of black and evil spirits, and of those slightly reformed and of a paler complexion. He chose the latter, and was at the time of communication, considerably promoted, and in very happy and hopeful humor. He charges his former wickedness (as many unhanged economists would have done for him.) upon the bad construction of society, which drove him into excess and recklessness. We have thus, it would seem, a warrant of impunity for the wosrt of crimes. But let us not come to a hasty and illconsidered decision. There is a punishment for moral delinquency. Dr. Dexter thus defines it. "Every soul that is out of keeping with divine order, must remain in the license of a perverse will, for ever vile, until restored by the regenerating influences of progression upward and onward for ever." Which means, being interpreted (and passing the ambiguity of the word "forever"). The universal law of progression will eventually overcome any perverse efforts of the soul to remain "out of keeping with divine order," and will carry it to perfection in its own despite! Such is the dreadful fate of the wicked! Now we glean from a careful perusal of these revelations, that to be "out of keeping with divine order," is either to refrain from loving God and man, or it is to pursue the gratification of one's low passions in preference to cultivating the society of "spirits," through the rappings (whereby a certain grossness is added to the material nature, which may be entailed upon the new body after death, increasing its weight); or, if it should take place in the next life, it may consist in a refusal to go in when it rains, or to comply with any such requirement of physical necessity. * There is thus an evident mingling and confounding of the moral and the natural, which not only destroys all distinction between them, but makes the former a wholly inferior and supplementary fragment of the latter. We will state the case and leave it. The sum and substance of man's moral duty (to perform which there is the smallest imaginable inducement, since the * See previous note. neglect may be easily remedied afte death) is to love God and his fellow man and to believe and accept the "spirit' revelations. He is bound to this mora duty, because he was created under certair natural laws, which require these moral conditions. If he complies with these moral conditions, his physical nature will become refined. If he loves God and the human race, and sits frequently in " circles," and consults "mediums," the result will be such a purification of his material organism, that he may one day aspire to become himself a medium; to witness such ineffable visions as perhaps never gladdened the inspired optics of Mahomet, or visited the enraptured imagination of De Quincey. The hope is ever before him of beholding with his natural eyes, and in no vision those flitting and ghostly forms of Bacon and Swedenborg, to whose teachings, at second hand, he has delighted to listen.t Morcover, when he drops into the grave his mortal part, there shall be ready for him, or he shall have the privilege of generating for himself, an airy, beautiful, and flexible body, whose color shall be violet, yellow, or blue, and whose lustre shall outvie the brightness of a Drummond light. In this effulgent guise shall he float through space, and alight upon some excellent planet, where he may marry himself to another bright thing-of a delicate vermillion-and, perhaps, teach school. And at last, after gradually wearing out all materiality in successive stages of development, he shall be received up into “bright abodes," where his spirit shall be "manifested tangibly;" and where he shall retain the peculiar attributes of his nature, so changed by progression, so altered by his upward course," that be shall have become a God;" and as sociated with millions of spirits similarly deified, may spend a blissful eternity-in searching for his own greater part-the Germ the Principle the Impersonal Entity-the Creator God-the object of his adoration, the source and end of his being! Edmonds is informed by a "spirit," that after a sufficient amount of training he will be able to see ada familiar, and ethers such, with his mortal eyes. TO LYRA. LYRA, amid the stars around the gleaming Thou lookest on me so benignantly, As if to give me leave to question thee- Where wast thou when the morning stars were singing; To give with other choirs its minstrelsy? Such music as we may not hope to hear Till we have soar'd above this tainted atmosphere. And where ?-when first the Spirit brooded over Till seas were gather'd-their wild waves restrain'dAnd the dry land" appear'd-unerring Truth Has told how forms of beauty grac'd it in its youth. God "spake and it was done”—laid earth's foundation— That things were here of perfect conformation But men of science, by investigation, Have sought to overthrow these way-marks of creation. The theories of those sagacious sages Would almost rob the Omnipotent of might- "God said, let there be light: and there was light." If earth moved then with grave deliberation What impulse since has chang'd its axis of rotation? Didst thou behold our parents in the garden- Where thorns and thistles in their pathway sprung Hast thou look'd on the state their children grew in Their sad inheritance of pain and woe Their evil passions, ravages, and ruin— With the same radiant smile thou wearest now? If thou hast sympathy for misery here, Thine eye is oft suffus'd with a kind pitying tear. Where is that Eden now ?-Does it "lie darkling" As some conjecture 'neath the Caspian Sea And do those sands which are so bright and sparkling We'll seek that Paradise "a sure abode," Where Life's pure river flows "out of the throne of God." We're told by those who watch while we are sleeping, Why in the dark art thou this treasure keeping? Descried it, unassisted by those powers Those hazy portals with interiors winding Are they blest-spirit paths by which, when flown Those fleecy groups in azure fields reposing Like flocks of lambs, when wearied out with play? Bright galaxies, fantastic forms disclosing? And all those clusters in the milky wayAs islands, sprinkled o'er a dark blue seaOn "star-clouds" ranged-pil'd up into immensity? Those arms which seem from nebulæ extending, Man can but trace them till with ether blending- What are those meteors which come like showers Illumining the darkness of our night? Fire-balls with streamers hurtle through the air, But disappear at morn-and go-we know not where. In what consists the blessing we call light, Which, with velocity that has been reckon'd, At least two hundred thousand miles a second? Little, as yet, we seem to know about it, Except, that we should grope in darkness here without it. Philosophers define it "the vibrations We see no distant object in its place If we ne'er find you when and where you areDo we imagine only that we see a star? being past Or see you through that medium, when remov'd The acquisitions needful to dispel Those errors of the senses which within us dwell. Wilt thou become our pole star? Will this planet Impenetrable secret!-Who can scan it, But He who built, and launch'd it into space? Ere our cynosura give place to thee Earth's Time, elapsed, may leap into Eternity! 1864.] Stage-Coach Stories. Hast thou not seen celestial orbs while burning, Go out, and leave all blank where once they shone? Was the Cross planted at our world's formation, A type significant of things to be? And hast thou near it kept thy watchful station So like a guardian-angel ?-Then from thee, Couldst thou communicate the history, We should learn wondrous things, still wrapp'd in mystery. Didst thou watch o'er the babe of Bethlehem? The "man of sorrows" trace through scenes of strife? And by his death unbarr'd the gates of life, When He for us the powers of hell withstood And quench'd their fiery darts with his own precious blood! -(inscribed A glorious memento now— With Mercy, Grace, and Peace)-of Him who hung During those hours of darkness, wrath that wrung Ere all was "finished "-one dread exclamation Which told how bitter were his pangs of desolation. There we may read, as written with God's finger, Speak to thy heart from these pure glowing letters STAGE-COACH STORIES. CHAPTER VL (Concluded from page 608 of Vol. III) LOVE SUITS AND LAW SUITS. "IT'S hot over there at the court-room, was bustling about and putting things to rights in the bar-room. It's a drefful hot day, Squire," replied the Deacon, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead. "That ere court-house you' find 's a rael oven. I sot on the jury myself a year ago last summer. Yes, jest two year ago this term, and though I'm tougher'n a biled owl, I thought, for a spell, I should ha' gin out. I raly feared I'd bake and melt." "I think I'll take one of your iced punches before I go over," said I. "I don't believe it 'ud harm ye a hair, Squire," observed the Deacon, leading the way to the bar, "'specially as I hear you're goin' to argy that injunction case afore the judge this mornin', agin Squire Cranston. Sperit." continued the Deacon sententiously, while he cut the lemon"sperit is like every thing else, if you use it as it orter to be used it don't harm ye, but ef you aboose it ye hev to suffer. So you do ef you aboose bread, or meat, or vegetables, or cold water even, comin' out o' the lot in sich a hot day like this all There's a feller sweaty and melted. killed over on the mountain only week afore last, jest nothin' else in the world only drinkin' cold water arter he'd been in the barn, on the scaffil, a mowin' away a load o' hay. Ef it 'ud ha ben sperit now that he'd a drank, we'd ha' never heern the last on't; they'd ha' put an aocount on't in the Cataract, and the korry ner's jury would ha' spit it right out'Death from intoxication '-but as it was, they brought in 'koody-sole-ail,' which is the most curousest kind of an ail I ever heerd on afore. The only kind o' sole-ail that I know on is a stunbruize, sich as I used to hev when I's a boy, a goin' barefooted, unless they meant original sin, and that's an ail that's in the souls of these red-hot temp'rance fellers as much as any body's, I guess. They make a sight o' fuss about temp'rance nowadays, and the minister over the river tu Ashbury says that no man who is raly born agin, and is a ginooine Christian, will drink or sell rum; but he's nothin' but one of them young squirts, jest out o' divinity school, with more zeal than discretion. He'll larn ef he lives. I can recollect how his preedycessor, old Dr. Cook, as nice an old man as ever breathed the breath o' life, how, when he come over on an exchange with our minister, ollus used to come here tu noonin as regular as could be, and ef it was summer time he'd take a cold brandy punch, and ef it was cool weather he'd ollus hev a hot whiskey. I've made him gallons I du believe, and he was as good a Christian, I reckon, as that young feller; and though I say it that shouldn't orter to say it, he used tu think I was one tu, poor, miserable, hell-desarvin creetur as ĺ am, a mere cumberer of the ground, and a monniment of sparing grace; and it's a wonder o' mercy I haint been cut off afore this, for, says he to me," continued the Deacon, taking breath, "Doctor Cook says to me, amost the very last time he was ever over here tu preach, ' Deacon Curtiss,' says he, 'I'm a gettin' old and purty feeble, and I reckon that my tiresome airthly pilgrimage is drawin' to an eend, and my great reward is at hand.' 'Oh, I hope not, Doctor,' says I, kind o' cheerful, for I see he felt drefful kind o' down and hypoey. 'The Lord's will be done,' says he, a sithein; 'but this I want tu say, says he, Deacon Curtiss, as a dyin' man, which we all are, but me especially; and then, says he, Deacon, there's no man in Guildford whose Christian company I've enjoyed so much as I hev your'n in the short Sabbath interviews I've hed with you fer so many years, and I du hope and expect,' says he, that arter this life there will be a renooal of our intercourse in a better world.' There, Squire-I guess that'll suit ye." "It's very good indeed," said I, after taking a sip of the punch. "Excellent, I'll sit down and enjoy it by the window." "Du. Squire," urged the benevolent deacon, beginning to bury himself in his bar, brushing, wiping and putting things in place for the noon campaign. "That's right, I du like to see a man take comfort and enjoy the good things of this world. It's our duty tu, I raly believe." Having finished my punch, I walked over to the court-house and went up into the court-room. The clerk was calling over the docket, and as I felt no interest in this proceeding, having but the case of Peck r. Harris to try, and that specially assigned, I did not at once take my seat inside the bar, but stopped near the door and looked about at my leisure. The court-room was one of the old-fashioned sort. The entrances were upon the side opposite the bench, and directly beneath the gallery. Then came two or three steps that brought you up to the level of the floor. The central space of the room was allotted to the lawyers, and was surrounded by the bar, literally a barrier of formidable appearance, being a fence of round pickets, an inch or more thick, and four feet high, painted white, with black points, this finishing touch having been given in order that the marks of the sweaty palms of spectators outside, who were wont to grasp the convenient spikes as if they were the horns of the altar, might be less obvious. The portal of this fortification was a wicket gate, jealously guarded by a constable with a ruddy complexion, and manifest ill temper, who was never known to admit, willingly, any one but judges, lawyers, jurymen and suitors whose cases were actually on trial. The floor of the space between the bar and the table had been painted, by the same ingenious artist who had blacked the picket points, in square patches of alternate white and lead-color; the white patches were streaked and sprinkled with lead-colored paint, and the lead-colored patches were streaked and sprinkled with white paint, and the whole was religious ly believed to be, by many of the inhabitants of Guildford county, being thereto prompted by the aforesaid artist and his friends, a close imitation of a marble pavement. The bar table was constructed in the shape of a horseshoe, and covered with discolored green baize, fastened by brass nails to the edges, and spotted with ink. At the open part or heel of the horseshoe was situated the criminal dock, which was fortified by high pickets painted like those surrounding the bar, and flanked by the boxes of the Sheriffs. At the other side of the table, fronting the |