Rensselaer Republican, Volume 14, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 September 1881 — THE CURATE’S COAT. [ARTICLE]

THE CURATE’S COAT.

the Rev. Arther Leslie entered crtxthe cufacy of Bransiey, that prettiest was much exercised in fts mind as to which extreme bis ‘■Aws’ 1 might tend. views at all beyond those of doing bis appointed work in a moet simple, earnest and quiet fashion, as of a man who could never work bard enough. Socially, the curate was not. at first, generally popular. He had a manner almost shy and re pell ant, and seemed to have little to say. » 'rtjqjjreat m»n *of Bransiey was the taqoue—Mr. Mt-hton, of the Grange. His estate wa, a moderate one of size, but rich in soil and splendid limber. Miss Meldon was a handsome girl, wjjth,v(olet luxuriant golden hair, aftHfny temper, and a passionate fondheas for out uoir exercises. £Jhe Certainly bad a dislike for those q! her iexwho cluster round curates, and she was too candid to pretend an interest in many schemes propounded under their au'piets. Once or twice ahehad met Arthuf Leslie at her fath-er’s-lable, and the superb young beauty had dismissed him from her mind after noting that be seemed a shy, awkward man, plain of features, but with ■trongly-expressive dark eyes. He, on his part, had taken little notice'of the girl, except once to glance somewhat critically at her as he beard her pronounce some of her eccentric theories to Gerald Warley, her cousin and fiance, a handsome, insobciant and slightly supercilious man who held a sinecure government post, which gave him a good income and unlimited time for Loudon society and rural recreation, chief of which was hunting, a point of similarity between them wnich had much to do in making FLara promise to link her fortune with ‘ was very fond of her cousinhAbad many graceful and maply ac; oompTlshments, and a .good deal of facination in .his manner; and he, on his part, loved bis pretty cousin—next to nimself. Their engagement met with universal familyapproval. The.curate, glancing at the pair ob the occasion mentioned, was struck by the thought that dowered a? both were with fiature’s gifts, the woman was infinitely the nobler of the two, with all her imperfections. ’‘Though,” be murmured to himself, walking homeward,' “she is by no means what a help-mate should be, as far as I can judge, but what have Ito do with such ‘speculations?” he continued, half-sadly. "Yet, nevertheless, it wasno less sad than true that the Rev. Arthur Leslie began to find the vision of that beautiful mobilp face continually coming before his mirrd at odd seasons. He sternly reprobated himself and immersed himself more than ever with all his devotion and gentle zeal in his daily work, and by the strength of his trained will succeeded, in great measure, hi banishing the fancies in which Flora Meldon played eo importanta part; but the truth was, the poor curate was under the restless spell which dominates humanity's strength. He was in love. *" He was shocked when this fact was forced upon his mind. “In love,” he groaned at night, When, sitting up in the small hour* in his humble lodgings at Sirs. Tit.b’s, the widow, who adored him for hh manifold kindness, he wrestled with his aching heart. “In love, and with another man's betrothed! And, as if that were not bad enough, with a brilliant beauty, who is a gildi-d princess in her own sphere, and as no notion, I suppose, that the uglily, shabby curate could venture to think twice about her. Oh, shame, shame! Well, it must be hidden and fought down forever. My work! that ought to fill my soul and heart;” and his stern face, was set into marble calm. So, never one cf those round him guessing his secret, Leslie went about Eis duty tendetly and assiduously as of kore, unconscious as ever ol his selfabnegation and true humanity. No difference was seeu in his manner save that, on one pretext or another, he refused ail .invitations to the squire’s, much to the latter’s discontent, for »he curate’s love and knowledge of Botany and other enthralling things were knajvu uj his own.. 4 Flora hardly noticed his absence. If there was any than whom she really admired it was her handsome, traveled, accomplished cousin. Content in his aoqlgty, she bestowed no thought on any one-else. u

It chanced one day that the pair, cantering up a green lane—Flora flushed*'and radiant, Gerald bronzed and bearded, matching his bay hunb r in thoroughbred aspect—met the curate walking in the midst of a throng of happy boys, with whom he had been playing eiickeL His eyes darkened with irrepreeible pain and a shadow swept over his face as he raised his hat. Flora Meldon saw the look,momentary •sit was, and pitied the curate as havng some secret sorrow, but not being as conscious of her own charms as some 6f her compeers, who bated her “fast ways,” as they Called her love for horses and dogs, she did not at tri on te the look to the right cause. But it haunted her memory. Mrs. Tibb entered with the curate’s frugal supper. She cast a sympathetic glance al the weary face, as lie stood at the window looking into the summer twilight. .“Mr. Dalton, sir. called, an i told me to remind you of the meeting n n>< r J row night.” Leslie remembered. Yes, it was a P«’ ish meeting, yearly held, at which he ha<l io preside, and which was wc’l attended. . “I s’pose, sir,? Mrs. THJ» continued, liesitaiing and l<j<>k;nii at-the rusty old coat, which was the curate’s everyday ■ wear, “I’d better send your best coat down to Tbackt t in the morning to rc--pdr; the sleeve’s ripped where Vou caught it getting honeysuckles for May—willful little thing.” .“My coat sleeve,” said Leslie, coming with a start out of his sad reverie. “Yes, certainly, Mrs. Tibo. You can take away the tray; I’m-not hungry, and I’m rather tired.” ;. “Dear heart, sir, but you don’t eat near enough, and no wonder if you are tired, seeing all you do,” murmured the sympathizing Mrs. Tibb, as she reluctantly removed the tray. ‘ I don’t do half enough,” said the curate, when alone. “If I did more, perhaps I should eradicate this wicked folly. I wonder,” he added, abruptly, “if he really knows the splendid gnatities hidden in her being. But, mea maxima culpa;” and he resolutely turned to hip- examination papers, . writing on utjtil Jong after the church •lock chimed midnight. The morning came with a cool breeze rustling through the myriad old-fash-ioned village flowers. The curate,after a broken night, bad an apology for breakfast—be was always careless about food—and went off. Mrs. Tibb cleared the table, sighing over her lodger’s small appetite, and Jimmy, her eldest hope, was sent with the best coat to

Thacket, the tailor; who, as not unusual, had gone off with some boon companions for the day, and would not be fit to return to pull his own coat off much less to mena any one e’se’s. Mrs. Tlbbsat down and lamented; there was the meeting in the evening, with numerous critical and foreign (to Bransiey) attendants, and it was an absolute necessity for the credit of the cloth and parish that the clergyman should have a descent coat on. She couldn’t mend it. She was “ailers a botcher.” Mrs. Tibb felt distracted, and was contemplating the coat despairingly, when a silvery voice called her, and starting up she saw the squire’s beautiful daughter, holding a little basket. “Here, Mm Tibbs,” said she, “are the eggs I promised you from my Hapsburgs. Put them under your Dorking hen; and you’ll have a blood which will lay all the year round, and then poor Mr. Leslie—l know he’s out, for I saw him cross the meadow*—can have new laid eggs every morning.” Mrs. Tibbs • was profuse Ln thanks, bemoaned the curate’s scant appetite, told Miss Meldon two or three instances of his simple heroism and unpretending charity, which made theyoung lady look at her with serious eyes, as one bearing unsuspected truths, and then explained her present perplexity about the coat.

“I-will help you, Mrs. Tibb,” smiled Flora; “though people don’t know it. I can fine draw and repair wonderfully. Give me the coat,” and the young lady, seating herself in Mrs. Tibb*s oldfashioned arm-chair, made a charming picture as she deftly repaired the damaged sleeve, Mrs. Tibb standing by in open-mouthed wonder. “There ” said Flora, as she gave it back—“l’m proud of my woik. Mind you don’t tell who did it,” with a faint blush; and Mrs. Tibb vowed she would not, as she courteeied the young lady out of the pretty cottage. Of course she did, within halt an hour, and to the very last man she should have done so. Gerald Warley, coming in with botanical specimens which the squire asked him to leave, found Mrs. Tibb in ecstasies over the curate’s coat, and she,thinking Flora’s praises could not be too loudly sounded told her visitor. • . His face was immobile while in her presence, but as he went down the garden to the road be frowned savagely. To bis shallow and conventional nature this act of Flora’s was a dire offense—“setting all the fools’ tongues wagging,” he said, viciously, cutting at (he hedges with bis stick, and then turning a corner, be came on his fiancee, and, notwithstanding her charming completeness, told her his mind in a tone and manner quite new to the high-spirited girl, who at first opened her eyes in quiet astonishment, and then, resenting the autboritive manner, and seeing with a clearnes of perception inherent in her how artificial was the, nature she had deemed so genuine, retorted proudly on biro, and at lasr, taking off. her ring, gave it to him, at the same time canceling tbeir engagement. Mr. Warley lost his usual composure -and raved. Ultimately this struck him as ridiculous in a public road, and he 'sulkily followed Flora so the house, where she had told everything to her father, who, of course, yielded to his petted daughter, sympathized with his nephew, but agreed that the beet thing he could do was to return to London, which’he did. Flora, unseen,saw him go. and thought of—the coat. Meanwhi’e* the cuiate had returned and had heard the story from Mrs. Tibb. His color changed, and be stood looking at the rent which Flora's deft fingers had repaired,as if he could read a story there. Suddenly he threw the coat down with a murmur of self-re-proach, and tried to forget it But it was a hard task, and the meeting that night had a very inefficient chairman, much to the village astonishment, and their rival neighbor’s secret exultation. But the summer days went on, and Arthur Leslie went about his parish the same ki d and tender pastor,gentle and strong, and clear of judgment. But the strain told on him, Nowand then, with a joy be could not hide, guilty as be felt it, he saw the beautiful girl whom be was doomed to madly love. The ecstasy of seeing her and hearing her voice only aggravated, to so stern a j idge as bimselr, his wrong. Departure was the only remedy.’With wrenching pain this he resolved on, and told the squire, not giving his reasons.

The next day he saw Flora in the village, and each flushed crimson on seeing tbe other. Then the girl, like all her sex, growing composed first, asked him why, as all were sorry to hear, he was going to resign bis curacy. “I will tell you,” he said, very pale. “Such wrong deserves plain speaking. I have been mad enough to love you, you engaged to another man.” was silence. At last,-looking up, Leslie saw her face suffused by a charming blush, and a shy,happy light in her eyes. .“But I’m not engaged,’’she murmured, very low. The sagacious reader can guess the explanations and arrangements which followed, and that the curate—soon a rector—ever had an affection for that "nappy coat.