the contest in the village store, and it had culminated in a fight, part of which Draxy herself had chanced to see. Long and anxiously she pondered, that night, the question of her duty. She dared not keep silent.

"It would be just hypocrisy and nothing less," she exclaimed to herself, "for me to stand up there and read them one of Seth's sermons, when I am burning to tell them how shamefully they have behaved. But I suppose it will be the last time I shall speak to them. They'll never want to hear me again."

She did not tell her father of her resolution till they were near the church. Reuben started, but in a moment he said, deliberately: "You're quite right, daughter; may the Lord bless you!"

At Draxy's first words, a thrill of astonishment ran over the whole congregation. Everybody knew what was coming. George Thayer colored scarlet to the roots of his hair, and the color never faded till the sermon was ended. Deacon Plummer coughed nervously, and changed his position so as to cover his mouth with his hand. Angy put her head down on the front of the pew and began to cry. "Render, therefore, unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar's, and unto God the things that are God's," came in clear ringing tones from Draxy's lips. Then she proceeded, in simple and gentle words, to set forth the right of every man to his own opinions and convictions; the duty of having earnest convictions and acting up to them in all the affairs of life. George Thayer and the Deacon looked easier. Her words seemed, after all, rather a justification of their vehemence of feeling.

But when she came to speak of the "things that are God's," her words pierced their very souls. The only thing that enabled George Thayer to bear up under it at all was, as he afterwards said in the store, keeping his eyes fixed steady on old Plummer; 'cause, you know, boys, I never jined the church nor made any kind o' profession o' goin' in for any things o' God's, nohow; not but what I've often wished I could see my way to: but sez I to myself, ef he kin stan' it I kin, an' so I held out. But I tell you, boys, I'd rather drive the wust six-hoss team I ever got hold on down Breakneck Hill 'n the dark, than set there agin under thet woman's eyes, a blazin' one minnit, 'n fillin' with tears the next: 'n' I dont care what anybody sez; I'm a goin' to see her an' tell her that she needn't be afeard o' ever hevin to preach to me s' goods' by my name, in the meeting 'us agin, by thunder!"

"Supposing the blessed Saviour had come walking through our streets, looking for his children last Wednesday," said Draxy, "He would say to himself: 'I shall know them, wherever I find them: I have given them so many badges, they will be sure to be wearing some of them. They suffer long and are kind; they envy not, vaunt not, are not puffed up: they are not easily provoked, think no evil, seek not their own, rejoice in the truth; they do not behave unseemly.' Alas, would the dear Jesus have turned away, believing himself a stranger and friendless in our village? Which one of you, dear men, could have sprung forward to take him by the hand? What terrible silence would have fallen upon you as he looked round on your angry faces !"

Tears were rolling down little Reuby's face. Slyly he tried to wipe them away, first with one hand, then with the other, lest his mother should see them. He had never in his life seen such an expression of suffering on her face. He had never heard such tones of pain in her voice. He was sorely perplexed; and the sight of his distressed little face was almost more than the people could bear.

When Draxy stopped speaking, Deacon Plummer did a manly thing. He rose instantly, and saying "Let us pray," poured out as humble and contrite a petition for forgiveness as ever went up on wings of faith to Heaven. It cleared the air, like sweet rain; it rolled a burden off everybody's heart-most of all, perhaps, off of Draxy's.

"He is not angry, after all," she said; "God has laid it to his heart ;" and when, at the end of the services, the old man came up to her and held out his hand, she took it in both of hers, and said, "Thank you, dear Deacon Plummer, thank you for helping me so much to-day. Your prayer was better for the people than my little sermon, a great deal." The deacon wrung her hands, but did not speak a word, only stooped and kissed Reuby.

After this day, Draxy had a new hold on the people. They had really felt very little surprise at her speaking to them as she did. She had slowly and insensibly to herself grown. into the same place which the Elder had in their regard; the same in love and confidence, but higher in reverence, and admiration, for although she sympathized just as lovingly as he did in all their feelings, they never lost sight for a moment of the realization that her nature was on a higher plane. than his. They could not have put this in words, but they felt it.

"Donno, how 't is," they said, "but Mis' Kinney even when she's closest to ye, an' a doin' for ye all the time, don't seem just like a mortal woman."

66

It's easy enough to know how 'tis," replied Angy Plummer, once, in a moment of unguarded frankness, "Mis' Kinney is a kind o' daughter o' God, somthin' as Jesus Christ was His Son. It's just the way Jesus Christ used to go round among folks, 's near's I can make out; 'n' I for one, don't believe that God jist sent Him, once for all, 'n' haint never sent anybody else near us, all this time. I reckon he's a sendin' down sons and daughters to us oftener 'n' we think." "Angy Plummer, I call that downright blasphemy," exclaimed her mother.

"Well, call it what you're a mind to," rejoined the crisp Angy. "It's what I believe." "Tis blasphemy though, to be sayin it to folks that can't understand," she muttered to herself as she left the room, "ef blasphemy means what Mis' Kinney sez it does, to speak stupidly."

Three years had passed. The novelty of Draxy's relation to her people had worn off. The neighboring people had ceased to wonder and to talk; and the neighboring ministers had ceased to doubt and question. Clairvend and she had a stout supporter in old Elder Williams, who was looked upon as a high authority throughout the region. He always staid at Reuben Miller's house, when he came to the town, and his counsel and sympathy were invaluable to Draxy. Sometimes he said jocosely, "I am the pastor of Brother Kinney's old parish and Mis' Kinney is my curate, and I wish everybody had as good an one."

It finally grew to be Draxy's custom to read one of her husband's sermons in the forenoon, and to talk to the people informally in the afternoon. Sometimes she wrote out what she wished to say, but usually she spoke without any notes. She also wrote hymns which she read to them, and which the choir sometimes sang. She was now fully imbued with the feeling that everything which she could do, belonged to her people. Next to Reuben, they filled her heart; the sentiment was after all but an expanded and exalted motherhood. Strangers sometimes came to Clairvend to hear her preach, for of course the fame of the beautiful white-robed woman preacher could not be confined to her own village. This always troubled Draxy very much.

"If we were not so far out of the world, I should have to give it up," she said; "I know it is proper they should come; but it

seems to me just as strange as if they were to walk into the study in the evening when I am teaching Reuby. I can't make it seem right; and when I see them writing down what I say, it just paralyzes me."

It might have seemed so to Draxy, but it did not to her hearers. No one would have supposed her conscious of any disturbing pres

ence.

And more than one astonished and delighted visitor carried away with him written records of her eloquent words.

One of her most impressive sermons was called "The Gospel of Mystery." The text was Psalm xix. 2:

"Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night sheweth knowledge."

First she dwelt on the sweet meaning of the word Gospel. "Dear friends," she said, "it is a much simpler word than we realize; it is only good news,' 'good tidings.' We get gospels every day. Our children send us good news of their lives. What gospels of joy are such letters! And nations to na tions send good news: a race of slaves is set free; a war has ended; ship-loads of grain have been sent to the starving; a good man has been made ruler; these are good ti dings-gospels."

After dwelling on this first, simplest idea of the word, until every one of her hearers had begun to think vividly of all the good tidings journeying in words back and forth between heart and heart, continent and continent, she spoke of the good news which nature tells without words. Here she was eloquent. Subtle as the ideas were, they were yet clothed in the plain speech which the plain people understood: the tidings of the spring, of the winter, of the river, of the mountain; of gold, of silver, of electric fire; of blossom and fruit of seed-time and harvest; of suns and star and waters ;-these were the "speech" which "day uttered unto day.

But "knowledge was greater " thar speech :-night in her silence "showed" wha day could not tell. Here the faces of the people grew fixed and earnest. In any othe hands than Draxy's the thought would hav been too deep for them, and they would hav turned from it wearily. But her simplicit controlled them always. "Stand on you door-steps on a dark night," she said,—“ night so dark that you can see nothing: loo ing out into this silent darkness, you will pr sently feel a far greater sense of how vast th world is, than you do in broad noon-da when you can see up to the very sun hin self."

More than one young face in the congregation showed that this sentence struck home and threw light on hitherto unexplained. emotions. “This is like what I mean," continued Draxy, "by the Gospel of Mystery, the good tidings of the things we cannot understand. This gospel is everywhere. Not the wisest man that has ever lived can fully understand the smallest created thing: a drop of water, a grain of dust, a beam of light, can baffle his utmost research. So with our own lives, with our own hearts; every day brings a mystery-sin and grief and death: all these are mysteries; gospels of mystery, good tidings of mystery; yes, good tidings! These are what prove that God means to take us into another world after this one; into a world where all things which perplexed us here will be explained. **O my dear friends!" she exclaimed at last, clasping her hands tightly, "thank God for the things which we cannot understand: except for them, how should we ever be sure of immortality?"

Then she read them a hymn, called "The Gospel of Mystery." Coming after the sermon, it was sweet and clear to all the people's hearts. Before the sermon it would have seemed obscure.

THE GOSPEL OF MYSTERY.

Good tidings every day, God's messengers ride fast.

We do not hear one-half they say, There is such noise on the highway, Where we must wait while they ride past.

Their banners blaze and shine With Jesus Christ's dear name, And story how by God's design He saves us, in his love divine, And lifts us from our sin and shame.

Their music fills the air, Their songs sing all of Heaven;

Their ringing trumpet peals declare What crowns to souls who fight and dare, And win, shall presently be given.

Their hands throw treasures round Among the multitude.

No pause, no choice, no count, no bound, No questioning how men are found, If they be evil or be good.

But all the banners bear

Some words we cannot read;
And mystic echoes in the air,

Which borrow from the songs no share, In sweetness, all the songs exceed,

God.

But the sermon which of all others her people loved best was one on the Love of This one she was often asked to repeat,-so often, that she said one day to Angy, who asked for it, "Why, Angy, I am ashamed to. Everybody must know it by heart. I am sure I do."

"Yes, that's jest the way we do know it, Mis' Kinney, by heart," said the affectionate Angy, "an' that's jest the reason we want it so often. I never told ye what George Thayer said the last time you read it to us, did I?”

"No, Angy," said Draxy.

"Well, he was singing in the choir that day, 'n place o' his brother, who was sick; 'n' he jumped up on one o' the seats 'n' swung his hat, jest 's you was goin' down the aisle, 'n' we all ketched hold on him to pull him down, 'n try to hush him; for you can't never tell what George Thayer 'll do when his blood's up, 'n' we was afraid he was agoin' to holler right out, 's ef he was in the town-'us; but sez he, in a real low, trembly kind o' voice,

"Ye needn't be afraid, I ain't agoin' to whoop; taint that way I feel,--but I had to do suthin or I should bust': 'n there was reel tears in his eyes-George Thayer's eyes, Mis' Kinney! Then he jumped down, 'n' sez he, 'I'll tell ye what that sermon's like: it's jest like one great rainbow all round ye, and before 'n behind 'n everywheres, 'n the end on't reaches way to the Throne; it jest dazzles my eyes, that's what it does.'"

This sermon had concluded with the following hymn, which Draxy had written when Reuben was only a few weeks old:

THE LOVE OF GOD.

LIKE a cradle rocking, rocking,
Silent, peaceful, to and fro-
Like a mother's sweet looks dropping
On the little face below-

Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning,
Jarless, noiseless, safe and slow;
Falls the light of God's face bending

Down and watching us below.

And as feeble babes that suffer,

Toss and cry, and will not rest, Are the ones the tender mother

Holds the closest, loves the best. So when we are weak and wretched, By our sins weighed down, distressed, Then it is that God's great patience

Holds us closest, loves us best.

O great Heart of God! whose loving Cannot hindered be nor crossed; Will not weary, will not even

In our death itself be lostLove divine! of such great loving, Only mothers.know the costCost of love, which all love passing, Gave a Son to save the lost.

There is little more to tell of Draxy's ministry. It closed as suddenly as it had begun.

It was just five years after the Elder's death that she found herself, one Sunday morning, feeling singularly feeble and lifeless. She was bewildered at the sensation, for in her apparent health she had never felt it before. She could hardly walk, could hardly stand. She felt also a strange apathy which prevented her being alarmed.

"It is nothing," she said "I dare say most women are so all the time; I don't feel in the least ill" and she insisted upon it that no one should remain at home with her. It was a communion Sunday and Elder Williams was to preach.

"How fortunate it is that Mr. Williams was here!" she thought languidly, as she seated herself in the eastern bay-window, to watch Reuby down the hill. He walked between his grandparents, holding each by the hand, talking merrily and looking up into their faces.

Draxy watched them until their figures became dim, black specks, and finally faded out of sight. Then she listened dreamily to the notes of the slow-tolling bell; when it ceased she closed her eyes, and her thoughts ran back, far back to the days when she was "little Draxy" and Elder Kinney was only her pastor. Slowly she lived her life since then over again, its joy and its sorrow alike softened in her tender, brooding thoughts. The soft whirring sound of a bird's wings in the air roused her as it flew past the window she saw that it was one of the yellow-hammers, which still built their nests in the maplegrove behind the house.

"Ah," thought she, "I suppose it can't be one of the same birds we saw that day. But it's going on errands just the same. I wonder, dear Seth, if mine is nearly done."

At that instant a terrible pain shot through her left side and forced a sharp cry from her lips. She half rose exclaiming, "Reuby, 0, darling!" and sank back in her chair unconscious.

Just as Elder Williams was concluding the communion service, the door of the church was burst open, and old Ike, tottering into the aisle, cried out in a shrill voice :

"Mis' Kinney's dead! Mis' Kinney's dead!"

The scene that followed could not be told. With flying feet the whole congregation sped up the steep hill-Angy Plummer half lifting, half dragging Reuby, and the poor grandparents supported on each side by strong men. As they drew near the house, they saw Draxy apparently sitting by the open

Old Ike had been rambling around the house, and observing from the outside that Draxy's position was strange, had compelled Hannah to go into the room.

"She was a smilin' just 's you see her now," said Hannah, "'n' I couldn't ha' touched her to move her more'n I could ha' touched an angel."

There are griefs, as well as joys, to which words offer insult. Draxy was dead!

Three days later they laid her by the side of her husband, and the gray-haired, childless old people, and the golden-haired, fatherless and motherless boy, returned together brokenhearted to the sunny parsonage.

On the village a terrible silence, that could be felt, settled down; a silence in which sorrowing men and women crept about, weeping as those who cannot be comforted.

Then week followed after week, and soon all things seemed as they had seemed before. But Draxy never died to her people. Her hymns are still sung in the little lovely church; her gospel still lives in the very air of those quiet hills, and the people smile through their tears as they teach her name to little children.

(CIVIL service reform aims at two grand results, neither of which should be overlooked in making an estimate of its capacity for good, -the improvement in character and competency of the civil officers of the executive branch of the government, broadly designated as the Civil Service, and the purification of national politics. Although the latter will follow as the necessary consequence of the former, it has too often been lost sight of in discussing the subject. The deplorable condition of the Civil Service, which is so notorious as to render demonstration needless, is chiefly due to the evil system of patronage which largely surrenders to Congress the designation of persons for the executive branches of the Government service. The consequence is, that the service is filled with men appointed without regard to fitness, and often of integrity, as a reward for so-called "political" services, or in consideration of personal friendship. Even when the choice is made by the responsible executive officers, the result is often quite as bad,-personal influences, or the desire to reward political services already performed, or to secure the rendition of others in the future in furtherance of political schemes, outweighing their regard for the good of the service. Of course, all of the appointees are not absolutely unfit. A certain average of capacity is required for the performance of the public business, below which the service cannot be permitted to fall. The public business must be performed, and it is requisite that there should be in every branch of the service a proportion of competent men sufficient for its performance. Otherwise the departments would tumble into chaos. Consequently there are many excellent men in the minor places in the service, who are retained even through changes of administration, though their merit is not always a sufficient shield against the penalties of political heresy. Every change of administration is the occasion of the official decapitation, not only of the appointees of the outgoing dynasty, but of some faithful old public servants whose worth has protected them from former political massacres, but whose heads are at last brought to the block by new inquisitors fearful lest their heterodoxy should contaminate the faithful. But a majority of public employés are not the best that the salaries would command, while a large part are absolutely incompeWorst of all, the best-salaried places VOL. VI.-7

tent

are reserved for rewards of party servicesthe real work being done by underpaid subordinates. Throughout the country this is especially so, the incumbents of the principal federal offices being largely occupied with the political work demanded of them as "wheel-horses of the party." The conduct of the business of their offices is left to underlings who but for their official signatures could get on quite as well without them. This has resulted in a lowering of the tone of the service which, in connection with the debasing means it has been necessary to use, makes competent men who would be glad to accept places under government were they creditable, and the means of getting them honorable, refrain from seeking to enter the service. The evils of the system of patronage are so glaring, that no one making claim to political honesty thinks of denying their existence; the sole question in the minds of those desirous of reform is as to the sufficiency and feasibility of the measures proposed for their remedy. But the incompetency and dishonesty of the civil servants of the Government are not the only evils flowing from that system of appointment. These, though great, are often magnified by political opponents for their own ends. A civil service composed exclusively of the adherents of one political party, however pure it may be, cannot escape the blackening of partisan calumny. There are other evils still more monstrous which patronage has fastened upon the Government service. Chief of these is the baneful practice of rotation in office, fatal to the energy and efficiency of the best, which turns a man out of his place as soon as he begins to be useful in it. No one, no matter how great his talents, how high his integrity, how untiring his industry, can escape the paralyzing influence of such a system. The very constitution of human nature forbids that a man should display the same energy or interest in a position from which he is in daily danger of being ousted by some blatant politician,-who has labored in the primaries or shouted and perspired on the stump, while he was attending to the duties of his office,-as in one his tenure of which could be determined only by his own misconduct or death. As a natural and logical result of this uncertainty of tenure, many men devote themselves to making hay while the sun of official favor shines. Looking upon the public service as a profit