anyone so persecuted before?” Here she had just come to a breathing spell, where she had hoped to take a little rest and comfort, and now she must be annoyed.  To go, was out of the question.  It was too hot; and besides, she did not in the least feel like going to a meeting of any sort.  She wanted to finish her book; so she told Mrs. Brown that she was very much worn out with over-exertion, and the day was so warm that she would not venture out.  She should probably fall asleep in the meeting if she went.  It seemed that even when there came a time that work did not fill Mrs. Williams’ heart, Satan was on the alert to pre-empt it, and keep her from all Christian activity.  How he must rejoice at each new withe he fastens over the heart he covets.  Here was a large-hearted, energetic, skilful woman—­thoroughly consecrated.  She would be a power for Christ.  Mrs. Williams was not a hard-hearted woman, but she found no time to listen to the sorrowful story of those who know not God.  She knew very little of it at all, and like her heathen sisters, was so “taken up” that she “could not give herself to thinking.”

When the rage for decorating and the mania for pottery seized the female mind, it began to dawn across Mrs. Williams’ perceptions that all her belongings were exceedingly plain, that she positively needed, and must have two large vases for the parlour at least.  She lay awake thinking about it a good part of the night.  Something must be done.  The expensive imported ware was out of the question—­beyond the limits of her purse at present.  Mrs. Williams was a woman of resources, who seldom failed to rise to the necessity of the occasion; and from her inner consciousness she evolved a perfectly delightful plan.  When a young girl at school, she had taken lessons in oil colours, and possessed not a little artistic ability.  Why not manufacture her own pottery and decorate her own china?  That was a most inspiring idea; she could scarcely wait for morning to appear, so eager was she to put her plans into execution.  She would go into the city, get a few instructions and some materials, “then we shall see what we shall see.”

The next day was a harbinger for a hot day; but what of that?  What would not one undergo when pottery was in question?  So she spent the sultry-summer days examining all the different styles of vases with the same eager minuteness that an amateur milliner studies hats on “opening day.”  Her vases should be precisely like that elegant pair of Copenhagen ware that cost fifty dollars.  Then this ambitious, energetic, deluded woman went home, and proceeded to shut herself in her room, and dabbled in paint from morning till night.  Her enthusiasm arose to such a pitch, that she neglected her sewing and her calls; and after she had produced a really creditable pair of vases, she was stimulated to go on.  She painted lovely little bouquets on her tea-set, and decorated everything in the house from china to coal-scuttle.