DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.22217#0286
THE BROKEN MISSIONAR Y.
THE BROKEN MISSIONARY.
The place was called a church, but it was really little more
than a mission-house thrown out and partly supported by a
religious body in Edinburgh wishing to extend its connection.
The town is a few miles from Edinburgh, and the building
used for the church had at one time been used as a school,
then as a slaughter-house for pigs, and at last, with a little
painting and fitting up, as a church or meeting-house.
It is not necessary to name the particular sect of which this
small church was a part. All churches are formed of men and
women, and with these there is always to be found some twist
of character, which we, who are twisted in another direction,
call an imperfection. Such men as the deacon in the following
case may be found in almost any church—men of strong con-
victions and great pugnacity, who are such heroes for virtue
that they never think it possible to fall on the other side.
The little church had no vestry, and but one door, so the
minister and congregation all entered from the front. Just
within the door there was a small partition, and a folding door
to keep the draught off the congregation during the assembling,
and conspicuously in front of that, and facing the outer door,
stood a three-legged stool bearing a big pewter plate for con
tributions. The contents of this plate were in general so
scanty that they might easily have been counted by the eye,
but occasionally, during the summer, visitors from the city would
drop into the little place and leave in the plate a practical
proof of their interest in the struggling church. After the
services, it was the duty of the deacon or deacons to count the
collection and place the sum to the credit of the general fund
of the church. The minister or missionary, Arthur Morrison
by name, was a young man with a wife and two children, who
was struggling vainly to exist upon ^55 a year. He had
striven hard, but had so far failed that he was considerably in
debt to different tradesmen about the town. He could scarcely
THE BROKEN MISSIONARY.
The place was called a church, but it was really little more
than a mission-house thrown out and partly supported by a
religious body in Edinburgh wishing to extend its connection.
The town is a few miles from Edinburgh, and the building
used for the church had at one time been used as a school,
then as a slaughter-house for pigs, and at last, with a little
painting and fitting up, as a church or meeting-house.
It is not necessary to name the particular sect of which this
small church was a part. All churches are formed of men and
women, and with these there is always to be found some twist
of character, which we, who are twisted in another direction,
call an imperfection. Such men as the deacon in the following
case may be found in almost any church—men of strong con-
victions and great pugnacity, who are such heroes for virtue
that they never think it possible to fall on the other side.
The little church had no vestry, and but one door, so the
minister and congregation all entered from the front. Just
within the door there was a small partition, and a folding door
to keep the draught off the congregation during the assembling,
and conspicuously in front of that, and facing the outer door,
stood a three-legged stool bearing a big pewter plate for con
tributions. The contents of this plate were in general so
scanty that they might easily have been counted by the eye,
but occasionally, during the summer, visitors from the city would
drop into the little place and leave in the plate a practical
proof of their interest in the struggling church. After the
services, it was the duty of the deacon or deacons to count the
collection and place the sum to the credit of the general fund
of the church. The minister or missionary, Arthur Morrison
by name, was a young man with a wife and two children, who
was struggling vainly to exist upon ^55 a year. He had
striven hard, but had so far failed that he was considerably in
debt to different tradesmen about the town. He could scarcely