celebrated institutions had conferred high honors upon him.  This high throwing of the parson’s lasso getting abroad atoned for innumerable antiquated and very dull sermons, for the delivery of which he would excuse himself to his private friends by saying that his salary was but four hundred dollars a year, one third of which he took in No. 2 mackerel no one would buy of him.  He was excessively fussy; and if he advocated temperance to-day, he would to-morrow take a sly smash, never forgetting to add that it was recommended by his physician, who was likewise a man of great learning.  Under the influence of this medicine, it was said, by malicious people, which no parish is with—­out, that if the occasion demanded a serious sermon he was sure to preach one that would send all the young folks of his congregation into a titter.  If the occasion was such as to tolerate a little humor, he was sure to send them all into a melancholy mood with the gravity of his remarks.  In fine, he was sure to be on the opposite side of everything natural.  The only question he was not quite sure it would do to get upon, was the slavery question.  And for this he always excused himself by saying that there were many others in the same condition.  It would not do to be in the desert, hence he inclined to the policy of our fashionable clergy, who are extremely cautious not to steer too close to questions not popular enough to be profitably espoused.  If Parson Stebbins (for such was his name) let drop a few words in favor of freedom to-day, Obadiah Morgan, the most influential member of his church, would to-morrow politely withdraw.  A word or two complimentary of the South and her peculiar institutions was equally sure to find him taken to task by the philanthropic females of his parish.  In truth, he could approach neither side of the question without finding a fire in his rear.  And as his empty pocket would not allow him to rise to independence, he resolved to preach to that portion of his church which was content to let the slavery question take care of itself.

The parson joined my father in his endeavors to shake the resolution I had taken, and said many things concerning the snares set by the wicked world, and how easy it was for an ardent youth like myself to fall into them, that grievously annoyed my mother; for, as I have said before, she had great faith in my virtue, and so doted on me that she had a ready excuse for all my follies.  Indeed, she would often smile at the combined alarm of my father and the parson, saying she held it infinitely better that a youth like myself go out upon the world in search of distinction, for therein lay the virtue of his example.  Children were born to the world; if they had daring enough to go out upon it and battle with it, the parson’s advice to stay at home was unnecessary.  You could not make human things divine; and, to expect miracles from saints now-a-days, or truth from critics, or liberality from parsons, was like looking for reason in our “current literature.”