The continued identity, interest and unbroken oneness of the departed with the remaining was a topic frequently insisted on among early Christian ministers--it was one reason of the rapid spread of Christianity. Converts flocked in clouds to the ranks of a people who professed to have vanquished death--in whose inclosure love was forever safe, and who by so many sacred and solemn acts of recognition consoled the bereaved heart with this thought, that their beloved, though unseen, was still living and loving--still watching, waiting, and caring for them. Modern rationalistic religion says: "We do not know anything about them--God has taken them: of them and their estate we know nothing: whether they remember us, whether they know what we are doing, whether they care for us, whether we shall ever see them again to know them, are all questions vailed in inscrutable mystery. We must give our friends up wholly and take refuge in God." But St. Augustine, speaking on the same subject, says: "Therefore, if we wish to hold communion with the saints in eternal life we must think much of imitating them. They ought to recognize in us something of their virtues, that they may better offer their supplications to God for us. These [virtues] are the foot-prints which the blessed returning to their country have left, that we shall follow their path to joy. Why should we not hasten and run after them that we too may see our fatherland? There a great crowd of dear ones are awaiting us, of parents, brethren, children, a multitudinous host are longing for us--now secure of their own safety, and anxious only for our salvation." Now let us take the case of some poor, widowed mother, from whose heart has been torn an only son--pious, brave, and beautiful--her friend, her pride, her earthly hope--struck down suddenly as by a lightning stroke. The physical shock is terrible--the cessation of communion, if the habits of intercourse and care, if the habit, so sweet to the Christian, of praying for that son, must all cease. We can see now what the primitive Church would have said to such a mother: "Thy son is _not_ dead. To the Christian there is no death--follow his footsteps, imitate his prayerfulness and watchfulness, and that he may the better pray for thee, keep close in the great communion of saints." Every Sabbath would bring to her the eucharistic feast, when the Church on earth and the Church in heaven held their reunion, where "with angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven," they join their praises! and she might feel herself drawing near to her blessed one in glory. How consoling--how comforting such Church fellowship!