dearly, after he has been wounded, as before. And why should not our love follow him still, even though his body be hurt to the death?
If this be so, namely, that the mind or spirit is the man and the whole man—if the material body is no essential part of man—then it follows, that, as before remarked, the death of the material body is not the death of the man at all; it is merely the effect produced on the material body by the separation of the man from it—a separation caused by the body's being so injured by violence or disease, as that the spirit can no longer inhabit it. The body lies lifeless, because the man or spirit which before occupied it and gave it life and motion, has left it: just as a thrown-off garment, which has arms and is in the shape of a man, lies motionless, when the man has withdrawn himself from it. The man himself is not dead; he is still living, though invisible, because the spirit is not visible to the material eye. But think you he is invisible to God's eye? think you that he is invisible to the eyes of angels and of other spirits, who, like himself, have left the material body and the material world? Why cannot spirit see spirit, as well as matter see matter? The man has simply exchanged one world for another; he has left the comparatively small company of the inhabitants of this material globe, and joined that of the immensely more populous world of spirits, whither myriads and millions have been departing every year for ages.
The inhabitants of this world come and go in succession; "one generation passeth away and another cometh;" and the numbers dwelling at the same time on the earth do not greatly vary from age to age, though there is always a small increase. But with the
