Whoever the first individual was that proposed worship, no matter how it originated, or what it was, or how crude, the thought was the product of some man's brain. Whether he ever stood face to face with his own idea like Moses, or Mohammed, or anyone else, makes not the slightest difference. It was a man's individual notion, prompted by fear, ignorance, or astonishment. It is the work of the brain just the same. It was their idols, images, god, gods, and men that were endowed with divinity, were held sacred, worshiped, and honored. These human inventions were supplemented by other human inventions, rites and rituals, up to this present time. We discard ideas that have been tried and found wanting for modified or new ones--as Abraham, Moses, Christ, Mohammed, Luther, Wesley, etc. The notions of these men in turn have undergone the civilizing filtering process, until there is little left but the mere sound. The Unitarians, for example, have stripped the Christian trinity down to a skeleton. They seem to say: This was once the great bugaboo: you need not be scared, it's perfectly harmless. It has been civilized, you know. Science did it. Hell is out of fashion. Heaven we have on earth, if we have the means to do it with. We can be angels if we wish to, saints if necessary, and holy if desirable. Every man makes his own heaven, his own hell, his own angels, his own bliss, and his own god. Yes, he has his own saints and his own divinities. A woman does precisely the same thing. The imagination supplies all the necessary material for their production, selected from natural objects and put together in a manner most pleasing, acceptable, and satisfactory to each one. We make them as good as we know how, as pretty and as delightful as our taste and fancy can create them. Yet the kind of whimsical representations of the mind depends largely upon the condition of the nervous system, time of life, and our daily occupation. A young girl at puberty, whose mind is entering into that beautiful paradise of dreamland, blooming with buds of hopes and rosy wishes, experiences the delights of new sensations, creates her God, her Jesus, or her Holy Ghost, to fill the nooks of her aspirations, with all the abounding exaltation and luxuries of her creative power. Every cloud has wings, every star bright eyes that wink and beckon her to future bliss, to desires unknown yet longed for. She listens with eager ears for every sound. The zephyrs of the spring of life are wafting music to her ear. As she gazes with gushing eyes into ethereal space, she is searching the heavens for coming enchantment. Her doll, the god or the plaything of childhood, has lost its interest, and all the pretty things that formerly were so pleasing have lost their charm, as the bell and smaller infantile toy had lost theirs before the doll had nestled into her affections. Now a more realistic feeling permeates her senses, and beauties of a new and