CHAPTER XXI. A MURDERED WIFE AND MOTHER

 

HE experience related in the foregoing chapter had rendered me, very weak, and I threw myself down upon the sofa with a sighing moan.

 

"O! such things are dreadful—dreadful I murmured:

 

"And yet the earth is filled with cruelty and murder," said my companion. "We can neither shut our eyes, cars, nor hearts, to the cries of these wronged ones; but we must all work for the redemption of mankind. This husband has murdered his wife, and, as she truly said, it was not the man but the whisky that was in him. Those two young girls have been in this hall many months, therefore, I know all about their troubles; and this murder has been expected by them for some time. The father's intemperate habits were the direct cause of their own deaths; they were obliged to toil early and late, in destitution and misery, together with their mother; their tender youth could not bear the strain, so first one dropped off with consumption, and then the other; but for whisky the father would have been an honest workman, the mother would have been thrifty and saving, the daughters would have been sent to school, and lived to be respectable women with little families of their own. To abolish the whisky trade, and entirely stop the distilling of ardent spirits, would do the world more real good than all the prayers of the priests and people of the Romish Church, or any other church as for that matter. The government first allows the manufacture of ardent spirits, allows them to be, dealt out to those who drink them, providing a portion of the money thus obtained is paid into its own coffers; and when the poor victim of intemperance commits murder under their maddening influence, he is hung, and those in power pray to God to be redeemed of their sins. Mary, will you be one to help abolish the whisky trade? It will be a great way to work out the redemption of mankind."

"I will! I will!" I moaned. But how can it be done? Oh, that* the gulf between heaven and earth might be spanned!"

"It will be," she replied, "and you shall be one to help span it."

"Dear young lady," I asked, "tell me your name?"

"My name is Agnes," she replied. "I am called 'Lady Agnes,' and am the superintendent of this 'Educational Hall."

I was still lying on the sofa, actually prostrated by the terrible scene which I had witnessed. Lady Agnes, as I shall now call her, approached ire, laid her hand gently upon my head, and over my eyes; her strong, soothing magnetism filled and restored me

I rose up strengthened and refreshed.

"Mary, do you feel strong enough now to see this poor woman once more? She needs other help besides that which her two young daughters are able to give her. I would like to have her come to this room, and receive the needed instruction to aid her in understanding things as they are."

 

Lady Agnes's touch had strengthened me so much that I now felt a desire to see and help this poor murdered woman. Lady Agnes touched an electric communi­cation, and presently the young girls entered with their mother between them. Lady Agnes gave the woman her hand, and turning to me said:

 

"The ladies who are admitted into this Hall help and educate each other, together with what assistance I am able to give them. As you two have but just entered, it is fitting that you become acquainted. You were both wives and mothers below, each has left children and husband on earth, each has children here in the heavens. You are Mary, this is Bridget."

 

I gave my hand to Bridget. She curtsied low. Lady Agnes went to the piano, and struck a few soothing, harmonious chords. The mother and daughters seated themselves on the beautiful circular divan, and I took a seat not far away. The stains upon the white robes of the young girls had entirely disappeared, but the mother's garments were still dark and blood-stained: although her face had lost much of its agonized expression, yet it was deeply furrowed, the eyes wearing a look like that of a hunted wild animal, fear and fierceness about evenly blended; her manner was abject and slavish, her form bowed as by toil and deprivation, her hands large and coarse.

 

Lady Agnes played a soft, plaintive air, that filled the room with sweetness. Bridget sat with crossed hands and downcast eyes, occasionally casting furtive glances about the elegant room; her glances were stealthy, as though she had no right ever to look upon beautiful things, yet her two daughters were as beautiful as they were heavenly. The elder had dark hair, large, sweet, expressive brown eyes, a soft, peachy face, and rounded, graceful form, coupled with great refinement of manner. The younger was a sweet little blonde, with golden curls, large, spiritual, blue eyes, pure, oval face, and exquisite Mouth. She was leaning her pretty head against her mother's shoulder.

 

"Och! me darlints sighed Bridget, tenderly stroking the soft curls with her rough hand. "Me purty darlints! an' its mesel' that 's glad to see yees once more: but, och, och!" she wailed, "an' vats to become o' Maggie an' little Pat, an' the babby wi'out me? Their fayther's a murtherous brute fen he's thrunk, an' he's murthered me—he 's murthered me! but the childer, the childer that's left? Ah! to look at yees, ye purties! There 's no need yees heve o' me, but the childer that 's left—the c'hilder that 's left? Och! vat will become o' thim?" And tears rolled down the grief­stricken mother's face. "It's freezin' an' starvin' they will be, sure! for their fayther can'o' wurruk fen he's full o' the visky; an' vat could he do at all, at all, wi' the babby? Och, och, och!" and she rocked herself to and fro in her anxiety and grief for her little ones. "An' it was all I could do to keep thim from freezin' an' starvin', washin' an' scrubbin' all the days long fur the gintry, an' fearin' for yees, me darlints, that yer souls would no' be at rist. We often wint cold an' hungry, that the money might be gi'en to the praist, that yer precious souls might be prayed outen purgatory, an' be at rist wi' the Mother o' God, an' 'the blissid saints: an' vy is 't that I find yees here, an' no' wi' the Mother o' God? for I have paid the praist all the money that he said was needed to put yer souls in hiven wi' the blissid saints. This place is purty enough, to be sure," she went on, "but this is on'y a foine house, an' these leddies, beggin' their parden, canno' be the blissid saints; an' sure, the one nor the other is no' the Mother of God."

 

"You need not ask our pardon," said Lady Agnes, "for what you say is true; and no one need ask pardon for speaking the truth. I am not the Mother of God, neither am I a calendared saint, although my work at present is to receive, comfort and instruct the souls of forlorn and weary women, who are sent into this world before they ought to come. This place is merely an Educational Hall for Ladies, which I superintend."

 

"An' is this house in purgatory, thin? an' the praist toult me my two gurls, bliss their shwate harts, were prayed out long ago."

 

"We do not call this place purgatory," answered Lady Agnes, "but a house not made with hands, eternal and within the heavens."

 

Bridget's eyes lost their hunted, fierce expression, and opened to their fullest extent, in a wondering stare of amazement.

 

"Whist!" she whispered. "Vats that yees talking? Within the hivens? Thin its in hiven we are, afther all?"

 

"Yes," replied Lady Agnes; "you are in the heavens."

 

"Whist! whist! thin. Vare is the howly Virgin, the Saints, an' the blissid Saviour o' mankind?

 

"They are all here kithin the heavens."

 

"Then ven shall I go to them?" asked Brigdet, anxiously; "fur I have made confission o' me sins regular, an' niver missed fur a lang, lang time, an' the praist has absolved me."

 

"The heavens," answered Lady Agnes, "are very, very large, as well as exceedingly high. We are, at present, far removed from Jesus of Nazareth and Mary his mother. The saints are few and very far removed from each other, besides, in your present condition, to reach them at their high altitude would be impossible: it may be many, many years, dear Bridget, before you will be able to perceive them; and, even supposing that Mary, the Mother of God, as you call her, could enter this room at the present moment, what could she do for you— what boon would you crave at her hands?"

 

"Vat! vat 's that you say?" asked Bridget, with mouth and eyes agape. "Vat would I ax o' her?" "Yes; what would you wish her to do for you?" "Och! Howly Virgin!" exclaimed Bridget.

 

"But I 'd fall at her feet an' kiss the him o' her garment." "But what possible good would that do you or her?"

 

Bridget's eyes and mouth opened wider and still wider, if that were possible, in the utmost astonishment; at last she found voice to say:

 

"Whist, O whist! Yees must be a great blackguard to talk afther that manner o' the howly Virgin, the Mother o' God! Ought'en the Mother o' God to be worshipped?"

 

"Well," replied Lady Agnes, "that depends very much on what you mean by the word, worship. To fall down on your face, and kiss the hem of her garment, would do neither her nor you any good whatever: in fact, I do not think such a proceeding would be at all agreeable to an angel as wise as Mary the mother of Jesus must be, after being within the heavens for eighteen hundred years or more. Bridget; blind worship in any form is the folly of ignorance. But, I will repeat my question. What would you ask of her?"

 

Bridget meditated in great perplexity.

"Perhaps you have more than one desire. Please to tell us what you wish for more than all things else."

"But if I am murthered an' in hiven, where's the good o' wishin'?"

"It is the only way in which you can obtain anything."

"But the praist toult me it were sinful to wish for anythin' that one could no' have."

"Bridget," said Lady Agnes, "there is not any thing one may not have, if one earnestly desires and constantly strives to obtain it."

"Och! now yees tellin' the falsest o' lies! an it's in purgatory I musht be, afther all; an' ye are one of the decaivers, for I might o' axed to be rich all the days o' me life, an' that could ne'er o' bin."

"But your life is not ended, my dear Bridget; it is but scarcely commenced as yet."

I could not help smiling at the ludicrous expression on Bridget's stolid face.

"Whist! now; vat 's that yees tellin' me? an' wasn't it Teddy hiself that murthered me?"

 

"Well; he sent you out of your body, certainly; but, Bridget, are you dead or alive?"

 

"Whist! now; it 's both I am, sure!"

 

"No," replied Lady Agnes; "you, yourself, are living, and ever will live; all your wishes can meet with fulfilment, for eternity lies outstretched before you. I do not wish you to understand that your desires can be granted at once, but, unless you earnestly wish for something you can make no progress."

 

"Can I wish for anythin', at all, at all?"

 

"Anything: no matter what; but it is the real and greatest desire which you feel within yourself, that I would like to have you manifest."

 

"Thin," said Bridget, "I want to see my babby, an' little Pat, an' Nora. But vare's the use o' that? I'm dead an' murthered!"

 

"You will soon find your desire a very useful one, which will shortly meet with its fulfilment. And, now, let me impress upon your mind, dear Bridget, that all your desires will at last meet with corresponding fulfilment. To wish and strive for a thing is the only way to obtain anything whatever. Your present wish is right and proper. Your wish to see Mary, the mother of Jesus, will also meet with its fulfilment in time. It is a matter of time only. You can also fall at her feet, and kiss the hem of her garment, if you greatly desire to do so; I merely questioned the wisdom of it; whether much good would thereby be accomplished or not. I doubt much whether you will still retain those desires when you become as wise as she is. I certainly know that she does not desire you to do anything of the kind; she would much rather that you should love and help those nearest and dearest to you. Mary, will you now relate to Bridget your experience; it will help and strengthen her."

 

"With pleasure," I replied; and in as few words as possible, I told her all, from the time I had found myself an inhabitant of the spiritual world; of the many times I had already returned to those loved ones whom I had left there; I told her of my own little baby, of my boy of three, and my man of six; of the two little girls here in the spiritual world, and of my husband.

 

"Och!" said she, but yer husband ne'ar murthered yees loike Teddy has me."

 

"No; he did not kill my body, but he killed my soul, and every other soul in existence."

 

Bridget raised her hands, and rolled up her eyes with such a look of horror on her face, that I laughed quite heartily as I replied:

 

"That is to say, he killed them to himself alone, blotted them out of his own earthly life, besides, killing his own soul to himself as long as he lives on earth."

 

"Och! vat can ye mane?" asked Bridget, with a look of incredulity.

 

"I mean that he is what is called a materialist; will not believe that people live at all after the death of the body. He has killed my soul to himself, because he will not believe that I have a soul at all, therefore, I am dead to him while he remains on earth, and it will be impossible for me to reach him. I hope better things of my children: they are young; I shall spend a great part of my time striving to impress their tender minds with the great truth of immortal life, growth, and progress of the soul. Really, it now seems to me as though it were no worse to kill the body than to endeavor to kill the soul. Teddy has, in a moment of drunken fury, destroyed your material body to himself and the little ones on earth; my husband has destroyed my soul to himself and my little ones on earth; for he teaches them that their mother is dead for ever. Bridget, is not my grief as great as yours?"

 

"Well, now, mum," replied she, light dawning on her stolid face, "yees right, yees are. Thin ye 've seen yer babbies an' yer husban' sin' comin' here?"

 

"O, yes; many times," I replied: "but they cannot see me, which causes me much sorrow. O, that the gulf might be spanned!" I sighed.

 

"An' vat gulf is it yees mane?" asked she.

 

"The gulf of ignorance which separates the two worlds," I answered.

Bridget glanced at Lady Agnes.

 

"An' did yees not tell us that we should have all our wishes?"

 

Never shall I forget the look of heavenly delight that rested, like the flush of rosy morn, on that lovely face as she softly replied:

 

"I did, my dear Bridget; I did, my sweet Mary; the gulf will be spanned, and that very shortly; you shall both help to span it, and when the gulf is once thoroughly spanned you shall lend your aid toward the destruction of the great monster, intemperance: this will please Mary, the mother of Jesus, and all other angels, much better than it would to have you fall down and worship her or kiss the hem of her garment."