Those sanitariums, like Crystal-Lake, which is a great garden of flowers and trees and birds, with a charming musical basin of water in its center, where everything is sweet and beautiful, and where it is delightful to live and enjoy the freedom of real existence, are the only kind of children’s hospitals I have ever heard of in the Summer-land; and they are the brightest, healthiest, most enchanting spots I have ever visited. The children who live there are real children,—natural, artless, innocent, happy, and free.
Happy Valley is the name of another beautiful place in the Summer-land, where children live. As its name implies, it is a valley; for great green hills surround and hedge it in, and it lies like a bright and sparkling jewel within the sweet embrace of those wooded heights which may be seen from its every point of view. The hills around the valley are covered with groves of shady trees, the green foliage of which gives a restful, cool, and inviting sight to the eye that gazes upon them. The inhabitants, especially the little folks, take great delight in climbing those hills and holding their school sessions, meetings, picnics, and social gatherings, upon their summits. The valley is fully as pretty in appearance as any place I have before written of, and indeed those who dwell there have never before known such a charming spot. Bright and fragrant flowers gem the soft, green grass; shrubs and thickets of red and yellow, white and pink, roses are abundant; creeping vines, with green leaves and long, finger-like spikes of purple or crimson flowers, twine around the walls of every home, and all things are sweet and pure; streams of water gush out here and there; natural fountains send out jets of clear and sparkling water; birds sing joyously in the trees, and hop fearlessly in and out of the houses; so tame are they that they will perch upon the finger of any little boy or girl who calls to them, and sing a song of cheer to the great delight of their mountain keepers.
Happy Valley is like a vast school-room filled with the bright and cheerful faces of little children, with here and there an adult or grown person who is a kind, loving, and gentle teacher. The lessons are always learned in the open air, never inside the houses; for much information is gained by the little ones from the natural scenery which they so frequently gaze upon. The children of this place are very musical in their tastes, and are given every opportunity and facility to cultivate their powers in this direction.
You have heard of a little instrument called the æolian harp, which, when placed in an open window or anywhere where the wind will sweep across its strings, gives forth a very sweet and plaintive melody. Well, in Happy Valley every child who desires one—and who does not?—has an instrument very similar to that little harp, which they place where the soft breezes can sweep across it, thus evoking the most sweet and enchanting music, not sad like the melody of the æolian harps of earth, but cheerful, inspiring, and very tuneful. A stranger entering this valley, and for the first time listening to the music drawn from a number of these little instruments—as he will be sure to do—will wonder if he has entered fairy-land, and if it is the chiming and chanting of the fragrant flower-bells he hears, so exquisite is the sound. But no; it is only the children’s harps, played upon by mystic fingers of the wind, and teaching a lesson of cheer and hopefulness to the little ones. The teachers take this method of instructing their pupils in the laws of vibration, of harmony, of melody, and of rhythm, while explaining to them by practical illustration the operating power in the breeze that causes it to have such a glorious effect upon the tiny instrument.
The little girl of whom I am going to tell you is only about eight years old. She is a very quiet, gentle child, full of care and thoughtfulness for others. Her great pleasure is found in trying to make others happy. I will not tell you how she looks; but if you know of any good, kind, loving little girl who tries to help others, to speak softly and pleasantly to them, and to smile cheerfully when desired to do anything, why, you may think she looks like this little spirit girl whom I shall call Flora—after the flowers. Flora came to the Summer-land when about four years of age. At first she felt very sad, and would sit all day silent and sorrowful by the side of some stream, or upon some grassy knoll, and take no heed of the happy sports of the frolicsome children around her, for you see she had left a dear mamma and papa and a sweet little baby-brother upon the earth, and she felt that they missed her and wanted her back in their home.
But in a little while our Flora became sprightly and cheerful, for she found that she could return to her earthly home; and at night, when her dear parents and little brother were asleep, she could talk to their spirits and even sing them songs (for she had a very sweet voice), and in the morning she would sometimes hear her mamma say: “It seemed last night as though I could hear my little girl singing to me, and I do sometimes think she comes to baby, he is so good, and smiles and chirps so much, just as he used to when she played with him.” And the papa would smile and say: “It does really seem as though there was an angel in the house; I feel as though I am nearer heaven than I used to be.” So you see this little spirit girl was doing a great work in a quiet way, by coming to her mamma and papa in a loving, gentle manner, and by brightening their lives with her cheerful, sunny presence.
Flora had a little harp, such as I have told you of, given to her, and she would sometimes bring and place it in the doorway of her papa’s home, and the breeze or air-current would cause its strings to vibrate with sweet, faint melody. The little baby-brother would hear the celestial music, and laugh, crow, and clap his hands, while his mamma would lay down her sewing or pause in her work, and strain her ears to listen to the strange, sweet, faint sounds that fell upon them.
Well, this continued for some time, until Flora’s mamma became fully convinced that the sweet musical strains she so often heard were not the effects of an active imagination, but that they were real and tangible; and hearing of a spiritual medium not far away, she determined to visit her to learn something if she could of those who are called dead.
I am not going to tell you about the spiritual experiences of Flora’s mamma, only that she was so pleased with what she heard at the home of the medium whom she visited that she went again and again, for at each call she made upon the spirits through the medium she received more and more information concerning her own dear ones in the spirit world, and never failed to learn something of her little Flora, who always came with messages of love.
So you see, dear children, this little girl of Happy Valley accomplished the great work of bringing happiness, comfort, and peace to the sad heart of her mamma, and, later, of bringing the grand knowledge of immortal life to that mamma, and convincing her that her loved one who had died still lived and loved her, and would come to her. And all this was performed because the little girl desired to bless and help her mamma, and so brought the little spirit-harp and caused the winds to play upon it in her earthly home.