e end of the
twenty-fifth year of her confinement to her room, Mrs. Dorrance died. For
a few months after her death, her husband seemed like a man suddenly
struck blind in the midst of familiar objects. He seemed to be groping his
way, to have lost all plan of daily life, so tremendous was the change
involved in the withdrawal of this perpetual burden. Just as he was
beginning to recover the natural tone of his mind, and to resume his old
habits of work, his son sickened and died. The young man had never been
strong: he had inherited his mother's delicacy of constitution, and her
nervous excitability as well; but he had rare qualities of mind, and gave
great promise as a scholar. The news of his death was a blow to every
heart that loved his father. "This will kill the Parson," was said by
sorrowing voices far and near. On the contrary, it seemed to be the very
thing which cleared the atmosphere of his whole life, and renewed his
vigor and energy. He rose up from the terrible grief more majestic than
ever, as some grand old tree, whose young shoots and branches have been
torn away by fierce storms, seems to lift its head higher than before, and
to tower in its stripped loneliness above all its fellows. All the loving
fatherhood of his nature was spent now on the young people of his town;
and, by young people, I mean all between the ages of four and twenty.
There was hardly a baby that did not know Parson Dorrance, and stretch out
its arms to him; there was hardly a young man or a young woman who did not
go to him with troubles or perplexities. You met him, one day, drawing a
huge sledful of children on the snow; another day, walking in the centre
of a group of young men and maidens, teaching them as he walked. They all
loved him as a comrade, and reverenced him as a teacher. They wanted him
at their picnics; and, whenever he preached, they flocked to hear him. It
was a significant thing that his title of Professor was never heard. From
first to last, he was always called "Parson Dorrance;" and there were few
Sundays on which he did not preach at home or abroad. It was one of the
forms of his active benevolence. If a poor minister broke down and needed
rest, Parson Dorrance preached for him, for one month or for three, as the
case required. If a little church were without a pastor and could not find
one, or were in debt and could not afford to hire one, it sent to ask
Parson Dorrance to supply the pulpit; and he always went