the eagle’s flight towards the sun, is left to skim in darkness along the ground, like the course of the mousing owl.  We have all seen another thing, which baffles our philosophy, while it proves the truth of the theory of which I am speaking.  We have seen men, and see them every day, who, from no quality of heart or mind seem fitted to rise in the world, occupying commanding positions to which accident has lifted them; whose genius commands no admiration, whose virtues are of a doubtful character, and who possess no one quality which entitles them to our respect or the respect of the world.  As the former are the victims of circumstance, these latter are its creatures.  Both are the sport of fortune; the one class its victims, and the other its favorites.  How is all this to be accounted for?  And where rests the responsibility of failure, and where the credit of success?  Are there accidents floating about among the paths marked out on the chart of life by the Deity, which jostle his creatures from the destiny intended for them?  Or were men thrown loose upon the currents of life, to take their chances of good and evil, to be virtuous or vile, according to the influences among which they were floating, to be fortunate or otherwise, as the means of advancing themselves drifted within their reach?  If so, where rests the responsibility, I ask again, of failure, and where the credit of success?  Children are born into the world under strangely different influences.  One first sees the light in the haunts of vice and crime, amidst the corruptions which fester away down in the depths of a great city.  The influences which surround it are only and always evil.  They are such in infancy, in childhood, in youth, and in manhood.  Another is cradled under the influence of intelligences, piety, virtue; having around it always the safeguards of refined and Christian civilization.  What is the difference in the degree of responsibility attached to the future of these antipode beginnings?  Can you tell me where, and how these wide, terribly wide distinctions are to be reconciled?  When and where the career of these germs of being, starting from points so wide asunder, are to meet, and how the balances of good and evil, of suffering and enjoyment of sinning and retribution, are to be adjusted at last?  I have been asking myself, too, while listening to the speech of these men, so thoughtlessly uttered, where these profane epithets, these impious expressions, are to rest at last?  Who can tell whether they do not go jarring through the universe, marring the music of the spheres, throwing discord into the anthems of the morning stars when they sing together, a wail among the glad voices of the sons of God, when they shout for joy?  In this world, and to the dulness of human perception, when the sound of the impious words has died away, or a smile comes back to the face clouded by the angry thought, the effect seems to have ceased; but it may not be so.  The word or the thought may be wandering for ages, vibrating still, away off among the outer creations of God.  The angel that bore them at the beginning from the lips or the heart, may be flying still, and generations and centuries may have passed, before his journeying with them shall have ceased.