death of the body, and that, therefore, to me, save for the loss of the physical presence, there is absolutely no death, no need for sorrow, grief, pain,

or woe.

As birth itself is a death of the embryonic life, so is death a birth into the life beyond the life of the spirit, the life, free, unhampered, unhindered by the flesh. Browning expresses it perfectly in his wonderful Pisgah Sight, where he stands and looks 66 over Jordan " into the Promised Land: Good to forgive,

Best to forget;
Living we fret,

Dying we live.

Fretless and free, soul,

Clap thy pinion,

Earth have dominion,

Body, o'er thee.

The Indians' attitude towards death is very beautiful to me. They regard it as a natural change; a something to be expected, to be looked for, and therefore to be met with bravery, courage, and fearlessness. While I know they grieve deeply at unexpected deaths by accidents, sudden disease, in war, etc., and make a loud show of their grief, that is merely the child part of their nature asserting itself. When a man, a woman, has lived out the natural term of years and he, she, feels death approaching, retirement is made to some quiet and solitary place, where Death is awaited with calm

ness, serenity, and fearlessness. This is what I would radiate, both for myself and those whom I love. I believe with all my heart in the great goodness of God; in the progressiveness of the human soul towards the godhead possible for us.

I look forward with confidence and eager anticipation to the adventures new and brave that are to meet me when I go beyond. I have had a grand and glorious time here. In spite of hardships, sorrows, griefs, pains, sickness, bereavement, poverties, and the pains that come from a recognition of my own mental and spiritual imperfections, I have had a wonderfully rich, joyous, and blessed life. I am thankful for it all. As I look back upon it I regret only those things wherein I have brought pain and sorrow to others. As for myself, all the pains and distresses are gone and forgotten; the joys and delights, the pleasures and happinesses, only, remain, and for these I am thankful beyond all power of expression.

Shall I, then, be afraid that the Supreme Power who has so blessed me in this life will be unable, or unwilling, to equally bless me in the one to come? Fearless and unafraid I await the issue, nay, with glad confidence I will welcome it when it comes.

Hence, again to quote Browning, whom I love and revere for his great helpfulness:

I would hate that Death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old;

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay, glad, life's arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.

I want to meet death in just that spirit; openeyed, in full possession of my senses, if that be possible, that I may have full cognizance of the experience as I pass through it. But let it come as it may, I want to be ready to meet and greet it.

In many of his poems Walt Whitman fully expresses my conceptions, and Joaquin Miller's many sweet poems reëcho the thoughts that come to me, again and again, as I contemplate the sleep that has no earthly awakening. Take his beautiful River of Rest:

A beautiful stream is the River of Rest;
The still, wide waters sweep clear and cold,
A tall mast crosses a star in the west,
A white sail gleams in the west world's gold:
It leans to the shore of the River of Rest-
The lily-lined shore of the River of Rest.

The boatman rises, he reaches a hand,
He knows you well, he will steer you true,
And far, so far, from all ills upon land,
From hates, from fates that pursue and pursue;
Far over the lily-lined River of Rest-
Dear mystical, magical River of Rest.

A storied, sweet stream is this River of Rest;
The souls of all time keep its ultimate shore;
And journey you east or journey you west,

Unwilling, or willing, sure-footed or sore,
You surely will come to this River of Rest-
This beautiful, beautiful River of Rest.

And elsewhere he says:

I go, I know not where, but know I will not die,
And know I will be gainer going to that somewhere;
For in that hereafter, afar beyond the bended sky,

Bread and butter will not figure in the bill of fare,
Nor will the soul be judged by what the flesh may wear.

Here is the spirit in which he describes and meets death:

Come forward here to me, ye who have a fear of death,
Come down, far down, even to the dark waves' rim,
And take my hand, and feel my calm, low breath;
How peaceful all! How still and sweet! The sight is dim,
And dreamy as a distant sea. And melodies do swim
Around us here as afar-off vesper's holy hymn.

This is death! With folded hands I wait and welcome him.

Thus, in very deed, and very truth, would I await and welcome him. And so I would radiate, now and ever, being sorry for my failings and failures, but thankful beyond measure for any small degree of helpfulness, joy, happiness, blessing I may have brought to others, and with only one great desire towards the earth and its inhabitants, viz., to be remembered as one who loved and sought to bless his fellow men.