lief which deforms man.
So far as I can see, its influence has been blighting. It takes youth,
joy, and animation from the world. It grants no indulgence for sin, nor
for the mistakes of ignorance. It is cruel and harsh, and men become
narrow and self-elated under its teachings.

The Spiritualistic religion resembles the Catholic in its breadth and
amplitude, and in its humanizing and equalizing influence. I expect the
day will come when all minor beliefs will be swallowed up in these two
great religions.

The Catholic Church in the spirit world is not so extensive as it is upon
earth. Its usefulness is more especially adapted to earthly conditions.

There are some noble cathedrals in the spirit world. Mass is offered up
every morning at the cathedral of the Five Virgins in my bishopric.

The sisterhood of the Five Wise Virgins, newly organized, inhabit
beautiful and commodious edifices adjacent.

It is their business to escort from earth youthful souls who have been
baptized in the Church, and who are friendless and vagrant, having
inhabited while on earth such parts of New York City as the Five Points
and Water street, and having neither kindred nor connection to claim
them.

These are received into the beautiful home of the sisterhood. They bathe
in the golden fountains of youth, and are instructed in various ways.
They are taught the uses of magnetism, mesmerism, and psychology, and
return to earth to rap, write, and speak, through media, and to bring
back the stray lambs to the fold.

EDGAR A. POE.

_THE LOST SOUL_.

Hark the bell! the funeral bell,
Calling the soul
To its goal.
Oh! the haunted human heart,
From its idol doomed to part!
Yet a twofold being bearing,
She and I apart are tearing;
She to heaven I to hell!
Going, going! Hark the bell!
Far in hell,
Tolling, tolling.
Fiends are rolling,
Whitened bones, and coffins reeking,
Fearful darkness grimly creeping
On my soul,
My vision searing,
She disappearing,
Drawn from me
By a soul I cannot see,
Whom I know can never love her.
Oh! that soul could I discover,
I would go,
Steeped in woe,
Down to darkness, down to hell!
Hark the bell! Farewell! farewell!

JEAN PAUL RICHTER.

_INVISIBLE INFLUENCES._

A ship is on the ocean. The wind is fair. All hands are in motion. But a
few hours since, it left port. Among its passengers is a gay traveller;
he wears a silken cloak frin