PRE-EXISTENCE.--It has been taught that the ego, the immortal part, is

from God, and at death returns to God who gave it. The eternal existence

in the past of spirits, is presupposed, and that they await the

development of bodies for them to enter, and earth-life, therefore, to

them is a probationary state. The history of this theory is of profound

interest, as it is wrought into the tissue of received theology, and its

beginning traced to the conjectures of primitive man. It ignores the

rule of law, and makes the birth of every child a miracle. The ancient

doctrine of re-incarnation, lately revived, meets the same objection. A

spirit, perfect in its individuality, through a germ becomes clad in

flesh. It does not do this because the mortal state is preferable; for

the spirit constantly desires to escape from its thraldom. It is

compelled by a direct mandate of God to undergo this metamorphosis as a

punishment, and means of atonement. According to this view, the

development of man becomes entirely different from that of animals.

There is no law, order or unity of organic forms. Creation is an

ever-enacting miracle. When this scheme is referred to fixed laws in the

spirit realm, the known causes acting in the physical world are but

transferred to the spiritual, where they at once pass beyond

recognition.

It is needless to say that with such speculations, an explanation having

any claim to scientific accuracy has nothing in common.

ORIGIN OF SPIRIT.--If there is an immortal spirit, whether its duration

be eternal or measured by time, as we can not go beyond the realm of

law--by which we mean the fixed order of causation--it must date its

beginning with that of the body. The history of the development of the

germ is a correspondence of that of the spirit. If the parents have

immortal spirits as well as mortal bodies, then while their physical

bodies support the corporeal being, their spiritual natures must in an

equal measure support the spirit of the fetus, and the growth of its

dual nature be similar, both receiving nourishment from the mother. The

two forms mature together; one pervading and being the exact copy of the

other.

OBJECTIONS.--As the processes of life and that lower order of

intelligence known as instinct, are manifested in animals, identically

the same as they are in man, and by the wonderful interrelationship

existing between all the members of the animal world, from protozoa to

man, what is true of one must be true of all, it follows that if it is

necessary to evoke the aid of the spirit for the explanation of the

phenomena connected with man, it is equally necessary in the case of

animals. Granting this, the next step is to show the absurdity of the

idea that all the infinitude of beings, from microbes to leviathans,

have a life beyond the evening of their brief day. The issue is fairly

stated, but the claim regarded as absurd is not made. All may have

spirits, from the lowest to the highest, holding the same relations to

the body in which it is gestated as the spirit of man holds to his

physical form. That such should be the case is a necessity of the

position taken by this work. It is not, however, held, nor is it

necessary that it should be, that the spirit of animals is immortal, or

exist after the death of the body. They have not attained the requisite

development, which has been likened to an arch which requires the

finish, by putting in place of the keystone before the staging on which

it rests can be removed, leaving the arch permanent. If this staging is

removed before the keystone is put in place, the entire structure falls

in ruins. In man, the arch is completed. Yet, as the animal merges into

man through intermediate forms--and the infant knows less than the

perfect animal--the line of demarkation is drawn with difficulty. It is

like the boundary between the hill and its valley: both meet somewhere;

but no one can say where the valley begins and the hill ends. A certain

degree of development is essential, below which spirit cannot exist

independently of the physical body, and above which this is possible.

Any theory which of necessity advocates the immortal life of animals as

well as of man, fails by maintaining that which may readily be proved an

absurdity. For if the intelligent dog or elephant have existence in the

future, so may the fish, the mollusk, the monad, and even the speck of

protoplasm, which loses itself in unorganic matter. This was put forth

as an unanswerable objection to the immortality of the human spirit,

for it was said one or the other horn of the dilemma must be taken; for

as there is no break in the chain of beings, between man and animals,

even to the monad, if a future life belongs to him, equally is it an

inheritance of theirs; and if it be denied them, so must it be lost to

him. In mental and spiritual attainment there is a gulf between man and

the animal world, vastly broader and more profound than is required to

give him the inheritance of immortality which is also theirs.

In time this gulf is as wide as from the present to several millions of

years previous to the glacial period. Prof. Wallace is so astonished at

the difference between the brain of the most savage man and the highest

animal, that he declares the theory of evolution, which he was first to

promulgate, while it accounts for all the forms of life, here fails, and

that man stands alone, the creature of another creation. While he says

that man "May even have lived in the miocene or eocene period, when not

a single mammal was identical in form with any existing species," yet he

does not place the origin of man at a sufficiently remote era in those

receding æons of time.

In the primitive human being, thought began its conquest of the world,

and the man of to-day represents the accumulation of all experiences

since his ancestors fought with cunning craft the huge megatherium, and

disputed for supremacy of the tertiary forests with palæotherium, and

other monsters of that age.

In time, the gulf between him and the animal world is thus widened, and

in size of brain, which measures as a psychic metre, the growth of the

superior life, he is equally distant. It has been remarked that the

brain of the savage was so much larger than the exigencies of his life

demanded, that it was comparable to giving the wing of an eagle to a

hedge sparrow, or the arm of a tiger to a mouse. Rightly read, this

proves the vast duration of time during the differentiation of man from

the animals below him. Psychic growth is marked by enlargement of brain,

and as long ago as the earliest preserved geological traces of humanity

are found, that organ had attained a size and form about equal to that

of the present. Its attainments have become so great that it is

difficult at present to compare its intelligent manifestations with the

instinctive desires of animals. The brains of all the lower types in

certain essentials of organic life are alike, but in the great lobes

which, superimposed, mark the degrees of psychic life, the human being

stand alone, and is human because of the mental qualities these lobes

indicate.

A SPIRIT NOT NECESSARILY IMMORTAL.--It has been said by a writer whose

sensitive mind had received supernatural light: "Supposing the laws

governing our spiritual natures operate similarly to those governing our

physical, we must naturally infer that the spiritual forms of all parts

of life, may be by those laws interpreted. If the spirit of an animal

has not intelligence to obey, and the spirit of man wilfully disobeys,

will not the law eventually destroy such spirits? The sentient notion

that all ignorant and vile spirits, without aspirations for anything

that is good, who glory in wickedness and persist in the violation of

law, will become perfected I regard as false, for such must go on in a

career which ends in annihilation." This writer errs in the cause he

assigns for the continuous individuality of spiritual beings. He places

it on moral grounds, making it dependent on moral aspirations, character

and desires. Rather is it dependent on development as an entirety. The

human being, after a certain stage of mental growth, receives a charter

to eternal life which it can not annul, bearing with it all its infinite

consequences and responsibilities.

In the "Arcana," Vol. II., 1864, this subject is thus treated:

"A spirit is not necessarily immortal, but can become gradually

extinguished, like a lamp burning for an indefinite time and then going

out. Such is the condition of the lowest races of mankind. They exist

after death; but with them there is no progress, no desire for the

immortal state, and slowly, atom by atom, they are absorbed into the

bosom of the universal spirit-essence as the spirit of the animal is

immediately after death."

If it be asked at what age the spirit of man retains its identity, it

may be said in reply, that no certain date can be given, for that varies

with the development of the parents. Is the idiot immortal? The answer

depends on the circumstances, the degree and cause of the idiocy. If the

idiot is destitute of a ray of intelligence; if it is only a voiceless,

thoughtless being, the inference is not cheering, and the possibilities

are largely in favor of its absorption into the bosom of the universal

spirit-substance.

A sensitive gave his testimony on this subject as it came under his

observation while in a trance. Its value depends on the credence we give

to the revelations received from that state. He said that while in the

unconscious trance, or clairvoyant state, the dying animal and dying

human being were both presented to him, and he saw the same processes go

forward in both. The spirit of the animal floated above the dying body

like a thin cloud; and while he was expecting it to take form and

identity, it dissolved and disappeared, just as a cloud would do in a

summer sky. The spirit of a human being arose like a cloud in the same

manner, took form and identity, and became a counterpart of the body it

had left. This is not a speculative belief, but demonstrative by the

revelations of trance.

MUST NOT IMMORTALITY REACH INTO THE PAST AS WELL AS INTO THE FUTURE?--A

far more potent objection is made by the Metaphysician. To him the

preceding arguments that the spirit can not have existed prior to birth,

and has a common, a cotemporary origin with the physical body, is fatal

to its existence after death. He says: Whatever has a beginning must

have an end; therefore, when it is asserted that the spirit of man is

immortal, it follows that it must have always pre-existed; had an

endless past. This is a startling objection and held to be unanswerable,

except by the hypothesis of pre-existence and re-incarnation, which

maintain that the spirit is an indestructible entity, constantly

rehabilitating itself in forms of flesh; but this hypothesis is only a

supposition made in the childhood of the race to meet a doubt and

objection. In an age of accurate thought it seems an anachronism. If we

accept the doctrine of evolution--and, as the immediate explanation of

the phenomena of living beings, it is the only, and a complete

explanation--then we must also receive as true the corollary that

instinct and intelligence are evolved out of the transformations of

living beings, and that individualized spirit, if there be such an

entity, must be the last link in the vast organic series from which it

has sprung into being. In other words, with an indeterminable future it

has had a determinable past. If the spirit has existed for infinite time

before its incarnation in this life, it has had infinite opportunity for

progress, and, logically, should have attained perfection. Not only

_should_, but must have become perfect. It is readily observed that the

fact of its imperfection necessitates a beginning, and the degree of its

imperfection shows the nearness or remoteness of its starting point. If

it be held that this apparent imperfection is the resultant of the

spirit's connection with matter, it must be remembered that the theory

of pre-existence has for its object to account for the evils of this

life, and perfected spiritual beings, such as all must be after an

infinite past, would have no need of incarnation to attain purity or

excellence already theirs; and should they enter physical bodies, as

spirits, according to this doctrine, they would not be contaminated or

degraded by their contact with earth and earth-life, but would glorify

it.

With the physical form given to offspring by their parents is also given

spiritual entity which lives after the decay of that body, an

independent being, the center of multitudinous forces.

Is this visionary? Lately an eminent physician has claimed that under

proper conditions physical life might be indefinitely prolonged, and man

be able to live in the body forever. All that is essential is the

preservation of the equilibrium between the forces of renovation and

decay. If this could be maintained, life would be prolonged, perhaps to

the end of time, and an immortal oak or lion be as possible as an

immortal man; but with the gross forms of matter this can not be

maintained. The forces of growth and renovation are in excess until the

full tide of maturity is reached, and then decay is in excess. There is

not enough material furnished to replace the waste of the body, and it

wears out, when death must follow. It is then that a new entity becomes

recognizable. The material has become spiritual. Such an immortality at

best would be not only undesirable, but unendurable amidst the changing

scenes and vicissitudes of material life. Only within the refined

spiritual realm can we expect to find the perfection we seek. It is a

new province, subject to new conditions and new laws. There is seemingly

an impassable gulf between matter and spirit, yet we shall find it

possible to throw an arch across. Nature loves such blank spaces; she

loves the black bars in the spectrum as well as the light. Between the

tadpole and the frog there is a chasm which, unless the change had been

observed, would be deemed impossible. Between the caterpillar and the

butterfly; the worm eating rough herbage and the gaudy winged creature

floating like a wind-blown leaf from flower to flower, the contrast is

even greater.

How shall we pass the abyss between matter and spirit? More correctly,

how shall we look beyond the dead physical body to the individualized

spirit, and account to the satisfaction of science for the maintenance

of immortal individuality from the wreck of organization brought to its

most perfected state? While the animal has a similar organization, in

its way, and compared to its environment as perfect, why is it that the

claim is made that the individuality of the animal is lost at death

while that of man is preserved? These are all vital questions, and rest

on the logical affirmation that whatever has a beginning must have an

end. If man has a spirit, the objector affirms that animals, too, must

have one. There is no sharp break in the series, and hence no stopping

point from the highest to the lowest, and, consequently, the primitive

amoeba, and protoplasmic cell must have an immortal spirit. This, by

_reductio ad absurdum_, destroys the affirmation of the immortality of

the highest as well as the lowest.

We may regard the physical body as the scaffolding, and when it fails,

the incomplete arch of intelligence built thereon falls with it; but

this arch becomes more and more perfect, until in man it is perfected;

and when the physical platform by which it has been constructed falls at

death, the arch remains. This is an illustration of the idea, and not

produced as evidence. For this evidence we must consider the more

abstruse doctrines of force and its relation to matter. If we go back to

the beginning, to the primal chaos, we find visible matter and invisible

force. We may take one step further and find force only, regarding

matter as the form of its manifestation. This, however, is not an

essential admission in this discussion.

This force is the first revealment of an intelligent, ever active,

persistent energy, which pulsates through the universe. What lies back

of it; from whence it springs, we may not know. It is unknown, though

perhaps, not unknowable.

As we can only recognize Force as Motion, and motion only in connection

with physical matter, our investigation must begin with the emergence of

that Force as the moving energy of the cosmic world-vapor. In this

expression with the primal elements, unconditioned, its tendency is to

move in direct lines. This is illustrated in crystallization which may

be called the first manifestation of life--the dynamic force of life.

This force, which as seen in the formation and revolution of worlds, is

vorticle; in the vegetable kingdom it becomes spiral, and more and more

circular as it ascends through the animal kingdom to its higher forms,

and in man becomes completely so. This statement will be better

understood by the accompanying diagram.

[Illustration: Diagram of the Individualization of Force.]

The straight line _a_, represents primary force as manifested in the

world-cloud, or nebulous vapor of the "beginning." It was this force

that directed every atom to the common center of the cosmic mass. If its

history be traced, it will be found that the motion of the atom starting

on a straight line for the center is deflected by the resistance of the

crowding atoms, and approaches the center by a parabolic curve. In other

words, the cosmic cloud would form a vortex like a whirlpool, and the

rotatory motion developed would, before the accumulation of any great

mass at the center, prevent further aggregation; and the rotating belts

would, after condensation into worlds, continue to revolve in spiral

circles which, because of the masses not being homogenous, would correct

their variations by spiral orbits which often reaching a minimum

distance from the center, retrace themselves by the worlds traveling a

spiral orbit that becomes constantly larger, until a maximum of distance

had been gained. This explanation of planetary motions has really no

connection with the present discussion, except as it illustrates the

parallel between the circle gained by individualized masses, and the

circle gained by individualized spirit.

The line of force directly acting, is the dynamic energy of matter. It

passes into the world of life in an ascending spiral, that at each

ascension, instead of completing itself, rises to a higher degree. The

spirals at _b_ represent the life of plants; and those at _i_ animal

life, now termed vital energy or vital force. There is incompleteness,

and the force ever ascends to a higher form. At _d_ the spiral becomes a

circle. The evoluting or individualizing energy returns within its

orbit, and instead of extending to higher forms, seeks the perfection of

the human being. If, now, the inflowing forces represented by the dotted

line _c_, be cut off, the individualization of the product of that force

is complete. It stands alone. The orbit of the forces of its rotation is

fixed by the indestructible. As in the planetary orbit, caused by an

oscillation between extremes, there will be variations, but a constant

return to the point of departure. The cosmic energy of force having

ascended through this pathway becomes individualized, as at _d_, and

death severing the bond at _c_, the spirit as the centerstance of force

becomes as at _e_, entirely detached from the stream of living beings.

The force that apparently had a beginning, at least such to our

consciousness, has by the cumulative processes of life embodied all that

is valuable, and is enabled to exist alone; returning forever within

itself, maintaining a perfect equilibrium between the sentient

intellectual and moral natures it has acquired. It is the focus of

these. There is no end to the individualized force in this direction; in

other words, spirit is immortal. It follows that vegetable and animal

types along the spiral represent incompleteness to such an extent as to

forbid existence after detachment from the impelling current. This can

only be attained by development carried to a certain degree, below which

the force must disappear with the organization which manifests it.

DEATH.--Death is the separation of the spirit and the physical body; and

as the former carries with it all that enters into the individuality,

the self-hood, there can be no change in that individuality. In the

processes of evolution, death is as natural as birth--one is entrance

into the earthly life; one departure from it to a higher sphere of

activity. Ever is it as of old: The angel of the sepulchre is the angel

of the resurrection.

AFTER DEATH.--The student calmly surveying the pathway of evolution,

seeing constantly in one age the prophecy of ages that follow; reminded

by every form of life, of a striving to realize an ideal, and in man,

finally, as the highest work of creative energy, finds that ideal type

of physical beauty, and adaptation to the demands of mind, realizes that

short of this last crowning work the plan is incomplete, and a failure.

The line of advance to man is direct and continuous. He is the perfect

fruitage of the Tree of Life. Having reached the perfection of his

physical form, progress changes in direction to the perfection of his

intellectual and moral being. In this direction it is never completed

during the brief years of mortal life; but transposed to an existence

after death, the infinitude of years is equal to the infinite possible

advancement; for as no one can fathom the centuries of the future, no

one can fix the boundary lines circumscribing mental attainment. After

death the celestial being holds fast to all that marked its

individuality in earth-life--its loves, affections, desires, culture,

attainments, its fears--to begin there where it leaves off here, with

new environments and happier methods.

It will find belief the rags of the beggar, concealing the one bright

reality, that immortal life is an inheritance, governed by laws as fixed

as those of the physical world.

Beyond this, in earth life we can but darkly understand. We have words

to convey ideas of things well known to us--of lights seen, sounds

heard, of tastes, odors and sensations; but mortal senses have not

experienced, can not experience, the sensations of this higher life, and

so there are no words to convey the sensations or thoughts awakened.

True, there is a correspondence, such as Swedenborg attempted to

express, but failed because of the limitations of language. He was, like

every one who attempts this task, with ideas formed in the idiom of one

language, attempting to express them in a foreign tongue, which has no

suitable words. There are barbarous languages, with vocabularies of

scarcely one thousand words, yet capable of expressing fully the

thoughts of those who use them. It would be impossible to translate the

complex thoughts of civilized man into such forms of speech, much less

the impressions and thoughts of the celestial life.

If a butterfly, endowed with language to express the beauties of the

broad summer landscape, the soft winds, the melting clouds, the

fragrance and nectar of flowers, should return to the old bitter

herbage, where its hairy, uncouth relatives were feeding on acrid

leaves, and spreading its brilliant wings to catch the sunlight, should

attempt to relate the wonders of the life that was its own, how little

would they understand, how sadly would they misconstrue his meaning.

For them there has been no experience of wafting winds; no sensation of

flying; nor of sweet nectar food, or perfume and brilliant color, and

of these no words held in common could convey any meaning.

For the full knowledge of that higher life we must wait. And it is well:

for to know earth-life in its completeness is enough, and more, for its

short years. As this life is the vestibule to the next, so a true

knowledge of it is of priceless value to advancement there, and its

culture, its moral growth, its spiritual excellence, are treasures laid

up in heaven, and this is all that the freed spirit can carry with it in

its transition.

Personal Experience--Intelligence from the Sphere of Light.

It is difficult to prevent the discussion of Psychic questions from

assuming more or less a religious aspect. The reason for this is that

all systems of religion are based on Spiritual existence, and from views

of that life, true or false, draw their vital sustenance. The moment it

dawns upon the mind of an investigator, that in the facts and laws which

come under his observation there are expressed forces unknown to the

physicist; that beyond, dimly seen, there is an intimation of

intelligent, yet impalpable beings, he is conscious of his own high

destiny, and the necessity of conforming mortal life to it.

The inquiry of the student becomes the seed-bed for the propagation of

religious thought. Herein this domain is unlike all others, for the

outcome of research within its limits, is the last fruitage of Ethical

Systems.

Imperfect understanding, as that of the savage, blindly feeling without

comprehending, yields the rank growth of superstition; while scientific

and philosophic investigation yield the most refined morality.

The preceding pages show the important part the sensitive holds in the

manifestations and study of psychic phenomena. The true position of the

psychic individual is not appreciated, even by those who have given the

subject much attention.

While in the preceding discussions I have spoken in the impersonal mode,

I wish to add my testimony from years of experience, as a sensitive. I

do this because it forms a somewhat necessary preface to the narrative

which follows.

The mass of mankind understand the delicacy of the conditions which go

to make up the sensitive subject; of the acuteness with which the

nervous system is strung; its keen susceptibility to pain and pleasure,

about as well as the illiterate boor comprehends the chemical tension of

the plate in the camera or the subtile ways of electricity. To be a

sensitive is to have at times the light of heaven in the heart, and at

others the darkness of despair. A thousand influences are always acting,

and the brain of the sensitive receives them all, trembles to their

vibrations, and finds resistance to them an effort most exhaustive of

vitality.

In this state of tension, disagreeable objects, opposing words, or

antagonisms which ordinarily would pass unfelt and unnoticed, strike

with rude hand, and give excruciating torture. The presence of an object

or person may be sufficient to antagonize or destroy all ethereal

influences. I know of nothing that may be compared with the acute

depression of the mind after such experiences, which corresponds to the

preceding exaltation. While the sensitive is receiving a flood of

inspiration he breaths an atmosphere of delight, and lives in an ideal

world. Earth and its cares sink out of memory, and the mind is ennobled

and purified. When the inspiration departs, the rosy light fades out of

the spiritual vision, and the mortal eyes open to the cold, gray rays of

earth-life. How drear and sordidly selfish, poor and unprofitable

existence seems to him then.

After the flood of inspiration comes its ebb; the valley of despond,

after the heights of Alpine splendor. Melancholy and depression of

spiritual energy may produce physical disturbance, which runs its swift

course to death. Recognizing these facts, the position of the sensitive

can not be regarded as desirable, unless the laws of the sensitive state

are well known, and the subject learns to protect himself against

injurious and painful conditions; even if he does this unexpectedly,

conditions will arise and confront him, for those who are his nearest

and dearest friends know nothing about the acuteness of his feelings,

and may unconsciously produce the very effects they seek to avoid.

The sensitive becomes painfully conscious of a double life, for the

psychic is so different from the common state, that the mind receives

impressions as from two distinct conditions of existence. One is

physical, held in common with the brutes, with physical enjoyments and

desires for eating, drinking, and the passions; the other is the

psychical, which lives above and beyond the cares of life, and dwells in

an ideal realm of purity. One is the night and the other the day. In

order to dwell on earth these two lives must be united. The physical

body has its imperative needs, which must be satisfied, as the just

condition of spiritual growth. There is less imperative demand for

spiritual sustenance. So soon as the body has been supplied, mental

lethargy supervenes, and desires to tyrannize; physical life overlaps

and conceals the spiritual, and men live the life of beasts. At other

times the spiritual gains such complete ascendency that this world is

forgotten in a blaze of ideality. An equilibrium between these states is

the most desirable, but difficult to maintain.

Sensitiveness is a faculty common to mankind and capable of cultivation.

Now that we have just entered the vestibule of the temple of Psychic

Science, and are beginning to learn its principles we may hope for

brilliant results. Nor will the duties of this life be neglected because

of the approach to another. To the belief that mortal life is all that

can be attended to here, and "that the earth is wanted here, and not in

the clouds," the celestial sense would reply: "We too want the earth

here, and not in the clouds, but we want the clouds also." We want the

clouds to distill the soft dew, and bear on their broad shoulders the

life-giving rain for the grass and grain, to slake the thirst of the

herds and flocks; we want the clouds to spread their protecting mantle

over the fields against the scorching sun of summer; and we want them to

bring the crystal snows to protect the fields in winter. We want the

clouds to beautify the sky, and reflect in loveliness the rays of the

rising and setting sun. Half the beauty of the world would be gone

without the clouds, which lift the soul on wings of aspiration. We

rejoice that there are clouds, and while the earth is good enough for

the mortal man, in the clouds there is a grander reality. If it were

otherwise, if the human heart were given its intense longings, its

exquisite sensibility, its delicate cords responsive to every touch of

feeling only to be torn and lacerated at the grave of the loved, we

would scorn the pitiable earth, despise the sham called life, hate the

force called love, and believe that there is neither benevolence,

wisdom, nor intelligence in the Universe. It is the clouds that give

value to the earth; without them it would only be a parched and thirsty

desert. There are clouds, and by them the spirit is exalted to the

contemplation of infinite realities.

Without the ever-present consciousness of eternal being, religion would

be impossible, and there could be no ideal of excellence superior to the

gratifications of the hour. But man feels the aspirations for a superior

life, a soaring out of and above the physical senses; he feels the

promptings of duty, of right, of justice and truth, outwrought from his

innermost being. The pleasures of the time are cast away; selfishness

yields to unselfishness; and the spirit, amid pain, apparent loss, and

the scorn of its fellows, proves its kinship to the immutable and ideal.

Such is the true spiritual life: The outgrowth of spiritual science,

which makes morality a birthright, and its expression in character a

consequence of obedience to the laws of its being.

Spiritual life is universal and infinite. It is the answer to our hopes,

desires and abiding faith. Whence come they? They are the mutual

expression of our inner natures. As the flower expands, its petals

bending to the rays of the sun, so we turn to the spiritual sun, and

only in the warmth of its invigorating rays expand into completeness. As

the foulest slime of the sewer, when exposed to the light, casts down

all stains, and sparkles in the crystal waves, so humanity in the light

of spiritual truth is purified and freed from stains. Hope, faith,

desire, the poetry of the present, are the prophecy of the future! Their

voice proclaims the esoteric wisdom which is wiser than all books; for

are not all books children of the mind? Has any thing ever been written

that no one knew? As the mind is the receiver, so is it the radiator. It

cannot receive what it has not the ability to throw out. It understands

because it is the sum of all the elements and forces of the universe. It

is akin to the titanic energies which hold the revolving suns and worlds

in the hollow of their hands, and can read the ritual of the flashing

stars.

Infinity it has never exhausted, it can never exhaust itself. Books are

imperfect stutterings of its eternal consciousness. It is as superior to

them as the master to his sketch, the sculptor to his clay, the builder

to the engine that feebly embodies in brass and steel his ideas, which

alone are perfect. We are immortal, and hope and desire tell us the

wondrous tale of an unending future. We cannot cast aside its awful

responsibilities, escape its duties, or be deprived of its grand

possibilities. The very name, Immortality, carries with it the ideas of

endless progress, justice, liberty, love, purity, holiness, power and

beauty.

Those who have followed the line of thought in these pages will have no

difficulty in admitting the possibility, at least on special occasions,

of spirit communication. They, in fact, will recognize it as a

necessity. If those who have passed through death's portals should

return, they might find even the most sensitive unable to transmit their

thoughts, except in a most rudimentary manner.

The following narrative is an attempt of a celestial being to convey by

words a conception of its glorious life. While, in part, the sketch

must be taken allegorically, mainly it is a true picture. The

communication came from our mother, Jane A. Rood, and the remarkable

facts connected with her death are correctly stated. I more minutely

describe the entrance into that state wherein the message was received,

because it illustrates the preceding discussions, and the communication

emphasizes and makes plain many points which have remained

unapproachable.

The first stages were like sinking into peaceful slumber, and I felt the

scenes of earth melt out of consciousness, while a strange exhilaration,

peaceful and delightful, came over me. There were changing flashes of

color, rivaling the rainbow, coming and going in receding circles, and

then a misty brightness, out of which slowly came, as though the

cloudiness were material in the hands of an artist, a form which I

recognized as our mother's. A score or more of years had passed since

the fateful hour when we were gathered around her couch, too distressed

to weep, and awed by the presence of the silent messenger. Wasted by

serious sickness, she was at last free from pain, and a smile of joy

came over her pale face when she knew it was soon to be over. We thought

her dead, for her eyes closed and her breath ceased, when she repeated

with a voice sweet as music:

"Bright spirits await to welcome me home,

To that blissful region where you, too, may come;

Weep not, for our parting is only to sight,

Our spirits may still the more closely unite.

"Perform well each day the task which to you

Is allotted, and murmur not if you must do

What now seemeth hardship, for soon you will prove

'Tis labor of kindness, an action of love."

Then her eyes closed again, and her features changed into a glad smile.

There was now no mistaking the signs, and we went to our appointed

tasks, feeling that it would be sacrilege to weep in the presence of

such a triumph over death. We felt that we had been permitted to catch a

glimpse of an unseen reality. As travelers in mountain regions are

delighted after the valley is wrapped in twilight by glimpses of the

crest of some tall mountain catching the rays of the sun, and reflecting

its glory, so to us it seemed that the departing spirit had caught a

glimpse of the light of its new life, and reflected a smile on the face

of the body it was leaving.

How beautiful she was with the graces of youth, and the complete and

perfected charms of maturity. No wrinkles were on her brow, no marks of

care, anxiety or pain; she was ideal in excellence.

What has happened to you, mother? How are you the same and yet not the

same?

The response: I have returned to my youth, and have brought my

experience with me. I scarcely realize how many years have passed.

Twenty-five, do you say? It seems to me not as many days; and yet, let

me recount. There has been a flood of events, and my recollection of the

last time you saw me has grown dim. We count not time by years, but by

accomplishments; by what we do and gain in thought. I am pained by the

memory of the olden time. You say it was twenty-five years or more ago!

As I come again in contact with earth, my sickness and sufferings are

recalled. How weary and worn I became! How I longed for the end! The

love you all bore me and my love for you was the only cord which bound

me to life, and as I approached the end I forgot even that. How much I

suffered that day I cannot tell, but at last I was at peace. The

terrible struggle between flesh and spirit was done, and the latter

rested. I thought I would sleep, and yet it was not sleep. It was a

repose of all living functions, and yet my mind was in full activity.

For a time I heard all that was said by those who were in the room; but

soon I became so absorbed in the thoughts which flowed on my mind that I

lost consciousness of everything else. Oh! it was such a delicious sense

of comfort and of rest! I was so very weary; I had been so tortured by

pain that to be free was indescribable happiness. I had heard them say I

was dying, and I expected the dread moment with foreboding. It surely

must soon come, yet I thought I had not reached it. The darkness began

to lighten, and I thought the morn was breaking. An intense thrill of

delight filled my being, and the light grew stronger. I continued to

rest, and a new strength came to me. I am getting well again, I thought,

and, perhaps, when the morning comes I shall surprise my friends and

children by at once arising from my couch. The light streamed in with a

soft and a refreshing warmth. There were no walls to prevent its

passage. I was floating in a cloud of light, borne gently and softly as

a weary child on its mother's breast. Then out of the light, as though

it had formed into shape and substance, I saw three friends, long since

dead, and my own blessed mother. To meet them did not appear strange to

me, yet I knew they were not of earth. When they came around me, taking

my hands in theirs, and caressing my forehead, I was surprised at their

beauty, and the sweetness of their expression. They read my thoughts,

and answered:

"Yes, truly we are of the dead; and you will find that dying means to

live."

"I thought I was dying; they told me so," I said, laughing at the

absurdity. "But I have become well, never so well since a child. It is a

joy to breathe and feel the fresh life come coursing through my veins.

But why do you smile?" I asked. They replied: "Do you not know that your

new life means death? How much you have to learn, dear sister."

"Yes, I have everything to learn; my life has been full of cares."

"They have been for others," was replied. "And such are treasures in

heaven. For us to learn is not labor. If we bring ourselves into the

proper condition of receptivity, knowledge flows into our minds. There

is no effort, no wearisome study. We may know all that the highest

intelligence knows if we are in the right condition."

"I must bring myself at once into that condition," I replied, "for there

is need."

"Be not in haste, our sister," said they gently; "there is time, and you

must have repose. The pain you have endured reflects on your spirit, and

you have not yet recovered."

"I infer from your words that I have met the change I so feared," I said

again, smiling at the absurdity of the idea. "When did I pass the limits

of earth life, and why do I lose sight of my friends?"

"You need have no more dread," replied my darling mother. "You do not

see them because we are far away from them. It would not be well for you

to remain and witness their sorrow. We have taken you away, that you may

first recover and grow strong."

As I felt the swift motion, which I had not before observed, for it had

been to me the gentle rock of sustaining arms, I asked: "Am I to be

taken away so far I can not return?"

"Fear not, child," she replied in her old way, "fear not, for whatever

we justly demand is granted to us. The craving of the heart is not left

unanswered. Presently it will all be made plain to you."

We were drawn onward as by the tide of a great river, and I saw

countless others coming and going, as though on swift errands. Then we

paused on an eminence, overlooking a sea of amethyst on our right, and a

vast plain on our left. The sky was softest purple, and the light fell

with indescribable mellowness over all--there was happiness in the air,

and those we greeted were radiant. No words can describe what I saw, or

my rapidly changing emotions. There is nothing on earth with which to

compare the landscape. The softest earthly colors are opaque in

comparison, and the clearest sky a murky cloud. Overcome, I wept for

joy, and my companions wept with me.

"Oh!" exclaimed one, "how sweet to know that this is the reality; no

more doubts, nor forebodings; no more fears, nor distress; a life that

of itself is the highest pleasure, and yields us heaven."

I started at the word, for it recalled a tide of beliefs: "Heaven! When

are we to go there? Where is it and what must we do to go there?"

"Be not impatient, dear sister; we are in heaven already. Where

happiness is, there is heaven. Heaven is activity. It is the deed of

kindness, the pure loving thought that makes heavens."

"What is its first principle?" I queried, "for I am weak and

undeserving."

"Doing for others is the full measure of its law. This is the angel code

from which every trace of selfishness has been weeded out. To do for

others brings gain. The pure and noble angels bending from their

spheres of light, labor for others in self-forgetfulness. When man so

far forgets his selfishness as to sacrifice himself for others, he

exalts himself in angel-life. To work for self is no better nor worse

than the brute world, from worm to elephant, and is devoid of immortal

gain."

How delighted I was at these words. The dross of the world was rapidly

disappearing. The sphere of my earthly labor, which to me seemed so

narrow, widened. I had been sympathetic with those who suffered, and to

those weaker than myself I had given a helping hand. Little things of no

account at the time, so humble and narrow had been my life, now had a

new meaning.

My companions smiled as they read my thoughts, and one responded: "Dear

sister, your weakness was your strength. It will be no effort for you to

do as you have always done. They who can be unselfish under the coarse

influences of earthly life, how grand must be their career under the

purer conditions which here prevail."

As we conversed there came one from another group, tall, beautiful and

radiant with light, and with his companion more exquisitely beautiful

than himself. They invited us, and we went to their abode. "How

beautiful you are," I exclaimed involuntarily to her.

"I am glad;" she replied, "for to be truly beautiful means that the

thoughts are right and true, for they mold the features and through them

gain expression; but it requires time, a great length of time."

"How long have you been here?" I ventured to ask.

"Many hundred years. I scarcely know how long."

"And you grow not old here?"

"We grow not old. The spirit knows not age. It is not limited by

duration. It is an eternal now, concentrating the past and awaiting the

future."

I had not seen myself since the change. I put my hand to my face; it was

smooth and unwrinkled. A happy ripple of laughter came from my

companions. He who had come for us said: "Dear sister, you left those

with your body. The pure spirit has not the wrinkles of care or of age."

I looked at him as he spoke and my attention was called to his robe. I

had not thought of this subject before. I had been so eagerly watching

the faces of my companions, I had not thought of their garments, or of

my own. What a change! What was this raiment? I can not describe it. It

was a drapery as of a cloud, and its color depended on the spiritual

condition of the wearer. I was glad that mine was azure, for that was

the color of my companion's, and thus I knew I was like them. What was

it? A cloud or woven light? It fell around me soft and warm, and with a

luxurious coolness contrasting with the burning of the fever I had so

recently escaped. How different from the roughness of the old garments

was this fleecy robe, glinting and reflecting the light.

As we conversed, there came a spirit, who paused in front of us, dark

and sullen. His raiment was sombre and grim, like his thoughts. "Can you

tell me where heaven is?" he grumbled, "I paid a preacher to gain it for

me, and now having lost all else, I want that."

"Poor brother," replied the elder, "you search for what you can never

find outside of yourself."

"You are a deceiver!" he muttered as he fled away.

The elder brother gazed after him sadly, and turning said: "On earth he

was a miser, and who can count the years before his regeneration? He

sought wealth, trusting to others his religious and moral culture. The

recording angel has written against his name not one charity, not one

unselfish deed. He now must wander in self-torment, seeking and finding

not."

"Was he of consequence on earth?" I asked, for he was proud and haughty

in his degradation.

"Thousands trembled at his beck, for he had made them dependents and

slaves. He had vast riches, houses and lands, mortgages and deeds. He

was wise in getting wealth; but here mortgages and deeds are unknown,

and he becomes the least in the kingdom; morally idiotic, mentally

dwarfed, and a pitiable object of our compassion."

"How long before he will gain the light?"

"Ah! who but God can tell!" sighed my instructor. "Who can tell?

Centuries may go by. He must first learn to ask; first learn humility

and his mistakes. Then some kind angels will attempt his education. They

will lead him out of his mental selfishness, and he will begin as a

child in the old life. His task will be difficult because he can not

enter the sphere of receptivity, as we are able to do, and thus absorb

knowledge from others. His nature must first change, and complete

regeneration be accomplished."

The coming of this pitiable one brought a wave of sadness over us, but

it passed, and the sun was more gladsome after breaking from the clouds.

I had rested in delightful sleep; I do not know how often, and the old

life was like a dream. It was not possible I had been sick, for I was so

strong, so gladsome in my strength, and activity was a delight. My mind

broadened. Contact with my companions gave me enlarged ideas. To think

was to learn; to wish was to know. I was able to look beyond the effect

to the cause. I could read the law in the result. Every day brought

grander views, and my mental horizon expanded. Even in this larger

growth I found rest. The faculties, dwarfed and starved in the old time,

called for activity. The weariness of the body I was leaving behind me.

How lovingly my companions would surround me with conditions of repose.

How they gave me fullness of life, and drew to me those who would reveal

the knowledge it was my desire to learn!

Then suddenly one evening I felt an earthward impulse. What power drew

me thitherward?

"Is our sister disturbed?" asked my gentle companion.

"Oh! so disturbed! I have been selfish in my new joy, and how could I

have been so forgetful; so unnatural? My husband and babe; my son and

daughter weeping; and I have not thought of them!"

I wept, and my companion folded her arm around me and gently said: "You

have been under our control, and are not responsible. To have been

subject to the griefs of those you left, would have been painful and

useless. You are now able to bear a full knowledge, you feel that of

your family and friends. I will go with you, and you will find what I

tell you is true, and you will bless us for our thoughtfulness."

We were poised, as it were, over a promontory beyond which the earth

hung in space, as the full moon in a summer sky. Beyond were the stars.

I was aghast at the journey, and fearful of the abyss which seemed deep

as infinitude. While I trembled it was passed. I was in my old home. A

great flood of human memories came over me. How I loved the dear

familiar walls, the chairs, the glowing fire and, more than all, the

family group. My husband sitting with his head bowed in his hand, my

daughter performing the tasks that had been mine; my little boy and girl

at play; the babe asleep. There were tears in my eyes as I turned to my

companion for strength to bear: Did I not leave my body? Was there not a

funeral? Why is it so quiet if I have not truly passed the ordeal?

"Listen," said my companion, supporting me. "Listen. It was in October

when you passed away. The bright foliage of the trees, then burning in

scarlet and gold, had been blown away by the blasts of winter, and the

snow covered the earth with its icy shroud. All you think of has been

done. It is finished. Were you to go to the churchyard you would find a

mound by the side of relatives gone before."

It was so unreal and absurd that I was bewildered, and laughed at my

misunderstanding, and wept the next moment when I saw my family. I went

to my husband and placed my hand on his head and called him by name. I

called with all my strength to learn that my lips gave no sound to his

ear, and that my touch was imperceptible. Then I turned to my daughter

and threw my arms despairingly around her. She was singing a song we had

sung together, and continued not heeding my embrace. Oh! how keen my

grief when I found I was not known in my own old home. I, who had come

from such a distance, my heart beating with love, found no response! My

daughter finished her song, and her eyes filled with tears. I read her

thoughts for they were of me. "Mother! Mother!" she was saying, and I

responded. It was the call I had heard beyond the bars of heaven! I

could not bear it, and my companion said as she again placed her arm

around me:

"Come, my sister, you can do no good here. There is your child sleeping

in its crib. It is cared for as by yourself. Kiss it, and we will go. Be

assured whenever you are wanted here you will feel the desire."

I kissed my child. "Let me stay," I pleaded; "I want to sit in my old

place, in that vacant chair. Then I will go."

"As you will; and I will endeavor to impress your daughter with some ray

of sunshine."

She bent over my daughter, and by means I did not understand, her mind

responded to the spirit's thoughts: "Your mother is with you, and

retains the same affection for you she had in earth-life." With the

influx of that thought a smile lit up her face, and turning to the

organ, she sang, "Annie Laurie," a song we had often sung together. How

thankful I was that one ray of sunlight gladdened her heart, and the

memory of me was yet dear. I was grateful to the kind spirit who had

assisted me, and then she said we must go, for the trial was too great

for my strength.

"You must calm yourself," said my companion, "for this sorrow is without

the least benefit. Believe it is for the best, and though the hour is

dark, it will bring a perfect day."

"I can not prevent myself thinking of my children and my husband. My

love for them is stronger than ever, and I could not have been persuaded

to have left them for a day. Can I not, oh, good angel, remain with

them? The fairest scene of your home is desolate compared to the earth!"

With tenderest compassion she said: "You are now in the earth-sphere and

take on its conditions. You are seeing through earthly eyes, and

affected by earthly ways. When we once leave this scene you will be no

longer distressed. Willingly would I leave you. I have no right to force

you away. I influence you as I think for your highest good. Here you are

unrecognized, and are constantly troubled because you can not make

yourself known, and by a reflection of the sorrow of your family.

Whenever you can be of use to them you will receive the knowledge and

can return. Now we had better go."

She placed her arm around me, and whether the earth sank away from us,

or we flow from the earth, I was unable to tell. I have since learned

how to traverse space by the force of will; but then I was ignorant of

the method, and dependent on others. Now, when I desire to visit a

place, or be with certain friends, the desire creates an attraction,

which in spirit is the equivalent of magnetic attraction in the physical

world.

When we again reached our spirit home our companions gathered around us,

and I was soothed by the kind words of my mother. I felt condemned for

my loss of interest in the earth-life which had so recently absorbed my

mind, but it became like a dim dream, and ceased to trouble me. What if

I should forget it entirely? I was appalled at the idea, and cried at

the pang it gave.

"Do not fear, you will not forget, but after a time your affections will

strengthen. Our sister has much to learn, and needlessly distresses

herself."

The years passed, and I became accustomed to my new life, when a message

came for me. The palpitating waves repeated, "Mother! mother! mother!"

It was my youngest daughter, who had grown almost to womanhood. I knew

by her cry that she was in mortal pain, and yielding to the attractions

I was soon with her. She was motionless on a couch, surrounded by her

relatives, and her cousin held her cold hand. "It is all over," they

said, in tears.

"Can it be?" I eagerly asked. "Oh! can it be that the time has already

come when I am to have one of my children with me? To have one of them

who will know me, and converse with me? Oh! heavenly Father, I thank

thee for this answer to my incessant prayer."

Then I looked closely and saw the great transition was approaching. I

could not assist; I could only stand by her side and receive her. She

seemed asleep, which I fully understood from my own experience. Slowly

the spirit left the insensible body, and as I saw my spirit-daughter

recovering her senses, I drew near and whispered, "Claribel." She opened

wide her blue eyes, and I knew she saw me. I threw my arms around her,

and wept for gladness. "Darling Claribel, do you not know me, your

mother?"

"Dearest mama," she said with her old smile, "know you? Why, you are

younger, but the same. Where have you been so long? We thought you

dead?"

"Do you not know?" I asked, apprehensively.

"Know? What mean you?"

"Yes, I am what they call dead; and were you not likewise, you could not

see me!"

"I dead?" she replied, with a laugh which recalled her childhood,

throwing her arms gracefully over her head. "Look you, mama, how far

from it I am. I have been wretchedly sick, and in such fiery pain; but

it is over, and I am perfectly well."

We drew to one side, and she then turning saw the friends, weeping, and

her body on the couch.

"Why do they weep?" she asked, "and who is that on the couch? I am

confused, for it is like another self."

"They are weeping for your loss, and that form on the couch is yours."

"Am I to return to it? What am I to do, dear mother?"

"No, you will need it no more. Your life is hereafter with me and the

angels."

"What mean you, mother, by saying you and I are dead?"

"That we are, my child. That is what people call dead."

"I do not understand," she replied musingly. Then going to her cousin's

side, who was still holding her physical hand, she said, "Cousin Frank,

what are you weeping for? Do you not see how well I am?"

He did not hear her words, and she spoke again, playfully patting his

face. Then she saw that she was no longer able to be heard or felt, and

threw herself into my arms, weeping violently. I soothed her as best I

could, upbraiding myself with foolishly teaching her the ways of our

life before she was able to receive. "My child," I said, "how glad I am

to have you again with me. They will all come to us sooner or later. Now

we will go to my home, for it is not well for you to remain. After a

time you will be instructed in these mysteries."

I attempted to go, but found that although I could depart alone, I could

not bear Claribel with me. I had not perfected myself sufficiently in

the method, and her attraction was toward that spot alone. I prayed for

the coming of a companion, and soon there came one to my aid. On either

side we threw our arms around her, and then our wills bore her onward

with us.

When we reached our home, and the loving companions came with welcome to

Claribel, and she saw beauty and perfection everywhere, and felt how

happy her coming had made me, tears trembled in her eyes as she said:

"It is wonderful, mother, and I ought not to regret, but you know

earth-life was sweet to me, and I had plans for the future."

"Yes, my child," I replied, "the days were too short, and your friends

were devoted, but your plans are thwarted, yet you must know that all is

well." Her towering air-castles had vanished; but soon she had far

greater sources of happiness in the group of beautiful children she

instructed.

* * * * *

I said I would not visit earth unless called, for the pain was greater

than the pleasure. Even when called, I refused. "My husband," they said,

"was about to wed again."

"It is well," I replied; "his is the rough, earth-life, hard to walk

alone. If he so desires, I ought to be willing."

Yet I was not willing or I should have gone. It would have seemed

strange, indeed, to have visited my old home, and found another in my

place. It would have emphasized my death to me. Thinking the matter

over, I said:

"No! I will not go. Let them be happy. I will not enter their sphere."

When, years after, the message came that he was soon to join me, I

hastened to his side. When I reached him he had already nearly passed

through the transition, and had regained his spiritual perceptions. As I

came to him he at once knew me, and opened wide his arms to receive me.

The years were blotted out. We were again to each other all that we had

ever been. By intuition he knew that he had met the change, and the

first words he said to me were:

"I am so glad the weary watch is over. I knew heaven was not so large I

could not find you, but I did not expect so soon to meet you. It was

like you to come, and I ought to have expected it."

"I heard your call," I replied, "and heaven is not so wide that I could

not come. Now we must go, and I will take you to the most beautiful

place you ever saw in dreams. You must not remain to witness the

proceedings further."

He smiled at my words: "Why, you talk as if there was something terrible

about death. It has been the most pleasant passage in my life. I have

suffered a great deal in its approach, but when it came it brought only

joy. When I saw you, I was so pleased, my clay-lips uttered my thoughts,

the last words they ever gave. Now it is done, I must stay till it is

over. I want to see how the relatives and friends act, and hear what

they say. You know it will be strange to hear one's own funeral sermon."

As he would not go, I remained with him, and entering again into the

earth-sphere, suffered from the contact. My husband was greatly

interested in the ceremonies, and when they were over, he said:

"I am glad the old aching body has at last gone to its final rest. The

children were grieved, and ought to know how they misunderstand. Perhaps

I can tell them some time. Hearts do not break with grief, else mine

would have broken. Come, now, my new-found wife, I will go where you

wish."

I need not repeat the story of the journey or describe the meeting with

our Claribel. Her father was of so happy a disposition, that he at once

assimilated his surroundings, and became one with his companions.

"I have worked and struggled along," he said, "having little time to

think, and I am as ignorant as a savage. I desire at once to commence

gaining knowledge. How am I to proceed?"

We all laughed at his eagerness, and one said:

"There is time enough; you must first rest and recover strength."

"Rest! I was never stronger, and I am anxious for exertion. I feel

mentally starved and crave thought food."

"You will find no difficult task. To desire is to have, and you will

soon become in sympathy with the thought-atmosphere of our home."

Then one of our number, who was a poet, superior to us all, said he had

had a singular and painful experience, and we demanded to hear it.

THE POET'S STORY.--I had been enthroned, and as I came up the pathway

leading to this eminence, I met a boisterous throng of people. Strange

faces they had, and yet they were familiar. I looked closely, and

imagine my surprise when I found they belonged to me. They were the

thoughts I had expressed in my earth-life. Some were dark, repulsive and

inexpressibly ugly, while others were exquisitely beautiful. What a

horde they were, and though some were pleasing, the greater proportion

caused my cheeks to blush with shame.

"Father! father!" they called, rushing toward me.

"Away!" I cried. "I know you not!"

"Then we will follow you. We belong to you, and wherever you go we will

go. We will not desert you."

"If this be so," I cried in despair, "then I am burdened beyond

endurance, and immortality becomes a curse. If I must remain with this

throng of tormentors, reminding me continually of early follies, then

extinction is preferable."

What shall I do with this miscreant crowd, deformed and rude? I can not

take them home to my companions. If these are embodiments of my earthly

thoughts, how they would scorn me. If this is to be my retinue, then I

must seek a new home where I am unknown. I must cast aside the

companionship of this company. My punishment is terrible. I threw myself

down in a paroxysm of grief and remorse. An angel came by, and pausing

said:

"Would you escape from your thraldom?"

"Escape!" I cried. "Can I escape?"

"Do you not see that the most repulsive of these spectres are fashioned

of the thoughts which are of yourself, recording your former vanity,

pride, uncharity, selfishness and forgetfulness of others? See you that

lovely being representing a deed of self-sacrifice?"

"Oh! that they were all like her!" I cried.

"Then listen. You must act in such a manner that the good will eclipse

these shadows, when they will disappear."

Saying this he vanished, and I, reflecting, said that I would at once

free myself from the dreadful following. Opportunely there came a spirit

moaning past me. Her brother on earth was contemplating a horrible

crime. He had determined to take the life of his mother in order to

become possessed of her estate. The sister had vainly attempted to give

a warning or to influence him, and in despair at her failure she had

left them to their fate. I said to her:

"Come. I will go with you, and perhaps together we can prevent this

crime."

She fervently expressed her gratitude as she conducted me to her

mother's house. It was midnight when we arrived, as I saw in the dim

lamplight by the tall clock, and the mother was sleeping.

"We can only watch," said my companion, "and if he should come, we can

do nothing to save her."

"Do you not know that sometimes sleep unlocks the avenues of the spirit,

and we can approach much nearer than in waking hours? When we thus come,

people say they have dreamed."

I bent over the mother, her white locks fell from beneath her cap over

the pillow, and there was something in the expression of her lips and

cheeks reminding me of my own. I tested her sensitiveness and found that

her mind responded. Then I willed these words:

"Edward intends to kill you with a knife. He will come into your room,

and you must awake and charge him with the crime, and say to him that

his sister came from heaven to tell you!"

She started as if by a blow, and with a horrified expression, she sprang

upright.

"Who is here?" she cried. "Who spoke to me? I have had a fearful dream,

so vivid that I thought it reality."

She sank again on the pillow, and there were light footsteps at the

door, which slowly swung open, and the brother entered. The mother

waited only a moment when she arose and addressed him in the words of

her dream. It came so suddenly that he admitted his intentions, and

pleaded for forgiveness. He had been made the victim of bad men, and if

he could escape from them he might be saved. By nature he was not so

bad, but he was weak.

Leaving them to each other, I started again for our home, my heart full

of gladness, for I had followed the advice of the angel, and expected to

thereby escape my companions. Judge of my surprise when on looking

back, I saw a new form, more ugly than any of the others, the result of

this act from which I had expected so much. As I gazed in despair, the

angel came again, and with a smile said to me:

"It was a selfish act!"

"Selfish?" I asked.

"Aye; you had not the good of the woman or the salvation of the son or

the happiness of the daughter at heart. You had only your own pleasure

and gain. You would thereby relieve yourself of a burden. The world is

ruined by such benevolence. You will have a long and weary road if you

travel in that direction."

"I am a fool," I said, overwhelmed by my imbecility and want of

spiritual understanding. "What can I do?" I implored.

"If I direct you, there will be no merit. You must determine for

yourself."

As he spoke he vanished, and I sat down, resting like a weary pilgrim,

overburdened. Then I saw a spirit coming rapidly toward me, and on

approaching she hurriedly said:

"I am told you can influence mortals. My son is captain of a steamer,

and having lost his course, is sailing directly on a rocky coast. Come

and save not only him, but the hundreds of his slumbering passengers."

Without a moment's delay, I followed her, and came to the steamer. The

gray of morning was flushing the sky, and the crests of heavily rolling

seas gleamed in the cold light. Everything was quiet on deck, for the

passengers were asleep, and nothing was heard but the steady pulsations

of the engine. I looked beyond the bow, and saw the shore some distance

away. It was a high promontory of black rocks, against which the surf

was violently beating, and the ship was headed directly on the point

where it was most violent. Whatever was to be done, must be done

quickly. We went into the cabin where the captain sat with his head

resting on his hands, between sleeping and waking. Could I impress him

with his danger? I made the attempt and failed. I repeated several times

with no better success. I became anxious, as the danger increased, for

every pulsation of the engine brought the ship nearer to the rocks. The

sleeping passengers, strong men, helpless women and children, how soon

they would be called to face certain destruction. What agony the now

quiet decks would witness! What waiting and hoping against hope there

would be in hundreds of desolate homes! The contemplation unnerved me,

and I was unfitted to exercise my skill in impressing thoughts on mortal

brain. I was recalled by the voice of the mother:

"Can you not save my son?"

I confess that when the picture of agony I have sketched came to my

mind, in my wish to prevent the catastrophe, all selfish considerations

were forgotten, and I would unhesitatingly have given my existence for

the safety of the ship, were it possible to have done so.

"I can do nothing unless I have aid," I replied, and with my whole

strength I invoked our elder brother. Instantly he came. He understands

the methods of impressing thought so perfectly that, as you know, he

rarely fails. He placed his hand on the captain's head, and the thought

he gave was:

"Ship ahoy, breakers ahead!"

The captain sprang to his feet, and rubbing his eyes in a bewildered

manner, rushed on deck.

"Who hailed us?" he demanded of the drowsy watch.

"No one, sir; all is quiet."

"We were hailed," he said firmly, and gaining the bridge he sought to

penetrate the darkness. He listened, and his face paled, for distinctly

came the boom of the surf.

Swift were the commands, and the ship by a sharp curve doubled on her

course, the rocky ledge being so near that a few revolutions more and

there would have been no escape.

A great many of the passengers came up on deck, aroused by the unusual

motion of the ship and the shouting of orders, and when they understood

the peril they had so narrowly escaped, they embraced each other and

cried for joy.

As I again sought our home, forgetful of everything but the benefit I

had conferred by my journey, I glanced behind me, and saw a shining

light, and afar off, in dim outline, the group of beings I so strongly

desired to escape. Unconsciously I had performed an act that had placed

a light between me and them. Rejoice with me, dear friends, I am enabled

to be unselfish.

Then the elder said: "Our brother adds to his other good qualities, that

of humility."

* * * * *

"The angel-life became more complete and perfect as year by year the

loved ones came up from the shadows of earth, until our family circle

was almost restored. After a time its old members will take their new

places, and when my earth-friends are all here, there will be little

attraction for me in the old life.

"It is yet new and strange, and cannot be described to mortal

comprehension. Language itself must be spiritualized, and words given a

new meaning.

"I have mingled tears of pity with those who have been bereft, at the

same time knowing that their loss was gain to the departed ones.

"Activity is our happiness, and thinking right and doing our very best

are the gateways to heaven. Earth-life is a joy only when the end is

known. Here its infinite possibilities are realized. Not in a year or a

century, but in the fullness of time can all this come. Weep, for it is

human, when your loved ones pass the shadowy portals, remembering,

however, that the spiritual sun on the other side will, by comparison,

make your brightest day on earth a rayless night."

FROM EARTH TO THE INFINITE.

The mists are falling on the purple sea,

The sun is sinking in the clouds aflame;

For many a day the far receding sea

And melting sky have seemed almost the same.

At first we met the bitter storm and cloud,

With little sunshine on the darkling mere,

The waves were high, the icy winds were loud;

The days were dark, the nights were full of fear.

By every trial having gathered strength,

And hopeful conquered every adverse gale,

We now have reached a calmer sea at length,

And with full hearts unbend the flowing sail.

Behind, the sinking sun reveals no shore

Illumed with glory of his purple light;

The land we left has passed forever more

Beyond the reach of longing mortal sight.

A boundless sea on every side expands;

We're drifting slowly toward the glowing east;

In faith expecting yet more welcome lands,

When toiling care, and mortal life have ceased.

Behold, it comes in robes of azure light!

As sinks the sun behind the sullen waves,

And on the pearly shore, enchanting sight,

Are all the friends we thought within the grave.

And now, oh ship, your weary pinions fold,

And rock to sleep upon the harbor's breast;

This is the home, by faith our hearts foretold,

Where we shall find activity and rest.

INDEX.

After death, 215

Angel life becoming perfect, 244

Angels, guardian, 117

Anger affecting the secretions, 185

Animals have no souls, 205

Aspirations for a future life, 221

A spirit prevents a disaster, 243

A sullen spirit, 229

Atom, the, 11

Atomic theory, 12

Beauty of the spirit, 224

Beecher, H. W., 158

Better Methods, 194

Blind Tom, 157

Brain and Nerves, 197

Buchanan, Dr., 65

Bunyan, 160

Charlatanism and mesmerism, 178

Christian science, 189

Clairvoyance, 53

artificial and normal, 57

from dreams, 57

examples of, 60

Mollie Fancher, 57

Eliza Hamilton, 60

Laura Bridgman, 62

favored by disease, 56

independent of the senses, 55

Concentration, 162

Continuous earth-life, 210

Cultivation of sensitiveness, 220

Curse of false belief, 189

Death, 215

appearance after, 142

warnings of, 128

Garfield's, 131

Degradation of prayer, 167

Denton, Prof., 67

Dissolution of a spirit, 208

Divine motherhood, 186

Doing for others, 227

Double presence, 100

Dreams, 86

predict death, 139

Prince Leopold's, 140

Lincoln's, 138

life saved by, 79, 126, 128

correct errors, 127

Stanley on, 89

of Dr. Holbrook, 90

clairvoyant, 83

shipwreck prevented by, 78

sensitive, 80

prophetic, 88

of Mary Hudlett, 80

of Stanton Moses, 84

Earth-life enough here, 217

Ether, physic, 114

illustrations of, 116

Evolution, 27-31

Faith cure, 180

Finney, Pres. prayer for rain, 167

First day in spirit life, 225

Force, theory of, 23

Forewarnings, 173

Gulf between matter and spirit, 211

Hallucinations, 70

Happy and perfect lives, 191

Hypnotism, 50

Ideas not words transmitted, 65

Idiots and immortality, 208

Illness of mind, 185

Illusions, 68

subjective, 68

suggestive, 69

of Prof. Hitchcock, 70

Immortality, want of evidence to prove, 10

Impressions, 77

Increase of skepticism, 10

Individualization of force, 213

Influence, law of, 116

Influence of mind over secretions, 182

Influencing mortals, 232

Inspiration, 156

Inspiration at its height, 219

Is mental cure a sham, 183

Leaving the aching body, 238

Life, 15

moner theory of, 16

and mind, 17

the future, 36

without immortality a sham, 200

Light in the heart, 218

waves of, 21

Limits of power of mind over body, 186

Limitation of languages, 216

Limitation of the power, 168

Man a dual being, 201

Man alone immortal, 206

Material science--views of nature, 14

Matter, 13

is there more than one kind of?, 12

Medical student's prayer, 170

Mental cure, 180

Mesmeric state, 47

Mesmerism, moral effects of, 52

Mind and life, 17

independent, 116

Mothers' influence over unborn child, 186

Murder prevented by a spirit, 241

Napoleon, 162

Narrative by a spirit, 222

Nature, 14

and the supernatural, 171

Necessity of knowledge, 9

Nervous systems, 198

Ole Bull, 156

Omens explained, 131

Origin of spirit, 204

Our sins follow us, 240

Paganini, 156

Pains of spirits in earth sphere, 233

Persecution, 193

Physical senses, 55

Physical theories fail to solve the problem of life, 8

Prayer, who answers it?, 169

Predictions, 130

Premonitions, 3, 79, 122

why not received by all, 136

Power of mind over body, 181

Presentiments, 79

Pre-existence, 209

Priests and jugglers, 166

Promethean curse, 190

Properties of matter, 13

Prophecy by dreams, 81, 8

Protoplasm, 30, 199

Psychic growth, 207

Psychometry, 67

Regeneration of a spirit, 230

Reincarnation, 203

Returning to earth, 231

Sacred shrines and holy places, 74

Saving souls, 192

Scientific method of study, 31

Sense--the sixth, 44

Senses, limitation of, 21, 2

Sensitiveness, 37, 40-1-2, 104, 162

what it is, 37

relation to culture, 43

during sleep, 76

unconscious, 156

of spiritual beings, 42, 164

Sickness a mark of ignorance, 187

Sight, a race without, 38

Skepticism, increase of, 10

Sleep, 46

Society of Psychical Research, 99

Somnambulism, 50

Sound waves, 20

Spirit regretting her death, 237

Spirit watching his funeral obsequies, 237

Spirits confusion after death, 236

Spirits in despair, 239

Spirits know not age, 229

Spirits meeting mortals at death, 235

Spirits traveling by will power, 234

Spiritual ether, 19

existence, 217

understanding, 242

Spotless lives, 191

Strength in weakness, 228

Struggle for existence, 28

Superior intelligences, interference of, 79

Survival of the fittest, 29

The animal in man, 195

The arch complete, 205

The body a staging, 205

The celestial body, 202

The immortal state, 188

The sensitive's sufferings, 218

The terrestrial body, 202

Thought atmosphere, 113

transference, 77, 80, 99, 102

Trance, 53

conditions of, 53

Untutored minds, 195

Warning voice, 135

Weakness of new born spirits, 226

What is back of force?, 212

Worlds, dead, 22

end of, 23

IN PREPARATION.

CAREER OF RELIGIOUS IDEAS AND ETHICS OF SCIENCE.

Founded on Evolution and the Continuity of Man's Existence Beyond the

Grave.

Part I.--The Career of Religious Ideas.

Part II.--Ethics of Science.

This volume unfolds the Progress of Religious Ideas through Fetishism,

Phallic Worship, Polytheism and Monotheism to their emergence into the

light of science, divested of superstition, and elaborates the natural

system of ethics founded on knowledge of the physical and spiritual

world.

By HUDSON TUTTLE.

300 PAGES. PRICE $1.25.

IN PREPARATION.

FROM SOUL TO SOUL.

POEMS

By EMMA ROOD TUTTLE.

250 PAGES. PRICE $1.25.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber's Note:

Minor errors (e.g. misprinted, missing, or extra punctuation, missing

spaces) have been corrected without note. Inconsistent hyphenation (e.g.

life-time and lifetime) and spelling (e.g. bark and barque) have not

been changed. Other than those noted below, errors in the Index have not

been corrected.

Decorative italics (e.g. on chapter headings) have not been represented

in the plain-text versions of this book.

The following corrections and changes were made:

p. 5: luminifereous to luminiferous (luminiferous ether)

p. 6: recepient to recipient (while the recipient)

p. 12: indestructable to indestructible (indestructible atom was arrived

at)

p. 18: conbustion to combustion (the combustion of tissue in the lungs)

p. 20: phycho to psycho (distinguish it as psycho-ether)

p. 29: Froisart to Froissart (Froissart was not more garrulous)

p. 34: Incomprehensively to Incomprehensibly (Incomprehensibly great)

p. 43: transferrence to transference (thought transference or

sensitiveness)

p. 46: oriflame oriflamme (the oriflamme of the spiritual conception)

p. 53: clairvayant to clairvoyant (trance or clairvoyant state)

p. 53: Clazomeneæ to Clazomenæ (Hermotimus, of Clazomenæ)

p. 53: ecstacy to ecstasy (in a fit of ecstasy)

p. 55: ecstacy to ecstasy (religious ecstasy and trance)

p. 55: phycho to psycho (the psycho-ether)

p. 59: adminstered to administered (Dr. Spier administered)

p. 59: adminstering to administering (after administering the test)

p. 62: pyschic to psychic (conceal the higher psychic faculties)

p. 64: conscienciousness to conscientiousness (conscientiousness,

truthfulness and hopefulness)

p. 67: pschometry to psychometry (Really psychometry)

p. 68: Abercombie to Abercrombie (Dr. Abercrombie)

p. 69: Audral to Andral (M. Andral)

p. 72: Perthleven to Porthleven (Vicar of Porthleven)

p. 75: Guinasi to Ginnasi (Count Ginnasi)

p. 79: Biddleford to Biddeford (The Biddeford (Me.) _Journal_)

p. 79: Kinnebunk to Kennebunk (near the mouth of Kennebunk River)

p. 83: See to She (She threw an old coat)

p. 84: double quotes to single quotes ('_Immediate_,')

p. 87: corollation to correlation (the perfect correlation)

p. 88: single quote to double quote, and missing close quote added (I

said, "I have been to a small village ... 'No, sir; but his widow is.'")

p. 92: fantacies to fantasies (Laugh at the fantasies)

p. 111: occurence to occurrence (This strange occurrence naturally)

p. 112: sufficent to sufficient (with sufficient light)

p. 115: stewn to strewn (strewn with sand)

p. 116: undiscernable to undiscernible (colors being undiscernible)

p. 116: corelated to correlated (correlated harmony between minds)

p. 117: McKendee to McKendree (Bishop McKendree)

p. 120: unconciously to unconsciously (unconsciously those who by study

... are continuously made unconsciously)

p. 130: extra "it" removed (assuring him that it was no news)

p. 131: embarassment to embarrassment (to overcome his embarrassment)

p. 133: Minnie to Minie (shot in the breast by a Minie ball)

p. 135: be to he (he seemed to be in a jolly mood)

p. 146: villian to villain (the villain escapes)

p. 154: unfortuate to unfortunate (and this is most unfortunate)

p. 156: rythmic to rhythmic (expression of rhythmic motion)

p. 157: ecstacy to ecstasy (the ecstasy of all true musicians ... the

meaning accepted of ecstasy)

p. 166: strenghthens to strengthens (harmonizes and strengthens)

p. 168: ativism to atavism (as Darwin would say, atavism)

p. 175: ministeral to ministerial (the ministerial conference)

p. 176: Muller to Müller (George Müller, its founder)

p. 178: correllate to correlate (correlate the facts of spirit)

p. 181: Hipocrates to Hippocrates (time of Hippocrates)

p. 182: inocculation to inoculation (sure consequence of inoculation)

p. 183: enobles to ennobles (that ennobles and elevates)

p. 183: baccilli to bacilli (millions of bacilli)

p. 184: micrococus to micrococcus (the micrococcus brings on fever)

p. 185: insiduously to insidiously (insidiously sapped its foundation)

p. 188: glipse to glimpse (often catches a glimpse)

p. 189: Pharoah to Pharaoh (Pharaoh might command Egypt)

p. 198: Illiad to Iliad (wrote an Iliad)

p. 199: period to question mark (of the animal world?)

p. 199: consectuive to consecutive (its consecutive links)

p. 200: extra "of" removed (huge saurians of the primeval slime)

p. 200: architype to archetype (archetype is complete)

p. 201: nonenity to nonentity (pass into nonentity)

p. 201: habilament to habiliment (is its habiliment)

p. 204: interelationship to interrelationship (the wonderful

interrelationship)

p. 204: phenemena to phenomena (phenomena connected with man)

p. 206: megotherium to megatherium (the huge megatherium)

p. 212: mainfestation to manifestation (the first manifestation of life)

p. 217: sustainance to sustenance (draw their vital sustenance)

p. 219: etherial to ethereal (destroy all ethereal influences)

p. 219: unconciously to unconsciously (may unconsciously produce)

p. 236: missing "o" added in "onward" (bore her onward with us.)

p. 247 (Index entry): Buchannan to Buchanan (Buchanan, Dr.)

p. 248 (Index entry: Dreams, life saved by): 79-126-128 to 79, 126, 128

------------------------------------------------------------------------