s nor stood in
the familiar pulpits any more; then everyone, young and old, felt they
had sustained a loss. Yet this is the natural course of things all the
world over; the scenes of life are continually changing, so are the
most familiar and most beloved faces in those scenes; they come, and
come, and come again, until we unconsciously acquire the habit of
expecting them, but when at length they do not reappear as formerly, we
realize an unexpected loss.

How many grand and familiar faces have disappeared from our pulpits and
sanctuaries since we first began to remember things! In running the
mind's eye back into byegone years, what a number we can call into
recollection who are gone, never to return; while the truth is forced
upon us, we are daily hurrying after them, and ere long some others
will miss our faces from among the familiar scenes, and let us hope,
will regret our absence.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"Better is the End of a Thing that the Beginning."

It was known by Little Abe that his infirmities were premonitory of the
end which was not far off. He knew that though he might be permitted
to linger for a while in the border land, he must soon receive command
to march over the boundary, and enter the eternal world. Just as a
shock of corn remains in the field to dry and ripen after the shearing,
so our old friend remained in his place here for a short time, ripening
for the heavenly garner.

He had just sufficient strength to go quietly about among his old
friends in the village, and talk over the good things of his Father's
kingdom; or he could get as far as the chapel, which was ever dear to
him, and the more so now that he felt the time was fast approaching
when he should enter it no more. He knew that before long his happy
spirit would be called up to worship in a grander temple, among a
multitude of those "who had washed their robes, and made them white in
the blood of the Lamb;" and as he sat in old Salem, and listened to the
sweet notes of the organ, his thoughts were oft carried away to the
great temple above, where day and night the harpers are striking their
joyous strings to the Redeemer's praise. Often when the choir chanted
the solemn words:--

"What shall I be, my Lord, when I behold Thee,
In awful majesty at God's right hand;
And 'mid th' eternal glories that enfold me,
In strange bewilderment, O Lord, I stand?
What shall I be? these tears,--they dim my sight,
I