Imagine, if you can, all the most graceful, beautifully-molded, perfectly-formed and rounded, exquisitely carved and delicately-sculptured forms of statuary, of which you have ever heard or read grouped together, forming a class of the rarest workmanship and art that human skill and genius can chisel from the marble block, and you have a slight idea of the superb expression of the sculptor’s soul which is perfected in the immortal world. Dream, if you can, of the most magnificent scenery the world affords, the most royal landscapes, the most superb water views, and you may be able to just approach in thought an idea of the productions of the artist’s soul that line the walls of the artists’ studio in spirit life. Recollect all the sweet, the beautiful, and the various expressions of the human countenance,—the fire, the vigor, and sparkling triumph of the eye, the restless energy or quiet repose of the limbs, the smiling, speaking expression of the lips,—and you can faintly conceive the models and patterns that spirit artists and sculptors seek to emulate. And have they succeeded? To a certain extent, decidedly, yes. Enter a hall of statuary, and in the marble beauties, grouped together there, you find the expression of peace, hope, or joy depicted with marvelous fidelity; you observe the contour of the limbs as perfect as in life, and all seemingly permeated with that indescribable something that gives them the appearance of having the power to move, act, and walk off at will. Upon entering the artists’ studio, at the farther end of which is suspended a magnificent landscape painting, you would, at first sight, believe yourself to be gazing upon a scene of natural life and beauty. The lights and shadows seem to be continually shifting, the trees to be waving their branches, and the streamlet running along in murmuring gladness. The clouds appear to be settling slowly down upon the distant mountains, while it distinctly seems to you that the cattle, grazing in the meadows, are moving lazily along, half wearied out by the incessant buzzing of the hovering insects. So it is with the music of the upper life. It approaches as near the harmonious, perfect blending of the various parts of the human voice as can be imagined; and the utterances of the poets partake of the life of the giver, and are animated with true fire and vigor, which is of itself a part of that Eternal Voice that is the author and sustainer of all life and being. But these spirit artists are by no means satisfied with what they have produced; they see something grander, more beautiful, sublime, and perfect, which they are striving to attain. Their ideal is as yet unexpressed; but, with the perfect development of the soul and its possibilities, all that is ever dreamed of must find expression in the outworkings of the spirit.