Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Pastor
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the parsonage where he lived? The pine forest stood
dark and gloomy round his very windows; the moisture
soaked through the black rafters and ran down
the fungus-covered walls. Surely a man required the
help of strong spirits to keep up his courage, when
rain and driving snow rushed through the broken
window-panes, when the ill-tilled soil hardly gave
him enough to keep hunger from the door!
He thought he had been the very pastor for
them; for they all drank. Why should he alone
control himself? If a man buried his wife, he was
dead drunk at the funeral; the man who christened
his child gave a drinking bout after the christening;
the people returning from church drank all the
way home—a drunken pastor was the very man
for them.
It was on his parochial rounds, when driving in
his thin coat for miles over the frozen lakes, where
the cold winds held high revel, or battling in his
boat in storm and driving rain; when in whirling
snowstorms he must leave his sledge, and lead his
horse through mighty snowdrifts; when tramping
through forest marshes—it was then he had learned
to love strong drink.
The days dragged along in heavy gloom. Peasant
and lord went their way with thoughts tied to earth
till the evening brought freedom, when, loosened
by wine, their spirits rose and cast aside their bonds.
Inspiration came to them, their hearts glowed, and
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