THE GOLOSHES OF FORTUNE [5]
my body lie here on the steps."
There are certain things in the world which should be uttered very
cautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes of
Fortune. Now we shall hear what happened to the watchman.
Nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; we
have proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on a
railroad or in a steamship across the sea. But this speed is like
the movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, when
compared to the swiftness with which light travels; light flies
nineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, and
electricity is more rapid still. Death is an electric shock which we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated
soul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earth
ninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds;
but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second to
accomplish the same distance. The space between the heavenly bodies
is, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walk
from one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electric
shock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have on the goloshes of Fortune.
In a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than two
hundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lighter
material than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallen
snow. He found himself on one of the circular range of mountains which
we see represented in Dr. Madler's large map of the moon. The interior
had the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depth
about half a mile from the brim. Within this hollow stood a large
town; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the white
of an egg into a glass of water. The materials of which it was built
seemed just as soft, and pictured forth cloudy turrets and sail-like
terraces, quite transparent, and floating in the thin air. Our earth
hung over his head like a great dark red ball. Presently he discovered
a number of beings, which might certainly be called men, but were very
different to ourselves. A more fantastical imagination than Herschel's
must have discovered these. Had they been placed in groups, and
painted, it might have been said, "What beautiful foliage!" They had
also a language of their own. No one could have expected the soul of
the watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for our
souls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined to
believe. Do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent?
each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character,
and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his waking
hours. How clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have not
seen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with all
their peculiarities as living realities. In fact, this memory of the
soul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it can
bring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "every
idle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered with
the lips. The spirit of the watchman therefore understood very well
the language of the inhabitants of the moon. They were disputing about
our earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. The
atmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants of
the moon to exist there. They maintained that the moon alone was
inhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old world
people lived. They likewise talked politics.
But now we will descend to East Street, and see what happened to
the watchman's body. He sat lifeless on the steps. His staff had
fallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about which
his honest soul was wandering.
"What is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. But there
was no answer from the watchman.
There are certain things in the world which should be uttered very
cautiously; doubly so when the speaker has on his feet the goloshes of
Fortune. Now we shall hear what happened to the watchman.
Nearly every one is acquainted with the great power of steam; we
have proved it by the rapidity with which we can travel, both on a
railroad or in a steamship across the sea. But this speed is like
the movements of the sloth, or the crawling march of the snail, when
compared to the swiftness with which light travels; light flies
nineteen million times faster than the fleetest race-horse, and
electricity is more rapid still. Death is an electric shock which we
receive in our hearts, and on the wings of electricity the liberated
soul flies away swiftly, the light from the sun travels to our earth
ninety-five millions of miles in eight minutes and a few seconds;
but on the wings of electricity, the mind requires only a second to
accomplish the same distance. The space between the heavenly bodies
is, to thought, no farther than the distance which we may have to walk
from one friend's house to another in the same town; yet this electric
shock obliges us to use our bodies here below, unless, like the
watchman, we have on the goloshes of Fortune.
In a very few seconds the watchman had travelled more than two
hundred thousand miles to the moon, which is formed of a lighter
material than our earth, and may be said to be as soft as new fallen
snow. He found himself on one of the circular range of mountains which
we see represented in Dr. Madler's large map of the moon. The interior
had the appearance of a large hollow, bowl-shaped, with a depth
about half a mile from the brim. Within this hollow stood a large
town; we may form some idea of its appearance by pouring the white
of an egg into a glass of water. The materials of which it was built
seemed just as soft, and pictured forth cloudy turrets and sail-like
terraces, quite transparent, and floating in the thin air. Our earth
hung over his head like a great dark red ball. Presently he discovered
a number of beings, which might certainly be called men, but were very
different to ourselves. A more fantastical imagination than Herschel's
must have discovered these. Had they been placed in groups, and
painted, it might have been said, "What beautiful foliage!" They had
also a language of their own. No one could have expected the soul of
the watchman to understand it, and yet he did understand it, for our
souls have much greater capabilities then we are inclined to
believe. Do we not, in our dreams, show a wonderful dramatic talent?
each of our acquaintance appears to us then in his own character,
and with his own voice; no man could thus imitate them in his waking
hours. How clearly, too, we are reminded of persons whom we have not
seen for many years; they start up suddenly to the mind's eye with all
their peculiarities as living realities. In fact, this memory of the
soul is a fearful thing; every sin, every sinful thought it can
bring back, and we may well ask how we are to give account of "every
idle word" that may have been whispered in the heart or uttered with
the lips. The spirit of the watchman therefore understood very well
the language of the inhabitants of the moon. They were disputing about
our earth, and doubted whether it could be inhabited. The
atmosphere, they asserted, must be too dense for any inhabitants of
the moon to exist there. They maintained that the moon alone was
inhabited, and was really the heavenly body in which the old world
people lived. They likewise talked politics.
But now we will descend to East Street, and see what happened to
the watchman's body. He sat lifeless on the steps. His staff had
fallen out of his hand, and his eyes stared at the moon, about which
his honest soul was wandering.
"What is it o'clock, watchman?" inquired a passenger. But there
was no answer from the watchman.