Chapter FOURTEEN

The man who borrows trouble
Is always on the rack,
For there's no way, by night or day,
That he can pay it back.

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

We got here safe and sound. This is a pretty place. Palmer lives
on the edge of the town; it's an old house; one end of it is all
taken up with his "art studio," he calls it. He biles glue and
the smell goes through the whole house. You and Lin thought I
stunk when I worked in the tannery, you ought to smell Palmer
and his art studio.

He has another preacher helping him. His wife is very quiet; she
is making the clothes for the panorama; they have a pile of
clothes to make. He asked me if I had read "Pilgrim's Progress."
He knows the book backwards, so I have to read it and learn it
too.

The way he talks this is a regular show, but he won't let you
call it a show. The painting looks awful to me but Palmer says
it looks all right under the lights. He is about done and wants
Pap to come over to see it. If he comes don't let him bring any
money.

Tell Lin to get my shotgun from under the feed trough in the cow
stable. She'd better get it quick. Turkey Evans knows where it
is and he'll steal it. Answer and let me know if he has stole it
yet.

Tom White is too short. If Cousin Charley was a few inches
taller I could get him this job. It takes tall people to be
characters in Pilgrim's Progress, especially "Christian," "Help"
and the "Evangelist." Jake's goin' to be somethin' in the
panorama.

They don't live very well; maybe Mrs. Palmer didn't know we were
coming and didn't fix for us. They have had no meat any meal
yet, only flitch.[B] Palmer works all night and sleeps all day.
He talks the rest of the time. His wife don't say nothin'; just
wears a sun bonnet. Maybe she has the newralgy.

Give my love to all. Your affectionate son,

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. N. B. Don't forgit the gun. Turner Simpson promised me when
Queen had pups to give me one. If he brings it you'll keep it,
won't you Muz?

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

The livin's no better, it's flitch every meal; they haven't had
pie or cake since we came. Palmer says when they get the thing
going we'll live on the fat on the land. His wife don't say
nothin', just sews and cooks and wears a sun-bonnet. They've got
two children somewhere. I heard Palmer say they'd have to stay,
that they'd be too much trouble on the road. This seemed to make
Mrs. Palmer more quiet, I reckon you'd call it sad. She ought to
say somethin', then a body would know what ails her. I don't
think it's newralgy. I told her mustard plasters always helped
Aunt Susan and she just looked at me.

I hope he gets her goin' soon, I'm hungry. If this show is good,
as he says she is, he ought to make enough to buy something to
eat besides flitch, corn meal and potatoes. He's got two more
scenes to paint, then we're ready to show her up.

Tom tried to help Mrs. Palmer wash the dishes, he broke two
plates. Palmer says he's all thumbs and mouth.

Your affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. Was the gun gone? The pup's a hound but it's bound to be
pretty, the children will like it. You keep it till I get home.

MT. PLEASANT, PA.

MY DEAR MUZ:

Palmer's the awfulest worker I ever saw. He knows his business
but he ain't got any money. We're waitin' on Jake to come.
Palmer owes everybody in town, they won't let him have anything
until he pays. The flitch gave out last night, and we had
nothin' but corn pone, buttermilk and potatoes. Palmer said he
ketched the gout once from high livin', and he did not want to
see another human suffer like he did. I guess his wife's dietin'
too, as she don't set down to eat with us.

Palmer is a wonderful man. He's got his lecture all wrote out
and all the characters and all the costumes for them. He's going
to begin the rehearsals tomorrow. Practicin' we called it. I
looked in the dictionary, rehearsing is to recite, to recount,
to relate, to repeat what has already been said, to recite in
private for experiment and improvement before a public
representation.

I have learned more from Palmer than anybody I was ever with.
The old preacher, Reverend Gideon, writes letters all day; he
has the names of all the churches and preachers and we know
where we are to be weeks before hand.

Jake came today and brought his two horses. They're nice horses
but he won't let you drive them, he wants to drive himself.
Palmer went to the stable while Jake was unhitchin' and I seen
him get money from Jake. We had beefstake for supper, fried, but
it was too dry. She did not make any sop.[C] We had hot biscuits
and good butter, but no pie and cake.

I got acquainted with a boy, Will Peters. He invited me over to
his house several times. I want to go but am ashamed to; they
have pie and cake three times a day just like we all do at home.

Mrs. Palmer talks a little to me now. She still wears the
sun-bonnet but I don't believe it's newralgy that ails her. She
asked me if your name warn't Mary Irons before you married Pap.

I finished the Pilgrim's Progress last night. It's a great book,
you ought to read it. The one we got at home is not complete,
borrow Uncle Tom's.

I'm glad Turkey Evans did not get hold of my shotgun. Palmer's
done all his "work of art," as he calls it. Tonight he reads the
whole thing over to us and then we got to learn our parts. Jake
is going to be "Christian;" that's what I wanted to be but
"Christian" carries a heavy load on his back and Palmer says I'm
not strong enough. Me and Tom must double a dozen different
characters. Mrs. Palmer tried all the clothes for everybody on
me. One of the suits I do not like; it's just like you had
nothin' on but a shirt; it's for "Faith" to wear. I told Palmer
it would not look right before women and children and he said
the costume was patterned after the original plates. I don't
know what he meant but he'll not put "Faith's" clothes on me,
plates or no plates.

Is Pap coming over before we start? If he is, you have Lin bake
a peck of doughnuts, put them in the big carpet-sack. I'm glad
you got the gun. I wrote Turner Simpson to send you the pup when
it was old enough to wean. Your affectionate son,

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD

P. S. Don't forget the doughnuts.

SOMERSET, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

It will be my luck to have Pap come to Mt. Pleasant with the
doughnuts and find us all gone. We left last night. I wrote you
we was going but I didn't know it until Palmer woke me up in the
middle of the night. Reverend Gideon left two days before.
Someone pulled me out of bed. I hollered, "Here, here, hold on!"
Then I knew it was Palmer. I jumped up. He ordered me to dress
quickly.

I dressed and looked for Tom. I asked Palmer where he was. He
said: "I've called him as often as I'm going to." I called Tom
and had to wait so long for him to dress that when I got out
doors there was Jake sitting up in the front seat of the wagon,
and Mrs. Palmer beside him. She looked to me as if she was
cryin'. Jake told us to "get in, she's going to go."

Palmer was locking the doors. I heard something splash down in
the well. His wife asked for the keys. "They're down in the
well; old Lane, the landlord, can look for them." Mrs. Palmer
looked very much worried. They left all their things excepting a
few bedclothes and the sewing machine.

Palmer spread the bedclothes on the panorama in the bottom of
the wagon; Tom, me and him slept all the way here. Poor Mrs.
Palmer set up all night beside Jake on the seat. If she ain't
got the newralgy she'll katch it sure. Mrs. Palmer wouldn't get
out of the wagon to eat breakfast when we stopped on the road at
a country house, and Palmer spoke real cross to her and she
cried. It's the only time I've seen Jake's face without a smile
and he looks a different man when he ain't smiling. I like Jake
and he likes me. He wants to see Pap.

Reverend Gideon met us here. Palmer forgot his clothes and I
heard him tell Gideon they'd have to go, he had flung the keys
in the well and if Gideon went back after his clothes they was
liable to fling him in jail.

I believe Palmer's run off owing everybody. This thing's bound
to make money. I'm sorry I came for twenty a month. If he does
well he'll have to raise me.

Your affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. The hound was to be a dog, not another kind.

Palmer, the wife and Gideon, were a source of much speculation to Alfred; he could not fix their standing in his mind. The facts were that Palmer was one of those soldiers of fortune who had experimented with many things and failed in everything. He fitted Dryden's description of:

"A man so various, that he seemed to be
Not one, but all mankind's epitome;
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong
Was everything by starts, and nothing long;
But, in the course of one revolving moon,
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon."

The only aim Palmer seemed to have in life was to create the impression that he might have been worse. Store clerk, school teacher, politician, preacher, scene painter, amateur showman; such were the pursuits he had been engaged in, not successful in any of them. Abusive of all, save that one he was engaged in, blaming the world for his failures. He respected no man or woman. He approached no man save with a selfish motive; could he but injure those with whom he dealt he was happy, though he did not profit thereby. Yet he did not so speak, but all his actions conveyed this impression of the man to Alfred. And thus his character was impressed on the boy's intuitive mind as strongly as were the scenes on the canvas of the panorama.

The wife was only another of that type of woman who has blasted a life, one full of hope, by clinging to a man who was unworthy of one day of her life. It was a pathetic spectacle to see the faded wife standing helpless in the shadow of her husband's selfishness, having sacrificed youth, beauty and everything that woman holds dear. It did not matter to Palmer that she was once a school teacher, more than a fair musician, courted by numbers who could have made her useful to society and happy in her life. It did not matter to Palmer that she had burned up much of her attractiveness over the cooking stove; that she lost more of it at the washtub; in caring for and rearing the children that had unfortunately come to them. The slaving she had gone through in all their married life to help her husband to get on in the world was all lost upon the selfish man who never gave a thought to her sufferings. He actually treated her if as she had been the cause of his failures, and seemed ashamed of her when younger and more attractive women were near.

Her two children, somewhere in Missouri in the keeping of her mother, seemed her only hope in life and the only time the poor crushed soul evidenced interest in anything was when tidings came from the children or she could prevail upon their thankless father to send them a little money. The mother's wardrobe was scanty that the darlings of her heart might be better clad.

Aunt Susan wore a sun-bonnet almost continuously that she might better keep in place mustard plasters and horse radish leaves to relieve the neuralgia pains. Alfred presumed that Mrs. Palmer was similarly affected since she always wore a sun-bonnet. That was before they left Palmer's house. Afterwards he became convinced that the woman wore the sun-bonnet to conceal the lines of sorrow in her once fine face.

Rev. Gideon was the last of the trio whom Alfred figured out. He had married Palmer's sister. They went to a foreign country as missionaries; Gideon's health gave way under the tropical climate. He returned to this country and had since made his home with the Palmers. But little was learned of the wife. She still lived, and if remittances were not forthcoming, Gideon was on the rack. In fact, each one of her complaining letters made Gideon turn more yellow in color, sit up later and get up earlier than usual, no matter how poor Gideon suffered. If he was ailing and Palmer noticed it, he would sneer and jerk out: "Huh! Got a letter from Sis, did you? S'pose she wants you to go back to China. Say Gideon, that must have been a hell of a job to instill the gospel into heathen when you can't make an impression upon those who understand what you say. It must have been discouraging to waste your eloquence upon those copper-colored thieves. There's many a game to catch suckers in this world but that foreign mission play is the rawest ever sprung. Say, Gideon, how much did you get? So much for each sinner saved or did you lump the job?"

Under such cynicism Gideon would turn about and walk off as though nothing had been said to him. Palmer took an especial delight in teasing Gideon as to his mission labors. Gideon never deigned to notice the ridicule of Palmer, at least in words. Yet there was one thing that impressed Alfred. Palmer always deferred to Gideon in any business proposition under consideration; he would bluster and rave a little but always in the end gave in to Gideon's judgment.

In addition to the receipts that came to him from the exhibition of the panorama, Palmer had a large, framed, steel plate engraving of John Bunyan which he sold while soliciting subscriptions for several religious publications. He worked diligently. He never desisted when he once went after preacher, deacon or the entire congregation, and he generally sold what he offered or secured their names to one of his numerous subscription lists.

He worked so adroitly that he made many his aides. Not infrequently a minister would get up during an intermission in the Pilgrim's Progress exhibition and announce one or more of Palmer's offerings. These announcements invariably wound up with the statement that the proceeds were for the benefit of a retired minister who had lost his health in an endeavor to carry the gospel to the heathen in foreign lands.

Alfred became curious as to what effect these announcements would have upon Gideon and he often peeped from behind the scenes to note it. But Gideon was never in sight. He would step out of the door as the speaker began. Alfred noticed that Mrs. Palmer always lowered her face over the keys of the piano or organ when the announcement of this character was being made. Palmer, behind the scenes, standing near the curtain his head bent to one side his hand up to his ear. If the speaker's efforts pleased him he would pull his tuft of beard with his free hand and ejaculate: "Good! Fine! Capital! Good boy, go it old Beeswax. I didn't think it was in you. Go it boots, you'll win in a walk. They're gittin' their pocket books out now; Gideon will do well tonight, ha, ha, ha." Did the speaker not measure up to his ideas, he would say: "Wade in! Wade in! Wade in! Dam you, the water's not cold. Warm up now or you'll freeze them to the pews. Oh, what you tryin' to git through you? Just listen to that crack; he'll make them think he's going to take up a collection for the foreign missions. You can't get seventeen cents. It's been worked to death. Come off, come off your perch, you poll parrot! Come off! Well you ought to be studying your primer instead of preaching; you don't know as much as Gideon."

Palmer, through the influence of the church members, procured a half dozen young girls, at each place visited, to represent the multitude passing through the gates in the final scene of Pilgrim's Progress. Although these girls were before the audience but a moment or two at the very end of the panorama, amateur like, instead of remaining in front witnessing the exhibition, they would repair to the rear of the curtain, don their robes and stand around during the entire performance, to the annoyance of everybody working the panorama, and, more frequently than otherwise, be late for their cue.

One night, an old preacher was laboring with an announcement Palmer had written and rehearsed him in, Palmer was most vicious in his comments. The old speaker's daughter was one of the virgins, standing near she heard every word uttered and there was enough and there would have been more, had not Alfred, by a nudge and a whisper, checked him. Palmer grasped the situation at once. He stepped nearer the girls. Then with a start, he shaded his eyes, dramatically gazed at the girls and began: "Oh, woman, lovely woman, nature made thee to temper man; we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair to look like you. There is in you all we believe of heaven, amazing brightness, purity, truth, eternal joy and everlasting love."

He was never at a loss, his quick wit extricating him from embarrassment at all times.

* * * * *

SOMERSET, PA.

DEAR MUZ:

We showed, or we exhibited, last night. It was the most crowded
church I ever seen. I did well, better than anyone. Gideon, Mrs.
Palmer and all said so. Gideon said I saved the day, but Palmer
held me back, he wouldn't let me sing or dance. I heard him tell
Gideon: "I'll have hell with that gilly kid, he thinks it a
minstrel show; I got to hold him down or he'll queer the fake."
I don't know what he meant, only he meant me.

Jake made some awful blunders but Gideon said it was like Palmer
to put him in to play "Christian." Tomorrow's Sunday and I'll
write you the full purceeding. I know the whole thing by heart
and if Pap can paint a Pilgrim's Progress I can show it, exhibit
it. Palmer will make a million. Lin could go along and play the
organ like Mrs. Palmer. I tell you she can put in the music
right, she fills out the thing just grand. Lin would have to
learn to play with both hands and she must learn music. Mrs.
Palmer won't play without the notes to lead her. I will take the
whole Sunday to write you the full history of the first night.
You better read "Pilgrim's Progress." Did you borrow Uncle
Tom's?

Does Uncle Ned feel hard towards me? If anything happens to me
and I get ruined it's their doings because I could have been
with a minstrel troupe. You have to lie more here in a day than
I did all the time I was with a minstrel show.

Your very affectionate son,
ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

P. S. I looked at the dictionary. A "gilly" is a man attendant
in the Scottish Highlands. A "kid" is a young goat. It don't
tell what a "fake" is. Now I know Palmer will have to raise my
wages. If Pap agrees to paint a panorama and take Lin along you
can get Sis Minks to work for you.

Palmer began the exhibition with a lecture:

"Ladies and Gentlemen: John Bunyan, the author of that wonderful work, 'The Pilgrim's Progress,' was an English religious writer, soldier and Baptist preacher. He enlisted in the Parliamentary army very young. He was so strongly impressed with the glimpse he caught of war that all his writings, even things sacred, were strongly illustrative of fortresses, camps, marching men, guns and trumpets. Bunyan was but seventeen years old when he entered the army, hence the lasting impressions his military life made upon his mind. He became famous as a Baptist preacher and was flung into Bedford jail under order of the Restoration. He was frequently offered his liberty on condition that he would desist from preaching. This he refused; therefore, for twelve years he suffered imprisonment for his conscience's sake.

"While in Bedford jail he began the book that has immortalized him. It is the best allegory ever written and is the only book, excepting the Bible, about which the educated majority have come over to the opinion of the common people. The peculiar glory of Bunyan is that those who hated his doctrines have acknowledged his genius by printing and using a Catholic version of his parable, The Pilgrim's Progress, with the Virgin's head in the title page.

"Oh, my dear hearers, how similar to the sufferings of the lowly genius in producing his masterpiece were those undergone in painting the work of art about to be unfolded for your inspection. For years he who transferred the thoughts of Bunyan into almost real life, for years he who wrought these fancies upon canvas, labored and suffered in secret. No living eye was ever permitted to gaze upon his work save his own. Night after night, by the dim light of lamp, the artist labored. Lack of food, lack of sleep, did not deter him. He was inspired to produce that which has been pronounced by men of highest learning as the greatest painting the world has ever known, the greatest educator of the masses, the greatest object lesson ever presented to the people of this country.

"The Pilgrim's Progress in living figures and realistic scenes, the hills, the mountains, the sunny pastures, the soft vales, the wilderness, the Shining River, the Beautiful Gates, the Celestial City.

"Like Bunyan, the painter had no idea that he was producing a masterpiece."

Here Palmer would step to the front of the platform and, after a modest pause, in a lower tone, continue: "Ladies and Gentlemen: I was not aware the printed bills had announced to the world that I, Professor Palmer, D. D., was the author of this work of art, otherwise, I am sure I would not have mentioned it."

Alfred could never disassociate this announcement from that of the clown in the circus who, after singing his song, announcing the sale of the books, assuring the audience that the proceeds of the sale of the book were for the benefit of an orphan who was a long ways from home, without money or friends. Hoping the charitably disposed would assist the orphan by buying the song books. Bowing low, he would add: "I forgot to tell you that I am the orphan."

DEAR MUZ:

The first night is the most terrible thing one can go through.
We had a hard time of it; Palmer became excited and cussed; Tom
did well as long as I told him; Mrs. Palmer filled in all the
stops with music and this helped but if it hadn't been for me it
would have been a bad failure. It was all I could do to keep it
going; I nearly worked myself sick. I'm going to ask Palmer to
raise my wages. Palmer praised all of us, but I know he was
lying because every time Jake or Tom made a mistake he cussed.
Palmer does all the talking for all the characters; the way he
can change his voice you'd swear there were several people
talking. He is hid from the audience and of course they think
it's the characters that talk. In spite of Gideon's advice,
Palmer gave Jake the part of Christian. The first scene is a
field. Jake, as Christian, is discovered standing in the middle
of the field. Here is where the pilgrimage begins. Jake is
supposed to be reading a book and asks: "What shall I do to be
saved?" Jake held the book in his hand, not looking at it but at
the audience, smiling. From behind the scenes Palmer hissed;
"Look serious! Look worried! Read the book! Hold the book up! Oh
you dam Dutch galoot look scared!" Jake only smiled louder. I
know Jake didn't hear a word Palmer said. I could hear him
breathing from where I stood. You know Christian is dressed in
ragged clothes, he has a burden on his back. Palmer wrapped an
old coffee sack about a big stone and this was fastened on
Jake's back to represent Christian's burden.

I was Evangelist. I had a long, white robe on and wore a wig
with long curls; not yellow curls like you used to make me wear,
but black curls, with a blue ribbon around my forehead. I walked
solemn towards Jake; I looked at him a little while, then I
raised my hand, pointing the roll of parchment and, in the most
saddest way I could speak, I said: "Wherefore dost thou cry?"
Jake said easy like, "Not by a tam sight." Palmer came right in
with the proper speech: "If I be not fit to go to prison I am
not fit to go to judgment and thence to execution. The thoughts
of these things make me cry." Here Jake looked at me, then at
Palmer; then he winked at me. I could scarcely go on with my
speech: "If this be thy condition, why standest thou still?" "I
don't vant to, I'd rather valk to Bedford dan stan' dis way
still," was Jake's reply. A number of those nearest the platform
overheard Jake but Palmer came in quickly with: "Because I
knoweth not whither to go." I didn't give Jake any time, I just
shouted at him: "Do you see yon wicket gate?" I pointed at the
imaginary gate. Jake turned about, shook his head and answered:
"No." I cut in before he could get further: "Do you see yon
shining light? Keep that light in thy eye and go up directly
thereto, so shalt thou see the gate at which, when thou
knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do."

Jake was lost. He walked he knew not whither, Palmer pleading
and swearing to guide him. The gate and shining light to which I
referred were imaginary. I pointed off stage. Jake, in his
excitement was trying to get away from the audience. He walked
up stage; he pressed against the canvas, trying to force his way
further. Palmer and Bedford Tom had all their weight against the
frame of the panorama. When Jake felt resistance he put his
powerful muscles to work. "Hold on! Hold on! Stop! You can't go
further," cried Palmer. Jake kept on pushing. "Hold her down,
Tom; hold her down." Then came a crash, the lights went out and
over went Palmer, Tom and the panorama.

Jake's breathing and his efforts to release himself from the
heavy canvas covering him could be heard above the din and
confusion. Palmer was here, there, everywhere, assuring the
audience that a slight accident had befallen the mechanical part
of the panorama. "Just remain seated, we'll give you a good
show." He forgot himself and called it a show after all his
orders to us not to speak the word "show." The strong arms of
Bedford Tom, and Jake soon righted the panorama. Mrs. Palmer
played the organ, and right there is where one of my songs would
come in right. I sung for Jake and Tom last night and Jake
declared: "The people in Bedford would like one of dem nigger
songs better dan Palmer's hull tarn pictur show. De hull tam
ting is a fraudt; no such a man as Bunjun was ever in Bedford
yail. I and Tom knows every man dot's been in dot yail and dey
don't put 'em in yail fur what he sedt." Jake's mixed up; he
imagines Palmer refers to Bedford, Pa.

The panorama worked along smoothly until Pliable and Christian,
(I and Jake), fell into the Slough of Despond. You know, in the
book, Pliable and Christian are traveling together; they fall in
the Slough of Despond; Pliable struggles and gets out.
Christian, owing to the burden he carries on his back, flounders
about and is fast sinking when Help appears and asks: "What
doest thou there?" Jake answered: "Noting." Palmer hissed: "Roll
over! Roll over! Hold your head under the canvas; duck, you son
of a gun, duck!" Palmer answered with the speech Jake was
supposed to deliver, as Jake rolled over and over: "Sir, I was
bid by a man named Evangelist, who directed me to yonder gate
that I might escape the wrath to come and as I was going thither
I fell in here." Then I come as Help; I say: "Why did you not
look for the steps?" Jake is supposed to say: "Fear followed me
so hard that I fled the next way and fell in." Then as Help, I
lean far over, hold out my hand and say: "Give me thine hand
that I may draw thee upon hard ground that thou might go thy
way." Instead of Jake following the business as rehearsed, he
arose, took the burden off his back, walked out the opposite
side, back towards the City of Destruction.

The audience, or some of them, tittered, others laughed
outright. Palmer was prompting Jake: "Get into the pond!
Complete the scene!" The more Palmer prompted, the more confused
Jake appeared. "Get your burden, it's not time to drop it; get
your burden." Jake, smiling, walked over the miry, muddy slough
he was supposed to have struggled in a moment before, and took
up the burden. Instead of putting it on his back he carried it
under his arm, nodded at Palmer, as much as to say: "I'm ready
for anything further, go on." Worldly Wise Man here appears
before Christian and speaks to him: "How now good fellow;
whither away after this burdened manner?" Christian answers: "A
burdened manner indeed as ever, I think, poor creature had. And
whereas you ask me whither away, I am going to yonder wicket
gate, for there, as I am informed, I shall be put in a way to be
rid of my heavy burden." Then Worldly Wise advises Christian:
"Wilt thou hearken to me if I give thee counsel?" Christian
answers: "If it be good I will, for I stand in need of good
counsel." Worldly Wise then answers: "I would advise thee that
thou, with all speed, get thyself rid of thy burden, for thou
will never be settled in thy mind until then." Palmer answered
with Christian's speech: "That is which I seek for, even to be
rid of this heavy burden, but get it off myself I cannot, nor is
there any man in our country who can take it off my shoulders."

Jake, smiling more pleasantly than ever, answered, "I kin."
Suiting the action to the word, he flung his burden into the
Slough of Despond. The pond was a thin piece of canvas painted
to represent the quagmire. The burden made a sound as of the
house falling down. Jake wiped the perspiration from his face
and, spitting a mouthful of tobacco juice to one side, he gazed
on the audience and smiled. It was too much for even the staid
old church members. The laughter was so great that Palmer pulled
the curtain and announced an organ recital.

Christian's burden was replaced on Jake's back, he was
admonished to pay closest attention to Palmer's promptings. Jake
continued the pilgrimage. In the next scene Jake, representing
Christian on his journey from the City of Destruction to the
Celestial City, must pass through the Dark Valley of Shadows.
When Jake, instead of keeping to the right and following the
straight and narrow path, boldly walked into the mouth of the
burning pit, out of which Palmer was sending sparks and smoke.
Palmer again pulled the curtain on the scene. Jake sat on a
stage stump. Smoke was still coming from the pot of damp straw.
Tears filled Jake's eyes, tears caused by the smoke. Palmer
rushed back and forth, declaring Jake had made a farce of the
most beautiful and inspiring scene in the entire exhibition. I
was substituted for Jake. I knew every speech; I had learned
them all and it went good to the last.

The second book is even more impressive and instructive than the
first. You should read it. As the young ladies walk in at the
Beautiful Gate of the city, Pilgrim is seen through a gauze; one
by one the sheets of gauze are pulled down until Christian fades
away like a vision. It held the audience dumb; they never
witnessed anything like it; neither did I. Palmer wouldn't let
me speak the words; he said they must be delivered with great
dramatic effect. The words are: "I see myself now at the end of
my journey, my toilsome days are ended. I have formerly lived by
hearsay and faith, but I now go where I shall live by sight."
But glorious it was to see how the open regions were filled with
horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers
and players upon stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims
as they went up and followed one another in at the gates of the
Beautiful City. Here the young ladies, with lighted lamps,
passed in. As Pilgrim disappeared, Palmer, with great effect,
ended the scene with the eloquent words: "Now, while he was thus
in discourse, his countenance changed; his strong man bowed
under him and, after he had said: 'Take me, for I come unto
thee,' he ceased to be seen of them."

ALFRED GRIFFITH HATFIELD.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] Bacon.

[C] Gravy.