The Shady Side: Or, Life in a Country Parsonage

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Preface

Let not the gentle reader turn away from the sotJibre tide of this book, fearful of too dark a picture. It haa its lights as well as shades ; yet, as one sketch of the same landscape has taken its title from the interspereed 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 publications, 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 gifled pen, to the Christian community. That work led, indeed, to some modification of these pages, lest the writer should seem

to follow in the footatepa of mother.

1#

TI PREFACE.

Nor, again, need any afiSrm this to be a book of Jiction. 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 firom fancy, and not quite true to nature, they are, doubtless, the literal, unvarnished incidents of veritable, history. Indeed, so fidthful 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 '^ extenuated," 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 p iblic.

THE SHADY SIDE.

Chapter I

*< Every beginning is shrouded in a mist, And the traveller setteth on his Journey oppressed with many thougihtf . Bahuidng his hopes and fears, and looking for some order in the ohaof : 80, he oommenoeth at a due, nnrayelling its tangled skein. And boldly speedeth on to thread the labyrinth before him.'

y*

It was a beaatlM day in the early antamn of 183-. The last rays of the setting son shot aslant between a row of old poplars, and illomined the windows of a substantial farm-house in the valley of the Honsatonic. It was such a honse as one might find almost anywhere in the agricoltoral districts of New England, — two stories in &ont, 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 bam near by issued two rosy-cheeked, bare-headed boys, fresh from a contested search of the heps' nests ; one bringing the spoils in his cloth cap, and the other in his well-wom palmleaf, at the imminent risk of their e3dt through the crown. A third hardy little urchin was cdtting astride a door-sill in the old weather-beaten granary, inlying his jadcJoafi^ on a cross-bow, and looking \xp at es^erj Va:^ ^ioa^

8 THE SQADT SIDE; OR,

flitting by, rested its wing among the poplars. Presently hifl quick eye caught sight of a black pony, pacing noiselessly up the untravelled road, bearing on his back a gentleman who was no stranger there. But, instead of running down the deep yard to open the gate, our young rogue scampered round the comer 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 sto»e step, and a voice, which is ever music to those aged hearts, prefaces a kiss and an embrace with joyous greetings. A door from the kitchen suddenly opens, and sister Laura accosts the newly-arrived with homely welcomings, and the inquiry, what brings him hither so unexpectedly ; a tremulous voice chiming in, " Edward is always welcome, though h« 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 cheer. 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 silvery 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 ns well take the opportunity to state that the ]^T6oi».^<i ^hosa arrival makes such a sensation, is the Rev. Edward Vernon, wbo, 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 castward, 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 rovcfod members of the family of Aeir elder son, — the two &milies 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 condder himself lawful owner of whateyer might be left. Edward's educatuni 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 &rm-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 Ins sharp ears, Harry. What do you call him, uncle * Our horse is as big as three of him."

" Grandpa, come and see Uncle Edward's colt. He says it 's only a colt. How black he is ! "

" So you have really bought you a horae, Ei^«xd\ wsd. ^ pretty youDg one, too."

10 THE SHADT SIDE; OR,

" Yes, sir, he is ratJter younger than I liked, — only two, last spring, — but he pleased me, and I shall be careful of him. He has brought mo along nobly to-day, though T have walked

up the hills."

" Well, I think ho *11 do, my son, as you Ve nobody to carry but yourself."

The young man smiled ; his color heightened a little, and he was evidently hesitatbg what to reply, when a voice from the meadow shoutad, " 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 comer of his brown frock, grasped the soft palm extended to meet his, and reluctantly took on hb unshorn cheek the proffered kiss. Master George was not &r behind ; but his salutations 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 nunister's horse was established, according to the law of the Modes and Persians, which changes not.

A call from the house to make ready for supper dispersed the group ; and Edward walked with his &ther slowly in, and took the arm-duur by his mother's side. The quick perception of the moiher 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 'bi^hood, and sidd, half-inquiringly, " I have not seen you look so

LIFE IN A COUNIBX PABSONAOE. 11

happy, Edwird, this long, long time." He returned her gaze with a steady, significant look, and th^ replied, in a soft, low tone, '* Yes, mother dear, I perceiTe you are reading my seoret I have, indeed, a new source of happiness, and I have oome thus unexpectedly to tell you of it I know you will rejoice with me m my newly-found treasure, even as we wept together over our common loss, when dear Ahby died." A tear of mingled joy and sadness stole down that furrowed cheek, and she warmly pressed the hand which now, in ohedience to a hurried call, led her out to tea.

Chapter II

<* A £ur dweUiog, farnished wisely, with a gentle tenant In it» Tbia is the gl(»7 of .hnmanitj."

*' My heart sings like a Urd, At sound of that sweet word.

The sweetest ever heard,

Mary, Mary.'

Ws next find the &mily 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 senative to the first cool cyenings of autumn. Two candles are lighted on the mantel, and another on the little stand which holds the fiimily Bible. At his fiither*s request, Edward leads the dcTotions of the hour. Having read a Psalm, they all kneel at the family altar, while the sacrifices of contrition and pruse are laid thereon, and incense and a pure offering ascend to heaven. Who shall blame those aged Christians, if their spirit rise to-bight, on srnfter wing, toward the throne, as the beloved son, whom they have consecrated to a holy calling, out of the depths of a rich spiritual mind^ and a heart foil of all tender affec^^uB) tqsSl^^ kns^^ini

12 TUB SHADY side; OR,

their requests and thanksgivings unto God ? TLus, in meicy, 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. Allison, recently appointed to the Armenian mission. There are 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 afiR)rds 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. Hii? 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 PABSONAQE. 18

«If sheiaU?"

" I really cannot tell. 1 think she most be of tliat ele- ^t leigHt, where 70a would add nothing, and take nothing awiy."

" I suppose it jufit 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 heauXifidf You inquired if she were Juindsome. 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 haye got a pretty good idea of her now ; but " —

Brother James now interposed.

" It 's too bad, Laura. Edward, I know, will think you rade."

" Why, has n't he come over on purpose to tell us about this a&ir ? I know he expects to be questioned."

" Go on," sud Edward ; " you may not always find me in so communicative a mood."

But sister Laura had some misgivings about her last question, 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 embarrassment ; 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 filling us."

" No, he 's not," interrupted the kind mother ; '* but we need not fear thai Edward would agree to marry one who is unsuitable for him. Wisdom and goodness do not dep^d on age."

" No ; but experience doe? wife ; and you know experience

IS everything."

No one replied, and conversation flagged. Sister Laora'tf fertile brain soon started a new track, and she asked,

" When does the wedding come oflf, Edward ? "

" Really," said he, " I am unable to tell you. I expect t& ask that question myself, before I return to Salem."

" Do your people know of your engagement ? " continued the questioner.

" Some of them may have their suspicions awakened by m} occasional absences ; but none, except my landlady and hci husband, are enlightened on the subject. To them I have con fided my ^ret, and it is safe." Then turning to his &ther 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 some what querulous. Ho curtly answered, " When you do so fool ish a thing, I shall think you are not iu 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, however, was sure his case was an exception. He had talked confidentially with Mr. Cook, in whose &mily he boarded, who was one of his best men, and well acquainted with the state of feeling 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 dwelling for the mmister; indeed, it seemed the oviihj thing to be done. He had managed the busioesB in his own name, and^ obtained the refiisal 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 kis succ^ lor, or the society might, by that time, be willing to buy it fox

LIFE IN A COUNTKY PAKSONAGE. 16

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 fifleen hundred dollars, mostly borrowed money, and whidi he was obliged to sell for a thousand, it the end of twelve months."

" O, 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 n't bpeak of that to tease you. But come, now, tell us how you expect to raise the twelve hundred fi)r 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 fiur, will increase the sum to five hundred, and leave enough to pay for his horse, — possibly 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 mJl give my name as surety."

" But," said Edward, " will he not want other security ? "

" No," said sister Laura, lauglungly, " not while * BamhiU 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 'U only hope that, if he lends you the money, you '11 not be able to pay, and he shall somehow or other get DOf^eseion of that field."

16 THE 6IIADY SIDE; OB,

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 &mily separated for the night's repose.

Chapter III

<* There '8 a diyinitj that shapes oar ends, Keugh-hew them as we irill."

« Smitten firiends Are angels sent on errands full of love.**

Another day and night quickly passed, and when tne 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 windfi, threatening to burn his Yirgd and lose his

LITE IN A COUNX&Y 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 £unily upon him, hitherto, have been gentle, rather than stimulating. His b'X)ther being eight years his senior, and his sister five, he has been their playUiiDg 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 parent^ too, thought he was studious enough for a boy somewhat slight and delicate. Though his father resolved to ^ve 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 fifleenth 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 tho bar.

Accustomed to study character, he could not fail to be interested in a boy like Edward Yernon. He soon understood him thoroughly, having won his confidence and admiration. He saw in him latent capabilities, which needed only a motivepower to make him a shining man. He felt, with the satisfaction which always attends such conscious supremacy, that the springs of action in this undeveloped mind were, in a sense, under his own hand, — that, at his touch, some one of them would rise to be the mainspring of the soul. He chose — alas ! — AynHtion, his own master-passion ; and he did Wf work well.

A gT^t di&aga camo over JBldwaxd. fie Wl \^ti ^ ^Ku

2^ scholar while without aim or end. Now that the fire df ambition was kindled in his soul, and his diligence was the fimit of a conscious purpose to excel, there were no bounds to his 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 lum 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 longcherished 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 progress, 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 fiime.

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 direoteth hia steps." Even now, influences were at work which should revolutionize our young friend's course in life.

A cloud had settled over the home of his duldhood. Hit

LIF£ IN A COUNTBT PABSONAQE. 19

dierished aster was drooping under a slow decline. With the joogress 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 wbhes and prayers for him, and pleadings with him, could not stop short of the renewing grace of €rod.

But the rebellious heart did not soon or easily yield. Edward remembered his mother's prayers through all his childhood ; 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 reconciliation with Gk)d, 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, promisii^ the realization of his youthful visions and golden dreams, — this, he felt, would be hard mdeed. During the last half of his first year of professional study he was thus tossed to and fio 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 &ding 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 &me laid himself, a free-will offering at the fi)oi of the Cross. He made no compromises, no reserve ; — to bo in God's hand, and subject to his appwntments, was

20 TU£ suADY side; OS,

The time drew near for Edward's departore to resume his studies. The last xuornmg arrived, and as jet nothing iiad been said of his future plans. It was a season of quickened thought and emotion. The fiunilj 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.