144 Some Fassages in the Life of Deacon Goodman. [March, 



is the earnest wish of the choir, and many of the congregation, that you 

 do not again sing in meeting" 



The Deacon was again thunderstruck, hut soon recovered. " Singing 

 is praying," said he, " and they might as well tell me not to pray. I 

 ghall sing in meeting." 



The good Deacon was dreadfully set in his way, and so it went on 

 again week after week, in the same old way, 



But an incident occurred, which contributed much to bring this singular 

 case to a crisis. About two miles from the Deacon's comfortable dwell- 

 ing, there was a wretched hovel, which imperfectly sheltered the wretched 

 wife and children of a still more wretched drunkard. 



On one of the most inclement evenings of a New England January, 

 the Deacon and his family were cheerfully and thankfully enjoying a 

 glorious hickory fire ; Mrs. Goodman was sewing for the family, and her 

 daughters for the Missionary Society. His son was reading the Massa- 

 chusetts Ploughman, and the good man himself was just finishing off a 

 sermon by a distinguished divine of his own denomination, when bang 

 went the front door, and in came his good neighbor and own beloved and 

 respected Minister. " Why ! I never ! " said Deacon Goodman, " what 

 has brought you along in such a night as this ? " Now, this Minister 

 had his peculiarities as well as the Deacon. Among others, he was very 

 close mouthed about his own good deeds. He merely answered, " I have 

 been about my duty, I hope." The fact was he had been to visit, and to 

 talk, and pray, with a poor dying negro. " ' Seems to me you are rather 

 crusty," said the Deacon, "but I suppose you are half frozen, and so sit 

 down and thaw yourself out." " I thank you," said the Minister, "but 

 I merely called to tell you that I have just left a scene of misery ; and 

 I want you to go there as early as you can in the morning. On my way 

 here and home, I passed that wretched hovel which we all know so welL 

 I felt it my duty to stop and learn the cause of the terrible uproar within. 

 I found the wretch beating his wife ; and her screams, and his horrid 

 oaths made my blood run cold. 



" Put old Mag in the wagon." " Deacon, don't go to-night," said Mrs. 

 Goodman. " Do wait till morning," said all his daughters. " Let me 

 go," said his son. " Mind your own business," said the Deacon to all 

 of them, " I shall go to-night." AYhcn it came to that, they knew there 

 was no more to be said. He was dreadfully " set in his way." He took 

 a bag and a basket, and went down cellar. He filled the bag with po- 

 tatoes. He took a piece of pork from one barrel, and a piece of beef 

 from another, and put them in the basket. He went to the closet, and 

 took a brown loaf and a white one. He went to the wood pile, and took 



