BY COL. G. DE VEVEU.

Of the future, the hereafter, we are as ignorant as we are of the infinite conditions through which we have passed during the eternity which has preceded our brief present existences. If we could know the history of our past we might get a glimpse of our future; but no message ever reached man from beyond the grave. The past is a mere sealed book, the future is a blank. No records are left to us save those written in the rocks and the evidences brought before our senses; they tell their own stories. Whence came we? Whither are we tending? Ah! who can tell? Some profess to know, but they know not. Where have last summer's roses gone? What will become of yon dry leaf, torn from its parent stem by this wintry blast? Like us they disappear and are merged into the ocean of matter from which they are evolved, ready to be re-combined into new forms of beauty; for although individual existences perish, matter is imperishable; having had no birth it will have no death. Like time and space, it is infinite and eternal. Brought forth into this world without being consulted, we are hurried out of it without our consent. Like that leaf, which was the hope of spring, the pride and glory of summer, we are rudely torn away, the sport of destiny, to return to the elements of nature from which we spring -- dust to dust. The past is beyond recall; the future is veiled in obscurity and in doubt; the present alone is ours.

The above is from the Boston Investigator. It has gone the rounds of the press, and it is regarded as a very fine literary production. But all is not gold that glitters. This oration was delivered as a tribute of respect to the memory of Mrs. Boulay. It is a curiosity when viewed from the speaker's standpoint. The man was evidently broken down in the presence of death. I have sometimes thought it would be well for the unbelievers to adopt the custom of delivering funeral sermons, for it is certain, from all that is known of man, that no strong defense of unbelief, nor even a respectable presentation of it, is made in the presence of death. When an unbeliever speaks at his brother's grave of the "rustling of wings," I intuitively think of the old trite saying, "It is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous." That step is from the "rustling of wings" to "infidelity." Col. G. Veveu, in the above oration, sticks close to his unbelief, but smashes his science. If our incredulous friends will continue to respect the dead enough to remember them with an oration at their graves, I think it will be but a short time till the people all over the country will see the hollow, empty, good-for-nothing character of unbelief.

Mr. Veveu says, "Although individual existences perish, matter is imperishable; having had no birth (italics mine) it will have no death." A wonderful discovery! Matter had no birth; organisms are born. They existed, however, prior to their birth. The matter that composed them existed before it entered into organic forms. The living element, spirit, or whatever you please to name it, took hold of the elements of matter and built the organism. The life existed before the organism. Why should it perish with it? Matter exists before birth and after death. Spirit also exists before birth and after death. Why affirm the eternity of matter and deny the eternity of spirit? These unbelievers, being materialists, advocate the one substance theory. Yet they talk about the "unknown" which they know, and know it to be the "invisible," the "wonderful," the life, and the cause, at least, of all intelligence and order. They are compelled to deify this. Does this pass out of being with death? Does matter pass out of being with death? No, nothing passes out of being except the organic form. The body returns to the dust, as it was, and the spirit to God who gave it. Next, we have this statement with reference to matter, "Like time and space, it is infinite and eternal." Why? The answer is, because it can not be annihilated; death has simply destroyed an organization, changed the condition of matter, the matter of the organism, and changed the relations of the intelligent, living spirit; neither matter nor spirit ceases to be. If matter is therefore infinite and eternal, spirit is therefore infinite and eternal. The sooner scientists learn the fact that birth simply brings us into certain relations, and death takes us out of those relations, the better it will be for all who are concerned in this interesting subject.

The next item in that eloquent effusion is that man is "like the leaf," the mere "sport of destiny," returning in his "autumn" "to the elements of nature from which he sprang: dust to dust."

This orator asks the questions, "Whence came we?" "Whither are we tending?" "Who can tell?" To them he gives two answers. First, he says, "Some profess to know, but they know not." "The past is a mere sealed book." "The future is a blank." "Of the future, the hereafter, we are as ignorant as we are of the infinite conditions through which we have passed during the eternity which has preceded our brief present existences. If we could know the history of our past, we might get a glimpse of our future," "The past is a mere sealed book." Conclusion, "The future is a mere sealed book." The man is lost in the unbeliever's "narrow vale lying between two cold, bleak, barren eternities," viz: life. Lost (?) in the narrow vale. Yes! He knows nothing about his origin. He knows nothing about his destiny. So he says, and we have no right to contradict him. He is lost! But here he is again, listen! Speaking of the autumn leaves, he says, "LIKE US, they disappear and are merged into the ocean of matter from which they are evolved, ready to be RE-COMBINED into new forms of beauty." (Capitals mine.) Once more he says, "LIKE THAT LEAF which was the hope of spring, the pride and glory of summer, we are rudely torn away, the sport of destiny, to return to the elements of nature from which we sprung: dust to dust."

How he contradicts himself! But we must make all due allowances. He is in the presence of death. He says, "The past is beyond recall; the future is veiled in obscurity and in doubt; the present alone is ours." Here confusion is confounded; but let us ever remember that this was a funeral occasion, and the friends of the deceased were present, and this man Veveu was there, for the purpose, ostensibly, of giving a small amount of consolation to bereaved and broken hearts. Oh, how barren, how cold, how gloomy and God-dishonoring the consolation given! Those empty vessels of ours, hearts "endowed with inexhaustible hope," must turn away from the grave (?) empty still. No, not necessarily. God has provided a fountain. Go to it and fill your vessels. Let us not be too severe upon the man. There he stands amid bleeding hearts, and the open tomb just before him. Show pity, Lord! The man says, "No message ever reached man from beyond the grave." How very singular it is that many men repudiating God make a god of themselves. What kind of a being must I be to know that "no message ever reached man from beyond the grave?" How much must I know? Away back yonder in the past, in that "mere sealed book," is a grand and glorious message from beyond the grave. But to our friend it is a "sealed book."

What becomes of evolution?

What becomes of natural selection?

What becomes of the doctrine of the survival of the fittest?