Plaint of a Minister's Door-Bell

IT AM that much-used aad long-suffering article, a minister’s door-bell. As I have a very distinct voice, and often address the people within doors, let me say a gentle word or two to the multitudes of “outsiders.” I have a few hints to give, and a word to the wise ought to be sufficient. (The trouble is that the wise are not as numerous as the otherwise.)

My first hint is, Don’t call on my master in the morning, unless it be on a matter of the most vital importance, or in regard to somebody’s spiritual welfare. The morning is a student’s golden hour. My master is a student of God’s Word, and whoever robs him of his morning robs his congregation of the bread and the water of life. If you must come during his precious season of brain-work, pray he short; and, when you are done, then (as Dr. Cox once phrased it) “make rectilineals” for the door! But how do you know but your five minutes’ interruption has frightened away a whole flock of admirable thoughts which were just about alighting on his page 1 You may have well-nigh spoiled a day’s work.

Just let me tell you into what scrapes I got the good man yesterday. It was Tuesday, which is always a minister’s best day for study. He rests on Monday, and then lays the keel of his sermon on Tuesday morning; for he don’t believe in burning out his brains and heart over a lamp on Saturday night. (None but fools or sluggards make sermons on Saturday nights.) Well, yesterday morning I had the St. Vitus’ dance. First came a book-agent. He said he must see the minister, because he “had a work to sell that no minister’s library should be without.” He pushed his way in, and pestered my master for half an hour, until the poor man bought the book, for the same reason that the girl married her importunate suitor, — “just to get rid of him.” After him came a big burly brother from Nebraska, who said he was “hound to raise the money to pay off their church debt, and two hundred dollars more to top off their preacher’s salary.” I wanted to hint to him that he had better call on the secretary of the Church Erection Board about the one, and on the treasurer of the Board of Home Missions about the other. In he went; and as the door opened, I heard him shout out in genuine Western style: “Well, Doctor, how are ye? I am hound to call on all the ministers in town, and I thought I’d begin with you.” The Nebraska brother sat in “executive session” with my long-suffering lord, and then came out with the frank apology, “I am sorry to take so much of your time.” So was the minister.

Now that honest stranger had a perfect right to raise the money for his prairie church; but he ought to have gone right to the officer of the church societies, whose business it is to hear and to answer such applications. Every well-regulated city church takes up a large collection for the treasury of its church erection and home missionary boards; and to that treasury the applicant should go, and not badger the over-worked pastor to make out a list of his parishioners to be called on for extra donations.

After the exodus of the genial “son of the soil,” there came up a slender, sharp-visaged lady, with a pair of gold “specks” over her hungry eyes, and a “ridicule” on her arm. She gave me a tweak, and then she bolted in. It is hard work to refuse a woman; and has been so ever since Adam said yes to Eve when he ought to have said no. So the minister blandly said, “What can I do for you, madam ]” She told hira that, like her Master, she was going about doing good. She was the first directress of the “Hospital for Total Incurables.” After giving several touching cases of hopeless efforts for helpless victims, she finally asked him if he could not prepare and deliver a gratuitous lecture for the benefit of the said hospital! She said that she had tried Mr.

Beecher, and Mr. Gough, and Mr. Chapin, and

Dr. A, and Mr. B; and now she

would try him. The poor man was tried with a vengeance. He rose presently and said: “Madam, I am holding meetings every night. I never lecture. Please accept these five dollars for your institution. Good-morning!” As he bowed her out, I saw that his face was flushed; but just then a man came up with a bundle of papers, and said that he “only wanted the Doctor to look over these testimonials, and to give him a letter of recommendation to the collector of the port!” This was the drop too much. It was now twelve o’clock, and not a line on the sermon. My master (I am afraid) did not order his speech very delicately when he said: “Good friend, this is not the Custom house!” and closed the door. The moi-ning was gone. And with it the sermon. Next Sunday I’ll warrant you that somebody will come out of church and mutter, “Well, the Doctor wasn’t quite up to the mark this morning.”

Now pray don’t think niy master is a churl.

He is a kind, forbearing, hard-toiling servant of Christ. He only asks that, while he is doing his peoples worTc, and preparing their discourse, he may not be plundered of his precious time. His congregation have their rights also; and he will not consent to cheat them out of their gospel food. While he is absorbed in his studies, pray do not intrude with irrelevant matters; and, if you do come, he short. Give him his morning hours. He is seeking God’s truth to save immortal souls. Is not that of more importance than listening to the tedious talk of importunate intruders 1

But there is one class of visitors whom my master always welcomes, even in his busiest moments of study. He loves to see every man, woman, or child, rich or poor, who comes to him for spiritual counsel, for prayer, for help, or to help him do his Saviour’s work.

The other day, when the Widow B came

to tell him of her son’s conversion, he followed her to the door; and, with tears in his eyes,

he said:” God bless you, Mother B 1

You have helped me make my sermon ‘this morning.” I have seen him close his books to go off with a poor child to the “Home for the Friendless.” He is always ready to talk with people about their souls, or to do any thing which belongs to him as a workman consecrated to his Master’s work. For the sick, the sinning, the dying, the bereaved, he has an open ear and an open heart. But he is too busy to be bored with what does not belong to him.

Eemeraber that the owner of this house has not long to live. He has no time for trifles. The door is always open to the sad, the sorrowing, the seekers after Jesus. We ministers’ door-bells are often pulled by trembling hands. But to the new-come youth, who is a stranger in this great city, to the needy, to the applicant for religious instruction, to the seeker for spiritual aid, this little door-bell always whispers, “Come and welcome!”