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ed coming to talk with him, for some rea
son which he would not explain, Mr. Bel
lamy’s patience was exhaused.
“Tell the people that I will be at the
church meeting on Friday,” he said in an
agitated voice to Elder Florson. “Then
I will explain all—provided Mr. Nolley
is there!”
This strange reply excited the interest
of all the church members to such a de
gree, that when Friday came, there was a
larger assembly in the vestry than had
ever been know ? n before.
The clergyman, looking pale and so
lemn, sat in his accustomed place, and
Deacon Bellamy was likewise present.
There was some delay in the proceed
ings, in consequence of the presence of a
man named YVolsey, who had for years
rejoiced in the name of Wicked Wolsey,
which he had gained by gross impiety, in
blaspheming the Lord’s name, and in
hunting and fishing on Sabbath days.—
For some time, however, Wicked Wolsey
had been observed to lead a different life,
attending church-service three times each
Sabbath, and prayer meetings whenever
they occurred during the week; and, af
ter some discussion, the church suffered
him to remain in the vestrv, in conse
quence of an earnest desire he expressed
to make a confession to, and ask counsel
of, the minister and his flock.
After some business of small impor
tance had been transacted, Deacon Bella
my was called upon for the explanation
he had to make.
Slowly and silently the Deacon arose,
and after casting one sorrowful, appealing
look at Mr. Nolley, proceeded briefly to
relate what had transpired. A breathless
silence prevailed, and Lis entire state
ment was heard with interest and amaze
ment. The audience was filled with con
sternation ; and every eye turned to the
countenance of the minister.
The moment the Deacon sat down, the
latter arose.
Mr. Nolley was a young man, with a
mild blue eye, and a benevolent expres
sion, which had won the hearts of the en
tire congregation. Moreover, his amia
ble manners, and his apparent zeal in the
cause of his Master, had inspired every
body with such confidence in his virtue,
that it was expected the mere breath of
his lips would blow away the fabric of
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
error which had grown up in Mr. Bella
my’s mind.
“I hasten,” he said, w T ith a sad smile —
and every heart ceased to beat —“J hasten
to confess a sin, for which I must beg the
forgiveness of my brethren and sisters.”
It is impossible to describe the sensa
tion produced by this commencement.
More than one countenance became sud
denly blanched, and more than one breast
laboured with a groan of distress.
“It is the sin of friends,” the clergy
man added quickly, to the general relief
of his hearers. “I have shrunk from a
duty, which has appeared to me humili
ating. But lam now humbled, and hesi
tate no longer.”
“I am grieved that brother Bellamy
for, after his truly feeling and Christian
like address, I cannot refuse to call him
so. lam grieved, I say, that he is ap
parently labouring under an incomprehen
sible error. I give him the credit of hav
ing stated with candour what he believes
to be the truth, but in w'hich I am sure
every one present must feel that he has
been strangely deceived.
“All I know of the matter, I will brief
ly relate.
“On the morning to which our brother
has alluded, I was agreeably surprised,
on receiving from him a quarter of mut
ton.”
“Mutton!” murmured the Deacon,
starting from his seat.
“I cannot, to save my life,” pursued
the clergyman, “explain even to myself
the strange perversity of brother Bella
my, in calling that a cheese, which was
most assuredly mutton. I took it from
the basket myself, and wrote the note in
reply, which he has read to you. I wrote
in a true spirit of thankfulness; and the
trifle I sent back with it, the better to
express my gratitude, was a large family
Bible , which I enclosed in a strong wrap
pei, and placed in the basket. What has
become of this Bible, I cannot tell ; for
no person, I suppose, can for a moment
believe that the book can have been trans
formed into stone, as the cheese had pre
viously been changed to mutton.
“Having sent the boys back with the
basket, I went to ride with Mrs. Nolley,
and was inexpressibly mortified, on my
lefeurn, to learn that brother Bellamy had
been at the house, and taken away the
fiist piece of mutton he sent, leaving a
much smaller piece in its place. The
pride of which I have been guilty, con
sisted in a repugnance I felt to having
further communication with a person who j
could be guilty of what appeared to me
to be a mean action.”
The clergyman would have continued,
but Deacon Bellamy quivering with ex
citement, darted from his seat.
“I don’t know,” he exclaimed, wiping
the perspiration from his brow—“l don’t
know which is insane—Mr. Nolley or
myself. One of us is, most assuredly. I
V
never sent him any mutton; and his de
claration that I did—”
“I beg leave to relate what I know
about this matter,” said a voice in anoth
er part of the room.
It was Wicked Wolsey—and in an in
stant every eye was fixed upon him.
“What have you to say!” said Elder
Florson.
“Simply that I stole the mutton,” re
plied Wicked Wolsey, “and that I am the
cause of all this misunderstanding.”
There was a murmur of satisfaction in
the congregation; a gleam of sunshine
flashed across Deacon Bellamy’s features,
and the minister smiled calmly.
“I stole the mutton,” repeated Wicked
Wolsey, in a humble tone. “Having
heard that Deacon Bellamy had sent por
tions of the fat cosset to several of the
neighbours, I was angry because I had
been neglected. This was a great sin;
for I had never deserved anything of any
good people, except reproaches and con
tempt. But I did not think so then; and,
determined to have a share of the mut
ton, I went at night and stole the hind
quarter.
But I was not permitted to carry it
away in peace. I had scarcely got to the
woods, when hearing a noise, I looked
and saw directly before me in the dark
thicket the glaring eyes of a wolf! I was
startled, but having a hunting-knife with j
me, I did not greatly fear a single attack.;
So I kept along on the border of the
woods, until the animal set up a hideous
howl, which was echoed by half a dozen ,
wolves that appeared to be but a little
way off. Well aware that I could do
dothing with a whole pack, I hastened to
climb a beech tree, carrying the mutton
with me into the branches.
“I had scarcely reached a safe place,
when the wolves began to gather around
[Jan. 24,