Year: 1876




1t was no use the letters danced be.
fore his eyes, the whole world seemed
wavering and uncertain in those days
He laid his book down, and began to
think Of the great trouble which was
shutting him in. When the black
specks first began to dance between him
and the paper, months ago, be had not
thought about the matter 1t was an
noying, to be sure, but he must have
taxed his eyes too severely. He would
work little less by lamplight-spare
them little-and he should be all
right. So be had spared them more
and more, and yet the specks kept on
their elfn dance; and now for weeks
the conviction had been growing on him
slowly that be was going to be blind.
He had not told his wife yet. nor could
he bear to lay on her shoulders the bur-
den Of his awful calamity Oh, it was
too hard


And yet was it too hard I? Dared be
say so :? be, Gods minister-who bad
told other sufferers so many times that
their chastenings were dealt out to them
by their kind Fathers hand, and that
they should count all that brought them
near Him as joyous, not grievous


Yet. speaking after the manner Of
this world, his burden seemed greater
than he could bear. What could be do
"a blind, helpless man? ? He must
give up his work in life-let another
take bis ministry-sit helpless in the
darkness. Heaven only knew how long.
Could be be thus resigned !?


Then, suddenly flash of hope kin
died his sky. there might be help for
him. This gathering darkness might
be something which science could re-
move. He would be sure of that, at
least, before he told Mary. And then
be became feverishly impatient. He
must know at once. it seemed to him
he could not wait. He called his wife,
and told her, with manner which he
tried hard to make calm, that be was
going out of town the next morning on
a little business. She wondered that
he was SO uncommunicative-it was not
like him-but she would not trouble
him with any questions. She should
it all some time, she knew,
still she thought there was something
strange in bis way of speaking.


The minister strove hard for the mas
terry Of bis own spirit. as the cars
whirled him along the next morning to-
ward the tribunal at which be was to
receive his sentence. He tried to think
Of something else, but found the effort
vain SO he said over and over, as SIM
ply as child, one form of words:


Father, whichever way it turns, oh,
give me strength to bear it,


Holding fast to this prayer, as to an
anchor. he got out Of the cars and went
nto the streets. What curious mist
seemed to surround all things! The
houses looked spectral through it; the
very people be met seemed like ghosts.
he had not realized bis defective vision
10 much at home where it had come
,pon him gradually; and all objects
we're SO familiar. Still, with an effort,
,e could see the signs Cd the street cor
,ers and 6nd bis way.


He reached at last the residence of |
be distinguished oculist for whose ver-
lict be had come. He found the parlor
lalf filled with people waiting like him
elf He was asked for his name, and
ent in card on which was written -
Rev. VIM. Spencer. Montclair Then
e waited his turn. He dared not think
ow long the time was, or what sus-
enss be was in. He just kept his
imple child's prayer in his heart, and
teadied himself with it.


The time came for him at last, and be
ollowed the boy who summoned him
nto little room. shaded with green,
nth green furniture, and on table
ase of flowers. The stiffness and the
ool scented air refreshed him. He saw
imly, as he saw everythingthat morn
ng, tall, slight man. with kind face
nd quiet mannera who addressed him