Schlatter purported, and believed, that he was the reincarnation of the Messiah.  Letters were sent to him, addressed simply, “Jesus Christ, Denver, Colorado,” and he walked up to the General-Delivery window and asked for them with a confidence, we are told, that relieved the postmaster of a grave responsibility.

Schlatter was no mere ordinary pretender, working on the superstitions of shallow-pated people.  He lived up to his belief—­took no money, avoided notoriety when he could; and the proof of his sincerity lies in the fact that he died a victim to it.

Herbert Spencer has said all about the Messianic Instinct that there is to say, save this—­the Messianic Instinct first had its germ in the heart of a woman.  Every woman dreams of the coming of the Ideal Man—­the man who will give her protection, even to giving up his life for her, and vouchsafe peace to her soul.  I am told by a noted Bishop of the Catholic Church that many women who become nuns are prompted to take their vows solely through the occasion of an unrequited love.  They become the bride of the Church and find their highest joy in following the will of Christ.  He is their only Spouse and Master.

The terms of endearment one hears at prayer-meetings, “Blessed Jesus,” “Dear Jesus,” “Loving Jesus,” “Elder Brother,” “Patient, gentle Jesus,” etc., were first used by women in an ecstasy of religious transport.  And the thought of Jesus as a loving, “personal Savior,” would die from the face of the earth did not women keep it alive.  The religious nature and the sex nature are closely akin:  no psychologist can tell where the one ends and the other begins.

There may be wooden women in the world, and of these I will not speak, but every strong, pulsing, feeling, thinking woman goes through life, seeking the Ideal Man.  Whether she is married or single, rich or poor, old or young, every new man she meets is interesting to her, because she feels in some mysterious way that possibly he is the One.

Of course, I know that every good man, too, seeks the Ideal Woman—­but that deserves another chapter.

The only woman in whose heart there is not the live, warm, Messianic Instinct is the wooden woman, and the one who believes she has already found him.  But this latter is holding an illusion that soon vanishes with possession.

That pale, low-voiced, gentle and insane man, Francis Schlatter, was followed at times by troops of women.  These women believed in him and loved him—­in different ways, of course, and with passion varying according to temperament and the domestic environment already existing.  To love deeply is a matter of propinquity and opportunity.

One woman, whom “The Healer” had cured of a lingering disease, loved this man with a wild, mad, absorbing passion.  Chance gave her the opportunity.  He came to her house, cold, hungry, homeless, sick.  She fed him, warmed him, looked into his liquid eyes, sat at his feet and listened to his voice.  She loved him—­and partook of his every mental delusion.