and the people accustomed to making generous contributions for church purposes, did not approve of my Rational tendencies. It was at this time that Spiritualism crossed my path, and endeavored, if I may use so trite a phrase, "to flirt with me."

"I could have many new supporters, and some moneyed men and women, if I could see the truth of Spiritualism," was whispered in my ears by my own fears and hopes. And then hardly a Sunday passed when at the conclusion of the lecture I was not met by some believer in Spiritualism, who told me how he or she had seen Darwin, or Emerson, or Goethe, or Voltaire at my side on the platform, while I was delivering my address, and how one or the other had smiled upon me with approval. I received messages purporting to come from the world of Spirits, commending my course, and bidding me to go forward unafraid. Opportunities were given me to see tables tip, to hear "celestial" voices, and to be surprised by flashes of light in perfectly dark rooms.

For many of the friends who tried to lead my steps toward Spiritualism, I still cherish the tenderest thoughts. They befriended me and my wife, they helped to render those desolate days of anxiety and hardship a little less of a strain upon our resources. But I could become a Spiritualist only with my eyes shut, and I had opened them when I parted with Calvinism. Was I now going to shut my eyes again?

My neighbor and colleague, Dr. John E. Roberts, who left the Baptist church to join the Unitarians, and later, became minister of the Church of this World, has recently expressed his interest in Spiritualism. He thinks the Spiritualists have the most comforting doctrine, because of their hope of immortality. Dr. Roberts thinks that we need the spiritual glow of faith in immortality to keep us from withering. But is not immortality as inconceivable as the Trinity? Why should a man object to the Baptist or the Unitarian immortality, if he can accept the immortality of the Spiritualists? Is the evidence furnished by modern mediums more convincing than that furnished by the mediums in the Bible? Are the spirits who manifest themselves in the Old and New Testaments, impostors, while those who appear to Mrs. Piper in Brooklyn are genuine? And is the immortality promised by Mrs. Piper's ghosts different, or better, than the immortality promised by those who communed with Jesus, Peter and Paul? But let us hear Dr. Roberts' reasons for preferring the Spiritualist's certain hope of another life to the silence of Rationalism on the question of the hereafter:

"And then I think there is need of a revival along the line of cherishing the old-fashioned hopes. You can see in current literature a strong tendency towards the belief that this world is the end of it. It is surprising to one that will bear in mind how often he finds that strain of pessimism. Men and women in very great numbers are beginning to think that after all maybe eternal sleep is better than eternal life. For, in the grave there can come no pain, no sorrow, no tears. 'On the shore of that vast sea of oblivion no wave of sorrow breaks.' But, to my mind, life is too sweet ever to be given up, and I can't help liking the old-fashioned hope that there is something beyond; that we shall remember and find each other and make reparations for wrongs we have done and explain some things that were misunderstood here. In other words, that we shall live again. For one, without knowing a thing about it, I cling to the old-fashioned hope of immortality."

But is it correct to identify "the old-fashioned hope" with optimism, and "the belief that eternal sleep is better than eternal life," or that "in the grave there can come no pain, no sorrow, no tears,"—with pessimism? "The old-fashioned hope" was no hope at all, because it was a private and exclusive hope. It reserved a place in heaven for the few, the elect,—whether Jewish, Mohammedan or Christian,—and condemned the multitude to the pains of hell. Can such a hope make for optimism? Can such a prospect brace up humanity at large? Moreover, the "old-fashioned hope's" picture of eternal life is so prosaic, so savorless, that it has fallen into "innocuous desuetude" even among the elect. Men have expressed their hesitation to decide which they would prefer, the heaven or the hell of the "old-fashioned hope." The grave is more optimistic than the old-fashioned future.

Ah, within our Mother's breast,

From toil and tumult, sin and sorrow free,

Sphered beyond hope and dread, divinely calm,

They lie, all gathered into perfect rest.

And o'er the trance of their Eternity.

The cypress waves more holy than the palm.

But Dr. Roberts likes "eternal life" of some kind. Eternal life! We fear our good friend has stooped to a sonorous phrase. Pliny, one of the illustrious philosophers of the reign of Trajan, thought that man was more fortunate than the gods, because, while "the gods cannot die, man can." We are not in a position to tell whether or not "eternal life" is desirable, for we do not know what it is. How can we desire, or despise the inconceivable? No one can tell whether it is an evil or a blessing to live forever and ever, and ever, and ever,—and ever—unless he has experienced it. Nor can anyone affirm "eternal life" (we think Dr. Roberts means conscious, personal immortality) until he has lived through an eternity. To live a million, million years, is not eternal life. Hence, no one who has not so lived, can speak intelligently of "eternal life." We cannot even say that the gods are immortal. Because they have lived until now, so to speak, is no argument that they will live forever. We have to wait until they prove their ability to live forever, and ever, and ever, before we can pronounce them immortal. No being can be called immortal until he has lived to the end of time. We do not affirm, nor do we deny, the inconceivable. The question of the hereafter is still an open one. There is no reason why people should not speculate about it. We may even hope that tomorrow's science will throw more light upon this interesting problem, but today, all we know about eternal life is that we do not know anything about it.

I gazed (as oft I've gazed the same)

To try if I could wrench aught out of death,

Which could confirm, or shake, or make a faith,

But it was all a mystery. Here we are.

Yes, "Here we are,"—that is the great reality. There is cheer and hope and love even in the thought that the present hour is big with possibilities and sweet with memories. We need not think of the grave while our hearts pulse, and our blood is warm. It is queer how all believers in eternal life fear the grave and deepen its gloom. The thought of another life often impoverishes the life we now possess. Pining for the far away tomorrow, we lose the joy at our doors. Schiller describes a recluse at the bar of heaven, arguing that he must have great rewards because he has practiced great privations in life. He received a chilling answer. He is told that if he was foolish enough to let the real life slip through his fingers for a distant reward, there is no power that can make good his losses.

Real optimism springs from the thought that the present life may be made dearer and nobler, richer, and happier, and that we may so live as to leave behind us a long and fragrant memory:

The ripe products of a fertile brain

Will live and reproduce fair fruit again.

Even at its worst, death is an obligation we owe posterity, and the discharge of it should make no one a pessimist. At any rate, with Grant Allen, we can sing when we feel life's evening gathering about us:

Perchance a little light will come with morning;

Perchance I shall but sleep.

Dr. Roberts