military hospital which he mentioned by name.
The "compounder," wiser than any of the
constituted authorities, told him that he knew of a
medicine which would certainly give him back
the use of his tongue, if he only chose to take
the trouble to go up to the hospital and fetch
it. Naturally enough, ex-private Strong did
agree to take that trouble, and, taking the
medicine too, observed that after the very
first dose his whole interior arrangements were
suffused with a glow of warmth; on finishing
the bottle, commenced under such happy
auspices, he was able to speak, but in a low voice:
"just like a little child."

Such was ex-private Strong's ingenuous
story. From speaking "like a child," Mr.
Strong, after another bottle or two of the
wonderful medicine, had got to speak like a
grown-up person.

Once and only once in the course of our
conversation did my ex-military acquaintance
approach the border-land of danger. I had
asked him how it happened that he enlisted
in the first instance, and he had replied that
he hardly knew that "he had done it in a
kind of freak;" upon which it occurred to me
to add, speaking in as careless a tone as I could
command:

"And directly afterwards you were sorry
for it?"

"YES," was his answer, corrected immediately
afterwards, and negatived in a very
roundabout fashion. Very soon afterwards he
announced that it was tea-time at the factory,
and beat a rapid retreat.

What qualities are displayed here! What
concentration of purpose, what self-denial,
what huge development of that which, in
sporting phrase, is called the "staying" power;
the power of holding on and sticking to a
thing with a fixed intention, day after day,
week after week, month after month, for a
space of nearly two years! It seems pretty
clear that it is not the mere possession of these
faculties which is respectable, but only the
application of them to a good and worthy
purpose.

GREEN TEA.

A CASE REPORTED BY MARTIN HESSELIUS, THE
GERMAN PHYSICIAN.

IN TEN CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER III. DR. HESSELIUS PICKS UP
SOMETHING IN LATIN BOOKS.

WELL, I have called at Blank-street.

On inquiring at the door, the servant told
me that Mr. Jennings was engaged very
particularly with a gentleman, a clergyman
from Kenlis, his parish in the country.
Intending to reserve my privilege and
to call again, I merely intimated that I
should try another time, and had turned
to go, when the servant begged my pardon,
and asked me, looking at me a little more
attentively than well-bred persons of his
order usually do, whether I was Dr.
Hesselius, and, on learning that I was, he said,
"Perhaps then, sir, you would allow me
to mention it to Mr. Jennings, for I am
sure he wishes to see you."

The servant returned in a moment, with
a message from Mr. Jennings, asking me to
go into his study, which was in effect his
back drawing-room, promising to be with
me in a very few minutes.

This was really a study—almost a
library. The room was lofty, with two
tall slender windows, and rich dark
curtains. It was much larger than I had
expected, and stored with books on every
side, from the floor to the ceiling. The
upper carpet—for to my tread it felt that
there were two or three—was a Turkey
carpet. My steps fell noiselessly. The
book-cases standing out, placed the
windows, particularly narrow ones, in deep
recesses. The effect of the room was,
although extremely comfortable, and even
luxurious, decidedly gloomy, and aided by
the silence, almost oppressive. Perhaps,
however, I ought to have allowed
something for association. My mind had
connected peculiar ideas with Mr. Jennings.
I stepped into this perfectly silent room, of
a very silent house, with a peculiar
foreboding; and its darkness, and solemn clothing
of books, for except where two narrow
looking-glasses were set in the wall,
they were everywhere, helped this sombre
feeling.

While awaiting Mr. Jennings's arrival, I
amused myself by looking into some of the
books with which his shelves were laden.
Not among these, but immediately under
them, with their backs upward, on the
floor, I lighted upon a complete set of
Swedenborg's Arcana Cælestia, in the
original Latin, a very fine folio set, bound
in the natty livery which theology affects,
pure vellum, namely, gold letters, and
carmine edges. There were paper markers in
several of these volumes. I raised and
placed them, one after the other, upon the
table, and opening where these papers were
placed, I read in the solemn Latin phraseology,
a series of sentences indicated by a
pencilled line at the margin. Of these I
copy here a few, translating them into
English.

"When man's interior sight is opened,
which is that of his spirit, then there
appear the things of another life, which
cannot possibly be made visible to the
bodily sight." . . . .