MY DREAM OF HEAVEN  Rebecca Ruter Springer

The pages of this little volume contain no fancy sketch,

written to while away an idle hour; but are the true, though

greatly condensed, record of an experience during days

when life hung in the balance between Time and Eternity,

with the scales dipping decidedly toward the Eternity side.

I am painfully aware of the fact that I can never paint for

others the scenes as they appeared to me during those

wonderful days. If I can only dimly show the close linking

of the two lives—the mortal with the divine—as they then

appeared to me, I may be able to partly tear the veil from

the death we so dread, and show it to be only an open door

into a new and beautiful phase of the life we now live.

If any of the scenes depicted should seem irreverent in

view of our religious training here, I can only say, "I give it

as it came to me." In those strange, happy hours the close

blending of the two lives, so wrapped about with the

Father's watchful care and tender love; the reunion of

friends, with the dear earth-ties unchanged; the satisfied

desires, the glad surprises and the divine joys, all

intensified and illumined by the reverence and love and

adoration that all hearts gave to the blessed Trinity,

appeared to me the most perfect revelation of that "blessed

life" of which here we so fondly dream. With the hope that

it may comfort and uplift some who read, even as it then

did, and as its memory ever will do, for me, I submit this

imperfect sketch of a most perfect vision.

Rebecca Ruter Springer

CHAPTER I.

I WAS many hundred miles away from home and friends,

and had been very ill for many weeks. I was entirely among

strangers, and my only attendant, though of a kindly

disposition, knew nothing whatever of the duties of the sick

room; hence I had none of the many delicate attentions that

keep up an invalid's failing strength. I had taken no

nourishment of any kind for nearly three weeks, scarcely

even water, and was greatly reduced in both flesh and

strength, and consciousness seemed at times to wholly

desert me. I had an unutterable longing for the presence of

my dear distant ones; for the gentle touch of beloved hands,

and whispered words of love and courage; but they never

came they could not. Responsible duties, that I felt must not

be neglected, kept these dear ones much of the time in

distant scenes, and I would not recall them.

I lay in a large, comfortable room, on the second floor

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8 --

of a house in Kentville. The bed stood in a recess at one

end of the apartment, and from this recess a large stained glass

window opened upon a veranda fronting on the street.

During much of my illness I lay with my face to this

window, and my back to the room; and I remember

thinking how easy it would be to pass through the window

to the veranda, if one so desired. When the longing for the

loved distant faces and voices became more than I could

bear, I prayed that the dear Christ would help me to realize

his blessed presence; and that since the beloved ones of

earth could not minister to me, I might feel the influence of

the other dear ones who are "all ministering spirits."

Especially did I ask to be sustained should I indeed be

called to pass through the dark waters alone. It was no idle

prayer, and the response came swiftly, speedily. All

anxieties and cares slipped away from me, as a worn-out

garment, and peace, Christ's peace, enfolded me. I was

willing to wait God's time for the coming of those so dear

to me, and said to myself, more than once, "If not here, it

will be there; there is no fear of disappointment there." In

those wonderful days of agonized suffering, and great

peace, I felt that I had truly found, as never before, the

refuge of "the Everlasting Arms." They lifted me; they

upbore me; they enfolded me; and I rested in them, as a

tired child upon its mother's bosom. One morning, dark and

cold and stormy, after a day and night of intense suffering,

I seemed to be standing on the floor by the bed, in front of

the stained-glass window.

-- 9

Some one was standing by me, and, when I looked up, I

saw it was my husband's favorite brother, who "crossed the

flood" many years ago.

"My dear brother Frank!" I cried out joyously, "how

good of you to come!"

"It was a great joy to me that I could do so, little Sister,"

he said gently. "Shall we go now?" and he drew me toward

the window.

I turned my head and looked back into the room that

somehow I felt I was about to leave forever. It was in its

usual good order: a cheery, pretty room. The attendant sat

by the stove at the farther end, comfortably reading a

newspaper; and on the bed, turned toward the window, lay

a white, still form, with the shadow of a smile on the poor,

worn face. My brother drew me gently, and I yielded,

passing with him through the window, out on the veranda,

and from thence, in some unaccountable way, down to the

street. There I paused and said earnestly:

"I cannot leave Will and our dear boy."

"They are not here, dear, but hundreds of miles away,"

he answered.

"Yes, I know, but they will be here. Oh, Frank! they will

need me—let me stay!" I pleaded.

"Would it not be better if I brought you back a little

later—after they come?" he said, with a kind smile.

"Would you surely do so?" I asked.

"Most certainly, if you desire it. You are worn out with

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the long suffering, and a little rest will give you new

strength."

I felt that he was right, said so in a few words, and we

started slowly up the street. He had drawn my hand within

his arm, and endeavored to interest me, as we walked. But

my heart clung to the dear ones whom I felt I was not to see

again on earth, and several times I stopped and looked

wistfully back the way we had come. He was very patient

and gentle with me, waiting always till I was ready to

proceed again; but at last my hesitation became so great

that he said pleasantly:

"You are so weak I think I had better carry you;" and

without waiting for a reply, he stooped and lifted me in his

arms, as though I had been a little child; and, like a child, I

yielded, resting my head upon his shoulder, and laying my

arm about his neck. I felt so safe, so content, to be thus in

his care. It seemed so sweet, after the long, lonely struggle,

to have some one assume the responsibility of caring thus

tenderly for me.

He walked on with firm, swift steps, and I think I must

have slept; for the next I knew, I was sitting in a sheltered

nook, made by flowering shrubs, upon the softest and most

beautiful turf of grass, thickly studded with fragrant

flowers, many of them the flowers I had known and loved

on earth. I remember noticing heliotrope, violets, lilies of

the valley, and mignonette, with many others of like nature

wholly unfamiliar to me. But even in that first moment I

observed

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how perfect in its way was every plant and flower. For

instance, the heliotrope, which with us often runs into long,

ragged sprays, there grew upon short, smooth stems, and

each leaf was perfect and smooth and glossy, instead of

being rough and coarse-looking; and the flowers peeped up

from the deep grass, so like velvet, with sweet, happy faces,

as though inviting the admiration one could not withhold.

And what a scene was that on which I looked as I rested

upon this soft, fragrant cushion, secluded and yet not hidden!

Away, away—far beyond the limit of my vision, I well

knew—stretched this wonderful sward of perfect grass and

flowers; and out of it grew equally wonderful trees, whose

drooping branches were laden with exquisite blossoms and

fruits of many kinds. I found myself thinking of St. John's

vision in the Isle of Patmos, and "the tree of life" that grew in

the midst of the garden, bearing "twelve manner of fruits, and

whose leaves were for the healing of the nations." Beneath the

trees, in many happy groups, Were little children, laughing

and playing, running hither and thither in their joy, and

catching in their tiny hands the bright-winged birds that flitted

in and out among them, as though sharing in their sports, as

they doubtless were. All through the grounds, older people

were walking, sometimes in groups, sometimes by twos,

sometimes alone, but all with an air of peacefulness and

happiness that made itself felt by even me, a stranger. All

were in spotless white, though many wore about them or

carried in their bands clusters of

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beautiful flowers. As I looked upon their happy faces and

their spotless robes, again I thought, "These are they who

have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood

of the Lamb."

Look where I would, I saw, half hidden by the trees,

elegant and beautiful houses of strangely attractive

architecture, that I felt must be the homes of the happy

inhabitants of this enchanted place. I caught glimpses of

sparkling fountains in many directions, and close to my

retreat flowed a river, with placid breast and water clear as

crystal. The walks that ran in many directions through the

grounds appeared to me to be, and I afterward found were,

of pearl, spotless and pure, bordered on either side by

narrow streams of pellucid water, running over stones of

gold. The one thought that fastened itself upon me as I

looked, breathless and speechless, upon this scene, was

"Purity, purity!" No shadow of dust; no taint of decay on

fruit or flower; everything perfect, everything pure. The

grass and flowers looked as though fresh-washed by

summer showers, and not a single blade was any color but

the brightest green. The air was soft and balmy, though

invigorating; and instead of sunlight there was a golden and

rosy glory everywhere; something like the afterglow of a

Southern sunset in midsummer.

As I drew in my breath with a short, quick gasp of delight, I

heard my brother, who was standing beside me, say softly,

"Well?" and, looking up, I discovered that he was watching me

with keen enjoyment. I had, in my great surprise

-- 13

and delight, wholly forgotten his presence. Recalled to

myself by his question, I faltered:

"Oh, Frank, that I—" when such an overpowering sense

of God's goodness and my own unworthiness swept over

me that I dropped my face into my hands, and burst into

uncontrollable and very human weeping.

"'Ah!" said my brother, in a tone of self-reproach, "I am

inconsiderate." And lifting me gently to my feet, he said,

"Come, I want to show you the river."

When we reached the brink of the river, but a few steps

distant, I found that the lovely sward ran even to the water's

edge, and in some places I saw the flowers blooming

placidly down in the depths, among the many-colored

pebbles with which the entire bed of the river was lined.

"I want you to see these beautiful stones," said my

brother, stepping into the water and urging me to do the

same.

I drew back timidly, saying, "I fear it is cold."

"Not in the least," he said, with a reassuring smile.

"Come."

"Just as I am?" I said, glancing down at my lovely robe,

which, to my great joy, I found was Similar to those of the

dwellers in that happy place.

"Just as you are," with another reassuring smile.

Thus encouraged, I, too, stepped into the "gently flowing

river," and to my great surprise found the water, in both

temperature and density, almost identical with the air.

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Deeper and deeper grew the stream as we passed on, until I

felt the soft, sweet ripples playing about my throat. As I

stopped, my brother said, "A little farther still."

It will go over my head," I expostulated. Well, and what

then?" I cannot breathe under the water—I will suffocate."

An amused twinkle came into his eyes, though he said

soberly enough, "We do not do those things here."

I realized the absurdity of my position, and with a happy

laugh said, "All right; come on," and plunged headlong into

the bright water, which soon bubbled and rippled several

feet above my head. To my surprise and delight, I found I

could not only breathe, but laugh and talk, see and hear, as

naturally under the water as above it. I sat down in the

midst of the many-colored pebbles, and filled my hands

with them, as a child would have done. My brother lay

down upon them, as he would have done on the green

sward, and laughed and talked joyously with me.

"Do this," he said, rubbing his hands over his face, and

running his fingers through his dark hair.

I did as he told me, and the sensation was delightful. I

threw back my loose sleeves and rubbed my arms, then my

throat, and again thrust my fingers through my long, loose,

hair, thinking at the time what a tangle it would be in when

I left the water. Then the thought came, as we at last arose

to return, "What are we to do for towels?" for the

earth-thoughts still clung to me; and I wondered, too, if the

-- 15

lovely robe was not entirely;polled. But behold. as we

neared the shore and my head once more emerged from the

water, the moment the air struck my face and hair I realized

that I would need no towel or brush. My flesh, my hair, and

even my beautiful garments, were soft and dry as before the

water touched them. The material out of which my robe

was fashioned was unlike anything that I had ever seen. It

was soft and light and shone with a faint luster, reminding

me more of silk crepe than anything I Could recall, only

infinitely more beautiful. It fell about me in soft, graceful

folds, which the water seemed to have rendered even more

lustrous than before.

"What marvelous water! What wonderful air!" I said to

my brother, as we again stepped upon the flowery sward

Are all the rivers here like this one?"

"Not just the same, but similar," he replied.

We walked on a few steps, and then I turned and looked

back at the shining river flowing on tranquilly. "Frank,

what has that water done for me?" I said. "I feel as though I

could fly."

He looked at me with earnest, tender eyes, as, he

answered gently, "It has washed away the last of the

earth-life, and fitted you for the new life upon which you

have entered."

"It is divine!" I whispered.

"Yes, it is divine," he said.

CHAPTER II

City of Peace! in thy palaces fair

Loved faces and forms we can see;

And sweet voices float to us thro' the calm air

That whisper, "We're watching for thee!"

WE walked on for some distance in silence, my heart

wrestling with the thoughts of the new, Strange life, my

eyes drinking in fresh beauty at every step. The houses, as

we approached and passed them, seemed wondrously

beautiful to me. They were built of the finest marbles,

encircled by broad verandas, the roofs or domes supported

by massive or delicate pillars or columns; and winding

steps led down to the pearl and golden walks. The style of

the architecture was unlike anything I had ever seen, and

the flowers and vines that grew luxuriantly everywhere

surpassed in beauty even those of my brightest dreams.

Happy faces looked out from these columned walls, and

happy voices rang upon the clear air, from many a celestial

home.

"Frank, where are we going?" at length I asked.

"Home, little sister," he answered tenderly.

"Home? Have we a home, my brother? Is it anything like

these?" I asked,with awild desire inmy heart to cry out for joy.

"Come and see," was his only answer, as he turned into a

side path leading toward an exquisitely beautiful house

whose columns of very light gray marble shone through the

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green of the overhanging trees with most inviting beauty.

Before I could join him, I heard a well-remembered voice

saying close beside me:

"I just had to be the first to bid you welcome!" and

looking around, I saw the dearly-beloved face of my

old-time friend, Mrs. Wickham.

"Oh! Oh!" I cried, as we met in a warm embrace.

"You will forgive me, Col. Sprague," she said a moment

later, giving her hand cordially to my brother. "It seems

unpardonable to intercept you thus, in almost the first hour,

but I heard that she was coming, and I could not wait. But

now that I have looked upon her face, and heard her dear

voice, I will be patient till I can have her for a long, long

talk."

"You must come in and see her now," said my brother

cordially.

"Do, do come!" I urged.

"No, dear friends, not now. You know, dear little

Blossom," (the old pet name for me years ago) "we have all

eternity before us! But you will bring her to me soon, Col.

Sprague?" she said.

"Just as soon as I may, dear madam," he replied, with an

expressive look into her eyes.

Yes, I understand," she said softly, with a sympathetic

glance at me. Then with a warm hand-clasp, and the parting

injunction, "Come very soon," she passed swiftly out of my

sight.

-- 19

"Blessed woman!" I said, "what a joy to meet her again!"

"Her home is not far away; you can often see her. She is

indeed a lovely woman. Now, come, little sister, I long to

give you welcome to our home," saying which, he took my

hand and led me up the low steps on to the broad veranda,

with its beautiful inlaid floor of rare and costly marbles,

and its massive columns of gray, between which, vines

covered with rich, glossy leaves of green were intermingled

with flowers of exquisite color and delicate perfume

hanging in heavy festoons. We paused a moment here, that

I might see the charming view presented on every side.

"It is heavenly!" I said.

"It is heavenly," he answered. "It could not be

otherwise."

I smiled my acknowledgment of this truth—my heart

was too full for words.

"The entire house, both below and above, is surrounded

by these broad verandas. But come within."

He led me through a doorway, between the marble

columns, into a large reception hall, whose inlaid floor,

mullioned window, and broad, low stairway at the far end,

at once held my fancy. Before.. I could speak, my brother

turned to me, and, taking both my hands, said:

"Welcome, a thousand welcomes, dearest sister, to your

heavenly home!"

20 --

"Is this beautiful place indeed to be my home?" I asked.

as well as my emotion would allow.

"Yes, dear," he replied. "I built it for you and my brother,

and I assure you it has been a labor of love."

"It is your home, and I am to stay with you?" I said, a

little confused.

"No, it is your home, and I am to stay with you till my

brother comes."

"Always, dear brother, always!" I cried, clinging to his arm.

He smiled and said, "We will enjoy the present; we never

will be far apart again. But come, I am eager to show you

all."

Turning to the left, he led me, still through the beautiful

marble columns that everywhere seemed substituted for

doorways, into a large, oblong room, upon whose threshold

I stopped in wondering delight. The entire walls and floor

of the room were still of that exquisite light gray marble,

polished to the greatest luster; but over walls and floors

were strewn exquisite, long-stemmed roses, of every

variety and color, from the deepest crimson to the most

delicate shades of pink and yellow.

"Come inside," said my brother.

"I do not wish to crush those perfect flowers," I

answered.

"Well, then, suppose we gather some of them."

I stooped to take one from the floor close tomy feet,when

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lo! I found it was imbedded in the marble. I tried another

with the same astonishing result, then turning to my

brother, I said:

"What does it mean? You surely do not tell me that none

of these are natural flowers?"

He nodded his head with a pleased smile, then said:

"This room has a history. Come in and sit with me here

upon this window-seat, where you can see the whole room,

and let me tell you about it." I did as he desired, and he

continued: "One day as I was busily working upon the

house, a company of young people, boys and girls, came to

the door, and asked if they might enter. I gladly gave

assent, and then one of them said:

"'Is this house really for Mr. and Mrs. Sprague?'

"'It is,' I answered.

"'We used to know and love them. They are our friends,

and the friends of our parents, and we want to know if we

may not do something to help you make it beautiful?'

"'Indeed you may,' I said, touched by the request. 'What

can you do?'

"We were here at the time, and looking about, one of

them asked, 'May we beautify this room?'

"'Undoubtedly,' I said, wondering what they would try to

do.

"At once the girls, all of whom had immense bunches of

roses in their hands, began to throw the flowers broadcast

over the floor and against the walls. Wherever they struck

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the walls, they, to even my surprise, remained, as though in

some way permanently attached. When the roses had all

been scattered, the room looked just as it does now, only

the flowers were really fresh-gathered roses. Then the boys

each produced a small case of delicate tools, and in a

moment all, boys and girls, were down upon the marble

floor and busy at work. How they did it I do not know—it

is one of the celestial arts, taught to those of highly artistic

tastes—but they embedded each living flower just where

and as it had fallen, in the marble, and preserved it as you

see before you. They came several times before the work

was completed, for the flowers do not wither here, nor fade,

but were always fresh and perfect. And such a merry,

happy company of young people, I never saw before. They

laughed and chatted and sang, as they worked; and I could

not help wishing more than once that the friends whom

they had left mourning for them might look in upon this

happy group, and see how little cause they had for sorrow.

At last when all was complete, they called me to see their

work, and I was not chary of my praises either for the

beauty of the work or for their skill in performing it. Then,

saying they would be sure to return when either of you

came, they went away together, to do something of the kind

elsewhere, I doubt not."

Happy tears had been dropping upon my hands, clasped

idly in my lap, during much of this narrative, and now I

asked half-brokenly, for I was greatly touched:

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"Who were these lovely people, Frank? Do you know

them?"

"Of course, I know them now; but they were all strangers

to me till they came here that first morning, except Lulu

Sprague."

"Who are they?"

"There were three Marys—Mary Green, Mary Bates,

Mary Chalmers; Lulu Sprague and Mae Camden. These

were the girls, each lovely and beautiful. The boys, all

manly, fine fellows, were Carroll Ashland, Stanley and

David Chalmers."

"Precious children!" I said. "How little I thought my love

for them, in the olden days, would ever bring to me this

added happiness here! How little we know of the links

binding the two worlds!"

"Ah, yes I" said my brother, "that is just it. How little we

know! If only we could realize while we are yet mortals,

that day by day we are building for eternity, how different

our lives in many ways would be! Every gentle word, every

generous thought, every unselfish deed, will become a

pillar of eternal beauty in the life to come. We cannot be

selfish and unloving in one life, and generous and loving in

the next; the two lives are too closely blended—one but a

continuation of the other. But come now to the library."

Rising, we crossed the room that henceforward was to

hold for me such tender associations, and entered the

library.

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It was a glorious apartment—the walls lined from ceiling

to floor with rare and costly books. A large, stained-glass

window opened upon the front veranda, and two large bowwindows,

not far apart, were in the back of the room. A

semicircular row of shelves, supported by very delicate

pillars of gray marble, about six feet high, extended some

fifteen feet into the spacious main room and cut it into two

sections lengthwise, each with one of the bowed windows

in the back, leaving still a large space beyond the dividing

line, where the two sections united again into one. The

concave side of the semicircle of shelves was toward the

entrance of the room; and close to it, not far removed from

the bowed window, stood a beautiful writing-desk, with

everything ready for use; and upon it was a chaste golden

bowl, filled with scarlet carnations, of whose spicy odor I

had been dimly conscious for some time.

"My brother's desk," said Frank.

"And his favorite flowers," I added.

"Yes, that follows. Here we never forget the tastes and

preferences of those we love."

It is not to be supposed that these details were at once

noticed by me, but they unfolded to me gradually as we

lingered, talking together. My first sensation upon entering

the room was genuine surprise at the sight of the books, and

my first words were:

"Why, have we books in heaven?"

"Why not?" asked my brother. "What strange ideas

-- 25

we mortals have of the pleasures and duties of this blessed

life! We seem to think that death of the body means an

entire change to the soul. But that is not the case, by any

means. We bring to this life the same tastes, the same

desires, the same knowledge, we had before death. If these

were not sufficiently pure and good to form a part of this

life, then we ourselves may not enter. What would be the

use of our ofttimes long lives, given to the pursuit of certain

worthy and legitimate knowledge, if at death it all counts as

nothing, and we begin this life on a wholly different line of

thought and study? No, no; would that all could understand,

as I said before, that we are building for eternity during our

earthly life! The purer the thoughts, the nobler the

ambitions, the loftier the aspirations, the higher the rank we

take among the hosts of heaven; the more earnestly we

follow the studies and duties in our life of probation, the

better fitted we shall be to carry them forward, on and on to

completion and perfection here."

"But the books—who writes them? Are any of them

books we knew and loved below?"

"Undoubtedly, many of them; all, indeed, that in any way

helped to elevate the human mind or immortal soul. Then,

many of the rarest minds in the earth-life, upon entering on

this higher life, gain such elevated and extended views of

the subjects that have been with them lifelong studies, that,

pursuing them with zest, they write out for the benefit of

those less gifted, the higher, stronger views they

26 --

have themselves acquired, thus remaining leaders and

teachers in this rarer life, as they were while yet in the

world. Is it to be expected that the great soul who has so

recently joined our ranks, whose 'Changed Life' and 'Pax

Vobiscum' uplifted so many lives while on earth, should

lay his pen aside when his clear brain and great heart have

read the mystery of the higher knowledge? Not so. When

he has conned his lessons well, he will write them out for

the benefit of others, less gifted, who must follow. Leaders

there must always be, in this divine life, as in the former

life—leaders and teachers in many varied lines of thought.

But all this knowledge will come to you simply and

naturally as you grow into the new life."

CHAPTER III.

When I shall meet with those that I have loved, Clasp in my

arms the dear ones long removed, And find how faithful Thou

to me hast proved, I shall be satisfied.

—Horatius Bonar.

AFTER a short rest in this lovely room among the books,

my brother took me through all the remaining rooms of the

house,each perfect and beautiful in its way, and each

distinctly and imperishably photographed upon my

memory. Of only one other will I speak at this time. As he

drew aside the gauzy gray draperies, lined with the most

delicate shade of amber, which hung before the columned

doorway of a lovely room on the second floor of the house,

he said:

"Your own special place for rest and study."

The entire second story of the house, indoors, instead of

being finished in gray marble, as was the first floor, was

finished with inlaid woods of fine, satiny texture and rare

polish; and the room we now entered was exquisite both in

design and finish. It was oblong in shape, with a large bowed

window at one end, similar to those in the library, a portion of

which was directly beneath this room. Within this window, on

one side, stood a writing desk of solid ivory, with silver

appointments; and opposite was a case of well-filled

bookshelves of the same material. Among the books

27

28 --

I found afterward many of my favorite authors. Rich rugs,

silver-gray in color, lay scattered over the floor, and all the

hangings in the room were of the same delicate hue and

texture as those at the entrance. The framework of the

furniture was of ivory; the upholstering of chairs and

ottomans of silver-gray cloth, with the finish of finest satin;

and the pillows and covering of the dainty couch were of

the same. A large bowl of wrought silver stood upon the

table near the front window, filled with pink and yellow

roses, whose fragrance filled the air; and several rarely

graceful vases also were filled with roses. The entire

apartment was beautiful beyond description; but I had seen

it many times before I was fully able to comprehend its

perfect completeness. Only one picture hung upon the

walls, and that was a life-size portrait of the Christ, just

opposite the couch. It was not an artist's conception of the

human Christ, bowed under the weight of the sins of the

world, nor yet the thorn-crowned head of the crucified

Savior of mankind; but the likeness of the living Master, of

Christ the victorious, of Christ the crowned. The wonderful

eyes looked directly and tenderly into your own, and the

lips seemed to pronounce the benediction of peace. The

ineffable beauty of the divine face seemed to illumine the

room with a holy light, and I fell upon my knees and

pressed my lips to the sandaled feet so truthfully portrayed

upon the canvas, while my heart cried, "Master, beloved

Master and Savior!" It was long before I could fix my

attention on anything else;

-- 29

my whole being was full of adoration and thanksgiving for

the great love that had guided me into this haven of rest,

this wonderful home of peace and joy.

After some time spent in this delightful place, we passed

through the open window on to the marble terrace. A

stairway of artistically finished marble wound gracefully

down from this terrace to the lawn beneath the trees, no

pathway of any kind approaching at its foot—only the

flowery turf. The fruit-laden branches of the trees hung

within easy reach from the terrace, and I noticed as I stood

there that morning seven varieties. One kind resembled our

fine Bartlett pear, only much larger, and infinitely more

delicious to the taste, as I soon found. Another variety was

in clusters, the fruit also pear-shaped, but smaller than the

former, and of a consistency and flavor similar to the finest

frozen cream. A third, something like a banana in shape,

they called bread-fruit; it was not unlike our dainty fingerrolls

to the taste. It seemed to me at the time, and really

proved to be so, that in variety and excellence, food for the

most elegant repast was here provided without labor or

care. My brother gathered some of the different varieties

and bade me try them. I did so with much relish and

refreshment. Once the rich juice from the pearl-like fruit

(whose distinctive name I have forgotten, if indeed I ever

knew it,) ran out profusely over my hands and the front of

my dress "Oh!" I cried, "I have ruined my dress, I fear!"

30 --

My brother laughed genially, as he said, "Show me the

stains."

To my amazement not a spot could I find.

"Look at your hands," he said.

I found them clean and fresh, as though just from the

bath.

"What does it mean? My hands were covered with the

thick juice of the fruit."

"Simply," he answered, "that no impurity can remain for

an instant in this air. Nothing decays, nothing tarnishes, or

in any way disfigures or mars the universal purity or beauty

of the place. As fast as the fruit ripens and falls, all that is

not immediately gathered at once evaporates, not even the

seed remaining."

I had noticed that no fruit lay beneath the trees—this,

then, was the reason for it.

"'And there shall in no wise enter into it anything that

defileth,'" I quoted thoughtfully.

"Yes, even so," he answered; "even so."

We descended the steps and again entered the "flower

room." As I stood once more admiring the inlaid roses, my

brother asked:

"Whom, of all the friends you have in heaven, do you

most wish to see?"

"My father and mother," I answered quickly.

He smiled so significantly that I hastily turned, and there,

advancing up the long room to meet me, I saw my dear

-- 31

father and mother, and with them my youngest sister. With

a cry of joy, I flew into my father's outstretched arms, and

heard, with a thrill of joy, his dear, familiar "My precious

little daughter!"

"At last! at last!" I cried, clinging to him. "At last I have

you again!"

"At last!" he echoed, with a deep-drawn breath of joy.

Then he resigned me to my dear mother, and we were soon

clasped in each other's embrace.

"My precious mother!" "My dear, dear child!" we cried

simultaneously; and my sister enfolding us both in her

arms,—exclaimed with a happy laugh, "I can not wait! I

will not be left outside!" and disengaging one arm, I threw

it about her into the happy circle of our united love.

Oh, what an hour was that! I did not dream that even

heaven could hold such joy. After a time my brother, who

had shared our joy, said:

"Now, I can safely leave you for a few hours to this

blessed reunion, for I have other work before me."

"Yes," said my father, "you must go. We will with joy

take charge of our dear child."

"Then for a brief while good-by," said my brother kindly.

"Do not forget that rest, especially to. one but recently

entered upon the new life, is not only one of the pleasures,

but one of the duties of heaven."

"Yes, we will see that she does not forget that," said my

father, with a kindly smile and glance.

CHAPTER IV.

Joys that are gone, will you ever return

To gladden our hearts as of yore?

Will we find you awaiting us, some happy morn,

When we drift to Eternity's shore?

Will dear eyes meet our own, as in days that are past?

Will we thrill at the touch of a hand?

Joys that are gone, will we find you at last

On the shores of that wonderful land?

SOON after my brother's departure my mother said,

grasping my hand:

"Come, I am eager to have you in our own home;" and

we all passed out of the rear entrance, walked a few

hundred yards across the soft turf, and entered a lovely

home, somewhat similar to our own, yet still unlike it in

many details. It also was built of marble, but darker than

that of my brother's home. Every room spoke of modest

refinement and cultivated taste, and the home air about it

was at once delightfully perceptible. My father's study was

on the second floor, and the first thing I noticed on entering

was the luxuriant branches and flowers of an old-fashioned

hundred-leafed rose tree, that covered the window by his

desk.

"Ah!" I cried, "I can almost imagine myself in your old

study at home, when I look at that window."

"Is it not a reminder?" he said, laughing happily. "I

33

34 --

almost think sometimes it is the same dear old bush,

transplanted here."

"And it is still your favorite flower?" I queried.

He nodded his head, and said, smiling:

"I see you remember still the childhood days." And he

patted my cheek as I gathered a rose and fastened it upon

his breast.

"It seems to me this ought to be your home, dear; it is

our father's home," said my sister wistfully.

"Nay," my father quickly interposed. "Col. Sprague is

her legitimate guardian and instructor. It is a wise and

admirable arrangement. He is in every way the most

suitable instructor she could possibly have. Our Father

never errs."

"Is not my brother's a lovely character?" I asked.

Lovely indeed; and he stands very near to the Master.

Few have a clearer knowledge of the Divine Will, hence

few are better fitted for instructors. But I, too, have duties

that call me for a time away. How blessed to know there

can never again be long separations! You will have two

homes. now, dear child—your own and ours."

"Yes, yes!" I said. "I shall be here, I suspect, almost as

much as there."

At this moment a swift messenger approached my father

and spoke a few low words.

"Yes, I shall go at once," he replied, and, waving his

hand in adieu, departed with the angelic guide.

-- 35

"Where do my father's duties mostly lie?" I asked my

mother.

"He is called usually to those who enter life with little

preparation—that which on earth we call death-bed

repentance. You know what wonderful success he always

had in winning souls to Christ; and these poor spirits need

to be taught from the very beginning. They enter the

spirit-life in its lowest phase, and it is your father's pleasant

duty to lead them upward step by step. He is devoted to his

work and greatly beloved by those he thus helps. He often

allows me to accompany him and labor with him, and that

is such a pleasure to me! And do you know"—with an

indescribable look of happiness—" I forget nothing now!"

It had been her great burden, for some years before her

death, that memory failed her sadly, and I could understand

and sympathize with her present delight.

"Dear heart!" I cried, folding my arms tenderly about her,

"then it is like the early years of your married life again?"

"Precisely," she answered joyously.

A little later my sister drew me tenderly aside and

whispered, "Tell me of my boy, of my precious son. I often

see him; but we are not permitted to know as much always

of the earthly life as we once believed we should. The

Father's tender wisdom metes out to us the knowledge he

sees is best, and we are content to wait his time for more.

All you can tell would not be denied me. Is he surely,

surely coming to

36 --

me sometime? Shall I hold him again in my arms, my

darling boy?"

"I am sure—yes, I am sure you will. Your memory is

very precious to him."

Then I told her all I could recall of the son with whom

she had parted while he was but a child—now grown to

man's estate, honored and loved, with home and wife and

son to comfort and bless him.

"Then I can wait," she said, "if he is sure to come to me

at last, when his earthly work is done, bringing his wife and

son. How I shall love them, too!"

At this moment I felt myself encircled by tender arms,

and a hand was gently laid on my eyes.

"Who is it?" some one whispered softly.

"Oh, I know the voice, the touch!—dearest, dearest

Nell!" I cried, and, turning quickly, threw my arms about

the neck of my only brother.

He gathered me a moment warmly to his heart, then in

his old-time playful way lifted me quite off my feet in his

strong arms, saying:

She has not grown an inch; and is not, I believe, a day

older than when we last parted! Is she, Joe?" turning to our

sister.

"It does not seem so," said my sister, "but I thought she

would never come."

"Trust her for that!" he said. "But come, now; they have

had you long enough for the first visit; the rest of us

-- 37

want You for awhile. Come with us, Jodie. Mother, I may

have them both for a little time, may I not? or will you

come, too?" turning to our mother with a caressing touch.

"I cannot go, dear boy; I must be here when your father

returns. Take your sisters; it is a blessed sight to see you all

again together."

"Come then," he said; and, each taking one of my hands,

we went out together.

"Halt!" he suddenly called, in his old-time military

fashion, after a short walk, and we stopped abruptly in front

of a dainty house built of the finest polished woods. It was

beautiful both in architecture and finish.

"How lovely!" I cried; and with a bow of charming

humility he said:

"The home of your humble servant. Enter."

I paused a moment on the wide veranda to examine a

vine, wreathed about the graceful columns of

highly-polished wood, and my brother laughingly said to

my sister:

"She is the same old Sis! We will not get much good out

of her until she has learned the name of every flower, vine

and plant in heaven."

"Yes, you will," I said, shaking my head at his happy

face, "but I mean to utilize you whenever I can; I have so

much to learn."

"So you shall, dear," he answered gently. "But come in."

Stepping inside a lovely vestibule, Gut of which opened,

38 --

from every side, spacious rooms, he called softly "Alma!"

At once from one of these, a fair woman approached us.

"My dear child!" I said, "it does not seem possible! You

were but a child when I last saw you."

"She is still her father's girl," said my brother, with a fond

look. "She and Carrie, whom you never saw, make a

blessed home for me. Where is your sister, daughter?"

"She is at the great music-hall. She has a very rich voice

that she is cultivating," Alma said, turning to me. "We were

going to find our aunt when she returned," she added.

"True, true," said my brother; "but come."

Then they showed me the lovely home, perfect and

charming in every detail. When we came out upon a side

veranda, I saw we were so near an adjoining house that we

could easily step from one veranda to the other.

"There!" said my brother, lightly lifting me over the

intervening space. "There is some one here you will wish to

see." Before I could question him, he led me through the

columned doorway, saying, "People in heaven are never

'not at home' to their friends."

The house we entered was almost identical in construction

and finish with that of my brother Nell, and, as we entered,

three persons came eagerly forward to greet me.

"Dear Aunt Gray!" I cried. "My dear Mary—my dear

Martin! What a joy to meet you again!"

And here," said my aunt reverently. Yes, here," I

answered in like tone.

-- 39

It was my father's sister, always a favorite aunt, with her

son and his wife. How we did talk and cling to one another,

and ask and answer questions!

"Pallas is also here, and Will, but they have gone with

Carrie to the music hall," said Martin.

"Martin, can you sing here?" I asked. He always was

trying to sing on earth, but could not master a tune.

"A little," he answered, with his old genial laugh and

shrug; "we can do almost anything here that we really try to

do."

"You should hear him now, cousin, when he tries to

sing," said his wife, with a little touch of pride in her voice.

"You would not know it was Martin. But is it not nice to

have Dr. Nell so near us? We are almost one household,

you see. All felt that we must be together."

"It is indeed," I answered, "although you no longer need

him in his professional capacity."

"No, thanks to the Father; but we need him quite as much

in many other ways."

"I rather think I am the one to be grateful," said my

brother. "But, sister, I promised Frank that you should go to

your own room awhile; he thought it wise that you should

be alone for a time. Shall we go now?"

"I am ready," I answered, "though these delightful

reunions leave no desire for rest."

"How blessed," said my aunt, "that there is no limit here to

our mutual enjoyment! We have nothing to dread, nothing

40 --

to fear. We know at parting that we shall meet again. We

shall often see each other, my child."

Then my brother went with me to my own home, and,

with a loving embrace, left me at the door of my room.

Once within, I lay down upon my couch to think over the

events of this wonderful day; but, looking upward at the

divine face above me, I forgot all else, and, Christ's peace

enfolding me like a mantle, I became "as one whom his

mother comforteth." While I lay in this blissful rest, my

brother Frank returned, and, without rousing me, bore me

in his strong arms again to earth. I did not know, when he

left us in our home, upon what mission he was going,

though my father knew it was to return to my dear husband

and accompany him upon his sad journey to his dead wife;

to comfort and sustain and strengthen him in those first

lonely hours of sorrow. They deemed it best, for wise

reasons, that I should wait awhile before returning, and

taste the blessedness of the new life, thus gaining strength

for the trial before me.

CHAPTER V.

WHEN I aroused from my steep it was in the gray light of

earth's morning, and I was standing on the doorstep of the

house in Kentville that my brother and I had left together,

some thirty-six hours before, reckoned by earth-time. I

shuddered a little with a strange chill when I saw where we

were, and turned quickly to my brother Frank, who stood

beside me. He put his arm about me, and with a reassuring

smile, said:

"For their sakes be brave and strong, and try to make

them understand your blessed change."

I did not try to answer, though I took heart, and entered

with him into the house. Everything was very quiet—no

one seemed astir. My brother softly opened a door

immediately to the right of the entrance, and motioned me

41

42 --

to enter. I did so, and he closed it behind me, remaining

himself outside.

Something stood in the center of the room, and I soon

discovered that it was a pall. It was a great relief to me to

see that it was not black, but a soft shade of gray. Someone

was kneeling beside it, and as I slowly approached I saw it

was my dear son. He was kneeling upon one knee, with his

elbow resting on the other knee, and his face buried in his

hand. One arm was thrown across the casket, as though he

were taking a last embrace of his "little mother." I saw that

the form within the casket lay as though peacefully

sleeping, and was clad in silver gray, with soft white folds

about the neck and breast. I was grateful that they had

remembered my wishes so well.

I put my arms about the neck of my darling son, and

drew his head gently against my breast, resting my cheek

upon his bowed head. Then I whispered, "Dearest, I am

here beside you—living, breathing, strong and well. Will

you not turn to me, instead of to that lifeless form in the

casket? It is only the worn-out tenement—I am your living

mother."

He lifted his head as though listening; then, laying his

hand tenderly against the white face in the casket he

whispered, "Poor, dear little mother!" and again dropped

his face into both hands, while his form shook with

convulsive sobs.

As I strove to comfort him, the door opened and his lovely

girl-wife entered. I turned tomeet her as she came slowly

-- 43

towards us. Midway in the room we met, and, taking both

her hands tenderly in mine, I whispered, "Comfort him,

darling girl, as only you can; he needs human love."

She paused a moment irresolutely, looking directly into

my eyes, then passed on and knelt beside him, laying her

upturned face against his shoulder. I saw his arm steal

around her and draw her closely to him, then I passed from

the room, feeling comforted that they were together.

Outside the door I paused an instant, then, slowly

ascending the stairs, I entered the once familiar room,

whose door was standing ajar. All remained as when I had

left it, save that no still form lay upon the white bed. As I

expected, I found my precious husband in this room. He sat

near the bay window, his arm resting upon the table, and

his eyes bent sorrowfully upon the floor. My heart's best

friend sat near him and seemed trying to comfort him.

When I entered the room our brother Frank arose from a

chair close beside him and passed out, with a sympathetic

look at me. I went at once to my dear husband, put my arms

about him, and whispered:

"Darling! darling, I am here!"

He stirred restlessly without changing his position.

Virginia said, as though continuing a conversation, "I am

sure she would say you left no thing undone that could

possibly be done for her."

"She is right," I whispered.

"Still she was alone at the last, he moaned.

44 --

"Yes, dear, but who could know it was the last? She sank

so suddenly under the pain. What can I say to comfort you?

Oh, Will, come home with us! She would want you to, I am

sure."

He shook his head sadly, while the tears were in his eyes,

as he said: "Work is my only salvation. I must go back in a

very few days."

She said no more, and he leaned back wearily in his easy

chair. I crept more closely to him and suddenly his arms

closed about me. I whispered, "There, dear, do you not see

that I am really with you?"

He was very still, and the room was very quiet but for

the ticking of my little clock still standing upon the

dressing-case. Presently I knew by his regular breathing

that he had found a short respite from his sorrow. I slipped

gently from his arms and went to my friend, kneeling

beside her, and folding my arms about her.

"Virginia, Virginia! You know I am not dead! Why do

you grieve?"

She looked over at the worn face of the man before her,

then dropped her face into her hand, whispering, as though

she had heard me and would answer:

"Oh, Bertha darling, how could you leave him?"

"I am here, dearest! Do realize that I am here!"

She did not heed me, but sat absorbed in sorrowful

thought.

A few minutes later a stranger entered the room, and in

-- 45

a low voice said something about its being "near train

time," and brought my husband his hat. He arose and gave

his arm to Virginia, and, our son and his wife meeting them

at the door, they started to descend the stairs. Just then my

husband paused and cast one sorrowful glance around the

room, his face white with pain. Our dear daughter stepped

quickly to him, and, placing, both arms about his neck,

drew his face down to hers. ("God bless her in all things!" I

softly prayed.) An instant they stood thus, then stifling his

emotion, they all passed down the stairs into the room I had

first entered.

I kept very close to my dear husband, and never for a

single instant left him through all the solemn and

impressive services; through the sad journey to our old

home; the last rites at the grave; the after-meeting with

friends; and his final return to the weary routine of labor.

How thankful I was that I had been permitted to taste,

during that wonderful day in heaven, the joys of the blessed

life! How else could I ever have passed calmly through

those trying scenes, and witnessed the sorrow of those so

dear to my heart? I recognize the wisdom and mercy of the

Father in having so ordered it.

I soon found that my husband was right; work was his

great refuge. During the day the routine of labor kept brain

and hands busy, leaving the heart but little opportunity to

indulge its sorrow. Night was his trying time.—Kind

friends would stay with him till bedtime; after that he was

46 --

alone. He would turn restlessly on his pillow, and often

arise and go into the adjoining room that had formerly been

mine, and gaze upon the vacant bed with tearful eyes. It

took all my powers to in any degree soothe and quiet him.

After a time my brother Frank and I arranged to spend

alternate nights with him, that he might never be alone, and

especially were we with him upon his journeys. We found

to our great joy that our influence over him was hourly

growing stronger, and we were able to guide and help him

in many ways.

One night as I was silently watching beside him while he

slept, many months after he was alone, I became conscious

that evil threatened him. He was sleeping very peacefully,

and I knew his dreams were happy ones by the smile upon

his dear face. I passed into the hall of the hotel where he

was staying, and found it dense with smoke. I hastened

back to him and called, and tried to shake him, but he slept

on peacefully. Then I called with all my strength, "Will!"

close to his ear.

Instantly he started up and said, "Yes, dear, I am

coming!" just as he used to do when I called at night. Then

in a moment he sank back with a sigh upon his pillow,

murmuring, "What a vivid dream! I never heard her voice

more distinctly in life."

"Will!" I again called, pulling him by the hand with an

my strength, "rise quickly! Your life is in danger!"

In an instant he was out of bed, upon his feet, and hurriedly

-- 47

drawing on his clothes. am sure I cannot tell why I am

doing this," he muttered to himself. "I only feel that I must!

That surely was her voice I heard."

"Hurry! Hurry!" I urged.

He opened the door and met, not only the smoke, but

tongues of flame.

"Do not try the stairway—come!" and I drew him past

the stairway, and through a narrow entrance to a second

hall beyond, and down a second flight of stairs, filled with

smoke, but as yet no flame. Another flight still below these,

then into the open air, where he staggered, faint and

exhausted, on to the sidewalk, and was quickly helped by

friends into a place of safety.

am sure I cannot tell what wakened me," he afterward

said to a friend. "I dreamed I heard my wife calling me, and

before I knew it I was dressing myself."

"You did hear her, I have no doubt," she said. "Are they

not 'all ministering spirits, sent forth to do service for the

sake of them that shall inherit salvation'? What lovelier

service could she do than to thus save the life of one so

dear to her, whose earth-work was not yet done? Yes, you

did hear her call you in time to escape. Thank God for such

ministrations."

"Yes, it must be so," he answered,—with a happy look.

"Thank God indeed."

After this he yielded much more readily to our influence,

and thus began to enjoy, while yet upon earth, the reunion

48 --

that so surely awaited us in the blessed life. I often went

also to the home of our dear children, but there was so

much to make them happy that they did not need me as

their father did. Sometimes in hours of great physical

prostration, especially during the absence of his wife, I

found that I could quiet the overwrought nerves of my dear

son, and lead his tired mind to restful thoughts; but with

youth and strength and love to support him, the time had

not yet come when my ministrations were essential.

CHAPTER VI.

THE first time I returned to the dear heavenly home after my

long delay on earth, as I approached the entrance, in the

company of my brother Frank, we saw a tall young man

standing close by the open gate, looking wistfully the way we

came.As we drew near, he said in an almost pathetic voice:

"Is my mother coming?"

A closer scrutiny revealed his identity, and I exclaimed

with joy, extending both hands to him, "My dear Carroll!"

He smiled a bright welcome as he extended his hands,

but said wistfully, "I so hoped my mother would return

with you, aunt, when you came back. Did you see her?"

"Once only, for a brief moment. She is very happy and

bears her years well. She will come to you now before

long, but then you know it will be forever."

"Yes, I know," he answered brightly. "I will be patient.

But," he added confidentially, "I so want her to see the

49

50 --

lovely home I myself am building for her. Will you come

and see it?"

"Of course I will, gladly."

"Now?"

"Yes, if I may"; looking at my brother for his sanction.

He nodded his head pleasantly as he said: "That is right,

Carroll. Have her help you in every way you can. I will

leave you two together, and you will bring her to me later?"

"Indeed, yes," said my nephew; and we went away

happily together.

"Where is this wonderful house, Carroll?"

"Not very far beyond Mrs. Wickham's," he said.

We soon reached it, and I was truly charmed with it in

every way. It was fashioned much like my brother Nell's

home, and was, like it, built of polished woods. It was only

partly finished, and was most artistically done. Although

uncompleted, I was struck with the fact that everything was

perfect so far as finished. There was no debris anywhere;

no chips, no shavings, no dust. The wood seemed to have

been perfectly prepared elsewhere—where, I have no idea.

The pieces were made to fit accurately, like the parts of a

great puzzle. It required much skill and artistic taste to

properly adjust each to its place. This, my nephew, who

even in the earthly life was quite a mechanical genius,

seemed to have no difficulty in doing, and the house was

slowly growing into beauty and symmetry. After showing

me all over the house, he at last drew aside the hangings

-- 51

before an entrance, beyond which were two rooms, not

only entirely finished, but beautifully furnished as well.

"I finished and furnished these rooms complete, so that if

mother came before the house was ready, she could occupy

them at once. You know there is no noise from workmen

here; no hammering, no unwelcome sounds."

I thought at once of the Temple of Jerusalem, where,

during its erection, there was "neither hammer, nor axe, nor

any tool of iron heard in the house."

"It is very beautiful, my dear boy," I said enthusiastically.

It will give her great joy to know you did it for her. But

what is this—a fireplace?" pausing before a lovely open

chimney, wherein wood was piled ready to be lighted. "Is it

ever cold enough here for fires?"

"It is never cold," he answered, "but the fire here never

sends out unneeded warmth. We have its cheer and beauty

and glow, without any of its discomforts. You remember

my mother loves to sit by an open fire; so I have arranged

this for her."

"It is charming! But you did not make the stained-glass

windows also?"

"No, I have a friend who has been taught that art, and we

exchange work. He helps me with the windows, and I in

turn help him with his fine woodwork and inlaying. I am

going to make a 'flower room' for my mother similar to

yours, only of lilies and violets, which will retain their

perfume always."

52 --

"How lovely! I want to thank you, dear Carroll, for Your

share in our 'flower room.' It is the most exquisite work I

ever saw; and it is doubly so when I remember whose

hands fashioned it."

"It was a labor of love with us all," he said simply.

"That is what enhances its beauty for me," I said. "But sit

here by me now, and tell me about yourself. Do you spend

all your time at this delightful work?"

"Oh, no, indeed! Perhaps what we used to call two or

three hours daily. Much of my time is still spent with my

Grandfather R—. I do not know what I should have done

when I first came here, but for him. I was so ignorant about

this life, and came so suddenly."

"Yes, dear boy, I know," I said sympathetically.

He met me at the very entrance, and took me at once

home, where he and grandma did everything possible to

instruct and help me. But I was, I am still, far below what I

ought to be. I would give a year out of this blessed life—I

would even go back to the old life for an entire year—if I

only could go to my old friends, or better, into every

Sunday-school in the world, and beseech the girls and boys

to try to understand and profit by the instruction there

received. Why, I used to go to Sunday-school, Sunday after

Sunday, help sing the hymns, and read the lesson, and

listen .to all that was said; and I really enjoyed every

moment of the time. Sometimes I would feel a great

longing after a better life, but there seemed to be no one to

especially guide

-- 53

or help me, and, the greater part of the time, what I heard

one Sunday was never once spoken of or even thought of

till another Sunday came, so that the impression made was

very transient. Why do not boys and girls talk more

together about what they hear at Sunday-school? We were

all ready enough to talk about a show of any kind, after it

was over, but seldom of the Sunday-school, when together

socially. Why do not teachers take more interest in the

daily lives of their scholars? Why is there so little really

helpful talk in ordinary home life? Oh, I wish I could go

back and tell them this!"

His face beamed with enthusiasm as he talked, and I, too,

wished it might be possible for him to do as he desired. But

alas! "they will not be persuaded even if one arise from the

dead," I thought.

"It is now time for me to go with my grandfather," he

said, rising, "but we will walk together as far as your home;

and you will let me often see you, will you not?"

"Gladly," I answered, as we set forth.

We still conversed of many things, as we walked, and

when we parted at the door I said, "I am soon to learn how

to weave lovely draperies; then I can help you, when you

are ready for them."

"That will make my work more delightful still," was his.

reply, as he hastened on in the direction of my father's

home.

CHAPTER VII.

AS time passed, and I grew more accustomed to the heavenly

life around me, I found its loveliness unfolded to me like the

slow opening of a rare flower. Delightful surprises met me at

every turn. Now a dear friend, from whom I had parted years

ago in the earth-life, would come unexpectedly upon me with

cordial greeting; now one—perhaps on earth greatly admired,

but from whom I had held aloof, from the fear of unwelcome

intrusion—would approach me, showing the lovely soul so full

of responsive kindness and congenial thought,—that I could

but feel a pang of regret for what I had lost. Then the clear

revelation of some truth, only partly understood in life, though

eagerly sought for, would stand out clear and strong before me,

overwhelmingmewith its lustre, and perhaps

55

56 --

showing the close tie linking the earth-life with the divine.

But the most wonderful to me was the occasional meeting

with some one whom I had never hoped to meet "over

there," who, with eager handclasp and tearful eyes, would

pour forth his earnest thanks for some helpful word, some

solemn warning, or even some stern rebuke, that had turned

him, all unknown to myself, from the paths of sin into the

"life everlasting." Oh, the joy to me of such a revelation!

Oh, the regret that my earth-life had not been more full of

such work for eternity!

My first impulse daily on arousing from happy, blissful

rest, was to hasten to the "river of life" and plunge into its

wonderful waters, so refreshing, so invigorating, so

inspiring. With a heart full of thanksgiving and lips full of

joyful praise, morning after morning, sometimes in

company with my brother, sometimes alone, I hastened

thither, returning always full of new life and hope and

purpose to our home, where for a time each day I listened

to the entrancing revelations and instructions of my brother.

One morning, soon after my return from my first visit to

earth, as I was on the way to the river, my voice joined to

the wonderful anthem of praise everywhere sounding, I saw

a lovely young girl approaching me swiftly, with

outstretched arms.

"Dear, dear Aunt Bertha!" she called, as she drew near,

do you not know me?"

"My little Mae!" I cried, gathering the dainty creature

into my arms. "Where did you spring from so suddenly,

-- 57

dear? Let me look at you again!" holding her a moment at

arm's length, only to draw her again tenderly to me.

"You have grown very beautiful, my child. I may say this

to you here without fear, I am sure. You were always

lovely; you are simply radiant now. Is it this divine life?"

"Yes," she said modestly and sweetly; "but most of all

the being near the Savior so much."

"Ah, yes, that is it—the being near Him! That will make

any being radiant and beautiful," I said.

"He is so good to me; so generous, so tender! He seems

to forget how little I have done to deserve his care."

"He knows you love him, dear heart; that means

everything to him."

"Love him! Oh, if loving him deserves reward, I am sure

I ought to have every wish of my heart, for I love him a

thousand-fold better than anything in earth or heaven. I

would die for him!"

The sweet face grew surpassingly radiant and beautiful as

she talked, and I began to dimly understand the wonderful

power of Christ among the redeemed in heaven. This dear

child, so lovely in all mortal graces, so full of earth's

keenest enjoyments during the whole of her brief life—pure

and good, as we count goodness below, yet seemingly too

absorbed in life's gayeties to think deeply of the things she

yet in her heart revered and honored, now in this blessed.

life counted the privilege of loving Christ, of being near

him, beyond every other joy! And how that love refined

58 --

and beautified the giver! As a great earthly love always

shines through the face and elevates the whole character of

the one who loves, so this divine love uplifts and glorifies

the giver, until not only the face but the entire person

radiates the glory that fills the heart.

"Come with me to the river, Mae," I said presently, after

we had talked together for some time; "come with me for a

delightful plunge."

"Gladly," she said; "but have you ever been to the lake or

the sea?"

"The lake or the sea?" I echoed. "No indeed. Are there a

lake and sea here?"

"Certainly there are," said Mae, with a little pardonable

pride that she should know more of the heavenly

surroundings than I. "Shall we go to the lake to-day, and

leave the sea for another day? Which shall it be?"

"Let it be the lake to-day," I said.

So, turning in an entirely different direction from the

path that led to the river, we walked joyously on, still

talking as we went. So much to ask, so much to recall, so

much to look forward to with joy!

Once she turned to me and asked quickly:

"When is my Uncle Will coming?"

My hand closed tightly over hers, and a sob almost rose

in my throat, though I answered calmly:

"That is in God's hands alone; we may not question."

-- 59

"Yes, I know. His will is always right; but I so long to

see my dear uncle again; and to 'long' is not to repine."

She had grown so womanly, so wise, this child of tender

years, since we parted, that it was a joy to talk with her. I

told her of my sad errand to earth, and the sorrow of the

dear ones I had left.

"Yes, yes, I know it all!" she whispered, with her soft

arms about me. "But it will not be long to wait. They will

come soon. It never seems long to wait for anything here.

There is always so much to keep one busy; so many

pleasant duties, so many joys—oh, it will not be long!"

Thus she cheered and comforted me as we walked

through the ever-varying and always perfect landscape. At

length she cried, lifting her arm and pointing with her rosy

finger:

"Behold! Is it not divinely beautiful?"

I caught my breath, then stopped abruptly and covered

my face with my hands to shield my eyes from the glorified

scene. No wonder my brother had not sooner brought me to

this place; I was scarcely yet spiritually strong enough to

look upon it. When I again slowly lifted my head, Mae was

standing like one entranced. The golden morning light

rested upon her face, and, mingling with the radiance that

had birth within, almost transfigured her. Even she, so long

an inhabitant here, had not yet grown accustomed to its

glory

"Look, darling auntie! It is God's will that you should

see," she softly whispered, not once turning her eyes away

60 --

from the scene before her. "He let me be the one to show

you the glory of this place!"

I turned and looked, like one but half awakened. Before

us spread a lake as smooth as glass, but flooded with a

golden glory caught from the heavens, that made it like a

sea of molten gold. The blossom- and fruit-bearing trees

grew down to its very border in many places, and far, far

away, across its shining waters, arose the domes and spires

of what seemed to be a mighty city. Many people were

resting upon its flowery banks, and on the surface of the

water were boats of wonderful structure, filled with happy

souls, and propelled by an unseen power. Little children, as

well as grown persons, were floating upon or swimming in

the water; and as we looked a band of singing cherubs,

floating high overhead, drifted across the lake, their baby

voices borne to us where we stood, in notes of joyful

praise.

"Come," said Mae, seizing my hand, "let us join them"

and we hastened onward.

"Glory and honor!" sang the child voices. "Dominion and

power!" caught up and answered the voices of the vast

multitude together, and in the strain I found that Mae and I

were joining. The cherub band floated onward, and away in

the distance we caught the faint melody of their sweet

voices, and the stronger cadence of the response from those

waiting below.

We stood upon the margin of the lake, and my cheeks

were tear-bedewed and my eyes dim with emotion. I felt

-- 61

weak as a little child; but oh, what rapture, what joy

unspeakable filled and overmastered me! Was I dreaming?

Or was this indeed but another phase of the immortal life?

Mae slipped her arm about my neck and whispered.

Dearest, come. After the rapture—rest."

I yielded to her passively; I could not do otherwise. She

led me into the water, down, down into its crystal depths,

and when it seemed to me we must be hundreds of feet

beneath the surface, she threw herself prostrate and bade

me do the same. I did so, and immediately we began to

slowly rise. Presently I found that we no longer rose, but

were slowly floating in mid-current, many feet still beneath

the surface. Then appeared to me a marvel. Look Where I

would, perfect prismatic rays surrounded me. I seemed to

be resting in the heart of a prism; and such vivid yet

delicate coloring, mortal eyes never rested upon. Instead of

the seven Colors, as we see them here, the colors blended

in such rare graduation of shades as to make the rays seem

almost infinite, or they really were so; I could not decide

which.

As I lay watching this marvelous panorama, for the colors

deepened and faded like the lights of the aurora borealis, I was

attracted by the sound of distant music. Although Mae and I no

longer clung together, we did not drift apart, as one would

naturally suppose we might, but lay within easy

speaking-distance of each other, although few words were

spoken by either of us; the silence seemed too sacred to be

lightly broken.We lay upon, or ratherwithin,

62 --

the water, as upon the softest couch. It required no effort

whatever to keep ourselves afloat; the gentle undulation of

the waves soothed and rested us. When the distant music

arrested my attention, I turned and looked at Mae. She

smiled back at me, but did not speak. Presently I caught the

words, "Glory and honor, dominion and power," and I

knew it was still the cherub choir, although they must now

be many miles distant. Then the soft tones of a bell—a

silver bell with silver tongue—fell on my ear, and as the

last notes died away, I whispered:

"Tell me, Mae."

"Yes, dear, I will. The waters of this lake catch the light

in a most marvelous manner, as you have seen; a wiser

head than mine must tell you why. They also transmit

musical sounds—only musical sounds—for a great

distance. The song was evidently from the distant shore of

the lake."

"And the bell?"

"That is the bell which in the city across the lake calls to

certain duties at this hour."

'There never was a sweeter call to duty," I said.

"Yes, its notes are beautiful. Hark! now it rings a chime."

We lay and listened, and as we listened a sweet spell

wrapped me round, and I slept as peacefully as a child on its

mother's bosom. I awoke with a strange sense of invigoration

and strength. It was a feeling wholly dissimilar to that

-- 63

experienced during a bath in the river, yet I could not

explain how. Mae said:

"One takes away the last of the earth-life, and prepares

us for the life upon which we enter; the other fills us to

overflowing with a draught from the Celestial Life itself."

And I think the child was right.

When we emerged from the water we found the banks of

the lake almost deserted, every one having gone, at the call

of the bell, to the happy duties of the hour. Groups of

children still played around in joyous freedom. Some

climbed the trees that overhung the water, with the agility

of squirrels, and dropped with happy shouts of laughter into

the lake, floating around upon its surface like immense and

beautiful water-lilies or lotus flowers.

"No fear of harm or danger; no dread of ill, or anxiety

lest a mishap occur; security, security and joy and peace!

This is indeed the blessed life," I said, as we stood

watching the sports of the happy children.

"I often think how we were taught to believe that heaven

was where we would wear crowns of gold and stand with

harps always in our hands! Our Crowns of gold are the

halos His blessed presence casts about us; and we do not

need harps to accentuate our songs of praise. We do see the

crowns, and we do hear the angelic harps, when and as God

wills it, but our best worship is to do his blessed will," said

Mae as we turned to go.

"You are wise in the lore of heaven, my child," I

64 --

answered; "how happy I am to learn from one so dear! Tell

me all about your life here."

So as we walked she told me the history of her years in

heaven—her duties, her joys, her friends, her home—with

all the old-time freedom. I found her home was distant

from our own—far beyond the spires of the great city

across the lake—but she added:

"What is distance in heaven? We come and go at will.

We feel no fatigue, no haste, experience no delays; it is

blessed, blessed!"

Not far from our home we saw a group of children

playing upon the grass, and in their midst was a beautiful

great dog, over which they were rolling and tumbling with

the greatest freedom. As we approached he broke away

from them and came bounding to meet us, and crouched

and fawned at my very feet with every gesture of glad

welcome.

Do you not know him, auntie?" Mae asked brightly.

It is dear old Sport!" I cried, stooping and placing my

arms about big neck, and resting my head on his silken

hair.

Dear old fellow! How happy I am to have you here!"

He responded to my caresses with every expression of

delight, and Mae laughed aloud at our mutual joy.

"I have often wondered if I should not some day find him

here. He surely deserves a happy life for his faithfulness

and devotion in the other life. His intelligence and his

fidelity were far above those of many human beings whom

we count immortal."

-- 65

"Did he not sacrifice his life for little Will?"

"Yes; he attempted to cross the track in front of an

approaching train, because he saw it would pass between

him and his little master, and feared he was in danger. It

cost his life. He always placed himself between any of us

and threatened danger, but Will he seemed to consider his

especial charge. He was a gallant fellow—he deserves

immortality. Dear, dear old Sport, you shall never leave me

again!" I said, caressing him fondly.

At this he sprang to his feet, barking joyously, and

gamboled and frolicked before us the rest of the way home,

then lay down upon the doorstep, with an upward glance

and a wag of his bushy tail, as though to say, "See how I

take you at your word!"

"He understands every word we say," said Mae.

"Of course he does; he only lacks speech to make him

perfect. I somehow hoped he might find it here."

"He would not be half so interesting if he could talk,"

said Mae.

"Possibly not. How silken and beautiful his long hair is!"

"He has his bath in the river every day, and it leaves its

mark on him also. Do you know I think one of the sweetest

proofs we have of the Father's loving care for us is, that we

so often find in this life the things which gave us great

happiness below. The more unexpected this is, the greater

joy it brings—I remember once seeing a beautiful little girl

66 --

enter heaven, the very first to come of a large and

affectionate family. I afterward learned that the sorrowful

cry of her mother was, 'Oh, if only we had someone there

to meet her, to care for her!' She came, lovingly nestled in

the Master's own arms, and a little later, as he sat, still

caressing and talking to her, a remarkably fine Angora

kitten, of which the child had been very fond, and which

had sickened and died some weeks before, to her great

sorrow, came running across the grass and sprang directly

into her arms, where it lay contentedly. Such a glad cry as

she recognized her little favorite, such a hugging and

kissing as that kitten received, made joy even in heaven!

Who but our loving Father would have thought of such

comfort for a little child? She had evidently been a timid

child; but now as the children gathered about her, with the

delightful freedom they always manifest in the presence of

the beloved Master, she, looking up confidingly into the

tender eyes above her, began to shyly tell of the marvelous

intelligence of her dumb pet, until at last Jesus left her

contentedly playing among the flowers with the little

companions who had gathered about her. Our Father never

forgets us, but provides pleasures and comforts for us all,

according to our individual needs."

"When shall I behold the Savior? When shall I meet, face

to face, him whom my soul so loveth?" my hungry heart

began to cry, out in its depths.

Mae, as though understanding the silent cry, placed both

-- 67

arms about my neck, looked tenderly into my eyes, and

whispered:

"You, too, dearest, will see him soon. He never delays

when the time is ripe for his coming. It will not be long;

you, too, will see him soon."

So we parted, each to the duties of the hour.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE following morning my brother said to me, after an

interesting hour of instruction:

"Shall we go for the promised visit toMrs. Wickhamnow?"

"Indeed, yes!" I answered eagerly; so we at once set forth.

We soon reached her lovely home and found her waiting

at the entrance as though expecting us. After a cordial

greeting to our friend, my brother said:

"I will leave you together for that 'long talk' for which I

know you are both eager, and will go my way to other duties. I

will find you, later on, at home." The last remark tome.

"All right," I answered. I am familiar with the way now,

and need no attendance.

After he had gone, my friend took me all over her lovely

home, showing me, with great pleasure, the rooms prepared

for each beloved member of her earthly household still to

69

70 --

come. One very large room, into whose open windows at

each end the blossom- and fruit-laden boughs of the

immortal trees looked invitingly, was evidently her especial

care; she whispered to me, "Douglass always did like a

large room. I am sure he will like this one." And I was also

sure.

Returning down the broad stairway, we found it entered

into a very large music-room, with broad galleries

supported by marble columns, running across three sides of

it, on a level with the second floor. In this gallery was a

number of musical instruments—harps, viols, and some

unlike any instruments I had ever seen elsewhere. The

room itself was filled with easy-chairs, couches and

window-seats, where listeners could rest and hear the sweet

harmonies from the galleries.

"My daughter," my friend explained, who left us in early

childhood, has received a fine musical training here, and is

fond of gathering in her young friends and giving us quite

often a musical treat. You know our old home of

Springville has furnished some rare voices for the heavenly

choirs. Mary Allis, Will Griggs, and many others you will

often hear in this room, I trust."

We re-entered, from this room, the dainty reception hall

opening upon the front veranda and outer steps. Here Mrs.

Wickham drew me to a seat beside her and said:

"Now, tell me everything of the dear home and all its

blessed inmates."

-- 71

Holding each other's hands as we talked, she

questioning, I answering, things too sacred to be repeated

here were dwelt upon for hours. At last she said, rising

hastily:

I will leave you for a little while—nay, you must not as I

would have risen, "there is much yet to be said; wait here, I

will return."

I had already learned not to question the judgment of

these wiser friends, and yielded to her will. As she passed

through the door-way to the inner house, I saw a stranger at

the front entrance and arose to meet him. He was tall and

commanding in form, with a face of ineffable sweetness

and beauty. Where had I seen him before? Surely. surely I

had met him since I came. "Ah, now I know!" I thought; "it

is St. John, the beloved disciple." He had been pointed out

to me one morning by the river-side.

"Peace be unto this house," was his salutation as he

entered.

How his voice stirred and thrilled me! No wonder the

Master loved him, with that voice and that face!

Enter. Thou art a welcome guest. Enter, and I will call

the mistress," I said, as I approached to bid him welcome.

"Nay, call her not. She knows that I am here; she will

return," he said. "Sit thou awhile beside me," he continued,

as he saw that I still stood, after I had seen him seated. He

arose and led me to a seat near him, and like a child

72 --

I did as I was bidden; still watching, always watching, the

wonderful face before me.

You have but lately come?" he said.

Yes, I am here but a short time. So short that I know not

how to reckon time as you count it here," I answered.

"Ah, that matters little," he said with a gentle smile.

Many cling always to the old reckoning and the earthlanguage.

It is a link between the two lives; we would not

have it otherwise. How does the change impress you? How

do you find life here?"

"Ah," I said, "if they could only know! I never fully

understood till now the meaning of that sublime passage,

'Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into

the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for

them that love him.' It is indeed past human conception." I

spoke with deep feeling.

"'For them that love him'? Do you believe that all

Christians truly love him?" he asked. "Do you think they

love the Father for the gift of the Son and the Son because

of the Father's love and mercy? Or is their worship ofttimes

that of duty rather than love?" He spoke reflectively and

gently.

"Oh," I said, "you who so well know the beloved

Master—who were so loved by him—how can you doubt

the love he must inspire in all hearts who seek to know

him?"

A radiant glow overspread the wonderful face, which he

lifted, looking directly at me—the mist rolled away from

-- 73

before my eyes and I knew him! With a low cry of joy and

adoration, I threw myself at his feet, bathing them with

happy tears. He gently stroked my bowed head for a

moment, then rising, lifted me to his side.

"My Savior—my King!" I whispered, clinging closely to

him.

"Yes, and Elder Brother and Friend," he added, wiping

away tenderly the tears stealing from beneath my closed

eyelids.

"Yes, yes, 'the chiefest among ten thousand, and the One

altogether lovely!'" again I whispered.

"Ah, now you begin to meet the conditions of the new

life! Like many another, the changing of faith to sight with

you has engendered a little shrinking, a little fear. That is

all wrong. Have you forgotten the promise, 'I go to prepare

a place for you; that where I am, there ye may be also'? If

you loved me when you could not see me except by faith,

love me more now when we have really become 'co-heirs

of the Father.' Come to me with all that perplexes or

gladdens; come to the Elder Brother always waiting to

receive you with joy."

Then he drew me to a seat, and conversed with me long

and earnestly, unfolding many of the mysteries of the

divine life. I bung upon his words; I drank in every tone of

his voice; I watched eagerly every line of the beloved face;

and I was exalted, uplifted, upborne, beyond the power of

words to express. At length with a divine smile, he arose.

74 --

"We will often meet," he said; and I, bending over,

pressed my lips reverently to the hand still clasping my

own. Then laying his hands a moment in blessing upon my

bowed head, he passed noiselessly and swiftly from the

house.

As I stood watching the Savior's fast-receding figure,

passing beneath the flower-laden trees, I saw two beautiful

young girls approaching the way he went. With arms

intertwining they came, happily conversing together, sweet

Mary Bates and Mae Camden. When they saw the Master,

with a glad Cry they flew to meet him, and as he joyously

extended .a hand to each, they turned, and each clinging to

his hand, one upon either side, accompanied him on his

way, looking up trustingly into his face as he talked with

them, and apparently conversing with him with happy

freedom. I saw his face from time to time in profile, as he

turned and looked down lovingly, first upon one, then the

other lovely upturned face, and I thought, "That is the way

he would have us be with him—really as children with a

beloved elder brother." I watched them till the trees hid

them from my sight, longing to gather the dear girls to my

heart, but knowing his presence was to them then more

than aught else; then I turned and passed softly through the

house to the beautiful entrance at the rear. Just before I

reached the door I met my friend Mrs. Wickham. Before I

could speak, she said:

"I know all about it. Do not try to speak; I know your

-- 75

heart is full. I will see you very soon—there, go!" and she

pushed me gently to the door.

How my heart blessed her—for indeed seemed sacrilege

to try to talk on ordinary topics after this blessed

experience. I did not follow the walk, but kept across the

flowery turf, beneath the trees, till I reached home. I found

my brother sitting upon the veranda, and as I ascended the

steps he rose to meet me. When he looked into my face, he

took both hands into his for an instant, and simply said,

very gently:

"Ah, I see. You have been with the Master!" and stepped

aside almost reverently for me to enter the house.

I hastened to my room, and, dropping the draperies

behind me at the door, I threw myself upon the couch, and

with closed eyes lived over every instant I had spent in that

hallowed Presence. I recalled every Word and tone of the

Savior's voice, and fastened the instructions he had given

me indelibly upon my memory. I seemed to have been

lifted to a higher plane of existence, to have drunk deeper

draughts from the fountain of all good, since I had met

"Him whom my soul loved." It was a long, blessed

communion that I held thus with my own soul on that

hallowed day. When I looked upon the pictured face above

me, I wondered that I had not at once recognized the Christ,

the likeness was so perfect. But I concluded that for some

wise purpose my "eyes were holden" until it was his

pleasure that I should see him as he is.

When at last I arose, the soft golden twilight was about

76 --

me, and I knelt by my couch, to offer my first prayer in

heaven. Up to this time my life there had been a constant

thanksgiving—there had seemed no room for petition. Now

as I knelt all I could utter over and over, was:

"I thank Thee, blessed Father; I thank Thee, I thank

Thee!"

When I at last descended the stairs, I found my brother

standing in the great "flower-room," and, going to him, I

said softly:

"Frank, what do you do in heaven when you want to

pray?"

"We praise!" he answered.

"Then let us praise now," I said.

And standing there, with clasped hands, we lifted up our

hearts and voices in a hymn of praise to God; my brother

with his clear, strong voice leading, I following. As the first

notes sounded, I thought the roof echoed them; but I soon

found that other voices blended with ours, until the whole

house seemed filled with unseen singers. Such a grand

hymn of praise earth never heard. And as the hymn went

on, I recognized many dear voices from the past—Will

Griggs' pathetic tenor, Mary Allis' exquisite soprano, and

many another voice that wakened memories of the long

ago. Then as I heard sweet child-voices, and looked up, I

saw above us such a cloud of radiant baby faces as flooded

my heart with joy. The room seemed filled with them.

"Oh, what a life—what a divine life!" I whispered, as,

-- 77

after standing until the last lingering notes had died away,

my brother and I returned to the veranda and sat in the

golden twilight.

"You are only in the first pages of its record," he said.

Its blessedness must be gradually unfolded to us, or we

could not, even here, bear its dazzling glory."

Then followed an hour of hallowed intercourse, when he

led my soul still deeper into the mysteries of the glorious

life upon which I had now entered. He taught me; I

listened. Sometimes I questioned, but rarely. I was content

to take of the heavenly manna as it was given me, with a

heart full of gratitude and love.

CHAPTER IX.

THE next day, my brother being away upon an important

mission, I started out alone to see if I might not find the

dear young friends of whom I had caught a fleeting glimpse

the day before. I knew that all things were ordered aright in

that happy world, and that sooner or later I should find

them again; yet I could but hope it might be very soon. I

recalled the happy light upon their fresh young faces as

they had met the beloved Master, and I longed to talk with

them of their life from day to day. From thinking of them, I

began again to think of my blessed interview with Him, and

became so absorbed in these thoughts that I was even

oblivious to the beautiful world around me. Suddenly I

heard some one say:

"Surely that is Mrs. Sprague!" and looking up, I saw

sweet Mary Bates a few steps away, regarding me intently.

I cried joyfully:

"My precious Mamie!"

79

80 --

She flew to me, and folding me in her arms, drew my

head to her shoulder in the old caressing way, almost

sobbing in her great joy.

"Dear, dear little muzzer!"—a pet name often used by

her in the happy past—" how glad, how glad I am to have

you here! I could scarcely wait to find you."

"How did you know I was here, Mamie?"

"The Master told me," she said softly. "Mae had already

told me, and we were on the way to find you when we met

him, and he told us he had just left you. Then we knew we

must wait a little," she said reverently.

How my heart thrilled! He had thought about, had spoken of

me, after we parted! I longed to ask her what he had said, but

dared not. Seeming to divinemy thoughts, she continued:

"He spoke so tenderly about you, and said we must be

with you much. Mae had work to do to-day, and as she had

already seen you once, I came alone. She may be here later

on. May I stay a long time with you? There is so much to

tell you, so much to ask about!"

"Indeed you may. I had started out to find you, when we

met. Come, dear child, let us return home at once."

So, clinging to each other, we set out toward my home.

"What shall I tell you first?" I asked.

"Everything about the dear ones—every individual

member of our beloved household. Begin with my

precious, heart-broken mother;" here her voice broke a

little, but she

-- 81

soon continued, "I am with her often, but her great, and I

fear unreconciled, sorrow, keeps me from being the

comfort to her I long to be. If only she could spend one

hour with me here) could know God's wisdom and love as

we know it, how the cloud would lift from her life! How

she would see that the two lives, after all, are but one."

"Yes, dear," I answered, "I always urged her to think of it

in that light and to trust implicitly in the Father's tender

care and never-failing love; but it is difficult for us to see

beyond the lonely hearthstone and the vacant chair. Still, I

believe she does begin to dimly grasp the comfort you are

so eager to impart."

"Ah, if only she knew that I need just that to complete

my happiness now! We cannot sorrow here as we did on

earth, because we have learned to know that the Will of the

Father is always tender and wise; but even heaven can

never be complete for me while I know that my precious

mother is forgetful of her many rare blessings, simply

because I may not be with her, in the flesh, to share them.

There is my father, and the boys—why, I am as truly hers

still as they are! I often sit with them all, with her hand in

mine, or my arms about her—my dear little mother! Why

must she see me, to recognize this? But this is almost

complaining, is it not? Some day she will know all—we

must be patient."

As we walked on slowly, conversing of the earth-life,

still in many phases so dear to us. she asking eager

questions, I

82 --

answering as best I could, we saw a group of four persons,

three women and a man, standing under the trees a little to

one side of the walk. The man's back was towards us, but

we at once recognized the Master. The women were all

strangers, and one of them seemed to have just arrived. Her

hand the Savior held, as he talked with her, while all were

intently listening to his words. We regarded the group in

silence as we slowly passed, not hoping for recognition

from him at such a time, but just as we were opposite to

them, "he turned and looked upon" us. He did not

speak—but oh, that look! So full of tenderness and

encouragement and benediction! It lifted us, it bore us

upward, it enthralled and exalted us; and as we passed

onward, the clasp of our hands tightened, and rapture

unspeakable flooded our hearts.

We finished our walk in silence, and sat down on the

marble steps in the shadow of the overhanging trees. The

dear child nestled close against my side, and laid her head

upon my shoulder, while I rested my cheek caressingly

upon it. After a time I whispered, half to myself, "Was

there ever such a look!"

Instantly she raised her head and looking at me, said

eagerly: "You think so, too? I was sure you would. It is

always just so. If he is too much engaged to speak to you at

the time, he just looks at you, and it is as though he had

talked a long while with you. Is he not wonderful! Why,

why could we not know him on earth as we know him

here?"

"How long were you here before you met him?" I asked.

-- 83

"Oh, that is the wonderful part of it! His was the first

face I looked upon after I left the body. I felt bewildered

when I first realized that I was free, and I stood for a

moment irresolute. Then I saw him standing just beside me,

with that same look upon his face. At first I felt timid and

half afraid. Then he stretched forth his hand to me, and said

gently, 'My child, I have come to take care of you; trust me;

do not be afraid.' Then I knew him, and instantly all fear

left me, and I clung to him as I would have done to either

of my brothers. He did not say much to me, but somehow I

felt that be understood all of my thoughts. After a moment,

I asked:

"'May I not remain awhile with mamma? She is

heart-broken.'

"'Yes, dear child, as long as you desire,' he answered

compassionately.

"'Will you also remain?' I asked, for I already felt I

could not bear to have him leave me.

"He looked much pleased, as though he divined my

thought, as he answered: 'Yes, I will never leave you, till

you are ready to, accompany me.'

"Then I went to mamma and put my arms about her, and

presently the Master, too, came and whispered words of

comfort to her; but I am not sure she recognized our presence,

though I fancied that she grew more calm beneath my caresses.

We stayed till all was over. I never left mamma an instant,

except that twice I stole to poor little Hal's sick

84 --

room when he was for a short time alone. I have always felt

that he recognized my presence more than any of them, he

lay so still and calm when I talked to him. He seemed to be

listening. When they gathered for the last time about my

casket, it seemed to me I must speak, I must show myself to

them! Could they for one instant have seen my living self,

standing so calmly in their midst, they would have turned

forever from the lifeless clay they had embalmed and

beautified for the tomb. They would have known I was not

there. But they would not recognize the truth. At last I

pleaded with the Master to let me show myself once to

them, there. But he said, 'It is not the Father's will.'

"After that I accepted fully the Father's will, and soon

thereafter he brought me here in his arms. And what a

blessed life it is!"

I can give only a brief outline of our conversation on that

first happy day. It is too sacred to be scanned by curious

eyes. We talked until the golden twilight fell, and we

watched the little birds nestling in the vines, and heard afar

the solemnly joyous notes of the angels' choral song, and

joined our voices in the hymn of praise. Later we went to

my room, and lay down upon my dainty couch for rest, and

the last words I heard before sinking into heaven's blissful

sleep were, tenderly whispered: "Dear, dear little muzzer, I

am so glad and happy that you are here!"

More than once the question has been asked, "Was there

night there?" Emphatically, no! What, for want of a better

-- 85

designation, we may call "day," was full of a glorious

radiance, a roseate golden light, which was everywhere.

There is no language known to mortals that can describe

this marvelous glory. It flooded the sky; it was caught up

and reflected in the waters; it filled all heaven With joy and

all hearts with song. After a period much longer than our

longest earthly day, this glory mellowed and softened until

it became a glowing twilight full of peace. The children

ceased their playing beneath the trees, the little birds

nestled among the vines, and all who had been busy in

various ways throughout the day sought Test and quiet. But

there was no darkness, no dusky shadows even—only a

restful softening of the glory.

CHAPTER X.

NOT long after this my brother said, "We will go to the

grand auditorium this morning; it will be a rare day even

here. Martin Luther is to talk on 'The Reformation; Its

Causes and Effects,' and this will be supplemented by a talk

from John Wesley. There may also be other speakers."

It was not the first time we had visited this great

auditorium, although I have not hitherto described it. It

stood upon a slight eminence, and the mighty dome was

supported by massive columns of alternate amethyst and

jasper. There Were no walls to the vast edifice; only the

great dome and supporting columns. A broad platform of

precious marbles, inlaid in porphyry, arose from the center,

from which the seats ascended on three sides, forming an

immense amphitheater. The seats were of cedar wood

highly polished; and back of the platform were heavy

hangings of royal purple. An altar of solid pearl stood near

the center of the platform.

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The great dome was deep and dark in its immensity, so that

only the golden statues around its lower border were

distinctly visible. All this I had noted at former visits.

When we entered, we found the building filled with

people eagerly waiting for what was to follow. We soon

were seated and also waiting. Soft strains of melody floated

about us, from an invisible choir, and before long Martin

Luther, in the prime of a vigorous manhood, ascended the

steps and stood before us. It is not my purpose to dwell

upon his appearance, so familiar to us all, except to say that

his great intellect and spiritual strength seemed to have

added to his already powerful physique, and made him a fit

leader still, even in heavenly places.

His discourse would of itself fill a volume, and could not

be given even in outline, in this brief sketch. He held us

enthralled by the power of his will and his eloquence.

When he at length retired, John Wesley took his place, and

the saintly beauty of his face, intensified by the heavenly

light upon it, was wonderful. His theme was "God's love;"

and if in the earth-life he dwelt upon it with power, he now

swept our souls with the fire of his exaltation, until we were

as wax in his hands. He showed what that love had done for

us, and how an eternity of thanksgiving and praise could

never repay it.

Silence, save for the faint, sweet melody of the unseen

choir, rested upon the vast audience for some time after he

left. All seemed lost in contemplation of the theme so

-- 89

tenderly dwelt upon. Then the heavy curtains back of the

platform parted, and a tall form, about whom all the glory

of heaven seemed to center, emerged from their folds and

advanced toward the middle of the platform. Instantly the

vast concourse of souls arose to their feet, and burst forth as

with one voice into that grand anthem in which we had so

often joined on earth:

"All hail the power of Jesus' name,

Let angels prostrate fall;

Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown him Lord of all."

Such a grand chorus of voices, such unity, such

harmony, such volume, was never heard on earth. It rose, it

swelled, it seemed to fill not only the great auditorium, but

heaven itself. And still, above it all, we heard the voices of

the angel choir, no longer breathing the soft, sweet melody,

but bursting forth into paeans of triumphant praise. A flood

of glory seemed to fill the place, and looking upward we

beheld the great dome ablaze with golden light, and the

angelic forms of the no longer invisible choir in its midst,

with their heavenly harps and viols, and their faces only

less radiant than that of Him in whose praise they sang.

And he, before whom all heaven bowed in adoration, stood

with uplifted face and kingly mien, the very God of earth

and heaven. He was the center of all light, and a divine

radiance surrounded him that was beyond compare.

As the hymn of praise and adoration ceased, all sank slowly

90 --

to their knees, and every head was bowed and every face

covered as the angel choir chanted again the familiar

words:

"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy

Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,

world without end. Amen, Amen!"

Slowly the voices died away, and a holy silence fell upon

us. Presently, slowly and reverently, all arose and resumed

their places. No, not all. Sweet Mary Bates had

accompanied us to the sanctuary, and I now noticed that

she alone still knelt in our midst, with clasped hands and

radiant uplifted face, her lovely eyes fixed upon the Savior,

as he still stood waiting before us, with such a look of

self-forgetful adoration and love as made her herself truly

divine. She was so rapt I dared not disturb her; but in a

moment the Master turned and met her adoring eyes with

such a look of loving recognition, that with a deep sigh of

satisfied desire, as he turned again, she quietly resumed her

seat beside me, slipping her little hand into mine with all

the confidence of a child who feels sure it is understood to

the utmost.

As I looked upon the glorious form before us, clothed in

all the majesty of the Godhead, my heart tremblingly asked:

"Can this indeed be the Christ-man whom Pilate

condemned to die an ignominious death upon the cross?" I

could not accept it. It seemed impossible that any man,

however vile, could be blind to the divinity so plainly

revealed in him.

Then the Savior began to speak, and the sweetness of his

voicewas far beyond themelody of the heavenly choir.And

-- 91

his gracious words! Would that I could, would that I dared,

transcribe them as they fell from his lips. Earth has no

language by which I could convey their lofty meaning. He

first touched lightly upon the earth-life, and showed so

wonderfully the link of light uniting the two lives—the past

with the present. Then he unfolded to us some of the earlier

mysteries of the blessed life, and pointed out the joyous

duties just before us.

When he ceased, we sat with bowed heads as he

withdrew. Our hearts were so enfolded, our souls so

uplifted, our spirits so exalted, our whole being so

permeated with his divinity, that when we arose we left the

place silently and reverently, each bearing away a heart

filled with higher, more divine aspirations, and clearer

views of the blessed life upon which we were permitted to

enter.

I can touch but lightly upon these heavenly joys. There is a

depth, a mystery to all that pertains to the divine life, which I

dare not try to describe; I could not if I would, I would not if I

could. A sacredness enfolds it all that curious eyes should not

look upon. Suffice it to say, that no joy we know on earth,

however rare, however sacred, can be more than the faintest

shadow of the joy we there find; no dreams of rapture, here

unrealized, approach the bliss of one moment, even, in that

divine world. No sorrow; no pain; no sickness; no death; no

partings; no disappointments; no tears but those of joy; no

broken hopes; no mislaid plans; no night, nor storm, nor

shadows even; but light and joy and

92 --

love and peace and rest forever and forever. "Amen," and

again my heart says revently, "Amen."

CHAPTER XI

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Thy streets of pearl and gold

Are trod by the blest feet of them

We knew and loved of old.

Their voices full of calm delight

Steal through the radiant air

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Our hearts are with them there!

AS the days passed I found my desires often led me to the

sacred lake, sometimes alone, sometimes with one or more

of my own family circle—my revered father and precious

mother, my dear brother and sister, and many beloved

friends both within and without the bond of consanguinity.

It was always to me an inspiration and an uplifting. I never

could grow sufficiently familiar with it to overcome the

first great awe with which it inspired me; but I found that

the oftener I bathed or floated and slept in its pellucid

current, the stronger I grew in spirit, and the more clearly I

comprehended the mysteries of the world about me.

My almost daily intercourse with the dear ones of our

home life from whom I had so long been separated, served

to restore to me the home feeling that had been the greatest

solace of my mortal life, and I began to realize that this was

indeed the true life, instead of that probationary life which

we had always regarded as such. I think it was the day after

my return from my first visit to earth, that, as

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94 --

I had started to cross the sward lying between my father's

house and our own, I heard my name called in affectionate

tones. I turned and saw approaching me a tall, fine-looking

man, whose uncovered head was silvery white, and whose

deep blue eyes looked happily and tenderly into mine, as he

drew near.

"Oliver!" I cried with outstretched hands of welcome,

dear, dear Oliver!" It was the husband of my eldest sister,

always dearly loved.

"I did not know that you had come, until a few moments

since, when our father told me. It is delightful to have you

here; it seems more like the old life to see you than any of

the others who are here we were together so much during

the last years of my stay," he said, grasping my hands

warmly. "Where are you going now? Can you not come

with me awhile? I was thinking only a few days ago how

much I wished you could be here a little while before Lu

came; you know her tastes so well. And now here you are!

So often our unspoken wishes are thus gratified in heaven!"

"Is my sister coming soon?" I asked a little later.

"That I cannot confidently say; but you know the years

of the earth-life are passing, and her coming cannot be

much longer delayed. Can you come with me now?"

"Gladly," I said, turning to walk with him.

"It is only a little way from here," he said. "Just where

the river bends. Lu loves the water so, I chose that spot in

preference to one even nearer your home."

-- 95

"This is truly enchanting!" I cried, as we drew near the

place. "I have not been this way before."

"I want you to see the river from her room windows," he

said; "I know you will enjoy it."

We entered the truly beautiful house, built of the purest

white granite, so embedded in the foliage of the flowerladen

trees that from some points only glimpses of its fine

proportions could be seen.

"She loves flowers so much—will she not enjoy these

trees?" he asked with almost boyish delight.

"Beyond everything," I answered.

We passed through several delightful rooms on the lower

floor, and, ascending the stairway, which in itself was a

dream of beauty, entered the room he was so anxious I

should see. I stopped upon the threshold with an

exclamation of delight, while he stood watching with keen

enjoyment the expression on my face.

"It is the most delightful room I ever saw!" I cried

enthusiastically.

The framework of couches, chairs and desk was of pure and

spotless pearl, upholstered in dim gold; soft rugs and draperies

everywhere; and through the low window, opening upon the

flower-wreathed balcony, so enchanting a view of the broad,

smooth river below, that again I caught my breath in delight. A

thousand exquisite tints from the heavens above were reflected

upon the tranquil waters, and a boat floating on the current was

perfectlymirrored in the opaline96

--

tinted ripples. Far across the shining waters the celestial

hills arose, with domes and pillared temples and sparkling

fountains perceptible everywhere. When at last I turned

from this entrancing view, I saw on the opposite wall,

smiting down upon me, the same Divine face that I daily

looked upon in my own room at home.

We descended the stairs without a word, then I could

only falter:

"Only heaven could give such perfection in everything!"

Oliver pressed my hand sympathetically, and let me

depart without a word.

Many months, by earthly time, had passed since that day,

and many times I had visited that lovely home and held

sweet converse with one I loved so well. I could suggest

nothing that would add to the beauty of the place, but we

talked of it together, and planned for and anticipated the joy

of her coming.

One day I found him absent, and though I waited long

for his return, he came not. I had not seen him for several

days, and concluded he had been sent upon some mission

by the Master. As I passed onward to our home, I met a

group of happy young girls and boys, of different ages,

hastening the way I had come, with their arms full of most

beautiful flowers. As they drew near I saw they Were the

grandchildren of my dear sister—Stanley and Mary and

David and Lee and little Ruth. As soon as they saw me,

they all with one accord began to shout joyfully:

-- 97

Grandma is coming! Grandma is coming! We are taking

flowers to scatter everywhere! We are so glad!"

"How do you know she is coming, children? I have just

been to the house—no one is there!"

"But she is coming," said little Lee. "We had a message

from grandpa, and he is to bring her."

"Then I will tell the others, and we will all come to

welcome her," I said.

With a great joy in my heart I hastened onward to my

father's house. I found them awaiting me, full of joyful

expectation.

"Yes, we also have had word," my father said, "and were

only awaiting your return, that we might go together."

"Then I will go for brother Frank, that he also may

accompany us," I said.

"He is here!" said a genial voice; and, looking up, I saw

him at the door.

"Col. Sprague is always present when he is needed," said

my father cordially.

So we set forth, a goodly company, to welcome this

dearly loved one to her home my father, my mother, and

my sister Jodie; my brother the doctor, and his two fair

daughters; my Aunt Gray, her son Martin, and his wife and

daughter; my brother Frank and I.

As we approached the house we heard the sound of

joyous voices, and looking in, we saw my sister standing in

the room, her husband's arm about her, and the happy

grandchildren

98 --

thronged around them, like humming-birds among the

flowers. But what was this? Could this radiant creature,

with smooth brow and happy eyes, be the pale, wan woman

I had last seen, so bowed with suffering and sorrow? I

looked with eager eyes. Yes, it was my sister; but as she

was full thirty years ago, with the bloom of health upon her

face, and the light of youth in her tender eyes. I drew back

into the shadow of the vines and let the others precede me,

for my heart was full of a strange, triumphant joy. This

truly was the "victory over death" so surely promised by

our risen Lord. I watched the happy greetings, and the way

she took each beloved one into her tender arms. When, one

by one, she had greeted and embraced them all, I saw her,

with a strange yearning at my heart, turn and look wistfully

around, then whisper to my father:

"Is not my little sister here?"

I could wait no longer, but, hastening to her side, cried:

"Dearest, I am here! Welcome! Welcome!"

She folded me to her heart and held me fast in her warm

arms, she showered me with kisses upon my upturned face,

while I returned each loving caress, and laughed and cried

for very gladness that she had come at last. Oh, what a

family reunion was that inside the walls of heaven! And

how its bliss was heightened by the sure knowledge (not

the hope) that there should be no partings for us henceforth

forever!

My brother Oliver looked on with proud and happy eyes.

-- 99

The hour for which he had longed and waited had come to

him at last; his home-life would now be complete for

evermore. I told him how I waited for him that day, and he

said, "We saw you as you left the house, but were too

distant to call you. I taken her into the river, and she

looked at and admired the house very greatly before she

knew it was our home."

"What did she do when she saw her lovely room?"

"Cried like a child, and clung to me, and said, 'This more

than repays us for the lost home of earth!' If the children

not come, I think she would have been at that window

still!" he said, laughing happily.

"I am glad you had her all to yourself at the first," I

whispered; "you deserved that happiness, dear, if any man

ever did."

He smiled gratefully, and looked over at his wife, where

she stood the center of a happy group.

"Does she not took very young to you, Oliver?" I asked.

"The years rolled from her like a mask, as we sat beneath

the water in the river. Ah, truly in those life-giving waters

we do all 'renew our youth'; but she became at once

uncommonly fair and young."

"Her coming has brought youth likewise to you," I said,

noting his fresh complexion and his sparkling eyes; "but I

hope it will not change your silver hair, for that is to you a

crown of glory."

He looked at me a moment critically, then said:

100 --

"I wonder if you realize the change that has likewise

come to you in this wonderful clime?"

"I?" I said, a little startled at the thought; "I confess I

have not once thought of my personal appearance. I realize

what, through the Father's mercy, this life has done for me

spiritually, but as for the other, I have never given it an

instant's thought."

"The change is fully as great in your case as in Lu's,

though with you the change has been more gradual," he

said.

I felt a strange thrill of joy that when my dear husband

should come to me, he would find me with the freshness

and comeliness of our earlier years. It was a sweet thought,

and my heart was full of gratitude to the Father for this

further evidence of his loving care. So we talked together

as the hours sped, until my father said:

"Come, children; we must not forget that this dear

daughter of mine needs rest this first day in her new home.

Let us leave her and her happy husband to their new-found

bliss."

So with light hearts we went our way, and left them to

spend their first hours in heaven together

CHAPTER XII.

AFTER we had left my parents and friends on our return

from our welcome to my sister, my brother hastened away

upon some mission, and I walked on alone toward the

sacred lake. I felt the need of a rest in its soothing waters

after the exciting scenes through which I had passed. I had

hitherto visited the lake in the early morning hours; it was

now something past noontide of the heavenly day, and but

few persons lingered on the shore. The boats that sped

across its calm surface seemed to be filled rather with those

intent upon some duty than simply pleasure-seekers. I

walked slowly down into the water, and soon found myself

floating, as at former times, in midcurrent. The wonderful

prismatic rays that in the early morning were such a

marvel, now blended into a golden glory, with different

shades of rose and purple flashing athwart their splendor.

To me it seemed even more beautiful than the rainbow

tints; just as the maturer joys of our earthly life cast into

shadow, somewhat, the more evanescent pleasures of

youth. I could but wonder what its evening

101

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glories would be, and resolved to come at some glowing

twilight, and see if they would not remind me of the calm

hours of life's closing day. I heard the chimes from the

silver bell of the great city ringing an anthem as I lay, and

its notes seemed to chant clearly:

"Holy! Holy! Holy! Lord God Almighty!" The waters

took up the song and a thousand waves about me

responded, "Holy! Holy! Holy!"

The notes seemed to "vibrate," if I may use the

expression, upon the waves, producing a wondrously

harmonious effect. The front row in the battalion of

advancing waves softly chanted "Holy" as they passed

onward; immediately the second roll of waves took up the

word that the first seemed to have dropped as it echoed the

second "Holy" in the divine chorus, then it, too, passed

onward to take up the second note as the third advancing

column caught the first; and so it passed and echoed from

wave to wave, until it seemed millions of tiny waves about

me had taken up and were bearing their part in this grand

crescendo—this wonderful anthem. Language fails me—I

cannot hope to convey to others this experience as it came

to me. It was grand, wonderful, overpowering. I lay and

listened until my whole being was filled with the divine

melody, and I seemed to be a part of the great chorus, then

I, too, lifted up my voice and joined with full heart in the

thrilling song of praise.

I found that, contrary to my usual custom, I floated

-- 103

rapidly away from the shore whence I had entered the

water, and after a time was conscious that I was

approaching a portion of the lake shore I never yet visited.

Refreshed and invigorated, I ascended the sloping banks, to

find myself in the midst of a lovely suburban village,

similar to the one where our own home was situated. There

was some difference in the architecture or construction of

the houses, though they were no less beautiful than others I

had seen. Many were constructed of polished woods, and

somewhat resembled the finest of the chalets one sees in

Switzerland, though far surpassing them in all that gives

pleasure to the artistic eye.

As I wandered on, feasting my eyes upon the lovely

views about me, I was particularly pleased by the

appearance of an unusually attractive house. Its broad

verandas almost overhung the waters of the lake, the wide

low steps running on one side of the house quite to the

water's edge. Several graceful swans were leisurely drifting

about with the current, and a bird similar to our Southern

mocking-bird, but with softer voice, was singing and

swinging in the low branches overhead. There were many

larger and more imposing villas near, but none possessed

for me the charm of this sweet home.

Beneath one of the large flowering trees close by this

cottage home, I saw a woman sitting, weaving with her

delicate hands, apparently without shuttle or needle, a

snow-white gossamer-like fabric that fell in a soft fleecy

heap at her side as the work progressed. She was so very

small in

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stature that at first glance I supposed she was a child; but a

closer scrutiny showed her to be a mature woman, though

with the glow of youth still upon her smooth cheek.

Something familiar in her gestures, rather than her

appearance, caused me to feel that it was not the first time

we had met; and growing accustomed now to the delightful

surprises that met me everywhere in this world of rare

delights, I drew near to accost her, when, before I could

speak, she looked up, and the doubt was gone.

"Maggie!" "Mrs. Sprague dear!" we cried

simultaneously, as, dropping her work from her hands, she

stepped quickly up to greet me.

Our greeting was warm and fervent, and her sweet face

glowed with a welcome that reminded me of the happy

days when we had met, in the years long gone, by the shore

of that other beautiful lake in the world of our earth-life.

"Now I know why I came this way to-day—to find you,

dear," I said, as we sat side by side, talking as we never

talked on earth; for the sweet shyness of her mortal life had

melted away in the balmy air of heaven.

"What is this lovely fabric you are weaving?" I presently

asked, lifting the silken fleecy web in my fingers as I

spoke.

"Some draperies for Nellie's room," she said. "You know

we two have lived alone together so much, I thought it

would seem more like home to her, to us both, if we did the

same here. So this cottage is our own special home, just a

step from Marie's," pointing to an imposing house a few

-- 105

yards distant, "and I am fitting it up as daintily as I can,

especially her room."

"Oh, let me help you, Maggie dear!" I said. "It would be

such a pleasure to me."

She hesitated an instant, with something of the old-time

shyness, then said:

"That is so like you, dear Mrs. Sprague. I have set my

heart on doing Nellie's room entirely myself—there is no

hurry about it, you know—but if you really would enjoy it,

I shall love to have you help me in the other rooms."

"And will you teach me how to weave these delicate

hangings?"

"Yes, indeed. Shall I give you your first lesson now?"

Lifting the dainty thread, she showed me how to toss and

wind it through my fingers till it fell away in shining folds.

It was very light and fascinating work, and I soon was

weaving it almost as rapidly as she did.

"Now, I can help Carroll!" was my happy thought, as I

saw the shimmering fabric grow beneath my hands.

"Tomorrow I will go and show him how beautifully we can

drape the doors and windows."

So in heaven our first thought ever is to give pleasure to

others.

"You are an apt scholar," said Maggie, laughing happily;

and what a charming hour you have given me!"

"What a charming hour you have given me, my dear!" I

answered.

106 --

When we parted it was with the understanding that every

little while I was to repeat the visit. When I urged her

likewise to come to me, the old-time shyness again

appeared, as she said:

"Oh, they are all strangers to me, and here we shall be

entirely alone. You come to me."

So I yielded, as in heaven we never seek to gain reluctant

consent for any pleasure, however dear; and many were the

happy hours spent with her in the cottage by the lake.

CHAPTER XIII.

ON one of my walks about this time, I chanced upon a

scene that brought to mind what Mae had said to me about

the Savior's love for little children. I found him sitting

beneath one of the flowering trees upon the lake shore, with

about a dozen children of all ages clustered around him.

One dainty little tot, not more than a year old, was nestled

in his arms, with her sunny head resting confidingly upon

his bosom, her tiny hands filled with the lovely water-lilies

that floated everywhere on the waters. She was too young

to realize how great her privilege was, but seemed to be

enjoying his care to the utmost. The others sat at his feet, or

leaned upon his knees; and one dear little fellow, with

earnest eyes, stood by him, leaning upon his shoulder,

while the Master's right arm encircled him. Every eye was

fixed eagerly upon Jesus, and each child appeared alert to

catch every word he said. He seemed to be telling them

some very absorbing story, adapted to their childish tastes

and capacities. I sat down upon the sward among a group of

people, a little removed from the children, and tried to

107

108 --

hear what he was saying, but we were too far away to catch

more than a sentence now and then, and in heaven one

never intrudes upon another's privileges or pleasures. So we

simply enjoyed the smiles and eager questions and

exclamations of the children, and gathered a little of the

tenor of the story from the disjointed sentences which

floated to us.

"A little child lost in the dark woods of the lower

world—" we heard the Master say, in response to the

inquiring looks of the interested children. Lions and

bears—" came later on. Where was his papa?" asked an

anxious voice.

We could not hear the reply, but soon a little fellow

leaning upon the Savior's knee, said confidently: "No lions

and bears up here!"

"No," he replied, "nothing to harm or frighten my little

children here!"

Then as the story deepened and grew in interest, and the

children pressed more closely about the Master, he turned

with a sweet smile and we could see an increased pressure

of the encircling arm—to the little fellow with the earnest

eyes who leaned upon his shoulder, and said:

"What, Leslie, would you have done, then?"

With a bright light in his eyes and a flush on his fair

cheek, the child answered quickly and emphatically:

"I should have prayed to Thee and asked Thee to 'close

the lion's mouth,' as Thou didst for Daniel, and Thou

wouldst have done it!"

-- 109

"Ah," I thought, "could C—— and H—— see the look

the beloved Master cast upon their boy as he made his

brave reply, they would be comforted even for the absence

of their darling."

Lost in these thoughts, I heard no more that passed, until

an ecstatic shout from the little folks proclaimed how

satisfactorily the story had ended, and, looking up, I saw

the Savior passing onward, with the baby still in his arms,

and the children trooping about him.

"Of such is the kingdom of heaven." How well he

understood! How much he loved them!

I, too, arose and started homeward. I had not gone far

before I met my brother Frank, who greeted me with:

"I am on my way to the city by the lake; will you

accompany me?"

"It has been long my wish to visit the city. I only waited

until you thought it wise for me to go," I answered.

"You are growing so fast in the knowledge of the heavenly

ways," he said, "that I think I might venture to take you almost

anywhere with me now. You acquire the knowledge for the

very love of it; not because you feel it your duty to know what

we would have you learn. Your eagerness to gather to yourself

all truth, and at the same time your patient submission in

waiting, ofttimes when I know the trial is great, have won for

you much praise and love from our dear Master, who watches

eagerly the progress of us all in the divine life. I think it only

right that you should

110 --

know of this; we need encouragement here as well as in the

earth-life, though in a different way. I tell you this by

divine permission. I think it will not be long before He

trusts you with a mission; but this I say of myself, not by

his command."

It would be impossible for me to convey, in the language

of earth, the impression these words of commendation left

upon me. They were so unexpected, so unforeseen. I had

gone on, as my brother said, eagerly gathering the

knowledge imparted to me, with a genuine love for the

study of all things pertaining to the blessed life, without a

thought that I in any way deserved commendation for so

doing; and now I had won the approbation of the Master

himself! The happiness seemed almost more than I had

strength to bear.

"My brother, my dear brother!" was all I could say, in my

deep joy, stopping suddenly and looking up into his face

with grateful tears.

"I am so glad for you, little sister!" he said, warmly

clasping my hand. "There are, you see, rewards in heaven;

it does my soul good that you have unconsciously won one

of these so soon."

I would I might record in detail the precious words of

wisdom that fell from his lips; I would that I might recount

minutely the events of that wonderful life as it was

unfolded to me day by day; but I can only say, "I may not."

When I undertook to make a record of that

never-to-be-forgotten time, I did not realize how many

serious difficulties

-- 111

I would have to encounter; how often I would have to

pause and consider if I might really reveal this truth or

paint that scene as it appeared to me. The very heart has

often been left out of some wonderful scene I was

attempting to describe, because I found I dared not reveal

its sacred secret. I realize painfully that the narrative, as I

am forced to give it, falls infinitely short of what I hoped to

make it when I began. But bear with me; it is no fancy

sketch I am drawing, but the veritable life beyond, as it

appeared to me when the exalted spirit rose triumphant

over the impoverished flesh, made slavishly subservient

through suffering.

My brother and I walked slowly back to the margin of the

lake, where we stepped into a boat lying near the shore, and

were at once transported to the farther shore of the lake, and

landed upon a marble terrace the entrance to the city by the

take. I never knew by what power these boats were propelled.

There were no oarsmen, no engine, no sails, upon the one in

which we crossed the water; but it moved steadily onward till

we were safely landed at our destination. Luxuriously

cushioned seats were all around it, and upon one of them lay a

musical instrument, something like a violin, a]though it no

bow, but seemed to be played by the fingers alone. Upon

another seat lay a book. I picked it up and opened it; it seemed

to be a continuation of that book that has stirred and thrilled

millions of hearts in the mortal life—"The Greatest Thing in

the World." As I glanced through it while we journeyed, I

grasped the truth that this

112 --

great mind already had grappled with the mighty things of

eternity and given food to immortals, even as he had to

those in mortal life in the years gone by.

I was roused from my thoughts by the boat touching the

marble terrace, and found my brother already standing

waiting to assist me to the shore. Passing up a slight

acclivity, we found ourselves in a broad street that led into

the heart of the city. The streets I found were all very broad

and smooth, and paved with marble and precious stones of

every kind. Though they were thronged with people intent

on various duties, not an atom of debris, or even dust, was

visible anywhere. There seemed to be vast business houses

of many kinds, though I saw nothing resembling our large

mercantile establishments. There were many colleges and

schools—; many book and music-stores and publishing

houses; several large manufactories, where, I learned, were

spun the fine silken threads of manifold colors which were

so extensively used in the weaving of the draperies I have

already mentioned. There were art rooms, picture galleries

and libraries, and many lecture halls and vast auditoriums.

But I saw no churches of any kind. At first this somewhat

confused me, until I remembered that there are no creeds in

heaven, but that all worship together in harmony and

love—the children of one and the same loving Father.

"Ah," I thought, "what a pity that that fact, if no other in the

great economy of heaven, could not be proclaimed to the

inhabitants of earth! How it would do

-- 113

away with the petty contentions, jealousies and rivalries of

the church militant! No creeds in heaven! No controverted

points of doctrine! No charges of heresy brought by one

professed Christian against another! No building up of one

denomination upon the ruins or downfall of a different sect!

But one great universal brotherhood whose head is Christ,

and whose corner-stone is Love." I thought of the day we

had listened in the great auditorium at home to the divine

address of our beloved Master; of the bowed heads and

uplifted voices of that vast multitude as every voice joined

in the glorious anthem, "Crown Him Lord of All!" and I

could have wept to think of the faces that must some day be

bowed in shame when they remember how often they have

in mortal life said to a brother Christian, "Stand aside; I am

holier than thou!"

We found no dwelling-houses anywhere in the midst of

the city, until we came to the suburbs. Here they stood in

great magnificence and splendor. But one pleasing fact was

that every home its large door-yard, full of trees and

flowers and pleasant walks; indeed, it was everywhere,

outside of the business center of the town, like one vast

park dotted with lovely houses. There was much that

charmed, much that surprised me in this great city, of

which I may not fully speak, but which I never can forget.

We found in one place a very large park, with walks and

drives and fountains and miniature lakes and shaded seats,

but no dwellings or buildings of any kind, except an

immense circular open

114 --

temple capable of seating many hundred; and where, my

brother told me, a seraph choir assembled at a certain hour

daily and rendered the oratorios written by the great

musical composers of earth and heaven. It had just

departed, and the crowd who had enjoyed its divine music

yet lingered as though loath to leave a spot so hallowed.

"We will remember the hour," my brother said, "and

come again when we can hear them."

CHAPTER XIV.

STILL passing through the park, we came out upon the

open country, and walked some distance through flowery

meadows and undulating plains. At length we entered a

vast forest whose great trees towered above us like swaying

giants. The day was well-nigh spent—the day so full of joy

and glad surprises and happy hours! Full as it had been I

felt there was still something left for me, deep hidden in the

twilight-valley of the day; something that held my soul in

awe, as the last moments preceding the Holy Sacrament.

My brother walked by me, absorbed in silent thought, but

with a touch beyond even his usual gentleness. I did not ask

where we were going at that unusual hour, so far from

home, for fear and doubt and questionings no longer vexed

the quiet of my soul. Although the forest was dense, the

golden glow of the twilight rested beneath the trees, and

sifted down through the quivering branches overhead, as

though falling through the windows of some grand

cathedral.

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116 --

At length we emerged from the forest upon a vast plain

that stretched out into illimitable space before us, and far

away we faintly heard the thunder of the breaking waves of

that immortal sea of which I had heard so much but had not

yet seen. But for their faint and distant reverberation the

silence about us was intense. We stood a moment upon the

verge of the forest, then as we advanced a few steps into

the plain I became aware that immediately to our right the

ground rose into quite an elevation; and, as I turned, a sight

broke upon my bewildered eyes that the eternal years of

earth and heaven can never efface. Upon the summit of this

gentle slope a Temple stood, whose vast dome, massive

pillars and solid walls were of unsullied pearl, and through

whose great mullioned windows shone a white radiance

that swallowed up the golden glow of the twilight and made

it Its own. I did not cry aloud nor hide my face, as at former

revelations; but I sank slowly to my knees, and, crossing

my hands upon my breast, with uplifted face, stilled heart

and silent lips, laid my whole being in worship at His feet

"who sitteth upon the throne." How long I knelt thus I

know not. Even immortal life seemed lost before that

greatest of celestial mysteries. At length my brother, who

had been silently kneeling beside me, arose, and, lifting me

to my feet, whispered gently, it Come."

I felt rather than saw that his face was colorless with the

depth of his emotion, and I yielded to his guidance in silence. A

long flight of low, broad steps, in gradations, rose from

-- 117

almost where we stood to the very door of the Temple.

They, too, were of solid pearl, bordered on either side by

channels paved with golden stones through which coursed

crystal waters that met and mingled in one stream far out

upon the plain. Ascending these steps, we entered the

Temple, and for a moment stood in silence. I do not know

how it was, but in that brief instant—it may have been

longer than I knew—every detail of that wonderful interior

was fastened upon my memory as a scene is photographed

upon the artist's plate. Heretofore it had taken repeated

visits to a room to enable me to describe it correctly in

detail, but this, in a lightning's, flash, was stamped upon the

tablet of my memory indelibly for all time—nay, for

eternity.

The immense dome, at that moment filled with a

luminous cloud, was upheld by three rows of massive

pillars of gold. The walls and floors were of pearl, as also

the great platform that filled at least one-third of the

Temple upon the eastern side. There were no seats of any

kind. The great golden pillars stood like rows of sentinels

upon the shining floor. A railing of gold ran entirely around

the platform upon the three sides, so that it was inaccessible

from the body of the Temple. Beneath this railing, upon the

temple-floor, a kneeling-step passed around the platform,

also of pearl. In the center of the platform an immense altar

of gold arose, supported by seraphs of gold with outspread

wings, one at each corner; and underneath it, in a great

pearl basin, a fountain of sparkling water played, and I

knew intuitively

118 --

it was the source of the magical river that flowed through

the gardens of heaven and bore from us the last stains of

death and sin.

Nothing living, beside ourselves, was within the Temple

except two persons who knelt with bowed heads beside the

altar-rail upon the farther side; but by the altar stood four

angels, one upon either side, dressed in flowing garments

of white, with long, slim trumpets of gold uplifted in their

hands, as though waiting in expectancy the signal for their

trumpet call. Long draperies of silvery gossamer hung in

heavy folds back of the altar platform. Suddenly, in the

moment that we looked, we saw the draperies tremble and

glow until a radiance far beyond the splendor of the sun at

midday shone through them, and the whole Temple was

"filled with the glory of the Lord." We saw, in the midst of

the luminous cloud that filled the dome, the forms of

angelic harpers, and as we dropped with bowed heads

beside the altar-rail and bid our faces from the "brightness

of His coming," we heard the trumpet-call of the four

angels about the altar, and the voices of the celestial

harpers as they sang:

"Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty!

All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth, and sky,

and sea.

Holy, Holy, Holy, merciful and mighty,

God in three persons—blessed Trinity. Amen!"

The voices softly died away; the last notes of the golden

trumpets had sounded; "and there was silence in heaven."

We knew that the visible glory of the Lord was, for the

-- 119

present, withdrawn from the Temple which is his throne;

still we knelt with bowed beads in silent worship before

him. When at last we arose I did not lift my eyes while

within the Temple; I desired it to remain upon my memory

as it appeared when filled with his glory.

We walked some time in silence, I leaning upon my

brother's arm, for I yet trembled with emotion. I was

surprised that we did not return into the forest, but went

still farther out upon the plain. But when I saw that we

approached the confluence of the two streams which issued

from the fountain beneath the altar, I began to understand

that we would return by way of the river, instead of by

forest and lake.

We reached the stream, at length, and, stepping into a

boat that lay by the shore, we were soon floating with the

current toward home. We passed through much beautiful

scenery on our course that I had not seen before, and which

I resolved I would visit in the future, when leisure from my

daily duties would permit. Lovely villas, surrounded by

beautiful grounds stretching directly up from the water's

edge, lay on both sides of the river, and formed a panorama

upon which the eye never tired of Testing. Toward the end

of the journey we passed my sister's lovely home, and we

could plainly see her and her husband drinking in the scene

with enraptured eyes, from the window of her own room.

My brother and I were both silent the greater part of the

time during our journey homeward, though each noted

120 --

with observant eyes the signs of happy domestic life by

which we were surrounded on every side. The verandas and

steps of the homes we passed were full of their happy

inmates; glad voices could be constantly heard, and merry

shouts of laughter came from the throngs of little children

playing everywhere upon the flowery lawns. Once I broke

our silence by saying to my brother:

"I have been more than once delightfully surprised to

hear the familiar songs of earth reproduced in heaven, but

never more so than I was to-day. That hymn has long been

a favorite of mine."

"These happy surprises do not come by chance," he

answered. "One of the delights of this rare life is that no

occasion is ever overlooked for reproducing here the pure

enjoyments of our mortal life. It is the Father's pleasure to

make us realize that this existence is but a continuance of

the former life, only without its imperfections and its

cares!)

"Frank, I believe you are the only one of our friends here

who has never questioned me about the dear ones left

behind; why is it?"

He smiled a peculiarly happy smile as he answered:

"Perhaps it is because I already know more than you could

tell me.')

"I wondered if it was not so," I said, for I remembered well

how my dear father had said, in speaking of my brother upon

the first day of my coming, "He stands very near to

-- 121

the Master," and I knew how often he was sent upon

missions to the world below.

I lay down upon my couch, on our return, with a heart

overflowing with joy and gratitude and love, beyond the

power of expression; and it seemed to me the tenderness in

the Divine eyes that looked down upon me from the wall

was deeper, Purer, holier than it ever been before.

"I will reach the standard of perfection you have set for

me, my Savior," I faltered, with clasped bands uplifted to

him, "if it takes all my life in heaven and all the help from

all the angels of light to accomplish it;" and with these

words upon my lips, and his tender eyes resting upon me, I

sank into the blissful repose of heaven.

CHAPTER XV.

SO much occurred, and so rapidly, from the very hour of

my entrance within the beautiful gates, that it is impossible

for me to transcribe it all. I have been able only to cull here

and there incidents that happened day by day; and in so

doing many things I would gladly have related have

unconsciously been omitted. Of the many dear friends I

met, only a very few have been mentioned, for the reason

that, of necessity, such meetings are so similar in many

respects that the constant repetition, in detail, would

become wearisome. I have aimed principally to give such

incidents as would show the beautiful domestic life in that

happy world; to make apparent the reverence and love all

hearts feel toward the blessed Trinity for every good and

perfect gift, and to show forth the marvelous power of the

Christ-love even in the life beyond the grave.

This world, strange and new to me, held multitudes of

those I loved in the years gone by, and there was scarcely

an hour that did not renew for me the ties that once were

severed in the mortal life. I remember that as I was walking

one day in the neighborhood of Mrs. Wickham's home,

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shortly after my first memorable visit there, I was attracted

by an unpretentious but very beautiful house, almost hidden

by luxuriant climbing rose vines, whose flowers of creamy

whiteness were beyond compare with any roses I had yet

seen in earth or heaven. Meeting Mrs. Wickham, I pointed

to the house and asked: "Who lives there?"

"Suppose you go over and see," she said.

"Is it any one I know?" I asked.

"I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as

though expecting you."

I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf—for the

house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing,

almost opposite Mrs. Wickham's and before I could ascend

the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.

"Bertha Sprague! was sure it was you when I saw you go

to Mrs. Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I

was here?"

"She had no opportunity until to-day," I said. "But dear

Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you

know that."

"Yes, I am sure you would."

Then I recounted to her something of my visit to Mrs.

Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear

face full of sympathy, then said:

"There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know?

When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no

thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days!

-- 125

Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this

blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is

this divine life!"

She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully:

"Now, tell me of my children—are they coming?"

I gladdened her heart with all the cheering news I could

bring of her loved ones; and so we talked the hours away,

recalling many sweet memories of the earth-life, of friends

and home and family ties, and looking forward to the future

coming to us of those whom even the joys of heaven could

not banish from our hearts.

Then also another evening, as the soft twilight fell, and

many of our dear home circle were gathered with us in the

great "flower-room," we heard a step upon the veranda, and

as my brother went to the open door a gentle voice said:

"Is Mrs. Sprague really here?"

"She is really here. Come and see for yourself." And

sweet Mary Green entered the room.

"I am so glad to welcome you home!" she said, coming

to me with extended bands, and looking into mine with her

tender, earnest eyes.

"My precious girt!" I cried, taking her to my heart in a

warm embrace. "I have been asking about you, and longing

to see you."

"I could scarcely wait to reach here when I heard that

you had come. Now, tell me everything—everything!" she

said as I drew her to a seat close beside me.

126 --

But questions asked and the answers given are too sacred

for rehearsal here. Every individual member of her dear

home-circle was discussed, and many were the incidents

she recounted to me that had occurred in her presence when

her mother and I were together and talking of the dear child

we considered far removed from our presence.

"I was often so close that I could have touched you with

my hand, had the needed power been given," she said.

After a long, close converse had been held between us, I

took her to the library, whither the rest had gone to examine

a new book just that day received. I introduced her to them

all as the daughter of dear friends still on earth, confident of

the welcome she would receive. My youngest sister and she

at once became interested in each other, finding

congeniality in many of their daily pursuits, and I was glad

to believe they would henceforth see much of each other in

many different ways.

There was no measurement of time as we measure it

here, although many still spoke in the old-time language of

"months" and "days" and "years." I have no way of

describing it as it seemed to me then. There were periods,

and allotted times; there were hours for happy duties, hours

for joyful pleasures, and hours for holy praise. I only know

it was all harmony, all joy, all peace, at all times and in all

conditions.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE current of my life flowed on in the heavenly ways,

until the months began to lengthen into years and my daily

studies ascended higher in the scale of celestial mysteries. I

never wearied of study, though much was taught and

gained through the medium of observation in the journeys

that I was Permitted to take with my brother into different

parts of the heavenly kingdom. I never lacked time for

social pleasures and enjoyments, for there is no clashing of

duties with inclination, no unfulfilled desires, no vain

strivings for the unattainable in that life, as in the life of

earth. Many precious hours of intercourse were spent in my

dear father's home, and sometimes on rare occasions I was

permitted to accompany him to his field of labor and assist

him in instructing those lately come into the new life with

little or no preparation for its duties and responsibilities. On

one occasion he said to me:

127

128 --

"I have the most difficult problem to deal with I have

ever yet met in this work. It is how to enlighten and help a

man who suddenly plunged from an apparently honorable

life into the very depths of crime. I have never been able to

get him to accompany me to the river, where these earthly

cobwebs would be swept from his poor brain; his excuse

being always that God's mercy is so great in allowing him

inside heaven's gates at all, that he is content to remain

always in its lowest scale of enjoyment and life. No

argument or teaching thus far can make him alter his

decision. He was led astray by infatuation for a strange

woman, and killed his aged mother in order to secure her

jewels for this wretched creature. He was executed for the

crime, of which in the end he sincerely repented, but he left

life with all the horror of the deed clinging to his soul."

"Has he seen his mother since coming here? Does she

know of his arrival?"

"No; she is entirely alone in this world, and it was not

thought wise to tell her of his coming till his soul was in a

better condition to receive her. He was an only child, and

does not lack the elements of refinement, but he was

completely under the control of this vile though fascinating

woman. It is said she drugged his wine and incited him to

do the dreadful deed while under its influence, because of

her hatred for his mother, whose influence was against her.

When he came from under the influence of the wine, he

was horrified at what he had done, and his infatuation for

-- 129

the woman turned to loathing—but, alas, too late! He

would not see her during his entire incarceration."

"How long was he in prison?"

"Almost a year."

"Has he seen the Christ?"

"No; he begs not to see him. He is very repentant, and

grateful to be saved from the wrath he feels was his just

punishment, but though he is conscious that his sin is

forgiven, he does not yet feel that he can ever stand In the

presence of the Holy One. And here, as upon earth, each

must be willing to receive him. His presence is never given

undesired. I have not yet appealed for higher help; my

ambition is to lead these weak souls upward through the

strength entrusted to me. Can you suggest anything that

would probably reach him?"

"His mother. May I bring her?"

He thought a moment reflectively, then said: "A woman's

intuition. Yes, bring her."

I soon was on my way. I found the poor woman, laid the

facts gently before her, and waited her decision. There was

no hesitancy upon her part; in an instant she said, "My poor

boy! Certainly I will go with you at once."

We found my father waiting for us, and went

immediately to the great "Home" where these

"students"—would we call them?—stayed. It was a

beautiful great building in the midst of a park, with shaded

walks and fountains and flowers everywhere. To one just

freed from earth it seemed

130 --

a paradise indeed; but to those of us who had tasted

heaven's rarer joys, something was wanting. We missed the

lovely individual homes, the little children playing on the

lawns, the music of the angel choir; it was tame indeed

beside the pleasures we had tasted.

We found the young man seated beneath one of the

flower-laden trees, intently perusing a book that my father

had left with him. There was a peaceful look on his pale

face, but it was rather the look of patient resignation than of

ardent joy. Ills mother approached him alone; my father

and I remaining in the background. After a little time he

glanced. up and saw his mother standing near him. A

startled look came into his face, and he rose to his feet. She

extended her arms toward him, and cried out pathetically,

"John, my dear boy, come home to me—I need you!" That

was all.

With a low cry he knelt at her feet and clasped her knees,

sobbing: "Mother! mother!"

She stooped and put her tender arms about him; she drew

his head gently to her breast and showered kisses on his

bowed head. Oh, the warm mother-love, the same in earth

and heaven! Only the Christ-love can exceed it. Here was

this outraged mother, sent into eternity by the hands of him

who should have shielded and sustained her, bending above

her repentant son with the mother-love with which her

heart was overflowing shining upon him from her gentle

eyes, I saw my father turn his head to conceal his emotion,

-- 131

and I knew that my own eyes were wet. My father had

explained to the mother that the first thing to be

accomplished was to get her son to the river, so we now

heard her say caressingly:

"Come, John, my boy, take the first step upward, for your

mother's sake, that in time I may have the joy of seeing you

in our own home. Come, John, with mother."

She gently drew him, and to our great joy we saw him

rise and go with her, and their steps led them to the river.

They walked hand in hand, and as far as we could see them

she seemed to be soothing and comforting him.

"Thank God!" said my father fervently. "There will be no

further trouble now. When they return he will see with

clearer vision." And so it proved.

After this, by divine permission, I became much of the

time a co-laborer with my father, and thus enjoyed his

society and his instructions much oftener than otherwise I

could have done.

CHAPTER XVII.

ONE evening, some three years—counted by the calendar

of earth—after I had entered upon the joys and duties of the

heavenly life, I sat resting upon the upper veranda of our

home, after a somewhat arduous journey to a distant city of

the heavenly realm. From this part of the veranda we

caught rare glimpses of the river through the overhanging

branches of the trees; and just below us, at a little distance,

we could see the happy children at their play upon the

lawn. Here my brother sought me out, and throwing

himself upon a soft veranda lounge near, lay for a time

motionless and silent. He looked as wearied as one can ever

look in that life, but I felt no anxiety about him, for I knew

the rest was sure. He had been absent on some

earth-mission much of the time for many days, and I knew

from experience that some of the fatigue and care of earth

will cling to its on such occasions, till we are restored by

heaven's balmy air and life-giving waters. He had not told

133

134 --

me, as he sometimes did, where his mission had led him,

and I had not asked him, feeling sure that all it was best I

should know would be imparted. My own duties had of late

been unusually responsible, leading me daily to a distant

part of the heavenly kingdom, hence I myself had not

visited the beloved of earth for a much longer period than

usually elapsed between my visits. When last seen, all of

the dear ones had seemed in such vigorous health and were

so surrounded by earthly blessings that I had ceased to feel

they needed my ministrations as in the early days of their

sorrow, hence I had thrown all of my energies into the work

assigned me by the Master.

At length, after a time of rest, my brother arose to a

sitting posture, and regarding me for a moment in silence,

said gently: "I have news for you, little sister."

A thrill like an electric shock passed through me, and in

an instant I cried out Joyously: "He is coming!"

He nodded his head, with a sympathetic smile, but did

not at once reply.

"When will it be? Am I to go to him?" I asked.

He hesitated an instant before saying: "Of course you are

permitted to go, if your heart will not be denied."

"Oh, I must go to him! I must be the first to greet him!

Perhaps it may be granted him to see me even while he is

yet in the flesh."

He shook his head sadly at this, and said, "No, dear; he

will not know you."

-- 135

"Why? Frank, tell me all—and why you think, as I

plainly see you do, that it is not best I should go."

"He was stricken suddenly in the midst of his work,

while apparently in perfect health, and has not regained

consciousness since; nor will he ever on earth. Hence your

presence could be no solace to him."

"When was this?"

"Three days ago; I have been with him almost constantly

by day and night ever since."

"Oh, why did you not sooner tell me?"

"It was thought wise to spare you the unnecessary pain

of seeing him suffer when you could not minister to him,

and I have come to tell you now that you may go if you still

so desire."

"He will know me as soon as the struggle is past?"

"Yes, but he will be bewildered and weak; he will need

stronger help and guidance than you alone can give, and

you will miss the rapture of the meeting as it would he a

little later on."

"What would you have me do? You know I will yield to

your wiser judgment even against the pleadings of my

heart. But I can wait!"

"I will not say, 'do not go.' You shall accompany me if you

wish. I only think that after the first bewilderment of the change

has passed, after he has bathed in the waters of the River of

Life, he will be better prepared for the delightful reunion which

awaits him.You rememberwhat the

136 --

waters did for you, and how bewildered and oppressed in

spirit you were till you went with me that morning, into the

river. It is the same with all of us, only where there has

been serious trouble with the brain at last, it is even more

needed than on ordinary occasions. And that is the case

with my brother; he will not be fully himself until the

magical waters have swept the clouds from his brain."

"You are always right, my brother, and I will yield to

your wise advice, although my heart cries out to hasten at

once to his side. When will you return to him?"

"Immediately. There will be little time to wait. With the

quickening of the morning light we will be here. My

brave-hearted, wise little sister, the delay will be to you

neither sorrowful nor long."

He arose, and, bending over me, dropped a kiss lightly on

my brow, and in a moment he had passed from my sight.

"How strange," I thought, "that even in this matter, so

near to my heart, I am able to yield unmurmuringly! Father,

I thank Thee! I thank Thee for the glad reunion so near at

hand; but, even more than that, for the sweet submission in

all things that has grown into my life; that I can yield to

Thy will even when Thou wouldst permit it to be

otherwise."

I bowed my head upon my hand and gave myself up to

mingled sad and happy thoughts. Was he, this dearly loved

one, indeed insensible to his suffering? Would the Father

mercifully spare him even the pang of the parting? Oh, that

-- 137

the morning were here! How could I wait even that brief

while for the sight of the beloved face!

Suddenly a soft touch rested upon my bowed head, and a

Voice I had learned to recognize and love beyond all things

in earth or heaven said: "Have I not said truly Though he

were dead, yet shall he live again"? What are now the years

of separation, since the meeting again is at hand? Come,

and let us reason a little together," the Master said, smiling

down into my uplifted face. He took my extended hand into

his own, and sitting down beside me, continued:

"Let us consider what these years have done for you. Do

you not feel that you are infinitely better prepared to confer

happiness than when you parted from him you love?"

I nodded in glad affirmation.

"Do you not realize that you stand upon a higher plane,

with more exalted ideas of life and its duties: and that, in

the strength of the Father, you two henceforward will walk

upward together?"

Again I gladly acquiesced.

"Is the home-life here less attractive than it was in the

earth-life?"

"No, no! A thousand times no!" I cried.

"Then there is nothing but joy in the reunion at hand?"

"Nothing but joy" I echoed.

Then the Savior led me on to talk of the one so soon to

come, and I opened my glad heart to him and told him of the

noble life, the unselfish toil, the high aspirations, the unfaltering

138 --

trust of him I loved. I spoke of his fortitude in misfortune,

his courage in the face of sore trial and disappointment, his

forgiveness of even malicious injury; and concluded by

saying, "He lived the Christianity many others professed.

He always distanced me in that."

The face of the Master glowed in sympathy as I talked,

and when I ceased he said: "I perceive that you have

discovered the secret which makes marriage eternal as the

years of heaven."

"Oh," I said, "to me marriage must be eternal! How could

it be otherwise when two grow together and become as

one? Death cannot separate them without destroying; the),

are no longer two perfect beings, but one in soul and spirit

forever."

"Aye," he answered; "but having the marriage rite

pronounced does not produce this change. It is the divinity

of soul wedded to soul alone that can do it."

So he led me on until my soul flew upward as a lark in

the early morning. He unfolded to me mysteries of the soullife

that filled my heart with rapture, but which I may not

here reveal. At length, to my infinite Surprise, I saw the

rosy glow deepening across the sky, and knew that

morning—love's morning—had dawned for me in heaven.

The Master arose, and pointing to the radiance, said: "By

the time thou art ready to receive them they will be here;"

and with a smile, and a touch that made a benediction, be

departed.

-- 139

As I arose and stood with face uplifted to the coming day,

I caught in the near distance the triumphant notes of the

angels' choral song; and this morning, as though in

sympathy with my thought, they sang:

"He is risen! Hear it, ye heavens, and ye sons of earth! He

is risen, and has become the first fruits of them that slept!"

I lifted up my voice with joy, and joined their thrilling

song; and as they swept onward and the cadence died away,

I slowly descended the stairway, crossed the lawn whose

flowers never crushed or withered beneath our feet, and

sank for a moment beneath the pure waters of the river. I

felt no haste, no unwonted excitement or unrest, though I

knew that he was coming for whom my soul had waited all

these years. The Master's presence had filled me with calm

and peace that nothing had power to disturb; had prepared

and fitted me for the great happiness lying just before me.

Uplifted with a new, strange delight, I recrossed the lawn,

stopping upon the veranda before entering the house, to

gather a knot of cream-white roses and fasten them to my

breast. Then going to the library, I refilled the golden bowl

with the spicy-breathed scarlet Carnations, laying one aside

to fasten upon my husband's shoulder. I wanted to myself

gather the flowers that would greet him on his coming. I

twisted up my hair in the manner that he had most admired,

and fastened a creamy bud within the folds, that I might

seem to him as I had of old.

140 --

Soon thereafter I heard voices and steps. Listen! Yes, it

is the same dear step for which I had so often listened in the

old home-life, the step that had always brought gladness to

my heart, and sunshine in our home! His step in heaven! I

flew to the open doorway, and in an instant was held close

in the strong arms and to the loving, throbbing heart of my

dear husband. Was there anything more for me that heaven

could give!

My brother, with thoughtful care, passed onward to the

upper rooms of the house, and for awhile we were alone

together, we whose lives had run, so happily mingled,

through the long years of our mortal life. I drew him within

the house, and in the vestibule again he took me in his arms

and drew me to his heart.

"This is heaven indeed!" he said.

We passed into the "flower-room," and on its threshold

he stood a moment, entranced with its beauty; but when I

would have related to him its history, as my brother had

given it to me, he said: "Not to-day, my dear; I have only

eyes and ears for you to-day; all else in heaven must wait."

So we sat and talked together as in the olden days, and the

happy hours came and went, and the day melted into the

twilight glow, before we realized it was half spent. Our brother

Frank had come to us about the noontide, and together we had

gone over the lovely house, had stood upon the broad verandas

and eaten of the heavenly fruit. Then we all sat together where I

had spent the hours waiting in

-- 141

the presence of the blessed Master. I told them much that

he then had said to me, and how he turned into triumphant

rejoicing the hours which I had anticipated would pass in

lonely waiting. The eyes of my dear husband were

tear-filled, and he pressed my hand, which he still kept in

his, in tender sympathy.

"Oh, darling, it is a blessed, blessed life!" I said.

"I already realize the blessedness," he replied, "for has it

not given me back my brother and my wife—my precious

wife!"

Early the following morning I said to my husband and

our brother: "We must go to father and mother Sprague's

today. They have the first claim, after ours, Frank."

"Yes, we will go at once," they both replied.

So together we all started. In the earliest days of my

heavenly life I had sought out with much Joy the home of

my husband's parents, and was by them accorded, as in the

earth-life, a warm place in their hearts, and many happy

hours had we spent together since. Now we were taking to

them a favorite son, and I realized how his coming would

bring gladness to their hearts and home. It was a joyful

meeting, especially to our mother, and the day was far

spent before we arose to return.

"William," said our mother, fondly laying her hand upon

his arm, "yours was a happy home on earth—I used to

think a perfect home; it will be far happier here," with a

loving glance at me.

142 --

"I am sure of that, mother. I have my dear wife and

Frank constantly with me; and you and my father and

Josephine"—a favorite niece—"to come to here; and after

awhile," with a little hesitation, "the holier Joys and

privileges of heaven."

We turned to go, and upon the threshold met an aunt who

in the earth-life—blind and helpless—had been a favorite

with us all.

"My dear children," she exclaimed, "how good it seems

to see you all again!"

"Aunt Cynthia!" my husband said fondly.

"Yes, Aunt Cynthia, but no longer groping helpless in

the darkness. 'Whereas I once was blind, now I see,'" she

quoted, smiling happily.

And so it was—the Master's touch had rested on the

sightless eyes, and, closing to the darkness of earth, they

had opened upon the glories of heaven. Marvelous

transition! No wonder we left her singing:

Glory to Him who this marvel hath wrought,

Filling my spirit with joy and delight!

Lo, in my blindness I safely have walked

Out of the darkness into the light!

CHAPTER XVIII.

DAYS lengthened into weeks, and weeks into months, and

these in turn crept onward into years, and the duties and

joys of heaven grew clearer and dearer with each passing

hour. Our home-life was perfect, though we looked forward

with joy to the future coming of our son and daughter to

make its ties complete. We had often spoken of going

together to the great celestial sea, but the time had never

seemed quite ripe for so doing. We realized it, was one of

the great mysteries of heaven, although we knew not just

what to expect, since there no one ever seeks to forestall

sight by description. One evening I said to my brother:

"I have a strange desire to go to the sea, if you think it

wise that we should do so."

"I am glad that it is your desire to go, as it is mine to

have you. I was about to propose that you and my brother

should take together this blessed journey."

143

144 --

"Will you not accompany us?"

"Not at this time. We will all take it again together, but it

is best that now you two should go atone. You know the

way. Through the forest that leads to the Temple, till almost

there; then bear to the right and follow the golden path that

takes you direct to the shore."

So, in the quivering light of the glorious morning we

started, full of a holy joy that together we might take this

special journey. We entered and traversed the great forest,

where the golden light fell through the quivering branches

overhead, and birds of gorgeous plumage and thrilling song

were darting everywhere. We heard, nearer and ever nearer,

the regular dashing of the waves against the shore; and now

there came to us bursts of triumphant song and the harmony

of many instruments of music. At length we emerged from

the forest, and stood mute and motionless before the

overwhelming glory of the scene before us.

Can I describe it as it appeared to me that day? Never,

until my lips can speak, and your heart understand, the

language of the royal courts above. From our very feet

sloped downward toward the shore a golden strand many

hundred feet wide, and extending on either hand far beyond

the limits of our vision. This strand caught and radiated the

morning light until wherever it was visible it glittered and

glimmered like the dust of diamonds and other precious

stones, and the waves, as they came and went in ceaseless

motion, caught up this sparking sand and carried it on their

-- 145

crests, like the phosphorescence we sometimes see in the

wake of a vessel in mid-ocean. And the sea! It spread out

before us in a radiance that passes description in any

language I have ever known. It was like the white glory that

shone through the windows of the Temple, and beneath this

shilling glory we caught in the roll of the waves the blue

tint of the waters of that sea which has no limit to its depths

or bounds. Upon its shining bosom we saw in every

direction boats, representing all nations, but in beauty of

construction far surpassing anything earth has ever known.

They were like great open pleasure-barges, and were filled

with people looking with eager faces toward the shore,

many in their eagerness standing erect and gazing with

wistful, expectant eyes into the faces of those upon the

shore.

Ah, the people upon the shore! "Numberless as the sands

of the sea," they stood, far as the eye could reach, far as

stretched the shore of that illimitable sea, a great mass of

beautiful souls clad in the spotless garments of the

redeemed. Many among them had golden harps and various

instruments of music, and whenever a boat touched the

shore and its inmates were welcomed by the glad voices

and tender embraces of their beloved ones In the throng,

the harps would he held aloft, all of the golden instruments

would sound, and the vast multitude would break forth into

the triumphant song of victory over death and the grave.

"Do these people stand here always, I wonder?" I said

softly.

146 --

"Not the same people," said a radiant being near us, who

had heard my question. "But there is always a throng of

people here—those who are expecting friends from the

other life, and those who assemble to share their joy. Some

of the heavenly choristers also are always here, but not

always the same ones. You will notice that most of those

who arrive are led quietly away by their friends, and many

others are constantly joining the multitude."

He passed onward toward the shore, and left us rapt in

awe and wonder.

We soon became deeply interested in watching the

reunions, and found ourselves joining with rapture in the

glad songs of rejoicing. Now and then a face we

remembered to have seen on earth would be among the

eager faces in the boats, but none that had been especially

dear to us; still it made us notice more closely and

sympathize more heartily with those who welcomed

beloved friends. Now we would see a wife caught in the

close embrace of a waiting husband; now a little child with

a glad cry would spring into the outstretched arms of the

happy mother; friend would clasp friend in glad reunion,

and here an aged mother would be folded to the heart of a

beloved child.

As one boat of more than usual strength and beauty came

riding gracefully over the waves, we observed the tall figure of

a man standing near her prow with his arms about a graceful

woman who stood by his side. Each shaded with uplifted hand

fromtheir dazzled eyes the unwonted splendor

-- 147

and scanned, wistfully and searchingly, the faces of the

crowd as the boat neared the shore. Suddenly with a great

thrill of joy surging through my being, I cried out:

"It is our precious son, and his dear wife! And they have

come together!"

In an instant we were swiftly moving through the throng

that parted in ready sympathy to let us pass. And, as the

boat touched the shore, with a swift movement they were

both beside us—the dear daughter already close clasped to

the hearts of her own happy parents who were waiting near

the water's edge, while at the same Instant we felt the arms

of our beloved son enfolding us; and soon thereafter we

were all in each other's embrace. Oh, what a rapturous

moment was that! Our home life in heaven complete, no

partings forever! As we stood with encircling arms,

scarcely realizing the unexpected bliss, the heavenly choir

broke into song; and with uplifted faces radiant with joy,

eyes filled with happy tears and voices trembling with

emotion, we all joined in the glad anthem:

Glory be unto the Father, and unto the Son!

Glory be unto the ever-blessed Three in One!

No more sorrow, no more parting, no more grief or pain;

Christ has broken death's strong fetters, we are free again:

Heart to heart and hand to hand,

Meet we on the golden strand.

Glory, glory to the Father! Glory to the Son!

Glory be unto the ever-blessed Three in One!

Alleluia! Amen!

148 --

The song rose and swelled triumphantly as the vast

multitude caught it up, and the surge of the waves made a

deep undertone to the melody that increased its solemnity,

as with bowed heads and full hearts we passed onward

hand in hand; and the light that fell about us was purer,

holier, more divine, than it had ever been before.

CHAPTER XIX.

A TIME came when one day as I stood in my lovely room

that had really become to me a shrine, and looked up into

the pictured face of the Christ above me, I fancied that the

tender eyes looking down into mine no longer told of a

deathless love alone, but carried in their depths a pity, a

loving compassion which I had never noticed there before.

Then as I turned toward my couch I even fancied that his

hands reached out from the canvas and rested in

benediction on my head. I stood a moment in blessed peace

before him, then as the hands seemed to be withdrawn, I

turned and lay down for an Instant's rest. But strange

thoughts and fancies crept into my brain, such as I had not

known in years. I felt confused and bewildered, and started

up restlessly from my pillow, only to fall back again in

doubt, and something akin to dread. What could it mean?

Could the old unrest of earth find place in this divine

retreat? Then I heard unfamiliar voices. Someone said:

Her Color is better than it has been for several days, I

think."

149

150 --

"Yes, there is no doubt but she is better to-day. There is

really hope for her now, I am sure. But she came very near

passing through the Gates."

"Very near passing through the Gates"! As though I had

not passed through, and in returning left them so ajar that

gleams of the heavenly radiance from beyond them will fall

about my life forever!

I have been in my Father's house.

*"We shall know each other there!"

———

*See the verse at the top of page 7. (This verse, by Mr. Lowry,

asks a question. The entire book is a working-out of the reply.

The last line, page 150, sums it up and refers back to the

question.)

The given names of all the persons spoken of are their correct

names, they being real persons; the family names. to avoid

embarrassment, have been slightly altered by the author.

SUPPLEMENTAL CHAPTER

———

IN the many letters received since the publication of "Intra

Muros," repeated inquiries have been made of me on

different points contained in the book, requiring much

correspondence, and it has been suggested that possibly the

addition of a few pages, as a supplement to the book, might

explain some matters, or, possibly, make more cleat some

points that have not been fully comprehended by the reader.

Let me in the beginning reassert what I have heretofore

stated: that I have never claimed that this strange

experience is either a revelation or an inspiration. It came

to me during a period of great physical suffering and

prostration, and I have always considered it as sent in

compensation for that suffering. Be this as it may, it has

been a great comfort and help to me, and, through the

letters received from others, I am led to believe it has been

the same to many who have read it, for which cause I am

extremely gratified. I wish that I might give the entire

experience just as it came to me, but I find that

earth-language is wholly inadequate for me to do so. There

were so many mysteries, so many teachings far beyond

anything that in this life we have known, that I find myself

bewildered and lost when I attempt to convey to

151

152 --

others the marvelous things that at that time seemed indeed

to me to be a most wonderful revelation.

The question has repeatedly been asked me, "Was this a

real experience, or merely a fanciful sketch?" What I have

written above will as nearly answer that question as it is

possible for me to do. The preface and early pages as given

in the little volume are as nearly accurate as I can make

them; and anything that I might add on that point would

simply be superfluous. To me, at the time, it was as real as

any experience in this life could possibly be.

Questions have been asked respecting the comparative

distances in heaven and our powers of passing from one point

to another; and the question has even been asked if in the

other life we developed wings that aided us in passage, as the

wings of a bird. These matter-of-fact questions are sometimes

quite difficult to answer, for my belief is, that if I were really

in the other life, as during this experience I seemed to be, my

thoughts would be so far above, so lifted beyond such

temporal matters, that I would be unable to answer such

inquiries satisfactorily on my return to this life. Looking back

upon it now, and trying to gather facts from the impressions

that I then received, I should say that none who have ever

passed through mortal life would in any way be changed from

their present personal appearance, except to be etherealized

and glorified. When I seemed to stand in that wonderful

Temple filled with the Glory of God the Father, four angels

with uplifted trumpets stood

-- 153

beside the golden altar on the great platform of pearl, and

from their shoulders shadowy pinions enfolded them and

touched the floor upon which they stood. And when, in a

moment of bewildering emotion, I lifted my eyes to the

erstwhile cloud-filled dome, I saw about the hitherto

invisible choir, the shadowy pinions of which we so often

read, half concealing the harps and instruments of gold.

Also, when at the close of that wonderful day when I had

first met the Savior, we heard the angel voices as we stood

together in the great flower-room, and, looking upward,

saw the child faces in the golden twilight above us, they,

too, had delicate shadowy wings, half concealing the baby

forms. Except for this, I have no recollection of having seen

any of those glorious wings of which we so often read.

To me it seems that to the angels of God who have

always lived in heaven, these are given; but to these who

have suffered and toiled and borne the cross below, is given

only the glorified form, such as our Savior himself bore.

We appear to our friends when we meet them ever there

Just as they saw us here, only purified and perfect. Still, we

had powers of locomotion given us that carried us from

point to point swiftly and securely, as though borne by a

boat upon the waters.

I do not know how I can better illustrate this point than by

giving a little incident not mentioned in the book. I remember,

as I sat one morning upon the tipper terrace in the house of my

sister whomI had welcomed there soon after

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my arrival, and who, though really then a denizen of earth,

has since passed over and taken possession of that beautiful

home prepared for her, that my sister said to me:

"I often look across the river to those lovely hills in the

distance, and wonder if it is all as beautiful there as here. I

mean some day to go and see."

"Why not go to-day?" was my answer.

"Could you go with me this morning?" was her inquiry,

as she turned her radiant face again toward the river and the

lovely fields beyond.

"With pleasure," I replied. "I have often wished to go

myself. There is something very inviting in the beautiful

landscape beyond the river. Where is my brother Oliver?" I

asked; "will he not accompany us?"

"No," she said, looking smilingly toward me, "he has

gone upon an important mission for the Master to-day; but

you and I, dear, can go, and be at home again before his

return."

"Then let us do so," I replied, rising and giving her my

hand.

She at once arose, and, instead of turning toward the

stairway in the center of the building, we turned and walked

deliberately to the low coping that surrounded the upper

veranda. Without a moment's hesitation we stepped over this

into the sweet air that lay about us. There was no more fear of

falling than if our feet had been upon the solid earth. We had

the power of passing through the air atwill, and through

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the water, just as we the power of walking upon the crystal

paths and greensward about us.

We ascended slightly until we were just above the

treetops, and then—what shall I say?—we did not fly, we

made no effort either with our hands or our feet; I can only

think of the word "drifting" that will at all describe this

wonderful experience. We went as a leaf or a feather floats

through the air on a balmy day, and the sensation was most

delightful. We saw beneath us through the green branches

of the trees the little children playing, and the people

walking—some for pleasure, some for duty. As we neared

the river we looked down on the pleasure-boats upon the

water and upon the people sitting or lying or walking on the

pebbly bottom; and we saw them with the same distinctness

as though we were looking at them simply through the

atmosphere.

Conversing as we drifted onward, we soon were over the

tops of the bills to which we had looked so longingly from

the veranda of my sister's house, and, for some time, we

had no words to exchange; our hearts were filled with

sensations such as only the scenes of heaven can give. Then

my sister said very softly, quoting from one of the old

earth-hymns:

"Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

Stand dressed in living green."

And, in the same spirit, I answered, "It is indeed a

rapturous scene

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"'That rises to our sight,

Sweet fields arrayed in living green, and rivers of

delight.'"

As we passed onward, in looking down we began to see

many suburban villages, similar to that in which our own

happy homes were situated. Among many of them there

was an unfamiliar air, and the architecture of the buildings

in many respects seemed quite different from our own. I

suggested to my sister that we drop downward a little. On

doing so, we soon realized what caused this apparent

difference in the architecture and surroundings. Where our

homes were situated we were surrounded by people we had

known and loved on earth, and of our own nationality.

Many of these villages over which we were now passing

we found were formed from what, to us, would be termed

of foreign nations, and each village retained some of the

peculiarities of its earth-life, and these, to us, were naturally

unfamiliar. We recognized again the wisdom and goodness

of the Father in thus allowing friends of the same

nationality to be located near each other in heaven, as on

earth.

As we still drifted onward, in passing over an exquisitely

beautiful valley, between low hills of the most enchanting

verdure, we saw a group of people seated upon the ground

in a semicircle. They seemed to be hundreds in number,

and in their midst a man was standing who, apparently, was

talking to them. Something familiar, and yet unfamiliar, in

the scene attracted us, and I said, "Let us go nearer, and

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hear, if possible, what he is saying, and see who these

people are."

Upon doing this we found the people to resemble in a

great measure our own Indian tribes; their dress, in a

manner corresponding to that worn upon earth, though so

etherealized as to be surpassingly beautiful. But the dusky

faces and the long black hair still remained. The faces, with

intense interest depicted on each, were turned toward the

man who, we could see, was talking to their, and, looking

upon him, we saw at once that he belonged to the

Anglo-Saxon race. In a whisper of surprise I said to my

sister:

"Why, he is a missionary!"

As so often seemed to me to happen in that experience,

when a surprise or a difficulty presented itself, there was

always some one near to answer and enlighten us. And so

we found on this occasion that our instructor was beside us

ready to answer any surprise or question that might be

asked. He said at once:

"Yes, you are right. This is a missionary who gave his

life to what on earth were called the heathen. He spent

many years in working for them and enlightening those

who sat in darkness, with the result, as you see before you,

or bringing hundreds into the kingdom of the Master. But,

as you will naturally suppose, they have much to learn, and

here he still gathers them about him, and day by day leads

them higher and higher into the blessed life."

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"Are there many such," I asked, "doing this work in this

beautiful realm?"

"Many hundreds," he said. "To these poor minds,

unenlightened as they were when they first came, heaven is

as beautiful and happy a place as it is to any who have

ascended higher, simply because we can enjoy only in the

capacity to which our souls can reach. There are none of us

who have not much yet to learn of this wonderful country."

In several instances, as we drifted across above the

villages, we heard songs of praise arising from the temples,

and from people collected in different ways. In many cases,

to our surprise, the hymns and the words were those with

which we had been familiar on earth, and, although sung in

a strange tongue, we understood them all. That was another

of the wonderful surprises of heaven. There was no

language there that we could not understand.

On, and on, and on, through wonderful scenes of beauty

we passed, returning finally to our own homes by a

different way from that by which we had gone forth,

seeming to have made almost a circle in our pleasant

journeyings. When I left my sister in her own home she

whispered to me as she bade me good-by for the present:

"It has been a day of such wonderful rest and pleasure

that we must soon repeat it together." And I answered:

"Yes, dear, we will."

In several instances the subject of dual marriages has been

introduced.More than once it has been suggested, "If a

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man marrying in early life, and, being devotedly attached to

the woman he has married, should unfortunately lose her,

and after many years of solitary waiting find another

congenial soul to whom his whole heart goes out and

marriage is the result, and they have many years of wedded

happiness together before she, too, is called, to whom will

he belong in the other life?"

In the many phases of the divine life that seemed to come

to me in my vision, such thoughts as the above were never

by any means suggested. Speaking from my own natural

intuitions, I cannot but think that as soon as the Immortal

part of us leaves the earthly tenement, it lays down forever,

with that tenement, all thoughts that embarrassed or grieved

or pained the spirit. In the homes of heaven there was

perpetual love and joy and peace and happiness without

measure. This one thing I know: In heaven are no

conflicting ties; no questions that vex; no conditions that

annoy; the whole heart springs up to do the will of the

Father, and nothing less than that will suffice.

In answer to the question in many instances proposed to

me, as to whether I consider this experience as a revelation,

I can only say, as heretofore, that I gave it as it came to me,

and every one must draw his own inference concerning it. I

can be the guide for no one.

There are some seeming inconsistencies in the book, of

which I myself am aware. Looking back upon it after nearly

four years have passed, it seems tome to be more a series

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of instructions such as we give little children here in a

kindergarten. It does not purport to be a revelation of what

has been or what will be, in the strict sense of the word,

but, as I have already suggested, more as we would teach

children in a kindergarten. I myself noticed, in transcribing

this strange experience, the fact that the first lesson to be

taught almost invariably came as an illustration; and, after

my wonder and pleasure had taken in all that the picture

itself would teach, then followed the revelation, or a

general application of its meaning. For instance, that I may

make my meaning more clear: When I myself first entered

within the gates, I was shown the wonders of the celestial

gardens and the magic of the beautiful river; then the

meeting with the dear ones from whom I had been so long

parted. And so I came to know the rapture of the

disembodied spirit on its first entrance "Within the Walls."

Afterwards followed the instruction or first lessons

concerning this life into which I seemed to have entered,

until, as I said, the first illustrations and the instructions

formed for me but one perfect lesson. And when, as time

passed, I met and welcomed my dear sister, my husband

and my son, I knew the other side of the question—the joy

that came even to the angels in heaven when they

welcomed the beloved ones who came to them from the

world below. And so, all through the book, the instruction

was invariably preceded by the illustration. Thus I can but

think, if any meaning can be attached to this strange vision,

that it is simply a lesson in a

-- 161

general way of what we may expect and hope for when we

reach the thither shore.

Again, the question is many times repeated, "Does this

experience retain its vividness as time passes, or does it

grow unreal and dreamlike to you?" I can partially forget

some of the happiest experiences of my earth-life, but time

seems only to intensify to me the wonders of those days

when my feet really stood upon the border-land of the two

worlds. It seemed to me that at every step we took in the

divine life our souls reached up toward something better,

and we had no inclination to look behind to that which had

passed, or to try to solve what in our mortal life had been

intricate or perplexing questions or mysteries. Like the cup

that is filled to overflowing at the fountain with pure and

sparkling water, so our souls were filled—more than

filled—with draughts from the fountain of all good, until

there was no longer room for aught else. "How then," you

ask, "could you reach out for more, when you had all that

you could receive?" Because moment by moment, hour by

hour, our souls grew and expanded and opened to receive

fresh draughts of divine instruction which was constantly

lifting us nearer to the source of all perfection.

Some of the letters that have come to me have been so

pathetic in their inquiries, that they have called forth

sympathetic tears, and an intense longing to speak with

authority upon the questions raised. That privilege God has not

givenme. I can only tell how it seemed tome in those blissful

162 --

hours when earth seemed remote and heaven very near and

real. One suffering mother writes, "Do you think I could

pray still for my darling girl?" How I longed to take her in

sympathetic arms and whisper to her that the dear child of

her love, I doubted not, was praising God continually and

had no longer need of earthly prayer. She loved and trusted

the Savior as she went down into the Valley of Shadows,

and his loving arms received and comforted her. To all

such I would say—and many are the letters of like import

received:

"Look up, dear friends, and see the loved ones, as I saw

those so dear to me, happy and blessed beyond all human

conception in the house of many mansions prepared for us

by our loving Father." Oh, those wonderful mansions upon

which my longing heart looks back! Believe in them, look

forward to them, beloved friends, for we have the Savior's

promise that they at least are there: "In my Father's house

are many mansions." His promises never fail; and I am sure

of one thing they will not be less beautiful than those I

looked upon in my vision.

This thought, to me, answers in a measure the questions

asked in regard to dual marriages. My own belief, of this

mortal life, is, that no two friends can occupy the same

place in our hearts. Each heart is filled with chambers

stately and old, and to each beloved guest is assigned a

chamber exclusively for himself. That room is always his.

If death, or distance, or even disgrace, separates him from

us, still the room is his and his only forever. No other

person can ever

-- 163

occupy it. Others may have rooms equally choice, but when

a guest has once departed from the room he has held in

another heart, the door of that room is barred forever; it is

held inviolate—sacred to the departed guest. And so, in

heaven, each guest has his separate room or home. "In my

Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare a place

(room) for you."

I am no advocate of second marriages. The thought of

two lives alone as one, is beautiful to me; but I do not, all

the same, believe that a man sins against the memory of a

wife beloved and lost, when he places by her side (not in

her place) a good woman to cheer and brighten his home.

She cannot, if she would, take the place left vacant in his

home and heart; it is inviolate. I speak, of course, of true

marriages, where not only hands are joined, but hearts and

souls are knit together as one forever.

"What are the duties of heaven?" So many and varied, I

should judge, as to make the question unanswerable. Much

in "--" shows the trend of daily life.

"Rest?" One of the duties as well as the pleasures of

heaven. Rest does not of necessity mean inactivity. How

often in this life does laying aside of one duty and taking up

another bring rest to both mind and body! Still, as I found

it, there was at times absolute "rest" for both mind and

body in that blissful repose that only heaven can give.

In but one instance of the manifold letters received was

any feeling produced in their perusal except that of pleasure

164 --

and gratitude that I—with so little physical strength of my

own—could bring comfort and pleasure into the lives of

others. I thank our gracious Father that he has so kindly

permitted it. The one letter to which I refer contains so

many almost puerile inquiries, that I simply laid it aside

with a quotation from St. Paul, "Of the earth earthy," and

asked the Father to lift the heart of the writer into a purer

light.

In conclusion I can only reiterate that I am no prophet, I

am no seer; but, in my inmost soul, I honestly believe that

if the joys of heaven are greater, if the glories "Within the

Walls" are more radiant than I in my vision beheld them, I

cannot understand how even the immortal spirit can bear to

look upon them. R. R. S.