_BAR HARBOR AGAIN._
“I heard or seemed to hear the chiding sea
Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come?
Am I not always here, thy summer home?
Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve?
My breath thy healthful climate in the heats,
My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath?
Was ever building like my terraces?
Was ever couch magnificent as mine?
Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn
A little hut suffices like a town.
I make your sculptured architecture vain,
Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home,
And carve the coastwise mountain into caves.
Lo! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes,
Karnak and Pyramid, and Giant Stairs
Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab,
Older than all thy race.”
The years which chase each other by are successive waves on the ocean
of time, which toss us to and fro on the voyage of life. Perchance we
would linger awhile, but the shifting quicksands of the finite state
afford no anchorage. The tide surges on with the same irresistible
momentum, whether under sunny or cloudy skies. “Life,” says Emerson,
“is a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through
them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their
own hue, and each shows only what lies in its own focus.”
If there be a barren waste in us, we behold a desert outside. Beauty,
art, and picturesqueness become the possession only of those who
have eyes to see them. The amount of honey which we accumulate from
the years as they pass, depends not so much upon the number of
flower-gardens through which we rove, as upon our powers of extraction.
The yellow, sultry days of August have again thinned out the throngs
who hurry over heated pavements and huddle in feverish masses of
brick and mortar; impelling thousands to seek the felicity of sea and
mountain, and to inhale the rejuvenating aroma of Nature.
Another season at Bar Harbor is at its height. The gay and festive
buckboard is again hurrying through the streets, or perchance awaiting
at the wharves its share of an expected stream of weary tourists, about
to be poured over the gang-plank of an incoming steamer. The hotel
piazzas are again noisy with the voices of enthusiastic visitors,
and the parlors gay every evening with the strains of music, to the
measured beat of which merry dancers disport themselves in graceful
rhythm. Groups of excursionists are hurrying here and there, each
upon pleasure bent, and the bright hues of _négligé_ costumes are
again flitting in the breeze, accompanied by the music of hilarity and
exuberant good cheer. A successive round of “teas,” receptions and
other entertainments among the more exclusive circles of cottagers
is once more in progress, and “society” is in the full flush of
fashionable festivity.
A year has rolled around since the Sea-Foam sailed up Frenchman’s
Bay with the little yacht in tow, upon the day of the rescue of Tom
Bonbright. The noble craft is again floating at anchor in the harbor,
and Colonel Tapley now occupies the already familiar cottage. The new
proprietor has cordially invited its former occupants to enjoy his
hospitality, and Helen and Rosamond are his guests in response to the
earnest invitation.
Three uneventful months have flown by since the important happenings
and personal experiences which characterized the springtime of May.
Edward Burton had always been a welcome visitor at the Bonbright
cottage in the suburbs, but an indefinable feeling had sprung up in
his mind that there was a distance between Helen and himself, which
had not formerly existed. It was impossible for him to call to mind
any lack of cordiality, much less any coolness, in a single instance;
but there seemed to be some unknown barrier, intangible, but real,
between them. Many times he had resolved to seek some explanation, or
to make an avowal of his love and abide the results, but upon every
convenient opportunity the barrier seemed to grow to insurmountable
proportions. As Helen was always cordial, there was no possible ground
for any misunderstanding which would require explanation. There had
been no misunderstanding. There was only an invisible separation. Upon
more than one occasion he had sought to delicately draw near and pay
his homage at the foot of the fair shrine, but upon every such attempt
the hallowed object seemed to retreat and leave behind the offered
incense to be dissipated in thin air. It was no retreat of bodily
presence, no coolness of manner, no air of indifference, but rather a
_soul_ retirement, unobservable to sense, but positive to the inner
intuition. Edward Burton was quick to penetrate the mysteries of the
Unseen, but here was an opaqueness which baffled his usual keen power
of divination. He turned the subject over many times and studied it
carefully in every possible aspect. He felt assured that she had formed
no special _new_ interest, but at length a theory flashed upon him
which he could not refute or dismiss. Tapley must have been mistaken.
It were easy for one so unselfish to misjudge his own case. True, when
his friend had voluntarily put himself in the confessional by the side
of the mountain waterfall the previous summer, he had positively
diagnosed the case against himself, but his very magnanimity would
impel him into so generous an error, notwithstanding his usual rare
insight and power of penetration.
Tapley had been an occasional visitor at the Bonbrights’, but Burton
felt assured that his friend had made no advances beyond the line
of cordial friendship, but yet as to Helen there could be no other
possible solution of the mysterious barrier. It was _there_, and its
solid framework could not have been upreared without some powerful
impelling force. She _loves_ Tapley. For once his friend _was_
mistaken. He is utterly unaware of the fact, but the fact exists. There
could be no possible doubt of it. It would be of no avail to again
enter the confessional with Tapley, for the mystery was not with him.
It was locked in her breast, and nothing could release it. Such were
Burton’s deliberate and positive convictions.
Helen Bonbright had fully accepted the apparently reliable news which
Adelbert brought them, which seemed to be confirmed upon the occasion
of the moonlight call a day or two later, by various indefinable
allusions. She could not offer her congratulations before receiving
a formal announcement, but she expected such definite intelligence
upon every occasion that Burton visited them. At intervals he had
brought Miss Tapley, but oftener had come alone, yet no announcement.
If no other confirmation of the engagement were needed, Burton’s
increased reserve, and the evident existence of an impenetrable veil
between them, was quite sufficient. He was still lovable, noble, her
highest ideal; but yet not quite the same Burton as formerly. There
was a peculiar reserve; but that was not surprising, for, under such
circumstances, what else could be expected? She found herself compelled
to marshal all her forces and win a fresh victory after each of his
visits, and then would quietly and peacefully settle down to the
situation. Why did not the announcement come? She longed that it might,
that once for all a final adjustment would be apparent, and peace and
serenity abide. She busily occupied herself in charitable and hospital
visiting, and found greater pleasure in it than before.
Rosamond, after some special training, became a kindergarten teacher,
and took a deep interest in the children that were placed under her
charge. Subsequent to the family reverses, and the receipt of Lord
Percival’s letter, she came under Helen’s influence to a marked degree.
A oneness of feeling between the sisters rapidly formed, which was a
new experience. Mr. Bonbright was not the only member of the family
to whom the change of circumstances proved a blessing in disguise. A
new life pervaded the household, and a changed environment was about
it. Helen’s influence extended beyond her sister to her mother and
Adelbert, transforming their aims and occupations. Mr. Bonbright’s hand
was in every good work, and the grand principles which became deeply
rooted during his illness were constantly fruitful. The kindergarten
taught by Rosamond received its entire support from him, and nothing
gave him greater pleasure than to have the little flock of charity
pupils gather at his house upon each Saturday afternoon. His business
flourished, but he was free from all servile bondage. He never longed
for a return of the old days of selfishness, luxury, ambition, and
display, which pervaded the atmosphere of his former life.
Thus the summer days sped on, until the proposed visit of Helen and
Rosamond at Colonel Tapley’s was at hand. Helen would have offered
excuses, but could scarcely find ground for a graceful declination
of the repeated and cordial invitations. The colonel had closed his
city home, and both his son and Burton were to pass the month of
August with the rest of the family at the Maine resort. The affairs of
the magazine were running smoothly, and both felt that, for the time
being, editorial work might be more efficiently performed under the
inspiration of natural scenery than in the city sanctum.
A beautiful morning two or three days subsequent to the arrival of
Helen and Rosamond, found them again strolling upon the familiar
Shore-Walk, accompanied by Burton, Tapley, and Miss Tapley. As they
stood gazing across the bay upon the clear-cut outlines of the opposite
shore, Rosamond observed a collection of cottages in the distance,
which formed no part of the landscape in that direction the previous
season.
“What new town has sprung up as if by magic since last year?” she
inquired.
“That is Sorrento,” replied Tapley, “and it has already become quite a
resort. It will soon be time for the boat to leave for that point, and
I suggest that we make the excursion and take our luncheon at the café.
I would like to have you all get a new view of the mountains from that
distance. Here the nearness prevents the fullest appreciation of their
beauty of outline and peculiar picturesqueness.”
All were enthusiastic for the trip, and a little later they were cosily
gathered upon the upper deck of the steamer Sorrento. The air was
crystalline in clearness, and the unruffled surface of the charming
sheet of water was disturbed only by the wake of the steamer, as like
a thing of life she set in motion a long line of retreating waves,
which extended with a graceful diminuendo into the dim distance behind.
Glancing upon the left, the cottages along the Cornice Road and Hull’s
Cove dot the retreating shore, and peep out from the protecting shelter
of overhanging trees, and in the misty distance to the northward the
little village of Sullivan lies ensconced in a setting of evergreen
hills. The islands and main land are everywhere fringed with cracked
and crannied masses of brown rock, half hidden by foliage where the
waves ripple and sport.
When they hastily seated themselves, it chanced that Helen found
herself between Burton and Miss Tapley. Fearing that even so slight
an intrusion might momentarily interrupt the unrestrained freedom of
the pair, she arose, and with a graceful plea of getting new views,
made her way backward and forward upon the deck, enjoying the panorama
of the retreating mountains, and delicately avoiding the immediate
vicinity of the lovers. There was no shadow of jealousy in her thought,
nor conscious disquietude. Weeks before she had driven out the last
“skirmisher,” and peace was complete. In every situation, with the
utmost delicacy and in a quiet, unobtrusive way, she would withdraw
from their society whenever her presence might disturb their felicity.
Her love and respect for Miss Tapley increased with further intimacy
and acquaintance. Her little friend was very retiring, but possessed a
keen intellect and lovable character. The impression of _distance_ was
common to both Burton and Helen, but each thought it all in the other.
It did not disappear even when they were side by side, but it contained
no element of coolness or indifference.
Arriving at Sorrento, they partook of an excellent luncheon served at
the café, and soon after strolled out upon the piazza to enjoy the
charming prospect. Burton thought it was marvellous that such a resort,
containing many handsome cottages, could have come into existence in
a single year. Tapley suggested that it was a notable specimen of
American energy, as well as successful speculation. From this most
perfect focal distance, Green Mountain and its neighbors were changed
and idealized, and their unique outlines, bathed in a purple, dreamy
haze, formed a beautiful panorama of bold grandeur and reposedness of
which a lover of nature never would weary. After an hour’s buckboard
ride about the improvements and environment of Sorrento to enjoy the
surrounding scenery to the utmost, they recrossed the bay by the late
afternoon boat.
A few days subsequent to the Sorrento excursion, a picnic was planned
which included a ride to the southward along the Atlantic coast,
and visits to Thunder Cave and Otter Cliff. A severe easterly storm
of two days duration had prevailed, but the weather was again fine.
Owing to the intensity of the gale just at an end, the waves would be
unusually grand. The ubiquitous buckboard was called into requisition,
and a well-filled hamper provided, and no feature was lacking for a
delightful excursion. When the party was in readiness, Burton seated
himself by Miss Tapley so that Helen might have an opportunity to
sit by Tapley, which he supposed to be her preference. On her part,
Helen hastily took her place by Tapley, that Burton might have full
opportunity to enjoy the society of _his_ undoubted choice. Each
unselfishly sacrificed themselves to render the excursion more
agreeable to the other.
“Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds--
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.”
So far as word, look, or understanding were necessary to constitute
lovers, Burton and Helen were not lovers. There was a different
and real test, but no one outside of themselves could apply it. The
sensitive thermometer of love is _occupation of thought space_.
Idealized objective beauty and excellence are tenants of the mental
chambers. Helen and Burton were unlike ordinary lovers, for,
notwithstanding their persistent misunderstanding of each other, there
was no mingled bitterness or jealousy. They dwelt upon a plane where
these had no existence.
Love is unique. Lovers love not each other, but their own ideal.
Before Cupid can mount the throne and assume undisputed sway, he must
have idealized his object. This may be a shorter or a longer process,
but it must be effectual. Love is an enchantment which seizes upon
the human complex nature and works a revolution. It is a delicious
fancy, kindling the imagination and gilding its object with beautiful,
heroic, and almost sacred attributes. It matters little to love
whether in the abstract its object be beautiful, or the reverse, for
it invests that counterpart with charms even if they are non-existent.
Pursue this course of logic to its ultimate, and it is found that
objective character, quality, and even existence are all contained in
subjectivity. No one can therefore affirm that the external world has
_real_ existence, but only that it exists to his own consciousness.
Absurd as it at first might appear to material sense, if we delve
_deep_ enough, we may in the ultimate analysis find that all is mind.
Love is divine. It is only when dragged down from its normal realm and
stained with the grossness of materialism, and its expressions mistaken
for its goal, that its heavenly banner is trailed in the dust. Then
it becomes a base counterfeit. Love not only invests its object with
supernal charms, but it illumines the whole horizon. The lover is a
new man, with new perceptions, new powers, new senses. He has become
the graceful abode of sweet sounds and sights, and the pupils in the
eyes of his soul are gently dilated. Nature has been reconstructed for
him. The birds sing a new song, and flowers and trees put on a subtler
beauty, and all the world’s intonations have become more melodious. The
clouds have fair faces, and the sun and moon perceptibly smile upon
him, and sympathize with his gladness. Earth, air, and sky, tender
their congratulations. Nature, as it environs him, becomes a vast
mirror to reflect back and multiply his inspiration.
The felicity of love toward its special object is only a rudimentary
experience in the eternal procession of soul-impulses, from within,
outward. Its limitation is but temporary and educational, for its
outgoing circles are destined to be ever expansive, like the waves
from a pebble dropped in mirror-like water. Special love is only
the kindergarten for the development of ultimate broader love. As
it becomes clarified and free from all baser sediment, it grows
_impersonal_. It is designated by Emerson as “a fire that, kindling
its first embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom caught from a
wandering spark out of another private heart, grows and enlarges until
it warms and beams upon multitudes of men and women, upon the universal
heart of all, and so lights up the whole world and all nature with its
generous flames.”
Love’s grand climax will only be reached when it becomes, not only
impersonal, but blossoms into universal recognition as the _One_
Force of the Universe. All other forces, qualities, and attributes
will at last be discovered to be but colored lens effects of the
_one_ principle varying at each new standpoint in the upward path of
progress. The successive views through higher mediums, as step by step
they gain new transparency, will gradually correct former distorted
views of the One Entity. A recognition of such an Ultimate, is a
recognition of God. All other characteristics which we ascribe to Him
are but reflections of our own states. The “consuming fire” of pure
love may wear a terrible aspect to the persistently base and perverse.
“Higher far into the pure realm,
Over sun and star,
Over the flickering Dæmon film
Thou must mount for love;
Into vision where all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel
On which all beings ride,
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred, eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like;
Where good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.
There Past, Present, Future, shoot
Triple blossoms from one root;
Substances at base divided,
In their summits are united;
There the holy essence rolls,
One through separated souls.”
That wild and much-cleft chaos of brown rocks, known as Thunder Cave,
was the first stopping-place of the party. Here, through a broad chasm,
the great green waves rush in, until they find themselves stopped in
their mad career by the walls of a rock chamber, and from the mighty
shock they beat an ignominious retreat. As each proud roller meets
with overwhelming defeat, its angry roar causes a reverberation which
renders the name of the locality so realistic. They seated themselves
upon the sun-warmed rocks to enjoy the prospect. Successive watery
ranks were breaking their columns, and sending their misty fragments
high in air, in their vain assaults upon the rocky fortress. The wind
had filled them with anger, and they rushed madly on to destiny.
“How like the roar and fume of human passion,” exclaimed Burton, as he
contemplated the scene.
“Or like the mad rush of the multitudes for power, wealth, and
position, which the eager throng hasten to grasp, but find
disappointing,” suggested Helen. “Each follows in the pursuit, learning
nothing from the fate of its predecessor.”
“To me,” said Tapley, “it illustrates character and circumstance.
The ledge is character, unmoved by the waves either of adversity or
prosperity.”
“Character needs to be tried and tested,” observed Miss Tapley. “The
soul needs rounding and polishing, and this can only be accomplished
by the friction of circumstance. In no other way can the rock of human
character be made symmetrical. The rock, however, may represent the
intrinsic, and the waves the incidental.”
“Then I think that the intrinsic is frequently knocked to pieces by
the incidental,” chimed in Rosamond, “but I vote that moralizing be
tabooed, and that we move on to Otter Cliff.”
A short distance further, brought them to a bend in the road, near
which a narrow footpath branched off through the forest to the “Cliff.”
An easy walk of perhaps fifteen minutes, Indian file, through the
dense woods, brought them to the brow of the rocky declivity. Here an
irregular and almost perpendicular wall of brown rock, from one hundred
to two hundred feet in height, with great masses of _débris_ at its
foot, forms a striking picture of wild, ragged fierceness. In places
the overhanging mass is carpeted with mosses to the very edge, under
which is a steep of dizzy proportions. At other points the upright
wall is broken, and inclined masses of rocky surface interrupt the
perpendicular alignment. Helen and Rosamond were the only members of
the party who had made a previous visit to this picturesque location.
“What incomparable scenery!” exclaimed Miss Tapley, whose enthusiastic
love of the grand in nature was inspired by the prospect.
All seated themselves upon the mossy bank and made a thorough survey of
their surroundings. A steamer slowly made its way past, far below them,
and her deck was black with human specks, moving to and fro. A brisk
waving of handkerchiefs by the little party brought such a response,
that the whole deck was suddenly transformed into a fluttering
mass of whiteness. The rapture of the scene did not grow less, but
after some time the luncheon was spread, and discussed by appetites
keenly sharpened by the long ride and the pure air and exercise of
the morning. After the refreshments had been disposed of, the party
scattered a little, impelled by eager curiosity and a desire for
further exploration.
Burton and Tapley climbed to a higher position a short distance upon
the right, to get a view inland as well as toward the sea, leaving the
young ladies for a few moments upon the mossy couch near where the
luncheon had been served.
“We wish to explore this higher point a little further on,” said
Tapley, “and will return in a few minutes.”
The unusual variety of wild flowers, dainty marine plants, and mosses,
greatly interested Miss Tapley, who was a devoted botanist. By a little
effort she gathered a variety of interesting specimens. Some were found
upon the rocks, where they seemed to thrive almost upon sea air alone,
having but the smallest amount of earth from which to obtain their
sustenance. In her enthusiastic search, she strayed a little from Helen
and Rosamond, though but a short distance out of their sight. Suddenly
a series of piercing screams came from the direction in which she had
gone. The sisters were alarmed, and ran with the greatest haste to find
what had happened. In breathless anxiety they arrived upon the spot,
and a thrilling situation was disclosed. On attempting to pluck some
rare specimen, Miss Tapley had slipped upon a smooth inclined rock, and
had slid down for ten or twelve feet, and only saved herself from a
fatal fall upon the rocks below by grasping the edge of an open seam,
a few inches wide, which extended for some distance along the ledge.
Helen took in the situation at a glance, and promptly reassured her
friend with promises of speedy succor.
“Keep a firm hold,” she exclaimed, “and we will soon find means to
rescue you.”
It was, however, found to be utterly impossible to reach down to the
cleft where she was holding on. All raised their voices to the highest
pitch to alarm the young men, but no response came. A few firmly rooted
bushes grew by the upper edge of the rock, but from that position it
was impossible to reach within some distance of the opening where Miss
Tapley was clinging for dear life. She was not robust, and there was
great danger that her strength might fail before assistance could be
given. An overpowering thought flashed through Helen Bonbright’s mind
with lightning-like rapidity. “She _must_ be saved at all hazards, even
if I perish in the attempt, not only for her own sake, but for _his_!”
“Be perfectly calm and keep a firm hold,” said Helen, “and I will soon
be with you.” Thus reassured, Miss Tapley grew more calm, and hope
revived. But she was beyond reach, and no pole or anything available
to bridge the space could be found. The moments seemed like hours.
Something _must_ be done, and at once. A rapid, comprehensive survey
of the situation impelled Helen to a course of action. She directed
Rosamond to firmly grasp the bushes above the rock, and to lie at full
length upon the decline toward Miss Tapley, then keeping a firm hold
of Rosamond she let herself down, retaining a grasp upon Rosamond’s
feet, until she was able to put her own feet in the seam alongside of
the place where her friend was clinging. This proved to be not very
difficult, for the steepness was perhaps not greater than forty-five
degrees. Deftly removing one foot from the opening, she was able to
reach down to it with one hand, and then with both, finally kneeling
upon the rock below the cleft, directly by the left of Miss Tapley.
Clinging by her left hand, she clasped her right arm around the light
form of her friend, who, by the efforts of both, was able to crawl up
and grasp Rosamond, who easily retained her firm grasp upon the bushes.
By a further climb along the inclined form of Rosamond, she reached the
top, pulled herself up, and was _safe_. It was impossible that Miss
Tapley could have been rescued except by exchanging places with her,
and this Helen had done. Had the rescue been in the least delayed, it
seemed certain that her failing strength would have yielded, as she was
_petite_ and delicate. Helen, being perfectly calm, and possessed of
great energy, could maintain her position as might be necessary. Her
height was not quite sufficient to enable her to reach Rosamond, and
nothing could be done but to heroically await the return of the young
men. Presently the music of their voices was audible as they rapidly
approached. They had heard nothing of the first screams, being beyond
the summit of the hill, and the noise of the waves also prevented any
sound from penetrating for more than a short distance. They quickly
assisted Rosamond to arise, and then could discover no better plan for
the relief of Helen than the one adopted by her for the relief of Miss
Tapley. Grasping the bushes without delay, Tapley acted the part of a
human ladder, down which Burton descended and joyfully rescued Helen
from her perilous position. A few moments, and she was again upon safe
footing. Burton, by his utmost stretch, grasped Tapley’s boots and
quickly made the ascent. All were safe. Miss Tapley, although faint
and at first too weak to stand without assistance, as a result of the
terrible strain, warmly embraced Helen and smothered her with kisses
of love and gratitude. By nature she was undemonstrative, but her
thankfulness was now beyond expression.
“To your unselfish devotion and courage I owe my life,” she exclaimed.
“I can never repay such an obligation.”
“Please dismiss all thought of obligation,” said Helen, as she hugged
and caressed the little form and stroked her forehead to soothe and
restore her. “I love you, and am so thankful that I could help you.”
After resting for some time they slowly made their way back to the
carriage-road.
The next morning revealed the undisputed occupation of one of those
impenetrable gray fogs in which, occasionally, Bar Harbor is submerged
and blotted out. The stillness of the murky atmosphere was only broken
at intervals by the distant shrill whistle of some steamer, carefully
feeling its way through the dense obscurity, or the subdued rumble of
an occasional vehicle as it slowly glided past like a dark shadow. The
thick curtain of mist remained all the morning, but soon after noon
a yellow light began to be diffused through it, transforming it into
a golden vapor which in its turn dissolved, disclosing the bluest of
crystal skies and a pure, transparent atmosphere. “Old Sol” shone out
with intense clearness, as if to offer compensation for his temporary
“shutting-off,” and during the serene afternoon hours Nature was in
one of those rare and dreamy moods when all her voices are attuned to
celestial sweetness and harmony. The air was quivering with brightness,
and a delicate ozone was being distilled, whose vitalizing aroma was
poured out like a universal benediction.
The family and guests at the Tapley cottage had passed the foggy
morning hours in-doors, but the enchantment of the afternoon drew every
one out, for mere living with such an environment was felicity. The day
was waning. Tapley and his sister had gone to the wharf to await the
arrival of friends who were expected by the evening boat. Rosamond was
deeply engaged in poring over the pages of an interesting book, and
Burton and Helen were left to themselves upon the piazza.
“Here we have remained ‘housed up’ most of the day,” exclaimed Burton.
“What do you say to a walk?”
“It will be delightful,” she replied. “Which way shall we go?”
“It is immaterial to me. How would you like to walk up to the hill,
where a fine view of the sunset may be obtained?”
“I shall much enjoy it,” she replied. “With the masses of light clouds
which are just coming up, I fancy it will be unusually gorgeous.”
They set out, leisurely passing along the narrow walk in the direction
of Sunset Hill. The rays of the declining sun rarely fall upon a
fairer form than that of Helen Bonbright. It would be idle to attempt
a pen-photograph of her, as with light elastic step she made her way
by the side of the noble young man, who, though so near, was, in some
intangible sense, _distant_. As he turned his gaze upon the graceful
willowy figure, the pink transparent countenance, the silken blond
hair, and the dreamy blue flashing eyes, all of which were but the
outward expression of the beautiful soul which shone out from within,
two thoughts flashed upon his mind: _nearness_, _distance_.
They followed a narrow shaded carriage-road, and then branched off
through a footpath to a “lookout,” from the top of which a most
extended panorama was spread out. Mounting its flight of steps to
the upper platform, they seated themselves to enjoy the landscape
below. The bay, hills, and forests were suffused and gilded with the
brightness of the declining sun. The two souls were entranced with the
scene, and with each other; but a mysterious _something_, which each
saw in the other, held them aloof.
“What a difference between the beauty apparent in yonder brilliant
expanse, considered as one blended picture, and the material details of
which it is composed,” said Burton. “As a unit, the effect is charming,
and yet how dreary if considered only as a mass of disjointed and
fragmentary components. All the hardness and sharpness of the special
features become beautified when shaded into harmonious combination.”
“Yes,” replied Helen, “just as in life. Within the sensuous details
of time, space, and circumstance, dwell care, friction, and discord,
while with the comprehensive ideal _whole_ is the flush of joy, and the
fulness of beauty.”
“The flood of sunshine upon yonder landscape,” observed Burton, “may
well represent the divine effulgence of love, which warms the earth
with its glow, and which shines upon and is reflected through persons,
as if each with a mirror repeated something of the central brightness.”
“A beautiful illustration,” replied Helen.
“It reminds me,” continued Burton, “of the splendid practical
demonstration which you gave of that principle yesterday, in the rescue
of our friend.”
“There was nothing remarkable in my action,” replied Helen. “Miss
Tapley is my friend, but I hope that I should make as great an effort
for any one.”
“You are deserving of general gratitude,” said he, “and besides, on my
own behalf, I want to thank you. You are aware that for a few months
past my home has been with the family, and I have a special interest in
its welfare. I cannot permit your unselfish goodness to pass over the
event so lightly.”
There was a heightened color in the pink cheek, and an intensity of
heart-beat, which was unusual for Helen Bonbright. She withdrew her
glance from the distant landscape and turned it full upon Burton,
but he was as calm as the distant mirror-like bay. Regaining her
self-command at length, she softly replied,--
“In response to your frankness for giving me such important
information, I am somewhat inclined to tell you what passed in my mind
yesterday, when I first discovered Miss Tapley’s condition; but I must
not, even though it might please you.”
“Oh, yes, please do. What was specially in your thought?”
“Please let it pass. It really is of no importance.”
He cast a quick glance into her face to read, if possible, in the fair
features, the mystery, while his own placidity had been replaced by an
intense curiosity. “I implore you to tell me,” he pleaded. “What was
your peculiar mental experience?”
“Well, if it will content you, I will say that I thought of _you_.”
“Why of me more than Tapley? You needed our mutual help.”
“Having made known the fact,” she replied, “you wish to go deeper and
insist upon the reasons.”
“You are quite correct. I beg that you will not refuse.”
It was a trying moment. Casting her glance again toward the landscape,
she finally responded, “You are my friend, and I will be frank. I
thought of you _especially_, because, while she is Tapley’s _sister_,
she is to you, by your own announcement a few moments ago, _how much
more!_ Although having long been aware of your engagement, I have not
felt at liberty to allude to it, but now, with the report confirmed
by your lips, I may speak freely. No extra motive was necessary
yesterday to induce me to put forth all my efforts, but there existed
motive _upon_ motive. If disaster befell her, added to all else, I saw
desolation in your whole life.”
A mist arose before Burton’s eyes. With a great effort he calmly
inquired, “Please, what did you understand me to _say_ a few moments
ago, in regard to Miss Tapley?”
“Pardon me, I only understood you to allude to the matter which has
long been settled: your engagement to Miss Tapley. As a near friend
I congratulate you, without waiting for more formality in the manner
of your announcement. You are both dear friends, and have my sincere
wishes for your happiness and prosperity.”
She extended her hand, but he drew back, and his own hands fell to his
sides. His lips were pale and open, and he was overcome with emotion.
“My dear friend,” he exclaimed; “pardon me, but I am not conscious of
having spoken of a special interest in Miss Tapley. My reference was to
the _family_ in general, whatever I may have inadvertently said. Miss
Tapley is my dear and respected friend, but I am not engaged to her.”
“I beg a thousand pardons for misunderstanding you,” replied Helen. “I
am forced to explain, and then will drop the subject. Based upon what
seemed to be reliable information, I have long taken your engagement
for granted, and with that in my mind I must have misunderstood your
allusion. The report was of course premature.”
“My dear friend,” he feelingly replied: “do _you_ wish the report were
true?”
The mist was now thick before her eyes. The question was direct. She
was transparent, and it uncovered the deeps. What could she reply? She
_could_ not say _yes_. She _would_ not say no. Her gaze was riveted
upon the distant sunny landscape as if she had not heard the question,
or else expected the answer to be echoed from afar.
“Please pardon such an abrupt question,” he exclaimed.
The foundations were breaking up. Barriers were dissolving, and
distances lessening. Would the fog ever be dispelled?
“I am impelled to delve more deeply into this subject that its
mysteries may be resolved. The atmosphere was murky this morning, but
now the horizon is clear. God grant that it may be so with us. I have
never loved Miss Tapley, and there is not the slightest foundation for
the report which you have believed.”
He resolved to burn the bridges behind him. Might not her
misapprehension regarding _him_ have created the “distance”? Could he
not have been mistaken in _his_ estimate of _her_ feelings, as readily
as she could have so perfectly misapprehended his position? _He would
know._
He quietly kneeled at her feet, but her face was gently inclined toward
the reflection of the sun in the distant water.
“Helen, you are my dearest love! my beautiful ideal! my angel!” he
exclaimed, in low, musical tones. “You are the pure shrine where for a
whole year I have bestowed homage. You are the sacred image which has
been constantly reflected in the mirror of my soul.”
Her face was still slightly inclined toward the distant reflection, but
it shone with a radiance of its own. He clasped her unresisting hand,
and pressed it to his lips. “May I call you my love?”
The blue dreamy eyes had become moist, and they turned from the distant
landscape and sweetly looked into his, and her soul responded through
them.
* * * * *
Gentle zephyrs among the tree-tops overhead whispered a benediction.
The merry twitter of birds gave expression to their joyful
congratulations. The woods were redolent with sweet perfume, and all
nature smiled upon them. The soft balmy air, so clear and transparent,
seemed like liquid amber distilled over the hills, and a golden halo
suffused two faces now turned _toward_ each other.
The king of day slowly sank to his couch of royal purple, moving
majestically among great masses of fleecy domes, and lighting them
up with a weird gorgeousness. Cloud-forms, like Alps upon Alps, were
piled upon each other, casting a reflection of rainbow shades over the
whole horizon. Soon the resplendent colors deepened in intensity, and
each vapory mass was dyed with a deep crimson; then the evanescent
splendor faded, and the golden orb retired, refulgent to the last.
The transcendent afterglow, marvellous in its richness, lingered,
reflecting its unearthly splendor upon the purple hills, and affording
to the human imagination almost a glimpse of the celestial regions.
TENTH EDITION
IDEAL SUGGESTION
THROUGH
MENTAL PHOTOGRAPHY
A Restorative System for Home and Private Use, Preceded
by a Study of the Laws of Mental Healing
By HENRY WOOD
AUTHOR OF “GOD’S IMAGE IN MAN,” “EDWARD BURTON,” “THE
POLITICAL ECONOMY OF NATURAL LAW,” “STUDIES
IN THE THOUGHT WORLD,” ETC.
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The result of reading this book is to acknowledge Mr. Wood an original
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Mr. Wood has the faculty of presenting vital topics in an interesting
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Edward Burton
AN IDEALISTIC METAPHYSICAL NOVEL
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God’s Image in Man
Some Intuitive Perceptions of Truth
By HENRY WOOD
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NATURAL LAW” “STUDIES IN THE THOUGHT WORLD” ETC. ETC.
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An honest, able, and promising effort to free faith from unnecessary
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“God’s Image in Man” is a work which will quicken the aspiration
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Its pure and elevated style is wonderfully attractive. This volume is
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It treats of the different modes of divine revelation and cognate
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Full of deep and suggestive ideas from the standpoint of theology of
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Mr. Wood’s method is that of Horace Bushnell, of Beecher and of
Swedenborg’s school of thought; all these were mystics; but so may it
be said were Jesus and Paul.--_Home Journal, Boston._
Many who have been hampered by the trammels of mediæval thought may
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The book cannot fail to be helpful in the renaissance of Christianity
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Mr. Wood has done us a service, and we trust that many will receive
from the same and subsequent volumes spiritual quickening.--_The
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The book is suggestive, helpful, and an inspiration to pure thought and
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With poetic insight, reverent spirit, and glowing language, the author
of this book seeks to set forth some of the salient facts of the
universe, so far as they afford us a manifestation or revelation of
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LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston
The Political Economy of Natural Law
BY HENRY WOOD
Author of “Ideal Suggestion through Mental Photography,” “God’s Image
in Man,” “Edward Burton,” etc. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.25
CONTENTS.
I. General Principles
II. Supply and Demand
III. The Law of Competition
IV. The Law of Coöperation
V. Labor and Production
VI. Combinations of Capital
VII. Combinations of Labor
VIII. Employers and Profit Sharing
IX. Employés: Their Obligations and Privileges
X. Governmental Arbitration
XI. Economic Legislation and Its Proper Limits
XII. Dependence and Poverty
XIII. Socialism as a Political System
XIV. Can Capital and Labor be Harmonized
XV. Wealth and Its Unequal Distribution
XVI. The Law of Centralization
XVII. Action and Reaction, or “Booms” and Panics
XVIII. Money and Coinage
XIX. Tariffs and Protection
XX. The Modern Corporation
XXI. The Abuses of Corporate Management
XXII. The Evolution of the Railroad
XXIII. Industrial Education
XXIV. Natural Law and Idealism
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Mr. Wood’s task has been accomplished in admirable style. The work is
one that breeds reflection. Its perusal broadens the horizon and lifts
the thinker into lofty altitudes--altitudes where mind is seen to be
the worker, and labor, land, capital, and coin to be but the tools;
where altruism is stimulated and the sweetness of charity is realized,
and the fact of racial unity is felt, and a glimpse is had, as from
Pisgah’s summit, of the final fraternization of humanity.--_Chicago
Evening Post._
“The Political Economy of Natural Law” is written in a clear style, and
is in all points an admirable, satisfactory, and original treatment of
the subject.--_San Francisco Call._
It were well for the nation if more works of like facility of
comprehension and dealing with such subjects were disseminated.
--_Philadelphia Item._
It would be difficult to imagine a clearer statement of premises and
conclusions than is therein contained, and there is no profession nor
business to which its teachings do not apply.--_Boston Ideas._
It would be well indeed for the future were this work adopted as a
text-book.--_The Occident_ (_Chicago_).
His mental powers are both analytic and synthetic, and it is a genuine
pleasure--a mental recreation--to follow him through his reasoning
processes.--_Christian Leader_ (_Cincinnati_).
The “Trade Journal” might fill ten of its columns with just such
interesting quotations, but it does not intend to. Every reader of
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book.--_Indianapolis Trade Journal._
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber for the reader’s
convenience.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.