fluence　efficiently　in　life；　and　retain　absolutely　till　death。”

I　shuddered　as　he　spoke：　I　felt　his　influence　in　my　marrow—his　hold　on　my　limbs。

“Seek　one　elsewhere　than　in　me；　St。　John：　seek　one　fitted　to　you。”

“One　fitted　to　my　purpose；　you　mean—fitted　to　my　vocation。　Again　I　tell　you　it　is　not　the　insignificant　private　individual—the　mere　man；　with　the　man’s　selfish　senses—I　wish　to　mate：　it　is　the　missionary。”

“And　I　will　give　the　missionary　my　energies—it　is　all　he　wants—but　not　myself：　that　would　be　only　adding　the　husk　and　shell　to　the　kernel。　For　them　he　has　no　use：　I　retain　them。”

“You　cannot—you　ought　not。　Do　you　think　God　will　be　satisfied　with　half　an　oblation？　Will　He　accept　a　mutilated　sacrifice？　It　is　the　cause　of　God　I　advocate：　it　is　under　His　standard　I　enlist　you。　I　cannot　accept　on　His　behalf　a　divided　allegiance：　it　must　be　entire。”

“Oh！　I　will　give　my　heart　to　God；”　I　said。　“You　do　not　want　it。”

I　will　not　swear；　reader；　that　there　was　not　something　of　repressed　sarcasm　both　in　the　tone　in　which　I　uttered　this　sentence；　and　in　the　feeling　that　acpanied　it。　I　had　silently　feared　St。　John　till　now；　because　I　had　not　understood　him。　He　had　held　me　in　awe；　because　he　had　held　me　in　doubt。　How　much　of　him　was　saint；　how　much　mortal；　I　could　not　heretofore　tell：　but　revelations　were　being　made　in　this　conference：　the　analysis　of　his　nature　was　proceeding　before　my　eyes。　I　saw　his　fallibilities：　I　prehended　t