HPB-SB-10-254

from Adyar archives of the International Theosophical Society

vol. 10

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< Unconscious Cerebration? (continued from page 10-253) >

meric influence the poet could be questioned as to what he intended by the passages in question he might candidly admit with Coleridge and Goethe, “Hang me if I know, or ever did know, the meaning of them, though my own composition.”—Pall Mall Gazette, 21st January, 1880.

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The Carnival

We shall soon have the Carnival or Farewell to Flesh, all the feasting, frolics, and masquerading of an observance in Popish countries before Lent, with likewise its fastings and its prayers, the fasting having respect to health as well as to spiritual life. The matter is well stated by Lord Verulam as follows in its spiritual bearing:—

“The divination which springeth from the internal nature of the soul is that which we now speak of; which hath been made to be of two sorts—primitive, and by influxion. Primitive is grounded upon the supposition that the mind when it is withdrawn and collected into itself, and not diffused into the organs of the body, hath some extent and latitude of prenotion, which therefore appeareth most in sleep, in ecstasies, and near death, and more rarely in waking apprehensions; and is induced and furthered by those abstinences and observances which make the mind most to consist in itself. By influxion, is grounded upon the conceit that the mind, as a mirror or glass, should take illumination from the foreknowledge of God and spirits, unto which the same regimen doth likewise conduce. For the retiring of the mind within itself is the state which is most susceptible of divine influxions, save that it is accompanied in this case with a fervency and elevation which the ancientsnoted as fury, and not with a repose and quiet, as it is in the other.”

Under mesmerism we have a variety of such states as those of the sleeping and the waking somnambule, also the trance and the ecstatic conditions, all more or less partaking of the elements of pre-notion and clairvoyance, and as if communing with spirits or superior beings. Sometimes, if questioned, mesmeric sleepers would say, “It” tells me, or “the voice,” which reminds one of the spirit or voice which prompted or warned Socrates.

I myself have on several anxious occasions, in effecting mesmeric cures, distinctly heard the voice urging me to proceed when I began to despair; but I always succeeded after hearing the voice. Both Emerson and Montaigne have some curious remarks in respect to inspirations and exaltations under abnormal conditions,* and Bacon in respect to numbers, “when two or three are gathered together” (Christian service). He says, “If there be any force in the imagination and affections of singular persons, it is probable the force is much more in the joint imaginations and affections of many or of multitudes,” and he gives instances in proof.

Plutarch’s remarks on the origin of the oracles, and the reason as to how it came that they ceased, is very instructive. The statement of the influence of numbers is exemplified in the sittings of Spiritualists; but I must cut this short, or I shall be writing a book rather than some few observations on the approaching Carnival, and the influence of fasting inducing spiritual conditions, in respect to which gross feeding is unfavourable. The flesh occupying the nerve power is literally at war with the spirit. But there are exceptions, Socrates to wit: he is represented as corpulent, and not particularly abstemious; he also had features certainly not such as they gave to the Apollo.

So little can we judge intellect and worth by appearances—“the inward and spiritual grace by the outward and visible form”—that the inner man often seems under a mask.

Boulogne-sur-Mer.

* See my letters to H.M., page 306.

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The Iron Pen

Made from a Fetter of Bonnivard, the Prisoner of Chillon; the Handle of Wood from the Frigate Constitution, and bound with a Circlet of Gold, inset with three precious Stones from Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine.

By Henry W. Longfellow

I Thought this Pen would arise
From the casket where it lies—
Of itself would arise and write
My thanks and my surprise.

When you gave it me under the pines,
I dreamed these gems from the mines
Of Siberia, Ceylon, and Maine
Would glimmer as thoughts in the lines;

That this iron link from the chain
Of Bonnivard might retain
Some verse of the poet who sang
Of the prisoner and his pain;

That this wood from the frigate’s mast
Might write me a rhyme at last,
As it used to write on the sky
The song of the sea and the blast.

But motionless as I wait,
Like a bishop lying in state,
Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold,
And its jewels inviolate.

Then must I speak, and say
That the light of that summer day
In the garden under the pines
Shall not fade and pass away.

I shall see you standing there,
Caressed by the fragrant air,
With the shadow on your face,
And the sunshine on your hair.

I shall hear the sweet, low tone,
Of a voice before unknown,
Saying, “This is from me to you—
From me, and to you alone.”

And in words not idle and vain
I shall answer, and thank you again
For the gift, and the grace of the gift,
Oh beautiful Helen of Maine!

And for ever this gift will be
As a blessing from you to me,
As a drop of the dew of your youth
On the leaves of an aged tree.

—Harper s Magazine.

Editor's notes

↑ The Carnival by Atkinson H. G., F.G.S., London Spiritualist, No. 388, January 30, 1880, p. 54
↑ The Iron Pen by Longfellow Henry W., London Spiritualist, No. 388, January 30, 1880, p. 54

Sources

London Spiritualist, No. 388, January 30, 1880, p. 54

[1] The Carnival by Atkinson H. G., F.G.S., London Spiritualist, No. 388, January 30, 1880, p. 54

[2] The Iron Pen by Longfellow Henry W., London Spiritualist, No. 388, January 30, 1880, p. 54

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