Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
“His business,” continued Mrs. Macfarlane, “is to tak' the pulpit when
a minister is awa' at a Sacrament or on his holiday, and any Sabbath he
micht be at Peterhead and the next at Wigtown. He gets his orders on
Friday, an' he sets aff wi' his bit bag on Saturday, an' a weary body he
is on Monday nicht An' it's little he maks for a' he does, bare twenty
shillin' a week clear; but naebody can stand this colie-shangie,
(disturbance).” For above the landlady's exposition rose the
probationer's voice: “Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus.”
What she said to her cousin once removed I know not, but it was not in
vain, for in the evening this was brought by the servant:--
“Dear Sir,--
“It affords me sincere regret to learn that you have been disturbed in
the midst of your literary avocations by sounds and movements emanating
from my room. They are unfortunately and unavoidably connected with a
new method of professional work which I have been advised to adopt by
experienced friends. It would, however, be unrighteous that one man
should hinder another in his daily labour, and I would be greatly
obliged if you could indicate any time of absence during which I might
be free to speak aloud and move with energy in my chamber without
offence. Apologising for my unwitting annoyance,
“I am,
“Yours respectfully,
“Hiram Clunas.”
It was written on poor paper and a single sheet, but the handwriting was
that of a scholar, a man accustomed to form Hebrew and Greek characters,
and the very flavour of pedantry was attractive, so that one wanted to
know the writer, and I seized the excuse of a personal answer.
He was quite unprepared for my coming, and upset a Hebrew lexicon and
four German books on the Prophets before he could get a chair in his
single room below the slates; nor had he any small talk to offer, but
he was ready enough to speak about his own work, and seemed anxious to
explain his recent departure. It also occurred to me that he wanted my
judgment.
“My work, let me explain,” he said, hesitatingly, “is not pastoral or...
devoted to a particular sphere, since my gifts have not yet... commended
themselves to a congregation after such a fashion that they were
inclined to... in short, wished to have me as their minister. Mine is
a vagum ministerium. I am what is called a probationer, that is, I have
been duly educated in profane and sacred learning for the holy ministry,
and have passed certain examinations... without discredit.”
“Of that I am sure,” I interpolated with sincerity, whereat the
probationer ought to have bowed and replied, “It is very good of you
to say so,” but as it was he only blushed and looked as if he had been
caught boasting.
“And then?” I suggested.
“It remains to discover whether I am... fit for the practical work of my
calling--if it be, indeed, I am called at all.. And here the little man
came to a halt.
“You are examined again,” I inquired, tentatively, “or placed under a
chief for a little?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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