Better than divorce

Preface

This novel is based upon both fact and fancy. The author leaves it to the reader to make the application. His purpose is to awaken the Christian mind to a social curse which threatens the kingdom. The divorce evil is appalling. Our civil laws run counter to God. Our Nation also is threatened by this canker-worm in the heart, of the home. I call, therefore, upon every true citizen, every child of God to repeal the divorce laws. To do his duty to God is the moving cause of

THE AUTHOR.

Contents

CHAPTERS : PAGE.

I. The Closed Door 7

II. The Opened Door 13

Chapter I. The Closed Door

J ohn Mark, a youth in the vigor of manhood, dressed faultlessly, unaccompanied by prefect or fellow student, tingling with joy at just having finished his education and dreaming hopefully of the future, left his room in the college dormitory at nightfall, went down the street of a modern city and paused on the threshold of one of its guilded mansions. In answer to his ring of the bell, a bejeweled woman came to meet 'him, smiled cordially, extended her hand, bade him enter and closed the door behind them.

To him that door was symbolic. At its panels two epochs met — his past and his future. The door opened to him a new life, which is yet to be ; and shut upon the old life which had been. It marked the closing of the old and the beginning of the new.

His experience, however, up to the present, may or may not have been peculiar to himself. He had grown up with an unshaken faith in two ideals — Immaculate Christianity and Spotless Womanhood. He concluded, since man was created a little lower than the angels and since woman was superior to man, that she herself was an angel. Whether the fault was in his theology or his ideal, he never believed that woman shared the fall with man ; he thought of her as having kept her first estate and remaining on a par with Eve in her Eden purity.

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To him she was always a crown of glory, a diadem of beauty, a fountain of purity and needed not to wash her feet, being clean every whit.

On the other hand, men, ordinary men, sinners of the world, among whom he had reckoned himself, were, he suspected, fit subjects for the devil's scrap pile, except those who were Christians. These he placed upon that exalted plain with women. For had not the saints washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb? Had they not crucified the old man and had they not put on the new man which was created after God in righteousness and true holiness? Were they not dead to sin and walked no longer therein ? Had they not been born of God and were they not, therefore, his children? Yes; they were Christians in whom Christ lived his life over again in the world; they had pledged themselves to self-denial and had proclaimed their purpose to do his will. They were the real saints. They were perfect.

These high ideals had not been lost on this young man; they molded his character and shaped his ends. The consequences were that he had fallen in love with the queen of her sex, the immaculate angel, Mamie Magus; and at an early age he professed a change of heart and claimed relationship with that family who were proud to designate themselves as the children of God. He soon discovered, however, that as there had been a Judas among the Apostles, there was also a sinner among the saints, one only, so far as he knew. Disturbed over the discovery, he sought to attain unto the full stature

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of manhood in Christ Jesus, the Lord, and landed in the ministry.

In order to enter the pulpit, he quit the plow to fill a seat in the Prince George College. Five years passed before he received his diploma; even then he did not enter the pastorate but turned aside to the theological seminary in Frenchmansville further to eliminate certain lingering imperfections from his life. Three laborious years swiftly passed and he was looking to the end of scholastic, and the beginning of actual life. He longed to launch his bark upon that sea, which he hoped would waft him into some fair harbor of pastoral life and into that sweet haven of matrimony.

He was already contemplating a union with Mamie Magus, the fairest among women, when the Duck River Church began an ecclesiastical flirtation with him. They directed Deacon Moses Anderson to convey to him the sentiments of their hearts. The letter which he wrote telle its own story.

“Dear Brother Mark: —

Our church at Duck River, wishes to know if you can " preach for us the second Sunday in May. We are without a pastor and invite you with a view to a call. Kindly let me hear. Cordially and fraternally,

Moses Anderson/'

When Mark read the letter his heart leaped with joy at the prospect of his first ecclesiastical union. It was a joy, however, not unmixed with fear; for what if the church would not be pleased after having heard him preach? That seemed highly probable as he had had

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but little experience in the pulpit and none as pastor. At the thought of failure, he trembled. Besides his heart smote him with a keen sense of unworthiness to become the pastor of a congregation of saints. That sense of unfitness drove him to his knees where he lingered long and often. After wrestling in prayer for days and nights, Mark wrote Deacon Anderson a favorable reply and began the preparation of sermons for the occasion.

At length the second Sunday in May came. The day was ideal. A throng of people had gathered to hear the new preacher. Mark, with fear and trembling in his heart, entered the house and glanced over the audience. At the front, on his right, sat Deacon Anderson with several other deacons grave and solemn as the somber tomb; on his left sat the mothers and grandmothers in Israel with hand-bags filled with cookies for the noisy little ones; back in the main part of the church sat a crowd of men and boys, whispering at times one to another and casting their eyes in the direction of the netf preacher; to the left of these, under a cloud of May hats, sat a brace of girle, fresh and pretty as the Duck River waterliiies, chattering and glancing slyly up at the young minister. But when he entered the pulpit all were quiet and entered into the spirit of the occasion. He preached, or rather tried to preach, but floundered woefully in the delivery of his message and failed to occupy the time usually allotted to that part of the service. After dismission, he came down from the pulpit with a mortifying sense of failure, believing he had spoiled every prospect of a call. The people kindly came to shake

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his hand and get acquainted ; and when some spoke kind words regarding the sermon, he was distressed all the more, fearing that the kindness was intended to salve the sting of the failure.

Consequently he returned to Frenchmansville, discouraged and feeling that no church would ever he guilty of calling him as pastor. For some days, therefore, he was fearfully blue and went about his tasks with a heartless effort, being ashamed, even to think of Mamie.

Two weeks passed before he got over the mortifying failure. Then his spirits took a sudden rise when a letter from Deacon Anderson notified him that the church had extended to him a unanimous call. His heart bounded and thrilled, he was overwhelmed with joy at the merciful forbearance of the saints in overlooking his failure; then he sank upon his knees to supplicate the Throne of Grace. He asked for divine power to make him what he keenly felt he was not — worthy to be the Shepherd of the flock of God.

In due time he returned a favorable answer and was, without doubt, the happiest ecclesiastical bridegroom in the Frenchmansville seminary. Then his heart turned again with longing to Mamie, and he wished that they might consummate their love affairs. But this domestic joy was deferred for several reasons; not the least of which were the machinations of another angel which appeared to him a few evenings later, and turned the course of events, as angels usually do. But that is a story which belongs in the next chapter.

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Other reasons that helped to defer this happy union were the facts that his theological course was not quite complete and the magnitude of his debts which he had made to get through school. Nevertheless, hopes of claiming her some day as his own had inspired every effort and thrilled his soul with hopes of domestic joys yet to come ; likewise also the call to the Duck River Church had lifted his' spiritual enthusiasm to flood tide and bore him on in the study of Greek verbs and Hebrew roots with a similar delight to reading “Paradise Regained/’ or “Runyan’s Pilgrimage to the Land of Beulah.”

Hence these few weeks soon passed and Mark found himself at the end of scholastic days. The last lecture at length closed. The Commencement was at hand. The students were boxing their books, packing their trunks and making ready for their departure home as soon as the last diploma was delivered. Some of the students had gone to call on the girl that would be left behind for a season, when Mark called that very evening on his elderly relatives. Such had been his past life when that door closed behind him.

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Chapter II. The Door Opened

When the lady opened the door to admit Mark, he saw, within, a spacious hall or reception room. The hardwood floor was polished and strewn with rich Oriental rugs thick and soft ; an electrolier, suspended from the ceiling and overlaid with gold, flooded the room with a soft white light; large and small pictures of both ancient and modern masters decorated the walls, while deep-seated chairs and divan were arranged with exquisite taste about the room. All this he had seen in a flash, when the lady in a voice almost musical said,

“Will you please walk into the next room?”

He looked in the direction of the pointing hand and saw a door opening into a suite of double parlors which were more magnificent than the hall. In an easy chair sat a gentleman, the husband of the lady who had brought him in. He arose — a tall handsome fellow — and cordially saluted Mark. After they were seated and the usual formalities of such occasions were over, the elderly gentleman inquired of Mark if he graduated this year.

“Yes; this is my last year,” he admitted.

“How many years have you been in college?”

Mark told the story of his student life.

“I judge that having devoted eight years to college, you will be glad to go out into the world to enter practical affairs?”

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“I am delighted with the idea.”

“You lack one very necessary equipment,” added the lady of the house with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“What is that?” questioned Mark.

“A bishop should be the husband of one wife,” she said teasingly.

“It is my purpose, Madam, to obey every scriptural injunction.”

“Then I judge that you are engaged?” she laughed.

“No; not engaged, but — ”

“If you are not really engaged,” she interrupted, “I have a niece, who has just graduated at the Carnegie Female College in the State of Illimo, whom I would like for you to meet,” she added half in earnest, half in joke.

“I would be more than pleased some time to meet your niece.”

“Sometime ? Is not now as good time as any ?”

“Yes; if we could sink the space between here and the State of Illimo.”

“There is no such necessity; she is right here; I will bring her in,” laughed the good woman rising and going to fetch her.

J ohn Mark stepped to the mirror and hastily smoothed his hair, readjusted his coat, and otherwise scanned himself critically, to discover if he was sufficiently dressed to meet the fair young lady, whom his instinct at once pronounced an angel lacking nothing but wings.

“You look sufficiently well,” observed the elderly

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gentleman smiling and at the same time recalling how once upon a time the prospect of meeting a beautiful, rich young woman made him spruce up.

He had resumed his seat, when the door opened and the ladies entered. His heart fluttered, stopped and fluttered again, as in a flash he scanned her from head to foot. Her carriage was proud as a queen, her step light as a fairy. She was tall and straight as a young poplar, her eyes were blue as deep sea water, her hair was golden as a maple leaf when tinted by an autumn frost, her face was full and oval, graced with lips with just enough pucker to be constantly inviting a kiss, but with enough firmness to make one fear to try it. * She was like a seraph strayed from heaven down to earth; at least such were the impressions made upon our friend, The Reverend John Mark, who had risen to receive the introduction.

He made his best bow and Lovey Dovey extended her hand, which he pressed with considerable warm 111, being thrilled with heavenly delight. He believed that mortal man had never touched the hand of such a serapii and his eyes feasted upon her beauty as all were seated again.

“Do you know that you young people are cousins T 9 inquired the elderly lady with a desire to put them at ease and also to reveal their mutual relationship.

“No ; how does it come ?” responded Mark, thrilling with pride at the thought of kinship with such a heavenly being.

“Lovey Dovey’s father’s mother was a sister to John

1 G

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“Delighted, Cousin Lovey Dovey.”

“Mutual, cousin Mark,” responded Lovey Dovey with a happy little laugh, and eyes sparkling with feminine mischief.

“If, as the ancients believed, there were such things as the Fates, then they have been very unkind to me. Cousin Lovey Dovey, in waiting so long even to let me hear that I had a cousin so womanly, so divinely beautiful, so seraphic, so heavenly; yet I cannot reproach them much for the joy of the present meeting is worth waiting a life time for,” said Mark playfully.

“I fear. Cousin Mark,” said Lovey Dovey, beautifully blushing, “that you are a flatterer and as I have heard through our relatives here that you are a minister, I suspect that your conscience must sting you a little for your extravagances. Nevertheless, I shall not complain of the Fates myself, for there is a pleasure which I also experience in meeting you.”

Mark thought of Mamie, contrasted and compared the two fairies and was wondering why he thought of her, when the elderly people picked up the conversation in which all now joined and an hour was spent most agreeably. Before he left he made an engagement to return the next evening and take Lovey Dovey to the closing exercises of the school of the prophets, when he would receive his diploma.

The evening came. Mark, dressed in his best, was on his way for Lovey Dovey, when Mamie flashed into his mind and, had she met him in body, she could not

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have startled him more. “Mamie,” said he as if addressing her spirit, “you need not care, she is my cousin, I love you, you of all women most, sweet Mamie.” Then he walked on thinking that few men could be more blessed than he — the cousin of one angel, the lover of another and at the same time pastor in one of the churches of God’s pure saints. All the earth suddenly became an immaculate paradise.

When he reached her home Lovey Dovey was ready and waiting. She met him at the door to welcome his coming. To him she was a perfect model in dress, a goddess in beauty, an angel in form and the perfection of womanly loveliness.

“You are late, Cousin Mark; I had hoped you would come early and make amends for the brevity of your former visit, and now it is almost time to start to the exercises.”

“If it were not for the fact, Cousin Lovey Dovey, that I am to receive my diploma tonight, I had rather remain here and talk with you till the evening becomes tomorrow; but owing to that it is best to go.”

She put on her hat and gloves; they started; she slipped her arm in his and clung as trustingly as a vine on a trellis. He walked as in a dream; he floated through the air in a delirium of delight ; he was conscious only of her musical voice, her clinging arm in his and her sweet presence. When they reached the hall it was full and as they were being ushered near the front, he dimly fancied himself associated with the shining

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ones upon Jacob’s ladder and felt that every theologue in the house saw and was envious of him.

Returning from the exercises, they sat on the door-step, in the moonlight, and talked.

“That we have waited so long to meet/’ observed he, “I am loath the parting should be so soon. It is good to be here; I could build two tabernacles, nay one for thee and me and abide with my lovely cousin. But the Fates have ordained that the best of friends must part. School has closed! I must return to my home, to my church at Duck River, to preach on Sunday. For my part, I should love to prolong our meeting and, if you will come to our home in the country, I can assure you that my family will be delighted to have so agreeable a relative visit them.”

“Your invitation pleases me, but it is impossible to go now; yet, if agreeable, I can come after a few days, when my visit shall have ended here.”

“Good !” said Mark. “I will go home, fill my appointment and meet you at the station — what day ?”

“Monday next, if that date will be agreeable.”

“It is agreeable — rather I should say disagreeable, as it is so long off; but I will meet you then, Monday morning nine o’clock sharp. Mark the date !”

He bade her good night, returned to his room, went to bed but not to sleep. “Do cousins ever marry?” he pondered, and tried to recall any scripture on the subject. Finally he dropped off to sleep and dreamed that Mamie came on wings to him and stood in air above him, dressed in a white, flowing garment,, feet and ankles

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bare, carrying in her hand a wand with which she touched him and said, “Beware!” He awoke; the dream had vanished; he had both his hands outstretched pleadingly and heard himself saying “Come to my bosom, thou sweet angel, for I know thou art come a messenger of good to me.” He was troubled and pondered long what the vision could mean. Then he fell asleep at a late hour; he did not waken till the next morning by a rapping at his door. When he opened it a messenger laid a note in his hand and departed. John Mark opened it at once and read:

“Dear Cousin Mark : Having talked over the matter of my visit with our relatives here, we have decided that it will be best for me to go with you this morning and return to finish my visit here at a later date. Kindly call for me on your way to the train; I will not make you late as I am almost ready now.

Cordially your cousin,

Lovey Dovey.”

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Chapter III. Country Cousins

When Mark and Lovey Dovey reached the little railroad station in the country, they found one of his brothers waiting with a horse and carriage. Mark introduced his brother and cousin; then the carriage was brought up and her grips, band-boxes, bundles and other luggage usually transported by a traveling lady were loaded on till the carriage looked like a country peddler's wagon. What room was left they themselves occupied.

Reaching home at noon, some of the family came out to welcome Mark's return and were surprised lo see the strange lady and her cargo of baggage ; but when she was introduced and her relationship declared, she was made welcome in due and ancient form. They adnrred her, at least his brother did, who had taken possession of her and was showing her into the house — admired her a little too much Mark thought. For he was a jealous little devil, so some of the people say.

Mark turned to his sister and inquired in a whisper if she did not think 'her divinely beautiful.

“There are plenty of girls as pretty," she answered with a significant toss of her head, evading the question.

“That is a matter of taste, my sister, which each must judge for himself," said Mark, admitting no rival, unless indeed Mamie be excepted.

His sister smiled knowingly and the conversation ended on that subject, as they entered the house to join Lovey Dovey who was now being introduced to the heads of the family. She knew the art of making herself agreeable; hence her country cousins felt at ease by the time dinner was announced.

After the noon hour, the men folks went to the field to plow the corn; the ladies took their new cousin to a room for an afternoon nap, which most ladies from habit, pleasure or necessity seem to enjoy; Mark entered his library and tried to read a book; but who can read the thoughts of another when his mind is filled with thoughts of his own? He laid down the book and walked the floor. He went out into the yard and strolled back and forth under the shade of the long-armed forest trees, on the newly mown grass which yielded softly to his tread as the velvety plush of a carpet, revolving in his mind a train, or rather trains of thought.

“How sweet/’ he said, “to be rid of the city, with its noise, its heat, is squalor, its poverty and wealth, its sin and strife; to be home again, to stroll, free as the birds in these trees; to inhale the untainted country air and bask in God’s pure sunshine. Yet what changes time has wrought! It seems but yesterday that I was an uncultured backwoods bov, playing in this yard with brothers and sisters true. How like a child I feel even yet! But I have passed the years bounded by childhood. My schooldays have ended. I am the pastor of a church and am expected to play a man’s part in f the world’s broad field of battle.’ Whatever else one may say, none shall ever accuse me of being a drone, or like

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‘the dumb-driven cattle. 5 I am resolved to strive for the highest ideals in the ministry and make my I’fe count, by God’s grace, to the uttermost for his glory.”

Then he took a turn or two in the yard lifting his heart in prayer and thanksgiving to God, blessing him that he had been permitted to get an education; that his eyesight, his health, and every organ in his body were unimpaired; that God had opened to him a door of usefulness iand had placed before him spiritual tasks, which admonished him to become a good soldier of Jesus Christ.

From praying and thoughts on religion his mind turned to his other ideal. The two in his heart wv.e not incompatible. The ideal woman and the ideai Christian were at least one in their perfection. For him to become, therefore, the best Christian, the best pastor, he must possess the love and companionship of the best woman in all the world.

“Marriage, ah! that is the question,” he quoted. “Some day I expect to lead about a wife as did the apostles.” Then hearing a noise behind him he turned and faced — Lovey Dovey.

“I have been observing you for an hour,” she laughed aloud. “Look ! You have worn off the grass, pacing back and forth as some wild animal. One would judge questions of life and death are in the issue. If you are so fond of walking, come, and we will take a turn together.”

“If you have seen me walking alone for the last hour, why did you not come sooner and walk with me *r How could you be so unkind to deny me your sweet

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company? However, I cannot scold you severely, for the joy of the prospective stroll turns all my wrath to pleasure.”

She took his arm and they passed out the gate into the road. A beautiful woodland was on their right, near the house. The underbrush had been removed, leaving the large, native forest trees. Under the shade of their long branches the green grass grew luxuriantly.

“Do you love trees ?” she inquired. “If you have read ‘The Autocrat/ you remember how Mr. Holmes goes into ecstasies over them.”

“Yes; I have read ‘The Autocrat/ but I could never appreciate trees as did the Author. He almost gave them a soul, a spirit, personality, humanity.”

“I do not know,” she replied, “that my admiration leads me quite so far, yet they are so stately, like church spires pointing up to their Creator, and thereby lift our thoughts to God.”

Rich thought, pondered the preacher. Then he said :

“I must admit that I love trees. For I could not afford to be different from Mr. Holmes and — and YOU. But if I may be pardoned, I admire the grass growing under them fully as much.”

“Yes?” she said with a rising inflection, which seemed to ask for the reason.

“The grass,” he continued, “is our modest mother earth's effort to clothe herself — and who does not love a pretty dress? I dare say my lovely cousin does. To change the figure, the grass is a sort of carpet laid by the Creator for the benefit of his creatures. It not only

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covers the denuded ground with beauty, but furnishes sustenance and thereby life to the animal kingdom, and, through it, life to man. Hence I admire the grass.”

“Oh, how beautiful, how lovely!” she exclaimed as they reached the turn in the lane.

He sought to inquire the reason foi the exclamation and observed her looking out over a large valley of land, familiar enough to him, but new to her; some two thousand acres not unlike a big dish lay stretched out before them, dotted here and yonder with splendid home? surrounded by clumps of shade trees, traversed by highways, variegated by fields of waving com, or carpeted with green grass, specked with cattle and golden with ripening wheat unto the harvest.

“Talk about trees and grass-carpets, but if that is not a picture for an artist,” she said, “then my eyes play me false.” Those wheatfields, rippling in the breeze, and scattered over the valley, look like deep big inlan-l lakes; and those ripest unto the harvest, look golden, like unto moonbeams on the water.”

“I perceive that thou hast the soul of a prophetess,” said he, as he looked admiringly into her beautiful face lighted up with animation.

“No; but I love good poetry.”

Then they continued their stroll, discussing the merits of certain poets, till they came to where the lane enters a big woods. Supposing that she did not want to go further, he invited her to a seat in the shade by the roadside, where they sat and talked, when she laid her soft little hand in his lap. Whoever has experienced such a

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thrill, can imagine what he felt. He could have grasped the hand and covered the possessor with kisses. He reasoned that a minister must avoid even the appearance of evil, rebuked his hungry lips, and allowed, however reluctantly, the temptation to pass with its fruits untasted. But he wondered why she did it.

“Supper, I know will soon be ready, and we must not be late,” said he rising, “let us be going.”

When Mark retired that night, he had another dream which, although he does not believe in dreams, troubled him. He dreamed that they were sitting on the log when he laid his arm around Lovey Dovey; just as he kissed her, the ground opened a few yards before them and a spirit ascended, slowly, out of the ground and turned to the Duck River Deacon. The Deacon pointed his long finger at Mark and said, “Thou art the man; thou wilt have others obey and license thyself to do wrong; our church ghall know this and thou shalt abide the consequences !”

He awoke, trembling, to find it morning. He dressed and hastened to the breakfast room to find the family and Lovey Dovey waiting.

The breakfast being over, the family dispersed to their various duties; Lovey Dovey and Mark withdrew to the drawing-room. They were discussing their family tree when Mark glanced at the floor and said,