patience I had exercised in cultivating and training what may be
called the INWARD powers of sight and hearing were about to be
rewarded by a full opening to my striving spirit of the gates which
had till now been only set ajar. I knew,--for I had studied and
proved the truth,--that every bodily sense we possess is simply an
imperfect outcome of its original and existent faculty in the Soul,-
-that our bodily ears are only the material expressions of that
spiritual hearing which is fine and keen enough to catch the
lightest angel whisper,--that our eyes are but the outward semblance
of those brilliant inner orbs of vision which are made to look upon
the supernal glories of Heaven itself without fear or flinching,--
and that our very sense of touch is but a rough and uncertain
handling of perishable things as compared with that sure and
delicate contact of the Soul's personal being with the etheric
substances pertaining to itself. Despite my eager expectation,
however, nothing more was granted to me then but just that exquisite
sensation of pure joy, which like a rain of light bathed every fibre
of my being. It was enough, I told myself--surely enough!--and yet
it seemed to me there should be something more. It was a promise
with the fulfilment close at hand, yet undeclared,--like a snow-
white cloud with the sun behind it. But I was given no solution of
the rapturous mystery surrounding me,--and--granting my soul an
absolute freedom, it could plunge no deeper than through the
immensity of stars to immensities still more profound, there to
dream and hope and wait. For years I had done this,--for years I had
worked and prayed, watching the pageant of poor human pride and
vanity drift past me like shadows on the shore of a dead sea,--
succeeding little by little in threading my way through the closest
labyrinths of life, and finding out the beautiful reasons of
living;--and every now and then,--as to-night,--I had felt myself on