been sorry these twenty years.

Now, Fra Bernardo, you have my sin:
Do you think Saint Peter will let me in?

MARGARET J. PRESTON.

MONSIEUR FOURNIER'S EXPERIMENT.

"_La transfusion parait avoir eu quelque succes dans ces derniers
temps_."

A dejected man, M. le docteur Maurice Fournier locked the door of his
physiological laboratory in the Place de l'Ecole de Medecine, and walked
away toward his rooms in the rue Rossini. At two-and-thirty, rich,
brilliant, an ambitious graduate of l'Ecole de Medecine, an enthusiastic
pupil of Claude Bernard's, a devoted lover of science, and above all of
physiology, yesterday he was without a care save to make his name great
among the great names of science--to win for himself a place in the
foremost rank of the followers of that mistress whom only he loved and
worshiped. To-day a word had swept away all his fondest hopes.
Trousseau, the keenest observer in all Paris, formerly his father's
friend, now no less his own, had kindly but firmly called his attention
to himself, and to the malady that had so imperceptibly and insidiously
fastened itself upon him that until the moment he never dreamed of its
approach. He had been too full of his work to think of himself. In any
other case he would scarcely have dared to dispute the opinion of the
highest medical authority in Europe; nevertheless in his own he began to
argue the matter: "But, my dear doctor, I am well."

"No, my friend, you are not. You are thin and pale, and I noticed the
other night, when you came late to the meeting of the Institute, that
your breathing was quick and labored, and that the reading of your
excellent paper was frequently interrupted by a short cough."

"That was nothing. I was hurried and excited, and I have been keeping
myself too closely to my work. A run to Dunkerque, a week of rest and
sea-air, will make all right again."

But the great man shook his head gravely: "Not weeks, but years, of a
different life are needed. You must give up the laboratory altogether if
you want to live. Remember your mother's fate and your father's early
death--think of the deadly blight that fell so soon upon the rare beauty
of your sister. Some day you will realize your danger: realize it now,
in time. Close your laboratory, lock up your library, say adieu to
Paris, and lead the life of a traveler, an Arab, a Tartar. For the
present cease to dream of the future: strength is better than a
professo