he had the air of a man who had met a great loss, instead of a man who
had just parted with a life of labor and physical anguish, but there
was still the last time look about him. And it was the last time. In
six months from that time he was dead. What shall we say when such a
life of self-sacrifice passes on to the stars? What can we say, except
to speculate on the boundless possibilities that eternity must contain
for such a life. What must such a little minute-hand life as sixty
years, develop into on the dial plate of eternity, when it is begun
as this man's was. Such a man as this, it seems to me, must at some
time or other have touched the very hem of the Master's garment.

* * * * *

I saw in your paper this week an expression which continues to run
through my head. It is an advertisement of a poultryman for poultry,
in which he says with rough frankness, "Old roosters not wanted."
Whether it is good policy in him, while attempting to secure tender
and succulent birds for the clerical stomach, to affront that venerable
class of fowls upon which we sinners are to live long after the clergy
have left, I will not say. I do not believe, however, that it will go
unresented or unpunished. I believe that many an old rooster will so
beplume himself and take on such an extra strut, that he will at last
succeed in forcing himself as a young bird between the teeth of our
clerical visitors. This will be a sweet revenge. But with this I have
nothing to do; what I have now to do with, is the fact that over every
department of life I see the same announcement. In society where the
sweet amenities of life are monopolized by the young, the aged beau
is met by the flaming inscription, "Old roosters not wanted." In
politics we hear the cry that the favorite candidate is a representative
of the "Young Democracy" or "Young Republicans," as the case may be,