within our grasp. It certainly would be a comforting knowledge for many; and considering that there is a spiritual world to which we are all hastening, there can be nothing wrong in the harmless belief that a species of communication is occasionally opened between the two. The Scriptures, New and Old, are made up of such a belief, and the instances of it, and of spiritual powers exerted on men's souls and bodies; and Christ promised to each of us the power of working miracles over material things and ailments. Why, then, should the press delight in ridiculing and denying phenomena which certainly have a bearing on these promised spiritual powers to the extent, at all events, of shewing their possibility? We would kindly invite them to a consideration of the whole position, and to have some faith in their fellow men, even if at present they find the facts, from their early education and prejudices, hard to believe. For us, we have long come to the conclusion that no set of men, however wild their opinions, are entirely in error, but that by a careful sifting many grains of golden corn may be found amongst the weeds of their small philosophies. Men have all sprung from the same divine stock, and though they have gone on differing roads to all the points of the compass, there is still a central point in each soul by which it may be, and is, providentially acted upon. Some will come from the East, and some from the West; but let us bid them all God speed, for are they not our brothers? Let us remember, even if we cannot bring back, the far-gone days in which it was said of Us," See how these Christians love." DEATH AND SLEEP.-In brotherly embrace walked the Angel of Sleep and the Angel of Death upon the earth. It was evening. They laid themselves down upon a hill not far from the dwelling of men. A melancholy silence prevailed around, and the chimes of the evening bell, in the distant hamlet, ceased. Still and silent, as was their custom, sat these two beneficent genii of the human race, their arms entwined with cordial familiarity, and soon the shades of night gathered around them. Then arose the Angel of Sleep from his moss-grown couch, and strewed with a gentle hand the invisible grains of slumber. The evening breeze wafted them to the quiet dwelling of the tired husbandman, enfolding in sweet sleep the immates of the rural cottage, from the old man upon the staff, down to the infant in the cradle. The sick forgot their pain; the mourners their grief; the poor their care. All eyes closed, His task accomplished, the benevolent Angel of Sleep laid himself again by the side of his grave brother. "When Aurora awakes," exclaimed he, with innocent joy, "men praise me as their friend and benefactor. Oh, what happiness, unseen and secretly, to confer such benefits! How blessed are we to be the invisible messengers of the Good Spirit! How beautiful is our silent calling!" So spake the friendly Angel of Slumber. The Angel of Death sat with still deeper melancholy on his brow, and a tear, such as mortals shed, appeared in his large dark eyes. "Alas!" said he," I may not, like thee, rejoice in the cheerful thanks of mankind! they call me, upon the earth, their enemy and joy killer." "Oh, my brother," replied the gentle Angel of Slumber, and will not the good man, at his awakening, recognise in thee his friend and benefactor, and gratefully bless thee in his joy? Are we not brothers, and ministers of one Father?" As he spake, the eyes of the Death Angel beamed with pleasure, and again did the two friendly genii cordially embrace each other.-Krummacher. ་་ "CREDULOUS DALE OWEN." A FEW weeks ago the Worcester paper to which we called attention in our August number, accounted for its having treated as a hoax one of the stories in the Footfalls which was contributed by Mr. S. C. Hall, by the opinion it had formed of the facility by which "Credulous Dale Owen " might be taken in. In the sequel, the Worcester paper only shewed itself to have been too credulous on the occasion, and it retraced its steps in an honourable manner, on making the discovery. We know that Spiritualists, generally, are considered by those who have not witnessed the phenomena with which they are conversant, to be very credulous persons, and easily imposed upon; whereas we who know something of their mode of procedure in analyzing alleged facts, have formed a different opinion of them, and we should say that as a rule there are none so well qualified, from their knowledge of the subject and of the points at which accuracy is most necessary, to investigate them. But of all these persons, of whom a writer in the Dial speaks "with deliberation and personal observation as being on the very confines of imbecility," there is no one whom we know so accurate and painstaking as Mr. Owen. All the stories in the Footfalls he took pains to get if possible at first hand; and himself, as far as possible, to test and prove them by his own personal enquiries; and in introducing a letter with which he has favoured us on the eve of his departure for America, we can congratulate our readers on having such a man in our ranks, and we adduce his letter as an instance of the mode in which he investigates alleged facts. A marvellous story appeared in the Morning Star of the 31st of August, which was copied, we believe, into the Times and other papers, and was one which, had it been true, would well have suited a new edition of the Footfalls. See what a very attractive story it appears at first sight, DISCOVERY OF A HUMAN SKELETON.-A discovery has just been made at Sedgley, near Wolverhampton of a nature so appalling as to have created feelings of intense alarm to all classes, and brought thousands of people to the scene. For some time a tavern, known as the Pig and Whistle, has been vacated, and all the doors and windows nailed up with boards. Although well situated for trade and doing a most extensive and flourishing business, no one could be induced to take it at any offer since it had been left by the late tenant, for the obvious reason of its having the discouraging reputation of being haunted. Mrs. Fox's family, who were the last occupants, have frequently been disturbed at night by what appeared to be the stifled cry of a human being near the fire-place, and we have it on the testimony of several respectable and intelligent persons in the neighbourhood that they have heard the same unaccountable noises when called up to appease the fright. The premises are being pulled down, and on Wednesday, to the horror of the workmen, they found buried beneath the stone of the hearth various bones which have been proved to be those of a human being. Three portions of the skull and about half a coal basketful of bones have been found. One portion consists of the temporal bone, the mastoid process, and the malar bones, separated by a fracture of the squamous suture. The other bones corresponded with the several parts of the body, but as they are not sufficient to make up a skeleton, it is supposed that they will be found in another part of the premises. They were discovered in a cavity, covered over like an arch by house-top tiles and mortar. It is known that an individual called "Old Short, the Moneyan" disappeared very mysteriously from the district some years ago, and he lived there. Various rumours are afloat as to who the person may be thus strangely found. Mr. Owen, in order to ascertain the truth of this, went to Wolverhampton and found that the Star and other papers which had copied the paragraph had been but too credulous and confiding in inserting it. As we always take pains to prove the truth of the accounts of spiritual phenomena to which we give insertion, we would recommend the press only to quote from those which appear in our pages, until they have made further advance in the subject; and they will in this way secure themselves from what they so much dread, namely, the charge of credulity. They have been now so often hoaxed in this way, that they have come into an almost morbid state of mind, which in too many cases, as in that of Spiritualism for instance, induces them to reject even the best authenticated phenomena. Mr. Owen's letter will explain the ignoble manner in which the London papers swallowed the bait, probably intended for us, of the country penny-a-liner. "Liverpool, September 7th, 1860. "To the Editor,-Lest you should be misled by a paragraph which appeared in the London Morning Star of August 31st, and in other papers, relative to the discovery of bones in a haunted house in Sedgley, near Wolverhampton, I write to say that I left London on Wednesday afternoon for Wolverhampton, intending, if I found the story to be authentic, to spend a day or more in verifying it. "On my arrival at Wolverhampton I called on the Editor of the Wolverhampton Chronicle, whom I found a pleasant and intelligent man. He had traced the report to its source, and found it to be the production of some penny-a-liner, playing on the credulity of the public; or, possibly (this occurred to me), trying to entrap the Spiritualists by getting them to endorse a story without any foundation. "I mention this, lest, from the apparently authentic character of the paragraph, you might perhaps be induced to give it credit and to copy it into the Spiritual Magazine. "Believe me, faithfully yours, A London edition of the Footfalls is now published by Messrs. TRübner, of Paternoster Row, with Emendations and Additions by the Author. A SEA-SIDE RHAPSODY. THE strife and din of the city lie far behind; the note of the plover and the cry of the sea-gull have ceased; not a sound is heard save The low carolling of the crispéd sea. like a mother singing a lullaby to her sleeping babe. The air is still, the fleecy clouds have passed from the face of the sky, and the round harvest-moon is mirrorred in the glassy sea. The outward aspect of nature is imaged on the soul: the voice of the passions is hushed: the siren-songs that lure to folly are no longer heard. Memory, Hope, and Aspiration-the three graces of the soul-rise before me in their triune and blended loveliness; Memory, with her pensive eye; Hope, with her beaming smile; Aspiration, with her calm and upward gaze. Their influences stream in upon me as "the light of stars" streams in upon the wave. I listen to The songs of happy childhood that we sung. I feel the play of baby hands in mine: and, oh! I know that loving angel-eyes look down upon me, as the watching stars look down upon the wayward earth. Youth's dreams-the visions of fancy-the ambitions that fired the blood, and throbbed the brain-these have vanished; e'en in embracing them, we but clasped the air; but still, the skies endure "the most ancient heavens are fresh and strong." The corn and the fruit we would have plucked, we shall yet gather in their ripened excellence, more luscious and golden under other skies. In the far distance, sea and sky seem to meet and clasp each other and thus does man's life on earth seem the point where the two eternities-the past and the to-come meet and blend together. Glory to thee, great Galileo! thou, with thy farseeing tube, didst pierce the dark realm of night, and lay bare the rolling worlds of space to man's wondering gaze. Thy name shall shine through the ages among the brightest stars that stud the intellectual firmament. And thou, brave, illustrious mariner who—undaunted by courtier's scoff, and bigot's frownundeterred by contumely and cold neglect, and worldly poverty, daredst to trust the heaven-sent inspirations of thy heroic soul, and ploughing thy way through unknown waters, and unknown perils, gavest to man a new world! While oceans roll and commerce spreads her sail, and men's winged words pass with electric speed from continent to continent, shall thy name be honoured. But, there yet remains a world-a cosmos, that no ship has reached—no telescope discovered; not separated from s by intervening ocean or distant space, and yet more unknown, more vast than any Columbus or Galileo revealed, for who has measured the heights or sounded the depths of THE SOUL? Who has explored and mapped out for us its continents and islands, its oceans and its promontories? The Athenians inscribed on their altar," TO THE UNKNOWN GOD." With almost equal truth might we write THE UNKNOWN HUMAN SOUL-the image of God. Well said Augustine that-"The true Shekinah is man. But ah! how is the brightness dimmed and the glory faded? Weep not, sad traveller, over the ruins of the mighty past! What, though an antique civilization with all its splendours lies buried in the desert;-what, though the marble of its stately palaces are trodden into common dust;-what, though the serpent coils around the broken pillar and hisses at the passing traveller, and weeds grow around its base, and the hyæna couches within the shadow of the triumphal arch through which passed the conqueror of the world! What are mouldering fanes, and desecrated temples, and mournful ruins, to that desecrated temple of God-the human soul—to the decay and desolation and moral ruin which passion and selfishness, and sin in all its protean forms, have wrought therein. But there are harmonies as well as discords in nature; nay, who shall say that even the discords may not have their place in bringing out a fuller harmony. Nor is the music of nature a sad continuous monotone. In her orchestra there is the flute note of the bird, as well as the solemn organswell of the ocean. "Earth with its myriad voices praises God." The morning stars. sing together; yea, spirit, and angel, and seraph fill God's boundless universe with harmony, and make the very heavens reverberate with their "sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies." If, then, we mourn a Paradise Lost, we look forward to a Paradise Regained. Soon shall the darkness roll away, and the light shimmer on the distant wave and gild the mountain top;yet a little longer and— it Morn shall break, and man awake Even now, though storms may "roll up the sky;" though our little bark be tossed upon may the restless sea of time, and may seem that we are about to be engulphed beneath its waves, yet we know that One is with us who can say to that unruly sea, "Peace, be still;"-not only with us, but, if we open the door of our souls to receive him, within us; for, if Nature is the temple of the Infinite, in a more interior sense may we affirm that man's soul is the chosen sanctuary of God,-that the true Shekinah is Man. T. S. |