"Mass' Craffud, ef de Lord had n't 'sist'd on Isam cum'n down ter run dat deer off, 'spec' by dis time you'd been er flopp'n yo' wings up yander, er else sput'n on er gridi'on down yander." And from his elevated perch Isam indicated the two extremes of eternity with an eloquent sweep of his hand.

But the Major had small time for laughter or recrimination. In the distance there rang out faintly the full-mouthed cry of a hound. Isam heard it. For him it was at once a welcome and a stimulating sound. Gliding to the ground, he helped the wearied Major to his feet, and started on a run for the boat, crying:

"Run, Mass' Craffud! wors'n er deer 's cummin'. Hit's dem folks w'at know about dat corn 'en watermilluns ye tuke from dere patch, 'en yer can't 'splain nuthin' ter er houn' dog."

Broken down as he was, the Major realized that there was wisdom in the negro's words, and followed as best he could. The camp traps were thrown into the boat, and the little bark was launched. A minute later the form of a great, thirsty-looking hound appeared on the scene. But the hunters who came after found naught beyond the signs of a camp.

How Isam ever settled his difficulty needs no explanation. But it may interest the reader to know that one day he bore a message and a check that settled the corn and melon debt; and they tell it in Middle Georgia that every year thereafter, until the war-cloud broke over the land, whenever the catalpa worm crept upon the leaf, two runaways fled from Woodhaven and dwelt in the swamps, "loos' en free."

-H. S. Edwards.

A STUDY IN NERVES

A small door at the right of the pulpit opened, and he walked to his place before the altar. It had already been indicated by an inconspicuous chalk mark on the floor. His best man followed a little behind him at an interval which had required frequent rehearsing the evening before. He did not catch his chalk mark for an instant, and overstepped it, but he retreated cautiously, still facing the enemy, and carefully covered it with his foot.

People had been pouring into the church for the last half hour. At last all those who had been invited had been given the front seats, There was a slight flutter in the audience when the bride's

mother and her two married sisters were escorted to their seats on the opposite side of the aisle from that set apart for the bridegroom's family, in the suggestively antagonistic manner which is customary when two houses are about to be united.

From his chalk mark by the altar he gazed rather unintelligently at the blur of faces turned towards him. Why should they all be staring at him? Was } cravat slipping up over his collar? Only a hoarse but reass "You're all right, old man!" brought his wandering hand back to his side again. did n't the music begin?

But why

The vast aggregated stare of the throng in front of him gradually resolved itself into its elements. It struck him that every one seemed remarkably solemn, as if it were an occasion for sadness rather than for smiles. Why could n't they look pleasant about it? Then it occurred to him that he felt solemn himself, and the cheerful and sympathetic grin on the face of one of his still-bachelor classmates, whom he had suddenly discovered, seemed decidedly out of place and frivolous.

But none the less, something seemed required of him. Should he grin back, or should he merely wink in acknowledgment? The rehearsal had not prepared him for this emergency. He shirked the responsibility of deciding and looked away.

Why did n't the music begin? Why did n't they open those doors? Had anything gone wrong? Had any one arrived at the last moment to announce some good cause why they two should not be joined together in holy wedlock? No, thank heaven, he could face the world on that score. None the less, he felt that it must be fearfully late. Yet he had been told that everything was all ready, and that it was time for him to take his place on his chalk mark. What were they waiting for? Had he not waited long enough already?

Why didn't the music begin? If he could only look at his watch and see what time it really was, it would relieve his mind. He remembered that he had never seen it done, and kept his hands fast at the seams of his trousers, out of temptation.

Suddenly the doors were pushed back and the bridal party appeared in the opening. Behind the double file of somber-hued ushers his eye caught a bit of color from the dress of one of the bridesmaids, and then rested for a moment upon a little cloud of And as pure swanlike white. Thank heaven, there she was.

she was there, why did n't the music begin? The tallest usher changed his position, and the little white cloud disappeared behind his broad black shoulder. Confound him, why could n't he stand still, when that was the first glimpse he had had of her for goodness only knew how long!

There they all stood in the doorway, his seven best friends and the girl's usher. He supposed there was no reason now, from his point of view, why that unfortunate should not be one of his friends, too. He felt that he had never appreciated the fellow's good qualities so strongly as at that moment. He remembered that when she had at first spoken to him of her usher he had suggested to her the inadvisability of inviting a man to be present at his own funeral, and how she had insisted that her usher she would have. There he was, so why did n't the music begin?

He saw the black back of the organist suddenly fill out as with the responsibility of his exalted position, and the next instant the familiar "tum-tum-ti-tum" pealed through the church. He felt that his troubles were over, for anything was better than that silent staring.

For a moment he could not make out what had all at once changed the appearance of things so much. Then he discovered that the sea of faces had turned into an equally bewildering exhibition of back hair. What was the matter with his mind, anyway? Why could n't he stop thinking?

"Tum-tum-ti-tum." The music not only had begun, but it seemed to him as if it had always been playing. Why did they not start? What was the use of all that rehearsing if they did n't know what to do when the time came? "Tum-tum-ti-tum," played the organist.

It seemed an easy matter for eight grown men to walk up a broad aisle together, two by two, a certain distance apart. They had done it half a dozen times the night before. It was perfectly simple. They were to be two pews apart. Or was it three pews? "Ti-tum-tum-ti-tum."

He did n't know which it was, but it was no affair of his, anyway. All he had to do was to stay on his chalk mark until it was time for him to go to that other chalk mark over there to receive her. There it was, a little rubbed out, to be sure, but seeming to him like the guiding star to the path of matrimony, and to it he had hitched his wagon. A scarcely breathed "They 're

off!" at his elbow, brought him back to earth again. They were coming through the door. It was two pews apart after all. He knew he had been right. He noticed that the girl's usher seemed as cheerful as could be expected of him. He wondered how he would feel if he had to change places with him. How had it happened that their places were not changed? He knew that he was a better fellow than the girl's usher, of course, but how had he managed to make her believe it? He knew better men than he who had been girls' ushers in their time.

"Tum-tum-ti-tum."

The two ushers in the lead were within twenty feet of him. Why did n't they move faster? It made him nervous to see them advancing upon him like that. It was like the car of Juggernaut or the inexorable march of time. They were bringing him the happiness of his whole life. Why did n't they bring it to him faster? There they were, coming at him in the same relentless way. All of them were the pendulum, swinging nearer and nearer, to push him into the pit.

"Tum-tum-ti-tum-tum."

The two ushers in the lead were so near him that he could see the pearls on the pins he had given them. There she was, Heaven bless her! What was the sense of all this bother? Why 'could n't he rush down the aisle and get her, all by himself? His eye fell upon the relentless chalk mark before him, and he shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to the other.

The two files of ushers had begun to deploy on either side of him, each man trying to keep one eye on his alignment, and with the other to steer for the haven of his own particular chalk mark. As the last one disappeared from view behind him, he felt that he never wanted to see one of them again after the way they had just treated him. The next moment the bridesmaids were tripping by him, guided to their positions by that unerring instinct in regard to all that pertains to weddings, which is every woman's birthright.

Then the final "tum-tum-ti-tum" rang out triumphantly into every corner of the church. He rushed to the now benignly-in'viting chalk mark, and in an instant her hand was in his own. -Anonymous.

PICKWICK IN THE WRONG BEDROOM

Having carefully drawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled nightcap, secured it firmly on his head by tying beneath his chin the strings which he always had attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the smiles that expanded his amiable features as they shone forth from beneath the nightcap.

"It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the nightcap strings, "It is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humor, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption, to-wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressingtable and set down the light upon it.

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonderstricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A robber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do?

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manœuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage and looked out.