cannot alter my decision. I hope, if my life is spared, to be a useful doctor." "I refuse, my young friend, to accept this answer as final. Think the matter over, and tell me in a week's time." "Well, Mr. Stansfield," said Mr. Westbrook at the expiration of the time, "I hope you have thought better of it, and will accept my offer." "I have thought the matter over, sir, as you desired, and think I estimate your kindness at its right value, and thank you most sincerely for it. I cannot, however, accept your offer. Your nephew is your nearest relation, and of course naturally expects that your property will come to him; thus it seems to me that I could not honourably accept this offer, and consequently I must positively refuse to do so." And Mr. Westbrook knew that he might as well bid the stormy sea become a calm as urge young Sidney Stansfield to follow a course which he did not believe to be right. He therefore accepted the answer as irrevocable, and merely said, "I am very sorry." Shortly after, when Sydney was taking his departure for a distant town where he was going as a doctor's assistant, Mr. Westbrook pressed his hand warmly as the train was moving off, and said, "I wish it could have been otherwise; but you'll be sure to succeed if you stick to that plan of yours of remaining true to your convictions." The kind old man had put something in his hand; he looked to see what it was, and found a cheque for one hundred pounds. In his new situation he worked hard; for visiting patients all day, studying far into the night, and then going to bed to be rung up immediately, was by no means an easy life. Going on in this way, it is evident that he could not read to advantage, for when a man is physically tired it is useless to attempt to store the mind. Thus six long weary years passed by ere he had read enough and saved enough money to take his doctor's degree. Six long dreary years, during which time his head had many a time ached so much that he almost doubted whether he were not losing his senses. But yet he never doubted that he had acted rightly, and at these moments of despondency would summon up for his relief his friend's last words, "You'll be sure to succeed if you stick to that plan of yours of remaining true to your convictions." Having become a doctor, things assumed a much brighter appearance. At the expiration of three years Dr. Campbell offered him his practice on easy terms. The business was speedily arranged, and Sydney once more settled in Lullingham. People are generally shy of new doctors, but he soon by his straightforward, manly character ingratiated himself on every hand. At last success had come. He had battled with opposition for fifteen years, but fortune favours the brave, and as he had undoubtedly shown that he deserved to be ranked among the number, it was meet that it should now smile on him. To be continued. Universality of the Bible. O volume ever commanded such a profusion of readers, or has been translated into so many languages. Such is the universality of its spirit that no book loses less by translation. None has been so frequently copied in manuscript, and none so often printed. King and noble, peasant and pauper, are delighted students of its pages. Philosophers have humbly gleaned from it, and legislation has been thankfully indebted to it. Its stories charm the child, its hopes inspirit the aged, and its promises soothe the bed of death. The maiden is wedded under its sanction, and the grave is closed under its comforting assurances. Its lessons are the essence of religion, the seminal truths of theology, the first principles of morals, and the guiding axioms of political economy. Martyrs have often bled and been burnt for attachment to it. It is the theme of universal appeal. In the entire range of literature no book is so frequently quoted or referred to. The majority of all the books ever published have been in connection with it. The fathers commented upon it, and the subtle divines of the Middle Ages refined upon its doctrines. It sustained Origen's scholarship and Chrysostom's rhetoric. It whetted the penetration of Abelard, and exercised the keen ingenuity of Aquinas. It gave life to the revival of letters, and Dante and Petrarch revelled in its imagery. It augmented the erudition of Erasmus, and roused the blessed intrepidity of Luther. Its temples are the finest specimens of architecture, and the brightest triumphs of music are associated with its poetry. The text of no ancient author has summoned into operation such an amount of labour and learning; and it has furnished occasion for the most masterly examples of criticism and comment, grammatical investigation, and logical analysis. It has also inspired the English Muse with her loftiest strains. Its beams gladdened Milton in his darkness, and cheered the song of Cowper in his sadness. It was the star which guided Columbus to the discovery of a new world. It furnished the panoply of that Puritan valour which shivered tyranny in days gone by. It is the Magna Charta of the world's regeneration and liberties. The records of false religion, from the Koran to the Book of Mormon, have owned its superiority and surreptitiously purloined its jewels. Among the Christian classics, it loaded the treasures of Owen, charged the fulness of Hooker, barbed the point of Baxter, gave colours to the palette and sweep to the pencil of Bunyan, enriched the fragrant fancy of Taylor, sustained the loftiness of Howe, and strung the plummet of Edwards. In short, this collection of artless lives and letters has changed the face of the world, and ennobled myriads of its population. EADIE. REVENGE OF INJURIES. THE fairest action of our human life If we a worthy enemy do find, To yield to worth it must be nobly done; In base revenge there is no honour won. We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor; Great hearts are tasked beyond their power, but seld The weakest lion will the loudest roar. Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have, And let our hate prevail against our mind? LADY ELIZABETH CAREW. I The Oldest Man. N 1814, when Pittsburg was but a village, an old man named Jacob Fournais, then aged 77 years, came here from Canada, and, after a brief sojourn, proceeded to New Orleans in a keel boat. That old man died on the 22nd of July, 1871, in Kansas City, at the age of 134 years. Fournais was probably the oldest man living. He was a Canadian Frenchman by birth, but for more than half a century was a hunter and a trapper in the employ of the fur company, one of the French voyageurs, as they were called. He was never sick, and only a few minutes before he died was walking about the room. His age was entered on the census roll last year at 134 years, which is as near as from the best evidence it can be fixed. His recollection of past events was very good. He said he was working in the woods, and had fought for himself, near Quebec, when Wolfe was storming the Heights of Abraham. This was September 14, 1759, and from what he told of his life previous to that he must then have been over 21 years of age. Thinking he might have confounded Wolfe with Montgomery (1775) he was questioned fully, but his recollections of names and incidents was too distinct to leave any doubt, and the same account had been given to others long before. Another event which he remembered well, and which he seemed always to look upon as a good joke, was that during the occupation of New Orleans by General Jackson (1814-15) he had been refused enlistment "because he was too old. The old man often told this with great glee. He must then have been nearly 80 years old. He accompanied the expedition of Lewis and Clark in their explorations of the Missouri and the discovery of the Columbia River in 1803-7. For the past seven or eight years the old man's recollections of faces were often at fault, but his memory of events and incidents seemed as strong as ever-like pictures in his mind—and this retention of occurrences was the great help in determining his age. The last 30 years of his life were passed in quiet and comfort. He preferred living by himself, and always had his own house, where he kept his pipe and tobacco pouch, and such things as were articles of comfort to him, mostly such as he had from his residence with the Indians. He was very neat in his person, clothes, and housekeeping, and up to the day of his death attended in summer to his tobacco plants and cabbages. One of his great desires was to see a railroad, and when the first locomotive came screaming into the bottom near Kansas City, which was in full view of his house, he was nervous as a child until he visited it.-New York Times. |