does not exist, because you cannot see its primaeval causes or beginnings. The Soul is the centre of your being,--the compass of your life-journey,--the pivot round which, whether you will or not, you shape your actions in this world for the next. If you lose that mainspring of motive, you lose all. Your conduct, your speech, your expression in every movement and feature all show the ungoverned and ungovernable condition in which you are. God is not mocked,--and in many cases,--taking the grand majority of the human race,--neither is man!" He paused. The congregation was very quiet. He felt, rather than saw, that Maryllia's eyes were fixed upon him,--and he was perfectly aware that Lady Beaulyon,--whom he recognised, as he would have recognised an actress, on account of the innumerable photographs of her which were on sale in the windows of every stationer in every moderate-sized town,--was gazing straight up at him with a bright, mocking glance in which lurked a suspicion of disdain and laughter. Moved by a sudden impulse, he bent his own regard straight down upon her with an inflexible cool serenity. An ugly frown puckered her ladyship's brow at once,--and she lowered her eyelids angrily. "I say God is not mocked,"--he continued slowly; "Neither is man! The miserable human being that has 'lost' his or her Soul, may be assured that the 'gain' of the whole world in exchange, will prove but Dead Sea fruit, bitter and tasteless, and in the end wholly poisonous. Loss of the Soul is marked by moral degradation and deterioration,--and this inward crumbling and rotting of all noble and fine feeling into baseness, shows itself on the fairest face,-- the proudest form. The man who lies against his neighbour for the sake of worldly convenience or personal revenge, writes the lie in his own countenance as he utters it. It engraves its mark,--it can be seen by all who read physiognomy--it says plainly--'Let not this man be trusted!' The woman who is false and treacherous carries the stigma on her features, be they never so perfect. The creature of clay who has lost Soul, likewise lacks Heart,--and the starved, hopeless poverty of such an one is disclosed in him, even if he be a world's millionaire. Moreover, 'Soul'--that delicate, divine, eternal essence, is easily lost. Any earthly passion carried to excess, will overwhelm it, and sink it in an unfathomable sea. It can slip away in the pursuit of ambition,--in schemes for self- aggrandisement,--in the building up of huge fortunes,--in the pomp, and show, and vanity of mundane things. It flies from selfishness and sensuality. It can be lost in hate,--it can equally be lost in love!"