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!"

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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

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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

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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.

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"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

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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

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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

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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

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to their knees, and every head was bowed and every face