or .vain wish to recover 
 the alienated treasure. The thrill of pleasure now, showed the 
 greatness of the sacrifice. 
 
 But again comes the sad reaction of feeling. This is home. 
 The affections are rooted all about this pleasant valley. The 
 dwelling, too, in its rural beauty, their hands have fashioned 
 its adornments, and it has been sacred to their presence. It 
 has been the birthplace of their little ones. The children can 
 never know another home like this, with the grassy path 
 behind the garden to the quiet churchyard, traversed oft these 
 summer days to carry flowers to the little mound where baby 
 Willie sleeps. ! the breaking up of all these life-ties, of 
 slow yet consolidated growth. With the tenderest care, how 
 many roots will be cruelly severed, how many branches am 
 putated ! What ligature can ever stop the bleeding ? 
 
 Edward has laid his call before the people, and told them he 
 had no wish to leave, if he could be supported here. A gleam 
 of hope rises in Mary's bosom : they will increase his salary, 
 they will keep him yet. 
 
 There is much real sorrow among the people at thought of 
 the separation. A large majority would now give any reasona 
 ble sum to retain their pastor ; but he would not stay, unless 
 the expression were unanimous. Deacon Hyde says, " If he 
 chooses to leave, he can ; we can find another." And Deacon 
 White intimates that the pastor's movement toward another 
 field '' is but a ruse to get more money here." 
 
 The ladies talk it up at the sewing-circle, whither Mary's 
 feelings will not let her go. Mrs. Brown astonishes the circle 
 with sentiments they never heard from her before. Among other 
 things, she says her husband had been talking with the agent 
 of a life insurance company ; and, just as Mr. Vernon received 
 his call, he was going round to see if the people would get the
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PABjONAGE. 325 
 
 minister's life insured for at least as much as the principal and 
 interest of what he has spent of his own property while he has 
 been our pastor. He thinks it would be only an act of justice. 
 
 " But that would not help him any now" said Mrs. Rogers. 
 
 "It would provide something for .the family," said Mrs 
 Brown, " if he should be taken away." 
 
 "Get his life insured! did you say?" ejaculated an old 
 lady, looking over her spectacles ; " never heerd of such things 
 'inong Christian folks. I should call that tempting Provi 
 dence." 
 
 " I think," said a pert young miss, " that ministers ought to 
 lay up something for old age." 
 
 Hester's lip curled, and she said, " Ministers ought not to 
 live to be old." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said another. 
 
 " They ought to wear out, first," was the reply. 
 
 Ah ! Hester, thy spirit is sore to-day, at thought of losing 
 thy pastor's family ; and thou art putting on another coat of 
 ice, lest the scalding tears within melt through, and betray to 
 others the sensibility which, early wounded, is guarded like a 
 dangerous secret in thy own bosom. 
 
 Beyond the parish, there was a circle to feel the approaching 
 separation with lively regret. It was the little band of min 
 isterial brethren. How could they spare brother Vernon from 
 the ministers' meeting? "How can we spare his family from 
 the neighborhood ? " said Charles Herbert ; " visiting there is 
 the one great solace of my bachelorhood. Mrs. Yernon has such 
 a genial humor, she makes everybody happy around her. 
 Even when suffering hci.^elf, she has some playful stroke to 
 make others smile." And he rode over to Olney for a last 
 visit. He had many regrets to utter ; and, finally, a word for 
 Mrs. Vcrnon's private ear, which, with some embarrassment, he 
 ventured thus : 
 
 " You say I have lost my opportunity with the fair Misa 
 Julia." ^Ile had never made any direct advances in that direo- 
 28
 
 326 THE SHADY SIPE \ OR, 
 
 tion ; for, though Mary thought he only waited an encouraging 
 word from her, she spoke it not. The only son of the rich. 
 Esquire Eaton had asked for Julia Rogers' hand ; and Mr 
 Vernon had just announced the fact that he should have her 
 for a parishioner soon, if he were to stay in Olney.) " As I 
 have lost Miss Julia," said Mr. Herbert, " why will you not 
 speak a word for me at brother Catlin's; at least, asceitain 
 you ladies have the tact whether it would be of any use 
 for me to look that way. Is n't Mary Catlin a splendid girl ? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Herbert," said Mrs. Vernon, " you are wild this 
 time. Mary is but seventeen, with her school-girl laurels fresh 
 upon her." 
 
 " I can wait another year," said the young man. Mrs. Ver 
 non shook her head. " ! " said he, "I see you think I am 
 too old ;" and he kissed the children good-by, and went back 
 to his bachelor sanctum. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon sat musingly a while. " Yes, Mary Catlin is 
 ' a splendid girl;' yet she is not destined, at present, to be mis 
 tress of any parsonage. Inheriting her mother's gift of poesy, 
 and her father's love of the exact sciences, and the sensibility 
 of both, she is looking, with an eagle eye, and plumed wing, 
 and swelling heart, toward the temple of Fame, yet with a 
 chastened spirit that lays all her prospective trophies at the foot 
 of the Cross. Dear, bright young creature ! " At that mo 
 ment she trips up the steps. She had come to make her part 
 ing visit, and to help, meanwhile, in the many, many things, 
 that were to be done before the final departure. 
 
 Lucy Merton was over twice a week, going home always 
 with red eyes, and a heart utterly unreconciled to the separa 
 tion. She had obtained a promise that, after all was ready for 
 removal, the family would pass a night with her, and be started 
 thence on their distant way. 
 
 The last Sabbath brought a crowded audience, and the place 
 was literally a Bochim. Many tearful glances were cast at 
 the little group in the minister's pew, whose self-poRsession cost
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAOK. P)2? 
 
 a continual effort. How tender was the sermon ! how elo 
 quent, too ! disfigured by no personalities. " I am not 
 ashamed of the gospel of Christ ! " How many in that little 
 church were living witnesses of its power ! 
 
 And now followed the week of removal, days of much man 
 ual toil, and a constant tension of the spirit's chords. It seems 
 an occasion of general grief, though it may be there is secret 
 joy in a few uncongenial hearts. There is much proffered ser 
 vice ; in some instances, as if to make atonement for past neg 
 lect. The Douglasses stand aloof. They have been cool for 
 many months. Some mischief-maker whispered, that Mrs. Ver- 
 non thinks little of their society. They would have repelled 
 the suspicion in regard to any other friend ; but the old native 
 jealousy toward a mini.stcr's wife, confides in the slander ; and 
 here, where there is a debt of gratitude, and a tie cemented by 
 two precious graves, they can cherish distrust and bitterness ! 
 They will find, ere long, that they never had a gentler, truer 
 friend than the pastor's wife ; and when she is gone, the 
 remembrance of this requital will sorely pierce their hearts. 
 
 The last day has come at length, and the calls multiply. The 
 little lame boy comes to return his books. Old Mrs. Hawkins 
 sends home the cup in which the jelly was sent to her sick 
 grandchild, and asks the loan of the " Farewell Sermon," as 
 " her rheumatis would n't let her get out to meetin'." 
 
 Mr. Nelson's little daughter came for the thornless rose 
 promised her, to plant at her mother's grave. " May be," said 
 the child, " I V 1 miss of getting it, it' I wait till spring ; for 
 there 's no telling, father says, who '11 come after you." 
 
 Hester Allen was there all day, plying the needle, and quar 
 relling with herself to keep back the tears. 
 
 " O ! ivitt this day of partings ever end ?" says the pastor's 
 wife to herself, as, with burning eyes and aching head, she tries 
 to collect her scattered thoughts for needful direction about the 
 household stuff, and still the confusion multiplies. The chil 
 dren are wearied out. Allie is trying to help. Rose IB wan-
 
 328 THE SHADY SIDE; OK, 
 
 licriug through the blockaded rooms, and beiuoaning to her 
 Jolly, that " there is nowhere to stay." And little Carrie is 
 fast asleep on a pile of shawls in a corner of what was once tho 
 bed-room. 
 
 And still, amid the packing of trunks and the moving of 
 boxes, the leave-taking goes sorrowfully on ; here with noisy 
 lamentation, and there with a silent pressure of the lip and 
 hand, and more than once, with a parting gift and a farewell 
 note, which will be read to-morrow with full eyes and a fuller 
 heart. 
 
 Susan Brown and Hester are the last to leave ; and they have 
 taken the monthly rose and the japonica. 
 
 And now they are all gone. Mary has wept so much, she 
 wonders if the fount of tears within will ever fill again. 
 
 The goods at last are sent off. Mr. Merton's carriage has 
 long waited at the door ; and Captain Brown has started with 
 the trunks in his lumber-wagon, first giving Mary a " V," say 
 ing, " Money answereth all things." It is just at sunset. The 
 children are already in the carriage^ and Edward is attending 
 to some last thing, which always appears after everything is 
 done. Mary stands before the window of her own room ; 
 that window from which she has watched the changing seasons 
 of seven fleeting years, whose echoes now come back to her ear 
 "a dirge-like song, half bliss, half woe ! " The sunset glow 
 is on the mountain side, whose forests, from base to crest, are 
 tinged with the first autumnal hues, contrasting with the 
 clumps of evergreen that rise distinct, like the changeless hopes 
 of a better world, 'mid the brilliancy and decay of this. The 
 sky is beautiful with violet and gold. The church is inter 
 cepted by twin-elms, above which the spire is visible ; while, 
 beneath their drooping foliage, is caught the glimpse of many a 
 marble pillar, in the place of graves. The eyes that gazed upon 
 this scene were sorrowful, yet clear. Tears had flowed before, 
 and they, may come afterward ; but now, there must be a last, 
 undimmed look, to daguerreotype every feature of the deal
 
 LIVE US A COUNTKY PARSONAGB. 329 
 
 ppct, for future yearnings of the heart. And now the gaze 
 Lrtens on objects nearer still, the maples on each side the 
 avenue, the little nursery of fruit, the flowering shrubs and 
 rose vines, the leafy arbor, the bordered walks, all, all was 
 their own handiwork. Not a vegetable growth, but they had 
 started, and watched, and nursed. The garden blooms are 
 nipped by the early frost. They will put forth anew at the 
 breath of another spring ; but who can love them so well 
 as they, or cherish them so tenderly ? Does she think of 
 this, as she leans her head wearily against the sash, yet does 
 not turn away? Ay, and of many a sweeter, holier link 
 beside, binding her very soul to the spot ! The sky pales ; all 
 hues of the mountain merge in the solemn tint of the ever 
 green ; the evening wind begins its soft, sad cadence among 
 the pines ; the voice of the brook, low, yet relentless, murmurs, 
 " On, on ! " The moon is up, and shines into the pensive face, 
 suddenly upturned to the sky. Her hands draw nearer, and 
 clasp closely ; and she instinctively turns toward her wonted 
 place of prayer. Bare walls and the naked floor meet her 
 eye. No matter, the prayer is in her heart, and Jesus can 
 read it there. A moment more, and Edward gently, tenderly 
 draws her hand within . his arm, and silently leads her to the 
 carriage. As it turns away, she looks back once more, and 
 catches sight of a straggling branch of honeysuckle, that has 
 escaped from its fillet, and is swinging up and down., over the 
 doorway, in the freshening breeze. It seems to her the spirit 
 of the deserted parsonage, waving a sorrowful adieu. 
 28*
 
 THE SIIAUY SIDK; os. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 " Sunrise will come next ; 
 The shadow of the night is passed away." 
 
 " Courage ! you travel through a darksome cave ; 
 But still, as nearer to the light you draw, 
 Fresh gales will meet you from the upper air, 
 And wholesome dews of heaven your forehead lave, 
 And darkness lighten more, till full of awe 
 You stand in the open sunshine unaware ! " 
 
 "Thou dwell'st on sorrow's high and barren place, 
 But round about the mount, an angel guard, 
 Chariots of fire, horses of fire, encamp, 
 To keep thee safe for heaven." 
 
 LET us follow on to the suburbs of the city. In that brick 
 hotel, four stories high, we find our Mary, with her little girls, 
 boarding till arrangements can be made for house-keeping. 
 Allie is put" away to school ; and as the new church edifice is 
 not quite ready for dedication, the pastor elect postpones his 
 inauguration, and takes the interval for a visit to his old chum, 
 Frederick Morton. He is much in need of recreation, and so ia 
 Mary ; but they cannot both go and take the children, for the 
 purse is low. She is, therefore, staying patiently behind, 
 very lonely, 'mid brick walls and stranger faces. How does 
 her heart long for many a familiar face, ay, for some whom 
 she never more may greet on earth ! 
 
 0, the irrepressible yearning for a buried friend ! for the 
 well-remembered footsteps, that always sent a thrill of pleasure 
 to our bosom ; for the eyes, into which we were wont to gaze as 
 in a book, and read the soul ; for the voice, that was ever sweet 
 music to our hearts, whose echoes ever and anon wake up and 
 thrill us with the old \miliar strain, yet grow fainter as we
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE 331 
 
 listen, till they die away ; for the pressure of the hand, as we 
 remember it well, as we feel it oft again in dreams. ! if 
 there were no better land, where are to be gathered again tho 
 links of love's dissevered chain, who could bear this heart-sick 
 ness, for which earth his no remedy ? 
 
 Mr. Vernon planned his absence for a fortnight, and he wrote 
 back often. In his first letter he says 
 
 . . . . " This is the same Bessie Crampton, of Salem 
 memory ; her cheeks slightly less round than when you twined 
 those white roses in her dark curls, for the nuptial rite, yet her 
 bloom as fresh and her black eyes as mischievous. She is 
 equally at home, receiving a group of ' fashionables ' in her 
 splendid parlor, or playing a game of romps with her boys iu 
 the nursery ; in which last exercise I joined her this morning, 
 and am now immortalized among the juveniles. 
 
 " But Frederick, my old chum, is greatly changed ; that is, 
 he has grown great in more senses than one. First (to speak 
 methodically), in social position ; he has increased in riches 
 and honor. Second, in material substance ; he is so portly 
 you would scarce recognize him. And, thirdly, in his own esti 
 mation ; he has put on a shade or two of self-complacency ; 
 but it sits very easy on him, and makes him vastly comfortable, 
 and hurts nobody. 
 
 " I am most cordially received, welcomed to the freedom 
 of the house. If you were only here to enjoy it too ! Bessie 
 speaks of you almost every hour. Morton and I had a long, 
 serious talk last evening. He dwelt upon what he called the 
 unfairness of the world in awarding its praises, and said, frank 
 ly, ' Your prospects, Vernon, were fairer than mine, before you 
 chose to sacrifice them to a higher calling. Here, I own a place 
 worth five thousand, and have fifteen thousand more, Fnugly 
 invested. Now, because I gave a thousand last month, at the 
 meeting of the American Board, my liberality was heralded 
 in the public journals. But you have given all / am worth,
 
 332 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 and more ; yet the world takes it very quietly. I understand 
 your motives now, I trust, better than once. I hope you have 
 forgiven that foolish talk of mine, years ago, at Salem. There 
 are times, my dear fellow, yhen I envy you your reward. '' 
 
 That fortnight, how heavily it drags away, even 'mid the 
 children's pleasant prattle ! A long letter from sister Harriet 
 is received and answered. It details, with mathematical accu 
 racy, the hair-breadth 'scapes of the journey thither, and the 
 forlorn condition in which she found the six children, " the 
 thought of whom," she declares, " moved her to this marriage, 
 quite as strongly as her regard for* their father ; and she found 
 the case had not been exaggerated for the sake of effect." 
 (Miss Allison never could see untidiness, anywhere, without an 
 instinctive impulse to take hold, and as the Scotch say 
 give things " a redding up.") She has made a new place of it 
 there, with her Yankee housewifery, and the comforts she car 
 ried with her. She is getting used to the ways of the people, 
 and it does not shock her propriety now, as it did at first, to 
 hear herself inquired for, as " the ministress." Her health has 
 been good, and she thinks the talk about "getting acclimated," 
 is all moonshine ; and " as for fever-and-ague, she don't believe 
 in it, and won't have it ; and if she does, urill not give up to 
 it ; what 's the use in lying by for ' the shakes ? ' ): The 
 letter had laid unfinished four weeks, when a postscript was 
 added, in the dominie's hand, to the effect, that " sister Harriet, 
 being seized with chills and fever, for a time refused to take 
 her bed or have medical treatment, endeavoring, with great 
 determination, to pursue her household cares, as usual ; in con 
 sequence of which, she had been alarmingly sick, was now 
 only able to raise herself in bed, and with no prospect of health 
 for many days to come." 
 
 Mary's sisterly heart sighed over the sad issue as heartily as 
 she had laughed over the four pages in her energotic sister's 
 peculiar vein. ' Ah!" thought she, "God's servants every-
 
 \ 
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTBT PARSONAGE. 333 
 
 where must have the discipline of affliction ! Bunyan was 
 right 
 
 ' The Christian man is never lung at ease ; 
 When one fright 's gone, another doth him seize.' " 
 
 The day of Mr. Vernon's expected return has arrived ; but, 
 in his stead, there comes a letter, playfully commenced, with 
 his wonted thoughtfulness of that sensitive heart, quick to take 
 alarm. 
 
 "ELM COTTAGE, Oct., IS 
 " DEAR MARY, MINE, 
 
 " Why am I not with you to-night ? Because I am here. 
 And why am I here ? Because I am not with you. My kind 
 friends would not let me out to-day. I have been a little ill 
 since I wrote you last. Now, do not let your quick imagina 
 tion go beyond the sober verity. I say, a little ill ; a cold, 
 with some tendency to inflammation of (he lungs, and an obsti 
 nate headache. I am better to-day, and almost fancied I was 
 well enough to travel ; but Morton put an injunction on me, 
 with heavy penalties ; so I am legally bound, you perceive. 
 
 " Imagine me, dearest, with a superb velvet wrapper, lined 
 with rich brocade, hanging in loose folds about me, and my feet 
 encased in slippers to match, half-buried in a luxurious damask- 
 cushioned rocker, and every want anticipated. (Ah ! except 
 ing always one great want of my heart, which cannot be filled 
 away from its best earthly treasure !) I hope to start to-mor 
 row for home. Ah, me ! would you believe it, Mary ? when 
 I wrote that word, home, my thoughts were of the dear parson 
 age, nestling in the valley, our home no longer! Since I 
 loft, I have thought much of you, in connection with leaving 
 Gluey; and I fear the severance of those ties has been too heavy 
 a tax upon your sensibilities. I dwelt upon it one night till I 
 felt no elasticity or courage to enter upon our new enterprise. 
 My heart sunk so low, that [ thought only you could fish it up 
 again. 0, how I missed my comforter ! But the Lord mer-
 
 334 THE SHAD? SIDE; OK, 
 
 eifully lifted me up, and gave me such views of his character 
 and his dealings with us, of the brevity of this chequered life, 
 and the glorious realities beyond, that I could say, cheerfully, 
 ' Lord, here am I ; do with me what seemeth good in thy 
 eight.' 
 
 " Let me say, here, dear Mary (you cannot help it, for you 
 are not near enough to put your finger on my lips, your old 
 resort, when I begin to praise), let me say, that you have been 
 to me an angel of mercy. If, in a ministry of thirteen years 
 since our marriage, I have been able to do anything for God 
 and souls, I owe it, under Him, to you ; your wisdom, your 
 love, your faithfulness, your prayers, your hope-inspiring pres 
 ence, that has illumined all iny darkness, and made for me 
 such a home. And what if the place be changed ? it is home 
 always, and anywhere, with you ! 
 
 " Bessie comes in, and peremptorily forbids my writing more. 
 If you are writing Allie, give him his father's love and blessing. 
 (lie is his mother's boy.) Hug Rose, and kiss Carrie for papa; 
 and do not forget to pray for a poor sinner, who, as some sign 
 of grace, subscribes himself 
 
 " YOUR HUSBAND." 
 
 This was a sad, yet precious letter to the devoted wife 
 Many tears were shed over it now ; and it will be doubly dear 
 to her in the days that are to come, when but we will not 
 anticipate. 
 
 Edward returned, as he had hoped, and with a flush upon 
 his cheek that made Mary say, at the first glance, " I am so 
 relieved to see you looking so well." But presently her heart 
 misgave her. There was something unnatural in his look and 
 manner. He seemed so gratified to be once more with her ; 
 caressed the children with more than his wonted playfulness, 
 and had much to say of his pleasant visit. But his voice was 
 hollow ; and ever and anon he pressed his hand to his temples, 
 and said, he had feared he was adding to his cold, on his night
 
 Lli'E IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 335 
 
 passage down the river. At bed-time, he complained of feeling 
 strangely, but hoped rest would relieve him, and he should be 
 himself again on the morrow. Alas ! before the morrow came 
 he was tossing with wild delirium ! 
 
 Sick, and among strangers! How helpless Mary felt! 
 What quick visions rose of the quiet parsonage, of the familiar 
 bed-room, of the cupboard over the mantel, with its viuls of 
 simple medicines ! 
 
 In the morning twilight a messenger was despatched for tho 
 physician, who pronounced his disease brain fever. 
 
 To the anxious wife it seemed as if the precious time were 
 needlessly wasted in getting anything done for the sufferer. 
 At home, how quickly would she have had the dock-leaves on 
 his feet, the blister on his neck, and the leeches on his tem 
 ples ! There, too, how slight an effort would have secured per 
 fect stillness ! She need only put her finger on her lip to have 
 suspended the children's sports, and the noisy operations of the 
 kitchen. Here, in this large boarding-house, were other chil 
 dren than her own. Here was the heavy tramp, to and fro, 
 through the passages, and up and down the stairs. 
 
 She had the best medical care, but it was of no avail. The 
 disease progressed without control. To her aching heart the 
 week was one long agony. " 0, might the delirium but pass 
 away ! if he would only know me ! if he would speak 
 but once to the dear children ! " A kind neighbor took the 
 little girls away. " 0, but to see dear Dr. Alden, or have sis 
 ter Catlin's earnest sympathy, or one grasp of farmer Brown's 
 cordial hand ! If Leevy Cook were here, or even Milly 
 Green ! " 
 
 Her heart was one continually uplifted prayer ; and when it 
 seemed nigh bursting, for want of vent, she left the unconscious 
 sufferer with one of their new friends, and stole up to a little 
 store-room, in the attic, which held their baggage, and there 
 poured out her soul before God. A fire seemed burning in her 
 heart and brain ; and, as yet, her eyes were dry. But as she
 
 336 THE SHADY SIDE J OE, 
 
 kneeled there, among trunks and boxes, groaning rather than 
 uttering her pleas, her eyes caught the marking on those rough 
 boards, in that familiar hand, " books," " sermons," and the 
 little study at the village parsonage, and the quiet Sabbaths, 
 and the dear family group, came up so vividly, and, with them, 
 the quick recoil, " Gone, gone forever ! " then first came the 
 relief of tears. Like a little child, she leaned upon the boxes, 
 and wept till her strength was spent. And 0, the prayer that 
 followed I it was, indeed, a casting of her care upon the Lord 
 and he was present, with his sustaining arm. When she 
 resumed her place by the sick-couch, with the teats trickling 
 down her cheeks, observers thought her grief had gained inten 
 sity, while she was thankful that it had found an outlet. 
 
 0, huw much she lived in that one week ! measuring life, 
 not by the chronometer of days and hours, but by the soul's 
 experience. Under an impending calamity, how the mind gath 
 ers force and expansion ! Every faculty seems quickened. 
 Thought is restless, eager, swift ; the past, present, and 
 future, sweep, as in a panorama, before the inner vision, 
 stretching on, and on, till the brain grows dizzy, and the eyes 
 close to avoid the further view. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon needs not that the last result of the able coun 
 cil should be broken gently to her ear. Her own heart has 
 already said, " There is no hope." 
 
 Often, and again, has her imagination outrun the rapid 
 progress of disease, anticipating the death scene, the burial 
 among strangers, and her consequent loneliness and penury. 
 
 The end draws on apace. Now, at last, the eyes slowly 
 open, with their natural expression, and the lips feebly articu 
 late the names of wife and children. The litle girls are brought 
 to the bed-side, but their dying father is past the power of 
 speech. His cold lips, however, faintly return their warm 
 kisses, and his hand presses Mary's more closely, as if he read 
 her thoughts, and responded to them thus. 0, what an allevi 
 ation, what a comfort, is this return of reason, ere the spirit
 
 LIFE IS A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 837 
 
 takes its flight ! For this the poor wife has offered unceasing 
 prayer, and God in mercy answers the request. 
 
 Though Edward cannot spe;ik, his soul communes with hers, 
 and his mute assent to her whispered words proclaims that ho 
 lias PEACE. But this precious communion is only for a few 
 brief minutes. Death is fast finishing his work. 0, the look 
 of agonizing tenderness that he casts on his wife and bubes, and 
 then raises upward, as if striving to commit them to the safe 
 protection of Him who has promised to be the widow's God, and 
 the guide of the fatherless ! A smile plays about his pallid 
 lij>s, and the eyes return to her, in a full, earnest gaze, and 
 again look upward to the God of the covenant. She under 
 stands it well. Faith triumphs ; she smiles in return, even 
 while her heart is breaking ; and with that token he goes to his 
 rest. 
 
 Who can depict the sense of utter desolation that came over 
 that widowed heart, as it turned baek from the portals of death, 
 with a divided life ? " If my dear father were alive, and could 
 tuke us to the old hearth-stone ! if I could lean on brother 
 William's strong arm ! if sister Harriet, with her fortitude, 
 were here! or if I could have the sympathy of those dear 
 parishioners who knew him, and could appreciate my loss, - 
 Bessie, qr the kind, good Miss Leevy, or Hester Allen, or dear 
 sister Lucy ! " 
 
 But, blessed be God, she knew a better source of consolation ; 
 and it was not long ere these tossings subsided into a sweet reli 
 ance upon the one ever-present, abiding Comforter. Her 
 llcdecmer was her husband ; the Lord of Hosts is his name. 
 
 And now draws on the funeral scene. The people are kind, 
 considerate, serious. They are disappointed, but they cannot 
 mourn as would the whole population of the valley among whom 
 he went preaching (he Gospel so many years. Mary feels the 
 difference, and can hardly forbear a regret, that, if the event 
 were inevitable, he did not go down to the grave amid the 
 tears and lamentations of his old people, and repose in the quiet 
 29
 
 338 THE SHADY SIDE ; OR, 
 
 church-yard, by the baby's side. She had written a letter to 
 Mabel, hardly expecting her to come, yet feeling that the warm 
 hearted girl might grieve if the opportunity were denied her. 
 She came in season, and mingled her tears, as one of the mourn 
 ing children that had lost a beloved parent. Sister Ellen, too, 
 was there, and the sensitive Nelly, with tumultuous grief. 
 Not till Allie came did the stricken heart find any earthly sup 
 port. After his first burst of childish sorrow was over, he took 
 it upon him to comfort his bereaved mother, by those precious 
 *ords of Scripture consolation with which he was so familiar; 
 and, ere she was aware, she found herself leaning en this dear 
 boy, and clinging to his arm for support, as she did to Edward's 
 when they buried their first-born. 
 
 The funeral services were in the church, and the remains 
 were deposited in a family vault, till the final disposition of 
 them should be decided upon. Mabel goes back with Aliie, 
 and the mother takes the little ones, for a few days, to Ellen's 
 home. 
 
 Let us follow the tidings of the pastor's death, as they go to 
 the several communities where he has lived and labored. At 
 Millville the intelligence makes a mere ripple in life's foaming 
 sea. " Ah ! " " Indeed ! " " He could preach eloquent ser 
 mons ! " "I am sorry to hear it ! " Such were the passing 
 tributes, that were soon forgotten in the next exciting theme. 
 A few hearts, doubtless, grieved in secret, and recalled many 
 an incident of his ministry. Mrs. Moulton wrote to Mrs. Ver- 
 non a letter of affectionate condolence, and inclosed a gift of 
 twenty-five dollars. She had never felt quite easy about the 
 piano. 
 
 To Olney the tidings came like a mountain avalanche, or an 
 earthquake's shock. The community seemed stunned, as by a 
 sudden blow. The sorrow was universal, and the sad particu 
 lars were carefully gleaned, and passed from lip to lip, and wept 
 over in many a household. At the weekly prayer-meeting, 
 Captain Brown choked in prayer, and was unable to proceed,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTEY PARSONAGE. 889 
 
 and even the deacons made a feeling allusion to the bereave 
 ment. 
 
 " What have such men to do lamenting for our dear pastor ? " 
 said Hester Allen. " But for them, he might be alive, and 
 happy, here, to this day." (0, Hester ! you have no right to 
 nay that.) "Everybody says, ' I 'm sorry.' It's an easy thing 
 to say ; and there are enough to ask ' what Mrs. Vernon is going 
 to do, left destitute, and all those children on her hands ? ' 
 But why don't you act, as well as talk ? Make up to her what 
 they expended, here, of their own property. That six hundred 
 dollars would be worth everything to her, and we ought to 
 raise it; and it shall be done, if /can bring it about ;" and Hes 
 ter takes a subscription paper, and starts on her praiseworthy 
 errand. Captain Brown gives five dollars. Esquire Eaton 
 " will think atout it." " While you 're thinking," said Hester, 
 "just please to remember that it is not a charity. It's only 
 simple justice, what you lawfully owe;" and she passed on, 
 to Deacon Hyde's. The deacon heard her in silence, and took 
 out fifty cents from his pocket. 
 
 " Fifty cents, Deacon Hyde ! Why, you ought to give six 
 or eight dollars. No, I will not take the paltry sum. It 
 would burn my fingers. But the Lord deliver me from such 
 narrowness of soul ! " (Take care, Hester ; that is not the right 
 spirit.) 
 
 She goes over the parish, and the result is forty dollars, 
 which are sent, with many words of sympathy and messages of 
 affection. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Loomis, a life-long invalid, writes, also, a letter 
 of condolence. " She thought not to outlive her pastor, yet she 
 had seen, these many months, that he was preparing faot for 
 heaven." 0, how precious was the letter, though poorly writ 
 ten, and many words misspelt! Then came the customary 
 resolutions from the Association, which, drawn up by Mr. Mer- 
 ton, Mary felt were something more than a mere form. These 
 opened afresh the fountain of her tears.
 
 340 THE SHADY SIDE J OK, 
 
 News of the sad event reached the quiet spot where his 
 ministry was first opened, awakening peculiar emotions of ten 
 derness and regret. Mr. Vernon they remembered as he camo 
 to them in the spring and freshness. of his years. They were 
 his first love, and he was their pastor when they were a con 
 fiding ministerial people. When they had heard of his call to 
 the city, and his popularity there, they took pride in the fact 
 that he began his ministry in Salem. How often, 'mid their 
 dissensions, had they sighed for another Deacon Ely and Mr. 
 Vernon ! Poor Leevy spent a night in tears, and, at length, 
 thanked God that she was hastening to that better land, where 
 neither death nor separation can intrude ; where they neither 
 marry nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God 
 
 Even Mr. Wood was softened ; and when he inquired after 
 'the stricken family, and learned that the lamb of the flock bore 
 the name of his lost darling, the stern man melted down. 
 
 He took his pen, and wrote to the young widow in a 
 kinder strain, even, than he at first intended (when the snovr 
 begins to melt in a spring sun it vanishes fast) a fatherly 
 letter; even asking her forgiveness for his old severity. He 
 alluded to the child, and said she might rely on his doing some 
 thing for little Carrie. (The line was blurred a tear had 
 evidently fallen as he wrote.) He enclosed a five-dollar note, 
 and pressed her to visit Salem. 
 
 Truly, soon or late, wisdom is justified of her children. 
 This letter Mary wept over, and so longed to have Edward see ! 
 and laid by, as another token of the divine faithfulness, and a 
 fulfilment of covenant promises. 
 
 There were other letters of condolence. Sister Lucy's, liter 
 ally wet with tears ; and one from Mr. Morton and I>e.ssy, giv 
 ing many particulars of Mr. Yernon's visit, of what he said 
 aud did while with them, which Mary read, again and 
 again, and hoarded up in her heart of hearts. 
 
 Later still, a precious freight, from the far west, with a short 
 nole from Eddie, in which was all his soul, tender, earnest
 
 L1FB IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGB. 341 
 
 manly, saying, Allie could comfort her better than he ; yet 
 he hoped, some day, to come back, and do something for her 
 and the children. 
 
 Very precious is all this human sympathy ; but 0, how utterly 
 inadequate, atone, to bind up a bleeding heart' How super 
 ficial the best of it, compared with that perfect sympathy of 
 Jesu-s, which enters into the deepest and the subtlest feelings of 
 our nature, understanding our griefs even better than we do 
 ourselves, and bearing for us the heavy end of every burden ' 
 Thanks unto God for his unspeakable gift! 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 " Her eye was bright, 
 E'en yet, with something of a starry light ; 
 But her form wasted, and her pallid check 
 Wore, oft and patiently, a fatal streak, 
 A rose, whose root was death." 
 
 " The early flowers that spring 
 Beside the garden walk, and those tall trees, 
 Would I might sec them but once more, and touch 
 The pleasant vine that o'er my window climbed. 
 I could breathe freer there." 
 
 " Hope still lifts her radiant finger, 
 
 Pointing to the eternal homo, 
 Upon whose portals yet they linger, 
 Looking back for us to come." 
 
 IT is hard to tanch the tears of a fresh bereavement, ere 
 nature has had her due, and gird the relaxed muscles to grap 
 ple with want, in the close struggle for daily bread. Yet many 
 are the sons and daughters of poverty, in this sin-blighted 
 world, who cannot afford the luxury of time dedicate to grief, 
 ' many a poor minister's widow who enters the arena of toil, 
 when she craves the solitude and privacy sacred to sorrow. 
 29*
 
 342 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 Our Mary was not the woman to fall dependency on the 
 nearest charity. Then, though there were many to speak kind 
 words, or present a few dollars from their purse, under the first 
 impulse of pity, there was not one there seldom is to take 
 the matter in hand, and make permanent provision for those 
 whose all has been sacrificed to the service of the church, and 
 whose only inheritance is the Lord God of Israel. 
 
 True, she had received pressing invitations to visit here and 
 there. Julia Rogers (now Mrs. Henry Eaton) and Captain 
 Brown had urged her immediate return to Olney; but how 
 could she go back to the dear spot where every object would be 
 a sharp reminder of her buried joys ? Besides, there is no 
 employment for her there. 0, not yet can she go to Olney ! 
 
 All her effects are at the new place, which they had begun 
 to call home. There is her pecuniary indebtedness, which she 
 must contrive ways to meet. There, for the present, she 
 resolves to abide. The Lord has already raised her up friends 
 among strangers. Taking board for herself and two little ones, 
 in an humble dwelling, she keeps enough of her household stuff 
 to furnish a single room, and the rest is sold under the auc 
 tioneer's hammer. The library, for the present, she excepts, 
 hoping to preserve it, with the manuscripts, for her dear boy. 
 With the donations from abroad, the sale pays off the trans 
 portation bills, which the people do not offer to liquidate, 
 settles the large account at the hptel, and covers the funeral 
 charges ; so that, with the exception of Allie's school bill, she 
 is even with the world. That, Mabel, unknown to her, took 
 upon herself, when she went back with Allison, and made an 
 arrangement by which he can run of errand out of school, an;] 
 hereafter pay his own way, the kind teacher assuring her 
 that there would be no further charge of tuition for the min 
 ister's orphan. 
 
 Now, Mrs. Yernon looks about her for employment ; and 
 the most feasible plan seems the opening of a private school. 
 Her new friends look on her fragile form, and shake their
 
 LIF IN A COUNTUY PARSONAGE. 343 
 
 heads ; but her heart is set upon it, and they soon procure her 
 pupils. Sao is well started with a charge of twenty, among 
 whom are her own little girls. She revives her knowledge of 
 piano music, and has an extra class. She toils to perfect her 
 skill in drawing, that she may ivail herself of this art to in 
 crease her scanty income. Meanwhile, the bright spot on her 
 cheek, that came and went so fitfully all the last summer, at 
 Olney, has deepened into the unmistakable hectic flush ; and 
 tho slight cough becomes harassing at night and morn. Still 
 she plies her task, though scarce able to drag her weary step 
 from boarding-place to school-room. The cold winter, with its 
 long, solitary nights, gets slowly away ; yet she is patient and 
 cheerful, and sometimes mirthful, for the sake of her little ones. 
 They often " wish dear papa would come back one little min 
 ute ;" yet they are quite happy in their mother's love and care. 
 0, childhood's blest unconsciousness of ill ! She has many 
 wakeful hours while her babes sleep. Who shall tell how they 
 are filled ? with what touching memories of the past ; what 
 sorrowful realizations and forebodings, alternating with fervent 
 believing prayers, and sweet meditations of heavenly truth, and 
 blessed communings with the spirit world ? 
 
 It was in these days she wrote a long letter a page at a 
 time to her dear, only brother, with whom she has kept a 
 frequent correspondence during all the vicissitudes of her event 
 ful life. She wrote him of her bereavement in the acme of her 
 grief, and it is not yet time for his reply to reach her. But it 
 is surely on the way, freighted with the teuderest sympathy. 
 It contains, too, his estimate of their respective spheres of 
 service, in which he awards to her his gentle, patient, self- 
 sacrificing sister, rather than to himself, the exiled missionary 
 the palm for the martyr-spirit and the martyr's crowh. Admon 
 ished by her failing strength, she waits not for this comforting 
 response across the waters, but writes again ; and from this 
 eoond letter, we make the following extract :
 
 344 THE SHADY SIDE; OR, 
 
 " It was a favorite project, in which Edward joined with me, 
 to take your dear boy and train him up with ours ; but the all- 
 wise Disposer orders otherwise. Now, I shall not live to give 
 your darlings the shaker of my arms ; but, may I hope that, 
 if at some future day, you send them hither, pains will be taken 
 to bring them into near intimacy with mine ? Are they not 
 
 more closely related than common cousins ? 
 
 I do not for a moment regret my early choice, or murmur at 
 the trials of the way. What I have endured for Christ, 0, 
 how little does it seem, as I draw near eternity ! 
 
 ' Our sainted father said to me, a little more than a year 
 ago, ' that I should have one tie after another transferred from 
 earth to heaven, till this kind of attraction would be strongest 
 upward.' So have I lived to find it ; though, for my dear 
 children's sake, I might desire to tarry longer. I can, how 
 ever, commit them to the God of the covenant, on the strength 
 of that promise which has never failed, though proved these 
 many centuries. 
 
 " They will be cared for ! this I feel unwaveringly ; yet, 
 doubtless, their tender feet might be spared many roughnesses, 
 with a mother's hand to smooth the way. God has been very 
 good to me. I am not worthy of all the mercies and the kind 
 nesses that he has shown me." 
 
 Spring came again to the stricken mourner. After the first 
 smarting of the wound was over, her heart began to yearn for 
 the old familiar places, Mayfield, and Salem, and Olney. 
 But now that her school fcrm is ended, and her failing health 
 forewarns her that she will never teach again, she must hus 
 band with care the slender purse. She still keeps her music 
 scholars, and bend? patiently over the few girls that come to 
 her for lessons in drawing ; but this cannot last much longer. 
 
 The first of April brings Captain Brown to the city, partly 
 on business, but more to call on Mrs. A r ernon. He is much 
 struck at the change in her appearance, and can hardly keep 
 his self-possession through the brief interview. Before leaving,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 3-15 
 
 be asks her if there is anything she wants; and she says, falter- 
 ingly, " Nothing hall' so much as to see the old place again." 
 He slips ten dollars into her hand, from his capacious palm. 
 " Ah ! " said she, playfully, "you have not forgotten your old 
 text." " And now," said he, " when it gets a little warmer, 
 we shall expert you. The women-folks will be impatient till 
 you come." Last of all he took from his hat a carefully 
 wrapped bouquet of flowers, saying, " Here is something, of 
 Susie's sending. I only hope you won't shed as many tears 
 over it as she did this morning;" and, without waiting to 
 note the effect, he drew the back of his hand across his eyes, 
 and said good-by. Without this touching gift, Mary would 
 have wept as soon as he was gone. The tide of feeling had 
 been forcibly repressed ; but now, as she looked at the familial 
 flowers, the geranium sprigs and blossoms from the very 
 bush she had nurtured for years ; the half-opened buds from 
 her own monthly rose, and especially the violets from the par 
 sonage garden (she knew so well the spot where they were 
 culled), who shall blame her if she wept till her nerves were * 
 all unstrung, and she had scarcely strength at night to undress 
 the children, and lay herself upon the pillow ? But all night 
 there mingled with her dreams a vision of the dear old home, 
 with that straggling branch of honeysuckle that waved the sad 
 farewell ; and the vines putting on their greenness ; and the 
 babbling brook, and whispering pines, and solemn mountain. 
 And when she woke, her heart leaped at the thought of ex 
 changing these brick walls, soon, for the beautiful reality. 
 
 Captain Brown, on his ri turn, could scarcely speak of Mrs. 
 Vernon with composure. " Such a change ! you '11 see 
 you '11 sec ! Her ears and fingers are as transparent as that 
 cheeny cup on the shelf. If she conies here, wife, she '11 not 
 go back again. She 's most through. And if you 've a mind,, 
 I 'm thinking we '11 oft'er to take one of the little ones." 
 " She would n't trust the child to its. Mr. Brown." 
 " But, Susie has been with her so much, I often think she 'a 
 got her ways."
 
 THE SHADY SIDE; C-t, 
 
 " Well, T am willing" said the good woman. " We will see ! * 
 
 The hope of this visit, Mary kept many days in her heart ; 
 bat, alas ! it was never to be realized. As the time drew near 
 an unexpected claim was handed in for settlement, and, after a 
 struggle, she appropriated to it the ten dollars, and resigned the 
 hope of seeing Olney. From this time she sank rapidly. 
 
 M ubel had foreboded such a fate, even as far back as that 
 la-t sickness, a year ago, at Olney, when the parsonage walls 
 were soaked by the spring rains, and she was overtasked with 
 care, and many comforts were foregone, because the money 
 failed. After Mr. Vernon's funeral, she had asked the land 
 lady to drop her a line, if Mrs. Vernon should be sick and need 
 a nurse. So, now, she came as if for a visit ; and days passed, 
 and she took by degrees the mother's place with the children, 
 and did everything so naturally, that Mrs. Vernon did not 
 realize her own debility, or know the extent of Mabel's gener 
 osity. Noble girl ! She had left her place, where she was 
 earning three dollars a week, and brought with her the savings 
 of the last year, devoting her all to smooth the closing days of 
 one who had taken her, a motherless girl, and reared her up to 
 womanhood. Thank God ! humanity and gratitude have not 
 died out of the world. " But not many rich, not many noble." 
 It is still the poor of this world that are rich in faith and good 
 works. 
 
 Mabel sees that the sick-room is supplied with every comfort. 
 One thing, indeed, there is pure country air that money 
 will not buy. The invalid pines for the sweet breezes that 
 used to stray through her bedroom window. " But, after all," 
 raid she, " heaven is as near me here ; and there ' are sweeter 
 bowers than Eden knows.' 0, for that blessed rest ! " 
 
 She was sometimes anxious to see some way of disposing of 
 the children. She had written to Mr. Catlin, to come and 
 advise with her ; and Mabel thought she had a plan, to ex 
 change Rose for Ellen, if her aunt would give her up, in case 
 Mr. Oatli'i might offer to take one of them into his own family 
 For this dear one she felt the most solicitude. But Mr,
 
 LIFE IN A COUNTRY PARSONAGE. 847 
 
 Catlin did not come. She knew not tr.it he was waiting, in 
 the daily hoj>c that, the spasmodic affection of the heart, under 
 which his care-worn wife was suffering, would soon give back ; 
 allowing him to leave her for a journey to the city. The angel 
 of death is over his dwelling, yet the time will come when dear 
 Mary Catlin will rememlx-'r the little orphans. They will ever 
 have a friend, too, while Mabel Ellis lives ; as we shall see, if 
 permitted hereafter to trace their history. 
 
 Mary's faith, on the whole, triumphed. Sometimes she spoke 
 of brother James taking one of the little girls to his western 
 home. She was sure some way would be provided. And she 
 said, at last, " I have settled nothing ; but I can leave Provi 
 dence to arrange it all." 
 
 Mabel sent for Allie, when she saw the end approaching, 
 lie had been prepared, and bore himself with a fortitude and 
 judgment that could be expected of few boys in their eleventh 
 year. The day after his arrival, his mother was better, and 
 they had a long, sweet talk, that will ever abide in his heart. 
 She spoke freely, and calmly too, of their past history; of the 
 peculiar trials attending their calling ; lamented that she had 
 not always looked as she might on the sunniest side of things, 
 and had that grace and faith in exercise which would have 
 taken away the sting of many a trouble. She sometimes 
 feared her children would magnify the discomforts of a min 
 ister's lot, and shrink from it for themselves. She alludes to 
 cousin Edward, and leaves for him an affectionate message : 
 " If he acquire property, tell him to remember that he is only 
 a steward, and to do all the good that God gives him the abil 
 ity ; and not to retain his old prejudice against Olney. The 
 difficulty there, was want of light and thought, as well as want 
 of heart. They will do better by another minister Much 
 good seed has been sown there, which, though long buried, will 
 not be lost." She expresses to Allie her conviction that bet 
 ter d-iys are coming in the ministry. The churches will awake 
 to the value of their religious privileges, and make their p 
 more comfortable. They will see it to b their interest, und
 
 348 THE SH.VDY SIDE. 
 
 feel it a privilege. She recalls with him the happy days he so 
 well remembers, when, though there were many shadows hov 
 ering near, they hud joy, and peace, and domestic love, and 
 Christian comfort, around the domestic hearth. She tells him, 
 too, of the unequalled joy his dear father felt when he had 
 comforted some tempted soul, or brought back a wanderer to 
 the Saviour's fold. Allie, in return, opens all his heart ; and 
 the tears, till now repressed, flow down her pale cheek, and she 
 clasps him to her bosom, as he says it is his great ambition to 
 be a good minister of the gospel, and follow his dear father's 
 steps. She forewarns him, that, unless he has great singleness 
 of purpose, trials may shake this resolution. But Allie smile's, 
 and says, " Have I not seen the dark side already, mother ? So 
 I shall not be disappointed." 
 
 This was the last connected conversation. The effort had 
 been too much. Kind caresses, single expressions of maternal 
 love, broken prayers, ejaculatory praises, and silent benedic 
 tions, filled up the closing scene. And on Mabel's faithful 
 bosom, with one hand in Allie's, and the little ones held where 
 she could see them, in the arms of pitying friends, quietly, and 
 without pain, the silver cord was loosed ; and, at the early 
 age of thirty-three, she joined the beatified above, who wait 
 the fleeting days till the whole circle shall be again complete in 
 a blest reunion in the home on high. " Thanks be unto God, 
 who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 " These are they which came out of great tribulation, and 
 have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of 
 the Lamb. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any 
 more ; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For 
 the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne, shall feed them 
 and shall lead them unto living fountains of water, and God 
 shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." 
 
 The precious clay is placed, temporarily, in the vault by Ed 
 ward's side ; while Mabel confides to the orphan boy her purpose, 
 that both the parents shall yet sleep together under the blue 
 eky, by little Willie's side, in the dear church-yard at Olney.
 
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