The years passed by and left Dawn steadily1 and peacefully doing her work, giving men and women each day extended views of life and deeper consciousness of their own powers. By the aid of friends and her father, she had succeeded in establishing a home for orphans2, of both sexes, in a wild and beautiful locality, where all the varied3 faculties4 of their minds could expand. All were required to work a certain number of hours each day; then study and recreation followed. She became daily firmer in her belief that bringing the sexes together was the only way to make them pure and refined. Their labors5 in the garden and field were together; as also were their studies and lessons. There was a large hall, decorated with wreaths and flowers, where they met every evening and sang, danced, and conversed7, as they were disposed; while each day added to their number. The boys were trained in mechanical as well as in agricultural pursuits, and it was pleasing to witness their daily growing delicacy8 of deportment towards the other sex, as well as the tone of love and sympathy which was growing stronger between them.
Dawn did not succeed in her effort at once; the majority laughed at and ridiculed9 her plan, but faithful to her inspiration, she continued on, and a few years witnessed the erection of a large, substantial building among the tall pines and spreading oaks. Parents who had passed "over the river," came and blest her labors for their children; and they who, though living on earth, had left their offspring uncared for, wept when they heard of the happy home among the verdant10 hills, where their children were being taught the only religion of life-the true art of living.
The leading idea and aim was to educate these children into a harmonious11 life, and to preserve a proper balance of the physical and mental by an equal exercise of both. The result of her efforts was most gratifying and encouraging to Dawn. Her success was apparent to all, even to those who at first sneered12 at her course. The mutual13 respect which was manifest among them; the quick, discerning minds, and the physical activity; the well-cultured fields, the beautiful lawns, the gardens brilliant and fragrant14 with flowers, the neatly15 arranged rooms, the books, the pictures and the various means of study, amusement and exercise: and around all, the gentle and loving spirit of Dawn, hovering16 like a halo of heavenly protection, combined to form a scene which no one could fail to admire. It taught one lesson to all, and that was: make children useful and you will make them happy.
Basil and his sister came often to the home, where Dawn seemed to preside like a guardian17 angel. It had been the wish of their lives to see such a home for orphans, a wish they never expected to see fulfilled. They gave largely to its support, and were never happier than when within its walls. Mrs. Dalton, whom the world pitied so generously, here found her sphere, as did many others who had felt long unbalanced. She taught the children music, drawing, and the languages, and extended her life and interest throughout the dwelling19, to every heart therein. Thus the maternal20 was satisfied each day, and each hour she felt less need of a union which the wise world predicted she would enter into by the time her divorce was granted. Beatrice came and took Dawn's place whenever she wished to go to her home to refresh herself in the abiding21 love of her father and mother.
"I never thought sich a beautiful thing could be on airth," said Aunt Polly Day, one of the eldest22 of the town's people, to Dawn, the first time that she met her after the "home" was established. "Seems as though the angels had a hand in't, child, and only ter think, you're at the head o'nt. Why, I remember the night, or it was e'en-a-most day though, that you was born. Beats all natur how time does fly. It may be I shan't get out ter see yer home fer them e'er little orphans, in this world, but may be I shall when I goes up above. Do you s'pose the Lord gives us sight of folks on airth, when we're there, Miss Wyman?"
"I know he does. I feel that I have been helped by the angels to do this great work."
"Well, it's a comfortin' faith, to say the least on 't; and I don't care how much you and your pa has been slandered23. I believe yer good folks, and desarving of the kingdom."
"I suppose no one ever feels worthy24 of the kingdom, Aunty; but we all know that if we seek the good and the true, that we shall find rest here and hereafter."
"Them's my sentiment, and I don't see how folks make you out so ungodly, if livin' true, and bein' kind to the poor is unrighteousness, then give me the sinners to dwell among. Think of all the things yer pa has given me, all my life, and there's old Deacon Sims won't take one cent off of his wood he sells me, when the Lord has told him in the good book to be kind to the widow and fatherless. He makes long prayers 'nough, though. Well, I s'pose he has ter kinder reach out to heaven that way, and make up in words what he lacks in deeds."
"He will make it all up, Aunty, when he has passed into the other life, and becomes conscious how little he has done here."
"May be; but it's like puttin' all the week's work inter18 Sat'day night. I reckon he'll have to work smart to make up."
Dawn could but smile at the quaint25, but shrewd remark, and slipping a generous gift of money into the hand of the old lady, departed to spend her last evening with her father, and Herbert, who was now with them every evening, before going to her home among the hills.
How still and white his face looks, thought Dawn, as Herbert, at their request, seated himself at the instrument to play. One long, rapt, upturned gaze, and then the fingers stole over the keys.
Was it the music of the air, or some being of the upper realms breathing on him, infusing his soul with sound, that caused him to produce such searching tones, and send them quivering through the souls of the listeners? Now, moaning like the winds and waves; now, glad as though two beings long separated, had met. Then the song grew sweeter, softer, mellower26, till every eye was flowing; on and on, more lovely and imploring27 till one could only think that
"The angels of Wind and of Fire
Chant only one hymn28, and expire
With the song's irresistible29 stress;
Expire in their rapture30 and wonder,
As harp-strings are broken asunder31
By music they throb32 to express."
The strains died away. Herbert sank back and spoke33 not; but on the white, uplifted face they read that an angel had been with him, one of the upper air. No words broke the stillness of that atmosphere; not a breath stirred its heavenly spell.
Without speech they separated, and the hallowed sweetness of that hour remained with them in their dreams, which came not to either until long after midnight.
From her own experience, Dawn saw that Herbert must mingle34 more with people, and become interested in life. She knew that it would not be well for him to think too much of the one whom the world pronounced gone, but who had come nearer than any earthly relation known.
"Come to my mountain home, and see my family," she said to him the next morning, at parting.
He partly promised by words, but his air of abstraction indicated that he had no intention of so doing.
What was that look which flashed over her features just then? Surely, the expression of his own dear Florence, pleading for something.
"I will come, Dawn, and very soon," he said, this time decisively.
Dawn's face lit up with another joy beside her own, as she pressed his hand and bade him good bye.
Not many weeks elapsed before Herbert fulfilled his promise to visit the Home. A murmuring sound of voices fell upon his ears as he approached the dwelling, and as he came nearer, the beautiful air of "Home" touched his heart with a new sweetness. The children were singing their evening hymn. Just as he stepped upon the portico35 the song ceased, and Dawn came gliding36 from the hall.
"Herbert! Welcome!" she exclaimed, with such an expression upon her face that no words were needed to tell him how glad she felt at his coming.
In her own little sitting room she had his supper brought, which he seemed to enjoy greatly, and then they walked in the garden till the dew hung heavy on the grass.
The days went by, and still he lingered. It was life to him to see so many children happy through labor6 and usefulness. Soon a desire to benefit them in some way took possession of his mind, and it was not long before he had so won their love by songs and stories of travel and history, that the evening group was not considered perfect without Mr. Temple, or "Uncle Herbert," as a few of the youngest ventured to call him.
How childhood, youth, and age need each other's companionship. How perfect is the household group which includes them all, from the infant to the white-haired sire. Homes without children! Heaven help those who have not the sunshine of innocent childhood to keep them fresh-hearted.
Through this sphere of life and love, he found his life revived. Gradually the sorrow-clouds passed away, fringed by the sunshine of hope which was rising in his breast.
Dawn was his strength and counsellor every day. Through her he learned how closely we are related to the other life, and yet how firmly we must hold our relation to this, that we may become instruments for good, and not mere37 sensitives, feeling keenly human wants, but doing nothing to supply them.
"I intend to devote myself to life, and help the human family in some way," he said to Dawn one evening, as the twilight38 was robing itself in purple clouds. "I have caught my inspiration from you, and will no longer moan my days away. My treasures lie beyond, and I will strive to make myself worthy of the union when I am permitted to go over the silent stream.
"Do," answered Dawn, "and thus make her life richer and happier."
"I make her happier? Has she not gone to rest?"
"A kind of rest, I know; but does she not still live and mingle her life with yours each day? Therefore, whatever the quality of your thought and action is, she must partake of it, and for the time absorb it into her spirit. If your life is vague and full of unrest, her life will become so. On the contrary, if yours is strong and full of purpose, you give her strength and rest of soul."
"Is it so? Are we so united after death?"
"What part of Florence died, Herbert? The spirit passed out, carrying every faculty39, every sense and emotion, to that land where many dream that we lose all consciousness of life, below, and remain in some blest state of dreamy ease. Not so. Our lives at death, so called, are made more sensitive to all we owe our friends on earth, and death is but the clasp that binds40 us closer."
"Your words stimulate41 me to labor and make my dear ones happy through my life. O, that like you, I could know that they at times are with me; or, rather, that they could come and give me that evidence I so much need, of their presence and their power to commune with us."
"I could not bring to you that evidence, because I know them and you, but I have a lovely girl who has just come to our Home, a stranger to you and to myself, who has this gift of second-sight, and if you wish, I will present her to you."
"Do so, for nothing would give me more happiness."
A young girl, with light hair, and blue eyes which ever seemed looking far away, was led into the sitting room by Dawn, and stood silent and speechless as soon as she had entered. Her outer senses seemed closed, as she spoke in a voice full of feeling these words:
"Be comforted, I am here; thy wife, Florence, and thy little ones. The grave has nought42 of us you hold so dear. Believe, and we will come. I whispered a song to your soul one night, and your fingers gave it words. Farewell, I will come again; nay43, I go not away from one I love so well. 'T is Florence speaks to Herbert, her husband, from over the river called Death."
The child looked wonderingly around, then wistfully to Dawn, who motioned her to the door, that she might join her companions.
"Is she always thus successful?" asked Herbert, after a long silence.
"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes, it's invariably correct."
"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain this strange gift?"
"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically44 or mentally."
"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful power."
"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed and happy dreams."
There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights" echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its intimate connection with this life, so fraught45 with pain and pleasure.
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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11
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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inter
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| v.埋葬 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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22
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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23
slandered
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| 造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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25
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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mellower
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| 成熟的( mellow的比较级 )； （水果）熟透的； （颜色或声音）柔和的； 高兴的 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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29
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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32
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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42
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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