CHAPTER OF DREAMS.

I.

WAS dead.

Dead as one per­haps dies when un­cer­tain wheth­er it is bet­ter to live or to die; dead with­out know­ing when or how. I had in­deed died pain­less­ly, pleas­ant­ly, and myster­i­ous­ly.

So eas­i­ly had my life left my body, so lit­tle had it suf­fered in quit­ting the form of clay, that at first my body did not per­ceive the change.

Of the precise mo­ment when from a liv­ing Turtle-dove I be­came a corpse, I re­mem­ber noth­ing, un­less it be that be­fore death the moon shone bright­ly in a cloud­less sky; and when my aston­ished spir­it made out that it had ful­filled its duty on earth, the moon had not ceased to shine, and the sky was still cloud­less. Pro­bab­ly my death, far from quench­ing the light of the moon, or send­ing the sky into mourn­ing, had made no vis­i­ble change in earth or heaven. What can it mat­ter to fruit­ful na­ture whether a crea­ture like me lives or dies? Yet af­ter all, we are as­sured that a Spar­row shall not fall to the ground with­out its hea­ven­ly Father.

II.