Since my friend Morris joined me, we’ve been as busy as Wall street brokers in a gold panic eyes and ears, and every sense filled with the novel sights and sounds that greet us on every side in this most delightful, charming, incomparably beautiful summer land.

Whom have we not seen, from Napoleon down to the last suicide?

I have a memorandum which would reach from here to Idlewild, filled with the names of notables and celebrities, whom I have met in the short space of a year.

We do matters quickly here, among the celestials. I used to think life sped fast in the great cities of London, Paris, and New York, but we live faster here. With every means of travelling which human ingenuity can invent flying machines, balloons, the will and the magnet we fairly outdo thought and light, which you consider emblems of rapidity on earth.

Morris and I made a point of visiting Byron, Moore, Hunt, Scott, and that clique. You must bear in mind that we do not all live on one point of space here; among so many thousand million, billion, trillion, quadrillion, sextillion, and countless illions, there must be some persons who are further apart than Morris and I, who are side by side!

It is a peculiarity which you Yankees seldom think of, that Englishmen can’t endure to live in America. Well, that peculiarity is just as active after they “shuffle off the mortal coil.” They must have their little England, even in the spirit world.

So I telegraphed to that quarter of the celestial planet that two strangers from the great emporium of intellect, and civilization, New York City, were about to visit that locality. We so arranged our journey as to arrive about a day after the dispatch had reached them.

It was proposed that we should meet at the beautiful villa belonging to the Countess of Blessington.

I can assure you that on arriving there it was with a slightly palpitating heart I ascended the noble steps of her residence. The Countess met us graciously, and by her vivacity and charming candor dispelled the feeling of modest diffidence as to our merits, naturally awakened by the thought of being presented to those illustrious persons who so long held sway over English literature.

Ere we were aware, we were ushered into the midst of a hilarious group of authors, who welcomed us in a most cordial manner.

I did not need to have them introduced to me by name, as I recognized each readily from likenesses I had seen on earth.

Lord Byron’s countenance is much handsomer and more spiritualized in expression than any portrait of him extant. I noticed that the deformity of his foot, which had been a severe affliction to him on earth, was no longer apparent.

Scott looked as good and as jovial as ever, and Tom Moore, the very pink of perfection and elegance.

As for the Countess, when I last saw her on earth I thought her incomparable. But whether it was through the cosmetic influences of the spirit air, or from other causes, she had now become bewitchingly beautiful.

After we had conversed awhile on general topics and I had answered their questions in regard to the changes which had occurred in certain terrestrial localities with which, they were familiar, the Countess invited us out to survey the landscape from her balcony.

The view from this point was extremely romantic. Just beyond the spacious park extended a lovely lake, whose waters were of a rich golden-green color. Upon its limpid bosom several gondolas floated, and gay parties waved their handkerchiefs to us from beneath the silken hangings as they passed.

“Countess,” said I, after my eye had surveyed the fine landscape and noble residence, “I am but a wandering Bohemian, and you must excuse my audacity if I ask how it, is possible that in this “world of shadows” you have surrounded yourself by so much that is beautiful and substantial? You could not bring your title and your lands with you from earth. Your jewels and costly raiment you must have left behind; then whence comes all this wealth and luxury?”

The Countess smiled. “Ah,” said she, roguishly, “you did not study your Bible lesson well if you did not learn that you could ’lay up treasures in heaven.’ Why, all the time I was living on earth I had friends working for me admirers who had been drawing interest from my youthful talent and had laid it up to my account. We go upon the tithe system here, and ’render unto Cæsar the things that are Caesar’s.”

She told me that works of interest which are published on earth are reproduced in the spirit world and the author credited with a tithe of what accrues from them.

Byron, Scott, and Moore have also been doing double duty while on earth, and have been recompensed for their industry in the spirit world.

Byron, she privately informed me, had been united to the Mary of his early love, and under her sweet womanly influence had lost much of the misanthropy which had annoyed his friends in this life.

As my stay was short, I had only opportunity to converse with these men of mark on general topics.

On the whole, we spent a very interesting morning, and, after partaking of refreshments, we left, having inquired after Count D’Orsay, whom we learned was then on a trip to earth. Bidding adieu to the Countess and her friends, we started for the celebrated island called the “Golden Nest,” which lies in a south-westerly direction from the Countess’s villa.

After having travelled some hours in our own diligence (i.e., driven through the air by our own will), moving along quite leisurely that we might survey the country beneath us, we reached a group of beautiful lakes, reminding me strongly in size and appearance of lakes Erie, Huron, Michigan, and Superior, the famed lakes of my own native clime.

In the centre of the largest of these lakes lay the island we were seeking. We descended like skilful aeronauts into the centre of a group of happy children, who were playing like little fairies amid the flowers blooming profusely everywhere.

Singling out two of the prettiest, we addressed them.

Directly a merry band gathered about us, answering our questions intelligently and skipping before us to lead the way to the “Golden Nest,” as the superb structure was called in which these little soul-birds were sheltered.

Everywhere, as we advanced, our eyes lit upon pretty bands of children; some swinging in the tree-boughs like birds, some waltzing in the air, others sitting upon the green, chattering and singing, filling the surrounding air with their melody.

Certainly it was a most enlivening sight to witness their enjoyment. After having amused ourselves for a while with their gambols, we turned our steps toward the Home.

The building was oval in form, and composed of a golden fleecy incrustation from which it derived it, name. Within, the “Nest” was like Aladdin’s palace.

Innumerable compartments, hung with silks and tissues of tender and. harmonious colors, and decorated with birds’ plumage of varied hues, arrested the eye. These spacious alcoves were each furnished with a domed skylight, adorned with hanging tassels and glittering ornaments. Ladies were busy in nearly all of these compartments in instructing children under their care.

In some that I entered I was shown new-born babes not an hour old, torn from their mothers’ bosoms on earth, and lying upon fleecy pillows, attended by lovely women, who looked the angels which they were.

One of these gay baby-nests in which I lingered was decorated with peculiar tastefulness, and seemed like a perfect aviary. Singular birds of splendid plumage were perched on various projections about the spacious apartment, warbling away like silver bells.

The lady of this chamber was engaged in teaching a little girl of some two summers to mount to the skylight by her will.

This lady, I was informed, was the noble lady R , so famed for her charity on earth.

She was very gracious and communicative, and told me that some children exercised their ability to rise in air more readily than others; that the difficulties their instructor had to guard against were the fickle, versatile nature of their wills, and their inability for continuous thought. Their wayward minds could not be directed long at one point. They would wander from the path like the poor little Babes in the Wood, and on their way to special destinations, would change their thoughts, unharness their will, and come suddenly down, sometimes in lonely and unfrequented spots.

Owing to this dereliction, it was found difficult to make frequent excursions to earth with them. Those attracted to their terrestrial homes were attended by ladies who had them in charge, and who would kindly accompany them, for one or two weeks, to visit their friends upon earth.

I told her that I had lost a child some years ago, and had thought till recently to find it still an infant.

Many cases of this kind, she said, had occurred under her observation. People did not view the matter rationally. Ladies had called at the “Golden Nest” to inquire for children that had left earth twenty or thirty years ago, and it was painful to witness the distress they exhibited when told that their children were grown men and women.

One lady had called there some three days since, and claimed as her own a little child, an infant about two months old, who had been brought from earth three weeks previous, while the child she had lost had been in the spirit world seventeen years!

But no amount of argument would convince her that her child had grown up, and that the infant she selected was not her own.

She was finally permitted to take the child away, as they knew it would be properly cared for. Many of the children while young were thus adopted.

“It appears marvellous,” remarked this noble lady, “that any parent should wish to cramp the body and soul of his child by keeping it in a state of infancy, when, if it had remained on earth, it would necessarily have arrived at years of maturity.

“Nature does not suspend her operations in transplanting from earth to heaven! The soul is formed for expansion, and surely the spirit world is not the place to suppress unfoldment!”

As I listened to her intelligent conversation, I blushed to be reminded of my own error in supposing my own darling, who had reached the spirit world so long before, would greet me with the prattling talk of babyhood!

Pleased with our visit and the information we had received, we bade adieu to Lady R. and the “Golden Nest,” and pursued our flight in another direction.

“Do let us next find out,” said I to Morris, “what they do here with criminals; there must be many a wicked reprobate who arrives here from earth fresh from murders and villanies of all sorts.”

As I spoke, two grave-looking gentlemen, whom I took to be either doctors or judges, crossed the path before us, and I proposed to make these inquiries of them.

Who should they prove to be but William Penn and the omnipresent Benjamin Franklin!

“Yes, yes,” said Penn, in reply to our questions shaking his head deprecatingly; “’tis too true; we are obliged to have what Swedenborg calls “our hells,” for you send your criminals from earth so hardened that we are compelled to keep them under guard. Come with us and we’ll show you how we treat them.”

We were very glad of this opportune meeting, and followed with alacrity.

Presently, leaving the beautiful country far behind us, we came upon a desert waste, and as I am extremely sensitive to conditions, I felt somewhat like a criminal in passing through it. Having got safely over, however, there burst upon our sight a scene of surpassing beauty; as far as the eye could reach extended a most highly-cultivated district of country.

Groves of fruit resembling the oranges and pineapples of our tropics, noble trees like the palm, the fig, and date, were to be seen in every quarter, rearing their boughs against the summer sky. The air was laden with fragrance from tree and vine.

Great bunches of purple grapes like the fabled fruit of Canaan in the Old Testament, a single bunch of which required two men to bear it, drooped heavily from twining vines, while from many a bough and twig swung golden, crimson, and cream-colored fruit, which fairly made one’s mouth water.

It was a picture rich enough in color for a Claude or Turner.

“This is delicious,” said I to Penn. “Do tell us to what fairy prince this magnificent land belongs!”

“We will show you the fairy prince himself, very soon,” said he. “Do you see the tip of his castle yonder?”

I looked, and as we moved swiftly in the direction indicated an unexpected spectacle loomed in sight. It was a building so delicate and perfect in its structure that it appeared like a vision.

Pillars and arches, dome and architrave, were wrought in a style exquisitely beautiful; the material of which it was composed seemed like polished sea-shells, so transparent that you could see through it the forms of the inmates.

“This,” said William Penn, “is one of our prisons. Let us enter.”

We followed in amazement, and were ushered into a hall hung with paintings rich in design and color, while distributed around in various alcoves were cases containing books and articles of curious workmanship, of which I had not yet learned the use.

This hall formed the court within the main building.

From where we stood we could see hundreds of men in white suits moving about. Some seemed engaged in conversation, others in sportive games, and others in various employments.

“You do not mean to tell us that these men are prisoners,” said I.

“Yes; they have passed for years on earth a life of evil, yet all the beauty you behold here is the work of their hands. Idleness is the mother of crime. We teach them to become industrious, and surround them with beauty to develop their love of harmony.

“Ignorance and poverty are supposed to be the principal causes of evil on earth. But many fearful offences have been committed in high places from thwarted love and ambition. We have many of that character in this prison, but they are young. This is intended as a place to educate and restrain men who would return to earth and incite impressible beings to evil.

“The material of which this building is composed, though seemingly so fragile, is a non-conductor of thought, and while detained within it the inmates gradually free themselves from their old influences and disorderly desires.

“Cultivating the fruits of the earth calls into action only their most harmonious organs. A great mistake made by the legislators of earth is in employing criminals in stone-cutting, or placing them in gangs, as they do on the Continent, to work the rugged road.

“Employment of this kind awakens the very propensities which should be subdued. The composing, softening influences induced by tilling the soil would go far toward converting your evil men into good citizens.”

I was struck with the truthfulness of his suggestions, and put them down in my note-book for the benefit of humanity, and now hand them over to my readers for consideration.

After leaving this place we paid a visit to Edgar A. Poe, whose unfortunate life on earth you are all familiar with. His brilliant imagination we found as active as of old. He welcomed us enthusiastically, and eagerly led us into a small theatre which he had constructed and filled with most marvellous creations from his own fancy. He inherited from his father and mother, who were actors, a love for dramatic effect, and in theatrical impersonations he found some vent for his exuberant imagination.

“Stand here,” said he, placing us near the entrance; “I have something curious to show you.” He then suspended upon the stage a curtain, whose peculiarity was its pure, soft blue color, like an Italian sky.

“Watch,” said he, pointing his uplifted finger to the hanging. Presently appeared upon it figures like shadows on a phantasmagoria.

One form was that of a female sitting upon a low chair, apparently reading a book.

“That,” said Poe, “is Miss D. I can control her and will her to reflect her figure upon the curtain; and that man is T.L. Harris. It is my own invention,” said he; “I studied it out and applied chemicals to my canvas till it produced this sensitive surface. All I have to do is to send my thoughts to them, and will them to appear, and there they are. Coleridge has a similar curtain, and some few others. But it requires a peculiar spirit brain to magnetize the subject sufficiently.” He offered to show me in the same manner any friend of mine with whom he could come in rapport.

This proposition delighted Morris and I, and we spent an agreeable evening in seeing certain of our friends on earth thus revealed.

Some were busy eating at the time, the gourmands! Others, more studious, were poring over books and papers, and one, whose name I shall not mention, was reproduced in the very act of making love!

The, dear old faces awakened such sad memories, and the occupations in which they were engaged were in the main so ludicrous, that we were held between tears and laughter till after midnight. But that is an Irish bull for you must know that we have no night in the spirit world. Our diurnal revolutions are so rapid, and the atmosphere so magnetically luminous, that it is never dark here. But, however, according to earth’s parlance, it was midnight before we got through.

I will now bid adieu to my friends and readers until we meet again.