We are Jilted.
WHEATHEDGE is in a fever of excitement-not very agreeable
excitement. Disappointment and anger are curiously commingled.
Little knots of men and women gathered after church on Sunday in
excited discussion. A by-stander might overhear in these conferences
such phrases dropped as "Shameful." "It's too bad." "If he is that
sort of man it's very fortunate we did not get him." "I have no
faith in ministers," and the like. Do you ask what is the matter? We
have been jilted.
I will not give names, at least not the true ones. For I have no
inclination to involve myself in a newspaper controversy, and none
to injure the prospects of a young man who possesses qualities which
fit him for abundant usefulness if vanity and thoughtlessness do not
make shipwreck of him.
For six months now we have been without a pastor. We are hard to
suit. Mr. Wheaton was right. Wheathedge is a peculiar place, and
requires a very peculiar man. But about six weeks ago there came
along a very peculiar man. He seemed to be just adapted to the
place. He was fresh from the seminary. He had a wife but no
children. He was full of enthusiasm. As a preacher he was free from
conventionalism, bright, sparkling, brilliant; more brilliant than
warm. In private life he was social, genial, unministerial. Old Aunt
Sue did indeed complain that when he called there he did not offer
to pray with her. And good old Father Haines said he wished that
there was less poetry and more Christ in his sermons. But neither
old Aunt Sue nor old Father Haines contribute much to the support of
the Church, and their criticisms did nothing to abate the general
enthusiasm. Jim Wheaton said he was just the man, and promised to
double his subscription, if necessary, to get him. Deacon Goodsole
was scarcely less enthusiastic. I do not think there was a
dissenting voice among the ladies; and the young folks were
absolutely unanimous.
"If we can only get Mr. Uncannon," said Jim Wheaton to me one
morning, as we rode to the city in the cars together, "in three
weeks we will drain the Methodist church dry of its young folks."
Personally, I have no taste for foraging in other men's fields. But
I knew that Jim Wheaton would not appreciate my sentiments, and so I
kept silence.
Mr. Uncannon preached for us two Sabbaths. He spent the intervening
week in Wheathedge. He visited with Deacon Goodsole most of the
leading families. He stopped at Mr. Wheaton's. If the people had
been charmed with him in pulpit they were delighted with him in the
parlor. The second Sabbath I do not think there would have been a
dissenting voice to the call.
There was only one difficulty. It was considered very doubtful if we
could get him. That doubt I undertook to solve.
Monday he returned to the city. I went down in the same train, and
took occasion to fall into conversation with him. I told him frankly
the state of feeling. I represented that it was very desirable that
the matter should go no further unless there was a prospect that he
would consider favorably a call if it were given him. He replied
with equal frankness. He said that he was delighted with the place
and with the people. He wanted to come. There was only one obstacle.
He understood that we paid our former pastor only $1,200 a year. He
could not undertake to live on that.
"In fact," said he, "they want me very much at North Bizzy, in
Connecticut. They pay there $1,500 a year. It is a manufacturing
town. I do not think either the society or the work would be as
congenial as in Wheathedge. I like the quiet of your rural parish. I
appreciate the advantages it would afford me for study. But $300 is
a good deal of money. I do not want to be mercenary, Mr. Laicus, but
I do not want to be pinched."
I assured him that no such difficulty should stand in his way. When
I returned, I found he had expressed the same sentiments to Deacon
Goodsole and Mr. Wheaton. We were all agreed that we would do as
well as North Bizzy. So we gave him a call at $1,500. Possibly we
presumed too much; but we generally considered it as good as
settled.
The Sabbath after the call he came to Wheathedge. This time he
brought his young wife with him. The ladies were more charmed than
ever. All Wheathedge turned out to see and hear our new minister. He
remained over to our weekly prayer-meeting. It was astonishing what
a spirit of devotion was awakened in our church. I have never seen
the prayer-meeting so fully attended. He seemed fully to reciprocate
our enthusiasm. He and his wife were tireless in the praises of the
beauties of Wheathedge. "It is just the place," said Mrs. Uncannon,
"in which I should choose to spend my days." Of course this saying
was repeated all over the parish, and this evidence of her
appreciative taste increased very measurably her own and her
husband's popularity.
He went away Thursday morning without giving a final and definite
answer. Deacon Goodsole indeed asked him point blank for one. He
replied that though his mind was about made up, still he felt that
so solemn a connection ought not to be made without a prayerful
consideration. This was all very proper. We waited, with patience,
till this decorous delay should be over. But we already considered
him our pastor.
It was the next week that Deacon Goodsole came into my house one
evening, in a state of great excitement. He had an open letter in
his hand. "Look there," said he. "The Church at North Bizzy is
trying to get our minister away from us."
The letter was from Mr. Uncannon. It was to the effect that the
Church at North Bizzy were taking measures to secure a parsonage. He
preferred to come to Wheathedge, but he did not know what he should
do for a house. There had been, he believed, some talk of building a
parsonage at Wheathedge. He felt very desirous to take his bride to
her "home"--not to depend on boarding-houses or landlords. If this
could be provided he thought it would settle the question; for both
he and his wife infinitely preferred the clear air and sunny skies,
and grand old mountains, and glorious river basking in the golden
sunlight, &c., &c., to the dust and soot and noise of man's busy but
dirty industry.
"Very well," said I. "I do not care to bid against the Church at
North Bizzy. But I have always wanted a parsonage at Wheathedge. I
will be one of five to pay the rent for this year, and one of ten to
build one next year."
Deacon Goodsole started a subscription paper on the spot. In a few
days we had secured a house for the year, and money enough to make
our building operation certain. The Deacon wrote Mr. Uncannon
accordingly. We expected his answer forthwith, and his arrival soon
after. Wheathedge was at last satisfied.
Imagine, then, if you can, the chagrin and disappointment which was
caused when, last Sunday morning, a letter was read from Mr.
Uncannon to Mr. James Wheaton, Chairman of the Board of Trustees,
declining the call. Mr. Uncannon had given it his most prayerful
consideration. He was deeply moved by the warm welcome which had
been accorded to him. He had hoped that the Lord would make it plain
that it was to be his privilege to cast in his lot with us. But the
Lord had ordered it otherwise. The Providential indications seemed
to him clear that it was his duty to labor in another field.
But he united his prayers with ours that the Great Bishop would soon
send us a pastor who should feed us with the bread of life.
Deacon Goodsole says that the Providential indications are a salary
of $1,800 and a parsonage; and Mr. Wheaton says if any other young
man succeeds in playing us off against a rival parish he is
mistaken; that's all. Even gentle Jennie is indignant. "Of all
flirtation, ministerial flirtation seems to me to be the worse," she
says; and truth to tell, she never had much patience with any other.
I do not want to judge Mr. Uncannon too harshly. In fact I am not in
a very judicial frame of mind. But, whatever his intent, his
ministerial coquetry has injured the cause of Christ in Wheathedge
more than a year of preaching can benefit it in North Bizzy.
Meanwhile, the parsonage, which we hired, lies vacant on our hands,
and waits for an occupant.