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Chapter I. The Cradle Of A Hero

O golden dawn ! O promised day,

When error’s lost in truth’s clear ray! When all shall know that “ God is Love,” His kingdom here, around, above,

The world one equal brotherhood,

And evil overcome with good.

O doubting hearts ! O tempted ones !

The shadows fade, the sunshine comes. Freedom for each is best for all,

The golden rule our bugle call ;

While as to victory on we move,

The banner over us, is Love.

And every race and sect and clime,

Shall equal share in this glad time.

E. B. H.

Philip, the king of the Ward household, and the hero of our story, gains the unusual, and it may be considered by some, the unenviable, distinction of being introduced while yet in the nursery ;

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but since “ the child is father to the man,” we thus introduce two characters at once ; a manifest economy of the reader’s as well as of the printer’s time.

A second reason for so early an introduction is found in the fact, that this “ nursery,” with other of the home environments, had so much influence upon the habit of thought, and consequent symmetry of character, of our hero, that we wish to emphasize and describe it.

In the first place, Philip Ward was born in a true home, where there were “ two heads in council, two beside the hearth,” and not one head to dominate, and one little, lonely young mother left alone night after night beside the hearth, there to wrestle with the sudden, and almost overwhelming joys, cares, and responsibilities incident to motherhood.

During the months previous to the arrival of this eagerly and lovingly anticipated little stranger, the wise mother had dwelt much in the sunshine and thought much beneath the stars, and had decorated and adorned the nursery walls with pictures radiant with hope and love, color and harmony, representations of mother-birds happy with their downy broods, of butterflies just emerging from the chrysalis and being transformed into angel insects ; a

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few pictures representative of “ Strength,” “ Victory” and “ Love,” but nothing containing so much as a hint of despair or defeat, or recognition of any power other than that of the “Eternal Goodness .’ y

In the second place, this father and mother had together, in entire unity of plan and purpose, built this holiest shrine known to earth, a truly harmonious home, a veritable temple of love and justice, where the mother was an equal partner ; where household service was recognized as a profession, and the wifely professor was cheerfully accorded her just wage ; hence (and special emphasis is to be placed upon that word “ hence ”) this mother found in her home the highest sphere and most coveted profession.

This home-sphere was in no sense a narrow one, for the unselfish characteristics which had resulted in this true harmony, had caused both the paternal and maternal heart to go forth in love and tenderness to the homeless, the orphaned and the tempted, so that there were outside philanthropies as well as fireside pleasures.

One of the cardinal points of Mrs. Ward’s philosophy was, that young mothers require fresh air^ out-of-door exercise, and daily communion with

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nature. Hence it sometimes happened that certain thoughtless women who would not have recognized any cause for embarrassment upon being observed taking a pet dog or two out for exercise, were greatly surprised to see young Mrs. Ward (who everybody knew, was perfectly able to hire a nurse) trundling her own baby carriage. We are glad that times are improving for dumb animals, and we wish to record our recognition of the wisdom of mothers who give to their children during that important time, the formative years of babyhood and childhood, as much of their own care, influence and example as possible.

As our hero developed thoughtfulness and waxed eloquent with questions, his mother often exclaimed : “ O, that we timid, anxious mothers could gain control of our impious fears and our own narrow, dwarfing theology, and allow these wonderful human flowers to grow naturally, quietly and gladly, as do the other blossoms of God ! We were very greatly interested in a fragment of conversation upon this subject which we chanced to overhear, between Mrs. Ward and a very anxious and depressed Sabbath school teacher, who had

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called to inquire why little Philip did not join the infant class.

In reply to the teacher’s question, Mrs. Ward said, “ Little children seem to me very much like flowers. They need a great deal of' sunlight and loving care, but not nearly so much pruning and digging about as many persons .believe.”

“ Other flowers praised for their beauty and sweetness, are allowed to dance in the breeze, and bathe in the dew, to live their own sweet lives and enjoy the pure air, and the life-giving sunshine of God, every day in the week, and are never forbidden to be their own sweet selves, even upon the Sabbath. It seems to me that if these childflowers are transplanted every seventh day, and thoughtlessly told that they are hideously ugly (totally wicked), that their beauty of form and of motion are mere temptations of the Devil, they will cease to develop. The silvery aspens, the waving elms and willows, the dancing daffodils and climbing roses, are never told that their Creator prefers to have them remain stiff and motionless, that they have been summoned into a very wicked world, where there is a most powerful and subtle Being, with whom even their loving

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Creator is at times almost unable to cope. If they were, these horror-stricken little flowers and leaves and vines might hide their beautiful up-turned faces, and shrivel and fade from very fear and heart-break, just as many little human blossoms would now, had not the heart of Infinite Love implanted deep within each childish mind a loving trust, and a disbelief both in its own total depravity and in any power greater than God.”

“ If, as 4 Lucy Maria ’ recognized, it requires an angel to teach a grammar school properly, what should be the qualifications of a teacher of an infant class in a Sabbath school ? ”

44 And, pardon me,” continued Mrs. Ward, 44 it has always seemed to me that a group of solemn, bookish theologians, would not be more out of their true sphere as nurses in an orphan asylum, or in dressing dolls for a Christmas tree, than they are when preparing a series of Sabbath school lessons for an infant class.”

44 In order to satisfy my own conscience upon this matter, I visited a few weeks since the Infant Class of a Sabbath school that is nearer our home than the one you represent, Miss McNeally, and

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this was what I saw on that glorious June morning, when, as Mrs Browning says :

‘ Earth’s crammed with Heaven,

And every bush afire with God.’

There to my horror, in front of the little, loving, questioning eyes, eyes which should have been filled with gladdening pictures of birds and butterflies, of rainbows and crimson sunsets, was a large white chart, upon which glared in fierce red letters the subject of the lesson for the day, ‘ The valley of dry bones ' 99

“ I recognize that it is rather difficult for even the hardy old roses to flourish in some of the Old Testament ground, unless strengthened by spiritual or allegorical elements ; and I believe, oftener than we know, it has a blighting and withering effect upon daisies and buttercups.”

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As Phillip Ward developed into boyhood, the dislocated clocks, manipulated sewing-machines, chemical experiments, improvised telegraph wires, etc., etc., seemed to suggest the future scientist, and yet occasional rhymes and a true love of music

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indicated other tastes, which to the fond mother were prophetic of unusual genius, but at which others laughed and said, “merely a Jack-at-alltrades, good at none.”

And the years speed on. College is entered, and life, life in our own peerless America, is before the boy. Life with its brilliant possibilities, its opportunities for heroic action and its need of heroes, its constant demand for poets, prophets, wise teachers and true leaders. — What will he do with it ?

During the years of boyhood, which have brought to him many temptations, and the struggles and real trials of school-life incident to every boy, he has lived a pure life. His wise parents have carefully developed and cultivated his different tastes, have supplied him with tools, welcomed the friends of his own choosing (although it ofttimes required, on the part of Mrs. Ward, heroic indifference to carpets and dust) and have surrounded him with an atmosphere of love and trust.

He has learned life’s most valuable lessons, trust in a God of love, trust in humanity, and trust in himself. For granted health, spiritual and moral development, and scientific and industrial training

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and. an optimistic belief, and the future, in America, holds success for any manly boy.

Such is our hero at eighteen ; handsome as a loving heart, a manly self-respect and a fine physique will make any youth, for youth itself is beautiful.

As we look into the mysterious depths of his pure brown eyes, we read the prophecy of a noble man ; just such an one (an actual, living man, not an impossible ideal) as is met with to-day in some of our altruistic homes, where the masculine and feminine characteristics and powers have received equal recognition and secured harmonious development.

Had he been less symmetrical he would not have been chosen for our hero, as the true hero of our age is not the representative of war, or of ambition, or of mere intellectual prowess, but the man in whom love and wisdom are harmoniously blended ; such men as children trust, as girlhood honors, as true women love.

It had required heroic patience and faith upon the part of his mother to always abide by the philosophy of her higher moods, when the boy’s innate love of justice and his mania for proving things had manifested itself ; as it had necessitated rare

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unselfishness and the keenest sense of justice in the father to allow him freedom of choice in politics and religion ; but these wise parents were far more anxious to have their son unfold into a knowledge of truth than to have him merely echo their own thoughts, or yield unquestioning approval to their theology or philosophy. These parents recognized the sacredness of each individual interpretation and manifestation of God, and were content to merely emphasize George Eliot’s clarion note,

“Nay, never falter,

No great deed is done by falterers who ask for certainty. Nothing is certain, but the undivided will to seek the good ; ’Tis that compels the elements and wrings a human music from the indifferent air;

The greatest gift the hero leaves his race is, to have been a hero.”

Very different was the home-world, into which, upon one bleak November day another boy was not so much welcomed as received. This house was literally but a stone’s- throw from the home through whose windows Philip Ward first looked out upon the world, the two places being only separated by a fence. We would have written, two fences, but the graceful line of trailing roses, honeysuckle and acacia that surrounded the Ward estate, seemed

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to breathe a welcome, inviting within ; but beyond this fragrant border was a fence, an unmistakable, barbed-wire fence, with which Deacon Heady had surrounded his home, for the purpose of protecting his apple-trees from the marauding boys, who for, to him, some accountable reason, seemed to take especial delight in annoying him.

The poor man not having been taught the wonderful law of thought-transference, did not recognize in these annoyances the boomerang results of his own unloving, suspicious and bitter thoughts.

Deacon Heady was practical, and proud of it. A man with no nonsense about him. One, who early in life had been thoroughly taught several wise proverbs by a severely strict widowed aunt, who had never forgotten that “ children should be seen and not heard ” ; that “ wives should obey their husbands,” and that “ the love of money was the root of all evil.” This latter the Deacon had changed to mean that the love of money in a woman was dreadful, but that the love of land, more land, in a man, was indicative of great strength of character.

Mrs. Heady, the conscientious, obedient, and altogether suppressed “ companion ” of this barbed-

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wire species of a man, was a New England housekeeper of the severest type ; as far removed in lovableness and consequent influence, from the true home-maker, as a stiff, red everlasting is from a wild rose, or a Lombardy poplar from an elm or a larch.

Her nursery was as devoid of ornament as the back yards in most of our western villages are of beauty. Stiff, brown shades were the only window decorations ; the soft, white curtains which had been given to her by an artistic sister, being packed away, because they were so much trouble to laundry. Here was no dainty bric-a-brac, because it was “ so much trouble to dust.”

Two pictures glared from the white walls, one, a horribly realistic representation of the martyrdom of St. Stephen, the other, the beheading of John the Baptist, while the one bit of feminine indulgence in color was the legend, embroidered with the reddest of red and the blackest of black worsted, “ In the midst of life we are in death.”

When the little stranger arrived in this shadowy home, the mother was too weak to argue in favor of the name of her choice, and so the father made haste to indulge his pessimistic taste, and had

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the boy christened “ Lament,” in recognition of his favorite book in the Bible, “ Lamentations.”

As we from our standpoint of privilege look at the sleeping children, we find ourselves wondering what the result would have been if Philip Ward had been transferred to the little crib of Lament Heady, or if the little Lament could have unfolded in the love-illumined atmosphere of the Ward household?

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CHAPTER H.

CASSING- OUT THE DEVIL.

“ Let me go where’er I will I hear a sky-born music still;

It sounds from all things old,

It sounds from all things young,

From all that’s fair, from all that’s foul,

Peals out a cheerful song.

It is not only in the rose,

It is not only in the bird.

Not only where the rainbow glows ,

Nor in the song of woman heard,

But in the darkest, meanest things There alway, alway something sings.

’Tis not in the high stars alone,

Nor in the cups of budding flowers,

Nor in the redbreast’s mellow tone,

Nor in the bow that smiles in showers,

But in the mud and scum of things ,

There alway, alway something sings.”

Emerson.

“ Theodora, who in the world are you playing with now ? Come into the house this moment. I believe that you would smile upon a darkie or a Chinaman, just as sweetly as you would upon the President. You certainly are one of the strangest

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children that ever lived ; at least you are a perfect enigma to me.”

“ O, no, auntie dear, I was not playing that I was 4 a-nig’s-ma ; we were playing that she was the good, old Black Mammy, and that I was the beautiful white child that had been carried off by the gypsies. O ! we have been having great fun, only Fannie Gray don almost spoiled it all. She was passing and saw me playing with Juliette, and she called out just as loud as she could and said : 4 Ain’t you ashamed, Theodora, to be seen playing with a little black girl ? I am awful sorry that the Republicans have beaten, because I just hate the Niggers.’

“ And I said, why, Fannie Graydon, I think you have forgotten the beautiful verse you have been saying as your text in school this week, about ‘ God is love,’ haven’t you ?

44 And then she just laughed and said , 4 O, you little goothy-poothy (you know she lisps sometimes) I just choosed that verse because it was nithe and short, why — I did most love a little black girl that lived near us once, I actually kithed her one time, but then that was when my father was a Republican.’

44 Well, auntie, about that time I wish you could

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have seen Juliette. She was so angry that I began to think she was going to turn white, and so, quick as I could, I took off my beads (now you don’t care, do you ?) and put them around her neck, and we said one verse of 4 Our Father ’ ; you know, the one about 4 forgive us our trespasses as we forgive,’ etc., etc., and, well — the beads and the prayer and the violets and the daffodils and the birds made us so happy that Juliette was just dancing a jig for me when you called to me. 0, please let me go to see her finish it.”

44 Please do not laugh at her, James. Did you ever hear such a mixture ? Politics and religion, praying and dancing, all in the same moment. She has given to that little colored girl those rare beads that the Rev. Mr. Whiting brought to her from Jerusalem, yet, as she stood there looking so much like an angel, an earth-angel at least, I simply could not scold her, and you never do discipline her, and I fear that as a result she will be totally spoiled.

44 1 do wish that her mother would come. I do not feel as though I could endure the responsibility another day. I begin to understand the wise providence that has caused me to remain unmar-

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ried ; the responsibility of motherhood would kill me. I do think that Caroline might hasten home. James, you talk to Theodora about the importance of choosing more refined associates, will you? ”

44 Really, Maria, she has you under greater subjection than I had comprehended. I have never known you to shirk an obvious duty before. Then, reflect upon the calmly selfish manner in which you express your desire to roll this burden of responsibility back upon your more delicate sister. Now, that is a joke, Maria, so please stop preparations for your 4 real, good cry.’ ”

44 But, James dear, I cannot bear to be joked upon this subject. It is becoming one of almost much importance to me. You know, my dear brother, that I have endeavored to lead a consistent life as a member of the Orthodox Church for years, and have never allowed myself to be disturbed by any doubts ; but that child, James, that ten-year-old child, has actually caused me to deny some of the leading doctrines and cardinal points of the catechism.”

44 Where is she, Maria ? I do not think this conversation in her hearing will improve matters very much. The little witch is sufficiently aware of her own powers already.”

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44 She has gone, like the wind ; gone to dance or to pray, you can never tell which, and yet the strange fact about it all, is, whether she sings or prays, studies, dances or plays, her soul (as Victor Hugo says) seems to be ever on its knees in adoring love to God and humanity. This morning I heard her singing a prayer to 4 Our Heavenly Father and Mother and Brother and Sister.’ ”

“What were some of the knotty, theological questions that have caused you so much anxiety, Maria ? ”

44 Only yesterday, I was trying to teach her the 4 Shorter Catechism ’ and explaining to her the meaning of 4 total depravity,’ when she looked straight at me (almost through me, it seemed) with those wonderful eyes of her, and said, 4 auntie, what is “omniscient” and 44 omnipresent ”? ’ I was endeavoring to explain the words to her, when, to my amazement, she jumped up and clapped her hands and fairly danced with delight as she said : 4 O, goody, goody, goody, there isn’t any devil, there isn’t any devil, nobody but God,’ and then continued, 4 1 knew it, I knew it, because I have been thinking about it, ever so much ; because you see, auntie, if God is everywhere, that just crowds the devil right out ; and if God is good and He

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made everything, why, of course, He never could have made a devil, and if one should try to grow, God would teach him how to grow good.’ And then she continued,

“ 4 Please excuse me a minute, auntie, for I must go to tell Juliette. She is so afraid of the Devil, that she screams right out if she is left in the dark. I told her that I did not believe there was any, because I had hunted for him everywhere. I had called him and called him to come to me, so that I could tell him all about God.’

44 J ames, I was such a coward, because I could not comprehend with my finite senses how God could be omnipotent and omnipresent and yet there remain room for the Devil, that I hastened to my room and emphasized a convenient headache as an excuse for discontinuing the lesson until I could have a talk with our Pastor ; but the matter did not end there. A few moments later, Theodora came running into my room, with her whole soul in her eyes, as she fairly clutched my hands and said :

44 4 Aunt Maria, doesn’t God love the little naughty children ? He sees what makes them naughty.’ A good many times it is the grown-up folks that do it. He made them. He surely

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loves His little children, if no one else does. I know He loves them, and that our kind, beautiful Father in Heaven would never, never burn one of his little children forever and ever. I know it, because I would not do such a cruel thing, and I know that I am not so good as God ? ’

“ James, the expression of her face convinced me that if I should tell her that I believed God would punish forever any of His children, or that there was a personal, actual Devil in the world, she would either lose all confidence in the Supreme Being, or hate Him from that moment; and so, while I have publicly professed to believe in the Devil and his angels, as also in total depravity and foreordination, I merely hugged the little, loving child to my heart and said, my darling, God is Love. He loves everything that He has created. He is just, therefore has no favorites and cannot be partial or unjust to any of His children.

“Did I make a mistake, James? Was that a temptation from the Devil ? Should I have portrayed the terrors of the law to her ? ”

“ If you had wished to make an Atheist of her, yes. Why cannot we keep our sacrilegious hands off of these little children, and, welcoming them as angels of God, by their pure hands and starry

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eyes be guided back to Paradise and a radiant faith in the true, the beautiful and the good ?

44 Did it ever occur to you, Maria, that he whom the Christian world professes to accept as its inspired guide, never so much as hinted at the total depravity of little children, but invariably referred to them as the best representatives of the 4 Kingdom of Heaven ? ’ And I have never met any scientist or mathematician who could discover the exact moment when these same children, in their process of development into men and women, enter the condition of total depravity. And, I will confess that I have been doing a little investigating upon my own account recently, attempting to prove the statement, 4 Know the truth and the truth shall make you free,’ and I have saved quotations from one or two authorities to read to you. Professor Swing, in a recent sermon, quoted as follows from Dr. Lyman Abbot :

“ 4 Orthodoxy does not require belief in a devil but only in a God,’ and added, 4 These words seem true, for the soul of Christianity lies in its espousal of God and Christ and not in its enmities or beliefs towards any rival powers of the air. The reasons for a God are innumerable and sublime, but the reasons for a Satan are few and weak.’

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“Then we do not find a word concerning the Devil, either in the Ten Commandments or in the Sermon on the Mount.

“ O, Maria, look lovingly into any eyes that ever glared or gleamed, and you will catch a glimpse of the angel imprisoned within.”

“Well, I hope so; but, James dear, do be careful about entertaining these modern, liberal views. I do want you to be on the safe side.”

“ It appears to me, Maria, that it is more dangerous not to have enough faith in the 4 Eternal Goodness ’ than too much. The only test Jesus Christ gave was the degree of our love to God and man. It would surely not be difficult for an earthly father to forgive a child for a great degree of faith and love. Better look out for yourself, sister.”

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Simply two children and a string of rare, old beads; a group of low-branched beach trees, a grassy sward starred with daffodils ; an every-day kind of a sunset as its golden frame, and yet to faithfully reproduce it would immortalize the artist, and prove another prophecy of that Golden Age, into which a little child shall lead us.

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Chapter III. A Philosophic Maiden

“ That religion, philosophy or party that does not reach down to the lowliest home and the most oppressed human being, was not born in Heaven.” — Francis W. Parker.

“ Ceaseless growth means ceaseless emancipation. A gospel of hatred is” (seems to be?) “rising in classes and masses, which hates employers, hates employes, hates household service, hates household servants, hates foreigners, hates pools, hates trades-unions, hates the grangers, hates reformers, hates politics. All these are merely symptoms of a high fever ; but a new mankind has been conceived and will be born , a winged beauty out of the earth-measuring worm, which will not know force and fraud and hatred and will let love, their natural tie, bind men and women together.” — Henry Lloyd.

Earle O’Neal had changed her “ sanctum ” and “ free dispensary,” as Robert ever insisted upon calling it, into a boudoir. The desk upon which she had written many loving, helpful suggestions to her sister-women had been replaced by a square-

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grand. The files of letters received from philanthropists and reformers, had been pigeon-holed in the attic, and replaced by “ Gems of Operatic Song.” Space which had hitherto been yielded to a small table, upon which was conspicuously placed, for signatures, a petition praying for an Industrial School for the orphaned children of the State, was occupied by an easel.

The shrine of the erst-time philanthropist was in fact changed into a luxurious apartment ; the former work-room metamorphosed into a segment of fairyland, while the presiding genius seemed to have been suddenly stricken with helplessness and apathetic indifference to everything save personal ease, comfort, luxury and beauty.

So entire a change had been wrought, that, as Earle O’Neal reclined upon a luxurious couch, drawn pleasantly near an open fire of aromatic woods, dressed in a robe of softest white cashmere, the artistic folds of which were held in place by a heavy cord and tassel, a clustre of golden-hearted pansies nestling in the filmy lace at her throat, a copy of the latest fashion-plate held in her hand, the shrewdest observer would have mistaken her for a “ born society queen.”

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She was roused from her study of the latest fashion edicts by the entrance of her friend and former co-laborer, Theodora Dwight, whose face indicated an almost alarmed surprise, as she noted the significant changes in the appointments of the room, but she merely questioned, “ are you ill, Earle, or have you forgotten that this is the day that we are to meet the committee appointed to draft the petition to our Governor, praying him to appoint a woman upon the State Board of Charities ? ” “ Yes, I am sick, Theodora, sick at heart. I am a miserable failure. Having once put my hand to the plow, I have deliberately turned back. 4 The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ Do not despise me, dear. I am only a woman ; alas, a woman with a weak, loving, clinging, dependent nature. I could not bear ridicule, misrepresentation and opposition another hour. It was killing me. I endured the sarcasm and estrangement of my only, and almost idolized, brother. I was firm and brave, more heroic than even you comprehended, when I took this wailing, aching heart of mine and strangled its yearning cries for love and appreciation and stood, forsaken amidst the ashes of a dead love, because my hero insisted that I

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must forego all public work and keep my name sacred for him, and never liave it given to the profane eyes of the general public. But, when the very women for whom I was enduring the martyrdom, sneered and ridiculed, when those whose children would receive great benefits from our labor, withheld their sympathy, when the women of my own church requested me not to serve as secretary in a temperance society, because I might thereby depopularize the ‘ Union Missionary Society,’ of which I was President, then it seemed as though my heart was broken ; and when a committee of un-Christ-like Christians called to inquire if I had good and sufficient reasons for believing innocent, before I employed her, the young woman who had languished for months in our county jail, under a charge of infanticide, which was afterwards proven false, then it seemed to me as though I died; died, because I did not wish to live any longer in a world where religion seemed to be such a farce, such a merely fashionable veneering, and where God and Justice, and Mercy and Love were myths. Theodora, I am dead; at least my old hopeful, enthusiastic self is dead ; here are the ashes, ashes with only enough life in them to create a little