_THE EARTH'S HOT CENTER._

The following extracts from the report of the Hon. John Flannagan,

United States Consul at Bruges, in Belgium, to the Secretary of State,

published in the Washington City _Telegraph_ of a late date, will fully

explain what is meant by the "Great Scare in Belgium."

Our extracts are not taken continuously, as the entire document would be

too voluminous for our pages. But where breaks appear we have indicated

the hiatus in the usual manner by asterisks, or by brief explanations.

GEN. FLANNAGAN'S REPORT.

BRUGES, December 12, 1872.

To THE HON. HAMILTON FISH,

Secretary of State.

SIR: In pursuance of special instructions recently received from

Washington (containing inclosures from Prof. Henry of the

Smithsonian Institute, and Prof. Lovering of Harvard), I

proceeded on Wednesday last to the scene of operations at the

"International Exploring Works," and beg leave to submit the

following circumstantial report:

Before proceeding to detail the actual state of affairs at

Dudzeele, near the line of canal connecting Bruges with the North

Sea, it may not be out of place to furnish a succinct history of

the origin of the explorations out of which the present alarming

events have arisen. It will be remembered by the State Department

that during the short interregnum of the provisional government

of France, under Lamartine and Cavaignac, in 1848, a proposition

was submitted by France to the governments of the United States,

Great Britain and Russia, and which was subsequently extended to

King Leopold of Belgium, to create an "International Board for

Subterranean Exploration" in furtherance of science, and in

order, primarily, to test the truth of the theory of igneous

central fusion, first propounded by Leibnitz, and afterward

embraced by most of contemporary geologists; but also with the

further objects of ascertaining the magnetic condition of the

earth's crust, the variations of the needle at great depths, and

finally to set at rest the doubts of some of the English

mineralogists concerning the permanency of the coal measures,

about which considerable alarm had been felt in all the

manufacturing centers of Europe.

The protocol of a quintuple treaty was finally drawn by Prof.

Henry, of the Smithsonian Institute, and approved by Sir Roderick

Murchison, at that time President of the Royal Society of Great

Britain. To this project Arago lent the weight of his great name,

and Nesselrode affixed the approval of Russia, it being one of

the last official acts performed by that veteran statesman.

The programme called for annual appropriations by each of the

above-named powers of 100,000 francs (about $20,000 each), the

appointment of commissioners and a general superintendent, the

selection of a site for prosecuting the undertaking, and a board

of scientific visitors, consisting of one member from each

country.

It is unnecessary to detail the proceedings for the first few

months after the organization of the commission. Prof. Watson, of

Chicago, the author of a scientific treatise called "Prairie

Geology," was selected by President Fillmore, as the first

representative of the United States; Russia sent Olgokoff;

France, Ango Jeuno; England, Sir Edward Sabine, the present

President of the Royal Society; and Belgium, Dr. Secchi, since so

famous for his spectroscopic observations on the fixed stars.

These gentlemen, after organizing at Paris, spent almost an

entire year in traveling before a site for the scene of

operations was selected. Finally, on the 10th of April, 1849, the

first ground was broken for actual work at Dudzeele, in the

neighborhood of Bruges, in the Kingdom of Belgium.

The considerations which led to the choice of this locality were

the following: First, it was the most central, regarding the

capitals of the parties to the protocol; secondly, it was easy of

access and connected by rail with Brussels, Paris and St.

Petersburg, and by line of steamers with London, being situated

within a short distance of the mouth of the Hond or west Scheldt;

thirdly, and perhaps as the most important consideration of all,

it was the seat of the deepest shaft in the world, namely, the

old salt mine at Dudzeele, which had been worked from the time of

the Romans down to the commencement of the present century, at

which time it was abandoned, principally on account of the

intense heat at the bottom of the excavation, and which could not

be entirely overcome except by the most costly scientific

appliances.

There was still another reason, which, in the estimation of at

least one member of the commission, Prof. Watson, overrode them

all--the exceptional increase of heat with depth, which was its

main characteristic.

The scientific facts upon which this great work was projected,

may be stated as follows: It is the opinion of the principal

modern geologists, based primarily upon the hypothesis of Kant

(that the solar universe was originally an immense mass of

incandescent vapor gradually cooled and hardened after being

thrown off from the grand central body--afterward elaborated by

La Place into the present nebular hypothesis)--that "the globe

was once in a state of igneous fusion, and that as its heated

mass began to cool, an exterior crust was formed, first very

thin, and afterward gradually increasing until it attained its

present thickness, which has been variously estimated at from ten

to two hundred miles. During the process of gradual

refrigeration, some portions of the crust cooled more rapidly

than others, and the pressure on the interior igneous mass being

unequal, the heated matter or lava burst through the thinner

parts, and caused high-peaked mountains; the same cause also

producing all volcanic action." The arguments in favor of this

doctrine are almost innumerable; these are among the most

prominent:

_First._ The form of the earth is just that which an igneous

liquid mass would assume if thrown into an orbit with an axial

revolution similar to that of our earth. Not many years ago

Professor Faraday, assisted by Wheatstone, devised a most

ingenious apparatus by which, in the laboratory of the Royal

Society, he actually was enabled, by injecting a flame into a

vacuum, to exhibit visibly all the phenomena of the formation of

the solar universe, as contended for by La Place and by Humboldt

in his "Cosmos."

_Secondly._ It is perfectly well ascertained that heat increases

with depth, in all subterranean excavations. This is the

invariable rule in mining shafts, and preventive measures must

always be devised and used, by means generally of air apparatus,

to temper the heat as the depth is augmented, else deep mining

would have to be abandoned. The rate of increase has been

variously estimated by different scientists in widely distant

portions of the globe. A few of them may be mentioned at this

place, since it was upon a total miscalculation on this head that

led to the present most deplorable results.

The editor of the _Journal of Science_, in April, 1832,

calculated from results obtained in six of the deepest coal mines

in Durham and Northumberland, the mean rate of increase at one

degree of Fahrenheit for a descent of forty-four English feet.

In this instance it is noticeable that the bulb of the

thermometer was introduced into cavities purposely cut into the

solid rock, at depths varying from two hundred to nine hundred

feet. The Dolcoath mine in Cornwall, as examined by Mr. Fox, at

the depth of thirteen hundred and eighty feet, gave on average

result of four degrees for every seventy-five feet.

Kupffer compared results obtained from the silver mines in

Mexico, Peru and Freiburg, from the salt wells of Saxony, and

from the copper mines in the Caucasus, together with an

examination of the tin mines of Cornwall and the coal mines in

the north of England, and found the average to be at least one

degree of Fahrenheit for every thirty-seven English feet.

Cordier, on the contrary, considers this amount somewhat

overstated and reduces the general average to one degree

Centigrade for every twenty-five metres, or about one degree of

Fahrenheit for every forty-five feet English measure.

_Thirdly._ That the lavas taken from all parts of the world, when

subjected to chemical analysis, indicate that they all proceed

from a common source; and

_Fourthly._ On no other hypothesis can we account for the change

of climate indicated by fossils.

The rate of increase of heat in the Dudzeele shaft was no less

than one degree Fahrenheit for every thirty feet English measure.

At the time of recommencing sinking in the shaft on the 10th of

April, 1849, the perpendicular depth was twenty-three hundred and

seventy feet, the thermometer marking forty-eight degrees

Fahrenheit at the surface; this would give the enormous heat of

one hundred and twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit at the bottom of

the mine. Of course, without ventilation no human being could

long survive in such an atmosphere, and the first operations of

the commission were directed to remedy this inconvenience.

The report then proceeds to give the details of a very successful

contrivance for forcing air into the shaft at the greatest depths, only

a portion of which do we deem it important to quote, as follows:

The width of the Moer-Vater, or Lieve, at this point, was ten

hundred and eighty yards, and spanned by an old bridge, the stone

piers of which were very near together, having been built by the

emperor Hadrian in the early part of the second century. The rise

of the tide in the North Sea, close at hand, was from fifteen to

eighteen feet, thus producing a current almost as rapid as that

of the Mersey at Liverpool. The commissioners determined to

utilize this force, in preference to the erection of expensive

steam works at the mouth of the mine. A plan was submitted by

Cyrus W. Field, and at once adopted. Turbine wheels were built,

covering the space betwixt each arch, movable, and adapted to the

rise and fall of the tide. Gates were also constructed between

each arch, and a head of water, ranging from ten to fifteen feet

fall, provided for each turn of the tide--both in the ebb and the

flow, so that there should be a continuous motion to the

machinery. Near the mouth of the shaft two large boiler-iron

reservoirs were constructed, capable of holding from one hundred

and fifty thousand to two hundred thousand cubic feet of

compressed air, the average rate of condensation being about two

hundred atmospheres. These reservoirs were properly connected

with the pumping apparatus of the bridge by large cast-iron

mains, so that the supply was continuous, and at an almost

nominal cost. It was by the same power of compressed air that the

tunneling through Mount St. Gothard was effected for the Lyons

and Turin Railway, just completed.

The first operations were to enlarge the shaft so as to form an

opening forty by one hundred feet, English measure. This consumed

the greater part of the year 1849, so that the real work of

sinking was not fairly under way until early in 1850. But from

that period down to the memorable 5th of November, 1872, the

excavation steadily progressed. I neglected to state at the

outset that M. Jean Dusoloy, the state engineer of Belgium, was

appointed General Superintendent, and continued to fill that

important office until he lost his life, on the morning of the

6th of November, the melancholly details of which are hereinafter

fully narrated.

As the deepening progressed the heat of the bottom continued to

increase, but it was soon observed in a different ratio from the

calculations of the experts. After attaining the depth of fifteen

thousand six hundred and fifty feet,--about the height of Mt.

Blanc--which was reached early in 1864, it was noticed, for the

first time, that the laws of temperature and gravitation were

synchronous; that is, that the heat augmented in a ratio

proportioned to the square of the distance from the surface

downward. Hence the increase at great depths bore no relation at

all to the apparently gradual augmentation near the surface. As

early as June, 1868, it became apparent that the sinking, if

carried on at all, would have to be protected by some

atheromatous or adiathermic covering. Professor Tyndall was

applied to, and, at the request of Lord Palmerston, made a vast

number of experiments on non-conducting bodies. As the result of

his labors, he prepared a compound solution about the density of

common white lead, composed of selenite alum and sulphate of

copper, which was laid on three or four thicknesses, first upon

the bodies of the naked miners--for in all deep mines the

operatives work _in puris naturalibus_--and then upon an

oval-shaped cage made of papier mache, with a false bottom,

enclosed within which the miners were enabled to endure the

intense heat for a shift of two hours each day. The drilling was

all done by means of the diamond-pointed instrument, and the

blasting by nitro-glycerine from the outset; so that the

principal labor consisted in shoveling up the debris and keeping

the drill-point _in situ_.

Before proceeding further it may not be improper to enumerate a

few of the more important scientific facts which, up to the 1st

of November of the past year, had been satisfactorily

established. First in importance is the one alluded to above--the

rate of increase of temperature as we descend into the bowels of

the earth. This law, shown above to correspond exactly with the

law of attraction or gravitation, had been entirely overlooked by

all the scientists, living or dead. No one had for a moment

suspected that heat followed the universal law of physics as a

material body ought to do, simply because, from the time of De

Saussure, heat had been regarded only as a force or _vis viva_

and not as a ponderable quality.

But not only was heat found to be subject to the law of inverse

ratio of the square of the distance from the surface, but the

atmosphere itself followed the same invariable rule. Thus, while

we know that water boils at the level of the sea at two hundred

and twelve degrees Fahrenheit, it readily vaporizes at one

hundred and eighty-five degrees on the peak of Teneriffe, only

fifteen thousand feet above that level. This, we know, is owing

to the weight of the superincumbent atmosphere, there being a

heavier burden at the surface than at any height above it. The

rate of decrease above the surface is perfectly regular, being

one degree for every five hundred and ninety feet of ascent. But

the amazing fact was shown that the weight of the atmosphere

increased in a ratio proportioned to the square of the distance

downward.... The magnetic needle also evinced some curious

disturbance, the dip being invariably upward. Its action also was

exceedingly feeble, and the day before the operations ceased it

lost all polarity whatever, and the finest magnet would not

meander from the point of the compass it happened to be left at

for the time being. As Sir Edward Sabine finely said, "The hands

of the magnetic clock stopped." But the activity of the needle

gradually increased as the surface was approached.

All electrical action also ceased, which fully confirms the

theory, of Professor Faraday, that "electricity is a force

generated by the rapid axial revolution of the earth, and that

magnetic attraction in all cases points or operates at right

angles to its current." Hence electricity, from the nature of its

cause, must be superficial.

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.

Hal fell on his knees and recited most devoutly, "Now I lay me down,"

etc.

"Roll on! roll on! I say," and the giant seized poor Hal by the collar

and set him on his feet.

He now selected a large ball, and poising it carefully in his hand, ran

a few steps, and sent it whirling right in among the nine-pins; but what

was his astonishment to behold them jump lightly aside, and permit the

ball to pass in an avenue directly through the middle of the alley. Hal

shuddered. The second and third ball met with no better success.

Odin--for Hal said it was certainly he, as he had Mimir's head

along--now grasped a ball and rolled it with all his might; but long

before it reached the nine-pins, they had, every one of them, tumbled

down, and lay sprawling on the alley.

"Two spares!" said the giant, as he grinned most gleefully at poor Hal.

"Get up!" and up the pins all stood instantly. Taking another ball, he

hurled it down the alley, and the same result followed. "Two more

spares!" and Odin shook his gigantic sides with laughter.

"I give up the game," whined out Hal.

"Then you lose double," rejoined Odin.

Hal readily consented to pay two ounces, for he imagined, by yielding at

once, he would so much the sooner get rid of his grim companion. As he

said so, Odin pulled a pair of scales out of his coat pocket, made

proportionably to his own size. He poised them upon a beam in the alley,

and drew forth what he denominated two ounces, and put them in one

scale. Each ounce was about the size of a twenty-eight pound weight, and

was quite as heavy.

"Ha! ha! ha!! Ha! ha! ha!!! Ha! ha! ha!!!!" shouted the giant, as he

grasped the gasping and terrified gambler. He soon rolled up his

sleeves, and bound his arm with a pocket handkerchief. Next he drew

forth a lancet as long as a sword, and drove the point into the biggest

vein he could discover. Hal screamed and fainted. When he returned to

consciousness, the sun was shining brightly in at the window, and the

sweet rumbling of the balls assured him that he still lay where the

giant left him. On rising to his feet he perceived that a large coagulum

of blood had collected where his head rested all night, and that he

could scarcely walk from the effects of his exhaustion. He returned

immediately home and told his wife all that had occurred; and though,

like some of the neighbors, she distrusted the tale, yet she never

intimated her doubts to Black Hal himself. The alley-keeper assured me

in a whisper, one day, that upon the very night fixed on by Hal for the

adventure, he was beastly drunk, and had been engaged in a fight with

one of his boon companions, who gave him a black eye and a bloody nose.

But the alley-keeper was always jealous of Black Hal's superiority in

story telling; besides, he often drank too much himself, and I suspect

he originated the report he related to me in a fit of wounded pride, or

drunken braggadocio. One thing is certain, he never ventured to repeat

the story in the presence of Black Hal himself.

# # # # #

In spite of the attention I endeavored to bestow on the marvelous

history of Black Hal and his grim companion, my mind occasionally

wandered far away, and could only find repose in communing with her who

I now discovered for the first time held in her own hands the thread of

my destiny. Lucy was not blind to these fits of abstraction, and

whenever they gained entire control of my attention, she would pause,

lay down the manuscript, and threaten most seriously to discontinue the

perusal, unless I proved a better listener. I ask no man's pardon for

declaring that my sister was an excellent reader. Most brothers, perhaps

think the same of most sisters; but there _was_ a charm in Lucy's accent

and a distinctness in her enunciation I have never heard excelled. Owing

to these qualities, as much, perhaps, as to the strangeness of the

story, I became interested in the fate of the drunken gambler, and when

Lucy concluded, I was ready to exclaim, "And pray where is Black Hal

now?"

My thoughts took another direction, however, and I impatiently demanded

whether or not the sample story had been imitated. A guilty blush

assured me quite as satisfactorily as words could have done, that Miss

Lucy had herself made an attempt, and I therefore insisted that as she

had whetted and excited the appetite, it would be highly

unfraternal--(particularly in my present very precarious

condition)--that parenthesis settled the matter--to deny me the means of

satisfying it.

"But you'll laugh at me," timidly whispered my sister.

"Of course I shall," said I, "if your catastrophe is half as melancholy

as Black Hal's. But make haste, or I shall be off to St. Louis. But pray

inform me, what is the subject of your composition?"

"The Origin of Marriage."

"I believe, on my soul," responded I, laughing outright, "you girls

never think about anything else."

I provoked no reply, and the manuscript being unfolded, my sister thus

attempted to elucidate

THE ORIGIN OF MARRIAGE.

Professor Williams having ceased his manipulations, my eyes

involuntarily closed, and I became unconscious to everything occurring

around me. There's truth in mesmerism, after all, thought I, and being

in the clairvoyant state, I beheld a most beautiful comet at this moment

emerging from the constellation Taurus, and describing a curve about the

star Zeta, one of the Pleiades. Now for a trip through infinite space!

and as this thought entered my brain, I grasped a hair in the tail of

the comet as it whizzed by me.

I climbed up the glittering hair until I found myself seated very

comfortably on the comet's back, and was beginning to enjoy my starlit

ramble exceedingly, when I was suddenly aroused from my meditations by

the song of a heavenly minstrel, who, wandering from star to star and

system to system, sang the fate of other worlds and other beings to

those who would listen to his strains and grant him the rites of

hospitality. As I approached, his tones were suddenly changed, his voice

lowered into a deeper key, and gazing intently at me, or at what

evidenced my presence to his sight, thus began:

The flaming sword of the cherub, which had waved so frightfully above

the gate of the garden of Eden, had disappeared; the angel himself was

gone; and Adam, as he approached the spot where so lately he had enjoyed

the delights of heaven, beheld with astonishment and regret that

Paradise and all its splendors had departed from the earth forever.

Where the garden lately bloomed, he could discover only the dark and

smouldering embers of a conflagration; a hard lava had incrusted itself

along the golden walks; the birds were flown, the flowers withered, the

fountains dried up, and desolation brooded over the scene.

"Ah!" sighed the patriarch of men, "where are now the pleasures which I

once enjoyed along these peaceful avenues? Where are all those

beautiful spirits, given by Heaven to watch over and protect me? Each

guardian angel has deserted me, and the rainbow glories of Paradise have

flown. No more the sun shines out in undimmed splendor, for clouds array

him in gloom; the earth, forgetful of her verdure and her flowers,

produces thorns to wound and frosts to chill me. The very air, once all

balm and zephyrs, now howls around me with the voice of the storm and

the fury of the hurricane. No more the notes of peace and happiness

greet my ears, but the harsh tones of strife and battle resound on every

side. Nature has kindled the flames of discord in her own bosom, and

universal war has begun his reign!"

And then the father of mankind hid his face in the bosom of his

companion, and wept the bitter tears of contrition and repentance.

"Oh, do not weep so bitterly, my Adam," exclaimed his companion. "True,

we are miserable, but all is not yet lost; we have forfeited the smiles

of Heaven, but we may yet regain our lost place in its affections. Let

us learn from our misfortunes the anguish of guilt, but let us learn

also the mercy of redemption. We may yet be happy."

"Oh, talk not of happiness now," interrupted Adam; "that nymph who once

wailed at our side, attentive to the beck, has disappeared, and fled

from the companionship of such guilty, fallen beings as ourselves,

forever."

"Not forever, Adam," kindly rejoined Eve; "she may yet be lurking among

these groves, or lie hid behind yon hills."

"Then let us find her," quickly responded Adam; "you follow the sun,

sweet Eve, to his resting-place, whilst I will trace these sparkling

waters to their bourn. Let us ramble this whole creation o'er; and when

we have found her, let us meet again on this very spot, and cling to her

side, until the doom of death shall overtake us."

And the eye of Adam beamed with hope, then kindled for the first time on

earth in the bosom of man; and he bade Eve his first farewell, and

started eastward in his search.

Eve turned her face to the west, and set out on her allotted journey.

The sun had shone a hundred times in midsummer splendor, and a hundred

times had hid himself in the clouds of winter, and yet no human foot had

trod the spot where the garden of Eden once bloomed. Adam had in vain

traced the Euphrates to the sea, and climbed the Himalaya Mountains. In

vain had he endured the tropical heats on the Ganges, and the winter's

cold in Siberia. He stood at last upon the borders of that narrow sea

which separates Asia from America, and casting a wistful glance to the

far-off continent, exclaimed: "In yon land, so deeply blue in the

distance, that it looks like heaven, Happiness may have taken refuge.

Alas! I cannot pursue her there. I will return to Eden, and learn if

Eve, too, has been unsuccessful."

And then he took one more look at the distant land, sighed his adieu,

and set out on his return.

Poor Eve! First child of misery, first daughter of despair! Poor Eve,

with the blue of heaven in her eye, and the crimson of shame upon her

lip! Poor Eve, arrayed in beauty, but hastening to decay--she, too, was

unsuccessful.

Wandering in her westward way, the azure waters of the Mediterranean

soon gleamed upon her sight. She stood at length upon the pebbly shore,

and the glad waves, silent as death before, when they kissed her naked

feet, commenced that song still heard in their eternal roar. A mermaid

seemed to rise from the waters at her feet, and to imitate her every

motion. Her long dark tresses, her deep blue eyes, her rosy cheek, her

sorrowful look, all were reflected in the mermaid before her.

"Sweet spirit," said Eve, "canst thou inform me where the nymph

Happiness lies concealed? She always stood beside us in the garden of

Eden; but when we were driven from Paradise we beheld her no more."

The lips of the mermaid moved, but Eve could hear no reply.

Ah! mother of mankind, the crystal waters of every sea, reflecting thy

lovely image, still faithful to their trust, conceal a mermaid in their

bosom for every daughter of beauty who looks upon them!

Neither the orange groves of the Arno, nor the vineyards of France;

neither the forests of Germania, nor the caves of Norway, concealed the

sought-for nymph. Eve explored them all. Her track was imprinted in the

sands of Sahara, by the banks of the Niger, on the rocks of Bengola, in

the vales of Abyssinia--but all in vain.

"O Happiness! art thou indeed departed from our earth? How can we live

without thee? Come, Death," cried Eve; "come now, and take me where thou

wilt. This world is a desert, for Happiness has left it desolate."

A gentle slumber soon overcame the wearied child of sorrow, and in her

sleep a vision came to comfort her. She dreamed that she stood before an

aged man, whose hoary locks attested that the snows of many winters had

whitened them, and in whose glance she recognized the spirit of Wisdom.

"Aged Father," said Eve, "where is Happiness?" and then she burst into a

flood of tears.

"Comfort thyself, Daughter," mildly answered the old man; "Happiness yet

dwells on earth, but she is no longer visible. A temple is built for her

in every mortal's bosom, but she never ascends her throne until welcomed

there by the child of Honor and Love."

The morning sun aroused Eve from her slumber, but did not dispel the

memory of her dream. "I will return to Eden, and there await until the

child of Honor and Love shall enthrone in my bosom the lost nymph

Happiness;" and saying this, she turned her face to the eastward, and

thinking of Adam and her vision, journeyed joyfully along.

The sun of Spring had opened the flowers and clothed the woods in

verdure; had freed the streams from their icy fetters, and inspired the

warbling world with harmony, when two forlorn and weary travelers

approached the banks of the river Pison; that river which had flowed

through the garden of Eden when the first sunshine broke upon the world.

A hundred years had rolled away, and the echo of no human voice had

resounded through the deserted groves. At length the dusky figures

emerged from the overshadowing shrubbery, and raised their eyes into

each other's faces. One bound--one cry--and they weep for joy in each

other's arms.

Adam related his sad and melancholy story, and then Eve soon finished

hers. But no sooner had she told her dream, than Adam, straining her to

his bosom, exclaimed:

"There is no mystery here, my Eve. If Happiness on earth be indeed the

child of Honor and Love, it must be in Matrimony alone. What else now

left us on earth can lay claim to the precious boon? Approved by heaven,

and cherished by man, in the holy bonds of Matrimony it must consist;

and if this be all, we need seek no further; it is ours!"

They then knelt in prayer, and returned thanks to Heaven, that though

the garden of Eden was a wild, and the nymph Happiness no longer an

angel at their side, yet that her spirit was still present in every

bosom where the heart is linked to Honor and Love by the sacred ties of

Matrimony.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XIX.

_THE LAST OF HIS RACE._

No further can fate tempt or try me,

With guerdon of pleasure or pain;

Ere the noon of my life has sped by me,

The last of my race I remain.

To that home so long left I might journey;

But they for whose greeting I yearn,

Are launched on that shadowy ocean

Whence voyagers never return.

My life is a blank in creation,

My fortunes no kindred may share;

No brother to cheer desolation,

No sister to soften by prayer;

No father to gladden my triumphs,

No mother my sins to atone;

No children to lean on in dying--

I must finish my journey alone!

In that hall, where their feet tripp'd before me,

How lone would now echo my tread!

While each fading portrait threw o'er me

The chill, stony smile of the dead.

One sad thought bewilders my slumbers,

From eve till the coming of dawn:

I cry out in visions, "_Where are they_?"

And echo responds, "_They are gone_!"

But fain, ere the life-fount grows colder,

I'd wend to that lone, distant place,

That row of green hillocks, where moulder

The rest of my early doom'd race.

There slumber the true and the manly,

There slumber the spotless and fair;

And when my last journey is ended,

My place of repose be it there!

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XX.

_THE TWO GEORGES._

Between the years of our Lord 1730 and 1740, two men were born on

opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean, whose lives were destined to exert

a commanding influence on the age in which they lived, as well as to

control the fortunes of many succeeding generations.

One was by birth a plain peasant, the son of a Virginia farmer; the

other an hereditary Prince, and the heir of an immense empire. It will

be the main object of this sketch to trace the histories of these two

individuals, so dissimilar in their origin, from birth to death, and

show how it happened that one has left a name synonymous with tyranny,

whilst the other will descend to the lowest posterity, radiant with

immortal glory, and renowned the world over as the friend of virtue, the

guardian of liberty, and the benefactor of his race.

Go with me for one moment to the crowded and splendid metropolis of

England. It is the evening of the 4th of June 1734. Some joyful event

must have occurred, for the bells are ringing merrily, and the

inhabitants are dressed in holiday attire. Nor is the circumstance of a

private nature, for banners are everywhere displayed, the vast city is

illuminated, and a thousand cannon are proclaiming it from their iron

throats. The population seem frantic with joy, and rush tumultuously

into each other's arms, in token of a national jubilee. Tens of

thousands are hurrying along toward a splendid marble pile, situated on

a commanding eminence, near the river Thames, whilst from the loftiest

towers of St. James's Palace the national ensigns of St. George and the

Red Cross are seen floating on the breeze. Within one of the most

gorgeously furnished apartments of that royal abode, the wife of

Frederic, Prince of Wales, and heir apparent to the British Empire, has

just been delivered of a son. The scions of royalty crowd into the

bed-chamber, and solemnly attest the event as one on which the destiny

of a great empire is suspended. The corridors are thronged with dukes,

and nobles, and soldiers, and courtiers, all anxious to bend the supple

knee, and bow the willing neck, to power just cradled into the world. A

Royal Proclamation soon follows, commemorating the event, and commanding

British subjects everywhere, who acknowledge the honor of Brunswick, to

rejoice, and give thanks to God for safely ushering into existence

George William Frederic, heir presumptive of the united crowns of Great

Britain and Ireland. Just twenty-two years afterward that child ascended

the throne of his ancestors as King George the Third.

Let us now turn our eyes to the Western Continent, and contemplate a

scene of similar import, but under circumstances of a totally different

character. It is the 22d February, 1732. The locality is a distant

colony, the spot the verge of an immense, untrodden and unexplored

wilderness, the habitation a log cabin, with its chinks filled in with

clay, and its sloping roof patched over with clapboards. Snow covers the

ground, and a chill wintery wind is drifting the flakes, and moaning

through the forest. Two immense chimneys stand at either end of the

house, and give promise of cheerful comfort and primitive hospitality

within, totally in contrast with external nature. There are but four

small rooms in the dwelling, in one of which Mary Ball, the wife of

Augustine Washington, has just given birth to a son. No dukes or

marquises or earls are there to attest the humble event. There are no

princes of the blood to wrap the infant in the insignia of royalty, and

fold about his limbs the tapestried escutcheon of a kingdom. His first

breath is not drawn in the center of a mighty capitol, the air laden

with perfume, and trembling to the tones of soft music and the "murmurs

of low fountains." But the child is received from its Mother's womb by

hands imbrowned with honest labor, and laid upon a lowly couch,

indicative only of a backwoodsman's home and an American's inheritance.

He, too, is christened George, and forty-three years afterward took

command of the American forces assembled on the plains of old Cambridge.

But if their births were dissimilar, their rearing and education were

still more unlike. From his earliest recollection the Prince heard only

the language of flattery, moved about from palace to palace, just as

caprice dictated, slept upon the cygnet's down, and grew up in

indolence, self-will and vanity, a dictator from his cradle. The peasant

boy, on the other hand, was taught from his infancy that labor was

honorable, and hardships indispensable to vigorous health. He early

learned to sleep alone amid the dangers of a boundless wilderness, a

stone for his pillow, and the naked sod his bed; whilst the voices of

untamed nature around him sang his morning and his evening hymns. Truth,

courage and constancy were early implanted in his mind by a mother's

counsels, and the important lesson of life was taught by a father's

example, that when existence ceases to be useful it ceases to be happy.