“Jennie,” said I, at length, “when I told you to-night of our talk at the Post-Office you said you hoped we would get a young man.  Why?”

“Why?” said Jennie.

“Yes,” said I.  “I can understand why Mr. Hardcap wants a young man.  It is for the same reason that he employs half taught apprentices in his shop.  They are cheap.  Of course our good friend Maurice Mapleson, with neither wife nor children, can more easily lay up money on $1,000 a year than Mr. Elder, with his five children can on $1,500 or $2,000.  But I don’t think you and I, Jennie, want to economize on our minister.”

“I am sure we don’t John,” said Jennie.

“And I can understand why Mr. Wheaton wants a young minister.  Young ministers do draw better, at least at first.  There is a certain freshness and attractiveness in youth.  Curiosity is set agog in watching the young minister, and still more in watching his young bride.  A ministerial honey-moon is a godsend to a parish.  Whether we ought to hire our pastors to set curiosity agog and serve the parish as a nine-day’s wonder may be a question.  But I suspect that we very often do.  But, Jennie, I hope you and I don’t want a minister to serve us as food for gossip.”

“I am sure not, John,’ said Jennie earnestly.

“Why is it then, Jennie,” said I, “that you and I want youth in our minister?  Young lawyers and young doctors are not in requisition.  Age generally brings confidence even when it does not endow with wisdom.  I believe that Judge Ball’s principal qualification for his office was his bald head and grey beard.  When you discovered a couple of grey hairs on my head a little while ago, I was delighted.  I should like to multiply them.  Every grey hair is worth a dollar.  Dr. Curall has hard work to get on in his profession because he is so young and looks still younger than he is.  If there was such a thing as grey dye it would pay him to employ it.  Lawyers and doctors must be old-ministers must be young.  Why, Jennie?”

“Perhaps,” said Jennie, “we want in our ministers enthusiasm more than wisdom.”

“Enthusiasm,” said I.  “That might do for the Methodists.  But it does not apply to the Congregationalists, and the Episcopalians, and the staid and sober Presbyterians.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Jennie.  “What we want of our preachers is not so much instruction as inspiration.  We want some body not to think for us but to set us to thinking.  Our souls get sluggish, and they want to be stirred up.  I do not want some one to prove the authority of the ten commandments, John, but some one to make me more earnest to obey them.  I do not care much about Dr. Argure’s learned expositions of the doctrine of atonement.  But I do want some one who shall make me realize more and more that Jesus died for me.”

“And what has that to do with youth, Jennie?” said I.

“I don’t know,” said Jennie, thoughtfully; “unless it is that the truth seems somehow new and fresh to the young minister.  Besides it is not youth, John, altogether.  It is freshness, and warmth, and enthusiasm, and spiritual life.  Mr. Beecher is not young nor is Spurgeon, nor Dr. Hall, nor Dr. Tyng, nor John B. Gough.  But they are all popular.  Father Hyatt isn’t young, John, but I had rather hear him than Dr. Argure any day.”