nough to drive hundreds of people
out of the pale of Christianity, and force them to take refuge in
defiance and opposition. But, all the same, the expectation of another
life is a rooted belief in the minds of all men, quite apart from
religion. Even the savage has it. If we call it human nature to eat,
drink, fight, love, or desire, it must also be human nature that gives
universal assent to this idea of an after existence. The fact of
finding it in all races is but a proof that Man is the creation of a
Power that intends him for a far wider range of existence than he sees
before him. There are many things affirmed by man's consciousness that
he cannot really or logically explain. Yet it is a narrow reasoning
that bids us reject the inexplicable."

"Yet you reject spiritualism," said Mrs Jefferson quickly.

"Not at all, my dear madam. I only reject the humiliating and degrading
trickery that is its sensational form. I only repeat what I said
yesterday, that no lofty or educated mind could do anything but resent
the idea of being subjugated to a mere material will, and being forced
by that will to perform conjuring tricks in order that a small portion
of the civilised world should gape, and gaze, and cry out `How
wonderful!' To deny that spirits exist, aye and work, would be to deny
the very crudest faith in Christianity."

"There is no doubt," said Colonel Estcourt, "that everything _is_
explicable, but we must wait for the growth and development of our
higher natures before we can comprehend half the mysteries of the higher
life. The great fault of the materialist and the scientist is, that
they would fain bring everything down to the level of their _present_
comprehension, instead of patiently waiting the completion of their
future spiritual forces. It is quite evident that we are not meant to
attain our full mental stature on the earth-plane, or what would be left
to achieve in the countless ages of immortality? Man believes in
immortality and yet seems to contemplate it as a state of stagnation and
quiescence. Why he believes in it he cannot fully explain. It is, as
you said before, a consciousness given to the races of humanity, but no
more capable of commonplace analysis than time, or space, or thought."

"The beautiful is as the cloud that floats in radiant space," murmured
the poet. "The very vagueness of form permits the eye to clothe it in
the loveliest tints of Fancy."

"Now that's what