rtunes of his fellow-man as the wolf plays
with the lamb, or as the cyclone plays with the feather.

Young ladies, when the time comes to marry, say "yes" to the good-natured,
big-hearted drummer. For he is a spring in a desert, a straight flush in
a weary hand, a "thing of beauty and a joy forever," and he will never
be at home to bother you.

CLOCKS.

Oliver Wendell Holmes says: "Our brains are seventy year clocks. The
angel of life winds them up once for all, closes the case, and gives the
key into the hand of the resurrection angel." And when I read it I
thought, what a stupendous task awaits the angel of the resurrection,
when all the countless millions of old rickety, rusty, worm-eaten clocks
are to be resurrected, and wiped, and dusted, and repaired, for mansions
in the skies! There will be every kind and character of clock and
clockwork resurrected on that day. There will be the Catholic clock with
his beads, and the Episcopalian clock with his ritual. There will be
an old clock resurrected on that day wearing a broadcloth coat buttoned
up to the throat; and when he is wound up he will go off with a whizz
and a bang. He will get up out of the dust shouting, "hallelujah!" and
he will proclaim "_sanctification!_" and "_falling from grace!_" and
"_baptism by sprinkling and pouring!_" as the only true doctrine by
which men shall go sweeping through the pearly gate, into the new
Jerusalem. And he will be recognized as a Methodist preacher, a little
noisy, a little clogged with chicken feathers, but ripe for the Kingdom
of Heaven.

There will be another old clock resurrected on that day, dressed
like the former, but a little stiffer and straighter in the back,
and armed with a pair of gold spectacles and a manuscript. When he is
wound up he will break out in a cold sepulchral tone with, firstly:
"_foreordination!_" secondly: "_predestination!_" and thirdly: "_the
final perseverance of the saints!_" And he will be recognized as a
Presbyterian preacher, a little blue and frigid, a little dry and
formal, but one of God's own elect, and he will be labeled for Paradise.

There will be an old Hard-shell clock resurrected, with throat whiskers,
and wearing a shad-bellied coat and flap breeches. And when he is wound
up a little, and a little oil is squirted into his old wheels, he will
swing out into space on the wings of the gospel with: "My Dear Beloved
Brethren-ah: I was a-ridin' along this mornin' a-tryin' to