The central Presbyterian. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1856-1908, 1865-12-21
One Sort in the Pulpit and Another
Sort Out.

saw d man III hulIC ou1OCh-lIOCh
coming along the road beyond, but [
turned my back to the road, leaned my
arms on the parapet of the bridge, and
stood gazing where l saw no visions !;
namely, at the poplars. | heard the
mans footsteps coming up the crown of
the arch, but | would not turn to greet
him. / was in a-sehsh humor if ever [
was; for surely if ever one man ought
to greet another, it was on such a COM
fortress afternoon. The footsteps stop
ped behind me, and | heard voice:
Il beg your pardon, sir; but be you
the new vicar p
| turned instantly and answered, 81
am; do you want me p
:" wanted to see your face, sir, that
was all, if yell not take it amiss.'
Before me stood tall old man, with
his hat in his hand, clothed, as have
said. in a white smock-frock. He smooth
ed his short gray hair with his curved
palm down over his forehead as he stood.
His face was a red-brown, from much ex-
posure to the weather. There was a GER
tain look of roughness without hardness
in it which spoke of endurance rather
than resistance, although he could evil
IDENTIFY set his face as flint. His fea-
lures were large and little coarse, but
the smile that parted his lips when he
spoke, shone in his gray eyes as well,
and lighted. up a countenance in which a
man might trust.
"Iwanted to see yer face, sir, if you'll
not take it amiss.
Certainly not" l answered, pleased
with the man address, as he stood square
before me, looking as modest as fearless.
"The sight of mans face is what every
body has right to; but for all that, |
should like to know why you want to see
my face.
"Why, sir, you be the new vicar. You
kindly told me so when | axed you.
"Well, then. you'll see my face on
Sunday in Church-that is, if you hap
pen TO be there
Eyes, sir; but you see, sir, on the
bridge here, the parson is the parson like,
and am Old Rogers; and looks in his
face and he looks in mine, and [ says to
myself, This is my new parson. But
O. Sundays he's nobdy's parson; he's
got his work to do, and it must be done,
and there's an end ont.
That there was a real idea in this old
mans mind, was considerably clearer than
the logic by which he tried to bring it
out.
did you know tie parson that's gone,
sir?" he went on.
No, l answered.
40, sir" he WIS a good parson.-
Many's the time h. come and sat at my
sons bedside-him that's dead and gone,
sir-for long hou. on a Saturday night,
too. And then wien | see him up in the
desk next mornir', Id say to myself,
odd Rogers, that's the same man as sat
by your sons bedside last night. Think
Of that, Old Rogers But, somehow, l
never did feel right sure o that same.
He didn't seem to have the same cut,
somehow, and he didn't talk bit the
same. And when he spoke to me after
sermon, in the church-yard, l was always
of mind to 60 into the church again
and look up to the pulpit to see if he
was really out of it; for that wasn't the
man, you see. But you'll know all about
it better than [ can tell you, sir. Only
l always liked the parson better out of
the pul pit, and that's how 1 come to want
to make you look at me, sir, instead o
the water down there, afore see you IN
the church tomorrow mornin."
!Yhe old man laughed kindly laugh;
but he had set me thinking, and did not
know what to say to him, all at once.
So, after short pause, he resumed:
"You'll be thinking me a queer kind
of man, sir, speaking to my betters be-
fore my betterS speak to me, But may
haps you don't know what parson is to