The seamless robe

Front matter

Book -0 14-S D

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Gopyrightl^ 0

Dedication

To all nations and all kindreds this book is dedicated and sent forth upon its journey through the world, with the desire that it may speed Love’s sweet message from city to city, there proclaiming from every housetop the glory of a promise in swift process of fulfilment; going also out into the highwa3 r s and hedges and, with tender compulsion, bidding the hungry “ come in 99 ; whispering the while to the waiting heart the mighty truth that holiness and health, twin offspring of Soul, dwell ever hand in hand; bidding the dormant heart awake and know that the veil of materialism is rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and upraising the earth-bound eyes to behold Man, Godlike in his immortality, Chris tlike in his perfect health.

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Part I DRAMATIS PERSONS

OR

TANGLED THREADS IN THE HAND OF MAN

CHAPTER

I. Mist 21

II. Shadow-land 27

III. Mental Assassination SO

IV. The Mesmerism of Fear; or, “ Through the

Valley of the Shadow ” 39

V. The Unburied Dead; or, ‘"The Fruit of

His Body for the Sin of His Soul " . 49

VI. The Kingdom of Heaven 59

VII. The World, the Flesh and Evil ... 63

Part II MORTALS WEAVING IN THE DARK

VIII. A Man and a Woman 75

IX. Day Dreams 86

CONTENTS

CHAPTEB PAGE

X. Partial Eclipse 93

XI. Total Eclipse 102

XII. Derelict 109

XIII. “Man, Whose Breath is in His Nostrils” 119

XIV. Angola 127

Part III A THREAD OF GOLD IN THE HAND OF GOD

XV. The Midnight Call 141

XVI. Newness of Life 151

XVII. Ebb and Flow . 156

XVIII. Human Limitations 165

XIX. Self-Deception 174

XX. Mental Fermentation 178

XXI. A Barque — With White Sails Unfurled 182

XXII. Called 191

XXIII. Domestic Tyranny 199

Part IV BROKEN SHUTTLES UPON THE TABLE OF TIME

XXIV. The Recantation 213

XXV. Hate 223

XXVI. Castles Built Upon Shifting Sands . 229

XXVII. The Flood-Tide 238

XXVIII. A Barque — Storm-Tossed Upon a

Stormy Sea . . 243

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

XXIX. Egypt 250

XXX. Mesmerized 254

XXXI. Clouds of Sense 2 63

XXXII. Confusion 272

XXXIII. The Man-Made Hell of Man . . . 280

Part V WHITE WARP AND WOOF IN THE LOOM OF MIND

XXXIV. Looking Towards the Light . . . 293

XXXV. The Question* 302

XXXVI. The Answer 314

XXXVII. The Swing of the Pendulum . . . 328

XXXVIII. Peniel 337

XXXIX. Out of Darkness Into His Marvellous Light 344

XL. A Lonely Barque Upon the Mighty

Deep 355

XLI. Scaling the Higher Heights . . . 360

Epilogue 368

Lo, this only have I found, that God hath made man upright.

— Ecclesiastes.

I know not how most books are written.

I know how this one came to me — oft troubling me in the long night watch, when otherwise I would have slept ; oft flashing across my busy path and, with soft compelling touch, bidding me “ Be still and write ” ; and always, when it came, filling my heart with a great desire, thus stilling my life with the silence of prayer.

I, the prisoner, lay upon my bed.

The June sunshine streamed in through the open window, and joined hands with the mirror. Together, they threw gay discs of light — bright-hued as is the opal fire — upon my prison walls, there to coquet among a pretence of climbing roses — roses drawn by a hand that loved them, drawn even while they grew. How else did they speak of summer gardens and sweet June life? How else did they whisper to the gentle breeze that seemed to stir their leaves? How else did the bud speak so clearly of promise, and the bloom smile with the rapture of hope passed into fruition? I had chosen that paper in spite of protest. “ The carmine will fade,” they told me. No matter! My will was law': but even as paste touched paper, I sighed, realising that always I commanded, except in the one thing for which I greatly longed — the one thing that I had asked of life for many weary years.

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That midsummer day, my restless glance left the dancing discs of light and turned outward, there to linger momentarily upon the grace and beauty of the silver birch. The brightness of its summer robe, the tender whiteness of its bark and the gentle yielding of its rounded limbs held my thought to love — to love most passing fair, but all too frail, and thus imperfect, holding within itself the seeds of death, the doom of all mortality.

Roving onward, deep crimson and palest rose caught my eye and chained it, a willing captive, to the queenly rhododendron, whose crowns of royal splendour gave token of the lavish month of June. What a wealth of living colour was there ! Its charm increased, its beauty doubled, as, earth meeting sky, each wound loving arms about the other in the clear waters of the lake. Tossed upon the bright blue of reflected ether, lay round clouds, richly white. Nestling within their bosom, half hidden, half revealed, softly blushed the rhododendron. Now meeting with the quick embrace of love, now parting with a lingering touch, the boughs of noble elm and bending birch caressed the whole, picturing the while burnished greens and purple greys upon the shining surface beneath their feet.

I, the prisoner, manacled to my bed, turned face to pillow and groaned within my heart, “ How long, dear God! how long! . . . The glory of heaven upon

earth out there: within my soul — the pangs of hell! And betwixt the two — a great gulf fixed ! ”

One day I found upon my bed a little book: black it was, and ordinary.

Three times I threw it from me. Three times he brought it back.

PROLOGUE 13

Yet once again he pleaded, “ Beloved, if not for your own, for my sake, and for theirs ! ”

“ Sweet,” I said at last, “ for your sake and for theirs, I will try to understand.”

I held the thing within my hand; I turned it here, I turned it there. Black it was without, and dark within. I could not understand.

A woman stood beside my bed. Soft-voiced she was, and sweet of face. “ Nay,” she said, “ it is not black nor dark within, but of the purest gold.”

I thought her mad.

Once more she spoke, “ There is a way, but only one; take it, and understand.”

“ This way,” I asked, “ whither leads it, and its name? ”

“ It leads,” she said, “ to Freedom, and its name is Silent Prayer.”

I held her with astonished gaze.

Then loud I laughed and long. It was so very droll! Despair sat by my side ; Death reached out cold white arms. Pray! I had prayed while the days passed into weeks, full-laden with the burden of their tears. I had prayed while those weeks merged slowly into months of that unholy calm which is the devil’s rhapsody — when the eyes are dry and the lips are still, save that perchance they twitch into a smile at the sight of another’s tears. Kind fools ! to weep in pity, when the bleeding heart, its passion spent, and the tortured limbs, all tempest-torn, are one in their voiceless pain! Blind fools! to weep in pity for that which passeth tears! ... I had prayed whilst from out the womb of that Satanic calm dropped forth the still-born years. Ah me! that laboured lingering birth with its foul fruitage all of woe! Ah me! those hopeless, helpless, endless years! I marvelled when men called them living, for / knew them to be dead. The devil’s horrid counterfeit of life, they lay behind me and before, a ghastly throng; they mocked me where they lay; the face of each defaced, the form of each defiled, by the cruel hand of a dread monotony. . . . I had prayed whilst the nights of hell’s own

revelry gave hideous promise of eternal woe, and thus — the end! Pray? oh! my mirth, it shook me merrily! Pray? to understand a thing like this?

Once more the answer came, 44 It is the only way.” And thus she left me.

That day, Death held his face to mine, and promised me deep sleep and rest from pain. Almost, I let his lips rest on my own. But Doubt sprang up and shouted in my ear ; 44 How know you that his promise is not vain? There is a life beyond! ”

Again Death whispered to my heart, but now, I knew he mocked my need, though I knew not how I knew it. Methought I heard hell’s laughter, so soft ! so low ! and yet, though soft, too subtle to be sweet. I turned me in my chains, and as I turned, a little child climbed on my bed, and wound soft arms about my neck. So small she was and weak, she held me back. Perforce, I prayed once more. But first, I placed my finger on my lips, and thus I raised my heart to God.

And lo ! within mine hand, beneath mine eye, I found a thing of gold. Its very shape had changed! A key, it seemed to be, of strange device and strength most rare. And right within its heart, behold, a pearl ! and deeply graved upon that pearl, these words ; 44 This is the key: unlock the ‘Word,’ Search diiep within its very soul; find there, and keep , that allinclusive gift of God to man — the Truth.”

I placed the key within the lock. Slowly at first, then quickly, and more quickly yet it turned.

Now stilled with wonder, now rent by doubt; anon, borne upward by the might of Hope — so strong of wing and eagle-eyed — I searched; I found; through all eternity I keep — the Truth.

Through all eternity I thank my God who gave the Truth to me. I thank that child of God, that brave New England woman, who, by the grace of God, has wrought a key so fine and strong, that it has opened wide the Word of God, and thrown upon the sacred page the clear white light of love divine.

We, who try to follow, guess a little what it must have cost to make that key of purest gold. We know, though only something, of the fire through which she must have passed, when throwing the searchlight of this revelation upon the darkened thought of ages. And knowing, though so little, we yet thank God Almighty for her patience and her love.

And thus it was, that the white-winged angel Hope first came to me, and waked my slumbering soul from lethargy to life: while her gentle sister, Faith, so soft of tread, so still of voice, stood by my side, and pointed to the Light, till their beauteous mother, Love — the greatest of the three — holding a hand of each, bent over me and pressed upon my weary brow — the kiss of peace.

And now, together, they pointed to the Light. And within the Light, I saw a crown, and upon that crown a great word written — a word so high, and broad, and long, and deep, that I could not read its name aright. But as I tried, and tried again, the days rose up and clapped their hands, then bid me merrily, Adieu. For the weeks were there in joyous mood. But scarcely had they smiled upon my path than the gladsome months were with me. And then — I lost all count of time, for its day was done, and it meekly bowed before a far-off glimmer of Eternity: for I had learned to read that word aright, though still I knew not all its depth. No mortal may know that; for the measure of that word is All Eternity. But even now much may be known; for even here, the mortal may begin to put on Immortality. And as my life is filled with gratitude, my heart sends forth a long, full note of praise, and I bow more low than I ever dreamed that I could bow, and yet! not low enough. For as my hope soars higher than I ever dreamed a human hope could soar, my life is shaken by a mighty sound, sublime and wonderful ! Surging about my onward path, it sweeps a matter-world away and throws a chastened suppliant at the feet of Mind. Prostrate I lay, till I, my pride rebuked, learned a great lesson of Eternity — that Hope, to be true Hope, must first be shorn of mad ambition’s earthy wings, ere it may wear the vesture of humility and rise on pinions all divine. Now my whole being bows before the Majesty of God; and once again, more clearly than before, I hear that mighty sound — surely an impartation of an endless harmony!

And lo ! embraced within that glorious song, yet ever individual, I hear that same full note of praise ; but fuller, stronger, purer than before. Now holy awe lays chastening hand upon my head, as I whisper to my heart, “ Can this thing be? May man, while yet on earth, make one with that sweet choir above? ” For answer, I swiftly search the “ little book ” within my hand, and there I read of Man, the work of God. Man! as he is, as he always has been, and as he ever more shall be , — the perfect offspring of the only Mind. Now, as I read and read again, lo ! far and wide throughout the vastness of Infinity, I see that “ Fourth ” for which a matter-world has searched in vain. And as I look and look again, I hear a voice as the voice of many angels say, “ Come unto me and live.” Hearing, I must needs obey, and thus perpetual peace is mine, for one by one the fetters fall away. And now, with steadfast glance upheld, I see Man roam — strong, free, new-born — amid the height and depth, the breadth, the length, the wealth of Mind. Upon Purity’s white pinions, far outspread and all begleamed with light, he rises, ever rises, from sense to Soul, till lo ! he stands revealed — the image and the likeness of his God ! And thus I see Man live forever, individualised in infinite variety, high-poised within the Eternal Three, upheld by the Almighty power of that Immortal “ Fourth ” —

AT ONE WITH GOOD.

Part I DRAMATIS PERSONA?

OR

TANGLED THREADS IN THE HAND OF MAN

All the world’s a stage And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances.

— Shakespeare.

Chapter I Mist

What is life? *Tis but a madness.

What is life? A mere illusion,

Fleeting pleasure, fond delusion,

Short-lived joy that ends in sadness,

Whose most constant substance seems But the dream of other dreams.

Calderon .

Most of the room was in shadow, but the carefully arranged blind permitted a strong light to rest upon the couch whereon lay, at full length, a young man.

Another man, in regulation frock-coat of sombre hue, sat before his desk, moving nothing but his right hand. With firmly held pen he made notes in a dreary folio before him.

Suddenly, the stillness was broken. Very quietly, the recumbent man asked a momentous question.

“ How long have I to live ? ”

Sir James Norton placed his pen across the rack with some deliberation. He was a little taken aback by the cool delivery of the unexpected query; and it was not until his trained eye detected a certain hardness in his patient’s look, that he realised how completely the sick man understood the situation.

“ It is clearly impossible to speak with certainty upon such a matter,” he replied gently ; “ we must hope for the best. You are a young man, and of course that is in your favour.”

The Duke looked' steadily into the doctor’s face.

“ How long have I to live ? ” He repeated the words calmly, though a little wearily.

“ I cannot say,” the doctor answered, with the faintest touch of asperity in his tone. Then, compelled by the steadiness of the quiet gaze fixed upon him, he added : “ Of course all excitement must be avoided, for another attack of hemorrhage like the last might be very weakening to the system.”

“ Thanks ! ”

The young man rose and stood for a moment deep in thought.

Then he returned the prescription which Sir James had just handed him, gently remarking, “ For many years I have taken much medicine; on the whole, I think I will not take any more ; ” and the hardness of the mouth relaxed a little, for the Duke was smiling.

At the street door he turned and said, with the gentle courtesy which always endeared him to those with whom he came in touch, “ I am grateful for your attentive care of my case — very grateful to you for arranging the consultation here to-day. As you know, I am anxious about my wife. She gains strength very slowly and we try to spare her as much as possible, for to-morrow we go North, — our little son is to be christened this week.”

A minute later Sir James re-entered his consulting room. He stood for a moment thinking deeply, then he tore his rejected prescription neatly in half and, with a manner still preoccupied, consigned it to the waste-paper basket.

No one knew better than the celebrated physician that drugs were entirely useless in such a case as this;

but, of course, he must follow the usual routine and send his patient from stethoscope to pharmacy. And here a thought, long dormant, woke to vigorous action and fretted the doctor’s rather weary brain; unconsciously, but none the less deliberately, he turned his back upon the thought. It grew in strength and faced him. This time he ordered it away. But the thought had made its home with him too long and now became importunate. When had it entered, unrecognised, into his mind? Futile question! Perhaps* in boyhood’s day, when, Homer in hand, he had sought the assistance of his Liddell and Scott. Unconsciously impelled by the worrying thought, he now turned to his bookshelves and took down his old-time companion which had rested there undisturbed for many years. Soon he found that which he, half protestingly, sought.

44 &dp[xaKov ,” (Pharmakon) ; 44 a drug , whether healing or noxious.” Then, in Homer, “ a healing remedy , medicine ” generally applied outwardly. Next, in the later classics, 44 an enchanted potion, spell, incantation.” Next, “ a poison (as Shakespeare uses drug ).”

Turning to the derivatives he found : — 44 <\>appaK.da” (pharmakeia) ; 44 the using of medicine” 44 pharmacy .” Generally, 44 the use of any kind of drugs , potions , spells , fyc. ; ” also 44 poisoning ” and 44 witchcraft ”

Again, “ ^appaKevs” (pharmakeus), “a poisoner , sorcerer; ” and, in later Greek, 44 a druggist apothecary”

The philological connection between thd original Greek and the various English derivatives was obvious.

Sir James Norton was a religious man and knew his Bible well. He read it more often than any other book — works on materia medica excepted. The beauty of the Old Testament phraseology especially appealed to his love of euphony, and he constantly read it for the mere pleasure of indulging his poetical sense. Now thought played upon the words which he had just studied and reminded him that recourse to such agencies is repeatedly forbidden in the Bible. The matter worried him. He had tried all his life to obey the teaching of his orthodox religion, but of late he had become more and more dissatisfied, as he noted one self-evident inconsistency therein after another. Now he shut the Greek Lexicon with an impatient gesture and sighed as he returned it to its place.

Throwing himself heavily into an armchair, he gazed discontentedly around his consulting room. Those four walls had looked upon much that was not pleasant. To-day, an atmosphere of gloom seemed to emanate unrelieved from the sad brown of their distemper. There were times, and this was one of them, when the whole room became unbearable to Sir James, for it seemed to whisper to him of women’s tears and of men’s white-faced sorrow. /

Upon that sofa had lain a world-worn gambler.

“ Give up the cards ” — and the man had laughed — “for the sake of my wife and child! Why, doctor, the wife is dead, and I am glad, for she was often hungry here; and the girl — the girl is worse than dead, and I am glad; for she was often hungry, too! Give up the cards! Why, man! you know that I cannot ! 99

Leaning against that mantelshelf, the weary-faced boy — too weary to laugh — had said, “ Doctor ! of course I will go abroad if you wish it ; where the sun shines and the sky is blue ! ” and then coughing, he had stained his handkerchief red. “Why not? There are wine and women everywhere; and . . . the

money will last the year ! ”

There had sat a wailing woman, repentant, because in pain.

“ Doctor,” she had cried, “ tell me that the child will not inherit this awful craving. I had rather that it should die unborn ! ” Upon that same chair had sat, years later, that same woman’s child, and she, in her turn, had wailed, “ Doctor, you know that I cannot help it! You know that the thing is inherited. ”

And hearing, Sir James had remembered. He must, he thought, have drunk in with his mother’s milk the knowledge of “ a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me.”

But why, my brother, stop there? Go on; and remember the glorious promise which awaits every child of man, who elects to rise above the thraldom of the flesh and learns to love , thus ceasing to hate. Is it not also written, “ and showing mercy unto thousands of them that love me and keep my commandments ”? Nay, more! Is it not further written, “What mean ye, that ye use this proverb concerning the land of Israel, saying, The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge. As I live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion any more to use this proverb in Israel.”

To-day the great London physician realised that for years, while longing to help, he had yet stood helpless by, unable to cure man’s sickness, because he could not make man cease from sin; and, as he ruminated upon his life of unavailing toil, a tired look stole over Sir James’ sensitive face.

44 How seldom have I cured! ” he exclaimed ; 44 how seldom have I done more than alleviate ! ”

Almost passionately he muttered ; 44 I’m weary of this. For thirty years to battle with disease! for thirty years to think, to work, and even to pray, as I have done — as hundreds of other men have done — and to get no further! To find no certainty anywhere ; nothing but vague hypotheses ; and always in the end — death ! ”

Aye, doctor; for thirty years to battle, to think, to work, and even to pray! And for your honest effort, to receive much money and more fame, but always the heartache which is interlinked with the secret conviction of failure ! Pause, Doctor, a moment and listen to an echo from the past : —

44 One thing is needful and Mary hath chosen that good part.”

44 There is a spirit in man : and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth them understanding.”

Chapter II Shadow-land

Tell me not in mournful numbers.

Life is but an empty dream.

For the soul is dead that slumbers.

And things are not what they seem.

. — Longfellow .

While Sir James Norton thus soliloquised, his distinguished patient drove further westward. With eyes half closed, he lay back upon the soft leather which cushioned his brougham, and that great impressionist — man’s imagination — dashed a vivid picture upon the canvas of his mind.

There he saw the interior of a beautiful chapel. Strong shafts of light, richly dyed, threw their radiance upon the central figures of a stately group. A background of oak, carved by the hand of a master craftsman and deeply empurpled by age, formed a regal setting for the font of cloud-white marble which shone forth softly as might the purest pearl. Almost lost to sight within the lawn-draped arms of episcopalian dignity lay a little child. Gathered around were men and women of high degree. There stood a royal princess, and next to her he saw his wife. . . .

Here fear caught 'the man about the heart, and bade him give pause and observe that, with the ripening of her motherhood, his wife’s loveliness bespoke the pale 27 beauty of the snowdrop, rather than, as heretofore, the straightness and strength of the lily. . . . And

his it was to tell her that the little babe, his child and hers, must, while still a child, bear the full weight of a great inheritance. God grant that he be not compelled to carry also the burden of his race’s woe!

The weary man’s eyes are now quite closed. Worn out with the morning’s demands upon his strength, he sleeps. And as he sleeps, the glitter and the roar of Babylon, softened and beautified out of all similitude, penetrate his dreams: he stands, a spectator, forming an. item in a crowd of rank and wealth. Flowers riot in beauteous profusion: tall palms and graceful ferns lend their aid to a scene of almost oriental splendour; here, cloudy lace and shimmering satin, and, upon every side, the flash of gems. In the midst he sees himself. There he walks, with the light of love in his eyes and the glow of possession upon his brow. His bride, with sweet eyes downcast and cheeks softly flushed with the heritage of Eve, moves by his side. Happy faces flank them upon the right and left. And now, the great organ speaks: from vaulted arch to beautiful mosaic, from reredos to western door, the vast cathedral fills with wave upon wave of grandest harmony. Now comes the triumphant march of inspired chords; now upswell the ringing sounds of revelry, pealing forth upon their joyous way, as do merry marriage bells. . . . But hark ! the organ’s

mighty heart is broken; it throbs with piteous pain. Wail upon wail rends its stricken way out upon the solemn stillness, which holds the dreamer motionless. . . . For see! flowers white and beautiful, but in

a funeral pile. Changed is the splendid pageant: for mortal love has failed to bar the way, and Death is King! Gone are the lightsome faces: all faded is the gay attire : all lustreless the erstwhile sparkling gems ! The men and the women are there, but each clad in a panoply of deepest woe. He sees the bier! He sees the darksome pall which drapes its form ! and notes the signs of ancient heraldry. . . . And well he knows

for whom the mourners weep. Each voice is mute: no whisper moves upon the air: and yet! — four words of solemn import smite upon the dreamer’s heart: — The Duke is dead.

Chapter III Mental Assassination

Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer.

— John.

44 Look out ! ”

44 Seems to be in a devil of a hurry, whoever he may be ; ” and the speaker stepped hastily back among the heather, as a motor flashed past making light of byelaws and police regulations.

44 That is Lord George Maxwell,” his companion answered. 44 He has no doubt been to the little heir’s christening. They have evidently made a great day of it up at the Castle. Why are you not there ? 99

Mr. Campbell looked with some interest after the swiftly disappearing motor. He knew the Duke of Westmoreland well and had, moreover, heard the village talk, which said that Lord George Maxwell would soon be owner of the moors for miles around.

44 I don’t care for functions,” he answered shortly. Then turning abruptly to his companion he added, 44 How is the Duke? Is he really so ill — and the child too?”

44 The Duke is dying,” was the terse reply ; 44 — and the child also.”

44 But, Doctor ” — and the young man’s voice was full of protest — 44 1 have heard that said of the Duke before; I heard it said when I was fishing in these parts three years ago. But I have met him often since then and I see no marked change in him.”

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66 Oh, I know report has killed him off more than once somewhat prematurely, but this time it’s true. I have known the Duke’s family for two generations, and my only wonder is that this man should have lived so long;” and Doctor Weldon shouldered his rod and turned to follow a path which ran across the moors in the direction of the village.

44 Well, I knew him at Eton, and he was strong enough then,” his companion answered in an irritated tone. The fact was, James Campbell both hated and resented the thought of death, and it seemed all wrong to him that a young man, standing upon the threshold of what might have developed into a great career, should thus drop out of his place in the world before his work in life was well begun.