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.