through the dreary woods, kicking the red and yellow leaves from his path in sullen gloom, Ester in her little clothes-press, on her knees, was pleading with God for his soul, and that through him Sadie might be reached, I presume he would have laughed.  The result of this long communion with himself was as follows:  That he had overworked and underslept, that his nervous system was disordered, that in the meantime he had been fool enough to attend that abominable sensation meeting, and the man actually had wonderful power over the common mind, and used his eloquence in a way that was quite calculated to confuse a not perfectly balanced brain.  It was no wonder, then, in his state of bodily disorder, that the sympathetic mind should take the alarm.  So much for the disease, now for the remedy.  He would study less, at least he would stop reading half the night away; he would begin to practice some of his own preaching, and learn to be more systematic, more careful of this wonderful body, which could cause so much suffering; he would ride fast and long; above all, he would keep away from that church and that man, with his fanciful pictures and skillfully woven words.

Having determined his plan of action he felt better.  There was no sense, he told himself, in yielding to the sickly sentimentalism which had bewitched him for the past few days; he was ashamed of it, and would have no more of it.  He was master of his own mind, he guessed, always had been, and always would be.  And he started on his homeward walk with a good deal of alacrity, and much of his usual composure settling on his face.

Oh, would the gracious Spirit which had been struggling with him leave him indeed to himself?  “O God,” pleaded Ester, “give me this one soul in answer to my prayer.  For the sake of Sadie, bring this strong pillar obstructing her way to thyself.  For the sake of Jesus, who died for them both, bring them both to yield to him.”

Dr. Douglass paused at the place where two roads forked and mused, and the subject of his musing was no more important than this:  Should he go home by the river path or through the village?  The river path was the longer, and it was growing late, nearly tea time; but if he took the main road he would pass his office, where he was supposed to be, as well as several houses where he ought to have been, besides meeting probably several people whom he would rather not see just at present.  On the whole, he decided to take the river road, and walked briskly along, quite in harmony with himself once more, and enjoying the autumn beauty spread around him.  A little white speck attracted his attention; he almost stopped to examine into it, then smiled at his curiosity, and moved on.  “A bit of waste paper probably,” he said to himself.  “Yet what a curious shape it was as if it had been carefully folded and hidden under that stone.  Suppose I see what it is?  Who knows but I shall find a fortune hidden