Vermont daily transcript. [volume] (St. Albans, Vt.) 1868-1870, 1868-09-26
Miscellaneous.
THE MINISTER OF MONT
CLAIR.

1t was no use the letters danced be-
fore his eyes, the whole world seemed
wavering and uncertain in those days.
He laid his book down and began to
think of the great trouble which was
shutting him in. When the black
specls first began to dance between him
and his paper, months agO, he had not
thought OF the matter. 1t was very an
moving, to be sure, but he must have
taxed his eyes too severely. He would
work little less by lamp-light--spale
them awhile and he should be all
right. So he had spared them moro and
more, and yet the black specks kept up
their elfin dance and now for weeks
the conviction had been growing on
him slowly that he was going to be
blind. He had not told his wife yet
how could he bear to lay on her shout
ders the burden of his awful calamity L?
Oh, it was too hard.
And yet, was it too hard? Dared be
say so-he, Gods minister-who had
told other sufferers so many times that
their chastcningS were dealt out to them
10y a Fathers hand, and that they
should count all that brought them
nearer to Him as joyous and not griev-
Gus?
Yet speaking after the manner of this
world, his burden seemed greater than
he could bear. What could he do,
blind, helpless man? He must give up
his work in life, let another take his
ministry, sit helpless in the darkness,
Heaven only knew for how long. Could
he be resigned?
Then, suddenly, flash of hope kin
for him. This gathering darkness
might be something which science
could remove. He would be sure of.that
at least before he told Mary. And then
he became feverishly impatient. He
must know at once it seemed to him
he could not wait. He called his wife
and told her, with manner which he
tried hard to make calm, that he was
going out of town the next morning on
little business. She wondered that he
was so uncommunicative-it was not
| like him, but she would not trouble him
| with any questions. She should under
stand it all some time, she knew, still
| she thought there was something strange
in his way of speaking.
The minister strove hard for the mas
| terry of his own spirit as the cars whirled
him along next morning towards the
tribunal at VIII ich he was to receive mis-
sentence. He tried to think Of some
thing else, but found The effort vain so
he said, over and over, as simply as
child, one form of words
"Father, whichever way it turns, o,
give me strength to bear it,
Holding fast to this prayer, as to an
anchor, he got out of the cars and went
INTO the streets. What curious mist
seemed to surround all things The
houses looked high and spectral through
it, the people he met seemed like ghosts.
He had not realized his defective vision
so much ut home, where it came on him
gradually-and all objects were so famil-
iar. Still, with an effort, he could read
| the signs on the street corners, and find
his way
He reached at last, the residence of
the distinguished oculist for whose ver-
diet he had come. He found the parlOr
half-illed with people, waiting like
himself. He was asked for his name,
and sent in n card on which was writ
zen, "Rev. VIM. Spencer, Montclair."
Then he waited for his turn. He dared
not think how long the time was, or
what suspense he was in. He just kept
his simple child's | rayer in his heart,
and steadied himself with it. The time
came for him at last, and he followed
the boy who summoned him into little
room shaded with green, with green fur
niture, and on the table vase of flowers.
The stiffness and the cool, scented air
refreshed him. He saw dimly, as he
saw everything that mOrning-a tall,
slight man, with kind face and quiet
manners, who addressed him by name,
invited him to sit down, and then in
quired into his symptoms with such
tact and sympathy that he felt as If he
were talking to a friend. At last the
doctor asked him to take seat by the
window, and have his eyes examined.
His heart beat chOkingly, and he whis-
Dpred under his breath
"Thy WILL o God, be done only give
me strength"
DR.. Gordon was silent for q moment
or two-it seemed ages to Mr.. Spencer.
Then he said with the tenderest, saddest
voice. as if he felt to the uttermost all
the pain he was intlicting,-
cannot give you any hope The