Both Sides by Louise J. Kirkwood

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 16, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 16.

Both Sides.

By Louise J. Kirkwood

Two FARMERS, in an easy-going sort of way, were jogging along a country road together. As they came in sight of the country church, whose sloping roof showed the patches of new shingles, it naturally suggested remark. From the church the conversation found an easy road to the parson.

Farmer Blake, who was well known in the neighborhood as cherishing a pique at the parson, spoke up with an enlivened tone, as if the subject had a special relish for him:—

"I ain't no Christian myself, though I'm free to confess I wish I was, just for the sake of feeling easy like against a time that's comin', surer nor sunset, but I'll be bound if I care to be one like the parson over there. They say religion is good to make a man open-handed, and good-tempered, and unselfish, but as near as I can figger, the parson aint nary one on 'em. T'other day he kept Larry splittin' wood for him from mornin' till dark, for just three shillin's. That's what I call close-fisted; an' him a gittin' his clear six hundred a year, and not a chick nor a child to raise onto it. And haven't I known him to lay abed mornin's till the smoke was a pourin' out of his chimney, and his wife firing away at the t'other end getting of his breakfast? That's what I call downright lazy and selfish. As for his temper, I can't say as I ever heard him say anything outright pesky mad; but he looks solemnner nor an owl, most times, and makes you feel as if the east wind was blowin' at yer, more nor the sun shinin' around yer."

"Neighbor Blake," said his companion, after a little pause, "have you got done firin' those shots? If you think you've hit anything, you're mighty mistaken. Blank catridges; that's all they be. To begin with, there ain't a more generous, self-sacrificing man a goin' than just that man, Parson Williams, over yonder, and I know it. One thing I know for certain, he gives a clean hundred dollars a year to old Parson Coe, down to Concord, who has been on his back for years with rheumatism, and him no kin to him, neither, only, as he says, in the Lord; and that ain't the end of his givin', neither, though how he can give more out of six hundred dollars beats me. Another thing I know, he gets the dyspepsia the very worst way, sometimes, and don't half sleep nights, and if his wife, who can sleep, has a mind to get up such times and start the fire, I don't think it is any business of ourn, nor anything agen him. As for his looks, he can't help them, for I do allow he does look kinder down-hearted sometimes, but it's all owin' to his havin' the dyspepsia in the worst way. I tell you it takes a power of kingdom come in a man to hold up his head like a sunflower when he's carryin' a load like lead in his stomach. As for Larry's tellin' he got only three shillin' for splittin' wood, he's been lyin', that's all. He got a good half-barrel of first-class potatoes along with it, and I know it. That's what I call pretty good picking, not considering what a shirk Larry is, especially a splittin' wood. So I think, neighbor, you had better stop figgerin' the parson's character; you can't prove your sums, nohow."

"It's fair for me to confess," he went on to say, in a softened tone, "that he's helped me to see some things the way I never saw them before, and if ever I do get inside of them golden gates, it will be a great deal along of the parson's pointin' out the way so plain, and I advise you, neighbor Blake, to be gettin' ready right off, for a time which you say yourself, for a truth, is comin' surer nor sunset. It isn't a business, neighbor, that can be ketched up when you're near dyin'."

"That's so," responded Farmer Blake in a subdued tone, "and if all you say about the parson is true, I'll be bound if I oughtn't to take back what I said."—Louise J. Kirkwood, in Christian at Work.