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solar years, that mars the face and form. I say the belief, because science admits no reality in aught but God and His idea. To Spirit a thousand years are as one day; hence, a man of years and experience is ripening into higher beauty and excellence instead of growing old; mind is feeding the body with immortality, if it supplies it with Truth, and taking away the error of personal sense that says a day points to a nearer tomb; our body neither suffers nor enjoys. When will it be understood that “I” is impersonal, even mind and not matter? Until this point is gained in the science of being, man will go on in belief, a pendulum between joy and sorrow, sickness and health, Life and death, even as at present. Is man tottering and ready to perish, or sick and sinning, the likeness of Omnipotence? are Life and all our faculties measured by calendars, and beauty a thing of decay? or is there a mortal man that grows, matures and decays, out of which springs the perfect and immortal man? Verily such admissions leap headlong into error. Science proves a corrupt fountain sendeth not forth pure streams, and the same fountain both sweet and bitter water. Solar years, that stamp the wrinkle on the brow, are the effect of man's reckoning, and not God's; they are a belief of personal sense and not the understanding of Soul. Mortal man is old only by admitting he is thus; for it is mind and not matter that makes the body what it is. Intelligence without beginning and without end is the data (if such it can be called), of Life; man is not young or old; he is and was eternal as the idea of God. Man has neither birth nor death; he is not a vegetable animal, nor a transmigrating mind, passing first into a