When the spring opened, company came thronging again to the rock, to see and hear all that was wonderful and strange; for the popularity of the place had been steadily increasing, and the world is ever on the lookout for something new. All that spring and summer company and visitors, picnic parties and relatives, were coming in rapid succession, and no material change was made, either in the work or their way of life. Fresh, dreamy September, like a maiden just passing from childhood to her teens, came softly on. There is but one more incident of interest to note; _that_ is, when the great philanthropist, and remarkable medium, John M. Spear, paid it a passing visit, in company with two or three other mediums. And now our history is finished. There is a small room, away in the very top of a block of buildings, where the sun beats scorchingly down, and the dust whirls in clouds through the narrow street. And there, where affluence is unknown, and elegance unconsulted,--where no rich tapestry shields the artist’s easel from the light,--is a work of magic art and mystic mystery, which has been seen by hundreds, and will be by thousands. It is a rare bright picture--a childish, dimpled face, with deep, wondrous blue eyes, and thick clustering curls; one round arm is flung over the shaggy neck of a large black dog, as if to show how perfectly the spiritual part of nature can overcome the animal; and the whole picture represents some half-embodied ideal, which is in future years to become a reality. There are, undoubtedly, the touches of the old artists, Ben West, Raphael, and Angelo, about the work, and their power may not be yet extinct; but the world is not ready for such ideas as yet; it must receive the truth gradually. But, the picture of “Natty, a spirit,” has nothing to do with our present work. It is its executor of whom we would speak. He is an artist of some celebrity, and his painting of the spirit child has made him famous. He professes to have distinct visions of spirits in human form; snatches of landscapes, birds, flowers, and, indeed, almost every thing that can be seen in the natural world. He is a reflective, and rather a peculiar man; there are silvery threads in his hair, and furrows on his brow, as though he thought a great deal. And he it is that has been chosen to do the work of planning and directing the laying out of Dungeon Pasture, which is to be called “Iowah;” a name which the red man gave it long ago, and which signifies “I have found it.” The legend of that name is as follows: “Several hundred years ago the united forces of pestilence, famine, and war, had so reduced a large tribe of Indians, that only a very few remained, and, after calling a council of their wisest men, these few determined to leave the home of their fathers and found a new settlement; accordingly, they started through the trackless wild on their vague expedition; they passed