 | Life and sayings of Mrs. Partington and others
of the family |  |
MR. BISBEE'S CONFESSION.
It was a rash promise that I, Jeremiah Bisbee, had
made to the youngest Miss Teel to gallant her to church.
I knew that she would be offended if I did not comply,
and yet how I felt! The previous evening's amusement
had extended well towards daylight, and a more miserably-feeling
fellow than myself never did rouse himself at
the sound of breakfast-bell on a Sunday morning. But
the promise was made, and the glory of a new pair of
plaid pants and a red velvet vest was to blaze beside the
modest beauty of Miss Seraphima in the Rev. Mr. Blunt's
church.
I had no seat there, but my cousins, the Misses Titmarsh,
who owned a pew in the broad aisle, had many
times invited me to sit with them, informing me that
there was plenty of room, and I determined to avail
myself of their invitation. The pew was a very respectable
one, I knew, as I had heard them many times
describe it as having heavy drapery, and all the other
essentials of genteel worship, just as they had inherited
it from the deacon, their uncle. I had heard them
describe, too, the occupants of adjacent pews, and had
been given to understand that the Ogglers and Spighs,
the aforesaid occupants, were the most respectable people
in town, and that they felt rather envious at the superior
position of “our” pew, for so the young ladies (forty-seven
if they were a day) called it.
The day was bright, the pants fitted to a charm, the
red vest gleamed in the sun, my coat was neatly brushed,
and, with an unexceptionable hat, and a pair of brilliant
boots, I felt myself to be “some.” The sleepy feeling
with which the morning commenced, was overcome by
the momentary excitement of walking and talking with a
charming girl; a triumph over Somnus that I thought
truly wonderful.
We reached the church, — a large, venerable, sleepy
pile, having a good many pews in it, the latter a characteristic,
I believe, of churches generally. There was a
languor upon the still air of the old church that struck
me sleepily as I took my seat in the spacious, high-backed
pew; the monotonous toll of the bell sounded
like a lullaby, and the swelling notes of the big organ,
which rose like incense to the roof, and pervaded the
house, gave me a qualm that my boasted triumph outside
would not be of permanent duration, opposed to the
somnolent influences within.
As ill luck would have it, we had a very dull preacher,
— a duller I never knew, — trite and common-place,
without originality or fervor, and insufferably long. I
felt sleepy at the propounding of the text, which was, as
near as I remember, “Sleep on, and take your rest;”
and every wakeful feeling within me began to grow
heavy about the eyes at the injunction. I struggled
against slumber, as a man overboard would struggle with
the tide. My eyelids drooped in spite of me, and when
I would open them they felt as if they were interlaced
with sticks, and my sleepy soul seemed looking through
a grating of wicker work. The eyes of my cousins, the
eyes of Seraphima were upon me, the eyes of the Ogglers
and Spighs were upon me, for the Misses Titmarsh had
informed me in a whisper that they were here in full
force, and that the new plaid pants, and the red vest,
and Seraphima's new bonnet, a charming thing, by the
way, would produce a tremendous envy among their
opponents in the adjacent pew.
In my sleepy reflections I saw the utter disgrace that
would attend upon my cousins, the Titmarshes, if I misbehaved.
I thought upon them, positively, more than
upon my own shame. I thought of the horror they
would feel were I to speak aloud, or laugh, or tumble
down, or commit any extravagance in a dream. All of
the tricks I had ever practised in my sleep came up
before me, frightfully magnified. What if I should
practise some of them over again, or get up on the backs
of the pews and go round, as Amina foots it over the
tiles, in the opera?
I struggled manfully with sleep, but I found I
could n't hold out long. Hum-m-m, hummed on that
long sermon! — Upon my honor, I don't believe I heard
a word of it besides the text, unless it were the word
“sleep,” which seemed profusely scattered, like poppies,
along the tedious way. I found myself rapidly sinking.
The faces by which I was surrounded were melting away,
the Ogglers and the Spighs were becoming oblivious,
and the preacher, just taking the form of a huge black
beetle impaled on a pin, was humming a dull drone on
one continuous key, when, mustering resolution, I roused
myself, thrust my hand hastily into my pocket to pull
were all looking, and so were the Misses Titmarsh and
Seraphima, — when, — I blush to say it, though it was
the means of my becoming a reformed man, and a tolerable
member of society, and the father of a large family,
— when I pulled my handkerchief out, a pack of cards,
a deposit of the previous night, came leaping out with it,
and, as if actuated by the devil who invented them, they
darted about in almost as many directions as there were
cards, brazenly showing themselves in the holy house, to
my utter confusion of face.
Had my worst enemy seen me then, he must have
pitied me. I was wide awake now. The concentrated
redness of every red card was painted upon my face, and
the blackness of every black one was transferred to my
heart. The spots on the cards, to my heated fancy, seemed
bigger than a cart-wheel. I heard a suppressed titter
among the Ogglers and the Spighs. Just then the eldest
Miss Titmarsh fainted. “Heaven be thanked for this!”
says I; “here 's an opening;” and, seizing the unconscious
spinster, I made for the door as speedily as possible.
Placing her in charge of the sexton, I ran with
all haste for the doctor. Strange that those medical
gentlemen should be away at such a time! I left an
urgent order on the slates of six of them, and was told
that five of the six, an hour afterwards, met in consultation
on the steps of Rev. Mr. Blunt's church.
As I said before, I have now reformed, and sit just in
the shadow of life's afternoon, looking back over the
events of its morning, rejoicing with hopeful trust that
the errors of youth may not be carried forward to the
the past. The Misses Titmarsh forgave me, and Seraphima,
in a long life of devoted attention on my part, has
quite forgot that Sunday's mortification.
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