Lights and Shadows of Clerical Life

Front matter

WINNIPEG 2. MAN. —

YY53 f Ceyle LIGHTS AND SHADOWS

OF

Preface

Tue following pages have been written during an inevitable temporary cessation of stated ministerial labor, and in the sincere hope that they may do some good, and in some humble measure further the interests of truth, and promote the glory of God.

Of the merits of the work the Author has nothing to say, except that he has done his best to produce something not entirely void of interest and instruetion. His object has been to keep within the limits of charity, truth, and probable fact. “To hold” (in this particular department of life) “as ’twere the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.”

That certain weaknesses are inherent in all Christian organizations, and that certain abuses have crept into the Church, the most superficial observer, iv PREFACE.

if he has any candor, will freely admit. Some of these are freely dealt with in the light of reason, principle and Scripture.

In delineating character, and in reading such delineations, two things should guide writer and reader alike,—truth and charity.

That there is a wide difference, in many points, in human nature and actual life, all must freely admit. At the same time we should remember that our knowledge of men is necessarily fragmentary and imperfect. Some very good people might not appear so good if we knew them better, and some whose characters are not so attractive may be much better than our surface knowledge of them reveals.

It is a consolatory reflection that the final judgment, in relation to all human affairs, is in the hands of One who combines perfect knowledge with the most impartial justice and the tenderest mercy.

BROCKVILLE, Ontario, 1879.

Lights and Shadows of Clerical Life.

Chapter I

Paul Vincent—Bewdley College—The sweating process— The Professors—First experience in Candidating—Tanborough—The extending of a call discouraged for certain reasons, both wise and sufficient.

PavL VINCENT was within six months of the completion of his college curriculum. He had been several years in one of those institutions which undertake to educate, almost gratuitously, promising young men for the Ministry. He had gone through an extended course of study, the final examination was passed with honors, and now he was calmly looking forward, and trying to get a glimpse of the dim, uncertain future. Strain his mental vision as he might, he could not cast the horoscope of his future destiny, and no friendly Sibyl was at hand to help him out of his difficulty. He did not then realize so vividly as afterwards how wise and beneficent is that-arrangement which hides the future from us. Had he been able to see what he so much desired he might have sunk down in utter dismay at the prospect, so manifold were the difficulties of the way which Providence had marked out for him. :

He was not of a sanguine temperament ; was nervous, sensitive, and somewhat foreboding; liable to expect trial, and anticipate difficulty ; but he was endowed with a strong will, a good deal of self-control, and great patience. His natural and acquired capabilities for the work to which he had consecrated his life were above the average. He had an indomitable love of truth for its own sake, and duty was to him as precious and sacred as life. Although not void of ambition, it was by no means dominant in him, and it was subordinated to the accomplishment of a higher will than his own. What the All-Wise meant him to be and to do he desired above all else. Still he did not contemplate as by any means beyond the range of possibility that he might attain considerable eminence and distinguished usefulness. The day-dreams of youth had their way with him, like other mortals of his class. He was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and great self-denial and perseverance were required to attain his present position. He, therefore, expected a fuller and wider exercise of these qualities in the future.

The Seminary building, in which he was acquiring his preparatory education, and whose classical

OF CLERICAL LIFE. i precincts he was destined in a few months to leave, ‘was situated on the summit of a hill. It was a fine commodious stone edifice, built very recently, and opened on the day of his entrance. The architecture was Gothic, and the noble pile of solid masonry was certainly very imposing. Its grounds, of seven acres, were laid out with great taste and artistic finish. In the centre of the building were the library, of considerable dimensions; the lecture hall, where all the literary and theological skinning was periodically done; the dining hall, capable of seating about fifty, and the private apartments of the Professors, and class rooms. The cooking and gossiping region was in the rear, in close proximity to the kitchen garden and the wood and coal supply. The wings contained fifty-two small rooms, two of which, a dormitory and a study, were allotted to each student. At the base of the hill upon which this classical edifice stood a small river meandered through countless acres of well cultivated land ; the railway horse snorted and puffed and ploughed its way a little beyond; and the smoke of countless chimneys, rising out of two great manufacturing towns in the distance, added a sombre coloring, but did not destroy the beauty of the scene.

About two miles in the rear might be found the small straggling village of Bewdley, from which the college took its name, and whose principal object of interest was an old church, which dated back to troublous times ; where a good man preached, and where the students were expected to attend, once or twice, every Sabbath. Sometimes they had to preach, to assist the good man, whose health was failing. This was always looked upon by them as a very trying ordeal. Why? Because their fellow students were there, with their newly sharpened wits, ready for a complete dissection of the body of the sermon; and the Professors were present, able, if they were so disposed, to cut even to the joints and marrows. As might be expected, under such circumstances, it was a sweating process, and confusion worse confounded was the order of the day. There was one source of satisfaction, however; as each one had to take his turn in this duty, it necessarily become the fortune of each to be at one time the subject of dissection, and at another the dis-- sector. For every time that one had to endure the knife, he had the ultimate satisfaction of using it twenty times upon his fellows. This was grim satisfaction, but it was satisfying nevertheless.

The Professors, three in number, were men of consequence and note. _ The President was a thorough out and out theological John Bull. He was a fine, fatherly, staunch old fellow ; hale and hearty, though in the sere and yellow leaf; passionately and fondly attached to the young men under his care; dignified as a general, yet compassionate and tender ; careful of his own reputation, and equally careful of that of others ; ravenously fond of Hebrew roots, and the Hebrew Bible was the breath of his life. He could speak sternly to his students about their little weaknesses and follies; but woe be to the man who attempted the same operation in his presence. He would defend them, through thick and thin, when anybody else began to pick holes, and find fault in them. The Resident and Classical Professor was a man of an entirely different stamp. He was much younger, rather feminine, more of a gentleman than a man. He was very learned, and very fond of books. He could write affything from a critical dissertation on the “ Babes in the Wood ” to one equally critical on the Greek article. In class, he could stretch out his critical paw, and crush a poor unthinking mortal with the stealthy strength and suddenness of a tiger. His questions were not always intended to elicit the actual knowledge of the pupil of the question in hand; they too often had the apparent intention of inviting defeat, and producing discomfiture. Many a face “sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought” has become suddenly the very picture of health in his presence, but the blanch that has followed has been fearful to behold. Still the smooth-coated tiger would come again, until his prey would fairly gasp for breath, and wish to sink under the floor, to escape from that relentless presence. This, however, was a vain wish. The floor would not open and give him a welcome subterranean embrace. Both the man and the hour were there, and he must abide both until the dinner bell rings, and then the torture is over. He was not a bad man; he was a good man taken as a whole. He had immense erudition, but he was not great. His sensibilities did not seem to extend far beyond himself. It was a serious flaw in an otherwise good character, that a self-forced exhibition of the difference between his own vast acquirements and the slender information of others should be a source of transient gratification to him.

The Assistant Professor was a Goliath in stature ; tall, broad, stout, and with a countenance open and manly ; but with two eyes, deeply sunk in their sockets, which somewhat marred the general expression. He was emphatically a good man, and a good-natured man, but when that is said the description is about complete. He was not overburdened with classic lore, but he had sense enough to know it, and honesty enough not to wish to pass for what he was not. He did not shine as a classic, but he did shine asa man, There was an innate modesty in him which tended to make his mental diminutiveness still more apparent ; but he did his work kindly, considerately, manfully, conscientiously, and up to the full measure of his capacity.

It was under these gentlemen, of such opposite temperaments and qualifications, that Paul Vincent had been drilled for some years. He had profited by the instructions of his tutors, and was well-nigh ready for his work; but where he was to go, or where to settle, was yet an unsolved problem.

One morning he received a letter containing an invitation to spend his last short vacation, occurring about Christmas time, with a church in the large provincial town of Tanborough. This place afforded a possible opening for a settlement, and therefore he took care to preach his best sermons, that they might produce the desired effect in that direction,—a proceeding of doubtful wisdom, truly, but, as it is practised by older and, should be, wiser men, it need not be severely condemned in so young aman. He was anxious to produce a good impression, laudable enough in itself, and secure a footing and beginning in so important a sphere. The town had a large population, mostly of the middle and working classes ; had immense manufactories, whose chimneys spouted large volumes of smoke, causing dimness to reign everywhere, and obscuring the rays of the sun; and boasted the possession of the largest enclosed market in the county.

The church was a solid square brick building, not by any means elegant or imposing, nor in an elegant situation. It was situated in what was technically called a lane, but it was a lane of more than usual width, being about thirty yards wide.

If the exterior of this ecclesiastical structure was uninviting, the interior was more so. It was quite, or nearly, square, with a deep gallery running right ~ across at one end, a pulpit with more the appearance of a medium-sized puncheon than anything else, a large square space for the choir below, and highbacked pews which seemed formed to invite the worshippers to sleep. In this place for three successive Sundays the young preacher had to pour forth his sonorous eloquence, the effect, or non-effect, of which was to decide whether he was a fit and proper person to become pastor of the flock worshipping there. His success was far beyond his expectations. It soon began to be whispered abroad by the knowing ruling few that Mr. Vincent was evidently the coming man; that under his regular ministrations the congregation would soon outgrow the old edifice ; that a new and larger one would have to be built, etc.

Paul, although a young man, was not of a sanguine temperament, and he was not carried away with the rising tide of enthusiasm and rosy expectation, but he nevertheless kept his thoughts to himself; he did the thinking while others were doing the talking. Some things regarding the past history of the Tanborough church had come to his knowledge which were anything but satisfactory or re-assuring. He happened to know,- from indubitable evidence, that it had an established reputation for getting rid of pastors more expeditiously and less ceremoniously, than it got them. He, therefore, wisely made up his mind to regulate his movements with extreme caution—knowing that, if he commenced his ministerial career with a church that might suddenly turn round and manifest a diposition to kick him out, his prospects for the future would not be improved.

The vacation came to an end, and he returned to his academical retreat. He had not been back two weeks before he received an invitation to preach in the same place two Sundaysmore. This he promptly declined, and for two reasons. First, because his small stock of sermons was well-nigh run out; and second and mainly, because he had in the meantime made up his mind that it was better not to give any encouragement to the extending of a call which, judging from his present feelings, he would probably decline. Some reverend gentlemen pursue the opposite course ; they resort to all sorts of petty artifices to encourage calls, with no intention of accepting them, but simply using them to create and bolster up a fictitious importance and reputation,

A discerning public may be left to judge whether such a course is honorable, or worthy of honorable men.

very courteously but firmly, to visit the church again, a letter was received in a few days, explaining to him the reasons for their wishing to have a further hearing of two Sundays. The writer explained, at considerable length, that there was an almost universal appreciation of his personal qualities, and his abilities as a preacher ; that, at the meeting held to consider the extending of a call, there was not a dissentient voice; that a vote to extend the call was moved, seconded, and would undoubtedly have been carried unanimously, but that the chairman, who was no other than himself, at this juncture interposed, and recommended a little further consideration and delay. For what reason? Because a city gentleman of considerable repute had declared that, as a church, they had, in the past, shown less discretion and care in the choice of a pastor than he was accustomed to bestow upon the selection of a domestic servant. Having this very caustic remark in view, and smarting somewhat under its influence, they wished to be so deliberate in this case as to ensure a better character for circumspection in the future. This was no doubt a laudable wish; and it was especially complimentary to the candidate, that

Upon the receipt of Mr. Vincent’s letter, declining, the further trial which was desired was simply a ceremonious concession to outside opinion, and not a distrust of his suitability and powers. His mind, however, was made up, and he saw no adequate reason for changing it. He, however, visited the church once more, to show that the attitude he had assumed, adverse to their wishes, was not regulated by ill-will but by sound judgment,

Chapter II

Paul Vincent receives an invitation to visit Shepherdston— Second experience in Candidating—Mortimer Shelburne, Esq.—His eminent qualifications—Travelling experiences —The little Shelburnes—The old church—A ride in a one horse chaise with a model Deacon—A model call respectfully declined. ;

A Few weeks after the closing of the correspondence with the church in Tanborough, Mr. Vincent received the following letter :

SHePHERDSTON, March 13, 18— Mr. Pav VINCENT,

Bewdley College.

Dear Sir,—I have been duly informed by a reliable and worthy gentleman of my acquaintance that your academical studies are drawing to a close. I presume, therefore, you are now contemplating the time when you will, with much emotion and a deep feeling of responsibility, commence your lifework. The church in Shepherdston has been, unfortunately, without an under-shepherd for some time. The friends are desirous of supplying this great want as soon as possible. I am, therefore, earnestly requested to invite you to supply the pulpit for two Sabbaths. May the Lord direct both you and us. I remain,

My dear Sir, Yours very truly, Morvimer SHELBURNE.

a :

OF CLERICAL LIf#, . 17

This letter was somewhat of a surprise, but it was duly considered, and in a short time an acquiescent reply was duly despatched.

Mr. Mortimer Shelburne was what is called, in some church circles, a head deacon. That is, he reigned supreme in the Shepherdston church community. It was his special prerogative and business to rule everybody in the church—the pastor included. From his oracular decision, in any matter, there could possibly be no appeal. His will was law. Not that these monstrous doctrines were openly promulgated, or that these pre-

_rogatives were openly arrogated by the good deacon. These assumptions of power were not openly proclaimed, but they were silently acquiesced in by the great body of the community. They had somehow come to the conclusion that Deacon Shelburne knew a great deal more than they did about things in general, and church affairs in particular ; that he gave a great deal more than anybody else to the support of the cause, according to his means; that he never missed a prayer meeting, not even when there was sickness in his family, or when he had the toothache himself; that, in short, he was the life and soul, bones and marrow, of the whole concern; and what could they do without him? No one was better qualified than he to drop a gentle admonition to the pastor about the necessity of not B i8 e LIGHTS AND SHADOWS being conformed to this world; and he could labor with erring brethren, and bring them back to repentance and a more consistent life. He also could “carry the bag,” but in a much nobler and purer spirit than his illustrious predecessor, who, stung with guilty remorse, went out and hanged himself.

Not the least important of his qualifications was the nice, conscientious, and perfectly clean, way he had of performing very disagreeable duties. If, for instance, his keen scent told him that the cause was failing, and that “ Zion” was languishing, and that oreat dissatisfaction was spreading on every side, he could inform the pastor, with tears in his eyes, that a change was inevitable and desirable. He had seen this dark, inauspicious cloud rising for some time, but he had hoped it might pass over, and leave a clear sky ; but instead of that it deepened, and must soon burst in torrents of resistless fury. He therefore felt it to be his solemn and sorrowful duty to adjure his dear pastor “to escape for his life, and stay not in all the plain.” If the church was vacant, and a pastor was to be settled, he took a leading part in the business. Ifa candidate for the position was before them, no one thought it prudent or necessary to express an opinion until Deacon Shelburne had had his say, and given his verdict. Thus by long, patient working, overground and underground, he had, by general consent, acquired a prescriptive right to have his own way. It was the general opinion, founded upon many years of close observation and experience, that the good deacon would have his way ; and that he was so spiritually-minded, and gifted with go much humility, that he couldn’t see how the church could succeed, unless on all occasions he was permitted to prevail. ;

This much being premised, it will be readily understood why the invitation to Mr. Vincent, to supply the church in Shepherdston for two Sundays, came from Deacon Shelburne. Who else could know that Mr. Vincent was open to such an invitation, and a likely candidate for the office of pastor ? Who else would dare to take upon himself such erave responsibility ? Whoelse was likely to know, in advance, by the very handwriting of the young academician, and the terms in which he addressed his superiors in social status, what kind of a man he was? Who else was sodeeply concerned for the welfare of the Shepherdston Zion?

Mr. Vincent not only accepted the invitation with alacrity, but he soon put himself in a position to fill the engagement. He was to be in the Shepherdston pulpit on the following Sunday, and he must contrive to be at his destination on the Saturday, at least. He packed his valise, taking special care to put his sermons among his clean linen, as they—the linen and the sermons—would be required almost simul-

20 «LIGHTS AWD SHADOWS

taneously. Fifteen minutes brisk walking brought him to the railway station, at which he took his ticket for Framingham, one of the principal manufacturing towns in that part of the country. Arrived in Framingham about 9 o’clock p.m., it was a necessary part of his programme to stay there the night, and leave by an early train on the morrow for Shepherdston, which he hoped to reach about 4 o’clock pm. He stayed the night at a Temperance Hotel. The real, though not the ostensible, reason for his selection of such a place was, that the state of his exchequer necessitated temperance, on his part, in every possible acceptation of that word. He retired to rest supperless, because he had a conscientious, pecuniary objection to taking supper. He rose very early the next morning, feeling somewhat chilly, drowsy, and, if it must be confessed, creepy. He found himself exactly at six o’clock a.m. seated in alarge airy carriage,—especially airy,—with a ticket inhis side pocket, which had been issued to him upon the distinct understanding that he should be put down, all safe and sound, in Shepherdston, precisely in ten hours. It was that kind of a raw cold morning, peculiar to that part of the country, which makes the flesh creep, and the nerves quiver. He felt the cold keenly, coming as it did from certain open windows, which some accommodating people would insist upon keeping open, to let, as they said, the fresh air in. Like a true philosopher, as he could not bring his circumstances and surroundings to his mind, he brought his mind to his circumstances. To improve matters, the train in which he was being whirled along at the rate of something over ten miles an hour had the eccentric habit, common to its class, of shunting off, for indefinite periods, in particular out-of-the-way places. As there was nothing particular to see outside except a stray cow or sheep, it was necessarily very dreary and monotonous work. Exactly to the minute, however, at 4 o’clock p.m., the train drew up at Shepherdston, and Paul Vincent, valise in hand, and feeling very cold, alighted. Rubbing his eyes, and looking about for the purpose of taking a deliberate view of his whereabouts, he was somewhat chagrined to find that Shepherdston was not in his immediate visual proximity. He began to think that, possibly, he had been made the dupe of a pious, but cruel hoax. He made some enquiries, however, and was soon relieved of his temporary perplexity bythe assurance that Shepherdston was about a mile and a half from the station, in a north-easterly direction. Thither he quickly bent his steps. He had a conscientious objection to taking a cab, which might have kept his boots clean, and saved him much trouble and annoyance—for the same cogent reason which influenced him to refrain from supper the preceding night. As he was neces= sitated to commence the journey upon temperance principles, he thought he would be artistically consistent, and end it on the same.

Shepherdston wasa small country town, havinga population of about nine thousand, composed mostly of small tradesmen and very poor people. Its architectural pretensions werenot great. It had the appearance of a triangle considerably elongated, with shops ranged on two sides and one end, and the market house dumped down in the middle. The miller, the maltster, the draper, the banker, the grocer, the apothecary, a retired clergyman, and Mortimer Shelburne, were the chief magnates of the place. To the residence of the last-named gentleman Paul Vincent wended his way. He was received graciously, and due enquiry was made as to his health, which enquiry was duly answered by the bland and polite affirmation, that it was never betterthan now. He was ceremoniously introduced to Mrs. Shelburne, a stout, rosy, matronly lady, with a winsome, open countenance, and also to the little Shelburnes, of whom there were aboutten. These latter were very hearty, but somewhat unmethodical, in their demonstrations of delight at the appearance of the new preacher, They kissed him, and pulled his fine flowing locks, in which he took great pride; trod upon his new boots and corns ; whirled round him, catching hold of the tails of his fine new frock coat, which by ee these youthful antics ran the risk of being torn to

_ tatters. He heard a crack once or twice, which sent the conscious blood to his cheeks, fearful of a broadcloth wreck, which his slender finances would searcely be adequate to repair. He took all in good humor, however, and praised the children, which of course he was expected to do; declaring that they were fine, healthy, good-looking children and exact fac-similes of their progenitors.

Mortimer Shelburne has appeared in these pages, as yet, only in his official character. What he was as a man, and what his outward appearance, have not yet been touched upon. A few words will suffice. He was tall, lean, wiry, with twinkling downecast eyes, and a complexion the exact tint of a tallow candle. He was shrewd, intelligent, and nervous. He had the undoubted opinion that Mortimer Shelburne was equal, if not superior, to anybody, and everybody, and somebody else, besides. Place a suit of gray cloth on a bean pole, and the description is complete.

The church in which Mr. Vincent was expected to preach on the morrow was situated a little outside of the triangle. It was built, doubtless, many years before the triangle was thought of. A narrow gateway, and a perfectly smooth path, led to this ecclesiastical structure. On either side of the path there was a long stretch of green sward, dotted in the spring time with buttercups and daisies, and adorned with a weeping willow here and there. — The uneven surface showed plainly that many were there lowly laid in the quiet sepulchre of rest who had fretted their little life upon the stage, and passed away to another, and let us hope a better world.

The church, which was very old and very dilapidated, had a unique appearance. The main part of the building, which was the church proper, was of brick, and almost square; low roofed, and with small windows through which the light had to struggle for an entrance. A school room, which was evidently an after-thought and an after-growth, stood in the closest proximity on the north side, and on the north of that asmall parsonage. The interior of the church was, if possible, still more unique. A deep gallery at one end and running along the two sides, with a big hole knocked through the wall on the north side, to utilize the upper school room for the accommodation of worshippers when occasion required, There was a veritable box of a pulpit, which required leanness in the man who entered; a small window on each side, which, with the additional ingenious contrivance of a sort of glass bird cage in the centre of the roof, afforded the only means for lighting the edifice, Truly it was a dim, religious light,

In this peculiar building, commonly called a church, Paul Vincent was to “hold forth ” two Sabbaths. The day came, the hour, and the man. As he entered the pulpit all eyes were fixed upon him. The youthful aspirant for office was closely scanned from every nook and corner in the quaint edifice. Knowing nods and almost imperceptible winks were exchanged on every side. His first words—“ Let us pray ”—uttered in a deep bass voice, produced a visible effect, and all heads instinctively bowed before that Majesty, which is so intangible and yet so real. He read the grand old hymns with deep feeling, and the Scriptures with that just emphasis which is said to be the best commentary. He preached to them, with the fervor worthy of a Melancthon, of a living Christ, of a dying Christ, of the nails, and the spear, and “the side from whence flowed blood and water,” and of that infinite compassion which could suffer so much and forgive so much simultaneously. That he did not exert his youthful powers in vain was sufficiently evidenced by audible sobs and streaming eyes, and now and then a devout amen, which would not be repressed. The effect was a full attestation of his sincerity and powers, and he was abundantly worthy of so gratifying a result. He was poor in worldly substance, but he had a clear head, a pure soul, an unwavering faith, and a warm heart, which enshrined a mine of wealth, every separate coin of which bore the image and superseription of the Great King.