hough absolutely extemporaneous composition may be acceptable to
one's Maker, it is not considered quite the thing in speaking to one's
fellow-mortals. He discoursed for a time on the loss of parents, and on
the dangers to which the unfortunate orphan is exposed. Then he spoke of
the peculiar risks of the tender female child, left without its natural
guardians. Warming with his subject, he dilated with wonderful unction
on the temptations springing from personal attractions. He pictured the
"fair and beautiful" women of Holy Writ, lingering over their names with
lover-like devotion. He brought Esther before his audience, bathed and
perfumed for the royal presence of Ahasuerus. He showed them the sweet
young Ruth, lying down in her innocence at the feet of the lord of the
manor. He dwelt with special luxury on the charms which seduced the
royal psalmist,--the soldier's wife for whom he broke the commands of
the decalogue, and the maiden for whose attentions, in his cooler years,
he violated the dictates of prudence and propriety. All this time Byles
Gridley had his stern eyes on him. And while he kindled into passionate
eloquence on these inspiring themes, poor Bathsheba, whom her mother had
sent to church that she might get a little respite from her home duties,
felt her blood growing cold in her veins, as the pallid image of the
invalid wife, lying on her bed of suffering, rose in the midst of
the glowing pictures which borrowed such warmth from her husband's
imagination.

The sermon, with its hinted application to the event of the past week,
was over at last. The shoulders of the nervous women were twitching with
sobs. The old men were crying in their vacant way. But all the while
the face of Byles Gridley, firm as a rock in the midst of this lachrymal
inundation, was kept steadily on the preacher, who had often felt the
look that came through the two round glasses searching into the very
marrow of his bones.

As the sermon was finished, the sexton marched up through the broad
aisle and handed the note over the door of the pulpit to the clergyman,
who was wiping his face after the exertion of delivering his discourse.
Mr. Stoker looked at it, started, changed color,--his vision of "The
Dangers of Beauty, a Sermon printed by Request," had vanished,--and
passed the note to Father Pemberton, who sat by him in the pulpit. With
much pains he deciphered its contents, for his eyes were dim with
years, and, having read it, b