I had parted from my friend, and was returning home, when I met two persons walking arm in arm. I heard one of them say,—
“I find that no great work can be accomplished, without due regard paid to magnetisms; and in organization, we must take care that they are harmoniously distributed. I find that I now assume relations with every individual according to these subtile laws. You see where I am,” said Pendlam.
For Pendlam was the speaker. His companion was the Practical Organizer of the Initial Association of Free Disciples.
I went home, filled with a multitude of reflections. Strong interest led me soon after to pay a visit to Pendlam’s house. As I went in, I met a man coming out. He had a stout frame, keen eye, sensual mouth, sanguine complexion, muscular neck.
“Susan,” said I, “who is that man?”
“One of my husband’s friends,” answered Susan, in some confusion.
“And yours?”—eyeing her closely.
“Oh, he comes frequently to the house; I see him occasionally.”
“’Tis he who gave Pendlam that bottle of wine?”
“I believe so.”
“And that flogging, Susan!”
“Oh, they have made that up,” said Susan, innocently.
“If they are satisfied, I have nothing to say. Are you happy, Susan?” for a change had come over her, which I did not readily understand.
“Oh, dear!” said Susan, “we have had so much trouble!” She began to give way to her emotions. “We have lost all our old friends. Mother never comes near us now. Sometimes I don’t know what we shall do. Tell me what you think of it;—is Henry so much out of the way as people think? He certainly knows more than anybody else, and I don’t see how he can be wrong.” She ended with a sob.
“You are aware,” I answered, “that Pendlam and I partly agree in every thing, and wholly agree in nothing. He is right, and he is wrong. He takes hold of what is a truth, but detaches it from universal truth, and so it becomes an error.” I saw she did not comprehend. “But never despair,” I added. “The future depends upon you.”
“What can I do?” she pleaded.
“Remain firm in principle, dear Susan. Whatever happens, stand true to him and to yourself. Do that, and all will be well.”
The crying of her child, which was sick, called her away. I sought Pendlam’s study. I found him busily writing. He was pale and thin, and there was a wild brightness in his eye which did not please me.
“You, of all men!” he exclaimed. “Sit down.” He closed the door, with an air of mystery. “I was just writing to you.”
“To me? Then I have saved you the trouble of employing a messenger.”
“Susan would be mortified and incensed, if she knew what I am about to say. But truth is truth. She is perishing; I see new evidence of it every day. It is for want of magnetisms. I have little to give her, and what I have is not such as she requires. Do not be astonished when I tell you I have discovered that there do not exist between us the requisite affinities.”
I smiled; for Pendlam was continually announcing discoveries of facts I had discovered long before.
“You see where I am,” said Pendlam. “I am compelled to go to other women for the magnetisms I need; she must receive what she requires from other men.”
“That is interesting,” I replied. “What is the peculiar process of imparting these magnetisms?”
“Sometimes by conversation,—sometimes by the contact of hands,—perhaps by a kiss; no rule is laid down; the process must depend upon the kind of magnetism to be imparted.”
“Very naturally. But what have I to do with all this?”
“I will tell you. I was not Susan’s first choice; but you were. That fact
