Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-04-19

III
| true. and that his life in that far world may be
| full OF all good things; gold in monster mug
gets, sheep in mighty focks, horses that are
not buck jumpers, woods of eucalyptus. groves
| OF mimosa, birds of vivid plumage, and the
most perfect thing in bungalows .t
| am really very sad about Uncle Ambrose.
think he tights against the gloom that gathers
| round him as a strong man stricken in the
prime OF LIE by some insidous malady might
| nght against disease, and yet the gloom
| deepens. With him low spirits seem actually
| a disease. and tremble and turn cold some
times at the thought that it may forebode some
mental malady which NAV darken all our days.
| MY mother seldom, If ever, sees him as l see
MN when she Is not present. When she is
with him know that he makes a stupendous
effort to appear cheerful, to seem interested in
the things she loves; but when she leaves him
the mask drops and I see him as he really ;s-a
| man weighed down by deep-rooted melancholy.
| have talked to him of the books used to
read with him. the low-spirited school of meta
| physicians and Of Heine. who saw all things
with the saddened eyes of man whose life
was like Pope's "a long disease" We have
| talked of theology, and 1 have discovered the
| hopelessness Of his creed-that for him there is
nothing beyond this life of ours, this poor brief
life, In which there are SO many chances of
being miserable against single chance of be-
| ing happy. No, for him there is no beyond
| for him the dead are verify dead.
told him yesterday that believe not only
| in a world where we should meet our loved and
lost and know them again and live with them
again in a better and loftier state OF being but
that l also believe in the influence of our be-
loved dead upon our thoughts and actions even
while we are on this side of the veil that parts
| flesh and spirit.
That influence is only memory" he said; sit
has no other source than your own mind
moved by your own loving heart"
told him that it was something more than
| memory-something independent of my own
mind or my own heart-an influence that flashed
upon me when l least expected it-sudden.
mysterious, full of suggestions of another
world. told him that there were moments in
which could feel that my father was with me-
that he was loving and plying me in my weak
ness as a woman, just as he used to pity me
when was foolish child.
"A delusion, Daisy" he said, "a delusion like
the rest of our dreams. Science has made an
end Of all such receptions. The belief in
spirit world was only possible while mankind
remained densely ignorant Of the world
of sense"
II know now why you grow sadder as life
| goes on" said. 1T must be so hard to feel
that you are treading path that only leads to
dead wall. That there is no door Ill the
great cruel wall, no beyond. Thank God, to
me 1t is harder to believe in extinction than in
world to come-a chain of worlds, if YOU
villa gradual ascent from this life with ali its
sin and misery, to the highest form of life con-
celvable. The most elaborate of those systems
which you call superstitions seems simpler
and easier for my understanding than the bar
rem creed of the materialist."
THAT Is because you are young, Daisy, and
full Of enthusiasm, and because you know very
little of the world in which you are one happy
atom-a joyous mote dancing in tho sunshine.
You think life is the gift of beniticent
Creator who holds i'll reserve future lives.
fairer than this, for those who believe in Him
and obey Him. That pretty creed comes nat
urally enough to you who know life only at
River Lawn and III GrOsvenor Square-but 20
and look at life in Whitechapel, put yourself
into the skin of the wopen you will see there,
and then ask yourself about the benificent
Crentor, the Eternal Wisdom, Who has made
man III His own image. Your rose-water
theories would hardly be strong enough to
stand that atmosphere. A Bradiaugh's vitriol
better suits the district"
told him that 1t was an old, old argument
That because there was so much misery in the
world He who made it could not be just God;
or rather that there could be no directing mind
above the universe, only unreasoning matter
working out its own destiny upon material and
lmmutable laws-that the God who could be
moved to pity was the God of children and
Missionaries only.
"Iou talk to me as if there had been no mis-
cry in my life," l said. do you forget what
it was to me, in my happy childhood, to see
the father / loved go out of this house one
morning and never to see him again? Do you
forget what 1t was to me year ago to hear the
dreadful secret of his death? If | could rebel
against the Power to which have PRAYED ever
since knew what prayer meant should have
rebelled then" 81 GFs4f
l could not go on for the sobs that ehoKed
me at the thought of my fathers cruel death
Uncle Ambrose melted in moment and took
me In his arms, just as he would have done
years ago In one OF my childish troubles, and
pressed his lips upon my forehead with kiss
that seemed like a blessing.
believe, my dearest" he said, skeep always
that unquestioning faith which is the gift of
the pure in spirit. 1t is a second sight, Daisy
1t Is sixth sense. 1t is given to the chosen
few, Gods very elect. To them it is given to
conceive and understand the unseen. They are
the children OF light. Be always Of that happy
race, Daisy My reason has nothing to offer in
exchange for your clairvoyance. Remember
always that if l could not help you to believe
II could not enter with you into the holy OF
holles, never taught you to doubt"
mo, no. have only known lately thai you
yourself were without the hope that has sus-
tanned mother and me in our dark hours"
be told me that l must not talk of dark
hours-that for me life was to be all sunshine;
and then, for the first time, he spoke Of his
disappointment about Cyril and me--touching
on the subject very lightly, and, indeed, not
mentioning his sons name.
"A little hint o. your mothers has helped
me to guess your secret, Daisy" he said. and
love you too well to blame your Inconsistency.
Your mother and both think that Mr.. Flor
estan had something to do with the change in
your sentiments"
something TO do with my finding out the
truth about my own heart" l said land the
nature OF my mistake. l did not love Cyril
less after had seen Mr. Florestan, and found
out somehow that he cared for me. But
knew all at once that my love for Cyril had
never been the kind of love that would make
me his happy wife. / found out that he could
never be more to me than dear aud valued
frlend-neyer so much to me as you have been
lie could never be the first; and ones husband
ought to be the first in ones heart and mind
ought he not, Uncle Ambrose, as mothers hus-
band wasp?
felt SO sorry for my thoughtless words when
L saw him vince at the mention of my fathers
name. 1t was such heartiess thing to say
as If he were something less than a husband
as If he hardly counted in my mothers life. /
hung my head, deeply ashamed of myself. but
feeling that any attempt to unsay what had
said would only make matters worse. And
then again words cannot alter the truth He
knows, he knows that my mother has never
loved him as she loved her cherished dead; that
the very mention of my fathers name can
move deeper feeling in her than all my step
fathers adoring tenderness.
There was an awkward silence and then
Uncle Ambrose went on gravely and quietly,
with infinite kindness:
Il want my pupil and adopted daughter to be
happy, even if she cannot be bound any nearer
| to me by new tie Don't be afraid to trust
me, Daisy. Remember was your first friend
after your father and mother, and that YOU
used to tell me all your thoughts and fancies.
Try to be as frank today you were in those
hanny her toll ca1 70, ,ik