peace; but I could only stand and gaze; in my heart a longing that was worship, in my thought a wonder that was praise.  “Who are these?” I murmured?  The Voice answered, “They are the servants of the Nameless One.  They do his bidding among men.  They awaken the old heroic fire of sacrifice in forgetful hearts.”  Then the forms of elder life appeared in my vision.  I saw the old earth, a fairy shadow ere it yet had hardened, peopled with ethereal races unknowing of themselves or their destinies and lulled with inward dreams; above and far away I saw how many glittering hosts, their struggle ended, moved onward to the Sabbath of Eternity.  Out of these hosts, one dropped as a star from their heart, and overshadowed the olden earth with its love.  Where ever it rested I saw each man awakening from his dreams turned away with the thought of sacrifice in his heart, a fire that might be forgotten, but could never die.  This was the continual secret whisper of the Fathers in the inmost being of humanity.  “Why do they not listen?” I marveled.  Then I heard another cry from the lower pole, the pit; a voice of old despair and protest, the appeal of passion seeking its own fulfilment.  Alternate with the dawn of Light was the breath of the expanding Dark where powers of evil were gathered together.  “It is the strife between light and darkness which are the world’s eternal ways,” said the Voice, “but the light shall overcome and the fire in the heart be rekindled; men shall regain their old angelic being, and though the dark powers may war upon them, the angels with their love shall slay them.  Be thou ready for the battle, and see thou use only love in the fight.  Then I was hurried backward with swift speed, and awoke.  All I knew was but a symbol, but I had the peace of the mystic Fathers in my heart, and the jeweled glory of the Northern Lights all dazzling about my eyes.

“Well, after a dream like that,” said Willie, “the only thing one can do is to try and dream another like it.”

—­Oct. 15, 1894-Jan. 15, 1895

On the Spur of the Moment

I am minded to put down some intuitions about brotherhood and trust in persons.  A witty friend writes, “Now that I have made up my mind, I intend looking at the evidence.”  A position like that is not so absurd as at first it seems.  It is folly only to those who regard reason alone and deny the value of a deep-seated intuition.  The intuitive trust which so many members of the T.S. have in William Q. Judge, to my mind shows that he is a real teacher.  In their deepest being they know him as such, and what is knowledge there becomes the intuition of waking hours.  When a clamour of many voices arises making accusations, pointing to time, place and circumstance; to things which we cannot personally investigate, it is only the spirit within us can speak and decide.  Others with more knowledge may give answering circumstances of time, place and act; but, with or without these, I back up my intuition with the reason—­where the light breaks through, there the soul is pure.  Says a brother truly: