No more touching or inspiring belief was there among the ancient Irish, than in the hope of another life beyond the grave. Nature restored the dead forest of winter to the wealth of foliage in spring, why should not the breathless form of man once more find joy in life? The soul of the Maori, it was said, took its flight to the Reinga, the northernmost promontory of New Zealand. The dying Egyptian beheld with the eye of faith his spirit following the setting sun. The Irish looked forward to the West as the place to which his ethereal nature would take its flight. The roar of the Atlantic was music to a son of Erin's ears, for it was but the echo of the voices of his forefather and departed loved ones, in the western Land of the Blest.
