ed instances is sufficient to establish the theory. I am not willing to ignore one faculty or power of my being for the sake of proving a favorite idea; and, on the contrary, I cannot conscientiously deny that, in the mysteries of my inner life, I have been acted upon decidedly and directly by disembodied intelligences, and this, sometimes, by an inspiration characteristic of the individual, or by a psychological influence similar to that whereby mind acts upon mind in the body. Under such influences I have not necessarily lost my individuality, or become wholly unconscious. I was, for the time being, like a harp in the hands of superior powers, and just in proportion as my entire nature was attuned to thrill responsive to their touch, did I give voice and expression to their unwritten music. They furnished the inspiration, but it was of necessity modified by the nature and character of the instrument upon which they played, for the most skilful musician cannot change the tone of a harp to the

sound of a trumpet, though he may give a characteristic expression of himself through either.

The presence and influence of these powers is to me no new or recent occurrence, although I may not have understood them in the same light as I do at present. They have formed a part of all my past life, and I can trace the evidence of spiritual assistance running like a golden thread through all my intellectual efforts. As I do not desire to practise any deception upon the public, but on the contrary only wish to declare the simple truth, I have published in this volume quite a number of poems, written several years previous to my appearance before the public as a medium or a speaker. Although these were mostly wrought out of my brain by the slow process of thought, yet for some of these, even, I can claim as direct and special an inspiration as for those delivered upon the platform. The first poem in this present work,-"The Prayer of the

b

The

Sorrowing," and that which immediately succeeds it, "The Song of Truth," containing in itself an answer to the Prayer, were given to me under peculiar circumstances. The first was the language of my own soul, intensified by an occasion of great mental anguish. second, following directly upon it, was an illumination of my entire being, when I seemed to have wept away the scales from my eyes, and "by the deep conflict of my soul in prayer," to have broken the fetters of my mortality, and stepped forth into that freedom whereby I stood face to face with the ministering spirits, and heard that "Song of Truth" sounding through the universe. I have only known but few such visitations in my lifetime, but when they have come, I have felt that I have taken a free, deep breath of celestial air, and caught a glimpse of the Realities of Things. As an immediate consequence, my spirit has become braver and stronger, and long after my inward vision was closed, the cheering light of

that blessed revelation has lingered in my

heart.

Another poem, which bore evidence to me of an inspiration acting upon me, and external to myself, was the "Song of the North," relating to the fate of Sir John Franklin and his men. I was desired to write an illustration for a plate, about to appear in the "Lily of the Valley," an Annual published by J. M. Usher, of Cornhill, Boston. I endeavored to do so, but day after day passed by and my labor was in vain, for not one acceptable idea would suggest itself. The publisher sent for the article, but it was not in being. One day, however, I was seized with an indefinable uneasiness. wandered up and down through the house and garden, till finally the idea of what I was to do became clearly defined; then, with my paper and pencil, I hastened to a quiet corner in the attic, where nearly all my poems had been written, and there I wrote the Song of the North-so rapidly, that it was scarce legi

I

ble, and I was obliged to copy it at once, lest I should lose the connection. The next day it seemed as foreign and strange to me as it would to any one who had never seen it. At the time this was written (in April, 1853) strong hopes were entertained of the discovery of Franklin and his men, together with their safe return; therefore I hesitated to make public that which seemed a decided affirmation to the contrary. Nevertheless, so strong were my convictions as to the truth of the poem, that I allowed it to be published. Later revelations concerning the fate of that brave adventurer and his companions gave to the poem somewhat of the character of a prophecy.

How far I have ever written, independent of these higher influences, I cannot say; I only know that all the poems under my own name have come from the deep places of my "Inner Life;" and in that self-same sacred retreatwhich I have entered either by the intense concentration of all my intellectual powers, or a