saying that our deeds stain
through the very fiber and substance of the soul.

Looking backward, we see only here and there a peak of remembrance
standing out midst the sea of forgetfulness, even as the islands in
the West Indies stand out midst the ocean. But each of these island
peaks represents a submerged continent. Drain off the sea, and the
mountains ease off toward the foothills and the hills toward the great
plains that make up the hidden land. Thus the isolated memories of the
past are all united, and will at length stand forth in perfect
revelation. Verily, conscience is a witness, secretly taking notes,
even as good Latimer in his cell overheard the scratching of the pen
in the chimney behind the curtain. Conscience is a judge, and, though
juries nod and witnesses may be bribed, conscience never slumbers and
never sleeps. Conscience is a monarch, and, though to-day the soul's
king be deposed from its throne, to-morrow it will ascend to the
judgment-seat and lift the scepter. For conscience represents God and
acts in His stead.

Consider the workings of conscience in daily life. The ideal man is he
who is equally conscientious toward intellect and affection, toward
plan and purpose. But in practical life men are Christian only in
spots and departments. The soul may be likened unto a house, and
conscience is the furnace thereof. Sometimes the householder turns the
heat into the sitting-room and parlor, but in the other rooms he turns
off the warm currents of air. Sometimes heat is turned into the upper
rooms, while the lower rooms are cold. Thus conscience, that should
govern all faculties alike, is largely departmental in its workings.
Some men are conscientious toward Sunday, but not toward the week
days. On Sunday they sing like saints, on Monday they act like demons.
On the morning of St. Bartholomew's massacre, Charles IX was
conscientious toward the cathedral and attended mass during three
hours; in the evening he filled the streets of Paris with rivers of
blood. John Calvin was conscientious toward his logical system. He was
very faithful to his theology, but he had no conscience toward his
fellows, and burned Servetus without a sympathetic throb.

In the Middle Ages conscience worked toward outer forms. In those days
the baron and priest made a contract. The general led his peasants
forth to burn and pillage and kill, and the priest absolved the
murderers for five per cent of the profits. Men were v