Morning journal and courier., 1883-03-21
s.They Are Not Strangers, Nam
 ma!''
what bid inc Dyfng Child See.

conducted by Mrs Helen Wlllmans, that lady relates this remarkable and touching experi- enoe in answer to materialist: ANNIHILATIoN.
 The Alliance, of this city, has changed it's name to the Radical Review. Now this pa per is published by George Schumm and his wife. two young persons of very remarkable ability. But am going to criticise them, and that is what I am writing this article for. would not write the article at all but for the unqualified admiration I have for the great ganius of this gentleman and his wife, and for the really tender and solicitous hope entertain of their success.
 Can journal live, has 1t any excuse for living, that Is the apostle of annihilation If this world ends all, then it seems ~to me that all might just as well be ended now. That the troubled dream we call life cannot close too soon. For that which makes life | endurable to us is not what we are now hay ing, and what we now are, but that which we hope to have, and that which we hope to be.
 MT. Schumm says there is no evidence of future life. I am astonished at this. Every | hope of every living soul is indisputable prophecy of it. It is more than prophecy it is present, undying fulfllment of it. I | have moments of contraction when the uni verse turns dark and my life becomes limited for time being; but never so limited that do not still feel my ubiquity and my inde. structibility. I have had moments when I have been so tired that the thought of future activity involved in the very meaning of the word life made me shudder with dread, and yet even in such moments have felt my i'm mortality. But at other times, and indeed at nearly all times I absolutely know myself l to be indestructible. I am panoplied against every accident of time and fate by the knowledge that nothing can destroy me, nor defraud me of the moral and the intellectual life I am building. To know this is my indi- viduality. Every truth added to my store of knowledge is making me larger and more in- destructlble is planting my feet more firm ly upon the foundations of the universe and crowning my head more and more with it's everlasting efulgence.
 It seems to me that to believe less than this is to be less And yet feel this to be an unjust thing to say. l see in that noble young couple quite as much as I see in my self.
 Again-from practical standpoint. What is the use of running journal simply in the interest of nullity, negation, nothing? Will the most brilliant writing of the most bril- liant genius ever stack up enough of nothing to make 1t something or ever infuse enough heat into it's dreadful void to make it warm single human life.
 am not sure that would not sacrifice the greatest hope of my life for absolute truth, no matter how cold and repelling that truth might be. But am not called upon to do so. We have more evidence of immortality than the indestructible hope which I feel, and which nearly all feel. We have outside evidence.
 little girl. From her birth she had been afraid of death. Every fiber of her body and soul recoiled from the thought of it.
 Don't let me die.' she said, t'dont let me die. Hold me fast. Oh, can't go."
 'Jenny," I said. ''you have two little I,1k S,a ,k1 thousands of tender-hearted people over tAeI'o do wifi love you and take care oI you''
 But she cried out again despairingly, Don't let me go; they are strangers over there''
 She was little country girl, strong limbed, fleet of foot, tanned in the face she was raised on the frontier, the fields were her home; she stunned the presence of strangers with that childish embarrass- ment born of beautiful imagination and faith in the possibility of unknown manhood and womanhood in others, based doubtless upon the coming worth of her own woman hood. In vain we tried to reconcile her to the death that was inevitable ''Hold me fast" she cried, ''don't let me go"
 But even as she was pleading. her little | hands relaxed their clinging hold from my waist and lifted themselves eagerly aloft | lifted themselves with such straining effort |
  from its reclining position among the pil- lows. Her face was turned upward; but it | was her eyes that told the story They were filed with the light of divine recogni ton. They saw plainly something that we could not see; and they grew brighter and brighter, and her little hand quivered in eagerness to go where strange portals had opened upon her astonished vision. But | even in that supreme moment she did not | forget to leave word of comfort for those | who would gladly have died in her place
 Mamma" she was saying, ''mamma, they are not strangers. I'm not afraid.'' And every instant the light burned more gloriously in her blue eyes till at last it | seemed as if her soul leaped forth upon it's radiant waves, and in that moment her trem- bling form relapsed among it's pillows and she was gone.
 Will anyone tell me that my child was de- luded that she did not actually sec bright and cheering faces bent above her that her courage was not strengthened and her fear of strangers removed by the friendly smiles and beckoning hands of those sweet souls al ready passed from earth l?
 k1a0a0 she saw them, and by the same token know that I shall see my girl again | and cement the bond so rudely severed here.