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man can be under the influences of the Spirit when he uses notes.

Dea. Tut, tut! You are now certainly going too far.

His putting down a few thoughts on paper cannot interfere with the Spirit's influence, for as br. Orlow says, he uses only short notes. It is very different from writing his sermons, and reading them word for word. I wish, however, he would throw his notes entirely aside, and then no one would complain ; but it is of no use to say anything to him on the subject.

Jones. I don't want to say anything to him. But what do you think about raising the salary?

Dea. I think it well to raise it, if he can't get along with what he now has. Although I don't exactly like it, their not consulting me, I must say I admire their generosity in raising that $73. I expect deacon Addison paid at least half of it, for he is the most liberal and kind hearted man I ever knew. I believe if he had but half a loaf in the world, he would give it away to any one who needed it. He is blunt enough it is true, but it is always blunt kindness, and blunt goodness.

Jones. I should think our minister is paid enough. Here comes br. Smith back again.

Smith. (Entering.) I forgot my flour; I want twenty-eight pounds, deacon.

Dea. I must say I should think it would be tough work for him to get along. I can't support my family on anything like his salary.

Jones. Ministers, you know, ought to be more prudent than other folks.

Dea. Ministers must have something to eat and wear, as well as other people—they cannot live on air. I'll trouble you to get off this barrel, as I must unhead it to get br. Smith's flour.

Jones. (Getting off the barrel, and leaning on the counter.) Can't live on air ! well nobody wants 'em to live on air.

Smith. I guess they'd make poor work if they should try it. How mighty secret they've kept it about raising the salary! I never heard a word on't before. Jones. Well, I can't pay any more.

Ministers must come down in their notions, and not be so extravagant.

Smith. Our pastor isn't extravagant, is he? Jones. Yes; they all are.

Dea. I don't think you do right to say so; I never heard any such accusation against him.

Just tell us one thing in which he is extravagant.

Jones. I can't stop now, (taking out his watch,) I must be going towards home.

Dea. That's a good get off. You are in a great hurry all at once. You can't mention one thing in which he is extravagant.

Jones. Perhaps I can't mention anything pertickler, but I mean ministers must come down, and live more like their people.

Dea. Live like their people! I guess our minister would jump at the chance to exchange living with some of his flock.

Jones. I'll talk with you some other time, but I must go now.

[Exit Jones.

Dea. Shall you vote for or against raising the salary tomorrow evening ?

Smith. I shall vote for it, for I am sure I want our pastor to have enough so as not to run in debt. I don't want him to be in debt. I am a poor man, and can't pay much, but I am willing to pay what I can towards it.

Dea. That's good. I shall vote for it. For the credit of the church, I should hate to have it said he couldn't live on his salary,

that one.

Br. Jones says he can't pay any more; but he can and ought to, but I suppose he wont, he is so much worked up about the notes.

Smith. I don't like notes, but I ain't going to let that keep me from doing right.

Dea. Nor I neither. Our pastor is an excellent man, and one of the best preachers anywhere round here; and as long as using notes is all the fault we find with him, I think his other good qualities should lead us to overlook

I don't know any minister more pious, and more devoted to his work than he is.

Br. Northfield rides up to the door, and sitting in his wagon, calls out to deacon Martin. The deacon and br. Smith go to the door.

Northfield. Got any oil, deacon?

Dea. No sir; sold my last gallon this morning. Expect some this evening.

Smith. Where are you going ?
Northfield. Home.
Smith. Take me along ?
Northfield. Certainly.

They ride off, and deacon Martin goes back to his desk, to charge br. Smith with the flour.

CHAPTER VIII.

MR. POMPOLONI.

“O dear discretion, how his words are suited!
The fool hath planted in his memory

An army of great words." Mr. Pompoloni was a gentleman, as he himself supposed, of rather brilliant parts, although all his acquaintances did not agree with him in this opinion. He was the most consequential member of Rev. Mr. —'s church, in the large city of —, and considered himself entirely competent to give a small bit of advice, now and then, to his pastor.

His brethren thought he was proud, but this was a mistake, for actually he had much more of the appearance than he had of the spirit of pride. He had a peculiar habit of making a sort of preface, before he came to the main point of bis subject; and he invariably used an abundance of

Words of learned length and thundering sound,

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