v <; ^ z 7 * / . ^ 0* ^q ♦:AfA\ %l/ /fife- SHADOW LAND; OR, THE SEER. BY ^ MRS. E. OAKES SMITH, AUTHOR OF SINLESS CHILD, LOST ANGEL, THE WESTERN CAPTIVE, WOMAN AND HER NEEDS, ETC., ETC. ; Now since every opposite comes near to its correlative in one or more points of con- tact, which, as they establish, also serve to maintain the relationship between the two, so the state of the soul in dreaming will serve strikingly to illustrate its waking action." Schlegel's Philosophy of Life. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY FOWLERS AND WELLS, CLINTON HALL, 131 NASSAU STREET. \ * « ^ * \\\ # C-> <.* Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1351, BY MRS. E. OAKES SMITH, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York, 0-. A* EDWARD 0. JENKINS, Printer and Stereotyper, C , . No. 114 Nassau Street. TO ts. C. 31., (Saritnu, THE FRIEND OF MY GIRLHOOD, THE BELOVED COMPANION OF MY SCHOOL-DATS, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. |5nfar*. In presenting tlie following pages to the public, the Author feels some delicacy on account of the apparently autobiographic aspect it may be supposed to wear; but she begs the reader to bear in mind, that she has not presumed to present her waking experience to their observation — like a child with a magic lantern, she has only thrown shadows upon the surface, keeping the substance still in the back ground. She has been willing to cast what little light she is able upon psychological grounds, in the hope that others will do the same, and thus relieve the subject from much of its obscurity. Brooklyn, L. I., October, 22nd, 1851. Cfltihttts, CHAPTER I. The dreamless Sleeper — Poetry is Truth, of the highest Kind — Dreams needless to the Laborer — The true Sphere — Marriage Vows — Process of Sleep, . . 9 CHAPTER II. Kitchen Dreams — Influence of Inferior Ghosts upon Dreams — The Rapping Spirits — Confessions, 16 CHAPTER III. Confessions continued — Soul State prefigured — Prophetic Dreams— The Body of the Resurrection— The Grief Child. 30 CHAPTER IV. Byron — Congested Brain — Gunshot Wound — Socrates — Wisdom is Music — Mil- ton's Sonnet Prayer — A Decision, 33 CHAPTER V. A Beautiful Vision — Face Expression — Daniel Webster — Oliver Cromwell — The Unfulfilled Mission — The Dream Foe, 45 CHAPTER VI. EdgarA.Poe — Presaging Eyes — Swooning — A Dream, 51 CHAPTER VII. The Unfortunate always Superstitious— Saul of Israel— He seeks the stray Asses, and finds a Kingship— The Witch of Endor 60 V1U CONTENTS. CHAPTER VIII. Astrology — A Horoscope — Nostrodamus — Predictions, ...... 69 CHAPTER IX. Shakspeare's belief in Astrology — Madam De Stael — The Prescience of the Poet, 80 CHAPTER X. Astrology — The two Horoscopes — The Unfortunate grow Superstitious— Pleas- ant Fancies — Irish Superstition — Good Old Mary, 88 CHAPTER XL Contempt cast upon the Imagination — Latent Truths unfolding — Double Dream- ing—Ghosts, . 99 CHAPTER XII. A Presentiment— Traditional Authority — Impalpable Shapes — The One Sin — The Penitent Child Spirit, • .... 110 CHAPTER XIII. The Ominous Thirteen— Home Superstitions— The Ghost Father— The Step- Mother, 120 SHADOW LAID. fjjapifr fust Behold this dreamer cometh. — Bible. Which gives me hope That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, Waking thou never wilt consent to do. — Milton. The dreamless sleeper — Poetry is truth of the highest kind — Dreams needless to the laborer — The true sphere — Marriage Vows — Process of Sleep. We were telling a dream, and looked into the face of our listener with that obstinate kind of idiosyncrasy that belongs to dreamers, but which it would be diffi- cult to explain — we, an obstinate psychologist, believ- ing in all spiritualisms, because the good Father has made this part of our nature so urgent and unmistaka- ble, that it is more difficult to doubt the realities of the internal than the external life. We looked into his face — " I never dream, madam." 11 Never dream! Then I am afraid you have no soul." " No soul ! Madam, do you believe in the Bible? or are you only talking poetry ?" "Only talking poetry? — only! I am talking of facts — of the most undeniable testimony to soul-exist- l* 10 ANXIOUS QUESTIONINGS. ence which, dreaming affords. Suppose it is poetry. Is not poetry truth ? — the deep, solemn truth, felt at the bottom of every soul ? — truth that will lift up its voice and cry aloud in every human heart till the world stifles its utterance ?" " Oh dear, madam, I do not comprehend a word you say ; and yet I dare be bound it is very good." No more did he. How could he, who never dreamed, understand poetry ? And what right had I to attempt indoctrinating him with the spirit of poetry, and disturbing his smooth dullness and excellent digestion with a malicious and energetic speech out of the common track ? Hence comes our book of Shadow Land : and hence, from encountering many, and often in the world, those who never dream, has arisen in my mind many an anxious questioning as to the hereafter of those who are denied this testimony of spirit to spirit. Now, in sleep, I imagine, there is a brief period which the perturbations of sense, and the jaded faculties of the brain, require for the subsidence of their activity. Grently and tenderly the sleep spirit enfolds a veil over each, and applies a " sweet oblivious antidote" to the " thick coming fancies" of the o'er-tasked head or heart. The sturdy laborer sinks into dreamless repose. "With him " 'tis a good dullness," and he is attended by a very lob of a spirit, " Stretched out all the chimney's length." The " lubber fiend," who regales his ears with the HAIL FELLOWS. 11 sound of his " shadowy flail," heard faintly in the night watches, "but we are spirits of another kind," to whom the mystic hours of sleep are the hours in which the spirit claims the supremacy, and with a companion- able confidence, more than half turns the bright side of the lantern of eternal life to our view, affording gleams of light, and beauty, and power, otherwise hid- den from the soul. After the senses have been cottoned into quiet, and the needful checks applied to the brain locomotive, we are ourselves — we are in our own true sphere, and that sphere has its juxtaposition with others akin to itself. Spiritual essences y high or low, good or bad, instantly recognize their fellow, and hence arise the different experiences of dreams. When we awake we bring back to the world the impressions of our nightly companionships in spirit-land — we bear with us our own sphere, with its good or evil hail fellows ; and we can no more escape these than we can lay aside our own identity. We ought to know, by our sleep observation, exactly what spirit we are of — whether our souls have any size or not to them — whether they are out and out large, active, beautiful and harmoni- ous, or only the very babies of soul land, mere dwarfs in the spiritual; embryotic, undeveloped punies, hardly worth a resurrection ; poor, meagre weaklings, un- escaped from bib and tucker, with great thick lips and blubber cheeks, and piggish eyes, and dumpy legs, the very toads of the spirit. We ought to know if this be the case with us, because the inference is strongly confirmative, if we have no dreams. We ought to know, too, by the nature of these, whether 12 ASTEOLOGIC BELIEF. we are in the chaotic transition state of human de- velopment, or are evolving ourselves beautifully, and in harmony with permanent good. We ought to know whether our sphere centres in heaven or hell, for we are in one or the other, and it is well to know which it is. The old astrologers believed that evil spirits had great power in sleep, and a passionate fondness for beautiful women, whom they caressed sleeping: and filled their fancies with voluptuous images, to which belief Milton probably referred, when he represents Satan breathing into the ear of Eve luxurious melody, and unholy desires, for the forbidden tree — he, " squat like a toad," and fanning her brow with the breath of the infernals. The suggestion is a startling one, and accords with the injunction — " keep the heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." The welling fountain may send forth streams to mingle with high and holy essences, or streams that shall com- mingle with those from less consecrated regions. Did the pre-Adamite men and women sleep ? Did they dream ? I think not. Or no otherwise than the horse or the dog dreams, they being more ele- mentary men and women, distinguished by sex merely. To dream well, one must be alone : there is a neu- tralizing of the divine essence where another head is busied with its angel on the same pillow. Hence, the all-importance that the husband and wife should be entirely congenial: for if they do not move in the same sphere, that of each will be either neutra- lized, or so jumbled up and confused, as to bar the joyous action of the true spirit. A kind of ward- MAKRIAGE STATE DREAMING. 13 ership is established by which neither enters freely its own domain, but is met at the gate by a sort of sleep sentry, who demands why these two, who venture to lay their heads upon the same pillow, are wandering so far apart in shadow land, and they are each ashamed and fearful to go out ; and so they return to the body and either dream not at all, or dream of what they have been about all day, and fret over what has before fretted them too much, and revive useless conferences and every day images, quite to the detriment and starvation of the soul. It will be seen ho\v all-important, in dream-land, are harmonious relations in life. When this is not the case, the husband or wife, whichever may be pure minded or en lowed best with the gifts of the spiritual, will find him or her bewildered, and hindered, and obstructed in dream-out-going by the material sphere of his or her companion, which is, in effect, a icatt of imprisonment. Where gross evils, uncharitableness, envy in gs, strifes, hypocrisies, exist, legions of black- ness block the way of egress, and fill the unhappy night companion with terrors. Adam, alone in Paradise, slept, and Eve was his dream. Milton says that Eve slept, and the serpent was hers , "squat like a toad" close to her ear. Alas! for the sad change from the solitary dreamer of Eden, when Eve was conceived, and the wild waste of earth, with its wearisome companionships, and the tree of knowledge guarded with the serpent stings of unsat- isfied yearnings ! The spirit needs no sleep ; what death is to the body, sleep would be to the soul. It finds its Sabbath, 14 SOUL OUT GOINGS. which, is rest, when it reposes upon some great and beautiful thought ; when it has reached some compan- ionship nearest its higher elements ; when it finds itself in some atmosphere akin to its nature, and it breathes and glows in loveliness like the blossom of the field, too ineffably content even to need a voice. We may imagine the spiritual being laying down its material companion tenderly to slumber, withdrawing itself gently from the exhausted receptacle, and rejoic- ing in its freedom from the frettings of daily life ; while itself, needless of repose, goes out into new and un- tried spheres, filling its urn at divine fountains, light- ing the torch of its existence in the glories of the Infi- nite Source ; holding its companionship with undying affinities, and enlarging itself by ranging through illimitable space. Once, during a period of suffering, I must have re- mained soul-conscious from the moment of sleeping. . I was then, as I often am, aware of fhe process of sleep, its coming on, and the fading away of conscious- ness. Ideas commingled, and I felt a sensation of pain in the region of the heart ; a sense of dread, as it were, pervading the nerves, as if they shrank from a power which they could not resist. I think this state is not unlike death. It is always so distinctly defined, I am almost lost ; then rouse myself, as if in opposition to some state which appals me, and then am gone. Death's twin brother has the ascendant. At the time of which I am speaking, I thought I raised my body up gently, and laid it in a grave that seemed ready for it ; I smoothed the turf down or- A DREAM. 15 derly with a vague feeling that blossoms would grow therefrom, and then stood, the only mourner over my poor self, weeping bitterly. The impression was so vivid that I awoke before my soul could start upon its journey. A DREAM. I dreamed last night, that I myself did lay- Within the grave, and after stood and wept : My spirit sorrowed where its ashes slept ! Twas a strange dream, and yet methinks it may Prefigure that which is akin to truth. How sorrow we o'er perished dreams of youth, High hopes and aspirations doomed to be Crushed and o'ermastered by earth's destiny ! Fame, that the spirit loathing turns to ruth; — And that deluding faith so loath to part, That earth will shrine for us one kindred heart ! Oh, 'tis the ashes of such things that wring Tears from the eyes — hopes like to these depart, And we bow down in dread o'ershadowed by death's wing! CJraptn $*nmft. "The things that day most minds, by night do most appear." — Spenser. I really am ashamed of the poverty of my dreams. — Charles Lamb. Nay oft in dream's invention we bestow- To change a flounce or add a furbelow. — Pope. Ah me, for pity ! what a dream was here. — ShakspeAre. Kitchen dreams— Influence of Inferior Ghosts upon Dreams— The Rapping Spirits-— Confessic Perhaps the majority of people in the world make such a medley of life, that they are mere fragments of humanities, the disjecta membra of men and women, never brought into any one, harmonious order of ex- istence. We do not know where to find them when awake, and in sleep they are mere ignus fatui. It may be suspected that they will need be sent 'back to this world or some other, in some shape or other, till they may become consolidated into entire creations. They are oppressed with vagaries and weak or wicked conceits, and we look wonderingly upon them, unable to receive their flimsy, shallow manifestations into favor as representatives of any aspect of our race. We suspect they must have been born before their time, and never freed entirely from the pre-existent fishy, or amphibious preparatory state. m LIMBO. 17 These dream only of subordinate, or intermediate objects. Their spirits, in sleejD, infest marshes and pools, and see misty lakes, and huge serpents, fleas, and toads, and reptiles in all shapes ; they never rise into the blue empyrean ; never behold the mountain way and the denizens of the wilderness, nor the shadowy veils of supernal inhabitants. They are imps of the kitchen, or drawing-room at most ; and, if any spirit answers to their sphere, it must be those of unclaimed and disaffected ghosts, who, having no substance within themselves, out of which to compound a spiritual body, wander about church-yards, or haunt the localities where they enacted old crimes, or lived frivolous and disjointed lives. It is probable spirits of this kind infested the house of the elder Wesley, rattling the kettles of the cook, and knocking mysteriously in various parts of the domain. It may be that these uneasy spirits hoped to find relief from the better atmosphere they perceived about the dwelling ; might have hoped to be " clothed upon," in their weak state, formless and naked, and thus be admitted into some sphere. It may be that the spirits called the Eappers, if such exist, and I am unwilling to treat human testi- mony with such contempt as to reject them altogether, belong to this class. They are in, what Dante would call Limbo, driven to and fro, perturbed and lonely, These eagerly question the finer spirits, who pass through their realm on their way to higher spheres, of all the gossip that used to interest them on earth. But, inasmuch as the companionship of these people was in no way desirable while they lived in this world, 18 GOSSIPS OF GHOST LAND. they become less so when separated from the body. They are the gossips of ghost land, poor, frivolous, flimsy wretches, who receive the shreds of thought here, and the shadows only of thought in the spirit world, for all thought has a body and a substance as it were to itself, so that we say a thought may be grasped in anticipation of the fact hereafter ; hence, thought finding no opportunity for lodgment in these thin poor spirits, floats right through them. They have a restless desire for tangibility, and are perpetually trying to command material objects in a way to make themselves known. We find in this world a class who do not dream, and yet who should not be regarded with distrust, notwithstanding the failure. They are persons of good health, and active habits, and well-balanced bodies, to whom existence by itself is a blessing. They realize the night comfort, denied to the miserable Macbeth when he exclaimed, "the Innocent sleep." They yield themselves joyously to the drowsy god, resigning to temporary oblivion their well cared for earthly tabernacles with an unctuous content, at once confiding and refreshing. These never remember their dreams, though dreaming all the time, for they " Do G-od's will and know it not.'' They awake with a new life, conscious only of wan- dering through interminable scenes of grace and beauty, ravished by sweet sounds, and fanned by breezes softer than those of Araby. I belong to neither of these. As a child I used to CHILD EXPERIENCE. 19 lay my head upon my pillow with an earnest expec- tancy. The sleep world was a vast, a peopled, and beautiful realm, into which I entered as an inmate. I used to wonder that other children would devour cakes and pies after having experienced the pains of illness, or the horrors of bad dreams from that cause. I, with the most dainty perceptions, never felt even tempted to repeat such an experience. Sleep gave me a sensation of terror, when unattended by dreams, even in early life. For to me it was full of images, often too vast for my infantile soul. Huge mountains, piled in solitary grandeur, towered forever around me, and shadows, floating like dense banners, were flecked with light, and gave place to rainbows, and stars and moons. I do not remember to have dreamed of the sun. I seemed myself in light always, without knowing the source from which it came. I can recall now vividly the awe with which I used to pray before sinking into that state, and how I used to wonder if it was right to pray the good Father for pleasant dreams. Indeed, I was often puzzled to know how to call this sleeping experience, grotesque and disjointed, I found it to be in my companions, but with me consistent, solemn, and earnest. I used to wonder " if -I did not go heaven" in my sleep, and yet never dared to ask the opinion of my friends, lest they should think me ill, or desirous to appear what I was not, for I was sensitively alive to a shadow of pretension on my own part, holding back the best im- pulses of my being, lest untruth or the love of ap- proval should have a part in them. 20 TERROR IN DARKNESS. I used to dream of joyous shapes floating in the air, which were angels to me. I must have started very early in life the heresy, that angels have no wings, because these creatures had none in my sleep. These did not speak to me, but looked lovingly upon me, and I would clasp my hands with such fervency of desire to be worthy of their companionship, that I often awoke in tears. I grew shy when others talked of dreams, lest I should be balled upon to describe my world of visions, which then I felt would be a dese- cration. I am confident one reason why children dread being alone in the dark, is owing to the huge shapes, and vague impressions of unfamiliar scenes brought to the mind in the process of dreaming. It is cruel to compel them to darkness where this is the case. I have no doubt many a child might trace the morbid action of his faculties to an undue severity upon this ground. " Truly the light is good, and a pleasant thing it is to behold the sun." For myself I needed no indulgence on this score. I was a courageous child, delighting in the mystical, and confidently expecting some revelation, longing for a mission such as came to the child Samuel — bending my ear to listen, and ready to say, " speak Lord." 1 often heard my own name called, both by day and night, — and found upon inquiry, that no one had spoken to me. I learned to clasp my hands, waiting and long- ing for the revelation, which should follow the invo- cation. As life wore on, and the actual presence was withheld, I redoubled my little fasts, and was more earnest in my prayers that I might be ac- CHAPTER SECOND. 21 counted worthy, I inflicted childish, penances upon myself, all to no purpose. Dreams of rare, signifi- cancy I had indeed, and day-dreams of grandeur and beauty too deep for any utterance — poetry in its mani- fold forms came to my mind's eye, but unearthly shapes, to these strange voices were not vouchsafed. I used to dream of being poised in space, surrounded with a gray atmosphere, which gave back neither object nor voice. I felt a weird pleasure in this pulseless kind of being ; so aimless, silent, but yet full of unearthly rest, for I was a sensitive child, so acute in my perceptions that thoughts were so many pains, and joy and grief had a magnitude disproportioned to my years. They err, who say childhood is the hap- piest period of life ; I am sure, that to me, with all the joyousness of my nature, my sense of suffering was so poignant, that even now it pains me to recall the re- membrance. Intense happiness as well as intense suffering, had no external manifestation with me. I was still, and silent, and often have fainted without the utterance of a word, while the shades of f££Ling were so many showers of smiles or tears ; hence, the comfort of this recurring dream of silence and eternal rest, with the consciousness of existence, free from all fret- tings, and holding every wearied faculty in abeyance. As I grew older and my undeveloped reason was filled with perpetual questionings, and a conscience morbidly alive to the shadows of an evil, became oppressed with unchild-like dread, my dreams were changed into a more vivid character. I would find myself in a world of such glowing beauty and happi- ness in my sleep, that I confidently asserted my right 22 SHADOW LAND. to heaven, and my claims to goodness from tlie char- acter of my dreams. Bred in the strictest Calvinistic school, this self-righteous spirit was severely rebuked, but I boldly asserted, that if God condemned me to eternal punisment, when I so much desired to be good, and when I did nothing I knew to be evil, he would be not only unjust but cruel. Here was a polemic of six years, roused to antagonism, and suffering all the terrors of the law, not one of whose prohibitions I had ever dreamed of violating. Falseness in any way seemed so unworthy a little lady, that I hardly reckoned the most transparent truth as a virtue ; wilful indeed was I, but not obstinate, and so courageous in my moral sense, that a thousand punishments would not have tempted me to the concealment of a wrong. A spirit of audacious fun might prompt to mischief, or the defence of a weaker child, make me violent, but then I prayed so fervently over my misdemeanors, over my errors of temper or short comings in duty, that I was quite certain that God would not only for- give me, but love me — for my childish logic ran in this wise — "If everybody that knows me, loves me, notwithstanding my many mistakes, surely God, who i sees right into my heart and knows how I love good- ness, will love me also." I was warned in every shape against this self-righte- ousness, till my whole little being became chaotic ; for I obstinately adhered to the assertion, that "I was a good child, and ought to go to heaven, and that if I did not go there, it would be an injustice." At this time I had a terrific dream ; I reccollect a baby brother was sleeping with me, and I hugged him closely, for CHAPTER SECOND. 28 some one had told me that the evil spirits were tempt- ing me, and that was the reason I thought so hardly of God's laws. I dreamed of being in a " faire countrie," with all that was light and joyous about me, when suddenly a grave severe personage, looked me in the face and said, " this night thy soul shall be required of thee." Suddenly every little misdemeanor, every unkind word, every piece of harmless mischief seemed to rise up before me like so many accusing spirits ; indeed they were spirits, I thought, actual shapes, that barred the way to a golden gate, over the top of which I could see a faint gleam of ravishing beauty. I awoke in a torrent of tears, and now felt indeed as if shut out from heaven. So great was my distress, that it cost me a fit of illness, the cause of which I dared tell no one, lest they should know how very evil I felt I must be in the sight of God. After this I was a long time too miserable to dream, but I fell into another state, with which dreamers are sometimes haunted ; a state either of the mind or bocty, by which figures, not altogether human, stand before me, or if the state be less perfect, float in the air ; these were not a procession of shadows merely, such as Locke describes, changing like the colors of a kaleido- scope ; but forms perfect in themselves, often station- ary for a length of time, and so palpable that I recog- nized their recurrence as shadoiuy acquaintances. Some- times these images were inconceivably frightful ; enor- mous glittering creatures with fiery eyes, and armed to the teeth, stood regarding me fixedly, while I looked on, with a not unpleased terror. "We had an attend- 24 A PLOT TO GAIN HEAVEN. ant in the family, who was a perfect black letter-book, full of traditions of ghosts, and fairies, and men who had sold themselves for lucre to the Father of Evil. At this time I had not read Milton, but one lofty creature that seemed to fill the space of my little room, cold, still and erect, I firmly believed to be Satan himself. I became accustomed to this shape, and though not clearly defined, it impressed me with majesty; while an army of impish looking spirits, with distorted eyes and lolling tongues, overcame me, not only with terror but mortification. I had fallen from the dignity of Lucifer and was given over to mean, under-strapping devils, I imagined. I began to contrive plots for getting into heaven, quite in a mean and cowardly manner, of which I sub- sequently grew ashamed. I had conceived of a sort of Jacob's ladder, up which the spirits of people were continually ascending to the golden gate — their long white robes floated loosely, and the angels helped them from bar to bar — I being a very little one, and always expecting to die a child, used to think I could / smuggle myself up under the shadow of these long robes, and when I came to the portal, the angels see- ing what a poor trembling child I was, who did not mean evil, would not have the heart to turn me away. I read the miracles of Jesus at this time with great care, especially where he casts out evil spirits, and came to the solemn conviction that I was given over to the powers of darkness to be tempted for a while, but was quite sure I should overcome, for I prayed day and night for deliverance; and yet I am sure I felt a wild delight in these visitations ; a curious child- SAVAGE COMFORT. 25 pleasure in contrasting these hideous images with the lovely and graceful ones, that peered in the midst of them, and which I believed were my good angels helping me in the conflict. I had nearly depaired of going to heaven myself, although I felt too proud to talk about it, and was ashamed to let anybody know what an evil-haunted child I was ; but I redoubled my intercessions, for everybody I loved, or did not love, and used to imagine them all entering the beautiful gate of which I had dreamed, while it was to be shut upon me. I was calm in this conviction, thinking if it was so to be, it was useless to distress others by letting them know my state ; yet with the inconsistency which time does not eradicate in any of us, I used to take a sort of savage comfort in thinking how badly, my friends, who loved me so much, would feel when they reached heaven, not to find me there. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, now gave a coloring to my dreams ; I had read the book of the Martyrs, and suffered all kinds of daily and nightly tortures on its account — had practiced severe penances, run needles into my flesh, burnt my fingers, and even drawn a blister for the sake of protracted suffering, merely to assure myself that I could endure all things with con- stancy where I had some great principle at stake. I was sorely puzzled to make up my little creed, but 11 faith in Grod, and in Jesus Christ as the Eedeemer," were fixed points. That the death of the latter could insure the salvation of men, I thought perfectly natu- ral ; still more so, that he should die from love. That part of religion impressed me with the most profound and beautiful emotions. I could comprehend it I 26 A SHAKP LOOK-OUT. thought, because it seemed natural to die for one that we loved ; for I had quietly abandoned the ground, that our sins enhanced in the least the magnitude of sacrifice: because men were so weak, and knew so very little, I thought that God must pity and love them, just as I did those who injured me, and were unkind to me ignorantly ; or were in that state of mind that they couldn't see how I loved, and prayed for every- body, especially for those who were evil in their na- ture. I was quite sure the more wicked one was, the more pitiful Grod must feel, and the more he would try to save him. I used to have an indistinct feeling that I was greatly loved by the celestials, but that I must renounce my consciousness of being good before they would assure me to that effect ; but as I could not honestly abandon the belief, I was patient in wait ing to see what would come of it, and devoted myseli with great zeal in the meanwhile to the salvation of others. I became quite a supernumerary conscience to my playmates ; settling casuistic points in the most solemn manner, and keeping a sharp watch upon their state, that I might know when my own prayers were most needed. In my sleep at this time, I was toilsome and op pressed. Little children about me told of dreaming of dogs, and fruits, and new clothes; and going to banquets, and having great triumphs in the shape of school-girl erudition and juvenile rivalships. I was obliged to keep my dreams to myself, believing them to be so much an indication of the real state of the soul, that it was better not to grieve my friends by letting them into its secrets. They were all vast, , THE LOST BABY. 27 shadowy, supernatural, weighing upon my spirits with a mystical kind of awe. When these assumed a pal- pable shape, I was relieved and joyous for a while ; and yet, child as I was, found myself feeling poor and circumscribed if these images were long withheld. A o o baby brother died about this time, and I remember how earnestly and sadly I speculated upon his fate — how I used to sleep in the fervent hope he would come to me in dreams. He never did, and I used to have strange questionings as to whether, when he was such a little one, he might not have been caught on his way to heaven by some evil spirit, and that was why I did not see him in sleep ; and then I used to pray that God would find him, and take care of him, and love him. I used to wonder how the sun could shine, and the birds sing, when perhaps his clear, sweet little soul might be suffering. It looked strange to me to see people eat and go on in the world as they did, when everything was gloomy and stood still, as it were, to me. I used to go out and think of the moon shining upon his little grave, so cold, still, such a sad change from our warm room. I let the snow and the rain chill me, because he was chilled ; and wept myself ill again and again, and yet did not see him in my sleep. It seemed as if the whole universe was changed, and become black and miserable, and that after all, people do not live after they left this world. I dared not express this skepticism, because it grew out of my dreams, an experience I rarely in- trusted to any ear. How little do people know of the mind of a child ! 28 INFANT DOUBT. • How little is its world, self-created, understood ! There is such, a clear, quiet rejection as false, of all that is beyond its comprehension ; while it frames to itself a state perfectly consistent and harmonious. Childrens' questionings mean much more, too, than they are supposed ; it is a mistake to be always put- ting children into shape, as if the good Father would not look after the needs of the spirit he has made. I remember the grave answers of a child of six years, to whom I had been pointing out some of the constella- tions, which led to a talk upon the Infinite and Eternal. He held my hands firmly, lest a thread of his childish logic should be lost. "Now," he says, "I believe in God, because we can think of him ; and I believe we have souls, though we can't see them, be- cause we can't see a thought, and yet we know what it is ; and our souls must live after our bodies die, because there is nothing in them to die, any more than in a thought ; but, oh dear, dear, (and here his tears gushed to his relief), if it is a suck in, what a dreadful suck in, it must be." The child had exhausted his spiritual vocabulary, and was obliged to find expression in the language of the play-ground ; but how full of far-reaching thought must the child have been, to evolve such depth of feeling ! To resume — my sleep at this time helped me in a /variety of ways. I used to read my school exercises over night, and in the morning I rarely failed to know them perfectly. Indeed, it must be confessed, I have always trusted much to aid in this way ; whatever HEEBS OF GRACE. 29 has worried or perplexed me I have confidently looked to dreamland for elucidation. Once having some favorite plants, which became infested with aphides, I was greatly troubled to get rid of them. One night I dreamed I was watering my plants with an infusion of wormwood, which entirely destroyed these insects. I tried the experiment, and, as I be- lieve, with success. But I think the deeper lesson that came to me was, that the bitter, or "herbs 01 grace," are exempt from these sweet-loving epicures — ■ they spread forth their strong, healthful, and cleanly branches, to the sun and air, unmolested by any but the poor invalid, to whom they are a life-giving need. Then to him they grow beautiful, while my roses and geraniums, beautiful to all eyes, attract, not only me, but instincts of a lower order. Loving, fading, illusive, are they ; while " herbs of grace" honestly present their bitter aspect, and leave nothing to deplore. A blessing on the roses, nevertheless ; one can afford to bear the pain of their thorns for the sake of their delights. Cfjupin tfjrirt We wandered, underneath the young grey down, And multitudes of dense white fleecy clouds Were wandering in thick nocks along the mountains, Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind ; * * * * And there was more, which I remember not. — Shelly. Confessions continued — Soul State prefigured— Prophetic Dreams — The Body of the Resurrection — The Grief Child. The spiritualism of Bunyan affected me strongly at this period. I remember, too, having read at this time " Allen's Appeal to the Unconverted," feeling all the time that the fervent cry of exhortation could not mean a case like mine, yet it exhorted to a some- thing of desirable attainment, and I was only terrified lest I should fail to secure it ; and so I used to pray that I might be converted, if I was not already so, and dreamed of being in search of something, the exact nature of which I was not able to define ; but it was a great and wearisome work, up toilsome ways, and through sad and solitary paths. Never did poor Christian carry a heavier burden than I struggled under in my sleep. Gradually this disappeared, and I was forever wandering alone through strange scenes, and seeking some mystic good, ONWARD AND UPWARD. 31 not very clearly revealed to my mind. Then this state of dreaming changed, and I began with toilsome labor to ascend high mountains. This was a great comfort to me. I associated it with the City set on a Hill, and now I felt assured there was no wrong in the disposition I felt to look at the dogmas presented to me, and make up my own estimate of the amount of truth they contained ; for did not the action of my soul in sleep show I was going upward and onward ? I longed to sleep, that I might realize more vividly this noble tendency. I dreamed of singing hymns, and hearing music steal from amid the hills, and when I sometimes lost the way, majestic beings took me by the hand and led me onward. At one time I found myself on the shores of a great lake. It was nearly dark, and my way was across. I could see no boat nor conveyance of any kind. At length I discerned three causeways, one leading to the right, one to the left, and one straight onward. The right and left paths were filled with people very joyous, and I could discern trees and flowers, and music; while the central path was so narrow that it was barely a foot-path — barren, forlorn, and apparently without end. This path I took, and was advancing slowly on my lonely way — weak, terrified, and weep- ing — when the guide, of whom I so often dreamed, took my hand gently, and led me on till I came to where the path diverged again to the right and left, with the same narrow causeway stretching across the waste, when I found myself again alone. The two other ways were filled, as before, with happy people and pleasing objects ; but once more I took the straight 32 MY FATHER. path, and again my calm, silent, unfailing guide took me by tlie hand and led me onward, till a third time the path diverged, and I was left to my own unbiased choice in the way before me. I grew weary and faint, yet my steps sought once more the narrow causeway, and again my calm guide took me by the hand, till a vista of glory and beauty dazzled my eyes, and I awoke, repeating, " Turn neither to the right hand nor the left." This personage, with whom I became so conversant in my sleep, I always associated with my father, who died while I was a mere infant, believing him to be the spirit sent to lead me onward — and thus my filial reverence grew into a sublime religious emotion. * Dreams like these wear the aspect of invention, and sound like allegories, yet they were not such to me ; but I regarded them as facts in my internal life, indica- tions of the state of my soul. It would fill volumes to record my experience in this way. I visited foreign countries, became familiar with all the wonders of architecture throughout the world ; the Pyramids of Egypt, and the ruins of Thebes, seen always by moon- light, as if the great shadows of ages had invested them with a moony atmosphere into which I wandered. I went to the Yalley of Jehoshaphat, and saw the vast multitude of bones bleaching in the sun ; and there I saw a beautiful marble obelisk, with a pretty rivulet flowing beside it ; this was the pillar which Absalom was said to have set up. At length I dreamed of being in a great storm ; the road was obstructed with fallen trees ; I was alone and THE CRYSTAL PALACE. 33 drenched with rain. It was pitch dark, &nd I could hear the roar of the river over which my way led, as if it had burst its bounds. I struggled onward, led by faint gleams of light, till I came to a bridge. The foaming torrent had risen above it, and I grew doubt- ful whether it was not entirely carried away ; but I went resolutely onward, till at length I saw that the centre of the bridge was gone, the river sweeping unobstructed through. There was nothing left for me but to go onward, as I felt the whole fabric sink- ing beneath me. I plunged into the stream, when instantly I found myself on the opposite shore, where the loveliest light was diffused, and green trees cast pleasant shadows upon hill sides, and flowers were the earth, and perfume the air. I went delightedly onward, saying, " there are shadows in heaven," and feeling blessed at the idea, and thinking to myself there is no dust here ; for the scene wore an aspect of ineffable freshness and beauty. Then I came to a great white palace, which seemed to extend column beyond column as far as the eye could reach, and these were festooned with vines, and lovely with flowers. The texture of these columns arrested my attention by their pure translucency, and I clasped my hands around them, striving in vain to think what they were akin to upon earth. I thought of alabaster and pearl, and opaque gems, but nothing satisfied the conception. I ascended the steps and walked onward, with the soft air stirring around me, when, suddenly I beheld a joyous group approaching, and recognized the dear ones who had gone before me to the world of spirits. 2* 34 THE GLORIFIED BODY. After this I grew tranquil in regard to my spiritual state, and felt quite safe in the little heresies I was supposed to have adopted, for I was confident I had seen heaven. How tame and ineffective seems our written poetry to that of our dreams, when the breathing becomes melodious, and the internal meanings of words grow into the most beautiful and profound utterance ! A dreamer of poetrjr can never be filled with conceit at his own manifestations in that branch of art, because the poems of the " Night Watches" are infinitely be- yond anything he can grasp in his waking hours, when the whole soul seems to swell and undulate in melody, and his words glow with the inspirations of supernal spheres, and he vies with the infinite in creative beauty. Often in our dreams we lay hold of clearer demon- strations in regard to our soul-nature, more vivid, profound, accordant, than we should have reached by any and the hardest labor of deduction. At one time I thought I had just died, and was undergoing the resurrection. I did not dream of being apart from myself, and yet I could see myself as one sees an object removed from him ; I did not look into a glass, nor water, nor any transparent object, and yet I saw myself in the same way. The first thing that arrested my attention after death was my improved looks, so much more beautiful than I had conceived human beings could look ; then I ob- served the skin, the texture of which was like the finest and whitest net- work ; next the nerves, a perfect SPIEITUAL ANATOMY. 35 forest of them, but beautiful in themselves, like threads of pearl ; next I saw the bones, and these were of the purest ivory. Palpable as these parts were, they were exquisitely beautiful to the eye, and made up a floating, transparent, white shape, affecting me with a sense of pleasure ; but within all these — breath- ing, and diffused through all, and making up the solidness of what here, in this world, is flesh and blood, for I saw none in my dream — was a rosy light that seemed to live of itself, and imparting complete- ness to the whole body. I w^as repeating, when I awoke, " we shall not all die, but we shall be changed in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye." Awake, with malice prepense, we should not have put together a spiritual anatomy in this way, all in harmony, complete, and yet beautiful, without wings, naked, and yet unconscious as the inmates of Eden when they walked in their innocency before Grod ; we should have tried in vain to imagine the pure imma- terial body analogous to this, on earth, and yet fit for the saints in light. Virgil's description of the unhappy Dido bearing the pangs of her desertion into dreamland, and wandering through lonely and difficult paths, is full of pathos. Then too the queenly air with which she turns proud- ly away from the recreant lover, bearing into the world of spirits the sense of injury, is so suggestively true to some continuit}^, that we wonder where the fine old heathen picked up his sentimentality. Every one who has read Jane Eyre will remember the author's description of Jane, wandering, desolate 36 THE GKIEF CHILD. and stricken, through her weary dreams, bearing a child in her arms, which she could not lay aside, but carried on, though faint with fatigue. The whole scene has that genuine stamp that could come only through the author's own experience. The supersti- tion is old, and almost universal, that to dream of car- rying a child in your arms is portentous of grief, and grief coming through the affections. So often has this dream preceded some calamity, that I have learned to look tenderly upon my Grief Child, as I call it, and even in sleep to recognize its face, and caress it mourn- fully. The Grief Child, borne in the bosom, before the climax of external sorrow, has grown dear to me, with its white, sweet face half veiled in clustering locks, wavy but not curling, with strange, unearthly eyes, fixed half mournfully upon mine ; and clinging to me with a sorrowful tenacity, as if it owed its brief existence to my destiny, and dreaded to be cast off. Once I dreamed of carrying my Grief Child to the bap- tism, up the long aisles of a cathedral, moving slowly to the music of a dirge. At the altar I met bear- ing a Grief Child also. Holy water was spinkled upon their faces, and we gave the children our own names, both of us weeping bitterly. When these names were pronounced they were strange, and yet sweet sounding words which dreamed were the celes- tial meanings of our own. I have since tried in vain to recall the words, but they are lost to me. THE GRIEF CHILD, Two stood before an altar : in a land Made up of shadowy dreams, and many tears, SONNET. 37 Emotions counting ages not fleet years, And there, in old Cathedral, hand in hand, Amid deep peeling anthems from a band Of unseen chanters, which the spirit hears, Each with a burdened breast the altar nears; Gleams of commingled angels round them stand, As each, for its baptismal water, bears A Grief Child, pale, and hushed, and weirdly sweet, •Long nursed in secret, now to God resigned. All self-renounced, they kneel with holy prayers And lay the fair Grief Child at Jesus' feet, Then to their Earth-Task wend with willing mind. CjmpUr /nttrtjr. Sleep hath its own "world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils ; They pass like spirits of the past — they speak Like Sibyls of the future. — Byron. Byron — Congested Brain — Gunshot Wound — Socrates — Wisdom is Music — Milton's — Sonnet Prayer — A Decision Bykon must have been a most magnificent dreamer. Much of his poetry is evidently drawn from the fevered action of his sleep-life ; the wild, passionate dreaming of a spirit hardly able to separate his dream-life from the actual. It affects me always like one of my own, too vivid, intense visions, that, like miraculous food, carries me on in the strength of it through long periods of suffering. It was pitiless to meet the o'er-burdened sensitive- ness of Byron with the stale saws of common-life — the child of the whirlwind and rocked in the tempest, must be adjudged by the laws of the fiery elements, not by those of ordinary mortals. His life was one long fervid dream; for he lived ages in his few years, centuries of emotion, and eternities of suffering. DROWNING. 39 It would be a nice question for a physician to deter- mine the point of sanity in some cases of over dream- action. The little girl, so often cited by phrenologists who, by some accident of the head, had a portion of the skull removed, thus exposing the pulsations of the brain, was an active dreamer, and when these were vivid the brain swelled under the injured part, almost protruding through the membrane, and then sub- siding, just in proportion as her visions were more or less vivid. I do not like to admit that dreams may be caused by a conjested state of the brain, although this must be the occasion of some species of dreams. It- is well known that persons in drowning, but who have survived the peril, attest to the vivid action of memory after all consciousness of suffering had ceased. I have heard my mother relate often the experience of my father in this way, who came very near death, but was eventually restored. He said everything in his past life, the most important as well as the more tri- vial, came back fresh to his memory — clear and dis- tinct as when the events occurred in life, with this difference — he saw it all before him, knew it was his own experience, hut was divested of any emotion in regard to it. He felt neither pleasure nor pain, satis- faction nor regret — they were simple facts again brought into notice, even the child-mischief with all the old localities painted, as it were, upon the soul. One scene was that in which he saw himself and brothers out behind the barn, singing some songs of a more hilarious and rampant character than the strict ob- servances of Puritaic life would justify. 40 THE POETS. Sir John Barrow records a like experience, all the events of his life being thus vividly reproduced : but afterwards having fainted from a gun-shot wound, he was subject to no such phenomenon. To me, it seems obvious, that in the one case there was conges- tion of the brain, the blood acting as a stimulant, (and this does not in the least lessen the singularity of the fact, does not make it in the least less wonderful), and in the other the blood was suddenly drained from the brain, depriving it of even ordinary stimulant- In some dreams it is probable the brain may be in a state analo- gous to one or other of the states described in drowning, or in the prostration of the gun-shot wound. But in drowning no faculty seemed to have been imparted except that of reminiscence, and a very small portion of our dreams belong to this order. I apprehend Wordsworth dreams little — Shelley is full of dreams — the very Ariel of Poets, breathing of ambrosia and the thin atmosphere of his shadowy Asia and Panthea, and lost at the golden gates like his own sky lark ; beautiful himself, and loving the beautiful, unlike his Sensitive Plant. " It desires, what it has not, the beautiful." The dreams of Coleridge and De Quincey, after all, are not of any value as psychological phenomena, from the fact that they were produced by stimulants, and were therefore a partial congestion of the brain. It is true, in the case of those remarkable men there must have been wonderful compass of brain, which the stimulant put into action ; this becomes obvious when we compare it with the beautiful, but more MORNING DREAMS. 41 limited construction of Lamb, whose quaint but honest admission, "I am ashamed of the poverty of my dreams," brings the man so very near to the common heart. But then, Lamb must have schooled himself not to dream, must have dreaded any extraordinary action of the brain, as too nearly allied to the dread- ful disease that hung like a gorgon head to terrify his sensitive nerves. Alas ! Lamb's life was too ter- ribly real to admit of the luxury of dreams. The ancients believed that morning dreams were from Apollo, and therefore prophetic. Hence, Soc- rates, condemned to die, awaited in prison the return of the sacred ship from Delos, which would be the signal for his execution. " It will arrive to-morrow, when you must die," exclaimed one of his friends. " I shall not die so soon," answered Socrates, " for so I conjecture from a dream / had this morning. I thought I saw a very handsome, comely woman, clad in white, who, calling me by name, said, ' In three days thou shalt be in the fruitful Phthia. 7 " Again, Socrates said, "all my life I have had dreams, which recommended the same things to me, sometimes in one way, sometimes in another. ' Socrates,' they said, ' apply yourself to music :' this I took for a simple exhortation for me pursue wisdom^ which has been the study of my life, and is the most perfect music" Milton has given us a beautiful evidence of the vividness of his dreams, which he thought not un- worthy to be thrown into one of his exquisite Sonnets ; and there it stands harping a-down the centuries, a beautiful psychological testimony, and a lovely monu- 42 SONNET OF MILTON. ment to a most lovely woman, or Milton would never thus have recorded this evidence of soul-companion- ship. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, Whom Jove's great son for her glad husband gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the old law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in Heav'n without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind : Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined So clear, as in no face, with more delight. But 0, as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. The visions of Jacob Behman and Swedenborg are classed by some minds as akin to, if not altogether the action of an insane element, while others rank them as reveries or dreams. Whether we accept their views as revelations or not, this mode of meeting minds of such an extraordinary cast is certainly weak and un- just. Few thinkers of any age have been able to pile up arguments at such length, and sustain them with such coherency as the latter of these writers ; and where this is the case, the class of men, who admit the autho- rity of Shakspeare in matters of less moment, should allow his judgment weight in regard to the great mystic. FEAR OF ISOLATION". 43 " It is not madness, That I have uttered : bring me to the test, And I the matter will reword; which madness Would gambol from." We must look upon these men as creatures distinct and entire, and holding a higher relation to certain kinds of truths than men of ordinary construction. It is probable that many of us are conscious of intervals in which our organization acts in a manner analogous to theirs, but which we are not willing to accept as revelations. We reject and cast aside, struggle against these, fearful and doubting, and the consequence is, if our self-will is more urgent than the revelation, we sink into deeper darkness ; if the revelation be great, and our worldliness greater, insanity supervenes and ends the struggle. Few dare to look cordially and man- fully at these intimations of the spirit, which, if ac- cepted, may remove them in some degree from human sympathy. I remember at one time to have been greatly exer- cised upon the subject of prayer. A sense, well nigh bordering upon disgust, came over me at listening to the smooth common-place complaisant petitions of the pulpit, sometimes aimed at the congregation, and some- times mere specimens of rhetoric ; while the earnest, fervid, but often irregular prayers of some minds seemed to be in full accordance with human needs. I debated much in my own mind, and then settled down into the belief that a passive recipiency was the desira- ble state ; that to hold the whole soul subject to the will of the Infinite, without any eclecticism of desire 44 A VISION. either in regard to the goods or the evils of life, was the true and acceptable frame of mind. I thought much upon this and fell into a state ; I did not sleep nor dream, I was not unconscious, but the state was beyond myself. I seemed to be in the midst of a great mass of peo- ple — an infinite number of all ages — we moved steadily and tranquilly forward ; there was neither jostling nor noise, nor depression, nor joy, but a calm, notunpleas- ing, and yet it grew terrible to myself. I felt as if I might suffocate ; I looked upon every side and saw the mass of heads, and each free, passive, content, and yet aimless in look. The more I realized this repose of soul, which seemed nearly ideal to me, the more deadening did it become, and I suddenly cried out, " Oh God deliver me from this terrible doom." In- stantly I arose head and shoulders above the mass, and the vistas opened into gleams of ravishing beauty. I had but a glimpse when a voice said, " this is prayer," and the whole scene changed. Now I could not have been over a moment in this state, I knew by what transpired around me, and yet I seemed to have passed through ages of experience, I had time for every shade of emotion. CJrapfrr /iftjr. Of the great multitude of Dreams which are, for the most part, confused and un- meaning, some occasionally stand out from the rest, extremely clear and well- connected, in which the feelings oftentimes discover a profound significance. — Schlegel's Phil, f Life. A Beautiful Vision — Face Expression — Daniel Webster — Oliver Cromwell — The Unfulfilled Mision— My Dream Foe. I have said that visions, for I know not what else to call them, — nothing can come from nothing — are not infrequent. I remember a clerical friend related to me an experience of his own, somewhat akin to the one I have related in the last chapter ; but more beautifully significant. I would give the name, but am not sure that he is willing to be identified with ex- periences of the kind, although the claims of the mys- tical and spiritual are a very urgent part of his charac- ter, being allied, as it is, to a high poetic tempera- ment. He was not sleeping, nor ill, when he fell into what might be called the trance condition. He seemed to be moving onward with a vast and silent multitude but I did not understand that he was -disaffected or pained at the uniform and steady progress of the mass. With an instinctive action he looked tqi, and 46 FLITTING INWAKD. • beheld a mass of beings above the heads of those in the midst of whom he moved, advancing in the same manner. As he looked up. the being above his own head said to him, " You have waked up: there is not one in ten thousand that does so." This was very significant ; and one so favored is not likely to be unmindful of the heavenly vission. As we advance in life, our faces become expres- sive of oar spiritual or moral experiences — there are some of whom it might be said, they have set their faces like a rock, so hard and material do they be- come ; others are mere sensualists ; and others again mere masks. Nothing is so perplexing, and so like a wall, so far as insight is concerned, as the human countenance is capable of becoming. There are those again, whose expression recedes inward, as if a thin lovely veil intervened between it and the observer, which is both modest and attractive, and indicates something beyond ordinary manifestations. " Thine eyes are like wells of unfathomed light, Or deep mysterious waves in which I gaze, Yet find a depth beyond, sealed from my reach." These have a weired unearthly nature which may, or may not be akin to the heavenly. To whatever sphere we may belong, we, most of us, have an in- stinctive, protective self-dom, which will not be in- vaded by mere curiosity however readily it may respond to true relations. I have often wondered at the coarseness with which people will scrutinize a beautifully expressive face — DANIEL WEBSTEK. 47 to me, it seems, the more sensitive is the organization, the more holy should it be in the eye of the observer ; and we should respect that undraping, as it were, of a fine spirit, that seems more than half restored to the primal Eden. I remember when I was a child I felt it to be a cruel injury when I detected, as I sometimes did, a willingness on the part of friends to play upon my sensibilities ; and this, I fear, is too often done with children — too often converting them into little affecta- tion, and falsehoods, or rendering them timid and reserved. There is no question that dreams affect the expres- sion of the face. Often " The bosom's lord sits lightly on his throne," simply because of a pleasant dream. We cannot help it — we dislike people who dream of eating and drink- ing, and of vermin, reptiles, huge serpents, and other prototypes of evil. These are gross natures, or envious and malicious ones, with knit brows, com- pressed lips, and cadaverous countenances. Your bad dreamer is a bad man. He may not admit it ; but his true sphere becomes obvious by the experiences of his sleep. These people grow old prematurely, and assimilate in looks to the creatures of their dreams. I would give much to know the nature of Daniel Webster s dreams ; for I am sure, with eyes like his, he is predisposed, at least, to the dream spirit. Mi- chael or Lucifer must visit his night watches, which- 48 IMPISH DREAMS. ever part of his nature being in the ascendant, in- viting the one or the other; for with him, pre- eminently, " to be weak would be to be miserable." Oliver Cromwell, in the early part of his career, while his vast powers were as yet unmarshailed rank and file, but were tumultuous giants, moving here and there ; gloomy for lack of occasion, and painful in the process of growth, must have been a hard dreamer ; for we find his waking hours disturbed by the pressure of what is called hypochondriacism — visions of the mind, which were but indistinct prototypes of the coming man. When the man of dreams became the man of action, and of action in harmony with the great struggle within, I apprehend he ceased to dream, nearly if not quite ; for his active body, and the busy urgency of the times, kept the life experience equal to the soul intimations. Your cowardly actor, your men or women, whose life falls short of the internal convictions ; who fear to achieve a mission, have fragmentary dreams — little indistinct, impish kind of visions ; are always tumbling into ditches; pursued by wild beasts; falling from towers, or pitching down stairs. Their sleep is in ac- cordance with their waking life, without purpose and without dignity. The external appearance of that kind of people suffers terribly by the action of a meagre life and distorted dreams ; and they have an uncertain sort of unfinished look ; a pinched face or figure, as if nature, perceiving no growth in the spirit, supplied her aliment grudgingly. The best of us, those who dream best, and live THE DREAM FOE. 49 nearest to our deepest convictions, leave still half the capacities of our being undeveloped ; and where this is the case, there are always shadowy intimations, more or less powerful, which should stimulate to action, as the assurance of a something yet in store for us. After the period of childhood, dreams are so much a part of the biography of the individal, that they must be used cautiously. The following lines are the simple record of a dream, thrown into verse the next morn- ing. It was a most vivid and startling vision, and the face of the woman remains fixed upon my fancy. As yet I have not seen its counterpart, though she is one I have seen more than once in sleep, always vindictive, sometimes with an oriental turban upon her head, sometimes a veil, and sometimes with masses of short black curls. THE DREAM FOE. Saddest dream I dreamed last night, Of a lady large and fair, Noble was she more than bright Crowned with locks of ebon hair. Three times did I slumber weary, Three times I with terror woke, For the weird shape, stern and dreary, From my lids the slumber broke. One strong hand upon my shoulder, One upheld a dagger's gleam ; Touch of death was never colder Than the lady's of my dream. 50 THE DREAM FOE. Eyes that flashed like livid lightning, Springing feet with sudden start, And the dagger came down brightening, Piercing deeply to my heart. Prom the bosom of the future, Folded like the unborn child, Mothers know in every feature, Ere its life on earth have smiled, I shall know that shape and bearing, Know the deadly flashing eye, Searching, cold, and all unsparing, Though a thousand forms were nigh. Cljaptn luijj. "They resemble the soothsayers of old, "who dealt in dark hints and doubtful ora- cles ; and I should like to ask them the meaning of what no mortal but themselves oan fathom." — Charles Lamb. Edgar A. Poe ; Presaging Eyes ; Swooning ; A Dream. Your true poet is always a dreamer. I know not what to make of Edgar A. Poe. Nature had given him the eye of a dreamer, and the intuitions of a be- liever, (I use the word in its broad sense), but a slight overbalance of the intellect was enough to destroy the beautiful harmony originally designed. His fictions have a malice prepense about them, and we instinc- tively reject what had produced no illusion in his own mind. I think he must have ceased to dream early in life, for a good dreamer has something cordial and prim- itive in his make, a touch of the child, by which all faith is pleasing to him ; and like the child, he is in a very agony of desire to believe. I do not mean to say he is a mere reed shaken by the wind, for, on the con- trary, there is a hardy consolidation in the mind of the true poet as yet but little understood ; but being of " imagination all compact," he is able to bring autho- rity from higher and broader sources than other men, and from his greater power of insight he perceives ana- 52 PRESAGING EYES. * logies quite lost to the rest of the world ; hence that which is blind superstition in other minds is to him but a penetrating of mysteries, a look within the veil, and a perception of the signs of the times. Your poet who comes before the public like a juggler, hoping to dupe it, with that in which he himself has no faith, is deserving of contempt. There is a harmony in the conditions assumed by the poet, which creates an illu- sion in the writer's own mind, and thence creates a re- sponse in the mind of his reader. It is interesting to note the peculiarity of eye in a class of thinkers and actors in the world. They carry about them something mystical and presaging, so that to look upon them we should anticipate a mournful experience. We see in their melancholy depths the brooding of a destiny, the Cassandra pang of one in- stinct with mysterious truth uttered in pain to unbe- lieving and unsympathizing ears. The sensuality of Byron too often clouded the clearness of his vision, and Coleridge, " The rapt one with the god-like forehead," by attempting to enhance the vividness of his percep- tion by the use of opium M an offering of strange fire" upon the spiritual altar, rendered his views misty and uncertain, yet both were remarkable for the sad lonely expression, which grew upon them, when left a mo- ment to themselves. Shelly 's eyes were always raised when engaged in thought or conversation which in- terested him. In the remarkable portrait of the Cen- ci, the artist has preserved this expression of "the SPIEITUAL BODY. 53 shadows of a coming doom," the deep-set spiritual eye seeming to gather its light from a source foreign to its earthly surroundings. Vandyke's well-known picture of Charles the First, presents the same aspect of eye, the look of one impelled by fate. I remember a child of four years was listening to the conversation of a lady, with eyes such as we have described, suddenly she stopped, for she perceived the child to be weeping, " Why do you cry, my dear," she inquired. His reply indicated wonderful sensitiveness, "I don't know," he said, " but looking into your eyes makes the tears come into mine." P RE SAGING- EYE8. There are, who from their cradle bear The impress of a grief, Eyes, that a mystic radiance wear, And looks that ask relief; The shadows of a coming doom Of sorrow or of strife. When Fates conflicting round the loom Wove the sad web of life. Thus in the Cenci's mournful eye Prophetic visions gleam, Where folded shapes in shadow he, Like one in troublous dream. And He, from whose unkingiy hand. His stern compeers bereft The sacred truncheon of command, And him all crownless left. 54 SWOONING. Beneath his large and curtained lid, Eeceding lights appear, Like those, where ancient graves are hid By moss-grown abbey near. And Shelly, song-inspired boy, Pierced by Apollo's dart, Within his eyes are beams of joy Quenched by a breaking heart. A god-like spirit brooding deep O'er earth's chaotic wrong, Till, like the music of our sleep, He breathes, and it is song. Oh ! Eyes, strange Eyes ! ye have a world Where unseen spirits tread. Upon whose banners half unfurled The future may be read. This prefiguring of life by our very bones and mus- cles, this answering of the body to the spirit, this re- sponse of the face to the soul beneath, seems to me quite as marvellous as any experience we may have in dreams. It is the configuration of the spiritual body, of which St. Paul speaks with such assurance, making itself manifest, and we see within the veil as it were, and are able to determine without slander to what sphere ourselves and others belong ; for some do as assuredly dwell in the hells as others do in the hea- vens, even in this world. There are other states akin, and yet unlike the na- tural action of the life in dreaming. I refer to that state of partial swoon, into which many persons fall from some action of the system. It is not a state of epe- A VIVID DREAM. 55 lepsy, nor yet of total unconsciousness, as in ordinary fainting. I remember hearing a judicial friend describe with great clearness, his own experience in this way. He was subject, for some time, to attacks of this kind. He said that during their action, he was conscious of new and beautiful experiences, totally unlike what had transpired in his life. The scenery, the actors, all were distinct, yet all in perfect keeping ; and what was sin- gular, when he came out of them, as he did in a short time, he left parts of the Swoon Drama incomplete, which was resumed at the next swoon precisely where it had before left off. I, myself, experienced something of the kind from having suddenly swooned at seeing a lady bled. I was insensible for a long time, colorless, and pulseless, but not convulsed. When I came to myself, I had vivid recollections of a beautiful country to which T had been, and of listening to the most ravishing music. States like these may perhaps be caused by sudden congestion, but that does not do away the mystery of experience, which must be sought somewhere distinct from the material blood and nerves. At least distinct from the grosser material. I do not know but the following dream may belong to this class, though at the time I was in good health, and my sleep natural. A DREAM. I thought I had passed, without pain, the portals of the grave — I stood in a gray, not blue atmosphere, which extended above, below, and upon every side of 56 DREAM TRIUMPH. me: I looked upward, downward, to the right and the left, where it extended into limitless space, the which my eyes penetrated with a continually growing power of vision, till they ached at the immensity and the solitude. There was neither sun, not star, nor shape of any kind. An intense loneliness made me shudder and cling my arms to my breast, as if, in the communings of my own soul, companionship would arise. At length a shield, light and translucent, was put into my hands, and a voice said, but still I saw no one — " Guard thyself with this, and whatsoever thou cansH not walk over and subdue is thy companion, and kindred with thee. 11 Then meseemed I went on, covered only with this shield, which was without weight and most beautiful. Oh! the inexpressible rapture there was in motion. Now I trod proudly and buoyantly forward, with a sense of power and a sense of delight, which no lan- guage can paint. Anon I leaned upon space, and floated, as if every limb and fibre were exultant with motion. Then I recalled past dreams and said to myself aloud, and my voice was a new source of pleasure — " When I was in the material world, I used often to dream that angels and spirits had no wings, and now I find it true — and I am so glad — it is so much nobler, so much more beautiful and free, to move by the force of Will only." Thus I went onward folding my arms, and the way brightening before me, though I saw nothing from which the light proceeded. At length I was con- scious of a sharp pang, as if innumerable stings had DREAM TRIUMPH. 57 penetrated every fibre ; I bethought myself of my shield and spread it before me, for the light had grown to a purple redness, and right under my feet I saw a creature who seemed one mass of flame, a burning coal as it were, huge, and darting spears of heat upon every side. I said, " Surely I have nothing akin to this loathsome shape," and I walked, not without pain, over his prostrate form. Then I went onward again, encountering five others, each more terrible in shape and aspect, and each more erect, but I observed the light was growing constantly more intense — less burning, but yet more penetrating, and causing sufferings akin to that which we feel at the sudden obtrusion of some painful thought. I walked over each and all, writhing and suffering it is true, yet confident of success, and constantly saying — "I have nothing akin to these." At length the light, which had been growing whiter all the time, became diffused in such clear brightness, upon every side, that I felt it not in my eyes alone, but as if it were a part of myself — as if I were shaped out of it — were all eye, and all life and light, and moved, still companionless, but not without joy. I said to myself — " People in the other world know lit- tle of this — that we are to test what manner of spirit we are of, by combat with spiritualisms." Suddenly I felt as if the light in which I moved were crystalized into the form of swords, and I cast my shield upon every side to save myself from wounds too terrible for en- durance : even in my anguish I cast about in mind for something comparable in the world which I had left, to the sense of torture I endured now, and I said : 3* 58 DRAGONS. " Oh ! I remember, in the other world mischievous boys in the streets would sometimes throw the light from a mirror suddenly in our rooms, and we recoiled from the pang, and now it is as if that ray were hardened to a sword, and become what in our Scrip- tures is . described as the ' sword of the Lord', and I repeated with painful distinctness — ' For the word of the Lord is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asun- der of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.' " I still went onward, and there in my path lay, or rather up-rose a being more terrible than any I had hitherto seen, in shape not unlike a dragon, with in- numerable heads ; human they seemed, each crovmed, and each full of power and beauty. The creature's arms were myriads ; his shape, convolved and tower- ing, filled a vast space, and every hand was armed with one of those subtle swords framed out of light. I grew faint with pain and terror, yet determined to advance, for I said, 'I am not akin to this.' I plunged into the midst of these thousands of swords, bewildered by the glare of jewels, and the piercing beams of myriads of eyes. I held my shield upon every side. I pressed onward, saying to myself — ' I must not stay with these,' and suffering with the sharp cuts of wounds inflicted upon every limb, and saying, ' Oh ! how much more terrible than the wounds from which we used to shrink in the other world!' Then I tried to think where I had read something analogous, and the great Milton's fight of Michael and Satan recurred to my memory; I awoke repeating that wonderful DEPARTURE OF VISION. 59 passage, and assenting with terrible vividness to tlie accuracy with which he had described the agony of spiritual wounds. "The clock struck one just as the vision departed, and for many moments after I opened my eyes I was flooded with light, but nothing visible, and then it passed away, leaving the night intensely dark." Cjraphr $tnnt\f. O thoughtless, why did I Thus violate thy slumb'rous solitude ? "Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes ? Keats. The Unfortunate always Superstitious — Saul of Israel — He seeks the stray Asses, and finds a Kingship — The Witch of Endor. The unfortunate are always superstitious ; just in proportion as the calamities of life impair the freedom of the human mind, do the elements of the dark and the mysterious gather about it. The past has been imbittered by care and disappointment; and, in the words of Scripture, their " way is hedged up," there is no hopeful vista to relieve the gloom of the present, and they appeal to omens, predictions, and the rude superstitions current amongst the vulgar. Too feeble to boldly enter the precincts of Truth, grasping with a strong faith the very horns of the altar; and thus learn how the temporary yields to that which is eternal ; how the partial is lost in the universal ; they linger about the threshold, perplexing themselves with dim shadows and faint intimations. They pause in the vestibule, where Superstition sits portress, rather than enter to worship Truth herself. It is the error of their destiny more than their own. SEEKING ASSES. 61 The light that is in them has become darkness. The clearness and vigor of perception are lost under the pressure of circumstances, in which human wisdom would seem to be of no avail, and they yield at length as to an irresistible fate. The history of Saul, the first king of Israel, is an affecting record of this kind. Eaised to the dignity of royal power, by no ambition of his own, but by Divine appointment ; in compliance with the will of a people weary of their Theocracy, we look upon him from the first as an instrument, a being impelled rather than impelling. Painful, indeed, is the contrast of the proud and handsome youth commencing his royal career in the freshness and freedom of early manhood, when life presented but a long perspective of sunshine and ver- dure, to that of the stricken man, weighed down by calamities, bereft of hope, bereft of faith, yet manfully marching to that fatal field where death only had been promised him. From the commencement of his career the " choice young man and goodly " seems to have had a leaning to the occult, a willingness to avail himself of myste- rious power, rather than to arrive at results through ordinary and recognized channels. We find him commissioned by his father, going forth in quest of three stray asses, which he seeks, not by the hill-sides and pastures of Israel, but by consulting the seer, Samuel. The holy man hails him king, and gently rebukes him as to the object of his visit, by saying, u set not tlry mind upon the asses which were lost three days ago, for they are found." 62 FOEBIDDEN LOEE. Ardent and impulsive, lie now goeth up and down in the spirit of prophecy, with the strange men who expound its mysteries, and anon he sendeth the bloody tokens to the tribes of Israel, rousing them from the yoke of oppression. Generous and heroic, he repels the foes of his peo- ple, and loads the chivalric David with princely favors. Yet beneath all this T like hidden waters, heard but unseen, lurked this dark and gloomy mysticism, that imbittered even his proudest and brightest hours. An evil spirit troubled him, which only the melody of the sweet psalmist of Israel could beguile. Moses had been familiar with all the forms of Egyp- tian worship, and all their many sources of knowledge ; but, as the promulgator of a new and holier faith, he wished to draw his people from the subtleties of divi- nation, and induce them to a direct and open reliance upon Him who alone "knoweth the end from the be- ginning." 2^o insight to the future is needed by the strong in faith and the strong in action. Hence the divinely appointed legislator prohibited all intercourse with those who dealt in this forbidden lore — forbidden, as subversive of human hope and human happiness. For the mind loses its tone when once impressed with the belief that the " shadows of coming events" have fallen upon it. The impetuous and vacillating Saul, impelled by an irresistible instinct to this species of knowledge, sought to protect himself from its influence by remov- ing the sources of it from his kingdom. For this rea- son he put in force the severe enactments of Moses THE WITCH OF END0K. 63 against dealers in what were termed " familiar spirits." Thus betraying the infirmity of his manhood, by re- moving temptation rather than bravely resisting it. Vain and superstitious, oh " choice young man and goodly," thou wert no match for the rival found in the person of the chivalric David, the warrior poet, the king minstrel, the man of many crimes, yet re- deeming all by the fervency of his penitence, and his unfaltering faith in the Highest. Yet the noble and the heroic did never quite desert thee, even when thou didst implore the holy prophet to honor thee in the presence " of the elders of the people," and he turned and worshipped with thee. A kingly pageant when the sceptre was departing from thee. Disheartened by intestine troubles, appalled by fo- reign invasion, the spirit of the unhappy king forsook him, and it is said "his heart greatly trembled." Samuel, the stern and uncompromising revealer of truth, was no more. Unsustained by a hearty reliance upon divine things, Saul was like a reed cast upon the waters, in this, his hour of trial and perplexity. "When Saul inquired of the Lord, the Lord an- swered him not, neither by dreams nor by prophets." Unhappy man, thy prayers were those of doubt, not of faith, and how could they enter that which is with- in the veil ! In the utterness of his despair, he consults the Woman of Endor. She might not control events, but she could foretell them. Perilous and appalling as his destiny threatened, he would yet know the worst. There was majesty in thee, oh Saul! even in thy 64 WOMANLY FEELING. disguise and agony, as thou didst confront thy stern counselor brought from the land of shadows — "the old man covered with a mantle." When Samuel de- mands, "why hast thou disquieted me?" we share in the desolateness and sorrow which thy answer implies. " Grod is departed from me, and answereth me no more, neither by prophets, nor by dreams, therefore have I called thee, that thou mayest make known unto me what I shall do." The Woman of Endor ! That is a strange perver- sion of taste that would represent her hideous in as- pect. To me she seemeth all that is genial and lovely in womanhood. So great had been the mental suffering of Saul, that he had fasted all that day and night, and at the terri- ble doom announced by the seer his strength utterly forsook him, and h® fell all along upon the earth. Now cometh the gentle ministry of the Woman of Endor. "Behold thou hast prevailed with me to hearken to thy voice, even at the peril of my life ; now, also, I pray thee hearken to the voice of thy handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee, and eat, that thou mayest have strength." Can aught be more beautiful, more touching or womanly in its appeal? Aught more foreign from a cruel and treacherous nature, aloof from human sym- pathies, and dealing with forbidden or unholy know- ledge ? To the Jew, trained to seek counsel only from Je- hovah, the Woman of Endor was a dealer with spirits of evil. With us, who imbibe truth through a thou- DAUGHTER OF THE MAGI. 65 sand channels made turbid by prejudice and error, she is a distorted being allied to the hags of a wild and fatal delusion. We confound her with the witches of Macbeth, the victims of Salem, and the Moll Pitchers of modern days. Such is not the "Woman of Endor — we have adopted the superstition of monk and priest through the long era of darkness and bigotry, and every age hath lent a shadow to the picture. " Hearken to the voice of thine handmaid, and let me set a morsel of bread before thee." Beautiful pic- ture of primitive and genial hospitality ! The Woman of Endor riseth before me in the very attitude of her kind, earnest entreaty. The braids of her dark hair mingle with the folds of her turban ; her oriental robes spread from beneath the rich girdle, and the bust swells with her impassioned appeal. I behold the proud contour of her features, the deep, spiritual eye, the chiseled nostril, and the lip shaming the ruby. The cold haughty grace, becoming* the daughter of the Magi, hath now yielded to the tenderness of her woman's heart. Woman of Endor ! thou hast gathered the sacred lotus for the worship of Isis ; thou hast smoothed the dark- winged Ibis in the temple of the gods ; thou art familiar with the mysteries of the pyramids; thou hast quaffed the waters of the Nile, even where they well up in the cavernous vaults of the ancient Cheops ; thou hast watched the stars, and learned their names and courses ; art familiar with the sweet influences of the Pleiades, and the bands of Orion. Thy teacher was a reverent worshipper of nature, and thou a meek 66 THE NEW FAITH. and earnest pupil. Thou heldest a more intimate com- munion with nature than we of a later and more worldly age. Thou didst work with her in her labora- tory, creating the gem and the pearl, and all things whatsoever into which the breath of life entereth not There was nothing of falsehood, nothing of diabolic power in this. Men were nearer the primitive man, nearer the freshness of creation, and they, who patiently and religiously dwelt in the temple of nature, learned her secrets, and acquired power hidden from the vul- gar, even as do the learned now, in their dim libra- ries, and amid their musty tomes. Thus was it with the Woman of Endor. She was learned in all the wisdom of the Bast. She had studied the religion of Egypt, had listened to the sages of Brahma, and learned philosophy in the schools to which the accomplished Greek afterwards resorted for truth and lofty aspiration ; yet even here did the daughter of the Magi feel the goal of truth unattained. She had heard of a new faith — that of Israel — a singular people, who at one time had sojourned in Egypt, and yet who went forth, leaving their gods and their vast worship behind, to adopt a new and strange belief. Hither had she come with a meek spirit of inquiry to learn something more of those great truths for which the human soul yearneth for- ever. Hence was it that her wisdom and her beauty be- came a shield to her, when the mandates of Saul banished all familiar with mysterious knowledge from the country. She was no trifler with the fears and the credulities of men. She was an earnest disciple MYSTIC SYMBOLS. 67 of Truth, and guilelessly using wisdom which patient genius had unfolded to her mind. All night had she watched the stars, and firmly did she believe that human events were shadowed forth in their hushed movements. She compounded rare fluids, and produced creations wondrous in their beauty. There were angles described in the vast mechanism of nature, in the passage of the heavenly bodies, in the congealing of fluids, and the formation of gems, which were of stupendous power when used in con- junction with certain words of mystic meaning, derived from the vocabulary of spirits; spirits who once familiarly visited our earth, and left these sym- bols of their power behind them. These the*learned, who did so in the spirit of truth and goodness, were able to use, and greo,t and marvelous were the results. Such was the knowledge, and such the faith of the Woman of Endor, the wise and the beautiful daughter of the Magi. She was yet young and lovely ; not the girl nor the child, but the full, intellectual, and glori- ous woman. She had used a spell of great power in behalf of Saul, who was in disguise, and unknown to her ; and thus had compelled the visible presence of one of the most devout servants of the Most High God. Even she was appalled, not at the sight of the " old man covered with a mantle," but that she saw "gods de- scending to the earth." The fate of Saul would have been the same had not the prophet from the dead pronounced that fearful doom, " To-morrow shalt thou and thy sons be as I 68 GENIAL MINISTRY. am," but lie might till the last have realized that vague comfort to be found in the uncertainty of des- tiny, and in the faint incitements of hope. Fancy might have painted plains beyond the mountains of Gilboa, where the dread issues of battle were to be tried, and he would have been spared that period of agony, when the strong man was bowed to the earth at the certainty of doom. Saul and the Woman of Endor, ages on ages since, fulfilled their earthly mission, leaving behind this simple record of the power and fidelity of human emotions in all times and places; we cannot regret even the trials of Saul, in the view of enlarged hu- manity, for had he been other than he was, the world had been unblessed with this episode of woman's grace and woman's tenderness, in the person of the Woman of Endor. #jjaptu