Introduction

At first glance the next reading may seem like a detour, a departure from the main path leading through the unfolding history of American Protestant visions of giving. This piece does not represent a vision of giving characteristic of an era or of a particular group. Nor does it offer the same quality of thinking that one finds in the work of Samuel Harris or Catharine Beecher.

Nonetheless the document casts light upon the context in which some of the most visible Protestant teachers about giving – the parish ministers – carried on their work. A Voice from the Parsonage provides some instructive clues about ministerial work in New England Congregational churches during the mid-decades of the last century.

Here, in brief, is the story about the book itself. A hurt pastor wrote an anonymous account of his twenty-year ministry and its final culmination in his dismissal. In effect, the work was a lament about pastoral insecurity. (According to one of the clerics quoted in the book, “There is not a pastor in the Commonwealth [of Massachusetts] who is at ease in the saddle.”[1]) The work reflected an intense anxiety about the pastor's popularity and his capacity to withstand attacks from even a few querulous laity. A “disorganizing spirit,”[2] he declared, is at work in a denomination that once upon a time usually honored its ministers. Consequently too many pastors become the “victim of caprice, of distorted vision”[3] in the midst of clergy-lay tensions.

A careful reading of this book discloses that money became the primary battleground in the covert struggles between the minister and a minority of laity. The first skirmish centered upon the pastor – “Mr. Eldridge” – and his activities as “promoter of benevolent efforts.” The first section in the following document, “The Pastor: A Promoter of Benevolent Efforts” recounts a conversation in which a “Colonel Presbury” complains about the minister's zealous advocacy of giving to various mission societies. In the Colonel's eyes, the pastor is the culprit. Mr. Eldridge's skill as a teacher of giving only makes the Colonel even more resistant and resentful. They had already tangled before over a proposal to retire the church's debt. The minister had advocated a tax on every church family, much to the discomfort of Presbury.

There were more struggles to come. In every instance the fight involved money. After every encounter the cycle of resistance and resentment included more lay people. Out of that spinning centrifugal force came the energy necessary to bring about Mr. Elridge's resignation.

How representative is this account of the experience of congregations in mid-nineteenth century America? We do not yet know, since so little research has been done in this domain. From my own preliminary investigations thus far, I can suggest several tentative suggestions, all of which are at least implied in Resource 4.7.

Money was a very tender subject in many congregations. It proved to be difficult for both clergy and laity. For example, ministers often resented their poor salaries, the failures of the congregations to pay them on time and also the ways in which their families were the recipients of charity donations. Not all “donation parties” were like the gala occasion portrayed in this document. Furthermore, ministers sometimes had mixed feelings about the itinerant benevolent agents who made regular calls upon their congregations. “All the agents who plead the cause of our benevolent societies, of course, make the minister's house their home,” according to one pastor in A Voice From the Parsonage. He went on to say that “if they would succeed well in their different objects, the minister must head the subscription paper. He must do all this if he has not paid for his last suit of clothes or his winter's wood.”[4]

Almost inevitably therefore, money conflicts were quite often at the heart of clergy-lay tensions and congregational conflict. These two uncomfortable realities made it all the harder for the pastors to be comfortable in their work as teachers about giving. It is not surprising to learn that sometimes that the ministers themselves became caught up in the cycle of resistance and resentment. If they often became the objects of resentment and resistance in the course of their work of promoting benevolent causes, they also occasionally found it hard not to resist and resent the responsibilities of being the primary teacher of giving in the congregation. 

I know little about the writer of A Voice from the Parsonage. The supposed author is Harrison Greenough, a Congregational minister and also the publisher of several books of poetry for children. Edwards Amasa Park, a well-known professor of theology at Andover Theological Seminary, wrote the introduction of the book. In his essay, Park concentrated entirely upon developing a case for the grandeur and cultural importance of the pastoral office. He had nothing to say about the matter of faith and money.

---

Source: Selections from Anonymous, A Voice from the Parsonage (Boston: S. K. Whipple and Company, 1854).

The Pastor: A Promoter of Benevolent Efforts

The various enterprises of the times which shadow forth that day of glory when the dark and direful effects of the fall shall pass away, leaving in their place the transcendently beautiful hues of righteousness, had from Mr. Eldridge the warmest sympathy and the most energetic aid. None of them escaped his eye nor were without an impulse from his aid; for in them all he saw signs of triumph to that cause to which he had consecrated his life.

On a Monday morning following the Sabbath on which he had commended one of these enterprises to his people in an earnest and truthful presentation of its worth, not only to the church, but to society in general, Colonel Presbury, Deacon Barnes, and one or two other gentlemen happened into the store of Squire Davidson about the same time. The conversation for a while was upon the great embarrassments of financial affairs in the country at that time prevailing, and which was almost every where the frequent topic of remark. At length, in apology perhaps for the exercise of more than ordinary prudence in the use of that which “answereth all things,” Colonel Presbury observed,–

"Our minister, Deacon Barnes, seems to think that we are not suffering much from the scarcity of money; he appears to feel that we have enough yet and to spare. He was down upon us yesterday pretty hard, I thought.”

 “None too hard,” said the deacon. “Mr. Eldridge did grandly yesterday. Though he was very earnest, yet he did not oblige any to give who were not disposed. He left the matter about right.”

“Of course he did not oblige any to give; for he could not do that,” the colonel replied. “But, then, a man cannot avoid doing something, after his duty is made so plain and the cause so important and imperative. Besides, one feels rather small in refusing to sign something when his neighbors are giving pretty liberally.”

“I am pleased to hear you admit,” said the deacon, “that our minister exhibits the duty of benevolence with clearness and force, and makes the particular cause he advocates tell its own claims to patronage.”

“Yes, deacon, I suppose I must admit that; if I did not, I should be in a rather small company. I think Mr. Eldridge does pretty well when he undertakes with the pocket. Somehow or other he makes the money come. But what is the use of his taking up so many of these causes, deacon? He has one a month, and sometimes two.”

“He considers them all very important, I suppose; as, indeed, they are. They all seem to be necessary for the benefit of our fellow-creatures and for bringing forward the day when religion shall generally prevail and all wickedness and oppression shall cease.”

“Well, deacon,” said the colonel, “neither you nor I will live to see that day.”

“But we may hasten its approach, colonel, if we are pretty liberal and perform our other duties connected with this great event.”

“It costs too much, deacon, it really costs too much for me,” said the colonel, with an expression of countenance that made it evident he was sincere in the utterance. “Last year, what I gave and what my wife and daughters gave, after the appeals of Mr. Eldridge from month to month, amounted to one hundred and twenty-seven dollars.”

“I am really glad he was so successful,” the deacon replied with a smile. “If he had obtained twice that amount it would have been no matter. Your purse is deep, you know.”

“Really, colonel,” said the squire, “you did well last year. I presume you lost no sleep by your liberality.”

“No; but then I lost some money. I shall have to stop giving if Mr. Eldridge continues to call as often as he has done. He'll drain me all dry.”

“You need not flatter yourself,” said the squire, “that the calls upon you will be any the less frequent or urgent by reason of any backwardness on the part of our pastor in soliciting.”

“I suppose not,” the colonel mournfully said; “I suppose not. Mr. Eldridge thinks he is right, and there is no stopping him; he will go ahead.”

“I think our people have done very well for a few years past in their contributions to benevolent objects,” the squire remarked.

“They were not much disposed to give when Mr. Eldridge first came here,” Mr. Parker said.

“They were not, that is true,” the squire replied. “They had not been trained to benevolent habits. We are indebted to Mr. Eldridge for this process.”

“Yes, yes, we are,” quickly responded Colonel Presbury. “Mr. Eldridge has not been slow in this department of labor. We have had line upon line and precept upon precept, here a little and there a good deal, by way of instruction and appeal. If it had not been for Mr. Eldridge I should have been a thousand dollars richer–yes, a thousand dollars richer! I was reckoning recently what our family have given that I know of to different benevolent societies for the last four years; and principal and interest make the amount a little rising one thousand dollars.”

“Perhaps,” said Deacon Barnes, “you would not have been so rich as you now are by several thousand dollars had not our pastor been instrumental in opening your heart and purse somewhat. I believe public opinion declares that you have added more to your property for the last three years than at any former period.”

“I have not lost quite so much lately by bad debts as I formerly did,” the colonel replied. “As for making money, you know any one can do that.”

“If every one can make money,” the deacon replied, “there are very few who succeed as you have done. You have been wonderfully prospered. I hope you will give over two thousand dollars to benevolent societies for the next four years; and I advise you to resolve to do this, or more, if you wish to continue to grow rich. I believe in Scripture promises and Scripture threatenings, colonel. I believe in this one, for instance: ‘There is that scattereth and yet increaseth; and there is the withholding more than is meet, and it tendeth to poverty.’”

“Well, well,” said the colonel, “I shall do in the way you mention for the next four years, if I should live, just as little as I can.”

“O, colonel,” the deacon replied, “how can you be thus ungrateful after having been blessed in the period when you have been somewhat liberal more than in any such length of time before?”

“I was not expecting such a decision from you, colonel,” said the squire, “to give as little as you could.”

“If I continue to go to meeting,” the colonel replied, “and if we have Mr. Eldridge for our minister, I do not believe that it will be possible for me to give less than two thousand dollars for the next four years. I tell you what, gentlemen, Mr. Eldridge has a wonderful faculty for getting away money.”

“If this be your feeling,” said the deacon, “I am glad of it. I hope and believe Mr. Eldridge will remain with us. If you do as you think you are likely to do, you may advance very much in property whilst you remain benevolent.”

“Now that our pastor has gotten us in such a good way of giving, as you call it, I think,” said the colonel, “it would be well for him to go to some of the neighboring parishes and stir them a little. Some of them might benefit, perhaps, by his services. I should like to have him try some of them; and if he bled them pretty smartly I would not object. It would be a capital plan for the American Board or some other benevolent society to employ him. He would raise the money for them.”

“The attempt has been made by one benevolent society,” said the squire, “to secure his services.”

“It has!” said the colonel. “He has been invited to leave us, then? How much salary has he been offered?” 

“Much more than he has here,” was the reply.

“How lately was this offer made him?” the colonel inquired.

“About two months since,” the squire said.

“He is not intending to leave us” the colonel remarked, “or he would have asked for a dismission before this, I suppose.”

“I think Mr. Eldridge will not leave us at present,” the squire said.

“What a noble agent Mr. Eldridge would make!” Mr. Parker observed. “His heart is so deeply interested all the benevolent societies that he would be very likely to infuse his own interest into any audience he might address.”

“If he should succeed in all congregations as he has in our own,” said the deacon, “he would truly accomplish great things for any society which might have the good fortune to secure his services.”

“It is sometimes really amusing,” the squire observed, “to hear what is said of Mr. Eldridge's manner of reaching the heart. You know Mr. Andrews doesn't believe in these benevolent societies. A few Sabbaths since it was announced that on the next Sabbath a subscription would be taken up in behalf of the sailors. In the course of the week Henry Andrews–a roguish fellow, you know–importuned his father for five dollars, for the purpose of purchasing a gun. His father, being disinclined to give him the sum, remonstrated with Henry. He told him that he had other and better uses for his money, and said a variety of things to dissuade the boy from pressing his request. Henry at last became impatient and said, ‘You will give next Sunday, I dare say, to Mr. Eldridge's sailors twice as much as I ask you for now.’ His father told him if he did, or if he gave any thing, he would certainly give him five dollars with which to buy the gun. Henry said no more, but was willing to wait. You remember how very earnest and interesting Mr. Eldridge was that Sabbath when he pleaded the cause of seamen, how eloquently he described their perilous condition and their indispensable agency in bringing to our shores the products of foreign climes and of taking to these regions our own surplus commodities, and withal how truthfully he painted the representative character of the sailor, and thence deduced the importance that he be both qualified and disposed to give the true representation of the land of his birth. Well, after the subscription had been taken and the services were closed, I met Henry Andrews as I was passing out, and from his looks I perceived he wished to speak to me. I addressed him, and gave him opportunity. So he at once said that he would like to see the subscription paper which had just been circulated. Taking the paper from my pocket, I handed it to him. I saw he looked confused after examining it a moment, and I asked him if I could assist him in any way. He said his object in looking at the paper was to ascertain if his father's name was on it. I informed him that it was, and at once showed it to him. ‘Good–good,’ said he; ‘father is down for ten dollars.’ His joy was so great that I could not resist the promptings of my curiosity, and I asked him what pleased him so much at discovering that his father had given ten dollars. He then told me the story of the gun, and appeared sure that he should now have it.”

“That is pretty good," said the colonel. “I knew Mr. Andrews gave ten dollars, for I heard him speak of it. He said that he did not intend to give a cent. When he went to meeting he determined that he would not patronize these societies – that he would keep his money for useful purposes; but he said Mr. Eldridge obtained the advantage of him. He lost control of himself, and was forced to surrender his own judgment to the reasoning and conclusions of the minister; and he put down ten dollars for the sailors.”

“You heard of the effect of that sermon on Mrs. Pitcher; did you not, colonel?”

“I have heard nothing,” was the reply.

“My wife was telling me,” said the squire, “that a sister of Mrs. Pitcher, who resides in Boston, has been out on a visit lately, and that Mrs. Pitcher was very much taken up with a silk dress worn by her sister, and was determined to have one of a similar pattern. She supposed her husband would begrudge the money, and that fifteen dollars would come hard from him for a single dress. However, she ventured to encounter his rebukes of her extravagance, and requested the requisite sum, at the same time saying that she knew of no reason why she should not have a dress equal to that of her sister. So, after the exercise of all her tact and eloquence, she succeeded in obtaining from her husband the amount she desired. Her sister was expecting to return home the next week, and Mrs. Pitcher was intending to send by her for the dress. The Sunday following Mr. Eldridge preached in behalf of seamen; and when the subscription paper was handed to Mr. Pitcher he did not look at it; but, being passed onward in the pew, his wife took it and put down ten dollars. After she returned home she acquainted her sister with the fact, and remarked that she did not know but that she should have to do without her silk dress; for she was so much overcome by Mr. Eldridge's sermon she could not resist her convictions of duty, and subscribed ten dollars for the sailors.”

“That's good!” exclaimed the colonel. “ I am really glad Mr. Pitcher got bled so; but I hope his wife did not lose her dress.”

“No; she did not,” Mr. Parker observed; “but her husband was mighty poor for some time afterwards. I had occasion, about that time, to borrow some money for a few days; and, as I had often been accommodated before by Mr.Pitcher, I called upon him for the loan. He replied that he did not know as he had so much money as I wanted – that he was poor and did not know what he should do. ‘My family,’ said he, ‘is getting to be very extravagant. I have had to give Mrs. Pitcher lately thirty dollars to buy a dress; but ten of it, I hear, went to dress the sailors.’ As he said this he looked not very kindly at his good wife; but she explained the matter and laughed very heartily all the while; and I could not avoid joining her. Her husband at last was obliged to give in and laugh too.”

“Poor man!” said Deacon Barnes. “I suppose Mr. Pitcher is worth seventy-five thousand dollars.”

“Yes,” said the colonel, “all of that; but he is poorer than most men who are not worth five hundred dollars. I am glad his wife gets some of his money; I wish she might obtain three hundred dollars where she now gets but thirty.”

“People don't seem to think any the worse of Mr. Eldridge for his efforts in raising money for objects of benevolence, do they, squire?” Mr. Parker inquired.

“Not that I have heard,” was the reply. “I believe they are pleased that he is so successful.”

“He does some good at home, I confess,” said the colonel, “when he labors for money to be sent abroad. He opens some hearts that never showed any doors before. Some people are the better, I have found, for giving; they are more like human beings than formerly; they have more feeling; they show a better spirit."

“That is one of the effects of benevolence,” the squire rejoined. “I have often heard Mr. Eldridge remark that he valued the benefits which accrued to his own people from their giving about as much as those produced abroad by their benefactions. The reflex influence of benevolence he thinks very great and powerful.”

“That is a new idea to me,” said Mr. Bolles, who had entered the store after this conversation began; “but there may be some foundation for it, I confess. So Mr. Eldridge is thinking of home when he is laboring for objects abroad?”

“Certainly, my good sir” said the squire; “he thinks of his people first and last; and in all that he undertakes he has an eye to their good.”

“Well, then, no one can blame him for being so wide awake in his efforts for all the benevolent societies, “Mr. Bolles continued, “when he sees that the influence of the liberality of his people is to benefit them.”

“I do not see how Mr. Eldridge can be censured,” said the squire. “For my part, I value him the more for his energy and perseverance in advocating the different benevolent societies. If Mr. Eldridge imitated the example of some ministers and was silent in relation to the calls of these societies through fear that his activity would conflict with the attachment of his people to their money, he would not accomplish half for our good that he now does, nor be half so much worthy of our love and respect.”

A Donation Party

Whilst Mr. Eldridge had so deep a place in the affections of his people as the preceding chapters must have shown, it would have been singular if he were not often remembered by the families of his parish at those times when the favor of a propitious Providence had given them an exuberant supply for their own necessities. He was thus remembered. The farmers did this when their fields contained the articles which are every day needed for the table where the wants of the body are satisfied. The few manufacturers who were here and there in his territory did this; and scarcely a single household in the parish omitted in the course of every year to make the pastor or his family some present with which to manifest their affection and esteem.

Aside from these informal and private acts of generosity, it had ever been the practice of his people to go en masse once a year to the house of their pastor to tender their kind congratulations, and to leave in his family that which would tell in the wardrobe, or on the table, or in the library. These annual visitations were something more than occasions for allowing the people to have a good time at the parsonage, regardless of the injury to carpets, paint, furniture, which often accompanies indifferent assemblages for fun and frolic which has marked some donation visits of which we have heard. The parishioners of Mr. Eldridge never incurred the charge of eating all that they carried, and of leaving nought but the fragments to testify of their respect and love for their pastor. If the disposition thus to do had appeared in many it would have been rebuked by the ruling spirits, which were powerful, by their judicious and commendable counsel to have the donation visit always amount to something of substantial benefit to the pastor. It was well known what Squire and Mrs. Davidson, and others like them, considered the proper demeanor on these occasions, and likewise that it would not escape the eyes of Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Clay, and others, what was carried to the parsonage, and what remained there, too, after the company had mostly retired. By reason of these influences there was ever an anxiety and care on the part of every family to have their gift of an appropriate, and therefore of a serviceable, character.

In the nineteenth year of his pastorate the people made Mr. Eldridge a donation visit, which was like the others which had preceded it – a gathering of the multitude. Smiling countenances, heavy baskets and boxes, full barrels and bags, and large bundles were all there as usual. Till an hour or two had passed after the company was made up it was not discovered but that all the people were there likewise. When, however, the novelty and excitement of the scene were over, and it became a matter of comfort for those who were there to sit rather than stand, when the time came for “taking observations,” it was discovered that several of the people who had heretofore always been prominent on these occasions were absent. Squire Davidson, of course, was not present; for all knew and greatly lamented his failing health. But why Colonel Presbury, Deacon Smith, and one or two others were absent, was a matter of wonderment to the largest part of the company. Mrs. Smith was there, and it was remarked by some that the wagon in which she rode was unusually freighted with good things for the pastor and his family; but why the hired man, and not the husband, was her attendant, seemed greatly to confuse the many. Although Mrs. Smith had ever been prominent on these occasions, being one of the few charged with the general superintendence, yet at this time her activity transcended its usual boundary. This circumstance was noticed, and made the subject of remark, in many circles about the house. It was considered that her attachment to her pastor grew more and more strong, because her attentions to him were so many and so marked. It being no place for seeking an explanation of the deacon's absence, when it was generally understood that he was in town and in health, and that he had been seen “up in town” by many just before they came to the parsonage, those who were inquisitive for the cause did not attempt to gratify their curiosity, but became engrossed with the scenes that were versatile about them.

Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Clay, and Mrs. Howard, being leading characters at this gathering, frequently were in consultation in relation to sundry arrangements for the evening. The entire parsonage being thrown open to the people, these ladies felt at liberty to enter any room which might be best suited for their purpose. When need of counsel and especial care had ceased, towards the close of the evening, Mrs. Smith indicated to Mrs. Clay and Mrs. Howard that their company would afford her peculiar pleasure; and, herself leading the way, the three went together to the study of the pastor to commune one with another, with none to disturb.

“This has been a most trying evening to me,” Mrs. Smith remarked. “It has cost me the greatest effort to restrain my feelings; for I have felt that probably this would be the last donation visit our dear pastor would ever receive from our people.”

“What has occurred of late to make you thus conclude?” Mrs. Clay inquired. “Colonel Presbury's forces are not increasing, I hope.”

“I fear they are,” Mrs. Smith replied; “and –"

The sentence was not finished, by reason of the excessive weeping of Mrs. Smith. Soon, however, she rallied, and continued, “The thought is too much for me. I was going to observe that my husband was as much opposed to Mr. Eldridge as Colonel Presbury is.”

The effect of this announcement on Mrs. Clay and Mrs. Howard may be conceived. It overpowered conversation for a moment, and the three sat pensive and sad. At length Mrs. Howard said–

“It cannot be that your husband has become an enemy to our pastor.”

Mrs. Smith, in explanation, proceeded to state that Colonel Presbury had sent a large number of logs to her husband's mill, of late, to be sawed into boards, and that he had been there himself frequently to see about them. Consequently her husband and the colonel had been much together.

“The conduct of our son,” she continued, “is no secret to either of you. Our pastor, like a faithful shepherd, had watched the youth and detected symptoms of his unpromising course. Calling one day at our house, he very tenderly and delicately alluded to the subject. Both Mr. Smith and myself were very grateful to him for his sympathy, and we each entreated him to endeavor to impress upon Robert the danger he was in, and try to save him. He replied that he had been seeking a convenient opportunity for a conversation with him; and we both thanked him for his thoughtfulness in our behalf. He soon had an interview with Robert, and we thought the effect of his conversation with him was very salutary, and we were encouraged to hope that a reformation would ensue. The interview with Robert was repeated twice or thrice. The last time that Mr. Eldridge conversed with him he was very plain with him; and, in consequence of his fidelity, Robert became very much enraged, and came home with a long story to his father, which much affected my husband. Mr. Smith at once sympathized with the boy, took his part, and severely censured Mr. Eldridge. I could not think that our pastor had done wrong, though I could not see then the occasion for his saying many things which he did. However, I was disposed to wait, before I blamed Mr. Eldridge, until I had seen him and heard from his own lips his reasons for his course. My husband would not hear to my suggestions, but gave himself up entirely to sympathy with Robert. It was not long before I saw our pastor, and was entirely satisfied that he had pursued the only course which the circumstances of Robert's case pointed out to one who would endeavor to serve him. I never had better evidence of his interest in our family, and certainly never before felt under more obligations to him, both as a pastor and a friend, than I did when he was giving me an account of our Robert's conduct and his efforts to save him from utter ruin. I thought I would not hint to him that my husband felt himself injured, and I presume he does not now know but that he is as friendly to him as formerly.”

“I should have thought,” Mrs. Clay remarked, “that the deacon would have waited with yourself for an interview with Mr. Eldridge before he condemned him.”

“He ought to have done so,” Mrs. Smith replied; “and I tried hard to induce him to wait, and not blame our pastor as he did in the presence of Robert. But my efforts were of no avail. He did not appear to believe it possible that Mr. Eldridge could have had sufficient reasons for talking to our son as he did. He said that he knew Robert was not as bad a boy as Mr. Eldridge had represented. O, I fear that something will be done that will pain many a heart in our parish and greatly distress our good minister.”

“The deacon, then,” said Mrs. Howard, “has never manifested to Mr. Eldridge his displeasure?”

“No, I presume not.” was the reply. “He promised me,” said Mrs. Smith, “that he would not say any thing to Mr. Eldridge or any one else on the subject; and doubtless he is now entirely ignorant that his good deacon, as he calls him, is a bitter enemy.”

It was remarked above that Deacon Smith was seen by some of the company in the village as they were proceeding to the parsonage. He informed his wife in the afternoon that important business would prevent his accompanying her to the parsonage in the evening. So after fitting her out, which he did very freely and pleasantly, he took another horse and carriage and proceeded to the place where his important business was to be transacted. This place was at the house of Colonel Presbury. It had been arranged that a party should there meet – if three or four can be called a party – to deliberate and advise in relation to an end on which the colonel and the deacon had determined to reach. Whilst, therefore, the great body of the people were joyous in their manifestations of regard to a faithful pastor in the parsonage, and dreaming of no threatening danger to the permanency of the tie which had for years bound them so happily together, Deacon Smith and Colonel Presbury, with one or two others, were holding a caucus to concert measures for the destruction of this tie and for separating this devoted minister from his attached flock! In this way it is that clouds suddenly gather in a pastor's horizon. The sun goeth down clearly, and before midnight there is a tempest. Deacon Smith probably had forgotten how warmly he had expressed himself in favor of his pastor, and that he had most indignantly rejected the suggestion, pleasantly and jocosely made, that perhaps Colonel Presbury would have him for a coadjutor in the nefarious work of retaliating on the pastor.

The deacon's party having completed the business for which they met before any began to leave the parsonage, he was at home when his good wife returned. Although she could not be happy, even when thronged by the multitude who were variously testifying ardent love for one she so highly valued, yet she remained to be one of the last who left for home.

How many, on reaching their own abodes, and when musing on the scenes of the evening, made any attempts to conjecture the reasons which occasioned the absence of Colonel Presbury and Deacon Smith from the parsonage, is not known. Doubtless the subject was agitated in many a household circle, and an attempt made to reach the cause of this remarkable event. What passed at the parsonage and at Mr. Clay's was treasured up.

“How happened it, husband,” Mrs. Eldridge asked, “that Colonel Presbury and Deacon Smith were not here this evening?”

“That is what I have thought of with much anxiety,” Mr. Eldridge replied. “I asked Mrs. Smith why her husband was not with us; and I thought she betrayed some trouble as she replied that he was prevented by an engagement.”

“I confess," Mrs. Eldridge continued, “if it was not Deacon Smith, whom we know so well as a very firm friend, that I should suspect something was wrong. He has always been at our donation visits and been very active, and it seems very strange that he was away to-night. However, I presume he had some business which came upon him very suddenly, or he would have been here.”

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Eldridge, “that, if this had been the reason, he would have sent us a special message to such an effect. From the troubled manner of his wife when I alluded to his absence, I have thought that the deacon might have been here had he been disposed.”

“"O, I cannot think there was any disinclination,” Mrs. Eldridge replied. “Deacon Smith is not the man to turn so suddenly. Mrs. Clay told me that the deacon's wagon never came to a donation party with so valuable a freight as it brought this evening. If he had been alienated towards us, that would not have been the case.”

“It might have been,” said Mr. Eldridge. “Mrs. Smith, you know, does as she pleases, and it may be that she had more put in the wagon for us on account of her husband's coldness. From what I know of her, I should think that such would be her course in the event of her husband's estrangement from us.”

“I would not suffer myself, husband, for a moment, to think it probable that good Deacon Smith could ever feel differently towards us from what he has done.”

“I cannot tell why it is; but it seems to me,” said Mr. Eldridge, “that Deacon Smith was not here to-night because he did not wish to be. I have always considered the deacon to be one of our best friends, it is true, and know of nothing that I have done which should make him otherwise now; but having had a pretty extended knowledge of mankind, and of deacons in particular, I have learned to feel that a deacon will take a sudden tack round against a pastor. I cannot think that Deacon Smith would do this; but it may be that I have been mistaken.”

“"I would not cherish the thought that Deacon Smith had become unfriendly to you,” said Mrs. Eldridge. “He is the last man to do this. Only think how many people, both in and out of our parish, have told us what Deacon Smith has said in favor of his minister. He has been exalting you, far and near, ever since you have been here, as being the best minister in the state; and it would sound strangely now to hear him talk differently from this. I would not, husband, allow myself to think it possible for such a man as Deacon Smith to turn against me.

“I know,” replied Mr. Eldridge, “that all the past manifestations of the deacon towards me make it very improbable that he is unfriendly now; but then, after all, deacons have acted as strangely as all this.”

“Well, husband, if Deacon Smith is against you, others will be soon.  He has great sway here, you know.”

“That he has,” said Mr. Eldridge; “I am well aware of this. If the deacon is against me, I may as well think my days here are numbered and will soon be finished.”

“If you feel that he is unfriendly,” said Mrs. Eldridge, “I would call and see him, and know all about it.”

“No, no, my dear wife; that is not my way. No one but yourself will ever know that such a thought is in my mind. I shall go on as ever, endeavoring to do my duty day by day, and shall not, either by word or deed, disclose to any one a fear that Deacon Smith may be opposed to me. I have already seen too many sad effects of pastors helping their people dismiss them in doing what you suggest. If Deacon Smith is opposed, he would be relieved should I introduce the subject to him. I have long made up my mind that, if ever there should be trouble in the parish, I would know nothing of it. My opponents shall never have any assistance from my words or actions with which they can the more easily accomplish their work. They shall have all the labor and all the pleasure.”

After Mr. and Mrs. Clay arrived home, Mrs. Clay rehearsed to her husband the conversation of Mrs. Smith.

“Can it be,” Mr. Clay said, “that Deacon Smith has left Mr. Eldridge?–the man he has praised so much, the man he has considered almost the personification of perfection. Can it be that Deacon Smith is such a man?”

“We must, indeed, now admit this to be the fact,” said Mrs. Clay, “Mrs. Smith being authority. It is sad to think of.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Clay; “if Deacon Smith is opposed to Mr. Eldridge, Colonel Presbury will probably know it, and the two will make serious trouble in the parish.”

“There may be some little trouble,” said Mrs. Clay; “but, then, it will not amount to much. There are enough here, without the colonel and the deacon, who are able and willing to stand by and support Mr. Eldridge.”

“These two individuals will carry many with them,” Mr. Clay said. “If they really undertake to dismiss our pastor, they will succeed, I have no doubt. I never supposed the colonel could do much unless he had some influential members of the church to work with him; and now, if he has the deacon on his side, I should not be surprised if we had a council here within a year for the purpose of dismissing Mr. Eldridge.”

“How is it possible for the colonel and deacon to get a majority on their side,” Mrs. Clay asked, “when now nearly all the people are satisfied with our pastor?”

“It is a very easy thing,” said Mr. Clay, “for people to be friendly to a minister when there are no particular influences at work to make them otherwise. There are a great many fair-weather friends in a parish, who are always hid in a storm. The deacon and colonel will make a flurry, and it will not be six months before they will have on their side of the house a majority of voters in a parish meeting. They are now, or will soon be, at work with their minions. The deacon knows how the thing is done. They will do here as is done in other places when the effort is made to dismiss a minister. We shall have misrepresentation and lying about the minister, and all that species of conduct, which always succeeds in prejudicing certain minds against him.”

“I cannot see as you do, husband,” said Mrs. Clay. “I do not believe that our people will ever consent to part with Mr. Eldridge, let the colonel and deacon do what they may.”

“I hope you are right,” Mr. Clay replied; “but, then, I think you will acknowledge your mistake before many months.”

Source: Selections from Anonymous, A Voice from the Parsonage (Boston: S. K. Whipple and Company, 1854).

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[1] Anonymous, A Voice from the Parsonage (Boston: S.K. Whipple and Company, 1854), p. 183.

[2] Anonymous, p. 182.

[3] Anonymous, p. 183.

[4] Anonymous, p. 257.