All such are men of Destiny. They are compelled over the ways which they tread. The world looks upon them, and cannot understand them; men consider them as anomalies and strange inconsistencies; as abnormal manifestations of the spirit. Yet “for this cause came they into the world;” and as poets, and artists, and musical composers are born with the undeveloped elements of their genius within them, so particular souls, in close connection with the spiritual world, who are continually receiving direct impressions and revelations from the sphere of causes, are born such from their cradle; and thus the mystery of spirituality or godliness, as the world passes on generation after generation, is becoming more and more apparent in the lives and experiences of men. When we speak of spirituality, do not consider that we mean modern Spiritualism, as understood by the world, which has furnished any amount of sheep’s clothing to the wolves who desire to prey upon the lambs in the unguarded fold of Humanity. Neither do we mean that inflated spirituality, which, in its zeal for reform, and contempt for ceremonies and limitations, rushes to extremes, and, deceiving itself, “uses its liberty as an occasion to the flesh.” But we do mean that living principle, which makes itself manifest in high-toned souls, whose sublime aspirations exalt the whole life above the common level of Humanity. It may come out as a fitful and glimmering light, but it shows that the Divine inspiration is there, and all men, when they perceive it, are ready to acknowledge it as genuine. Whatever is truly good, glorious, or divine, that which possesses in itself real merit and inspiration, cannot fail to find a responsive echo. And thus was it with the writings of Poe. When, from the glowing fire-crypts of his soul, he wrought out, with master strokes, his “Raven,” and gave it to the world, men felt that there was the ring of true genius. And, although it was the utterance of a nature at variance with its earthy surroundings, and tortured by its own sensibility, yet because of its gloomy grandeur and euphonious rhythm, the poem could not fail to be appreciated. Such natures cannot live long in the flesh. They are like two-edged swords, which wear upon the scabbard. There is ever an unseen hand upon the hilt, and finally, when the word of command is given, the sword is drawn, and becomes a most effective instrument in the hand of Everlasting Truth; then the individual nature that has so long battled the stormy elements of mortal life first perceives its advantages, and in the triumphant exultation which spirits always feel when freed from the fetters of mortality, it exclaims, “O Death! where is thy sting? O Grave! where is thy victory?” That diviner spirituality which was obscured by the flesh, which was crushed down by earthly circumstances, at length frees itself, and starts up in all its majesty and glory. But the mysterious growth and development of the spirit does not end here.