In the full revelation of this divine scheme of creation, so full of light, life, love, joy and harmony, a scheme void of death and annihilation, the mind once more reflects upon the physical illusions of slowly advancing scientific thought. Camille Flammarion, the great psychomaterialist of France, has painted, in his various novels, a lurid, almost horrible, picture of what the mighty universe must become from the logical deductions of his own school of thought; a school which would be best named as transcendental materialism. According to this conception, "thousands, aye, millions of worlds are rushing through space, inert, frozen, and dead. Suns have cooled down and ceased to give forth the life-sustaining element of light, but have still retained their mighty attraction upon their attendant planets, according to the laws of gravity, by virtue of their material mass, and thus hold their planetary offspring in the eternal, cold, icy grasp of death. Our Sun, too, is cooling fast; the Earth has already lost a great portion of her own internal heat. She has passed her prime of life, and death--cold, icy death--has already begun to encroach upon her extremities. The South pole (the feet) is now practically lifeless in one perpetual covering of ice. So, too, her head; her locks are the white of perpetual snow. No longer has she the blush and beauty of youth, no longer adorned with the healthy covering of verdue which youthfulness gives, and as our geologists prove was once the case. So that, although the time may still be long, according to our reckoning of years, it is only a brief moment in eternity when this fair Earth, and also the beauteous splendor of the silent stars, will be locked forever in darkness, and the final sleep of doom." If this be so, we ask of the inmost soul, if life be but the fitful awakenings of the indestructible spirit, ebbing and flowing in response to the rise and fall of Nature's cosmic barometer and the transmutations of matter; if life is, in reality, but a brief and passing moment, eternally repeated, from the flush of youth, "the gilded salon to the bier and the shroud, then why, O why should the spirit of mortal be proud?" Why aspire to penetrate the inward realities of life and enter the Holy of Holies--to seek and find out God? As the rushing torrent of this thought swept o'er the mental chambers of the soul and saturated the spirit with its icy sting, as it lay still chained within the prison house of matter, the higher self rose, sublime in its grandeur, and consciousness of divine relationship, and, in the last earthly appeal for light, for divine truth, as to Man and his immortality, it turned in reverence and awe before the still, shimmering veil of the sacred Penetralia. The trial had come, the crucial test, whether of life or death, the final revelation to Man. In purity of heart and humility of soul we await in agonizing suspense. There is a thrilling sensation, as though of