SABBATH CAMP. 
107 
gearing/’ If the weather, roads, team, and every- 
thing went wrong, he both whistled and sung, 
until Mrs. Maxwell began to fear that, unless ex- 
cursions were given up, he would become a 
second Mr. Chick, and she, when in society, like 
that gentleman’s wife, the far-from-fascinating 
relative of “ Dombey and Son,” would have to 
smother “Annie Laurie,” or recall him “ From 
Jordan’s stormy banks ” every few minutes, to 
preserve his decorum. He was proverbial for 
driving over the most breakneck places without 
breaking any one’s neck. 
At night fortunately the wind grew calm, and 
they camped on the banks of a lovely, bush- 
fringed brook. Behind them lay the beautiful, 
park-like country. Before them, over broken, 
rocky hills, rose exquisitely tinted snow-capped 
mountain peaks. Here they passed Sunday. 
Their tent was pitched and luxuriantly carpeted 
with evergreens. Their literary supplies were 
brought out — a Bible, copies of the Northwestern 
Christian Advocate , “ Captain Riley’s Life and 
Adventures in Africa,” some Atlantics, and works 
on geology and natural history. Each lounged, 
or read, as fancy dictated. The C s were 
clever people — Mrs. C , like Mr. Maxwell, 
blessed with the memory of many beautiful 
hymns ; so the day closed, as Sunday always 
should, with music. 
