Closely allied with this case of Judas is the case of all suicides. If we were now holding an inquest on Judas, I suppose our verdict would be that he committed suicide in a fit of temporary insanity. And perhaps he did. At all events it is the most charitable verdict at which we can arrive. Many suicides in all fairness deserve this mantle of charity. And there is more than charity in reserve for all such. We believe there is an opportunity of development which many of them could not have in this life. And so we may well believe it will be with lunatics. The reasonable view is, that they will begin just where they left off. As they are, they are not fit for the better world; and it would be unjust to send them to a world of woe. Some were idiots from their birth, and so have acquired no evil propensities of which to be divested. In other cases the idiocy was simply due to a clot on the brain. They have left their bodies behind them now, and the clot too. They simply begin at the point where their reason deserted them; and it will come back in due time. It is a very nice point to determine where insanity begins. I was discussing this question lately with the Superintendent of a large lunatic asylum. We agreed that, while putting no premium on crime, we have to recognize that in many cases there is no real responsibility where in general it would be expected. The whole study of lunacy strongly indicates that there is a necessity for a process of elimination and development under more favorable conditions than the present life ordinarily supplies. And we may be sure that if there is such a necessity, it is provided. In this connection I think of Blind Tom. He was a very prodigy in music. But apart from that he was a complete idiot, and had been so from his birth. After his death a gentleman who knew him well wrote a sketch of his life. In the noble, concluding words of that article I think we would all heartily join, be our creed what it may. The writer says of Tom: "Blind, deformed, and black, as black as Erebus--idiocy, the idiocy of a mysterious, perpetual frenzy, the sole companion of his waking visions and his dreams--whence came he, and was he, and wherefore? That there was a soul there, be sure, imprisoned, chained, in that little black bosom, released at last; gone to the angels, not to imitate the seraph-songs of heaven, but to join the Choir Invisible for ever and for ever."