the earth by our sides, and whom no starry
crowns, and no glorious heaven could tempt away from the work of
blessing and comforting the sorrowing souls still left on earth to
mourn the loss of their loving companionship, and sympathy. And this
is God's "Special Providence" made manifest in our lives whenever and
wherever we have eyes to see and ears to hear.

* * * * * *

Once the soul really looks forth and sees, there can be, after that, no
more sleeping. All is effort, weighing, balancing, deciding, groping
painfully along, or running swiftly the race, bracing against fearful
odds, or bravely out-riding the storm. Taking it all as it comes, it
is increasing action, motion, change.

HUMAN DESTINY.

Confucius, long considered the oldest and wisest of all the ancient
teachers, when he was consulted upon an abtruse point of ethics, said
in effect: "Ask the ancients. I do not know." The results of modern
research are constantly undermining the first-recorded ideas concerning
the age, and the degree of scientific and religious culture of the
race, and we may well feel like turning from the authenticated
historical records with which we are familiar to ask of the old, old
world the occult meanings of the messages graven on pillar and on
chiselled stone. The records which have survived the storm and stress
of the ages bringing down to us unexpected knowledge of the lives, the
achievements, and the histories of far-off, long-buried, hidden and
lost peoples, communities, and even distinct personalities, were
carefully planned and exactly executed by those who, already perceiving
the mutability of all human life, and all its affairs, who--in a
word--realizing that "the fashion of this world passeth away," sought
to immortalize and perpetuate forever an absolute history of their own,
and kindred races, by the uprearing of vast, imperishable monuments and
temples, and abodes of men. The pyramids, majestic rock-hewn places of
worship, and subterranean crypts are but the fingerposts of destiny.
The voice of the weird spirit of "Memnon" who sits enthroned within the
awful wastes of the desert sands, moans on and on, ever the same
awe-inspiring warning. "Listen, listen, vain, evanescent, puerile
chrysalis, man! Such as thou art, so were these most ancient of days
over the history of whose toilsome, groping lives we keep forever
jealous watch and ward. As they are today, so shall ye