The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1864-08-05
PARsoN DOVES DIARY.


Woodbridge. as stood Mt the gate of the par
sonage.
confessed that he was right ; and certainly
Of all stupid places Woodbridge was the most
stupid, though did not tell him that, of
course.
"You'd like something to read, would you
notl" was tho next query. "Ah! / thought
so Well, my dear, I'll lend you one Of my
old sermons, on which pride myself Quite
doctrinal sermon on predestination. I'll 60
aud find It at once"
Away he trotted in his ministerial looking
dressing gown up the parsonage stairs. which
might have been broader, and into the little
front study, which, had 1t been more conye-
nient and better furnished, would have reflect
cd more credit on the congregation. He came
down at once with paper parcel tied with
tape, gave II to me, and shook hands with me
over the gate with smile. But when, coming
to the head of the lane. turned about for n
moment, saw him looking after me. shaking
his head and wiping his glasses in tho most In
comprehensive manner. concluded. after re-
Aection. that he did not approve of pink dress,
and thought that curls and round hat, with
flowers in 1t, were vanities, and being Of mild
and pitiful, instead of vindictivc nature,
shook his head and wept instead Of scolding.
He was very old, you must rcmember-oyer
seventy.
took the sermon home, and sitting down by
my chamber window, composed myself to the
task of reading it, though at that day was BY
no means fond Of sermons in any form. Iun-
tied the red tape and unfolded the envelope of
tissue paper. and glanced at the fret sentence
1t did not begin much like sermon. I hope
that did not encourage me to proceed.
She was q very beautifulgirl. Think never
saw lovelier creature in my life, though
know we are very apt to be mislcd by our inn
agination, and that the eye makes its own beau
ty. But no one could have thought her any,
thing but pretty, standing by the garden gate
with her apron full of wild flowers, and her
curls, lifted by the wind, dancing round her
forehead like swarm of golden bees.
"My daughter Rose," said her father, and
she put her little white hand into mine as
child might have done, just as simply and pret-
tiy, so that it was very hard for me to shake
1t and let it go instcad'of keeping 1t.
y But there was somebody else to shake hands
with also, and he, standing on the other side Of
Deacon Olmstead, put out his long, lank fingers,
In black silk gloves, and performed the oercmo-
ny which he always went through with when
any one offered to shake hands with him, and
which could not have been agreeable to any
thing except the town pump.
"Mr. Ditterworth," said Deacon Olmstead,
waving his hand towards my companion with
impressment. "Mr. Doye," and he glanced
at me.
Who should say he is Of no Importance!
'Is tea ready, my dcarl"
She replied that tea was ready, aud we went
into the handsome, old.iashioncd house; for
we were both going to take tea with Deacon
0lmstead, and, moreover, to spend the night
beneath his roof, having come to Woodbridge
on church business-Deacon Olmstad making
point of always entertaining two young minis
ters on such occasions.
The Rev. Benjamin Bitterworth was much
more important every way. had been lately
called to struggling little church, exceeding
ly unfortunate In the way Of difficulties and
debts, where the congregation seldom paid any
salary. and always considered themselves Ill.
used by the minister, who, in turn. was some.
how always injured by parsonage called FL.
der Bagshaw, and somebody was always accus-
ed Of msappropriating the church funds. /
never could discover what they were. And the
Rev. Silas Snow, having taken French leave in
great disgust, the congregation had called for
IN enterprising young minister, and had been
selected. But for Benjamin Btterworth warm
nest had been ready, and every one predicted
for him immense success. His was o country
church, also, but II was q rich one, and he had
friends and influence and everything, which |
had not. Deacon Olmstead showed that no
knew this by every glance Of his eye and every
tone Of his voice.
But Rose Olmstead, who-hcr father being
widower-was mistress Of the house, exhibited
no such Partially. On the contrary, think
she liked me best, and thought Benjamin Bit
terworth long and lank Il hope It was not envy
that made me think him so plain) rs he leaned
across the table to talk to her In his oily tones
over and over again. Somehow she always
turned TO our old conversation as often as she
could. aud made mo very happy with her girl
ish prattle.
She knew tho village which had been my boy
hoods homo, and had seen and spoken to sis
ter of mine, dead years before, so that we found
much to talk Of But even had we none-hsd
we spoken in language unintellisiblc to each
other--I am sure that to have sat beside Rose
Olmstcad, with her eyes looking into mine, not
bold, only frankly, would have been worth the
most eloo uent words that ever fell from any 9th.
or woman's lips.
TWAS a very happy evening for, afterwards,
In the cleaning. we went out upon the porch,
and she took me down to see the roses In tho
garden and the honeysuckls arbor over the lit
tic seat where she sat every afternoon at work;
and VIC stayed so long that Deacon Olmstead
came down alter us and scoldcd Rose for wet
ting her feet with the dew, and had something
of great moment to say to me, SO that Benjsm.
in Btterworth offered his arm tn Rose to escort
her through the garden, while ! walked on be-
hind with her father.
We went back to tho porch after that, and