THE CANDIDATE FOR ST. a potential-some insisted controlling-one in its secular affairs; for, be it said to his honor, that to the spiritual guardian, after the choice had been formally and deliberately made, he left LONG and singular pause in the midst of the guidance of the flock in all things spiritual, I. A the prayer for the President of the United lending a cordial and zealous co-operation in his States made the brilliant and fashionable con-sphere, but never laying straw of let or hindrance gregation of St. Jude's raise their heads and in the way. During his incumbency three reclook at the minister. They saw nothing un- tors had been settled, all of whom he, to all usual, and, as the prayer proceeded, the cir- practical intents, had chosen; and it was a source cumstance passed from their thoughts. It was of honest pride to him to hear, as he did not set down as perhaps a curious eccentricity of seldom, his taste and prudence in such matters the strange clergyman, who was thought none extolled in the congregation; and he gloried imthe worse of in consequence, for eccentricity in measurably in the undeniable fact that not one the pulpit is not a little fashionable nowadays. of the shepherds he had placed over St. Jude's But Mr. Samuel Stem did see something un- had failed to give general satisfaction. usual; remarkable, nay, amazing. a these things, every candid reader will allow that he was perfectly right in resolving to watch very narrowly in ritual and sermon the Reverend Henry Blomfield, candidate for the succession to the Reverend Theodore Warmplace, his last triumphant choice, who these four weeks had slept at peace with his fathers, and whose memorial slab for the transept of St. Jude's was now in active preparation at the fashionable stone-cutter's hard by. Mr. Stem had, in natural course, come to beMr. Samuel Stem was senior warden of St. lieve that his knowledge of what St. Jude's Jude's, and it behooved him to watch very wari-needed in a rector was so precise, and his aculy every motion of the Reverend Henry Blom-men in judging of the fitness of a candidate for field, undergoing that day the terrible ordeal of that position so singular, that he could not fail trial," to see whether he would suit the peo- to make a right selection. He knew, moreple of that wealthy and fastidious parish, now in over, that his opinion in the matter now under want of a rector. consideration would be practically as decisive as It behooved, therefore, we say, Mr. Samuel an autocratic ukase. He would not for a kingStem, as church-warden-as senior church-war-dom make a blunder now; and, considering all den—and as a man whose words had weight at vestry meetings commensurate with a heavy balance at bank, to "look sharp" in this momentous business of choosing a pastor. He felt called upon in this case to exercise extraordinary vigilance, as the Reverend Henry Blomfield was not only a young man, but unknown to metropolitan fame-a circumstance which Mr. Stem was decidedly of opinion was much against him. On an occasion like this, Mr. Samuel Stem did not think reverence required that he should close his eyes and bend his head in the prayers. When the minister had been "called" and duly settled, Mr. Stem proposed to be as devoutly decorous as any member of the parish; his office as warden, and especially as senior warden, made this to him an imperative duty. But while the choice was pending, he felt upon himself a great responsibility, and he therefore sat bolt upright, alert, and wide awake, while the congregation knelt in prayer. It has been said that the obscurity of the new candidate was much against him. It is true that he came warmly commended to the vestry of St. Jude's as a young man of a very high order of talents, and a model of Christian graces and priestly accomplishments. This warm testimonial came from a professor in the Theological Seminary, for whom Mr. Stem had great respect. A confidential letter, also, addressed to parties in the back-country parish, over which the candidate had been settled after taking priest's orders, elicited a reply in the main satisfactory, although there was a vague hint about his being "independent" and "high-strung." But these words from outside parties weighed very little with Samuel Stem. He knew all about those things. It was easy enough for a man to get recommendations. It was Mr. Stem's determination to give the new candidate a fair trial, just as all his predecessors had received; yet circumstances, as has been already hinted, were against him. Although probably not conscious of the feeling, the senior warden of St. Jude's possessed, in common with nearly To Mr. Samuel Stem's efforts St. Jude's owed all men, a respect for the general verdict, and in its existence, and very much of its envied pre-his eyes Popularity was a distinguished merit in eminence. He had been senior church-warden a minister. If Mr. Blomfield had come knockfrom the hour the parish first had corporate ing at the golden gate of St. Jude's Incumbency, being, now more than twenty years, during shining in the éclat of a successful metropolitan which period his voice had been very naturally pulpit career, it would have helped him mightily Justice must be done at the outset to Mr. Samuel Stem. He was not only a stanch churchman, but a thoroughly conscientious man. He would have severed his right hand from his body before he would willfully have wronged a human being. If he was hard or exacting it was only in the interest of his church, and especially of that integral portion known as "St. Jude's." Intense and irrepressible church-wardenship was his foible, if foible it was. His official dignity seemed as much his natural clothing as the shining broadcloth that encased his imposing figure. thought Mr. Stem. But he was not to be "drawn out." Perhaps the warden was angling for minnows in a pool which contained no such small fish. His line, possibly, did not sound deep enough. Mr. Stem was impressed with this young even with independent and impartial Samuel | meat was very simple, and evidently very sinStem. Coming upon his pure merits, to stand cere. "No affectation about him, anyhow," or fall without the aid of a single adventitious prop, the autocrat was "free to say," before he had seen or heard Mr. Blomfield, that he "did not expect much of him:" which was very inconsistent in Mr. Samuel Stem. Mr. Blomfield's chances were not brilliant. But as matters had turned his case was par-priest in a way he could not explain; but, upon tially prejudged against him in the mind of Mr. the whole, he could not decide that he would Samuel Stem. It happened in this wise: do for St. Jude's. And when he noted that Mr. Blomfield gave abstracted and irrelevant answers to some of his most searching questions, his amour propre was severely wounded; and he was positively angry when his guest hastened to take his leave after dinner, before the warden had nearly finished his category of "tests." Still he was determined that the candidate should have a fair chance on the morrow before the congregation: but it must be confessed that his mind was half made up against him. Mr. Stem was very well aware that to be simply a fine preacher was not by any means all that was requisite to make a good parish priest. He attached a proper value to industry, tact, good-breeding, and ambition. He was accustomed to say that a minister who could do nothing but preach was like a ship with full tophamper and no ballast. The reader will perceive that Mr. Stem knew what he wanted, and that the man who would fit his standard was not likely to offer every day. No minister had been settled over St. Jude's who had failed either to captivate the people from the pulpit, or, in a private interview with its astute senior warden, to give tolerably satisfactory evidence of his fitness for the everyday, hack-horse work of a thorough-going, well-ordered parish. St. Jude's was crowded on Sunday morning. The weather was brilliant, and it was known that a "candidate" was to exhibit his paces. When the Reverend Henry Blomfield walked up the centre aisle from the robing-room there was a general preliminary verdict of favor. The surplice gave becoming fullness to his tall, graceful figure, and there was a grave self-possession about him which was exceedingly winning. He had a noble head, a clear, piercing, frank eye, and a mouth whose lines were sweet, yet firm and powerful. On the whole, the impression that he made upon that critical assemblage was singularly favorable. His entire freedom from the awkwardness and embarrassment which a man in his trying position might be supposed naturally to feel, was afterward wonderingly commented upon in the circles of St. Jude's. They did not then know the secret of Henry Blomfield's perfect self-possession. He was in his Master's house-the Church of God-and there was no awe or restraint for him in any human congregation. Upon entering the portal of that House he was met by an invisible but awful Presence, and it was clothed with a reverence that banished all other emotion that he walked up the aisle of St. Jude's. It is proba "A cozy dinner and a glass or two of wine is the thing to draw a man out," he would say. Mr. Stem prided himself upon his ability to read a man's character, and he considered, with much truth, that there was no better talisman to call to his aid than a dinner. Mr. Blomfield had, according to his custom with candidates, been invited to dine with Mr. Stem on the day before he was to preach. It was the first time the warden had met him; and when the servant ushered into his drawing-room a young man, slightly built, though tall, and with a face almost boyish in its youthfulness, and clad in a suit of black, which not even its admirable fit to the graceful form nor the absence of a speck of soil or dust could redeem from hopeless seediness, Mr. Stem could not help contrasting his appearance with the entrée on a similar occasion of the Reverend Theodore Warmplace, with his shining broadcloth and his gold spectacles and grand "air," bearing upon him the unmistakable that he did not think even of Samuel Stem ble stamp of the popular and powerful city divine, and the contrast was not favorable to the young country clergyman. But this was not all. Mr. Blomfield went through what Mr. Stem was wont jocularly to call his " table test" triumphantly. In fine, the dinner proved that he was a perfectly bred gentleman. This was a strong point gained, for the families of St. Jude's liked to have their rector often to dinner, and they were fastidious in matters of table etiquette. But when Mr. Stem came to his grand coup of drawing his guest out, to his amazement he abjectly failed! There was something about the young clergyman that puzzled the worthy warden. He could see plainly that he was no ordinary man; the first ten words he uttered assured him of that. The grace he said over himself as he passed to the chancel and knelt in prayer. Yet, as he thus knelt, a strong, almost passionate appeal for aid in that trying ordeal went silently out from the heart of that devoted minister of Christ. No one but himself in that crowded church knew how great was his need of help, or how much depended upon his acquitting himself with credit. But when he stood up to begin the service there was no shade of care upon his face-nothing but a heavenly light. "The Lord is in his holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before him." The full, round tones rolled from his lips without an effort, but they reached in melodious waves the remotest corner of the church. By the time the "Absolution" was pronounced every member of the congregation was rapt in the service with a new 632 Samuel Stem went home with a curious and and indescribable delight! Such reading-so musical, sonorous, and impressive, yet so utterly perplexing admixture of feelings. He knew devoid of any effort for mere effect-had never that if he omitted to secure that reading for St. been heard in St. Jude's. Every one felt that Jude's he could not hope to match it elsewhere. here, certainly, stood a true evangelist of God. (The "reading" of the departed Warmplace had They were conscious of a keen intellectual pleas- been his weak point.) And then after service ure in those exquisitely modulated tones; but he had been nearly overwhelmed with the enovercoming all was a sense of spiritual enjoy-thusiastic eulogies of those members of the conMr. Stem could not but acment, a hushed and reverential impulse of wor-gregation who found opportunity to exchange a ship, which seemed to pervade even the atmos-word with him. phere, and to draw the most careless within its knowledge that Mr. Blomfield had won the hearts of the whole congregation; and yet, that It was unpardonable. Mr. holy spell. dreadful yawn! Stem went to dinner, and from thence to vestry meeting, which had been summoned for three o'clock of that Sunday, the necessity for deciding upon the question of a rector being deemed urgent enough to justify the meeting on that day. All this Samuel Stem saw and marked well. The candidate was gaining ground rapidly. And now in the prayer for the President came that singular pause alluded to at the commencement of this story. No one, perhaps, of all the congregation, save Samuel Stem, saw what caused that interruption, and he could scarcely It was a broad and unmiscredit his senses. takable yawn. The senior warden sat through the sermon in a state of bewilderment, not unmixed with indignation. The audacity which could permit a minister, and he a candidate, deliberately to yawn in the face of St. Jude's was to him amazing. The impropriety of the thing was unNot even by equaled in all his experience. the eloquent and powerful sermon that followed could the young minister recover his lost ground with Mr. Stem. It was the unanimous affirmation of old and young of St. Jude's that never had they enjoyed It was long enough such a treat as that sermon. -twenty-five minutes by the watch-but it did not seem to be more than ten minutes, so breathlessly did the people drink in every word. The text was the yearning cry of our blessed Saviour for souls: Behold I stand at the door and knock." The style of the sermon was limpidity itself, while every one of its sentences-brief and pithy as epigrams-drove home some vital truth and clenched it fast. That wonderful voice, when reinforced by an action at once striking and graceful, had a rare charm for that people, upon whose ears had so long broken with monotonous jar the sonorous platitudes of the Reverend Theodore Warmplace. But, as with the service; every body confessed that the principal merit of the sermon was the deep sincerity which imbued it. It neither refrained from unsparing denunciation of guilty souls nor withheld an atom of the fullness of the divine love and mercy. Many a heart received an arrow that seemed shot straight at that single mark. II. Henry Blomfield, hastening from church as soon as he could take off his surplice, met Dr. Hart at the door of the cheap boarding-house where the minister's family had their temporary home. "Is there any change, Doctor?" "No, I'm sorry to say there is not yet. She is still alive, and that is all." "Doctor," and there was a wild despair in the voice, and an imploring appeal in the eyes, "is there then no hope? Must we give her up? Doctor, I know you will not give her up while there is any hope." "My friend," replied the worthy Doctor, clearing his throat vigorously, and blowing his nose sonorously and suspiciously-"I need not reI do not say, understand me, mind you, a minister of God, that the issue is in There is His hands alone. that the case is altogether hopeless. hope; but not much. I do not think it right to feed you with false hopes. There must be a If for the worse, my work change for the better or worse in the course of two or three hours. is done. You may depend upon my standing by you to the last." Their Mrs. Blomfield was sitting by the sick child, but rose as her husband entered the room. hands met in a silent pressure, and together they bent over the little form lying there so fearfully beautiful in the burning bloom of the fever. "May! May! don't you know papa? Papa's come home." The blue eyes were wide open and rolling wildly about, seeming to see now this and now that object upon which their restless glances fell. But in vain the anxious father looked for any sign in those unnaturally bright orbs to indicate He that she knew him. The truth was that Henry Blomfield always preached as if that sermon was to be his last chance of saving some perishing soul. preached this trial sermon not more hoping to win a parish than earnestly praying that haply some might thereby be brought to believe and be saved. St. Jude's went home more thoughtful than was common, and not only hoping but confident that the Reverend Henry Blomfield would be called to be their rector. Suddenly she began to sing, in a clear, sweet, child-warble, a fragment of one of the beautiful hymns of the Church which her mother had taught her: "The gentle Saviour calls Our children to his breast; Then the sweet voice prattled on: "Papamamma-don't hold me so tight. Don't take my hand out of Baby Harry's. He wants me to go with him." And then her voice dropped, and the dear head turned heavily, leaving the long, frayed, golden curls lying spread out upon the white pillow. The stricken father dropped upon his knees with a heavy groan. "O Father," he cried, using in his bitter grief those words of matchless woe that erst went up from the midnight damps of Gethsemane, "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!" Long and fervently he prayed, and he found that consolation and strength that never fail to come when we throw ourselves upon the support of the Everlasting Arms. The blue eyes of the sick child were closed when the minister rose from his knees, and she seemed to have fallen into one of those heavy but brief slumbers that had been attendant upon her illness. Mr. Blomfield now sat down with his wife by the window of the small apartment, and told her of the experiences of the morning. "I have not the least idea of what my prospects of success are," he said. "For your sake, and hers" (looking toward the bed), "Mary, I did my best; but a frightful weariness seemed to overcome my brain and body. And once, in prayers-you would hardly credit it-I was for a moment fairly overcome by drowsiness, and only roused myself by a prodigious effort from dropping fast asleep at the desk." "I do not wonder at all-my poor husband!" said Mrs. Blomfield. "Perhaps, however, no one noticed it. If they had, and had known that for three days and nights you had hung sleeplessly over the sick bed of a dear child, they would have excused you, I am sure." Mr. Blomfield stooped and picked up a worn and broken little shoe, which had been lying on the floor. For a few moments he gazed at it, and then pressed it to his cheek with unutterable tenderness, while his eyes slowly filled with tears. His glance then wandered to the face of his wife, who sat grief-worn and care-wasted beside him, bearing her equal fa.igue with a womanly strength which overmatched his own. An expression of pain, which had a dash of anger, came over his countenance as he read, plainly graven in the lines of her face, weariness, anxiety, and privation. A dark frown disfigured his forehead as his gaze fell and lingered upon her poor, plain, faded dress. From this his eye swept rapidly around the room, and took an inventory of its humble furniture at one flashing glance. When he spoke again it was with an emphasis and vehemence which showed that powerful feeling was working within him. "Mary, I don't care for this place for myself. If I only were concerned I would even now leave the city without waiting for an answer, for my very soul revolts at the idea of being put up on trial-forced to go through my paces like a horse they want to buy. That man who insisted yesterday on my going to dinner I could see only did it that he might measure me, as a carpenter would a board he wants to build into a house. Of course it's all proper enough, but I can't force myself to endure it decorously; and the more he labored to turn me inside out, the more irresistibly I felt impelled to shut myself up. But then I do want to succeed in this trial for your sake and May's, if it shall please the Merciful Lord to spare her to us. God knows your lot has been hard enough since you became a poor minister's wife! And yet no man has worked more faithfully than I have. To think that angel lying there should have had to wear such shoes as these because her father could not afford to buy her a decent pair! It is wrong; and the parish that has for five years worked me to death and half-starved my wife and child have extortion and robbery to answer for in the sight of God. And yet even that poor pittance was better than to be penniless in a strange place, and scrambling for a parish I have no hope of getting among the score of better-known men that are after it." Not for the first time now did Henry Blomfield know what courage and wisdom dwelt in the woman's heart that now beat tenderly against his own, and what strength and control in the little hand that was now pressed cool and firm upon his throbbing temples. When that pure, brave Christian woman who sat by his side told him sweetly and calmly that with him the meanest hovel was richer than a palace would be without him, he knew she uttered no romantic conventionalism, but the truth of a heart that knew no guile or dissimulation. When she reminded him that the duty he had so often taught to the children at the chancel rail, which was to be faithfully done in that station of life to which it had pleased God to call them, was as much his duty as theirs, he felt that the quiet rebuke was just, and that he who aspired to lead others was himself being led by this gentle, womanly hand. In a few words of calm, earnest, homely talk she swept every cloud from his mind and eye, and he felt his feet brought back again to firm ground. A sound from within made him start as with an electric shock, and hastily turn toward the bed. His little daughter was sitting upright in the full splendor of that delicious light which poured in at the window. From her eyes had gone out the hot glitter of delirium, and the flush of the fever was no longer in her cheeks. She knew her father, and called him softly. "Papa!" In a second he was at the bedside. "Papa, will you please give me a drink of water?" She was perfectly rational, and her father in this fact felt the most profound joy. He had feared she was to pass away without one word of recognition, or without leaving them a single message of remembrance. But would she die? Would she not now live? The doctor said there would be a change. Was this change unto life or death? Had she come back to them now, or only to herself, for a little while, before going away finally? Was this clear vision only that which comes so often to the sufferer whose eyes are about to close upon mortal scenes forever? They could not tell. A great hope and a great fear struggled together in their hearts, and they prayed for the doctor to come, while they almost dreaded to hear his step. When by-and-by he did come he found his patient lying pallid and quiet, with drops of perspiration dotting her face, where he had left her two hours before crimson with fever, and tossing in delirium. He took her pulse in his fingers with a grave air, while the father and mother watched his face with breathless suspense. The brief moments seemed hours, but when he spoke it was to thrill their hearts with joy. "Thank God, she will live!" There was a knock at the door, which Mrs. Blomfield opened to the landlady who brought a note addressed to "Rev. Henry Blomfield." No answer was wanted, she said. "And how is she?" whispered the kind-hearted woman. Upon hearing from the rejoicing mother the good news she stole into the room on tip-toe to look at little May, and just remaining long enough to shake hands with them all, she went sobbing out of the door, and clattered off down stairs to spread the news through the house, where May was reigning pet from attic to cellar. As Mr. Blomfield tore open the envelope with a trembling hand a vague prescience of bad news crept chillingly over him and brought a choking lump into his throat. The note ran thus: "VESTRY ROOM OF ST. JUDE'S PARISH, "Sunday Afternoon, June 26, 1864. sickness of his little girl. He felt sure that she would not be able, however willing, to keep him much longer. The world looked very dark before him just now. As soon as the doctor had left, which he did after he had written a prescription and given Mrs. Blomfield directions for the night, the poor minister sank into a chair, and covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud. Mrs. Blomfield was by his side in a moment; but it required all her tenderness and taxed her Christian strength to the utmost to lift from his heart the heavy load that had fallen upon it. But she did remove it partially, and the minister came that night to the family altar, if not very hopeful, at least not despairing of the future; and when, as they were singing (softly, for they thought May was asleep), a sweet, tremulous voice from the bed joined them in good old Bishop Ken's immortal hymn— "Glory to Thee, my God, this night he felt the cloud lifted as if by angel hands, and his heart became light as it had not been for months. He thought what bitterness of soul would now have been his if that sweet voice were hushed in death, and the light of those dear eyes gone out forever. On the wings of prayer he mounted near to the Throne. From the darkness he stretched out his hands and felt the hand of God, and clasping it became again courageous and strong. That night Henry Blomfield and his wife sat long by the window talking cheerfully over plans for the future. It was determined that he should go in the morning and answer an advertisement for a teacher of elocution in a flourishing school for young gentlemen, which advertisement he had noticed the day before. Mary insisted that he should now go to bed and get a little sleep, lest, as she jocosely said, he "might nod in the face of the principal on the morrow when he went to seek his fortune." She would lie down by May, and would be sure to hear her if she stirred ever so little. So they both slept. In the morning, as soon as breakfast was dispatched, Mr. Blomfield went to the seminary. There had been twelve applicants, and the place had been filled on Saturday evening. This was unfortunate. But now that his manhood had come back to him he was not to be discouraged by a single disappointment. But a greater trouble awaited him. Returning home, hot and weary from his long walk, he was met in the hall by Mrs. Emmons, the landlady of the house, who, with much circumlocution and stammering, made her business Notwithstanding Mr. Blomfield's misgivings he was not fully prepared for this disappointment, and a sharp pang shot through his brain as he read in those formal sentences the crushing of all his hopes. A few moments before he would have welcomed a lifetime of beggary to be assured of the restoration to him of his darling child; now she was saved to him the sense of his forlorn condition came back to him with redoubled poignancy. He had not even money to pay the doctor who had labored so faithfully to save his precious child. He was already three known. weeks in arrears for board, and he knew that | "You know, Sir, that I have only my boardhis landlady was perfectly aware of his circum-ers to depend upon, and what with the high stances. He felt that she had already gone beyond her means in keeping him, and that if she had only hinted once or twice at the settlement of his bill, it was because of his affliction in the prices of every thing I have trouble enough to make ends meet. Now, while your dear little girl was so sick I wouldn't have done it for the world. But now she's doing so nicely (I was |