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68

[OUR TRAVELED PARSON.]

For twenty years and over, our good parson had been toiling,
To chip the bad meat from our hearts, and keep the good from spoiling;
But suddenly he wilted down, and went to looking sickly,
And the doctor said that something must be put up for him quickly.
So we kind o' clubbed together, each according to his notion,
And bought a circular ticket, in the lands across the ocean;
Wrapped some pocket-money in it—what we thought would easy do him—
And appointed me committee-man, to go and take it to him.
I found him in his study, looking rather worse than ever;
And told him 'twas decided that his flock and he should sever.
Then his eyes grew big with wonder, and it seemed almost to blind 'em,
And some tears looked out o' window, with some others close behind 'em!
But I handed him the ticket, with a little bow of deference,
And he studied quite a little ere he got the proper reference;
And then the tears that waited—great unmanageable creatures—
Let themselves quite out o' window, and came climbing down his features.

69

I wish you could ha' seen him, when he came back, fresh and glowing,
His clothes all worn and seedy, and his face all fat and knowing;
I wish you could ha' heard him, when he prayed for us who sent him,
Paying back with compound int'rst every dollar that we'd lent him!
'Twas a feast to true believers—'twas a blight on contradiction—
To hear one just from Calvary talk about the crucifixion;
'Twas a damper on those fellows who pretended they could doubt it,
To have a man who'd been there stand and tell 'em all about it!
Why every foot of Scripture, whose location used to stump us,
Was now regularly laid out with the different points o' compass;
When he undertook a subject, in what nat'ral lines he'd draw it!
He would paint it out so honest that it seemed as if you saw it.
And the way he went for Europe! oh, the way he scampered through it!
Not a mountain but he clim' it—not a city but he knew it;
There wasn't any subject to explain, in all creation,
But he could go to Europe and bring back an illustration!
So we crowded out to hear him, quite instructed and delighted;
'Twas a picture-show, a lecture, and a sermon—all united;
And my wife would rub her glasses, and serenely pet her Test'ment,
And whisper, “That 'ere ticket was a splendid good investment.”
Now, after six months' travel, we was most of us all ready
To settle down a little, so 's to live more staid and steady;
To develop home resources, with no foreign cares to fret us,
Using house-made faith more frequent; but our parson wouldn't let us!
To view the same old scenery, time and time again he'd call us—
Over rivers, plains, and mountains he would any minute haul us;
He slighted our soul-sorrows, and our spirits' aches and ailings,
To get the cargo ready for his regular Sunday sailings!
Why, he'd take us off a-touring, in all spiritual weather,
Till we at last got home-sick and sea-sick all together!
And “I wish to all that's peaceful,” said one free-expressioned brother,
“That The Lord had made one cont'nent, an' then never made another!”
Sometimes, indeed, he'd take us into old, familiar places,
And pull along quite nat'ral, in the good old Gospel traces:
But soon my wife would shudder, just as if a chill had got her,
Whispering, “Oh, my goodness gracious! he's a-takin' to the water!”

70

And it wasn't the same old comfort, when he called around to see us;
On some branch of foreign travel he was sure at last to tree us;
All unconscious of his error, he would sweetly patronize us,
And with oft-repeated stories still endeavor to surprise us.
And the sinners got to laughing; and that fin'lly galled and stung us,
To ask him, Wouldn't he kindly once more settle down among us?
Didn't he think that more home produce would improve our soul's digestions?
They appointed me committee-man to go and ask the questions.
I found him in his garden, trim an' buoyant as a feather;
He shook my hand, exclaiming, “This is quite Italian weather!
How it 'minds me of the evenings when, your distant hearts caressing,
Upon my dear, good brothers, I invoked God's choicest blessing!”

71

I went and told the brothers, “No; I can not bear to grieve him;
He's so happy in his exile, it's the proper place to leave him.
I took that journey to him, and right bitterly I rue it;
But I can not take it from him; if you want to, go and do it.”
Now a new restraint entirely seemed next Sunday to enfold him,
And he looked so hurt and humbled, that I knew that they had told him.
Subdued-like was his manner, and some tones were hardly vocal;
But every word and sentence was pre-eminently local!

72

Still, the sermon sounded awkward, and we awkward felt who heard it;
'Twas a grief to see him steer it—'twas a pain to hear him word it.
“When I was abroad”—was maybe half a dozen times repeated,
But that sentence seemed to choke him, and was always uncompleted.
As weeks went on, his old smile would occasionally brighten,
But the voice was growing feeble, and the face began to whiten;
He would look off to the eastward, with a wistful, weary sighing,
And 'twas whispered that our pastor in a foreign land was dying.
The coffin lay 'mid garlands, smiling sad as if they knew us;
The patient face within it preached a final sermon to us;
Our parson had gone touring—on a trip he'd long been earning—
In that wonder-land, whence tickets are not issued for returning!
O tender, good heart-shepherd! your sweet smiling lips, half-parted,
Told of scenery that burst on you, just the minute that you started!
Could you preach once more among us, you might wander, without fearing;
You could give us tales of glory that we'd never tire of hearing!