is a necessity in all worlds. Heaven would not be heaven without children. It would lack the joyousness of childish innocence and educational progress. Our departed children, aye, ours still, buds of spirit-beauty; lights in the windows of heaven; the angels of the future!" - 66 A SONG FOR THE SAD. "Our heart is brimming with songs to-night. We would sing them to the sad. Take my hand, weary pilgrim: it is a brother's. Off with all masks; away with reserve. Tell me of life's uneven voyage, its blighted hopes, piercing thorns, trials, losses, defeats, struggles, and disappointments. There is profit in confessions that bare soul to soul. Neither of us has secrets. All lives are unrolled scrolls, open to spirit inspection. Each is his own recording angel, and memories are immortal. What you are, I am, or have been. What you have felt, I have felt in my dual life-experience along some segmentary portion of the endless circle of being. Go on: I sense, feel, your life-history. It is wild, weird, witching, and big with the blessings of suffering. Now, all told, the good and ill measured, with their necessary compensations, has it not been glorious to live, – to live a thinking, reasoning, conscious, and immortal individuality, with infinite possibilities before you? Could you afford to lose the rusted links even from the chain that connects past and present? Have you not gathered and treasured rich experiences, that will serve, through you, to strengthen others in their weakness and their peril? Have you not seen more flowers than thorns; smiles, than tears; suns, than clouds; and have you not heard more blessings than cursings, and a thousand merry peals of laughter for a single groan? "Has thy life been stained and blemished? None are perfect; the best have their failings: despair not; the good of earth, and the sainted in the heavens, delight to aid the aspirational. Come unto me,' said Jesus. The angels echo the song, come, 'Come up higher.' Look not to the past with painful regrets. In ascending a ladder, the wise never look down to the broken rounds. Every step the prodigal son took in the outward from his father's house was spiritually a step toward it. Husks helped bring him to 'himself.' When himself, he was right, human nature being innately good. This prodigal's bitter experiences of hunger, want, suffering, proved eminently salvatory. The good father loved the repentant son none the less for his wanderings. God, angels, all good men, love the erring. A mother's prayers pierce dungeon bars, The philanthropist hopes for all, loves all, has faith in all. "No oak, lifting its head, catching and kissing the sunbeams, regrets that it was once an acorn, and fell, fell into the mud, to be buried, bruised, chilled, and frosted with snows. Progression implies a lower condition to progress from. It was wisdom not to commence conscious life on the physical side perfect. Those fixed stars, that gild measureless distances, shine and sing all the sweeter from having been nebulous fire-mists, floating in oceanic space: so noble-purposed souls, tempted, falling like the child in the effort to walk, yet rising, wiser for the pain, stronger in will-power, treading the winepress of the world's wrath alone to-day, stopping by the wayside to-morrow to help the more unfortunate, will find their path ultimately widening, brightening, and opening at last into the shining portals of immortality, where peals of victory shall blend with the grand oratorios of souls long housed in the heavens: "Men saw the thorns on Jesus' brow, But angels saw the roses.' "The Nazarene, though ever attended by ministering angels, shrank from the pain of the thorn-crown. Father, 'Let the cup pass;' thus he prayed: thus ever prays earthly weakness. Not my will, but thine, be done,' responded the divinity, the Christ-princi. ple within. "Carbon shrinks from the fierce chemical fires that transform it to diamonds. Flaxfields tremble at the transitional methods necessary to white linen napkins; and youthful sailors would fain shun the rough oceans requisite to making them skillful mariners. Mortals are but children in the eyes of the angels. Beautiful is the divine plan, with its infinitely-diversified methods of soul-discipline. There was never a birth without agony; a beautiful bloom without an aching, swelling bud; a musical instrument, — lute, lyre, or harp, without grating, tuning processes; and even 'craftsmen,' and mystics in their upward pilgrimages, meet with 'ruffians,' rough roads, repulses, and fiery ordeals, ere they pass the 'vails,' sit in the council chambers of the worthy, or rest in patriarchal tents. Aspiration and effort are the soul's jewels. Courage, brave ones: the gods help those that help themselves. Oh, it is grand to build the road we travel on; erect the ladders by which we ascend; carve our own mental statues on living, conscious forms; and construct our own homes in the upper kingdoms of beauty and blessedness! "Come, then, barbed arrows and dark-winged sorrows! Ye are all masked angels, leading souls oft by strange, inverse ways through thorn-encircled doorways into the inner courts of the beatified; the golden temples of the gods, whose every soul-tear will be transformed to a pearl; every groan die away into music; every sigh prove to have been a fore-gleam of a seraphic.smile, and the sweetest, divinest ideals of earth, the imperishable reals of eternity! Courage, then, fainting soul! Every winter hath its spring; every ocean, its glittering gems; every frost, its shining crystals; every thunder-storm, its compensating health; every cloud, its silver lining; every ruin, its twining vines; every wave-tossed ark, its dove; every blood-stained cross, its flower-wreathed crown; and for every paradise lost, there are thousands to be gained! Patiently wait, then; wait and labor; wait and trust. Yea, be courageous, brave, hopeful, joyous, happy; for a good God reigns. Eternity with its infinite glories is stretching in mellowed radiance before you; ministering angels are beckoning you onward, upward; and loving archangels, standing upon evergreen mountains, and amid the matchless splendors of summer-land scenes, with wreaths, palms, and glistening robes, are inviting and singing, 'Here's rest for the weary, and crowns for the worthy.' 'All these, and infinitely more than tongue can tell, shall be thine, O children of earth! when ye are worthy,' saith my angel. Good-night, dear pilgrim friends. Sweet dreams to you, and kind angel-watchers. We shall meet again." CHAPTER XVI. HEART-ECHOES. "It is a little thing to speak a word of common comfort, Yet, on the ear of him who thought to die unmourned, LETTERS to our loved ones, not intended for the public eye, like words spoken in the ear with the music of love, always have soul in them. Artless is friendship; and how beautiful are its life-pictures! No one surely has a right to refuse the world the aroma of these flowers, all a-drip with the morning light. Mr. Peebles's private correspondence has been immense, with people of every profession of life. One of his bosom friends, with whom he has had intimate relation, both in letters and direct co-operation, is Hon. J. G. Wait of Sturgis, Mich., of whom he delights to speak 66 as a counselor and solid pillar in the spiritual temple." He loves to recall the happy interviews with Revs. Higginson, Towne, Frothingham, Henry Ward Beecher, and with the political honorables who rendered him favors connected with the spiritual gospel, - Sec. Fish, Howard of Michigan, Harris of Louisiana, and Prof. Worthen, state geologist of Illinois. "COURTLAND, N.Y., Jan. 31, 1863. "DEAR MR. PEEBLES, -Have you forgotten taking a young man aside in Courtland, several years ago, and telling him the very thoughts of his soul? Oh, those kind, hopeful words! God only knows how much I owe you for the interest you manifested at that trying period of my life. All that I am, or nearly so, I am indebted to you for. ...Our publishing house is in a flourishing condition. "Most sincerely, H. S. CLARKE." "LA CROSSE, Wis., Sept. 3, 1863. This morning I received a kind letter from you, which took me a child back to the olden days of budding anticipations. My heart sinks down into old scenes, memories, and incidents, as one sinks to rest in a bed of down. The printing-office; the ride to Athens; "MY DEAR PEEBLES, in the arms of memory like Am glad to hear from you. the scared woman whose babies and pigs we did not run over; the visit to Towanda; the improvement to your sermon! Well, well, time has borne those days to the rear, and still the fight goes on. "I am older than when last we met. My eyes are wider open. The world and I have skirmished and battled; but, on the whole, I am ahead. Glad to hear you are coming out this way. The heart is still in the same friendly place for you as of yore. "I shall publish one or two books before spring; and, as you will read them, you will have an idea of what kind of a man (in theory) the boy you used to speak so kindly to in the East makes in the West. Write me. . . . "With the best, earnest wishes for your health, happiness, and prosperity, "I am the same, MARK M. POMEROY, A lady friend, M. E. Tillotson, of Binghamton, N.Y., in a letter of Oct. 2, 1864, recalling the dreamy past, sends Mr. Peebles this poetic billet-doux : "I mind me of a quiet home I mind me of a cozy nook All sheltered from the storm, The cross his crowning glory." The following note from Bishop Clark (Episcopalian) was addressed our "Peace Brother," L. K. Joslyn, who introduced Mr. Peebles to him as a "Representative Spiritualist: "— "PROVIDENCE, Dec. 10, 1864. "DEAR SIR, I shall be happy to see the Rev. Mr. Peebles at any time that he may find it convenient to call. I expect to be absent from town on Tuesday, and until the latter part of the week. I mention this in order that he may not call while I am away "Respectfully yours, THOMAS M. CLARK." Speaking of the conversation with Mr. Clark, about the truth of spirit manifestation, Mr. Peebles reports him as saying, "You are just designed to traverse the country, and scatter seed to get the golden fruit: but I,' said the bishop, 'instead of scattering the seed, am content to graft into the old trunk; and, if I put in too many grafts, they will absorb the juices and spoil the whole tree.'"' The author of this is the wife of Rev. C. F. Dodge (Universalist). She accompanied it with an accurate and interesting psychometric delineation of our Pilgrim's attributes of character : — "PALMYRA, Wis., June 19, 1865. "DEAR BROTHER AND FRIEND, - I thank you for the interest manifest in our behalf. I hear the words, 'Come up higher;' but the way I know not. I felt strengthened by your presence and teachings, during the brief visit, and felt then as if I would say out loud,' 'I am a Spiritualist.' If I understand my own heart, I have but little sympathy with the creeds now prevailing, can not feel the interest in denominational mat 6 ... ters that I once did. The scale seems to me an ascending one. was a streak of sunshine to my sister, Mrs. Bunker, as well as to us. "Truly yours, Your visit here C. H. DODGE." Wishing to post himself in the standard ancient works, Mr. Peebles, in the fall of 1865, called on Ralph Waldo Emerson, the NewEngland Plato, whose life-philosophy is so spiritual. Giving him the desired literary information, these moralizers talked about the Spiritual movement." Writing of this happy interview, Mr. Peebles reports, 66 "This 'Sage of Concord' said, 'The universe is to me one grand spirit manifestation; but as to the minor, the specialities so to speak, I shall have to refer you to Mrs. Emerson, who is much interested in these spiritual matters.'"' ... "CHICAGO, March 10, 1866. "DEAR BROTHER, I was just thinking how patient God must have been to wait so long for fullest working out of ultimates from commingling primates. And then I thought the reason why is obvious enough; because He sees a principle. Those only lack faith and get out of patience, who have not entered into 'the holy of holies' of ever-unfolding life. To understand a principle is eternal life. No man can have pure 'Platonic love,' unless he has climbed the topmost peak of unfolded principle. . . "The truth shall make you free.' The unfolding of principle shall make you free. Nobody can bear and forbear, up to the divine standard of human needs, unless he sees clearly into, and all the way through, the principle, or the nature, of things. Nobody can comprehend the divine standard which turns the 'other cheek,' except him who has learned beyond the region of approximates. . . . You are the vacuum of appreciation into which my spirit can flow and find a resting-place. SETH PAINE." ... 66 STURGIS, MICH., June 24, 1866. "MY DEAR BROTHER PEEBLES, -Yes: I think we shall have a good time at the State Convention in Battle Creek. We certainly shall if we are all in the right spirit; if we seek not any personal end, but only the amelioration and elevation of ourselves and our fellow-men. I know you, at least, will so seek the precious good of our dear humanity. My country is the world; my kindred, all mankind; and, though we are all imperfect, I feel that most of us who will gather there will come to the great work of the age. 'Cordially, SELDEN J. FINNEY." 66 "ESTEEMED BROTHER J. M. PEEBLES, 66 CHICAGO, Sept. 21, 1866. How cheering! we have in our midst noble souls, whose tested morality, purified sympathies, and holy affections combine in earnest, practical work, whose influence casts the shadow of sunshine. Were it not for this fact, the bitterness of the dark side of Spiritualism would cause us to |