nude oil painting

of Macedonia, had enounced, 'Come over and help us!' But I was no
apostle,- I could not behold the herald,- I could not receive his
call.
'Oh, St. John!' I cried, 'have some mercy!'
I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believed his
duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued-
'God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It is not
personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you are formed
for labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must- shall be.
You shall be mine: I claim you- not for my pleasure, but for my
Sovereign's service.'
'I am not fit for it: I have no vocation,' I said.
He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritated
by them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him, folded
his arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw he was
prepared for a long and trying opposition, and had taken in a stock of
patience to last him to its close- resolved, however, that that
close should be conquest for him.
'Humility, Jane,' said he, 'is the groundwork of Christian virtues:
you say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit for it? Or
who, that ever was truly called, believed himself worthy of the