A day or two after the wedding, the trunk of Mrs. P., late Rose W., was opened, and there were found, among other trinkets indicative of her personal charms, and of the estimation in which she had been held, two bundles of cigars, and forty-eight Daguerreotypes, the likenesses of her rejected suitors!

Neither of these parties were connected with the Episcopal church; I must be allowed, therefore, to think that a non-resident Episcopal clergyman having been chosen to perform the ceremony, indicated a choice on personal grounds.

Still, these circumstances and the like, furnish the interesting episodes in every clergyman's life. I would by no means have it inferred that I enjoyed one round of halcyon days during my first sojourn in the Platte country. It was often my privilege, after a journey of thirty miles, to "sweep out and dust the room,” in which service was to be held on the morrow-and to carry out the ashes and make the fire on the Sunday morning. The regular fare between Weston and St. Joseph, by stage, I had, by a personal interview, commuted to one-half; and this sum, in the aggregate, for one year, I paid with funds not received from my parishioners. My raiment, unlike that of the Israelites, waxed old, and an exchange was never effected through the liberality of the people, except in the single particular of a pair of inexpressibles, furnished by one who has lately become by election, a Free State Attorney-General. I can illustrate what I would have understood on this head, by a remarkable case in point. While I resided at St. Joseph, in 1851, the Cali

A PARSON FOR CALIFORNIA.

31

fornia fever had not ceased to rage. The infection had even spread to the ranks of the preachers. It will be borne in mind that St. Joseph was the "jumpingoff place;" in other words, it was here the emigrants bade farewell to civilization and entered upon the long journey through a savage wilderness.

I was sitting in my study one morning, when I heard a footstep on the stairs, and in a moment afterwards a modest knock was given on my door. I gave the entre, and a very fine specimen of a gentleman stood before me. He held in his hand a large soleleather hat-box. He blushed slightly, while I asked him to take a seat. "I called this morning, sir," said he, "on what you may regard and what I feel to be, a strange errand." So saying, he fumbled in his vestpocket and found the key to his hat-box. He opened the box and took out a worsted muffler, about a dozen of half-worn shirt collars, and as many, perhaps more in number, of white jaconet neckcloths, and a book published by the Appletons, entitled "Five Hundred Sketches and Skeletons of Sermons." Said he, "Sir, I learn that you are the only person in town who wears white neckcloths, and I wish to dispose of these, together with the accompanying articles! I am going to California." I did not know what to reply— I perceived that the man was in his senses, and I hesitated. He guessed the thought which was passing in my mind, and inquired-"How are you sustained here?" "Oh, so, so," said I. "There is but one story," said he, "in answer to my own inquiry. My story is the tale of nineteen in every twenty of the ministers

of Christ, of whatever name. I have been, sir, a minister of the Presbyterian church in Virginia for the last fifteen years. But I have been ever in a condition worse than a beggar; I have been kept in debt. I have been fawned on and flattered. Told often what a fine sermon I had preached, and what an affecting prayer I had made. I was constantly invited out to dinner or to tea, but I could put no l'argent in my purse to pay my rent, get me fuel, or bread for my family. I am now on my way to California, and I wish to sell out the insignia which appertain to the priest's office." I did not know which to do, laugh or weep. I purchased his stock-the book I retain yet, the hat-box was sold at auction, with other matters, in Chicago, and the neckcloths have long since become as threadbare and as holey as will be found in the wardrobe of any parson whatever. This very true story will illustrate the condition of my affairs in days gone by, in Weston and St. Joseph; I had a smile from everybody—I could go to tea or to dinner anywhere, or I could have with pleasure a carriage to take a ride when the owner did not intend using it himself. But now how changed!

Now, a heart-broken mother is landed solitary on the levee at Weston, while her husband is on his sad journey behind her with the dead body of her babe; she takes her rooms at the hotel, and waits, with awful suspense, for six days, his coming, but not a call of sympathy is made by the once parishioners of her hus band, who had for many months preached to them the Gospel of Christ without money and without price. Times change, and we change with them.

CHAPTER VII.

VISITED BY A REVEREND BROTHER, WHO SITS
FOR HIS PORTRAIT.

WHEN I had been absent from Weston and St. Joseph some months, having accepted a call to Chicago, Illinois, in 1853, I received a letter from the Rev. W. N. Irish, then Rector of a parish in Columbus, Ohio, making particular inquiries with reference to the condition of things at Weston and St. Joseph. I replied in as encouraging a strain as I thought was consistent, and referred him, for further particulars, to the Bishop of Missouri. The result of all was, that, very early in the spring of 1854, the Rev. Mr. Irish found himself installed in my late charge at these towns. I had never had the honor of a personal acquaintance with my reverend brother. He had concluded to make his home at St. Joseph, and officiate at both points, as I had done.

While at the St. George Hotel, in Weston, I received a call from him, the nature of which I must now disclose. He had come down from St. Joseph, and driven to the house of General Stringfellow, in Weston. In about an hour after his arrival, he came and introduced himself, with a smiling countenance, in the parlor of the hotel. I was very glad to see him. I believe that he is about the same age with myself, and, if memory serves me well, we took orders about

the same time. We were, therefore, more likely to be social, and on a par with each other. We met on ground every inch of which we both knew well.

There were some two or three persons in the parlor at the time. Mr. I. asked me at what points in the Territory of Kansas I would officiate. I told him the letter of my appointment read, "Fort Leavenworth, and parts adjacent.”

"You can't preach at Fort Leavenworth," said Mr. I. "Not at the garrison, I know; but at the town outside," I replied.

The bill organizing the Territory located the seat of government at Fort Leavenworth-(this was afterwards altered)-but I was under the impression that a town would be founded near that post. Mr. I. told me that "he had organized a parish, called 'St. Centurion,' at the garrison, and that, as soon as practicable, it would be transferred to Leavenworth City." I remarked that it would then come under my care. He smiled at my simplicity; and then went on to tell me the many favors which he received at the hands of Major Maclin's family: he added, that he would visit the Major in the morning. I asked him to do me the favor to present my regards to Major M. and his family. I was then asked if I would not accompany him to the garrison. I told him no; that I had seen Major Maclin, on my way up the Missouri, and that he had not invited me to visit him at his quarters, as he had ever done in times gone by.

After Mr. Irish had returned from his visit at the garrison, he called again at the hotel, and imparted to