“There are none such to let in the city,” said Mr. Rental.  “Land costs too much.  The few plain houses are all occupied by their owners.”  The very best he could do was one house, half a mile from the church, for $1,800.  He had one other for $1,500, but it was opposite an immense stable, and had neither cellar nor furnace, and croton only on the first floor.  I thanked him and said I would look in again if either of them suited.

Last week, according to appointment, our pastor and his wife came in for a second consultation.

“There are,” said I, “two considerations which might lead you to accept this call-increased usefulness and increased salary.  I do not deny the importance of a New York city parish, nor fail to recognize the good work the city ministers are doing.  But you must not fail to recognize the difficulties of the situation.  New York is sensation-mad.  The competition in churches is as great as in business.  There are perhaps half a dozen men of genius who fill their churches with ease, or whose churches are filled because they are the resort of “good society.”  The rest of the ministers are compelled to devote three-quarters of their energies to keeping a congregation together, the other quarter to doing them good.  They accomplish the first, sometimes by patient, persistent, assiduous, unwearying pastoral labor, sometimes by achieving a public reputation, sometimes by the doubtful expedient of sensational advertisements of paradoxical topics.  But in whatever way they do it the hardest part of their work, a part, country parsons know next to nothing of, is to get and keep a congregation.  What you are wanted for at the—­street Presbyterian Church is to ‘build it up.’  The one quality for which you are commended is the capacity to ‘draw.’  Doubtless there are devout praying men and women who will measure your work by its spiritual results, by the conversion of sinners and the growth in grace of Christians.  But what the financial managers want is one who will fill up their empty pews, enable them to add fifty per cent. to the rentals, and in some way pay off their debt.  That will be their measure of your usefulness.”

It was quite evident that my good pastor and his wife thought me uncharitable.  Was I?

“As to salary,” said I, “you country clergymen are greatly mistaken in supposing that city salaries are prizes to be coveted.  Six thousand dollars is only a moderately fair support for a New York clergyman, and there are comparatively few who get it.  You must pay at least $1,800 rent.  You must dress as well as the average of your best families.  You must neither be ashamed for yourselves nor for your children in the best society.  You must keep open house.  You must set a good table.  You must be “given to hospitality.”  You must take a lead in organizing the missionary and charitable movements of your Church, which you cannot do without some money.  You must be ready to co-operate in great public, church, and philanthropic movements.  You must take a vacation of six weeks every summer, which of itself, at the lowest estimate, will cost you $150 or $200 a year.  I have made some inquiries of three or four economical friends in New York.  Here is the result of my inquiries.  You may reduce the figures a little.  But it will require quite as much economy to live in New York on $4,000 a year as in Wheathedge on $1,200.”