from week to week, and month to month, preparing his mind for
usefulness, but his body for the grave. His pale brow grew yet paler,
his cheek hollow, and his hand thin and colourless, but still he
declared himself to be in perfect health, and no one knew his danger.

'Finally, he was attacked by a cold, a very slight one, he at first
thought, but it clung to him, and could not be shaken off. The poor
fellow is now wasting away by consumption, but I cannot convince him of
his danger, and to-day when I called on him at the house of his brother,
I found him surrounded by books and papers, his large dark eye
absolutely glowing with enthusiasm, and a deep red spot burning on
either cheek.'

'Oh, father, what did you say to him?' inquired Harry, earnestly.

'A short time ago I recommended quiet and relaxation, telling him
plainly that his disease was beyond the reach of medicine, so he
understood my look of painful surprise at once.

'He only shook his head, laughingly, and said, "Ah, Doctor, this life is
too short to throw away, and so I have gone to work. But you must not
blame me," he said, observing that I was about to speak, "I am only
planning a few sermons I intend to preach next summer."

'And then he went on to talk about his intentions, and inquired my
opinion of some particular sentiments that he had been writing down,
until he became so much excited that I was obliged to order the removal
of all his papers. Poor fellow! he will never preach a sermon. In his
impatience to become useful, he has destroyed his power to do good.'