Chapter XVII: The Children of the Summer-Land

I think the dear little boys and girls in earth life would like to know something about the children who live in the bright Summer-land; and so I am going to tell them about the little ones I have seen in that sweet country, and the pretty places where they live.

First, my little friends, I will tell you of the beautiful place which we call Lily-Vale. It is a pretty spot where flowers bloom all the time, and where birds sing and carol in their merry way to please the children who live and go to school there. A large lake of clear water is in the center of Lily-Vale; all around its shores great trees grow, and their huge branches, trimmed with glossy green leaves, throw a pleasant shade upon the water, so that it looks like a large, green, shining jewel. Little white boats, some of them in the shape of swans, and others fashioned in the form of various shells, ride upon the lake, and it is the delight of the scholars who dwell here to be allowed, as they often are, to sail in these tiny “floats,” as we call them, under the care of their teacher or guardian friend.

They gather together in parties upon the lake shore, a guide and two children entering each boat, and shoot off across the water to enjoy the calm breeze and delicious, gliding motion of the skiffs, and at the same time to learn lessons concerning the nature, qualities, and uses of water, and the laws of motion as connected with the flow of waves. The manner of learning about these things is different in the Summer-land than on earth, and I fear my little mortal friends would not understand did I attempt to explain it.

Well, sometimes there may be seen from twenty to thirty floats, each containing three persons,—a teacher and two children,—upon the bosom of the lake. Today the parties may be content to just move quietly along upon the water, and tomorrow they may rapidly glide to some distant part of Lily-Vale, there to enjoy a picnic ramble, perhaps, in Maple Grove or Woody Glen,—two favorite places of resort for the scholars,—and to gather information concerning botany and the other branches of natural history. I am sure my little readers would like to sail upon the lake of which I write, and to make one of the happy, joyous party of children who never quarrel, but are always gentle, affectionate, and deferential to their teachers and one another.

But I must tell you something more of the valley called Lily-Vale, named thus because its very fine, velvet-like grass, or sward, is dotted with fragrant, beautiful lilies. These sweet flowers are the delight of the children, and the pride of the teachers’ hearts, and they make the place one great bower of fragrance and beauty.

Tall and massive trees uprear their heads in this place, scattered apart, and in groves, and beneath their luxuriant shade scholar and teacher alike spend many a happy hour with lesson and task. Other flowers beside the lily also grow here, and the little ones are never wearied in tending to them, or watching their growth from day to day. The sun shines brightly upon all things; and when the plants or flowers or trees need moisture, the showers come,—not in great, heavy raindrops, but in fine sheets of silvery spray, which moisten all things without drenching them, and through which may be seen a mild, yellow light which comes from the sun above the fleecy clouds.

In the distance—for Lily-Vale is not a small place—may be seen great towering mountains, encircling the valley; their shining heads, which glow in the sunlight with purple and rosy hues, looking like radiant guides watching over the little folks below them, are fair to gaze upon, and many a lesson of firmness, fidelity, and truth do the children learn from the sight of those faithful sentinels of Lily-Vale.

And now, my little friends, you wish to know how the children live in this pretty spot. Well, they live very much as you do in your earthly homes, only many of them do not live with their mammas and papas—because perhaps the parents are on earth, or have gone away and forgotten their little ones, or for some other reason—but reside with their teachers or guides, who are always kind, loving, and attentive to the little people under their charge.

In this sweet place there are a number of little white houses, some smaller than others,—because the number of inmates of some are less than of others,—and in these houses the children live. These houses, or “Rhonas,” are all round like pavilions, and have entrances on every side; the windows open like doors from floor to ceiling, and are generally open wide. The columns, or posts, of the “Rhonas” are entwined with growing vines, which throw out their purple, pink, golden, or scarlet blossoms to catch the gentle breeze. The insides of the houses are furnished prettily but simply, and all look neat, tasteful, and sweet, just as little children’s homes always should; for the surroundings of a child have a great deal to do with forming its character and disposition, as well as with developing its tastes.

Books, pictures, music, and everything beautiful, are to be found in the little homes of Lily-Vale, and all who dwell there live in harmony with one another; the children are obedient and affectionate toward the teachers, who in turn are respectful, loving, and tender toward their pupils. The older scholars assist in training and caring for the younger, and all are happy in this Summer-land home.

Teachers in the spirit world do not have charge of so many children as tutors do on earth. No teacher has more than seven pupils under her charge, and many have only one or two; for they believe that by having but a few scholars they can better attend to the training of mind and body than they could if they had many to look after, as in that case some portion of the training would be sure to be neglected.

Sometimes the pupils of each teacher learn their lessons in their homes, but often they may be seen in the open air, under the trees, in the groves, by the lakeside, or elsewhere, busily employed over their studies and gaining practical knowledge from the various objects around them.

But there is a beautiful and grand building in Lily-Vale, called “The Temple of Art,” which I must tell you of; for it is so spacious and lofty, and fashioned of such a shining white, almost transparent, substance that it can be seen from a far distance, and excites the wonder as well as admiration of all who gaze upon it.

This beautiful building has no side-walls, but is open all around, its roof being supported by heavy columns of white, shining stone. Its ceiling is carved and tinted to resemble the blue sky; its floor is of many-colored stones, laid in circles; in the center, a large fountain of silvery white constantly sends forth fan-like shapes of perfumed spray; all around the interior of the temple are soft-cushioned seats, but at the farther end is a raised platform, where the Masters of Art sit when they come to instruct the children.

At regular intervals of time, the children of Lily-Vale gather in this temple to receive instruction in music, painting, sculpture, or some other art, for all the children do not learn the same thing. Some love music and acquire a ready knowledge of it, but do not easily learn the art of painting; others care nothing for music, but are eager to learn how to paint, or carve, or do something else; and as each one is not obliged to study those things for which he or she has no taste, but is allowed to gain a knowledge of that which they desire to know, Lily-Vale is full of bright and apt scholars, who are a credit to themselves and to their instructors. When the scholars or classes for any particular study convene in the Art Temple, they are addressed by some great and good person who gave special attention to that study when on earth, understands it thoroughly, and now delights to teach the children something of his knowledge, and assist in drawing out the powers within them, better than he does to compose a choral, paint a picture, carve a statue, or sing a poem of his own; and the little ones listen attentively, retaining the information they receive in their minds, which later on they seek to work out in experiments for themselves. The exhibitions of paintings and statues sometimes made in this temple are very grand; the concerts heard sometimes are very sweet and beautiful, and the music that rings out from this place is more delightful than anything you can ever hear on earth.

And so here, in this charming spot, little children live, and grow, and thrive. They play and work, live happily together, grow in goodness and stature day by day, and learn to be truthful and earnest in their lives, in their studies and occupations, that they may be noble, honest, earnest men and women by-and-bye.

There is a beautiful spot in the Summer-land which I shall call Crystal-Lake. This resort is not like Lily-Vale, for it is smaller, more shallow, and in other respects quite different. Crystal-Lake is surrounded by banks of moss, green and cool, which afford soft-cushioned seats to the little children who come to play and frolic. In every direction trees uplift their branches toward the blue sky, flowers bloom and birds sing, making the place beautiful and gay and very sweet. But I must tell you, dear children of earth, of one peculiarity of Crystal-Lake, and that is this: the waters of that clear and sparkling basin are never still, but are continuously ruffled by the breezes that pass over them; and as the tiny waves move softly to and fro, they produce low, singing tones, like the tinkling of silver bells, which are very sweet and musical, and the constant delight of all who listen to them. This peculiarity of Crystal-Lake has earned for it the name of “Chiming Waves,” the sound which the waters make being much like what the chime of a cluster of small silver bells would be. The surface of this lake is so clear, and its bed so near, that the latter glistens in the bright sunshine with many colors, and presents the appearance of a floor sparkling with precious gems of every hue, rendering it a beautiful sight to gaze upon.

Under the trees which surround Crystal-Lake, and in the open spaces between them, are to be found all manner of appliances for the exercise of the children who daily gather here; swings and bells, swinging clubs and rebounding balls; “ærial glides,” which are a kind of balloon or air-car, and many other things which the children of earth know nothing of, all for the amusement and development of the children; for in spirit life all amusement is combined with utility, and all recreation so planned as to assist in the development of the body as well as the expansion of the mind.

The waters of Crystal-Lake are used mostly for bathing purposes for the children, who love to glide through them and enjoy the delicious coolness while listening to the songs of the waves; and a pretty sight may be daily seen in this place when numbers of tiny children, none of them more than ten years of age, are sporting in the water and filling the rose-tinted air with the music of their shouts and laughter.

Crystal-Lake and its vicinity is what we call a large sanitarium,—that is, a place where health may be found, where no one can be sick and weak. All who live here in the little white houses, that are numerous, never know what it is to be feeble, but are strong, active, and happy; for perfect health brings enjoyment with it.

There are a great many of these beautiful sanitariums in the spirit world, and they are not all for the children; many of them are for grown people, who require care. But these we will not now visit, as our work is entirely with the little children of the Summer-land.

I suppose, my dears, you have seen some little children on earth who are sick and feeble, and who are never strong and well; and perhaps you have heard that these poor suffering darlings have passed from earth, and their bodies been buried away from sight. Well, it is just such children as those suffering ones who are taken to the pleasant sanitariums, like that of Crystal-Lake, in the Summer-land, and there, in those beautiful places, they grow well and strong and happy, and are never sick nor miserable any more. Perhaps their papas and mammas on earth were very poor, and the little ones were not provided with anything bright and pretty when in the body; then they are very happy and joyous when they find themselves in this sweet home, and are able to appreciate and enjoy all its beauties. Indeed, no matter how poor, or in what lowly circumstances the little sick children have lived on earth, they are all just as tenderly cared for and loved, and provided with just as beautiful surroundings as though they had been the petted children of very wealthy parents, and their little hearts soon learn to respond in love; for there are no distinctions among the children of the sweet Summer-land,—all are equally cared for.

Perhaps, my dears, you have heard of little children on the earth who have been neglected by everyone, and obliged to wander around the world by themselves, unloved and uncared for. Sometimes such children die and are taken to the spirit world. They are little pallid, tired things, who need to be strengthened and made happy; and they are placed in the bright sanitariums, given plenty of fresh air and pure sunlight, their limbs are bathed in the clear water, they are allowed to play and romp and sing; they use the various contrivances for amusement and exercise, and in a little while present an appearance of perfect health and happiness.

The kindest of mother-nurses are in these places, who love and pet the little ones under their care to their heart’s content. They never have to give the children medicine, for it is not known nor required here. They never have to punish them, for there is so much love and kindness here it is a pleasure, and it is very easy, for the children to be always gentle and good.

Those sanitariums, like Crystal-Lake, which is a great garden of flowers and trees and birds, with a charming musical basin of water in its center, where everything is sweet and beautiful, and where it is delightful to live and enjoy the freedom of real existence, are the only kind of children’s hospitals I have ever heard of in the Summer-land; and they are the brightest, healthiest, most enchanting spots I have ever visited. The children who live there are real children,—natural, artless, innocent, happy, and free.

Happy Valley is the name of another beautiful place in the Summer-land, where children live. As its name implies, it is a valley; for great green hills surround and hedge it in, and it lies like a bright and sparkling jewel within the sweet embrace of those wooded heights which may be seen from its every point of view. The hills around the valley are covered with groves of shady trees, the green foliage of which gives a restful, cool, and inviting sight to the eye that gazes upon them. The inhabitants, especially the little folks, take great delight in climbing those hills and holding their school sessions, meetings, picnics, and social gatherings, upon their summits. The valley is fully as pretty in appearance as any place I have before written of, and indeed those who dwell there have never before known such a charming spot. Bright and fragrant flowers gem the soft, green grass; shrubs and thickets of red and yellow, white and pink, roses are abundant; creeping vines, with green leaves and long, finger-like spikes of purple or crimson flowers, twine around the walls of every home, and all things are sweet and pure; streams of water gush out here and there; natural fountains send out jets of clear and sparkling water; birds sing joyously in the trees, and hop fearlessly in and out of the houses; so tame are they that they will perch upon the finger of any little boy or girl who calls to them, and sing a song of cheer to the great delight of their mountain keepers.

Happy Valley is like a vast school-room filled with the bright and cheerful faces of little children, with here and there an adult or grown person who is a kind, loving, and gentle teacher. The lessons are always learned in the open air, never inside the houses; for much information is gained by the little ones from the natural scenery which they so frequently gaze upon. The children of this place are very musical in their tastes, and are given every opportunity and facility to cultivate their powers in this direction.

You have heard of a little instrument called the æolian harp, which, when placed in an open window or anywhere where the wind will sweep across its strings, gives forth a very sweet and plaintive melody. Well, in Happy Valley every child who desires one—and who does not?—has an instrument very similar to that little harp, which they place where the soft breezes can sweep across it, thus evoking the most sweet and enchanting music, not sad like the melody of the æolian harps of earth, but cheerful, inspiring, and very tuneful. A stranger entering this valley, and for the first time listening to the music drawn from a number of these little instruments—as he will be sure to do—will wonder if he has entered fairy-land, and if it is the chiming and chanting of the fragrant flower-bells he hears, so exquisite is the sound. But no; it is only the children’s harps, played upon by mystic fingers of the wind, and teaching a lesson of cheer and hopefulness to the little ones. The teachers take this method of instructing their pupils in the laws of vibration, of harmony, of melody, and of rhythm, while explaining to them by practical illustration the operating power in the breeze that causes it to have such a glorious effect upon the tiny instrument.

The little girl of whom I am going to tell you is only about eight years old. She is a very quiet, gentle child, full of care and thoughtfulness for others. Her great pleasure is found in trying to make others happy. I will not tell you how she looks; but if you know of any good, kind, loving little girl who tries to help others, to speak softly and pleasantly to them, and to smile cheerfully when desired to do anything, why, you may think she looks like this little spirit girl whom I shall call Flora—after the flowers. Flora came to the Summer-land when about four years of age. At first she felt very sad, and would sit all day silent and sorrowful by the side of some stream, or upon some grassy knoll, and take no heed of the happy sports of the frolicsome children around her, for you see she had left a dear mamma and papa and a sweet little baby-brother upon the earth, and she felt that they missed her and wanted her back in their home.

But in a little while our Flora became sprightly and cheerful, for she found that she could return to her earthly home; and at night, when her dear parents and little brother were asleep, she could talk to their spirits and even sing them songs (for she had a very sweet voice), and in the morning she would sometimes hear her mamma say: “It seemed last night as though I could hear my little girl singing to me, and I do sometimes think she comes to baby, he is so good, and smiles and chirps so much, just as he used to when she played with him.” And the papa would smile and say: “It does really seem as though there was an angel in the house; I feel as though I am nearer heaven than I used to be.” So you see this little spirit girl was doing a great work in a quiet way, by coming to her mamma and papa in a loving, gentle manner, and by brightening their lives with her cheerful, sunny presence.

Flora had a little harp, such as I have told you of, given to her, and she would sometimes bring and place it in the doorway of her papa’s home, and the breeze or air-current would cause its strings to vibrate with sweet, faint melody. The little baby-brother would hear the celestial music, and laugh, crow, and clap his hands, while his mamma would lay down her sewing or pause in her work, and strain her ears to listen to the strange, sweet, faint sounds that fell upon them.

Well, this continued for some time, until Flora’s mamma became fully convinced that the sweet musical strains she so often heard were not the effects of an active imagination, but that they were real and tangible; and hearing of a spiritual medium not far away, she determined to visit her to learn something if she could of those who are called _dead_.

I am not going to tell you about the spiritual experiences of Flora’s mamma, only that she was so pleased with what she heard at the home of the medium whom she visited that she went again and again, for at each call she made upon the spirits through the medium she received more and more information concerning her own dear ones in the spirit world, and never failed to learn something of her little Flora, who always came with messages of love.

So you see, dear children, this little girl of Happy Valley accomplished the great work of bringing happiness, comfort, and peace to the sad heart of her mamma, and, later, of bringing the grand knowledge of immortal life to that mamma, and convincing her that her loved one who had died still lived and loved her, and would come to her. And all this was performed because the little girl desired to bless and help her mamma, and so brought the little spirit-harp and caused the winds to play upon it in her earthly home.

Our little spirit girl, Flora, sometimes takes her harp into earthly homes where want or misery or pain are felt, and in the quiet hours of night, when the tired inmates are what you call asleep, she plays and sings to them, and their spirits, which are not asleep, though their bodies are wrapped in slumber, listen to the sweet sounds and grow strong and happy; for they gain power from the spirit sounds to go on in their weary life on earth. These poor, sad people do not in their waking hours remember that they heard such heavenly music and singing, but they sometimes recollect that they had dreamed pleasant things, and they often wonder why they feel so happy when they awake and so strong to go through with the toils of the day. It is because they had been visited in their sleep by an angel child.

There is a large hospital in one of your cities where poor, sick, suffering people lie on beds of anguish. Men and women, and sometimes little children, are taken there to find relief from pain and fever, or perhaps to die and go to the spirit world. Kind nurses and doctors do all they can for these sick people, but, ah, they do not know how they are assisted by the little spirits who, like Flora, take their tiny harps and play upon them, or set them where the breeze can sweep over them, thus invoking sweet sounds that are heard by the spirit ears of the sufferers, and which lull their fevered fancies or soothe their burning pain.

I will tell you of one case where great good was accomplished by our little friend Flora. A strong man lay very ill in the hospital ward. His brain seemed to be on fire, for all the fever which had attacked his system had mounted there. His suffering was intense, his ravings were terrible to listen to; he had been given up to die by the doctors,—that is, they could do nothing to save his life. Dear little Flora visited the side of this man constantly. She had placed her spirit-harp above his cot, and the faint breeze that was allowed to circulate around it was sufficient to cause a vibration of the strings of the instrument. Time passed; the man grew worse and worse; the physicians were compelled to minister opiates to him to ease his sufferings. At length, when he had succumbed to the power of the drug, he sank away into a deep stupor; but though his outer senses were numb, his spirit-hearing was alive. Sounds from the spirit-harp fell upon his hearing, perceiving which Flora began to sing a soft, sweet melody. The man listened and grew calm and quiet. The doctors watching his sleeping form, dreaded its awakening; but when the patient did arouse from his slumber, it was with cooled brain and stilled pulse. “Doctor,” he cried, “I have seen an angel; I have heard her sing to me; I shall get well!”

The physician smiled at what he considered the fancy of a sick brain; but the patient did recover his health and strength. From the day when he first heard the spiritual music, and listened to Flora’s singing, he began to grow better, until he was pronounced well by the doctors. But he was a long time regaining his strength, and every time he fell into slumber Flora’s harp would strike upon his hearing, and very often he would hear the sound of her voice in song. These moments always gave him power, rested him, brought him new strength, and thus his spirit was enabled to overcome the weakness and pain of the body. He recovered his health, and became also a firm believer in the power of angels to relieve the sickness and sufferings of mortals.

In the same hospital where the sick man was cured of his fever, through the power of Flora and her harp, many other suffering persons also have been blessed and aided in various ways by the same ministering power. I will now tell you about a young woman who lay there wasting away with consumption. This patient could not be restored to bodily health, either by mortals or spirits; nor was it desirable that she should be, for life had been hard for her. The world had been very cruel, and she had suffered much. The only hope for her happiness would be in passing away to the bright Summer-land, where she would find friends, kindness, and home. But she did not know about these things as we do, dear children, and she did not want to “die;” she did not want to leave the body, for she dreaded the Beyond.

Well, this woman—I will call her Lizzie—suffered agony of mind in thinking of death, and little Flora felt great compassion for her. She sought in every way to influence the mind of Lizzie with bright and happy thoughts. She would sing to her, place her harp where its music might possibly be heard, and in many ways endeavor to bring comfort to the weary girl. At length, when Lizzie had become so weak and pallid that it seemed as though the soul must part with the body, her inner hearing was opened, and the music of the tiny harp fell upon it. She listened,—listened, oh, so intently. Soon a smile lighted up her wan features; it was, indeed, heavenly music to her. In a little while she heard a voice in sweet, childish tones singing these words:—

“We are coming, we are coming,
With our spirits filled with love,
To guide thy weary footsteps
To our Father’s home above;
We are coming, we are coming,
And the night will quickly fly,
There is rest and hope and comfort,
Life and Peace are drawing nigh.”

The sick woman aroused with a start and looked so strangely at the nurse that the latter said: “What is the matter, Lizzie?” “Nothing is the matter,” replied Lizzie; “but I am so glad, I feel so happy. I am not afraid to die now, God is good; He will not destroy a poor girl like me who has had so much to bear. I think he will take me to his home. I have heard such sweet music, such tender words! God is good; he will help me. I am ready to go to him.”

The next day Lizzie died with a smile on her lips, and as her soul passed out from the body she heard the sweet, soft music of the harp, and caught a glimpse of Flora as she sang:—

“There is rest, and hope and comfort,
Life and Peace are drawing nigh!”

Only one more story of Flora and her harp have I time to tell you, dear children, and this is of a little boy who was very ill. He, too, must pass away to the Summer-land; he was too weak and ill to recover bodily health. His parents were wealthy, and he was their only darling. They felt as though they could not give him up. To his luxurious home Flora found her way frequently, and the child had grown so spiritual that he could hear her sing, and listen to the music evoked from her mystic harp. Many times he spoke to his dear parents of the sweet music and singing he heard, and they sadly shook their heads; for they felt that he was nearing the gateway of heaven.

However, two days before the angel came to take him home, his mother, who was sitting by his side, also heard the music and singing, and her heart grew comforted as so many others had become before. On the night that the little boy’s spirit passed out to the higher life both the parents heard the wonderful music; and it brought such peace to their souls they could no longer wish to keep their darling here to suffer pain, but with a murmured prayer, and without a rebellious thought, they kissed his brow and gave his spirit up to the keeping of the angels.