The Inexhaustible Barrel

“T DECLARE,” said Deacon Worthy, as he touched up the old gray mare on his way home from church: u I declare if I believe that Parson Honeywood’s sermon-barrel will ever giv’ out. It is like the widder’s barrel in Scripter. Now there was Parson Leane, who used to preach for us; he allers gin us the same sermon, no matter which end of the barrel he took it out of; and as we sot pretty close to the meetin’-house door, it got to be mighty thin preach in’ by the time it got back to us. But Parson Honeywood has bin here going on twenty years, and his sermons come out fresher and fresher every Sunday. Wife, I wish your butter-firkin would keep as sweet through the winter.”

The good Deacon resolved that the first time he saw his minister go by, he would have a talk with him on the subject. So a few days after

—hailing the well-known old sorrel and parochial buggy as it jogged along — he left his plow and hurried to the roadside. After the usual meteorological questions, the plain-spoken deacon blurted out — “Well, parson; that Sunday mornin’ sermon was number one prime; may I ask you which end of the barrel that come out on?” “I am glad the sermon suited you,” replied the genial dominie — “for I got part of that at your

house; part came from neighbor B ’s, and

part from the Widow R ’s; and one of the

best hints in it came from seeing your boy Frank riding home on old gray from the pasture without any saddle or bridle. I picked up that sermon in one day of pastoral visiting.”

Parson Honeywood was a shrewd man, and a wise pastor. He had not many books; (but the few he had were gold-mines;) and his family increased faster than his library. His Bible he had at his finger’s end; there was not a line in it on which he had not made up his mind definitely as to its meaning. It was his one book of heavenly knowledge. But he also had a book of human knowledge second only to it. In the morning he studied his Bible j and in the afternoon, he sallied out with horse and buggy and studied his people. He rode with his eyes open, finding illustrations (like his Divine Master) from the birds of the air, from the flowers of the field, and the sower or harvester by the wayside. He lost nothing that he could turn to his purpose, for his mind was on his sermon all the week. If he saw a farmer letting his team “blow” under a roadside tree, he drew up and fell into a chat with him. He observed closely the man’s style of thought — gave him a few words of good counsel, and drove on, leaving the farmer something to think of, and something to love his pastor for too. If he saw a boy on his way to school, he took the youngster into his buggy, told him one or two riddles, and then asked him several questions out of the Bible, which set the lad to studying when he got home. It was something for the lad to tell his school-fellows that he “rode to school with the minister;” the next Sunday he was pretty sure to keep awake through both the sermous. Such a man was, of course, ready for a talk with the limber-tongued Deacon Worthy, who pressed him close to know “what part of that sermon had been found at his house. For I didn’t know so much good could come out of Nazareth.”

“Well.” replied the parson, “I was studying on the subject of Trusting God in times of trial. First I went to my Bible. That book never runs dry. As good old Dr. Spring down in New York says, l Men may be exhausted: the Bible never? I studied my text thoroughly. I compared Scripture with Scripture. I prayed over it, my dear brother; for one hour of prayer is worth two hours of study for getting light on a subject. Then when I had committed what we ministers call our exegesis to paper, I sallied out to find my l practical observations’ among our congregation. I rode down to your house, and your wife told me about her troubles in regard to the doctrine of assurance. From there I went

over to neighbor B ’s. He is terribly cut

down since he failed in business. He told me that with the breaking down of his oldest son’s health, and his own break-down in the store, he was hardly able to hold his head up, and he was beginning to feel rebellious toward his Heavenly Father. I gave him a word or two of cheer, and noted down in my mind just what his difficulties were. From his store I went over to “Widow

R ’s, who had her usual lamentation over the

death of “her old man,” and needed a kind word of sympathy. She told me before I left that her

daughter M had as yet found no peace,

though her mind had been under deep conviction of sin for several weeks. I sat down and drew from her all her difficulties. Some of them were peculiar, and such as I never found treated in any book of theology, or in any Cases of Conscience. By the time I had finished my advice to her, and had read over to her a chapter out of Dr. Spencer’s “Pastor’s Sketches,” (which I often carry in my buggy with me,) it was almost dark, and I hurried home. Before I went to bed, I worked all the material which I had gathered into my sermon. I took up all the doubts which were disturbing the minds of your good wife, and

of neighbor B, and of Widow R and

her anxious daughter. I studied out the solution of their difficulties from the Word of God, and then (without, of course, mentioning any names or making any personal allusions) I wove all their cases into my sermon. I knew that it would be certain to reach four people in the church, and if it fitted them, it would probablyfit four times forty others. For after all, deacon, human nature is pretty much alike. If I can preach a discourse that will come home close to my own heart, I take it for granted that it will come equally close to every one in the house.”

“Yes, parson, some of your sermons cut a pretty broad swath. I often feel thou art the man, And when you teched so sharp the other Sunday on the liquor-trade, I saw that Squire P fairly looked white in the gills.”

“I preached on Temperance that day,” replied Mr. Honey wood, “because I knew that more plain preaching was needed in these days, when the wine-bottle is stealing back again on the sideboards and tables even of church members. Then again I came to the subject in my exposition of the passage, and my rule is, when I come to a subject in the Bible that folks don’t like to hear about, I don’t skip it. A good plowman never makes a balk, as you farmers say. If I come to slavery, or war, or liquor-drinking, or using false weights, in my course of Scriptureexpounding, I give it just as the Word of God declares it. If God says a thing is sinful, I try to say so too. The business of the minister of Christ is to unfold the whole Bible, its doctrines, its history, its biography, its every jot and title. He who preaches the whole Bible will reach, in time, the whole range of his people’s spiritual necessities. He need never to fall into a rut. The Bible and the human heart are reservoirs that will always keep a minister’s barrel full. But, deacon, your boy’s harrow yonder is waiting for your plow to move on. I must not keep you any longer.”

“Well, parson, I have long been want in’ to ask you why your sermon-barrel never has giv’ out.”

“Why, as to that,” replied Parson Honeywood, “I will tell you, as the great Dr. Bellamy once told the young clergyman who asked him what he should do to have matter for his discourses. The shrewd old man said, “Fill up the cask, Jill up the cask, fill up the cask! Then, if you tap it anywhere, you get a good stream; but if you put in but little, it will dribble, dribble, dribble, and you must tap, tap, tap, and get precious little after all.’ Good afternoon, deacon.”