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To make their service bitter. Only men
Serve God with utter wretchedness." And then
He vowed to break the chains the brothers wore,
And run their toilsome treadmill round no inore;
To give himself away to God, and free
His soul from care. As angels live, so he
Would live thereafter,- by God's grace sustained,-
The world become bis paradise regained.
He turned from Sinai and the monks away,
Threw off as needless his rough cloak of giay
(Fer angel life could ask no mortal gear,)
And sought, far off, the Presence ever near.
Into the desert waste, the solitude
Which girt the mountain round, where scanty food
Or drink or cooling shade existed, went
The eager man to rest with God, intent
To be as the white angels are,

bis prayer;
To walk with them,--their easy service share.
So seven days went by. The brotherhood,
Surprised, amazed at John's exalted moud,
Spoke little of the wanderer; and when
They mentioned him, those simple monkish men
Devoutly crossed themselves on breast and brow,
And said. “Our brother's with the angels now!
He rose up with a simple, daring faith
And cast himself on God, not waiting death."
But those few days sore trial brought to John,
Shelterless, friendless, in the desert lone.
From the forgetful heaven no manna fell.
No spring leaped out of rock. No visible
Appearance proved that God took kindly note
Of His pressed servant. From fat lands remote
No raven came his daily breaid to bring.
In their strong arms no angels ministering
Bore up the wanderer lest his weary feet
Against the sharp, injurious stones should beat.
The sun smote him by day. By night the wind
Shriveled and pierced him with its blasts unkind.
The desert scared him with its aspect rude;
Not that way lay the path to angelhood
And beatific joys. The monk a man
Remained,--a mortal pinched, forlorn, and wan.

He could not cast himself on God. In vain
With tears be strove desired release to gain
from the sore burden that his life had been,
From toil and care and cross as well as sin.
And as the seventh day went darkly down,
And all his brother monks were housedl, pour loin
Came stumbling in the night, seeking the door
He left with highest hope one week before.
He knocked. The abbot heard within and cried,
"Who knocks?” “ 'Tis 1-o'tis Jolin," a voice replier
"Nay," said the abbót, “ Johın no more with men
Hath part or lot. He comes not here again
From his high company.

With shining throngs
Of angels now he walks,-to them belongs.”
The door was shut. Nor earth nor man had place,
Angels nor God, for one who had not grace
To serve the Lord with patience. Down John fell
Along the threshold weeping. The strong swell
Of his sore spirit shook him. Long he cried
For the forgiveness of the crucified,
The suffering Christ who, patient, bore the cross
That men for Him might count all gain but loss.
And then the angels came to John; while he
Essayed no more as angels are to be,
Nor sought them, lo, they came to him; and peace,
New-found, poured through his soul its blessedness.
And in the morning, when the door stood wide,
John took his place close at the abbot's side,
And said, “ Forgive me that I went astray.
Forget my foolish weakness. As I lay
Last night without, the pitying Master came,
He spoke me tenderly, called me by name,
And said to me, “Serye me content as man.
For man, not angel, was the gospel plan,
Give me a patient human love. Obey
My rule; for my sake bear the cross; then may
The angels see and wonder at, above,
The beauty of a soul renewed by love.'
And thenceforth John, until the day he died,
Serverd in his place with patience; mortified
The flesh, and as a true repentant man,
Gave Christ the service that no angel can.


A CLEAR CASE.*_ Wade WHIPPLE. Dr. Liverwort stepped quietly from the sick chamber and followed the patient's wife into the tidy drawing

The professional gravity of the doctor's face seemned to depart to a three-ply veneer as he turned to await the expected query of the anxijus little woman.

“ Doctor," said she, in a voice whose utterance was as feeble as its tone of anguish was marked, “ Doctor! will you be good enough to tell me the exact condition of the sufferer this morning? I think I ought to know the worst, that I might be prepared for it.” The doctor coughed away a few ounces of the ostentatiön that appeared to have coagulated in his bronchia, and as he planed the vapor from his eye-glasses with the tail of his linen duster, he replied:

“ To be sure, madamn, to be sure! It is your prerogative to be made cognizant of the veritable status of the patient, and I cannot object to fortifying you with such information as the diagnosis interprets."

" Oh, thank you, doctor! I shall be so very glad to know the real condition and the chances of recovery."

“ Well, then, my good lady, you must know that my first impression was that the subclavian vein had penetrated the vena cava descendens, and by androgynous dissemination of the venous overflow had wrought a mephitic condition of the rufescent corpuscles, and rendered plılebotomy imperative.”

“ Greitt heavens, doctor! Don't tell me—"

“Calm yourself, madam, calm yourseif. You forget my remark that such was my first impression. Further in vestigations proved that the vena cava descendens bad not undergone a lusus nature, but was continuing, en regle, to perform its functions. The real disturbance appeared then to be a momentous oppilation of the thoracic duct, and a collateral hebetaliin of the arteria innominata."

*From $t, Jacob's Oil Family Calendar, 188.), by permissivo.

"Oh, spare me, spare me, doctor! Then he is lost, indeed!”

" Please control yourself, madam, and follow the progress of my investigation more closely. I remarked, if you will recall, that such appeared to be the case; but, progressing with any articulations, I found, by the coaduvancy of that anatomical sentience that our fraternity inherits, that the denaturalization of the patient's status was due to no amorphus condition of the subcutaneous vesicles, but was merely an ustulation of some of the lesser penetralia of the cutis vera—a form of urticariaaggravated by co-existent evidences of mania a potu."

“ Is that all, doctor?”

“Nothing more, I assure you, my good woman. A mere deflagration, so to speak, of the percalatory conduits of the tegumenta, rendered doubly morbitic by the concomitant excitation of dipsomania.”

“Merely that, doctor? Heaven bless you for that assurance. And you really think he is no worse than he is ?

“Not in the least, madam!”

“And that, unless he breaks down again, he will continue to improve?”

“All things favoring, yes ma'am! To be sure, certain methods of edulcoration must be maintained, and care should be taken that the constituents of his menu should be non-calefactious and, in part, of a gelatinous naturepabulum—that will sublim: te, as it were, the deterioration of the anatomic functions. Watchful in these regards, and enjoining all indulgence in frumentaceous liquefactions, I think we may predicate an expeditious restoration to a normal sanitary condition.” “ Thank you,

doctor! You don't know what a load of anguish you have relieved me of.”

"I have but done my professional duty, madam. I will look in on the patient again in the morning. Good-day!”

"Good-day, ductur!”

We were driving the down express –

Will at the steam, I at the coal-
Over the valleys and villages!
Over the marshes and coppices!
Over the river, deep and broad!
Through the mountain, under the road!
Flying along, tearing along!
Thunderbolt engine, swift and strong,

Fifty tons she was, whole and sole!
I had been promoted to the express:

I warrant you I was proud and gay.

It was the evening that ended May,
And the sky was a glory of tenderness.
We were thundering down to a widland town;
It makes no matter about the name-
For we never stopped there, or anywhere
For a dozen of miles on either side:
So it's all the same-

Just there you slide,
With your steam shut off, and your brakes in band
Down the steepest and longest grade in the land
At a pace that I promise you is grand.
We were just there with the express,
When I caught sight of a muslin dress
On the bank ahead; and as we passed
You have no notion of how fast-
A girl shrank back from our baleful blast.

We were going a mile and a quarter a minute With vans and carriages down the incline,

But I saw her face, and the sunshine in it, I looked in her eyes, and she looked in mine

As the train went by, like a shot from a mortar,
A roaring hell-breath of dust and smoke;
And I mused for a minute, and then awoke,

And she was behind us--a mile and a quarter.
And the years went on, and the express
Leaped in her black resistlessness,

Evening by evening, England through.
Will-God rest him!-was found, a mash
Of bleeding rags, in a fearful smash

He made with a Christmas train at Crewe.

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