die out, though they pass
on to live forever under brighter skies.

In January, 1892, Congressman William E. Robinson was buried from our
church, and in February of the same month Spurgeon died in England.
Though men may live at swords' points with each other they die in peace.
This last forgetfulness is some of the beautiful moss that grows on the
ruins of poor human nature.

Congressman Robinson was among the gifted men of his time. His friends
were giants, his work was constructive, his pen an instrument of
literary force. He landed in America with less than a sovereign in his
pocket, and achieved prominence in national and State affairs. I knew
him well and respected him.

There is an affinity of souls on earth and doubtless in heaven. We seek
those who are our kindred souls when we reach there. In this respect I
always feel a sense of gratitude, of cheerfulness for those who have
passed on. My old friend, Charles H. Spurgeon, in February, 1892, made
his last journey; and I am sure that the first whom he picked out in
heaven were the souls of Jonathan Edwards and John Calvin--two men of
tremendous evangelism. I first met Spurgeon in London in 1872.

"I read your sermons," I said to him first.

"Everybody reads yours," he replied.

Spurgeon made a long battle against disease; the last few months in
agony. His name is on the honour roll of the world's history, but for
many years he was caricatured and assailed. He kept a scrap-book of the
printed blasphemy against him. The first picture I ever saw of him
represented him as sliding down the railing of his pulpit in the
presence of his congregation, to show how easy it was to go to hell, and
then climbing up on the opposite railing to show how difficult it was to
get to heaven. Most people at the time actually believed that he had
done this.

In this same month Dr. Mackenzie, the famous physician, died, and my old
friend, the Rev. Dr. Hanna of Belfast, the leading Protestant minister
of Ireland. Out of the darkness into the light; out of the struggle into
victory; out of earth into Heaven!

There was always mercy on earth, however, for those who remained. Mercy!
The biggest word in the human language! I remember how it impressed me,
when, at the invitation of Dr. Leslie Keeley, the inventor of the "Gold
Cure" for drunkenness, I visited his institution at Dwight, Ill. It was
a new thing then and a most merciful miracle of the age. It settled no
question, perhap