nd trial; no striving after perfection; no
planning for the morrow. It is oblivion than which there can be no
happier heaven."

"Would not meeting with those you have loved be happier?" I asked, in
amazement.

"There would be happiness; and there would be work, too."

"But my religion does not believe in work in heaven," I answered.

"Then it has not taken the immutable laws of Nature into consideration,"
said Wauna. "If Nature has prepared a conscious existence for us after
this body decays, she has prepared work for us, you may rest assured. It
might be a grander, nobler work; but it would be work, nevertheless.
Then, how restful, in contrast, is our religion. It is eternal,
undisturbable rest for both body and brain. Besides, as you say
yourself, you cannot be sure of meeting those whom you desire to meet in
that other country. They may be the ones condemned to eternal suffering
for their sins. Think you I could enjoy myself in any surroundings, when
I knew that those who were dear to me in this life, were enduring
torment that could have no end. Give me oblivion rather than such a
heaven.

"Our punishment comes in this world; but it is not so much through sin
as ignorance. The savages lived lives of misery, occasioned by their
lack of intelligence. Humanity must always suffer for the mistakes it
makes. Misery belongs to the ignorant; happiness to the wise. That is
our doctrine of reward and punishment."

"And you believe that my people will one day reject all religions?"

"When they are advanced enough," she answered. "You say you have
scholars among you already, who preach their inconsistencies. What do
you call them?"

"Philosophers," was my reply.

"They are your prophets," said Wauna. "When they break the shackles that
bind you to creeds and dogmas, they will have done much to advance you.
To rely on one's own _will_ power to do right is the only safe road to
morality, and your only heaven."

I left Wauna and sought a secluded spot by the river. I was shocked
beyond measure at her confession. It had the earnestness, and, to me,
the cruelty of conviction. To live without a spiritual future in
anticipation was akin to depravity, to crime and its penalty of prison
life forever. Yet here was a people, noble, exalted beyond my
conceiving, living in the present, and obeying only a duty to posterity.
I recalled a painting I had once seen that always possessed for me a
horrible fascination. In a cave, with