Chapter XXIII: The Poet’s Council

Again I appeared to be drawn toward the earth. Recollections of old associations began to revive in my mind, and I felt a desire to return, and once more mingle with mortal life, urged on by the thought that perchance I should there find something to do.

Impelled onward by an inner impulse, I soon found myself in the crowded streets of a vast city: every thing looked familiar, and when I espied the glittering cross of St. Paul’s gleaming through the smoke and dust, I knew that I was again in the heart of London.

Nobody appeared to take any notice of me; all were hurrying on, intent upon their own affairs, and I was as one virtually alone, even in the crowded, teeming mart of a vast metropolis.

I threaded my way leisurely along (for since I had entered the material plane again the reckless impetuosity that sped me on had vanished), pausing now and again to watch the tide of restless, surging humanity, as it flowed along, with no definite aim or end in view, when I was brought to a sudden stand-still, by hearing my own name pronounced by one of two gentlemen just in front of me.

“Yes,” said he, “we are going to hold a little social levee at the club tonight, and to pay our tribute of respect to the memory of Critchley Prince. Poor fellow, he was his own worst foe, and he blotted his own career; but the works he left, and the songs he sung, show his to have been a gifted, sympathetic soul. For that reason we have drawn up a set of resolutions, and have determined to call our meeting together this evening, in honor of the departed poet. You had better make one of us.”

The other gentleman replied that he would be with them, if possible; and I determined that I would also be there.

I recognized the first speaker as one of the most brilliant and noted _literati_ of the day, one who is even now a dweller on earth, courted for his genius, and loved and respected for his benevolent heart and sympathetic soul; at that time he was about fifty years of age, and full of life and energy. I knew him to be a member of a certain literary club, all the members of which were men of brilliant intellect, not a few of whom were well-known in the literary world; and it was this club-meeting that I had determined to visit, partly out of curiosity to hear what might be said of myself, and partly to witness the proceedings, knowing full well that a feast of intellectual dainties awaited whoever should be fortunate enough to enter.

The two friends parted at a certain corner, but I remained with the man of genius, resolving that I would not leave him until he arrived at the evening gathering; and I did not.

Promptly at the hour appointed, the company gathered in the parlors of the organization, myself among the number.

I do not propose to reveal all that was said and done on the occasion. The meeting was a most enjoyable one; gems of thought, original ideas, brilliant repartee, and flowery _bon mots_ circulated freely from mind to mind; in short, the occasion was a feast of intellectual glory, that could not fail to arouse the enthusiasm of any but the most stupefied spirits. The eulogy and the encomiums paid to the memory of Critchley Prince were kind, and well calculated, coming as they did from the hearts of England’s most gifted sons, to awaken a feeling of pride and gratification in the heart of him of whom they were spoken.

But, alas, this banquet of ennobling thought and chaste, exquisite expression, which alone would have refreshed and invigorated the soul, and at which even the angels of heaven might have been pleased to preside—this festal board—needs must have been polluted by the presence of costly wines, and rich, rare, body-clogging viands. Aye, it is true that there, where no feast of a material nature was needed, where, indeed, it would only serve to lower the time and place into a scene of sensual festivity, the wine-cup passed from hand to hand, brilliant toasts were given and repeated, and I, in company with others, again tasted the perfumed draught that ever tends to degrade humanity.

It is true that I did not drug myself into insensibility, neither did any one of that assembled company; nor did I become so intensely alive in every sense and avenue of feeling as heretofore, yet I partook of the fluid, and again found that I was not strong enough to resist temptation and to overcome the evil habit.

I lingered at this enchanted spot for hours, indeed, until the assembly dispersed, each member seeking his abode, with brain fired by alcoholic stimulants, and yet apparently none the worse for what he had taken.

Highly pleased with my reception and entertainment, I separated from my good friends, and thinking I should like to take a walk, wandered forth, under the glorious orbs of early morn. My brain was heated and all astir with phantom-like thoughts flitting through it. I soon paused upon a bridge of the Thames, and at once a desire entered my mind to fling myself into the river’s depths. I wondered what effect such an act would have upon me; I knew that I was a disembodied spirit, and therefore could not destroy my existence; still I did not know but I might experience some shock to my system, like that felt by drowning mortality.

However, I determined to take the leap, which I did. No sooner had I done so than, instead of sinking under the water, I found myself slowly rising. I could not feel the water at all; it seemed as though I were floating upward upon a cloud.

Rising still higher and higher, I at length found myself resting upon a strip of rocky, barren land; I knew that I was again beyond the bounds of earth, but in what part of spirit life I was entirely ignorant; all was dreary and desolate. By this time I had recovered in a measure from the effects of the wine-bibbing, and thought and memory again went bounding through my mind with startling intensity.

Resting against a giant rock, that reared its head far upward toward the murky sky, I gave myself up to gloomy retrospection. What good had I done,—what work accomplished? Nothing; I had again fallen before the tempter; I was weak and helpless, powerless of will, of no use to myself nor to my kind! Why, oh, why must I continue to drag out such a shameful existence?

Thus I mused and mourned, groaning deep in agony of spirit; my remorse was genuine, but I had not the power (or rather I thought I had not) to again rise after this my latest fall from self-respect.

The hot sun came out and glowed with a lurid light; not a shrub or trace of vegetation were to be seen; all was stony and barren,—no sign of life, except far up, perched on the crags, there sat a bird of sable plumage, that now and then flapped its wings, and seemed to mutter and croak in mockery of my torment. I remembered the “Raven” of the American poet, and wondered if this too was a creation of my fevered brain, and I was to be haunted henceforth with the presence of this ominous creature. At last it flapped its wings and flew away, and I sank into a kind of half-dreamless lethargy, which lasted I know not how long; but at length I was aroused by the touch of a cool hand upon my head, to find the presence of my missionary guide, “Benja.”

“Come, my son,” said he; “thou hast done well; thou needst have no fear. Thou art upon the heights of self-condemnation. It is true thou hast a few more trials to bear ere thou canst enjoy the full glories of spiritual existence; but all the steps thou hast taken were necessary to thy well-being; they were what thou needed to bring thee to a full realization of the past. Arise and come with me, that thou mayst obtain a glimpse of the realities of life, a gleam of the glorious manifestation of power that awaits thee.”

Taking me by the hand, the sainted spirit began to slowly rise, drawing me upward with him. Away, away, over rugged heights and dreary wastes of land we sped until we neared the entrance of a valley more exquisite in beauty than any I had ever beheld. Strains of enchanting music issued from thence, mingled with bursts of merry laughter, and sounds of sweetest singing.

Upon entering the valley, we were saluted by the fragrant breath of beautiful flowers, borne toward us upon the balmy breeze of morning; birds carolled among the leafy branches of the trees, or flitted about the sparkling sprays of gleaming water, issuing from founts of alabaster purity;—all was calm and serene, a picture of contentment and repose. Beautiful homes, gleaming with singular whiteness, and embowered with flowering vines of gorgeous beauty, nestled low down in the heart of the valley.

There were no doors or windows to these houses, but the sides were entirely open, revealing the simple, innocent home life of their inmates; the roofs were supported by marble pillars, around which the vines and tendrils clung with loving tenderness. From these homes issued those sounds of joy and happiness we had heard ere entering the valley.

Away in the distance, on either side, arose the majestic heights of purple-crested mountains; while a beautiful river flashed and sparkled in the sunlight, but a little way before us. Near the center of the vale I observed a massive dome, of marvelous beauty, rising from the midst of a grove of trees, and toward this my guide continued to lead my bewildered spirit.

As we approached, I found the building to be a vast and stupendous temple, wrought with exceeding artistic skill and beauty, the delicate carvings and fretwork of which I had never seen equalled.

The grounds surrounding this magnificent temple presented a scene of unsurpassing loveliness. The green sward, rich with velvet-like softness, glowed and sparkled in the sunlight like a huge emerald of priceless value. Thickets of wild roses here and there shed their royal perfume upon the passing breeze; vines and tendrils twined around the trunks of lofty trees, through the branches of which flitted and carolled birds of brilliant plumage.

I followed my guide up a flight of marble steps, and found myself in a spacious vestibule, at the further end of which hung a heavy curtain of royal purple velvet. The floor of this vestibule was tessellated with blocks of many-hued marble, presenting a most beautiful appearance, in the center of which arose a magnificent fountain of crystal whiteness, most exquisitely sculptured and carved, from which ascended sprays of cool and sparkling water. “Water, water everywhere!” Through all my wanderings in the eternal world I have never been long absent from the sight of clear, leaping, sparkling water. It is the life element of the spirit, next to sunlight and air, and it needs no additional fluid to make it agreeable and palatable.

Through the open interstices of this entrance the perfumed air from without wandered, diffusing a most refreshing breeze throughout the apartment. To the left I observed what appeared to be an inclined plane, the surface of which was as smooth as glass, and as white as porcelain. This glassy road led upward beyond the frescoed ceiling, until it disappeared from sight. I turned an inquiring look upon my companion, who thus replied to my silent questioning: “Thou art now, my son, standing within the walls of one of our temples dedicated to Art. This is the Palace of Delight,—the Artists’ Home! Beyond yonder curtain is the Hall of Poesy, where congregate souls so rounded out and perfected that they may express themselves in measure full and sweet; their lives are breathing, active poems of beauty and love. Yonder spiral stairway,” directing my attention to a stair-case glittering like burnished gold, at my right, “leads to the halls dedicated respectively to the gods of music, painting, and statuary, where souls attuned in harmony with those divine expressions of creative energy gather to pour forth all the hidden richness and glory of their spiritual conceptions of life.

“Yonder crystal pathway leads to the grand temple of all, where gather those poets, artists, sculptors, musicians, prophets, and sages, who are united in the bonds of sympathy and love, to compare notes, and to charm and enlighten each other with the productions of their individual minds. Thee will observe that it is up hill all the way, extending beyond thy vision, and that the road is slippery and seemingly impossible to climb, typifying the pathway over which struggling genius is forced to go, slipping here and there, oftentimes stumbling, until it plumes its wings for bolder flight, and by determined effort and perseverance wins the goal.

“The novitiate who first enters this temple dedicated to the Muses would fain ascend yonder roadway, but, finds himself unable to do so; for he must first visit each one of the halls of learning ere he attempts to enter the grand temple of Art. When he has done so, he finds no need to crawl slowly up yonder plane, but concentrating his will upon the desired spot, by the power thus acquired, mounts upward without fear, and gains the goal.

“But thou, my son, must now pass beyond yonder drapery; there thou wilt find that for which thy soul is to be fitted. Thou wilt find kindred minds, and sometime thy birth-right. I must leave thee; my work calls me away; others will teach thee the lesson of life. Farewell, and God bless thee.”

The sage vanished, and I was again alone. Curiosity and interest led me to approach and push aside the hanging velvet that obscured my sight. I did so, and beheld a vast apartment, the roof of which, fretted with lace-like tracings of golden hue, was supported by richly-carved columns of finely-veined marble. The floor was a mosaic of pearl and ivory, formed into clusters of flowers. At the farther end was a raised dais, covered with a crimson, satin-like fabric, above which, suspended from golden rods, clouds of creamy, fairy-like lace drooped and fluttered.

Upon the dais was seated the stately form of a male spirit, whose majestic-bearing, noble brow, and intelligent, genial, love-lit countenance attracted and held the admiration, esteem, and respect of the beholder. Upon either side was seated a personage, mild and gentle of demeanor, with the unmistakable mark of genius stamped upon his brow. Ranged around the dais in a semi-circle were a number of seats, filled with occupants of both sexes, all seemingly earnestly attentive to the master spirit of the hour.

The inmates of the hall were clothed in various costumes, such as their fancy suggested; but with such correctness of taste that all the colors and styles blended together in perfect harmony, and in company with their surroundings made up a superb and radiant picture, perfect in all its details. I noticed a peculiar halo of mellow light emanating from and surrounding each member of this assembly, graduating from a beautiful tint of yellow down to pearly whiteness, lighting up the features with indescribable beauty. These souls were enveloped in their own wealth of love, sympathy, and perceptive harmony.

I had but to gaze on the massive brow, thoughtful, speaking countenance, and smiling eyes of that central figure when it flashed upon me, that this was Addison,—Addison the gifted, noble and true, whose works I had ever admired, and which I considered beyond emulation. The pale, saint-like face upon the right I recognized as Cowper, the good. At the left, with flashing eye, and impassioned features, was Byron, but Byron purged of the impurities and grossness of sensual life.

I gazed around, and it dawned upon me who these people were. I saw the calm, pure features and love-lit eyes of Felicia Hemans, of Elizabeth B. Browning, of Letitia Landon, and others well-known to me from the melodious outpourings of their spirits. There were Dryden, Thompson, and Pope,—once little, misshapen Alexander Pope, now grown straight, lithe, and willowy with no discontent upon his features, even sitting at the feet of Addison, absorbing the reflected light of that stately presence.

I could not understand what was going on. I heard nothing but a low, sweet, rhythmic sound proceeding from the dais, which was unintelligible to me, though, from the interested looks of those present it was evidently not so to them. I had advanced no farther than to the inner side of the curtain, for I dared not intrude upon that celestial company. I again glanced at myself, and as the contrast between my faded, dust-worn, shabby appearance and the fresh purity and sweetness of these harmonious souls flashed upon me, together with the thought that, had I done more and been more in the past, I too might have been seated here with this angelic host, in place of creeping in like an outcast and an alien, I covered my face and fled from the apartment and the place.

I next found myself standing upon a sandy shore, watching and listening to the roar of the surging waves as they came rolling in to my feet. All was wild and tempestuous. How I had come here I could not tell; through what tortuous, devious paths I had wandered I could not explain. I felt that I had passed through a fiery furnace. I was still scathed and smarting from the sting of accusing memory. I felt a touch upon my shoulder, and turning gazed into a pair of kindly, sympathetic eyes, the eyes of one whom I felt was to be my friend and brother; of one whose name shall yet be sung throughout the length of Old England; one who passed from earth a few years before myself, at the early age of thirty-two. I gazed into the eyes of Robert Brough, poet and friend. Instantly I knew I had met one who would assist and teach me what my spirit required.

“I have come to help you,” he said, grasping my hand in a hearty clasp; “I have long followed you, I was at the Poet’s Council, and saw you enter. Noting your movements, watching the expression of your countenance, I understood your condition, and when you rushed forth I followed, feeling that I might be able to assist you. I have since kept you in sight, but owing to the clouds that enwrapped you, I have been heretofore unable to make my presence known. Now that the force of your emotions is spent, and you are beginning to grow calm and collected, I come to offer you my assistance, and to show you how to nobly retrieve the past, and find perfect peace for your soul. Will you accept my aid?”

I grasped the hand still holding my own, and cried in a voice choked with emotion: “I will! I will! only show me the way, and I will follow you?”

“To you,” continued my friend, pointing to the surging billows before us, “this scene is presented as a type of the desolate, lonely shore, and the warring billows of passion-haunted thoughts, upon which man may recklessly wreck his whole existence; but, beyond the sandy waste, and the ocean’s depths, there are calm waters, and sweet, smiling fields where we may find redemption, and make that restitution necessary to peace of mind. Come with me and I will guide you to health and happiness. Concentrate your thought upon me, and remain passive.”

I did so, and instantly I found my companion and self transported from the dreary shore to the same valley I had entered on my first visit to the immortal world. “You wonder at my mode of transportation,” said Robert, noting my surprise, “but you will soon become used to it, for it is the spirit’s true mode of rapid traveling. We have only to fix our will upon the place to which we wish to go, and instantly space is annihilated, and we are there. When you have thrown off a few more of the conditions of your earth life, you will be able to understand this law, and many others; and in order that you may do so, I wish you to plunge into yonder mist arising before us.”

But a few feet from us there ascended from the depths of a small lake a heavy bank of mist or vapor, and, in compliance with the request of my friend, I plunged into this fog, which, upon my doing so, seemed to penetrate every atom of my being.

When I emerged I seemed indeed to have been born again, to have received a baptism that had washed away much that was heavy and gross in my system, and I felt light as air, and almost imponderable.

“Now you begin to feel something like a spirit,” said my friend, seating himself upon a mossy bank, and motioning me to a seat beside him; “you are becoming regenerated; look at yourself, and you will perceive a change; you can also see, hear, and feel clearer and better; all your senses are awakened and quickened, because the spirit is beginning to work free from the crudities of materiality.”

It was indeed true; my senses did seem to be intensified ten-fold; distance lent no obstruction to my view; my vision appeared to be unlimited. I could perceive forms, radiant in angelic beauty, moving to and fro; towns and cities gleaming white in the sunlight where before my sight was bounded by the horizon, and I could see nothing but the limits of the beautiful valley, and no human being but our two selves.

My hearing, too, was quickened; for sweet, harmonious sounds stole upon my ear, where before I had heard nothing; all my senses seemed to be trebly alive, and awakened to activity; my outer structure, too, had grown so clear and fair as to become almost transparent, while my garments had assumed a purity of appearance I had never noticed before.

“You will soon be able to enter into and enjoy all the true pleasures of existence,” resumed the poet. “I, too, have passed under experiences and trials similar to your own; and though they were not induced by precisely the same cause, yet they were sufficiently severe to lead me to sympathize with and give you strength.”

He ceased, and my soul became too full of gratitude for utterance, perceiving which, he said: “By-and-bye, all these things will be explained to you, and you will thank the good Father for giving you these experiences, by which to develop and strengthen your spirit. But come, I must show you your work. Remain passive, and trust in me.”

Again I followed his bidding, and in a moment more we were gliding along the streets of an earthly town. Again I was in the precincts of old England, but material sights and sounds seemed farther away from me than ever before.

“I am going to take you,” said my guide, “to one who is noble and true to the stern duties of life; one who, in spite of trials and perplexities, of trouble and care, has remained faithful to the higher dictates of his inner spirit; who, reared in poverty, has yet carved out a name for himself, and by turning aside from the glittering allurements of life, has endeared himself to many hearts,—a royal soul, a kingly mind, as yet in the physical body. I bring you to him, that from the example of his life, and the strength of his soul, you may learn your lesson, and draw encouragement to go on and do likewise.”

He ceased to speak, and instantly we were in an apartment which I recognized as the room of a thinker, a student, and a poet. There was but one occupant; a slight figure, bearing a lofty head and noble brow, with an earnest, intellectual cast of features. He was busy perusing a book, which, from the intentness of his gaze, I divined must have been a work requiring deep study.

How calm and peaceful was the atmosphere of that place! The air was replete with quiet and rest. “I shall leave you here,” said my guide. “When we meet again, you will be the worker, and one who has found content and joy. Adieu.”

He was gone; and there, in the quiet sanctuary of the poet’s study, in company with that loyal soul, whose earnest thought was to elevate humanity; in contemplation of his work, and drawing strength and encouragement from his fidelity to truth, and his desire to benefit mankind, I became strong and enduring, enabled to put away the enticing temptations of life, to expand my powers under the light of spirit development; and a desire was kindled in my soul that has never been quenched,—a desire to be of use, to do good to others, to assist the needy, elevate the downtrodden, and enlighten and instruct those sitting in darkness.

Sitting in the companionship of that noble mind, reading with him his works, listening to his songs of beauty, witnessing his dreams for the remission of human ills, painted as they were on the sensorium of his soul, in colors of gorgeous splendor; breathing in the perfume of his holiest aspirations, watching his struggles and triumphs,—I became purified and purged of old crudities, and went out from that presence with a determination to do something for humanity, to be something in the great arena of life; and from that determination I have never strayed.

Born of this desire,—to do something for the good of humanity,—there came to my soul a new strength unlike anything I had known before; and which enabled me to enter dens of vice in search of souls to aid without danger of contamination, or of falling a victim to temptation. Of my work in this direction I shall speak in a future chapter; but first I wish to tell you of a visit I have made to one of our brightest spirits; one whose songs are known and sung the wide world over.