Yet man dies not while the world, at once his mother and his monument, remains. His name is forgotten, indeed, but the breath he breathed yet stirs the pine-tops on the mountains, the sound of the words he spoke yet echoes on through space; the thoughts his brain gave birth to we have inherited to-day; his passions are our cause of life; the joys and sorrows that he felt are our familiar friends — the end from which he fled aghast will surely overtake us also.

Truly the universe is full of ghosts; not sheeted, church-yard spectres, but the inextinguishable and immortal elements of life, which, having once been, can never die, though they blend and change and change again forever.