Dawn

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"I think you mean well," said the pastor, "and if I had your faith
in personal freedom, I should almost dare to hope the earth might
see better days."

"I wish you had my trust in man, and the God-life which is within
him, waiting to be out-wrought through his deeds. But my faith
cannot be transmitted to another; it is a matter of inward growth
with each. It comes to us when our souls soar above the labarynthian
forest of opinions and theories, high into the clearer atmosphere,
untainted by the dust and smoke of our daily lives. Yes; on the
mount must the vision ever come. We must ascend, if we would look
beyond; but no words of ours can portray to another the glory of the
scenes we there behold."

Hugh paused, and his face seemed glowing with light. The pastor went
home to think over the words and thoughts of an earnest soul-words
which sank deep within him, and displaced many of his own opinions.

"I do believe Hugh Wyman is a good man, after all that is said of
him," he remarked to his wife as he opened his Bible that night for
the closing service of the day.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

The years passed by and left Dawn steadily and peacefully doing her
work, giving men and women each day extended views of life and
deeper consciousness of their own powers. By the aid of friends and
her father, she had succeeded in establishing a home for orphans, of
both sexes, in a wild and beautiful locality, where all the varied
faculties of their minds could expand. All were required to work a
certain number of hours each day; then study and recreation
followed. She became daily firmer in her belief that bringing the
sexes together was the only way to make them pure and refined. Their
labors in the garden and field were together; as also were their
studies and lessons. There was a large hall, decorated with wreaths
and flowers, where they met every evening and sang, danced, and
conversed, as they were disposed; while each day added to their
number. The boys were trained in mechanical as well as in
agricultural pursuits, and it was pleasing to witness their daily
growing delicacy of deportment towards the other sex, as well as the
tone of love and sympathy which was growing stronger between them.

Dawn did not succeed in her effort at once; the majority laughed at
and ridiculed her plan, but faithful to her inspiration, she
continued on, and a few years witnessed the erection of a large,
substantial building among the tall pines and spreading oaks.
Parents who had passed "over the river," came and blest her labors
for their children; and they who, though living on earth, had left
their offspring uncared for, wept when they heard of the happy home
among the verdant hills, where their children were being taught the
only religion of life-the true art of living.

The leading idea and aim was to educate these children into a
harmonious life, and to preserve a proper balance of the physical
and mental by an equal exercise of both. The result of her efforts
was most gratifying and encouraging to Dawn. Her success was
apparent to all, even to those who at first sneered at her course.
The mutual respect which was manifest among them; the quick,
discerning minds, and the physical activity; the well-cultured
fields, the beautiful lawns, the gardens brilliant and fragrant with
flowers, the neatly arranged rooms, the books, the pictures and the
various means of study, amusement and exercise: and around all, the
gentle and loving spirit of Dawn, hovering like a halo of heavenly
protection, combined to form a scene which no one could fail to
admire. It taught one lesson to all, and that was: make children
useful and you will make them happy.

Basil and his sister came often to the home, where Dawn seemed to
preside like a guardian angel. It had been the wish of their lives
to see such a home for orphans, a wish they never expected to see
fulfilled. They gave largely to its support, and were never
happier than when within its walls. Mrs. Dalton, whom the world
pitied so generously, here found her sphere, as did many others who
had felt long unbalanced. She taught the children music, drawing,
and the languages, and extended her life and interest throughout the
dwelling, to every heart therein. Thus the maternal was satisfied
each day, and each hour she felt less need of a union which the wise
world predicted she would enter into by the time her divorce was
granted. Beatrice came and took Dawn's place whenever she wished to
go to her home to refresh herself in the abiding love of her father
and mother.

"I never thought sich a beautiful thing could be on airth," said
Aunt Polly Day, one of the eldest of the town's people, to Dawn, the
first time that she met her after the "home" was established. "Seems
as though the angels had a hand in't, child, and only ter think,
you're at the head o'nt. Why, I remember the night, or it was
e'en-a-most day though, that you was born. Beats all natur how time
does fly. It may be I shan't get out ter see yer home fer them e'er
little orphans, in this world, but may be I shall when I goes up
above. Do you s'pose the Lord gives us sight of folks on airth, when
we're there, Miss Wyman?"

"I know he does. I feel that I have been helped by the angels to do
this great work."

"Well, it's a comfortin' faith, to say the least on 't; and I don't
care how much you and your pa has been slandered. I believe yer good
folks, and desarving of the kingdom."

"I suppose no one ever feels worthy of the kingdom, Aunty; but we
all know that if we seek the good and the true, that we shall find
rest here and hereafter."

"Them's my sentiment, and I don't see how folks make you out so
ungodly, if livin' true, and bein' kind to the poor is
unrighteousness, then give me the sinners to dwell among. Think of
all the things yer pa has given me, all my life, and there's old
Deacon Sims won't take one cent off of his wood he sells me, when
the Lord has told him in the good book to be kind to the widow and
fatherless. He makes long prayers 'nough, though. Well, I s'pose he
has ter kinder reach out to heaven that way, and make up in words
what he lacks in deeds."

"He will make it all up, Aunty, when he has passed into the other
life, and becomes conscious how little he has done here."

"May be; but it's like puttin' all the week's work inter Sat'day
night. I reckon he'll have to work smart to make up."

Dawn could but smile at the quaint, but shrewd remark, and slipping
a generous gift of money into the hand of the old lady, departed to
spend her last evening with her father, and Herbert, who was now
with them every evening, before going to her home among the hills.

How still and white his face looks, thought Dawn, as Herbert, at
their request, seated himself at the instrument to play. One long,
rapt, upturned gaze, and then the fingers stole over the keys.

Was it the music of the air, or some being of the upper realms
breathing on him, infusing his soul with sound, that caused him to
produce such searching tones, and send them quivering through the
souls of the listeners? Now, moaning like the winds and waves; now,
glad as though two beings long separated, had met. Then the song
grew sweeter, softer, mellower, till every eye was flowing; on and
on, more lovely and imploring till one could only think that

"The angels of Wind and of Fire
Chant only one hymn, and expire
With the song's irresistible stress;
Expire in their rapture and wonder,
As harp-strings are broken asunder
By music they throb to express."

The strains died away. Herbert sank back and spoke not; but on the
white, uplifted face they read that an angel had been with him, one
of the upper air. No words broke the stillness of that atmosphere;
not a breath stirred its heavenly spell.

Without speech they separated, and the hallowed sweetness of that
hour remained with them in their dreams, which came not to either
until long after midnight.

From her own experience, Dawn saw that Herbert must mingle more with
people, and become interested in life. She knew that it would not be
well for him to think too much of the one whom the world pronounced
gone, but who had come nearer than any earthly relation known.

"Come to my mountain home, and see my family," she said to him the
next morning, at parting.

He partly promised by words, but his air of abstraction indicated
that he had no intention of so doing.

What was that look which flashed over her features just then?
Surely, the expression of his own dear Florence, pleading for
something.

"I will come, Dawn, and very soon," he said, this time decisively.

Dawn's face lit up with another joy beside her own, as she pressed
his hand and bade him good bye.

Not many weeks elapsed before Herbert fulfilled his promise to visit
the Home. A murmuring sound of voices fell upon his ears as he
approached the dwelling, and as he came nearer, the beautiful air of
"Home" touched his heart with a new sweetness. The children were
singing their evening hymn. Just as he stepped upon the portico the
song ceased, and Dawn came gliding from the hall.

"Herbert! Welcome!" she exclaimed, with such an expression upon her
face that no words were needed to tell him how glad she felt at his
coming.

In her own little sitting room she had his supper brought, which he
seemed to enjoy greatly, and then they walked in the garden till the
dew hung heavy on the grass.

The days went by, and still he lingered. It was life to him to see
so many children happy through labor and usefulness. Soon a desire
to benefit them in some way took possession of his mind, and it was
not long before he had so won their love by songs and stories of
travel and history, that the evening group was not considered
perfect without Mr. Temple, or "Uncle Herbert," as a few of the
youngest ventured to call him.

How childhood, youth, and age need each other's companionship. How
perfect is the household group which includes them all, from the
infant to the white-haired sire. Homes without children! Heaven help
those who have not the sunshine of innocent childhood to keep them
fresh-hearted.

Through this sphere of life and love, he found his life revived.
Gradually the sorrow-clouds passed away, fringed by the sunshine of
hope which was rising in his breast.

Dawn was his strength and counsellor every day. Through her he
learned how closely we are related to the other life, and yet how
firmly we must hold our relation to this, that we may become
instruments for good, and not mere sensitives, feeling keenly human
wants, but doing nothing to supply them.

"I intend to devote myself to life, and help the human family in
some way," he said to Dawn one evening, as the twilight was robing
itself in purple clouds. "I have caught my inspiration from you, and
will no longer moan my days away. My treasures lie beyond, and I
will strive to make myself worthy of the union when I am permitted
to go over the silent stream.

"Do," answered Dawn, "and thus make her life richer and happier."

"I make her happier? Has she not gone to rest?"

"A kind of rest, I know; but does she not still live and mingle her
life with yours each day? Therefore, whatever the quality of your
thought and action is, she must partake of it, and for the time
absorb it into her spirit. If your life is vague and full of unrest,
her life will become so. On the contrary, if yours is strong and
full of purpose, you give her strength and rest of soul."

"Is it so? Are we so united after death?"

"What part of Florence died, Herbert? The spirit passed out,
carrying every faculty, every sense and emotion, to that land where
many dream that we lose all consciousness of life, below, and remain
in some blest state of dreamy ease. Not so. Our lives at death, so
called, are made more sensitive to all we owe our friends on earth,
and death is but the clasp that binds us closer."

"Your words stimulate me to labor and make my dear ones happy
through my life. O, that like you, I could know that they at times
are with me; or, rather, that they could come and give me that
evidence I so much need, of their presence and their power to
commune with us."

"I could not bring to you that evidence, because I know them and
you, but I have a lovely girl who has just come to our Home, a
stranger to you and to myself, who has this gift of second-sight,
and if you wish, I will present her to you."

"Do so, for nothing would give me more happiness."

A young girl, with light hair, and blue eyes which ever seemed
looking far away, was led into the sitting room by Dawn, and stood
silent and speechless as soon as she had entered. Her outer senses
seemed closed, as she spoke in a voice full of feeling these words:

"Be comforted, I am here; thy wife, Florence, and thy little ones.
The grave has nought of us you hold so dear. Believe, and we will
come. I whispered a song to your soul one night, and your fingers
gave it words. Farewell, I will come again; nay, I go not away from
one I love so well. 'T is Florence speaks to Herbert, her husband,
from over the river called Death."

The child looked wonderingly around, then wistfully to Dawn, who
motioned her to the door, that she might join her companions.

"Is she always thus successful?" asked Herbert, after a long
silence.

"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes,
it's invariably correct."

"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain
this strange gift?"

"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She
cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy
lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically or mentally."

"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful
power."

"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed
and happy dreams."

There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights"
echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat
by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its
intimate connection with this life, so fraught with pain and
pleasure.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Tenderly Dawn looked upon her little group each day, and all the
maternal instincts of her nature sprang to the surface, as she
thought of their lives coming without their asking, forced upon them
to be battled out through storm and fire. Would that all parents
might feel the responsibility of maternity, as that pure being did,
who gave the richest, warmest current of her life to bear those
children on. "He who has most of heart, knows most of sorrow," and
many were the moments of sadness that came to Dawn, as she saw
beings who were recklessly brought into life to suffer for the want
of love and care. But, though sorrowed, she never became morbid. She
lived and worked by the light that was given her, earnestly, which
is all a mortal can do.

No season was complete to her which did not bring to her side Miss
Bernard, who seemed the complement of her very self. One warm summer
evening when the air was sweet with the breath of roses, they sat
together; earnest words flowing from soul to soul, and their natures
blending like the parts of a sweet melody; Dawn's high hope floating
above the rich undertone of the deep life-tide on which the soul of
her friend was borne.

"I have often wondered," said Dawn, as she clasped the friendly palm
more tenderly, "if my life will be as firmly rooted as your own; if
the same rich calm will pervade my being."

"If it be once full of agitation, it will surely be calm at last,"
said Miss Bernard, in that firm tone which indicates that the storms
of life are over, "for we are like the molten silver, which
continues in a state of agitation until all impurities are thrown
off, and then becomes still. We know no rest until the dross is
burned away, and our Saviour's face is seen reflected in our own."

The moonlight fell on her features just then, almost transfiguring
the still, pale countenance. That holy moment brought them nearer
than years of common-place emotions, or any of the external
excitements of life. A tenderer revealing of their relation to each
other flashed through their hearts-a relation which the silvery
moon, and still summer night typified, as all our states find their
analogies in the external world.

"I often query," said Dawn, breaking the silence, "what portion of
your being I respond to?"

"I have often asked myself the same question. Dawn, of those whom I
loved, and in my earlier years felt ambitious to become the
counterpart of friends dear to my life. I have grown more humble
now, and feel content to fill, as I know I only can, a portion of
any soul. I can truly say, you touch and thrill every part of my
being, if you do not fill it, and that just now you answer to every
part. With some, my being stands still, I forget the past, and know
no future. There is one who thus acts upon me now, though many
others have stirred me to greater depths, and excited profounder
sentiments,--this one calls forth the tenderest emotions of my heart
and stimulates me to kindlier deeds. Thus do all in turn act and
re-act upon each other, and what we need is to know just how to
define this relation, for the emotions it calls forth are so often
mistaken for those of love between the sexes, which marriage seals,
and in few years reveals the painful fact, that what was supposed to
be soul blending with soul, was only the union of a single thought
and feeling, while the remainder of their nature was wholly
unresponded to, its deepest and holiest aspirations unmated."

"Do we not answer to each other now, because we are aglow with life,
and each susceptible to the others emotion?" asked Dawn.

"Something deeper," said her friend. "It is because we are both
illumined by the divine essence which pervades all space and matter,
as the air surrounds this globe. We are both full, and reflect each
other's repletion. The theme is grand, and one which I would like to
enlarge upon to-night, before our states are changed to those
harsher ones, in which diviner truths are ever refracted."

"I feel the force of your last assertion most thrillingly," said
Dawn, "for I know that a purely mental condition is antagonistic to
spiritual light. How beautiful life becomes as we grow into the
recognition of its laws, and learn of Him, who is law itself, and
whose daily revealings, are the protecting arms around us."

"Fully realizing this fractional mating of which we have spoken, I
am led to question if we ever find one soul who meets every want, or
whether we wander, gathering from this one, and that one, until the
soul has all its emotions sounded, all its sentiments aroused and
responded to. In my deepest, most earnest questioning for truth,
this answer seems to be the only one, which gives me rest. How is it
with you, whose vision is clearer than my own?"

"I feel that no one soul can meet all the wants of another. Yet
seeing this principle, sufficient light does not dawn on the method
of its application."

"The light will come with the labor, as the fire flashes from the
flint by strokes of the steel."

"True," said Dawn, gathering inspiration from the words, "And I have
often felt that the world would be better to-day, if people agreed
to live together while life and harmony inflowed to each, and no
longer. I think the whole moral atmosphere would be toned and
uplifted, the physical and spiritual beauty of children increased,
and purer, nobler beings take the place of the angular productions
of the day, if our unions were founded on this principle. And yet no
one mind can point out the defects of our present system, and apply
the remedy. The united voices of all, and the efforts of every
individual must be combined, to accomplish a change so urgently
demanded. All men and women should fortify themselves, and see that
no being comes through their life, unless they have health and
harmony to transmit. Maternity should never be forced; woman's
highest and most sacred mission should never be prostituted, and yet
this sin is every where. When every woman feels this truth, she will
purify man, for he rises through her ascension. He needs her
thought, her inspiration, her influence, to keep him every hour; and
when the world has risen to that point, where minds can mingle; when
society grants to man the right, to pass an hour in communion with
any one who inspires him, we shall have made an advance towards a
purer state. To-day mankind are suffering for mental and spiritual
association. Give to men and women their right to meet on high,
intellectual, and sympathetic grounds, and each will become better.
We should then have no clandestine interviews, and few, if any of
the passional evils which now burden every community, for the
restraints which the jealousies and selfishness of the married have
established, in a great measure create these."

She paused: and the tall trees waved their branches as though in
benediction on her head. Beauty was every where. There, in that
summer night, who could utter aught but truth. The soft and gentle
light of the hour, silvering with heavenly charms every rock, and
tree and singing brook, excited no sophistries, but rather inspired
the soul with divinest truths. Their words died away, but the
spirit, the influence of their thoughts, will live through ages, and
bring, perhaps, to those who read them, states peaceful and calm.
That the relation between men and women needs some new revelation,
we all know, but the light comes very slowly to us. We must work
with such as is vouchsafed to us. Revelation comes to but few, and
such can only work and wait, for the multitude. He who has toiled up
the mount of vision, cannot reveal to the pilgrim in the vale, the
things his eyes behold. The landscape view cannot be handed down,
nor the emotions of the beholder, imparted to another.

The day is coming for true and earnest communion between the sexes,
and the day is rapidly passing by when the glorious life which has
been given us is misdirected and misapplied.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

Threads of silver shot through Dawn's silken hair, yet she grew more
beautiful as the years matured her. The children under her care grew
to be young men and women, and went out into the world qualified to
live harmonious lives. She had taught them the true religion of
life; had impressed upon their minds the importance of enjoying this
life, that they might be prepared to enjoy the life that follows it;
that to be happy now is to be happy forever, for the present is
always ours, the future never.

"I have one wish more," she said to her friend, Miss Bernard.

"And pray tell me what modest ambition you have just now?"

"It is one I have long cherished. I wish to see a hospital for
invalids erected within sight of this Home."

"You are so successful in seeing your wishes ultimated, I shall
expect to see one in a few months."

"I should be glad to see a good list of names with generous
subscriptions by that time. I think if all the extra plate and
jewelry of wealthy families, articles which do them no good, or
rather the surplus (for the beautiful in moderation ever does us
good) were sold, and the money given to such an object, very much
might be done. I see, when I come in contact with people, the great
need that exists for an institution where patients can be surrounded
with all that is lovely and artistic, and their spiritual and
physical needs attended to. Many need only change of magnetism and
conditions, with the feeling that they have a protecting care around
them, to change the whole tone of the system. Others are weak, have
lost mental stamina, and need the tonic of stronger minds; while
some need tenderness and love, and to be treated like weary
children. Many would need no physical ministration direct, but
spiritual uplifting, which would in time project its force through
the mental, and harmonize the body. There are many such cases."

"True, I know we need such an institution to meet those wants which
you have so faithfully sketched; and if a few earnest men and women
work for that end, may we not hope to see it accomplished, and the
blue dome rising somewhere among these hills? I will contribute my
part, and give a good portion of my time for its accomplishment."

"If all felt as you do we might surely see it in our day; but we
will hope that the need will develop such a place, for the need is
but an index pointing to the establishment of such an institution."

"I have often wondered if cases of insanity might not be treated
more successfully than they are by scientific men."

"I feel that they could be under pure inspiration, and in nine cases
out of ten, the disharmonized mind be restored to harmony."

"O, Dawn, let us work for this, and though we may never see it in
our life, we shall have the consolation and happiness of knowing
that we had a part in the beginning."

"And the beginning is the noblest part, because the least
appreciated. The ball in motion will have many following it, but the
starting must be done by one or two."

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