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tree falleth, so it lieth.

"This, however, is a gloomy subject, and one that in your heart

of hearts you understand. I would rather tell you more of the

beauties and splendours of space--of the orange, red, and blue

stars, and of the tremendous cyclonic movements going on within

them, which are even more violent than the storms that rage in

the sun. The clouds, as the spectroscope has already shown,

consist of iron, gold, and platinum in the form of vapour, while

the openings revealed by sun-spots, or rather star-spots, are so

tremendous that a comparatively small one would contain many

dozen such globes as the earth. I could tell you also of the

mysteries of the great dark companions of some of the stars, and

of the stars that are themselves dark and cold, with naught but

the faraway constellations to cheer them, on which night reigns

eternally, and that far outnumber the stars you can see. Also of

the multiplicity of sex and extraordinary forms of life that

exist there, though on none of them are there mortal men like

those on the earth.

"Nature, in the process of evolution, has in all these cases gone

off on an entirely different course, the most intelligent and

highly developed species being in the form of marvellously

complex reptiles, winged serpents that sing most beautifully, but

whose blood is cold, being prevented from freezing in the upper

regions of the atmosphere by the presence of salt and chemicals,

and which are so intelligent that they have practically subdued

many of these dark stars to themselves. On others, the most

highly developed species have hollow, bell-shaped tentacles, into

which they inject two or more opposing gases from opposite sides

of their bodies, which, in combination, produce a strong

explosion. This provides them with an easy and rapid locomotion,

since the explosions find a sufficient resistance in the

surrounding air to propel the monsters much faster than birds.

These can at pleasure make their breath so poisonous that the

lungs of any creatures except themselves inhaling it are at once

turned to parchment. Others can give their enemies or their prey

an electric shock, sending a bolt through the heart, or can

paralyze the mind physically by an effort of their wills, causing

the brain to decompose while the victim is still alive. Others

have the same power that snakes have, though vastly intensified,

mesmerizing their victims from afar.

"Still others have such delicate senses that in a way they

commune with spirits, though they have no souls themselves; for

in no part or corner of the universe except on earth are there

animals that have souls. Yet they know the meaning of the word,

and often bewail their hard lot in that no part of them can live

when the heart has ceased to beat.

"Ah, my friends, if we had no souls--if, like the aesthetic

reptilia, we knew that when our dust dissolved our existence

would be over--we should realize the preciousness of what we hold

so lightly now. Man and the spirits and angels are the only

beings with souls, and in no place except on earth are new souls

being created. This gives you the greatest and grandest idea of

the dignity of life and its inestimable value. But it is as

difficult to describe the higher wonders of the stellar worlds to

you as to picture the glories of sunset to a blind man, for you

have experienced nothing with which to compare them. Instead of

seeing all that really is, you see but a small part."

CHAPTER IX.

DOCTOR CORTLANDT SEES HIS GRAVE.

"Is it not distasteful to you," Cortlandt asked, "to live so near

these loathsome dragons?"

"Not in the least," replied the spirit. "They affect us no more

than the smallest micro-organism, for we see both with equal

clearness. Since we are not obliged to breathe, they cannot

injure us; and, besides, they serve to illustrate the working of

God's laws, and there is beauty in everything for those that have

the senses required for perceiving it. A feature of the

spiritual world is, that it does not interfere with the natural,

and the natural, except through faith, is not aware of its

presence."

"Then why," asked Cortlandt, "was it necessary for the Almighty

to bring your souls to Saturn, since there would have been no

overcrowding if you had remained on the earth?"

"That," replied the spirit, "was part of His wisdom; for the

spirit, being able at once to look back into the natural world,

if in it, would be troubled at the mistakes and tribulations of

his friends. Now, as a rule, before a spirit can return to

earth, his or her relatives and friends have also died; or, if he

can return before that happens, he is so advanced that he sees

the ulterior purpose, and therefore the wisdom of God's ways, and

is not distressed thereby. Lastly, as their expanding senses

grew, it would be painful for the blessed and condemned spirits

to be together. Therefore we are brought here, where God reveals

Himself to us more and more, and the flight of the other

souls--those unhappy ones--does not cease till they reach

Cassandra."

"Can the souls on Cassandra also leave it in time and roam at

will?" asked Cortlandt.

"I have seen none of them myself in my journeys to other planets;

but as the sun shines upon the just and the unjust, and there is

no exception to Nature's laws, I can reply that in time they do,

and with equal powers their incentive to roam would be greater;

for we are drawn together by common sympathy and pure, requited

love, while they are mutually repelled. Of course, some obtain a

measure of freedom before the rest, and these naturally roam the

farthest, and the more they see and the farther they go, the

stronger becomes their abhorrence for everything they meet."

"Cannot you spirits help us, and the mortals now on earth, to

escape this fate?"

"The greatest hope for your bodies and souls lies in the

communion with those that have passed through death; for the

least of them can tell you more than the wisest man on earth; and

could you all come or send representatives to the multitudes here

who cannot as yet return to you, but few on earth would be so

quixotically sinful as to refuse our advice. Since, however, the

greatest good comes to men from the learning that they make an

effort to secure, it is for you to strive to reach us, who can

act as go-betweens from God to you."

"It seems to me," said Bearwarden, "that people are better now

than formerly. The sin of idolatry, for instance, has

disappeared--has it not?"

"Men still set up idols of wealth, passion, or ambition in their

hearts. These they worship as in days gone by, only the form has

changed."

"Could the souls on Cassandra do us bodily or mental injury, if

we could ever reach their planet?" asked Bearwarden.

"They might oppress and distress you, but your faith would

protect you wherever you might go."

"Can you give us a taste of your sense of prescience?" asked

Bearwarden again; "for, since it is not clear in what degree the

condemned receive this, and neither is it by any means sure that

I shall be saved, I should like for once in my history to

experience this sense of divinity, before my entity ends in

stone."

"I will transfer to you my sense of prescience," replied the

spirit, "that you may foresee as prophets have. In so doing, I

shall but anticipate, since you will yourselves in time obtain

this sense in a greater or less degree. Is there any event in

the future you would like to see, in order that, when the vision

is fulfilled, it may tend to stablish your faith?"

"Since I am the oldest," replied the doctor, "and shall probably

die before my friends, reveal to us, I pray you, the manner of my

death and the events immediately following. This may prove an

object-lesson to them, and will greatly interest me."

"Your death will be caused by blood-poisoning, brought on by an

accident," began the spirit. "Some daybreak will find you weak,

after a troubled night, with your bodily resources at a low ebb.

Sunset will see you weaker, with your power of resistance almost

gone. Midnight will find you weaker still, and but little

removed from the point of death. A few hours later a kind hand

will close the lids of your half-shut eyes, which never again

will behold the light. The coffin will inclose your body, and

the last earthly journey begin. Now," the spirit continued, "you

shall all use my sight instead of your own."

The walls of the cave seemed to expand, till they resembled those

of a great cathedral, while the stalactites appeared to be

metamorphosed into Gothic columns. They found themselves among a

large congregation that had come to attend the last sad rites,

while the great organ played Chopin's "Funeral March." The high

vault and arches received the organ's tone, and a sombre light

pervaded the interior. There was a slight flutter and a craning

of necks among those in the pews, as the procession began to

ascend the aisle. While the slow step of the pallbearers and

those carrying the coffin sounded on the stone floor, the clear

voice of the clergyman that headed the procession sounded these

words through the cathedral: "I know that my Redeemer liveth,

and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth." As

the bier advanced, Bearwarden and Ayrault recognized themselves

among the pallbearers--the former with grey mustache and hair,

the latter considerably aged. The hermetically sealed lead

coffin was inclosed in a wooden case, and the whole was draped

and covered with flowers.

"Oh, my faith!" cried Cortlandt, "I see my face within, yet it is

but a decomposing mass that I once described as I."

Then again did the minister's voice proclaim, "I am the

resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in

me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth

and believeth in me shall never die."

The bearers gently set down their burden; the minister read the

ever-impressive chapter of St. Paul to the Corinthians; a bishop

solemnly and silently sprinkled earth on the coffin; and the

choir sang the 398th hymn, beginning with the words, "Hark, hark

my soul! angelic songs are swelling," which had always been

Cortlandt's favourite and the service was at an end. The bearers

again shouldered all that was left of Henry Cortlandt, and his

relatives accompanied this to the cemetery.

Then came a sweeping change of scene. A host of monuments and

gravestones reflected the sunlight, while a broad river ebbed and

flowed between high banks. A sexton and a watchman stood by a

granite vault, the heavy door of which they had opened with a

large key. Hard by were some gardeners and labourers, and also a

crowd of curiosity-seekers who had come to witness the last sad

rites. Presently a funeral procession appeared. The hearse

stopped near the open vault, over the door of which stood out the

name of CORTLANDT, and the accompanying minister said a short

prayer, while all present uncovered their heads. After this the

coffin was borne within and set at rest upon a slab, among many

generations of Cortlandts. In the hearts of the relatives and

friends was genuine sorrow, but the curiosity-seekers went their

way and gave little thought. "To-morrow will be like to-day,"

they said, "and more great men will die."

Then came another change of scene, though it was comparatively

slight. The sun slowly sank beyond the farther bank of the broad

river, and the moon and stars shone softly on the gravestones and

crosses. Two gardeners smoked their short clay pipes on a bench

before the Cortlandt vault, and talked in a slow manner.

"He was a great man," said one, "and if his soul blooms like the

flowers on his grave, he must be in paradise, which we know is a

finer park than this."

"He was expert for the Government when the earth's axis was set

right," said the second gardener, "and he must have been a

scholar, for his calculations have all come true. He was one of

the first three men to visit the other planets, while the

obituaries in the papers say his history will be read hereafter

like the books of Caesar. After burying all these great people,

I sometimes wish I could do the same for myself, for the people I

bury seem to be remembered." After this they relapsed into their

meditations, the silence being broken only by an occasional

murmur from the river's steady flow.

Hereupon the voyagers found they were once more in the cave. The

fire had burned low, and the dawn was already in the east.

Cortlandt wiped his forehead, shivered, and looked extremely

pale.

"Thank Heaven," he cried, "we cannot ordinarily foresee our end;

for but few would attain their predestined ending could they see

it in advance. May the veil not again be raised, lest I faint

before it! I looked in vain for my soul," he continued, "but

could see it nowhere."

"The souls of those dying young," replied the spirit, "sometimes

wish to hover near their ashes as if regretting an unfinished

life, or the opportunities that have departed; but those dying

after middle age are usually glad to be free from their bodies,

and seldom think of them again."

"I shall append the lines now in my head to my history," said

Cortlandt, "that where it goes they may go also. They can

scarcely fail to be instructive as the conclusions of a man who

has seen beyond his grave." Whereupon be wrote a stanza in his

note-book, and closed it without showing his companions what he

had written.

"May they do all the good you hope, and much more!" replied the