hought, reason, speech, and all the other senses? It was not
by a design of the individual himself; for he strove to his utmost to
breathe longer; he was not ready to die--he did not want to quit this
earth so soon; and yet with all his efforts to the contrary, reason
fled, the breath stopped, the blood ceased, the limbs became palsied and
cold, and corruption, decay and dust stood ready to follow. Now why was
this? There is but one answer: 'God willed it!' If then one question
resolves itself into one answer,--'the will of God'--so may all of
the same species; and we come out, after a long train of analytical
reasoning, exactly where we started--with this difference--that when we
set out, we believed in being able to explain the wherefore; but when we
came to the end, we could only assert it as a wonderful fact, whereof
not a single iota could we understand."

Algernon spoke in a clear, distinct, earnest tone--in a manner that
showed the subject was not new to his thoughts; and after a short pause,
during which Ella made no reply, he again proceeded.

"In this grand organ of man--where all things are strange and
incomprehensible--to me the combination of the physical and mental is
strangest of all. The soul and the body are united and yet divided. Each
is distinct from and acts without the other at times, and yet both act
in concert with a wonderful power. The soul plans and the body executes.
The body exercises the soul--the soul the body. The one is visible--the
other invisible; the one is mortal--the other immortal. Now why do they
act together here? Why was not each placed in its separate sphere of
action? Again: What is the soul? Men tell us it is a spirit. What is a
spirit? An invisible something that never dies. Who can comprehend it?
None. Whither does it go when separated forever from the body? None can
answer, save in language of Scripture: 'It returns to God who gave it.'"

"I have never heard the proposition advanced by another," continued
Algernon, after another slight pause, "but I have sometimes thought
myself, that the soul departs from the body, for a brief season, and
wanders at will among scenes either near or remote, and returns with
its impressions, either clouded or clear, to communicate them to the
corporeal or not, as the case may be: hence dreams or visions, and
strong impressions when we wake, that something bright and good has
refreshed our sleep, or something dark and evil has made it troub