calling me a sweet enthusiast. Then taking off his hat, he added—
"But look here, Helen—what can a man do with such a head as this?"
The head looked right enough, but when he placed my hand on the top of it, it sunk in a bed of curls, rather alarmingly low, especially in the middle.
"You see I was not made to be a saint," said he, laughing. "If God meant me to be religious, why didn't he give me a proper organ of veneration?"
"You are like the servant," I replied, "who instead of employing his one talent in his master's service, restored it to him unimproved, alleging, as an excuse, that he knew him 'to be a hard man, reaping where he had not sown and gathering where he had not strawed.' Of him, to whom less is given, less will be required; but our utmost exertions are required of us all. You are not without the capacity of veneration, and faith and hope, and con-
