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“ Hear'n teacheth thee to mourn, oh friend beloved !

Thou art its pupil now. The lowest class,
The first beginners in its school may learn
How to rejoice. ......
...... But God alone
Instructeth how to mourn. He doth not trust
This higher lesson to a voice or hand
Subordinate.” . • • • • •


Dr. Trevor's patient in this cottage was a young lady of about three and twenty, and she was suffering from a disease of the spine. She had only lately come to the village, and had been sent thither, by her medical adviser, for the benefit of country air and total rest and freedom from excitement. The London parish in which she had been residing was full of active, busy workers. Under the influence of an efficient ministry, the educated classes were awakening to a high sense of their responsi. bility; and time, and talents, and wealth, were gradually, but surely, being devoted to His service who first bestowed them, and who, by allowing us to consecrate them unto Him, doubles the intrinsic value of them all. To this busy scene, the quiet of a country village presented a contrast most uncongenial to her state of mind. She had been one of the most active, and now she was to lie prostrate, and her busy brain must weave all its projects of usefulness, and find nothing after all but an unreal fabric.

It was a great trial of faith and patience, not only for herself, but for her kind mother and sister, who were doing all in their power to soften its bitterness to her.

After the professional part of his visit was over, Dr. Trevor said, “I am afraid, Miss Wilson, you are disappointed in the expectations you had formed of our country village.”

“My daughter has been bewailing her in



active and, as she calls it, her useless life, Dr. Trevor; but I tell her that cannot be called useless which is of God's appointing. You know we have come from a very busy neighbourhood, and this still life is new to us.”

“I know you have,” said the doctor, " and I can quite enter into Miss Wilson's feelings on the subject; but as to 'useless,' I think we must come to a clear understanding of the word 'work' before we can call any part of it useless. That is work which our Master appoints, is it not so, whether it be with head, heart, or hands? Some are sent on active employment, others are to sit still, and this last seems to me your appointed work just now. I can well imagine it is very irksome with your active mind, but we must believe it is the very best thing for you, and, perhaps, intended to fit you for more activo usefulness hereafter You remember this line

• They also serve, who only stand and wait.'”

A pleased and grateful look on the countenance of the invalid encouraged the doctor to go on. “Do you remember, my dear young lady, those to whom it was once said, “Come ye into a desert place and rest awhile, for there were many coming and going, and there was no leisure so much as to eat ?' They could not make leisure for themselves, and so their kind Master made it for them."

“Yes, indeed I do, and I thank you for reminding me. I will indeed try and subdue this restless desire to be up and doing; but, do you know, I feel as though I had a living mind and a dead body."

“And well may you be thankful that you can say this. I have a patient, whom I must visit to-day, who has a dead mind and a living body, and, I can assure you, hers is by far the worse case of the two. But you must remember you are new to your position, and it will be by slow degrees that you get accus. tomed to it; and with your dead body, as you call it, you will in time find many ways of working, and many sources of happiness I sce several around you here," and the doctor looked admiringly at the well-furnished book. cases, and the beautiful prints which were lying in a half-open portfolio. · "Oh yes; those are great sources of pleasure, but, at best, they are only selfish ones.”


"I am not sure of that. With a hearty desire to be useful to others, I believe there is no lawful pursuit in which we can engage which may not be made subservient to it. A mind intent upon making opportunities, will find them in the most unlikely things. But I must now wish you good afternoon, for I have a long round yet to make.”

The doctor had not proceeded many yards from the house, when he met Helen Burnet and her cousin. “Do you know our neigh. bours ?” said he, pointing to the cottage.

“Oh yes,” said Helen; "we have seen them several times.”

“I wish you would go and see them now," said he, "they want a little cheering."

" That we will,” said Efie. “I would

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