How to have a spiritual home?

It was a cold, wet, gloomy day, when I looked round at the crowd convened in Dr Chapin's Church, and recognised many old friends. 

I touched them, and proffered my hand, for the last farewell, but they did not perceive me—their eyes were fixed on the lifeless form, and I was invisible to them.

I realised I was free. 

There was nothing to hold me to earth any longer, and accompanied by a few friends, I set off on my first voyage to the world of spirits.

The atmosphere was heavy, and we made our way through it with difficulty. 

We did not go straight upward, as I had imagined we should do, but took a northerly direction over the city, stopping at Chappaqua.* 

*The Indian name of the village where Greeley resided.

Tears of emotion filled my eyes when I walked around the old house, viewed the ground I had improved, crossed the little bridge, and stood on my favourite knoll.

It was with a sensation of relief that we turned off into a pathway of light, though it was, in truth, more like a broad river than a pathway. 

A cool, balmy stratum of air, like that of our home woods in summer, pervaded the road. 

We pursued our way with increasing velocity, passing through what is known as the stellar region, which astronomers tell us is a cold, dark void, and which to mortal sensations would be colder than the polar regions, but which I found to be favoured with this soft, springlike air, caused by the electrical current, which, like the Gulf Stream, flowed directly through this region.

I have since traversed this open space in a shorter time, but I think it was fully fifteen minutes before I caught sight of land stretching out below me—

Mountains, rivers, and distant foliage, as a balloonist sees, spread beneath his gaze—Nature's Face, while descending from his voyage among the clouds.

We sailed for a considerable time over a beautiful country. 

I noticed that portions of the land over which we passed were uncultivated and bore a general resemblance to the earth.

Presently, we began to make our descent to a tower situated on a hill, which on reaching, I found to be a light, beautiful structure of a composite-style of architecture. 

It stood on an extensive plot of ground, embracing several acres, beautified by flowers and ornamental shrubs, and was what you would call on earth, a hotel—or depot. 

We landed on one of the balconies and entered through a porch to the inner part of the building.

The floors of this anteroom were covered with a species of silk matting embroidered in handsome designs, representing welcome and greeting to friends. 

The walls were hung with mirrors, which resembled those I had seen on earth, and looking in one, I saw myself reflected, appearing about thirty years younger, but still natural to my memory of myself.

We passed on—

A door leading to an adjoining room was opened and I was immediately met by a crowd of friends. 

It is almost impossible to describe my feelings, as I saw so many familiar faces, which had passed out of my mind, it had seemed to me, forever!

And how did these people appear? 

Did they really look like men you meet every day on the streets—or on change? 

I could detect no essential difference, except that they appeared more youthful and less careworn.

After talking for a while about the political condition of the United States, they proposed to take me to see their agricultural community. 

As we went out of the building, descending a magnificent stairway constructed of a variety of stone of pale saffron, I remarked on the peculiar beauty and polish of this stone, and was informed that the principles of nature were so well understood in the spirit world that spirits could imitate almost any gem—or marble.

On either side of the broad steps, on massive pedestals, stood an immense globe—

One surmounted by a phoenix-like bird—

The other by a ship, artistically-designed—

The one, representing the spiritual—

And the other—

The material world. 

A long avenue, proceeding from this entrance, and extending to the gates, was paved through the centre with a similar highly polished composition inlaid in allegorical designs, with colours of pale violet and rose. 

On either side of this avenue grew trees of light, feathery foliage, whose arching branches met and formed a beautiful canopy over the path.

At regular distances down this broad road were placed figures raised on pedestals, representing the native animals of America. 

On each side of this path, beyond these carved images, were beds composed of a short, purple kind of grass. 

These pastures were adorned with magnificent fountains. 

A group of marble swans formed the base of one, and the water poured from their several beaks—

In the centre above them rose a species of colossal ostrich, its head and neck stretched high up in the air, throwing forth volumes of water to an immense height. 

Another device was composed of flowers—

Mammoth pond lilies, with intertwined leaves, formed the base, while a graceful variety of the pitcher plant made the central column, the water gushing from the uplifted calyx.

On reaching the gates, we found a pretty little open carriage awaiting us—

It was lined with a white crapey material, embossed with golden flowers. 

This carriage moved by a mechanical contrivance—

An electric force carried it over the ground, as smoothly as would a pair of horses. 

The road was fine, and the face of the country fresh—green and agreeable to the eye. 

The spiritual sun was shining brightly—

A most pleasant breeze fanning us at the time. 

The air was refreshingly fragrant—

More so than any field of new-mown hay I had ever smelt on earth.

Our climate is much more equable than that of earth, owing to local causes, our peculiar revolution around our sun, and magnetic and electrical influences, which predominate. 

Some of the cereals raised on earth are not cultivated here—

Others unknown to you take their place. 

Flesh is not used in the spirit-world, as an article of diet—

We live on fruit. 

The natural scenery here is so similar to earth that one expects to find a similarity in all points, but there is a radical difference.

About an hour's drive over this magnificent road brought us to our destination. 

We entered through an open gateway and proceeded up to a house. 

I could scarcely believe my eyes—

It seemed my old place at Chappaqua over again! 

The ground was the same—

Some of my very improvements appeared before me.

How under the sun is this? 

This seems Chappaqua reproduced!

Part of it is the work of your friends—

And part of it your own effort. 

Many times, when you thought you were in your own bed, dreaming of improvements you intended making on your farm, you were actually working here. 

A number of years before you left earth, you, no doubt, noticed how abstracted you became—

It grew daily more difficult to arouse you to your former state of activity.