one of Adam’s sons who has not heard it at some period or other of his life—sometimes in the midnight hour stealing over him—“Where am I? Who am I? Where am I going? and what is going to be the end of this?” I think it is well for a man to pause and ask himself that question. I would have you ask it, little boy; and you, little girl; and you, old man with locks turning gray, and eyes growing dim, and natural force abating, you who will soon be in another world. I do not ask you where you are in the