work, and sometimes I sent her anonymously a little gift that might help to pay the rent. I called upon her only some two or three times in the course of a year. Our acquaintance never progressed beyond a certain point. She always met me very politely, and then came the usual order of remarks, something about the weather, inquiries about her own and her mother's health, some little information as to her own rheumatism or an occasional headache-and this was about all. Then would come painful pauses, growing longer and more frequent, till at last I would rise and bid her good-day. There was never any change in this monotony. Miss Pickett never trusted herself to speak about religion: her piety was not on the surface. Once in a while she would speak a word of commendation of some sermon I had recently preached, and instantly her face would crimson with blushes as if ashamed or frightened at her boldness and presumption. Those chambers were wonderfully neat. The old antique furniture shone with no artificial polish. How bright the brass candlesticks always looked on the high shelf! and how the brass andirons and the handles to the bureau drawers gleamed and lit up the plain and homely room! Miss Pickett seemed to have no circle of acquaintance: I never knew of any one calling on her: and so her humble life moved evenly on, alternating regularly between her chambers and her church. What was it, then, in Miss Pickett that so fascinated me? Why was she so constantly in my thoughts? I never went out on my daily round of calls but I considered the possibility of meeting Miss Pickett. I never went to church without the thought whether Miss Pickett would be there. She haunted me, she worried me, and this went on for years. At length there came some lighting up of the mystery, but with little alleviation of the anxiety and worry. One morning, as my door-bell rang, the servant came to my study and handed me a card-"Mrs. Kimberley; a private interview desired; important"-and immediately the caller was shown in. Mrs. Kimberley was one of those ladies to be found in every congregation. She was the wife of one of the principal officers of the parish-active in all good works, very zealous in visiting the poor, prominent in "I the Sunday-school, the president of several charitable societies, and generally, in the parish and in the city, a recognized leader in all benevolent enterprises. have called, Mr. Smith," she began at once, upon a matter of considerable importance, which requires your advice and decision. I ought to apologize for coming in the forenoon; and if you can not attend to me now, will you appoint a later hour in the day, for really the matter is very serious, and must be settled to-day. I have called for Miss Pickett." I started involuntarily. Pickett in trouble? I thought. Mrs. Kimberley looked very grave, and yet I imagined I detected just a little twinkle in her eyes; but I replied at once: "My dear Mrs. Kimberley, the present hour shall be at your service. Was Miss I know you would not call at this time except upon a matter of importance; and, besides, I have always felt a deep and unaccountable interest in Miss Pickett, and shall be only too glad if I can render her any service." "Thank you, Mr. Smith," said Mrs. Kimberley. "The story is a long one, and I must begin at the beginning, and, so far as I can, will give the whole thing in Miss Pickett's own words. You know, Mr. Smith, how quiet and reserved Miss Pickett always is, seldom speaking above a whisper, and saying but very few words. Well, perhaps you can imagine my surprise when she called upon me, an hour ago, under the greatest excitement, and began to talk so rapidly that I could hardly realize it was Miss Pickett who was talking, and truly I had for a while serious doubts as to her sanity. She began at once, as soon as she entered the room: Oh, Mrs. Kimberley, I am so troubled! I want to see Mr. Smith, my pastor. I need his advice in a very serious matter, and I don't dare to call upon him. I went out yesterday to see him, and I walked up and down in front of the house a dozen times, but I couldn't muster up courage to ring the bell. And this morning, all the morning, I have been doing just the same thing, walking up and down the street, not daring to stop; and yet the matter must be decided to-day. And so I thought I would come and see you, Mrs. Kimberley, and ask you to go over and see my pastor for me, and then let me know what he says.' 666 "I told Miss Pickett I would gladly do anything I could for her," proceeded Mrs. Kimberley, "and that I was astonished | Sunday evening. Well, I was greatly that she was afraid to call and see you herself." Poor little Miss Pickett, I thought. Afraid of me, when I had thought of her so much! "But go on, Mrs. Kimberley," I replied; "I am anxious to know in what way I can do anything for Miss Pickett." 'Well," resumed Mrs. Kimberley, "Miss Pickett went on with her story: "You know Mr. Jones, Mrs. Kimberley, the countryman, who has a little farm about eight miles back, and who comes in two or three times a week to sell butter and eggs and chickens and vegetables?' "I nodded an assent. "Well, Mrs. Kimberley, he has been in the habit of stopping at our house for a year or two past. Of course I never bought much of him; our family is so small, only mother and I, that we don't need much. Sometimes I have bought a pound of butter, and once in a while a few eggs; but nothing to amount to anything, you know. And yet he always came just as regularly as if I was his best customer. Sometimes he would bring in a little present a nice head of lettuce, or a little cream. He has always been very kind, always would ask for mother. And one day he brought in some dried corn cobs; said he had dried them himself for mother and me, because they were a certain cure for rheumatism-just to rub your arm or shoulder with them, you know; and really they have done us a great deal of good. Well, Mrs. Kimberley, sometimes he would walk up into our room, and sit down and talk, and would stay a long while. I used to fear he wouldn't have time to sell out, because he spent so much time some days at our house. But then it was kind of pleasant, you know, to have him call. He told us all about his farm-how many chickens he had, and how many cows; and he'd tell how pleasant it was in the early spring to see the buds and blossoms. And sometimes he'd say he thought we would be in a great deal better health if we lived in the country. And he has often asked me whether I hadn't rather live on a farm than be cooped up in chambers here in the city. And I always said I would; and so I would, but I didn't mean anything, and I didn't think anything, when I said so to him. "Well, Mrs. Kimberley, judge of my surprise: he came in to make a call last surprised, for I knew he wouldn't be selling vegetables and such like on Sundays. And really I hardly knew him; he didn't have on his every-day clothes, but was dressed up real smart, and looked quite like a gentleman. I told him how surprised I was to see him on a Sunday, and he began to tell how he was kind of lonesome at home, and that since his old mother died, there was only the girl that did the work, and that he thought he'd drive in and spend the evening with me. I was a little frightened, Mrs. Kimberley, because, you know, I have never been accustomed to have gentlemen visit me, and especially on Sunday evenings; but I thought it was kind of him, and I made him a cup of tea, because I thought he might be tired. Well, about eight o'clock, Mrs. Kimberley, mother went off to bed, and I was left alone with Mr. Jones. He began to talk again about his farm, told me what a nice farm he had got, and how pleasant it must be for a woman to attend to the chickens and see to the cream; and then every little while he would ask me if I wouldn't like to live on a farm, and if I didn't think it would be healthier for me and better for mother, and I always said I would; but, Mrs. Kimberley, I didn't mean anything, and I didn't think anything. Well, if you'll believe it, Mrs. Kimberley, after this talk had gone on till the clock had struck eleven, and he had asked me ever so many times if I wouldn't like to live on a farm, and I had answered I would, he jumped right up, and said, "Miss Pickett, will you be my wife, and come and live on my farm?" Why, Mrs. Kimberley, I never was so frightened in all the days of my life.' "What did you say?' I asked. "Say! why, Mrs. Kimberley, I couldn't speak a word. I had never thought of being married. It seemed to me there was a great lump in my throat. And so I sat perfectly still for five minutes at least; and then Mr. Jones said again, "Miss Pickett, will you be my wife, and come and live on my farm?" And then all I said was that I must ask Mr. Smith, my pastor, and that I should do just as he said, and that I couldn't say anything more. And so Mr. Jones agreed to come on Thursday, and know what I had decided. And here it is Wednesday, and I haven't seen Mr. Smith yet-and oh! I don't know what I shall do. I told you I started yesterday to go and see him, | granted, as if she belonged to me—as if, and my courage failed me; I was afraid although I was a bachelor, she was my he would think it so foolish for me to be daughter, and that surely I must do somethinking of such things, and I know he thing more for her than simply give my would ask me questions whether I realized consent to her being married. I must the responsibility of being married, and see, of course, that she has something of whether I could promise "to love, honor, an outfit. For the first time in my life and obey," and I wouldn't know what to there came to me questions so strange that say. And so, Mrs. Kimberley, will you they frightened me-the questions: What be good enough to go and see Mr. Smith will she wear? Will she come to be marfor me, and let me know what he says? I ried in that old-fashioned bonnet and that can't see Mr. Jones again until I know antiquated shawl? That must not be! and can tell him what my pastor has de- Yet I, a gentleman and a bachelor, can cided.' not attend to such things; and yet if I don't, no one else will. Miss Pickett would never think of such things herself, she is too humble and unworldly. And so I came to the terrible conviction that it would devolve upon me in some way to arrange for Miss Pickett's bridal trousseau; and thus my cares increased, and Miss Pickett haunted me and worried me more than ever. "There," said Mrs. Kimberley, "now, Mr. Smith, you know the whole story, and now what shall I say to Miss Pickett?" I was completely bewildered. Here was the explanation of all the strange fascinations that had clustered around Miss Pickett, the unveiling of the mystery, and the cause of all my worry and anxiety. I was to settle the whole question of her future life. Her happiness or misery was placed in my hands. "Mrs. Kimberley," I said, "I must have time to think. It is a most serious and important matter. It requires caution and sound judgment." And so I considered. Suppose I said Yes, and Miss Pickett should be married, and then her married life should prove unhappy, why, then she would be laying all the blame on me. Suppose I said No, and Mr. Jones should take another bride to his home, and should make her happy, and Miss Pickett should know of it, and contrast his wife's ease and comfort with her own hard life of care and toil and painful economy, why, then again she would blame me; and so I kept considering, until at length I said: "Mrs. Kimberley, you may give my answer, but you need not give my reasons. Mr. Jones can not be a bad man, for if he was, he would never think of selecting Miss Pickett for his wife. The only other alternative is that he may be somewhat foolish and weak-minded, and if so, I don't think it would be any hinderance to congenial tastes and sympathies. So say to Miss Pickett that her pastor gives his hearty consent, and sends her his best wishes." And so Mrs. Kimberley departed on her errand. And now there came other considerations, very new and very strange to me. Although Miss Pickett was much older than myself, yet it seemed, my consent to her marriage having been sought and The rest of the day on which Mrs. Kimberley called was spent in nervous restlessness and utter inattention to my duties, and that night I hardly closed my eyes in sleep. Miss Pickett was ever moving around in the dream-land between sleeping and waking. Abercrombie, in his Intellectual Philosophy, in writing of dreams, tells us that it is a well-known fact that when clergymen of the Established Church dream of engaging in the public services of their office they are always troubled with imaginary difficulties-that they can not find the right places in the Prayer-book, or something always interrupts the service. And that night I verified the truth of his statement. Whenever for a moment I dropped asleep I was trying to perform the marriage service between Miss Pickett and Mr. Jones, but I couldn't get through with it; and, besides, all the time Miss Pickett in her wedding dress looked in my dreams so strange and so unlike the real Miss Pickett I had known that I was haunted by the fear that somebody had stolen into her place, and that I was marrying Mr. Jones to the wrong woman; and so the troubled night passed on. For a while the morning brought no relief. Uppermost in my every thought was the distressing question, What should I do about Miss Pickett's outfit? At length came a bright thought, Why not get the Ladies' Sewing Society to attend to the whole matter? Here was a whole gleam ing the disappointment it might cause, that Miss Pickett had better be married privately; that I would go down to her snug little rooms, so neat and home-like, and there tie the golden knot; and when I had made in my own mind this decision, my anxieties were quieted, and the time drew rapidly near. of sunshine. The society would meet that | service. And so I decided, notwithstandafternoon. I went to it, and I stated the whole matter. Never, amid the thousand and one sewing societies of our country, was there one so elated as this one at the prospect before it. They, the lady members, had sent box after box to poor missionaries, clothing to China and Africa, and to the poor Indians of our Western wilds; but never had they experienced the rare enjoyment of providing a wedding outfit right at their own doors. All entered into it with the keenest zest, and the ladies immediately took Miss Pickett under their care, and entered at once into most secret and confidential relations. At length Miss Pickett herself came to see me. She said Mr. Jones was too busy to call, and she had come to make the arrangements about the marriage. She would like to be married at eight o'clock on such an evening; and she had always loved her church so much, she would like to be married in the church. Had Mr. Smith any objections? 66 This sewing society was of a type rapidly passing away. The modern development has a great deal to do with resolu- What could I say? I could not wound tions and circulars and secretaries and that sensitive little nature by any objecpublic meetings, etc. But this one was a tions. Had she not as good a right as semi-monthly parish picnic on a large any one to be married in church? 'But," scale. The ladies met from house to house, I said, "my dear Miss Pickett, I would came early, and went home late. They not mention to any one that your wedhad supper at six o'clock, to which the ding is to take place in church, nor minister and the other gentlemen of the would I mention the precise date to any parish were invited, and the evening was one. Sometimes, you know, a great many given to music and games and fun. The people come at such times-just out of gentlemen soon learned of the new work curiosity; and if there should be a great that was imparting such renewed vigor to many present, it might prove very embarthe society, and increasing so largely its rassing-especially to Mr. Jones," I addattendance. And from week to week weed. I further especially charged the sexall had glimpses of some parts of the wedding wardrobe. Article after article was exhibited to the visitor; comments were made upon this or that. Imagination was excited to the utmost as to how Miss Pickett would look; and one evening, when the articles were nearly completed, one of the young ladies dressed herself in the bridal costume, and amid peals of laughter personated Miss Pickett. And so, as the weeks rolled on, the interest increased, and expectation reached fever heat. Rarely has marriage in high | life excited deeper interest, and hundreds anticipated the rare pleasure of being numbered among the wedding guests, and privileged to behold the marriage service. But now again new cares and anxieties were awakened for Miss Pickett, and once more I worried for her sake. How frightened she would be, I thought, if she knew of all the excitement awakened by her expected marriage. If all these eager friends who had worked for her, and enjoyed the toil, were present, neither she nor her intended husband would be able to do their part in the marriage ton to preserve the strictest silence. And thus in the confident assurance on my part that everything would be quiet, and that only two or three would be present, the eventful evening arrived. About ten minutes before the appointed hour I walked around to the church. To my astonishment, it was all ablaze with light. Carpets were spread upon the sidewalks; policemen were keeping open a passageway from the street to the main entrance; carriages were constantly arriving, and fashionably attired ladies were passing in. I entered, and the spacious church was crowded. The grand old organ, as if conscious of all the associations that clustered around the hour, was sending forth-never more triumphantly-the strains of the Wedding March. Gentlemanly ushers in white kids were in attendance, and conducting to their seats the beauty and fashion of the city. While I had been fancying that I had outwitted the ladies of the sewing society, they had quietly outwitted me, and had planned this brilliant scene as the fitting close of the weeks and months of preparation. down in streams; and at length, when he conquered, the glove was a wreck! No pen can fully describe all this, photographed on the memories of all the eyewitnesses. I fairly trembled as I thought of Miss | distended, and the perspiration rolled Pickett. How could she endure all this? Nay, I thought, with all that had gone before, if any mistake should occur, the feelings of the excited crowd would not be restrained either by the sacredness of the place or their natural sense of decorum. Never in all the public ministrations of my whole ministry was I so anxious, never did I tremble so much, as in the few remaining minutes before the appointed hour. At length the doors were thrown open, and up the aisle marched Mr. Jones and Miss Pickett. He was the tallest of men, more than six feet in height, and she so small that she could barely reach up her little hand and clasp his arm. He was evidently painfully conscious of the terribleness of the ordeal through which he was to pass, and he came up the aisle with the strides of a mountaineer, which Miss Pickett could match only by an occasional skip and run. But there she was, just as our fancy had painted her. There was the new hat, the new dress, everything which had become so familiar to us all; and, in spite of all repression, smiles were audible. Can I describe that marriage ceremony? Only the pencil of a Hogarth or a Nast, or the pen of a Dickens or a Thackeray, could do it justice. Can I describe, as Miss Pickett knelt for a moment at the As, But the service came to its close at last. The benediction was pronounced. Again the organ sent forth its most joyous notes. Miss Pickett, no longer now Miss Pickett, went down the aisle, leaning on her stalwart husband. Yes, she went down to live on his farm, and to find how much a woman can enjoy herself looking after the chickens and the cream and the eggs. She went down to a pleasant home, and to a loyal if not a brilliant husband. week after week, the vegetable wagon went its rounds, Miss Pickett that was rode beside her husband. Often she stopped at the rectory to leave a present for the pastor whose gracious permission had secured her all this happiness. Yes, Mr. Jones was right. The country air improved her health, and improved her looks also. Each week she looked rosier and plumper. In a word, Miss Pickett was happy, and at length my cares and anxieties for her were forever at an end, and my dreams were untroubled. ASSASSINS AND NIHILISTS. chancel rail in silent prayer, how the Two organized societies have made murder a factor in politics. Their years in time, and by thousands of miles in space, and lived, one in a Christian, the other in a Mohammedan country. Both reached their terrible practical goal by paths which started from abstract philosophical disquisitions. The corruption of Arabian theology produced HassanBen-Saba; the degeneration of European philosophy produced Bakunin. bridegroom, attempting to imitate her ex-founders were separated by hundreds of ample, and doubtless to follow her instructions, had fallen on his knees on the floor three steps below her, and then noticing his mistake, went up those three steps on his knees to reach her side, while the church was filled with suppressed laughter? Can I describe his difficulty in finding the wedding ring? The hands that were wont to guide the plough were now, probably for the first time, incased in a heavy pair of black leather gloves. How he fumbled to find the ring in his vest pocket, and was unable to get hold of it; how at last he was forced to the conclusion that at least one glove must come off; how he grasped it with the energy of a blacksmith, and tugged, but to no purpose; how he placed his hand between his knees, and pulled again as uselessly; how at last he gathered all his powers, and in the attitude of drawing a reluctant cork from a bottle, tugged and pulled, till the veins in his neck and forehead were When God created the world-so runs an Arab tradition-He took two pieces of clay. One He cast upward, with the words, "This to heaven, and I care not"; the other He hurled downward, saying, "And this to hell, and I care not.' According to Palgrave, the tradition in no wise exaggerates the orthodox Mussulman doctrine of predestination. Against such teaching revolt was inevitable, and equally inevitable was it that revolt against the dogma was followed or accompanied by rebellion against the "Commander of the Faithful," whose sword upheld the dogma. |