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(2.) If you have ever read the book called "Leaves of Grass," by Walt. Whitman, a singular conglomeration of fustian and poetry, rant and prophecy, the most insufferable balderdash mingled with the tenderest pathos and beauty - egotism on stilts walking hand in hand with supreme renunciation - you have found a whole chapter devoted to the meanings and suggestions of faces; so weird and singular, yet so full of verve and power, as to haunt the [illegible] [illegible] [illegible] long afterward. There are two faces which - other than those of my own relatives - I especially remember. The one was that of my pastor, an Episcopal clergyman, the expression of whose face, rapt meditation and unruffled serenity, pity beyond a woman's, love deeper than a mother's, tenderness beyond all speech, with power and strength like that of an angel, always reminded me of the Master when He spake the blessed words "Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more." That was the Rev. Frederic W. Robertson of Brighton, England; whose Sermons (re-published in their country) delivered extemporaneously, are yet among the most wonderful utterances of the Century, for his heart and lips were on fire with