University of Virginia Library

26. CHAPTER XXVI.
WHICH BRIEFLY RECORDS THE PROFESSIONAL LIFE OF REV.
PETER MULLENS.

It must have been three or four years after Henry took
charge of his parish, and I had entered upon the duties of my
profession, that I met him one morning upon the street, wearing
that peculiar smile on his face which said, as plainly as
words could have told me, that he was the bearer of news.

“Who do you think spent the night at The Mansion, and is
even now reveling in the luxuries of your old apartment?”
said he.

“I was never good at conundrums,” I replied. “Suppose
you tell me.”

“The Rev. Peter Mullens.”

“Clothed, and in his right mind?”

“Yes, clothed, for he has one of my coats on, which I have
told him he may carry away with him; and in his right mind,
because he has the coat, and expects to live upon the donor
for a few days.”

We both laughed over the situation, and then Henry told me
that Mullens was in a good deal of perplexity on account of
the fact that he had two “calls” on hand, to which answers
must be made immediately.

“I have agreed with Mullens,” said Henry, “to invite you
to dinner, in order that he may have the benefit of your
advice.”

“Thank you. Is there a fee?”

“Nothing stipulated, but I think you had better bring a pair
of trowsers,” he replied. “Mullens, you know, wants to see

[ILLUSTRATION]

The Rev. Peter Mullens.

[Description: 587EAF. Illustration page. Image of two men. One man is sitting in a chair with a book in his lap. He is looking at the other man, who is younger, and dressed in a cape. The younger man holds his hat in one hand and a cane in the other.]

the advantages that are likely to come from following your
advice, and if he has them in hand he can decide at once.”

The prospect of dining with Mullens was not an unpleasant
one. I was curious to see what he had made of himself, and
to learn what he was going to do. So I congratulated Henry
on the new light that had risen upon his domestic life, and
promised him that I would meet his guest at his table.

On entering The Mansion that day in my usual informal
way, I found the Rev. Peter Mullens lying nearly upon his
back, in the most luxurious chair of the large drawing-room,
apparently in a state of serene and supreme happiness. He
was enjoying the privileges of the cloth, in the house of a professional
brother who had been exceptionally “favored.” For
the time, the house was his own. All petty cares were dismissed.
All clouds were lifted from his life, in the consciousness
that he had a good coat on which had cost him nothing, and
that, for a few days at least, board and lodging were secure at
the same price. His hair was brushed back straight over his
head in the usual fashion, and evidently fastened there by the
contents of a box of pomatum which he had found in my old
chamber. He had managed to get some gold-bowed spectacles,
and when I met him he presented quite an imposing
front. Rising and greeting me with a cordial and somewhat
patronizing air, he quickly resumed his seat and his attitude,
and subsided into a vein of moralizing. He thought it must
be a source of great satisfaction to me that the property which
had once been my own, apparently, had been devoted to the
ministry, and that henceforth The Mansion would be the home
of those who had given themselves to the church.

Mullens evidently regarded himself as one who had a certain
pecuniary interest in the estate. The house was to be
his tavern—his free, temporary home—whenever it might be
convenient for him to pass a portion of his time in the
city. Indeed, he conducted himself as if he were my host,
and expressed the hope that he should see me always when
visiting the town. His assumptions amused me exceedingly,

though I was sorry to think that Henry and Claire would feel
themselves obliged to tolerate him.

At the dinner-table, Mr. Mullens disclosed the questions in
regard to his settlement. “The truth is,” said he, “that I am
divided on a question of duty. Given equal opportunities of
doing good, and unequal compensation, on which side does
duty lie? That is the question. I don't wish to be mercenary;
but when one Church offers me five hundred dollars a
year, payable quarterly in advance, and the other offers me
five hundred dollars a year, payable quarterly at the end of the
quarter, with an annual donation-party, I feel myself divided.
There is an advantage in being paid quarterly in advance, and
there is an advantage in a donation-party, provided the people
do not eat up what they bring. How great this advantage
is I do not know; but there is something very attractive to me
in a donation-party. It throws the people together, it nourishes
the social element, it develops systematic benevolence, it cements
the friendship of pastor and people, it brings a great
many things into the house that a man can never afford to buy,
and it must be exceedingly interesting to reckon up the results.
I've thought about it a great deal, and it does seem to me that
a donation-party must be a very valuable test of usefulness.
How am I to know whether my services are acceptable, unless
every year there is some voluntary testimonial concerning
them? It seems to me that I must have such a testimonial.
I find myself looking forward to it. Here's an old farmer,
we'll say, without any public gifts. Hosannas languish on his
tongue, and, so far as I can tell, all devotion dies. He brings
me, perhaps, two cords or two cords and a half of good hard
wood, and by that act he says, `The Rev. Mr. Mullens has
benefited me, and I wish to tell him so. He has warmed my
heart, and I will warm his body. He has ministered to me in
his way, and I will minister to him in my way.' Here's a
woman with a gift of flannel—a thing that's always useful in a
minister's family—and there's another with a gift of socks, and
here's another with a gift of crullers, and here's a man with a

gift of a spare-rib or a ham, and another with a gift of potatoes,
and”—

Mr. Mullens gave an extra smack to his lips, as, in the
midst of his dinner, this vision of a possible donation-party
passed before the eyes of his imagination.

“It is plain to see which way your inclination points,” I
said to him.

“Yes, that is what troubles me,” he responded. “I wish
to do right. There may be no difference between having
your pay quarterly in advance and the donation-party; but the
donation-party, all things considered, is the most attractive.”

“I really think it would suit you best,” I said, “and if the
opportunity for doing good is the same in each place, I'm sure
you ought not to hesitate.”

“Well, if I accept your advice,” said Mr. Mullens, “you
must stand by me. This place is only six miles from Bradford,
and if I ever get hard up it will be pleasant to think that I have
such friends at hand as you and Brother Sanderson.”

This was a new aspect of the affair, and not at all a pleasant
one; but I had given my advice and could not retract it.

Mullens remained at The Mansion several days, and showed
his white cravat and gold-bowed spectacles all over the city.
He was often in my office, and on one occasion accompanied
me to the court-room, where I gave him a seat of honor and
introduced him to my legal friends. He was so very comfortable
in his splendid quarters, so shielded from the homely affairs of
the world by his associations, and so inexpensive to himself,
that it was a hardship to tear himself away at last, even with
the prospect of a donation-party rising before him in the attractive
perspective of his future.

He had been several days in the house, and had secured such
plunder as would be of use to him, personally, when he surprised
us all by the announcement that he was a married man,
and was already the father of a helpless infant. He gave us
also to understand that Mrs. Mullens was, like himself, poor,
that her wardrobe was none of the most comfortable, and that

her “helpless infant” would rejoice in garments cast off by
children more “favored” than his own. His statement was intended
to appeal to Claire and Millie, and was responded to
accordingly. When he went away, he bore a trunk full of
materials, that, as he said, “would be useful in a minister's
family.”

Henry and I attended his installation shortly afterwards, and
assisted him in beginning his housekeeping. We found Mrs.
Mullens to be a woman every way adapted to the companion
she had chosen. She was willing to live upon her friends. She
delighted in gifts, and took them as if they were hers by right.
Everything was grain that came to her mill in this way. Her
wants and her inability to supply them were the constant
theme of her communications with her friends and neighbors,
and for ten long years she was never without a “helpless infant”
with which to excite their laggard and weary charities.
Whenever she needed to purchase anything, she sent to me or
to Millie, or to her friends at The Mansion, her commission,—
always without the money. She either did not know how much
the desired articles would cost, or there was such danger of losing
money when sent by post, or she had not the exact change on
hand; but she assured us that Mr. Mullens would call and pay us
when visiting Bradford. The burden thus rolled upon Mr. Mullens
was never taken up by him; and so, year after year, we
consented to be bled by this amiable woman, while the Mullens
family went on increasing in numbers and multiplying in wants.
It became a matter of wonder that any religious society should
be content with the spiritual ministrations of such a man as
Mullens; but this society was simple and poor, and their pastor
had an ingenious way of warming over his old broth and the
old broth of others which secured for him a certain measure of
respect. His tongue was glib, his presence imposing, and his
self-assurance quite overwhelming.

But at last there came a change. New residents in the
parish saw through his shallow disguises, and raised such a storm
of discontent about his ears that he was compelled to resign his

pulpit and to cast about for other means of living. No other
pulpit opened its doors to him. The man's reputation outside
of his parish was not a desirable one. Everybody had ceased
to regard him as a man capable of teaching; and he had so
begged his way and lived upon his acquaintances, and had so
meanly incurred and meanly refused to recognize a thousand
little debts among his early friends, that it was impossible for
him to obtain even a temporary engagement as a preacher.

There was nothing left for him to do, but to become a peddler
of some sort, for which office he had rare natural gifts.
Leaving his family where they were, he took an agency for the
sale of the Cottage Bible. He drove a thrifty business with this
publication, going from house to house, wearing always his white
cravat, living upon the ministers and deacons, and advertising
himself by speeches at evening meetings and Sunday-schools.
Sometimes he got an opportunity to preach on Sunday, and having
thus made his face familiar to the people, drove a brisk
business among them on Monday. His white cravat he used as
a sort of pass on railroads and steamboats, or as an instrument
by which it was to be secured. Every pecuniary consideration
which could be won from a contemptuous business world, by the
advertisement of the sacred office which he once held, he took
the boldest or the most abject way to win.

It must not be supposed that “old Mullens,” as people
learned to call him, was really distressed by poverty. Never
paying out a cent of money that came into his hands if he
could avoid it, he accumulated a handsome property, which he
skillfully hid away in investments, maintaining his show of poverty,
through all his active life. Henry shook him off at last
and helped me to do the same. We heard of him not long ago
lecturing to Sunday-schools and buying wool, and it is not ten
years since he appeared in Bradford as an agent of a life-insurance
company, with specially favorable terms to clergymen who
were kind enough to board him during his visit. I shrink from
writing here the stories I heard about him, concerning the way
in which he advertised his business by mixing it with his public

religious teachings, because it associates such base ideas with
an office which I revere as the highest and holiest a man can
hold; but when I say that in his public addresses he represented
the Christian religion as a system of life-insurance of the
spiritual kind, I sufficiently illustrate his methods and his
motives.

He passed a useless life. He became a nuisance to his
professional brethren, a burden to all who were good-natured
enough to open their houses to him, and a disgrace to the
Christian ministry. Wearing the badge of a clergyman, exacting
as a right that which was rendered to others as a courtesy
or a testimonial of love and friendship, surrendering his manhood
for the privileges of ministerial mendicancy, and indulging
his greed for money at the expense of a church to which
he fancied he had given his life, he did, unwittingly perhaps,
what he could to bring popular contempt upon his profession,
and to associate with the Christian religion the meanest type of
personal character it is possible to conceive.

Amid the temptations of this poor, earthly life, and the
weaknesses of human nature, even the most sacred profession
will be disgraced, now and then, by men who repent in dust
and ashes over their fall from rectitude, and the dishonor they
bring upon a cause which in their hearts they love; but Mullens
carried his self-complacency to the end, and demonstrated
by his character and influence how important it is that dunces
shall not be encouraged to enter upon a high walk of life by
benefactions which rarely fail to induce and develop in them
the spirit of beggars. I am sure there is no field of Christian
benevolence more crowded with untoward results than that in
which weak men have found the means for reaching the Christian
ministry. The beggarly helplessness of some of these men
is pitiful; and a spirit of dependence is fostered in them which
emasculates them, and makes them contemptible among those
whom they seek to influence.

Though the Rev. Peter Mullens is still living, I have no fear
that I shall be called to an account for my plain treatment of

him, as he will never buy this book, or find a friend who will
be willing to give or lend it to him. Even if he had such a
friend, and he should recognize his portrait, his amour propre
would not be wounded, and he would complacently regard himself
as persecuted for righteousness' sake.