e Falstaff,
Leading a very Scrubby File of Soldiers. Page 410.

The Bible.

The Bible is Authentic, Old, Beautiful--It is the Only Hope We have--It
Out-dates the Chinese Empire--Everything Good and Progressive is Founded
on It--Practical Value of Studying It--Its Eloquence--Its Triumphs in an
Infinitude of Tests. Page 421.

The Evening of Life.

Age the Outer Shore against which Dashes an Eternity--We are on a small
Planet, but We Belong to a Larger Celestial Empire--The Undevout
Astronomer Insane--Does the Beast Peer into the Stars?--Eternity is not
a conceit of Man--Apostrophe to a Patriarch. Page 433.

The Future Life.

Cato's Soliloquy--Promises of God's Word clothed in Syllables of
Unsurpassable Sweetness--He that holdeth the Pleiades in His Right
Hand--Blissful Forecasts--Shall God weigh out Arcturus to Stop the
Unreasoning Clamor of the Fool who Hath Said in His Heart there Is No
God? Conclusion. Page 441.

THE GOLDEN CENSER.

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
--Edgar Poe.

[Illustration A] golden censer swings in the Temple of Life, making holy
its halls and grateful its corridors. This fountain of our well-being is
Duty. There is little true pleasure in the world which does not flow,
either directly or remotely, from its depths.

It shall be the object of this volume to point out and name a few of the
balms which burn in this Unseen Censer--a few of the lines of action
which render our memories sweet and forever pleasant if they be wrapt in
such perfume.

THE PALACE OF THE SOUL.

When the incense of a man's good actions spreads through the palace of
the soul, "the powers that wait on noble deeds" light up the edifice
with radiance brought from other worlds. In the eye of a good man--in
the window of the palace of his soul--we behold an occupant who fears no
duty. We are fascinated, and gather about, anxious to peer in upon the
fortunate possessor. Therein lies the happiness and the force of good
example.

But let the Censer burn low, and flicker in final sickliness; the great
bell called Conscience, hanging in the dome, strikes an alarm that rocks
the building. How oft the solemn tocsin sounds! It drives us to our
duty! Let us be thankful its clangor is so harsh!

THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY,

the man whose heart was torn each time his soldiers' feet did bleed--th