Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-05-12

| pected to have married-you would not be hero now; and if you had a sick boy, like our dear, poor Jim, there would have been no difficulty in getting to the country, or in getting anything that was needed for him! But you married me, and-my poor, dear love!-you bear the penalty"
 Mary" said he, with a certain touch of solemnity in his voice, II have not for one instant regretted that we loved each other, and married each other, and, whatever may come, shall not regret 1t. The complete love of woman like 1 you is more precious than rubies. Your love, my darling,"-and he caressed the head crowned with glory of bright hair-"is the joy of my life-God for give me!'
 She drew again his hand to her cheek, and pressed it there, and said no word more. And so they sat for few seconds longer, while the vulgar, intrusive clock, with a kind of limp in it's noisy tick, seemed to say: Its time! It's time!'
 Let us take the opportunity of this | pause to explain how Rev. James NIur- ray got into the anxious position in which we find him. He was a minister of a well-known denomination of non- conformists. When he left college he had been reckoned a young man of great promise and of considerable powers of persuasive eloquence, and he | was expected to become a famous preacher. He was invited to be the minister of a large and wealthy con- | gregation in a northern manufacturing town. He accepted the invitation, and for two or three years he was a great favorite with his people; never, they declared, had they heard so fine a preacher (though he was sometimes so fine" that they did not understand him), and never had they known a bet ter man. His praise was in verybody's mouth; the men admired him and the women adored him. But he was a bachelor, and there was not an unmar- ried lady in the congregation who did not aspire to be his wife, which put him in the awkward and invidious posi- tion of having to prefer one out of many. He astonished and offended all the well to do ladies by falling in love with and marrying the pretty, shy gov erness of one of the wealthiest families "a girl who had not been regarded as having the smallest chance of occupy ing the proud place of minister's wife. His marriage alienatcd the women, and through them cooled the ardor of the men. The situation was strained; but it might have gradually returned to its former easy condition, had not the min ister soon after his marriage become what is termed broad" in his religious views and uncompromising in his expression of them. His peo- l I,,1@ ,l, 1,s- remonstrated-with less friendliness of feeling, probably, than if he had not offended them by his marriage-but the minister declared he could not do other wise than preach what he believed to be the truth. Then some people left him, and others would not speak to him, and his position became so difficult and finally so unbearable that he could do nothing but send in his resignation. He shook the dust and the grine of that northern town of his feet, and with sore heart and slender purse journeyed to London. He was resolved to labor among tho masses" If the arrogant and wealthy classes of the north would not hear him, he was sure the poor of London, bending beneath the weary burden of life, would hear him gladly. He had not been in London long when he became minister to a venerable, half-deserted chapel in one of those cu- l rious1y quiet corners made by the rush. ing currents and the swirling eddies of the life of our huge metropolis It was | close to the heart of London, and yet no | one knew 1t was there but the handful of small shopkeepers and their families and the few devout and destitute old women who made up It's congregation. These poor people were futtered with pride when they got so clever and beau tiful a preacher for their own; they looked to see ere long the old chapel crowded with an attentive congrega- tion, as 1t had been in other days; and the chapel-keeper (who was also 6 painter) had put all the magnificent hopes of himself and his friends in the fresh inscription he made on the faded notice-board in the forecourt, MINIS TER, THE REV. JAMES MURRAY, M. A." in letters of gold.
 A year had passed since then, and the minister's heart was sad. He had spent himself for the benefit of the poor that sweltered round that old chapel, and the poor did not seem to want him or his ministrations any more than the wealthy; they would gather round him if he spread a tea for them, but they would not come to hear him preach; so the chapel renamed as empty as when he first ascended his pulpit. Most harassing and wearing anxiety of all, he was desperately poor. How he and his wife and child had lived during the year it would be diff cult to tell; from the treasurer of the chapel funds he had received less than sixty pounds, and he was in debt for his lodgings, in debt to the doctor, his and his wife's clothes were become painfully shabby, and his child was sick unto death.
 What now was to be done?
 "If had only two or three pounds in hand" said he, ''or if I could raise them, could send you and Jim away to some quiet seaside place; but every