ix. 43-44 this fire is described as one that never shall be quenched,

and in which there lives a worm. In Luke xvi. 23-24 there is an expression of the belief that the body lives after death in its usual form, and has eyes, a tongue, the power of speech, &c.; yet in Matt. x. 28 the doctrine is inculcated that both body and soul are destroyed in Hell. In Jude 7 and 13 Hell is again described as a place of unquenchable fire, and yet one occupied by the blackness of darkness; whilst in Revelation xix. 20 and xx. 10 we are told that the fire is a lake of burning brimstone. Of the absolute locality of this horrible spot not a word is said.

On the other hand, Heaven is described (Matt xiii. 43) as a place where the righteous shall shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of God. In Luke xvi. 22 the pleasure of Heaven is made to consist of a simple repose in the bosom of Abraham; but though we are there led to believe that the blessed can see the torments of the damned, it does not appear that either "the father of the faithful," or the poor beggar Lazarus, take any pleasure in contemplating them, as some few divines of the church of England believe that they will do, when they have arrived at the abode of bliss, and see their enemies in the burning lake. Paul, when writing to the Corinthians, (1 Ep. xv.) gives his idea of the resurrection of the just as one in which each man will be a spiritual edition of his former terrestrial self, but beyond the statement in 1 Thess. iv. 17, that the redeemed will, when in heaven, dwell for ever with the Lord, he expresses no opinion of the occupation of the glorified ones. In John's gospel (xiv. 2) Jesus is reported as saying,--"In my Father's house are many mansions or houses--I go to prepare a place for you," but there is nothing like any account of what is to be done in those abodes.

Again, we find, Ps. xvi. 11, in a verse which has been largely adapted to Christianity, an idea of Heaven given thus--"in thy presence is fulness of joy, at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." What David's pleasures were we may judge from his life, and we may fairly imagine that the writer of the passage had an idea something like that of Mahomet--that there were houris in Heaven for the delectation of the faithful. But in Isaiah lxiv. 4, and I Cor. ii. 9 everything about Heaven is declared to be vague--a something which the eye has not seen, the ear heard, or the heart conceived.

In the book called _The Revelation of St. John the Divine_, we have a far more detailed account of what was believed by some about heaven, than in any other, and there is no doubt that to it a large number of Christians appeal, for it is, indeed, almost the only foundation on which they can build. Yet the Apocalypse was for a long time an uncanonical book, and its truth and value were, and still are, doubted by many of the faithful. In the part referred to, heaven is described as a place incalculably rich in gold and precious stones, in music and pleasant odours, and its joys are pour-trayed as consisting in constant contact with the evidences of wealth, and in eternally singing a certain refrain, an hour of which would be a great trial to human ears. To this is added the absence of pain, sorrow, and suffering. The New Jerusalem, described in chapter xxi. is nothing more than a palace similar to that of Aladdin, which is described in _The Arabian Nights?_ fabulously adorned with gems, lighted by other means than a burning sun or a cold moon, cooled or refreshed with a river of clear water, and furnished with trees bearing different kinds of fruit, but all delicious--thus involving the certainty that the singing referred to, must have been suspended whilst the palate was regaled--and having leaves said to be _for the healing of the nations_. The words thus italicised seem to show the indefiniteness of the _idea_, we dare not say of the _knowledge_ of John, for the existence of this new Jerusalem involves the absence of any disease which required healing; and every person who was not already assigned to the brimstone lake, was a resident on the margin of the crystal river. Such discrepancies are common in visionary writings, and ought to make us distrust them; but instead of that, wild theories are founded upon these absurdities, and the builders thence attempt to prove their own superior knowledge. Well, in this new Jerusalem, every man is to be a ruler, for we are told, that in it the servants of the Lamb (chap. xxii. 3 sq.) shall serve him, and see his face, that his name shall be written upon their foreheads, and they shall _reign_ for ever and ever. The word italicised, very naturally recalls to us an earlier passage in the same book (chap, i. 6) wherein the writer expresses the belief that Jesus Christ has made his followers "kings and priests." It is then clear that John had the notion that in heaven every denizen would be a king. But king over whom? or over what? if every one in new Jerusalem is a ruler, what is he a ruler of? It is, to the critic, moderately certain, that all which the words are intended to convey is, that every inhabitant of the New Jerusalem or Heaven will be as rich and happy as a mundane sovereign. This, again, involves the belief that the author of the Apocalypse had an essentially sensual idea of Heaven, and that he pourtrayed it as a man would do, who, pining in misery, suffering from disease, pinched with want, obliged to serve as the slave of wealth, and to contribute much, out of his little, to the king's taxes, saw daily, and envied deeply, the high position and great wealth of a tyrant, with whom, his faith induced him to believe, that he would change places hereafter.

That the descriptions of Heaven in Revelation can be considered as reliable, by any thoughtful Christian, I marvel, for they are bound up with an assurance which the lapse of time has fully demonstrated to be false. In chap, xxii., v. 12 and 20, the one who is described as the Lord of the New Jerusalem, the Christian Heaven, asserts that he is coming quickly, and that his reward is with him. Yet in no sense of the words is this true, nor has it ever been so.

Tested, then, by every available means, we assert that the Heaven described by Jesus of Nazareth and his immediate followers is quite as vague, indistinct, and unreliable as the Buddhist Nirvana; or, if the affirmative be preferred, we say that the Christian Heaven is quite as uncertain or indefinite a prize for Jesus' disciples as the Nirvana of Sakya. Both teachers seem to have been equally confident of the existence of a Hell, and equally cautious in expressing their ideas about a Heaven. And we, who have had the advantage of many centuries of civilization and thought, dare no more frame or promulgate a scheme of Elysium than the Romans did--we really know nothing whatever about a future state.

There is this, however, to be said in favour of Siddartha--he did not, like Mahomet and John, preach a Paradise, in which all the pleasures are worldly, sensuous, or sensual--John promising music and fruit, Mahomet feasting and women. All the Indian's teaching pointed to a future world, in which human passions, frailties, and propensities would find no place, for the purified being would cast off, with his earthly body, every carnal appetite. In fact, there is reason to believe that Buddha's idea was, that after death each essence would become reincorporated with the Great Spirit, of whom his soul had originally formed a part. It is doubtful whether any of us could tell him a more perfect way to the truth about the matter.

Yet, although neither Sakya nor Jesus gave any distinct account of Heaven, it is certain that some of their followers have done so, and it is remarkable to see how they have developed their ideas in the same way. Compare, for example, the account given by John, Apocalypse chaps, xxi., xxii., with the following account, which I copy from the _Kusa Iatakya_, a Buddhistic legend of Ceylon, by T. Steele, p. 195. "_Swarga_, or the heaven occupied by Indra, is described as the most splendid the human mind can conceive (Percival's _Land of the Vedas_, p. 160). Its palaces are composed of pure gold, resplendent diamonds, jasper, sapphire, emerald, and other precious stones, whose brilliance exceeds that of a thousand suns! Its streets are of crystal, fringed with gold. The most beautiful and fragrant flowers adorn its forests, whose trees diffuse the sweetest odours. Refreshing breezes, canopies of fleecy clouds, thrones of the most dazzling brightness, birds of the sweetest melodies, and songs of the most delightful harmony, are heard in the enchanting pleasaunces, which are ever fragrant, ever robed in summer green." The author whom I am quoting follows these remarks with lines from Bernard de Morley's hymn, _Jerusalem the Golden_, clearly showing how greatly he has been struck with the parallelism between the Buddhist and Christian idea.

So far as I can find, there appears to be a certainty that Sakya Muni did not teach to his followers the necessity for prayer. That Jesus did so teach his disciples is the common belief of Christians. Yet, in the parallel which we are thus drawing, we are perfectly justified in the assertion that the son of Mary did not teach it from his own spontaneous judgment, as John the Evangelist had done before him. Jesus certainly did not originate prayer; indeed, it appears that the subject was forced upon him, and that unless he had been urged to it, he would neither have taught to others the necessity for prayer, nor have dictated the supplication which still passes by his name. The following passage in Luke xi. 1 seems to be decisive upon this point:--"And it came to pass, as he was praying in a certain place, one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray, as John also taught his disciples." We see, then, in the first place, that Jesus did not hold, as a fundamental doctrine, that prayer was part of the duty of man, but that he took it up as a necessary part of his Jewish education, and adopted it amongst the subjects of his discourses, following the example of John. When we try to penetrate into the mind of Jesus, as shown in "the Lord's Prayer," and ascertain what he regarded as the fittest objects for orison, we find that they are almost exclusively worldly. There is, in the first place, an ascription of praise, or of reverence, then an expression of a desire that the world should become good; that each man should have a daily meal; that all offences should be condoned, and none others committed; and that no harm should happen to any who used the entreaty. Compared with the composition attributed to Solomon, and said to have been uttered by him at the dedication of the temple, that which is said to have been given by Jesus is meagre in the extreme. It does not contain a single supplication for spiritual blessing, or for salvation.

In the mind of a philosopher there is a doubt whether the general heathen notion about prayer, or the apparent Buddhist prayerlessness, is to be the most commended. Yet, ere we discuss the point, I must remark that although Buddha does not appear to have taught the duty of prayer to his disciples, they practise it nevertheless, and have long litanies, chantings, and mechanical contrivances quite as efficacious, and not more absurd, than the senseless repetitions which pass current amongst us for supplications to the Most High. Now, if we require from ourselves a distinct answer to the question, what is prayer? we can frame no other than this--"it is the expression of a desire on our part that the Creator will modify the laws of nature in our favour, in favour of others, or in His own favour!" The idea that He will do this is plainly builded upon the supposition that the Creator is like a man, and can be induced to change His mind--that a creature thinks He is harsh or wrong, and must be set right. When put thus clearly, the most obtuse can see that prayer must necessarily be inefficacious, and must always proceed from a selfishness so intense as to cloak the blasphemy from view.

If, instead of the above definition, we designate prayer as the uttering of a fervent hope or desire for the benefit of an individual, we can understand that it is quite as useful as any other ejaculation. Nothing is more common than for an angry man to curse with all the energy of exasperation; nothing more common than for a punished hound to yelp, and for a child, when pained, to cry or roar. Still further I will say, from personal experience, that the utterance of cries or groans enables an individual to bear pain with less effect upon his nervous system than would be felt if they were suppressed. Vociferations are as natural, and, to some, as necessary as indulging the appetite for hunger. In like manner, when the mind of man, especially of one only partially educated, is dominated by intense fear, or by any form of anxiety or present suffering, there is an instinctive propensity to seek aid from any source, certain or uncertain, and the enunciation of hopes with an audible voice is as much necessary to some as roaring is to a lion, or bleating to a sheep. In this sense prayer is a comfort--it helps to soothe feelings which, if pent up, would become, probably, too great for endurance; and, knowing this, I would no more deride prayer than I would laugh at a baby who cried for his absent mother.

I do not doubt, in the smallest possible degree, that prayer is a comfort under certain circumstances. For example, my child may be seriously ill, and I may do everything which my medical knowledge enables me to do; but day by day drags wearily along, the fever seems to intensify, and it is clear that there is a struggle between the living force, and the agent which interferes with it. As hour after hour passes, and anxiety deepens into fear, I am like a hardy fellow under the lash: at first the stripes are borne with firmness, but as another and another falls, not only does-the pain seem keener, but the mental power which gives courage to bear the cutting agony diminishes, and the pent-up feelings are vented in a roar of anguish, or a groan of despair. Just so in the depth of my misery I may utter a prayer--a wish that in one way or another my torn and lacerated feelings as a father might be healed, and I may expect to receive solace thereby, no matter whether I address Jehovah, Brahma, Ishtar, or the Virgin Mary. To hear the sound of one's own voice, even the task of having to compose an intelligible sentence, relieves, for a time, the poignancy of grief, and thus helps one to bear it more patiently. That supplication thus brings relief I do not for a moment doubt, but that it has any influence in the result I deny.

Entertaining this view, I cannot regard prayer as a duty. It seems to me to be a deliberate insult to the Almighty to be constantly urging Him to alter the course of nature--or as we may otherwise put it "to change His mind." To trust that prayer will obviate the necessity for action seems to me the height of folly. If a man uttered the words "Give me this day my daily bread" a hundred times over, and yet never sought to obtain it, we should regard him as a lunatic. Equally silly should we be if, when praying "Defend us in all assaults of our enemies," we did not prepare for battle--or if, after ejaculating "defend us from all perils and dangers of this night," we were to go to bed without seeing that our premises were as secure as forethought could make them. However much the theologian may believe in prayer, he cannot deny that it is less efficacious than action. Now Buddha preached action whilst Christ preached inaction, e.g., "take no thought for the morrow," &c. (Matt.