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 Etidorhpa: or, The end of earth. 
 
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ETIDORHPA 
 
 THE END OF EARTH. 
 
 THE STRANGE HISTORY OF A MYSTERIOUS BEING 
 
 The Account of a Remarkable Journey 
 
 AS COMMUNICATED IN MANUSCRIPT TO 
 
 IvLEWKLIvYN DRURY 
 
 WHO PROMISED TO PRINT THE SAME, BUT FINALLY EVADED THE RESPONSIBILITY 
 
 WHICH WAS ASSUMED BY 
 
 JOHN UR.I LLOYD 
 
 WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 J. AUGUSTUS KNAPP 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 THE ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY 
 CINCINNATI 
 
ASCRIPTION 
 
 To Prof. W. H. Venable, who reviewed the manuscript of this 
 work, I am indebted for many valuable suggestions, and I can not 
 speak too kindly of him as a critic. 
 
 The illustrations, excepting those mechanical and historical, mak- 
 ing in themselves a beautiful narrative without words, are due to the 
 admirable artistic conceptions and touch of Mr. J. Augustus Knapp. 
 
 Structural imperfections as well as word selections and phrases 
 that break all rules in composition, and that the care even of Prof. 
 Venable could not eradicate, I accept as whoUj' my own. For much, 
 on the one hand, that it may seem should have been excluded, and 
 on the other, for giving place to ideas nearer to empiricism than to 
 science, I am also responsible. For vexing my friends with problems 
 that seemingly do not concern in the least men in my position, and for 
 venturing to think, superficially, it may be, outside the restricted lines 
 of a science bound to the unresponsive crucible and retort, to which 
 my life has been given, and amid the problems of which it has nearly 
 worn itself away, I have no plausible excuse, and shall seek none. 
 
 JOHN URI LLOYD. 
 
 Copyrighted, 1S95, by John Uri Lloyd 
 Copyrighted, 1896, by John Uri Lloyd 
 
 PRESSWORK and BINDING BY CRANSTON & CURTS, ClNCINNAlT 
 
J'^ 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 B 
 
 OOKS are as tombstones made 
 by the living for the living, but 
 destined soon only to remind ns 
 of the dead. The preface, like 
 an epitaph, seems vainly to " im- 
 plore the passing tribute" of a 
 moment's interest. No man is 
 allured by either a grave-inscrip- 
 tion or a preface, unless it be 
 accompanied by that ineffable 
 charm which age casts over mor- 
 tal productions. Libraries, in 
 one sense, represent cemeteries, 
 and the rows of silent volumes, 
 with tneir dim titles, suggest 
 burial tablets, many of which, 
 alas! mark only cenotaphs — 
 empty tombs. A modern 
 book, no matter how talented 
 the author, carries with it a 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 familiar personality wliich may often be treated with neglect or 
 even contempt, but a volume a century old demands some 
 reverence ; a vellum-bound or hog-skin print, or antique yellow 
 parchment, two, three, five hundred years old, regardless of its 
 contents, impresses one with an indescribable feeling akin to awe 
 and veneration, — as does the wheat from an Eg}'ptian tomb, even 
 
 though it be onl)- wheat. 
 We take such a work from 
 the shelf carefully, and 
 replace it gently. WTiile 
 the productions of mod- 
 ern writers are handled 
 familiarly, as men living 
 jostle men yet alive ; those 
 of authors long dead are 
 touched as tho' clutched 
 by a hand from the unseen 
 world ; the reader feels 
 that a phantom form 
 opposes his own, and 
 that spectral eyes scan 
 the pages as he turns 
 them. 
 
 The stern face, the 
 penetrating eye of the 
 personage whose likeness 
 forms the frontispiece of 
 the yellowed volume in my hand, speak across the gulf of two 
 centuries, and bid me beware. The title page is read with rever- 
 ence, and the great tome is replaced wdth care, for an almost 
 superstitious sensation bids me be cautious and not offend. Let 
 those who presume to criticise the intellectual productions of 
 such men be careful; in a few days the dead will face their 
 censors — dead. 
 
 Standing in a library of antiquated works, one senses the 
 shadows of a cemetery. Each volume adds to the oppression, 
 each old tome casts the influence of its spirit over the beholder, 
 for have not these old books spirits? The earth-grave covers the 
 mind as well as the body of its moldering occupant, and while 
 
 Tllli STEKX lACi: 
 
 ACROSS Tin: 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 only a strong im- 
 agination can as- 
 sume that a spirit 
 hovers over and 
 lingers around in- 
 animate cla}', here 
 each title is a 
 voice that speaks 
 as though the heart 
 of its creator still 
 throbbed, the mind 
 essence of the 
 dead writer envel- 
 ops the living 
 reader. Take down 
 that vellum-bound 
 volume, — it was 
 written in one of 
 the centuries long 
 past. The pleasant 
 face of its creator, 
 as fresh as if but a 
 print of yesterday, 
 smiles upon }'ou 
 from the exquis- 
 itely engraved cop- 
 per-plate frontispiece ; the mind of the author rises from out the 
 words before you. This man is not dead and his comrades live. 
 Turn to the shelves about, before each book stands a guardian 
 spirit, — together they form a phantom army that, invisible to 
 mortals, encircles the beholder. 
 
 Ah ! this antique library is not as is a church graveyard, onh- 
 a cemetery for the dead ; it is also a mansion for the living. These 
 alcoves are trysting places for eleinental shades. Essences of dis- 
 enthralled minds meet here and revel. Thoughts of the past take 
 shape and live in this atmosphere, — who can say that pulsations 
 iinperceived, beyond the reach of physics or of chemistrv', are not 
 as ethereal mind-seeds which, although unseen, yet, in living brain, 
 exposed to such an atmosphere as this, formulate embryotic 
 
 " THE PLEASANT FACE OF ITS CREATOR 
 
 SMILES UPON YOtr. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 thought-expressions des- 
 tined to become ener- 
 getic intellectual forces? 
 I sit in such a weird li- 
 brary' and meditate. The 
 shades of grim authors 
 whisper in my ear, skel- 
 eton forms oppose my 
 own, and phantoms pos- 
 sess the gloomy alcoves 
 of the librar)' I am 
 building. 
 
 With the object of 
 carrying to the future a 
 section of thought cur- 
 rent from the past, the 
 antiquarian libraries of 
 many nations have been 
 culled, and purchases 
 made in ever}' book 
 market of the world. 
 These books surround me. Naturally many persons have become 
 interested in the movement, and, considering it a worthy one, 
 unite to further the project, for the purpose is not personal 
 gain. Thus it is not unusual for boxes of old chemical or phar- 
 macal volumes to arrive by freight or express, without a word as to 
 the donor. The mail brings manuscripts imprinted, and pamphlets 
 recondite, with no word of introduction. They come unheralded. 
 The authors or the senders realize that in this unique library a 
 place is vacant if any work on connected subjects is missing, and 
 thinking men of the world are uniting their contributions to fill 
 such vacancies. 
 
 SKELETON FORMS OPPOSE MY OWN. 
 
 Enough has been said concerning the ancient library that has 
 bred these reflections, and my own personality does not concern 
 the reader. He can now formulate his conclusions as well perhaps 
 as I, regarding the origin of the manuscript that is to follow, if he 
 concerns himself at all over subjects mysterious or historical, and 
 
PREFACE. vii. 
 
 my connection therewith is of minor importance. Whether Mr. 
 Drnry bronght the strange paper in person, or sent it by express or 
 mail, — whether it was slipped into a box of books from foreign 
 lands, or whether my hand held the pen that made the record, — 
 whether I stood face to face with Mr. Drnry in the shadows of 
 this room, or have but a fanciful conception of his figure, — 
 whether the artist drew upon his imagination for the vivid like- 
 ness of the several personages figured in the book that follows, 
 or from reliable data has given fac-similes authentic, — is imma- 
 terial. Sufficient be it to say that the manuscript of this book 
 has been in my possession for a period of seven years, and my 
 lips must now be sealed concerning all that transpired in con- 
 nection therewith outside the subject-matter recorded therein. 
 And yet I can not deny that for these seven years I have hesi- 
 tated concerning my proper course, and more than once have 
 decided to cover from sight the fascinating leaflets, hide them 
 among surrounding volumes, and let them slumber until chance 
 should bring them to the attention of the future student. 
 
 These thoughts rise before me this gloomy day of December, 
 1894, as, snatching a moment from the exactions of business, I 
 sit among these old volumes devoted to science-lore, and again 
 study over the unique manuscript, and meditate; I hesitate 
 again: Shall I, or shall I not? — but a duty is a duty. Perhaps 
 the mysterious part of the subject will be cleared to me only 
 when my own thought-words come to rest among these vener- 
 able relics of the past — when books that I have written become 
 companions of ancient works about me — for then I can claim 
 relationship with the shadows that flit in and out, and can de- 
 mand that they, the ghosts of the library, commune with the 
 shade that guards the book that holds this preface. 
 
 JOHN URI LLOYD. 
 
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. 
 
 That a pressing demand for a second edition of Etidorhpa 
 should be made before the first edition (1,299 copies) had been 
 entirely distributed, is unexpected. That the most urgent solic- 
 itations for a new edition should come from the readers of the 
 first edition is also not less gratifying than are the hundreds of 
 cordial letters that have been written the undersigned by these 
 readers. Realizing fully the unconventionality of the book, 
 which touches upon so many phases of life and belief, and 
 which, in many directions, suggests such diverse opportunities 
 for differences in faith and speculation, thus admitting of (per- 
 haps inviting) unfriendly criticism, the writer can not but feel 
 that its kindly reception is more than complimentary. Indeed, 
 realizing that the nature of the work precludes the elaboration 
 due by courtesy to men concerned in exact science lines ; that 
 book references are impossible ; that the unrecorded phases of 
 many subjects necessarily brighten many speculations that, if 
 both sides were perceived, would be less tenable, the writer of this 
 can not but appreciate that his readers have carried professional 
 and friendly courtesy to the limit, of critical generosity. 
 
 Had the consensus of opinion of persons whose views are 
 valued been otherwise than kindly; had their decision been to 
 the effect that Etidorhpa could lead to one impure thought or 
 to any trifling conception of life or duty, sufficient inducement 
 could not have been offered for the issuing of a second edition. 
 
 Since Etidorhpa was not printed for personal gain, it is but 
 
 just that each purchaser should be advised of the fact that the 
 
 profit, if any accrue, will be placed to the credit of the library 
 
 in which these lines are penned, and thus be devoted to public 
 
 educational purposes. 
 
 J. r. L. 
 
A VALUABLE AND UNIQUE LIBRARY. 
 
 From the Pharmaceutical Era, New York, October, i8 
 
 In Cincinnati is one of the most famous botanical and pharmacal libraries 
 in the world, and by scientists it is regarded as an invaluable store of knowl- 
 edge upon those branches of medical science. So famous is it that one of the 
 most noted pharmacologists and chemists of Germany, on a recent trip to this 
 country, availed himself of its rich collection as a necessary means of complet- 
 ing his study in the line of special drug history. When it is known that he 
 has devoted a life of nearly eighty years to the study of pharmacology, and is 
 an emeritus professor in the famous University of Strassburg, the importance 
 of his action will be understood and appreciated. We refer to Prof. Frederick 
 Flueckiger, who, in connection with Daniel Hanbury, wrote Pharmacographia 
 and other standard works. Attached to the library is an herbarium, begun 
 by Mr. Curtis Gates Lloyd when a schoolboy, in which are to be found over 
 30,000 specimens of the flora of almost every civilized country on the globe. 
 The collections are the work of two brothers, begun when in early boyhood. 
 In money they are priceless, yet it is the intention of the founders that they 
 shall be placed, either before or at their death, in some college or university 
 where all students may have access to them without cost or favor, and their 
 wills are already made to this end, although the institution to receive the be- 
 quest is not yet selected. Eager requests have been made that they be sent 
 to foreign universities, where only, some persons believe, they can receive the 
 appreciation they deserve. 
 
 The resting place of this collection is a neat three-story house at 204 West 
 Court street, rebuilt to serve as a library building. On the door is a plate 
 embossed with the name Lloyd, the patronymic of the brothers in question. 
 They are John Uri and Curtis Gates Lloyd. Every hour that can be spent by 
 these men from business or necessary recreation is spent here. Mr. C. G. 
 Lloyd devotes himself entirely to the study of botany and connected subjects, 
 while his brother is equally devoted to materia medica, pharmacy, and 
 chemistry. 
 
 In the botanical department are the best works obtainable in every coun- 
 try, and there the study of botany may be carried to any height. In point of 
 age, some of them go back almost to the time when the art of printing was 
 discovered. Two copies of Aristotle are notable. A Greek version bound in 
 vellum was printed in 1584. Another, in parallel columns of Greek and Latin, 
 by Pacius, was published in 1607. Both are in excellent preservation. A 
 bibliographical rarity (two editions) is the " Historia Plantarum," by Pinaeus, 
 which was issued, one in 1561, the other in 1567. It appears to have been a 
 first attempt at the production of colored plates. Plants that were rare at that 
 time are colored by hand, and then have a glossy, fixative spread over them, 
 causing the colors still to be as bright and fresh as the day that the three- 
 hundred-years-dead workmen laid them on. Ranged in their sequence are 
 fifty volumes of the famous author, Linnaeus. Mr. Lloyd has a very complete 
 list of the Linneean works, and his commissioners in Europe and America are 
 
 xi. 
 
xii. A VALUABLE AND UNIQUE LIBRARY. 
 
 looking out for the missing volumes. An extremely odd work is the book of 
 Dr. Josselyn, entitled "New England Rarities," in which the Puritan author 
 discusses wisely on "byrds, beastes and fishes" of the New World. Dr. Caro- 
 lus Plumierus, a French savant, who flourished in 1762, contributes an exhaustive 
 work on the " Flora of the Antilles." He is antedated many years, however, by 
 Dr. John Clayton, who is termed Johannes Claytonus, and Dr. John Frederick 
 Gronovius. These gentlemen collated a work entitled the "Flora of Virginia," 
 which is among the first descriptions of botany in the United States. Two 
 venerable works are those of Mattioli, an Italian writer, who gave his knowl- 
 edge to the world in 1586, and Levinus Lemnius, who wrote "De Miraculis 
 Occultis Naturae" in 1628. The father of modern systematized botany is con- 
 ceded to be Mons. J. P. Tournefort, whose comprehensive work was published 
 in 1719. It is the fortune of Mr. Lloyd to possess an original edition in good 
 condition. His "Histoire des Plantes," Paris (169S), is also on the shelves. In 
 the modern department of the library are the leading French and German 
 works. Spanish and Italian authors are also on the shelves, the Lloyd collec- 
 tion of Spanish flora being among the best extant. Twenty-two volumes of 
 rice paper, bound in bright yellow and stitched in silk, contain the flora of 
 Japan. All the leaves are delicately tinted by those unique flower-painters, 
 the Japanese. This rare work was presented to the Lloyd library by Dr. 
 Charles Rice, of New York, who informed the Lloyds that only one other set 
 could be found in America. 
 
 One of the most noted books in the collection of J. U. Lloyd is a Materia 
 Medica written by Dr. David Schoepf, a learned German scholar, who traveled 
 through this country in 1787. But a limited number of copies were printed, 
 and but few are extant. One is in the Erlangen library in Germany. This 
 Mr. Lloyd secured, and had it copied verbatim. In later years Dr. Charles 
 Rice obtained an original print, and exchanged it for that copy. A like work 
 is that of Dr. Jonathan Carver of the provincial troops in America, published 
 in London in 1796. It treats largely of Canadian materia medica. Manasseh 
 Cutler's work, 1785, also adorns this part of the library. In addition to al- 
 most every work on this subject, Mr. Lloyd possesses complete editions of the 
 leading serials and pharmaceutical lists published in the last three quarters 
 of a century. Another book, famous in its way, is Barton's "Collections 
 Toward a Materia Medica of the United States," published in 1798, 1801, 
 and 1804. 
 
 Several noted botanists and chemists have visited the library in recent 
 years. Prof. Flueckiger formed the acquaintance of the Lloyds through their 
 work, "Drugs and Medicines of North America," being struck bj' the exhaust- 
 ive references and foot-notes. Students and lovers of the old art of copper- 
 plate engraving especially find much in the ornate title pages and portraits to 
 please their aesthetic sense. The founders are not miserly, and all students 
 and delvers into the medical and botanical arts are always welcome. This 
 library of rare books, has been collected without ostentation and with the 
 sole aim to benefit science and humanity. We must not neglect to state 
 that the library is especially rich in books pertaining to the American Eclectics 
 and Thomsonians. Since it has been learned that this library is at the dis- 
 posal of students and is to pass intact to some worthy institution of learn- 
 ing, donations of old or rare books are becoming frequent. 
 
CONTKNTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Prologue — History of Llewellyn Drury, 1 
 
 CHAPTER. 
 
 I. Home of Llewellyn Drnry — " Never Less Alone than When Alone," 3 
 
 II. A Friendly Conference with Prof. Chickering, . 16 
 
 III. A Second Interview with the Mysterious Visitor, 23 
 
 IV. A Search for Knowledge — The Alchemistic Letter, 35 
 
 V. The Writing of "My Confession," 44 
 
 VI. Kidnapped, 46 
 
 VII. A Wild Night— I am Prematurely Aged, 55 
 
 VIIL A Lesson in Mind Study, 63 
 
 IX. I Can Not Establish My Identity, 67 
 
 X. My Journe}' Towards the End of Earth Begins — The Adepts Broth- 
 erhood, 74 
 
 XI. My Journej- Continues — Instinct, '. . 80 
 
 XII. A Cavern Discovered — BiswelTs Hill, 84 
 
 XIII. The Punch Bowls and Caverns of Kentucky — "Into the Unknown 
 
 Country," 89 
 
 XIV. Farewell to God's Sunshine— " The Echo of the Cry," 99 
 
 XV. A Zone of Light, Deep Within the Earth, 105 
 
 XVI. Vitalized Darkness — The Narrows in Science, 109 
 
 XVII. The Fungus Forest — Enchantment, 119 
 
 XVIII. The Food of Man, 123 
 
 XIX. The Cry from a Distance — I Rebel Against Continuing the 
 
 Journey, 128 
 
 FIRST INTERLUDE. — THE NARRATIVE INTERRUPTED. 
 XX. My Unbidden Guest Proves His Statements, and Refutes My 
 
 Philosophy, 134 
 
 MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES HIS M.\NUSCRIPT. 
 
 XXI. My W^eight Disappearing, 142 
 
 I 
 
 SECOND INTERLUDE. 
 
 XXII. The Story Again Interrupted— My Guest Departs, 149 
 
 XXIII. Scientific Men Questioned — Aristotle's Ether, 151 
 
 XXIV. The Soliloquy of Prof. Daniel Vaughn — "Gravitation is the Be- 
 
 ginning and Gravitation is the End : All Earthly Bodies 
 
 Kneel to Gravitation," 15<> 
 
 xiii 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAI'TEK. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 XXVII. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 XXIX. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 XXXII. 
 XXXIII. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 XXXV. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 XL. 
 
 XIvI. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 XIvVII. 
 XLVIII. 
 
 XLIX. 
 L. 
 
 LI. 
 
 LII. 
 EPII.OGUE 
 
 THE VNBIDDEN GUEST RETURNS TO READ HIS MANU- 
 SCRIPT, CONTINUING THE N.\RR.\TIVE. p^^-g 
 The Mother of a Volcano — "You Can Not Disprove, and Vou 
 
 Dare Not Admit," 162 
 
 Motion from Inherent Energy — " Lead Me Deeper Into this 
 
 Expanding Study," 169 
 
 Sleep, Dreams, Nightmare—" Strangle the Life from My Body," 175 
 
 THIRD INTERLUDE. — THE NARRATIVE AGAIN INTER- 
 RUPTED. 
 
 A Challenge — My Unbidden Guest Accepts It, 179 
 
 Beware of Biolog}- — The Science of the Life of Man — The Old 
 
 Man relates a Story as an Object Lesson, 186 
 
 Looking Backward — The Living Brain, 193 
 
 THE MANUSCRIPT CONTINUED. 
 A Lesson on Volcanoes — Primary Colors are Capable of Farther 
 
 Subdivision, 204 
 
 Matter is Retarded Motion — "A Wail of Sadness Inexpressible," 218 
 "A Study of True Science is a Study of God" — Communing 
 
 with Angels, 224 
 
 I Cease to Breathe, and Yet Live, 226 
 
 "A Certain Point Within a Circle" — Men are as Parasites on 
 
 the Roof of Earth, 230 
 
 The Drinks of Man, 235 
 
 The Drunkard's Voice, 238 
 
 The Drunkard's Den, 240 
 
 Among the Drunkards, 247 
 
 Further Temptation — Etidorhpa Appears, 252 
 
 Misery, 262 
 
 Eternity Without Time, 272 
 
 FOURTH INTERLUDE. 
 
 The Last Contest, 277 
 
 THE NARRATIVE CONTINUED. 
 
 The Fathomless Abyss— The Edge of the Earth's Shell, ... 306 
 
 My Heart-throb is Stilled, and Yet I Live 310 
 
 The Inner Circle, or the End of Gravitation — In the Bottom- 
 less Gulf, 317 
 
 Hearing Without Ears— "What Will Be the End?" :;l'2 
 
 Wh}- and How — The Straggling Ray of Light from those 
 
 Farthermost Outreaches, 327 
 
 Oscillating Through Space— The Earth Shell Above Us, . . 333 
 My Weight Annihilated — "Tell me," I cried in alarm, "is this 
 
 a Living Tomb?" 340 
 
 Is That a Mortal ?— " The End of Earth," 345 
 
 FIFTH INTERLUDE. 
 
 The Last Farewell, 352 
 
 —Letter Accompanying the Mysterious Manuscript 3()0 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 
 111. 
 
 
 7,8. 
 
 29 
 
 ,30. 
 
 35 
 
 ,36. 
 
 
 Ui- 
 
 85 
 
 ,86. 
 
 95 
 
 ,96. 
 
 lOI, 
 
 102. 
 
 117. 
 
 118. 
 
 131. 
 
 132. 
 
 147, 
 
 148. 
 
 Frontispiece — Likeness of The — Man — Who — Did — It. 
 
 Preface Introduction — " Here lies the bones," etc. 
 
 " And to my amazement, saw a white-haired man." 
 
 "The same glittering, horrible, mysterious knife." 
 
 "Fac-simile of the mysterious manuscript of I — Am — The — Man — 
 
 Who— Did—It. 
 "My arms were firmly grasped by two persons." 
 " Map of Kentucky near entrance to cavern." 
 " Confronted by a singular looking being." 
 "This struggling ray of sunlight is to be your last for years." 
 " I was in a forest of colossal fungi." 
 " Monstrous cubical crystals." 
 " Far as the eye could reach the glassy barrier spread as a crystal 
 
 mirror." 
 157, 158. "Soliloquy of Prof. Daniel Vaughn — 'Gravitation is the beginning, 
 
 and gravitation is the end ; all earthly bodies kneel to gravitation." " 
 "We came to a metal boat." 
 
 " Facing the open window he turned the pupils of his eyes upward." 
 " We finally reached a precipitous bluff." 
 
 "The wall descended perpendicularly to seemingly infinite depths." 
 Etidorhpa. 
 
 " We passed through caverns filled with creeping reptiles." 
 "Flowers and structures beautiful, insects gorgeous." 
 " W^ith fear and trembling I crept on my knees to his side." 
 Diagram descriptive of journey from the Kentucky cavern to the 
 
 "End of Earth," showing section of earth's crust. 
 " Suspended in vacancy, he seemed to float." 
 
 " I stood alone in my room holding the mysterious manuscript." 
 Fac-simile of letter from I — Am — The — Maru 
 Manuscript dedication of Author's Edition. 
 
 MAIvK-PAGE AND TEXT CUTS. 
 
 " The Stern Face." Fac-simile, reduced from copper plate title page 
 of the botanical work (1708), 917 pages, of Simouis Paulli, D., a 
 Danish physician. Original plate 7x5^^ inches. 
 
 "The Pleasant Face." Fac-simile of the original copper plate front- 
 ispiece to the finely illustrated botanical work of Joannes Bur- 
 inannus, M. D., descriptive of the plants collected by Carolus 
 Plumierus. Antique. Original plate 9x13 inches. 
 
 165, 
 
 166. 
 
 197, 
 
 198. 
 
 205, 
 
 206. 
 
 209, 
 
 210. 
 
 255. 
 
 256. 
 
 297, 
 
 298. 
 
 303. 
 
 304- 
 
 307, 
 
 308. 
 
 332, 
 
 333- 
 
 347. 
 
 34S. 
 
 357. 
 
 35S. 
 
 
 363. 
 
 364. 
 
 365- 
 
ILLrSTRATIOXS 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 vi. "Skeleton forms oppose my own." Photograph of John Uri Lloyd 
 in the gloomy alcove of the antiquated library. 
 
 12. " Let me have your answer now." 
 
 14. " I espied upon the table a long white hair." • 
 
 32. " Drew the knife twice across the front of the door-knob." 
 
 52. " I was taken from the vehicle, and transferred to a block-house." 
 
 54. " The dead man was thrown overboard." 
 
 58. " A mirror was thrust beneath my gaze." 
 
 70. " I am the man j-ou seek." 
 
 106. " We approach daylight, I can see your face." 
 loS. " Seated himself on a natural bench of stone." 
 129. "An endless variety of stony figures." 
 
 136. Cuts showing water and brine surfaces. 
 
 137. Cuts showing earth chambers in which water rises above brine. 
 
 138, 139- Cuts showing that if properly connected, water and brine reverse the 
 usual law as to the height of their surfaces. 
 
 143. " I bounded upward fully six feet." 
 
 144. " I fluttered to the earth as a leaf would fall." 
 
 145. " We leaped over great inequalities." 
 
 173. "The bit of garment fluttered listlessly away to the distance, and 
 
 then — vacancy." 
 1S2. Cut showing that water may be made to flow from a tube higlier 
 
 than the surface of the water. 
 184. Cut showing how an artesian fountain may be made without earth 
 
 strata. 
 191. " Rising abruptly, he grasped my hand." 
 200. " A 1)rain, a living brain, my own brain." 
 211. " Shape of drop of water in the earth cavern." 
 227. "We would skip several rods, alighting gently." 
 229. " An uncontrollable, inexpressible desire to flee." 
 232. " I dropped on my knees before him." 
 
 234. "Handing me one of the halves, he spoke the single word, 'Drink.'" 
 242. "Each finger pointed towards the open way in front." 
 
 280. "Telescoped energy spheres." 
 
 281. " Space dirt on energy spheres." 
 
 313. "I drew back the bar of iron to smite the apparently defenseless 
 
 being in the forehead." 
 315. "He sprung from the edge of the cliff into the abyss below, carrying 
 
 me with him into its depths." 
 336. "The Earth and its atmosphere." 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 ]\In' name was Johannes Llewellyn Llongollyn Drnn*. I was 
 named Llewellyn at my mother's desire, ont of respect to her 
 father, Dr. Evan Llewellyn, the scientist and speculative phil- 
 osopher, well known to curious students as the author of various 
 rare works on occult subjects. The other given names were 
 ancestral also, but when I reached the age of appreciation, they 
 naturally became distasteful ; so it is that in early youth I dropped 
 the first and third of these cumbersome words, and retained only 
 the second Christian name. While perhaps the reader of these 
 lines may regard this cognomen with less favor than either of the 
 others, still I liked it, as it was the favorite of my mother, who 
 always used the name in full ; the world, however, contracted 
 Llewellyn to Lew, nnich to the distress of my dear mother, who 
 felt aggrieved at the liberty. After her death I decided to move 
 to a western city, and also determined, out of respect to her 
 memory, to select from and rearrange the letters of my several 
 names, and construct therefrom three short, terse words, which 
 would convey to m}-self only, the resemblance of my former 
 name. Hence it is that the Cincinnati Directory does not record 
 my self-selected name, which I have no reason to bring before 
 the public. To the reader my name is Llewellyn Dnir}'. I might 
 add that my ancestors were among the early settlers of what is 
 now New York City, and were direct descendants of the early 
 Welsh kings ; but these matters do not concern the reader, and it 
 is not of them that I now choose to write. ]\Iy object in putting 
 down these preliminary paragraphs is simply to assure the reader 
 of such facts, and such only, as ma}' give him confidence in my 
 personal sincerity and responsibility, in order that he may with a 
 right understanding read the remarkable statements that occur in 
 the succeeding chapters. 
 
 The story I am about to relate is very direct, and some parts 
 
 of it are very strange, not to say marvelous ; but not on account 
 
 1 
 
2 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 of its strangeness alone do I ask for the narrative a reading ; — that 
 were mere trifling. What is here set down happened as recorded, 
 but I shall not attempt to explain things which even to myself 
 are enigmatical. Let the candid reader read the story as I have 
 told it, and make ont of it what he can, or let him pass the page 
 by unread — I shall not insist on claiming his further attention. 
 Only, if he does read, I beg him to read with an open mind, 
 without prejudice and without predilection. 
 
 Who or what I am as a participant in this work is of small 
 importance. I mention my history only for the sake of frankness 
 and fairness. I have nothing to gain by issuing the volume. 
 Neither do I court praise nor shun censure. Aly purpose is to 
 tell the truth. 
 
 Early in the fifties I took up my residence in the Queen City, 
 and though a very young man, found the employment ready that 
 a friend had obtained for me with a manufacturing firm engaged 
 in a large and complicated business. My duties were varied and 
 peculiar, of such a nature as to tax body and mind to the utmost, 
 and for several years I served in the most exacting of business 
 details. Besides the labor which my vocation entailed, with its 
 manifold and multiform perplexities, I voluntarily imposed upon 
 nn'self other tasks, which I pursued in the privacy of ni}- own 
 bachelor apartments. An inherited love for books on abstruse 
 and occult siibjects, probably in part the result of my blood 
 connection with Dr. Evan Llewellyn, caused me to collect a 
 unique library, largely on mystical subjects, in which I took the 
 keenest delight. My business and my professional duties by da>-, 
 and my studies at night, made my life a busy one. 
 
 In the midst of my work and reading I encountered the char- 
 acter whose strange story forms the essential part of the following 
 narrative. I may anticipate by saying that the manuscript to 
 follow only incidentally concerns myself, and that if possible I 
 would relinquish all connection therewith. It recites the physical, 
 mental, and moral ad\'entures of one whose life history was 
 abruptly thrust upon my attention, and as abruptly interrupted. 
 The vicissitudes of his body and soiil, circumstances seemed to 
 compel me to learn and to make pirblic. 
 
KTIDORHPA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " NEVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN ALONE." 
 
 ORE than thirty years ago occurred the 
 first of the series of remarkable events 
 I am about to relate. The exact date I 
 can not recall ; but it was in November, 
 and, to those familiar with November weather 
 in the Ohio Valle}-, it is hardly necessary to 
 state that the month is one of possibilities. 
 That is to say, it is liable to bring every vari- 
 ety of weather, from the delicious, dreamy 
 Indian summer days that linger late in the 
 fall, to a combination of rain, hail, snow, sleet, — in 
 short, atmospheric conditions sufficiently aggravat- 
 ing to develop a suicidal mania in any one the least 
 susceptible to such influences. While the general 
 character of the month is much the same the country over, — 
 showing dull grey tones of sky, abundant rains that penetrate 
 man as they do the earth ; cold, shifting winds, that search the 
 ver}' marrow, — it is always safe to count more or less upon the 
 probability of the unexpected throughout the month. 
 
 The particular day which ushered in the event about to be 
 chronicled, was one of these possible heterogeneous days present- 
 ing a combination of sunshine, shower, and snow, with winds that 
 rang all the changes from balmy to blustery, a morning air of 
 caloric and an evening of numbing cold. The early morning 
 started fair and sunny ; later came light showers suddenly switched 
 by shifting winds into blinding sleet, until the middle of the 
 afternoon found the four winds and all the elements commingled 
 in one wild orgy with clashing and roaring as of a great organ 
 
 3 
 
4 KTIDORHI'A. 
 
 with all the stops out, and all the storm-fiends dancing over the 
 ke)--boards ! Xij^litfall bion<^ht some semblance of order to the 
 sounding chaos, but still kept up the wild nnisic of a typical 
 NoN'ember day, with every accompaniment of bleakness, gloom, 
 and desolation. 
 
 Thousands of chimneys, exhaling murky clouds of bituminous 
 soot all day, had covered the city with the proverbial pall which 
 the winds in their sport had shifted hither and yon, but as, thor- 
 oughly tired out, they subsided into silence, the smoky mesh sud- 
 denly settled over the houses and into the streets, taking possession 
 of the city and contributing to the melancholy wretchedness of 
 such of the inhabitants as had to be out of doors. Through this 
 smoke the red sun when \isible had dragged his downward course 
 in manifest discouragement, and the hastening twilight soon gave 
 place to the blackness of darkness. Night reigned supreme. 
 
 Thirty years ago electric lighting was not in vogue, and the 
 system of street lamps was far less complete than at present^ 
 although the gas burned in them may not have been any worse. 
 The lamps were much fewer and farther between, and the light 
 which they emitted had a feeble, sickly aspect, and did not reach 
 any distance into the moist and murky atmosphere. And so the 
 night was dismal enough, and the few people upon the street 
 were visible only as they passed directly beneath the lamps, or in 
 front of lighted windows ; seeming at other times like moving 
 shadows against a black ground. 
 
 As I am like to be conspicuous in these pages, it may be 
 proper to say that I am very susceptible to atmospheric influences. 
 I figure among my friends as a man of quiet disposition, but I am 
 at times morose, although I endeavor to conceal this fact from 
 others. My ner\^ous system is a sensitive weather-glass. Some- 
 times I fancy that I nnist have been born under the planet Saturn, 
 for I find myself unpleasantly influenced by moods ascribed to 
 that depressing planet, more especially in its disagreeable phases, 
 for I regret to state that 1 do not find corresponding elation, as I 
 should, in its brighter aspects. 1 have an especial dislike for 
 wintry weather, a dislike which I find growing with my years, 
 until it has developed almost into positive antipathy and dread. 
 On the day I have described, my moods had varied with the 
 weather. The fitfulness of the winds had found its wav into mv 
 
"NKVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN ALONE." 5 
 
 feelings, and the somber tone of the clonds into my meditations. 
 I was restless as the elements, and a deep sense of dissatisfaction 
 with myself and everj'thing else, possessed me. I could not con- 
 tent myself in any place or position. Reading was distasteful, 
 writing equally so ; but it occurred to me that a brisk walk, for a 
 few blocks, might afford relief. Muffling myself up in my overcoat 
 and fur cap, I took the street, only to find the air gusty and raw, 
 and I gave up in still greater disgust, and returning home, after 
 drawing the curtains and locking the doors, planted myself in 
 front of a glowing grate fire, firmly resolved to rid myself of 
 myself by resorting to the oblivion of thought, reverie, or dream. 
 To sleep was impossible, and I sat moodily in an easy chair, 
 noting the quarter and half-hour strokes as they were chimed out 
 sweetly from the spire of St. Peter's Cathedral, a few blocks away. 
 
 Nine o'clock passed with its silver- voiced song of " Home, 
 Sweet Home"; ten, and then eleven strokes of the ponderous 
 bell which noted the hours, roused me to a strenuous effort to 
 shake off the feelings of despondency, unrest, and turbulence, 
 that all combined to produce a state of mental and physical misery 
 now insufferable. Rising suddenly from my chair, without a 
 conscious effort I walked mechanically to a book-case, seized a 
 volume at random, reseated myself before the fire, and opened 
 the book. It proved to be an odd, neglected volume, " Riley's 
 Dictionary of Latin Quotations." At the moment there flashed 
 upon me a conscious duality of existence. Had the old book 
 some mesmeric power? I seemed to myself two persons, and I 
 quickly said aloud, as if addressing my double : "If I can not 
 quiet you, turbulent Spirit, I can at least adapt myself to your 
 condition. I will read this book haphazard from bottom to top, 
 or backward, if necessary, and if this does not change the subject 
 often enough, I will try Noah Webster." Opening the book 
 mechanically at page 297, I glanced at the bottom line and read, 
 " Nunquam minus solus quam cum solus " (Never less alone than 
 w^hen alone). These words arrested my thoughts at once, as, by 
 a singular chance, they seemed to fit my mood ; was it or was it 
 not some conscious invisible intelligence that caused me to select 
 that page, and broiight the apothegm to my notice ? 
 
 Again, like a flash, came the consciousness of duality, and I 
 began to argue with mv other self " This is arrant nonsense," 
 
6 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 I cried aloud; "even though Cicero did say it, and, it is on a par 
 with many other dehisive maxims that have for so many years 
 embittered the existence of our modern youth by misleading 
 thought. Do you know, Mr. Cicero, that this statement is not 
 sound? That it is unworthy the position you occupy in history 
 as a thinker and philosopher? That it is a contradiction in itself, 
 for if a man is alone he is alone, and that settles it?" 
 
 I mused in this vein a few moments, and then resumed aloud : 
 " It won't do, it won't do ; if one is alone — the word is absolute, — 
 he is single, isolated, in short, alone ; and there can b\' no manner 
 of possibility be any one else present. Take myself, for instance : 
 I am the sole occupant of this apartment ; I am alone, and yet 
 you say in so many words that I was never less alone than at 
 this instant." It was not without some misgiving that I uttered 
 these words, for the strange consciousness of my own duality 
 constantly grew stronger, and I could not shake off the reflection 
 that even now there were two of myself in the room, and that I 
 was not so nuich alone as I endeavored to convince myself. 
 
 This feeling oppressed me like an incubus ; I must throw it 
 oflf, and, rising, I tossed the book upon the table, exclaiming: 
 " W'Hiat folly ! I am alone, — positively there is no other living 
 thing visible or invisible in the room." I hesitated as I spoke, for 
 the strange, undefined sensation that I was not alone had become 
 almost a conviction ; but the sound of my voice encouraged me, 
 and I determined to discuss the subject, and I remarked in a full, 
 strong voice: "I am surely alone; I know I am! Why, I will 
 wager everything I possess, even to my soul, that I am alone." 
 I stood facing the smoldering embers of the fire which I had 
 neglected to replenish, uttering these words to settle the contro- 
 versy for good and all with one person of my dual self, but the 
 other ego seemed to dissent violently, when a soft, clear voice 
 claimed my ear : 
 
 "You have lost your wager; you are not alone." 
 
 I turned instantly towards the direction of the sound, and, to 
 my amazement, saw a white-haired man seated on the opposite 
 side of the room, gazing at me with the utmost composure. I am 
 not a coward, nor a believer in ghosts or illusions, and yet that 
 sight froze me where I stood. It had no supernatural appearance 
 — on the contrary, was a plain, ordinary, flcsh-and-blood man ; 
 
AND TO MY AMAZEMENT SAW A WHITE-HAIRED MAN." 
 
"NEVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN ALONE." 9 
 
 but the weather, the experiences of the day, the weird, inclement 
 night, had all conspired to strain my nerves to the highest point 
 of tension, and I trembled from head to foot. Noting this, the 
 stranger said pleasantly : " Quiet yourself, my dear sir ; you have 
 nothing to fear; be seated." I obeyed, mechanically, and regain- 
 ing in a few moments some semblance of composure, took a 
 mental inventory of my visitor. Who is he? what is he? how 
 did he enter without my notice, and why? what is his business? 
 w^ere all questions that flashed into my mind in quick succession, 
 and quickly flashed out unanswered. 
 
 The stranger sat eying me composedly, even pleasantly, as if 
 waiting for me to reach some conclusion regarding himself. At 
 last I surmised : " He is a maniac who has found his way here by 
 methods peculiar to the insane, and my personal safety demands 
 that I use him discreetly." 
 
 "Very good," he remarked, as though reading my thoughts; 
 " as well think that as anything else." 
 
 " But why are you here? What is your business?" I asked. 
 
 "You have made and lost a wager," he said. "You have 
 committed an act of folly in making positive statements regarding 
 a matter about which you know nothing — a \'ery common failing, 
 by the way, on the part of mankind, and concerning which I wish 
 first to set you straight." 
 
 The ironical coolness with which he said this provoked me, 
 and I hastily rejoined: "You are impertinent; I must ask you to 
 leave my house at once." 
 
 " Very well," he answered ; " but if you insist upon this, I shall, 
 on behalf of Cicero, claim the stake of }-our voluntar}- wager, 
 which means that I must first, by natural though violent means, 
 release your soul from your body." So saying he arose, drew 
 from an inner pocket a long, keen knife, the blade of which 
 quiveringly glistened as he laid it upon the table. IMoving his 
 chair so as to be within easy reach of the gleaming weapon, he 
 sat down, and again regarded me with the same quiet composure 
 I had noted, and which was fast dispelling my first impression 
 concerning his sanity. 
 
 I was not prepared for his strange action ; in truth, I was not 
 prepared for anything; my mind was confused concerning the 
 whole nigfht's doings, and I was unable to reason clearlv or 
 
10 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 consecutively, or even to satisfy myself what I did think, if 
 indeed I thought at all. 
 
 The sensation of fear, however, was fast leaving ine; there 
 was something reassuring in my unbidden guest's perfect ease of 
 manner, and the mild, though searching gaze of his eyes, which 
 were wonderful in their expression. I began to observe his 
 personal characteristics, which impressed me favorably, and )'et 
 were extraordinary. He was nearly six feet tall, and perfectly 
 straight ; well proportioned, with no tendency either to leanness 
 or obesity. But his head w^as an object from which I could not 
 take my eyes, — such a head surely I had never before seen on 
 mortal shoulders. The chin, as seen through his silver beard, was 
 rounded and well developed, the mouth straight, with pleasant 
 lines about it, the jaws square and, like the mouth, indicating 
 decision, the eyes deep set and arched with heavy eyebrows, and 
 the whole surmounted b\' a forehead so vast, so high, that it was 
 almost a deformity, and )et it did not impress me unpleasantly ; it 
 was the forehead of a scholar, a profound thinker, a deep student. 
 The nose was inclined to aquiline, and quite large. The contour of 
 the head and face impressed me as indicating a man of learning, 
 one who had given a lifetime to experimental as well as speculative 
 thought. His voice was mellow, clear, and distinct, always pleas- 
 antly modulated and soft, never loud nor unpleasant in the least 
 degree. One remarkable feature I miist not fail to mention — his 
 hair; this, wdiile thin and scant upon the top of his head, w^as 
 long, and reached to his shoulders; his beard was of unusual 
 length, descending almost to his waist ; his hair, eyebrows, and 
 beard were all of singular whiteness and purity, almost transpar- 
 ent, a silvery whiteness that seemed an aureolar sheen in the 
 glare of the gaslight. What struck me as particularly remarkable 
 was that his skin looked as soft and smooth as that of a child ; 
 there was not a blemish in it. His age was a puzzle none could 
 guess ; stripped of his hair, or the color of it changed, he might 
 be twenty-five, — given a few wrinkles, he might be ninety. Taken 
 altogether, I had never seen his like, nor anything approaching his 
 like, and for an instant there was a faint suggestion to my mind 
 that he was not of this earth, but belonged to some other planet. 
 
 I now fancy he nnist ha\'e read nn- impressions of him as these 
 ideas shaped themselves in my brain, and that he was quietly 
 
"NEVKR IvKSS ALONP: THAN WHEN ALONE." 11 
 
 waiting for me to regain a degree of self-possession that would 
 allow him to disclose the purpose of his visit. 
 
 He was first to break the silence : " I see that you are not 
 disposed to pay }-our wager an)' more than I am to collect it, so we 
 will not discuss that. I admit that my introduction to-night was 
 abrupt, but you can not deny that you challenged me to appear." 
 I was not clear upon the point, and said so. " Your memory is 
 at fault," he continued, "if you can not recall your experiences 
 of the day just past. Did you not attempt to interest yourself in 
 modern book lore, to fix your mind in turn upon history, chem- 
 istry, botany, poetry, and general literature ? And all these failing, 
 did you not deliberately challenge Cicero to a practical demonstra- 
 tion of an old apothegm of his that has survived for centuries, 
 and of your own free will did not you make a wager that, as an 
 admirer of Cicero's, I am free to accept?" To all this I could but 
 silently assent. " Very good, then ; we will not pursue this subject 
 further, as it is not relevant to my purpose, which is to acquaint 
 you with a narrative of unusual interest, upon certain conditions, 
 with which if you comply, you wall not only serve yourself, but 
 me as well." 
 
 " Please name the conditions," I said. 
 
 "They are simple enough," he answered. " The narrative I 
 speak of is in manuscript. I will produce it in the near future, 
 and my design is to read it aloud to you, or to allow you to read 
 it to me, as you may select. Further, my wish is that during the 
 reading you shall interpose any objection or question that you 
 deem proper. This reading will occupy many evenings, and I 
 shall of necessity be with you often. When the reading is con- 
 cluded, we will seal the package securely, and I shall leave you 
 forever. You will then deposit the manuscript in some safe 
 place, and let it remain for thirty years. When this period has 
 elapsed, I wish you to publish this histor}^ to the world." 
 
 " Your conditions seem easy," I said, after a few seconds' pause, 
 "They are certainly very simple; do you accept?" 
 I hesitated, for the prospect of giving myself up to a suc- 
 cession of interviews with this extraordinary and mysterious 
 personage seemed to require consideration. He evidently divined 
 my thoughts, for, rising from his chair, he said abruptly: "Let 
 me have your answer now." 
 
12 
 
 KTIDORIIPA. 
 
 I debated the matter no further, but answered : " I accept, 
 conditionalh." 
 
 "Name your conditions," the guest replied. 
 
 "I will either publish the work, or induce some other man to 
 do so." 
 
 "let me HA^^; your answer now." 
 
 "Good," he said; "I will see you again," with a polite bow; 
 and turning to the door which I had previously locked, he opened 
 it softly, and with a quiet "Good night" disappeared in the 
 hall-way. 
 
 I looked after him with bewildered senses; but a sudden 
 impulse caused me to glance toward the table, when I saw that he 
 had forgotten his knife. With the view of returning this, I reached 
 to pick it up, but my finger tips no sooner touched the handle 
 than a sudden chill shivered along my nerves. Not as an electric 
 shock, but rather as a sensation of extreme cold was the current 
 tliat ran throuirh me in an instant. Rushine: into the hall-wa\- to 
 
"NEVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN AI.ONE." 13 
 
 the landing of the stairs, I called after the mysterious being, 
 " You have forgotten your knife," but beyond the faint echo of my 
 voice, I heard no sound. The phantom was gone. A moment 
 later I was at the foot of the stairs, and had thrown open the 
 door. A street lamp shed an uncertain light in front of the 
 house. I stepped out and listened intently for a moment, but not 
 a sound was audible, if indeed I except the beating of nn' own 
 heart, which throbbed so wildly that I fancied I heard it. No 
 footfall echoed from the deserted streets; all was silent as a 
 churchyard, and I closed and locked the door softh', tiptoed mv 
 way back to my room, and sank collapsed into an easy chair. I 
 was more than exhausted ; I quivered from head to foot, not with 
 cold, but with a strange nervous chill that found intensest expres- 
 sion in my spinal column, and seemed to flash up and down mv 
 back vibrating like a feverous pulse. This active pain was 
 succeeded by a feeling of frozen numbness, and I sat I know not 
 how long, trying to tranquilize myself and think temperately of 
 the night's occurrence. By degrees I recovered my normal 
 sensations, and directing my will in the channel of sober 
 reasoning, I said to myself: "There can be no mistake about 
 his visit, for his knife is here as a witness to the fact. So 
 much is sure, and I will secure that testimony at all events." 
 With this reflection I turned to the table, but to my astonishment 
 I discovered that the knife had disappeared. It needed but this 
 miracle to start the perspiration in great cold beads from ever\- 
 pore. My brain was in a whirl, and reeling into a chair, I co\- 
 ered my face with my hands. How long I sat in this posture 
 I do not remember. I only know that I began to doubt my own 
 sanity, and wondered if this were not the way people became 
 deranged. Had not my peciiliar habits of isolation, irregular and 
 intense study, erratic living, all conspired to unseat reason ? 
 Surely here was every ground to believe so ; and yet I was able 
 still to think consistently and hold steadily to a single line of 
 thought. Insane people can not do that, I reflected, and gradu- 
 ally the tremor and excitement wore away. When I had become 
 calmer and more collected, and my sober judgment said, " Go to 
 bed ; sleep just as long as you can; hold your eyelids down, and 
 when you awake refreshed, as you will, think out the whole 
 subject at your leisure," I arose, threw open the shutters, and 
 
14 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 found that day was breaking. Hastily undressing I went to 
 bed, and closed my eyes, vaguely conscious of some soothino- 
 guardianship. Perhaps because I was physically exhausted, I 
 soon lost myself in the oblivion of sleep. 
 
 r^^I^I--? 
 
 "I ESPIED UPON THE TABLE A LONG WHITE HAIR." 
 
 I did not dream, — at least I could not afterwards remember my 
 dream if I had one, but I recollect thinking that somebody 
 stnick ten distinct blows on my door, which seemed to me 
 to be of metal and very sonorous. These ten blows in ni>- 
 semi-conscious state I counted. I lay very quiet for a time 
 collecting my thoughts and noting various objects about the 
 room, until my eye caught the dial of a French clock upon the 
 
"NKVER LESS ALONE THAN WHEN ALONE." 15 
 
 mantel. It was a few minutes past ten, and the blows I had 
 heard were the strokes of the hammer upon the gong in the 
 clock. The sun was shining into the room, which was quite cold, 
 for the fire had gone out. I arose, dressed myself quickly, and 
 after thoroughly laving my face and hands in ice-cold water, felt 
 considerably refreshed. 
 
 Before going out to breakfast, while looking around the room 
 for a few things which I wanted to take with me, I espied upon 
 the table a long white hair. This was indeed a surprise, for I had 
 about concluded that my adventure of the previous night was 
 a species of waking nightmare, the result of overworked brain 
 and weakened body. But here was tangible evidence to the 
 contrary', an assurance that my mysterious visitor was not a 
 fancy or a dream, and his parting words, " I will see you again," 
 recurred to me with singular effect. " He will see me again ; 
 very well ; I will preserve this evidence of his visit for future 
 use." I wound the delicate filament into a little coil, folded it 
 carefully in a bit of paper, and consigned it to a corner in my 
 pocket-book, though not without some misgiving that it too 
 might disappear as did the knife. 
 
 The strange experience of that night had a good effect on 
 me ; I became more regular in all my habits, took abundant 
 sleep and exercise, was more methodical in my modes of study 
 and reasoning, and in a short time found myself vastly improved 
 in every way, mentally and physically. 
 
 The days went fleeting into weeks, the weeks into months, 
 and while the form and figure of the white-haired stranger 
 were seldom absent from my mind, he came no more. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE. 
 
 It is rare, in our present civilization, to find a man who lives 
 alone. This remark does not apply to hermits or persons of 
 abnormal or perverted mental tendencies, but to the majority of 
 mankind living and moving actively among their fellows, and 
 engaged in the ordinary occupations of humanity. Every man 
 must have at least one confidant, either of his own household, or 
 within the circle of his intimate friends. There may possibly 
 be rare exceptions among persons of genius in statecraft, war> 
 or commerce, but it is doubtful even in such instances if any 
 keep all their thoughts to themselves, hermetically sealed from 
 their fellows. As a prevailing rule, either a loving wife or very 
 near friend shares the inner thought of the most secretive 
 individual, even when secrecy seems an indispensable element 
 to success. The tendency to a free interchange of ideas and 
 experiences is almost universal, instinct prompting the natural 
 man to unburden his most sacred thought, when the proper 
 confidant and the proper time come for the disclosure. 
 
 For months I kept to myself the events narrated in the 
 preceding chapter. And this for several reasons : first, the dread 
 of ridicule that would follow the relation of the fantastic occur- 
 rences, and the possible suspicion of my sanity, that might result 
 from the recital ; second, very grave doubts as to the reality of 
 my experiences. But by degrees self-confidence was restored, 
 as I reasoned the matter over and reassured myself by occa- 
 sional contemplation of the silvery hair I had coiled in my 
 pocket-book, and which at first I had expected would vanish as 
 did the stranger's knife. There came upon me a feeling that I 
 should see my weird visitor again, and at an early day. I resisted 
 this impression, for it was a feeling of the idea, rather than a 
 thought, but the vague expectation grew upon me in spite of 
 mvself, until at length it became a conviction which no argument 
 
A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE. 17 
 
 or logic could shake. Curiously enough, as the original incident 
 receded into the past, this new idea thrust itself into the fore- 
 ground, and I began in my own mind to court another interview. 
 At times, sitting alone after night, I felt that I was watched by 
 unseen eyes ; these eyes haunted me in my solitude, and I was 
 morally sure of the presence of another than myself in the room. 
 The sensation was at first unpleasant, and I tried to throw it off, 
 with partial success. But onh' for a little while could I banish 
 the intrusive idea, and as the thought took form, and the invisible 
 presence became more actual to consciousness, I hoped that the 
 stranger would make good his parting promise, " I will see you 
 again." 
 
 On one thing I was resolved; I would at least be better 
 informed on the subject of hallucinations and apparitions, and 
 not be taken unawares as I had been. To this end I decided 
 to confer with my friend. Professor Chickering, a quiet, thought- 
 ful man, of varied accomplishments, and thoroughly read upon 
 a great number of topics, especially in the literature of the 
 marvelous. 
 
 So to the Professor I went, after due appointment, and 
 confided to him full particulars of m}- adventure. He listened 
 patiently throughout, and when I had finished, assured me in a 
 matter-of-fact way that such hallucinations were by no means 
 rare. His remark was provoking, for I did not expect from the 
 patient interest he had shown while I was telling my story, that 
 the whole matter would be dismissed thus summarily. I said 
 with some warmth : 
 
 " But this was not a hallucination. I tried at first to persuade 
 myself that it was illusory, but the more I have thought the 
 experience over, the more real it becomes to me." 
 
 "Perhaps you were dreaming," suggested the Professor. 
 
 " No," I answered ; " I have tried that hypothesis, and it will 
 not do. Many things make that view untenable." 
 
 "Do not be too sure of that," he said; "you were, by vour 
 own account, in a highly nervous condition, and physically tired. 
 It is possible, perhaps probable, that in this state, as you sat in 
 your chair, 3^ou dozed off for a short interval, during which the 
 illusion flashed throuo;h vour mind." 
 
18 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 " How do you explain the fact that incidents occupying a 
 large portion of the night, occurred in an interval which you 
 describe as a flash?" 
 
 "Easily enough; in dreams time may not exist: periods 
 embracing weeks or months may be reduced to an instant. 
 Long journeys, hours of conversation, or a multitude of transac- 
 tions, may be compressed into a term measured by the opening 
 or closing of a door, or the striking of a clock. In dreams, 
 ordinary standards of reason find no place, while ideas or events 
 chase through the mind more raj^idly than thought." 
 
 " Conceding all this, why did I, considering the unusual 
 character of the incidents, accept them as real, as substantial, 
 as natural as the most commonplace events?" 
 
 "There is nothing extraordinary in that," he replied. "In 
 dreams all sorts of absurdities, impossibilities, discordancies, 
 and violation of natural law appear realities, without exciting 
 the least surprise or suspicion. Imagination runs riot and is 
 supreme, and reason for the time is dormant. We see ghosts, 
 spirits, the forms of persons dead or living, — we suffer pain, 
 pleasure, hunger, — and all sensations and emotions, without a 
 moment's question of their reality." 
 
 " Do any of the subjects of our dreams or visions leave 
 tangible evidences of their presence?" 
 
 " Assuredly not," he answered, with an incredulous, half- 
 impatient gesture ; " the idea is absurd." 
 
 "Then I was not dreaming," I mused. 
 
 Without looking at me, the Professor went on: "These false 
 presentiments may have their origin in other ways, as from mental 
 disorders caused by indigestion. Nicolai, a noted bookseller of 
 Berlin, was thus afflicted. His experiences are interesting and 
 possibly suggestive. Let me read some of them to you." 
 
 The Professor hereupon glanced over his bookshelf, selected 
 a volume, and proceeded to read : * 
 
 "I generally saw human forms of both sexes; but they usuall}- seemed not 
 to take the smallest notice of each other, moving as in a market place, where 
 all are eager to press through the crowd ; at times, however, they seemed to be 
 transacting business with each other. I also saw several times, people on 
 horseback, dogs, and birds. 
 
 '■'This work I have found to be Vol. IV. of Chaniber.s' Miscellany, publislud by C^.ould and 
 Lincoln, Boston. — ^J. U. I<. 
 
A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE. 19 
 
 "All these phantasms appeared to me in their natural size, and as distinct 
 as if alive, exhibiting different shade* of carnation in the uncovered parts, as 
 well as different colors and fashions in their dresses, though the colors seemed 
 somewhat paler than in real nature. None of the figures appeared particularly 
 terrible, comical, or disgusting, most of them being of indifferent shape, and 
 some presenting a pleasant aspect. The longer these phantasms continued to 
 visit me, the more frequently did they return, while at the same time they 
 increased in number about four weeks after they had first appeared. I also 
 began to hear them talk: these phantoms conversed among themselves, but 
 more frequently addressed their discourse to me ; their speeches were uncom- 
 monly short, and never of an unpleasant turn. At different times there 
 appeared to me both dear and sensible friends of both sexes, whose addresses 
 tended to appease my grief, which had not yet vrholly subsided : their consola- 
 tory speeches were in general addressed to me when I was alone. Sometimes, 
 however, I was accosted by these consoling friends while I was engaged in 
 company, and not unfrequently while real persons were speaking to me. 
 These consolatory addresses consisted sometimes of abrupt phrases, and at 
 other times they were regularly executed." 
 
 Here I interrupted: "I note, Professor, that Mr. Nicolai 
 knew these forms to be ilhisions," 
 
 Without answering my remark, he continued to read : 
 
 " There is in imagination a potency far exceeding the fabled power of 
 Aladdin's lamp. How often does one sit in wintry evening musings, and trace 
 in the glowing embers the features of an absent friend? Imagination, with its 
 magic wand, will there build a city with its countless spires, or marshal 
 contending armies, or drive the tempest-shattered ship upon the ocean. The 
 following story, related by Scott, affords a good illustration of this principle : 
 
 " ' Not long after the death of an illustrious poet, who had filled, while 
 living, a great station in the eyes of the public, a literary friend, to whom the 
 deceased had been well known, was engaged during the darkening twilight of 
 an autumn evening, in perusing one of the publications which professed to 
 detail the habits and opinions of the distinguished individual who was now no 
 more. As the reader had enjoj-ed the intimacy of the deceased to a consider- 
 able degree, he was deeply interested in the publication, which contained some 
 particulars relating to himself and other friends. A visitor was sitting in the 
 apartment, who was also engaged in reading. Their sitting-room opened into 
 an entrance hall, rather fantastically fitted up with articles of armor, skins of 
 wild animals, and the like. It was w'hen laying down his book, and passing 
 into this hall, through which the moon was beginning to shine, that the 
 individual of whom I speak saw right before him, in a standing posture, the 
 exact representation of his departed friend, whose recollection had been so 
 strongly brought to his imagination. He stopped for a single moment, so as 
 to notice the wonderful accuracy- with which fancy had impressed upon the 
 bodily eye the peculiarities of dress and position of the illustrious poet. 
 Sensible, however, of the delusion, he felt no sentiment save that of wonder at 
 the extraordinary accuracy of the resemblance, and stepped onward to the 
 figure, which resolved itself as he approached into the various materials of 
 
20 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 which' it was composed. These were merely a screen occupied by great coats, 
 shawls, plaids, and such other articles as are usually found in a country 
 entrance hall. The spectator returned to the spot from which he had seen the 
 illusion, and endeavored with all his power to recall the image which had been 
 so singularly vivid. But this he was unable to do. And the person who had 
 witnessed the apparition, or, more properly, whose excited state had been the 
 means of raising it, had only to return to the apartment, and tell his young 
 friend under what a striking hallucination he had for a moment labored.' " 
 
 Here I was constrained to call the Professor to a halt. " Your 
 stories are very interesting," I said, "but I fail to perceive any 
 analogy in either the conditions or the incidents, to my experience. 
 I was fully awake and conscious at the time, and the man I saw 
 appeared and moved about in the full glare of the gaslight," — 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered; '' I am simply giving you some 
 general illustrations of the subject. But here is a case more to 
 the point." 
 
 Again he read : 
 
 "A lady was once passing through a wood, in the darkening twilight of a 
 stormy evening, to visit a friend who was watching over a dying child. The 
 clouds were thick — the rain beginning to fall; darkness was increasing; the 
 wind was moaning mournfully through the trees. The lady's heart almost 
 failed her as she saw that she had a mile to walk through the woods in the 
 gathering gloom. But the reflection of the situation of her friend forbade her 
 turning back. Excited and trembling, she called to her aid a nervous resolu- 
 tion, and pressed onward. She had not proceeded far when she beheld in the 
 path before her the movement of some very indistinct object. It appeared to 
 keep a little distance ahead of her, and as she made efforts to get nearer to see 
 what it was, it seemed proportionally to recede. The lady began to feel rather 
 unpleasantly. There was some pale white object certainly discernible before 
 her, and it appeared mysteriously to float along, at a regular distance, without 
 any effort at motion. Notwithstanding the lady's good sense and unusual 
 resolution, a cold chill began to come over her. She made every effort to resist 
 her fears, and soon succeeded in drawing nearer the mysterious object, when 
 she was appalled at beholding the features of her friend's child, cold in death, 
 wrapt in its shroud. She gazed earnestly, and there it remained distinct and 
 clear before her eyes. She considered it a premonition that her friend's child 
 was dead, and that she must hasten to her aid. But there was the apparition 
 directly in her path. She must pass it. Taking up a little stick, she forced 
 herself along to the object, and behold, some little animal scampered away. It 
 was this that her excited imagination had transformed into the corpse of an 
 infant in its winding sheet." 
 
 I was a little irritated, and once more interrupted the reader 
 
 warmly : " This is exasperating. Now what resemblance is there 
 
 between the vagaries of a hysterical, weak-minded woman, and 
 
 my case?" 
 
A FRIENDLY CONFERENCE. 21 
 
 He smiled, and again read : 
 
 " The numerous stories told of ghosts, or the spirits of persons who are 
 dead, will in most instances be found to have originated in diseased imagina- 
 tion, aggravated by some abnormal defect of mind. We may mention a 
 remarkabla case in point, and one which is not mentioned in English works 
 on this subject ; it is told by a compiler of Les Causes Celebres. Two young 
 noblemen, the Marquises De Rambouillet and De Precy, belonging to two of 
 the first families of France, made an agreement, in the warmth of their 
 friendship, that the one who died first should return to the other with tidings 
 of the world to come. Soon afterwards De Rambouillet went to the wars in 
 Flanders, while De Precy remained at Paris, stricken by a fever. Lying alone 
 in bed, and severely ill, De Precy one day heard a rustling of his bed curtains, 
 and turning round, saw his friend De Rambouillet, in full military attire. The 
 sick man sprung over the bed to welcome his friend, but the other receded, and 
 said that he had come to fulfill his promise, having been killed on that very 
 day. He further said that it behooved De Precy to think more of the after- 
 world, as all that was said of it was true, and as he himself would die in his 
 first battle. De Precy was then left by the phantom ; and it was afterward 
 found that De Rambouillet had fallen on that day." 
 
 "Ah," I said, "and so the phantom predicted an event that 
 followed as indicated." 
 
 "Spiritual illusions," explained the Professor, "are not 
 unusual, and well authenticated cases are not wanting in 
 which they have been induced in persons of intelligence by 
 functional or organic disorders. In the last case cited, the 
 prediction was followed by a fulfillment, but this was chance 
 or mere coincidence. It would be strange indeed if in the 
 multitude of dreams that come to humanity, some few should 
 not be followed by events so similar as to warrant the belief 
 that they were prefigured. But here is an illustration that 
 fits your case : let me read it : 
 
 " In some instances it may be difficult to decide whether specti'al appear- 
 ances and spectral noises proceed from physical derangement or from an 
 overwrought state of mind. Want of exercise and amusement may also be a 
 prevailing cause, A friend mentions to us the following case : An acquaintance 
 of his, a merchant, in London, who had for years paid very close attention to 
 business, was one day, while alone in his counting house, very much surprised 
 to hear, as he imagined, persons outside the door talking freely about him. 
 Thinking it was some acquaintances who were playing off" a trick, he opened 
 the door to request them to come in, when to his amazement, he found that 
 nobod}^ was there. He again sat down to his desk, and in a few minutes the 
 same dialogue recommenced. The language was very alarming. One voice 
 seemed to sa\- : 'We have the scoundrel in his own counting house; let us go 
 in and seize him.' 'Certainly,' replied the other voice, 'it is right to take him; 
 he has been guilty of a great crime, and ought to be brought to condign 
 
22 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 punishment.' Alarmed at these threats, the bewildered merchant rushed to the 
 door; and there again no person was to be seen. He now locked his door and 
 went home ; but the voices, as he thought, followed him through the crowd, 
 and he arrived at his house in a most unenviable state of mind. Inclined to 
 ascribe the voices to derangement in mind, he sent for a medical attendant, and 
 told his case, and a certain kind of treatment was prescribed. This, however, 
 failed; the voices menacing him with punishment for purely imaginary crimes 
 continued, and he was reduced to the brink of despair. At length a friend 
 prescribed entire relaxation from business, and a daily game of cricket, which, 
 to his great relief proved an effectual remedy. The exercise banished the 
 phantom voices, and they were no more heard." 
 
 "So you think that I am in need of out-door exercise?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " And that my experience was ilhisory, the resuh of vertigo^ 
 or some temporary calenture of the brain?" 
 
 " To be plain with you, yes." 
 
 " But I asked you a while ago if specters or phantoms ever 
 leave tangible evidence of their presence." The Professor's eyes 
 dilated in interrogation. I continued: "Well, this one did. 
 After I had followed him out, I found on the table a long, white 
 hair, which I still have," and producing the little coil from my 
 pocket-book, I handed it to him. He examined it curiously, 
 eyed me furtively, and handed it back with the cautious remark : 
 
 " I think you had better commence your exercise at once." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SECOND INTEPVIEW WITH THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. 
 
 It is not pleasant to have one's mental responsibility brought 
 in question, and the result of my interview with Professor 
 Chickeriug was, to put it mildly, unsatisfactory. Not that he 
 had exactly questioned my sanity, but it was all too evident that 
 he was disposed to accept my statement of a plain matter-of-fact 
 occurrence with a too liberal modicum of salt. I say " matter-of- 
 fact occurrence " in full knowledge of the truth that I myself 
 had at first regarded the whole transaction as a fantasia or flight 
 of mind, the result of extreme nervous tension ; but in the 
 interval succeeding I had abundant opportunity to correlate my 
 thoughts, and to bring some sort of order out of the mental and 
 physical chaos of that strange, eventful night. True, the 
 preliminary events leading up to it were extraordinary; the 
 dismal weather, the depression of body and spirit under which 
 I labored, the wild whirl of thought keeping pace with the 
 elements — in short, a general concatenation of events that 
 seemed to be ordered especially for the introduction of some 
 abnormal visitor — the night would indeed have been incomplete 
 without a ghost! But was it a ghost? There was nothing 
 ghostly about my visitor, except the manner of his entrance and 
 exit. In other respects, he seemed substantial enough. He 
 was, in his manners, courteous and polished as a Chesterfield ; 
 learned as a savant in his conversation ; human in his thought- 
 ful regard of my fears and misgivings; but that tremendous 
 forehead, with its crown of silver hair, the long, translucent 
 beard of pearly whiteness, and above all the astounding facility 
 with which he read my hidden thoughts — these were not natural. 
 
 The Professor had been patient with me — I had a right 
 to expect that ; he was entertaining to the extent of reading 
 such excerpts as he had with him on the subject of hallucina- 
 tions and their supposed causes, but had he not spoiled all by 
 
 28 
 
24 ETIDORHI'A. 
 
 assigning nie at last to a place with the qnestionable, nnbal- 
 anced characters he had cited ? I thonght so, and the reflection 
 provoked nie ; and this thonght grew npon me nntil I came to 
 reeard his stories and attendant theories as so much literary 
 trash. 
 
 My own reflections had been sober and deliberate, and had 
 led me to seek a rational explanation of the unusual phenomena. 
 I had gone to Professor C bickering for a certain measure of 
 sympathy, and what was more to the point, to secure his 
 suggestions and assistance in the further unraveling of a 
 profound mystery that might contain a secret of untold use to 
 humanity. Repulsed bv the mode in which my confidence had 
 been received, I decided to do what I should have done from 
 the outset — to keep my own counsel, and to follow alone the 
 investigation to the end, no matter what the result might be. 
 I could not forget or ignore the silver hair I had so religiously 
 preserved. That was genuine; it was as tangible, as real, as 
 convincing a witness as would have been the entire head of my 
 singular visitant, whatever might be his nature, 
 
 I began to feel at ease the moment my course was decided, 
 and the feeling was at once renewed within me that the gray 
 head would come again, and by degrees that expectation ripened 
 into a desire, only intensified as the days sped by. The weeks 
 passed into months ; summer came and went ; autumn was fast 
 fading, but the mysterious unknown did not appear. A curious 
 fancy led me now to regard him as my friend, for the mixed 
 and indefinite feelings I felt at first towards him had almost 
 unaccountably been changed to those of sincere regard. He 
 was not always in my thoughts, for I had abundant occupation 
 at all times to keep both brain and hands busy, but there were 
 few evenings in which I did not, just before retiring, give myself 
 up for a brief period to quiet communion with my own thoughts, 
 and I must confess at such times the unknown occupied the 
 larger share of attention. The constant contemplation of any 
 theme begets a feeling of familiarity or acquaintance with the 
 same, and if that subject be an individual, as in the present 
 instance, such contemplation lessens the liability to surprise from 
 any unexpected development. In fact, I not only anticipated a 
 visit, but courted it. The old T^atin maxim that T had played 
 
A SECOND INTKRVIEW. 25 
 
 Avith, "Never less alone tliau when alone" had domiciled itself 
 Avithin my brain as a permanent lodger — a conviction, a feeling 
 rather than a thonght defined, and I had bnt little difficnlty in 
 associating an easy-chair which I had come to place in a certain 
 position for my expected visitor, with his presence. 
 
 Indian snmmer had passed, and the fall was nearly gone 
 when for some inexplicable reason the number seven began to 
 haunt me. What had I to do with seven, or seven with me? 
 When I sat down at night this persistent number mixed itself in 
 my thoughts, to my intense annoyance. Bother take the mystic 
 numeral ! What w^as I to do with seven ? I found myself asking 
 this question audibly one evening, when it suddenly occurred to 
 me that I would refer to the date of my friend's visit. I kept no 
 journal, but reference to a record of some business transactions 
 that I had associated with that event showed that it took place 
 on November seventh. That settled the importunate seven ! I 
 should look for whomever he was on the first anniversary of his 
 ^isit, w^iich was the seventh, now close at hand. The instant I 
 had reached this conclusion the number left me, and troubled 
 me no more. 
 
 November third had passed, the fourth, and the fifth had 
 come, when a stubborn, protesting notion entered my mind that 
 I was yielding to a superstitious idea, and that it was time to 
 control my vacillating will. Accordingly on this day I sent 
 word to a friend that, if agreeable to him, I would call on him 
 on the evening of the seventh for a short social chat, but as I 
 expected to be engaged until later than usual, would he excuse 
 me if I did not reach his apartments until ten? The request 
 was singular, but as I was now accounted somewhat odd, it 
 excited no comment, and the answer was returned, requesting 
 me to come. The seventh of November came at last. I was 
 iierv^ous during the day, which seemed to drag tediously, 
 and several times it was remarked of me that I seemed 
 abstracted and ill at ease, but I held my peace. Night came 
 cold and clear, and the stars shone brighter than usual, I 
 thought. It was a sharp contrast to the night of a year ago. 
 I took an early supper, for which I had no appetite, after which 
 I strolled aimlessly about the streets, revolving how I should 
 put in the time till ten o'clock, when I was to call upon m\- 
 
26 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 friend. I decided to go to the theater, and to the theater I went. 
 The play was spectacular, "Aladdin ; or, The Wonderful Lamp." 
 The entertainment, to me, was a flat failure, for I was busy with 
 my thoughts, and it was not long until my thoughts were busy 
 with nic, and I found myself attempting to answer a series of 
 questions that finally became embarrassing. " Why did you make 
 an appointment for ten o'clock instead of eight, if you wished 
 to keep away from your apartments?" I hadn't thought of that 
 before ; it was stupid to a degree, if not ill-mannered, and I 
 frankly admitted as much. " Wh>' did you make an appointment 
 at all, in the face of the fact that you not only expected a 
 visitor, but were anxious to meet him?" This was easily 
 answered : because I did not wish to yield to what struck me as 
 superstition. " But do )ou expect to extend your call until 
 morning?" Well, no, I hadn't thought or arranged to do so. 
 "Well, then, what is to prevent your expected guest from 
 awaiting your return? Or, what assurance have you that he 
 will not encounter you in the street, under circumstances that 
 will provoke or, at the least, embarrass you?" None whatever. 
 "Then what have you gained by your stupid perversity?" 
 Nothing, beyond the assertion of my own individuality. " Why 
 not go home and receive your guest in becoming style?" No; I 
 would not do that. I had started on this course, and I would 
 persevere in it. I would be consistent. And so I persisted, 
 at least until nine o'clock, when I quit the theater in sullen 
 dejection, and went home to make some slight preparation for 
 my evening call. 
 
 With my latch-key I let myself into the front door of the 
 apartment house wherein I lodged, walked through the hall, up 
 the staircase, and paused on the threshold of my room, wondering 
 what I would find inside. Opening the door I entered, leaving 
 it open behind me so that the light from the hallway would shine 
 into the room, which was dark, and there was no transom above 
 the door. The grate fire had caked into a solid mass of charred 
 bituminous coal, which shed no illumination beyond a faint red 
 glow at the bottom, showing that it was barely alive, and no 
 more. I struck a match on the underside of the mantel shelf, 
 and as I lit the gas I heard the click of the door latch. I turned 
 instantly ; the door had been gently closed ])>• some unknown 
 
A vSECOND INTlvRVlKW. 27 
 
 force if not by unseen hands, for there was no breath of air 
 stirring. This preternatiiral interference was not pleasant, for I 
 had hoped in the event of another visit from my friend, if friend 
 he was, that he would bring no uncanny or ghostly manifestation 
 to disturb me. I looked at the clock ; the index pointed to half 
 past nine. I glanced about the room ; it was orderly, everything 
 in proper position, even to the arm-chair that I had been wont to 
 place for my nondescript visitor. It was time to be going, so I 
 turned to the dressing case, brushed my hair, put on a clean scarf, 
 and moved towards the wash-stand, which stood in a little alcove 
 on the opposite side of the room. My self-command well-nigh 
 deserted me as I did so, for there, in the arm-chair that a moment 
 before was empty, sat my guest of a year ago, facing me with 
 placid features ! The room began to revolve, a faint, sick feeling 
 came over me, and I reeled into the first convenient chair, and 
 covered my face with my hands. This depression lasted but an 
 instant, however, and as I recovered self-possession, I felt or 
 fancied I felt a pair of penetrating eyes fixed upon me with 
 the same mild, searching gaze I remembered so well. I ventured 
 to look up ; sure enough, there they were, the beaming eyes, and 
 there was he ! Rising from his chair, he towered up to his full 
 height, smiled pleasantly, and with a slight inclination of the 
 head, murmured: "Permit me to wish you good evening; I am 
 profoundly glad to meet you again." 
 
 It was full a minute before I could muster courage to answer : 
 " I wish I could say as much for myself" 
 
 "And why shouldn't you?" he said, gently and courteously; 
 " you have realized, for the past six months, that I would return ; 
 more than that — you have known for some time the very day and 
 almost the exact hour of my coming, have even wished for it, 
 and, in the face of all this, I find you preparing to evade the 
 requirements of common hospitality ; — are you doing either me 
 or yourself justice?" 
 
 I was nettled at the knowledge he displayed of my move- 
 ments, and of my very thoughts; my old stubbornness asserted 
 itself, and I was rude enough to say: "Perhaps it is as you say; 
 at all events, I am obligated to keep an engagement, and with 
 your permission will now retire." 
 
28 I-:TlI>()RHrA. 
 
 It was curious to mark the effect of this speech upon the 
 intruder. He immediately became grave, reached quietly into an 
 inner pocket of his coat, drew thence the same glitteiing, horrible, 
 m\-sterious knife that had so terrified and bewildered me a year 
 before, and looking me steadily in the eye, said coldly, yet with a 
 certain tone of sadness: "Well, I will not grant permission. It 
 is unpleasant to resort to this style of argument, but I do it to 
 save time and controversy." 
 
 I stepped hack in terror, and reached for the old-fashioned 
 bell-cord, with the heavy tassel at the end, that depended from 
 the ceiling, and was on the point of grasping and giving it a 
 vigorous pull. 
 
 "Not so fast, if you please," he said, sternly, as he stepped 
 forvvard, and gave the knife a rapid swish through the air above 
 my head, causing the cord to fall in a tangle about my hand, cut 
 cleanly, high above my reach ! 
 
 I gazed in dumb stupor at the rope about my hand, and raised 
 my eyes to the remnant above. That was motionless ; there was 
 not the slightest perceptible vibration, such as would naturally 
 be expected. I turned to look at my guest; he had resumed 
 his seat, and had also regained his pleasant expression, but he 
 still held the knife in his hand with his arm extended, at rest, 
 upon the table, which stood upon his right. 
 
 " Let us have an end to this folly," he said ; " think a moment, 
 and you will see that you are in fault. Your error we will rectif}' 
 easily, and then to business. I will first show you the futility of 
 trying to escape this interview, and then we will proceed to work, 
 for time presses, and there is much to .do." Having delivered 
 this remark, he detached a single silvery hair from his head, blew 
 it from his fingers, and let it float gently upon the upturned edge 
 of the knife, which was still resting on the table. The hair was 
 divided as readily as had been the bell-cord. I was transfixed 
 with astonishment, for he had evidently aimed to exhibit the 
 quality of the blade, though he made no allusion to the feat, but 
 smilingly went on with his discourse: "It is just a year ago 
 to-night since we first met. Upon that occasion you made an 
 agreement with me which you are in honor bound to keep, 
 and " — here he paused as if to note the effect of his words upon 
 me, then added significantly—" will keep. I have been at some 
 
THE SAME GLITTERING, MYSTERIOUS KNIFE. 
 
A SECOND INTERVIEW. 31 
 
 pains to impress upon your mind the fact that I would be here 
 to-night. You responded, and knew that I was coming, and yet 
 in obedience to a silly whim, deliberately made a meaningless 
 engagement with no other purpose than to violate a solemn 
 obligation. I now insist that you keep your prior engagement 
 with me, but I do not wish that you should be rude to your 
 friend, so you had better write him a polite note excusing your- 
 self, and dispatch it at once." 
 
 I saw that he was right, and that there was no shadow of 
 justification for my conduct, or at least I was subdued by his 
 presence, so I wrote the note without delay, and was casting 
 about for some way to send it, when he said : " Fold it, seal it, 
 and address it; you seem to forget what is proper." I did as he 
 directed, mechanically, and, without thinking what I was doing, 
 handed it to him. He took it naturally, glanced at the super- 
 scription, went to the door which he opened slightly, and handed 
 the billet as if to some messenger who seemed to be in waiting 
 outside, — then closed and locked the door. Turning toward me 
 with the apparent object of seeing if I was looking, he deftly 
 drew his knife twice across the front of the door-knob, making a 
 deep cross, and then deposited the knife in his pocket, and 
 resumed his seat. * 
 
 As soon as he was comfortably seated, he again began the 
 conversation : " Now that we have settled the preliminaries, I 
 will ask if you remember what I required of you a year ago?" I 
 thought that I did, "Please repeat it; I wish to make sure that 
 you do, then we will start fair." 
 
 "In the first place, you were to present me with a manu- 
 script" — 
 
 " Hardly correct," he interrupted ; " I was to acquaint you 
 with a narrative which is already in manuscript, acquaint }-ou 
 with it, read it to you, if you preferred not to read it to me" — 
 
 "I beg your pardon," I answered; "that is correct. You 
 were to read the manuscript to me, and during the reading I was 
 to interpose such comments, remarks, or objections, as seemed 
 proper ; to embod}' as interludes, in the manuscript, as m>- own 
 interpolations, however, and not as part of the original." 
 
 ■'I noted afterward that the door-knob, which was of solid metal, was cut deeply, as 
 thoujjh made of putty. 
 
32 
 
 KTIDORHI'A. 
 
 " Very good," he replied, " you have the idea exactly ; proceed.'* 
 
 " I agreed that when the reading had been completed, I would 
 
 seal the complete manuscript securely, deposit it in some safe 
 
 place, there to remain for thirty years, when it must be published." 
 
 "drew his knike twice across the eront of the door-knob." 
 
 "Just so," he answered; "we understand each other as we 
 .should. Before we proceed further, however, can you think of 
 any point on which you need enlightenment? If so, ask such 
 questions as you choose, and I will answer them." 
 
 I thought for a moment, but no query occurred to me ; after a 
 pause he .said: "Well, if you think of nothing now, perhaps 
 hereafter questions will occur to you which you can ask ; but as 
 it is late, and you arc tired, we will not commence now. I will 
 
A vSRCOND INTERVIEW. 33 
 
 see you just one week from to-ni^^ht, when we will bei^in. From 
 that time on, we will follow the subject as rapidly as you choose, 
 but see to it that }'ou make no engagements that will interfere 
 with our work, for I shall be more exacting in the future." I 
 promised, and he rose to go. A sudden impulse seized me, and I 
 said: " May I ask one question?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 "What shall I call you?" 
 
 "Why call me aught? It is not necessary in addressing each 
 other that any name be used." 
 
 " But what are you?" I persisted. 
 
 A pained expression for an instant rested upon his face, and 
 he said, sadly, pausing between the words : " I — Am — The — Man 
 Who— Did— It." 
 
 "Did what?" 
 
 "Ask not; the manuscript will tell you. Be content, Llewel- 
 lyn, and remember this, that I — Am — The — j\Ian." 
 
 So saying he bade me good night, opened the door, and 
 disappeared down the broad stair-case. 
 
 One week thereafter he appeared promptly, seated himself, 
 and producing a roll of manuscript, handed it to me, saying, " I 
 am listening; you may begin to read." 
 
 On examination I found each page to be somewhat larger 
 than a sheet of letter paper, with the written matter occupying 
 a much smaller space, so as to leave a wide white border. One 
 hundred pages were in the package. The last sentence ending 
 abruptly indicated that my guest did not expect to complete his 
 task in one evening, and, I may anticipate by saying that with 
 each successive interview he drew about the same amount of 
 writing from his bosom. Upon attempting to read the manu- 
 script I at first found myself puzzled by a style of chirography 
 very peculiar and characteristic, but execrably bad. Vainly did I 
 attempt to read it ; even the opening sentence was not deciphered 
 without long inspection and great difficulty. 
 
 The old man, whom I had promised that I would fulfill the 
 task, observing my discomfiture, relieved me of the charge, and 
 without a word of introduction, read fluently as follows: 
 
THE MANUSCRIPT OF 1— AM— THE— MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SEARCH FOR KNOWLEDGE. — THE AECHEMISTIC LETTER. 
 
 I am the man who, unfortunately for my future liappiness, 
 was dissatisfied with such knowledge as could be derived from 
 ordinary books concerning semi-scientific subjects in which I had 
 long been absorbed. I studied the current works of my day 
 on philosophy and chemistry, hoping therein to find something 
 tangible regarding the relationship that exists between matter 
 and spirit, but studied in vain. Astronomy, history, philosophy 
 and the mysterious, incoherent works of alchemy and occultism 
 w^ere finally appealed to, but likewise failed to satisfy me. These 
 studies were pursued in secret, though I am not aware tliat any 
 necessity existed for concealment. Be that as it may, at every 
 opportunity I covertly acquainted myself with such alchemical 
 lore as could be obtained either by purchase or by correspondence 
 with others whom I found to be pursuing investigations in the 
 same direction. A translation of Geber's " De Claritate Alclie- 
 mise," by chance came into my possession, and afterwards an 
 original version from the Latin of Bcerhaave's "Elementa 
 Chemioe," published and translated in 1753 by Peter Shaw. 
 This magnificent production threw a flood of light upon the 
 early history of chemistry, being fiir more elaborate than any 
 modern work. It inspired me with the deepest regard for its 
 talented author, and ultimately introduced me to a brotherhood 
 of adepts, for in this publication, although its author disclaims 
 occultism, is to be found a talisman that will enable any earnest 
 searcher after light to become a member of the society of secret 
 "Chemical Improvers of Natural Philosophy," with which I 
 affiliated as soon as the key was discovered. Then followed 
 a systematic investigation of authorities of the Alchemical 
 
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 / 
 
 ""^^^--^^ i..^ ^ 
 
 *^1 
 
 /^^:;:r ^.^^ .-^^-^^ . _ - 1-, ^ ^^ 
 
 
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 FAC-SIMILE OF PAGE OF MANTtSCRIPT. 
 
 35 
 
A SEARCH FOR KN0WLP:DGE. 37 
 
 School, including- Geber, Morienns, Roger Bacon, George Ripley, 
 Raymond Lnlly, Bernard, Count of Trevise, Isaac Hollandus, 
 Arnoldus de la Villanova, Paracelsus, and others, not omitting 
 the learned researches of the distinguished scientist, Llewellyn. 
 
 I discovered that many talented men are still firm believers in 
 the lost art of alchemy, and that among the followers of the 
 "thrice-famed Hermes" are to be found statesmen, clergymen, 
 lawyers, and scientific men who, for various reasons, invariably 
 conceal with great tact their connection with the fraternity of 
 adepts. Some of these men had written scientific treatises of 
 a very different character from those circulating among the 
 members of our brotherhood, and to their materialistic read- 
 ers it would seem scarcely possible that the authors could be 
 tainted with hallucinations of any description, while others, 
 conspicuous leaders in the church, were seemingly beyond 
 occult temptation. 
 
 The larger number, it was evident, hoped by studies of the 
 works of the alchemists, to find the key to the alkahest of Van 
 Helmont, that is, to discover the Philosopher's Stone, or the 
 Elixir of Life, and from their writings it is plain that the inner 
 consciousness of thoughtful and scientific men rebelled against 
 •confinement to the narrow bounds of materialistic science, within 
 which they were forced to appear as dogmatic pessimists. To 
 them scientific orthodoxy, acting as a weight, prohibited intel- 
 lectual speculation, as rank heresy. A few of my co-laborers 
 were expert manipulators, and worked experimentally, following 
 in their laboratories the suggestions of those gifted students who 
 had pored over precious old manuscripts, and had attempted to 
 solve the enigmatical formulas recorded therein, puzzles familiar 
 to students of Hermetic lore. It was thus demonstrated, — for 
 what I have related is histor}', — that in this nineteenth century 
 there exists a fraternity, the members of which are as earnest 
 in their belief in the truth of Esoteric philosophy, as were the 
 followers of Hermes himself; savants who, in secret, circulate 
 among themselves a literature that the materialism of this self- 
 same nineteenth century has relegated to the deluded and murky 
 periods that produced it. 
 
 One day a postal package came to my address, this being the 
 manner in which some of our literature circulated, which, on 
 
38 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 examination, I fonnd to be a letter of instruction and advice 
 from some unknown member of our circle. I was alread\- 
 becoming disheartened over the mental confusion into which 
 my studies were leading me, and the contents of the letter, in 
 which I was greatly interested, made a lasting impression upon 
 me. It seemed to have been circulating a long time among our 
 members in Europe and America, for it bore numerous marginal 
 notes of various dates, but each and every one of its readers had 
 for one reason or another declined the task therein suggested. 
 From the substance of the paper, which, written exquisitely, yet 
 partook of the ambiguous alchemistic style, it was evident that 
 the author was well versed in alchemy, and, in order that my 
 position may be clearly understood at this turning point in a life 
 of remarkable adventure, the letter is appended in full : 
 
 THE ALCHEMISTIC LETTER. 
 
 TO THE BROTHER ADEPT WHO DARES TRY TO DISCOVER ZOROASTER'S CAVE,. 
 
 OR THE philosopher's INTELLECTUAL ECHOES, BY MEANS OF WHICH 
 
 THEY COMMUNICATE TO ONE ANOTHER FROM THEIR CAVES. 
 
 Know thou, that Hermes Trismegistus did not originate, but he gave to 
 our philosophy his name — the Hermetic Art. Evolved in a dim, mystic age, 
 before antiquity began, it endured through the slowly rolling cycles to be 
 bandied about by the ever-ready flippancy of nineteenth century students. It 
 has lived, because it is endowed with that quality which never dies — truth. 
 Modern philosophy, of which chemistry is but a fragment, draws its sustenance 
 from the prime facts which were revealed in ancient Egypt through Hermetic 
 thought, and fixed by the Hermetic stylus. 
 
 "The Hermetic allegories," so various in interpretable susceptibility, led 
 subsequent thinkers into speculations and experimentations, which have 
 resulted profitablv to tlie world. It is not strange that some of the followers 
 of Hermes, especially the more mercurial and imaginative, should have evolved 
 nebulous theories, no longer explainable, and involving recondite spiritual 
 considerations. Know thou that the ultimate on psycho-chemical investigation 
 is the proximate of the infinite. Accordingly, a class came to believe that a 
 projection of natural mental faculties into an advanced state of consciousness 
 called the "wisdom faculty" constitutes the final possibility of Alchemy. The 
 attainment of this exalted condition is still believed practicable by many 
 earnest savants. Once on this lofty plane, the individual would not be tram- 
 melled by material obstacles, but would abide in that spiritual placidit}- which 
 is the exquisite realization of mortal perfection. So exalted, he would be in 
 naked parallelism with Omniscience, and through his illuminated understand- 
 ing, could feast his soul on those exalted pleasures which are only less than 
 deific. 
 
 Notwithstanding the exploitings of a number of these philosophers, in 
 which, by reason of our inabilitj- to comprehend, sense seemed lost in a passage 
 
A SEARCH FOR KNOWLEDGK. 39 
 
 of iucohesive dreamery and resonancy of terminology, some of the purest 
 spiritual researches the world has ever known, were made in the dawn of 
 history. The much abused alchemical philosophers existed upon a plane, in 
 some respects above the level of the science of to-day. Many of them lived 
 for the good of the world only, in an atmosphere above the materialistic 
 hordes that people the world, and toiling over their crucibles and alembics, 
 died in their cells " uttering no voice." Take, for example, Eirena;us Philalethes, 
 who, born in 1623, lived contemporaneously with Robert Boyle. A fragment 
 from his writings will illustrate the purpose which impelled the searcher for 
 the true light of alchemy to record his discoveries in allegories, and we have 
 no right to question the honesty of his utterances : 
 
 "The Searcher of all hearts knows that I write the truth; nor is there any 
 cause to accuse me of envy. I write with an unterriiied quill in an unheard of 
 style, to the honor of God, to the profit of my neighbors, with contempt of the 
 world and its riches, because Elias, the artist, is already born, and now glorious 
 things are declared of the city of God. I dare affirm that I do possess more 
 riches than the whole known world is worth, but I can not make use of it 
 because of the snares of knaves. I disdain, loathe, and detest the idolizing of 
 silver and gold, by which the pomps and vanities of the world are celebrated. 
 Ah ! filthy evil ! Ah ! vain nothingness ! Believe ye that I conceal the art out 
 of envy ? No, verily, I protest to you ; I grieve from the very bottom of my 
 soul that we (alchemists) are driven like vagabonds from the face of the Lord 
 throughout the earth. But what need of many words? The thing that we 
 have seen, taught, and made, which we have, possess, and know, that we do 
 declare; being moved with compassion for the studious, and with indignation 
 of gold, silver, and precious stones. Believe me, the time is at the door, I feel 
 it in spirit, when we, adeptists, shall return from the four corners of the earth, 
 nor shall we fear any snares that are laid against our lives, but we shall give 
 thanks to the Lord our God. I would to God that every ingenious man in the 
 whole earth understood this science; then it would be valued only for its 
 wisdom, and virtue only would be had in honor." 
 
 Of course there was a more worldly class, and a large contingent of mer- 
 cenary impostors (as science is always encumbered), parasites, whose animus 
 was shamefully unlike the purity of true esoteric psychologists. These men 
 devoted their lives to experimentation for selfish advancement. They con- 
 structed alchemical outfits, and carried on a ceaseless inquiry into the nature 
 of solvents, and studied their influences on earthly bodies, their ultimate 
 object being the discovery of the Philosopher's Stone, and the alkahest which 
 Boerhaave asserts was never discovered. Their records were often a verbose 
 melange, purposely so written, no doubt, to cover their tracks, and to make 
 themselves conspicuous. Other Hermetic believers occupied a more elevated 
 position, and connected the intellectual with the material, hoping to gain by 
 their philosophy and science not only gold and silver, which were secondary 
 considerations, but the highest literary achievement, the Magnum Optis. 
 Others still sought to draw from Astrology- and Magic the secrets that would 
 lead them to their ambitious goal. Thus there were degrees of fineness in a 
 fraternity, which the science of to-day must recognize and admit. 
 
 Boerhaave, the illustrious, respected Geber, of the alchemistic school, and 
 none need feel compromised in admiring the talented alchemists who, like 
 
40 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 Geber, wrought in the twilight of morn for the coming world's good. We are 
 now enjoying a fragment of the ultimate results of their genius and industry 
 in the materialistic outcomes of present-day chemistry, to be followed by 
 others more valuable; and at last, when mankind is ripe in the wisdom faculty, 
 by spiritual contentment in the complacent furtherings beyond. Allow me 
 briefly to refer to a few men of the alchemistic type whose records may be 
 considered with advantage. 
 
 Rhasis, a conspicuous alchemist, born in S50, first mentioned orpiment, 
 borax, compounds of iron, copper, arsenic, and other similar substances. It is 
 said, too, that he discovered the art of making brandy. About a century later, 
 Alfarabe (killed in 950), a great alchemist, astonished the King of Syria with 
 his profound learning, and excited the admiration of the wise men of the East 
 by his varied accomplishments. Later, Albertus Magnus (born 1205), noted for 
 his talent and skill, believed firmly in the doctrine of transmutation. His 
 beloved pupil, Thomas Aquinas, gave us the word amalgam, and it still serves 
 us. Contemporaneously with these lived Roger Bacon (born 12 14), who was a 
 man of most extraordinary ability. There has never been a greater English 
 intellect (not excepting his illustrious namesake. Lord Bacon), and his pene- 
 trating mind delved deeper into nature's laws than that of any successor. 
 He told us of facts concerning the sciences, that scientific men can not fully 
 comprehend to-day; he told us of other things that lie bej-ond the science 
 provings of to-day, that modern philosophers can not grasp. He was an 
 enthusiastic believer in the Hermetic philosophy, and such were his erudition 
 and advanced views, that his brother friars, through jealousy and superstition, 
 had him thrown into prison — a common fate to men who in those days dared 
 to think ahead of their age. Despite (as some would say) of his mighty 
 reasoning power and splendid attainments, he believed the Philosopher's 
 Stone to be a reality; he believed the secret of indefinite prolongation of life 
 abode in alchemy; that the future could be predicted b}- means of a mirror 
 which he called Almuchese, and that by alchemy an adept could produce pure 
 gold. He asserted that b}^ means of Aristotle's "Secret of Secrets," pure gold 
 can be made ; gold even purer and finer than what men now know as gold. In 
 connection with other predictions he made an assertion that may with other 
 seemingly unreasonable predictions be verified in time to come. He said: "It 
 is equally possible to construct cars which may be set in motion with marvelous 
 rapidity, independently of horses or other animals." He declared that the 
 ancients had done this, and he believed the art might be revived. 
 
 Following came various enthusiasts, such as Raymond, the ephemeral 
 (died 1315), who flared like a meteor into his brief, brilliant career; Arnold de 
 Villanova (1240), a celebrated adept, whose books were burned by the Inquisi- 
 tion on account of the heresy they taught; Nicholas Flamel, of France (1350), 
 loved by the people for his charities, the wonder of his age (our age will not 
 admit the facts) on account of the vast fortune he amassed without visible 
 means or income, outside of alchemical lore ; Johannes de Ruj^iecissus, a man 
 of such remarkable daring that he even (1357) reprimanded Pope Innocent VI., 
 for which he was promptly imprisoned; Basil Valentine (1410), the author of 
 many works, and the man who introduced antimony (antimonaches) into 
 medicine; Isaac of Holland who, with his son, skillfully made artificial gems 
 that could not be distinguished from the natural ; Bernard Trevison (born 
 
A SEARCH FOR KNOWLEDGE. 41 
 
 1406), who spent foo.ooo in the study of alchemy, out of much of which he was 
 cheated by cruel alchemic pretenders, for even in that day there were plenty of 
 rogues to counterfeit a good thing. Under stress of his strong alchemic 
 convictions, Thomas Dalton placed his head on the block by order of the 
 virtuous (?) and conservative Thomas Herbert, 'squire to King Edward; Jacob 
 Bohme (born 1575), the sweet, pure spirit of Christian mysticism, "The Voice 
 of Heaven," than whom none stood higher in true alchemy, was a Christian, 
 alchemist, theosophist ; Robert Boyle, a conspicuous alchemical philosopher, 
 in 1662 published his " Defense of the Doctrine touching the Spring and 
 Weight of the Air," and illustrated his arguments by a series of ingenious 
 and beautiful experiments, that stand to-day so high in the estimation of 
 scientific men, that his remarks are copied verbatim by our highest authorities, 
 and his apparatus is the best yet devised for the purpose. Boyle's " Law " was 
 evolved and carefully defined fourteen years before Mariotte's " Discours de la 
 Nature de 1' Air" appeared, which did not, however, prevent French and 
 German scientific men from giving the credit to Mariotte, and they still 
 follow the false teacher who boldly pirated not only Boyle's ideas, but stole 
 his apparatus. 
 
 Then appeared such men as Paracelsus (born 1493), the celebrated physi- 
 cian, who taught that occultism (esoteric philosophy) was superior to experi- 
 mental chemistry in enlightening us concerning the transmutation of baser 
 metals into gold and silver ; and Gueppo Francisco (born 1627) , who wrote a 
 beautiful treatise on " Elementary Spirits," which was copied without credit by 
 Compte de Gabalis. It seems incredible that the man (Gueppo Francisco), 
 whose sweet spirit-thoughts are revivified and breathe anew in " Undine " and 
 *' The Rape of the Lock," should have been thrown into a prison to perish as 
 a Hermetic follower ; and this should teach us not to question the earnestness 
 of those who left us as a legacy the beauty and truth so abundantly found in 
 pure alchemy. 
 
 These and many others, cotemporaries, some conspicuous, and others 
 whose names do not shine in written history, contributed incalculably to the 
 grand aggregate of knowledge concerning the divine secret which enriched 
 the world. Compare the benefits of Hermetic philosophy with the result of 
 bloody wars ambitiously waged by self-exacting tyrants — tyrants whom history 
 applauds as heroes, but whom we consider as butchers. Among the workers in 
 alchemy are enumerated nobles, kings, and even popes. Pope John XXH. was 
 an alchemist, which accounts for his bull against impostors, promulgated in 
 order that true students might not be discredited; and King Frederick of 
 Naples sanctioned the art, and protected its devotees. 
 
 At last. Count Cagliostro, the chequered "Joseph Balsamo " (born 1743), 
 who combined alchemy, magic, astrology, sleight of hand, mesmerism, Free 
 Masonry, and remarkable personal accomplishments, that altogether have 
 never since been equalled, burst upon the world. Focusing the gaze of 
 the church, kings, and the commons upon himself, in many respects the 
 most audacious pretender that history records, he raised the He-rmetic art to a 
 dazzling height, and finally buried it in a blaze of splendor as he passed from 
 existence beneath a mantle of shame. As a meteor streams into view from out 
 the star mists of space, and in corruscating glorj- sinks into the sea. Cagliostro 
 blazed into the sky of the nineteenth century, from the nebuUe of alchemistic 
 
42 irnnoRHi'A. 
 
 speculation, and extinguisheil IxUli himself and his science in the light of the 
 rising sun of materialism. Cagliostro the visionary, the poet, the inspired, the 
 erratic comet in the universe of intellect, perished in prison as a mountebank, 
 and then the plodding chemist of to-day, with his tedious mechanical methods, 
 and cold, unresponsive, materialistic dogmas, arose from the ashes, and sprang 
 into prominence. 
 
 Read the story backward, and you shall see that in alchemy we behold the 
 beginning of all the sciences of to-day ; alchemy is the cradle that rocked 
 them. Fostered with necromancy, astrologj', occultism, and all the progeny of 
 mystic dreamery, the infant sciences struggled for existence through the dark 
 ages, in care of the once persecuted and now traduced alchemist. The world 
 owes a monument to-day more to Hermetic heroes, than to all other influences 
 and instrumentalities, religion excepted, combined, for our present civilization 
 is largely a legacy from the alchemist. Begin with Hermes Trismegistus, and 
 close with Joseph Balsamo, and if you are inclined towards science, do not 
 criticise too severely their verbal logorrhea, and their romanticism, for your 
 science is treading backward; it will encroach upon their field again, and you 
 may have to unsay your words of hasty censure. These men fulfilled their 
 mission, and did it well. If they told more than men now think they knew, 
 they also knew more than they told, and more than modern philosoph}^ 
 embraces. They could not live to see all the future they eagerly hoped for, 
 but they started a future for mankind that will far exceed in sweetness and 
 light the most entrancing visions of their most imaginative dreamers. They 
 spoke of the existence of a " red elixir," and while they wrote, the barbarous 
 world about them ran red with blood, — blood of the pure in heart, blood of the 
 saints, blood of a Saviour; and their allegory and wisdom formuUe were 
 recorded in blood of their own sacrifices. They dreamed of a " white elixir " 
 that is yet to bless mankind, and a brighter day for man, a period of peace, 
 happiness, long life, contentment, good will and brotherly love, and in the 
 name of this " white elixir " they directed the world towards a vision of divine 
 light. Even pure gold, as they told the materialistic world who worship gold, 
 was penetrated and whelmed by this subtle, superlatively refined spirit of 
 matter. Is not the day of the allegorical "white elixir" nearly at hand? 
 Would that it were ! 
 
 I say to you now, brothers of the nineteenth century, as one speaking by 
 authority to you, cease (some of you) to study this entrancing past, look to the 
 future by grasping the present, cast aside (some of you) the alchemical lore of 
 other days, give up your loved allegories; it is a duty, you must relincjuish 
 them. There is a richer field. Do not delay. Unlock this mystic door that 
 stands hinged and ready, waiting the touch of men who can interpret the 
 talisman ; place before mankind the knowledge that lies behind its rivets. 
 In the secret lodges that have preserved the wisdom of the days of Enoch and 
 l^lias of Egypt, who propagated the Egyptian Order, a branch of your ancient 
 ])rotherhood, is to be found concealed much knowledge that should now be 
 spread before the world, and added to the treasures of our circle of adepts. 
 This cabalistic wisdom is not recorded in books nor in manuscript, but has 
 been purposely preserved from the uninitiated, in the unreadable brains of 
 unresponsive men. Those who are selected to act as carriers thereof, are, as a 
 rule, like dumb water bearers, or the dead sheet of paper that mechanically 
 
A SEARCH FOR KNOWI.KDGE. 43 
 
 preserves an inspiration derived from minds unseen: they serve a purpose as a 
 child mechanically commits to memory a blank verse to repeat to others, who 
 in turn commit to repeat again — neither of them speaking understandingly. 
 Search ye these hidden paths, for the day of mental liberation approaches, and 
 publish to the world all that is locked within the doors of that antiquated 
 organization. The world is nearly ripe for the wisdom faculty, and men are 
 ready to unravel the golden threads that mystic wisdom has inwoven in her 
 web of secret knowledge. Look for knowledge where I have indicated, and 
 to gain it do not hesitate to swear allegiance to this sacred order, for so you 
 must do to gain entrance to the brotherhood, and then you must act what men 
 will call the traitor. You will, however, be doing a sacred duty, for the world 
 will profit, humanit}- will be the gainer, " Peace on Earth, Good Will to Man," 
 will be closer to mankind, and at last, when the sign appears, the " white elixir " 
 will no longer be allegorical ; it will become a reality. In the name of the 
 Great M}'stic Vase-Man, go thou into these lodges, learn of their secrets, and 
 spread their treasures before those who can interpret them. 
 
 Here this letter ended. It was evident that the writer 
 referred to a secret society into which I conld probably enter ; 
 and taking the advice, I did not hesitate, but applied at once 
 for membership. I determined, regardless of consequence, to 
 follow the suggestion of the unknown writer, and by so doing, 
 for I accepted their pledges, I invited my destiny. 
 
 My guest of the massive forehead paused for a moment, 
 stroked his long, white beard, and then, after casting an inquir- 
 ing glance on me, asked, " Shall I read on?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied, and The— Man— Who— Did— It, proceeded 
 as follows : 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WRITING OF MY CONFESSION. 
 
 Having become a member of the Secret Society as directed 
 by the writer of the letter I have just read, and having obtained 
 the secrets hinted at in the mystic directions, my next desire 
 was to find a sechided spot where, without interruption, I could 
 prepare for publication what I had gathered surreptitiously in the 
 lodges of the fraternity I designed to betray. This I entitled 
 " My Confession." Alas! why did my evil genius prompt me to 
 write it? Why did not some kind angel withhold my hand 
 from the rash and wicked deed? All I can urge in defense or 
 palliation is that I was infatuated by the fatal words of the 
 letter, " You must act what men will call the traitor, but humanity 
 will be the gainer." 
 
 In a section of the state in which I resided, a certain 
 creek forms the boundary line between two townships, and also 
 between two counties. Crossing this creek, a much traveled 
 road stretches east and west, uniting the extremes of the great 
 state. Two villages on this road, about four miles apart, situated 
 on opposite sides of the creek, also present themselves to my 
 memory, and midway between them, on the north side of the 
 road, was a substantial farm house. In going west from the 
 easternmost of these villages, the traveler begins to descend 
 from the very center of the town. In no place is the grade 
 steep, as the road lies between the spurs of the hill abutting 
 upon the valley that feeds the creek I have mentioned. Having 
 reached the valley, the road winds a short distance to the 
 right, then turning to the left, crosses the stream, and imme- 
 diately begins to climb the western hill; here the ascent is 
 more difficult, for the road lies diagonally over the edge of the 
 hill. A mile of travel, as I recall the scene, sometimes up a 
 steep, and again among rich, level farm lands, and then on the 
 very height, close to the road, within a few feet of it, appears 
 
 44 
 
THE WRITING OF MY CONFESSION. 45. 
 
 the square structure which was, at the time I uientiou, known 
 as the Stone Tavern. On the opposite side of the road were 
 located extensive stables, and a grain barn. In the northeast 
 chamber of that stone building, during a summer in the twen- 
 ties, I wrote for publication the description of the mystic work 
 that my oath should have made forever a secret, a sacred trust. 
 I am the man who wantonly committed the deplorable act. 
 Under the infatuation of that alchemical manuscript, I strove 
 to show the world that I could and would do that which might 
 never benefit me in the least, but might serve humanity. It 
 was fate. I was not a bad man, neither malignity, avarice, 
 nor ambition forming a part of my nature. I was a close 
 student, of a rather retiring disposition, a stone-mason by trade, 
 careless and indifferent to public honors, and so thriftless that 
 many trifling neighborhood debts had accumulated against me. 
 What I have reluctantly told, for I am forbidden to give the 
 names of the localities, comprises an abstract of part of the 
 record of my early life, and will introduce the extraordinary 
 narrative which follow^s. That I have spoken the truth, and in 
 no manner overdrawn, will be silently evidenced by hundreds 
 of brethren, both of the occult society and the fraternal brother- 
 hood, with which I united, who can (if they will) testify to the 
 accuracy of the narrative. They know the story of my crime 
 and disgrace ; only myself and God know the full retribution 
 that followed. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 KIDNAPPED. 
 
 The events just narrated occurred in the prime of my life, and 
 are partly matters of publicity. IMy attempted breach of faith in 
 the way of disclosing their secrets was naturally infamous in the 
 eyes of my society brethren, who endeavored to prevail upon me 
 to relent of my design which, after writing my " Confession," I 
 made no endeavor to conceal. Their importunities and threaten- 
 ings had generally been resisted, however, and with an obliquity 
 that can not be easily explained, I persisted in my unreasonable 
 design. I was blessed as a husband and father, but neither the 
 thought of home, wife, nor child, checked me in my inexplicable 
 course. I was certainly irresponsible, perhaps a monomaniac, 
 and yet on the subject in which I was absorbed, I preserved nn- 
 mental equipoise, and knowingly followed a course that finally 
 brought me into the deepest slough of trouble, and lost to me 
 forever all that man loves most dearly. An overruling spirit, 
 perhaps the shade of one of the old alchemists, possessed me, 
 and in the face of obstacles that would have caused most men 
 to reflect, and retrace their steps, I madly rushed onward. The 
 influence that impelled me, whatever it may have been, was irre- 
 sistible. I apparently acted the part of agent, subject to an 
 ever-present master essence, and under this dominating spirit 
 or demon my mind was powerless in its subjection. IMy soul 
 was driven imperiously by that impelling and indescribable 
 something, and was as passive and irresponsible as lycopodium 
 that is borne onward in a steady current of air. ]Methods were 
 vainly sought by those whg loved me, brethren of the lodge, and 
 others who endeavored to induce me to change my headstrong 
 purpose, but I could neither accept their counsels nor heed their 
 forebodings. Summons by law were served on me in order 
 to disconcert me, and my numerous small debts became the 
 pretext for legal warrants, until at last all luv ]xi])ers (excepting 
 
 46 
 
"my arms were firmly grasped by two persons." 
 
 =M7 
 
KIDNAPPKI). 47 
 
 my " Confession "), and my person also, were seized, upon an exe- 
 cntion served by a constable. Minor claims were quickly satisfied, 
 but when I regained n\\ liberty, the aggression continued. Even 
 arson was resorted to, and the printing office that held my manu- 
 script was fired one night, that the obnoxious revelation which I 
 persisted in putting into print, might be destroyed. Finally I 
 found myself separated by process of law from home and friends, 
 an inmate of a jail. My opponents, as I now came to consider 
 them, had confined me in prison for a debt of only two dollars, 
 a sufficient amount at that time, in that state, for my incarcer- 
 ation. Smarting under the humiliation, my spirit became still 
 more rebellious, and I now, perhaps justly, came to view myself 
 as a martyr. It had been at first asserted that I had stolen a 
 shirt, but I was not afraid of any penalty that could be laid on 
 me for this trumped-up charge, believing that the imputation 
 and the arrest would be shown to be designed as willful oppres- 
 sion. Therefore it was, that when this contemptible arraignment 
 had been swept aside, and I was freed before a Justice of the 
 Peace, I experienced more than a little surprise at a rearrest, 
 and at finding myself again thrown into jail. I knew that it 
 had been decreed by ni}- brethren that I must retract and destroy 
 my "Confession," and this fact made me the more determined to 
 prevent its destruction, and I persisted sullenly in pursuing my 
 course. On the evening of August 12th, 1826, my jailer's wife 
 informed me that the debt for which I had been incarcerated had 
 been paid by unknowm " friends," and that I could depart ; and I 
 accepted the statement without question. Upon my stepping 
 from the door of the jail, however, my arms were firmly grasped 
 by two persons, one on each side of me, and before I could realize 
 the fact that I was being kidnapped, I was thrust into a closed 
 coach, which immediately rolled away, but not until I made an 
 outcry which, if heard by anyone, was unheeded. 
 
 " For your own sake, be quiet," said one of my companions 
 in confinement, for the carriage was draped to exclude the light, 
 and was as dark as a dungeon. My spirit rebelled ; I felt that I 
 was on the brink of a remarkable, perhaps perilous experience, 
 and I indignantly replied by asking : 
 
 "What have I done that you should presume forcibly to 
 imprison me? Am I not a freeman of America?" 
 
48 KTlDORHrA. 
 
 " What have you done ?" he answered. " Have you not bound 
 yourself by a series of vows that are sacred and should be 
 inviolable, and have you not broken them as no other man has 
 done before you? Have you not betrayed your trust, and 
 merited a severe judgment? Did you not voluntarily ask 
 admission into our ancient brotherhood, and in good faith 
 were you not initiated into our sacred mysteries? Did )ou 
 not obligate yourself before man, and on your sacred honor 
 promise to preserve our secrets?" 
 
 "I did," I replied; "but previously I had sworn before a 
 higher tribunal to scatter this precious wisdom to the world." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " and you know full well the depth of the 
 self-sought solemn oath that you took with us — more solemn 
 than that prescribed by any open court on earth." 
 
 " This I do not deny," I said, " and yet I am glad that I Accom- 
 plished my object, even though you have now, as is evident, the 
 power to pronounce my sentence." 
 
 "You should look for the death sentence," was the reply, "but 
 it has been ordained instead that you are to be given a lengthened 
 life. You should expect bodily destruction ; but on the contrary, 
 you will pass on in consciousness of earth and earthly concerns 
 when we are gone. Your name will be known to all lands, and 
 yet from this time you will be unknown. For the welfare of 
 future humanity, you will be thrust to a height in our order that 
 will annihilate you as a mortal being, and yet you will exist, 
 suspended between life and death, and in that intermediate state 
 will know that you exist. You have, as you confess, merited a 
 severe punishment, but we can only punish in accordance with 
 an unwritten law, that instructs the person punished, and elevates 
 the human race in consequence. You stand alone among mortals 
 in that you have openly attempted to give broadly to those who 
 have not earned it, our most sacred property, a property that did 
 not belong to you, property that you have only been permitted 
 to handle, that has been handed from man to man from before 
 the time of Solomon, and which belongs to no one man, and will 
 continue to pass in this way from one to another, as a hallowed 
 trust, until there are no men, as men now exist, to receive it. 
 You will soon go into the shadows of darkness, and will learn 
 many of the mysteries of life, the undeveloped mysteries that 
 
KIDNAPPKD. 49 
 
 are withheld from your fellows, but which you, who have been 
 so presumptuous and anxious for knowledge, are destined to 
 possess and solve. You will find secrets that man, as man is 
 now constituted, can not yet discover, and yet which the future 
 man must gain and be instructed in. As you have sowed, so 
 shall you reap. You wished to become a distributor of knowl- 
 edge ; you shall now by bodily trial and mental suffering obtain 
 unsought knowledge to distribute, and in time to come you will 
 be commanded to make your discoveries known. As your path- 
 way is surely laid out, so must you walk. It is ordained ; to rebel 
 is useless." 
 
 " Who has pronounced this sentence?" I asked. 
 
 "A judge, neither of heaven nor of earth." 
 
 "You speak in enigmas." 
 
 "No; I speak openly, and the truth. Our brotherhood is 
 linked with the past, and clasps hands with the antediluvians; 
 the flood scattered the races of earth, but did not disturb our 
 secrets. The great love of wisdom has from generation to 
 generation led selected members of our organization to depths 
 of study that our open work does not touch upon, and behind 
 our highest officers there stand, in the occult shades between 
 the here and the hereafter, unknown and unseen agents who 
 are initiated into secrets above and beyond those known to the 
 ordinary craft. Those who are introduced into these inner 
 recesses acquire superhuman conceptions, and do not give an 
 open sign of fellowship ; they need no talisman. They walk 
 our streets possessed of powers unknown to men, they concern 
 themselves as mortals in the affairs of men, and even their breth- 
 ren of the initiated, open order are unaware of their exalted 
 condition. The means by which they have been instructed, their 
 several individualities as well, have been concealed, because 
 publicity would destroy their value, and injure humanity's cause." 
 
 Silence followed these vague disclosures, and the carriage 
 rolled on. I was mystified and alarmed, and yet I knew that, 
 whatever might be the end of this nocturnal ride, I had invited 
 it — yes, merited it — and I steeled myself to hear the sentence of 
 my judges, in whose hands I was powerless. The persons on 
 the seat opposite me continued their conversation in low tones, 
 audible only to themselves. An individual by my side neither 
 
 3 
 
50 KTIDORHPA. 
 
 moved nor spoke. There were four of us in the carriage, as I 
 learned intuitively, although we were surrounded by utter dark- 
 ness. At length I addressed the companion beside me, for the 
 silence was unbearable. Friend or enemy though he might be, 
 anything rather than this long silence. " How long shall we 
 continue in this carriage?" 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 After a time I again spoke. 
 
 " Can you not tell me, comrade, how long our journey will 
 last? When shall we reach our destination?" 
 
 Silence only. 
 
 Putting out my hand, I ventured to touch my mate, and 
 found that he was tightly strapped, — bound upright to the seat 
 and the back of the carriage. Leather thongs held him firmly 
 in position; and as I pondered over the mystery, I thought to 
 myself, if I make a disturbance, they will not hesitate to manacle 
 me as securely. My custodians seemed, however, not to exercise 
 a guard over me, and yet I felt that they were certain of my 
 inability to escape. If the man on the seat was a prisoner, why 
 was he so reticent? why did he not answer my questions? I 
 came to the conclusion that he must be gagged as well as bound. 
 Then I determined to find out if this were so, I began to realize 
 more forcibly that a terrible sentence must have been meted me, 
 and I half hoped that I could get from my partner in captivity 
 some information regarding our destination. Sliding my hand 
 cautiously along his chest, and under his chin, I intended to 
 remove the gag from his mouth, when I felt my flesh creep, for 
 it came in contact with the cold, rigid flesh of a corpse. The 
 man was dead, and stiff". 
 
 The shock unnerved me. I had begun to experience tlie 
 results of a severe mental strain, partly induced by the recent 
 imprisonment and extended previous persecution, and partly 
 by the mysterious significance of the language in which I had 
 recently been addressed. The sentence, "You will now go into 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and learn the mysteries of 
 life," kept ringing through my head, and even then I sat beside 
 a corpse. After this discovery I remained for a time in a semi- 
 stupor, in a state of profound dejection, — how long I can not say. 
 Then I experienced an inexplicable change, such as I imagine 
 
KIDNAPPED. 51 
 
 comes over a condemned man without hope of reprieve, and 
 I became unconcerned as a man might who had accepted his 
 destiny, and stoically determined to await it. Perhaps moments 
 passed, it may have been hours, and then indifference gave place 
 to reviving curiosity. I realized that I could die only once, and 
 I coolly and complacently revolved the matter, speculating over 
 my possible fate. As I look back on the night in. which I rode 
 beside that dead man, facing the mysterious agents of an all- 
 powerful judge, I marvel over a mental condition that permitted 
 me finally to rest in peace, and slumber in unconcern. So I did, 
 however, and after a period, the length of which I am not able 
 to estimate, I awoke, and soon thereafter the carriage stopped, 
 and our horses were changed, after which our journey was 
 resumed, to continue hour after hour, and at last I slept again, 
 leaning back in the corner. Suddenly I was violently shaken 
 from slumber, and commanded to alight. It was in the gray of 
 morning, and before I could realize what was happening, I was 
 transferred by my captors to another carriage, and the dead man 
 also was rudely hustled along and thrust beside me, my compan- 
 ions speaking to him as though he were alive. Indeed, as I look 
 back on these maneuvers, I perceive that, to all appearances, 
 I was one of the abducting party, and our actions were really 
 such as to induce an observer to believe that this dead man 
 Avas an obstinate prisoner, and myself one of his official guards. 
 The drivers of the carriages seemed to give us no attention, but 
 they sat upright and unconcerned, and certainly neither of them 
 interested himself in our transfer. The second carriage, like that 
 other previously described, was securely closed, and our journey 
 was continued. The darkness was as of a dungeon. It may 
 have been days, I could not tell anything about the passage of 
 time ; on and on we rode. Occasionally food and drink were 
 handed in, but my captors held to their course, and at last I was 
 taken from the vehicle, and transferred to a block-house. 
 
 I had been carried rapidly and in secret a hundred or more 
 miles, perhaps into another state, and probably all traces of my 
 journey were effectually lost to outsiders. I was in the hands of 
 men who implicitly obeyed the orders of their superiors, masters 
 whom they had never seen, and probably did not know. I needed 
 no reminder of the fact that I had violated every sacred pledge 
 
52 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 voluntarily made to the craft, and now that they held ine power- 
 less, I well knew that, whatever the punishment assigned, I had 
 invited it, and could not prevent its fulfillment. That it would 
 be severe, I realized; that it would not be in accordance with 
 ordinary human law, I accepted. 
 
 Had I not in secret, in my little room in that obscure Stone 
 Tavern, engrossed on paper the mystic sentences that never 
 
 " I WAS TAKEN FROM THE VEHICLE, AND TRANSFERRED TO A BLOCK-HOUSE." 
 
 before had been penned, and were unknown excepting to per- 
 sons initiated into our sacred mysteries? Had I not previously, 
 in the most solemn manner, before these words had been imparted 
 to my keeping, sworn to keep them inviolate and secret? and 
 had I not deliberately broken that sacred vow, and scattered the 
 hoarded sentences broadcast? My part as a brother in this 
 fraternal organization was that of the holder only of property 
 that belonged to no man, that had been handed from one to 
 another through the ages, sacredly cherished, and faithfully 
 protected by men of many tongues, always considered a trust. 
 
KIDNAPPED. 53 
 
 a charge of honor, and never before betrayed. My crime was 
 deep and dark. I shnddered. 
 
 "Come what may," I mused, reflecting over my perfidy, "I 
 am ready for the penalty, and my fate is deserved ; it can not but 
 be a righteous one." 
 
 The words of the occupant of the carriage occurred to me 
 again and again ; that one sentence kept ringing in my brain ; I 
 could not dismiss it : " You have been tried, convicted, and we 
 are of those appointed to carry out the sentence of the judges." 
 
 The black silence of my lonely cell beat against me ; I could 
 feel the absence of sound, I could feel the dismal weight of 
 nothingness, and in my solitude and distraction I cried out in 
 anguish to the invisible judge : " I am ready for my sentence, 
 whether it be death or imprisonment for life " ; and still the 
 further words of the occupant of the carriage passed through 
 my mind : " You will now go into the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death, and will learn the mysteries of Life." 
 
 Then I slept, to awake and sleep again. I kept no note 
 of time; it may have been days or weeks, so far as my record 
 could determine. An attendant came at intervals to minister to 
 Ttiy wants, always masked completely, ever silent. 
 
 That I was not entirely separated from mankind, however, I 
 felt assured, for occasionally sounds of voices came to me from 
 ■without. Once I ventured to shout aloud, hoping to attract 
 attention ; but the persons whom I felt assured overheard me, 
 paid no attention to my lonely cry. At last one night, my door 
 opened abruptly, and three men entered. 
 
 " Do not fear," said their spokesman, " we aim to protect you ; 
 keep still, and soon you will be a free man." 
 
 I consented quietly to accompany them, for to refuse would 
 have been in vain ; and I was conducted to a boat, which I found 
 contained a corpse — the one I had journeyed with, I suppose — 
 and embarking, we were silently rowed to the middle of the river, 
 our course being diagonally from the shore, and the dead man 
 was thrown overboard. Then our boat returned to the desolate 
 "bank. 
 
 Thrusting me into a carriage, that, on our return to the river 
 bank we found awaiting us, my captors gave a signal, and I was 
 driven away in the darkness, as silently as before, and our journey 
 
54 
 
 ETIDORHI'A. 
 
 was continued I believe for fulh- two days. I was again confined 
 in another log cabin, with but one door, and destitute of windows. 
 ]\Iy attendants were masked, they neither spoke to me as they 
 day after day supplied my wants, nor did they give me the least 
 information on any subject, until at last I abandoned all hope of 
 ever regaining m\- liberty. 
 
 THE DEAD MAN WAS THROWN OVERBOARD." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A WILD NIGHT. — I AM PREMATURELY AGED. 
 
 In the depths of night I was awakened by a noise made by 
 the opening of a door, and one by one seven masked fignres 
 silently stalked into my prison. Each bore a lighted torch, and 
 they passed me as I lay on the floor in my clothes (for I had 
 no bedding), and ranged themselves in a line. I arose, and 
 seated myself as directed to do, npon the only stool in the room. 
 Swinging into a semi-circle, the weird line wound about me, and 
 from the one seat on which I rested in the center of the room, 
 I gazed successively upon seven pairs of gleaming eyes, each 
 pair directed at myself; and as I turned from one to another, 
 the black cowl of each deepened into darkness, and grew more 
 hideous. 
 
 " Men or devils," I cried, " do your worst ! Make me, if such 
 is your will, as that sunken corpse beside which I was once 
 seated; but cease your persecutions. I have atoned for my 
 indiscretions a thousand fold, and this suspense is unbearable; 
 I demand to know what is to be my doom, and I desire its 
 fulfilment." 
 
 Then one stepped forward, facing me squarely, — the others 
 closed together around him and me. Raising his forefinger, he 
 pointed it close to my face, and as his sharp eyes glittered from 
 behind the black mask, piercing through me, he slowly said: 
 ''Why do you not say brothers?" 
 
 "Horrible," I rejoined; "stop this mockery. Have I not 
 suffered enough from your persecutions to make me reject that 
 word as applied to yourselves ? You can but murder ; do your 
 duty to your unseen masters, and end this prolonged torture !" 
 
 "Brother," said the spokesman, "you well know that the 
 sacred rules of our order will not permit us to murder any 
 human being. We exist to benefit humanity, to lead the way- 
 ward back across the burning desert, into the pathways of the 
 
 5 55 
 
56 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 righteous ; not to destroy or persecute a brother. Ours is an 
 eleemosynary institution, instructing its members, helping them 
 to seek happiness. You are now expiating the crime you have 
 committed, and the good in your spirit rightfully revolts against 
 the bad, for in (li\ulging to the world our mystic signs and 
 brotherly greetings, you have sinned against yourself more than 
 against others. The sting of conscience, the bitings of remorse 
 punish you." 
 
 " True," I cried, as the full significance of wdiat he said burst 
 upon me, " too true ; but I bitterly repent my treachery. Others 
 can never know how my soul is harrowed by the recollection of 
 the enormity of that breach of confidence. In spite of my open, 
 careless, or defiant bearing, my heart is humble, and my spirit 
 cries out for mercy. By night and by day I have in secret 
 cursed myself for heeding an unhallowed mandate, and I have 
 long looked forward to the judgment that I should suffer for my 
 perfidy, for I have appreciated that the day of reckoning would 
 surely appear. I do not rebel, and I recall my wild language ; I 
 recant my ' Confession,' I renounce myself! I say to you in all 
 sincerity, brothers, do your duty, only I beg of you to slay me 
 at once, and end my suspense. I await my doom. What might 
 it be?" 
 
 Grasping my hand, the leader said: "You are ready as a 
 member of our order; we can now judge you as we have been 
 commanded; had you persisted in calling us devils in your 
 mistaken frenzy, we should have been forced to reason with you 
 until you returned again to us, and became one of us. Our 
 judgment is for you only ; the world must not now know its 
 nature, at least so far as we are concerned. Those you see here, 
 are not your judges ; we are agents sent to labor with you, to 
 draw you back into our ranks, to bring you into a condition that 
 will enable you to carry out the sentence that you have drawn 
 upon yourself, for you must be }'our own doomsman. In the 
 first place, we are directed to gain }'our voluntary consent to 
 leave this locality. You can no longer take part in affairs that 
 interested you before. To the people of this State, and to your 
 home, and kindred, you must become a stranger for all time. 
 Do you consent?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, for I knew that T must acquiesce. 
 
A WILD NIGHT. 57 
 
 "In the next place, you must help us to remove all traces of 
 your identity. You must, so far as the world is concerned, leave 
 your body where you have apparently been drowned, for a 
 world's benefit, a harmless mockery to deceive the people, and 
 also to make an example for others that are weak. Are you 
 ready?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then remove your clothing, and replace it with this suit." 
 
 I obeyed, and changed my garments, receiving others in 
 return. One of the party then, taking from beneath his gown 
 a box containing several bottles of liquids, proceeded artfully 
 to mix and compound them, and then to paint my face with 
 the combination, which after being mixed, formed a clear 
 solution. 
 
 " Do not fear to wash;" said the spokesman, " the effect of 
 this lotion is permanent enough to stay until you are well out of 
 this State." 
 
 I passed my hand over my face ; it was drawn into wrinkles 
 as a film of gelatine might have been shrivelled under the 
 influence of a strong tannin or astringent liquid ; beneath my 
 fingers it felt like the furrowed face of a very old man, but I 
 experienced no pain. I vainly tried to smooth the wrinkles ; 
 immediately upon removing the pressure of my hand, the fur- 
 rows reappeared. 
 
 Next, another applied a colorless liquid freely to my hair and 
 beard ; he rubbed it well, and afterward wiped it dry with a 
 towel. A mirror was thrust beneath my gaze. I started back, 
 the transformation was complete. My appearance had entirely 
 changed. My face had become aged and wrinkled, my hair as 
 white as snow. 
 
 I cried aloud in amazement: "Am I sane, is this a dream?" 
 
 " It is not a dream ; but, under methods that are in exact 
 accordance with natural physiological laws, we have been enabled 
 to transform your appearance from that of one in the prime 
 of manhood into the semblance of an old man, and that, 
 too, without impairment of your vitality." Another of the 
 masked men opened a curious little casket that I perceived was 
 surmounted by an alembic and other alchemical figures, and 
 embossed with an Oriental design. He drew from it a lamp 
 
58 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 which he lighted with a taper ; the flame that resulted, first pale 
 blue, then yellow, next violet and finally red, seemed to become 
 more weird and ghasth- with each mutation, as I gazed spell- 
 bound upon its fantastic changes. Then, after these transform- 
 ations, it burned steadily with the final strange blood-red hue, 
 
 "a mirror was thrust beneath mv gaze." 
 
 and he now held over the blaze a tiny cup, which, in a few 
 moments, commenced to sputter and then smoked, exhaling a 
 curious, epipolic, semi-luminous vapor. I was commanded to 
 inhale the vapor. 
 
 1 hesitated ; the thought rushed upon me, " Now I am 
 another person, so cleverly disguised that even my own friends 
 would perhaps not know me, this vapor is designed to suffocate 
 me, and my body, if found, will not now be known, and could 
 not be identified when discovered." 
 
 " Do not fear," said the spokesman, as if divining my 
 thought, " there is no danger," and at once I realized, by quick 
 reasoning, that if my death were demanded, my body might long 
 
A WILD NIGHT. 59 
 
 since have been easily destroyed, and all this ceremony would 
 have been unnecessar)-. 
 
 I hesitated no longer, but drew into my lungs the vapor that 
 arose from the mysterious cup, freely expanding my chest several 
 times, and then asked, "Is not that enough?" Despair now 
 overcame me. My voice, no longer the full, strong tone of a 
 man in middle life and perfect strength, squeaked and quavered, 
 as if impaired by palsy. I had seen my image in a mirror, an 
 old man with wrinkled face and white hair ; I now heard myself 
 speak with the voice of an octogenarian. 
 
 "What have you done?" I cried. 
 
 "We have obeyed your orders; you told us you were readv 
 to leave your own self here, and the work is complete. The 
 man who entered has disappeared. If you should now stand 
 in the streets of your village home, and cry to your former 
 friends, 'It is I, for whom you seek,' they would smile, and 
 call you a madman. Know," continued the voice, " that there 
 is in Eastern metaphysical lore, more true philosophy than is 
 embodied in the sciences of to-day, and that by means of the 
 ramifications of our order it becomes possible, when necessary, 
 for him who stands beyond the inner and upper Worshipful 
 Master, to draw these treasures from the occult Wisdom pos- 
 sessions of Oriental sages who forget nothing and lose nothing. 
 Have we not been permitted to do his bidding well?" 
 
 "Yes," I squeaked; " and I wish that you had done it better. 
 I would that I were dead." 
 
 " When the time comes, if necessary, your dead body will be 
 fished from the water," was the reply; "witnesses have seen 
 the drowning tragedy, and will surely identify the corpse." 
 
 " And may I go? am I free now?" I asked. 
 
 " Ah," said he, " that is not for us to say ; our part of the 
 work is fulfilled, and we can return to our native lands, and 
 resume again our several studies. So far as we are concerned, 
 you are free, but we have been directed to pass you over to the 
 keeping of others who will carry forward this judgment — there 
 is another step." 
 
 " Tell me," I cried, once more desponding, " tell me the full 
 extent of mv sentence." 
 
60 RTIDORHPA. 
 
 " That is not known to us, and probably is not known to any 
 one man. So far as the members of our order are concerned, 
 yon have now vanished. When you leave our sight this night, 
 we will also separate from one another, we shall know no more 
 of you and }our future than will those of our working order who 
 live in this section of the country. We have no personal 
 acquaintance with the guide that has been selected to conduct 
 you farther, and who will appear in due season, and we make 
 no surmise concerning the result of your journey, only we know 
 that you will not be killed, for you have a work to perform, and 
 will continue to exist long after others of }our age are dead. 
 Farewell, brother; we have discharged our duty, and by your 
 consent, now we must return to our various pursuits. In a short 
 time all evidence of your unfortunate mistake, the crime com- 
 mitted by you in printing our sacred charges, will have vanished. 
 Even now, emissaries are ordained to collect and destroy the 
 written record that tells of your weakness, and with the destruc- 
 tion of that testimony, for every copy will surely be annihilated, 
 and with your disappearance from among men, for this also is to 
 follow, our responsibility for you will cease." 
 
 Each of the seven men advanced, and grasped my hand, 
 giving me the grip of brotherhood, and then, without a word, 
 they severally and silently departed into the outer darkness. 
 As the last man disappeared, a figure entered the door, clad and 
 masked exactly like those who had gone. He removed the 
 long black gown in which he was enveloped, threw the mask 
 from his face and stood before me, a slender, graceful, bright- 
 looking young man. By the light of the candle I saw him 
 distinctly, and was at once struck by his amiable, cheerful 
 countenance, and my heart bounded with a sudden hope. I had 
 temporarily forgotten the transformation that had been made 
 in my person, which, altogether painless, had left no physical 
 sensation, and thought of myself as I had formerly existed ; my 
 soul was still my own, I imagined; my blood seemed unchanged, 
 and must flow as rapidly as before ; my strength was unaltered, 
 indeed I was in self-consciousness still in the prime of life. 
 
 "Excuse me. Father," said the stranger, "but my services 
 have been sought as a guide for the first part of a journey that I 
 am informed vou intend to take." 
 
A WII.D NIGHT. 61 
 
 His voice was mild and pleasant, his bearing respectful, but 
 the peculiar manner in which he spoke convinced me that he 
 knew that, as a guide, he must conduct me to some previously 
 designated spot, and that he purposed to do so was evident, 
 with or without my consent. 
 
 "Why do you call me Father?" I attempted to say, but as 
 the first few words escaped my lips, the recollection of the events 
 of the night rushed upon me, for instead of my own, I recognized 
 the piping voice of the old man I had now become, and my 
 tongue faltered ; the sentence was unspoken. 
 
 " You would ask me why I called you Father, I perceive ; 
 well, because I am directed to be a son to you, to care for your 
 wants, to make your journey as easy and pleasant as possible, to 
 guide you quietly and carefully to the point that will next prove 
 of interest to you." 
 
 I stood before him a free man, in the prime of life, full of 
 energ}^, and this stripling alone interposed between myself and 
 liberty. Should I permit the slender youth to carry me away 
 as a prisoner? would it not be best to thrust him aside, if 
 necessary, crush him to the earth? go forth in my freedom? 
 Yet I hesitated, for he might have friends outside ; probably 
 he was not alone. 
 
 " There are no companions near us," said he, reading my 
 mind, " and, as I do not seem formidable, it is natural you 
 should weigh in your mind the probabilities of escape ; but you 
 can not evade your destiny, and you must not attempt to 
 deny yourself the pleasure of my company. You must leave 
 this locality and leave without a regret. In order that >ou 
 may acquiesce willingly I propose that together we return to 
 your former home, which you will, however, find no longer to be 
 a home. I will accompany you as a companion, as your son. 
 You may speak, with one exception, to whomever you care to 
 address ; may call on any of your old associates, may assert 
 openly who you are, or whatever and whoever you please to 
 represent yourself, only I must also have the privilege of joining 
 in the conversation." 
 
 "Agreed," I cried, and extended my hand; he grasped it, and 
 then by the light of the candle, I saw a peculiar expression flit 
 over his face, as he added : 
 
62 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 " To one person only, as I have said, and yon have promised, 
 yon mnst not speak — }onr wife." 
 
 I bowed my head, and a flood of sorrowfnl reflections swept 
 over me. Of all the world the one whom I longed to meet, to 
 clasp in my arms, to counsel in my distress, was the wife of my 
 bosom, and I begged him to withdraw his cruel injunction. 
 
 " You should have thought of her before ; now it is too late. 
 To permit you to meet, and speak with her would be dangerous ; 
 she might pierce your disguise. Of all others there is no fear." 
 
 " ]\Iust I go with you into an unknown future without a 
 farewell kiss from my little child or from my babe scarce three 
 months old?" 
 
 " It has been so ordained." 
 
 I threw myself on the floor and moaned. " This is too hard, 
 too hard for human heart to bear. Life has no charm to a man 
 who is thrust from all he holds most dear, home, friends, family." 
 
 "The men who relinquish such pleasures and such comforts 
 are those who do the greatest good to humanity," said the youth. 
 " The multitude exist to propagate the race, as animal progen- 
 itors of the multitudes that are to follow, and the exceptional 
 philanthropist is he who denies himself material bliss, and 
 punishes himself in order to w^ork out a problem such as it has 
 been ordained that you are to solve. Do not argue further — 
 the line is marked, and you must walk direct." 
 
 Into the blaze of the old fireplace of that log house, for, 
 although it was autumn, the night was chilly, he then cast his 
 black robe and false face, and, as they turned to ashes, the last 
 evidences of the vivid acts through which I had passed, were 
 destroyed. As I lay moaning in my utter misery, I tried to 
 reason with myself that what I experienced was all a hallucina- 
 tion. I dozed, and awoke startled, half conscious only, as one 
 in a nightmare; I said to myself, "A dream! a dream!" and 
 slept again. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A LESSON IN MIND STUDY. 
 
 The door of the cabin was open when I awoke, the snn shone 
 brightly, and my friend, apparently happy and nnconcerned, 
 said : " Father, we mnst soon start on onr jonrney ; I have taken 
 advantage of your refreshing sleep, and have engaged breakfast 
 at yonder farm-house ; our meal awaits us." 
 
 I arose, washed my wrinkled face, combed my white hair, 
 and shuddered as I saw in a pocket mirror the reflection of my 
 figure, an aged, apparently decrepit man. 
 
 "Do not be disturbed at your feeble condition," said my 
 companion ; " your infirmities are not real. Few men have ever 
 been permitted to drink of the richness of the revelations that 
 await you ; and in view of these expectations the fact that you 
 are prematurely aged in appearance should not unnerve you. 
 Be of good heart, and when you say the word, we will start on 
 our journey, which will begin as soon as you have said farewell 
 to former friends and acquaintances." 
 
 I made no reply, but silently accompanied him, for my thoughts 
 were in the past, and my reflections were far from pleasant. 
 
 We reached the farm-house, and as I observed the care and 
 attention extended me by the pleasant-faced housewife, I realized 
 that, in one respect at least, old age brought its compensation. 
 After breakfast a man appeared from the farmer's barn, driving 
 a team of horses attached to an open spring-wagon which, in 
 obedience to the request of my guide, I entered, accompanied 
 by my young friend, who directed that we be driven toward the 
 village from which I had been abducted. He seemed to know my 
 past life as I knew it ; he asked me to select those of my friends 
 to whom I first wished to bid farewell, even mentioning their 
 names ; he seemed all that a patient, faithful son could be, and I 
 began to wonder at his audacity, even as much as I admired his 
 self-confidence. 
 
64 KTIDORHPA. 
 
 As we journeyed onward we engaged in familiar talk. We 
 sat together on the back seat of the open spring-wagon, in full 
 sight of passers, no attempt being made to conceal my person. 
 Thus we traveled for two days, and on our course we passed 
 through a large city with which I was acquainted, a city that 
 my abductors had previously carried me through and beyond. I 
 found that my "son" possessed fine conversational power, and a 
 rich mine of information, and he became increasinelv interestincr 
 as he drew from his fund of knowledge, and poured into m>- 
 listening ears an entrancing strain of historical and metaphysical 
 information. Never at a loss for a word or an idea, he appeared 
 to discern my cogitations, and as my mind wandered in this 
 or that direction he fell into the channel of my fancies, and 
 answered my unspoken thoughts, my mind-questions or medi- 
 tations, as pertinently as though I had spoken them. 
 
 His accomplishments, for the methods of his perception were 
 unaccompanied by any endeavor to draw me into word expression, 
 made me aware at least, that, in him, I had to deal with a man 
 unquestionably possessed of more than ordinary intellect and 
 education, and as this conviction entered my mind he changed 
 his subject and promptly answered the silent inquiry, speaking 
 as follows : 
 
 " Have you not sometimes felt that in yourself there may 
 exist undeveloped senses that await an awakening touch to open 
 to yourself a new world, senses that may be fully developed, but 
 which saturate each other and neutralize themselves ; quiescent, 
 closed circles which you can not reach, satisfied circuits slum- 
 bering within your body and that defy your efforts to utilize 
 them? In your dreams have you not seen sights that words 
 are inadequate to describe, that )-our faculties can not retain in 
 waking moments, and which dissolve into intangible nothingness, 
 leaving only a vague, shadowy outline as the mind quickens, or 
 rather when the senses that possess you in sleep relinquish the 
 body to the returning vital functions and spirit? This uncon- 
 scious conception of other planes, a beyond or l)etwixt, that is 
 neither mental nor material, neither here nor located elsewhere, 
 belongs to humanity in general, and is made evident from the 
 unsatiable desire of men to pry into phenomena latent or recon- 
 dite that offer no apparent return to humanity. This desire has 
 
A LESSON IN MIND STUDY. 65 
 
 given men the knowledge they now possess of the sciences; 
 sciences yet in their infancy. Stndy in this direction is, at 
 present, altogether of the material plane, but in time to come, 
 men will gain control of outlying senses which will enable them 
 to step from the seen into the consideration of matter or force 
 that is now subtle and evasive, which must be accomplished 
 by means of the latent faculties that I have indicated. There 
 will be an unconscious development of new mind-forces in the 
 student of nature as the rudiments of these so-called sciences 
 are elaborated. Step by step, as the ages pass, the faculties of 
 men will, under progressive series of evolutions, imperceptibly 
 pass into higher phases until that which is even now possible 
 with some individuals of the purified esoteric school, but which 
 would seem miraculous if practiced openly at this day, will prove 
 feasible to humanity generally and be found in exact accord with 
 natural laws. The conversational method of men, whereby 
 communion between human beings is carried on by disturbing 
 the air by means of vocal organs so as to produce mechanical 
 pulsations of that medium, is crude in the extreme. Mind craves 
 to meet mind, but can not yet thrust matter aside, and in order 
 to communicate one with another, the impression one mind 
 wishes to convey to another must be first made on the brain 
 matter that accompanies it, which in turn influences the organs 
 of speech, inducing a disturbance of the air by the motions of 
 the vocal organs, which, by undulations that reach to another 
 being, act on his ear, and secondarily on the earthly matter of his 
 brain, and finally by this roundabout course, impress the second 
 being's mind. In this transmission of motions there is great waste 
 of energy and loss of time, but such methods are a necessity of 
 the present slow, much-obstructed method of communication. 
 There is, in cultivated man, an innate craving for something 
 more facile, and often a partly developed conception, spectral 
 and vague, appears, and the being feels that there may be for 
 mortals a richer, brighter life, a higher earthly existence that 
 science does not now indicate. Such intimation of a deeper 
 play of faculties is now most vivid with men during the perfect 
 loss of mental self as experienced in dreams, which as yet man 
 in the quick can not grasp, and which fade as he awakens. As 
 mental sciences are developed, investigators will find that the 
 
 6 
 
66 KTIDORHPA. 
 
 medium known as air is unnecessary as a means of conveying 
 mind conceptions from one person to another; that material 
 sounds and word pulsations are cumbersome ; that thought force 
 unexpressed may be used to accomplish more than speech can 
 do, and that physical exertions as exemplified in motion of matter 
 sucli as I have described will be unnecessary for mental com- 
 munication. As door after door in these directions shall open 
 before men, mystery after mystery will be disclosed, and vanish 
 as mysteries to reappear as simple facts. Phenomena that are 
 impossible and unrevealed to the scientist of to-day will be 
 familiar to the coming multitude, and at last, as by degrees, 
 clearer knowledge is evolved, the vocal language of men will 
 disappear, and humanity, regardless of nationality, will, in 
 silence and even in darkness, converse eloquently together in 
 mind language. That which is now esoteric will become exoteric. 
 Then mind will meet mind as my mind now impinges on your 
 own, and, in reply to your imuttered question regarding my 
 apparently unaccountable powers of perception, I say they are 
 perfectly natural, but while I can read your thoughts, because of 
 the fact that you can not reciprocate in this direction, I must use 
 my voice to impress your mind. You will know more of this, 
 however, at a future day, for it has been ordained that you are to 
 be educated with an object that is now concealed. At present 
 you are interested mainly in the affairs of life as you know them, 
 and can not enter into these purer spheres. We are approaching 
 one of your former friends, and it may be your pleasure to ask 
 him some questions and to bid him farewell." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I CAN NOT ESTABLISH MY IDENTITY. 
 
 In surprise I perceived coming towards us a light spring 
 wagon, in which rode one of my old acquaintances. Pleasure 
 at the discovery led me to raise my hat, wave it around my 
 head, and salute him even at the considerable distance that then 
 separated us. I was annoyed at the look of curiosity that passed 
 over his countenance, and not until the two vehicles had stopped 
 side by side did it occur to me that I was unrecognized. I had 
 been so engrossed in my companion's revelations, that I had 
 forgotten my unfortunate physical condition. 
 
 I stretched out my hand, I leaned over almost into the other 
 vehicle, and earnestly said : 
 
 "Do you not know me? Only a short time ago we sat and 
 conversed side by side." 
 
 A look of bewilderment came over his features. *' I have 
 never seen you that I can recall," he answered. 
 
 My spirit sank within me. Could it be possible that I was 
 really so changed? I begged him to try and recall my former 
 self, giving my name. "I am that person," I added; but he, 
 with an expression of countenance that told as plainly as words 
 could speak that he considered me deranged, touched his horse, 
 and drove on. 
 
 My companion broke the awkward silence. " Do you know 
 that I perceived between you two men an unconscious display of 
 inind-language, especially evident on your part? You wished 
 with all the earnestness of your soul to bring yourself as you for- 
 merly appeared, before that man, and when it proved impossible, 
 without a word from him, his mind exhibited itself to your more 
 earnest intellect, and you realized that he said to himself, ' This 
 person is a poor lunatic' He told you his thoughts in mind- 
 language, as plainly as words could have spoken, because the 
 intense earnestness on your part quickened your perceptive 
 
 G7 
 
68 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 faculties, but he could uot see your mental state, and the 
 pleading voice of the apparent stranger before him could not 
 convince the unconcerned lethargic mind within him. I observed, 
 however, in addition to what you noticed, that he is really looking 
 for you. That is the object of his journey, and I learn that in 
 every direction men are now spreading the news that you have 
 been kidnapped and carried from your jail. However, we shall 
 soon be in the village, and you will then hear more about 
 yourself." 
 
 We rode in silence while I meditated on my remarkable 
 situation. I could not resign myself without a struggle to my 
 approaching fate, and I felt even yet a hope, although I seemed 
 powerless in the hands of destiny. Could I not, by some 
 method, convince my friends of my identity? I determined, 
 forgetting the fact that my guide was even then reading my 
 mind, that upon the next opportunity I would pursue a different 
 course. 
 
 "It will not avail," my companion replied. "You must do 
 one of two things : you will voluntarily go with me, or you will 
 involuntarily go to an insane asylum. Neither you nor I could 
 by any method convince others that the obviously decrepit old 
 man beside me was but yesterday hale, hearty, young and strong. 
 You will find that you can not prove your identity, and as a 
 friend, one of the great brotherhood to which you belong, a craft 
 that deals charitably with all men and all problems, I advise 
 you to accept the situation as soon as possible after it becomes 
 evident to your mind that you are lost to former affiliations, and 
 must henceforth be a stranger to the people whom you know. 
 Take my advice, and cease to regret the past and cheerful!)- 
 turn your thoughts to the future. On one side of you the lun- 
 atic asylum is open ; on the other, a journey into an unknown 
 region, beyond the confines of any known country. On the one 
 hand, imprisonment and subjection, perhaps abuse and neglect; 
 on the other, liberation of soul, evolution of faculty, and a 
 grasping of superior knowledge that is denied most men — yes, 
 withheld from all but a few persons of each generation, for only 
 a few, unknown to the millions of this world's inhabitants, have 
 passed over the road you are to travel. Just now you wished to 
 meet your jailer of a few hours ago ; it is a wise conclusion, and 
 
I CAN NOT ESTABLISH MY IDENTITY. 69 
 
 if he does not recognize yon, I ask in sincerity, who will be 
 likely to do so ? We will drive straight to his home ; bnt, here 
 he comes." 
 
 Indeed, we were now in the village, where my miserable jour- 
 ney began, and perhaps by chance — it seems that it could not 
 have been otherwise — my former jailer actually approached us. 
 
 " If you please," said my companion, " I will assist you to 
 alight from the wagon, and you may privately converse with him." 
 
 Our wagon stopped, my guide opened a conversation with the 
 jailer, saying that his friend wished to speak with him, and then 
 assisted me to alight and retired a distance. I was vexed at 
 my infirmities, which embarrassed me most exasperatingly, but 
 which I knew were artificial; my body appeared unwilling 
 although my spirit was anxious ; but do what I could to control 
 my actions, I involuntarily behaved like a decrepit old man. 
 However, my mind was made up ; this attempt to prove my 
 personality should be the last; failure now would prove the 
 turning point, and I would go willingly with my companion 
 upon the unknown journey if I could not convince the jailer 
 of my identity. 
 
 Straightening myself before the expectant jailer, who, with 
 a look of inquisitiveness, regarded me as a stranger, I asked if 
 lie knew my former self, giving my name. 
 
 "That I do," he replied, "and if I could find him at this 
 moment I would be relieved of a load of worry." 
 
 "Would you surely know him if you met him?" I asked. 
 
 " x\ssuredly," he replied; "and if you bring tidings of his 
 whereabouts, as your bearing indicates, speak, that I may rid 
 myself of suspicion and suspense." 
 
 Calling the jailer by name, I asked him if my countenance 
 did not remind him of the man he wished to find. 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Listen, does not my voice resemble that of your escaped 
 prisoner?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 With a violent effort I drew my form as straight as pos- 
 sible, and stood upright before him, with every facial muscle 
 strained to its iitmost, in a vain endeavor to bring my wrinkled 
 countenance to its former smoothness, and with the energy that 
 
70 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 a drowning man might exert to grasp a passing object, I tried 
 to control my voice, and preserve my identity by so doing, 
 vehemently imploring him, begging him to listen to my story. 
 " I am the man you seek ; I am the prisoner who, a few days 
 
 "I AM THE MAN YOU SEEK." 
 
 ago, stood in the prime of life before you. I have been spirited 
 away from you by men who are leagued with occult forces, which 
 extend forward among hidden mysteries, into forces which 
 illuminate the present, and reach backward into the past 
 unseen. These persons, by artful and damnable manipulations 
 under the guidance of a power that has been evolved in the 
 secrecy of past ages, and transmitted only to a favored few, have 
 changed the strong man you knew into the one apparently 
 feeble, who now confronts you. Only a short period has passed. 
 
I CAN NOT KSTABIJSII MY IDPvNTlTY. 71 
 
 since I was your unwilling captive, charged with debt, a trifling 
 sum; and then, as your sullen prisoner, I longed for freedom. 
 Now I plead before you, with all nn* soul, I beg of you to take 
 me back to my cell. Seal your doors, and hold me again, for 
 your dungeon will now be to me a paradise." 
 
 I felt that I was becoming frantic, for with each word I realized 
 that the jailer became more and more impatient and anno}'ed. I 
 perceived that he believed me to be a lunatic. Pleadings and 
 entreaties were of no avail, and my eagerness rapidly changed 
 into despair until at last I cried : " If you will not believe my 
 words, I will throw myself on the mercy of my young compan- 
 ion. I ask you to consider his testimony, and if he says that I 
 am not what I assert myself to be, I will leave my home and 
 country, and go with him quietly into the unknown future." 
 
 He turned to depart, but I threw myself before him, and 
 beckoned the young man who, up to this time, had stood aloof 
 in respectful silence. He came forward, and addressing the 
 jailer, called him by name, and corroborated my story. Yes, 
 strange as it sounded to me, he reiterated the substance of my 
 narrative as I had repeated it. " Now, you will believe it," I 
 cried in ecstacy; "now you need no longer question the facts 
 that I have related." 
 
 Instead, however, of accepting the story of the witness, the 
 jailer upbraided him. 
 
 "This is a preconcerted arrangement to get me into ridicule 
 or further trouble. You two have made up an incredible story 
 that on its face is fit only to be told to men as crazy or designing 
 as yourselves. This young man did not even overhear your 
 conversation with me, and yet he repeats his lesson without a 
 question from me as to what I wish to learn of him." 
 
 " He can see our minds," I cried in despair. 
 
 " Crazier than I should have believed from your countenance," 
 the jailer replied. " Of all the improbable stories imaginable, 
 you have attempted to inveigle me into accepting that which is 
 most unreasonable. If you are leagued together intent on some 
 swindling scheme, I give you warning now that I am in no 
 mood for trifling. Go your way, and trouble me no more with 
 •this foolish scheming, which villainy or lunacy of some descrip- 
 tion must underlie." He turned in ano-er and left us. 
 
72 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 "It is as I predicted," said my companion; "yon are lost to 
 man. Those who know )on best will tnrn from you soonest. I 
 might become as wild as )on are, in your interest, and only 
 serve to make your story appear more extravagant. In human 
 affairs men judge and act according to the limited knowledge at 
 command of the multitude. Witnesses who tell the truth are 
 often, in our courts of law, stunned, as you have been, by the 
 decisions of a narrow-minded jury. Men sit on juries with little 
 conception of the facts of the case that is brought before them ; 
 the men who manipulate them are mere tools in unseen hands 
 that throw their several minds in antagonisms unexplainable to 
 man. The judge is unconsciously often a tool of his own errors 
 or those of others. One learned judge unties what another has 
 fastened, each basing his views on the same testimony, each 
 rendering his decision in accordance with law derived from the 
 same authority. Your case is that condition of mind that men 
 call lunacy. You can see much that is hidden from others 
 because you have become acquainted with facts that their narrow 
 education forbids them to accept, but, because the majority is 
 against you, they consider you mentally unbalanced. The philos- 
 ophy of men does not yet comprehend the conditions that have 
 operated on your person, and as you stand alone, although in the 
 right, all men will oppose you, and you must submit to the views 
 of a misguided majority. In the eyes of a present generation 
 you are crazy. A jury of your former peers could not do else 
 than so adjudge you, for you are not on the same mental plane, 
 and I ask, will you again attempt to accomplish that which is as 
 impossible as it would be for you to drink the waters of Seneca 
 Lake at one draught ? Go to those men and propose to drain that 
 lake at one gulp, and you will be listened to as seriously as when 
 you beg your former comrades to believe that you are another 
 person than what you seem. Only lengthened life is credited 
 with the production of physical changes that under favorable 
 conditions, are possible of accomplishment in a brief period, 
 and such testimony as you could bring, in the present state of 
 human knowledge, would only add to the proof of your lunacy." 
 
 " I see, I see," I said; "and I submit. Lead on, I am ready. 
 Whatever my destined career may be, wherever it may be, it can 
 only lead to the grave." 
 
I CAN NOT ESTABLISH MY IDENTITY. 73 
 
 " Do not be so sure of that," was the reply. 
 
 I shuddered instinctively, for this answer seemed to imply 
 that the stillness of the grave would be preferable to my destiny. 
 
 We got into the wagon again, and a deep silence followed 
 as we rode along, gazing abstractedly on the quiet fields and 
 lonely farm-houses. Finally we reached a little village. Here 
 my companion dismissed the farmer, our driver, paying him 
 liberally, and secured lodgings in a private family (I believe we 
 were expected), and after a hearty supper we retired. From the 
 time we left the jailer I never again attempted to reveal my 
 identity. I had lost my interest in the past, and found myself 
 cravino^ to know what the future had in store for me. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 MY JOURNEY TOWARDS THE END OF EARTH BEGINS. — THE 
 ADEPTS' BROTHERHOOD. 
 
 My companion did not attempt to watch over my motions or 
 in any way to interfere with my freedom. 
 
 " I will for a time necessarily be absent," he said, " arranging 
 for our journey, and while I am getting ready you must employ 
 vourself as best you can. I ask you, however, now to swear 
 that, as you have promised, you will not seek your wife and 
 children." 
 
 To this I agreed. 
 
 "Hold up your hand," he said, and I repeated after him: 
 " All this I most solemnly and sincerely promise and swear, with 
 a firm and steadfast resolution to keep and perform my oath, 
 without the least equivocation, mental reservation or self-evasion 
 whatever." 
 
 "That will answer; see that you keep your oath this time," 
 he said, and he departed. Several days were consumed before 
 he returned, and during that time I was an inquisitive and silent 
 listener to the various conjectures others were making regarding 
 my abduction which event was becoming of general interest. 
 Some of the theories advanced were quite near the truth, others 
 wild and erratic. How preposterous it seemed to me that the 
 actor himself could be in the very seat of the disturbance, will- 
 ing, anxious to testify, ready to prove the truth concerning his 
 position, and yet unable even to obtain a respectful hearing from 
 those most interested in his recovery. Men gathered together 
 discussing the " outrage"; women, children, even, talked of little 
 else, and it was evident that the entire country was aroused. 
 New political issues took their rise from the event, but the man 
 who was the prime cause of the excitement was for a period a 
 willing and unwilling listener, as he had been a willing and 
 unwilling actor in the tragedy. 
 
 74 
 
MY JOURNEY TOWARDvS TlIIv END OF HARTII BKGINS. 75 
 
 One morning my companion drove np in a light carriage, 
 drawn by a span of fine, spirited, black horses. 
 
 "We are ready now," he said, and my nnprecedented journey 
 began. 
 
 Wherever we stopped, I heard my name mentioned. Men 
 combined against men, brother was declaiming against brother, 
 neighbor was against neighbor, everywhere suspicion was in 
 the air. 
 
 "The passage of time alone can quiet these people," said I. 
 
 " The usual conception of the term Time — an indescribable 
 something flowing at a constant rate — is erroneous," replied my 
 comrade. "Time is humanity's best friend, and should be pict- 
 ured as a ministering angel, instead of a skeleton with hour-glass 
 and scythe. Time does not fly, but is permanent and quiescent, 
 while restless, force-impelled matter rushes onward. Force and 
 matter fly ; Time reposes. At our birth we are wound up like a 
 machine, to move for a certain number of years, grating against 
 Time. We grind against that complacent spirit, and wear not 
 Time but ourselves away. We hold within ourselves a certain 
 amount of energy, which, an evanescent form of matter, is the 
 opponent of Time. Time has no existence with inanimate 
 objects. It is a conception of the human intellect. Time is 
 rest, perfect rest, tranquillity such as man never realizes unless 
 he becomes a part of the sweet silences toward which human life 
 and human mind are drifting. So much for Time. Now for Life. 
 Disturbed energy in one of its forms, we call Life ; and this Life 
 is the great enemy of peace, the opponent of steadfast perfection. 
 Pure energy, the soul of the universe, permeates all things with 
 which man is now acquainted, but when at rest is imperceptible 
 to man, while disturbed energy, according to its condition, is 
 apparent either as matter or as force. A substance or material 
 body is a manifestation resulting from a disturbance of energy. 
 The agitating cause removed, the manifestations disappear, and 
 thus a universe may be extinguished, without unbalancing the 
 cosmos that remains. The worlds known to man are conditions 
 of abnormal energy moving on separate planes through what 
 men call space. They attract to themselves bodies of similar 
 description, and thus influence one another — they have each a 
 separate existence, and are swayed to and fro under the influence 
 
76 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 of the various disturbances in energy common to their rank 
 or order, which we call forms of forces. Unsettled energy also 
 assumes numerous other expressions that are unknown to man, 
 but which in all perceptible forms is characterized by motion. 
 Pure energy can not be appreciated by the minds of mortals. 
 There are invisible worlds besides those perceived by us in our 
 planetary svstem, unreachable centers of ethereal structure about 
 us that stand in a higher plane of development than earthly 
 matter which is a gross form of disturbed energy. There are 
 also lower planes. Man's acquaintance with the forms of energy 
 is the result of his power of perceiving the forms of matter of 
 which he is a part. Heat, light, gravitation, electricity and 
 magnetism are ever present in all perceivable substances, and, 
 although purer than earth, they are still manifestations of absolute 
 energy, and for this reason are sensible to men, but more evanes- 
 cent than material bodies. Perhaps you can conceive that if these 
 disturbances could be removed, matter or force would be resolved 
 back into pure energy, and would vanish. Such a dissociation 
 is an ethereal existence, and as pure energy the life spirit of all 
 material things is neither cold nor hot, hea\^ nor light, solid, 
 liquid nor gaseous — men can not, as mortals now exist, see, 
 feel, smell, taste, or even conceive of it. It moves through 
 space as we do through it, a world of itself as transparent to 
 matter as matter is to it, insensible but ever present, a reality to 
 higher existences that rest in other planes, but not to us 
 an essence subject to scientific test, nor an entity. Of these 
 problems and their connection with others in the unseen depths 
 beyond, you are not yet in a position properly to judge, but 
 before many years a new sense will be given you or a develop- 
 ment of latent senses by the removal of those more gross, and a 
 partial insight into an unsuspected unseen, into a realm to you 
 at present unknown. 
 
 " It has been ordained that a select few must from time to time 
 pass over the threshold that divides a mortal's present life from 
 the future, and your lot has been cast among the favored ones. 
 It is or should be deemed a privilege to be permitted to pass 
 farther than human philosophy has yet gone, into an investiga- 
 tion of the problems of life ; this I say to encourage you. We 
 have in our order a handful of persons who have received the 
 
iMY JOURNEY TOWARDS THP:; p:ND OF EARTH BEGINS. 77 
 
 accnmulated fruits of the close attention others have given to 
 these subjects which have been handed to them by the genera- 
 tions of men who have preceded. You are destined to become 
 as they are. This study of semi-occult forces has enabled those 
 selected for the work to master some of the concealed truths of 
 being, and by the partial development of a new sense or new 
 senses, partly to triumph over death. These facts are hidden from 
 ordinar}^ man, and from the earth-bound workers of our brother- 
 hood, who can not even interpret the words they learn. The 
 methods by which they are elucidated have been locked from man 
 because the world is not prepared to receive them, selfishness 
 being the ruling passion of debased mankind, and publicity, until 
 the chain of evidence is more complete, would embarrass their 
 further evolutions, for man as yet lives on the selfish plane." 
 
 " Do you mean that, among men, there are a few persons 
 possessed of powers such as you have mentioned?" 
 
 " Yes ; they move here and there through all orders of society, 
 and their attainments are unknown, except to one another, or, at 
 most, to but few persons. These adepts are scientific men, and 
 may not even be recognized as members of our organization ; 
 indeed it is often necessary, for obvious reasons, that they should 
 not be known as such. These studies must constantly be 
 prosecuted in various directions, and some monitors must teach 
 others to perform certain duties that are necessary to the grand 
 evolution. Hence, when a man has become one of our brother- 
 hood, from the promptings that made you one of us, and has 
 been as ready and determined to instruct outsiders in our work 
 as you have been, it is proper that he should in turn be compelled 
 to serve our people, and eventually, mankind." 
 
 " Am I to infer from this," I exclaimed, a sudden light 
 breaking upon me, "that the alchemistic manuscript that led 
 me to the fraternity to which you are related may have been 
 artfully designed to seiv^e the interest of that organization?" To 
 this question I received no reply. After an interval, I again 
 sought information concerning the order, and with more success. 
 
 " I understand that you propose that I shall go on a journey 
 of investigation for the good of our order and also of humanity." 
 
 "True ; it is necessary that our discoveries be kept alive, and 
 it is essential that the men who do this work accept the trust of 
 
78 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 their own accord He who will not consent to add to the common 
 stock of knowledge and understanding, must be deemed a drone 
 in the hive of nature — but few persons, however, are called upon 
 to serve as you must serve. Men are scattered over the world 
 with this object in view, and are unknown to their families or 
 even to other members of the order ; they hold in solemn trust 
 our sacred revelations, and impart them to others as is ordained, 
 and thus nothing perishes ; eventually humanity will profit. 
 
 " Others, as you soon will be doing, are now exploring 
 assigned sections of this illimitable field, accumulating further 
 knowledge, and they will report results to those whose duty it is 
 to retain and formulate the collected sum of facts and principles. 
 So it is that, unknown to the great body of our brotherhood, a 
 chosen number, under our esoteric teachings, are gradually 
 passing the dividing line that separates life from death, matter 
 from spirit, for we have members who have mastered these 
 problems. We ask, however, no aid of evil forces or of necrom- 
 ancy or black art, and your study of alchemy was of no avail, 
 although to save the vital truths alchemy is a part of our work. 
 We proceed in exact accordance with natural laws, which will 
 yet be known to all men. vSorrow, suffering, pain of all 
 descriptions, are enemies to the members of our order, as they 
 are to mankind broadly, and we hope in the future so to control 
 the now hidden secrets of Nature as to be able to govern the 
 antagonistic disturbances in energy with which man now is 
 everywhere thwarted, to subdue the physical enemies of the race, 
 to aflfiliate religious and scientific thought, cultivating brotherly 
 love, the foundation and capstone, the cement and union of this 
 ancient fraternity." 
 
 "And am I really to take an important part in this scheme? 
 Have I been set apart to explore a section of the unknown for a 
 bit of hidden knowledge, and to return again?" 
 
 " This I will say," he answered, evading a direct reply, " you 
 have been selected for a part that one in a thousand has been 
 required to undertake. You are to pass into a field that will 
 carry you beyond the present limits of human observation. 
 This much I have been instructed to impart to you in order to 
 nerve you for your duty. I seem to be a young man ; really I 
 am aged. You seem to be infirm and old, but you are young. 
 
MY JOURNEY TOWARDS THE END OF EARTH BEGINS. 79 
 
 Many years ago, cycles ago as men record time, I was promoted 
 to do a certain work because of my zealous nature ; like you, I 
 also had to do penance for an error, I disappeared, as you are 
 destined to do, from the sight of men. I regained my youth ; 
 yours has been lost forever, but you will regain more than your 
 former strength. We shall both exist after this generation of 
 men has passed away, and shall mingle with generations yet to 
 be born, for we shall learn how to restore our youthful vigor, and 
 will supply it time and again to earthly matter. Rest assured 
 also that the object of our labors is of the most laudable nature, 
 and we must be upheld under all difficulties by the fact that mul- 
 titudes of men who are yet to come will be benefited thereby." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 MY JOURXEY CONTINUES. — INSTINCT. 
 
 It is unnecessary for me to give the details of the first part 
 of my long journey. My companion was guided by a perceptive 
 faculty that, like the compass, enabled him to keep in the proper 
 course. He did not question those whom we met, and made no 
 endeavor to maintain a given direction ; and yet he was traveling 
 in a part of the country that was new to himself. I marveled at 
 the accuracy of his intuitive perception, for he seemed never to 
 be at fault. When the road forked, he turned to the right or 
 the left in a perfectly careless manner, but the continuity of his 
 course was never interrupted. I began mentally to question 
 whether he could be guiding us aright, forgetting that he was 
 reading my thoughts, and he answered: "There is nothing 
 strange in this self-directive faculty. Is not man capable of 
 following where animals lead? One of the objects of my special 
 study has been to ascertain the nature of the instinct-power of 
 animals, the sagacity of brutes. The carrier pigeon will fly to its 
 cote across hundreds of miles of strange country. The 3'oung 
 pig will often return to its pen by a route unknown to it ; the 
 sluggish tortoise will find its home without a guide, without 
 seeing a familiar object ; cats, horses and other animals possess 
 this power, which is not an unexplainable instinct, but a natural 
 sense better developed in some of the lower creatures than it is in 
 man. The power lies dormant in man, but exists, nevertheless. 
 If we develop one faculty we lose acuteness in some other power. 
 j\Ien have lost in mental development in this particular direction 
 while seeking to gain in others. If there were no record of the 
 fact that light brings objects to the recognition of the mind 
 through the agency of the e5-e, the sense of sight in an animal 
 would be considered by men devoid of it as adaptibility to extraor- 
 dinary circumstances, or instinct. So it is that animals often 
 see clearlv where to the sense of man there is onlv darkness ; 
 
 80 
 
MY JOURNKY CONTINUES. 81 
 
 such sight is not irresponsive action without consciousness of a 
 purpose. Man is not very magnanimous. Instead of giving 
 credit to the lower animals for superior perception in many 
 directions, he denies to them the conscious possession of powers 
 imperfectly developed in mankind. We egotistically aim to raise 
 ourselves, and do so in our own estimation by clothing the actions 
 of the lower animals in a garment of irresponsibility. Because 
 we can not understand the inwardness of their power, we assert 
 that they act by the influence of instinct. The term instinct, as 
 I would define it, is an expression applied by men to a series 
 of senses which man possesses, but has not developed. The 
 word is used by man to characterize the mental superiority of 
 other animals in certain directions w^here his own senses are 
 defective. Instead of crediting animals with these, to them, 
 invaluable faculties, man conceitedly says they are involuntary 
 actions. Ignorant of their mental status, man is too arrogant to 
 admit that lower animals are superior to him in any way. But we 
 are not consistent. Is it not true that in the direction in which 
 you question my power, some men by cultivation often become 
 expert beyond their fellows? and such men have also given very 
 little systematic study to subjects connected with these undeniable 
 mental qualities. The hunter will hold his course in utter dark- 
 ness, passing inequalities in the ground, and avoiding obstructions 
 he can not see. The fact of his superiority in this w^ay, over 
 others, is not questioned, although he can not explain his methods 
 nor understand how he operates. His quickened sense is often 
 as much entitled to be called instinct as is the divining power of 
 the carrier pigeon. If scholars would cease to devote their entire 
 energies to the development of the material, artistic, or scientific 
 part of modern civilization, and turn their attention to other 
 forms of mental culture, many beauties and powers of Nature 
 now unknown would be revealed. However, this can not be, for 
 under existing conditions, the strife for food and w^armth is the 
 most important struggle that engages mankind, and controls our 
 actions. In a time that is surely to come, however, when the 
 knowledge of all men is united into a comprehensive whole, the 
 book of life, illuminated thereby, will contain many beautiful 
 pages that may be easily read, but which are now not suspected 
 to exist. The power of the magnet is not uniform — engineers 
 
82 IvTIDORHPA. 
 
 know that the needle of the compass inexpHcably deviates from 
 time to time as a line is run over the earth's surface, but they 
 also know that aberrations of the needle finally correct them- 
 selves. The temporary variations of a few degrees that occur in 
 the running of a compass line are usually overcome after a time, 
 and without a change of course, the disturbed needle swer\'es 
 back, and again points to the calculated direction, as is shown 
 bv the vernier. Should I err in my course, it would be by a 
 trifle only, and we could not go far astray before I would 
 unconsciously discover the true path. I carry my magnet in 
 my mind." 
 
 Many such dissertations or explanations concerning related 
 questions were subsequently made in what I then considered a 
 very impressive, though always unsatisfactor\-, manner. I recall 
 those episodes now, after other more remarkable experiences 
 which are yet to be related, and record them briefly with little 
 wonderment, because I have gone through adventures which 
 demonstrate that there is nothing improbable in the statements, 
 and I will not consume time with further details of this part 
 of my journey. 
 
 We leisurely traversed State after State, crossed rivers, moun- 
 tains and seemingly interminable forests. The ultimate object 
 of our travels, a location in Kentucky, I afterward learned, led 
 mv companion to guide me by a roundabout course to Wheeling, 
 Virginia, by the usual mountain roads of that day, instead of 
 going, as he might perhaps have much more easily done, via 
 Buffalo and the Lake Shore to Northern Ohio, and then southerly 
 across the country. He said in explanation, that the time lost 
 at the beginning of our journey by this route, was more than 
 recompensed by the ease of the subsequent Ohio River trip. 
 Upon reaching Wheeling, he disposed of the team, and we 
 embarked on a keel boat, and journeyed down the Ohio to Cin- 
 cinnati. The river was falling when we started, and became 
 very low before Cincinnati was reached, too low for steamers, 
 and our trip in that flat-bottomed boat, on the sluggish current 
 of the tortuous stream, proved tedious and slow. Arriving at 
 Cincinnati, my guide decided to wait for a rise in the river, 
 designing then to complete our journey on a steamboat. I 
 spent several days in Cincinnati quite pleasantly, expecting to 
 
MY JOURNF.Y CONTINUES. 83 
 
 continue our course on the steamer " Tecumseh," then in port, 
 and read}' for departure. At the last moment my guide changed 
 his mind, and instead of embarking on that boat, we took passage 
 on the steamer "George Washington," leaving Shipping-Port 
 Wednesday, December 13, 1826. 
 
 During that entire journey, from the commencement to our 
 final destination, my guide paid all the bills, and did not want 
 either for money or attention from the people with whom we 
 came in contact. He seemed everywhere a stranger, and yet 
 was possessed of a talisman that opened every door to which he 
 applied, and which gave us unlimited accommodations wherever 
 he asked them. When the boat landed at Smithland, Kentucky, 
 a village on the bank of the Ohio, just above Paducah, we dis- 
 embarked, and my guide then for the first time seemed mentalh' 
 disturbed. 
 
 "Our journey together is nearly over," he said; "in a few 
 days my responsibility for you will cease. Nerve yourself for 
 the future, and bear its trials and its pleasures manfully. I may 
 never see you again, but as you are even now conspicuous in our 
 history, and will be closely connected with the development of 
 the plan in which I am also interested, although I am destined 
 to take a different part, I shall probably hear of you again." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A CAVERX DISCOVERED. — BISWELL'S HILL. 
 
 We stopped that night at a tavern in Smithland. Leaving 
 this place after dinner the next day, on foot, we strnck throngh 
 the conntry, into the bottom lands of the Cnniberland River 
 traveling leisurely, lingering for hours in the course of a circui- 
 tous tramp of only a few miles. Although it was the month 
 of December, the climate was mild and balmy. In my former 
 home, a similar time of year would have been marked with 
 snow, sleet, and ice, and I could not but draw a contrast 
 between the two localities. How different also the scenery from 
 that of my native State. Great timber trees, oak, poplar, hickory, 
 were in majestic possession of large tracts of territory, in the 
 solitude of which man, so far as evidences of his presence were 
 concerned, had never before trodden. From time to time we 
 passed little clearings that probably were to be enlarged tO' 
 thrifty plantations in the future, and finally we crossed the 
 Cumberland River. That night we rested with Mr. Joseph 
 Watts, a wealthy and cultured land owner, who resided on 
 the river's bank. After leaving his home the next morning, 
 we journeyed slowly, very slowly, my guide seemingly passing 
 with reluctance into the country. He had become a very 
 pleasant companion, and his conversation was very entertaining. 
 We struck the sharp point of a ridge the morning we left ]Mr. 
 Watts' hospitable house. It was foiir or five miles distant, but 
 on the opposite side of the Cumberland, from Smithland. Here 
 a steep bluff broke through the bottom land to the river's edge, 
 the base of the bisected point being washed by the Cumberland 
 River, which had probably cut its way through the stony 
 mineral of this ridge in ages long passed. We climbed to its 
 top and sat upon the pinnacle, and from that point of command- 
 ing observation I drank in the beauties of the scene around me. 
 The* river at our feet wound gracefully before us, and disappeared 
 
 84 
 
SECTION OF KENTUCKY, NEAR SMITHLAND, IN WHICH THE ENTRANCE TO 
 THE KENTUCKY CAYERN IS SAID TO BE I.OCATED. 
 
 Paducah. 
 
 Smithlaiid. 
 
 Old Smithland. 
 
 Patterson. 
 
 Frenchtown. 
 
 Hickory Creek. 
 
 Underwood. 
 
 Birdsville. 
 
 Bayou IMil'.s. 
 
 Oak Ridge. 
 
 Moxlej-'s Landing 
 
 Kildare. 
 
 Lola 
 
 Pincknevville. 
 
 15- 
 
 Salem. 
 
 16. 
 
 Hampton. 
 
 17. 
 
 Faulkner. 
 
 iS. 
 
 Mullikin. 
 
 19 
 
 Back Creek. 
 
 20. 
 
 Carrsville. 
 
 21. 
 
 Given's Creek. 
 
 22. 
 
 Golconda. 
 
 23- 
 
 Elizabethtown. 
 
 24. 
 
 Metropolis City 
 
 25. 
 
 Hamletsburgh 
 
 26. 
 
 Sheridan 
 
 27. 
 
 Deer Creek 
 
 28. 
 
 Hurricane. 
 
 Hurricane Creek. 
 
 Ford's Ferry. 
 
 Weston. 
 
 Caseyville. 
 
 Tradewater River. 
 
 Dycusburgh. 
 
 Livingstone Creek. 
 
 Francis. 
 
 Harrold. (View.) 
 
 Crider. 
 
 Levias. 
 
 Crayueville. 
 
 IMarion. 
 
A CAVERN DISCOVERED. 87 
 
 in botli directions, its extremes dissolving in a bed of forest. A 
 great black blnff, far up the stream, rose like a mountain, upon 
 the left side of the river; bottom lands were about us, and 
 hills appeared across the river in the far distance — towards the 
 Tennessee River. With regret I finally drew my eyes from the 
 vision, and we resumed the journey. We followed the left bank 
 of the river to the base of the black bluff, — " Biswell's Hill," a 
 squatter called it, — and then skirted the side of that hill, passing 
 along precipitous stone bluffs and among stunted cedars. Above 
 us towered cliff over cliff, almost perpendicularly ; below us rolled 
 the river. 
 
 I was deeply impressed by the changing beauties of this 
 strange Kentucky scenery, but marveled at the fact that while I 
 became light-hearted and enthusiastic, my guide grew corre- 
 spondingly despondent and gloomy. From time to time he 
 lapsed into thoughtful silence, and once I caught his eye directed 
 toward me in a manner that I inferred to imply either pity 
 or envy. We passed Biswell's Bluff, and left, the Cumberland 
 River at its upper extremity, where another small creek empties 
 into the river. Thence, after ascending the creek some distance, 
 we struck across the country, finding it undulating and fertile, 
 with here and there a small clearing. During this journey we 
 either camped out at night, or stopped with a resident, when 
 one was to be found in that sparsely settled country. Some- 
 times there were exasperating intervals between our meals ; but 
 we did not suffer, for we carried with us supplies of food, such 
 as cheese and crackers, purchased in Smithland, for emergencies. 
 We thus proceeded a considerable distance into Livingston 
 County, Kentucky. 
 
 I observed remarkable sinks in the earth, sometimes cone- 
 shaped, again precipitous. These cavities were occasionallv of 
 considerable size and depth, and they were more numerous in 
 the uplands than in the bottoms. They Avere somewhat like 
 the familiar " sink-holes " of New York State, but monstrous 
 in comparison. The first that attracted m)' attention was near 
 the Cumberland River, just before we reached Biswell's Hill. It 
 was about forty feet deep and thirty in diameter, with precipitous 
 stone sides, shrubbery growing therein in exceptional spots where 
 loose earth had collected on shelves of stone that cropped out 
 
88 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 along its rugged sides. The bottom of the depression was flat 
 and fertile, covered with a luxuriant mass of vegetation. On 
 one side of the base of the gigantic bowl, a cavern struck down 
 into the earth. I stood upon the edge of this funnel-like sink, 
 and marveled at its peculiar appearance. A spirit of curiosity, 
 such as often influences men when an unusual natural scene 
 presents itself, possessed me. I clambered down, swinging from 
 brush to brush, and stepping from shelving-rock to shelving-rock, 
 until I reached the bottom of the hollow, and placing my hand 
 above the black hole in its center, I perceived that a current of 
 cold air was rushing therefrom, upward. I probed with a long 
 stick, but the direction of the opening was tortuous, and would 
 not admit of examination in that manner. I dropped a large 
 pebble-stone into the orifice ; the pebble rolled and clanked 
 down, down, and at last, the sound died away in the distance. 
 
 " I wish that I could go into the cavity as that stone has 
 done, and find the secrets of this cave," I reflected, the natural 
 love of exploration possessing me as it probably does most men. 
 
 My companion above, seated on the brink of the stone wall, 
 replied to my thoughts : " Your wish shall be granted. You 
 have requested that which has already been laid out for you. 
 You will explore where few men have passed before, and will 
 have the privilege of following your destiny into a realm of 
 natural wonders. A fertile field of investigation awaits you, 
 such as will surpass your most vivid imaginings. Come and 
 seat yourself beside me, for it is my duty now to tell you 
 something about the land we are approaching, the cavern fields 
 of Kentucky." 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE PUNCH-BOWLS AND CAVERNS OF KENTUCKY. — " INTO THE 
 UNKNOWN COUNTRY." 
 
 " This part of Kentucky borders a field of caverns that reaches 
 from near the State of Tennessee to the Ohio River, and from 
 the month of the Cumberland, eastward to and beyond the 
 center of the State. This great area is of irregular outline, and 
 as yet has been little explored. Underneath the surface are 
 layers of limestone and sandstone rock, the deposits ranging 
 from ten to one hundred and fifty feet in thickness, and often 
 great masses of conglomerate appear. This conglomerate some- 
 times caps the ridges, and varies in thickness from a few feet 
 only, to sixty, or even a hundred, feet. It is of a diversified 
 character, sometimes largely composed of pebbles cemented 
 together by iron ore into compact beds, while again it passes 
 abruptly into gritty sandstone, or a fine-grained compact rock 
 destitute of pebbles. Sometimes the conglomerate rests directly 
 on the limestone, but in the section about us, more often argil- 
 laceous shales or veins of coal intervene, and occasionally inferior 
 and superior layers of conglomerate are separated by a bed of 
 coal. In addition, lead-bearing veins now and then crop up, the 
 crystals of galena being disseminated through masses of fluor- 
 spar, calc-spar, limestone and clay, which fill fissures between 
 tilted walls of limestone and hard quartzose sandstone. Valleys, 
 hills, and mountains, grow out of this remarkable crust. Rivers 
 and creeks flow through and under it in crevices, either directly 
 upon the bedstone or over deposits of clay which underlie it. In 
 some j)laces, beds of coal or slate alternate with layers of the lime 
 rock ; in others, the interspace is clay and sand. Sometimes the 
 depth of the several limestone and conglomerate deposits is great, 
 and they are often honeycombed by innumerable transverse and 
 diagonal spaces. Water drips have here and there washed out 
 the more friable earth and stone, forming grottoes which are 
 
90 KTIDORHPA. 
 
 as yet unknown to men, but which will be discovered to be 
 wonderful and fantastic beyond anything of a like nature now 
 familiar. In other places cavities exist between shelves of rock 
 that lie one above the other — monstrous openings caused by 
 the erosive action of rivers now lost, but that have flowed 
 during unnumbered ages past ; great parallel valleys and gigantic 
 chambers, one over the other, remaining to tell the story of 
 these former torrents. Occasionally the weight of a portion of 
 the disintegrating rock above becomes too great for its tensile 
 strength and the material crumbles and falls, producing ca\erns 
 sometimes reaching so near to the earth's surface, as to cause 
 sinks in its crust. These sinks, when first formed, as a rule, prew- 
 sent clear rock fractures, and immediately after their formation 
 there is usually a water-way beneath. In the course of time 
 soil collects on their sides, they become cone-shaped hollows 
 from the down-slidings of earth, and then vegetation appears on 
 the living soil ; trees grow within them, and in many places the 
 sloping sides of great earth bowls of this nature are, after untold 
 years, covered with the virgin forest ; magnificent timber trees 
 growing on soil that has been stratified over and upon decayed 
 monarchs of the forest whose remains, imbedded in the earth, 
 speak of the ages that have passed since the convulsions that 
 made the depressions which, notwithstanding the accumulated 
 debris, are still a hundred feet or more in depth. If the drain 
 or exit at the vortex of one of these sinks becomes clogged, 
 which often occurs, the entire cavity fills with water, and a pond 
 results. Again, a slight orifice reaching far beneath the earth's 
 surface may permit the soil to be gradually washed into a 
 subterranean creek, and thus are formed great bowls, like 
 funnels sunk in the earth — Kentucky punch-bowls. 
 
 " Take the country about us, especially towards the Mammoth 
 Cave, and for miles beyond, the landscape in certain localities is 
 pitted with this description of sinks, some recent, others very 
 old. Many are small, but deep ; others are large and shallow. 
 Ponds often of great depth, curiously enough overflowing and 
 giving rise to a creek, are to be found on a ridge, telling of 
 underground supply springs, not outlets, beneath. Chains of 
 such sinks, like a row of huge funnels, often appear; the soil 
 between them is slowly washed through their exit into the river, 
 
THE PUNCH-BOWLS AND CAVHRNS OF KENTUCKY. 91 
 
 flowing in the depths below, and as the earth that separates them 
 is carried away by the subterranean streams, the bowls coalesce, 
 and a ravine, closed at both ends, results. Along the bottom of 
 such a ravine, a creek may flow, rushing from its natural tunnel 
 at one end of the line, and disappearing in a gulf at the other. 
 The stream begins in mystery, and ends in unfathomed darkness. 
 Near Marion, Hiirricane Creek thus disappears, and, so far as 
 men know, is lost to sight forever. Near Cridersville, in this 
 neighborhood, a valley such as I have described, takes in the 
 surface floods of a large tract of country. The waters that run 
 down its sides, during a storm form a torrent, and fence-rails, 
 timbers, and other objects are gulped into the chasm where the 
 creek plunges into the earth, and they never appear again. This 
 part of Kentucky is the most remarkable portion of the known 
 world, and although now neglected, in a time to come is surely 
 destined to an extended distinction. I have referred only to the 
 surface, the skin formation of this honeycombed labyrinth, the 
 entrance to the future wonderland of the world. Portions of such 
 a superficial cavern maze have been traversed by man in the 
 ramifications known as the Mammoth Cave, but deeper than 
 man has yet explored, the subcutaneous structure of that series 
 of caverns is yet to be investigated. The Mammoth Cave as now 
 traversed is simply a superficial series of grottoes and passages 
 overlying the deeper cavern field that I have described. The 
 explored chain of passages is of great interest to men, it is true, 
 but of minor importance compared to others yet unknown, being 
 in fact, the result of mere surface erosion. The river that bisects 
 the cave, just beneath the surface of the earth, and known as 
 Echo River, is a miniature stream : there are others more mag- 
 nificent that flow majestically far, far beneath it. As we descend 
 into the earth in that locality, caverns multiply in number and 
 increase in size, retaining the general configuration of those I 
 have described. The layers of rock are thicker, the intervening 
 spaces broader ; and the spaces stretch in increasingly expanded 
 chambers for miles, while high above each series of caverns the 
 solid ceilings of stone arch and interarch. Sheltered under these 
 subterrene alcoves are streams, lakes, rivers and water-falls. Near 
 the surface of the earth such waters often teem with aquatic life, 
 and some of the caves are inhabited by species of birds, reptiles 
 
92 I'TIDORIirA. 
 
 and mammals as yet unknown to men, creatures possessed of 
 senses and organs that are different from any we find with surface 
 animals, and also apparently defective in particulars that would 
 startle persons acquainted only with creatures that live in the 
 sunshine. It is a world beneath a world, a world within a 
 world — ■" My guide abruptly stopped. 
 
 1 sat entranced, marveling at the young-old adept's knowl- 
 edge, admiring his accomplishments. I gazed into the ca\-ity 
 that yawned beneath me, and imagined its possible but to me 
 invisible secrets, enraptured with the thought of searcliing into 
 them. Who would not feel elated at the prospect of an explor- 
 ation, such as I foresaw might be pursued in my immediate 
 future? I had often been charmed with narrative descriptions 
 of discoveries, and book accounts of scientific investigations, but 
 I had never pictured myself as a participant in such fascinating 
 enterprises. 
 
 "Indeed, indeed," I cried exultingly; "lead me to this Won- 
 derland, show me the entrance to this Subterranean World, and 
 I promise willingly to do as you bid." 
 
 "Bravo!" he replied, "your heart is right, your courage- 
 sufficient ; I have not disclosed a thousandth part of the wonders 
 which I have knowledge of, and which await your research, and 
 probably I have not gained even an insight into the mysteries that, 
 if your courage permits, you will be privileged to comprehend. 
 Your destiny lies beyond, far beyond that which I have pictured 
 or experienced ; and I, notwithstanding my opportunities, have 
 no conception of its end, for at the critical moment my heart 
 faltered — I can therefore only describe the beginning." 
 
 Thus at the lower extremity of Biswell's Hill, I was made 
 aware of the fact that, within a short time, I should be separated 
 from my sympathetic guide, and that it was to be my duty 
 to explore alone, or in other company, some portion of these 
 Kentucky cavern deeps, and I longed for the beginning of my 
 underground journey. Heav^ens ! how different would have been 
 my future life could I then have realized my position ! Would 
 that I could have seen the end. After a few days of uneventful 
 travel, we rested, one afternoon, in a hilly country that before 
 us appeared to be more rugged, even mountainous. We had 
 wandered leisureU-, and were now at a considerable distance from 
 
THE PUNCH-BOWLS AND CAVERNS OF KIvNTUCKY. 93 
 
 the Cumberland River, the aim of my guide being, as I surmised, 
 to evade a direct approach to some object of interest which I must 
 not locate exactly, and yet which I shall try to describe accurately 
 enough for identification by a person familiar with the topog- 
 raphy of that section. We stood on the side of a stony, sloping 
 hill, back of which spread a wooded, undulating valley. 
 
 " I remember to have passed along a creek in that valley," I 
 remarked, looking back over our pathway. " It appeared to rise 
 from this direction, but the source ends abruptly in this chain 
 of hills." 
 
 "The stream is beneath us," he answered. Advancing a few 
 paces, he brought to my attention, on the hillside, an opening 
 in the earth. This aperture was irregular in form, about the 
 diameter of a well, and descended perpendicularly into the stony 
 crust. I leaned far over the orifice, and heard the gurgle of 
 rushing water beneath. The guide dropped a heavy stone into 
 the gloomy shaft, and in some seconds a diiU splash announced 
 its plunge into underground water. Then he leaned over the 
 stony edge, and — could I be mistaken? — seemed to signal to 
 some one beneath; but it must be imagination on my part, I 
 argued to myself, even against my very sense of sight. Rising, 
 and taking me by the hand, my guardian spoke : 
 
 " Brother, we approach the spot where you and I must 
 separate. I serve my masters and am destined to go where 
 I shall next be commanded ; you will descend into the earth, as 
 30U have recently desired to do. Here we part, most likely 
 forever. This rocky fissure will admit the last ray of sunlight 
 on your path." 
 
 My heart failed. How often are we courageous in daylight 
 and timid by night? Men unflinchingly face in sunshine 
 dangers at which they shudder in the darkness. 
 
 "How am I to descend into that abyss?" I gasped. "The 
 sides are perpendicular, the depth is unknown!" Then I cried 
 in alarm, the sense of distrust deepening : " Do you mean to drown 
 me ; is it for this you have led me away from my native State, 
 from friends, home and kindred ? You have enticed me into this 
 wilderness. I have been decoyed, and, like a foolish child, have 
 willingly accompanied my destroyer. You feared to murder me 
 in my distant home ; the earth could not have hidden me ; 
 
94 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 Niagara even might liave given np my body to dismay the mnr- 
 derers! In this nnderground river in the wilds of Kentncky, all 
 trace of my existence will disappear forever." 
 
 I was growing furions. My frenzied eyes searched the gronnd 
 for some missile of defense. By strange chance some one had 
 left, on that solitary spot, a rude weapon, providentially dropped 
 for my use, I thought. It was a small iron bolt or bar, somewhat 
 rusted. I threw myself upon the earth, and, as I did so, picked 
 this up quickly, and secreted it within my bosom. Then I arose 
 and resumed my stormy denunciation : 
 
 " You have played your part well, you have led your unre- 
 sisting victim to the sacrifice, but if I am compelled to plunge 
 into this black grave, you shall go with me!" I shrieked in 
 desperation, and suddenly threw my arms around the gentle 
 adept, intending to hurl him into the chasm. At this point I 
 felt my hands seized from behind in a cold, clammy, irresistible 
 embrace, my fingers were loosed by a strong grasp, and I turned, 
 to find myself confronted by a singular looking being, who 
 quietly said : 
 
 "You are not to be destroyed; we wish only to do your 
 bidding." 
 
 The speaker stood in a stooping position, with his face 
 towards the earth as if to shelter it from the sunshine. He was 
 less than five feet in height. His arms and legs were bare, and 
 his skin, the color of light blue putty, glistened in the sunlight 
 like the slimy hide of a water dog. He raised his head, and I 
 shuddered in affright as I beheld that his face was not that of 
 a human. His forehead extended in an unbroken plane from 
 crown to cheek bone, and the chubby tip of an abortive nose 
 without nostrils formed a short projection near the center of the 
 level ridge which represented a countenance. There was no 
 semblance of an eye, for there were no sockets. Yet his voice 
 was singularly perfect. His face, if face it could be called, was 
 wet, and water dripped from all parts of his slippery person. 
 Yet, repulsive as he looked, I shuddered more at the remem- 
 brance of the touch of that cold, clammy hand than at the sight 
 of his figure, for a dead man could not have chilled me as he had 
 done, 'with his sappy skin, from which the moisture seemed to 
 ooze as from the hide of a water lizard. 
 
"confronted by a singular looking being." 
 
THE PUNCH-BOWLS AND CAVERNS OF KENTUCKY. 97 
 
 Turning to my guide, this freak of nature said, softly : 
 
 " I have come in obedience to the signal." 
 
 I realized at once that alone with these two I was powerless, 
 and that to resist would be suicidal. Instantly my effervescing 
 passion subsided, and I expressed no further surprise at this 
 sudden and remarkable apparition, but mentally acquiesced. I 
 was alone and helpless ; rage gave place to inertia in the 
 despondency that followed the realization of my hopeless condi- 
 tion. The grotesque newcomer who, though sightless, possessed 
 a strange instinct, led us to the base of the hill a few hundred 
 feet away, and there, gushing into the light from the rocky bluff, I 
 saw a magnificent stream issuing many feet in width. This was 
 the head-waters of the mysterious brook that I had previously 
 noticed. It flowed from an archway in the solid stone, springing 
 directly out of the rock-bound cliff; beautiful and picturesque in 
 its surroundings. The limpid water, clear and sparkling, issued 
 from the unknown source that was typical of darkness, but the 
 brook of crystal leaped into a world of sunshine, light and 
 freedom. 
 
 "Brother," said my companion, "this spring emerging from 
 this prison of earth images to us what humanity will be when 
 the prisoning walls of ignorance that now enthrall him are 
 removed, Man has heretofore relied chiefly for his advancement, 
 both mental and physical, on knowledge gained from so-called 
 scientific explorations and researches with matter, from material 
 studies rather than spiritual, all his investigations having been 
 confined to the crude, coarse substance of the surface of the 
 globe. Spiritualistic investigations, unfortunately, are considered 
 by scientific men too often as reaching backward only. The 
 religions of the world clasp hands with, and lean upon, the dead 
 past, it is true, but point to a living future. Man must yet search 
 by the agency of senses and spirit, the unfathomed mysteries 
 that lie beneath his feet and over his head, and he who refuses 
 to bow to the Creator and honor his handiwork discredits himself. 
 When this work is accomplished, as it yet will be, the future 
 man, able then to comprehend the problem of life in its broader 
 significance, drawing from all directions the facts necessary to 
 his mental advancement, will have reached a state in which he 
 can enjoy bodily comfort and supreme spiritual perfection, 
 
98 irriDORiii'A. 
 
 while he is yet an earth-bound mortal. In hastening this 
 consummation, it is necessary that an occasional human life 
 should be lost to the world, but such sacrifices are noble — yes, 
 sublime, because contribiiting to the future exaltation of our 
 race. The secret workers in the sacred order of which you are 
 still a member, have ever taken an important part in further- 
 ing such a system of evolution. This feature of our work 
 is unknown to brethren of the ordinary fraternity, and the 
 individual research of each secret messenger is unguessed, by 
 the craft at large. Hence it is that the open workers of our 
 order, those initiated by degrees only, who in lodge rooms carry 
 on their beneficent labors among men, have had no hand other 
 than as agents in your removal, and no knowledge of your 
 present or future movements. Their function is to keep together 
 our organization on earth, and from them only an occasional 
 member is selected, as you have been, to perform special duties 
 in certain adventurous studies. Are you willing to go on this 
 journey of exploration? and are you brave enough to meet the 
 trials you have invited?" 
 
 Again my enthusiasm arose, and I felt the thrill experienced 
 by an investigator who stands on the brink of an important 
 discovery, and needs but courage to advance, and I answered, 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then, farewell ; this archway is the entrance that will admit 
 you into your arcanum of usefulness. This mystic Brother, 
 though a stranger to you, has long been apprised of our coming, 
 and it was he who sped me on my journey to seek you, and who 
 has since been waiting for us, and is to be your guide during the 
 first stages of your subterrenc progress. He is a Friend, and, if 
 ^•ou trust him, will protect you from harm. You will find the 
 necessaries of life supplied, for I have traversed part of your 
 coming road ; that part I therefore know, but, as I have said, 
 you are to go deeper into the unexplored, — yes, into and beyond 
 the Beyond, until finally you will come to the gateway that 
 leads into the ' Unknown Country.' " 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 FAREWELL TO GOD'S SUNSHINE. — THE ECHO OF THE CRY. 
 
 Thus speaking, my quiet leader, who had so long been as a 
 shepherd to my wandering feet, on the upper earth, grasped my 
 hands tightly, and placed them in those of my new companion, 
 whose clammy fingers closed over them as with a grip of iron. 
 The mysterious being, now my custodian, turned towards the 
 creek, drawing me after him, and together we silently and 
 solemnly waded beneath the stone archway. As I passed under 
 the shadow of that dismal, yawning cliff, I turned my head to 
 take one last glimpse of the world I had known — that " warm 
 precinct of the cheerful day," — and tears sprang to my eyes. I 
 thought of life, family, friends, — of all for which men live — 
 and a melancholy vision arose, that of my lost, lost home. My 
 dear companion of the journey that had just ended stood in 
 the sunlight on the banks of the rippling stream, gazing at us 
 intently, and waved an affectionate farewell. My uncouth new 
 associate (guide or master, whichever he might be), of the 
 journey to come, clasped me firmly by the arms, and waded 
 slowly onward, thrusting me steadily against the cold current, 
 and with irresistible force pressed me into the thickening dark- 
 ness. The daylight disappeared, the pathway contracted, the 
 water deepened and became more chilly. We were constrained 
 to bow our heads in order to avoid the overhanging vault of 
 stone ; the water reached to my chin, and now the down-jutting 
 roof touched the crown of my head ; then I shuddered con\ul- 
 sively as the last ray of daylight disappeared. 
 
 Had it not been for my companion, I know that I should 
 have sunk in despair, and drowned; but with a firm hand he 
 held my head above the water, and steadily pushed me onward. 
 I had reached the extreme of despondency : I neither feared nor 
 cared for life nor death, and I realized that, powerless to control 
 mv own acts, my fate, the future, mv existence depended on the 
 
 99 
 
100 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 strange being beside nie. I was mysteriously sustained, however, 
 bv a sense of bodih- security, such as conies over us as when in 
 the hands of an experienced guide we journey through a wilder- 
 ness, for I felt that my pilot of the underworld did not purpose 
 to destroy me. We halted a moment, and then, as a faint light 
 overspread us, my eyeless guide directed me to look upward. 
 
 " We now stand beneath the crevice which you were told by 
 your former guide would admit the last ray of sunlight on your 
 path. I also say to you, this struggling ray of sunlight is to be 
 your last for years." 
 
 I gazed above me, feeling all the wretchedness of a dying 
 man who, with faculties intact, might stand on the dark edge of 
 the hillside of eternity, glancing back into the bright world ; and 
 that small opening far, far overhead, seemed as the gate to 
 Paradise Lost. Many a person, assured of ascending at will, 
 has stood at the bottom of a deep well or shaft to a mine, and 
 even then felt the undescribable sensation of dread, often terror, 
 that is produced by such a situation. Awe, mystery, uncertainty 
 of life and future superadded, may express my sensation. I 
 trembled, shrinking in horror from my captor and struggled 
 violently. 
 
 " Hold, hold," I begged, as one involuntarily prays a sur- 
 geon to delay the incision of the amputating knife, "just one 
 moment." My companion, unheeding, moved on, the light 
 vanished instantly, and we were surrounded by total darkness. 
 God's sunshine was blotted out. 
 
 Then I again became unconcerned ; I was not now responsible 
 for my own existence, and the feeling that I experienced when a 
 prisoner in the closed carriage returned. I grew careless as to 
 my fate, and with stolid indifference struggled onward as we pro- 
 gressed slowly against the current of water. I began to interest 
 myself in speculations regarding our surroundings, and the object 
 or outcome of our journey. In places the water was shallow, 
 scarce reaching to our ankles ; again it was so deep that we could 
 wade only with exertion, and at times the passage up which we 
 toiled was so narrow, that it would scarcely admit us. After a 
 long, laborious stemming of the unseen brook, my companion 
 directed me to close my mouth, hold my nostrils with my fingers, 
 and stoop ; almost diving with me beneath the water, he drew 
 
■THIS STRUGGLING RAY OF SUNUGHT IS TO BE YOUR LAST 
 
 FOR YEARS." 
 
FAREWELIv TO GOD'S SUNSHINE. 103 
 
 me through the submerged crevice, and we ascended into an open 
 chamber, and left the creek behind us. I fancied that we were 
 in a large room, and as I shouted aloud to test my hypothesis, 
 echo after echo answered, until at last the cry reverberated and 
 died away in distant murmurs. We were evidently in a great 
 pocket or cavern, through which my guide now walked rapidlv ; 
 indeed, he passed along with unerring footsteps, as certain of his 
 course as I might be on familiar ground in full daylight. I 
 perceived that he systematically evaded inequalities that I could 
 not anticipate nor see. He would tell me to step up or down, 
 as the surroundings required, and we ascended or descended 
 accordingly. Our path turned to the right or the left from time to 
 time, but my eyeless guide passed through what were evidently 
 the most tortuous windings without a mishap. I wondered 
 much at this gift of knowledge, and at last overcame my reserve 
 sufficiently to ask how we could thus unerringly proceed in utter 
 darkness. The reply was : 
 
 " The path is plainly visible to me ; I see as clearly in pitch 
 darkness as you can in sunshine." 
 
 "Explain yourself further," I requested. 
 
 He replied, "Not yet;" and continued, "you are weary, we 
 will rest." 
 
 He conducted me to a seat on a ledge, and left me for a 
 time. Returning soon, he placed in my hands food which I ate 
 with novel relish. The pabulum seemed to be of vegetable 
 origin, though varieties of it had a peculiar flesh-like flavor. 
 Several separate and distinct substances were contained in the 
 queer viands, some portions savoring of wholesome flesh, while 
 others possessed the delicate flavors of various fruits, such as the 
 strawberry and the pineapple. The strange edibles were of a 
 pulpy texture, homogeneous in consistence, parts being juicy and 
 acid like grateful fruits. Some portions were in slices or films 
 that I could hold in my hand like sections of a velvet melon, 
 and yet were in many respects unlike any other food that I had 
 ever tasted. There was neither rind nor seed ; it seemed as 
 though I were eating the gills of a fish, and in answer to my 
 question the guide remarked: 
 
 "Yes; it is the gill, but not the gill of a fish. You will be 
 instructed in due time." I will add that after this, whenever 
 
104 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 necessary, we were supplied with food, but both thirst and 
 hunger disappeared altogether before our underground journey 
 was finished. 
 
 After a while we again began our journey, which we con- 
 tinued in what was to me absolute darkness. My strength 
 seemed to endure the fatigue to a wonderful degree, notwith- 
 standing that we must have been walking hour after hour, and 
 I expressed a curiosity about the fact. My guide replied that 
 the atmosphere of the cavern possessed an intrinsic vitalizing 
 power that neutralized fatigue, " or," he said, " there is here an 
 inherent constitutional energy derived from an active gaseous 
 substance that belongs to cavern air at this depth, and sustains 
 the life force by contributing directly to its conservation, taking 
 the place of food and drink." 
 
 " I do not understand," I said. 
 
 " No; and you do not comprehend how ordinary air supports 
 mind and vitalizes muscle, and at the same time wears out both 
 muscle and all other tissues. These are facts which are not 
 satisfactorily explained by scientific statements concerning oxy- 
 crenation of the blood. As we descend into the earth we find an 
 increase in the life force of the cavern air." 
 
 This reference to surface earth recalled my former life, and 
 led me to contrast my present situation with that I had forfeited. 
 I was seized with an uncontrollable longing for home, and a pain- 
 ful craving for the past took possession of my heart, but with a 
 strong effort I shook off the sensations. We traveled on and on 
 in silence and in darkness, and I thought again of the strange 
 remark of my former guide who had said: "You are destined to 
 go deeper into the unknown; yes, into and beyond the Beyond." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A ZONE OF LIGHT DEEP WITHIN THE EARTH. 
 
 " Oil ! for one glimpse of light, a ray of sunshine !" 
 
 In reply to this my mental ejaculation, my guide said: "Can 
 not you perceive that the darkness is becoming less intense?" 
 
 '* No," I answered, " I can not ; night is absolute." 
 
 "Are you sure?" he asked. "Cover your eyes with your 
 hands, then uncover and open them." I did so and fancied that 
 by contrast a faint gray hue was apparent. 
 
 " This must be imagination." 
 
 " No ; we now approach a zone of earth light ; let us hasten on." 
 
 " A zone of light deep in the earth ! Incomprehensible ! In- 
 credible !" I muttered, and yet as we went onward and time 
 passed the darkness was less intense. The barely perceptible 
 hue became gray and somber, and then of a pearly translucence, 
 and although I could not distinguish the outline of objects, yet I 
 unquestionably perceived light. 
 
 " I am amazed ! What can be the cause of this phenomenon ? 
 What is the nature of this mysterious halo that surrounds us?" 
 I held my open hand before my eyes, and perceived the darkness 
 of my spread fingers. 
 
 "It is light, it is light," I shouted, "it is really light!" and 
 from near and from far the echoes of that subterranean cavern 
 answered back joyfully, " It is light, it is light !" 
 
 I wept in joy, and threw my arms about my guide, forgetting 
 in the ecstasy his clammy cuticle, and danced in hysterical glee 
 and alternately laughed and cried. ■ How vividly I realized then 
 that the imprisoned miner would give a world of gold, his former 
 god, for a ray of light. 
 
 " Compose yourself; this emotional exhibition is an evidence 
 of weakness; an investigator should neither become depressed 
 over a reverse, nor unduly enthusiastic over a fortunate dis- 
 covery." 
 
 105 
 
106 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " But we approach the earth's surface ? vSoou I will be back 
 in the sunshine again." 
 
 " Upon the contrary, we have been continually descending 
 into the earth, and we are now ten miles or more beneath the 
 level of the ocean." 
 
 "WK APPROACH DAYUOHT, I CAK SEE YOUR FORM." 
 
 I shrank back, hesitated, and in despondency gazed at his 
 hazy outline, then, as if palsied, sank upon the stony floor ; but 
 as I saw the light before me, I leaped up and shouted : 
 
 " What you say is not true ; we approach daylight, I can see 
 your form." 
 
 " Listen to me," he said. " Can not )ou understand that I 
 have led you continually down a steep descent, and that for 
 hours there has been no step. upward? With but little exertion 
 
A ZONE OF IvIGIIT DEEP WITHIN THE EARTH. 107 
 
 yon have walked this distance withont becoming wearied, and 
 yon could not, withont great fatigue, have ascended for so long 
 a period. You are entering a zone of inner earth light ; we are 
 in the surface, the upper edge of it. Let us hasten on, for when 
 this cavern darkness is at an end — and I will say we have nearly 
 passed that limit — your courage will return, and then we will 
 rest." 
 
 " You surely do not speak the truth ; science and philosophy, 
 and I am somewhat versed in both, have never told me of such 
 a light." 
 
 "Can philosophers more than speculate about that which 
 they have not experienced if they have no data from which to 
 calculate? Name the student in science who has reached this 
 depth in earth, or has seen a man to tell him of these facts?" 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " Then why should you have expected any of them to 
 describe our surroundings? Alisguided men will torture science 
 by refuting facts with theories ; but a fact is no less a fact when 
 science opposes." 
 
 I recognized the force of his arguments, and cordially grasped 
 his hand in indication of submission. We continued our journey, 
 and rapidly traveled downward and onward. The light gradually 
 increased in intensity, until at length the cavern near about us 
 seemed to be as bright as diffused daylight could have made it. 
 There was apparently no central point of radiation ; the light 
 was such as to pervade and exist in the surrounding space, some- 
 what as the vapor of phosphorus spreads a self-luminous haze 
 throughout the bubble into which it is blown. The visual agent 
 surrounding us had a permanent, self-existing luminosity, and 
 was a pervading, bright, unreachable essence that, without an 
 obvious origin, diffused itself equally in all directions. It 
 reminded me of the form of light that in previous years I 
 had seen described as epipolic dispersion, and as I refer to the 
 matter I am of the opinion that man will 3'et find that the same 
 cause produces both phenomena. I was informed now by the 
 sense of sight, that we were in a cavern room of considerable 
 size. The apartment presented somewhat the appearance of the 
 usual underground caverns that I had seen pictured in books, and 
 yet w^as different. Stalactites, stalagmites, saline incrustations, 
 
108 
 
 KTIDORHPA. 
 
 occurring occasionally reminded me of travelers' stories, but 
 these objects were not so abundant as might be supposed. Such 
 accretions or deposits of saline substances as I noticed were also 
 disappointing, in that, instead of having a dazzling brilliancv, 
 like frosted snow crystals, they were of a uniform gray or brown 
 hue. Indeed, my former imaginative mental creations regarding 
 underground caverns were dispelled in this somber stone temple, 
 for even the floor and the fragments of stone that, in considerable 
 
 
 
 " SEATED HIMSELF ON A NATURAL BENCH OF STONE." 
 
 quantities, strewed the floor, were of the usual rock formations 
 of upper earth. The glittering crystals of snowy wdiite or rain- 
 bow tints (fairy caverns) pictured by travelers, and described as 
 inexpressibly grand and beautiful in other cavern labyrinths, 
 were wanting here, and I saw only occasional small clusters of 
 quartz crystals that were other than of a diill gray color. Finally, 
 after hours or perhaps days of travel, interspersed with restings, 
 conversations, and arguments, amid which I could form no idea 
 of the flight of time, my companion seated himself on a natural 
 bench of stone, and directed me to rest likewise. He broke the 
 silence, and spoke as follows: 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VITALIZED DARKNESS. — THE NARROWS IN SCIENCE. 
 
 " In studying any branch of science men begin and end with 
 an unknown. The chemist accepts as data such conditions of 
 matter as he finds about him, and connects ponderable matter 
 with the displays of energy that have impressed his senses, 
 building therefrom a span of theoretical science, but he can not 
 formulate as yet an explanation regarding the origin or the end 
 of either mind, matter, or energy. The piers supporting his 
 fabric stand in a profound invisible gulf, into which even his 
 imagination can not look to form a theory concerning basic 
 formations — corner-stones. 
 
 " The geologist, in a like manner, grasps feebly the lessons 
 left in the superficial fragments of earth strata, impressions that 
 remain to bear imperfect record of a few of the disturbances that 
 have affected the earth's crust, and he endeavors to formulate a 
 stor>' of the world's life, but he is neither able to antedate the 
 records shown by the meager testimony at his command, scraps 
 of a leaf out of God's great book of history, nor to anticipate 
 coming events. The birth, as well as the death, of this planet is 
 beyond his page. 
 
 " The astronomer directs his telescope to the heavens, records 
 the position of the planets, and hopes to discover the influences 
 worlds exert upon one another. He explores space to obtain data 
 to enable him to delineate a map of the visible solar universe, 
 but the instruments he has at command are so imperfect, and 
 mind is so feeble that, like mockery seems his attempt to study 
 behind the facts connected with the motions and conditions of 
 the nearest heavenly bodies, and he can not offer an explanation 
 of the beginning or cessation of their movements. He can 
 neither account for their existence, nor foretell their end." 
 
 "Are you not mistaken?" I interrupted; "does not the 
 astronomer foretell eclipses, and calculate the orbits of the 
 
 109 
 
110 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 planets, and has he not verified predictions concerning their 
 several motions?" 
 
 " Yes ; but this is simply a study of passing events. The 
 astronomer is no more capable of grasping an idea that reaches 
 into an explanation of the origin of motion, than the chemist or 
 physicist, from exact scientific data, can account for the creation 
 of matter. Give him any amount of material at rest, and he 
 can not conceive of any method by which motion can disturb 
 any part of it, unless such motion be mass motion communicated 
 from without, or molecular motion, already existing within. He 
 accounts for the phases of present motion in heavenly bodies, 
 not for the primal cause of the actual movements or intrinsic 
 properties they possess. He can neither originate a theor}' that 
 will permit of motion creating itself, and imparting itself to 
 quiescent matter, nor imagine how an atom of quiescent matter 
 can be moved, unless motion from without be communicated 
 thereto. The astronomer, I assert, can neither from any data at 
 his command postulate nor prove the beginning nor the end of 
 the reverberating motion that exists in his solar system, which is 
 itself the fragment of a system that is circulating and revolving 
 in and about itself, and in which, since the birth of man, the 
 universe he knows has not passed the first milestone in the road 
 that universe is traveling in space immensity. 
 
 " The mathematician starts a line from an imaginary point 
 that he informs us exists theoretically without occupying any 
 space, which is a contradiction of terms according to his human 
 acceptation of knowledge derived from scientific experiment, if 
 science is based on verified facts. He assumes that straight lines 
 exist, which is a necessity for his calculation ; but such a line he 
 has never made. Even the beam of sunshine, radiating through 
 a clear atmosphere or a cloud bank, widens and contracts again 
 as it progresses through the various mediums of air and vapor 
 currents, and if it is ever spreading and deflecting can it be 
 straight? He begins his study in the unknown, it ends with the 
 unknowable. 
 
 "The biologist can conceive of no rational, scientific begin- 
 ning to life of plant or animal, and men of science must admit 
 the fact. Whenever we turn our attention to nature's laws and 
 nature's substance, we find man surrounded b)' the infinit\' that 
 
VITALIZED DARKNESS. IH 
 
 obscures the origin and covers the end. But perseverance, study 
 of nature's forces, and comparison of the past with the present, 
 will yet clarify human knowledge and make plain much of this 
 seemingly mysterious, but never will man reach the beginning 
 or the end. The course of human education, to this day, has 
 been mostly materialistic, although, together with the study of 
 matter, there has been more or less attention given to its moving 
 spirit. Newton was the dividing light in scientific thought ; he 
 stepped between the reasonings of the past and the provings of 
 the present, and introduced problems that gave birth to a new 
 scientific tendency, a change from the study of matter from the 
 material side to that of force and matter, but his thought has 
 since been carried out in a mode too realistic by far. The study 
 of material bodies has given way, it is true, in a few cases to 
 the study of the spirit of matter, and evolution is beginning to 
 teach men that matter is crude. As a result, thought will in its 
 sequence yet show that modifications of energy expression are 
 paramount. This work is not lost, however, for the consideration 
 of the nature of sensible material, is preliminary and necessary 
 to progression (as the life of the savage prepares the way for 
 that of the cultivated student), and is a meager and primitive 
 child's effort, compared with the richness of the study in imseen 
 energy expressions that are linked with matter, of which men 
 will yet learn." 
 
 "I comprehend some of this," I replied; "but I am neither 
 prepared to assent to nor dissent from your conclusions, and my 
 mind is not clear as to whether your logic is good or bad. I am 
 more ready to speak plainly about my own peculiar situation 
 than to become absorbed in abstruse arguments in science, and I 
 marvel more at the soft light that is here surrounding us than 
 at the metaphysical reasoning in which you indulge." 
 
 " The child ignorant of letters wonders at the resources of 
 those who can spell and read, and, in like manner, many obscure 
 natural phenomena are marvelous to man only because of his 
 ignorance. You do not comprehend the fact that sunlight is sim- 
 ply a matter-bred expression, an outburst of interrupted energy, 
 and that the modification this energy undergoes makes it visible 
 or sensible to man. What, think you, becomes of the flood of 
 light energy that unceasingly flows from the sun ? For ages, for 
 
112 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 an eternity, it has bathed this earth and seemingly streamed 
 into space, and space it wonld seem must have long since have 
 been filled with it, if, as men believe, space contains energy of 
 any description. ]\Ian may say the earth casts the amount inter- 
 cepted by it back into space, and yet does not your science teach 
 that the great bulk of the earth is an absorber, and a poor 
 radiator of light and heat? What think you, I repeat, becomes 
 of the torrent of light and heat and other forces that radiate 
 from the sun, the flood that strikes the earth? It disappears^ 
 and, in the economy of nature, is not replaced by any known 
 force or any known motion of matter. Think you that earth 
 substance really presents an obstacle to the passage of the sun's 
 energy? Is it not probable that most of this light producing 
 essence, as a subtle fluid, passes through the surface of the earth 
 and into its interior, as light does through space, and returns 
 thence to the sun again, in a condition not discernible by man?" 
 He grasped my arm and squeezed it as though to emphasize 
 the words to follow. " You have used the term sunshine freely ; 
 tell me what is sunshine? Ah! you do not reply; well, what 
 evidence have you to show that sunshine (heat and light) is not 
 earth-bred, a condition that exists locally only, the result of con- 
 tact between matter and some unknown force expression ? What 
 reason have you for accepting that, to other forms unknown and 
 yet transparent to this energy, your sunshine may not be as 
 intangible as the ether of space is to man ? What reason have 
 you to believe that a force torrent is not circulating to and from 
 the sun and earth, inappreciable to man, excepting the mere 
 trace of this force which, modified by contact action with matter 
 appears as heat, light, and other force expressions? How can 
 I, if this is true, in consideration of your ignorance, enter into 
 details explanatory of the action that takes place between matter 
 and a portion of this force, whereby in the earth, first at the 
 surface, darkness is produced, and then deeper down an earth 
 light that man can perceive by the sense of sight, as you now 
 realize? I will only say that this luminous appearance about 
 us is produced by a natural law, whereby the flood of energy, 
 invisible to man, a something clothed now under the name of 
 darkness, after streaming into the crust substance of the earth, 
 is at this depth, revivified, and then is made apparent to mortal 
 
VITAUZED DARKNESS. 113 
 
 eye, to be modified attain as it emerges from the opposite earth 
 crust, but uot aunihihited. For my vision, however, this central 
 light is not a necessity ; my physical and mental development 
 is such that the energy of darkness is communicable ; I can 
 respond to its touches on my nerves, and hence I can guide 
 you in this dark cavern. I am all eye." 
 
 "Ah!" I exclaimed, "that reminds me of a remark made by 
 my former guide who, referring to the instinct of animals, spoke 
 of that as a natural power undeveloped in man. Is it true that 
 by mental cultivation a new sense can be evolved whereby 
 darkness may become as light?" 
 
 "Yes; that which you call light is a form of sensible energy 
 to which the faculties of animals who live on the surface of the 
 earth have become adapted, through their organs of sight. The 
 sun's energy is modified when it strikes the surface of the earth ; 
 part is reflected, but most of it passes onward into the earth's 
 substance, in an altered or disturbed condition. Animal organ- 
 isms within the earth must possess a peculiar development to 
 utilize it under its new form, but such a sense is really possessed 
 in a degree by some creatures known to men. There is con- 
 sciousness behind consciousness ; there are grades and depths of 
 consciousness. Earth worms, and some fishes and reptiles in 
 underground streams (lower organizations, men call them) do not 
 use the organ of sight, but recognize objects, seek their food, and 
 flee from their enemies." 
 
 "They have no eyes," I exclaimed, forgetting that I spoke to 
 an eyeless being ; " how can they see ?" 
 
 " You should reflect that man can not offer a satisfactory 
 explanation of the fact that he can see with his eyes. In one 
 respect, these so-called lower creatures are higher in the scale of 
 life than man is, for they see (appreciate) without eyes. The 
 surfaces of their bodies really are sources of perception, and 
 seats of consciousness. Man must yet learn to see with his 
 skin, taste with his fingers, and hear with the surface of his 
 body. The dissected nerve, or the pupil of man's eye, offers to 
 the physiologist no explanation of its intrinsic power. Is not 
 man unfortunate in having to risk so much on so frail an organ? 
 The physiologist can not tell wdiy or how the nerve of the 
 tongue can distinguish between bitter and sweet, or convey any 
 
114 ETIDORIIl'A. 
 
 impression of taste, or why the nerve of the ear comninnicates 
 sound, or the nerve of the eye communicates the impression of 
 sight. There is an impassable barrier behind all forms of nerve 
 impressions, that neither the microscope nor other methods of 
 investigation can help the reasoning senses of man to remove. 
 The void that separates the pulp of the material nerve from 
 consciousness is broader than the solar universe, for even from 
 the most distant known star we can imagine the never-endine 
 flight of a ray of light, that has once started on its travels into 
 space. Can any man outline the bridge that connects the intellect 
 with nerv'e or brain, mind, or with any form of matter? The fact 
 that the surface of the bodies of some animals is capable of 
 performing the same functions for these animals that the eye of 
 man performs for him, is not more mysterious than is the func- 
 tion of that eye itself. The term darkness is an expression used 
 to denote the fact that to the brain which governs the eye of 
 man, what man calls the abse;ice of light, is unrecognizable. 
 If men were more magnanimous and less egotistical, they would 
 open their minds to the fact that some animals really possess 
 certain senses that are better developed than they are in man. 
 The teachers of men too often tell the little they know and 
 neglect the great unseen. The cat tribe, some night birds, and 
 many reptiles can see better in darkness than in daylight. Let 
 man compare with the nerve expanse of his own eye that of the 
 highly developed eye of any such creature, and he will under- 
 stand that the difference is one of brain or intellect, and not 
 altogether one of optical vision surface. When men are able to 
 explain how light can affect the nerves of their own eyes and 
 produce such an effect on distant brain tissues as to bring to his 
 senses objects that he is not touching, he may be able to explain 
 how the energy in darkness can affect the nerve of the eye in the 
 owl and impress vision on the brain of that creature. Should 
 not man's inferior sense of light lead him to question if, instead 
 of deficient visual power, there be not a deficiency of the brain 
 capacity of man? Instead of accepting that the eye of man 
 is incapable of receiving the impression of night energy^, and 
 making no endeavor to improve himself in the direction of his 
 imperfection, man should reflect whether or not his brain may, by 
 proper cultivation or artificial stimulus, be yet developed so as 
 
VITALIZED DARKNESS. 115 
 
 to receive yet deeper nerve impressions, thereby changing dark- 
 ness into daylight. Until man can explain the modns operandi 
 of the senses he now possesses, he can not consistently question 
 the existence of a different sight power in other beings, and 
 unquestioned existing conditions should lead him to hope for a 
 yet higher development in himself." 
 
 "This dissertation is interesting, very," I said. "Although 
 inclined toward agnosticism, my ideas of a possible future in 
 consciousness that lies before mankind are broadened. I there- 
 fore accept your reasoning, perhaps because I can not refute it, 
 neither do I wish to do so. And now I ask again, can not you 
 explain to me how darkness, as deep as that of midnight, has 
 "been revivified so as to bring this great cavern to my view?" 
 
 "That maybe made plain at a future time," he answered ; 
 "let us proceed with our journey." 
 
 We passed through a dry, well ventilated apartment. Sta- 
 lactite formations still existed, indicative of former periods of 
 water drippings, but as we journeyed onward I saw no evi- 
 dence of present percolations, and the developing and erosive 
 agencies that had worked in ages past must long ago have 
 been suspended. The floor was of solid stone, entirely free from 
 loose earth and fallen rocky fragments. It was smooth upon 
 the surface, but generally disposed in gentle undulations. The 
 peculiar, soft, radiant light to which my guide referred as " vital- 
 ized darkness" or "revivified sunshine," pervaded all the space 
 about me, but I could not by its agency distinguish the sides 
 of the vast cavern. The brightness was of a species that 
 while it brought into distinctness objects that were near at 
 hand, lost its unfolding power or vigor a short distance beyond. 
 I would compare the effect to that of a bright light shining 
 through a dense fog, were it not that the medium about us was 
 transparent — not milky. The light shrunk into nothingness. 
 It passed from existence behind and about me as if it were 
 annihilated, without wasting away in the opalescent appearance 
 once familiar as that of a spreading fog. Moreover, it seemed 
 to detail such objects as were within the compass of a certain 
 area close about me, but to lose in intensity beyond. The buttons 
 on my coat appeared as distinct as they ever did when I stood 
 in the sunlight, and fully one-half larger than I formerly knew 
 
116 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 tliciii to be. The corrugations on the pahns of my hands stood 
 out in bold serpentine relief that I observed clearly when I held 
 my hands near my eye, ni\- fingers appeared clunisx-, and all 
 parts of my person were magnified in proportion. The region 
 at the limits of my range of perception reminded me of nothing- 
 ness, but not of darkness. A circle of obliteration defined the 
 border of the luminous belt which advanced as we proceeded, 
 and closed in behind us. This line, or rather zone of demarkation. 
 that separated the seen from the unseen, appeared to be about 
 two hundred feet away, but it might have been more or less, as I 
 had no method of measuring distances. 
 
I WAS IX A FOREST OF COLOSSAL FUNGI." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE FUNGUS FOREST, — ENCHANTMENT. 
 
 Along the chamber through which we now passed I saw by 
 the mellow light great pillars, capped with umbrella-like covers, 
 some of them reminding me of the common toadstool of upper 
 earth, on a magnificent scale. Instead, however, of the gray or 
 somber shades to which I had been accustomed, these objects 
 were of various hues and combined the brilliancy of the primary 
 prismatic colors, with the purity of clean snow. Now they would 
 stand solitary, like gigantic sentinels; again they would be 
 arranged in rows, the alignment as true as if established by 
 the hair of a transit, forming columnar avenues, and in other 
 situations they were wedged together so as to produce masses, 
 acres in extent, in which the stems became hexagonal by com- 
 pression. The columnar stems, larger than my body, were often 
 spiral; again they were marked with diamond-shaped figures, or 
 other regular geometrical forms in relief, beautifully exact, drawn 
 as by a master's hand in rich and delicately blended colors, on 
 pillars of pure alabaster. Not a few of the stems showed deep 
 crimson, blue, or green, together with other rich colors combined ; 
 over which, as delicate as the rarest of lace, would be thrown, in 
 white, an enamel-like intricate tracery, far surpassing in beauty 
 of execution the most exquisite needle-work I had ever seen. 
 There could be no doubt that I was in a forest of colossal fungi, 
 the species of which are more numerous than those of upper 
 earth cryptomatic vegetation. The expanded heads of these 
 great thallogens were as varied as the stems I have descilbed, 
 and more so. Far above our path they spread like beautiful 
 umbrellas, decorated as if by masters from whom the great 
 painters of upper earth might humbly learn the art of mixing 
 colors. Their under surfaces were of many different designs, 
 and were of as many shapes as it is conceivable could be 
 
 made of combinations of the circle and hyperbola. Statelv and 
 
 n9 
 
120 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 picturesque, sileut and immovable as the sphinx, they studded 
 the great cavern singly or in groups, reminding me of a grown 
 child's wild imagination of fairy land, I stopped beside a group 
 that was of unusual conspicuitN' and gazed in admiration on the 
 huge and yet graceful, beautiful spectacle. I placed my hand 
 on the stem of one plant, and found it soft and impressible ; 
 but instead of being moist, cold, and clammy as the repulsive 
 toadstool of upper earth, I discovered, to my surprise, that it was 
 pleasantly warm, and soft as velvet. 
 
 " Smell your hand," said my guide. 
 
 I did so, and breathed in an aroma like that of fresh strawber- 
 ries. My guide observed (I had learned to judge of his emotions 
 by his facial expressions) my surprised countenance with indif- 
 ference. 
 
 " Try the next one," he said. 
 
 This being of a different species, when rubbed by ni\- hand 
 exhaled the odor of the pineapple. 
 
 " Extraordinary," I mused. 
 
 " Not at all. Should productions of surface earth have a 
 monopoly of nature's methods, all the flavors, all the perfumes ? 
 You may with equal consistency express astonishment at the 
 odors of the fruits of upper earth if you do so at the fragrance of 
 these vegetables, for they are also created of odorless elements." 
 
 " But toadstools are foul structures of low organization.* 
 They are neither animals nor true vegetables, but occupv a 
 station below that of plants proper," I said. 
 
 " You are acquainted with this order of vegetation under the 
 most unfavorable conditions ; out of their native elements these 
 plants degenerate and become then abnormal, often evolving 
 into the poisonous earth fungi known to your woods and fields. 
 Here they grow to perfection. This is their chosen habitat. 
 They absorb from a pure atmosphere the combined foods of 
 plants and animals, and during their existence meet no scorching 
 sunrise. They flourish in a region of perfect tranquillity, and 
 without a tremor, without experiencing* the change of a fraction 
 of a degree in temperature, exist for ages. Many of these 
 
 '■'■'■ The fungus Polyporus gravcolens was ne.erlected by the giiide. This fungus exhales a 
 delicate odor, and is used in Kentucky to perfume a room. Being quite large, it is employed 
 to hold a door open, thus being useful as well as fragrant.— J. U. 1,. 
 
THE FUNGUS FOREST. 121 
 
 specimens are probably thousands of years old, and are still 
 growing ; why slionld they ever die ? They have never been dis- 
 tnrbed by a breath of moving air, and, balanced exactly on their 
 succnlent, pedestal-like stems, snrronnded by an atmosphere of 
 dead nitrogen, vapor, and other gases, with their roots imbedded 
 in carbonates and minerals, they have food at command, nutrition 
 inexhaustible." 
 
 " Still I do not see why they grow to such mammoth 
 proportions." 
 
 " Plants adapt themselves to surrounding conditions," he 
 remarked. " The oak tree in its proper latitude is tall and 
 stately ; trace it toward the Arctic circle, and it becomes 
 knotted, gnarled, rheumatic, and dwindles to a shrub. The 
 castor plant in the tropics is twenty or thirty feet in height, in 
 the temperate zone it is an herbaceous plant, farther north it 
 has no existence. Indian corn in Kentucky is luxuriant, tall, 
 and graceful, and each stalk is supplied with roots to the second 
 and third joint, while in the northland it scarcely reaches to the 
 shoulder of a man, and, in order to escape the early northern 
 frost, arrives at maturity before the more southern variety 
 begins to tassel. The common jimson weed (datura stramo- 
 nium) planted in early spring, in rich soil, grows luxuriantly, 
 covers a broad expanse and bears an abundance of fruit ; planted 
 in midsummer it blossoms when but a few inches in height, and 
 between two terminal leaves hastens to produce a single capsule 
 on the apex of the short stem, in order to ripen its seed before 
 the frost appears. These and other familiar examples might 
 be cited concerning the difference some species of vegetation of 
 your former lands undergo under climatic conditions less marked 
 than between those that govern the growth of fungi here and on 
 surface earth. Such specimens of fungi as grow in your former 
 home have escaped from these underground regions, and are as 
 much out of place as are the tropical plants transplanted to the 
 edge of eternal snow. Indeed, more so, for on the earth the 
 ordinary fungus, as a rule, germinates after sunset, and often 
 dies w^hen the sun rises, while here they may grow in peace 
 eternally. These meandering caverns comprise thousands of 
 miles of surface covered by these growths which shall yet fulfill 
 a grand purpose in the economy of nature, for they are destined 
 
122 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 to feed tramping nuiltitiides when the day appears in which the 
 nations of men will desert the snrface of the earth and pass 
 as a single people through these caverns on their way to the 
 immaculate existence to be found in the inner sphere." 
 
 " I can not disprove your statement," I again repeated ; 
 " neither do I accept it. However, it still seems to me unnatural 
 to find such delicious flavors and delicate odors connected with 
 objects associated in memory with things insipid, or so disa- 
 greeable as toadstools and the rank forest fungi which I abhorred 
 on earth." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE FOOD OF MAN. 
 
 "This leads me to remark," answered tlie eyeless seer, " that 
 you speak without due consideration of previous experience. 
 You are, or should be, aware of other and as marked differences 
 in food products of upper earth, induced by climate, soil and 
 cultivation. The potato which, next to wheat, rice, or corn, you 
 know supplies nations of men with starchy food, originated as 
 a wild weed in South America and Mexico, where it yet exists 
 as a small, watery, marble-like tuber, and its nearest kindred, 
 botanically, is still poisonous. The luscious apple reached its 
 present excellence by slow stages from knotty, wild, astringent 
 fruit, to which it again returns when escaped from cultivation.' 
 The cucumber is a near cousin of the griping, medicinal cathartic 
 bitter-apple, or colocynth, and occasionally partakes yet of the 
 properties that result from that unfortunate alliance, as too often 
 exemplified to persons who do not peel it deep enough to remove 
 the bitter, cathartic principle that exists near the surface. 
 Oranges, in their wild condition, are bitter, and are used prin- 
 cipallv as medicinal agents. Asparagus was once a weed, native 
 to the salty edges of the sea, and as this weed has become a 
 food, so it is possible for other wild weeds yet to do. Buckwheat 
 is a weed proper, and not a cereal, and birds have learned that 
 the seeds of many other weeds are even preferable to wheat. The 
 wild parsnip is a poison, and the parsnip of cultivation relapses 
 quickly into its natural condition if allowed to escape and roam 
 again. The root of the tapioca plant contains a volatile poison, 
 and is deadly ; but when that same root is properly prepared, it 
 becomes the wholesome food, tapioca. The nut of the African 
 anacardium (cachew nut) contains a nourishing kernel that is 
 eaten as food by the natives, and yet a drop of the juice of the 
 oilv shell placed on the skin will blister and produce terrible 
 inflammations ; only those expert in the removal of the kernel 
 
 123 
 
124 KTIDORMPA. 
 
 dare partake of the food. The berry of the berberis vulgaris is 
 a pleasant acid fruit ; the boujj^h that bears it is intensely bitter. 
 Such examples might be multiplied indefinitely, but I have cited 
 enough to illustrate the fact that neither the difference in size 
 and structure of the species in the mushroom forest through 
 which we are passing, nor the conditions of these bodies, as 
 compared with those you formerly knew, need excite your aston- 
 ishment. Cultivate a potato in your former home so that the 
 growing tuber is exposed to sunshine, and it becomes green 
 and acrid, and strongly virulent. Cultivate the spores of the 
 intra-earth fungi about us, on the face of the earth, and although 
 now all parts of the plants are edible, the species \xi\\ degenerate, 
 and may even become poisonous. They lose their flavor under 
 such unfavorable conditions, and although some species still 
 retain vitality enough to resist poisonous degeneration, they 
 dwindle in size, and adapt themselves to new and unnatural 
 conditions. They have all degenerated. Here they live on 
 water, pure nitrogen and its modifications, grasping with their 
 roots the carbon of the disintegrated limestone, affiliating these 
 substances, and evolving from these bodies rich and delicate 
 flavors, far superior to the flavor of earth surface foods. On the 
 surface of the earth, after they become abnormal, they live only 
 on dead and devitalized organic matter, having lost the power of 
 assimilating elementary matter. They then partake of the nature 
 of animals, breathe oxygen and exhale carbonic acid, as animals 
 do, being the reverse of other plant existences. Here they breathe 
 oxygen, nitrogen, and the vapor of water; but exhale some of 
 the carbon in combination with hydrogen, thus evolving these 
 delicate ethereal essences instead of the poisonous gas, carbonic 
 acid. Tlieir substance is here made up of all the elements neces- 
 sary for the support of animal life ; nitrogen to make muscle, 
 carbon and hydrogen for fat, lime for bone. This fungoid forest 
 could feed a multitude. It is probable that in the time to come 
 when man deserts the bleak earth surface, as he will some day 
 be forced to do, as has been the case in frozen planets that are 
 not now inhabited on the outer crust ; nations will march through 
 these spaces on their way from the dreary outside earth to the 
 delights of the salubrious inner sphere. Here then, when that 
 day of necessity appears, as it surely will come under inflexible 
 
THE FOOD OF MAN. 125 
 
 climatic changes that will control the destiny of outer earth life, 
 these constantly increasing stores adapted to nourish humanity, 
 will be found accumulated and ready for food. You have already 
 eaten of them, for the variety of food with which I supplied you 
 has been selected from different portions of these nourishing 
 products which, flavored and salted, ready for use as food, stand 
 intermediate between animal and vegetable, supplying the place 
 of both." 
 
 My instructor placed both hands on my shoulders, and in 
 silence I stood gazing intently into his face. Then, in a smooth, 
 captivating, entrancing manner, he continued : 
 
 " Can you not see that food is not matter? The material part 
 of bread is carbon, water, gas, and earth ; the material part of 
 fat is charcoal and gas ; the material part of flesh is water and 
 gas ; the material part of fruits is mostly water with a little 
 charcoal and gas.''~ The material constituents of all foods are 
 plentiful, they abound everywhere, and yet amid the unlimited, 
 unorganized materials that go to form foods man would starve. 
 
 " Give a healthy man a diet of charcoal, water, lime salts, 
 and air ; say to him, ' Bread contains no other substance, here 
 is bread, the material food of man, live on this food,' and yet 
 the man, if he eat of these, will die with his stomach distended. 
 So with all other foods ; give man the unorganized materialistic 
 constituents of food in unlimited amounts, and starvation results. 
 No! matter is not food, but a carrier of food." 
 "What is food?" 
 
 " Sunshine. The grain of wheat is a food by virtue of the 
 sunshine fixed within it. The flesh of animals, the food of living 
 creatures, are simply carriers of sunshine energy. Break out 
 the sunshine and you destroy the food, although the material 
 remains. The growing plant locks the sunshine in its cells, and 
 the living animal takes it out again. Hence it is that after the 
 sunshine of any food is liberated during the metamorphosis of 
 the tissues of an animal although the material part of the food 
 remains, it is no longer a food, but becomes a poison, and then, 
 if it is not promptly eliminated from the animal, it will destroy 
 
 * By the term gas, it is evident that hydrogen and nitrogen were designated, and yet, since 
 the instructor insists that other gases form part of the atmosphere, so he may consistently 
 imply that unknown gases are parts of food. — J. U. ly. 
 
126 RTIDORHPA. 
 
 the life of tlie animal. This material becomes then injurious, 
 but it is still material. 
 
 "The fanner plants a seed in the soil, the sunshine sprouts 
 it, nourishes the growing plant, and during the season locks 
 itself to and within its tissues, binding the otherwise dead 
 materials of that tissue together into an organized structure. 
 Animals eat these structures, break them from higher to lower 
 compounds, and in doing so live on the stored up sunshine and 
 then excrete the worthless material side of the food. The farmer 
 spreads these excluded substances over the earth again to once 
 more take up the sunshine in the coming plant organization, but 
 not until it does once more lock in its cells the energy of sunshine 
 can it be a food for that animal.'' 
 
 "Is manure a food?" he abruptly asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Is not manure matter?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " May it not become a food again, as the part of another 
 plant, when another season passes?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " In what else than energy (sunshine) does it differ from 
 food?" 
 
 " Water is a necessity," I said. 
 
 " And locked in each molecule of water there is a mine of 
 sunshine. Liberate suddenly the sun energy from the gases 
 of the ocean held in subjection thereby, and the earth would 
 disappear in an explosion that would reverberate throughout the 
 universe. The water that you truly claim to be necessar}- to 
 the life of man, is itself water by the grace of this same sun, for 
 without its heat water would be ice, dry as dust. 'T is the sun 
 that gives life and motion to creatures animate and substances 
 inanimate ; he who doubts distnists his Creator. Food and drink 
 are only carriers of bits of assimilable sunshine. When the fire 
 worshipers kneeled to their god, the sun, they worshiped the great 
 food reservoir of man. When they drew the quivering entrails 
 from the body of a sacrificed victim they gave back to their God 
 a spark of sunshine — it was due sooner or later. They builded 
 well in thus recognizing the source of all life, and yet they acted 
 badly, for their God asked no premature sacrifice, the inevitable 
 
THE FOOD OF MAN. 127 
 
 must soon occur, and as all organic life comes from that Sun- 
 God, so back to that Creator the sun-spark must fl)'." 
 
 *' But they are heathen ; there is a God beyond their narrow 
 conception of God." 
 
 " As there is also a God in the Beyond, past your idea of God. 
 Perhaps to beings of higher mentalities, we may be heathen; 
 but even if this is so, duty demands that we revere the God 
 within our intellectual sphere. Let us not digress further ; the 
 subject now is food, not the Supreme Creator, and I say to you 
 the food of man and the organic life of man is sunshine." 
 
 He ceased, and I reflected upon his words. All he had said 
 seemed so consistent that I could not deny its plausibility, and 
 yet it still appeared altogether unlikely as viewed in the light of 
 my previous earth knowledge. I did not quite comprehend all 
 the semi-scientific expressions, but was at least certain that I 
 could neither disprove nor verify his propositions. My thoughts 
 wandered aimlessly, and I found myself questioning whether 
 man could be prevailed upon to live contentedly in situations 
 such as I was now passing through. In company with my 
 learned and philosophical but fantastically created guardian and 
 monitor, I moved on. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THK CRY FROM A DISTANCK. — I REBEL AGAINST COXTINUIXG 
 
 THK jorRXKV. 
 
 As we paced along, meditating, I became more sensibly 
 impressed with the fact that our progress was down a rapid 
 declination. The saline incrustations, fungi and stalagmites, 
 rapidly changed in appearance, an endless variety of stony 
 figures and vegetable cryptogams recurring successively before 
 my eyes. They bore the shape of trees, shrubs, or animals, 
 fixed and silent as statues: at least in my distorted condition 
 of mind I could make out resemblances to many such familiar 
 objects ; the floor of the cavern became increasingly steeper, as 
 was shown by the stalactites, which, hanging here and there 
 from the invisible ceiling, made a decided angle with the floor, 
 corresponding with a similar angle of the stalagmites below. 
 Like an accompanying and encircling halo the ever present 
 earth-light enveloped us, opening in front as we advanced, and 
 vanishing in the rear. The sound of our footsteps gave back 
 a peculiar, indescribable hollow echo, and our voices sounded 
 ghost-like and unearthly, as if their origin was outside of our 
 bodies, and at a distance. The peculiar resonance reminded me 
 of noises reverberating in an empty cask or cistern. I was 
 oppressed by an indescribable feeling of myster\- and awe that 
 grew deep and intense, until at last I could no longer bear the 
 mental strain. 
 
 " Hold, hold," I shouted, or tried to shout, and stopped 
 suddenly, for although I had cried aloud, no sound escaped my 
 lips. Then from a distance — could I believe my senses ? — from 
 a distance as an echo, the cry came back in the tones of my own 
 voice, " Hold, hold." 
 
 " Speak lower," said my guide, " speak very low, for now an 
 effort such as you have made projects your voice far outside your 
 body; the greater the exertion the farther away it appears." 
 
THE CRY FROM A DISTANCE. 
 
 129 
 
 I grasped him by the arm and said slowly, determinedly, and 
 in a suppressed tone : " I have come far enough into the secret 
 caverns of the earth, without knowing our destination ; acquaint 
 me now with the object of this mysterious journey, I demand, 
 and at once relieve this sense of uncertainty ; otherwise I shall 
 go no farther." 
 
 "an endless variety of stony figures." 
 
 "You are to proceed to the Sphere of Rest with me," he 
 replied, " and in safety. Beyond that an Unknown Country lies, 
 into which I have never ventured." 
 
 " You speak in enigmas ; what is this Sphere of Rest? Where 
 is it?" 
 
 " Your eyes have never seen anything similar ; human philos- 
 ophy has no conception of it, and I can not describe it," he said. 
 *' It is located in the body of the earth, and we will meet it about 
 one thousand miles beyond the North Pole." 
 
 " But I am in Kentucky," I replied ; " do you think that I 
 propose to walk to the North Pole, man — if man you be; that 
 unreached goal is thousands of miles away." 
 
130 ETinORHPA. 
 
 "True," he answered, "as yon measnre distance on the 
 surface of the earth, and you could not walk it in years of time ; 
 but you are now twenty-five miles below the surface, and you 
 must be aware that instead of becoming more weary as we 
 proceed, you are now and have for some time been gaining 
 streno-th. I would also call to your attention that you neither 
 hunger nor thirst/' 
 
 " Proceed," I said, " 'tis useless to rebel ; I am wholly in your 
 power," and we resumed our journey, and rapidly went forward 
 amid silences that were to me painful beyond description. We 
 abruptly entered a cavern of crystal, every portion of which was 
 of sparkling brilliancy, and as white as snow. The stalactites, 
 stalagmites and fungi disappeared. I picked up a fragment of 
 the bright material, tasted it, and found that it resembled pure 
 salt. Monstrous, cubical crystals, a foot or more in diameter, 
 stood out in bold relief, accumulations of them, as conglomer- 
 ated masses, banked up here and there, making parts of great 
 columnar cliffs, while in other formations the crystals were small, 
 resembling in the aggregate masses of white sandstone. 
 
 "Is not this salt?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes ; we are now in the dried bed of an underground 
 lake." 
 
 "Dried bed?" I exclaimed; "a body of water sealed in the 
 earth can not evaporate." 
 
 "It has not evaporated; at some remote period the Avater has 
 been abstracted from the salt, and probably has escaped upon the 
 surface of the earth as a fresh water spring." 
 
 " You contradict all laws of hydrostatics, as I understand that 
 subject," I replied, "when you speak of abstracting water from a 
 dissolved substance that is part of a liquid, and thus leaving the 
 solids " 
 
 " Nevertheless this is a constant act of nature," said he ; 
 " how else can you rationally account for the great salt beds and 
 other deposits of saline materials that exist hermetically sealed 
 beneath the earth's surface?" 
 
 " I will confess that I have not given the subject much 
 thought ; I simply accept the usual explanation to the effect that 
 salty seas have lost their water by evaporation, and afterward 
 the salt formations, by some convulsions of nature, have been 
 
r-W^.-^i-iMiS^ 
 
 "monstrous cubical crystals." 
 
A CRY FROM THE niSTANCE. 133 
 
 covered with earth, perhaps sinking by earthquake convulsions 
 bodily into the earth." 
 
 " These explanations are examples of some of the erroneous 
 views of scientific writers," he replied ; " they are true only to a 
 limited extent. The great beds of salt, deep in the earth, are 
 usually accumulations left there by water that is drawn from 
 brine lakes, from which the liberated water often escaped as pure 
 spring water at the surface of the earth. It does not escape by 
 evaporation, at least not until it reaches the earth's surface." 
 
INTERLUDE — THE STORY INTERRUPTED. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT AND REFUTES 
 
 MY PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Let the reader who has followed this strange story which I 
 am directed to title " The End of Earth," and who, in imagina- 
 tion, has traversed the cavernous passages of the underworld 
 and listened to the conversation of those two personages who 
 journeyed towards the secrets of the Beyond, return now to 
 upper earth, and once more enter my secluded lodgings, the 
 home of Llewellen Drury, him who listened to the aged guest 
 and who claims your present attention. Remember that I relate 
 a story within a story. That importunate guest of mine, of the 
 glittering knife and the silvery hair, like another Ancient ]\Iar- 
 iner, had constrained nic to listen to his narrative, as he read it 
 aloud to me from the manuscript. I patiently heard chapter 
 after chapter, generally with pleasure, often with surprise, some- 
 times with incredulity, or downright dissent. Much of the 
 narrative, I nnist say, — yes, most of it, appeared possible, if not 
 probable, as taken in its connected sequence. The scientific 
 sections were not uninteresting ; the marvels of the fungus 
 groves, the properties of the inner light, I was not disinclined to 
 accept as true to natural laws; but when The-Man-Who-Did-It 
 came to tell of the intra-earth salt deposits, and to explain the 
 cause of the disappearance of lakes that formerly existed under- 
 ground, and their simultaneous replacement by beds of salt, my 
 credulity was overstrained. 
 
 " Permit me to interrupt \'Our narrative," I remarked, and 
 then in response to my request the venerable guest laid down 
 his paper. 
 
 "Well?" he said, interrogatively. 
 
 134 
 
MY UNBIDDEN GUEST PROVES HIS STATEMENT. 135 
 
 " I do not believe that last statement concerning the salt 
 lake, and, to speak plainly, I would not have accepted it as you 
 did, even had I been in )our situation." 
 
 "To what do you allude?" he asked. 
 
 " The physical abstraction of water from the salt of a solution 
 of salt ; I do not believe it possible unless by evaporation of the 
 water." 
 
 " You seem to accept as conclusive the statements of men 
 who have never investigated beneath the surface in these direc- 
 tions, and you question the evidence of a man who has seen the 
 phenomenon. I presume you accept the prevailing notions 
 about salt beds, as you do the assertion that liquids seek a 
 common level, which your scientific authorities also teach as a 
 law of nature?" 
 
 "Yes; I do believe that liquids seek a common level, and I 
 am willing to credit }-our other improbable statements if you can 
 demonstrate the principle of liquid equilibrium to be untrue." 
 
 " Then," said he, " to-morrow evening I will show you that 
 fluids seek different levels, and also explain to }'ou how liquids 
 may leave the solids they hold in solution without evaporating 
 from them." 
 
 He arose and abruptly departed. It was near morning, and 
 yet I sat in my room alone pondering the story of my unique 
 guest until I slept to dream of caverns and seances until day- 
 light, when I was awakened by their vividness. The fire was 
 out, the room was cold, and, shivering in nervous exhaustion, 
 I crept into bed to sleep and dream again of horrible things I 
 can not describe, but which made me shudder in affright at their 
 recollection. Late in the day I awoke. 
 
 On the following evening my persevering teacher appeared 
 punctually, and displayed a few glass tubes and some blotting 
 or bibulous paper. 
 
 " I will first show you that liquids may change their levels 
 in opposition to the accepted laws of men, not contrary to 
 nature's laws ; however, let me lead to the experiments by a 
 statement of facts, that, if you question, you can investigate at 
 any time. If two vessels of water be connected by a channel 
 from the bottom of each, the water surfaces will come to a 
 common level." 
 
136 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 -A A, water in tube 
 seeks a level. 
 
 He selected a curved glass tube, and poured water into it. 
 The water assumed the position shown in Figure ii. 
 
 " You have not shown me anything 
 
 new," I said; "my text-books taught me 
 this." 
 
 "True, 1 have but exhibited that which 
 is the foundation of your philosophy re^- 
 garding the surface of liquids. Let me 
 proceed : 
 
 " If we pour a solution of common salt 
 into such a U tube, as I do now, you 
 perceive that it also rises to the same 
 level in both ends." 
 " Of course it does." 
 " Do not interrupt me. Into one arm 
 of the tube containing the brine I now 
 carefully pour pure water. You observe that the surfaces do not 
 seek the same level." (Figure 12.) 
 
 " Certainly not," I said ; " the weight CHH^ C 2 > 
 
 of the liquid in each arm is the same, how- 
 ever; the columns balance each other." 
 
 " Exactly ; and on this assumption you 
 base your assertion that connected liquids 
 of the same gravity must always seek a 
 common level, but you see from this test 
 that if two liquids of different gravities 
 be connected from beneath, the surface of 
 the lighter one will assume a higher level 
 than the surface of the heavier." 
 
 " Agreed ; however tortuous the chan- 
 nel that connects them, such must be the 
 case." 
 
 "Is it not supposable," said he, "that there might be two 
 pockets in the earth, one containing salt water, the other fresh 
 water, which, if joined together, might be represented by such a 
 figure as this, wherein the water surface would be raised above 
 that of the brine?" And he drew upon the paper the accom- 
 panying diagram. (Figure 13.) 
 
 Fig. 12. — A, surface of water. 
 B, surface of brine. 
 
MY UNBIDDEN GUKST PROVES HIS vSTATEMENT. 
 
 137 
 
 Tio ij — B surface of brine 
 W, surface of water. 
 S, sand strata connecting them. 
 
 "Yes," I admitted; "providing, of course, there was an equal 
 pressure of air on the surface of each." 
 
 " Now I will draw a figure in which one pocket is above 
 the other, and ask )ou to imag- 
 
 ine that in the lower jjocket we 
 have pure water, in the upper 
 pocket brine (Figure 14) ; can 
 you bring any theory of }'our 
 law to bear upon these liquids 
 so that by connecting them 
 together the water will rise and 
 run into the brine?" 
 
 " No," I replied ; " connect 
 them, and then the brine will 
 flow into the water," 
 
 " Upon the contrary," he said ; " connect them, as innumer- 
 able cavities in the earth are joined, and the water will flow into 
 the brine." 
 
 " The assertion is opposed to applied j)^iilosophy and 
 common sense," I said. 
 
 " Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise, you know to 
 
 be a maxim with mortals," he 
 
 replied ; " but I must pardon 
 you; your dogmatic education 
 narrows your judgment. I now 
 will prove you in error." 
 
 He took from his pocket two 
 slender glass tubes, about an 
 eighth of an inch in bore and 
 four inches in length, each 
 closed at one end, and stood 
 them in a perforated cork that 
 he placed upon the table. 
 
 Into one tube he poured 
 water, and then dissolving some 
 salt in a cup, poured brine into 
 the other, filling both nearly to the top (Figure 15). Next he 
 produced a short curved glass tube, to each end of which was 
 attached a strip of flexible rubber tubing. Then, from a piece 
 
 Fig. 14.— B, brine. 
 W, water. 
 S, sand stratum. 
 The difference in altitude is somewhat ex- 
 aggerated to make the phenomenon clear. A 
 syphon may result under such circumstances. 
 
 — L-: 
 
138 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 n 
 
 Fig. 15. 
 A A, glass tubes. 
 K, brine surface. 
 E, water surface. 
 
 of blotting paper such as is used to blot ink, he cut a narrow- 
 strip and passed it through the arrangement, forming the appa- 
 ratus represented by Figure 16. 
 
 Then he inserted the two tubes (Figure 15) 
 into the rubber, the extremities of the paper being 
 submerged in the liquids, producing a combina- 
 tion that rested upright in the cork as shown by 
 Figure 17. 
 
 The surfaces of both liquids were at once 
 lowered by reason of the suction of the bibulous 
 paper, the water decreasing most rapidly, and soon 
 the creeping liquids met by absorption in the 
 paper, the point of contact, as the liquids met, 
 being plainly discernible. Now the old man gently 
 slid the tubes iipon each other, raising one a little, so as to bring 
 the surfaces of the two liquids exactly on a plane; he then 
 marked the glass at the surface of each with a pen. 
 
 " Observe the result," he remarked as he replaced the tubes 
 in the cork with their liquid surfaces on a line. 
 
 Together we sat and watched, and soon it became apparent 
 that the surface of the water had decreased in 
 height as compared with that of the brine. By 
 fixing my gaze on the ink mark on the glass I also 
 observed that the brine in the opposing tube was 
 rising. 
 
 " I will call to-morrow evening," he said, " and 
 we shall then discover which is true, man's theory 
 or nature's practice." 
 
 Within a short time enough of the water in the b, curved giass 
 tube had been transferred to the brine to raise its ^i"'''^;. 
 
 C C, rubber tubes. 
 
 surface considerably above its former level, the sur- d d d, bibulous 
 face of the water being lowered to a greater degree, ^^p^^- 
 (Figure 18.) I was discomfited at the result, and upon his 
 appearance next evening peevishly said to the experimenter: 
 
 " I do not know that this is fair." 
 
 " Have I not demonstrated that, by properly connecting the 
 liquids, the lighter flows into the heavier, and raises itself above 
 the former surface?" 
 
 " Yes ; but there is no porous paper in the earth." 
 
MY UNBIDDKN GUKST PROVES HIS STATEMENT. 
 
 139 
 
 " True ; I used this medium because it was convenient. 
 There are, however, vast subterranean beds of porous materials, 
 stone, sand, clay, various other earths, many of which will 
 answer the same purpose. By perfectly natural laws, on a large 
 scale, such molecular transfer of liquids is constantly takinp- 
 place within the earth, and in these phenomena the law of 
 gravitation seems ignored, and the rule which man 
 believes from narrow experience, governs the flow 
 of liquids, is reversed. The arched porous medium 
 always transfers the lighter liquid into the heavier 
 one until its surface is raised considerably above 
 that of the light one. In the same way you can 
 demonstrate that alcohol passes into water, sul- 
 phuric ether into alcohol, and other miscible light 
 liquids into those heavier." 
 
 " I have seen you exemplify the statement on a 
 small scale, with water and brine, and can not ques- 
 tion but that it is true on a large one," I replied. 
 
 " So you admit that the assertion governing the 
 
 surfaces of liquids is true only when the liquids 
 
 are connected from beneath. In other words, your 
 
 thought is one-sided, as science thought often is." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Now as to the beds of salt deep within the earth. You are 
 also mistaken concerning their origin. The water 
 of the ocean that runs through an open channel 
 from the one side may flow into an underground 
 lake, that by means of the contact action (suction) 
 of the overlying and surrounding strata is being 
 continually emptied of its water, but not its salt. 
 Thus by absorption of water the brine of the lake 
 becomes in time saturated, starting crystallization 
 regularly over the floor and sides of the basin. 
 Eventually the entire cavity is filled with salt, and 
 a solid mass of rock salt remains. If, however, 
 before the lake becomes solid, the brine supply 
 is shut off by some natural cause as by salt crys- 
 stals closing the passage thereto, the underground lake is at 
 last drained of its water, the salt crystallizing over the bottom, 
 
 Fig. 17. 
 A A, glass tubes. 
 B, curved glass 
 
 tube. 
 C C, rubber tubes. 
 
 D, bibulous paper. 
 
 E, water surface. 
 
 F, brine surface. 
 
 Fig. iS. 
 
 E, water surface, 
 
 F, brine surface. 
 
140 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 and upon the cliffs, leaving great crevices through the saline 
 deposits, as chances to have been the case with the salt forma- 
 tions through whicli I passed with my guide, and have recently 
 described to you." 
 
 " Even now I have my doubts as to the correctness of your 
 explanations, especially concerning the liquid surfaces." 
 
 "They are facts, however; liquids capable of being mixed, 
 if connected by porous arches (bibulous paper is convenient for 
 illustrating by experiment) reverse the rule men have accepted 
 to explain the phenomena of liquid equilibrium, for I repeat, the 
 lighter one rushes into that which is heavier, and the surface 
 of the heavier liquid rises. You can try the experiment with 
 alcohol and water, taking precautions to prevent evaporation, or 
 you can vary the experiment with solutions of various salts of 
 different densities ; the greater the difference in gravity between 
 the two liquids, the more rapid will be the flow of the lighter 
 one into the heavier, and after equilibrium, the greater will be 
 the contrast in the final height of the resultant liquid surfaces." 
 
 " Men will yet explain this effect by natural laws," I said. 
 
 "Yes," he answered; "when they learn the facts; and they 
 will then be able to solve certain phenomena connected with 
 diffusion processes that they can not now understand. Did I 
 not tell you that after the fact had been made plain it was easy 
 to see how Columbus stood the egg on its end? What I have 
 demonstrated by experiment is perhaps no new principle in 
 hydrostatics. But I have applied it in a natural manner to the 
 explanation of obscure natural phenomena, that men now seek 
 unreasonable methods to explain." 
 
 "You may proceed with your narrative. I accept that when 
 certain liquids are connected, as you have shown, by means of 
 porous substances, one will pass into the other, and the surface 
 of the lighter liquid in this case will assume a position below 
 that of the heavier." 
 
 "You must also accept," said he, "that when solutions of 
 salt are subjected to earth attraction, under proper conditions, 
 the solids may by capillary attraction be left behind, and pure 
 water finally pass through the porous medium. Were it not for 
 this law, the onlv natural surface spring water on earth would 
 be brine, for the superficial crust of the earth is filled with saline 
 
MY UNBIDDEN GUP:ST PROVP^S HIS vSTATEMENT. 141 
 
 solutions. All the spriiii^-fed rivers and lakes would also be salty 
 and fetid with sulphur compounds, for at great depths brine and 
 foul water are always present. Even in countries where all the 
 water below the immediate surface of the earth is briny, the 
 running springs, if of capillary origin, are pure and fresh. You 
 may imagine how different this would be were it not for the law 
 I have cited, for the whole earth's crust is permeated by brine 
 and saline waters. Did your ' philosoj^hy ' never lead you to 
 think of this?" 
 
 Continuing, my guide argued as follows: "Do not lakes exist 
 on the earth's surface into which rivers and streams flow, but 
 which have no visible outlet? Are not such lakes saline, even 
 though the source of supply is comparatively fresh? Has it 
 never occurred to you to question whether capillarity assisted by 
 surface evaporation (not evaporation only as men assert) is not 
 separating the water of these lakes from the saline substances 
 carried into them by the streams, thus producing brine lakes? 
 Will not this action after a great length of time result in crystal- 
 line deposits over portions of the bottoms of such lakes, and 
 ultimately produce a salt bed?" 
 
 " It is possible," I replied. 
 
 "Not only possible, but probable. Not only probable, but 
 true. Across the intervening brine strata above the salt crystals 
 the surface rivers may flow, indeed, owing to differences in 
 specific gravity the surface of the lake may be comparativeh- 
 fresh, while in the quiet depths below, beds of salt crystals are 
 forming, and between these extremes may rest strata after strata 
 of saline solutions, decreasing in gravity towards the top." 
 
 Then he took his manuscript, and continued to read in a 
 clear, musical voice, while I sat a more contented listener than I 
 had been previously. I was not only confuted, but convinced. 
 And I recalled the saying of Socrates, that no better fortune can 
 happen a man than to be confuted in an error. 
 
MY UNBIDDEN GUEST CONTINUES READING HIS MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MY WEIGHT DISAPPEARING. 
 
 We halted suddenly, for we came unexpectedly to the edge 
 of a precipice, twenty feet at least in depth. 
 
 " Let us jump down," said my guide. 
 
 " That would be dangerous," I answered ; " can not we 
 descend at some point where it is not so deep?" 
 
 "No; the chasm stretches for miles across our path, and at 
 this point we will meet with the least difficulty; besides, there is 
 no danger. The specific gravity of our bodies is now so little 
 that we could jump twice that distance with impunity." 
 
 " I can not comprehend you ; we are in the flesh, our bodies 
 are possessed of weight, the concussion will be violent." 
 
 " You reason again from the condition of your former life, 
 and, as usual, are mistaken ; there will be little shock, for, as I 
 have said, our bodies are comparatively light now. Have }ou 
 forgotten that your motion is continuously accelerated, and that 
 without perceptible exertion you move rapidly ? This is partly 
 because of the loss of weight. Your weight would now be only 
 about fifty pounds if tested by a spring balance." 
 
 I stood incredulous. 
 
 " You trifle with me ; I weigh over one hundred and fifty 
 pounds ; how have I lost weight ? It is true that I have noticed 
 the ease with which we have recently progressed on our journey, 
 especially the latter part of it, but I attribute this, in part, to 
 the fact that our course is down an incline, and also to the 
 vitalizing power of this cavern air." 
 
 "This explains part of the matter," he said; "it answered 
 at the time, and I stated a fact; but were it not that you are 
 really consuming a comparatively small amount of energv, you 
 
 112 
 
MY WKIGIIT DISAITRARING. 
 
 143 
 
 would long before this have been completely exhausted. Yon 
 have been gaining strength for some hours; have really been 
 growing younger. Your wrinkled face has become more smooth, 
 and your voice 
 is again natural. 
 You were prema- 
 turely aged by 
 your brothers on 
 the surface of the 
 earth, in order 
 that when you 
 pass the line 
 of gravity, }-ou 
 might be vigor- 
 ous and enjoying 
 manhood again. 
 Had this aging 
 process not been 
 accomplished 
 you would now 
 have become as 
 a child in many 
 respects." 
 
 He halted be- 
 fore me. "Jump 
 up," he said. I 
 promptly obeyed 
 the unexpected 
 command, and 
 sprung upward 
 with sufficient 
 force to carry 
 me, as I sup- 
 posed, six inches 
 from the earth ; 
 however I bound- 
 ed upward fully 
 six feet. My look 
 ■of surprise as I 
 
 yf<^'§ 
 
 " I BOUNDED UPWARD FUIJA' SIX FEET." 
 
144 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 gently alighted, for there was no concussion on my return, 
 seemed lost on my guide, and he quietly said : 
 
 *' If }'ou can leap six feet upward without excessive exertion, 
 or return shock, can not you jump twenty feet down? Look!" 
 
 "I FLUTTERED TO THE EARTH AS A LEAF WOULD FALL." 
 
 And he leaped lightly over the precipice and stood unharmed 
 
 on the stony floor below. 
 
 Even then I hesitated, observing which, he cried: 
 
 " Hang by your hands from the edge then, and drop." 
 
 I did so, and the fourteen feet of fall seemed to affect me as 
 
 though I had become as light as cork. I fluttered to the earth 
 
 as a leaf would fall, and leaned against the precipice in surprised 
 
 meditation. 
 
 *' Others have been through your experience," he remarked, 
 
 "and I therefore can overlook your incredulity; but experiences 
 
 such as you now meet, remove distrust. Doing is believing.'^ 
 
 He smiled benignantly. 
 
MY WRIGHT DISAPPEARING. 
 
 145 
 
 I pondered, revolvinc^ in my mind the fact that persons had 
 in mental abstraction, passed through unusual experiences in 
 
 r>^^. 
 
 ignorance of condi- 
 tions about them, 
 until their attention 
 had been called to 
 the seen and yet 
 unnoticed surround- 
 ings, and they had 
 then beheld the facts 
 plainly. The puzzle 
 picture (see p. 129) 
 stares the eye and 
 impresses the retina, 
 but is devoid of 
 character until the 
 hidden form is de- 
 veloped in the mind, 
 and then that form is 
 always prominent to 
 the eye. My remark- 
 ably light step, now 
 that my attention 
 had been directed 
 thereto, was con- 
 stantly in my mind, 
 and I found myself 
 suddenly possessed 
 of the strength of a 
 man, but with the 
 weight of an infant. 
 I raised my feet 
 without an effort ; 
 they seemed desti- 
 tute of weight" I "^^^ LEAPED OVER GREAT INEQUALITIES." 
 
 leaped about, tumbled, and rolled over and over on the smooth 
 stone floor without injury. It appeared that I had become the 
 airy similitude of my former self, my material substance having 
 wasted away without a corresponding impairment of strength. 
 
146 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 I ]nnched my flesh to be assured that all was not a dream, 
 and then endeavored to convince myself that I was the victim 
 of delirium ; but in vain. Too sternly my self-existence con- 
 fronted me as a reality, a cruel reality. A species of intoxication 
 possessed me once more, and I now hoped for the end, whatever 
 it might be. We resumed our journey, and rushed on with 
 increasing rapidity, galloping hand in hand, down, down, ever 
 downward into the illuminated crevice of the earth. The spec- 
 tral light by which we were aureoled increased in intensity, 
 as by arithmetical progression, and I could now distinguish 
 objects at a considerable distance before us. My spirits rose as 
 if I were under the influence of a potent stimulant ; a liveliness 
 that was the opposite of my recent despondency had gained 
 control, and I was again possessed of a delicious mental 
 sensation, to which I can only refer as a most rapturous 
 exhilaration. j\Iy guide grasped my hand firmly, and his touch, 
 instead of revolting me as formerly it had done, gave pleasure. 
 "We together leaped over great inequalities in the floor, per- 
 forming these aerial feats almost as easily as a bird flies. Indeed, 
 I felt that I possessed the power of flight, for we bounded 
 fearlessly down great declivities and over abysses that were 
 often perpendicular, and many times our height. A very slight 
 muscular exertion was sufficient to carry us rods of distance, and 
 almost tiptoeing we skimmed with ever-increasing speed down 
 the steeps of that unknown declivity. At length my guide held 
 hack; we gradually lessened our velocity, and, after a time, 
 rested beside a horizontal substance that lay before us, appar- 
 ently a sheet of glass, rigid, immovable, immeasurably great, 
 that stretched as a level surface before us, vividly distinct in the 
 brightness of an earth light, that now proved to be superior to 
 sunshine. Far as the eye could reach, the glassy barrier to our 
 further progress spread as a crystal mirror in front, and \'anishing 
 in the distance, shut off" the beyond. 
 
" FAR AS THE EYE COUIvD REACH THE GLASSY BARRIER SPREAD 
 AS A CRYSTAL MIRROR." 
 
INTERLUDE.-THE STORY AGAIN INTERRUPTED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MY UNBIDDEN GUEST DEPARTS. 
 
 Once more I must presume to interrupt this narrative, and 
 call back the reader's thoughts from those mysterious caverns 
 through which we have been tracing the rapid footsteps of the 
 man who was abducted, and his uncouth pilot of the lower 
 realms. Let us now see and hear what took place in my room, 
 in Cincinnati, just after my visitor, known to us as The-Man- 
 Who-Did-It, had finished reading to me, Lewellyn Drury, the 
 editor of this volume, the curious chapter relating how the 
 underground explorers lost weight as they descended in the 
 hollows of the earth. ]\Iy French clock struck twelve of its 
 clear silvery notes before the gray-bearded reader finished his 
 stint for the occasion, and folded his manuscript preparatory to 
 placing it within his bosom. 
 
 " It is past midnight," he said, " and it is time for me to 
 depart ; but I will come to you again within a year. 
 
 " Meanwhile, during my absence, search the records, question 
 authorities, and note such objections as rise therefrom concerning 
 the statements I have made. Establish or disprove historically, 
 or scientifically, any portion of the life histor}' that I have given, 
 and when I return I will hear what you have to say, and meet 
 your argument. If there is a doubt concerning the authenticity 
 of any part of the history, investigate ; but make no mention to 
 others of thedetailsof our meetings." 
 
 I sat some time in thought, then said: "I decline to concern 
 myself in verifying the historical part of your narrative. The 
 localities you mention may be true to name, and it is possible 
 that you have related a personal history ; but I can not perceive 
 that I am interested in either proving or disproving it. I will 
 
150 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 say, however, that it does not seem probable that at any time a 
 man can disappear from a community, as you claim to have 
 done, and have been the means of creating a commotion in his 
 neighborhood that affected political parties, or even led to an 
 unusual local excitement, outside his immediate circle of acquaint- 
 ances, for a man is not of sufficient importance unless he is very 
 conspicuoUvS. By your own admission, you were simply a 
 studious mechanic, a credulous believer in alchemistic vagaries, 
 and as I revolve the matter over, I am afraid that you are now 
 trying to impose on my credulity. The story of a forcible 
 abduction, in the manner you related, seems to me incredible, 
 and not worthy of investigation, even had I the inclination to 
 concern myself in your personal affairs. The statements, how- 
 ever, that you make regarding the nature of the crust of the 
 earth, gravitation, light, instinct, and human senses are highly 
 interesting, and even plausible as you artfully present the 
 subjects, I candidly admit, and I shall take some pains to make 
 inquiries concerning the recorded researches of experts who 
 have investigated in that direction." 
 
 " Collect your evidence," said he, " and I shall listen to your 
 views when I return." 
 
 He opened the door, glided away, and I was alone again. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 I QUESTION SCIENTIFIC MEN. — ARISTOTI^E'S ETHER. 
 
 Days and weeks passed. When the opportunity presented, 
 I consulted Dr. W. B. Chapman, the druggist and student of 
 science, regarding the nature of light and earth, who in turn 
 referred me to Prof. Daniel Vaughn. This learned man, in 
 reply to my question concerning gravitation, declared that there 
 was much that men wished to understand in regard to this 
 mighty force, that might yet be explained, but which may never 
 become known to mortal man. 
 
 "The correlation of forces," said he, "was prominently intro- 
 duced and considered by a painstaking scientific writer named 
 Joule, in several papers that appeared between 1843 and 1850, 
 and he was followed by others, who engaged themselves in 
 experimenting and theorizing, and I may add that Joule was 
 indeed preceded in such thought by Mayer. This department 
 of scientific study just now appears of unusual interest to 
 scientists, and your questions embrace problems connected with 
 some phases of its phenomena. We believe that light, heat, 
 and electricity are mutually convertible, in fact, the evidences 
 recently opened up to us show that such must be the case. 
 These agencies or manifestations are now known to be so related 
 that whenever one disappears others spring into existence. 
 Study the beautiful experiments and remarkable investigations 
 of Sir William Thomson in these directions." 
 
 "And what of gravitation?" I asked, observing that Prof. 
 Vaughn neglected to include gravitation among his numerous 
 enumerated forces, and recollecting that the force gravitation 
 was more closely connected with my visitor's stor}- than perhaps 
 were any of the others, excepting the mysterious mid-earth 
 illumination. 
 
 "Of that force we are in greater ignorance than of the 
 others," he replied. " It affects bodies terrestrial and celestial, 
 
 lol 
 
152 KTIDORIIPA. 
 
 drawing a material substance, or pressini;^ to the earth; also 
 holds, we believe, the earth and all other bodies in position in 
 the heavens, thus maintaining the equilibrium of the planets. 
 Seemingly gravitation is not derived from, or sustained by, an 
 external force, or supply reservoir, but is an intrinsic entity, a 
 characteristic of matter that decreases in intensity at the rate 
 of the square of the increasing distance, as bodies recede from 
 each other, or from the surface of the earth. However, gravita- 
 tion neither escapes by radiation from bodies nor needs to be 
 replenished, so far as we know, from without. It may be 
 compared to an elastic band, but there is no intermediate tangi- 
 ble substance to influence bodies that are affected by it, and it 
 remains in undying tension, unlike all elastic material substances 
 known, neither losing nor acquiring energy as time passes. 
 Unlike cohesion, or chemical attraction, it exerts its influence 
 upon bodies that are out of contact, and have no material 
 connection, and this necessitates a purely fanciful explanation 
 concerning the medium that conducts such influences, bringing 
 into existence the illogical, hypothetical, fifth ether, made con- 
 spicuous by Aristotle." 
 
 "What of this ether?" I queried. 
 
 " It is a necessity in science, but intangible, undemonstrated, 
 unknown, and wholly theoretical. It is accepted as an existing 
 fluid by scientists, because human theory can not conceive of a 
 substance capable of, or explain how a substance can be capable 
 of affecting a separate body unless there is an intermediate 
 medium to convey force impressions. Hence to material sub- 
 stances Aristotle added (or at least made conspicuous) a 
 speculative ether that, he assumed, pervades all space, and all 
 material bodies as well, in order to account for the passage of 
 heat and light to and from the sun, stars, and planets." 
 
 " Explain further," I requested. 
 
 " To conceive of such an entity we must imagine a material 
 that is more evanescent than any known gas, even in its most 
 diffused condition. It must combine the solidity of the most 
 perfect conductor of heat (exceeding any known body in this 
 respect to an infinite degree), with the transparency of an 
 absolute vacuum. It must neither create friction by contact 
 with any substance, nor possess attraction for matter; must 
 
I QUESTION SCIKNTIFIC MEN. 153 
 
 neither possess weight (and yet carry the force that produces 
 weight), nor respond to the influence of any chemical agent, or 
 exhibit itself to any optical instrument. It must be invisible, 
 and yet carry the force that produces the sensation of sight. It 
 must be of such a nature that it can not, according to our 
 philosophy, affect the corpuscles of earthly substances while 
 permeating them without contact or friction, and yet, as a 
 scientific incongruity, it must act so readily on physical bodies 
 as to convey to the material eye the sensation of sight, and from 
 the sun to creatures on distant planets it must carry the heat 
 force, thus giving rise to the sensation of warmth. Through 
 this medium, yet without sensible contact with it, worlds must 
 move, and planetary systems revolve, cutting and piercing it in 
 ever}' direction, without loss of momentum. And yet, as I have 
 said, this ether must be in such close contact as to convey to 
 them the essence that warms the universe, lights the universe, 
 and must supply the attractive bonds that hold the stellar worlds 
 in position. A nothing in itself, so far as man's senses indicate, 
 the ether of space must be denser than iridium, more mobile 
 than any known liquid, and stronger than the finest steel." 
 
 " I can not conceive of such an entity," I replied. 
 
 " No ; neither can any man, for the theory is irrational, and 
 can not be supported by comparison with laws known to man, 
 but the conception is nevertheless a primary necessity in scien- 
 tific study. Can man, by any rational theor}-, combine a vacuum 
 and a substance, and create a result that is neither material nor 
 vacuity, neither something nor nothing, and yet an intensified 
 all; being more attenuated than the most perfect of known 
 vacuums, and a conductor better than the densest metal ? This 
 we do when we attempt to describe the scientists' all-pervading 
 ether of space, and to account for its influence on matter. This 
 hypothetical ether is, for want of a better theory of causes, as 
 siipreme in philosophy to-day as the alkahest of the talented old 
 alchemist Van Helmont was in former times, a universal spirit 
 that exists in conception, and yet does not exist in perception, 
 and of which modern science knows as little as its specula- 
 tive promulgator, Aristotle, did. We who pride ourselves on our 
 exact science, smile at some of Aristotle's statements in other 
 directions, for science has disproved them, and yet necessity 
 
154 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 forces lis to accept this illo^i^ical ether speculation, which is, 
 perhaps, the most unreasonable of all theories. Did not this 
 Greek philosopher also gravely assert that the lion has but one 
 vertebra in his neck; that the breath of man enters the heart; 
 that the back of the head is empty, and that man has but eight 
 ribs?" 
 
 "Aristotle must have been a careless observer," I said. 
 
 "Yes," he answered; "it would seem so, and science, to-day, 
 bases its teachings concerning the passage of all forces from 
 planet to planet, and sun to sun, on dicta such as I have cited, 
 and no more reasonable in applied experiment." 
 
 " And I have been referred to you as a conscientious scientific 
 teacher," I said; "why do you speak so facetiously?" 
 
 " I am well enough versed in what we call science, to have 
 no fear of injuring the cause by telling the truth, and you asked 
 a direct question. If your questions carry you farther in the 
 direction of force studies, accept at once, that, of the intrinsic 
 constitution of force itself, nothing is known. Heat, light, 
 magnetism, electricity, galvanism (until recently known as 
 imponderable bodies) are now " considered as modifications of 
 force ; but, in my opinion, the time will come when they will 
 be known as disturbances." 
 
 " Disturbances of what?" 
 
 "I do not know precisely ; but of something that lies behind 
 them all, perhaps creates them all, but yet is in essence unknown 
 to men." 
 
 "Giv^e me a clearer idea of your meaning." 
 
 "It seems impossible," he replied; "I can not find words 
 in which to express myself; I do not believe that forces, as 
 we know them (imponderable bodies), are as modern physics 
 defines them. I am tempted to say that, in my opinion, forces 
 are disturbance expressions of a something with which we are 
 not acquainted, and yet in which we are submerged and per- 
 meated. Aristotle's ether perhaps. It seems to me, that, 
 behind all material substances, including forces, there is an 
 unknown spirit, which, by certain influences, may be ruffled 
 into the exhibition of an expression, which exhibition of temper 
 we call a force. From this spirit these force expressions (wave- 
 lets or disturbances) arise, and yet they may become again 
 
I QUESTION vSCIKNTIFIC MEN. 155 
 
 quiescent, and again rest in its absorbing unity. The water 
 from the outlet of a cahn lake flows over a gentle decline in 
 ripples, or quiet undulations, over the rapids in musical laugli- 
 ings, over a precipice in thunder tones, — always water, each a 
 different phase, however, to become quiet in another lake (as 
 ripples in this universe may awaken to our perception, to repose 
 again), and still be water." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Go on," I said. 
 
 " So I sometimes have dared to dream that gravitation may be 
 the reser\^oir that conserves the energy for all mundane forces, 
 and that what we call modifications of force are intermediate 
 conditions, ripples, rapids, or cascades, in gravitation." 
 
 " Continue," I said, eagerly, as he hesitated. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE SOLILOQUY OF PROF. DANIEL VAUGHN. — "GRAVITATION 
 IS THE BEGINNING AND GRAVITATION IS THE END: ALL 
 EARTHLY BODIES KNEEL TO GRAVITATION." 
 
 " Please continue, I am intense!}' interested ; I wish that I 
 could give you my reasons for the desire ; I can not do so, but I 
 beg you to continue." 
 
 " I should add," continued Vaughn, ignoring my remarks, 
 " that we have established rules to measure the force of gravi- 
 tation, and have estimated the decrease of attraction as we 
 leave the surfaces of the planets. We have made comparative 
 estimates of the weight of the earth and planets, and have 
 reason to believe that the force expression of gravitation attains 
 a maximum at about one-sixth the distance toward the center of 
 the earth, then decreases, until at the very center of our planet, 
 matter has no weight. This, together with the rule I repeated 
 a few moments ago, is about all we know, or think we know, of 
 gravitation. Gravitation is the beginning and gravitation is the 
 end; all earthh- bodies kneel to gravitation. I can not imagine 
 a Beyond, and yet gravitation," mused the rapt philosopher, 
 " may also be an expression of" — he hesitated again, forgetting 
 me completely, and leaned his shaggy head upon his hands. I 
 realized that his mind w^as lost in conjecture, and that he was 
 absorbed in the mysteries of the scientific immensity. Would 
 he speak again? I could not think of disturbing his reverie, 
 and minutes passed in silence. Then he slowly, softly, rever- 
 ently murmured: "Gravitation, Gravitation, thou art seemingly 
 the one permanent, ever present earth-bound expression of 
 Omnipotence. Heat and light come and go, as vapors of water 
 condense into rain and dissolve into vapor to return again to 
 the atmosphere. Electricity and magnetism appear and disap- 
 pear; like summer storms they move in diversified channels, or 
 even turn and flv from contact with some bodies, seeminglv 
 
 156 ' 
 
"soliloquy of prof. DANIEL VAUGHN. 
 
 'GR-\VITATION IS THE Bp:GINNING, AND GRAVITATION IS THE END; ALL, 
 EARTHLV BODIES KNEEL TO GRAVITATION.'" 
 
THE SOLILOQUY OF PROF. DANIEL VAUGHN. 159 
 
 forbidden to appear, but thou, Gravitation, art omnipresent 
 and omnipotent. Thou Greatest motion, and yet maintainest 
 the equilibrium of all things mundane and celestial. An attempt 
 to imagine a body destitute of thy potency, would be to bankrupt 
 and deaden the material universe. O ! Gravitation, art thou a 
 voice out of the Beyond, and are other forces but echoes — 
 tremulous reverberations that start into life to vibrate for a spell 
 and die in the space caverns of the universe while thou contin- 
 uest supreme?" 
 
 His bowed head and rounded shoulders stooped yet lower ; 
 he unconsciously brushed his shaggy locks with his hand, and 
 seemed to confer with a familiar Being whom others could not 
 see. 
 
 "A voice from without," he repeated; "from beyond our 
 realm! Shall the subtle ears of future scientists catch yet 
 lighter echoes? Will the brighter thoughts of. more gifted men, 
 under such furtherings as the future may bring, perchance com- 
 mune wdtli beings who people immensity, distance disappearing 
 before thy ever-reaching spirit? For with thee, who boldest the 
 universe together, space is not space, and there is no word 
 expressing time. Art thou a voice that carriest the history of 
 the past from the past unto and into the present, and for which 
 there is no future, all conditions of time being as one to thee, 
 thy self covering all and connecting all together? Art thou. 
 Gravitation, a voice ? If so, there must be a something farther 
 out in those fathomless caverns, beyond mind imaginings, from 
 which thou comest, for how could nothingness have formulated 
 itself into a voice? The suns and universe of suns about us, 
 may be only vacant points in the depths of an all-pervading 
 entity in which even thyself dost exist as a momentary echo, 
 linked to substances ponderous, destined to fade away in the 
 interstellar expanse outside, where disturbances disappear, 
 and matter and gravitation together die ; where all is pure, 
 quiescence, peaceful, and dark. Gravitation, Gravitation, imper- 
 ishable Gravitation; thou seemingly art the ever-pervading, 
 unalterable, but yet moving spirit of a cosmos of solemn myste- 
 ries. Art thou now, in unperceived force expressions, speaking 
 to dumb humanity of other universes ; of suns and vortices of 
 suns ; bringing tidings from the solar planets, or even infinitely 
 
160 ETIDORIII'A. 
 
 distant star mists, the silent nnresolved nebnla;, and spreading- 
 before eartli-])onnd mortal minds, each instant, fresh tidings 
 from withont, thai, in ignorance, we can not read? May not 
 beings, perhaps like onrselves bnt higher in the scale of intelli- 
 gence, those who people some of the planets abont ns, even now 
 beckon and try to converse with us through thy subtle, ever- 
 present self? And may not their efforts at communication fail 
 because of our ignorance of a language they can read? Are not 
 light and heat, electricity and magnetism plodding, vascillating 
 agents compared with thy steady existence, and is it even further 
 possible?" — 
 
 His voice had gradually lowered, and now it became inaudi- 
 ble ; he was oblivious to nu' presence, and had gone forth from 
 his own self; he was lost in matters celestial, and aljstractedly 
 continued unintelligibly to mutter to himself as, brushing his 
 hair from his forehead, he picked up his well-worn felt hat, and 
 placed it awkwardly on his shaggy head, and then shuffled away 
 without bidding me farewell. The bent form, prematurely 
 shattered by privation ; uncouth, unkempt, t}pical of suffering 
 and neglect, impressed me with the fact that in him man's life 
 essence, the immortal mind, had forgotten the material part of 
 man. The physical half of man, even of his own being, in 
 Daniel Vaughn's estimation, was an encumbrance unworthy of 
 serious attention, his spirit communed with the pure in nature, 
 and to him science was a studv of the <rreat Be\-ond.* 
 
 •■' Mr. Drury can not claim to have recorded verbatim Prof. Vaughn's remarks, but has 
 endeavored to give the substance. His language was faultless, his word selections beautiful, 
 his soliloquy impressive beyond description. Perhaps Drury even misstated an idea, or more 
 than one, evolved then by the great mind of that patient man. Prof. Daniel Vaughn was 
 fitted for a scientific throne, a position of the highest honor ; but, neglected by man. proud as a 
 king, he bore uncomplainingly privations most bitter, and suffered alone until finally he died 
 from starvation and neglect one night, in the city of his adoption, in a barren room, without 
 warmth or light. Some persons are ready to crv' " Shame ! Shame !" at wealthy Cincinnati ; 
 others assert that men could not give to Daniel Vaughn. He would not beg, and knowing 
 his capacities, if he could not procure a position in which to earn a living, he preferred to 
 starve. The only bitterness of his nature, it is said, went out against those who kept from 
 him such employment as returns a livelihood to scientific men, for he well knew his intellect 
 earned for him such a right in Cincinnati, and he starved before he would accept charity. 
 Will the spirit of that great man, talented Daniel Vaughn, bear malice against the people of 
 the city in which none can truthfully deny that he perished from cold and privation ? Com- 
 memorated is he not by a bust of bronze that distorts the facts in that the garments are not 
 seedy and unkempt, the figure stooping, the cheek hollow and the eye pitifully expressive of 
 an empty stomach? That bust modestly rests in the public library he loved so welV, in which 
 he suffered so uncomplainingly, and starved so patiently. Pleasing must be the thought of 
 Cincinnati's citizens, as they pass and repass that cold statue to feel that this model of Daniel 
 Vaughn, with sightless eyes and closed lips, asks neither for food nor warmth.— J. U. L. 
 
THE SOLILOQUY OF PROF. DANIEL VAUGHN. 161 
 
 I embraced the first opportunity that presented itself to read 
 the works that Prof. Vaughn suggested, and sought him more 
 than once to question further. However, he would not commit 
 himself in regard to the possible existence of other forces than 
 those with which we are acquainted, and when I interrogated him 
 as to possibilities in the study of obscure force expressions, he 
 declined to express an opinion concerning the subject. Indeed, 
 I fancied that he believed it probable, or at least not impossible, 
 that a closer acquaintance with conditions of matter and energy 
 might be the heirloom of future scientific students. At last I 
 gave up the subject, convinced that all the information I was 
 able to obtain from other persons whom I questioned, and whose 
 answers were prompt and positive, was evolved largely from 
 ienorance and self-conceit, and such information was insufficient 
 to satisfy my understanding, or to command my attention. After 
 hearing Vaughn, all other voices sounded empty. 
 
 I therefore applied myself to my daily tasks, and awaited the 
 promised return of the interesting, though inscrutible being 
 whose subterranean sojourneying was possibly fraught with so 
 much potential value to science and to man. 
 
THE UNBIDDEN GUEST RETURNS TO READ HIS MANUSCRIPT. 
 CONTINUING HIS NARRATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE MOTHER OF A VOLCANO. — "YOU CAN NOT DISPROVE, AND 
 YOU DARE NOT ADMIT." 
 
 A year from the evening of the departure of the old man, 
 found me in my room, expecting his presence ; and I was not 
 surprised when he opened the door, and seated himself in his 
 accustomed chair. 
 
 "Are you ready to challenge my statements?" he said, taking 
 up the subject as though our conversation had not been inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Do you accept my history?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You can not disprove, and you dare not admit. Is not that 
 your predicament?" he asked. "You have failed in every 
 endeavor to discredit the truth, and your would-be scientists, 
 much as they would like to do so, can not serve you. Now we 
 will continue the narrative, and I shall await your next attempt 
 to cast a shadow over the facts." 
 
 Then with his usual pleasant smile, he read from his manu- 
 script a continuation of the intra-earth journey as follows: 
 
 " Be seated," said my evcless guide, "and I will explain some 
 facts that may prove of interest in connectiou with the nature of 
 the superficial crust of the earth. This crystal liquid spreading 
 before us is a placid sheet of water, and is the feeder of the 
 volcano. Mount Epomeo." 
 
 "Can that be a surface of water?" I interrogated. "I find it 
 hard to realize that water can be so immovable. I supposed the 
 substance before us to be a rigid material, like glass, perhaps." 
 
 162 
 
THIC MOTin';R OF A VOLCANO. 163 
 
 " There is no wind to ruffle this aqueous surface, — why should 
 it not be quiescent ? This is the only perfectly smooth sheet of 
 water that you have ever seen. It is in absolute rest, and thus 
 appears a rigid level plane." 
 
 " Grant that your explanation is correct," I said, " yet I can 
 not understand how a quiet lake of water can give rise to a con- 
 vulsion such as the eruption of a volcano." 
 
 " Not only is this possible," he responded, " but water usually 
 causes the exhibition of phenomena known as volcanic action. 
 The Island of Ischia, in which the volcanic crater Epomeo is 
 situated, is connected by a tortuous crevice with the peaceful 
 pool by which we now stand, and at periods, separated by great 
 intervals of time, the lake is partly emptied by a simple natural 
 process, and a part of its water is expelled above the earth's 
 surface in the form of superheated steam, which escapes through 
 that distant crater." 
 
 " But I see no evidence of heat or even motion of any kind." 
 
 "Not here," he replied; "in this place there is none. The 
 energy is developed thousands of miles away, but since the 
 phenomena of volcanic action are to be partially explained to 
 you at a future day, I will leave that matter for the present. 
 We shall cross this lake." 
 
 I observed as we walked along its edge that the shore of 
 the lake was precipitous in places, again formed a gradually 
 descending beach, and the dead silence of the space about us, in 
 connection with the death-like stillness of that rigid mass of 
 water and its surroundings, became increasingl)' impressive and 
 awe-inspiring. Never before had I seen such a perfectly quiet 
 glass-like surface. Not a vibration or undulation appeared in 
 any direction. The solidity of steel was exemplified in its 
 steady, apparently inflexible contour, and yet the pure element 
 was so transparent that the bottom of the pool was as clearly 
 defined as the top of the cavern above me. The lights and 
 shades of the familiar lakes of Western New York were wanting 
 here, and it suddenly came to my mind that there were surface 
 reflections, but no shadows, and musing on this extraordinary 
 fact, I stood motionless on a jutting cliff absorbed in meditation, 
 abstractedly gazing down into that transparent depth. Without 
 sun or moon, without apparent source of light, and yet perfectly 
 
164 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 illuminated, the lofty caverns seemed cut by that aqueous plane 
 into two sections, one above and one below a transparent, rigid 
 surface line. The dividing line, or horizontal plane, appeared as 
 much a surface of air as a surface of water, and the material 
 above that plane seemed no more nor less a gas, or liquid, than 
 that beneath it. If two limpid, transparent liquids, immiscible, 
 but of different gravities, be poured into the same vessel, the line 
 of demarkation will be as a brilliant mirror, such as I now beheld 
 parting and yet uniting the surfaces of air and water. 
 
 Lost in contemplation, I unconsciously asked the mental 
 question : 
 
 "Where are the shadows?" 
 
 ]\Iy guide replied: 
 
 " You have been accustomed to lakes on the surface of the 
 earth ; water that is illuminated from above ; now you see by a 
 light that is developed from within and below, as well as from 
 above. There is no outside point of illumination, for the light 
 of this cavern, as you know, is neither transmitted through an 
 overlying atmosphere nor radiated from a luminous center. It 
 is an inherent quality, and as objects above us and within 
 the lake are illuminated alike from all sides, there can be na 
 shadows." 
 
 Musingly, I said : 
 
 " That which has occurred before in this journey to the 
 unknown country of which I have been advised, seemed mys- 
 terious ; but each succeeding step discovers to me another novelty 
 that is more mysterious, with unlooked-for phenomena that are 
 more obscure." 
 
 " This phenomenon is not more of a mystery than is the 
 fact that light radiates from the sun. ]\Ian can not explain 
 that, and I shall not now attempt to explain this. Both condi- 
 tions are attributes of force, but with this distinction — the crude 
 light and heat of the sun, such as men ex^:)erience on the 
 surface of the earth, is here refined and softened, and the 
 characteristic glare and harshness of the light that is knowm to 
 those who live on the earth's surface is absent here. The solar 
 ray, after penetrating the earth's crust, is tempered and refined 
 by agencies which man will yet investigate understandingly, but 
 which he can not now comprehend." 
 
WE CAME TO A METAL BOAT." 
 
THE MOTHER OF A VOLCANO. 167 
 
 "Am I destined to deal with these problems?" 
 
 " Only in part." 
 
 "Are still greater wonders before us?" 
 
 " If your courage is sufficient to carry }'ou onward, you have 
 yet to enter the portal of the expanse we approach." 
 
 " Lead on, my friend,'' I cried; " lead on to these undescribed 
 scenes, the occult wonderland that" — 
 
 He interrupted me almost rudely, and in a serious manner 
 said: 
 
 " Have you not learned that wonder is an exemplification of 
 ignorance? The child wonders at a goblin story, the savage at 
 a trinket, the man of science at an unexplained manifestation 
 of a previously unperceived natural law; each wonders in 
 ignorance, because of ignorance. Accept now that all you 
 have seen from the day of your birth on the surface of the 
 earth, to the present, and all that you will meet here are won- 
 derful only because the finite mind of man is confused with 
 fragments of evidence, that, from whatever direction we meet 
 them, spring from an unreachable infinity. We will continue 
 our journey." 
 
 Proceeding farther along the edge of the lake we came to a 
 metallic boat. This my guide picked up as easily as though it 
 were of paper, for be it remembered that gravitation had slack- 
 ened its hold here. Placing it upon the water, he stepped into 
 it, and as directed I seated myself near the stern, my face to the 
 bow, my back to the shore. The guide, directly in front of me, 
 gently and very slowly moved a small lever that rested on a 
 projection before him, and I gazed intently upon him as we sat 
 together in silence. At last I became impatient, and asked him 
 if we would not soon begin our journey. 
 
 "We have been on our way since we have been seated," he 
 answered. 
 
 I gazed behind with incredulity : the shore had disappeared, 
 and the diverging wake of the ripples showed that we were 
 rapidly skimming the water. 
 
 "This is marvelous," I said; " incomprehensible, for without 
 sail or oar, wind or steam, we are fleeing over a lake that has 
 no current." 
 
168 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " True, but not marvelous. Motion of matter is a result of 
 disturbance of energy connected therewith. Is it not scientific- 
 ally demonstrated, at least in theor\-, that if the motion of the 
 spirit that causes the magnetic needle to assume its familiar 
 position were really arrested in the substance of the needle, 
 either the metal would fuse and vaporize or (if the forces did not 
 appear in some other form such as heat, electricity, magnetism, 
 or other force) the needle would be hurled onward with great 
 speed?" 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MOTION FROM INHERENT ENERGY, — "LEAD ME DEEPER INTO 
 THIS EXPANDING STUDY." 
 
 " I partly comprehend that such would be the case," I said. 
 
 " If a series of knife blades on pivot ends be set in a frame, 
 and turned edgewise to a rapid current of water, the swiftly 
 moving stream flows through this sieve of metallic edges about 
 as easily as if there were no obstructions. Slowly turn the 
 blades so as to present their oblique sides to the current, and an 
 immediate pressure is apparent upon the frame that holds them ; 
 turn the blades so as to shut up the space, and they will be torn 
 from their sockets, or the entire frame will be shattered into 
 pieces." 
 
 " I understand ; goon." 
 
 "The ethereal current that generates the magnetic force 
 passes through material bodies with inconceivable rapidity, and 
 the molecules of a few substances only, present to it the least 
 obstruction. Material molecules are edgewise in it, and meet 
 no retardation in the subtle flood. This force is a disturbance 
 of space energy that is rushing into the earth in one form, and 
 out of it in another. But your mind is not yet in a condition to 
 grasp the subject, for at best there is no method of explaining 
 to men that which their experimental education has failed to 
 prepare them to receive, and for which first absolutely new 
 ideas, and next words with new meaning, must be formed. Now 
 we, (by we I mean those with whom I am connected) have 
 learned to disturb the molecules in matter so as to turn them 
 partly, or entirely, across the path of this magnetic current, and 
 thus interrupt the motion of this ever-present energy. We can 
 retard its velocity without, however, producing either magnetism 
 (as is the case in a bar of steel), electricity, or heat, but motion 
 instead, and thus a portion of this retarded energy springs into 
 its new existence as motion of my boat. It is force changed 
 
170 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 into movement of matter, for the molecules of the boat, as a 
 mass, must move onward as the force disappears as a current. 
 Perhaps you can accept now that instead of light, heat, elec- 
 tricity, magnetism, and gravitation being really modifications of 
 force they are disturbances." 
 
 "Disturbances of what?" 
 
 " Disturbances of motion." 
 
 "Motion of what?" 
 
 " Motion of itself, pure and simple." 
 
 " I can not comprehend, I can not conceive of motion pure 
 and simple." 
 
 " I will explain at a future time so that you can comprehend 
 more clearly. Other lessons must come first, but never will you 
 see the end. Truth is infinite." 
 
 Continuing, he said : 
 
 " Let me ask if there is anything marvelous in this statement. 
 On the earth's surface men arrest the fitful wind, and by so 
 doing divert the energy of its motion into movement of 
 machinery ; they induce it to turn mills and propel vessels. 
 This motion of air is a disturbance, mass motion transmitted to 
 the air by heat, heat in turn being a disturbance or interruption 
 of pure motion. WTien men learn to interrupt this unperceived 
 stream of energy so as to change directly into material motion 
 the spirit that saturates the universe, and that produces force 
 expressions, as it is constantly rushing from earth into space, and 
 from space back again, they will have at command wherever 
 they may be an endless source of power, light, and heat ; mass 
 motion, light and heat being convertible. Motion lies behind 
 heat, light, and electricity, and produces them, and so long as 
 the earth revolves on its axis, and circles in its orbit, man needs 
 no light and heat from such indirect sources as combustion. 
 Men will, however, yet obtain motion of molecules (heat), and 
 material mass motion as well, from earth motion, without the 
 other dangerous intermediate force expressions now deemed 
 necessary in their production." 
 
 " Do you wish me to understand that on all parts of the 
 earth's surface there is a continual expenditure of energy, an 
 ever-ready current, that is really distinct from the light and 
 heat of the sun, and also that the imponderable bodies that we 
 
MOTION FROM INHERENT ENERGY. 171 
 
 call heat, light, electricity, and magnetism are not substances 
 at all?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied. 
 
 " And that this imperceptible something — fluid I will say, for 
 want of a better term — now invisible and unknown to man, is as 
 a medium in which the earth, submerged, floats as a speck of 
 dust in a flood of space?" 
 
 " Certainly," he replied. 
 
 " Am I to infer from your remarks that, in the course of time, 
 man will be able to economize this force, and adapt it to his 
 wants?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Go on with your exposition, I again beg of you ; lead me 
 deeper into this expanding study." 
 
 " There is but little more that you can comprehend now, as 
 I have said," he answered. "All materials known to man are of 
 coarse texture, and the minds of men are not yet in a condition 
 to comprehend finer exhibitions of force, or of motion modifi- 
 cations. Pure energy, in all its modifications, is absolutely 
 unknown to man. What men call heat, gravitation, light, 
 electricity, and magnetism are the grosser attributes attending 
 alterations in an unknown, attenuated, highly developed force 
 producer. They are results, not causes. The real force, an 
 unreached energy, is now flooding all space, pervading all 
 materials. Everywhere there exists an infinite sea of motion 
 absolute. Since this primeval entity can not now afi'ect matter, 
 as matter is known to man, man's sense can only be influenced by 
 secondary attributes of this energy. Unconscious of its all-per- 
 vading presence, however, man is working towards the power that 
 will some day, upon the development of latent senses, open to him 
 this new world. Then at last he will move without muscular 
 exertion, or the use of heat as an agent of motion, and will, as 
 as I am now doing, bridle the motion of space. Wlierever he 
 may be situated, there will then be warmth to any degree that he 
 wishes, for he will be able to temper the seasons, and mass motion 
 illimitable, also, for this energy, I reiterate, is omnipresent. 
 However, as you will know more of this before long, we will 
 pass the subject for the present." 
 
172 KTIIJORHPA. 
 
 My jyuide slowly moved the lever. I sat in deep reflection, 
 beginning to comprehend somewhat of his reasoning, and yet my 
 mind was more than clouded. The several ambiguous repeti- 
 tions he had made since our journey commenced, each time 
 suggesting the same idea, clothing it in different forms of 
 expression, impressed me vaguely with the conception of a 
 certain something for which I was gradually being prepared, 
 and that I might eventually be educated to grasp, but which he 
 believed my mind was not yet ready to receive. I gathered 
 from what he said that he could have given clearer explanations 
 than he was now doing, and that he clothed his language inten- 
 tionally in m)-sticism, and that, for some reason, he preferred to 
 leave my mind in a condition of uncertainty. The velocity of 
 the boat increased as he again and again cautiously touched the 
 lever, and at last the responsive craft rose nearly out of the 
 water, and skimmed like a bird over its surface. There was no 
 object in that lake of pure crystal to govern me in calculating 
 as to the rapidity of our motion, and I studied to evolve a 
 method by which I could time our movements. With this 
 object in view I tore a scrap from my clothing and tossed it into 
 the air. It fell at my feet as if in a calm. There was no breeze. 
 I picked the fragment up, in bewilderment, for I had expected 
 it to fall behind us. Then it occurred to me, as by a flash, that 
 notwithstanding our apparently rapid motion, there was an 
 entire absence of atmospheric resistance. What could explain 
 the paradox ? I turned to my guide and again tossed the frag- 
 ment of cloth upward, and again it settled at my feet. He 
 smiled, and answered my silent inquiry. 
 
 " There is a protecting sheet before us, radiating, fan-like, from 
 the bow of our boat as if a large pane of glass w^ere resting on edge, 
 thus shedding the force of the wind. This diaphragm catches 
 the attenuated atmosphere and protects us from its friction." 
 
 " But I see no such protecting object," I answered. 
 
 " No ; it is invisible. You can not see the obstructing power, for 
 it is really a gyrating section of force, and is colorless. That spray 
 of metal on the brow of our boat is the developer of this protect- 
 ing medium. Imagine a transverse section of an eddy of water 
 on edge before us, and you can form a comparison. Throw the 
 bit of garment as far as you can beyond the side of the boat." 
 
MOTION FROM INHERENT ENERGY. 
 
 173 
 
 I did so, and saw it flutter slowly away to a considerable 
 distance parallel with our position in the boat as though in a 
 perfect calm, and then it disappeared. It seemed to have been 
 dissolved. I gazed at my guide in amazement. 
 
 "Try again," said he. 
 
 " THE BIT OF GARMENT FLUTTERED LISTI^ESSLY AWAY TO THE SAME 
 DISTANCE, AND THEN — VACANCY." 
 
 I tore another and a larger fragment from my coat sleeve. I 
 fixed my eyes closely upon it, and cast it from me. The bit of 
 garment fluttered listlessly away to the same distance, and 
 then — vacancy. Wonders of wonderland, mysteries of the 
 mysterious! What would be the end of this marvelous journey ? 
 Suspicion again possessed me, and distrust arose. Could not 
 my self-existence be blotted out in like manner? I thought 
 again of my New York home, and the recollection of upper 
 earth, and those broken family ties brought to my heart a flood 
 of bitter emotions. I inwardly cursed the writer of that 
 alchemistic letter, and cursed myself for heeding the contents. 
 
174 KTinORHPA. 
 
 The tears gushed from my eyes and trickled through my fingers 
 as I covered in\- face with my hands and groaned aloud. Then, 
 with a gentle touch, my guide's hand rested on my shoulder. 
 
 "Calm yourself," he said; "this phenomenon is a natural 
 sequence to a deeper study of nature than man has reached. It 
 is simply the result of an exhibition of rapid motion. You are 
 upon a great underground lake, that, on a shelf of earth sub- 
 stance one hundred and fifty miles below the earth's surface, 
 covers an area of many thousand square miles, and which has an 
 average depth of five miles. We are now crossing it diagonally 
 at a rapid rate by the aid of the force that man will yet use in 
 a perfectly natural manner on the rough upper ocean and bleak 
 lands of the earth's coarse surface. The fragments of cloth 
 disappeared from sight when thrown beyond the influence of 
 our protecting diaphragm, because when they struck the outer 
 motionless atmosphere they were instantly left behind ; the eye 
 could not catch their sudden change in motion. A period of 
 time is necessary to convey from eye to mind the sensation of 
 sight. The bullet shot from a gun is invisible by reason of the 
 fact that the eye can not discern the momentary interruption to 
 the light. A cannon ball will compass the field of vision of the 
 eve, moving across it without making itself known, and yet the 
 fact does not excite surprise. We are traveling so fast that 
 small, stationary objects outside our track are invisible." 
 
 Then in a kind, pathetic tone of voice, he said : 
 
 " An important lesson you should learn, I have mentioned it 
 before. Whatever seems to be mysterious, or marvelous, is only 
 so because of the lack of knowledge of associated natural 
 phenomena and connected conditions. All that you have 
 experienced, all that you have yet to meet in your future 
 journey, is as I have endeavored to teach you, in exact accord- 
 ance with the laws that govern the universe, of which the earth 
 constitutes so small a portion that, were the conditions favorable, 
 it could be blotted from its present existence as quickly as that 
 bit of garment disappeared, and with as little disturbance of the 
 mechanism of the moving universe." 
 
 I leaned over, resting my face upon my elbow ; my thoughts 
 were immethodically wandering in the midst of multiplying 
 perplexities ; I closed my eyes as a weary child, and slept. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SLEEP, DREAMS, NIGHTMARE. — "STRANGLE THE LIFE FROM 
 
 MY BODY." 
 
 I know not how long I sat wrapped in slumber. Even if 
 my body had not been wearing away as formerly, m}- mind had 
 become excessively wearied. I had existed in a state of abnor- 
 mal mental intoxication far beyond the period of accustomed 
 wakefulness, and had taxed my mental organization beyond 
 endurance. In the midst of events of the most startling 
 description, I had abruptly passed into what was at its com- 
 mencement the sweetest sleep of my recollection, but which 
 came to a horrible termination. 
 
 In my dream I was transported once more to my native land, 
 and roamed in freedom throughout the streets of my lost home. 
 I lived over again my early life in Virginia, and I seemed 
 to have lost all recollection of the weird journey which I had 
 lately taken. My subsequent connection with the brother- 
 hood of alchemists, and the unfortunate letter that led to my 
 present condition, were forgotten. There came no thought 
 suggestive of the train of events that are here chronicled, 
 and as a child I tasted again the pleasures of innocence, the 
 joys of boyhood. 
 
 Then my dream of childhood vanished, and the scenes of 
 later days spread themselves before me. I saw, after a time, 
 the scenes of my later life, as though I viewed them from a 
 distance, and was impressed with the idea that they were not 
 real, but only the fragments of a dream. I shuddered in mv 
 childish dreamland, and trembled as a child would at con- 
 fronting events of the real life that I had passed through on 
 €arth, and that gradually assuming the shape of man approached 
 and stood before me, a hideous specter seemingly ready to absorb 
 me. The peaceful child in which I existed shrunk back, and 
 recoiled from the approaching living man. 
 
176 ETinORHPA. 
 
 " Away, away," I cried, " yon shall not grasp me, I do not 
 wish to become a man ; this can not, mn'st not be the horrible 
 end to a sweet existence." 
 
 Gradually the Man Life approached, seized and enveloped 
 me, closing around me as a jelly fish surrounds its living victim, 
 while the horrors of a nightmare came over my soul. 
 
 "Man's life is a fearful dream," I shouted, as I writhed in 
 agony; "I am still a child, and will remain one; keep off! Life 
 of man, away! let me live and die a child." 
 
 The Specter of Man's Life seized me more firmly as 1 
 struggled to escape, and holding me in its irresistible clutch 
 absorbed my substance as a vampire might suck the blood of 
 an infant, and while the childish dream disappeared in that 
 hideous embrace, the miserable man awoke. 
 
 I found myself on land. The guide, seated at mv side, 
 remarked : 
 
 " You have slept." 
 
 "I have lived again," I said in bitterness. 
 
 "You have not lived at all as yet," he replied; "life is a 
 dream, usually it is an unsatisfied nightmare." 
 
 " Then let me dream again as at the beginning of this slum- 
 ber," I said ; " and while I dream as a child, do you strangle the 
 life from my body, — spare me the nightmare, I would not live to 
 reach the Life of Man." 
 
 "This is sarcasm," he replied; "you are as changeable as 
 the winds of the earth's surface. Now as you are about to 
 approach a part of our journey where fortitude is necessary, 
 behold, you waver as a little child might. Nerve yourself; the 
 trials of the present require a steady mind, let the future care 
 for itself; you can not recall the past." 
 
 I became attentive again ; the depressing effects of that 
 repulsive dream rapidly lifted, and wasted away, as I realized 
 that I was a man, and was destined to see more than can be seen 
 in the future of other mortals. This elevation of my spirit was 
 evidently understood by my guide. He turned to the lake, and 
 pointing to its quiet bosom, remarked : 
 
 " For five hours we have journcNed over this sheet of water at 
 the average rate of nine hundred miles an hour. At the time 
 you threw the fragments of cloth overboard, we were traveling 
 
vSI.EEP, DREAMS, NIGHTMARE. 177 
 
 at a speed of not less than twenty miles per minute. You 
 remember that some hours ago you criticised my assertion when 
 I said that we would soon be near the axis of the earth beneath 
 the North Pole, and now we are beyond that point, and are 
 about six thousand miles from where we stood at that time." 
 
 "You must have your way," I replied; "I can not disprove 
 your assertion, but were it not that I have passed through so 
 many marvelous experiences since first we met, I would question 
 the reliability of your information." 
 
 My guide continued : 
 
 " The surface of this lake lies as a mirror beneath both the 
 ocean and the land. The force effect that preserves the configu- 
 ration of the ocean preserves the form of this also, but influences 
 it to a less extent, and the two surfaces lie nearly parallel with 
 each other, this one being one hundred and fifty miles beneath 
 the surface of the earth. The shell of the earth above us is 
 honeycombed by caverns in some places, in others it is compact, 
 and yet, in most places, is impervious to water. At the farther 
 extremity of the lake, a stratum of porous material extends 
 through the space intervening between the bottom of the oceau 
 and this lake. By capillary attraction, assisted by gravitation,, 
 part of the water of the ocean is being transferred through 
 this stratum to the underground cavity. The lake is slowly 
 rising." 
 
 At this remark I interrupted him : "You say the water in the 
 ocean is being slowly transferred down to this underground lake 
 less by gravity than by capillarity." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I believe that I have reason to question that statement, if 
 you do not include the salt," I replied. 
 
 " Pray state your objections." 
 
 I answered : " Whether a tube be long or short, if it penetrate 
 the bottom of a vessel of brine, and extend downward, the brine 
 will flow into and out of it by reason of its weight." 
 
 "You mistake," he asserted; "the attraction of the sides of 
 the capillary tube, if the tube is long enough, will eventually 
 separate the water from the salt, and at length a downward flow 
 of water only will result." 
 
 I again expressed my incredulity. 
 
 »3 
 
178 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " ]\Iore than this, by perfectly natural laws the water that is 
 freed from the tubes might again force itself upward perfectly 
 fresh, to the surface of the earth — yes, under proper conditions, 
 above the surface of the ocean." 
 
 "Do you take me for a fool?" I said. "Is it not self-evident 
 that a fountain can not rise above its source?" 
 
 " It often does," he answered. 
 
 " You trifle with me," I said, acrimoniously. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " I am telling you the truth. Have you 
 never heard of what men call artesian wells ?" 
 
 "Yes, and" (here I attempted in turn to become sarcastic) 
 "have you never learned that they are caused by water flowing 
 into crevices in ujDlands where layers of stone or of clay strata 
 separated by sand or gravel slant upward. The water conducted 
 thence by these channels afterwards springs up in the valleys to 
 which it has been carried by means of the crevices in these 
 strata, but it never rises above its source." 
 
 To my surprise he answered : 
 
 "This is another of man's scientific speculations, based on 
 some facts, it is true, and now and then correct, but not invaria- 
 bly. The water of an artesian well on an elevated plane may 
 flow into the earth from a creek, pond, or river, that is lower 
 than the mouth of the well it feeds, and still it may spout into 
 the air from either a near or distant elevation that is higher than 
 its source." 
 
 "I can not admit the truth of this," I said ; " I am willing to 
 listen to reason, but such statements as these seem altogether 
 absurd." 
 
 "As you please," he replied; "we will continue our journey." 
 
INTERLUDE.-THE STORY INTERRUPTED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A CHALLENGE. — MY UNBIDDEN GUEST ACCEPTS IT. 
 
 The white-haired reader, in whom I had now become deeply- 
 interested, no longer an unwelcome stranger, suspended his read- 
 ing, laid down his manuscript, and looking me in the face, asked : 
 
 "Are you a believer?" 
 
 "No," I promptly answered. 
 
 "What part of the narrative do you question?" 
 
 "All of it." 
 
 " Have you not already investigated some of the statements 
 I previously made?" he queried. 
 
 "Yes," I said; "but you had not then given utterance to 
 such preposterous expressions." 
 
 "Is not the truth, the truth?" he answered. 
 
 " You ask me to believe impossibilities," I replied. 
 
 " Name one." 
 
 "You yourself admit," I said warmly, " that you were incred- 
 ulous, and shook your head when your guide asserted that the 
 bottom of the ocean might be as porous as a sieve, and still hold 
 water. A fountain can not rise above its source." 
 
 " It often does, however," he replied. 
 
 " I do not believe you," I said boldly. "And, furthermore, I 
 assert that you might as reasonably ask me to believe that I can 
 see my own brain, as to accept your fiction regarding the produc- 
 tion of light, miles below the surface of the earth." 
 
 " I can make your brain visible to you, and if you dare to 
 accompany me, I will carry you beneath the surface of the 
 earth and prove my other statement," he said. "Come!" He 
 arose and grasped my arm. 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 179 
 
180 KTIDORHI'A. 
 
 "You confess that you fear the journey." 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 "Well, since you fear that method, I am ready to convince 
 you of the facts by any rational course you may select, and if 
 you wish to stake your entire argument on the general statement 
 that a stream of water can not rise above its head, I will accept 
 the challenge; but I insist that you do not divulge the nature 
 of the experiment until, as you are directed, you make public 
 my story." 
 
 "Of course a fluid can be pumped up,'' I sarcastically 
 observed. " However, I promise the secrecy you ask." 
 
 " I am speaking seriously," he said, " and I have accepted 
 your challenge ; your own eyes shall view the facts, your own 
 hands prepare the conditions necessary. Procure a few pints of 
 sand, and a few pounds of salt; to-morrow evening I will be 
 ready to make the experiment." 
 
 "Agreed; if you will induce a stream of water to run up 
 hill, a fountain to rise above its head, I will believe any state- 
 ment you may henceforth make." 
 
 " Be ready, then," he replied, " and procure the materials 
 named." So saying he picked up his hat and abruptly departed. 
 
 These substances I purchased the next day, procuring the sil- 
 ver sand from Gordon's pharmacy, corner of Eighth and Western 
 Row, and promptly at the specified time we met in my room. 
 
 He came, provided with a cylindrical glass jar about eighteen 
 inches high .and two inches in diameter (such as I have since 
 learned is called a hych-ometer jar), and a long, slender drawn 
 glass tube, the internal diameter of which was about one-six- 
 teenth of an inch. 
 
 "You have deceived me," I said; "I know well enough that 
 capillary attraction will draw a liquid above its surface. You 
 demonstrated that quite recently to my entire satisfaction." 
 
 "True, and yet not true of this experiment," he said. "I 
 propose to force water through and out of this tube; capillary 
 attraction will not expel a liquid from a tube if its mouth be 
 above the surface of the supply." 
 
 He dipped the tip of a capillary tube into a tumbler of water; 
 the water rose inside the tube about an inch above the surface of 
 the water in the tumbler. 
 
A CHALLENGE. 181 
 
 " Capillary attraction can do no more," he said. " Break 
 the tube one-eighth of an inch above the water (far below the 
 present capillary surface), and it will not overflow. The exit of 
 the tube must be lower than the surface of the liquid if circulation 
 ensues." 
 
 He broke off a fragment, and the result was as predicted. 
 
 Then he poured water into the glass jar to the depth of about 
 six inches, and selecting a piece of very thin muslin, about an 
 inch square, turned it over the end of the glass tube, tied it in 
 position, and dropped that end of the tube into the cylinder. 
 
 "The muslin simply prevents the tube from filling with 
 sand," he explained. Then he poured sand into the cylinder 
 until it reached the surface of the water, (See Figure 23.) 
 
 "Your apparatus is simple enough," I remarked, I am afraid 
 with some sarcasm. 
 
 "Nature works with exceeding simplicity," he replied; 
 " there is no complex apparatus in her laboratory, and I copy 
 after nature." 
 
 Then he dissolved the salt in a portion of water that he drew 
 from the hydrant into my wash bowl, making a strong brine, 
 and stirred sand into the brine to make a thick mush. This 
 mixture of sand and brine he then poured into the cylinder, 
 filling it nearly to the top. (See Figure 23, B. The sand settling 
 soon left a layer of brine above it, as shown by A.) I had 
 previously noticed that the upper end of the glass tube w^as 
 curved, and my surprise can be imagined when I saw that at 
 once water began to flow through the tube, dropping quite 
 rapidly into the cylinder. The lower end of the curve of the 
 glass tube was fully half an inch above the surface of the liquid 
 in the cylinder. 
 
 I here present a figure of the apparatus. (Figure 23.) 
 
 The strange man, or man image, I do not know which, sat 
 before me, and in silence we watched the steady flow of water, 
 water rising above its surface and flowing into the reservoir 
 from which it was being continually derived. 
 
 "Do you give up?" he asked. 
 
 " Let me think," I said. 
 
 " As you please," he replied. 
 
 "How long will this continue?" I inquired. 
 
182 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " Until strong salt water flows from the tnbe." 
 Then the old man continued : 
 
 " I would suggest that after I depart you repeat these experi- 
 ments. The observations of those interested in science must 
 be repeated time and again by separate individ- 
 uals. It is not sufficient that one person should 
 observe a phenomenon ; repeated experiments are 
 necessary in order to overcome error of manipula- 
 tion, and to convince others of their correctness. 
 Not only yourself, but many others, after this 
 manuscript appears, should go through with 
 similar investigations, varied in detail as mind 
 expansion may suggest. This experiment is but 
 the germ of a thought which will be enlarged 
 upon by many minds under other conditions. An 
 ^^ event meteorological may occur in the experience 
 of one observer, and never repeat itself. This is 
 possible. The results of such experiments as you 
 are observing, however, must be followed by sim- 
 ilar results in the hands of others, and in behalf 
 of science it is necessary that others should be able 
 to verify your experience. In the time to come it will be 
 necessary to support your statements in order to demonstrate 
 that your perceptive faculties are now in a normal condition. 
 Are you sure that your conceptions of these results are justified 
 by normal perception? May you not be in an exalted state of 
 mind that hinders clear perception, and compels you to imagine 
 and accept as fact that which does not exist? Do you see what 
 you think you see? After I am gone, and the influences that 
 my person and mind exert on your own mind have been 
 removed, will these results, as shown by my experiments, follow 
 similar experimental conditions? In the years that are to pass 
 before this paper is to be made public, it will be your duty to 
 verify your present sense faculty. This you must do as oppor- 
 tunities present, and with different devices, so that no question 
 may arise as to what will follow when others repeat our 
 experiments. To-morrow evening I will call again, but remem- 
 ber, you must not tell others of this experiment, nor show the 
 devices to them." 
 
 Fig. 23. 
 
 A, brine. 
 
 B, sand and brine 
 mixed. 
 
 C, sand and water. 
 
A CHALLENGE. 183 
 
 "I have promised," I answered. 
 
 He gathered his manuscript and departed, and I sat in med- 
 itation watching the mysterious fountain. 
 
 As he had predicted, finally, after a long time, the flow 
 slackened, and by morning, when I arose from my bed, the 
 water had ceased to drip, and then I found it salty to the taste. 
 
 The next evening he appeared as usual, and prepared to 
 resume his reading, making no mention of the previous test of 
 my faith. I interrupted him, however, by saying that I had 
 observed that the sand had settled in the cylinder, and that in 
 my opinion his experiment was not true to appearances, but was 
 a deception, since the sand by its greater weight displaced the 
 water, which escaped through the tube, where there was least 
 resistance. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " and so you refuse to believe your own 
 eyesight, and are contriving to escape the deserved penalty ; I 
 will, however, acquiesce in your outspoken desire for further 
 light, and repeat the experiment without using sand. But I tell 
 you that mother earth, in the phenomena known as artesian 
 wells, uses sand and clay, pools of mineral waters of different 
 gravities, and running streams. The waters beneath the earth 
 are under pressure, induced by such natural causes as I have 
 presented you in miniature, the chief difference being that the 
 supplies of both salt and fresh water are inexhaustible, and by 
 natural combinations similar to what you have seen ; the streams 
 within the earth, if a pipe be thrust into them, may rise contin- 
 uously, eternally, from a reservoir higher than the head. In 
 addition, there are pressures of gases, and solutions of many 
 salts, other than chloride of soda, that tend to favor the phe- 
 nomenon. You are unduly incredulous, and you ask of me more 
 than your right after staking your faith on an experiment of 
 your own selection. You demand more of me even than nature 
 often accomplishes in earth structure ; but to-morrow night I 
 will show you that this seemingly impossible feat is possible." 
 
 He then abruptly left the room. The following evening he 
 presented himself with a couple of one-gallon cans, one of them 
 without a bottom. I thought I could detect some impatience of 
 manner as he filled the perfect can (D) with water from the 
 hydrant, and having spread a strip of thin muslin over the 
 
184 
 
 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 month of the other can (B), pressed it firmly over tlie mouth 
 (C) of the can of water, which it fitted tightly, thns connecting 
 them together, the upper (bottomless) can being inverted. Then 
 he made a narrow slit in the center of the muslin with his 
 pen-knife, and through it thrust a glass tube like that of our 
 former experiment. Next he wrapped a string 
 around the open toj) of the upper can, crossed 
 it over the top, and tied the glass tube to the 
 center of the cross string. 
 
 " Simply to hold this tube in position," he 
 ex])lained. 
 
 The remainder of the bag of salt left from 
 the experiment of the preceding evening was 
 then dissolved in water, and the brine poured 
 into the upper can, filling it to the top. Then 
 carefully thrusting the glass tube downward, 
 he brought the tip of the curs-e to within about 
 one-half inch of the surface of the brine, when 
 immediately a rapid flow of liquid exhibited 
 itself. (Figure 24.) 
 
 " It rises above its source without sand," 
 he observed. 
 
 " I can not deny the fact," I replied, " and 
 furthermore I am determined that I shall not 
 question any subsequent statement that you 
 We sat in silence for some time, 
 and the water ran continuously through the 
 tube. I was becoming alarmed, afraid of my occult guest, who 
 accepted my self-selected challenges, and worked out his results 
 so rapidly ; he seemed to be more than human. 
 
 " I am a mortal, but a resident of a higher plane than you," 
 he replied, divining my thoughts. " Is not this experiment a 
 natural one?" 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 " Did not Shakspeare write, 'There are more things in heaven 
 and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy ' ?" 
 " Yes," I said. 
 And my guest continued : 
 " He might have added, ' and always will be '." 
 
 Fig. 24. 
 
 A, surface of brine. 
 
 B, upper can filled with 
 brine. 
 
 C, necks of cans tele- 
 scoped. 
 
 D, lower can full of may make." 
 
 water. 
 
A CHALLENGE. 185 
 
 " Scientific men will explain this phenomenon," I suggested. 
 
 '' Yes, when they observe the facts," he replied, " it is very 
 simple. They can now tell, as I have before remarked, how 
 Colnmbns stood the egg on end ; however, given the problem 
 before Columbus expounded it, they would probably have 
 wandered as far from the trvie solution as the mountain with 
 its edgewise layers of stone is from the disconnected artesian 
 wells on a distant sea coast where the underground fresh and 
 salt water in overlying currents and layers clash together. The 
 explanation, of course, is simple. The brine is of greater spe- 
 cific gravity than the pure water; the pressure of the heavier 
 fluid forces the lighter up in the tube. This action continues 
 until, as you will see by this experiment, in the gradual diffusion 
 of brine and pure water the salt is disseminated equally through- 
 out the vessels, and the specific gravity of the mixed liquid 
 becomes the same throughout, when the flow will cease. How- 
 ever, in the earth, where supplies are inexhaustible, the fountain 
 flows unceasingly." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 BEWARE OF BIOLOGY, THE SCIENCE OF THE LIFE OF MAX.* 
 
 The old man relates a story as an object lesson.) 
 
 " But you have not lived up to the promise; you have evaded 
 part of the bargain," I continued. "While you have certainly 
 performed some curious experiments in physics which seem to 
 be unique, yet, I am only an amateur in science, and your 
 hydrostatic illustrations may be repetitions of investigations 
 already recorded, that have escaped the attention of the scientific 
 gentlemen to whom I have hitherto applied." 
 
 "Man's mind is a creature of doubts and questions," he 
 observed. " Answer one query, and others rise. His inner self 
 is never satisfied, and you are not to blame for wishing for a sign, 
 as all self-conscious conditions of your former existence compel. 
 Now that I have brushed aside the more prominent questionings, 
 you insist upon those omitted, and appeal to me to " — he hesitated. 
 
 "To what?" I asked, curious to see if he had intuitively 
 grasped my unspoken sentence. 
 
 "To exhibit to you your own brain," he replied. 
 
 " That is it exactly," I said ; " you promised it, and you shall 
 be held strictly to your bargain. You agreed to show me my 
 own brain, and it seems evident that you have purposely evaded 
 the promise." 
 
 " That I have made the promise and deferred its completion 
 can not be denied, but not by reason of an inability to fulfill the 
 contract. I will admit that I purposely deferred the exhibition, 
 hoping on your own account that you would forget the hasty 
 promise. You would better release me from the promise ; you 
 do not know what you ask." 
 
 " I believe that I ask more than you can perform," I answered, 
 "and that you know it." 
 
 ■The reader is invited to skip this chapter of horrors.— J. U. L. 
 186 
 
BEWARE OF BIOLOGY. 187 
 
 " Let me give you a history," he said, " and then perhaps you 
 will relent. Ivisten. A man once became involved in the study 
 of anatomy. It led him to destruction. He commenced the 
 study in order to learn a profession ; he hoped to become a 
 physician. Materia meciica, pharmacy, chemistry, enticed him at 
 first, but after a time presented no charms. He was a dull stu- 
 dent in much that men usually consider essential to the practice 
 of medicine. He was not fitted to be a physician. Gradually 
 he became absorbed in two branches, physiology and anatomy. 
 Within his mental self a latent something developed that neither 
 himself nor his friends had suspected. This was an increasing 
 desire for knowledge concerning the human body. The insati- 
 able craving for anatomy grew upon him, and as it did so other 
 sections of medicine were neglected. Gradually he lost sight of 
 his professional object ; he dropped chemistry, materia medica, 
 pharmacy, and at last, morbidly lived only in the aforenamed 
 two branches. 
 
 " His first visit to the dissecting room was disagreeable. 
 The odor of putrid flesh, the sight of the mutilated bodies 
 repulsed him. When first his hand, warm in life, touched the 
 clammy flesh of a corpse, he shuddered. Then when his fingers 
 came in contact with the viscera of a cadaver, that of a little 
 child, he cried out in horror. The demonstrator of anatomy 
 urged him on ; he finally was induced to dissect part of the 
 infant. The reflex action on his sensitive mind first stunned, 
 and then warped his senses. His companions had to lead him 
 from the room. ' Wash it off, wash it off",' he repeated, tr^ang to 
 throw his hand from his person. 'Horrid, horrible, unclean. 
 The child is yet before me,' he insisted. Then he went into 
 a fever and raved. ' Some mother wall meet me on the street 
 and curse me,' he cried. " That hand is red with the blood of my 
 darling; it has desecrated the innocent dead, and mutilated that 
 which is most precious to a mother." Take the hand away, wash 
 it,' he shouted. 'The mother curses me; she demands retribu- 
 tion. Better that a man be dead than cursed by a mother whose 
 child has been desecrated.' So the unfortunate being raved, 
 dreaming all manner of horrid imaginings. But at last he 
 recovered, a different man. He returned voluntarily to the 
 dissecting-room, and wrapped himself in the uncouth work. 
 
18S IvTIDORIirA. 
 
 Nothing in connection witli corpse-mutilation was now offensive 
 or unclean. He threw aside his other studies, he became a slave 
 possessed of one idea. He scarcely took time to dine respectably ; 
 indeed, he often ate his lunch in the dissecting-room. The blood 
 of a child was again and again on his fingers ; it mattered not, 
 he did not take the trouble to wash it off. ' The liver of man is 
 not more sacred than the liver of a hog,' he argued ; ' the flesh of 
 a man is the same as other forms of animal food. When a person 
 dies the vital heat escapes, consciousness is dissipated, and the 
 cold, rigid remains are only animal. Consciousness and life are 
 all that is of man — one is force, the other matter ; when man dies 
 both perish and are dissipated.' His friends perceived his 
 fondness for dissection, and argued with him again, endeavoring 
 now to overcome his infatuation ; he repelled them. ' I learned 
 in my vision,' he said, referring to his fever, 'that Pope was 
 right in saying that the " proper study of mankind is man "; 
 I care nothing for your priestly superstitions concerning the 
 dead. These fables are the invention of designing churchmen 
 who live on the superstitions of the ignorant. I am an infidel, 
 and believe in no spirit intangible ; that which can be seen, felt, 
 and weighed is, all else is not. Life is simply a sensation. All 
 beyond is chimerical, less than fantastic, believed in only by 
 dupes and weak-minded, credulous tools of knaves, or creatures 
 of blind superstition.' He carried the finely articulated, 
 bleached skull of a cadaver to his room, and placed it beside 
 a marble statue that was a valued heirloom, the model of Venus 
 of Milo. ' Both are lime compounds,' he cynically observed, 
 'neither is better than the other.' His friends protested. 'Your 
 superstitious education is at fault,' he answered ; ' you mentally 
 clothe one of these objects in a quality it does not deserve, and 
 the thought creates a pleasant emotion. The other, equally as 
 pure, reminds you of the grave that you fear, and you shudder. 
 These mental pulsations are artificial, both being either survivals 
 of superstition, or creations of your own mind. The lime in 
 the skull is now as inanimate as that of the statue ; neither 
 object is responsible for its form, neither is unclean. To me, 
 the delicate configuration, the exact articulation, the perfect 
 adaptation for the office it originally filled, makes each bone of 
 this skull a thing of beauty, an object of admiration. As a 
 
RRWARE OF RIOI.OGY. 189 
 
 whole, it gives ine pleasure to think of this wonderful, exquis- 
 itely arranged piece of mechanism. The statue you admire is 
 in every respect outrivaled by the skull, and I have placed the 
 two together because it pleases me to demonstrate that man's 
 most artistic creation is far inferior to material man. Throw 
 aside your sentimental prejudices, and join with me in the 
 admiration of this thing of beauty;' and he toyed with the 
 skull as if it were a work of art. So he argued, and arguing 
 passed from bone to bone, and from organ to organ. He filled 
 his room with abnormal fragments of the human body, and 
 surrounded himself with jars of preserved anatomical speci- 
 mens. His friends fled in disgust, and he smiled, glad to be 
 alone with his ghastly subjects. He was infatuated in one of 
 the alcoves of science." 
 
 The old man paused. 
 
 "Shall I proceed?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," I said, but involuntarily moved my chair back, for I 
 began again to be afraid of the speaker. 
 
 " At last this scientific man had mastered all that was known 
 concerning physiology and anatomy. He learned by heart the 
 wording of great volumes devoted to these subjects. The human 
 frame became to him as an open book. He knew the articula- 
 tion of every muscle, cmild name a bone from a mere fragment. 
 The microscope ceased to be an object of interest, the secrets of 
 pathology and physiology had been mastered. Then, uncon- 
 sciously, he was infected by another tendency; a new thought was 
 destined to dominate his brain. 'What is it that animates tliis 
 frame? What lies inside to give it life?' He became enthused 
 again : ' The dead body, to which I have given my time, is not 
 the conscious part of man,' he said to himself; ' I must find this 
 thing of life within ; I have been only a butcher of the dead. 
 My knowledge is superficial.' " 
 
 Again the old man hesitated and looked at me inquiringh'. 
 
 "Shall I proceed?" he repeated, 
 
 I was possessed by horror, but yet fascinated, and answered 
 determinedly: "Goon." 
 
 "Beware," he added, "beware of the Science of Life." 
 
 Pleadingly he looked at me. 
 
 " Go on," I commanded. 
 
190 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 "With the cunning of a madman, this person of profound 
 learning, led from the innocence of ignorance to the heartless- 
 ness of advanced biological science, secretly planned to seek the 
 vital forces. ' I must begin with a child, for the life essence 
 shows its first manifestations in children,' he reasoned. He 
 moved to an unfrequented locality, discharged his servants, and 
 notified his former friends that visitors were unwelcome. He 
 had determined that no interruption to his work should occur. 
 This course was unnecessary, however, for now he had neither 
 friends nor visitors. He employed carpenters and artisans, and 
 perfected a series of mechanical tables, beautiful examples of 
 automatic mechanism. From the inner room of that house no 
 cry could be heard by persons outside. . . . 
 
 [It will be seen, by referring to the epilogue, that ^Ir. Drury agreed to 
 mutilate part of the book. This I have gladly done, excising the heart-rending 
 passages that follow. To use the words of Prof. Venablc, they do not " com- 
 port with the general delicac\' of the book." — J. U. L.] 
 
 "Hold, old man, cease," I cried aghast; "I have had enough 
 of this. You trifle with me, demon ; I have not asked for night- 
 mare stories, heart-curdling accounts of maniacal investigators, 
 who madly pursue their revolting calling, and discredit the name 
 of science." 
 
 "You asked to see your own brain," he replied. 
 
 "And have been given a terrible story instead," I retorted. 
 
 "So men perverted, misconstruing the aim of science, answer 
 the cry of humanity," he said. " One by one the cherished 
 treasures of Christianity have been stolen from the faithful. 
 What, to the mother, can replace the babe that has been lost?" 
 
 "The next world," I answered, "offers a comfort." 
 
 " Bah," he said ; " does not another searcher in that same 
 science field tell the mother that there is no personal hereafter, 
 that she will never see her babe again? One man of science 
 steals the body, another man of science takes away the soul, the 
 third annihilates heaven ; they go like pestilence and famine, 
 hand in hand, subsisting on all that craving humanity considers 
 sacred, and offering no tangible return beyond a materialistic 
 present. This same science that seems to be doing so much for 
 
BEWARE OF RIOLOCrY. 191 
 
 humanity will continue to elevate so-called material civilization 
 until, as the yeast ferment is smothered in its own excretion, so 
 will science-thought create conditions to blot itself from existence, 
 and destroy the civilization it creates. Science is heartless, not- 
 withstanding the personal purity of the majority of her helpless 
 votaries. She is a thief, not of ordinary riches, but of treasures 
 
 "rising abruptly, he grasped mv hand." 
 
 that can not be replaced. Before science provings the love of a 
 mother perishes, the hope of immortality is annihilated. Beware 
 of materialism, the end of the science of man. Beware of the 
 beginning of biological inquiry, for he who commences, can not 
 foresee the termination. I say to you in candor, no man ever 
 engaged in the part of science lore that questions the life 
 essence, realizing the possible end of his investigations. The 
 insidious servant becomes a tyrannical master ; the housebreaker 
 is innocent, the horse thief guiltless in comparison. Science 
 thought begins in the brain of man; science provings end all 
 things with the end of the material brain of man. Beware of 
 your own brain." 
 
102 KTIDORIirA. 
 
 " I have no fear," I replied, " that I will ever be led to disturb 
 the creeds of the faithful, and I will not be diverted. I demand 
 to see my brain." 
 
 " Your demand shall now be fulfilled ; you have been warned 
 of the return that may follow the commencement of this study ; 
 you force the issue; my responsibility ceases. No man of 
 science realized the end when he began to investigate his 
 throbbing brain, and the end of the fabric that science is 
 weaving for man rests in the hidden future. The story I have 
 related is a true one, as thousands of faithful men who uncon- 
 sciously have been led into infidelity have experienced ; and as the 
 faithful followers of sacred teachings can also perceive, who 
 recognize that their religion and the hope of heaven is slipping 
 aw^ay beneath the steady inroad of the heartless materialistic 
 investigator, who clothes himself in the garb of science." 
 
 Rising abruptly from his chair, he grasped my hand. " You 
 shall see your brain, man; come." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 LOOKING BACKWARD. — THK LIVING BRAIN. 
 
 The old man accompanied his word "come," as I have said, 
 by rising from his chair, and then with a display of strength 
 quite out of proportion to his age, he grasped my wrist and drew 
 me toward the door. Realizing at once that he intended I 
 should accompany him into the night, I protested, saying that I 
 was quite unprepared. 
 
 " My hat, at least," I insisted, as he made no recognition of 
 my first demur. 
 
 " Your hat is on your head," he replied. 
 
 This was true, although I am sure the hat had been pre- 
 viously hung on a rack in a distant part of the room, and I 
 am equally certain that neither my companion nor myself had 
 touched it. Leaving me no time for reflection, he opened the 
 door, and drew me through the hallway and into the gloom. As 
 though perfectly familiar with the city, he guided me from my 
 cozy home, on the retired side street in which I resided, east- 
 wardly into the busy thoroughfare. Western Row. Our course 
 led us down towards the river, past Ninth, Eighth, Seventh 
 Streets. Now and then a pedestrian stopped to gaze in surprise 
 at the unique spectacle, the old man leading the young one, but 
 none made any attempt to molest us. We passed on in silence, 
 out of the busy part of the thoroughfare and into the shady 
 part of the city, into the darkness below Fifth Street. Here the 
 residences were poorer, and tenement-houses and factories began 
 to appear. We were now in a quarter of the city into which 
 strangers seldom, if ever, penetrated after night, and in which 
 I would not have cared to be found unprotected at any time 
 after sunset, much less in such questionable company. I pro- 
 tested against the indiscretion ; my leader made no reph-, but 
 drew me on past the flickering gas lights that now and then 
 appeared at the intersection of Third, Pearl, Second, and 
 
1Q4 p:tii)Orhpa. 
 
 Water Streets, until at last we stood, in darkness, on the bank 
 of the Ohio River, 
 
 Strange, the ferry-boat at that time of night only made a 
 trip every thirty minutes, and yet it was at the landing as 
 though by appointment. Fear began to possess me, and as my 
 thoughts recur to that evening, I can not understand how it 
 was that I allowed myself to be drawn without cry or resistance 
 from my secure home to the Ohio River, in such companion- 
 ship. I can account for the adventure only by the fact that I 
 had deliberately challenged my companion to make the test 
 he was fulfilling, and that an innate consciousness of pride and 
 justice compelled me to permit him to employ his own methods. 
 We crossed the river without speaking, and rapidly ascending 
 the levee we took our course up Main Street into Covington. 
 Still in the lead, my aged guide, without hesitation, went onward 
 to the intersection of Main and Pike Streets; thence he turned 
 to the right, and following the latter thoroughfare we passed 
 the old tannery, that I recalled as a familiar landmark, and 
 then started up the hill. Onward we strode, past a hotel 
 named " Niemeyer's," and soon were in the open country on the 
 Lexington Pike, treading through the mud, diagonally up the 
 hill back of Covington. Then, at a sharp curve in the road 
 where it rounded the point of the hill, we left the highway, 
 and struck down the hillside into a ravine that bounded the 
 lower side of the avenue. We had long since left the city 
 lamps and sidewalks behind us, and now, when we left the road- 
 way, were on the muddy pike at a considerable elevation upon 
 the hillside and, looking backward, I beheld innumerable 
 lights throughout the cities of Cincinnati, Covington, and the 
 village of Newport, sparkling away in the distance behind and 
 below us. 
 
 " Come," my companion said again, as I hesitated, repeating 
 the only word he had uttered since telling his horrible story, 
 "Come!" 
 
 Down the hill into the valley we plunged, and at last he 
 opened the door of an isolated log cabin, which we entered. 
 He lighted a candle that he drew from his pocket, and together 
 we stood facing each other. 
 
 " Be seated," he said dryly. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD. 195 
 
 And then I observed that the cold excuse for furniture in 
 that desolate room consisted of a single rude, hand-made chair 
 with corn-shuck bottom. However, I did not need a second 
 invitation, but sank exhausted and disconsolate upon the wel- 
 come object. 
 
 My companion lost no time, but struck at once into the 
 subject that concerned us, arguing as follows: 
 
 " One of the troubles with humanity is that of changing a 
 thought from the old to a new channel ; to grasp at one effort an 
 entirely new idea is an impossibility. Men follow men in trains 
 of thought expression, as in bodily form generations of men 
 follow generations. A child born with three legs is a freak of 
 nature, a monstrosity, yet it sometimes appears. A man 
 possessed of a new idea is an anomaly, a something that may 
 not be impossible, but which has never appeared. It is almost 
 as difficult to conceive of a new idea as it is to create out of 
 nothing a new material or an element. Neither thoughts nor 
 things can be invented, both must be evolved out of a preexist- 
 ing something which it necessarily resembles. Every advanced 
 idea that appears in the brain of man is the result of a suggestion 
 from without. Men have gone on and on ceaselessly, with their 
 minds bent in one direction, ever looking outwardly, never 
 inwardly. It has not occurred to them to question at all in the 
 direction of backward sight. Mind has been enabled to read 
 the impressions that are made in and on the substance of brain 
 convolutions, but at the same time has been and is insensible to 
 the existence of the convolutions themselves. It is as though we 
 could read the letters of the manuscript that bears them without 
 having conceived of a necessity for the existence of a printed 
 surface, such as paper or anything outside the letters. Had 
 anatomists never dissected a brain, the human family would 
 to-day live in absolute ignorance of the nature of the substance 
 that lies within the skull. Did you ever stop to think that 
 the mind can not now bring to the senses the config'uration, or 
 nature, of the substance in which mind exists? Its own house 
 is unknown. This is in consequence of the fact that physical 
 existence has always depended upon the study of external sur- 
 roundings, and consequently the power of internal sight lies 
 undeveloped. It has never been deemed necessary for man to 
 
196 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 attempt to view the internal construction of his body, and hence 
 the sense of feelinf^ only advises him of that which lies within 
 his own self. This sense is abstract, not descriptive. Normal 
 organs have no sensible existence. Thus an abnormal condition 
 of an organ creates the sensation of pain or pleasure, but dis- 
 closes nothing concerning the appearance or construction of the 
 organ affected. The perfect liver is as vacancy. The normal 
 brain never throbs and aches. The quiescent arm presents no 
 evidence to the mind concerning its shape, size, or color. ]\Ian 
 can not count his fingers unless some outside object touches 
 them, or they press successively against each other, or he per- 
 ceives them by sight. The brain of man, the seat of knowledge^ 
 in which mind centers, is not perceptible through the senses. 
 Does it not seem irrational, however, to believe that mind itself 
 is not aware, or could not be made cognizant, of the nature of 
 its material surroundings?" 
 
 " I must confess that I have not given the subject a thought," 
 I replied. 
 
 " As I predicted," he said. " It is a step toward a new idea, 
 and simple as it seems, now that the subject has been suggested, 
 you must agree that thousands of intelligent men have not been 
 able to formulate the thought. The idea had never occurred to 
 them. Even after our previous conversation concerning the 
 possibility of showing you your own brain, you were powerless 
 and could not conceive of the train of thought which I started, 
 and along which I shall now further direct your senses." 
 
 " The eye is so constituted that light produces an impression 
 on a nervous film in the rear of that organ, this film is named 
 the retina, the impression being carried backward therefrom 
 through a magma of nerve fibers (the optic nerve), and reaching 
 the brain, is recorded on that organ and thus affects the mind. 
 Is it not rational to suppose it possible for this sequence to be 
 reversed? In other words, if the order were reversed could not 
 the same set of nerves carry an impression from behind to the 
 retina, and picture thereon an image of the object which lies 
 anterior thereto, to be again, by reflex action, carried back to 
 the brain, thus bringing the brain siibstance itself to the view 
 of the mind, and thus impress the senses? To recapitulate: If 
 the nerve sensation, or force expression, should travel from the 
 
" FACING THE OPEN WINDOW HE TURNED THE PUPILS OF HIS 
 
 EYES UPWARD." 
 
I.OOKINC; BACKWARD. 199 
 
 brain to the retina, instead of from an ontward object, it will on 
 the reverse of the retina prodnce the image of that which lies 
 behind, and then if the optic nerve carry the image back to the 
 brain, the mind will bring to the senses the appearance of the 
 image depicted thereon." 
 
 " This is my first consideration of the snbject," I replied. 
 
 "Exactly," he said; "yon have passed throngh life looking 
 at outside objects, and have been heedlessly ignorant of your 
 own brain. You have never made an exclamation of surprise at 
 the statement that you really see a star that exists in the depths 
 of space millions of miles beyond our solar system, and yet you 
 became incredulous and scornful when it was suggested that I 
 could show you how you could see the configuration of your 
 brain, an object with which the organ of sight is nearly in 
 contact. How inconsistent." 
 
 " The chain of reasoning is certainly novel, and yet I can 
 not think of a mode by which I can reverse my method of sight 
 and look backward," I now respectfully answered. 
 
 " It is very simple ; all that is required is a counter excitation 
 of the nerve, and we have with us to-night what any person 
 who cares to consider the subject can employ at any time, and 
 thus behold an outline of a part of his own brain. I will give 
 you the lesson." 
 
 Placing himself before the sashless window of the cabin, 
 which opening appeared as a black space pictured against the 
 night, the sage took the candle in his right hand, holding it so 
 that the flame was just below the tip of the nose, and about six 
 inches from his face. Then facing the open window he turned 
 the pupils of his eyes upward, seeming to fix his gaze on the 
 upper part of the open window space, and then he slowly moved 
 the candle transversely, backward and forward, across, in front 
 of his face, keeping it in such position that the flickering flame 
 made a parallel line with his eyes, and as just remarked, about 
 six inches from his face, and just below the tip of his nose. 
 Speaking deliberately, he said : 
 
 " Now, were I you, this movement would produce a counter 
 irritation of the retina; a rhythm of the optic nerve would 
 follow, a reflex action of the brain accompanying, and now a 
 figure of part of the brain that rests against the skull in the 
 
200 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 back of my head would be pictured on the retiua. I would see 
 it plaiuly, appareutly pictured or thrown across the open space 
 before nie." 
 
 "Incredible!" I replied. 
 
 " Try for yourself," quietly said my guide. 
 
 Placing myself in the position designated, I repeated the 
 maneuver, when slowly a shadowy something seemed to be 
 
 " A BRAIX, A LIVING BRAIN, MV OWN BRAIN." 
 
 evolved out of the blank space before me. It seemed to be as a 
 gray veil, or like a corrugated sheet as thin as gauze, which as 
 I gazed upon it and discovered its outline, became more apparent 
 and real. Soon the convolutions assumed a more decided form, 
 the gray matter was visible, filled with venations, first gray and 
 then red, and as I became familiar with the sight, suddenly the 
 convolutions of a brain in all its exactness, with a network of 
 red blood venations, burst into existence.* 
 
 I beheld a brain, a brain, a living brain, my own brain, and 
 as an uncanny sensation possessed me I shudderingly stopped 
 the motion of the candle, and in an instant the shadow}' figure 
 disappeared. 
 
 " Have I won the wager?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered. 
 
 ♦This experiment is not claimed as original. See Poekinje's Beitrage ziir Kenntniss 
 des Sehens in snbjectiver Hinsicht (Prague, 1823 and 1S25), whose conclusions to the eflect 
 that the shadow of the retina is seen, I-Am-The-Mim ignores.— J. U. L. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD. 201 
 
 " Then," said my comi^anion, " make no further investiga- 
 tions in this direction." 
 
 " But I wish to verify the experiment," I replied. " Althouo-h 
 it is not a pleasant test, I can not withstand the temptation to 
 repeat it." 
 
 And again I moved the candle backward and forward, when 
 the figure of my brain sprung at once into existence. 
 
 " It is more vivid," I said; " I see it plainer, and more quickly 
 than before." 
 
 " Beware of the science of man I repeat," he replied; "now, 
 before you are deep in the toils, and can not foresee the end, 
 beware of the science of human biology. Remember the story 
 recently related, that of the physician who was led to destruction 
 by the alluring voice." 
 
 I made no reply, but stood with my face fixed, slowly moving 
 the candle backward and forward, gazing intently into the 
 depths of my own brain. 
 
 After a time the old man removed the candle from my hand, 
 and said: " Do you accej^t the fact? Have I demonstrated the 
 truth of the assertion?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied; "but tell me further, now that you have 
 excited my interest, have I seen and learned all that man can 
 discover in this direction?" 
 
 " No ; you have seen but a small portion of the brain convo- 
 lutions, only those that lie directly back of the optic nerve. By 
 systematic research, under proper conditions, every part of the 
 living brain may become as plainly pictured as that which vou 
 have seen." 
 
 "And is that all that could be learned?" I asked. 
 
 " No," he continued. " Further development may enable men 
 to picture the figures engraved on the convolutions, and at last 
 to read the thoughts that are engraved within the brains of 
 others, and thus through material investigation the observer will 
 perceive the recorded thought of another person. An instrument 
 capable of searching and illuminating the retina could be easily 
 affixed to the eye of a criminal, after which, if the mind of the 
 person operated upon were stimulated by the suggestion of an 
 occurrence either remote or recent, the mind faculty would excite 
 the brain, produce the record, and spread the circumstances as a 
 
202 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 picture before the observer. The brain would tell its own story, 
 and the investigator could read the truth as recorded in the brain 
 of the other man. A criminal subjected to such an examination 
 could not tell an untruth, or equivocate ; his very brain would 
 present itself to the observer." 
 
 " And you make this assertion, and then ask me to go no 
 further into the subject?" 
 
 "Yes; decidedly yes." 
 
 "Tell me, then, could you not have performed this experi- 
 ment in my room, or in the dark cellar of my house?" 
 
 " Any one can repeat it with a candle in any room not other- 
 wise lighted, by looking at a blackboard, a blank wall, or black 
 space," he said. 
 
 I was indignant. 
 
 "Why have you treated me so inhumanly? Was there a 
 necessity for this journey, these mysterious movements, this 
 physical exertion ? Look at the mud with which I am covered, 
 and consider the return trip which yet lies before me, and which 
 must prove even more exhausting?" 
 
 "Ah," he said, "you overdraw. The lesson has been easily 
 acquired. Science is not an easy road to travel. Those who 
 propose to profit thereby must work circuitously, soil their hands 
 and person, meet discouragements, and must expect hardships, 
 reverses, abuse, and discomfort. Do not complain, but thank me- 
 for giving you the lesson without other tribulations that might 
 have accompanied it. Besides, there was another object in my 
 journey, an object that I have quietly accomplished, and which 
 you may never know. Come, we must return." 
 
 He extinguished the light of the candle, and we departed 
 together, trudging back through the mud and the night. * 
 
 Of that wearisome return trip I have nothing to say beyond 
 the fact that before reaching home my companion disappeared in 
 the darkness of a side street, and that the Cathedral chimes were 
 plaving for three o'clock A. m., as I passed the corner of Eighth 
 Street and Western Row. 
 
 The next evening my visitor appeared as usual, and realizing 
 his complete victory, he made no reference to the occurrences 
 
 *We jnust acquiesce in the explanation given for this seemingly uncalled-for joiirney, and 
 yet feel that it was unnecessarily exacting. 
 
LOOKING BACKWARD. 203 
 
 of the previous night. In his nsnal cahn and deliberate manner 
 he prodnced the roll of manuscript saying benignantly, and in a 
 gentle tone : 
 
 "Do you recollect where I left off reading?" 
 
 "You had reached that point in your narrative," I answered, 
 "at which your guide had replaced the boat on the surface of 
 the lake." 
 
 And the mysterious being resumed his reading. 
 
THE MANUSCRIPT CONTINUED. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A LESSON OX VOLCANOES. — PRIMARY COLORS ARE CAPABLE OF 
 FARTHER SUBDIVISION. 
 
 "Get into the boat," said my eyeless pilot, "and we will 
 proceed to the farther edge of the lake, over the barrier of which 
 at great intervals of time, the surface water flows, and induces 
 the convulsion known as Mount Epomeo." 
 
 We accordingly embarked, and a gentle touch of the lever 
 enabled us rapidly to skirt the shore of the underground sea. 
 The soft, bright, pleasant earth-light continually enveloped us, 
 and the absence of either excessive heat or cold, rendered 
 existence delightful. The weird forms taken by the objects 
 that successively presented themselves on the sliore were a 
 source of continual delight to my mind. The motion of our 
 boat was constantly at the will of my guide. Now we would 
 skim across a great bay, flashing ffom point to point ; again we 
 wound slowly through tortuous channels and among partly 
 submerged stones. 
 
 "What a blessing this mode of locomotion would be to 
 humanity," I murmured. 
 
 " Humanity will yet attain it," he replied. " Step by step 
 men have stumbled along towards the goal that the light of 
 coming centuries is destined to illuminate. They have studied, 
 and are still engaged in studying, the properties of grosser 
 forces, such as heat and electricity, and they will be led by the 
 thread they are following, to this and other achievements yet 
 unthought of, but which lie back of those more conspicuous." 
 
 We finally reached a precipitous bluff", that sprung to my 
 view as by magic, and which, with a glass-like surface, stretched 
 upward to a height beyond the scope of my vision, rising 
 
WE FINALLY REACHED A PRECIPITOUS BLUFF, 
 
A LESvSON ON VOLCANOEvS. 207 
 
 straight from the surface of the lake. It was composed of a 
 material seemingly black as jet, and yet when seen under vary- 
 ing spectacular conditions as we skirted its base it reflected, or 
 emitted, most gorgeously the brilliant hues of the rainbow, and 
 also other colors hitherto unknown to me. 
 
 " There is something unique in these shades; species of color 
 appear that I can not identify ; I seem to perceive colors utterly 
 unlike any that I know as the result of deflected, or transmitted, 
 sunlight rays, and they look unlike the combinations of primary 
 ■colors with which I am familiar." 
 
 " Your observations are true ; some of these colors are 
 unknown on earth." 
 
 " But on the surface of the earth we have all possible combi- 
 nations of the seven prismatic rays," I answered. "How can 
 there be others here?" 
 
 " Because, first, your primary colors are capable of further 
 subdivision. 
 
 " Second, other rays, invisible to men under usual conditions, 
 also emanate from the sun, and under favorable circumstances 
 may be brought to the sense of sight." 
 
 " Do you assert that the prism is capable of only partly 
 analyzing the sunlight?" 
 
 "Yes; what reason have you to argue that, because a 
 triangular bit of glass resolves a white ray into seven fractions 
 that are, as men say, differently colored, you could not by 
 proper methods subdivide each of these so-called primary shades 
 into others? What reason have you to doubt that rays now 
 invisible to man accompany those capable of impressing his 
 senses, and might by proper methods become perceptible as new 
 colors?" 
 
 "None," I answered; "only that I have no proof that such 
 rays exist." 
 
 " But they do exist, and men will yet learn that the term 
 ^ primitive ' ray, as applied to each of the seven colors of the 
 rainbow, is incorrect. Each will yet be resolved, and as our 
 faculties multiply and become more subtle, other colors will be 
 developed, possessed of a delicacy and richness indescribable 
 now, for as yet man can not comprehend the possibilities of 
 education beyond the limits of his present condition." 
 
208 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 During this period of conversation we skirted the richly 
 colored blnff with a rapid motion, and at last shot beyond it, 
 as with a flasli, into seeming vacancy. I was sitting with 
 my gaze directed toward the bluff, and when it instantly 
 disappeared, I rubbed my eyes to convince myself of their 
 truthfulness, and as I did so our boat came gradually to a stand 
 on the edge of what appeared to be an unfathomable abyss. 
 Beneath me on the side where had risen the bluff that disap- 
 peared so abruptly, as far as the eye could reach, was an absolute 
 void. To our right, and before and behind us, stretched the 
 surface of that great smooth lake on whose bosom we rested. 
 To our left, our boat brushing its rim, a narrow ledge, a contin- 
 uation of the black, glass-like material, reached only a foot above 
 the water, and beyond this narrow brink the mass descended 
 perpendicularly to seemingly infinite depths. Involuntarily I 
 grasped the sides of the boat, and recoiled from the frightful 
 chasm, over which I had been so suddenly suspended, and 
 which exceeded anything of a similar description that I had 
 ever seen. The immeasurable depth of the abyss, in connection 
 with the apparently frail barrier that held the great lake in its 
 bounds, caused me to shudder and shrink back, and my brain 
 reeled in dizzy fright. An inexplicable attraction, however, 
 notwithstanding my dread, held me spell-bound, and although I 
 struggled to shut out that view, the endeavor failed. I seemed 
 to be drawn by an irresistible power, and yet I shuddered at the 
 awful majesty of that yawning gulf which threatened to end the 
 world on which I then existed. Fascinated, entranced, I could 
 not help gazing, I knew not how long, down, down into that 
 fathomless, silent profundity. Composing myself, I turned a 
 questioning glance on my guide. 
 
 He informed me that this hard, glass-like dam, confined the 
 waters of the slowly rising lake that we were sailing over, and 
 wdiich finally would rise high enough to overflow the barrier. 
 
 "The cycle of the periodic overflow is measured by great 
 intervals," he said ; " centuries are required to raise the level of 
 the lake a fraction of an inch, and thousands of years may elapse 
 before its surface will again reach the top of the adamantine 
 wall. Then, governed by the law that attracts a liquid to itself, 
 and heaps the teaspoon with liquid, the water of the quiet lake 
 
THE WALL DESCENDED PERPENDICULARLY TO SEEMINGLY 
 INFINITE DEPTHS." 
 
A LESSON ON VOLCANOES. 211 
 
 piles upon this narrow wall, forming a ledge along its summit. 
 Finally the superimposed surface water gives way, and a skim 
 of water pours over into the abyss." 
 
 He paused ; I leaned over and meditated, for I had now 
 accustomed myself to the situation. 
 
 "There is no bottom," I exclaimed, 
 
 " Upon the contrary," he answered, " the bottom is less than 
 ten miles beneath us, and is a great funnel-shaped orifice, the 
 neck of the funnel reaching first down and then upward from us 
 diagonally toward the surface of the earth. Although the light 
 by which we are enveloped is bright, yet it is deficient in pene- 
 trating power, and is not capable of giving the contour of objects 
 even five miles away, hence the chasm seems bottomless, and 
 the gulf measureless." 
 
 "Is it not natural to suppose that a mass of water like this 
 great lake would overflow the barrier immediately, as soon as 
 the surface reached the upper edge, for the pressure of the 
 immense volume must be beyond calculation." 
 
 " No, for it is height, not expanse, which, as hydrostatic 
 engineers understand, governs the pressure of water. A liquid 
 column, one foot in width, would press against the retaining dam 
 with the force of a body of the same liquid, the same depth, one 
 thousand miles in extent. Then the decrease of gravity here 
 permits the molecular attraction of the water's mole- 
 cules to exert itself more forcibly than would be the 
 <:ase on the surface of the earth, and this holds the 
 liquid mass together more firmly." 
 
 " See," he observed, and dipping his finger into 
 the water he held it before him with a drop of water 
 attached thereto (Figure 27), the globule being of 
 considerable size, and lengthened as though it con- 
 sisted of some glutinous liquid. 
 
 " How can a thin stratum of water give rise to a 
 volcanic eruption ?" I next queried. "There seems 
 to be no melted rock, no evidence of intense heat, 
 either beneath or about us." fig. 27. 
 
 " I informed you some time ago that I would partially explain 
 these facts. Know then, that the theories of man concerning 
 Tolcanic eruptions, in connection with a molten interior of the 
 
212 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 earth, are such as are evolved in io^norance of even the sub- 
 surface of the globe. The earth's interior is to mankind a 
 sealed chamber, and the wise men who elucidate the curious 
 theories concerning natural phenomena occurring therein are 
 forced to draw entirely upon their imagination. Few persons 
 realize the paucity of data at the command of workers in 
 science. Theories concerning the earth are formulated from so 
 little real knowledge of that body, that our science may be said 
 to be all theoryy with scarcely a trace of actual e\idcnce to 
 support it. If a globe ten inches in diameter be covered with 
 a sheet of paper, such as I hold in my hand, the thickness of that 
 sheet will be greater in proportion to that of such a globe than 
 the depth men have explored within the earth is compared with 
 the thickness of the crust of the earth. The outer surface of a 
 pencil line represents the surface of the earth ; the inner surface 
 of the line represents the depth of man's explorations ; the high- 
 est mountain would be represented by a comma resting on the 
 line. The geologist studies the substances that are thrust from 
 the crater of an active volcano, and from this makes conjectures 
 regarding the strata beneath, and the force that casts the 
 excretions out. The results must wnth men, therefore, furnish 
 evidence from which to explain the cause. It is as though an 
 anatomist would form his idea of the anatomy of the liver by 
 the secretion thrown out of that organ, or of the lung texture 
 by the breath and sputum. In fact, volcanoes are of several 
 descriptions, and usually are extremely superficial. This lake, 
 the surface of which is but one hundred and fifty miles under- 
 ground, is the mother of an exceptionally deep one. When 
 the water pours over this ledge it strikes an element below 
 us, the metallic base of salt, which lies in great masses in some 
 portions of the earth's crust. * Then an immediate chemical 
 reaction ensues, the water is dissociated, intense heat results, 
 part of the water combines with the metal, part is vaporized 
 as steam, while part escapes as an inflammable gas. The 
 sudden liberation of these gases causes an irregular pressure 
 of vapor on the surface of the lake, the result being a throb- 
 bing and rebounding of the attenuated atmosphere above, which, 
 
 «'Thisview is supported in theory by a note I believe to have somewhere seen recorded. 
 Elsewhere other bases are mentioned also.— J. U. I,. 
 
A LESSON ON VOLCANOES. 213 
 
 in gigantic waves, like swelling tides, dashes great volumes 
 of water over the ledge beside ns, and into the depth below. 
 This water in turn reacts on fresh portions of the metallic base, 
 and the reflex action increases the vapor discharges, and as a 
 consequence the chamber we are in becomes a gasometer, con- 
 taining vapors of unequal gas pressures, and the resultant 
 agitation of the lake from the turmoil continues, and the pulsa- 
 tions are repeated until the surface of the lake is lowered to 
 such a degree as at last to prevent the water from overflowing 
 the barrier. Finally the lake quiets itself, the gases slowly 
 disappear by earth absorption, and by escape from the volcanic 
 exit, and for an unrecorded period of time thereafter the surface 
 of the lake continues to rise slowly as it is doing now." 
 
 " But wdiat has this phenomenon to do with the volcano?" 
 
 " It produces the eruption ; the water that rushes down into 
 the chasm, partly as steam, partly as gas, is forced onward and 
 upward through a crevice that leads to the old crater of the 
 presumed extinct but periodically active Mount Epomeo. These 
 gases are intensely heated, and they move with fearful velocity. 
 They tear off great masses of stone, which the resultant energy 
 disturbances, pressure, gas, and friction, redden with heat. The 
 mixture of gases from the decomposed water is in large amount, 
 is burning and exploding, and in this fiery furnace amid such 
 convulsions as have been described, the adjacent earth substance 
 is fused, and even clay is melted, and carried on with the fiery 
 blast. Finally the current reaches the earth's surface through 
 the funnel passage, the apex of which is a volcano — the blast 
 described a volcanic eruption." 
 
 "One thing is still obscure in my mind," I said. "You 
 assert that the reaction which follows the contact of the flowing 
 water and metallic bases in the crevice below us liberates the 
 explosive gases, and also volumes of vapor of water. These 
 gases rush, you say, and produce a volcanic eruption in a distant 
 part of the crust of the earth. I can not understand why they 
 do not rush backward as well, and produce another eruption in 
 Kentucky. Surely the pressure of a gas in confinement is the 
 same in all directions, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "but the conditions in the different 
 directions are dissimilar. In the direction of the Kentucky 
 
214 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 cavern, the passage is tortuous, and often contracts to a narrow- 
 crevice. In one place near the cavern's moiith, as you will 
 remember, we had to dive beneath the surface of a stream of 
 water. That stratum of water as effectually closed the exit from 
 the earth as the stopper prevents water escaping from a bottle. 
 Between the point we now occupy and that w^ater stopper, rest^ 
 thousands of miles of quiescent air. The inertia of a thousand 
 miles of air is great beyond your comprehension. To move that 
 column of air by pushing against this end of it, and thus shov- 
 ing it instantly out of the other end, would require greater force 
 than would burst the one hundred and fifty miles of inelastic 
 stone above us. Then, the friction of the sides is another thing 
 that prevents its accomplishment. While a gradually applied 
 pressure would in time overcome both the inertia of the air and 
 the friction of the stone passages, it would take a supply of 
 energy greater than you can imagine to start into motion the 
 elastic mass that stands as solid and immovable as a sentinel of 
 adamant, between the cavern you entered, and the spot we now 
 occupy. Time and energy combined would be able to accomplish 
 the result, but not under present conditions. 
 
 "In the other direction a broad open channel reaches directly 
 to and connects with the volcanic shaft. Through this channel 
 the air is in motion, moving towards the extinct crater, being 
 supplied from another surface orifice. The gases liberated in 
 the manner I have described, naturally follow the line of least 
 resistance. They turn at once away from the inert mass of air 
 that rests behind us, and move with increasing velocity towards 
 the volcanic exit. Before the pressure that might be exerted 
 towards the Kentucky cavern would have more than compressed 
 the intervening column of air enough to raise the w^ater of a well 
 from its usual level to the surface of the earth, the velocity in the 
 other direction would have augmented prodigiously, and with its 
 increased rapidity a suction would follow more than sufficient to 
 consume the increasingly abundant gases from behind." 
 
 "Volcanoes are therefore local, and the interior of the earth 
 is not a molten mass as I have been taught," I exclaimed. 
 
 He answered: "If men were far enough along in their 
 thought journey (for the evolution of the mental side of man is 
 a journey in the world of thought), they would avoid such 
 
A LESSON ON VOLCANOES. 215 
 
 theories as that which ascribes a molten interior to the earth. 
 Volcanoes are superficial. They are as a rule, when in activity 
 but little blisters or excoriations upon the surface of the earth, 
 although their underground connections may be extensive. 
 Some of them are in a continual fret with frequent eruptions, 
 others, like the one under consideration, awaken only after great 
 periods of time. The entire surface of this globe has been or will 
 be subject to volcanic action. The phenomenon is one of the 
 steps in the world-making, matter-leveling process. When the 
 deposit of substances that I have indicated, and of which much 
 of the earth's interior is composed, the bases of salt, potash, and 
 lime and clay is exhausted, there will be no further volcanic 
 action from this cause, and in some places, this deposit has 
 already disappeared, or is covered deeply by layers of earth that 
 serve as a protection." 
 
 "Is water, then, the universal cause of volcanoes?" 
 
 " Water and air together cause most of them. The action of 
 water and its vapor produces from metallic space dust, limestone, 
 and clay soil, potash and soda salts. This perfectly rational and 
 natural action must continue as long as there is water above, 
 and free elementary bases in contact with the earth bubbles. 
 Volcanoes, earthquakes, geysers, mud springs, and hot springs, 
 are the natural result of that reaction. Mountains are thereby 
 forming by upheavals from beneath, and the corresponding 
 surface valleys are consequently filling up, either by the slow 
 deposit of the matter from the saline water of hot springs, 
 or by the sudden eruption of a new or presumably extinct 
 volcano." 
 
 "What would happen if a crevice in the bottom of the ocean 
 should conduct the waters of the ocean into a deposit of metallic 
 bases?" 
 
 " That often occurs," was the reply ; " a volcanic wave results, 
 and a volcano may thus rise from the ocean's depths." 
 
 " Is there any danger to the earth itself? May it not be 
 riven into fragments from such a convulsion?" I hesitatingly 
 questioned. 
 
 "No; while the configuration of continents is continually 
 being altered, each disturbance must be practically superficial, 
 and of limited area." 
 
•216 RTIDORHPA. 
 
 "But," I persisted, "the rigid, solid earth may be blown to 
 fragments; in such convulsions a result like that seems not 
 impossible." 
 
 " You argue from an erroneous hypothesis. The earth is 
 neither rigid nor solid." 
 
 "True," I answered. " If it were solid I could not be a 
 hundred miles beneath its surface in conversation with another 
 being ; but there can not be many such cavities as that which 
 we are now traversing, and they can not surely extend entirely 
 through its mass ; the great weight of the superincumbent 
 material would crush together the strongest materials, if a globe 
 as large as our earth were extensively honeycombed in this 
 manner." 
 
 " Quite the contrary," he replied ; " and here let me, for the 
 first time, enlighten you as to the interior structure of the 
 terrestrial globe. The earth-forming principle consists of an 
 invisible sphere of energy that, spinning through space, supports 
 the space dust which collects on it, as dust on a bubble. By 
 gradual accumulation of substance on that sphere a hollow 
 ball has resulted, on the outer surface of which }ou have 
 hitherto dwelt. The crust of the earth is comparatively thin, 
 not more than eight hundred miles in average thickness, and is 
 held in position by the central sphere of energy that now exists 
 at a distance about seven hundred miles beneath the ocean 
 level. The force inherent to this sphere manifests itself upon 
 the matter which it supports on both sides, rendering matter the 
 lighter the nearer it lies to the center sphere. In other words, 
 let me say to you: "The crust, or shell, which I have just 
 described as being but about eight hundred miles in thickness, 
 is firm and solid on both its convex and concave surface, but 
 gradually loses in weight, whether we penetrate from the outer 
 surface toward the center, or from any point of the inner surface 
 towards the outside, initil at the central sphere matter has no 
 weight at all. Do you conceive my meaning?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied; "I understand you perfectly." 
 
 After a pause my pilot asked me abruptly : 
 
 " What do you most desire?" 
 
 The question caused my mind to revert instantly to my old 
 home on the earth above me, and although I felt the hope of 
 
A LP:SS0N on volcanoes. 217 
 
 returning to it spring up in my heart, the force of habit caused 
 me invokmtarily to answer, " More light!" 
 
 " More light being your desire, you shall receive it." 
 
 Obedient to his touch, the bow of the boat turned from the 
 gulf we had been considering towards the center of the lake ; 
 the responsive craft leaped forward, and in an instant the obsidian 
 parapet disappeared behind us. On and over the trackless waste 
 of glass-like water we sped, until the dead silence became pain- 
 fully oppressive, and I asked : 
 
 "Whither are we bound?" 
 
 " Towards the east." 
 
 The well-timed answer raised my spirits; I thought again 
 that in this man, despite his repulsive shape, I beheld a friend, a 
 brother; suspicion vanished, and my courage rose. He touched 
 the lever, and the craft, subject to his will, nearly rose from the 
 Avater, and sped with amazing velocity, as was evident from the 
 appearance of the luminous road behind us. So rapid was our 
 flight that the wake of the boat seemed as if made of rigid 
 parallel lines that disappeared in the distance, too quick for the 
 eye to catch the tremor. 
 
 Continuing his conversation, my companion informed me 
 that he had now directed the bark toward a point east of the 
 spot where we struck the shore, after crossing the lake, in order 
 that we might continue our journey downward, diagonally to 
 the under surface of the earth crust. 
 
 "This recent digression from our journey proper," said he, 
 "has been made to acquaint you with a subject, regarding which 
 you have exhibited a curiosity, and about which you have hereto- 
 fore been misinformed ; now you understand more clearly part 
 of the philosophy of volcanoes and earthquakes. You have yet 
 much to learn in connection with allied phenomena, but this 
 study of the crude exhibition of force-disturbed matter, the 
 manipulation of which is familiar to man under the above 
 names, is an introduction to the more wonderful study destined 
 yet to be a part of your field, an investigation of quiescent 
 matter, and pure motion." 
 
 "I can not comprehend you," I replied, "as I stated once 
 before when you referred to what you designated as pure 
 motion." 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MATTER IS RETARDED MOTION. 
 
 " It is possible for you to imagine, is it not, that a continuous 
 volley of iron balls were passing near you in one line, in a hori- 
 zontal direction with considerable velocity. Suppose that a 
 pane of glass were to be gradually moved so that a corner of 
 it would be struck by one of the balls; then the entire sheet 
 of glass would be shivered by the concussion, even though the 
 bullet struck but a single spot of glass, the point of contact 
 covering only a small area. Imagine now that the velocity of 
 the volley of bullets be increased a thousand fold ; then a plate 
 of glass thrust into their track would be smoothly cut, as though 
 with a file that would gnaw its way without producing a single 
 radiating fracture. A person standing near the volley would 
 now hear a deep purr or growling sound, caused by the friction 
 between the bullets and the air. Increase gradually the rapidity 
 of their motion, and this growl would become more acute, 
 passing from a deep, low murmur, into one less grave, and as 
 the velocity increased, the tone would become sharper, and at 
 last piercingly shrill. Increase now the rapidity of the train of 
 bullets again, and again the notes would decrease in turn, passing 
 back again successively through the several keys that had pre- 
 ceded, and finally would reach the low growl which first struck 
 the ear, and with a further increase of speed silence would ensue, 
 silence evermore, regardless of increasing velocity.* From 
 these hundreds of miles in a second at which the volley is now 
 passing, let the rapidity be augmented a thousand times, reaching 
 in their flight into millions of miles each second, and to the eye, 
 from the point where the sound disappeared, as the velocity 
 increased, a dim redness would appear, a glow just perceptible. 
 
 "A scientific critic seems to think that the shrill cry would cease instantly and not gradu- 
 ally. However, science has been at fanlt more than once, and I do not care to take liberties 
 with this statement.— J. U. I.,. 
 'J18 
 
mattp:r IvS retarded motion. 219 
 
 indicating to the sense of sight, by a continuous line, the track 
 of the moving missiles. To all appearance, the line would be 
 as uniform as an illuminated pencil mark, even though the 
 several integral bullets of the trail might be separated one from 
 another by miles of space. Let a pane of glass now be thrust 
 across their track, and from the point of contact a shower of 
 sparks would fly, and the edges of glass close to either side of 
 the orifice would be shown, on withdrawing the glass, to have 
 been fused. Conceive now that the velocity of the bullets be 
 doubled and trebled, again and again, the line of red light 
 becomes brighter, then brilliant, and finally as the velocity 
 increases, at a certain point pure white results, and to man's 
 sense the trail would now be a continuous something, as solid as 
 a bar of metal if at a white heat, and (even if the bullets were a 
 thousand miles apart) man could not bring proof of their separate 
 existence to his senses. That portion of a pane of glass or other 
 substance, even steel or adamant, which should cross its track 
 now would simply melt away, the portion excised and carried out 
 of that pathway neither showing itself as scintillations, nor as 
 fragments of matter. The solid would instantly liquefy, and 
 would spread itself as a thin film over the surface of each ball of 
 that white, hot mass of fleeing metal, now to all essential 
 conditions as uniform as a bar of iron. Madly increase the 
 velocity to millions upon millions of miles per second, and the 
 heat will disappear gradually as did the sound, while the bright 
 light will pass backward successively through the primary 
 shades of color that are now known to man, beginning with 
 violet, and ending with red, and as the red fades away the train 
 of bullets will disappear to the sense of man. Neither light nor 
 sound now accompanies the volley, neither the human eye nor 
 the human ear can perceive its presence. Drop a pane of glass or 
 any other object edgewise through it, and it gives to the sense of 
 man no evidence ; the molecules of the glass separate from in 
 front to close in from behind, and the moving train passes through 
 it as freely as light, leaving the surface of the glass unaffected." 
 "Hold," I interrupted; "that would be as one quality of 
 matter passing through another quality of matter without 
 disturbance to either, and it is a law in physics that two 
 substances can not occupy the same space at the same time." 
 
220 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " That law holds good as man understands the subject, but 
 bullets are no longer matter. Motion of mass was first changed 
 into motion of molecules, and motion of molecule became finally 
 augmented into motion of free force entities as the bullets dis- 
 integrated into molecular corpuscles, and then were dissociated, 
 atoms resulting. At this last point the sense of vision, and of 
 touch, ceased to be affected by that moving column (neither 
 matter nor force), and at the next jump in velocity the atoms 
 themselves disappeared, and free intangible motion resulted — 
 nothing, vacanc}'. 
 
 " This result is the all-pervading spirit of space (the ether of 
 mankind), as solid as adamant and as mobile as vacuity. If you 
 can reverse the order of this phenomenon, and imagine an 
 irregular retardation of the rapidity of such atomic motion, you 
 can read the story of the formation of the material universe. 
 Follow the chain backward, and with the decrease of velocity, 
 motion becomes tangible matter again, and in accordance with 
 conditions governing the change of motion into matter, from 
 time to time the various elements successively appear. The 
 planets may grow without and within, and ethereal space can 
 o-enerate elemental dirt. If you can conceive of an intermediate 
 condition whereby pure space motion becomes partly tangible, 
 and yet is not gross enough to be earthy matter, you can imagine 
 how such forces as man is acquainted with, light, heat, electric- 
 itv, magnetism, or gravity even are produced, for these are also 
 disturbances in space motion. It should be easily understood 
 that, according to the same simple principle, other elements and 
 unknown forces as well, now imperceptible to man's limited 
 faculties, could be and are formed outside and inside his field of 
 perception." 
 
 " I fear that I can not comprehend all this," I answered. 
 
 " So I feared, and perhaps I have given you this lesson too 
 soon, although some time ago you asked me to teach you con- 
 cerning the assertion that electricity, light, heat, magnetism, and 
 gravity are disturbances, and you said, 'Disturbances of what?' 
 Think the lesson over, and you will perceive that it is easy. 
 Let us hope that the time will come when we will be able to 
 glance beneath the rough, material, earth surface knowledge that 
 man has acquired, and experience the mind expansion that leads 
 
MATTER IS RETARDED MOTION. 221 
 
 to the blissful insight possessed by superior beings who do not 
 have to contend with the rasping elements that encompass all 
 who dwell upon the surface of the earth," 
 
 I pondered over these words, and a vague light, an undefined, 
 inexpressible something that I could not put into words broke 
 into my mind; T inferred that we were destined to meet with 
 persons, or existences, possessed of new senses, of a mind 
 development that man had not reached, and I was on the point 
 of questioning my pilot when the motion of the boat was 
 suspended, land appeared ahead, we drew up to it, and disem- 
 barked. Lifting the boat from the water my guide placed it on 
 land at the edge of the motionless lake, and we resumed our 
 journey. The scenery seemed but little changed from that of 
 the latter part of our previous line of travel down the inclined 
 plane of the opposite side of the lake that we had crossed. The 
 direction was still downward after leaving the high ridge that 
 bordered the edge of the lake, the floor of the cavern being 
 usually smooth, although occasionally it was rough and cov- 
 ered with stony debris. The mysterious light grew perceptibly 
 brighter as we progressed, the fog-like halo previously mentioned 
 became less dense, and the ring of obscurity widened rapidly. 
 I could distinctly perceive objects at a great distance. I turned 
 to my companion to ask why this was, and he replied : 
 
 " Because we are leaving one of the undiscovered conditions 
 of the upper atmosphere that disturbs the sunlight." 
 
 " Do you say that the atmosphere is composed of substances 
 unknown to man?" 
 
 "Yes; several of them are gases, and others are qualities of 
 space condition, neither gas, liquid, nor solid.* One particularly 
 interferes with light in its passage. It is an entity that is not 
 moved by the motion of the air, and is unequally distributed 
 over the earth's surface. As we ascend above the earth it 
 decreases, so it does as we descend into it. It is not vapor of 
 water, is neither smoke, nor a true gas, and is as yet sensible to 
 
 -This has since been partly supported by the discovery of the element Argon. However, 
 the statement has been recorded many years. Miss Ella Burbige, stenographer, Newport, 
 Ky., copied the original in 18S7; Mr. S. D. Rouse, attorney, Covington, Ky., read it in 1889; Mr. 
 Russell Errett, editor of the Christian Standard, in 1S90, and Mr. H. C. Meader, President of 
 the American Ticket Brokers' Association, in 1S92. It seems proper to make this explanation 
 in order to absolve the author from any charge of plagiarism^ for each of these persons will 
 recall distinctly this improbable [thenl assertion. — ^J. U. L. 
 
222 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 man only by its power of niodifNing the intensity of light. It 
 has no color, is chemically inactive, and yet modifies the sun's 
 rays so as to blot objects from view at a comparatively small dis- 
 tance from a person on the face of the earth. That this fact is 
 known to man is evident from the knowledge he possesses of 
 the difference in the power of his organs of vision at different 
 parts of the earth. His sight is especially acute on the table 
 lands of the Western Territories." 
 
 " I have been told," I answered, " that vajDor of water causes 
 this obscuration, or absorption, of light." 
 
 "Vapor of water, unless in strata of different densities, is 
 absolutely transparent, and presents no obstacle to the passage 
 of light," he said. " When vapor obstructs light it is owing to 
 impurities contained in it, to currents of varying densities, or 
 wave motions, or to a mechanical mixture of condensed water 
 and air, whereby multitudes of tiny globular water surfaces are 
 produced. Pure vapor of water, free from motion, is passive to 
 the sunlight." 
 
 " I can scarcely believe that a substance such as you describe, 
 or that any constituent of the air, can have escaped the percep- 
 tion of the chemist," I replied. 
 
 In, as I thought, a facetious manner he repeated after me 
 the word " chemist," and continued : 
 
 " Have chemists detected the ether of Aristotle, that you 
 have mentioned, and I have defined, which scientists neverthe- 
 less accept pervades all space and every description of matter, 
 and that I have told you is really matter itself changed into 
 ultra atomic motion? Have chemists explained why one object 
 is transparent, and another of equal weight and solidity is 
 opaque? Have chemists told you why vermillion is red and 
 indigo is blue (the statement that they respectively reflect these 
 rays of light is not an explanation of the cause for such action) ? 
 Have chemists told you why the prism disarranges or distorts 
 sunlight to produce the abnormal hues that men assume compose 
 elementary rays of light? Have chemists explained anything 
 concerning the why or wherefore of the attributes of matter, or 
 force, or even proven that the so-called primary forms of matter, 
 or elements, are not compounds? Upon the contrary, does 
 not the evolution that results in the recorded discoveries of the 
 
MATTER IS RETARDED MOTION. 223 
 
 chemist foretell, or at least indicate, the possible future of the art, 
 and promise that surrounding mysteries are yet to be developed 
 and expanded into open truths, thus elaborating hidden forces ; 
 and that other forms of matter and unseen force expressions, 
 are destined to spring into existence as the sciences progress? 
 The chemist of to-day is groping in darkness; he is a novice 
 as compared with the elaborated chemist of the near future ; the 
 imperfectly seen of the present, the silent and unsuspected, will 
 become distinctly visible in a time that is to come, and a bright- 
 ening of the intellect by these successively upward steps, up 
 stairs of science, will, if science serves herself best, broaden the 
 mind and give power to the imagination, resulting finally in" — 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Go on," I said. 
 
 " The passage of mortal man, with the faculties of man 
 intact, into communion with the spirit world." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 "A STUDY OF SCIKNCE IS A STUDY OF GOD." — COMMUNING WITH 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 " This is incredible," I exclaimed. 
 
 " You need not be astonished," he answered. " Is there any 
 arr^nment that can be offered to controvert the assertion that 
 man is ignorant of many natural laws?" 
 
 " I can offer none." 
 
 " Is there any doubt that a force, distinct and separate from 
 matter, influences matter and vivifies it into a living personality?" 
 
 "I do not deny that there is such force." 
 
 "What then should prevent this force from existing separate 
 from the body if it be capable of existing in it?" 
 
 "I can not argue against such a position." 
 
 " If, as is hoped and believed by the majority of mankind, 
 even though some try to deny the fact, it is possible for man to 
 exist as an association of earth matters, linked to a personal 
 spirit force, the soul, and for the spirit force, after the death 
 of the body, to exist independent of the grosser attributes of 
 man, free from his mortal body, is it not reasonable to infer that 
 the spirit, while it is still in man and linked to his body, may be 
 educated and developed so as, under favorable conditions, to 
 meet and communicate with other spirits that have been previ- 
 ously liberated from earthly bondage?" 
 
 "I submit," I answered; "but you shock my sensibilities 
 when you thus imply that by cold, scientific investigation we can 
 place ourselves in a position to meet the unseen spirit world " — 
 
 It was now my turn to hesitate. 
 
 " Go on," he said. 
 
 "To commune with the angels," I answered. 
 
 "A stiidy of true science is a study of God," he continued. 
 "Angels are organizations natural in accordance with God's laws. 
 They appear superhuman, because of our ignorance concerning 
 
"A STUDY OF SCIENCE IS A vSTUDY OF GOD." 225 
 
 the higher natural forces. They exist in exact accordance with 
 the laws that govern the universe ; but as yet the attraction 
 between clay and clay-bound spirit is so great as to prevent the 
 enthralled soul of man from communicating with them. The 
 faith of the religionist is an example of the unquenchable feeling 
 that creates a belief as well as a hope that there is a self-existence 
 separate from earthy substances. The scoffing scientific agnostic, 
 w^orking for other objects, will yet astonish himself by elaborating 
 a method that will practically demonstrate these facts, and then 
 empirical religion, as exemplified by the unquestioning faithful 
 believer, and systematic science, as typified in the experimental 
 materialist, will meet on common ground." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 I CEASE TO BREATHE, AND YP:T LIVE. 
 
 During this conversation we had been rapidly walking, or I 
 should better say advancing, for we no longer walked as men 
 do, but skipped down into the earth, down, ever downward. 
 There were long periods of silence, in which I was engaged in 
 meditating over the problems that successively demanded solu- 
 tion, and even had I desired to do so I could have kept no record 
 of time ; days, or even weeks, may have been consumed in this 
 journey. Neither have I any method of judging of the rapidity 
 of our motion. I was sensible of a marked decrease in the 
 amount of muscular energy required to carry us onward, and I 
 realized that my body was quite exempt from weariness. Motion 
 became restful instead of exhausting, and it seemed to me that 
 the ratio of the loss of weight, as shown by our free movements, 
 in proportion to the distance we traversed, was greater than 
 formerly. The slightest exhibition of propelling force cast us 
 rapidly forward. Instead of the laborious, short step of upper 
 earth, a single leap would carry us many yards. A slight 
 spring, and with our bodies in space, we would skip several 
 rods, alighting gently, to move again as easily. I marveled, for, 
 although I had been led to anticipate something unusual, the 
 practical evidence was wonderfully impressive, and I again ques- 
 tioned my guide. 
 
 " We are now nearing what physicists would call the center 
 of gravity," he replied, " and our weight is rapidly diminishing. 
 This is in exact accordance with the laws that govern the force 
 called gravitation, which, at the earth's surface, is apparently 
 miiform, though no instrument known to man can demonstrate 
 its exact variation within the field man occupies. Men have 
 not, as yet, been in a position to estimate this change, although it 
 is known that mountains attract objects, and that a change in 
 weight as we descend into the earth is perceptible ; but to evolve 
 
 226 
 
I CEASE TO BREATHE, AND YET LIVE. 
 
 227 
 
 the true law, observation, at a distance of at least ten miles beneath 
 the surface of the ocean is necessary, and man, being a creature 
 whose motions are _^ 
 
 confined to a thin, 
 horizontal skin of 
 earth, has never 
 been one mile be- 
 neath its surface, 
 and in consequence 
 his opportunities for 
 comparison are ex- 
 tremely limited/' 
 
 " I have been 
 taught," I replied, 
 *'that the force of 
 gravitation de- 
 creases until the 
 center of the earth 
 is reached, at which 
 point a body is with- 
 out weight; and I 
 can scarcely understand how such positive statements from 
 scientific men can be far from the truth." 
 
 "It is supposed by your surface men that the maximum of 
 weight is to be found at one-sixth the distance beneath the 
 surface of the earth, and therefrom decreases until at the center 
 it is nothing at all," he replied, "This hypothesis, though, a 
 stagger toward the right, is far from the truth, but as near as 
 could be expected, when we consider the data upon which men 
 base their calculations. Were it not for the purpose of contro- 
 verting erroneous views, men would have little incentive to 
 continue their investigations, and as has been the rule in science 
 heretofore, the truth will, in time, appear in this case. One 
 generation of students disproves the accepted theories of that 
 which precedes, all working to eliminate error, all adding factors 
 of error, and all together moving toward a common goal, a grand 
 generalization, that as yet can not be perceived. And still each 
 series of workers is overlooking phenomena that, though obvi- 
 ous, are yet unperceived, but which will make evident to future 
 
 'WE WOUr^D SKIP SEVERAL RODS, ALIGHTING 
 GENTLY." 
 
228 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 scientists the mistakes of the present. As an example of the 
 manner in which facts are thns overlooked, in yonr jonrney you 
 have been impressed with certain surprising external conditions, 
 or surroundings, and yet are oblivious to conditions more remark- 
 able in your own body. So it is with scientists. They overlook 
 prominent facts that stare them boldly in the face, facts that, 
 are so conspicuous as to be invisible by reason of their very 
 nearness." 
 
 "This statement I can not disprove, and therefore must 
 admit under protest. Where there is so much that appears 
 mysterious I may have overlooked some things, but I can 
 scarcely accept that, in ignorance, I have passed conditions in 
 my own organization so marked as this decrease in gravity 
 which has so strikingly been called to my attention." 
 
 " You have, and to convince you I need only say that you 
 have nearly ceased to breathe, and are unconscious of the fact." 
 
 I stopped short, in momentary alarm, and now that my 
 mind was directed to the fact, I became aware that I did not 
 desire to breathe, and that my chest had ceased to heave with 
 the alternate inhalation and exhalation of former times. I 
 closed my lips firmly, and for a long period there was no desire 
 for breath, then a slight involuntary inhalation followed, and an 
 exhalation, scarcely noticeable, succeeded by a great interval of 
 inaction. I impulsively turned my face toward the passage we 
 had trod; a feeling of alarm possessed me, an uncontrollable^ 
 inexpressible desire to flee from the mysterious earth-being 
 beside me, to return to men, and be an earth-surface man again^ 
 and I started backward through the chamber we had passed. 
 
 The guide siezed me by the hand, "Hold, hold," he cried; 
 "where would you go, fickle mortal?" 
 
 "To the surface," I shouted; " to daylight again. Unhand 
 me, unearthly creature, abnormal being, man or devil ; ha\-e you 
 not inveigled me far enough into occult realms that should be 
 forever sealed from mankind? Have you not taken from me all 
 that men love or cherish, and undone every tie of kith or kin? 
 Have you not led me into paths that the imagination of the 
 novelist dare not conjure, and into experiences that pen in 
 human hand would not venture to describe as possible, until 
 I now stand with mv feet on the boundar^• line that borders 
 
I CEASE TO BREATHE, AND YET LIVE. 
 
 229 
 
 vacancy, and utter loss of weight ; with a body nearly lost as a 
 material substance, verging into nothing, and lastly with breath 
 practically extinguished, I say, and repeat, is it not time that I 
 should hesitate and pause in my reckless career?" 
 
 " It is not time," he answered. 
 
 "When will that hour come?" I asked in desperation, and I 
 trembled as he replied : 
 
 "When the three Great Lights are closed." 
 
 **AN UNCONTROI,LABI.E, INEXPRESSIBLE DESIRE TO FLEE." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 *'A certain point within a sphere." — MEN ARE AS PARA- 
 SITES ON THE ROOF OF EARTH. 
 
 I realized again, as I had so many times before, that it was 
 useless for me to rebel. " The self-imposed mystery of a sacri- 
 ficed life lies before me," I murmured, " and there is no chance 
 to retrace my footsteps. The ' Beyond ' of the course that I have 
 voluntarily selected, and sworn to follow, is hidden ; I must nerve 
 myself to pursue it to the bitter end, and so help me God, and 
 keep me steadfast." 
 
 "Well said," he replied; "and since you have so wisely 
 determined, I am free to inform you that these new obligations, 
 like those you have heretofore taken, contain nothing which can 
 conflict with your duty to God, your country, your neighbor, or 
 yourself. In considering the phenomena presented by the sus- 
 pension of the act of breathing, it should occur to you that 
 where little labor is to be performed, little consumption of 
 energy is required. Where there is such a trifling destruction 
 of the vital force (not mind force) as at present is the case with 
 us, it requires but slight respiration to retain the normal condi- 
 tion of the body. On earth's surface the act of respiration 
 alone consumes by far the larger proportion of vital energy, 
 and the muscular exertion involved thereby necessitates a 
 proportionate amount of breathing in order that breath itself 
 may continue. This act of respiration is the result of one of 
 the conditions of surface earth life, and consumes most of the 
 vital force. If men would think of this, they would under- 
 stand how paradoxical it is for them to breathe in order to 
 live, when the very act of respiration wears away their bodies 
 and shortens their lives more than all else they have to do, 
 and without adding to their mental or physical constitution 
 in the least. Men are conversant with physical death as a 
 constant result of suspended respiration, and with respiration as 
 
 230 
 
"A CERTAIN POINT WITHIN A SniHRK." 231 
 
 an accompaniment of life, which ever constant and connected 
 conditions lead them to accept that the act of breathing is a 
 necessity of mortal life. In reality, man occupies an unfortunate 
 position among other undeveloped creatures of external earth ; 
 he is an animal, and is constitutionally framed like the other 
 animals about him. He is exposed to the warring elements, to 
 the vicious attacks of savage beasts and insidious parasites, 
 and to the inroads of disease. He is a prey to the elementary 
 vicissitudes of the undesirable exposure in which he exists upon 
 the outer surface of our globe, where all is war, even among the 
 forces of nature about him. These conditions render his lot an 
 unhappy one indeed, and in ignorance he overlooks the torments 
 of the weary, rasping, endless slavery of respiration in the 
 personal struggle he has to undergo in order to retain a brief 
 existence as an organized being. Have you never thought of the 
 connected tribulations that the wear and tear of respiration alone 
 inflict upon the human family? The heaving of the chest, the 
 circulation of the blood, the throbbing of the heart, continue 
 from mortal birth until death. The heart of man forces about 
 two and one-half ounces of blood with each pulsation. At 
 seventy beats per minute this amounts to six hundred and fifty- 
 six pounds per hour, or nearly eight tons per day. The lungs 
 respire over one thousand times an hour, and move over three 
 thousand gallons of air a day. Multiply these amounts by three 
 hundred and sixty-five, and then by seventy, and you have 
 partly computed the enormous life-work of the lungs and heart 
 of an adult. Over two hundred thousand tons of blood, and 
 seventy-five million gallons of air have been moved by the vital 
 force. The energy thus consumed is dissipated. No return is 
 made for the expenditure of this life force. During the natural 
 life of man, more energy is consequently wasted in material trans- 
 formation resulting from the motion of heart and lungs, than 
 would be necessary to sustain the purely vital forces alone for a 
 thousand years. Besides, the act of respiration which man is 
 compelled to perform in his exposed position, necessitates the 
 consumption of large amounts of food, in order to preserve the 
 animal heat, and replace the waste of a material body that in 
 turn is worn out by these very movements. Add this waste of 
 energy to the foregoing, and then you will surely perceive that 
 
ETIDORHPA. 
 
 the possible life of man is also curtailed to another and greater 
 degree in the support of the digestive part of his organism. 
 His spirit is a slave to his body ; his lungs and heart, on whicli 
 he imagines life depends, are unceasing antagonists of life. That 
 his act of breathing is now a necessity upon the surface of the 
 earth, where the force of gravity presses so heavily, and where 
 the elements have men at their command, and show him no 
 mercy, I will not deny; but it is exasperating to contemplate 
 such a waste of energy, and corresponding loss of human life." 
 "You must admit, however, that it is necessary?" I queried. 
 " No ; only to an extent. The natural life of man should, 
 and yet will be, doubled, trebled, multiplied a dozen, yes a 
 thousand fold." 
 
 I stepped in front of him ; we stood facing each other. 
 " Tell me," I cried, " how men can so improve their condi- 
 tion as to lengthen their days to the limit you name, and let me 
 return to surface earth a carrier of the glad tidings." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 I dropped on my knees 
 before him. 
 
 " I implore you in behalf 
 of that unfortunate hu- 
 manity, of which I am a 
 member, give me this boon. 
 I promise to return to you 
 and do your bidding. 
 Whatever may be my sub- 
 sequent fate, I promise to 
 acquiesce . therein will- 
 ingly." 
 
 He raised me to my feet. 
 
 " Be of good cheer," he 
 
 said, " and in the proper 
 
 time you may return to the 
 
 surface of this rind of earth, a carrier of great and good news 
 
 to men." 
 
 "Shall I teach them of what you have shown me?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes; in part you will be a forerunner, but before you obtain 
 
 the information that is necessary to the comfort of mankind you 
 
 \ 
 
 I DROPPEn ON MY KNEES BEFORE HIM. 
 
"A CERTAIN POINT WITHIN A SPHERE." 233 
 
 will have to visit surface earth again, and return again, perhaps 
 repeatedly. You must prove yourself as men are seldom proven. 
 The journey you have commenced is far from its conclusion, 
 and you may not be equal to its subsequent trials;, prepare 
 yourself, therefore, for a series of events that may unnerve you. 
 If you had full confidence and faith in your guide, you would 
 have less cause to fear the result, but your suspicious human 
 nature can not overcome the shrinking sensation that is natural 
 to those who have been educated as you have been amid the 
 changing vicissitudes of the earth's surface, and you can not 
 but be incredulous by reason of that education." 
 
 Then I stopped as I observed before me a peculiar fungus — 
 peculiar because unlike all others I had seen. The convex part 
 of its bowl was below, and the great head, as an inverted toad- 
 stool, stood upright on a short, stem-like pedestal. The gills 
 within were of a deep green color, and curved out from the 
 center in the form of a spiral. This form, however, was not the 
 distinguishing feature, for I had before observed specimens that 
 were spiral in structure. Tli'e extraordinary peculiarity was 
 that the gills were covered with fruit. This fruit was likewise 
 green in color, each spore, or berry, being from two to three 
 inches in diameter, and honeycombed on the surface, corrugated 
 most beautifully. I stopped, leaned over the edge of the great 
 bowl, and plucked a specimen of the fruit. It seemed to be 
 covered with a hard, transparent shell, and to be nearly full of a 
 clear, green liquid. I handled and examined it in curiosity, at 
 which my guide seemed not to be surprised. Regarding me 
 attentively, he said : 
 
 "What is it that impels a mortal towards this fruit?" 
 
 "It is curious," I said; "nothing more." 
 
 "As for that," said he, "it is not curious at all; the seed of 
 the lobelia of upper earth is more curious, because, while it is as 
 exquisitely corrugated, it is also microscopically small. In the 
 second place yoii err when you say it is simply curious, ' nothing 
 more,' for no mortal ever yet passed that bowl without doing 
 exactly as you have done. The vein of curiosity, were it that 
 alone that impels you, could not but have an exception." 
 
 Then he cracked the shell of the fruit by striking it on the 
 stony floor, and carefully opened the shell, handing me one of 
 
234 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 the halves filled with a green fluid. As he did so he spoke 
 the single word, " Drink," and I did as directed. He stood 
 upright before me, and as I looked him in the face he seemingly, 
 without a reason, struck off into a dissertation, apparently as 
 distinct from our line of thought as a disconnected subject could 
 be, as follows: 
 
 "handing me one; of the hai^ves, he spoke the single word, drink. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 DRUNKENNESS. — THE DRINKS OF MAN. 
 
 " Intemperance lias been the vice of every people, and is prev- 
 alent in all climes, notwithstanding that intoxicants, properlv 
 employed, may serve humanity's highest aims. Beginning early 
 in the history of a people, the disease increases with the growth 
 of a nation, until, at last, unless the knife is used, civilization 
 perishes. A lowly people becomes more depraved as the use of 
 liquor increases ; a cultivated people passes backward into bar- 
 barism with the depravities that come from dissipation. Here 
 nations meet, and individuals sink to a common level. No drink- 
 ing man is strong enough to say, ' I can not become dissipated;' 
 no nation is rich and cultivated enough to view the debauch of 
 its people without alarm. 
 
 " The disgusting habit of the drunken African finds its 
 counterpart in the lascivious wine-bibber of aristocratic society. 
 To picture the indecencies of society, that may be charged to 
 debauchery, when the Grecian and Roman empires were at the 
 height of greatness, would obscure the orgies of the barbarous 
 African, and make preferable the brutality of the drunken Amer- 
 ican Indian. Intemperance brings men to the lowest level, and 
 holds its power over all lands and all nations." 
 
 " Did the aborigines know how to make intoxicants, and were 
 barbarians intemperate before contact with civilized nations?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But I have understood that drunkenness is a vice inherent 
 only in civilized people; are not you mistaken?" 
 
 "No. Every clime, unless it be the far North where men 
 are scarcely more than animals, furnishes intoxicants, and all 
 people use them, I will tell you part of this record of nations. 
 
 "The Nubians make a barley beer which they call bonze, 
 and also a wine, from the palm tree. The savages of Africa 
 draw the clear, sweet juice of the palm oil tree into a gourd, in 
 
 235 
 
236 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 the morning, and by night it becomes a violent intoxicant. The 
 natives of the Malayan Archipelago ferment and drink the sap 
 of the flower stems of the cocoanut. The Tartar tribes make 
 an intoxicating drink from mare's milk, called koomis. In 
 South America the natives drink a vile compound, called cana, 
 distilled from sugar cane ; and in the Sandwich Islands, the 
 shrub kava supplies the intoxicant kava-kava, drunk by all the 
 inhabitants, from king to slave, and mother to child. In the 
 heart of Africa, cannibal tribes make legyce of a cereal, and 
 indulge in wild orgies over their barbarous cup. In North 
 America the Indians, before Columbus discovered America, 
 made an intoxicating drink of the sap of the maple tree. The 
 national drink of the Mexicans is pulque, a beastly intoxicant, 
 prepared from the Agave Americana. Mead is an alcoholic 
 drink, made of honey, and used in many countries. In China 
 wine was indulged in from the earliest day, and in former times, 
 had it not been for the influence of their philosophers, especially 
 Confucius, who foresaw the end, the Chinese nation would have 
 perished from drunkenness. Opium, that fearful enslaver of 
 millions of human beings, is in every sense a narcotic intoxi- 
 cant, and stands conspicuous as an agent, capable of being 
 either a friend, a companion, or a master, as man permits. 
 History fails to indicate the date of its introduction to humanity. 
 In South America the leaf of the cocoa plant is a stimulant 
 scarcely less to be dreaded than opium. The juice of a species 
 of asclepias produces the intoxicant soma, used once by the 
 Brahmins, not only as a drink, but also in sacrificial and religious 
 ceremonies. Many different flavored liquors made of palm, 
 cocoanuts, sugar, pepper, honey, spices, etc., were used by 
 native Hindoos, and as intoxicants have been employed from 
 the earliest days in India. The Vedic people were fearfully 
 dissipated, and page after page of that wonderful sacred book, 
 the Rigs-Veda, is devoted to the habit of drunkenness. The 
 worst classes of drunkards of India used Indian hemp to make 
 bhang, or combined the deadly narcotic stramonium with 
 arrack, a native beer, to produce a poisonous intoxicant. In 
 that early day the inhabitants of India and China were fearfully 
 depraved drunkards, and but for the reforms instituted by their 
 wise men, must have perished as a people. Parahaoma, or 
 
DRUNKENNESvS. 237 
 
 * homa,' is an intoxicant made from a lost plant that is described 
 as having yellow blossoms, nsed by the ancient dissolute Persians 
 from the day of Zoroaster. Cannabis sativa produces an intox- 
 icant that in Turkey is known as hadschy, in Arabia and India 
 as hashish, and to the Hottentots as dacha, and serves as a 
 drunkard's food in other lands. The fruit of the juniper 
 produces gin, and the fermented juice of the grape, or malt 
 liquors, in all civilized countries are the favorite intoxicants, 
 their origin being lost in antiquity. Other substances, such as 
 palm, apples, dates, and pomegranates have also been univer- 
 sally employed as drink producers. 
 
 "Go. where you will, man's tendency seems to be towards 
 the bowl that inebriates, and yet it is not the use but the abuse 
 of intoxicants that man has to dread. Could he be temperate, 
 exhilarants would befriend." 
 
 " But here," I replied, " in this underground land, where food is 
 free, and existence possible without an effort, this shameful vice 
 has no existence. Here there is no incentive to intemperance, 
 and even though man were present with his inherent passion for 
 drink, he could not find means to gratify his appetite." 
 
 "Ah," my guide replied, "that is an error. Why should this 
 part of the earth prove an exception to the general rule? 
 Nature always supplies the means, and man's instinct teaches 
 him how to prepare an intoxicant. So long as man is human 
 his passions will rule. If you should prove unequal to the task 
 you have undertaken, if you shrink from your journey, and turn 
 back, the chances are you will fail to reach the surface of the 
 earth. You will surely stop in the chamber which we now 
 approach, and which I have now prepared you to enter, and will 
 then become one of a band of earth drunkards ; having all the , 
 lower passions of a mortal you will yet be lost to the virtues of 
 man. In this chamber those who falter and turn back, stop and 
 remain for all time, sinking until they become lower in the 
 human scale than any drunkard on earth. Without any 
 restraining influence, without a care, without necessity of food 
 or incentive to exertion, in this habitation where heat and cold 
 are unknown, and no motive for self-preservation exists, they 
 turn their thoughts toward the ruling passion of mankind and — 
 Listen ! Do vou not hear them? Listen !" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 TIIK drunkard's voice. 
 
 Then I noticed a medley of sounds seemingly rising out of 
 the depths beyond us. The noise was not such as to lead me to 
 infer that persons were speaking coherently, but rather resembled 
 a jargon such as might come from a multitude of persons talking 
 indiscriminately and aimlessly. It was a constant volley, now 
 rising and now falling in intensity, as though many persons 
 regardless of one another were chanting different tunes in that 
 peculiar sing-song tone often characteristic of the drunkard. As 
 we advanced, the noise became louder and more of a medley, 
 until at last we were surrounded by confusion. Then a single 
 voice rose up strong and full, and at once, from about us, close to 
 us, yes, against our very persons, cries and shrieks unearthly 
 smote my ears. I could distinguish words of various tongues, 
 English, Irish, German, and many unfamiliar and disjointed 
 cries, imprecations, and maledictions. The cavern about seemed 
 nov/ to be resonant with voices, — shrieks, yells, and maniacal 
 cries commingled, — and yet no form appeared. As we rushed 
 onward, for now my guide grasped ni)- arm tightly and drew me 
 rapidly down the cavern floor, the voices subsided, and at length 
 sounded as if behind us. Now however it seemed as though 
 innumerable arrows, each possessed of a whistle or tone of its own, 
 were in wave-like gusts shrieking by us. Coming from in front, 
 they burst in the rear. Stopping to listen, I found that a 
 connection could be traced between the screech of the arrow-like 
 shriek, and a drunkard's distant voice. It seemed as though 
 a rocket made of an escaping voice would scream past, and 
 bursting in the cavern behind, liberate a human cry. Now and 
 then all but a few would subside, to burst out with increased 
 violence, as if a flight of rockets each with a cry of its own 
 would rush past, to be followed after their explosion b>- a medley 
 of maniacal cries, songs, shrieks, and groans, commingled. It 
 
THE DRUNKARD'S VOICE. 239 
 
 was as though a shell containing a voice that escaped slowly as 
 by pressure from an orifice, were fired past my ears, to explode 
 and liberate the voice within my hearing. The dreadful utter- 
 ance was not an echo, was not hallucination, it was real. 
 
 I stopped and looked at my guide in amazement. He 
 explained : " Did you not sometime back experience that your 
 own voice was thrown from your body?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered. 
 
 "These crazed persons or rather experiences depraved, are 
 shouting in the cavern beyond," he said. " They are in front ; 
 their voices pass us to burst into expression in the rear." 
 
 Then, even as he spoke, from a fungus stalk near us, a hideous 
 creature unfolded itself, and shambled to my side. It had the 
 frame of a man, and yet it moved like a serpent, writhing towards 
 me. I stepped back in horror, but the tall, ungainly creature 
 reached out an arm and grasped me tightly. Leaning over he 
 placed his hideous mouth close to my ear, and moaned: " Back, 
 back, go thou back." 
 
 I made no reply, being horror-stricken. 
 
 "Back, I say, back to earth, or" — 
 
 He hesitated, and still possessed of fear, and unable to re2Dly, 
 I was silent. 
 
 "Then go on," he said, "on to your destiny, unhappy man," 
 and slinking back to the fungus whence he arose, he disappeared 
 from sight. 
 
 " Come," said my guide, " let us pass the Drunkard's Den. 
 This was but a straggler; nerve yourself, for his companions 
 will soon surround us." 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THK drunkards' DEN. 
 
 As we progressed the voices in our rear became more faint, 
 and yet the whistling volleys of screeching voice bombs passed 
 us as before. I shuddered in anticipation of the sight that was 
 surely to meet our gaze, and could not but tremble for fear. 
 Then I stopped and recoiled, for at my very feet I beheld a 
 huge, living human head. It rested on the solid rock, and had 
 I not stopped suddenly when I did, I would have kicked it at 
 the next leap. The eyes of the monster were fixed in supplica- 
 tion on my face ; the great brow indicated intelligence, the finely- 
 cut mouth denoted refinement, the well-modeled head denoted 
 brain, but the whole constituted a monster. The mouth opened, 
 and a whizzing, arrow voice swept past, and was lost in the 
 distance. 
 
 " What is this?" I gasped. 
 
 " The fate of a drunkard," my guide replied. *' This was 
 once an intelligent man, but now he has lost his body, and 
 enslaved his soul, in the den of drink beyond us, and has been 
 brought here by his comrades, who thus rid themselves of his 
 presence. Here he must rest eternally. He can not move, he 
 has but one desire, drink, and that craving, deeper than life, can 
 not be satiated." 
 
 " But he desires to speak ; speak lower, man, or head of 
 man, if you wish me to know your wants," I said, and leaned 
 toward him. 
 
 Then the monster whispered, and I caught the words : 
 
 " Back, back, go thou back !" 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 " Back I say, back to earth or" — 
 
 Still I remained silent. 
 
 *' Then go on," he said ; " on to your destiny, unhappy man." 
 
 "This is horrible," I muttered. 
 
 210 
 
THE DRUNKARDS' DKN. 241 
 
 "Come," said the guide, "let ns proceed." 
 
 And we moved onward. 
 
 Now I perceived many such heads about us, all resting 
 upright on the stony floor. Some were silent, others were 
 shouting, others still were whispering and endeavoring to attract 
 my attention. As we hurried on I saw more and more of these 
 abnormal creatures. Some were in rows, resting against each 
 other, leaving barely room for us to pass between, but at last, 
 much to my relief, we left them behind us. 
 
 But I found that I had no cause for congratulation, when I 
 felt myself clutched by a powerful hand — a hand as large as that 
 of a man fifty feet in height. I looked about expecting to see a 
 gigantic being, but instead beheld a shrunken pigmy. The 
 whole man seemed but a single hand — a Brobdingnag hand 
 affixed to the body of a Liliputian. 
 
 " Do not struggle," said the guide ; " listen to what he wishes 
 to impart." 
 
 I leaned over, placing my ear close to the mouth of the 
 monstrosity. 
 
 " Back, back, go thou back," it whispered. 
 
 " What have I to fear?" I asked. 
 
 " Back, I say, back to earth, or" — 
 
 "Or what?" I said. 
 
 "Then go on; on to your destiny, unhappy man," he 
 answered, and the hand loosed its grasp. 
 
 My guide drew me onward. 
 
 Then, from about us, huge hands arose; on all sides they 
 waved in the air; some were closed and were shaken as clenched 
 fists, others moved aimlessly with spread fingers, others still 
 pointed to the passage we had traversed, and in a confusion of 
 whispers I heard from the pigmy figures a babble of cries, 
 " Back, back, go thou back." Again I hesitated, the strain 
 upon my nerves was becoming iinbearable ; I glanced backward 
 and saw a swarm of misshaped diminutive forms, each holding 
 up a monstrous arm and hand. The passage behind us was 
 closed against retreat. Every form possessed but one hand, the 
 other and the entire body seemingly had been drawn into this 
 abnormal member. While I thus meditated, momentarily, as 
 by a single thought each hand closed, excepting the index finger. 
 
242 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 and in unison each finger pointed towards the open way in 
 front, and like shafts from a thousand bows I felt the voices 
 whiz past me, and then from the rear came the reverberation as 
 a complex echo, "Then go on; on to your destiny, unhappy 
 man." 
 
 Instinctively I sprang forward, and had it not been for the 
 
 I':.\CH FIXGKR POINTF.n TOWARDS TIIK OPEN WAV IX KROXT. 
 
 restraining hand of my guide would have rushed wildly into 
 passages that might have ended my misery, for God only knows 
 what those unseen corridors contained. I was aware of that 
 which lay behind, and was only intent on escaping from the 
 horrid figures already passed. 
 
 "Hold," whispered the guide; "as you value your life, stop." 
 And then exerting a power that I could not withstand, he 
 held me a struggling prisoner. 
 
THE DRUNKARDS' DEN. 243 
 
 "Listen," he said, "have you not observed that these 
 creatures do not seek to harm you? Have not all of them 
 spoken kindly, have any offered violence?" 
 
 "No," I replied, "but they are horrible." 
 
 "That they realize; but fearing that you will prove to be as 
 weak as they have been, and will become as they are now, they 
 warn you back. However, I say to you, if you have courage 
 sufficient, you need have no fear. Come, rely on me, and do not 
 be surprised at anything that appears." 
 
 Again we went forward. I realized now my utter helpless- 
 ness. I became indifferent again ; I could neither retrace my 
 footsteps alone, nor guide them forward in the path I was to 
 pursue. I submissively relied on my guide, and as stoical as he 
 appeared to be, I moved onward to new scenes. 
 
 We came to a great chamber which, as we halted on its 
 edge, seemed to be a prodigious amphitheater. In its center 
 a rostrum-like stone of a hundred feet in diameter, flat and cir- 
 cular on the top, reared itself about twelve feet above the floor, 
 and to the base of this rostrum the floor of the room sloped 
 evenly. The amphitheater was fully a thousand feet in diameter, 
 of great height, and the floor was literally alive with grotesque 
 beings. Imagination could not depict an abnormal human form 
 that did not exhibit itself to my startled gaze. One peculiarity 
 now presented itself to my mind ; each abnormal part seemed 
 to be created at the expense of the remainder of the body. 
 Thus, to my right I beheld a single leg, fully twelve feet in 
 height, surmounted by a puny human form, which on this leg, 
 hopped ludicrously away. I saw close behind this huge limb a 
 great ear attached to a small head and body; then a nose so large 
 that the figure to which it was attached was forced to hold the 
 face upward, in order to prevent the misshaped organ from 
 rubbing on the stony floor. Here a gigantic forehead rested on 
 a shrunken face and body, and there a pair of enormous feet 
 were walking, seemingly attached to the body of a child, and 
 yet the face was that of a man. If an artist were to attempt 
 to create as many revolting figures as possible, each with some 
 member out of proportion to the rest of the body, he could not 
 add one form to those upon this floor. And yet, I again observed 
 that each exaggerated organ seemed to have drawn itself into 
 
244 irriDORHPA. 
 
 existence by absorbing the remainder of the body. We stood on 
 the edge of this great room, and I pondered the scene before my 
 eyes. At length my gnide broke the silence: 
 
 "Yon must cross this floor; no other passage is known. 
 Mark well my words, heed my advice." 
 
 "This is the Drnnkards' Den. These men are lost to them- 
 selves and to the world. Every member of this assembly once 
 passed onward as you are now doing, in charge of a guide. 
 They failed to reach the goal to which you aspire, and retreating, 
 reached this chamber, to become victims to the drink habit. 
 Some of these creatures have been here for ages, others only for 
 a short period." 
 
 "Why are they so distorted?" I asked. 
 
 "Because matter is now only partly subservient to will," he 
 replied. "The intellect and mind of a drunkard on surface 
 earth becomes abnormal by the influence of an intoxicant, but 
 his real form is unseen, although evidently misshapen and partly 
 subject to the perception of a few only of his fellow men. 
 Could vou see the inner form of an earth surface drunkard, you 
 would perceive as great a mental monstrosity as is any physical 
 monster now before you, and of the two the physically abnormal 
 creature is really the least objectionable. Could you see the mind 
 configurations of an assembly of surface earth topers, you would 
 perceive a class of beings as much distorted mentally as are 
 these physically. A drunkard is a monstrosity. On surface 
 earth the mind becomes abnormal; here the body suffers." 
 
 " Whv is it," I asked, " that parts of these creatures shrink 
 away as some special organ increases?" 
 
 " Because the abnormal member can grow only by abstracting 
 its substance from the other portions of the body. An increas- 
 ing arm enlarges itself by drawing its strength from the other 
 parts, hence the body withers as the hand enlarges, and in turn 
 the hand shrinks when the leg increases in size. The total 
 weight of the individual remains about the same. 
 
 " Men on earth judge of men not by what they are, but by 
 what they seem to be. The physical form is apparent to the 
 sense of sight, the real man is unseen. However, as the boot 
 that encloses a foot can not altogether hide the form of the foot 
 within, so the body that encloses the life entity, can not but 
 
THE DRUNKARDS' DEN. 245 
 
 exhibit here and there the character of the doiuinating spirit 
 within. Thus a man's features may grow to indicate the nature 
 of the enclosed spirit, for the controlUng character of that spirit 
 will gradually impress itself on the material part of man. Even 
 on surface earth, where the matter side of man dominates, a 
 vicious spirit will produce a villainous countenance, a mediocre 
 mind a vapid face, and an amorous soul will even protrude the 
 anterior part of the skull. 
 
 "Carry the same law to this location, and it will be seen that 
 as mind, or spirit, is here the master, and matter is the slave, the 
 same rule should, under natural law, tend to produce such 
 abnormal figures as you perceive. Hence the part of a man's 
 spirit that is endowed most highly sways the corresponding part 
 of his physical body at the expense of the remainder. Gradu- 
 ally the form is altered under the relaxing influence of this 
 fearful intra-earth intoxicant, and eventually but one organ 
 remains to tell of the symmetrical man who formerly existed. 
 Then, when he is no longer capable of self-motion, the comrades 
 carry the drunkard's fate, which is here the abnormal being 
 3'ou have seen, into the selected corridor, and deposit it among 
 others of its kind, as in turn the bearers are destined sometime 
 to be carried by others. We reached this cavern through a 
 corridor in which heads and arms were abnormal, but in others 
 may be found great feet, great legs, or other portions of self- 
 abused man. 
 
 " I should tell you, furthermore, that on surface earth a 
 drunkard is not less abnormal than these creatures ; but men 
 can not see the form of the drunkard's spirit. Could they 
 perceive the image of the real man life that corresponds to the 
 material part, it would appear not less distorted and hideous. 
 The soul of a mortal protrudes from the visible body as down 
 expands from a thistle seed, but it is invisible. Drink drives 
 the spirit of an earth-surface drunkard to unnatural forms, not 
 less grotesque than these physical distortions. Could you see 
 the real drunkard on surface earth he would be largely outside 
 the body shell, and hideous in the extreme. As a rule, the spirit 
 of an earth-surface drunkard dominates the nose and face, and 
 if mortal man could be suddenly gifted with the sense of mind- 
 sight, they would find themselves surrounded by persons as 
 
246 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 misshapen as any delirious imagination can conjure. Luckily 
 for humanity this scene is as yet withheld from man, for life 
 would otherwise be a fearful experience, because man has not 
 the power to resist the temptation to abuse drink.'' 
 
 "Tell me," I said, "how long will those beings rest in these 
 caverns?" 
 
 "They have been here for ages," replied the guide ; " they are 
 doomed to remain for ages yet." 
 
 "You have infimated that if my courage fails I will return 
 to this cavern and become as they are. Now that you have 
 warned me of my doom, do you imagine that anything, even 
 sudden death, can swerve me from my journey? Death is surely 
 preferable to such an existence as this." 
 
 " Do not be so confident. Every individual before you has 
 had the same opportunity, and has been warned as you have 
 been. They could not undergo the test to which they were 
 subjected, and you may fail. Besides, on surface earth are not 
 men constantly confronted with the doom of the drunkard, and 
 do they not, in the face of this reality, turn back and seek his 
 caverns? The journey of life is not so fearful that they should 
 become drunkards to shrink from its responsibilities. You have 
 reached this point in safety. You have passed the sentinels 
 without, and will soon be accosted by the band before us. 
 Listen well now to my advice. A drunkard always seeks to 
 gain companions, to draw others down to his own level, and you 
 will be tried as never have "you been before. Taste not their 
 liquor by whatever form or creature presented. They have no 
 power to harm him who has courage to resist. If they entreat 
 you, refuse ; if they threaten, refuse ; if they offer inducements, 
 refuse to drink. Let your answer be No, and have no fear. If 
 your strength fail you, mark well my " — 
 
 Before he could complete his sentence I felt a pressure, as of 
 a great wind, and suddenly found myself seized in an embrace 
 irresistible, and then, helpless as a feather, was swept out into 
 the cavern of the drimkards. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 AMONG THK DRUNKARDS. 
 
 I remember once to have stood on tlie edge of Niagara's 
 great whirlpool, but not more fearful did its seething waters then 
 seem than did the semi-human whirl into which I had now been 
 plunged. Whether my guide had been aware of the coming 
 move that separated us I never knew, but, as his words were 
 interrupted, I infer that he was not altogether ready to part 
 from my company. Be this as it may, he disappeared from 
 sight, and, as by a concerted move, the cries of the drunkards 
 subsided instantly. I found myself borne high in the air, 
 perched on a huge hand that was carried by its semi-human 
 comrades. It seemed as though the contents of that vast hall 
 had been suddenly throvv^n beneath me, for, as I looked about, I 
 saw all around a sea of human fragments, living, moving parts of 
 men. Round and round that hall we circled as an eddy whirls 
 in a rock-bound basin, and not less silently than does the water 
 of an eddy. Then I perceived that the disjointed mass of 
 humanity moved as a spiral, in unison, throbbing like a vital- 
 ized stream, bearing me submissively on its surface. Gradually 
 the distance between myself and the center stone lessened, and 
 then I found that, as if carried in the groove of a gigantic 
 living spiral, I was being swept towards the stone platform in 
 the center of the room. There was method in the movements 
 of the drunkards, although I could not analyze the intricacies of 
 their complex reel. 
 
 Finally I was borne to the center stone, and by a sudden toss 
 of the hand, in the palm of which I was seated, I was thrown upon 
 the raised platform. Then in unison the troop swung around 
 the stone, and I found myself gazing on a mass of vitalized 
 fragments of humanity. Quickly a figure sprung upon the 
 platform, and in him I discerned a seemingly perfect man. He 
 came to my side and grasped mv hand as if he were a friend. 
 
 247 
 
248 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 "Do not fear," he said; "obey our request, and you will 
 not be harmed." 
 
 "What do you desire?" I asked. 
 
 He pointed to the center of the stone, and I saw thereon 
 many gigantic, inverted fungus bowls. The gills of some had 
 been crushed to a pulp, and had saturated themselves with 
 liquid which, perhaps by a species of fermentation, had under- 
 gone a structural change ; others were as yet intact ; others still 
 contained men intently cutting the gills into fragments and 
 breaking the fruit preparatory to further manipulation. 
 
 "You are to drink with us," he replied. 
 
 "No," I said; "I will not drink." 
 
 " Then you must die ; to refuse to drink with us is to invite 
 death." 
 
 " So mote it be ; I will not drink." 
 
 We stood facing each other, apparently both meditating on 
 the situation. 
 
 I remember to have been surprised, not that the man 
 before me had been able to spring from the floor to the table rock 
 on which I stood, but that so fair a personage could have been a 
 companion of the monstrosities about me. He was a perfect 
 type of manhood, and was exquisitely clothed in a loose, flowing 
 robe that revealed and heightened the beauty of his symmetrical 
 form. His face was fair, yet softly tinted with rich, fresh color ; 
 his hair and beard were neatly trimmed ; his manner was 
 polished, and his countenance frank and attractive. The con- 
 trast between the preternatural shapes from among whom he 
 sprung and himself was as between a demon and an angel. I 
 marveled that I had not perceived him before, for such a one 
 should have been conspicuous because so fair; but I reflected 
 that it was quite natural that among the thousands of grotesque 
 persons about me, one attractive form should have escaped 
 notice. Presently he spoke again, seemingly having repented 
 of his display of temper. 
 
 "I am a friend," he said; "a deliverer. I will serve you as 
 I have others before you. Lean on me, listen to my story, accept 
 my proffered friendship." 
 
 Then he continued: " When you have rested, I will guide you 
 in safety back to upper earth, and restore you to your friends." 
 
AMONG THE DRUNKARDS. 249 
 
 I could not resist his pleasing promise. I suddenly and 
 unaccountably believed in his sincerity. He impressed me with 
 confidence in his truthfulness, yes, against my better judgment, 
 convinced me that he must be a friend, a savior. Grasping him 
 by the hand I thanked him for his interest in a disconsolate 
 wanderer, and assured him of my confidence. 
 
 "I am in your hands," I said; "I will obey you implicitly. 
 I thank you, my deliverer; lead me back to surface earth and 
 receive the gratitude of a despairing mortal." 
 
 "This I will surely do," he said; "rest your case in my 
 hands, do not concern yourself in the least about your future. 
 Before acquiescing in your desire, however, I will explain part of 
 the experiences through which you have recently passed. You 
 have been in the control of an evil spirit, and have been deceived. 
 The grotesque figures, the abnormal beings about you, exist 
 only in your disordered imagination. They are not real. These 
 persons are happy and free from care or pain. They live in bliss 
 inexpressible. They have a life within a life, and the outward 
 expression that you have perceived is as the uncouth hide and 
 figure that incloses the calm, peaceful eye of a toad. Look at 
 their eyes, not at their seemingly distorted forms." 
 
 I turned to the throng and beheld a multitude of upturned 
 faces mildly beaming upon me. As I glanced from eye to eye 
 of each countenance, the repulsive figure disappeared from my 
 view, and a sweet expression of innocence was all that was dis- 
 closed to me. I realized that I had judged by the outer garment. 
 I had wronged these fellow -beings. A sense of remorse came 
 over me, a desire to atone for my short-sightedness. 
 
 "What can I offer as a retribution?" I asked. "I have 
 injured these people." 
 
 " Listen," was the reply. " These serene intelligences are 
 happy. They are as a band of brothers. They seek to do you 
 a kindness, to save you from disaster. One hour of experience 
 such as they enjoy is worth a hundred years of the pleasures 
 known to you. This delicious favor, an hour of bliss, they freely 
 offer you, and after you have partaken of their exquisite joy, I 
 will conduct you back to earth's surface whenever you desire to 
 leave us." He emphasized the word, desire. 
 
 "I am ready," I replied; "give me this promised delight." 
 
250 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 The genial allurer turned to the table rock behind us, and 
 continued : 
 
 " In these fungus bowls we foment the extract of life. The 
 precious cordial is as a union of the quintessential spirits of joy, 
 peace, tranquillity, happiness, and delight. Could man abstract 
 from ecstasy the thing that underlies the sense that gives that 
 word a meaning, his product would not approach the power of 
 the potent liquids in these vessels." 
 
 "Of what are they composed?" I asked. 
 
 "Of derivatives of the rarest species of the fungus family," 
 he answered. "They are made by formulae that are the result of 
 thousands of years of experimentation. Come, let us not delay 
 longer the hour of bliss." 
 
 Taking me by the hand, my graceful comrade led me to 
 the nearest bowl. Then on closer view I perceived that its con- 
 tents were of a deep green color, and in active commotion, and 
 although no vapor was apparent, a delightful sensation impressed 
 my faculties. I am not sure that I inhaled at all, — the feeling 
 was one of penetration, of subtile, magic absorption. My 
 companion took a tiny shell which he dipped into the strange 
 cauldron. Holding the tiny cup before me, he spoke the one 
 word, " Drink." 
 
 Ready to acquiesce, forgetful of the warning I had received, 
 I grasped the cup, and raised it to my lips, and as I did so 
 chanced to glance at my tempter's face, and saw not the supposed 
 friend I had formerly observed, but, as through a mask fair in out- 
 line, the countenance of an exulting demon, regarding me wnth a 
 sardonic grin. In an instant he had changed from man to devil. 
 
 I dashed the cup upon the rock. "No; I will not drink," 
 I shouted. 
 
 Instanth- the cavern rung with cries of rage. A thousand 
 voices joined as by accord, and simultaneously the throng of 
 fragments of men began to revolve again. The mysterious 
 spiral seemed to unwind, but I could not catch the method of its 
 movement. The motion was like that of an uncoiling serpent 
 bisected lengthwise, the two halves of the body seeming to slide 
 against each other. Gradually that part of the cavern near the 
 stone on which I stood became clear of its occupants, and at last 
 I perceived that the throng had receded to the outer edge. 
 
AMONG THE DRUNKARDS. 251 
 
 Then the encircling side walls of the amphitheater became 
 visible, and as water sinks into sand, the medley of fragments of 
 humanity disappeared from view. 
 
 I turned to my companion ; he, too, had vanished. I glanced 
 towards the liquor cauldrons ; the stone was bare. I alone occu- 
 pied the gigantic hall. No trace remained to tell of the throng 
 that a short time previously had surrounded and mocked me. 
 
 Desolate, distracted, I threw myself upon the stone, and 
 cursed my miserable self. "Come back," I cried, "come back. 
 I will drink, drink, drink." 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 FURTHER TEMPTATION. — ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 Then, as iii}- voice reverbrated from the outer recesses, I , 
 caught a sound as of music in the distance. I raised my head 
 and listened — yes, surely there was music. The melody became 
 clearly distinct, and soon my senses were aware that both vocal 
 and instrumental music were combined. The airs which came 
 floating were sweet, simple, and beautiful. The voices and 
 accompanying strains approached, but I could distinguish no 
 words. By and by, from the corridors of the cavern, troops of 
 bright female forms floated into view. They were clad in robes 
 ranging from pure white to every richest hue, contrasting 
 strangely, and in the distance their rainbow brilliancy made a 
 gorgeous spectacle. Some were fantastically attired in short 
 gowns, such as I imagine were worn by the dancing girls of 
 sacred history, others had kirtles of a single bright color, others 
 of many shades intermingled, while others still were dressed in 
 gauze-like fabrics of pure white. 
 
 As they filed into the cavern, and approached me, they 
 formed into platoons, or into companies, and then, as dissolving 
 views come and go, they presented first one and then another 
 figure. Sometimes they would stretch in great circling lines 
 around the hall, again they would form into squares, and again 
 into geometrical figures of all shades and forms, but I observed 
 that with every change they drew nearer to the stone on which 
 I rested. 
 
 They were now so near that their features could be distin- 
 guished, and never before had I seen such loveliness in human 
 mold. Every face was as perfect as a master's picture of the 
 Madonna, and yet no two seemed to possess the same type of 
 beauty. Some were of dark complexion with glossy, raven 
 hair, others were fair with hair ranging from light brown to 
 golden. The style of head dress, as a rule, was of the simplest 
 
 252 
 
FURTHER TEMPTATION. 253 
 
 description. A tinted ribbon, or twisted cord, over the head, 
 bound their hair with becoming grace, and their silken locks were 
 either plaited into braids, curled into ringlets, or hung loosely, 
 flowing in wavelets about their shoulders. Some held curious 
 musical instruments, others beautiful wands, and altogether 
 they produced a scenic effect of rare beauty that the most 
 extravagant dream of fairyland could not surpass. Thus it was 
 that I became again the center of a throng, not of repulsive 
 monsters, but of marvelously lovely beings. They were as 
 different from those preceding as darkness is from daylight. 
 
 Could any man from the data of my past experiences have 
 predicted such a scene ? Never before had the semblance of a 
 woman appeared, never before had an intimation been given 
 that the gentle sex existed in these silent chambers. Now, from 
 the grotesque figures and horrible cries of the former occupants 
 of this same cavern, the scene had changed to a conception of 
 the beautiful and artistic, such as a poetic spirit might evolve in 
 an extravagant dream of higher fairy land. I glanced above ; 
 the great hall was clothed in brilliant colors, the bare rocks had 
 disappeared, the dome of that vast arch reaching to an immeas- 
 urable height, was decorated in all the colors of the rainbow. 
 Flags and streamers fluttered in breezes that also moved the 
 garments of the angelic throng about me, but which I could not 
 sense ; profiles of enchanting faces pervaded the glimmering 
 space beyond ; I alone was but an onlooker, not a participant of 
 the joys about me. 
 
 The movements of the seraph-like figures continued, innum- 
 erable forms and figures followed forms and figures innumerable, 
 and music indescribable blended with the poetry of motion. I 
 was rapt, the past disappeared, my former mind was blotted from 
 existence, the world vanished, and I became a thrill of jo>-, a 
 sensation of absolute delight. 
 
 The band of spirits or fairy forms reached the rock at my 
 feet, but I did not know how long a time they consumed in doing 
 this; it may have been a second, and it may have been an 
 eternity. Neither did I care. A single moment of existence such 
 as I experienced, seemed worth an age of any other pleasure. 
 
 Circling about me, these ethereal creatures paused from their 
 motions, and, as the music ceased, I stood above them, and yet 
 
254 ETIDORHPA. j 
 
 1 
 
 in their midst, and gazed out into a distance illimitable, but i 
 
 less beautiful in the expanse than was the adjacent part. 1 
 
 cavern had altogether disappeared, and in the depths about 
 
 as far as the eye could reach, seemingly into the broad expai 
 
 of heaven, I saw the exquisite forms that I ha\-e so imperfec 
 
 described. 
 
 Then a single band from the throng lightly sprung upon i 
 stony terrace where I stood, and sung and danced before i 
 Every motion was perfect as imagination could depict, e\( 
 sound was concentrated extract of melody. This band retired 
 be replaceci by another, which in turn gave way to another, ;i 
 still another, until, as in space we have no standard, time \-; 
 ished, and numbers ceased to be numbers. 
 
 No two of the band of dancers were clothed alike, no t 
 songs were similar, though all were inexpressibly enchantii 
 The first group seemed perfect, and yet the second was betl 
 and each succeeding band sung sweeter songs, were m^ 
 beautiful, and richer in dress than those preceding. I beca 
 enveloped in the sesthetic atmosphere, my spirit seemed to, 
 loosened from the body, it was apparently upon the point 
 escaping from its mortal frame ; suddenly the music ceas 
 the figures about became passive, and every form standi 
 upright and graceful, gazed upon my face, and as I lool 
 at the radiant creatures, each successive face, in turn, seen 
 to grow more beautiful, each form more exquisite than thi 
 about. 
 
 Then, in the distance, I observed the phalanx divide, formi 
 into two divisions, separated by a broad aisle, stretching fr 
 my feet to the limit of space without, and down this aisl< 
 observed a single figure advancing toward me. 
 
 As she approached, the phalanx closed in behind her, a 
 when at last she reached the stone on which I stood, she stepp 
 or was wafted to my side, and the phalanx behind moved togetl 
 and was complete again. 
 
 " My name is Rtidorhpa. In me you behold the spirit tl 
 elevates man, and subdues the most violent of passions. In 1: 
 tory, so far back in the dim ages as to be known now as legends 
 mythology, have I ruled and blessed the world. Unclasp i 
 power over man and beast, and while heaven dissolves, 1 
 
\ 
 
 ETIDORhPA, 
 
FURTHER TEMPTATION. 257 
 
 charms of Paradise will perish. I know no master. The universe 
 bows to my authority. Stars and suns enamored pulsate and 
 throb in space and kiss each other in waves of light ; atoms cold 
 embrace and cling together ; structures inanimate affiliate with 
 and attract inanimate structures; bodies dead to other noble 
 passions are not dead to love. The savage beast, under my 
 enchantment, creeps to her lair, and gently purrs over her off- 
 spring ; even man becomes less violent, and sheathes his weapon 
 and smothers his hatred as I soothe his passions beside the loved 
 ones in the privacy of his home. 
 
 "I have been known under many titles, and have comforted 
 many peoples. Strike my name from Time's record, and the 
 lovely daughters of Zeus and Dione would disappear ; and with 
 them would vanish the grace and beauty of woman ; the sweet 
 conception of the Froth Child of the Cyprus Sea would be lost ; 
 Venus, the Goddess of Love, would have no place in song, and 
 Love herself, the holiest conception of the poet, man's superlative 
 conception of Heaven's most precious charms, would be buried 
 with the myrtle and the rose. j\Iy name is Htidorhpa ; interpret 
 it rightly, and you have what has been to humanity the essence 
 of love, the mother of all that ennobles. He who loves a wife 
 worships me ; she, who in turn makes a home happy, is typical 
 of me. I am Etidorhpa, the beginning and the end of earth. 
 Behold in me the antithesis of envy, the opposite of malice, the 
 enemy of sorrow, the mistress of life, the queen of immortal 
 bliss. 
 
 " Do you know," she continued, and her voice, soft and sweet, 
 carried with it a pleasurable sense of truthfulness indescribable, 
 *' do you know that man's idea of heaven, places me, Etidorhpa, 
 on the highest throne? With the charm of maiden pure, I 
 combine the devotion of wife and the holiness of mother. Take 
 from the life of man the treasures I embody, and he w'ill be 
 homeless, childless, loveless. The thought of Heaven will in 
 such a case be as the dismal conception of a dreary platitude. A 
 hfe in such a Heaven, a Heaven devoid of love (and this the 
 Scriptures teach), is one of endless torment. 
 
 " Love, by whatever name the conception is designated, rules 
 the \vorld. Divest the cold man of science, of the bond that 
 binds him to his life-thought, and his work is ended. Strike 
 
258 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 from the master in music the chord that links his soul to the j 
 voice he breathes, and his songs will be hushed. Deaden the I 
 sense of love which the artist Ixars his art, and as the spirit that I 
 underlies his thought-scenes vanishes, his touch becomes chilled, I 
 and his brush inexpressive. The soldier thinks of his home and 
 country, and without a murmur sheds his life blood. j 
 
 "And yet there are debasing phases of love, for as love of; 
 country builds a nation, so love of pillage may destroy it. Love ' 
 of the holy and the beaiitiful stand in human life opposed to ' 
 love of the debasing and vicious, and I, Etidorhpa, am typical of i 
 the highest love of man. As the same force binds the molecules , 
 of the rose and the violet as well as those of noxious drugs, so > 
 the same soul conception may serve the love of good or the love 
 of evil. Love may guide a tyrant or actuate a saint, may make 1 
 man torture his fellow, or strive to ease his pain. ! 
 
 " Thus, man's propensity to serve his holy or his evil passion 
 may each be called a degree in love, and in the serving of that 
 passion the love of one heart may express itself as the antithesis 
 of love in another. As bitter is to some men's taste more pleasant 
 than sweet, and sour is yet more grateful to others, so one man 
 may love the beautifvil, another delight in the grotesque, and a 
 third may love to see his neighbor suffer. Amid these, the phase 
 of love that ennobles, brings the greatest degree of pleasure and 
 comfort to mankind, but the love that degrades is love neverthe- 
 less, by whatever name the expression of the passion may be 
 called. Love rules the world, and typical of man's intensest, 
 holiest love, I, Etidorhpa, stand the Soul of Love Supreme.'* 
 She hesitated. 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "I have already said, and in saying this have told the truth, 
 I come from beyond the empty shell of a materialistic gold and 
 silver conception of Heaven. Go with me, and in my home you 
 will find man's soul devotion, regardless of material surroundings. 
 I have said, and truly, the corridors of the Heaven mansion, 
 enriched by precious stones and metals fine, but destitute of 
 my smiles and graces, are deserted. The golden calf is no longer 
 worshiped, cobwebs cling in festoons motionless, and the dust 
 of selfish thoughts perverted, dry and black as the soot from 
 Satan's fires settling therein, as the dust of an antiquated 
 
FURTHER TEMPTATION. 259 
 
 sarcophagus, rest iindistiirbed. Place on one side the Heaven 
 of which gold-bound misers sing, and on the other Etidorhpa 
 and the treasures that come with me to man and woman, (for 
 without me neither wife, child, nor father could exist,) and from 
 any other heaven mankind will turn away. The noblest gift of 
 Heaven to humanity is the highest sense of love, and I, Etidorhpa, 
 am the soul of love." 
 
 She ceased speaking, and as I looked at the form beside me 
 I forgot myself in the rapture of that gaze. 
 
 Crush the colors of the rainbow into a single hue possessed 
 of the attributes of all the others, and multiply that entity to 
 infinity, and you have less richness than rested in any of the 
 complex colors shown in the trimming of her raiment. Lighten 
 the softness of eiderdown- a thousand times, and yet maintain 
 its sense of substance, and you have not conceived of the soft- 
 ness of the gauze that decked her simple, flowing garments. 
 Gather the shadows cast by a troop of radiant angels, then 
 sprinkle the resultant shade with star dust, and color therewith 
 a garment brighter than satin, softer than silk, and more ethereal 
 than light itself, and you have less beauty than reposed in the 
 modest dress that enveloped her figure. Abstract the perfume 
 from the sweetest oriental grasses, and combine with it the 
 essential spirit of the wild rose, then add thereto the soul of 
 ambergris, and the quintessential extracts of the finest aromatics 
 of the East, and you have not approached the exquisite 
 fragrance that penetrated my very being at her approach. She 
 stood before me, slender, lithe, symmetrical, radiant. Her hair 
 was more beautiful than pen can depict ; it was colorless because 
 it can not be described by colors known to mortals. Her face 
 paled the beauty of all who had preceded her. She could not be a 
 fairy, for no conception of a fairy can approach such loveliness ; 
 she was not a spirit, for surely material substance was a part of 
 her form ; she was not an angel, for no abnormal, irrational 
 wing protruded from her shoulder to blemish her seraphic figure. 
 
 "No," I said musingly; "she is a creature of other climes; 
 the Scriptures tell of no such being ; she is neither human nor 
 angelic, but" — 
 
 " But what?" she said. 
 
 " I do not know " I answered. 
 
 ' i8 
 
260 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 "Then I will tell you," she replied. "Yes; I will tell you of 
 myself and of my companions. I will show you our home, 
 carrying you through the shadows of heaven to exhibit that fair 
 land, for heaven without Etidorhpa casts a shadow in compari- 
 son therewith. See," she said, as with her dainty fingers she 
 removed from her garment a fragment of transparent film that 
 I had not previously observed; "see, this is a cobweb that clung 
 to my skirt, as, on my way to meet you, I passed through the 
 dismal corridors of the materialists' loveless heaven." 
 
 She dropped it on the floor, and I stooped to pick it up, but 
 vainly — my fingers passed through it as through a mist. 
 
 "You must be an angel," I stammered. 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Come," she said, "do not consume your time with thoughts 
 of materialistic heaven ; come with me to that brighter land 
 beyond, and in those indescribable scenes we, you and I, will 
 wander together forever." 
 
 She held out her hand ; I hesitatingly touched it, and then 
 raised it to my lips. She made no resistance. 
 
 I dropped upon my knees. "Are you to be mine?" I cried. 
 " Mine forever?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered; " if you will it, for he who loves will be 
 loved in turn." 
 
 " I will do it," I said ; " I give myself to you, be you what nou 
 may, be your home where it may, I give up the earth behind me, 
 and the hope of heaven before me ; the here and the hereafter I 
 will sacrifice. Let us hasten," I said, for she made no movement. 
 
 She shook her head. "You must yet be tempted as never 
 before, and you must resist the tempter. You can not pass into 
 the land of Etidorhpa until you have suffered as only the damned 
 can suffer, until you have withstood the pangs of thirst, and have 
 experienced heat and cold indescribable. Remember the warn- 
 ing of your former guide, mark well the words of Etidorhpa: 
 you must not yield. 'Twas to serve you that I came before you 
 now, 't was to preserve you from the Drunkard's Cavern that I 
 have given you this vision of the land beyond the End of Earth 
 where, if you will serve yourself, we will meet again. 
 
 She held aloft two tiny cups ; I sprung to my feet and 
 grasped one of them, and as I glanced at the throng in front of 
 
FURTHER TEMPTATION. 261 
 
 1 
 
 ine, every radiant figure held aloft in the left hand a similar ciip. ( 
 All were gazing in my face. I looked at the transparent cup in 
 my hand ; it appeared to be partly filled with a green liquid. I 
 
 looked at her cup and saw that it contained a similar fluid. j 
 
 Forgetting the warning she had so recently given, I raised j 
 
 the cup to my lips, and just before touching it glanced again at i 
 
 her face. The fair creature stood with bowed head, her face ] 
 
 covered with her hand; her very form and attitude spoke of j 
 
 sorrow and disappointment, and she trembled in distress. She j 
 
 held one hand as though to thrust back a form that seemed i 
 
 al^out to force itself beyond her figure, for peering exultingly i 
 from behind, leered the same Satanic face that met my gaze on 
 
 the preceding occasion, when in the presence of the troop of j 
 
 demons, I had been tempted by the perfect man. \ 
 
 Dashing the cup to the floor I shouted : 
 
 "No; I will not drink." ; 
 
 Btidorhpa dropped upon her knees and clasped her hands. 
 The Satanic figure disappeared from sight. Realizing that we 
 
 had triumphed over the tempter, I also fell upon my knees in I 
 
 thankfulness. i 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MISKRY. 
 
 As all the bubbles in a glass shrink and vanish when the 
 first collapses, so the troop of fairy-like forms before me disin- 
 tegrated, and were gone. The delicate being, whose hand I held, 
 fluttered as does a mist in the first gust of a sudden gale, and 
 then dissolved into transparency. The gaily decked amphitheater 
 disappeared, the very earth cavern passed from existence, and I 
 found myself standing solitary and alone in a boundless desert. 
 I turned towards every point of the compass only to find that no 
 visible object appeared to break the monotony. I stood upon a 
 floor of pure white sand which stretched to the horizon in gentle 
 wave-like undulations as if the swell of the ocean had been 
 caught, transformed to sand, and fixed. 
 
 I bent down and scooped a handful of the sand, and raised 
 it in the palm of my hand, letting it sift back again to earth ; it 
 was surely sand. I pinched my flesh, and pulled my hair, I tore 
 my garments, stamped upon the sand, and shouted aloud to 
 demonstrate that I myself was still myself. It was real, yes, 
 real. I stood alone in a desert of sand. Morning was dawn- 
 ing, and on one side the great sun rose slowly and majestically. 
 
 "Thank God for the sun," I cried. "Thank God for the 
 light and heat of the sun." 
 
 I was again on surface earth ; once more I beheld that glorious 
 orb for the sight of which I had so often prayed when I believed 
 myself miserable in the dismal earth caverns, and which I had 
 been willing to give my very life once more to behold. I fell 
 on my knees, and raised my hands in thankfulness. I blessed 
 the rising sun, the illimitable sand, the air about me, and the blue 
 heavens above. I blessed all that was before me, and again and 
 again returned thanks for my delivery from the caverns beneath 
 me. I did not think to question by what power this miracle had 
 been accomplished. I did not care to do so; had I thought of 
 
 262 
 
MISERY. 2G3 
 
 the matter at all I would not have dared to question for fear the 
 transition might prove a delusion. 
 
 I turned towards the sun, and walked eastward. As the day 
 progressed and the sun rose into the heavens, I maintained my 
 journey, aiming as best I could to keep the same direction. 
 The heat increased, and when the sun reached the zenith it 
 seemed as though it would melt the marrow in my bones. The 
 sand, as white as snow and hot as lava, dazzled my eyes, and I 
 covered them with my hands. The sun in the sky felt as if it 
 were a ball of white hot iron near my head. It seemed small, 
 and yet appeared to shine as through a tube directed only 
 towards myself. Vainly did I struggle to escape and get 
 beyond its boundary, the tube seemed to follow my every 
 motion, directing the blazing shafts, and concentrating them 
 ever upon my defenseless person. I removed my outer gar- 
 ments, and tore my shirt into fibers hoping to catch a waft of 
 breeze, and with one hand over my eyes, and the other holding 
 my coat above my head, endeavored to escape the mighty flood 
 of heat, but vainly. The fiery rays streamed through the gar- 
 ment as mercury flows through a film of gauze. They penetrated 
 my flesh, and vaporized my blood. IVIy hands, fingers, and arms 
 puffed out as a bladder of air expands under the influence of 
 heat. My face swelled to twice, thrice its normal size, and at 
 last my eyes were closed, for my cheeks and eyebrows met. I 
 rubbed my shapeless hand over my sightless face, and foiind it as 
 round as a ball ; the nose had become imbedded in the expanded 
 flesh, and my ears had disappeared in the same manner. 
 
 I could no longer see the sun, but felt the vivid, piercing rays 
 I could not evade. I do not know whether I walked or rolled 
 along; I only know that I struggled to escape those deadly 
 rays. Then I prayed for death, and in the same breath begged 
 the powers that had transferred me to surface earth to carry 
 me back again to the caverns below. The recollection of their 
 cool, refreshing atmosphere was as the thought of heaven must 
 be to a lost spirit. I experienced the agony of a damned soul, 
 and now, in contradistinction to former times, considered as my 
 idea of perfect happiness the dismal earth caverns of other days. 
 I thought of the day I had stood at the mouth of the Kentucky 
 cave, and waded into the water with my guide ; I recalled the 
 
2G4 IvTIDORIirV. 
 
 refreshing coolness of the stream in the darkness of that cav- 
 ern when the last ray of snnshine disappeared, and I cursed 
 myself for longing then for snnshine, and the surface earth. 
 Fool that man is, I mentally cried, not to be contented with 
 that which is, however he may be situated, and wherever he 
 may be placed. This is but a retribution, I am being cursed for 
 my discontented mind, this is hell, and in comparison with this 
 hell all else on or in earth is happiness. Then I damned the 
 sun, the earth, the very God of all, and in my frenzy cursed 
 everything that existed. I felt my puffed limbs, and praved 
 that I might become lean again. I asked to shrink to a skel- 
 eton, for seemingly my misery came with my expanded form ; 
 but I prayed and cursed in vain. So I struggled on in agony, 
 every moment seemingly covering a multitude of years; strug- 
 gled along like a lost soul plodding in an endless expanse of ever- 
 increasing, ever-concentrating hell. At last, however, the day 
 declined, the heat decreased, and as it did so my distorted bod\- 
 gradually regained its normal size, my eyesight returned, and 
 finally I stood in that wilderness of sand watching the great red 
 sun sink into the earth, as in the morning I had watched it rise. 
 But between the sunrise and the sunset there had been an 
 eternity of suffering, and then, as if released from a spell, I 
 dropped exhausted upon the sand, and seemed to sleep. I 
 dreamed of the sun, and that an angel stood before me, and 
 asked why I was miserable, and in reply I pointed to the sun. 
 "See," I said, "the author of the misery of man." 
 
 Said the angel: "Were there no sun there would be no men, 
 but were there no men there would still be misery." 
 
 " Misery of what?" I asked. 
 
 " Misery of mind," replied the angel. "Misery is a thing, 
 misery is not a conception — pain is real, pain is not an impres- 
 sion. Misery and pain would still exist and prey upon mind 
 substance were there no men, for mind also is real, and not a 
 mere conception. The pain you have suffered has not been the 
 pain of matter, but the pain of spirit. Matter can not suffer. 
 Were it matter that suffered, the heated sand would writhe in 
 agony. No ; it is only mind and spirit that experience pain, or 
 pleasure, and neither mind nor spirit can evade its destiny, even 
 if it escape from the body." 
 
MISERY. 265 
 
 Then I awoke and saw once more the great red sun rise from 
 the sand-edge of my desolate world, and I became aware of a new 
 pain, for now I perceived the fact that I experienced the sense 
 of thirst. The conception of the impression drew my mind to 
 • the subject, and instantly intense thirst, the most acute of bodilv 
 sufferings, possessed me. When vitalized tissue craves water, 
 other physical wants are unfelt ; when man parches to death all 
 other methods of torture are disregarded. I thought no longer 
 of the rising sun, I remembered no more the burning sand of 
 yesterday, I felt only the pain of thirst. 
 
 "Water, water, water," I cried, and then in the distance as if 
 in answer to my cry, I beheld a lake of water. 
 
 Instantly every nerve was strained, every muscle stretched, 
 and I fled over the sands towards the welcome pool. 
 
 On and on I ran, and as I did so, the sun rising higher and 
 higher, again began to burn the sands beneath my feet, and 
 roast the flesh upon my bones. Once more I experienced that 
 intolerable sense of pain, the pain of living flesh disintegrating 
 by fire, and now with thirst gnawing at my vitals, and fire drying 
 up the residue of my evaporated blood, I struggled in agony 
 towards a lake that vanished before my gaze, to reappear just 
 beyond. 
 
 This day was more horrible than the preceding, and yet it 
 was the reverse so far as the action of the sun on my flesh was 
 concerned. My prayer of yesterday had been fearfully answered, 
 and the curses of the day preceding were being visited upon my 
 very self. I had prayed to become lean, and instead of the 
 former puffed tissue and expanded flesh, my body contracted as 
 does beef when dried. The tightening skin squeezed upon the 
 solidifying flesh, and as the moisture evaporated, it left a shriv- 
 eled integument, contracted close upon the bone. My joints 
 stood out as great protuberances, my skin turned to a dark amber 
 color, and my flesh became transparent as does wetted horn. 
 I saw my very vitals throb, I saw the empty blood vessels, the 
 shriveled nerves and vacant arteries of my frame. I could not 
 close my eyes. I could not shield them from the burning sun. I 
 was a mummy, yet living, a dried corpse walking over the sand, 
 dead to all save pain. I tried to fall, but could not, and I felt 
 that, while the sun was visible, I must stand upright ; T could 
 
266 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 not stop, and could not stoop. Then at last the malevolent sun 
 sank beneath the horizon, and as the last ray disappeared again, 
 I fell upon the sand. 
 
 I did not sleep, I did not rest, I did not breathe nor live a 
 human ; I only existed as a living pain, the conception of pain 
 realized into a conscious nucleus, — and so the night passed. 
 Again the sun arose, and with the light of her first ray I saw 
 near at hand a caravan, camels, men, horses, a great cavalcade. 
 They approached rapidly and surrounded me. The leader of the 
 band alighted and raised me to my feet, for no longer had I the 
 power of motion. He spoke to me kindly, and strange as it may 
 seem to you, but not at all strange did it seem to me, called me 
 by name. 
 
 " We came across your tracks in the desert," he said; " we are 
 your deliverers." 
 
 I motioned for water ; I could not speak. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "water you shall have." 
 
 Then from one of the skins that hung across the hump of a 
 camel he filled a crystal goblet with sparkling water, and held it 
 towards me, but just before the goblet touched my lips he with- 
 drew it and said : 
 
 " I forgot to first extend the greetings of our people." 
 
 And then I noticed in his other hand a tiny glass containing 
 a green liquid, which he placed to my lips, pronouncing the 
 single word, " Drink." 
 
 I fastened my gaze upon the water, and oi3ened my lips. I 
 smelled the aroma of the powerful narcotic liquid within the 
 glass, and hastened to obey, but glanced first at my deliverer, 
 and in his stead saw the familiar face of the satanic figure that 
 twice before had tempted me. Instantly, without a thought as 
 to the consequences, without a fear as to the result, I dashed the 
 glass to the sand, and my voice returning, I cried for the third 
 time, "No; I will not drink." 
 
 The troop of camels instantly disappeared, as had the figures 
 in the scenes before, the tempter resolved into clear air, the sand 
 beneath my feet became natural again, and I became myself as 
 I had been before passing through the hideous ordeal. The fact 
 of my deliverance from the earth caverns had, I now realized, 
 been followed by temporary aberration of my mind, but at last 
 
MISKRY. 267 
 
 I saw clearly again, the painful fancy had passed, the delirium 
 was over. 
 
 I fell upon my knees in thankfulness ; the misery through 
 which I had passed had proven to be illusory, the earth caverns 
 were beneath me, the mirage and temptations were not real, the 
 horrors I had experienced were imaginary — thank God for all 
 this — and that the sand was really sand. Solitary, alone, I 
 kneeled in the desert barren, from horizon to horizon desolation 
 only surrounded, and yet the scene of that illimitable waste, 
 a fearful reality, it is true, was sweet in comparison with the 
 misery of body and soul about which I had dreamed so vividly. 
 
 '"Tis no wonder," I said to myself, "that in the moment of 
 transition from the underground caverns to the sunshine above, 
 the shock should have disturbed my mental equilibrium, and in 
 the moment of reaction I should have dreamed fantastic and 
 horrible imaginings." 
 
 A cool and refreshing breeze sprung now, from I know not 
 where; I did not care to ask; it was too welcome a gift to 
 question, and contrasted pleasantly with the misery of my past 
 hallucination. The sun was shining hot above me, the sand 
 was glowing, parched beneath me, and yet the grateful breeze 
 fanned my brow, and refreshed my spirit. 
 
 "Thank God," I cried, "for the breeze, for the coolness that 
 it brings ; only those who have experienced the silence of the 
 cavern solitudes through which I have passed, and added thereto, 
 have sensed the horrors of the more recent nightmare scenes, 
 can appreciate the delights of a gust of air." 
 
 The incongruity of surrounding conditions, as connected 
 with affairs rational, did not appeal at all to my questioning 
 senses, it seemed as though the cool breeze, coming from out the 
 illimitable desolation of a heated waste was natural. I arose 
 and walked on, refreshed. From out that breeze my physical 
 self drew refreshment and strength. 
 
 '"Tis the cold," I said; "the blessed antithesis of heat, 
 that supports life. Heat enervates, cold stimulates ; heat 
 depresses, cold animates. Thank God for breezes, winds, 
 waters, cold." 
 
 I turned and faced the gladsome breeze. " 'T is the source 
 ■of life, I will trace it to its origin, I will leave the accursed 
 
2G8 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 desert, the hateful sunshine, and seek the blissful regions that 
 give birth to cool breezes." 
 
 I walked rapidly, and the breeze became more energetic and 
 cooler. With each increase of momentum on my part, corre- 
 sponding strength seemed to be added to the breeze — both 
 strength and coolness. 
 
 " Is not this delightful ?" I murmured; " my God at last has 
 come to be a just God. Knowing what I wanted, He sent the 
 breeze ; in answer to my prayer the cool, refreshing breeze arose. 
 Damn the heat," I cried aloud, as I thought of the horrid day 
 before; "blessed be the cold," and as though in answer to my 
 cry the breeze stiffened and the cold strengthened itself, and I 
 again returned thanks to my Creator. 
 
 With ragged coat wrapped about ni)' form I faced the breeze 
 and strode onward towards the home of the gelid wind that now 
 dashed in gusts against my person. 
 
 Then I heard my footstep crunch, and perceived that the 
 sand was hard beneath my feet ; I stooped over to examine it 
 and found it frozen. Strange, I reflected, strange that dry sand 
 can freeze, and then I noticed, for the first time, that spurts of 
 snow surrounded me, 't was a sleety mixture upon which I trod, 
 a crust of snow and sand. A sense of dread came suddenly over 
 me, and instinctively I turned, affrighted, and ran away from 
 the wind, towards the desert behind me, back towards the sun, 
 which, cold and bleak, low in the horizon, was sinking. The 
 sense of dread grew upon me, and I shivered as I ran. With 
 my back towards the breeze I had blessed, I now fled towards 
 the sinking sun I had cursed. I stretched out my arms in 
 supplication towards that orb, for from behind overhanging 
 blackness spread, and about me roared a fearful hurricane. 
 Vainly. As I thought in mockery the heartless sun disappeared 
 before my gaze, the hurricane surrounded me, and the wind 
 about me became intensely cold, and raved furiously. It seemed 
 as though the sun had fled from my presence, and with the 
 disappearance of that orb, the outline of the earth was blotted 
 from existence. It was an awful l)lackness, and the universe was 
 now to me a blank. Tlie cold strengthened and froze my body 
 to the marrow of my bones. First came the sting of frost, 
 then the pain of cold, then insensibility of flesh. My feet were 
 
MISERY. 269 
 
 benumbed, my limbs motionless. I stood a statue, quiescent in 
 the midst of the roaring tempest. The earth, the sun, the heav- 
 ens themselves, my very person now had disappeared. Dead to 
 the sense of pain or touch, sightless, amid a blank, only the noise 
 of the raging winds was to me a reality. And as the creaking 
 frost reached my brain and congealed it, the sound of the tempest 
 ceased, and then devoid of physical senses, my quickened intel- 
 lect, enslaved, remained imprisoned in the frozen form it could 
 not leave, and yet could no longer control. 
 
 Reflection after reflection passed through that incarcerated 
 thought entity, and as I meditated, the heinous mistakes I had 
 committed in the life that had passed, arose to torment. God 
 had answered my supplications, successively I had experienced 
 the hollowness of earthly pleasures, and had left each lesson 
 unheeded. Had I not alternately begged for and then cursed 
 each gift of God? Had I not prayed for heat, cold, light, and 
 darkness, and anathematized each ? Had I not, when in perfect 
 silence, prayed for sound ; in sheltered caverns, prayed for winds 
 and storms ; in the very corridors of heaven, and in the presence 
 of Etidorhpa, had I not sought for joys beyond? 
 
 Had I not found each pleasure of life a mockery, and not- 
 withstanding each bitter lesson, still pursued my headstrong 
 course, alternately blessing and cursing my Creator, and then 
 myself, until now, amid a howling waste, in perfect darkness, my 
 conscious intellect was bound to the frozen, rigid semblance of a 
 body? All about me was dead and dark, all within was still and 
 cold, only my quickened intellect remained as in every corpse 
 the self-conscious intellect must remain, while the body has a 
 mortal form, for death of body is not attended by the immediate 
 liberation of mind. The consciousness of the dead man is still 
 acute, and he who thinks the dead are mindless, will realize his 
 fearful error when devoid of motion he lies a corpse, conscious 
 of all that passes on around him, waiting the liberation that can 
 only come by disintegration and destruction of the flesh. 
 
 So, unconscious of pain, unconscious of any physical sense, 
 I existed on and on, enthralled, age after age passed and piled 
 upon one another, for time was to me unchangeable, no more an 
 entity. I now prayed for change of any kind, and envied the 
 very devils in hell their pleasures, for were they not gifted with 
 
270 p:tidorhpa. 
 
 the power of motion, could they not hear, and see, and realize 
 the pains they suffered? I prayed for death — death absolute, 
 death eternal. Then, at last, the darkness seemed to lessen, and 
 I saw the frozen earth beneath, the monstrous crates of ice above, 
 the raging tempest about, for I now had learned by reflection to 
 perceive by pure intellect, to see by the light within. My body, 
 solid as stone, was fixed and preserved in a waste of ice. The 
 world was frozen. I perceived that the sun, and moon, and stars, 
 nearly stilled, dim and motionless, had paled in the cold depths 
 of space. The universe itself was freezing, and amid the desola- 
 tion only my deserted intellect remained. Age after age had 
 passed, aeons of ages had fled, nation after nation had grown and 
 perished, and in the uncounted epochs behind, humanity had 
 disappeared. Unable to free itself from the frozen body, my own 
 intellect remained the solitary spectator of the dead silence about. 
 At last, beneath ni}- vision, the moon disappeared, the stars faded 
 one by one, and then I watched the sun grow dim, until at 
 length only a milky, gauze-like film remained to indicate her 
 face, and then — vacancy. I had lived the universe away. And 
 in perfect darkness the living intellect, conscious of all that had 
 transpired in the ages past, clung still enthralled to the body of 
 the frozen mortal. I thought of my record in the distant past, of 
 the temptations I had undergone, and called myself a fool, for, 
 had I listened to the tempter, I could at least have sufi'ered, I 
 could have had companionship even though it were of the 
 devils — in hell. I lived my life over and over, times without 
 number ; I thought of my tempters, of the offered cups, and 
 thinking, argued with myself: 
 
 "No," I said; "no, I had made the promise, I have faith in 
 Etidorhpa, and were it to do over again I would not drink." 
 
 Then, as this thought sped from me, the ice scene dissolved, 
 the enveloped frozen form of myself faded from view, the sand 
 shrunk into nothingness, and with my natural body, and in 
 normal condition, I found myself back in the earth cavqrn, on 
 my knees, beside the curious inverted fungus, of which fruit I 
 had eaten in obedience to my guide's directions. Before me the 
 familiar figure of my guide stood, with folded arms, and as my 
 gaze fell upon him he reached out his hand and raised me to 
 my feet. 
 
MISERY. 271 
 
 "Where have you been during the wretched epochs that 
 have passed since I last saw you?" I asked, 
 
 ''I have been here," he replied, "and you have been there." 
 
 "You lie, you villainous sorcerer," I cried; "you lie again as 
 you have lied to me before. I followed you to the edge of demon 
 land, to the caverns of the drunkards, and then you deserted 
 me. Since last we met I have spent a million, billion years of 
 agony inexpressible, and have had that agony made doubh- 
 horrible by contrast with the thought, yes, the very sight and 
 touch of Heaven. I passed into a double eternity, and have 
 experienced the ecstacies of the blessed, and suffered the tor- 
 ments of the damned, and now you dare boldly tell me that I 
 have been here, and that you have been there, since last I saw 
 you stand by this cursed fungus bowl." 
 
 " Yes," he said, taking no offense at my violence ; " yes, neither 
 of us has left this spot; you have sipped of the drink of an 
 earth-damned drunkard, you have experienced part of the curses 
 of intemperance, the delirium of narcotics. Thousands of men 
 on earth, in their drunken hallucination, have gone through 
 hotter hells than you have seen ; your dream has not exaggerated 
 the sufferings of those who sup of the delirium of intemperance." 
 
 And then he continued : 
 
 "Let me tell you of man's conception of eternity." 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 ETERNITY WITHOUT TI.MK. 
 
 " Man's conception of eternity is that of infinite duration, 
 continuance without beginning or end, and yet everything he 
 knows is bounded by two or more opposites. From a beginning, 
 as he sees a form of matter, that substance passes to an end." 
 Thus spoke my guide. 
 
 Then he asked, and showed by his question that he appreci- 
 ated the nature of my recent experiences : " Do you recall the 
 instant that you left me standing by this bowl to start, as you 
 imagined, with me as a companion, on the journey to the cavern 
 of the grotesque?" 
 
 " No ; because I did not leave you. I sipped of the liquid, and 
 then you moved on with me from this spot ; we were together, 
 until at last we were separated on the edge of the cave of 
 drunkards." 
 
 "Listen," said he; "I neither left you nor went with you. 
 You neither went from this spot nor came back again. You 
 neither saw nor experienced my presence nor my absence ; there 
 was no beginning to your journey." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " You ate of the narcotic fungus; you have been intoxicated." 
 
 " I have not," I retorted. " I have been through your accursed 
 caverns, and into hell beyond. I have been consumed by eternal 
 damnation in the journey, have experienced a heaven of delight, 
 and also an eternity of misery." 
 
 "Upon the contrary, the time that has passed since you 
 drank the liquid contents of that fungus fruit has only been that 
 which permitted you to fall upon }'Our knees. You swallowed 
 the liquor when I handed you the shell cup ; you dropped upon 
 your knees, and then instantly awoke. See," he said; " in corro- 
 boration of my assertion the shell of the fungus fruit at your 
 feet is still dripping with the liquid you did not drink. Time 
 
ETKRNITV WITHOUT TIME. 273 
 
 has been annihilated. Under the influence of this potent earth- 
 bred narcoto-intoxicant, your dream begun inside of eternity; 
 you did not pass into it." 
 
 "You say," I interrupted, "that I dropped upon my knees, 
 that I have experienced the hallucination of intoxication, that 
 the experiences of my vision occurred during the second of time 
 that was required for me to drop upon my knees." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then by your own argument you demonstrate that eternity 
 requires time, for even a millionth part of a second is time, as 
 much so as a million of years." 
 
 "You mistake," he replied, "you misinterpret my words. I 
 said that all you experienced in your eternity of suffering and 
 pleasure, occurred between the point when you touched the 
 fungus fruit to your lips, and that when your knees struck the 
 stone." 
 
 " That consumed time," I answered. 
 
 " Did I assert," he questioned, " that your experiences were 
 scattered over that entire period?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " May not all that occurred to your mind have been crushed 
 into the second that accompanied the mental impression produced 
 by the liquor, or the second of time that followed, or any other 
 part of that period, or a fraction of any integral second of that 
 period?" 
 
 "I can not say," I answered, "what part of the period the 
 hallucination, as you call it, occupied." 
 
 " You admit that so far as your conception of time is con- 
 cerned, the occurrences to which you refer may have existed in 
 either an unestimable fraction of the first, the second, or the 
 third part of the period." 
 
 "Yes," I replied, "yes; if you are correct in that, they were 
 illusions." 
 
 "Let me ask you furthermore," he said; "are you sure that 
 the flash that bred your hallucination was not instantaneous, and 
 a part of neither the first, second, or third second ?" 
 "Continue your argument." 
 
 " I will repeat a preceding question with a slight modification. 
 May not all that occurred to your mind have been crushed into 
 
274 KTIIX^RHPA. 
 
 the space between the second of time that preceded the mental 
 impression produced by the liqnor, and the second that followed 
 it? Need it have been a part of either second, or of time at all? 
 Indeed, could it have been a part of time if it were instantaneous?" 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " Suppose the entity that men call the soul of man were in 
 process of separation from the body. The process you will admit 
 would occupy time, until the point of liberation was reached. 
 Would not dissolution, so far as the separation of matter and 
 spirit is concerned at its critical point be instantaneous?" 
 
 I made no reply. 
 
 " If the critical point is instantaneous, there would be no 
 beginning, there could be no end. Therein rests an eternity 
 greater than man can otherwise conceive of, for as there is 
 neither beginning nor end, time and space are annihilated. The 
 line that separates the soul that is in the body from the soul that 
 is out of the body is outside of all things. It is a betw^een, 
 neither a part of the nether side nor of the upper side ; it is 
 outside the here and the here-after. Let us carry this thought a 
 little further," said he. " Suppose a good man were to undergo 
 this change, could not all that an eternity of happiness might 
 offer be crushed into this boundless conception, the critical 
 point? All that a mother craves in children dead, could reappear 
 again in their once loved forms ; all that a good life earns, would 
 rest in the soul's experience in that eternity, but not as an 
 illusion, although no mental pleasure, no physical pain is equal 
 to that of hallucinations. vSuppose that a vicious life were 
 ended, could it escape the inevitable critical point? Would not 
 that life in its previous journey create its own sad eternity? You 
 have seen the working of an eternity with an end but not a 
 beo-inninsf to it, for you can not sense the commencement of 
 your vision. You have been in the cavern of the grotesque, — 
 the realms of the beautiful, and have walked over the boundless 
 sands that bring misery to the soul, and have, as a statue, seen 
 the frozen universe dissolve. You are thankful that it was all an 
 illusion as you deem it now; what would you think had only the 
 heavenly part been spread before you?" 
 
 "I would have cursed the man who dispelled the illusion," I 
 answered. 
 
ETERNITY WITHOUT TIME. 275 
 
 "Then," he said, "you are willing to admit that men who so 
 live as to gain snch an eternity, be it mental illusion, hallucina- 
 tion or real, make no mistake in life." 
 
 "I do," I replied; "but you confound me when you argue in 
 so cool a manner that eternity may be everlasting to the soul, 
 and yet without the conception of time." 
 
 " Did I not teach you in the beginning of this journey," he 
 interjected, " that time is not as men conceive it. Men can not 
 grasp an idea of eternity and retain their sun bred, morning and 
 evening, conception of time. Therein lies their error. As the 
 tip of the whip-lash passes with the lash, so through life the soul 
 of man proceeds with the body. As there is a point just when 
 the tip of the whip-lash is on the edge of its return, where all 
 motion of the line that bounds the tip ends, so there is a motion- 
 less point when the soul starts onward from the body of man. 
 As the tip of the whip lash sends its cry through space, not 
 while it is in motion either way, but from the point where 
 motion ceases, the spaceless, timeless point that lies between 
 the backward and the forward, so the soul of man leaves a cry 
 (eternity) at the critical point. It is the death echo, and thus 
 each snap of the life-thread throws an eternity, its own eternity, 
 into eternity's seas, and each eternity is made up of the entities 
 thus cast from the critical point. With the end of each soul's 
 earth journey, a new eternity springs into existence, occupying 
 no space, consuming no time, and not conflicting with any other, 
 each being exactly what the soul-earth record makes it, an 
 eternity of joy (heaven), or an eternity of anguish (hell). There 
 can be no neutral ground." 
 
 Then he continued : 
 
 " The drunkard is destined to suffer in the drunkard's eternity,, 
 as 3'OU have suffered ; the enticement of drink is evanescent,. 
 the agony to follow is eternal. You have seen that the sub- 
 regions of earth supply an intoxicant. Taste not again of any 
 intoxicant ; let your recent lesson be your last. Any stimulant 
 is an enemy to man, any narcotic is a fiend. It destroys its 
 victim, and corrupts the mind, entices it into pastures grotesque, 
 and even pleasant at first, but destined to eternal misery in the 
 end. Beware of the eternity that follows the snapping of the 
 
276 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 life-thread of a drunkard. Come," he abruptly said, " we will 
 pursue our journey." 
 
 [ Note.— Morphine, belladonna, hyoscyamus, and cannabis indica are narcotics, and j-et 
 each differs in its action from the others. Alcohol and methyl alcohol arc intoxicants; ether, 
 chloroform, and chloral are anesthetics, and yet no two are possessed of the same qualities. 
 Is there any good reason to doubt that a hidden combination of the elements can not cause 
 hallucinations that combine and intensify the most virulent of narcotics, intoxicants, and 
 antesthetics, and pall the effects of hashish, or of opium? 
 
 If, in the course of experimentation, a chemist should strike upon a compound that in 
 traces only would subject his mind and drive his pen to record such seemingly extravagant 
 ideas as are found in the hallucinations herein pictured, or to frame word-sentences foreign 
 to normal conditions, and beyond his natural ability, and yet could he not know the end of 
 such a drug, would it not be his duty to bury the discovery from others, to cover from man- 
 kind the existence of such a noxious fruit of the chemist's or pharmaceutist's art ? To sip once 
 or twice of such a potent liquid, and then to write lines that tell the story of its power may 
 do no harm to an individual on his guard, but mankind in common should never possess such 
 a penetrating essence. Introduce such an intoxicant, and start it to ferment in humanity's 
 blood, and it inaj' spread from soul to soul, until, before the world is advised of its possible 
 results, the ever-increasing potency will gain such headway as to destroy, or debase, our civ- 
 ilization, and even to exterminate mankind.— J. U. I,.] 
 
INTERLUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE LAST CONTEST. 
 
 I, Le welly 11 Drury, had been so absorbed in tlie fantastic 
 story the old man read so fluently from the execrably written 
 manuscript, and in the metaphysical argument which followed 
 his account of the vision he had introduced so artfully as to lead 
 me to think it was a part of his narrative, that I scarcely noted 
 the passage of time. Upon seeing him suspend his reading, 
 fold the manuscript, and place it in his pocket, I reverted to 
 material things, and glancing at the clock, perceived that the 
 hands pointed to bed-time. 
 
 " To-morrow evening," said he, " I will return at nine o'clock. 
 In the interim, if you still question any part of the story, or 
 wish further information on any subject connected with my 
 journey, I will be prepared to answer your queries. Since, how- 
 ever, that will be your last opportunity, I suggest that you make 
 notes of all subjects that you wish to discuss." 
 
 Then, in his usual self-possessed, exquisitely polite manner, 
 he bowed himself out. 
 
 I spent the next day reviewing the most questionable features 
 of his history, recalling the several statements that had been 
 made. Remembering the humiliation I had experienced in my 
 previous attempts to confute him, I determined to select such 
 subjects as would appear the most difficult to explain, and to 
 attack the old man with vehemence. 
 
 I confess, that notwithstanding my several failures, and his 
 successful and constant elucidation and minute details in regard 
 to occurrences which he related, and which anticipated many 
 points I had once had in mind to question, misgivings still 
 possessed me concerning the truthfulness of the story. If 
 
278 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 these remarkable episodes were true, could there be such a 
 thing as fiction? If not all true, where did fact end and fancy 
 begin ? 
 
 Accordingly I devoted the following day to meditating my 
 plan of attack, for I felt that I had been challenged to a final 
 contest. Late the next day, I felt confident of my own ability to 
 dispossess him, and in order further to test his power, when night 
 came I doubly locked the door to my room, first with the kc)- 
 and next with the inside bolt. I had determined to force him 
 again to induce inert material to obey his command, as he had 
 done at our first interview. The reader will remember that 
 Prof. Chickering had deemed that occurrence an illusion, and I 
 confess that time had dimmed the vividness of the scene in my 
 own mind. Hence I proposed to verify the matter. Therefore, 
 at the approach of nine o'clock, the evening following, I sat with 
 my gaze riveted on the bolt of the door, determined not to 
 answer his knock. 
 
 He gave me no chance to neglect a response to his rap. 
 Exactly at the stroke of nine the door swung noiselessly on its 
 hinges, the wizard entered, and the door closed again. The bolt 
 had not moved, the knob did not turn. The bar passed through 
 the catch and back to its seat, — I sprung from my chair, and 
 excitedly and rudely rushed past my guest. I grasped the knob, 
 wrenched it with all my might. Vainly; the door was locked, 
 the bolt was fastened. Then I turned to my visitor. He was 
 quietly seated in his accustomed place, and apparently failed to 
 notice my discomposure, although he must have realized that he 
 had withstood my first test. 
 
 This pronounced defeat, at the very beginning of our proposed 
 contest, produced a depressing effect; nevertheless I made an 
 effort at self-control, and seating myself opposite, looked my 
 antagonist in the face. Calm, dignified, with the brow of a 
 philosopher, and the countenance of a philanthropist, a perfect 
 type of the exquisite gentleman, and the cultured scholar, my 
 guest, as serene and complacent as though, instead of an intnider, 
 he were an invited participant of the comforts of my fireside, or 
 even the host himself, laid his hat upon the table, stroked his 
 silvery, translucent beard, and said: 
 
 " Well 1"' 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 279 
 
 I accepted the challenge, for the word, as he emphasized it, 
 was a challenge, and hurled at him, in hopes to catch him 
 unprepared, the following abrupt sentence : 
 
 " I doubt the possibility of the existence of a great cavern 
 such as you have described. The superincumbent mass of earth 
 would crush the strongest metal. No material known to man 
 could withstand a pressure so great as would overlie an arch as 
 large as that you depict ; material would succumb even if the 
 roof were made of steel." 
 
 " Do not be so positive," he replied. " By what authority do 
 you make this assertion?" 
 
 " By the authority of common sense as opposed to an unrea- 
 sonable hypothesis. You should know that there is a limit to 
 the strength of all things, and that no substance is capable of 
 making an arch of thousands of miles, wdiich, according to your 
 assertion, must have been the diameter of the roof of your 
 inland sea." 
 
 " Ah," he replied, " and so you again crush my facts with 
 your theory. Well, let me ask a question." 
 
 " Proceed." 
 
 " Did you ever observe a bubble resting on a bubble?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did you ever place a pipe-stem in a partly filled bowl of 
 soap water, and by blowing through it fill the bowl with 
 bubbles?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did you ever calculate the tensile strength of the material 
 from which you blew the bubble?" 
 
 "No; for soap water has no appreciable strength." 
 
 " And yet you know that a bubble made of suds has not only 
 strength, but elasticity. Suppose a bubble of energy floating in 
 space were to be covered to the depth of the thickness of a 
 sheet of tissue paper with the dust of space, would that surprise 
 you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Suppose two such globes of energy, covered with dust, were 
 to be telescoped or attached together, would you marvel at the 
 fact ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
L'80 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 He drew a picture on a piece of paper, in which one line was 
 inclosed by another, and remarked : 
 
 " The pencil mark on this paper is proportionately thicker 
 than the crust of the earth over the earth cavern I have 
 described. Even if it were made of soap suds, it could revolve 
 through space and maintain its contour." 
 " But the earth is a globe," I interjected. 
 "You do not mean an exact globe?" 
 "No; it is flattened at the poles." 
 
 He took from his pocket two thin rubber balls, one slightly 
 
 larger than the other. With his knife he divided the larger ball, 
 
 AXIS cutting it into halves. He then placed 
 
 one of the sections upon the perfect 
 
 A ball, and held the arrangement between 
 
 A the jras light and the wall. 
 
 " See ; is not the shadow flattened, 
 as your earth is, at the poles?" 
 
 " Yes ; but the earth is not a shadow." 
 " We will not argue that point now," 
 he replied, and then asked: "Suppose 
 such a compound shell as this were to 
 revolve through space and continuously 
 collect dust, most of it of the earth's 
 temperature, forming a fluid (water), 
 would not that dust be propelled naturally from the poles?" 
 "Yes; according to our theory." 
 
 "Perhaps," said he, "the contact edge of the invisible 
 spheres of energy which compose your earth bubbles, for plan- 
 ets are bubbles, that have been covered with water and soil 
 during the time the energy bubble, which is the real bone of 
 the globe, has been revolving through space; perhaps, could 
 you reach the foundation of the earth dust, you would find it 
 not a perfect sphere, but a compound skeleton, as of two bubbles 
 locked, or rather telescoped together. [See Fig. 34.] 
 
 "Are you sure that my guide did not lead me through the 
 space between the bubbles?" 
 Then he continued : 
 
 " Do not be shocked at what I am about to assert, for, as a 
 member of materialistic humanity, you will surely consider me 
 
 AXIS 
 Fig. 33. 
 A A, telescoped energy spheres. 
 
THE IvAvST CONTEST. 
 
 281 
 
 B 
 
 AXIS 
 Fig. 34. 
 B B, telescoped energy spheres covered! 
 with space dirt, inclosing space 
 between. 
 
 irrational when I say that matter, materials, ponderous sub- 
 stances, one and all, so far as the ponderous part is concerned, 
 have no strength." 
 
 A yic 
 
 "What! no .strength ?" 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 I grasped the poker. 
 
 " Is not this matter?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I can not break it." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have not I strength?" 
 
 " Confine your argument now 
 to the poker ; we wall consider you 
 next. You can not break it." 
 
 " I can break this pencil, 
 though," and I snapped it in his 
 face. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 I curled my lip in disdain. 
 
 "You carry this argument too far." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I can break the pencil, I can not break the poker; had 
 these materials not different strengths there could be no distinc- 
 tion ; had I no strength I could not have broken either." 
 
 "Are you ready to listen?" he replied. 
 
 "Yes; but do not exasperate me." 
 
 " I did not say that the combination you call a poker had 
 no strength, neither did I assert that you could not break a 
 pencil." 
 
 " A distinction without a difference ; you play upon words." 
 
 " I said that matter, the ponderous side of material sub- 
 stances, has no strength." 
 
 "And I say differently." 
 
 He thrust the end of the poker into the fire, and soon drew 
 it forth red-hot. 
 
 " Is it as strong as before?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Heat it to whiteness and it becomes plastic." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
2S2 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " Heat it still more and it changes to a liquid." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Has liquid iron strength?" 
 
 " Very little, if any." 
 
 "Is it still matter?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is it the material of the iron, or is it the energy called heat 
 that qualifies the strength of the metal? It seems to me that 
 were I in your place I would now argue that absence of heat 
 constitutes strength," he sarcastically continued. 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "Cool this red-hot poker by thrusting it into a pail of cold 
 water, and it becomes very hard and brittle." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Cool it slowly, and it is comparatively soft and plastic." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "The material is the same, is it not?" 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "What strength has charcoal?" 
 
 " Scarcely any." 
 
 "Crystallize it, and the diamond results." 
 
 " I did not speak of diamond." 
 
 " Ah ! and is not the same amount of the same material 
 present in each, a grain of diamond and a grain of charcoal? 
 What is present in a grain of diamond that is not present in a 
 grain of charcoal?" 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "Answer my question." 
 
 " I can not." 
 
 " Why does brittle, cold zinc, when heated, become first 
 ductile, and then, at an increased temperature, become brittle 
 again. In each case the same material is present?" 
 
 " I do not know ; but this I do know : I am an organized 
 being, and I have strength of body." 
 
 The old man grasped the heavy iron poker with both hands, 
 and suddenly rising to his full height, swung it about his head, 
 then with a motion so menacing that I shrunk back into my 
 chair and cried out in alarm, seemed about to strike, with full 
 force, my defenseless brow. 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 283 
 
 '* My God," I shouted, " what have I done that you should 
 murder me?" 
 
 He lowered the weapon, and calmly asked : 
 
 " Suppose that I had crushed your skull — where then would 
 be your vaunted strength?" 
 
 I made no reply, for as yet I had not recovered from the 
 mental shock. 
 
 "Could you then have snapped a pencil? Could you have 
 broken a reed? Could you even have blown the down from a 
 thistle bloom?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Would not your material body have been intact?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Listen," said he. "Matter has no strength, matter obeys 
 spirit, and spirit dominates all things material. Energy in some 
 form holds particles of matter together, and energy in other 
 forms loosens them. 'Tis this imponderable force that gives 
 strength to substances, not the ponderable side of the material. 
 Granite crushed is still granite, but destitute of rigidity. Crea- 
 tures dead are still organic structures, but devoid of strength or 
 motion. The spirit that pervades all material things gives to 
 them form and existence. Take from your earth its vital spirit, 
 the energy that subjects matter, and your so-called adamantine 
 rocks would disintegrate, and sift as dust into the interstices of 
 space. Your so-called rigid globe, a shell of space dust, would 
 dissolve, collapse, and as the spray of a burst bubble, its ponder- 
 ous side would vanish in the depths of force." 
 
 I sat motionless. 
 
 "Listen," he repeated. "You wrong your own common 
 sense when you place dead matter above the spirit of matter. 
 Atoms come and go in their ceaseless transmigrations, worlds 
 move, universes circulate, not because the}' are material bodies, 
 but because as points of matter, in a flood of force, they obey 
 the spirit that can blot out a sun, or dissolve the earth, as easily 
 as it can unlink two atoms. Matter is an illusion, spirit is the 
 reality." 
 
 I felt that he had silenced me against my will, and although 
 I could not gainsay his assertions, I determined to study the 
 subject carefully, at my leisure. 
 
284 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 "As you please," he interjected into my musings; "but since 
 vou are so determined, you would better stud\' from books that 
 are written by authors who know whereof they write, and who 
 are not obliged to theorize from speculative data concerning the 
 intrastructural earth crust." 
 
 "But where can I find such works? I do not know of any.'' 
 
 " Then," said he, "perhaps it would be better to cease doubt- 
 ing the word of one who has acquired the knowledge to write 
 such a book, and who has no object in misleading you." 
 
 "Still other questions arise," I said. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I consider the account of the intra-earth fungus intoxicant 
 beyond the realm of fact." 
 
 " In what respect?" 
 
 " The perfect loss of self that resulted immediately, in an 
 instant, after swallowing the juice of the fungus fruit, so that 
 you could not distinguish between the real guide at your side 
 and the phantom that sprung into existence, is incredible. [See 
 p. 234.] An element of time is a factor in the operation of 
 nerve impressions." * 
 
 "Have you investigated all possible anaesthetics?" he asked. 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 "Or all possible narcotics?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How long does it require for pure prussic acid to produce 
 its physiological action?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 He ignored my reply, and continued : 
 
 " Since there exists a relative difference between the time that 
 is required for ether and chloroform to produce insensibility, and 
 between the actions and resultant effects of all known ancesthetics, 
 intoxicants, and narcotics, I think you are hypercritical. Some 
 nerve excitants known to you act slowly, others quickly; win- 
 not others still instantaneously? If you can rest your assertion 
 on any good basis, I will gladly meet your questions, but I do 
 not accept such evidence as you now introduce, and I do not 
 care to argue for both parties." 
 
 ••' It is well that reference was made to this point. Few readers would probably notice 
 that Chapter XXXVI. begun a narcotic hallucination. — J. U. L. 
 
THE LAST CONTICST. 285 
 
 Again I was becoming irritated, for I was not satisfied with 
 the manner in which I npheld my part of the argnment, and 
 natnrally, as is usually the case with the defeated party, became 
 incensed at my invincible antagonist. 
 
 " Well," I said, " I criticise your credulity. The drunkards 
 of the drunkards' cavern were beyond all credence. I can not 
 conceive of such abnormal creations, even in illusion. Had I 
 met with your experiences I would not have supposed, for an 
 instant, that the fantastic shapes could have been aught than a 
 dream, or the result of hallucination, while, without a question, 
 you considered them real." 
 
 " You are certainly pressed for subjects about which to com- 
 plain when you resort to criticising the possibilities in creations 
 of a mind under the influence of a more powerful intoxicant 
 than is known to surface earth," he remarked. " However, I 
 will show you that nature fashions animals in forms more 
 fantastic than I saw, and that even these figures were not 
 overdrawn" — 
 
 Without heeding his remark, I interrupted his discourse, 
 determined to have my say : 
 
 "And I furthermore question the uncouth personage you 
 describe as your guide. Would you have me believe that such a 
 being has an existence outside an abnormal thought-creation?" 
 
 "Ah," he replied, "you have done well to ask these two 
 questions in succession, for you permit me to answer both at 
 once. Listen: The Monkey, of all animals, seems to approach 
 closest to man in figure, the Siamang Gibon of iVsia, the Bald- 
 headed Saki of South America, with its stub of a tail, being 
 nearest. From these types we have great deviations as in the 
 Wanderer of India, with its whiskered face, and the Black 
 >SIacaque of the Island of Celebes, with its hairy topknot, and 
 hairless stub of a tail, or the well-known Squirrel Monkey, with 
 its long supple tail, and the Thumbless Spider Monkey, of South 
 America. Between these types we have among monkeys, nearly 
 every conceivable shape of limb and figure, and in color of their 
 faces and bodies, all the shades of the rainbow. 
 
 " Some Squirrels jump and then sail through the air. The 
 Sloth can barely move on the earth. Ant-eaters have no teeth at 
 allj while the Grizzlv Bear can crush a gun barrel with its molars. 
 
286 ETIDORIU'A. 
 
 "The Duck-billed Platypus of South Australia has the body 
 of a mole, the tail of a raccoou, the flat bill of a duck, and the 
 flipper of a seal, combined with the feet of a rat. It lays eggs 
 as birds do, but suckles its young as do other mammalia. The 
 Opossum has a prehensile tail, as have some monkeys, and in 
 addition a living bag or pouch in which the female carries her 
 tiny young. The young of a kind of tree frog of the genus 
 Hylodes, breathe through a special organ in their tails; the 
 young of the Pipa, a great South American toad, burrow into 
 the skin of the mother, and still another from Chili, as soon as 
 hatched, creep down the throat of the father frog, and find below 
 the jaw an opening into a false membrane covering the entire 
 abdomen, in which they repose in safety. Three species of 
 frogs and toads have no tongue at all, while in all the others the 
 tongue is attached by its tip to the end of the mouth, and is free 
 behind. The ordinary Bullfrog has conspicuous great legs, 
 while a relative, the Coecilia (and others as well) have a head 
 reminding of the frog, but neither tail nor legs, the body being 
 elongated as if it were a worm. The long, slender fingers of a 
 Bat are united by means of a membrane that enables it to fly 
 like a bird, wdiile as a contrast, the fingers of a INIole, its near 
 cousin, are short and stubby, and massive as compared W'ith its 
 frame. The former flies through the air, the latter burrows 
 (almost flies) through the earth. The Great Ant-eater has a 
 curved head which is drawm out into a slender snout, no teeth, a 
 long, slender tongue, a great bushy tail, and claws that neither 
 allow the creature to burrow in the earth nor climb into trees, 
 but which are admirably adapted to tear an ant-hill into frag- 
 ments. Its close relatives, the Apar and Armadillo, have a 
 round body covered with bony plates, and a short, horny, curved 
 tail, while another relative, the Long-tailed Pangolin, has a 
 great alligator-like tail which, together with its body, is covered 
 with horny, overlapping scales. 
 
 " The Greenland Whale has an enormous head occupying more 
 than one-third its length, no teeth, and a throat scarcely larger 
 than that of a sucker fish. The Golden Mole has a body so 
 nearly symmetrical that, were it not for the snout, it would be 
 difficult to determine the location of the head without close 
 inspection, and it has legs so short that, were it not for the 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 287 
 
 powerful claws, they would not be observed at all. The Narwhal 
 has a straight, twisted tusk, a " — 
 
 " Hold, hold," I interrupted ; " do you think that I am con- 
 cerned in these well known contrasts in animal structure?" 
 
 " Did you not question the possibility of the description I 
 gave of my grotesque drunkards, and of the form of my subter- 
 ranean guide?" my guest retorted. 
 
 "Yes; but I spoke of men, you describe animals." 
 
 " Man is an animal, and between the various species of 
 animals that you say are well known, greater distinctions can be 
 drawn than between my guide and surface-earth man. Besides, 
 had you allowed me to proceed to a description of animal life 
 beneath the surface of the earth, I would have shown you that 
 my guide partook of their attributes. Of the creatures described, 
 one only was of the intra-earth origin — the Mole, — and like my 
 guide, it is practically eyeless." 
 
 "Go on," I said; "'tis useless for me to resist. And yet" — 
 
 "And yet what?" 
 
 "And yet I have other subjects to discuss." 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 "I do not like the way in which you constantly criticise 
 science, especially in referring thereto the responsibilities of the 
 crazed anatomist.'^ It seems to me that he was a monomaniac, 
 gifted, but crazed, and that science was unfortunate in being 
 burdened with such an incubus." 
 
 " True, and yet science advances largely by the work of such 
 apparently heartless creatures. Were it not for investigators 
 who overstep the bounds of established methods, and thus crit- 
 icise their predecessors, science would rust and disintegrate. 
 Besides, why should not science be judged by the rule she applies 
 to others?" 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " Who is more free to criticise religion than the materialistic 
 man of science?" 
 
 " But a religious man is not cruel." 
 
 "Have you not read history? Have you not shuddered at 
 the crimes recorded in the name of the relictions of man?" 
 
 * This section (see p. igo'i was excised, being too painful.— J. U. I^. 
 
288 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " Yes ; but these cruelties were committed by misguided men 
 under the cloak of the church, or of false religions, during the 
 dark ages. Do not blame religion, but the men who abused 
 the cause." 
 
 "Yes," he added, "you are right; they were fanatics, crazed 
 beings, men; yes, even communities, raving mad. Crazed 
 leaders can infuse the minds of the people with their fallacies, 
 and thus become leaders of crazed nations. Not, as I have 
 depicted in my scientific enthusiast, one man alone in the 
 privacy of his home torturing a single child, but whole nations 
 pillaging, burning, torturing, and destroying. But this is foreign 
 to our subject. Beware, I reiterate, of the science of human 
 biology. The man who enters the field can not foresee the end, 
 the man who studies the science of life, and records his experi- 
 ments, can not know the extremes to which a fanatical follower 
 may carry the thought-current of his leader. I have not over- 
 drawn the lesson. Besides, science is now really torturing, 
 burning, maiming, and destroying humanity. The act of 
 destruction has been transferred from barbarians and the fanatic 
 in religion to the follower of the devotees of science." 
 
 " No; I say no." 
 
 "Who created the steam engine? Who evolves improved 
 machinery? Who creates improved artillery, and explosives? 
 Scientific men." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 "Accumulate the maimed and destroyed each year; add 
 together the miseries and sorrows that result from the explo- 
 sions, accidents, and catastrophes resulting from science 
 improvements, and the dark ages scarcely offer a parallel. Add 
 thereto the fearful destruction that follows a war among nations 
 scientific, and it will be seen that the scientific enthusiast of the 
 present has taken the place of the misguided fanatic of the past. 
 Let us be just. Place to the credit of religion the good that 
 religion has done, place to the credit of science the good that 
 science is doing, and yet do not mistake, both leave in their 
 wake an atmosphere saturated with miser\-, a road whitened 
 with humanity's bones. Neither the young nor the old are 
 spared, and so far as the sufferer is concerned it matters not 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 289 
 
 whether the person has been racked by the tortnres of an inqui- 
 sition, or the sword of an infidel, is shrieking in the agony of a 
 scald by super-heated steam, or is mangled by an explosion of 
 nitroglycerin," 
 
 Again he hesitated. 
 
 ** Go on." 
 
 " One of science's most serious responsibilities, from which 
 religion has nearly escaped, is that of supplying thought-food to 
 fanatics, and from this science can not escape." 
 
 " Explain yourself." 
 
 " Who places the infidel in possession of arguments to com- 
 bat sacred teachings? Who deliberately tortures animals, and 
 suggests that biological experimentation in the name of science^ 
 before cultured audiences even, is legitimate, such as making 
 public dissections of living creatures?" 
 
 " Enough, enough," I cried, thinking of his crazed anato- 
 mist, and covering my face with my hands; "you make my 
 blood creep." 
 
 " Yes," he added sarcastically; "you shudder now and crit- 
 icise my truthful study, and to-morrow you will forget the lesson, 
 and perhaps for dinner you will relish your dish of veal, the 
 favorite food of mothers, the nearest approach to the flesh of 
 babies." 
 
 Then his manner changed, and in his usual mild, pleasant 
 wa}', he said : 
 
 " Take what I have said kindly ; I wish only to induce your 
 religious part to have more charity for your scientific self, and 
 the reverse. Both religion and science are working towards the 
 good of man, although their devotees are human, and by human 
 errors bring privations, sufi'erings, and sorrows to men. Neither 
 can fill the place of the other ; each should extend a helping 
 hand, and have charity for the shortcomings of the other ; they 
 are not antagonists, but workers in one field ; both must stand 
 the criticisms of mutual antagonists, and both have cause to fear 
 the evils of fanaticism within their own ranks more than the 
 attacks of opponents from without. Let the religious enthusiast 
 exercise care ; his burning, earnest words may lead a weak- 
 minded father to murder an innocent family, and yet 't is not 
 religion that commits the crime. Let the zealous scientific man 
 
290 ETIDORIITA. 
 
 hesitate; he piles up fuel by which minds unbalanced, or dis- 
 positions perverted, seek to burn and destroy hopes that Iiave 
 long served the yearnings of humanity's soul. Neither pure 
 religion nor true science is to blame for the acts of its devo- 
 tess, and yet each must share the responsibility of its human 
 agents." 
 
 "We will discuss the subject no further," I said; "it is not 
 agreeable." 
 
 Then I continued : 
 
 " The idea of eternity without time is not quite clear to me, 
 although I catch an imperfect conception of the argument 
 advanced. Do you mean to say that when a soul leaves the 
 body, the earth life of the individual, dominated by the soul, is 
 thrown off from it as is the snap of a whip-lash, and that into 
 the point between life and death, the hereafter of that mortal 
 may be concentrated?" 
 
 " I simply give you the words of my guide," he replied, " but 
 vou have expressed the idea about as well as your word language 
 will admit. Such a conception of eternity is more rational to 
 one who, like myself, has lived through an instant that covered, 
 so far as mind is concerned, a million years of time, than is an 
 attempt to grasp a conception of an eternity, without beginning 
 or end, by basing an argument on conditions governing material 
 substances, as these substances are known to man. You have 
 the germ of the idea which may be simply a thought for you 
 to ponder over; you can study the problem at your leisure. 
 Do not, however, I warn you, attempt to comprehend the notion 
 of eternity by throwing into it the conception of time as men 
 accept that term, for the very word time, as men define it, 
 demands that there be both a beginning and an end. With the 
 sense of time in one's mind, there can be no conception of the 
 term eternity." 
 
 Then, as I had so often done before, I unwarily gave him an 
 opportunity to enlarge on his theme, to my disadvantage. I had 
 determined not to ask any questions concerning his replies to my 
 criticism, for whenever I had pre\'iously done so, the result had 
 been disastrous to me. In this case I unwittingly said : 
 
 " Why do you say that our language will not permit of clearer 
 conceptions than you give?" 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 291 
 
 " Because your education does not permit you to think outside 
 of words; you are word-bound." 
 
 " You astonish me by making such an arrogant assertion. Do 
 you mean to assert that I can not think without using words?" 
 
 " Yes. Every thought you indulge in is circumscribed. You 
 presumably attempt to throw a thought-line forward, and yet 
 you step backward and spin it in words that have been handed 
 you from the past, and, struggle as you may, you can not liberate 
 yourself from the dead incubus. Attempt to originate an idea, 
 and see if you can escape your word-master?" 
 
 "Go on; I am listening." 
 
 " Men scientific think in language scientific. Men poetical 
 think in language poetic. All educated men use words in think- 
 ing of their subjects, words that came to them from the past, and 
 enslave their intellect. Thus it is that the novelist can not 
 make fiction less real than is fact; that scientists can not 
 commence at the outside, and build a theory back to phenomena 
 understood. In each case the foundation of a thought is a word 
 that in the very beginning carries to the mind a meaning, a 
 something from the past. Each thought ramification is an 
 offshoot from words that express ideas and govern ideas, yes, 
 create ideas, even dominating the mind. Men speak of ideas 
 when they intend to refer to an image in the mind, but in reality 
 they have no ideas outside of the word sentences they uncon- 
 sciously reformulate. Define the term idea correctly, and it will 
 be shown that an idea is a sentence, and if a sentence is made of 
 words already created, there can be no new idea, for every word 
 has a fixed meaning. Hence, when men think, they only 
 rearrange words that carry with themselves networks of ideas, 
 and thus play upon their several established meanings. How 
 can men so circumscribed construct a new idea or teach a new 
 science?" 
 
 "New words are being created." 
 
 " Language is slowly progressing, but no new word adds 
 itself to a language; it is linked to thought-chains that precede. 
 In order to create a word, as a rule, roots are used that are as 
 established in philology as are building materials in architecture. 
 When a new sound is thrust into a language, its intent must 
 be introduced by words already known, after which it conveys 
 
292 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 a meaning derixcd from the past, and becomes a part of mind 
 sentences already constrncted, as it does of spoken langnage. 
 Language has thus been painfully and slowly evolved and is 
 still being enlarged, but while new impressions may be felt by 
 an educated person, the formulated feeling is inseparable, from 
 well-known surviving words." 
 
 " Some men are dumb." 
 
 " Yes ; and yet they frame mind-impressions into unspoken 
 words of their own, otherwise they would be scarcely more than 
 animals. Place an uneducated dumb person in a room with a 
 complicated instrument, and although he ma>- comprehend its 
 uses, he can not do so unless he frames sense-impressions into, 
 what is to him, a formulated mind-word sequence." 
 
 " But he can think about it." 
 
 " No ; unless he has already constructed previous impressions 
 into word-meanings of his own, he can not think about it at all. 
 Words, whether spoken or unspoken, underlie all ideas. Try, if 
 you believe I am mistaken, try to think of any subject outside 
 of words?" 
 
 I sat a moment, and mentally attempted the task, and shook 
 my head. 
 
 "Then," said the old man, "how can I use words with estab- 
 lished meanings to convey to your senses an entirely new 
 idea? If I use new sounds, strung together, they are not words 
 to you, and convey no meaning; if I use words familiar, they 
 reach backward as well as forward. Thus it is possible to 
 instruct you, by a laborious course of reasoning, concerning 
 a phenomenon that is connected with phenomena already 
 understood by you, for your word-language can be thrust out 
 from the parent stalk, and can thus follow the outreaching 
 branches. However, in the case of phenomena that exist 
 on other planes, or are separated from any known material, 
 or force, as is the true conception that envelops the word 
 eternity, there being neither connecting materials, forces, nor 
 words to unite the outside with the inside, the known with the 
 unknown, how can I tell you more than I have done? You are 
 word-bound." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I still believe that I can think outside of 
 words." 
 
THK IvAST CONTEST. 293 
 
 " Well, perhaps after you attempt to do so, and fail again and 
 again, you will appreciate that a truth is a truth, humiliating as 
 it may be to acknowledge the fact." 
 
 " A Digger Indian has scarcely a word-language," I asserted, 
 loth to relinquish the argument. 
 
 " You can go farther back if you desire, back to primitive man ; 
 man without language at all, and with ideas as circumscribed as 
 those of the brutes, and still }-ou have not strengthened your 
 argument concerning civilized man. But you are tired, I see." 
 
 "Yes; tired of endeavoring to combat your assertions. You 
 invariably lead me into the realms of speculation, and then 
 throw me upon the defensive by asking me to prove my own 
 theories, or with apparent sincerity, you advance an unreasonable 
 hypothesis, and then, before I am aware of your purpose, force 
 me to acquiesce because I can not find facts to confute you. 
 You very artfully throw the burden of proof on me in all cases, 
 for either by physical comparisons that I can not make, I 
 must demonstrate the falsity of your metaphysical assertions, 
 or by abstract reasonings disprove statements you assert to 
 be facts." 
 
 "You are peevish and exhausted, or you would perceive that 
 I have generally allowed you to make the issue, and more than 
 once have endeavored to dissuade you from doing so. Besides, 
 did I not several times in the past bring experimental proof to 
 dispel your incredulity? Have I not been Courteous?" 
 
 "Yes," I petulantly admitted; "yes." 
 
 Then I determined to imitate his artful methods, and throw 
 him upon the defensive as often as he had done with me. I had 
 finally become familiar with his process of arguing a question, 
 for, instead of coming immediately to his subject, he invariably 
 led by circuitous route to the matter under discussion. Before 
 reaching the point he would manage to commit me to his own 
 side of the subject, or place me in a defenseless position. So 
 with covert aim I began : 
 
 "I believe that friction is one method of producing heat." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I have been told that the North American Indians make 
 fires by rubbing together two pieces of dry wood." 
 
 ^'True." 
 
'204 KTIDORIIPA. 
 
 " I have understood that the light of a shooting star results 
 from the lieat of friction, producing combustion of its particles." 
 
 " Partly," he answered. 
 
 " That when the meteoric fragment of space dust strikes the 
 air, the friction resulting from its velocity heats it to redness, 
 fuses its surface, or even burns its very substance into ashes." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I have seen the spindle of a wheel charred by friction." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I have drawn a wire rapidly through a handkerchief tightly 
 grasped in my hands, and have warmed the wire considerably 
 in doing so." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 I felt that I had him committed to my side of the question, 
 and I prei)ared to force him to disprove the possibility of one 
 assertion that he had made concerning his journey. 
 
 "You stated that you rode in a boat on the underground lake."" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " With great rapidity ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Rapid motion produces friction, I believe?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And heat?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why did not your boat become heated even to redness ? You 
 rode at the rate of nine hundred miles an hour," I cried exultingly. 
 
 "For two reasons," he calmly replied ; " two natural causes 
 prevented such a catastrophe." 
 
 And again he warned me, as he had done before, by saying : 
 
 "While you should not seek for supernatural agencies to 
 account for any phenomena in life, for all that is is natural, 
 neither should you fail to study the differences that varying 
 conditions produce in results already known. A miracle ceases 
 to be a miracle when we understand the scientific cause under- 
 Iving the wonder; occultism is natural, for if there be occult 
 phenomena the>' must be governed by natural law ; mystery is 
 not mysterious if the veil of ignorance that envelops the investi- 
 gator is lifted. What you have said is true concerning the heat 
 that results from friction, but — 
 
THE LAST CONTEST. 295 
 
 " First, the attraction of gravitation was inconsiderable 
 where the boat, to which you refer, rested on the water. 
 
 " Second, the changing water carried away the heat as fast as 
 it was produced. While it is true that a cannon ball becomes 
 heated in its motion through the air, its surface is cooled when it 
 strikes a body of water, notwithstanding that its great velocity is 
 altogether overcome by the water. The friction between the water 
 and the iron does not result in heated iron, but the contrary. 
 The water above the rapids of a river has j^ractically the tem- 
 perature of the water below the rapids, regardless of the friction 
 that ensues between these points. Admit, however, that heat 
 is liberated as the result of the friction of solids with water, 
 and still it does not follow that this heat will perceptibly affect 
 the solid. With a boat each particle of water carries the heat 
 away, each succeeding portion of water takes up the heat liber- 
 ated by that preceding it. Thus the great body of water, over 
 which our boat sped, in obedience to the ordinary law, became 
 slightly warmed, but its effect upon the boat was scarcely percep- 
 tible. Your comparison of the motion of a meteor, with that of 
 our boat, was unhappy. We moved rapidly, it is true, in compari- 
 son with the motion of vessels such as you know, but comparison 
 can not be easily drawn between the velocity of a boat and that of 
 a meteor. While we moved at the rate of many miles a minute, 
 a meteor moves many times faster, perhaps as many miles in a 
 second. Then you must remember that the force of gravitation 
 was so slight in our position that" — 
 
 "Enough,"! interrupted. "We will pass the subject. It 
 seems that you draw upon science for knowledge to support your 
 arguments, however irrational they may be, and then you sneer 
 at this same method of argument when I employ it." 
 
 He replied to my peevish complaint with the utmost respect 
 by calling to my attention the fact that my own forced argument 
 had led to the answer, and that he had simply replied to mv 
 attacks. Said he : 
 
 " If I am wrong in my philosophy, based on your science 
 thought, I am right in my facts, and science thought is thus in 
 the wrong, for facts overbalance theory. I ask you only to give 
 me the attention that my statements merit. I am sincere, and 
 aim to serve your interests. Should investigation lead you 
 
296 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 hereafter to infer that I am in error, at our final interview }ou 
 can have my considerate attention. Be more charitable, please." 
 
 Then he added : 
 
 "Is there any other subject you wish to argue?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, and again my combativeness arose; "yes. 
 One of the truly edifying features of your narrative is that of 
 the intelligent guide," and I emphasized the word intelligent, 
 and curled up my lip in a sarcastic manner. 
 
 " Proceed." 
 
 "He was verily a wonderful being; an eyeless creature, and 
 yet possessed of sight and perception beyond that of mortal 
 man ; a creature who had been locked in the earth, and yet was 
 more familiar with its surface than a philosopher ; a cavern-bred 
 monstrosity, and yet possessed of the mind of a sage ; he was a 
 scientific expert, a naturalist, a metaphysical reasoner, a critic 
 of religion, and a prophet. He could see in absolute darkness 
 as well as in daylight ; without a compass he could guide a boat 
 over a trackless sea, and could accomplish feats that throw Gul- 
 liver and Munchausen into disrepute." 
 
 In perfect composure my aged guest listened to my cynical, 
 and almost insulting tirade. He made no effort to restrain my 
 impetuous sentences, and when I had finished replied in the 
 polished language of a scholarly gentleman. 
 
 "You state truly, construe my words properly, as well as 
 understand correctly." 
 
 Then he continued musingly, as though speaking to himself: 
 
 " I would be at fault and deserve censure did I permit doubts 
 to be thrown upon so clear a subject, or discredit on so magnan- 
 imous a person." 
 
 Turning to me he continued : 
 
 " Certainly I did not intend to mislead or to be misunderstood, 
 and am pleased to find you so earnest a scholar." 
 
 And then in his soft, mild manner, he commenced his detail 
 reply, pouring oil upon the waters of my troubled soul, his sweet, 
 melodious voice being so in contrast to my rash harangue. He 
 began with his expressive and often repeated word, " listen." 
 
 "Listen. You are right, my guide was a being wonderful to 
 mortals. He was eyeless, but as I have shown you before, and 
 now swear to the fact, was not sightless; surely," he said, 
 
"we passed through caverns filled with creeping 
 
 reptiles." 
 
run LAvST CONTEST. 299 
 
 *' surely you have not forgotten that long ago I considered the 
 phenomenal instinct at length. He predicted the future by 
 means of his knowledge of the past — there is nothing wonderful 
 in that. Can not a civil engineer continue a line into the 
 beyond, and predict where the projection of that line will strike ; 
 can he not also calculate the effect that a curve will have on his 
 line's destiny? Why should a being conversant with the lines 
 and curves of humanity's journey for ages past not be able to 
 indicate the lines that men must follow in the future ? Of course 
 he could guide the boat, in what was to me a trackless waste of 
 water, but you err in asserting that I had said he did not have a 
 guide, even if it were not a compass. Many details concerning 
 this journey have not been explained to you; indeed, I have 
 acquainted you with but little that I experienced. Near surface 
 earth we passed through caverns filled with creeping reptiles ; 
 through others we were surrounded by flying creatures, neither 
 beast nor bird ; we passed through passages of ooze and laby- 
 rinths of apparently interminable intra-earth structures ; to have 
 disported on such features of my journey would have been 
 impracticable. From time to time I experienced strains of melody, 
 such as never before had I conceived, seemingly choruses of 
 angels were singing in and to my very soul. From empty space 
 about me, from out the crevices beyond and behind me, from the 
 depths of my spirit within me, came these strains in notes clear 
 and distinct, but yet indescribable. Did I fancy, or was it real? 
 I will not pretend to say. Flowers and structures beautiful, 
 insects gorgeous and inexplicable were spread before me. Fig- 
 ures and forms I can not attempt to indicate in word descriptions, 
 ever and anon surrounded, accompanied, and passed me by. 
 The canvas conceptions of earth-bred artists bring to mind no 
 forms so strange and weird and yet so beautiful as were these 
 compound beings. Restful beyond description was it to drink in 
 the indescribable strains of poetry of motion that I appreciated 
 in the movements of fair creatures I have not mentioned, and it 
 was no less soothing to experience the soul relief wrought by the 
 sounds about me, for musicians know no notes so sweet and 
 entrancing. 
 
 " There were also, in side caverns to which I was led, com- 
 binations of sounds and scenes in which floating strains and 
 
300 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 fleeting figures were interwoven and interlaced so closely that 
 the senses of both sight and hearing became blended into a 
 single sense, new, weird, strange, and inexpressible. As flavor 
 is the combination of odor and taste, and is neither taste nor 
 odor, so these sounds and scenes combined were neither scenes 
 nor sounds, but a complex sensation, new, delicious. Some- 
 times I begged to be permitted to stop and live forever 'mid 
 those heavenly charms, but with as firm a hand as when help- 
 ing me through the chambers of mire, ooze, and creeping rep- 
 tiles, my guide drew me onward. 
 
 " But to return to the subject. As to my guide being a cavern- 
 bred monstrosity, I do not remember to have said that he was 
 cavern-bred, and if I have forgotten a fact, I regret my short 
 memory. Did I say that he was always a cavern being. Did I 
 assert that he had never lived among mortals of upper earth? 
 If so, I do not remember our conversation on that subject? He 
 was surely a sage in knowledge, as you have experienced from 
 my feeble efforts in explaining the nature of phenomena that 
 were to you unknown, and yet have been gained by me largely 
 through his instruction. He was a metaphysician, as you assert ; 
 you are surely right; he was a sincere, earnest reasoner and 
 teacher. He was a conscientious student, and did not by any 
 word lead me to feel that he did not respect all religions, and 
 bow to the Creator of the universe, its sciences, and its religions. 
 His demeanor was most considerate, his methods faultless, his 
 love of nature deep, his patience inexhaustible, his sincerity 
 unimpeachable. Yes," the old man said ; " you are right in your 
 admiration of this lovely personage, and when you come to meet 
 this being as you are destined yet to do — for know now that }on 
 too will some day pass from surface earth, and leave only your 
 name in connection with this story of myself — you will surely 
 then form a still greater love and a deeper respect for one so 
 gifted, and yet so self-sacrificing." 
 
 " Old man," I cried, "you mock me. I spoke facetiously, and 
 you answer literally. Know that I have no confidence in your 
 sailor-like tales, your Marco Polo history." 
 
 " Ah ! You discredit Marco Polo ? And why do you doubt ?" 
 
 " Because I have never seen such phenomena, I have never 
 witnessed such occurrences. I must see a thing to believe it." 
 
THK LAST CONTEST. 301 
 
 "And SO you believe only what yon see?" he queried. 
 
 u Yes." 
 
 "Now answer promptly," he commanded, and his manner 
 changed as by magic to that of a master. " Did you ever see 
 Greenland ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Iceland?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A geyser?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A whale?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "England?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "France?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A walrus?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then you do not believe that these conditions, countries, 
 and animals have an existence?" 
 
 " Of course they have." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Others have seen them." 
 
 " Ah," he said ; " then you wish to modify your assertion — • 
 you only believe what others have seen?" 
 
 " Excepting one person," I retorted. 
 
 Then he continued, seemingly not having noticed my per- 
 sonal allusion : 
 
 "Have you ever seen your heart?" 
 
 I hesitated. 
 
 "Answer," he commanded. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Your stomach?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have you seen the stomach of any of your friends?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The back of your head?" 
 
 I became irritated, and made no reply. 
 
 " Answer," he again commanded. 
 
302 RTIDORIIPA. 
 
 "I have seen its reflection in a glass." 
 
 "I say no," he repHed ; "yon have not." 
 
 "You are impudent," I exclaimed. 
 
 " Not at all," he said, good humoredh' ; " how easy it is to 
 make a mistake. I venture to say that you have never seen the 
 reflection of the back of your head in a mirror." 
 
 "Your presumption astounds me." 
 
 "I will leave it to yourself." 
 
 He took a hand-glass from the table and held it behind my 
 head. 
 
 "Now, do you see the reflection?" 
 
 " No ; the glass is behind me." 
 
 "Ah, yes; and so is the back of your head." 
 
 "Look," I said, pointing to the great mirror on the bureau-, 
 "look, there is the reflection of the back of my head." 
 
 "No; it is the reflection of the reflection in my hand-glass." 
 
 "You have tricked me; you qiiibble !" 
 
 " Well," he said, ignoring my remark ; " what do you believe ?" 
 
 "I believe what others have seen, and what I can do." 
 
 "Excluding myself as to what others have seen," he said 
 facetiously. 
 
 "Perhaps," I answered, relenting somewhat. 
 
 " Has any man of your acquaintance seen the middle of 
 Africa?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The center of the earth?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The opposite side of the moon?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "The soul of man?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Heat, light, electricity?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then you do not believe that Africa has a midland, the earth a 
 center, the moon an opposite side, man a soul, force an existence ?" 
 
 " You distort my meaning." 
 
 " Well, I ask questions in accord with your suggestions, and 
 you defeat yourself. You have now only one point left. You 
 believe only what you can do?" 
 
"flowers and structures beautifui., insects gorgeous.' 
 
THE I-vAST CONTEST. 305 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I will rest this case on one statement, then, and you may be 
 the judge." 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 *' You can not do what any child in Cincinnati can accom- 
 plish. I assert that any other man, any other woman in the city 
 can do more than you can. No cripple is so helpless, no invalid 
 so feeble as not, in this respect, to be your superior." 
 
 "You insult me," I again retorted, almost viciously. 
 
 "Do you dispute the assertion seriously?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, let me see you kiss your elbow." 
 
 Involuntarily I twisted my arm so as to bring the elbow 
 towards my mouth, then, as I caught the full force of his mean- 
 ing, the ridiculous result of my passionate wager came over me, 
 and I laughed aloud. It was a change of thought from the 
 sublime to the ludicrous. 
 
 The white-haired guest smiled in return, and kindly said : 
 
 " It pleases me to find you in good humor at last. I will 
 return to-morrow evening and resume the reading of my manu- 
 script. In the meantime take good exercise, eat heartily, and 
 become more cheerful." 
 
 He rose and bowed himself out. 
 
THE OLD MAN CONTINUES HIS MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE FATHOMLESS ABYSS. — THE EDGE OF THE EARTH SHELL. 
 
 Promptly at eight o'clock the next evening the old man 
 entered my room. He did not allude to the occurrences of the 
 previous evening, and for this considerate treatment I felt thank- 
 ful, as my part in those episodes had not been enviable. He 
 placed his hat on the table, and in his usual cool and deliberate 
 manner, commenced reading as follows : 
 
 For a long time thereafter we journeyed on in silence, now 
 amid stately stone pillars, then through great cliff openings or 
 among gigantic formations that often stretched away like cities or 
 towns dotted over a plain, to vanish in the distance. Then the 
 scene changed, and we traversed magnificent avenues, bounded 
 by solid walls which expanded into lofty caverns of illimitable 
 extent, from whence we found ourselves creeping through narrow 
 crevices and threading winding passages barely sufficient to 
 admit our bodies. For a considerable period I had noted the 
 absence of water, and as we passed from grotto to temple reared 
 without hands, it occurred to me that I could not now obser\'e 
 evidence of water erosion in the stony surface over which we 
 trod, and which had been so abundant before we reached the 
 lake. My guide explained by saying in reply to my thought 
 question, that we were beneath the water line. He said that 
 liquids were impelled back towards the earth's surface from a 
 point unnoticed by me, but long since passed. Neither did I 
 now experience hunger nor thirst, in the slightest degree, a 
 circumstance which my guide assured me was perfectly natural 
 in view of the fact that there was neither waste of tissue nor 
 consumption of heat in my present organism. 
 
Pi- 
 
 ¥Wis.i^f'^-9f 
 
 "with fear and trembling I CREPT ON MY KNEES TO HIS 
 
 SIDE." 
 
THE FATHOMLRvSS ABYSS. 309 
 
 At last I observed far in the distance a slanting sheet of lig-ht 
 that, fan-shaped, stood as a barrier across the way; beyond it 
 neither earth nor earth's surface appeared. As we approached, 
 the distinctness of its outline disappeared, and when we came 
 nearer, I found that it streamed into the space above, from what 
 appeared to be a crevice or break in the earth that stretched 
 across our pathway, and was apparently limitless and bottomless. 
 
 "Is this another hallucination?" I queried. 
 
 " No; it is a reality. Let us advance to the brink." 
 
 Slowly we pursued our way, for I hesitated and held back. I 
 had really begun to distrust my own senses, and my guide in the 
 lead was even forced to demonstrate the feasibility of the way, 
 step by step, before I could be induced to follow. At length we 
 neared the edge of the chasm, and while he stood boldly upright 
 by the brink, with fear and trembling I crept on my knees to his 
 side, and together we faced a magnificent but fearful void that 
 stretched beneath and beyond us, into a profundity of space. I 
 peered into the chamber of light, that indescribable gulf of 
 brilliancy, but vainly sought for an opposite wall ; there was 
 none. As far as the eye could reach, vacancy, illuminated 
 vacancy, greeted my vision. The light that sprung from that 
 void was not dazzling, but was possessed of a beauty that no 
 words can suggest. I peered downward, and found that we 
 stood upon the edge of a shelving ledge of stone that receded 
 rapidly beneath us, so that we seemed to rest upon the upper 
 side of its wedge-like edge. I strained my vision to catch a 
 glimpse of the bottom of this chasm, but although I realized 
 that my eyes were glancing into miles and miles of space, there 
 was no evidence of earthly material other than the brink upon 
 which we stood. 
 
 The limit of vision seemed to be bounded by a silvery blend- 
 ing of light with light, light alone, only light. The dead silence 
 about, and the new light before me, combined to produce a weird 
 sensation, inexplicable, overpowering. A speck of dust on the 
 edge of immensity, I clung to the stone cliif, gazing into the 
 depths of that immeasurable void. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 MY HEART THROB IS STILLED, AND YET I LIVE. 
 
 *' It now becomes my duty to inform you that this is one of 
 the stages in our journey that can only be passed by the exercise 
 of the greatest will force. Owing to our former surroundings 
 upon the surface of the earth, and to your inheritance of a so- 
 called instinctive education, you would naturally suppose that 
 we are now on the brink of an impassable chasm. This sphere 
 of material vacuity extends beneath us to a depth that I am 
 sure you will be astonished to learn is over six thousand miles. 
 We may now look straight into the earth cavity, and this stream- 
 ing light is the reflected purity of the space below. The opposite 
 side of this crevice, out of sight by reason of its distance, but 
 horizontally across from where we stand, is precipitous and com- 
 paratively solid, extendiug upward to the material that forms the 
 earth's surface. We have, during our journey, traversed an 
 oblique, tortuous natural passage, that extends from the spot at 
 which you entered the cave in Kentucky, diagonally down into 
 the crust of the globe, terminating in this shelving bluff. I would 
 recall to your mind that your journey up to this time has been of 
 your own free will and accord. At each period of vacillation — 
 and you could not help but waver occasionally — you have been at 
 liberty to return to surface earth again, but each time you decided 
 wisely to continue your course. You can now return if )our cour- 
 age is not sufficient to overcome your fear, but this is the last 
 opportunity you will have to reconsider, while in my company.'" 
 
 " Have others overcome the instinctive terrors to which }-ou 
 allude?" 
 
 " Yes ; but usually the dread of death, or an unbearable uncer- 
 tainty, compels the traveler to give up in despair before reaching 
 this spot, and the opportunity of a lifetime is lost. Yes; an 
 opportunity that occurs only in the lifetime of one person out 
 of millions, of but few in our brotherhood." 
 
 310 
 
MY HEART THROB IS STH^LEU. 311 
 
 *'Then I can return if I so elect?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Will you inform me concerning the nature of the obstacle I 
 "have to overcome, that you indicate by your vague references?" 
 
 "We must descend from this cliff." 
 
 " You can not be in earnest." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Do you not see that the stone recedes from beneath us, 
 that we stand on the edge of a wedge overhanging bottomless 
 space?" 
 
 " That I understand." 
 
 "There is no ladder," and then the foolish remark abashed 
 me as I thought of a ladder six thousand miles in length. 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 He made no reference to my confusion. 
 
 " There is practically no bottom," I asserted, " if I can 
 believe your words; you told me so." 
 
 " And that I reiterate." 
 
 "The feat is impracticable, impossible, and only a madman 
 would think of trying to descend into such a depth of space," 
 
 Then an idea came over me ; perhaps there existed a route at 
 some other point of the earth's crevice by which we could reach 
 the under side of the stone shelf, and I intimated as much to the 
 guide. 
 
 "No; we must descend from this point, for it is the only 
 entrance to the hollow beneath." 
 
 We withdrew from the brink, and I meditated in silence. 
 Then I crept again to the edge of the bluff, and lying flat on my 
 chest, craned my head over, and peered down into the luminous 
 gulf. The texture of the receding mineral was distinctly visible 
 for a considerable distance, and then far, far beneath all sem- 
 blance to material form disappeared — as the hull of a vessel 
 fades in deep, clear water. As I gazed into the gulf it seemed 
 evident that, as a board floating in water is bounded by water, 
 this rock really ended. I turned to my guide and questioned him. 
 
 " Stone in this situation is as cork," he replied ; " it is nearly 
 devoid of weight; your surmise is correct. We stand on the 
 shelving edge of a cliff" of earthly matter, that in this spot slants 
 upward from beneath like the bow of a boat. We have reached 
 
312 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 the bottom of the fihn of space dust on the bubble of energy 
 that forms the skeleton of earth." 
 
 I clutched the edge of the cliff with both hands, 
 
 " Be not frightened ; have I not told you that if you wish to 
 return you can do so. Now hearken to me: 
 
 " A short time ago you endeavored to convince me that we 
 could not descend from this precipice, and you are aware that 
 your arguments were without foundation. You drew upon your 
 knowledge of earth materials, as you once learned them, and 
 realized at the time that you deluded yourself in doing so, for 
 you know that present conditions are not such as exist above 
 ground. You are now influenced by surroundings that are 
 entirely different from those that govern the lives of men upon 
 the earth's surface. You are almost without weight. You have 
 nearly ceased to breathe, as long since you discovered, and soon 
 I hope will agree entirely to suspend that harsh and wearying^ 
 movement. Your heart scarcely pulsates, and if you go with 
 me farther in this journey, will soon cease to beat." 
 
 I started up and turned to flee, but he grasped and held me 
 firmly. 
 
 "Would you murder me? Do you think I will mutely acqui- 
 esce, while you coolly inform me of your inhuman intent, and 
 gloat over the fact that my heart will soon be as stone, and that 
 I will be a corpse?" He attempted to break in, but I proceeded 
 in frenzy. "I will return to upper earth, to sunshine and 
 humanity. I ivill retreat while yet in health and strength, and 
 although I have in apparent willingness accompanied you to this 
 point, learn now that at all times I have been possessed of the 
 means to defend myself from personal violence." I drew from 
 my pocket the bar of iron. "See, this I secreted about my 
 person in the fresh air of upper earth, the sweet sunshine of 
 heaven, fearing that I might fall into the hands of men with 
 whom I must combat. Back, back," I cried. 
 
 He released his hold of my person, and folded his arms upon 
 his breast, then quietly faced me, standing directly between 
 myself and the passage we had trod, while I stood on the brink, 
 my back to that fearful chasm. 
 
 By a single push he could thrust me into the fathomless gulf 
 below, and with the realization of that fact, I felt that it was now a 
 
MY HEART THROB IS STILLED. 313 
 
 life and death struggle. With every muscle strained to its utmost 
 tension, with my soul on fire, my brain frenzied, I drew back the 
 bar of iron to smite the apparently defenseless being in the fore- 
 head, but he moved not, and as I made the motion, he calmly 
 remarked: "Do you remember the history of Hiram Abiff?" 
 
 "I DREW BACK THE BAR OF IRON TO SMITE THE APPARENTI^Y DEFENSELESS 
 BEING IN THE FOREHEAD." 
 
 The hand that held the weapon dropped as if stricken by 
 paralysis, and a flood of recollections concerning my lost home 
 overcame me. I had raised my hand against a brother, the only 
 being of my kind who could aid me, or assist me either to advance 
 or recede. How could I, unaided, recross that glassy lake, and 
 pass through the grotesque forests of fungi and the labyrinth of 
 crystal grottoes of the salt bed ? How could I find my way in 
 the utter darkness that existed in the damp, soppy, dripping 
 upper caverns that I must retrace before I could hope to reach 
 the surface of the earth? "Forgive me," I sobbed, and sunk at 
 his feet. " Forgive me, my friend, my brother; I have been wild. 
 
314 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 mad, am crazed." He made no reply, but pointed over my 
 shoulder into the space beyond. 
 
 I turned, and in the direction indicated, saw, in amazement, 
 floating in the distant space a snow- and ice-clad vessel in full 
 sail. She was headed diagonally from us, and was moving rap- 
 idly across the field of vision Ever}' spar and sail was clearh- 
 defined, and on her deck, and in the rigging I beheld sailors 
 clad in winter garments pursuing their various duties. 
 
 As I gazed, enraptured, she disappeared in the distance. 
 
 "A phantom vessel," I murmured. 
 
 "No," he replied; " the abstraction of a vessel sailing on the 
 ocean above us. Every object on earth is the second to an 
 imprint in another place. There is an apparent reproduction of 
 matter in so-called vacancy, and on unseen pages a recording of 
 all events. As that ship sailed over the ocean above us, she 
 disturbed a current of energy, and it left its impress as an out- 
 line on a certain zone beneath, which is parallel with that upon 
 which we now chance to stand." 
 
 " I can not comprehend," I muttered. 
 
 "No," he answered; "to you it seems miraculous, as to all 
 men an unexplained phenomenon approaches the supernatural. 
 All that is is natural. Have men not been told in sacred writings 
 that their every movement is being recorded in the Book of Life, 
 and do they not often doubt because they can not grasp the 
 problem? May not the greatest scientist be the most apt 
 skeptic?" 
 
 "Yes," I replied. 
 
 " You have just seen," he said, " the record of an act on 
 earth, and in detail it is being printed elsewhere in the Book of 
 Eternity. If you should return to earth's surface you could not 
 by stating these facts convince even the persons on that same 
 ship, of your sanity. You could not make them believe that 
 hundreds of miles beneath, both their vessel and its crew had 
 been reproduced in fac simile, could von?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Were you to return to earth you could not con\incc men 
 that you had existed without breath, with a heart dead within 
 you. If you should try to impress on mankind the facts that 
 you have learned in this journey, what would be the result?" 
 
MY HEART THROB IS STILLED. 
 
 315 
 
 " I would probably 
 be considered mentally 
 deranged; this I have 
 before admitted." 
 
 "Would it not be 
 better then," he con- 
 tinued, " to go with me, 
 by your own free will, 
 into the unknown future, 
 which you need fear less 
 than a return to the 
 scoffing multitude amid 
 the storms of upper 
 earth? You know that 
 I have not at any time 
 deceived you. I have, as 
 yet, only opened before 
 you a part of one rare 
 page out of the bound- 
 less book of nature ; you 
 have tasted of the sweets 
 of which few persons in 
 the flesh have sipped, 
 and I now promise you 
 a further store of knowl- 
 edge that is rich beyond 
 conception, if you wish to 
 continue your journey." 
 
 " What if I decide to 
 return?" 
 
 "I will retrace my 
 footsteps and liberate 
 you upon the surface of 
 the earth, as I have 
 others, for few persons 
 have courage enough to 
 pass this spot." 
 
 "Binding me to an oath of secrecy?" 
 
 sprun'g from the edge of the cliff ixto 
 The abyss below, carrying me with him 
 into its depths." 
 
316 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 "No," he answered ; "for if you relate these events men will 
 consider you a madman, and the more clearly you attempt to 
 explain the facts that you have witnessed, the less they will 
 listen to you ; such has been the fate of others." 
 
 " It is, indeed, better for me to go with you," I said musingly ; 
 " to that effect my mind is now made up, my course is clear, I 
 am ready." 
 
 With a motion so quick in conception, and rapid in execu- 
 tion that I was taken altogether by surprise, with a grasp so 
 powerful that I could not have repelled him, had I expected the 
 movement and tried to protect myself, the strange man, or 
 being beside me, threw his arms around my body. Then, as a 
 part of the same movement, he raised me bodily from the stone, 
 and before I could realize the nature of his intention, sprung 
 from the edge of the cliff into the abyss below, carrying me with 
 him into its depths. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE INNER CIRCLE, OR THE END OF GRAVITATION. — IN THE 
 BOTTOMLESS GULF. 
 
 I recall a whirling sensation, and an involnntary attempt at 
 self-preservation, in which I threw my arms wildly about with 
 a vain endeavor to clutch some form of solid body, which 
 movement naturally ended by a tight clasping of my guide 
 in my arms, and locked together we continued to speed down 
 into the seven thousand miles of vacancy. Instinctively I 
 murmured a prayer of supplication, and awaited the approach- 
 ing hereafter, which, as I believed, would quickly witness the 
 extinction of my unhappy life, the end of my material exist- 
 ence ; but the moments (if time can be so divided when no 
 sun marks the division) nniltiplied without bodily shock or 
 physical pain of any description ; I retained my consciousness. 
 
 " Open your eyes," said my guide, " you have no cause for 
 fear." 
 
 I acquiesced in an incredulous, dazed manner. 
 
 "This unusual experience is sufficient to unnerve you, but 
 you need have no fear, for you are not in corporal danger, and 
 can relax your grasp on my person." 
 
 I cautiously obeyed him, misgivingly, and slowly loosened 
 my hold, then gazed about to find that we were in a sea of light, 
 and that only light was \'isible, that form of light which I have 
 before said is an entity without source of radiation. In one 
 direction, however, a great gray cloud hung suspended and 
 gloomy, dark in the center, and shading therefrom in a circle, 
 to disappear entirely at an angle of about forty-five degrees. 
 
 " This is the earth-shelf from which we sprung," said the 
 guide; "it will soon disappear." 
 
 Wherever I glanced this radiant exhalation, a peaceful, 
 luminous envelope, this rich, soft, beautiful white light appeared. 
 The power of bodily motion I found still a factor in my frame. 
 
318 ETIDORHI'A. 
 
 obedient, as before, to my will. I could move my limbs freely, 
 and my intellect seemed to be intact. Finally I became 
 impressed with the idea that I must be at perfect rest, but if so 
 what could be the nature of the substance, or material, upon 
 which I was restin^^ so complacently? No; this could not be 
 true. Then I thought : " I have been instantly killed by a pain- 
 less shock, and my spirit is in heaven ;" but my earthly body 
 and coarse, ragged garments were palpable realities ; the sense of 
 touch, sight, and hearing surely were normal, and a consideration 
 of these facts dispelled my first conception. 
 
 "Where are we now?" 
 
 " Moving into earth's central space." 
 
 " I comprehend that a rushing wind surrounds us which is not 
 uncomfortable, but otherwise I experience no unusual sensation, 
 and can not realize but that I am at rest." 
 
 " The sensation, as of a blowing wind is in consequence of 
 our rapid motion, and results from the friction between our bodies 
 and the quiescent, attenuated atmosphere which exists even here, 
 but this atmosphere becomes less and less in amount until it 
 will disappear altogether at a short distance below us. Soon 
 we will be in a perfect calm, and although moving rapidly, to all 
 appearances will be at absolute rest." 
 
 Naturally, perhaps, my mind attempted, as it so often had 
 done, to urge objections to his statements, and at first it occurred 
 to me that I did not experience the peculiar sinking away sen- 
 sation in the chest that I remembered follows, on earth, the 
 downward motion of a person falling from a great height, or 
 moving rapidly in a swing, and I questioned him on the absence 
 of that phenomenon. 
 
 " The explanation is simple," he said ; " on the surface of the 
 earth a sudden motion, either upward or downward, distiirbs the 
 equilibrium of the organs of respiration, and of the heart, and 
 interferes with the circulation of the blood. This produces a 
 change in blood pressure within the brain, and the 'sinking' 
 sensation in the chest, or the dizziness of the head of a person 
 moving rapidly, or it may even result in unconsciousness, and 
 complete suspension of respiration, effects which sometimes fol- 
 low rapid movements, as in a person falling from a considerable 
 height. Here circumstances are entirely different. The heart is 
 
THE INNER CIRCLE. 319 
 
 quiet, the lungs in a comatose condition, and the blood stagnant. 
 ]\Iental sensations, therefore, that result from a disturbed condi- 
 tion of these organs are wanting, and, although we are experi- 
 encing rapid motion, we are in the full possession of our physical 
 selves, and maintain our mental faculties unimpaired." 
 
 Again I interposed an objection : 
 ' "If, as you say, we are really passing through an attenuated 
 atmosphere with increasing velocity, according to the law that 
 governs falling bodies that are acted upon by gravity which 
 continually accelerates their motion, the friction between our- 
 selves and the air will ultimately become so intense as to wear 
 away our bodies." 
 
 " Upon the contrary," said he, " this attenuated atmosphere 
 is decreasing in density more rapidly than our velocity increases, 
 and before long it will have altogether disappeared. You can 
 perceive that the wind, as you call it, is blowing less violently 
 than formerly; soon it will entirely cease, as I have already 
 predicted, and at that period, regardless of our motion, we will 
 appear to be stationary." 
 
 Pondering over the final result of this strange experience I 
 became again alarmed, for accepting the facts to be as he stated, 
 such motion would ultimately carry us against the opposite 
 crust of the earth, and without a doubt the shock would end our 
 existence. I inquired about this, to me, self-evident fact, and he 
 replied : 
 
 " Long before we reach the opposite crust of the earth, our 
 motion will be arrested." 
 
 I had begun now to feel a self-confidence that is surprising 
 as I recall that remarkable position in connection with my 
 narrow experience in true science, and can say that instead 
 of despondency, I really enjo3'ed an elated sensation, a curious 
 exhilaration, a feeling of delight, which I have no words to 
 describe. Life disturbances and mental worry seemed to have 
 completely vanished, and it appeared as if, with mental percep- 
 tion lucid, I were under the influence of a powerful soporific ; 
 the cares of mortals had disappeared. After a while the wind 
 ceased to blow, as my guide had predicted, and with the sus- 
 pension of that factor, all that remained to remind me of earth 
 phenomena had vanished. There was no motjion of material, 
 
320 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 nothing to mar or disturb the most perfect peace imaginable ; I 
 was so exquisitely happy that I now actually feared some change 
 might occur to interrupt that quiescent existence. It was as a 
 deep, sweet sleep in which, with faculties alive, unconsciousness 
 was self-conscious, peaceful, restful, blissful. I listlessly turned 
 my eyes, searching space in all directions — to meet vacancy 
 everywhere, absolute vacancy. I took from my pocket (into 
 which I had hastily thrust it) the bar of iron, and released it ; 
 the metal remained motionless beside me. 
 
 "Traveling through this expanse with the rapidity of our- 
 selves," said my guide. 
 
 I closed my eyes and endeavored to convince myself that I was 
 dreaming — vainly, however. I opened my eyes, and endeavored 
 to convince myself that I was moving, equally in vain. I 
 became oblivious to everything save the delicious sensation of 
 absolute rest that enveloped and pervaded my being. 
 
 " I am neither alive nor dead," I murmured ; " neither asleep 
 nor awake ; neither moving nor at rest, and neither standing, 
 reclining, nor sitting. If I exist I can not bring evidence to 
 prove that fact, neither can I prove that I am dead." 
 
 "Can any man prove either of these premises?" said the 
 guide. 
 
 " I have never questioned the matter," said I ; " it is a self- 
 evident fact." 
 
 " Know then," said he, " that existence is a theory, and that 
 man is incapable of demonstrating that he has a being. All evi- 
 dences of mortal life are only as the phantasms of hallucination. 
 As a moment in dreamland may span a life of time, the dreamer 
 altogether unconscious that it is a dream, so may life itself be a 
 shadow, the vision of a distempered fancy, the illusion of a 
 floating thought." 
 
 " Are pain, pleasure, and living, imaginary creations?" I asked 
 facetiously. 
 
 "Is there a madman who does not imagine, as facts, what 
 others agree upon as hallucinations peculiar to himself? Is it 
 not impossible to distinguish between different gradations of 
 illusions, and is it not, therefore, possible that even self-exist- 
 ence is an illusion ? What evidence can any man produce to 
 prove that his idea of life is not a madman's dream?" 
 
THE INNP:r circle. 321 
 
 " Proceed," I said. 
 
 "At another time, perhaps," he remarked; "we have reached 
 the Inner Circle, the Sphere of Rest, the line of gravity, and 
 now our bodies have no weight; at this point we begin to 
 move with decreased speed, we will soon come to a quiescent 
 condition, a state of rest, and then start back on our rebound," 
 
CHAPTER XLVri. 
 
 HEARING WITHOUT EARS. — '' WHAT WILL BE THE END?" 
 
 A flood of recollections came over me, a vivid remembrance 
 of my eartli-learned school philosophy. " I rebel again," I said, 
 " I deny your statements. We can neither be moving, nor can we 
 be out of the atmosphere. Fool that I have been not to have 
 sooner and better used my reasoning faculties, not to have at once 
 rejected your statements concerning the disappearance of the 
 atmosphere." 
 
 "I await your argument." 
 
 "Am I not speaking? Is other argument necessary? Have 
 I not heard your voice, and that, too, since you asserted that we 
 had left the atmosphere ?" 
 
 " Continue." 
 
 "Have not men demonstrated, and is it not accepted beyond 
 the shadow of a doubt, that sound is produced by vibrations of 
 the air?" 
 
 "You speak truly; as men converse on surface earth." 
 
 "This medium — the air — in wave vibrations, strikes upon the 
 drum of the ear, and thus impresses the brain," I continued. 
 
 "I agree that such is the teachings of your philosophy; 
 go on." 
 
 "It is unnecessary; you admit the facts, and the facts refute 
 you; there must be an atmosphere to convey sound." 
 
 " Can not you understand that you are not now on the surface 
 of the earth? Will you never learn that the philosophy of your 
 former life is not philosophy here? That earth-bound science is 
 science only with surface-earth men ? Here science is a fallacy. 
 All that you have said is true of surface earth, but your argu- 
 ment is invalid where every condition is different from the 
 conditions tliat prevail thereon. You use the organs of speech 
 in addressing me as you once learned to use them, but such 
 phvsical efforts are unnecessary to convey sense-impressions in 
 
HEARING WITHOUT EARS. 323 
 
 this condition of rest and complacency, and you waste energy 
 in employing them. You assert and believe that the air conveys 
 sound; you have been taught such theories in support of a 
 restricted philosophy ; but may I ask you if a bar of iron, a stick 
 of wood, a stream of water, indeed any substance known to you 
 placed against the ear will not do the same, and many substances 
 even better than the atmosphere?" 
 . " This I admit." 
 
 " Will you tell me how the vibration of any of these bodies 
 impresses the seat of hearing?" 
 
 " It moves the atmosphere which strikes upon the tympanum 
 of the ear." 
 
 " You have not explained the phenomenon ; how does that 
 tympanic membrane communicate with the brain?" 
 
 " By vibrations, I understand," I answered, and then I began 
 to feel that this assertion was a simple statement, and not suffi- 
 cient to explain how matter acts upon mind, whatever mind may 
 be, and I hesitated. 
 
 "Pray do not stop," he said; "how is it that a delicate 
 vibrating film of animal membrane can receive and convey 
 sound to a pulpy organic mass that is destitute of elasticity, and 
 which consists mostly of water, for the brain is such in structure, 
 and vibrations like those )ou mention, can not, by your own the- 
 ory, pass through it as vibrations through a sonorous material, 
 or even reach from the t}'mpanum of the ear to the nearest 
 convolution of the brain." 
 
 " I can not explain this, I admit," was my reply. 
 
 " Pass that feature, then, and concede that this tympanic mem- 
 brane is capable of materially affecting brain tissue by its tiny 
 vibrations, how can that slimy, pulpy formation mostly made up 
 of water, communicate with the soul of man, for you do not claim, 
 I hope, that brain material is either mind, conscience, or soul?" 
 
 I confessed my inability to answer or even to theorize on the 
 subject, and recognizing my humiliation, I begged him to open 
 the door to such knowledge. 
 
 "The vibration of the atmosphere is necessary to man, as 
 earthy man is situated," he said. " The coarser attributes known 
 as matter formations are the crudities of nature, dust swept from 
 space. Man's organism is made up of the roughest and lowest 
 
324 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 kind of space materials ; lie is surrounded by a turbulent medium, 
 the air, and these various conditions obscure or destroy the 
 finer attributes of his ethereal nature, and prevent a higher 
 spiritual evolution. His spiritual self is enveloped in earth, and 
 everywhere thwarted by earthy materials. He is insensible to 
 the finer influences of surrounding media by reason of the 
 overwhelming necessity of a war for existence with the grossly 
 antasfonistic materialistic confusion that evervwhere confronts, 
 surrounds, and pervades him. Such a conflict with extraneous 
 matter is necessary in order that he may retain his earthy being, 
 for, to remain a mortal, he must work to keep body and soul 
 together. His organs of communication and perception are 
 of ' earth, earthy ' ; his nature is cast in a mold of clay, and 
 the blood within him gurgles and struggles in his brain, a 
 whirlpool of madly rushing liquid substances, creating disorder 
 in the primal realms of consciousness. He is ignorant of this 
 inward turmoil because he has never been without it, as ignor- 
 ant as he is of the rank odors of the gases of the atmosphere 
 that he has always breathed, and can not perceive because of the 
 benumbed olfactory nerves. Thus it is that all his subtler senses 
 are inevitably blunted and perverted, and his vulgar nature 
 preponderates. The rich essential part of his own self is 
 unknown, even to himself. The possibility of delight and 
 pleasure in an acquaintance with the finer attributes of his own 
 soul is clouded by this shrouding materialistic presence that 
 lias, through countless generations, become a part of man, and 
 lie even derives most of his mental pleasures from such acts as 
 tend to encourage the animal passions. Thus it follows that the 
 sensitive, highly developed, extremely attenuated part of his 
 inner being has become subservient to the grosser elements. 
 The baser part of his nature has become dominant. He remains 
 insensible to impressions from the highly developed surrounding 
 media which, being incapable of reaching his inner organism 
 other than through mechanical agencies, are powerless to im- 
 press. Alas, only the coarser conditions of celestial phenomena 
 can affect him, and the finer expressions of the universe of life 
 and force are lost to his spiritual apprehension." 
 
 " Would you have me view the soul of man as I would a 
 material being?" 
 
HEARING WITHOUT EARS. 325 
 
 "Surely," he answered; "it exists practically as does the 
 more gross forms of matter, and in exact accord with natural 
 laws. Associated with lower forms of matter, the soul of man is 
 a temporary slave to the enveloping substance. The ear of man 
 as now constituted can hear only by means of vibrations of such 
 media as conduct vibrations in matter — for example, the air; but 
 were man to be deprived of the organs of hearing, and then 
 exist for generations subject to evolutions from within, whereby 
 the acuteness of the spirit would become intensified, or permitted 
 to perform its true function, he would learn to communicate soul 
 to soul, not only with mankind, but with beings celestial that 
 surround, and are now unknown to him. This he would accom- 
 plish through a medium of communication that requires neither 
 ear nor tongue. To an extent your present condition is what 
 men call supernatural, although in reality you have been divested 
 of only a part of your former material grossness, which object has 
 been accomplished under perfectly natural conditions ; your mind 
 no longer requires the material medium by which to converse 
 with the spiritual. We are conversing now by thought contact ; 
 there is no atmosphere here, your tongue moves merely from 
 liabit, and not from necessity. I am reading your mind as you 
 in turn are mine, neither of us is speaking as you were accus- 
 tomed to speak." 
 
 "I can not accept that assertion," I said; "it is to me 
 impossible to realize the existence of such conditions." 
 
 "As it is for any man to explain any phenomenon in life," he 
 said. " Do you not remember that you ceased to respire, and 
 were not conscious of the fact?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That your heart had stopped beating, your blood no longer 
 circulated, while you were in ignorance of the change?" 
 
 "That is also true." 
 
 " Now I will prove my last assertion. Close your mouth, and 
 think of a question you wish to propound," 
 
 I did so, and to my perfect understanding and comprehension 
 he answered me with closed mouth. 
 
 "What will be the end?" I exclaimed, or thought aloud. "I 
 am possessed of nearly all the attributes that I once supposed 
 inherent only in a corpse, yet I live, I see clearly, I hear plainh-. 
 
326 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 I have a quickened being, and a mental perception intensified 
 and exquisite. Why and how has this been accomplished? 
 What will be the result of this eventful journey?" 
 
 "Restful, you should say," he remarked; "the present is 
 restful, the end will be peace. Now I will give you a lesson 
 concerning the words Why and How that you have just used." 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 AVHY AND HOW. — "THE STRUGGLING RAY OF LIGHT FROM 
 THOSE FARTHERMOST OUTREACHES." 
 
 "Confronting mankind there stands a sphinx — the vast 
 Unknown. However well a man may be informed concerning 
 a special subject, his farthermost outlook concerning that sub- 
 ject is bounded by an impenetrable infinity." 
 
 "Granted," I interrupted, "that mankind has not by any 
 means attained a condition of perfection, yet you must admit 
 that questions once regarded as inscrutable problems are now 
 illuminated by the discoveries of science." 
 
 "And the 'discovered,' as I will show, has only transferred 
 ignorance to other places," he replied. " Science has confined 
 its labors to superficial descriptions, not the elucidation of the 
 fundamental causes of phenomena." 
 
 " I can not believe you, and question if you can prove what 
 you say." 
 
 " It needs no argument to illustrate the fact. Science boldly 
 heralds her descriptive discoveries, and as carefully ignores her 
 explanatory failures. She dare not attempt to explain the why 
 even of the simplest things. Why does the robin hop, and the 
 snipe walk? Do not tell me this is beneath the notice of men 
 of science, for science claims that no subject is outside her 
 realm. Search your works on natural history and see if your 
 man of science, who describes the habits of these birds, explains 
 the reason for this evident fact. How does the tree-frog; chans^e 
 its color? Do not answer me in the usual superficial manner 
 concerning the reflection of light, but tell me why the skin of 
 that creature is enabled to perform this function ? How does 
 the maple-tree secrete a sweet, wholesome sap, and deadly 
 nightshade, growing in the same soil and living on the same 
 elements, a poison? What is it that your scientific men find in 
 the cells of root, or rootlet, to indicate that one may produce a 
 
 327 
 
328 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 food, and the other a noxious secretion that can destroy life? 
 Your microscopist will discuss cell tissues learnedly, will speak 
 fluently of physiological structure, will describe organic inter- 
 cellular appearances, but ignore all that lies beyond. Why does 
 the nerve in the tongue respond to a sensation, and produce on 
 the mind the sense of taste ? What is it that enables the nerve 
 in the nose to perform its discriminative function? You do not 
 answer. Silver is sonorous, lead is not; why these intrinsic 
 differences? Aluminum is a light metal, gold a heavy one; what 
 reason can you offer to explain the facts other than the inade- 
 quate term density? Alercury at ordinary temperature is a 
 liquid ; can your scientist tell why it is not a solid ? Of course 
 anyone can say because its molecules move freely on each other. 
 Such an answer evades the issue; why do they so readily 
 exert this action? Copper produces green or blue salts; nickel 
 produces green salts ; have you ever been told why they observe 
 these rules? Water solidifies at about thirty-two degrees above 
 your so-called zero ; have you ever asked an explanation of your 
 scientific authority why it selects that temperature? Alcohol 
 dissolves resins, water dissolves gums ; have you any explanation 
 to offer why either liquid should dissolve anything, much less 
 exercise a preference? One species of turtle has a soft shell, 
 another a hard shell ; has your authority in natural history 
 told you why this is so? The albumen of the egg of the 
 hen hardens at one hundred and eighty degrees Fahrenheit; 
 the albumen of the eggs of some turtles can not be easily 
 coagulated by boiling the egg in pure water; why these differ- 
 ences? Iceland spar and dog-tooth spar are identical, both 
 are crystallized carbonate of lime; has your mineralogist 
 explained why this one substance selects these different forms- 
 of crystallization, or why any crj^stal of any substance is ever 
 produced? Why is common salt white and charcoal black? 
 Why does the dog lap and the calf drink? One child has black 
 hair, another brown, a third red ; why? Search your physiology 
 for the answer and see if your learned authority can tell you 
 why the life-current makes these distinctions? Why do the 
 cells of the liver secrete bile, and those of the mouth saliva? 
 Why does any cell secrete anything? A parrot can speak; what 
 has your anatomist found in the structure of the brain, tongue, 
 
WHY AND HOW. 329 
 
 or larynx of that bird to explain why this accomplishment is 
 not as mnch the birthright of the turkey ? The elements that 
 form morphine and strychnine, also make bread, one a food, the 
 other a poison ; can your chemist offer any reason for the fact 
 that morphine and bread possess such opposite characters? 
 The earth has one satellite, Saturn is encompassed by a ring ; it 
 is not sufficient to attempt to refer to these familiar facts ; tell 
 me, does your earth-bound astronomer explain why the ring of 
 Saturn was selected for that planet? Why are the salts of 
 aluminum astringent, the salts of magnesium cathartic, and the 
 salts of arsenicum deadly poison? Ask your toxicologist, and 
 silence will be your answer. Why will some substances absorb 
 moisture from the air, and liquefy, while others become as dry 
 as dust under like conditions ? Why does the vapor of sulphuric 
 ether inflame, while the vapor of chloroform is not combustible, 
 under ordinary conditions? Oil of turpentine, oil of lemon, 
 and oil of bergamot differ in odor, yet they are composed of 
 the same elements, united in the same proportion ; why should 
 they possess such distinctive, individual characteristics? Further 
 search of the chemist will explain only to shove the word why 
 into another space, as ripples play with and toss a cork about. 
 Why does the newly-born babe cry for food before its intellect 
 has a chance for worldly education? Why" — 
 
 "Stop," I interrupted; "these questions are absurd." 
 " So some of your scientific experts would assert," he replied ; 
 " perhaps they would even become indignant at my presumption 
 in asking them, and call them childish ; nevertheless these men 
 can not satisfy their own cravings in attempting to search the 
 illimitable, and in humiliation, or irritation, they must ignore 
 the word Why. That word Why to man dominates the universe. 
 It covers all phenomena, and thrusts inquiry back from every 
 depth. Science may trace a line of thought into the infinitely 
 little, down, down, beyond that which is tangible, and at last in 
 that far distant inter-microscopical infinity, monstrous by reason 
 of its very minuteness, must rest its labors against the word 
 Why. Man may carry his superficial investigation into the 
 immeasurably great, beyond our sun and his family of satellites, 
 into the outer depths of the solar system, of which our sun is a 
 part, past his sister stars, and out again into the depths of the 
 
330 ETIDORIIPA. 
 
 cold Space channels beyond; into other systems and out again, 
 until at last the nebulae shrink and disappear in the gloom of 
 thought-conjecture, and as the straggling ray of light from those 
 farthermost outreaches, too feeble to tell of its origin, or carry 
 a stor^' of nativity, enters his eye, he covers his face and rests 
 his intellect against the word Why. From the remote space 
 caverns of the human intellect, beyond the field of perception, 
 whether we appeal to conceptions of the unknowable in the 
 infinitely little, or the immeasurably great, we meet a circle of 
 adamant, as impenetrable as the frozen cliffs of the Antarctic, 
 that incomprehensible word — Why ! 
 
 " Why did the light wave spring into his field of perception 
 by reflection from the microscopic speck in the depths of little- 
 ness, on the one hand ; and how did this sliver of the sun's ray 
 originate in the depths of inter-stellar space, on the other?" 
 
 I bowed my head. 
 
DESCRIPTION OF JOURNEY FROM K. [KENTUCKY] TO P. — "THE END OF EARTH. 
 
 A, B, Diameter of earth, 8,000 miles. 
 
 A, D, Thickness of earth crust, Soo miles. 
 
 C, D, Distance from inner earth crust to en- 
 ergy sphere, 100 miles. 
 
 E, Underground lake. 
 
 K, F, Distance from surface of lake to earth's 
 surface. 
 
 G, Inner Circle (the Unknown Country . 
 
 H, Middle Circle (Sphere of Energy, or Circle 
 of Rest . 
 
 X, to M, Height of atmosphere, 200 miles. 
 
 K, Entrance to cavern in Kentucky. 
 
 L, Outer circle, earth's surface. 
 
 Mt. E, Mount Epomeo in Italy 
 
 N, North Pole. 
 
 O, Rock shelf from which the leap was made 
 
 into the intra-earth space. 
 P, Junction of earth crust with Circle of 
 
 Rest. Point where I - Am - The - Man 
 
 stepped " onward and upward " in 
 
 " The Unknown Country." 
 S, South Pole. 
 
CHAPTER XUX. 
 
 OSCIT.LATlNb THROUGH SPACE. — EARTH'S SHELL ABOVE ME.* 
 
 Continued my companion : 
 
 "We have jnst now crossed the line of gravitation. We 
 were drawn downward until at a certain point, to which I called 
 your attention at the time, we recently crossed the curved plane 
 of perfect rest, wdiere gravity ceases, and by our momentum are 
 now passing beyond that plane, and are now pressing against 
 the bond of gravitation again. This shell .in which gravity 
 centers is concentric with that of the earth's exterior, and is 
 about seven hundred miles below its surface. Bach moment of 
 time will now behold us carried farther from this sphere of 
 attraction, and thus the increasing distance increases the force 
 of the restraining influence. Our momentum is thus retarded, 
 and consequently the rapidity of our motion is continually 
 decreasing. At last when the forces of gravitation and mass 
 motion neutralize each other, we will come to a state of rest 
 again. When our motion in this direction ceases, however, 
 gravitation, imperishable, continues to exert its equalizing influ- 
 ence, the result being a start in the opposite direction, and we 
 will then reverse our course, and retrace our path, crossing 
 again the central band of attraction, to retreat and fly to the 
 opposite side of the power of greater attraction, into the expanse 
 from which we came, and that is now above us." 
 
 "Can this oscillation ever end? Are we to remain thus, 
 as an unceasing pendulum, traversing space, to and fro across 
 this invisible shell of attraction from now until the end of 
 time?" 
 
 " No ; there are influences to prevent such an experience ; 
 one being the friction of the attenuated atmosphere into which 
 we plunge each time that we cross the point of greater gravity. 
 
 * For detail illustration of the earth shell, as explained in this chapter, see the plate. 
 
 333 
 
334 KTIDORIIPA. 
 
 and approach the crust of the earth. Thus each succeeding 
 vibration is in shorter lines, and at last we will come to a state 
 of perfect rest at the center of gravit>-." 
 
 " I can only acquiesce in meek submission, powerless even to 
 argue, for I perceive that the foundations for my arguments 
 must be based on those observed conditions of natural laws 
 formerly known to me, and that do not encompass" us here ; I 
 accept, therefore, your statements as I have several times here- 
 tofore, because I can not refute them. I must close my eyes to 
 the future, and accept it on faith; I cease to mourn the past, I 
 can not presage the end." 
 
 "Well spoken," he replied; "and while we are undergoing 
 this necessary delay, this oscillating motion, to which we must 
 both submit before Ave can again continue our journey, I will 
 describe some conditions inherent in the three spheres of which 
 the rind of the earth is composed, for I believe that you are now 
 ready to receive and profit by facts that heretofore you would 
 have rejected in incredulity. 
 
 " The outer circle, coat, or contour, of which you have heard 
 others besides myself speak, is the surface crust of our globe, 
 the great sphere of land and water on which man is at present 
 an inhabitant. This is the exposed part of the earth, and is 
 least desirable as a residence. It is affected by grievous atmos- 
 pheric changes, and restless physical conditions, such as men, 
 in order to exist in, must fortify against at the expense of much 
 bodily and mental energy, which leads them, necessarily, to 
 encourage the animal at the expense of the ethereal. The 
 unmodified rays of the sun produce aerial convulsions that are 
 marked by thermal contrasts, and other meteorological variations, 
 during which the heat of summer and the cold of winter follow 
 each other periodically and unceasingly. These successive solar 
 pulsations generate winds, calms, and storms, and in order to 
 protect himself against such exposures and changes in material 
 surroundings, man toils, suffers, and comes to believe that the 
 doom, if not the object, of life on earth is the preservation of 
 the earthy body. All conditions and phases of nature on this 
 outer crust are in an angry struggle, and this commotion envel- 
 ops the wretched home, and governs the life of man. * The 
 surrounding cyclones of force and matter have distorted the 
 
OSCILLATlNCx THROUGH SPACE. 335 
 
 peaceful side of what human nature might be until the shortened 
 life of man has become a passionate, deplorable, sorrowful struo-- 
 gle for physical existence, from the cradle to the grave. Of 
 these facts man is practically ignorant, although each individual 
 is aware he is not satisfied with his condition. If his afflictions 
 were obvious to himself, his existence would be typical of a 
 life of desolation and anguish. You know full well that the 
 condition of the outer sphere is, as I have described it, a bleak, 
 turbulent surface, the roof of the earth on which man exists, as 
 a creeping parasite does on a rind of fruit, exposed to the fury 
 of the-ever present earth storms. 
 
 "The central circle, or medial sphere, the shell, or layer of 
 gravitation, lies conformably to the outer configuration of the 
 globe, about seven hundred miles towards its center. It stretches 
 beneath the outer circle (sphere) as a transparent sheet, a shell 
 of energy, the center of gravitation. The material crust of 
 the earth rests on this placid sphere of vigor, excepting in a few 
 places, where, as in the crevice we have entered, gaps, or crev- 
 ices, in matter exist, beginning from near the outer surface and 
 extending diagonally through the medial and inner spheres into 
 the intra-earth space beyond. This medial sphere is a form of 
 pure force, a disturbance of motion, and although without 
 weight it induces, or conserves, gravity. It is invisible to 
 mortal eyes, and is frictionless, but really is the bone of the 
 earth. On it matter, the retarded energy of space, space dust, 
 has arranged itself as dust collects on a bubble of water. This 
 we call matter. The material portion of the earth is altogether 
 a surface film, an insignificant skin over the sphere of purity, 
 the center of gravitation. Although men naturally imagine that 
 the density and stability of the earth is dependent on the earthy 
 particles, of which his own body is a part, such is not the case- 
 Earth, as man upon the outer surface can now know it, is an 
 aggregation of material particles, a shell resting on this globular 
 sphere of medial force, which attracts solid matter from both the 
 outer and inner surfaces of earth, forming thereby the middle of 
 the three concentric spheres. This middle sphere is the reverse 
 of the outer, or surface, layer in one respect, for, while it attracts 
 solids, gases are repelled by it, and thus the atmosphere becomes 
 less dense as we descend from the outer surfaces of the earth. 
 
33G 
 
 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 The greater degree of attraction for gases belongs, therefore, to 
 the earth's exterior surface." 
 
 "Exactly at the earth's exterior surface?" I asked. 
 " Practically so. The greatest density of the air is found a 
 few miles below the surface of the ocean ; the air becomes more 
 attenuated as we proceed in either direction from that point. 
 Were this not the case, the atmosphere that surrounds the earth 
 would be quickly absorbed into its substance, or expand into 
 space and disappear." 
 
 " Scientific men claim that the atmosphere is forty-five geo- 
 graphical miles in depth over the earth's surface," I said. 
 
 "If the earth is eight thousand miles in diameter, how long 
 would such an atmosphere, a skin only, over a great ball, resist 
 such attraction, and remain above the globe? Were it really 
 
 attracted towards its 
 center it would disap- 
 pear as a film of water 
 sinks into a sponge." 
 
 " Do you know," I in- 
 terrupted, " that if these 
 statements were made 
 to men they would not 
 be credited? Scientific 
 men have calculated the 
 weights of the planets, 
 and have estimated 
 therefrom the density 
 of the earth, showing it 
 to be solid, and know- 
 ing its density, they 
 would, on this consider- 
 ation alone, discredit 
 >our story concerning 
 the earth shell." 
 "You mistake, as you will presently see. It is true that 
 man's ingenuity has enabled him to ascertain the weights and 
 densities of the planets, but do you mean to say that these 
 scientific results preclude the possibility of a hollow interior of 
 the heavenly bodies?" 
 
 THE EARTH AND ITS ATMOSPHERE. 
 
 The space between the inner and the outer lines 
 represents the atmosphere upon the earth. The depth 
 to which man has penetrated the earth is less than the 
 thickness of either line, as compared with the diameter 
 of the inner circle 
 
OSCILLATING THROUGH SPACE. 337 
 
 "I confess, I do," 
 
 "You should know then, that what men define as density of 
 the earth, is but an average vahie, which is mnch higher than 
 that exhibited by materials in the surface layers of the earth 
 crust, such as come within the scrutiny of man. This fact 
 allows mortals of upper earth but a vague conjecture as to the 
 nature of the seemingly much heavier substances that exist in 
 the interior of the earth. Have men any data on hand to show 
 exactly how matter is distributed below the limited zone that is 
 accessible to their investigations?" 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 "•You may safely accept, then, that the earth shell I have 
 described to you embraces in a compact form the total weight 
 of the earth. Even though men take for granted that matter 
 fills out the whole interior of our planet, such material would 
 not, if distributed as on earth's surface, give the earth the density 
 he has determined for it." 
 
 "I must acquiesce in your explanations." 
 
 " Let us now go a step further in this argument. What do 
 you imagine is the nature of those heavier substances whose 
 existence deep within the earth is suggested by the exceedingly 
 high total density observed by man on upper earth?" 
 
 "I am unable to explain, especially as the materials sur- 
 rounding us here, seemingly do not differ much from those with 
 which my former life experience has made me acquainted." 
 
 " Your observation is correct, there is no essential difference 
 in this regard. But as we are descending into the interior of 
 this globe, and are approaching the central seat of the shell of 
 ■energy, the opposing force into which we plunge becomes 
 correspondingly stronger, and as a consequence, matter pressed 
 within it becomes really lighter. Your own experience about 
 your weight gradually disappearing during this journey should 
 convince you of the correctness of this fact." 
 
 " Indeed, it does," I admitted. 
 
 "You will then readily understand, that the heavy material 
 to which surface-bred mortals allude as probably constituting 
 the interior of the earth, is, in fact, nothing but the manifesta- 
 tion of a matter supporting force, as exemplified in the sphere of 
 attractive energy, the seat of which we are soon to encounter on 
 
338 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 our journey. Likewise the mutual attraction of the heavenly 
 bodies is not a property solely of their material part, but an 
 expression in which both the force-spheres and the matter col- 
 lected thereon take part. 
 
 "Tell me more of the sphere in which gravitation is in- 
 tensest." 
 
 " Of that you are yet to judge," he replied. " When we come 
 to a state of rest in the stratum of greater gravity, we will then 
 traverse this crevice in the sheet of energy until we reach the 
 edge of the earth crust, after which we will ascend towards the 
 interior of the earth, until we reach the inner crust, which is, as 
 before explained, a surface of matter that lies comformably with 
 the external crust of the earth, and which is the interior surface 
 of the solid part of the earth. There is a concave world beneath 
 tne outer convex world." 
 
 " I can not comprehend you. You speak of continuing our 
 journey towards the center of the earth, and at the same time 
 you say that after leaving the Median Circle, we will then 
 ascend, which seems contradictory." 
 
 " I have endeavored to show you that matter is resting in or 
 on a central sphere of energy, which attracts solid bodies towards 
 its central plane. From this fundamental and permanent seat of 
 gravity we may regard our progress as up-hill, whether we pro- 
 ceed towards the hollow center or towards the outer surface of 
 the globe. If a stick weighted on one end is floated upright in 
 water, an insect on the top of the stick above the water will fall 
 to the surface of the liquid, and yet the same insect will rise to 
 the surface of the water if liberated beneath the water at the 
 bottom of the stick. This comparison is not precisely applicable 
 to our present position, for there is no change in medium here, 
 but it may serve as an aid to thought and may indicate to you 
 that which I wish to convey when I say ' we ascend ' in both 
 directions as we pull against Gravity. The terms up and down 
 are not absolute, but relative." 
 
 Thus we continued an undefined period in mind conversation ; 
 and of the information gained in my experience of that delight- 
 ful condition, I have the privilege now to record but a small 
 portion, and even this statement of facts appears, as I glance 
 backward into my human existence, as if it may seem to others 
 
OSCIIvLATING THROUGH SPACR. 339 
 
 to border on the incredible. During all that time — I know not 
 how long the period may have been — we were alternately passing 
 and repassing through the partition of division (the sphere of 
 gravity) that separated the inner from the outer substantial 
 crust of earth. With each vibration our line of travel became 
 shorter and shorter, like the decreasing oscillations of a pendu- 
 lum, and at last I could no longer perceive the rushing motion 
 of a medium like the air. Finally my guide said that we were 
 at perfect rest at a point in that mysterious medial sphere which, 
 at a distance of about seven hundred miles below the level of 
 the sea, concentrates in its encompassing curvature, the mighty 
 power of gravitation. We were fixed sev-en hundred miles from 
 the outer surface of the globe, but more than three thousand 
 
 from the center. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER L. 
 
 MY WEIGHT ANNIHILATED. — "TELE ME," I CRIED IX ALARM, 
 "is THIS TO BE A LIVING TOMB?" 
 
 " If you will reflect upon the condition we are now in, 
 you will perceive that it must be one of unusual scientific 
 interest. If you imagine a body at rest, in an intangible medium, 
 and not in contact with a gas or any substance capable of 
 creating friction, that body by the prevailing theory of matter 
 and motion, unless disturbed by an impulse from without, would 
 remain forever at absolute rest. We now occupy such a position. 
 In whatever direction we may now be situated, it seems to us 
 that we are upright. We are absolutely without weight, and in 
 a perfectly frictionless medium. Should an inanimate body 
 begin to revolve here, it would continue that motion forever. If 
 our equilibrium should now be disturbed, and we should begin 
 to move in a direction coinciding with the plane in which we 
 are at rest, we would continue moving with the same rapidity in 
 that direction until our course was arrested by some opposing 
 object. We are not subject to attraction of matter, for at this 
 place gravitation robs matter of its gravity, and has no influence 
 on extraneous substances. We are now in the center of gravita- 
 tion, the ' Sphere of Rest.' " 
 
 "Let me think it out," I replied, and reasoning from his 
 remarks, I mentally followed the chain to its sequence, and was 
 startled as suddenly it dawned upon me that if his argument was 
 true we must remain motionless in this spot until death (could 
 beinsfs in conditions like ourselves die bevond the death we had 
 already achieved) or the end of time. We were at perfect rest, 
 in absolute vacancy, there being, as I now accepted without 
 reserve, neither gas, liquid, nor solid, that we could employ as 
 a lever to start us into motion. " Tell me," I cried in alarm, " is 
 this to be a living tomb? Are we to remain suspended here 
 forever, and if not, by what method can we hope to extricate 
 
 340 
 
MY WEIGHT ANNIHIIvATED. 341 
 
 ourselves from this state of perfect quiescence?" He again took 
 the bar of iron from my hand, and cautiously gave it a whirling 
 motion, releasing it as he did so. It revolved silently and rapidly 
 in space without support or pivot. 
 
 "So it would continue," he remarked, "until the end of time, 
 were it not for the fact that I could not possibly release it in a 
 condition of absolute horizontal rest. There is a slight, slow, 
 lateral motion that will carry the object parallel with this sheet 
 of energy to the material side of this crevice, when its motion 
 will 'be arrested by the earth it strikes.' " 
 
 "That I can understand," I replied, and then a ray of light 
 broke upon me, " Had not Cavendish demonstrated that, when 
 a small ball of lead is suspended on a film of silk, near a mass of 
 iron or lead, it is drawn towards the greater body? We will be 
 drawn by gravity to the nearest cliff," I cried. 
 
 "You mistake," he answered; "Cavendish performed his 
 experiments on the surface of the earth, and there gravity is 
 always ready to start an object into motion. Here objects have 
 no weight, and neither attract nor repel each other. The force 
 of cohesion holds together substances that are in contact, but as 
 gravitation can not now affect matter out of molecular contact 
 with other forms of matter, because of the equilibrium of all 
 objects, so it may be likewise said, that bodies out of contact 
 have at this point no attraction for one another. If they pos- 
 sessed this attribute, long ago we would have been drawn 
 towards the earth cliff with inconceivable velocity. However, if 
 by any method our bodies should receive an impulse sufiicient to 
 start them into motion, ever so gently though it be, we in like 
 manner would continue to move in this frictionless medium — 
 until "— 
 
 "We would strike the material boundary of this crevice," 
 I interrupted. 
 
 " Yes ; but can you conceive of any method by which such 
 voluntary motion can now be acquired?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Does it not seem to you," he continued, " that when skillful 
 mechanics on the earth's surface are able to adjust balances so 
 delicately that in the face of friction of metal, friction of air, 
 inertia of mass, the thousandth part of a grain can produce 
 
342 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 motion of the great beams and pans of such balances, we, in 
 this location where there is no friction and no opposing medium 
 — none at all — should be able to induce mass motion?" 
 
 " I can not imagine how it is possible, unless we shove each 
 other apart. There is no other object to push against, — but why 
 do you continue to hold me so tightly?" I interrupted myself to 
 ask, for he was clasping me firmly again. 
 
 " In order that you may not leave me," he replied. 
 
 "Come, you trifle," I said somewhat irritated; "you have 
 just argued that we are immovably suspended in a frictionless 
 medium, and fixed in our present position ; you ask me to sug- 
 gest some method by which we can create motion, and I fail to 
 devise it, and almost in the same sentence you say that you fear 
 that I will leave you. Cease your incongruities, and advise with 
 me rationally." 
 
 "Where is the bar of iron?" he asked. 
 
 I turned towards its former location ; it had disappeared. 
 
 " Have you not occasionally felt," he asked, " that in your 
 former life your mind was a slave in an earthly prison ? Have 
 you never, especially in your dreams, experienced a sensation of 
 mental confinement?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Know then," he replied, " that there is a connection between 
 the mind and the body of mortal beings, in which matter confines 
 mind, and yet mind governs matter. How else could the will of 
 men and animals impart voluntary motion to earthy bodies? 
 With beings situated as are the animals on the surface of the 
 earth, mind alone can not overcome the friction of matter. A 
 person could suspend himself accurately on a string, or balance 
 himself on a pivot, and wish with the entire force of his mind 
 that his body would revolve, and still he would remain at perfect 
 rest." 
 
 " Certainly. A man would be considered crazy who attempted 
 it," I answered. 
 
 "Notwithstanding your opinion, in time to come, human 
 beings on the surface of the earth will investigate in this very 
 direction," he replied, " and in the proper time mental evolution 
 will, by experimentation, prove the fact of this mind and matter 
 connection, and demonstrate that even extraneous matter may 
 
MY WEIGHT ANNIHILATED. 343 
 
 be made subservient to mind influences. On earth, mind acts 
 on the matter of one's body to produce motion of matter, and 
 the spirit within, which is a slave to matter, moves with it. 
 Contraries rule here. Mind force acts on pure space motion, 
 moving itself and matter with it, and that, too, without any 
 exertion of the material body which now is a nonentity, mind 
 here being the master." 
 
 "How can I believe you?" I replied. 
 
 " Know, then," he said, " that we are in motion now, propelled 
 by my will power." 
 
 "Prove it." 
 
 "You may prove it yourself," he said; "but be careful, or we 
 will separate forever." 
 
 Releasing his grasp, he directed me to wish that I were 
 moving directly to the right. I did so ; the distance widened 
 between us. 
 
 " Wish intensely that you would move in a circle about me." 
 
 I acquiesced, and at once my body began to circle around him. 
 
 " Call for the bar of iron." 
 
 I did as directed, and soon it came floating out of space into 
 my very hand. 
 
 "I am amazed," I ejaculated; "yes, more surprised at these 
 phenomena than at anything that has preceded." 
 
 "You need not be; you move now under the influences of 
 natural laws that are no more obscure or wonderful than those 
 under which you have always existed. Instead of exercising its 
 influence on a brain, and thence indirectly on a material body, 
 your mind force is exerting its action through energy on matter 
 itself. Matter is here subservient. It is nearly the same as 
 vacuity, mind being a comprehensive reality. The positions we 
 have heretofore occupied have been reversed, and mind now 
 dominates. Know, that as your body is now absolutely without 
 weight, and is suspended in a frictionless medium, the most 
 delicate balance of a chemist can not approach in sensitiveness 
 the adjustment herein exemplified. Your body does not weigh 
 the fraction of the millionth part of a grain, and where there is 
 neither material weight nor possible friction, even the attrition 
 that on surface earth results from a needle point that rests on an 
 agate plate is immeasurably greater in comparison. Pure mind 
 
344 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 energy is capable of disturbing the equilibrium of matter in our 
 situation, as you have seen exemplified by our movements and 
 extraneous materials, 'dead matter' obeys the spiritual. The 
 bar of iron obeyed your call, the spiritless metal is subservient to- 
 the demands of intelligence. But, come, we must continue our 
 journey." 
 
 Grasping me again, he exclaimed: "Wish with all intensity 
 that we may move forward, and I will do the same." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 " We are now uniting our energies in the creation of motion," 
 he said ; " we are moving rapidly, and with continually acceler- 
 ated speed; before long we will perceive the earthy border of 
 this chasm." 
 
 And yet it seemed to me that we were at perfect rest. 
 
CHAPTER LI. 
 
 IS THAT A MORTAI^? — "THE END OF EARTH." 
 
 At length I perceived, in the distance, a crescent-shaped 
 ring of silver luster. It grew broader, expanding beneath my 
 gaze, and appeared to approach rapidly. 
 
 "Hold; cease your desire for onward motion," said the guide; 
 " we approach too rapidly. Quick, wish with all your mind that 
 you were motionless." 
 
 I did so, and we rested in front of a ridge of brilliant mate- 
 rial, that in one direction, towards the earth's outer circle, 
 broadened until it extended upward as far as the eye could 
 reach in the form of a bold precipice, and in the other towards 
 the inner world, shelved gradually away as an ocean beach 
 might do. 
 
 "Tell me, what is this barrier?" I asked. 
 
 "It is the bisected edge of the earth crevice," he said. 
 " That overhanging upright bluff reaches towards the external 
 surface of the earth, the land of your former home. That 
 shelving approach beneath is the entrance to the ' Inner Circle,' 
 the concavity of our world." 
 
 Again we approached the visible substance, moving gently 
 under the will of my guide. The shore became more distinctly 
 outlined as we advanced, inequalities that were before unnoticed 
 became perceptible, and the silver-like material resolved itself 
 into ordinary earth. Then I observed, upright and motionless, 
 on the edge of the shore that reached toward the inner shell of 
 earth, towards that "Unknown Country" beyond, a figure in 
 human form. 
 
 "Is that a mortal?" I asked. "Are we nearing humanity 
 again?" 
 
 " It is a being of mortal build, a messenger who awaits our 
 coming, and who is to take charge of your person and conduct 
 you farther," he replied. " It has been my duty to crush, to 
 
346 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 overcome by successive lessons your obedience to your dogmatic, 
 materialistic earth philosophy, and bring your mind to compre- 
 hend that life on earth's surface is only a step towards a brighter 
 existence, which may, when selfishness is conquered, in a time 
 to come, be gained by mortal man, and while he is in the flesh. 
 The vicissitudes through which you have recently passed should 
 be to you an impressive lesson, but the future holds for you a 
 lesson far more important, the knowledge of spiritual, or mental 
 evolution which men may yet approach ; but that I would not 
 presume to indicate now, even to you. Your earthly body has 
 become a useless shell, and when you lay it aside, as you soon 
 can do, as I may say you are destined to do, you will feel a relief 
 as if an abnormal excrescence had been removed ; but yon can 
 not now comprehend such a condition. "That change will not 
 occur until you have been further educated in the purely occult 
 secrets for which I have partly prepared you, and the material 
 part of your organism will at any time thereafter come and go at 
 command of your will. On that adjacent shore, the person you 
 have observed, your next teacher, awaits you." 
 
 "Am I to leave you?" I cried in despair, for suddenly the 
 remembrance of home came into my mind, and the thought, as 
 by a flash, that this being alone could guide me back to earth. 
 " Recall your words, do not desert me now after leading me 
 beyond even alchemistic imaginings into this subterranean 
 existence, the result of what you call your natural, or pure, 
 ethereal lessons." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I beg of you, I implore of you, not to abandon me now; 
 have you no compassion, no feeling? You are the one tie that 
 binds me to earth proper, the only intelligence that I know to be 
 related to a human in all this great, bright blank." 
 
 Again he shook his head. 
 
 " Hearken to my pleadings. Listen to my allegation. You 
 stood on the edge of the brook spring in Kentucky, your back 
 to the darkness of that gloomy cavern, and I voluntaril)- gave 
 you my hand as to a guide ; I turned from the verdure of the 
 earth, the sunshine of the past, and accompanied you into as 
 dismal a cavern as man ever entered. I have since alternately 
 rebelled at your methods, and again have trusted you implicitly 
 
"suspended in vacancy, he seemed to float. 
 
IS THAT A MORTAL? 349 
 
 as we passed through scenes that rational imagination scarce 
 could conjure. I have successively lost my voice, my weight, 
 my breath, my heart throb, and my soul for aught I know. 
 Now an unknown future awaits me on the one hand, in which 
 you say my body is to disappear, and on the other you are 
 standing, the only link between earth and my self-existence, 
 a semi-mortal it may be, to speak mildly, for God only knows 
 your true rank in life's scale. Be you man or not, you brought 
 me here, and are responsible for my future safety. I plead and 
 beg of you either to go on with me into the forthcoming uncer- 
 tainty ' Within the Unknown Country ' to which you allude, or 
 carry me back to upper earth." 
 
 He shook his head again, and motioned me onward, and 
 his powerful will overcoming my feeble resistance, impelled 
 me towards that mysterious shore. I floated helpless, as a 
 fragment of camphor whirls and spins on a surface of clear, 
 warm water, spinning and whirling aimlessly about, but moving 
 onward. My feet rested on solid earth, and I awkwardly 
 struggled a short distance onward and upward, and then stepped 
 upon the slope that reached, as he had said, inward and upward 
 towards the unrevealed " Inner Circle." I had entered now that 
 mysterious third circle or sphere, and I stood on the very edge of 
 the wonderful land I was destined to explore, "The Unknown 
 Country." The strange, peaceful being whom I had observed on 
 the shore, stepped to my side, and clasped both my hands, and 
 the guide of former days waved me an adieu. I sank upon my 
 knees and imploringly raised my arms in supplication, but the 
 comrade of my journey turned about, and began to retrace his 
 course. Suspended in vacancy, he seemed to float as a spirit 
 would if it were Avafted diagonally into the heavens, and acquiring 
 momentum rapidly, became quickly a bright speck, seemingly a 
 silver mote in the occult earth shine of that central sphere, and 
 soon vanished from view. In all my past eventful history there 
 was nothing similar to or approaching in keenness the agony 
 that I suffered at this moment, and I question if shipwrecked 
 sailor or entombed miner ever experienced the sense of utter deso- 
 lation that now possessed and overcame me. Light everywhere 
 about me, ever-present light, but darkness within, darkness 
 indescribable, and mental distress unutterable. I fell upon my 
 
3.-)0 KTIDORIIPA. 
 
 face in agony, and thought of other times, and those remem- 
 brances of my once happy upper earth Hfe became excruciatingly 
 painful, for when a person is in misery, pleasant recollections, 
 bv contrast, increase the pain. " Let my soul die now as my 
 body has done," I moaned; "for even mental life, all I now 
 possess, is a burden. The past to me is a painful, melancholy 
 recollection; the future is" — 
 
 I shuddered, for who could foretell my future ? I glanced at 
 the immovable being with the sweet, mild countenance, who 
 stood silent on the strand beside me, and whom I shall not now 
 attempt to describe. He replied : 
 
 " The future is operative and speculative. It leads the con- 
 templative to view with reverence and admiration the glorious 
 works of the Creator, and inspires him with the most exalted 
 ideas of the perfections of his divine Creator." 
 
 Then he added : 
 
 " Have you accepted that whatever seems to be is not, and 
 that that which seems not to be, is? Have you learned that 
 facts are fallacies, and physical existence a delusion? Do you 
 accept that material bliss is impossible, and that while humanity 
 is working towards the undiscovered land, man is not, can not 
 be satis^fied?" 
 
 "Yes," I said; "I admit anything, everything. I do not 
 know that I am here or that you are there. I do not know that 
 I have ever been, or that any form of matter has ever had an 
 existence. Perhaps material things are not, perhaps vacuity 
 only is tangible." 
 
 " Are you willing to relinquish your former associations, to 
 cease to concern yourself in the affairs of men? Do you " — 
 
 He hesitated, seemed to consider a point that I could not 
 grasp; then, without completing his sentence, or waiting for me 
 to answer, added : 
 
 " Come, my friend, let us enter the expanses of the Unknown 
 Country. You will soon behold the original of your vision, the 
 hope of humanity, and will rest in the land of Etidorhpa. Come, 
 my friend, let us hasten." 
 
 Arm in arm we passed into that domain of peace and tran- 
 quillity, and as I stepped onward and upward perfect rest came 
 over my troubled spirit. All thoughts of former times vanished. 
 
IS THAT A MORTAL? 351 
 
 The cares of life faded ; misery, distress, hatred, envy, jealousy, 
 and unholy passions, were blotted from existence. Excepting 
 my love for dear ones still earth-enthralled, and the strand of 
 sorrow that, stretching from soul to soul, linked us together, the 
 past became a blank. I had reached the land of Etidorhpa — 
 
 THE END OF EARTH. 
 
INTERLUDE. 
 
 CHAPTER LI I. 
 
 THK LAST FARKWKLL. 
 
 "Sly in}'sterious guest, he of the silver, flowing beard, read 
 the last word of the foregoing manuscript, and then laid the 
 sheet of paper on the table, and rested his head upon his hand, 
 gazing thoughtfully at the open fire. Thus he sat for a consider- 
 able period in silence. Then he said : 
 
 "You have heard part of my story, that portion which I am 
 commanded to make known now, and you have learned how, b\' 
 natural methods, I passed by successive steps while in the body, 
 to the door that death only, as yet, opens to humanity. You 
 understand also that, although of human form, I am not as other 
 men (for with me matter is subservient to mind), and as you 
 have promised, so you must act, and do my bidding concerning 
 the manuscript." 
 
 " But there is surely more to follow. You will tell me of 
 what you saw and experienced beyond the end of earth, within 
 the possessions of Etidorhpa. Tell me of that Unknown Coun- 
 try." 
 
 " No," he answered ; " this is the end, at least so far as mv 
 connection with you is concerned. You still question certain 
 portions of my narrative, I perceive, notwithstanding the prov- 
 ings I have given you, and yet as time passes investigation will 
 show that every word I have read or uttered is true, historically, 
 philosophically, and spiritually (which you now doubt), and 
 men will yet readily understand how the seemingly profound, 
 unfathomable phenomena I have encountered may be verified. 
 I have studied and learned by bitter experience in a school that 
 teaches from the outgoings of a deeper philosophy than human 
 science has reached, especiallv modern materialistic science 
 
 352 
 
THE LAST FARP^WRI^L. 353 
 
 which, however, step by step it is destined to reach. And yet I 
 have recorded bnt a small part of the experiences that I have 
 undergone. What I have related is only a foretaste of the 
 inexhaustible feast which, in the wisdom expanse of the future, 
 will yet be spread before man, and which tempts him onward 
 and upward. This narrative, which rests against the beginning 
 of nn- real story, the Unknown Country and its possibilities 
 should therefore incite to renewed exertions, both mental and 
 experimental, those permitted to review it. I have carried my 
 history to the point at which I can say to you, very soon after- 
 ward I gave up my body temporarily, by a perfectly natural 
 process, a method that man can yet employ, and passed as a 
 spiritual being into the ethereal spaces, through those many 
 mansions which I am not permitted to describe at this time, and 
 from which I have been forced unwillingl}' to return and take up 
 the semblance of my body, in order to meet you and record 
 these events. I must await the development and expansion of 
 mind that will permit men to accept this faithful record of my 
 history before completing the narrative, for men are yet unpre- 
 pared. Men must seriously consider those truths which, under 
 inflexible natural laws, govern the destiny of man, but which, if 
 mentioned at this day can only be viewed as the hallucinations 
 of a disordered mind. To many this manuscript will prove a 
 passing romance, to others an enigma, to others still it will be 
 a pleasing study. Men are not now in a condition to receive 
 even this paper. That fact I know full well, and I have accord- 
 ingh- arranged that thirty years shall pass before it is made 
 public. Then they will have begun to study more deeply into 
 force disturbances, exhibitions of energy that are now known 
 and called imponderable bodies (perhaps some of my statements 
 will then even be verified), and to reflect over the connection 
 of matter therewith. A few minds will then be capable of 
 vaguely conceiving possibilities, which this paper will serve 
 to foretell, for a true solution of the great problems of the 
 ethereal unknown is herein suggested, the study of wdiich 
 will lead to a final elevation of humanity, such as I dare not 
 prophesy." 
 
 " Much of the paper is obscure to me," I said; " and there are 
 occasional phrases and repetitions that appear to be interjected, 
 
354 ETinORHPA. 
 
 possibly, with an object, and which are yet disconnected from 
 the narrative proper," 
 
 " That is true ; the paper often contains statements that are 
 emblematical, and which yon can not understand, but yet such 
 portions carry to others a hidden meaning. I am directed to 
 speak to many persons besides yourself, and I can not meet 
 those whom I address more directly than I do tlirough this com- 
 munication. These pages will serve to instruct many people — 
 people whom you will never know, to whom I have brought 
 messages that will in secret be read between the lines." 
 
 "Why not give it to such persons?" 
 
 " Because I am directed to bring it to you," he replied, " and 
 you are required : 
 
 " First, To seal the manuscript, and place it in the inner vault 
 of your safe. 
 
 " Second, To draw up a will, and provide in case of your 
 death, that after the expiration of thirty years from this date, 
 the seals are to be broken, and a limited edition published in 
 book form, by one you select. 
 
 " Third, An artist capable of grasping the conceptions will at 
 the proper time be found, to whom the responsibility of illustrat- 
 ing the volume is to be entrusted, he receiving credit therefor. 
 Only himself and yourself (or your selected agent) are to 
 presume to select the subjects for illustration. 
 
 " Fourth, In case you are in this city, upon the expiration of 
 thirty years, you are to open the package and follow the direc- 
 tions given in the envelope therein." 
 
 And he then placed on the manuscript a sealed envelope 
 addressed to myself. 
 
 "This I have promised already," I said. 
 
 "Very well," he remarked, "I will bid you farewell." 
 
 "Wait a moment; it is unjust to leave the narrative thus 
 uncompleted. You have been promised a future in comparison 
 with which the experiences you have undergone, and have 
 related to me, were tame ; you had just met on the edge of the 
 inner circle that mysterious being concerning whom I am 
 deeply interested, as I am in the continuation of your personal 
 narrative, and you have evidently more to relate, for 3'ou must 
 have passed into that Unknown Country. You claim to have 
 
THK IvAST IWRRWKLL. 355 
 
 done so, but you break the thread in the most attractive part 
 by leaving the future to conjecture." 
 
 " It must be so. This is a history of man on Earth, the con- 
 tinuation will be a history of man within the Unknown Country." 
 
 "And I am not to receive the remainder of your story?" I 
 reiterated, still loth to give it up. 
 
 " No ; I shall not appear directly to you again. Your part in 
 this work will have ended when, after thirty years, you carry 
 out the directions given in the sealed letter which, with this 
 manuscript, I entrust to your care. I must return now to the 
 shore that separated me from my former guide, and having again, 
 laid down this semblance of a body, go once more into" — 
 
 He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Yes; this 
 strange, cynical being whom I had at first considered an imper- 
 tinent fanatic, and then, more than once afterward, had been 
 induced to view as a cunning impostor, or to fear as a cold, 
 semi-mortal, sobbed like a child. 
 
 " It is too much," he said, seemingly speaking to himself; 
 " too much to require of one not yet immortal, for the good of 
 his race. I am again with men, nearly a human, and I long to 
 go back once more to my old home, my wife, my children. Wliy 
 am I forbidden? The sweets of Paradise can not comfort the 
 mortal who must give up his home and family, and yet carry his 
 earth-thought beyond. Man can not possess unalloyed joys, and 
 blessings spiritual, and retain one backward longing for mundane 
 subjects, and I now yearn again for my earth love, my material 
 family. Having tasted of semi-celestial pleasures in one of the 
 mansions of that complacent, pure, and restful sphere, I now 
 exist in the border land, but my earth home is not relinquished, 
 I cling as a mortal to former scenes, and crave to m&et my lost 
 loved ones. All of earth must be left behind if Paradise is ever 
 wholly gained, yet I have still my sublunary thoughts. 
 
 "Etidorhpa! Etidorhpa!" he pleaded, turning his eyes as if 
 towards one I could not see, " Etidorhpa, my old home calls. 
 Thou knowest that the beginning of man on earth is a cry born 
 of love, and the end of man on earth is a cry for love ; love is a 
 gift of Etidorhpa, and thou, Etidorhpa, the soul of love, should 
 have compassion on a pleading mortal." 
 
 He raised his hands in supplication. 
 
356 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 " Have mercy on me, Etidorlipa, as I would on yon if you 
 were I and I were Etidorhpa." 
 
 Then with upturned face he stood long and silent, listening. 
 
 "Ah," he murmured at last, as if in reply to a voice I could 
 not catch, a voice that carried to his ear an answer of deep dis- 
 appointment) "thou spokest truly in the vision, Etidorhpa: it 
 is love that enslaves mankind; love that commands; love that 
 ensnares and rules mankind, and thou, Etidorhpa, art the soul 
 of Love. True it is that were there no Etidorhpa, there would 
 still be tears on earth, but the cold, meaningless tears of pain 
 only. No mourning people, no sorrowful partings, no sobbing 
 mothers knfeeling with upturned faces, no planting of the myrtle 
 and the rose on sacred graves. There would be no child-love, no 
 home, no tomb, no sorrow, no Beyond" — 
 
 He hesitated, sank upon his knees, pleadingly raised his 
 clasped hands and seemed to listen to that far-off voice, then 
 bowed his head, and answered : 
 
 " Yes ; thou art right, Etidorhpa — although thou bringest sor- 
 row to mortals, without thee and this sorrow-gift there could be 
 no bright hereafter. Thou art just, Etidorhpa, and always wise. 
 Love is the seed, and sorrow is the harvest, but this harvest of 
 sadness is to man the richest gift of love, the golden link that 
 joins the spirit form that has fled to the spirit that is still 
 -enthralled on earth. Were there no earth-love, there could be 
 no heart-sorrow ; were there no craving for loved ones gone, the 
 soul of man would rest forever a brother of the clod. He who 
 has sorrowed and not profited by his sorrow-lesson, is unfitted 
 for life. He who heeds best his sorrow-teacher is in closest 
 touch with humanity, and nearest to Etidorhpa. She who has 
 drank most deeply of sorrow's cup has best fitted herself for 
 woman's sphere in life, and a final home of immortal bliss. I 
 will return to thy realms, Etidorhpa, and this silken strand of 
 sorrow wrapped around my heart, reaching from earth to Para- 
 dise and back to earth, will guide at last my loved ones to the 
 realms beyond — the home of Etidorhpa." 
 
 Rising, turning to me, and subduing his emotion, ignoring 
 this outburst, he said : 
 
 " If time should convince you that I have related a faithful 
 history, if in after years you come to learn my name (I ha\'e 
 
"l STOOD ALONE IN MY ROOM HOLDING THE MYSTERIOUS 
 MANUSCRIPT." 
 
THE IvAST FAREWELL. 359 
 
 been forbidden to speak it), and are convinced of my identity, 
 promise me that yon will do yonr nnbidden gnest a favor." 
 
 "This I will surely do; what shall it be?" 
 
 " I left a wife, a little babe, and a two-year-old child when I 
 was taken away, abducted in the manner that I have faithfully 
 recorded. In my subsequent experience I have not been able to 
 cast them from my memory. I know that through my error 
 they have been lost to me, and will be until they change to the 
 spirit, after which we will meet again in one of the waiting Man- 
 sions of the Great Beyond. I beg you to ascertain, if possible, 
 if either my children, or my children's children live, and should 
 they be in want, present them with a substantial testimonial. 
 Now, farewell." 
 
 He held out his hand, I grasped it, and as I did so, his form 
 became indistinct, and gradually disappeared from my gaze, the 
 fingers of my hand met the palm in vacancy, and with extended 
 arms I stood alone in my room, holding the mysterious manu- 
 script, on the back of which I find plainly engrossed : 
 
 " There are more thin.tjs in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, 
 Thau are dreamt of in your philosophy." 
 
ERILOaUE. 
 
 LETTER ACCOMPANYING THE MYSTERIOUS MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 The allotted thirty years have passed, and as directed, I, 
 Llewellyn Drury, now break the seals, and open the envelope 
 accompanying the mysterious package which was left in my hand, 
 and read as follows : 
 
 Herein find the epilogue to your manuscript. Also a picture 
 of your unwelcome guest, I — Am — The — ]\Ian, which you are 
 directed to have engraved, and to use as a frontispiece to the 
 volume. There are men yet living to bear witness to my identity, 
 who will need but this picture to convince them of the authen- 
 ticity of the statements in the manuscript, as it is the face of one 
 they knew when he was a young man, and will recognize now 
 that he is in age. Do not concern yourself about the reception 
 of the work, for you are in no wise responsible for its statements. 
 Interested persons, if living, will not care to appear in public in 
 connection therewith, and those who grasp and appreciate, who 
 can see the pertinence of its truths, who can read between the 
 lines and have the key to connected conditions, will assuredly 
 keep their knowledge of these facts locked in their own bosoms, 
 or insidiously oppose them, and by their silence or their attacks 
 cover from men outside the fraternity, their connection with the 
 unfortunate author. They dare not speak. 
 
 Revise the sentences ; secure the services of an editor if }ou 
 desire, and induce another to publish the book if you shrink 
 from the responsibility, but in your revision do not in any way 
 alter the meaning of the statements made in the manuscript ; 
 have it copied for the printer, and take no part in comments that 
 may arise among men concerning its reception. '^ Those who are 
 
 '■'From a review of the fac simile see p. 35 . it will be seen that an exact print word for 
 word coiild not be expected. In more than one instance subsequent study demonstrated that 
 the first couception was erroneous, and in the interview with Etidorhpa (see p. 252^ after the 
 360 
 
EPILOGUE. 361 
 
 best informed regarding certain portions thereof, will seemingly 
 be least interested in the book, and those who realize most fully 
 these truths, will persistently evade the endorsement of them. 
 The scientific enthusiast, like the fraternity to which I belong, if 
 appealed to, will obstruct the mind of the student either by criti- 
 cism or ridicule, for many of these revelations are not recorded 
 in his books. 
 
 You are at liberty to give in your own language as a prologue 
 the history of your connection with the author, reserving, 
 however, if you desire to do so, your personality, adding an intro- 
 duction to the manuscript, and, as interludes, every detail of our 
 several conversations, and of your experience. Introduce such 
 illustrations as the selected artist and yourself think proper in 
 order to illuminate the statements. Do not question the advis- 
 ability of stating all that you know to have occurred ; write the 
 wdiole truth, for although mankind will not now accept as fact 
 all that you and I have experienced, strange phases of life 
 phenomena are revealing themselves, and humanity will yet 
 surely be led to a higher plane. As men investigate the points of 
 historical interest, and the ultra-scientific phenomena broached 
 in this narrative, the curtain of obscurity will be drawn aside, 
 and evidence of the truths contained in these details will be 
 disclosed. Finally, you must mutilate a page of the manuscript 
 that you may select, and preserve the fragment intact and in 
 secret. Do not print another edition unless you are presented 
 with the words of the part that is missing. * 
 
 (Signed.) I— Am— The— Man. 
 
 Note by Mr. Drury. — Thus the letter ended. After mature 
 consideration it has been decided to give verbatim most of the 
 letter, and all of the manuscript, and to append, as a prologue, au 
 introduction to the manuscript, detailing exactly the record of my 
 connection therewith, including my arguments with Professors 
 Chickering and Vaughn, whom I consulted concerning the state- 
 ments made to me directly by its author. I will admit that 
 perhaps the opening chapter in my introduction may be such as 
 
 page had been plated, it was dLscovered that the conveyed meaning was exactly the reverse of 
 the original. Luckily the error was discovered in time to change the verse, and leave the 
 spirit of this fair creature unblemished. — J. U. L. 
 '•'I have excised a portion 'see p. 190). — ^J. U. L. 
 
362 ETIDORHPA. 
 
 to raise in the minds of some persons a question concerning my 
 mental responsibility, for as the principal personage in this drama 
 remarks: "Mankind can not now accept as facts what I have 
 seen." Yet I walk the streets of my native city, a business man 
 of recognized, thoughtfulness and sobriety, and I only relate on 
 my own responsibility what has to my knowledge occurred. It 
 has never been intimated that I am mentally irresponsible, or 
 speculative, and even were this the case, the material proof that 
 I hold, and have not mentioned as yet, and may not, concerning 
 my relations with this remarkable being, effectually disproves 
 the idea of mental aberration, or spectral delusion. Besides, 
 many of the statements are of such a nature as to be verified 
 easily, or disproved by any person who may be inclined to repeat 
 the experiments suggested, or visit the localities mentioned. The 
 part of the whole production that will seem the most improbable 
 to the majority of persons, is that to which I can testify from my 
 own knowledge, as related in the first portion and the closing 
 chapter. This approaches necromancy, seemingly, and yet in my 
 opinion, as I now see the matter, such unexplained and recondite 
 occurrences appear unscientific, because of the shortcomings of 
 students of science. Occult phenomena, at some future day, 
 will be proved to be based on ordinary physical conditions to be 
 disclosed by scientific investigations [for " All that is is natural, 
 and science embraces all things "], but at present they are beyond 
 our perception ; yes, beyond our conception. 
 
 Whether I have been mesmerized, or have written in a 
 trance, whether I have been the subject of mental aberration, or 
 have faithfully given a life history to the world, whether this book 
 is altogether romance, or carries a vein of prophecy, whether it 
 sets in motion a train of wild speculations, or combines playful 
 arguments, science problems, and metaphysical reasonings, useful 
 as well as entertaining, remains for the reader to determine. So 
 far as I, Llewellyn Drury, am concerned, this is — 
 
 THE END. 
 
/w-t--^ 
 
 
 '^^dLv-^-^-v^-r. 
 
 Oy^flZy^j -^^^ .^^-^ *.:.>e^ .^-ZTcJe^ ^ . 
 
 H^^^'A-^ /^.c^^t^e /V-^^-t /^--'-^^^fw^'t^'y''-^--^^^-^ /-^T 
 
 Had the above communication and the missing fragment of manuscript been withheld 
 (see page i6i), it is needless to say that this second edition of Etidorhpa would not have ap- 
 peared. 
 
 On behalf of the undersigned, who is being most liberally scolded by friends and acquain- 
 tances who can not get a copy of the first edition, and on behalf of these same scolding 
 mortals, the undersigned extends to I-Am-The-Man the collective thanks of those who scold 
 and the scolded. — J. U. L. 
 

 
 0»v£_ i^Kik^^^ \MS~- <yp^^JL'<^ a^AjA^ t^m^ l44a|Ca)L 
 
t*iA5 -t' l^^ciC.^ — $^l«<miU4^'M<^^»^ 'Hoc 
 
 |«4j^«^yC7 ^jBHc't*!^ HM>H>fC 15 -Jo€iLe*A/~ - 
 
 uJL^ V-*^ /Vf v$^ 
 
 This introduction, which in the author's edition was signed by the writer, is here re- 
 printed in order that my views of the book be not misconstrued— J. U. L. 
 
ETIDORHPA. 
 
 To THE RECIPIENTS OF THE AUTHOR'S EDITION OF ETIDORHPA: 
 
 That so large an edition as 1,299 copies of an expensive book, previously 
 unseen by any subscriber, should have been taken in advance by reason of a 
 mere announcement, is complimentary to the undersigned; and yet this very 
 confidence occasioned him not a little anxiety. Under such circumstances 
 to have failed to give, either in workmanship or subject-matter, more than 
 was promised in the announcement of Etidorhpa, would have been painfully 
 embarrassing. 
 
 Not without deep concern, then, were the returns awaited ; for, while neither 
 pains nor expense were spared to make the book artistically a prize, still, beau- 
 tiful workmanship and attractive illustrations may serve but to make more 
 conspicuous other failings. Humiliating indeed would it have been had the 
 recipients, in a spirit of charity, spoken only of artistic merit and neat 
 bookwork. 
 
 When one not a bookman publishes a book, he treads the danger-line. 
 When such a person, without a great publishing-house behind him, issues a 
 book like Etidorhpa— a book that, spanning space, seemingly embraces wild 
 imaginings and speculation, and intrudes on science and religion — he invites 
 personal disaster. 
 
 That in the case of the Author's Edition of Etidorhpa the reverse happily 
 followed, is evidenced by hundreds of complimentary letters, written by men 
 versed in this or that section wherein the book intrudes ; and in a general way 
 the undersigned herein gratefully extends his thanks to all correspondents — 
 thanks for the cordial expressions of approval, and for the graceful oversights 
 by critics and correspondents, that none better than he realizes have been ex- 
 tended towards blemishes that must, to others, be not less apparent than they 
 are to himself. 
 
 Since general interest has been awakened in the strange book Etidorhpa, 
 and as many readers are soliciting information concerning its reception, it is 
 not only as a duty, but as a pleasure, that the undersigned reproduces the fol- 
 lowing abstracts from public print concerning the Author's Edition, adding, 
 that as in most cases the reviews were of great length and made by men spe- 
 cially selected for the purpose, the brief notes are but fragments and simply 
 characteristic of their general tenor. 
 
 The personal references indulged by the critics could not be excised with- 
 out destroying the value of the criticisms, and the undersigned can offer no 
 other apology for their introduction than to say that to have excluded them 
 would have done an injustice to the writers. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 JOHN URI LLOYD. 
 
ETIDORHPA AS A WORK OF ART. 
 
 Professor S. W. Williams, Wyoming, Ohio. 
 
 If a fine statue or a stately cathedral is a poem in marble, a 
 masterpiece of the printer's art ma}- be called a poem in typog- 
 raphy. Such is Etidorhpa. In its paper, composition, press- 
 work, illustrations, and binding — it is the perfection of beauty. 
 While there is nothing gaudy in its outward appearance, there is 
 throughout a display of good taste. The simplicity of its neat- 
 ness, like that of a handsome woman, is its great charm. Ele- 
 gance does not consist in show nor wealth in glitter ; so the 
 richest as well as the costliest garb may be rich in its very 
 plainness. The illustrations were drawn and engraved expresslj' 
 for this work, and consist of twenty-one full-page, half-tone 
 cuts, and over thirty half-page and text cuts, besides two photo- 
 gravures. The best artistic skill was emplo3'ed to produce them, 
 and the printing was carefully attended to, so as to secure the 
 finest effect. Only enameled book paper is used ; and this, with 
 the wide margins, gilt top, trimmed edges, and clear impressions 
 of the type, makes the pages restful to the eyes in reading or 
 looking at them. The jacket, or cover, which protects the bind- 
 ing, is of heavy paper, and bears the same imprint as the book 
 itself. Altogether, as an elegant specimen of the bookmakers' 
 art it is a credit to the trade. All honor to the compositors who 
 set the type, the artists who drew and engraved the illustrations, 
 the electrotyper who put the forms into plate, the pressman who 
 worked off the sheets, and the binder who gathered and bound 
 them in this volume. 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 The End of the Earth is not like any other book. The charm of ad- 
 venture, the excitement of romance, fhe stimulating heat of controversy, 
 the keen pursuit of scientific truth, the glow of moral enthusiasm, are all 
 found in its pages. The book may be described as a sort ProfessorW. H. Ven- 
 of philosophical fiction, containing much exact scientific ^'''^' Cincinnati. 
 truth, man}- bold theories, and much ingenious speculation on the nature 
 and destiny of man. . . . The occult and esoteric character of the dis- 
 cussions, adds a strange fascination to them. We can hardly classify, bj- 
 ordinar}^ rules, a work so unusual in form and purpose, so discursive in 
 subject matter, so unconventional in its appeals to reason, religion, and 
 morality. . . . The direct teaching of the book, in so far as it aims to 
 influence conduct, is always loft}' and pure. Not a line seems to have 
 been written with a frivolous purpose. There is a Scotch sternness and 
 severit}' of conscience in it. . . . 
 
 Four powerful chapters are devoted to "Human Drinks," and the 
 horrible vice of intoxication. . . . The outcome of the entire com- 
 position seems to be to prophesy the infinite development which awaits 
 the application of better and truer, and especially more spiritual, methods 
 to the stud}^ of science. The book is a protest against materialism, and 
 a bold, perhaps audacious, venture to point out a better and more fruitful 
 mode of interpreting nature's laws in the world of matter and mind. 
 However, the author is b}' no means dogmatic ; and the discursive char- 
 acter of the narrative gives scope for ample play of mind in the fields of 
 fact and fancy. The character of the performance leaves us in doubt as 
 to where experience ends and imagination begins. The work is con- 
 structed with rare ingenuit}', and is extremely readable and fascinating. 
 
 The style of Etidorhpa is simple and direct. The descriptive parts 
 are verj- vivid and realistic. . . . The reader is hurried on from page 
 to page by the evident enthusiasm and ardor of the writer. The char- 
 acters and incidents of the story are constantly presenting new and un- 
 expected phases and situations. The marvelous portions of the book 
 give relief to the normal and serious parts. Altogether the work is in- 
 structive, stimulating, eccentric, and amusing. Some passages are 
 strongly pathetic, others humorous. We are disposed to conclude that 
 in this production we have many of the positive beliefs, many conjec- 
 tures, and some half-playful hypotheses, of a thinking student, well read in 
 general science, and profoundly desirous of aiding the truth and promot- 
 ing the happiness of society. 
 
 369 
 
370 REVIEWS OF ETIDOKHPA. 
 
 The thought of the world moves penduhnn-like, oscillating between 
 extreme materialism on one hand and the most pronounced idealism on 
 the other. The Ilu.xleyan school of philosophy reached the acme of ma- 
 American Druggist terialism in the enunciation of the dogma, " I believe 
 and Pharmaceutical what I see and feel;" and while this doctrine has 
 Record. New York, rapidly gained acceptance, there are visible evidences 
 that the pendulum of thought and belief has begun to swing backward 
 toward the idealism which found so extreme an advocate in the person 
 of Hegel. The work under review is of itself an indication of this tend- 
 ency toward the higher idealism on the part of the scientific world. . . . 
 It is readily apparent that Profes.sor Lloyd has availed himself of the 
 romance form merely as a means ^f exploiting tentatively philo.sophical 
 theories and speculations, which, a.s yet, he is not prepared to openl3' 
 indorse, and which, indeed, he himself has probably not yet accepted. . . . 
 
 The work is creditable alike to the literarj- ingenuity of the author, 
 to his imagination, and to his scientific ability; for whatever errors of 
 reasoning, or of premises, or of conclusion there may be, they are so 
 skillfully concealed as to almost lead one to look upon the wonders por- 
 trayed as at least among the po.ssibilities. 
 
 From a mechanical point of view the work leaves nothing to be de- 
 sired, being well and copiously illustrated, admirably printed on fine 
 plate paper, with ample margins and handsomely bound. 
 
 From the very inception of letters and in ever}- era of literature, no 
 truths have been so well told, no morals so forcibly advocated, and no re- 
 searches in material or psychical philo.sophy so clearly impressed, as 
 Notes on New Phar- ^^^^eu clothed in the garb of fiction. . . . Modern 
 maceuticai Products, literature has in many instances furnished additional 
 ■ ""'*■ evidences of this fact, and under the fascinating dress 
 
 of romance, the most effectual work in humanitarian and civilizing growth 
 has been effected. . . . So, too, in scientific teachings. From all 
 time ardent workers and patient investigators have given to us the re- 
 sults of their labors, the histories of their success, the records of their 
 failures. . . . 
 
 These reflections are particularly- pertinent to a new publication whic!i 
 has been laid upon our table. Etidorhpa, the End of the Earth, by Pro- 
 fessor John Uri Lloyd, of Cincinnati, is a work of such peculiar character 
 and so unique in conception, that while, under the guise of a never-failing 
 chain of romantic conception, the author covers a vast range of scientific, 
 moral, and theosophic discussion, the interest is never wearied, nor is its 
 reading laborious. . . . The illustrations are pointed, and marked for 
 artistic excellence. The book is the literary novelty of the year; but those 
 interested in such lines of thought will forget its novelties in a profound 
 interest in the themes di.scussed. 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 371 
 
 No one could have written the chapter on the " Food of Man " but 
 Professor Lloyd ; no one else knows and thinks of these subjects in a 
 similar way. . . . The "old man's" description of " the spirit of 
 stone," "the spirit of plants," and, finally, "the spirit of Eclectic Medical 
 man," is very fine, but those who hear Professor Lloyd Journal, Cincinnati. 
 lecture catch Lloyd's impulses throughout. The only regret one has in 
 reading this entrancing work is, that it ends unexpectedly, for the End 
 of Earth comes without a catastrophe. It should have been a hundred 
 pages longer ; the reader yearns for more, and closes the book wistfully. . . . 
 
 Professor Lloyd must be prevailed upon to issue another limited, but 
 less elaborate, edition of Etidorhpa. Many who did not subscribe to this 
 edition, and who had not the opportunity to do so, will be only too glad 
 to procure a copy of the most interesting, as well as instructive, romance 
 of the century. 
 
 The End of the Earth is a scientific allegory. It is destined to occupy 
 a place in the domain of science similar to that occupied by Bunyan's Pil- 
 grim's Progress in the world of religion. It is in har- California Medical 
 mony with truth and broad enlightenment, and will find Journal, 5an Fran= 
 friends in all sects, schools of philosophy, and systems of '^'^'^"• 
 belief. We sincerely trust that when the public begins to clamor for more, 
 which will surely happen as soon as the first small edition is distributed, 
 the author will relent and allow the supply to equal the demand. • . . . 
 The author has wrought for himself an enduring monument, and w^e can 
 not forbear to repeat the wish that another edition may speedily follow. 
 
 There has never been any book like this one written. If it be said to 
 resemble some of Jules Verne's works, the distinction may be drawn that 
 Etidorhpa is logical. No miracles were performed to extricate the traveler 
 from the numerous perilous positions in which he found American Journal of 
 himself, but, on the contrary, he was always released by Pharmacy, Philadei- 
 what appeared to be perfectly rational methods. The "'"*• 
 ph3-sical phenomena described are apparently without a flaw, and some 
 new principles, notably the diffusion of liquids of different densities 
 through porous media, are enunciated, and will stand the test of actual 
 experiment, as the writer of this review knows from having tried them. 
 The chemistry of the work is faultless — so different from that to which we 
 are treated by most literarj- writers, who usually disgust one with their 
 bad nomenclature and impossible chemical reactions. 
 
 The subjects treated are such as require the most careful handling, 
 for many of them border on the unknowable, and it is onl}^ by the most 
 acute reasoning that the author prevents the story from becoming "top- 
 heavy;" but he has succeeded by the most plausible methods. Material- 
 ists will derive little consolation from the book, and spiritualists will find 
 
372 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 but little more comfort; for both are treated to a mild vein of sarcasm, 
 that is all the more searching because of its freedom from bitterness. 
 
 The author has ventured to discuss many things which few writers in 
 the past have dared to undertake. We are told that "matter is retarded 
 motion, " and this is demonstrated by the most acute process of reasoning. 
 He also dares to denounce the hypothetical ether which scientists have in- 
 vented to account for the transmission of heat, light, etc., and declares 
 there is no need for it. It is impo.ssible, in a review, to give the details of 
 how these ends are attained; but the book itself must be studiou.sly read, 
 not once, but twice or thrice. The vivid description of the Drunkard's 
 Den, and the masterly portrayal of the effects of certain narcotics, are the 
 products from a writer of extraordinary resources. . . . 
 
 The author is at once a scientist and a philosopher ; he has also 
 shown himself to be a master of a peculiarly beautiful literary style, 
 which, in some chapters, may be termed word-painting of the highest 
 order. In fact, the book is full of figurative gems. 
 
 The fascinating plot, replete with striking situations and dramatic 
 scenes, rapid in its movement and abounding in incident, is to the 
 thoughtful reader but the vehicle chosen by a full mind for conveying a 
 Bulletin of Pliar= rich freight of knowledge and meditation. Every branch 
 macy, Detroit. of chemical and biologic science is at the author's com- 
 mand, and on every page is evidence of an earnest and solemn concep- 
 tion of life as a great mystery constantly eluding the hypotheses and re- 
 searches of science. The titular author is, of course, a literary shadow : 
 the work is the unmistakable handiwork of Professor Lloyd — the offspring 
 of his imagination, study, and reflection, conceived during the hours 
 spent by a cultivated man amid a varied and extensive library. . . . 
 
 Social, scientific, ethical, and religious problems receive lofty treat- 
 ment throughout the work ; and the original yet reverent views of the 
 author on these important subjects impart to Etidorhpa its chiefest 
 weight. 
 
 The illustrations by J. Augustus Knapp are superb, and the typog- 
 raphy of the work represents the art of book-making in its perfection. 
 
 This book, to use the words of the editor of the Chicago Inter-Ocean, 
 is "the literary novelty of the year." . . . In a literary sense, accord- 
 ^. . .■ C4 4 ^ i"& to all reviewers, it abounds with "word-paintings of 
 
 Cincinnati Student. ^ ' . 
 
 the highest order " — in some chapters being " terrible " 
 in its vividness, several critics asserting that Dante's Inferno has noth- 
 ing more realistic. . . . 
 
 Petitions are being circulated, asking Professor lyloyd to issue a com- 
 mercial edition at a price not to exceed $2, in order that all who desire 
 may have an opportunity to study its contents. 
 
REVIEWvS OF ETIDORHPA. 373 
 
 One of the great charms of the book is the space between the lines, 
 which only the initiated can thoroughly comprehend. Don't fail to read 
 and re-read Etidorhpa. Be sure and read it in the light ^^^ ^^^^ Detroit. 
 of contemporaneous literature, for without doing so, its 
 true beauty will not appear. Aside from its subject matter, the excellency 
 of the workmanship displayed by the printer, and artistic beauty of the 
 illustrations, will make Etidorhpa an ornament to any library. 
 
 We have read it with absorbed interest, the vividly-depicted scenes 
 of each stage in the miraculous journey forming a theme which enthralls 
 the reader till the last page is turned. Many new views j^^ British and Co> 
 of natural laws are given by the communicator, and lonial Druggist, Lon- 
 argued between him and Drury, into which, and into **""' England. 
 the ultimate intent of Etidorhpa we will not attempt to enter, but will 
 leave it for each reader to peruse, and draw his own conclusions. . . . 
 
 Professor Lloyd's style is quaint and polished, and perfectly clear. 
 The printing and paper are all that can be desired, and an abundance of 
 artistic and striking illustrations are admirably reproduced. 
 
 The literary excellence of the work is of very high order, and through 
 it all, devSpite the visionary nature of the environment, is an evident 
 earnestness and a bold treatment of the theories, beliefs, and speculations 
 of science. It is the work of a keen mind and a great Every Saturday, 
 nature, which had delved deep, and has had the poise Elgin, lit. 
 and the breadth to comprehend, as well as a remarkable facility in ex- 
 pounding the truths of science; and over it all is the spirit of Aphrodite, 
 permeating the story with the atmosphere of love for mankind. Eti- 
 dorhpa is unlike anything in print, and is entitled to the marked recog- 
 nition it is receiving, because of its distinct originality of treatment as 
 well as for its charming incident, its exciting scenes, its spirited contro- 
 versies, its vast fund of scientific facts, its moral stimulus, its poetic 
 fancies, and its literarj^ beauties. 
 
 Etidorhpa. the End of the Earth, is in all respects the worthiest pre- 
 sentation of occult teachings under the attractive guise of fiction that has 
 yet been written. Its author, Mr. John Uri Lloyd, of Cincinnati, as a 
 scientist and writer on pharmaceutical topics, has already ^^^ ^^^^ worid. 
 a more than national reputation, but only his most inti- 
 mate friends have been aware that he was an advanced student of occult- 
 ism. His book is charmingly written, some of its passages being really 
 eloquent ; as, for instance, the apostrophe to Aphrodite — whose name is 
 reversed to make the title of the story. It has as thrilling situations and 
 startling phenomena as imagination has ever conceived. . . . There is no 
 
374 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 confusion between experiences and illusions, such as are common in the 
 works of less instructed and conscientious writers treating of such mat- 
 ters. He knows where to draw the line and how to impress perception of 
 it, as in the four awful nightmare chapters illustrating the curse of drink. 
 Editorhpa will be best appreciated b}- those who have " traveled Ea.st in 
 search of light and knowledge." . . . Mr. Lloyd has published the book 
 himself in magnificent style, with superb illustrations by J. Augustus 
 Knapp, and issued it only in a semi-private way by subscription, but should 
 put it forth in a public edition. 
 
 Etidorhpa, a name unlike any we have ever heard before or ever ex- 
 pect to hear again. The same is true of the volume; if any literary work 
 
 ■w,. ^ ^ . « .. was ever sui p^enerzs, unlike anything in the heavens 
 The Spatula, Boston. ^ > j o 
 
 above or in the earth beneath, it is this production of 
 I\Ir. Lloyd. It is much more eas}- to praise than to describe it. The skill- 
 ful manner in which fiction and science are blended ma}', perhaps, remind 
 the reader of some of the romances of Jules Verne, but the actual re- 
 semblance is small, and there is nothing to suggest that the author is in 
 the least indebted to the Frenchman. 
 
 We can offer the author the sincerest of congratulations for having 
 produced a book intensely pleasing, interesting, and instructive, a rare 
 Registered Pharma- blending of imaginative speculation with natural laws 
 cist, Chicago. jin^} scientific facts. Those who ma}- have had a precon- 
 
 ceived idea that ISIr. Lloyd's book might conflict with or offend the 
 religious belief of some will find themselves happilj' mistaken, as the 
 tendency is more in the direction of the reconciliation of religious belief 
 with natural laws and the teachings of science. 
 
 It is as fascinating as the richest romance by Dumas, and mysterious 
 and awe-inspiring as the wild flights of Verne. Hugo wrote nothing 
 more impassioned than those terrible chapters where "The-Man-Who- 
 Times-star. Cincin- Did-It " drinks liquor from the mushroom cup. There 
 "«*'• never was a book like it. It falls partly in many cla.s.ses, 
 
 yet lies outside of all. It will interest all sorts and conditions of men, 
 and it has that in it which may make it popular as the most sensational 
 novel of the day. Intricate plotting, marvelous mysteries, clear-cut 
 science without empiricism, speculative reasoning, sermonizing, historical 
 facts, and bold theorizing make up the tissue of the stor\-, while the spirit 
 of Etidorhpa, the spirit of love, pervades it all. . . . 
 
 Happy is the scientist who can present science in a form so inviting 
 as to charm not only the scholars of his own profession, but the laymen 
 besides. This, Professor John Uri Lloyd has done in his Etidorhpa. 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 375 
 
 For eighteen years the writer has been seated at his desk, and all 
 kinds of books have been passed in review, but has never before met 
 with such a stumper as Etidorhpa. Its name is a stunner, and its title- 
 page, head-lines, and weird, artistic pictures send out The inter-Ocean, 
 such a ghastly welcome as to make goblins on the walls, Chicago, 
 and fill the close room with spooks and mystery. The writer has only 
 known of Professor Lloyd as a scientist and an expert in the most occult 
 art of the pharmacist, and can scarcely conceive him in the role of the 
 mystic and romancer in the region heretofore sacred to the tread of the 
 supernatural. . . . 
 
 The book is the literary- novelty of the 3'ear, but those interested in 
 such lines of thought will forget its novelties in a profound interest in 
 the themes discussed. 
 
 This magnificent scientific work, dealing with physics, astronomy, 
 botany, and geolog}-, will create a sensation in the world of thinkers. . . . 
 It is a work that far exceeds in imagination anything ever written by the 
 French novelist, and it will be for the higher scientific The Cincinnati Lan- 
 w'orld of men what Verne's works have been for chil- cet=ciinic. 
 dren. In many respects this work may be considered a keen satire on 
 modern science, and is intensely interesting from its miraculous begin- 
 ning to its weird and uncanny ending. . . . 
 
 The reader is not only entranced by the pen-pictures of the strange 
 and beautiful, but likewise instructed in every branch of the most curious 
 things in science. No review will do justice to this work, and to be ap- 
 preciated it must be read. 
 
 The work stands so entirely alone in literature, and possesses such 
 a marvelous versatility of thought and idea, that, in describing it, we are 
 at a loss for comparison. In its scope it comprises alchemy, chemistry, 
 science in general, philosophy, metaphysics, morals, biol- The Chicago Med- 
 og3^ sociology', theosophy, materialism, and theism — the '*^' Times. 
 natural and the supernatural. . . . It is almost impossible to describe 
 the character of the work. It is realistic in expression, and weird be5^ond 
 Hawthorne's utmost flights. It excels Bulwer-Lytton's Coming Race and 
 Jules Verne's most extreme fanc}-. It equals Dante in vividness and ec- 
 centricity of plot. . . . 
 
 The entire tone of the work is elevating. It encourages thought of 
 all that is ennobling and pure. It teaches a belief and a faith in God 
 and holj' things, and shows God's supervision over all his works. • It is 
 an allegory of the life of one who desires to separate himself from the 
 debasing influences of earth, and aspires to a pure and noble existence, 
 as beautiful and as true to the existing conditions of human life as Bun- 
 yan's Pilgrim's Progress. The sorrow; the struggle with self; the phys- 
 
370 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 ical burdens; the indescribable temptations, with the presence and assist- 
 ance of those who would assist in overcoming them; the dark hours, 
 Vanity Fair, and the Beulahland, are all there. 
 
 In ever3' respect the volume bearing the title Etidorhpa, or the End 
 
 of the Earth, is a most remarkable book. Typographically, it is both 
 
 unique and artistic — as near perfection in conception and execution as 
 
 ... ,, , . can be conceived. . . . The author is John Uri Llovd, 
 
 Indianapolis Journal. "^ ^ .' > 
 
 of Cincinnati, a scientific writer whose pharmaceutical 
 treatises are widely known and highly valued. That a man whose mind 
 and time have been engrossed with the affairs of a specialist and man of 
 affairs could have found time to enter the field of speculation, and there 
 display not onl}- the most extensive knowledge of the exact natural 
 sciences, and refute what is held to be scientific truth with bold theories 
 and ingenious speculations on the nature and destin}- of man, is mar- 
 velous. . . . 
 
 The Addenda is as original as the book itself, consisting, as it does, 
 of a list of names, some of whom are not subscribers, but to whom the 
 author is deeply obliged, or whom he regards as ver3^ dear friends, and 
 those of a few whom he personally admires. ... If each of them 
 has a copy of Etidorhpa, or the End of the Earth, he i^ossesses a book 
 which is not like an}- other book in the world. 
 
 The many friends and admirers of Professor Llo3-d will find much 
 profit in turning over in their minds the scientific theories which he pre- 
 The Pharmaceutical sents, and will experience the keenest enjoyment in 
 Era, New Yorii. following the story in which these are so skillfully 
 woven. . . . The author warns us against biolog}- and materialism. . . . 
 We have been too hasty in proclaiming our knowledge of the ultimate, 
 simply because some have pricked the surface of cosmos and found a 
 thread of fact in Evolution. . . . The evil effects of intemperance are 
 depicted in a manner so far from conventional, that tho.se who have im- 
 agined that nothing new could be said upon the subject will be agreeably 
 surprised. 
 
 With thoughtful attention most readers of this remarkable book will 
 certainly conclude with us that by Carlyle's standard the author is a poet, 
 a seer, and a thinker. To say that it is one of the strangest books of the 
 The Enquirer, cin- century is to put it mildly. In uniqueness of subject, 
 weirdne.ss of character, and mysticism of plot, it stands 
 peerless. Readers of Goethe will frequently see in it points suggestive of 
 Das IMahrchen and Fau.st. vSuperficialh- it resembles in .some degree Jules 
 Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth; but the plot and execution of 
 the Frenchman's tale are tame and commonplace beside it. The scientific 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 377 
 
 part of Etidorhpa is presented by a master hand, himself an original dis- 
 coverer in the domains invaded. 
 
 The author of Etidorhpa nowhere makes so heavy a draft on human 
 credulity as do the modern teachers of natural philosophy. In each suc- 
 ceeding chapter he shows that every change in any series of relations is 
 followed by a change of conditions that makes possible what otherwise 
 was impossible. . . . When, however, amid the black darkness of the 
 cavern's depths a zone of light appears, due neither to combustion nor 
 the sun, we are likely to deem it absurd or incredible unless we are 
 familiar with the late experiments of Nicola Tesla. . . . The chapter 
 on "The Food of Man " vividly points out the common kinship of poisons 
 and foods. It is a beautiful exposition of the conservation of energy^, 
 and with telling force proves that not the material, but the immaterial, 
 sustains life. . . . Four chapters in Etidorhpa are devoted to drunk- 
 enness. The first is on the "Drinks of Men," the second on the "Drunk- 
 ard's Voice," the third on the " Drunkard's Den," and the fourth on 
 " Among the Drunkards." The attempt to realize the pictures they evoke 
 will make the reader's flesh crawl, and if he is alone and at night, will 
 almost cause him to think that he is going to have an attack of delirium 
 tremens. 
 
 It relates to a journej^ made bj- the old man under the guidance of a 
 peculiar being into the interior of the earth. The incidents of this jour- 
 ney overshadow anything that Verne ever wrote in his 
 palmiest days. But perhaps the most singular part of 
 it is that they are all based on scientific grounds. Dr. L,loyd, the author 
 of the volume, is one of the deepest students, and is well known as a 
 profound writer on subjects pertaining to his profession, as well as one 
 who has taken much pains in stud3-ing the occult sciences. . . . The 
 book is a very pleasant one to read, a little redundant at times, but full 
 of information. . . . Readers who succeed in securing it will be very 
 lucky indeed. 
 
 This is one of the most remarkable works of this centurj'. The 
 author, who is one of the best known American chemists, has combined, 
 in a very successful manner, the strange story of a journey through the 
 earth with theories on sunshine, gravitation, energy, and Montreal Pharma- 
 other questions now agitating the scientific world. . . . "uticai Journal. 
 But the climax is the relation of the Drunkard's Dream, which equals in 
 parts the Inferno of Dante, and as a practical temperance sermon sur- 
 passes anything we have j-et seen. 
 
 Space forbids the enumeration of any more of the details of the 
 work, but taken altogether it will give Professor Lloyd a high .standing 
 as a writer, although already well known as a chemist and pharmacist 
 
378 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 and a voluminous writer on his specialties. In Etidorhpa he has under- 
 taken a work which might be classed as literary, pure and simple, and has 
 made a striking success considered from that point of view alone, without 
 taking into consideration the many scientific theories enunciated and 
 discussed. 
 
 The work viewed from a mechanical standpoint is one of the finest 
 specimens of the "art preservative" we have ever seen. The paper, print- 
 ing, engraving, and binding are all in the highest style of art. 
 
 In your issue of October 23d, I noticed a communication from Student, 
 asking for confirmatory evidence with regard to some of the novel and 
 somewhat startling statements occurring in that unique and fascinating 
 Professor T. H. Nor- work, Etidorhpa, the appearance of which is one of the 
 ton, in the Times- literarj- sensations of Cincinnati. Like your corre- 
 star. Cincinnati. spondent, I was tempted, when reading the book, to 
 seriously doubt the correctness of the statements adduced, more particu- 
 larly those of a scientific nature. 
 
 The test of actual experiment, however, whenever applied, showed 
 conclusively that the gifted author of Etidorhpa was not drawing upon 
 his imagination, but had introduced into his narrative actual facts, easil}' 
 susceptible of practical demonstration. . . . 
 
 There can be no question concerning the scientific correctness of the 
 experiments so aptly introduced into the pages of Etidorhpa. 
 
 In regard to a commercial edition of Etidorhpa, we think it a posi- 
 tive wrong to thousands of readers, and to the literarj- world at large, 
 Chicago Medical that such an edition is not now in preparation. We are 
 Times. confident if all those who are the possessors of a copy 
 
 will write to Professor Lloyd a personal letter at once, and urge upon 
 him the necessity of such an edition, he will be persuaded to carry out 
 such requests from his friends. 
 
 There is a mystery about the title and contents of this book that in- 
 tensifies the curiosit}-, more especially if the reader is interested in scien- 
 tific matters. The whole scope and plan of the work is original, and the 
 Popular Science charm and excitement of adventure, with a little romance 
 News, New York, ^^^^j scientific coutroversj", gives the work a glow of en- 
 thusiasm and increases interest. It is scientific fiction with bold theories, 
 interesting and ingenious speculations in regard to the inside of the 
 world and our relations to it. . . . 
 
 The descriptions are vivid and realistic, the stj-le simple and plain, 
 while the interest is kept up and increases from the beginning. Some 
 passages are humorous; others strong and pathetic. The illustrations 
 are unusually attractive, and add much to the value and interest of the 
 work. 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 379 
 
 It is so in the book which I am beginning to review. It is called 
 Etidorhpa, and has for its author — or editor — Professor John Uri Lloyd, 
 of Cincinnati, Ohio. If any man can tell whether it is of earth or heaven, 
 he can do more than this writer can. I have only read The New Bohemian, 
 it twice, and skimmed it the third time, and after the Cincinnati. 
 cursory inspection which this review will demand — but which will be con- 
 fined mainly to the passages I have marked and annotated — I hope to 
 really and truly read it. It is a fascinating novel to the unlearned, a 
 food for thought to the chemist, a subject of discussion to the philosopher, 
 a stumbling-block to the atheist, a help to faith, a guide to honest investi- 
 gation. ... In the lines it is the most characteristic book of the 
 century : between the lines it may rank with Basil Valentine and Albert 
 Pike. Scott, Byron, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, and Tennyson have played 
 like sunbeams on the waters of our century — this book will be the nest- 
 egg for the next. . . . 
 
 Professor Lloyd himself is a strict scientist, and an exact writer of 
 more than national renown. That he should have given to the world such 
 a book shows that the dreams of scientists in one century may easily be- 
 come the exact facts of science in the next. Paracelsus was a quack, and 
 Roger Bacon was a magician, but to-day laudanum relieves the pain 
 which gunpowder brings to the suffering soldier. Galvanism was a specu- 
 lation ; the telephone is a domestic implement almost as common as the 
 skillet. The scientists, falsely so called, ridiculed Mesmer, but rush head- 
 long into print now trying to prove what they think they know about 
 hypnotism. 
 
 Vorliegendes Werk ist eins von denen, deren Beurtheilung ebenso mit 
 Recht giinstig, wie ungiinstig sich gestalten kann — je nach dem Stand- 
 punkte, den man bei der Beurtheilung einnimmt. Messen wir es mit dem 
 Maasse der materialistischen Philosophic, dann ist das oeutsch-Amerika- 
 Werk ein Konglomerat von leeren Hirngespinnsten, nische Apothei^er- 
 legen wir aber der Beurtheilung den INIaassstab des Zeitung, New York. 
 Hegelianischen Idealismus unter, dann entfaltet sich vor uns eine Fiille 
 der prachtigsten phantasiereichsten Gedanken, welche an manchen Stel- 
 len des Buches durch ihre Originalitat gerade verbliifFend wirken. . . . 
 Fiir einen Roman enthalt es zu viel philosophisch-wissenschaftliche Prob- 
 leme, denen ganze Kapitel gewidmet werden, fiir ein wissenschaftliches 
 Werk aber ist es zu phantasiereich und es mangelt ihm an der zur Be- 
 handlung philosophischer Themata nbthigen kiihlen Ruhe. Fiir den 
 gebildeten Laien ist das Werk eine hochinteressante lehrreiche LektUre — 
 fiir den Mann der Wissenschaft ein anregender, angenehmer Zeitvertreib. 
 Was wir in dem Werke bewundern, das ist die hohe Eleganz der Sprache, 
 die Scharfe der Gedanken und die Meisterschaft, mit welcher der Ver- 
 fasser die divergirendsten Begriffe in Einklang zu bringen versteht. 
 
380 REVIEWS U1-' KTIDORHPA. 
 
 Diese ]\Ieisterschaft geht so weit, dass durch sie oft der Leser so verblufft 
 wird, dass er an manchen Stellen die falsche Praniisse nicht beachtet hat 
 und iiur den auf ihr aufgebauten richtigen Schluss bewundert. Beson- 
 dere Anerkennung verdienen ausserdem die reichen, meisterhaft durch- 
 gefiihrten Photogravuren, mit denen das Werk illustrirt wird — das Bild 
 der Etidorhpa (Aphrodite) ist ein vollendetes Kunstwerk — wie auch die 
 ganze, beinahe verschwenderisch reiche und elegante Ausstattung des 
 Buches. 
 
 Professor John Uri Lloyd has written a strange book. It is strange, 
 not because its author is eccentric (except in so far as all geniuses are 
 eccentric), but because of its inharmony in relation to generally-accepted 
 The Eclectic Medical doctrines and philosophies. It is more than strange — 
 Gleaner, Cincinnati. [^ [q unique. Not the latter in that trite, abused sense 
 so patronized by popular reviewers, but in its true, intrinsic ownness of 
 significance. It is more than unique — it is wonderful. It is that, be- 
 cause full of fact wonders. It is more than wonderful — it is glorious. 
 Glorious with dictional beauties, dazzling thought-bursts, mighty scien- 
 tific revelations, mystic charm, awesome occultism, weird enchantment, 
 refined idealism, metaphysical atticism, and spiritual sweetness. . . . 
 
 A remarkable quality of the book, as a whole, is its enigmatical effect 
 as related to purpose and mission ; there are at least half as many dif- 
 ferent theories in reference to this as the book has readers. The wonder 
 of this is many times multiplied under the fact-pressure that there are 
 scores of reasons why it would have been a crime not to have given this 
 great mine of truth and beauty to the world .... There ma}- be a 
 class (however small) of men in the world to whom Etidorhpa will be 
 neither a puzzle nor a surprise. Who shall dare to deny this ? . . . 
 
 Whatever mysterious doubts maj' linger in the reader's mind after 
 studying the book, he will ever after carry in his consciousness fragrant 
 memories of its marvelous revelations, gorgeous imageries and transport- 
 ing dream-flights. . . . 
 
 Naked science is the cold-fact part of God. Whence it necessarily 
 happens that the reader of Etidorhpa is frequently taken into the chill 
 realm of hard exactitude, and into blood-freezing thought-regions, where 
 his soul is congealed by horrent rigor, or drenched in uncann}- mj'stery. 
 He will be thrown alternately into "eerie swithers " and ecstatic wonder. 
 He will be driven to recognize the identity of the real and ideal, of truth 
 and fiction, of the possible and impossible. Finally, according as he is 
 impressionable or not, he may simultaneously wish he were dead, and 
 pray to never die. This is not enthusiastic extravagance, for there is a 
 spirit about the book which, in instances, may call np a mental ten- 
 sion, and awesome uncertainty, which is not easily compatible with 
 sanity. 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 381 
 
 Without inculcating any particular form of theologj^ the book is es- 
 sentially and intensely religious. If it does not coddle any of the petty 
 isms of regulation theology, it opposes atheism with all the force of 
 masterly argument. Indeed, it shrinks so from irreligious contemplation 
 that it is scarcely charitable toward honest agnosticism. If this is a 
 blemish, it is probably about the only one in the book. 
 
 If the mysterious visitor, " I-Am-The-Man," wrote the original nar- 
 rative, and lylewellen Drury the remaining connecting parts, it is certain 
 that they were as forceful and elegant writers as is Professor Lloyd him- 
 self. This circumstance carries with it a weighty significance, since only 
 the fewest of men can equal the Professor with the pen. Putting this 
 and that and the other together, the conclusion seems irresistible that 
 John Uri Lloyd conceived and wrote the whole thing. His willingness to 
 sacrifice his personality, under a conviction that possible good would 
 accrue from it, comoorts precisely with the self-forgetfulness of his 
 nature. Nice and artistic, therefore, as his intricate ruse to cover his 
 tracks is, it will hardly fool those who know him best. . . . 
 
 Professor Lloyd's literary method is distinct and pronounced. It is 
 not indistinguishable from the literary outputs of hack literature, for it 
 has character, individuality, peculiarity of excellence. This peculiarity 
 depends upon tidiness, clean-cutness, freshness, intensity, depth, and 
 warmth. Always on a high plane of strength and elegance, he occasion- 
 ally bursts into a very conflagration of dictional magnificence. The dis- 
 criminating reader of Etidorhpa will indorse every word of this. 
 
 " There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in 
 jour philosophy." With this speech of Hamlet addressed to Horatio 
 closes the last chapter of one of the most remarkable books of the day ; 
 a book like to nothing ever before seen ; a book in which The Western Drug- 
 are blended, in a harmonious whole, romance, exact 8:«st, Chicago, 
 science, alchemy, poetry, esoterism, metaphysics, moral teachings, and 
 bold speculation. . . . The attentive reader will discover that through 
 it all runs a cry, as it were, for absolute freedom of thought in the realms 
 of science, even as science has demanded this birthright of every man 
 for itself; yes, the book seems as a protest, sometimes finding expression 
 in deep irony, against scientific dogmatism and intolerance, now as cruel 
 as ever it was when practiced in the name of religion. 
 
 We find ourselves wrapped up in theosophical theories and specula- 
 tions in occultism. The most cherished dogmas of science are brushed 
 aside, to be supplanted bj- others supported bj- arguments ofttimes seem- 
 ingly irrefutable. But, with closest attention, it is not always possible to 
 dissociate wnth certainty fancy, scientific conviction, and mere specula- 
 tion. Mr. Lloyd is full well known as a careful investigator, student, and 
 of philosophical bent of mind, but his friends scarce have considered him 
 
382 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 an adept in occultism. Yet this is what Etidorhpa, the End of the Earth, 
 seems to disclose. 
 
 Materialism is attacked everj-where and opposed by idealism. 
 " A miracle ceases to be a miracle when we understand the scientific cause 
 underlying the wonder ; occultism is natural, for if there be occult phe- 
 nomena they must be governed bj' natural law; mystery is not mystery- if 
 the veil of ignorance that envelops the investigator is lifted." 
 
 Like the unwilling investigator, we are led through the mysterious 
 labyrinths of the earth's interior and seem to behold with our own eyes 
 what he sees, and with our own minds seem to argue with the ej-eless 
 guide of the nether world the questions concerning life and death, natural 
 laws and miracles, matter and soul, time and eternity, and God. . . . 
 
 In a chapter designed to illustrate, as one point, the wanderings, mis- 
 takes, and distractions of science-workers, the reader is led to an experi- 
 ment which is very impressive. In a note the author disclaims origi- 
 nality therefor, and as if to criticise some results in science-conclusions, 
 artfully claims that his own brain is seen, when, as Professor Lloyd 
 knows full well, the reasonable conclusion is that it is the retina one 
 perceives. . 
 
 Llewellyn Drury, while listening to the reading of the manuscript of 
 his mysterious visitor of the nocturnal hours, frequently intercedes with 
 objections, and on several occasions seeks to fortify himself by obtaining 
 information from noted local scientists. One of these is Professor Daniel 
 Vaughn, a profound scholar, who, unappreciated by his townsmen, finally 
 died of hunger and privation. The chapter detailing the interview with 
 this man is one of the grandest in the book, and must be read in its en- 
 tirety to be appreciated. . . . The soliloquy now following is beautiful 
 beyond compare and is reluctantly omitted. As the imponderable forces 
 as well as matter are merely disturbances of pure energy, so is life like- 
 wise. Organic life is merely " sun,shine" in other terms. Food is not 
 matter. The material we eat is not our food, but only a carrier of food. . . . 
 
 In the light of this chapter one learns better to grasp the language 
 used by Mr. Lloyd in his address delivered at the last meeting of the 
 • Ohio Pharmaceutical Association, when he said that medicine is but con- 
 densed sunshine. 
 
 We now come to the consideration of a chapter, seemingly interjected 
 without regard to continuity, and yet so intimately interwoven with the 
 story as to appear inseparable — the sermon on the vice of inebriety. 
 Magnificent is the only fitting descriptive term. If other portions of this 
 scientific romance put in the shade the best productions in this field of 
 men like Jules Verne, there is nothing even in Dante's Inferno to sur- 
 pass the description here of a drunkard's hell, while the wondrously 
 beautiful imagery of the vision of Etidorhpa is the embodiment of almost 
 poetical perfection. Nothing more impressive than the lesson here con- 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 383 
 
 veyed can well be conceived. This chapter should be translated into 
 every known tongue, and read from every pulpit, in every school-room, 
 before every assemblage of men. If any word of man will deter any 
 soul from giving way to the debauchery of drink, it is this. 
 
 Etidorhpa is a novel word, with which the reading world is destined 
 soon to become familiar, because it names a new volume which nothing 
 can keep from being read. In literature Etidorhpa is a none-such. . . . 
 If the scientific researches and discoveries of this book 
 of nature, Etidorhpa, lead through fields of fact and q.' o*.^ j„ western 
 fancy to the Elohim of the Hebrew writings, and the Christian Advocate, 
 Logos of the Greek writings, it will lead valuable and Cincinnati. 
 useful minds to safe repose. . . . The reading of Etidorhpa has given 
 me unspeakable pleasure. It is a work of rare genius. Every page ex- 
 cites a cumulative interest. Herein fragments of the dissected body of 
 truth are brought together, replaced, and the restored body stands erect 
 and living before each beholder, to be named as each may elect for him- 
 self INIany will see in Etidorhpa a proof of the teachings of Christ as to 
 the super-physical world, and be comforted. . . . 
 
 Man's relations to the super-physical world and to God will be better 
 understood by the study of Etidorhpa ; and he who reads Etidorhpa once, 
 will turn entranced to read again. . . . 
 
 The rare and elevated personalitj' Etidorhpa — Aphrodite — is a pleas- 
 ing study. The speech of affection is the grace of Etidorhpa's lips, and 
 kindness the adornment of her spirit; the incarnation of the spirit of the 
 thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians. . . . We pass each successive 
 page that tells of this vision with reluctance, to pause entranced upon the 
 next, and admire the beautiful face of a conception so rich and rare, so 
 celestial and ennobling. . . . The thinking" public is to be congratu- 
 lated on the appearance of Etidorhpa. 
 
 We question whether there is a more versatile or profound writer 
 in the field of pharmacy than Professor John Uri Lloj'd. Not only do 
 his past writings show this, but his recent work, Etidorhpa, is itself an 
 accurate and skillful evidence of a broad mind which The New England 
 does not lack in thoroughness. . . . There is a pe- Druggist. Boston. 
 culiar attraction about this work, not onlj^ in the title, but in the subject 
 matter and the style of the book. It is printed upon the finest of book paper 
 and abounds in half-tone engravings, cuts, etc. A photogravure of Eti- 
 dorhpa is a picture fit for framing. The binding, type, etc., are in full 
 keeping with the book, making an ornamental volume which would grace 
 any librar}-. But the real attraction of the work lies in its contents, 
 which are devoted to scientific speculation as regards the true nature and 
 origin of natural forces. . . 
 
384 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 The scientific speculations propounded have a tinge of scientific ag- 
 nosticism in them, though not cynical, and the author evidentlj' has for 
 one object the calling of attention to the limits of human knowledge, and 
 of its possibilities. . . . Five chapters are devoted to a description of 
 the temptation and abominations of drunkenness, and a verj' vivid pic- 
 ture of its results is given. Man's life is hindered, not supported, by 
 the beating of his heart, the circulation of the blood, and the breathing 
 of air. . . . The possessors of the volume are to be congratulated. 
 
 Any one who carefullj- and studiousl}- reads Etidorhpa is certain to 
 realize that the author is an earnest and assiduous student of nature. 
 Such a reader, if in a position to comprehend the expressions found be- 
 Meyer Brothers' tween the lines, will also be impressed with the author's 
 Druggist, St. Louis, ruling passion, which is to encourage all who are willing 
 to study for themselves. Etidorhpa is a fascinating story for all who en- 
 joy such entertainment. But this is not all, for the story has been ren- 
 dered substantial b)' the author weaving in much scie.itific information 
 and speculative philosophy. Professor Lloyd is not an Oxford graduate, 
 with a cut-and-dried mind formed after models made bj' others. He is, 
 however, a polished scholar, educated in the Universit}' of Nature. It is 
 this free and expansive mind that embodies in Etidorhpa so man}' prop- 
 ositions worthy the careful consideration of all interested in the accru- 
 ment of human knowledge. 
 
 A few of our readers maj' be surprised to find that the author is 
 Professor J. U. Lloyd, our well-known American pharmacist, but those 
 who know him well feel that this is but a new expression from an active 
 mind that has long held their attention. 
 
 The present is an age of expectancy, of anticipation, anu of proph- 
 ecy ; and the invention or discovery or production that occupies the at- 
 tention of the busy world, as it rushes on its self-observed way, for more 
 
 than the pa.ssine: nine days' wonder, must needs be some- 
 Tlie Arena, Boston. t' t, j ' 
 
 thing great indeed. Such a production has now appeared 
 
 in the literary world in the form of the volume entitled Etidorhpa, or the 
 
 End of the Earth ; the very title of which is so striking as to arrest the 
 
 attention at once. 
 
 In a brief review it is difficult to give any conception of a work 
 which is at the same time scientific, philosophical, and metaphj'sical, 5'et 
 possessing a weird charm and fascination that is beyond description. . . . 
 
 Scientific problems are discussed and theories are advanced in re- 
 gard to questions which are to-daj' puzzling and bewildering the most 
 learned scientists ; theories which at first sight seem to be but the wild 
 imaginings of a luxuriant fancy, but which are seemingly proved in the 
 most logical and scientific way, so that the reader readily accepts that 
 
REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 385 
 
 which, if put forth in a dogmatic and authoritative manner, would be 
 scouted by all as opposed to reason and science and human research. 
 
 While there is not a chapter in the book that is not of absorbing inter- 
 est, some deserve special mention. The chapter dealing with " The Food 
 of Man " is most admirable, and the statement is made that food and 
 drink are not matter, only "carriers of assimilable bits of sunshine," the 
 Sim being shown to be the great life-giving energy of the universe. The 
 chapters treating on drunkenness and the drinks of man, showing the 
 awful power of the temptation to drink and the horrors resulting from 
 indulgence, burn themselves into the brain. They are blood-curdling as 
 any of the pictures in Dante's Inferno. The description of the meeting 
 with Etidorhpa, or the vision which appears to the Man-Who-Did-It in 
 the Drunkard's Den, is exquisite. ... 
 
 This work is not alone a literary masterpiece ; it is a prophecy, a 
 foreshadowing of the development to which the race may yet attain. . . . 
 
 This volume is permeated by a profoundly religious and lofty spirit- 
 uality, and pleads that science give room for the development of the soul 
 of man, showing that science and true religion are inseparable. Step by 
 step, in perfect gradation, he leads up to the conclusion that " a true 
 study of science is a study of God." 
 
 Of the richness of imagery and wealth of imagination displayed in 
 the pages of Etidorhpa, it is diflScult to give any idea. The work is so 
 many-sided that it will appeal to all classes, and be a favorite with all. 
 The scientist, the philosopher, the student, the lover of poetry, romance, 
 and fiction, will drink in its pages with delight, and find infinite food for 
 thought. The diversity of the author's style is such that he has been 
 compared by various critics to such masters as Jules Verne, Dumas, 
 Victor Hugo, Dante. 
 
 It is a work that should have the widest possible circulation; for, 
 rightly interpreted, it will broaden the mind and stimulate to noble en- 
 deavor, abounding, as it does, in thought which sings to the spirit. 
 
 Ever since modern science began its rapid development there have 
 been those who claimed that it would one day furnish the chief inspira- 
 tion to literature. Most of those who have theorized on the subject have 
 written on science and poetry, but the practical attempts pharmaceutical Re- 
 to effect a combination have been mainly in the domain view, Milwaukee, 
 of fiction. . . . The author of Etidorhpa has adopted Wisconsin. 
 this literary- form to put forward, not definite teachings, but unverified 
 speculations, many of which are on the borderland between physics and 
 metaphysics. . . . Viewed simply as a work of fiction, Etidorhpa 
 should be welcomed by those who believe in the ultimate union of science 
 and literature. . . . 
 
386 REVIEWS OF ETIDORHPA. 
 
 To any one but a specialist in science, the most interesting sugges- 
 tions are those of a metaphysical nature. The idea of " Eternity with- 
 out Time " (chapter Ixii) is a startling conception, and will fascinate 
 even a mind that at once rejects it. The author will, doubtless, feel that 
 he has accomplished his purpose if he incites his readers to think more 
 deeply on the questions which science raises, but which lie outside her 
 narrowest materialistic confines. ... To most of those who have 
 been so fortunate as to secure a copy of Etidorhpa it will probably prove 
 an inspiration. 
 
 There is nothing stranger in fiction than this story, and no more 
 mysterious being than " The-Man-Who-Did-It." The transformations of 
 Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde — or transmutations, are they? — are tame and 
 The Christian Stand- commonplace in comparison with that of which " The- 
 ard, Cincinnati. Man-Wlio-Did-It " is the subject. . . . The author 
 is not an iconoclastic Vandal in the temple of science — as a good many 
 are in our day — but a reverent devotee, pointing out failings and mon- 
 strosities only that they may be remedied. He sees that we are not yet 
 in possession of the whole revelation that science can make, and that we 
 have misread much of what we have received. He makes it plain that 
 in the domain of science it is not merely the unexpected, but the incred- 
 ible, which is happening continually. . . . 
 
 The story proceeds upon the theory that the human mind has capa- 
 bilities of which it is not yet conscious, and that the strange phenomena 
 now made so much use of, and often such bad use of, by occultists, will 
 some time be shown to proceed from natural laws not now understood. 
 
 There is nothing incredible in this. In all ages the unexplainable 
 phenomena have been miraculous; the explainable, natural. The domain 
 of the natural has been con.stantly broadening; and we suspect that, if a 
 man could only see how it is done, he would see that the most miraculous 
 thing would appear natural ; that the manifestation of God in the flesh, 
 though a great " m^-stery," is not out of nature ; and that God himself is 
 the most natural thing in the universe. 
 
 In reading Etidorhpa, the man of scientific bent will be interested 
 and charmed with the curious and instructive facts and experiments; the 
 lovers of romantic adventure will find a story to their liking, and the like 
 of which they never read before ; the moralist will find in the revelations 
 of the deep damnation of drunkenness, and the equally' skillful revelation 
 of the scope and office of love incarnate, or rather symboled in Etidorhpa, 
 that which will challenge his admiration and .sympathy. There are many 
 passages of fine and forceful writing, — Daniel Vaughn's soliloquy on grav- 
 itation ; the disquisition on drunkenness, on love, on eternity. 
 
 All in all, Etidorhpa is a book S7d generis et suce, speciei so far as we 
 know ; a book to stir the pulse, stir the brain, and stir the heart.