“Yes, sir; but my mother is not.” “But, my dear child, your mother’s spirit, her soul, that which is loved in your mother, is, I hope, in Heaven; it is not in the grave to moulder into dust—the body takes that course, but the spirit returns to God who gave it.” “Sir,” said the attendant, “they do not teach the child such things, and they do not approve of them.” “Who does not?” “Her father and a cousin—they are good people, but are unbelievers in all such matters; and though they seldom dispute with others, they never admit of any instruction to their child about religion.” “But,” said I, “she must know something about it.” “Not at all, sir; she does not know what you mean by a spirit or a soul. How should she know—the cousin is her teacher, and she never refers to the subject, and forbids it to me.” “But the child has been taught something of the kind.” “Who taught her, sir?” “Perhaps God. But I will see whether she has any idea of the matter.” “Do you know, my child, what the soul is?” “No sir—do you?” I did not like to reply to her query—so I proceeded, “Your mother has yet an existence, and if she was good—” “Oh, my mother was very good—always good.” “Then the spirit which animated her body is in the enjoyment of all the good belonging to its present state, which the body could enjoy on earth—it is happy.” I was ashamed of the explanation. “Would it be like her, if I could see it?” “Probably exactly like her.” “And could I see or know of her real existence in that state?” “Yes, though not usual. All is possible with God.” “Then I understand you. I have seen her often—often at night; and I have started as if I had been asleep. But at night I see my mother just as she looked when I saw her before her death, only there seemed to be light around her head, and she moved easily and rapidly. Oh, how night after night I have been with her, toiling on to overtake her steps, or carried rapidly forward; sometimes she seems to give me instruction—sometimes I rise in the morning and think I will pray to her, or I will pray God to give her to me again; and I have made known my feelings to cousin, and she has laughed at me or chid me for being so babyish as to be thoughtful about dreams. But I see now that this was truly my mother, and I will watch to-night, and when she comes again, I will ask her about her soul—have we all souls?” I think, _now_, that I could have placed the child in a position to comprehend these things a little better; but _then_ I was confused with the extraordinary state of the child’s mind. “Did God teach her that?” said the attendant. “Did he not teach her that?” I turned away as I saw some one coming down the walk.