one,--and work for
that, as you have worked for us. And one thing more; send your friends
who are coming abroad to us. Send us the Christians, for we need them,
and by all means send us those who are not Christians; they may need us;
and the Lord bless you, and keep you in all your goings, and give you
peace."

Then the people gathered in knots for last words--for hand-clasps and
good-byes. Now a spirit of peace and good will having fallen upon us
with the pastor's benediction, we gazed wistfully upon the strangers in
the hope of finding one familiar face; but there was none; so we came
sorrowfully down the aisle. The door was almost reached when a sharp,
twanging voice behind us began, "I'm sent out by X. & Y., book
publishers." "O," said I to the friend at my side, "I believe I will
speak to that man. I know Mr. X., and I do so want to speak to
somebody." How he accomplished the introduction I cannot tell, but in a
moment my hand was grasped by that of a stout little man, with bushy
hair and twinkling eyes. "Know Mr. X.? Mr. Q. X.?" he began. To tell the
truth I had not that honor, my acquaintance having been with his
brother; but there was no time to explain, and retreat was equally
impossible; so I replied that my father knew him well; then thinking
that something more was necessary to explain the sudden and intense
interest manifested in his behalf, added, desperately, "indeed,
intimately." To this he paid no manner of attention,--I doubt if he
heard it,--but rattled on: "Fine man, Mr. X., Mr. Q. X. Know Mr. Y.?
Fine man, Mr. Y.; been abroad a year; I'm goin' out to meet him, I am.
He's in Switzerland, Mr. Y. is; been abroad a year. I'm a proof-reader,
I am. I s'pose you know what a proof-reader is." "Yes," I succeeded in
inserting while he took breath, remembering some amateur attempts of my
own in that direction. He began anew: "I'm sent out by X. & Y.; expect
to find Mr. Y. in Switzerland; fine man--" Will he never stop, I
thought, beginning a backward retreat from the pew down the aisle, with
all the while ringing in my ears, "I'm a proof-reader, I am," &c. "Don't
laugh, pray don't," I said to the friends waiting at the door. "It's
dreadful--is it not?" What became of him we never knew, but in all
probability the sexton removed him--still vocal--to the sidewalk that
night; where, since we do not know for how long a time he was wound up,
he may be iterating and reiterating to this day the interesting fact of
h