Well, what we do, we had better do right away. The clock ticks now and
we hear it. After a while the clock will tick and we shall not hear
it. Seated by a country fireside, I saw the fire kindle, blaze, and go
out. I gathered up from the hearth enough for profitable reflections.
Our life is just like the fire on that hearth. We put on fresh fagots,
and the fire bursts through and up, and out, gay of flash, gay of
crackle--emblem of boyhood. Then the fire reddens into coals. The
heat is fiercer; and the more it is stirred, the more it reddens. With
sweep of flame it cleaves its way, until all the hearth glows with
the intensity--emblem of full manhood. Then comes a whiteness to the
coals. The heat lessens. The flickering shadows have died along the
wall. The fagots drop apart. The household hover over the expiring
embers. The last breath of smoke has been lost in the chimney. Fire is
out. Shovel up the white remains. ASHES!
FLASK, BOTTLE, AND DEMIJOHN.
[NOTE.--This chapter, in its first shape, was given some currency
under the title of "The Evil Beast.
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