is beyond all human articulation. The ravishing music of that realm has never been revealed in the soul of even a Mozart or a Beethoven. In that world Virgil wanders as a child and Shakespeare blushes to think of the dull compositions which men crowned with the appellation of genius. Eye hath not seen or ear heard, neither hath entered into the heart of man to conceive-the inexpressible !—the unspeakable!

After all, the vital thing is not to be able to speak with the dead, but to be on speaking terms with God. God has some special way of speaking with each one of us. God is never out of the reach of His children. God never created a child to whom He could not send a message. There is a private wire between every soul and the God who created it. The only which you receive in the

Science has not yet pro

reliable message is the one corridors of your own soul. duced or discovered an absolutely reliable medium of communication.

I have small use for the average medium or the modern séance. To be real frank I have something better. "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him, and He will show them His covenant." I have found in my own life a secret cypher. If I am not mistaken, angels are "shadowing" my footsteps. My movements seem to be ordered by a superior intelligence. I have daily evidence that some unseen power has a special consideration for my welfare. I have only to wait, believingly, and a door opens. And this has become a law in my life and a living principle in my soul.

I believe in visions but I prefer to build on the rock of principle. A vision is for a day; a principle is for a life. My life principle is expressed in these words: "I will pray the Father and He shall give you another comforter that He may abide with you forever."

XI

THE LAW OF DEGENERATION

The Nadir and Zenith of the Soul's Thermometer

HE possibilities of heaven and hell lie concealed in every man. Jesus and Judasthese two names are sufficient to indicate the height and depth of human possibility. Depravity and divinity are the nadir and the zenith of the soul's thermometer. The greenish streak of human meanness is to be found on the tear-stained page of the story of the race. For cruelty who can equal Attila, the king of the Huns, and called by his victims "The Scourge of God"? For bigotry who can surpass Queen Isabella of Spain, in the fifteenth century? Listen to her words: "I have depopulated happy villages, rich towns and fertile districts in the holy name of religion." For tricks of cruel cunning who has achieved a more unenviable reputation than Cæsar Borgia, who would invite his enemy to a banquet and then deposit a few drops of swift poison into a loving cup? For personal ambition, cold and relentless, where shall we find a more striking illustration than in the words of Napoleon III : "Give France a war every four years and the people will be content"? For a secret manifestation of meanness in the private affairs of life, where shall

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we look for a more cruel circumstance than that recorded in the autobiography of Edgar Allan Poe, who says: "In infancy I was fed on mild concoctions of liquor in order to keep me quiet"? He died of delirium tremens, in a Baltimore hospital, on October 7, 1849. Read the sad comment on his own life: "My life has been a terrible blending of temper, impulse and passion." What does that mean? A life cursed by cruel neglect and professional meanness. His trained nurse had chained him to an evil habit before he had clambered out of the cradle.

But in the brief space allotted to me I am not called upon to present a historical review of any particular phase of human weakness or depravity, but rather to cull from my own experience and observations certain unusual and outstanding incidents and events which will tend to arouse the careless and cause the wayward to think. Truth is stranger than fiction, and the story of every life has in it certain elements of universal interest.

I was fourteen years of age when I witnessed a scene which stands out like a perfect motion picture on the screen of my youthful imagination. I stood in the scantily furnished parlour of an earnest Christian woman, when the property owner-the landlordentered the room to demand a month's rent in advance. According to the deed and contract it was due on that very day. The head of the house was absent seeking for employment. One plan after another had failed. One hope after another had

faded in the mother's heart. Everything had gone wrong. Her rent was paid up to that hour, but she could not pay the rent in advance. She did not know, then, where the next meal would come from. I remember the scene distinctly. The landlord stood there, tall, sallow complexioned, with lips compressed. Bringing his stout cane down on the worn characters of the old, faded carpet, he exclaimed: "The rent, madam, the rent, one month in advance, by this time to-morrow, or I will land every piece of furniture you have on the sidewalk!" With that he disappeared through the door, closing the same in a manner sufficiently suggestive to give an added emphasis to his words.

I was a boy of fourteen, with a boy's curiosity. I had a boyish fad—a fad for meetings. Where two or three were gathered together in the name of God or man, I was there. Prayer-meetings, political meetings, social gatherings and Sunday-school anniversaries were all of equal importance to me. Among my list of special attractions was the "noon meeting," held daily, at the time indicated in the building of the Young Men's Christian Association. I was a regular attendant. I knew every "crank," "exhorter," "prayer-meeting killer" and rising religious orator to be heard at the noon hour in yonder benevolent institution. What was my youthful consternation when I beheld in the personality of the impatient, imperative and unreasonable landlord one of the recognized leaders of the faithful band which presided over the destiny of the "noon meet