I
had to stand a long time before I could ever get a seat. One
morning I received this letter:
DEAR MISS TENNANT,
I hope you will excuse this written by a stranger. I have often
observed you listening to the sermon in our church. My wife and I
are going abroad, so we offer you our pew; you appear to admire
Eyton's preaching as much as we do--we shall be very glad if you
can use it.
Yours truly,
FRANCIS BUXTON.
The other compliment was also a letter from a stranger. It was
dirty and misspelt, and enclosed a bill from an undertaker; the
bill came to seven pounds and the letter ran as follows:
Honoured Miss father passed away quite peaceful last Saturday, he
set store by his funeral and often told us as much sweeping a
crossing had paid him pretty regular, but he left nothing as one
might speak of, and so we was put to it for the funeral, as it
throws back so on a house not to bury your father proper, I
remember you and all he thought of you and told the undertaker to
go ahead with the thing for as you was my fathers friend I hoped
you would understand and excuse me.
This was from the son of our one-legged crossing-sweeper, and I
need hardly say I owed him a great deal more than seven pounds. He
had taken all our love-letters, presents and messages to and fro
from morning till night for years past and was a man who
thoroughly understood life.
To return to my fiance, I knew things could not go on as they
were; scenes bored me and I was quite incapable of sustaining a
campaign of white lies; so I reassured my friends and relieved my
relations by telling the young man that I could not marry him.
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