• r ' !i.i" 
 
 
 HOME CIRCLE 
 FRATERNITY 
 
 •■■MMMMMMMniMWM 
 
 The Evolution ofANew Religion 
 
 j. R.FRANCIS 
 
Class H TlOZS 
 Book T 11 . 
 
 Copyright^ . 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
v.-;.v,--:^- i 
 
 
 
 Jfcduri^ SQ%> 
 
 is-^A 
 
THE 
 
 Home Circle Fraternity 
 
 Evolution of a New Religion 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN R. FRANCIS 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 The Progressive Thinker Publishing House 
 
 1910 
 

 Copyright 
 
 LOUISA CAROLINE FRANCIS 
 
 Chicago 
 
 1910 
 
 'CLA273747 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The Life Work of John R. Francis was largely along 
 the lines of education and philanthropy. His intimate 
 association with Spiritualists showed him that many of 
 them were earnest, thoughtful, truth-seeking men and 
 women living in isolated localities, far from libraries and 
 reading rooms, and without means to purchase the books 
 they needed. Soon after founding his paper he formu- 
 lated a plan whereby these workers could obtain at a 
 nominal cost a library that should cover the various 
 phases of Spiritual Philosophy. This plan was faithfully 
 carried out. With The Progressive Thinker he sent out 
 each year a new volume of the series. Seventeen of 
 these already have appeared. The present number con- 
 sists of papers from his own pen. Such of these as have 
 appeared in The Progressive Thinker he thought worthy 
 of presentation in a more permanent form. The book 
 was well under way at the time of his transition. To 
 compile and arrange in so far as possible as he would 
 have done has been a labor of love as well as a duty 
 which I feel that I owe to those who have for so many 
 years read with interest the product of his fertile brain. 
 
 LOUISA C. FRANCIS. 
 
 Chicago, Illinois, 
 
THE ROUGH ROAD OF AN OLD SOLDIER. 
 
 Not long ago I was approached by a queer specimen of 
 humanity, who, as quick as he caught my eye, said: 
 
 "Mister, I'm side-tracked! I have lost my hold! I 
 am no longer strong, vigorous and active. The cold 
 winds pierce my thin clothing; hunger at times gnaws 
 at my vitals; the cold airs of night sting me as I seek 
 some secluded place to sleep, and side-tracked I truly 
 am, and cannot turn in any conceivable direction that 
 I can observe a rift in the clouds! But the time was — 
 long, long years ago! — when I was full of the spirit of 
 life, and nothing then could side-track me. Then, sitting 
 by the side of the girl I loved, I was the peer of Na- 
 poleon when he made his first love to Josephine; as 
 happy as Washington when he breathed his ardent ad- 
 miration into the ears of Martha; as highly pleased 
 as the Roman Conqueror when he pressed his lips to the 
 cheeks of Cleopatra. Yes, on a rustic seat in the forest, 
 climbing vines overhead and moss-covered ground at our 
 feet, with the blue vault of heaven over us, by the side 
 of my Adaline — alas! I was not side-tracked then, but 
 was the happiest of mortals. Stranger, can you help a 
 poor, forlorn, side-tracked man?" 
 
 "Certainly I can and will." 
 
 "Be seated by my side," as he pointed to a rude seat, 
 "and I will tell you why I am side-tracked; why I have 
 lost my hold, and why the clouds seem so dark around 
 me." 
 
 Complying with his request, he continued: 
 
 "Stranger, were you ever in a cottage homo, clamber- 
 ing vines around the windows, a purling spring in the 
 yard, and nature's flowers everywhere, and love glistening 
 from as rosy cheeks and lips as were ever kissed by 
 
 3 
 
mortal man, and every sound musically sweet and ten- 
 der?" — 
 
 "Well," — 
 
 "Don't interrupt me, stranger! Sit in silence as I tell 
 you why I am side-tracked. In my house, stranger, was 
 paradise! I did not aspire for a higher heaven, a 
 grander home, or purer love! I don't know, stranger, 
 but it seems to me that my woodland cottage was plas- 
 tered all over with approving smiles of angels, and the 
 central figure of them was my Adaline. But the war 
 came, and at the first bugle call I responded, and en- 
 listed to serve my country. No side-track then for me! 
 I remember well the last night I stayed with Adaline! 
 In the front of our vine-clad cottage we sat, my arms 
 around her, bathed all over in that holy love which she 
 alone possessed, — sweeter to me, stranger, than any in- 
 cense on holy altar, or any perfume of bower or garden. 
 The stars overhead! The silvery moon bursting from 
 the clouds in the east to smile upon us! The cricket 
 on the hearth chirping tenderly, as if in adieu to me for- 
 ever. No side-track then, stranger! I had more happi- 
 ness then to the square inch than you could compute 
 with mathematics, and as I looked into Adaline's eyes 
 and pressed my lips to hers, a doleful raven lighted on 
 a log near us, and uttered a death-knell. Stranger, it 
 was a death warning! I heard it just before my angel 
 child died! It had the same doleful sound then as now. 
 My limbs trembled, my heart fluttered, everything grew 
 dark before me, and I fell right out of existence! Fin- 
 ally I came to, Adaline bending over me, wooing me 
 back to life. In a few minutes I was myself again, and 
 she laughed at my fears, just as if a raven could tell the 
 future. In the morning we parted, her tear-stained eyes 
 expressive of the regrets of her soul; I to go to the 
 battle-field — she to the home of her father. Stranger, 
 that raven side-tracked me. I was not in the army six 
 months before a letter came announcing the death of 
 Adaline. Here is the last letter I ever received from 
 her — the writing now is almost illegible. Stranger, shall 
 I read it to you?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly." 
 
 "Here it is, stranger. 
 
 4 
 
" 'My Dear Jake: A week ago I wrote you all the 
 current news, so you know what is happening in your old 
 home as well as I do. Since then, papa has been very 
 sick, and I have been tenderly nursing him. I tell you, 
 my dearest husband, the days seem long and wearisome 
 without you by my side. Yesterday, just as the west 
 was tinged with all the colors that the sun could im- 
 part, the fleecy clouds resembling a great bed of flowers, 
 I was by the side of Minnie's grave, the third anniversary 
 of her death, with a large basket of woodland flowers to 
 baptize her last resting-place with them and my tears. 
 Jake, it did seem then that I could see her. I lost 
 myself for a time in reverie. I seemed to be with her. 
 I was really with her. She placed her tiny arms around 
 my neck, Jake, and kissed me a hundred times, telling 
 me that half of them was for her darling papa in the 
 army. She told me, Jake, that I would soon be with her 
 in heaven, and that we would be there to welcome you 
 when you come. When I came from my reveries, I was 
 lying on the green grass, the grave of Minnie for a pillow, 
 and the stars of heaven shining upon me. I must have 
 been there, Jake, for an hour, and it was all a dream! 
 and, of course, will never come true. But, Jake, it will 
 do no harm to tell you all I saw there. I was in heaven! 
 It was a grand place. I saw there an exact counterpart 
 of our woodland cottage; the same clambering vines; 
 the same wild flowers; the same sparkling spring, only far 
 more beautiful. Jake, an angel came and took Minnie 
 and me to you. We found you on a battle field, calmly 
 sleeping after the severe struggle of the day. Little Min- 
 nie placed her cheeks to yours and for a brief season 
 cuddled by your side. I pressed my lips to yours and 
 kissed you as in days when in our flower-arbored home. 
 The angel said that I would never live to welcome you 
 home, but that you would survive the struggle and live 
 to be a very old man. But this was all a dream, Jake; 
 I shall live to welcome you home again, with a thousand 
 kisses and caresses. But seeing you so plainly, and see- 
 ing my darling Minnie, too, was gratifying, though in 
 a dream. But, Jake, while at the grave of Minnie that 
 same raven — it seemed to be the very one that appeared 
 
 5 
 
before us on the evening of your departure — came and 
 lighted at my feet and looked imploringly up into my 
 face, and uttered a mournful sound. But all these dreams 
 and omens mean nothing. I tell them to you, for I must 
 always write good long letters to the dearest man on 
 earth. I do wish you were with me; I would like to 
 put my arms around your neck and press my cheeks 
 to yours, and pillow my head upon your bosom, that our 
 souls might thrill with that love which is yours and 
 mine. But good-by, Jake, with a thousand kisses and a 
 thousand good wishes. ADALINE.' ' 
 
 Wiping the tears from his eyes with a handkerchief 
 that had seen better and cleaner days, he remarked with 
 deep emotion: 
 
 "Stranger, that was the last letter I received from 
 Adaline. Only a few days after one was due from her, 
 her father wrote me that she had been taken sick very 
 suddenly, and in a few hours died, her last words be- 
 ing, 'I see my beloved Jake.' Stranger, since then I have 
 been side-tracked. I can't get on the main line, or the 
 direct road. I have tried, and tried, and tried. I am 
 now crippled, waiting, stranger, for the final summons, 
 when I will be no longer side-tracked, but on the main 
 line with my angel wife and Minnie by my side. 
 Stranger, even now," I am full of hope. I believe that 
 in heaven Adaline will be my wife, and Minnie my same 
 darling child." 
 
 Listening attentively to his pathetic story, I slipped a 
 dollar in his hand to assist one who is side-tracked, 
 and who will undoubtedly remain there until death 
 breaks the condition. 
 
 How many there are who are side-tracked, who can- 
 not, with all their strivings, get on the main line to hap- 
 piness. To those poor unfortunates, always extend a 
 helping hand and a cheering word. The loss of a wife 
 and child had side-tracked him, and he could never catch 
 hold of life again as it was with him when Adaline and 
 Minnie were by his side. This world will never be 
 ushered into the millennial era until every house and 
 every home shall become an asylum for those who are 
 side-tracked; then, and not till then, will angels draw 
 near this earth and smile lovingly on all humanity. 
 
 6 
 
The religion of the Home Circle Fraternity consists 
 wholly of BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, independent of 
 all belief in a God, Devil, Savior or religious Dogmas — a 
 religion that has a practical spiritual and ethical founda- 
 tion, on which all classes can stand in perfect harmony 
 and work for the advancement of mankind — a religion 
 that places its genuine workers in accord with the VI- 
 BRATIONS that emanate from the philosophers, seers, 
 poets, scientists, and other noble souls high in spirit life. 
 
 A VERY BEAUTIfUL DEATH 
 
 THE VIOLINIST. 
 
 "When by the touch of music freed 
 
 I love the world that shuts me in, 
 When in the strife by men decreed 
 
 The noble hopes no guerdon win, 
 At whiles the music murmurs low, 
 
 At whiles with happy heart it sings, 
 Joy dances with the dancing bow, 
 
 Or sorrow sobs along the strings. 
 
 "While a lost alien on strange shores 
 
 I lie, by waves of music hurled, 
 Complaining through my fingers' pours 
 
 The sorrow of a yearning world, 
 Till, lapsing from the heavens to earth, 
 
 I drop the throbbing violin 
 And common folk of little worth 
 
 With common faces close me in." 
 
 Some deaths are a tragedy; some are a farce; some 
 are sad; some are heroic; some are sublime; some are 
 poetic, and occasionally one that is divinely musical and 
 angelic, each death blooming with that flower which the 
 
 7 
 
soil of their respective lives had cultivated. If reared in 
 a soil of crime, evil surroundings, and discord, the death 
 will constitute a tragedy in reality, and the entrance 
 into the land of souls will be dark and forbidding. 
 
 In order that death may be sublime and beautiful, 
 one's life must correspond therewith. There never was a 
 rainbow that arched the heavens, as if a smile from the 
 Infinite, without the mist of the morning or the descend- 
 ing drops of rain that come like Ministering Angels to 
 the flowers and vegetation of earth. 
 
 How can your death be beautiful, unless, like the rain- 
 bow, it is reflected through something — through the po- 
 etic grandeur of good deeds and holy aspirations. 
 
 The villain's death reflects only darkness, wherein he 
 is confronted with the deeds of his horrible life, which 
 rise up as so many scorpions to sting him. By cultivating 
 thorns only, you can not realize the beauty of the rain- 
 bow-tinted flowers. You can not die sublimely, beauti- 
 fully, if you have not cultivated in your soul the deeds of 
 life that correspond therewith in all respects. 
 
 The good thought is in tune with THE INFINITE; 
 it is always in touch with the sphere of Angels of Light; 
 it basks in those vibrations that reflect goodness into 
 the soul, and tends to render death beautiful. It as- 
 sists in building your sphere and home in the spirit 
 realms. The good deed, the exalted thought, the pure 
 aspiration, and the divine purpose to lift upward some 
 soul struggling for light and aid, cluster around one's 
 death, like flowers woven into a bouquet, and render 
 one's death poetically inspiring. 
 
 Your deeds of life as surely indicate the true charac- 
 ter of your death as the thermometer does that of a 
 rising or falling temperature. If you live in the dark- 
 ness of evil on earth, how can you expect anything but 
 darkness on the spirit side of life? How can you expect 
 to enter the high vibrations of the angels when you have 
 only cultivated the low vibrations of selfishness? Death 
 in order to be beautiful must correspond with those vi- 
 brations which produce the beautiful. 
 
 When a dear friend died in the long ago out in the 
 far West, we sat by his bedside watching his transition 
 into the realms of souls. His face was serenely sweet, 
 
even in its paleness, and at one time became sublimely 
 lovely, as if the smile of an angel nestled thereon to give 
 him a foretaste of heaven. In those dying moments the 
 angels clustered around him. There was even music 
 in the air, a sweet death knell hymn to welcome him to 
 his spirit home, and he was dead — his body — but his 
 soul was more alive than ever. His transition was, in- 
 deed, beautiful. 
 
 But when poor Sobrisky, a violinist, died in Chicago, 
 there was a scene that baffles all description by a poet 
 or seer. For a long time he had supported himself com- 
 fortably by giving lessons on the violin. But old age 
 finally came, as it comes to all with its numerous infirmi- 
 ties, and he failed by degrees to attract pupils. All the 
 sweet keepsakes, tokens of affection, pearls of love of 
 a wedded life, were disposed of at the pawnshop with a 
 despairing wail of deep anguish. As he gave to the pawn- 
 broker the last token of love that attached him to his 
 angel wife, he sobbed like a child; his whole frame 
 trembled, and a sigh so sad, so disconsolate, came from 
 him, it was enough to make an angel weep. The last 
 link that united him to his soul-mate in the Spheres of 
 Light and Love, had been disposed of — and all was des- 
 olation! — nothing left but his violin, from which no one 
 could part him but death. But the way of life became 
 darker to him, while his soul became more radiant, more 
 divinely lovely, until at last, food all gone, tokens of 
 wifely affection all parted with, he realized that his end 
 was near. 
 
 Half starved, weak in body, weary in spirit, yet calmly 
 resigned to the awful condition he was in, he arose from 
 his couch, grasped his violin, and commenced playing — 
 feebly at first, but gradually his strength returned, and 
 his soul seemed to vibrate in harmony with Beethoven 
 and Mozart, who were, no doubt, bending over him 
 with their divine radiance Illuminating his soul. His 
 old-time vigor had returned, and for a time his music 
 was simply angelic, and under its divinely sweet influ- 
 ence, and the presence of the master musicians, the poor 
 old man's life ebbed away, while several attracted by 
 the heavenly music, saw the violin drop from his hands, 
 and the poor old Violinist fell back on his pillow — a 
 BEAUTIFUL DEATH indeed! 
 
 9 
 
All should seek to have a beautiful death, but you can 
 not have one unless you earn it; unless your crop of 
 good thoughts, good deeds, and noble aspirations make it 
 so. Commence now to prepare for a beautiful death, 
 and to place yourself in accord and sympathy with the 
 vibrations from the Sphere of Love and Harmony, and 
 thus aid in developing a New Religion. 
 
 TWO SOULS ENTERING SPIRIT LIPE. 
 
 This world is full of impressive contrasts, and wonder- 
 ful extremes. Incandescent heat and arctic cold repre- 
 sent two important extremes in the diverse vibrations 
 of material nature. Birth into this world of beauty, 
 and Death opening the Door into the spirit realms for 
 a liberated soul, furnish a contrast that is enchanting 
 to contemplate. The snake with its slimy tongue and 
 poisonous saliva, and the angel radiant with love and 
 intelligence, are the two extremes of creative energy on 
 the part of Natural Law. One extreme is hideous, the 
 other god-like. 
 
 All through the immensity of space there are vibra- 
 tions that produce opposite results — extremes! Human 
 beings represent the two extremes of darkness and light 
 — the good and bad, the ignorant and the cultivated. 
 The woman in this city who enticed beautiful young girls 
 into dens of vice, desolation and ruin, is in contrast with 
 the Angel of Light who labored unceasingly to redeem 
 them, and bring them back to the benign influence of 
 home. 
 
 God and the Devil stand prominently in contrast, 
 whether facts or fiction. The contrasts of Heaven and 
 Hell, have proved as interesting themes all along the 
 ages. The golden streets of the former and the incan- 
 descent fires of the latter have proved good material for 
 
 10 
 
the revivalist all through the times of the past. The 
 laughter of joy and the sighs and moans of deep anguish 
 and sorrow exist side by side. Sadness and cheerfulness 
 play an important part in this world of ours. The ups 
 and downs of life are here on this plane to stay for many 
 years. 
 
 On earth and in heaven there are inequalities. No 
 two lives run in exactly the same groove. The extremes 
 of poverty and riches have existed since the world be- 
 gan. The brightness of the higher spheres of spirit life 
 stand in contrast with the dark conditions of the lower 
 halls in the regions celestial. If no contrasts in life, the 
 work of the reformer would be gone. If no hideous 
 spheres in the realms of souls, there would be no need 
 of ministering spirits. 
 
 Ignorance and extreme wisdom can be discerned on 
 all sides. The good and the bad intermingle. Ties that 
 are binding bring the good and bad together. There 
 was Nellie Goodwin, a conspicuous example. Her eyes 
 were radiant with the light of an angel, and her features 
 luminous with happiness and joy. Her smiles had the 
 freshness of the morning glow, when all nature, glisten- 
 ing with radiant dewdrops, is awakening to new life. 
 She seemed to exhale gladness just as naturally as the 
 flower does its heaven-born perfume. Life was to her 
 a romantic dream, she always standing on the bright side 
 of it. Her rippling laughter found an echo in every 
 heart; there was joy therein, like a healing balm. 
 Finally, as the story goes, Nellie married — a joining of 
 the Devil and the Angel in the "holy" bonds of matri- 
 mony. Charles, her husband, was exteriorly to those 
 not acquainted with him, an Angel of Light. Interior- 
 ly, he was a Demon of Darkness, a wolf in sheep's 
 clothing, a viper in human form — cruel and remorseless 
 in the extreme, and the embodiment of selfishness. 
 
 Here were marked contrasts joined together, one ex- 
 haling the fragrance of Heaven, the other possessing the 
 craftiness of a Hell. One overflowing with the benign 
 influence of sublime thoughts and angelic aspirations, 
 and the other vibrating with the deception that lurks 
 in the minds of demons. Two greater contrasts never 
 existed. Extremes had met, one laden with high and 
 noble aspirations, the other exactly the reverse. 
 
 11 
 
These two extremes could not dwell together in unison, 
 hence the ties were broken, the husband shot his wife 
 and then turning the revolver on himself, committed 
 suicide — and thus the ties that bound the two extremes 
 in life were broken, and thus ends the chronicling of 
 their career in the daily paper. 
 
 But there arises another scene, grandly beautiful, ra- 
 diant with angelic loveliness on the part of the murdered 
 woman, and the vibration of her unsullied nature seemed 
 to scintillate in the spiritual atmosphere, and voices full 
 of sweet, tremulous sympathy spoke words of kindly 
 greeting to the liberated soul just forced out of its earthly 
 body by the murderous hands of a villain. The spirit 
 mother was there, clasping her in that maternal love 
 which radiated an influence far surpassing in beauty any- 
 thing which the loftiest imagination can perceive, afford- 
 ing a scene that would baffle the power of the angelic 
 artist to adequately portray on canvas. An extreme was 
 there, but it was one supreme thrill of gladness that the 
 daughter and mother could meet in spirit life, and that 
 their vibrations were in harmony with that divine prin- 
 ciple that underlies the spirit realms, and manifests itself 
 in many souls. One extreme of life, bright, noble, charm- 
 ing in all things, had been at last liberated by one whose 
 whole nature was surcharged with those emotions that 
 only find birth in the dark spheres of spirit life. 
 
 But there is another scene, that of a desolate, dismal, 
 despairing soul, in the bleak, black, desolate hells of spirit 
 life, where the moaning winds send forth a vibration 
 sad, so witch-like and weird. The suicide and murderer 
 was there, his spirit revealed as a monstrosity, and he 
 reaping just what he had sown, his own acts of life sit- 
 ting in judgment, and consigning him to his fate. 
 
 Thus it is that extremes often meet, are united in 
 marriage, live in discordant vibrations and are at last 
 separated by the hand of malignant violence — one going 
 to climes infernal, regions of darkness and despair, where 
 the howling winds are sepulchral, the atmosphere stifling, 
 and from which there is no possible way of escape only 
 through genuine repentance; the other ascending to the 
 sphere of light and love, where angelic beings only live, 
 and where radiant happinesss exists among all the souls 
 there. 
 
 12 
 
Choose now your own LIFE LINES, the lines that lead 
 to grander, nobler realizations, or the lines that lead to 
 the home of demons, the region of souls steeped in crime 
 sometimes so badly that total extinction may possibly 
 follow — a soul lost, vanished, extinguished, blotted out of 
 existence! 
 
 Always live a life that is in PERFECT CONTRAST 
 with evil thoughts, words or deeds, and Angels of Light 
 and Love will welcome you to your Spirit Home, and thus 
 the RELIGION OF GOODNESS will be fully developed 
 in your soul. 
 
 YOUR SPIRITUAL ASSETS CONSIDERED. 
 
 All humanity are moving along diverging lines. No 
 two occupy the same plane of thought. The flower-tinted 
 rainbow never makes the same impression on each one 
 who is looking upwards admiring its transcendent beauty 
 and loveliness. 
 
 Nature never exactly repeats itself in all of God's vast 
 universe. The incoming and outflowing tides never send 
 forth the same vibrations. 
 
 The smile that illuminates the radiant features of the 
 charming maiden like a sunbeam from the Throne of 
 Light, never will in all time appear again in all respects. 
 
 The events of the now will not return to-morrow. 
 Even the sunshine of a summer day in the same exact 
 proportion will never visit the world again. The earth 
 itself with its myriads of animate life, will never again 
 occupy the same position with reference to the various 
 celestial orbs that it did one second ago. The twinkle 
 of the North Star that you just observed never will be 
 exactly repeated. The settings of the heavens with 
 worlds and systems of worlds at this moment will not 
 be the same when you draw your next breath. The 
 moon never travels the same pathway twice. Each 
 pulsation of the heart is different. What the eye sur- 
 
 13 
 
veys this very moment, it can never see again, even one 
 minute after, for during that time there has been growth 
 or decay. 
 
 Not a single minute repeats itself in the vast arcana 
 of nature. The ideals of religion vary with each human 
 mind. No two persons view the same aspect of God, 
 and no thought ever exactly repeated itself. 
 
 No vibration from the strings of a violin is ever, in 
 minute details, repeated. Blood corpuscles are continu- 
 ally dying, and new ones are being evolved unlike those 
 which have perished. The moan of anguish that dies 
 away in sepulchral tones will never be heard again. No 
 two die exactly the same. 
 
 The tune the litle bird warbles to-day will never be 
 heard again in all its charming details. 
 
 The universe to-morrow will have far different combi- 
 nations than it has to-day, so you can safely say at this 
 moment "Good-by to present conditions; they will never 
 exist the same again in all their details." 
 
 Every beam of light that comes flitting from the sun 
 is somewhat different from every other beam of light 
 that ever existed. 
 
 The pitiful groan of the soldier dying on the battle 
 field, stands with its vibrations of deep sorrow, solitary 
 and alone — nothing like it in all respects in all the re- 
 gions of space — it has its own sorrowful expression of 
 anguish, as the spirit takes its flight to the bloodless 
 spiritual plane of life. It was his expiring groan, wholly 
 different from that of any other soldier's, as life van- 
 ished; it had an individuality of its own throughout, and 
 can never be exactly counterfeited. 
 
 Your thoughts are wholly unlike the thoughts of any 
 other person — they possess a distinct nature and poten- 
 tiality of their own, and you are in all respects re- 
 sponsible therefor; they are your ethical, spiritualizing 
 or degrading ASSETS in tfce making up of your indi- 
 vidual responsibility in this life, and the spirit world to 
 which you will eventually ascend. Being like no other 
 thoughts in all the regions of sidereal space, they can 
 easily be traced to YOU; you are the responsible owner, 
 and their effects on your spiritual nature can be easily 
 discerned. You can not escape from yourself. The ef- 
 
 14 
 
fects of your thoughts, of your aspirations, of your acts, 
 are your ASSETS only, and you will carry them to the 
 regions of souls. 
 
 All things differ in their material and spiritual as- 
 pects, in their effects, in their general make-up, hence 
 YOUR acts, YOUR thoughts, YOUR aspirations, possess 
 an individuality of their own, and can be traced every 
 time to YOU — they are your exclusive property, ASSETS, 
 as it were, which you will take to the realms of souls, 
 and those ASSETS will sit in judgment for you or against 
 you. 
 
 Over a half century ago I knew a man in the then 
 half-settled West. He was wealthy, exceedingly selfish, 
 overbearing, a politician of the old school, and requiring 
 servility in all his demands, in many respects a tyrant, 
 cruel, remorseless. His thoughts, his schemes, his as- 
 pirations to promote self, possessed an individuality of 
 their own, and were his spiritual ASSETS, and they alone 
 will determine what his position shall be in the next 
 world. Alas! you take to the regions of souls your own 
 individual assets; they will accompany you there; they 
 will be in Court, as it were to judge you. They will 
 elevate you, or degrade you, placing you where you be- 
 long. Mr. X. — for such we shall call him — had a splen- 
 did personality; his smile was angelic and his suavity 
 sublimely beautiful, as he carried out his selfish schemes 
 for self-aggrandizement in politics and the accumula- 
 tion of wealth. In a worldly way he was a grand suc- 
 cess; viewed from a spiritual standpoint he was a dis- 
 mal failure — the ASSETS dsrived from his thoughts, his 
 schemes, his aspirations, his acts towards his fellow- 
 men in general, are enshrouded or encased in his spir- 
 itual nature, LIKE A BIRTH-MARK on the person and 
 they are his ASSETS to commence housekeeping with in 
 the next life; they are HIS BAGGAGE to the land of 
 souls; they will accompany him in spite of himself. He 
 can't burn them; he can't destroy them; by no possible 
 method can they be annihilated, or even be hidden — 
 they constitute his ASSETS as he takes a through train 
 to the spheres above. 
 
 But there is another picture to be drawn. Mr. X.'s 
 residence was regarded as a palace in those early days. 
 
 15 
 
a large stone stable in the rear, in one part ' of which 
 resided a woman who supported herself by doing odd- 
 jobs for Mr. X. and the neighbors near by. She was 
 uneducated, in many respects crude as to the stern con- 
 ventionalities of this life, yet patterned after the immor- 
 tal Lincoln, her innate nature was studded with jewels 
 of rare worth, with aspirations vibrant with the touch 
 of angelic fingers, with chords that responded to the 
 whispers of loved ones in spirit life, and within her 
 soul there were rare treasures, the effects of right think- 
 ing, of right acting, of right emotions, of everything that 
 was lovely, ennobling and beautiful; a gem, she was, 
 with a rough, uncouth exterior, — crude, perhaps, in 
 speech, yet sublime in her views of life and its re- 
 sponsibilities. Life to her was one continual heroic 
 struggle exerted in behalf of her children, then nearly 
 self-sustaining. In all her labors and struggles, she 
 maintained a cheerful aspect, for she heard whispers, 
 sweet with love, and soul-enchanting, and they seemed 
 to emanate from the very atmosphere of her room, giv- 
 ing her strength, comfort, happiness, and encouragement. 
 She lived in an atmosphere where angels loved to linger; 
 and her soul was vibrant to their touch, her thoughts re- 
 sponsive to theirs, her aspirations in harmony with theirs, 
 and her nature in- tune with the Infinite, as it were, and 
 though crude in some respects, yet like the immortal 
 Lincoln, she had seraphic visions, soul-enchanting 
 dreams, and spiritual experiences, that rendered the 
 hardship of life lighter to bear. But by and by the strug- 
 gle of life weakened her, the hectic flush of consumption 
 came upon her cheek and she was unable to work, and 
 her food, the refuse of Mr. X.'s table, afforded her ample 
 nourishment. The crusts of bread, the fragments of pie 
 and cake, the picked bones, etc., afforded her and her 
 children ample nourishment, until finally she heard 
 seraphic music in the air, followed by sweet whispers of 
 love, telling her that her death on this day would come, 
 just as the evening sun kissed the vines and flowers that 
 clustered around her window, thus preparing her for 
 the change. Her children were by her side. The wist- 
 ful, affectionate gaze of the mother enveloped them in a 
 halo of love as they knelt by her side, and repeated the 
 
 16 
 
 
love-prayer she had taught them, and her features were 
 illuminated with a divine halo as she gazed upon them 
 and gave them her blessing and consigned them to the 
 tender care of a neighbor, whose soul was on the re- 
 sponsive plane. The setting sun finally sent its rays 
 through the cluster of vines and flowers, and under their 
 serene influence she passed away — a beautiful death, in- 
 deed. 
 
 The next day there was, strange to say, two funerals. 
 Mr. X. had died the very day old Aunt Bentley, the old 
 odd-job woman did, from the effects of a cancerous 
 growth. In the fine residence in front there was os- 
 tentatious display; flowers, nature's jewels, added their 
 serenity, sweetness and love to the occasion. The Ma- 
 sons were there to officiate and care for his remains in 
 accordance with the rites of that noted body. The 
 choir sent forth angelic music, but the minister's voice 
 sounded sepulchral as he gave his stereotyped funeral 
 discourse to the bereaved mourners. From the spirit 
 side of life this funeral was a vapid desert place, void 
 of anything beautiful or lovely. 
 
 But in the rear was another funeral of the poverty- 
 stricken old woman. Several of the neighbors were pres- 
 ent to assist on this mournful occasion. The coffin was 
 extremely plain; the only flowers and vines present 
 were those plucked from the window, and they seemed 
 to embrace it with filial affection. But there is another 
 scene to portray. The Angels of Light and Love were 
 there, and they gave the ascended spirit a most cordial 
 greeting. 
 
 Another scene followed. Mr. X. stood not far away 
 on the spirit side of life, with all of the ASSETS of earth 
 life that pass as coin in the spirit realms, and those AS- 
 SETS belonged exclusively to a sphere attached closely 
 to earth, somewhat dark and somber, and above which 
 he could not then go. But the poor old woman, her AS- 
 SETS were intrinsically valuable, and she could ascend 
 by virtue thereof to a higher sphere. 
 
 We caution you, reader, if you live a selfish life like 
 X., your ASSETS in spirit life will consign you to the 
 lower spheres — perhaps in darkness and gloom, and 
 there to remain until you redeem yourself. While if 
 
 17 
 
your ASSETS are like those of old Mrs. Bentley, the odd- 
 job woman, your life in the future will be serene and 
 happy and your progress rapid. Do good and be good 
 in your earthly career, and your spiritual ASSETS will 
 constantly increase, thus aiding in establishing the Reli- 
 gion of Goodness. 
 
 SPIRITS CONNNED IN PRISON. 
 
 No doubt there are spirits in prison more closely con- 
 fined, and more hardened than any of the convicts of 
 earth. In darkness — sometimes almost impenetrable — 
 and in a gloom almost too intolerable to bear, they live, 
 not able to always fully realize the great change that 
 has taken place in their forlorn condition. The very at- 
 mosphere is in many respects more stifling than in the 
 deepest cave of earth; the sounds that echo from their 
 weird surroundings are dismal, sepulchral, and convey 
 no ray of hope, no indication of future joy, for there the 
 morning is never ushered in with its vast wealth of love- 
 liness, grandeur, and the animated scenes of life— dark- 
 ness continually! 
 
 Spirits in prison! 
 
 Yes, millions upon millions of them. They have been 
 consigned to this dreary, dark, desolate prison, a desert- 
 like place never kissed by a ray of solar light, and never 
 illuminated by the phosphorescent glow arising from the 
 spiritual illumination of the higher spheres — consigned 
 to that hideous place by the Laws of Nature, inherent in 
 their own being. Their very lives are a hideous stain 
 on even the deplorable conditions in which they are com- 
 pelled to live — no pen is capable of fully portraying the 
 dreadful misery of spirits in prison. A Black Hand assas- 
 sin is there; he was bred in crime, cultured only in 
 devilishness, and innately a demon of the darkest hue. 
 He murdered without a single remorseful emotion. His 
 
 18 
 
face was never tear-stained with pity, and loving sympa- 
 thy had no place in his hideous nature. An angelic as- 
 piration, iridescent with love for all mankind, even of 
 the faintest kind, never touched the inner soul of his 
 dark nature, for therein was a desert waste. Even there, 
 in almost impenetrable darkness, he has not a remorse- 
 ful thought, not a vibration of pity — he is a demon still, 
 a spirit in prison, a miserable degenerate, and is grad- 
 ually wasting away. As time passes on, his eyes grow 
 more fiendish in expression, his features more satanic 
 ghastly, his consciousness more dim, and his whole being 
 is a seething mass of corruption. The light of his mind 
 is flickering like that of an exhausted lamp; his thoughts 
 are diabolical, confused and feeble, and void of any 
 high and holy aspiration; he is gradually dying — dying 
 in a spirit prison, his life, his mind, his consciousness 
 being dissipated — dissolved back into the desert waste, — 
 the BLACK HAND DEMON has been practically annihi- 
 lated as a conscious entity. A scene like this has oc- 
 curred in spirit life. The God of Nature, the God of 
 Immutable Law, or the God of Principle never forces 
 upon any individual immortality. The scorpion some- 
 times stings itself to death, and so are the members 
 of the Black Hand Society gradually building up their 
 natures so calloused with crime, that when once in prison 
 on the spirit side of life they gradually perish from their 
 own stings, adding new material to the dreary waste they 
 occupy. We are now voicing the opinion of those high 
 in spirit life, who assert that immortality is only con- 
 ferred on those who gain it by BEING GOOD, and DOING 
 GOOD; it is never forced on any one, and many spirits 
 in prison are too depraved, too demon-like, to even wish 
 for it, and finally they are extinguished. 
 
 Endless progression is for only those who gain it by 
 BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD. Retrogression is for 
 the demons of earth and spirit life, until at last the 
 light of their soul is extinguished, gone out forever. Of 
 course many spirits in prison thoroughly reform, grad- 
 ually grow better and are finally redeemed, advancing 
 rapidly when they once see the light, and become great 
 helpers on the spirit side of life. But there are mor- 
 tals in prison on earth life, some with souls illuminated 
 
 19 
 
with the true spirit of reformation. There are Carl Ar- 
 nold and William Harvey, as set forth in the New York 
 Herald of Feb. 2, 1908. In a few months from that date 
 they stepped from the Kansas state penitentiary at Lan- 
 sing free men, owing their freedom to the literary ac- 
 complishments of the former, cultivated and developed 
 during more than a decade as a convict. More than thir- 
 , teen years ago Arnold and Harvey, then boys of less than 
 twenty years, were convicted of the murder of Mayor 
 John Marsh, at Kinsley, and sentenced to death. 
 
 Under the Kansas law the governor must first sign a 
 death warrant before the death penalty can be imposed. 
 As no Kansas governor has for years signed such a war- 
 rant, death sentence in Kansas is equivalent to a sen- 
 tence to life imprisonment in the state penitentiary at 
 Lansing, where the law requires that condemned convicts 
 be taken to await the signing of the death warrant by the 
 state's chief executive. 
 
 While visiting at Lansing several months ago the at- 
 tention of Governor Hoch was attracted to Arnold, on 
 whom the authorship of a book entitled 'The Kansas In- 
 ferno," had just been fastened by the prison officials. 
 The book deals with the Kansas prison system and was 
 written by Arnold during his imprisonment. Several 
 poems written by the convict were also shown to the 
 Governor. 
 
 One poem, which is as follows, did more to hasten the 
 exercise of clemency by the Governor than had the pro- 
 tests of all the citizens of Kinsley done to delay it: 
 
 I cannot fawningly implore, 
 
 As feeble, false hearts can; 
 But in humility before 
 The power that bars my prison door 
 
 I plead as man to man. 
 
 Oft folly more than vice appears 
 
 In errors we have made, 
 The ideal that the man reveres 
 Is not the dream of early years — 
 
 Youth's brief delusions' fade. 
 
 Though hearts embittered still retain 
 
 20 
 
A grudge for old mistakes, 
 Excessive penalties are vain — 
 The long monotony of pain 
 
 No restitution makes. 
 
 The ancient eye for eye decree 
 
 God has Himself destroyed; 
 Still speaks that Voice from Calvary, 
 Shall Shylocks with their ghoulish plea 
 
 Make this commandment void? 
 
 Ay, blessed are the merciful; 
 
 Oh, Christian heart, relent! 
 For sins of folly, faults of will, 
 I kneel at Mercy's tribunal 
 
 A contrite penitent. 
 
 Long have I been with Sorrow. Long 
 
 The agonizing years 
 Have held no freight of love, and song 
 And laughter — only pain and wrong, 
 
 And penitence and tears. 
 
 The coarse soul but lightly feels 
 
 The daily dole of ill; 
 But what distress each hour reveals 
 For him who in the heart conceals 
 
 Some aspirations still! 
 
 For home and love, for liberty 
 
 To toil as free men can, 
 Oh Hand of Fate that bars to me 
 The gates of Opportunity, 
 
 I plead, as man to man. 
 
 "Why, that man should be free and attached to the 
 editorial staff of some magazine," remarked Governor 
 Hoch, in commenting on the case after he had familiar- 
 ized himself with Arnold's accomplishments. 
 
 The two young men in prison had been together in 
 Oklahoma, then but recently opened to settlement, and 
 were returning to the homes of their parents in one 
 of the Western Kansas counties adjoining Edwards, of 
 
 21 
 
which Kinsley is the county seat. When they reached 
 Kinsley, where they camped for the night, both were out 
 of money. They held up Mayor Marsh, with the inten- 
 tion of robbing him. Marsh resisted and was killed. 
 Whether Arnold or Harvey killed the mayor has never 
 been definitely established. 
 
 The two young men were captured the next morning 
 and narrowly escaped lynching. They would have been 
 lynched had it not been for the assurance of Samuel W. 
 Vandivert, then district judge at Kinsley, but now a prac- 
 tising attorney in New York. Judge Vandivert made 
 speedy arrangements for the trial of Arnold and Harvey, 
 sentenced them to death and pledged the angry citizens 
 that he would come to Topeka and personally insist that 
 Governor Morrill sign the death warrant for the execu- 
 tion of the two young men. This for a time allayed 
 sentiment and prevented mob violence. 
 
 Judge Vandivert did visit Governor Morrill and insist 
 that the death penalty be imposed, but Governor Morrill 
 would not sign the warrant. People at Kinsley were 
 greatly incensed at the Governor, and the intense feeling 
 against Arnold and Harvey has never subsided. 
 
 Governor Hoch, intensely interested in Arnold, felt 
 that the sentiment at Kinsley was largely based on re- 
 sentment and was revengeful in nature. With this spirit 
 in the treatment of criminals he has little or no patience. 
 Believing that both young men will make good citizens 
 he has commuted their sentences to eighteen years in the 
 penitentiary each. In speaking of Arnold's case, Gover- 
 nor Hoch said: 
 
 "My attention was first attracted to Arnold by his 
 book. When I next visited Lansing I asked to see him, 
 curious to know the manner of man who had written so 
 well. At first meeting he did not impress me greatly. 
 A few days after my return to Topeka I received a let- 
 ter from him which reawakened my interest, as it indi- 
 cated the man's mentality." 
 
 The letter received by Governor Hoch from Arnold, 
 now a part of the pardon files at the executive office, is 
 as follows: 
 
 "Dear Governor: Being an emotional fool, I could 
 profit but little by the interview with which you favored 
 me, and therefore beg that Portia be given an audience, 
 
 22 
 
though I know that her thought is not new to you. If 
 I cannot obtain a release under a Governor whose atti- 
 tude in regard to prisoners seems to me ideal, I shall 
 indeed lose hope. Yours respectfully, Carl Arnold." 
 
 To the letter were attached the following lines from 
 the great trial scene in the "Merchant of Venice": 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained, 
 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath; it is twiced blessed; 
 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 
 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown; 
 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 
 It is an attribute to God Himself, 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. 
 
 Within a few days after the receipt of his letter one of 
 Arnold's poems, entitled, "Man to Man," was placed in 
 the hands of Governor Hoch by the convict's mother. 
 
 Arnold had taught a school one term when he started 
 on the trip to Oklahoma which ended with the tragedy at 
 Kinsley, but his education was meagre. When he first 
 went to Lansing as a convict he was employed in the 
 penitentiary mine. From the outset he was a good pris- 
 oner. Good behavior won him a place in the prison 
 tailor shop. It was then his study and development be- 
 gan. 
 
 Noticing his thirst for knowledge and taste for litera- 
 ture, the chaplain became interested in Arnold and ob- 
 tained his transfer to employment in the library. Arnold 
 was employed in the library for nearly six years and 
 every spare hour was devoted to either reading or writ- 
 ing. Writing the book, "The Kansas Inferno," and 
 smuggling the manuscript out for publication through a 
 discharged convict got Arnold in his first trouble with 
 the prison authorities and finally caused his removal 
 from the library back to his old place in the tailor shop 
 
 For months after the book was published the prison 
 officials could not determine its authorship, but it was 
 
 23 
 
finally fastened on Arnold. They found little or no fault 
 with the book itself, as it deals only with the prison sys- 
 tem, sticks closely to facts and does not show personal 
 prejudices, but the violation of the rules in smuggling 
 the manuscript out could not be overlooked and cost 
 Arnold many privileges he had enjoyed. 
 
 The book was written at odd times. The difficulties 
 under which Arnold worked will be understood when it 
 is considered that he was constantly under the surveil- 
 lance during the five years he worked on the book, but 
 no officer discovered what he was doing. In his intro- 
 ductory Arnold makes the following slight reference to 
 the difficulties under which he labored while preparing 
 his manuscript: 
 
 "If this book is wanting in literary merit, the author 
 can plead his lack of natural ability, the defects of a self- 
 educated mind and the fact that the book was written 
 in odd moments saved from the almost constant toil of 
 penal servitude and under the most depressing circum- 
 stances imaginable." 
 
 Arnold is quite proud of the book now and frequently 
 refers to his authorship. In the book are given the daily 
 routine of prison life, descriptions of the penitentiary, 
 the various manners of employment, punishments and 
 rewards, interspersed with observations regarding the ad- 
 vantages and weaknesses of the whole Kansas prison 
 system, as viewed by a convict. In his concluding chap- 
 ter Arnold makes a number of interesting recommenda- 
 tions for the betterment of a prison. The striking feat- 
 ure of the matter is that with one exception the recom- 
 mendations have been adopted. No provision has yet 
 been made to pay convicts the profits accruing from 
 their labor, less the cost of their maintenance, which 
 Arnold advocated in his book. Regarding this matter 
 Arnold wrote in his book: 
 
 "As noted in a previous chapter, the most expedient 
 and certain way to reform a prisoner is through an ap- 
 peal to his self-interest. As surely as you can convince 
 him that honesty and industry will promote his personal 
 happiness, so surely you can reform him. Experience — 
 the universal experience of a hundred years — has amply 
 demonstrated that he cannot be so convinced with ser- 
 mons and tracts, mingled with beatings and torture; 
 
 24 
 
then appeal to his understanding by a sort of object 
 lesson that he cannot fail to understand; let him see and 
 feel the benefits of the course you would have him pur- 
 sue. 
 
 "By giving the prisoner the profit of his labor, you 
 will give him an absorbing interest and pleasure in his 
 work, for which he now feels only a sensation of hate — 
 the fury of the bond slave. You will encourage him, open 
 before his dull eyes a new world of which he knows but 
 little; for the average criminal is familiar enough with 
 poverty and hard shift, but with him the responsibilities 
 of property and the infinite delight of ownership are un- 
 tried. Under the regenerate force of such conditions his 
 comparative estimate of things will be altered, and it will 
 soon dawn on him that the best dollar is the honest dol- 
 lar, and that the returns of honesty and industry are 
 more to be desired than the delusive fruits of crime that 
 delight for a brief moment a depraved palate and then 
 invariably turn to ashes and bitterness." 
 
 Arnold has as yet made no definite plans for the future 
 beyond a determination to spend several months with his 
 mother, who resides at Kansas City. "I do not know 
 what I will do," he said at the prison. "My time will not 
 be up for several months. I know little or nothing of 
 the outside world now. Nearly fifteen years have brought 
 many changes to a society I did not then understand. 
 I think I understand it now, but I will make no plans un- 
 til I have opportunity to look around and convince myself 
 that I am doing the best thing. First of all, though, I 
 must visit a good long time with my mother. She has 
 been my firmest, most faithful friend. 
 
 Harvey attracts much less attention than Arnold. He 
 has less mental capacity and has read less. Still he is 
 equipped to make his way well when released from prison. 
 During his confinement he has learned two trades. He is 
 9 first-class printer and is said to be the best cabinet- 
 maker ever developed at Lansing. He expects to find 
 work at the latter trade immediately after his release. 
 
 Thus Carl Arnold and William Harvey will escape from 
 a prison in mortal life, and you may rest assured they 
 will never become spirits in prison when death shall 
 have summoned them to a higher sphere in the realm 
 
 25 
 
of souls. The divine light has penetrated their very inner 
 being most beautifully, and in the future they will BE 
 GOOD, they will DO GOOD and thus fulfill the law un- 
 derlying the constructive principles of Nature throughout 
 all the regions of space. 
 
 If you are selfish, ever receiving but never giving, al- 
 ways deaf to those vibrations that come from a despair- 
 ing soul in deep distress, then you are gradually building 
 a spirit prison for yourself. If you are a miser, hoarding 
 your wealth for your own special enjoyment, never listen- 
 ing to the tender, pathetic appeals for Charity, then by 
 degrees you are constructing a prison for yourself in the 
 land of souls. If you devote your whole life to sin, to 
 murder, rapine, and violence, and are a degenerate, then 
 you are weaving your own spirit bars that will confine 
 you in the realm of souls to a desolate, inhospitable plane, 
 and in the course of time you will be blotted out of ex- 
 istence. You can in earth life build a spirit prison for 
 yourself on the spirit side of existence, or you can by 
 BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD construct for yourself 
 a Mansion in the realm of souls which in beauty and 
 grandeur surpasses the loftiest imagination of any earth- 
 ly mortal. The lesson is before you; immortality and fu- 
 ture bliss and advancement will be your heritage if you 
 so choose; but if your depravity reaches to degeneracy, 
 then your final extinguishment as a mortal being will 
 surely follow. Choose this day which road you will take. 
 
 26 
 
TAKE AN INVENTORY OP YOUR SOUL. 
 
 i. 
 
 The wind was blowing through the streets with the 
 fierceness of March, though the calendar said it was April, 
 says the Christian Union. A timid, uncertain ring brought 
 a member of the household to the door, who found stand- 
 ing on the stoop an old woman. Her dress gave every 
 evidence of self-respecting poverty. Her face was wrink- 
 led, but as though kindly smiles and sympathetic tears 
 had been the tools used by Father Time to etch her life 
 history thereon. 
 
 "Duzza a lady named live here?" The name 
 
 was so mispronounced that it was asked again, and then 
 hurriedly followed the reason of the call: "She did not 
 send this letther to the right place, shure! This place is 
 a coal yard, shure; nobody lives at a coal yard," she 
 interjected, seemingly astonished that the location of 
 the coal yard was not known. "This letther," she con- 
 tinued, holding out a letter the listener recognized as 
 having been mailed the evening before, "the postman 
 gave me to-day. Sometimes I resave a letther — not often, 
 though. I live at 52 and this is 122, and I tore it open, 
 never looking, and when I read it, and it was to a milliner 
 to come and make a hat, sez I to meself, 'Shure this is 
 Friday, now, and the lady will be disappointed, she want- 
 in' her hat for Sunday; and I'll just go over and tell 
 her, as she didn't know how to direct the letther,' and 
 then I thought maybe" — and here an appealing look 
 came into the kindly face, an entreating tone into the 
 voice — "I was afeared that some gurl, who would be glad 
 of the work, would lose it, bekase the lady thought as 
 how she didn't attind to her business; and ye know she 
 couldn't shure, if she didn't git yer letther." 
 
 The listener stood dumb. A walk of over a mile in 
 that raw, fierce wind, to benefit two people whom she 
 had never seen! 
 
 "You are very kind," began the Jistener. 
 27 
 
"Shure, what else are we here fer but kindness? 'Deed, 
 it might make a great difference, all round; for if the 
 gurl got this work, she might get more, and ye might 
 not be so happy if ye did not have yer hat. I've seen a 
 time I cared; it don't matter now, I'm old. I've got 
 nothin' to do now but the little things; me stren'th is 
 gone, but not me heart, thank God! That's where it 
 ever was. D'ye think ye can find the gurl, and give her 
 the work? Shure, I'd be glad to hunt for her; I've lived 
 on that street thirty years. Could I find her for ye, d'ye 
 think? She'd have time to make it to-morry, Saturday, 
 and then ye'd both be happy." And the kindly face was 
 full of hope and interest. 
 
 And only the day before the world seemed so inhuman, 
 so very indifferent whether a brother stood firm or fell 
 by the wayside! The kindly, shabby figure went down the 
 street, never dreaming of the lesson she had taught. 
 
 What a grand and beautiful lesson of life is presented 
 in the above, one that thrills the soul with pleasurable 
 emotions. Here was an old woman — one who could not 
 speak the English language correctly, and whose personal 
 appearance showed that she was from the lower walks 
 of life, yet she was imbued with feelings that were really 
 angelic. In this world of ours, it is very rare that you 
 see a purely unselfish act, one where self is entirely for- 
 gotten, and the good of some poor, forlorn soul, the only 
 end sought. 
 
 II. 
 An Old Man, venerable with the fruitage of nearly a 
 century, was sitting one evening in the door of his vine- 
 clad cottage, contemplating the beauty and grandeur of 
 creation, and wondering what was really essential to 
 attain salvation. A gentle shower had been falling, and 
 all nature seemed to be tinged with colors that were espe- 
 cially borrowed, seemingly, from heaven for the occasion. 
 The smile of one of God's angels could not have been 
 richer than the expression of nature on that eventful 
 evening, as this Old Man was contemplating the best 
 means to attain heaven. The overhanging vines cluster- 
 ing around his cottage, and the pendent drops of rain 
 from leaf and branch, illuminated with the hues of the 
 rainbow, were scenes that made a deep impression on 
 
 28 
 
his mind. The very air was rich in the fragrance of 
 fruit and flower, and all things in the material world 
 seemed to radiate a divine influence. This venerable per- 
 sonage was standing on the divide that separates the two 
 worlds, considering a momentous question — the best 
 means to attain salvation. As far as his eyes could see 
 were rolling fields of grain, extensive orchards bending 
 under loads of luscious fruit, and large herds of cattle 
 feeding in green pastures. Standing in the sunset of his 
 life, rich in this world's goods, his mind became suddenly 
 awakened, that at no distant day he must take his de- 
 parture to the spiritual realms. He pondered the situa- 
 tion well. He had large possessions here; would he 
 have the like there? 
 
 He had a vine-clad cottage here, surrounded by flower- 
 beds, lawns and fountains; would he be as highly fa- 
 vored there? 
 
 The world that sunset evening was beautiful to him, 
 and all things glistened with a roseate hue; would life 
 in the future be equally as pleasant? 
 
 He said to this one "go," to another "come," and they 
 obeyed him; would he have servants over there? 
 
 Thus he contemplated as he stood on the divide that 
 separates the seen from the unseen. He had been strictly 
 honest here, and his whole life in that respect had been 
 above reproach. As he looked at a flower-arbored grave 
 at his left, his mind turned towards a lovely wife, and 
 he wondered whether she, too, would meet him in the 
 celestial regions. 
 
 It is natural for the aged to contemplate such things 
 as they stand on the divide, where you must stand, where 
 I must stand, where all must sometime stand. 
 
 When one commences to contemplate self, to scrutinize 
 self, to analyze self, to look within and see the contents 
 of the soul, then there is hope for such a person. This 
 old man had become suddenly awakened, and was in- 
 clined to take an inventory of self; just as you should 
 do; just as everybody should do, and see to what extent 
 one is prepared for heaven. And then, while meditating, the 
 mist gathered over the setting sun, and a radiance shone 
 therefrom that fell upon the green pastures, the golden 
 fields of grain, the rich fruitage of tree and vine, and a 
 
 29 
 
cloud of rainbow-tinted light fell like a benediction across 
 the grave of his devoted wife. All nature had been kind 
 to him; of crops he never had a failure, epidemics had 
 escaped his flocks, and his granaries were never empty. 
 How bountiful Nature had been to him! What had he 
 done to merit all this which had been so benignly show- 
 ered upon him. 
 
 Was he bountiful towards others? 
 
 No! 
 
 Was his charitable hand ever extended? 
 
 No! 
 
 Did he ever strive to lighten the load of even one of 
 earth's children? 
 
 No! 
 
 Did he ever take especial pains to utter encouraging 
 words to one of earth's poor struggling mortals? 
 
 Never ! 
 
 Had he ever consented to bear some of the hard bur- 
 dens of others? 
 
 Not so far as he could remember! 
 
 Was there any one, so far as he knew, who would deep- 
 ly regret his death? 
 
 Probably not! 
 
 Did he ever send forth kind thoughts towards those 
 who are struggling with poverty? 
 
 He had not time even for that! 
 
 III. 
 
 As this Old Man continued to take an inventory of the 
 treasures of his soul, and found none, in utter despair, 
 his head resting on a dainty pillow of the chair, he fell 
 into a profound slumber, and he experienced a remark- 
 able dream. A venerable sage stood by his side clothed 
 in a robe of dazzling brightness and purity. His counte- 
 nance was all aglow with a divine expression of love, 
 and his voice was musically sweet and tender: "My 
 friend, I see that thou hast been taking an inventory of 
 thy soul-treasures — treasures that can only enrich thee in 
 spirit-life. Find'st there any?" 
 
 "Nay, Master," responded the wealthy magnate. "I 
 find not even one treasure! Alas! Alas! I am lost! 
 
 30 
 
I have never done one purely unselfish act, and shall pass 
 to the celestial regions poor indeed!" 
 
 "Look in the distance! What see'st thou?" 
 
 "Old Mother Hemstead's home — poor, old, poverty- 
 stricken woman," responded he in tremulous voice. 
 
 "She is stricken with sickness; sorrow broods over her 
 little household. A dark cloud is there, and as pure a 
 soul as ever lived is prostrated on a bed of sickness. She 
 nursed you when sick with small-pox." 
 
 "Yes, Master." 
 
 "And your wife, too, whose body is lying in yon flower- 
 embowered grave?" 
 
 "Yes, Master, and she did it well." 
 
 "And when your two children were sick with scarlet 
 fever, nigh unto death, she watched them tenderly, and 
 it was her healing magnetism that saved them?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, poor woman, she was an angel to them." 
 
 "And when the cattle broke into your field of grain 
 the other night, she hastened over to inform you, and 
 you simply returned a cold thank you!" 
 
 "It is as you state." 
 
 "Your soul is as barren as the wild, arid waste. You 
 have, so far as I can see, no treasures in heaven, and 
 you will go there a pauper, spiritually. You have taken 
 an inventory of your soul and find nothing to your credit 
 of any value." 
 
 "But, dear Master, what shall T do to be saved?" 
 "As one having authority, as a supreme judge, you 
 stand before me self-convicted, and the sentence is self- 
 imposed. I do not condemn you; you do that yourself. 
 I shall leave you soon. Pure, unselfish acts only receive 
 the recognition of the wise sages of spirit-life; they 
 alone are your only treasures in the spiritual realm. Go 
 back to your possessions on earth; think kindly of every- 
 body; send forth thoughts beaming with charity; let 
 every aspiration scintillate with love for all humanity. 
 Encourage the disheartened; assist the one fallen by the 
 wayside. Ever have a kind word for those in distress. 
 Let your life be as bountiful as this outpouring of nature 
 on this beautiful evening. I now leave you with my 
 benediction and blessing." 
 
 31 
 
IV. 
 
 The Old Man then awakened from his trance-like state 
 and gazed vacantly around him. The sun had set, and 
 gradually the drapery of night was encircling his posses- 
 sions. He passed over to the grave of his wife, and bend- 
 ing low, in tremulous tone he said: 
 
 "My darling Mary lies there; there my two children, 
 who died in infancy." With tear-stained eyes, and voice 
 heaving with emotion, and hands uplifted heavenward, 
 he consecrated his life, his fortune, his all to humanity! 
 and then he wept over his darling's grave, regretting 
 that he had never been aroused before to see his duty, 
 and do it. 
 
 Going to the house, he ordered the servant to procure 
 his horse and carriage, and he drove rapidly to town, to 
 the residence of the leading physician and ordered him 
 to attend to the sickness of old Mother Hemstead. 
 
 "Oh!" replied the doctor, "I guess she can wait until 
 morning, or until I get ready. These charity cases are 
 very troublesome." 
 
 "This is not a charity case. Go at once and I will pay 
 you." 
 
 Thus fortified the physician went to test his skill on 
 one who was sick nigh unto death, and who had been 
 sorely neglected. - 
 
 The Old Man hastened to the grocery, and obtaining 
 a good store of delicacies, such as the sick require, and 
 procuring a nurse, he hastened to the humble cottage 
 of old Mother Hemstead. The physician was there when 
 he arrived, and that lonely cottage was illuminated with 
 a light divine. Radiant beings, all aglow with God-like 
 qualities, and who had been instrumental in awakening 
 the Old Man from his deeply seated lethargy, were there 
 bending low over a lovely scene which was being enacted 
 by the children of earth. 
 
 Old Mother Hemstead was poor, very poor, and to have 
 this noble outburst of kindness from one whom she re- 
 garded as hard-hearted, gave her a new lease of life, and 
 she rapidly recovered, and thereafter arrangements were 
 made by the Old Man that all her simple wants should be 
 supplied during the remainder of her life. From that 
 time his whole career was changed. He received a bap- 
 
 32 
 
tism from heaven. His vast possessions were dispensed 
 with a charitable hand, and every thought and act of his 
 life was purely unselfish. 
 
 Take an inventory of your soul now. Have you to- 
 day, yesterday, last month, or at any time during the 
 year, done a purely unselfish act? Have you lightened 
 'the burdens of any one? Have you cheered some care- 
 worn heart? Have you sent forth kind thoughts to enrich 
 the moral atmosphere? If not active in those directions, 
 then you must be spiritually deficient; and you will find 
 yourself poor indeed when you shall have been ushered 
 into the world above. Take an inventory of your soul- 
 deeds to-day and act accordingly. 
 
 THE LIPE AIND DEATH OP TIM 
 
 "Don't let the song go out of your life; 
 
 Though it chance sometime to (low 
 In a minor strain, it will blend again, 
 
 With the major tone you know. 
 What though shadows rise to obscure life's skies. 
 
 And hide for a time the sun; 
 They sooner will lift and reveal the rift 
 
 If you let the melody run. 
 
 Don't let the song go out of your life, 
 
 Though your life may have lost its thrill; 
 Though the tremulous note should die in your throat, 
 
 Let it sing in your spirit still. 
 There is never a pain that hides not some gain. 
 
 And never a cup of rue 
 So bitter to sup but what in the cup 
 
 Lurks a measure of sweetness too. 
 
 — Kate R. Stiles. 
 33 
 
As set forth by H. Belloe in the London Post, sailors 
 sing. They have a song for work and songs for every 
 part of their work, and they have songs of reminiscence 
 and of tragedy, and many farcical songs; some brutal 
 songs, songs of repose and songs in which is packed the 
 desire for a distant home. Soldiers also sing, at least 
 in those armies where soldiers are still soldiers. And 
 th9 line, which is the core and body of any army, is 
 the most singing of them all. Those men who marched 
 behind Caesar in his triumph sang a song and the words 
 of it still remain; the armies of Louis XIV. and of Na- 
 poleon, of the Republic and even of Algiers, made songs 
 of their own which have passed into the great treasury 
 of European letter*. 
 
 They sang in that march which led men to the assault 
 at Hastings, for it was written by those who saw the 
 column of knights advancing to the foot of the hill that 
 Taillefer was chosen for his great voice and rode before 
 the host, tossing his sword into the air and catching it 
 again by the hilt (a difficult thing to do), and singing 
 of Charlemagne and of the vassals who had died under 
 Roncesvalles. 
 
 Song also illustrates and strengthens and vivifies all 
 common life, and on this account what is left of our peas- 
 antry have harvest songs, and there are songs for mow- 
 ing and songs for the midwinter rest, and there is even 
 a song in the south of England for the gathering of honey. 
 
 Indeed, all men sing at their labor, or would so sing did 
 not dead convention forbid them. You will say there 
 are exceptions, as lawyers, usurers and officers; but there 
 are no exceptions to this rule where all the man is work- 
 ing and is working well and is producing and is not 
 ashamed. Rowers sing, and their song is called barca- 
 role; and even men holding the tiller who have nothing 
 to do but hold it tend to sing a song. And I will swear 
 to this, that I have heard stokers when they were hard 
 pressed starting a sort of crooning chorus together, which 
 shows that there is hope for us all." 
 
 Without songs, without music, without their soul-stir- 
 ring vibrations passing through the atmosphere, scintillat- 
 ing, seemingly, with smiles from the Infinite Himself, 
 
 34 
 
all things would become a barren waste, and human 
 beings be reduced in the course of time to savagery. 
 There is soul-sweetness in music, an emotion therein that 
 seems to cast choice flowers in one's pathway, as one 
 journeys along with a "song in his life" that renders joy- 
 ous every moment of fleeting time. It is said that on 
 one occasion in this city Minnie Cultra, a cripple, 14 years 
 old, known as "Little Sunshine," an angelic name, typical 
 of beauty and joy, and without technical musical train- 
 ing, proved to be the star attraction at a recital on one 
 occasion in the Fine Arts building, even though a num- 
 ber of well known musicians appeared on the same pro- 
 gram. 
 
 The recital was given by the pupils of Mrs. Charles L. 
 Krum for the benefit of the Fallon School for Crippled 
 Children. Five hundred patronesses of the school and 
 friends of Mrs. Krum and her pupils were present, as 
 well as forty-two crippled children, who occupied boxes. 
 
 Minnie Cultra — arms, legs, and body paralyzed — was 
 carried on the stage and sang the old song, "There Is a 
 Green Hill Far Away." Tears came to the eyes of nearly 
 every auditor, choice echoes from minds that had been 
 awakened. One woman became half hysterical as she 
 listened to the soul-enchanting tune, and was helped from 
 the hall. 
 
 There was a foretaste of heaven in the sublime soul of 
 Minnie Cultra, and that foretaste bore golden fruitage, 
 exalting aspirations, and for a time on the above occa- 
 sion she seemed to be in "tune with the Infinite," if that 
 were possible. She must, at least, have been encircled in 
 the sympathetic, loving arms and cheering embrace of 
 some Angel of Light and Love from the Sphere of Divine 
 Poesy and Music, thus indicating that cripples should be 
 tenderly cared for. Yes, "There is a green hill far Away"' 
 for little Minnie Cultra, and when her lovely spirit shall 
 have broken away from the shackles that bind it to earth 
 she will see that "green hill," and the enchanting scenes 
 of Paradise, and enjoy spiritual luxuries of which the 
 nabobs of earth never dreamed, and which they can not 
 enjoy until they shall have progressed to the same spirit- 
 ual plane on the spirit side of life. 
 
 35 
 
Here is another peculiar case. Timothy Carroll's soul 
 was brimful of music. He was not famous as a musician 
 yet he was recognized, however, as having a charming 
 baritone voice, as full of poetic fragrance, as a flower is 
 of the essence of sweetness and purity. Tim, as he was 
 called, was a cripple, and so badly deformed in some re- 
 spects that he often said, "I feel ashamed of myself." 
 Only on one occasion did he ever appear on the stage at 
 any theatre, and then he sang "Home, Sweet Home," 
 his own peculiar rendition, his own sentiments, his own 
 pathetic appeal for a "home, sweet home." His voice, 
 tremulous with tender emotions that seemed to flow 
 into his soul from some dear sweet angel, illuminating it 
 with a divine light and pathos,brought tears from his rural 
 audience, and while he was singing nearly every eye in 
 this country gathering was moved to tears. And when 
 an audience is moved to tears by sympathetic vibrations 
 that come laden with an angelic influence, apparently de- 
 rived from the "Gardens of the Gods," one can then real- 
 ize that a divine chord of human nature has been ten- 
 derly struck, and bears fruitage from the depths of the 
 human soul. 
 
 On that occasion Tim seemed to be transformed from 
 a cripple into a messenger right from the Courts of 
 Heaven. He sang his "Home, Sweet Home," his features 
 illuminated with the soft, mellow glow of a soul in close 
 touch with the radiance and beauty of all things divine 
 in the highest spirit sphere. Thus it is that sometimes 
 one who is uncultured, and even totally ignorant of the 
 scale in music, gets into the hearts of people in song, and 
 excites tender emotions. 
 
 After this triumph in the country, Tim drifted to the 
 city. He was occupying only a sort of mid-way station in 
 music — a station always existing between those who are 
 uncultured, and those like Mozart or Beethoven; there 
 nature had placed him, and he naturally drifted towards 
 saloons, brothels, house of ill-fame and low places of 
 resort generally, under the thought he could do good 
 there. A strange combination was Tim, standing on this 
 midway station — looking with supreme disgust and con- 
 tempt at the crudeness, vileness and sinfulness on one 
 side, and with joy at the culture, refinement and educa- 
 
 36 
 
tion manifested on a plane higher, which he knew he 
 could never reach while on this earth. The parlors of 
 houses of sin he often frequented by special invitation, to 
 sing, and a strange, uncanny fascination he exerted over 
 the inmates. The songs and tunes were all his own; 
 the words as pure as the aspirations of an angel; a medley 
 of enchanting music that seemed to rivet the attention 
 of the Magdalens, and they treated him with superstitious 
 reverence and awe, and freely gave him contributions of 
 their sin-tainted money, never failing to make other ap- 
 pointments for him to call. 
 
 Tim was never coarse or vulgar in these dens of infamy 
 and sin. He never sang a ribald song there. Coarse and 
 vulgar words never sprang from his lips to go forth as 
 Imps of Darkness, to imperil the lives of others. 
 
 Finally we must draw the curtain over the life of 
 Tim. Stricken with a fatal disease, he was taken to a 
 private hospital by a benevolent elderly gentleman, with 
 instructions to tenderly care for him. 
 
 Tim grew worse day by day; and in just that propor- 
 tion or degree the spirit world drew nearer, and delight- 
 ful phantoms, as he called them, clustered around his 
 bed, and bouquets of ffowers, phantoms though they were 
 to him, seemed to exhale an aroma that was delightful 
 to inhale, giving him a foretaste of the beautiful gardens 
 in spirit life where angels walk, where poets weave their 
 soul enchanting rhymes, where wise sages congregate to 
 talk of fairy Nature and her atoms, molecules, vibrations, 
 and ultimate perfection in all evolutionary processes. 
 
 Tim was gradually dying, and his presence in the hos- 
 pital seemed to fascinate the nurses, the physicians and 
 those in attendance from day to day. They bent over him 
 with a tender pathos in their faces and sweet vibrations 
 in their finger tips as they administered nourishment From 
 time to time. The physician said he could not live — 
 "might die at any time." 
 
 It was a beautiful spring day; the trees were Bending 
 out their buds and flowers to be kissed by the sunshine 
 and to be baptized by the heaven-born dewdrops. Tim 
 from his window opening towards the west, could see the 
 clambering vinos and the trees and flowers, bathed in the 
 sunshine a.s Day was retiring to give place to the 
 
 37 
 
gemmed Night. All at once the dying man, with a face 
 illuminated with an angelic halo, sat upright in bed, 
 as if under spirit influence, and commenced singing, his 
 baritone voice, thrillingly sweet, as if he had borrowed a 
 tune and verses from some angelic minstrel who only 
 sang in the Gardens of the Gods. For a few minutes 
 only nurses, physicians and attendants stood with bowed 
 heads and tear-stained eyes as they listened to this dying 
 man's wonderful voice, and just as the setting sun was 
 casting its retiring rays on his cot, and the soulful vibra- 
 tions of his voice were going forth laden with the rich 
 fruitage of love, purity and charity, he fell back on his 
 cot and passed to the realms of souls, with his features 
 aglow with an angelic light — a scene never to be for- 
 gotten. Thus Tim passed away; a frequenter of saloons, 
 dens of vice and houses of ill-repute, yet as pure as an 
 Angel of Light and Love. We had rather be Tim, living 
 off of so-called tainted money obtained in houses of sin, 
 and sending forth in his rich baritone voice an influence 
 that had redeemed many souls, than to be a wealthy 
 nabob, reveling in wealth and the gross pleasures of a 
 sin-soiled soul — a soul destitute wholly of the ennobling 
 qualities possessed now by the immortal Tim. 
 
 "Don't let the- song go out of your life!" 
 
 It never can go, if you will THINK GOOD, BE GOOD, 
 and DO GOOD in all the walks of life, and follow the 
 teachings of these HOME CIRCLE SERMONS. 
 
 38 
 
THE IDEAL NURSE IN AN IDEAL WORK. 
 
 Each one who is ushered into this life with its sun- 
 shine and storms, should realize that he is a SOUL* 
 BUILDER, a builder of an angel or a devil, and should 
 have blooming in his nature the flowers of goodness, 
 charity, self-sacrifice, and love towards all humanity. As 
 sunshine evolves our coal beds and many other things 
 that serenely smile in Nature, so should each one un- 
 fold traits of character that go forth like rays of light 
 for the benefit of all. 
 
 Whoever you are, wherever you are, and whatever you 
 are, you are the sole architect of your own character, 
 and can mould it as you please. You are indeed a SOUL- 
 BUILDEB, and if you act in accordance with Divine 
 Laws your whole nature will expand with a sublime ra- 
 diance, revealing the angel within to the external world. 
 The flower with its winsome expression in rainbow tinted 
 colors, a veritable Queen of Beauty, will, when plucked, 
 retain its fragrance as long in the home of the thief or 
 Magdalen, as in the palace of a king. The food the thief 
 eats adds lustre to his eyes and strength to his muscles, 
 just the same as it would if eaten by a multimillionaire. 
 Nature smiles approvingly on all in the external world, 
 leaving each one to utilize her gifts as they see fit in 
 SOUL-BUILDING. When divested of its material cover- 
 ing, the soul stands forth just as you have constructed it 
 — either laden with the grand, lovely, outbursting fruitage 
 of angelic qualities, or somewhat dwarfed, or divested, it 
 may be, altogether of angelic traits, a miserable, distorted 
 specimen of your own handiwork as connected with earth- 
 life. 
 
 You are your own artisan, your own architect, your own 
 agent in your own SOUL-BUILDING, in shaping your fu- 
 ture destiny. You can not become a soul-builder unless 
 you have material therefor, and you must furnish the 
 same, just as the tree furnishes its own leaves; just as 
 the tiny stem produces its own flowers; just as the 
 
 39 
 
sky weaves its own rainbow; just as the peach tree 
 sends forth its blossoms, then its sweet perfume, and then 
 its own precious fruit; just as the seed or rootlet becomes 
 a clambering vine, with flowers nestling thereon as if 
 the thoughts of angels. In the same manner and by the 
 same divine impulse, your life must bear as its buds, its 
 blossoms, its flowers, and its rich fruitage, kindly thoughts, 
 pure aspirations, divine impulses, charitable deeds and 
 loving kindness. 
 
 To become a SOUL-BUILDER, acceptable in the sight 
 of angels, your whole life must vibrate with good deeds, 
 and be a perennial fountain, from which flows kind, char- 
 itable thoughts and acts, assisting some one less fortunate 
 than self. As the golden grains of wheat, fanned by genial 
 winds, heaven's health-giving breath, and moistened by 
 rains that come because of Nature's call, are developed 
 into health-giving properties as you eat the same, chang- 
 ing to lustre in your eyes, changing to rosy tints on the 
 face, changing to crimson blood, and the beautiful flesh 
 that nestles on the cheek of maiden, so lovely, so capti- 
 vating — and to the same degree will "living for others" 
 in the highest and holiest sense of those words, render 
 your soul grandly beautiful, you the SOUL-BUILDER, 
 the architect of what will be yours in the future. 
 
 As illustrating one of the many phases of SOUL- 
 BUILDING, the life of Mrs. Jane Elliott, of New York, 
 affords an example. When she passed to spirit life, her 
 last cent exhausted, she left a letter clutched in her 
 hands, to whom addressed no one then knew: 
 
 "My Dear One: I have written to you before of a 
 strange dream I had; it might have been a spirit vision, 
 induced by some angelic messenger, a sort of telephone 
 message from an exalted home in heaven, where thoughts 
 bear a divine incense that seem to add a delicate sweet- 
 ness to the perfume of the flowers, and the smiles of the 
 angels therein. Be that as it may I seemed to be in 
 that home, representing what I had made of myself. I 
 looked before me, as in a mirror, and saw a strange be- 
 ing, how divinely beautiful! A glow on the face as if the 
 brilliancy of the diamond had been dipped in the scintil- 
 lating colors of the rainbow at the morning dawn, and 
 transferred to the beaming features, so radiant, so di- 
 
 40 
 
vinely beautiful! And the eyes, what charms therein, as 
 they seemed to glisten, just as if some angel had illum- 
 inated them with thoughts that vibrated in harmony with 
 the wisest sages of spirit life, just as nature vibrates in 
 the flower, producing its rainbow tints and choice per- 
 fume. I gazed steadily at this Angel of Light, with in- 
 tense admiration, and as I ardently wished that I could 
 stand forth so angelic, reflecting so beautifully all that 
 one could desire, my dear, angelic mother stood by my 
 side, and said: 'My daughter, you are looking in a mirror 
 and seeing yourself. Look at your body in the bed on 
 earth. The hectic flush on your face, your cheeks shrunk- 
 en, as if eaten away by disease, a sickly, worn out body. 
 On earth you are now pinched by poverty, and every emo- 
 tion of your life is tear-stained, as you survey the world 
 in its selfishness. You have lived for others. Your life 
 currents have flowed to others, as the sap of the tree flows 
 to nourish the buds, then the blossoms, then the golden 
 fruitage thereon. Your aspirations, your work and sacri- 
 fices for others have produced the angelic creature you 
 saw, a perfect reflection of your real spirit self. In the 
 hospitals, in charitable institutions, in poverty-stricken 
 homes, in the capacity of a nurse, and in unselfishly min- 
 istering to the wants of the suffering and dying, you have 
 produced the angel you saw in the mirror, unsuspectedly 
 to you a reflection of yourself. Go back to earth, and 
 in that worn-out body you will only survive for a few 
 days.' My dear, dear one, thus in a dream, a vision, or 
 in a sweet something that I can not explain, which touched 
 in some mysterious way my soul-chords, I had this ex- 
 perience. At one time you were tenderly dear to me. 
 My whole being was bathed in the sunshine of your love, 
 and as you lovingly kissed me and pressed me to your 
 heart, I felt supremely happy. There were then no tear- 
 stains upon my soul; no skeletons of sorrow in the closet. 
 no black outlook vibrating with sobs and moans, mid 
 weird images of dark despair. The world was sweet, and 
 precious, and lovely then, with you by my side, with 
 you in my life, in my thoughts, in my love, in my dreams. 
 Your kisses were then precious lo inc. and your words 
 of cheering love vibrated in my soul as if they bad angelic 
 sweetness and purity. Home then was overflowing with 
 
 41 
 
the flowers of happiness, bearing as an incense the su- 
 preme love of unsullied souls. But this only lasted for 
 a time, when you were wooed away from my side ani 
 home by the selfish wiles of a siren. But I tenderly cher- 
 ished the recollection of our happy home, and you my 
 ideal, my precious one, on whom I lavished all the af- 
 fections of my soul, — I could not forget you even when 
 you fell prostrate into the hands of another, and have 
 ever considered you my dear, precious companion, even 
 though now in the selfish embrace of a woman of the 
 world, a Magdalen, a siren with charms of poisonous be- 
 wildering attractions. In imagination with my arms 
 around your neck, and with my cheek pressed to your 
 lips I live my life over" — 
 
 That was the unfinished letter found clutched with 
 a death like grasp in the hand of Mrs. Jane Elliott. It 
 appears from the history given her at the time that she 
 had devoted her small fortune in relieving the distress of 
 others, and was known as the Angel Nurse, as she was 
 so kind, so exquisitely tender and sympathetic when min- 
 istering to others. From the letter it appears she had 
 been married, but was abandoned by her husband, for 
 whom she seemed to retain an undying affection, a sort 
 of ideal dream that had never been realized in its com- 
 pleteness. 
 
 Jane Elliott was a SOUL-BUILDER, her generous, self- 
 sacrificing nature, ennobling virtues, high and holy aspir- 
 ations, and her pursuit of happiness through kindly deeds 
 and charitable acts in an ideal work for the poor and un- 
 fortunate, had made her the veritable angel which she 
 saw reflected in her vision, and which she mistook for 
 some one distinct from herself. If you wish to build a 
 soul of the fine texture and ideal nature of Jane Elliott, 
 banish selfishness, and live in a world where the only 
 object is to DO GOOD and BE GOOD. 
 
 42 
 
TRY TO RENDER YOUR SOUL LUMINOUS. 
 
 How true it is that no one should live for himself alone. 
 Nature points out a magnificent lesson. The tree, if it 
 could talk, would not say, "I am independent of the 
 earth;" the leaves would not say, "We are in no wise de- 
 pendent on the body of the tree." The buds thereon 
 would not declare their independence, and set up a dis- 
 tinct life of their own, for they soon turn into a beauti- 
 ful flower, and then into luscious fruit, with its life-giving 
 properties— all the result of the occult work of the soil, 
 various gases, and sunshine, and which could not exist 
 without moisture, rain, clouds, and various other agents 
 too numerous to mention — each one dependent on all the 
 others for its life and full development. The fruit-bear- 
 ing tree has no degree of selfishness, unless held in abey- 
 ance by selfish man. It says to all, "Come and partake 
 of my fruit, inhale its divine aroma, taste its fine quali- 
 ties and feel its nutriment as it tingles in the veins, and 
 gives to the cheeks their healthy glow." 
 
 Nature is wonderfully prodigal in har gifts, unless her 
 powers are abridged by selfish man. In spite of him, how- 
 ever, the aroma of the flowers in the garden of the miser, 
 like a fairy, floats off on the breeze, and adds its precious 
 qualities to the world at large. What nature has produced 
 is for the benefit of all. No partiality in the morning 
 sunshine glow. The sunset artist paints a picture of di- 
 vine beauty in the West, whose iridescent colors and scin- 
 tillations gladden and refresh all who see it. No miser- 
 like qualities there. All nature emanates from the one 
 universal reservoir; every human being can trace his 
 physical life to that source of all things. The miser, the 
 ingrate, the supremely selfish, and the millionaire, have 
 taken an undue share of that reservoir of nature, and ap- 
 propriated the same to self instead of the general good. 
 
 The ideal man, the man who is in tune with the Infi- 
 nite, as it were, and who acknowledges himself as only 
 one part of the universal whole, is in kinship with all 
 
 43 
 
others, only perhaps vibrating on a different plane. The 
 ideal man (and what is true of him is also true of woman) 
 is radiant with spiritual thoughts, with aspirations that are 
 all aglow with angelic impulses, and whose pathway in life 
 is illuminated by his own good deeds. The ideal man 
 is SELF-LUMINOUS, and never shines by reflected light. 
 Every good deed, every charitable thought, every high 
 and holy aspiration, adds to that light of his soul, its in- 
 herent luminosity. Such a man cannot be a King, an 
 Emperor, a Sultan, a President or a High Official, be- 
 cause they are controlled by a "Constitution," by a code of 
 laws, or by court officers or advisers, and are in no sense 
 SELF-LUMINOUS, but shine almost wholly by borrowed 
 light, and that light is always flickering, evanescent, and 
 never permanent. 
 
 The true Saviors of the world — Buddha, Confucius, and 
 many others— were SELF-LUMINOUS; but that LUMIN- 
 OSITY is not like sunshine, like the electric illumination, 
 or any earthly light — it is a divine glow, a radiance 
 that is undefinable, a divine expression like the aroma of 
 a flower, or the smile of the mother as she bends over 
 her first born, singing a sweet lullaby song. This subtle 
 LUMINOSITY exhibits your spiritual unfoldment, and in 
 all cases fixes your status in spirit life. All souls are not 
 LUMINOUS, for this" luminosity has only well defined 
 source, it is merely the emanation or divine radiance that 
 flows as naturally from good deeds and pure aspirations, 
 as the perfume of the flowers rises in the morning dawn, 
 sweetening the vanishing dewdrops as they ascend heaven- 
 ward on rays of sunshine. The one with a divine radiance 
 aglow in his whole nature, is never rich in this world's 
 goods, for the hoarding of gold, for its sake alone, and 
 the selfish pleasures it brings, produces darkness instead 
 of light. The CHARACTER of a man determines his 
 inherent LUMINOSITY, hence cultivate that in the right 
 direction. The profound thinker Dr. Madison C. Peters 
 says: 
 
 "Character is a Greek word transferred, but not trans- 
 lated, and means that which is cut in or marked, as the 
 impress on stamps, coins, or seals, and reveals the quality 
 of- the person or thing. 
 
 "Although it represents a moral quality it can be taken 
 44 
 
in a wider significance, as that which distinguishes a man 
 in his general bearing towards others in his everyday life. 
 In this respect it can be acquired and is much influenced 
 by training and environment. 
 
 "The laws of heredity exact their demands but to a great 
 extent they can be modified by external surroundings. 
 For instance, the child of savage parents cannot be ex- 
 pected to possess that refinement which is the heritage 
 of centuries of civilization and culture; however, by care- 
 ful training and by force of companionship and good ex- 
 ample it can be so molded as to develop but few of the 
 traits of its ancestry. 
 
 "Nature sometimes exhibits strange freaks in regard to 
 character. We often find wayward children the offspring 
 of exemplary parents, and vice versa. Often two brothers, 
 in disposition and manners, are far apart as the poles. 
 
 "Character is the fairest flower that blooms in the gar- 
 den of life, but it is a sensitive plant and requires careful 
 nursing. An unfavorable wind can chill and wither and 
 dwarf its promise until it becomes an unsightly weed, 
 offensive to all its surroundings. Good care and loving 
 hands, however, can foster and nurture it into 'a thing 
 of beauty and a joy forever.' 
 
 "We fondly pay our tribute to the cherished ones who 
 have passed away, we never weary of recounting their acts, 
 and in spirit we fain would call them back to earth again. 
 Their lovable and lovely characters enshrined them in 
 our heart of hearts and joyfully, if we could, would we 
 turn back the cycle of time, once more to listen to their 
 wisdom and their counsel. 
 
 "Who would not wish for the mighty Gladstone again, 
 he who held the love and reverence of the entire world 
 for his pure and blameless life, or the calm, patient Mc- 
 Kinley, the man who showed us how to live, and taught 
 us how to die, or the soft-voiced Tennyson, who struck 
 Apollo's harp and evoked strains that will never be silent 
 while language lives, or the sublime Beethoven who soared 
 among angel choirs and brought their music down to 
 earth? 
 
 "The names of these splendid characters are Bounding 
 down the corridors of time, calling upon us to follow 
 in their footsteps by leading such lives as will reflect glory 
 
 45 
 
upon ourselves and benefit on our kind. We may not be 
 great as they, but we can be as upright and honorable. 
 
 "Character is created by the exercise of moral power, 
 the will to do that which is right and avoid that which is 
 wrong. A scoundrel may have a fine reputation, but only 
 the good man can have a good character. 
 
 "Too often we are prone to think of character merely 
 in the light of an asset for the world beyond the grave, 
 but men, especially young men, should be impressed with 
 the idea that character is temporal capital an»d a principal 
 sure to yield better returns than any other. It is an invest- 
 ment which remains unaffected by panics and failures, and 
 always brings dividends profitable alike for this life and 
 for that which is to come. 
 
 "A good character is above titles and wealth, to be pre- 
 ferred before power and fame. The work of building it 
 is the noblest labor on earth, but the foundations must 
 be laid firm and strong in early life lest the edifice crum- 
 ble in the after time. The future must be kept in view, 
 and not alone the future of time but that which merges 
 into eternity, for on the temporal life depends the eternal. 
 
 "To acquire the character which will stand him in good 
 stead on all occasions and under his conscience a man 
 must not flatter his conscience with silly sophistries which 
 teach him that he is good enough and that nothing more 
 is required of him. He must ever endeavor to be better 
 than he is. Of course, he can never attain perfection, but 
 he cannot remain stationary; he must either retrograde 
 or advance. Advance, do your best to be a little higher to- 
 day, a little stronger in character than you were yesterday, 
 and to-morrow aim to be still further than you are to- 
 day. 
 
 "We need strong men, men of impregnable character, 
 against the bulwarks of which the surges of the world's 
 temptations shall lash themselves in vain. Banish all de- 
 ceit, subterfuge and double dealing from your life, act on 
 the square, be on the level, realizing, in the words of 
 Emerson, that a man of character is appointed by Al- 
 mighty God to stand for a fact." 
 
 How true it is that our good deeds, our pure thoughts, 
 our aspirations to grasp all that is true, noble and ele- 
 vating in life, illuminate with an imcomparable sublime 
 
 46 
 
.glow, or angelic light, the whole spiritual nature, pre- 
 paring it for an exalted position in spirit life. Have you 
 that divine LUMINOSITY in your soul to-day? If not, 
 cultivate it as you would a choice flower, or otherwise go 
 to spirit life in a darkened condition. Choose NOW the 
 course you will pursue, one leading to light and love in- 
 effable; its reverse carrying you on a tidal wave to the 
 regions of darkness. Each one should get in tune with 
 vibrations from the spheres of exalted souls, thus securing 
 their active aid. You should learn now how to build your 
 home in the spirit realms, and prepare it for your recep- 
 tion as a spirit. 
 
 THE LITTLE f LOWER GIRL HAS A VISION. 
 
 i. 
 
 Alas! how many human hearts in which the sunshine of 
 joy, gladness and happiness never penetrates shedding an 
 exhilarating influence that imparts a foretaste of heaven. 
 The world to-day is in a transition state — just emerging 
 from the dark and pestilential clouds of false religions. 
 Here and there, like an oasis in the desert, you can dis- 
 cern one who is truly enlightened, and whose soul is ex- 
 panded with generosity and goodness, from all of whose 
 acts of life there is radiated an angelic influence that 
 speaks of God and heaven. The abject barbarian can be 
 found in all large cities; his brutish, savage nature is 
 only held in abeyance by the strong and vigorous hand of 
 the law. Left free to act, his low instinct would bloom 
 with every element of the savage, and no crime would be 
 too hideous for him to commit. Of course with such a 
 state of affairs as now exists in every department of life, 
 there must be a certain amount of misery in the world, 
 and even that misery causes in some respects the latent 
 emotions of humanity to well up in goodness, animating 
 the finer feelings and bringing them to the surface like 
 a flower on the overhanging branches of the tree; like 
 
 47 
 
the golden wheat on the fragile straw; and like the little 
 shoot from the heart of an acorn. 
 
 II. 
 
 We are not absolutely certain that a divine lesson can 
 not be read from every incident or act of life. The little 
 girl, who, on one occasion, quietly, timidly, and seemingly 
 reluctantly, entered the hotel with a basket of flowers 
 on her arm to solicit patronage from wealthy nabobs, was 
 a brilliant spark from the workshop of God, although 
 being reared in abject poverty. She seemed tired and 
 careworn, and as she passed quietly along she noticed a 
 vacant chair, got into it, leaned back wearily, and ex- 
 hausted nature closed her eyes gently in sleep. Gazing 
 upon her in that cold, bleak, dismal fall evening, one 
 never saw a grander or more beautiful picture. The 
 sweetness of her soul rendered her face divinely radiant, 
 and the pencil brush of the artist could not picture more 
 of the angel than was manifested in that solitary chair. 
 Quietly raising her head, one present, actuated with kindly 
 feelings, adjusted an overcoat that he had, under her 
 drooping head, that she would experience no uneasiness 
 while quietly sleeping. Then putting the basket in her 
 lap, he placed a dollar bill there, and of each one who 
 passed that way he solicited contributions, until he had 
 collected $10. While doing so he carefully watched the 
 expression of her countenance, and at times it seemed 
 illuminated with a light divine, as if the smile of an angel 
 was benignly resting thereon, or as if baptized with a 
 cheerful thought direct from God, or as if animated with 
 the sight of a cheerful scene in dreamland. 
 
 While she was lying there he saw her raise her arms, 
 and sweetly lisp, "Mamma!" and saw the motions of her 
 lips as if kissing a phantom form, and then she was the 
 picture of exquisite loveliness. Finally he awoke her, 
 pointed to her treasure, and finding out where she lived, 
 he ordered a carriage, jumped into it with her, and soon 
 arrived at her dilapidated home. Her mother and father 
 were dead; she was living with a poor, decrepit, heart- 
 broken grandmother, who had seen better days, and who, 
 as he noiselessly approached the door, was kneeling in 
 prayer. It was couched in simple language, but full of 
 
 48 
 
sympathy and love for her dear child whom she was com- 
 pelled to send forth to peddle flowers, to aid in earning 
 for each a crust of bread. When she ceased her plaintive 
 supplication to God, a prayer as divinely inspired as any 
 ever uttered, the strange visitor knocked at the door, and 
 led in the little girl, who, with one jump, was in her 
 grandmother's arms, and throwing her tiny arms around 
 her neck and almost smothering her with her kisses and 
 caresses, she said. "I saw mamma at the hotel; my dear, 
 dear mamma; she kissed me, talked to me, and placed in 
 my basket this money — all this money — every cent of it; 
 my own dear mamma placed it in this basket and told 
 me to bring it to you with this gentleman." 
 
 He then told the grandmother all the circumstances 
 of the case; how the weary child fell asleep, and that he 
 just to amuse himself at first, and then in deep sympathy, 
 had collected for her this money; and that while engaged 
 in this errand of mercy she seemed to be dreaming — at 
 times reaching out her arms and lisping, "Mamma," 
 and apparently kissing her. Concluding the narration. 
 the old lady knelt in prayer, the little girl kneeling by 
 her side, and then she calmly invoked God and the angels 
 to bless those who had taken such an interest in her 
 grandchild, and for a time their angelic visitor felt as if 
 in God's own temple; as if angels were listening; as if 
 the good and pure in spirit life were breathing the divine 
 atmosphere of this lowly home, and flooding it with their 
 benign influence. Rising from her knees she took his 
 hand, and with tear-stained eyes bore it to her lips, and 
 then bidding her good-by he left this home of sorrow, 
 where there was one continued struggle to live. 
 
 III. 
 
 On this terrestrial sphere there is suffering, commo- 
 tion and strife where least expected, and one-half of the 
 world knows not how the other half lives: but by and by 
 the curtain will be raised, dark places will be illuminated, 
 the life of each one will become an open book, and then 
 each noble-hearted person will consider it a sacred duty 
 to know exactly how others live, that he may be able 
 to alleviate their sorrows and afflictions. Until that time, 
 struggles, strife and bitter contentions will exist, and 
 
 49 
 
peace, quietness and good will only be manifested in 
 isolated places like an oasis in an arid plain. He who 
 doesn't care how others live; who doesn't feel interested in 
 their welfare, and who doesn't try to enlighten those in 
 darkness, is not, nor can be an honored guest of those in 
 the higher spheres. You can only approach the pure and 
 good in spirit life by assisting some one less fortunate 
 than yourself, and by degrees trying to bring each one on 
 to a higher plane of life. Without living such a life, you 
 can never enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but must reside 
 on the very lowest plane of spirit life; there is no other 
 alternative. He who lives for self alone will gravitate to 
 a plane in spirit life as devoid of beauty as his own soul. 
 Study now how to build your home in the spirit realms, 
 and prepare it for your reception as a spirit. 
 
 BENEFIT OF A RIGHT MENTAL CONCEPT. 
 
 Statisticians accurately measure the wealth of the mines 
 and of the farms, and even of the seas and the air — 
 billions upon billions! But there are no figures vast 
 enough to express the value to mankind of so small and 
 simple a thing as a SMILE. 
 
 It is a material world. We value as riches only the 
 material things we can grasp and hold in our hands. And 
 yet, the real treasures of life, that give to all these out- 
 ward things their meaning, are of the haart. 
 
 Material riches? Why, but for so "intangible" a thing 
 as sunlight, the whole material universe were black noth- 
 ingness; but for "intangible" heat, not the smallest atom 
 of earth could exist; but for "intangible" colors and fra- 
 grances, the fairest, sweetest flower were but a weed; 
 but for the "intangible" light and warmth and fragrance 
 
 50 
 
of a SMILE the most perfectly formed human face were 
 only a lifeless cast. 
 
 It would be very interesting and highly instructive if 
 one could compute the value of the part which the SMILE 
 has played in the part of humanity. But, like the ray 
 of sunshine that comes from the boundless heart of uni- 
 versal love, it is free — it costs nothing — and so can not 
 be relatively valued. And, like the sunshine again, it 
 gilds with glory all it falls upon, and so is limitless in 
 value. 
 
 Impossible as is this computation, there are few of us 
 who have not learned the lesson that it is a smile, not a 
 frown, that makes things move in this world. If you 
 don't know this, you have not begun real living. In view 
 of this, and of the further fact that it is just as easy to 
 SMILE and be cheerful as it is to be surly and disagreea- 
 ble, it is surprising how stingy we are with our SMILES 
 and kindly words. It is the meanest form of stinginess 
 in the world, for the miser himself only loses by it. 
 
 In every department of the commercial and social world 
 — everywhere — it is geniality that pays the biggest re- 
 turn for the least expenditure. Given anything like the 
 same price and similar conditions, there is no business 
 man who would not prefer to turn his business to a 
 genial man. It is only by making concessions that the 
 surly boor holds his own in the business world. 
 
 The SMILE is no less a necessity in the maintenance 
 of the social and domestic harmonies. There is no place 
 in society for the disagreeable man. Because of his con- 
 nections he may be tolerated with some respect, but 
 none seek him, and he knows not the comradeship that 
 sweetens life. 
 
 So, too, in the home life it is the SMILE that makes 
 things run evenly. The wife who greets her husband 
 with a SMILE when he returns in the evening and who 
 has a SMILE for him when he starts out in the morning 
 is filling the home, however humble, with greater riches 
 than gold can buy. And the little ones that are raised 
 on smile and good cheer have a good heritage. 
 
 What the sunshine is to all material nature, quicken- 
 ing all life, giving to all beauty, color and fragrance, 
 tinting even dead matter with glow of gold, and giving 
 
 51 
 
true gold itself a higher glisten, so the SMILE is to 
 human life, making sorrows and disappointments easier 
 to bear and giving joys themselves a richer sweetness. 
 
 The above thoughts by Madeline Dean in regard to the 
 intrinsic value of a smile, express a grand truth. There 
 is something impressively beautiful in the one thought of 
 the Ideal — its definition: "A mental conception, regarded 
 as a standard of perfection." A genuine smile — a smile 
 that has not a background of venom, sarcasm, hatred, 
 selfishness, or uncharitableness, is the perfection of ideal- 
 ism. That a man can smile and yet "be a villain" is 
 true. "A mental conception, regarded as a standard of 
 perfection" is the IDEAL of a person, blossoming in the 
 soul, as it were, and sending out high and holy aspira- 
 tions, for a life in harmony therewith. If you have not 
 in your own soul a "standard of perfection," then you 
 are not making any progress spiritually; then your smile 
 is never sweet, wholesome and attractive. When, how- 
 ever, one has a standard of perfection, which he has 
 formulated, but which he in no wise lives up to, then 
 he is a HYPOCRITE, and you can find such in every so- 
 ciety. 
 
 "A mental conception regarded as a standard of per- 
 fection," may be a Christ, a Buddha, a Confucius, a Mo- 
 hammed, or it may -be an imaginary being, yet benignly 
 beautiful and soul-satisfying, leading one to a higher 
 plane of existence. Under such an influence many mar- 
 tyrs have been burned while their features were illumin- 
 ated with a serene smile and joyous expression. The 
 standard of perfection, if it has this foundation, BEING 
 GOOD AND DOING GOOD, and that kind of a life is 
 thoroughly carried out, any belief, however absurd it 
 may be, will not wreck the soul. 
 
 BELIEF is not actual knowledge. The blind man 
 believes much, but realizes very little. 
 
 A mental conception regarded as a standard of perfec- 
 tion, may be approximately what it claims to be — per- 
 fect — while the belief in regard to the Providence of God 
 may be wildly absurd in all respects, yet such a person 
 will grow spiritually, whatever club, cult or sect he may 
 belong to. 
 
 52 
 
J Each one should be judged by his mental concept of a 
 standard of perfection, and not measured by any sort Of 
 religious belief. 
 
 It is absolutely true that no person can grow spiritually 
 or expand in angelic graces unless he or she have the 
 "right mental conception regarded as a standard of per- 
 fection," The right mental conception leads to a higher 
 plane, while the wrong mental concept leads down to the 
 lowest hell. 
 
 In the ranks of Spiritualism, in Methodism, in Presby- 
 terianism, in Dowieism, and other religious sects, are 
 found those with a high ideal standard of perfection, 
 approximately correct and each one, regardless of any 
 special beliefs, is advancing spiritually, is gradually step- 
 ping onto a higher plane. 
 
 There was Mary Ferguson, as the paper says, who. 
 when at the age of 18, left her wealthy home in the 
 South and drifted to Memphis to become a nurse. Badly 
 disappointed in love, rejected at the last moment by one 
 to whom she was engaged to be married, she changed 
 most radically her ideal in life, her "mental concept, re- 
 garded as a standard of perfection," and went to a school 
 for nurses, and graduated therefrom with high honors, 
 changing her ardent love for one individual, so that it 
 embraced all humanity, especially those suffering from 
 disease, poverty or misfortune. "Her mental concept, re- 
 garded as a standard of perfection," had been radically 
 revolutionized, and she went wherever duty called, an 
 Angel of Light and Love, her smile beautifully sweet, 
 and tender, and her voice and touch vibrating with emo- 
 tions that had healing properties. She seemed to carry 
 with her the aroma of health, as she moved around in 
 the sphere of usefulness to which she had consecrated 
 her life. Her ideal in life was to be useful, TO DO GOOD, 
 TO BE GOOD, and that ideal carried out in her daily 
 walks had so spiritualized her whole nature, that she was 
 a veritable Angel of Light. 
 
 One day at the headquarters where Mary was stopping 
 there came an urgent call for a nurse, and she was as- 
 signed to the place — ;i stately mansion in the city, a 
 home apparently of culture and refinement Nearly 
 twenty years she had passed as a professional nurse among 
 
 53 
 
the wealthy as well as the poor, as she frequently worked 
 without any compensation for her services. On this oc- 
 casion, as she passed along the street she had tearful 
 forebodings, — she could not restrain her tears for a time 
 as she approached the palatial residence, but soon re- 
 gained her self-possession. Admitted to the home, she 
 was immediately summoned by the physician to the 
 room of the patient suffering from typhoid fever. Mary 
 was extremely beautiful, her person adorned with some 
 jewels forced upon her during early life by her lover, 
 and which she retained and wore as a memento of the 
 time when her false "mental concept, regarded as a 
 standard of perfection," brought her so much sorrow. 
 True, they seemed badly out of place in the sick room 
 on a professional nurse, but they added to her beauty 
 and grace of manners, and she said their brilliancy 
 seemed to add to the sweetness of her smile in some of 
 the dark places of life, and she, as some thought, stub- 
 bornly insisted on wearing them. 
 
 As she entered the room of the patient, a veritable 
 Angel of Light, she detected something familiar about 
 him, but did not seem in the least disturbed. She admin- 
 istered tenderly tp his many wants, soothed him in his 
 delirium, and there seemed to flow from her a healing in- 
 fluence that had a wonderful beneficent effect. The two 
 worlds blended in an effort to restore the patient to 
 health. In the darkened room at night the faithful nurse 
 saw a spirit light rest upon him, and therein were out- 
 lines of a hand sending forth a vitalizing influence, that 
 gradually restored the diseased organs to a more healthy 
 condition. Realizing who the sick man was, all the ener- 
 gies of her soul were bent towards his recovery. When his 
 mind wandered, he often spoke of Mary, his pet, his first 
 love, and seemed to be with her, living with her in an 
 ideal world. These illusions gradually wore off, perfect 
 lucidity returned, and his health was gradually restored. 
 Her last day in attendance, when all but the affectionate 
 nurse were absent from the room, he sat up in the bed, 
 and in tearful emotions, said he had recognized her, 
 asked her forgiveness, and was freely and uncondition- 
 ally forgiven, with advice that he cling to his wife and 
 
 54 
 
children, and forget the tragic events connected with their 
 youthful lives, and that he should work out for himself 
 "a mental conception, regarded as a standard of perfec- 
 tion," that would embrace all humanity in its ample folds 
 — BEING GOOD AND DOING GOOD. Thus ends a most 
 remarkable case. 
 
 Man and woman grow to be like the "MENTAL CON- 
 CEPT" formed in the mind. You can not progress 
 spiritually, you can not grow in angelic qualities, you 
 can not possess in their purity the cardinal virtues, you 
 cannot be admitted to the higher spheres with a wrong 
 distorted MENTAL CONCEPT in the mind in regard to 
 your duty in life. Commence now to construct a mental 
 image of that which you would like to be, and if correct, 
 you will get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of 
 exalted souls, and secure their active aid. 
 
 THE CELESTIAL CITY, NOME OP ANGELS 
 
 This world seems to be the preparatory stage of exist- 
 ence; a stepping stone, as it were, to a higher, grander, 
 and more complete sphere of life. Here the vision is 
 very limited; the comprehension of things restricted 
 within a certain well defined boundary, and mankind 
 generally seem to move as if encompassed in complete 
 darkness with reference to coming time. The future 
 — an hour, day, week, year or century hence — is con- 
 cealed from the view, and each one bases his prospects 
 of the coming time entirely on the experiences of the 
 past, and the ever living present. The weakness, 
 shortsightedness, and finite nature of each individual 
 show conclusively that not one of God's children can 
 live wholly independent of the rest. Each one is a com- 
 ponent part of God's magnificent family; you — who- 
 
 55 
 
ever you are — are an important factor thereof. He who 
 gazes at the moving, throbbing worlds of space, whose 
 sun-lit eye, radiant expression of features and profound 
 wisdom seemingly ally him to the exalted and pure of 
 spirit-life, is no more precious in the sight of God, of 
 angels, of the grand old sages in the higher realms of 
 existence than the honest old beggar who solicits alms on 
 the corner of some active thoroughfare of trade. He is 
 more exalted now, with grander thoughts and more God- 
 like purposes, and wielding a magnificent influence for 
 good, he recognizes the sublime fact eventually each one 
 of earth's children can be — and perhaps will be — his 
 peer. Being truly great, he is truly good. Being pro- 
 foundly wise, his mind penetrates the soul of things and 
 reads therefrom a divine lesson. 
 
 II. 
 
 This man — Judge H. — we knew him well. He had 
 reared a family of seven children, and now crowned with 
 the golden fruitage of seventy-five years, his mind 
 yearned for other souls to rear — to educate — to make 
 comfortable, happy and useful. The incense of heaven 
 seemed to pervade his very thoughts; his voice was sil- 
 very sweet, and his declining years as fruitful of good 
 deeds as the autumn is of luscious fruits and golden 
 leaves. Through his unselfishness he was prompted to 
 make further investments in the Celestial City; he 
 wanted to draw nearer to the angels — so near that he 
 could see their smiling faces; hear their sweet whispers 
 of love, and hold communion with them. He knew 
 — you know — every one should know — that the only 
 ascent to God's Celestial City is through the instrumental- 
 ity of unselfish deeds, of pure, holy, exalted aspirations, 
 and he fully realized that to remain idle, even in the gold- 
 en autumn of an eventful career, was to retrograde. 
 
 What did he do? 
 
 Wishing to be good and do good, that aged veteran 
 chose a method of work peculiarly his own; he went to 
 the foundling's home, selected two little bright-eyed waifs 
 — two sparks of Infinite Intelligence — two souls as much 
 the emanation of God, as a Beecher.'s or a Talmage's, and 
 he tenderly and lovingly took them to his country home. 
 
 56 
 
It was spring time then; trees in blossoms, on each one 
 of which was the wealth of a rainbow and nature's choic- 
 est incense. The grass was green, and bubbling springs 
 murmured a fairy-like melody, and the singing birds 
 burst forth with a freshness that indicated their knowl- 
 edge that sombre winter had gone. 
 
 Judge H. with his precious charge approaches his 
 rural home. The sun, just setting, sheds a mellow, ten- 
 der radiance over trees, grass and lawn, and the azure 
 sky smiles, apparently, a loving benediction upon him. 
 
 He had assumed the guardianship of two "illegitimate 
 children!" In the sight of Judge H. — in the sight of 
 God — in the sight of the angels — in the sight of the wise 
 sages of spirit life, — there are no illegitimate children; 
 they may be born outside of wedlock; they may be un- 
 welcome human waifs; they may be deserted by their 
 parents, yet they belong to the great human family. 
 
 III. 
 
 That night those two little adopted children were put 
 tenderly to bed; they went to sleep under the heavenly 
 influence of smiles and generous impulses, and awoke 
 in the morning, refreshed, and ready and eager to enjoy 
 the comforts of their new-found home. 
 
 Those two fragments of God's family had found a 
 splendid school. They needed kindness — kind words are 
 divine. They needed smiles — demons rarely smile. They 
 needed kisses — kisses are the birthright of children. They 
 were made joyous and happy under the genial influence 
 of that Trinity — Kindness, Smiles and Love. 
 
 Here was one investment in the Celestial City, the final 
 home of the whole human family. Gold and silver, pre- 
 cious stones and brilliant diamonds, do not pass current 
 there. Bonds or gold cannot purchase the favor of angels. 
 The poor, honest, toiling mechanic or common day labor- 
 er is nearer God — is nearer the angels — nearer the Celes- 
 tial City, probably, than an Astor, a Gould or a Vander- 
 bilt. You can't buy with earthly riches a lot in God's 
 Home. There is no selfishness there, no aristocracy: n i 
 railroad magnates; nothing that -is unclean. That home 
 is gained by gradual growth and development, through the 
 instrumentality of unselfish acts, noble aspirations and 
 
 57 
 
philanthropic purposes. Have you made an investment 
 in that City? Have you a foothold there? Have you an 
 aspiration to become one of the noble sages and philan- 
 thropists who live there? Think! Stop and ponder well! 
 What good, unselfish deed has crowned your life? 
 
 What kind act did you ever do that turned magic-like, 
 into currency acceptable in the Celestial City? 
 
 What sorrowing heart have you comforted? 
 
 What cheerful word have you spoken that illuminated 
 some despairing soul and dissipated the clouds of despair? 
 
 Have your aspirations been high and holy? 
 
 Pause! Let these questions, like Angels of Light, pene- 
 trate your soul, and observe the answer. If you can give 
 no favorable response to these questions, then you have 
 made no investment in the Celestial City, and you must 
 in the future live in a locality just as barren of beauty, 
 grandeur and loveliness as your own life is of good results 
 or noble aspirations, or until you shall have accomplished 
 in the spirit realms what you signally failed to do on 
 earth. 
 
 Every act, word and deed must come forth kindly and 
 lovingly. Selfish expounders of the Gospel, with large 
 salaries for their teachings, exhortations, and explanations 
 of Scripture, have no claim to, nor can they approach, 
 the Celestial City until their feelings and purposes change. 
 They preach; they pray; they exhort; they make profes- 
 sional calls, because they are paid for so doing. They 
 must do good simply because they love to do it, whether 
 paid therefor or not. 
 
 It is not necessary to belong to any church; to read 
 any Bibles; to sing psalms or engage in loud prayers in 
 order to prepare yourself for a cordial greeting in the 
 home of the angels when you shall have passed the por- 
 tal called death. DO GOOD AND BE GOOD. That is the 
 only coin that God and angels use. 
 
 Even theatrical performers sometimes receive the smiles 
 of angels. There was Sara Jewett. Her father was 
 taken ill and was affectionately cared for by his daughter 
 until his death. Among her father's papers Miss Jewett 
 found a letter from his former creditor, saying that he was 
 very badly in want of the $50 that was due him. Al- 
 though Miss Jewett was in no way responsible for the 
 
 58 
 
debt, as her father left no property, she at once informed 
 the creditor that she would pay the claim. The next day 
 she took a carriage, and at much personal inconvenience 
 and the loss of valuable time, she found her father's cred- 
 itor and paid the debt. Curiously enough, on the same 
 day the creditor received from the son of a distinguished 
 clergyman, whom he had befriended with a loan, a curt 
 refusal to acknowledge the debt, which he had ample 
 means to defray from a legacy left him by his father. 
 The domestic life of actresses would make an interesting 
 book. Most of them are much like other women off the 
 stage. The one who reports this incident says: "I have 
 often wished that some of the clergymen who used to 
 preach against the "Black Crook" could see Emily Rigl, 
 one of the leading danseuses, in her cosy home. She has 
 been a mother to her brother, whom she has educated and 
 cared for all his life." 
 
 Ever remember that the Celestial City is your final ob- 
 jective point; that to gain it should be the aspiration of 
 each one; that those whose lives are not characterized 
 by noble deeds, will in accordance with nature's grand 
 laws gravitate to a locality in spirit life that corresponds 
 exactly with their own barren condition of soul. Com- 
 mence, then, at once, to lead such a life, that will event- 
 ually secure you a home in the Celestial City. Make 
 an investment therein to-day by doing a generous act, 
 and thereby making some sad soul more joyous and happy. 
 
 59 
 
THE FADED WIFE PASSES TO SPIRIT LIFE. 
 
 i. 
 
 "I am fading," says the dying wife to her husband. 
 "I could have wished to live if only to be at your side 
 when your time shall come and, pillowing your head upon 
 my breast, wipe the death-damps from your brow, and 
 usher your departing spirit into its Maker's presence, em- 
 balmed in woman's holiest prayer. But it is not to be, 
 and I submit. Yours is the privilege of watching, through 
 long and dreary nights, the spirit's final flight. And you 
 shall share my last thought, and the last faint pressure 
 of the hand, and the last feeble kiss shall be yours, and 
 even when flesh and heart shall have failed me, my eyes 
 shall rest on yours until glazed by death, and our spirits 
 shall hold one Jast communion, until, gently fading from 
 my view — the last of earth — you shall mingle with the 
 first bright glimpses of the unfading glories of the bet- 
 ter world, where partings are unknown. Well do I know 
 the spot, my dear George, where you will lay me; often 
 we stood by the plaee, and, as we watched the mellow 
 sunset, as it glanced in quivering flashes through the 
 leaves, and furnished the grassy mounds around us with 
 stripes of burnished gold, each perhaps has thought that 
 some day one of us would come alone, and whichever it 
 might be, your name would be on the stone. But we loved 
 the spot, and I know you will love it none the less when 
 you see the same quiet sunlight linger and play among 
 the grass that grows over your Mary's grave. I know 
 you will go there, and my spirit will be with you then, 
 and whisper among the waving branches, 'I am not lost, 
 but gone before.' 
 
 She faded away from the arms of her husband — van- 
 ished like a tender flower in the embrace of the cutting 
 frost. All are struggling against fading, growing coarse 
 and haggard in appearance. As each year has its rip- 
 pling spring-time, its fragrant flower-laden summer, its 
 
 60 
 
fruitful autumn, and interesting winter, so if life were 
 rounded out in full perfection, each one would ha 
 happy, joyous spring-time, a golden fruitful autumn, be 
 healthy and happy in the autumnal years of life, and 
 peaceful and serene during the winter scenes thai follow. 
 Bui such is not- always the case. 
 
 II. 
 We have seen during our career in life many faded ob- 
 jects, but the most forlorn, heart-broken, desolate creat- 
 ure, was a faded wife! We knew her well. In her youth 
 she was the most brilliant, fascinating girl we ever met. 
 As artless as a child, her features tinged with a delicate 
 roseate hue, which, when illuminated with a smile, resem- 
 bled the scintillations of rays of light in a sunset cloud! 
 Her eyes seemed to laugh, and her countenance was all 
 aglow with the spring-time sunshine of her soul! She 
 was the fairest of the fair. She was grand in appearance 
 without realizing it. Her young life, beaming with con- 
 scious innocence, sparkling like the spray of a fountain, 
 and tender, compassionate, loving, she was esteemed by 
 all. She finally married a wealthy man, — to the outward 
 seemingly a happy union. Finally we lost sight of her for 
 twenty years of our life, and then we raised the curtain 
 on a different scene: She had become the mother of seven 
 children. The oldest, a young lady of eighteen, was the 
 very picture of her youthful mother, only more delicate 
 — not the freshness that characterized her, yet so much 
 like her that for a moment we thought we were talking 
 with her again. We inquired for the mother. She was 
 in an adjoining room reclining in an invalid's chair! She 
 was surrounded by wealth, by luxury, by every external 
 appliance that could render life happy. All of her chil- 
 dren were there, and never did I see a more beautiful 
 cluster! They excited our highest admiration and praise. 
 Rut the mother had faded! She was no longer attractive 
 or handsome! Her hair was snowy white, her voice 
 sounded sepulchral; her step was weak and languid, and 
 consumption had fastened its fangs upon her. Her hus- 
 band had been led astray by an artful siren. When his 
 wife began to fade, to .mow prematurely old, his love, too, 
 
 61 
 
vanished, and he sought companionship a large portion 
 of the time away from home. His coldness chilled his 
 wife, as the autumnal wind does the tender plant, and 
 she went into a decline. Alas! poor, weak human nature! 
 As we gazed on that poor woman, I felt the shadows of 
 death approaching, and told her that she could not live 
 long. 
 
 "But I must live," said she. "Those children demand 
 a mother's love and affection. I will live! I must live 
 for them!" 
 
 Poor woman, poor faded creature, how she struggled 
 against fate! It was a sad, sad scene. Forsaken by her 
 husband, so far as love could go, she still yearned to live 
 that she might exercise guardian care over her offspring. 
 A faded wife! Indeed faded, — vanished within her chil- 
 dren! The eldest had her youthful, sparkling vivacity; 
 in every link, in every unfolding bud of that family cir- 
 cle, was a part of herself! True, she had faded, but wit- 
 ness the beautiful scene! The grandeur of her soul 
 beamed in her children. She had been true to God and 
 nature! 
 
 "Poor, faded wife!" petulently murmured her husband. 
 
 Yes, she had faded; but as the sun fades from our 
 sight, it continues to- shine on other scenes, to animate 
 other sections, and to bestow on vegetation its life-giving 
 properties; so will that faded mother continue to live in 
 and around her children. But gradually she failed — the 
 emaciated form grew weaker, the voice more husky, the 
 cough more violent, and her hope less strong, until finally 
 prostrated helplessly on her bed, she realized she had 
 not long to live. 
 
 The children had been told that death was approaching. 
 Their mother was gradually dying. The young lady whom 
 we so much admired in former years, was just passing 
 down — to her — the bleak, desolate pathway of death. But 
 the children tenderly loved that faded mother. The wealth 
 of their youthful hearts was hers — only hers — and we 
 saw them all kneel by the side of her dying bed! 
 
 It was a grand sight, — seven children in prayer! Seven 
 hearts beating in unison! Seven souls woven in one 
 chain of a mother's love! 
 
 They cried as if their hearts would break; their sobs 
 62 
 
were heart-rending to hear; such a scene would seemingly 
 melt a heart of steel, and bring tears to the eyes of a 
 calloused wretch. That husband, who had deserted his 
 faded wife, as he gazed upon the plaintive scene, the 
 seven children on bended knees by the side of the bed, 
 bent over the faded form, the arms were extended, and 
 the dying mother whispered: "Promise me to guard, pro- 
 tect and care for our children." 
 
 "I surely will," he responded. "And will you, my dar- 
 ling wife, forgive me?" asked the repentant husband. 
 
 "Yes! Most assuredly I do!" 
 
 And those were the last words the dying wife uttered. 
 
 The next day the children, realizing that their mother 
 had passed to spirit life, they gathered flowers from the 
 garden, wove them into the words, "Your Children's Trib- 
 ute of Love," and they were placed on the coffin a fitting 
 expression of the bubbling emotions of their souls, and 
 were carried to the grave with the remains. 
 
 III. 
 
 The ascended spirit is no longer a faded wife. Her 
 advent into spirit life was transcendentally grand and 
 beautiful. Her heroic life-deeds had been woven into her 
 spirit-home, and its environments, and she found that for 
 every sacrifice she had ever made she was correspond- 
 ingly rewarded! The radiance of youth had returned to 
 her. In spirit life no one would regard her as faded! 
 
 You need not regret fading, or in the loss of beauty and 
 strength, if the same is caused by benevolent, praiseworthy 
 acts, or in heroic self-sacrifice for others. It pays to fade 
 in the discharge of a sacred duty, in doing good and in 
 alleviating the suffering of others. 
 
 When the mother fades away into her children — in de- 
 votion to them — losing health and vigor in maintaining 
 and nourishing them, verily great shall be her reward: 
 
 Little waves of light come 95,000,000 of miles from 
 the sun to vanish in a flower and impart a heaven-born 
 fragrance for mortals to breathe. It pays to gradually 
 fade away Into humane acts and philanthropic deeds. 
 Such a transmigration should be devoutly sought. Roger 
 Williams' remains, it is said, nourished tlio roots of an 
 
 f,3 
 
apple tree, fading away into beautiful blossoms and golden 
 fruit! Let each one, then, so shape his life as to grad- 
 ually fade away into something better, holier, purer, that 
 he may see in the future his aspiration and deeds woven 
 into a spiritual home, a fit residence for the unselfish 
 soul, and an honor to the Home Circle Fraternity. 
 
 TWO IMPRESSIVE INCIDENTS IN LIFE. 
 
 Each one forced into this world of care and anxiety, 
 and then forced through it, and then forced out of it, 
 finally landing into the realm of souls — all a Forcing 
 Process. All along this wonderfully impressive and 
 thrilling line of life this Forcing Process continues with 
 automatic regularity and precision, bringing ecstatic joy 
 to some, and extreme sorrow to others. The Forcing 
 Process never ceases its work. It is the twin brother 
 of Time — on and "on it goes, leaving in its train much 
 joy and also innumerable pangs of distress. It traverses 
 rivers of blood; it kills with fire, with flood, with bu- 
 bonic plagues, with pestilence and famine, and with the 
 terrific lightning's flash. This Forcing Process is re- 
 garded by some as an Angel of Darkness, for it works 
 in the dark — no one knows of its secret wishes or de- 
 signs. Yes, forced into the world, forced through it, and 
 then forced into the spirit realms. 
 
 This Forcing Process is in every sense of the word an 
 arbitrary dictator, holding the whole world in abject sub- 
 mission. Who can control it? Who can even influence 
 it? Who ever thought of thwarting its designs? This 
 Forcing Process is really a tyrant or a benefactor, thrust- 
 ing you in the world, and then out of it, never resting 
 in its work, for a single moment. Some it thrusts into 
 the world blind; some it makes deaf and dumb; some 
 it creates are deformed, some crippled, some badly dis- 
 
 64 
 
eased, and many idiotic, and others extremely cruel and 
 barbarous. 
 
 All through nature this Forcing Process exists. Some- 
 times it brings into the world an Edison, a Tesla, a New- 
 ton, a Fulton, whose wisdom blesses the world. Occa- 
 sionally it brings forth a genius like Mozart, Beethoven, 
 Liszt, or even a Blind Tom. It is cruelly erratic some- 
 times, yet occasionally bursts forth into a philosophical 
 strain, bringing to earth a Newton, Darwin or Spencer. 
 It is at times malevolent — even satanic or diabolical. 
 It is also the greatest principle of the universe, charita- 
 ble, kindly constructive and elevating. It contains the 
 darkness of night and the meridian light of the noonday 
 sun. It is a contradiction in its make-up, sublime har- 
 mony or discord as it plays on humanity. 
 
 Yes, this Forcing Process is a medley, a miracle, a 
 blind force, an enigma, an unsolved problem, yet it 
 brings intelligence, light and joy out of crude matter. 
 We will illustrate: 
 
 A little babe, racked with pain, crying bitterly at 
 times, its tear-stained sobs going out in one melancholy, 
 despairing wail, was clasped to its mother's bosom, in one 
 fond affectionate embrace, as she lisped words of affec- 
 tion, sweet incense of love stored up in her soul, with 
 which she baptized her darling child — a baptism more 
 poetical, more lovingly sweet and impressive, and far 
 more beautiful and angelic, than the church baptism by 
 water; but the child still cried — nothing seemed to 
 quiet it. Then the little mite of a brother took the 
 babe and tenderly laid it in its crib, and then commenced 
 singing in German, a sweet lullaby song. As he bent 
 over the child singing, his features became illuminated, 
 as if an angel smile had been transferred to them, just 
 as the artist transfers the grandeur of his thoughts and 
 aspirations to canvas, and as he sang he stroked the 
 child lovingly, and it became quiet, and seemed to be 
 sleeping, and then rising from his stooping posture, he 
 gave his voice full vent in repeating the lullaby son-. 
 which created a vibration so tenderly pathetic that 
 the eyes of a score of mothers were riveted upou him, 
 and there he stood transfigured, angelic, for ten minutes 
 
 65 
 
singing German lullaby songs by the crib of the sleep- 
 ing babe. 
 
 Alas! sweetly sleeping, as all thought, yet dead! And 
 when Fritz and the mother realized the sorrowful fact, 
 they burst in an agony of grief. Could their spirit eyes 
 have been opened so they could see the child's spirit as 
 it emerged from its body, and see it assigned to the care 
 of a spirit mother, they would have rejoiced with joy 
 unspeakable. 
 
 The various mothers present at the sanitarium on the 
 lake shore in Chicago gathered around the crib, and 
 mingled their tears and deep regrets with those of Fritz 
 and the mother. 
 
 The Forcing Process had transfigured tne child into a 
 picture of loveliness, just as Nature transfigures the bud 
 into a blossom, just as she transfigures the blossom into 
 luscious fruit and delicious perfume, just as she transfig- 
 ures the darkness of a gloomy night into the delightful 
 glow and transcendent beauty of a summer morn, all 
 aglow with the iridescent colors of the rainbow, and 
 pleasant beyond description — all the direct result of a 
 Forcing Process. 
 
 Another scene is recorded in the daily papers. In the 
 dens of vice, a hideous hole where demons congregate, 
 and sin emits a poisonous influence that pervades the 
 room in dark, grim clouds, wherein degraded spirits re- 
 gale themselves as they peer around with a ghastly 
 smile on their faces, a Magdalen, with delicate traces of 
 beauty still resting on her pallid features, like a sun- 
 beam filtered through the dismal clouds of a dark miasmic 
 swamp, and a voice charmingly sweet, and a stately bear- 
 ing, the legacy of unsullied innocence and refinement, 
 is singing an amorous song, a charming voice used as a 
 decoy to lead the lustful on in this dark pit of hellish 
 despair to spend their money. She sang and sang, seem- 
 ing never to tire, and the shouts of "bravo," "fine," "ex- 
 hilarating," came from various parts of this dismal 
 room in the back part of a saloon, from those present, as 
 they quaffed the wine. All at once she ceased her amor- 
 ous songs. The tears trickled down her features, emo- 
 tions, tender and pathetic, surged through her soul as if 
 
 66 
 
transplanted there by exalted beings, and with a wave 
 of her hand, and her pallid features beaming with a 
 radiance that seemed divine, silencing all present, she 
 commenced singing as if under the influence of an 
 angel. As reported by a college student present, who 
 was on a tour of investigation of the dark side of life, 
 it appeared as if the radiance and sublime beauty of one 
 from the climes of Paradise had come to earth through 
 her, the transformation seemed so complete. She sang 
 a verse, and silence reigned. The wine glasses were 
 lowered as they were being raised to the lips, and placed 
 back on the table. The silence in this heart-rending den 
 of vice was most profound; the poor wayward girls pres- 
 ent seemed to become subdued, and calm, and thought- 
 ful; their features relaxed, their clasp on the wine glass 
 was released, and a solemn thoughtful mood took the 
 place of ribald jests and obscene language, and the very 
 air of the foul room seemed moved with a different 
 vibration. With hands clasped, with eyes upturned as 
 if in a trance, her voice tremulous with emotions, the 
 singer gave expression to songs that must have had their 
 birthplace in the higher spheres of spirit life, they were 
 so tremulous with sympathy and exalted thoughts, as if 
 some Angel of Light and Love had taken possession of 
 her, had pierced the dark cloud of gloom that pervaded 
 this den of vice, and the sudden transition was like the 
 ushering in of the morning dawn after a dark and dismal 
 night. As she sang the last verse this Magdalen, as 
 reported, fell prostrate on the floor, as if paralyzed, and 
 in the grasp of death. The debased crowd fled from the 
 room, the police were summoned, and the poor unfortu- 
 nate Magdalen was found to be — dead! — a sweet smile 
 seeming to rest on her features, the result of the trans- 
 figuration she had undergone. 
 
 This Magdalen was not really bad by nature; she 
 loathed the life she lived, but saw no means of escape. 
 Behind her dark life were aspirations, emotions and sub- 
 lime thoughts, and on her advent into the realm of souls. 
 a new life opened up before her; the darkness of the 
 past receded, while before her the pathway became more 
 and more luminous, as she dedicated 1km- work to ih»' 
 
 67 
 
redemption of earth-bound souls. She did not go to 
 spirit life like the little babe, in a state of innocence, but 
 had much to answer for. 
 
 Thus it is we are forced into the world, forced through 
 it, and forced out of it, and as this Forcing Process goes 
 on, seemingly an Angel at times, and then a Demon, you 
 must bear in mind continually that while you are forced 
 through life, you have the power to make yourself what 
 you choose, and are responsible therefor. You are now 
 acting as the architect of your future home. You are 
 free to choose, free to act, and as you do now, that will 
 determine the character of your future spirit life, regard- 
 less of the Forcing Process that pushes you along from 
 the cradle to the grave. If you try, you can get in tune 
 with exalted souls, and thus secure their tender care 
 and aid. 
 
 NECESSITY POR HIGH IDEALS IN LIPE, 
 
 There are millions who believe in Spirit Return. They 
 are thoroughly convinced that they have had messages 
 from their loved ones on the spirit side of life; but those 
 MILLIONS who have from a scientific standpoint come 
 to the conclusion that the door is open between the ma- 
 terial and spiritual spheres of existence and that an inter- 
 change of messages can take place through the same, have 
 never thought of attaching an "ISM" to the important 
 fact they have discovered. They have accepted it just as 
 they would accept any new discovery in the domain of 
 science, and have no desire to be tagged in consequence 
 with any kind of ism. However, there are many Spirit- 
 ualists, highly cultured, who have formulated a religion 
 in connection with their belief, for any one who has 
 "HIGH IDEALS" has a religion according to our inter- 
 pretation of the Century Dictionary, a standard work. 
 And we pity extremely the one who has no "High Ideals"* 
 
 68 
 
in connection with his life on earth, and the multitudin- 
 ous works attached thereto. 
 
 Under the circumstances, it is hardly fair for any one 
 to condemn another in consequence of his religion, what- 
 ever may be the foundation on which it rests, providing, 
 of course, there are HIGH IDEALS connected therewith. 
 
 No two are made alike; no two can think exactly alike. 
 Nature in her various ramifications in the material and 
 spiritual realms, never repeats itself, hence minor dif- 
 ferences of opinion in regard to religion, God, Divine Prov- 
 idence, etc., have always existed and will continue to exist 
 so long as time endures. Religion may have a thousand 
 different superstructures on which to rest, and if HIGH 
 IDEALS are connected therewith, the effect can not be 
 otherwise than good. 
 
 Some seem to be frightened at the word religion, and 
 regard it as an invention of Superstition and Ignorance, 
 and IN MANY CASES IT IS, because there are no really 
 true HIGH IDEALS connected therewith, thus becom- 
 ing an instrument of oppression, as in the Catholic church. 
 
 The law which prevails in this country seems to be a 
 party to aid religion, and when a belief is expressed in re- 
 gard to the status of affairs in "Heaven" or the "Spirit 
 Realms," then the word Religion to it seems applicable, 
 and especially important — THAT IS, IN THE EYES OF 
 THE LAW. Then why is it wise to ignore a belief in su- 
 pernal things as a Religion, HIGH IDEALS being con- 
 nected therewith. We certainly have no use for a reli- 
 gion founded on superstition and ignorance, yet if a 
 church organization has High Ethical Ideals connected 
 with it as in some of the liberal sects, then a good work 
 can be accomplished. 
 
 Bishop Fallows has a religion, but it is not in harmony 
 with Spiritualism, although it has exceptionally High 
 Ideals, and from a humanitarian standpoint is doing a 
 most excellent work. 
 
 The Century Dictionary speaks as follows of Religion: 
 
 "The healthful development and right life of the spirit- 
 ual nature, as contrasted with that of the mere Intellect- 
 ual and social powers. 
 
 "Sense of obligation) < ous< ient ionsness; sense of duty." 
 G9 
 
Any Spiritualist, according to the Century Dictionary, 
 who has a sense of obligation, conscientiousness, sense of 
 duty, has HIGH IDEALS, hence a RELIGION. 
 
 Then why all this acrimony, this perturbed feeling, 
 this antagonism, and harsh criticism against those Spirit- 
 ualists who, actuated by a reverential feeling, form HIGH 
 IDEALS in connection with spirit return, and who have 
 a "sense of obligation, conscientiousness, and sense of 
 duty." And who believe in "the healthful development 
 and right life of the spiritual nature." 
 
 Henry P. Cope, in one of his masterly sermons, gives 
 an impressive lesson for all to consider in the follow- 
 ing: 
 
 "He who has fully followed his IDEALS may have 
 missed all other prizes in that pursuit, yet he has found 
 happiness and riches that could have become his in no 
 other way. Here is the secret of satisfaction, here is high 
 success in any life, that one shall have followed fully his 
 ideals, shall have kept the best steadily before him. 
 
 "HEAVENLY VISIONS COME TO ALL. They may not 
 come with the rushing of angels' wings, nor with strange 
 and mysterious signs and appearances. Perhaps some of 
 the old time visions of great missions and of heights of 
 character are described in terms of the supernatural only 
 because they seem so much above the plane of the normal, 
 average experience. 
 
 "None is poorer than he who HAS NEVER KNOWN 
 HIGH ASPIRATION, who has never lifted his eyes to see 
 the glory set before him. After all, the measure of any 
 life is the extent to which such visions of great possibili- 
 ties and lofty tasks has entered into the being and domi- 
 nated the deeds. 
 
 "There is nothing like this to make a man strong to 
 endure, to make him despise the paltry prizes that seem 
 so attractive to eyes blind to the greater glory. This is 
 the food that angels envy, food that has sustained the 
 soul through long days in the deserts, through weariness, 
 toil, disappointments, fears, forsakings, losses, and lone- 
 liness. They are able to despise the cross and to endure 
 the shame who have seen the glory set before every worthy 
 life, and leading on every high path of service or of sacri- 
 
 70 
 
fice. No man or woman ever attained anything without 
 this; nothing is impossible to those who cherish this 
 light and heed this call. 
 
 "Livingstone, Lincoln, Garibaldi, Florence Nightingale 
 would have failed without the vision. In the rewards of 
 wage or fame there would be no power to bear them up, 
 on the contrary their daily experiences were enough to 
 turn them from the chosen path, but for the lofty confi- 
 dence that they were doing the one work for them, but 
 for the inspiration of the ideal before them. 
 
 "And this is any man's religion, to follow his IDEAL, 
 to seek to be the best that day by day he knows, to do the 
 highest duty that any lofty desire indicates, to take the 
 path that leads up in love, and service, and purity of 
 living. The religious life is the life that moves up into 
 its higher self, and so ever finds new heights before it. 
 
 "The great question for every man in religion is, not 
 so much whether he will obey the ten commandments, not 
 so much whether he will bend to the dictate of church 
 or preacher, but whether he will be obedient to the inner 
 vision, of the voice from heaven that speaks in his own 
 heart and bids him forsake his dull ways of self-content 
 and rise to higher living, to sacrificial service. 
 
 "That vision calls us to paths of pain, that vision, if 
 you but heed and seek tp obey, makes tremendous de- 
 mands of you. It is not the easy, heedless following of 
 an emotional, romantic love for glory; it is the thorny 
 path of the cross, the way of burden bearing; it is so 
 hard as to be heroic. 
 
 "The thing that is eating like a canker into our hearts, 
 and robbing us of our power, and stealing our possibili- 
 ties is our love of ease, our hatred of the things that are 
 hard; we refuse to obey the heavenly vision because to 
 do so would be to endure hardness, to forsake our soft 
 and pleasant ways. So seeking ease we lose life. 
 
 "Our days are filled with a dull discontent, not because 
 we do not possess the things of this life, but because we 
 have missed its greatest prize, the joy of following grow- 
 ing IDEALS. There is nothing we need to cherish more, 
 to guard more closely than this, the visions that stir to 
 
 71 
 
greatness, the passion for perfection, the hope of high liv- 
 ing and service." 
 
 Thus it is that every Spiritualist who has HIGH 
 IDEALS, formulated according to the definition of the 
 Century Dictionary, has a Religion in spite of himself, 
 and each individual and the world at large should be 
 made better thereby. It is the correct IDEAL formulated 
 in the mind that enables one TO GET IN TUNE WITH 
 VIBRATIONS FROM THE SPHERES OF EXALTED 
 SOULS, THUS SECURING THEIR ACTIVE AID. 
 
 A SWEET AND BEAUTIEUL SOUL 
 
 "The gentleman whose funeral we have just attended 
 was a sweet and beautiful soul — but I have forgotten 
 his name." So said Emerson, with the frankness of sec- 
 ond childhood just after his friend, Longfellow, had been 
 laid in the grave — Emerson, the poet's poet, great think- 
 er and scholar, already enfeebled by age, his memory 
 gone, and himself soon to follow to the land of the im- 
 mortals. Very suggestive are the words. The name, 
 which every lover of a pure literature hopes will be grate- 
 fully cherished while time endures, had already gone 
 from his recollection, but the impression of the man's 
 character remained — Emerson still remembered his 
 "sweet and beautiful soul." 
 
 This eminent man, whose life was pure melody, whose 
 soul was a garden of flowers, whose very thoughts were 
 far more brilliant than earthly gems, and whose 
 whole life was a poem of exquisite loveliness 
 and sweetness, had then commenced dying — dying at 
 the top, yet his very presence was as pleasing as the van- 
 ishing notes of one of Beethoven's symphonies. The world 
 had ceased to be a Book to him, and he could no longer 
 
 72 
 
read therefrom the practical lessons of life. He had at- 
 tended a funeral where concentrated sorrow, solemn and 
 tear-stained thoughts hover over each, one like the dark 
 mantle of a starless night, and the power to recognize 
 the cast-off form of the peerless spirit vanished like a 
 half-forgotten dream; he realized that "he was a sweet 
 and beautiful soul;" and beyond that, his autumnal 
 mind, brilliant with golden fruitage, pulsating with di- 
 vine thoughts, radiant with God's own electrifying light, 
 and rich with the exquisite verdure that can only spring 
 forth in the soul of him that has had a foretaste of 
 heaven, did not venture. 
 
 As Emerson attended that funeral, he too was dying 
 — just as the golden sun dies when it disappears in the 
 rainbow-tinted skies of the west, to burst forth again at 
 the morning dawn; just as the acorn dies, only to appear 
 in a majestic forest tree; just as the little rootlet per- 
 ishes, to come forth in a queenly flower; just as the 
 caterpillar vanishes, in order to assume the garb of a 
 gaudy butterfly, and to dazzle the beholder with its brill- 
 iant colors; just as the blossom dies, to hang forth on 
 luxuriant branches as a luscious peach — he was slowly 
 undergoing the god-like metamorphosis from the mortal 
 to the immortal, from the material to the spiritual, and 
 gradually becoming unconscious of his surroundings. 
 Then, when he attended Longfellow's funeral he was 
 partly dead — oblivious to the fact that a near and dear 
 friend was lying before him in the coffin, only realizing 
 that he was in the presence of a "sweet and beautiful 
 soul." 
 
 With Emerson the sweet and beautiful was over pres- 
 ent. In his own pristine thoughts the Bweet and beauti- 
 ful lingered like the mellow tenderness of an autumn day. 
 In his own children the sweet and beautiful rippled like 
 melody of the winds when kissing the orange or apple 
 blossoms. Tn little children he saw the sweet and beauti- 
 ful in the dimpled smiles; heard their divine qualities 
 in their merry iaugh, and felt their soul-inspiring nature 
 in their gentle words and caresses. He lived in the sweet 
 and beautiful, though his frame had become weak, his 
 
 memory treacherous, and his eyes less sparkling. The 
 
older he grew, the grander and more towering his spirit- 
 ual nature became. 
 
 What a pleasant life this would be if all would estab- 
 lish a garden in their own souls, and cultivate therein all 
 that is sweet and beautiful, discarding every little root- 
 let, every seed and every germ that could possibly pro- 
 duce acrimonious feelings, unkind thoughts, or wayward 
 acts. We must not wait for the enjoyment that emanates 
 from spiritual sources in the Summerland; we must 
 have a congenial soil in our own nature, from which the 
 grandest impulses of heaven itself will spring forth, 
 naturally rendering our happiness complete. 
 
 Can you pass the poor cripple in the streets without sad 
 emotions? Can you repel the poverty-stricken hand, ap- 
 pealing for assistance? Can you turn away the tear- 
 stained orphan without granting a word of encourage- 
 ment? If so, you have none of the sweet and beautiful 
 in your nature that characterized the life of the immortal 
 Emerson or Longfellow. The sweet and beautiful is only 
 the heritage of the pure in heart, the benevolent, the 
 kind, the forbearing, the merciful, the sympathetic. 
 
 He who has the sweet and beautiful in his nature has 
 a foretaste of heaven ; he can even catch a glimpse of the 
 Celestial City, and he thinks at times that he hears the 
 sweet whispers of angel visitants. You who have family 
 jars; who have scolding, fault-finding words nesting like 
 vipers on your tongue; who treat the humblest of God's 
 children haughtily or cavalierly, your nature is like a 
 Siberian plain — cold, heartless, desolate! The sweet and 
 beautiful of human nature are merely fragments of 
 heaven, finding lodgment in congenial soil. If sincerely 
 invited, they come, and yield their angelic influence to 
 all around. 
 
 When the time arrives on earth that the sweet and 
 beautiful shall find congenial soil for fruitage in each 
 human soul, then the golden morn of the millennium will 
 be ushered in, and poverty, discord, wars and calamities 
 of all kinds will have disappeared. To have a sweet and 
 beautiful soul, you must not — you cannot — believe in the 
 existence of a hell, where you think God punishes for- 
 ever some poor, wayward child— one, indeed, of his own 
 
 74 
 
children. Crippled, indeed, is that nature which be- 
 lieves such a hideous doctrine. 
 
 Heaven only comes to earth in the sweet and beautiful 
 lives of the noblest of God's children. It never finds 
 lodgment in angry expression or an unkind thought; a 
 haughty curl of the lip knows nothing of its holy, oenign 
 influence. Within Longfellow's soul, all ablaze with poet- 
 ical genius and adorned with divine love, was a fragment 
 of heaven; not all of heaven, with its melody, its grand- 
 eur, its simplicity — only a fragment thereof, which was 
 the sweet and beautiful that attracted the attention of 
 Emerson. Heaven exists here in fragments. In some it 
 scintillates as poetry, and the soul is tremulous with 
 divine melody. In others, like Mozart and Beethoven, it 
 gives expression to music, the essence of poetry, and 
 unites the two worlds in the gentle bonds of harmony. 
 In others, like Newton and Kepler, it promulgates a 
 grand philosophy, and reveals the secrets of the starry 
 realms. In others, like Florence Nightingale and How- 
 ard, it manifests itself in deeds of charity, and gives the 
 unfortunates a foretaste of the celestial regions. 
 
 The fragments of heaven only find lodgment in genial 
 soil. They never can be manifested in an unkind word, 
 in a scornful look or by the garrulous tongue of gossip. 
 In souls like Emerson's and Longfellow's fragments of 
 heaven, sweet and beautiful, find a temple suitable for 
 the expression of their divine fragrance. They, finding 
 a congenial soil there, vibrate the chords of their souls, 
 and poetry and philosophy flow therefrom as naturally 
 as water from the rippling spring. If you kindly forgive 
 your enemies; if you cheer the unfortunate; if you feed 
 the hungry; if you return a kind answer to Insulting 
 words and constantly try to cheer some faltering soul, 
 then you have a fragment of heaven nestling in your 
 soul, keeping it warm and fruitful. 
 
 The little beggar girl, wan, pale-faced and tired, to 
 whom a gentleman had given five cents, had her sympa- 
 thies excited by a tramp — a hungry tramp, as she thought, 
 and worse off than herself — and she gave him the nickel 
 to get something to eat. She, poor, weary, Faltering, halt- 
 starved waif, had a choice fragment of heaven in her soul 
 
 75 
 
and it bore abundant fruitage, for she gave to another 
 what she needed herself, thinking him, alas! worse off 
 than she was. He however, had a fragment of hell in 
 his perverse soul, spending that money at once for liquor. 
 Every fragment of heaven, besides being sweet and 
 beautiful, is prolific in its fruit-bearing properties, en- 
 riching the whole nature, and laying the foundation of 
 your Celestial Home. If you have no fragments of heaven 
 in your nature, your home in spirit-life will be black, 
 dreary, dismal and desolate. If. you want heaven in the 
 future you MUST CULTIVATE IT IN YOUR SOUL HERE, 
 and give it free expression in all the acts of life. In 
 spirit-life, when you first make your advent there, you 
 will be greeted by just what you have cultivated here. 
 If you cultivate perverse, haughty, domineering feelings 
 on earth, you will scarcely find a fragment of heaven to 
 greet you after death. Bear these thoughts in mind; 
 ponder them w©ll; learn a deep and significant lesson 
 therefrom, and act accordingly. Cultivate the sweet and 
 beautiful in your own home; in your very voice; in the 
 words you utter to cheer some lonely heart, and in all 
 your acts of life, and great shall be your reward in the 
 Celestial Regions to- which you will soon ascend. Try at 
 all times to get in tune with vibrations from the sphere of 
 exalted souls, thus securing their active aid. 
 
 76 
 
THE THORINLESS CACTUS -THE LESSON, 
 
 While millions of men in every part of the world are 
 continually striving in various ways to better humanity's 
 condition, few of them are succeeding better than Luther 
 Buirbank, the California horticulturist. 
 
 Burbank's efforts are not towards improving sociology. 
 He does not attempt to increase the efficiency of law. 
 He leaves to others the task of making relations toward 
 one another more kindly. He devotes himself to develop- 
 ing the crude fruits and grains of the earth, so that the 
 task of obtaining sustenance may become easier, rightly 
 thinking that if man can be enabled to devote less atten- 
 tion to satisfying the needs of the body he will have 
 more time to give to the higher problems that confront 
 him. 
 
 Just now Burbank is trying to produce a thornless Cac- 
 tus. That seems a trifling thing, but when one stops to 
 consider that, if he succeeds, he will have permitted 
 millions of acres that are now valueless because of their 
 aridity to become rich pasturage for all kinds of live stock, 
 it is seen that the project is of the highest importance. 
 In the west there are vast areas now uninhabitable, not 
 because of a trying climate, but solely because water is 
 not found there. The thorny cactus is abundant all over 
 the region, of which it is virtually the only product. 
 Concealed beneath its deadly thorns is abundant food and 
 water, but its thorns make them impossible of attain- 
 ment by animals. 
 
 If Burbank can denude the Cactus of its thorns, mak- 
 ing the plant all food and drink, the improved product can 
 be planted and will thrive all over the desert, which will 
 then be stocked with millions of cattle, sheep, goats and 
 hogs, for all kinds of stock relish the Cactns and fatteo 
 
 77 
 
on it quickly. Thus, by this one stroke, the food supply 
 of the United States will be greatly added to, and prices 
 will inevitably fall. 
 
 Burbank told the national irrigation congress that he 
 believed success was certain, and that will be accepted by 
 the country as a guaranty that the thornless Cactus will 
 shortly be produced. If he had done nothing else this 
 achievement should give him a high place among those 
 men who have made life easier for humankind. And so 
 much the Chicago Daily Journal says of the thornless 
 Cactus. 
 
 Luther Burbank, of California, is a veritable Savior, a 
 Savior in the highest, grandest and most beautiful con- 
 ception of that impressive angelic word, for he is devoting 
 his time and energies to bringing unto the world a thorn- 
 less Cactus to bless all humanity, thus furnishing a new 
 nourishing food for man and beast. 
 
 In order to be a first-class Savior, scintillating with 
 divine qualities, it is far better not to go ranting about 
 the world, indulging in abusive denunciations and vile dia- 
 tribes, and accomplishing next to nothing In the way of 
 benefiting unfortunate humanity. 
 
 Jesus exhibited ah irritable, turbulent spirit when he 
 cursed the fig tree and indulged in figurative talk which 
 no one could understand. A first-class Savior, one imbued 
 with an angelic spirit, must first save himself. Not like 
 the Cactus, he has no thorns in his nature, but he has 
 something perhaps decidedly worse, and more disfiguring 
 and harmful. If he is deceitful, if he resorts to lies, if he 
 backbites his neighbors, if he is jealous, envious, un- 
 charitable, and in language is coarse and vulgar, his na- 
 ture has got to be thoroughly reconstructed. 
 
 As the thorns of the Cactus must be removed to render 
 it useful to humanity, and will be in the course of time, 
 so must one who possesses those pernicious traits of 
 character divest himself of the same before he can assume 
 the position of a Savior. No one who possesses a bad 
 habit in full force can attain the right angelic vibration 
 whereby he can save others from its pernicious influ- 
 ence. 
 
 The one with deception in his nature, vibrates on a 
 78 
 
low plane. A lie emanating from a person poisons the 
 spiritual atmosphere around him. A vile habit is as in- 
 jurious to the person as the thorns of the Cactus are to 
 cattle, and before either can be useful to the world, 
 those defects must be removed. 
 
 You may talk of weeds in the garden and in the fields 
 — there are far worse weeds in human nature sometimes, 
 and only by systematic exertion can they be removed. 
 You cannot enter on a high plane of Spiritual life with 
 unholy aspirations in your nature. The doors of the 
 high and grand Spiritual spheres never open to envy, 
 jealousy, or deception. Your habits in life cause you to 
 grow spiritually, or to descend lower into the poisonous 
 slime of depravity. There can be no standing still in any 
 part of God's illimitable universe. As the Cactus must 
 leave off its thorns before it can fill the role of a suc- 
 culent vegetable for man and beast, so you must banish 
 selfishness, lust, envy, jealousy, hatred, uncharitableness 
 and unkindness, in word, deed or thought, in order to 
 become a typical reformer or Savior. 
 
 In order to reach a higher Spiritual sphere than the 
 one you now occupy, you must become measurably like the 
 denizens of that sphere. You cannot carry a depraved 
 appetite to that plane. You can not rise so long as base 
 passions or appetites anchor you where you are. You can 
 only raise that anchor in the degree that you abandon 
 them. 
 
 The one who ravishes a young and innocent girl, 
 using his own diabolical force to accomplish the object 
 of his lustful desire, is anchored to the very lowest and 
 darkest spheres of spirit life. The social libertine, one 
 of the nabobs of earth, perhaps, who with wine and money 
 and the blandishments of subtle devilishness, does not use 
 physical force to accomplish his vile ends, yet he is as 
 bad as the lustful colored fiend, who, blinded by ignorance, 
 has lost all self-control in his satanic work. 
 
 It is not one's belief in things pertaining to the so-called 
 Providences, Methods or Laws of God, and his terrible 
 Hell or delightful Heaven, but it is the general tendency 
 of one's life towards the good or the bad, regardless 
 of all belief that elevates or degrades. 
 
 79 
 
When Jane Helm, an exceptionally pious Salvation 
 Army girl of New York City, believing in the existence 
 of an endless hell of fire and brimstone, walked into the 
 dark part of a den of vice, selling a religious paper, she 
 saw sitting at one of the tables drinking wine with a male 
 attendant, a young lady, neatly dressed, and with but lit- 
 tle evidence in the expression of her face of the practice 
 of licentiousness, and she bent over her and kindly whis- 
 pered: "Your darling mother has been sent from Heaven 
 by God himself, and now stands by you, her features 
 wreathed in solemn sadness, angelic tears glistening in her 
 eyes, while her voice is tremulously sweet and sympathetic 
 as she talks to me deploring your conduct in life, and she 
 desires me to save you." 
 
 Jane, the Salvation Army girl, was at times clairaudient, 
 and like many other devoutly religious people, she be- 
 lieved that God had sent a special Messenger to her from 
 time to time to aid her in her work. She pleaded with 
 this young Mary Magdalen, giving her a brief but impress- 
 ive message from the mother, telling her name in full and 
 other strange particulars. 
 
 Mary then arose from the table, around which the 
 Satanic devotees of sin and licentiousness had clustered 
 like vermin in the dark hours of the night, and taking 
 the arm of Jane they quietly left this place of hellish 
 depravity, this place of sin, this dark underground decep- 
 tion room, where young and innocent girls were debauched 
 and finally ruined. 
 
 Jane told her that God had, a week ago, informed her 
 she would meet her in a den of vice, that He, the Holy 
 One, reigning in heaven with Jesus and the archangels, 
 said He would send the mother to intercede in behalf of 
 her daughter, and he did. What a scene of sad transcend- 
 ent beauty and loveliness in connection with the ribald, 
 amorous love songs, the clash of wine glasses, obscene 
 jokes, libidinous conversation and depraved thoughts, 
 rendering the place spiritually dark and loathsome, and 
 where the vermin of the lowest sphere seemed to con- 
 gregate, and this when Jane was interceding, as she 
 thought, under the direct intervention of God, to save 
 one human soul. 
 
 Jane and this Mary Magdalen left this underground 
 80 
 
sphere of satanic debauchery, arm in arm, and the former 
 talked of God and his goodness, of Jesus and his love for 
 sinners, of the archangels around the throne, of the bound- 
 less glory of heaven, and the shrieks of the sinner in a 
 burning hell, while Mary listened attentively. She told 
 her of her mother, as if she had known her all her life, 
 and the poor misguided girl sobbed as if her heart would 
 break, promising to go and sin no more. 
 
 Under the watchful and angelic surveillance of Jane 
 Helm, the Salvation Army devotee, Mary Magdalen (as 
 she was called at the time — that is not her real name) 
 was redeemed and finally happily married. 
 
 A religion that inspires goodness, honesty, purity of 
 character, and a desire to elevate all others to a higher 
 plane, must necessarily be instrumental in doing good, 
 if the creed behind it fully respects the rights of others. 
 We had rather be Jane Helm, with her creed founded on 
 superstition and ignorance, doing good in slums and dens 
 of vice, than that Spiritualist, whose belief or creed is 
 founded on the ROCK OF TRUTH, but who, in his entire 
 life, had never in word, thought, or deed, attempted to 
 redeem a human soul traveling the downward road to 
 ruin. 
 
 Each one should get in tune with vibrations from the 
 spheres of exalted souls, and thus secure their active aid; 
 if Jane Helm could do it with a creed that has no basic 
 foundation in TRUTH, how much easier it is for you. 
 Spiritualists, to attain the same end with a belief that is 
 correct in all respects. 
 
 81 
 
HONESTY -THE REVERSED POSITIONS. 
 
 i. 
 
 Count Tolstoi's Parable. 
 
 "A charming, short parable entitled, 'Where love is, 
 there God is also,' by Tolstoi, tells how a poor, little, old 
 shoemaker, Martiun Avdyeitch, was started from the sleep, 
 into which he had fallen when reading the gospel story 
 of how Christ was neglected in the Pharisee's house by a 
 voice saying, 'Martiun! ah, Martiun! look to-morrow on 
 the street I am coming.' All next day he waits ex- 
 pectant and wondering for the advent of our Lord. He 
 takes in a half-frozen dvornik and gives him tea; he 
 clothes a shivering woman and her starving child, and he 
 composes a quarrel between an apple woman and a street 
 arab. So the day passed and the darkness came. The 
 moment Avdyeitch opened the Testament he recollected 
 his last night's dream, and as soon as he remembered it, 
 it seemed as though he heard some one stepping behind 
 him. Avdyeitch looked around and saw there in a dark 
 corner, as though people were standing; he was at a loss 
 to know who they were. And a voice whispered in his 
 ear, 'Martiun! ah, Martiun! did you not recognize me?' 
 'Who?' uttered Avdyeitch. 'Me,' returned the voice. 'It 
 is I.' And the dvornik stepped forth from the dark cor- 
 ner. He smiled, and like a little cloud, faded away and 
 soon vanished. The starving woman and her child, the 
 apple woman, and the boy also appeared, to fade away, 
 'It is I.' Avdyeitch's soul rejoiced; he putt on his eye 
 glasses and began to read the gospel where It happened 
 to open, and he read: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it 
 unto the least of these my brethren ye have done it unto 
 me.' 'And Avdyeitch,' says Tolstoi, in concluding the tale, 
 'understood that his dream did not deceive him; that the 
 Savior really called upon him that day, and he really re- 
 ceived him.' " 
 
 82 
 
II. 
 
 The above illustrates a grand and beautiful truth 
 whether an actual occurrence or not. There is one c 
 of people on this earth who are non-producers — they are 
 not really bad, nor are they really good. They sow not, 
 nor do they reap. They are in many respects a nonentity. 
 They have advanced far beyond the savage or cannibal; 
 they will not steal from you, or treat you illegally; nor 
 will they extend to you the hand of kindness when suf- 
 fering from some deep bereavement. Many of them are 
 scrupulously honest and just towards others, paying every 
 cent they owe, and exacting from others their pound of 
 flesh. They believe it is right to take the bed from under 
 a poverty-stricken, dying woman to pay an honest debt. 
 
 Jim Alexander was a Western man, distinguished for 
 his great wealth, his scrupulous honesty, and his wonder- 
 ful business capacity. He would, however, pursue a debtor 
 with all the venom that a wolf would follow a fawn. 
 Honest towards others, he demanded like treatment in 
 return. 
 
 III. 
 On a bed in a little vine-clad hut, an old woman was 
 deathly sick. Her life was rapidly ebbing away, and the 
 daylight of existence vanishing like the sun's rays as they 
 retreat behind a portentous storm-cloud. Her features 
 were pale and ghost-like, and expressions of sunshine and 
 shade flitted over her features like so many phantoms 
 across the embers of a dying fire. Yet on her face was 
 that mellow tenderness and divine pathos that at times 
 illuminate the soul of a poet who is vibrating with tender 
 emotions from the spheres of light and love. Her voice 
 had subsided into a mere whisper, and yet it was sub- 
 limely loving in its expression, as if intoned with the Bi 
 influences of an angel right from highest spheres. In 
 the lowly walks, with none of the accompaniments of 
 wealth, there is often manifested that grandeur of soul 
 that allies one to the high and pure of the spirit realms. 
 There is often more of the angelic in the lowly walks of 
 life than in the palatial residence. The great workers, 
 the stalwart reformers, those saviors thai came forth '•> 
 usher in a new era, are all drawn from the lowly walks 
 
 83 
 
of life. Within this sick woman there was a fragment 
 of heaven bearing the impress, apparently, of divinity. 
 Her thoughts, grandly beautiful, went forth as angels of 
 light, to illuminate the spiritual atmosphere of earth, and 
 gladden the hearts of others. While lying there she had 
 a vision: The earth fades away, the darkness recedes, 
 the troubles of her life vanish like the frost when bathed 
 by the autumn sun, and she finds herself surrounded with 
 angel visitants, who greet her with unbounded kindness 
 and love. A husband comes and folds her in his arms; 
 a darling child taken from her when resting in her arms, 
 presses its sweet lips to hers and fondles her with child- 
 ish love. There is a divine sweetness in the very air, 
 and the flowers seem in her presence to grow in beauty 
 and stateliness, and all things conspire to render her 
 happy. Eut finally it was announced that she must go 
 back to earth for a short time, to pass through a heart- 
 rending experience. She did so reluctantly — almost re- 
 sisting. As she neared her earthly home she lost con- 
 sciousness for a moment only, and then she was in full 
 possession of her physical body, and awakened as from 
 a dream. Alas! where was she? She was lying on the 
 floor of her room," without a vestige of bedding — her 
 home completely stripped of everything in it. Alas! 
 What had transpired? It was soon explained by a poverty- 
 stricken neighbor, who brought a pallet of straw for her 
 to lie upon, and an old blanket to cover her nakedness. 
 During the time she had the pleasant vision, Jim Alexan- 
 der had sent the constable to get her earthly possessions, 
 as he had a mortgage thereon, and was entitled to them 
 in the "eyes of the law." They were his by legal right! 
 The debt was due, and the poor, dying woman could never 
 pay it. Jim Alexander never took a cent wrongfully; 
 he only exacted the pound of flesh to which he was enti- 
 tled — so saith the law. But were not the angels thought- 
 ful to take this old lady to the spirit side of life, that she 
 might escape one hard-hearted scene, and catching a 
 glimpse of heaven, she would pass away more tranquilly. 
 She did not live long, as she gazed upon her home, now 
 a complete wreck. The summons at last came for her 
 spirit to leave its worn-out casket and ascend to a sphere 
 
 84 
 
where there are no mortgages or land sharks, and where 
 love reigns supreme. 
 
 IV. 
 But what of Jim Alexander? He thought evil of no 
 one; he thought good only of self. He never in his whole 
 life sent forth a high and holy aspiration. He would not 
 think of stripping one of his earthly possessions without 
 he had a mortgage thereon; nor would he exact a cent 
 that did not legally belong to him. But his scrupulously 
 exact honesty was the refinement of cruelty. His money 
 wove a web of darkness around hundreds of happy homes. 
 He sowed the seeds of misery, desolation and cruelty, 
 wherever misfortune had crept. The unfortunate were 
 his willing victims, who, once drawn into his avaricious 
 tentacles, could not escape therefrom. His honesty was 
 his shield, for he had kept within the domain of the law. 
 If you, reader, have the exacting honesty of Jim Alexan- 
 der, and follow his line of conduct, may God and the 
 angels pity you. Such honesty as he possessed is never 
 recorded in heaven, nor placed to the credit of any mortal. 
 The earthly possessions of such a man may swell into 
 the millions, and he may walk with stately tread, and 
 be a favorite with those who worship mammon, yet spirit- 
 ually he is a pauper. 
 
 V. 
 
 Finally it is recorded that Jim Alexander died! His 
 funeral sermon was preached by a high-salaried minister 
 of the gospel, and his body was encased in a costly coffin, 
 and he was buried with all the pomp and splendor that 
 wealth could command. The minister extolled his virtues, 
 and spoke of his successful life, and the scene ended by 
 placing the remains in the earth to be eaten by worms. 
 
 There was another scene hid from mortal eyes. The 
 spirit of Jim Alexander attended his own funeral. The 
 Angel of Light, with pitying eyes, stood near him to 
 assist him in witnessing the last ordeal through which his 
 earthly remains would pass before being consigned to 
 their last resting-place. Divested of his earthly body and 
 wealth, his exact status as a spirit was most truthfully 
 shown. Poverty-stricken now. he presented a bad spec- 
 tacle, and seemed the picture of despair and desolation. 
 
 85 
 
But who was the Angel of Light that stood by him, and 
 spoke kindly unto him? It was the poor old woman whom 
 he had stripped of her earthly possessions, and left to 
 die in abject poverty. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus it is that positions are changed when the spirit 
 side of life is reached. Be careful I say, for exact honesty 
 will never make you spiritually wealthy, unless supple- 
 mented with high and holy aspirations. The mortgage- 
 shark, who lives for gain alone, and has no thought for 
 the welfare of others, though scrupulously honest, will 
 find that spiritually he is a pauper. The welfare of others 
 should be uppermost in the mind of everyone all the 
 time. Do not supplement your honesty with meanness, 
 nor exercise your right to the extent of stripping a sick 
 woman of her last bed. A legal right put into officers' 
 hands may be a wrong and an outrage in the sight of 
 heaven. Then we say to you, do not rely too much on 
 you/r honesty to get you a high and exalted position on 
 the spirit side of life, for it will avail you but little unless 
 supplemented with charity, kindness, forbearance and 
 brotherly love. 
 
 86 
 
MOW TO USMER IN TME MILLENNIUM. 
 
 i. 
 
 Much has been said in reference to a millennial day 
 when all wrongs will be righted; when the sunshine will 
 be more genial, the flowers richer with incense, the fruit 
 more luscious and nourishing, all things needful more re- 
 sponsive to the wisihes of man, the golden sunset richer in 
 colors, and the morning dawn sweeter with the smiles of 
 nature and the songs of birds. Then each human being 
 will become a savior — to save some one beneath his sta- 
 tion in life from pain and anguish, always making an ef- 
 fort to elevate him or her by his own plane of happiness 
 and comfort. But the millennium is not here yet with 
 its golden stairs and its angelic scenes that lead to per- 
 ennial happiness, where one can hold sweet communion 
 with the brightest and wisest beings; as yet it is only a 
 fairy-dream, with enchanted chambers where one's aspira- 
 tions only have to be expressed to be realized and enjoyed 
 — a happy delusion that for a time sends thrills of ecstatic 
 pleasure through the soul, and presents scenes of oriental 
 magnificence and luxury. With some the millennium is 
 a golden stairway that leads out of misery into the glori- 
 ous scenes of bliss; out of poverty into the gilded domain 
 of wealth where every want is anticipated and supplied. 
 It is the dream of all religions to experience sometime the 
 enchanted millennium where all wrongs will be instantly 
 righted and where pains will be turned to perennial joys 
 of peace. Every individual expects to attain to the mil- 
 lennial state sometime on the spirit side of life, the home 
 of angels, and of Gods, so called. 
 
 II. 
 Leaving the world as it is expected to be sometime in 
 the golden fairy-like millennial future, where thoughts 
 are supposed to be really things — the thought of a man- 
 sion producing one: the thought of a garden robed in 
 
 87 
 
flowers of exquisite sweetness, bringing it right by your 
 side; the thought of a fountain iridescent with all of na- 
 ture's varied tints and colors, resulting in its standing out 
 in bold relief before you; the thought of the warbling 
 birds of the air with their songs baptized with the sweet 
 dew of the morning bringing them before you with 
 throats attuned to heaven's melody — leaving the world as 
 it is expected to be in the millennial era, we draw in our 
 fancy and step down on solid facts — the world as it is! 
 
 III. 
 
 While the millennium is not here with its bounteous 
 blessings or benedictions, we still can begin to see its 
 dawn in certain persons whose natures are mirrors which 
 reflect the angel, the beauty of heaven and the grandeur 
 of goodness, and the sweet peace and happiness that flows 
 in rippling melody into the soul when toiling for others. 
 They are mirrors which reflect sunshine from the smiles 
 of love that proceed from the features of philanthropists 
 on the spirit side of life. They are simply God-like. 
 They labor incessantly for others; from the gardens of 
 their souls go forth the sweet tendrils of affection that 
 entwine themselves" around the unfortunate and draw 
 them up to a higher plane. Their very thoughts are rich 
 in philanthropic plans that, as they go forth, blossom into 
 fruition in many different ways. They are angels who, in 
 the disguise of mortals, walk in the darkness and gloom 
 of earth, and dissipate the same with the charming radi- 
 ance of their features and the vibrations of their warm, 
 wholesome natures. The millennial dawn is beautifully 
 foreshadowed in them, and were it not for their presence 
 on earth, it would soon become a charnel house. Usually 
 they are not on the rostrum, nor in the higher walks of 
 life, nor in fashionable, exclusive circles. They seem to 
 live to reflect like a mirror the millennial dawn, to fore- 
 shadow the good time coming when the whole world will 
 be linked together in bonds of fraternal love and good 
 will. Are you such a mirror? Do you reflect in your 
 life the millennial dawn? 
 
 88 .... 
 
IV. 
 
 There is nothing so beautiful, so angelic, or so God-like 
 as a thoroughly good woman, whose love cords like sweet 
 flower-laden vines, coil around in fond embrace i 
 poor and unfortunate mortal, and draw them up higher, 
 just as the sun's rays in the morning's golden dawn draw 
 the dewdrops of the night up to sweeten the clouds before 
 they send down their refreshing showers upon the earth. 
 The thoroughly good woman is the advance courier of tin- 
 millennial dawn and she in her works and deeds heralds 
 the good time coming. The thoroughly good woman 
 lives for others. Her life is a perennial source of good 
 deeds and benedictions, as at one time related by a Chi- 
 cago daily. 
 
 She devoted herself to the one blessed task of looking 
 after the children brought to the police station on various 
 charges, and, if possible, preventing their entrance upon 
 a criminal career. Some idea of the number of little 
 creatures that our laws seem deliberately framed to injure 
 may be obtained when it is stated that she goes to but one 
 station-house and concerns herself only with prisoners 
 under 14 years of age, and yet her time is more than occu- 
 pied. To be sure, she has chosen the station for her base 
 of operation where the business of five precincts is con- 
 ducted. Here she is on hand every morning at 9 to see if 
 there is not some way of saving the trembling lad who has 
 broken a window or pilfered fruit, from being thrown into 
 the companionship of older and more hardened offenders. 
 She makes herself answerable for his future good behav- 
 ior, she goes to his home and impresses his mother with 
 the importance of seeing to his steady attendance at 
 school; she goes to his teacher and arranges for Bpeclal 
 oversight over that boy, including a report as t > whether 
 he does or does not appear regularly at all sessions. For 
 almost invariably children brought before the police sta- 
 tion are children who have been playing truant and have 
 been urged on by bad advice from older boys. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thus it is that the really gobd woman reflects like a 
 mirror the millennial dawn, and assists in advancing the 
 
 so 
 
world to a higher plane. Every human soul should be a 
 mirror to reflect nothing but good deeds, generous im- 
 pulses and philanthropic acts. That alone is the divine 
 object of its mission. The human soul that reflects any- 
 thing else is distorted, has never gained its proper adjust- 
 ment, and is not in touch with the angels, and is now on a 
 low plane. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "What are you doing, my good fellow?" I inquired of 
 one of earth's unfortunate creatures, as I saw him emerg- 
 ing from his room after a night's debauch. "I have been 
 polishing myself, cleaning myself, shaving myself, and 
 having a general housecleaning," he replied. "Hereafter 
 1 propose to reflect from the mirror of my soul, all that is 
 clean, pure and noble; good-by darkness and evil; good 
 morning the light of a day scintillating with new hopes 
 and high resolves. Early this morning, just as I was re- 
 covering from the revelries of the previous night, my room 
 seemed to become grandly illuminated, and there stood 
 an angel sister, robed in white, with a smile of ineffable 
 sweetness playing on her features, with its lights and 
 shades, as if placed -there by the brush of one of heaven's 
 own artists. Entranced I gazed, on the scene, while she 
 in piteous tones pleaded with me, for my own dear moth- 
 er's sake, to leave my wicked ways. Entwining her arms 
 around my neck, she uttered a fervent prayer for my re- 
 demption, and exacted a solemn promise from me, that 
 henceforth my soul should be as a mirror to reflect noth- 
 ing but pure thoughts, good deeds, generous impulses, 
 and kind acts to lead to the redemption of the unfortu- 
 nate. I stand forth redeemed!" 
 
 VII. 
 Thus a human soul, steeped in debauchery, was re- 
 formed, resolving to reflect in a measure the millennial 
 dawn when the whole world will stand forth redeemed. 
 As the angel sister saved her erring brother, so should 
 each one save somebody less fortunate, and so polish their 
 natures that they will reflect nothing in their daily walks 
 of life, but that which is pure and holy. Now is the 
 
 90 
 
time to get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of 
 exalted souls, thus securing their active aid, and aiding to 
 usher in the Millennium dawn. 
 
 THE LINE OP LEAST RESISTANCE. 
 
 The mass of mankind are moving along what we shall 
 designate as the LINE OF LEAST RESISTANCE. 
 
 Those who are in our penitentiaries reach that dismal 
 place of abode by moving along the line of least resist- 
 ance. The Jail Bird who drifts into that insect-infected 
 prison reached it through the line of least resistance. 
 The poor misguided mortal who is working in the chain 
 gang of a Southern convict camp, was assigned that dis- 
 agreeable position, because he moved along the line of 
 least resistance. The cruel monster, rotten with sin. who 
 is hanged, owes his final punishment to working exclus- 
 ively along the lines of least resistance. Rome, Greece and 
 Egypt were swept from the earth because the great mass 
 of their population moved along the line of least resist- 
 ance. No one living speaks their languages — they are 
 dead indeed! 
 
 It is just as dangerous and suicidal for a nation to 
 move along the line of least resistance as it is for the 
 individual. No one can achieve salvation along spiritual 
 lines by traversing the line of least resistance. It gen- 
 erally leads to hell and destruction. The notorious Thaw 
 of New York moved along the line of least resistant.. 
 and in consequence was overwhelmed with trouble. 
 
 It is far easier to win a hell, than it is to pain a 
 heaven. 
 
 You can DESCEND easier than you can ASCEND. 
 
 The line of least resistance in the world of matter 
 leads down; its contrariwise, onward and upward. 
 
 Selfishness and the i>as<' passions always travel along 
 the line of least resistance 
 
 91 
 
You can step at once into the lowest hell, but thereto 
 is the line of least resistance. The lowest hell can be 
 reached almost at once. The highest heaven, to attain 
 that wVl require an eternity almost. In Chicago, in its 
 dark holes of iniquity and sin, you can see devils incar- 
 nate; but Angels of Light and Love, a century may 
 elapse before you can work your way to them, and look 
 upon them in their radiance. It is extremely easy to go 
 down into the cesspools of wretchedness, crime and misery, 
 and in the end, maybe, the one who travels in that direc- 
 tion, in the estimation of some wise spirits, will be blotted 
 out of existence. 
 
 As a man you may move along the lines of least resist- 
 ance and consort in a filthy den of vice with a lewd 
 female, and carry home with you a taint or a poisonous 
 disease that will be transmitted to future generations in 
 severe pains and loathsome disfigurements. The dark- 
 ness of sin never blurs or blinds the eyes; the brilliancy 
 of the Angel of Light is too great even to be seen by the 
 depraved. Oh! the line of least resistance is a dangerous 
 one, and leads into fields of darkness, desolation and 
 despair. 
 
 Falsehood, deception, impure thoughts, revengeful feel- 
 ings, envy, jealousy, selfishness, uncharitableness, hatred, 
 ribald amorous songs, licentiousness and the free play of 
 the animal passions are SIGN BOARDS along the line of 
 least resistance, leading into a pit of darkness, where no 
 angelic light can enter. Those sign boards lead down- 
 ward, never upwards. An angel can not enter some of 
 the Pits of Darkness, nor can the demon enter the doors 
 that lead to ineffable happiness and bliss. Traveling 
 along the line of least resistance tends to the gradual ob- 
 literation of all those refined spiritual feelings, aspira- 
 tions, and high ideals, until finally all are utterly extin- 
 guished, and, says a wise sage, the soul itself possibly 
 may be dissipated, and consciousness lost forever, as set 
 forth by that well known speaker and medium, Mrs. M. T. 
 Longley. 
 
 There are always subtle charms, blandishments, attrac- 
 tions, amorous similes, and enlivening beverages scattered 
 all along the line of least resistance, to lead the unwary 
 
astray. Look at yonder House of Sin, how loathsome 
 to one who is on the ascending grade. How dismal and 
 satanic the scene! One of the inmates has descended 
 down to the lowest depths of wretchedness and depravity. 
 Her spirit is tainted, her soul is tainted, her mind Is 
 tainted, her body is tainted. She reached her present con- 
 dition very easily indeed by continually traversing the line 
 of least resistance. Can she return to her virgin purity 
 and loveliness as a sweet girl of seventeen? Yes, by an 
 exceedingly slow and tedious process. You can roil the 
 spring in one minute, and make the water unfit to drink, 
 several hours, or a whole day, may be required to clear 
 it again. A single night of revelry, dissipation and carnal 
 sin, while traversing the line of least resistance may dis- 
 figure one's self, so badly that many years may be re- 
 quired to remove the stain. 
 
 It was easy for Nero to burn Rome, but utterly im- 
 possible for him to rebuild it. It is easy to destroy, but 
 most difficult to reinstate. When on the line of least re- 
 sistance, there are certain carnal charms, libidinous pleas- 
 ures and fascinating vibrations that render the spiritual 
 nature dark and loathsome. 
 
 It was Julia Helen, as the daily papers said. She was 
 found sick in a House of Sin and midnight revelry, and 
 removed to the hospital. She had traveled along the line 
 of least resistance since nineteen years of age — a beauti- 
 ful girl, gifted in music and educated and reared with an- 
 gelic care. She had given birth to an illegitimate child, 
 under promise of marriage, and with the finger of scorn 
 emitting a poisonous influence, pointed at her, she drifted 
 away from home, came to Chicago, and in desperation 
 joined the dark dismal ranks of the Magdalens. Yet 
 during her whole career at times angelic feelings in her 
 lacerated soul would assert themselves, and she would 
 clasp her hands and gaze heavenward, and utter the 
 childish prayer she had learned in her girlhood to repeal 
 while her mother gazed upon her with that divine love 
 which only a mother can express, and then think of some 
 way of escape from the dreadful life she was Hying. On 
 a cot in the hospital, as the disease drew closer to her 
 vitals, the innocence of her girlhood, as beautiful and 
 
 93 
 
fair as a poet's dream, seemed to scintillate in her nature, 
 and a radiant influence appeared to center upon her, just 
 as the rays of the morning sun caress the flowers which 
 have been bathed in the sweet dewdrops, and she felt 
 an exalted angelic influence, and why? Because she was 
 not bad by nature, but that heaven-born quality had been 
 badly darkened by traversing the line of least resistance, 
 but finally commenced asserting itself. The mists of 
 darkness seemed to grow less, and she asked the attentive 
 nurse whence came the charming music she had heard? 
 The nurse could hear none, and thought her delirious. 
 In whispers she impressed upon the nurse she heard the 
 music so divinely sweet, so touching, so angelically sympa- 
 thetic and soothing. I am surprised," she whispered, 
 "that you cannot hear it. I do. I cannot be deceived." 
 And the nurse bending over her heard her faint whisper, 
 "Who was that beautiful lady who was by my cot last 
 night, her features all aglow with light and love, and she 
 laid her hand upon my head, and said I was not bad by 
 nature; that I was forced into the dark life by the scorn 
 heaped upon me by former friends, and that from this 
 time on, my progress out of dark conditions would be 
 rapid?" And then her features became illuminated with 
 a light divine, and her eyes were turned upward and 
 she faintly whispered, "The darkness is receding; it is 
 growing lighter; I see my mother," and then relaxing, 
 she expired while the nurse with tears in her eyes was 
 bending over her. Those who are not degenerates, who 
 are not bad by nature, and who sometimes are forced as 
 it were on to the line of least resistance, are often quick 
 to reform, and quick to learn the right way. 
 
 94 
 
A NEW VIEW OP HAPPINESS. 
 
 "The Owner <>f the Universe." 
 
 "Let us corner up the sunbeams 
 
 Lying all around our path; 
 Get a trust on wheat and roses; 
 
 Give the poor the thorns and chaff, 
 Let us find our chiefest pleasure 
 
 Hoarding bounties of to-day, 
 So the poor shall have scant measure 
 
 And two prices have to pay. 
 
 "Yes we'll reservoir the rivers, 
 
 And we'll levy on the lakes; 
 And we'll lay a trifling poll tax 
 
 On each poor man who partakes; 
 We'll brand his number on him 
 
 That he'll carry all his life; 
 We'll apprentice all his children, 
 
 Get a mortgage on his wife. 
 
 "We'll capture e'en the wind god, 
 
 And confine him in a cave; 
 And then, through our patent process, 
 
 We the atmosphere will save; 
 Thus we'll squeeze our little brother 
 
 When his lungs he tries to fill, 
 Put a meter on his wind-pipe 
 
 And present our little bill. 
 
 "We will syndicate the starlight, 
 
 And monopolize the moon! 
 Claim a royalty on rest days, 
 
 A proprietary noon; 
 For right of way through ocean's spray 
 
 We'll charge just what it's worth; 
 And drive our slakes around the lakes — 
 
 In fact, we'll own the earth." 
 9 5 
 
Corners exist almost everywhere on this terrestrial 
 sphere; corners in wheat, corn, pork, stocks and bonds. 
 In fact, there is a corner on what is designated as happi- 
 ness, and in order to fully enjoy a modicum of that 
 blessing, which should be the birthright of all, constant 
 exertion is necessary. There is even a corner on bap- 
 tismal rites — only a minister of the gospel can adminis- 
 ter them. A corner, too, in the confessional, for only 
 a Catholic priest can officiate there. A corner in the 
 atonement, it being confined entirely to the death of 
 Jesus. A corner in heaven — only those can go there who 
 pursue a certain religious route. A corner in purgatory, 
 the Catholic priest being able, it is said, to send there 
 any one whom he excommunicates! A corner in the blood 
 of the Savior! A corner in the vicinity of the throne of 
 God! A corner in the approving smiles of Divine Provi- 
 dence — the gospel teachers dealing exclusively with them! 
 There are as many corners in religion as there are sects! 
 There is a corner in hell — the Devil having supreme 
 charge; in fact there is no end in corners established by 
 those who are seeking happiness here and hereafter. 
 
 When the revivalist invites you to approach God in his 
 way, it is solely for the purpose of getting you in a cor- 
 ner. When you partake of wine and bread as a part of 
 the blood and body of Jesus, you are badly cornered. 
 When you pray God for special blessings, it is only to 
 establish a corner. Each church thinks it has a corner on 
 God's blessings! The Devil is the exclusive ownership 
 of the churches — they have a corner on him. Corners 
 exist everywhere in this selfish, benighted world. No 
 sooner does one write a book than he corners it with a 
 copyright. The inventor corners his machine by patent- 
 ing peculiarities in its construction, and thus keeping it 
 from general use! See what a corner at one time on 
 sewing machines, reapers and mowers! The happiness 
 of this world, it is thought, can only be gained by corner- 
 ing something, when in fact, true happiness can only be 
 gained in that domain where there are no corners in 
 religion, in finance, in mechanics, in land, in the air we 
 breathe, and the food we eat. 
 
 96 
 
All are yearning for happiness; each one has an esti- 
 mate as to what constitutes happiness. Amber ;i 
 "Happy? What does it mean to be happy, I wonder? 
 Does it not all too often mean to be selfish? To take 
 an active part in nobody's advancement but your own.' 
 To shut your ears to the cry of the needy, and to pass by 
 on the other side when certain groans from the thicket 
 proclaim that a wayfarer has come to grief, and is In 
 need of bandages and balm? To be hard-hearted, in- 
 different to human sorrow, impervious to the awful de- 
 mands of the abused and long-suffering brute creation 9 
 To wear your pocket buttoned tight over your heart, and 
 to feather your own nest, whatever birds go bare? Does 
 it not mean to wear fine clothes, forgetful that others 
 crouch in rags, and to eat white bread and honey while 
 others starve on treacle and tears? To sum it all up, 
 according to the worldly idea of what constitutes a good 
 time, are not the happy the light-hearted? A light heart 
 has little depth; it is but a rill of shallow water, never 
 a fathomless sea; a jig played on a banjo, never a dia- 
 pason struck from the soul of a mighty organ. The 
 happy ones, then, are the careless ones, the feather- 
 headed ones, the thoughtless and the heartless ones 
 Nobody ever yet inherited a deep nature who did not also 
 inherit the capacity for sorrow. Nobody ever yet was 
 kind, and sympathetic, and true, but what he was 
 oftener unhappy than happy. Nobody ever yet was lov- 
 ing who did not often go sorrowing, and nobody ever 
 yet traveled this world with open eyes and unstopped 
 ears but what those eyes shed many tears. If to be happy 
 I must forego the joy that springs from self-sai rifi< - 
 and the reward that follows the effort to lift the vast 
 burden of unmerited suffering thai Falls to the lot 
 the helpless and the voiceless, I would rather be unhappy. 
 The world's standard of what constitutes happiness dif- 
 fers largely from the estimate placed upon it by the 
 tered handful of God's people who Bpend their lives in 
 binding up wounds and comforting desolate hearts. For 
 l hem to be happy, means as much more than the so- 
 called happiness of the selfish ami self-seeking as the 
 
 97 
 
swell of the sea means more than the ripple of a reedy 
 rill." 
 
 No one should make a corner on happiness; it is the 
 birthright of each one of God's children. To corner it 
 is to lose it. The girl whose happiness consists in her 
 beauty, knows that it will soon vanish, leaving her like 
 a withered branch in the fall time. You can't make a 
 corner on true happiness by money, nor purchase a ticket 
 on the Golden Route to Paradise. No one can be truly 
 happy without at times being, to a certain degree, miser- 
 able. No one can approach the higher spheres, nor per- 
 fection, nor the grander attainments, nor place himself 
 in unison with the higher influences, nor bask in the 
 radiant sunshine of angelic love, without at times feeling 
 sweeping over the soul those vibrations that come from 
 lacerated hearts. Goodness never brought happiness from 
 a worldly standpoint; but genuine goodness invariably 
 brings a certain degree of misery. To be good, do good, 
 to strive for the elevation of others, to sow seeds of kind- 
 ness, charity, love and all the other cardinal virtues, can 
 not, from the very nature of things, be productive of the 
 world's view of happiness. The ordinary conception of 
 happiness is ease of mind, a satisfied stomach; a cheerful 
 mood; a calm, unruffled demeanor, a restful state, result- 
 ing from inactivity — self-satisfaction throughout! In 
 true happiness there is no worldly self-satisfaction, but 
 a constant yearning for greater activity and a larger field 
 in which to do good and be good. 
 
 When on one occasion James Stillman came home from 
 a distant journey after months of absence, he thought he 
 had a corner on happiness. He was met by his amiable 
 wife at the threshold, and her sweet lips pressed to his 
 and her head pillowed on his shoulder, with tears glisten- 
 ing with love, she breathed upon him the incense of 
 heaven! And then his children — caressing them, his hap- 
 piness, from a worldly standpoint of view, was com- 
 plete — he asked nothing more! Bed time came, and all 
 on bended knees, the father offered up a fervent prayer 
 to heaven for the numerous blessings bestowed upon 
 him. Each night and morning there was religious devo- 
 tion. And shortly an infectious disease entered that home. 
 
 98 
 
The youngest died first, and the others followed in quick 
 succession. On the evening of the burial of the last one 
 of four children, Stillman kneeled in prayer, but he only 
 said: "O God, we thank thee." Then he burst into tears. 
 That prayer was never finished. "Amen" was never 
 uttered! In fact, Stillman never prayed again! A new 
 revelation had come to him. Before he had never known 
 anything of the chemistry of sorrow! His soul was 
 almost bursting with emotion, with deep distress and 
 agony, and through the misty gloom a new happiness was 
 revealed to him. He commenced reasoning from cause 
 to effect. He had always served God faithfully, as he 
 thought, and his prayers had been unanswered, and four 
 little mounds in the graveyard concealed his darling 
 loved ones. But a lesson was taught him. His happi- 
 ness was rounded out in the quickening of his perception 
 in regard to the assertion of Humboldt: "The universe 
 is governed by fixed laws." 
 
 From the very nature of things selfish, worldly happi- 
 ness is not commendable. Ease, contentment, self-satis- 
 faction, and perennial cheerfulness are, in a certain sense, 
 the enemies of progress — a species of mental and physical 
 laziness. The flower in the backyard had a hard time be- 
 fore it burst into rainbow-tinted hues. Debris, old bot- 
 tles, and pieces of glass interfered with its rootlet In 
 forcing its way to the light of heaven. It required a 
 struggle to reach a height where it could be caressed by 
 the sunshine and be bathed by heaven's dew-drops. There 
 is debris all around the struggling soul. Crime in 
 churches, ministers of the gospel sinning; city councils 
 selling their votes; juries bribed; judges sell their opin- 
 ions, and everywhere offenses are rank. The noble, aspir- 
 ing soul can never be truly happy until the world shall 
 have so changed that corruption has ceased to exist, and 
 each one becomes a law unto himself. 
 
 While poverty, sorrow, misery, pain, hunger and sick- 
 ness exist among a large portion of Cod's children, each 
 advanced human soul — each God-like sou] each soul 
 pulsating with divine truths, will r« i ci the effects <»f the 
 Bame; a. vibratory Influence will sweep over one at times, 
 and he will feel impelled to work tor the elevation or 
 
 !♦{) 
 
humanity, and to thank God that he is not happy in a 
 worldly sense, for only the calloused soul, the hardened 
 soul, the soul that enters into no reformatory work can 
 be happy from a worldly standpoint. Bear in mind, then, 
 that TO DO GOOD AND BE GOOD, bringing you closely 
 in contact with a sorrowing and sinful world, while you 
 do not increase your temporary happiness from a worldly, 
 selfish standpoint, you are gradually advancing towards 
 a plane of ineffable beauty and grandeur where that 
 higher happiness will burst in on you in full fruition; 
 and you will find that in losing the selfish, worldly, 
 miserly happiness, you have gained those higher attain- 
 ments — THE CROWNING GLORY OF A MFE WELL 
 SPENT. 
 
 To get in tune with the vibrations from the spheres of 
 exalted souls you can not be worldly happy; for worldly 
 happiness is always more or less selfish. It is not easy 
 to be placed in touch with the Angels of Light and Love, 
 for their vibrations are wholly devoid of selfishness in 
 the broadest and most comprehensive sense of that term. 
 
 MALIGNITY RUINED MARY BALL 
 
 i. 
 
 There is no condition of the mind that is more de- 
 plorable than that state commonly designated as malig- 
 nity or unquenchable hatred. Milton says: 
 "I see thou art unplacable, more deaf 
 
 To prayers than winds and seas; yet winds and seas 
 Are reconciled at length and sea to shore; 
 
 The anger, unappeasable, still rages, 
 
 Eternal tempests never to be calm." 
 
 That person who nurtures a cruel, relentless, malignant 
 spirit, is clasping to his bosom a monster that will blacken 
 
 100 
 
his spiritual nature, deaden his moral perceptions, ham- 
 per his intuitions, and effectually block the road of pro- 
 gress, and prevent the ingress of high and exalted thoughts 
 into his soul. 
 
 "You do not know how hate can burn 
 
 In hearts once changed from soft to stern; 
 
 Nor all the false and fatal zeal 
 
 The convert of revenge can feel," 
 unless you first become a brutal monster, a man-beast, or 
 a devil; in fact, until then you can not realize the awful 
 condition of that person who manifests an unforgiving 
 spirit, and who refuses to receive back into the Family 
 circle an erring daughter who plaintively pleads for for- 
 giveness; who seeks with tear-stained eyes, and with a 
 heart that is surging with emotions of genuine sorrow 
 and repentance, to be again admitted to the home circle; 
 who supplicates, implores, — yea, cries to have the portals 
 of her parent's hearts opened again towards her, that 
 she may once more feel the sunshine of their Love, and 
 by noble deeds atone for her misstep in life, but who 
 meets with nothing but repulses; who sees pointing taunt- 
 ingly and maliciously towards her the hydraheaded finger 
 of scorn, instead of the beckoning arms of filial affection. 
 and who finally, after doing all that a penitent child 
 could do to soften her parents malignity, plunges into the 
 dark abyss of despair — seeks relief from the horrors of 
 her surroundings through suicide. She had said to her 
 father: 
 
 "Thou shalt not force me from thee; 
 Use me reproachfully and like a slave; 
 Tread on me, buflet me, heap wrong on wrongs, 
 On my poor head; I'll bear it with all patience, 
 Shall weary out the most unfriendly cruelty; 
 Lie at thy feet, and kiss them, though they spurn me, 
 Till wounded by my Bufferings thou relent 
 And raise me to thy arms with dear Forgiven 
 
 The father would not relent. Look at the sleuth -hound 
 pursuing the innocent fawn: gaze upon the boaconstrict- 
 or coiling around the victim of 11 look at the 
 
 venom of the cobra, and at the deadly Bting of the i 
 
 101 
 
pedes; gaze at all that is low, vile and devilish, and be- 
 hold them all combined in one human being, a father 
 who crushes with the coils of his hate the gentle spirit of 
 his daughter. 
 
 As the tragic tale runs, which occurred many years 
 ago, and which we select as one of the "purest" cases of 
 malignity that ever existed. Mary Ball was enticed 
 from her home by a commercial traveler. By a false 
 marriage, he induced her to come to Chicago. After arriv- 
 ing here she learned that the marriage ceremony which 
 she supposed to have been performed, was false. Poor, 
 deluded child, heart-broken, she immediately returned 
 home, but her father positively declined to receive her. 
 Almost distracted the disheartened girl sought refuge at 
 Wellsboro, Ohio, with some friends. Her father, not 
 content to let his wayward child alone, maliciously fol- 
 lowed her, drove her from there, and she was then com- 
 pelled to seek an asylum in Pittsburg, and finally by the 
 force of circumstances she was actually driven to a house 
 of prostitution. Well educated, remarkably pretty, and 
 with a soul that yearned for purity of life, her descent 
 under the circumstances was really heart-rending. 
 
 The pathetic story of her difficulties with her father 
 were written up in the Pittsburg papers and created at 
 the time no little comment; but they did not bring a ray 
 of sunshine to the heart of this despairing young girl; 
 they gave her no hope — nothing on which she could clutch 
 to keep from sinking. In all the darkness of her soul 
 while struggling to once more stand an honored member 
 of society, did she lose all regard for herself, nor the 
 recollections of the days of innocence. Finally she gave 
 way to despair! Her father's heart was closed against 
 her like a granite rock; her mother, too, turned from 
 her, and then she purchased a revolver. 
 
 Picture the agony of that young girl; see the dismal, 
 sorrow-breeding clouds of her soul, as they shade her 
 eyes, darken her features, and surge forth in her plaintive 
 sighs, as tremulous as the emotions of pity that linger 
 sweetly on the lips of an angel, who bends tenderly over 
 the despairing victim of a father's heartless vengeance. 
 Oh! how she regrets her wayward step, and how ini- 
 
 102 
 
patiently she watches the lingering moments on the dial 
 plate of time, hoping the next one will come freighted 
 with a message of love and forgiveness from the home or 
 her childhood, so that she can step forward — REDEEMED! 
 They come — each one — with only a wailing agony of de- 
 spair for her poor, lacerated soul. Finally she claps the 
 revolver desperately in her hands, and fires the fatal shot! 
 Poor Mary Ball is no more on earth! 
 
 II. 
 The daughter, suffering acutely from the pangs of re- 
 morse, and her every emotion a wish to heaven for for- 
 giveness, and her every thought prayer-crowned and ren- 
 dered beautiful with aspirations that would be an honor 
 to any of earth's children, it seems very strange that In 
 this enlightened nineteenth century, her own father should 
 repulse; yea, more, pursue her with unparalleled venom, 
 and throw obstacles in the way of her reformation. He 
 should, on the contrary, have awaited her penitential re- 
 turn, with an anxious heart and outstretched arms. When 
 the Arctic survivors returned to New York, it is said that 
 Lieutenant Danenbower, who had recognized his parents 
 as soon as the vessels were near enough to distinguish 
 faces and forms, waited for no gang plank, but simply 
 swung himself to the bridge of the tug-boat, where he 
 was met by his brother-in-law, Schenck. After embrac- 
 ing and kissing him, his first question was, "Where is 
 Rae?" meaning his sister, Schenck's wife, but without 
 waiting for a reply he bounded towards his mother, 
 whose arms remained outstretched all the while to em- 
 brace him, and after two years' weary watching and wait- 
 ing, the mother and son were united in tears of joy. They 
 remained in this touching position for several mil 
 without exchanging a word, when the manly fellow em- 
 braced his father and brother, who were also weeping. 
 Returning to his mother, he said, "Mother, let 
 into the cabin; I have so much to say to yon." 
 
 Here were anxious parents awaiting the return of a Bon 
 from the Arctic regions, and they greeted him with tender 
 tones of endearment. Should not the return <>f B way- 
 ward daughter, from a more dangerous and appalling 
 journey than the exploration of Arc tic seas, receive a like 
 
 103 
 
tender and cordial greeting, while over her lacerated soul 
 should be kindly placed the mantle of forgiveness? 
 
 III. 
 Mary Ball, once in spirit life, met at the threshold those 
 who had seen her aspirations as they surged heavenward 
 as brilliant as the smiles of an angel; who heard her 
 heart-rending prayers; who saw her pathetic struggle to 
 be forgiven by her parents, and her earnest effort to be 
 good and do good, and who gave her a cordial reception 
 to a sphere where all her desires to advance will receive 
 hearty approval and recognition. Verily, verily, though 
 a woman of the town, Mary Ball was nearer God, nearer 
 the angels, nearer those wise sages who can survey the 
 nature of each one, than her parents who repulsed her 
 when she tenderly sought their forgiveness. Nurse ma- 
 lignity, nurse hate, nurse envy, nurse covetousness, and 
 nurse an unforgiving selfish spirit, and you can no more 
 enter the spheres of light than a demon can. They are 
 the currency of Hell. TO DO GOOD and BE GOOD is 
 the currency of Heaven. Choose this day between the two. 
 
 WON PROM THE DEPTHS. 
 
 General Booth Greeted by 1,000 Ex-Drunkards. 
 
 London, England. — One thousand ex-drunkards, preach- 
 ing on how they were "won from the depths," was the 
 feature of a great Salvation Army festival at the Crystal 
 Palace. The occasion was the forty-third anniversary of 
 the foundation of the Army, and the return of General 
 William Booth from his fifth automobile preaching tour 
 through Great Britain. General Booth, who is seventy- 
 nine years old, continues to astonish the world with his 
 wonderful energy. He has started on another automobile 
 tour, this time ij> South Africa, and early in 1909 he will 
 
 10* 
 
be motoring on the Continent in continuation of his cam- 
 paign. 
 
 "Won from the Depths!" There is a wonderfully im- 
 pressive significance to that expression. It has a tremu- 
 lous sympathetic vibration that touches the soul like the 
 plaintive expiring tones of an Alpine horn, warning trav- 
 elers of an approaching storm. There is tender pathos 
 and a divine pulsation in the word "redeemed" — "Won 
 from the depths" — coming out of the extreme dark] 
 and desolation of degradation and sin into the light of a 
 soul illuminated by General William Booth, who in his 
 God-like work of redeeming the fallen, the outcast, the 
 one steeped in sin, exhibits a nature that in some respects 
 at least is vibrating on a high plane. However false a 
 creed may be, it having no basic foundation in truth, it 
 it is tolerant of the rights of others and has the right 
 ethical foundation in all respects, and devotes itself to 
 redeeming those in the slums, those tainted with sin. 
 and dwarfed spiritually and intellectually, it certainly 
 can be instrumental in doing a grand work. 
 
 General Booth devotes his attention to unfortunate 
 mortals like the following, as related in the Chicago 
 Daily News, when on one occasion, bowed down with the 
 weight of a confessed life of dissipation in the dark and 
 hideous slums of Chicago, where vice and misery had 
 eliminated every mark of past refinement, spirituality, and 
 culture, Mrs. Rhody Wagner, 60 years old, whose aggre- 
 gated sentences served in the Bridewell amount to l'J 
 years, stood before Municipal Judge Gemmill at the Har- 
 rison street court and asked to be sent there again 
 a long period. She told her story in a hoarse voice, tainted 
 with depraved vibration, confessed to 1km- past life, and 
 s;iid she was friendless and homeless and without any 
 means of support. 
 
 •■Send me there again, your honor," said the woman 
 
 "[ haven't any home QOr :i friend i" go tO I am a 
 
 wreck from whisky. Once I was recognised by the world, 
 
 but that was so long ago i< seems like another lii'.- I 
 haven't any hope. Giv< out there." 
 
 When tiu> judge Inquired Into her past she related 
 a broken voice bow she came to Chi ir thirty 
 
 105 
 
ago from England after she had become involved in a 
 family quarrel. She was then a teacher of music and elo- 
 cution. She drifted about Chicago, failing to find a legit- 
 imate business, and was drawn into the maelstrom of 
 the great human undercurrent and gradually became a 
 social outcast. For over twenty-five years Mrs. Wagner 
 has been known to the police and her name is found in 
 many places in the arrest book. 
 
 With such a depraved class, there seems to be but little 
 hope, yet to them General William Booth devotes his 
 attention, and he redeems many. 
 
 A religious belief, even if founded on the stable bed- 
 rock of ever enduring truth, is but of extremely little 
 good to the world, unless it bears fruitage in philanthropic 
 work, in some one or more of its multifarious forms. Of 
 what value is the cherry tree if it produce no cherries? 
 The apple tree, if it cease to be productive; the peach 
 tree, if it bring forth no blossoms, no luscious fruit, and 
 a hundred other things, if they cease to be fruitful. Prac- 
 tical reformatory, educational and philanthropic work 
 that will bear fruit, tending to elevate and refine the 
 human soul, is what the world needs now. Is Spiritualism 
 all that can be desired in that respect, with its soul-inspir- 
 ing truths, and 10,000,000 of converts? Where in its 
 entire ranks is there one who, like General Booth, ha_s 
 "won from the depths," 1,000 depraved souls? Who 
 among that 10,000,000 has planned a philanthropic work, 
 like the Chicago Tribune, at its hospitals at Algonquin? 
 Just consider one single day's report from there last sum- 
 mer — healthy, romping girls and boys from the City's un- 
 wholesome streets, where no really natural pleasures ex- 
 ist, make merry, with fishing, swimming, building bon- 
 fires, driving, playing games, and all the unaccustomed 
 joys of the country. Tiny, emaciated bits of babies, 
 starved and diseased by the food and air of the tenements, 
 fight for life under the tender care of nurses. Wan, weak 
 mothers, exhausted by toil and poverty or recovering 
 from severe operations, sit under the trees, motionless, 
 for hours, absorbing the country air and sunshine and 
 passively enjoying in every fiber the long awaited rest. 
 And they are all patients of this unusual hospital. 
 
 106 
 
The frail woman with the hands hard and calloused bj 
 labor, with no disease but utter exhaustion and despair, 
 the baby with no disease but lack of food, the boys and 
 girls with no disease but lack of boyhood and girlhood, 
 are all patients, they are all undergoing treatment tor 
 their particular ailments. 
 
 The girls are being treated when they dance around the 
 bonfires at night and sing. All medicine does not conn 
 in bottles or boxes is the motto of The Tribune hospital. 
 
 One night there was an especially gorgeous bonfire for 
 the benefit of the forty-four new patients, depressed with 
 sorrow and misfortune, who arrived, seeking health, com- 
 fort and relaxation from the constant strain of poverty, in 
 gaining enough to keep body and soul together. A 
 whole tree was chopped down and burned to make an 
 Algonquin holiday. Fish were fried and there was an 
 unusually brilliant and entertaining program of im- 
 promptu songs, recitations, and dances. 
 
 In the Algonquin hospital we have in a limited degree 
 an illustration of the Angelic Spirit. However much it 
 may be tainted with a creed, or with the odor of orthodoxy, 
 or superstition, or wrong views as to the future life, Its 
 fruitage is apparent, is real, is wholesome, and soul- 
 cheering. 
 
 One weary mother, Mrs. Kate Sullivan, came from 
 there with her features wreathed with a smile of satisfac- 
 tion, although she realized that she was gradually dying. 
 Tuberculosis, the dread disease, had taken possession of 
 her frame, which had been weakened by dire poverty, 
 anxiety, and one unremitting struggle for a mere exist- 
 ence. To her the country was charming; every So 
 seemed to her to have a soul; the singing of the birds 
 was to her an angel choir, and the gardens and fruitage 
 dripping with dew, seemed to have been caused by the 
 sweet breath of invisible messengers of love and charity, 
 and the atmosphere accompanying the rising and Betting 
 of the sun tinged with rainbow tinted hues, Beemed to 
 her like a baptism from God himself. The voices of the 
 boys and girls as they raced over tin* green grass, OF 
 played some frolicsome game, or gave their hearty cheers 
 for the Algonquin Charity Home, were far Bweeter to her 
 
 107 
 
than the music in a white sepulchred church produced by 
 organ and choir — "Nearer, My God, to Thee, Nearer to 
 Thee." Every little incident at Algonquin to her seemed 
 to be one note in an anthem that had been baptized with 
 the soul-inspiring influence of a Mozart or Beethoven, and 
 as the vibration in an undertone trilled through the 
 grass, the trees, shrubbery, the water and the very rocks, 
 an echo came back that caused emotions to spring up in 
 her soul, emotions that seemingly transplanted from a 
 watching angel's heart to her own, made her feel as if 
 she was looking through the very windows of heaven, 
 and for a time she was exquisitely happy, for she was 
 oblivious to self, to the hectic flush, the terrible cough, 
 the weak condition of her limbs, and her desolate condi- 
 tion; she had forgotten them all as she lay on a cot, 
 seemingly in a trance, her feature aglow with a divine 
 light, the resultant radiation of angelic thoughts that were 
 surging in her soul, for she in her extreme poverty and 
 loneliness, was on a far higher spiritual plane than those 
 around her. A visit to Algonquin even as an object of 
 charity, had made "her feel more kindly towards all hu- 
 manity, and she returned to Chicago and her desolate 
 room — to die. A kindly elderly gentleman had given her 
 $2 5, and thanking him profusely, she told him that 
 amount would see her through till the end — and it did. 
 As if anticipating the end that very night, as she had 
 dreamed she would, she dressed herself as neatly as possi- 
 ble, lay down on her bed, went to sleep and awakened 
 in spirit life. There on the morrow she was found with 
 a copy of the following poems clutched in her hand, indi- 
 cating she had been reading them before retiring to 
 rest: 
 
 What the Angels Say. 
 
 Wings of truth are wafting o'er us — 
 Wings of truth from realms above; 
 
 Angel voices whisper to us 
 
 Potent words of light anfl love. 
 
 Those we've loved are watching o'er us — 
 
 Those we thought were far removed: 
 
 108 
 
Angel teachers come to tell us 
 How our lives may be Improved. 
 
 Lines of character expansion — 
 Lines that point us to ideals — 
 
 Are inspired for our instruction 
 
 By the friends from psychic fields. 
 
 Safes of gold they term but paltry; 
 
 Safes of deeds and script the same 
 There is nothing rich and lofty 
 
 In the wealth which men proclaim. 
 
 Honest minds they say are better; 
 
 Truthful tongues and upright ways: 
 And the man who plays the brother 
 
 Worthy is of sweetest lays. 
 
 "Our Immortal Hope." 
 
 Mother, whose voice long since stilled, 
 Whose memory like the fragrant flowers of Bpring 
 Hovers around the heart and home to-night. 
 And haunts the silence of these evening hours. 
 Brother, loved above all my earthly friends, 
 Thy vacant place as yet unfilled, a void 
 In heart and home; the thought of thee 
 Causes the waves of sorrow to be stilled. 
 
 Beside your graves to-day I knelt in prayer, 
 
 Life's sadness filled my heart and dimmed mine 
 
 But from that grave thy voice will ever Beem 
 
 In words of courage and of hope to rise. 
 
 Sad memories of the past, I lay them by, 
 
 A happier day, I trust, is dawning now. 
 
 From dust and ashes of the past 
 
 Spring verdant flowers to crown my brow. 
 
 Hope springs anew, the corn of wheal 
 That perished In the soil of pain, 
 Springs with a harvest rich and free, 
 To life, and light, and hope again. 
 
 109 
 
They are not there, their bodies lie 
 Mouldering beneath the common soil. 
 We love to think of them as free 
 From sin, from sorrow, and from toil, 
 
 Somewhere in God's great universe 
 They rise a fuller life to live, 
 We follow on to know the joys 
 Which clearer light alone can give. 
 I left the acre of the dead, 
 I trod again the dusty road, 
 I saw the sea of human life 
 Struggling beneath its common load. 
 
 I felt again the pulsing thrill, 
 I almost seemed to hear the cry 
 By human lips sent up from earth 
 To those fair altitudes on high. 
 In sordid ashes, common dust, 
 Life's trivial round and weary lot, 
 God hides his seeds of holy corn, 
 And not one grain is e'er forgot. 
 
 From those dark heaps of sinful dust 
 
 Our God a harvest rich shall raise, 
 
 And lips that curse, or know Him not, 
 
 In far-off years shall sing His praise. 
 
 As sinks the evening sun to-night 
 
 To rise upon another land, 
 
 As autumn's fading leaves rebloom, 
 
 And flowers spring forth at His command. 
 
 So think ye, will He give consent, 
 For threescore years of earthly woe, 
 A human soul throughout all time 
 Eternal punishment to know? 
 Ever He works, by day and night, 
 Unresting, merciful, untired, 
 Justice is but His mercy's plan, 
 The grindstone by the steel required. 
 
 110 
 
Thou great refining fire of Love, 
 All in Thy time shalt bow to Thee, 
 Men know Thee not, nor feel Thy power 
 Drawing the nations unto Thee. 
 Great Spirit, help me so to live, 
 That I may aid the glorious dawn 
 That breaks upon immortal hope, 
 When all the worlds shall be Thine own! 
 
 It is absolutely true that a sect with a hell of fire and 
 brimstone, and with a mythical God and Devil in their 
 code of doctrine, may be instrumental in diffusing more 
 genuine happiness among mortals than a tight-fisted, pe- 
 nurious Liberal over yonder who with a creed that bears 
 the insignia of truth and the impress of angels, is always 
 looking for a test, but never looks for one whose earthly 
 burden he can lighten — by far, we had rather be General 
 Booth, with his false creed and superstitious notions, who 
 "won from the depths" 1,000 drunkards, than one with 
 a creed absolutely true, but who never redeemed a human 
 soul from the bondage of bad habits or extreme poverty. 
 
 I again repeat that whatever your creed may be, if yon 
 have the right ethical foundation, if you are tolerant of 
 the rights of others, if you are kind, charitable, forbear- 
 ing, and work for the betterment of all humanity, irre- 
 spective of a code of belief, you are then getting in tune 
 with vibrations from the sphere of exalted souls, and will 
 certainly receive their active aid. 
 
 THE WHITE PLAGUE, VARIOUS KINDS. 
 
 The great modern wars are fights for humanity. The 
 old style war brought sorrow, and evil, and death. It waa 
 often fought for the interests of an Individual or B dy- 
 nasty. The warfare of to-day la carried on for the 
 of the millions. Its success will moan bappin* 
 perity, and life. 
 
 Ill 
 
The boldness with which men of science are attacking 
 disease is no more notable than the faith they seem to 
 have in ultimate triumph. The international gathering at 
 Washington in the fourth week of September, 1908, was 
 far more important in its world aspects than a peace con- 
 gress at London or an arbitration meeting at The Hague. 
 The common enemy of the nations is the WHITE 
 PLAGUE. It is being studied by the ablest of the world's 
 investigators. Already they feel the exultation of victory. 
 The program of topics for the congress reveals the lines 
 of battle and tells its story of encouragement. The 
 AVHITE PLAGIE must go. 
 
 After all, the struggle with tuberculosis is but one of 
 the many movements for humanity which manifest them- 
 selves on every side. It is the distinguishing characteris- 
 tic of the twentieth century. The old policy of helpless- 
 ness and despair has been abandoned. Everywhere there 
 is hopefulness and cheer. There may be discouragements 
 and delays. But few doubt the eventual triumph of sci- 
 ence over the ills from which mankind has suffered 
 through ignorance or carelessness for ages. So much says 
 the Chicago Tribune. 
 
 The White Plague is the demon of diseases in this 
 twentieth century, and against which scientists and emi- 
 nent physicians have struggled in vain to suppress. Its 
 attacks are subtle in getting possession of the vitals, and 
 then like a cruel, heartless monster, it holds on like a 
 viper. Its fiendish attack, like a withering, blasting 
 simoon of the desert, seeks the most vulnerable part of 
 the system, and therein securely lodged, like an insatiate 
 fiend, it gnaws the very life cords, which quiver in in- 
 tense agony, like the dying fawn stabbed to its innermost 
 parts by a cruel hunter, and the tears rolling down its 
 more than half-human face, come forth pleading for its 
 life as tenderly as ever an angel whispered to poor suf- 
 fering mortals, pleading for their relief from sin and 
 misery. 
 
 Against this White Plague prayers have less weight 
 and influence in the economy of the universe than a dew- 
 drop has that seemingly thrilled with intense joy in its 
 bed woven by a flower, flies heavenward in the sweet 
 
 112 
 
morning dawn on a ray of light, perhaps wondering why 
 that pure white ray has nestled within its seven scintil- 
 lating colors that, like fairies, build up in the summer 
 shower a magnificent rainbow athwart the sky. 
 
 All the Gods in the universe— real or imaginary — have 
 had suffering mortals bowed in sorrow before them, 
 pleading with an earnestness thai only quivering, torn, 
 deeply lacerated hearts can express in the hour of be- 
 reavement, when life itself is gradually vanishing in one 
 long drawn sigh of distress, yet their prayers echoed back 
 to them, No help! Xo help!! 
 
 Alas! the White Plague has triumphed, is now tri- 
 umphing, and will continue to triumph for a time against 
 all the Gods, against all the prayers that spring forth like 
 sweet tendrils from the souls of puny mortals, and against 
 all the efforts of medical scientists with their Berums and 
 toxins — nothing can yet check its ravages — a White 
 Plague, yet inwardly a Demon of Darkness and Despair, 
 it is not yet ready to release its grasp of the quivering 
 flesh of suffering mortals, though we believe it will be 
 compelled to yield to science at no distant day. 
 
 But the White Plague is kaleidoscopic in its character, 
 and not confined to tuberculosis, commonly known as con- 
 sumption. It is the synonym of cruelty, agony, despair! 
 Yonder House of Sin where young girls, not out of their 
 teens, and ruined and sent hell ward, is another kind of 
 White Plague vibrating with Satanic Bmiles, and a laugh 
 that is sepulchral in its tone, and soims that thrill with 
 an amorous vibration, and emits a poison worse than thai 
 possessed by the cobra, and which finally sends its vic- 
 tims into darkness of despair. 
 
 Every large city has this kind of White Plagu 
 coarse groans of deep anguish and despair are as natural 
 a product as is yonder garden of Bowers, only tie former 
 is Satanic and the latter angelic; i'"i even One i^ natural 
 from the lowest viper up to the highest angel; th< 
 both products of natural law working in divers,, direc- 
 tions. 
 
 The breeze that brings contagion and death is as natural 
 as the breeze that comes bearing the stent of 
 
 l 1:: 
 
soms and flowers on its bosom, and imparting health-giv- 
 ing properties to all. 
 
 The lightning's flash that kills an innocent young girl 
 playing on the green, works in accordance with natural 
 law just as much as the tree does when developing buds, 
 leaves, blossoms and luscious fruit. The contrariwise ac- 
 tion of nature in evolving prominent contradictions in 
 the universe, has been a puzzle to philosophers all along 
 the ages, and will continue to be for all time to come. 
 A little over fifty years ago I was domiciled in a log 
 cabin near the Platte River, in Missouri, several miles 
 above a small town then known as Parkville, situated 
 about five miles above Kansas City. At that time I was 
 a country teacher, with education barely sufficient to teach 
 a common country school. There was a family in the 
 neighborhood by the name of James Bisbee. The father 
 was illiterate, yet blessed with an unusual amount of 
 common sense. The mother was an unusually intelligent 
 lady, and the two boys educated solely by her were very 
 bright. Mrs. Bisbee had what the doctors then called the 
 consumption, but now known as the White Plague. Thin 
 in flesh, her body frail, the hectic flush on her cheek, and 
 her terrible cough were harbingers of a gradual approach- 
 ing death. Even when thus afflicted she was a veritable 
 angel, so patient, so self-reliant, so cheerful, shedding a 
 divine radiance around her, and calmly awaiting the 
 end, while the family clung to her with a tenderness 
 that was sublime, an undertone of pathos pervading the 
 very words the boys and father spoke to her, so lovely, 
 so endearing, so vibrating with affection, so cheerful in 
 sadness, that even there in the home circle one had a fore- 
 taste of heaven. 
 
 Mrs. Bisbee, gradually dying, her life slowly vanishing 
 like the autumn leaves and flowers, or like the trill of 
 some songster of the air in the morning dawn, was truly 
 angelic. She belonged to no church, yet she had in her 
 home morning and evening prayers, the sweet incense of 
 a soul bubbling over with qualities that would be an 
 ornament in the nature of an angel. As a guest at the 
 home we often heard them, so pathetic, so full of tears, 
 so vibrant with emotions of divine love, the words fell 
 
 114 
 
upon us like a baptismal shower. We never heard her 
 in prayer that our eyes were not moistened with tears. 
 She would not at once rise from her knees when she 
 concluded her prayers, but would say, "Listen! I hear 
 a heavenly choir singing anthems of praise. The music 
 vibrates in my soul with with such divine sweetness that 1 
 feel a spiritual exaltation, and seem to be in heaven itself. 
 I seem to be reposing in a downy bed of pulsating vibra- 
 tions and musical emotions, and for a time I seem to live 
 in a fairy land." 
 
 I was as near to heaven, to the angels, to ministering 
 spirits in that home, where every thought seemed to be 
 a blossom of rare fragrance, as I ever expect to be. After 
 the evening prayer, Mrs. Bisbee seemed to be more angelic 
 than ever. She would sit in her chair, and for a short 
 time would listen to music heard by her and the youngest 
 son only. 
 
 Thus it was that this woman, though gradually dying 
 with the White Plague, had a real foretaste of heaven. 
 
 Gradually she wasted away, the family prayer circle, 
 baptized with a mother's divine love, was no longer 
 brought into requisition. She was confined to her bed, 
 and there listened to the voice of the angels, which at 
 times appeared to influence her, the vibrations of which 
 seemed to form a halo of light, wisps of clouds woven 
 into sentences which she would read, conveying a hop - 
 ful message of love, or words of cheer — this from the 
 angels! Spirit return was to her unknown, and i 
 thought of. "God had sent his angels to her" — th;" 
 her only thought. This homo was divine: this mother SO 
 Angel; the two boys, jewels of her own Bettings; the father 
 as full o* good cheer as the blossom is of Incense, all 
 constituting a center of attraction for the wise Bag 
 the realm of souls. 
 
 But the mother wasted away— died by Inches, Barly 
 one evening she asked to be carried out to the porch on 
 a cot, that she might once more Burvey the river, the 
 clambering vines, the flowers, the waving grass, the 
 scintillating In the river, and hear the evening 
 ■ the birds, and sense more full) the exhilarating air aronn 1 
 her own home. Then raising her hands toward 
 
 l L5 
 
she uttered a prayer tremulous and sweet with the emo- 
 tions of her soul, invoking the blessing of God upon her 
 two sons and their father, and then clasping tenderly 
 each in one fond embrace, and bidding them an affection- 
 ate farewell, her form relaxed, the features became radiant, 
 and then she passed into a slumber from which she was 
 awakened in spirit life. 
 
 Thus it is that even the White Plague may be attended 
 by exalted spirit phenomena, and earthly scenes presented 
 surpassing in loveliness the dreams of poet or seer. 
 
 But there are many kinds of White Plagues, among 
 them envy, slander, avariciousness, uncharitableness, li- 
 centiousness, unkindness to the poor, struggling mortals 
 — if you possess any of them, you cannot die as Mrs. 
 Bisbee did; the angels will not surround you in your 
 last moments, and you will pass to the spirit realms with 
 a White Plague staining your soul. 
 
 CULTIVATE BUBBLES Of KINDNESS. 
 
 i. 
 
 Is there a single human being in whom a Bubble of 
 Kindness never existed? If so, then that person is totally 
 depraved. An incident that occurred during the late re- 
 bellion illustrates our position. One day a Union prisoner, 
 near Richmond, Va., whose features were rendered di- 
 vinely radiant with thoughts of home, wife and children, 
 sat upon a stone with his hands clasped and eyes turned 
 heavenward as if in search for a ray of light that might 
 bring fresh joy to his desponding soul. While thus calmly 
 meditating a dog limped past him, and acted as if suf- 
 fering great pain. A snap of the fingers and a few gentle 
 words brought the ungainly brute to his side. Carefully 
 examining the animal's lame leg, he found a sharp tack 
 had been driven into its foot, causing a painful sore. He 
 carefully extracted the same, tenderly dressed the wound, 
 and affectionately caressing the ungainly beast, he pleas- 
 antly requested it to move along. 
 
 Time passed on. That prisoner dreamed of home; he 
 116 
 
had visions of darling children and devoted wife, and the 
 beautiful scenery of his woodland home, and so deep an 
 impression did his rambles; in dreamland make upon his 
 mind, that he became home-sick, and resolutely resolved 
 to escape from the hands of the enemy. A favorabli 
 portunity soon offered, and one night he found himself 
 outside the lines of the enemies' pickets, carefully pro- 
 ceeding northward. After a little while he heard i In- 
 dismal, ferocious, heart-rending, and blood-curdling 
 of an approaching bloodhound, that was pursuing him. 
 
 Oh! what thoughts surged in that soldier's br< 
 Overhead the heavens were bespangled with brilliant stars, 
 as if so many pitying eyes gazing upon him! For just 
 one moment, utterly bewildered, he kneels in prayer. It 
 was brief, pathetic, and tremulous with tender emotion, 
 as if the Angel of Pity had cast over him a mantle of 
 protection, to shield him from impending danger. Ris- 
 ing from his knees, he breaks a club from the overhang- 
 ing branches of a tree, to defend himself from the merci- 
 less jaws of the pursuing animal. Thoughts, radiant 
 with affection — thoughts of home, wife and children — rise 
 within his mind in rapid succession, and the Death \ 
 seems to stare him in the face. Oh! what a cruel 
 — to die now, lacerated by the ferocious beast mercil 
 pursuing him — the thought was too horrible to contem- 
 plate! To climb a tree, capture would be certain, and his 
 return inevitable. Tears flowed down his cheeks — i 
 to baptize the tender memories of wife and hon 
 resolves to meet the impending danger like a man! The 
 fierce baying of the hound approaches like a death-knell, 
 and vanishes in hellish echoes among the distant hills' 
 All at once, with a single bound, the ferocious mot 
 with jaws distended and glarin him, 
 
 ready to tear him into shreds. There is a momentary 
 silence, however. The dog ceases its furious yells, 
 gazes pleasantly and affectionately at the prlsoi 
 then approaches him and receives a pleasant word and a 
 kind caress from his former benefactor. 
 
 II. 
 Oh! that was the that tin- prisoner had our.- 
 
 1 17 
 
relieved, aiiu now with a Bubble of Kindness within its 
 brute nature, it turned into a kind deliverer. As if sud- 
 denly inspired by an angel, as if grandly illuminated with 
 a message from heaven, that dog suddenly started away, 
 and commencing to yell furiously, it led the rebel pursuers 
 away from the prisoner, and after it had accomplished that 
 feat, returned quietly to him, and never forsook him, 
 remaining with him until he was unfortunately recap- 
 tured, and taken back to Richmond. Never after that 
 memorable occasion would that bloodhound pursue a Un- 
 ion prisoner. 
 
 If a Bubble of Kindness in a fierce dog is there a human 
 being living less divine, less noble, less generous, less in- 
 clined to do good on certain occasions than such a brute? 
 
 At one time near Dayton, Nev., the body of John Suit- 
 ine, a Swiss, was found. He had evidently been dead 
 some time, and a part of his face had been eaten by 
 coyotes. The attention of a passing Chinaman was at- 
 tracted to the place where he was lying by the barking 
 of a small dog that belonged to the dead man. The 
 little fellow had kept sentinel over his dead master, and 
 had endeavored to call the attention of passers by, as was 
 remembered by several who passed and thought noth- 
 ing of the dog's barking. Suitine left Dayton with a 
 heavy load, and it i? supposed that he sank down from ex- 
 haustion and died. 
 
 In that dog, too, there was a divine Bubble of Kind- 
 ness, a spark of infinite love, that made its brute natur.e 
 appear angelic. 
 
 IV. 
 Some one has aid that Ole Bull's exquisite music on 
 the violin awoke the deepest depths of his being, and 
 every nerve seemed to vibrate to the drawing of his bow. 
 His heart, his soul, was filled and satisfied. He felt a 
 great gush of love welling within for God and his fellow 
 men, and when the last note died away he was marvelously 
 happy. Every good desire seemed to have been stirred 
 by such divine music. But Bubbles of Kindness are even 
 more potent when they manifest themselves toward those 
 in deep distress. 
 
 118 
 
It was a divine Bubble of Kindness that induced a poor 
 German father, who had nine dependent children, to say: 
 "Sir, if death were to come into that door, waiting to 
 take one of my nine children, I would say," and here he 
 pulled off his velvet cap and hurled it at the door, "Ras- 
 cal, who cheated you into thinking I had one too many!" 
 
 A generous-hearted smile; a kind recognition; a cor- 
 dial shake of the hand, and timely assistance in the hour 
 of need, are merely the white-crested surface of Bubbles 
 of Kindness, developing into timely fruit. Bubbles of 
 Kindness are merely angelic thoughts seeking expression 
 in earthly hearts. They bear upon their surface all that 
 is grand, beautiful and sublime; they are the source from 
 which lofty aspirations spring, and without them there 
 would not be a vestige of heaven on earth. 
 
 Bubbles of Kindness ofttimes have a sad but tender ex- 
 pression. On one occasion a miner was about to enter a 
 tunnel to secure a shovel, which he desired to take with 
 him, when his wife said: "Never mind, I will got it; 
 you take the child." As she started for the entrance of 
 the tunnel she turned and said: "Kiss me first." Her 
 husband did so and she started for the tunnel's mouth 
 again, but just before she reached it she again turned 
 around and laughingly said, "Kiss me once more." Her 
 husband complied for tbe second time, and then she 
 started for the tunnel. She had just reached the entrance 
 when the mass of rocks and dirt above gave way. bui 
 the unfortunate woman in the debris and causing her 
 instant death. The father and child escaped unhurt 
 
 Bubbles of Kindness inspired those sweet kisses, and 
 their benign influence will linger on the lips of that miner 
 throughout his journey of life, and he will ev<r n mem- 
 ber, "Kiss me once more!" Bubbles of Kindness would 
 rise continually within the human heart. If not cruellj 
 suppressed. A dear little girl once saved a bank from 
 being pillaged. The robber had not the heart to frighten 
 or injure the sweet little maiden, who looked at him with 
 a tender smile beaming on her innocent R and 
 
 who was present with her father behind the 
 presence begat Bubbles of Kindness In b 
 ter. Among the poor. Bubbles of Kindness generally find 
 their grandest and most divine expression. There ll more 
 
 119 
 
of the manifestation of God, seemingly, among them than 
 among the wealthy. The self-sacrificing mother who 
 starves herself that her children's hunger may be satisfied; 
 who works like a slave to sustain them, within her soul 
 are Bubbles of Kindness that shine forth more beautifully 
 in the eyes of angels than the wealth of a Vanderbilt or 
 a Gould. In thousands of different ways do these Bub- 
 bles of Kindness manifest themselves. On one occasion 
 in New York City, it is said, that on Sixty-ninth street, 
 just east of Third avenue, about fifty laborers were en- 
 gaged in constructing a row of flats. At noon the men 
 stopped work and all but one stout and bronzed young- 
 fellow brought out their dinner cans. Hurrying down A he 
 street came a young woman, pale, but good-looking, with 
 a calico dress and a spotless but ragged shawl. She car- 
 ried a dinner can in one hand and held with the other the 
 plump and confiding fist of a little girl about three years 
 old. The child talked and prattled away, and catching a 
 glimpse of her father among the laborers drew the 
 mother's attention to him by her laughter and delight. 
 The laborers heard the little blue-hooded child and 
 dropped their dinners. The one nearest to her took her 
 in his arms and after some kissing and caressing she was 
 passed from one to the other. It took the mother and 
 little girl over fifteen minutes to reach the stalwart la- 
 borer, who proudly watched the fondling of his child. 
 As the blue hood and her young mother departed the little 
 one was given a cheer, and the rugged toilers resumed 
 their work all the better for their brief contact with the 
 mirth and innocence of childhood. In the Home Circle 
 Fraternity Bubbles of Kindness are always present, and 
 they manifest that sacred, soul-elevating character in a 
 thousand different ways, in trying to alleviate the mis- 
 fortunes of others, and making them happy. 
 
 120 
 
ILLUMINATE YOUR OWN SOUL 
 
 Every individual who has arrived at mature years, un- 
 less practically a degenerate, knows right from wrong. 
 If he knows the right, and practices it in his daily 1. 
 course with mortals, socially and in a business way, tie 
 then has a LIGHT within his own soul, beautifully 
 iridescent with divine qualities, and which illuminates his 
 pathway in earth life, and broadens and brightens bis 
 itual atmosphere when his earth career shall have been 
 ended. If wholly destitute of that wonderfully potenl 
 light on earth, he will find himself in darkness wheo be 
 passes to spirit life. That light, in order to assui. 
 certain degree of brilliancy, must be carefully cultivated, 
 must be tenderly nursed, and so guarded against degrad- 
 ing influences, that no dark taints mar its divine quail 
 
 If you possess any light in the spirit realms, in the land 
 of souls, you must carry it with yon when the great 
 change occurs that you call "death." Your conduct in life 
 delicately measures the light you possess, its degree <>r 
 radiance, whether clear as the crystal or tainted with 
 impurities, or tremulous with the waves of depraved ..mo- 
 tions. What kind of a light does Hairy Kendall Thaw haw 
 who shot Stanford White? What kind of a light has 
 Evelyn Nesbit Thaw? And what think you of the light the 
 murdered man possesses? Every pure thought nom 
 one's light. Every philanthropic emotion renders its vibra- 
 tions more divine. Every charitable art increases its 
 volume, and renders it more brilliant. 
 
 It is no illusion, no dream, no fairy tale, the Btatei 
 that you carry THE LIGHT of your soul with you. No 
 one but, yourself is responsible for that light, if you 
 are covetous, if you allow depraved tho like 
 
 so many serpents in your mind; if you are 6nvi0U 
 consort with the low and vile, then your light dimin: 
 in potency, and in time ma altogether, leaving you 
 
 in spiritual darkness* a ud Btranded In a desert pi 
 
 in spirit life, darkm not convej the Idea that 
 
 121 
 
the sun's rays are absent, or that the moon is in an eclipse, 
 or that the twinkling stars are obscured by clouds, or that 
 the gas or electric lights are out, but it illustrates the 
 condition of your own soul, if you are enveloped in that 
 darkness, to a greater or less extent. The degenerate, 
 the absolutely depraved, the Black Hand assassin and the 
 conscienceless murderer are destitute of soul-light to a 
 great extent, hence find themselves in a certain degree 
 of darkness in spirit life, while the advanced and pure 
 spirits who stand by their sides trying to impress them, 
 can see with perfect clearness. Thus it is that two spirits 
 may be near each other, and one be in almost total dark- 
 ness while the other will see things clearly around him. 
 
 In the material world light is derived from material 
 means and methods, but spiritually not so. An orthodox 
 church member, bubbling over with generous thoughts and 
 impulses and engaged in philanthropic work, carries in 
 his soul a brighter light and a grander illumination 
 than the tight-fisted, money-loving Spiritualist, who never 
 did a charitable act- This soul light is not the outgrowth 
 of a creed, of worship, or belief. An atheist may possess 
 this soul light in a marked degree; it may have the 
 grandest qualities in the soul of one opposed to Spirit- 
 ualism. It may even have a lovely glow in the spirit 
 of a Salvation Army girl, while it is gloomy and forbidding 
 in the soul of some of those who expound the nature of 
 God's Providence from the liberal pulpit. In fact, this 
 light may be brilliant in the soul of a scrub-woman, work- 
 ing at menial labor, while it is exceedingly dim in the 
 nature of an influential multi-millionaire. A man who 
 never kneeled in prayer, who regards the Bible as a myth 
 and who rejects all creeds, and does not even believe 
 in Spiritualism, but just believes in doing good, may 
 have a wonderfully beautiful angelic light in his soul, 
 while in the hypocritical saint, the light only burns dimly. 
 Many young men are gradually putting out the divine 
 light within them. There was Chas. Lambert; he went 
 before the mayor of an Eastern city and said: 
 
 "See, I have just fifteen cents — one dime and a nickel. 
 Saturday night my room rent is due. I haven't a friend 
 in the city, sir, and I want work — work of any kind, sir. 
 
 122 
 
Washing dishes would do, for I haven't eaten a substantial 
 meal in a week." 
 
 The plea was the usual one; the speaker was not — a 
 rara avis among the species. A tall, gentlemanly young 
 man, smooth shaven, fancy waistcoat of the latest pattern, 
 neat clothing of the most fashionable cloth, a handsome 
 tie — everything betokening a man on the high road to 
 prosperity rather than one on the path to starvation. 
 
 "Lambert is my name, sir; Charles E. Gilcoursie- 
 Lambert, Oxford graduate, lieutenant in her maj< 
 service during the Boer war, cousin of the Earl of Cavan, 
 and — but we'll let that pass. I'm not looking for charity; 
 what I wish is work. I'm not out to fleece any one; get 
 me a place washing dishes and I'll thank you most sin- 
 cerely, sir." 
 
 He told the mayor that he was best man at the Duke 
 of Manchester's wedding. Then he had $35,000, but 
 horses, wine, and women dissipated fortune, after which 
 his people turned him off. 
 
 Thus gradually the light within his soul has been 
 growing dimmer, and unless he "mends" his way, he will 
 land in darkness on the spirit side of life. 
 
 As the daily papers said, one Betsy Jenks was found 
 dead in a back alley. She had lately been released from 
 jail, the worst looking specimen of humanity the police 
 had ever gazed upon. There were putrid Bores on her 
 neck and face, as bad in appearance as any food a i 
 vulture had ever eat. Her hair was disheveled, bei 
 ghastly, swollen, while thereon one could clearly dlf 
 an expression as if overshadowed with concentrated 
 Satanic hate. By her side was a whisky bottle drained of 
 its contents. A dead horse, cow. or le^. putrefying i" 
 the sun, could not have been more repulsive. The 
 from Miss Jenks' body was as poisonous ;is the mlasmic 
 vapors of a disease-breeding swam]), or rotten • 
 There lay the ultimate of incestuous disease, of rl 
 living in the under world of "pleasure," Of carnal thoughts 
 that stung her soul like vipers, of ace exhai 
 
 in the dens of vice, her whole life 1>< inu in realitj a 
 cancerous growth of huge dimensions without a - 
 
 light of radiation. She had no light beaming in ber soul: 
 
 123 
 
with her there was nothing but hideous darkness, a 
 cheerless desert waste, not a single vibration in her soul 
 that indicated a desire for reformation. She had lived 
 in the darkness of sin, and passed to the realms of souls 
 a dwarfed spirit, in darkness, in solitude. Near the corpse 
 was her spirit unseen by policeman or mortals, and more 
 repulsive if possible than her mortal body. She has died 
 thoroughly rotten with disease, with thoughts and desires 
 so un»lean that there, apparently, was no light in her 
 soul; she died a degenerate. 
 
 Thus it is, if you wish to advance spiritually, you must 
 carefully cultivate THE LIGHT within the soul, until it 
 beams forth clear and bright, in harmony with that 
 LIGHT in some one of the higher spheres, and that 
 LIGHT can only be nourished, sustained and enlarged, 
 by BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, thus enabling you 
 to get in tune with vibrations from the spheres of exalted 
 spirits. 
 
 SHE WAS BEAUTIPUL IN SPIRIT LIPE, 
 
 i. 
 
 That all humanity emanated from one common source, 
 whether that source be Nature, Principle, Law, or a being 
 designated as Infinity or God, no one has any reason to 
 doubt. That all are linked together in one common bond, 
 designated as humanity, is recognized everywhere; that 
 the right to live is as sacred to the peasant as to the 
 king; as important to the ignoramus as the sage, and 
 that "right" involves certain responsibilities. Health is 
 attained by living in accordance with nature's laws. The 
 thief, the highwayman, the murderer, the wife-beater and 
 the liar, all can gain that important desideratum by fol- 
 lowing the methods that lead to it, and be free from 
 pain and loathsome diseases. This is a characteristic of 
 natural law as connected with the physical organization. 
 To maintain good health, no religion, no adoration of 
 any particular deity — Brahm, Vishnu, Osiris, Jupiter, 
 
 124 
 
Jesus, Jove or God — is necessary. It is maintained by 
 living simply in harmony with Nature's laws, without 
 respect to any religion whatever. There is. however, A 
 SPIRITUAL LAW, broad and comprehensive in its nature, 
 which is intimately connected with the soul, and which 
 shapes its future destiny. The one who lives exclusively 
 for self, whose whole aim is self-aggrandizement, ami 
 who takes no active interest in the welfare of others, 
 has an equally narrow field assigned him in the spiritual 
 realms. The selfish cultivate no heaven within them; the 
 uncharitable cannot, while that feeling predominates, be- 
 hold the transcendent beauties of the celestial regions. 
 to the unforgiving, only the lower spheres of spirit life 
 are open for their reception; to the egotist, the bigoted, 
 the supercilious, the haughty and proud, nothing responds 
 that is beautiful and elevating in characteristics. 
 
 Being a Spiritualist does not indicate that your spirit- 
 ual nature is refined. Knowing that spirit friends can 
 commune with you is no passport to their present- in 
 spirit life. Proclaiming the truths of intercommunion 
 between the two worlds, will not aid you in the 1 
 unless you refine your spiritual nature. 
 
 ir. 
 
 Off in Missouri, in early times, we knew an old colt 
 woman. She was ignorant; she could not read, and her 
 only treasure consisted in a magnanimous heart and 
 generous impulses. Her presence was ;i benediction; 
 her voice mild, sweet and gentle; and 1km- only aspiration 
 to do good. Aunt Chloe, as she was called, was regarded 
 with reverential awe by the whites as well as the colored. 
 She was blessed with a Btrange, weird knowledge <>t" the 
 efficacy of herbs, which ahe said c.*M gave h< r. Shi 
 herself a healing balm; he! touch even on the brow <>f 
 the fevered patient would dispel the die 3he could, 
 
 it was said, see God (it was a spirit), hear b 
 receive his kindly admonitions and advice, and learn how 
 the sick should be treated, sin- had a large segmi 
 heaven in her nature, and it bloomed there with tl 
 cendent beauties; a golden thread from the supernal 
 regions entwined her generous Impulses; hi r bouI chords 
 
 L26 
 
vibrated with a spirit as kindly, as noble, as possessed 
 by any earthly sage, or philanthropist. She passed along 
 in life, her grandeur of soul and philanthropic impulses 
 acknowledged by all. Her mission was not altogether 
 among the poor, but the wealthy sought her as a nurse. 
 She had been a slave, and at times badly treated by a 
 cruel and relentless master. After the war of the rebel- 
 lion, she left him, and for a time he ignored her alto- 
 gether. 
 
 III. 
 
 Finally, Aunt Chloe's old master was taken sick, given 
 up by the physician to die, and she was sent for to nurse 
 him in his last moments. Did she go? Yes, she did, for 
 her God told her to go, and laden with angelic impulses, 
 star-crowned, and with a retinue of benign spirits, she 
 retraced her steps to the old plantation. It was evening 
 when she went. The sun had just set and the rainbow- 
 tinted clouds in the west and the balmy air of summer 
 time and the aroma of flower, garden and fields, seemed 
 to be intensified a hundred fold as this dark-hued Savior 
 passed along toward the home of her former bad master. 
 In her mind, however, she did not even chide or blame 
 him; her God standing by her side enveloped her with 
 the grandeur of his own soul, and she walked as if in a 
 cloud of hazy light. She entered the sick chamber. The 
 windows were open and the sweet scent of flowers and 
 fragrant vines pervaded the room like an incense from 
 heaven. Raising her hand heavenward she said: 
 
 "Lor' me, Marsa James, you ain't going to die! God 
 says so." 
 
 Her face seemed to be illuminated and her eyes to 
 shine with dazzling brightness, and her actions like one 
 having authority, and the attendants gazed at her with 
 superstitious awe. She cast the medicine one side; com- 
 pelled the attendants to go to an adjoining room, and 
 then kneeled in prayer by the side of her former cruel 
 master. She placed her hand upon his head, and in 
 tones pathetically sweet, and tremulous with melody of 
 heaven, she prayed not only for his restoration to health, 
 but that his acts might in the future be more kind and 
 
 126 
 
gentle, and his presence a benediction to all. The prayer 
 was crude in language, but as pure in essence as the 
 flowers that bloom in paradise and as earnest as any 
 ever uttered by the Nazarene. The man apparently dying 
 seemed to rally, and whispered, "Auntie, I have been 
 cruel to you. Will you forgive me?" 
 
 "Lor' yes, Marsa James, Ize forgive you." 
 "Auntie, cure me, and 1 will be as good in the future 
 as I have been bad in the past." 
 
 "Stop talking, Marsa James, and go to sleep. The 
 Lawd sez you shall get well." 
 
 IV. 
 What a grand scene. Heaven interblending and over- 
 coming hell! An ignorant old woman once a slave, for- 
 getting all wrongs, banishing all hates, subduing all bitter 
 feelings, standing by the side of her sick master nigh 
 unto death, and with a halo of spiritual light beaming 
 with all the beauties of heaven enveloping her — what a 
 grand scene! With her hand gently laid upon the sick 
 man's head she soon had him asleep, and then sitting 
 there, he was charged with her healing magnetism; he 
 was bathed with the divine essence that emanated from 
 her soul as naturally as the aroma from a flower. 
 
 The morning was ushered in, not only with anthems 
 of birds and chirping of insects, but there was rejoicing 
 in that family circle, when the patient awakened, 
 lieved of pain, the fever gone, and feeling apparently 
 well. The daughters threw their arms around the 
 slave and wept with joy. The wife and mother raising 
 her hands towards heaven, thanked God that Aunt Chloe 
 lived to save her husband. Special provisions wi 
 for her during her earthly pilgrimage. A fine cabin 
 refurnished for her special use; and orders giYOD that 
 during her earth life, her larder should be supplied en- 
 tirely to her liking. Her master, once chai I tot 
 his cruelty, had seen through tin- DOOR <>l hi: Mil into 
 the celestial regions, and now stood forth '"■ bal- 
 ing only in the currency of the spiritual realms. 
 
 127 
 
V. 
 The Translated. 
 
 Finally Aunt Chloe's mission was ended. The sum- 
 mons at last came to her. No death was ever grander, of 
 philosopher, sage, king, queen or statesman. It was 
 morning when the final summons came. The azure east 
 seemed as if illuminated with brighter colors, the aroma 
 of flowers sweeter, and the air purer, as the family sur- 
 rounded her bed and listened to her words of wisdom. 
 She saw the angels around her bed and conveyed mes- 
 sages to each one, and told them of the beauty and 
 grandeur of the spiritual realms, and exhorted each one 
 to be good and do good. Her advent into spirit life was a 
 pageant more grand than ever attended any earthly sov- 
 ereign. She was spiritually wealthy. Her soul was beam- 
 ing with charity and love. 
 
 Thus it often is that the humblest of God's children 
 are selected for some noble work. And we say to you that 
 without charity, without gentleness and kindness of spirit, 
 without aiding to lift the burdens of others, and without 
 doing something of importance for the general good, you 
 have no currency of the bright spheres of spirit life 
 There are thousands of Spiritualists who cannot approach 
 the sphere of light where Aunty Chloe now lives, until 
 they shall have cultivated a spirit in harmony with hers 
 — being good and doing good. 
 
 128 
 
TME f LOWER IN TME SINOW. 
 
 i. 
 
 So eager are the departments of nature to perform 
 their allotted tasks that in the Swiss mountains and in 
 the far north, delicate little flowers are seen blossoming 
 on the edge of a drift of snow. The plant seems to 
 say: "I was ordered to be here by the middle of June. 
 the birds and the travelers expect me; it is a cold day, 
 but I am here." It is a peculiar, half-sad pleasure to 
 come upon these shivering, delicate forms of painted leaf 
 One feels as though the wind should fall for their B8 
 and for them the sun shoot hotter rays around the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 In the awful snow-storm and frost-storm of Dakota 
 recently there fell a singular and rather beautiful form 
 of human character — a field-hand, educated but un- 
 known, tender as a refined woman, but Btrong and bold 
 as a soldier. In the cold embrace of Ice and snow, with 
 all the indications around him of an effort to reach home 
 — the home of a hired man — his lifeless body recalled 
 the pathos of the lines: 
 
 "Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 A youth to fortune and to fame unknown." 
 
 The farmer in whose employ the man was passing the 
 winter knew only the aame which the toiler had given 
 him when he sought and found the much-needed employ- 
 ment, bub in the months which passed between the August 
 harvest and the terrific cyclone of Ice the man > 
 sent nor received a letter. To him, no Institution ol 
 our country was of less value than the postal department 
 The name of John Crosby stood for this personage, bul 
 no one knows whether that same was baptismal, or 
 picked up along the way by himself, or bj some other, 
 for the concealment of ■ tact, father than for establish- 
 ing a family connection 
 
 General Custer once said, in a chat regardlfl 
 less soldiers, that be had in his army men who 
 
 1 L ( :» 
 
no relations to the world; men who knew nothing of 
 their first home or birth-place, nor how many years they 
 had been in this life. He had read the burial service 
 over one regarding whose death he could not send 
 word to any person or any village in any country. 
 
 Among these lonely mortals was this John Crosby. He 
 was not more than 21 years of age. Nature keeps a 
 record of all the early years, and tells whether this or 
 that face is 15 or 2 0. Nature follows the child and says 
 plainly, this human soul has gotten 4 or 70 or 16 or 20 
 years away from the cradle, but at last this great mother 
 ceases to paint the days and seasons on the face, and 
 often 60 wears the image of 50 or 70, and the real dis- 
 tance from the mother's bosom is lost, never to be guessed 
 again. John Crosby was about 20 years old when his 
 heart turned into ice and ceased from its memories and 
 longings. 
 
 He had presented himself at a certain school district 
 in Dakota, to secure, if possible, a place as schoolmas- 
 ter. The office had just been assigned to another. It was 
 found that all such thrones had secured royal occupants, 
 and that there was before this youth the prospect of an 
 idle winter. He therefore applied at a farm-house for 
 a place as a common farm hand, and was accepted by 
 rather a superior plowman by the name of Eastman. The 
 new workman proved to be worthy of his wages and his 
 home. He seemed to live for his daily tasks and for the 
 idle moments which the winter evenings and winter Sun- 
 days brought. 
 
 On that morning in January after that awful death- 
 chill had passed by, this youth was found dead in the 
 field. His face wore the impression of peace, and seemed 
 to say, "This is the end." Good, simple, almost tearful 
 funeral rites were given the body, but as for the tender 
 soul, it was far away, in that land: 
 
 Where storms do never come. 
 
 When the family explored the vacant room of their 
 toiler with the hope of finding some name or town that 
 might direct them whither to send news of the death, 
 they found nothing except scraps of poetic thought writ- 
 ten upon every piece of paper available in the scanty 
 
 130 
 
house. All the blank leaves of the stranger's books were 
 made to carry the young heart's reflections, as they came 
 to him in the evenings and Sundays of a Dakota winter. 
 
 In many of these verses the form of his mother flgui 
 thus showing the purity of a heart which can from the 
 stormy passions of early manhood sing more kind words 
 to absent mother than it can indite to some belle of the 
 ball-room, or to some invisible idol of the romantic senti- 
 ment: 
 
 "The mother's love stands pilot e'er to guide 
 And keeps life's boat from sinking in the waves, 
 It guards from many an ill, from many an evil saves. 
 
 "Such was the blessing of my glad, first years, 
 Remembered now it rules my errant will 
 When life is bittered with its grief-wrung tears 
 Calm grows my spirit as she cries: 'Be still.' 
 Recalls the purpose I must yet fulfill, 
 Propels me onward with a specter hand, 
 Invisible but mighty, in its power grand." 
 
 In all the hundreds of lines found in this vacated room. 
 the genius of the poem is Memory. Though only a boy, 
 he was always looking back, as though the past had been 
 too sorrowful to permit even the enthusiasm of youth 
 to turn toward the future. His home was: 
 
 "Back upon the forest's very ledge. 
 
 Set in the woods and garlanded with vine 
 Above the other homes, built on the leage, 
 
 There stood the old stone cottage that was mine." 
 
 This poem is no doubt a continuous composition — a 
 memory, but as the stanzas are not cumbered, the ; 
 come to us in all that disorder which mark 
 of prophecy which the wind took from the hands of the 
 sibyl. 
 
 Over all these penciled verses, oyer the name of 
 man who was able to teach a Bchool or to work- 
 
 er on a farm, over the youth who n< 
 
 a letter, who did his daily work in a manner skillful and 
 conscientious, over a heart which was full of high and 
 
 131 
 
pure thoughts, and which was as rich in language as in 
 virtue, that Dakota storm came and spread that mystery 
 which a tragic death always completes. Perhaps death 
 came in the form of mercy; for no doubt the mother 
 had gone from earth, and the stone cottage in the edge 
 of the forest had opened its doors at last to send its 
 motherless children into perpetual exile. 
 
 The above narrative is from the pen of Rev. David 
 Swing, the great Divine, just before his death many years 
 ago. 
 
 II. 
 Here was a member of the Home Circle Fraternity, 
 John Crosby, who assumed the responsibility of life with- 
 out a murmur, and from whose lips an unkind word was 
 probably never uttered. He had made many investments 
 in the Celestial City, the home of angels, and was greet- 
 ed there with songs of welcome. Ah! you cross, crabbed, 
 fretful, sefish mortal — whoever you are — who never tries 
 to make others hap'py, you will see that the patient, cheer- 
 ful toiler, John Crosby, meets with appreciation in the 
 City Celestial, while you will be compelled to reform 
 your perverse nature before you advance. It has been well 
 said that "A single bitter word may disquiet an entire 
 family for a whole day. One surly glance casts a gloom 
 over the household, while a smile of sunshine may light 
 up the darkest and weariest hours. Like unexpected 
 flowers which spring up along our path, full of fresh- 
 ness, fragrance and beauty, so kind words and gentle 
 acts and sweet dispositions make glad the sacred spot 
 called home. No matter how humble the abode, if it 
 be sweetened with kindness and smiles, the heart will 
 turn longingly toward it from all the tumult of the world, 
 and home, if it be ever so homely, will be the dearest 
 spot beneath the circuit of the sun." 
 
 III. 
 Angelic Impulses. 
 
 Five men, all prominent in financial circles, were clus- 
 tered about a table in the gentlemen's dining-room on 
 the second floor of a restaurant, as related by the Phil- 
 adelphia Inquirer, discussing the current gossip of the 
 
 132 
 
busy world in which they moved. After the more sub- 
 stantial portion of the meal had been consumed, and 
 the quintet were comfortably Bipping an expensive 
 brand of champagne, the conversation turned on 
 the various methods of getting the greatest amount 
 of pleasure out of the coming holiday season. 
 As soon as the subject was broached, one of the 
 party became unusually quiet, and took scarcely 
 any part in the lively discussion which followed. After 
 the other four had offered various plans and suggestions, 
 the silent member of the party quietly remarked: "You 
 are all wrong, and to prove the truth of my words, 1 
 wish to tell you a little incident which happened to me 
 Christmas eve two years ago, and of which I have never 
 spoken since. While stopping to glance almost uncon- 
 sciously at the display in the windows of an Eighth street 
 confectionery store, my attention was attracted by two 
 children, a boy apparently about eight years old. and B 
 girl about ten. They were joyously pointing out all the 
 dainties in the windows to each other, and speculating 
 upon the amounts of the many good things which could 
 be purchased for a quarter. They appeared to be warmly 
 dressed, but their clothes were of the plainest and cheap- 
 est material, and they were evidently the children of a 
 poor workingman, who was able to support his family. 
 but to supply them with none of the luxuries of life. 
 From their conversation I learned that their father had 
 given each of them twenty-five cents to spend for Christ- 
 mas, and the great question was what to buy with th • 
 money. While the matter was still undeeided. a | 
 haggard-looking woman came along, leading a little girl, 
 and they both looked as if they had not eaten anything 
 for some time. The woman stepped up to another woman. 
 richly dressed in furs, and timidly asked for help, but 
 her appeal was unheeded, and she was haughtily ord 
 
 to stand aside. As the poor creature slunk away in the 
 greatest dejection, I noticed a few hurried whisper 
 tween the two children, and they quickly follow.,! tie- 
 woman and child, and when they came up with them, 
 
 pressed BOmething into the woman's hand, who WSJ left 
 speechless by the sudden good fortune. AS tin- children 
 
 139 
 
passed me when they returned, I heard the girl say: 
 'They'll enjoy it more than we would. We'll be at home 
 to-morrow, with mom and pop, and have a good dinner, 
 and they'll have nothing.' When I recovered my senses 
 both parties were gone, but I'll wager anything that those 
 children who gave their all had a happier Christmas than 
 I, who was the possessor of thousands, but gave nothing 
 towards making others happy." 
 
 The story apparently touched those present, and in 
 a short time the table was deserted, with the wine bot- 
 tles still partially full. 
 
 In this touching narration we have a beautiful illustra- 
 tion of the angelic impulses in two children. It was a 
 scene where the terrestrial and celestial blended, where 
 squalid misery and a wave of transcendent goodness met, 
 In the good time coming, when the religion of the Home 
 Circle Fraternity shall have been fully established, every 
 prosperous home will have one or more rooms to shelter 
 the unfortunate; one or more seats at the table, where 
 the hungry -can obtain food; and the thoughts will not 
 center around self, but each day, the question will be 
 asked, what despondent soul can I render more happy or 
 prosperous? Each member of the Home Circle Fra- 
 ternity does good, independent of all creeds, and all forms 
 of worship. 
 
 134 
 
OVER THE HILLS FROM A POOR HOUSE 
 
 WHO was always counted, they say, 
 Rather a bad stick any way, 
 Splintered all over with dodges and 
 
 tricks, 
 Known as "The worst of the deacons 
 
 six;" 
 I, the truant, saury and bold, 
 The one black sheep in my father's 
 
 fold, 
 
 Once on a time, as the stories say, 
 Went over the hill on a winter's day — 
 Over the hill to the poorhouse. 
 
 Tom could save what twenty could earn; 
 But giving was something he never could barn; 
 Isaac could half o' the Scriptures speak — 
 Committed a hundred verses a week ; 
 Never forgot, an' never slipped; 
 But honor thy father and mother he skipped; 
 So over the hill to the poorhouse. 
 
 As for Susan, her heart was kind, 
 
 An' good — what there was of it, mind; 
 
 Nothin' too big, an' nothin' too nice, 
 
 Nothin' she wouldn't sacrifice 
 
 For one she loved; an' that 'ere one 
 
 Was herself, when all was said an' done. 
 
 An' Charley an' Becca meant well, no doubt. 
 
 But any one could pull 'em about. 
 
 An' all our folks ranked well, yon 
 
 Save one poor fellow, and that waa me; 
 
 An' when, one dark an' rainy night, 
 A neighbor's horse wenl out o' Bight, 
 They hitched on me as the guilty chap 
 
 135 
 
That carried one end o' the halter strap; 
 
 An' I think myself, that view of the case 
 
 Wasn't altogether out o' place; 
 
 My mother denied it, as mothers do, 
 
 But I am inclined to believe 'twas true, 
 
 Though for me one thiaig might be said — 
 
 That I, as well as the horse, was led; 
 
 And the worst of whisky spurred me on, 
 
 Or else the deed would have never been done. 
 
 But the keenest grief I ever felt 
 
 Was when my mother beside me knelt, 
 
 An' cried an' prayed, till I melted down, 
 
 As I wouldn't for half the horses in town, 
 
 I kissed her fondly then and there, 
 
 An' swore henceforth to be honest and square. 
 
 I served my sentence — a bitter pill 
 
 Some fellows should take who never will; 
 
 And then I decided to go "out West," 
 
 Concludin' 'twould -suit my health the best; 
 
 Where, how I prospered I never could tell, 
 
 But fortune seemed to like me well, 
 
 An' somehow every vein I struck 
 
 Was always bubblin' over with luck. 
 
 An' better than that, I was steady an' true, 
 
 An' put my good resolutions through, 
 
 But I wrote to a trusty old neighbor, an' said: 
 
 "You tell 'em, old fellow, that I am dead, 
 
 An' died a Christian; 'twill please 'em more 
 
 Than if I had lived the same as before." 
 
 But when this neighbor, he wrote to me: 
 
 "Your mother's in the poorhouse," says he, 
 
 I had a resurrection straightway, 
 
 An' started for her that very day. 
 
 And when I arrived where I was grown 
 
 I took good care that I shouldn't be known, 
 
 But I bought the old cottage, through and through 
 
 Of some one Charley had sold it to. 
 
 And held back neither work or gold, 
 
 To fix it up as it was of old. 
 
 136 
 
The same big fireplace, wide an' high, 
 Flung up its cinders toward the sky; 
 The old clock ticked on the corner shelf — 
 I wound it an' set it a-going myself; 
 An' if everything wasn't just the same 
 Neither I nor money was to blame. 
 
 Then over the hills to the poor house. 
 
 One blowin' blusterin' winter's day, 
 With a team an' cutter I started away, 
 My fiery nags were as black as a coal, 
 (They some't resembled the horse I stole,) 
 I hitched, an' entered the poorhouse door. 
 A poor old woman was scrubbin' the floor. 
 She rose to her feet in great surprise, 
 And looked, quite startled, in my eyes. 
 I saw the whole of her trouble's trace 
 In the lines that marred her dear old face; 
 "Mother!" I shouted, "your sorrow's don. ! 
 You're adopted along o' your horse thief son. 
 Come over the hill from the poorhouse." 
 
 She didn't faint; she knelt by my side, 
 
 An' thanked the Lord, till I fairly cried, 
 
 An' maybe our ride wasn't pleasant an' gay, 
 
 An' maybe our cottage wasn't warm an' bright, 
 
 An' maybe it wasn't a pleasant sight 
 
 To see her gettin' the evenin' tea 
 
 An' frequently stoopin' and kissin' me; 
 
 An' maybe we didn't live happy tor years, 
 
 In spite of my brothers' and sisters' sno> 
 
 Who often said, as I have heard, 
 
 That they wouldn't own a prison bird 
 
 (Thoiigh they're gettin' over that, I guess, 
 
 For all of 'em owe me more or 1 
 
 Hut we learned one thing, an' it chet ra a man 
 In always a-doin' the best h" can 
 That whether OS the Big BOOfc a blol 
 
 Gets over a. fellow's name or not. 
 Whenever he dors a ijeecl that's white, 
 
 137 
 
It's credited to him fair and right, 
 An' when you hear the great bugle's notes, 
 An' the Lord divides his .sheep an' goats; 
 However they may settle my case, 
 Wherever they may fix my place, 
 My good old Christian mother, you'll see, 
 Will be there to stand right up for me, 
 Over the hill from the poorhouse. 
 
 — Will Carlton. 
 
 While the above impressive portrayal may be simply 
 a poetic license, yet underlying it is an extremely fruit- 
 ful lesson. There are poor-houses; there are mothers 
 there who have reared a family of children, and then are 
 denied a home with them. Occasionally one is taken from 
 there by a wayward son, and furnished an exceptionally 
 pleasant home. 
 
 Jane Haskins was the name of an old woman living 
 in a poor-house in one of the counties near Chicago. 
 She had an exceptionally beautiful expression to her 
 countenance when talking of her son, who left her home 
 When a boy, so many yearsi previous, in Alabama that he 
 thought her dead. As she soon after moved away from 
 the place where she was living when the son left her home 
 to seek his fortune out in the wide, wide world, he 
 failed to locate her. In the poor-house, it was her boy 
 Jim, her principal thought in her conversation with the 
 other inmates. If s'he picked a dainty flower in the field, 
 she wisihed that Jim was there that she might ornament 
 his person by attaching it to a button-hole of his coat. 
 Poetical by nature, a dreamer of dreams, sne always saw 
 some fairy outline in the burnished colors of a summer 
 sunset, and she would clasp her hand's in an ecstasy of 
 delight, exclaiming, "If my boy were here to enjoy this 
 painting of nature my happiness would be complete. 
 Some dlay I shall meet him in a large city, and he will 
 care for me, for I so dreamed." Her lost son was her 
 principal thought — a thought imbedded in the aroma of 
 love, and which vibrated in her soul so much angelic 
 sweetness that all the inmates loved her, but regarded 
 her as a harmless lunatic, continually talking of her son 
 Jim. In the poor-house she was constantly ministering 
 
 138 
 
to some one; her presence a ray of sunshine; her touch 
 a healing balm; her smile of angelic sweetness. In all 
 her acts of kindness in her own feeble way her only 
 thought was, "What I do for you, I hope Borne one will 
 do for my boy Jim." If giving a dose of medicine to one 
 suffering from pain she would invariably say, "I do it 
 for you, for my boy Jim may need assistan ■<■, and how 
 could I expect it given to him if I did not give it to you?" 
 Thus every day brought its duties to her, feebly, but will- 
 ingly performed, and as time passed on the inmat 
 to notice her peculiarities. 
 
 Old age is beautiful, .sublime, poetic, when t.e- nature 
 is sweet, self-sacrificing and unselfish, even if 'dotage" 
 has come with its autumnal fringes, and expiring notes 
 of a fruitful summer life. The inmates spoke of her in 
 bated breath as "the sweet old lady," "the ang< 1 of tie- 
 farm," "the Divine Nurse," and there was a revei 
 for her equal to that of any Catholic saint. 
 
 Finally one day some one of the inmates read in the 
 Chicago Tribune that Jim Haskins was the rider in a 
 winning race at Washington Park, and had finally 
 amassed a fortune. The news was imparted to the ven- 
 erable mother just as she had risen from a prayer, \\ 
 in her principal request was that God and the an 
 would protect her boy, Jim, and finally bring him back 
 to her. "Yes," she said, "that is my boy. In the dream 
 I had he was riding a winning horse, and waving a flag 
 on which was inscribed the word MOTHER 
 
 Friends assisted the old lady to come to Chicago, and 
 she was detected on the streets Inquiring of many : 
 ing her, if they knew her boy Jim. A kind-heart, d p<> 
 liceman took the matter in hand, had her conveyed to 
 the police station, and then commenced looking for her 
 boy as set forth in the Tribune. Within a to* 
 was located at one of Chicago's leading hotels, and when 
 asked if his mother's name was Jan.- Haskin ■. 
 he replied, "but I am sure she must be dead, i left 
 living in Alabama." 
 
 "Maybe not," replied the policeman An Old I id] ll 
 at the station anxiously looking for her SOU, wh( 
 she gives as James Haskins " 
 
 "Great, God!" he anxiously said, "is m> mother llv- 
 189 
 
ing? In my wanderings I had lost all track of the 
 family." 
 
 Engaging a carriage he and the police officer drove 
 rapidly to the station. As they entered the matron's 
 room she said: "Hush! Hark!" In an adjoining room 
 a tremulous voice was heard in prayer that God would 
 bring her boy, Jim to her; a prayer divinely sweet and 
 pure. The eyes of those listening were filled with tears 
 and their hearts beat with angelic emotions as she con- 
 cluded her prayer. The matron opened the door, and 
 there standing, with features illuminated with a divine 
 light, was the old mother, instantly recognized by her son, 
 who tenderly embraced her, showering kisses upon her 
 pale cheeks. He furnished her with a home where she 
 was blessed with every comfort, and where he visited 
 her daily. 
 
 Thus was the venerable mother's dream realized, and 
 a new life in her old age opened up before her, she fur- 
 nishing an actual "Over the Hill from the Poor-house." 
 
 There is something solemnly sweet in old age when 
 accompanied with the grand qualities of Jane Haskins. 
 Old age is the vanishing note of life, and as the last 
 sound of the expiring note of the singer is the softest 
 and sweetest, so is old a,ge, when rounded out like Mrs. 
 Haskins's, the most sublime, beautiful and cheering of 
 the whole life. So live, we say, that your life in the 
 autumn years of your existence, may be sweet and whole- 
 some, and your presence one perennial spring of pleas- 
 ure to those that surround you. Prepare for old age in 
 the spring time of life; cultivate the fruits of life that 
 will mature in the autumn of your existence, making you 
 a blessing and benediction to all, with vibrations in 
 harmony with those in the higher spheres of spirit life. 
 
 140 
 
OVER THE MILL TO TME POOR-MOUSE 
 
 VER THE hill to the poor-house I'm 
 
 trudging my weary way, 
 I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle 
 
 gray; 
 I, who am smart and chipper for all 
 
 the years I've told. 
 As many another woman that isn't 
 
 half as old. 
 
 Over the hill to the poor-house — it seems so horrid queer; 
 Over the hill to the poor-house — I can't quite make it 
 
 clear; 
 Many a step I've taken a-toiling to and fro, 
 But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. 
 
 What is the use of heaping on me a pauper's shame? 
 Am I lazy or crazy, am I blind or lame? 
 True, I'm not so supple nor yet so awful stout, 
 But charity ain't no favor if one can live without. 
 
 I am willing and anxious and ready any day 
 
 To earn a decent living and pay my honest way. 
 
 For I can earn my victuals, and more, too, I'll be bound. 
 
 If anybody only is willing to having me around. 
 
 Once I was young and handsome— -I was, upon my soul; 
 Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes were black as coal; 
 And I don't remember in those days a-hearing peopli 
 For any kind of reason that I was in their * 
 
 'Taint no use of boasting or talking over t v 
 But many a house and home was open then to me; 
 Many a handsome offer I had from likely DM n. 
 And nobody ever hinted that 1 was a burden then. 
 
 And when to John I was married, sure he wai |OOd and 
 
 smart, 
 
 1 1 1 
 
But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; 
 For life was all before me and I was young and strong, 
 And I worked the best that I could in trying to get along. 
 
 And so we worked together, and life was hard but gay, 
 With now and then a baby to cheer us on our way, 
 Till we had half a dozen, and all growed clean and neat, 
 And went to school like others and had enough to eat. 
 
 And so we worked for our children, and raised them 
 
 every one, 
 Worked for them, summer and winter, just as we ought 
 
 to have done. 
 Only perhaps we humored them, which some good folks 
 
 condemn, 
 But every couple's children's a heap the best of them. 
 
 Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones — 
 I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my 
 
 sons — 
 But God he made the rule of love, but when we're old 
 
 and gray, 
 I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other 
 
 way. 
 
 Strange, another thing, when our boys and girls are 
 
 grown, 
 And when, excepting Charlie, they had left me all alone, 
 When John he nearer and nearer came and dearer seemed 
 
 to be, 
 The Lord of Hosts he came one day and took him away 
 
 from me. 
 
 Still I was bound to struggle on and never cringe or fall, 
 Still I worked for Charlie, for Charlie was now my all, 
 And Charlie was pretty good to me, with scarce a word 
 
 or frown, 
 Till at last he went a-courting and brought a wife from 
 
 town. 
 
 She was somewhat dressy, and hadn't a pleasant smile, 
 She was quite conceity and carried a heap of style. 
 
 142 
 
But if ever I tried to be friends I did with her, 1 know, 
 But she was hard and proud and I couldn't make 11 
 
 She had an education, and that was good for her, 
 
 But when she twitted me en mine 'twas carrying things 
 
 too fer, 
 And I told her once, 'fore company, and it almost made 
 
 her sick, 
 That I never swallowed a grammer or ate a 'rlthmetic. 
 
 So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done — 
 They was a family of themselves and I another one; 
 And a very little cottage one family will do, 
 But I have never seen a house that was big enough for 
 two. 
 
 And I never could speak to suit her, never could p 
 
 her eye, 
 And it made me independent, and then I didn't try. 
 But I was terribly staggered and felt it like a blow, 
 When Charlie turned again' me and told me I could go. 
 
 I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small. 
 And she was always a hinting how snug it was for US all: 
 And what with her husband's sisters, and what with 
 
 children three, 
 'Twas easy enough to discover there wasn't room enough 
 
 for me. 
 
 And then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I 
 
 For Thomas' buildings cover the half of an acre lot; 
 
 But the children all was on mo and I couldn't stand then- 
 sauce, 
 
 And Thomas said T needn't think 1 was coming thei 
 boss. 
 
 And then I wrote to Rebecca, my girl who Uvea <>ut \\ 
 And to Isaac, not far from her. some twenty miles at l 
 And one of thorn said 'twas too warm there for an> 
 
 so old, 
 The other one had an opinion the climate was to,. , old. 
 
 So they have shirked and Blighted me and me 
 
 about, 
 
 148 
 
So they have well-nigh soured me and worn my old heart 
 
 out; 
 But still I have borne up pretty well and wasn't much put 
 
 down 
 Till Charlie went to the poormaster and put me on the 
 
 town. 
 
 Over the hill to poor-house — my children, dear, good-by — ■ 
 Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh, 
 And God will judge between us, but I will always pray 
 That you shall never suffer the half I have to-day. 
 
 — Will M. Carlton. 
 
 There is no charm to an aspiring soul in the impress- 
 ive word, poor-house. It always has an undertone of 
 sadness, an expiring echo in a sepulchre of lost hopes, 
 a sort of graveyard where are buried all the sweet and 
 cherished memories and anticipations of one's past life, 
 and no one in extreme poverty ever thinks of it without 
 a shudder of grim despair passing through the system! 
 But there may be some things far worse, for aught we 
 know, connected with human life than so-called poverty, 
 destitution in everything of a worldly nature, with the 
 poor-house confronting one in the not far distant future. 
 The very sound of that word, however, to the sensitive 
 mind) vibrates a painful sensation in the soul, far more 
 sad and tearful than that of DEATH, which is considered 
 the most mournful word in the English language, a 
 word draped in crepe, presaging the coffin, the grave and 
 grim destair, and yet from the higher spiritual stand- 
 point, it reflects all that is grand, beautiful and soul-in- 
 spring — simply a gateway to the spirit realms. 
 
 The poor-house is generally considered the lowest 
 note in the scale of life, a note when expressed in the 
 voice, trills a sorrow so plaintive, so tender, so mourn- 
 ful, so tear-stained, that one can seem to feel the intoned 
 sighs, and moans of anguish of those who compose a 
 funeral cortege conveying to the yawning grave some 
 loved one of the family circle. But however sepulchral 
 the word sounds, there are cases where a poor-house has 
 been the scene of a triumphant angelic pageant, its beauty 
 transcending the loftiest dream of poet or seer. 
 
 144 
 
The conventional poor-house, of which Will Carlton 
 sings so plaintively, so sadly, was, like all otic 
 kind, an asylum for those unable to take car.- ot" them- 
 selves; but the poor house of which we now write 
 was not an asylum where attendants feed and I 
 of the indigent and sick at the public expt □ 
 
 The poor house about which this lesson we Intend to 
 convey concentrates, was in no Bense like the count \ i 
 houses scattered throughout the United States, with their 
 attendant comforts and blessings. It was a rickety, di- 
 lapidated, two-room house, constructed on the back <»i 
 an otherwise vacant lot; a POOR house indeed, with a 
 poverty-stricken old man living therein, who, by doing 
 odd jobs, earned a scanty living; yet he appeared to be 
 happy in his squalid surroundings. Ho was a romantic 
 genius, a strange, weird combination of inward charms 
 that at times seemed to show themselves in part just 
 the lily does in its first process of escaping from its 
 bud, and becoming a beautiful flower. He was a sort of 
 diamond in the rough, an expiring note in the Son 
 Life, a reflection of some grand intention on the part 
 of Nature, which was thwarted in its action in the pro- 
 cess of development, and thus its good designs mispl 
 in a large degree. 
 
 Indeed, this old man, "The Swiss Minstrel," as he 
 was called, did not have a home in the ordinary conven- 
 tional poor-house, sustained by taxing the public, but In a 
 poor house, a semblance of a home-like structure. Tin re 
 he lived, merely a vestige of his former sell He was 
 at one time, as the paper said, a favorite Binger, Frequent- 
 ly taking a minor part in English opera; and ye( in his 
 old age and decrepitude, he could still sing the plaintive 
 melodies, trills, warbles and Bwe< of life in llis 
 
 mountain home in Switzerland, and he would gather 
 around him a crowd in the Btreet, where he would during 
 the day obtain nickels enough to furnish him a bare liv- 
 ing in his own constructed poor house. This Bwisi Min- 
 strel was regarded as eccentric, yet his soul wis dll 
 illuminated; he was a born philanthropist, an angel in 
 the rough, his life a perennial melody, and 
 much valuable coin in the higher spheres of the spirit 
 realms. 
 
 This Minstrel was frequently called npon to sing the 
 i »:. 
 
anthem that was sung at the death of his beloved wife in 
 his mountain home in Switzerland. It seemed that when 
 he sung it his voice, so tremulously sweet, would lose 
 its huskiness, arising from a surgical operation, and all 
 who heard him were melted to tears. It was only on rare 
 occasions that this child of nature would sing this Swiss 
 anthem, it brought up so many sad reminiscences in con- 
 nection with his beloved wife's funeral; and whenever 
 he did sing it, the papers said, he claimed he saw his 
 wife, who sung with him in angelic tones, and he won- 
 dered that others could not hear her seraphic voice, which 
 accompanied him, and the tears would stream down his 
 face, as the last note of the anthem would melt in sweet 
 vibrations in this poor house that he occupied, while the 
 humble neighbors from the Swiss highland would sit in 
 solemn stillness, and with reverent awe and tearful sad- 
 ness listen to the entrancing music of the poor old Swiss 
 Minstrel, who said his angel wife was standing by his 
 side. Alas! what a scene! — a poor house in the most 
 comprehensive sense of that word, and yet an Angel of 
 Poverty, Light and Love was there to minister to one 
 of earth's children. 
 
 Finally the old man was taken sick, confined to his 
 cot in his poor house home, and he was kindly ministered 
 unto by his humble neighbors, who could not understand 
 him when he talked of hearing seraphic music; of see- 
 ing his dear wife; of taking part in the singing of celes- 
 tial choristers; of seeing the scintillating waters of a 
 flower-laden garden; of inhaling the exquisite aroma of 
 blooming trees in the fields of Paradise, and he would 
 extend his arms as if embracing, as he said, his beloved 
 wife. One evening as a few of the neighbors crowded 
 into his poor house home, his eyes seemed to glisten with 
 unnatural brightness; his sunken cheek became illumin- 
 ated with an angelic smile; his room without a light in 
 the early evening time seemed to be aglow with some- 
 thing divine when he said, "My wife and the angel chor- 
 isters have come to sing their last song, and to take me 
 with them to join them in singing in the classical schools 
 of Paradise." And then seemingly transfigured, he sat 
 on the side of his cot, and sung the songs of his own 
 Swiss home, with such transcendent sweetness in his 
 voice that a professor of music who happened to be pres- 
 
 146 
 
ent, said, Divine! Divine!! Finally the end cam 
 this angelic man in his poor house home. The light of 
 his life went out; his voice was hushed, hia pallid 
 took on the hue of death, his eyes closed, and thus his 
 career ended on earth. He did not live and die in the 
 conventional poor-house, but in a poor house of his own 
 — so poor, oh! so poor, yet scrupulously clean; and the 
 very air seemed spiritualized with the smiles of angels. 
 Thus this good man passed to the higher realms. 
 
 I had rather be this Swiss Minstrel, dying in a poor 
 house, with no relatives to mourn his death, minis! 
 unto in his last moments by the angels, than to be a king 
 crowned with riches, dying in a palace, jrel unworthy to 
 be admitted into the spirit presence of this Swiss Minstrel 
 
 14T 
 
THE LIPE OF 'OSTLER JOE. 
 
 STOOD at eve, as the sun went down, 
 by the grave where a woman lies, 
 
 Who lured men's souls to the shores 
 of sin with the light of her wan- 
 ton eyes; 
 
 Who sang the song that the siren sang 
 on the treacherous Lurely height, 
 
 Whose face was as fair as a summer 
 day and whose heart was as black as night. 
 
 Yet a blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the garden 
 
 above her dust — 
 Not the langorous lily of soulless sin, nor the blood-red 
 
 rose of lust. 
 But a sweet white blossom of holy love that grew in the 
 
 one green spot 
 In the arid desert of Phryne's life, where all was parched 
 
 and hot. 
 
 In the summer, when the meadows were aglow with blue 
 
 and red, 
 Joe, the 'ostler of the Magpie, and fair Annie Smith were 
 
 wed ; ; 
 Plump was Annie, plump and pretty, with a cheek as 
 
 white as snow; 
 He was anything but handsome, was the Magpie's 'Ostler 
 
 Joe. 
 
 But he won the winsome lassie. They'd a cottage and a 
 
 cow, 
 And her matronhood s'at lightly on the village beauty's 
 
 brow. 
 Sped the months and came a baby — such a blue-eyed 
 
 baby boy! 
 Joe was working in the stables when they told him of his 
 • joy. 
 
 148 
 
He was rubbing down the horses, and he gave them then 
 
 and there 
 All a special feed of clover, just in honor of the heir. 
 It had been his great ambition, and he told th€ horsei 
 
 That the fates might send a baby who might bear the 
 name of Joe. 
 
 Little Joe the child was christened, and, like bat) 
 apace ; 
 
 He'd his mother's eyes of azure and his father's h< 
 face; 
 
 Swift the happy years went over, years of blue and (loud- 
 less sky — 
 
 Love was lord of that small cottage, and the temi 
 passed them by. 
 
 Passed them by for years, then swiftly burst In fur; 
 
 their home; 
 Down the lane by Annie's cottage chanced a gentleman to 
 
 roam; 
 Thrice he came and saw her sitting by the window with 
 
 her child, 
 And he nodded to the baby, and tho baby laughed and 
 
 smiled. 
 
 So at last it grew to know him — little Joe was nearly four. 
 He would call the "pretty gempling" as he pas- d the 
 
 open door; 
 And one day he ran and caught him, and in child's play 
 
 pulled him in, 
 And the baby Joe had prayed for brought about t li ♦ * 
 
 mother's sin. 
 
 'Twas the same old wretched story that for ag 
 
 have sung; 
 'Twas a woman weak and wanton and a villain's tempting 
 
 tongue; 
 'Twas a picture deftly painted for a silly en 
 Of the Babylonian wonders and th.' Joy that in them 
 
 Annie listened and was tempted; she was tempted and 
 
 she fell, 
 
 149 
 
As the angels fell from heaven to the blackest depths of 
 
 hell; 
 She was promised wealth and splendor and a life of 
 
 guilty sloth; 
 Yellow gold for child and husband, and the woman left 
 
 them both. 
 
 Home one eve came Joe, the 'ostler, with a cheery cry of 
 
 "Wife!" 
 Finding that which blurred forever all the story of his 
 
 life. 
 She had left a silly letter — through the cruel scrawl he 
 
 spelt; 
 Then he sought the lonely bedroom, joined his hands 
 
 and knelt. 
 
 "Now, O Lord, O God, forgive her, for she ain't to 
 
 blame," he cried; 
 "For I owt t' a' se^n her trouble and a' gone away and 
 
 died; " 
 Why, a wench like her — God bless her — 'twasn't likely as 
 
 her'd rest 
 With her bonny head forever on a 'ostler's ragged vest. 
 
 "It was kind o' her to bear me all this long and happy 
 
 time, 
 So for my sake please to bless her, though you count her 
 
 deed a crime; 
 If so be I don't pray proper, Lord, forgive me; for you 
 
 see, 
 I can talk all right to 'osses, but I'm nervous like with 
 
 thee." 
 Never a line came to the cottage from the woman who 
 
 had flown; 
 Joe, the baby, died that winter, and the man was leffc 
 
 alone. 
 Ne'er a bitter word he uttered but in silence kissed the 
 
 rod. 
 Saving what he told his horses, saving what he told his 
 
 God. 
 
 Far away in mighty London rose the woman into fame, 
 
 150 
 
For her beauty won men's homage, and she prospered In 
 
 her shame; 
 Quick from lord to lord she flitted, higher still each prize 
 
 she won, 
 And her rivals paled beside her as the stars beside the 
 
 sun. 
 
 Next she made the stage her market, and she dragged 
 
 Art's temple down 
 To the level of a show place for the outcasts of the town. 
 And the kisses she had given to poor 'Osier Joe for naught 
 With their gold and costly jewels rich and titled li 
 
 bought. 
 Went the years with flying footsteps while the star 
 
 at its height; 
 Then the darkness came on swiftly and the gloaming 
 
 turned to night. 
 Shattered strength and faded beauty tore the laurels from 
 
 her brow; 
 Of the thousands who had worshipped never one came 
 
 near her now. 
 
 Broken down in health and fortune, men forgot her 
 
 name. 
 Till the news that she was dying woke the echoes of 
 
 fame; 
 And the papers in their gossip mentioned how nn 
 
 tress" lay 
 Sick to death in humble lodgings, growing 
 
 day. 
 
 One there was who read the story in a far-off country 
 
 place, 
 And that night the dying woman woke and looked 
 
 his face. 
 Once again the strong arms clasped her that had Cli 
 
 her long ago 
 And the weary head lay pillowed on th< 
 
 Joe. 
 
 All the past had he forgotten, all ths Md the 
 
 shame; 
 
 151 
 
He had found her sick and lonely, and his wife he now 
 
 could claim. 
 Since the grand folks who had known her one and all 
 
 had slunk away, 
 He could clasp his long-lost darling, and no man could 
 
 say him nay. 
 
 In his arms death found her lying, in his arms her spirit 
 fled; 
 
 And his tears came down in torrents as he knelt beside 
 her, dead. 
 
 Never once his love had faltered through her base, un- 
 hallowed life; . 
 
 And the stone above her ashes bears the honored name 
 of wife. 
 
 ********* 
 
 That's the blossom I fain would pluck to-day from the gar- 
 den above her dust; 
 
 Not the langorous lily of soulless sin or blood-red rose 
 of lust, . 
 
 But a sweet, white blossom of holy love that grew in the 
 one green spot 
 
 In the arid desert of Phryne's life where all was parched 
 and hot. — Geo. R. Sims. 
 
 The above poem, whether a fancy or imaginary 
 sketch, a dream, a vision, or a substantial reality, con- 
 veys an important lesson just as the fragrant flower does, 
 which pushes its way through the slush and unhealthy 
 soil of the back yard, and smiles serenely at the divine 
 lesson it conveys to mortals who gaze lovingly upon it, 
 for it has triumphed over obstacles, and brings light, 
 beauty and joy from nature's grand store-house. As to 
 'Osier Joe he may have been an imaginary being woven 
 into poetry, a factor in a fairy tale, a yarn, as it were, 
 from which to produce a moral or impart a divine lesson; 
 but whatever the facts, the picture is tearfully drawn, 
 and has in some respects a parallel in actual life. 
 
 There is an UNDERWORLD in every large city, and 
 you may congratulate yourself that you do not live there 
 in reality. It is a receptacle of crushed hopes, aspira- 
 tions not realized, lives that are wrecked, virtues that 
 
 152 
 
have been darkened or wholly obliterated by selflsl 
 and sin; there is a constant stream of human beings drift- 
 ing towards that UNDERWORLD. The Black Hal 
 sin is there; the one who lives by murder and theft i- 
 there; the one engaged in the white slave trade is there; 
 the Magdalen is there with the smile of an outcast to lure 
 others downward into the depths of hell. 
 
 The UNDERWORLD is a place of darkness, sin. Buf- 
 fering and despair. Wails of agony, tears of deep angui8fa 
 and sighs of regrets are often heard there from son. 
 pentant soul desiring to escape therefrom, but can not. 
 You approach that UNDERWORLD just in proportion BJ 
 you are selfish, covetous, or sinful, or just in proportion 
 as your thoughts and acts of life are impure or unclean. 
 Thousands are right in tins UNDERWORLD, the very 
 lowest plane of material and spiritual life. This UNDER- 
 WORLD is an actual reality, and every one is gradually 
 approaching it, or receding from it. Pure thoughts, un- 
 selfishness, generous impulses and kindly feelings tow 
 all humanity cawse you to drift further and further from 
 this UNDERWORLD of carnal sin and pleasure. 
 
 Are you there? If so, God and angels pity you. 
 
 Are you approaching it gradually? 
 
 That depends on yourself. Your thoughts, your acts 
 in life, and your aspirations determine whether you are 
 actually in the UNDERWORLD or not, or gradually ap- 
 proaching it, or receding from it. in this UNDERWORLD 
 are the lewd, the licentious, the thief, the despoiler of vir- 
 tue, the one who is wholly or partially a degenerate, an 1 
 those who have no respect for the rightfl of others. In 
 this UNDERWORLD are thousand, of young uirls who 
 have been drawn there by the fascination of sin ate: 
 
 carnal "pleasure" derived therefrom. The music of this 
 
 UNDERWORLD is generally of the "rag time." with f 
 
 tions that lead to bestial thoughts ami burning 
 
 causing its denizens to sink deeper and deep< r into the 
 
 filth of \i< e and sin. 
 
 As the daily papers said there had drifted tO this 
 UNDERWORLD a young girl. Kit;, 
 name to hide her shame. Kitty was sinmilarlv beautiful, 
 
 and under promise of marriage was led 
 
 under a combination of circumstances had reached thhi 
 
 1 5 3 
 
UNDERWORLD of lust and licentiousness. To the last 
 moment of her sin-stricken life she retained traces of her 
 remarkable beauty, and never lacked for admirers in this 
 UNDERWORLD where lives are gradually wrecked and 
 ruined, and sent hellward. She was familiar with the 
 Salvation Army girls who often frequent the lowest hells 
 of vice to sell their magazine, and never in the vilest 
 haunts of sin are they insulted or molested, but are 
 allowed to come and go in peace. Kitty Karson became 
 acquainted with one of them, and they often had heart 
 to heart talks, and they never parted without an affec- 
 tionate embrace and tear-stained eyes'. 
 
 Finally this UNDERWORLD exhibited itself in all its 
 infernalism — great sores developed on Kitty's face and 
 she finally became blind, and wholly helpless. Notwith- 
 standing her vile life of carnal pleasures, she had care- 
 fully hoarded her money, and had ample means to take 
 care of herself at a private hospital, where she was con- 
 veyed. Through the Salvation Army she tried to reach 
 her mother, who lived in Detroit, Mich., at the time her 
 wayward girl took leave of her. An investigation re- 
 vealed the fact that she had passed to spirit life — died 
 of a broken heart, while her father could not be found. 
 Blind, helpless, diseased beyond hope of recovery, there 
 came to her mind the thought of the future, and her 
 bleak, desolate life, and she prayed, and prayed for new 
 •sight, and new life that she might again mingle with the 
 world — REDEEMED! and lead a happy, useful life; and 
 she prayed and prayed for forgiveness; her prayers 
 were tearful, tender, pathetic, and when heard by the 
 nurses and physician in attendance, the tears of sympathy 
 and love would start in their eyes, and they would try 
 to solace her with kindly, sympathetic words and care. 
 In her delirium she prayed that her mother might come 
 to her, and stopping suddenly in one of her delirious pray- 
 ers and tender supplications, she said: "The morning 
 light has come. I see my mother," and then she sank 
 back on her pillow, and passed to spirit life. 
 
 Thus ended the career of one who had lived in the 
 UNDERWORLD, but in her worst and most darkened 
 conditions had hopes that sometimes she could lead a 
 different life, and they clung to her until her dying mo- 
 ments, when her prayers brought her mother to her side, 
 
 154 
 
to receive her in the realms of souls, where, through the 
 agency of ministering spirits, she will be able to 
 leave her darkened condition behind her. 
 
 Ever bear in mind that this UNDERWORLD IS \ 
 REALITY, and that while many are drifting above it and 
 from it, by virtue of noble lives, others are drifting 
 towards it, descending deeper and deeper into its cavern- 
 ous depths, until all hope is lost, and they di»- with B 
 curse on their lips only to awaken in an UNDERWORLD 
 on the spirit side where there is a dark, dreary waste 
 to greet them, an UNDERWORLD of wrecked lives and 
 blasted hopes, 
 
 155 
 
PURITY OP MIIND AND HEART. 
 
 In his seventy-ninth year, decrepid, half blind, nearly 
 starved, James Meredith was found by a neighbor, kneel- 
 ing by the side of his dead wife, in an Eastern city, his 
 hand tenderly and affectionately clasping hers. He was 
 uttering a fervent prayer to God to restore her to life 
 and health, that she might add to his lonely life that 
 sweet pathos that comes to one when divinely linked to 
 another in these keen sorrows of life that lacerate the soul 
 and bring bitter pains to the memory. 
 
 Mr. Meredith, as the story goes, was old, infirm 
 and illy prepared to grapple with the stern realities of 
 life as presented under a Christian civilization, and 
 when he first clasped the hand of his devoted wife, she 
 was alive, and he interpreted her spasmodic convulsions 
 of the breath and body, in dying, as an effort of nature 
 to throw off the disease and return to health. 
 
 Mr. Meredith had not as yet, broken the tyrannical 
 shackles of an orthodox church. However misguided in 
 his religion, yet he was kind hearted, the tendrils of his 
 sympathetic nature seeming to vibrate a sweet song of 
 love, intoned with the breath of angels, and illuminated 
 with their sweet smile of love and sympathy. He 
 prayed and prayed, while he held the withered hand of 
 his dying wife, and at times bending in his supplications 
 to Deity to place his cheek affectionately on her face, 
 which was gradually growing colder and colder, until all 
 life faded away, just as the golden sunset fades away as 
 the sun recedes to illuminate other climes. Though dead, 
 he held her hand, and in piteous tones prayed that she 
 might live, and thus while on his knees in pathetic peti- 
 tions to his God, his soul became illuminated with a 
 light divine, and seemingly in a trance, he saw two forms 
 — one his wife lying on a pallet of straw, and the other 
 a figure just like hers stood by his side with its paleness 
 
 156 
 
vanished, the wrinkles all gone, the tattered dress no 
 longer visible, the hectic flush on the face Km 
 placed with a roseate hue of divine radiance whil 
 smile illumined with joy unspeakable beamed on 
 countenance as if her whole nature bad been displ 
 by an angel right from paradii 
 
 Lo! the second figure speaks, and in loins to him 
 ineffably sweet and tender, tells him that Bhe the real 
 self — is in heaven and an angel by her side tells her 
 that a home awaits her and him, a vine-clad and Bower- 
 embordered home — oh! so sweet and lovely, and that 
 the sorrows of earth have turned into a sublime fruitage, 
 far surpassing in beauty and loveliness the loftiest ll 
 ination to conceive. Then the old man awoke from whit 
 seemed to be an experience so weird, so lovely, enchant- 
 ing, that for a moment he was bewildered, seemingly 
 dazed, and he did not realize that his beloved wife had 
 been for some time locked in the embrace of death. 
 Finally he awakened to the situation. For a time he 
 stood on the divide as it were, between the two realms. 
 the spiritual and the material. He had seen the border 
 of the spirit realms, and caught a glimpse of his future 
 home in the land of souls. He had seen his wife trans- 
 figured into — to him — an Angel of Light and Love. 
 Gradually the enchanting spiritual experience passed 
 away, and he found himself alone with his dead wii> 
 still holding her cold hand, and at times pressing H to 
 his cheek. Finally he laid her two hands tenderly upon 
 her breast, while the tears flowed down his half-starred 
 cheeks, bearing the sweet incense of love toward hifl do- 
 voted companion. 
 
 So it not infrequently occurs that the ck>8l] 
 of an earthly life where poverty exists, where bui 
 pinches, and the cold chills from a Btove with QO 
 embers of coal therein, pierce every liber, are truly I • 
 tiful, grandly practical, Intrinsically sublime, and re 
 angelic. Kings have died in their palace; QU< 
 passed away on a flower-adorn, d bed; wealth] Dal 
 have ceased to breathe while surrounded with a ret 
 of servants and sympathising friends, bu1 none of 
 death-bed scenes equaled that of Mrs Meredith, 
 erty-stricken. half-starved and dl 
 
 157 
 
spects, except in the sublime devotion of her dear com- 
 panion in sorrow. In death, money counts no more than 
 a pallet of straw. The wealth of a multi-millionaire can- 
 not secure servants on the spirit side of life to render his 
 death-bed scenes delightfully beautiful. He cannot trans- 
 figure himself from a cold, selfisih, exacting man through 
 the agency of his wealth, into an angel whose vestments 
 are made in a celestial workshop through pure life and 
 deeds. 
 
 After the sad death-scene which the poor old man, 
 Meredith, had witnessed, he became a changed man. All 
 nature was to him delightfully intoned with such a sweet 
 melody that his whole nature seemed transformed. Un- 
 der the influence of that death-bed scene, the vision, the 
 taking of the remains of his wife by the city authorities 
 to bury as the poor always are buried in that metropolis, 
 he became a changed man. In dreams and visions his 
 spirit wife came to him, caressed him, kissed him, and por- 
 trayed to him the great beauty of his future home. Thus 
 it is, that it pays- an immense percentage to BE GOOD 
 and DO GOOD; to live an unselfish life; to bring 
 heaven to earth, by living here as advanced spirits do 
 there; by attracting spirits to aid in all things desirable, 
 by living practically on the same plane as they do. 
 
 Meredith in his old age lived at times on the divide 
 between the material and spiritual realm; especially 
 was that true when he prayed his night and morning de- 
 votions! It was then that his sensitiveness was so deli- 
 cate, so attuned that he could hear spirit music, see beau- 
 tiful scenes in the realms of souls, and during those 
 Pentecostal scenes, his spirit wife would be present to 
 inspire him with lofty thoughts and aspirations. When 
 his simple prayers were. over the spirit scenes would van- 
 ish, the dear wife would disappear, and he would find 
 himself on the material side of life, the same old man, 
 pinched with poverty, yet honest, moral, spiritual, and 
 clean in all his thoughts and aspirations. 
 
 Thus it is that often in the humble walks of life the 
 death-bed scenes are often very beautiful, transcending 
 in all respects those of the death of an earthly potentate, 
 or a multi-millionaire who is tinged with selfishness. 
 
 158 
 
THE ANGEL IN YOUR NATURE. 
 
 In all the walks of life, there is certainly u. prai 
 work for .every one to do. The sphere for so doing may 
 be circumscribed, may be exceedingly small, 
 capacity for doing good therein measures most accur 
 THE ANGEL in one's nature. You may be poverty- 
 stricken, your life may be practically sunless, 1! 
 joyless, and destitute to a great extent of the ph] 
 comforts of life, yet you can possess, for all that, some- 
 thing of the AXGEL, and radiate an influence that will 
 enrich the world. Your sphere of action may be exceed- 
 ingly narrow, yet you well know that the sunlight will 
 creep through a very small hole in the wall, and if it then 
 passes through a glass prism, it will divide into m 
 different colors — red, orange, yellow, green, blue, Indigo 
 and violet. So from the exceedingly small radlui 
 life, there may arise more -even than seven Influences that 
 may go forth benignly to bless the world. 
 
 The angelic qualities determine your status in the 
 spiritual realms, and nothing else does it so well. 
 
 As the ingenious gardener fertilizes the soil in order 
 to impart greater vitality to stalk, bud and flower, so 
 you can spiritually fertilize your whole nature by thou 
 that vibrate in perfect harmony with the divine 
 the higher spheres, providing, of course, that you BU] 
 ment the same with heroic acts in the alleviation ol 
 pains and suffering of unfortunate mortals, as far as 
 possible. 
 
 To become divinely as jou masl do as the aa> 
 
 gels do. 
 
 You cannot attain the angelic Btate, while i 
 slave to selfishness, avarl 
 thoughts that bear upon them a aataoic Impn • 
 darkened with extreme selflshn* 
 pathway and retard your prOj n 
 
 l 5 9 
 
There are those who aspire to be angels, but who 
 never do an angelic act, and have no angelic qualities in 
 their natures. In fact, the hideous monster of iniquity 
 whose acts are covered with the slime of selfishness often 
 desires to be an angel. He wants the prize without strug- 
 gling for it. Such a person in his aspirations is a coun- 
 terfeit, a vile pretender — the world at large is full of 
 such persons. 
 
 One of our old workers, P. B. Randolph, an author 
 and lecturer of note, now in spirit life, was somewhat 
 erratic, yet chockfull of the milk of human kindness. 
 One night as he was walking along the streets of New 
 York many years ago he was taken deathly sick, and 
 sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and commenced to 
 vomit. Finely dressed ladies and gentlemen passed him, 
 looking out of the corner of their eyes; finally he was 
 accosted by a young woman, neatly dressed, who pro- 
 vided him with a room, and nursed him back to health 
 again; and yet she was a Magdalen, an outcast, a woman 
 of the town — yef, strange to say, with a soul full of 
 divine sympathy for those who were suffering, and under 
 the genial influence of Randolph she afterwards re- 
 formed, and cultivated the angel in her nature. 
 
 There was something sublimely heroic in the conduct 
 of James Ashley, a gambler, as he dashed into a burn- 
 ing block and rescued a little girl and her mother from 
 the flames; he returned to rescue another, but was 
 smothered by the smoke and flame, and passsed to the 
 realm of souls under the genial influence of his humane 
 deed. He had something of the angel in his make up, 
 and will advance rapidly in the spirit realms. 
 
 There was Jane Eyer — not wholly good, nor wholly 
 bad. She occupied a midway station between "heaven" 
 and 'hell." She had a beautiful foretaste of heaven in 
 her dreams, and was baptized in the fragrance of its 
 trees, which formed clouds of incense, brilliant, as it 
 seemed to her, with the genial smile of angels, and their 
 words to her in dreamland seemed to exhale sweetness, 
 so mild, so gentle, so sympathetic and encouraging, the 
 flowers seemed to pulsate under the influence of the music 
 she heard, every vibration of which, floating off in the 
 spiritual atmosphere, left its divine impress on every 
 
 160 
 
plant, flower, or tree, rendering them more beautiful to 
 her sight. Not wholly good, nor wholly bad, yet she 
 possessed enough of the angel in her nature to be 
 brought in close touch with her spirit mother only, who 
 was trying to get her off of her midway station Into ■ 
 purer spiritual atmosphere, where the angel in her nature 
 would receive a new impetus and be properly d< 
 Jane Eyer was a woman of the town, on a far h: 
 plane than some, for the life she was leading was repug- 
 nant to her; but environment, the conduct of friends, 
 and her failure to find employment, kept her on the mid- 
 way station, while she was constantly seeking for I 
 light. 
 
 Many there are on this midway station, anchored to 
 it — anchored there by their thoughts, whose emanations, 
 like that of a miasmatic swamp, is Btifling, darkening. 
 debasing, shutting out the light just beyond, a light 
 divinely radiant with the smiles of seers, philosopi 
 poets, and many others with like aspirations. Jane I 
 stood there, and when about to advance she would find 
 obstacles in her way — alluring friends with 
 would prevent a step forward, and thus she was com- 
 pelled to live on this midway station, at times illuminat- 
 ing the divine light of her soul, only to be extinguished 
 in a short time by those who sapped her very vitality and 
 life-blood. Finally the end came — and during her 
 hours on earth her lamentations, tenderly pathetic and 
 tear stained, and to angel ears a sad musical refrain, 
 bearing on ite> vibrations the vain regrets 
 life, brought the angels to her bedside, for while 
 has besetting sins, there was a grand, beautiful, pat! 
 angel side to her nature that would remove her feel for- 
 ever from the midway station of life, where conditions 
 for a time had imprisoned her. Taking the hand 01 
 of her admirers whom she devotedly loved, she whis- 
 pered, as reported at the time: .My good fellow. 
 growing dark; the light of day seems to 
 and I feel my life is ebbing away. S-h' I b 
 ing music, so divinely sweet, so tender, that I i 
 again nestling in my mother'! arm- in a itate Of 
 innocence. The darkness is and I 
 
 darling mother!" And then this poor woman 
 
 LSI 
 
much of the angel in her nature that her saintly mother 
 could approach her, take her with her, and prepare her 
 for a future life of usefulness in the spirit realms of life, 
 passed on. 
 
 Jane Eyer had enough of the angel in her nature to 
 receive the kind and considerate attention of those who 
 stand ready to assist all who are looking for more light, 
 and she soon arose from her dark conditions. 
 
 How much of the ANGEL have you in your nature? 
 That depends! You must have a goodly quantity, or 
 the darkness will not readily recede for you. The angel 
 in your nature determines your exact status in spirit life, 
 whether little or much of that divine quality in your 
 soul. You cannot receive angelic influences, unless you 
 vibrate to a certain extent in harmony with them. 
 
 G2 
 
TO DO GOOD AND BE GOOD, IS ANGELIC. 
 
 THE VACANT CHAIK. 
 
 The author of this poem is unknown. On account of 
 its spiritual beauty, we place it here. Many a so-called 
 vacant chair is filled by the loved ones that have left U8, 
 could our dim eyes but see their angelic forms: 
 
 Thee need not close the shutters yet; and, David, if thee 
 
 will, 
 I've something I would say to thee, while all the house 
 
 is still. 
 Thee knows 'tis easier to talk in this calm, quiet ll| 
 Of things that In our busy days we hid away from Bight 
 
 And home is wondrous sweet to me, this simple home ol 
 
 ours, 
 As well I know it is to thee in all these twilight hours. 
 But since the shadow on it fell, does it appear to thee 
 They are more sacred than of old, for so it 
 
 And, David, since beside our board hu> Btood Kuti. - 
 
 cant chair 
 I never yet have clasped my hands and bowed my head 
 
 in prayer 
 But I have felt the yearning strong to see the 
 
 face, 
 And scarce, I fear, with thankfulness have joined th< 
 
 lent grace. 
 
 While often, at the evening meal, with all our children 
 
 round, 
 I still have pictured to myself i ton Bud silent mound, 
 
 163 
 
Blue with the early violets or white with winter snow, 
 And felt a tender pity for the form there lying low. 
 
 Though morning may have cast a halo round the vacant 
 
 chair, 
 The sunlight only threw for me a silent shadow there, 
 And, David, I have watched the stars when thee has been 
 
 asleep, 
 For well thee knows I could not bear to have thee see 
 
 me weep. 
 
 And yet I never have rebelled — thee knows I speak the 
 
 truth — 
 Though some have said I grieve too much for our sweet 
 
 daughter Ruth. 
 But with the strongest yearning, I can always look above 
 And feel the Father does not chide the changeless human 
 
 love. 
 
 I cannot put it into words — I know I need not try; 
 For thee has understood it all — borne with me patiently. 
 Thy cares and duties, it is true, are heavier than mine, 
 But of their deeper feelings men make but slight outward 
 sign. 
 
 And, David, thee has sometimes thought it strange that 
 I should care 
 
 To wreath with flowers and evergreens our daughter's 
 vacant chair. 
 
 Yet I so long to keep her gentle memory green and sweet 
 
 For all the children, though her name I seldom now re- 
 peat. 
 
 I cannot seem to speak it with a quiet, restful tone, 
 Though often, in their thoughtless way, they name the 
 
 absent one; 
 And yet this morn I tried to tell them in a gentle way 
 Ruth would have counted eighteen years had she been 
 
 here to-day— 
 
 This bright Thanksgiving day; and then, to me all una- 
 ware, 
 
 164 
 
The children placed beside our board our daugl, 
 
 cant chair, 
 And now thee sees it, twined with flowers, stand In 
 
 moonlight clear; 
 David, I could not draw it back, but left it standin 
 
 And it was strange but as 1 bowed my head in silent 
 
 grace, 
 I saw our daughter sitting in her old accustomed pi 
 I dAd not start nor speak, but only felt a glad sin 
 To see how wondrous fair she was in all her ang< 
 
 Her face was glad and glorified, as if the joy of be 
 An added charm to that sweet smile we loved below had 
 
 given. 
 I know 'twas but a passing fancy filled the vacant chair. 
 But when I turned a ray of sunshine seemed to linger 
 
 there. 
 
 But, David, in my heart I've kept that vision all 
 
 long, 
 While it has seemed to lift me up and make my faith 
 
 more strong. 
 For I have felt through all, in some mysterious way, 
 Ruth's silent presence may have filled her vacant chair 
 
 to-day. 
 
 And though I thought this early morn I nevermore could 
 
 know 
 A truly thankful heart for all my blessings bare balow, 
 Since in our home the vacant chair stood ev.r in my 
 
 sight, 
 Yet, David, that was wrong, I know — 1 aee It all to-night 
 
 And I shall try to picture Ruth amid th< aow; 
 
 Not lying in that Bilent mound, beneath the- rain 
 
 snow, 
 As I perhaps too oft have done on winter nights of storm. 
 When all the others gathered round tl 
 
 and warm. 
 And well I know one thought alone should l 
 
 reconciled, 
 
 It;;, 
 
That I may always call my own this sweet, pure angel 
 
 child, 
 And, David, if thee will, I yet would twine the vacant 
 
 chair, 
 To keep the vision that I saw to-day still sweet and fair. 
 
 The world is full of inequalities — contrasts; some of 
 them beautifully charming, lovely beyond the expression 
 of mortal tongue, and scintillating with pearls that seem- 
 ingly were evolved from the approving smiles of some 
 angelic creature that had constant access to the "Holy 
 of Holies," and who emerged therefrom each day laden 
 with the choice jewels of Love, Charity and Kindly Feel- 
 ings, to impart to those who had risen to an eminence 
 where they could appreciate them, and realize their in- 
 trinsic worth. All things belong to inequalities — all 
 things, the diabolically ugly, and the supremely beautiful 
 as expressed in the higher realms of spirit life are of a 
 constituent part thereof. There is the high mountain, 
 rock-ribbed, towering in the grandeur of its desolation, 
 while below is the fertile valley, evolving from its an- 
 gelic qualities the genial, incomparable smile of nature, 
 as manifested in the rainbow tints of the flower, so many 
 jewels on her bosom, and the exquisite taste of the fruit 
 on the trees, apparently the outgrowth of the deep, ten- 
 der, sympathetic emotions of the underground world of 
 the material side of life! Inequalities everywhere. They 
 ascend to the highest heaven; they descend to the lowest 
 hell; they extend throughout all the realms of the uni- 
 verse, from the idiot to the gods of the highest sphere 
 (if any highest) in the universe. You cannot EVEN 
 things in the regions of space. Inequalities are there, 
 and will continue. You cannot make an angel at once 
 out of crude material, any more than you can instantly 
 make a flower spring forth fairy-like out of a seed where- 
 in it is sweetly sleeping, silently aspiring to gladden mor- 
 tals with the_; tints, of. the morning, sunbeams as they 
 come through, wisps of clouds in the east to cheer the 
 mortals of earth. The lowest vibrations on the material 
 side of life are just as important in the working processes 
 of nature as the very highest. 
 
 One class of vibrations produce sound, another heat, 
 166 
 
another electricity, another clairaudience, ai lalr- 
 
 voyance, another the highest form of inspiration, an 
 light, different kinds extending through the various colors 
 — orange, red, indigo, blue, violet, ultra-violet, and • 
 extending possibly into colors the eye cannot discern. 
 
 An elderly, unpretentious woman, had been an omniv- 
 orous reader of books pertaining to Spiritualism, Theoso- 
 phy and occult subjects. With a marvelous memor] 
 could probably repeat verbatim larger portions of t 
 masterly productions than the authors th< and 
 
 seemed to be delighted therewith. She thought along 
 substantial lines, and naturally angelic in her nature. 
 she reasoned that if all her thought- 
 were absolutely pure, her whole life as clean as Inno i 
 itself, that just as soon as she could place herself in 
 perfect harmony with all the cardinal virt 
 oped by the higher denizens of spirit life, she would then 
 naturally come within the plane of those vibnr 
 result in clairvoyance and clairaudience and at 
 time not be a medium. That was the reasoning 
 X., as set forth lucidly by one who was intimatel; 
 quainted with her. As brutality blunts the fin 
 bilities, lowers the spiritual vibrations, hardens the 
 ings, and renders one more and more like an animal, 
 even possibly to the extent of utter extinguishment of all 
 that is spiritual, making really a brute of a person, with 
 no higher aspirations than the most vicious animal. 
 X. reasoned that by scrupulous and systemati 
 lowing the opposite course, one could rise to thi 
 plane of spirituality where only the a: and 
 
 being in their vibrations, in harmony therewith, 
 could naturally, without being a medium, hear spirit 
 voices, see spirit scenes, and hold 
 who were on her plane-vibration, 
 ished selfishness, avarice, unkii 
 tious display. Her v MM mu-; 
 
 smile a benediction; her laughter a ripplis 
 benign cheerfulness and good! 
 itable acts were as unostentatious as the morning 
 beam which comes to earth on a Bummi 
 flowers while the dewdrop nestles. 
 
 .Mrs. X. had lost a lOVelj 'laughter — a part 
 167 
 
very life — one perennial pleasure to her, and for several 
 years she had placed a vacant chair at the table, believ- 
 ing that some day she would see, sitting therein, that 
 precious child! As the narrative sets forth, Mrs. X.'s 
 nature became refined, her spiritual vibrations increased 
 in number, until she could by a mere effort of the will 
 see spirit®, hear their words of wisdom, and see the soul- 
 enchanting scenes of spirit life, and the most important 
 fact of all, the hitherto vacant chair to her was occupied 
 at times by her beloved daughter; she could see her, hear 
 her, and feel her as in mortal life, and her very existence 
 became a sweet poem, a profound philosophy, a center 
 of soul-elevating activities, a focus of vibrations that 
 opened wide the doors of spirit life, and why? Because 
 she combined within herself all the constructive princi- 
 ples of nature, — charity, unselfishness, benevolence, kind- 
 ness, zeal in doing right, with an ever awakened con- 
 sciousness to DO GOOD and BE GOOD, in all the "Walks 
 of life. Personally, we have no absolute knowledge this 
 narrative is true, but we do know there is one — a man 
 — whose life in nearly all respects parallels that of Mrs. 
 X., and hence we are inclined to believe as probable 
 and possible the narrative in relation to this remarka- 
 ble lady, who now sees that the "vacant" chair is filled, 
 that its occupant speaks and illuminates the mother's 
 heart with joy unspeakable, with pleasures emanating 
 from angelic sources, with an influence that radiates only 
 harmony and happiness, 
 
 Whatever your position in life, you can not advance 
 spiritually only along the lines of all the cardinal vir- 
 tues, which are all embraced within four important 
 words, BEING GOOD and DOING GOOD, which has in 
 many cases led to a spiritual growth enabling a person, 
 while standing on the Divide between the two worlds, to 
 hold converse with the angels on the one side and mor- 
 tals on the other. 
 
 168 
 
ThlE END OP THE PRIMROSE PATH. 
 
 "The primrose path" ends like many a primrose Itself, 
 or other flower, whether gaudy or delicate-hued. [tfl end 
 is inevitable. It is almost always the same — or nearly 
 so. One of the Chicago dailies, some time ago, had BO 
 article on this subject, which pertained to a case of 
 world-wide renown — or infamy rather — and in 
 one of the "celebrated cases" of history, either ancient 
 modern. The people described composed a trinity ot 
 and crime hardly paralleled; but "the primrose path" 
 was theirs, and it ended at last, leaving the stalks \t 
 once blossomed the flowers of illicit love and accompany- 
 ing vices bare and blackened in the hour of desolation 
 and death. One of the actors in the melodrama li - 
 in an unhonored grave, and under circumstances which 
 make even his own family reluctant to have his Dame 
 mentioned; another one got himself sent to an in 
 asylum to save his life, and the third Buppl< menta tin 
 story of her tale of temptation and lapse from virtue 
 by living on charity or maybe by less honorable m< 
 As the paper referred to abo\ the moral of the 
 
 tale is the old, old story — as old as humanity itself — 
 and yet one that never grows old. Bince in < 
 eration there are those who will not learn it — until 
 late. 
 
 Here was a man of uncommon talent -even genial 
 — in his chosen profession. His works of skill and 
 beauty praised him to all the world. Bui not 
 
 content with a fair-won fame. He sought depravity and 
 plunged into it, even to worse than bestial crime. And 
 he sleeps in a dishonored grave. 
 
 Here was a younger man. with ev< intage and 
 
 opportunity to live a decent, upright life. But in the 
 name of pleasure he sought for the unclean and 
 lowed in it. And he dwells among madmen, perhaps 
 never to leave their society. 
 
 Here was a woman endowed with meat tx 
 though unfortunate^ situated, not without int< 
 
 L69 
 
to know right from wrong. That she might live lux- 
 uriously she let herself be led into depravity and called 
 it pleasure. And she is a physical and moral wreck 
 at twenty-two! 
 
 The lesson of it all is plain and clear before us every 
 day. But it needs ever to be reiterated and enforced 
 upon the minds of the young, and to be taken to heart 
 by young and old alike. 
 
 It is better to be decent, no matter how pleasant 
 it may seem to tamper with indecency. The primrose 
 path leads down to hell, and the wages of sin is death. 
 
 This conveys an important, impressive lesson of to- 
 day. The people connected with the melodrama lived 
 exclusively for self, like the very lowest order of crea- 
 tion. In connection with the above, read carefully the 
 following touching article on "Clean Lips and a Clean 
 Mind," by Dr. Madison C. Peters: 
 
 "Clean lips and a clean mind are the badges of 
 noblest manhood. Go among some men of an apparently 
 decent type and you will be sickened by the coarse slang 
 and jests and contemptible jokes which meet with no 
 manly protest. 
 
 "Tell me what your most cherished feelings are and 
 I will tell you what you will be. Cleanliness of a man's 
 clothes ought to put him in mind of keeping all clean 
 within. Epicurus said: 'The man who is not virtuous 
 can never be happy.' The pleasure of iniquity in any 
 form is confined to the moment of indulgence in it. 
 
 "You have to manufacture it anew on every occasion, 
 and you can only recall the enjoyment by repeating the 
 folly, and with repetition the same discovery of the fleet- 
 ing nature of the joy is made. It is not a fountain 
 sending ever forth its sparkling waters, but a leaky 
 pitcher, which is empty before we can drink even that 
 which it first contained. 
 
 "Robert Burns, whose thoughtless follies laid him 
 low and stained his name, gives his experience in lines 
 which are not more exquisitely beautiful than they are 
 strictly true: 
 
 " 'Pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flower, its bloom is shed; 
 Or like the scowfall in the river, 
 A moment white, then melts fdrever.' 
 170 
 
"The world's pleasures, alluring and seductive, may 
 glow like the rosy rind of the Dead Sea fruit; may ^ut- 
 ter like the fresh scales of the sloughed serpent; may 
 fascinate like the siren's maddening song; but nothing 
 ever comes of it except misery and disappointment. 
 
 "That a young man must sow his wild 
 devil's maxim. The only thing to do with wild oats is 
 to put them carefully in the hottest part of the fire 
 and burn them to dust. Sow them, and up they will 
 come with long, tough roots, luxuriant stalks and lei 
 and a crop will follow which turns one's heart cold to 
 think of. 
 
 "The botanical definition for wild oats is: A 
 of oat9 remarkable for the length of time the main will 
 lie in the soil and retain its vegetative power. When' it 
 abounds naturally it is an inveterate weed. The popular 
 delusion that after a little while those who have Bown 
 wild oats will settle down to steady habits and arc more 
 likely to make better men for having sown wild oats has 
 ruined thousands. 
 
 "There are men who in an unguarded moment have 
 gone into scenes of temptation and have turned away with 
 horror, like a bird that, having strayed into tin 1 poison- 
 ous atmosphere of chemical works, has rushed back 
 quickly to the pure air of heaven, but such i 
 the exception. One night in a place of evil concourse 
 may so pollute the imagination as to break down all the 
 barriers of years. The first step in sin Btartles a man. 
 then it becomes in turn pleasing, easy, delightful, fre- 
 quent, habitual, confirmed. Importunate, 
 damned. 
 
 "I have somewhere seen a BCUlptured repr< 
 of Bacchus, the god of drink and revelry. He is riding 
 on a panther at a furious bound. 11 
 true! A man begins a career of vice and thin', 
 mounted a well broken steed, that he has the reins hi 
 hands, can keep it in control, and Btop it when he 
 pleases. But lo! when he sees the approaching chasm 
 
 and would fain pull up he finds he is Utride I avage 
 brute that no human power can tame. 
 
 "How many men would give all they ha\- 
 life all over again! Alas and alack' How manv WTC 
 
 die, scalded and Bcorched with agony; and were the Bum 
 
 1-1 
 
of all the pain harvested that comes from sowing wild 
 oats it would rend heaven with its outcry and make the 
 cheeks of darkness pale. 
 
 "There is nothing you need to cultivate so much as 
 self-control. 'Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-con- 
 trol. These three alone lead life to sovereign power.' 
 Plato says: 'The first and best victory is for a man to 
 conquer himself, and without that he is naught but the 
 veriest slave.' Carlyle says: 'The king is the man who 
 can.' 
 
 "The harvest consequent upon impurity may not be 
 immediate. There may be a period of gratification and 
 delight in transgression, long continued, when the eye 
 is not tired of seeing, nor the appetite glutted with in- 
 dulgence. But sooner or later 'the glare of the enjoy- 
 ment is shut out by returning clouds of conscious dis- 
 tress, and the day of mirth sinks in the darkness of 
 despair.' 
 
 "It is not true that 'the good die young.' 'The wicked 
 do not live out half their days.' Cicero said: 'To live 
 long it is necessary to live slowly.' Franklin: 'If you 
 will not hear reason, she will surely rap your knuckles.' 
 Virgil: 'Cease to think that the decrees of the gods 
 can be changed by prayers.' 
 
 "Young man, living in America and the twentieth 
 century, the synonyms for opportunity, will you sell 
 your birthright for a few nights' carousing? Will you in 
 the red gleaming of the wine cup, in the madness of the 
 gambling table, drown all there is about you of purity 
 and nobleness/ and manliness, and become a poor, de- 
 graded, wretched thing? 
 
 "Know prudent, cautious self-control is wisdom's 
 root." 
 
 The daily newspapers of this country teem with 
 stories of people who in many respects have been con- 
 tributors to those low vibrations, emotions, passions, 
 tastes and practices, which place them exactly where 
 they are. If your emotions tend toward habits which are 
 unclean, vile and destructive in their tendencies, they 
 lead you into spiritual darkness. Such emotions are a 
 much greater obstruction to the vibrations that emanate 
 from exalted spirits, than the darkest cloud is to the 
 
 172 
 
sun's rays. The one who is on a low plane la constantly 
 creating obstructions to the refining vibrations of tt 
 in the higher spheres. Thus all the selfish pass! 
 a barrier against the light of angelic Influence* The 
 angels can only approach you just in proportion as you 
 remove the barriers surrounding you, caused by the 
 ercise of baneful passions, hence the necessity of having 
 clean minds must be apparent to all. The cultivation ol 
 vile passions, and the practice of evil, tend to fen< 
 in spiritually, confining him, when death comi s, within 
 that fence that he himself has created. In order to 
 advance, you must purify the spiritual atmosphere around 
 you, so that the garments of the angelic m< 
 that approach you will not be so badly soiled. E 
 evil thought, every envious feeling, every avaricious im- 
 pulse, every practice of deception, every burst of an 
 and every wrong perpetrated against another, places ob- 
 structions in your own pathway. Commence, then. NOW. 
 and create no more obstructions to Impede your progi 
 and at the same time try to remove those you have 
 already made, and with your atmosphere thus purified, 
 vou are prepared to invite the angels to visit you. 
 
OCT 2U910 
 
One copy del. to Cat, Div. 
 
 ?l l