Mary Anne Carew: wife, mother, spirit, angel

Front matter

PRINTED BY J. BURNS, 15, SOUTHAMPTON ROW, LONDON. W.C- WIFE, MOTHER, SPIRIT, ANGEL. EY CARLYLE PETERSILEA. AUTHOR OF "Oceanides: a Psychical Novel," "The Discovered Country," etc.. etc. : JAMES BURNS, PROGRESSIVE LIBRARY, 15, SOUTHAMPTON ROW, W.C. 1893. Copyrighted by Carlyle Petersilea in England and America. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, 1803. "g5it)cs axxb "g#ofs?ers THIS BOOK IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE WRITER. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE Introduction ... ... ... ... i I. — Mary: The Wife and Mother ... 9 II. — A Ministering Angel ... ... 18 III. — My Babes in Heaven ... ... 31 IV. — Sigismund ... ... ... 45 V. — A Bereft Widow ... ... 62 VI. — The Rainbow Bridge ... ... 7.3 VII. — Visiting the School ... ... 89 VIII. — Ursula's History ... ... 103 IX. — Adam and Eve ... ... 123 X. — Old Ponto ... ... ... 137 XI. — An Unhappy Woman ... ... 153 XII. — Old Error Wounded, but not Conquered ... ... ... 175 XIII. — An Electric Clock ... ... 186 XIV. — Painting, Singing, and Supper ... 197 XV. — Rest ... ... ... ... 212 XVI. — Sailors' Refuge ... ... 227 XVII.— A Poor Old Tramp ... ... PAGE

CHAPTER XVIII.

T0RACC0 AND MARBLES ... 256 XIX. — An Educational Hall for Ladies 275 XX. — Lady Agnes ... ... ... 296 XXI. — A Murdered Wife and Mother 312 XXIL— The Circle ... ... ... 327 XXIII. — Loneliness ... ... ... 337 XXIV. — A Spiritual Telephone ... 348 XXV.— Islands of Heaven ... ... 365 XXVI. — Science and Love ... ... 3S4 XXVII. — Courtship ... ... ... 400 XXVIII. — The Bridal Chamber ... ... 412 XXIX. — Swedenborg ... ... ... 426 XXX. — The Gulf Spanned ... ... 438 XXXI. — A Chapter of Questions ...

Introduction

. She was a young lady not yet thirty ; the wife of a fond husband and the mother of three beautiful children, two boys and a girl, the oldest not yet six, the youngest not a year old. She was of medium height, with rounded graceful form, and eyes of heaven's own blue. Her complexion was clear and very fair ; her hair a deep golden brown, thick and waving. She was an affectionate wife, a careful and loving mother, a good daughter, and fond sister. Her virtues were many, her vices none. She walked in the midst of her little family like a saint, ministering to her children lovingly, and making home pleasant and cheerful for her husband. It would seem that life to her had but just commenced in real earnest, and her health had always been excellent.

INTRODUCTION.

. 2 She was born and bred a good Catholic, and had never swerved from the religion of her fathers. A generous, warm-hearted, Irish lady. It had never entered her husband's mind that she would be taken from him and her children. He did not dream that he would be bereaved and his children left motherless. How could he ? They were both in the heyday of life and youth, both in robust health, both ex tremely ambitious and hopeful. And she — the thought of death did not cross her mind, or if she thought of death, it was as something very far removed, something that might occur when she should become an old lady and no longer cared for life : her children would then be men and women, and would no longer need her care. Death was not in her thoughts, but life, life ! So she pressed her babes to her motherly heart, and sung her sweet lullaby blithely, fondly building castles in the air for her darlings to inhabit in the future : her dear little baby girl, her boy of three, and the pride of her eyes, the man of six. Thus the months glided by on swift and

INTRODUCTION.

. 3 happy wings ; but there came a time when the fond mother found herself ill. " Ah ! a bad cold," the doctor said. " She would be all right in a day or two." But the days glided on. Still the cold was no better. A hard cough set in ; her strength failed, her limbs were weak and trembling ; she often pressed her hand to her side, com plaining of a sharp pain there ; her breathing became labored, her cough worse ; soon she was confined to her bed altogether, and her husband saw that she must die. The doctor shook his head sadly. The nurse looked pitiful and said : — " Poor thing ! an' she so young an' the childer no more nor babies." But they carefully concealed from the young mother that she was dying. She expected confidently to get well. She did not think herself dying, and thought each day that her cold, as she persisted in calling it, would be better on the morrow.

And thus the morrows came and went, until at last one came, and there were no more to follow, at least, no more for her — her last day — her last hour on earth had come — and still she knew it not. She

INTRODUCTION.

. 4 sunk into unconsciousness, and thus breathed her last without bidding adieu to either husband or children. Her body was soon after prepared for burial, and her heartbroken husband, together with other near and dear relatives, followed her remains to the grave a few days after the sad event, and each and all looked upon the dear one as dead and o-one to her final rest. Her husband believed that death was the end : he had no hope of a future life. To him death ended all. Her own family were all good Catholics, and believed she was in glory with the mother of God, and the saints. Thus ended the first chapter of the life of Mary ; the wife, the mother, the daughter, the sister! A fair and beautiful life, an un spotted soul, a gifted, loving and generous being. Thousands of just such deaths are taking place, have taken place in the past, and will take place in the future.

Babes are robbed of their mothers, husbands of their wives, parents of their daughters, and the earth of young, beautiful womanhood. And why ? Where INTRO D UCTION. 5 has this lovely soul gone ? What is she doing now ? What are her experiences ? Has she joys and sorrows as heretofore ? What is her daily life — her occupations ? Is her life made up of details, such as ours, or does she stand before the throne of God singing praises to His name for evermore ? Has she forgotten her babes, her husband, and others, or does she remember them ? Is she entirely separated from them, or can she visit them ? Would not the thought of their sorrow and loneliness intrude upon her happiness, even if she were in such a heaven as many believe in ? Would not the loving heart of the mother yearn for her little, helpless children — yearn for the loves that had become a part of her being ?

God Himself, as commonly understood, could not fill that mother's heart robbed of its young. The golden heaven, formerly, and even now, by many believed in, would be a place of unrest and unhappiness to the bereaved mother, the sorrowful widow, the orphaned daughter. Dear friends, did you ever stop to think that the departed soul of such an one as we are describing is, in reality, a widow, a bereaved INTRO D UCTION. mother, an orphaned daughter ? or have you thought that these things belonged only to those left behind, that the disappointment, bereavement, and sorrow belonged only to earth ? Very likely such has been your thought: but the day which brings much truth begins to dawn. The departed are making themselves known and understood by those that still remain. The link between the dwellers of earth and those on the thither shore of time is being tightly and strongly forged, and the time is near at hand when it can never more be broken.

This introduction has been written by the spirit of the husband, once so bereaved and widowed, but now, long since a denizen himself of that life to which his young and beautiful wife departed, many, very many, years ago. The soul of this lovely woman desires to write her own experience, and give it to the world, that truth may become manifest : she desires to light the way, and relieve many overburdened hearts of sorrowful weights that oppress and crush them. But one of those dear little children, whom

INTRODUCTION.

. 7 she left so long ago, remains on earth — the blue-eyed boy of three, now a man : the baby soon joined its mother : the man of six lived on earth to really become a man, and shortly after, having a little family of his own, went as his mother went before him : and, thus, but one of that family is left, down where the cares of earth fetter the soul.

Chapter I

Mary. The Wife and Mother. |OTFTER lying unconscious for a short time my eyes opened. To faint was not an uncommon occurrence ; supposed I had fainted. Did not think I was dying ; did not know I was dead. Had been very weak and ill, but thought I should soon be better, be able to go about attending to my household duties, and properly caring for my three beautiful babes. My eyes opened and slowly my conscious ness returned, sweetly pervaded, filled me like the glowing light of the rising sun. Was lying just as I had been when un consciousness overtook me, and as the light of reason again flooded my being, thought that some wonderful change had taken place in my condition ; there was no pain whatever, and I was peculiarly light and happy. r, O, surely ! I was getting well at last ! Had so longed and prayed to be well !

Again closed my eyes, fearing that it might be a dream from which I should awake and find myself ill once more. I lay thus, for some time, breathing long and deep, to find if my lungs were really free from pain and soreness ; put my hand to my side, moved slightly to find if that also was well. Raised my hand to my head ; it felt so clear and free from pain I was astonished. Once more I opened my eyes. " Nurse," I exclaimed, " I believe I am well ! Do fetch baby to me. It has been so long since I have been able to fondle her. O ! I long to take her in my arms once more, kiss her sweet little lips, and look into her dear eyes. Don't tell me I am not able," I went on pettishly, thinking her rather tardy in obeying my wishes, at the same time wonderingat her silence, for she was usually quite voluble.

" Ah ! perhaps she was not in the room. She might have gone into the kitchen for something. Why! how is it that they have left me all alone ? Surely, they were all about my bed when I lost myself. Ah ! I remember now — and my dear husband was in tears. Strange, that they should all leave me before I came out of my faint." Thus thinking, with a peculiar fluttering at my heart, I started up in the bed, sat upright, which I had not been able to do for many days. My glance fell first upon my hands, and I held them up before my eyes that I might examine them more closely. " Why, how strangely they looked ! " They were as white and beautiful as a dream. Then my eyes travelled up my arms as far as the shoulders, then slowly over my bust. " Really ! what have they been dressing me in ? This is not my usual night-dress — no, not even my finest and best.

I never had anything so fine and beautiful as this — and my arms and bust — how lovely they are ! I am sure I never thought they were before ! " " O ! nonsense ! I am dreaming ! The doctor has been giving me morphine again, or chloral, maybe ; or some of that medicine which has an extra amount of ether in it. I wish they would not force so much medicine down my throat. Think I should be better if I did not take so much medicine. Yes ; I am under the influence of medicine, so will lie down again until it passes off. That is why they have left me alone — that I may be quiet and sleep." With this thought I lay back on my pillow once more, and tried again to close my eyes. But, no. I never had been so wakeful in all my life. Sleep I could not. " I must fetch myself out of this strange condition," I thought.

" I '11 shake myself, pinch myself, and see if that will do any good." Suiting my action to my thought, I shook myself violently, and then proceeded to pinch myself in a number of places. The pinching gave me no pain, although I pinched quite hard, and as I shook myself I felt as though I were rising directly up out of the bed, and it was with some difficulty that I kept myself down. My hair now attracted my attention. It was lying all about over the pillow, and adown my arms and shoulders. " I cannot understand why they have un bound my hair like this ? Surely, it will get all matted up ; and it was all done up nicely when I lost myself. Dear, dear ! How strange everything is ! " My eyes now began to roam around the room. Everything had rather a strange look. It seemed to me that I was looking through a whitish mist : nothing in the room came out quite clearly, yet it appeared very neat and clean.

A door stood ajar, and through it sweet, fresh air struck me. I drew long inspirations that seemed to be the very elixir of life. I felt sweet, new life tingle through all my veins. " Am sure I never saw this room before. They have placed me in some hospital since I became unconscious. Must, then, have been unconscious a long time — and they would never let any fresh air strike me. Well, hospitals are managed better, perhaps. Ah ! here is a lovely bouquet of flowers — just here on this little marble table close by my bed. How very kind and thoughtful of someone." With this thought I reached forth my hand and took the flowers, naturally carrying them to my nostrils. Their perfume was delicious. Then I held them at a distance and looked at them. "O! what beautiful flowers, and how deliciously sweet!"

Then I began to takr. note what kind of flowers they were. There were garden pinks and roses, violets, mignon ette, and a number of other modest, sweet flowers. The bouquet was tied with white ribbon. Something on the wall, at the foot of the bed, now attracted my attention — a picture hanging there in a golden frame. Gradually the forms came out, one by one, as my eyes rested upon it. " Why ; how is this ? They have been having their portraits painted." There were my husband and my three little darlings as plain as life. " Well ; they have been very thoughtful and kind to have that painted and hung there if they really have put me in a hospital," I thought. I started up once more. " I cannot be in a hospital. It is very foolish for me to think so. I know I am not in a hospital. This room is nothing like a hospital w.ard, for I have often visited my friends who have been placed in such wards, and this room bears no resemblance to any of them."

This thought caused me to notice, more particularly, the furniture of the room. " O ! how exquisite — how beautiful ! " A large oriel window was softly draped with white lace and glistening white satin ; the floor was carpeted in white velvet, which had a small green vine running through it, and here and there a bunch of violets. There were some chairs covered with white satin, a sofa and ottomans covered with the same. A large easy chair stood near the bed, also covered with white satin. A marble mantel, with a golden grate beneath it, next struck my attention ; over the mantel hung another picture, and as I gazed, in utter surprise, the form and features of a lovely sister, who had died many years before, distinctly met my view, but her beauty was so heightened and intensified that the sight of the picture enraptured me.

" O, how singular ! We never had a picture of dear Annie: how many, many times we have all regretted it. " What a singular and beautiful dream I am having. I know my husband and the nurse will be delighted to hear me tell it when I awake. Do not think I should ever care to awake if I did not want to see them all so much. This dream is exceedingly beautiful, but I prefer their warm love, and to feel my darling babies in my arms, than to lie here in this beautiful room and merely look at their pictures. " There : I have dreamed long enough, and will try another method of awakening myself. I will call — call loudly — for my husband ; he, surely, cannot be far away ; he has not left me for days ; he said he would never leave me until I was better. " Franz ! Franz ! " I called. " Where are you, my dear ?

I am awake now, and want you. Come to me. You said you would not leave me." No answer. "O ! what has happened ? "Franz! Franz!" I again shouted: "My husband ! I want you ! " A soft silence was my only answer. "He may have dropped asleep, being so weary with watching. I '11 call the nurse. "Babbitt! Babbitt!" I screamed. "Mrs. Babbitt ! I am awake now. Come here : \ want to speak to you." I heard a slight rustle near the open door, and my staring eyes caught sight of the nurse, or a form which I supposed must be that of the nurse.

Chapter II

A Ministering Angel. ■^[HE entered the room gently; when about **~^ midway paused, and her soft, loving eyes rested upon mine. She looked slightly like a nurse, but much more resembled a Sister of Charity. Her dress was of some soft, silver-grey material, and hung in graceful folds about her dainty, rounded form. She wore a pretty white lace cap on her head, and her dress was partly concealed under a large white apron. She stood looking at me with gentle, pitiful eyes, her white hands folded. "You are not Mrs. Babbitt," I said, in sur prise, "but please tell my husband I want him. Are you one of the Sisters of Charity ?" " I hope you will find me a charitable sister," she replied, with a sweet smile. " Are you come to take Mrs. Babbitt's place ? * I asked. " O, I suppose she is all worn out with watching."

" I will gladly take Mrs. Babbitt's place," she said, " and try to fill it, if possible. Perhaps I may be able to please you better, even, than Mrs. Babbitt." " Mrs. Babbitt has been very kind and good, am sorry she has become so weary with watching ; besides, she has taken nearly all the care of the children. But where am I ? Why don't my husband come to me ? How was I ever removed to this place without knowing it ? I must have been unconscious a long time to have been carried about in this way ; but, perhaps, the doctor put me under the influence of ether : think I am not free from it yet : feel very light : don't remember of taking ether, although, perhaps, he gave it to me when I was in the faint. But, really, I don't under stand it all. Franz did not tell me that I was to be moved. Am not finding any fault with the place ; it is very beautiful ; but I had much rather be at home.

My babies do not disturb me at all, and it comforts me in my sickness to be near them. Am afraid I shall not see my husband as often as I should if I were at home. 0 ! had much rather be at home ! Should get well sooner, I am certain." I began to feel pettish and homesick at all this strangeness and secrecy. "Is my husband here?" I asked, rather sharply. " He is not," she replied, her lips slightly trembling, and I saw tears in her beautiful eyes as she raised them to mine. " Why has he left me ? Am sure I never needed him more. It is very unlike him." "He has not left you, my dear ; it is you who have left him." "But he must have sent me hither. I cannot understand why he does not remain with me." "He would gladly remain with you if it were possible," she replied. " But I do not understand why it is not possible.

He had nothing special to keep him away from me, and the last words I can re member of his saying, were, that he certainly would not leave me." As I said this I threw myself down in the bed, covered my eyes with my hands, and burst into tears. Softly the nurse, as I shall call her, approached the bed ; she gently took one of my hands away from my eyes, and began to stroke it with great gentleness: this soothed me: she then did the same with the other. She placed her hand on my forehead, and again I raised myself, looking at her earnestly. " What is it you have to tell me ? " I questioned. " I know there is something very strange that is being kept from me. Tell me — oh, tell me at once! Relieve my suspense." " Mary," she replied, " you must be strong, and prepare yourself to bear a heavy blow."

She pressed both my hands to her breast lovingly, and then said. " You are not on the earth any longer, dear Mary, but have been removed to one of the mansions in heaven." I shrieked out wildly in my surprise — in my horror ! " You do not mean to tell me — you cannot mean to tell me, that I am dead — that my little babies are left motherless, and my husband without his wife?" "O God!" I cried, "heaven would be a hell separated from my darlings," and I sobbed and shrieked aloud in my despair. MAR Y ANNE CARE W: 22 The nurse sat with folded hands and drooping head. A thought struck me. I started up again and looked eagerly around. "You are deceiving me! I exclaimed." "For some reason, which I do not understand, am being deceived. How can you have the effrontery to tell me that I am dead, when you must know, as well as myself, that I have eyes, and they can see " : and I allowed my glance to rest on the pictures in their golden frames, then on each piece of furniture in turn.

" How can you tell me that I am dead, and in heaven, when you must know that I can see all these things in this room as well as you can ; besides, the room itself, the walls, the ceiling, the window with its curtains ; surely, I must have been put in some insane asylum, and you are one of the lunatics instead of a nurse, as I thought you. But if I have been a little delirious, owing to my severe illness, am entirely recovered now, and can see this room with all its furniture, and clearly comprehend as well as I could when in the best of health." The nurse raised her beautiful eyes to my face, and tears trembled on the long lashes. " Mary," she said, in a voice so soft and WIFE, Al OTHER, SPIRIT, ANGEL. 23 gentle that the sound alone soothed my irrita tion, " I have spoken the truth. You have been removed, by death, from earth, and are now within the realm of spirit, or within the spiritual world."

Dear reader, this was long before Spiri tualism was known, and I, for one, had never heard of such a thing. I had been educated, entirely, in the Catholic religion, and thought there was a heaven, a hell, and purgatory : this room, so very much like a nice room of earth, could neither be in heaven, nor hell, nor yet in purgatory; at least, this was the way I thought. " You say I am dead. If this is the case, to which place have I been consigned, heaven or purgatory ? For, of course, this cannot be hell, and it is altogether too pretty for purgatory. To be in purgatory must be an unhappy condition, and you do not look un happy." I did not yet believe that I was dead. " Suppose, then, dear Mary, I tell you that you are in heaven, for you cannot yet under stand anything about the world of spirits."

"You can never make me believe," I replied, "that this room is heaven. If this is heaven, why do not I see God, the Saviour, the blessed Virgin, and all the holy Apostles and Saints ? Why do not I hear them praising God, making heaven resound with their songs and music ? Where are the golden streets, the great white throne, the thronging multitude of the re deemed and blessed ? " " Mary," she asked, " if you could be in a place of that description, would you then be content to leave your little children and your husband ? " This brought me to my real sense once more. "No, no! A thousand times no! I cried. Was only asking you why I did not see these things, if, as you say, I am dead ? " " Mary," she said gently, " you are dead, as you call it, but such things as you mention do not exist." I stared at her in horror and surprise.

" Do not exist ?" I cried out. " Do not exist ? But God exists, certainly ?" "God exists," she replied, "but not as a person seated on a throne. We are taucmt here that God is all things — all that is material, all that is spiritual, all that is angelic : All that is, all that ever was, all that ever shall be; WIFE, Al OTHER, SPIRIT, ANGEL. 25 and, that there never was a beginning, that there can never be an ending. So, dear Mary, when I told you that you were in one of the mansions of heaven, I told you the truth." Still I was incredulous. " But," I said, " they don't have beds, chairs, sofas, pictures, and windows in heaven." " Well, dearest Mary, tell me, then, what they do have ? or, if you prefer, I will tell you what you have been taught that they have in heaven. First, a throne ; second, streets paved with gold; third, harps; fourth, crowns of gold ; fifth, the branches of green palm trees ; sixth, long white robes or dresses.

Now, Mary, this bed, on which you are lying, is just as reasonable, real, and, at present, far more con venient for your weak and spiritually ignorant condition, than the sight of a throne would be. If there could be a throne in heaven, could there not be beds as well ? Which, dear Mary, would suit you best just now, this pretty room with its white satin-covered furniture, or streets paved with gold ? Is it more unreasonable ? How much better suited to your present con dition. Is the furniture of this room more strange than harps of gold ? Would a crown c of gold suit you better than those pictures, of your loved ones, hanging on the wall ? Are the walls themselves more strange than the gates of heaven would be ? Are not these flowers more beautiful than the branches of the palm? This room has white lace hangings, and you are clothed in a beautiful white robe suitable for your present state.

Are these any more wonderful or unreasonable than the long white robes in which you have believed " ? I sat up in the bed and stared at her dumbly. " Then, am I not to see the blessed Virgin ?" I, at length, asked ; for, was beginning to believe that I was dead. " You may at some future time, if you so desire, meet the mother of Jesus of Nazareth. She is not called the blessed Virgin here. She was not a virgin at the time spoken of in the Bible : she was a mother, dear Mary, as you are a mother ; a blessed mother, as you are a blessed mother ; and I know that you will agree with me, that it is far better to be a blessed mother than it is to be a blessed virgin. " " But where is the Saviour, and the Saints?" I asked. "Am I not to see them ?" " Every mother on earth, or in the heavens, WIFE, MOTHER, SPIRIT, ANGEL. 27 is a saviour," she replied.