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 one gate, and in the next generation we furiously chase them away from that same gate; for we have discovered that it is a wrong gate, and leads, in fact, to perdition, and we hurry them off by another route entirely.

So, like chickens in a dusty highway, we scuttle round and round, and spin about and cry, and none of us knows the way home.

It is sincerely to be hoped that we do all get to this Heaven one day, wherever it may be. We make hullaballoo enough about it, and struggle hard enough to squeeze in. We do not know very much what it is like. Some fancy it is an exhibition of gold and jewels; and others, that it is a sort of everlasting musical "At Home." But we are all agreed that it is a land where we shall live well and not do any work, and we are going to have everything our own way and be very happy; and the people we do not like will not be allowed in.

It is a place, we have made up our minds, where all the good things of the other world are going to be given away; and, oh, how anxious we all are to be well to the front there!

Perhaps there are others, though, not of the piously self-seeking crew, to whom Heaven only means a wider sphere of thought and action, a clearer vision, a nobler life, nearer to God; and these, walking through the darkness of this world, "stretch lame hands of faith and grope," trying to find the light. And so many are shouting out directions to them, and they that know the least shout the loudest!

Yes, yes, they are clever and earnest, these shouters, and they have thought, and have spoken the thought that was in them, so far as they have understood it themselves; but what is it all, but children teaching children? We are