_THE_ FABLE _OF THE_ PREACHER _WHO_ FLEW _HIS_ KITE, _BUT_ NOT BECAUSE
_HE_ WISHED _TO_ DO _SO_
A certain Preacher became wise to the Fact that he was not making a Hit
with his Congregation. The Parishioners did not seem inclined to seek
him out after services and tell him he was a Pansy. He suspected that
they were Rapping him on the Quiet.
The Preacher knew there must be Something wrong with his Talk. He had
been trying to Expound in a clear and straightforward Manner, omitting
Foreign Quotations, setting up for illustration of his Points such
Historical Characters as were familiar to his Hearers, putting the
stubby Old English words ahead of the Latin, and rather flying low along
the Intellectual Plane of the Aggregation that chipped in to pay his
Salary.
But the Pew-Holders were not tickled. They could Understand everything
he said, and they began to think he was Common.
So he studied the Situation and decided that if he wanted to Win them
and make everybody believe he was a Nobby and Boss Minister he would
have to hand out a little Guff. He fixed it up Good and Plenty.
[Illustration: GUFF]
On the following Sunday Morning he got up in the Lookout and read a Text
that didn't mean anything, read from either Direction, and then he
sized up his Flock with a Dreamy Eye and said: "We cannot more
adequately voice the Poetry and Mysticism of our Text than in those
familiar Lines of the great Icelandic Poet, Ikon Navrojk:
"To hold is not to have--
Under the seared Firmament,
Where Chaos sweeps, and Vast Futurity
Sneers at these puny Aspirations--
There is the full Reprisal."
When the Preacher concluded this Extract from the Well-Known Icelandic
Poet he paused and looked downward, breathing heavily through his Nose,
like Camille in the Third Act.
A Stout Woman in the Front Row put on her Eye-Glasses and leaned forward
so as not to miss Anything. A Venerable Harness Dealer over at the
Right nodded his Head solemnly. He seemed to recognize the Quotation.
Members of the Congregation glanced at one another as if to say: "This
is certainly Hot Stuff!"
[Illustration: GOOD AND PLENTY]
The Preacher wiped his Brow and said he had no Doubt that every one
within the Sound of his Voice remembered what Quarolius had said,
following the same Line of Thought. It was Quarolius who disputed the
Contention of the great Persian Theologian Ramtazuk, that the Soul in
its reaching out after the Unknowable was guided by the Spiritual
Genesis of Motive rather than by mere Impulse of Mentality. The Preacher
didn't know what all This meant, and he didn't care, but you can rest
easy that the Pew-Holders were On in a minute. He talked it off in
just the Way that Cyrano talks when he gets Roxane so Dizzy that she
nearly falls off the Piazza.
[Illustration: VENERABLE HARNESS DEALER]
The Parishioners bit their Lower Lips and hungered for more First-Class
Language. They had paid their Money for Tall Talk and were prepared to
solve any and all Styles of Delivery. They held on to the Cushions and
seemed to be having a Nice Time.
The Preacher quoted copiously from the Great Poet Amebius. He recited 18
lines of Greek and then said: "How true this is!" And not a Parishioner
batted an Eye.
It was Amebius whose Immortal Lines he recited in order to prove the
Extreme Error of the Position assumed in the Controversy by the Famous
Italian, Polenta.
He had them Going, and there wasn't a Thing to it. When he would get
tired of faking Philosophy he would quote from a Celebrated Poet of
Ecuador or Tasmania or some other Seaport Town. Compared with this
Verse, all of which was of the same School as the Icelandic Masterpiece,
the most obscure and clouded Passage in Robert Browning was like a
Plate-Glass Front in a State Street Candy Store just after the Colored
Boy gets through using the Chamois.
After that he became Eloquent, and began to get rid of long Boston Words
that hadn't been used before that Season. He grabbed a rhetorical Roman
Candle in each Hand and you couldn't see him for the Sparks.
After which he sunk his Voice to a Whisper and talked about the Birds
and the Flowers. Then, although there was no Cue for him to Weep, he
shed a few real Tears. And there wasn't a dry Glove in the Church.
After he sat down he could tell by the Scared Look of the People in
Front that he had made a Ten-Strike.
Did they give him the Joyous Palm that Day? Sure!
The Stout Lady could not control her Feelings when she told how much the
Sermon had helped her. The venerable Harness Dealer said he wished to
indorse the Able and Scholarly Criticism of Polenta.
In fact, every one said the Sermon was Superfine and Dandy. The only
thing that worried the Congregation was the Fear that if it wished to
retain such a Whale it might have to Boost his Salary.
[Illustration: THE JOYOUS PALM]
In the Meantime the Preacher waited for some one to come and ask about
Polenta, Amebius, Ramtazuk, Quarolius and the great Icelandic Poet,
Navrojk. But no one had the Face to step up and confess his Ignorance of
these Celebrities. The Pew-Holders didn't even admit among themselves
that the Preacher had rung in some New Ones. They stood Pat, and merely
said it was an Elegant Sermon.
Perceiving that they would stand for Anything, the Preacher knew what to
do after that.