effusion is that man is "like the leaf,"
the mere "sport of destiny," returning in his "autumn" "to the elements
of nature from which he sprang: dust to dust."

This orator asks the questions, "Whence came we?" "Whither are we
tending?" "Who can tell?" To them he gives two answers. First, he says,
"Some profess to know, but they know not." "The past is a mere sealed
book." "The future is a blank." "Of the future, the hereafter, we are as
ignorant as we are of the infinite conditions through which we have
passed during the eternity which has preceded our brief present
existences. If we could know the history of our past, we might get a
glimpse of our future," "The past is a mere sealed book." Conclusion,
"The future is a mere sealed book." The man is lost in the unbeliever's
"narrow vale lying between two cold, bleak, barren eternities," viz:
life. Lost (?) in the narrow vale. Yes! He knows nothing about his
origin. He knows nothing about his destiny. So he says, and we have no
right to contradict him. He is lost! But here he is again, listen!
Speaking of the autumn leaves, he says, "LIKE US, they disappear and are
merged into the ocean of matter from which they are evolved, ready to be
RE-COMBINED into new forms of beauty." (Capitals mine.) Once more he
says, "LIKE THAT LEAF which was the hope of spring, the pride and glory
of summer, we are rudely torn away, the sport of destiny, to return to
the elements of nature from which we sprung: dust to dust."

How he contradicts himself! But we must make all due allowances. He is
in the presence of death. He says, "The past is beyond recall; the
future is veiled in obscurity and in doubt; the present alone is ours."
Here confusion is confounded; but let us ever remember that this was a
funeral occasion, and the friends of the deceased were present, and this
man Veveu was there, for the purpose, ostensibly, of giving a small
amount of consolation to bereaved and broken hearts. Oh, how barren, how
cold, how gloomy and God-dishonoring the consolation given! Those empty
vessels of ours, hearts "endowed with inexhaustible hope," must turn
away from the grave (?) _empty still_. No, not necessarily. God has
provided a fountain. Go to it and fill your vessels. Let us not be too
severe upon the man. There he stands amid bleeding hearts, and the open
tomb just before him. Show pity, Lord! The man says, "No message ever
reached man from beyond the grave." How very singular it is that ma