INTRODUCTION.


"It is not often that what we call the 'great sorrows of life' cause us
the greatest sorrow. Death, acute disease, sudden and great
losses--these are sometimes easily borne compared with those intricate
difficulties which, without name and without appearance, work themselves
into the web of our daily life, and, if not rightly met, corrode and
tarnish all its brightness."

So spoke Robert Trenholme, Principal of the New College and Rector of
the English church at Chellaston, in the Province of Quebec. He sat in
his comfortable library. The light of a centre lamp glowed with shaded
ray on books in their shelves, but shone strongly on the faces near it.
As Trenholme spoke his words had all the charm lent by modulated voice
and manner, and a face that, though strong, could light itself easily
with a winning smile. He was a tall, rather muscular man; his face had
that look of battle that indicates the nervous temperament. He was
talking to a member of his congregation who had called to ask advice and
sympathy concerning some carking domestic care. The advice had already
been given, and the clergyman proceeded to give the sympathy in the form
above.

His listener was a sickly-looking man, who held by the hand a little boy
of five or six years. The child, pale and sober, regarded with
incessant interest the prosperous and energetic man who was talking to
its father.

"Yes, yes," replied the troubled visitor, "yes, there's some help for
the big troubles, but none for the small--you're right there."