to "the things which had happened at Jerusalem," and especially after they came to Emmaus, while he sat at meat with them, and "took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them," which brought to their minds. the scene of the last supper, behold! "their eyes were opened, and they knew Him!' Here, associations gradually waked up in their minds and hearts the remembrance of their Lord, and with these returned to their recollection his familiar features. So in the heavenly world, beyond doubt, there will be a great variety of ways in which old associations and acquaintanceships will be revived; some sudden and joyful to ecstacyothers gradual, but none the less pleasant on that acSome may take place through the kind ministry of friendly angels, and others through the affectionate agency of saintly spirits. In whatever way, and by whatever means it may take place, it is in entire accordance with reason, and just what we might suppose to be natural and proper to that social kingdom in our Father's house, in the everlasting home of the Sainted Dead.

count.

In considering farther, and more particularly, the reasonableness of this doctrine, we do not intend to confine ourselves to deduction of pure reason, but shall present such inferences and conclusions as may be legitimately drawn from known facts, whether in Scripture or experience. It must be remembered that reason at present lives in the light of revelation, and must be so viewed. From some truths revealed in the Scriptures, though not directly on this subject, we may nevertheless deduce arguments in favor of this doctrine, which show it to be so reasonable as strongly to prepossess

our minds towards it. This will be of vast account in the way of preparing our minds to consider it in its scriptural light.

I. This doctrine of future recognition is reasonable, because many of the same means which will enable us to identify ourselves in another life, will also enable us to identify our friends and former acquaintances.

When we awake from the swoon or sleep of death, or emerge through the change of death into the realities, circumstances, and affinities of another life, we suppose our first feeling will be that of consciousness of our own identity. We will feel and be conscious that we are ourselves, and not another. This we can only do in connection with our past history. It may be the work of an instant; but still it involves a process by which the mind connects itself with what is past, and recollects its previous existence. Thus, for instance, we spend a night in the house of a friend; we wake in the morning suddenly, and scarcely know where we are, or who we are. The mind at once enters upon a process of discovery by self-recollection: to do this, it goes back and calls up its past history, remembers the way in which it has come, and, soon, full consciousness of itself and its relations is restored. So, in the other world, after the change of death, a consciousness of identity must in some such way be continued. Suppose, however, that in the case of the person just instanced, sleeping in the house of his friend, the room should be furnished in a certain way when he lay down to sleep, and the furniture should be entirely removed and changed while he slept; the difficulty in coming to a consciousness of his identity would

be greatly increased. In that case it would be neces sary for him to depend upon pure recollection of the past in the way of thought and memory. This must be the case with our souls passing the change of death; we will find ourselves in new relations, circumstances, and affinities; and our consciousness of personal identity can continue only as it feels itself the living continuation of the past. This life, with its associations, must come up before the mind and awake in the heart; and with this must appear our friends with whom we were bound up on earth by social ties and relations. Undoubtedly our social relations and dependences-for it was these that, more than anything else, moulded our life-must stand out in prominence among our first recollections, after we have passed the physical transformation which awaits us in death. This forms at least a reasonable basis for the doctrine under contemplation; nothing can well be more reasonable. Its denial, under this view, involves a violence so unheardof and unnatural, that our reason is startled and distressed at the thought of it.

II. Closely allied to the above observations, is the fact that memory will continue in another life.

That this world is remembered in the world to come, is evident from the example of the rich man to whom father Abraham said those piercing words, "Son, remember that thou in thy life-time !” We are told that he did remember his "father's house," and his "five brethren!" This, it is true, was in the place of the lost; but memory being a noble faculty when rightly used, we may safely believe, with additional reasons, that it will continue among those who "shall know as

they are known.” * "However, I may affirm for an infallible truth," says the pious and learned Rev. Charles Drelincourt, of Paris, "that the glory of heaven, as well as grace, shall bring nature to perfection, but shall not destroy it. It shall add to it other excellences, but it shall not take away those that it hath already. It shall not abolish any of the faculties; but it shall beautify and enrich them with new ornaments. Therefore, consequently, it shall not take away our memory, which is one of the rarest gifts and abilities of the reasonable soul."

It is hard to see how memory can exist in the better world without leading to recognition. How deep-seated and precious are old associations! and how strong is our desire that they may be revived! Our friends, from a previous knowledge of their piety, and impelled by our affection for them, will be sought after; which, we may reasonably conclude, will lead to the restoration of them to us, and us to them. Desire after our friends is among the first emotions of our souls when away from them in a new country.. Especially, when we are happy and they are in circumstances less blest, do we think of them. Our love to them naturally begets this feeling. We think of them, inquire after them, and long for their presence with us, that they may share our blessedness. We cannot conceive how memory can continue in heaven without leading to such results. Thus, we will not only remember this worldas a means by which our identity is preserved; but we see also that there is a principle in our nature which strongly urges our thoughts backward, and sets them

* See "Heaven, or the Sainted Dead," pp. 276–282.

to seeking for those loved and left behind. All this s favorable to future recognition; and, that it is true, is the most reasonable conclusion we can arrive at. Tho · opposite is certainly against reason and all experience. III. This doctrine will appear reasonable when we consider how deeply and radically the social law lies imbedded in our nature.

We are created social beings, and it is in no sense good for man to be alone. We are all by nature, and in our constitution, physical, intellectual, and moral, united, related, and dependent. All disorganization and alienation is the result of sin, and in the highest degree violent and unnatural. This piety seeks to restore, whose nature and object is, to unite and bind. Christianity, coming from above into a world spoiled by the divisions which sin has caused, establishes a fellowship which is to unite us on earth, and then to raise us, thus united, into the upper kingdom of holy and eternal love. It is not reasonable that religion. should form ties to be broken at death, when it comes from heaven and designs to raise us to heaven. What grace makes, is to last for ever-what grace binds, is never to be severed.

We know, moreover, that religion elevates, improves, sanctifies, and perfects true friendship. Does it do this only that death may destroy it? Ah! who can believe it? On the contrary, time only increases true attachments. In connection with the past, true friendship lives. The hallowed associations which connect it with the past are its life and its joy. Memory is the fuel of love. Old and long-remembered associations give to it its mystic sacredness. As the recollections