Cynthia: The Soul-World.
I purpose to say nothing whatever concerning my life as a denizen of the outside world—of my existence or career while clothed with the garments of mortality. It is of my death that first I wish to speak, and of what took place thereafter—of where and how I found myself as soon as the icy hand of Death had touched my heart, and frozen up my vitals. While with my friends, from whom the change separated me, I was, so far as frail mortals in my condition of bodily health can be, quite happy and contented—contented to endure, with all possible patience, that for which there was no medicament, no remedy; and, all things considered, satisfied I lived, and in the self-same spirit died. Died? No; I am not dead!—bodies change; souls can never die. Why? For the reason that God, who, like human beings, is intelligent and immortal, can Himself be never blotted out of being. He is Mind, Memory, Love, and Will, not one of which can ever perish; and these being the attributes of man likewise, it follows that, so long as He exists, we must also.
In the year 1854, being ill of consumption, the person, an account of whose experience is given in these pages, although long previously somewhat familiar
