that no
man needed an excuse for loving her. When by and by I also came to love
a good woman, I used to try myself by the measure of this man's lack of
self-love, and wonder how he could have seen with good-will the woman he
cared for come to like another man better. This utter sweetness of soul
has ever been to me a riddle.

An hour passed by, when Schmidt heard a footfall in the room behind him,
and rising saw an old member of the Society of Friends who came at times
to our house, and was indeed trustee for a small estate which belonged
to Mistress White. Nicholas Oldmixon was an overseer in the Fourth
street meeting, and much looked up to among Friends as a prompt and
vigilant guardian of their discipline. Perhaps he would have been
surprised to be told that he had that in his nature which made the post
of official fault-finder agreeable; but so it was, I fancy, and he was
here on such an errand. The asceticism of Friends in those days, and the
extent to which Mr. Oldmixon, like the more strict of his sect, carried
their views as to gravity of manner and the absence of color in dress
and furniture, were especially hateful to Schmidt, who lived and was
happy in a region of color and sentiment and gayety. Both, I doubt not,
were good men, but each was by nature and training altogether unable to
sympathize with the other.

"Good-evening!" said Schmidt, keeping his seat in the low window-sill.

Mr. Oldmixon returned, "Thee is well, I trust?"

"Ach! with such a sun and the last roses, which seem the most sweet, and
these most lovely of fall-flowers, and a good book and a pipe," said
Schmidt, "who will not be well? Have you the honest blessing of being a
smoker?"

"Nay," said the Quaker, with evident guarding of his words. "Thee will
not take it amiss should I say it is a vain waste of time?"

"But," answered Schmidt, "time hath many uses. The one is to be wasted;
and this a pipe mightily helps. I did think once, when I went to
meeting, how much more solemn it would be for each man to have a pipe to
excuse his silence."

"Thee jests idly, I fear," said the Friend, coloring and evidently
holding himself in check. "Is that friend Wholesome in the garden? I
have need to see him."

"Yea," said Schmidt, with a broad smile, "he is yonder under a tree,
like Adam in the garden. Let us take a peep at Paradise."

Mr. Oldmixon held his peace, and walked quietly out of the window and
down the graveled path. There were some