THE CHILDREN OF THE SUMMER-LAND.
I think the dear little boys and girls in earth life would like to know
something about the children who live in the bright Summer-land; and so
I am going to tell them about the little ones I have seen in that sweet
country, and the pretty places where they live.
First, my little friends, I will tell you of the beautiful place which
we call Lily-Vale. It is a pretty spot where flowers bloom all the time,
and where birds sing and carol in their merry way to please the children
who live and go to school there. A large lake of clear water is in the
center of Lily-Vale; all around its shores great trees grow, and their
huge branches, trimmed with glossy green leaves, throw a pleasant shade
upon the water, so that it looks like a large, green, shining jewel.
Little white boats, some of them in the shape of swans, and others
fashioned in the form of various shells, ride upon the lake, and it is
the delight of the scholars who dwell here to be allowed, as they often
are, to sail in these tiny “floats,” as we call them, under the care of
their teacher or guardian friend.
They gather together in parties upon the lake shore, a guide and two
children entering each boat, and shoot off across the water to enjoy the
calm breeze and delicious, gliding motion of the skiffs, and at the same
time to learn lessons concerning the nature, qualities, and uses of
water, and the laws of motion as connected with the flow of waves. The
manner of learning about these things is different in the Summer-land
than on earth, and I fear my little mortal friends would not understand
did I attempt to explain it.
Well, sometimes there may be seen from twenty to thirty floats, each
containing three persons,—a teacher and two children,—upon the bosom of
the lake. Today the parties may be content to just move quietly along
upon the water, and tomorrow they may rapidly glide to some distant part
of Lily-Vale, there to enjoy a picnic ramble, perhaps, in Maple Grove or
Woody Glen,—two favorite places of resort for the scholars,—and to
gather information concerning botany and the other branches of natural
history. I am sure my little readers would like to sail upon the lake of
which I write, and to make one of the happy, joyous party of children
who never quarrel, but are always gentle, affectionate, and deferential
to their teachers and one another.
But I must tell you something more of the valley called Lily-Vale, named
thus because its very fine, velvet-like grass, or sward, is dotted with
fragrant, beautiful lilies. These sweet flowers are the delight of the
children, and the pride of the teachers’ hearts, and they make the place
one great bower of fragrance and beauty.
Tall and massive trees uprear their heads in this place, scattered
apart, and in groves, and beneath their luxuriant shade scholar and
teacher alike spend many a happy hour with lesson and task. Other
flowers beside the lily also grow here, and the little ones are never
wearied in tending to them, or watching their growth from day to day.
The sun shines brightly upon all things; and when the plants or flowers
or trees need moisture, the showers come,—not in great, heavy raindrops,
but in fine sheets of silvery spray, which moisten all things without
drenching them, and through which may be seen a mild, yellow light which
comes from the sun above the fleecy clouds.
In the distance—for Lily-Vale is not a small place—may be seen great
towering mountains, encircling the valley; their shining heads, which
glow in the sunlight with purple and rosy hues, looking like radiant
guides watching over the little folks below them, are fair to gaze upon,
and many a lesson of firmness, fidelity, and truth do the children learn
from the sight of those faithful sentinels of Lily-Vale.
And now, my little friends, you wish to know how the children live in
this pretty spot. Well, they live very much as you do in your earthly
homes, only many of them do not live with their mammas and papas—because
perhaps the parents are on earth, or have gone away and forgotten their
little ones, or for some other reason—but reside with their teachers or
guides, who are always kind, loving, and attentive to the little people
under their charge.
In this sweet place there are a number of little white houses, some
smaller than others,—because the number of inmates of some are less than
of others,—and in these houses the children live. These houses, or
“Rhonas,” are all round like pavilions, and have entrances on every
side; the windows open like doors from floor to ceiling, and are
generally open wide. The columns, or posts, of the “Rhonas” are entwined
with growing vines, which throw out their purple, pink, golden, or
scarlet blossoms to catch the gentle breeze. The insides of the houses
are furnished prettily but simply, and all look neat, tasteful, and
sweet, just as little children’s homes always should; for the
surroundings of a child have a great deal to do with forming its
character and disposition, as well as with developing its tastes.
Books, pictures, music, and everything beautiful, are to be found in the
little homes of Lily-Vale, and all who dwell there live in harmony with
one another; the children are obedient and affectionate toward the
teachers, who in turn are respectful, loving, and tender toward their
pupils. The older scholars assist in training and caring for the
younger, and all are happy in this Summer-land home.
Teachers in the spirit world do not have charge of so many children as
tutors do on earth. No teacher has more than seven pupils under her
charge, and many have only one or two; for they believe that by having
but a few scholars they can better attend to the training of mind and
body than they could if they had many to look after, as in that case
some portion of the training would be sure to be neglected.
Sometimes the pupils of each teacher learn their lessons in their homes,
but often they may be seen in the open air, under the trees, in the
groves, by the lakeside, or elsewhere, busily employed over their
studies and gaining practical knowledge from the various objects around
them.
But there is a beautiful and grand building in Lily-Vale, called “The
Temple of Art,” which I must tell you of; for it is so spacious and
lofty, and fashioned of such a shining white, almost transparent,
substance that it can be seen from a far distance, and excites the
wonder as well as admiration of all who gaze upon it.
This beautiful building has no side-walls, but is open all around, its
roof being supported by heavy columns of white, shining stone. Its
ceiling is carved and tinted to resemble the blue sky; its floor is of
many-colored stones, laid in circles; in the center, a large fountain of
silvery white constantly sends forth fan-like shapes of perfumed spray;
all around the interior of the temple are soft-cushioned seats, but at
the farther end is a raised platform, where the Masters of Art sit when
they come to instruct the children.
At regular intervals of time, the children of Lily-Vale gather in this
temple to receive instruction in music, painting, sculpture, or some
other art, for all the children do not learn the same thing. Some love
music and acquire a ready knowledge of it, but do not easily learn the
art of painting; others care nothing for music, but are eager to learn
how to paint, or carve, or do something else; and as each one is not
obliged to study those things for which he or she has no taste, but is
allowed to gain a knowledge of that which they desire to know, Lily-Vale
is full of bright and apt scholars, who are a credit to themselves and
to their instructors. When the scholars or classes for any particular
study convene in the Art Temple, they are addressed by some great and
good person who gave special attention to that study when on earth,
understands it thoroughly, and now delights to teach the children
something of his knowledge, and assist in drawing out the powers within
them, better than he does to compose a choral, paint a picture, carve a
statue, or sing a poem of his own; and the little ones listen
attentively, retaining the information they receive in their minds,
which later on they seek to work out in experiments for themselves. The
exhibitions of paintings and statues sometimes made in this temple are
very grand; the concerts heard sometimes are very sweet and beautiful,
and the music that rings out from this place is more delightful than
anything you can ever hear on earth.
And so here, in this charming spot, little children live, and grow, and
thrive. They play and work, live happily together, grow in goodness and
stature day by day, and learn to be truthful and earnest in their lives,
in their studies and occupations, that they may be noble, honest,
earnest men and women by-and-bye.
There is a beautiful spot in the Summer-land which I shall call
Crystal-Lake. This resort is not like Lily-Vale, for it is smaller, more
shallow, and in other respects quite different. Crystal-Lake is
surrounded by banks of moss, green and cool, which afford soft-cushioned
seats to the little children who come to play and frolic. In every
direction trees uplift their branches toward the blue sky, flowers bloom
and birds sing, making the place beautiful and gay and very sweet. But I
must tell you, dear children of earth, of one peculiarity of
Crystal-Lake, and that is this: the waters of that clear and sparkling
basin are never still, but are continuously ruffled by the breezes that
pass over them; and as the tiny waves move softly to and fro, they
produce low, singing tones, like the tinkling of silver bells, which are
very sweet and musical, and the constant delight of all who listen to
them. This peculiarity of Crystal-Lake has earned for it the name of
“Chiming Waves,” the sound which the waters make being much like what
the chime of a cluster of small silver bells would be. The surface of
this lake is so clear, and its bed so near, that the latter glistens in
the bright sunshine with many colors, and presents the appearance of a
floor sparkling with precious gems of every hue, rendering it a
beautiful sight to gaze upon.
Under the trees which surround Crystal-Lake, and in the open spaces
between them, are to be found all manner of appliances for the exercise
of the children who daily gather here; swings and bells, swinging clubs
and rebounding balls; “ærial glides,” which are a kind of balloon or
air-car, and many other things which the children of earth know nothing
of, all for the amusement and development of the children; for in spirit
life all amusement is combined with utility, and all recreation so
planned as to assist in the development of the body as well as the
expansion of the mind.
The waters of Crystal-Lake are used mostly for bathing purposes for the
children, who love to glide through them and enjoy the delicious
coolness while listening to the songs of the waves; and a pretty sight
may be daily seen in this place when numbers of tiny children, none of
them more than ten years of age, are sporting in the water and filling
the rose-tinted air with the music of their shouts and laughter.
Crystal-Lake and its vicinity is what we call a large sanitarium,—that
is, a place where health may be found, where no one can be sick and
weak. All who live here in the little white houses, that are numerous,
never know what it is to be feeble, but are strong, active, and happy;
for perfect health brings enjoyment with it.
There are a great many of these beautiful sanitariums in the spirit
world, and they are not all for the children; many of them are for grown
people, who require care. But these we will not now visit, as our work
is entirely with the little children of the Summer-land.
I suppose, my dears, you have seen some little children on earth who are
sick and feeble, and who are never strong and well; and perhaps you have
heard that these poor suffering darlings have passed from earth, and
their bodies been buried away from sight. Well, it is just such children
as those suffering ones who are taken to the pleasant sanitariums, like
that of Crystal-Lake, in the Summer-land, and there, in those beautiful
places, they grow well and strong and happy, and are never sick nor
miserable any more. Perhaps their papas and mammas on earth were very
poor, and the little ones were not provided with anything bright and
pretty when in the body; then they are very happy and joyous when they
find themselves in this sweet home, and are able to appreciate and enjoy
all its beauties. Indeed, no matter how poor, or in what lowly
circumstances the little sick children have lived on earth, they are all
just as tenderly cared for and loved, and provided with just as
beautiful surroundings as though they had been the petted children of
very wealthy parents, and their little hearts soon learn to respond in
love; for there are no distinctions among the children of the sweet
Summer-land,—all are equally cared for.
Perhaps, my dears, you have heard of little children on the earth who
have been neglected by everyone, and obliged to wander around the world
by themselves, unloved and uncared for. Sometimes such children die and
are taken to the spirit world. They are little pallid, tired things, who
need to be strengthened and made happy; and they are placed in the
bright sanitariums, given plenty of fresh air and pure sunlight, their
limbs are bathed in the clear water, they are allowed to play and romp
and sing; they use the various contrivances for amusement and exercise,
and in a little while present an appearance of perfect health and
happiness.
The kindest of mother-nurses are in these places, who love and pet the
little ones under their care to their heart’s content. They never have
to give the children medicine, for it is not known nor required here.
They never have to punish them, for there is so much love and kindness
here it is a pleasure, and it is very easy, for the children to be
always gentle and good.
Those sanitariums, like Crystal-Lake, which is a great garden of flowers
and trees and birds, with a charming musical basin of water in its
center, where everything is sweet and beautiful, and where it is
delightful to live and enjoy the freedom of real existence, are the only
kind of children’s hospitals I have ever heard of in the Summer-land;
and they are the brightest, healthiest, most enchanting spots I have
ever visited. The children who live there are real children,—natural,
artless, innocent, happy, and free.
Happy Valley is the name of another beautiful place in the Summer-land,
where children live. As its name implies, it is a valley; for great
green hills surround and hedge it in, and it lies like a bright and
sparkling jewel within the sweet embrace of those wooded heights which
may be seen from its every point of view. The hills around the valley
are covered with groves of shady trees, the green foliage of which gives
a restful, cool, and inviting sight to the eye that gazes upon them. The
inhabitants, especially the little folks, take great delight in climbing
those hills and holding their school sessions, meetings, picnics, and
social gatherings, upon their summits. The valley is fully as pretty in
appearance as any place I have before written of, and indeed those who
dwell there have never before known such a charming spot. Bright and
fragrant flowers gem the soft, green grass; shrubs and thickets of red
and yellow, white and pink, roses are abundant; creeping vines, with
green leaves and long, finger-like spikes of purple or crimson flowers,
twine around the walls of every home, and all things are sweet and pure;
streams of water gush out here and there; natural fountains send out
jets of clear and sparkling water; birds sing joyously in the trees, and
hop fearlessly in and out of the houses; so tame are they that they will
perch upon the finger of any little boy or girl who calls to them, and
sing a song of cheer to the great delight of their mountain keepers.
Happy Valley is like a vast school-room filled with the bright and
cheerful faces of little children, with here and there an adult or grown
person who is a kind, loving, and gentle teacher. The lessons are always
learned in the open air, never inside the houses; for much information
is gained by the little ones from the natural scenery which they so
frequently gaze upon. The children of this place are very musical in
their tastes, and are given every opportunity and facility to cultivate
their powers in this direction.
You have heard of a little instrument called the æolian harp, which,
when placed in an open window or anywhere where the wind will sweep
across its strings, gives forth a very sweet and plaintive melody. Well,
in Happy Valley every child who desires one—and who does not?—has an
instrument very similar to that little harp, which they place where the
soft breezes can sweep across it, thus evoking the most sweet and
enchanting music, not sad like the melody of the æolian harps of earth,
but cheerful, inspiring, and very tuneful. A stranger entering this
valley, and for the first time listening to the music drawn from a
number of these little instruments—as he will be sure to do—will wonder
if he has entered fairy-land, and if it is the chiming and chanting of
the fragrant flower-bells he hears, so exquisite is the sound. But no;
it is only the children’s harps, played upon by mystic fingers of the
wind, and teaching a lesson of cheer and hopefulness to the little ones.
The teachers take this method of instructing their pupils in the laws of
vibration, of harmony, of melody, and of rhythm, while explaining to
them by practical illustration the operating power in the breeze that
causes it to have such a glorious effect upon the tiny instrument.
The little girl of whom I am going to tell you is only about eight years
old. She is a very quiet, gentle child, full of care and thoughtfulness
for others. Her great pleasure is found in trying to make others happy.
I will not tell you how she looks; but if you know of any good, kind,
loving little girl who tries to help others, to speak softly and
pleasantly to them, and to smile cheerfully when desired to do anything,
why, you may think she looks like this little spirit girl whom I shall
call Flora—after the flowers. Flora came to the Summer-land when about
four years of age. At first she felt very sad, and would sit all day
silent and sorrowful by the side of some stream, or upon some grassy
knoll, and take no heed of the happy sports of the frolicsome children
around her, for you see she had left a dear mamma and papa and a sweet
little baby-brother upon the earth, and she felt that they missed her
and wanted her back in their home.
But in a little while our Flora became sprightly and cheerful, for she
found that she could return to her earthly home; and at night, when her
dear parents and little brother were asleep, she could talk to their
spirits and even sing them songs (for she had a very sweet voice), and
in the morning she would sometimes hear her mamma say: “It seemed last
night as though I could hear my little girl singing to me, and I do
sometimes think she comes to baby, he is so good, and smiles and chirps
so much, just as he used to when she played with him.” And the papa
would smile and say: “It does really seem as though there was an angel
in the house; I feel as though I am nearer heaven than I used to be.” So
you see this little spirit girl was doing a great work in a quiet way,
by coming to her mamma and papa in a loving, gentle manner, and by
brightening their lives with her cheerful, sunny presence.
Flora had a little harp, such as I have told you of, given to her, and
she would sometimes bring and place it in the doorway of her papa’s
home, and the breeze or air-current would cause its strings to vibrate
with sweet, faint melody. The little baby-brother would hear the
celestial music, and laugh, crow, and clap his hands, while his mamma
would lay down her sewing or pause in her work, and strain her ears to
listen to the strange, sweet, faint sounds that fell upon them.
Well, this continued for some time, until Flora’s mamma became fully
convinced that the sweet musical strains she so often heard were not the
effects of an active imagination, but that they were real and tangible;
and hearing of a spiritual medium not far away, she determined to visit
her to learn something if she could of those who are called _dead_.
I am not going to tell you about the spiritual experiences of Flora’s
mamma, only that she was so pleased with what she heard at the home of
the medium whom she visited that she went again and again, for at each
call she made upon the spirits through the medium she received more and
more information concerning her own dear ones in the spirit world, and
never failed to learn something of her little Flora, who always came
with messages of love.
So you see, dear children, this little girl of Happy Valley accomplished
the great work of bringing happiness, comfort, and peace to the sad
heart of her mamma, and, later, of bringing the grand knowledge of
immortal life to that mamma, and convincing her that her loved one who
had died still lived and loved her, and would come to her. And all this
was performed because the little girl desired to bless and help her
mamma, and so brought the little spirit-harp and caused the winds to
play upon it in her earthly home.
Our little spirit girl, Flora, sometimes takes her harp into earthly
homes where want or misery or pain are felt, and in the quiet hours of
night, when the tired inmates are what you call asleep, she plays and
sings to them, and their spirits, which are not asleep, though their
bodies are wrapped in slumber, listen to the sweet sounds and grow
strong and happy; for they gain power from the spirit sounds to go on in
their weary life on earth. These poor, sad people do not in their waking
hours remember that they heard such heavenly music and singing, but they
sometimes recollect that they had dreamed pleasant things, and they
often wonder why they feel so happy when they awake and so strong to go
through with the toils of the day. It is because they had been visited
in their sleep by an angel child.
There is a large hospital in one of your cities where poor, sick,
suffering people lie on beds of anguish. Men and women, and sometimes
little children, are taken there to find relief from pain and fever, or
perhaps to die and go to the spirit world. Kind nurses and doctors do
all they can for these sick people, but, ah, they do not know how they
are assisted by the little spirits who, like Flora, take their tiny
harps and play upon them, or set them where the breeze can sweep over
them, thus invoking sweet sounds that are heard by the spirit ears of
the sufferers, and which lull their fevered fancies or soothe their
burning pain.
I will tell you of one case where great good was accomplished by our
little friend Flora. A strong man lay very ill in the hospital ward. His
brain seemed to be on fire, for all the fever which had attacked his
system had mounted there. His suffering was intense, his ravings were
terrible to listen to; he had been given up to die by the doctors,—that
is, they could do nothing to save his life. Dear little Flora visited
the side of this man constantly. She had placed her spirit-harp above
his cot, and the faint breeze that was allowed to circulate around it
was sufficient to cause a vibration of the strings of the instrument.
Time passed; the man grew worse and worse; the physicians were compelled
to minister opiates to him to ease his sufferings. At length, when he
had succumbed to the power of the drug, he sank away into a deep stupor;
but though his outer senses were numb, his spirit-hearing was alive.
Sounds from the spirit-harp fell upon his hearing, perceiving which
Flora began to sing a soft, sweet melody. The man listened and grew calm
and quiet. The doctors watching his sleeping form, dreaded its
awakening; but when the patient did arouse from his slumber, it was with
cooled brain and stilled pulse. “Doctor,” he cried, “I have seen an
angel; I have heard her sing to me; I shall get well!”
The physician smiled at what he considered the fancy of a sick brain;
but the patient did recover his health and strength. From the day when
he first heard the spiritual music, and listened to Flora’s singing, he
began to grow better, until he was pronounced well by the doctors. But
he was a long time regaining his strength, and every time he fell into
slumber Flora’s harp would strike upon his hearing, and very often he
would hear the sound of her voice in song. These moments always gave him
power, rested him, brought him new strength, and thus his spirit was
enabled to overcome the weakness and pain of the body. He recovered his
health, and became also a firm believer in the power of angels to
relieve the sickness and sufferings of mortals.
In the same hospital where the sick man was cured of his fever, through
the power of Flora and her harp, many other suffering persons also have
been blessed and aided in various ways by the same ministering power. I
will now tell you about a young woman who lay there wasting away with
consumption. This patient could not be restored to bodily health, either
by mortals or spirits; nor was it desirable that she should be, for life
had been hard for her. The world had been very cruel, and she had
suffered much. The only hope for her happiness would be in passing away
to the bright Summer-land, where she would find friends, kindness, and
home. But she did not know about these things as we do, dear children,
and she did not want to “die;” she did not want to leave the body, for
she dreaded the Beyond.
Well, this woman—I will call her Lizzie—suffered agony of mind in
thinking of death, and little Flora felt great compassion for her. She
sought in every way to influence the mind of Lizzie with bright and
happy thoughts. She would sing to her, place her harp where its music
might possibly be heard, and in many ways endeavor to bring comfort to
the weary girl. At length, when Lizzie had become so weak and pallid
that it seemed as though the soul must part with the body, her inner
hearing was opened, and the music of the tiny harp fell upon it. She
listened,—listened, oh, so intently. Soon a smile lighted up her wan
features; it was, indeed, heavenly music to her. In a little while she
heard a voice in sweet, childish tones singing these words:—
“We are coming, we are coming,
With our spirits filled with love,
To guide thy weary footsteps
To our Father’s home above;
We are coming, we are coming,
And the night will quickly fly,
There is rest and hope and comfort,
Life and Peace are drawing nigh.”
The sick woman aroused with a start and looked so strangely at the nurse
that the latter said: “What is the matter, Lizzie?” “Nothing is the
matter,” replied Lizzie; “but I am so glad, I feel so happy. I am not
afraid to die now, God is good; He will not destroy a poor girl like me
who has had so much to bear. I think he will take me to his home. I have
heard such sweet music, such tender words! God is good; he will help me.
I am ready to go to him.”
The next day Lizzie died with a smile on her lips, and as her soul
passed out from the body she heard the sweet, soft music of the harp,
and caught a glimpse of Flora as she sang:—
“There is rest, and hope and comfort,
Life and Peace are drawing nigh!”
Only one more story of Flora and her harp have I time to tell you, dear
children, and this is of a little boy who was very ill. He, too, must
pass away to the Summer-land; he was too weak and ill to recover bodily
health. His parents were wealthy, and he was their only darling. They
felt as though they could not give him up. To his luxurious home Flora
found her way frequently, and the child had grown so spiritual that he
could hear her sing, and listen to the music evoked from her mystic
harp. Many times he spoke to his dear parents of the sweet music and
singing he heard, and they sadly shook their heads; for they felt that
he was nearing the gateway of heaven.
However, two days before the angel came to take him home, his mother,
who was sitting by his side, also heard the music and singing, and her
heart grew comforted as so many others had become before. On the night
that the little boy’s spirit passed out to the higher life both the
parents heard the wonderful music; and it brought such peace to their
souls they could no longer wish to keep their darling here to suffer
pain, but with a murmured prayer, and without a rebellious thought, they
kissed his brow and gave his spirit up to the keeping of the angels.