The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1893-02-01
THE OLD ADAM.


each side were nut and oak trees, their
leaves rich with the sunshine Of old and
the deep flash of crimson. The brown sur
face OF the road, moreover, was sire wn
| with the fallen wealth of the branches, max
| ing 1t look as if it were paved with sunset
clouds. Death seemed to be foreshadowing
the rainbow glories Of eternity.
At a bend of the way | saw in front Of me
! the figure Of the pastor of the village, the
| Rev. John Blake, pacing slowly in the same
| direction that | was going | caught UP
| with him and we went forward together.
John Blake was a man Of delicate sensi-
bilities and weighted with an almost NOR
bid sense of the responsibilities Of his Office.
The narrow minds and sluggish feelings OF
his parishioners opposed stolid resistance
to his spiritual adjurations, more trying to
him than the keenest and most intellectual
| hostility would have been.
AS we walked along he lamented to me
| the backsiidIng OF a certain woman in whose
| religious welfare he had taken q peculiar in
terest. she was the daughter of one Of the
| small tradesmen Of the village, and while
| attending the public school OF tile district
| had been tempted to evil by young man,
a summer visitor in the neighb0rhood By
| chance Blake had bsen able to rescue her in
| time from this man, and had ever since felt
| an intense interest IN her welfare. lie had
believed that he discerned In her the germs
| OF no bic qualities and he eXerted himself to
foster ana develop them. Sne was tracta-
Bile and intelligent, ard her progress In grace
| ans wered his expectations; she became
| conspicuous in the little community for re-
| ligi0us zeal and wel-doing Blake thanked
| God on his knees every day that it had
! been vOuchSsfed him To save such soul.
| Three DAYS ago." he continued, "she
| left home. No one knew where she had
| gone. | traced her to the city and yester-
day found her in a shameful place. She
had not been decoyed thither; no one had
| tempted her; she had gone out of her own
| free will-becauSe, as she told me, she was
| just tired 10 death Of being good | could
| produce no impression on her. She was
perfectly happy and c0ntented; indeed, she
| declared she had never been really happy
until now, when she was living openly and
| OF her own spontaneous desire IN the house
of Satan. What is this accursed human
nature of ours2 and where is the power and
mercy of the Most High?'
Come with me" | said. ''and listen to
Fabian. He has often helped me; perhaps
he may help you. He is a maglcian-in-
| spired No living master Of music Is so
| great as he. He seems to converse with
| heaven and TO solve the mysteries of earth
| COMPOSE your spirit to listen TO him and
| you Will see visions and the eyes OF your
| soul will be opened.
| shaking his head drearily. Nevertheless,
| be came.
Fabian had built himself cottage after
| his own design and to suit his own pur-
| poses. Ii stood on the terrace of hill with
a steep activity behind it formed OF rugged
rock and shaggy trees, while in front a
rounded lawn curved to the road. Within
| all was harmony and the manifestation Of
the mind of a man of original genius. The
hues of the rooms and the forms of the OBJ
| jeets they contained were like music rem
derej visible and palpable.
| Fabian met US in the doorway with face
like a benediction. That grand head of his
| and the soft might OF his strange eyes were
| solvents TO penetrate the secrets of hearts,
| and balm to comfort sorrow and forgive sin.
| He greeted us with the high and cordial
| compoSure that was his social attribute. and
| for awhile we c0nversed together, gazing
| out at intervals over the wide and misty eX-
pause Of autumnal valley that flowed west
| ward from the base of his hill. Ii melted,
| in softening passages Of color, into the very
| mystery of the tinted heavens. and was
arce less diaphanous and ethereal than
| they.
1t is a symbol that the divine and human
| are one" | said. turning 10 Fabian.
IF it he the symbol IS false one" said
| Blake bitterly.
! Fabian looked at him for moment and
then rose to his feet.
Let us 60 in and question tho Muse" he
| said, with smile. There are secrets that
only she can tell, and this is one of Them"
| The music was small, but exquisite
| In design and proportions. The shape was
oval. with smoothly vauied ceiling to re-
| fleet and soften sound. AID the whole sur
| face of this tender little dome was laid with
| gold leaf, giving the most delicious lights
| and shadows. Along one side of the room
| was broad divan with cushions on which
| We reclined; harp stood in one corner. a
| violin lay on bracket above and the piano
| was the only object in the room, except a
| tall vase containing some branches of
| autumn leaves which, with their background
of geld, made An effect like the Illuminated
page of a medieval missal. Fabian seated
himself at the piano and laid his fingers
! softly on the keys
| | looked into a shadowy profound of
space, in which presently became visible
the darkling sparkle OF a vast ocean. The
waves in the midst were lifted, as it seemed.
and grew stationary, until in the weller of
waters appeared wilderness of land.
! From the oyerbendag sky ray of light
| fell, and where it touched the earth SOME
| thing quckened into life. l saw that it
| was an infant, with the radiance of heaven
| about it.
The infant rose up and walked about, at
first with uncertain steps, but rapidly in
| ereaSng in vigor, But saw that a black
shadow chung behind it. and In some way
controlled and directed its steps. The child
| was not at first aware OF this, and showed
| neither shame nor fear of its Swarthy CON-
panion. But soon being approached it
| and whispered in its ear, and then The child
| saw and was troubled. And at the same
time that the child became conscious of its
| sinister attendant the latter began to change
from its uusubstantlality into solid sub
| stance and its lineaments were hldeouS and
| terrifying; but whether this change was
| caused by the child's fear or was an indie
| pendent reality, could not tell.
The child, now become II youth, entered
into struggle with the dark shape, which
| now seemed to be bound to it by many
cords, fine as eObwebs yet strong as steel.
| Moreover. though the youth was beautiful
| and the shape bdeous, / saw that there
was a strange and perverse likeness be-
! tween them and | also thought that in the
| conflict between the two the strength of the
| monster proceeded from the youth himself,
| who seemed to love the monster, although
| he hated il. But still they wrestied to-
| gether and the youth broke one after an
| other of the cords that bound them together,
| IS that at last there was but one that still
| held them, and that one the youth could by
| no means break.
Being so nearly free. the youth, who was
| then a man, strove to climb toward place
| above, where sat company OF happy ones,
| who had neither shadows nor burdens. But
| that one unbrokep cord still hammered him.
Then. since he might not break the cord,
he s!rove to hide the monster Once he
| wrapped 1t up in mantle of purple en-
broidered with gold; at another time he
dug deep pit and buried IL therein, and
| again he made great fire AMI cast the
| monster in tu consume ii.
| All was in vain, however, for the purple
mantle slipped aside and revealed the
| CHASTITY thing beneath, and the pitt how
ever deep. was not deep enough to cover
| that which was buried in II, and the flames
| of the fra armed it not whit.
t,-l, 81, l.
| means so TO stretch the cord that he was
| able to leave the monster at the foot of the
height and to lift himself to The summit,
| where he demanded TO be admitted to the
circle of the happy ones who sat there.
| They inquired of him whether he were
freed from his burden and he replied,
~ on see that | am" So they were about
To admit him.