NOT A "MODEL MINISTER."WHAT a pity people will not fulfil their destiny, and stay in their own proper niche in this world's gallery! Why will they mistake their vocation? Now don't think this is a great portico before a little building, for the matter I am about to speak of is a "crying evil." Yesterday was a beautiful Sunday,—just such a day as makes one feel devotional, whether or no;—quiet and still, soft and balmy. Little children,—the flowers and poetry of life's wayside,—looking fresh and sweet as if the Saviour's hands had just blessed them; and fathers and mothers, forgetting life's cares and turmoil, to look heavenward; the dim, subdued light of the time-honored chapel; the grand, solemn voluntary on the organ,—all were suggestive and impressive. The clergyman rose, and read that beautiful hymn,— "There is a land of pure delight." Shade of Watts!—how it was murdered! Commas, semicolons and
periods, of no account at all. The perspiration stood in drops on my
forehead. I could have rushed through the eye of a needle, had I as
many humps
on my back as a camel! Well, the singing brought me to a little;—revived me in time for a fresh—crucifixion! Why need he have selected the beautiful story of the little ewe lamb? Such a sledge-hammer, wooden delivery! His voice and right hand went up and down together, as if they were keeping time on a wager. I could not stand it;—I took up the hymn-book to read, till I remembered that I should respect "the Master," though I might dislike the messenger. "O, your heart was not right!" I beg your pardon;—I started fair; never felt so good in my life, till he knocked it all in the head! O, I so love beauty and harmony in everything! A very good, careful merchant was spoiled when that black coat was put on; somebody ought to tell him of it,—I dare not! He was as much out of place in that pulpit, as I should be commanding a ship of war! O-o-h, that hymn is ringing in my ears yet! |