The Rev. Sydney Saybrook preached his first sermon to an admiring congregation. The people of L—— were astonished; old men dwelt with delight on the excellent home-truths introduced, as it were, amid a bed of flowers—young men admired the eloquence and frank bearing of the speaker—and young ladies, ah! that was the thing. They, disdaining the matter-of-fact admiration of the rougher sex, looked forward into futurity, and, as the young minister was reported free of encumbrances, they thought of putting an end to his season of bliss by providing him with one as soon as possible.
This, however, is in strict confidence—they would not have acknowledged it for the world, and yet many of the brains pertaining to those attentive faces were busily at work within the pretty parsonage, altering, remodeling, arranging things to their own particular tastes. One would have that rose-vine taken away—it obscured the view; another would not only leave the rose, but would add a honeysuckle, too—it looked pretty and romantic; while a third had re-carpeted the stairs to the last flight by the time that Mr. Saybrook arrived at “thirteenthly.”
Milly Ellsworth was a very pretty girl, and, therefore, what might perhaps have been vanity in one more plain, was with her only a pleasant consciousness of her own charms; as, in apparent forgetfulness of the saying that it takes two to make a bargain, she exclaimed:
“I have made up my mind to captivate Mr. Saybrook—it must be so beautiful to be a minister’s wife.”
The last remark was intended as a sort of compliment to their visitor, who enjoyed that enviable distinction, but Mrs. S—— merely smiled as Milly’s earnest face was raised toward her.
“Only think of it,” continued the young enthusiast.
“I do think of it,” replied Mrs. S——, quietly; “but the thought to me brings up some scenes that are any thing but agreeable. If I cannot tell ‘tales that would freeze your very blood,’ I can relate some that would freeze a little of that enthusiasm. A minister’s wife! You little know what is comprised in that title.”
“Of course,” replied Milly, with a demure face, “it is a station of great responsibility, and has its peculiar duties. A minister’s wife, too, is a sort of pattern, and should be a—a—in short, just the thing.”
“Exactly,” returned Mrs. S——, smiling at this very satisfactory explanation, “but for ‘pattern’ read ‘mirror’—a reflection of everybody’s own particular ideas; in which, of course, no two agree. But let me hear your ideas on the subject, Milly—I wish to know what you consider ‘just the thing.’”
“Why,” continued Milly, warming with her subject, “her dress, in the first place, should be scrupulously plain—not an article of jewelry—a simple straw hat, perhaps, tied down with a single ribbon—and a white dress, with no ornament but natural flowers.”