Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 31 January 1884 — MR. SPARROW’S CONFESSIONAL. [ARTICLE]

MR. SPARROW’S CONFESSIONAL.

The Rev. Mr. Sparrow sat down to consider. He planted his elbows firmly on the window-sill and his retreating chin firmly on his hands. The harvest moon shone in and made of him a pleasant sight, not unlike a short, plump Tom Pinch of immortal memory. Most of his hair had been a thing of the past for a long time, but, as far as appearances went, his mild blue eyes and expressive mouth made ample amends. He was clad in the severest of severe clerical garbs, and wore about him, in spite of that superabundant plumpness, the unmistakable ascetic air which constant prayer, meditation, and frequent fasting can give to any face or physique. The room, now softly flooded with the moonlight, was as bare as the necessities of life permitted. A small iron bedstead, a little table holding some books of devotion, a crucifix on the wall, a modest chest of clothing—that was about all. A man of small •wardrobe and large charities, of pity for all except himself, of enthusiasm, hope, and impracticability—that was the Rev. John Sparrow, rector of St. James’. He had found this parish five years ago what in ecclesiastical phraseology is termed rather “low.” In fact, he was rather “low" then himself. He and the parish had risen together. One startling step had followed another so fast that the conservative members of the congregation had been too stunned to remonstrate. The bowings, and crossings, and altar drapery were a sight to behold. A taste of a high ritual acted as an appetizer to the longers for an attractive service. A boy choir, consisting of seven somewhat stolid urchins from the charity school, served to satisfy for a while. Now, they and their cassocks and surplices had palled upon the taste. Serena Sherman had been known to firmly and unreservedly declare that she really did not see so very much out of the way in the Papal infallibility, while two bright and shining Vestrymen had been detected m the act of surreptitiously visiting the Roman Catholic church around the corner. The line must be drawn somewhere. Mr. Sparrow drew it at Rome. The lambs of his flock must have a counterirritant.. But what? Some clouds were flitting over the face of the moon, so these queries and perplexities seemed to obscure this little man’s visage, ordinarily so serene. —■ An door =nfftde him start. -It wag.^lris’ l " hardsfefttureif housekeeper. He~had selected her out of a drove oßapplicants as being of the requisite age and ugliness. She handed him a card on which was hurriedly penciled:

“Will Mr. Sparrow see one of his people for a few minutes on a matter pertaining to the safety of her soul?” “The safety of a soul!” He would have risen from his dying bed at \that plea. What mortal sin had she been committing? Thoughts of battle, murder and sudden death careered through his mind. He brushed his scanty hair, and brushed it rather crookedly, what there was of it. He had about him no such panderer to vanity as a mirror. Miss Sherman and another young Woman awaited him down stairs. As a general thing he would have frowned upon this untimely visit, as much as the Bev. Mr. Sparrow could frown upon anything; but the spell of the beauty of the night, or the reverie at the window, was still upon him. Miss Sherman, addressing him as “Father,” made known her errand at once. The ritualistic mania was visible in her words and manner. “Father, I should have waited until morning,” she said, “but I could not. I might have died in the night with this matter weighing me down.” Mr. Sparrow shuddered, but secretly resolved that even if it were murder he would be her friend. ~ •- ■———— “Free your mind at once, my daughter.” He tried to look as indifferently m a well regulated celibate ought upon thia pretty, troubled face, but did not succeed very well. And this companion—was she an accomplice? Well, he would stand by them to the bitter end. We are all miserable sinners, “It is a doctrinal point, Father.” He drew a long breath of relief, and yet it would not have been a thing without compensation to have consoled this beautiful woman if the world-forsook •»© r •

“I have been reading upen the dootrine of confession for a long while. The last book has settled my views forever. lam convinced, and do believe (she spoke as if reciting the,Creed), that it is necessary to my soul’s health to confess my sins without reserve. And Mr. Sparrow [it .struck him ns fatally ominous that him thus] if I cannot have this help otherwise I must go where it is to be found.” Mr. Sparrow flew to arms. “Oh! my dear young friend [she was five years his junior ]do nothing rash! I see your doubts and longings, and I admit that they are not groundless. In fact, I have had them myself." He spoke as if he referred to the measles. ‘‘Yes, I have had my struggle, and have come to the conclusion that unreserved and systematic avowal of our sins and the proper absolution or penance is not only salutary but needful. Indeed, when called down stairs just now I had about decided to establish tins ancient and apostolic custom as soon as practicable?’

Miss Sherman clapped her hands rapturously, and was speechless for several moments. “No, I will not be rash, Father, but be brave and wait. You know that lam at heart a true Anglican. It is only a sensative conscience that is driving me." She forgot that pluming one’s self upon an irreproachable conscience is hardly the proper thing for a yearner after holiness. ■ j But Mr. Sparrow was blind. Her pretty, egotistical chatter of herself and - her opinions was music in his ears. There was no excuse for lingering longer, as pleasant as it was to both. “Come, Jenny,” she said. “And it’s your shawl you are forgetting, mum,” answered Jane, the Sherman kitchen maid, who had been brought along to lend propriety to the interview. The rector- was disturbed. Had he been talking of things spiritual before one of the Pope’s emissaries? Well, at least he hoped that what she had heard had been to her superstitions mind a benefit. e He bowed his callers out and went back to his window, but the former train of thought was broken. Instead of the sacred themes upon which he had been dwelling at the favorite meditative hour was the vision of an earnest month and two melting eyes. He rose in pained chagrin, went to his driest theological books, and in them at last forgot all feminine graces, and even, for the time, the soul’s health of Serena Sherman. ' » . * M- ■ —* The new departure was announced to the congregation the following Sunday, and was received with different degrees of scorn and approbation. Two malcontents got np and strode out of church, but to the worthy man in the -surplice a radiant face in the Sherman pew was for this insult an offset. So he had officially announced at last that penitents would be received from 3to 9 Saturdays! A little flurry of conscious heroism made his cheeks tingle. He really felt like a soldier on duty, and, while making an allusion in the sermon which followed to the sentinel found at his post in the Roman ruins, mentally compared himself to that time-honored and tiresome individual. He afterwards dined with the Shermans in a house hardly redeemed from the commonplace by Serena’s olivecolored embroideries, sprinkled around without method. They chatted for a short hour after- 4 ward while the 'father of the family dozed unblushingly and the mother guiltily took short and sly naps in her chair. It was a golden hour. 1 ' A thin religious veil drawn over the conversation seemed to make it harmless in the eyes of the rector who had all but vowed to lead a single life. One subject predominated. “The people will say harsh things,” said Serena. “Let them; I do not care. When they realize the worth of the confessional and see what a help it is to holiness, they-will gladly give the commendation they withhold at first.” He, as they say in novels, drew himself up to his full height, which was not very high, and beamed like a martyr at the stake. “But they will laugh.” Ah, that was different. . Persecution js__one—thing, ridicule another. He flushed. “There will always be those who will liiiigh at the truth. But,' ifiy dear friends, if I can be sure that there is one person who sees the matter as I do, one heart which beats in sympathy with iuine, I shall have strength to go forward.” “You may be sure of that,” she answered pointedly, and then, the snores indicating that the parental, siestas were still in progress, a soft hand stole iiito his and was not repulsed. So this pair of unconscious lovers twittered away about the state of th'e chul-ch, the last new quirk in vestments, and the Christmas music. The next morning the incumbent of St. James might have been seen in close and confidential confab with a cabinet-maker. He was not going to do any half-way work, not he; no retailing of peccadilloes in the open church before the eyes and in the ears of waiting penitents, as was the custom in “high” circles elsewhere. A structure not unlike a commodious wardrobe was planned and ordered. All the week was required in w hich to make it. It could not be done in the church; the pounding would interfere with daily matins and evensong, and shavings strewn about are, not conducive to an exaltedreligious state. Saturday morning, before the earliest risers were astir, a mysterious-looking object was deposited at the church door. Men and boys of the “tin-pail brigade” going to their work heard pounds within the sacred edifice, and wondered “what the crank was up to now.” Mr. Sparrow went to his bachelor breakfast, his air of bravado still upon him. At “matins,” at which were present three women and a small boy, he did not flinch. There were stealthy looks at the confessional box, and the small boy giggled, but was instantly silenced by his Aunt Serena, who had him in tow. By dinner-time the pastor was nervous and had no relish for the indifferentlycooked meal set before him by the queen

of the kitchen. At 2 o’clock he was at the church waiting. Three o’clock came and his heart was a trip-hummer. Four o’clock; not a soul. Five o’clock ■ —he shut the church-door with a perceptible slam. Evidently his experiment was a failure so far. He would not admit; even to himself, that he was disappointed because Serena had not come. Each person was w-aiting for some other to take the initiative, possibly, but it was discouraging. At his house, lying on his table by the side of his worn volume of Thomas a Kempis, he found a letter. On the envelope was wirtten “The confession of Serena Sherman,” The pudgy fingers trembled as they tore it open. Far be it from us to pry into such a confidential epistle, but we know from subsequent events that in it Serena placed herself, her heart, and her embroideries at the feet of Tier plump pastor. •• It was intimated at the begining of tliis modest tale - that Mr. Sparrow possessed a weak chin. At any rate, a marvelous change in his opinions was born that minute. Celibacy seemed so drear a thing, so useless a thing, so worse than useless, for a wife could be of infinite helpjin the work of the church. Then he went and borrowed a look-ing-glass of his housekeeper. It was not a good glass and made his face look awry.but he did not know it. He thought with shame of the funny box of which he had been so proud in the morning. He brushed his long-tailed coat and betook himself Serena-ward. She saw him coming from an improvised watch-tower up-stairs and ran to meet him. Then this disbeliever in a married clergy took both her hands and kissed her. “We have been making a mistake all the while.”

“Yes, John; and you truly, truly, truly, do not think me unmaidenly ?” “Bless you, no; you were an angel sent to open these blind eyes. But I cannot help but wonder, dear, at this sudden change,” indicating doubtless some remark in her letter; “Oh, John, after you really got-the confessional it did seem so silly.” The Rev. John looked sheepish, but happy. “There is time yet to-night to take it away.” “And don’t let us ever say another word about it.” Late that night the sound of hammers was once more heard in the Gothic edifice on C— — street, and a bulky and strange object -was soon stored in the spare room of the rectory. That was ten years ago. The parish of St. James is called rather “low” again. There was a lack of closetroom in the minister’s house, and Mrs. Serene keeps her silk dresses and little John’s Sunday, suit in Mr. Sparrow’s confessional.—C/rtcngo Tribune.