The Fiends Delight | Page 8

breath
fluttered upon his pallid lips. Weakly trembled the pulse in his flattened
veins! Wife, children, mother-in-law, friends, who should have hovered
lovingly about his couch, cheering his last moments and giving him
medicine, he had killed with grief, or driven widely away; and he was
now dying alone by the inadequate light of a tallow candle, deserted by
heaven and by earth. No, not by heaven. Suddenly the door was pushed
softly open, and there entered the good minister, whose pious counsel
the suffering wretch had in health so often derided. Solemnly the man
of God advanced, Bible in hand. Long and silently he stood uncovered
in the presence of death. Then with cold and impressive dignity he
remarked, "Miserable old sinner!"
Old Jonas Lashworthy looked up. He sat up. The voice of that holy
man put strength into his aged limbs, and he stood up. He was reserved
for a better fate than to die like a neglected dog: Mr. Lashworthy was
hanged for braining a minister of the Gospel with a boot-jack. This
touching tale has a moral.
MORAL OF THIS TOUCHING TALE.--In snatching a brand from the
eternal burning, make sure of its condition, and be careful how you lay
hold of it. The New Church that was not Built.
I have a friend who was never a church member, but was, and is, a
millionaire-a generous benevolent millionaire-who once went about

doing good by stealth, but with a natural preference for doing it at his
office. One day he took it into his thoughtful noddle that he would like
to assist in the erection of a new church edifice, to replace the
inadequate and shabby structure in which a certain small congregation
in his town then worshipped. So he drew up a subscription paper,
modestly headed the list with "Christian, 2000 dollars," and started one
of the Deacons about with it. In a few days the Deacon came back to
him, like the dove to the ark, saying he had succeeded in procuring a
few names, but the press of his private business was such that he had
felt compelled to intrust the paper to Deacon Smith.
Next day the document was presented to my friend, as nearly blank as
when it left his hands. Brother Smith explained that he (Smith) had
started this thing, and a brother calling himself "Christian," whose
name he was not at liberty to disclose, had put down 2000 dollars.
Would our friend aid them with an equal amount? Our friend took the
paper and wrote "Philanthropist, 1000 dollars," and Brother Smith went
away.
In about a week Brother Jones put in an appearance with the
subscription paper. By extraordinary exertions Brother Jones-thinking a
handsome new church would be an ornament to the town and increase
the value of real estate-had got two brethren, who desired to remain
incog., to subscribe: "Christian" 2000 dollars, and "Philanthropist"
1000 dollars. Would my friend kindly help along a struggling
congregation? My friend would. He wrote "Citizen, 500 dollars,"
pledging Brother Jones, as he had pledged the others, not to reveal his
name until it was time to pay.
Some weeks afterward, a clergyman stepped into my friend's
counting-room, and after smilingly introducing himself, produced that
identical subscription list.
"Mr. K.," said he, "I hope you will pardon the liberty, but I have set on
foot a little scheme to erect a new church for our congregation, and
three of the brethren have subscribed handsomely. Would you mind
doing something to help along the good work?"

My friend glanced over his spectacles at the proffered paper. He rose in
his wrath! He towered! Seizing a loaded pen he dashed at that fair sheet
and scrabbled thereon in raging characters, "Impenitent Sinner--Not
one cent, by G--!"
After a brief explanatory conference, the minister thoughtfully went his
way. That struggling congregation still worships devoutly in its original,
unpretending temple. A Tale of the Great Quake.
One glorious morning, after the great earthquake of October 21, 1868,
had with some difficulty shaken me into my trousers and boots, I left
the house. I may as well state that I left it immediately, and by an
aperture constructed for another purpose. Arrived in the street, I at once
betook myself to saving people. This I did by remarking closely the
occurrence of other shocks, giving the alarm and setting an example fit
to be followed. The example was followed, but owing to the vigour
with which it was set was seldom overtaken. In passing down
Clay-street I observed an old rickety brick boarding-house, which
seemed to be just on the point of honouring the demands of the
earthquake upon its resources. The last shock had subsided, but the
building was slowly and composedly settling into the ground. As the
third