Paul Faber, Surgeon

n for Wingfold he had not gone near the place. Yet of that house had been his dream as he stood in his mare's stall, and it was with a strange feeling he now appro

n the mother began to die. She was one of those lowly women who apply the severity born of their creed to themselves, and spend only the love born of the indwelling Spirit upon their neighbors. She was rather melancholy,

cal embodiment of the gospel, but there was in him all the time a vague something that was not far from the kingdom of heaven. Some of his wife's friends looked upon him as a wolf in the sheepfold; he was no wolf, he was only a hireling. Any neighborhood might have been the better for having such a man as he for the parson of the parish-only, for one commissioned to be in the world as he was in the world!-why he knew more about the will of God as to a horse's legs, than as to the heart of a man. As he drew near the house, the older and tenderer time came to meet him, and the spir

d to buy for her, until she made him love them. It had lasted only through those few months; after her first baby died, she rarely sang. But all the colors and forms of the room were different, and that made it

him, and shook hands with him heartily. They seated themselves, and

d, with a half-humorous glance right i

me," returned Wing

an almost quizzical glance, in which hovered a little d

ot aware of your presence. I did not ev

eye. No man could speak as you did this mor

an a man help it where he knows every body in his congregation mo

you all the time. You found me out. I've got a bit of the muscle they call a heart left in me yet, thoug

some enemies, but they are not very dangerous, and I hope not v

s divided-that they take sides for and against

f souls, concerning whom there has not been more or less of such division? But, if you will have patience with me,

uldn't you make it just a little less peculiar-only the way of putting it, I mean-so that it should look a little more like what they have been used to? I'm only suggesting the thing, you know-dic

should wish it, I will resign my curacy, without saying a word more than that my rector

ar," said

chair, that I may know that I am

st-coat: he was not one of the neat order of parsons; he had a not unwholesome disregard of his outermost man, a

to give himself, heart, and soul, and body, to the love, and will, and care of the Being who had made him. He could no longer, he said, regard his profession as any thing less tha

whom I teach and some who teach me. In all that has given ground for complaint, I have seemed to myself to be but f

rupted the rector. "I wish yo

aid the curate earnest

doubt of it," returned the rector, smiling. "Wha

I would rather make you doubt it; the doubt, even if an utter mistake,

much," replied the rector. "I must go home and think

ike a man greatly urged to stretch his arms and legs

urate. "My wife will be disappointed if you do not.

ber her such a tiny thing in a white frock and curls. Tell her what

walked back to the inn. There he found his horses bedded, and t

he Manor House to hear his curate abused. With the help of the barmaid, he put the horses to the carriag

usband. Indeed few things were more pleasant to her than sitting in the carriage alone, contemplating the back of Mr. Bevis on the box, and the motion

onor he weighed and found himself wanting. Of true discipleship was not now the question: he had not behaved like an honorable gentleman to Jesus Christ. It was only in a spasm of terror St. Peter had denied him: John Bevis had for nigh forty years been taking his pay, and for the last thirty at least had done nothing in return. Either Jesus Christ did not care, and then what was the church?-what the whole system of things called Christianity?-or he did care, and what then