Yes,—­we are gone—­but where?  Well, we shall each of us find that out, my friends, when we pass away from Popes, Churches, Creeds, and Conventions to the majesty of the actual Glory!  Shall we pray then?  Shall we weep?  Shall we talk of rituals?  Shall we say this or that form of prayer was the true one?—­this or that creed was the ‘only’ one?  Shall we complain of our neighbours?—­or shall we not suddenly realise that there never was but one way of life and progress through creation,—­ the good and pure, the truthful and courageous, as taught with infinite patience by the God-Man, and that wheresoever we have followed our own inclinations rather than His counsel, then our own action, not God’s punishment, condemns us,—­our own words, not God’s, re-echo back our sins upon ourselves!”

He paused, looking everywhere around him,—­all his hearers were listening with an almost breathless attention.

“Oh, yes!  I know the charm of sin!” he continued with mingled mockery and passion vibrating in his voice;—­“The singular fascination of pure devilry!  All of you know it too,—­those of you who court the world’s applause on the stage, or in the salons of art and literature, and who pretend that by your work you are elevating and assisting humanity, while in your own private lives you revel in such vice as the very dogs you keep might be ashamed of!  There is no beast so bestial as man at his worst!  And some of you whom I know, glory in being seen at your worst always.  There are many among you here to-day whose sole excuse for a life of animalism is, that it is your nature, ’I live according to my temperament,—­my disposition,—­ I do not wish to change myself—­you cannot change me; I am as I am made’!  So might the thief argue as he steals his neighbour’s money,- -so may the murderer console himself as he stabs his victim!  ’It is my nature to stab and to steal—­it is my nature to live as a beast—­ I do not wish to change; you cannot change me’.  Now if these arguments were true, and hold good, man would be still where he begun,—­in the woods and caves,—­an uncouth savage with nothing save an animal instinct to lead him where he could find food.  But even this earliest instinct, savage though it was, taught him that something higher than himself had made him, and so he began to creep on by slow degrees towards that higher at once; hence instinct led to reason, and reason to culture and civilization.  And now having touched as high a point of experience and knowledge as the ancient Assyrians and Egyptians attained before their decline, he is beginning even as they did, to be weary and somewhat afraid of what lies beyond in the as yet unfathomed realms of knowledge; and he half wishes to creep back again on all-fours to the days when he was beast merely.  The close contemplation of the Angel terrifies him,—­ he dare not grow his wings!  Further than life, as life appears to him on its material side, he is afraid to soar,—­what