Ministers' Sunshine

O much has been written of the hardships of clergymen, small salaries, unreasonable churches, mean committees, and impudent parishioners, that parents seeking for their children’s happiness are not wont to desire them to enter the sacred calling. Indeed, the story of empty bread-trays and cheerless parsonages has not half been told. But there is another side to the picture. Ministers* wives are not all vixens, nor their children scapegraces. Pastors do not always step on thorns and preach to empty benches. The parish sewing - society does not always roast their pastor over the slow fires of tittle-tattle. There is no inevitable connection between the gospel and bronchitis. As far as we have observed, the brightest sunshine is ministers’ sunshine. They have access to refined circles, means to give a good education to their children, friends to stand by them in every perplexity, and through the branches that drop occasional shadows on their way sifts the golden light of great enjoyment.

It was about six o’clock of a June afternoon, the sun striking aslant upon the river, when the young minister and his bride were riding toward their new home. The air was bewitched with fragrance of field and garden, and a hum with bees out honey-making. The lengthening shadows did not fall on the road the twain passed; at least, they saw none. The leaves shook out a welcome, and as the carriaoe rumbled across the bridge in front of the house at which they were for a few days to tarry, it seemed as if hoof and wheel understood the transport of the hour. The weeks of bridal congratulation had ended, and here they were at the door of the good deacon who would entertain them. The village was all astir that evening. As far as politeness would allow, there was peering from the doors, and looking through the bHnds, for everybody would see the new minister’s wife; and children, swinging on the gate, rushed in the back way to cry out, “They are coming!”

The minister and his bride alighted amid hearty welcomes, for the flock had been for a long while without a shepherd, and all imagined something of the embarrassment of a young man with the ink hardly dry on his parchment of licensure, and a girl just entering into the responsibility of a clergyman’s wife.

After tea, some of the parishioners came in. Old Mr. Bromlette stepped up to offer a greeting. He owned a large estate, had been born in high life, was a genuine aristocrat, and had in his possession silver plate which his father used in entertaining General Washington. He had no pretension or pomp of manner, but showed by his walk and his conversation that he had always moved in polite circles. He was a fat man, and wiped the perspiration from his brow — sweat started not more by his walk than the excitement of the occasion — and said, “Hot night, dominie!” He began the conversation by asking the minister who his father was, and who his grandfather; and when he found that there was in the ancestral hne of the minister a dignitary, seemed delighted, and said, “I knew him well. Danced forty years ago with his daughter at Saratoga.” He added, “I think we will be able to make you comfortable here. We have in our village some families of highly respectable descent. Here is our friend over the way; hts grandfather was wounded at Monmouth. He would have called in to-night, but he is in the city at a banquet given in honor of one of the English lords. Let me see; what’s his name?” At this point the door opened, and the servant looked in and said, ‘’ Mr. Bromlette, your carriage is waiting.” “Good - night, dominie!” said the old gentleman; “I hope to see you at my house to - morrow. The Governor will dine with us, and about two o’clock my carriage will call for you. You look tired. Better retire early. Good - night, ladies and gentlemen!”

MacMillan the Scotchman now entered into conversation. He was brawny and blunt. Looked dead in earnest. Seldom saw anythine to laucrh at. He was of the cast-iron make, and if he had cared much about family blood, could no doubt have traced it back to Drumclog or Bothwell Bridge. He said, “I come in to - night to welcome you as a minister of the New Covenant. Do not know much about you. What catechism did you stoody?” “Westminster!” replied the clergyman. “Praise God for that!” said the Scotchman. “I think you must belong to the good old orthodox, out - and - out Calvinistic school. I must be going home, for it is nine o’clock, and I never allow the children to <^o to bed until I have sung wdth them a Psalm of David. Do not like to suggest, but if parfactly convain iant, give us next Sabbath a solid sermon about the eternal decrees. Suppose you have read ‘McCosh on the Divine Government’ Do not think anything surpasses that, unless it be * Edwards on the Will.’ Good - night!” he said, as he picked up his hat, which he had persisted in setting on the floor beside him. “Hope we will meet often in this world, and in the next; we most certainly will if we have been elected. Good -night! I will stand by you as long as I find you contending earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints.” And without bowing to the rest he started through the hall, and began to rattle the front door, and shouted, “Here, somebody! open this door! Hope we shall not have as much trouble in getting open the door of heaven!” Mrs. Durbin was present that evening. She was always present when pleasant words were to be uttered, or kind deeds done. She was any minister’s blessing. If the pastor had a cough, she would come right into his house, only half knocking, and in the kitchen, over the hot stove, she would stand mixing all sorts of pleasant things to take. From her table often came in a plate of biscuit, or a bowl of berries already sugared. If the pulpit must be upholstered, she was head of the committee. If money was to be raised for a musical instrument, she begged it, no man saying nay, even if he could ill afford to contribute. Everybody liked her. Everybody blessed her. She stepped quick; had a laugh that was catching; knew all the sick; had her pocket full of nuts and picture - books. When she went through the poorer parts of the village, the little ragamuffins, white and black, would come out and say, “Here comes Mrs. Durbin!”

But do not fall in love with Mrs. Durbin, for she was married. Her husband was a man of the world, took things easy, let his wife go to church as much as she desired, if she would not bother him with her religion, gave her as much money as she wanted, but teased her unmercifully about the poor urchins who followed her in the street, and used to say, “My dear! have you found out any new Lazarus? I am afraid you will get the small - pox if you don’t stop carrying victuals into those nigger shanties!”

Mrs. Durbin talked rapidly that night, but mostly to the pastor’s wife. Was overheard to be laying plans for a ride to the Falls. Hoped that the minister would not work too hard at the start. Told him that after he got rested he might go and visit a family near by who were greatly distressed, and wanted a minister to pray with them. As she rose to go, she said, “If you need anything at all, be at perfect liberty to send.” Her husband arose at the same time. He had not said a word, and felt a little awkward in the presence of so many church -people. But he came up and took the minister’s hand, and said, “Call and see us! I am not a church - man, as you will soon find out. I hardly ever go to church, except on Thanksgiving Days, or now and then when the notion takes me. Still, I have a good horse. Anybody can drive him, and he is any time at your disposal. All you have to do is just to get In and take up the ribbons. My wife takes care of the religion, and I mind the horses. She has what our college - bred Joe calls the ‘Suaviter in modo! and I have the Fortiter in re! Good -by! Take care of yourself!”

Elder Lucas was there; a man of fifty. His great characteristic was, that he never said anything, but always acted. Never exhorted or prayed in public: only listened. One time at the church-meeting, called for the purpose of increasing the minister’s salary, where Robert Cruikshank spoke four times in favor of the project, and afterward subscribed one dollar; Lucas was still, but subscribed fifty dollars. On the evening- of which we chiefly write, he sat silently looking at his new pastor. Those who thought he felt nothing were greatly mistaken. He was all kindness and love. Much of the time there were emotional tears in his eyes, but few saw them, for he had a sly habit of looking the other way till they dried up, or if they continued to run he would rub his handkerchief across his nose, allowing it accidentally to slip up to the corner of his eyes, and so nothing of emotion was suspected. He never offered to do anything, but always did it. He never promised to send a carriage to take his minister a riding, but often sent it. Never gave notice two weeks before of an Intended barrel of flour. But it was, without any warning, rolled Into the back entry. He did not some day in front of the church, in the presence of half the congregation, tell the minister that he meant to give him a suit of clothes, but slyly found out who was the clergyman’s tailor, and then by a former measurement had the garments made and sent up on Saturday night with his <.ompliments, for two weeks keeping out of the way for fear the minister would thank him.

When Elder Lucas left that evening, he came up, and without saying a word, gave the minister a quick shake of the hand, and over forehead, cheek, and hands of the bashful man passed a succession of blushes.

But the life of the little company that night was Harry Bronson. Probably in no other man was there ever compressed more vivacity of nature. He was a wonderful compound of mirthfulness and piety. Old men always took his hand with affection, and children ran wild when they saw him. On Sunday he prayed like a minister, but on Monday, among the boys, he could jump the highest, run the swiftest, shout the loudest, bat the truest, and turn somersault the easiest. Indeed, there were in the church two or three awful -visaged people who thought that Harry Bronson ought to be disciplined, and that sanctification was never accompanied by kicking up of the heels. They remonstrated with him, but before he got out of sight, and while they were yet praying for the good effect of their admonition, he put his hand on the top of the fence, and, without touching, leaped over, not because there was any need of crossing the fence, for, showing that he was actuated by nothing but worldHness and frivolity, he put his hand on the top of the rail and leaped back again. If there was anything funny, he was sure to see it, and had a way of striking attitudes, and imitating peculiar intonations, and walked sometimes on his toes, and sometimes on his heels, till one evening at church, one of the brethren with a religion made up of equal portions of sour-krout, mustard, and red pepper, prayed right at him, saying, “If there is any brother present who does not walk as he should, we pray thee that thou wouldst do with him as thou didst with Sennacherib of old, and put a hook in his nose and turn him back!” To which prayer Harry Bronson responded, “Amen!” never supposing that the hook was meant for his own nose. The reprimanding brother finding his prayer ineffectual, and that the Lord was unwilling to take Harry in his hands, resolved to attend to the case himself, and the second time proposed to undertake the work of admonition, not in beseeching terms as before, but with a fiery indignation that would either be, as he expressed it, a savor of life unto life, or of death unto death. But entering Harry Bronson’s house that evening, he found him on his hands and knees playing “Bear” with his children, and cutting such a ludicrous figure, that the lachrymose Elder for once lost his gravity, and joined in the merriment with such a full gush of laughter that he did not feel it would be consistent to undertake his mission, since the facetious Harry might turn on him and say, “Physician! heal thyself!”

That night at the minister’s welcome Harry was in full glee. The first grasp he gave oa entering the room, and the words of greeting that he offered, and the whole-souled, intense manner with which he confronted the young clergyman, showed him to be one of those earnest, active, intelligent, loving and lovable Christian men, who is a treasure to any pastor.

He had a story for every turn of the evening’s entertainment, and took all the spare room in the parlor to tell it. The gravest men in the party would take a joke from him.

When MacMillan asked the minister about his choice of catechism, Harry ventured the opinion that he thought “Brown’s Shorter” good enough for anybody. “Ah! “said MacMillan, ‘* Harry, you rogue, stop that joking!” When Mr. Bromlette offered his carriage, Bronson offered to loan a wheelbarrow. He asked Mrs. Durbin if she wanted any more combs or castile soap for her mission on Dirt Alley. He almost drew into conversation the silent Mr. Lucas, asking a strange question, and because Lucas, through embarrassment, made no response, saying, “Silence gives consent!” Was full of narratives about weddings, and general trainings, and parish - meetings. Stayed till all the rest were gone, for he never was talked out.

“Well, well!” said two of the party that night as they shut the front door; “we will have to tell Harry Bronson to serve God in his own way.” I guess there may sometimes be as much religion in laughing as in crying. We cannot make such a man as that keep step to a “Dead March.” I think the dew of grace may fall just as certainly on a grotesque cactus as a precise primrose. Indeed, the jubilant palm-tree bears fruit, while the weeping-willow throws its worthless catkins Into the brook.

The first Sunday came. The congregation gathered early. The brown-stone church was a beautiful structure, within and without. An adjacent quarry had furnished the material, and the architect and builder, who were men of taste, had not been Interfered with. A few creeping vines had been planted at the front and side, and a white rose-bush stood at the door, flinging its fragrance across the yard. Many had gone in and taken their seats, but others had stayed at the door to watch the coming of the new minister and his bride. She is gone now, and it Is no flattery to write that she was fair to look upon, delicate in structure of body, eye large and blue, hair in which was folded the shadows of midnieht, erect carrlage, but quite small. She was such a one as you could pick up and carry over a stream with one arm. She had a sweet voice, and had stood several years In the choir of the city churches, and had withal a magic of presence that had turned all whom she ever met Into warm personal admirers. Her hand trembled on her husband’s arm as that day they went up the steps of the meeting-house, gazed at intently by young and old. The pastor looked paler even than was his wont. His voice quavered in reading the hymn, and he looked confused In making the publications. That day, a mother had brought her child for baptism, and for the first time he officiated in that ceremony. Had hard work to remember the words, and knew, not what to do next. When he came to preach, In his excitement he could not find his sermon. It had fallen back of the sofa. Looked up and down, and forward and backward. Fished it out at last, just In time to come up, flushed and hot, to read the text. Made a very feeble attempt at preaching. But all were ready to hear his words. The young sympathized with him, for he was young. And the old looked on him with a sort of paternal indulo-ence. At the few words in which he commended himself and his to their sympathy and care, they broke forth into weeping. And at the foot of the pulpit, at the close of service, the people gathered, poor and rich, to offer their right hand.

MacMillan the Scotchman said, “Young man! that ’s the right doctrine; the same that Dr. Duncan taught me forty years ago at the kirk in the glen!” Mr. Bromlette came up, and introduced to the young minister a young man who was a baronet, and a lady who was by marriage somehow related to the Astors. Harry Bronson took his pastor by the hand, and said, “That sermon went right to the spot. Glad you found it. Was afraid you would never fish it out from behind that sofa. When I saw you on all-fours, looking it up, thought I should burst.” Lucas, with his eyes red as a half-hour of crying could make them, took the minister’s hand, but said nothing, only looked more thanks and kindness than words could have expressed. Mr. Durbin said, “How are you? Broke in on my rule to-day and came to church. Little curious, you see. Did not believe it quite all, but that will do. Glad you gave it to those Christians. Saw them wince under it!” Mrs. Durbin was meanwhile employed in introducing the bride to the people at the door who were a little backward. Begged them to come up. Drew up an array of four or five children that she had clothed and brought out of the shanties to attend church. Said, “This is Bridget Maloy, and that Ellen Haggerty. Good girls they are, too, and like to come to church!”

For a long while the hand -shakings continued, and some who could not get confidence even to wait at the door, stretched their hands out from the covered wagon, and gave a pleasant “How do you do?” or “God bless you,” till the minister and his wife agreed that their happiness was full, and went home, saying, “This, indeed, is Ministers’ Sunshine!”

The parsonage was only a little distance off, but the pastor had nothing with which to furnish it. The orass was lonor and needed to be cut, and the weeds were covering the garden. On Monday morning the pastor and his wife were saying what a pity it was that they were not able to take Immediate possession. They could be so happy in such a coiiy place. Never mind. They would out of the first year’s salary save enough to warrant going to housekeeping.

That afternoon the sewing - society met. That society never disgraced itself with gossip. They were good women, and met together, sometimes to sew for the destitute of the village, and sometimes to send garments to the suffering home missionaries. For two hours their needles would fly, and then off for home, better for their philanthropic labors. But that afternoon the ladies stood round the room in knots, a - whispering. Could it be that the society was losing its good name, and was becoming a school of scandal? That could not be, for Mrs. Durbin seemed the most active in the company, and Mrs. Durbin was always right.

Next morning, while the minister and his wife were talking over this secrecy of conversation at the sewing - circle, Harry Bronson came in and asked the young pastor if he was not weary with last Sunday’s work. He answered, “No!” “Well,” suggested Harry, I think you had better take a few days’ rest anyhow. Go off and see your friends. My carriage will, in about an hour, go to the cars, and I will meet you on Saturday night. Think it will do you both good.’*

“Well, well!” said the minister, while aside consulting with his wife, “what does this mean? Are they tired of us so soon? Is this any result of yesterday’s whispering? But they make the suggestion, and I shall take it.” So that Tuesday evening found them walking the streets of the neighboring city, wondering what all this meant. Saturday came, and on the arrival of the afternoon train Harr’ Bronson was ready to meet the young parson and his wife. They rode up to the place of their previous entertainment. After tea, Bronson said, “We have been making a little alteration at the parsonage since you were gone.” “Have you?” exclaimed the minister. “Come! my dear! let us go up and see!” As they passed up the steps of the old parsonage, the roses and the lilacs on either side swung in the evening air. The river in front glowed under the long row of willows, and parties of villagers in white passed by in the rocking -boat, singing “Life on the ocean wave,” It was just before sunset, and what with the perfume, and the roseate clouds, and the rusding of the maples, and the romance of a thousand dawning expectations — it was an evening never to be forgotten. Its flowers will never close. Its clouds will never melt. Its waters will never lose their sheen. Its aroma will never float away.

The key was thrust into the door and It swung open. “What does this mean?” they both cried out at the same time. “Who put down this carpet, and set here these chairs, and hung this hall-lamp?” They stood as if transfix; ed. It was no shabby carpet, but one that showed that many dollars had been expended, and much taste employed, and much effort ejerted. They opened the parlor -door, and th’sre they all stood — sofa, and whatnot, and chair, and stand, and mantel- ornament, and picture. They went up stairs, and every room was furnished; beds with beautiful white counterpanes, and vases filled with flowers, and walls hung with engravings. Everything complete.

These surprised people came down stairs to the pantry. Found boxes of sugar, bags of salt, cans of preserves, packages of spices, bins of flour, loaves of bread. Went to the basement, and found pails, baskets, dippers, cups, saucers, plates, forks, knives, spoons, strainers, bowls, pitchers, tubs, and a huge stove filled with fuel, and a lucifer-match lying on the lid; so that all the young married pair would have to do in going to housekeeping, would be to strike the match and apply it to the shavings. In the study, adorned with lounge and flowers, and on table, covered with bright green baize, lay an envelope enclosing a card, on which was written, “Please accept from a few friends.”

Had Aladdin been around with his lamp? Was this a vision such as comes to one about half awake on a sunshiny morning? They sat down, weak and tearful from surprise, thanked God, blessed Mrs. Durbin, knew that Mr. Bromlette’s purse had been busy, felt that silent Mr. Lucas had at last spoken, realized that Harry Bronson had been perpetrating a practical joke, were certain that MacMillan had at last been brought to believe a little in “works,” and exclaimed, “Verily, this is Ministers’ Sunshine!” and as the slanting rays of the setting day struck the porcelain pitcher, and printed another figure on the carpet, and threw its gold on the cushion of the easy-chair, It seemed as If everything within, and everything around, and everything above, responded, “Ministers’ Sunshine!”

The fact was, that during the absence of the new pastor that week, the whole village had been topsy-turvy with excitement. People standing together in knots, others running In and out of doors; the hunting up of measuringrods; the running around of committees with everything to do, and so little time In which to do It. Somebody had proposed a very cheap furnishing of the house, but Mr. Bromlette said: “This will never do. How can we prosper. If, living in fine houses ourselves, we let our minister go half cared for? The sheep shall not be better off than the shepherd!” and down went his name on the subscription with a liberal sum.

MacMillan said, “I am In favor of taking care of the Lord’s anointed. And this young minister of the everlasting gospel hinted that he believed In the perseverance of the saints, and other cardinal doctrines, and you may put me down for so much, and that is twice what I can afford to give, but we must have faith, and make sacrifices for the kingdom of God’s sake.”

While others had this suggestion about the window - shades, and that one a preference about the figure of the carpets, and another one said he would have nothing to do with it unless it were thus and so, quiet Mr. Lucas said nothing, and some of the people feared he would not help in the enterprise. But when the subscription - paper was handed him, he looked it over, and thought for a minute or two, and then set down a sum that was about twice as much as any of the other contributions. Worldly Mr. Durbin said at the start: “I will give nothing. There is no use of making such a fuss over a minister. You will spoil him at the start. Let him fight his own way up, as the rest of us have had to do. Delia! (that was his wife’s name,) nobody furnished our house when we started.” But Mrs. Durbin, as was expected, stood in the front of the enterprise. If there was a stingy fellow to be approached, she was sent to get the money out of him, and always succeeded. She had been so used to begging for the poor of the back street, that when any of the farmers found her coming up the lane, they would shout, ‘’Well, Mrs. Durbin, how much will satisfy you to-day? “She was on the committee that selected the carpets. While others were waiting for the men to come and hang up the window-shades, she mounted a table and hung four of them. Some of the hardest workers in the undertaking were ready to do anything but tack down carpets. “Well,” she said, “that is just what I am willing to do;” and so down she went pulling until red in the face to make the breadths match, and pounding her finger till the blood started under the nail, in trying to make a crooked tack do its duty. One evening her husband drove up in front of the parsonage with a handsome book -case. Said he had come across it, and had bought it to please his wife, not because he approved of all this fuss over a minister, who might turn out well, and might not. The next morning there came three tons of coal that he had ordered to btr put in the cellar of the parsonage. And though Durbin never acknowledged to his wife any satisfaction in the movement, he every night asked all about how affairs were getting on, and it was found at last that he had been amone the most liberal.

Harry Bronson had been all around during the week. He had a cheerful word for every perplexity. Put his hand deep down in his own pocket. Cracked jokes over the cracked crockery. Sent up some pictures, such as -The Sleigh-riding Party,” “Ball Playing,” and “Boys Coasting.” Knocked off Lucas’s hat, and pretended to know nothing about it. Slipped on purpose, and tumbled into the lap of the committee. Went up stairs three steps at a time, and came down astride the banisters. At his antics some smiled, some smirked, some tittered, some chuckled, some laughed through the nose, some shouted outright, and all that week Harry Bronson kept the parsonage roaring with laughter. Yet once in a while you would find him seated in the corner, talking with some old mother in Israel, who was tellino him all her griefs, and he offering the consolatlons of religion. “Just look at Bronson!” said some one. “What a strange conglomeration! There he is crying with that old lady in a corner. You would not think he had ever smiled. This truly is weeping with those who weep, and laughing with those who laugh. Bronson seems to carry in his heart all the joys and griefs of this village.”

It was five o’clock of Saturday afternoon, one hour before the minister was expected, that the work was completed, entry swept out, the pieces of string picked up, shades drawn down, and the door of the parsonage locked. As these church-workers went down the street, their backs ached, and their fingers were sore, but their hearts were light, and their countenances happy, and every step of the way from the parsonage door to their own gate they saw scattered on the gravelled sidewalk, and yardgrass, and door-step, broad flecks of Ministers* Sunshine!

But two or three days had passed, and the young married couple took possession of their new house. It was afternoon, and the tea-table was to be spread for the first time. It seemed as if every garden in the village had sent its greeting to that tea-table. Bouquets from one, and strawberries from another, and radishes, and bread, and cake, and grass-butter with figure of wheat-sheaf printed on it. The silver all new, that which the committee had left added to the bridal presents. Only two sat at the table, yet the room seemed crowded with emotions, such as attend only upon the first meal of a newly married couple, when beginning to keep house. The past sent up to that table a thousand tender memories, and the future hovered with wings of amber and gold. That bread-breaking partook somewhat of the solemnity of a sacrament. There was little talk and much silence. They lingered long at the table, spoke of the crowning of so many anticipations, and laid out plans for the great future. The sun had not yet set. The castor glistened in it. The glasses glowed in the red light. It gave a roseate tinge to the knives, and trembled across the cake - basket, as the leaves at the window fluttered in the evening air; and the twain continued to sit there, until the sun had dropped to the very verge of the horizon, and with nothing to intercept its blaze, it poured in the open windows, till from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall the room was flooded with Ministers’ Sunshine.

A year passed on, and the first cloud hovered over the parsonage. It was a very dark cloud. It filled the air, and with its long black folds seemed to sweep the eaves of the parsonage. Yet it parted, and through it fell as bright a light as ever gilded a hearthstone. The next day all sorts of packages arrived; little socks, with a verse of poetry stuck in each one of them — socks about large enough for a small kitten; and a comb with which you might imaofine Tom Thumb’s wife would comb his hair for him. Mrs. Durbin was there — indeed had been there for the last twenty- four hours. Mr. Bromlette sent up his coachman to make inquiries. MacMillan called to express his hope that it was a child of the “Covenant.” Lucas came up the door-step to offer his congratulation, but had not courage to rattle the knocker, and so went away, but stopped at the store to order up a box of farina. Harry Bronson smiled all the way to the parsonage, and smiled all the way back. Meanwhile the light within the house every moment grew brighter. The parson hardly dared to touch the little delicate thinof for fear he would break it; and walked around with it upon a pillow, wondering what it would do next, starting at every sneeze or zry, for fear he had done some irreparable damage; wondering if its foot was set on right, and if with that peculiar formation of the head it would ever know anything, and if infantile eyes always looked like those. The wonder grew, till one day Durbin, out of regard for his wife, was invited to see the little stranger, when he declared he had during his life seen fifty just like it, and said, “Do you think that worth raising, eh?”

All came to see it, and just wanted to feel the weio-ht of it. The little o-irls of the neiehborhood must take off its socks to examine the dimples on its fat feet. And, although not old enough to appreciate it, there came directed to the baby, rings and rattles, and pins, and bracelets, and gold pieces with a string through, to hang about the neck, and spoons for pap, and things the use of which the parson could not imaeine. The ladies said it looked like its father, and the gentlemen exclaimed, “How much it resembles its mother ‘” All sorts of names were proposed, some from novels, and some from Scripture. MacMillan thought it ouorht to be called Deborah or Patience. Mr. Bromlette wished it called Eugenia Van Courtlandt. Mrs. Durbin thought it would be nice to name it Grace. Harry Bronson thought it might be styled Humpsy Dumpsy. A young gentleman suggested Felicia, and a young lady thought it might be Angelina. When Lucas was asked what he had to propose, he blushed, and after a somewhat protracted silence, answered, “Call it what you like.. Please yourselves and you please me.” All of the names were tried in turn, but none of them were good enough. So a temporary name must be selected, one that might do till the day of the christening. The first day the pet was carried out was a very bright day, the sun was high up, and as the neighbors rushed out to the nurse, and lifted the veil that kept off the glare of the light, they all thought it well to call it the Ministers’ Sunshine.

And so the days and the months and the years flew by. If a cloud came up, as on the day mentioned, there was a Hand behind it to lift the heavy folds. If there were a storm, it only made the shrubs sweeter, and the fields greener. If a winter night was filled with rain and tempest, the next morning all the trees stood up in burnished mail of ice, casting their crowns at the feet of the sun, and surrendering their gleaming swords to the conqueror. If the trees lost their blossoms, it was to put on the mellowness of fruit; and when the fruit was scattered, autumnal glories set up in the tops their flaming torches. And when the leaves fell it was only through death to come singing in the next spring - time, when the mellow horn of the south - wind sounded the resurrection. If in the chill April a snow-bank lingered in the yard, they were apt to find a crocus at the foot of it. If an early frost touched the corn, that same frost unlocked the burr of the chestnut, and poured richer blood into the veins of the Catawba. When the moon set, the stars came out to worship, and counted their golden beads in the Cathedral of the Infinite.

On the petunias that all over the knoll shed their blood for the glory of the garden; on the honeysuckle where birds rested, and from which fountains of odor tossed their spray; on the river, where by day the barge floated, and by night the moon - tipped oars came up tangled with the tinkling jewels of the deep; at eventide In the garden, where God walked in the cool of the day; by the minister’s hearth, where the child watched the fall of the embers, and congenial spirits talked, and ministering angels hovered, and in the sounds of the night -fall there floated the voices of bright immortals, bidding the two, “Come up higher!” — there was calm, clear, Ministers’ Sunshine!