exed and forlorn phantom was sitting, and to my
surprise I saw that he was dressed in European clothes. As we drew
nearer I observed that he wore the black garb and white neck-tie of a
minister in some religious denomination, and on coming to still closer
quarters I recognized an old acquaintance, the Rev. Peter McSnadden. Now
Peter had been a "jined member" of that mysterious "U. P. Kirk" which,
according to the author of "Lothair," was founded by the Jesuits for the
greater confusion of Scotch theology. Peter, I knew, had been active as
a missionary among the Red Men in Canada; but I had neither heard of his
death nor could conceive how his shade had found its way into a paradise
so inappropriate as that in which I encountered him. Though never very
fond of Peter, my heart warmed to him, as the heart sometimes does to an
acquaintance unexpectedly met in a strange land. Coming cautiously
behind him, I slapped Peter on the shoulder, whereon he leaped up with a
wild unearthly yell, his countenance displaying lively tokens of terror.
When he recognized me he first murmured, "I thought it was these
murdering Apaches again;" and it was long before I could soothe him, or
get him to explain his fears, and the circumstance of his appearance in
so strange a final home. "Sir," said Peter, "it's just some terrible
mistake. For twenty years was I preaching to these poor painted bodies
anent heaven and hell, and trying to win them from their fearsome notions
about a place where they would play at the ba' on the Sabbath, and the
like shameful heathen diversions. Many a time did I round it to them
about a far, far other place--

"Where congregations ne'er break up,
And sermons never end!"

And now, lo and behold, here I am in their heathenish Gehenna, where the
Sabbath-day is just clean neglected; indeed, I have lost count myself,
and do not know one day from the other. Oh, man, it's just rideec'lous.
A body--I mean a soul--does not know where to turn." Here Peter, whose
accent I cannot attempt to reproduce (he was a Paisley man), burst into
honest tears. Though I could not but agree with Peter that his situation
was "just rideec'lous," I consoled him as well as I might, saying that a
man should make the best of every position, and that "where there was
life there was hope," a sentiment of which I instantly perceived the
futility in this particular instance. "Ye do not know the worst," the
Rev. Mr. McSnadden went o