I could not clearly explain. Why her greatest activity of mind appeared to happen during her nearest approach to the future world, and whilst so near, that from that stage scarcely any ever return who once reach it, seemed somewhat perplexing to me. I remembered that, in the case recorded by Dr. Rush, where the man recovered, who was, to all appearance, entirely dead; his activity of mind was unusual. He thought he heard and saw things unutterable. He did not know whether he was altogether dead or not. St. Paul says he was in a condition so near to death, that he could not tell whether he was out of the body or not; but that he heard things unutterable. I remembered that Tennant, of New Jersey, and his friends, could not decide whether or not he had been out of the body; but he appeared to be so some days, and thought his discoveries unutterable. The man who cuts his finger and faints, recovering speedily, has no thoughts, or remembers none: he does not approach the distant edge of the ravine. These facts appeared to me poorly calculated to advance the philosophical importance of one who has discovered from sleep, or from syncope, that there is no other existence because this is all which we have seen. They appeared to me rather poorly calculated to promote the tranquillity of one seeking the comforts of atheism. For my own part, I never did desire the consolations of everlasting nothingness; I never could covet a plunge beneath the black wave of eternal forgetfulness, and cannot say that these observations in and of themselves gave me pain, but it was evident that thousands of the scientific were influenced by the weight of a small pebble to adopt a creed: provided that creed contradicted Holy Writ. I had read and heard

too much of man's depravity and of his love for darkness, not to see that it militated against my system of deism, if it should appear that the otherwise learned should neglect to observe, or, if observant, should be satisfied with the most superficial view, and, seizing some shallow and questionable facts, build hastily upon them a fabric for eternity.

In the cases of those who, recovering from yellow fever, thought they had enjoyed intercourse with the world of spirits, they were individuals who had appeared to be dead.

The following fact took place in recent days. Similar occurrences impressed me during years of observation. In the city of St Louis, a female departed who had a rich portion of the comforts of Christianity. It was after some kind of spasm that was strong enough to have been the death struggle, that she said, in a whis per, (being unable to speak aloud,) to her young pastor,- "I had a sight of home, and I saw my Saviour!"

There were others, who, after wading as far as that which seemed to be the middle of the river, and, returning, thought they had seen a different world, and that they had an antepast of hell. But these cases we pass over; and, in the next chapter look at facts which point along the same road we have been travelling.

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED.

I was surprised to find that the condition of mind in the case of those who were dying, and of those who only thought themselves dying, differed very widely. I had supposed that the joy or the grief of death, originated from the fancy of the patient; (one supposing himself very near to great happiness, and the other expecting speedy suffering,) and resulted in pleasure or apprehension. My discoveries seemed to overturn this theory. Why should not the professor of religion who believes himself dying, when he really is not, rejoice as readily as when he is departing, if his joy is the offspring of expectation? Why should not the alarm of the scoffer, who believes himself dying and is not, be as uniform and as decisive as when he is in the river, if it comes of fancied evil or cowardly terrors? The same questions I asked myself again and again. I have no doubt that there is some strange reason connected with our natural disrelish for truth, which causes so many physicians, after seeing such facts so often, never to observe them. During twenty years of observation, I found the state of the soul belonging to the dying was uniformly and materially unlike that of those who only supposed themselves departing. This is best made plain by noting cases which occurred.

1. There was a man who believed himself converted, and his friends, judging from his walk, hoped with him. He was seized with disease, and believed himself with.

in a few paces of the gate of futurity. He felt no joy, his mind was dark and his soul clouded. His exercises were painful, and the opposite of every enjoyment. He was not dying. He recovered. He had not been in the death-stream. After this he was taken again. He believed himself dying, and he was not mistaken. All was peace, serenity, hope, triumph.

2. There was a man who mocked at holy things. He became seriously diseased, and supposed himself sinking into the death slumber. He was not frightened. His fortitude and composure were his pride, and the boast of his friends. The undaunted firmness with which he could enter futurity was spoken of exultingly. It was a mistake. He was not in the condition of dissolution. His soul never had been on the line between two worlds. After this he was taken ill again. He supposed as before that he was entering the next state, and he really was; but his soul seemed to feel a different atmosphere. The horrors of these scenes have been often described, and are often seen. I need not endeavour to picture such a departure here. The only difficulty in which I was thrown by such cases was, "Why was he not thus agonized when he thought himself departing? Can it be possible that we can stand so precisely on the dividing line, that the gale from both this and the coming world may blow upon our cheek? Can we have a taste of the exercises of the next territory before we enter it?" When I attempted to account for this on the simple ground of bravery and cowardice, I was met by the two following facts.

First, I have known those (the cases are not unfrequent,) who were brave, who had stood unflinching in battle's whirlpool. They had resolved never to disgrace

their system of unbelief by a trembling death. They had called to Christians in the tone of resolve, saying, "I can die as coolly as you can." I had seen those die from whom entire firmness might fairly be expected. I had heard groans, even if the teeth were clenched for fear of complaint, such as I never wish to hear again; and I had looked into countenances, such as I hope never to see again.

Again, I had seen cowards die. I had seen those depart who were naturally timid, who expected themselves to meet death with fright and alarm. I had heard such as it were, sing before Jordan was half forded. I had seen faces where, pallid as they were, I beheld more celestial triumph than I had ever witnessed any where else. In that voice there was a sweetness, and in that eye there was a glory, which I never could have fancied in the death-spasms, If I had not been near.

CHAPTER LIX.

THE SUBJECT CONTINUED.

The condition of the soul, when the death-stream is entered, is not the same with that which it becomes (oftentimes) when it is almost passed. The brave man who steps upon the ladder across the dark ravine, with eye undaunted and haughty spirit, changes fearfully, in many cases, when he comes near enough to the curtain to lift it. The Christian who goes down the ladder, pale and disconsolate, oftentimes starts with exultation and tries to burst into a song when almost across.