The asceticism of Friends in those days, and the
extent to which Mr. Oldmixon, like the more strict of his sect, carried
their views as to gravity of manner and the absence of color in dress
and furniture, were especially hateful to Schmidt, who lived and was
happy in a region of color and sentiment and gayety. Both, I doubt not,
were good men, but each was by nature and training altogether unable to
sympathize with the other.
"Good-evening!" said Schmidt, keeping his seat in the low window-sill.
Mr. Oldmixon returned, "Thee is well, I trust?"
"Ach! with such a sun and the last roses, which seem the most sweet, and
these most lovely of fall-flowers, and a good book and a pipe," said
Schmidt, "who will not be well? Have you the honest blessing of being a
smoker?"
"Nay," said the Quaker, with evident guarding of his words. "Thee will
not take it amiss should I say it is a vain waste of time?"
"But," answered Schmidt, "time hath many uses. The one is to be wasted;
and this a pipe mightily helps. I did think once, when I went to
meeting, how much more solemn it would be for each man to have a pipe to
excuse his silence."
"Thee jests idly, I fear," said the Friend, coloring and evidently
holding himself in check. "Is that friend Wholesome in the garden? I
have need to see him."
"Yea," said Schmidt, with a broad smile, "he is yonder under a tree,
like Adam in the garden. Let us take a peep at Paradise.
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