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 them—an obscurity, thick as darkest night, hemming them in on all sides. Yes, thank Heaven! man can untie the gordian knot, and triumphantly pass the Rubicon, but not over the bridge of Mesmerism, obsession, drugs, or any of the ordinary means usually resorted to; but through the continued exertion of, and —the four golden posts to which are hung the double gates, which open in both worlds. Souls are, of course, the subjects of number, and in this sense are "particles,"—souls of course being plural; yet soul is not, for although you may subtract forty-eight from forty-nine, and leave a remaining unit, yet that unit is absolutely one; and you could no more dismember it, than you could find the lost particles of dust upon a midge's wing. Spirit is substance in absolute coalescence; matter is substance, whose particles never touch each other; and soul is a developed monad. A thought of a house is, until that thought be actualized—surrounded with matter conforming to its shape—a monad. There was a period when God was alone; he thought, and the product of that thought is the material universe, as we see it; he thought again—and lo! those thoughts, each one complete in itself, took outer garments, and became human beings. Far off, in the past eternities, God's thoughts went forth; these were the monads. First, they entered into lower forms, then higher and higher, till at last they reached organizations adapted to the perfect ripening of that which had all along been growing. The ripening produced Intelligence: that intelligence is the soil, out of which Intuition grows; and what this last advances to, we already know. How long, and through what countless