Janet's Love and Service Part 14

"I know it is the fas.h.i.+on to speak in that way. We learn, in our school books, all about the folly of ambition, and the unsatisfying nature of political greatness. But even if the attainment must disappoint, there is interest and excitement in the pursuit. And, if you will allow me to say so, it is not so in your case, and to me the disappointment seems even more certain."

Mr Elliott smiled.

"I suppose the converse of the poet's sad declaration may be true. The promise may be broken to the eye and ear, and yet fulfilled divinely to the heart. I am not afraid."

"And, certainly," thought the young man, "he looks calm and hopeful enough."

"And," added Mr Elliott, "as to the interest of the pursuit, if that is to be judged by the importance of the end to be attained, I think mine may well bear comparison to yours."

"Yes, in one sense, I suppose--though I don't understand it. I can imagine an interest most intense, an engagement--a happiness altogether absorbing in such a labour of love, but--I was not looking at the matter from your point of view."

"But from no other point of view can the subject be fairly seen," said Mr Elliott, quietly.

"Well, I have known few, even among clergymen, who have not had their eyes turned pretty frequently to another side of the matter. One ought to be altogether above the necessity of thinking of earthly things, to be able to enjoy throwing himself wholly into such a work, and I fancy that can be said of few."

"I don't understand you," said Mr Elliott. "Do you mean that you doubt the sincerity of those to whom you refer."

"By no means. My thoughts were altogether in another direction. In fact, I was thinking of the great 'bread and b.u.t.ter' struggle in which ninety-nine out of every hundred are for dear life engaged; and none more earnestly, and few with less success, than men of your profession."

Mr Elliott looked as though he did not yet quite understand. Mr Greenleaf hesitated, slightly at a loss, but soon went on.

"Const.i.tuted as we are, I don't see how a man can wholly devote himself to a work he thinks so great, and yet have patience to struggle with the thousand petty cares of life. The s.h.i.+fts and turnings to which insufficient means must reduce one, cannot but vex and hurt such a nature, if it does not change it at last. But I see I fail to make myself understood by you; let me try again. I don't know how it may be in your country, but here, at least as far as my personal observation has extended, the remuneration received by ministers is insufficient, not to say paltry. I don't mean that in many cases they and their families actually suffer, but there are few of them so situated as regards income, that economy need not be the very first consideration in all their arrangements. Comparing them with other professional men they may be called poor. Such a thing as the gratification of taste is not to be thought of in their case. There is nothing left after the bare necessaries are secured. It is a struggle to bring up their children, a struggle to educate them, a struggle to live. And what is worse than all, the pittance, which is rightly theirs, comes to them often in a way which, to say the least, is suggestive of charity given and received.

No, really, I cannot look on the life of a minister as a very attractive one."

"I should think not, certainly, if such are your views of it," said Mr Elliott.

"I wish I could have the comfort of doubting their justness, but I cannot, unless the majority of cases that have fallen under my observation are extreme ones. Why, there are college friends of mine who, in any other profession, might have distinguished themselves--might have become wealthy at least, who are now in some out of the way parish, with wives and little children, burdened with the cares of life. How they are to struggle on in the future it is sad to think of. They will either give up the profession or die, or degenerate into very commonplace men before many years."

"Unless they have some charm against it--which may very well be," said Mr Elliott, quietly.

"I see you do not agree with me. Take yourself for instance, or rather, let us take your predecessor. He was a good man, all say who knew him well, and with time and study he might have proved himself a great man.

But if ever a man's life was a struggle for the bare necessaries of life, his was, and the culpable neglect of the people in the regular payment of his very small salary was the cause of his leaving them at last. He has since gone West, I hear, to a happier lot, let us hope.

The circ.u.mstances of his predecessor were no better. He died here, and his wife broke down in a vain effort to maintain and educate his children. She was brought back to Merleville and laid beside her husband less than a year ago. There is something wrong in the matter somewhere."

There was a pause, and then Mr Greenleaf continued.

"It may seem an unkindly effort in me to try to change your views of your future in Merleville. Still, it is better that you should be in some measure prepared, for what I fear awaits you. Otherwise, you might be disgusted with us all."

"I shall take refuge in the thought that you are showing me the dark side of the picture," said Mr Elliott.

"Pray do. And, indeed, I am. I may have said more than enough in my earnestness. I am sure when you really come to know our people, you will like them notwithstanding things that we might wish otherwise."

"I like you already," said Mr Elliott, smiling. "I a.s.sure you I had a great respect for you as the children of the Puritans, before ever I saw you."

"Yes, but I am afraid you will like us less; before you like us better.

We are the children of the Puritans, but very little, I daresay, like the grave gentlemen up on your shelves yonder. Your countrymen are, at first, generally disappointed in us as a people. Mind, I don't allow that we are in reality less worthy of respect than you kindly suppose us to be for our fathers' sakes. But we are different. It is not so much that we do not reach so high a standard, as that we have a different standard of excellence--one that your education, habits, and prepossessions as a people, do not prepare you to appreciate us."

"Well," said Mr Elliott, as his friend paused.

"Oh! I have little more to say, except, that what is generally the experience of your countrymen will probably be yours in Merleville. You have some disappointing discoveries to make among us, you who are an earnest man and a thinker."

"I think a want of earnestness can hardly be called a sin of your countrymen," said the minister.

"Earnestness!" said Mr Greenleaf. "No, we are earnest enough here in Merleville. But the most of even the good men among us seem earnest, only in the pursuit of that, in comparison to which my political aspirations seem lofty and praiseworthy. It is wealth they seek. Not that wealth which will result in magnificent expenditure, and which, in a certain sense, may have a charm for even high-minded men, but money-making in its meanest form--the sc.r.a.ping together of copper coins for their own sakes. At least one might think so, for any good they ever seem to get of it."

"You are severe," said the minister, quietly.

"Not too severe. This seems to be the aim of all of us, whether we are willing to acknowledge it or not. And such a grovelling end will naturally make a man unscrupulous as to the means to attain it. There are not many men among us here--I don't know more than two or three--who would not be surprised if you told them, being out of the pulpit, that they had not a perfect right to make the very most out of their friends--even by shaving closely in matters of business."

"And yet you say their standard is a high one?"

"High or not, the religious people among us don't seem to doubt their own Christianity on account of these things. And what is more, they don't seem to lose faith in each other. But how it will all seem to you is another matter."

"How does it seem to you?"

"Oh, I am but a spectator. Being not one of the initiated, I am not supposed to understand the change they profess to have undergone; and so, instead of being in doubt about particular cases, I am disposed to think little of the whole matter. With you it is different."

"Yes, with me it is indeed different," said the minister, gravely--so gravely, that Mr Greenleaf almost regretted having spoken so freely, and when he spoke again it was to change the subject.

"It must have required a great wrench to break away from your people and country and old a.s.sociations," said he, in a little. Mr Elliott started,--

"No, the wrench came before. It would have cost me more to stay and grow old in my own land than it did to leave it, than it ever can do to live and die among strangers."

Fearful that he had awakened painful thoughts, Mr Greenleaf said no more. In a little Mr Elliott went on,--

"It was an old thought, this wis.h.i.+ng to find a home for our children in this grand new world. We had always looked forward to it sometime. And when I was left alone, the thought of my children's future, and the longing to get away--anywhere--brought me here."

He paused, and when he spoke again it was more calmly.

"Perhaps it was cowardly in me to flee. There was help for me there, if my faith had not failed. I thought it would be better for my children when I left them to leave them here. But G.o.d knows it was no desire to enrich myself that brought me to America."

"We can live on little. I trust you will be mistaken in your fears.

But if these troubles do come, we must try, with G.o.d's grace, and Mrs Nasmyth's help, to get through them as best we can. We might not better ourselves by a change, as you seem to think the evil a national one."

"The love and pursuit of the 'almighty dollar,' is most certainly a national characteristic. As to the bearing it may have in church matters in other places, of course I have not the means of judging.

Here I know it has been bad enough in the past."

"Well, I can only say I have found the people most kind and liberal hitherto," said Mr Elliott.

"Have you had a settlement with them since you came?" asked the squire; the remembrance of various remarks he had heard of late coming unpleasantly to his mind.

"No, I have not yet. But as the half-year is nearly over, I suppose it will come soon. Still I have no fears--I think I need have none. It is not _theirs_ but _them_ I seek."

"Do you remember the Sabbath I first came among you? I saw you there among the rest. If my heart rose up in thankfulness to G.o.d that day, it was with no thought of gold or gear. G.o.d is my witness that I saw not these people as possessors of houses and lands, but of precious souls-- living souls to be encouraged--slumbering souls to be aroused--dead souls to be made alive in Christ, through His own Word, spoken by me and blessed by Him.

"No, I do not think I can possibly be disappointed in this matter. I may have to bear trial, and it may come to me as it oftenest comes to G.o.d's people, in the very way that seems hardest to bear, but G.o.d _will bless his Word_. And even if I do not live to see it, I can rest in the a.s.surance that afterward, 'both he that soweth and he that reapeth shall rejoice together.'"

He paused. A momentary gleam of triumph pa.s.sed over his face and left it peaceful.