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The angel lowered his flight, and placed him on the steps. 'I thought you were taking me to Heaven,' said the spirit. This is Heaven,' replied the angel. 'This! Assuredly this temple is of rare beauty; but I could imagine just such built on earth,' 'Nevertheless, it is Heaven,' replied the angel.

They entered a room just within the temple. A table stood in the centre, on which was a golden vase, filled with sparkling wine. Drink of this,' said the angel, offering the vase; 'for all who would know spiritual things, must first drink of spiritual wine.' Scarcely had the ruby liquid wet his lips, when the Saviour of men stood before him, smiling most benignly. The spirit instantly dropped on his knees, and bowed down his head before Him. The holy hands of the Purest were folded over him in blessing; and his voice said, 'You will see me seldom now; hereafter you will see me more frequently. In the meantime, observe well the wonders of this temple!'

The sounds ceased. The spirit remained awhile in stillness. When he raised his head, the Saviour no longer appeared. He turned to ask the angel what this could mean: but the angel had departed also. The soul stood alone, in its own unveiled presence! Why did the Holy One tell me to observe well the wonders of this temple thought he. He looked slowly round. A sudden start of joy and wonder! There, painted on the walls, in most marvellous beauty, stood recorded the whole of his spiritual life! Every doubt, and every clear perception, every conflict and every victory, were there before him! and though forgotten for years, he knew them at a glance. Even thus had a sunbeam pierced the darkest cloud, and thrown a rainbow bridge from the finite to the infinite; thus had he slept peacefully in green valleys, by the side of running brooks; and such had been his visions from the mountain tops. He knew them all. They had been always painted within the cham

bers of his soul; but now, for the first time, was the veil removed.

To those who think on spiritual things, this remarkable dream is too deeply and beautifully significant ever to be forgotten.

'We shape ourselves the joy or fear

Of which the coming life is made,
And fill our Future's atmosphere
With sunshine or with shade.

Still shall the soul around it call

The shadows which it gathered here,
And painted on the eternal wall

The Past shall reappear.'

I do not mean that the paintings, and statutes, and houses, which a man has made on earth, will form his environment in the world of souls; this would monopolize Heaven for the wealthy and the cultivated. I mean, that the spiritual combats and victories of our pilgrimage write themselves there above, in infinite variations of form, colour, and tone; and thus shall every word and thought be brought unto judgment. Of these things inscribed in Heaven, who can tell what may be the action upon souls newly born into time? Perhaps all lovely forms of Art are mere ultimates of spiritual victories in individual souls. It may be that all genius derives its life from some holiness, which preceded it, in the attainment of another spirit. Who shall venture to assert that Beethoven could have produced his strangely powerful music, had not souls gone before him on earth, who, with infinite struggling against temptation, aspired toward the Highest, and in some degree realized their aspiration? The music thus brought from the eternal world kindles still higher spiritual aspirations in mortals, to be realized in this life, and again written above, to inspire anew some gifted spirit, who stands a ready recipient in the far-off time. Upon this ladder, how beautifully the angels are seen ascending and descending!

LETTER XVIII.

May 26, 1842.

The Battery is growing charming again, now that Nature has laid aside her pearls, and put on her emeralds. The worst of it is, crowds are flocking there morning and evening; yet I am ashamed of that anti-social sentiment. It does my heart good to see the throng of children trundling their hoops and rolling on the grass; some, with tattered garments and dirty hands, come up from narrow lanes and stifled courts, and others with pale faces and weak limbs, the sickly occupants of heated drawing-rooms. But while I rejoice for their sakes, I cannot overcome my aversion to a multitude. It is so pleasant to run and jump, and throw pebbles, and make up faces at a friend, without having a platoon of well-dressed people turn round and stare, and ask, 'Who is that strange woman, that acts so like a child?' Those who are truly enamoured of Nature, love to be alone with her. It is with them as with other lovers; the intrusion of strangers puts to flight a thousand sweet fancies, as fairies are said to scamper at the approach of a mortal footstep.

I rarely see the Battery without thinking how beautiful it must have been before the white man looked upon it; when the tall, solemn forest came down to the water's edge, and bathed in the moonlight stillness. The solitary Indian came out from the dense shadows, and stood in the glorious brightness. As he leaned thoughtfully on his bow, his crest of eagle's feathers waved slowly in the gentle evening breeze; and voices from the world of spirits spoke into his heart, and stirred it with a troubled reverence, which he felt, but could not comprehend. To us, likewise, they are ever speaking through manyvoiced Nature: the soul, in its quiet hour, listens in

tently to the friendly entreaty, and strives to guess its meaning. All round us, on hill and dale, the surging ocean and the evening cloud, they have spread open the illuminated copy of their scriptures-revealing all things, if we could but learn the language!

The Indian did not think this; but he felt it, even as I do. What have we gained by civilization? It is a circling question, the beginning and end of which every where touch each other. One thing is certain; they who pass through the ordeal of high civilization, with garments unspotted by the crowd, will make far higher and holier angels; will love more, and know more, than they who went to their Father's house through the lonely forest-path. But looking at it only in relation to this earth, there is much to be said in favour of that wild life of savage freedom, as well as much against it. It would be so pleasant to get rid of that nightmare of civilized life What will Mrs. Smith say?' and 'Do you suppose folks will think strange? It is true that phantom troubles me but little; having snapped my fingers in its face years ago; it mainly vexes me by keeping me for ever from a full insight into the souls of others.

Should I have learned more of the spirit's life, could I have wandered at midnight with Pocahontas, on this fair island of Manhattan? I should have, at least, learned all; the soul of Nature's child might have lisped, and stammered in broken sentences, but it would not have muttered through a mask.

The very name of this island brings me back to civilization, by a most unpleasant path. It was in the autumn of 1609 that the celebrated Hudson first entered the magnificent river that now bears his name, in his adventurous yacht, The Half Moon. The simple Indians were attracted by the red garments and bright buttons of the strangers; and as usual their new friendship was soon sealed with the accursed 'fire-water.' On the island where the city now stands, they had a great carouse; and the Indians, in com

memoration thereof, named it Manahachtanienks, abbreviated, by rapid speech, to Manhattan. The meaning of it is, The place where all got drunk together.' As I walk through the crowded streets, am sometimes inclined to think the name is by no means misapplied at the present day.

New-York is beautiful now, with its broad rivers glancing in the sunbeams, its numerous islands, like fairy homes, and verdant headlands jutting out in graceful curves into its spacious harbour, where float the vessels of a hundred nations. But oh, how beautiful it must have been, when the thick forest hung all round Hudson's lonely bark! When the wild deer bounded through paths where swine now grunt and grovel! That chapter of the world's history was left unrecorded here below; but historians above have it on their tablets; for it wrote itself there in daguerreotype.

Of times far less ancient, the vestiges are passing away; recalled sometimes by names bringing the most contradictory associations. Maiden-lane is now one of the busiest of commercial streets; the sky shut out with bricks and mortar ; gutters on either side, black as the ancients imagined the rivers of hell; thronged with sailors and draymen; and redolent of all wharflike smells. Its name, significant of innocence and youthful beauty, was given in the olden time, when a clear, sparkling rivulet here flowed from an abundant spring, and the young Dutch girls went and came with baskets on their heads, to wash and bleach linen in the flowing stream, and on the verdant grass.

Greenwich-street, which now rears its huge mas ses of brick, and shows only a long vista of dirt and paving-stones, was once a beautiful beach, where boys and horses went in to bathe. In the middle of what is now the street, was a large rock, on which was built a rude summer-house, from which the merry bathers loved to jump, with splash and ringing shouts of laughter.

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