le are not proof against this little weakness; for
people will have passions, people will belong to meetin', and people
will let their passions _rise_, even under the pulpit. But we have no
distinct recollection of ever having known a misdirected, but properly
interpreted _letter_, to settle a chuckly "plug muss," so efficiently
and happily as the case we have in point.

Old John Bulkley (grandson of the once famous President _Chauncey_) was
a minister of the gospel, and one of the best _edicated_ men of his day
in the wooden nutmeg State, when the immortal (or ought to be) Jonathan
Trumbull was "around," and in his youth. Mr. Bulkley was the first
_settled_ minister in the town of his adoption, Colchester, Connecticut.
It was with him, as afterwards with good old brother Jonathan (Governor
Trumbull, the bosom friend of General Washington), good to confer on
almost any matter, scientific, political, or religious--any subject, in
short, wherein common sense and general good to all concerned was the
issue. As a philosophical reasoner, casuist, and _good_ counselor, he
was "looked up to," and abided by.

It so fell out that a congregation in Mr. Bulkley's vicinity got to
loggerheads, and were upon the apex of raising "the evil one" instead of
a spire to their church, as they proposed and _split_ upon. The very
nearest they could come to a mutual cessation of the hostilities, was to
appoint a _committee_ of three, to wait on Mr. Bulkley, state their
_case_, and get him to adjudicate. They waited on the old gentleman, and
he listened with grave attention to their conflicting grievances.

"It appears to me," said the old gentleman, "that this is a very simple
case--a very trifling thing to cause you so much vexation."

"So I say," says one of the _committee_.

"I don't call it a trifling case, Mr. Bulkley," said another.

"No case at all," responded the third.

"It ain't, eh?" fiercely answered the first speaker.

"No, it ain't, sir!" quite as savagely replied the third.

"It's anything but a trifling case, anyhow," echoed number two, "to
expect to raise the minister's salary and that new steeple, too, out of
our small congregation."

"There is no danger of raising much out of _you_, anyhow, Mr. Johnson,"
spitefully returned number one.

"Gentlemen, if you please--" beseechingly interposed the sage.

"I haven't come here, Mr. Bulkley, to quarrel," said one.

"Who started this?" sarcastically answered Mr. Johnson