is just this:  that if your heart is very much set upon a thing, you are perfectly sure to get it.  Of course everybody has read the soliloquy in Addison’s Cato, where Mr. Buckle’s argument is set forth.  I deem it not worth a rush.  Does any man’s experience of this life tend to assure him, that because some people (and not all people) would like to see their friends again after they die, therefore they shall?  Do things usually turn out just as we particularly wish that they should turn out?  Has not many a young girl felt, like Cato, a ’secret dread and inward horror’ lest the pic-nic day should be rainy?  Did that ensure its being fine?  Was not I extremely anxious to catch the express train yesterday, and did not I miss it?  Does not every child of ten years old know, that this is a world in which things have a wonderful knack of falling out just in the way least wished for?  If I were an infidel, I should believe that some spiteful imp of the perverse had the guidance of the affairs of humanity.  I know better than that:  but for my knowledge I have to thank Revelation.  But is it philosophical, is it common sense, in a man who rejects Revelation, and who must be guided in his opinions of a future life by the analogy of the present, to argue that because here the issue all but constantly defeats our wishes and hopes, therefore an end on which (as he says) human hearts are very much set shallcertainly be attained hereafter?  ‘If the separation were final,’ says Mr. Buckle, in a most eloquent and pathetic passage, ’how could we stand up and live?’ Fine feeling, indeed, but impotent logic.  When a man has worked hard and accumulated a little competence, and then in age loses it all in some swindling bank, and sees his daughters, tenderly reared, reduced to starvation, I doubt not he may think ‘How can I live?’ but will all this give him his fortune back again?  Has not many a youthful heart, crushed down by bitter disappointment, taken up the fancy that surely life would now be impossible; but did the fancy, by the weight of a feather, affect the fact?  I remember, indeed, seeing Mr. Buckle’s question put with a wider reach of meaning.  Poor Uncle Tom, torn from his family, is sailing down the Mississippi, and finding comfort as he reads his well-worn Bible.  How could that poor negro weigh the arguments on either side, and be sure that the blessed Faith, which was then his only support, was true?  With better logic than Mr. Buckle’s, he drew his best evidence from his own consciousness.  ’It fitted him so well:  it was so exactly what he needed.  It must be true, or how could he live?’