WHEN Philip De Neri, who, in the sixteenth century, renounced the hereditary honors of Florentine nobility for the service of the living God, was living in an Italian University, a young man ran to him with a face full of delight, and told him he had come to the law-school of that place on account of its great fame, and that he intended to spare no pains or labor to get through his studies as soon as possible.
Philip waited for his conclusion with great patience, and then said: —
“Well, and when you are through your course of studies, what do you mean to do?”
“Then I shall take my Doctor’s degree.”
“And then?” asked Philip again.
“And then,” continued the youth, “I shall have a number of difficult questions to manage, shall catch people’s notice by my eloquence, my zeal, my learning, and my acuteness, and shall gain a great reputation.”
“And then?” repeated the holy man.
“And then,” replied the youth, “why, there can’t be a question I shall be promoted to some high office or other. Besides, I shall make money and grow rich.”
“And then?” repeated Philip.
“And then,” said the young man, “then I shall be comfortably and honorably situated in wealth and dignity.” “And then?” asked the holy man.
“And then, and then — then — then I shall die.” Here Philip raised his voice: “And what then?”
Whereupon the young man made no answer, but cast down his head and went away. The last “And then?” had, like lightning, pierced his soul, and he could not get rid of it. Soon after he forsook the law, and gave himself to the ministry of Christ, and spent the remainder of his days in godly words and works.
“For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36.)