“Surely, Providence is too good to me,” said Adolph, when he announced to Louise the result of his negotiation. “Has it ever failed you when you really relied upon it?” “Did it not allow me to be sent to the army, and to suffer horribly? I do believe I should have died without Klemm.” “Has not your campaign resulted in the adoption of a sounder code of morals, a restoration to religious exercises, and the acquisition of rank, and in our almost immediate marriage? And will not Klemm be here at our wedding?” “I hope so, but faith Klemm is such a well-made handsome little fellow, that I might wish him to tarry until after our marriage. I should not like to find him and you chatting German sentiment together in the German language.” “And why not, Adolph?” “I might _fear_ that the sleek little secretary would outshine the wounded lieutenant.” “Fear, Adolph! You would not _fear_.” “Why not?” asked he, with a smile. “_Die vollige Liebe treibet die Furcht aus_,” said Louise, with a strong German accent. “Good Heaven, Louise! where did you find that quotation, and where that accent and look?” “Why, the quotation is from the Bible, and the accent is as true German as my grape-raising relatives know how to give.” No Klemm arrived as Adolph hoped, and so the bridal party set forward to the church where Father Rudolph was awaiting their arrival. The simple but interesting ceremony was concluded, and as the party rose from their last genuflection toward the altar, Louise whispered into her husband’s ear: “Klemm has come!” “Where—where is he? Oh! how I long to have him share in the happiness which I enjoy, and he _will_ share in it, for it is of his own producing. Oh! Louise, could you but know—but I have told you all I can tell; yet I cannot express what I feel for that young man’s beautiful devotion to my good—to him alone, next to God, am I indebted for this day’s unspeakable delight.” “I thought you owed it to _me_,” said Louise. “To you—to you indeed, that you are mine—but to him that I was made worthy of your acceptance. Dear Louise, I am _afraid_ you must share—” “Afraid, Adolph—‘_Die vollige Liebe treibet die Furcht aus._’” “Louise, you confound me—whose is that tone of voice—whose that arch look? Surely you are not yourself now?” “Not this moment, Adolph. Just _now_ I am Klemm!” The sacrifices of Louise had been accepted in Heaven—of course they were appreciated on earth, and “perfect love which casteth out fear,” had lured the wanderer back to religion, and had been rewarded in its good performed and the power of doing good. * * * * * TO MY STEED. BY S. D. ANDERSON. Come forth, my brave steed, for the dew’s on the flowers, And we will away with the speed of the hours; The breath of the summer-time rides on the gale, And health is abroad on each mountain and dale.