MY SPIRITUAL WORK
It would ill become me to speak of my own efforts. There is so much to
be done that the individual work of one alone is necessarily small; but
if we strive to do good, with a will and a desire to benefit others, we
cannot fail to be of use; and that you may know how it is a spirit
labors in conjunction with mortals, I will briefly speak of my method of
work, and give you a few instances of what I have done or have striven
to do.
I remember one circumstance well. At a gambling house in a large English
city, I encountered a lad, about eighteen years of age, whom I could see
had been enticed there by the alluring visions of a fortune to be made,
pictured to him by those well versed in the secrets of sinful practices.
He was a pale, delicate youth, with an intellectual cast of countenance,
a well-bred air, and one evidently worthy of better things. I was
attracted to him as he sat at the table, his whole mind concentrated
upon the game he was playing.
Suddenly, he pushed back his chair, rubbed his brow in a bewildered
manner, and muttering: “Lost, everything lost; I counted on this chance
to retrieve my luck, but it is no use, everything is against me;” he
seized his hat and fled from the place. I followed him, not knowing what
he might do, and wishing to serve him if in my power. It was to his room
that we went, the attic floor of a dingy lodging-house in an obscure
quarter of the city. I found that he was a student, striving to pay his
way by literary labor, while gaining an education. His parents were
poor, hard-working people, living back in the country, who had done all
they could to assist their son.
Flinging himself upon his humble bed, the youth gave himself up to
dismal thoughts, the tenor of which was that he wished he was dead. His
money was all gone, nothing left of all he had possessed but his books;
remunerative employment he found impossible to procure, and he knew not
how to gain the means of livelihood. He could not apply to his friends;
indeed, he would not have them know his situation for the world, and
nothing remained but to put himself out of the way as soon as possible.
In vain did I strive to turn his thoughts in another direction; in vain
I pictured to his mind the horror and anguish of his friends, when they
should learn what he had done. He was in no condition to be impressed by
any influence that I could bring to bear upon him.
Again he started up and left the house, I still accompanying him. He
entered a small drug-store upon the corner, and, nodding nonchalantly to
a young lad about his own age behind the counter, said: “Ned, I wish
you’d trust me for a few pennies’ worth of arsenic; the rats are
becoming such a bore up in my attic that I must do something, especially
as the landlady pays no attention to my complaints.”
“All right,” responded the clerk, taking a bottle of white powder from
the shelf, and proceeding to do up a small package from its contents.
“But you must be very careful of it. I suppose you know how to use it?”
“Yes, thanks; I’ll settle as soon as I can,” replied the youth, and,
taking the parcel, he hurried from the shop.
I knew not what to do. I did not like to see that youth throw himself
away in the manner he thought of doing; but how could I prevent it?
In a moment more, a doctor’s chaise drove up to the druggist’s door, and
a portly, good-natured looking gentleman, of about five-and-forty years
of age, alighted and entered the shop.
“Ned,” said he, “prepare a bottle of cough-mixture from this recipe,”
handing him the prescription, “and send it with a box of soothing
powders to Mrs. Simms. She’s very bad.”
“All right, sir,” replied the clerk; “but look here a minute. Harold H.,
who lives at No. 8, was here a minute ago for arsenic. He said it was to
kill rats. I let him have it, but some how or other just now I feel
nervous about it.”
Upon the doctor’s entrance, I saw in an instant he was the one to be
influenced in the right direction, and it was I who had produced the
uneasiness in the clerk’s mind, and impressed him to speak.
“Ah,” said the doctor, “I’ll stop and see about this; and do you, Master
Ned, have a care how you sell poisonous articles to whoever comes for
them.”
He hurried from the store over to No. 8, entered, and without ceremony
passed up to the attic of the wouldbe suicide. I of course followed. We
found the youth engaged in writing a letter, the package of poison close
to his hand.
It is needless for me to recount all that passed in that interview.
Suffice it to say, that, by a few welldirected inquiries, that good man
managed to learn the condition of the lad, and what had been its cause.
He then proceeded to talk to him earnestly and firmly, yet kindly, of
the sin he contemplated, of the agony of his mother upon hearing of the
deed, and the anguish he would cause to all he loved.
The young man broke down, wept bitterly, and promised he would live to
be a better man. The physician furnished him with means sufficient for
present necessities, promised him he would interest some of his
influential friends in his behalf, and, when he left, carried the poison
with him.
The man kept his word, and through his influence Harold H. was placed in
better circumstances, assisted in his efforts to gain an education, and
lives today an ornament and useful member of society, and the pride of
his parents and friends.
More than once I have visited liquor saloons, hoping to draw some poor
wretch away from the curse of rum and its allurements. I have not always
succeeded, but at times have been more successful.
On one of these occasions, a man in the prime of life, who was drinking
copiously, and rapidly making himself worse than a beast, arrested my
attention, but I could make no impression upon him. While making the
effort, a street musician began playing a dancing tune. The musician, a
young and delicate boy, accompanied by a still younger female child, who
was the dancer, was one whom I could impress, which I did by making him
cease the dancing tune, and begin that sweet, pathetic air of Payne’s
“Home, Sweet Home.” The little maid stopped her dancing, looked puzzled
for a moment, when, catching the inspiration of the moment, she broke
out in bird-like tones of sweetness, and sang the words of the song.
I watched the effect upon the drinker. At first he did not seem to hear,
but gradually a listening expression stole over his features, and at
last his head sank upon his hands. Now was my time. I whispered to him
of his mother, of his dear old childhood home, of his wife and child
waiting anxiously for him even now, and of the dear one who had died and
was calling to him from her heavenly abode.
He, of course, never knew but what they were his own thoughts awakened
by that tune. In part they were, but their power was intensified by
spirit presence and aid. His spirit child was close by my side, anxious
that her father should be drawn away from that place. From her I learned
of her mother and invalid sister, who were living, and of whom I
whispered in his ear.
The music ceased, and, rising, the drinker passed from the place,
unheeding the call of the barkeeper to “stop and take another drink.”
I followed him home, saw his wife and lame daughter, and learned from
the state of their minds that he had resisted all their pleadings to
remain from the rum-shop, and had even raised his hand threateningly to
his child. He said nothing that night, but went quietly to bed. In the
morning I was there. Softened and humbled in mind, the man sat looking
out of the window. I went to his daughter, influenced her to call her
father and talk to him, as she had never done before. It was the voice
of the spirit calling to him to look up higher, to pray for a strength
to resist temptation, and to strive to live a better life. Amid tears of
contrition he promised; by the bedside of his invalid child that man
took the pledge, and so far it has been kept, and his family are
content, while his spirit child is happy.
On another occasion I was at a home, drawn there by a spirit who
solicited my assistance for her brother, who was addicted to drink. He,
too, had a wife and family of little ones. At the time of my visit, he
was possessed with an insane desire for liquor. I heard him promise his
wife he would take none, but I had no faith in his word.
He went out. I influenced his little girl to follow him. She was a child
of about eight years of age, and evidently stood in great fear of her
father. We followed him, saw him enter a liquor saloon. I tried to
induce her to enter, but she was afraid. “I’d like to follow pa,” she
said, “but I don’t dare; he’d beat me.” Still I urged, and at last,
gathering firmness from the spirit world, she boldly entered the saloon,
and addressed the barkeeper, who was mixing a drink for her father,
thus:
“Don’t you give my father anything to drink, mister; it makes him crazy
and sick, and everything is awful bad at home, and mother cries all the
time.” She was greeted with a loud laugh by the bystanders, but taking
no heed, she seized her father’s hand, saying: “Come, father, don’t stay
here; let’s take a walk.”
“Yes, yes, little girl, let’s take a walk; this is no place for you,” he
answered, and, winking to the barkeeper, and whispering: “I’ll be back
soon,” he suffered the child to lead him away.
I impressed the child to lead her father toward the water. The evening
breeze was blowing cool and refreshing. “Father,” said the child,
“doesn’t God see us now?”
The man was evidently startled, but answered: “Yes, I suppose he does,
if there is any God.”
“Oh, of course there’s a God,” pursued the child. “Don’t the minister
say so, and didn’t grandma use to pray to him? Grandma’s an angel now.
Do you ’spose she saw us in that horrid place, papa?”
“Good heavens, I hope not,” answered the man. “Come, you’d better go
home.”
“No, let’s stay here a little while; it’s cool here,” went on the child.
Her timidity vanished. “I guess grandma did see us, ’cause angels can go
everywhere, you know. I don’t believe she liked to see us there. I hope
she’ll ask God to keep you from going there any more, ’cause it makes
mamma cry all the time.”
“Cry all the time, does she?” muttered the man. “Well, you must go home
now.”
The cool breeze had lessened the fire in the man’s veins; the child’s
prattle had driven the present thought of liquor away. Subdued and
humbled, he led her home, and went out no more that night. In the
morning his employer called for him to go to work, and he had no
opportunity to visit the saloon.
During the day I influenced one of those royal souls yet encased in
flesh, who go about doing good, to visit that home, where he learned the
state of affairs. He called again at tea-time, saw the father and
husband, and, by interesting himself in his pleasures and pursuits, won
his heart, and induced the man to go with him to a temperance lecture.
This was the beginning. Before the winter had set in, that man had
signed the pledge, and was a member of a temperance organization. True,
the victory was not easily won. There were many battles to fight with
his appetite; and had it not been for noble souls in mortal who stood by
him, we could have done but little; as it was, the rum fiend was
conquered.
This is one method of my spirit work,—allying myself with spirits, in
the body and out, whose souls are zealously engaged in laboring for
humanity. More has been accomplished than I care to tell; but very
little has been done compared to what there is to do, and I am still
laboring in co-operation with others, for the good time that is to come
to all mankind.
The above are only illustrations of one branch of my efforts to assist
those in darkness. My labors have not all been expended in one
direction, but I have endeavored to obey the commands laid upon me to go
out and give the people light. In my travels I have come across mortals
possessing, to a large degree, mediumistic power, which only needed to
be awakened into life and activity to be of use to mankind.
Often these parties were surrounded by conditions very unfavorable to
the development of mediumship. In such cases I have endeavored to
supply, in part, the favorable conditions from the spirit life, and have
succeeded in unfolding powers that have proved a source of comfort to
others.
To illustrate: a number of years ago I was led to visit a spirit circle,
the medium of which I found possessing rare powers and abilities, but
which sadly needed culture. She was a young maiden, the child of poor
parents, who were alike ignorant of the laws of mediumship, and the
conditions necessary to their unfoldment. Of course, the manifestations
of spirit presence were crude and variable; but finding I could
assimilate my powers with those of that medium, I determined to take her
in charge for awhile, and see if I could not stimulate her spirit forces
sufficiently to assist them into healthy growth and action.
I did so, all unknown to herself and others, and, by directing her mind
in a certain channel, succeeded in my task. I selected certain works for
her perusal,—philosophical, moral, poetical,—and impressed her to read
them; awakened in her mind a desire to write compositions and rhymes;
influenced her to attend lectures and sermons, delivered by the loftiest
intellects of the time, brought to her home parties who could assist her
in the pursuit of knowledge; and thus, in spite of adverse conditions,
she steadily advanced, until today she stands far ahead of her family in
literary attainments, and is read and listened to with respect by many
intelligent, thinking minds.
The case of that medium presents a striking instance of what spirits can
do in educating mortals, and in teaching them immortal truths, which
they in turn must give forth to the multitude.
Many times have I given my songs to the world through the lips of
mortals. Sometimes they appeared crude and ill-expressed, limited, and
warped by the undeveloped channels through which they flowed; but even
then I rejoiced to know that they could bear comfort and hope to the
sorrowing or the sinning souls they were destined to reach. At other
times, my productions have caught a richness of expression, a beautiful
and harmonious blending of sentiment and rhythm, from the depths of the
mediumistic souls through whom they came that sent them ringing through
the hearts of those who read or listened, until they seemed uplifted
into the clear air of heaven.
But my greatest joy has been in assisting the inner powers of others to
grow and expand, leading them in their cravings for knowledge, and
aiding their faltering steps up the rugged heights of life, in search of
truth and right. When I find a soul who delights to take a sentiment and
to express it clearly in rhyme, I encourage that spirit, no matter how
crude or uncertain its efforts may be, for I perceive that the spirit is
putting forth its powers, that, like the feelers of a plant, it is
groping around to find a support that will bear it in its growth; and
that, if it receives the strength and prop it needs, it will develop
into a thing of blossoming beauty. But I do not encourage these souls to
put forth their first feeble expressions to the world any more than I
would advise the florist to place a tiny, fragile slip of plant-life out
in the full glare of a summer day. I watch them, and, by directing their
thoughts into proper channels, and influencing them what to read in
order to expand their minds, sometimes succeed in raising a rare stock,
that favors the world with an abundance of rich and fragrant blossoms.
Thousands of spirits are engaged in such work, in divers directions, and
in multiplied ways; for they recognize the fact that to have the spirit
world peopled by a race of noble, thoughtful, moral, and intellectual
souls, we must refine and educate those who are still on earth,—educate
them in a knowledge of life and its laws, an understanding of the soul
and its requirements, and an appreciation of truth and its unfoldments;
and to do this we are teaching and directing those sensitive, intuitive
souls who can catch the inspirations of the spheres, and sending them
forth as teachers to the masses.
In my wanderings to and fro as a spirit, I have become a cosmopolite,—a
citizen of the world,—claiming my home wherever I may be of use to
humanity. But my efforts for the amelioration of suffering have not been
confined to material life alone. I have met many distressed spirits who
passed from the body, scarred and scathed by sin and passion, and who,
in consequence, have been plunged in mental darkness; to them I have
sought to bring hope and encouragement. The world beyond is thronged
with those unhappy souls, and, though we cannot save them, as each one
must work out his own salvation, yet we can aid and teach them to find
the better way, and encourage them to persevere in their efforts to
atone for the past by doing right.
In my anxiety and eagerness to atone for my own past folly by helping
others, I had taken no heed of the lapse of time, my whole soul having
been wrapped in my work.
I was at a seance in London one night, and had succeeded in gaining
partial possession of a youth whom I wished to develop as a medium.
While in this condition, unable to make my presence known, one of the
party remarked: “We ought to have an exceptionably good seance tonight,
as it is the last one of the year; tomorrow brings us 1872.” The words
brought to me a vision of New Years’ Eves spent in the past, and with it
a longing for the sight of dear and familiar faces. I began to grow
home-sick and weary. Five years previous I passed from the body, and
most of the intervening time I had spent among strangers. With this
thought in my mind I found myself losing control of my subject, and in a
moment I was away from material things, and out in the realm of spirit.
Long before I had learned to travel by an effort of will as spirits do,
and I could now upon desiring to be in any place instantly be there.
Time and distance have no power over the ascended soul, and it can
travel with the velocity of thought. In a moment I found myself in the
magnificent garden I had before visited. All was blooming in richness
and beauty. I entered the stately portals of a superb mansion, in the
center of which a group of spirits were gathered in social converse.
Judge of my delight in recognizing all who were dearest to me,—parents,
kindred, and friends. As I entered I heard my mother say: “All day I
have been calling Critchley. I am sure he must come, we all want him so
much; he is doing a good work,—bless the lad,—but I would like to meet
him here.”
My soul leaped forth in response to these words. I was immediately seen
and recognized. It is impossible to describe the bliss and rapture of
that meeting. None but those who have experienced can understand the
like. The welcome more than recompensed me for past pain and sorrow. It
brought an infinite peace and calm that the world can never take away. I
remained with my friends for a time, but not idle; I had learned that
true joy cannot reach the soul that is inert. Action is the law of life.
There was much for me to learn of spirit life and its laws, and I set
myself to work to acquire knowledge, not forgetting to return frequently
to earth to see if there was anything to do, nor neglecting to minister
to the unfortunate spirits I met. At the present writing I have learned
but little in comparison with what there is to attain, but with active
powers, trained for work and study, assisted by wise, beneficent
teachers, and surrounded by loving souls, it would be strange, indeed,
if a spirit’s course should not be upward and onward toward the realms
of infinite light and truth.
Engaged in the work I had chosen, I had no time for regrets.
Retrospection became no longer a scourge, but a guide, which, by showing
me wherein I had erred, pointed out the true way to amendment; and in
striving to gain knowledge of the higher, better way of living,—the way
of the spirit, bound to no avenue of sensual life, but seeking the
intellectual haunts of wisdom and truth,—I found peace of mind, and, in
seeking to bring happiness to others, I became truly happy myself.
Again I stood in the Temple of Art; again I found myself in the Poet’s
Chamber, but no longer an outcast and an alien. Indeed, I was greeted as
one whose coming was expected, and welcomed with a warm cordiality and
royal fervor that was very refreshing to my soul.
The same kingly company was assembled, but augmented by a number of
other souls, rich with their freight of poetic imagery. The assembly was
not composed entirely of my own countrymen and women, as heretofore; for
among that mighty throng could be seen the smiling, open, intelligent
faces of Thomas Moore, the sweet singer of the Emerald Isle, and Robert
Burns, he who found his best inspiration amid the rugged heights and
heather-crowned hills of Scotia’s land. Many others were present, whom I
failed to recognize, clad in the flowing robes and purple vestments of
the Roman period, or in the classic garments of ancient Greece.
But England’s delegation was a large one, numbering those of every
century and age: Pope and Spenser, Johnson, Cowley, and Butler, Dryden,
Gay, Thomson, and Young,—not the sad, melancholy, pensive Edward Young
of earth, but the radiant, calm, contented Edward Young of spirit life;
gentle Henry Kirke White, liberty-loving Thomas Campbell, and
stouthearted, staunch, and true Walter Scott, who, though not English
born, yet seemed very near to me.
Addison, whom I had mentioned as occupying the seat of honor before, now
sat low at the feet of him who occupied the position of the Master of
Ceremonies, and whom I recognized as the true, loyal, long-suffering,
yet monarch-crowned soul, Milton. At his right was to be seen the lofty
brow, and bold, fearless, speaking countenance of William Shakespeare;
while, at the left, Dryden seemed to be acting as assistant or
secretary.
In my experience of spirit power and possibilities, I had learned to
understand and interpret the waves of thought flowing from soul to soul;
therefore I was at no loss to understand the purport and purposes of
this convention. It was a gathering of kindred souls, met to communicate
the loftiest thoughts and sweetest aspirations to each other, thus
dispensing the bountiful gifts of the spirit to all who would partake.
I cannot describe to you the rich, ennobling thoughts, clothed in their
draperies of sweetest imagery, which flowed from the soul of him who
presided, into ours, the recipients’; nor the grandeur and sublimity of
the ideas with which he threaded, like brands of shimmering pearls, the
network of his discourse. But all was grand and glorious, beyond the
power of mortals to conceive. At the close of his remarks, the company
clustered into knots, discussing the discourse, comparing experiences,
or revealing to each other the secret depths of their poetic souls, from
which were to be drawn lines, glowing with the beauty and fragrance of
harmonious lives.
It was then I discovered that every soul that is attuned into harmony
with the inner life, that dwells in sympathy with the Divine Mind, as
manifested in his outer creations of will, in his natural expressions of
love and beauty, is in itself a poem of rare delicacy and power; a
living, breathing, animated poem, thrilled with the magic power of
thought, and stamped with the eternal glory of individualized liberty;
that every poetic soul is itself the production of the Infinite Mind,
that must make itself heard in lines of glowing, inspiring thought along
the pathway of human toil and suffering, and cannot fail to arouse the
hidden energies and sleeping possibilities of power of those it comes in
_rapport_ with.
It was then I was made supremely blest by being taken by the hand by
such souls as Cowper, Byron,—my boyhood’s ideal,—Burns, Scott, Campbell,
Moore, Mrs. Browning, Felicia Hemans, and others, and welcomed to this
haunt of the beautiful and the good. And I cannot convey to you my
exquisite sense of pleasures when my hand was again grasped by that of
my helper and friend, Robert B. Brough, and I was enabled to bless him
for the avenues of tranquility and peace he had opened out to me. But I
must not linger here, although sweet and pleasant to me are these
reminiscences of actual life in the spheres.
Leaving the Poets’ Chamber, I visited in turn the Musicians’ Gallery,
the Sculptors’ Hall, and the Artists’ Studio. It is impossible for
mortal hands to pen a description of what is to be seen and heard in
them. Words fail, and language grows cold and unmeaning before the
splendid achievements of the upper world.
Imagine, if you can, all the sweetest sounds your soul has ever heard or
dreamed of, blended into one harmonious whole, swelling louder, clearer,
and sweeter, or melting away into the far-off distance, like the gentle
fading of a glorious sunset, absorbed by a finer and more ethereal
beauty of azure brightness, and you will have a faint conception of the
music and the singing of the spheres.
Imagine, if you can, all the most graceful, beautifully-molded,
perfectly-formed and rounded, exquisitely carved and
delicately-sculptured forms of statuary, of which you have ever heard or
read grouped together, forming a class of the rarest workmanship and art
that human skill and genius can chisel from the marble block, and you
have a slight idea of the superb expression of the sculptor’s soul which
is perfected in the immortal world. Dream, if you can, of the most
magnificent scenery the world affords, the most royal landscapes, the
most superb water views, and you may be able to just approach in thought
an idea of the productions of the artist’s soul that line the walls of
the artists’ studio in spirit life.
Recollect all the sweet, the beautiful, and the various expressions of
the human countenance,—the fire, the vigor, and sparkling triumph of the
eye, the restless energy or quiet repose of the limbs, the smiling,
speaking expression of the lips,—and you can faintly conceive the models
and patterns that spirit artists and sculptors seek to emulate. And have
they succeeded? To a certain extent, decidedly, yes.
Enter a hall of statuary, and in the marble beauties, grouped together
there, you find the expression of peace, hope, or joy depicted with
marvelous fidelity; you observe the contour of the limbs as perfect as
in life, and all seemingly permeated with that indescribable something
that gives them the appearance of having the power to move, act, and
walk off at will.
Upon entering the artists’ studio, at the farther end of which is
suspended a magnificent landscape painting, you would, at first sight,
believe yourself to be gazing upon a scene of natural life and beauty.
The lights and shadows seem to be continually shifting, the trees to be
waving their branches, and the streamlet running along in murmuring
gladness. The clouds appear to be settling slowly down upon the distant
mountains, while it distinctly seems to you that the cattle, grazing in
the meadows, are moving lazily along, half wearied out by the incessant
buzzing of the hovering insects.
So it is with the music of the upper life. It approaches as near the
harmonious, perfect blending of the various parts of the human voice as
can be imagined; and the utterances of the poets partake of the life of
the giver, and are animated with true fire and vigor, which is of itself
a part of that Eternal Voice that is the author and sustainer of all
life and being.
But these spirit artists are by no means satisfied with what they have
produced; they see something grander, more beautiful, sublime, and
perfect, which they are striving to attain. Their ideal is as yet
unexpressed; but, with the perfect development of the soul and its
possibilities, all that is ever dreamed of must find expression in the
outworkings of the spirit.
But I have found that, with all its striving to emulate and express the
workings of Nature, in its perfect form, that the soul of the true
artist, poet, and songster finds its keenest delight in stamping its
poems, paintings, and songs upon the receptive human mind that is ready
to receive; that the true poet breathes his fiery inspirations upon the
slumbering soul, awakening it to life and activity, bringing to it an
enjoyment and appreciation of the beauties of the inner life, and of the
splendors of natural creation; that the true artist paints in glowing
colors on the sensitive souls of mortals a beautiful landscape of the
higher life, which arouses those souls to a realizing sense of the
beautiful, and develops within them an ideal, for which they will ever
strive; that the true musician and singer sends his sweet strains
echoing through the souls of mortals, developing their sweetest, noblest
powers, to bless and enrich the musical world; and that the true
sculptor finds his delight in molding and carving out the possibilities
of those he can approach, of chiseling and chipping away all that is
detrimental to the spirit’s growth, and bringing forth to light an angel
of power and beauty from the rough, unpolished mass of individuality. In
short, that the workers of the higher life do not find enjoyment in
bringing their own productions to earth, but their highest blessing and
privilege is in being able to impress, work upon, and guide the hidden,
inner powers of souls in mortal forms until they develop the beauty and
glory within them, and awaken their spirits to an understanding of
beautiful life, an appreciation of the good and true, and a knowledge of
the possibility of the power that is theirs.
Not alone were my visits confined to the Temple of Art; although
attracted to that place by the laws of sympathy and association, yet my
desire to gain knowledge and a comprehension of truth led me, in company
with other inquiring minds, to visit the Spiritual Congress, and to pay
marked attention to the learned and honorable body there assembled, and
busily employed in devising various schemes for the enlightenment,
amelioration, and welfare of humanity; to visit the Wisdom Circles, and
receive enlightenment upon the laws governing life and its unfoldments;
and to visit our medical colleges and learn of the true method, not of
curing disease, but of preventing sickness and preserving health. And I
tell you that humanity on earth have yet to learn more of medical and
legal jurisprudence than has ever been dreamed of by mortals.
But I must draw this narrative to a close. I might go on multiplying my
experiences almost _ad infinitum_ had I the time and space; but such has
not been my object in coming. I have endeavored to show you how a
spirit, weighed down by its consciousness of misspent days and
misapplied powers and energies, bowed down by its load of past
wrong-doing and follies, darkened by its work neglected, and duties
unfulfilled, may be able, by the desire of his own soul, and the aid and
sympathy of others, to rise out of his darkened condition into the
light, to work his salvation from sin and his way to righteousness. But
it was no easy task. I have not given you an account of all the fiery
temptations that assailed me in my search for the better life, or the
bitter struggles my soul passed through ere it became the master.
Through devious ways and tortuous paths the soul must pass that has done
wrong to itself and others; but if it is in earnest in its desire to
become better, if it craves strength and aid from the higher powers, if
it reaches its aspirations out toward the better, purer, grander life of
the spirit, be sure that it must and will succeed.
I can dimly perceive that away down in the distant future humanity is to
broaden and develop into the perfect type of angelhood; that the
divinest attributes of the soul are yet to govern and control the body;
and ignorance, darkness, and crime flee before the dawning light of
knowledge and wisdom; and that human life is to become illuminated with
the glory of universal love and harmony.
I can believe that the “good time coming,” “the year of jubilee,” “the
millennium,” so long foretold by prophet and seer, so often mentioned in
song and story, the poet’s dream and the idealist’s fancy, is yet to
dawn upon the awakened world; when man, become strong through the
educators of love and sympathy, made wise by the acquirement of
knowledge, and the recognition of truth, shall look upon all humans as
his brothers and sisters, shall learn that war is a crime against the
human family, and tyranny, injustice, and oppression sins against the
Holy Ghost. Then shall mankind fraternize, and nations sit down in
universal peace. I believe that the human form is yet to bear the stamp
and impress of all that is lovely and divine.
I was with a friend at a convocation of spirits, where were gathered
together a large throng of refined, intelligent beings, each one marked
with a beauty all his or her own, and I amused myself by comparing the
different individuals with the beautiful forms in nature which they
reminded me of, and the resemblance—so to speak—was so apparent that I
called my friend’s attention to it by remarking:
“Did you ever observe that there is a certain resemblance between
humanity and the forms of Nature? For instance, yonder lady, with her
pure, white face, daintily-carved features, and lithe, willowy form,
reminds me of nothing but a stately garden-lily, shimmering with
whiteness; and that laughing, rosy-cheeked sprite beside her, with her
rounded form and well-developed features, is very like the royal
blush-rose of summer.”
“Very true,” replied my friend; “and over there you note the speaker;
does not his massive frame, well-proportioned limbs, lofty brow, and
shining features remind you of some mighty bowlder, uprearing its head
with a consciousness of might and grandeur?”
“He does, indeed; the shadow of a great rock in a weary land; and just
beside him rests one whose tall, straight form, beneficent looks, and
air of protectiveness calls to mind the forest tree with its ample
provision of kindly shade and shelter.”
And so we went on, drawing our comparisons,—one, with her calm,
benignant smile, and a wealth of love and sympathy welling up from her
nature, and expressing itself in the depths of her shining eyes, we
likened to the smiling, open sea, overflowing with its wealth, and
watering and refreshing the earth. Another, who was bubbling over with a
superabundance of merriment and joy, we likened to the laughing,
gurgling streamlet that overleaps all bounds, and speeds merrily along
its way. One, of majestic form, replete with vital force, with a look of
concentrated determination in his face, and an expression of energetic
power impressed upon him, reminded us of the ocean, mighty in its
majesty and power. One shone like the sun, another sparkled like a
sunbeam; one brought an air of refreshing coolness with her, another
glowed and glimmered like the autumn days.
“The fact of it is,” said my friend, “all that there is good and
beautiful in nature is personified and individualized, so to speak, in
the higher types of humanity. All the richness and splendor of creation
culminate their grandest expressions in the human form; and when
spirituality has ripened and developed the soul, its outer tenement will
become so harmonized with the natural life of creation, so blended with
the external manifestations of God, that it will become permeated with
His life, and will reflect all the beauty and fragrance, all the grace
and symmetry, of His works. Do you understand?”
I did, but I know not that I make it plain to mortals; suffice it to
say, that I believe the day is coming when each soul shall have grown so
in harmony with the laws of life that it will reflect upon its outward
form only the beautiful and the good.
I had not long returned to spirit life ere I again met my former friend
and teacher, “Benja, the missionary.” The sage was engaged in his usual
employment of aiding souls in need. The pleasure of our meeting was
mutual, but cannot be expressed by mortal pen; it was of the soul, true
and fervent, and shone in the speaking eye and upon the trembling lip.
Since that time I have often sought the company of the sage, and always
with profit to myself. He has been an invaluable guide to me in my
search for knowledge, and has lifted my spirit into a pure atmosphere.
Spirit life is full of such workers, and by their efforts, combined with
the desires of sin-sick souls to become better, we look for the
redemption of the human race from error.
And now, good friends, you, unto whom I have revealed a few of the most
vitalizing experiences of my spiritual life, I feel that I must draw
these papers to a close, and, taking each one of you spiritually by the
hand, bid you go on with your efforts in self-culture and advancement;
and God speed you forward in your work for your own souls and for
humanity.
Again I say, it is impossible for me to convey to you anything more than
a mere outline of the inner experience of the spirit; each one of you
must undergo the process for yourselves ere you can realize how intense
in thought and feeling, and how thoroughly quickened into life, are all
the sensations of spiritual existence. In fact, spirit is all thought,
all sense, and it is as impossible to escape from ourselves, and the
consequences of our lives, as it is to exist without the ordinary mode
of respiration.
Hence, let me entreat you to endeavor constantly and earnestly to so
live that only the reflection of a pure life shall cast itself over your
spirit; that only the recollection of good accomplished and evil
resisted shall visit your soul when you have attained the immortal
heights of the other world.
But, ere I close, I feel that I must say a word in regard to the cause
that lies nearest my heart. Interested as I am, and must be, in all
movements of reform, all methods of advancement calculated to ameliorate
the condition of humanity, and eager as I am to see the race moving
along upon a higher, purer, more spiritualized plane of life, yet my
soul’s best endeavors must be employed in the temperance cause. As one
who has sinned and suffered, as one who has experienced the agony and
the vicissitudes of intemperance, I feel it my duty to hang out a
warning flag to others that shall be a signal of danger to those who
look that way.
Sad, aye, too, too sad it is that, while women weep and children wail
because of the misery entailed upon them, spirit life is crowded with
souls that have passed out from earth with the taint of intemperance
defiling their persons and dragging them downward. No wonder, then, that
the angels weep in pity; no wonder that noble souls come thronging back,
pleading with you to seek for good, to resist evil, and to uplift your
head above the haunts of wrong and wickedness.
How long, aye, how long shall this state of things continue to exist?
When shall the morning dawn that shall usher in a new day, a day of
universal temperance and purity on earth? When shall the darkness break,
and a new era of light, of knowledge and wisdom, come flooding in upon
us? Not until man shall study the laws of his own being, and, so
studying, learn to live in harmony with those laws. Not until every man
and every woman becomes a physiologist, understanding the structure and
composition of his or her own organism, and learning of that wisdom
which says: “Partake of nothing but what assimilates with the component
parts of your body, or satisfies the natural demands of nature.” Not
until men and women study the law of heredity, of transmission, which
teaches that whatever trait of character, whatever peculiarity of
disposition, whatever fatal appetite or habit the parents possess, is
transmitted to their offspring, either in a modified or aggravated
degree, and is sure to crop out somewhere and at some time in one form
or another. Not until humanity, learning these truths, live up to them
in obedience to all their requirements will the day of universal
happiness, peace, and purity dawn upon earth.
I am rejoiced to find that a public sentiment is being created in regard
to this subject,—a public sentiment that is felt throughout the length
and breadth of nations,—a sentiment in favor of suppressing the
manufacture and sale of alcoholic liquors, and of seeking to elevate and
promote the cause of temperance, at all times and in all places. It has
crept into the churches, and now the clergy dare utter sentiments in its
favor; it makes itself heard in the street, and upon the rostrum; it
enters our legislative halls, and demands a hearing; and it has formed
organizations, the power and influence of which are felt everywhere. So
much for the cause of temperance; and, encouraged by public sentiment,
it must and shall prosper, and eventually triumph. A public sentiment in
its favor must continue to grow until the manufacture and sale of
alcohol as a beverage will be universally admitted to be a crime against
humanity; no man who cares for the opinion of his fellows (and what man
does not?) dare to engage in the business, and intemperance be so
generally looked upon as an evil that no man will or woman will raise
the wine-cup to his or her lips. That time must come, and may God and
angels hasten the day.
Now, a few closing words to those unfortunates who are addicted to the
habit of intemperance: my whole soul goes out to you in sympathy, and,
were it possible, I would lift you all upon a platform of mental
strength and moral integrity. I do not condemn, I pity; I dare not
censure, I sympathize. From my own experience I know the road you have
to travel, and, if I could, I would enfold you in that divine strength
that would enable you to crush the serpent under your feet. Let me
implore you, out of the deep compassion of my soul, to endeavor, with
all your determined will-power and firmness, to throw off the fatal
habit that binds you; to become free beings, slaves of no appetite nor
passion; to crush them down and assert your manhood. Thus, with the love
and aid of the angels, you will become pure, and worthy of their
companionship. Go on, and heaven bless you in your efforts for
selfredemption.
And now, good friends, adieu. May the angels of love and harmony, of
purity and peace, abide with you always, fitting your lives for a
habitation of light, and an experience of joy in the spirit world.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.