Finger Posts on the Way of Life. Arthur Timothy Shay
endeavouring to collect his thoughts; then he arose and commenced giving out a hymn. Lifting his eyes from the book, as he finished reading the first verse, he saw, directly in front of him, the man from whom he had purchased the forty bushels of corn. He was looking at him fixedly, and there was on his countenance an expression of surprise and contempt, that, bringing back, as the man's presence did, a vivid recollection of the events of Monday, almost deprived Mr. Adkin, for a moment or two, of utterance. He faltered, caught his breath, and went on again with the reading. On raising his eyes at the conclusion of the second verse, Mr. Adkin saw his corn customer slowly moving down the aisle toward the door of entrance. How keenly he felt the rebuke! How sadly conscious was he of being out of place in the pulpit!
After the singing of the hymn, the preacher made a prayer; but it was cold and disjointed. He had no freedom of utterance. A chapter was read, an anthem sung, and then Mr. Adkin arose in the pulpit, took his text, and, ere giving utterance to the first words of his discourse, let his eyes wander over the congregation. A little to the right sat Mr. Giles, wearing a very sober aspect of countenance, and looking at him with knit brows and compressed lips. The sight caused the words "brother going to law with brother" to pass almost electrically through his mind. As his glance rebounded from Mr. Giles quickly, it next rested upon Mrs. Smith, who, with perked head and a most malicious curling of the lip, said, as plain as manner could say it—"You're a nice man for a preacher, a'n't you?"
How Mr. Adkin beat about the bushes and wrought in obscurity, darkening counsel by words without knowledge, during the half hour that followed the enunciation of his text, need not here be told. None was more fully conscious than himself of his utter failure to give spiritual instruction to the waiting congregation. The climax, so far as he was concerned, was yet to come. As he descended the pulpit stairs, at the close of the service, some one slipped a piece of paper into his hand. Glancing at the pencilled writing thereon, he read the rebuking words:
"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed."
How could he feed them? Are holy and divine things of such easy comprehension, that a man may devote the whole energies of his mind to worldly business during six days, and then become a lucid expounder of heavenly, mysteries on the Sabbath? The influx of intelligence into the mind of a speaker, is in exact ratio with the knowledge he has acquired. He may have, without this previous preparation, "free utterance," as it is called; but this utterance brings no rational convictions; it sways only by the power of contagious enthusiasm. Moreover, as in the case of Mr. Adkin, every lay preacher takes with him into the pulpit a taint from worldly and business contact, and his presence there must turn the thoughts of many hearers from his clerical to his personal character—from the truth he enunciates, to his practical observance thereof in daily life. He may be judged falsely; but the fact of his blending the two separate characters of clergyman and layman, forms an occasion for false judgment, and detracts from the usefulness of the sacred office.
Whether Mr. Adkin "held forth" again, we cannot apprize the reader. New light, and new perceptions of duty certainly came into his mind; and we may hope that, as he was a well-meaning and conscientious man, he was led to act wisely in the future.
Having given a true picture of a week in the life of the lay preacher, our business with him is done. It is for those whom it may concern to study the sketch, and see if it does not contain some points worthy their especial consideration.
HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS
CHAPTER I
"WELL, Mr. Tompkins, what do you think about it? I wish you would speak. I've been talking at you for full ten blessed minutes, and you haven't as much as opened your lips in reply."
"About what?" asked Mr. Tompkins, looking up with an air of surprise.
"About what, indeed!" rejoined the lady, in no very melodious tone. "Why, about that house in Franklin Street, to be sure. What else did you suppose it was?"
"Oh! ah! yes."
"Mr. Tompkins, why don't you answer me like a man? Oh! ah! yes! I hate that."
"Humph!"
"Yes, and I hate that just as bad. But you needn't think to put me off with a 'humph!' Have you made up your mind about buying that house—say?"
"I've got to make up my mind about something else first."
"Indeed! And what is that, pray?"
"About where the money is to come from."
"Mr. Tompkins, I am out of all patience with you! Its precious little that I ask for, dear knows! But even that little is never granted."
"If you'll get me the money, Ellen, I'll buy the house with pleasure," returned Mr. Tompkins, in a quiet voice.
"Me! I wonder where I'd get the money? It's an insult for you to talk to me in this way, when you keep me as poor as a church mouse all the time. Every dollar I get from you is like pulling a tooth."
"And causes me as much pain, sometimes."
"I won't put up with such treatment from you, Mr. Tompkins," said the good lady, passionately, and walked from the room with a stately step and an effort at dignity. The husband retreated precipitately, and sought his place of business. He sighed as he took his seat upon a counting-house stool at the desk, and commenced turning over the pages of various large account-books. While thus engaged, a person entered his store, and was shown back to that portion of it where he had retired. Mr. Tompkins looked up on hearing his name pronounced, and met the steady eye of one whose presence was not very agreeable to him just at that time.
"Ah, Mr. Wolford! How are you to-day? I am glad to see you," he said, with an effort to seem pleased and indifferent.
"Very well. How are you?" was the blunt response.
"Take a chair, Mr. Wolford."
The visitor sat down, with considerable emphasis in his manner, threw one leg over the other, and leaned back in his chair. Tompkins was nervous. His effort to seem at ease led him into overaction.
He smiled, or rather smirked—for a smile is always natural, never forced—and introduced various topics of conversation, one after the other, with the manner of a man whose thoughts were far away from his words, and who yet wished to be very agreeable to a personage from whom he wished a favour.
"What do you think of the news from Washington to-day, Mr. Wolford? Strange doings there!"
"Rather."
"Our party were completely outgeneralled in that measure."
"Yes."
"Bad news from London."
"Yes, bad enough."
"It has played the mischief with stocks."
"Thank fortune, I don't deal in stocks."
And thus Tompkins run on, and Wolford replied cold and sententiously for some ten minutes. Then there came a pause, and the two men looked into each other's faces for a short time, without either of them speaking.
"The year for which I loaned you ten thousand dollars expires next week," said Wolford, in a quiet tone, breaking the silence.
"Does it?" returned Tompkins, affecting surprise. "I had no idea the time was so near being up. Are you sure?"
"I never make mistakes in such matters, Mr. Tompkins, and can't understand how other people can."
"Creditors are said to have better memories than debtors," replied Tompkins, attempting something like pleasantry.
"Yes—I know. You will, of course, be prepared to take up the mortgage upon your property?"
"I am afraid not, Mr. Wolford. Money is exceedingly tight. But as your security is perfectly good, and you do not want the money, you will let the matter remain as it is for a little while longer?"
"I loaned you the money for a year, did I not?"
"Yes."
"Very well. The year will be up in a week."
"I would like to borrow the same amount for another year."
"I have no objection to your doing so,