CHAPTER XXI.

_BAR HARBOR AGAIN._

“I heard or seemed to hear the chiding sea Say, Pilgrim, why so late and slow to come? Am I not always here, thy summer home? Is not my voice thy music, morn and eve? My breath thy healthful climate in the heats, My touch thy antidote, my bay thy bath? Was ever building like my terraces? Was ever couch magnificent as mine? Lie on the warm rock-ledges, and there learn A little hut suffices like a town. I make your sculptured architecture vain, Vain beside mine. I drive my wedges home, And carve the coastwise mountain into caves. Lo! here is Rome and Nineveh and Thebes, Karnak and Pyramid, and Giant Stairs Half piled or prostrate; and my newest slab, Older than all thy race.”

The years which chase each other by are successive waves on the ocean of time, which toss us to and fro on the voyage of life. Perchance we would linger awhile, but the shifting quicksands of the finite state afford no anchorage. The tide surges on with the same irresistible momentum, whether under sunny or cloudy skies. “Life,” says Emerson, “is a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its own focus.”

If there be a barren waste in us, we behold a desert outside. Beauty, art, and picturesqueness become the possession only of those who have eyes to see them. The amount of honey which we accumulate from the years as they pass, depends not so much upon the number of flower-gardens through which we rove, as upon our powers of extraction.

The yellow, sultry days of August have again thinned out the throngs who hurry over heated pavements and huddle in feverish masses of brick and mortar; impelling thousands to seek the felicity of sea and mountain, and to inhale the rejuvenating aroma of Nature.

Another season at Bar Harbor is at its height. The gay and festive buckboard is again hurrying through the streets, or perchance awaiting at the wharves its share of an expected stream of weary tourists, about to be poured over the gang-plank of an incoming steamer. The hotel piazzas are again noisy with the voices of enthusiastic visitors, and the parlors gay every evening with the strains of music, to the measured beat of which merry dancers disport themselves in graceful rhythm. Groups of excursionists are hurrying here and there, each upon pleasure bent, and the bright hues of _négligé_ costumes are again flitting in the breeze, accompanied by the music of hilarity and exuberant good cheer. A successive round of “teas,” receptions and other entertainments among the more exclusive circles of cottagers is once more in progress, and “society” is in the full flush of fashionable festivity.

A year has rolled around since the Sea-Foam sailed up Frenchman’s Bay with the little yacht in tow, upon the day of the rescue of Tom Bonbright. The noble craft is again floating at anchor in the harbor, and Colonel Tapley now occupies the already familiar cottage. The new proprietor has cordially invited its former occupants to enjoy his hospitality, and Helen and Rosamond are his guests in response to the earnest invitation.

Three uneventful months have flown by since the important happenings and personal experiences which characterized the springtime of May. Edward Burton had always been a welcome visitor at the Bonbright cottage in the suburbs, but an indefinable feeling had sprung up in his mind that there was a distance between Helen and himself, which had not formerly existed. It was impossible for him to call to mind any lack of cordiality, much less any coolness, in a single instance; but there seemed to be some unknown barrier, intangible, but real, between them. Many times he had resolved to seek some explanation, or to make an avowal of his love and abide the results, but upon every convenient opportunity the barrier seemed to grow to insurmountable proportions. As Helen was always cordial, there was no possible ground for any misunderstanding which would require explanation. There had been no misunderstanding. There was only an invisible separation. Upon more than one occasion he had sought to delicately draw near and pay his homage at the foot of the fair shrine, but upon every such attempt the hallowed object seemed to retreat and leave behind the offered incense to be dissipated in thin air. It was no retreat of bodily presence, no coolness of manner, no air of indifference, but rather a _soul_ retirement, unobservable to sense, but positive to the inner intuition. Edward Burton was quick to penetrate the mysteries of the Unseen, but here was an opaqueness which baffled his usual keen power of divination. He turned the subject over many times and studied it carefully in every possible aspect. He felt assured that she had formed no special _new_ interest, but at length a theory flashed upon him which he could not refute or dismiss. Tapley must have been mistaken. It were easy for one so unselfish to misjudge his own case. True, when his friend had voluntarily put himself in the confessional by the side of the mountain waterfall the previous summer, he had positively diagnosed the case against himself, but his very magnanimity would impel him into so generous an error, notwithstanding his usual rare insight and power of penetration.

Tapley had been an occasional visitor at the Bonbrights’, but Burton felt assured that his friend had made no advances beyond the line of cordial friendship, but yet as to Helen there could be no other possible solution of the mysterious barrier. It was _there_, and its solid framework could not have been upreared without some powerful impelling force. She _loves_ Tapley. For once his friend _was_ mistaken. He is utterly unaware of the fact, but the fact exists. There could be no possible doubt of it. It would be of no avail to again enter the confessional with Tapley, for the mystery was not with him. It was locked in her breast, and nothing could release it. Such were Burton’s deliberate and positive convictions.

Helen Bonbright had fully accepted the apparently reliable news which Adelbert brought them, which seemed to be confirmed upon the occasion of the moonlight call a day or two later, by various indefinable allusions. She could not offer her congratulations before receiving a formal announcement, but she expected such definite intelligence upon every occasion that Burton visited them. At intervals he had brought Miss Tapley, but oftener had come alone, yet no announcement. If no other confirmation of the engagement were needed, Burton’s increased reserve, and the evident existence of an impenetrable veil between them, was quite sufficient. He was still lovable, noble, her highest ideal; but yet not quite the same Burton as formerly. There was a peculiar reserve; but that was not surprising, for, under such circumstances, what else could be expected? She found herself compelled to marshal all her forces and win a fresh victory after each of his visits, and then would quietly and peacefully settle down to the situation. Why did not the announcement come? She longed that it might, that once for all a final adjustment would be apparent, and peace and serenity abide. She busily occupied herself in charitable and hospital visiting, and found greater pleasure in it than before.

Rosamond, after some special training, became a kindergarten teacher, and took a deep interest in the children that were placed under her charge. Subsequent to the family reverses, and the receipt of Lord Percival’s letter, she came under Helen’s influence to a marked degree. A oneness of feeling between the sisters rapidly formed, which was a new experience. Mr. Bonbright was not the only member of the family to whom the change of circumstances proved a blessing in disguise. A new life pervaded the household, and a changed environment was about it. Helen’s influence extended beyond her sister to her mother and Adelbert, transforming their aims and occupations. Mr. Bonbright’s hand was in every good work, and the grand principles which became deeply rooted during his illness were constantly fruitful. The kindergarten taught by Rosamond received its entire support from him, and nothing gave him greater pleasure than to have the little flock of charity pupils gather at his house upon each Saturday afternoon. His business flourished, but he was free from all servile bondage. He never longed for a return of the old days of selfishness, luxury, ambition, and display, which pervaded the atmosphere of his former life.

Thus the summer days sped on, until the proposed visit of Helen and Rosamond at Colonel Tapley’s was at hand. Helen would have offered excuses, but could scarcely find ground for a graceful declination of the repeated and cordial invitations. The colonel had closed his city home, and both his son and Burton were to pass the month of August with the rest of the family at the Maine resort. The affairs of the magazine were running smoothly, and both felt that, for the time being, editorial work might be more efficiently performed under the inspiration of natural scenery than in the city sanctum.

A beautiful morning two or three days subsequent to the arrival of Helen and Rosamond, found them again strolling upon the familiar Shore-Walk, accompanied by Burton, Tapley, and Miss Tapley. As they stood gazing across the bay upon the clear-cut outlines of the opposite shore, Rosamond observed a collection of cottages in the distance, which formed no part of the landscape in that direction the previous season.

“What new town has sprung up as if by magic since last year?” she inquired.

“That is Sorrento,” replied Tapley, “and it has already become quite a resort. It will soon be time for the boat to leave for that point, and I suggest that we make the excursion and take our luncheon at the café. I would like to have you all get a new view of the mountains from that distance. Here the nearness prevents the fullest appreciation of their beauty of outline and peculiar picturesqueness.”

All were enthusiastic for the trip, and a little later they were cosily gathered upon the upper deck of the steamer Sorrento. The air was crystalline in clearness, and the unruffled surface of the charming sheet of water was disturbed only by the wake of the steamer, as like a thing of life she set in motion a long line of retreating waves, which extended with a graceful diminuendo into the dim distance behind. Glancing upon the left, the cottages along the Cornice Road and Hull’s Cove dot the retreating shore, and peep out from the protecting shelter of overhanging trees, and in the misty distance to the northward the little village of Sullivan lies ensconced in a setting of evergreen hills. The islands and main land are everywhere fringed with cracked and crannied masses of brown rock, half hidden by foliage where the waves ripple and sport.

When they hastily seated themselves, it chanced that Helen found herself between Burton and Miss Tapley. Fearing that even so slight an intrusion might momentarily interrupt the unrestrained freedom of the pair, she arose, and with a graceful plea of getting new views, made her way backward and forward upon the deck, enjoying the panorama of the retreating mountains, and delicately avoiding the immediate vicinity of the lovers. There was no shadow of jealousy in her thought, nor conscious disquietude. Weeks before she had driven out the last “skirmisher,” and peace was complete. In every situation, with the utmost delicacy and in a quiet, unobtrusive way, she would withdraw from their society whenever her presence might disturb their felicity. Her love and respect for Miss Tapley increased with further intimacy and acquaintance. Her little friend was very retiring, but possessed a keen intellect and lovable character. The impression of _distance_ was common to both Burton and Helen, but each thought it all in the other. It did not disappear even when they were side by side, but it contained no element of coolness or indifference.

Arriving at Sorrento, they partook of an excellent luncheon served at the café, and soon after strolled out upon the piazza to enjoy the charming prospect. Burton thought it was marvellous that such a resort, containing many handsome cottages, could have come into existence in a single year. Tapley suggested that it was a notable specimen of American energy, as well as successful speculation. From this most perfect focal distance, Green Mountain and its neighbors were changed and idealized, and their unique outlines, bathed in a purple, dreamy haze, formed a beautiful panorama of bold grandeur and reposedness of which a lover of nature never would weary. After an hour’s buckboard ride about the improvements and environment of Sorrento to enjoy the surrounding scenery to the utmost, they recrossed the bay by the late afternoon boat.

A few days subsequent to the Sorrento excursion, a picnic was planned which included a ride to the southward along the Atlantic coast, and visits to Thunder Cave and Otter Cliff. A severe easterly storm of two days duration had prevailed, but the weather was again fine. Owing to the intensity of the gale just at an end, the waves would be unusually grand. The ubiquitous buckboard was called into requisition, and a well-filled hamper provided, and no feature was lacking for a delightful excursion. When the party was in readiness, Burton seated himself by Miss Tapley so that Helen might have an opportunity to sit by Tapley, which he supposed to be her preference. On her part, Helen hastily took her place by Tapley, that Burton might have full opportunity to enjoy the society of _his_ undoubted choice. Each unselfishly sacrificed themselves to render the excursion more agreeable to the other.

“Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds-- Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov’d, I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.”

So far as word, look, or understanding were necessary to constitute lovers, Burton and Helen were not lovers. There was a different and real test, but no one outside of themselves could apply it. The sensitive thermometer of love is _occupation of thought space_. Idealized objective beauty and excellence are tenants of the mental chambers. Helen and Burton were unlike ordinary lovers, for, notwithstanding their persistent misunderstanding of each other, there was no mingled bitterness or jealousy. They dwelt upon a plane where these had no existence.

Love is unique. Lovers love not each other, but their own ideal. Before Cupid can mount the throne and assume undisputed sway, he must have idealized his object. This may be a shorter or a longer process, but it must be effectual. Love is an enchantment which seizes upon the human complex nature and works a revolution. It is a delicious fancy, kindling the imagination and gilding its object with beautiful, heroic, and almost sacred attributes. It matters little to love whether in the abstract its object be beautiful, or the reverse, for it invests that counterpart with charms even if they are non-existent. Pursue this course of logic to its ultimate, and it is found that objective character, quality, and even existence are all contained in subjectivity. No one can therefore affirm that the external world has _real_ existence, but only that it exists to his own consciousness. Absurd as it at first might appear to material sense, if we delve _deep_ enough, we may in the ultimate analysis find that all is mind. Love is divine. It is only when dragged down from its normal realm and stained with the grossness of materialism, and its expressions mistaken for its goal, that its heavenly banner is trailed in the dust. Then it becomes a base counterfeit. Love not only invests its object with supernal charms, but it illumines the whole horizon. The lover is a new man, with new perceptions, new powers, new senses. He has become the graceful abode of sweet sounds and sights, and the pupils in the eyes of his soul are gently dilated. Nature has been reconstructed for him. The birds sing a new song, and flowers and trees put on a subtler beauty, and all the world’s intonations have become more melodious. The clouds have fair faces, and the sun and moon perceptibly smile upon him, and sympathize with his gladness. Earth, air, and sky, tender their congratulations. Nature, as it environs him, becomes a vast mirror to reflect back and multiply his inspiration.

The felicity of love toward its special object is only a rudimentary experience in the eternal procession of soul-impulses, from within, outward. Its limitation is but temporary and educational, for its outgoing circles are destined to be ever expansive, like the waves from a pebble dropped in mirror-like water. Special love is only the kindergarten for the development of ultimate broader love. As it becomes clarified and free from all baser sediment, it grows _impersonal_. It is designated by Emerson as “a fire that, kindling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom caught from a wandering spark out of another private heart, grows and enlarges until it warms and beams upon multitudes of men and women, upon the universal heart of all, and so lights up the whole world and all nature with its generous flames.”

Love’s grand climax will only be reached when it becomes, not only impersonal, but blossoms into universal recognition as the _One_ Force of the Universe. All other forces, qualities, and attributes will at last be discovered to be but colored lens effects of the _one_ principle varying at each new standpoint in the upward path of progress. The successive views through higher mediums, as step by step they gain new transparency, will gradually correct former distorted views of the One Entity. A recognition of such an Ultimate, is a recognition of God. All other characteristics which we ascribe to Him are but reflections of our own states. The “consuming fire” of pure love may wear a terrible aspect to the persistently base and perverse.

“Higher far into the pure realm, Over sun and star, Over the flickering Dæmon film Thou must mount for love; Into vision where all form In one only form dissolves; In a region where the wheel On which all beings ride, Visibly revolves; Where the starred, eternal worm Girds the world with bound and term; Where unlike things are like; Where good and ill, And joy and moan, Melt into one. There Past, Present, Future, shoot Triple blossoms from one root; Substances at base divided, In their summits are united; There the holy essence rolls, One through separated souls.”

That wild and much-cleft chaos of brown rocks, known as Thunder Cave, was the first stopping-place of the party. Here, through a broad chasm, the great green waves rush in, until they find themselves stopped in their mad career by the walls of a rock chamber, and from the mighty shock they beat an ignominious retreat. As each proud roller meets with overwhelming defeat, its angry roar causes a reverberation which renders the name of the locality so realistic. They seated themselves upon the sun-warmed rocks to enjoy the prospect. Successive watery ranks were breaking their columns, and sending their misty fragments high in air, in their vain assaults upon the rocky fortress. The wind had filled them with anger, and they rushed madly on to destiny.

“How like the roar and fume of human passion,” exclaimed Burton, as he contemplated the scene.

“Or like the mad rush of the multitudes for power, wealth, and position, which the eager throng hasten to grasp, but find disappointing,” suggested Helen. “Each follows in the pursuit, learning nothing from the fate of its predecessor.”

“To me,” said Tapley, “it illustrates character and circumstance. The ledge is character, unmoved by the waves either of adversity or prosperity.”

“Character needs to be tried and tested,” observed Miss Tapley. “The soul needs rounding and polishing, and this can only be accomplished by the friction of circumstance. In no other way can the rock of human character be made symmetrical. The rock, however, may represent the intrinsic, and the waves the incidental.”

“Then I think that the intrinsic is frequently knocked to pieces by the incidental,” chimed in Rosamond, “but I vote that moralizing be tabooed, and that we move on to Otter Cliff.”

A short distance further, brought them to a bend in the road, near which a narrow footpath branched off through the forest to the “Cliff.” An easy walk of perhaps fifteen minutes, Indian file, through the dense woods, brought them to the brow of the rocky declivity. Here an irregular and almost perpendicular wall of brown rock, from one hundred to two hundred feet in height, with great masses of _débris_ at its foot, forms a striking picture of wild, ragged fierceness. In places the overhanging mass is carpeted with mosses to the very edge, under which is a steep of dizzy proportions. At other points the upright wall is broken, and inclined masses of rocky surface interrupt the perpendicular alignment. Helen and Rosamond were the only members of the party who had made a previous visit to this picturesque location.

“What incomparable scenery!” exclaimed Miss Tapley, whose enthusiastic love of the grand in nature was inspired by the prospect.

All seated themselves upon the mossy bank and made a thorough survey of their surroundings. A steamer slowly made its way past, far below them, and her deck was black with human specks, moving to and fro. A brisk waving of handkerchiefs by the little party brought such a response, that the whole deck was suddenly transformed into a fluttering mass of whiteness. The rapture of the scene did not grow less, but after some time the luncheon was spread, and discussed by appetites keenly sharpened by the long ride and the pure air and exercise of the morning. After the refreshments had been disposed of, the party scattered a little, impelled by eager curiosity and a desire for further exploration.

Burton and Tapley climbed to a higher position a short distance upon the right, to get a view inland as well as toward the sea, leaving the young ladies for a few moments upon the mossy couch near where the luncheon had been served.

“We wish to explore this higher point a little further on,” said Tapley, “and will return in a few minutes.”

The unusual variety of wild flowers, dainty marine plants, and mosses, greatly interested Miss Tapley, who was a devoted botanist. By a little effort she gathered a variety of interesting specimens. Some were found upon the rocks, where they seemed to thrive almost upon sea air alone, having but the smallest amount of earth from which to obtain their sustenance. In her enthusiastic search, she strayed a little from Helen and Rosamond, though but a short distance out of their sight. Suddenly a series of piercing screams came from the direction in which she had gone. The sisters were alarmed, and ran with the greatest haste to find what had happened. In breathless anxiety they arrived upon the spot, and a thrilling situation was disclosed. On attempting to pluck some rare specimen, Miss Tapley had slipped upon a smooth inclined rock, and had slid down for ten or twelve feet, and only saved herself from a fatal fall upon the rocks below by grasping the edge of an open seam, a few inches wide, which extended for some distance along the ledge. Helen took in the situation at a glance, and promptly reassured her friend with promises of speedy succor.

“Keep a firm hold,” she exclaimed, “and we will soon find means to rescue you.”

It was, however, found to be utterly impossible to reach down to the cleft where she was holding on. All raised their voices to the highest pitch to alarm the young men, but no response came. A few firmly rooted bushes grew by the upper edge of the rock, but from that position it was impossible to reach within some distance of the opening where Miss Tapley was clinging for dear life. She was not robust, and there was great danger that her strength might fail before assistance could be given. An overpowering thought flashed through Helen Bonbright’s mind with lightning-like rapidity. “She _must_ be saved at all hazards, even if I perish in the attempt, not only for her own sake, but for _his_!”

“Be perfectly calm and keep a firm hold,” said Helen, “and I will soon be with you.” Thus reassured, Miss Tapley grew more calm, and hope revived. But she was beyond reach, and no pole or anything available to bridge the space could be found. The moments seemed like hours. Something _must_ be done, and at once. A rapid, comprehensive survey of the situation impelled Helen to a course of action. She directed Rosamond to firmly grasp the bushes above the rock, and to lie at full length upon the decline toward Miss Tapley, then keeping a firm hold of Rosamond she let herself down, retaining a grasp upon Rosamond’s feet, until she was able to put her own feet in the seam alongside of the place where her friend was clinging. This proved to be not very difficult, for the steepness was perhaps not greater than forty-five degrees. Deftly removing one foot from the opening, she was able to reach down to it with one hand, and then with both, finally kneeling upon the rock below the cleft, directly by the left of Miss Tapley. Clinging by her left hand, she clasped her right arm around the light form of her friend, who, by the efforts of both, was able to crawl up and grasp Rosamond, who easily retained her firm grasp upon the bushes. By a further climb along the inclined form of Rosamond, she reached the top, pulled herself up, and was _safe_. It was impossible that Miss Tapley could have been rescued except by exchanging places with her, and this Helen had done. Had the rescue been in the least delayed, it seemed certain that her failing strength would have yielded, as she was _petite_ and delicate. Helen, being perfectly calm, and possessed of great energy, could maintain her position as might be necessary. Her height was not quite sufficient to enable her to reach Rosamond, and nothing could be done but to heroically await the return of the young men. Presently the music of their voices was audible as they rapidly approached. They had heard nothing of the first screams, being beyond the summit of the hill, and the noise of the waves also prevented any sound from penetrating for more than a short distance. They quickly assisted Rosamond to arise, and then could discover no better plan for the relief of Helen than the one adopted by her for the relief of Miss Tapley. Grasping the bushes without delay, Tapley acted the part of a human ladder, down which Burton descended and joyfully rescued Helen from her perilous position. A few moments, and she was again upon safe footing. Burton, by his utmost stretch, grasped Tapley’s boots and quickly made the ascent. All were safe. Miss Tapley, although faint and at first too weak to stand without assistance, as a result of the terrible strain, warmly embraced Helen and smothered her with kisses of love and gratitude. By nature she was undemonstrative, but her thankfulness was now beyond expression.

“To your unselfish devotion and courage I owe my life,” she exclaimed. “I can never repay such an obligation.”

“Please dismiss all thought of obligation,” said Helen, as she hugged and caressed the little form and stroked her forehead to soothe and restore her. “I love you, and am so thankful that I could help you.”

After resting for some time they slowly made their way back to the carriage-road.

The next morning revealed the undisputed occupation of one of those impenetrable gray fogs in which, occasionally, Bar Harbor is submerged and blotted out. The stillness of the murky atmosphere was only broken at intervals by the distant shrill whistle of some steamer, carefully feeling its way through the dense obscurity, or the subdued rumble of an occasional vehicle as it slowly glided past like a dark shadow. The thick curtain of mist remained all the morning, but soon after noon a yellow light began to be diffused through it, transforming it into a golden vapor which in its turn dissolved, disclosing the bluest of crystal skies and a pure, transparent atmosphere. “Old Sol” shone out with intense clearness, as if to offer compensation for his temporary “shutting-off,” and during the serene afternoon hours Nature was in one of those rare and dreamy moods when all her voices are attuned to celestial sweetness and harmony. The air was quivering with brightness, and a delicate ozone was being distilled, whose vitalizing aroma was poured out like a universal benediction.

The family and guests at the Tapley cottage had passed the foggy morning hours in-doors, but the enchantment of the afternoon drew every one out, for mere living with such an environment was felicity. The day was waning. Tapley and his sister had gone to the wharf to await the arrival of friends who were expected by the evening boat. Rosamond was deeply engaged in poring over the pages of an interesting book, and Burton and Helen were left to themselves upon the piazza.

“Here we have remained ‘housed up’ most of the day,” exclaimed Burton. “What do you say to a walk?”

“It will be delightful,” she replied. “Which way shall we go?”

“It is immaterial to me. How would you like to walk up to the hill, where a fine view of the sunset may be obtained?”

“I shall much enjoy it,” she replied. “With the masses of light clouds which are just coming up, I fancy it will be unusually gorgeous.”

They set out, leisurely passing along the narrow walk in the direction of Sunset Hill. The rays of the declining sun rarely fall upon a fairer form than that of Helen Bonbright. It would be idle to attempt a pen-photograph of her, as with light elastic step she made her way by the side of the noble young man, who, though so near, was, in some intangible sense, _distant_. As he turned his gaze upon the graceful willowy figure, the pink transparent countenance, the silken blond hair, and the dreamy blue flashing eyes, all of which were but the outward expression of the beautiful soul which shone out from within, two thoughts flashed upon his mind: _nearness_, _distance_.

They followed a narrow shaded carriage-road, and then branched off through a footpath to a “lookout,” from the top of which a most extended panorama was spread out. Mounting its flight of steps to the upper platform, they seated themselves to enjoy the landscape below. The bay, hills, and forests were suffused and gilded with the brightness of the declining sun. The two souls were entranced with the scene, and with each other; but a mysterious _something_, which each saw in the other, held them aloof.

“What a difference between the beauty apparent in yonder brilliant expanse, considered as one blended picture, and the material details of which it is composed,” said Burton. “As a unit, the effect is charming, and yet how dreary if considered only as a mass of disjointed and fragmentary components. All the hardness and sharpness of the special features become beautified when shaded into harmonious combination.”

“Yes,” replied Helen, “just as in life. Within the sensuous details of time, space, and circumstance, dwell care, friction, and discord, while with the comprehensive ideal _whole_ is the flush of joy, and the fulness of beauty.”

“The flood of sunshine upon yonder landscape,” observed Burton, “may well represent the divine effulgence of love, which warms the earth with its glow, and which shines upon and is reflected through persons, as if each with a mirror repeated something of the central brightness.”

“A beautiful illustration,” replied Helen.

“It reminds me,” continued Burton, “of the splendid practical demonstration which you gave of that principle yesterday, in the rescue of our friend.”

“There was nothing remarkable in my action,” replied Helen. “Miss Tapley is my friend, but I hope that I should make as great an effort for any one.”

“You are deserving of general gratitude,” said he, “and besides, on my own behalf, I want to thank you. You are aware that for a few months past my home has been with the family, and I have a special interest in its welfare. I cannot permit your unselfish goodness to pass over the event so lightly.”

There was a heightened color in the pink cheek, and an intensity of heart-beat, which was unusual for Helen Bonbright. She withdrew her glance from the distant landscape and turned it full upon Burton, but he was as calm as the distant mirror-like bay. Regaining her self-command at length, she softly replied,--

“In response to your frankness for giving me such important information, I am somewhat inclined to tell you what passed in my mind yesterday, when I first discovered Miss Tapley’s condition; but I must not, even though it might please you.”

“Oh, yes, please do. What was specially in your thought?”

“Please let it pass. It really is of no importance.”

He cast a quick glance into her face to read, if possible, in the fair features, the mystery, while his own placidity had been replaced by an intense curiosity. “I implore you to tell me,” he pleaded. “What was your peculiar mental experience?”

“Well, if it will content you, I will say that I thought of _you_.”

“Why of me more than Tapley? You needed our mutual help.”

“Having made known the fact,” she replied, “you wish to go deeper and insist upon the reasons.”

“You are quite correct. I beg that you will not refuse.”

It was a trying moment. Casting her glance again toward the landscape, she finally responded, “You are my friend, and I will be frank. I thought of you _especially_, because, while she is Tapley’s _sister_, she is to you, by your own announcement a few moments ago, _how much more!_ Although having long been aware of your engagement, I have not felt at liberty to allude to it, but now, with the report confirmed by your lips, I may speak freely. No extra motive was necessary yesterday to induce me to put forth all my efforts, but there existed motive _upon_ motive. If disaster befell her, added to all else, I saw desolation in your whole life.”

A mist arose before Burton’s eyes. With a great effort he calmly inquired, “Please, what did you understand me to _say_ a few moments ago, in regard to Miss Tapley?”

“Pardon me, I only understood you to allude to the matter which has long been settled: your engagement to Miss Tapley. As a near friend I congratulate you, without waiting for more formality in the manner of your announcement. You are both dear friends, and have my sincere wishes for your happiness and prosperity.”

She extended her hand, but he drew back, and his own hands fell to his sides. His lips were pale and open, and he was overcome with emotion.

“My dear friend,” he exclaimed; “pardon me, but I am not conscious of having spoken of a special interest in Miss Tapley. My reference was to the _family_ in general, whatever I may have inadvertently said. Miss Tapley is my dear and respected friend, but I am not engaged to her.”

“I beg a thousand pardons for misunderstanding you,” replied Helen. “I am forced to explain, and then will drop the subject. Based upon what seemed to be reliable information, I have long taken your engagement for granted, and with that in my mind I must have misunderstood your allusion. The report was of course premature.”

“My dear friend,” he feelingly replied: “do _you_ wish the report were true?”

The mist was now thick before her eyes. The question was direct. She was transparent, and it uncovered the deeps. What could she reply? She _could_ not say _yes_. She _would_ not say no. Her gaze was riveted upon the distant sunny landscape as if she had not heard the question, or else expected the answer to be echoed from afar.

“Please pardon such an abrupt question,” he exclaimed.

The foundations were breaking up. Barriers were dissolving, and distances lessening. Would the fog ever be dispelled?

“I am impelled to delve more deeply into this subject that its mysteries may be resolved. The atmosphere was murky this morning, but now the horizon is clear. God grant that it may be so with us. I have never loved Miss Tapley, and there is not the slightest foundation for the report which you have believed.”

He resolved to burn the bridges behind him. Might not her misapprehension regarding _him_ have created the “distance”? Could he not have been mistaken in _his_ estimate of _her_ feelings, as readily as she could have so perfectly misapprehended his position? _He would know._

He quietly kneeled at her feet, but her face was gently inclined toward the reflection of the sun in the distant water.

“Helen, you are my dearest love! my beautiful ideal! my angel!” he exclaimed, in low, musical tones. “You are the pure shrine where for a whole year I have bestowed homage. You are the sacred image which has been constantly reflected in the mirror of my soul.”

Her face was still slightly inclined toward the distant reflection, but it shone with a radiance of its own. He clasped her unresisting hand, and pressed it to his lips. “May I call you my love?”

The blue dreamy eyes had become moist, and they turned from the distant landscape and sweetly looked into his, and her soul responded through them.

* * * * *

Gentle zephyrs among the tree-tops overhead whispered a benediction. The merry twitter of birds gave expression to their joyful congratulations. The woods were redolent with sweet perfume, and all nature smiled upon them. The soft balmy air, so clear and transparent, seemed like liquid amber distilled over the hills, and a golden halo suffused two faces now turned _toward_ each other.

The king of day slowly sank to his couch of royal purple, moving majestically among great masses of fleecy domes, and lighting them up with a weird gorgeousness. Cloud-forms, like Alps upon Alps, were piled upon each other, casting a reflection of rainbow shades over the whole horizon. Soon the resplendent colors deepened in intensity, and each vapory mass was dyed with a deep crimson; then the evanescent splendor faded, and the golden orb retired, refulgent to the last. The transcendent afterglow, marvellous in its richness, lingered, reflecting its unearthly splendor upon the purple hills, and affording to the human imagination almost a glimpse of the celestial regions.

TENTH EDITION

IDEAL SUGGESTION THROUGH MENTAL PHOTOGRAPHY

A Restorative System for Home and Private Use, Preceded by a Study of the Laws of Mental Healing

By HENRY WOOD

AUTHOR OF “GOD’S IMAGE IN MAN,” “EDWARD BURTON,” “THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF NATURAL LAW,” “STUDIES IN THE THOUGHT WORLD,” ETC.

_Paper, 50 cents_ _Cloth, $1.25_

Part I. of this work is a study of the _Laws_ of Mental Healing, and Part II. embodies them in a restorative system, formulated and arranged for home and private use. Visionary and impracticable aspects of the subject are eliminated, and a scientific basis is found. The book is not technical, but thoroughly plain and concise, and will prove a boon to invalids and a valuable addition to the substantial literature of the subject.

A Few Testimonies and Opinions of the Hundreds that have been received of like Tenor.

“‘Ideal Suggestion’ marks an epoch in my life.”--J. L. Q.

“At the end of a month I feel a great change for the better, physically.”--E. W.

_From an English lord_: “‘Ideal Suggestion’ has been a friend in need to me.”

“It has been a tremendous inspiration to me, and to the twenty or thirty people I have lent it to, or influenced to buy it.”--A. J. R.

_From a Clergyman_: “Your books are solid food to me.”

“My obligations to ‘Ideal Suggestion’ are very great.”--W. H.

“The meditations go with me as companions from place to place.”--G. H. N.

FOURTH EDITION

_Studies in the Thought World or Practical Mind Art_

BY HENRY WOOD

Author of “Ideal Suggestion” “God’s Image in Man” “Edward Burton” “The Political Economy of Natural Law” etc. Cloth $1.25

Mr. Wood is a seer as well as a thinker. He searches to find the secrets of the spirit, and thereby discover many of the mysteries of life. His pages abound in the sayings of wisdom and truth. They are crowded with compelling suggestions, and rich in inspiring statements. His style is clear, penetrative, brilliant, and impressive, like his thought. He ranks with the foremost writers and thinkers of the time.--_Boston Courier._

We doubt very much if in the whole range of English literature we have ever read anything more fascinating than his chapter on “The Divinity of Nature.” It has all the beauty of Emerson,--another idealist,--and all the sympathy of Thoreau.--_The Minneapolis Tribune._

The series of papers are redolent of intellectual ozone, of mental exhilaration, and great spiritual tonicity. The author makes the somewhat difficult philosophy of the higher life very clear in his able treatment of the subject from a scientific standpoint.--_The Call, Philadelphia._

The result of reading this book is to acknowledge Mr. Wood an original thinker and an idealist, and that he possesses the faculty of presenting these questions which are growing all the time of greater importance to the general thinker, in a way that is graphic and interesting. He has no superior as an essayist.--_Boston Times._

Mr. Wood has the faculty of presenting vital topics in an interesting and very graphic manner, and has here ably treated the higher unfolding of humanity from a scientific standpoint.--_Detroit Free Press._

There is not a page in it that does not contain matter for a fascinating controversy.--_Saturday Evening Gazette, Boston._

_Sent prepaid on receipt of price by_

LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston

Edward Burton

AN IDEALISTIC METAPHYSICAL NOVEL

By HENRY WOOD

_Ninth Edition_

In Cloth 299 pages $1.25 In paper covers 50c

“We have found great profit in the various economic and ethical papers of Henry Wood, and now that his venture in fiction is before us we are predisposed to favorable judgment. It seems to us that ‘Edward Burton’ will be generally regarded as a story of more than ordinary merit. The conventional realistic lines are rejected. But of high thinking in fields of optimistic outlook and of religious meditation, expressed in the idealization of character, there is abundance.”--_The Christian Union_, New York.

“A very powerful story, which holds the reader’s attention from beginning to end. Into a pretty love-idyl the author has woven a vigorous account of the influence exerted by the numerous systems of theology, ethics, and sociology, which in our day excite so much attention.”--_Peterson’s Magazine._

Victor Serenus

A STORY OF THE PAULINE ERA

By HENRY WOOD

Cloth 510 pages $1.50

“The story flows limpidly, style and substance agreeing as water and light agree, with ever-varying reflections of brilliance. It is not a story overburdened with moral and religious didactics; but it does sketch the luminous religious life of the time in a way to project it boldly and attractively. The character of Saulus is portrayed with a pen intensely charged. We recommend the book to Christian readers.”--_N. Y. Independent._

“Is a story that blends art and religion in a wonderfully attractive way, and is rich in romance, psychology, philosophy, and mystery; the author does not grow tiresome, although his book is 500 pages long.”--_Boston Herald._

LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston

God’s Image in Man

Some Intuitive Perceptions of Truth

By HENRY WOOD

AUTHOR OF “IDEAL SUGGESTION” “EDWARD BURTON” “THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF NATURAL LAW” “STUDIES IN THE THOUGHT WORLD” ETC. ETC.

Ninth Edition Cloth 258 pages $1.00

PRESS NOTICES.

An honest, able, and promising effort to free faith from unnecessary incumbrances.--_New York Independent._

“God’s Image in Man” is a work which will quicken the aspiration of every thoughtful reader for a deeper knowledge of spiritual things.--_Chautauquan._

Its pure and elevated style is wonderfully attractive. This volume is one of rare value.--_Boston Traveller._

It treats of the different modes of divine revelation and cognate subjects in the author’s well-known clear and forcible style and in very attractive form.--_Buffalo Express._

It is both a pleasing and profitable book.--_Inter-Ocean, Chicago._

This work will find a host of readers among those who are interested in religious affairs.--_Philadelphia Item._

Full of deep and suggestive ideas from the standpoint of theology of the divine immanence.--_Christian Union._

Mr. Wood’s method is that of Horace Bushnell, of Beecher and of Swedenborg’s school of thought; all these were mystics; but so may it be said were Jesus and Paul.--_Home Journal, Boston._

Many who have been hampered by the trammels of mediæval thought may find help in this book.--_Brooklyn Citizen._

The book cannot fail to be helpful in the renaissance of Christianity that is going on in our day.--_Unitarian._

Mr. Wood has done us a service, and we trust that many will receive from the same and subsequent volumes spiritual quickening.--_The Critic, New York._

The book is suggestive, helpful, and an inspiration to pure thought and worship.--_Morning Star, Boston._

We commend this volume to the consideration of all who are devoutly and thoughtfully searching for the truth in the love of it.--_The Salem Observer._

It is strong in thought, beautiful in its composition, and singularly helpful in its spirit.--_Kennebec Journal._

Mr. Wood is a keen and logical thinker and a lucid and forcible writer.--_The Beacon, Boston._

We have found pleasure and profit in this book. The spirit and purpose of the writer are admirable.--_National Baptist, Phila._

With poetic insight, reverent spirit, and glowing language, the author of this book seeks to set forth some of the salient facts of the universe, so far as they afford us a manifestation or revelation of God.--_Central Christian Advocate, St. Louis._

LEE and SHEPARD Publishers Boston

The Political Economy of Natural Law

BY HENRY WOOD

Author of “Ideal Suggestion through Mental Photography,” “God’s Image in Man,” “Edward Burton,” etc. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.25

CONTENTS.

I. General Principles II. Supply and Demand III. The Law of Competition IV. The Law of Coöperation V. Labor and Production VI. Combinations of Capital VII. Combinations of Labor VIII. Employers and Profit Sharing IX. Employés: Their Obligations and Privileges X. Governmental Arbitration XI. Economic Legislation and Its Proper Limits XII. Dependence and Poverty XIII. Socialism as a Political System XIV. Can Capital and Labor be Harmonized XV. Wealth and Its Unequal Distribution XVI. The Law of Centralization XVII. Action and Reaction, or “Booms” and Panics XVIII. Money and Coinage XIX. Tariffs and Protection XX. The Modern Corporation XXI. The Abuses of Corporate Management XXII. The Evolution of the Railroad XXIII. Industrial Education XXIV. Natural Law and Idealism

Mr. Wood possesses the rare art of making an admittedly dry subject, not only instructive, but positively entertaining, and this art is demonstrated in the present volume.--_Boston Advertiser._

Mr. Wood’s task has been accomplished in admirable style. The work is one that breeds reflection. Its perusal broadens the horizon and lifts the thinker into lofty altitudes--altitudes where mind is seen to be the worker, and labor, land, capital, and coin to be but the tools; where altruism is stimulated and the sweetness of charity is realized, and the fact of racial unity is felt, and a glimpse is had, as from Pisgah’s summit, of the final fraternization of humanity.--_Chicago Evening Post._

“The Political Economy of Natural Law” is written in a clear style, and is in all points an admirable, satisfactory, and original treatment of the subject.--_San Francisco Call._

It were well for the nation if more works of like facility of comprehension and dealing with such subjects were disseminated. --_Philadelphia Item._

It would be difficult to imagine a clearer statement of premises and conclusions than is therein contained, and there is no profession nor business to which its teachings do not apply.--_Boston Ideas._

It would be well indeed for the future were this work adopted as a text-book.--_The Occident_ (_Chicago_).

His mental powers are both analytic and synthetic, and it is a genuine pleasure--a mental recreation--to follow him through his reasoning processes.--_Christian Leader_ (_Cincinnati_).

The “Trade Journal” might fill ten of its columns with just such interesting quotations, but it does not intend to. Every reader of this paper should lose no time in possessing himself of a copy of the book.--_Indianapolis Trade Journal._

We wish it might be read by every thoughtful man--laborer and capitalist--in our country.--_Boston Home Journal._

It is a good book for teachers who want to be fairly intelligent on these vital questions.--_Ohio Educational Monthly._

Sold by all Booksellers, or sent, postpaid, by the Publishers,

LEE & SHEPARD, Boston, on receipt of the price.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

A Table of Contents has been added by the transcriber for the reader’s convenience.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.