, "it is so", but good and tangible reasons must be
given to prove the truth of an assertion. We are now in the stage of
"old age." Agnosticism and Infidelity are wide spread. After old age
comes decay and the decline of the absolutely orthodox. From time
immemorial, every religion has passed through the same gradation, of
infancy, youth, old age and decay finally comes _philosophy_.

* * * * *

* * * * *

A Swedenborgian is speaking:

Down by the sounding sea, in a lonely cottage, lives a woman, so
wrinkled, old and bent that even death seems to have forgotten her
existence. It would be difficult to imagine that once she was a beauty,
but true it is that many years ago no fresher, fairer maiden could be
found than this same strange old woman. Sixty years ago she had a sailor
lover, who loved her truly and well. On his return after every cruise it
was a sight to soften the heart of even the hardest, to witness the
joyful meeting, the lovers kiss, in which there was no shame, the tears
of joy in which there was no weakness; the heartfelt pleasure of two
honest hearts. But the partings were soon to be over, for after the next
voyage the young lovers were to be wedded. The simple wedding dress was
made and all was ready. With gay snatches of song, and merry feet the
young girl flitted about the house, impatiently waiting the day which
was to bring her lover. There was only one more day of waiting and
"to-morrow, to-morrow he comes," she sang. Early in the evening dark
clouds formed in the sky, the wind began to moan, the waves beat high
upon the shore, the murmuring winds changed to howling blasts, the waves
rolled mountains high, the spirits of the sea and air seemed to have
arisen in their fury, doors rattled, houses shook on their
foundations--and to-morrow came, but no lover. The wedding clothes were
laid away, and the day which was to have seen the young girl made a
happy wife, found her a heart-broken stricken woman; and now she must
take up her burden, and from month to month and year to year, carry this
leaden weight called a heart.

The years rolled by taking with them her girlish beauty, and leaving in
its place the wrinkles of time and sorrow. As time passed the idea took
possession of her that her lover would still come back. True the vessel
in which he sailed had been wrecked, but still there lingered the one
faint hope, and every night she lit