Katie Ammidown Kinsey—the beautiful spirit to whom we are indebted for the larger part of the contents of this book—was the second daughter of Joseph and Ann Frances Kinsey, of Cincinnati, Ohio. Born in that city Oct. 7, 1856, the subject of this sketch lived in the home of her parents—save when she was away at school—until her twenty-first year, when, in the July of 1877, while making a visit at the home of an uncle in Milton, Indiana, she was suddenly summoned to enter the spirit world after an illness of only a few days.
The character and disposition of Miss Kinsey were of the most exemplary and lovely nature. Of her it could be truly said: “None knew thee but to love thee, nor named thee but to praise.” Hers was no common life; imbued with an earnest and deep sympathy for humanity, and ever desirous of doing good, her days were spent in thoughtful care for others, and in seeking to give practical expression to the golden rule. In a memorial address framed by the officers of the Sabbath school, at which Katie was a regular attendant, and presented to her parents as a token of the rare appreciation in which she was held by all, are to be found the following commendatory words of her earthly life:—
“Her heart was open, frank, and transparent; we all recognized the loveliness and beauty of her character and life, and they have left an impression not easily removed. She has always been the same sweet, gentle spirit; no expression which was not fitting to be made anywhere, no harsh word or unkind look marred her beautiful life; always ready to discharge cheerfully any duty assigned to her, and always well. As a scholar she seemed to absorb all that was taught, and to drink in the great truth of redeeming love. Her long connection with our school, and her interest in everything that would promote its welfare, we record as worthy of all imitation.”
For some time before her physical decease Miss Kinsey displayed a taste for literary pursuits, which was very gratifying to her friends, as well as pleasing to herself. For a number of months previous to her last illness, she had filled the position of editress of a lively little paper called The Spectator, published by the Friends’ Lyceum, an organization of which she was a member; and it is needless to remark that she managed the sheet with becoming skill, ability, and discretion.
Widely was the death of their beloved president and editress deplored by the various members of the society, and a set of resolutions, expressing grief at their loss, and the esteem in which she was held by the organization, was framed and adopted at its first meeting following her decease.
Notices of the death of Miss Kinsey appeared in the Cincinnati papers, and bore expression to the universal love and respect in which she was held; while letters of condolence were forwarded to her parents from all quarters.
Shortly after the decease of their daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Kinsey collected the memorial addresses, resolutions, letters of sympathy, newspaper articles, etc., on her death, and in connection with the literary productions of their ascended child, published them in an elegantly bound volume, copies of which were presented to the numerous friends who had known and loved her.
This memorial volume bears the following inscription upon its title page:—
The articles that follow, from the pen of Miss Kinsey, will indicate to the reader her mental ability, and the liberal opinions entertained by her. They were written while filling the position of editress of The Spectator, and published in its columns on the dates specified:—
“Of all the gifts given to man, the power to sympathize is the most God-like, and the man who has it not knows not what life is; when he reaches his journey’s end on this side, having been supremely selfish all the way, he will discover that what he called life was but a living death after all.
“Love and sympathy seem nearly synonymous, but the former can be selfish, while the very essence of the latter is thought for others. Genius is but an intense power to sympathize, coupled with ability to express the same. In fact, this one word makes a part of so many good things that to enjoy life at all we must sympathize with nature, man, or God.
“A sympathy with nature is the source of marvelous comfort; Shakespeare understood it when he said:
“There are times when life grown burdensome hangs like a leaden weight upon our necks; we would get away from ourselves, and it is necessary to use all our power to crush the wish that we had never been born; then if we can go into the fields or woods, and, throwing ourselves upon the ground, rest our heads on the loving earth, how soon we find relief. The quiet breeze is like a friendly hand upon our brows; the voice of the brook, the song of birds, and hum of insects are like balm upon a wound; we are children in our mothers’ arms, and the grand old trees are our brothers and sisters. Whatever human friends may leave or disappoint us, we have always sweet sympathizers in the flowers, trees, brooks, rocks, grass, and everything which springs to life in the fields or woods, on the mountains or in the valleys.
“A sympathy with our fellow-beings is higher than that with nature, because more active and requiring forbearance. ‘Put yourself in his place’ has a world of meaning. We should strive that ours may be the finger which shall touch the secret spring in our neighbor’s heart, which shall unlock the good lying dormant there for want of help to bring it out. Strive to realize their griefs and temptations. If we could for one short hour put ourselves in the place of some one whom we now condemn with so much bitterness; if we could see how circumstances have wrapped their fatal web around him, how much the fatal tendency to do evil is the terrible legacy of his parents, how often would harsh judgment lie low in the dust, and loving mercy cover with her shielding mantle? If we could throw off this crust of ice, with which so many of us seem to have encased ourselves, how much more good we could do? Now, we stand apart; then, joined together, each helping the other, we would fulfill the purpose of our being.
“Sympathy with God! Is it blasphemous for weak mortals to think of such a thing? No! The loving Father alone is acquainted with us, and is therefore the only thorough sympathizer we have. ‘He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.’ We commence to be in harmony with God just as soon as by cultivating sympathy for man, we become fellow-workers with Him.”
March 2, 1877.
“Girls are queer creatures, but we cannot help liking them. Under all the silliness and vanity there is a vein of gold in everyone which is undoubtedly genuine,—it comes to the surface sometimes, but is often so deeply imbedded in nonsense that a superficial observer would not have the slightest suspicion of its existence. Part of this want of sense is natural, but a great deal of it is acquired in a negative way. The majority of girls have very little object in life, and cannot see the use of accumulating material which they never expect to use; to be sure they all intend to be married some time, but, judging from the specimens of male suitors, they see that which requires but very little effort and less sense. So, when papa and mamma, after a great deal of consultation, decide upon a good school their daughter goes there, but she could hardly tell you why. If she has no positive love for study, her chief end and aim, while in school, will be to shuffle off the lessons for the day with the utmost dispatch, and ‘there’s an end.’ When school days are over, she expects to have nothing more to do with the subjects there considered, excepting a little reading, writing, spelling, and arithmetic. She is to enter society, which to hundreds means spending the days with a little house-work, making a good many calls, and doing some shopping. The evenings are devoted to dancing or talking with vapid-brained young men, who never had an idea in their lives, and consider it an insult if a lady ventures one. Or worse than this, perhaps they must talk with young men whom they know have sense, but will not condescend to use it in their presence.
“After a while the girl is expected to marry one of these individuals. They do very well for a partner in a cotillion, but how about life? Let us see what she has to say about it, talking to a confidential friend: ‘Oh, yes, it is decided that Mr. B. and I are to be made one. I can’t say I love him devotedly, and really think him decidedly stupid sometimes; but I suppose it is all for the best, for you see I cannot do a single thing, and if papa should be taken away or lose his health, having nothing to depend upon but his salary now, what would become of us then? As it is, Mr. B. is rich, and I can give a nice, comfortable home to both mamma and papa at any time after we are married.’
“What silly and romantic ideas we had about marriage when we went to school? How soon they vanish in real life! Here we have to take the best we can get and be thankful for it. We believe the above to be a fair sample of hundreds of the marriages made at the present day. The man wants a housekeeper, the woman a home. Each gets what he or she bargained for, and so much more that it is not strange the daily papers are full of accounts of divorce suits. Let the girls, as well as the boys, be educated to do something whereby they can make an honorable living, and we believe a great deal of unhappiness will be prevented. It seems to us but justice to allow women to do ‘whatsoever their hands find to do with their might,’ whether it be dressmaking, cooking, washing and ironing, or practicing law and medicine. It also seems no more than right that she should have a voice in the affairs of the country under whose laws she lives and educates her children.
“The sterner sex need have no fears that when woman has the ballot she will usurp their privilege of smoking, swearing, wearing the hair short, fighting at the polls, and other such delicacies; neither will she monopolize the stump at election times, and harangue the people, calling everyone who disagrees with her names that decent people would blush to address to a dog. Some people pretend to fear that when women vote they will have no time for domestic affairs, and that the institution of home itself will be destroyed. Heart-rending pictures are drawn of pater familias, seated by the deserted hearth-stone, vainly endeavoring to quiet a weeping infant, while its mother has gone to the ‘pollsys, wollsys.’ As the old woman said: ‘We feel for that man, but we can’t find him’; neither can we find the mother who would intrust her infant to such doubtful care. From the fuss made about the time taken from domestic duties one would think it took a week to put a small slip of paper into a medium-sized box. Why, we have known of men who could put in half a dozen in less than half that time, and no one suspects women to be less clever than men.
“As for home, who made the home in the first place? Woman, of course; and she loves it as she loves her life. Here the golden vein in her nature will come to the surface and sparkle resplendently. Will her home be any the less sweet when she feels that she can indeed be a help-meet to her husband if disaster overtake him in business? Will her children be less dear because she has the consciousness that she can protect and care for them if the head of the house be taken away? Will she love her husband less, knowing that she married him to have a loving companion, and not simply a person to support her?
“A woman naturally wishes to respect and look up to her husband, therefore, we have decided that society, when it is perfected, should be looked upon as a flight of stairs,—conceding to man the position on the highest step, if you please, but there is a woman on the one just below, and the steps are not very high. In this way they alternate until we reach the lowest step, and what find we there? A disconsolate old bachelor, with disheveled hair, croaking a tune, the burden of which is that women have no business to vote.”
May 18, 1877.
The following little gem, published by Miss Kinsey in the Spectator early in 1877, is here reproduced at the earnest solicitations of many friends:—
“It is a melancholy fact that the majority of mankind hate to grow old. If sin was looked upon with as much shrinking and dread as is the idea of growing old, there would speedily be a great reformation in the world. This is a bad state of affairs; an evidence, in fact, that we are looking through the wrong end of the glass. If we had a journey to make, at the end of which there was a delightful country, more beautiful than anything the imagination could picture, where all that heart could desire should be ours, the one nearest his journey’s end would not be looked upon as the most unfortunate. Yet this is often the case in life; looking upon one far in advance, we think, because his body is feeble and nearly worn out, he must be unhappy; he would not be so if, having understood the journey, he had taken pains to know and accept the blessings by the way.
“We confess that, looking upon life as seen now, there is often much excuse for those who think youth the only pleasant season. Stopping to think a moment, we see this is all wrong. Advancement, not retrogression, is the proper watchword in all undertakings. Is the bud more perfect than the flower, or the flower than the fruit? Old age is the ripened fruit of life, and it remains entirely with us to see that it shall be sweet and pleasant to the taste, instead of bitter and disagreeable. One cause for the latter condition we find lies in persons who, having been disappointed themselves, say to their children: ‘Have a good time while you are young; old age brings nothing but care and responsibility.’ Better give a child poison at once than start him out with that idea. Some will say: ‘Children are so happy, being so innocent; do let them be children forever.’ The innocence of childhood is unfortunately the result of ignorance, and can never make character; one who does good because he knows not how to do evil has no more character than the one who does evil because he knows no good.
“In youth, knowing little, we have small ideas of life, and consequently cannot have a broad and full enjoyment of it. But we might as well remain children if the knowledge we gain with years does not make us wiser and prevent us running off into every by-path we see, getting nearly swamped in somebody else’s opinion, and having to retrace our steps. Behaving in this manner, we cannot expect to reach old age without being tired and disgusted with the journey. Having worn out our brains endeavoring to make two parallel lines meet, and our bodies trying to follow them to the impossible point, time has been too short to consider that which is spiritual, and we must be miserable at the thought of entering a life entirely so. As the body becomes feeble the soul should grow strong and triumphant, for then we know that our feet are just upon the border of the ‘Promised Land,’ only waiting till the thin mist which hides it shall be dispersed by the sunlight of God’s will.”
For some years Mr. Joseph Kinsey, the father of Miss Katie, has been an earnest and devoted Spiritualist, and his opinions concerning the future life of man are well-known in the community where he resides, and among the business men of the country with whom he associates. His daughter, however, had not become convinced of the truths of the spiritual philosophy previous to her death. Let us quote her own words on this subject as given through her chosen medium, in a communication to her father some years after her transition to the higher life:—
“I was not well enough acquainted with Spiritualism, dear father, to understand and accept its revealments; nor was it until I myself became a disembodied spirit, and realized that I possessed the power to return and intelligently communicate with my mortal friends, that I cared to investigate its claims, and to profit by the teachings and privileges that Spiritualism affords to man.”
After her departure from the mortal form, Miss Kinsey embraced every opportunity to communicate with her father and other friends; but it was not until Dec. 22, 1878, that she appeared at a circle in South Boston, Mass., and controlled the now well-known Banner of Light medium, Miss M. T. Shelhamer, who was at that time the message medium of the Voice of Angels,—a spiritual journal then and now published semi-monthly in Boston,—and gave the following lengthy communication, which appeared in that journal Jan. 15, 1879:—
“It was in the beautiful summer time that I passed away from earth, but not from the love, the true home affections, of my parents’ hearts. Then the birds, the zephyrs, and the flowers made life beautiful and glad, and earth rang with the melody of perfected spring. Now the blasts of winter have appeared,—the cold blast and the biting storm. I loved the glad, warm summer; I loved the winter too, with its diadem of glittering ice-gems, and its white drapery of snow, covering all unsightly places with a robe of purity, just as the mantle of charity, drawn by the hand of pitying kindness, covers all unsightly blemishes in the lives of those around it. I come with gladness tonight, not weak and worn out with pain, but strong and robust, to bring the stalks of creamy, white Christmas lilies, that breathe only of purity and peace, and to plant them in the hearts of my darling father and mother, with the blessings of all their dear ones who have developed, and are developing the graces of spiritual culture in the higher life.
“Oh, father, oh, mother, life is so beautiful! Here the forces and attributes of the spirit do not ripen at the expense of the external form. Spirit growth is so natural, so in harmony with outward law, that the inner keeps pace with the outer, and both expand together. The student presents no paling cheek, no wasted frame, for knowledge is gained while living in accordance with nature’s laws. My spirit is expanding, developing; I am daily gaining strength. My instructors are judicious and kind, and it is so glorious to express with perfected language the true, pure essence of thought that permeates the spirit.
“By-and-bye we will meet and greet you, oh, so lovingly in our own dear spirit home. Until then we come to you daily, nestling in our sweet, old home, drawing love and sympathy from your souls, bringing peace and affection to crown your spirits. Eight jewels[1] flash a radiance of celestial love toward you tonight from this distant place. Eight gems, polished by the hand of the Great Lapidary, shine in the crown of light that awaits you above.”
1. Referring to herself and brothers and sisters in the spirit world.
“‘Yes, sir,’ addressing Mr. Robert Anderson, the chairman of the Voice of Angels circle, ‘I have returned from spirit life before, but not here. We frequently come. We have manifested tangibly and satisfactorily to our friends at different places. Last summer we did so in an unmistakable manner at the West. A year ago, some of us tried to manifest at Mrs. Boothby’s, in Boston. We come as often as we can. Our home is full of harmony and love, and it strengthens our spirits to come, while it consoles our parents to believe that we are with them. My uncle, who passed away many years ago by accident, has gained a great deal of experience and knowledge with my father at the bank, and in other business places; and he blesses father for his faith in spirit ministration, for it is of great assistance to him.
“The spirit editor[2] of the Voice tells me that if I desire at any time to write out my thoughts, or to give expression to my ideas through this medium (Miss Shelhamer), he will be pleased to publish them. I thank him, and may avail myself of his kind offer; should I do so, father and all my friends will recognize me under the nom de plume of Spirit Violet, as that is the name I shall assume. I love the violets, their sweet perfume sheds an atmosphere of beauty around me, and they breathe of innocence and peace.
2. L. Judd Pardee, through whose agency the Voice of Angels was established and managed, in connection with D. C. Densmore, the publisher.
“I know not as I have given all I could wish, but must not trespass longer. I thank you very kindly for receiving me. My name is Katie A. Kinsey. I come from Cincinnati, Ohio. My father is Mr. Joseph Kinsey of that city.”
The paper containing the above was forwarded according to the spirit’s direction to Cincinnati, and elicited a letter of inquiry from Mr. Joseph Kinsey, of that city, as to how and where the message was first obtained. Dr. D. C. Densmore, the publisher of the Voice of Angels, replied, giving all the facts of the case, as he had received them from the managers of the circle. The following response, received in due time by Dr. Densmore, and which explains itself, was published in the Voice of Feb. 15, 1879, the very paper which contained the first literary production of Spirit Violet, given through the mediumship of Miss Shelhamer:—
Dear Sir,—I have your valued letter of the 20th ult., in reply to my letter of inquiry for the particulars as to how and through what medium that beautiful message came from Katie A. Kinsey, published in your paper of Jan. 15th. Your very full statement of the facts and circumstances, together with her sweet message of love, affection, and sympathy, which has since been partially corroborated through J. V. Mansfield, at 61 West 42nd St., New York, leads me to conclude that the message is verily and truly from our darling daughter Katie, who left her mortal form about nineteen months ago, aged twenty years. In that message she brings to my remembrance occurrences in my father’s family of nearly fifty years ago, of which she probably never heard in her life. I send you this affirmation as a pleasing duty in sustaining your work for the Voice of Angels.
Shortly after the publication of the message above alluded to, Spirit Violet, Katie Kinsey, appeared to Miss Shelhamer for the purpose of writing for the press, and in the capacity of a literary spirit has attended that lady from that time to the present, forming one of her band of spirit intelligences, whose work it is to assist other spirits to communicate to their mortal friends through the message department of the Banner of Light, to instruct the denizens of earth concerning their duties to each other, and the best manner of preparing for their future life, and also to inform them of the condition, surroundings, and existence of spirits. Spirit Violet subsequently contributed regularly to the columns of the Voice of Angels, and it is from what she thus furnished to mortals from time to time concerning the real existence and experiences of spirits that we have selected the larger part of the contents of this book.
In a private letter written to her father some time since, the spirit thus explains how she happened to learn and avail herself of the mediumship of Miss Shelhamer:—
“When I learned that it was possible for spirits to take possession of certain sensitives on earth, and through the organisms thus provided, manifest their love and sympathy to their earthly friends, my great anxiety to reach you and mother led me to eagerly seek for a medium adapted to my purpose, and I availed myself of every opportunity to express myself to you and others. I remembered that you were strongly interested in the Message Department of the Banner of Light, and that you held a high opinion of the abilities of the medium who presided over it. So I expressed my desire to visit the Banner circle to my spirit brother John, who promised to accompany me there at an early date. But upon presenting myself at that circle I was disappointed to find that it was utterly impossible for me to control, or to influence in any manner, the medium whom I found there.
“Her magnetism did not in any degree assimilate with my own, and though I visited her circles many times, and watched the ease with which other spirits possessed themselves of her organism, yet I was never able to perform a like operation.
“At those circles, however, I met the spirit Rev. John Pierpont, a frequenter of that place, who noticed my anxiety, and at length questioned me upon it. To him I related my troubles, and he kindly volunteered to direct me to a medium through whom he thought I could express myself. The spirit further stated that the lady to whom he referred was under the charge of a band of spirits of which himself and Mrs. Conant were members, who were developing her powers that they might be utilized by the spirit world upon the Banner of Light platform, as the lady who then presided at that office would soon be unable to attend to her duties. And to further this end, a branch office had been established at South Boston, where spirits who desired to communicate with their friends, and were unable to do so at the Banner establishment, were given an opportunity to be heard through the columns of the Voice of Angels.
“Mr. Pierpont then introduced me to the spirit brother of my present medium, and I was invited by him to attend a circle at his earthly home and to manifest myself through the organism of his sister.
“This occurred in the early fall; but though I became a regular visitor at the weekly circles of the medium, it was not until the following winter that I gained power to control her organism, and indite that message which was afterward received by you through the dear little paper. In the meantime I had made the acquaintance of Mr. Pierpont, Mr. Pardee, John Critchley Prince, and other noble spirits at those seances, by whom I was cordially invited to become a literary contributor to the Voice.”
The selections from the writings of Spirit Violet, which this book contains, consist mainly of accounts and narratives of life in the spirit world, together with an intelligent exposition of methods employed by spirits in their labor for the benefit of mortals. We shall now leave the subject of this sketch to speak for herself in the chapters that follow, concerning those things that appertain to the realms of spirit life.
What is more beautiful than a morning in the Summer-Land? All things breathe of harmony and peace. No jarring discords break upon the ambient air; no sense of unloveliness and distress disturbs the spirit; no storm-clouds overcast the heavens with threatening anger. The golden sun tempers his rays in mildness and with beneficent warmth. The birds sing fearlessly in the tree tops; the waters flow merrily to the laughing sea; the breezes play in wanton glee, tossing the leaflets upon the trees, and robbing the flowers of their choicest perfume to greet the senses of the passer-by.
Pure souls, to whom no taint of materiality clings; sweet spirits, who have never felt, or having felt, have risen above the influence of earthly passions, here abide, and, gathering together into convocations,—convened not for ceremony, nor from pride of station, but from sympathy and friendship,—interchange the rich treasures of the mind, cultivate through soul communion, the true graces of the spirit and work in unity together, thus developing the adaptability of each one for his peculiar mission, and, above all, seek, by those united efforts, born of sincerity of purpose, and love for humanity, to devise ways and means for the amelioration of suffering upon earth, as well as for the elevation of lowly, undeveloped Beings in the spirit world.
This is the dear Summer-Land of ascended souls. A Summer-Land as far removed from those spirits who still dwell in the darkness, emitted by their earthly career, and who continue to cling to the shadow of material dross, as it is from those inhabitants of clay, whose thoughts of the future are confined to longings for personal grandeur alone, and whose souls never mount upon the wings of aspiration in reaching out toward the higher realms of purity and goodness, or in searching for the dear Father and his ministering angels.
The silvery chime of bells floats upon the morning air, which bathes my spirit in waves of sweet, melodious sound. Grandly, solemnly they chime, lifting the soul above all selfish thoughts and purposes; bearing it upward and onward upon the wings of sacred music; far upward in adoration toward the source of all this beautiful, beneficent, and immortal life. Faint and low the sweet chime flows downward also, bearing a sense of what is highest and best to those plunged in sorrow, pain, and doubt, and giving them hope of a sweeter life yet to be attained through honest endeavor and individual effort. Sweet and low, floating down, down, into the hearts of loved ones on earth, thrilling them with a calmness of heavenly peace, a sense of perfect rest, and bearing into their souls undying echoes of love, sympathy, and remembrance, from their dear ones who have gone before.
I have just listened to the above rendition of the inspiring missionary hymn, and my soul thrills in harmony with the aspirations and the desire to spread the light of truth before all people, which was thus expressed.
It was in no hall of worship and assembly that the words of the hymn fell upon my hearing. But in returning from the earthly home of loved ones, where I had been to whisper my matin greeting of sympathy and affection, to my peculiar haunts in the spirit world, I found a knot of spirit missionaries who had met to exchange reports of their labor, and to unite their powers and energies in doing good to the needy by shedding a stream of light upon earth’s darkened places.
There were venerable men whose years had been spent in working for others. Their flowing robes, and the sandals upon their feet rendered their appearance patriarchal. There were elderly females in whose countenances appeared the light of pure love and benevolence. These latter were the nurses, the tender counsellors, the gentle mother spirits, whose lives are devoted to the ministering unto sin-sick, battle-worn souls, who enter spirit life without hope or faith. There were also young men and maidens, novices in the work of teaching others, but who, from their earnest desire to be of use and to do good, were drawn to this particular field of toil.
The garb of all but the patriarchs was similar to that worn upon earth; but the females were clothed in plainer, less elaborate garments than I think any of their mortal sisters would have been content to wear. No badge of office glistened upon their breasts, or gleamed from the shoulder. Nor was this necessary; their credentials shone from their sparkling eyes, and beamed in their tender, pitying faces. Theirs is a mission of peace, and only the implements of love and good-will do they require, such as tender, earnest speech, faithful hearts and helping hands, to accomplish their work.
I could perceive the purpose of their meeting; here, in a comparatively isolated spot, where the trees hemmed them in from external scenes, unmolested by others, they had met to make their reports, and to gain strength, cheer, and encouragement from their friendly and soul-felt intercourse. They had just begun to sing the old familiar hymn, a verse of which I have quoted, as I came up, and the melody, which trickled through the lines like a stream of light, together with their earnestness of expression, arrested my attention, and thrilled my being with a new purpose and aspiration. Oh, thought I, what a glorious mission, to be of use to others, to be a beacon-star to some lonely wanderer amid the trials of life, to speak words of kindness, of hope and love to the broken-hearted and sad. Oh, that I might be like these people!
Instantly, one of the band, a gentle, beautiful female, turned to me with out-stretched hand as if in greeting, her whole countenance suffused with joy, and said: “Dear child, thy mission hath already begun; thine is the task to bear love and sympathy to weary mortals, to whisper words of peace and hope, and to point them to a higher life. What more heavenly task than this! The divinest work for the soul is to fulfill the duty laid upon it. In thee we see the promise of labor to be wrought. Go on thy way, inspire the spirits of those thee doth approach with faith and trust in the love of God; point each to the land of life beyond the rolling tide of death; carry pure and gentle thoughts to mortals struggling with the trials of life; drop the sunlight of peace upon all whom thou dost meet. Thus canst thou and every spirit become a messenger of joy, a missionary of hope and truth. God bless and guide thee in thy efforts for good.”
Like a holy benediction the words fell upon my spirit, filling me with a sense of love for all things. Then and there I resolved to do all in my power to cheer, enlighten, and instruct the sorrowing and the uninformed, feeling that in this I could perform my work, and also brighten the golden links binding me to loved ones on the mortal side.
Just now my mind is filled with thoughts of an interview I have recently held with a fair young girl, who but lately burst the bonds confining her to a material body. She was sad, very sad. All this life is new and strange to her, and though surrounded by tender care and loving sympathy, yet filial affection draws her constantly back to those dear parents who, sorrowing as those without hope, cannot realize her presence with them.
“My mother,” she said to me, “oh, my mother! if I could speak to her and tell her of my home in Heaven! But my death was such a heavy blow to her; she is so sad, so miserable, and I cannot help her!”
“You can; you will bless and comfort your mother,” I replied; “if you will come with me I will show you how to send a message to those you love on earth. You have heard of a medium?”
“Oh, yes, but it would be no use for me to visit one. My friends would not accept anything given them from such a source; they would believe it all nonsense. No, it is no use.”
“But you can make such an effort to reach your mother, and if you fail it will be no worse to you than it is at present.”
“Oh, yes, it would,” she exclaimed, “I might not be able to give facts enough through another organism to establish my identity to my friends, and I think it would break my heart to have my love rejected. I would rather not attempt it.”
However, in a little while I gained the young lady’s consent to accompany me to a spirit circle, and I hope ultimately to induce her to send a message to her friends on earth. Her evident sorrow and distress have filled me with deep solicitude to unite her in spirit with her sorrowing mother.
How true it is that hundreds of spirits, manifesting through organisms foreign to their own, and doing the best they can, expressing their love and sympathy, and bringing words of counsel and cheer to mortals, have been repulsed with distrust and suspicion, even with a positive denial of their presence, because they were unable to give every item of material affairs demanded of them.
Such a reception of their efforts to communicate causes sensitive, loving spirits untold pain and sorrow; causes them to recoil from earthly conditions, and thus retards their manifestation to mortals. Were I upon earth, understanding this matter as I now do, I would accept a loving, kindly communication, purporting to come from a spirit friend, not with over credulity, but with the thought it may come from my friend who is not yet able to give me all I wish to know; but I will not reject this token of love, lest in doing so I spurn and wound my loving spirit friend. In this way I would throw out a ladder of reciprocal love, upon which my dear one could descend and bear me tidings of immortal life, thereby strengthening conditions, until that spirit gained power to give me all my soul required.
Who can realize the anguish of a loving mother’s heart when called upon to part with the mortal form of a beloved child? Others may sorrow and weep; the nearest kindred may realize with pain a vacancy in the family circle, a niche in their love unfilled, that can never be occupied again. But they have pursuits, and in time enjoyments, to call their attention, and soon their grief becomes a tender, sweet, yet holy, memory. And well that it is so, for death was but a golden bridge over which their loved one passed to immortal shores, while she who left them bodily is unseen, simply because she has come so close to their hearts that she can enter into their love, and permeate them with a spiritual radiance.
But the mother’s heart is longest in healing. How she looks for her darling to come to her! How she falls asleep weeping, and awakens with a sense of loss, of hopelessness that is almost akin to despair; and how she hourly calls in spirit the name of the one child who is dearest to her because unseen!
Oh, darling mothers! Oh, sorrowing, heart-broken mothers! weep not; your dear ones are all around you, bringing love, peace, and comfort to your souls. They are not lost; sweet and low they whisper tidings of a happy reunion yet to come; and though you know it not, their loving arms are around you, sustaining and strengthening. Their sweet lips meet yours; their white hands lead you onward toward the higher and the better life! Happy, blessed mother, who accepts this truth! To you it is a pearl of great price,—a crown of unspeakable glory.
Oh, let my mission be to impress the glowing truths of immortality upon the hearts of grief-stricken mortals. To bear to mourning parents, brothers, and sisters, sorrowing husbands, wives, and children; to those who murmur because they believe death has torn their beloved ones from their grasp, this glorious conviction, that the dear ones are not beneath the sod, nor do they dwell millions of miles away, beyond the stars, but amid the glowing sunbeams that fail around their mortal friends, their tender faces shine; and through the golden mists of death their gentle voices are calling to loved ones here. Oh, friends, your dear ones are with you. Not one is lost, none are separated from you, they come to you in the gloom or sorrow, or in the stillness of night. They walk by your side and bless your lives. Whether your sight can pierce the clouds of doubt and fear or not, your loved ones surely come, and by permeating your lives with a holier thought and purer aspiration, they lead you nearer to the heavenly gates, which you shall one day enter, and finding your darlings close beside you, shall then know that they have never died.
A veil of silvery mist has gathered over my Summer-Land home, which is so fine and ethereal that it scarcely hides the golden sunlight that shines through the glittering vapor, turning it molten gold, and now and then changing it to red and blue and every other rainbow hue. The shining mist, descending from snowy clouds, falls silently like a blessing of love upon the green sward, the fragrant flowers, and the branching trees that look up with grateful joy to catch the refreshing bath. The far-off hills and mountains gleam through the lovely veil, with a softened and subdued light that adds a new charm to their beauty. The waters of stream and river murmur more musically sweet, as if conscious of the new power they will have gained when the mists have cleared away. The birds chirp contentedly in their leafy bowers, as if in welcome to this spiritual rain, and all life becomes animated anew, and thrilled with a sweeter power and strength.
No heavy storms, no tearing whirlwinds, come to sweep away the works of nature. Those are but the effects of forces working through matter alone, and belong solely to the mundane world; but softly, silently, and sweetly descends the rain of the Summer-Land, covering hill and dale, shrub and tree, with a tiny dew-like moisture, that brings new vigor and refreshment to all things.
All alone in my quiet sanctum I sit and gaze out upon the golden mist; half lost in wonder and delight I ask myself, was ever anything so beautiful as this? The very essence of life seems descending in that spiritual shower, and under its influence my spirit rises as with new energy, strength, and power.
From the contemplation of the beautiful works of God spread out before me, my thought flows out to dear ones who abide in the mortal form, and filled with love and sympathy it reaches out to their hearts, forming a magnetic chain which connects their lives with my own. A quiet peace stealing over those dear ones on earth, a happy sense of blissful repose filling their souls, prove them to be en rapport with the Higher Life; and though I do not leave my apartment in my spirit home, yet I can see and commune with the loved ones, and send out to them my thoughts upon the chain of affection that binds each soul to mine; I know they receive the message, and respond in the inner consciousness of their hearts to these echoes from the spirit shore.
But though spirits may thus live close to their earthly friends, without leaving their upper homes, yet it affords us sweet delight to return in spiritual presence to the homes we loved on earth, and, by mingling with dear ones in the mortal, partake of their joys, participate in their sorrows, bless them with our affection, and, by silent impression upon their minds, permeate their thoughts with our ideas, and ever seek to draw them upward and onward toward the beautiful and the good. Such is the blessed mission of many loving and devoted spirits who are working for the soul elevation of friends on earth.
In my frequent visits to this medium I have sometimes encountered one who, a poet when on earth, still delights to sing his melodies through the lips of mortals, and at such times I have felt my spirit bathed in a halo of light as I listened to his metrical utterances, or better still came en rapport with his spirit, saw the gems of thought therein, and watched him weaving them into lines of richest grace and beauty. Oh, ye mortals, the poems you receive from minds on earth, whether given forth by the acknowledged poet, or through the organisms of mediums, are but the shadows of a glorious reality above; they are but as skeletons compared with the full and perfect forms, clothed with the majesty of perfected expression in the soul world; a mere outline, which conveys to you perhaps an idea of the beautiful whole, as it flashes forth from the realm of spirit.
In poesy as in music, and indeed as in all the arts and sciences, you can never see its grand revealments, its possibilities and its powers, its radiance and its glory, until you drop from your shoulders the mantle of materiality, and stand forth all spirit, with an abiding desire within your souls to find the beautiful, the holy, and the pure.
This poet soul,[3] of whom I speak, has at times requested me to give expression to some of my thoughts in the golden light of poesy, to drape them with the snowy robes of melodious song; but I shrink from the task, feeling that I cannot do justice to the noble rules of rhyme and rhythm.