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A Mystery Of Love.
happy to hope—that when the end of this probation shall come , when death darkens my eyes , when my earth seems without form and void , when darkness shall be felt npon the face of the deep against which I struggle with my waning powers—thafc I shall feel him near me in the
silences . I find it more than happiness to doubt not that my old-time friend will be God's messenger to welcome me into the house not made with hands , in the world eternal , and that , when my earth-dulled ears , suddenly tuned to hig her and nobler sounds , shall first catch the thunder of the welcome tendered a freed soul , it will be his voice I
shall hear saying— " and there . s Light . In a great church , in a city I need nofc name , there is painted , high in the domed ceiling , the figure of a mighty angel . Beauty , power , infinite compassion for the faults and frailties of men , shine in every feature and show in
every line . It is great—sublime—perfect . How could it bo otherwise ? Paul Parker painted it . But it is not finished —not qnite—and it never will be . How well I remember
fche last morning of his labour npon this huge figure—the soft and balmy June morning that Eeemed perfections and seemed to promise that life should be long and death no more than a dreadful dream . '
He told me , thafc very morning , for he had raised me so far—so hig h—that I was now his most tried and trusted friend , that he had won the love and plighted faith of the woman he loved , and that ho could ask no more . What more could he ask ? Wealth , genius , love ,
health and strength—were they not enough r The woman s face still smiles in tbo angel ' s face , high in the domed ceiling ; bnt the woman ' s face was dust—nay , not soit was an angel ' s face in very truth , long years ago ; for when he died , it broke her heart .
I trembled , thafc fatal morning , afc the very perfection of his happiness . It may be that the cloudless sk y seemed too bright . Some premonition—somo half-hinted warning—may have been intended . I do not know , and I dare not speculate upon such a question .
I went to the office of the man—Paul Parker ' s friend
and mine—with whom I was reading law , but I conld not read law that morning . My brain refused to respond to the touch of ancient formulas or time-honoured facts . I took np , instead , a volume of old-time legends and read one of them—one thafc fell to me at random—as some of
the strangest things in the crises that come in the drama of life so often do . I cannot quite recall the story , not in all its details , for I never have opened the book since , and nothing could induce me to . I think the legend took one to Italy—perhaps to Rome—I am nofc quite sure .
In the story , an artist placed an angel in the dome of an ancient church—so long ago that , compared with the years that lie between then and now , Paul Parker painted his but yesterday . Backward—backward—backwardstep by step , along the treacherous scaffold—his eyes
fixed upon the figure he had created—his heart upon the power the fignre symbolized—until suddenly his feet fell only on the empty air , and God gave a miracle in evidence
of His love and His power ! For , where the artist ' s angel had been , a real one stooped on mighty wings , caught the man half way down his awful fall , and gave him life and a future again . And—and
so—I threw down the volume with a groan . Tears blinded my eyes . I knew then , instinctively , what I should hear before I had covered half the distance that lay between me and the last labour of my best of friends . I cannot say whether his careless , contemplative ,
backward steps retreated most from the divinity he cleverly painted , or most from the human purity and perfection of the woman he loved , but no rush of wings filled the startled air with a thrill of power ; no arm , half omnipotent
by virtue of the nearness and directness of its service , was stretched forth to save . He fell , straight down , upon the stone floor , and had only one smile—two words—my name and the name of one fair woman—for those who
found him there to speak tearfully and tenderly of . And the angel in the dome still smiles divinely upon the place where he fell . And the spire above the angel's head lets fall its shadow , every sunny day in the year , upon the mounds beneath which , side by side , the truest of men and the loveliest of women await the resurrection .
It was nofc summer . November had come , the sky was dark , the day was done , and a flake or two of snow fell suddenly down through the biting air . I was on my knees , beside the grave of my friend , and my thoughts were a prayer , " O God , " I cried , in tho silence of my
A Mystery Of Love.
hurt heart , " why must thia be ? WLy might he not have paused short of the fatal step ? or why not Thon , when his footing failed , have wrought anew the ancient miracle ? Oh God , why must it be—why must it ba ?
Did I sleep ? Did I -dream ? It must havo beon . I cannot otherwise explain it , for this is what I saw aud heard : Darkness—above , below , to the right , to the left
darkness everywhere—darkness seemingly impenetrablethen , suddenly , tho darkness just before mo lessonedlessoned—and I saw that a huge curtain shut down before me—a curtain that reached from the lowest earth to tho
highest stars , and from the utmost bounds of the universe upon the right to the farthest margin of space upon tho left ; and , close and heavy as tho folded curtain fell , it was not close enough to conceal from me the truth that
there waa light beyond . And a glorious presence stood before the curtain , and made the darkness light . And he cried aloud , with a mighty voice , saying : " Behind oho curtain sin has shut between the world of the flesh and
the world of the spirit are hidden all the secrets of all worlds . What wilt thou of them ? " And I replied , praying my prayer of protest t ! o God again , and then the glory gave me answer .
It is a mystery , but my faith endures it . Soon , very soon , I shall know ifc all . In it , BO my faith asserts , is the key to all sorrow and suffering . In it is the hope of all men in all worlds and in all ages . In it , like the germ
in the seed , is hidden the explanation of the most divine attribute of Absolute Divinity . For these were the angel ' s words : " It was , because it was best . He did not pause because God ' s hand led him all the way . Aa for a miracle
—it was surely wrought—and a harder one , for the Infinite Love , pitying those blind and doubting hearts left behind on the lower levels of existence , than the ancient
one could ever have been . Reward—not punishment ; good , nofc evil , * care , nofc forgefcfulness . Your friend died —nay , he began io live—because God loved him so . " —Voice of Masonry .
THE PAPACY AND FBEEMASONHT . —Tha revival of fche story that Pope Pins IX . was once n Freemason ia causing some agitation amongst the French Catholics , -who are incensed against M . Floqnet for hia indiscretion in raking np an old controversy , lb may not be generally known that more than one document haa been brought to the light with the object of persuading the world that the story ia a
true one . It is alleged that a" Masonio diploma" waa given by tho Palermo Lodge in August 1839 , to Giovanni Mattei Ferotti , afterwards the " Holy Father , " aud also that he was subsequently expalled from membership for excommunicating his former brethren . Thia " Masonio diploma , " whether a real or a spurious document , is in existence . In 1865 another document waa " discovered , " whioh
purported to record the admission of Pio Nono to the Philadelphia Lodge , he being at that time a Legate travelling in North America . By high authorities , the authenticity of both these documents haa been questioned . A former chief of the Paris Municipal Police , M . Canbet , scouted them in the most -unqualified manner , and went
out of hia way to produce evidence that the whole story was without foundation . The alleged admission to the Philadelphia Lodge waa undoubtedly a fable , because when the officials were applied to they could find no confirmatory record whatever . The Catholio leaders in France attribnte the libel to members of French and Italian
Lodges who have been excommunicated , but , for the moment , all their wrath is turned npon M . Floquet , who haa made himself tho mouthpiece of the statement .
Of the late Bro . W . J . Florence , of Mount Moriah Lodge , No . 155 , Philadelphia , Bro . Lawrence Hntton haa truly and courteously written in Harper ' s Weekly : — A well-graced actor leaves the stage . Mr . Florence , in hia professional capacity , was good in everything , in nothing bad ,- and in its long history the American theatre haa never seen any player
so uniformly excellent in so wide a range of parts . No contrasts can be greater than those between his George d'Alroy in ' Caste , " his Obanreizer in " No Thoroughfare , " his Bob Brierly in " The Ticket of Leave Man , " his Bardwell Slote in "Tho Mighty Dollar , " his Sir Luciua O'Triggor in " The Rivals , " his Fire Laddio in "The Row " at the Lycaum , his Captain Cattle in " Dombey and
Son , " and his Zekiel Homespun in " The Heir at Law . Tn each of these Bro . Florence has had few equals , and in none of them perhaps has he ever been excelled . It seems curiously fitting that in this last part he should have made his last bow to the public ho has served so faithfully and so honestly for so many years . Zekiel
Homespun ia the epitome of sweetness , simplicity , modesty , and brotherly love—all of them peculiarly characteristic of Bro . Florence himself . Because of them he endeared himself to every man and woman with whom he was ever brought into contact . -The world is not so bright as it waa a week ago . The stage has loat one of its noblest ornaments , and a host of mourners have lost one of the best of friends .
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Mystery Of Love.
happy to hope—that when the end of this probation shall come , when death darkens my eyes , when my earth seems without form and void , when darkness shall be felt npon the face of the deep against which I struggle with my waning powers—thafc I shall feel him near me in the
silences . I find it more than happiness to doubt not that my old-time friend will be God's messenger to welcome me into the house not made with hands , in the world eternal , and that , when my earth-dulled ears , suddenly tuned to hig her and nobler sounds , shall first catch the thunder of the welcome tendered a freed soul , it will be his voice I
shall hear saying— " and there . s Light . In a great church , in a city I need nofc name , there is painted , high in the domed ceiling , the figure of a mighty angel . Beauty , power , infinite compassion for the faults and frailties of men , shine in every feature and show in
every line . It is great—sublime—perfect . How could it bo otherwise ? Paul Parker painted it . But it is not finished —not qnite—and it never will be . How well I remember
fche last morning of his labour npon this huge figure—the soft and balmy June morning that Eeemed perfections and seemed to promise that life should be long and death no more than a dreadful dream . '
He told me , thafc very morning , for he had raised me so far—so hig h—that I was now his most tried and trusted friend , that he had won the love and plighted faith of the woman he loved , and that ho could ask no more . What more could he ask ? Wealth , genius , love ,
health and strength—were they not enough r The woman s face still smiles in tbo angel ' s face , high in the domed ceiling ; bnt the woman ' s face was dust—nay , not soit was an angel ' s face in very truth , long years ago ; for when he died , it broke her heart .
I trembled , thafc fatal morning , afc the very perfection of his happiness . It may be that the cloudless sk y seemed too bright . Some premonition—somo half-hinted warning—may have been intended . I do not know , and I dare not speculate upon such a question .
I went to the office of the man—Paul Parker ' s friend
and mine—with whom I was reading law , but I conld not read law that morning . My brain refused to respond to the touch of ancient formulas or time-honoured facts . I took np , instead , a volume of old-time legends and read one of them—one thafc fell to me at random—as some of
the strangest things in the crises that come in the drama of life so often do . I cannot quite recall the story , not in all its details , for I never have opened the book since , and nothing could induce me to . I think the legend took one to Italy—perhaps to Rome—I am nofc quite sure .
In the story , an artist placed an angel in the dome of an ancient church—so long ago that , compared with the years that lie between then and now , Paul Parker painted his but yesterday . Backward—backward—backwardstep by step , along the treacherous scaffold—his eyes
fixed upon the figure he had created—his heart upon the power the fignre symbolized—until suddenly his feet fell only on the empty air , and God gave a miracle in evidence
of His love and His power ! For , where the artist ' s angel had been , a real one stooped on mighty wings , caught the man half way down his awful fall , and gave him life and a future again . And—and
so—I threw down the volume with a groan . Tears blinded my eyes . I knew then , instinctively , what I should hear before I had covered half the distance that lay between me and the last labour of my best of friends . I cannot say whether his careless , contemplative ,
backward steps retreated most from the divinity he cleverly painted , or most from the human purity and perfection of the woman he loved , but no rush of wings filled the startled air with a thrill of power ; no arm , half omnipotent
by virtue of the nearness and directness of its service , was stretched forth to save . He fell , straight down , upon the stone floor , and had only one smile—two words—my name and the name of one fair woman—for those who
found him there to speak tearfully and tenderly of . And the angel in the dome still smiles divinely upon the place where he fell . And the spire above the angel's head lets fall its shadow , every sunny day in the year , upon the mounds beneath which , side by side , the truest of men and the loveliest of women await the resurrection .
It was nofc summer . November had come , the sky was dark , the day was done , and a flake or two of snow fell suddenly down through the biting air . I was on my knees , beside the grave of my friend , and my thoughts were a prayer , " O God , " I cried , in tho silence of my
A Mystery Of Love.
hurt heart , " why must thia be ? WLy might he not have paused short of the fatal step ? or why not Thon , when his footing failed , have wrought anew the ancient miracle ? Oh God , why must it be—why must it ba ?
Did I sleep ? Did I -dream ? It must havo beon . I cannot otherwise explain it , for this is what I saw aud heard : Darkness—above , below , to the right , to the left
darkness everywhere—darkness seemingly impenetrablethen , suddenly , tho darkness just before mo lessonedlessoned—and I saw that a huge curtain shut down before me—a curtain that reached from the lowest earth to tho
highest stars , and from the utmost bounds of the universe upon the right to the farthest margin of space upon tho left ; and , close and heavy as tho folded curtain fell , it was not close enough to conceal from me the truth that
there waa light beyond . And a glorious presence stood before the curtain , and made the darkness light . And he cried aloud , with a mighty voice , saying : " Behind oho curtain sin has shut between the world of the flesh and
the world of the spirit are hidden all the secrets of all worlds . What wilt thou of them ? " And I replied , praying my prayer of protest t ! o God again , and then the glory gave me answer .
It is a mystery , but my faith endures it . Soon , very soon , I shall know ifc all . In it , BO my faith asserts , is the key to all sorrow and suffering . In it is the hope of all men in all worlds and in all ages . In it , like the germ
in the seed , is hidden the explanation of the most divine attribute of Absolute Divinity . For these were the angel ' s words : " It was , because it was best . He did not pause because God ' s hand led him all the way . Aa for a miracle
—it was surely wrought—and a harder one , for the Infinite Love , pitying those blind and doubting hearts left behind on the lower levels of existence , than the ancient
one could ever have been . Reward—not punishment ; good , nofc evil , * care , nofc forgefcfulness . Your friend died —nay , he began io live—because God loved him so . " —Voice of Masonry .
THE PAPACY AND FBEEMASONHT . —Tha revival of fche story that Pope Pins IX . was once n Freemason ia causing some agitation amongst the French Catholics , -who are incensed against M . Floqnet for hia indiscretion in raking np an old controversy , lb may not be generally known that more than one document haa been brought to the light with the object of persuading the world that the story ia a
true one . It is alleged that a" Masonio diploma" waa given by tho Palermo Lodge in August 1839 , to Giovanni Mattei Ferotti , afterwards the " Holy Father , " aud also that he was subsequently expalled from membership for excommunicating his former brethren . Thia " Masonio diploma , " whether a real or a spurious document , is in existence . In 1865 another document waa " discovered , " whioh
purported to record the admission of Pio Nono to the Philadelphia Lodge , he being at that time a Legate travelling in North America . By high authorities , the authenticity of both these documents haa been questioned . A former chief of the Paris Municipal Police , M . Canbet , scouted them in the most -unqualified manner , and went
out of hia way to produce evidence that the whole story was without foundation . The alleged admission to the Philadelphia Lodge waa undoubtedly a fable , because when the officials were applied to they could find no confirmatory record whatever . The Catholio leaders in France attribnte the libel to members of French and Italian
Lodges who have been excommunicated , but , for the moment , all their wrath is turned npon M . Floquet , who haa made himself tho mouthpiece of the statement .
Of the late Bro . W . J . Florence , of Mount Moriah Lodge , No . 155 , Philadelphia , Bro . Lawrence Hntton haa truly and courteously written in Harper ' s Weekly : — A well-graced actor leaves the stage . Mr . Florence , in hia professional capacity , was good in everything , in nothing bad ,- and in its long history the American theatre haa never seen any player
so uniformly excellent in so wide a range of parts . No contrasts can be greater than those between his George d'Alroy in ' Caste , " his Obanreizer in " No Thoroughfare , " his Bob Brierly in " The Ticket of Leave Man , " his Bardwell Slote in "Tho Mighty Dollar , " his Sir Luciua O'Triggor in " The Rivals , " his Fire Laddio in "The Row " at the Lycaum , his Captain Cattle in " Dombey and
Son , " and his Zekiel Homespun in " The Heir at Law . Tn each of these Bro . Florence has had few equals , and in none of them perhaps has he ever been excelled . It seems curiously fitting that in this last part he should have made his last bow to the public ho has served so faithfully and so honestly for so many years . Zekiel
Homespun ia the epitome of sweetness , simplicity , modesty , and brotherly love—all of them peculiarly characteristic of Bro . Florence himself . Because of them he endeared himself to every man and woman with whom he was ever brought into contact . -The world is not so bright as it waa a week ago . The stage has loat one of its noblest ornaments , and a host of mourners have lost one of the best of friends .
Ad00302
The Town- Fr / BirisHiifO C O ___ H _ _______ suppy goods on Hire direct from Manufacturers ; one , two or three years' credit without security . Purchaaors havo the choice of 100 Wholesale Houses . Call or write for Prospectus . I Address-Secretary , 43 Great Tower Street , E . C .