CHAPTER XXII.
MY LIFE AND EXPERIENCES IN THE SPIRIT WORLD.
May 5, 1866, I parted with my tenement of clay, and was born into the world, not only of primal causes, but also that in which all effects of past living are made manifest. Mind and body were alike a wreck. I had no great satisfaction for the past, and but little hope for the future.
While passing out from the material I was dimly conscious of a crowd of beings pressing around me,—faces I had known long before, but which I had not seen for years, forms once familiar, but which the passing scenes of life had blotted from memory; men whom I had met in times past around the social board, and amid scenes of convivial allurement, where we had wasted the precious, God-given moments in song or story, unfruitful of any profitable result; those of whose destiny I was ignorant, and whom I supposed had forgotten me as I had ceased to remember them; all were here, recalling by their presence scenes and memories that I could wish to be dead and buried beyond possibility of resurrection.
All the events of my life passed before my inner vision like a panorama, and I saw myself as others saw me,—the victim of wasted energies and an ill-spent life. How keenly did I regret much that I had done, and much more that I might have done, but did not! It was then and there, while seemingly unconscious to mortal things, I began to fully realize that omission is oftentimes as great a sin as commission,—that inactivity is as disastrous to the spirit as misplaced volition.
At this time, I did not see the forms and faces of any of those I had loved, and whom it might be supposed would be first at the death-bed of one so near to them. These forms and phantoms that surrounded me were encompassed by a cloud of heavy vapor, that entirely veiled the horizon from my sight. I strove to turn from them, but could not; they hedged me in on every side, and, while they spake no word, they seemed to mock me with their taunting looks and gestures.
This was my first spirit experience. I have since learned that it consisted entirely of the reflection of past recollections upon my mind, but it was extremely annoying and unpleasant.
My next experience was standing by myself, outside of my physical body, alone, so far as I could see, gazing down upon the old, worn-out tenement, that I had recently vacated. I found myself clothed in a body precisely similar to the one I had left, and not in much better condition, apparently. I was perplexed and bewildered; for, though spurning many of the old theologic notions of the Hereafter, this was certainly not the fulfillment of my conceptions of a future life.
I gazed around, hoping to attract the attention of some one who could give me an explanation, or in the expectation of meeting my boon companions; but all in vain,—I could see no one. All was misty, or rather in a smoky fog, like the streets of London at midday, though I have since been informed that I was not alone; that there were loving, helping spirits watching over me, to assist me when possible, but my mental condition prevented me from perceiving them; and that the smoky vapor was an emanation from my own spirit, and did not proceed from the state of the atmosphere.
While ruminating to myself, as collectedly as my condition would allow, I observed a party of individuals approach and take a view of my remains; and what appeared very curious to me, while they seemed very far away from me, I could distinctly hear their remarks. These parties were mortals, still dwelling on earth, drawn by a morbid kind of interest to take a final view of my body. However, I would they had stayed away, for they did my spirit more harm than good.
“Poor devil,” said one, “he’s gone at last. Well, he made a wreck of himself, sure enough.”
“Aye,” replied another; “he might have done better, but he would not; and so he’s gone. I always knew how it would turn out.”
“With all his singing and dreaming,” remarked a third, “he was no better than the rest of us. The old one would show himself pretty often.”
“That’s so,” chimed in the fourth; “wilt thee look at him now, lying there, when he might have been alive and well, like the rest of us! Well, he’s gone to his account now, poor lad!”
I waited to hear no more. Mind and brain were alike maddened by what I had heard. It was all true enough; but every word seemed like a scorpion’s sting, to pierce my soul. Who were these, that they should condemn one who had not the power to defend himself? Were they free from the common taint of sin?
Thus I questioned; but unable to solve the mighty problems that seemed pressing down upon me, I made one herculean effort, and, bursting the bonds that confined me to my useless body, I rushed from the place, away I knew not where, I cared not; only to get relief for my burning, tortured soul.
And here allow, if you please, one digression. Let me warn you, oh, mortals, to mind how you speak and think of those who have departed the mortal life. Let your thoughts and words be as charitable and kind as possible; for by so doing you may furnish a beacon-light that will brighten their paths upward. But if you speak ill of them, if you hurl the stone of censure at departing spirits, you may furnish the heavy weight that will drag them downward.
Alas, I did not understand the cure of sin-sick, tortured souls; and I sought that refuge that had been, and was now again, my curse, but which I vainly thought would drown all recollection and bring relief.
I soon found myself in a well-known spot, one of my former haunts—the back parlor, just beyond the taproom—of a public-house. I seated myself as naturally as ever, and waited for some one to comply with my demand for liquor; but while the bar-maid flitted about, here and there, and several times brushed against my person in passing, she paid no attention to me whatever, and I felt myself neglected indeed.
Presently, I observed, entering the apartment, one whom I had occasionally seen at that resort, and who I understood to be a hard drinker. He called for liquor, and when it was brought, raised the glass to his lips. Suddenly, by a sort of fascination, I was drawn to his side, and while he poured the fiery liquid down his throat, my whole being seemed to vibrate in sympathy, and became saturated with the fumes of the liquor. At every drop he tasted, I seemed to quaff a corresponding one; and I found I could indulge myself in that way to any extent. I remained by his side, drinking long and deep. Our potations lasted for hours. Oh, the craving desire I had for that deadly fluid! My deep delight and utter abandonment of self you cannot realize.
At last our potations ceased. Abused and outraged nature could bear no more, and my companion sunk down in a complete state of insensibility. Then I strove to tear myself from him, but all in vain; I was held to his prostrate form by a cord as unyielding as bands of steel; I could not free myself from the conditions I had brought upon me.
And here my retribution began; for, while the liquid we had drank together had drugged his senses, and benumbed his faculties, it had affected me in an entirely different way, serving to arouse all my sensibilities, fire my nervous system with flames of unquenchable desire, and, in fact, to make me keenly alive to all my surroundings. The least noise fell upon my hearing like the dismal knell of a lost soul; the sound of a passing foot startled me like a peal of thunder; and when the time-piece of the old clockhouse tolled the hour, my whole being vibrated in unison. I wanted to get away from everybody and everything I had known,—to be alone by myself where no one could find me, where life and activity were unknown, and where I could rest my burning brain.
Alas, I could not! Like one tied to a stake, I was condemned to pass what seemed to me a century of time by the side of one with whom I had nothing in common, save the craving of a perverted appetite. I cannot convey to you an idea of the horror, darkness, and despair that rent my soul while thus bound to that form of besotted humanity. The hours dragged, until at last there came a gleam of relief. Boniface entered the apartment, aroused my sleeping companion, and sent him to the pump-room to bathe his head. At the first plash of the water a thrill of exquisite delight passed over me; a second and a third, and the band that had held me snapped in twain, and I was free. Never did weary captive rejoice at his deliverance more than did I at that moment. I made no stay, but hastened from the place, and have never seen it nor its inmates since.
Still drifting along, my only aim and purpose being to gain some lonely, retired spot, where I might find rest and refreshment, I soon found myself rising gradually from the ground, and floating or sailing along, above the heads of the people.
Before long, the city streets vanished from my sight, and I seemed to be approaching a strange part of the country; houses and warehouses disappeared, sunny glades and shady nooks came into view; forest trees, clothed with garments of living green, beneath which tiny flowerets nodded their spicy heads, and scented the balmy air with their rich perfume.
Away to the left I perceived the azure gleam of dimpling, sparkling waters; in the distance, towered the lofty peaks of purple-crested mountains; the sun shone brightly in the heavens, while the atmosphere became melodious with the hum of insects and the chirping of birds. No sound nor sight of human life could I perceive; all was silent, save the murmurings of nature, which fell upon my tortured being like an anthem of peace.
“Surely,” said I to myself, “this must be another country; it is entirely different from any I have ever seen before; the atmosphere wears that peculiar, transparent haze seen only in the lands of a Southern clime.”
But I was too weary for further cognitions. I seemed to drink in the charm and beauty of the scene without any volition of will or thought, and to find comfort and rest in so doing.
At last, I descried a perfect gem of a spot, one that appeared formed for a fairy bower; just beyond a leaping, laughing streamlet of limpid water, nestling quietly at the foot of a moss-covered, arch-shaped rocky wall, I beheld a tiny cove, so beautiful that it seemed almost sacrilege to intrude therein.
Emerald banks, as beautiful as silk pile velvet, starred with a profusion of creamy golden-eyed blossoms; trailing vines like maiden-hair ferns creeping over the rocks; shrubs of vivid green, with scarlet bells, swinging their perfumed censers upon the breeze; sparkling sunbeams and cooling shadows, constituted a place of repose that a monarch might enjoy.
And there, amid the beauties of Nature’s works, surrounded by the splendors of creation, pointing to the wondrous power and beneficence of God, I sank down upon the emerald sod; and, lulled by the peace and quiet of the place, my fevered senses grew calm, my pulses even, the blood cooled in my veins, and I fell into as complete a slumber as it is possible for a disembodied spirit to experience.
I was unconscious of the lapse of time, yet I now know it was several days before I again awoke to a knowledge of my external surroundings.
I was still alone; no human presence could I discern; the flowers still bloomed, the waters danced and gleamed, the sun shone, and all was as beautiful and as real as before. It appeared to me I had reposed there but a few short hours.
I aroused myself, and, stepping down to the banks of the stream, proceeded to lave my face and hands, precisely as I would have done were I in the body. The water refreshed me. I seemed renewed with life and vigor; but with the new strength there also came a remembrance of what I had been, and what I had done, and I sank down upon the mossy bed overwhelmed with the recollection of my folly and madness.
Remorse had again entered my presence, and my soul cowered down before it in bitter agony; tears and sobs mingled together and shook my frame to its very center, and I wrestled in spirit with the “might have been,” which was as tangible to me as any objective form would be to mortals.
As the tempest within my spirit grew less, I began to feel a holy presence approaching. Presently a low, soft strain of exquisitely-modulated music fell upon my hearing; so faint, yet so sweet, did it at first appear that it seemed to blend with and form a part of the music of the murmuring waters and rustling leaves. Gradually it swelled louder, clearer, and sweeter, until it culminated in a burst of triumphant ecstasy, that made the very grasses leap in unison.
My whole being was stilled; a deep peace pervaded my system. I was a man again,—a creature of God, and one worthy to become a representative of his kingdom.
As these thoughts permeated my being, causing it to grow calm and restful, I felt what seemed to be a breath of cool, invigorating air upon my temples, thrilling my whole frame with an indescribable sensation of delight, and, on looking up, I was amazed, but not startled, to observe the form of a venerable patriarch bending over me, and manipulating my brow with the tips of his fingers.
His face was smooth and fair, as though no carking care had ever left its impress thereon, surmounted by a lofty brow, gleaming with a might of intellect, and crowned with a wealth of snowy, silken hair. A long, massy beard, lustrous with whiteness, fell upon his breast. He was clad in a long, purple robe of silken stuff; sandals of glistening brightness were upon his feet, while in his hand he carried a staff that was remarkable for its brilliancy. His features were luminous with the light of reflected love and benevolence; a halo of radiance encircled his whole being, which scintillated with sparks of light as he moved.
Subsequently I learned that this halo was the aura flowing forth from his spiritual structure, the brilliancy of which revealed the purity and beauty of his interior condition.
Abashed and humbled before the majestic glory of this presence, I hid my face from sight, and cowered down as if for concealment.
“Fear not, my son, I have come to help and encourage thee; thy mortal ways were rough and devious; thy spiritual paths shall yet be ways of peace. Lift up thine head, that thy soul may be annointed with the balm of healing.”
I had heard no sound of voice, and yet these were the thoughts that flowed into the interior sensorium of my mind, as the mystic being continued to soothe my brow with his finger-tips. I raised my head in questioning amaze, and gazed upon him in wonder.
“Thee questions who and what I am,” again came the thoughts, not spoken, but impressed upon my mind; “I am one appointed to seek out and instruct souls like thine, who are in need of assistance; thee mayst call me ‘Benja, the Missionary;’ I am drawn to thee, to point out the way of salvation, and to give thee strength and encouragement; thou hast fought the first battle and won the victory; press on, and thou shalt win the goal.”
The thoughts, and indeed the presence of the missionary, sent a thrill of pleasure through my whole being. Hope spread her rosy pinions above me, and I became strong, as I thought, for any conflict.
“Thou hast won thy first victory,” repeated the sage, “but still other trials await thee; self-abnegation and the renunciation of those appetites and passions that have in a measure swayed the spirit come not all at once. Reformation is a work of time. Therefore, my son, trust not too much to thine own strength, but rather let thy soul’s aspirations reach outward and upward toward heavenly things, bearing with them a desire for assistance and guidance. Neither be cast down, for eventually, a noble existence will be thine. Look around thee upon these laughing meadows and leaping waters. Thou wouldst know in what locality thou art.
“This is the valley of self-examination. Every soul in passing out from material life is borne to some spot connected with this place. Certain temperaments are taken to yonder mountains, upon the lofty heights of which their souls are left to take a retrospective glance back upon their past lives, their actions, and motives, and to commune silently with themselves concerning life and its duties; others to that sheet of clear water you observe in the distance, into which they are forced to plunge, that they may be cleansed of the impurities that cling to their spirits.
“Poetic souls like thine are conveyed to this charming valley, where, in the contemplation of Nature’s works, they find peace and strength to go on with the task of self-examination, and the attaining of a desire to become worthy of better things.”
The ideas flowing into my mind from the sage ceased, and in a moment more I was again alone. Suddenly the desire seized me to plunge into the stream babbling at my feet. I did so; the sensation was to me that of bathing in a stream of warm, perfumed water; it seemed to penetrate through the pores of my skin, invigorating my system to a wonderful degree. I remained in the stream for a short time, and upon emerging from the bath and surveying myself, I found I had undergone a decided change. My skin had become soft and fair; the florid appearance had gone, my hair had lost many of its silver threads, and my limbs felt lithe and elastic.
My garments, too, were renovated, having lost their thread-bare appearance, and altogether I felt and acted like a new creature. At the foot of a flowering shrub I perceived a polished staff, which I appropriated, and with it, as a support, I set off to explore the surrounding country.
I traveled leisurely; every step of the way revealed new beauties to me, the splendors of which it is impossible to describe,—shady groves, wherein the dryads of old might have loved to wander; sunny glades, rich with their tapestried carpets of flower-gemmed verdure; gushing streams and natural fountains bursting from the moss-covered rocks. All that could delight the eye and enchant the senses was spread before me, and I trudged on, breathing in the beauty around with no thought of, or desire for, companionship.
By-and-bye I came to an evergreen hedge; it was very long, but after a time I came to a large opening through which I passed, and found myself in an extensive garden, the beauty of which I had never seen surpassed. Parterres of beautiful flowers lay spread out before me, showing the cultivation of art, and scenting the balmy air with their rich perfume. Marble basins received the sparkling water falling from numerous silvery fountains; lofty trees waved their branches high in the air, and cast a grateful shade; here and there mossy banks invited to repose; birds sang in the trees and amid blossoming shrubs. Away in the distance I saw the blue gleam of what appeared to me to be a vast lake, upon the margin of which I could perceive a number of white-robed forms flitting to and fro; the atmosphere was redolent with beauty and sweetness, while above all the golden sun shone in the azure vault of heaven.
Hitherto I had been in the natural country where no effort had been made to alter or improve Nature’s works; but here were to be seen evidences of human art and skill, brought in to cultivate and develop the natural into higher types of beauty. I passed into one of the groves at my left, and seated myself upon a rustic bench before a long table of stone, upon which were spread fruits of every description, some of which were unfamiliar to me. Above the table was suspended an inscription, which read: “All are welcome; partake and refresh thyself.”
I needed no other bidding; I was hungry and faint; and never did viands or nectar taste better to the gods than did the fruit, and the sparkling water which I drew from a fountain close by, to my parched palate.
I rested awhile, and then proceeded on. As I approached the lake, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a bevy of white-robed creatures, all young and fair and beautiful to behold. I contrasted my appearance with theirs, and though I had congratulated myself on my own improvement not long before, I now appeared dark and dust-worn by the side of these fresh young souls.
I sought to withdraw, but this they would not permit; for, closing around me in a circle, they intercepted all means of egress. I stood with downcast eyes, humbled and ashamed, when one young maiden approached, and laying her hand upon my shoulder, said in tones, the flute-like sweetness of which I shall never forget: “Do you not know me? I am one who was very dear to you; I have lived in this beautiful spot so long, waiting for you to come; surely you must know me, and will receive the love I have been keeping for you.”
I raised my eyes and scanned those lovely features. Surely, aye, surely I recognized them; more beautiful, further developed, and stamped with a lovelier grace and more charming expression than I had known; yet the same winning smile, the shining hair, and sparkling eyes of my darling were before me, in more than radiant splendor.
I could not speak; it was too much! Oh, had I known I should meet my loved one thus, how I would have prepared myself to become fit to enter her celestial presence!
Divining my thoughts, the dear one twined her snowy arms around my neck, and whispering, “I am so happy, oh, so happy to meet you!” laid her silken head upon my breast, and all unworthy as I knew myself to be, I clasped her in a tender, loving, soul-full embrace.
Raising her head, my dear one said: “These are my companions, come to welcome you to the Summer-land. They all know of you, and love you for what you are worth; they have been with you when you have given forth the sweet expressions of the soul, and they know what you are capable of becoming.”
She led me to a mossy seat, and the fair group, ranging themselves around us, began to sing a song of welcome, the sweetness of which can never be surpassed.
I do not propose to draw these experiences out to great length, therefore cannot tell you all that transpired in this lovely spot.
I was welcomed, given a happy home for my abiding place, but left free to wander wherever I would. Surrounded by loving faces, and ministered to with tender care, I sank into a state of dreamy bliss, well suited to my peculiar temperament.
You may think I had passed through the temptations of life, I had renounced its follies, and repented of its mistakes. But repentance is not a thing of a day or a month; memory has written her score upon the tablets of the soul, and if blotted and scarred, it takes time and labor to efface their unsightliness. I did not know this at the time, but inactivity is the bane of life, and the soul that is idle cannot go forward.
It was some time after I had entered this paradise, and been welcomed by angels, I was seated within the enclosure of a marble pavilion, and dreamily gazing out upon the sunny slope, when I became conscious of the presence of the missionary I had met in the valley, who spoke these words and vanished: “My son, life is earnest; thou hast queried why thou canst not write the soul-stirring poems of the past. It is because thou art inactive. Look about thee, and see if there is nothing to do, if not for thyself, for some other in need. Wouldst thou become noble and grand? Then work for it. In this world the harvest comes only to him who plants and tends the seed.”
I was confounded and confused. Stung into activity, I waited for no one, but hastened from the place and from the wonderful garden. I determined to do something, to go somewhere; but I knew not what course to pursue. Soon I felt a desire to return to earth and see what was going on there. Perhaps I could find something to do, or some inspiration for poesy. Ah, I knew not that I was still weak, and unable to cope with temptation; that I was again destined to fall into the mire. But thus it was; yet, thank God, for the last time! Of that I will inform you in my next chapter.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE POET’S COUNCIL.
Again I appeared to be drawn toward the earth. Recollections of old associations began to revive in my mind, and I felt a desire to return, and once more mingle with mortal life, urged on by the thought that perchance I should there find something to do.
Impelled onward by an inner impulse, I soon found myself in the crowded streets of a vast city: every thing looked familiar, and when I espied the glittering cross of St. Paul’s gleaming through the smoke and dust, I knew that I was again in the heart of London.
Nobody appeared to take any notice of me; all were hurrying on, intent upon their own affairs, and I was as one virtually alone, even in the crowded, teeming mart of a vast metropolis.
I threaded my way leisurely along (for since I had entered the material plane again the reckless impetuosity that sped me on had vanished), pausing now and again to watch the tide of restless, surging humanity, as it flowed along, with no definite aim or end in view, when I was brought to a sudden stand-still, by hearing my own name pronounced by one of two gentlemen just in front of me.
“Yes,” said he, “we are going to hold a little social levee at the club tonight, and to pay our tribute of respect to the memory of Critchley Prince. Poor fellow, he was his own worst foe, and he blotted his own career; but the works he left, and the songs he sung, show his to have been a gifted, sympathetic soul. For that reason we have drawn up a set of resolutions, and have determined to call our meeting together this evening, in honor of the departed poet. You had better make one of us.”
The other gentleman replied that he would be with them, if possible; and I determined that I would also be there.
I recognized the first speaker as one of the most brilliant and noted literati of the day, one who is even now a dweller on earth, courted for his genius, and loved and respected for his benevolent heart and sympathetic soul; at that time he was about fifty years of age, and full of life and energy. I knew him to be a member of a certain literary club, all the members of which were men of brilliant intellect, not a few of whom were well-known in the literary world; and it was this club-meeting that I had determined to visit, partly out of curiosity to hear what might be said of myself, and partly to witness the proceedings, knowing full well that a feast of intellectual dainties awaited whoever should be fortunate enough to enter.
The two friends parted at a certain corner, but I remained with the man of genius, resolving that I would not leave him until he arrived at the evening gathering; and I did not.
Promptly at the hour appointed, the company gathered in the parlors of the organization, myself among the number.
I do not propose to reveal all that was said and done on the occasion. The meeting was a most enjoyable one; gems of thought, original ideas, brilliant repartee, and flowery bon mots circulated freely from mind to mind; in short, the occasion was a feast of intellectual glory, that could not fail to arouse the enthusiasm of any but the most stupefied spirits. The eulogy and the encomiums paid to the memory of Critchley Prince were kind, and well calculated, coming as they did from the hearts of England’s most gifted sons, to awaken a feeling of pride and gratification in the heart of him of whom they were spoken.
But, alas, this banquet of ennobling thought and chaste, exquisite expression, which alone would have refreshed and invigorated the soul, and at which even the angels of heaven might have been pleased to preside—this festal board—needs must have been polluted by the presence of costly wines, and rich, rare, body-clogging viands. Aye, it is true that there, where no feast of a material nature was needed, where, indeed, it would only serve to lower the time and place into a scene of sensual festivity, the wine-cup passed from hand to hand, brilliant toasts were given and repeated, and I, in company with others, again tasted the perfumed draught that ever tends to degrade humanity.
It is true that I did not drug myself into insensibility, neither did any one of that assembled company; nor did I become so intensely alive in every sense and avenue of feeling as heretofore, yet I partook of the fluid, and again found that I was not strong enough to resist temptation and to overcome the evil habit.
I lingered at this enchanted spot for hours, indeed, until the assembly dispersed, each member seeking his abode, with brain fired by alcoholic stimulants, and yet apparently none the worse for what he had taken.
Highly pleased with my reception and entertainment, I separated from my good friends, and thinking I should like to take a walk, wandered forth, under the glorious orbs of early morn. My brain was heated and all astir with phantom-like thoughts flitting through it. I soon paused upon a bridge of the Thames, and at once a desire entered my mind to fling myself into the river’s depths. I wondered what effect such an act would have upon me; I knew that I was a disembodied spirit, and therefore could not destroy my existence; still I did not know but I might experience some shock to my system, like that felt by drowning mortality.
However, I determined to take the leap, which I did. No sooner had I done so than, instead of sinking under the water, I found myself slowly rising. I could not feel the water at all; it seemed as though I were floating upward upon a cloud.
Rising still higher and higher, I at length found myself resting upon a strip of rocky, barren land; I knew that I was again beyond the bounds of earth, but in what part of spirit life I was entirely ignorant; all was dreary and desolate. By this time I had recovered in a measure from the effects of the wine-bibbing, and thought and memory again went bounding through my mind with startling intensity.
Resting against a giant rock, that reared its head far upward toward the murky sky, I gave myself up to gloomy retrospection. What good had I done,—what work accomplished? Nothing; I had again fallen before the tempter; I was weak and helpless, powerless of will, of no use to myself nor to my kind! Why, oh, why must I continue to drag out such a shameful existence?
Thus I mused and mourned, groaning deep in agony of spirit; my remorse was genuine, but I had not the power (or rather I thought I had not) to again rise after this my latest fall from self-respect.
The hot sun came out and glowed with a lurid light; not a shrub or trace of vegetation were to be seen; all was stony and barren,—no sign of life, except far up, perched on the crags, there sat a bird of sable plumage, that now and then flapped its wings, and seemed to mutter and croak in mockery of my torment. I remembered the “Raven” of the American poet, and wondered if this too was a creation of my fevered brain, and I was to be haunted henceforth with the presence of this ominous creature. At last it flapped its wings and flew away, and I sank into a kind of half-dreamless lethargy, which lasted I know not how long; but at length I was aroused by the touch of a cool hand upon my head, to find the presence of my missionary guide, “Benja.”
“Come, my son,” said he; “thou hast done well; thou needst have no fear. Thou art upon the heights of self-condemnation. It is true thou hast a few more trials to bear ere thou canst enjoy the full glories of spiritual existence; but all the steps thou hast taken were necessary to thy well-being; they were what thou needed to bring thee to a full realization of the past. Arise and come with me, that thou mayst obtain a glimpse of the realities of life, a gleam of the glorious manifestation of power that awaits thee.”
Taking me by the hand, the sainted spirit began to slowly rise, drawing me upward with him. Away, away, over rugged heights and dreary wastes of land we sped until we neared the entrance of a valley more exquisite in beauty than any I had ever beheld. Strains of enchanting music issued from thence, mingled with bursts of merry laughter, and sounds of sweetest singing.
Upon entering the valley, we were saluted by the fragrant breath of beautiful flowers, borne toward us upon the balmy breeze of morning; birds carolled among the leafy branches of the trees, or flitted about the sparkling sprays of gleaming water, issuing from founts of alabaster purity;—all was calm and serene, a picture of contentment and repose. Beautiful homes, gleaming with singular whiteness, and embowered with flowering vines of gorgeous beauty, nestled low down in the heart of the valley.
There were no doors or windows to these houses, but the sides were entirely open, revealing the simple, innocent home life of their inmates; the roofs were supported by marble pillars, around which the vines and tendrils clung with loving tenderness. From these homes issued those sounds of joy and happiness we had heard ere entering the valley.
Away in the distance, on either side, arose the majestic heights of purple-crested mountains; while a beautiful river flashed and sparkled in the sunlight, but a little way before us. Near the center of the vale I observed a massive dome, of marvelous beauty, rising from the midst of a grove of trees, and toward this my guide continued to lead my bewildered spirit.
As we approached, I found the building to be a vast and stupendous temple, wrought with exceeding artistic skill and beauty, the delicate carvings and fretwork of which I had never seen equalled.
The grounds surrounding this magnificent temple presented a scene of unsurpassing loveliness. The green sward, rich with velvet-like softness, glowed and sparkled in the sunlight like a huge emerald of priceless value. Thickets of wild roses here and there shed their royal perfume upon the passing breeze; vines and tendrils twined around the trunks of lofty trees, through the branches of which flitted and carolled birds of brilliant plumage.
I followed my guide up a flight of marble steps, and found myself in a spacious vestibule, at the further end of which hung a heavy curtain of royal purple velvet. The floor of this vestibule was tessellated with blocks of many-hued marble, presenting a most beautiful appearance, in the center of which arose a magnificent fountain of crystal whiteness, most exquisitely sculptured and carved, from which ascended sprays of cool and sparkling water. “Water, water everywhere!” Through all my wanderings in the eternal world I have never been long absent from the sight of clear, leaping, sparkling water. It is the life element of the spirit, next to sunlight and air, and it needs no additional fluid to make it agreeable and palatable.
Through the open interstices of this entrance the perfumed air from without wandered, diffusing a most refreshing breeze throughout the apartment. To the left I observed what appeared to be an inclined plane, the surface of which was as smooth as glass, and as white as porcelain. This glassy road led upward beyond the frescoed ceiling, until it disappeared from sight. I turned an inquiring look upon my companion, who thus replied to my silent questioning: “Thou art now, my son, standing within the walls of one of our temples dedicated to Art. This is the Palace of Delight,—the Artists’ Home! Beyond yonder curtain is the Hall of Poesy, where congregate souls so rounded out and perfected that they may express themselves in measure full and sweet; their lives are breathing, active poems of beauty and love. Yonder spiral stairway,” directing my attention to a stair-case glittering like burnished gold, at my right, “leads to the halls dedicated respectively to the gods of music, painting, and statuary, where souls attuned in harmony with those divine expressions of creative energy gather to pour forth all the hidden richness and glory of their spiritual conceptions of life.
“Yonder crystal pathway leads to the grand temple of all, where gather those poets, artists, sculptors, musicians, prophets, and sages, who are united in the bonds of sympathy and love, to compare notes, and to charm and enlighten each other with the productions of their individual minds. Thee will observe that it is up hill all the way, extending beyond thy vision, and that the road is slippery and seemingly impossible to climb, typifying the pathway over which struggling genius is forced to go, slipping here and there, oftentimes stumbling, until it plumes its wings for bolder flight, and by determined effort and perseverance wins the goal.
“The novitiate who first enters this temple dedicated to the Muses would fain ascend yonder roadway, but, finds himself unable to do so; for he must first visit each one of the halls of learning ere he attempts to enter the grand temple of Art. When he has done so, he finds no need to crawl slowly up yonder plane, but concentrating his will upon the desired spot, by the power thus acquired, mounts upward without fear, and gains the goal.
“But thou, my son, must now pass beyond yonder drapery; there thou wilt find that for which thy soul is to be fitted. Thou wilt find kindred minds, and sometime thy birth-right. I must leave thee; my work calls me away; others will teach thee the lesson of life. Farewell, and God bless thee.”
The sage vanished, and I was again alone. Curiosity and interest led me to approach and push aside the hanging velvet that obscured my sight. I did so, and beheld a vast apartment, the roof of which, fretted with lace-like tracings of golden hue, was supported by richly-carved columns of finely-veined marble. The floor was a mosaic of pearl and ivory, formed into clusters of flowers. At the farther end was a raised dais, covered with a crimson, satin-like fabric, above which, suspended from golden rods, clouds of creamy, fairy-like lace drooped and fluttered.
Upon the dais was seated the stately form of a male spirit, whose majestic-bearing, noble brow, and intelligent, genial, love-lit countenance attracted and held the admiration, esteem, and respect of the beholder. Upon either side was seated a personage, mild and gentle of demeanor, with the unmistakable mark of genius stamped upon his brow. Ranged around the dais in a semi-circle were a number of seats, filled with occupants of both sexes, all seemingly earnestly attentive to the master spirit of the hour.
The inmates of the hall were clothed in various costumes, such as their fancy suggested; but with such correctness of taste that all the colors and styles blended together in perfect harmony, and in company with their surroundings made up a superb and radiant picture, perfect in all its details. I noticed a peculiar halo of mellow light emanating from and surrounding each member of this assembly, graduating from a beautiful tint of yellow down to pearly whiteness, lighting up the features with indescribable beauty. These souls were enveloped in their own wealth of love, sympathy, and perceptive harmony.
I had but to gaze on the massive brow, thoughtful, speaking countenance, and smiling eyes of that central figure when it flashed upon me, that this was Addison,—Addison the gifted, noble and true, whose works I had ever admired, and which I considered beyond emulation. The pale, saint-like face upon the right I recognized as Cowper, the good. At the left, with flashing eye, and impassioned features, was Byron, but Byron purged of the impurities and grossness of sensual life.
I gazed around, and it dawned upon me who these people were. I saw the calm, pure features and love-lit eyes of Felicia Hemans, of Elizabeth B. Browning, of Letitia Landon, and others well-known to me from the melodious outpourings of their spirits. There were Dryden, Thompson, and Pope,—once little, misshapen Alexander Pope, now grown straight, lithe, and willowy with no discontent upon his features, even sitting at the feet of Addison, absorbing the reflected light of that stately presence.
I could not understand what was going on. I heard nothing but a low, sweet, rhythmic sound proceeding from the dais, which was unintelligible to me, though, from the interested looks of those present it was evidently not so to them. I had advanced no farther than to the inner side of the curtain, for I dared not intrude upon that celestial company. I again glanced at myself, and as the contrast between my faded, dust-worn, shabby appearance and the fresh purity and sweetness of these harmonious souls flashed upon me, together with the thought that, had I done more and been more in the past, I too might have been seated here with this angelic host, in place of creeping in like an outcast and an alien, I covered my face and fled from the apartment and the place.
I next found myself standing upon a sandy shore, watching and listening to the roar of the surging waves as they came rolling in to my feet. All was wild and tempestuous. How I had come here I could not tell; through what tortuous, devious paths I had wandered I could not explain. I felt that I had passed through a fiery furnace. I was still scathed and smarting from the sting of accusing memory. I felt a touch upon my shoulder, and turning gazed into a pair of kindly, sympathetic eyes, the eyes of one whom I felt was to be my friend and brother; of one whose name shall yet be sung throughout the length of Old England; one who passed from earth a few years before myself, at the early age of thirty-two. I gazed into the eyes of Robert Brough, poet and friend. Instantly I knew I had met one who would assist and teach me what my spirit required.
“I have come to help you,” he said, grasping my hand in a hearty clasp; “I have long followed you, I was at the Poet’s Council, and saw you enter. Noting your movements, watching the expression of your countenance, I understood your condition, and when you rushed forth I followed, feeling that I might be able to assist you. I have since kept you in sight, but owing to the clouds that enwrapped you, I have been heretofore unable to make my presence known. Now that the force of your emotions is spent, and you are beginning to grow calm and collected, I come to offer you my assistance, and to show you how to nobly retrieve the past, and find perfect peace for your soul. Will you accept my aid?”
I grasped the hand still holding my own, and cried in a voice choked with emotion: “I will! I will! only show me the way, and I will follow you?”
“To you,” continued my friend, pointing to the surging billows before us, “this scene is presented as a type of the desolate, lonely shore, and the warring billows of passion-haunted thoughts, upon which man may recklessly wreck his whole existence; but, beyond the sandy waste, and the ocean’s depths, there are calm waters, and sweet, smiling fields where we may find redemption, and make that restitution necessary to peace of mind. Come with me and I will guide you to health and happiness. Concentrate your thought upon me, and remain passive.”
I did so, and instantly I found my companion and self transported from the dreary shore to the same valley I had entered on my first visit to the immortal world. “You wonder at my mode of transportation,” said Robert, noting my surprise, “but you will soon become used to it, for it is the spirit’s true mode of rapid traveling. We have only to fix our will upon the place to which we wish to go, and instantly space is annihilated, and we are there. When you have thrown off a few more of the conditions of your earth life, you will be able to understand this law, and many others; and in order that you may do so, I wish you to plunge into yonder mist arising before us.”
But a few feet from us there ascended from the depths of a small lake a heavy bank of mist or vapor, and, in compliance with the request of my friend, I plunged into this fog, which, upon my doing so, seemed to penetrate every atom of my being.
When I emerged I seemed indeed to have been born again, to have received a baptism that had washed away much that was heavy and gross in my system, and I felt light as air, and almost imponderable.
“Now you begin to feel something like a spirit,” said my friend, seating himself upon a mossy bank, and motioning me to a seat beside him; “you are becoming regenerated; look at yourself, and you will perceive a change; you can also see, hear, and feel clearer and better; all your senses are awakened and quickened, because the spirit is beginning to work free from the crudities of materiality.”
It was indeed true; my senses did seem to be intensified ten-fold; distance lent no obstruction to my view; my vision appeared to be unlimited. I could perceive forms, radiant in angelic beauty, moving to and fro; towns and cities gleaming white in the sunlight where before my sight was bounded by the horizon, and I could see nothing but the limits of the beautiful valley, and no human being but our two selves.
My hearing, too, was quickened; for sweet, harmonious sounds stole upon my ear, where before I had heard nothing; all my senses seemed to be trebly alive, and awakened to activity; my outer structure, too, had grown so clear and fair as to become almost transparent, while my garments had assumed a purity of appearance I had never noticed before.
“You will soon be able to enter into and enjoy all the true pleasures of existence,” resumed the poet. “I, too, have passed under experiences and trials similar to your own; and though they were not induced by precisely the same cause, yet they were sufficiently severe to lead me to sympathize with and give you strength.”
He ceased, and my soul became too full of gratitude for utterance, perceiving which, he said: “By-and-bye, all these things will be explained to you, and you will thank the good Father for giving you these experiences, by which to develop and strengthen your spirit. But come, I must show you your work. Remain passive, and trust in me.”
Again I followed his bidding, and in a moment more we were gliding along the streets of an earthly town. Again I was in the precincts of old England, but material sights and sounds seemed farther away from me than ever before.
“I am going to take you,” said my guide, “to one who is noble and true to the stern duties of life; one who, in spite of trials and perplexities, of trouble and care, has remained faithful to the higher dictates of his inner spirit; who, reared in poverty, has yet carved out a name for himself, and by turning aside from the glittering allurements of life, has endeared himself to many hearts,—a royal soul, a kingly mind, as yet in the physical body. I bring you to him, that from the example of his life, and the strength of his soul, you may learn your lesson, and draw encouragement to go on and do likewise.”
He ceased to speak, and instantly we were in an apartment which I recognized as the room of a thinker, a student, and a poet. There was but one occupant; a slight figure, bearing a lofty head and noble brow, with an earnest, intellectual cast of features. He was busy perusing a book, which, from the intentness of his gaze, I divined must have been a work requiring deep study.
How calm and peaceful was the atmosphere of that place! The air was replete with quiet and rest. “I shall leave you here,” said my guide. “When we meet again, you will be the worker, and one who has found content and joy. Adieu.”
He was gone; and there, in the quiet sanctuary of the poet’s study, in company with that loyal soul, whose earnest thought was to elevate humanity; in contemplation of his work, and drawing strength and encouragement from his fidelity to truth, and his desire to benefit mankind, I became strong and enduring, enabled to put away the enticing temptations of life, to expand my powers under the light of spirit development; and a desire was kindled in my soul that has never been quenched,—a desire to be of use, to do good to others, to assist the needy, elevate the downtrodden, and enlighten and instruct those sitting in darkness.
Sitting in the companionship of that noble mind, reading with him his works, listening to his songs of beauty, witnessing his dreams for the remission of human ills, painted as they were on the sensorium of his soul, in colors of gorgeous splendor; breathing in the perfume of his holiest aspirations, watching his struggles and triumphs,—I became purified and purged of old crudities, and went out from that presence with a determination to do something for humanity, to be something in the great arena of life; and from that determination I have never strayed.
Born of this desire,—to do something for the good of humanity,—there came to my soul a new strength unlike anything I had known before; and which enabled me to enter dens of vice in search of souls to aid without danger of contamination, or of falling a victim to temptation. Of my work in this direction I shall speak in a future chapter; but first I wish to tell you of a visit I have made to one of our brightest spirits; one whose songs are known and sung the wide world over.