uring, wind
blowing, mud splashing. Ever and anon he checks his horse's speed, at
his various posts of duty. High and low, rich and poor anxiously await
his coming. He may not shrink from the ghastly spectacle of human
suffering and death. Humanity, in its most loathsome forms, is presented
to him.

The nearest and dearest may turn away in grief and horror, but the
doctor blenches not.

Again we are digressing. The doctor's well-known tap is heard at
the door of a sick-room, where for many days he has been in constant
attendance. Noiselessly he is admitted. The young husband kneels at the
side of the bed where lies his dearest earthly treasure. The calm but
deeply-afflicted mother advances to the doctor, and whispers fearfully
low,

"There is a change. She sleeps. Is it--oh! can it be the sleep of
death?"

Quickly the physician is at the bedside, and anxiously bending over his
patient.

Another moment and he grasps the husband's hand, while the glad words
"She will live," burst from his lips.

We may not picture forth their joy. On, on, we are riding with the
doctor. Once more we are at his own door. Hastily he enters, and takes
up the slate containing the list of calls during his absence. At half a
dozen places his presence is requested without delay.

A quick step is heard on the stairs, and his gentle wife hastens to
welcome him.

"I am so glad you have come; how wet you must be!"

The parlour door is thrown open. What a cheerful fire, and how inviting
look the dressing-gown and the nicely warmed slippers!

"Take off your wet clothes, dear; dinner will soon be ready," urges the
wife.

"It is impossible, Mary. There are several places to visit yet. Nay,
never look so sad. Have not six years taught you what a doctor's wife
must expect?"

"I shall never feel easy when you are working so hard, Henry; but surely
you will take a cup of hot coffee; I have it all ready. It will delay
you but a moment."

The doctor consents; and while the coffee is preparing, childish voices
are heard, and little feet come quickly through the hall.

"Papa has come home!" shouts a manly little fellow of four years, as
he almost drags his younger sister to the spot where he has heard his
father's voice.

The father's heart is gladdened by their innocent joy, as they cling
around him; but there is no time for delay. A kiss to each, one good
jump for the baby, the cup of coffee is hastily swallowed, the wife
receives her em