142 Some Passages in tlie Life of Deacon Goodman. [March, 



good Deacon's character. He was rather " set in his way ;" or in other 

 words, he was dreadfully obstinate in what he thought a good cause : 

 and he was generally correct in appreciating the merits of the cause. 



We all know that musical people are apt to be sensitive, and sometimes 

 a little capricious ; and who has ever known a theatrical orchestra, or 

 even a village choir, that had not a regular " blow up," at least once a 

 year ? Beyond all doubt, Deacon Goodman's singing was a very serious 

 grievance to the choir, and no small annoyance to the congregation. Yet 

 in consideration of his great merits he was indulged ; and his regular 

 Sunday performances often drew forth the remark, that if music-murder 

 was a sin. Deacon G-oodman would have much to answer for. But there 

 is a point beyond which forbearance is no longer a virtue. Great pains 

 had been taken by the choir in getting up a new Anthem (selected from 

 Mozart), for Thanksgiving day, and the very gem of the piece was a solo, 

 which had been assigned to the sweetest voice, and the prettiest little 

 girl in the village. All who attended the rehearsals were perfectly 

 delighted with the solo, as sung by " little Mary." It was very difficult. 

 It was marked from beginning to end, "Andantino," " Dolce," " Affet- 

 uoso," "Crescendo," "Piano," " Pianissimo," with changing keys, and 

 flats and sharps springing out from unexpected places ; but she had 

 conquered it all. Three or four accomplished singers, who had come 

 from Boston to pass Thanksgiving in the country, and who attended the 

 last rehearsal, were in raptures with little Mary's singing. They had 

 heard Tedesco, and Biscaccianti, and Madam Bishop ; and yet they said, 

 " fojj^a country girl, she is a prodigy." 



In due time Thanksgiving day arrived ; and while the " second bell " 

 was ringing, news came to the village that a very serious accident had 

 happened to the Universalist minister. His horse had thrown him, and 

 either his leg or his neck was broken ; the boy who had brought the 

 news had forgotten which. " I hope it is not his neck," said the rich 

 and charitable old church member. When Deacon Goodman heard that 

 remark, he held up his hands, and exclaimed, " I never ! " 



Now, the Deacon dearly loved good preaching, and the meeting-house 

 was to him a " house of feasting." But his religion was of a very prac- 

 tical kind, and although he thought but precious little of his good works, 

 ha took care to do a good many of them, and was far from believing with 

 Amsdorff, that "good works are an impediment to salvation." So, said 

 he to Mrs. Goodman, " do you go to the house of feasting, and get all 

 the good you can, and I will go to the house of mourning, and do all I 

 can." And away he went to see, and if possible to relieve, the Univer- 

 salist minister. 



