Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1885 — A PICAYUNE IN PERIL. [ARTICLE]

A PICAYUNE IN PERIL.

BY NEMO.

“My bride is the church,” compassionately announced the Rev. Narcissus Picayune, looking with fatherly tenderness upon the upturned faces of his audience. The scene was in the lecture-room of the church of Hillsburg, to which the reverend gentleman had been recently called by the almost unanimous vote of the congregation. It is true, a few old fogies were contented with the management and ways of his predecessor, kind old Mr. Bonnspuer, but they were a decided minority. The women, dear creatures, who, although commanded to keep silent in the church, have no such embargo laid upon their speech at home and abroad, discussed all the pros and cons of the subject. The young ladies especially insisted that Hillsburg Heeded an energetic person, full of vim; in short, a young man. “For,” they argued, “if in politics and the state young blood and ideas are requisite to give an impetus in the inarch of progress, why not also in religion?”

For once the middle-aged spinsters and widows did notiebuke the forwardness of those whom they usually called "chits of girls.” So the matter was decided. Old Mr. Bonnspuer was snubbed so perseveringly that even his eyes, slow to see evil, awakened to the fact that he had worn his welcome in Hillsburg threadbare. Wounded to the heart that those whom he had loved and served through evil report and good report should now in his old age desire to be rid of him, he tendered his resignation, which having been immediately accepted he departed, sincerely mourned by a few friends, who would have been perfectly willing to jog along the narrow way, following his sure if not rapid guidance.

Being thus rid of the old love, the congregation naturally lost no time in providing itself with a new. But in desiring a man young in years but old in wisdom, who could hate sin but love a sinner, himself an embodiment of •every virtue, the good people of Hillsburg were unconsciously seeking a Solon and a Solomon combined.

Naturally, some time elapsed before such a one could be found. At length, however, Rev. Narcissus Picayune was invited to occupy the pulpit so long filled by Mr. Bonnspuer. Youth, at least, he possessed. If other scarcely less important qualifications were lacking, this was not apparent to the partial eyes of his judges, since to a sanctimonious air and a glib tongue he united unbounded assurance, and a thorough conviction of his own superiority, mental and moral, to tne common herd, which placed him comfortably beyond the arrows of adverse criticism. '

Having accepted the call, in a few "weeks he was domiciled at Hillsburg. Like the great Ctesar, he came, he saw, lie conquered. Never had there been such a stir in the parish. “Truly, a great awakening,” said the sober heads of families, as their daughters forsook the allurements of the dance and the roller-rink to drink from the Pierian spring of the Rev. Narcissus’ eloquence.

The young men were not quite sc enthusiastic; but, as they speedily discovered that a depreciatory hint of the newcomer was sure to provoke a storm of indignation from his fair adherents, they also went over to the majority—to all appearances, at least. Many were the innovations made by the new parson. All were eagerly accepted. Mr. Bonnspuer had been content with Sunday and semi-weekly services. This ardent young neophyte insisted upon having a service twice daily. As heating the main building proved rather expensive, he decided to hold forth in the lecture-room adjoining the church. It was here that he made the remark which opens this veracious chronicle. Quite often lately it had flashed across the empty vastness of his mind

that the female element in his congregation largely predominated. Could it be that devotion to the man and not the cause of religion inspired them ? Perish the thought! What a misfortune to be endowed with such powers of fascination! What, should any earthly love usurp the heart devoted to a spiritual bride ? In the still hours of the night he resolved to state his intentions gently but firmly on the morrovv. “Disappointment will be better than suspense for the poor creatures,” said he to himself; “I could not marry them all anyhow.” In pursuance of this intention he mounted the pulpit steps next day with Spartan resolve. The surgeon should not spare the knife. Still, it seemed to him, there had never before been quite so many women and so few men. Young women, mid-dle-aged women, and widows galore. His eyes rested with positive relief upon several nice old ladies occupying prominent seats in front. “At any rate,” he thought, “the law forbids a man to marry bis grandmother.”

Then the cold sweat burst from every pore as he recalled the Baroness Burdette Coutts. “My hearers,” said he, quite distinctly and positively, Avitliout the formality of announcing a text; “my bride is and ever shall be the church.” Perhaps, of all the Kev. Narcissus’ listeners, upon whom the thunderbolt fell heaviest, was Miss Matilda Ann Hildebrand. She was a lackadaisical old young lady, with a great reserve of selfishness and obstinacy, so well concealed by a veneering of gushing amiability and artless sAveetness that few had ever penetrated below the surface. In her own opinion she Avas nothing if not asthetic and deeply pious, but she was also lonely, and yearned for a congenial spirit. She had a lofty indifference to the appearance of the fleshly habitation of the wished-for spirit, which may account for her insensibility to the Rev. Narcissus’ lack of personal attractions. For that gentleman was not beautiful to behold, by any means. His bullet-head was set \'ery straight by a long, slim neck on his square little shoulders; his pale, unsympathetic eyes were ornamented with ,a decided squint; his mouth was a crease in his face, simply that and nothing more. When he was pleased, the crease widened. The Bev. Narcissus never deigned to smile. But in his jaw-bone was the true inwardness of the man displayed —large, square, saturnine. , Had Samson possessed such a weapon in lieu of the one mentioned by Scripture, before the gates of Gaza, it would have been no miracle had the Philistines fallen by tens of thousands.

Maltilda Ann was virtuously conscious of possessing all the requisites for a minister’s wife. Had she not been reared, so to say, in the very odor of sanctity? Was not her lamp, like the wise virgin’s, always trimmed and burning, and, moreover, set up in a conspicuous place for every one to admire? She vowed a vow to herself on the spot. The parson, pausing as he left to instruct his hearers to say “Aw-men, not a-a-men, a correction I make in fa-a-therly love,” and accidently meeting her eye, was so flustered by its ominous sparkle that, overlooking the three step§ which led from the door, he fell forward, and in another moment his pedal extremities were where his head ought to have been—high in the air. The fair Matilda was a born general. She now surveyed the situation and marshaled her forces to victory or death. The l’ev. Narcissus felt no fear in her artless presence. True, she was gracious and fair to look upon, but she had confided to him, early in their acquaintance, her intention of withdrawing from the allurements of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and retiring into a sisterhood. Consequently he bestowed much of his valuable time upon her, somewhat to the neglect of his parisihoners in general. Her astute parents looked on approvingly at the finesse displayed by their guileless daughter, and in "a quiet way did not disdain to lend a helping hand. Great was the silent indignation of the thrice three score and ten females of the congregation, who each thought herself a fitting mate for the Rev. Narcissus. What, had they gone to the trouble of getting rid of Mr. Bonnspuer, only to provide that stuck-up Matilda Ann Hildebrand with a beau? For the sagacious feminines did not credit Miss Hildebrand’s intention of joining the sisterhood. Redoubled were the efforts put forth to induce this most fascinating of parsons to forego the vow he had made; and while each one strove for herself, all made common cause against Matilda Ann.

The parson’s self-esteem flourished in this favorable atmosphere like Jonah’s gourd, until among the disaffected few the “wonder grew, that one small head could carry all (he thought) he knew.” He confided to his always sympathetic friend, Matilda Ann, that the only argument which he could “conscientiously urge in favor of matrimony was, that an unmarried minister, especially if he had a taking way with him, could not devote himself as he should to the welfare of the souls of the ud married females of his congregation without exciting false hopes and innocently inflicting pain upon susceptible hearts.”

Miss Hildebrand not only agreed with him, but also volunteered the advice that, since he had been created such a masterpiece, it was his boundeh duty to place an impossible barrier between himself and the numerous aspirants for his affection. “Either follow my example, which I

shall shortly set,” sighed she plaintively, “and retire from the cold world, or marry in self-defense. It would be grandly unselfish,” she continued, musingly, “for one so retrospective, so introspective, so” —here she floundered a little but brought up triumphantly —“so irrespective as yourself, to sacrifice your lofty ideals, and instead of cherishing all humanity, cherish one loved woman. But, oh,” here she sighed deeply and turned away, “that superlatively favored woman!” The parson pondered this advice and decided to accept it. Why strive against fate? A man of his attractions and parts must marry to escape persecution. He had been conscious lately of qualms of regret that Matilda Ann’s appreciative sweetness and artless grace were to be obscured beneath the heavy veil of the sisterhood. Now he understood the feelings that prompted him. There was something secretly inspiring, too, in the idea. Each had been consecrated, as it were, to religion. How beautiful to unite the two hearts devoted to the work of regenerating all mankind. No doubts as to the lady’s acquiescence crossed his mind. Why should they? Had she not always been first and foremost among those who cried with one accord: “Great is Rev. Narcissus Picayune ?” As to choosing betAveen himself and a sisterhood! About this time the ladies of Hillsburg, always on “hospitable thoughts intent,” conceived the idea of having a grand picnic. Accordingly arrangements were all made. Many who had become somewhat faint-hearted in the race for the parson Avith reneAved hope prepared their toilets for the occasion, resolving to do or die. Rev. Narcissus formed a like resolve, and so did Matilda Ann. Thus are entangled the threads of the Avarp of life.

Upon arriving at the picnic grounds the parson found himself, as usual, the center of attraction. Did he appear fatigued, a dozen fair hands proffered him refreshment; did he attempt a rally of wit, delighted smiles and musical laughter testified the appreciation of his audience. Yet, ungrateful man, he was not satisfied. Matilda Ann, on this occasion, had not joined the crowd of worshipers. She sat apart, conversing languidly but sweetly with a strange young man. Rev. Narcissus felt his hands clinch, while a regular John L. Sullivan spirit pervaded his being. Not even the dinner, although, according to the custom of preachers, he consumed a Benjamin’s mess thereof, restored his equanimity. Matilda Ann and the stranger were still hob-nobbing. Escaping from his admirers, he started for a stroll. The natty little gentleman was decidedly out of humor. Scarcely conscious of his surroundings, he walked on quite briskly. In a short time, however, his anger cooled. Selfappreciation came to the rescue, and he quite blamed himself for leaving his beloved to the tender mercies of the stranger. Filled with this idea he turned to retrace his steps, observing for the first time, as ho did so, a bull and his family grazing near by. Now the parson had a hatred for bulls, papal or quadruped, and at once manifested his dislike by shaking his cane and vociferating “shoo” at the height of his voice. Attracted by the noise, the cattle lifted their heads. The bull, after a brief survey, trotted leisurely toward the little parson, who, although somewhat alarmed, manfully stood his ground. Thus they confronted each other. Rev. Narcissus had great faith in the power of the human eye, especially his eye. He now knit his brows upon the bull in a frown calculated to annihilate his bovine majesty. But the bull did not mind it at all. On the contrary, he “fixed” the parson “with his glittering eye” in a style excessively uncomfortable to that gentleman, and began to lash his tail, paw the ground, and toss his horned head in an extremely belligerent manner. The parson thought of Daniel saved by faith from the lions, and strove to feel secure; but the bull, continuing his hostile demonstrations, his courage sank deep into his boots, while, to make things even, his hair rose straight up on his head.

Suddenly the bull, uttering a loud bellow, plunged toward him. Standing not upon the order of his going, the poor little parson went, and the bull went after him. Rev. Narcissus’ legs were short, but they fairly twinkled in the air, almost converted into wings by his terror. All the bulls of Bashan faded into insignificance in comparison with this one wide-awake, active Texas ranger. With distended eyes and wildly beating heart he ran, seeking shelter and finding none, when who should appear around a bead in the road but Matilda Ann! The parson had no breath to shriek a warning. At this moment, alt*! lie stumbled and fell, and—luckily for him—rolled into the ditch beside the road. The bull passed him recklessly, attracted by the scarlet shawl in which Matilda Ann’s fair form was defcked. That aesthetic young lady, casting her dignified languor to the winds, lushed screaming toward the fence, at a pace which would have shamed Maud S., but barely succeeded in mounting it, as the bull reached the spot. Thrusting his horns in her back, the furious animal tossed her like a feather in the air. ’ , -'s Rev. Narcissus sank back in the ditch, from whence he was peeping, with a groan. All was over. Even now he could hear the bull bellowing and pawing in the road. Doubtless his fair Matilda Ann was being gored to death,

and he dared not move lest he share her fate. In a few moments all was still. Venturing to look again, he saw the bull' trotting off to rejoin the herd. Crawling from the ditch, he crept cautiously and sadly toward the spot, expecting to find only the lifeless clay of his beloved. To his intense relief, a faint voice called “Narcissus,” and Matilda Ann’s pale face appeared o\'er the top of the fence.

Forgetting his fatigue, the parson leaped the barrier with a bound, and throwing himself at her feet, he cried; “Oh, beloved Matilda Ann, bv what miracle art thou saved? Methought I saw thee impaled upon those horrid horns. How hast thou escaped unwounded ?” Matilda, much agitated, ejaculated faintly, between her sobs: “The enraged quadruped—inserted his terrible horns—in my raiment, and, as it gave way, he tossed me through the blue ether, and I fell, a helpless mass, on the safe side of the fence.” “And I fell into the ditch,” said the parson, feelingly. “My dearest, we were preserved for each other. Be mine, fair one. I have not a shilling, ’tis true, but my prospects are boundless. ” “But," murmured his companion, “how can I resign my cherished vocation?” “Ah,” interrupted the lover, “your vocation is to save me from the women who would devour me, as you saved me, dearest, from the bull, for it was you who diverted him from me. But what is this?” For they had now reached the spot where he had seen the bull pawing and goring, as he thought, the lady beside him. Well might he ask. Matilda Ann’s face became scarlet. Rev. Narcissus picked up something that resembled a dilapidated infernal machine. Numberless coils and springs of wire, broken and bent, were entangled in the remains of a scarlet shawl. “That,” stammered Matilda Ann, weakly, “is my indestructible, adjustable bustle. The bull perforated it with his horns, and, as the fastenings gave way, he precipitated me over the fence.”

“Thus we are taught.” said the reverend, solemnly depositing the remains of the indestructible, adjustable bustle in the ditch, “that even the pomps and vanities of this wicked world sometimes serve a good purpose.” Great was the horror of the picnickers at the dilapidated appearance of the truant couple who shortly afterward reached the pleasure party. But sorrow for another’s woe was speedily lost sight of m deep grief of a more personal nature. Though soaked with muddy water, the parson’s face wore an expression of meek happiness, while his fair coim panion, in no way cast down by her idr voluntary somersault, suggested by her conscious air of tender proprietorship that they had lost and she had won a “Picayune.” Matilda Ann had triumphed. “To the victors belong the spoils. ” There was secret lamentation that night in Hillsburg. The virgins and widows who had vainly striven for the parson’s favor figuratively hung thciharps on the willow tree. Still, like the Spartan boy, they concealed their gnawing pain beneath a scornful, smiling exterior, and, despite the contretemps of the past, hoped for better things in the future. “Nemo semper felix est. ” Rev. Narcissus was not wantonly cruel. In his happiness he thought of others’ woe, and not wishing to behold or to aggravate the misery he had caused, and plso receiving a call with increased salary elsewhere, he, like Mr. Bonnspuer, resigned, none too soon for two-thirds of his congregation, who had gradually come to the conclusion that in changing parsons they, like the fish in the fable, had “jumped from the frying-pan into the fire;” while, as an evidence of the mutability of human friendship, the same females whose expectant hearts had hailed his advent with the joy experienced by the fainting trader in the trackless desert, as the green oasis bursts upon his vission, now with scorn and aversion desired one thing in life, and but one, to be rid of him at once and forever. Mr. Bonnspuer was avenged.