“Yes, a great many,” said Jim. “In fact, that is the one point of all others that I hold to be indisputably proven.” Clinton looked doubtful. “I would be glad to see the proof,” he said. “Do you believe in the possibility of destruction?” “In the possibility, yes.” Jim reached down on the hearth and picked up a sliver of wood. “Can you destroy that?” he asked. “Certainly,” replied Clinton promptly, and he tossed it into the glowing fire. “There,” he said, “fire has completely destroyed it.” Jim smiled. “Don’t you see,” he inquired scornfully, “that you have only changed its form? You can not destroy. You often hear the term used, but I do not believe destruction is possible. Take the smallest grain of sand possible to find. Let the best chemists and scientists combine to destroy it--completely destroy it, understand; not merely change its form--and if they succeed, I will believe destruction possible. But until they are able to destroy the smallest thing in nature, I will not believe in the destruction or extinction of soul.” “Horatio, thou reasonest well,” quoted Clinton. “But why, if there is a world beyond this, is there no communication with it? Or do you hold it possible that we may return to this world after death?” “I do not know,” replied Jim thoughtfully. “We may not desire to return. The grub may think he will return to his fellows after death. But what reason would the butterfly have for entering into communication with the grubs? Then, again, as the grub can not understand or care for the butterfly, so we, too, may be surrounded by friends who have merely changed their forms and yet are beyond our comprehension.” “I do not believe that!” cried Clinton. “If there is any life after this, I would find some way of returning; and if I had suffered a wrong in this world, I should try to return, if only to express my anger.” “Fy!” cried Norine, shuddering; “what a cruel belief!” And she remembered that expression long after. Jim smiled superior. “You think so now,” he said; “but your opinions may change with your existence.” “I doubt it,” replied Clinton; “but it is possible. What is your opinion, doctor?” Conway rose and buttoned his coat, ready to depart. “I think there are two subjects that should be tabooed in ordinary conversation,” he said coolly. “They are politics and religion. In regard to the latter question, I think we are all on the same footing. We know that we are here--we may differ in opinion as to how we came, or where we are going--but that really sums up our knowledge of the subject. After that, what we don’t know would make more volumes than our actual knowledge of the matter would pages. I think we are all alike--equally ignorant.” And with that candid expression of opinion, the doctor departed. After this, these discussions came to be of almost nightly occurrence, and Clinton soon understood why his host was looked upon by his neighbors as an “original.”