feeling when thinking of death?" I said to him.

"My case," replied he, " may perhaps be peculiar. What to many is a bugbear is to me a hope of relief from memories which bring continual anguish. My present life is a purgatory;" and with a sigh he muttered, "May the next be a merciful relief!"

An ominous frown followed, which seemed to intimate that I had ventured as far as a prudent man could properly intrude into the privacy of another. We did not continue our conversation.

I was thinking of the motives that cause men to fear death, such as a dislike to change, a sense of unworthiness to submit to a rigid scrutiny by the impartial Judge; a weakness or aberrance of Faith. My thoughts wandered into a misty dreamland and I was asleep. Again I was in dreamland and shaking with terror. All the demons of my childish days' fears were howling around me. I was in the worst of company, and in the most wretched state of existence. Gradually I became conscious, and asked the Indians who were busily