CHAPTER IV. - SIGISMUND.

 

HOW long I remained unconscious I cannot tell; but my sleep was the sweetest and most restful I had ever known.

 

When, at last, I opened my eyes, they rested on a form I had not seen before. My sweet Annie still sat by my bedside, apparently conversing with the person whom I had not previously met. The stranger was a gentleman, and I was exceedingly surprised at his appearance. My sister's hand was clasped within his own, and the expression of his eyes, as they rested upon her, was unmistakable; they expressed the most devoted love and adoration. I thought I would feign sleep, for awhile, that I might observe them more closely, without their knowledge, as well as listen to what they were saying.

 

"Annie," said the gentleman, "it is not well for you to work alone, longer; you will need all the help and strength that I can give you to conduct your sister back to earth, and I am sure it is time now for her to understand that marriage exists in heaven as well as on the earth. When she awakes we must tell her of our union; we must make her comprehend that you are not a youthful virgin now, but a more perfected soul; that you are not the separated half of a whole, but a perfect whole, and that I am the other half of yourself. By a natural spiritual law we have become united. It would be very hard for you, my darling Annie, to accompany your sister alone and leave me behind. Really, it is time now that she understood something about heavenly union."

 

"You are right, dear Sigismund," replied my sweet sister. "I shall need your aid. It is very doubtful whether I should be able to escort dear Mary back while she is yet so heavy and uninformed of spiritual life. Yes

 

I agree with you, that it is now necessary she be made acquainted with spiritual marriage."

 

I had heard enough, and opened my eyes.

 

"Would wonders never cease?" My earthly teaching had been, that marriage did not exist in heaven, but that all were like brothers and sisters. Their conversation had undeceived me, and I must say it pleased rather than grieved me. It made me happy to think my dear sister was not alone, and the noble-looking gentleman by her side was her husband. Surely, if ever two human beings were matched they were. Human beings did I say? Ah! they were spiritual beings, and were past the stage of human earthly life. The gentleman did not wear his hair and beard cropped, but just as nature intended he should, full and flowing. He was as like my sister as a man could be like a woman. The shade of difference between them was just enough to distinguish them male and female. I moved slightly, then raised myself. Annie pressed my hand softly as she asked:

 

"Are you rested, dear Mary, and ready to be surprised once more?"

 

"I have been listening to you for some time," I replied, "and have already learned who this gentleman is, and the relation existing between you. Surely, Annie, I am very glad that you are not alone, for my own marriage has taught me that it is far better to be wedded than to live single; yet, I never thought that marriage existed after the death of the body, but that all heavenly beings were like brothers and sisters."

 

"If that were so," replied Annie, "it would not be necessary that man be created male and female."

 

"Why, yes," I said; "it would be necessary while they were on the earth, but I do not yet clearly understand why there need be sex in heaven."

 

"Well," replied Annie, with a smile, "all the answer I can give is, that a man remains a man forever, and a woman a woman; that the man and the woman, when rightfully mated, constitute one perfect soul, and when separate are but the sundered halves of a rounded or perfect thing. Now, dearest Mary, we must bear you, between us, back to earth. Am certain I should not be able to escort you unaided."

 

Thereupon, her husband gave me his hand, my other hand was held fast in my sister's clasp, and, between them, I felt as light as a thistledown; thus we floated, rather than walked, out into the sweet, fresh air. We had not gone far when I begged them to stop. I wanted to look about me, for such beautiful scenery I had never looked upon before.

 

The landscape, spread out before me, was in many respects like that of earth; that is, there were mountains, hills and valleys, trees, grass, flowers, and sparkling streams of water. There were also villages, towns, and sequestered homes; but the whole was so radiantly, gloriously beautiful, that I caught my breath in rapturous surprise.

 

"Mary, do you find this more beautiful and satisfying to the mind than you would a much smaller heaven with golden streets?" asked Annie.

 

"Am I to understand that there is no such heaven as we have always believed in?"

 

"Dear Mary," she replied, "I have been in this life, as you know, for ten years or more, and I have not found such a heaven, and am not acquainted with any one that has. The spiritual heavens are composed of the life­principle of all things that exist on earth, but you are, at the present time, a newly-born spirit, corresponding, with the newly-born infant of earth, and are not yet able to understand this life. Your spirit must be fed, and grow very gradually, as the infant does at its mother's breast. You have been the mother of so many sweet infants that you will find no difficulty in understanding this great natural law. It would certainly be a very unnatural law for a spiritual baby to step into the highest and most glorious heaven at one immense stride. In truth, dear sister, there is not such a law throughout all nature. Think as deeply as one may, one can find no such law. Your greatest and most natural desire, at this time, is to again behold your husband and children. Your heart, at present, knows no other love so strong as the mother love, and the confiding, wifely affection. The saints, at present, would have very few charms for you. All in good time, my sweet sister."

 

"How far, are we from the earth?" I asked. "Will the journey be a very long one?"

 

"No," answered Sigismund. "It is about five miles, as distance is reckoned on the earth. The first Spiritual Sphere rests upon the atmosphere of the earth, and surrounds the earth as the atmosphere does, and is as much larger than the earth as the distance of five miles in thickness would necessarily make it: still, there are many valleys where the distance is not more than three miles; especially in those places on the earth where the atmosphere is very rare."

 

We were floating gently along while my sister and her noble husband were imparting to me this information. Glancing downward, I said:

 

"This earth looks very tangible, although it is spiritual or heavenly. How are we to get down through it?"

 

Sigismund turned his brilliant blue eyes full upon mine as he replied:

 

"At present we must bear you downward as an infant must be borne by those older, wiser and stronger than itself, just as we fetched you hither while you were yet unconscious, but your spiritual tutelage will be very rapid compared with that of the earthly infant. No human or spiritual being can perform any voluntary act without exercising will power—in other words, wish power or earnest desire and concentration of purpose. If one desires a thousand things in a second or two of time, one will gain nothing. In order to gain any desire the will or wish must be fixed and earnestly concentrated on some one particular thing at a time. But, at present, like the infant, you are weak, and we will accomplish your desire for you. Having once observed how it is accomplished, you will readily do the same thing for yourself, at another time."

 

I now observed that we were floating downward or, what seemed to be, descending a gently sloping hill. Ah! that sweet journey I shall never forget! The hill or mountain was clothed in the most beautiful verdure, soft, mossy and green. Trees of all kinds abounded. The most gorgeous and beautiful flowers were blooming everywhere. Little brooks were leaping and dancing in the soft, mellow light. Squirrels and other small animals were running and skipping on the ground and up through the trees. Beautiful birds were singing and flying around, and everything was life—life—beautiful life! Ah! could it be that this was death?" "Yes," replied Annie, to my thought. "This is the immortal spiritual life that has no further use for the grosser material covering, which it has thrown off, and is gradually ascending, step by step, as you perceive."

 

We travelled on in this way for a short time longer, and then paused.

 

"We are now upon the earthly plane," said Sigismund, "and quite near your former home."

 

He waved his hands gently before my eyes and I awoke, or experienced a sensation as of awaking.

 

"Why, yes! Here we were just at my own door. How strange!" But all things had taken on a different meaning to me. To grieve longer was impossible, for death had no sting. There was no death. All was life, beautiful life! Doors nor walls were now no obstruction to this living spiritual self-hood, and so we passed directly into the room where I observed a shrouded body lying on a bier.

 

"Ah, who is that?" I asked, turning to Annie, for in the fulness of my life I had nearly forgotten that I was dead.

 

She smiled radiantly as she drew me toward the prostrate form. I glanced at it with sickening horror, and clung to Annie like a child who is frightened, casting furtive glances at the cold, lifeless thing.

 

"Enough—enough!" I cried. "Take me out of this room. Let us go to my husband and children."

 

We passed into another room, and here I found my dear husband, together with my mother and other near relatives. The nurse sat with my darling baby in her arms. My man of six was intently looking out of the window, and his little mind was busy wondering about this strange thing which had happened. My little toddling cherub of three, was earnestly trying to get himself into mischief.

 

I rushed impetuously toward the nurse, and eagerly caught at my baby, for the moment forgetting that I could not take her into my arms. O, bitter disappointment! My arms passed directly through her little body, and, try as hard as I might, could not lift her. I turned to Annie with a sigh of regret. She gave me a bright smile of encouragement.

 

"Kiss her and throw your desire of love upon her. There are other delights left you besides that of carrying her body in your arms."

 

Again I turned to my little sleeping darling, kissed her sweet lips, smoothed her soft flaxen hair, throwing all the desire of my mother love upon her. She moved her little hands slightly, and a soft smile wreathed her baby lips.

 

The nurse had been wiping her own tearful eyes. Her attention was now caught by the baby's smile, and she said:

 

"Och, look at the darlint! She's laughin', she is. May the howly Virgin watch over the motherless babby!"

 

"The Lord willing," I replied, "I'll watch over my own child. I don't believe the holy Virgin loves her half so well as her own mother does."

 

The nurse paid no heed to my words, and Annie smiled as she said:

 

"Mary, you forget that the nurse cannot hear you." Well; so I had. Again a sigh escaped me.

 

"And they cannot see us, either? O, it is not all joy, after all!"

 

"The sweet and bitter waters are mingled at present," she replied.

 

I softly went to the window where stood my little man of six, and laid my hand on his curly head. A slight shiver shook his small frame; he turned to his papa, saying, with wide opening eyes:

 

"I dess its told here, papa, don't you fink so? I feel told just as mama does." And he pointed toward the door of the room where that cold form was lying.

 

I threw off the force of my desire, which was upon him, that he might turn again toward the bright window, and fill his mind with pleasant thoughts of active life. I smoothed his curls and kissed his little face all over. He laughed softly, and forgot all about being "told"; his little heart was filled with love for mama. He thought of her as she had been before she was taken sick.

 

My little cherub, as I was wont to call him, now toddled, with his weak bow legs, up to his brother. O! how my mother heart had yearned over those dear little legs! "The sweetest wee cherub in all the world," so I thought. "If only those dear little legs would become strong and straight!" My heart yearned more fondly over this child than all the others. Because of his misfortune my mind had been more deeply agitated, my love drawn out with greater fervor and intensity.

 

Ah! previous to his birth I had known a little sorrow. My husband had been in straitened circumstances, my own health had not been good; his poverty and misfortune had embittered him somewhat; my condition rendered me very sensitive. My child's bandy legs were not his only misfortune; a birthmark had discoloured one of his eyes. This had caused me great sorrow and uneasiness. Now, as he stood by his brother's side, his sweet little mouth pursed up in grief, the tears resting on his chubby cheeks like jewels, for the sorrow and weeping of his elders had affected his little heart as the passing breeze moves a sweet flower, my soul was shaken to, its foundations. I turned to Annie, crying:—

 

"O, would that I could take this child to be with me and his brother and sisters in heaven!"

 

Sigismund now went up to my little one, and gently waved his hands above the child's head, then passed them slowly before my eyes. O, strange transformation The little soul was magnified to such an extent that I discovered great powers and gifts hidden there which the coming years would soon develop powers and gifts even that would shake all mankind, and bring joy and gladness to thousands upon thousands of souls dwelling in the darkness of error; yea, sorrowing and grief-stricken souls who could not see the light of truth.

 

"Dost desire to take your little unfortunate with you now?" asked Sigismund, with a deep and earnest look.

 

"O! No—no! A thousand times no!" exclaimed, the tears filling my eyes.

 

"This little one, whom you think so weak, is really the strongest and most gifted of all your children; for true power is not so much of body as of soul. His little limbs will straighten as he grows older, the birth-mark will nearly disappear, and he will yet walk the earth a king among men. All are not kings who wear crowns, but the true kings and princes among men are those who give the most light, truth, and happiness to mankind."

 

My husband sat with bowed head, and weary, desponding countenance. His eyes were dry and feverish with sorrow. He had struggled hard with the world, to keep the wolf from the door, and gain a competence. but our fast coming family, my sickness, and now my death, had entirely disheartened him. He looked around on his little, motherless children, in a helpless, sorrowful way. Hope of a future life he had none, but sincerely believed that the death of the body ended the life of every individual. He did not believe in heaven, hell, or a future spiritual existence. He was a materialist. His wife was dead, and that was the last of her, so he thought.

 

I approached him, and wound my arms about his neck, kissed his lips, threw the whole desire of my soul upon him, thinking he might be able to feel that I was not dead, but there by his side, conscious of all his thoughts, and, if he would but understand, could still love, comfort, and advise him. But his mind was firmly set in its own way of thinking, and I could not make the slightest impression upon him; at least, not one that he would admit into his mind. He had barred and bolted the doors of his soul to keep out all thought or hope of a future state of being, and when my impetuous spirit knocked loudly to be admitted he would not listen, and, although he really did sense my presence, would not open the doors of his mind, but was determined to believe that it was imagination knocking so loudly to be heard and admitted; but, foolish imagination should find no place or lodgment with him. Therefore, he sat there, a bereaved, desolate, and heart-broken man, with three helpless children on his hands, to whom he must be father and mother in one.

 

"O, hard and wretched fate!" But for the helpless children he would gladly have died there and then. To him death was oblivion and surcease from all care and sorrow: and here was I, standing by his side, filled with life; new hopes and joys springing up within me.

 

I had found our children—his and mine—not dead but full of sweet, beautiful life. O, how I longed to tell him of those dear children; his children, that he believed were dead for evermore! O, how I desired to comfort and sustain him in his supposed bereavement; but I was powerless. The portals of his mind were closed against me. How gladly would he have received me if he could have known the truth. But he did not, and so I stood there powerless to aid him: a great gulf fixed between us, yet