Front matter (continued 2)

But the soul is cautious, and in virtue strong, and so, conscious of invisible protection, suddenly fixes the demon with his eye, and before he can escape launches at him a bolt that leaves him helpless and writhing, dead as a spirit can be. "I killed him," says the exulting soul, as it passes on its way.

You would be apt to say, "He did not kill him at all; he only disabled him."

Now, while it is true that what I have described corresponds in appearance to what we should here call disablement merely, its full meaning cannot be understood without entering the consciousness of the spirit who was struck down.

To such a one activity, or the ability to act, constitutes life; inactivity, or the inability to act, constitutes death, not death as we know it, but a living death, in which the fierce vibrations of a life that knows no end, being confined as though by a broken wheel in its carriage,—being confined, I say, to the gaseous envelope, the propulsion of which has absorbed half its fire, soon heats the envelope to a torturing degree.

Illustrating in another way, the evil spirit, being disabled from continuing his customary activity, is forced to reflect, to look back over his course, and face the evils he has done. Horrors take hold of him. The most poignant dread of being overtaken by those whom he has despoiled of all that made life dear, until in despair they have committed suicide, and started out to find their tormentor, takes hold of the miserable wreck, who has not even the consolation of looking forward to some certain end to his sufferings, because neither time nor the last sleep are known in the region of the dead.

Is this experience, do you think, any less to be dreaded by a selfish spirit than is death by a mortal who is consciously not ready? It is therefore properly called death in the language of the spirit, made up, as that language is, of ideas only.

But in calling it death on the earth-plane we are using a word that has a much different meaning here.

When we say, "The man is dead," a funeral, or at least a burial is suggested. Not so there.

In this we have an example of the difficulty of conveying information in regard to the conditions of the Beyond, without using words that are liable to be misunderstood.

Only those who have attained to the ability to converse in the light, eye to eye, without words, are entirely free from these obstructions to mental intercourse.

CHAPTER XX.

Astronomy teaches us that our earth, together with the other members of the solar system, is traveling through space, at the rate of eight miles per second, around a distant center, in an orbit requiring many thousands of years to complete.

We learn from this that we are constantly changing our place in the universe, and are entering new etherean fields, not only every year, but every day and hour. Since we are unconscious of this motion, it may seem to have no vital relation to us, yet, by a knowledge of the fact, we may gain an insight into the wonderful resources of this great machine for recording events.

Every thought and feeling of which we are conscious makes its mark, not only upon our bodies, both the outer and the inner, but also upon the ether through which we are passing. I am alluding not to the words in which we clothe or perhaps conceal our thoughts or feelings when communicating with one another, but to the thought-current itself at the point of origin.

This would be the same in the minds of all men of equal intelligence, without regard to nationality; and those beings who are able to read the marks left by these currents would find them written in unmistakable characters, and of a size proportionate to our rate of travel, on the fair ethereal page.

In one respect we are at an enormous disadvantage in our relations, conscious or unconscious, with the denizens of the Beyond.

Our thought-motions compared with theirs are like an ox-team to a locomotive. It is a fact, and there is no use in quarreling with it. On the other hand, through our association with matter we are able, without permanent injury, to bear oppressions of the spirit which would be death itself to them; and those among them who would take delight in insulting us are deterred from doing so by our insensibility to the stinging thought-current. We ourselves would not insult a post for being one.

These oppressions of spirit, or depressions, as we blindly call them, are a part of the system by and through which we are made to manifest what manner of person we are; and our blindness as to the real meaning of the life we have come into possession of, our persistent mistaking it for an end, instead of a means to an end, brings it to pass that the tests we undergo as to our fitness for this or that position in the real though hidden life that awaits us all, are real and genuine tests, which they could not be, to their full extent, if we clearly understood at the time just what was being done. Every thoughtful man and woman looking back over life can discern how this or that decision has been a turning-point leading on to unexpected success or paving the way to disaster or defeat. When the test is complete, some inkling of its meaning often dawns upon us, and we resolve to be on guard next time, and then perhaps we start off on some rainbow chase, only to discover that we are the prey of delusion once more. Then, perhaps, we get angry and curse the whole machine as the product of some stupid blunderer, thereby avoiding the confession of any mental obliquity on our own part.

Not all of the delusions of mortality are of a kind that lead to such a result. Some have been imposed upon us by our risen brothers of the other sphere, and have held sway over our minds, as they did over our fathers' minds, and over their fathers' before them, none of us living long enough on the mortal side, or obtaining sufficiently clear independent light, to enable us to become free. The shaking off of the fetters of this mental bondage is a special characteristic of our own day; and those who have listened to the torrents of eloquence poured from the lips of the young mediums upon this subject, know that this work, the necessity for which, as I have indicated, is largely due to other-world intelligences, is now being forwarded from the same quarter with tremendous power. Verily, there must have been a revolution in the heavens, or this would not be. And such, indeed, is the case. The tremendous power of an organized hierarchy under the controlling influence of a single mind so prominently in evidence here, is without a counterpart on the other side to-day, although the sins against humanity which have been charged against the priesthood of past ages should more properly be laid at the door of their invisible inspirers, then in the height of that power which is no longer theirs. To-day the enemies of racial progress are to be sought for on earth, where the intoxicating dreams of power without responsibility have found lodgment and worked their corrupting influence in the minds of not a few of our brothers, who seem to forget that they are still members of the race they are seeking to enslave, and that their responsibility for misusing the power entrusted to them will be accounted all the greater in consequence.

CHAPTER XXI.

The range of subjects coming within the scope of my title is so great that I cannot undertake an exhaustive treatment of any within reasonable limits, but I hope to supply a few keys by the use of which reverent minds of any and every school of thought may be able to enter upon successful explorations.

The amount of evidence necessary to convince a sincere inquirer that this earth-life, important as it is, is but the threshold of existence, is not very great, but it must needs be adapted to the individual mind.

To obtain this evidence is worth more to any man or woman than any other purely mental acquirement can be.

For it is a mental acquisition, the possession of which is related to, and has a natural influence over, every other we can call our own. Yet it has not, in itself, any transforming effect upon the life and character.

When such a result follows, other influences share in the work. He who has lost friends that were a part of his life, the mother whose children have fainted away into the world of mystery, the philosopher who has given the strength of his years to the search for truth, are all profoundly affected by the discovery; while those in whom the affections are less strongly developed, or whose mental powers give them no adequate perception of the profound and far-reaching relations of this great truth, may hold it as lightly as they do their dreams, and receive from it no more benefit than they do from them.

Whoever is capable of analyzing a thought or the expression of a thought, can find evidence of the world beyond strewn along his path on every hand.

All figurative expressions are merely unconscious devices to give to thought somewhat of the objective reality it possesses to dwellers in the Beyond. For instance:

"There are names which carry with them something of a charm. We have but to say 'Athens,' and all the great deeds of antiquity break upon our hearts like a sudden gleam of sunshine; 'Florence,' and the magnificence and passionate agitation of Italy's prime send forth their fragrance towards us like blossom-laden boughs, from whose dusky shadows we catch whispers of the beautiful tongue."

Is it doubted that the Athens of which the author speaks will be found embodied in forms real and tangible in that other world which takes to itself all that attains to immortality in this one?

Why do authors speak of a cold greeting, of walls of reserve, rivers of kindness, or the sunshine of love?

They may not be able fully to explain, but expressions like these point to features of the landscape in that world where the inner becomes the outer and takes on those garments of reality which belong to it by right.

The things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are unseen are eternal, and when we have broken connection with our temporal bodies, or attained a true and perfect control over them, we may enter into this knowledge, to find it truly a heavenly inheritance.

But it is not alone through figurative and poetic language that we may discover evidence of the existence of an immaterial world.

The broad fields of philosophy and literary criticism receive their light, their water, and their air, outside the world of sense almost entirely. Scarce anything in these domains has any causative relation with the world of matter.

For instance, take this passage from one of the magazines:

"But what does the work of higher criticism really mean? It means, briefly, as applied to the Old Testament, the revision of certain traditions concerning the structure, the date, the authorship of the books—traditions which had their origin in the fanciful and uncritical circles of Judaism just before, or soon after, the Christian era."[B]

A careful analysis of the meaning of this will show that it begins and ends in the domain of abstract thought. To use a figurative expression, it does not touch the ground anywhere. If our bodies and their needs, if the earth and its products which minister to those needs, if, in brief, the material universe really comprised the all that is, such a thought as is contained in the passage quoted could never have come into being. For it has no practical relation to things as such.

Yet there is nothing especially obscure about it. It was written for men and women of ordinary intelligence, who are supposed to take an interest not merely in sacred truths, which, indeed, are not dealt with in the article from which I quote, but the structural forms containing those truths.

All of which, rightly interpreted, points to another phase of existence, which is either near to or far from us according to the stage of our development, a phase which may become measurably real to us even before we enter fully upon it, and which has the strongest possible claims upon our attention.

CHAPTER XXII.

There is no more fruitful source of error to the student of occult philosophy than the assumption which he continually makes, that the race and the individual may be treated as one when their relations to a higher power are being considered.

It appears that the study of the laws of chemistry may be partly responsible for this. A molecule of any substance, having in itself all the properties of that substance, may be reasoned upon and regarded as though it were, as it is, an epitome of the mass. In the same way it is assumed that man, the individual, is an epitome of the race, and that, in endeavoring to obtain a philosophical view of him, we may pass in review before the mind what we know of the race, and what we know of the individual in a general way, without drawing any line of distinction between what is true of the one and what is true of the other.

Now, while this mental process may have a certain value when both are considered externally, those who attempt to solve the deeper problems of the race or the man, by means of it, are sure to fall into error.

It is not borne in mind that our race is scarcely conscious of itself as a unit, and if it were, it would in the present state of knowledge regard itself as alone in the universe, flying through space on a revolving globe with enormous velocity, along an unknown orbit. There may be other inhabited worlds peopled by other races of beings, but as a race we do not know this to be true; and only a dim perception of the survival of a few of its own members that have lived their little lives and passed away since time began, relieves the sense of isolation with which the race looks out into the surrounding darkness.

The student of history contemplates the rise and fall of nations and traces the causes which have led to their overthrow. He observes the same influences at work to-day as in the olden time, and when the premonition of like disasters comes home to him, he is ready to exclaim, "There is no hope! There is no God!" And in so speaking he gives utterance to the soul of our race, which is still groping in the darkness for light and a place of rest.

How much of this is true of man as an individual? Very little, comparatively, as we shall see. In the first place, as individuals, we are conscious of companionship. We look around us and out over the world and see great numbers of our fellows whose life and surroundings are comparable with our own. Such differences as we perceive in each other only give evidence that our fellow-beings are real, not simply reflections of ourselves; are objective entities, not elusive shadows. And by as much as we are conscious of an individuality apart from that of our race, by so much may we hope to separate the thread of our destiny from the tangled mass. Examples of such a separation are to be found among the great names of the earth; and a study of their lives will teach us how best to shape our own. It will also teach us that race-life and individual life are not necessarily the same, that the individual may absorb light for which the race is not yet ready, and set his standards of thought and action far beyond what is yet possible to the race as a whole.

If, now, we form our conceptions of the character of the power overruling us, by an exclusive study of those events which affect great numbers, we are liable to serious error. If the sound of thunders intended for the ear of the race be concentrated so as to fall upon our individual hearing, they will certainly deafen us completely.

On the other hand, those whose narrower vision sees only the play of events as they affect the lives of individuals are also liable to error in forming their estimate of the character of the overruling power.

Here tragedy visible and invisible plays its part, and sometimes injustice in the extreme appears to triumph. There is no possibility of avoiding error in judgment from this point of view, without constantly bearing in mind at least three things: first, that outward disaster is sometimes an inevitable result of long-hidden crime; second, that to the innocent, death is a release from prison, a promotion from a lower to a higher sphere of action, and that those who are able to look beyond the instruments used to break their fetters, to the kindness that sets them free, can mount on the wings of delight to a diviner air; and third, that the dwarfing of the faculties of a soul during the short space of earth-life will turn out to be a far less serious matter to the soul than to the one responsible for it.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The question may be asked, Wherein lies the difference between man the unit, and the race which is an aggregation of these units? What philosophical difference is possible? In answer, I would say that while the individual and the race alike possess body and soul, the individual at times manifests a power of becoming greater in every respect than the influence of heredity or surroundings can at all account for. Such individuals tell us of some powerful influence descending upon them, as it were, from a higher sphere, and to this they attribute the changes in their life and powers which make all their friends to marvel. No such stimulating and transforming influence has ever manifested itself on so broad a scale as to affect our entire race at once, and we must conclude that the time has not come for such an event. As a race, our eyes are not lifted above the earth. We care little about our origin, and still less about our destiny. The love of war and bloodshed, delight in the flowing bowl and all its attendant revelry, are still characteristic of our race, and the heavy clouds that are gathering in our sky are not yet black enough with impending evil to arrest us in our downward course.

Ah! well for us it is that we are not to be left alone to rush headlong to destruction in our blind folly. Terrible as are the forces we have invoked against ourselves, those which shall save us from death by all manner of intoxication are infinitely greater.

The wasting fever of war undoubtedly must come, such war as the world has never seen before, but when the coveted excitement, changed to agony untold, is at last over, when our physical forces are entirely exhausted, the loving Parent whose outstretched hand we have always refused, will show a pitying face. A draught of infinite peace will be imparted to our spirit, and we shall rise in newness of life to enjoy the forgotten delights of obedient childhood, and make this old world over into one entirely new.

CHAPTER XXIV.

I had not thought to touch this strain when I began to write of the Beyond, but some things almost write themselves, and I have not forgotten the closing words of the appeal with which this book opens. "We are trodden down by our brothers among the living. Help us, our fathers from the dead."

Ah! if the wire which carries this petition outward can bear the strength of the return current, it may possibly convey such tidings as words are not able to express, for is it not true that the sweetest strains are cradled within a silence which speaks more profoundly to the soul than does the music to the ear? Let us hearken.

"Do you wish to know what stands in the way of our coming to the rescue? Nothing but your unbelief in the possibility of our coming. Thank God that unbelief is growing weak. Could you know what exhausting labor is ours in our efforts to reach you, you would pray rather for light to enable you to do your part. Believe, oh, believe that we have not forgotten. In agony of spirit we are striving to awaken you from slumber, to instil into your minds the supreme truth, that no good thing that can be named is impossible of occurrence. You are ready to believe it for the material, why not accept it in the spiritual?

"Religious liberty is your priceless privilege. Can you possibly gain it by setting foot on religion itself? Be sane. Learn to discriminate. Throw away the chaff, but keep the wheat. Death is a magician, not a murderer. The pain all comes beforehand. The passage itself is not painful. Death merely turns the key in a door you never saw before, and you step out into such a freedom as you never dreamed of. 'Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life,' suggests a great truth. Try to get hold of it. No man, and no body of men, no spirit, nor any combination of them, can prevent you from making your life a success. There are prizes to be won. Why not try for them?

"But you say you are trying. Sword in hand, you are battling for the right. Yes, we know, and sometimes you are wounded, and help seems never to come. Hold fast. We are building a road.

"It is already finished, and the cars are on the track. You shall not die of wounds like these. Help is near. Your prayer is heard. We knew it would be. From the heights beyond the heights has come the order, 'Descend in power. Earth's children are ready to receive you.' And we are not few nor weak. Our phalanx moves in a light which nothing can withstand. Believe it, and stand upon your feet. We are already here."

CHAPTER XXV.

There is another grand division of my subject, but the difficulty of presenting it through the medium of written language is even greater than that already dealt with, and only a slight attempt will now be made. Not only do thoughts take the place of timings in the Beyond, but emotions take the place of forces. By emotions in this connection I mean those currents of energy which have their rise in, and are more or less under the control of individualized intelligence, as love and hate, joy and sorrow, hope and fear, happiness and distress; and by forces I mean those which are sometimes called blind forces, such as attraction in its various forms, heat, electric vibration, and the like. As these last pertain especially to matter, we should expect them to retire into the background in a world where mind-realities, or facts of consciousness, absolutely dominate. And so they do. And here may be a good place to indicate what part matter really plays in this immaterial world. Let me call attention to the world of art. Let us recall its great names, and the masterpieces which have given them fame, the wonderful poems, the paintings, the sculpture, and the musical creations that will never die, and then pause and consider how slight are the demands made by this wonder-world on the lower world of matter. The poet and the musician call for writing materials, the sculptor needs some clay and a few modeling tools, the painter some pigments and brushes, and a bit of canvas. With these slight aids the noble conceptions of genius are materialized for the delight of future generations.

Take another illustration. When a ship goes out of the harbor, it is to be assumed that she takes her anchor with her, and carefully guards it against possible loss.

It is likewise true that within the scope of the great and splendid activities of a free spirit, a material anchor is somewhere safely cared for, yet such an anchor has no more prominent relation to the activities of the spirit than the anchor of a ship has to the ship's power to cross the sea. If we could think of a ship with nothing else to do but to lie around the harbor, the relative importance of the anchor would increase very much; and if it had no anchor of its own, it might attempt to tie up to some other vessel that had one. And so with earth-bound spirits whose testimony is sometimes quoted to the effect that spirit-life is as dependent on matter as any other. Most of them are blissfully ignorant of their own poverty, and move about the earth, that is to say in the lower or earthly strata of thoughts and feelings, because they have no desires above them.

They remember this life as a lost heaven, and are continually bemoaning that loss in secret, while their activities take the form of influencing mortals to this or that kind of sensual indulgence, which they wish to share through sympathy. Every impulse and desire is bent upon a possible recovery of the earth-life, and they are so ignorant of, and indifferent to, any higher form of life, that it remains without existence to them.

I would not say they are insensible to the enlargement of their powers consequent upon their release from the confinement of an earthly body. They could not be. Their discovery that death does not destroy the inner consciousness was a great surprise to them, but the novelty of the discovery soon wore away. What seemed so strange at first, became a truism, a simple scientific fact, previously unknown, and unable in itself to supply any stimulus to their higher powers.

It is evident that the testimony of these upon the subject is worthless, while those who have battled for and won the prize of recognition in a higher sphere give abundant evidence of their freedom from the bondage of matter, and the desires that have material things for their object.

Resuming my subject, not only matter, but those forces which are inseparably associated with it, retire into the background, nay, almost disappear, in the Beyond. Emotions take their place.

The atmosphere, or that which corresponds to what we know by the term, seems charged with some powerful element, resembling electricity in its effects, but differing from it in that it seems to be sensitive to thought, and to be capable of responding to it with dynamic force. A shock from this element is in every respect as real to the consciousness as an electric shock is to us. It comes from without and expends its force upon the gaseous body. Being sensitive to thought, it does not impress one as being capricious in its nature, but as though acting according to some law which it is of the highest importance to discover, if possible.

With the perceptive and intuitional faculties wrought up to the highest state of activity, it is presently discovered that it is not thought in the abstract, but thought surcharged with feeling or with devotion to a principle, some cherished sentiment of the soul, which has the power to excite this hitherto unknown element; and gradually it dawns on the mind that this element corresponds to public opinion on earth, that it emanates from the inhabitants of that part of the spirit-realm, and that if your mind does not happen to be in accord with theirs, you must either get away or do battle for your life. By life, I mean your power and freedom of expression, the very breath of the spirit, what a printing-press is to a newspaper, cut off from which, the paper is dead.

Manifestations of emotion, both in kind and degree, depend upon two things, our spiritual state or condition, and the nature of our surroundings. Passing over the first of these, it is evident that earth-surroundings greatly limit the expression of emotion; and when we observe the effect of a powerful current of this kind upon the physical tissues of the body, weakening and consuming them as by a flame, we see that the length of our stay here is involved in our ability to control our emotions.

Not so in the Beyond, where our stay is without assignable limits, and where the pent-up emotions of a lifetime at last find vent, and pour themselves out as by flood-gates to the sea.

And it is here that music plays its part in that wonder-world. For as ideas have each their appropriate form, so every emotion has a musical strain peculiar to it.

And who can describe the healing power of music under a master's hand? Reading the mind and soul as an open book, and informing every tone with the vibrations of a perfect sympathy born of knowledge, he administers to the soul whose life has been a tragedy long-drawn-out, such throbbing waves of strength and consolation, himself remaining hidden, as seem to issue from the very stars, and drown the memory of that age-long pain in an ocean of oblivion.

Ah! believe me, it is another world, where the powers of this one do not rule.

CHAPTER XXVI.

And yet, as I have indicated, it is possible to live so far below one's moral and spiritual possibilities, that the loss of life will seem the loss of heaven, and the men of power on earth whom one has envied will come to seem very gods, worthy of being worshipped. Such a delusion as this is in part due to the absence of a common time-element.

Duration is measured only by the succession of various states of consciousness, and these change so rapidly under the influence of the vibratory intensity of the new life, that the events of a day lengthen it out until it seems like a year upon earth; and day and night being one in the Beyond, so far as activity is concerned, although they differ somewhat in magnetic conditions, when one of these year-long days is past, the spirit, glancing across into earth-life, at some money king, with thirty years of active life before him, can scarcely avoid endowing him with a kind of immortality, and may devote the fiery energies of the soul to building up the fortunes of such a one, with no higher object than that of keeping the mental balance and avoiding reflection.

This necessity for keeping the balance supplies motive for a great deal that is done by spirits in the lower strata of life in the Beyond. It is not, strictly speaking, mental balance, but organic, affecting the whole being. A spirit possessed of any conscious individuality whatever must generate a certain interior force to maintain it. This keeps his body in a state of equilibrium between the inner and outer pressure, and the body of a spirit is naturally as valuable to him as ours is to us. It protects him against currents of thought and emotion that are not adapted to his needs, and when evenly balanced he is able to put forth effective will-power along the plane of his development and below.

Any one who has not learned what soul-action is will have it to learn soon after the exchange of worlds. No other form of activity is possible there. No spirit strikes another with his hand, nor presents him with a visible token of wealth, yet battles are fought and presents given. As a suggestion: when you say to your friend, "Good-bye and good-luck to you," you are making him a spiritual present, although you may not be aware of it.

Whenever you launch a curse, if only in thought, you strike a blow, against which conscious rectitude is an actual armor, and the only one.

The very slightest impulse of ill-will directed toward any one is an action of the soul that may do real harm, and certainly makes a record.

These statements will commend themselves as true to most of my readers, many of whom, however, would not be able to explain why they are so sure of what they have learned from no teacher, and cannot recall from the pages of experience. Let me suggest.

From six to nine hours' sleep is an essential part of our daily lives. We suppose ourselves to actually sleep, not only in body but in mind and soul as well. Perhaps some who have very little mind and even less spirit, do sleep when their body sleeps, but there are very large numbers of people who, the moment the brain becomes quiescent, enter at once on the most active part of their daily existence.

This is especially true of such as during their waking hours have attained some knowledge of spiritual values, and have taken their stand on this or that platform of principles, religious, moral, or even political, and who would be ready to contend in argument, or even, if necessary, take up arms, in defense of their positions; in other words, who have a conscious location in some field of thought or fortress of belief.

The extent to which we influence others, or are influenced by them, during our sleeping hours, very few realize, because unable to recall, when waking, the experiences of the night just passed; but be sure that no reform can ever make much progress until the agitation for it becomes sufficiently powerful to link the day to the night, and engage the activities of partially freed spirits while their bodily consciousness is lost in slumber.

It is here that lessons are learned and impressions made, the recalling of the results of which may surprise us as to the extent, and puzzle us as to the origin, of our knowledge.

Readers of Emerson will find this a key to some of his mysterious yet delightful sayings.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Those who have never entered into any kind of associate life where they might learn to think and act for others as well as for themselves, will have a particularly hard time on the other side.

For no one can go through life without becoming responsible for innumerable acts, even if he does nothing more than make room for himself, and defend his own footing; and if he persists in living for himself, it follows that his motives will never rise above the care of himself, and, possibly, of those who contribute to his comfort.

If such a man, by speculation or otherwise, becomes able to surround himself with the tokens of wealth, there will not be wanting those who will bow low to him; and when he is called out of life, with perhaps no particularly heavy weight on his conscience, he will strut into another world carrying with him a very large sense of his own importance.

Now, there is no need to enlarge upon the emotions he will arouse, the intense though secret hilarity with which he will be taken in hand, and the endless variety of hazing operations to which he will be subjected; but he will be sure to make the unexpected discovery that death is a lost friend, long before the last spark of self-conceit is extinguished within him.

It is scarcely possible to convey an idea of how small a part individual egotism is allowed to play in the world beyond.

In this world our race, as a race, is under protection. We are all more or less conscious of this in our own person.

Even the most stolid, when suddenly reduced to the extremity of distress, find themselves calling upon God, almost without conscious volition.

If it were not so, if this protection were withdrawn, our race would shortly cease to be.

In the spirit-world, or in that part of it which adjoins this, figuratively speaking, which we enter as individuals, this sense of a general protection disappears. We find we are to stand or fall on our own individual record. We cannot lose ourselves in the mass. There is no mass. Time and space no longer exist for us. They are gone with the bodily senses and mathematical reasoning to which they were a prime necessity.

Sight, hearing, and touch of the soul have awakened, however, and how to use these new senses whose field of action is so immensely greater than the senses we have parted with, engages our attention.

Their first reports are so different from anything we have known that we discredit them entirely, are sure we must be dreaming, and put forth strong efforts to wake up. Failing in this, we look about us and endeavor to get our bearings.

Although time and space have left us, eternity and infinity have taken their place, and a feeling of awe steals over us at the realization, a feeling that extends in part to ourselves as we discover a certain element within us which now for the first time recognizes its home.

Then, in a flash, we perceive as never before, the essential narrowness of the limits of earth-life, and our mental vision shows us that whatever may have raised that phase of existence above the merely sensual or animal, had its home in the Beyond, and was only a visitor on earth.

We find ourselves ushered into the domain of causes, and a thousand perplexities of memory disappear in a magical way, as we become sensible of the tremendous force of the activities at work in this heretofore hidden realm.

A spirit sometimes finds himself as if on a stage, and the pressure of a powerful will bids him to act out his own character. He consents, for why should he not? Scene follows scene; men and women from every walk of life, those whom he has known, and those of whom he has read, appear and act their part; kings and courtiers come and go, prophets and peasants, soldiers and merchants; and he finds some link connecting him with them all. Perhaps a plot is formed to destroy his reputation; thread by thread the web is wound about him. How shall he get free? Is it not all a dream? But he is made to feel that he must not insist upon knowing. Something like an electric shock answers his thought, and bids him to consider his surroundings real, whether they are or not, and forbids him to think of such a thing as applying a test. And, indeed, there is small leisure for anything of that kind. He finds himself obliged to put forth energies he never dreamed of possessing, to keep from going distracted. The stage widens until it becomes the floor of a world. The audience swells to millions. He reaches out for their sympathy, but they do not respond. They do not pretend to know whether he is a true man or a scoundrel. If he cries, "I am true," they answer, "Prove it." What can I do to prove it? But they turn away unconcerned, while another strand of falsehood is thrown around him and he is brought to his knees, where he is made the target for scorn and contempt, which come like arrows to pierce his form. In the depth of his despair, he sends out a piercing cry to the spheres above him for help.

Just then he discovers that he is clothed in armor, with a good sword at his side. He did not know it before, he could not possibly say how or whence it came, but it is not a time for curious questions. He seizes the blade and with one sweep severs the cords that bound him, stands upon his feet, and then, in a voice that startles himself, he calls upon his enemies to show themselves. Instead of that he hears their retreating feet, the clouds lift, the applause of the audience gives him back his lost strength, and he is ready for the next ordeal.

Now it may not be supposed that during such a scene as this, it would be possible for the spirit to receive and answer thought-messages from his friends on earth, but it is even so. A spirit with a heart will at least make the effort to respond to every demand made upon it, but if among the circle of his friends one sends out the message, "Come now, if you care anything about me, I wish you would help me find this gold-mine. What do you have to do anyhow?" the spirit may be excused if he fails to respond, and does not immediately proceed to explain just what he has to do.

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

Vision of Thyrza:

THE GIFT OF THE HILLS.

By IRIS.

The author is convinced that war, strife, poverty, misery, disease, and death are the result of man's reckless self-indulgence; and that so long as he shall be actuated by greed and selfishness in his tillage of the soil, in the various industrial pursuits, and in the marts of trade, he will "sow the wind and reap the whirlwind."

But the lamentable state of things will not continue forever. The author, with "prophetic mind," perceives that the time will come when man will live in harmony with Nature, and yield himself to the guidance of "Divine Love." So guided and inspired, he will refine, purify, and ennoble the life of his fellow-men. Then agriculture will be "restored to right uses" and held in its pristine honor; and the earth will yield its fruits abundantly. A noble simplicity and wholesomeness will characterize the life of man, and universal peace will gladden his heart. The whole world will rejoice in the return of the Golden Age.

Cloth, 75 Cents. The Arena Publishing Company, COPLEY SQUARE, BOSTON, MASS.

His Perpetual Adoration;

—OR,—

THE CHAPLAIN'S OLD DIARY.

BY REV. JOSEPH F. FLINT.

This is an extremely interesting and realistic war story, told in the form of a diary left at his death by a veteran who had been a captain in the Northern army, and with Grant at Vicksburg and Sherman on his march to the sea. Two or three of the great events of the war are told in stirring fashion, but the narrative deals mainly with the inside life of the soldier in war time, and its physical and moral difficulties. A fine love story runs throughout, the hero having plighted his troth before setting out for the front. Being wounded in Georgia, he is cared for in the home of a Southerner, who is at the front with Lee's army, but who has in some way earned the bitter hatred of the wife whom he has left at home. She falls desperately in love with her wounded guest, and to him there comes the sorest temptation of his life. How he comes out of the ordeal must be left to the reader of the story to discover.

Cloth, $1.25; Paper, 50 Cents. The Arena Publishing Co., COPLEY SQUARE, BOSTON, MASS.

THE LAND OF NADA.

BY BONNIE SCOTLAND.

The Land of Nada, the scene of this charming fairy story, is an enchanted country, ruled over by King Whitcombo and the beautiful Queen Haywarda. Prince Trueheart and his blue-eyed baby sister, Princess Dorothy, and their wonderful adventures; the enchanted cows and chickens, the wonderful lemon tree whose trunk yields three different kinds of beverages, are some of the wonders of this delightful land; as are, also, the doings of fairies, genii, goblins, and enchanted hawks. How the blind prince recovers his sight, how the baby princess is spirited away, cared for, and finally restored to her home, and how the wicked goblin and the two hawks that spirited her away are punished, may be read in this delightful fairy story, which teems with graceful conceits and charming fancies, and which can be read, not only by children of tender years, but by those of larger growth.

The style in which the book is gotten up makes it very suitable for a Christmas present.

Cloth, 75 Cents; Paper, 25 Cents. The Arena Publishing Company, Copley Square, Boston, Mass.

NICODEMUS: A POEM.

By Grace Shaw Duff.

In this fine blank-verse poem, written by the well-known New York authoress, Mrs. Grace Shaw Duff, is given, in autobiographic form as from the lips of Nicodemus himself, a poetic account of the two episodes between that ruler of the Jews and Jesus, as related in the third and seventh chapters of John's gospel. The poem is full of local color, and opens with a striking description of sunrise on the morning of the last day of the feast of the Passover in Jerusalem. Then follows a picture of the unusual stir in the city due to the crowds attending the feast, after which there is a fine word painting of the scene in the temple, with its motley throngs of maimed and halt, of venders of unsavory wares, of idlers, and of graver men.

The description of the midnight visit of Nicodemus to Jesus may be quoted in full as a typical specimen of the tone, manner, and fine musical versification of the whole poem:—

"One night from sleepless bed I rose, and went To where He lodged, and bade the porter say One Nicodemus—ruler—came, and speech Would have with Him. There was no moon, but hosts Of stars, and soft, pale glow from shaded lamps Made silver light. The air was still, with just Enough of light to waft at times a faint Sweet oleander scent, and gently float Some loosened petals down. I heard no sound But sudden knew another presence near, And turned to where He stood; one hand held back The curtain's fold; the other clasped a roll. No King could gently bear a prouder mien; And when I gracious rose to offer meet Respect to one whose words had won for Him Regard, I strangely felt like loyal slave, And almost 'Master!' trembled on my lips. A deep, brave look shone in his eyes, as if He saw the whole of mankind's needs, yet dared To bid him hope; and when he spoke, his words And voice seemed fitted parts of some great psalm."

The book is beautifully printed on first-class paper, and is finely illustrated with numerous half-tones, after sepia-wash drawings by that excellent artist Fredrick C. Gordon; and each section of the poem has a charmingly artistic vignette for the initial capital letter. The binding is in keeping with the general get-up, and the book would make an admirable Christmas present.

CLOTH, 75 CENTS. The Arena Publishing Co., Copley Sq., Boston, Mass.

The Woman-Suffrage Movement

IN THE UNITED STATES.

By A LAWYER.

The author of this book believes that the Bible is the inspired word of God, and that those who accept its teachings as authoritative must be opposed to the woman-suffrage movement. Though he bases his arguments mainly on the teachings of Holy Scripture, he does not overlook the lessons of history. But history only confirms him in his contention that marriage is something more than a civil contract terminable at the pleasure of the partners. From the true point of view marriage is an ordinance of God. Should it ever become the general belief that it is other than a sacrament, there would be "no protection, no honorable or elevated position, no high social plane or place for woman." And if marriage is a sacrament, there is but one valid cause for divorce—the one laid down in the Word of God. The husband is the head of the household, and his commands should be respected and obeyed, for obedience and protection are correlative terms; the interests of husband and wife should be identical.

The various "cries" of the advocates of woman suffrage, as "taxation without representation," "liberty, fraternity, and equality," are considered and declared to be without force, and this declaration is supported by cogent reasons. The author is confident that if woman suffrage were enacted into law it would not only harden women but work irreparable injury to man, for those now opposed to the movement would then "reconcile the principle and its effects upon their environment with the Bible by throwing the Bible away." Thus, the "attack strikes at the root of all moral and religious training."

The book merits a wide circulation. Candid advocates of the movement will desire to know what can be said against it; and its opponents will be glad to have at hand reasons so forcible and illustrations so apt in condemnation of woman suffrage.

We cheerfully say so much for the book, though, as is well known, we are strongly in favor of the movement towards a larger liberty of action for woman; and we are looking earnestly and expectantly for the coming of the day when woman emancipated and enfranchised shall work out her destiny in perfect freedom.

154 pp. Cloth, 75 cents; Paper, 25 cents. The Arena Publishing Company, Copley Square, Boston, Mass.

The Heart of Old Hickory.

By WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE.

Eight charming and popular stories by this gifted young Tennessee writer are collected in this beautiful volume. Each of these stories is a study that reveals a different phase of human character, and each study is a work of art. Several show the author's subtle skill in dialect-writing, and all reveal the hand of a master in delineating character. Here we have inimitable humor, gleeful fun, delightful sallies of wit, and genuine pathos, all combined with extraordinary descriptive powers. Raciness, strength, vividness, and felicity of expression characterize the author's style. He is to be pitied who can read these stories without being widened in his sympathies, elevated in thought, quickened in conscience, and ennobled in soul. The stories are the work of a literary genius, and go far to justify an admirer of her writings, who has himself no mean fame as editor, author, and critic, in calling Will Allen Dromgoole the "Charles Dickens of the New South."

Cloth, $1.25; Paper, 50 Cents. The Arena Publishing Company, Copley Square, Boston, Mass.

WHICH WAY, SIRS, THE BETTER?

A Story of Our Toilers.

By JAMES M. MARTIN.

This is the story of a labor strike, its causes and consequences. The chief character, Robert Belden, is a self-made man, who, from being office-boy in the Duncan Iron Works at Beldendale, Pa., had risen, by dint of intelligence, hard work, and attention to business, to be partner and business manager of the concern.

A temporary depression in the iron trade makes it necessary for him to give notice of a reduction of ten per cent in the wages of his employees. The latter are dissatisfied, and, after calling a meeting of their union, demand from him an inspection of the books of concern by a committee on their behalf, so that they may have the assurance that the reduction is necessary. As the disclosure would injure the business, the manager refuses to comply with this demand, and the workmen go out on strike. Thereupon the manager, in order to fill his contracts, employs laborers from a distance, and hires a band of fifty guards from a detective agency to protect them and his works. A dreadful riot ensues, with bloodshed and loss of life, and the works are closed.

After a time the manager proposes a new arrangement with his former workmen, whereby, under the system of profit-sharing, they shall receive a share of the profits in addition to their wages. The plan works admirably. In a comparatively brief period the workmen become well-to-do and contented, many owning their own homes, and Beldendale becomes the model of a prosperous and happy manufacturing town.

The story has evidently been suggested by the terrible strikes and riots in the coke fields of Pennsylvania, and the later ones at Homestead and Buffalo, and the author's object is to show the uselessness and the evil results of strikes, and to propose "a better way for the solution of the perennial conflict between capital and labor." His admirable story does this most effectively. It is written in that unassuming, straightforward style which is so impressive when dealing with "the short and simple annals of the poor," and it should be read and pondered over and taken to heart by every capitalist and employer of labor in the country, on the one hand, and by every workingman, on the other.

Cloth, 75 Cents; Paper, 25 Cents. The Arena Publishing Company, COPLEY SQUARE, BOSTON, MASS.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.