An interesting illustration of this is given by one who witnessed the appearance of departed spirits on a certain most interesting occasion.  Two illustrious men, of the Jewish line, appeared and spake with Christ.  The person of the Saviour experienced a remarkable transfiguration, assuring his human soul of the joy set before him; the presence of the celestial spirits, also, confirming his assurance respecting the separate existence of souls, and the whole transaction being designed to strengthen the faith of the disciples, and of the world, in the Saviour.

But what comparative value does one of the inspired witnesses of this scene give to this heavenly communication, these voices of the dead, and this visit from the heavenly world?  Does he build his faith upon it, as upon a corner stone?  No; but after telling us, in glowing language, respecting this most wonderful and impressive scene, he says, “We have also a more sure word of prophecy; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed as unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn, and the day star arise in your hearts.”  That sure word,—­“more sure” than the testimony of departed spirits, or than voices from the other world,—­is the Bible; for he immediately adds, “For the prophecy came not in old time by the will of man, but holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.”  The testimony of departed spirits, even of Moses and Elijah, might be, after all, only “the will of man;” but in the Bible men have spoken as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.

As to its being a comfort, in any case, that departed friends should speak to us, it is doubtful whether it would prove to be so.  Suppose them to utter words of endearment; this would open the fountains of grief in our souls afresh.  Suppose them to tell us that they are safe and happy; it would be far better for us, in many cases, to hope respecting this, than to know it; the knowledge of it might make us careless and too confident about ourselves; we should be less inclined to shun the errors of these friends, to guard against their imperfections, and to fear lest a promise being left us of entering into that rest, any of us should seem to come short of it.  One of the most inconvenient and uneasy states of mind, is that of insatiable curiosity—­longing to know that which is concealed, dispirited at the delay of information, refusing effort except under the spur of absolute assurance.  Far better and more healthful is that state of mind which performs present duty, and leaves the rest to the unfolding hand of time; which disdains that prying, inquisitive disposition which is all eye and ear, which lives on excitement, which has no self-respect, nor regard for any thing but to know something yet unknown.  If God suffered the dead to speak to us, we should always be on the watch for some sign; we should be unfitted for the common, practical duties of life; we should be superstitious, visionary, fanatical,