It is a principle of being—­a condition of immortality—­as inseparable from spirit existence as from earth life, that thought should express itself in external forms.  Even the Great Spirit, the Creator of all, gives shape to his thoughts in the formation of trees, flowers, men, beasts, and myriad worlds with their constant motion, their sound and song.

It has been aptly said that the “stars are the poetry of God.”  He, the Great Spirit of all, writes his thoughts legibly; and so man, like his originator, whether living in the natural body or existing as a spirit, gives outward shape to his ideas; hence books become a necessity of spirit existence, and the writers from earth have still a desire to perpetuate their thoughts.

Oral communication is too evanescent, and therefore the dear old books still find a place in the spheres.

There are various modes of making these volumes, and the writer may become his own printer.

Some authors prefer to dictate, and a little instrument marks off the variations of sound which make the word, and thus, as he speaks, the word is impressed on the sheet.

Others, if the thought be clear and distinct enough, and the will sufficiently under abeyance, act through the mind upon a conductor, which dots down the thought in a manner somewhat similar to telegraphic printing.

The material used to receive the impression is of a soft, vellum-like nature, which can be folded up in any manner without destroying its form; it is very light and thin, but opaque, like the creamy petals of a lily.

The phonetic alphabet is used extensively, though we have many books printed in the mode usually adopted on earth.

All nature is constantly changing and progressing.  The bards who sang upon the earth centuries ago—­Homer, Virgil, the Greek and Roman, the Celtic and Saxon writers of old—­have passed beyond the spirit sphere which I inhabit to a spirit planet still more refined, and have left behind only the records of their strange experience.

The eighteenth century cannot walk side by side with the third or fourth century more readily in the spirit world than on earth.

The character of the spirit literature of the present day is essentially scientific and explorative.  We have in our world, as you have in yours, intrepid travellers—­learned men, who make voyages to almost inaccessible planets—­and they return even as those of earth, with sketches and graphic outlines of the strange sights they have witnessed; and those less venturesome who remain at home are as anxious as your citizens might be to hear accounts of wonderful regions that have been visited.  And such books of travel are sought eagerly.

We have but few works on theology; the nature and essence of God is discussed with us, but not so elaborately as with you.

Spirits who have passed into a second life have so nearly approached the mystery of a Divine Being that they do not desire to debate the subject.