Milly was one of the impulsive sort and, so far as her lights went, she lived up to them. Mrs. Perry tells how, when she used to stand on the corner of Lincoln and Elwood avenues, hesitating to engage the sea of mud which lay between her and home, and which was usually over shoe-top—the real, red, Jersey mud—Milly, when she happened to spy her beloved Sunday school teacher in this predicament, would rush from the Eddy back door to the corner, pick up the little woman, tuck her under her arm and carry her across the street as a child might carry a doll. It was of no use to resist; Milly was as large as a man and as strong as two. PIONEERING IN WOODSIDE. In these crude times many were the emergencies that arose, and much ingenuity was called into play to meet them, for between the Erie Railroad and that farce known as the street car, Woodside was almost as isolated as an island in mid ocean. Thus the making of a mistake that in these days would be a trifle was sometimes momentous in its consequences. This gave a certain pioneer flavor to the situation and made of the community one great family where neighbor was dependent on neighbor, and thus brought out and developed character that the present easy times do not call out, and men and women loomed large or small as they actually deserved. One of the small-sized emergencies which arose had to do with a certain Sunday morning communion service in the Presbyterian Church, and the situation was like this:— Mrs. Cumming had made objection to the use of wine at the communion, claiming that its very smell was intoxicating and its influence bad, and the discussion that followed led to a resolve to try unfermented wine, which was then just beginning to be introduced. As a consequence Mr. John Maclure, at whose house the vessels used in the service were kept, and who had charge of the preparations for the service, made a special journey to New York to purchase a bottle of the unfermented wine. Mrs. Margaret Perry, a daughter of Mr. Maclure, tells how on the Sunday morning of this particular communion service, while she was practising the morning’s music on the church organ and her father was preparing the communion table, she heard an exclamation of surprise, and looked up to ascertain the trouble. Mr. Maclure was a Scotch Presbyterian, and was necessarily limited in his Sunday morning vocabulary, and there he stood in a momentary daze, and wholly unable to fit words to the situation, with a quart bottle in his hand which, instead of containing, as he had supposed, unfermented wine, was full of Carter’s best black ink. The clerk in New York had wrapped up the wrong bottle. Imagine the desolation of the situation when, after inquiring of Mr. Hall, rector of St. John’s, it was learned that he had only just enough for his own communion service, and there was no other where to turn, for there was probably not a bottle of wine of any sort in the small community.