Year: 1878

Editor Of the Bristol Neocs


have been thinking the heart has


its own history. In its loneliness Of


ten spontaneously arise emotions of


indefinite endearments that seem to


be prophetic of blissful consumma-


tion, as if breathed by invisible and


familiar friends from the spirit, land.


lnsensible at such times of connec-


tion with rude matter about us, we


seem to be esoaring aloft to bright and


happy world afar.-a Paradise-an


Eden Of LOve-the Home of the Soul,


where the Father of our spirits abides,


surrounded by His ransomed and an
gelic family, and among them are our


own household. Anon, we seem to


have approached SO near as almost to


hear the sOftened notes of the distant
cherubim, and to inhale the fragrance
of the Rose of Sharon and the odOr of
the golden vials,n and to see the cur
tain of Immortality gently rising and


revealing familiar forms and faces,


beckoning us to a welcome place
among them. At such times, like
Paul, we hear and see what it is un-


lawful to repeat-so sacred are our
communings with those we love and
so rude and cold the world in which
We live or, like Peter ON Tabor, we
never would think of earth again did
not other friends and unfinished work
recall us to the place of graves Or, as
to John in PatmOs, door to us seems
opened in heaven, and we seem to


hear voice saying come up higher,
and l will show you things which
must be hereafter and suddenly the
sterile rocks around us become a
mount. of glorious visions, rom
which, like Elijah in a chariot of fire,
we would ascend into the open heav-
ems, if the time had come to transmit
our mantle to another, and so, like
David, we cheer ourselves the while
with the belief that, though Onr saint
ed friends cannot come back to us, we
shall in due time go to them.


L cannot renounce the belief that an
invisible spirit-world surrounds us +;
that other spirits besides that of the
OmniHcient take cogniZance of our in


most feelings and tenderest emotions,
and in someway reciprocate our pull
est affections, sympathiZe in our sor-
rows, and share in our joys. We are
assured that guardian angels are about
US and oft we believe that sainted
friends commingle with them and are
our companions by the way. Some
times so intense is the impression that
they are near us the image seems to
start from the canvass on the wall and
smile on us, and the summer breeze
through the window seems to whisper
messages from the land of our loved
ones, The carol of birds in the still
ness of eventide reminds us of our be-
reavement, and in cadences soft and
sweet awakens in the soul note in
effably tender, which we had not
words to express. The crystal stream
let murmuring by the moss and sedge,
or rippling oyer the pebles. or ram
bling" the slope of the mountain. has,
too, voice the soul can interpret, but
cannot express, The stars in the Sc
rene heavens, in the hour of melan-
choly. twinkle so mildly on us that
our sadness is soothed. for they seem
to be telling touching story of friends
long passed TO the kingdom of love,
where the soul wears its mantle of
glory. We love the graves of our
sainted dead. and every visit we make
where they repose we instinctively re-
call what they were. and as instinc-
lively believe that their pirits are the |
same in the solemn sanctuary of the |
or the old family burial
ground. We often feel deeper throb |
of immortality and warmer glow of
social affection than elsewhere, for
those that loved us seem to be there,
and we loved to linger there because
there we laid them, and there We
parted from them last and there we
can visit them again, and we would
feel desolate if we knew not the sa-
cred spot where their loved forms are
seeping in the deep and lonesome
slumber of death. We love the wild
rose that blossoms and the greensward
that waves, and the evergreens that
binds and the vine that drOops over
their graves. Treasured mementos