intermediate place between spirit and matter, has, of course, a corresponding faculty in the world of spirits.  It is, no doubt, an inconceivably pleasurable source of enjoyment.  This increases the sublimity which there is in the silence of the dead, and its impressiveness.  For what fancy can conceive of the communications, from heart to heart, in that multitude where every new acquaintance is the occasion of some new joy, or wakes some thrilling recollection, or leads to some interesting discovery, and gives some fresh objects of love and praise!  The land of silence surely extends no farther than to the gates of that heavenly city.  All is life and activity within; but from that world, so populous with thoughts, and words, and songs, no revelation penetrates through the dark, silent land which lies between us and them.  Our friends are there.  Stars, so distant from us that their light, which began its travel ages since, has not reached us, are none the less worlds, performing their revolutions, and occupied by their busy population of intelligent spirits, whose history is full of wonders.  Yet the first ray denoting the existence of those worlds, has never met the eye of the astronomer in his incessant vigils.

The silence of the departed will, for each of us, soon, very soon, be interrupted.  Entering, among breaking shadows and softly unfolding light, the border land, we shall gradually awake to the opening vision of things unseen and eternal, all so kindly revealing themselves to our unaccustomed senses as to make us say, “How beautiful!” and instead of exciting fear, leading us almost to hasten the hand which is removing the veil.  Some well-known voice, so long silent, may be the first to utter our name; we are recognized, we are safe.  A face, a dear, dear face, breaks forth amidst the crayoned lines of the dissolving night; a form—­an embrace—­assures us that faith has not deceived us, but has delivered us up to the objects hoped for, the things not seen.  O beatific moment! awaiting every follower of them who, by faith and patience, inherit the promises—­dwellers there “whither the Forerunner is for us entered.”

* * * * *

As we are soon to be utterly silent towards surviving friends, and the world in which we now live, we should use our speech as we shall wish we had done when we are silent in death.  Any counsels, instructions, records, explanations, communications of any kind, which we would make, we should be diligent to perform.  All the loving words, and tokens of affection, which we may suppose we shall hereafter desire to communicate, we shall do well habitually to bear in mind, and let them influence our feelings and conduct, day by day.  In times of sickness, of separation, of absence, at happy returns, our feelings towards familiar friends and members of the family are such as might well be the standard, and pattern, of our general intercourse, especially when we think that the days will come when we shall highly prize and long for that intercourse, which now we have such opportunity to enrich with sweet and fragrant recollections, occasioning no pang of regret, nor sting.  It is well to remember that, one day, we must part, and to let that anticipation intensify our love, and add charms to this daily companionship, which may soon appear to be a privilege which we did not sufficiently prize.