racter. And when we come to think of it, goodness
_is_ uneventful. It does not flash, it glows. It is deep, quiet and very
simple. It passes not with oratory, it is commonly foreign to riches,
nor does it often sit in the places of the mighty: but may be felt in
the touch of a friendly hand or the look of a kindly eye.

Outwardly, John North often gave the impression of brusqueness. Many a
woman, going to him for the first time, and until she learned that he
was in reality as gentle as a girl, was frightened by his manner. The
country is full of stories of such encounters. We laugh yet over the
adventure of a woman who formerly came to spend her summers here. She
dressed very beautifully and was "nervous." One day she went to call on
the Doctor. He made a careful examination and asked many questions.
Finally he said, with portentous solemnity:

"Madam, you're suffering from a very common complaint."

The Doctor paused, then continued, impressively:

"You haven't enough work to do. This is what I would advise. Go home,
discharge your servants, do your own cooking, wash your own clothes and
make your own beds. You'll get well."

She is reported to have been much offended, and yet to-day there was a
wreath of white roses in Doctor North's room sent from the city by that
woman.

If he really hated anything in this world the Doctor hated whimperers.
He had a deep sense of the purpose and need of punishment, and he
despised those who fled from wholesome discipline.

A young fellow once went to the Doctor--so they tell the story--and
asked for something to stop his pain.

"Stop it!" exclaimed the Doctor: "why, it's good for you. You've done
wrong, haven't you? Well, you're being punished; take it like a man.
There's nothing more wholesome than good honest pain."

And yet how much pain he alleviated in this community--in forty years!

The deep sense that a man should stand up to his fate was one of the
key-notes of his character; and the way he taught it, not only by word
but by every action of his life, put heart into many a weak man and
woman, Mrs. Patterson, a friend of ours, tells of a reply she once had
from the Doctor to whom she had gone with a new trouble. After telling
him about it she said:

"I've left it all with the Lord."

"You'd have done better," said the Doctor, "to keep it yourself. Trouble
is for your discipline: the Lord doesn't need it."

It was thus out of his wisdom that he was always tellin