Laddie, and Miss Toosey's Mission

Now I must tell you about Miss Toosey's Mission, and I think it will surprise you to hear that her Mission was the conversion of the heathen, -- not the heathen at Martel, though there were enough and to spare, even in that favored spot; not the heathen in London, or our great towns even; but the heathen in foreign parts, real _bona fide_ black heathen, with war-paint and feathers, and strings of beads, and all the rest of it. Her Mission began in this manner: A missionary Bishop came to preach at Martel. I do not know quite how it happened, as he certainly did not pronounce "Shibboleth" with the same distinct and unctuous intonation which was deemed essential at Martel; but I have been told that he met Mr. Peters out at dinner, and that the rector, always good-natured, offered his pulpit, red-velvet cushion and all, for the Bishop's use on the following Sunday evening.

The Bishop gladly accepted the offer. He was not quick to see microscopic differences of opinion; the cut of a coat, a posture, or the use of a cant word, did not seem to him of such vital importance as he found attached to them among Churchmen at home; and he was fairly puzzled at the hot blood and animosity that arose from them, bidding fair even at times to rend the woven garment without seam. He had been used to a clearer, simpler atmosphere, a larger horizon, a wider span of heaven overhead, than we can get in our streets and lanes, making it easier, perhaps, to look up steadfastly, as those should whose lives are ever teaching them how far, how terribly "far, the heaven is from the earth," where the earth lies in darkness and idolatry. To one who was used to the difference between Christian and heathen, the difference between Churchman and Churchman seemed unutterably small; so that he was fain to say with Abraham, "Let there be no strife between us, I pray, for we are brethren."