Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1872-05-03
The Minister of MOntclair

| Ing ano uncertain In those days. he la.O
his book down, and began to think of the
! great trouble which was shutting him in.
When the black specks first began to dance
between him and his paper, months ago,
he had not thought about the matter. 1t
was annoying, Id be sure, but he must
! have taxed his eyes too severely. He
would work a little less by lamplight-
1 spare them awhile-and he should be all
right. So he had spared them more and
more, and yet his specks kept on their
eldn dance; and now for weeks the con-
viction had been growing on him slowly,
so slowly that he was going to be blind
He had not told his wife yet-how could
he bear to lay on her shoulders the burden
of his awful calamity? o, it was too
hard!
/ And yet was it too bard? Dared he say
so? lie, Gods minster-who had told
other sufferers SO many times that their
| chaStenings were dealt out to them by a
kind Fathers hand, and that they should
| count all that brought them nearer to Him
as joyous, not grievous?
Yet, speaking after the manner of this
world, his burden seemed greater than he
could bear. What could he do-a blind,
helpless man? He must give up his work
in life-let another take his ministry.
| Could he be thus resigned?
Then suddenly flash of hope kindled
his sky, there might be help f. him. This
! gathering darkness might be something
! which science could remove. He would
. &c SINE of that before he told Mary. And
/ then he became feverishly impatient. He
called his wife, and told her with a man
ner which he tried hard to make calm,
that he was going out of town the next
morning on little business. She WON
| dered that he was SO uncommunicative-it
was not like him-but she would not
| trouble him with any questions. She
should understand it all some time, she
knew, still she thought there was some
| thing strange in his way of speaking.
The minister strOve hard fOrthe mastery
Of his own spirit, as the cars whirled him
along the next morning towards the tribu-
| nal at which he was to receive his SELL
tence. He tried to think Of something
else, but found the effort in vain; so he
| said, over and over, as simply as Il child,
| one form of words:
.. Father which ever way it turns, O give
| me strength to bear it,"
Holding fast to his prayer, as az anchor,
he got out of the cars aud went into the
! streets. What curious mist seemed to
surround all things The houses looked
spectral through it the very people he met
seemed like ghosts. He had not realized
his defective vision SO much at home, where
it mad come Oil him gradually and all OBJ
jectS were SO familiar. Still, with an effort,
he could see the signs on the street corners,
and find his way.
He reached, at last, the residence Of the
distinguished Oculist for whose verdict lie
| had come. He found the parlOr hall filled
with people, waiting like himself. He was
asked for his name, and sent i'll a card on
which was written, the "Rev. VIM. Spen-
Ger, Montclair." Then he waited his turn.
u
| or what suspense he was in. He just kept
lis simple child's prayer 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 fur
niture, and on table vase of flowers
| The Stiffness and the cool scented air re-
freshed him. He saw dimly, as he saw
everything that morning, a tall, slight man
with kind face and quiet manners, who ad-
dressed him by name, invited him to sit
down, and then inquired into his symp-
toms with such tact and sympathy that he
felt as if he were talking with friend
At last the doctor asked him TO take seat
by the window and have his eyes examined.
| His heart beat chOkingly, and lie whispered
under his breath
g Thy will, o God, be done only give
me strength"
DR.. Gordon was silent for a moment or
two-it seemed ages to Mr. Spencer. Then
he said with the teuderest and saddest
voice, as if he felt to the utmost all the pain
he was intlcting
81 cannot give you any hope. The NAL
ady is incurable. You will not lose your
sight entirely, just yet but it must come
sOOlI.
The minister tried to ask how long it
| would be before he should be blind but
his tongue seemed TO cleave to the root Of
las mouth, and lie could Only gasp:
Dr. Gordon Understood, aud answered
very kindly, that it might be d month, pos
sibly two.
He stood up then to go. He knew all
hope was over. He paid bis fee and went
out of the room and out of the house. 1t
seemed to him Things had grown darker
since he went in. He hardly knew how he
| found his way to the CARS. 1t was two
hours past dinner time, and lac was faint
for lack of food, but lie did MT know it.
He got to the station somehow, and waited
for the train to start for Montclair. All tie
way home he kept whispering TO himself
il" One month, possibly two as if it were
| a lesson on the getting by heart Of which
his life depended. He heard the conductor
call out Montclair 1T last, and got out OF
the car mechanically. His wife stood there
waiting for him. She had been anxious
about him all day.
90, William! she cried, and then she
saw his face and stopped. There was a
look Oh it of one over whom some awful
doom is pending, d white fixed look, that
chilled her. She took his arm, and they
walked on silently through the summer af-
ternoon. When they reached home, and
she had taken of her bonnet, hc spoke al
last:
Mary, come here and let HE look al
you. L want to learn your face by heart
She came and knelt by him, while he
took her cheeks between his hands, ano
studied every lineamcnt.
care you going away" she asked, af
ter while, for his fixed, Silent, mysterious
gaze began to torture her.
Yes, dear, l am going, going into tho
dark
"To die ," she gaspcd.
Yes, to die TO everything that makes
up a mans life i'll this world" he answer
ed bitterly.
"Mary, / am going blind. Think what
that means. After "a few more weeks,
shall never see YOU again or our Children
or this dear beautiful home where we have
lived and loved each other. The whole
creation is Ouly All empty sound forever
more, q God how can [ bear it,
"ls there no h0,.c ~ ,Iie asked with Cit
rious calmness, at which she herself was
amazed.
"None. 1t was my ettand tU town to-
lay to find out. | have f;lt j. coming on
for months, but / hoped against hope, and
now L know. q Mary, 10 Sit in the dark
ness, until my death day? striving for a
sight of your, dear face! Ii is too bitter,
anal yet what avn I saying? Shall my
Father not choose His o@L Nay to bring
me to the light of Heaven? / must say.
will say. His will be done'