So it is with a planet or a solar system; they represent a present phase or manifestation, in a continuous unending existence. We see in the sky nebulæ, apparently in the act of slowly forming solar systems; we also see in the sky collisions, or the result of collisions, such as apparently are not unlikely to reconstitute nebulæ. We see many stages in the process of evolution, as was discovered by Sir William Herschel a century ago,- some stars bright, others dark,- suns of every age, young and old, nascent, vigorous, and effete; - we see a cycle of changes, but nothing to suggest a beginning, nor yet an end,1 except as affecting individual temporary assemblages.

The human race had a beginning, the descent of man, his ancestry and antecedents, can be studied, and at some epoch he must have become what we call distinctively human; but the species must have had antecedents before that. So it is also for an individual - in even

1 The law of the dissipation of energy is often appealed to as necessitating a beginning and an end. I have elsewhere given reasons for dissenting from that view; but inasmuch as it is a moot point, the caution ought to be obtruded here, - the law, properly stated, is true enough, but the deduction from it is uncertain.

a closer and deeper sense.

Seen from the ter

restrial point of view,

'His life is a watch or a vision

Between a sleep and a sleep.'

But that which now appears to us as sleep sleep from which there is no waking-may really be the prelude to a state of keen activity. For sleep need not be dreamless; the spirit of an entranced person may be, and sometimes is, in an exceptional state of activity. Quiescence of the body is no guarantee of quiescence of the soul; nor does death of the body convey any assurance of the soul's decease. Every physical analogy is against such a superficial notion. (See, for instance, Life and Matter,' where the subject is further developed.)

John Smith was born a few years ago and will die, but he will not go into nothingness; and though as an individual he began at birth, it is not likely that he, any more than anything else, began from nothing. The complexity of his organism, the far-reaching quality of his mind, combined with what we know of the leisurely processes of Nature, forbid the idea of construction elaborated in such fantastic

haste. The body has been formed to a given pattern, quickly enough; so may a plant grow with great rapidity; but there must be some entity - even though it be only a germinal vesicle - which collects and arranges the particles to suit itself. The specific form of the structure depends on this entity, not on the miscellaneous sources of the particles. Some kinds of material can be utilised, some can not: those which have been good for food serve their turn for a time and then are discarded again; but it is the arranging entity for which we postulate continuous existence. It is this of which we may seek to trace the continuous and perennial history. The discarded body looks dead and dismal enough, but that is only because the energising spirit which constructed it has gone beyond our ken:

'He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest, may know At first sight if the bird be flown;

But what fair well or grove it sings in now,

That is to him unknown.'

Unknown, yes, but not therefore unreal; all analogy is against the idea of disappearance being synonymous with destruction. Death is

change, indeed, a sort of emigration, a wrenching away from old familiar scenes, a solemn and portentous fact, but it is not annihilation. No thoughtful person can really and consistently believe that he is destined.

'To drop head foremost in the jaws

Of vacant nothing, and to cease.'

Of every kind of individual existence with a history with an origin and a termination we must ask, what before? and what after? For some kinds of existence we can answer these questions; for others, not. But we know that beyond their manifest history there must always be an infinite past and an infinite future; and hidden antecedents and sequents may in time be traced.

The experience and memory of the past survive in our very organisation; we are the product of evolution through the ages. Conscious memory may fail-does fail,- but the effect of experience lasts.

And it does not follow that our conscious memory will always fail; individuality once begun shall not again completely cease. Tennyson foresees no re-merging in the general

soul; but rather a continuance of those essential characteristics by which men are known to their friends,

'Eternal form shall still divide

The Eternal soul from all beside;

And I shall know him when we meet.'

It is not indeed likely that personality will ever cease, if we recollect what elements go to constitute a personality. They are the most permanent and characteristic, the most vital and essential, elements in our constitution. Individuality is never lost, unless it be in some ultimate and far distant completion and richest fruition of our being,' upon the last and sharpest height,' by evanescence and absorption into Deity. Then, and only then - an infinitude beyond our present state-shall we lose ourselves in light.'