Tom Clark and His Wife. Paschal Beverly Randolph

Tom Clark and His Wife - Paschal Beverly Randolph


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narrative, Captain Jones, one of his auditory, interrupted him with:

      "Why, I thought the Rosicrucian system had been dead, buried, and forgotten two centuries ago."

      He replied: "The false or pseudo-Rosicrucian system has ceased to be. Truth herself is deathless. I cannot now stop to explain what interests you concerning the revived system of Rosicrucianism. You will now please to allow me to proceed with my story," said he, and then resumed, saying:

      "I repeat that only those who live alone, unloved, unloving, are they who, becoming morbid, having all their kindly feelings driven back upon themselves, daily, hourly eating up their own hearts—brooding over their wrongs, their social and other misfortunes—at length engender crime, if not against their fellow-men, then against themselves.

      "Oh, for something to love, and be loved by, if but a little pet dog! The unloved ever are wrecked, the unloving ever wreck others. It is sweet to be loved by even a dumb brute! But, ah, how inexpressibly, how infinitely better to be endeared for yourself alone!—for your integral wealth of soul—by a Man, a full, true Man; by a Woman, a full, gushing-hearted Woman; or, sweeter, dearer still, a child—some glorious hero of a hobby-horse, some kitten-torturing Cora! Ah, what a chord to touch! I am very fond of children—dear little Godlings of the Ages. Those who reciprocate affection truly, are too full of God to keep a devil's lodging-house. It is a dear thing to feel the great truth—one of Rosicrucia's truths—that nothing is more certain than that somewhere, perhaps on earth, perhaps in some one of the innumerable aromal worlds—star-spangles on God's diadem—or from amidst the mournful monodies in material creation—some one loves us; and that there goeth up a prayer, sweet-toned as seraph-harps, to Him for you, my weary brother, for you, my sister of the dark locks turning prematurely grey; for all of us whose paths through life have been thickly strewn with thorns and rocks, sharp boulders and deep and frightful pit-falls—great threatening, yawning gulfs:

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