PAGE 3
The Circuit-Preacher
by
On entering the meeting-house, Mr. Odell found some thirty persons assembled, most of them women. If there were any “official members” present, they made themselves in no way officious in regard to the preacher, who, after pausing at the door leading into the little altar or chancel for a short time, and looking around with an expression of inquiry on his face, ascended the pulpit-stairs and took his seat. All was as silent, almost, as if the house had been tenantless.
In a little while, the preacher arose and gave out a hymn; but there was no one to raise the tune. One looked at another uneasily; sundry persons coughed and cleared their throats, but all remained silent. Odell was not much of a singer, but had practised on “Old Hundred” so much, that he could lead that air very well; and the hymn happening, by good luck, to be set to a long-metre tune, he was able to start it. This done, the congregation joined in, and the singing went off pretty well. After praying and reading a chapter in the Bible, Odell sat down to collect his thoughts for the sermon, which was, of course, to be extempore, as Methodist sermons usually are. It is customary for the choir, if there is one, to sing an anthem during this pause; or, where no singers are set apart, for some members to strike up an appropriate hymn, in which the congregation joins. On this occasion, all was silent. After the lapse of a few minutes, Mr. Odell arose, and turning, in the Bible, to the chapter where the text, from which he was to preach, was recorded, read the verse that was to form the groundwork of his remarks. Before opening the subject, he stated, briefly, that he was the preacher who was to labour among them during the ensuing year, and hoped, in the Divine Providence, that good, both to them and to him, would result from the new spiritual relations that were about to be commenced. Then proceeding with his discourse, he preached to and exhorted them with great earnestness, but without seeming to make any impression. Not an “amen” was heard from any part of the house; not an eye grew moist; not an audible groan or sigh disturbed the air. Nothing responded to his appeals but the echo of his own voice.
Never had the preacher delivered a discourse in which he felt so little freedom. His words came back upon his ears with a kind of a dull reverberation, as if the hearts of his hearers were of ice, instead of flesh.
Before singing the last hymn, which Mr. Odell gave out at the conclusion of the sermon, he announced that he would hold a class-meeting. After he had finally pronounced the benediction, there was a general movement towards the door; only seven remained, and these were all female members, most of them pretty well advanced in their life-journey. Mr. Martin was at the meeting, but ere the preacher had descended the pulpit-stairs, he was out of the house and preparing to leave for home.
“Where is the new preacher going?” asked a member, of Mr. Martin, as he led out his horse.
“To sister Russell’s, I presume.”
“Sister Russell is not here.”
“Isn’t she?”
“No; she’s sick.”
“He stayed there last night, I suppose, and will go back after class.” Martin sprang upon his horse as he said this.
“We ought to be sure of it,” remarked the other.
“I can’t invite him home,” said Martin. “If I do, I shall have him through the whole year, and that is not convenient. The preachers have always stayed at sister Russell’s, and there is no reason why they shouldn’t continue to do so.”
“I haven’t a corner to put him in,” remarked the other. “Besides, these preachers are too nice for me.”
“It’s all right, no doubt,” said Martin, as he balanced himself in his saddle; “all right. He stayed at sister Russell’s last evening, and will go back and stay there until to-morrow morning. Get ‘up, Tom!” And, with this self-satisfying remark, the farmer rode away.