erhaps, for a thousand years, while
the dramatist himself has utterly ceased to be? You open a neglected
drawer of your desk and come suddenly upon a letter written by a friend
of half a century ago; the paper is a little soiled, but as firm as
ever; the ink is hardly faded; the words are all clearly formed and full
of inspiration; and you hold that letter in your hand and ask yourself,
"Was the man who penned these lines less enduring than the paper on
which he wrote, or than the ink with which he wrote?" Such questions are
not arguments, and yet they have the force of arguments. It is not
possible in our better moments to feel that the great and good, by whom
this world has been lifted to its present condition, have gone entirely
into nothingness.

It was said of our Lord, "It was not possible that such a man should be
holden of death." And it is not possible for us to believe, in our
inmost souls, that those who become a part of our being, whose love is
of more value to us than our own lives, whose memory is the dearest
treasure that we possess, by some accident, a taint in the food or the
water, can utterly pass from existence. If it were possible to believe
that, then the most miserable creature on the earth would be man, for he
would know of his greatness, and know also that his greatness is a
mockery and a sham. In hours of doubt, let us lean hard upon the
question, "Is it possible that those with whom we have walked and
worked, conversed and communed, and by whom we have been helped and
blessed, should forever cease to be, while the houses in which they
live, and the tools with which they labor, will endure for generations?"

The soul is full of prophecies. Only as there may be continuance of
being can these prophecies have fulfillment. The feeling of dependence,
the desires for friendship which are never satisfied, the powers of
body and of mind which are capable of a development which they never
receive on earth, are prophecies of a life beyond death. Not the least
among the reasons for our belief that death is not the end of the soul
is the fact that the soul itself is a prophecy of its own immortality.

It is always best to believe the best. This world and human life may be
interpreted on the materialistic hypothesis; then matter is all and
death is the gloomy _finale_ to the tragedy of existence. Or they may be
interpreted according to the spiritual hypothesis; then within the body
dwells the spirit; then