In Both Worlds Part 47

Martha, when traversing one dark night a desolate moor to relieve a person in deep distress, was lost and perished in the snow. When the corpse was discovered and laid out in the little chapel of their convent, and Mary approached it, this new sorrow, added to the multiplied cares and labors of her life, was too much for the overburdened heart. The silver cord was gently broken, and she stretched her own body, like a funeral pall, upon that of her sister.

Conjoined in their lives! united in their death!

Beautiful spirits, clad always in virgin white! Brides of Christ!

Twin-stars of heaven! Farewell!-until this old body also shall drop into the dust, and the strong bond of spiritual affinity shall draw us together again, and bind us, to each other for ever!

John, the beloved disciple, was only visiting Rome. He lived at Ephesus.

He now entreated me to accompany him home and spend the remnant of my days in the peaceful shade of his humble cottage. I thanked him warmly, but declined his invitation. There was one more person upon earth whom I felt a strong desire to see. That person was Mary Magdalen, the last link which connected me with the past. The hunger of an old man's heart for home and friends, for sympathy and love, was reduced to this. It was all that was left me.

My feelings toward Mary Magdalen had become clearly defined in the last ten years of my captivity. The sad things of the past were buried and forgotten. I had outlived, outgrown the self-righteous conceit that I was better than she. Yea, I had discovered that she was far better than I. I was thoroughly ashamed of the neglect, almost amounting to scorn, with which I had treated her in my youth. Her grand devotion to the cause of Christ, her fiery zeal, her contrition, her penances, her humility, her self-sacrifice, her solitude, haunted my imagination. The martyrdom of her life was continually before me.

I resolved to make a pilgrimage to her shrine; for I now regarded her as the saint and myself as the repentant sinner. I would not mention love to a heart so sorely stricken with the wounds of conscience and the sorrows of life. I would tell her nothing. I would leave all that to the revealing light of the spiritual world, which was now so near us both.

I would merely see her and weep with her over the old, sweet memories of Jesus and Martha and Mary. I would live near her. I would work for her, without her knowledge. I would make her comfortable without her seeing whence it came. I would visit her in sickness. I would close her eyes in death. All the rest should be buried deep, deep in the recesses of a heart which had not grown old.

I reached Ma.r.s.eilles and surveyed with silent grief the ashes of the convent my sisters had built. I employed a snug little boat and coasted along, west and south-west, until we reached the sh.o.r.es of Spain, where the spurs of the Pyrenees jut out into the Great Sea.

Landing at a little village, I was directed to a considerable mountain near by. I made the ascent before the heat of the day. The path made a sudden turn from a crag which stood a thousand feet above the water; and I found myself at the dark mouth of a cave. Near the entrance, on the right, was a wooden cross planted in a little bed of violets, wildly overgrown.

The sky was clear and beautiful. A perfect silence reigned around. My heart throbbed as I approached the last earthly home of the friend of my sisters.

I looked into the cave and started back. A fearful sense of awe came over my soul. My pilgrimage was in vain. I stood in the presence of the dead!

In that dim and damp and empty cavern, lay a human body, stretched upon a couch of stone. It was clad in rusty black, with a black veil thrown over the face. She had been long, long dead; for the feet which protruded from her robe were bones and not feet. A scourge of leather thongs had fallen from her hands. Engraven deeply in the moist rock of the wall, just above her prostrate figure, was the single word,

MAGDALEN.

I advanced no nearer. I knelt in prayer. I did not weep. He who has lived in both worlds, cannot be greatly stirred by the mutations of this. I turned away, thinking of our beautiful house in the heavens, and sighing to myself,

"It is well! It is well!"

My heart now turned to John. I sailed from Ma.r.s.eilles, bound for Alexandria, where I expected to take ship for Ephesus. We never reached Alexandria. After we pa.s.sed the island of Sicily a series of terrible storms commenced, and our little vessel was driven about like a feather on the sea. Our hardships were great, and our labor in vain. After many days our vessel sprang a leak, and we were compelled to abandon her, or go to the bottom with her. Our boat stood bravely for the sh.o.r.e, where some lofty mountains loomed up through the night air. We were capsized, and I lost consciousness. When I recovered my senses it was daylight. The little boat was beached quite near me. My companions were all drowned. I was utterly alone.

I was wrecked at the foot of the western range of Mount Lebanon, on the coast of Phenicia. I found a large and dry cave half-way up the first great spur that overlooks the sea. I have made this my home. I turned fisherman for a living-for I had lost all with the ship-and the little boat was serviceable for that. I exchanged my fish with the people a little way from the coast, for other articles more needed.

Thus I have lived for several years. Here I have written this ma.n.u.script.

I have chosen the Greek language for its composition, because I am familiar with it, and because I believe the words of Eschylus and Homer will be more durable than the marbles of Athens.

One more page and it will be finished. Its inspiration withdrawn from me, my life will be more desolate than ever. I shall seal it up carefully, and conceal it in some safe place for the eyes and ears of a future generation wiser and better than this. I shall then turn to Death and say, "I salute thee."

I shall not wait long. After I left my prison in Antioch and mingled with the turbulent tide of human life, my spiritual visions left me, my spiritual senses were closed. They are opening again. I have the old, beautiful dreams. I hear the same heavenly music. I see the same auroral and rainbow flashes of light. These now are prophecies of death-nay, rather of life, of heaven. The gates stand ajar.

My eyes, my hopes, my heart are steadily fixed on that Land of Beauty, where the Son of the Desert will be united to Martha; and John the Baptist to Mary; and Lazarus to Magdalen; and all-all to Christ!

_BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME._

OUR CHILDREN IN HEAVEN.

A BOOK FOR THE BEREAVED.

It divests theology of its gloom: It robs death of its terror: It brings genuine light and comfort: It is an antidote to spiritualism: It vindicates the Divine Providence.

CONTENTS.

I. Is there no light? II. How are they raised? III. What bodies have they?

IV. Where do they go? V. Who takes care of them? VI. What are they doing?

VII. Can we communicate? VIII. Why did not the Lord prevent? IX. Why did they die? X. What good can come of it?

OPINIONS.

"Eloquent and intelligible; clear and graceful."-_Boston Evening Transcript._

"New, refreshing, and elevated thoughts."-_Round Table._

"Its sweet pathos and comforting sympathy at once warm and interest us."-_Albany Journal._

"Rational, beautiful, soothing, and uplifted too."-_N. Y. Liberal Christian._

"A beautiful and touching book."-_Philadelphia Presbyterian._

"A high-toned religious book, well written, and which will be of real service to sorrow-vexed hearts."-_St. Louis Democrat._

"A work of genius sanctified by sorrow."-_New Orleans Crescent._

"Dr. Holcombe is a fine writer: a master of style, with a marvelous command of choice phrases. He appears in this book to great advantage.

Striking at times the deeper and finer chords of the human heart, he causes them to vibrate in unison with all that is pure and holy in heaven and earth."-_Southern Quarterly Review._

THE s.e.xES:

HERE AND HEREAFTER.

This book is philosophic, poetic, religious, without a word about medicine or physiology. It is for young and old lovers, for single and married, for husbands and wives upon earth who would be husbands and wives hereafter.

OPINIONS.

"It breathes a pure and elevated spirit, and has many thoughts which will commend themselves sympathetically to the followers of all Christian faiths."-_New York Independent._

"The most marked literary production of the season."-_San Francis...o...b..lletin._

"A beautifully written volume."-_Chicago Tribune._

"Here is thought on a n.o.ble theme, crystallized in beautiful, bright, and lasting gems. It adorns, exalts, and etherealizes double-s.e.xed humanity, and endues marriage with supernal purity."-_New Orleans Bulletin._