I reminded him that all his friendships were sacramental things. They had an outward sign and an inward spirit. When he shook hands with his shipmate, when they left camp for different ships, there was the grip of material flesh on material flesh. Behind his shipmate's hand was his shipmate's invisible soul. Behind his hand was his invisible soul. It was only in the material handclasp that the souls made known to one another their abiding friendship. I reminded him that when he kissed his girl goodbye, there was the touch of lips on lips, a material contact. Back of her lips was the invisible soul of her that loved him. Back of his lips was the invisible soul of him that loved her. The kiss was a sacrament. I reminded him that in marriage the mating is physical, true; but that the physical marriage is but the sign and seal of a great, spiritual comradeship, and that so many marriages fail only because the sign is there without the thing signified. I showed him that all comradeship of person with person in this world is sacramental, that always there is the physical touch to make the spiritual touch perceptible. I reminded him that from the day of his conception he had never met another person, felt another soul, save sacramentally. No disembodied spirit had ever touched him, to his knowledge. I showed him that even spiritualists, in endeavors to communicate with the unknown world, never thought of doing it save through some sort of materialization,—a tipping table, a ghostly wraith, a ouija board. So universal is the sacramental law of friendship. Sacramentalism in personal relationships is as integral a part of the law of human existence as birth, as death.