First kneeling before their benefactor came the poor, despised negroes, with hands uplifted in blessing, lips mute from the excess of emotion, eyes eloquent with joy and gratitude. Not only those who had become free before the law while yet on earth, but also those who had died in chains and beneath the lash, came with benedictions for this man who had done so much for their race, and to receive a blessing from his soul, knowing it would impart to them strength, inspiration, and courage.
Following these came hosts of others, men, women, and children, of every race and color, those who had felt the hand of tyranny, injustice, and oppression in some one or more of its many shapes. Red and white, the North American Indian and the Russian serf, delicate women, who had suffered in homes made unhappy by intemperance or by the cruelty of tyrannical brutality,—all came to bless this good man as their benefactor and friend; and their presence brought a joy to his spirit no mortal can understand.
Turning earthward, we perceived great billows of golden light, waves of roseate beauty, clouds of azure and snowy brightness ascending, until they enveloped our guest with their fragrant splendor, irradiating his whole being with a new brilliancy, a new loveliness of expression. Each wave of light that thus arose expressed to us from its peculiar hue and its own delicate aroma the emotion which it represented; the golden hue symbolized truth and earnestness, the roseate love and sympathy, the azure fidelity and gratitude, and the white purity and peace. We perceived these auras mingling and blending together into beautiful harmony, and flowing out from hearts encased in mortal, who, though saddened at the decease of Mr. Garrison, yet sent out after his ascended spirit love, sympathy and blessings.
From the colored people assembled to pay their tribute of love and respect to his memory; from the hearts of earnest women, who speak in solemn sweetness of his helpfulness and cheer; from the souls of good men and women everywhere, who loved and honored him; from the soul of that silver-tongued friend[[7]] and orator who dares to stand forth and pay honest, just, and loving tribute as a fitting eulogy to his departed friend; from the pure and loving heart of that peaceful poet soul[[8]] who sings in rhymed sweetness the honor of his friend;—from all these ascended those emanations of light and beauty and fragrance. Musical with the silvery sweetness borne from the souls of friends on earth, they bathed his spirit in a fount of eternal joy and blessing.
[7]. Wendel Phillips.
[8]. John G. Whittier.
What need of golden harps and streets of pearl? He treads the flowery paths of spirit life, not idle, not basking in dreamless rest. The energy of power, the moving force of aspiration, the impulse of desire are all his, and already his soul is marching on in the ranks of those lofty ones whose mission is to toil on until man becomes uplifted into the sphere of universal Love; until all wrong shall flee, tyranny die, and liberty and knowledge dwell in the homes of all people.
Press on, noble soul! The victor’s palm is thine, for thou hast witnessed the triumph of justice and right; the crown of glory is thine, for thy soul is crowned with the diadem of perfect Love.
Press on, white-robed soul! for the bright fruition that awaits thee!
The following chapters are devoted to a recital of the experiences of J. C. Prince, as narrated by himself, and published in the Voice of Angels. We have alluded to letters of approval and of interest concerning these experiences received by the editor of that paper from various quarters. The following extract from a published letter of one of these correspondents is here given, for the reason that it was penned by one intimately acquainted with Mr. Prince in earthly life, and familiar with the general style of his compositions:—