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, wouldstart 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 beingstanding 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 approachedme 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. Nocoquette 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 notfirstwhich is spiritual, but that which was natural, andafterwardthat 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 humansoul, 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 ofprogress, 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 mortalshints?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 madefrom 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 identicalfigure 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 approachedthe 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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
'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.
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.
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 speedingSince Aurora, at the dawn,Peeped within thy portals, leadingThe 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 nichesHewn for Hercules of yore?Are thy muscles firm as granite?Are thy thousands safe and sound?Behold! the rolling planetStarts on a nobler round.But perhaps across thy visionDeath 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 pinionsTo 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.
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.
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 speedingSince Aurora, at the dawn,Peeped within thy portals, leadingThe 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 nichesHewn for Hercules of yore?Are thy muscles firm as granite?Are thy thousands safe and sound?Behold! the rolling planetStarts on a nobler round.
But perhaps across thy visionDeath 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 pinionsTo 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.
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 theMoselle, 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, carefullyfolded, 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 ofNew 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 OdinThe powers upon him shed,For a sail in the good ship Skidbladnir,[A-236]And a talk with Mimir's head!"[B-236]
"Oh! for the might of dread OdinThe powers upon him shed,For a sail in the good ship Skidbladnir,[A-236]And a talk with Mimir's head!"[B-236]
[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.[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.
[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.
[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.
[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.
[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-seventimes, when suddenly a monstrous head was thrust in at the door, and demanded, in a voice that sounded like the maelstrom, "What doyouwant 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 betbloodnowadays—we betmoney."
"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 onlyan 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 themanuscript, 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 therewasa 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 unconsciousto 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 peacefulavenues? 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. Shestood 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 hadwhitened 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 Happinesson 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.