of
the beautiful form shall hereafter, in a kindred spirit, arouse similar
ideas.

There is thus a truth in materialism, but it is not a truth readily to
be apprehended and formulated. Matter may become imbued with life, and
full of vital association; something of the personality of a departed
owner seems to cling sometimes about an old garment, its curves and
folds can suggest him vividly to our recollection. I would not too
blatantly assert that even a doll on which much affection had been
lavished was wholly inert and material in the inorganic sense. The
tattered colours of a regiment are sometimes thought worthy to be hung
in a church. They are a symbol truly, but they may be something more. I
have reason to believe that a trace of individuality can cling about
terrestrial objects in a vague and almost imperceptible fashion, but to
a degree sufficient to enable those traces to be detected by persons
with suitable faculties.

There is a deep truth in materialism; and it is the foundation of the
material parts of worship--sacraments and the like. It is possible to
exaggerate their efficacy, but it is also possible to ignore it too
completely. The whole universe is metrical, everything is a question of
degree. A property like radio-activity or magnetism, discovered
conspicuously in one form of matter, turns out to be possessed by
matter of every kind, though to very varying extent.

So it would appear to be with the power possessed by matter to
incarnate and display mind.

There are grades of incarnation: the most thorough kind is that
illustrated by our bodies; in them we are incarnate, but probably not
even in that case is the incarnation complete. It is quite credible
that our whole and entire personality is never terrestrially manifest.

There are grades of incarnation. Some of the personality of an Old
Master is locked up in a painting: and whoever wilfully destroys a
great picture is guilty of something akin to murder, namely, the
premature and violent separation of soul and body. Some of the soul of
a musician can be occluded in a piece of manuscript, to be deciphered
thereafter by a perceptive mind.

Matter is the vehicle of mind, but it is dominated and transcended by
it. A painting is held together by cohesive forces among the atoms of
its pigments, and if those forces rebelled or turned repulsive the
picture would be disintegrated and destroyed; yet those forces did not
make the picture. A cathedral