learning of the whole Earth is not so much as one grain in comparison with the weight of our world. And because of this incapacity of the human mind to grasp the idea of higher beings, we are compelled to represent them as ourselves, slightly improved—as we think it. “Still one more instance. Many will have been present at the death of some near relation or friend, and as the end draws near, the sight seems to enter futurity, and yet not one of these has been able to tell us a single word of what is beyond this life, or to what the soul is going. Yet the dying spirit _would_ be glad to do so, _would_ gladly do us all the good possible, but the lips are sealed, and we shall never know till the same psychical moment has arrived for each of us, and our own dissolution is near. All that we know is that whatever the ‘home’ is, or wherever it is situated, the mere sight of it fills the departing soul with an indescribable peace and a longing for possession so holy, so lovely, and so welcome, that mere mortal lips cannot speak of it, neither can the heart conceive of it—only the ‘soul’ understands and grudges every moment spent out of the ‘rest,’ which would be too disturbing for us to see, or to do aught but conjecture about before we are almost entering. For it would be too disturbing to our peace of mind to be compelled to live out our allotted time in this existence, knowing positively all the while that in each after-phase we should be working at that for which we are most fitted, and all this without any of the storm, strife and turmoil of this life. Under these conditions, such future work would be perfect rest and peace to us, in comparison with the present, and would also be in such a transcendently higher degree as to be altogether inconceivable to us while in this life.” Rutherford ceased, and for a few minutes no one broke the silence, when Reeve asked,—“Then what do you infer from that in the present case?” “That beings are here,” answered Rutherford; “real spirits, of a far higher grade than ourselves!” “And that being so, we can only see them in our higher and more serious moments of thought?” suggested Godfrey. “Yes,” replied Rutherford, “and because of our inferiority, in that peculiar psychical moment when our brain is at its zenith of concentration, as Ingle put it, we are elevated out of ourselves, and see those beings who are even now around us in a way we can neither describe nor recall. Kelman hit it on exactly by his simile of a ‘nebulous glory,’ an ‘indescribable something’—and that is all I can say.” “From that point of view, the return to a lower psychical state or zone causes them to vanish by the inferiority of ourselves?” said Sorrel. “I should say so, for they are beyond our ken, except in the rare moments when we, mentally, get nearer their level, and then a faint radiance of their glory becomes visible to us!”