we have indeed been doing those things which we ought not to do, or leaving undone those things which we ought to do; and then comes the resolve to repair the fault or make up for the shortcoming-to make amends for the sin of commission on the one hand, or the sin of omission on the other. There is not one amongst us but what fails-ay, and fails miserably-in the duties and relations. of life, whether towards God or neighbour; but as life, after all, is nothing more than a series of attempts and failures, we must never allow the latter to discourage us from resorting again and again to the former. Attempts, even though they miss the mark, and are not crowned with full and ripe success, are nevertheless valuable for the very effort we have been led to make. Says the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, "God will accept your first attempt, not as a perfect work, but as a beginning. The beginning is the promise of the end. The seed always whispers 'oak,' though it is going into the ground acorn. I am sure that the first little blades of wheat are just as pleasant to the farmer's eye as the whole field waving with grain." None need be discouraged. Success will ultimately follow attempts, though many an essay to do better fail altogether; for repeated trials prompted by a sincere wish to do well must lead to earnestness of purpose; and this, which is begotten of perseverance, will in God's time, by God's grace, procure the victory.

It may be of assistance to many to mention some of the good intentions that may be sown at this the beginning of a New Year; but perhaps, before doing this, it may be well to say, Do not try to sow too many at once, lest one interfere with another, for even this is possible! A young gardener will succeed better with few plants than many, and thus it is with good intentions and good resolves. Carry out one or two thoroughly and completely at first, and in the future, perhaps, you will find it as easy to carry out as many as you will; but in making a resolution, be it on what subject it may, let it always be prefaced and accompanied by prayer to God for aid to maintain it; and never attempt to walk in your own strength alone, for this must lead to utter failure. Do not say merely, I will do so and so, as if all things were possible to you; but, I will try to do so and so, God being my helper! Remember the just rebuke of the apostle James to all who are self-confident, and who are not. "Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city and continue there a year, and buy, and sell, and get gain: whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live to do this or that."

Of good intentions with regard to your duty towards God, I will not say much here. It is too wide a field of thought and teaching to enter on in the little compass of this short lay sermon. I will but ask you to make one good resolution -you cannot make a better-to kneel upon your knees before Almighty God morning and

evening every day, even though you utter no more than His Son's comprehensive prayer and the humble publican's entreaty, "God be merciful to me a sinner!" and let this be preceded or followed by reading a portion of the Bible, however short. It will be seed, believe me, that will bear its fruit in the far future, and prove a fitting stepping-stone for other good intentions. Begun and persevered in for a short time, this most wholesome and salutary practice will gradually become part and parcel of your daily life, and will be continued as long as you have being.

With reference to our social duties-the relations of life towards one another which are laid down and comprehended under our duty to our neighbour-good intentions may be considered in several aspects-namely, and notably, as regards our duties towards dumb animals, and our duties towards our inferiors in social standing, our friends, companions, and schoolmates, our brothers and sisters, and lastly, our parents, whom we are bound to obey and love, and our teachers, and all who are set in authority over us, whom we are bound to obey and honour. Let us dwell briefly on each and all of these, beginning at the lowest, and ascending from one step to another, as such a course may help us to form and adhere to many a good resolve, and awaken feelings that might have lain dormant for years, or possibly might never have been roused. In all this, let it be remembered that I am addressing young people especially, the wives and mothers of the future, who are still under parents and guardians and teachers, and are standing on the threshold of active life, rather than those who have already husbands and children, and whose good intentions must of necessity have a wider range.

And first, as regards dumb animals, which for our pleasure, use, and benefit are and were created: resolve never to be guilty towards these of an act which may even bear the slightest suspicion of cruelty. To dog, cat, horse, or bird, or any animal, whether it call you owner or not, resolve ever to be kind and gentle, for it is by kindness and gentleness that the best qualities of the brute creation are elicited, and by the reverse that their worst qualities are roused and set in action. It is on record that a trifling act of kindness previously rendered to a lion once saved the life of a trembling slave, when thrust into a circus to be slain and mangled by savage beasts. It is equally on record how an elephant, suddenly mindful of some trifling injury, has trampled the very life out of the body of the man, who, in a spirit possibly of wanton cruelty, had wrought the wrong.

Resolve ever to be kind and courteous to those who serve you, and all whom fortune's chances and caprices have placed below you in this world. We are apt to think too much of social distinctions, forgetting, unhappily, that we are all on an equality in the sight of God, and that sooner or later death will do away with all differences of station. The most powerful among us brought nothing into this world; the richest among us can take with him

none of his wealth. We are all inheritors of a common fate, and must all return to the dust of which we are made. Does not this go far to topple down the pride that we may have hitherto cherished in self-glorification, and satisfaction in ability, rank, or fleeting beauty, that may have led us to think that we are not as other men are, and to assert a petty superiority over those to whom fortune has been less kind. Servitude, even in its best aspect, is not a pleasant lot, and the scarcity of women servants at the present time, and the difficulty that so many experience in procuring good ones, is due partly to the natural desire for liberty which is implanted in every heart, the natural longing which every man and woman has to be master or mistress, as the case may be, of his or her time, especially after certain hours of the day, and partly to the fact that the treatment which servants very frequently experience is not such as is calculated to make the yoke of servitude sit easy. If our conduct towards those who are our inferiors socially speaking, but who in God's sight are our equals, were always regulated by the golden rule of life-Do unto others as you would have others do unto you-there would be far less to complain of on either side than there now is. An attempt to put yourself in the dependent's place and position, and to consider how you would wish a mistress or a master to act towards you, will on all occasions prove your greatest safeguard, and ever preserve you from acting imperiously, uncourteously, or unkindly. Civility, above all things, is current coin, and costs nothing; and "If you please," and "Thank you," uttered with a pleasant smile and pleasant manner, will never fail to win for you a willing service, that a mere order would utterly fail to extort. Resolve, then, to be kind and gentle, and even respectful, in speech and act, to those who stand below you in the social scale.

To your friends resolve ever to be true as steel, and to your companions and schoolmates, generous and kindhearted, in honour preferring them to yourself. In all contentions, whether in matters of dispute or of generous rivalry, always be the first to give way. Resolve never to listen to-much less speak-words in disparagement of any one you have taken to your heart of hearts as a friend; but if perchance you know of any failing in your friend, and, alas! there are none of us who are perfect, let not earnest speech and entreaty be wanting to win your friends to better things. To the great standard of friendship, shown us by the Chief Friend and Exemplar of us all who dared to die for us, few may hope to attain, and few have been, or will be, called on to accomplish such a sublime act of devotion as is pictured in the words, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

Whatever betide-whatever may be the changes that progression through life may bring about, resolve ever to cherish an enduring love for brother or sister, and let nothing that may occur ever tend to check its fervour. Next to the protecting love of an affectionate husband

comes, or ought to come, the cheering and sustaining love of a brother or sister. In times of sorrow and distress of mind, whether caused by death or misfortune, there is little that brings more consolation than the sympathy of those who owe their being to the same parents as ourselves. It is worth while then-nay, it is an imperative duty-to win this for ourselves at any cost; but fortunately the cost is little, for as love bugets love, affectionate kindness towards our brothers and sisters, exercised under any circumstances whatever, will soon give for us the full possession of that which no one should lack to whom God has given either brother or sister, or both.

To our parents our first and last duties are due, and those who neglect them cannot fail to attract and incur the dread displeasure of the Almighty. To a parent ever resolve to be dutiful, obedient, respectful, and loving. If you honour not your father and mother, how in time to come, if it be your lot to become a mother, can you expect your children to honour you? If you refuse to respect and cherish the authors of your being, how can you expect your children to respect and cherish you? It is only when you become a parent yourself that you will be able to recognize what devotion and tender love has been lavished on you in your early years; the sweet pain and fond anxiety you have caused from time to time since your first cry broke on your mother's delighted ear. You have received much; resolve, then, to return love for love in no niggardly spirit to those whom you are bound by the laws of God and man and Nature to obey and love. Resolve ever to show deference to authority, for all authority is of God, and to this, as emanating from Him, it should be our pleasure, as it is our duty, to show respect and obedience. Our teachers are the first to claim our honour, and all, be they who they may, to whom our parents have been pleased to place us in temporary subjection. For the time they stand to us in our parents' place, and as their representatives we are bound to show them all honour. The greater the obedience we show to these when we are children, the greater chance there is that we shall become good citizens when we have attained manhood and put away childish things; and having shown respect to our teachers when children, we shall be better able to expect and obtain respect from others when we ourselves are placed in positions of trust. quality of obedience attained in youth will colour our lives. We shall learn to respect the monarch, the fountain and source of law, order, and honour, and we shall respect all who are placed in authority under the monarch, which is acceptable to God, who is the great primary source from which springs the authority of the monarch.

The

Little remains to be said in conclusion. An unmeasurable wealth of teaching is summed up in the Apostle's bidding, "Fear God, love the brotherhood, honour the King; " resolve ever to do this in all integrity of purpose, and in doing it you will find that you are well nigh doing all that is required of man by his Maker.

INTRODUCTION.

VERY beautiful was the long vista of the elm-arched

street. So irresistibly did it woo the eye to linger among its grey columns and green arches, or wander adown its fair, temple-like perspective to the hazy vanishing point, that the wayfarer might easily forget to observe what sort of dwellings were ranged along its sides. Nor did they seek to force themselves upon his notice. They were all plain, substantial structures, with no obtrusive marks of ostentation or of meanness about them; and they all stood a little back from the street, leaving room for a trim grass-plot, or a thicket of flowering shrubs, between them and the passer-by. They would impress him, collectively, as genuine, well-to-do homes, free alike from the struggles of poverty and the temptations of wealth, without troubling him to recognize them individually, or diverting his gaze from the over-arching elms that were so much better worth his looking at.

Such, at least, would be the fact, until he came to a certain corner; where a large square structure of stuccoed brick, coming boldly forward to the pavement, and planting its heavy steps thereon, would be sure to arrest his glance, and, perhaps, faintly stir his curiosity. It was too large for a private building, and too unpretending for a public one; what was it? If he had put the inquiry into audible words, he would have been told that it was the Medical College. And if his interlocutor had chanced to be a white-haired, genial-faced old man, long ago flung aside from the stream of active life, and, consequently, with time on his hands for a little chat with a strangerhe would, doubtless, have woven into his answer the popular witticism :

"Everything here, sir, is arranged just as it should be. The divinity school is on the road to the poor-house; the law-school adjoins the jail; and the medical college-this building before you, sir-is hard by the cemetery ;-you can see the monuments rising above the hedge yonder."

But the young man now coming up the street, through the pleasant play of sunshine and shadow beneath the -elms, would neither have asked the question, nor smiled at the answer. He knew the stuccoed building well, as a three years' occupant thereof must needs do; and he had heard and repeated the witticism too many times to leave it the faintest sparkle. It was doubtful, too, whether he gave a thought to the loveliness of the elm-arched vista that stretched before him,-partly by reason of his familiarity therewith, partly on account of a preoccupied mind, and still more, perhaps, because his bright, brisk, energetic temperament was not of the sort which is quickest to feel the subtile charm, and recognize the delicate outline, of the spirit of beauty.

He came on

rapidly, with an elastic step and a cheery whistle, and, as he neared the college, he cast a quick glance at one of its upper windows. What he saw there would have been a pretty enough sight to most people,-merely a tiny brown bird hopping to and fro on the window-sill, and turning its small head briskly from side to side in its search for infinitesimal crumbs; but it brought a shadow to his broad, frank brow.

"Not yet up," he uttered, "or that wren wouldn't be trotting up and down there so complacently! To be sure, may have gone out, but it isn't likely."

he

Neither for the look nor the thought did he pause, but strode straight up two flights of stairs, his firm tread resounding loudly through the empty, uncarpeted halls, and knocked at the door of a front room. There was no response. He knocked again, with a somewhat impatient hand, tried the door and found it locked, waited a moment, beat a third emphatic rat-tat-too upon the panel, without eliciting other reply than a faint and dreary echo from the attic above; and, finally, turned on his heel, and walked downstairs. At the head of. the second flight, a thought seemed to strike him; after a moment of hesitation, he turned and knocked at a door close at hand. Scarcely waiting for the prompt " Come in!" he opened it, with the question, "Have you seen Arling this morning?"

The occupant of the room was a broad-shouldered young man, sitting at a table covered with books and papers, and deeply absorbed in study. He only half turned his head, showing a regular, clear-cut profile, as he answered

"No. I left him so late last night that I overslept this morning, and have thought of nothing but making up lost time. And really, Trubie, a man might be excused for forgetting his best friend-if he had one-in examination week. But is Arling any worse?"

"That's what I should like to know, Roath," returned Trubie, planting himself a little more firmly on the threshold, but taking no notice of the chair that the other had carelessly pushed toward him. "At any rate,

he's out."

Roath started, and turned completely round, giving a view of a square-featured, somewhat moody, but still handsome face. "Out!" he repeated, looking both

amazed and startled.

"So it would seem. The door is locked, and I rapped and rattled loud enough to wake the dead."

"Oh," said Roath, with a prolonged falling inflection. And after a moment's consideration, he turned back to his books, as if there were no more to be said.

Trubie lingered. Not, evidently, from any special liking for Roath's society, but because he was undecided

what to do next. "I don't understand it, Roath," he said slowly. "You know Arling was to have kept his room to-day, by way of gaining strength, and guarding against a relapse. And we were to have gone over 'Barnes' together this morning, so as to be all primed for Professor Beers to-morrow. What can he have done with himself?"

"Perhaps," said Roath, absently, with his eyes on his book, "some of the others may have seen him."

Trubie took the hint-if such it was meant to beand withdrew. He spent the next half hour in knocking at sundry doors, and repeating, with slight variation, the questions and remarks wherewith he had favoured Roath. No one had seen Arling; no one knew anything about him. All seemed surprised to learn that he had gone out; but all were laboriously cramming for the examinations in progress, and the surprise made but a faint and transient ripple on the surface of their troubled minds. Trubie's persistency impressed them much more strongly; they wondered that he had leisure to bestow upon any anxiety not connected with those dreaded examinations, any fear save that of failing to secure the right to sign himself, "Frank Trubie, M.D."

Nor, to represent him fairly, was the young man himself wholly insensible of his absurdity. "Well!" said he, at last, "I can't afford to spend my morning in this way. I must go back to my room, and set to work. When Arling comes in, tell him I've been here." And away he went through the dancing elm-shadows, more quickly than he had come.

Two hours passed. Then Roath closed his books, gathered up his papers, and took his way to the examination room, amid the groups of assembling students. Many eyes followed him, some with admiration, some with envy; few or none, it was plain to see, with affection.

"No question but that he'll pass!" said one. "He's all brain-I'd be content with half as much."

"It ap

"And his memory!" exclaimed another. pears to be constructed on the principle of a rat-trap; ingress is easy, egress—not provided for."

"No one can keep step with him but Arling," remarked a third; "if he gets well enough, there will be a close race between them."

"I bet on Arling," said a fourth-a somewhat slender young man, with an easy, almost careless, air, but a thoughtful face-Mark Tracey by name.

"Eh? why?" asked the first speaker.

Because, as you said just now, Roath is all brain. Whereas Arling, while he does not want for brain, has also a heart and a conscience. And in medicine, as in everything else, that wonderful trio are too strong for brain alone."

'Moralizing, as usual," returned the other with a light laugh.

"Not at all. It is plain common-sense. The history of the world shows it. Perhaps there is no better type of

pure intellect than Satan. And Michael, the archangel, does very well for a representative of love, duty, and intellect, combined. You remember which beat?"

"It is not possible, Tracey, that you believe that fable?"

"Grant that it is a fable," replied Tracey, lifting his eyebrows; "it nevertheless stands for the concrete wisdom of the ages which preceded it."

The last words were spoken on the threshold of the examination room, and, of necessity, closed the discussion.

Roath's examination, on this day, did not disappoint the general expectation. Although somewhat paler than ordinary, he was thoroughly self-possessed; his answers were clear and to the point; not once did his memory play him false; scarcely once did he hesitate for a word. He gave evidence not only of close study, but of careful analysis, and profound, sagacious thought. But he looked worn when it was over, as if the mental strain had been severe; and seemed scarcely to hear the comments and congratulations showered upon him.

Into the midst of these burst Trubie, with the old question, "Have you seen anything of Arling?" and hardly waiting for the general "No" which answered it, upstairs he rushed, three steps at a time, to the room of his friend. The stream of talk had scarcely resumed its flow, ere he was back again, with a hurried step, and a perturbed face.

"It's odd about Arling," he began, abruptly. "I can't get any answer, and there's nothing stirring in the room. But I looked into the keyhole, and the key is certainly inside.”

Some few of the students, startled by his words, and the deep gravity of his look, gathered around him to discuss the matter, when a stout, grey-haired professor came out from the examination room.

Good-day, Mr. Trubie," said he, as he passed the group. "I hope your patient is doing well."

"I-I don't know, sir," faltered Trubie; "I have not seen him since yesterday, at dusk. And he is unaccountably missing this morning; at least, I thought he must be out when I went to his room, at eight o'clock, and couldn't get in. But I have just been up again, and -and the door is certainly locked on the inside."

Being already in possession of the main facts of the case, namely, that Alec Arling, one of the class of medical students now undergoing examination for their degree, had been suffering for some days from severe and increasing intestinal trouble, and had been advised by the faculty to keep his room for a day or two, under the care of his friend, Frank Trubie; the professor now, by means of a few rapid questions, elicited the additional facts, that Trubie had been suddenly called away, on the previous evening, by family affliction, to his home in a near suburb, and had spent the night there; and that Edmund Roath, who had volunteered to keep a little watch over the sick-room during his absence, had remained with

Arling till past midnight, engaged in comparing notes of clinical lectures, and in psychological talk (with which matters Arling would busy himself, in spite of remonstrance), and had then left him, recommending him to go to sleep at once, and had heard the door duly locked on his exit. Roath further stated that, in consequence of this protracted sitting, and previous hard work, he had slept late this morning; and, taking it for granted that Trubie, according to promise, was already back at his post, he had seated himself at his books, immediately upon rising. Very shortly after, Trubie had appeared, and informed him that Arling had gone out, whereat he had been considerably surprised-not that the young man was unable to leave his room, but because it was inexpedient to do so. Nevertheless, he frankly acknowledged that his mind was too much preoccupied to give more than a passing thought to the matter, especially as he knew well that any remissness on his part was sure to be amply atoned for by Trubie-he and Arling being, as everybody knew, the Damon and Pythias of the class.

The professor was a man of few words, quick conclusions, and prompt action. "There is but one way of getting at the bottom of the matter," said he, at the end of this rapid statement. "Let somebody bring a crowbar, and prise open the door."

Scarce sooner said than done. The door yielded easily to the rude implement, in Trubie's impetuous hands, and was followed by a rush of the assembled students towards the opening; though, even in this moment of eager curiosity, the instinct of subordination allowed the professor to pass in first. He went straight to the bed, where was seen a human form, lying on its side, in an easy attitude of slumber. He bent for a moment above this form, while a sudden silence fell upon the startled spectators; he touched the brow, lifted the hand, and then, turning slowly round, said, in deep, serious tones,

"He is dead!"

easy

The professor had turned from the bed to the table, where a glass, a spoon, and four or five phials, stood within reach of the dead man's hand. He held the spoon to his nostrils, and then examined the phials, holding them up to the light. In one, labelled "Mag. Sol. Morph.," he seemed to find what he sought.

"Mr. Trubie," said he, turning round, with the open phial in his hand, "did your friend ever say anything to you that indicated a disposition to suicide?"

The question roused the young man from his stupor, although it was a moment or two ere he seemed to comprehend its purport fully. "Never, sir!" he exclaimed, indignantly, a hot flush rising to his brow; "Alec Arling would have scorned to do such a thing! He was neither

a fool nor a coward, sir! Besides, there was no earthly reason why he should do it."

The professor shook his head. "He seems to have done it, nevertheless," said he, thoughtfully. "To be sure," he added, after a moment, "it is barely possible that he took it by mistake."

"Most likely that is the real state of the case," remarked Roath, who was standing on the other side of the table, calmly and gravely observant of the scene.

In temperaments like Trubie's, the transition from grief to anger is often curiously direct; the one is the natural outlet of the other; and in this instance, the sound of Roath's voice seemed to afford the bereaved and horrified young man the object of indignation that he so sorely needed. Springing quickly forward, and clenching his fist, he confronted the speaker with a convulsive rage and excitement in strong contrast with Roath's grave composure.

"You know better!" he shouted. "It was neither a suicide nor a mistake. You killed him!"

Roath gave a violent start, and seemed about to speak, but his lips only trembled nervously. He was evidently confounded, almost bewildered, by the suddenness and . fierceness of the accusation.

Trubie went on with scarce a moment's pause, and with still hotter indignation, "You were last in his room-you acknowledged it. And you hated him."

Roath had regained his self-command,-which, to do him justice, he had but for an instant lost. "If you were not beside yourself with grief," said he, coldly, "there could be but one answer to such a charge as that. As it is-"

"As it is,' I repeat it," interrupted Trubie, with bitter scorn. "I repeat it, and am ready to maintain it, always-anywhere-anyhow!"

Roath drew himself up. "I, too, am ready," he begun, haughtily, but the professor interposed. "Mr. Roath," said he, with dignity, "I command you to be silent. Mr. Trubie,"-laying his hand on the shoulder of the agitated young man, and speaking in a tone of grave rebuke," much may be forgiven to the first excitement of sorrow and horror, but this is going too far. Such an accusation is not to be made lightly."

"Lightly!" repeated the frantic Trubie; "he hated Alec, I tell you! He couldn't forgive him for rivalling him-aye, and beating him, too-everywhere; in scholarship, in popularity, in "-he hesitated for an instant,"in love."

Roath's face grew dark; a frown traced a deep, vertical line between his brows; he set his teeth, and made a quick stride forward. But a dozen hands seized him, a dozen others laid hold of Trubie, and both were half forced, half led away to their rooms; while the faculty of the college, hastily called together, gathered round the corpse, to examine more minutely into the cause of death.

A coroner's jury was duly summoned. It examined