DEACON G. was a pillar in the church some years since. He was the very
embodiment of good deaconly qualities;—bland, zealous, prayerful,
efficient. His hospitable doors were ever open to the "pilgrim and
stranger," and many a weary man of God, and many a hungry wanderer, was
sheltered and fed beneath his roof. And not seldom did some struggling
theological student, visiting him of a vacation, have his fundless
wallet replenished, and his outer man improved by the exchange of his
worn boots and threadbare coat for a more comely and comfortable garb.
It was whispered around, however, that with all his virtues, he had
one weakness. He was pronounced prodigal in his alms-deeds, by some of
the more "prudent," and the pastor inclined to the opinion. He admired
the whole-hearted benevolence of the deacon, but being himself more
wary, and having his friend's interests really at heart, he became much
troubled about the matter. For some time he revolved the subject in
silence, until compelled, as he thought, by a sense of duty, he waited
on his official helper to express his concern. He laid before him all
his fears, endeavoring, with a discriminating hand, to draw the line
between a safe and an imprudent generosity.
"Have I not enough for the support of my family? Do I at all distress
them by giving away?" asked the deacon.
"This may be true," said the minister, "but many of your brethren fear
for the future for you. You know not what reverses may await you. Is it
not wise; do you not owe it to your family so to husband your resources
as to be prepared for emergencies that may arise?"
His listener duly weighed each word, but was scarcely convinced of the
necessity of the caution. It seemed to him that he had only given of
his abundance, and that a watchful Providence had granted him to reap
liberally as he sowed liberally.
The pastor left; his solicitude somewhat softened, perhaps, by the
interview; yet with the consciousness that he had relieved himself
of any responsibility in whatever might befall the deacon's worldly
affairs, while the latter remained with his large heart uncontracted.
That night the pastor dreamed that, taking his daily walk, he bent his
steps to the sea-side. It was a bright day in summer, and he paused
to look on the broad expanse. Soft clouds lay dreamily against the
horizon. Sea-birds sailed slowly through the air, or darted down upon
their finny prey. The white-crested waves flashed back golden rays.
While absorbed in the glorious scone, a step behind caused him to turn
his head, and he saw Deacon G. approaching. The latter appeared not to
notice him, but stepping to the verge of the shore, took from a basket
on his arm loaf after loaf of wholesome looking bread, and tossed them
into the water.
"Stop! stop!" exclaimed the pastor, in surprise, "why this waste?"