such another man, with one slight difference, which
is to his advantage, as a gift of grace. He
has all of Deacon Grant’s self-diffusing life
of love for his kind, generous and tender dispositions
towards the poor and needy, and more than the Deacon’s
means of doing good; and, with all this, the indomitable
energy and will and even the look of Cromwell.
During my stay in the neighborhood, I was present
at two large gatherings at his House of Canvas, with
which he supplements his family mansion when the latter
lacks the capacity of his heart in the way of accommodation.
This tent, which he erects on his lawn, will hold
a large congregation; and, on both the occasions to
which I refer, was well filled with men, women, and
children from afar and near. The first was a
re-union of the Sunday-school teachers and pupils
of the county, to whom he gave a sumptuous dinner;
after which followed addresses and some business transactions
of the association. The second was the examination
of the British School of the village, founded and
supported, I believe, by himself. At the conclusion
of the exercises, which were exceedingly interesting,
the whole company, young and old, adjourned to the
lawn, where the visitors and elder people of the place
were served with tea and coffee under the tent.
Then came “The Children’s Hour.”
They were called in from their games and romping
on the lawn, and formed into a circle fifty feet in
diameter. And here and now commenced an entertainment
which would make a more interesting picture than the
old Apsley House Dinner. The good deacon of
the county, with several assistants, entered this
charmed circle of boys and girls, all with eyes dilated
and eager with expectation, and overlooked by a circular
wall of elder people radiant with the spirit of the
moment. The host, in his white hat and grey
beard, led the way with a basket on his arm, filled
with little cakes, called with us gingernuts.
He was followed by a file of other men with baskets
of nuts, apples, etc. It was a most hilarious
scene, exhilarating to all the senses to look upon,
either for young or old. He walked around the
ring with a grand, Cromwellian step, sowing a pattering
rain of the little cakes on the clean-shaven lawn,
as a farmer would sow wheat in his field, broadcast,
in liberal handfuls. Then followed in their order
the nut-sowers, apple-sowers, and the sowers of other
goodies. When the baskets were emptied, the
circular space enclosed was covered with as tempting
a spread of dainties as ever fascinated the eyes of
a crowd of little people. For a whole minute,
longer than a full hour of ordinary schoolboy enjoyments,
they had to stand facing that sight, involuntarily
attitudinising for the plunge. At the end of
that long minute, the signal sounded, and, in an instant,
there was a scene in the ring that would have made
the soberest octogenarian shake his sides with the
laughter of his youth. The encircling multitude
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