Dawn

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"The Fairy paused, and then spoke sadly,--

"'Alas, bright being, Ada is a girl of passionate and earnest
feeling. Thou couldst not be happiness to her. Thou mightest,
indeed, abstract her intellect in time from all things but itself;
but the heart within her must first wither or die, and the death of
a young heart is a terrible thing. Pardon me, but Ada cannot be
thine.'

"'They call me Virtue,' said the second spirit; 'when I fill a
heart, that heart can live alone. It wakes to life on seeing my
shadow in the object it first loves; that object never realizes the
form of which it bears the semblance, and then turns to me, the
ideal, for its sole happiness. I am associated with every thing pure
and holy and true. Where human spirits have drawn nighest to the
Eternal, I have been there to hallow them; where the weak have
suffered long without complaint, where the dying have to the last,
last breath held one name dearer than all; where innocence hath
stayed guilt, and darkest injuries been forgiven, there ever am I.
Fairy, shall I dwell with Ada?'

"Still sadder were the accents of the guardian Fairy:

"'And is this human love?' said she. 'This would be no happiness to
my child, who is a mortal and a woman, and who will yearn for a
closer and a dearer thing than the love of goodness alone; erring
creatures cannot love perfection as their daily food. Beautiful
spirit, thou art fitted for heaven, not earth, for an angel, but not
for Ada.'

"Then spoke the third:

"'My name is Beauty,' said she. 'Men unite me to imagination and
worship me. Many have degraded me to the meanest things I own,
because my very essence is passion; but they who know my true
nature, unite me with everything divine and lovely in the world. If
I fill Ada's heart when she loves, the very face of all things will
change to her. The flowing of a brook will be music, the singing of
the summer birds ecstacy; the early morning, the dewy evening, will
fill her with strange tenderness, for a light will be on all
things-the light of her love; and she will learn what it is to stay
her very heart's beatings to catch the lightest step of the adored;
to feel the hot blood rushing to her brow, when only he looks on
her, the hand tremble, and the whole frame thrill with exquisite
rapture, and meet with delicious tremor, the first look of love from
a man. The raptures of my first bliss were worth ages of misery;
and, pressed to the bosom of the beloved, a human spirit feels it is
indeed blessed. Youth is mine, eternal youth and pleasure. Fairy,
Ada must be mine.'

"'Thou seemest,' said the Fairy, musingly, 'to be the most suited
for mortals. In thy words and emblems I see nothing but sensuality
of the least material order. And to all there seemeth, too, to be a
time when one clasp of the hand that is loved is more than the
comprehension of the grandest thought. Beauty, I will give up my
child to thee; and O, if thou canst not keep her happy, keep her
pure till I return. Guard her as thou wouldst the bloom of the rose
leaf, which may not bear even a breath.'

"The Fairy's voice faltered as she turned away, and imprinted a kiss
on the sleeper's cheek. Ada moved uneasily, but did not awake; and
in the last glance that she gave to her charge was united the form
of the spirit of Beauty, folding, in motionless silence, her radiant
wings over the low couch. The other shades had fled some brief time
since, and, burying her face in her slight mantle, the beautiful
Fairy faded slowly away in the moonlight.

"A brief time passed, and the baron had returned with his hero guest
to the castle, and the beneficent being who had guarded Ada's
childhood, had been up and down the earth, cheering the sad,
soothing the weary, and inspiring the fallen.

"Much had she seen of human suffering, yet many a great lesson had
it taught her of the high destiny of mortals, and she winged her
flight back to Ada's couch, sanguine of her happiness. The spirit of
Beauty still floated above it, but the Fairy thought that the bright
form had strangely lost its first etheriality.

"Fevered and restless, the sleeper tossed from side to side. With
trembling fear she drew near the low bed, and gazed fondly on the
unconscious form. Alas! there was no peace on that face now. There
was that which some deem lovelier than even beauty-passion; but to
the pure Fairy the expression was terrible.

"'My child, my child,' cried she in agony, 'is this thy love? Better
had thine heart been crushed within thee, than that thou shouldst
have given thyself up to it alone. Thou hast an eternal soul, and
thou hast loved without it; thou art feeding flames which will
consume the feelings they have kindled. Spirit, is this thy work?'

"'Such is the love of mortals,' answered the shade. 'It is ever
thus; the sensual objects are but emblems of the spirit union of
another world; yet this is never seen at first, and every impetuous
soul, rushing on the threshold of life, worships the symbol for the
reality,--the image for the god. Fear not, Fairy, the flame dies, but
the essence is not quenched; from the ashes of Passion springs the
Phoenix of Love. Ada will recover from this burning dream.'

"'Never!' cried the Fairy, 'if she yields her heart up to thoughts
like these. Thou art a fiend, Beauty,--a betrayer. Avaunt, thou most
accursed, thou hast ruined my child.'

"And as she spoke, weeping bitterly, she averted her face from the
shade. All was still once more, and her grief slowly calming, the
Fairy hoped she was now alone, until, raising her eyes, she saw the
being, more radiant and glorious than ever, still guarding the
sleeping girl.

"'Fairy,' said the shade, sadly, 'this is no fault of mine. I have
ever come to the human heart with thoughts pure as the bosom of the
lily, and beautiful as paradise, but the nature of man degrades and
enslaves me. Thou sawest how my wings were soiled, and their light
dimmed by the sin of even yon guileless girl, and, alas! thousands
have lived to curse me and call me demon before thee. Now, at thy
bidding, I will leave Ada, and forever. She will awake, but never
again to that fine sympathy with nature, that exquisite perception
of all high and holy things, I have first made her know. She will
awake still good, still true; but the visions of youth quenched
suddenly, as these will have been, leave a fearful darkness for the
future life.'

"'Alas! alas!' cried the Fairy, wringing her hands, with a burst of
sudden grief, 'whether thou goest or remainest now, Ada must be
wretched.'

"'Not so,' returned the shade, in a voice whose sweetness, from its
melancholy, was like the wailing of plaintive music; 'not so, if
thou wilt otherwise. Thou hast erred; from the shades of Love thou
didst select me, and, panting as we each do for sole possession of
the heart we occupy, it is impossible either separately can bring
happiness to it. Each has striven for ages, but in vain. It is the
union of the three, the perfect union, that alone makes Love
complete.'

"'But will Mind and Virtue return?' asked the Fairy, doubtingly; 'I
bid them myself depart.'

"'They will ever return,' said Beauty, joyfully, 'even to the heart
most under sway, if desired in truth. A wish, sometimes-fervent and
truthful it must be, but still a wish-alone often brings them.'

"At that moment a hurried prayer sprang to the Fairy's lips, but ere
it could frame itself into words, light filled the little chamber,
and the three shades of Love stood there once more, beautiful and
shining.

"'Mighty beings,' said the spirit, 'forgive me. Attend Ada united
and forever, and I shall then have fulfilled my destiny.'

"'We promise,' returned the shades; and gazing for a few moments in
earnest fondness on the dreamer's happy face, the Fairy bade a last
farewell to her well-loved charge."

"Where did you find this strange tale?" inquired Dawn, as soon as
her friend had finished.

"In Ralph's folio of drawings, which he loaned me a few days ago."

"Have you the folio here?"

"No, I left it at home; but took some of his last sketches to copy,
or rather study."

"I did not know you could sketch."

"I do not; but Ralph is teaching me."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Very much, with him for instructor. I should not like any one else
to teach me."

"How do you know that, as you have never tried any other?"

"We know some things intuitively; as I know that you love this man,
though no words of yours have ever lisped that love to a living
being."

"Edith!"

"Dawn, it's true; and may I not know the reason why you so steel
your heart against him?"

"I steel my heart against him? Who told you that?"

"Some Fairy, perchance; but seriously, my dear friend, answer me,
and forgive me if I seem curious and intrusive. Do you know aught
against him? Is he not high, and good, and noble?"

"For aught I know he has all those qualities of heart and soul which
would draw any woman's heart towards him."

"Then you cannot love him, save as a brother, or you would respond
to his longing to take you to himself, and help you in your labors."

"Edith, how do you know this? Has he thus laid his feelings before
another? I could not ever reverence one who could do this."

"He has not. I know it all by living in his home. I feel his sorrows
and know their nature, as well as his joys. You seem strange, Dawn;
I do not understand you."

"Neither do I understand myself. My life is strange; although I love
this man as I never loved before, I do not see that I can wed him.
Perhaps we shall be one above, but no one must come between me and
my labor,--not even the dearest idol."

"Perhaps his love might make you stronger; help you to extend your
usefulness by increasing your happiness."

Carlyle says, 'There is in man a higher than love of happiness; he
can do without happiness, and instead thereof, find blessednss.'"

"Very true; and yet happiness might also be blessedness."

"And yet you have read to me, in the fairy tale, that 'earthly love
is misery,' that it 'fevers the blood of mortals, pales the cheek,
makes the heart beat, and the voice falter, when it comes.' I cannot
be thus consumed. I have another mission. Edith, who do you suppose
wrote that tale?"

"I know not; it bore no name. Which of the three shades would you
prefer to guide you, Dawn?"

"Virtue."

"I knew your answer before you spoke it. May the spirit you have
chosen remain with you forever, and may your career be as bright as
your name."

They parted; one to rest, the other to struggle long and earnestly
with passion and feeling, ere the tide of peace flowed in.

It was morning when her soul cast off the contest, and as the
shadows of night were swept away, so her mental shadows were lost in
the soul's bright effulgence; for her emotions had been made
subordinate, not destroyed, as they should ever be, to the
spiritual. They were only submerged, not annihilated, ready to flow
again when the hour should demand them.

The natural emotions of the heart are right, when kept subservient
to reason. They are the soul's richest reserved forces, and should
not be daily consumed.

A more intimate relation sprang up between Edith and Dawn, and when
they met that morning, it seemed as though they had just emerged
from a long experience. So closely and unexpectedly do we sometimes
come to one another.

Herbert and Florence, to Dawn's great joy, were travelling in
Europe, and their children were now a part of her father's
household. The day's pleasure was planned with a view to their
happiness, and spent mostly in the woods gathering mosses, wild
flowers, and ferns.

Hugh and his new wife were daily extending their usefulness, and
growing in stronger individuality and deeper harmony. It was always
a great pleasure to have Dawn with them in their most earnest
conversations. She seemed to vivify and to cause their thoughts to
flow with a power they knew not, separately or together, without her
presence. Thus do some natures impart a sense of freedom to our
mental action, while others chill our being with a feeling of
restraint, and limit all our aspirations. In the presence of these
latter we seem and act directly the opposite of ourselves, or rather
below our intellectual and affectional plane, and the warm heart and
generous nature appears cold and distrustful.

Young Herbert, Florence's eldest, was a great talker, and as they
wandered through the woods, naught scarce could be heard, but his
voice in exclamation, questioning, or surprise, as each turn and
winding revealed some beauty new to his admiring eyes.

"I think I shall have to relate to you the fable of Echo and
Narcissus," said Dawn, as he was contending for the last word with
his sister.

"What is that? tell me right away, won't you?" he said impatiently,
seizing her hand and looking eagerly into her face.

"Not just now, but after we have gathered more mosses, and had our
luncheon, I will tell you all about the beautiful nymph."

"Nymph, nymph! what was that? Was it alive? Could it see us?" These
and other questions followed, till Dawn found it quite hard to
longer put him off.

"If you are patient and good to your sister, I will tell you all
about the nymph. Now go and take good care of her, while I go on
farther, where Miss Weston is sketching those rocks."

"I will be good, but don't forget the story, Auntie, when you come
back. Are there any nymphs here?"

"Perhaps there may be. I think there is one who resembles them very
much," and she kissed his young, happy face, turned so eagerly up to
her own. Leaving him to amuse himself as best he might, Dawn
approached Edith and seated herself beside a bed of deep green moss,
and watched, with intense interest, the growing picture for a long
time; then her mind became abstracted and cloudy. She was no longer
in the green woods, amid the fern and wild flowers, but away, far
away on life's great highway, where the dust, rising at every step,
blinded her eyes.

Thus semi-entranced, Dawn sat unconscious of the presence of her
friend, and everything earthly around her, until the spell was
broken, and her attention was attracted by a sheet of note paper,
which fluttered at her feet. Almost involuntarily she picked it up,
and her gaze was fastened upon the writing with which it was
covered.

"'Tis love which mostly destinates our life.
What makes the world in after life I know not,
For our horizon alters as we age;
Power only can make up for the lack of love--
Power of some sort. The mind at one time grows
So fast, it fails; and then its stretch is more
Than its strength; but, as it opes, love fills it up,
Like to the stamen in the flower of life,
Till for the time we well-nigh grow all love;
And soon we feel the want of one kind heart
To love what's well, and to forgive what's ill
In us--"

Then followed these lines, written with a trembling hand, some of
the words being almost illegible:

"I cannot love as I have loved,
And yet I know not why;
It is the one great woe of life,
To feel all feeling die;
And one by one the heart-strings snap,
As age comes on so chill;
And hope seems left, that hope may cease,
And all will soon be still.
And the strong passions, like to storms,
Soon rage themselves to rest,
Or leave a desolated calm--
A worn and wasted breast;
A heart that like the Geyser spring,
Amidst its bosomed snows,
May shrink, not rest, but with its blood
Boils even in repose.
And yet the things one might have loved
Remain as they have been,--
Youth ever lovely, and one heart
Still sacred and serene;
But lower, less, and grosser things
Eclipse the world-like mind,
And leave their cold, dark shadow where
Most to the light inclined.
And then it ends as it began,
The orbit of our race,
In pains and tears, and fears of life,
And the new dwelling place.
From life to death,--from death to life,
We hurry round to God,
And leave behind us nothing but
The path that we have trod."

She knew whose hand had copied these words, and how keenly the heart
that sensed their meaning was suffering, and yet she could not place
her hand upon its beatings and quell its throbs.

"Why! how came this from Ralph's folio? The wind must have taken it
out," said Miss Weston, noticing the paper, while holding the
picture for her friend to look at. Dawn did not reply to her
inquiry, but gave her words of praise and encouragement, while her
thoughts were afar from forest, friends and picture.

"Come, Auntie, it's time for the luncheon, your father says, and we
have it almost ready."

She arose, and with Miss Weston joined the party, thinking how
strange it was that those lines should come to her; for something
seemed to tell her that they had been accidentally placed in the
folio, as they were evidently not intended for any eye but that of
the writer.

The luncheon was partaken of with more avidity by the others than by
Dawn, whose mind was constantly reverting to the words which she had
read.

"Now for the story, Auntie," said Herbert, seating himself on the
grass, beside her.

"Do you remember the name of the nymph I am going to tell you
about?"

"Yes, it was-it was Echo."

"Very good. I am glad you remembered it. Well, Echo was a beautiful
wood-nymph, fond of the woods and hills, where she devoted herself
to woodland sports. She was a favorite of Diana, and attended her in
the chase. But Echo had one failing; she was fond of talking, and
would always have the last word. One day Juno was seeking her
husband, who, she had reason to fear, was amusing himself among the
nymphs. Echo by her talk contrived to detain the goddess till the
nymphs made their escape. When Juno discovered it, she passed
sentence upon Echo in these words: You shall forfeit the use of the
tongue with which you have cheated me, except for that one purpose
you are so fond of--reply. You shall have the last word, but no
power to speak first.

"This nymph saw Narcissus, a beautiful youth, as he pursued the
chase upon the mountains. She loved him, and followed his footsteps.
O, how she longed to address him in the softest accents, and win him
to converse; but it was not in her power. She waited with impatience
for him to speak first, and had her answer ready. One day the youth,
being separated from his companions, shouted aloud, 'Who's here?'
Echo replied 'here.' Narcissus looked around, but seeing no one,
called out, 'Come.' Echo answered, 'come.' As no one came, Narcissus
called again, 'Why do you shun me?' Echo asked the same question.
'Let us join one another,' said the youth. The maid answered with
all her heart in the same words and hastened to the spot, ready to
throw her arms about his neck. He started back, exclaiming, 'Hands
off; I would rather die than you should have me.' 'Have me,' said
she; but it was all in vain. He left her and she went to hide her
blushes in the recesses of the woods. From that time forth she lived
in caves and among mountain cliffs. Her form faded with grief, till
at last all her flesh shrank away. Her bones were changed into
rocks, and there was nothing left of her but her voice. With that
she is still ready to reply to any one who calls her, and keeps up
her old habit of having the last word."

"Speak to her now, and see if she will answer you?" said Dawn to her
attentive listener.

"Why, is she here? in these woods?"

"Call her, and see."

"Echo-Echo!" The words came back to the wondering child, his face
aglow with curiosity and fear.

"Now I will tell you the moral of this little story, which is: be
not anxious for the last word, as I see my good little Herbert is,
too often, especially when talking with his sister."

"Will I change into rocks and shrink all up if I do?"

"That is not the thing to be feared. But you would not; your mind
would grow narrow and selfish, which is a fate most to be deplored,
for you wish to be a good and great man, do you not?"

"Yes, I want to be good as papa, and uncle Wyman, as he always calls
him."

"Then remember and be unselfish, and think first of others' welfare,
will you?"

"I will try; and can I always talk with Echo?"

"Whenever you are near the wood where she lives."

"Will she live here when I am a grown-up man?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because, if I don't like folks' answers, I can come and talk to
Echo."

"She will certainly be very likely to be of your opinion, or, at
least, she will express herself to your liking; but I hope my little
Herbert will find those more agreeable than Echo to talk with."

"I don't want to, Auntie; I like her."

Dawn smiled, and thought how older heads did not like disputation,
preferring often the companionship of a mere echo, to good sense and
sound judgment, forgetting that "he who wrestles with us,
strengthens us."

The party returned home laden with flowers, with just weariness
enough to enjoy their rest. The children were put to bed, after a
good supper, and the family enjoyed themselves with music and
conversation, each feeling differently related to each other, as we
ever do, when some fresh life is infused into the every-day scenes
of life.

The barren soul seems like a kaleidoscope, changing its relations at
each experience, whether of joy or sorrow. How beautiful is life,
when we learn how much we can be to each other, and how varied may
be the relations we bear to our friends.

CHAPTER XXV.

Miss Weston returned to her friends, and Dawn took up the thread of
her life, which was every day extending and winding into new scenes
of darkness and light. But a voice within her, told her that one day
all the darkness would become light. She trusted that voice, for it
was speaking unto her every day, and growing each hour into deeper
recognition. What avails the love of our friends, if it be but for a
few earthly days or years? What is the love of a mother to her
child, without an eternity for its manifestation? "Whatever has
lived upon earth still lives."

The mother, forced from her new-born child, sorrows over the
physical separation. It is natural; but what power does she not
possess to live and breathe into its spiritual unfolding. Silent,
but subtle, like nature's most potent forces, her spirit descends
into its being, and there dwells, molding it every hour into a
higher form of life. Truth is at the basis of all theories, and,
though man builds many a superstructure in accordance with his own
fancy, he can in no way affect this truth. It is a natural law of
the universe, that love should linger and remain after the
habiliments of flesh are withdrawn. No one lives who has not felt,
at times, the presence of the unseen; and it seems strange that
there can be one so limited in thought and understanding as to say
there is nought beyond the narrow limit of physical life to hold
communion with our souls? Happy the man who opens the doors of his
spirit wide for angel visitors. Happy the heart which knows by its
own beating, when they come and go, for,

"It is a faith sublime and sure,
That ever round our head
Are hovering on noiseless wing,
The spirits of the dead."

It has been said that nothing is more difficult than to demonstrate
a self-evident truth. To those who feel and know of this
guardianship of friends, gone beyond, this affiliation of soul with
soul, language is powerless to transmit the conviction. It must be
felt and experienced, not reasoned into the mind, because it is a
component of the soul, a legitimate portion of its life.

"I must go, and remain away a long time," said Dawn to her father,
one morning, after they had just finished reading a letter from
Florence.

"And why, may I ask?"

"Because we are replete with the same kind of life; our minds are
set to the same strain, and exhaust each other. I can be more to
myself and others, if I go, you will enter mother's sphere more
completely in my absence, and thus shall we both be refreshed and
strengthened."

"I feel the truth of your words, and I am glad to know that your
philosophy of life so fully accords with my own."

"We have a superabundance of one quality of life in our home, and a
change is absolutely requisite for our mental as well as for our
physical well-being. Absence from it, separation between us, a going
out into new atmospheres, a social mingling with persons we do not
daily come in contact with, will produce the most beneficial
results. This is what every family at times needs. One great
objection I have to our marriage system is, that as society is now
constittuted, it allows no freedom to the individual. The two are so
exclusively together that they lose knowledge of themselves. They
suffer physically and intellectually. On the other hand, if more
freedom existed, if their lives took a broader scope, each would
know each more perfectly, and absorb from others that vigor which
would develop a natural growth of their own. For my part, I can
never submit to the existing rules of married life."

"The analogies of the natural world to human life are good, for the
rocky shore symbolizes the highest power of the human soul, which is
endurance rather than action. To most persons such characters seem
vapid and sentimental, lacking force and tone, and generally
unfitted for the enterprises of the world. And yet there are forces
in man beside the grappling and hammering manifestations of the day.
There is a greater mastery in control, than in the exercise of
power. An angry man may evince more energy than he who keeps calm in
the heat of provocation, but the latter is the man of most power. In
the common circumstances of life we must act, and act lawfully; but
to bear and suffer is alone the test of virtue, for there come hours
of pain and mental anguish when all action is vain, when motion of
limb and mind is powerless; then do we learn

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