marks their business pursuits. They think, not of the conversion of the world, but of the aggrandizement of the parish; not of character, but fashion."

I admitted that I had been forced to the same conclusion.

"I am glad you see the matter in its true light,” he resumed. "I wanted to see you, talk with you, and find out what stuff you are made of. After the provocation of this morning, I wanted to preach a little, and I wanted, if possible, a sensible hearer. I know something of this parish, having observed its movements during some ten years. I know that it will spoil a weak minister, and expel a wilful one. I hope to God, for your own sake and that of Bubbleton, that you are neither one nor the other."

I thanked him sincerely for the kind interest and good sense which his language and manner exhibited. I began to admire his blunt frankness. There was an air of sturdy Christian manliness about him, that became more and more conspicuous.

He arose to go.

"My own little parish is only three miles distant," he observed; "and, soon as you can get away with propriety, come over and see where I live."

"I should be most happy -"

"Don't look after any needless formalities. Of course, I shall watch your progress with much interest. By and by, if you please, we will have an exchange. True, I am not very popular in your parish, they complain that I am frightfully bold,

and all that; but they will submit to a sermon or two, once a year,- that is, those who don't leave the church when they see me enter the pulpit."

"Never mind," said I; "we will exchange, notwithstanding."

"And some day, Brother Resounder will preach for them, and charm away the rankling memory of my homely truths. Well, one finds difficulties in preaching the Gospel, owing to the various imbecilities of men, not only in Bubbleton, but also in Calcutta!"

V.

MAKING PASTORAL CALLS.

ANXIOUS to form an acquaintance with the parish, individually, and to learn as much as possible about their peculiarities, so that I might adjust my ministry to their circumstances wisely, I began the routine of "making calls" that very week. Furnished by Mr. Arlington with the names of "the leading families," and with the numbers of their residences, I accomplished a good deal of this kind of work in the course of three or four afternoons.

I know ministers who consider this the most unpleasant duty they have to fulfil. To go about from house to house, with the persistence of a tax-gatherer, ringing door-bells, bowing, smiling, shaking hands with ladies, patting the heads of children (perhaps kissing them, if their faces happen to be clean), asking pastoral questions, answering compliments, talking about the weather, the parish, the late minister, hearing Mrs. A.'s complaints about her rheumatism, Mrs. B.'s narrative of the "rappings," Mrs. C.'s murmurs at the want of good society, Mrs. D.'s

praises of her son who is in college, in short, plunging, again and again, into a chaos of small talk, and a labyrinth of confused interests,— these things seem, to some men, the hardest of all mortal afflictions.

But, for my own part, I rather enjoy the mild excitement and diversified sensations produced by these friendly visits.

What is more agreeable than to take the hands of those who have agreed to be your friends—to give a candid hearing to your counsel, to repose in you the tenderest confidence? What is more pleasant than to be familiar with the HOMES of those to whom you are connected by the holiest and friendliest of ties,—to see countenances light up when you appear, and regrets betrayed when you depart,- to have perplexing cares committed to your wisdom, and heartbreaking troubles reposed on your faithful affection? What can be more interesting than to observe the innumerable phases in which our common humanity exhibits itself, in the different families with which you become acquainted, and under the pressure of various and ever-changing circumstances?

Many a sermon, which no book could suggest, have I obtained from these very "calls," which so many stigmatize as "frivolous."

Some poet speaks of finding sermons in stones, and I have often queried whether the allusion might not be to the lap-stones of certain shoemakers whom I visit. However that may be, I can bear witness that

excellent sermons are to be had of wash-tubs, if one but has the tact to interpret their spiritual signifi

cance.

But this is getting beyond the strict limits of Bubbleton Parish. Let me return.

In the progress of my acquaintance with the Bubbleton people, I found that Brother Stringent had left more friends in the parish than Mr. Arlington had given me reason to suppose. I did not find that unanimity of sentiment which I had been led to expect. Indeed, as well as I could ascertain, there was quite a serious division in the society, growing out of the dismissal of the late pastor. Some had even refused to hear the new clergyman preach, and talked of taking seats in other churches. These did not give me an over-cordial greeting.

"It is of no use," they said; "the parish will never prosper, or have peace, while under its present ill-considered management."

"You must form no expectations from the congregations you had last Sunday," one lady remarked; "for not half the people you saw belong to the parish. Most of them are mere novelty-seekers; they fly from one church to another, as excitement moves them; they are as unreliable as the wind. Next Sunday, like as not, they will be in pursuit of some new attraction. Bubbleton is full of just such frivolous folks."

"You'd better have staid in New Hampshire," said a frank, harsh-looking old gentleman, "than