very numerous of heavenly music being heard around the beds of the young and pure, and if the sounds have not been audible to others, which is occasionally the case, the glow on the countenance of the listening traveller about to wend his way hence shows the delight inspired by the angels' welcome.

The last moments of the little captive in the Temple, Louis XVII., as described by Beauchesne, are an instance of this, when hearing in a preeminent degree was the spirit sense awakened to bring joy to one whose cup on earth was so full of woe.

Gomin, seeing the child calm, motionless, and mute, said to him, 'I hope you are not in pain just now?' 'Oh yes! I am still in pain, but not nearly so much. The music is so beautiful!'

Now there was no music to be heard, either in the tower or anywhere near. No sound from without could reach the room where the young martyr lay expiring. Gomin, astonished, said to him 'From what direction do you hear this music?'

'From above.'

Is it long that you have heard it?'

'Since you knelt down. Do you not hear it? Listen! Listen! And the child, with a nervous motion, raised his faltering hand, as he opened his large eyes, illuminated by ecstatic delight. His keeper, unwilling to destroy this last sweet illusion, listened also, with the pious desire of hearing what could not possibly be

heard. After a few moments of attention, the child again started, his eyes sparkled, and he cried out, in intense rapture, 'From amongst all the voices I have distinguished that of my mother.'

That word, as it left the orphan's lips, seemed to relieve him of all suffering; his knitted brow relaxed, and his look lighted up with that calm brightness given by the certainty of deliverance or victory. His eye fixed on an invisible object, his ear attentive to the far distant sound of one of those concerts that human ear hath never heard. A new existence seemed to break in upon his young soul.

A moment after, the brightness of that gleam was gone. His arms were crossed upon his breast, and an expression of sad discouragement was visible in his countenance. Gomin looked close at him, and followed all his motions with a troubled eye. The child's breathing was not more powerful, but his eye was wandering slowly and confusedly, and from time to time it turned. to the window. Gomin asked him what so interested him in that direction. The child looked at his keeper a few moments, and then, as if he had not understood the question, though it was asked him again, made no reply.

Lasne came upstairs again, to relieve Gomin, and the latter went out of the room, his heart very heavy, but not more uneasy than he had been the day before, for he did not even yet anticipate so sudden a close.

Lasne sate down near the bed, and the prince looked at him long with a fixed and dreamy eye. On his making a slight movement, Lasne asked him how he felt, and what he would like. Do you think my sister could have heard the music?' said the child. How much good it would have done her!' Lasne could not answer. The anguished glance of the dying boy turned eagerly and suddenly towards the window. An exclamation of joy escaped his lips; then he said, looking at his keeper, ‘I have something to tell you!' Lasne came close to him and took his hand. The prisoner's little head leaned on the keeper's breast, who listened, but in vain. All was said. God had spared the young martyr his last mortal convulsion of anguish. God had kept to himself the knowledge of the last thought. Lasne put his hand on the child's heart; the heart of Louis XVII. had ceased to beat!

By following out the ideas suggested, and comparing the results with the spirit manifestations, we may find the law by which each soul's future home is determined not quite beyond our ken.

Many stories have been told of hideous forms and dark shadows, terrifying bad men and women during their last hours. As I only have these accounts at second hand, they are not brought forward as affording material for reasoning. Nevertheless, if we believe that the laws of affinity prevail throughout the universe, extending from the world of spirit to the world of matter,

and equally affecting spirits in and out of the flesh, so that we may know a man (in either world) by the company he keeps,' it is not more unlikely that dark and evil beings should throng round their associate as he approaches their state than that the bright and good should welcome their dearly loved ones to their happy home. 'Like to like,' is one of the first laws of the spirit world. It is in the spiritual universe what the laws of attraction and affinity are in the chemistry of matter. And not the only analogous law, as we shall see when we enter on the subject of correspondence. By it the destination of the freed spirit is determined, and the ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,' of the burial service equally expresses a truth when applied to the perishing remains, as to the destination of a soul which has yielded to earthly attractions. Ought we not, in that same burial service, to follow with a greater joy than is expressed the heaven-aspiring being, as it is led by spirits and angels, among whom are its best-loved earthly friends, on its upward path.

6

Then shall the dust return to earth as it was, and the spirit shall return to God who gave it.'

CHAPTER XI.

THE HOME OF THE SPIRIT.

THE

\HE universal law of developement from within outwards had been very partially applied to our future state, as indeed it had only been dimly apprehended, when we received the first descriptions of the 'Spirit homes.' This fact should be remembered to prevent the supposition that a hypothetical explanation preceded or accompanied the experiments. So far was this from being the case, that the first accounts of spiritual scenery, varying in character, but seeming always to be in harmony with the tastes and tendencies of the spirit when on earth, were very puzzling. Sometimes the whole appeared to be allegorical in the sense in which the word allegory is commonly used. Then the assertions of literal truth and absolute objectivity threw the whole again into confusion,

The first glimmering of light which broke up the darkness arose from the observation that, by whatever means of communication accounts came, the various images by which they were conveyed always consisted