How few find it!  Nay, reader, if you say this, your observation is at fault.  God’s providences with men are not like blind chances, but full of wisdom and love.  In the darkness of sorrow and adversity a light shines on the path that was not illumined before.  When the sun of worldly prosperity goes down, a thousand stars are set in the firmament.  In the stillness that follows, God speaks to the soul and is heard.

VII.

Into good ground.

“WHAT did you think of the sermon, Mr. Braxton?” said one church member to another, as the two men passed from the vestibule of St. Mark’s out into the lofty portico.

Mr. Braxton gave a slight shrug, perceived by his companion as a sign of disapproval.  They moved along, side by side, down the broad steps to the pavement, closely pressed by the retiring audience.

“Strong meat,” said the first speaker, as they got free of the crowd and commenced moving down the street.

“Too strong for my stomach,” replied Mr. Braxton.  “Something must have gone wrong with our minister when he sat down to write that discourse.”

“Indigestion, perhaps.”

“Or neuralgia,” said Mr. Braxton.

“He was in no amiable mood—­that much is certain.  Why, he set nine-tenths of us over on the left hand side, among the goats, as remorselessly as if he were an avenging Nemesis.  He actually made me shudder.”

“That kind of literal application of texts to the living men and women in a congregation is not only in bad taste, but presumptuous and blasphemous.  What right has a clergyman to sit in judgment on me, for instance?  To give forced constructions to parables and vague generalities in Scripture, about the actual meaning of which divines in all ages have differed; and, pointing his finger to me or to you, say—­’The case is yours, sir!’ I cannot sit patiently under many more such sermons.”

Mr. Braxton evidently spoke from a disturbed state of mind.  Something in the discourse had struck at the foundations of self-love and self-complacency.

“Into one ear, and out at the other.  So it is with me, in cases like this,” answered Mr. Braxton’s companion, in a changed and lighter tone.  “If a preacher chooses to be savage; to write from dyspeptic or neuralgic states; to send his congregation, unshrived, to the nether regions—­why, I shrug my shoulders and let it pass.  Most likely, on the next Sunday, he will be full of consideration for tender consciences, and grandly shut the gate he threw open so widely on the last occasion.  It would never answer, you know, to take these things to heart—­never in the world.  We’d always be getting into hot water.  Clergymen have their moods, like other people.  It doesn’t answer to forget this.  Good morning, Mr. Braxton.  Our ways part here.”

“Good morning,” was replied, and the men separated.