My idea
is every clergyman is a bishop in his own parish, and his synod is
composed of pious galls that work, and rich spinsters that give. If
you do interfere, I will do my duty and rebuke those in high places.
Don't rile me, for I have an ugly pen, an ugly tongue, and an ugly
temper, and nothing but my sanctity enables me to keep them under." If
he is accosted by a beggar, he don't, like the other, give him money
to squander, but he gives him instruction. He presents him with a
tract. As he passes on, the poor wretch pauses and looks after him,
and mutters--"Is it a prayer? most likely, for that tract must be
worth something, for it cost something to print."
Then there is the sectarian lay-brother. He has a pious walk, looks
well to his ways lest he should stumble, and casting his eyes down,
kills two birds with one stone. He is in deep meditation about a
contract for a load of deals, and at the same time regards his steps,
for the ways of the world are slippery. His digestion is not good, and
he eats pickles, for the vinegar shows in his face. Like Jehu Judd, he
hates "fiddling and dancing, and serving the devil," and it is lucky
he has a downcast look, for here come two girls that would shock him
into an ague.
Both of them have the colonial step and air, both of them too are
beautiful, as Nova Scotia girls generally are. The first is young and
delicate, and as blooming as a little blush-rose.
Pages:
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229