 | The fiend's delight |  |
The New Church that was not Built.
I have a friend who was never a church member,
but was, and is, a millionaire—a generous
benevolent millionaire—who once went about
doing good by stealth, but with a natural preference
for doing it at his office. One day he took
it into his thoughtful noddle that he would like
to assist in the erection of a new church edifice,
to replace the inadequate and shabby structure
in which a certain small congregation in his town
then worshipped. So he drew up a subscription
paper, modestly headed the list with “Christian,
2000 dollars,” and started one of the Deacons about
with it. In a few days the Deacon came back to
him, like the dove to the ark, saying he had
succeeded in procuring a few names, but the press
of his private business was such that he had felt
compelled to intrust the paper to Deacon Smith.
Next day the document was presented to my
Brother Smith explained that he (Smith) had
started this thing, and a brother calling himself
“Christian,” whose name he was not at liberty
to disclose, had put down 2000 dollars. Would
our friend aid them with an equal amount? Our
friend took the paper and wrote “Philanthropist,
1000 dollars,” and Brother Smith went away.
In about a week Brother Jones put in an appearance
with the subscription paper. By extraordinary
exertions Brother Jones—thinking a handsome
new church would be an ornament to the town
and increase the value of real estate—had got two
brethren, who desired to remain incog., to subscribe:
“Christian” 2000 dollars, and “Philanthropist”
1000 dollars. Would my friend kindly
help along a struggling congregation? My friend
would. He wrote “Citizen, 500 dollars,” pledging
Brother Jones, as he had pledged the others, not
to reveal his name until it was time to pay.
Some weeks afterward, a clergyman stepped into
my friend's counting-room, and after smilingly
introducing himself, produced that identical subscription
list.
“Mr. K.,” said he, “I hope you will pardon
the liberty, but I have set on foot a little scheme
to erect a new church for our congregation, and
three of the brethren have subscribed handsomely.
the good work?”
My friend glanced over his spectacles at the
proffered paper. He rose in his wrath! He
towered! Seizing a loaded pen he dashed at that
fair sheet and scrabbled thereon in raging characters,
“Impenitent Sinner—Not one cent, by G—!”
After a brief explanatory conference, the minister
thoughtfully went his way. That struggling congregation
still worships devoutly in its original,
unpretending temple.
| The fiend's delight | |