Dawn

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"Sybil Warner!" exclaimed Basil, white with emotion, and turning to
his sister, whose palor equaled his own, "Have you ever spoken that
name to her?" he asked, pointing to the upturned face of Dawn.

"Never! I am equally astonished and interested with yourself."

"Shall we question her,--the spirit?" But before Basil could reply
the spirit spoke:

"You were not aware, I know, that I passed to the spirit-land a few
years ago; and for that reason, and many others, I come to give you
a test. The mention of my name must have been a surprise to you, for
never in the earth-life, did I meet this lady whose organism I now
employ to speak to you. You would know of my life, after I withdrew
from the world of fashion. At some other time it shall be given you;
enough for the present, that I became world-weary, and, possessing
what is called second-sight, drifted through life, caring naught for
the heartlessness around me. The life which makes up three-fourths
of the so called happiness of humanity I could not adopt as my own;
therefore I was alone, and a wanderer. I was, of course, called
strange and weird. What cared I, when every-day glimpses of the
larger life were given me,--that life which I was so soon to enter
upon. One humble spirit stands by me here, whose name is Margaret,
and sends love and gratitude to the beautiful being through whom I
now address you.

"Friends of my youth, always so good and true to me, I come to
mingle my life with yours, and to grow strong with you in good and
holy purposes. We of the upper air, do not live alone; we need your
life, as well as you do ours. This communion is as ancient as time,
and will endure throughout eternity. Volumes could not tell of the
broken households united through this light. Search for its hidden
treasures; they are worthy of untiring study. Its glory will not
fall into your life; it must be worked out by your own efforts and
found within your own experience. Thus it will become a part of your
immortal self, and help you on your heavenly way. The skeptic cannot
sit and call us who have thrown off the mortal, by words alone, for
only in answer to deep and heartfelt desire do we come and hold
communion with our earthly friends. They who seek shall find.

"Of the spiritual condition of those who enter this state of
existence, I can only say to you now that it is identically the same
after what you call 'death,' as before; neither higher nor lower.
Progress and happiness here, is as it is with you, dependent upon
personal effort. We of the spirit-world have rest and unrest, hope
and doubt, according as our states, conditions and surroundings
vary. One of my strongest purposes has been to identify myself to
you, my friends, to-night. I have succeeded beyond a doubt; none can
exist in your minds of my identity-my self, for you have never
breathed my name to this mortal. Again will I come to you and tell
you of our lovely world which we enjoy, each according to individual
development. I dwell in peace. Peace I leave with you. Farewell."

Dawn passed her hand over her brow, as though trying to recall a
vanished thought, and slowly came to her normal condition, while her
face shone with a light most beautiful to behold.

"Were you conscious of what has transpired?" asked Miss Bernard.

"Yes; and yet so absorbed in another life, that my own spirit seemed
floating, yielding to another's will and heart pulsations. This is
imperfect, I know, as an explanation, but it is the best I can
give."

"It is something which cannot be explained," said Basil, and she
knew by these words that he fully comprehended her.

O, soul, how thou dost relieve the labor of the mind, seeing with
finer vision into the centre of life, and there beholding the
countless workings of the inner being. What an atom of our self do
we exhibit in our little sojourn here. Those of limited sight say we
are thus and so, and pass on. Others measure us by themselves, and
call us dull, or lacking vital life, ignorant of the fact that
they each take all they know how to appropriate, of our quality. A
lifetime would give them no more, if their receptive states did not
change.

"This experience has given our life a new sweetness," said Basil,
seating himself by Dawn. "We have long believed in these things, but
have never had such proof of their truthfulness as to-night. We
need not tell you how happy you have made us, or how much we shall
always enjoy your coming; for we enjoy you personally, aside from
this thrilling power which your organization embodies. I, too, have
experienced this light, and know well the strange thrill which comes
over us, when we meet those who are akin in soul, and assimilate
with our mental and spiritual natures."

"And how the depth is sounded, when we are brought in contact with
those who are antagonistic," said Dawn.

"I presume that those who disharmonize us, aid us to higher states,
for they force us out in search of something better. The divine
economy is at work in every phase of life, and our growth of soul is
often greater in our night of sorrow than in our day of joy; or
rather, we reach forth deeper and stronger after the true life, when
the cloud is upon us, than when the sun shines brightly on our path,
just as the tree extends its roots farther into the ground, when
rocked and swayed by the tempest."

"Yet the sunshine of happiness matures the leaves and branches. I
have had much sunshine," said Dawn, speaking the words slowly and
tenderly.

"I would that the storms might pass over you, but in the human lot I
know they must come."

She looked into his eyes, and they appeared so like Ralph's just
then that tears came to her own, and she could not force them back.

"This emotion is not all your own," said Mr. Bernard.

Dawn looked up inquiringly.

"He is here-Ralph, and too often for your good and his own."

A flush came over her face.

"I mean no harm," he continued. "It is true that he will weaken you
by too much emotion, which was ever a large component of his
beautiful and trusting nature. Ralph must put aside his deep
tenderness, and come less often, and then he will bring you more
strength when he does come to you."

"But what if he never left me, and never can, Mr. Bernard?"

"Then you must mingle with those who are his opposite, those who can
strengthen him through you."

"I never thought of that before."

"Nor I, Miss Wyman. It is the impression of the moment, but none the
less true for that."

"I feel its truth, and will act upon it; thus a portion of his
development will come through my associations, be drawn up through
the earthly conditions that surround me. How little we know of the
other life, or of this."

"The two are so conjoined that a knowedge of one cannot but bring
with it some truth concerning the other."

The conversation had been of so much interest that they had not
noticed how far into the night it had been protracted, until a
sudden glance at the clock led Beatrice to suggest that Dawn might
wish for rest preparatory for her journey on the morrow.

"How kind of you to come so soon, Dawn," said Mrs. Austin, excitedly
clasping her to her heart. "I am so sad, and only you can relieve
me."

"What is it? Are you or any of your family ill?"

"No, no. Something worse, much worse to me. Sit by me while I tell
you."

Dawn took the seat, while in hurried, trembling tones, her friend
related her story.

"You know my sister Emily, Mrs. Dalton. Well, two days ago I
received a letter from her, stating that she had left her husband,
and was coming to see me a few days to tell me all, and then go
through the world alone."

"Is that all? I thought something fearful had happened," said Dawn,
looking calmly on her friend.

"All? Can anything be worse than that? Think of the disgrace to us;"
and Mrs. Austin burst into a flood of tears.

"It's no disgrace if they could not harmonize, but the very highest
and best thing they could do."

"O, Dawn; but what will the world come to, if all the married people
flare up at every little inharmony, and separate?"

"You are not the judge of your sister's course. You do not know what
she may have passed through. She knows best, and this is her work
alone, her cross. I do not advocate that parties should separate,
until all means for a harmonious life have been tried. Then, if they
find there can be no assimilation, it is far better that they should
part, rather than they should live a false life. The world in its
different stages of progress, has been sustained thus far and will
continue to be. We are in the midst of a social revolution, and
there must be many separations, and changes innumerable in every
form and condition of life. Truth and error must be divorced, and
whatever does not affinitize in mind and matter, in the moral or
spiritual world, must be separated. This is the inevitable result of
God's law, and can no more be set aside than any other which he has
ordained. You speak of 'disgrace,' but to me that would come only,
when, after employing every possible means to live a full,
harmonious life, united, and it is found an impossibility, the two
continue to live together despite the decree of God, made manifest
in their nature, that it is sinful for them to do so. This all is
within the province of that 'higher law' which many profess to
contemn, but to which all must sooner or later submit."

"I wish you could talk with Edward; he holds nearly the same views.
Will you stay with me a few days, until my sister comes, for I have
not strength to bear this?"

"I will; but would it be agreeable for her to see any one here? She
naturally desires to see you alone."

"She loves you, and said in her letter, 'if I could see Dawn, or Mr.
Wyman, I think I could gain strength.'"

Dawn had no opportunity to escape, for Mrs. Dalton arrived that
afternoon, unexpectedly, and before night had opened her soul to
her. It was while Mrs. Austin supposed she had retired for the
night, that Mrs. Dalton sought the room of Dawn; for the heart,
while passing ordeals, seeks another to share or to lessen its woe.

"I will in a few words tell you all," she said to Dawn. "Twelve
years ago I was married, to please my parents and friends, to one
toward whom I never felt the thrill which should glow through all
our being in the presence of one whom we take into so close a
relation. Between us there never can exist the conjugal relation,
for we are to each other but as brother and sister. Long have I
struggled with my sense of duty and moral obligation, and the
struggle has done me good. I have found that my life could not come
into fulness, or my being unfold its powers while a relation not of
my own choosing was maintained.

"Henry has a good and fine nature, one worthy of the warmest love of
some woman. We are both on the same mental plane, yet he has not the
strength to brave the world's opinion. In my atmosphere he seems to
see as I do, and to realize that we should be far better
apart,--better physically and spiritually,--but when he leaves me he
becomes weak and distrustful of himself. I cannot say that I regret
my experience; but something within tells me that it has come to an
end. We shall both suffer; I feel it; no ordeal of the soul is
passed without it, but my life will be far better alone, far better.
Now can you give me any strength or sympathy? for I know well that I
must walk through life with but little of human friendship. My act
is frowned upon by all my relatives, which, of course, only serves
to raise my individuality to a higher point, and throws me still
deeper into self. I have no children, and can easily take care of
myself. Does my decision seem rash or impulsive to you?"

"Far from it. My warmest sympathies are with you, and with all who,
seeing the right, pursue it regardless of what the world may say or
do. A deep, conscientious regard for the best interests of the two
most intimately concerned in such a step, is all that is required.
You are under inspiration now, and what you have done will be seen
to be best for your individual lives. You have left him because
there was wanting that heart reciprocity, which is the vital current
of conjugal life. The experience was necessary for you, else it
would not have been given you. Look on it as such, as no loss to you
or to him, and life with its thousand harmonies will flow to you. If
the married could but see that the moment they are not in spiritual
harmony they are losing life and strength, and in order to avoid the
loss would seek a change of some kind,--such change as their interior
wisdom may determine,--earth would be a paradise to-day, and family
relations what God designed they should be. But it is usually the
case, that, instead of a mutual discernment of this truth, one only
perceives it, and it follows that it is best the evil should for a
time be borne, for the one of smaller vision would only be filled
with jealousy and unrest at the suggestion even, of a change. There
are innumerable families that this very moment should change their
relations. Old elements should be superseded by new; conditions
which have surrounded them so long that they have become powerless
for good and powerful for evil, so far as physical and spiritual
strength is concerned, should be radically changed. We need a
revolution in social life, an amendment to the constitution which
governs society. Have this right, and all will be right,--politics,
religion, and all else. Slowly these truths are being unfolded to
the comprehension of the human mind. Some have seen them for years;
and they whose views of life have been broadened and deepened by the
adoption of a spiritualistic faith, long since became familiar with
them. Such are now catching glimpses of the coming light, and have
the assurance that ere long will arise the perfect day."

"You have done me good, Miss Wyman; and now there is but one person
to whom I wish to speak my thoughts, and that is-"

"My father."

"You are right; for he can give me what I so much need-moral
strength."

"I think your next step will be to return with me," said Dawn, in
that cordial and positive manner which made it seem as though there
was really no other step, or at least that it was the first to be
taken. The next day Mrs. Dalton and Dawn left together, and a
feeling of relief came to Mrs. Austin, for outside of her own
judgment and prejudice, she seemed to feel that it would do her
sister good. Thus are we often obliged to leap mental barriers, lay
aside preconceptions, and accept what does not strictly accord with
our reason, for the soul has larger orbits than those of mere mental
states.

It was almost as though they had never met before, so delightful was
the re-union between Dawn and her father. Would that all might learn
how closely we may come together by bodily separation, paradoxical
as this may seem at first thought.

"I have been very happy, father, while away, and have brought a
needy soul to you for life," said Dawn, nestling close to that
strong, protecting form, and gazing into his eyes, as though she
would infuse his being with her own life.

"I am glad you have been happy, and that your happiness does not
abate, but increase by change of states. Dawn, my own darling, I saw
your mother last night in my dreams. She brought to you a blue
mantle, which signifies rest and protection, a rest not of this
world. She enfolded you in it, and as you passed through the dark,
sunless places of earth, the mantle grew brighter and brighter,
until its color almost dazzled the human eye. There were many who
could not gaze upon it, and turned away. Others stood until the
blinding effect passed, and then followed you with their gaze. This
mantle of blue signifies inspiration, as well as rest. They whose
inner light is strong, will look upon the truths you utter, and
appreciate them, while others, less strong, will turn away, blinded
by their brilliancy, and repair again to their old and worn ideas.
Blue is of heaven; its quality is not of earth. May it never fade
while this mantle enwraps my child." Mr. Wyman remained silent for
some moments, and then remarked: "Now, if you will bring Mrs.
Dalton, whom I have not seen for many years, I shall be happy to
meet her."

Dawn found her weeping bitterly, and folded her arms about her until
the sobs ceased.

"I am not presentable, had I not better wait and see him to-morrow?"
she said, leaning her head upon Dawn's bosom.

"No; go now. This is just the time for you. You need his counsel and
sympathy most, now. Come," and she led her like a child into his
presence.

He did not meet her with formality, but took her hand, and led her
to a seat, then sat beside her. Dawn left, and soon found her mental
poise.

Words grew into sentences, thought leaped after thought, and newly
perceived truths came to the mind of Hugh with strange and wonderful
rapidity, as he sought to calm and console the tempest-tossed mind.
A blessing descended on the communion, and when they parted, one
could not tell which face shone the brightest.

Mrs. Dalton laid down that night with stronger purposes of life, and
a deeper conviction that the step which she had taken was the right
one, though all before her was dark and unknown.

"Give all to her that she calls forth, and inspires in you, for that
is her right," said Mrs. Wyman, when her husband told her of his
interview with Mrs. Dalton.

How many wives of the present day are deep and strong enough to
utter such sentiments? It was no lip phrase, for it came from her
heart-a true heart, which pulsated to human needs.

"Noblest of women!" her husband was about to exclaim, but instead of
speech, he pressed her to his heart, and then turned and wept.

Why had woman so blest his life, and showered so many gifts upon it,
when thousands were dying for one blessing? It was an orison which
rose to heaven from his heart that night, and when he laid his head
upon his pillow, a rich resolve stirred his being to its depths,
that then and ever, his best self should be dedicated to the service
of humanity. Pastors sounded the name of God, and proclaimed what
they called, "his word," far and near over the land, and were paid
in gold for their speech, but few men lived, acted and spoke like
Hugh Wyman. Few reached the human heart so closely, or breathed more
consolation into it than he. Old and young, rich and poor, received
blessings from his hand and from his cultured mind, each according
to his needs. He placed in the hands of those who groped in darkened
ways, a light which guided them to the temple of truth, and going
out into the highways and hedges of life, invited all to the feast
which his heavenly father had spread out for every child of
humanity.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"I met Howard Deane a few nights since. He appears to be sadly out
of health and somewhat consumptive," remarked Mr. Wyman to his wife,
a few evenings subsequent to Mrs. Dalton's departure.

"And the reason is quite apparent. He lives too closely in one
atmosphere. He needs a change of surroundings, mental and physical."

"No one of our course of thinking can fail to perceive that the
long, uninterrupted companionship of his wife, she being naturally
weaker than himself, has so drawn upon his magnetism, that his
vitality has become thoroughly exhausted," remarked Hugh.

"I do not doubt that it is so. His nature is large and social, and
he requires a circle of varied minds to keep him in a good, healthy
condition of body and spirit, as we all do; for though they may be
those who can unite with one alone, and lose nothing by such
exclusiveness, yet generally, the larger the orbit of life, the
better the results that accrue to both, and the greater the
development of each.

"You are right; yet how closely we have lived together, Arline,
since we were married."

"Because we both had large experiences and had mingled in many
spheres, previous to our union."

"Right again; ever right," and he gazed on her with tenderest
emotion, while she wondered if the time would ever come when she
should not hold him as she then did. The thought made her tremble,
so deeply did she love this man who supplied her nature so richly
every day with that element of manliness which all women need, but
so few receive.

"I will invite Howard here to spend an evening," said her husband,
little knowing how tenderly the heart of his wife was going out to
him, at that moment.

The next evening Mr. Deane came with Hugh to tea. Mrs. Wyman was
surprised to see how pale and care-worn he appeared, and longed to
reach his mind, that she might give him that life which he so much
needed.

Mrs. Deane, after the recovery of their child, finding her husband's
tenderness revived towards her, settled into her own ways of
thinking and living more completely than ever. For a time she with
her husband lived in a state of undivided love. When that passed
away, she was the same exacting woman as before, allowing him no
life but what he gathered from her; no thoughts but her own to live
upon. In such an atmosphere he drooped, and would have died, but for
the timely aid of Mr. Wyman and his wife; those truth-loving souls
who cared not for the popular sentiment when principles were to be
maintained, and who stood up courageously for the truth, regardless
of those who turned sneeringly aside from them, or ridiculed and
misrepresented their views.

Mrs. Deane's course amply illustrated one of the evils of our
present marriage system, the removal of which will cause confusion
and perhaps some wrong doing. But we have confusion and wrongs at
present, and all history testifies to the truth that revolutions in
political, religious and social institutions, though seemingly
disastrous for the time, have been followed by better conditions for
humanity, and advanced mankind to higher states. In a relation so
intimate, so holy, as the union of two souls, human law has but
little to do. When it enters as an external agent, with its rites in
conformity with custom, this human law is liable to err, but the
divine law which governs internal relations can never err. Hence,
marriage should be subject only to this divine or higher law. The
questions which grow out of this statement are many, none of which
are probably greater, or about which the public pulse is more
sensitive than those relating to property. But they, too, may have
had their day, and higher conditions as regards material wealth, be
ready to descend upon us. Of woman's right to be paid according to
her labor-of her right to the college and the various professions,
her eternal right to follow her inspiration, and become just what
she feels she is fitted for, and thus fulfil her destiny, we have
been in the dark, and have groped and stumbled; and our theory and
practice of marriage have been as imperfect as all others. Whatever
has been, has been right and proper for its time, but now a change
is called for. The advancement of the race demands it. No more shall
one man amass great wealth, and in so doing leave thousands
penniless; no more shall politicians, who twaddle and toady for
offices, deprive themselves and others of manhood and all that is
noble; no more shall the pastor love his money, his position, and
the praise of men, better than an opportunity to speak the truth
fearlessly.

We are living in a great age, and the age demands great men and
women, who dare brave the public voice and popular side, if that
voice and side are wrong. We would not confound daring with heroism,
or mistake boldness for bravery. Nor should we throw our truths away
upon the dull and listless. There are seekers enough, who, when they
receive these gems of truth, will value them. Let those who possess,
learn to know when and where to utter them. Then will the darkness
flee away, for every ray of light aids the advance of the golden
age.

Mrs. Wyman did not speak to Howard Deane of himself, but upon
subjects of equal interest to both, until of his own accord, he
alluded to his own state. Hugh left the room to write letters,
leaving them to that close communion which is never perfect with a
third person present.

"I think disease often commences in the mind, and acts upon the body
until that may succumb to its power," said Mrs. Wyman, in answer to
a remark of Mr. Deane upon his bodily state.

"Do you think mine is of the mental?" he inquired, looking at her so
earnestly that he seemed to penetrate her very being.

"I do."

"What has caused it, can you tell me?"

"I think the need of cheerful and varied society. Your nature is
large, social in its proclivities, and has great needs. It is
therefore wrong for one person to claim all of your society, and
injurious to you to grant it."

"I know it, and, feel the truth, but society allows me no communion
or association with women. I need their society more than all else
just now-their thought, their inspiration."

"Take whatever comes in your way, when it is in order, and let
society quibble. How is the world to be made any better, if each one
goes on in the old way for fear of speech."

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