|Chapter Number||I -III|
|Newspaper Title||The Queenslander (Brisbane, Qld. : 1866 - 1939)|
|Trove Title||Dr Willoughby: An O'er True Tale|
AN O'ER TRUE TALE.
"THE fact is, brethren," said Dr. Willoughby, "I have for the most part stood aloof from all these works of moral reform. I have no taste for them. In my view, they interfere with the
simple preaching of the Gospel. I have made it my business to preaoh ' Christ and Him cruci fied j' and I believe that in showing men the linfulness of their own hearts, and their need of a Baviour, the whole ground is covered. Cleanse the fountain, and the itream will be pare. Let a man's tool be renewed, and bit outward life will take care of itself. I believe all works of moral reform are superseded by the preaching of the Gospel." The speaker was a man past middle life, of a dignified presenoe, with a lofty, impending fora head, and a keen, black eye under shaggy brows. He spoke in a clear Toice, with great deliberation, and as one having authoiity. Grouped about him, in the arm-ohairs and comfortable lounging-plaoes with which the room wm abundantly furnished, sat • dozen clergymen, in the easy attitude of men whose day's work wm done, and whom a good dinner had left comfortable in body and mind. " Tou ezpreas my views exactly, doctor," said an elderly man with a double chin, and an im mense white necktie. "In mj judgment, the mistake modern reformists make just lies here r to accomplish any special work, they substitute a human instrumentality for the GospsL Yes, sir} the force of man's weak resolution is put in place of the power of divine grace. I hare no, patience with the mistaken seal of these fellows, in the ministry or out; who go bellowing through the world,' Beform! Beform!' throw ing open the door of fanaticism j and, with a lighted faggot in one hand, and a drawn sword in the other, cut and slash in the name of philanthropy and charity. We ought, as ministers, to oppose fanaticism in every form j and for my part I glory in the name of a Con servative, taking the ground of Conservatism enlightened by the GospeL" MI believe it to be the only safe course to pursue," said Dr. Willoughby i " and in regard to the temperance movement, to which some al lusion has been made, it has so remote a bearing upon the great object for which the ministry was instituted—is so delicate and impracticable— and, in the hands of wire-pulling demagogues, ~uat—become so mixed up, and befogged, and interwoven with politics—that I have no dispo sition to meddle with it." ? young man sitting ou the outside of the circle manifested great uneasiness during this conversation j and now, bending forward, seemed about*to speak, but was prevented by a brisk, little^ blaok-eyed man, a professor in the neigh boring theological seminary, who eagerly re sponded to Dr. Willonghby's remarks. " Sou are right, Brother Willoughby, quite right," he said. "We must let these outsiders alone. In all our works of philanthropy and charity, we are, in my opinion, safe just so long as we keep to ihe appointed way. The church is that way. All these outside workings —this joining hands in a work of moral reform, as a •"bail fellow, well met,' with the worldlings and the sinners—are a daubing'ourselves with un tempered mortar. Brethren, it's like forsaking the fellowship of the chosen people—leaving the road that carried the patriarchs and prophets to the celestial city, with the Holy Spirit to fire our engine, and the Lord Jesus for our conduc tor, and jumping aboard a fast train on another track, with strange fire in the engine, and the ruff-scuff of the streets, the ring-streaked and speckled, in the cars. My Bible gives me no direction to join a teetotal society. Let us keep within the pale of the church, Brother Wil loughby, and we shall, in all our endeavors to benefit our fellow-men, have the Master's ap proval, and what measure of success He sees St to give us." " Father," (aid a pale yourg man at Dr. Wil loughby's right hand, " have you trained your people so well, that they suffer you to hold this position in peace ?" The tones of bis voice were peculiarly soft and musical, and Dr. Willoughby's face as sumed its most benignant expression as he turned to reply. " Why, as to that, Louis," he said, " there are uneasy spirits in every community—men who have their pet schemes, aud whose .seal for the time being is narrowed down to a single issue j who ride their hobby and dwell on their one idei, till they come to think their way is the only right way. I hove such in my church—good Christian men, whose hearts are better than their heads. I have a high respect for.them. I believe they arc sotudted by the best of motives* They come to me every now and then, clamor ing for some new measure. They want the (pledge circulated, or a popular temperanco lecturer procured, or some now organisation started, and I treat them with great courtesy, and gratify them when I can. Ido this con scientiously, for I agree with them in the main. I acknowledge the forco of afl tb»y say concern ing the great and growing evil of intemperance in our mid*t. I lament it as they do; and we only- differ as to the ways and means of eradi cating it. Asßr other Nash has very justly re , marked, they pot too much confidence in human instrumentality." "They try to improve on the Gospel, sir," said the gentleman alluded to. " They propose to do for the poor victim of sin what only the almighty graco can do. And they are tools, sir, miserable demagogues, who, under the specious name of temperance, have raised themselves to power by pandering to the passions of zealots and fanatics. They break up the peace of churches, iirj they sow dissension, and set brethren at variance. They march in the ranks of political strife, and light the fires of fanati cism on our very he irthstones, and in our Christian assemblies." The young man who bad beforo manifested a disposition to (peak, now addressed Dr. Yf il loughby. He was of manly proportion?, with fair, open, and rather florid face, a clear gray eye, and a profusion of light brown curly hair. He was a stranger to moat present, having been lately inst lied as pastor of the Congregational Church in Grantley, a manufacturing village some thirty miles diatant; "Dr. Willoughby," ho said, very respectfully, " will you tell me what you understand, sir, by a work of moral reform ?" The doctor gave the questioner a searching look from under his shaggy brows. M A work of moral reform, Brother Richmond," he said, " I undcrstard to be a united a-tion by a body of men, to correct some wrong-doing in the community—tho endeavor to suppress per. MDal or publio vice."
" Tea} and if successful, that whieb is decidedly immoral and vicious is suppressed, aad the eommnnity becomes conformed exter nally, at least, to the known commands and will of God. Am I right there, Dr. Willoughby P" " Undoubtedly." " Then, dors not moral reform tend directly to man's salvation P Did you ever attempt to per suade a man, thoroughly under the influenoe of the vice of intemperance, to beoome a Christian ? Is there any sneh opponent to the conviction and oon version of tinners as intern perence ? ' The am of intemperance,' aaid good old Dr. Nettleton,in 1829, 'has caused more trouble, and done more diahonor to the eauae of Chriat, than any other vice that oan be named.' ' I dread,' said the martyr Williams, a little before his death,—' I dread to see the American flag come into the Pacific She may bring missionaries in her cabin, but in her hold are the fire-waters of damnation.' And Arohdeaoon Jeffreys, after a residence of nineteen yeara in Bombay, declared that, * without the introduc tion of the total abstinence principle, Christi anity would be a curse to India rather than a blessing; for the Hindoo, on renouncing caste, by whioh he is forbidden to drink, would rush at once to the bottle, and the Christian church ! beoome the moat drunken part in India.' ' Plead with men to oome to Christ?' So I will, and I will tell the poor inebriate that the first atep to be taken is to forsake his cups, for ' no drunkard can inherit the kingdom of God.' Brethren, God helping me, I will say to my people wherever I labor,' I take yoa to record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men. " My young brother,** said Dr. Willoughby, with great dignity, " I deplore with you the evils of intemperance. I, too, wonld plead with the inebriate to forsake bia cups, because his only chance of safety lies in absti nence. I have no disposition to meddle with your beliet Be a teetotaller if you like, and persuade others to join you. This is a part of your Christian liberty | and though I hold that there is a better way, that temperance is a higher virtue than abstinence, that my liberty oonsists in using the world, I shall not quarrel with you if yon take the extreme ground— strnck by tbe prevalenoe of intemperance in our midst—that to partake of the cup ever so soberly is a luxary you are eailed upon to relinquish. But when you talk about bringing the weight and authority of God's law to bear on your side, and maintain that the battle for teetotaliam ia God's battle, yon make a great and fundamental mistake. A divine permission, my dear brother, is not a divine requirement ,* and you will allow me to say that the attempt you ultra-temperance men are making, to force the Bible to inculcate teetotaliam, muat neoeaaarfly fail, and the failure damages the cause. Let me ask you one queation, Brother Biohmond. Was the greatest reformiat and philanthropist the world ever saw, —He, who knowing the end from the beginning, most have foreseen all the evil that would grow out of the abuse of intoxicating drink,—was the Lord Jeaaa Christ, ' God mani feat in the fleah,' a total abstainer P Did He in culcate, either by example or precept, this belief of youra P Did He not come eating and drinking P Did He not make wine on a festive occasion, and use it at the institution of the Lord's supper,—wine, too, that would make men drunk P These facts have got to be met by temperance men. Be careful, Brother Biohmond, leat yon teach for doctrine the eom mandmenta of men. You cannot condemn God, that you yourself may be righteous." At this moment there was a eonfnsed noise in the hall, the door of the study was thrown wide open, and the girl who had waited upon the ministers at dinner appeared. "And, ahure, Dr. Willoughby," ahe said, half crying, and making atrange backward ges tures with her anna, " I niver opened a crack o' the door to him, till he thrittened to take the life o' me the next time I wint to mass, and his old shanty ia between here an' St. Patrick's church. Holy Mother, protect me! In wid ye thin, ye ill-mannered baste, diaturbin' their rirerences wid yer nonsense!" " Clear the track, Katie," said a bold ringing voice behind her, " and I'll make it all right with the parson j" and Katie withdrawing her substantial person from the doorway, there ap peared in ber stead a abort, gray-headed man, who stood holding hia hat in both handa, and bowing all round to the company. Whether he was ofd or young, it was impossible from his appearance to decide. The short hair that curled tight to his head was gray, but his large blue eyes, though wandering and troubled in their expression, were as clear as an infant's. His forehead was unwrinkled, and where pro tected from the weather, remarkably white. Hie features were regular, and he would have been good looking but for a scar, which, extend ing tho whole length of one cheek, and across the mouth, dreadfully disfigured that side of his faoe, and entirely changed its expression. " What do you want, Martin ?" said Dr. Wil loughby, impatiently, aa the visitor, wi h strange grimaces and contortion*), continued his bows to the company. He advanced toward Dr. Willoughby'a ohair, and, with a face full of earnestness and solem nity, began to speak— " I sought for one," aaid he. " Hail, je watchmen on the heights of Zion!—ye candle aticka of the Lord!—ye lights of the world !— ye cities set upo". a hill!—ye captains of salva tion, arrayed in the panoply of Jehovah, and ready to do battle valiantly againat the strong holds of Satan! * How beautiful upon tbe mountaina are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings!' How blessed are om* eyes, I Tbat see this heavenly sight!" Then, looking earnestly in Dr. Willoughby'e face, " Parson," he said, " I bear a message to you. You are wanted in the front ranks. The soldiers hare arrayed themselves for tbe battle, and they are but waiting for their leader to ad vance to victory. The serried boats of the de stroyer are enoamped-^—" "Come, come, Joe, that will do," said Dr. Willoughby ; " leave your measage till another time. lam busy, aa you see, with these gentle men. We are discussing very important mat ters, and oannot be interrupted." Then, as the visiter raised his arm with a preparatory gee ture, the minister added sternly, "Sot a word, Joe, not another word. You must go this mo ment." The man dropped his head instantly, both face and attitude expressing disappointment and dejection. " And what shall I tell them, parson ?" he said, very sadly. "Tell whom?" " litem that sent me with my message." •« Tell them," ssid Dr. Willoughby, " that I am in my study, and cannot be disturbed." "Parson Willoughby ib in his study," said Joe Martin, with his eyes fastened on the floor.
Than, looking round upon the company, he re peated in a louder voioe, "Parson Willoughby is in his study. Bum and destruction are in our midst. Our young men are falling, and 'the mourners go about the streets,' and the gray hairs of the father are brought down in sorrow to the grave, and lovely woman mouma her blighted hopes, and wives are widows, and fathera are fienda, and parents are panpers, and homes are hells, and the incendiary lights his lurid torch, and the midnight assassin sharpens his parricidal axe, and still the honor-destroying, sense-consuming, contagion-breathing, woe creating, soul-damning work goes on, and the groans, and prayers, and shrieks of the victim*, ascending to high heaven, might bring tears of pity from the haggard eyes ot a demon damned, —but Parson Willoughby is in his study!" At the conclusion of this strange speech, which he delivered with great rapidity, and ac companied with the moet extravant gesture*, Joe Martin bowed gravely to the oompany, and left the room. The miniatera looked doubtfully in each -other's faces, and then, their host setting the example, they indulged in a hearty laugh. "Cracked decidedly," said the elderly man with the neok-tie j " and what a curious faoe he has!" " You hare seen him before, Brother Hash," Dr. Willoughby aaid. " Impoaaible!" " Yes, in this very room frequently, though it was many years ago. Don't you remember a curly-headed, handsome boy you used to meet here sometimee,'when you were settled, over in Barton, who came to my study to recite Latin P Poor fellow! I heard him twioe a week for over two yeara. You remember tbat boy, Nash? Why, you have seen bim time and time again.'' " And do yoa mean to teU ase, Willoughby, that this erasy, gray-headed man, wbo has given us sneh a flaming temperance address, is that boy?" "The very same. Bemind taa to tall you his story some time—that is, what I know of it far there is a great mystery banging over part of* his life." The discussion interrupted by Joe's visit was not renewed, the meeting breaking up directly. Mr. Biohmond was the first to take his depar ture ; but after walking a few steps, be remem bered that he had left his gloves on Dr. WU loughby's study table, and accordingly retraced his steps. When he opened the door, the minis ters were standing in groups of twos and threes, talking familiarly together. There was a pause when he made his appearance. Then tbe pale yonng man, who had oalled Dr. Willoughby father, said— " Well, brethren, I drink wine, and by the grace of God I mean to." " Amen! thank God for that," said Dr. Wil loughby ; " and, brethren, I tale great credit to myself for his conversion. He wss a radical teetotaler when I first knew him." An expression of pain crossed Mr. Bichmond's face, as he silently took his gloves from the table. " Wait a moment, Biohmond," said the young man, who was Dr. Willoughby*s son-in-law. "I am going your way, and will walk to the depot with you."
C-_-rxBB n. --000 t ATHBB P-.TTL. Th* young men walked arm in arm down tha street of tbe country town, leading from Dr. WUloughby's residence to the depot. Mr. Thayer was the firat to apeak. " I am ready for my lecture, Allan," he aaid. " I aaw the pent-up fire in your free, and came ont with you tbat you might give it vent. Come, fancy we are in * No. 37, corner room, three flight* front,' in old Union, and you play ing Mentor again." He turned gaUy to his oompanion as he apoke, but there was no anawering amUe on Allan Richmond's face. " Why, what ails you, man," said Louis Thayer j " you look as sour as a November day. Come, in the worda of the hymn we nsed to a»ng together, I adjure you to ' Speak, and let the wont be known; Speaking may relieve yon.' " I know not what to say," he repUed. " Louis, I never waa so grieved and aurprised in my life. I cannot understand it. Was it Louis Thayer, the staunoh total abstinence man I knew in college, who sat in complaisant aUenoe whUe Christian phUanthropists were de nounced as enthusiasts and fanatics, and then boasted that he touched the unclean tbing, and claimed the aid and countenance of God's grace in doing it ? Louis, what has changed you so ? * Truly Ephraim hath mixed himself with the people.'" " One wonld think I had forsaken the faith ot the fathers, and gone clean over to idolatry," he rejoined, laughing. " Why, man alive, did you expect to find me unchanged after aU these years ?. Age brings wisdom, you know. Have you sloughed off none of the crudo n; tions of your college life?" Then speaking more seriously, " The fact is, Allan, I found very soon after you and I came out of our cell, talking with men older and wiser than myself, aod coming to see the other aide of the matter, that the ground we took on tbe temperance queation was extreme, aud could not be sustained. After my marriage, and while I was looking about for a settlement, I 6pent a couple of months in my father-in law's family, aud I found a Christian minister, with large experience, and eminently successful in his profession, drinking wine moderately on festive occasions, and in hia family, and defending its use from the Bible. I mas' say I felt a little shocked at first. I could not quito understand it. I held my position as a teetotaller for awhile, till ho made it clear to me that the Scripture doctrine is not total abstinence from intoxicating drinks ; that as a rule of duty it is utterly unknown in the word, and, in faot, condemned by Christian ethics. He presented the eul ject to me in suoh a different light, that my views were greatly modified and enlarged; bat I was never quite converted till I became a Timothy to a good Father Paul, who, by timely counsel and skilful medical advice, dissipated my over-nice scruples, and cured my bodily ailments. "My first year in tho ministry was a puU. I wrote two sermons a week, and prepared a lecture besides. There was ho end to visiting, and funerals, and calls for extra duty. You know how it i?, for you have had the same experience, only you are stronger physically than I am. WeU, in the midst of a very precious revival, my old enemy, neuralgia, seized me. Night after night I did not close my eyes to sleep. The doctor did me no good, for you see my mental anxiety kept up the nervous excitemeut. Father Willoughby came out to ccc mo in the midst of it. * You want stimu lants,' said he; and he sent home for a dozen bottlea of old port, and come Cognac brandy. He told me to drink all I could bear. O Allan, the blessed relief from pain it brought me! In
I three days I was a well man, aad ready for Work. I I know not what Paul's prescription did for Timothy, but I know my father ia tha gospel eursd me. It is but common justice to speak well of a bridge that has carried you safely over, and wine has been a' good creature of God' to aae. I come home weary after the labor* of the Sabbath, and my aense of fatigue is met most pleasantly by a little alcoholic etimulant." " But yoa are not looking well, Louie," his I friend said, gravely. ' They had reached the depdt, and were pacing the platform, waiting for the train. There wae [ good reason for the remark. The young miaister's cheek was pale, and his step, in con trast to the quick, elastic tread of his oompanion, betokened languor or fatigue, and there waa at times a tremulous motion in his month that ex pressed great nervous sensibility, if not weak ness. "lam perfectly well," he said, hastily, " only tired and overworked. The fatigue ot moving and eettling my books and furniture bas been very great, and the excitement of preaching to a new oongregation, composed of a very differ cl .aa of people from my other parish, and the necessity of making new acquaintances, and ac commodating myself to my position here, have worn upon me a little. When I get things ar ranged to my mind, and the maohinery of my church in good running order, I ahall be all ' right again. And bow goes the world with you, Allan P Are yoa settled to yoor mind P Are you going to like Grantky ? Have yoa a pleasant boarding-plaos P you poor, lonely, old bachelor. By-the-way, you saw our little sister Grace at dinner. Doea she look like the girl you nsed to talk so much about that last year in tha seminary ?" Allan Bichmond blaahed like a schoolboy. * She is very lovely," be said, and stopped. "You mention it aa though it wars a subject tot aaourning and lamentation," said his com panion* "So it Buy be to me," he said, utot it re moves aa* and my bopea at aa infinite distance from her. Louis, how oould I ever dream of winning her?" " You are too modest, Alba. Wby should yoa not winner as well ac another? Bhe will spend tbe holidays with us. Shall we sea you hs the ehy then P" These were parting words, Mr. Bichmond springing on the ears, and exchanging a harried good-bye with his friend after the train was ia motion.
O-Urbb m. UB ORT -ÜBISTB-t'S WH_U Wanted, a perfect lady, DeUeate, gentle, refined, With every beauty of person. And every endowment of aaiad; Bitted by early culture To move in fashionable litis, To |hine a gem in the parlor,— Wanted, a minister's wife I 44 Ajtd now, mother, that this importaat dinner is cooked and eaten, and the responei bUity of superintending and presiding is off your mind, I suppose we may claim a share of your attention," said Frances Thayer, Dr. WUloughby'a eldest daughter, th* afternoon of the ministers' meeting described in tha preced ing chapter. , "It passed off very well," said Mrs. WU loughby, with a sigh of relied "Of course it did, mother. Your oompany dinners all pass off weU. It is onaccoantaUa to me hoar so old a housekeeper as yoa are can allow yourself to become nervous over a dinner. Why, I entertained six delegates the other day, when the Sunday-school Convention met in tbe city, and it was very Uttle trouble." " Frances, you know nothing about it. With your weU-trained city servants, a market just round the corner, and a oonfectioner in the next street, you haven't the least idea what it is to get up a dinner in the eouotty for a dozen hungry ministers, with only a green servant girl to help you. And, then,-you hare the faculty of taking things easily. I believe you are not as nervous as most women." Mrs. WUloughby looked with pardonable pride as she spoke, upon the tall, handsome young woman, who, richly dressed, sat in a negligent attitude, with one elbow resting npon her mother's work-table. Her figure was full and rounded, there was a healthy bloom upon her cheek and Up, her eyea, Uke her father'a, were black and piercing, and her abundant hair was brushed fearlessly back from a forehead that in breadth and outline was his own. Her sister—a young girl with a slender figure, fair complexion, and blue eyes—though less striking in appearance, was not wanting in personal attractions, and tbe smile that dimpled her cheeks and lit np her dove-like eyes made her at times very pretty. " But I don't (appose," continued Mrs. Wil loughby, a Uttle fretfully, " that Louis invites half the company your father * does. The doctor knows all the ministers in the country, and I often teU him be is too hospitable. lam sure our house is a perfect hotel; and I have done little for the last twenty years bnt wait npon ministers." Mrs.Thayer laughed merrily. " Well, mother, it is good business," sbe said," and it does not appear to have worn upon yoa. How weU I remember the travelling agente who used to ' put up' with us, as they called it, though I'm sure we 'put up' with them, in entertaining them ao long. There was good old Father Scranton, yoa know, who always came out in the morning to put on hia boots by the kitchen fire, and watch Brother WUloughby's ' atirrin' gala,' aa he used to call Grace and me, ' get breakfast;' and Mr. Naah, who waa sure to drop in when we had a picked up dinner, eapecially hash, aa we children aaid, becauae it rhymed with hia name) and the miniater with the gruff voice, who * ahemed' the door open; and the old bachelor minister with the hooked noee, by which we used to say, he coiled hang to the peach tree and pick with both hands, and who served you suoh a mean ; trick, mother, when he undertook to mark his | shirts, and spilled indelible ink on yonr beat j chamber carpet, and then dragged the hearth rug over it, instead of covering the spot with a twenty doUar biU, as he should have done. And, oh! Grace, once when you were a little I bit of a thing, you ran to meet me, exclaiming, | ' Fanny, Fanny, we have miniaters for dinner!'" I She laughed heartily at her reminiscences, j her mother and sister joining in her merriment. " Fanny, it does me good to see you again," I Mrs. WUloughby said. " You are as lively as | ever. Marrying a minister, and f. cling the responsibility of your position, have not sobered you in the least. Grace and I are too quiet. We sit here all day Uke a couple of old ladies. But teU me about your parish, dear. I hsve not j seen you long enough to hare a good talk since the installation. Do yoa like the Wilmot-atreet people as well as yoa expeoted? Is Louis happy ?" " We are on the wave, mother, yon know," she returned. " The people quite worship tbeir
new -cainieter. lam afraid aoaasti-nas thsy wjll ' spoil bias, they praise him ao openly t and yet, perhaps, it is just tha anoooragement Louis needs, for he is really verbid in hia self-depreeiatioa. People teU me all miniaters are low-spirited at times, but I never reaaember to hay* aeen father ao discouraged and disheartened ac Louis fre quently is." "Your father haa enjoyed perfect health aU hia life, my dear, and is very calm and equable in his temperament, while Louis is excitable aad nervous, and not physically strong." "I know it, mother | and just now he is dreadfully overworked. He says it will be easier by and by, when he is over thu hard spot; and I hope it will, for he is laboring quite beyond bis strength. He studies very hard. I beg him to nse his old sermons; but when he looks them over he throws one after another aside in disgust, and says he has outgrown them. It is a fact, they were written for a very different daaa of people. Mother, we hare the most fashionable congregation in the city. People from the other churches flock to Wflmot-street. Laet Sabbath evening, we had Judge Harding, and ex-Governor Binks, and tha Honorable Mr. Wilder, and I don't know how many more of the firat men in the city. Not an easy oon gregation to preach to, was it ? But my huaband was equal to the occasion, and ha did himself credit; bat was so nervous and excited after the effort, that he did not close hie eye* to sleep till near morning) and tha next day came the re action." "Well, lauppoa* it cannot ba helped) but yoa mast try to have him spar* himself all ba •an." "It ia quit* impossible, mother, at preeent Tha peopl* an eontinnally making demands apon bis -Uae that ba cannot resist. Thar* is a great deal of social life ia tbe Wilmot-atreet ohurch) aad just now w* are having a round of patties. I enjoy them exceedingly, but Louis complains that they absorb too much of his time) and th* beat and glare of the crowded rooms, aad th* saaall talk in which he must join, unit him for bis work ia th* study. And th* early part of tb* week be is too languid aad weary to write) aad it often happens that bis ssrmonisnot commenced till Thursday or Friday, aad than ha muat drive night aad day to finish it." "You must do tha best you can for him, Francis. See tbat he bas plenty of nourishing food, and takes exercise regularly. If my father were livi g, he would say,' Btriag bim op with plenty of good port wine, aad give him'three hours a day oa tha back of a quiet pony.' •Father was one of the old-faahioaed doctors." * He has no time for horseback riding, mother. Three boom a day, indeed! He scarcely has halfan-hour he eaa call his own. Why,yoa will hardly believe it, but he declared that he could not spend time to attend this meeting at his father's bouse; but I insisted upon bis < coaung. He is drinking th* wine father was so kind as to send him, aad it is doing him _e<—_4 >* goon. That evening, wben Dr. W-Dooghby and Mr. Thayer joined tha family group, tha doctor said,— " This college friend of yours, Louis, this Bichards—." " Bichmond, father," said his youngest daughter. " Yes, Bichmond, —so it is, dear, I am getting to be aa old man in my memory of nan-tea." " Grace seems to have no du-eulty in recalling the name," said her brother, a little ansehiev ously. " I have heard it too often from my own lips," she replied. " What were yoa about to say, father P" said Louis Thayer. " That ha appears to belong to th* intense sohooL He is very ultra ia his viewa, is he not, my eon?" "On the temperance question, yes. Biohmond is a capital fellow—frank, outspoken, whole souled, and generona to a fault. He waa the best scholar in bis class, and would have been •retry popular but for these peculiar notions that he thrusts into notice on all occasions." " How very disagreeable!" s&id Franoe* Thayer. " I detest a man of one idea; and it seems worse in a miniater than in anyone else. The young man who supplied Wilmot-atreet before you preached for them, Louie, did you know he was suoh a person? Mrs. Barstow told me that he openly inaulted a friend of hers in her own parlor, by refusing a glass of wine ahe offered him at a social gathering, doing it in auch a solemn, disagreeable way, as to draw the attention of the whole company, and cause her to feel almost as though she had committed a sin in providing wine for her guests." " I hope your friend will not be so indiscreet as to oarry his ultra viewa into his new pulpit," said Dr. Willoughby. "He will work mischief if he does. I know all about that Grantley church. There are two or three influential men there, engaged in the liquor trade, and the sub ject will not bear touching. It is the last place for a man with radical views on tbe temperance queetion." " You may depend npon it, father, that Bichmond will preach, and talk, and pray temperance, wherever he is," eaid Louis Thayer. " Then be will find himself in hot vi'.^r very soon," eaid the old gentleman, " and he will create a division of feeling that will greatly injure that church. It is a pity • for they are not strong enough to endure a storm. I was in hopes that after all their oandidating, they had secured a good minister." " And so they have, father," said Mr. Thayer, warmly. " Allan Bichmond was my dearest I friend in col ege, and my classmate in the semi- I nary. He is n good preacher, and will make a faithful, hard-working, pastor. Come, Fanny, I it ia after 9 o'clock, and we have three miles to ride." * " She rose reluctantly. " Why not remain, and drive over in the | morning ?" the mother aaked. "I cannot leave my babies, mother," Mrs. Thayer said. " And I cannot leave my sermon," said ber husband. When the carriage waa at the door, and the young miniater waa shaking handa with his father-in-law, Mra. Willoughby said :— " Doctor, you have not forgotten the wine, I I hope!" " All right, my dear j it's packed away in a basket nnder the seat. Only half-a-dozen bottlea of old sherry," he replied to the young man's faint remonstrance. " I flatter myself it'a a better article than you know how to find in the city; and my wife aaya you need it. A little ' for the stomach's sake,' you know, my son,—ha, ha!" " Good Father Paul," said Louis Thayer to his wife, as they drove from tbe door ; "he means I shall not lack for Timothy's medicine." "Father is very thoughtful and generous," she replied. " But, O Louis, I have such a
piece of n*ws to tell you. Who do yoa think ' i* paying attention to Graaa P" " Th* new school-teacher, perhaps, or Deacon Biley's eldest son. Ha walked bom* from church with her the Sabbath I exchanged with your father." "Nons*nr*! you know Graos would aot think of either of them. Louis, it is Mr. Lan don, the lawyer." " What! Horace Landon P Yoa don't mean "it." " Yes. I knew yoa woald be surprised. He is one of the first lawyers in the city, and very wealthy, yoa know, for he has inherited all his father's money." " But he is too old for Graos." " Oh, no Mother aaya be is not much over forty, and I am sure he is quite young-looking. And, Louis, think of the position it will give Grace. How delightful to have her nee" us, living in sneh style! Mother is very muoh pleased." " Yoa speak as if it were a settled thing." " Well, so it is, or at least vary nearly so. Hs has ssked father's permiasum to pay his ad dresses ) and mother says Grace evidently likes him." " Is it possible Father Willoughby approves of this?" "Certainly, Loois,—why not? Is it not in every respect a desirable match P» " I cannot say what Horace Landon is now,** he replied, gravely ) M but when I knew him ia college h* was an infidel. He waa much older thaa myself. I was aot asquainted with him personally. I did aot care to know bim. He bad th* name of being a brilliant, witty follow, fascinating in appearartee aad manners, flush with money, aad drew around bim a circle of young man, who gainsd ao good by tha com ps-aioeship. Hs gave wiaa-partia*, and his room was full of infidel books, which h* circu lated. H* waa considered oa* of th* moat dangerous men in college. Yoa surprise bu very much, Fancy!" "You knew bim years ago, Louis," ehe said, " Msn change tbeir views, yoa know. Depend upon it, it is all right, or father would not hay* givea- bia eonssnt." M Poor Bichmond!" said Mr. Thayer. "Aad wby poor Bichmond?" ahe asked ia surprise. "What has he to do with it?" " He saw Grace for tha flrst time one com mencement day, years ago, aad was greatly pleased with ber) indeed, I may call it love at first sight) bat h* was poor, aad in debt, aad sh* ws* vary young. He confided hie hopes of oa* day winning her, to me, aad I am sure be baa never abandoned them; for he displayed a great deal of feeling when I spoke of her to-day. It is awkward too; for, of course, I knew nothing of this, and rallied him about her, and I suppose gay* him some encouragement." " A poor oountry minister!" ssid Frances Thayer, rather disdainfully. " Graoe can do better thaa that." "My dear, her sister married a poor oountry minister," he said, mimicking her ton*. " Yes) and he would be just that to-day," she rejoined, " were it not for a wife who was ambitions to see him in a position be is ia every respeot qualified te fill." "Indeed! That word position is a great favorite of yours, Fanny." | " And you do not give it enffieisnt importance," abe replied. " I really believe, Louis, that yoa sometimes regret leaving tbat small parish among th* bills for a fsshipnable church in a growing city." "He made her no reply) but touching his horse smartly with the whip, the spirited, animal carried them over the ground at such a pace as to give no further opportunity for con versation. " Yoa will not go to yonr study to-night," she said, when thsy stopped at their own door in the city. "It is late, and you are tired." " There ia no eeeape, Fanny. Ths sermon mnst be written." He drove his horse to the stable, aad, return ing, was going upstairs to bis study, when his wife eailed him from the nursery door. "At least you must stop long enough to say good-night to the baby," she said, when h* obeyed her summons. " See, the little fellow is wide awake. Here, take your boy." For the child wae making frantic efforts to escape from her arms, —" and look at Everett in his crib, and tell me if there are two as noble children to be found in the city to-night." He took the infant, aad, resting his pale cheek against its Uttle rosy face, enjoyed for a moment the quiet of this domestio scene) then he went away wearily to his study.
Chjptxb IV. DAW T_.TXOB. A ' down-Mat' Yankee, lank sad Ions;, • Cute * of hand and ' glib • of tongue. " Dootob," said Mrs. Willoughby one day, " you must have another talk with Dan. He is getting into bad habits again. He leavea his work every forenoon to go down to Brigga' saloon for a dram. You really mast attend to it, Doctor, immediately. Your last talk kept him steady for a long time." Dan Taylor was Dr. WUloughby's man. Besides a large garden, whioh waa his particular pride and delight, the miniates owned a few aores of cultivated land, and some wood-land a mile out of tbe vUlsge. Through the spring, aad summer months Dan was busy 01 the farm, and in winter there was wood to be drawn and pre pared for family use, the horae, atod oow, and piga to be cared for, and varioue odd joba to be done about tho bouse. It was alao one of hia dutiea to drive the Doctor—whoae eyesight was beginning to fail him in the night—to hia evening meetings in the outer diatricta of the town ; and as he had lived in the family aeveral yeara, proving himself to be honeat, faithful, and obliging, be had gradually beoome qojte an im portant personage in the establishment. But Dan had one serious fault: be loved whisky, and be would drink it. Not to excess, for his Yankee prudence and Dr. WUloughby's counsels and reprimands kept him within bounda ; but hia atone bottle waa anugly atowed away in the hay-mow, or under the corn-crib; and about 11 o'clock in the forenoon, Dan waa sure to oome to the well for a drink of water. Hia atay at the well waa ahort, hia visit to the barn or corn-crib longer, and he generally returned to hia work with a beaming face. But latterly a email restaurant and drinking-saloon at the corner of the atreet, a few roda from Dr. WUloughby'a door, where before tho middle of the day half a-dozen loafera were aure to be lounging, offered stronger attractions to Dan than his plaoe of secret indulgence j henoe Mrs. WUloughby's request. " You really must attend to it immediately," she repeated. "People are beginning to talk, and wonder yon allow it to go on." " Bend Dan to the study when he has had bis dinner," ssid the minister. Now, when Mrs. Willoughby delivered the
message, Dan understood perfectly what wai coming, for it was by no means tbe firat time ha had been summoned to the doctor's preeenos to receive a lecture upon temperance, but ha answered with alacrity :— " Wants to see me, does he, for somathm* petioulur P Wai, I'll slick up a leetle, and go right np thsre." He went to the kitchen glass, pulled up hit shirt-collar, tied his ootton handkerchief, and brushed his long side-locks till they were plastered tight to his lank cheeks, then with a bold atep uahered himaelf into hia maater'a presence. The minister pushed back his chair from his desk, aad deliberately laid aside hia glasses. " Sit down, Daniel," said he j "I want a little conversation with you." Dan dropped hia hat on tbe floor, and de posited himself carefully on the edge of a chair* " Yes, sir,"* said he. " Miss Willoughby, sh* jest told me, and acs I to Katie, * I'll bet my old jack-knife,' sez I, ' the doctor wants to consult with me 'boat that eeow he's ao faroe to bay over to Swansey's.' Wai, yesterday, you know, i I was a-haulin' wood, —when you kin apare fir* minutes, dootor, jest atep out an' look at that are stick o' hickory. It's good timber, and no mis take,—wai, I fonnd I had an hour o' daylight to apar, an' I left my team in White's shed, aa" footed it over to Swansey's, for, sex I,' I may af well have a look at that erittur myself, or as lika as not the dootor'll git shaved,' ses 1 1 folks daw lika to cheat ministers, and they know a sight more 'bout sermons than they do 'bout oeows. No offence, doctor. Every man to bis trade, I you. know. Don't you remember how you aa" I I worked over that stove-pipe in Miss WB j lougbby's beet chamber, an' couldn't make tha jints fit noheow, aa' you blistered yer hands, aa" | got sut in yer eyes, an' I rammed my head agin the ohimbly, trying to find the pesky hole, aa' arter a spell both on us gin eout, an' I wast deown tar the tin shop, aa' up corns* a smart Uttle Irish feller. Orackey! if them jinta didn't slip inter eaoh other as slick as grease, aa' jest as limp and limber as aa injur rubber stove pipe ! ' How did yer dew't P' ses I. Ho squinted at me kinder drell-like, an' ses hs* ' Daa Taylor for workin' a farm, Pat Merritt for puttin' up stovepipes, and th* Rrrevsnd Dtw Willoughby fur praehin' the GoepeL' " But I was a-going tor tell yer 'bout tbat eeow. Don't you buy ber, doctor. ' What,' ses Ito Bwaosey,' yer haint got the fro*,' ses I, to ask a hundred an' fifteen dollars for that aat heifer calf ?' ses L • Heifer calf!' ses he, billa* mad,' she's a three-year-old eeow, pure Alderney breed, and gives thirteen quarts o' milk a day." ' I don't ker notbib' about yer Alderney breed,", ses I) 'I ken tell a good eeow when I see bar, and this ere stinted, half-starved beast aint wash her keepin'. Thirteen quarts o' milk a day!* sea I) • sh* aint got milk enough in ber bag thia minit to nuke gruel for a siok grasshopper. I warn't raised on a dairy farm ap in Vermount for nothin,' ses L Wai, that's the 'pinion I come to 'bout Swansey's Alderney eeow. I shan't charge you nothin' fort doctor." " I did not send for you about the cow, Daa, though I am glad you looked at her, but—" "Wai, now, doctor, I ax yer pardon for interruptin' of yer, but while I'm a-talkin' jest let me toll yer a neat thing the bay boras dona t'other day." Pride in his bay bone was Dr. WiUoughby'a . weeknesß, and he could not deny himself tha gratification of hearing the story. " The dsy all them ministers was her* to dinner," eaid Dan, " there was a slim feller, with long har,—he's settled over in Barton. I doors' remember his name,—yoa know who I mean, doctor P" " The Bey. Mr. Bowlsy P" said Dr. Wil loughby. ",Yes i Bowley or Bowdy, or some sioh nam*. Wai, that man kep' np a great fuss over bis hoss all day) kep' ahangin' round the barn, an' peekin' into the stable, and gin me his orders as though I didn't underatand my bisneaa. Wai, when I waa bitobin' up for him to start away, I looked the critter over, to see whst tbsr was so toppin' 'bout him. ' There's a boas for yer,' ses Mr. Bowdy." " Bowley, Dan, Bowley." " Wai, Bowley or Bowdy • it don't make no odds. ' There's a horse for yer," sez he. «good color, fine eye, head up • what dew yer think of bim ?' • Fair,' sez I. Then I fetched out Charley. I was only waitin' for the oom pany to go, 'fore I went down the Barton Boad to fetoh up that paroel o' books the stage left for ye. ' What dew yer think o' him T ae* L ' Ob, he looks Uke a good family boss,' ses be j «no fancy 'bout him' • No,' aez I, «Dr. Wil loughby don't believe in miniaters keepin' farcy horses.' I was kinder riled, ye ccc • but I never ssid another word 'bout the boss. Thinks I, if a man that pretends to know anything 'bout a hogs can't see that animal's good pints, I tint the chap to let on 'bout 'em. Why, sir, for depth of cheat, clean head, sharp ears, and strong quarter*, that feller's beast couldn't hold a csndlo to our Charley. But os I told yer, I never ssid another word about the boss, nn' be driv' off up town, su' I finished hitch in op Charley to tbe light waggon, sn' started down the road. I driv' along kinder leisurely, and fuet I knew there come clattering past that Bowdy." " Dan," aaid Dr. Willoughby, " if you cannot call tbe gentleman by bis right name, you uaed not tell ycur story." " Why, bey I got it wrong agin P Well, I allers did disremember names. lax your par din, doctor } I'll call him parson arter this, then I'l be sure an' git it right, though I aay fo-'t he didn't look much Uke a parson that tim.-, with hia long bair a-flyin'an' his coat tails a-sti cauiin* eout behind. ' That's yer game, is it ?' mcz I. Charley didn't 'pear to like it nuthea, but begun to step a leetle high. I kep' him easj till we got along to that clean stretch o' road bi tween here an' White's. * Neow, Charley,' srz 1, • let him put his fancy articlo alongside o' tbo doctor's family hots' Doctor, I'd gin my Bund:..v suit if yeu'd Been that race. I oilers told yer Charley was a trotter. I never ace a hoss yv. ehaped as ho is,—large behind, wide stifles, un n.u*clcs orecpiu' clear down most to tbo hock jmt,— that warn't a good roadtter; but cotno to see him alongside of a trained runner, I'm free to own the Row —the pxncu'a boast dono wdl, —I beliovod in him more'n ev< r. (I'll tell ye what, doctor, if yeou'll give mi- tin* trainin' of l.iv. for six month*, I'll put him on tho courfo next September, an' if he don't dew hi* mile in 2 SO, my namo ain't IX* Taylor.) " Wai, they kep' alo-gtide of each other a spell, then the bay gave his head a little ton, as much ss ter ssy,' Oome, we're bed enough o* this, sn' put out those legs o' his'u, aud went by as easy ss you'd outwalk a tliree-jear-old child. I looked back (I I now it was saucy, doctor, but I couldn't h«-ip it <.wajs), an* put my thumb up side o' my nose." Dr. Willoughby enjoyed the story intensely f
aad if Dan's object in telling it was to soften his asperity, and incline him to look favorably upon bis servsnt's offences, he wss eminently ?uooessfuL " But Miaa Willoughby aaid yeou had some thing pertioulur to say to me, doctor," said Dan, with a demure face. " Yes, Dan, I want a Uttle serious conversa tion with you." " Wai, now, that's corns—aint it, doctor P I've ben thinkin' for some time I'd ought ter git religion an' jine the church. 'Fore my old mother died, ahe waa alters talkin' pioua to me. Sea ahe, ' Danyel, yeu are a-havin' bleeaed privileges,' aez ahe, ' a-livin* rite under the drippin'a of the sanctuary; yen won't never h*v aioh another ohance agin, mebbe,' aez ahe ; aa' I think ao myself, doctor; only yer know a felle**** allora a-atavin' it off. But my mind haa been oncommon solemnised lately. The laat time you held a moet in' in Brighton deestriot, it seeme I waa kinder lifted right up, .and felt good aU over; but there, doctor, there can't nobody listen ter yeour preachin' without bein' tstohed " " Dan," eaid Mr. Willoughby, gravely, " you diaturbed the aolemnity of that meeting very much by improper conduot, whioh, if yon had been yourself, you wonld not bave been gnUty of." "Me disturb the meetin'!" he exolaimed. ** Oh, doctor, what did I do?" " What did you do ? In the firat plaoe, you act all the young people tittering by aitting down on a chair, whiob, if you had had your eyes about you, you would have seen was broken, and io savedjourself an awkward tumble; and when you were down, you lay, sprawled out on tbe floor like a great frog, for a full minute, • before you had *en*e enough to piok yourself up. And you aang through your noae horribly, air, and wheezed and aighed all the evening like a pair of- cracked bellows." "Wai, neow, doctor, how was I to know the dumbed old cheer hadn't got but three legs? What dew they want tew leave aioh a thing aettin' up agin the wall for? An' I teU yeu, it hurts a man o' my heft to oome down easwaok in a aittin' posture on the floor. I'd like to have some o' them gala that sniokered so at me try it onoe. An' as for singin' through my nose, doctor, yer know I have a tetoh o' the catarrh, and I aUera waa phthisiky. But yer see I was aa oncommon overcome that night that I didn't hardly know what I waa about. lax yer pardon humbly, doctor, for disturbin' the meetin'." " Don't try to put me off with any auoh non sense, Dan. You were half tipay, and you know it." Dan lifted both handa, and acrewed hia face into an expression of injured innocence that was vary ludicrous. " Neow that cuts me right to the heart," he said. " There aint nothin' ao hard to bear aa to be accused wrongfully." Then, patting on a aanotimonioua air, " Wai,'' said he, " it'a a comfort to think I aint the fuat man folka baa thought had got a leetle too muoh aboard, when he waa full o* another kind o' speerit. For when those good men's tongues was a-rnnnin' so glib in the day o' Pentecost, people standin' round thought they were drunk. By-the-way, doctor, aint that a good pint to make agin the teetotallers P—for, ses Peter, sez he1, ' these are not drunken, as ye auppose, Main's it's but the third hour of the day,' aa much as to ssy, if 'twas later, like aa not they would be) an' yer ace that'a good common •anse; for unleaa a feller's a regelar sot, he aint a-goin to git high afore 9 o'olook in the mornin'." "Daniel, I'm afraid it makes very little dif fsrepoe to you whether it's morning or evening. You bsd been drinking whisky, sir, thst night, for I smelt your breath." " Doctor, I don't deny I tuk a oouple o' large •ponfula or so, jest afore we started, to keep •out the oold. It was an awful bluaterin* night, yer know, an', arter I' hitched up, an' was a-waitin' for yeu, Miss Willejby, she oome out With a tumbler, an' she got a leetle hot water, an' a lump o' white sugar, an' a sprinkliu' o' nutmeg, an' thinks I, shea fixin' up aomethin' for the doctor, to keep his insides warm ; and I coaxed Katie to get me a teacup and some brown sugar, an' I had a leetle whisky I keep ia the house for oolioy spells I'm subjeot tew, aa' I made a Uttle warm sling, and it done me a sight o' good. Neow, that's the livin' truth as sure as I'm a sinner, an' I'm free to oonfeaa tbere couldn't be nothin' aurer. Wai, neow, doctor, jeat answer me one queation. Don't you think apeerits ia a blessin' P" " JThey are a blesnn' that is terribly abused by some people, Daniel." " I say fort dootor, if you ain't up and gin the very answer Deacon Selew gin to Obadiah Biddle when he was 'pinted by the churoh to deal with the old man. You see Obadiah was a good, consistent Christain, but he would get slewed 'bout every other day in the week. So they 'pinted Deacon Selew to go an' hay' a talk with him. Wai, he went over one mornin', an' found the old man dozin' afore the kitchen fire * Take a dram, deacon,' sea he, when he'd got roused up. ' Wai, yes,' sis the deacon,' I don't ker if I do. I ant agin a dram when a body wants it.' * Deacon Selew,' says Brother Biddle, while they was a-eippin', 'Don't yoa think speersts is a blessin' ?" (An', dootor, if you didn't gin the deacon's answer jist neow eener most word for word, my name ain't Dan Taylor.) 'Bpeerits is a Wesson, ses the deacon, ses he, * that some on us abuses.' ' Wai, neow, deacon,' asi Brother Bibble,' who dew yoa think abuses the blessin' ?' ' Brother,' ses Deacon Selew, as solemn as the grave, 'folks talk,—don't yeu think sometimes, Brother Biddle, yeu drink tow much?* 'Wai, it's hard to say, deacon; sometime* I've thought I was a-drinkin' too much, an' then agin I warn't sure. What is man P A poor worrum of the dust. So I left it for the Lord to say whether I wae a-goin' too for in apeerita. I put the whole 'sponaibUity outer Him. I prayed, ef I was a-drinkin' too much, for Him to take away my appetite for speerits. I've prayed that pray three times, an* He hain't done it. So now, Deacon Belew, I'm much obleeged to yeu, but ye ccc I've cleared myself of the'sponsibility '» Here Katie rushed into the room. " Shure an* there'a a big hog in the door-yard," ahe cried, " rootin* up all the ecrubbery." Dan waa off like a ahot, and for that time •soaped hia lecture. [TO Ba COKTINC-D.]
Thb negroes have now a paper to themselves, publiahed at Free Town, Sierra Leon, and called the Negro. It ha* been atarted with the object Of euppljiug some regular and reliable medium for the discussion of such questions, commercial agricultural, educational, and religious, as are intimately connected with the proper growth and development of the negro people. It is to be hoped that this new venture may succeed. It ought to do so. Ir ia well up i n local and general politics, and has the ' Saturday Bevieto' and ' Poll Mall Gazette' at its finger's ends