We learn in unlearning. We lay aside, one by one, the garments in which
we have enwrapped ourselves; garments of various hues, which are our
opinions, and so clog and hinder our progress. Happily for us that
we find our states changing, and the wrappings of old dogmas too
oppressive. Fortunate are we if our freedom of spirit is large enough to
enable us to lay aside what was a shield and protection to us yesterday,
if it be not fitted for us to-day. He who is strong to do so, benefits
all around him, for no good or evil is confined or limited to one.
Everything flows; circulation is in all things, natural and spiritual.
Life in one is life in another; what is faith in one is also faith in
another.
“What is gained by one man is invested in all men, and is a permanent
investment for all time.
“A great genius discovers a truth in science, the philosophy of matter;
or in philosophy the science of man. He lays it at the feet of humanity,
and carefully she weighs in her hand what is so costly to him, and so
precious to her.
“She keeps it forever; he may be forgotten, but his truth is a part
of the breath of humankind. By a process more magical than magic, it
becomes the property of all men, and that forever.
“All excellence is perpetual. A man gets a new truth, a new idea of
justice, a new sentiment of religion, and it is a seed of the flower
of God, something from the innate substance of the Infinite Father;
for truth, justice, love, and faith in the bosom of man are higher
manifestations of God than the barren zone of yonder sun; fairer
revelations of him than all the brave grandeur of yonder sky. No truth
fades out of science, no justice out of politics, no love out of the
community, nor out of the family.
“A great man rises, shines a few years, and presently his body goes to
the grave, and his spirit to the home of the soul. But no particles of
the great man are ever lost; they are not condensed into another great
man, they are spread abroad.
“There is more Washington in America now than when he who bore the name
stood at the nation's head. Ever since Christ died, there has been a
growth of the Christ-like.
“Righteousness grows like corn-that out of the soil, this out of the
soul.
“Thus every atom of goodness incarnated in a single person, is put into
every person, and ere long spreads over the earth, to create new beauty
and sunshine everywhere.”
There was one spot which seemed more attractive to Dawn after Ralph's
birth, than her home,--our homes are just where our hearts cling for the
time, here or there,--and that spot was the home of Miss Bernard and her
brother. This desire to be with them was settling into a fixed purpose
to go, when one day her friend, Mrs. Austin, burst into her room,
saying, “I've come for you. I think a change will do you good.”
A short time only was needed to pack a few articles of clothing, and
they were soon on their way.
It was early autumn, and the skies and trees were glowing with all the
tinges and beauties of that season. Scarlet maples flashed here and
there from their back-ground of pines and firs along the road, while
over the dead limbs clambered the ivy, more brilliant in death than in
life. The air was full of life. The voice of her friend chatting by her
side was soothing to her nerves and spirits, for her life had been full
almost to bursting since he had come so near.
“You astonish me more and more, Dawn,” said her friend, who had dropped
her lighter mood, as they rode leisurely by the forest trees, which ever
seem to suggest deeper thoughts.
“And why, may I ask?”
“Because your reconciliation to your loss seems so strange and unusual.”
“I have no loss. My friend has come home closer to my heart and
understanding. The form is of little value to us when death gives us so
much more of an individual.”
“Would I could think as you do, Dawn. You are strange, and yet you seem
to get at the very core of life's experiences.”
“We cannot all think alike. There must ever be an individuality of
thought, as well as of feature, yet on the common ground of principles
we can meet. My serenity of mind is born of vision, for most clearly
do I perceive that had I been united on earth to Ralph, our lives would
have been limited. We should have gone into each other and remained,
for he was the complement of my very self. In a world of so much need of
labor, we could not be allowed to be of so little use to mankind.”
“But I do not see why you might not have blessed humanity more by your
united efforts.”
“Because we should have been located, spiritually insphered in each
other's life. Now I have no excuse for halting. I must be forever moving
to some center, and he will find his life in and through me, loving me
ever, but yet never quite settling into my life, which he was naturally
inclined to do. In his atmosphere I shall gather another kind of
strength and life; a life of two-fold power, because he will be so near
in affection, so close and indwelling. I shall have the light of his
spiritual life within me to guide me on; and can I not labor, yea, bear
all things with such strength?”
“O, Dawn, for such light one could call life and toil here, rest and
heaven.”
“As it ever will be if we seek the harmonies of our lives.”
“Now you rob death of its gloom to me. You must talk with Basil of these
things, he can understand and appreciate them. Did you know that he was
a relative of the Seyton's, a cousin to Ralph's mother?”
Dawn started. It was all clear now. Ralph would have her go to them, and
that was the cause of her yearning to be there.
“Shall we go to-morrow,” she asked of her friend, who sat abstracted by
her side.
“Where?”
“To Miss Bernard's?”
“Yes, to-morrow. They are anxious to see you, as is also your protege,
young Mr. Bowen, who has inquired for you every time I have met him.”
“I had almost forgotten him in my deep experiences. Has he changed? Does
he seem more hopeful?”
“He seems far away. I think it your mission to send people off the
earth, or, at least, into larger orbits.”
“I should like to make their lives larger, for life is not worth
anything unless we are daily putting off the old, and taking on the
new. We cannot live our experiences over. Fresh breezes and fresh
truths correspond-the outer and inner ever correspond. A clean dwelling
indicates purity of heart and purpose, while the reverse leads us to
beware of the occupant.”
They were now at the home of Mrs. Austin, who considerately conducted
Dawn to her room and left her alone until tea-time.
The evening brought Mr. Bowen, who appeared pale and dispirited, but he
was speedily assisted to better states through Dawn's efforts.
Again poor Margaret appeared to her sight, this time with a new look
on her features, as though she had gathered strength and light from the
partial recognition of one who had betrayed her, yet from whose life she
could not be separated until the spiritual balance of forgiveness had
been given and received.
Clarence was soon engaged in earnest conversation. “Do you not think,
Miss Wyman,” said he, “that we may be weakened physically by spirits who
come into our atmosphere?”
“I have no doubt of it. If they remain, and are not illuminating,
or changing their states; if they come to do us good, even, they may
sometimes weaken us, because our magnetism which sustains them becomes
attenuated.”
“I have thought that I was at times weaker, from the presence of one
whom I feel is near to me.”
“It may be. She cannot rise until you are ready to do so. And when you
both go to higher states, or you enter hers, a new life will inflow.
There will come relief. There is monotony now in the influence, because
she is waiting for new truths to be infused into your mind before
others can flow in. Perhaps I cannot make it as clear to your mind as I
perceive it.”
“The thought is suggestive, at least, and will help me out. I suppose
these things are of slow growth in the human mind, like all things in
nature?”
“They would not be of the soul were they not slow, and of little value
to us did they not ripen in the warmth and nurture of our own sunshine.”
“True. I would know more of these things. They give me strength to bear
life's burdens much better, and although they seem to take my thoughts
from my duties, I seem to be brought nearer to them; yet I cannot quite
comprehend how it is.”
“This influence does not take your mind away; it lifts it above your
cares, and makes you more contentedly subjective to the law that
governs. Truth ever renders us content to bear, while it liberates us
from thraldom.”
“I know that my life beyond will be richer and nobler for what little I
have of these truths here. You have greatly blest me-”
“And blest myself,” she added, seeing the rich gratitude of his soul
falter with the poverty of words.
He took her hand, pressed it warmly in token of his deep indebtedness,
and they parted, to meet no more on earth, save in spirit. That night
the death-angel came. He was seized with hemorrhage of the lungs, and
died instantaneously.
The wife of the world, whom position and society had chained him to,
put on robes of mourning, and in three months was a gay, flirting widow,
while he was happy in the summer land, joined to his mate, the bride of
his soul's first love.
For a long time Dawn felt not the presence of either Clarence or
Margaret. They were away, reposing in the atmosphere of forgiveness and
love, and learning that “it is not all of life to live, nor all of death
to die.”
Dawn sat beside Basil as an old friend, holding a likeness of Ralph in
her hand.
“I little thought that you knew our dear Ralph,” said Mr. Bernard,
breaking the silence they had enjoyed, “and yet I ought to have
recognized his life within yours, Miss Wyman.”
Dawn knew well why he did not, for she had kept him away from herself.
“I usually feel the sphere of the one dearest to another, when I come
into their presence; but this time I was completely in the dark. There
is some reason for it, I know.” She knew it, and also that he could read
her mind.
“I will keep nothing back,” she thought, and told him all. Just as she
had finished, Mrs. Austin and his sister came in from the garden.
“Your conditions must have blended very closely,” said Beatrice,
playfully, “it seems as though there was but one person in the room.”
“You are becoming a dangerous person to have about,” said her brother,
while his tone and speech were greatly at variance, for his voice to her
was always sweetly modulated and full of tenderness.
Mr. Bernard brought to Dawn a folio of drawings, some of Ralph's early
sketches, which they looked over together until the hour of retiring,
when the evening closed with a calm and natural prayer, such as was
nightly heard in that pleasant home.
“I shall claim Miss Wyman to-morrow,” said Beatrice; “I have a great
many subjects which I wish to talk upon with her; so, brother, you will
see that our friend, Mrs. Austin, is entertained.”
“We will engage to make you very sorry that you are not of our party,”
he answered, as they separated for the night.
“Now you are mine for a few hours,” said Miss Bernard, after breakfast,
to her guest, as she led the way, followed by Dawn, to a little room
which she had fitted up, and in which she studied or mused, sewed or
wrote, as the mood prompted. The walls were hung with pictures, her own
work, some in oil, others in crayon; all landscapes of the most poetic
conception and delicate finish.
“I have always longed for the power to express my thoughts in pictures.
What a keen enjoyment it must be, Miss Bernard, to have such a resource
within one's self.”
“I think the power resides in every person, and only waits a quickening,
like all other powers.”
Dawn thought of the hour in Germany when Ralph sat and sketched her
portrait, and the intervening time was as though it had not been. It was
but yesterday, and she sat again by his side watching the deep life of
his eyes, eyes on which she would never look again. Were they closed
forever? “O, heart so desolate. O, lone and barren shore, where are the
waves of joy? All receded; all; and she seemed to stand upon the beach
alone, while a chill ran over her.
“You are chilly, Miss Wyman, let me close the window.”
But Dawn heard not, saw not; for before her vision appeared a face all
radiant with life, toned by a look of intensest sympathy; while on the
brow glittered a star so radiant that mortal might not gaze upon it. Its
rays seemed to enter her very soul, and pierce it with life and light,
bathing it with a flood of joy. It was no longer dark, her face beamed
with a strange light when Miss Bernard turned to call her attention to
some pictures which were unfinished.
“You seemed far away, Miss Wyman,” said she. “It's so like Basil. He has
such moments of abstraction, and almost takes me with him.”
“I was away for a moment; but what a lovely picture you have here.”
“It's one I am trying to copy, but I make little progress.”
“Truth is not necessarily literal, is it? If so, I should make a poor
copyist.”
“It is not; and there is where most persons fail. 'The Divine can never
be literal, and there is in all art a vanishing point, where the Divine
merges itself into the ideal.' And that vanishing point is seen in the
human composition, as well as in natural objects, that point where we
lose ourselves in the Divine, and merge our own being into that greater,
grander being. You are an artist, Miss Wyman, you group human souls and
portray them in all their naturalness; not on canvas, for that could not
be, but spiritually to our inner sight.
“I love art in whatever form it may come to glorify life, for true art
is catholic, beneficent, touching with its mystic wand every soul within
its reach, thrilling even the sluggish and the slumbering with a new
sense of the Divine bounty which makes this world so lovely and fair.”
Miss Bernard looked grateful for the rich appreciation of her guest,
which she had scarce dared hope to find; and from art they drifted to
life and some of its present needs, glowing with friendly recognition
as they advanced and found each possessed with similar views. Thus do
we meet pilgrims on the way, at some unexpected turn, when we thought
ourselves alone upon the road.
“I know by these pictures, Miss Bernard,” said Dawn, “that your life is
full of practicality.”
“You surprise me, for every stranger thinks that I do nothing else.”
“If nothing else, you would not do this, or anything of a fanciful
nature.”
“I see you have had some experience, for very few entertain that
sentiment.”
“I have seen enough to know that those whose time is at their own
disposal rarely accomplish anything, either practical or beautiful. The
one helps the other, and one who delves hardest in the practical, rises
ofttimes highest in the ideal.”
“It is true of my own self, and others. My experiences have been varied
and deep in human life and I have learned that time is of no value
unless it is estimated by the amount of labor that can be accomplished.
When thus estimated, however it may be employed, the results are
productive of good to the individual.”
“How I wish, Miss Bernard, that the whole human family might have just
enough labor and time for improvement which they need. Life looks so
hard and inharmonious at times, when we see thousands toiling from early
morn till night, with no moments for thought or culture, that we cannot
but ask where justice to God's children is meted out.”
“Life is strangely interspersed with clouds and sunshine. I know that
somewhere all will find recompense for such seeming losses, and that
what we now look upon as evil will be seen to be good and best for all.
Did I not know this, Miss Wyman, I should have little heart to go on.
Of one thing I am certain, and that is, we must each keep working,
performing the labor of the day, and some time the great united good
will come from all this individual work. It is but an atom that each one
does, but it counts as the grain of sand on the sea-shore, and helps by
its infinitesimal portion toward the aggregate.”
“Did you ever feel, Miss Bernard, that extended vision of life's
conditions incapacitated us for real, vigorous service?”
“I have felt at times it might be so, but am convinced that it does not;
it only deepens our effort and endeavor.”
“I have often thought that I was unfitted for life, from the very fact
that I saw so much to be done.”
“When we see so much it makes us meditate, and that very condition gives
birth to greater power.”
“True, and yet I often wish I did not see so much. Why do I not oftener
feel a power somewhat commensurate with the demand and wish?”
“I suppose, because the power is born of the time and the need, and not
a burden to encumber us on our way. It is not of material nature; cannot
be packed and stored away for some occasion that may arise, but is
proportioned and adapted to the kind and quality of the requirement.”
“You have explained it just as I felt it somewhere in my soul. The
thought in me needed the quickening of another mind. You do me good,
Miss Bernard, every moment. O, how much we need interchange of thought.”
“We do, indeed, in order to know ourselves, if nothing more. But I see
that you are weary. Stay with us and rest, will you? New atmospheres are
good to throw off fatigue in.”
“I should indeed be delighted to stay here. Was Ralph fond of being
here?”
“Very; and he is here now.”
“Then you believe in the presence of spirits, and their cognizance of
us, and we of them?”
“Yes, for many years, and have been led by their advice.”
“I am at rest. I find many who believe in communion, but not
communication. I accept both.”
“And so do I. We will compare experiences, and have many happy hours.
How much we shall all enjoy. You must know my brother, Miss Wyman, for
he, too, loved Ralph with all the ardor of his deep nature.”
The next hour Dawn sat alone in communion with self, wondering at the
daily events of life, and her own deepening womanhood. Life to her
was growing richer each day. She felt that she was catching the divine
breath, and coming into celestial harmony, which is the soul's true
state. O, what bliss awaits us, when we have passed from the exterior
to the interior life; a state not of worlds, but of soul, where we come
into divine submission, and can say, “Thy will, not mine, be done.”