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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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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.