Such is Zencollia—happy, peaceful, industrious city of light; and as I gaze upon its glittering walls from my casement, I seem to feel a pulsating thrill, emanating, as it were, from its center, of good will to man, coursing through my being, until I become one in sympathy with the divine mission of its dwellers, which is, love toward God, manifested through love and helpfulness toward all creatures, all things. This is but one of the many cities of that spirit country, that no thought can measure, no being scan. It is dearest, because nearest to me; yielding light, instruction, soul-sustenance to myself and to those I love. But there are countless other cities as glorious, peaceful, and ennobling, of which I shall speak in future pages. Among them may I mention Spring Garden City, home of intellect, philosophy and truth; Harmonial City, abode of wisdom, purity, and peace; Washingtonia, within whose walls dwell knowledge, justice, and freedom; and many another that presents a beautiful record of noble lives and enduring deeds, that shall outlast all perishable evidence of grandeur!—for they are engraved in spirit, and can never tarnish or decay. Oh, darling friends in mortal, from the boundaries of that sweet city of light, we waft you spirit-greeting, love that shall know no change, sympathy that outlives all outward separation, and only grows the sweeter; peace that the world can neither give nor take away, and which passeth all understanding. A SUBURBAN VIEW. I have told you of the beautiful city of light, so near my spirit home; let me now speak of the natural surroundings upon which I may continually gaze in an ecstasy of delight from my western portico, or where I may roam at will, filled with the bliss of knowing the truth of existence, and its enjoyment among the beautiful works of Nature, that kind mother of us all, who brings her sweet offerings of waters, woods and flowers, birds and insects, mountains and hills, for the gratification and pleasure of humanity. Close beside the home I inhabit a sweet vale lies, decked with fertile meadows and sunny glades, watered by glistening streams and rippling brooks, shaded by magnificent oaks and elms, and gemmed with starry flowers of every hue and of delicious fragrance. Thickets of roses, blooming in rich profusion, dot the landscape here and there—roses independent of limited days and weeks, but which blossom on from day to day, one bud bursting into beauty after another, and no one left to bloom alone. A grove of giant pines make music through this leafy vale, as the breezes sweep through their rustling branches; the carol of birds, the hum of insects, the rippling of waters, and the music of murmuring breezes, all combine to form a sweet harmony of sound, that, blending with the pure harmony of beautiful scenery, brings rest and peace to the souls of all who linger here.