wiser or better for our existence and destruction."

"We cannot tell what mighty truths may have been embodied in act
through the existence of the globe and its inhabitants," rejoined my
companion. "Perhaps it may be revealed to us after the fall of the
curtain over our catastrophe; or not impossibly, the whole drama, in
which we are involuntary actors, may have been performed for the
instruction of another set of spectators. I cannot perceive that
our own comprehension of it is at all essential to the matter. At
any rate, while our view is so ridiculously narrow and superficial
it would be absurd to argue the continuance of the world from the
fact that it seems to have existed hitherto in vain."

"The poor old earth," murmured I. "She has faults enough, in all
conscience, but I cannot hear to have her perish."

"It is no great matter," said my friend. "The happiest of us has
been weary of her many a time and oft."

"I doubt it," answered I, pertinaciously; "the root of human nature
strikes down deep into this earthly soil, and it is but reluctantly
that we submit to be transplanted, even for a higher cultivation in
heaven. I query whether the destruction of the earth would gratify
any one individual, except perhaps some embarrassed man of business
whose notes fall due a day after the day of doom."

Then methought I heard the expostulating cry of a multitude against
the consummation prophesied by Father Miller. The lover wrestled
with Providence for his foreshadowed bliss. Parents entreated that
the earth's span of endurance might be prolonged by some seventy