Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in “The New Revelation,” admits that the opponents of Spiritualism are guided in part by that strange instinct which warns men and women to keep off forbidden ground. The man who would violate a grave is naturally regarded with loathing. Dickens, in “A Tale of Two Cities,” has drawn such a person in Tellson’s outside porter, Jerry Cruncher. Jerry’s good wife looks with horror on the night work of the body-snatcher, and Mr. Lorry says sternly to his employee: “You have had an unlawful occupation of an infamous description.” With even deeper aversion does the unsophisticated mind turn from those who seek to rend the veil which hangs between this world and the next. II If the stern voice from Sinai says “Thus far and no farther,” a tenderer reproach, breathed from earliest ages, warns presumptuous intruders who would disturb the dead. Here, again, we venture to quote the words of Mr. Waite: “There was a very strong and prevailing impression that the dead were at rest, and that the attempt to disturb that rest was a monstrous profanation.” Tennyson’s lines express the feeling of bereaved hearts, even where there was no hope of survival, in lands where Christianity was unknown: “Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace: Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase, And the great ages onward roll. “Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet; Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.” Many sayings of Scripture confirm the Christian’s assurance that the faithful dead, having passed the waves of this troublesome world, are at rest in their desired haven. Newman’s words on the calm of Ascensiontide belong in part not only to the exalted Saviour, but to each of His brethren now absent from the body: “He is in the very abyss of peace, where there is no voice of tumult or distress, but a deep stillness--stillness, that greatest and most awful of all goods which we can fancy--that most perfect of joys, the utter, profound, ineffable tranquillity of the Divine essence. He has entered into his rest.” Jesus said: “Our friend Lazarus sleepeth; I go that I may awake him out of sleep.” St. Paul wrote: “I would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that are asleep.” The Church does not interpret these and other passages as teaching that the dead are wrapped in profound unconsciousness, or that they are wholly unconcerned with dear ones left on earth. New activities may claim their interest, while old memories remain alive. “For the breed of the Far-going, Who are strangers and all brothers, May forget no more than others Who look seaward with eyes flowing.” But the New Testament use of the word “sleep” ought at least to warn us against meddling with their sacred rest. III