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10, 4

The Framers of our Common Prayer, 1-6, 2-18, 3
5 — 16, 6 — 6, 7—15, 8—8, 9— 18, 10-3, 11
The History of the Jews from Malachi to St. Matthew, 1
316, 4-2, 5-11, 6-19, 7

The Idle Words' Box

The Mudlarks of the Thames

The Priest of the Lakes

The Rainhill Funeral

The Sheep Dog

The Song of Christmas

The Village Curé and the great Doctor

The Ways of Providence.

Thistle-down and Fever-seed

Three important Things

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HE following story is told of Dr. Dupuytren, one of the greatest medical men of France, to whom science owes many precious discoveries.

This great surgeon, who in his long career had neglected or perhaps despised religion, nevertheless died expressing sincere faith in Christ. How was this? The following is the account given of his conversion to God :

:

Dupuytren was almost constantly at work, and few men have lived so thoroughly occupied a life as his was. Summer and winter he rose at five o'clock. At seven he was at the Hôtel Dieu, which he left at eleven. He then made his professional calls, and returned home to receive patients who came to consult him. Although he despatched them with an almost cruel rapidity, they were every day so numerous that the consultations often lasted till nightfall.

One day, in which these consultations were prolonged till later than usual, Dupuytren, exhausted with fatigue, was about to take some repose, when a last visitor, rather behind his appointed time, presented himself at the door of the doctor's chamber.

He was an elderly man of very small figure, whose exact age it would have been difficult to guess. There was a pleasing expression in his fresh-coloured but wrinkled face. He wore the black dress of

a priest and leant on a staff..

Dupuytren's gaze fell coldly upon him.

'What is the matter with you?' he said, rather roughly.

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'Sir,' replied the priest gently, may I ask your permission to sit down, my poor legs are old and weary? Two years ago a swelling came in my neck. The parish doctor of my village-I am Curé at Blanc, near Nemours-at first told me that it was of no consequence; but the evil increased, and at the end of five months an abscess formed. I have kept my bed for a long time without getting any better. And at last I have been forced to leave it, for I have to serve four villages quite alone

'Show me your neck,' said the doctor impatiently.

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'It is not,' continued the old man, obeying, 'it is not that these good people have not offered me to meet together every Sunday at Blanc; but they have so much hard work during the week, and they have only that day for rest, I said to myself, "It is not right that everybody should put themselves out for you." And then, you know, sir, there are First Communions and catechising. The Archbishop wants to wait a little before he sends me a colleague to help me. My parishioners have urged me to come to Paris to consult you. I have been some time making up my mind, because travelling costs a good deal, and I have many poor in my village; but I was obliged to do what they wished, and so I took the coach. Here is my trouble,' said he, showing his neck.

Dupuytren examined it carefully. It was a terrible abscess in the gland, of a most dangerous character. The case was so serious that Dupuytren was astonished that the patient was able to stand up on his feet before him.

He probed the wound, and pressed all round it in a manner which gave pain enough to cause any one to faint. The patient scarcely winced. When his examination was finished, Dupuytren turned round

The Village Curé and the Great Doctor.

the head which he had been holding between his hands, and said plainly in his face, Well, Monsieur l'Abbé, with that you must die !'

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The Abbé took up his bandages, and wrapped up his neck without saying a word. Dupuytren still kept his eyes fixed upon him. When he had finished bandaging, the priest took a five-franc piece, wrapped in paper, out of his pocket, and laid it down on the table.

'I am not rich, and my poor are very poor, sir,' he said, with a gentle smile. Pardon me if I cannot pay more handsomely for a consultation with Dr. Dupuytren. I am glad that I have come to see you at least, I shall be prepared for what awaits me. Perhaps,' he added, with extreme gentleness, 'you might have announced this serious information to me with a little more precaution. I am sixty-five years old, and at my age we sometimes cling to life. But you have not surprised me. I have been long expecting this moment. Farewell, sir, I will return home and die among my villagers.'

And he left the room.

Dupuytren remained in a pensive attitude. That heart of iron, that strong mind, was shattered like a piece of glass by these few simple words of a poor old man whom he had held weak, sick, and suffering, between his large, strong hands. In this feeble and afflicted body he had met a heart firmer and stronger than his own.

He hastened towards the staircase. The little priest was slowly descending the steps leaning against the balustrade.

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'Monsieur l'Abbé,' he cried, will you come up again?'

The Abbé returned.

'There is perhaps a means of saving you, if you are willing that I should operate upon you?'

'Why, Sir,' said the Abbé, putting down his staff and hat with some vivacity, 'that is what I came to Paris for. Operate, operate upon me by all means, just as you like.'

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But, perhaps, we shall make a fruitless attempt; it will be long, and very painful too.'

'Operate, operate, Monsieur le Docteur; I will endure everything that is necessary. My poor parishioners will be so pleased.'

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Well, then, you must go to the Hôtel Dieu, Salle St. Agnes. You will be well cared for there, and the Sisters will not let you want for anything. You will get a good rest there this evening, and to-morrow, or the day after

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'I quite understand, Monsieur le Docteur; I thank you much.'

Dupuytren wrote a few words upon a piece of paper, which he gave to the priest, who went at once to the hospital; here the good Sisters soon installed him in a little couch with very white sheets. One gave him pillows, another syrups, and all were anxious to nurse him tenderly. The little priest did not know how to thank them enough.

On the second day after this, the five or six pupils who always followed the great master had just assembled when Dupuytren arrived. He went straight up to the priest's bed, followed by the students and dressers, and the operation began. The operation lasted twenty-five minutes. The Abbé was very pale, but he neither winced nor murmured. At length Dupuytren said to him, 'It is finished,' and he dressed the wound himself.

'I believe that all will go on well,' he said, kindly; 'have you suffered much?'

'I have been trying to think of something else,' replied the priest, and he fell asleep.

Dupuytren, standing in profound silence, examined him for a moment; then he pulled the white curtains of the bed over their iron rods, and continued his rounds.

The priest was saved!

When the Abbé was in a state to bear a journey, he took leave of the Sisters and of the doctor, and returned to his parishioners.

Some months after, Dupuytren, on arriving at the Hôtel Dieu, perceived the Abbé, who had been waiting in the Salle St. Agnes, advance towards him. The priest's clothes and shoes were covered with dust, and one could see that he had just been making a long journey on foot. He held a wicker basket on his arm. Dupuytren gave him a hearty welcome, and after being assured that the operation had left no bad effects, he asked him what had brought him to Paris.

'Monsieur le Docteur,' replied the priest, 'this is the anniversary of the day upon which you operated upon me. could not let the 6th of May pass without coming to see you, and the thought came into my head to bring you a little present. I have put two fine chickens from my poultry-yard into my basket, and some pears from my garden, which are such as you could scarcely get at Paris. You must promise me— and mind very faithfully—that you will taste a little of both.'

Dupuytren affectionately pressed his hand. He wished to engage the good old man to dine with him, but he refused, saying that he was obliged to return at once to his village.

Two years after this Dupuytren felt the first symptoms of disease, which he knew to be well-nigh incurable. He started for Italy, but without hope of being saved by this journey, which the united faculty of Paris had persuaded him to undertake. When he returned to France in March 1834, his condition appeared to be improved, but this improvement was not real, and Dupuytren himself knew it. He felt that he must die; he had reckoned how long he had to live.

His character became still more reserved and more gloomy in proportion as he approached the close of his earthly life.

One day he called M-, his adopted son, who was watching in a neighbouring room. 'M- -,' he said, ' sit down and write.'

To Monsieur the Curé of the Parish of Blanc, near Nemours. 'MY DEAR ABBÉ,-The doctor has need of you in his turn. quickly; perhaps you will arrive loo late.

'Your friend,

'DUPUYTREN.'

Come

The Curé hastened to Paris. He remained closeted with Dupuytren for a long time. No one knows what they said to each other; but when the Abbé left the dying man's chamber, his eyes were very moist, while an expression of calm satisfaction beamed on his face.

The next day Dupuytren sent for the Archbishop of Paris, who hastened to his bedside, and administered to him the last consolations of religion.

It was the 18th of February, 1835. Dupuytren had just died.

On the day of the funeral the sky from early in the morning was

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