_V._ The multitudinous conglomeration of rare matter into nebulæ,
      planets, suns, and other bodies which are neither nebulæ, suns,
      nor planets, is for the sole purpose of supplying _pabulum_ for
      the idiosyncrasy of the organs of an infinity of rudimental
      beings. But for the necessity of the rudimental, prior to the
      ultimate life, there would have been no bodies such as these. Each of these is tenanted by a distinct variety of organic,
      rudimental, thinking creatures. In all, the organs vary with the
      features of the place tenanted. At death, or metamorphosis, these
      creatures, enjoying the ultimate life—immortality—and cognizant
      of all secrets but _the one_, act all things and pass everywhere
      by mere volition:—indwelling, not the stars, which to us seem the
      sole palpabilities, and for the accommodation of which we blindly
      deem space created—but that SPACE itself—that infinity of which
      the truly substantive vastness swallows up the
      star-shadows—blotting them out as non-entities from the
      perception of the angels. _P._ You say that “but for the _necessity_ of the rudimental
      life” there would have been no stars. But why this necessity? _V._ In the inorganic life, as well as in the inorganic matter
      generally, there is nothing to impede the action of one simple
      _unique_ law—the Divine Volition. With the view of producing
      impediment, the organic life and matter, (complex, substantial,
      and law-encumbered,) were contrived. _P._ But again—why need this impediment have been produced? _V._ The result of law inviolate is perfection—right—negative
      happiness. The result of law violate is imperfection, wrong,
      positive pain. Through the impediments afforded by the number,
      complexity, and substantiality of the laws of organic life and
      matter, the violation of law is rendered, to a certain extent,
      practicable. Thus pain, which in the inorganic life is
      impossible, is possible in the organic. _P._ But to what good end is pain thus rendered possible? _V._ All things are either good or bad by comparison. A
      sufficient analysis will show that pleasure, in all cases, is but
      the contrast of pain. _Positive_ pleasure is a mere idea. To be
      happy at any one point we must have suffered at the same. Never
      to suffer would have been never to have been blessed. But it has
      been shown that, in the inorganic life, pain cannot be thus the
      necessity for the organic. The pain of the primitive life of
      Earth, is the sole basis of the bliss of the ultimate life in
      Heaven. _P._ Still, there is one of your expressions which I find it
      impossible to comprehend—“the truly _substantive_ vastness of
      infinity.”

      _V._ This, probably, is because you have no sufficiently generic
      conception of the term “_substance_” itself. We must not regard
      it as a quality, but as a sentiment:—it is the perception, in
      thinking beings, of the adaptation of matter to their
      organization. There are many things on the Earth, which would be
      nihility to the inhabitants of Venus—many things visible and
      tangible in Venus, which we could not be brought to appreciate as
      existing at all. But to the inorganic beings—to the angels—the
      whole of the unparticled matter is substance—that is to say, the
      whole of what we term “space” is to them the truest
      substantiality;—the stars, meantime, through what we consider
      their materiality, escaping the angelic sense, just in proportion
      as the unparticled matter, through what we consider its
      immateriality, eludes the organic. As the sleep-waker pronounced these latter words, in a feeble
      tone, I observed on his countenance a singular expression, which
      somewhat alarmed me, and induced me to awake him at once. No
      sooner had I done this, than, with a bright smile irradiating all
      his features, he fell back upon his pillow and expired. I noticed
      that in less than a minute afterward his corpse had all the stern
      rigidity of stone. His brow was of the coldness of ice. Thus,
      ordinarily, should it have appeared, only after long pressure
      from Azrael’s hand. Had the sleep-waker, indeed, during the
      latter portion of his discourse, been addressing me from out the
      region of the shadows? THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF M. VALDEMAR


      Of course I shall not pretend to consider it any matter for
      wonder, that the extraordinary case of M. Valdemar has excited
      discussion. It would have been a miracle had it not—especially
      under the circumstances. Through the desire of all parties
      concerned, to keep the affair from the public, at least for the
      present, or until we had farther opportunities for
      investigation—through our endeavors to effect this—a garbled or
      exaggerated account made its way into society, and became the
      source of many unpleasant misrepresentations; and, very
      naturally, of a great deal of disbelief. It is now rendered necessary that I give the facts—as far as I
      comprehend them myself. They are, succinctly, these:

      My attention, for the last three years, had been repeatedly drawn
      to the subject of Mesmerism; and, about nine months ago it
      occurred to me, quite suddenly, that in the series of experiments
      made hitherto, there had been a very remarkable and most
      unaccountable omission:—no person had as yet been mesmerized in
      articulo mortis. It remained to be seen, first, whether, in such
      condition, there existed in the patient any susceptibility to the
      magnetic influence; secondly, whether, if any existed, it was
      impaired or increased by the condition; thirdly, to what extent,
      or for how long a period, the encroachments of Death might be
      arrested by the process. There were other points to be
      ascertained, but these most excited my curiosity—the last in
      especial, from the immensely important character of its
      consequences. In looking around me for some subject by whose means I might test
      these particulars, I was brought to think of my friend, M. Ernest
      Valdemar, the well-known compiler of the “Bibliotheca Forensica,”
      and author (under the nom de plume of Issachar Marx) of the
      Polish versions of “Wallenstein” and “Gargantua.” M. Valdemar,
      who has resided principally at Harlem, N.Y., since the year 1839,
      is (or was) particularly noticeable for the extreme spareness of
      his person—his lower limbs much resembling those of John
      Randolph; and, also, for the whiteness of his whiskers, in
      violent contrast to the blackness of his hair—the latter, in
      consequence, being very generally mistaken for a wig.