waves and thy billows are going over me—I shall perish in this dark." He hears not the sweet voice of that only One walking serenely on life's rough billows, I am the light of life; if any man hear my voice he shall not walk in darkness, he shall see light. Catch the hem of my radiant robes and you shall walk in light forever." Once when he passed along, strangers asked "Who is that gentleman with those fine eyes?" Now for the first time he goes out, carefully attended by his kind young friend. As he tries so hard to walk along unaided and unattended, he stumbles against the curb-stone and almost falls. He shudders as he hears some thoughtless, lighthearted maiden exclaim as he passes, "Who is that poor blind man ?" Is he really a blind man ?—no more the cel ebrated Dr. Wendon, but a poor blind man! It is so hard for a man once praised and envied, to be the object of pity to a heartless crowd-to be pitied for a hopeless misfortune. A man would rather rule, protect, defend, than be always an object of compassion and care. In a little trouble, he may fret and fume and annoy others, but in a great sorrow even a wife's pity must be carefully manifested to an unfortunate husband. There are moods in a man's life when he will gloomily bear alone, rather than share some business trouble, mental suffering, or bodily agony. It was a Sabbath-a sweet, balmy Sabbath-and Mrs. Pridefit, elegantly dressed, is walking home from church. "What a pity, John," she says daintily, holding up her unsoiled brocade, for the ground is damp, "what a pity that Dr. Wendon is blind! It has spoiled his beauty. He was such a stylish-looking man. Don't that gray lock on his head look odd ! I would have it dyed if I were in his place." Miss Prudence Potter overhears something about some doctor's being blind, and she says, with her old peculiar smile, "He couldn't be much of a doctor, if he couldn't keep himself from being blind." "'Tis a punishment for his sins," said Miss Charity Gouge, daintily holding up her new green brocade, " 'tis a punishment for his sins." "Punishment for his sins!" said Kate Howard, who was walking by her side. "What great sins has he committed?" Why, he was guilty of fraud," said Miss Charity. "Mr. Trap made it out a clear case of fraud." "If Mr. Trap proved his guilt," said Kate, "I believe he is innocent, as all sensible people know he is." 66 Well," said Miss Charity, "if he is not guilty of fraud, he is not a Christian; and it is a sad thing for a man to get to be of mature years and not be a Christian. This may be the judgment of God that is to lead him to repentance.' Well," said Kate, "if all the wicked people in the world were made blind, we'd most of us be left in the dark. One of the noblest and best Christians I ever knew, became blind by accident, when a child. I have often guided him up and down Broadway, and I felt in a blaze of spiritual light when walking by his side. He has piloted many an erring soul through the world's moral darkness. There is a shade over his eyes, but his soul' sits high in its meridian tower,' and dwells forever in that radiant zone where no shadow falls. Yet hidden forever behind life's magic curtain, he throws out his brilliant phantasmagoria of imagery, to the instruction and charm of watching eyes. He is a clergyman, and his clarion voice and radiant thoughts have made him the grandest living monument in the land, of the sovereign power of a royal soul over a locked sense. His soul, like a peerless diamond in the dark, ever emits flash after flash of vivid light, kindling in the eye. and burning in the heart of admiring crowds. If any man deserves a cordial grasp of the hand, and a fervent God speed, it is this spiritual giant, finding his sightless way to classic founts, and peril's peak, carving his name in Christian hearts, as he safely leaps from hill to hill of faith, across the rolling flood of popularity, and over the dizziest sleepers of the bridge of fame. His laurel crown, though green and beautiful, must be, in his loneliest hours, wreathed with a chaplet of thorns.' Kate Howard often felt bursts of enthusiasm, but she seldom spoke with as much feeling as on this occasion. A few of the doctor's old patients, seeing him out pale, blind, and leaning on the arm of his young friend, say, "What a pity Dr. Wendon is so unfortunate! Who'll we have for our doctor now ?" The oculist is walking along with another physician. He too is talking about the blind doctor. He says it is an in teresting case of amaurosis-he is glad to have an opportu nity for diagnosis-the diagnosis is easier than the prognosis. He thinks electricity a wonderful therapeutic agent. Just behind the corner stands a woman with hollow eyes and long nose, muttering to herself: The doctor can't be of much use to any one now-he might as well be dead too. The scales of trouble are balanced after all. Rich to-day, to-morrow poor and blind. That girl will have to shirk for herself now." CHAPTER XVII. THE MOUNTAIN RIDE. ON, on through the long woods the clumsy coach rumbles, the trees almost meet overhead-but a small patch of blue can be seen you could only catch at intervals any glimpse of the western sky. The first intimation of the coming storm was a heavy roll of thunder. Way out of sight of the woods, the western sky was gathering blackness. As on through the winding road the stage rumbled, there came all at once a heavy clap of thunder, and then a flash, lighting up the dark woods with gloomy grandeur. "Hurry up, driver, hurry up-most there?" shouted the fat man in the corner, putting his gray head out of the window as they came out under the open sky, where black heaps of clouds were piling higher and higher. "Eight miles yet," said the driver, impatiently. "Thunder" exclaimed the fat man again; which exclamation was for once singularly appropriate, for just then a heavy clap came, and then all was still. In one corner of the stage sits a lady with straw bonnet and green ribbon, drab shawl and brown dress, gold-framed spectacles over her eyes, reticule in her hand. On her lap is a bandbox, containing her new cap, and in her other hand her green silk umbrella, as it rains. She has taken off her shawl and put it on again wrong side out, to keep it from being soiled. There is a small square paper pasted on the top of her bandbox, labeled "Miss Prudence Potter." There is the old smile on her face. She says nothing about the storm, but contents herself with her old consolation, “What can't be cured must be endured." "Drive on, drive on, don't keep us here," said one of the passengers. Crack, crack went the whip, and on they sped like lightning. Suddenly there was a crash-but this time the crash was not above. Over went the passengers-the stage was upset-one of the wheels was off. Ŏne half-intoxicated man in the corner was the first to slip out. He rolled over, with his head almost crushed by the weight of a fellow-passenger. He drew a long breath, as if struggling out from under something, and exclaimed, with frightened tone and bewildered look, "I say, driver, are we or-up or-or down, or-or where ?" "Great Governor of Egypt!" screamed the fat man from Arkansas, as he stood at last in the doorway of the only. house in the vicinity, looking all around, first up at the sky and then at the frightened, dripping passengers, huddling into the one little sitting-room. "Great Governor of Egypt, warn't that a buster, stranger? I came nearer going to the devil that time than I ever did in my life before. That upset and all pretty nearly made a galvanic battery of meonly one side of me don't connect at all," he added, rubbing his right ear, which looked a little red. "That pretty nearly broke the drum of my tym-pan-um. This road must be the road to Jordan, for it's hard enough to travel." Just then a traveller rode up, a young gentleman in a one horse carriage, evidently to gain a shelter. 66 “Why, Carleyn, where did you come from?" said a tall man in the corner, as the stranger drove up and entered the door. He had kept silence for five minutes, as if his thoughts had been swallowed up in the storm and fright. His voice was deep, hollow and sepulchral, as if it came up out of some gloomy depths. "Have you been taking this thunderstorm, or has it taken you?" said he to Carleyn. You always wanted to be out in one good storm. Such a storm shakes up a man's ideas wonderfully. Did you meet our vehicle on the way? I remember that lecture you gave once about the stage before and behind, &c. Well, to-day we are all before the stage, and if you came that way, you must have concluded that the stage isn't well supported in these parts. We've been on the stage to-day, practicing comedy and tragedy together. We all acted. You might have thought our parts overdrawn-we were pretty well overdrawn, if our parts were not," he added, facetiously. Anyway the tragi-comedy scene is over, and we've left the stage for some more active profession. We think of making a pedestrian tour to explore the country. But you've come in good time. You can take this young woman here in your buggy. The rest of us are all men folks-we can walk afoot to Gray's Tavern. There's no resorting to the stage this night, and Bill will have to take the mail on the horse's back." "I will be happy to take the young lady under my charge," said Mr. Carleyn, removing his hat and bowing politely to the young lady, who sat alone by the window, apparently looking at the bears and lions conspicuously displayed on the blue window shade. Carleyn," spoke up the tall man again, "the young woman has a trunk. Can't you fasten it in the boot, if you think there is room?" “I've no baggage of my own," said Carleyn. "I've room enough. As the storm seems to be over, we'll fasten it in now, with your permission," he added, politely again addressing the young lady. As Mr. Carleyn lifted so carefully the small trunk into the carriage, he couldn't help seeing on one end the initials "N. S.," and then he couldn't help wondering what the rest of the name was. There is something mysterious about initials-they leave such a vague field of conjecture. N. S." Was it Nelly Sinclair, or Nancy Smith, or Naomi Stevens? How many thoughts may huddle into a man's mind while he is fastening up a lady's trunk. What is the use of guessing, when you've no certain data?" Levi Longman, the new schoolmaster in that district would say, as he always promptly dismissed such fooiish, wandering thoughts. "But who is this N. S. ?" thought Carleyn, as he stood a moment buttoning up his traveling coat and glancing up at the door, over which was this new inscription: "Cake and beer Sold here; Crackers and cheese, |