LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap?^^nghtNo ShelfJL54 \/ 3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. VASHTI, OLD AND NEW; OR THE ETERNAL FEMININE. A ROMANCE OF THE WHEEL. — A Dramatic Idyl — BY MARVEL KAYVE. / 'Behind the clouds the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his hope with all."— Whittibb. new york and chica< Authors' Publishing Hou im Copyright, 1896, by S. S. Stangker. All rights reserved. TO HIM WITH THE BIG HBABT And the royal nature, whose right hand knoweth not the do- ing of his left; who in this cold print shall be nameless, even as Ms deeds are elsewise recorded; on whom falls a gen- tle rain of blessing, coming from the sweet toilers whom he hath befriended; with whom he hath broken the bread of a sympathy woman-like, which is divine-like — who are by hun- dreds and by thousands in this one city by the lake; one who hath ever had a tender heart and an open hand for the un- fortunate, for the needy, or the aspiring ones, who to him are a sisterhood or a brotherhood and of a common family ; who hath a word of cheer for all who ask — and rightly— for honest and independent bread, or a modicum of the bounty of a universal Father who was not in fault, as many of us seem to say, when He made no reserve of good for any elect of sex. With these other lowly ones of earth do I say, God bless him, and give us a thousand-fold increase of his kind. PAGE BY PAGE. A Conversation. Introduction. The Eomance. Asleep 1 The Scroll— The King and Feasters Vashti Made a Feast. The King's Command. The Queen's Refusal. The King Wrathful, Vashti Uncrowned. Masculine Terror. Woman's Contempt. Man's Assurance A King's Repentance. The King Consoled. The Vashtis Arise. The Vashtis Awheel 8 The Smaller Scroll 9 Jacob and Rachel. Meaning of the Scrolls 10 The Message, 11 Life a Journey 12 Life's Highway 12 Mother and Babe 13 A Horoscope 14 The Word Creative 16 Life is Purpose 17 Old Folks' Song 19 The Dying Son 20 Home Folks' Song 22 Life in Death 23 Boyesen on Love 24 Lover's Song 25 Accepted (Song) 26 Birch Arnold's Philosophy. . . 29 The Tragedy of Living 30 The Underworld of Life 31 The Woman Philosopher 31 Heroic Girlhood 33 Sentimental Injustice 35 Woman's Heroism 36 Woman in the Race 37. Vashti, Rachel, Edith 38 The Marriage Song 39 The Woman Teacher 41 Prentice Mulford's Thought. 41 Nature is Life Perennial 41 Youth is Beauty, Life 42 Choose not Black 43 Dress is an Expression 44 Suit Dress to Present Need . . 46 What of Fashion? 46 Woman's Right to Choose. . . 47 Must be not Man's Dress 48 Petticoats or Leggings 49 A Law to Herself 50 A Calamity to Avert 51 By our Beard 52 "Woman Beardless 52 Tag the Masculine 53 The Sex Intrinsic 54 A Comedy. 55 Queen Fashion 56 "Dear Lady Crinoline" 57 Evolution of the Wheel 58 Evolution of the Dress 59 Full Dress 60 Father Antics 61 The Maiden Messenger 61, 62, 114 Better than Fashion's Smile. 62 The Beach and Bathers 63 The Magic Line 63 A Strange Malady 64 Consistency Unjeweled 64 Queen Fashion Converted 67 A Masculine Prude 68 And Woman Suffers 69 Woman Emerges 70 The Sphere of Love 71 The Comedy is Ended 71 Status of Protestors 72 Edith Assailed 73 Edith's Champion, Jacob 74 Free Sailing Ahead 76 Beautiful Vashti 77 An Irate Lover 78 A Woman for the Occasion. . 78 Edith's Sympathetic Sacri- fice 79 The Sabbath Class 79 The Lord's Prayer 80 Jacob and the Boys 81 The Spirit of Humaneness. . . 82 Shakespeare's Word for Mercy 84 The Street Accident 85 There are Brutes and Brutes. 86 The Boys' Mistake 87 Brave, not Wanton 88 The Tragedy 89 Grave, Where is Thy Victory 90 The Boys Repentant 91 "Killin's Killin'" 92 The Loyals 93 The Pledge 94 Penalty Fits the Crime 95 The Boys Forgiven 96 "Gone Forever" 97 "I'm Nobody's Darling" 98 Awake 98 What are Dreams? 99 "O Vashti Fair!" 99 A Strange Experience 100 Found 101 Happiness 102 Not Found 103 The Paradox of Life 104 A Lost Clue 105 Is Life a Dream? 106 Found at Last 107 AreCalled "Lovers" 108 The Kiddle 109 Patiently Solving 110 The Puzzle Deepens Ill Solved— The Best is Love. . . .112 Progress by Self-Effort 112 All is Real 113 Love and Hope Reconciled.. .113 Fellowship of Men with Women 114 Larger Life, the Ending 114 L' Envoi 114 Aftermath. A Conversation. A CONVERSATION. Said his friend: "When Jacob wrought fourteen long years for one he loved, it was for Kachel. Do you think he would have waited so long for Vashti?" "One may not say," answered the book-maker, "for men have not all the same liking; but this we do know: of all the characters or types of womanhood in history, none, are more beautiful than is Yashti. Remember that King Ahasuerus repented him very speedily of his drunken folly; and only the laws of the Medes and Persians (that even a king could not alter) forbade him calling back to his arms one of whom he knew he was not worthy — one whose self-respect was stronger than the command of a king. — No, there was no fault in the Vashti of history, unless it were a fault to be too advanced for the masculinity (and it may be for the femininity) of her day." "Fourteen years— even seven— is a long time to wait for a woman!" "True, man is not the most patient of animals; but four- teen years in Jacob's time was really no longer than a few months are now." "Perhaps you are right," said his friend, resignedly; "and it may be that if the Jacobs of the coming time do not rise a little above the level of the Ahasueruses and the Memucans of old, the Vashtis of the future will make them wait, however unwillingly, even longer than Jacob waited for Rachel!" Then he added, reflectively, "The Ahasueruses of old seem to have assumed the right to fix the standard of feminine conduct, and yet to have placed it lower than woman herself would choose to have it!" "Man's standard for woman was certainly lower than the standard of the Vashtis," responded the book-maker, "and who will say it is not true even in our own day?" "Well, whether we will or no, a change is in the air. We may as well welcome the new order," continued his friend, philosophically; "and the reign of one who has begun to have her own way." "And the same old, sweet way, after all," added the book-maker. INTRODUCTION. Soul pictures are so real, it is almost impossible to inter- pret them by any other than soul language; and it was not the words, but the soul, which they so graphically and tenderly interpreted, that brought the glow of appreciative response, when following, at first with interest and at last with unwonted eagerness, this story in verse: Vashti, Old and New; which is the story of the "new woman," who is indeed no other than the true woman of all the centuries. "Original and unique" was my comment in the delight- ful perusal of this story of beautiful Yashti. Even the name of the author had a flavor of originality. Curiosity mingled with interest, as I began the reading, but ere half a dozen pages had been passed, I found myself too delightfully carried on to be curious, and before long 1 had forgotten to be critical, and set- tled down with a feeling of satisfied anticipation. While I read, and after, these pictures flashed successively upon my mind, as if in A WAKING VISION. Then it was that I lay me down upon my couch to meditatively re-enjoy in the gathering twilight, and suddenly flashed before me in panoramic forms of soul pictures, the characters and scenes introduced by the "book-maker," with all their broad and timely lessons; and I lay entranced, taught of Truth. There came in my vision, in letters of vivid light, the simple words, "ISTew "Womanhood," and, seeming to accompany them, the words, "Transformed through the renewing of the mind." As the increasing consciousness of all the fulness of those meanful words possessed me, I seemed to see them indeed typified in the Yashti of the poet's dream— Vashti, old and new! First, Vashti, the Queen— a "Queen of queens." Have you seen her? How shall I describe such heavenly beauty? I seem to see her when the King's demand has been made known to her. It is in a royally-fitted apartment. Standing before her is one of her maidens, in attendance; she bows before the Queen, and awaits her pleasure before she speaks. The Queen, with gracious, queenly gesture, commands the expected message, smilingly — and such a smile, it adds a charm inexpressible to her face so marvelously beautiful, and reveals her small, white teeth, each a dainty pearl. But suddenly a look of incredulous surprise, mingled with injured dignity, chases the smile away. She rises, as it were, to a loftier queenliness, and her very face bespeaks a queenly soul. Her look is a mingling of surprise, injured womanhood and firm revolt. An indescribable quiet- seems to clothe the whole form of the Queen, as she stands there pure, resolute and commanding. I note more closely now her beauty. Her low, broad brow attracts me, then her complexion, well matching the dark, fathomless eyes, well shaded by long, curling lashes, dark as her beautifully penciled eyebrows and her hair of midnight. I had had a glimpse of her when her hair was falling in luxuriant half-formed ringlets round her perfectly moulded form, so matchless in its every curve and outline of beauty; but now it is wound many times in braid about her shapely head, beyond the modern fashion's ken. Ever upon its soft, satin-like beauty falls a shadow from a crown. This crown is all resplendent with rare gems, but its brightest lustre is more than gem-like; it is divine, and seems, and surely is, a very part of her who wears the crown. Her mouth is simply luscious in its beauty, and over the whole face, from brow to moulded chin, a purity and a dignity well match the purity and luminous truth in the wondrous soul-lit eyes. Vashti is tall, but her height seems in necessary propor- tion to her magnificent and perfect beauty. This is Vashti, glorious in her splendid birthright of female loveliness. This is Yashti, standing there in that supreme moment of her life, never more queenly than now in her humiliation, never more beautiful than in this the involuntary protest of her transcendent womanhood. Queen indeed is she and by inheritance divine, like the laws of her queendom of Media and Persia, not to be unmade of her true crown, by men and King combined. This is Vashti, one of the "King's daughters." This is Vashti as she stood before me, newly recognized and honored in this nineteenth century; fit type of every- century womanhood, a sister twin of Mary, mother of the Christ. She embodies history of the highest womanhood of old, and. prophecy of the best to come; a type that finds its natural God- given place in millennial days now dawning. This is Vashti, old yet ever new. Now, as in the dreamer's Vision, the picture changes, and I see the King. It were fitting that he were a king as Vashti was a queen, or by inheritance of soul. Contrast, not com- parison or semblance, is the picture flashed upon my mind. Sensual is his look, and he is one who must be sensually blinded, as he feasts with fellows of his ilk— all on a common plane and low. He is short and thick-set — not so tall as Vashti. Nor is his hair so dark as Vashti 's. A beard he has that covers well his face, leaving little else than heavy eyebrows, and his blear- ing, blinking eye, of a soul besotted in the revelry of wine. On his throne he sits, and gathered at the festive board are the men of rule and war. On the King are long garments, rich in texture, the habiliments of royalty; but worn as is the toggery of clowns. Of the feasters, some are robed in loose and flowing garments, robes of state, and others in the armor of the warrior. And ill-fitting was the crown of this a pseudo-king, whose word was law, and en ough to blast the name and hope of highest purity and loveliness itself. In my vision of this ruler, the crown will not rest quietly in its wonted place, but has a bent for slipping fore and aft and sideways ; so the king has need to make adjustment often, which he does without a show of kingliness! Mingled with the light and glare of this old feasting chamber, was a darkness peculiar, and invisible but to psychic vision. It is daylight, but an inky blackness of debauchery is there, as if an atmosphere within an atmosphere, It was as if a cloudiness of darkness, betokening the soul's condition. Within this darkness is a flash of light supernal and it writes a message; but all unheeded is the light and message, aye, and all the darkness visible — unheeded by King and feasters. A heavenly warning is this message, one of warning and restraint; it is as if an inward and an outward message. Repentance was the call of this appearance and its warning. So, seeing not the word, there was no heeding — no restraint, and to the Queen was sent the fateful message that was yet to make a King repent — too late! Now I see the dreamer; he is asleep, and he lies upon a luxurious couch, in the abandon of complete repose. It is a large upper room overlooking a most beautiful landscape. Through the large open windows are blowing soft breezes with joyous whisperings of happiness, lost at times in the low cadences of sad suggestion. The sleeper is dreaming, and the tenor of his dream-thoughts is reflected on his face half-hidden in a cloudiness of aura, as if an inspirational radiance were visible — to psychic sight. The face has now an animated expression, with a bright smile playing about the features, and anon a shadow flitting across it, as if a sadness were in the heart. I notice that there are two of him; the one upon the couch being a shadow-like counterpart of a real dreamer above the sleeping form. There has come suddenly into the room a troop of wheelers, "nor men nor boys, but maidens all;" and their move- ments are with "rare ease and grace, marvelous to behold." These maidens carry a huge Scroll which, the while they are unrolling it, the dreamer seems to read. One of these is a leader, and she is like the Vashti I saw, who was queen, but this maiden is younger and, as it were, a modern woman. She has in her immediate following one of fairer complexion but not more beautiful. Others are grouped near by, and all are radiantly interested. Some are fair, with golden hair; some are darker in complexion, with a charm their own. They are very graceful in their grouping, and each one stands near a wheel that itself seems a life-like part of the strikingly beautiful scene. When the reading is ended I see that the dreamer has a thoughtful look upon his face. The leader questions the dreamer, and all the girls seem greatly pleased at the an- swering. Then they "backward turned, and wheeling, all in order, rolled up the Scroll;" but they leave it behind them, and "tied around with ribbons, white and blue, and lying, now unguarded upon a bank of flowers." While yet they tarried, there fell upon my ear that sad Eefrain of Life that the dreamer heard so often in the after Vision. When I wondered from whence it came, I saw that across the widespread landscape, with its beauty of hill and dale and stream and forest, a Highway and a City came in view. From the dreamer, to this City and along the Highway, was a dark and cloudy atmospheric current (visible only to soul-seeing); and upon this current, was borne the wail of burdened, breaking hearts that had yet to learn to find and claim and to manifest the power of Eternal Good. In the thought of this strange scene, I saw that the dreamer bad now awakened. J^ow the scenes crowd and grow upon me, and to portray them in words is to write another book. The dreamer has again been "soothed to slumber" by "voices musical," and I see Jacob of old standing in a field. Rachel is near him, and not far off is Leah. Jacob is not tall; he is a bearded man, with dark eyebrows, and he holds in his hands a shepherd's staff. Rachel has almond-shaped eyes, a beautiful mouth, and a forehead that reminds one of the Madonna. Her eyes are brilliant with truth and love; yet she is tender-eyed and childlike, as with a true sim- plicity — more than Leah, though both are beautiful. The mouth of Leah shows pride, and there is not the sweetness in her face that is in that of Rachel. One now appears who must be Laban; and most peculiar looking is this old fellow. He is very dark, and he has an oriental garb, but not like anything I have seen before, even in pictures. Laban speaks to Rachel in commanding tone, and the girl flushes and walks away. Leah lingers, but Jacob's eyes are with Rachel. He will have no say with Leah, but walks away to where are standing cattle grazing. The scene closes with Laban talking to Leah. The waking visions cease not; scene upon scene is pictured, as by magic, before my receptive soul. With the distinctness of life, the pictures come and fade. I see the maiden beautiful — leader of the girls, and often. Soon I learn to recognize in her the Vashti of our day. Like her of old whose name she bears, she is a queen of queens. She is regal because of her inborn fitness, and the choice of those who have crowned her in their hearts. Her outward grace, beauty, dignity, inde- pendence and self-command are but a necessary expression of a rounded royal nature. No fear of accident or of illness does she know, for has she not recognized the Source of Life, and learned to control the forces and elements that were to be her servants? A sweet, contrasting simplicity is noticeable in all she says or does, and it makes her beloved by all. I claimed her forthwith as my own heart-friend. Nor is this our Vashti too good for our dawning century, I exclaimed; and I questioned: "Where is he her true soul-mate, and worthy of the sacred treasure of her love — which with woman is ever one with life." Then clearly came to me the words of Vashti when the reading of the Scroll was ended. Said Vashti: "Tell us, dost thou understand the meaning of the writing?" The dreamer said: "Methinks the meaning is so plain that he who runs may read. If one may be like Vashti of so long ago, well fitted she to be of those that are to come in years unborn. And Jacob, though he lived longer ago than Vashti, in his loyalty, his faith- fulness, and manliness, a worthy type is he of centuries hence. — Read I aright?" And these were Vashti's words in answer: "Thou hast a heart that well deserves a woman's love, else thou hadst not interpreted so well the Scroll." So when I saw the dreamer and that he was one who well and worthily could inter- pret woman true, or old or new, — from somewhere echoed Vashti's words: "Thou hast a heart that well deserves a woman's love," and I claimed him Vashti's Jacob. But the Jacob who worthily deserves the love of Vashti must needs not only be true as was Jacob, who served so long for Rachel, but he must have in him the best of the coming centuries. For man, as well as woman, will be demanded a divinely royal nature. Must the Vashtis be strong, pure and true? So must the Jacobs. When it shall come that man and woman instinctively shall express their God-inherited natures, then will the Jacobs and the Vashtis first meet on their native plane— that of soul, and know each other beyond questioning and live millennial lives. Lo, a vision, clear and vivid, came and chased all else away, Now I saw the lovely Vashti stand before her irate lover, saw her pained surprise and wonder, as she paused to reconsider. Then I saw her form grow stately, and I saw her eyes flash queenly, as she drew off from her finger a love-token he had given, when they thought their souls were wedded. Quick the scene now changed before me. Once again I saw fair Vashti — at her side another lover. He it was her true soul-lover, and I noted without wonder, that her constant, worthy lover was the dreamer, was a seer. Aye, indeed, a true soul-prophet, though so oft he had been faulty in his lack of trust and knowledge of the visions in his dreams. Knowing not they were God's message writ indeed by God's own finger, on the tables of his heart and reflected for his seeing, for his seeing and his guidance as appeared in dream-like Vision, As they stood, the God-wed lovers, stood apart and plain before me, In a pure and radiant vision folded in a radiant glory, slowly did a change come o'er them and they seemed but one, yet two, as they faded from my view. One more vision in the darkness clearly saw I as 't was given: Vashli of the Bible story stood a very queen before me followed by a line of women, till our Jacob's Vashti came. Some were young and full of beauty, as to outward form and feature, some were worn with toil and sorrow, but I noted that above them and beyond them, stood their true selves, stood the second self of each one, and they all were truly royal, and in beauty passing fair. All the centuries' best and purest were before me, in my vision, and above each one a name flashed — it was ever, always, Vashti, ever differing, yet the same. Some were queens, by ea,rthly naming, some were toilers for their bread, — all were Vashtis! While I pondered well the vision, came a line of men before me, and the Jacobs of the centuries as the Vashtis pictured were. Suddenly I surely noted Vashti Queen, and queenly Vashti, and the others all between, slow began to near each other, by a sure and inward drawing, till, at last, they met and blended, Blended fully in each other and enfolded in that blending all the Vashtis in the line. So the Jacobs of the centuries blended in one radiant manhood — the true manhood of our day. One brief moment there before me stood the dreamer, nor alone; close beside him was his Vashti — Vashti strong and free and love-crowned, stood they there a moment only and were gone. Long the visions, brief in passing, scarce the twilight hour had fled, thrilled, uplifted, by the lessons taught by seeing, soft I said: "He was right, was Bealf, rare poet, when he wrote with vision keen: 'Never poem has been written but the metre was outmastered by the meaning.'' " Isabel F. Jones. THE ROMANCE. ! ! I slept — yet seemed I not asleep; for what I saw was real, even as Life is real. It was a Scroll —a long, long Scroll; Before my very eyes was it unrolled; On the unrolling thereof did I read the writing thereon and in these words: (History repeats itself; as it was in the beginning so it shall be even unto the close of the Nineteenth Century.) A Nineteenth Century King. Now it came to pass in the days of Ahasuerus, the King, That he made a Feast unto all his princes and his servants; The power of Persia and Media, the nobles and the princes of the provinces being before him; Wlien he showed the riches of his glorious Kingdom and the honor of his excellent Majesty; And the drinking was according to law, none did compel; For so the King had appointed to all his officers That they should do according to every man his own pleasure. A Nineteenth Century Incident. Also Vashti, the Queen, made a Feast for the women in the royal house which belonged to King Ahasuerus; and none there were drunken. On the seventh day when the heart of the King was merry with wine Me commanded to bring Vashti the Queen before the King with the crown royal To show the people and the princes her beauty; for she was fair to look on. (But the drinking was according to law and none did compel.) A Twentieth Century Queen. The Queen, (a Queen of queens,) refused to come at the King's command. A Nineteenth Century King, Court aad People. Therefore was the King very wroth, (as well as drunken,) and his anger burned in him. Then the King said to the wise men, What shall we do unto the Queen Vashti according to law, Because she hath not performed the commandment of the King Ahasuerus? And Memucan answered before the King and the princes: Vashti the Queen not only to the King hath done wrong, But wrong also to all the princes and to all the people. Nineteenth Centwry Justice. (Kicking against the pricks.) If it please the King let there go from him a royal commandment, And let it be written among the laws of the Medes and Persians, That it be not altered, that Vashti come no more before King Ahasuerus. (And, lo! until the Nineteenth Century — till at its very close — Was it not altered that for all the Vashtis the kings made royal commandment.) And let the King give her royal estate unto another better than she — (Better than she who was good enough for the Twentieth Century). A Nineteenth Century Conscience. When it shall be reported that the King Ahasuerus commanded Vashti the Queen to be brought in before him, but she came not, This doing of the Queen shall go abroad unto all women So that they in their eyes shall despise their husbands! A Glimpse Of the Twentieth Century. [Forebodings.) The ladies of Persia and Media when they have heard Of this deed of the Queen Vashti, Shall say likewise to the King's princes! Thus shall there arise too much contempt and wrath! (Let wives be subject to their husbands in everything. Nineteenth Century Force. But when shall be published the King's decree, All the wives to their husbands Both great and small shall give honor. Thus did the King according to the advice of Memucan ( — Advice that pleased him). Selfish Bepentance (As well never as too late), The Like of Which is not Unknown ■ In This Nineteenth Century. It came to pass that the wrath of the King was appeased, And then it was that he remembered Vashti; But he remembered also that for what she had done, [According to the laws of the Medes and Persians,) It had been decreed against her [According to the advice that pleased him), And might not be altered. Kingly Constancy. Then said the King's servants: Let there be sought for the King fair young virgins, And, instead of Vashti, (too good for even a king who belonged not to her own era,) Let the maiden be Queen which best pleaseth thee [And this, also, pleased the King). On the Eve Of the Twentieth Century. And, lol it shall come to pass that there shall be Men of the like of Ahasuerus and of the like of Memucan, ■ And that when for their own pleasure, (as men drunken), They shall command the doing of what pleaseth themselves only, They shall be despised in the eyes of all the Vashtis Who will do only what seemeth good in their own eyes! This was the Scroll; But not alone did I give thought to it For in the unrolling was something more strange than in the words: While unrolled, the Scroll was carried by a company; — Not of men or hoys — All were girls young and beautiful; Nor were they walking for each one rode upon a wheel — Nay, upon two wheels and with rare ease and grace marvelous to behold. In their hands (besides the Scroll) each one carried a flag; And the flags were of two colors — blue and white. These gave the thought of Peace of Love of Faithfulness; But of red there was no flag For the meaning of red was blood and danger not Peace, So here was no place for it. Only in the young faces was any red And it was rich pure crimson Which had the meaning of Life. When the unrolling was ended I had read and heeded all the words; When this they saw, upon the faces of the girls There came a glow of pleasure, as of a purpose served; Then they backward turned and, wheeling all in order, rolled up the Scroll — and I awoke! When I awoke I was in darkness and (lying in my bed) I pondered long upon the Vision. Not as dreams are wont to be but as Life itself was the Vision real. Soon mine eyes began to close and voices musical soothed me again to slumber, When lo! appeared the self-same company. Now rolled together was the Scroll; And, tied around with ribbons white and blue, 'T was lying on a bank of flowers and unguarded. Dismounted were the girls together grouped as if in waiting; In their faces there was gladness — smiles of welcome. None had spoken, but a sign was made by one— a leader. Two forward came in answer, Holding now a second Scroll But smaller than the other. This did they unroll and, in the silence, I had chance to read: And Laban said to Jacob: Tell m£ what shall be thy wages? And Jacob loved Rachel and said: For Rachel thy younger daughter J will serve thee seven years. And Laban said: It is better that I give her to thee Than to another man — abide with me. And Jacob sewed for Rachel seven years, And unto him they seemed but a few days For the love he had to her. And Jacob said unto Laban: Give me my wife, for my days are fulfilled. And it came to pass in the evening That lie took Leah, his daughter, And brought her to Jacob. And it came to pass that in the morning behold it was Leah! And he said to Laban: Bid I not serve with thee for Rachel? Why hast thou beguiled me? And Laban said: It must not be so done in our country To give the younger before the first-born! And he gave him Rachel to wife also. And Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah; And for her he served with Laban yet other seven years! Having read the Scroll, I turned inquiringly, Awaiting pleasure of the company; One spoke: "Now tell us; dost thou understand the meaning of the writing?" "Methinks," I said, "The meaning is so plain that he who runs may read. If one may be like Vashti of so long ago, Well fitted she to be of those who are to come in years unborn. And Jacob, though he lived longer ago than Vashti, In his loyalty, his faithfulness and manliness, A worthy type is he of centuries hence. Eead I aright?" "Thou hast a heart 10 that well deserves a woman's love, Else tbou hadst not interpreted so well the Scrolls. Now let us to our purpose here: Thou art our Friend and Brother; We have chosen thee to bear for us a Message to the world. First tell we thee: Not spirits of another world (departed hence) are we; Bodies have we of flesh and blood And (like your own) they lie in pose and state of slumber. We are our second selves together banded for a purpose (and unknown to our own minds which have control of waking hours). When, in early morn our bodies shall arise, No knowledge will have come to us of this our doing! But you— when you awake will you remember as if 't were a dream; But we would have you know that it is more than dream! In all your life no thoughts have come to you more real than this reality. Your second self it is now holding pleased communion with our second selves. But to our Message (lest the daylight come and noise or murmur call us back to wakefulness and ere our task he ended)." Then a look she gave to one, who forward came, and singing: "Fix thou well upon thy memory What thou learnest here to-night; On the morrow thou wilt waken And, by writing, thou mayest tell it everywhere." Then they sang, in chorus: "Tell it, everywhere; To thy Brother, And our Brother, everywhere —to Man. Be it in our songs or speeches, Be it in our pictures fair, Everything shall be a lesson Easy learned and easy heeded; Tell it— tell it— everywhere — To thy Brother and our Brother — To Our Brothers everywhere — Everywhere to Man." As the echo of their voices died away, Lo! I saw a living picture — nothing strange but all familiar; Yet, did it (more than the singing) touch my heart with its refrain. "Hark!" said one in pose of list'ning, "Hear the music; Listen ! Listen! Saddest of refrains! Listen, brother! Thou wilt hear it." Stronger did it grow and stronger Till it sounded 11 loud and clear. There were words but very simple Words we all have heard before: "Life," they told us, "is a Journey;" And these words were oft repeated in the sad Eefrain. Why (I thought) so sad the music (though the melody was sweet) —Why are journeys not more welcome Than forever staying, resting, in the home? "Life a Journey is," the answer, Came in music through the air in sad refrain. Well the picture with the music seemed to blend And I knew they had a meaning: In the picture was a Highway Long and rough with many turns. There were levels, swards of green and pleasure-places; But of breaks of holes and hillocks 13 there were many more; More than there were resting-places were the ups and downs. Hill and valley rock and stream — such it was in all its course. On this Highway they were moving — Trudging, coursing, marching ever; Were they creeping, were they racing, always were they moving on. And there were of every nation, Every age and class and station; Babes and children, men and women, Healthy, ailing, strong or helpless; Crowding, jostling, were the many, Only few were helping others. "Is there purpose in it? — In this striving In this struggling?" "Life's a Journey," sang the Voices, As again I asked the question: "What the purpose in it all?" And I saw that they who journeyed, 'Gainst the currents had to buffet Had all hardships to endure —Obstacles to overcome. "Is there any purpose in it?" But no answer to our questioning, "Not ever ceased the multitude to move along. Then I saw along the way a home; And in it was a mother crooning softly to her babe. Sweeter was her voice than nightingale or summer zephyr (Aye, in all the earth naught else so sweet as voice of mother). While we listened, all the people (who were journeying) seemed to pause to listen with us. This is what she sang: cradle here on my knee, my child, And close those eyes in sleep, TJwse beautiful eyes of heavenly blue, Wee drops are they of Heaven's own dew For a time to earth now given; 1 pray that the soul that looks out of them here Be kept ever safe from all danger and fear Till it find its way back to Heaven. While the mother sang the crooning lullaby to sleeping babe, A man of giant frame and serious mien (who in adjoining room was writing) stopped to listen. Brushing with his hand a tear away, He slowly rose and tiptoed to a near-by couch Wherein were sleeping sweet girl babes — two sisters. Long and lovingly he gazed; then taking up a Book He opened it, and read these words: 13 Buth said: Entreat me not to leave thee, Or to return from following after thee; For whither thou goest I will go, And where thou lodgest I will lodge; Thy people shall be my people, And thy God my God. He read as one who loved the meaning; Then he turned the leaves and read again (But long he paused when he had read these words> and closed the Book): Fast ye for me and neither eat nor drink three days, I also and my maidens; And so will I go in unto the King ( Which to the law is not according) And if I perish I perish. These were the words of Esther —Words of her who dared displeasure of the King (The King whom Vashti dared 14 to her undoing) — Dared that she might save her people and herself. And now the picture faded and was gone. Long away upon the Highway in a distant city Were a gathered few in Class, at study: The teacher was a man of gentle manner — One who studied of the stars and taught their meaning. "She was born," he said, "July — this month — The hour was four o'clock and minutes seventeen; 't was afternoon and Sunday. As I promised you, we cast, to-night, the horoscope Of this new baby sister of our little friends —of Kuth and Esther." Then he spoke of many things about her life to be; Whereat I wondered, for to me it was not well For man to say what is to be the future! Man knoweth not (we have been told) the hour or day; How shall helmow the future Which may be far surer to his own undoing than to his unraveling! Not all could I repeat of what he said If even it were to my liking so to do; But more remembered I than may be understood: "Charts are maps," said he, "of forces, In the worlds around, which play upon us. Now within the soul is latent power —'tis spirit. Spirit may discern itself and so it is that psychic force may lift the veil. This babe has future bright before her. Not unclouded is her life, ' for sickness (even trouble) is for her As trouble is for all of woman born. But auspices are good and full of promise Of a life above the level of the crowd. She will have a mind original —even curious shall be ideas her own. She will dominate through mind; In books and thought more than in art will she find fields to rove. Friends will come to her but better it will be if they be few than many! — This is strange to speak but true. She will be original — big-hearted, unconventional, yet lacking naught in dignity of manner. Will she marry? Yes, and marry well — One standing high in office, or in state; Nor think you she will marry politics alone, For that were marrying ill, not well; Aye, Heaven help the maid who marries less than character, Or only wealth, or name, or high position! — Much of promise has the future of this babe." "Her name?" one asked; "Her naming is beyond the teaching of this Chart," he answered. "Were she mine, her name would Vashti he, or Rachel. Yashti — Rachel ! woman new and old; All beautiful and good. The new includes the old; It is the greater that includes the less; The good in woman of the ages past is woman's now; Though woman now to woman past owes all her present, "What is better now in her — advanced, less fettered — is her own. Vashti — Rachel — woman new and old but always woman; Always pure and true, aye, lovely, lovable and loving. This young babe if they do call her Rachel it is well; Yet I would call her Yashti. Now to our Lesson: choose thou each a Word; Let it be thy very own; In the Silence ponder on it; It will grow within thy being It will build within thy Soul; In the beginning was the Word and the Word was God. So thy Word — thy Logos — shall creative be; So will grow thy Soul — thy Spirit — by thy Word. Tbou hast learned already that thy form is thine own Spirit manifest; What thou art (as men observe thee) Is expression — the creation — of thy Spirit. Choose thou then thy Word and make it serve thee. Let it be a principle of Truth, of Right Within thy Soul forever working. Know thou hast within thyself creative power and choice; For only thus couldst thou work out thine own salvation. 16 Aye, thou hast choice to build within thyself; And thou mayest build for good, or lesser good. Build for the best and sooner shalt thou learn the purpose of thy being. Choose thou well thy Logos, Build thou well O Spirit; Let thy choice be Good —what raaketh most for Bighteousness." He paused and long I wondered that he spoke so well, and for the good — not evil; For I had looked, from such as he, for evil only; But I thought it well that in his teaching there was plan and purpose and not chaos! — "When he paused a pupil questioned of a brother pupil: "Tell me — what the Logos of the teacher?'' "It is Peace," he said. "And thine?" "Is Sympathy," he answered. Then I thought well chosen was the Logos of- the pupil; Well in touch with all of Nature With the high, the low, the fallen, Sympathy will bring him. Sympathy would be a solvent for the ills and pains of others; It would draw all men together, It would be a bond of union; And I said I, too, will choose it as my Logos — I will choose as did the pupil —"Sympathy." One questioned of the teacher: "Is it fate that has the saying in our lives? Or are we guided? —Are we driven? — Have we naught of choice?" He answered: "Yes and no; is purpose fate? Then it is fate to live, to move, to have our being; Life has purpose, Life is purpose; 17 Yet impelled are we —not driven, And drawn on are we —not guided, While we all have choice. Is it paradox? So Life itself is paradox; Yet Life has meaning, plan and purpose. If »t is fate to have a time for birth And fate to live the life appointed; Then our Life indeed has much of fate; For when the time is ripe the seed is planted; When the time appointed is fulfilled The Soul emerges into being. Shall we say 't is fate to be surrounded By the forces of our outer world? Or 't is fate to have some knowledge Of the powers of these forces All around us and about us? Knowing our environment, and every force that bears upon us, We invite and welcome — or forbid — resisting; For the good shall we be not unready, ISTor against the evil be unguarded? If 'tis fate to live for aught, to live in power for purpose, We may know that Life is fate, then we may say: "Rejoice, O man, to live, and welcome — fate!" Once again the picture faded Once again the sad Eefrain, And the Voices, as I listened, Sang the words in plaintive tone: "This Life's a Journey — Life's a Journey — and the Highway is for all." And I saw the throng kept moving always moving — moving on, When I questioned: What the meaning — Is there purpose in it all? The answer was an echo of the sad Refrain: "This Life's a Journey- Life's a Journey;" 18 And the throng kept moving on. Then I saw a waste of waters And a picture on beyond; Now aged and feeble, sad and lonely, Two were sitting, singing low. Within sight of ocean sat they — Ocean vast and grand and sad; Sore chafing where its bounds were stayed. There in its sough was sigh and sorrow, In its restless swell was sobbing, — Yoicing of Eternity. Grand monotone of Life and Being All-embracing, all-devouring, Loved and feared as is the human! Looking out upon its surface, Wondering of its power, its meaning, Sadly, softly, did they sing These homely words, and simple melody: We're lonely without you, our boy, While darkness overshadows the lea, Why stay you forever away so far o'er the deep, roaring seaf We've waited your coming for years While wa,ve after wave beat the shore, And prayed to our Father in Heaven To bring our dear boy home once more. While they sat at open window Singing as I heard them there, Close without within the tree-shade, Listening all was group of neighbors, These were playmates of the absent one, of long before. Sympathetic, tenderhearted, Often had they joined at evening Gathered there to wait some message From the one in far-off land. When the old folks' song was ended, In a chorus they would join, And I listened to their singing: Sadly we'll watch till you come Though slow pass the days now so few; write us and say that you do not forget — We never cease thinking of you. Then the mother sat there, sobbing, And, tremblingly, the old man sang alone: How often beside the old cot Does mother sit lonely and weep; She has only one waking thought, She dreams of her boy while asleep; where is our dear boy — our child! We hoped — O so long — he would write — The postman has passed — no letter has come And O we are lonely to-night. And now from o'er the water was another picture: 'T was a farmer's dwelling —Homely plain and unpretentious; Hearty, wholesome, not ungentle, Were the manners of the people in this home. Within, upon a bed, in restless fever, Lay a man who yet while young was old. There were friends around him — Friends who nursed him well and soothed his dying pillow. There was one whose presence Brought him comfort, peace, and restfulness (As always does the presence of a mother). Near the end, the sick man to this mother said: "You have been to me a mother; — I have wondered why you loved me, So unworthy am I of such holy blessing; Only God can now reward you For I know that I am dying 20 — I have naught to pay you." Then she answered him — this woman beautiful— And smiling in her tears: "Already have I been rewarded; God has blessed me — Am I not a mother? 'T is the mother-love he gave me that is yours; I have loved you as I hope Some mother of her love unstinting May have given my dear boy So long away and far from home." "I am comforted," he answered, "And I pray that you be blessed With love of son more worthy Of a mother's love than I have been; I, too, am long away and far From her who gave me birth, And when I said 'good bye' I gave her promise I would write and tell her all my life: May God forgive my sin inhuman; Long have I neglected her Who never for one day, mayhap one hour, Has had me out of mind — me so unworthy — 'T is my sin hardest to forgive." Whereat he wept. "Forgiven is the mother's boy already," Said the woman, "For she loves you yet —your mother, And you shall write to her to-night." With this the mother, sweet and beautiful as mothers are, Took pen to write the story of it all — The wandering, neglect, repentance, But — the best of all — of love not dead. "Write it again," he said, in tears, "I love you, mother dear, I love you now • as ne'er before ■ — my mother." 21 When 'twas done — the letter sealed — The dying man said, faintly: "Ask them, mother, now to sing the song I love." And then one sang with tender voice this song: The home folks are the best folks when you're sick And from your own home far away, Though plain their ways their hearts are big, God bless them everywhere we say; When earth is fair and Fortune smiles on you And giddy Fashion has her sway, 'Tis only then you may not know their worth, For Fashion's way is not their way. And then in chorus sang they all — The brothers and the sisters of this home so beautiful: God bless the home folks tried and true, We dearly love their honest way, The latch-string out through good or ill, God bless them everywhere we say. ' 'Yes — everywhere —I— say," The dying man repeated; — with these words his life went out. I was taken back again across the waters to the sea-side home. All were there the friends, the neighbors; They had come the dead to bury — Father, mother — in one grave together As, slowly, from the cottage home The bodies of the dead were borne The postman called and left — a letter! Ah! then I thought the humblest life may have its tragedy; But is the tragedy itself the purpose? Is it of one's life the ending? 33 If it were, - there were no meaning — neither purpose or a meaning — in this life at all. "No," I said, "'tis not the ending —End of life must be beginning of some larger life beyond." And then for answer saw I written on another Scroll these words: "It seems a paradox, but we do know that such is Life itself; Men who coldly dwell in science Tell us it is paradox; For "Only as we die we live," they tell us, "And so soon as we stop dying, we stop living!" So one wiser than his fellows (Long before the men of science) Spoke the truth of living, dying. "We die daily," were his words of wisdom; In our living —in our growing — we are daily dying; In our dying —in our failing — we are stronger growing. Then is death not death; Then is death but larger living. Life is paradox; In life we are in death — In death, in life, and always larger life. Then what we know as death must be more life, — It must be larger living — dying into larger life beyond. I was back again from o'er the waters When I read the answer to my questioning. Now the scene was changed; And not an echo heard I Of the sad Refrain that haunted me before. I wondered much at this for sadness fitted well My thoughts of tragedy and death, 33 Upon the breeze there rose another melody; In it no note of sadness; neither gay nor lively —only restful, quiet, soothing, was it. It was moonlight calm and peaceful, And in list'ning to the strains all comforting I saw this scene: Beneath a tree on rustic seat a maiden sat alone. A. pensive look was in her face, and on her knee an open book; While she read, a light flashed o'er her face As flashes o'er the heaven Aurora Borealis. A writer from the North, with vivid insight, Had expressed his inner soul upon the pages — this his thought: "Congeniality of soul is Love, enthusiastic and illumined. 'Tis a sense profound of harmony pervasive; 'T is not physical — it is for both a consonance of nature, strange, delicious. More than half its joy is being understood in all one's noblest powers; What the beloved believes the lover is As they sound on together — these two chords, and in embrace melodious, Reveling in eloquence and charm and beauty, joy, What happy speech audacious, What glorious heights of feeling, What flashes rare of insight, In so being tuned octaves above one's self! To feel in noble woman's soul The resonance of one's own speech, To have returned our thought enriched and beautified in passing through her mind —Beatitude is this highest of all which earth may offer." 24 Now the maiden laid aside her book and fell in reverie. Upon a cushion soft her head reclined and soon she was asleep. Anon there came a man in happy mood low whistling. He was looking for the maiden as it seemed, And lovingly upon her form he gazed and tenderly. He softly came and, with a scarf, He bound her down in mock imprisonment. And then he sang into her ear sweet words of love; Softly, at first, he sang, as if it were his will that she might hear while dreaming. This the Song — the words and melody: The joys of this old world are many, my darling, Of pleasures of life I have tasted a few, But all that life offers though doubled twice over, In a balance were wanting, love, weighed without you. 25 This world, my darling, were nothinq without you, Id give it all up, love, and make no ado, And take any world — any world they might give me, If only, my darling, with it they'd give you. Then come to me, darling, my own one, my dear one, The dearest, the sweetest girl ever I knew; I love you, my darling, so truly, so fondly, This world were no world if it were not for you. The breezes so joyously, wantonly gay, love, Beveled in bliss of a kiss as they blew; My heart, love, throbbed wildly — throbbed jealously wildly — Whomever they missed, love, H is sure they kissed you. I heard the birds singing so softly, so sweetly, A message they told, love, I hold, love, 'twas true, And this was the message — that some one now loves me; That some one, my loved one, was no one but you. I'm going to win you, my dear one, my sweet one; So said one wise bird ere away, love, he flew. Who sent the sweet message? I fondly believe, love, 'Twas you — you, my darling, yes, darling, 't was you. Then a wee little, sweet little word you might say, love, It goes with a kiss, won't you give me that, too? If you had the asking and I had the giving, I'd say: "Yes, my darling;" now, darling, won't you? The maiden wakened and she tried to rise But found herself pinned down by loving hands and hands. Methought her not unwilling to be prisoner, For small the effort that she made To burst the bands so slight, so strong. Then did he sing again the words of pleading — that she come to him; Yet were her eyes not open and she answered nothing. Then he said, again, with pleading voice and thrilling: "With a kiss it goes — the word, my darling, — say it;" And with that he took the kiss, and unresisted. Once again I saw the lover; it was moonlight, quiet, peaceful. He was singing with the voice of one content. Such is the power of love, and pleasing to me was the picture. This his singing as I listened: Ofor me the Stars shine bright to-night! For me the Stars shine bright, shine bright; My love has plighted troth, her troth with mine, And all my sky is bright to-night. The brook, the breeze, the flowers, the sky, All join in sweetest harmony To sing of love of love so real That all the world its joy may feel; 26 O Star of Hopel O Glorious Light! O Love of Mine! World of Joy! For now for me the Stars shine bright to-night, For me the Stars shine bright, shine bright; My love has plighted troth — her troth with mine — And all my sky is bright to-night! Ah! Yes, I thought, what power in Love! And thought, if aught there were in Life That might its purpose be — its meaning, aye, its end — it must he Love. Again I saw the lovers now betrothed in good old fashion; They their way were wending to the house —The same farm dwelling that I saw before. Then in old-fashioned way, the father gave the daughter to her lover. — They were gone — the children — from the home —All gone, save two —the daughter, soon to leave Upon the arm of him who won her love; And one — a son, who at the homestead stayed, Who stayed that they who could not leave — The father and the mother — be not left alone. 'Tis ever so that one must stay To bear the burden (if, indeed, it be a burden) And to comfort, help and cheer the ones grown old, As they grow older and more feeble. There is always one to stay, Who waits till all have chosen — Till for him, or her, there is no choice (Save that of love and duty); Then it is that he or she Are left to move along the way appointed (Way that after all may be the chosen way). Now four were gone from home two sons, two daughters; To the city had they gone V7 — The city where the other sister Soon, a bride, would find her home. And there was aching in the hearts of them now left — An aching at the quiet of the home, the absence of the loved ones. Gone the songs, the merry laughter, Cheery voices, youthful frolics; And in place was thought of strugglings, Of the serious side of Life in the outside world of toil. But they choked it down — their sorrow — Did the father, mother, brother, And they welcomed him who came To take away the sunshine that went out with sister, daughter. And in cheery tones they said: "We shall feel that we have taken To our hearts another dear one; Not that we away have given one that we all love so well." But their hearts their tears, their voices, All belied this cheery fiction, For they knew 't was going from them into other living, doing, And to be forever after more and more from them apart. Though they hoped that love would linger long around them, Well they knew it was a weaning from themselves; That they often would be hungered For the love so deep and tender That had in their hearts been growing all the years — To go out now, in a moment (as it seemed) and to a stranger! What the claim of one so distant That it should be even stronger Than the ties of birth, of kinship, Or of all the years of home? 88 But the answer is a mystery (Though full it be of meaning) For it has no other reason than the mystic tie —of Love! Again was I in Class: And youthful were the students —Youthful, earnest, buoyant, At the Fount of Knowledge thirsting. He who struck the Eock of Waters Was one dreamy, introspective, And he had for all the people of the lowly world A feeling sympathetic, and most tender. His the work to teach of Nature, Of her secrets, of her wonders, And they called the subject science; But I noted in his teaching He had turned the thought of pupils From the cold, bare heights of Knowledge To the deeper, warmer science of the human heart and need. In sympathy I listened to the words that he was speaking as the picture came in view: "Oh! the tragedy of Life — Aye, if you will — , of common life. 'Tis the life of yours and mine, Of king and priest of artist, poet, felon, In the world's great mortar ground together, Melted into liquid mass, and by the iron hand of one's environment new molded into personality! Are we not one soul — both you and I, And by the breath of circumstance but modified or re-created? Aye, before this tragedy of living — Its awfulness and question — How we shiver — how to nothingness we shrink! 29 This surging, palpitating, bitter thing —We call it Life! And if it humble be we call it common! But we dig beneath the surface, And we find this thing created Is a sentient thing of meaning. Is it common when 't is groveling? In its very depths is tragedy. If it silent be and helpless, If accepted without question, If without a moan endured, — All the more severe its agony. Only He who life created — He alone can know its ending, And how incomplete the fulness Of the common life of earth; Only He can know how helpless Who upon the soul hath bounded The measure of its own environment; For circumstance, as molder Of the life of man, seems hopeless As 't is merciless and fateful. Oh! the tragedy of Life! Underneath its commonplace all the tragedies are found; — All the tragedies, the epics, oratorios, romances, That enchain the wildest fancies of a world. Are they common — these the workers in the underworld of life? True, their toiling is for others, And for all their higher needs They themselves are destitute. Priest and teacher, yeoman, laborer, Does their toiling and their needing, Aye, their starving, make them common? Of poetry and feeling, of sentiment and loving, 30 Is there any more in culture Than there is in common toil? What is poetry but Nature, "What is sentiment but Soul "Which all living may but broaden, "Which no culture can create? Let us claim our kinship, fellows, "With this underworld of Life; Let our hearts with love and sympathy Throb on and on forever To the music — rythmic music of the spheres eternal; And when our eyes are brim with tears Of sympathy and love, We shall have poetic fancy That this world's great heart is throbbing . with our own; We shall have a feeling tender That we clasp its hand in ours. Then, knowing we ourselves are of the human mass; No more our little vanities, our common, petty vanities, That ill become a little part of one Great Whole; That ill become so small a part of one Great Soul." The picture faded and I saw another: 'Twas a woman; — small her face, her features pinched and pale and thin; her eyes near lusterless; A look she had of one whose life was all a weariness — a hopeless thing; And she to all the world was listless, As the world of her was thoughtless. She was one whose face seemed void of interest, But on second look one saw a gleam of deeper light beneath the surface; Then her face took on a greater meaning — meaning of a Soul. 31 'Twas in her home and he who was a teacher sought an entrance at the humble door. Surprised the woman was until she saw That he had come on kindly errand bent to greet one in his service. He was of the higher walks, a teacher; In the undertow of life was she — a servant. Modest was this home, but he— the teacher- spoke admiringly of all he saw. "It is my all — this little home," the woman said, — "For it, and God, are all there is in life for me." "But you have human ties" he questioned; "Yes," the woman said, then paused, And o'er her face all wrinkled, plain and sallow, Came a look of patience with the pathos in it of the Christ; "These human ties ain't always what they promise; When yon work upon this tiny kettle, You will make it bright and shiny, And you're sure 'twill always answer you; There's a greetin' here for me when home I come; 'T is more than I can say for them I'm workin' for and slavin'; Not that I am done a tryin' for them, ISTor sha'n't be so long's I'm livin', But you've got to do a somethin' always that will give you rest; There's somethin' soothin' in the way that nickle's shinin' on the stove, — Somethin' soothin' in the roses on them curtains. Life ain't brought me much of comfort, But I'm thankful for the soap and water and my muscle. In the night, when I must lie awake and think, I get to feelin' small and good for nothin', 32 Then there comes to me from somewlieres, off, away, a thought of G-od, And somehow I am comforted to know I'm not alone In what I've got to do and bear." And so in common life he found both poetry and heroism — More than one may find sometimes in palaces. Ah ! there are heroines who know it not, Nor does the world remember to record their names. Nor does it matter in the ending; In the sunlight everlasting of all time, No man is great nor woman, For the hills live on forever And their shadows fall upon their work, And lo! their names are all forgotten; But out from all our lives — the little and the big — From out the patience and the love, and charity, Will grow for each a Life with beauty and a glory all its own. — While the teacher passed along the way, He met a group of girls; and noisily, unmaidenly, they chattered on the street. By laughter loud and noisy talk was jarred his sense of womanhood — Of delicacy and refinement of true womanhood. What to him was there in them attractive saving their — humanity? What to them, he wondered, was their life! Was it some puzzle strange — one that they questioned not nor understood? But even in their chatter found he answer to his questioning: Among them there was one of light and springy step Whose very presence was a cheer to others. She had pretty face and graceful bearing, And her air was self-reliant as of one on none dependent. Aye, a self-supporting woman was this girl — all that was she and more; 33 At home she had an ailing mother, Bed-confined the whole year through, And this young girl was home provider, And the only one for all! Leaving baby at the nursery in the daytime, She the whole day long would toil outside; Her slender earnings were the pittance That had kept them, fed them, clothed them. Often had she toiled till midnight, And at five o'clock in morning She had risen that her mother Might have comforts for the day. IS; or complained this gentle maiden of her lot in life; No self-pity cast its shadow on her buoyant spirit. All the longings of her soul for bright things and the beautiful, All higher needs of pleading heart, Beneath the heavy iron heel of circumstance were these crushed out; But silent was the girl and uncomplaining. Again the teacher was in Class, and spoke of what he saw among the lowly: "Not in battle, to the drum-beat, is all human striving; Not in crowds, for only glory, find we all the heroes; Nor is man the only hero; in the mother and the daughter is the fire heroic often, And 'tis greater, aye, and grander, When 'tis silent and pathetic, In these heroines inglorious Whose exploits are not sung. Much we hear of women sheltered And by manly arms protected; 'Save her,' they oft tell us; 'Let us save her From the wintry blasts of toiling — for her bread; 34 I All too fragile she, for coping In the world outside with man.' So it is to please this fancy, — for this sentimeno ideal — Men would shut her out from working — for her bread! But it seemeth not in keeping with our progress and her need, To say 'Nay' to her own toiling for her need of bread, Her need for self or for the others that on her may be dependent! Widened be her range, not narrowed; Larger be her field for toiling, If of choice more scope it give her to provide herself with bread. Is she handicapped by Nature All too little for our liking, That, as men, we would make harder All the struggling she must do, And from which we would not save her, Or in which we do but hinder? Must we add to those of Nature other burdens for her bearing That are heavy and more heavy; And deny her right of having more of place and hope, and chances; Less of comfort than her need is, less than is her right to claim; Less than has the gentle woman thought of asking of the world? Shall we, by our force and power, all she asketh still deny her? Nay, my brothers, let us hasten, and concede to her (in reason) Even more than she desireth in her modest sense of need, Even more than she doth ask us in her modest sense of right! In the lives of women, is the truest heroism. 35 What we call, in men, heroic oft is noisy, loud, obtrusive, claiming for itself all praise; But, in woman, 't is unconscious, though sublime and all pathetic; And no thought of it has she, whose habit is to drift. When one braver, of her sex, moves out alone, Then only has she thought of merit in her sacrifice and daily toil. Man it is forever ready to accept that sacrifice; His name for it is duty — not a thing for praise or wonder! Yet there is in lives of mothers, More than in the lives of men, true heroism! O our mothers! O our mothers! Only when the clod has fallen On that face the fairest, sweetest, Do we know the fuller meaning Of the subjugation rare of self— that self angelic! O our mothers! God forgive us! God forgive the sons of men For their sins against the mothers — for ingratitude, neglect. Would I had a devil's mirror — One wherein each man might see All his weakness and his meanness, his conceit and selfish sin! For the sake of one so lovely, one so tender and so true, He would ever yield to woman all she asks — aye, grant her more. All for sake of her who bore him, All for her — the woman — Mother. — She who is (among all heroes) of God's heroines the Queen. Now, again, the picture faded, and again I saw the Highway, And that throng forever moving — always moving on. Again I heard the music — music low and weird and plaintive— 36 Music of that, sad Refrain that had burdened me before. And I said: "Is Life the meaning of this picture strange and vivid, Of this throng— this panorama never ceasing in its moving in the Highway— all along? But, it seemed that, if a journey, Life was more (though often less); 'T was a Eace and 't was a Battle, And in every Bace and Battle, woman had a share with man. Yes, I saw that in the Battle — even there she must combat, And not only with the woman was her striving, but with man! She had there a need to combat For the rights of man and woman — For the rights of self and others! And I saw that in the Races she competed, And the prizes of the Life-Course Were not hers except she won them — she herself! I saw that when she struggled for her need — (For her very bread, it might be), "When she battled for her rights — (For her very life, it might be), She was weaker in her make-up, in her armor, her equipment, than her brother. Then I saw that in her striving in the Races She was handicapped by Nature and by custom — Even more by art and fashion than by Nature! Then I wondered of the fairness — What the purpose and the meaning Of the struggling and the striving, Of the battling and competing being harder for the woman than for man! Although I found no answer, came the thought that seemed all plain: Nature's word is not our saying, And we may not change the law; 37 It must be as Nature wills it —And we say that there is in it Purpose good and some large meaning; But no man for sake of fashion, Art or custom, or his pleasure, Has fair right to weaken woman, Handicap or halt her moving, Make her striving, struggling, harder, Make her tears more hot, more hitter, Make her path more thorns than roses, Make her suffer his unwisdom, Sacrifice her for his pleasure or his gain! Once more the farm-house came in view And there was sign of many guests and joyous greetings. All were there — the sons and daughters [Relatives and friends invited. This the day that she — who to her heart Had welcomed happy lover — she herself had named To say "Good Bye" to her old home to her old world, And enter one all new and strange But full of promise of a life of bliss. Now I saw that she who of her will became a wife Was of them all the eldest And her name was — Rachel. And I saw that of her sisters One there was whose name was— Yashti. And I saw that she who stood beside the bride as maid Was sister of the bridegroom and her name was — Edith. Of the boys, the one who stayed at home was John; One, who had liking for the city greater than his love for country homestead -he was Albert. But to me the strangest of all else was this; 38 That she who had been leader of the girls who held the Scroll was— Vashti; And that Kuth, her sister, was of those who aided her — one of her following. Now I was glad when I saw Vashti, For to me was Yashti pleasing more than all the others, More than any I had seen before in all my days! On second thought 't is this and this alone That was the strangest far of all that I had seen this night — 'T is this, that I thought Vashti of them all the best! Yet, why so strange? For she was beautiful of soul and face; And she was one who could be brave, who could be true; One who could love another well and dearly; Yet who never would forget herself (And this were well, for she herself was worthy of remembrance by all others — and herself). Now they stood, and grouped in pretty fashion; Of them all the bride the center. He who wedded her was nearest, And he held her hand in his. Then when the man of God was ready to pronounce The words to bind what man may put asunder never, He — the bridegroom — to the maiden sang: maiden fair, my love for thee Is like the surge of swelling sea, Nor time nor tide more changeless be Than is my love, fair maid, for thee, maiden fair! Then all the younger men and maidens sang, As if in glad refrain: Than is his love, fair maid, to thee, maiden fair! Again he sang — the lover— and they all responding as before: 39 maiden fair, I come to thee With heart unfettered, glad and free, To take thy hand and ask of thee Thy precious maiden love for me, maiden fair! O maiden fair, though it may be Nor wealth nor fame I offer thee, Full measure of felicity My heart's deep love doth promise thee, O maiden fair! Then sang the maidens standing near: O maiden fair, we wish for thee A life of joy — from sorrow free, That all thy days unclouded be — This is our wish, sweet maid, for thee, maiden fair! Then, while the pastor spoke the words of binding (Spoke in tender voice, as one solicitous for all the future of a child his own), The lover sang, alone: maiden fair, I give to thee This emblem of Eternity And pledge for aye fidelity To thee, O maiden fair, to thee, O maiden fair! O maiden fair! To thee, my own, My wife, to thee 1 pledge life-long fidelity, woman fair, my wife, to thee, O woman fair! And then the others sang, while he, now husband, took the kiss — his own: To thee, woman fair, to thee, His pledge life-long fidelity, woman fair, and wife, to thee, Fidelity life-long to thee, woman fair, and wife, to thee, O woman fair! But, ere again I sought one other glance at Vashti, Vashti fair — so fair to me, 40 The picture "faded and I felt like one alone and sorrowful; And all the more when to my ear came back that same sweet, sad Kefrain. Again I was in Class — a woman was the teacher: "Thoughts are things," she said, "A creation of your spirit is your thought. "Tis force and power — is thought and 'tis eternal. Of yourself your thought is part; And what you think to-day is your new self. You may wonder but 't is true That what we wear —our very clothes- Absorb our thought — our very thought. Now if my cast-off thought of time gone by Has been of anger, irritation or unrest, My old-time clothes my vicious thought absorbed, And I that thought may re-absorb. Let men not seek companionship with their dead selves; Far better 'tis to seek deliv'rance . from the body of our death. In all her moods is Nature prodigal, In casting off the old, the lifeless; — In bestowal on her creatures of the fulness of new life: The horns of deer drop off; the serpent skins drop off; The hairs of beast, the feathers of the bird drop off: All fresh and new as manna from the hand of God Are plumages and downy furs and tints of flower. Lilies of the field toil not, nor do they spin. Yet are arrayed in beauty. Shall man alone be unadorned, shall he alone Be undelivered (in due time and season) From the old, dead body of his older self? Nature will not wear old clothes worn out; Her birds build new their nests, her flowers renew their youth; 41 Man, who may toil and spin, and fashion wonders rare and beautiful, Has hint from lower life how he may be arrayed In all the glory of his power creative. Then, shall man drag through his life Down-loaded with the weight of years cast off? Shall man load down himself with garb of poverty, Of rags of thought —of old, dead life? lS T ay, poverty is not religion, nor monotony a virtue; If one teaches aught so ill it is not ISTature; He who clothed the lily gave thee power to clothe thyself; The color of the lily is expression of its life; The dress of thine expression is (in part) of thine own larger life — thy spirit. Youth is newness in the spirit and in body; Youth is freshness, strength and growth; Youth is joyous, playful, and it revels in the joys of health, of hope, of Life. Youth has love of dress, of color, music, beauty, pleasure, And it casteth out all fears, all doubt. And this is well — 'tis intuition all unconscious. One may come to have no love for dress, May come to take no pride, no pleasure, in adornment. One may come to have no joy in life, And no delight in ways of youth — in living. One may say that youth has passed, With all its joys, its hopes, its pleasures, — gone forever. One may set his face out towards the setting sun And think of Life as sombre, sad, Of youth as fleeting, and to end in shadow — cheerless, hopeless. When 't is come to this, O man, 'Tis sign of waning, and thou art thyself inviting— death! If thou lose thy hope, thy faith, If thou turn thy face unto the wall, It will mean decay and death. Such is not the choosing of the better way; Thou may'st hold thy youth and challenge all advancing of the years. Will within thyself to rise and thou shalt upward move and forward. Now as to color: Choose not black for robing: It is badge of hopelessness of ending — death. Aye, choose thee colors that have warmth and light. For emblem, if it be for Life (Or that thou callest death), choose naught but white. For thou indeed hast choice, If so it be thy will to choose. And more, if so it be thy Spirit willeth, Thou may'st have thy body fitly clothed. Then will to have the right, the best, Aye, will, and it shall come to thee. Do thou demand it in thy mind and strongly: It will come to thee through asking, It will come to thee by seeking, Or by knocking at the opening door, and rinding. 'Tis the law that unto him that hath shall more be given; But if one hath not, from him shall taken be that which he hath. Hold fast thine own, and thou shalt have and hold. So think it not of little care, the body; Thou may'st even love it as the dwelling of the Soul. Think of it as temple for the spirit in it dwelling. Shall it be neglected? Rather shall it be kept beautiful and fitly clothed. But only as thy soul within is beautiful will thy body be. Only will thy body be a fitting temple when 'tis fitly kept and robed. Only as thou lovest life shall life be thine, or stay with thee; Therefore, be not careless, hopeless, in thy mind; For that were courting death, 't were dying. Be not even slovenly in dress, For that itself is sign of dying, not of Life." Then she paused, and, after, said: "Now I would tell thee something more of dress. Note the dress of men you meet, — One may be dressed in manner foppish; Everything he wears proclaims aloud, and noisily, (as from the house-top) That with him the all in all is dress; It is his life, it is with him, the end and purpose all of life. One is dressed in slouchy manner; What he wears betokens chance. Be it this, or that, or other, — naught it matters; Come, or go, 'tis wind, or weather; — This his thinking as to dress — It may be, as to his life the same. One must say that life and purpose arc not dress; But the one of slouchy habit questions, by his dress; Is there purpose, is there even life, — is it not all chance; Is there plan or meaning in it all? If there be in Life a purpose; if there be in Life a meaning; It were seemly that one s dress Should speak of order, purpose, fitness. — Again, we sec one dressed not slouchy. but all careless; And the manner of his wearing, more than what he wears, betokens mental habit. Life too purposeful to him (it seemeth) for much thought of dress; 'Time is fleeting, work is pressing, let us to our tasks away. 44 Let it be for dawdlers, idlers, Let it be for men (or women) Having neither work nor knowledge, Having little care for either; — Let it be for these to dress, Not for him of busy brain, whose heart and hands are full; Not for him whose life is short —too short for all his need!' Thus he sings, in gloomy measure, Sings as if he knew the meaning, — Knew how short, how long his life, Knew the point of ending! High his motive, large his purpose, We may say of him who reasons thus of dress and of our life; But he faileth when he thinketh That our life hath naught of living in the ever present; Naught of joy and comfort, pleasure, as we journey on; That our present is as nothing To some purpose, or some doing, Of some time. in some far future! He may find some counter meaning in the saying of the Teacher: Take no thought of the to-morrow (Though it meaneth not to teach us to be merry, eating, drinking, Knowing that we die to-morrow). Dress as one who lives to-day, to-morrow — ever; Lives not now alone, to-morrow dying; Lives not only when to-morrow cometh; But now lives, will live to-morrow, will live alway, live forever. Dress thou for the hour, the day, And fitting for thy present need. Make thy dress a part (not all) thy purpose. 45 Dress for comfort, for enjoyment; Dress for pleasure — for thine own and others. Is there not of purpose, and all worthy, in so doing? Much it seemeth so to be to me. — Let thy dress he suited to thyself, thy person, To thy work and to thy need, and mood. Let it be thy mood alway that dress become thee, That it be adapted to thy personality, To thy position, and the place thou boldest. What of Fashion'? She will have her saying; And, within the limits, (bounds of reason,) Thou may'st heed her mandate; For conspicuous thou desirest not to be — nor hast thou need. Except at call of martyrdom, (from which one prays that he be spared.) Who would, or need defy that mandate? Nay, to thy departure from the crowd Wouldst thou not fix a limit? Yea, thou needest not to grovel with the herd; Nor, like the hermit, dwell alone; Nor even with the wings fly foolishly. Give Fashion place, but not control; Thyself art Fashion, if thou wilt; For Fashion is the whole, and of the whole thou art some part; So thou (in measure) may'st thyself control the fashion. Fashion changeth? Aye, and thou; For thou art ever changing and thyself becoming new; For thou shalt newer be to-day than yesterday; And surely thou shalt newer be to-day Than was of yesterday some other man or woman. He was of the past — a past now gone and dead. But thou art of the present, of to-day — the living present. 4G Shall the whole world change? — Shall old things pass away and all be new, Save that alone which is above, beyond all other things — save man himself or woman? More, shall all be changed — save that pertaining to the woman only? Sliall it be her dress (and it alone) That shall be fixed, unchangeable, — And all the rest be new? This question comes with reason, For there are whose answer makes it lifting. This my answer: Of the rights (though few) of woman, in the past, One right was hers undoubted — hers conceded; (Nay, say men, 't was more than right of hers — 't was weakness). It was right to change — the weakness to be fickle. Cramped, or bounded, tied, restricted, As to rights, or ways of working: She could always changeful be, or fickle, as her mood had need. Her dress could be chameleon as her fancy pleased her. Now to bound, or bind, her fancy, Or to limit her desire, One thing only was there ever, And that one thing was that strange thing That we sometimes call Queen Fashion — She whose fiat was to woman Stronger far than rhyme or reason (as it seemed)! Now, if Fashion, and the fancy of the woman, Call for change (and change more striking than before) Who shall hinder, who deny her That which was her right conceded — Right to choose or change her garment, Right to choose a way of robing to her liking? Sayest thou it must become her, her apparel? True, we answer, for a fashion unbecoming to her beauty — lovely woman! — Is a sin 'gainst man and Nature. (Yet, it is a sin that woman hath committed — often, often; 'T was her Queen — the Queen called Fashion who compelled this sin, O woman!) But when man disliked a fashion, Only had he right of protest, And 't was ever right of woman (Eight conceded, as I see it), To move on, in line with Fashion, Always at her own sweet will. Then the man had need of patience — patience only for a while; Not so long till to his liking she would come of her accord. Aye, she would come, O charming woman! For she loves the man — does woman, And of her own will would please him, By her beauty, by her dress. But, one sayeth, lines of freedom for the woman are laid down; Wide though be her range of choosing — how to robe her form divine, Yet her dress must be not man's dress; She must stay within the lines Laid down by custom, and by Nature long ago! True, but man may be in error, If lie draw the lines for woman, For her dress (or for aught else). For himself he had his choosing. And he chose to suit his need; Chose to suit his taste, his liking, Nor had woman aught to say! 48 When he made the change that woman Now is making for herself, No one questioned him the choosing, No one said him yea, or nay. Who shall say the dress is fitting That he for himself hath chosen; —That 't is modest, proper, right? Petticoats were once his wearing; 'Twas a change when he wore leggings — When he doffed the woman's gown! Who shall say it were not better That the man still wear that gown? Or that leggings are for woman not more modest than for man? Who shall say that gowns are modest, — Always modest, —ever modest — Ever fitting, proper, right; Be they for the man or woman — For their duties, for their work; Or for their forms as Nature made them? That they trail through mud and spittle, That they trip — are cause of stumbling, That they blow beyond controlling In the playful wind (and shocking), That they fit not storm and weather, — These are faults mayhap not greatest In this dress, this gown — the skirt! For the drawing-room they're fitting, There they have a charm their own, (Aye, better there than in the streets are gowns;) But if for riding, or for wheeling, — Who would welcome them of will? Is then man by Nature ever forced to halt at faulty lines; And his progress toward perfection to be stayed in one thing only? 49 Is he always, through all ages — Through all ages yet unborn, In one thing (and one thing only) to be stayed in statu quo? Is the costume of the human — Not of man, but of the woman— The one thing in all of Nature That can have no aid of science, That from art or from invention May not have some help or hint; But must now, and all years coming —Must alone, of all things needful, Stop far short of nice perfection? From what law, divine or human, From what law, revealed or written, Is there rule or is there reason That shall say of some old custom, Or some practice, or proceeding, It shall be forever sacred from all change and innovation, Though the need of man or woman may cry out in agony for change? If the men, or if the women, choose to make such law by fiat, Let them make it, not for others, But, far better, for themselves — themselves alone. Let them not, in mood so generous, Make it only for the others — Others who a law would be unto themselves! Know you that a higher ruling governs you and governs me, Governs man and governs woman, And it stronger is than fiat, than the men in all creation, or the women; And no age may boast of progress Till that law be over others — over and above; Now that law which is the higher, Which should be on all men binding, and all women, is the La*w of Liberty or the Perfect Law. 'But if woman — lovely woman, choose to dress like man; — How may we discern between them — How— Oh! how — know — them —apart! Well expressed, by halting question, is your horror at the thought; It is calamity most serious, and its coming we may dread As we may dread the coming winter, As the ague, or a fever, as an avalanche, or cyclone, epidemic, or a bore, and the toothache, As we dread the thing it is — a revolution! Yes, we dread a thing so fearful, That like man shall be the woman, And, (like babes all mixed together,) all identity be lost! But, we wonder, where is Nature that she idly stays her hand! Has she naught to say in protest? Can she nothing do to hinder this calamity so dreadful? Where is Man himself, we wonder, Is there naught within Ms power, Such calamity of evil to forbid? Has it come (or is it coming), that between the man and woman There is naught, (nor will be ever,) — naught to know the two apart; Naught that is of Nature's doing, Naught that is not artificial, — Nothing save some tag, or covering — Save some marking, or the dress? Nay, I know we are too fearful of her resource, of her power; And, until they be exhausted —All the resources of Nature — Needless will be our alarm. Much I fear, that half the evil is not that the little woman Is too much— too much like man; But that man, more than he might be, More than he has been of old time, Is himself, too much — like woman! Once there was a badge of manhood —Nature-given, striking, flowing; 'Twas man's pride, his strength, his marking, As a man among all men, a man among all women. When he took an oath most solemn, Always swore he by this badge, And indignity was greater to this badge than to all else. For this badge has woman ever had some liking (more or less) And the woman oft admires it, — even loves it, (as her own). But her liking, and her loving, is in seeing it in place; It would fill her soul with horror, If it grew on her own face! It may nestle there (a season), She may claim it as her own, But to have this badge by growing, And to be enforced to wear it — This would be her pet aversion! In this realm — this realm his own, Man has always from intrusion by all women been secure; And the future has no danger in this right — man's right alone, Woman sweet no beard is growing! — She for it has shown no liking; Yet has man by constant shaving, Sought to lose his pride, his birthright; Sought to rob himself (the master) of this badge of his distinction; Sold it for some mess of pottage — pottage of some passing fancy.; Lost it to some freak of Fashion; —That he might (in shameless habit) Have a face all smooth like woman's! Nor has woman e'er protested; Though it were well in her right, To object to man's intrusion >on her own domain, Her domain by right of Nature! If unforced, and for no reason, (For no reason that we know,) Man his badge has thus discarded, 'Tis his doing, and his only, 'Twas no fault of lovely woman If man lack some mark of Nature, If he doff some trait she gave him, And there be no sign to show him To be man (and not a woman); 'T is his right a tag to carry that may save him from the hardship, From the ridicule, or folly, misery, contempt, (or shaming,) Of his being sometimes taken for a— woman ! And we women all are willing That he have one — one to suit his whim, or fancy. Let it be a string, or garment, or a color, all his own; Let him have an ear or nose ring v Or a cape, or cloak, or knee-cap, or a baby's rattle. His the choice and his the comfort, Give the boy his needed pleasure. — If he cannot make his hair grow Where, in ages past, it grew, When the man in pride and power By his beard did all his swearing, (And the man, in all the ages did the swearing for the race,) He, perhaps, may grow still balder, And by all his hair off -shaving, So unlike be to the woman That we'll know when we shall see 53 Her Crown of Glory on her head, — That we'll know by all things lovely — lovely and of good report, That she is a woman only — nothing like a man at all! Then we'll know whene'er a being With no glory crown at all comes within the range of vision. That a man it is — not woman, Or a thing, for lack of wording — Lack of any better naming, we may call — a man! It were well, so say we ever, That between the man and woman There shall be a range of difference As by Nature 'twas intended; But, we ask, in honest question, Is it not the will of Nature that this difference be in person —not in dress? If the range be all too narrow for the need of man or woman, Can it be because of woman having made advance inhuman, — Far beyond the lesser progress made by man? Has the inconsiderate woman so been narrowing between them The wide range erstwhile existing That his manhood's pride is hurt? If this be the evil pending, what the cure — in what the ending? Shall we stay the woman's progress — stay it short other desire, That the man may stop advancing — Stop far short of his own power? Nay, a better way is open — one more seemly, fair and just; Let them both — the man and woman- Have free course — full right of moving; Let them each and both make progress, Full within their powers and need. Let no need of one alone, (and far more no need imagined,) 5i Halt the progress of the other. What if in the movement onward Toward the summit of desire, Woman shall make progress rapid, And between herself and brother, Lessen the wide range, and make it of the past! Be it so, if man's ambition Hath made failure in his moving, By his lesser progress making, stopping short of his own powers. Better far than holding woman back within her powers and need, Is to man the stimulation of her closer following. Even better that to woman right be given To make progress as she liketh, Than that she be checked and hampered In the hope of good to man from her own sacrifice of self. Now, the teacher who so well (I thought) had spoken for her sex, In championship of right to dress at will, Of right to be a law unto themselves, Of right to liberty, the perfect law for all. —Now this teacher and her Class passed out from view. In place I saw a stage and players, and the play was comedy. Now in review there passed before mine eyes a long procession, As of people who had lived in ages gone, And who were wearing costumes of their day, They who wore the newer costumes Of the days in which they lived, Would find the fashions of the older days grotesque and strange. And these, in turn, their day would pass, And those of later day would find their dress As odd and strange as was the other! In her royal robes, upon a throne, there sat one like a queen; 53 And she by all was called a queen her name, Queen Fashion. All who passed in turn before her she would closely scan, And she would smile on them who pleased her, And on others she would frown. There was something in her smile That caused a thrill of happiness in those who won it; But her frown, it seemed, made sorrowful all hearts Far more than her rare smile made glad, And Fashion was a fickle queen, For she would frown to-day on something she erstwhile had smiled upon, And smile on what erstwhile she frowned upon! Now, all, or nearly all, of men and women (more the women) Were the willing slaves of Fashion; And to win her smile, (so sweet it was,) Or miss her frown, (a frown severe and hurting,) These her subjects made all willing sacrifice. Some there were (it seemed) who had no other purpose, Found in life no other pleasure, Than the happiness of winning From their Queen her sunny smile — Her frown avoiding (but they were the few). Only glimpses had I of the scenes (as of a play in progress). At the first, the women dressed in roomy skirts; And when they danced they were as tops inverted, Gliding, spinning, o'er the surface of the floor. All outspread and flaring, was the bottom of the skirt, As if a hoop, or wheel, were hidden in the lower, nether folds, Environing the dress within — the dress within and wearer. Came there then upon the scene first one, and then another, Having doffed the roomy skirts, and donned for other robing, Dress all clinging to their forms 56 — Their forms of beauty closely clinging. Fashion frowned on these new-comers. Then the others, (who were sweeping fuller circles on the floor,) Looked askance and showed displeasure, Crying, 'Shame, 'tis so immodest!' But I saw that time made smaller these diameters of base; And to have them even smaller, all the hoops were dropped at last! Much the change was to my liking, For it seemed (in my own thinking) More than clinging dress of woman Did the bell-shaped skirt of Fashion mar her form of beauty. Then there came a talk of changing Back to "crinoline" (they called it), For the queen was prone to frowning On this pleasing dress of woman (pleasing, as it was to me). Then there came who braved the frowning, And refused to welcome changing, These, by ridicule and satire, led the Queen to frown upon it — on the crinoline at last! There were jokes and jibes in plenty, There was laughter, jeering, singing, Till the frown of Fashion ended All the fear of coming harm. Of the Songs that most did please me, Was this one that follows: Dear Lady Crinoline, as in a dream I see thee move along the polished floor With grace and beauty in everg step, As once — ourfailiers say — you did of yore. I count the rows of flounces on your shirt, From one, to twenty-one, each wider grown Than that above — like ripples on a pool When agitated by a pebble thrown. 57 You had, I know, a wealth of witchery, But men retreated as you forward stepped, For there was that about you that forbade Familiar greet — so they their distance kept. And yet 1 would not call you back again Through these dim years, though sweet -t would be I ween; 1 would not tempt you tread our sphere again, All-filling, widening, spinning Lady Crinoline. Now in this Comedy I saw that men were riding on a wheel; (But other pattern was it than the wheels whereon the girls had ridden When they carried in their hands the Scroll). Wide and bigh the forward wheel and small the other; And it seemed that wondrous skill was needed Lest the wheeler fall, and from a dizzy height of danger! And I saw that, finding danger in the skirting of the leggings, Some were dressed in older fashion, Where the leggings always ended at the knees, And joining there with tops of stockings. Now I saw that Fashion had not smiled On innovation such as this, And wearers were derided — often hooted on the street; Till, at last, the Queen relented and the men had chance thereafter — Chance to wear the safer garments, At their will and unmolested. Then I saw the wheel was changed And saw the woman mounting it, And finding in its running much of pleasure, much of joy. Nor wondered I to see it, for it seemed a useful pleasure —Aye, a tempting sport and glorious. 58 Now the Queen was loath to smile Upon this wheeling by the woman; But ere long she yielded gracefully, And made the sport her own — (For this was Fashion's way of doing —fickle Fashion). Then a danger seemed to threaten; For the skirts of woman's wearing Were entangled oft in riding, and the gentle rider thrown; (For the danger to the skirting of the leggings of the man, Was as naught to woman's danger in the skirting of her gown). Then I saw that woman wondered Why she could not doff the skirting, As the man had done before her, To avoid her greater danger in her wider-skirting dress. And her wondering and her thinking led her out at last, to doing, And, lo! emerged the woman as I saw her, in my Vision — on the wheel! Now glad was I in seeing all this striking innovation; For I thought the knell was sounded now forever for the wheel; —Not the wheel that she was riding, Without skirt, or flowing flounces, But the one she'd worn in flounces — One which swept the floor and pavement, Or the wheel, or hoop, called "crinoline!" —But I saw the Queen was frowning, And of women, some were pouting, While the men (and boys) were hooting At this newest change of Fashion, And they called it innovation; As if change of fashion always (crinoline to closer skirting) were not startling innovations — Be they good, or be they ill, at the time the women make them (or the men). 59 But I saw the fashion gaining, and the Queen disposed to smiling, And I knew that soon her frowning Would at skirts he as of yore; And I wondered (how I wondered!) — When the time would come for changing Back from leggings to wide dresses, Would the men and boys (and women) Think the innovation startling ( — Or, at least, so very startling As it was from gowns to leggings)? Then I saw a home, and in it were two girls —two daughters of the household. Entered now the father, smiling; And he noted how the girls were robed, And o'er his face there came a look, of pained surprise. "Nay, girlies mine," he said, "It is not fitting — such a dress as this, Nor is it pleasing to your father, And he loves you best of all. Now, tell me, is it proper?" While he spoke, one forward came And playfully •« in girlish manner, Placed her hand upon her father's lips, And made a laughing protest 'gainst his speech: "Now, not a word, this father mine, — For know you not that Fashion orders it — Society demands it. — 'Tis full dress, you dear old sweetheart." Jokingly he answered her: "Full dress, indeed! It is not full, at all; And, yet, 'tis more than full; 'Tis like the paradox of Life — It is, and yet 'tis not! 'T is more than full at bottom, But at top 't is more than less than full; 'tis even more than scant — There's not enough to weigh it even in the balance, 60 To weigh 4o prove it wanting altogether!" Now they joined in laughter, for affection reigned among them; And love was deep and tender In the father, whom the girls adored. — The father, playful, touched a button, calling in a servant: "Bring a broom!" he said, in boyish glee, And, in mock earnestness, he swept the floor while saying, "If you wear this train, then I must go before and sweep the way Across the porch and all along the street, Lest in its folds there gather up all sorts Of dire reminders of the gay bacteria!" The daughter stayed his hand and said: "Nay, Father Antics, — need of sweeping there is none, For, see, I gather up the folds like this, And carry all the train — not even touching floor or ground at all !" It chanced the other daughter thought her of the messenger who brought the gowns — Who had been waiting for some word of commendation Of the fitting of the garments; And she summoned hastily this messenger. The one who entered was a maid Of stature small, but years mature; Her face was thin, her eyes were sad, And her apparel scant, and worn, and soiled. On seeing her the father of the girls felt sore at heart, And picking up a pair of shears, That lay within a basket holding woman's work, In mood more serious he quickly clipped a border From the hanging trail of his fair daughter's dress, And threw it o'er the shoulders of the waiting maid, Who, in astonishment, could make no protest, "This will keep you warm," he said, 61 "And you may, at your own convenience, make yourself a gown; And wliile you're wearing it, remember well the lesson that it teaches —Waste and Want are twins. And now, my own dear girl," he further said, "There's still enough to spare, in this one dress, To shear away and make a cape To cover your fair shoulders — in a way becoming girls so pure and sweet As are these daughters mine, my children." While he was speaking, one had entered — 'twas the mother. "Don't be foolish, dear," she said; "We all must heed Queen Fashion; On the dress that pleases you the best she frowns! Now Fashion has a way her own And she will have it, do we what we may to hinder!" "May be father's right, dear mother," Said the girls, "and Fashion may be wrong, though she be Queen! There's something better, too, than Fashion's smile." " — And something worse than love of father And this dear, sweet mother," said the man, And then he kissed the mother and the daughters, lovingly. And now I saw the maid depart. Along the street she made her way Until she stopped at sound of music. Out from palace building there was melody, And sound of keeping time to it by tripping feet of dancers. Then the maid, with train of dress still on her shoulders, (Making contrast sharp with soiled old dress,) stayed, listening, And drinking in the melody of strains so heavenly to her But this I noticed: Only in her heart did she keep time to music; For her body tired, and wearied limbs, and sore-chafed feet, 63 No impulse had to beat the time Upon the smooth but stony- pavement. — This I saw, and, grieved at heart, I heard again that strange and sad Refrain — then lost the Vision! Now I saw a sanely beach, and on it gathered there A motley group of men and women, lads and lasses. They were playing noisily, all chatting, chaffing, laughing, shouting. They were dressed in costume varied; Only in one way alike — their costumes — 'Twas in this, that all their dress was scant and thin; For there was naught superfluous in dress of any; Not enough to cover nakedness in dress of many. There was naught to serve as ballast — needless ballast: Only when 'twould help to float the body, Was there more abundance (as the larger sleeves). Naught I thought of this scant dress; For everything seemed wholesome, funful, and for good and pleasure. All suggestion was of healthful exercising, The delight of friendship and companionship, forbidding thoughts of ill. But Fashion had her place — near by and on her throne And smiling — always sweetly — on her votaries (for such they were). But now I saw a thing most strange: Along the line of Fashion's vision, (As she gazed direct before her,) And parallel with line of shore, There seemed a line invisible, and when the bathers crossed the line, I saw that Fashion frowned, and quickly they, the bathers, would return as if ashamed. (It was as in the days of old — it seemed — When eyes of the first pair were opened, And they knew that they were naked.) 63 Standing by, (not bathing,) Others were there, watching all the fun and frolic, And the antics of the bathers. These would seem to think it naught of ill to see the naked limbs — While bathers were within the lines. But if it chanced that any stood without that magic line, And saw a bather on that outer side, They seemed disturbed in spirit, sore dismayed — (As if in sympathy with Fashion, Looking on and frowning). Now I saw that one who was a looker-on Was chatting with a bather, when it chanced (By accident, it seemed,) they crossed the line together. He who was not bathing, (nor was dressed as were the bathers,) was affected In a moment after crossing, by the other's dress —Was stricken with some malady, it seemed, And fell all prone upon the ground — And then I saw that he was in a faint! Then rose a cry of fright— alarm, And back, across the line, the bather hurried — shamed, repentant. He who fainted, swift was borne — upon a stretcher — to the Queen, Who sweetly smiled upon him (as if praising him for loyalty to her — the Queen). He soon recovered — nothing worse for falling — When he passed from sight upon his way. Then I was told there was no other remedy For this strange malady than Fashion's smile (Although I wondered if the malady itself were not a fashion only)! Now there came upon the scene two maidens, swiftly wheeling; They dismounted for a moment, joining lookers-on Who were in numbers on the beach. 64 But such commotion followed that the maidens soon were troubled in their minds, And were by others caused annoyance. Now I saw it was their dress that made commotion; Though I wondered at the strangeness of it; They were dressed in manner suited to the wheeling (not the bathing). Bifurcated the garments of the girls, But neatly fitting were they clothed. Their manner was of those who gentle are and modest; And well covered, hidden, were their forms; — From sole of foot to closely covered neck was there no nakedness upon them. Of bathers, who themselves were bare below the ankle, (Aye, and some below the knee, and many bare Beyond the lines conventional for even bathers in the water;) — Now, there were of these who curious were About the dress worn by the wheelers, And they scanned the maidens closely (and offensively) With look of being shocked beyond expression. These made protest by their manner, (some by words;) And there were boys, (themselves more bare than were the others,) — Boys who came behind the maiden visitors, And, throwing sand upon them, ordered them to "Scat;" Whereat I saw they scatted with alacrity, And (sore disturbed in feeling) soon were lost to view By swiftly wheeling on their way. Anon there came two maidens who were wheeling; And their dress was like the one worn by the maidens driven off before, By jeer and gibe of sportive bathers. These were greeted in like manner to the other wheelers, Yet did they but little heed or seem to fear The frowns of Fashion or the jeers of others. While standing for a moment near the throng, They gazed upon the others with an air of mild disdain, Then hied them quick to cover near at hand, Where bathers full convenience had for making change of robing. Here the maids threw off their outer dress, And, in a twinkling, lo! emerged, and robed as was the throng of bathers, Bare of feet and ankles, and above; And bare of arms and neck, In splendid form and radiant maiden beauty. Quickly they appeared, a picture full inspiring; And, well greeted, with a smile by Fashion. With the smiles and cheers of bathers, Plunged they then ' far in the waters all inviting, Helping thus to swell the noisy fun and frolic. Now, it chanced, two girls in bathing costume, In some spirit of adventure, mirthful, wanton, j Saw the wheels unused, and, springing on them, Wheeled across that line invisible. This seeing, Fashion frowned and even stamped her feet, in marked displeasure Now this action of the maidens seemed as if it were a crime, and dreadful; Though to me it was all blameless, Like the harmless play of kittens. For a time they braved the furor, but at last they winced Before the swell of mighty indignation at such dreadful innovation As infraction of the laws of Fashion, and before her very eyes! Back across the line they hurried, But in very act of crossing they both tumbled, ere dismounting, As if to the din and protest of the people and their Queen! Now two other maidens, mirthful, Hastened to the place of robing, 66 And there -donned the dress for wheeling Over their own suits for bathing, And returned to mount their wheels. These in their turn were hooted, But by some, not all the people, For many now were laughing At the humor of the play. But the thing the most surprising Was the doing of Queen Fashion; for she joined the ones hilarious, And now smiled upon the maidens! When the jeering ones saw Fashion Was not frowning, but was smiling, They desisted in their protests and no more the girls were hindered In their wheeling at their pleasure! For they knew, (but had forgotten,) That the laws enforced by Fashion, Are but laws conventional, not as of Medes and Persians all unchangeable. Now I saw the Queen was curious And became full interested in the style, or in the pattern, Of the dress worn by the wheelers! Then in her will majestic she commanded their attendance at her side. This gave the cue to others and the throng, no longer laughing, Ceased to make a further protest, And they turned to a discussion of the merits of the dress — its merits and its faults "The dress is not unpleasing," said Queen Fashion, now most gracious; "Let it have its place hereafter; — You may wear it when 't is fitting to your need." "Aha," one said, soon after, and aside, "Its place will be one larger than Queen Fashion now conceives; For where the place not fitting to its need, If it be in the temper of Queen Fashion 07 That the dress be worn at all?" "And it will be still more pleasing," said another, "As our minds to it are customed in the wearing. The human form, that is ideal — A never-varying standard, peerless in its beauty — This, a thing of grace and loveliness, So has been hidden under woful shapes of Fashion That it is the thing to which we least are customed; So it is we leave the inner circle of perfection, And we flounder on the outskirts in grotesque incertitude, With ne'er a resting place for sole of foot of any winged ideal. So it is we hug as our ideals the pets of Fashion, Vain illusions, of the nightmare order, And anachronistic freaks ephemeral." " 'Tis true," another said, "and always it is so. The new and strange is not so pleasing to our senses As the old and more familiar. What we love the best, and has our tenderest care, is the oldest of association. We love old songs the best; The obsolete is most romantic, And only that is classic which is of the older days. We like the new, the old we love. The things of yesterday outre, are on the morrow in good form. - -Methinks the dress has come to stay." Whereat the boys who threw the sand upon the girls, Now threw it high in air and shouted, "Hip, hurra," and full content. And now, among the bathers, saw I one — a maiden, modest, beautiful, And she was clothed in manner more regardful of proprieties than others were. Among the men was one who sought to flirt with this fair maiden; 68 But she liked him not, and she repelled all his advances. His appareling was scantiest of them all; And he was bolder in his manner than were others. While I gazed upon this scene, it passed away, And I was in an office in a city. She who was most modest at the seashore, Sat there, in this office, at a table, writing. She was dressed in skirts; but short, As they are worn by girls who ride the wheel. And now I saw that he who was so bold when bathing, Who had liking for flirtation, who had dressed in shameless fashion, — Now I saw that he came forward And he made sharp protest 'gainst the wearing in his office Of a dress like that worn by the maiden; — of such dress immodest — One that shocked susceptibilities so tender as his own! And if she hoped to hold employment there, She must appear no more in robing like her own that day! And now he passed without the door, And she who had been harshly censured, fell to weeping; When there came to her another maiden, (One who had been sitting near,) who brought sweet sympathy in words and tears. And in their talk together, soon I learned How often, often, had they come — these girls — With skirts all draggled, by the rain and slush of dirty street, All wet for inches from the bottom up! And with these garments wet about their feet, Would these sweet maidens sit the long hours through, and suffer from the dampness. When it chanced to be the turn of sacrifice That woman pays for motherhood, (That man has right to safeguard and to honor 69 And that well demands the chivalry most loyal of the truest manhood,) — When this chanced to be, there danger was Of suffering for these maidens fair, and long-continued. While I mused, and thought that modesty of man, so-called, May be a cloak for something worse than ignorance, this picture also faded. Nor was it all a comedy — this play of contrast, Progress; For I saw such tragedy as is in Life — In all of Life — its comedies and dramas. Now with the changing of the dress, Was change of occupation. First, the woman wrought in dwellings — (as at service), Even toiled she in the fields among the waving grain — Was hewing wood and drawing water for the man. Like a slave of man was woman, and it seemed That it had always been that woman thus had toiled. For long and hard was woman's working, And from morn till night, and in the night itself, Until the morning's light would break upon her doing, Bringing day, but more of toil —not rest. I saw that woman, when in service, Oft did suffer many things that hurt her pride; No recognition would she have that she was — woman. She would sleep in corners — room in garrets; She would eat of scraps, and have no change Beyond horizon of a dooryard. She would tire of all the slow monotony Of grind, and ill-requited labor; As of one without the very circle of her moving — Without in all the life and purpose of it — Within for needs alone of holding body, soul together; Within to play the role of holding bodies, souls together, Of the others whom she served — of those more favored. Now I saw her seeking other service than the daily grind — The grind of hopeless monotone of scant existence. First, she sought the factories, And she found some happiness in shorter hours of toil, and freer ways of living. Aye, and even seemed it that she rose degrees in social status in her laboring! And, so encouraged, other fields she entered! — School and office and the shop, And medicine and law and pulpit; Till at last (it seemed) there were no doors That had been open to her brother That she feared to knock upon. And, when in her own quiet way She knocked for entrance into newer rooms, There were no doors that opened not at her persistence. Then I saw her writing books, and printing, sketching, painting, teaching, — All in ready willingness and skill, And happy in her newer sphere of independence All unknown to her of old (and to her mothers, of the centuries gone). Nor did she lose the graces of her sex, In changes rapid like to these; But out from all these phases of her doing — From out the shop, the factory, school and office Gladly did she go and enter Woman's greater, grander sphere — the Home —The sphere she loves e'en better than them all —The sphere of wifely joys, of mother cares — the sphere of Love. The Comedy was ended; I was in a city — on the street. I saw a half-closed open door; 'twas closed from sight — not entrance, 7; For 'twas open to all comers, had they money and desire. It had an air solicitant far more than air inviting. Standing there in lounging postures, (Of the atmosphere about them all unmindful,) There was group of idle people. In the hand or in the mouth they had cigar or cigarette — In their eyes was smoke, in nostrils, fumes of liquor. Air they had forbidding and repellent. Some were gross, and some were lawless, all of them ill-bred; And coarsely eyeing, boldly staring, Or were ogling, all the passers-by. Idle loungers — common loafers — were they; And as careless of themselves as reckless of tbe rights of others. Comment made they, at their fancy, On the people passing near them; — On their dress, their walk, their manner, or their seeming errand. With these fellows — rude and reckless — There was naught in any manner sacred in its privacy. When the subject of their laughing, Of their scoffing, chaffing, sporting, Heard their comments, loudly spoken, Naught cared they, the vampires, vipers, They the vagabonds, the villains. Were they not freebooters social, — Traitors to all kindly ties? Spared they none — not even women? Nay, for more than man was woman Made their mark, was made their target. She, less callous than the others — she who keener feels the stings, In her inner self more sensitive, more modest, More alive to coarse allusion, lustful glance, For her it was they had in store when passing, All the shafts of ridicule, most stinging. 73 If there was of manliness in all this group of idlers, loafers, It was in abeyance, it was dormant, latent, — There was none in evidence. Not so strange this picture; I had seen it often, often, And I ask who has not seen it, Seen it daily, in the cities, in the towns and in the country? And the answer — you may hold it, if you will, Aye, lest it shame us — shame our ethics, Shame our progress, shame our laws, and our religion. While I watched this group of idlers, One there came along the way, Who had helped unroll the Scroll. (She was wheeling as before.) Naught saw I in all her manner, or her dress, unpleasing; To mine eyes, and to my senses, She was innocence and sweetness, grace and beauty. If there aught were in her manner or her dress, unusual, It were nothing more than novelty; — But novelty is not a crime. With a movement rapid, graceful, Came this girl — a lovely vision. As she neared the group of idlers She had cause to stay her motion and dismount. Now I saw that it was she who/ at the wedding of her brother Stood beside the bride, it was the sister of the one so beautiful — Most beautiful of all to me — my Vashti; Aye, I saw that it was Edith. Quickly, with malicious folly, one who blear-eyed was and drunken, Called aloud, in halting hiccough: "Shame— (hie)— shame upon her!" And there were among these idlers Some who were (in manner seeming) Not ill-bred, and not ungentle, . Who the thought of this brute drunken, echoed— laughing! Colored then her face, as crimson, Did the face of this fair maiden; And no longer staying, waiting for the purpose of her halting. She moved on but now was walking Out of reach, and sight, and hearing, of the objects of offense! No retort she made — no answer. Not within her right, it seemeth, to make answer. It was in her right, it seemeth, but to suffer, and — move on; — That was her full right — as woman, But 'twas all her right, it seemeth! Strange the laws, and strange the customs, That the right is mine to trespass; And her right is but to suffer; — other right not hers —the woman's! Were I she, I would take chances, if I could, on Mars; There, mayhap, they do things better —naught could they do worse. Now, in passing, swiftly wheeling, There was one who heard and saw it —Saw the scene that I had witnessed; Then he stopped, and, lightly springing, stood before us. "Yours the shame," he cried out, hotly, "And 'tis more than shame in you; Foul your breath, and air-polluting, — All too foul for saying shame to one so pure — so pure and lovely — As we see in yon fair wheeler. 'Tis no shame for doing only what is good in her own eyes; what is full within her right! Say you shame, aye, you who know not half the meaning of the word? 74 When you say it, you shame only her who bore you — your own mother!" He was young who spoke — just merging into manhood; Clear his eye, his hand was steady Warm his heart, and pure his thought. Type was he of rarest manhood, and I loved him For his graces, for his courage, And his championship of girlhood — Championship of one deserving, One so lovely and well worthy of protection Close he stood beside his wheel; within one hand the handle bar, With one hand lightly, on the saddle — resting lovingly upon it. As a thing of life and breathing, as a man his steed caressing, Were the two — the steed and rider. And he stood as one dismounted for a moment only. As one ready at the word of speeding, To be off and fleeting out of sight. "Eight, my boy," said one much older —One who heard it all while passing. He was one whose hair was graying, Not as once so strong his arm, but his eye was clear and kindly, Steady was his voice and bearing; "Eight my boy, there's something cheering in such manliness as yours; When you shall take the helm, the best of us may go. We older are, and of the past, and soon we must go hence; The man who comes is new, And I would see him worthy of the woman new (If she be all the other ask of her). If you are he, (or he be such as you,) we welcome him. The times have changed, the fashions, too, have changed; But fashions of our day are not so free from fault That they deserve perpetuation. We ourselves oft changed the fashions, 75 At our pleasure, at our will; Oft to suit our needs, our fancies, or our whims. And shall we say- to those now coming — Those who come to take our places: When you take in hand the vessel, You must ever trim the sails as they were trimmed before? Naught it matters what the need of sailors, Need of wind, or need of weather, Or the purpose of their sailing, As they find the sails, (or always as we left them,) shall they trim them! Shall we ask of their young blood such folly? Nay, I say, to their own liking be their sailing, And, my sailors, — men and women — Let me tell you, not too well your sailing, If it be not better than of old. Little did we in our past to give us pride; And less that we may urge for your repeating! — Naught that we may force on you as model." "Eebuked am I," said he of ruddy nose, half sobered; " — Boy, forgive me — here's my hand, And give me yours, young fellow Better far in other care, my boy, in care of manly men, like you, Than in the hands of men, like me (Who are not men), is woman. Boy, forgive me, for her sake — my mother, and for her — the maiden > — Yes, for her who had no need for shame." Whereat the boy, with glowing face, Clasped hands with him, now nearly sobered; Whereupon the motley group dispersed, in quiet seriousness. And ere the Vision faded from my view, The sad Kef rain had changed to melody more buoyant — to an air triumphant. Now I saw a woman beautiful — aye, beautiful beyond all other women; 76 For 'twas Vashti, Yashti, queen— my queen. She was dressed in manner fitting for a jaunt. There was freedom in the movement of her limbs; No sleeves too large and loose, nor skirts to be entangled in the wheel, Nor corsets cramping her free breathing. Fashion in no way distorted her, Or hid what is most beautiful of all the forms of Nature — hid her woman's form. — All its curving lines of grace, of beauty, all poetic motion Were not marred by tightened stays, protruding bustle, or by flaring skirt. Vashti's form was lithe, was flexile, And her eye was bright with pleasure; Glowing was her face, and crimson with the health of her young life. "I am ready," sang she sweetly, "I am ready, gentle Edith, what is keeping you, my little one, my chum. Now come and have a spin delightful, For the day is one most perfect, and all Nature sings a welcome — She is in her kindliest mood." Ere the maiden chum came to her, Chanced there by one not a maiden, But instead, a maiden's lover (as 1 saw soon after)! Blush of pleasure — recognition — Flushed the maiden's happy face, As she lifted hand to clasp one That had held her hand before. But the man withheld his greeting While the maiden fondly waited, And he glanced with cold displeasure At the maiden's form and dress. Stern his visage, form unbending; In his eyes a look severe; Quiet, stood he, chill, reproachful. Cold surprise in all his manner. 77 Checked the gladness of the maiden, Gone the smile . of welcome for him, And her eyes fell 'neath the lashes While her face was half averted. Then he spoke in tones of harshness, xind his words were rough, unpolished: "What an outfit! I detest it! Never in my days and doings saw I such a rig before! It is odious, aye, offensive, and I want to say right here, That, unless from now, forever, you discard that mode of dress, Never shall take place the marriage we intended." For a moment both stood silent, gazing each upon the other; Chilled the maiden, and she coldly Drew a ring off from her finger — "Here it is —the ring you gave me, Take it back — I cannot keep it. Now, as well as waiting longer, learn you, sir, That woman's thinking, and her doing, are within herself. To such spirit of dictation she no longer can submit; If you seek some one more yielding, You are free, from now — Forever." With a heart oppressed and burdened, Yashti proudly turned aside, till he passed out from her presence, Out forever from her heart! So he passed — so passed the lover. But a lover she had yet —one who loved her more than ever — One who stayed; for still I lingered — I who now was Vashti's lover — Yashti's only lover. While I watched her, pale, yet lovely, Edith came, and pale, like Yashti; on her face a troubled look. She had changed the dress like Yashti's And she wore a woman's gown. Now she smiled when she saw Yashti — Smiled as' if in joyous greeting; Yet seemed Vashti most unmindful of the other's gentle grace. Then she roused herself — did Vashti, And she forced a smile of greeting, But from Edith's tender scanning Was not hid the falling tear. "Tell me, dearest, what the meaning Of this much-surprising sorrow, — Kay, my sweet one, I will hold you, And myself am with you weeping till I know it all— it all." Then did Edith, sweet, persuasive, Learn the burden of her sister; And in sympathy divine-like, lightened it by bearing of it. "Come you, sister mine," said Edith, "We must hie us back, a moment, For my robing . like your own. We shall bear this cross together. While your little sister's near you, You shall never, never carry all the cruel load alone." And, though gentle was this maiden, She was firm, and had her way; And I saw that Vashti yielded That her chum should doff her gown, Doff it for a dress like Vashti's — Dress like that which caused her sorrow, Cost the lovely girl a lover; But a dress that pleased another, Pleased one who could love her better — Better than the tyrant lover — (As it seemed to her new lover — lover now forever). Once again I was in Class, but now a Sabbath class — a Sunday school. Ere I saw it I had listened To such sweet and holy chimes As flood the soul with spirit-life; That bring to weary, burdened hearts, a holy peace and calm. Then I listened while the people sang, the young and old, But more the young, for there were few beyond the years of childhood. This the hymn they sang — 'twas prayer in song: Our Father who in heaven art, To Thee ice pray, O Holy One; O hallowed may Thy name e'er he, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, Be done on earth as '£ is in heaven — Our Lord, Thy Son, himself hath said; O may ice ever to Thee pray: Give us this day our daily bread. As we forgive our debtors here, Do Thou our trespasses forgive; Into temptation lead us not, O may we nearer to Thee live. And now we pray, O Holy One, That Thou from evil us deliver, And Thine the kingdom evermore, The power and glory, praise, forever. Then I saw a class of boys, and they were lively, boisterous, ardent, mirth-provoking. And their teacher was himself a youth. Then I saw upon his face a look to me familiar; And I wondered if I knew him — wondered where I saw him in the past. Then one older, speaking to him, called him "Jacob;" When there came within my mind a flash of memory, And I knew that it was he who spoke so well in championship of Edith. Now at the sound, of gentle tap of bell, I beard a noise of buzzing — as of many voices in the air together; It was noise of all the classes — scholars, teachers, filling all the room. so ' 'Blessed ure the merciful," said Jacob, to the waiting boys. "This scripture is our lesson for to-day. To whom shall we be merciful — to whom, to what?" In ready unison of voices came the answer, and they said: "To all— to man and beast." "To all," the teacher quick responded, — "Yes, to man and beast, to all the creatures of the Father." Then he told them of the thoughtless cruelties of men To other men, to beasts, to brutes: "Were we ourselves, both dumb and helpless, And another, having power and force, could make us suffer, We should cry within our very souls for mercy; We should feel that he who is not merciful Hath claim on none for mercy for himself, —If man be righteous, he regardeth life of beast; — so is the word of Proverbs. If man be cruel, he will brutalize himself; — this is the word of Poet." "Boys are cruel; — is it of our nature so to be?" So questioned one of thoughtful bearing. "Not so cruel is the boy, at heart, but thoughtless only. We have seen the boy delighting in the chase of pretty butterfly, The killing of a harmless squirrel, The robbing of the little home of bird, The worrying of dog — its cruel torture. Maiming of dumb animal, — and heedless to the mute appeal Of eyes of eloquence for life, For liberty to have its humble comfort unmolested. We have seen the boy remorseless in these cruelties, 81 Nor ever feeling once a smiting at the heart For all the needless suffering he causes. — But we see the hoy grown older, And when home and children have drawn out The deeper, tender harmonies of soul and being, He who, as boy, was cruel in his very play, As man, is tender as a mother-heart for helpless babes. But I would have you tender now, my boys, Would have your hearts go out in sympathy for all that suffers, In a kinder fellowship for all of God's creation. I would have you halt ere you shall rob The life of that which never has molested you; Whose loss may serve you not; Of that which you have power to take, but not to give again! To take a life unbidden, as it seems to me, Is making protest 'gainst the great Creator of all life For giving life that you, in your small wisdom, Do declare by action hath no need to be! Now it may be that lesser life Hath been created for the need and use of larger life; If so interpret we the will of Him Who is the Father of all life, It may be well that we, (in all the spirit of the will divine,) Take life that hath its use and purpose to our need. And in this spirit — in the spirit of some need, And in some manner full in harmony With all the purposes of life, — In spirit such as this we may, perhaps, take life we cannot give, And not embrute the larger life — our own — That larger life that all of smaller life doth seem to serve. 'But,' you will ask, 'is not creation all a growth 82 Of that which hath been living on its fellows, Till a chain of life, (from lowest to the highest.) Is made up of links that are the lives gone out for other life? For, life of one is feeding always on some other lower life; And it, in turn, doth give its life As food for higher life: till man is reached, And he his hand controlling lays on all the lower life, And makes it serve his need, and makes it yield its life to save his own. Must we not say that 't is the will of Him who gave all life, That man shall do what all of lower life Has always done, is always doing in its turn? — Yea, is not this the will of Him Who placed the need upon us of existence, And the power hath given us to serve that need?' And I answer you, that so to me it seemeth; But it seemeth even true that in the lower life alone The instinct is to always take, to kill, destroy, For as the evolution of enlarging life Finds resting place on higher planes, There is the higher thought — the thought divine; — Not thought of taking life — destroying it, But thought creative — thought of giving — Thought to save, not kill, to help, not hurt, to aid, not hinder! So it is that man who reaches higher planes, (Who nearer comes to Him whose image he should bear,) Has less desire, and lesser need, For hurting, hindering other life — For taking it beyond recall. The nearer to his own the other life, Along the line of its development, The more to him 'tis sacred In its right to stay, to serve the purpose of its being. We may choose those higher planes, 83 Or may elect to fall behind — to take the backward way toward lower life — To take our way back to beginnings. As we set our faces, so we make our journey; And I tell you, boys, when we are cruel, cold and heartless, — Taking other life in needless way, We're setting face not to larger heights, But backward, rather, toward the lower planes — To planes where even lesser life is pushing only forward! Would you turn your faces toward the heights — the zenith of all purpose; Let me tell you, boys of mine, You must be gentle, kindly, helpful, to all struggling life, Nor ever heartless, cold and cruel To your fellows, man or brute. So let us heed the words of him who wrote as one inspired: The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the heart of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest GocVs When mercy seasons justice. The Class was over and I thought: How many the Gamaliels in life and to most willing ears are speaking; Teaching of the life that is, — Its purpose, meaning, and its issues! And how many more are learning, Sitting at the feet of masters! 84 Oh, the hungering and the thirsting Of the human heart for light! For the bread — the bread and water — for the needs of soul; Or some key that may unlock the awful mystery of Life! Now I stood upon the street — the crowded thoroughfare of noisy city. Along the way a horse was speeding, under lash of reckless driver. Now he stumbles, does the noble brute, And prone upon the pavement lies, With bulging eyes, and gasping breath. Crowded round the fallen brute was group of idlers — men and boys; And from the windows there were gazing men and women, As the manner is of accidents upon the street. Then I saw that he who drove his horse so hardly, to his death, In anger was and heartless mood. "Oh, shoot him," cried the fellow, roughly, "He is done for, and the quicker out the way the better!" Among the lookers-on were boys who in the Sunday class Had learned the lesson of humaneness. Shocked their hearts — their hearts yet tender — By the sight of brutal coarseness, and the cruelty of man. "Isn't he a brute?" exclaimed one, "If he were my father," said another, "Do you think I'd own him? — Never, never!" Said another: "Our old nag is past aworkin' And we haven't ever harnessed him for years — For more 'n four or five, I reckon; But d'ye think we'd treat him like that fellow does a his'n? Betcher boots we wouldn't — would we, Billy?" "You wouldn't do it— never," Billy reckoned heartily. "Guess you like him just as much Or more 'n when you worked him," Further answered Billy, with fine loyalty. 85 "More 'n ever," said the boy, "I guess we do, and, anyways, If only for the good he's done, we wouldn't let him suffer; — For the good he's done, and not for what he's good for now!" But, doomed the beast of hopeless burden, For there came a minion of the law, In uniform of brass and color. Under gaze of thronging seers, Made he end, by leaden bullet, Of the life within the beast — the life, as one may see it. "What a brute!" the boys cried, hotly; And their words were not intended For the beast in death low-lying, But another brute still living — for a brute they called— a man. A moment after, on the horse's neck I saw a chain, and there was one Who came with mules to drag the body to the burying. Still the boys were lingering near, To see the doings of their elders, and the ending of a scene to them a tragedy. "Say, mister," said a lad, to him who had the mules in hand, ' Now ain't you goin' to say a word about the horse — Say somethin' over him — say somethin' good before you bury him?" "Yes, give the horse a funeral," said another. "Quick, let's off our hats — now, boys." The driver halted, for a moment puzzled, Questioning the meaning of the boys. When it flashed upon his mind that they were serious, And would have religious rites and proper burial For the carcass, loud be laughed; But only half in ridicule, and half, himself, in serious mood. On second thought he swore an hybrid oath, And started up the mules; and so the boys (and beast) were cheated of a funeral. 86 Anon there came two girls, swift speeding on their wheels. On seeing this, the boys forgot their little grief, And with a loud "hurra!" ran wildly on to meeb the girls And give them greeting —of its kind. "Ho, bloomers!" cried they out, in chorus, Knickerbock, forever —what a guy!" "How now, Miss Wanton," said another; — Then he saw a look of pain pass o'er the face of one of these fair girls, And quickly did he check himself as one ashamed. Now I saw that she was Edith, and the other, Vashti! And I saw the boy was hurt in mind. And to a mate said hurriedly: " 'Tis our own teacher in the Sunday school; And we have shamed her — shamed the one we love the best of all." "No, shamed ourselves, I guess," the other answered, More ourselves than her —I wonder did she know us?" Then I saw the first boy cried, in his vexation, And he vowed he'd never dare to see her face again. Now, rough and rude as was this greeting, Still the girls were helpless; and no answer could they give, But blush, and pale, and — move along. Nor was there one on all the street To chide the boys or stay their hand; Yet there were standing by, an officer, And beings dressed as men, who laughed derisively. All sympathy had spent itself, it seemed, on dust of brute; And none was left for gentle maidens — Mothers yet to be, perchance, of boys and men. And I was angered, when I saw it all, And wondered: Is the person then of every citizen, Save her most helpless — save the woman, safe from insult and assault? So it seemed to be, in this a land Of righteousness and liberty. And wondered I what sentiment was there abroad, That scenes like this could come before mine eyes! The scene was changed; — it was a home —One beautiful, and Edith entering. She was flushed in face, and had a troubled look; And when she entered sought she soon and found her mother. Dropping on her knees, she buried face in mother's lap, And then the pent-up flood was open, And the trembling girl was sobbing bitterly. No question asked the tender mother; — Only waited for the girl to speak. "They called me wanton," Edith said, at last. "And you were brave," the mother answered "only brave, my darling." Then I turned my face, and left them there; As if a place too holy for all others — Left them there where this sweet maid Might in the slumb'rous comfort of a mother's arms, Find peace and rest denied her by her fellows — man or boy! And now I saw that Edith was again awheeling, But was dressed in skirts (as women are when walking); For it seemed her courage failed her For a longer martyrdom in doffing skirts again — for even Vashti's s^ke! Now she and Vashti were again together, And 't was Vashti only who, in dress more fitting For the wheeling, dared to brave the ridicule of thoughtless boy, And vulgar gaze of ruder man. Along the street the girls were spinning, When they heard, the warning sound of clanging bell, And thundering clatter on the pavement Of the wheels of engine speeding to a fire. On their way, and coming toward them, saw they plunging horses, As if mad with speed and lash of driver. Quick the street was cleared for right of way And all the air was tense with deep excitement. Now the girls made haste to turn from danger. Yashti quick dismounted, and with ease, But dress of Edith, (in her aim to turn aside and spring off from her wheel,) Fast caught in spokes, and Edith fell upon the stony pavement. She was lifted, and most tenderly, By one who soonest came to aid her; Then I saw that Edith was unconscious; And that he who came so quickly, Lifted her so tenderly, — was John. And now I heard the sad Refrain again. It seemed to voice the sorrow of a breaking human heart; It seemed to be the wail of hopeless agony. And then I saw a long procession, As of mourners, moving to a burial. Yet, I saw they sorrowed not as they who have no hope; For black was not the emblem of their grief. All white the carriage that was bearing To its resting-place the body of the dead. No hearse was there with lofty plumes of ostentatious mourning; And no fashionable woe expressed by robing — all conventional — of bearers. Nor hired were the vehicles of burial Whereby could mourning be by proxy (As in the older days when weepers by profession Wept more loudly than the ones bereaved)! But there was grief — and sorrow all intense — As one would sorrow at the absence long prolonged, But not the loss, of those best loved of all. They seemed to sorrow as do they whose absent ones are near in spirit, 89 A nd as looking for the day when they will meet again, And for companionship more joyous than before. And so no solemn funeral dirge was sung, And no display of hopeless grief; But, in the march that led to burying-place of mortal body, There was melody of life triumphant and eternal. Yet was there among them one who sorrowed In a way more hopeless than the others. This was John who mourned as they who have no hope, Who had no ray of light before him. Vashti walked beside her brother; In her maiden fashion she had laid her hand upon his arm, And in her sympathy and tender love I saw her look up in his face to comfort him; And more than e'er before I loved her, Vashti beautiful — so sweet, so brave. And now I saw the coffin and upon its lid I read these words, — these simple words, "Our Edith." Plain the service, for it was not formal. Ere it ended one there was who forward came And, in a poem, voiced the hopefulness of life —of death itself! And when 'twas o'er, they waited not to hear The hollow sound, or mockery of sound, Of falling clod upon the coffin — Empty coffin, empty of all else but clay — The dust to dust, its purpose served, And back to its own mother Earth, To make again the round in further service of the needs of Life. They left the grave, and singing — singing song triumphant, That had in it sentiment of spirit life and presence. So they passed out from my sight, And all to me was lost, save memory, 90 And lingering strains of melody — The airs triumphant — song and march — Both to the grave and from it. And then I thought how strange these melodies no echo had Of that weird, sad Refrain I heard so oft before; For what of all the scenes that came before mine eyes, Was there so sad as was this tragedy —This death of Edith — gentle Edith. Ere the strains of melody were lost upon mine ear There came (and marching) boys whom I bad seen In Edith's class and Jacob's. They gathered round the grave and silent were, While it was being filled with earth. Then one who was a leader — leader born, Turned to the others, saying: "Fellers, when we missed the other fun'ral, Who'd a thought we'd have another one so soon! And, fellers, say just what you like, this is our fun'ral." Choking here, he paused, then said: "There's many ways . of killin'; We may kill with hate, and we may kill, I guess,. by likin"; We may kill on purpose, or may kill and not know what we're doin'; But I tell you, boys, it's killin', every time, — for killin's killin'! Every time that someone's life is taken, someone's killed. What is killin', anyway, and what's the name for him what does it? What d' ye think we orter call it? Don't make no mistake, now fellers, There isn't anything to call it 'cept one thing: It's murd'rin', boys, — it's murd'rin', And the one what does the killin' — He's a murd'rer, yes, a murd'rer! So it doesn't matter how he does it, — killin's killin'; And the thing what's killed is murdered, 91 So the one what does it has to be a murd'rer! Say, was she killed? (pointing to the grave), Who killed her then — yon orter know." He paused, and all were silent. "Well, you know, as well as me, and everybody knows; For if we'd let her go that day and hadn't shamed her, like we did, She'd be alive to-day like we are now, then who's her murd'rers?" When he paused, they answered, "We are." Meekly, and repentant did they answer. "Yes, tee killed her — killed our teacher What we loved, and more than all of them, so we're her murd'rers." Here he paused again, and let the force of silence go beyond the power of words. "Now we can't help what's clone; what's done is done," he said; "She's gone, and we can't bring her back For all our tryin'. —Yes, she's — gone." Again he paused, to clear his voice, And drew a dirty hand across a freckled face To hide the signs of sobbing heart. "If we can't bring her back to life, There's one thing we can do, for we can stop right off akillin' others. Now fellers, near the very grave of her — Above the very corpse (they called it) Of the beautifulest girl, we ever knowed (now all were weeping), We're agoin' to swear; — I mean we're goin' to take — to take the oath we spoke of. Off your caps 'n fold your hands 'n shet yer eyes — You, Tom, 'n you, Bill Gunder, ready, swear; You say the words, right after me: We swear by all that's good to swear by, That we're sorry that we killed her — Close yer eyes, you murd'rers — And we never, never, never'll do it !>•; In our lives again — so help us! An' we vow that when we see a hoy or man, Insult a girl, or woman, or that cries out at her dress, Or says a word that hurts her feelin's, We'll soon let 'em know who's her protector, An' we'll tell them they'll he murd'rers 'Fore they know it like we were. An' then we'll stop 'em if we can, An' if we can't we'll call a cop. Now lift your hands, an' swear by her that's gone." "We swear," they said. "Let's join together so we'll have a 'ciety," said one; "Let's have our members and our officers, And have a pledge, and all." "Yes, let's," the leader said, and readily; And then and there they improvised and organized, In mimicry, unconscious, of the ways of men. "The first thing is the pledge;" so said the leader. "Put your finger on your forard, Let it linger there, you coward." "We're not cowards," said a boy, in anger. "Yes, you are, 'n all of us, 'n so is men, The things we tackle are the littlest things of all; It's so ahuntin', so in fishin', so it is, I guess, in fightin'. We're the bravest when we've got the biggest chances; Them that blows the most's the biggest cowards, ain't they?" "Yes," they all agreed, and bravely, As the manner is of those whose chances are the smallest. "Say the pledge again. Now put your finger on your forard, Let it linger there, you coward; —that's the skull. Now close your fists 'n cross your wrists; for that's the cross-bones. Hold your cross-bones 'gainst your skull An' say the pledge with me:' 93 We pledge we'll never in our lives insult a woman." "Never," answered all, in chorus. Leader — "Girl or woman;" OtJiers— "Girl or woman." L. — "An' we pledge we'll not speak ill of woman;" O. — "Never will speak ill of woman, girl or woman." L. — "An' we pledge we'll help a woman every time we can;" O. — "Every time we can we'll help a woman. L. — "Help our mothers, or our sisters, An' the other fellers' mothers, sisters, or their daughters — help all women;" O. — "Ours an' every feller's mother, sisters, an' their daughters." L— "Pledge that we'll stand up for women always;" O. — "We'll stand up for women, always." L.— "We'll not sit, an' let a woman stand That ought to sit — we'll stand:" 0.— "Yes, we'll stand, we pledge we'll stand an' let the woman sit." i.— "Pledge we'll let her sit — God bless the woman." — "Let her sit —God bless her." L.— "We'll be loyal fellers, an' we'll always . Lift our caps to her — by that she'll know us." Then they pledged themselves as Loyal Fellows, And they said: "We'll take the name as ours." And well I thought the boys deserved it— noble fellows; May their tribe increase — the Loyals. So I mused, and hoped that there might be but few (of older, as of younger,) Who would not be in it —in the boys' society. And, as for me, I said, ' 'A Loyal I would wish to be forever." "Is there penalty?" said one; "Yes, Yes," the others cried. "A penalty! A penalty!" "Let's have a penalty! And what's it goin' to be?" "A penalty for what'?" the leader asked; 94 r 'For breakin' pledge," they answered. "This'll be the penalty," the leader said: "If one of us is seen ahootin' at a girl that's riclin' on a wheel, (An' 'cause he doesn't like her dress,) He'll have to be, himself, dressed up in bloomers, An' a rope tied round his ankles, An' the rope'll be as long's a cable — More 'n a hundred feet, I guess — An' then a girl that's ridin' on a wheel '11 take one end the rope, An' then he'll havetofoller her as fast as she can make him go. —So that'll be Ms skull and cross-bones!" Questioned one in troubled expectation: "Will he have to make the sign of 'skull and cross-bones' all the time he's runnin' '?" "Yes, of course," the answer was, "Of course he will, — 'n then we'll call him, 'Bloomers! — Go it, Bloomers! You're a manly man — you are, But all the same you've got to take your medicine!' - -Yes, that'll be the penalty; now, how d' ye like it?" And they liked it well — each thinking of it For the other fellow, not himself (The generous fellows — men in embryo)! Now I saw that, standing by the boys, Was Yashti and her brother John. Unnoticed by myself, and by the boys, had been their coming; And the boys were shamed at seeing them — As if their doings had been ill. But Yashti's smile of friendly greeting quick assured them. You'll forgive us, boys, for seeing; — Bless you, for your loyalty to woman." "We're the ones to be forgiven," said the leader, "An' there's somethin' more to ask: 93 Won't you forgive us for Miss Edith; It would be like having her forgive us— if you would?'' "Dear Edith knows it all," she answered, "And already you're forgiven; More, she loves you, as I love you; Bless your hearts, you meant no ill; And good will come — must come— at last, from all this seeming evil.'" — Yet I saw that in her smile, a sob was hiding! "What's the name of your society?" Was Vashti's question next; as if to turn The current of their thought away from Edith. "Won't you name it?" One besought her; "Name it, John," she said; and John said, quickly: "If I named it, I would name it for its object — For Promoting Justice, Courtesy, Civility And Kindness to All Girls and Women." And the name was to the liking of the boys. Then Vashti added, sweetly, as was Vashti's way: "But one thing is there lacking in it all — Now make it open for the men full-grown; For, greater is the need with them Than with my boys — my Loyals — for its teachings." So it ended, and again was Vashti gone from me! Now I was taken to the farm again. It had an air as if deserted. Something told me all were gone. Now there came one who was aged; And he seemed as one whom all the world Had buffeted, and left alone. He also found (as I had found) no faces that he knew. Then slowly wandered he out to the fields, And there, alone, he sorely wept. And there I left him, with the sound Still in my ears of this strange, plaintive melody, and words That he, in trembling voice, and solitude, had sung: 96 'Tis true, it is as graceful as when, in other days, It wound along in beauty to the top; but as I gaze This musing hour upon it, sad tears my eyelids fill, For something's gone, forever, from the old path up the hill. The sunlight and the shadoio rest upon it, with the same Dear benedictive presence, as in the days when came No aching care to haunt me, from morn to eve at will, Ere something passed forever from the old path up the hill. The breezes, as they loiter by, the old airs fondly croon, The blythe birds in the tree-tops sing as in my life's lost June, And, as then, the myriad blossoms all around their wealth distill But there's something gone, forever, from the old path up the hill. Something— a face — a touch of hand — a voice—a presence — lo, A icorld that brought me heaven — all vanished, with thefloio Of pauseless time, and slowly along I wander still — With something gone forever, from the old path up the hill. Would ye might come again —again — O days so dear to me, And give me back the glory of my life's sweet Arcadyl For, though summer reigns, a goddess, in my heart lives winter's chill, Since something's gone forever, from the old path tip thehill. I lift my wet eyes skyward, and plead: "Why must it be— This inmost desolation, this awfid misery?" But Silence mocks my heart's cry, fresh tears my eyelids fill — Ah! something's gone forever, from the old path up the hill. The sun, in royal splendor, is flushing all the west; The day is dying — dying — 'twill soon be time to rest; — But, ah! no rest for me, as all alone I wander still— With something gone, forever, from the oldpath up the hill. And now I heard the sad Kef rain again, And it was like a wail of sorrow from a human heart near broken. From out this wail I heard a voice, And listening, I heard these words, And knew 'twas Vashti, singing: I'm nobody's darling — I'm nobody's darling, The toorld is all heedless — is heedless of tears, My light is gone out and my heart is all desolate, Desolate now, in the flood-tide of years; Oh, why will none love me, none love me, none love me, Oh, why is this dearth in mine heart — in mine heart, Oh , tohy has no soul in its own heart its yearning, Forbidding this drifting these long years apart; — And nobody's darling, ah! nobody's darling, The ivhole world so heedless, so heedless of tears, One's light all gone out and one's heart all desolate; — Desolate now in the flood-tide of years. Oh, is there no love-life, no love-life, no love-life, Some world not all heedless — so heedless of tears, JS r o light cdl gone out and no heart all desolate, But ever a gladsome flood-tide of years? O yes, there's some love-life, I know, Oh, I know, Where's never a dearth in one's heart — in one's heart; Each soid for some other, another for each one, And nevermore drifting nor hung'ring apart; — But somebody's darling, yes, somebody's darling, A ivorld not unkindly, and no more of tears, One's heart never burdened, and nevermore desolate,— Alioays a glad-time and flood-time of years. Then in the anguish of my sympathy for Vashti, I awoke, and found myself on mine own couch, And, lo! 'twas morning —it was all a dream! 98 Aye, 'twas all a dream, and yet, it seemed so real, I could but think I was not dreaming when I saw the Vision. And Vashti, none so real to me as she; In all my thoughts, for days, for weeks, was Vashti present. In my dreams I saw her, in my days I mused of her; And oft I asked if it might be that Vashti lives, And sometime would she come to me — be mine? And yet I knew it could not be — for was it not a dream! And what are dreams? Vagaries of the mind, all uncontrolled by reason! This the answer, but no clearer than before, the thought, For still the question is unanswered — what are dreams? Now, often, in those days, I sang of Vashti, sang to her; As did the lover, in the Vision, to his bride. I sang this song: O Vashti fair, my love for thee, Is like the surge of swelling sea; Nor time nor tide more changeless be Than is my love, sweet maid, for thee, O Vashti fair! O Vashti fair! Than is my love, sweet maid, for thee, Vashti fair! O Vashti fair, where'er it be Thy honie — if in the earth or sea — My heart has love for none but thee, O Vashti fair! for none but thee, O Vashti fair! O Vashti fair! My heart has love for none but thee, O Vashti fair. My Vashti fair, come to me, As, in my dreams, 1 came to thee, If thou art real, my bride to be, O Vashti fair, my bride to be, O Vashti fair! Vashti fair! If thou be real, O come to me, My Vashti fair! And once I dreamed at mid-day clear — nor was I sleeping, And I heard the Voices as they sang: O Vashti lives — will come to thee; Nor in the earth nor in the sea She lives; but near, and lives to be Thine oion — thine own — thy bride to be, O Vashti fair I O Vashti fair! She lives, and near, thy bride to be, Vashti fair! So did I sing, and they, the Voices; Yet the thought — though sweet — That Vashti lived — was near me — would be mine — This thought was of the things that are of life — The things not real — less real, perchance, than dreams. And so the days went on, and, at the last, all hope was gone; For well I knew I had been dreaming only — Well I knew my mind had played me tricks fantastic, —As the mind is wont to do when dreaming — sleeping or awake. So passed the days, and still no sign of Vashti mine; Yet Love outlasted Hope and always did my heart remember. Aye, so passed the days, and at the last, was I content to dream her real; And then I said: "Sometime (in other life, perchance,) Will Love and Hope be reconciled. So passed the days; and even dreams — my empty dreams — Were real to me, at last; and I was comforted by Vashti's hope That somewhere is a Love-Life, And with nevermore of drifting, or of hungering in the heart — Where always is a glad-time and a flood-time of the years. Now, in this mood was I when something strange befell me; I was sitting in my chair, in office, 100 And was prone to slumber, When mine head bent low upon my desk, and I was sleeping. Then I rose, anon, with what intent I had no thought, And with no word explaining, passed out on the street. Along the crowded way I went, No thought controlling, save some purpose undefined. Turned I at last, and, through a door all unfamiliar, Mounted, step by step, a stairway, — Deigning not to take the lift that waited there inviting. Unquestioning, I made my way, until I stood before a door; Then turned the knob, nor waited bid of entrance. Once within, I let the door swing back to place, And gave no heed to noise it made in closing. Then I walked across the floor and stood beside a chair Wherein a maiden fair was sitting. She was leaning forward, and I saw that she was troubled — Burdened with some task, or problem, That was baffling her own solving. Glancing at a sheet that lay before her, I there saw a needed answer. Beaching forward, then, I took her hand in mine, And made it write in answer to her questionings. Quickly turned the girl, and glancing up (as one surprised), Her eyes looked into mine, and then I knew 'twas— Vashti! When she saw my face, she, for a moment lost her smile in wonder; And she questioned by a look, the meaning of my coming. Then I smiled, in quiet way, and re-assuring, — Smiled as one who knew her well. And Vashti seemed to bring me from her memory; and her smile, (That rare, sweet smile that none but Vashti ever gave to me,) 101 Made all her face aglow, and, in the joy of it, I turned away and toward the door, Through the door, and down the stairs. Out on the street, along the way, And back again to where I toiled, I went with speeding feet, and heart of gladness. Then I sat me at my desk, and fell once more to slumber. When I woke I had a happiness That lifted me above the world, as if on wing. A happiness beyond the speaking was the thought That Vashti lived —had smiled on me, And I had hope to win her as mine own — O joy the thought! What happiness to know it was no dream — What I had seen before — the Visions — All the songs, the classes, pictures, melodies, or sad or buoyant. No baseless fabric of a vision was my dream, But it was real and, best of all, was Vashti living. Now a mate, beside me (of my toil companion) Spoke me, smilingly: "A jolly sleep you had, And something in your dreams has made you happy; Tell us of it- saw you one you love?" I smiled, and answered; "Nay, not in my sleep, and dreams, I saw her; But my joy is of my visit in the hour of absence Ere I slumbered here again. I may not tell you of it now; but, later, you will know, perchance. —Was I long gone — how long asleep?" He smiled, and answered: ' 'Nay, you slept the time away, and dreamed: But short your hour as minutes are — not five in all! Yet this will I concede to your own thought: If to be off, is to be gone away, Then were you gone indeed ; for one may swear 102 That you went off — went off to sleep!" Whereat he loudly laughed at his own humor; But I had no heart for merriment, and joined him not. Gone, again, my happiness, and Vashti — Vashti, but a dream; yet did I love her even as a dream; And all the hours, awake or sleeping, Vashti was beside me — Vashti of my dreaming, but as real to me as life. And ever did I mourn the ending of it all — The ending of the romance of my life — my only one, For Vashti only, could I love, since I have dreamed of her; Yet like the end of others was mine own; — Though they had found and lost, While I had lost who had not found! Such is the paradox in Life! Now time went on and then it came That Hope was fast o'ertaking Love. It chanced that with a friend, I strolled along an unaccustomed way; And while abroad we talked together As the manner is of friends congenial. Now our theme was such as this: —Of Life— of Death— of Mystery of Dreams and Visions (sleeping and awake). We talked of what was real, and what imagined (or that had such seeming). What is Life? we asked; and what is Death? Are either real — are both? Which is the real, and which the seeming? Which is Death— which Life? But questionings like these led all too deep for my divining; For not schooled was I in studies of the soul, of occult things; Of things ununderstandable to me, That other men explain with ease and fluently. But listened I to him — my friend — Who of these themes absorbing was beyond his fellows wise; 103 And heard I him in his own pleasing way- make rare discourse. Now, in his thought, the things That are most real in seeming are the most imagined; —What, in our own minds are things imagined, are the real! And dreams, he said, (what we call dreams,) Mayhap are the realities of Life, and only these are real! So Death! To him 'twas not the real; Except as it was Life itself (and larger life)! Or, better, Death, as Death, is all imagined; But as Life 't is real — far more than is our living here! So his discourse was wise and deep; But farther in the depths to me than was the mystery before! Yet had it Hope; and Hope was more my seeking now Than all things else — but Love; And Love — was it not yet mine own? Of all his talk the ending I remember well — 'twas this: I dreamed, and thought I was awake, I woke, and thought that I was dreaming, The seeming proved to be the real, And it — the real — to be the seeming! So hoped I it would be with me, for then would Vashti come. At this I thought to tell him of my dreams — my visions (For 1 ne'er had told them yet to any). But the telling had not well begun, When heard we sound of music And the tripping of light feet, in joyous whirl of dancing. Now the music (and the dancing) Had a sound to me familiar; And (before my mem'ry brought the older scene before me), Lo! beside us standing, with us both there list'ning, Was the little maiden messenger, as in my dream I saw her! 104 This the very place, and all was as I saw it. She was standing as before, in posture as one tired and wearied, Drinking in the harmonies of heaven, opened to her senses, And quenching thirst as of a famished soul. More; on her shoulders was the self-same wrap — The remnant off a train of maiden's robing That, in comedy, before, had warmed her, as a cape or cloak! I said that I would question her — before the end; For of a chain invisible that bound me to my Vashti, was she not a link? If that which was a comedy, and in a dream, were prophecy, were real, Much more must that be real that was no play — That was all Life — all Soul — all Love. Aye, now was I to find my love — to meet her — know her — make her mine — mine own — my Yashti. Hold! my heart impatient, hold! —Too fast thine hoping! — This my sight so real, less than the Yision was in lasting; When the music ceased, and paused the dancing, We were waiting for a moment, in the thrill of something That was like a spell upon the soul, That none had dared to break. — While waiting thus, a voice took up the harmony and sang with feeling rare A song of sentiment most tender. Words and melody both caught my ear (but more the words); Nor could I help but listen to the end. When it was done I turned me To the maid beside me for the questioning; — But, O my heart! the maid was gone! ISTor need I say I chicled me for careless loss of chance — Aye, chance it was, for surely 't were not Fate To fail its mission in the very ending! At the end I questioned, if it were the real — this seeming. 1Q5 If a seeming only, then the Vision were not real; Were the Vision real, could this my very seeing be a vision only? —Days passed on and still no sign of Vashti. Then was Hope again behind and lagging in the race; For Love ne'er halted in her speeding. Now, at best, I said, could Hope but overtake; For Love would never lag nor fall behind, Nor would she halt if even Vashti were less real than Life; Or, if more real than visions. So again, I asked myself: Is not this life The dream of other life more real? —This life — the whole of it — Is it the dream of other larger, fuller life, A dream to have its morning and its waking? If it were true, there were, e'en in this dream of living, something of reality. And then my heart gave answer Over all my questioning; 106 If in what has a seeming, there is something real, This must it be (if only this) — it must be — Love. If there be Love, then Vashti lives. And so the days had passed, nor came to me my Vashti. Love went on before and beckoned, But was Hope behind and lingering; Till, at last, her smile was gone — was smile of Hope — For she was not within my vision now. The days have passed; and this the ending of my dream — My dream of Love — my thought of Life! Now may I sing (as did the lover in my dream): O Glorious Night! Love of Mine! But this I may not sing (as he had sung): Star of Hope! O World of Joy! For Hope and Joy are not for me, who lost ere yet he found! To me it seems the way of Life but leadeth into Shadows And is lost ere yet 't is well begun — Ere yet the brilliance of the Light Hath made its home within the Soul! So in the Shadow of my hopeless Love — my loveless Life — I write this story of my dreaming; And the while I pen the words, My mind is surging with the melody That in my Vision haunted me — That strange, sweet, sad Eefrain of Life! So ends it all; and naught is left but Love, and memory of a dream! A year has passed since I have written What is gone before, as now it stands; And I have yet to tell the strangest of it all — the strangest, but the best. It chanced that on an autumn day I was alone and wheeling, 107 When the sky was darkening in the promise of a storm. While quickening speed, in hope to reach some shelter, Saw I three before me who with same intent Were wheeling fast along the way. Ere I had overtaken them, it chanced that one — a maiden — Slackened speed and fell behind, And in a moment had dismounted For some mending of the gear that answered ill her need for haste. Now at the warning of a thunder peal and drops of rain, I stayed my progress at her side and quick dismounting, to the maiden said: "My wheel — please take it —I will follow with your own." She turned inquiringly. and in her upward glance I saw — O heart of mine! — 'twas Yashti! On her face was smile of recognition, And it blended with a look of wonder, welcome. Then she quick obeyed my thought, and mounted, Waiting but to speak her gratefulness, In way that made an easy pleasure of my little duty. Then she followed on to overtake the friends Who only now had noted her delay, and back were turning. Nor was I behind them far, for quickly had I seen The fault that hindered in her wheeling, and had made adjustment. Nor is need of saying that a smile before me drew me faster on Than did the elements of Nature drive me. Aye, and now no need to make the telling long of all that followed. In the finding of my Vashti was the whole —Was Hope renewed, was Love made glad, was Life and meaning. Ere they reached the shelter, I had overtaken them-, And, in her thoughtful way, had Vashti Dropped again behind, and welcomed me beside her. At the shelter, I was given hearty greeting And acquaintance with the friends. But there I wondered at our meeting, And I questioned— was I dreaming, When I saw these friends of Yashti Were her sister Euth, and Jacob! Now did time speed on and faster than before, For Yashti oft was wheeling in those days; And she was ne'er alone — nor I when Vashti wheeled. And there were those who called us lovers; Nor had I a thought to make pretense Of any protest 'gainst this naming of our friendship. But to Vashti I had yet to speak in words my love; J08 Though it had seemed to me I oft had spoken more than words could utter, And that Vashti knew the language of my soul. One day when we alone were having sweet companionship We spoke of many things, and, of them all, Most in my thought was this— I questioned: "Saw you me before the friendly storm and accident That gave me privilege so welcome —had we met before?" (For I was thinking of the Vision And my dream of finding her). "I saw you in the office when you came so suddenly nor expected, And away again as quickly and no word explaining!" "But was I in any office once and saw you there?" I asked in seeming doubt. "Do you forget so scon!" and saying this, she laughed — A rippling laugh that was her own — One more than music to my ear, And one that thrilled my being, loved I it so well. "Kay, I do not forget," I said; "nor could it be, with face of one so fair As that I saw, to haunt my memory. I do not forget, nor said I that I saw you not, Nor had not left in manner strange and sudden; Only questioned I if we had met — if you had seen me e'er before — Or ere the day we met when wheeling?" Vashti laughed again: 'A riddle it must be," she said, "One fitting well the mystery Of so strange appearing and a stranger going. IsTor have I a thought to chide you For your holding back the answer at your will; But riddle it must surely be, and one I may not solve alone." "Then may I help you?" questioned I; And Vashti answered gaily: "You the answer have already — 'tis your riddle 109 And no solving do you need; but you may tell me, for no clue have I for solving." "Nay," I said, "it is my riddle, yet another's — not alone mine own; And so the solving is for both." Now, neither can, alone, find answer, Nor can all the world outside. As you have need of help of mine, So I have need for thine." I said the words with tone that spoke A deeper feeling than the thought of careless riddle, With the tone that fitted well the riddle of our lives — of Vashti's and mine own. Then Vashti quiet grew, nor»answered. "May I help you?" questioned I again, in pleading tone. Yet Vashti waited for a moment longer, then she said: "We'll try alone, — a little longer, then—" But when she paused, I said: "Then failing answer, you will help me, Vashti, And it will come —the answer." Now she ne'er before had heard me Speak her name in manner so familiar; Yet, though startled, as if in surprise, No protest did she make to my assurance. Then was I in mood to say, "My Vashti," But I waited, wisely, as I thought, In fear of answer like that made before By Vashti (as I dreamed it was). Yea, I had gone full far already, And must patient be a little longer. Nor was patience hard or heavy, As in all the days when Hope was gone; For Vashti gave me sweet companionship, and smiled upon me. Now was Hope fast overtaking Love no (Though Love had long outlasted it). Not many days had passed ere I again Had sweet companionship with Vashti. "Now a question, if I may," I said, "Did e'er you see me other time than in the office near your chair?" And Vashti answered: "Sometimes I have thought I knew you long before. At times it so has seemed to me, And then I tell myself, 'Not so;' For I had never known one and forgotten. I do not forget the friends I meet, When once I know them — know and — like. Nay, though you seem a friend of old, It must not be that we have met before." "If you remember best the friends you like, Was I, mayhap, one to be known and unremembered?" So I questioned and in playful way, but earnestly. "Nay, you are one to be remembered well," she said; And then her eyes fell 'neath my questioning gaze. But ere I spoke again, another word had Vashti: "Who had told you of my waiting there, And of the puzzle in my thought? — How chanced it that you came — by accident?" " 'T is yet to me a riddle," was my answer, "Nor one easy for my solving, as it seems; For, was it real, my going? How I found my way? And how I knew the need? — I wait the answer. Only do I know that some strange power was drawing me, — Full willing to be led by such sweet influence." But Vashti answered not in keeping with my thought. She said: "I know you came, yet sometimes it has seemed 't was all a dream. — Did it seem real to you?" "I thought it real," I said, 111 "But found that I, indeed, had only dreamed of going to you!" "Nay," she said, "you were not dreaming —Know we not and well that neither dreamed, and all was real?" "Aye, all was real," I answered, now in happy mood, "For you are real, whom I had thought a dream — Unless it be indeed, that we are dreaming now!" Then Vashti laughed again her silvery laugh bewitching to my heart. "Methinks this is no dream," she said, "For you seem real as I, and if we both are real, we are not dreaming!" "Aye, unless it be," I said, "that only dreams are real and all the rest imagined. — Let us prove the dream that was no dream, Or test the real, that seemed a dream: What was your question that I answesed in the office?" "This: 'What is our Life — its meaning and its purpose?' " "And my answer?" "On the sheet that lay before me, With my hand you wrote: ' 'T is by self-effort we progress — advance to higher planes — to larger life.' " "And then?" "Next I had questioned if there were no Love-Life?" "And my answer?" " 'Truly there is one,' you said, 'Both here and otherwhere;' 't was thus you answered," "Asked you nothing more?" "Yes, this: 'What is the best in Life?' " "And what my writing in response?" But Vashti held her answer. "Tell me, lest in dream, again, I lose the real!" " ' 'T is Love,' you wrote," she said. "And is it not the best — was I not right?" So questioned I of Vashti, and my voice grew tender, over my controlling. Vashti made some halt to saying, But I held her to my question till she answered; and her word was — "Yes." Then waited I no longer in the daring of my fate: 112 And said: "But only is it best of all for me if it be VashWs love; —Will Vashti tell me I may have the best? O Vashti, say not nay to this my seeking — For it is my best I ask; aye, 't is my all in life, all else would be a dream." Then was her hand in mine, and, in her answer, came to me all 1 had willed to have — So it had come to me, at last, by seeking, finding, It had come by law unerring — now was Vashti real — and mine. Beside me, while I write . the ending Of this story of my dream, (if one may call a thing so real, a dream,) A woman of rare beauty sits, and in her arms a babe, "While she — the mother— croons, and sweetly— O, so sweetly, and as tenderly, The lullaby I heard before, heard in my vision real. I love this woman and her babe, and they are all the world to me. As runs the lover's song: "No world were this old world, if it were not for these — my loved ones." Need I say that Vashti is the name of her — the mother — Singing to our babe in sweetest slumber of its life? And we have named the babe —we call her Ethel. Across the way has been prepared a little home; And soon within its walls will come to dwell two lovers. These are Jacob, who is in our hearts a brother, And our sister Buth, who soon will be his wife. Beside this home is yet another, dear to us, Where live the older ones in restful comfort, and with John. And John still mourns, but not as once, For he has found a Hope that links the Future with the Present. Aye, with John has Love and Hope been reconciled; And he has found, and in this life itself, 113 A joy, a purpose, and a meaning. John is well beloved by all, by men and maids, For he is ever true and loyal. Fellowship, and much, has he with woman — Such companionship as has no thought of tend'rest ties of Love — No deeper sentiment than is the warmth of friendship; — 'T is the fellowship of humans — brothers, sisters Of the larger Family Divine. And in his life and bearing, John is teaching others That on higher planes, where man and woman Shall have risen to their larger powers, There is joy in soul companionship, in fellowship, Between the man and woman, that is kin to Love. So ends this Story of my Yision — Ends as Life must end in some beginning new; And that beginning well may mean a larger living. More; to me, this larger living here Will ever mean the happiness of Love — Of Manhood true, of Wifehood, Motherhood, And (type of newer Life) of Babes. 114 AFTERMATH. We speak a truism when we say that life's journey Is one of struggle, one of some hardship, of buffeting currents, of overcoming obstacles. When we question what is the purpose of it all, none may deny if we answer that it is that he who engages in this struggle shall make progress. If the struggle be for every human being, let us say that it is for every human being to have the good of it— that every man and woman shall have all opportunity for progress. That no bar in the way of one's progress be placed there by another, is the least of all to ask. Let us go further and say it is a praiseworthy desire or ambition, as well as a right, for every soul born of woman to strive to reach the highest level of its possibilities. At the best, the journey of life is a difficult one and one beset with dangers. There are chances, many to one, of losing the way; and it may be that the chances are only one to many that it shall be found again;— unless it be after a long time of wandering (for we must hope that no one's way will be lost beyond finding). Be that as it may, one thing is clear. If the obstacles in the way of us are insurmountable at all, it is only by the force of will— determined and persistent — of will so indomit- able as almost to prove the divine power within the soul. Like a race is this journey of progress, solitary and independent though it may seem to be in its character. Rather is it not a series of races? If not at the beginning, the time comes to the many, before they have trudged far along life's pathway, when it is forced upon them to compete with their fellows. As fellow travelers, let us say that our world is divided into two great camps. At least for purposes of comparison, this division is one very real. One of these camps is made up of those who are weaker than are those in the other camp. It is made up of indi- viduals who are weaker physically, almost beyond controversy. Are they weaker intellectually? Some say yes; but we say, not of necessity. Let us admit that under the existing conditions — forced and unnecessary, it may be, they are actu- ally and practically weaker intellectually. But in other ways they are stronger At least they are stronger spiritually, if only under the existing conditions. In all the long past this weaker camp has been under control of the other and stronger one. In all the long centuries, have limitations been put upon it, and exactions been made of it. Of the limitations, has been traditional con- ventionalism; of the requirements, actual devotion to the interests of the dominant camp. As to this devotion, it has almost been demanded of the weaker camp that the need for self-progress of the indi- viduals within it be forgotten in the desire to favor and assist the progress of those in the stronger camp. Almost have the weaker ones forgotten that they had a race to make for themselves, and that it was a race not to be made by proxy. One may almost say that a disparity always has existed, and that it was maintained inexorably by the master camp, and has been resignedly submitted to, by the other and weaker camp. In this progress, greater or less, that both camps have made, there has been one development touching upon the very disparity of which we speak. It is an awakening — an awakening to the enormity and unreasonableness of the dis- parity that has existed. The awakening has not been con- fined to one camp, and it has been almost sudden. With this awakening, partial and recent though it may be, there already has been marked progress toward emanci- pation of the element that has been under limitations, repressions and exactions. This result is in line with general progress. Such progress is the order of the day. It means changes that are revolutionary. It means ultimate and early disintegration of all blind, unreasoning forces — forces of error, superstition, tyrannical oppression, selfish exactions, old-time prerogatives, assumed superiorities, class privileges, monopolies of birth- rights. In this purifying of the air, in this justifying of all claims, in this right-setting of wrongs, in this explosion of fallacies, there will be by-and-by nothing left of these forces that have always impeded progress. Among the things going and to go, there is one thing that could not long continue to exist as the solitary unrighted wrong — the only unrevolution- ized anomaly. What is that one thing? Do you ask? Upon my word, I believe you do. I will tell you: It is that disparity of which I have been speaking. Almost does it seem that some of us look to see this anomaly continue intact all through the clash of the break- ing up of worlds of old traditions and conditions; and the reason for our unpreparedness for a change may be that for a long time there was little sign of any breaking up at all. This has indeed been one of the most conservative of all forces; but its strength seems now well-nigh spent. The break has been made at last, and it is its very suddenness and its rapidity of movement that makes us draw our hands across our eyes to find if we are awake or dreaming. Let me tell you— confreres of the major camp— we are not dreaming; what our eyes see to-day is cold actuality, and we shall nave all opportunity to get full accustomed to it all — and more. So rapid is the movement — though peaceful the revolution — we well may question if it is not now being proven that spirituality is a force greater than physical strength and intellectual powers combined! Events are answering that (with right in its favor) it is indeed the greater force. It is stronger in the end — even if it be long, long, long in over- coming the regnant force of what has been well established in the minds of men as a finality. Let us, in plain words, localize the application. Let us admit that this century almost closed upon woman enthralled in the limitations of exacting conventionalities and tradi- tions. In numberless ways has she been burdened and hampered, even beyond the necessities of her being. Though she had to run a race, even as man, for the very same need of life-preservation, as well as for her own growth— her progress, has she not been handicapped and obstacled in a hundred ways where man is free? It is a question, if man so afflicted would have had the courage to live. In all her weakness — burdened, hampered, handicapped, is it not true that this glorious century is now closing upon the drama of woman contending (against the conservatism of resistance) actually for the privilege of right of way, in the race? Almost I might have written tragedy for drama. It is true, fellows, and the time has come for you to see this truth in all its bareness and ugliness, and to admit that it is an unwholesome fact that demands recognition. It is time, too, to admit that whatever excuse there was for our fathers, a knowledge of the truth has robbed you and me of even the excuse of ignorance. Wanting even so poor an excuse, we well may learn what is demanded of us. An appeal to man that involves the rights of woman, ought to be made on the higher ground of justice. That would be the ground for an effective appeal to woman in the interest of man. But, methinks, there is other ground for a more effective appeal to man for woman's sake. And that? What else could it be than that of self-interest? Then let us to that lower level; for man is in question here. Remember that, whether we will or no, all that will be asked of us is coming, and quickly. So our virtue will yet be a necessity. Let us then make our peace with the inevitable. Let us determine that now and forever woman shall be her own voice, and need no arbiter. In whatever strength of superiority that may be ours, let us vow allegiance to the incoming force. Yes, the inevitable is upon us. The spirit of the age is upon woman, and her strength, under the spur of the Philistine assaults of the traditions of centuries, will burst her bonds. Her spiritual strength has been even greater than that strength which is of the order of Samson. The spirit of fair play may not be in us; and we may have a hope to deny her, as we have done in the centuries past. Then let our colder judgment come to our aid, and make us her champion for the good it will be in the end to ourselves. If within the deeper heart of us we can rouse this spirit of championship, though we do it for our own good- it will be of help to our sister. Now is the call and oppor- tunity for yeoman service to woman in the line of man's own interests. Listen. It continues to be possible for us to impede woman's progress. We may make her every forward step a hardship and her path one of thorns to the flesh. Boys with early promise of the brutal masculinity of a perverted man- hood, may hoot and jeer at each innovation, and cause the sensitive heart heroic of devoted martyrdom to bleed. Men may hurt by every form of flippant act of unmanliness— by inconclusive smart talk, by sorry jesting, by ill-bred stare, We can hurt and sting— God only knows how much— but we cannot stop the movement. The blue-laws of Connecticut are incomprehensible to us to-day, and now, near the close of the century, the last of them (long a dead letter) has been repealed — forever repealed, in mild, considerate derision. And it may not be far in the next century — if indeed, it come not now— when our own stupid battling against woman's progress shall be full evidence against us of something at best to be considerately pardoned because of the coarse animal within us. And this is our plea — that we coin some virtue of our necessity, and bow to the inevitable — which this time is the fair and the in- vincible. Our time is short, and let us make hay while the sun shines. My stock of proverbs of selfishness is unequal to the need; but there is something more to remind ourselves of: Always will woman — however advanced, however robed — be woman. Always will she delight in the burden of service and devotion — it is in the very soul of her to do it. Always will the voice of a child touch her heart, the color of a ribbon please her fancy, the flash of a gem sparkle her eye. We always have loved her, and even while we have abused her, we have said in our hearts — God bless her! Always have we been willing to spill our blood to protect her — from others. Always has her smile been a flash of heaven's light, and the denial of it has made this world almost too bleak for life. Come, then, let us reason together; and in our bowing to the inevitable, let this be our speech to the invincible: "What you shall do, and eat, and wear, and how you shall live, shall be forever more a matter of your own choos- ing. With your choice, at all times, we shall have nothing to do. Only when we see you hampered, hindered, limited or burdened by any who have no right to impede your progress, — only then shall your affair be ours, and it be our right to interfere. When this comes, and you need championship, may it be our good fortune to be of those whose champion- ship will win your smile. In all ways of your own choosing, you shall be your own arbiter. Some of us shall make this our vow; and some there may be who will dally and hesitate. If so, when the time shall come for the smile of approval, it will be their lot to envy others who, however little more deserving at heart they may have been, will have had the good sense which meets the reward of better deserving. And the thought comes to me here, that even this privilege of championship may be lost to us; for if woman shall have to depend upon her inde- pendence to save herself from injustice at our own hands, she will have independence enough to decline our championship in the saving of her from injustice at the hands of others. Sorry will be the day — if it come — when the privilege and pleasure of helping woman is lost to me — because of the unworthiness of my manhood! Brothers, give heed. A pitiable plea is this, methinks, when remembering the claims of woman upon us. The writer has had mother, sisters, wife and daughters. What there is left to him of femininity — mother and daughters — were it taken from him, where is the vocabulary to express the utter desolation of heart that it would mean! And who is he that hath not in life, or memory, some- thing to bind him closely into one great bond of sympathy with his thought through devotion to at least a mother? If on this beautiful, green earth there be one so callous as to be unsympathetic at this point — at this touch of nature — God pity him for his trackless wanderings. His loss is punishment enough and we have no blame for him. Surely, this itself is enough to lift the appeal above the level of self and self-interest. Surely some of you will respond, and say that it is the higher appeal that is the stronger one. For any to do this is to afford a rare new hope — a hope for the emancipation also — of the masculine, Lo! the spirit of a heart heroic, Who in his life was weak as men are weak, But strong as man is strong, Is speaking from the century gone, as one illumined. His voice is eloquent for woman whom he loved. This is his pleading: "While the fate of empires and the fall of kings engage our thoughts, While quacks of state produce their plans, While even children lisp the rights of man, Other rights have merit of attention; Give them heed; — they are the rights of woman." "Truce with kings and truce with constitutions, With bloody armaments and revolutions;" Other majesty in thine own day had sway And (blessed be thy wayward, gentle memory, O Robert Burns!) Will have more sway in days to come Than in our day, or thine, —the Majesty of Woman. A CONVERSATION. Said his friend: "Your book seems to have found some favor with the critics." "Yes," answered the book-maker, "with the limited circle of friendly ones who have read the manuscript, at least. Particularly," he continued, laughingly, "those parts of the book that I did not write." The expression of the friend's face was an interrogation. The book-maker explained: "What do I mean? This, that in the writing I freely used the work of other writers where it served my purpose." "Ah! then the book is not all original!" "Not wholly; and if I needed justification for the use of outside material, it has come in the unstinted praise that has been given the very portions borrowed. I thought it useless, for instance, to attempt to write anything better about love than Boyesen wrote, and I used it. One friendly critic who returned my manuscript with sundry comments, had written along the margin of Boyesen's thought: 'This is sublime.' " "Did he know who wrote it?" "No he supposed it was all mine — so with the proof-reader, Stoically he read till we reached that same passage, and said, 'This is fine.' When I told him that it was not purely original, he said, 'Blessed be plagiarism.' " "Did he mean, that your reproduction of the thought would immortalize it?" "He did not explain. He may have meant that it was the 'saving clause' of the book up to that point!" "Boyesen's work is very captivating," said his friend, "I never see his name that I do not read what it stands for." The book-maker grew sad and contemplative. "At the very time I had in my thought the pleasure of writing to Boyesen mv acknowledgment of obligation, came the unwelcome news of his sudden going out." "Well, your book is not all borrowed," said his friend, generously, ' and I doubt not it has original passages equal to what is borrowed." "Very kind of you," said the gratified book-maker. What part did you like best?" "The Scroll — Vashti, the King, and the feasters, and the lesson it teaches." "Ah! that, taken from the Bible, is the least original of all," said the book-maker, disappointedly. "Well, at least you must have credit for frankness," said his friend, consolingly. "Not necessarily." answered the book-maker, persistently "It would be folly for one to draw upon others, so freely as I have done, and not acknowledge the source. A lady who read my manuscript said that a part of it reminded her of Prentice Mulford. I told her that might easily be true, for I had drawn it mainly from a chapter of his, on 'Dress.' " "Was all the rest original?" "No, an artist friend brought back the manuscript, saying he was delighted, especially with the song sung by the old man whose plaint was "the old path up the hill: gone forever." It happens that this is one of the only two songs that are not original. "So it goes. I owe the best part of the thought taught by the teacher, 'dreamy, introspective,' to Birch Arnold, taken from the ephemeral pages of a metropolitan newspaper. A friendly critic wrote of this part as 'true and helpful gospel,' and said that 'nothing but highest praise could be given to those pages.'" "Shakespeare was a plagiarist, too," said his friend, helpfully. "Nay, mine friend, there were no comfort in that thought. In one's right mind, one would not choose to be a plagiarist, even with so great an example as a Shakespeare. But Shakespeare was no plagiarist. Only as a boy was he a poacher, and it was not in literary preserves. "And I, in my humbler way, did not plagiarize. All writing should be impersonal. The personality of the writer does not exist except through his work. It is at best remote, and incidental to that work. From the higher standpoint, it should be the purpose of a writer to produce the very best work within his powers. If by the use of material available from outside sources, one may better his own work, it is in the interest of the reader that it be done." "You do not like plagiarism," said his friend, in a humorous vein, "you favor, rather, a process that would be called 'conscious cerebration.' " "That is, indeed, my literary creed," responded the book- maker. I believe in that conscious cerebration which is not plagiarism, which admits an even freer use of the work of others, but involves due acknowledgment of the source of one's inspiration!" "But Shakespeare did not give credit to others; was he not a plagiarist?" "We have but to remember how little we know about Shakespeare biographically, to realize how impersonal he was as a writer. How easy to conceive that the sense of his person- ality was lost in the work of his genius. Like Shakespeare the actor, Shakespeare the writer seemed to sink his own person- ality in his creations. One may easily believe that Shakespeare so far forgot the very question of authorship (as being a matter of any interest or importance) that he felt no need either to claim or disclaim originality. Shakespeare did not seem even to realize that his work was immortal." "If he were writing to-day," said his friend, "he would be able better to realize his own genius." "And would have no need to plagiarize," answered the book-maker. OPINIONS OF CRITICS. "A truly inspired work." "It is surprisingly graceful, metaphysical and dramatic. It is unique in literature." "In an entertaining and true picture are shown the whims of Fashion, and the foolishness of certain customs and costumes. The evolution of the modern woman is well told; woman's 'right to suffer' is vividly and exquisitely drawn. This can be well said of Marvel Kayve: he is continually interesting." 772 Walnut Street, Chicago, November 15, 1895. I have just read "Vashti; a Eomance of the Wheel," and with great interest. This work is written with the pen of a poet and the logic of a philosopher. The picture of human weakness and strength, meanness and nobility, is painted by a master brain and hand. It is profound in its analysis of mental habits and conven- tional ethics common to society. The thread of truth pervading, and on which it is built, is of the eternal ethics. Its exalted ideal of man and woman and of their relations, must make it a potent agency for uplifting all who are capable of aspiration. It is a grand production, and must have a great sale. I hope it may be read by tens of thousands. Yours sincerely, Ltjcinda B. Chandler. 015 762 674 7