Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

THAT which men call death is but a change of location for the Ego--the immortal self--a mere transformation, a forsaking for a time of the mortal frame, a short period of rest before one reassumes another human frame in the world of mortals. The Lord of this body is nameless; dwelling in numerous tenements of clay, it appears to come and go; but neither death nor time can claim it, for it is deathless, unchangeable, and pure, beyond Time itself, and not to be measured. So our old friend and fellow-worker has merely passed for a short time out of sight, but has not given up the work begun so many ages ago--the uplifting of humanity, the destruction of the shackles that enslave the human mind....

That she always knew what would be done by the world in the way of slander and abuse I also know, for in 1875 she told me that she was then embarking on a work that would draw upon her unmerited slander, implacable malice, uninterrupted misunderstanding, constant work, and no worldly reward. Yet in the face of this her lion heart carried her on. Nor was she unaware of the future of the Society. In 1876 she told me in detail the course of the Society's growth for future years, of its infancy, of its struggles, of its rise into the "luminous zone" of the public mind; and these prophecies are being all fulfilled.

Her aim was to elevate the race. Her method was to deal with the mind of the century as she found it, by trying to lead it on step by step; to seek out and educate a few who, appreciating the majesty of the Secret Science and devoted to "the great orphan Humanity," could carry on her work with zeal and wisdom; to found a Society whose efforts--however small itself might be--would inject into the thought of the day the ideas, the doctrines, the nomenclature of the Wisdom-Religion, so that when the next century shall have seen its seventy-fifth year the new messenger coming again into the world would find the Society still at work, the ideas sown broadcast, the nomenclature ready to give expression and body to the immutable Truth, and thus to make easy the task which for her since 1875 was so difficult and so encompassed with obstacles.

THE PATH--SOME WORDS OF WILLIAM Q. JUDGE

In 1886, William Q. Judge, the pupil and colleague and afterwards the successor of H. P. Blavatsky, founded and edited _The Path_, the first American Theosophical magazine. After his death, this magazine was continued by his successor, Katherine Tingley, and was by her finally merged into and combined with a weekly magazine, published under the title of the _Century Path_. This has again given place to THE THEOSOPHICAL PATH, thus distinctly calling attention to the teachings it promulgates and sets forth, while preserving the name "The Path" of the first American Theosophical Magazine.

THE THEOSOPHICAL PATH in its first issue pays honor to both these great-hearted Teachers, H. P. Blavatsky and William Q. Judge. All humanity owes them a debt of gratitude for pointing out once more the path of true progress and happiness. Through their self-sacrifice, even of their lives, "the pathway is once more seen to that realm where the Gods abide."

In the first issue of _The Path_, William Q. Judge wrote:

The solution of the problem, "What and Where is the Path to Happiness?" has been discovered by those of old time. They thought it was in the pursuit of Râja Yoga, which is the highest science and the highest religion--a union of both....

The study of what is now called "practical occultism" has some interest for us, and will receive the attention it may merit, but it is not _the_ object of this journal....

True occultism is clearly set forth in the _Bhagavad Gîtâ_, where sufficient stress is laid upon practical occultism, but after all, Krishna says, the kingly science and the kingly mystery is devotion to and study of the light which comes from within. The very first step in true mysticism and true occultism is to try to apprehend the meaning of Universal Brotherhood, without which the very highest progress in the practice of magic turns to ashes in the mouth.

We appeal, therefore, to all who wish to raise themselves and their fellow creatures--man and beast--out of the thoughtless jog trot of selfish everyday life. It is not thought that Utopia can be established in a day; but through the spreading of the idea of Universal Brotherhood, the truth in all things may be discovered. Certainly, if we all say that it is useless, that such high-strung sentimental notions cannot obtain currency, nothing will ever be done. A beginning must be made, and it has been by the Theosophical Society. Although philanthropic institutions and schemes are constantly being brought forward by good and noble men and women, vice, selfishness, brutality, and the resulting misery, seem to grow no less. Prisons, asylums for the outcast and the magdalen, can be filled much faster than it is possible to erect them. All this points unerringly to the existence of a vital error somewhere. It shows that merely healing the outside by hanging a murderer or providing asylums and prisons will never reduce the number of criminals nor the hordes of children born and growing up in hotbeds of vice. What is wanted is true knowledge of the spiritual condition of man, his aim and destiny. This is offered in Theosophical literature, and those who must begin the reform are those who are so fortunate as to be placed in the world where they can see and think out the problems all are endeavoring to solve, even if they know that the great day may not come until after their death. Such a study leads us to accept the utterance of Prajâpati to his sons: "Be restrained, be liberal, be merciful"; it is the death to selfishness.

In an article "A Year on the Path," Mr. Judge wrote, at the close of the first year of the magazine:

The question is always naturally asked, "What is the Path?" or "What is the Philosophy?" which is the same thing, for of course the following of any path whatever will depend upon the particular philosophy or doctrines believed in. The path we had in view is held by us to be the same one which in all ages has been sought by Heathen, Jew, and Christian alike. By some called the path to Heaven, by others the path to Jesus, the path to Nirvâna, and by Theosophists the path to Truth. Jesus has defined it as a narrow, difficult and straight path. By the ancient Brâhmans it has been called, "the small old path leading far away on which those sages walk who reach salvation"; and Buddha taught it was a noble four-fold path by which alone the miseries of existence can be truly surmounted....

The immortal spark has manifested itself in many different classes of men, giving rise to all the varied religions, many of which have forever disappeared from view. Not any one of them could have been the whole Truth, but each must have presented one of the facets of the great gem, and thus through the whole surely run ideas shared by all. These common ideas point to truth. They grow out of man's inner nature and are not the result of revealed books. But some one people or another must have paid more attention to the deep things of life than another. The "Christian" nations have dazzled themselves with the baneful glitter of material progress. They are not the peoples who will furnish the nearest clues to the Path. A few short years and they will have abandoned the systems now held so dear, because their mad rush to the perfection of their civilization will give them control over now undreamed of forces. Then will come the moment when they must choose which of two kinds of fruit they will take. In the meantime it is well to try and show a relation between their present system and the old, or at least to pick out what grains of truth are in the mass.

... A new age is not far away. The huge unwieldy flower of the 19th century civilization has almost fully bloomed, and preparation must be made for the wonderful new flower which is to rise from the old. We have not pinned our faith on Vedas nor Christian scriptures, nor desired any others to do so. All our devotion to Aryan literature and philosophy arises from a belief that the millions of minds who have trodden weary steps before ours, left a path which may be followed with profit, yet with discrimination. _For we implicitly believe that in this curve of the cycle, the final authority is the man himself._

In former times the disclosed Vedas, and later, the teachings of the great Buddha, were the right authority, in whose authoritative teachings and enjoined practices were found the necessary steps to raise man to an upright position. But the grand clock of the Universe points to another hour, and now Man must seize the key in his hands and himself--as a whole--open the gate. Hitherto he has depended upon the great souls whose hands have stayed impending doom. Let us then together enter upon another year, fearing nothing, assured of strength in the Union of Brotherhood. For how can we fear death, or life, or any horror or evil, at any place or time, when we well know that even death itself is a part of the dream which we are weaving before our eyes.

Our belief may be summed up in the motto of the Theosophical Society, "There is no Religion higher than Truth," and our practice consists in a disregard of any authority in matters of religion and philosophy except such propositions as from their innate quality we feel to be true.

SAVING FOREST WASTE: Note by a Student

In the Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture just issued, it is pointed out that conservation of the timber supply involves the co-operation of the public, the lumbermen, and the wood-consuming industries, as well as of the National Government. Forest conservation is not possible at the low prices of former days, and in general prices must advance before much can be done. Then the public must be prepared to accept new woods; the farmer must give up using cedar, white-oak, and chestnut posts; railroads must cease using white-oak ties; builders must accept other lengths and widths. Meantime the Government co-operating with Wisconsin University, has established a thoroughly equipped wood-testing laboratory at Madison, where many problems are being investigated, from the standpoints of forest conservation and commercial requirements.

In the valuable magazine _American Conservation_, for May 1911, it is stated that Argentina has a hundred million acres of wooded land, mostly quebracho and yerba tree, both in increasing demand. In Brazil there is about a thousand million acres of wooded land. There ruthless destruction cannot go on, as most concessions now require proper conservation of the rubber and other trees. Bolivia has quebracho, rubber, coca, cinchona, and other trees useful in the arts. The timber tracts of Colombia are practically unexploited. The slopes of Ecuador are richly wooded. The forests of Peru occupy about three hundred million acres, and its government has taken steps to ensure conservation, and contemplates experiment stations.

"AROMA OF ATHENS" STRIKES NEW NOTE IN THE DRAMA. Katherine Tingley to Open Greek Theater to the Public: Unrivaled Natural Scenery: Marvelous Acoustics. Notes by a Dramatic Critic

A new-old note in drama has been struck here on the Pacific Coast, which, we feel quite safe in prophesying, will be recorded in many histories. The English-speaking world has been fretting after some new inspiration. We are tired of imitating the Elizabethans; for the time being, that spring would seem to have run dry. What belongs to our own day peculiarly tends to be mere boisterous horseplay or flippant shallowness; vulgar both, and not in any way to be called art. What we have that is good, the work of a few writers, is not so startling in quantity or quality, nor so profoundly original, as to cause us to hope for a new great art period in our own or our children's day. And yet there has been the demand. The public has turned to strange well-springs and found the waters bitter, cloying, soon to run dry; the critics have filled their press columns, both here and in England, with clamorings, prognostications, hasty or timorous judgments, a sense of a great need and expectations. Decidedly the time is ripe for a new birth in the drama.

MEETS NEEDS OF THE TIME

Now the question arises, what needs must this new birth and order meet? Great art meets the needs of its time, sternly turning away from its mere wants; for that reason it is often rejected for awhile by a public clamorous after lower levels of things. Such a clamor we find in our own day after sensationalism--give us action, more action, say the managers; but is this a real need? The world is agog with action as it is; such a riot of action as one might imagine the Gadarene swine indulged in on their seaward last tumultuous journey. The motif is threadbare; we have torn it to tatters and it is time to turn to new modes. Personalism, too, is rampant and bears fruit in an ugly and jangled civilization. What is needed, then, is an art that shall be calm, dignified, beautiful, impersonal; a pointer to and promise of better ways of living.

One turns back to the great art of the Greeks with a sense of relief after all our modern, breathless, tom-tom beating. There we find beauty, calm movement, dignity, national, and not merely personal motifs; above all, an insistence on the higher and eternal verities. We need the Aroma of Athens on our modern stage; because it is precisely that that we need in our modern life.

PLAY DELIGHTED AUDIENCE

A few weeks ago Katherine Tingley presented a new play, _The Aroma of Athens_, at her Isis theater in San Diego, which struck all who saw it with profound surprise and delight. There was first the ideal poetic beauty of the setting, a thing unrealizable unless seen. The foremost of the London managers--men like Tree--have made a specialty of beautiful setting, astonishing the theatrical world with the splendor of their work in this line--and with its good taste. They have had enormous resources to draw upon, and have spared no expense in time, money, or thought. It may safely be said that none of them has produced anything more beautiful than this _Aroma of Athens_; it may safely be said that none of them has produced anything so beautiful. One rubbed one's eyes in astonishment, wondering how such things could be, and concluded that Madame Tingley at Point Loma had greater resources to draw upon than are to be found in London, Paris, Berlin, or New York. It is a wonderful thing, prophetic of the time when the culture-metropolis of the world will be right here among us on the Pacific Coast. Madame Tingley long ago said that San Diego would be the Athens of America, and today this is far nearer than we dream. If one would learn what those greater resources of hers are, one must examine her teachings, one must look into that marvelous scheme of education of hers, the Râja Yoga system, which enabled, for example, those little children on the stage to be as graceful, as un-self-conscious as any figures on a Grecian vase. Have you seen children, young children, on the stage, do well, wonderfully well; and then, when the applause rolled in, do better still, remaining sublimely unconscious of the applause? We applauded these children and looked to see, as a matter of course, the aroma of Athens vanish in a series of smirks. But no; clapped we never so loudly, it made no difference to them. They played their Greek games; they were merry and classical; they were Grecian, unstilted, poetic, faery. One's mind went back to Keats' ode:

"What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?"

And the answer was: Athens, Periclean Athens in all her superb flawless beauty and splendor; yes, those were real Athenians; of whom we have read in Keats and Swinburne; that we have seen sculptured in the Elgin marbles. Here they were, in the flesh and blood; here was the heyday of historic beauty, shedding its supreme aroma on us; with these tones Plato and Aeschylus would have spoken; in this manner Phidias and Pericles would have moved. It was a revelation, a marvelous artistic realization--indeed, it is a shame to use such cant hackneyed phrases for a thing so beautiful, so august--and yet so completely natural and unstrained.

GREATER THINGS PROMISED

So much for its performance in a modern theater, but greater things are promised. If all this is true of a play which was first thought of ten days before it was presented--and that is the fact--what is not to be hoped from the new presentation of it on April 17, a presentation of which, we are told, the former ones were but little more than sketches, and which is to be given in a real Greek open-air theater?

The Greek theater at Point Loma, the first in America, was built by Madame Tingley in 1901. It has the true Greek setting, looking out over the sea. A wild cañon runs down from it seaward, full of miniature hills and precipices, among which, now visible and now unseen, winds the path by which the players enter or leave the stage. There will be torchlight processions under the moon new-risen, moving along that path and over the broad stageplace; Greek chanting will be heard; real Greek music, and music with that ineffable something in it lacking in all, or nearly all, modern music, which suggests the hidden life of nature, the weird majesty of Delphi, of Nemesis, of the pipes of universal Pan; the very aroma of Sophoclean drama, plus an echo of that older and even more entrancing Greece,

"Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady,"

When--

"Liquid Peneus was flowing
And all dark Tempe lay
In Pelion's shadow, outgrowing
The light of the dying day,
Speeded by Pan's sweet pipings."

KINGDOM OF PAN UNCONFINED

One has long suspected that, with luck, one might well come upon a faun in the wild places of that cañon, at least in April, when the rains are newly over and the hillside a riot of bloom and delight. For indeed the kingdom of Pan is not confined; he has provinces here in California, and you may come upon the dales of Arcady in any of the four quarters of the world.

Were Pan or some legate of his to be piping far down the cañon, you would not fail to catch every note of it from every part of the auditorium in the theater; what is whispered on the stage is clearly heard on the topmost tier of seats. The place is a Wonder of the West if only for its marvelous acoustic properties. It has never been opened to the public before for a performance. And it should be remembered that Madame Tingley leaves nothing to chance; she stands out grandly independent in her art; leaves no detail to be excused by the generosity of the audience; permits nothing whatever of which you could say: "This is excellent--for amateurs; this is splendid--considering what a short time it has taken to get up." It may be quite safely affirmed that this presentation on April 17 will have a prominent place in all future histories of the drama.--San Diego _Union_, Friday morning, April 7, 1911.

SOME NOTES ON "THE AROMA OF ATHENS" As given in the Greek Theater, Point Loma, on Saturday Morning, April 22, 1911; With the Prolog to the Play: by Kenneth Morris

There never was a play so difficult to appraise or criticise justly and intelligently as this one. One had read many press notices from expert dramatic critics, all of them enthusiastic; but when one came to see the performance, it struck one that the best of them were inadequate, wholly beside the point. And yet one sees the excuse for saying just as much as language can be stretched to express. If one did not put on the enthusiasm without stint or measure, one would convey a suggestion that the presentation was unworthy of enthusiasm; the truth being that enthusiasm is somehow unworthy of the presentation.

Since seeing it, one has been searching mind and memory for some means of accounting for its extraordinary effect. We have seen it put down to the beauty of the spectacle, harmony of colors, perfect natural setting, and so forth. It is true that one failed to find any jarring note in the acting; that the cañon, running down to the Pacific, seen through the pillars of the Greek temple there, is a piece of landscape thrilling in its beauty, for the like of which you must go to lands where nature is at her most beautiful, and where there are the relics of mighty builders of old, that give a focal point to the natural beauty, and an inspiration to all artists. It is true also that there was a perfect art in the color scheme of the dresses--an absolute justness, balance and harmony of colors in themselves exquisite; that one could imagine no improvement in the grouping; that the enunciation, movements, and gesticulations, were in all cases just, clear, simple, natural, and graceful. But I am convinced that one might see and hear all that, and come away conscious that there was more to be said. None of these things, either considered separately or _en masse_, are enough to account for the enthralling effect of the play.

Generally speaking, again, it is true that "the play's the thing." In this case I think it is not true. There is, in the ordinary sense, hardly any action or _dramatic_ thrill. We underline dramatic, because thrill of some deeper and hitherto unexperienced kind there was; action too, there was--the action of a people on the World's stage; in that sense it was all one deep thrill, and the action of real life. But the dialog was mainly philosophic discussion, deep thought, art criticism from the Greek standpoint--just, sound, basic, noble; but not fiery or dramatic, as we commonly understand the terms; and there was none of that brilliant play of wit which in some modern plays compensates for the lack of a plot.

Here indeed, you may say that plot there was none. The Athenians are holding their Flower Festival, to which the Satrap Pharnabazus is welcomed as a guest. He is desirous to learn the secret of Athenian brilliance, and one by one his hosts give utterance, in response, to the principles of Athenian art, philosophy, etc. While they are speaking, the herald of Sparta is announced; here there is, indeed, a central incident of most stirring dramatic effect in the declaration of the Peloponnesian War. Socrates prophesies the downfall of Greece, and the rise of a new Athens in the west of the world in after-ages; after which follows an effect which, for mystic beauty and thrill does certainly stand out, so that you do know exactly why you are moved by it--a procession of scarlet-draped women with torches, that comes winding up the cañon, through the temple, and across the arena through clouds and volumes of colored mist, a wonderful bit of Katherine Tingley's art work, an incident impressive to the last degree, which were it done just so on any stage in the world, and by any actors, would create a sensation. But indeed, it is safe to say that such an effect has never been produced before, on any stage in the world.

But be it noted that the enthralment of _The Aroma of Athens_ began long before this; and that even this was rather a visual glory than a dramatic _coup_ according to the received canons.

Of spectacular value, too, was the archaic dancing of the children; and let it be said that there was something about these children which is never to be seen on the stages of the world, nor with any other children than those of the Râja Yoga College at Point Loma. And yet, when one has said that they were perfectly classic, and at the same time perfectly merry and natural--one realizes that one has still barely begun to account for what happened.

One little woman who professed to have some knowledge of art, yet was quite unfamiliar with the period which the play presented, almost tearfully deplored the fact that the actors did not seem to pay any attention to the audience during the production. The fact that they did _not_ do so was one of the charms of the whole presentation. They were not playing a part but giving a most realistic presentation of life, and were, as they should have been, as if there were no audience. To those who saw the motif of the play, it would have been a blur if the players had shown any consciousness of the audience, or had in any way "played to the gallery" or for personal attention.

Item by item, one might mention everything that was seen or heard, and one would remain certain that however perfect and beautiful each might be in itself, and even however perfect might be the harmony of them as an ensemble, they yet were not enough to explain the total value: and that even if you were able to explain the total value artistically, from the standpoint of art as we understand the term, there would yet be a kind of value, an invoking of one's inner nature without words, which for lack of a better term one must call a _spiritual_ value--not only moral, or mental--which would remain unexplained. In short, that there was here shown an element, a kind of value, which is wholly unfamiliar to the critics of the present day.

When we speak of the drama as an educational element, we conceive of its possible effects along artistic lines, or as setting forth moral principles, or high intellectual ideas. This play did all that, it is true; but it did all that, plus _x_; and what that _x_ represents is not known in our present civilization--or at least, so one suspects. It produced a silence of the senses and of all personal voices within, an uplift and a reverent feeling: yes, a sense that one had been given a revelation of what the great mystics of the world have meant by the word _spiritual_. Deeper places in one's being were touched, than any that respond to the work of the greatest actors of the present or of recent times.

So that any enthusiasm, any praise, seems something like an insult. To speak of the Genius of the one that produced the play--Katherine Tingley--that too seems a kind of insult. We have not attached to the term genius, a breadth of meaning great enough to include the qualities necessary for the production of a result so unlike anything that has gone before.

We have seen it compared with the work of the premier actors of the age, and that to the advantage of the Point Loma production. The remark is not good criticism. The difference is not one of degree, but one of kind. No actor manager, probably, would have handled this play; none could produce, with any play of the greatest dramatists, results that so baffle description, so affect one's conceptions in those parts of one's being that lie behind and deeper than formal mentality or imagination, or artistic appreciation. Perhaps Katherine Tingley could explain how it is done. I think no one else could.

It is delightful to hear that Mrs. Tingley is making plans for larger facilities for seating the people, as even with its present great size, the Greek Theater at Point Loma cannot meet the demands. It is whispered also that she has several more Greek and other plays in preparation, which in course of time will be presented in the Greek Theater, and possibly at her Isis Theater in San Diego as well.

THE PROLOG

You are in Athens now, and you shall see
The splendor of that age of long renown
When Perikles was prince in Pallas' town
Amidst a people mighty-souled and free
Whose eminence and bright supremacy
Made Zeus grow jealous, and wan Clotho frown,
So that the nations rose to bring her down,
To bring high Athens down, till she should be
A name, a memory only; yet a name
That burns--a beacon on the heights of time,
Lighting the ages' darkness, making sublime
The fame of Hellas with its smokeless flame.
And you shall see and hear now, all those men
That shone round Perikles: Thucydides,
Ariston, Crito, Phidias, Sokrates,
And many high-souled women, famous then,
Teachers and seers and sages whose far ken
Pierced deep the hidden realms of being.
These
Are gathered midst the Academian bowers
To keep their Anthesterian Feast of Flowers
Held every year in Athens. To their feast
Comes one sent by that Great King in the East
Whose sire was countered in the perilous hours
Of Salamis and Marathon. But now
To seal a pact with Athens, with high vow
Linking the Athenian and the Persian powers
Against the martial Spartan--Xerxes' son,
Enthroned Artaxerxes, sendeth one
Whom you shall see here in great pomp attend,
An honored guest, well-welcomed--Athens' friend,
The Persian Pharnabazus. In his hands
Is given the sway of those Bithynian meads
Where roam innumerable herds of steeds
Much sought by war-kings in a thousand lands.
Mighty with Median strength he comes--with gold
Of Ind and Araby, and those nations old
Which the strong Persian tamed, bedecked; and gems
That erst adorned great princes' diadems
Of fallen dynasties--pearls of Oman, dyes
Wrought in Turanian vats to out-do the blooms
Of Yemen spicy-breezed, and webs from looms
The deft Cashmirian or Cathayan plies--
A strong and courteous lord.
Right well he knows
By what stern virtues Persia broke her foes,
Bringing the jeweled throne of Croesus down,
And Phrygia's wealth, and Egypt's twofold crown;
What Magian training molds the Persian youth
To scorn of luxury, worship of truth,
Honor and gratitude; but in Athene's town
Findeth a bloom of soul and wit, in sooth,
He knows no secret for; and must inquire
By what strange kindling of what inward fire
Athenian, by what quest of deathless dream,
Athens is made so wondrously to gleam
Above the rest of the world.
Him answering there,
The Athenian citizens, the violet-crowned,
Speak one by one deep wisdom, and propound
Those balanced views that made their land so fair.
But even while they speak, lo, in the air
Gathers a cloud, a menace--trumpets sound--
The Spartan herald comes.
Stern words are these
He utters; sternly answereth Perikles--
There shall be war: Athens stoops not to a peace
Ignoble, though the untamed Lakonian bands
Be loosed against her, and a hundred lands
Enleague with Lakedaimon; yea, though all Greece
Compass her splendor round with threatened doom--
War shall it be.
Therewith a gathering gloom
Enfolds their vision, and their chief of seers
Makes known the menace of the darkening years--
Greece shall fall; ruined fanes shall mark her tomb,
The tomb of all her glory waned from the land;
Her broken, marble-pillared fanes shall stand,
And move the unborn to marvelings and to tears
For so much beauty waned in such decay.
Yet see, his vision brightens! Wane away
You barren ages! Speed, you desolate years!
Give place, sad night-time, to the dawn of day!
Hellas shall fall indeed; Athens shall wane,
Yet shall be born again! Greece born again,
Athens reborn in unknown lands, shall rise!
High on a hill beside the western seas,
That hath more wealth than Hybla for the bees,
That hath more blueness than the Aegean skies,
Athens shall rise again, most fair, most wise,
To shine upon the world!
--Thus Sokrates
Foretelling our own glorious Lomaland;
And what shall go forth from this western strand
In these last days, to herald peace, and blend
Nation with nation, hostile land with land,
Firm friends forever.
So the play hath end.

HAWTHORNE'S PSYCHOLOGY: contributed by C. T.

Hawthorne's _Blithedale Romance_ is a study of the psychology underlying the human relations that arise from the subtle inner feelings within the deepest and most diaphanous regions of the human heart.

With an incomparable delicacy and precision of touch, revealing the hidden framework of the underlying design, he clothes with apt speech these specter glimpses into the realm of human motive.

Pity 'tis that his glimpses into these depths should be clouded by the temperamental gloom of his own nature--always seeking justification of its own pessimism, always weaving despondent tragedies that the light of Theosophy would have transformed into inner victories in the midst of outward defeat. Yet he seems only to have penetrated to certain depths of gloom and doubt, and then to hesitate to take that one step deeper where forever dwells the light that dispels all shadows.

Like a modern Virgil he leads us to the brink of the deepest chasms, and then abandons us to our own intuitions. Possibly he saw farther into the depths than he could record in human speech--and so wrote on from romance to romance in search of the expression that forever eluded his pen.

LIFE AND TEACHINGS OF PYTHAGORAS: by F. S. Darrow, PH. D., A. M.