potent；　and　that　it　is　better　worth　considering；　in　spite　of　its
  being　unfelt　by　ourselves；　than　any　which　we　have　felt　or　can　ever
  feel　in　our　own　persons。
  Take　an　extreme　case。　　A　group　of　people　are　photographed　by
  Edison's　new　processsay　Titiens；　Trebelli；　and　Jenny　Lind；　with
  any　two　of　the　finest　men　singers　the　age　has　knownlet　them　be
  photographed　incessantly　for　half　an　hour　while　they　perform　a　scene
  in　〃Lohengrin〃；　let　all　be　done　stereoscopically。　　Let　them　be
  phonographed　at　the　same　time　so　that　their　minutest　shades　of
  intonation　are　preserved；　let　the　slides　be　coloured　by　a　competent
  artist；　and　then　let　the　scene　be　called　suddenly　into　sight　and
  sound；　say　a　hundred　years　hence。　　Are　those　people　dead　or　alive？
  Dead　to　themselves　they　are；　but　while　they　live　so　powerfully　and
  so　livingly　in　us；　which　is　the　greater　paradoxto　say　that　they
  are　alive　or　that　they　are　dead？　　To　myself　it　seems　that　their　life
  in　others　would　be　more　truly　life　than　their　death　to　themselves　is
  death。　　Granted　that　they　do　not　present　all　the　phenomena　of　life
  who　ever　does　so　even　when　he　is　held　to　be　alive？　　We　are　held　to
  be　alive　because　we　present　a　sufficient　number　of　living　phenomena
  to　let　the　others　go　without　saying；　those　who　see　us　take　the　part
  for　the　whole　here　as　in　everything　else；　and　surely；　in　the　case
  supposed　above；　the　phenomena　of　life　predominate　so　powerfully　over
  those　of　death；　that　the　people　themselves　must　be　held　to　be　more
  alive　than　dead。　　Our　living　personality　is；　as　the　word　implies；
  only　our　mask；　and　those　who　still　own　such　a　mask　as　I　have
  supposed　have　a　living　personality。　　Granted　again　that　the　case
  just　put　is　an　extreme　one；　still　many　a　man　and　many　a　woman　has　so
  stamped　him　or　herself　on　his　work　that；　though　we　would　gladly　have
  the　aid　of　such　accessories　as　we　doubtless　presently　shall　have　to
  the　livingness　of　our　great　dead；　we　can　see　them　very　sufficiently
  through　the　master　pieces　they　have　left　us。
  As　for　their　own　unconsciousness　I　do　not　deny　it。　　The　life　of　the
  embryo　was　unconscious　before　birth；　and　so　is　the　lifeI　am
  speaking　only　of　the　life　revealed　to　us　by　natural　religionafter
  death。　　But　as　the　embryonic　and　infant　life　of　which　we　were
  unconscious　was　the　most　potent　factor　in　our　after　life　of
  consciousness；　so　the　effect　which　we　may　unconsciously　produce　in
  others　after　death；　and　it　may　be　even　before　it　on　those　who　have
  never　seen　us；　is　in　all　sober　seriousness　our　truer　and　more
  abiding　life；　and　the　one　which　those　who　would　make　the　best　of
  their　sojourn　here　will　take　most　into　their　consideration。
  Unconsciousness　is　no　bar　to　livingness。　　Our　conscious　actions　are
  a　drop　in　the　sea　as　compared　with　our　unconscious　ones。　　Could　we
  know　all　the　life　that　is　in　us　by　way　of　circulation；　nutrition；
  breathing；　waste　and　repair；　we　should　learn　what　an　infinitesimally
  small　part　consciousness　plays　in　our　present　existence；　yet　our
  unconscious　life　is　as　truly　life　as　our　conscious　life；　and　though
  it　is　unconscious　to　itself　it　emerges　into　an　indirect　and
  vicarious　consciousness　in　our　other　and　conscious　self；　which
  exists　but　in　virtue　of　our　unconscious　self。　　So　we　have　also　a
  vicarious　consciousness　in　others。　　The　unconscious　life　of　those
  that　have　gone　before　us　has　in　great　part　moulded　us　into　such　men
  and　women　as　we　are；　and　our　own　unconscious　lives　will　in　like
  manner　have　a　vicarious　consciousness　in　others；　though　we　be　dead
  enough　to　it　in　ourselves。
  If　it　is　again　urged　that　it　matters　not　to　us　how　much　we　may　be
  alive　in　others；　if　we　are　to　know　nothing　about　it；　I　reply　that
  the　common　instinct　of　all　who　are　worth　considering　gives　the　lie
  to　such　cynicism。　　I　see　here　present　some　who　have　achieved；　and
  others　who　no　doubt　will　achieve；　success　in　literature。　　Will　one
  of　them　hesitate　to　admit　that　it　is　a　lively　pleasure　to　her　to
  feel　that　on　the　other　side　of　the　world　some　one　may　be　smiling
  happily　over　her　work；　and　that　she　is　thus　living　in　that　person
  though　she　knows　nothing　about　it？　　Here　it　seems　to　me　that　true
  faith　comes　in。　　Faith　does　not　consist；　as　the　Sunday　School　pupil
  said；　〃in　the　power　of　believing　that　which　we　know　to　be　untrue。〃
  It　consists　in　holding　fast　that　which　the　healthiest　and　most
  kindly　instincts　of　the　best　and　most　sensible　men　and　women　are
  intuitively　possessed　of；　without　caring　to　require　much　evidence
  further　than　the　fact　that　such　people　are　so　convinced；　and　for　my
  own　part　I　find　the　best　men　and　women　I　know　unanimous　in　feeling
  that　life　in　others；　even　though　we　know　nothing　about　it；　is
  nevertheless　a　thing　to　be　desired　and　gratefully　accepted　if　we　can
  get　it　either　before　death　or　after。　　I　observe　also　that　a　large
  number　of　men　and　women　do　actually　attain　to　such　life；　and　in　some
  cases　continue　so　to　live；　if　not　for　ever；　yet　to　what　is
  practically　much　the　same　thing。　　Our　life　then　in　this　world　is；　to
  natural　religion　as　much　as　to　revealed；　a　period　of　probation。　　The
  use　we　make　of　it　is　to　settle　how　far　we　are　to　enter　into　another；
  and　whether　that　other　is　to　be　a　heaven　of　just　affection　or　a　hell
  of　righteous　condemnation。
  Who；　then；　are　the　most　likely　so　to　run　that　they　may　obtain　this
  veritable　prize　of　our　high　calling？　　Setting　aside　such　lucky
  numbers　drawn　as　it　were　in　the　lottery　of　immortality；　which　I　have
  referred　to　casually　above；　and　setting　aside　also　the　chances　and
  changes　from　which　even　immortality　is　not　exempt；　who　on　the　whole
  are　most　likely　to　live　anew　in　the　affectionate　thoughts　of　those
  who　never　so　much　as　saw　them　in　the　flesh；　and　know　not　even　their
  names？　　There　is　a　nisus；　a　straining　in　the　dull　dumb　economy　of
  things；　in　virtue　of　which　some；　whether　they　will　it　and　know　it　or
  no；　are　more　likely　to　live　after　death　than　others；　and　who　are
  these？　　Those　who　aimed　at　it　as　by　some　great　thing　that　they　would
  do　to　make　them　famous？　　Those　who　have　lived　most　in　themselves　and
  for　themselves；　or　those　who　have　been　most　ensouled　consciously；
  but　perhaps　better　unconsciously；　directly　but　more　often
  indirectly；　by　the　most　living　souls　past　and　present　that　have
  flitted　near　them？　　Can　we　think　of　a　man　or　woman　who　grips　us
  firmly；　at　the　thought　of　whom　we　kindle　when　we　are　alone　in　our
  honest　daw's　plumes；　with　none　to　admire　or　shrug　his　shoulders；　can
  we　think　of　one　such；　the　secret　of　whose　power　does　not　lie　in　the
  charm　of　his　or　her　personalitythat　is　to　say；　in　the　wideness　of
  his　or　her　sympathy　with；　and　therefore　life　in　and　communion　with
  other　people？　　In　the　wreckage　that　comes　ashore　from　the　sea　of
  time　there　is　much　tinsel　stuff　that　we　must　preserve　and　study　if
  we　would　know　our　own　times　and　people；　granted　that　many　a　dead
  charlatan　lives　long　and　enters　largely　and　necessarily　into　our　own
  lives；　we　use　them　and　throw　them　away　when　we　have　done　with　them。
  I　do　not　speak　of　these；　I　do　not　speak　of　the　Virgils　and　Alexander
  Popes；　and　who　can　say　how　many　more　whose　names　I　dare　not　mention
  for　fear　of　offending。　　They　are　as　stuffed　birds　or　beasts　in　a
  Museum；　serviceable　no　doubt　from　a　scientific　standpoint；　but　with
  no　vivid　or　vivifying　hold　upon　us。　　They　seem　to　be　alive；　but　are
  not。　　I　am　speaking　of　those　who　do　actually　live　in　us；　and　move　us
  to　higher　achievements　though　they　be　long　dead；　whose　life　thrusts
  out　our　own　and　overrides　it。　　I　speak　of　those　who　draw　us　ever
  more　towards　them　from　youth　to　age；　and　to　think　of　whom　is　to　feel
  at　once　that　we　are　in　the　hands　of　those　we　love；　and　whom　we　would
  most　wish　to　resemble。　　What　is　the　secret　of　the　hold　that　these
  people　have　upon　us？　　Is　it　not　that　while；　conventionally　speaking；
  alive；　they　most　merged　their　lives　in；　and　were　in　fullest
  communion　with　those　among　whom　they　lived？　　They　found　their　lives
  in　losing　them。　　We　never　love　the　memory　of　any　one　unless　we　feel
  that　he　or　she　was　himself　or　herself　a　lover。
  I　have　seen　it　urged；　again；　in　querulous　accents；　that　the　so…
  called　immortality　even　of　the　most　immortal　is　not　for　ever。　　I　see
  a　passage　to　this　effect　in　a　book　that　is　making　a　stir　as　I　write。
  I　will　quote　it。　　The　writer　says：…
  〃So；　it　seems　to　me；　is　the　immortality　we　so　glibly　predicate　of
  departed　artists。　　If　they　survive　at　all；　it　is　but　a　shadowy　life
  they　live；　moving　on　through　the　gradations　of　slow　decay　to　distant
  but　inevitable　death。　　They　can　no　longer；　as　heretofore；　speak
  directly　to　the　hearts　of　their　fellow…men；　evoking　their　tears　or
  laughter；　and　all　the　pleasures；　be　they　sad　or　merry；　of　which
  imagination　holds　the　secret。　　Driven　from　the　marketplace　they
  become　first　the　companions　of　the　student；　then　the　victims　of　the
  specialist。　　He　who　would　still　hold　familiar　intercourse　with　them
  must　train　himself　to　penetrate　the　veil　which　in　ever…thickening
  folds　conceals　them　from　the　ordinary　gaze；　he　must　catch　the　tone
  of　a　vanished　society；　he　must　move　in　a　circle　of　alien
  associations；　he　must　think　in　a　language　not　his　own。〃　｛5｝
  This　is　crying　for　the　moon；　or　rather　pretending　to　cry　for　it；　for
  the　writer　is　obv