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opposite the plates of the happy couple, flanked with the marriage pies bearing the names of the pair in the brown pastry.

The cook had been lucky indeed that day, for after breakfast he had taken a stroll in the valley with a rifle on his shoulder, and had met and dispatched a jack rabbit. Such an incident as this becomes worthy of men. tion in the Community, because the members being mostly vegetarians, there is left so little spirit for the chase and for animal food, that it is only occasionally that game is served, though deer are plenty on the mountains and ducks in the stream. The jack rabbit was turned into a capital ragoût, which, after a long abstinence from anything of the kind, tasted perfectly delicious. For my part, I felt all the gentler as well as the stronger after it, as I am sure all did who ate, and that we rose from the ragoût better humanitarians than we sat down. And such was a nobler ending, certainly, for the jack rabbitto be a means, or at least a stimulus, to philanthropic evolution, by passing into the organisms of philosophers, than to fall a prey to and nourish a sneaking coyote, which would otherwise probably have been its ultimate fate.

The ending of the dinner completed the ceremony on the first floor; after dinner an ascension, and in the hall above a service in English, followed by a ball. It took a little time to wash the dishes and to get up stairs. I set down such matters as the dish-washing, because they cannot be omitted in the picture of such an occurrence in the Community, for they are part of the extraordinary as well as the ordinary procession of events. the life of social equality, the kitchen, with its fumes and odors, is not hidden away in deference to fastidious tastes. It is a conspicuous part of the dwelling. But when the dishes were washed and stored away, all repaired to the upper room, where the closing scenes of the day were to take place.

In

The center of the room had been cleared of all obstructions; the white blooms and green leaves of the tulip boughs drooped down overhead, as if the hall were canopied by a flowering forest. At one end of the

hall are some shelves for books, and at this end a table had been placed, with seats for the bridal pair and the bride's family. The tall candlesticks were set on this table; the candles lighted, and the wreaths of flowers laid in the center. Behind this table, the bridal party seated themselves.

An hour ago, the bride's cheeks were blooming; now she looks a little pale, and is perhaps the prettier for it. The bridegroom, with whom, commonly, the prevailing expression is that of an acute and quick intelligence, wears a look of apprehensive curiosity, for he is not quite certain of the nature of the ceremony in English, which is now at hand.

When all are settled in their places, an associate of the Community steps forward, and announces that he will now marry the couple again. The serious tones of his voice awe even the children to quiet, and there is a hushed silence in the room when he commences:

"What day is it; dark or fair?

Brings it future joy or care?
What ray this morn broke through the night?
Did the ray herald black or white?

"Who knows, who knows, save only Fate?
It is too late, it is too late
To ask. Today it will be done.
May it end sweetly as begun.
The moment's here,
Too near; too near!
They wait; they wait;
It is too late!
The youth and maid!
They must be said
Those words of fate;
To wedded state,

They quickly go,

Their love to sow.

"Youths and maidens, gather, gather; Come, old mother; come, old father. Maidens, bring the blushing bride; Lead her to the bridegroom's side.

"Oh youth, thou art too bold. Hast thou her graces told? How darest thou take such a gift? How mayst thou balance it by thrift? Only if thou wilt soar,

Be pure to thy heart's core.

Be gentle as a dove,
And as constant thy love.

"Dost thou her truly take?

Ah, what now is at stake! Wait, wait; tremble, tremble, If false thou dissemble.

"Oh maiden, let no fear

Of aught now keep thee here,
Only confidence in him
That he will his life so trim,
As to bring both joy,
Joy, joy, only joy.

"If you think this,

If you hope bliss,

If thou lovest him only,
And without him art lonely,
If thou wilt bless his strength,
To his virtue give length,
And ever be truest wife,
Yielding to him thy sweet life,
Then prepare the pledge to say,
Or if not, thou mayst speak nay.

"Youth! dost thou take her as thy bride?
The simple Yes your lives hath tied.
Maiden! shall he thy husband be?
Yes? Then thou ceasest to be free.
Let thy friends kiss thee and give joy,
Wish thee many a girl and boy.
But remember, man and wife,
To live purely all your life.

"Who cares what heralded the ray

Which first this morning brought the day?
The wedding's done, the guests are here.
We now rejoice, forbid each tear,
Whirl in the dance, or sing gay song,
To coax the tardy sun along.

Soon comes the night, the air shall hush
When from their posts the stars will rush,
And from above shall softly gaze
To mark the lovers' tender ways.
Nay, wicked stars, now veil your eyes,
And tend your duties in the skies."

Some passages in this seemed to touch the feelings of those conversant with the English, and one woman was moved to tears. The bridegroom, who is rather a reckless fellow, seemed a little startled at the grave earnest ness and purity of life which were enjoined by those words especially addressed to him. But as the closing lines describe, the serious business of the day was over, and the ball the next thing in order. Alas, the society has no instrumental music; not even the poorest squeak of a fiddle. In this strait the

toughest throats amongst the brothers are devoted as a band. Kind hearted fellows-A and B and C and D--are arranged against the wall to chant for hours the strains of la, la, la, with all the changes of time and air necessary to guide the steps in the waltz, the polka, and the quadrille. The particular favorite of the people seemed to be the American country quadrille. This was danced again and again, with, it seemed to me, every possible variety of blunder; the bridegroom acting as leader of the dance, calling the figures, tearing his hair like a Frenchman at the mistakes of his friends, and shouting out his despairing instructions with a rolling Russian R, for all the world like an Irishman with a little whisky in him. Altogether, the ball was a very rude affair, with hardly a graceful scene in it, except a few steps in a waltz by two young girls, sisters of the bride. It was relieved, however, by one round in the ring dance, in which the little children and the bride took part, all singing a joyful children's song in Russian. However, by rude I do not mean rough, or that there was any breach of good manners, for the social courtesy of these people under all circumstances is remarkable, but simply that there was an entire want of grace. Under similar circumstances of poverty and no music, I have seen the people of a French community hold a ball, and display all the charms of measured movement. But on the other hand, the social bond with the French was evidently artificial, or rather no bond at all, but the pretense of a bond; whilst with the Russians, all was genuine and sincere, and though there was no harmony in their dance, there was harmony in their minds.

At quite an early hour, the new couple retired from the scene to the shanty assigned them close by the hall. I dislike to call their house "shanty," but shanty it is. The ball went on, and the writer went to bed; and when he awoke very early in the morning, the festivities were only concluding, for he saw some of the brothers stealing gently to rest from a final repast, which had just been dispatched in the kitchen.

I.

THE STATEMENT.

A PROBLEM OF LOVE.

TOMORROW! What will it bring to me?

How momentously experience, hope, life it self, culminate in a day. In this crisis I feel that my destiny is at stake, and so far as I am to be an actor in the events that will determine it, I need first a calm mind and clear

vision.

I have never kept any record of passing events, and the varied experiences of my life seem now to throng upon me in confusion.

I feel that if I can reduce them to some
order, it will help me in many ways; I am
not quite sure of my perspective. I will try
to recall those experiences that have led me
to today, that I may forestall the doubts that
may hereafter arise. I have none now, but

"I'll make assurance doubly sure,
And take a bond of fate.”

minded; I was fond of fun, and a joking parson I always regarded as an abomination. A doctor might do well enough, perhaps, for I was always rather fussy, and "handy about the house," as my aunts admitted, and might master the little that doctors really know, and cover my ignorance with the rest of them; but when I found that the debt to one of my aunts, aforesaid, incurred for a part of my college expenses, would be doubled before I would be privileged to sit down and wait for patients, I gave it up, and determined to win What bread I could without special prepara

tion.

In one respect I was fortunate. I had formed no entangling alliances. I had never had the misfortune to fall in love. To be sure I had never tried, and, indeed, must confess that on one or two occasions I had escaped "though as by fire," after resolute resistance. I always had the conviction that love which could be controlled by force of will was not the genuine article, and that the test that any sane man should apply was the effort to control. So many incipient lik ings have been coddled into weak fondness because some lonely swain wanted to love

I was born in New England a little less than thirty years ago, of moderately poor and immoderately honest parents. My childhood was as happy, I suppose, as it could be, consistently with the rigid suppression of that time and place. As a boy, I was, I somebody—and then "when the sun was up, trust, a little stubborn, and felt justified in it was scorched, and, because it had no root. having my own way when I could get it. it withered away." Perhaps I digress. I I believe I was not very bad; I certainly was considering the question of bread winwas not very good. The uneventful years ning-that unwelcome but blessed conservled me in due time to the doors of dear old ator of civilization. What should I do? The Harvard. There I was happy. I can not home nest was full, and I was not needed boast of having achieved high honors either there. The same conditions seemed to hold in the class-room or in athletic sports. I everywhere. I vigorously canvassed the was, however, a fair average, and was content. only place I then considered worth living in, I graduated creditably, and then came that if happily I might get a modest foothold in perplexing question, What next? I was too its world of affairs, and thus be spared the averse to fighting to think of becoming a trouble of removing to Boston after I had lawyer, and there seemed already to be quite achieved success elsewhere. But my love enough to protect evil-doers and defeat jus- for that city seemed unreciprocated, and 1 tice. Studying for the ministry was not to reluctantly concluded that if Boston could be thought of—not that my habits were so get on without me, I would get on without inconsistent, but I fancied I was not serious- her. I resolved to go west. At the end of

six months of school-teaching, I took an economical trip across the continent, and found myself in the tumultuous city by the Golden Gate, known to the Eastern tourist as the place where he saw the seals at the Cliff House.

I brought a few good letters, and hunted up my classmates, whom I found glad to see ne, but as yet uninfluential and unsuggestive. I began to feel that unlike Boston as San Francisco was, she was wonderfully like her n having nothing for me to do. But I had a vill, and there opened a way. I had applied o the agent of the leading express company or a situation of any kind. He was courteus in manner, but as usual there was no pening. The next day I abandoned letters nd reference, and began a canvass, block by lock and store by store. At a furniture esblishment I found the proprietor in trouble, is porter having left him without notice. le hesitatingly offered me the place, and I nhesitatingly took it. I made myself use1, regardless of pride and dignity. What ignity can a man consistently sustain, who is less than the price of a month's board as guarantee against hunger?

One day, all the goods had been shipped it a dainty tea-poy, urgently wanted at -ass Valley. The express would soon close; e box was not very heavy; I shouldered and started for the office. As I deposited on the sidewalk, the manager, coming out his office, passed me. He turned back, he apparently placed me, and asked me at I was doing. The conversation ended his saying he thought he wanted me. My ployer consented to the change, and the <t day I took a responsible position at uble my former pay, and had a good hold that slippery thing we call success. That was five years ago. In the mean time I ve been fulfilling my destiny as an average n. When I could, I went into business myself. I have not been uniformly sucsful by any means, but on the whole have spered. I am free from debt, have an reasing business, and am as independent man no abler nor older than I can reaably expect to be. Socially, I have been

comfortable, but not satisfied. A boarding. house is, under the most favorable conditions, but an endurable make-shift; but what is the use of being miserable about it, if it is the best you have or can legitimately obtain? I would die of combined ennui and dyspepsia, before I would sally out like a Bushman to hunt out and club down a wife.

To be sure, I have met many interesting and attractive women; who, Heaven knows, are a world too good for me; but the "giant dwarf Dan Cupid" has never invested them with his "almighty dreadful little might." I say never has. To speak by the card, I should say never had."

66

It is now some five months since my friend Thompson invited me to spend a week at his camp on the Lagunitas. I have always loved the woods. A tree is to me the most interesting of inanimate objects, and a man who could be lonely by the side of a running stream I should have little respect for. I felt a longing for out-of-doors, and easily convinced myself that I needed a rest.

It was at the sunset hour of a lovely spring day, that, having wound around among the Marin hills in the most surprising manner, the little train stopped at "the tank," and Thompson and I took our traps, including the box of fruit with which every well-bred camper reinforces his welcome, and started down the road toward the spot he had so glowingly described, when needlessly urging me to join the party. Very soon a turn in the road brought us in view of a slight plateau, which presented a very picturesque and animated scene-graceful tents, placed with delightful irregularity, a dining table beneath a lovely oak, canvas hammocks peeping out from clumps of redwoods, a trim staff, from which the flag was just lowering, in response to the whistle-call of the friendly engineer on the train now passing on the other bank of the stream, and a group of jolly campers waving a red handkerchief salute, and lifting their merry voices in the camp yodel, as a welcome to the returning "lord of the wood."

The charm of camping eludes description, and cannot be explained—it must be felt, or it will never be known. In part, it is the

reward Nature bestows upon her worship- inspire no sonnets; her mouth was well adapters, while the relief from the conventional is enough to make one light-hearted. The standard of propriety is no longer artificial, but natural; adjusted to the congenial circle, not set up as a defense or an example to the unappreciative multitude. When starched linen gives place to soft woolen, kindred discomforts, intellectual and social, are also laid aside. Simplicity reigns, and the simplest things delight. False dignity is forgot ten, and good feeling makes charity a useless virtue.

All this follows on one condition-the company must be genuine people, capable of appreciating both their surroundings and one another. This was a camp of enthusiasts. Indeed, their expressions of enjoyment had seemed so extravagant to some of the friends they had left behind them, that their retreat had been playfully dubbed "The Asylum"; and like many other names tinged at first with opprobrium, it had been accept ed for its better meaning. There were in the company Thompson's wife, and her sister, lovely Miss Scott; Joe Everett, a bright, young lawyer, waiting as patiently as possible to be old enough to be considered a safe counselor; Tom Weldon, a bank clerk and a thorough good fellow; Miss Marsh, a delightfully intelligent school teacher, and Miss Lucy Gray, a young woman of whom I had often heard, but had never chanced to meet. I suppose that every young woman makes some sort of an impression on every young man when first presented, but ordinarily it is not very striking. It is wisely ordered that this form of dynamic force is commonly quiBut when I met Miss Gray, I felt moved. I could not tell whether it was her directness, her apparent fearlessness, that struck me as unusual, or whether it was simply the natural, unrestrained conditions under which we met that threw a glamour over her.

escent.

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ed to display her very white teeth, but no such dangerous Cupid's bow as Miss Scott's. She was not dignified and intellectual like Miss Marsh, nor graceful and gracious like Mrs. Thompson, and yet I felt there was somewhere a charm. I was not pleased with her manner. She seemed to have little reserve. At the dinner table I thought her a little frivolous, and almost saucy at times. I hoped it was only a camp consequence. One expects a higher key in the open air, and when seated at a rude table on a backless bench, much latitude should be allowed. It is not preeminently the time or place for quiet gentleness and lady-like repose; Miss Graytalked a good deal, which I thought not in the best of taste, she being the youngest in the party; and she apparently ignored the fact that there was a stranger at the table, who was not yet up in the jokes and small talk of the camp: but she was spirited, and often witty, and her not infrequent laugh was very musical. She had an excellent appetite, and seemed thoroughly healthy. I didn't object to that, but her approach to loudness tried me. My ideal woman just then was a very proper creature.

After our early dinner, and a delightful stroll up a neighboring cañon to a charming spot, where a prostrate tree spanned the fernbanked stream, we gathered around the campfire, and sang and talked in the balmy evening air till many a bright star had sunk behind the wooded hills. What good fun it was, and how comfortable and happy “the girls" looked, curled into such easy attitudes, and holding one another's heads, and supporting one another's backs in that delightful way that friendly women have and friendly men can only sigh for.

Such a charming conglomeration of song! sentimental, patriotic, comic, negro melodies, quaint old ballads, a touch of Spanish and of German, rounds, glees, and-most taking of all the dear old college songs, so rich with association. They came back after a five years' rest in some hidden nook of memory as fresh as ever, and all the intervening years seemed to slip away as by magic, and I acted as though I were as young as I felt.

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