“I cannot conceive,” Elsworth replied,“ of a perfect world without love for one’s neighbour, sacrifice of self, devotion to high and noble efforts for the good of others. Fancy the hideous selfishness of a world of wealthy, luxurious aristocrats, such as helped to precipitate the French Revolution; the gratification of their own pleasures and passions the sole object of their existence! Contrast this state of things in your ideal perfect world—where every one would have all he wanted, and would have no occasion to think of others,—no opportunity to exercise charity, pity, long-suffering, or altruism in any form—with the burning love of a St. Paul, who was willing himself to be accursed if he could thereby save others; with Christian heroes who have sold themselves into slavery; have entered lazar-houses from which they could never return; have cheerfully embraced martyrdom, and undertaken every form of danger and suffering, to help their brother men. Or to come to every-day affairs, contrast the selfishness of the rich, and those who are elevated above the grosser cares and difficulties of life, with the charity and devotedness practised by the poor of our great cities towards each other; and say if the existence of pain, sorrow, and suffering is not actually necessary for the evolution of the highest man? And so ‘upon men’s own account must evil stay.’” “But here we are at your diggings, Elsworth. You will get rid of these cobwebs of the brain before you have done with St. Bernard’s,” laughed Devaux. And so the friends went home to bed, to dream of a regenerated world, fit for an age of steam, telephones, and physiological research not contemplated by the Apostles, and therefore requiring a new religion of its own. ----- Footnote 1: “The Doctrine of Descent.” Oscar Schmidt. Footnote 2: Browning: “Ring and Book,” vol. iv. p. 60. CHAPTER XII. “SEND FOR FATHER O’GRADY.” “What! do they study?” “No, father, but they feel!” “Feel! I comprehend thee not!” _Sir. E. B. Lytton._ Such men, in other men’s calamities, are, as it were, in season, and are ever on the loading part; not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus’ sores, but like flies that are still buzzing upon anything that is raw.—_Bacon_. As a resident dresser, it often devolved upon our hero to reason with troublesome patients who offered opposition to the methods of treatment proposed to be adopted in their particular case. One day an ambulance deposited at the door of the hospital, an Irishman, who had just fallen from a high scaffold, and had been carried thither by the police.