Edward Burton

Mr. Bonbright grew weaker in body and more distressed in mind, and Dr. Podram, the family physician, sadly announced to the family that within a week or two the worst might be expected. The patient was not surprised at the doctor’s prediction, and looked for nothing better. Helen paid little attention to the lugubrious prognostication, and was firm in the conviction that her father would recover. Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond were stunned by the prospect which now suddenly opened before them, for which they were totally unprepared. They had been so thoroughly occupied in bewailing their own loss of fortune and position, that they had given little serious attention to Mr. Bonbright’s condition. Their love for the husband and father could not be called in question, but it had been greatly obscured by the uncharitable assumption that he was at fault in bringing about the present dilemma, and should have prevented it. Such implications were felt keenly by him, and made the burden heavier which was already of crushing weight. His only consolation came from Helen. Every day she would sit by him and strive ingeniously to divert his mind by arousing new hopes and higher aspirations, and by evoking a new mental environment. The doctor’s unexpected announcement was like a flash of lightning in revealing to Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond the unconscious selfishness which had darkened the recesses of their own hearts. Their unfeeling criticism was now softened, and they strove to make amends for unsympathetic harshness. Added to the grief over words which could not be unsaid, was the deeper pathos of impending separation and loneliness.

How the near approach of death brushes away the incidental in life, tears off its tinsel and its material attachments, revealing their nothingness!

Helen was untiring in filial love and devotion. As she was sitting by her father’s side on the evening following the doctor’s memorable visit, his face brightened up somewhat, and, turning towards her, he said,—

“Burton made some very plain suggestions to me the other night; but the more I have thought of them, the more they have impressed me. He thought that I had lost my life because the things of which it was composed had been swept away, and told me that it was better that the wrenching should happen now than at the end of my natural life, because there was now time to build anew; but I think the time is altogether too short. I rested entirely upon material foundations, and the fire of adversity has turned them to ashes. It is too late to repair the damage. Too late! too late!”

Hot tears coursed down his cheeks, and his features were the picture of despair.

“My life has been all a mistake,” he continued, as he covered his face with his hands.

“Dear father, it can be rectified. You can have a new life. The moment you have a desire for it, it begins to be yours. In the language of another, ‘All that in any life you know of, or can imagine, that seems to you lovely and to be longed for, is yours already in that longing.’ Material wealth cannot be had for the asking, but spiritual treasures are overflowing, and only waiting for room to bestow themselves. ‘Ask, and ye shall receive.’ I came across some beautiful extracts to-day, which have been translated from a German book written more than two hundred years ago. If it would please you, I should be glad to read them aloud.”

The father looked up into his daughter’s face with the utmost dependence and tenderness, and said that he would be glad to hear them.

With pathetic sweetness of voice, she read to him quotations from the book entitled “The Cherubic Pilgrim.”

“Please read them once more, Helen, and slowly—very slowly.”

Helen read them again with deliberation.

“Beautiful sentiments!” he exclaimed. “I never before saw anything attractive in a religious life, and I have been blind to the sweet spirit of what you have read, for it is all new to me.”

“Religion is harmony with God,” replied the faithful daughter. “He made us for Himself, and we are restless until we find rest in Him. Believing in Christ is not merely relying upon the historic Jesus as a substitute for us in the punishment for sin, but means Christ-likeness, thinking like Him, and having His life and nature. Christ is the everlasting expression of God’s love to man, and that love, being eternal, is not limited by any special plan which culminated eighteen hundred years ago. Jesus externally expressed that everlasting love so that man on his low plane could better grasp and comprehend it. Otherwise, it would have fallen short of being intelligible to him. Divine love followed humanity down to its own level and into its own form, and thus God became man. Such was the Incarnation.”

“Love like that deserves a response in men’s hearts—in my heart,” said Mr. Bonbright.

The loving daughter bent forward and kissed her father, pressing his hand at the same time, and saying, “Such a response is heaven begun.”

“I always thought of heaven as a place, where, if one were fortunate enough to get inside, one would be happy,” said the father.

“No man can get into heaven until heaven is first within his own heart,” she replied. “Heaven is love, truth, purity, and, once begun within, it is the living, ever-present proof of a heaven to come.”

“All my life I have been in the dark,” said the pale invalid, “but now I behold light. It seems like a bright and beautiful dawn. I have discovered a new kind of love. My dear daughter, I really feel it.”

“Dear father,” said Helen, again grasping his hand, “heaven is here. Its foundations have been laid within you.”

The patient, overcome by fatigue and weakness, with a trustful resignation, gently closed his eyes and fell into a peaceful sleep.

The next day Dr. Podram feared that the end was approaching, as indicated by extreme faintness and weakness. He informed the family that nothing more could be done, except perhaps by way of making use of palliatives for temporary relief, and that heart failure might be anticipated at any hour. With a hopeless tone he observed, “It is possible that stimulants and concentrated nourishment may prolong his existence for a day or two, but I am able to make no promise.”

After the doctor took his departure, Helen despatched a note to Burton, which read as follows:

Soon after the shades of night had fallen, Burton again made his way along the broad avenue to the well-known palatial residence. On the outside, everything was unchanged, only the light which shone out was more subdued, and stillness reigned instead of the echoes of music and voices, which in other days were plainly heard. The deep and vital transactions and experiences now taking place within these walls, which would transform the color and character of lives, gave no external hint of their mighty but silent operation.

Burton was cordially received by Helen, who at once accompanied him to her father’s bedside. Upon the doctor’s representations, Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond had given up all hope, and almost regarded the husband and father as already gone. Their grief being uncontrollable, they remained in seclusion.

The invalid was able to converse in a low tone, and expressed great pleasure in again seeing Burton. Even with his extreme feebleness his cordiality was in marked contrast with the indifference displayed upon the occasion of the first visit.

“I have not long to remain,” said he, as he turned his pallid but cheerful face toward the young man, “but I am glad to inform you that I have found the new environment and am living in it. When the cords snapped which bound me to the old, I did not suppose it possible that I could so soon surround myself with the new. My hold upon it is yet weak, but while my physical existence is fading out, my spiritual life is growing stronger.”

“I congratulate you upon the new experiences,” replied Burton. “The spiritual sun was all the time shining, but now you have opened your nature and it has shone in and filled you with its brightness. And now pardon me if I again speak plainly, and urge you to utterly disregard all suggestions that you are about to die. Deny firmly every such thought in your own mind, and every such suggestion from others. I am satisfied that you will live. Your new environment includes substantial life, and you will rapidly receive vital re-enforcement.”

“But the doctor has given me up, and all except Helen and yourself regard me as already in the confines of the ‘dark valley,’ and past hope.”

“It is an illusion, and in God’s strength you must utterly dismiss it,” replied Burton with some emphasis. “With all respect for the doctor, he takes no account of spiritual forces. From a material standpoint there is no visible remedy, but that is not the true point of view. Materia Medica takes no cognizance of the deepest realm of causation, but deals with effects, externalities. God is your life and strength. ‘In Him you live and move, and have your being.’ Grasp hold of spiritual forces which are waiting for your recognition, and they will find outward expression in bodily vigor.”

“But to regain one’s health by such means would be a miracle, Mr. Burton. Have not the days for such manifestations long since passed?”

“It might have a miraculous tinge to the eye of material sense,” said Burton, “but, rising above the mist into the clear sunlight of spiritual understanding, it becomes divinely natural. From the standpoint of the real, it loses all traces of strangeness, abnormity, and supernaturalness, and is found to be orderly, scientific, and available.”

“If so potent and useful, why is it not more generally relied upon?”

“Because from the sensuous plane, where the multitudes are living, enveloped in the dust of materiality, it is unintelligible. Evidence, to be of value to them, must come within range of the lower senses. In its essence, the physical man is only a system of instruments for the convenience of the intrinsic man in communicating with the external world. Effect is secondary to and lower than causation; in other words, the lower is always acted upon and moulded by that which is above it. This principle is scientific and universal. The mental nature is above the physical, and the latter must therefore be the expression—the effect. To accomplish a result, we should operate upon the cause.”

“It does seem logical and even scientific, Mr. Burton, but does it accord with revelation?”

“Perfectly,” replied the visitor. “Promises to those who recognize this truth, and live in it, are like the stars of heaven for number, but to dull material sense they have no significance. What a wealth of blessing is poured out upon those who ‘dwell in the secret place of the Most High’! In a grand summing-up, St. Paul says, ‘All things are yours,’ and, again, ‘Ye are complete in Him.’ Jesus says, ‘These signs shall follow them that believe;’ and among the signs enumerated it is declared ‘they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’ Are ‘them that believe’ limited to a single generation? If God withdrew such gifts after bestowing them upon the apostolic age, would He be a God ‘without variableness or shadow of turning’?

“But, better than all, practical demonstrations of these principles are taking place all round us. Many affirm, ‘it cannot be possible,’ and with those who so express themselves, such a declaration comprehends their whole investigation. In so far as we can free ourselves from materialistic slavery, and deny the prevailing race acceptance of physical and mental disorders as God-created entities to be feared and expected, and constantly affirm our wholeness in God, our minds and bodies will express health. A positive recognition and earnestly sought companionship of the Immanent Spirit will guide us into all truth, and the truth will make us free.”

“I believe these beautiful thoughts have already inspired me with added vigor,” exclaimed the invalid, as his pallid countenance brightened.

“Please rivet your thought upon them, and fasten the world out of your mentality, and listen in the silence for the ‘still small voice’ which will speak peace and be a healing balm. Sink self-consciousness in a Divine consciousness.”

The weary eyes gently closed, and the pale features were a picture of restful trust and faith.

A Presence was there, but it was invisible to material sense.

For half an hour profound silence reigned, unbroken save by a gentle clock-tick which marked the passing moments.

To the two souls, for the time being, there was no world, no body; but only Universal All-embracing Spirit.

At length the deep and regular respiration of Mr. Bonbright indicated that a gentle slumber had fallen upon him.

Burton quietly withdrew.

There was no marked change in the physical condition of the invalid during the next two or three days, although at intervals he showed more vigor and a slight recuperation of strength. In his mentality, however, a wonderful transformation was apparent. The dark shadow of approaching dissolution had been dispelled, and a sunny hopefulness and almost buoyancy had taken its place. No conscious experience of suffering remained. With the utmost confidence, and even exuberance of spirits, he declared his expectation of speedy recovery.

Dr. Podram was astonished at the unexpected revolution in his patient’s feelings. He inquired particularly as to everything which had taken place, and in regard to the possible use of any remedy aside from his own prescriptions. He found his anodynes unused, and the patient insisted that they were quite unnecessary. After a few formal suggestions in regard to the invalid’s diet, he took his leave in a condition of great perplexity.

At Burton’s request, Helen kept him informed regarding her father’s progress by brief daily reports.

Mrs. Bonbright could not remain insensible to the influence of the glow which filled the soul of her husband, and she and Rosamond emerged from their seclusion.

Adelbert left his studies and pleasures when his father was taken ill, and had since been attentive to everything pertaining to the care of the family and estate. He was untiring in his effort to rescue some remnants from the financial wreck, and this endeavor so engrossed his attention that he had spent but little time in his father’s company since the failure.

About a week subsequent to his last visit, Burton again made a friendly call. On this occasion he received a welcome greeting from Mrs. Bonbright and Rosamond, and, in response to Mr. Bonbright’s request, all gathered in his room. He was sitting propped up in bed, and, as the visitor came near, the invalid grasped his hands and gave him a hearty benediction. While still pale, there was a light in his eye and a smile on his face which betokened restoration and, in a profound sense, resurrection. He was the same; yet, in the light of a deeper discernment, he was another. A man had died, and another had been born. The environment from which the dead man had drawn his sustenance was pride, ambition, avarice, self, and the earth. Such nourishment finally expressed itself in unrest, disease, and despair. The new man was basking in the warm sunshine of love, joy, peace, and unselfishness, and they brought forth harmony—the Kingdom of Heaven within.

“I rejoice to see your marked improvement,” exclaimed the young man. “A single glance shows that the despair which enshrouded you has vanished. Please accept my congratulations.”

“Your last visit was my turning-point,” responded Mr. Bonbright. “I can never fully express my thanks for your wonderful influence and assistance. My debt of gratitude can never be discharged.”

“I am conscious of a debt to you,” replied Burton. “The happiness I have in the thought of having aided you, vastly more than rewards me for the slight service. Any overflow of kindly interest in another is as great a boon to the giver as to the recipient.”

“What a glorious principle,” responded Mr. Bonbright, “and how unlike most commercial transactions.”

“Yes, it is a grand truth that as fast as man can pour out, the Divine repletion flows in.”

“Is it not strange that the world is so color-blind to that principle?” said Helen, “for it is the vital force of religion.”

“Yes,” replied Burton, “it is difficult for man to arise out of the dark tomb of tradition and belief, through the death of self, and clothe himself with a divine consciousness, although nothing seems more simple after its accomplishment. The sensuous veil must be rent in twain before the divine selfhood or ‘mind of Christ’ is revealed. Rituals, ordinances, sacraments, creeds, and institutions are but the external letter, while the interaction of Divine and human currents of love flowing in unison is the spirit. Every page of the New Testament is redolent with the sweet aroma of ministry and service, while it hardly hints at organization, or gives any intimation of ritual or creed even the simplest and most brief. The truth of the Bible is to the book what the spirit is to flesh.”

“But the Bible contains definite commands,” observed Mrs. Bonbright, “and is it not our duty to recognize its authority? We designate it as ‘the guide of our lives.’”

“I recall a sentiment,” observed Burton, “which to my mind so admirably satisfies your inquiry that you will pardon me if I quote it,—

“What you call a spiritual interpretation of Scripture, I have always regarded as a lax and unwarranted method of lowering its authority as the ‘Word of God,’” said Mrs. Bonbright. “If we soften its definite and pointed declarations, do we not lose the framework of religion?”

“Truth is eternal and harmonious,” replied Burton, “but the most opposite and inharmonious doctrines are alike based upon the letter of Scripture. Some one has said that the test of inspiration in any writing is its efficacy to inspire life with goodness. Looking beneath the letter, the Bible does that in an incomparable degree. True inspiration is God’s light in the soul, and all can receive it, differing in degree according to capacity and aspiration. The value of the Bible consists not merely or mainly in its historic, dogmatic, and ethical statements, but in its power as spiritual truth to kindle and arouse that inward illumination which is ‘the Kingdom of Heaven’ within. It is an external means to an internal end. ‘Love is the fulfilling of the law,’ and in proportion as love is supreme the law is outlawed.”

“That is a beautiful conception, Mr. Burton, but may it not in some measure detract from the reverence with which we should regard the Bible?” observed Mrs. Bonbright.

“On the contrary, I think it honors the book more to apply our discriminating and God-given reason to it in the same manner as to any other book. It is an unconscious idolatry to make it an oracle and a fetich.”

“Yes, indeed,” exclaimed Mr. Bonbright. “That is the view which has always repelled me from it, on the ground that it was unreasonable and full of contradictions. I now see and feel its harmony and beauty.”

“The Spirit is a direct teacher, while the Bible reveals truth indirectly,” observed Burton. “The world, and even the church, has largely displaced the direct with the indirect method of receiving truth. That is a grand sentiment which was expressed by Fénelon. He said: ‘We must lend an attentive ear, for God’s voice is soft and still, and is only heard by those who hear nothing else. Ah! how rare it is to find a soul still enough to hear God speak.’”

“I greatly respect your principles, for the remarkable demonstration they have had upon my dear husband,” feelingly observed Mrs. Bonbright. “He appears reconstructed physically and spiritually.”

“My dear friends,” exclaimed Mr. Bonbright, “I am yet an invalid and have been stripped of my property, but from the bottom of my heart I am thankful for it all. In no other way could I have practically learned that the body is the least substantial part of man. I am happier than when in the midst of my greatest successes achieved while in the race for wealth and position.”