Chapter V (3)

Every appearance of water disappeared at the depth of only 9000
feet. From this depth downward the rock was of a basaltic
character, having not the slightest appearance of granite
formation--confirming, in a most remarkable manner, the discovery
made only last year, that all _granites_ are of _aqueous_,
instead of _igneous_ deposition. As a corollary from the law of
atmospheric pressure, it was found utterly impossible to vaporize
water at a greater depth than 24,000 feet, which point was
reached in 1869. No amount of heat affected it in the least
perceptible manner, and on weighing the liquid at the greatest
depth attained, by means of a nicely adjusted scale, it was found
to be of a density expressed thus: 198,073, being two degrees or
integers of atomic weight heavier than gold, at the surface.

The report then proceeds to discuss the question of the true figure of the earth, whether an oblate spheroid, as generally supposed, or only truncated at the poles; the length of a degree of longitude at the latitude of Dudzeele, 51 deg. 20 min. N., and one or two other problems. The concluding portion of the report is reproduced in full.

For the past twelve months it was found impossible to endure the
heat, even sheltered as the miners were by the atmospheric cover
and cage, for more than fifteen minutes at a time, so that the
expense of sinking had increased geometrically for the past two
years. However, important results had been obtained, and a
perpendicular depth reached many thousands of feet below the
deepest sea soundings of Lieutenant Brooks. In fact, the enormous
excavation, on the 1st of November, 1872, measured
perpendicularly, no less than 37,810 feet and 6 inches from the
floor of the shaft building! The highest peak of the Himalayas is
only little over 28,000 feet, so that it can at once be seen that
no time had been thrown away by the Commissioners since the
inception of the undertaking, in April, 1849.

The first symptoms of alarm were felt on the evening of November
1. The men complained of a vast increase of heat, and the cages
had to be dropped every five minutes for the greater part of the
night; and of those who attempted to work, at least one half were
extricated in a condition of fainting, but one degree from
cyncope. Toward morning, hoarse, profound and frequent
subterranean explosions were heard, which had increased at noon
to one dull, threatening and continuous roar. But the miners went
down bravely to their tasks, and resolved to work as long as
human endurance could bear it. But this was not to be much
longer; for late at night, on the 4th, after hearing a terrible
explosion, which shook the whole neighborhood, a hot sirocco
issued from the bottom, which drove them all out in a state of
asphyxia. The heat at the surface became absolutely unendurable,
and on sending down a cage with only a dog in it, the materials
of which it was composed took fire, and the animal perished in
the flames. At 3 o'clock A. M. the iron fastenings to another
cage were found fused, and the wire ropes were melted for more
than 1000 feet at the other end. The detonations became more
frequent, the trembling of the earth at the surface more violent,
and the heat more oppressive around the mouth of the orifice. A
few minutes before 4 o'clock a subterranean crash was heard,
louder than Alpine thunder, and immediately afterward a furious
cloud of ashes, smoke and gaseous exhalation shot high up into
the still darkened atmosphere of night. At this time at least one
thousand of the terrified and half-naked inhabitants of the
neighboring village of Dudzeele had collected on the spot, and
with wringing hands and fearful outcries bewailed their fate, and
threatened instant death to the officers of the commission, and
even to the now terrified miners. Finally, just before dawn, on
the 5th of November, or, to be more precise, at exactly twenty
minutes past 6 A. M., molten lava made its appearance at the
surface!

The fright now became general, and as the burning buildings shed
their ominous glare around, and the languid stream of liquid fire
slowly bubbled up and rolled toward the canal, the scene assumed
an aspect of awful sublimity and grandeur. The plains around were
lit up for many leagues, and the foggy skies intensified and
reduplicated the effects of the illumination. Toward sunrise the
flow of lava was suspended for nearly an hour, but shortly after
ten o'clock it suddenly increased its volume, and, as it cooled,
formed a sort of saucer-shaped funnel, over the edges of which it
boiled up, broke, and ran off in every direction. It was at this
period that the accomplished Dusoloy, so long the Superintendent,
lost his life. As the lava slowly meandered along, he attempted
to cross the stream by stepping from one mass of surface cinders
to another. Making a false step, the floating rock upon which he
sprang suddenly turned over, and before relief could be afforded
his body was consumed to a crisp. I regret to add that his fate
kindled no sympathy among the assembled multitude; but they
rudely seized his mutilated remains, and amid jeers, execrations,
and shouts of triumph, attached a large stone to the
half-consumed corpse and precipitated it into the canal. Thus are
the heroes of science frequently sacrificed to the fury of a
plebeian mob.

It would afford me a pleasure to inform the department that the
unforeseen evils of our scientific convention terminated here.
But I regret to add that such is very far from being the case.
Indeed, from the appearance of affairs this morning at the
volcanic crater--for such it has now become--the possible evils
are almost incalculable. The Belgian Government was duly notified
by telegraph of the death of the Superintendent and the mutinous
disposition of the common people about Bruges, and early on the
morning of the 6th of November a squad of flying horse was
dispatched to the spot to maintain order. But this interference
only made matters worse. The discontent, augmented by the wildest
panic, became universal, and the mob reigned supreme. Nor could
the poor wretches be greatly condemned; for toward evening the
lava current reached the confines of the old village of Dudzeele,
and about midnight set the town on fire. The lurid glare of the
conflagration awakened the old burghers of Bruges from their
slumbers and spread consternation in the city, though distant
several miles from the spot. A meeting was called at the
Guildhall at dawn, and the wildest excitement prevailed. But
after hearing explanations from the members of the commission,
the populace quietly but doggedly dispersed. The government from
this time forward did all that power and prudence combined could
effect to quell the reign of terror around Bruges. In this
country the telegraph, being a government monopoly, has been
rigorously watched and a cordon of military posts established
around the threatened district, so that it has been almost
impossible to convey intelligence of this disaster beyond the
limits of the danger. In the mean time, a congress of the most
experienced scientists was invited to the scene for the purpose
of suggesting some remedy against the prospective spread of the
devastation. The first meeting took place at the old Guildhall in
Bruges and was strictly private, none being admitted except the
diplomatic representatives of foreign governments, and the
members elect of the college. As in duty bound, I felt called on
to attend, and shall in this place attempt a short synopsis of
the proceedings.

Professor Palmieri, of Naples, presided, and Dr. Kirchoff
officiated as secretary.

Gassiot, of Paris, was the first speaker, and contended that the
theory of nucleatic fusion, now being fully established it only
remained to prescribe the laws governing its superficial action.
"There is but one law applicable, that I am aware of," said he,
"and that is the law which drives from the center of a revolving
body all fluid matter toward the circumference, and forcibly
ejects it into space, if possible, in the same manner that a
common grindstone in rapid motion will drive off from its rim
drops of water or other foreign unattached matter. Thus, whenever
we find a vent or open orifice, as in the craters of active
volcanoes, the incandescent lava boils up and frequently
overflows the top of the highest peak of the Andes."

Palmieri then asked the speaker "if he wished to be understood as
expressing the unqualified opinion that an orifice once being
opened would continue to flow forever, and that there was no law
governing the quantity or regulating the level to which it could
rise?"

Gassiot replied in the affirmative.

The Neapolitan philosopher then added: "I dissent _in toto_ from
the opinion of M. Gassiot. For more than a quarter of a century I
have studied the lava-flows of Vesuvius, Ætna and Stromboli, and
I can assure the Congress that the Creator has left no such flaw
in His mechanism of the globe. The truth is, that molten lava can
only rise about 21,000 feet above the level of the sea, owing to
the balance-wheel of terrestrial gravitation, which counteracts
at that height all centrifugal energy. Were this not so, the
entire contents of the globe would gush from the incandescent
center and fly off into surrounding space."

M. Gassiot replied, "that true volcanoes were supplied by nature
with _circumvalvular lips_, and hence, after filling their
craters, they ceased to flow. But in the instance before us no
such provision existed, and the only protection which he could
conceive of consisted in the smallness of the orifice; and he
would therefore recommend his Majesty King Leopold to direct all
his efforts to confine the aperture to its present size."

Palmieri again responded, "that he had no doubt but that the
crater at Dudzeele would continue to flow until it had built up
around itself basaltic walls to the height of many hundreds,
perhaps thousands, of feet, and that the idea of setting bounds
to the size of the mouth of the excavation was simply
ridiculous."

Gassiot interrupted, and was about to answer in a very excited
tone, when Prof. Palmieri "disclaimed any intention of personal
insult, but spoke from a scientific standpoint." He then
proceeded: "The lava bed of Mount Ætna maintains a normal level
of 7000 feet, while Vesuvius calmly reposes at a little more than
one half that altitude. On the other hand, according to Prof.
Whitney, of the Pacific Survey, Mount Kilauea, in the Sandwich
Islands, bubbles up to the enormous height of 17,000 feet. It
cannot be contended that the crater of Vesuvius is not a true
nucleatic orifice, because I have demonstrated that the molten
bed regularly rises and falls like the tides of the ocean when
controlled by the moon." It was seen at once that the scientists
present were totally unprepared to discuss the question in its
novel and most important aspects; and on taking a vote, at the
close of the session, the members were equally divided between
the opinions of Gassiot and Palmieri. A further session will take
place on the arrival of Prof. Tyndall, who has been telegraphed
for from New York, and of the great Russian geologist and
astronomer, Tugenieff.

In conclusion, the damage already done may be summed up as
follows: The destruction of the Bruges and Hond Canal by the
formation of a basaltic dyke across it more than two hundred feet
wide, the burning of Dudzeele, and the devastation of about
thirty thousand acres of valuable land. At the same time it is
utterly impossible to predict where the damage may stop, inasmuch
as early this morning the mouth of the crater had fallen in, and
the flowing stream had more than doubled in size.

In consideration of the part hitherto taken by the Government of
the United States in originating the work that led to the
catastrophe, and by request of M. Musenheim, the Belgian Foreign
Secretary, I have taken the liberty of drawing upon the State
Department for eighty-seven thousand dollars, being the sum
agreed to be paid for the cost of emigration to the United States
of two hundred families (our own pro rata) rendered homeless by
the conflagration of Dudzeele.

I am this moment in receipt of your telegram dated yesterday,
and rejoice to learn that Prof. Agassiz has returned from the
South Seas, and will be sent forward without delay.

With great respect, I have the honor to be your obedient servant,

JOHN FLANNAGAN,
United States Consul at Bruges.

P.S.--Since concluding the above dispatch, Professor Palmieri did
me the honor of a special call, and, after some desultory
conversation, approached the all-absorbing topic of the day, and
cautiously expressed his opinion as follows: Explaining his
theory, as announced at the Congress, he said that "Holland,
Belgium, and Denmark, being all low countries, some portions of
each lying below the sea-level, he would not be surprised if the
present outflow of lava devastated them all, and covered the
bottom of the North Sea for many square leagues with a bed of
basalt." The reason given was this: "That lava must continue to
flow until, by its own action, it builds up around the volcanic
crater a rim or cone high enough to afford a counterpoise to the
centrifugal tendency of axial energy; and that, as the earth's
crust was demonstrated to be exceptionally thin in the north of
Europe, the height required in this instance would be so great
that an enormous lapse of time must ensue before the self-created
cone could obtain the necessary altitude. Before _Ætna_ attained
its present secure height, it devastated an area as large as
France; and Prof. Whitney has demonstrated that some center of
volcanic action, now extinct, in the State of California, threw
out a stream that covered a much greater surface, as the basaltic
table mountains, vulgarly so called, extend north and south for a
distance as great as from Moscow to Rome." In concluding his
remarks, he ventured the prediction that "the North Sea would be
completely filled up, and the British Islands again connected
with the Continent."

J. F., U.S.C.

[Decoration]

XIV.

_WILDEY'S DREAM._

A blacksmith stood, at his anvil good,
Just fifty years ago,
And struck in his might, to the left and right,
The iron all aglow.
And fast and far, as each miniature star
Illumined the dusky air,
The sparks of his mind left a halo behind,
Like the aureola of prayer.

And the blacksmith thought, as he hammered and wrought,
Just fifty years ago,
Of the sins that start in the human heart
When _its_ metal is all aglow;
And he breathed a prayer, on the evening air,
As he watched the fire-sparks roll,
That with hammer and tongs, _he_ might right the wrongs
That environ the human soul!

When he leaned on his sledge, not like minion or drudge,
With center in self alone,
But with vision so grand, it embraced every land,
In the sweep of its mighty zone;
O'er mountain and main, o'er forest and plain,
He gazed from his swarthy home,
Till rafter and wall, grew up in a hall,
That covered the world with its dome!

'Neath that bending arch, with a tottering march
All peoples went wailing by,
To the music of groan, of sob, and of moan,
To the grave that was yawning nigh,
When the blacksmith rose and redoubled his blows
On the iron that was aglow,
Till his senses did seem to dissolve in a dream,
Just fifty years ago.

He thought that he stood upon a mountain chain,
And gazed across an almost boundless plain;
Men of all nations, and of every clime,
Of ancient epochs, and of modern time,
Rose in thick ranks before his wandering eye,
And passed, like waves, in quick succession by.

First came Osiris, with his Memphian band
Of swarth Egyptians, darkening all the land;
With heads downcast they dragged their limbs along,
Laden with chains, and torn by lash and thong.
From morn till eve they toiled and bled and died,
And stained with blood the Nile's encroaching tide.
Slowly upon the Theban plain there rose
Old Cheop's pride, a pyramid of woes;
And millions sank unpitied in their graves,
With tombs inscribed--"Here lies a realm of slaves."

Next came great Nimrod prancing on his steed,
His serried ranks, Assyrian and Mede,
By bold Sennacherib moulded into one,
By bestial Sardanapalus undone.
He saw the walls of Babylon arise,
Spring from the earth, invade the azure skies,
And bear upon their airy ramparts old
Gardens and vines, and fruit, and flowers of gold.
Beneath their cold and insalubrious shade
All woes and vices had their coverts made;
Lascivious incest o'er the land was sown,
From peasant cabin to imperial throne,
And that proud realm, so full of might and fame,
Went down at last in blood, and sin, and shame.

Then came the Persian, with his vast array
Of armed millions, fretting for the fray,
Led on by Xerxes and his harlot horde,
Where billows swallowed, and where battle roared.
On every side there rose a bloody screen,
Till mighty Alexander closed the scene.
Behold that warrior! in his pomp and pride,
Dash through the world, and over myriads ride;
Plant his proud pennon on the Gangean stream,
Pierce where the tigers hide, mount where the eagles scream,
And happy only amid war's alarms,
The clank of fetters, and the clash of arms;
And moulding man by battle-fields and blows,
To one foul mass of furies, fiends and foes.
Such, too, the Roman, vanquishing mankind,
Their fields to ravage, and their limbs to bind;
Whose proudest trophy, and whose highest good,
To write his fame with pencil dipped in blood;
To stride the world, like Ocean's turbid waves,
And sink all nations into servient slaves.

As passed the old, so modern realms swept by,
Woe in all hearts, and tears in every eye;
Crimes stained the noble, famine crushed the poor;
Poison for kings, oppression for the boor;
Force by the mighty, fraud by the feebler shown;
Mercy a myth, and charity unknown.

The Dreamer sighed, for sorrow filled his breast;
Turned from the scene and sank to deeper rest.
"Come!" cried a low voice full of music sweet,
"Come!" and an angel touched his trembling feet.
Down the steep hills they wend their toilsome way,
Cross the vast plain that on their journey lay;
Gain the dark city, through its suburbs roam,
And pause at length within the dreamer's home.

Again he stood at his anvil good
With an angel by his side,
And rested his sledge on its iron edge
And blew up his bellows wide;
He kindled the flame till the white heat came,
Then murmured in accent low:
"All ready am I your bidding to try
So far as a mortal may go."

'Midst the heat and the smoke the angel spoke,
And breathed in his softest tone,
"Heaven caught up your prayer on the evening air
As it mounted toward the throne.
God weaveth no task for mortals to ask
Beyond a mortal's control,
And with hammer and tongs you shall right the wrongs
That encompass the human soul.

"But go you first forth 'mong the sons of the earth,
And bring me a human heart
That throbs for its kind, spite of weather and wind,
And acts still a brother's part.
The night groweth late, but here will I wait
Till dawn streak the eastern skies;
And lest you should fail, spread _my_ wings on the gale,
And search with _my_ angel eyes."

The dreamer once more passed the open door,
But plumed for an angel's flight;
He sped through the world like a thunderbolt hurled
When the clouds are alive with light;
He followed the sun till his race was won,
And probed every heart and mind;
But in every zone man labored alone
For himself and not for his kind.

All mournful and flushed, his dearest hopes crushed,
The dreamer returned to his home,
And stood in the flare of the forge's red glare,
Besprinkled with dew and foam.
"The heart you have sought must be tempered and taught
In the flame that is all aglow."
"No heart could I find that was true to its kind,
So I left all the world in its woe."

Then the stern angel cried: "In your own throbbing side
Beats a heart that is sound to the core;
Will you give your own life to the edge of the knife
For the widowed, the orphaned, and poor?"
"Most unworthy am I for my brothers to die,
And sinful my sorrowing heart;
But strike, if you will, to redeem or to kill,
With life I am willing to part."

Then he threw ope his vest and bared his broad breast
To the angel's glittering blade;
Soon the swift purple tide gushed a stream red and wide
From the wound that the weapon had made.
With a jerk and a start he then plucked out his heart,
And buried it deep in the flame
That flickered and fell like the flashes of hell
O'er the dreamer's quivering frame.

"Now with hammer and tongs you may right all the wrongs
That environ the human soul;
But first, you must smite with a Vulcan's might
The heart in yon blistering bowl."
Quick the blacksmith arose, and redoubling his blows,
Beat the heart that was all aglow,
Till its fiery scars like a shower of stars
Illumined the night with their flow.

Every sling of his sledge reopened the edge
Of wounds that were healed long ago;
And from each livid chasm leaped forth a phantasm
Of passion, of sin, or of woe.
But he heeded no pain as he hammered amain,
For the angel was holding the heart,
And cried at each blow, "Strike high!" or "Strike low!"
"Strike hither!" or "Yonder apart!"

So he hammered and wrought, and he toiled and fought
Till Aurora peeped over the plain;
When the angel flew by and ascended the sky,
_But left on the anvil a chain!_
Its links were as bright as heaven's own light,
As pure as the fountain of youth;
And bore on each fold in letters of gold,
This token--LOVE, FRIENDSHIP AND TRUTH.

The dreamer awoke, and peered through the smoke
At the anvil that slept by his side;
And then in a wreath of flower-bound sheath,
The triple-linked chain he espied.
Odd Fellowship's gem is that bright diadem,
Our emblem in age and in youth;
For our hearts we must prove in the fire of LOVE,
And mould with the hammer of TRUTH.

[Decoration]

XV.

_WHITHERWARD._

By pursuing the analogies of nature, the human mind reduces to order the vagaries of the imagination, and bodies them forth in forms of loveliness and in similitudes of heaven.

By an irrevocable decree of Nature's God, all his works are progressive in the direction of himself. This law is traceable from the molehill up to the mountain, from the mite up to the man. Geology, speaking to us from the depths of a past eternity, from annals inscribed upon the imperishable rock, utters not one syllable to contradict this tremendous truth. Millions of ages ago, she commenced her impartial record, and as we unroll it to-day, from the coal-bed and the marble quarry, we read in creation's dawn as plainly as we behold in operation around us, the mighty decree--ONWARD AND UPWARD, FOREVER!

In the shadowy past this majestic globe floated through the blue ether, a boiling flood of lava. The elements were then unborn. Time was not; for as yet the golden laws of Kepler had not emerged from chaos. The sun had not hemmed his bright-eyed daughters in, nor marked out on the azure concave the paths they were to tread. The planets were not worlds, but shot around the lurid center liquid masses of flame and desolation. Comets sported at random through the sky, and trailed after them their horrid skirts of fire. The Spirit of God had not "moved upon the face of the waters," and rosy Chaos still held the scepter in his hand. But changes were at work. As the coral worm toils on in the unfathomable depths of ocean, laying in secret the foundations of mighty continents, destined as the ages roll by to emerge into light and grandeur, so the laws of the universe carried on their everlasting work.

An eternity elapsed, and the age of fire passed away. A new era dawned upon the earth. The gases were generated, and the elements of air and water overspread the globe. Islands began to appear, at first presenting pinnacles of bare and blasted granite; but gradually, by decay and decomposition, changing into dank marshes and fertile plains.

One after another the sensational universe now springs into being. This but prepared the way for the animated, and that in turn formed the groundwork and basis for the human. Man then came forth, the result of all her previous efforts--nature's pet, her paragon and her pride.

Reason sits enthroned upon his brow, and the soul wraps its sweet affections about his heart; angels spread their wings above him, and God calls him His child. He treads the earth its acknowledged monarch, and commences its subjection. One by one the elements have yielded to his sway, nature has revealed her hoariest secrets to his ken, and heaven thrown wide its portals to his spirit. He stands now upon the very acme of the visible creation, and with straining eye, and listening ear, and anxious heart, whispers to himself that terrific and tremendous word--WHITHERWARD!

Late one afternoon in April, I was sitting on the grassy slope of Telegraph Hill, watching the waves of sunset as they rolled in from the west, and broke in crimson spray upon the peaks of the Contra Costa hills. I was alone; and, as my custom is, was ruminating upon the grand problem of futurity. The broad and beautiful bay spread out like a sea of silver at my feet, and the distant mountains, reflecting the rays of the setting sun, seemed to hem it in with barriers of gold. The city lay like a tired infant at evening in its mother's arms, and only at intervals disturbed my reflections by its expiring sobs. The hours of business I well knew had passed, and the heavy iron door had long since grated on its hinges, and the fire-proof shutter been bolted for the night. But I felt that my labors had just commenced. The duties of my profession had swallowed up thought throughout the long hours devoted to the cares of life, and it was not until I was released from their thraldom that I found myself in truth a slave. The one master-thought came back into my brain, until it burned its hideous image there in letters of fire--WHITHERWARD! WHITHERWARD!

The past came up before me with its long memories of Egyptian grandeur, with its triumphs of Grecian art, with its burden of Roman glory. Italy came with her republics, her "starry" Galileo, and her immortal Buonarotti. France flashed by, with her garments dyed in blood, and her Napoleons in chains. England rose up with her arts and her arms, her commerce and her civilization, her splendor and her shame. I beheld Newton gazing at the stars, heard Milton singing of Paradise, and saw Russell expiring on the scaffold. But ever and anon a pale, thorn-crowned monarch, arrayed in mock-purple, and bending beneath a cross, would start forth at my side, and with uplifted eye, but speechless lip, point with one hand to the pages of a volume I had open on my knee, and with the other to the blue heaven above. Judea would then pass with solemn tread before me. Her patriarchs, her prophets and her apostles, her judges, her kings, and her people, one by one came and went like the phantasmagoria of a dream. The present then rose up in glittering robes, its feet resting upon the mounds of Nimrod, its brow encircled with a coronet of stars, pillaging, with one hand, the cloud above of its lightnings, and sending them forth with the other, bridled and subdued, to the uttermost ends of the earth.

But this was not all. Earth's physical history also swept by in full review. All nature lent her stores, and with an effort of mind, by no means uncommon for those who have long thought upon a single subject, I seemed to possess the power to generalize all that I had ever heard, read or seen, into one gorgeous picture, and hang it up in the wide heavens before me.

The actual scenery around me entirely disappeared, and I beheld an immense pyramid of alabaster, reared to the very stars, upon whose sides I saw inscribed a faithful history of the past. Its foundations were in deep shadow, but the light gradually increased toward the top, until its summit was bathed in the most refulgent lustre.

Inscribed in golden letters I read on one of its sides these words, in alternate layers, rising gradually to the apex: "_Granite_, _Liquid_, _Gas_, _Electricity_;" on another, "_Inorganic_, _Vegetable_, _Animal_, _Human_;" on the third side, "_Consciousness_, _Memory_, _Reason_, _Imagination_;" and on the fourth, "_Chaos_, _Order_, _Harmony_, _Love_."

At this moment I beheld the figure of a human being standing at the base of the pyramid, and gazing intently upward. He then placed his foot upon the foundation, and commenced climbing toward the summit. I caught a distinct view of his features, and perceived that they were black and swarthy like those of the most depraved Hottentot. He toiled slowly upward, and as he passed the first layer, he again looked toward me, and I observed that his features had undergone a complete transformation. They now resembled those of an American Indian. He passed the second layer; and as he entered the third, once more presented his face to me for observation. Another change had overspread it, and I readily recognized in him the tawny native of Malacca or Hindoostan. As he reached the last layer, and entered its region of refulgent light, I caught a full glimpse of his form and features, and beheld the high forehead, the glossy ringlets, the hazel eye, and the alabaster skin of the true Caucasian.

I now observed for the first time that the pyramid was left unfinished, and that its summit, instead of presenting a well-defined peak, was in reality a level plain. In a few moments more, the figure I had traced from the base to the fourth layer, reached the apex, and stood with folded arms and upraised brow upon the very summit. His lips parted as if about to speak, and as I leaned forward to hear, I caught, in distinct tone and thrilling accent, that word which had so often risen to my own lips for utterance, and seared my very brain, because unanswered--WHITHERWARD!

"Whitherward, indeed!" exclaimed I, aloud, shuddering at the sepulchral sound of my voice. "Home," responded a tiny voice at my side, and turning suddenly around, my eyes met those of a sweet little school-girl, with a basket of flowers upon her arm, who had approached me unobserved, and who evidently imagined I had addressed her when I spoke. "Yes, little daughter," replied I, "'tis time to proceed homeward, for the sun has ceased to gild the summit of Diavolo, and the evening star is visible in the west. I will attend you home," and taking her proffered hand, I descended the hill, with the dreadful word still ringing in my ears, and the fadeless vision still glowing in my heart.

# # # # #

Midnight had come and gone, and still the book lay open on my knee. The candle had burned down close to the socket, and threw a flickering glimmer around my chamber; but no indications of fatigue or slumber visited my eyelids. My temples throbbed heavily, and I felt the hot and excited blood playing like the piston-rod of an engine between my heart and brain.

I had launched forth on the broad ocean of speculation, and now perceived, when too late, the perils of my situation. Above me were dense and lowering clouds, which no eye could penetrate; around me howling tempests, which no voice could quell; beneath me heaving billows, which no oil could calm. I thought of Plato struggling with his doubts; of Epicurus sinking beneath them; of Socrates swallowing his poison; of Cicero surrendering himself to despair. I remembered how all the great souls of the earth had staggered beneath the burden of the same thought, which weighed like a thousand Cordilleras upon my own; and as I pressed my hand upon my burning brow, I cried again and again--WHITHERWARD! WHITHERWARD!

I could find no relief in philosophy; for I knew her maxims by heart from Zeno and the Stagirite down to Berkeley and Cousin. I had followed her into all her hiding-places, and courted her in all her moods. No coquette was ever half so false, so fickle, and so fair. Her robes are woven of the sunbeams, and a star adorns her brow; but she sits impassive upon her icy throne, and wields no scepter but despair. The light she throws around is not the clear gleam of the sunshine, nor the bright twinkle of the star; but glances in fitful glimmerings on the soul, like the aurora on the icebergs of the pole, and lightens up the scene only to show its utter desolation.

The Bible lay open before me, but I could find no comfort there. Its lessons were intended only for the meek and humble, and my heart was cased in pride. It reached only to the believing; I was tossed on an ocean of doubt. It required, as a condition to faith, the innocence of an angel and the humility of a child; I had long ago seared my conscience by mingling in the busy scenes of life, and was proud of my mental acquirements. The Bible spoke comfort to the Publican; I was of the straight sect of the Pharisees. Its promises were directed to the poor in spirit, whilst mine panted for renown.

At this moment, whilst heedlessly turning over its leaves and scarcely glancing at their contents, my attention was arrested by this remarkable passage in one of Paul's epistles: "That was not _first_ which is spiritual, but that which was natural, and _afterward_ that which is spiritual. Behold, I show you a mystery: _we shall not all sleep_, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump."

Again and again I read this text, for it promised more by reflection than at first appeared in the words. Slowly a light broke in on the horizon's verge, and I felt, for the first time in my whole life, that the past was not all inexplicable, nor the future a chaos, but that the human soul, lit up by the torch of science! and guided by the prophecies of Holy Writ, might predict the path it is destined to tread, and read in advance the history of its final enfranchisement. St. Paul evidently intended to teach the doctrine of _progress_, even in its applicability to man. He did not belong to that narrow-minded sect in philosophy, which declares that the earth and the heavens are finished; that man is the crowning glory of his Maker, and the utmost stretch of His creative power; that henceforth the globe which he inhabits is barren, and can produce no being superior to himself. On the contrary, he clearly intended to teach the same great truth which modern science is demonstrating to all the world, that progression is nature's first law, and that even in the human kingdom the irrevocable decree has gone forth--ONWARD AND UPWARD, FOREVER!

Such were my reflections when the last glimmer of the candle flashed up like a meteor, and then as suddenly expired in night. I was glad that the shadows were gone. Better, thought I, is utter darkness than that poor flame which renders it visible. But I had suddenly grown rich in thought. A clue had been furnished to the labyrinth in which I had wandered from a child; a hint had been planted in the mind which it would be impossible ever to circumscribe or extinguish. One letter had been identified by which, like Champollion le Jeune, I could eventually decipher the inscription on the pyramid. What are these spectral apparitions which rear themselves in the human mind, and are called by mortals _hints_? Whence do they come? Who lodges them in the chambers of the mind, where they sprout and germinate, and bud and blossom, and bear?

The Florentine caught one as it fell from the stars, and invented the telescope to observe them. Columbus caught another, as it was whispered by the winds, and they wafted him to the shores of a New World. Franklin beheld one flash forth from the cloud, and he traced the lightnings to their bourn. Another dropped from the skies into the brain of Leverrier, and he scaled the very heavens, till he unburied a star.

Rapidly was my mind working out the solution of the problem which had so long tortured it, based upon the intimation it had derived from St. Paul's epistle, when most unexpectedly, and at the same time most unwelcomely, I fell into one of those strange moods which can neither be called sleep nor consciousness, but which leave their impress far more powerfully than the visions of the night or the events of the day.

I beheld a small egg, most beautifully dotted over, and stained. Whilst my eye rested on it, it cracked; an opening was made _from within_, and almost immediately afterward a bird of glittering plumage and mocking song flew out, and perched on the bough of a rose-tree, beneath whose shadow I found myself reclining. Before my surprise had vanished, I beheld a painted worm at my feet, crawling toward the root of the tree which was blooming above me. It soon reached the trunk, climbed into the branches, and commenced spinning its cocoon. Hardly had it finished its silken home, ere it came forth in the form of a gorgeous butterfly, and, spreading its wings, mounted toward the heavens. Quickly succeeding this, the same pyramid of alabaster, which I had seen from the summit of Telegraph Hill late in the afternoon, rose gradually upon the view. It was in nowise changed; the inscriptions on the sides were the same, and the identical figure stood with folded arms and uplifted brow upon the top. I now heard a rushing sound, such as stuns the ear at Niagara, or greets it during a hurricane at sea, when the shrouds of the ship are whistling to the blast, and the flashing billows are dashing against her sides.

Suddenly the pyramid commenced changing its form, and before many moments elapsed it had assumed the rotundity of a globe, and I beheld it covered with seas, and hills, and lakes, and mountains, and plains, and fertile fields. But the human figure still stood upon its crest. Then came forth the single blast of a bugle, such as the soldier hears on the morn of a world-changing battle. Cæsar heard it at Pharsalia, Titus at Jerusalem, Washington at Yorktown, and Wellington at Waterloo.

No lightning flash ever rended forest king from crest to root quicker than the transformation which now overspread the earth. In a second of time it became as transparent as crystal, and as brilliant as the sun. But in every other respect it preserved its identity. On casting my eyes toward the human being, I perceived that he still preserved his position, but his feet did not seem to touch the earth. He appeared to be floating upon its arch, as the halcyon floats in the atmosphere. His features were lit up with a heavenly radiance, and assumed an expression of superhuman beauty.

The thought crossed my mind, Can this be a spirit? As sudden as the question came forth the response, "I am." But, inquired my mind, for my lips did not move, you have never passed the portals of the grave? Again I read in his features the answer, "For ages this earth existed as a natural body, and all its inhabitants partook of its characteristics; gradually it approached the spiritual state, and by a law like that which transforms the egg into the songster, or the worm into the butterfly, it has just accomplished one of its mighty cycles, and now gleams forth with the refulgence of the stars. I did not die, but passed as naturally into the spiritual world as the huge earth itself. Prophets and apostles predicted this change many hundred years ago; but the blind infatuation of our race did not permit them to realize its truth. Your own mind, in common with the sages of all time, long brooded over the idea, and oftentimes have you exclaimed, in agony and dismay--WHITHERWARD! WHITHERWARD!

"The question is now solved. The revolution may not come in the year allotted you, but so surely as St. Paul spoke inspiration, so surely as science elicits truth, so surely as the past prognosticates the future, the natural world must pass into the spiritual, and everything be changed in the twinkling of an eye. Watch well! your own ears may hear the clarion note, your own eyes witness the transfiguration."

Slowly the vision faded away, and left me straining my gaze into the dark midnight which now shrouded the world, and endeavoring to calm my heart, which throbbed as audibly as the hollow echoes of a drum. When the morning sun peeped over the Contra Costa range, I still sat silent and abstracted in my chair, revolving over the incidents of the night, but thankful that, though the reason is powerless to brush away the clouds which obscure the future, yet the imagination may spread its wings, and, soaring into the heavens beyond them, answer the soul when in terror she inquires--WHITHERWARD!

[Decoration]

XVI.

_OUR WEDDING-DAY._

I.

A dozen springs, and more, dear Sue,
Have bloomed, and passed away,
Since hand in hand, and heart to heart,
We spent our wedding-day.
Youth blossomed on our cheeks, dear Sue,
Joy chased each tear of woe,
When first we promised to be true,
That morning long ago.

II.

Though many cares have come, dear Sue,
To checker life's career,
As down its pathway we have trod,
In trembling and in fear.
Still in the darkest storm, dear Sue,
That lowered o'er the way,
We clung the closer, while it blew,
And laughed the clouds away.

III.

'Tis true, our home is humble, Sue,
And riches we have not,
But children gambol round our door,
And consecrate the spot.
Our sons are strong and brave, dear Sue,
Our daughters fair and gay,
But none so beautiful as you,
Upon our wedding-day.

IV.

No grief has crossed our threshold, Sue,
No crape festooned the door,
But health has waved its halcyon wings,
And plenty filled our store.
Then let's be joyful, darling Sue,
And chase dull cares away,
And kindle rosy hope anew,
As on our wedding-day.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XVII.

_THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW._

One more flutter of time's restless wing,
One more furrow in the forehead of spring;
One more step in the journey of fate,
One more ember gone out in life's grate;
One more gray hair in the head of the sage,
One more round in the ladder of age;
One leaf more in the volume of doom,
And one span less in the march to the tomb,
Since brothers, we gathered around bowl and tree,
And Santa Claus welcomed with frolic and glee.

How has thy life been speeding
Since Aurora, at the dawn,
Peeped within thy portals, leading
The babe year, newly born?

Has thy soul been scorched by sorrow,
Has some spectre nestled there?
And with every new to-morrow,
Sowed the seeds of fresh despair?
Rise from thy grief, my brothers!
Burst its chain with strength sublime,
For behold! I bring another,
And a fairer child of time.

Has the year brought health and riches?
Have thy barns been brimming o'er?
Will thy stature fit the niches
Hewn for Hercules of yore?
Are thy muscles firm as granite?
Are thy thousands safe and sound?
Behold! the rolling planet
Starts on a nobler round.

But perhaps across thy vision
Death had cast its shadow there,
And thy home, once all elysian,
Now crapes an empty chair;
Or happier, thy dominions,
Spreading broad and deep and strong,
Re-echo 'neath love's pinions
To a pretty cradle song!

Whate'er thy fortunes, brother!
God's blessing on your head;
Joy for the living mother,
Peace with the loving dead.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XVIII.

_A PAIR OF MYTHS:_

BEING A CHAPTER FROM AN UNPUBLISHED WORK.

Eight days passed away unreckoned, and still I remained unconscious of everything occurring around me. The morning of the ninth dawned, dragged heavily along, and noon approached, whilst I lay in the same comatose state. No alteration had taken place, except that a deeper and sounder sleep seemed to have seized upon me; a symptom hailed by my physician with joy, but regarded by my mother with increased alarm.

Suddenly, the incautious closing of my chamber door, as my sister, Miss Lucy Stanly, then in her fifteenth year, entered the apartment, aroused me from slumber and oblivion.

Abed at noonday! What did it betoken? I endeavored to recall something of the past, but memory for a long time refused its aid, and I appeared as fatally and irremediably unconscious as ever. Gradually, however, my shattered mind recovered its faculties, and in less than an hour after my awakening, I felt perfectly restored. No pain tormented me, and no torpor benumbed my faculties. I rapidly reviewed, mentally, the occurrences of the day before, when, as I imagined, the disaster had happened, and resolved at once to rise from my bed and prosecute my intended journey.

At this moment my father entered the apartment, and observing that I was awake, ventured to speak to me kindly and in a very low tone. I smiled at his uneasiness, and immediately relieved him from all apprehension, by conversing freely and intelligibly of the late catastrophe. His delight knew no bounds. He seized my hand a thousand times, and pressed it again and again to his lips. At length, remembering that my mother was ignorant of my complete restoration, he rushed from the room, in order to be the first to convey the welcome intelligence.

My bed was soon surrounded by the whole family, chattering away, wild with joy, and imprinting scores of kisses on my lips, cheeks and forehead. The excitement proved too severe for me in my weak condition, and had not the timely arrival of the physician intervened to clear my chamber of every intruder, except Mamma Betty, as we all called the nurse, these pages in all probability would never have arrested the reader's eye. As it was, I suddenly grew very sick and faint; everything around me assumed a deep green tinge, and I fell into a deathlike swoon.

Another morning's sun was shining cheerily in at my window, when consciousness again returned. The doctor was soon at my side, and instead of prescribing physic as a remedy, requested my sister to sit at my bedside, and read in a low tone any interesting little story she might select. He cautioned her not to mention, even in the most casual manner, _Mormonism_, _St. Louis_, or the _Moselle_, which order she most implicitly obeyed; nor could all my ingenuity extract a solitary remark in relation to either.

My sister was not very long in making a selection; for, supposing what delighted herself would not fail to amuse me, she brought in a manuscript, carefully folded, and proceeded at once to narrate its history. It was written by my father, as a sort of model or sampler for my brothers and sisters, which they were to imitate when composition-day came round, instead of "hammering away," as he called it, on moral essays and metaphysical commonplaces. It was styled

THE KING OF THE NINE-PINS: A MYTH.

Heinrich Schwarz, or Black Hal, as he was wont to be called, was an old toper, but he was possessed of infinite good humor, and related a great many very queer stories, the truth of which no one, that I ever heard of, had the hardihood to doubt; for Black Hal had an uncommon share of "Teutonic pluck" about him, and was at times very unceremonious in the display of it. But Hal had a weakness--it was not liquor, for that was his strength--which he never denied; _Hal was too fond of nine-pins_. He had told me, in confidence, that "many a time and oft" he had rolled incessantly for weeks together. I think I heard him say that he once rolled for a month, day and night, without stopping a single moment to eat or to drink, or even to catch his breath.

I did not question his veracity at the time; but since, on reflection, the fact seems almost incredible; and were it not that this sketch might accidentally fall in his way, I might be tempted to show philosophically that such a thing could not possibly be. And yet I have read of very long fasts in my day--that, for instance, of Captain Riley in the Great Sahara, and others, which will readily occur to the reader. But I must not episodize, or I shall not reach my story.

Black Hal was sitting late one afternoon in a Nine-Pin Alley, in the little town of Kaatskill, in the State of New York--it is true, for he said so--when a tremendous thunder-storm invested his retreat. His companions, one by one, had left him, until, rising from his seat and gazing around, he discovered that he was alone. The alley-keeper, too, could nowhere be found, and the boys who were employed to set up the pins had disappeared with the rest. It was growing very late, and Hal had a long walk, and he thought it most prudent to get ready to start home. The lightning glared in at the door and windows most vividly, and the heavy thunder crashed and rumbled and roared louder than he had ever heard it before. The rain, too, now commenced to batter down tremendously, and just as night set in, Hal had just got ready to set out. Hal first felt uneasy, next unhappy, and finally miserable. If he had but a boy to talk to! I'm afraid Hal began to grow scared. A verse that he learned in his boyhood, across the wide sea, came unasked into his mind. It always came there precisely at the time he did not desire its company. It ran thus:

"Oh! for the might of dread Odin
The powers upon him shed,
For a sail in the good ship Skidbladnir,[A-236]
And a talk with Mimir's head!"[B-236]

[Footnote A-236: The ship Skidbladnir was the property of Odin. He could sail in it on the most dangerous seas, and yet could fold it up and carry it in his pocket.]

[Footnote B-236: Mimir's head was always the companion of Odin. When he desired to know what was transpiring in distant countries, he inquired of Mimir, and always received a correct reply.]

This verse was repeated over and over again inaudibly. Gradually, however, his voice became a little louder, and a little louder still, until finally poor Hal hallooed it vociferously forth so sonorously that it drowned the very thunder. He had repeated it just seventy-seven times, when suddenly a monstrous head was thrust in at the door, and demanded, in a voice that sounded like the maelstrom, "What do _you_ want with Odin?" "Oh, nothing--nothing in the world, I thank you, sir," politely responded poor Hal, shaking from head to foot. Here the head was followed by the shoulders, arms, body and legs of a giant at least forty feet high. Of course he came in on all fours, and approached in close proximity to Black Hal. Hal involuntarily retreated, as far as he could, reciting to himself the only prayer he remembered, "Now I lay me down to sleep," etc.

The giant did not appear desirous of pursuing Hal, being afraid--so Hal said--that he would draw his knife on him. But be the cause what it might, he seated himself at the head of the nine-pin alley, and shouted, "Stand up!" As he did so, the nine-pins at the other end arose and took their places.

"Now, sir," said he, turning again to Hal, "I'll bet you an ounce of your blood I can beat you rolling."

Hal trembled again, but meekly replied, "Please, sir, we don't bet _blood_ nowadays--we bet _money_."

"Blood's my money," roared forth the giant. "Fee, fo, fum!" Hal tried in vain to hoist the window.

"Will you bet?"

"Yes, sir," said Hal; and he thought as it was only _an ounce_, he could spare that without much danger, and it might appease the monster's appetite.

"Roll first!" said the giant.

"Yes, sir," replied Hal, as he seized what he supposed to be the largest and his favorite ball.

"What are you doing with Mimir's head?" roared forth the monster.

"I beg your pardon, most humbly," began Hal, as he let the bloody head fall; "I did not mean any harm."

"Rumble, bang-whang!" bellowed the thunder.