_MR. BONBRIGHT’S ILLNESS._
Mr. Bonbright grew weaker in body and more distressed in mind, and
Dr. Podram, the family physician, sadly announced to the family that
within a week or two the worst might be expected. The patient was
not surprised at the doctor’s prediction, and looked for nothing
better. Helen paid little attention to the lugubrious prognostication,
and was firm in the conviction that her father would recover. Mrs.
Bonbright and Rosamond were stunned by the prospect which now suddenly
opened before them, for which they were totally unprepared. They had
been so thoroughly occupied in bewailing their own loss of fortune
and position, that they had given little serious attention to Mr.
Bonbright’s condition. Their love for the husband and father could
not be called in question, but it had been greatly obscured by the
uncharitable assumption that he was at fault in bringing about the
present dilemma, and should have prevented it. Such implications were
felt keenly by him, and made the burden heavier which was already
of crushing weight. His only consolation came from Helen. Every day
she would sit by him and strive ingeniously to divert his mind by
arousing new hopes and higher aspirations, and by evoking a new mental
environment. The doctor’s unexpected announcement was like a flash of
lightning in revealing to Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond the unconscious
selfishness which had darkened the recesses of their own hearts. Their
unfeeling criticism was now softened, and they strove to make amends
for unsympathetic harshness. Added to the grief over words which could
not be unsaid, was the deeper pathos of impending separation and
loneliness.
How the near approach of death brushes away the incidental in life,
tears off its tinsel and its material attachments, revealing their
nothingness!
Helen was untiring in filial love and devotion. As she was sitting
by her father’s side on the evening following the doctor’s memorable
visit, his face brightened up somewhat, and, turning towards her, he
said,--
“Burton made some very plain suggestions to me the other night; but
the more I have thought of them, the more they have impressed me. He
thought that I had lost my life because the things of which it was
composed had been swept away, and told me that it was better that the
wrenching should happen now than at the end of my natural life, because
there was now time to build anew; but I think the time is altogether
too short. I rested entirely upon material foundations, and the fire
of adversity has turned them to ashes. It is too late to repair the
damage. Too late! too late!”
Hot tears coursed down his cheeks, and his features were the picture of
despair.
“My life has been all a mistake,” he continued, as he covered his face
with his hands.
“Dear father, it can be rectified. You can have a new life. The moment
you have a _desire_ for it, it begins to be yours. In the language of
another, ‘All that in any life you know of, or can imagine, that seems
to you lovely and to be longed for, is yours already in that longing.’
Material wealth cannot be had for the asking, but spiritual treasures
are overflowing, and only waiting for room to bestow themselves. ‘Ask,
and ye shall receive.’ I came across some beautiful extracts to-day,
which have been translated from a German book written more than two
hundred years ago. If it would please you, I should be glad to read
them aloud.”
The father looked up into his daughter’s face with the utmost
dependence and tenderness, and said that he would be glad to hear them.
With pathetic sweetness of voice, she read to him quotations from the
book entitled “The Cherubic Pilgrim.”
“God’s spirit falls on me as dewdrops on a rose,
If I but like a rose my heart to Him unclose.”
“The soul wherein God dwells--what church can holier be?--
Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.”
“Lo! in the silent night a child to God is born,
And all is brought again that e’er was lost or lorn.”
“Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent night,
God would be born in thee, and set all things aright.”
“Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord his name with ye;
I feel him but as Love, and Love his name with me.”
“How far from here to heaven? Not very far, my friend;
A single hearty step will all thy journey end.”
“Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,
If he’s not born in thee thy soul is all forlorn.”
“Hold there! Where runnest thou? Know heaven is in thee;
Seekest thou for God elsewhere, his face thou’lt never see.”
“In all eternity no tone can be so sweet
As where man’s heart with God in unison doth beat.”
“Whate’er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must:
God, if thou lovest God; dust, if thou lovest dust.”
“Ah! would the heart but be a manger for the birth,
God would once more become a Child on earth.”
“Immeasurable is the Highest; who but knows it?
And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.”
“Please read them once more, Helen, and slowly--very slowly.”
Helen read them again with deliberation.
“Beautiful sentiments!” he exclaimed. “I never before saw anything
attractive in a religious life, and I have been blind to the sweet
spirit of what you have read, for it is all new to me.”
“Religion is harmony with God,” replied the faithful daughter. “He
made us for Himself, and we are restless until we find rest in
Him. Believing in Christ is not merely relying upon the historic
Jesus as a substitute for us in the punishment for sin, but means
Christ-_likeness_, thinking like Him, and having His life and nature.
Christ is the everlasting expression of God’s love to man, and
that love, being eternal, is not limited by any special plan which
culminated eighteen hundred years ago. Jesus externally expressed
that everlasting love so that man on his low plane could better grasp
and comprehend it. Otherwise, it would have fallen short of being
intelligible to him. Divine love followed humanity down to its own
level and into its own form, and thus God became man. Such was the
Incarnation.”
“Love like that deserves a response in men’s hearts--in my heart,” said
Mr. Bonbright.
The loving daughter bent forward and kissed her father, pressing his
hand at the same time, and saying, “Such a response is heaven begun.”
“I always thought of heaven as a place, where, if one were fortunate
enough to get inside, one would be happy,” said the father.
“No man can get into heaven until heaven is first within his own
heart,” she replied. “Heaven is love, truth, purity, and, once begun
within, it is the living, ever-present proof of a heaven to come.”
“All my life I have been in the dark,” said the pale invalid, “but
now I behold light. It seems like a bright and beautiful dawn. I have
discovered a new kind of love. My dear daughter, I really feel it.”
“Dear father,” said Helen, again grasping his hand, “heaven is _here_.
Its foundations have been laid within you.”
The patient, overcome by fatigue and weakness, with a trustful
resignation, gently closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.
The next day Dr. Podram feared that the end was approaching, as
indicated by extreme faintness and weakness. He informed the family
that nothing more could be done, except perhaps by way of making use
of palliatives for temporary relief, and that heart failure might be
anticipated at any hour. With a hopeless tone he observed, “It is
possible that stimulants and concentrated nourishment may prolong his
existence for a day or two, but I am able to make no promise.”
After the doctor took his departure, Helen despatched a note to Burton,
which read as follows:
MY DEAR MR. BURTON,--My father has expressed a desire to see you
again. Your interview with him the other evening broke up barren
fallow ground and made it mellow and receptive, and I have since been
able to sow some seed which has sprung up. The spiritual man has
_new_ life, but the physical part is weak--very, very weak. I shall
deem it a great favor if you will kindly comply with his wishes, and,
if convenient, come and sit with him this evening,
Cordially yours,
HELEN BONBRIGHT.
Soon after the shades of night had fallen, Burton again made his way
along the broad avenue to the well-known palatial residence. On the
outside, everything was unchanged, only the light which shone out was
more subdued, and stillness reigned instead of the echoes of music and
voices, which in other days were plainly heard. The deep and vital
transactions and experiences now taking place within these walls, which
would transform the color and character of lives, gave no external hint
of their mighty but silent operation.
Burton was cordially received by Helen, who at once accompanied him to
her father’s bedside. Upon the doctor’s representations, Mrs. Bonbright
and Rosamond had given up all hope, and almost regarded the husband and
father as already gone. Their grief being uncontrollable, they remained
in seclusion.
The invalid was able to converse in a low tone, and expressed great
pleasure in again seeing Burton. Even with his extreme feebleness his
cordiality was in marked contrast with the indifference displayed upon
the occasion of the first visit.
“I have not long to remain,” said he, as he turned his pallid but
cheerful face toward the young man, “but I am glad to inform you that
I have found the new environment and am living in it. When the cords
snapped which bound me to the old, I did not suppose it possible that
I could so soon surround myself with the new. My hold upon it is yet
weak, but while my physical existence is fading out, my spiritual life
is growing stronger.”
“I congratulate you upon the new experiences,” replied Burton. “The
spiritual sun was all the time shining, but now you have opened your
nature and it has shone in and filled you with its brightness. And now
pardon me if I again speak plainly, and urge you to utterly disregard
all suggestions that you are about to die. Deny firmly every such
thought in your own mind, and every such suggestion from others. I
am satisfied that you will _live_. Your new environment includes
substantial life, and you will rapidly receive vital re-enforcement.”
“But the doctor has given me up, and all except Helen and yourself
regard me as already in the confines of the ‘dark valley,’ and past
hope.”
“It is an illusion, and in God’s strength you must utterly dismiss it,”
replied Burton with some emphasis. “With all respect for the doctor, he
takes no account of spiritual forces. From a material standpoint there
is no visible remedy, but that is not the true point of view. _Materia
Medica_ takes no cognizance of the deepest realm of causation, but
deals with effects, externalities. God is your life and strength. ‘In
Him you live and move, and have your being.’ Grasp hold of spiritual
forces which are waiting for your recognition, and they will find
outward expression in bodily vigor.”
“But to regain one’s health by such means would be a miracle, Mr.
Burton. Have not the days for such manifestations long since passed?”
“It might have a miraculous tinge to the eye of material sense,”
said Burton, “but, rising above the mist into the clear sunlight
of spiritual understanding, it becomes divinely natural. From the
standpoint of the _real_, it loses all traces of strangeness,
abnormity, and supernaturalness, and is found to be orderly,
scientific, and available.”
“If so potent and useful, why is it not more generally relied upon?”
“Because from the sensuous plane, where the multitudes are living,
enveloped in the dust of materiality, it is _unintelligible_. Evidence,
to be of value to them, must come within range of the lower senses. In
its essence, the physical man is only a system of instruments for the
convenience of the _intrinsic_ man in communicating with the external
world. Effect is secondary to and lower than causation; in other words,
the lower is always acted upon and moulded by that which is above it.
This principle is scientific and universal. The mental nature is above
the physical, and the latter must therefore be the expression--the
effect. To accomplish a result, we should operate upon the cause.”
“It does seem logical and even scientific, Mr. Burton, but does it
accord with revelation?”
“Perfectly,” replied the visitor. “Promises to those who recognize
this truth, and live in it, are like the stars of heaven for number,
but to dull material sense they have no significance. What a wealth of
blessing is poured out upon those who ‘dwell in the secret place of the
Most High’! In a grand summing-up, St. Paul says, ‘_All_ things are
yours,’ and, again, ‘Ye are complete in Him.’ Jesus says, ‘These signs
shall follow them that believe;’ and among the signs enumerated it is
declared ‘they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’
Are ‘them that believe’ limited to a single generation? If God withdrew
such gifts after bestowing them upon the apostolic age, would He be a
God ‘without variableness or shadow of turning’?
“But, better than all, practical demonstrations of these principles are
taking place all round us. Many affirm, ‘it cannot be possible,’ and
with those who so express themselves, such a declaration comprehends
_their whole investigation_. In so far as we can free ourselves from
materialistic slavery, and deny the prevailing race acceptance of
physical and mental disorders as God-created entities to be feared and
expected, and constantly _affirm_ our wholeness in God, our minds and
bodies will express health. A positive recognition and earnestly sought
companionship of the Immanent Spirit will guide us into all truth, and
the truth will make us _free_.”
“I believe these beautiful thoughts have already inspired me with added
vigor,” exclaimed the invalid, as his pallid countenance brightened.
“Please _rivet_ your thought upon them, and fasten the world out of
your mentality, and listen in the silence for the ‘still small voice’
which will speak peace and be a healing balm. Sink _self_-consciousness
in a _Divine_ consciousness.”
The weary eyes gently closed, and the pale features were a picture of
restful trust and faith.
A _Presence_ was there, but it was invisible to material sense.
For half an hour profound silence reigned, unbroken save by a gentle
clock-tick which marked the passing moments.
To the two souls, for the time being, there was _no world, no body_;
but only _Universal All-embracing Spirit_.
At length the deep and regular respiration of Mr. Bonbright indicated
that a gentle slumber had fallen upon him.
Burton quietly withdrew.
There was no marked change in the physical condition of the invalid
during the next two or three days, although at intervals he showed more
vigor and a slight recuperation of strength. In his mentality, however,
a wonderful transformation was apparent. The dark shadow of approaching
dissolution had been dispelled, and a sunny hopefulness and almost
buoyancy had taken its place. No conscious experience of suffering
remained. With the utmost confidence, and even exuberance of spirits,
he declared his expectation of speedy recovery.
Dr. Podram was astonished at the unexpected revolution in his
patient’s feelings. He inquired particularly as to everything which
had taken place, and in regard to the possible use of any remedy aside
from his own prescriptions. He found his anodynes unused, and the
patient insisted that they were quite unnecessary. After a few formal
suggestions in regard to the invalid’s diet, he took his leave in a
condition of great perplexity.
At Burton’s request, Helen kept him informed regarding her father’s
progress by brief daily reports.
Mrs. Bonbright could not remain insensible to the influence of the glow
which filled the soul of her husband, and she and Rosamond emerged from
their seclusion.
Adelbert left his studies and pleasures when his father was taken ill,
and had since been attentive to everything pertaining to the care of
the family and estate. He was untiring in his effort to rescue some
remnants from the financial wreck, and this endeavor so engrossed his
attention that he had spent but little time in his father’s company
since the failure.
About a week subsequent to his last visit, Burton again made a
friendly call. On this occasion he received a welcome greeting from
Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond, and, in response to Mr. Bonbright’s
request, all gathered in his room. He was sitting propped up in bed,
and, as the visitor came near, the invalid grasped his hands and gave
him a hearty benediction. While still pale, there was a light in his
eye and a smile on his face which betokened restoration and, in a
profound sense, _resurrection_. He was the same; yet, in the light
of a deeper discernment, he was another. A man had died, and another
had been born. The environment from which the dead man had drawn his
sustenance was pride, ambition, avarice, self, and the _earth_. Such
nourishment finally expressed itself in unrest, disease, and despair.
The new man was basking in the warm sunshine of love, joy, peace, and
unselfishness, and they brought forth harmony--the Kingdom of Heaven
within.
“I rejoice to see your marked improvement,” exclaimed the young man.
“A single glance shows that the despair which enshrouded you has
vanished. Please accept my congratulations.”
“Your last visit was my turning-point,” responded Mr. Bonbright. “I
can never fully express my thanks for your wonderful influence and
assistance. My debt of gratitude can never be discharged.”
“I am conscious of a debt _to you_,” replied Burton. “The happiness I
have in the thought of having aided you, vastly more than rewards me
for the slight service. Any overflow of kindly interest in another is
as great a boon to the giver as to the recipient.”
“What a glorious principle,” responded Mr. Bonbright, “and how unlike
most commercial transactions.”
“Yes, it is a grand truth that as fast as man can pour out, the Divine
repletion flows in.”
“Is it not strange that the world is so color-blind to that principle?”
said Helen, “for it is the vital force of religion.”
“Yes,” replied Burton, “it is difficult for man to arise out of the
dark tomb of tradition and belief, through the death of self, and
clothe himself with a divine consciousness, although nothing seems
more simple after its accomplishment. The sensuous veil must be rent
in twain before the divine selfhood or ‘mind of Christ’ is revealed.
Rituals, ordinances, sacraments, creeds, and institutions are but the
external letter, while the interaction of Divine and human currents of
love flowing in unison is the spirit. Every page of the New Testament
is redolent with the sweet aroma of ministry and service, while it
hardly hints at organization, or gives any intimation of ritual or
creed even the simplest and most brief. The truth of the Bible is to
the book what the spirit is to flesh.”
“But the Bible contains definite commands,” observed Mrs. Bonbright,
“and is it not our duty to recognize its authority? We designate it as
‘the guide of our lives.’”
“I recall a sentiment,” observed Burton, “which to my mind so admirably
satisfies your inquiry that you will pardon me if I quote it,--
“‘The outward word is good and true,
But inward power alone makes new;
Not even Christ can save from sin
Until He comes and works within.’”
“What you call a spiritual interpretation of Scripture, I have always
regarded as a lax and unwarranted method of lowering its authority as
the ‘Word of God,’” said Mrs. Bonbright. “If we soften its definite and
pointed declarations, do we not lose the framework of religion?”
“Truth is eternal and harmonious,” replied Burton, “but the most
opposite and inharmonious doctrines are alike based upon the letter
of Scripture. Some one has said that the test of inspiration in any
writing is its efficacy to _inspire_ life with _goodness_. Looking
beneath the letter, the Bible does that in an incomparable degree.
True inspiration is God’s light in the soul, and _all_ can receive it,
differing in degree according to capacity and aspiration. The value
of the Bible consists not merely or mainly in its historic, dogmatic,
and ethical statements, but in its power as spiritual truth to kindle
and arouse that inward illumination which is ‘the Kingdom of Heaven’
within. It is an external means to an internal end. ‘Love is the
fulfilling of the law,’ and in proportion as love is supreme the law is
_outlawed_.”
“That is a beautiful conception, Mr. Burton, but may it not in some
measure detract from the reverence with which we should regard the
Bible?” observed Mrs. Bonbright.
“On the contrary, I think it honors the book more to apply our
discriminating and God-given reason to it in the same manner as to any
other book. It is an unconscious idolatry to make it an oracle and a
fetich.”
“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Bonbright. “That is the view which has
always repelled me from it, on the ground that it was unreasonable and
full of contradictions. I now see and feel its harmony and beauty.”
“The Spirit is a _direct_ teacher, while the Bible reveals truth
indirectly,” observed Burton. “The world, and even the church, has
largely displaced the direct with the indirect method of receiving
truth. That is a grand sentiment which was expressed by Fénelon. He
said: ‘We must lend an attentive ear, for God’s voice is soft and
still, and is only heard by those who hear nothing else. Ah! how rare
it is to find a soul still enough to hear God speak.’”
“I greatly respect your principles, for the remarkable demonstration
they have had upon my dear husband,” feelingly observed Mrs. Bonbright.
“He appears reconstructed physically and spiritually.”
“My dear friends,” exclaimed Mr. Bonbright, “I am yet an invalid and
have been stripped of my property, but from the bottom of my heart I am
thankful for it all. In no other way could I have practically learned
that the body is the least substantial part of man. I am happier than
when in the midst of my greatest successes achieved while in the race
for wealth and position.”