The fear of death supplies the chief motive for religion. Even the emotion called forth by the death of a friend is not solely the feeling of the loss. It is partly because death has been brought very near to us. Now, as the consolation afforded by religion in our last hours is continually held up to us by the priest as a reward for belief, one would expect to find that occasions where this consolation was unnecessary would be few and far between. It is, however, quite the reverse. Eliminating the cases of sudden death, how seldom are these consolations of utility? Inquire, if you doubt, from any medical man what are his experiences among the dying; how many are not even aware that they are dying; how many are too much taken up with their physical sufferings, and too anxious to be relieved from them, to think of anything else; how many die in a space of time so brief, reckoning from the moment when they are first made aware of their dying condition, that the case is practically one of sudden death; how many are unconscious from the time when their life is first in danger; how many have the knowledge of their approaching death carefully concealed from them by kind-hearted doctors and relations, albeit both the patient and his attendants say they believe in a supremely happy existence after death? Far more often than not the religious consolation so frequently and solemnly held up to us by the priest as an inducement to believe is never enjoyed. Does it not furnish a damaging commentary on one of the strongest arguments for belief--the argument from religious consolation? Taking these facts into consideration, we find ourselves able to approach the question of disturbing belief with a somewhat lighter heart. Still, we have to remember that these hopes and fears, sedulously implanted by the Church, have taken deep root. Could we be sure of impressing believers with our own convictions concerning the consolations of religion, all would be well; but we cannot be sure. Here lies the crux. The idea that they are deriving, and will derive, consolation when the dread moment is at hand has become far too fixed for painless extraction. You may only succeed in partially divesting them of their belief, making them thoroughly miserable to no purpose; or, if you do succeed, it may only be after you have put them to considerable mental distress. What is to be done, then? It is a hard question. Feeling this, we give the matter up in despair, and remain silent. And so the truth which we might have spread, each one of us in his own circle, remains unspoken.