The Continental Monthly, Vol. 6, No 4, August, 1864

They pass on out of sight.

A mountain pass.

The Man. I have labored many years to discover the final results of knowledge, pleasure, thought, passion, and have only succeeded in finding a deep and empty grave in my own heart!

I have indeed learned to know most things by their names—the feelings, for example; but I feel nothing, neither desires, faith, nor love. Two dim forebodings alone stir in the desert of my soul—the one, that my son is hopelessly blind; the other, that the society in which I have grown up is in the pangs of dissolution; I suffer as God enjoys, in myself only, and for myself alone....

Voice of the Guardian Angel. Love the sick, the hungry, the wretched! Love thy neighbor, thy poor neighbor, as thyself, and thou shalt be redeemed!

The Man. Who speaks?

Mephistophiles. Your humble servant. I often astonish travellers by my marvellous natural gifts: I am a ventriloquist.

The Man. I have certainly seen a face like that before in an engraving.

Mephistophiles (aside). The count has truly a good memory.

The Man. Blessed be Christ Jesus!

Mephistophiles. Forever and ever, amen!—(Muttering as he disappears behind a rock:) Curses on thee, and thy stupidity!

The Man. My poor son! through the sins of thy father and the madness of thy mother, thou art doomed to perpetual darkness—blind! Living only in dreams and visions, thou art never destined to attain maturity! Thou art but the shadow of a passing angel, flitting rapidly over the earth, and melting into the infinite of …

Ha! what an immense eagle that is fluttering just there where the stranger disappeared behind the rocks!

The Eagle. Hail! I greet thee! hail!

The Man. He is as black as night; he flies nearer; the whirring of his vast wings stirs me like the whistling hail of bullets in the fight.

The Eagle. Draw the sword of thy fathers, and combat for their power, their fame!

The Man. His wide wings spread above me; he gazes into my eyes with the charm of the rattlesnake—Ha! I understand thee!

The Eagle. Despair not! Yield not now, nor ever! Thy enemies, thy miserable enemies, will fall to dust before thee!

The Man. Going?… Farewell, then, among the rocks, behind which thou vanishest!… Whatever thou mayst be, delusion or truth, victory or ruin, I trust in thee, herald of fame, harbinger of glory!

Spirit of the mighty Past, come to my aid! and even if thou hast already returned to the bosom of God, quit it—and come to me! Inspire me with the ancient heroism! Become in me, force, thought, action!

Stooping to the ground, he turns up and throws aside a viper.

Curses upon thee, loathsome reptile! Even as thou diest, crushed and writhing, and nature breathes no sigh for thy fate, so will the destroyers of the Past perish in the abyss of nothingness, leaving no trace, and awakening no regret.

None of the countless clouds of heaven will pause one moment in their flight to look upon the thronging hosts of men now gathering to kill and slaughter!

First they—then I—

Boundless vault of blue, so softly pouring round the earth! the earth is a sick child, gnashing her teeth, weeping, struggling, sobbing; but thou hearest her not, nor tremblest, flowing in silence ever gently on, calm in thine own infinity!

Farewell forever, O mother nature! Henceforth I must wander among men! I must combat with my brethren!

A chamber. The Man. George. A Physician.

The Man. No one has as yet been of the least service to him; my last hopes are placed in you.

Physician. You do me much honor.

The Man. Tell me your opinion of the case.

George. I can neither see you, my father, nor the gentleman to whom you speak. Dark or black webs float before my eyes, and again something like a snake seems to crawl across them. Sometimes a golden cloud stands before them, flies up, and then falls down upon them, and a rainbow springs out of it; but there is no pain—they never hurt me—I do not suffer, father.

Physician. Come here, George, in the shade. How old are you?

He looks steadily into the eyes of the boy.

The Man. He is fourteen years old.

Physician. Now turn your eyes directly to the light, to the window.

The Man. What do you say, doctor?

Physician. The eyelids are beautifully formed, the white perfectly pure, the blue deep, the veins in good order, the muscles strong.

To George.

You may laugh at all this, George. You will be perfectly well; as well as I am.

To the Man (aside).

There is no hope. Look at the pupils yourself, count; there is not the least susceptibility to the light; there is a paralysis of the optic nerve.

George. Everything looks to me as if covered with black clouds.

The Man. Yes, they are open, blue, lifeless, dead!

George. When I shut my eyelids I can see more than when my eyes are open.

Physician. His mind is precocious; it is rapidly consuming his body. We must guard him against an attack of catalepsy.

The Man (leading the doctor aside). Save him, doctor, and the half of my estate is yours!

Physician. A disorganization cannot be reorganized.

He takes up his hat and cane.

Pardon me, count, but I can remain here no longer; I am forced now to visit a patient whom I am to couch for cataract.

The Man. For God's sake, do not desert us!

Physician. Perhaps you have some curiosity to know the name of this malady?…

The Man. Speak! is there no hope?

Physician. It is called, from the Greek, amaurosis.

Exit Physician.

The Man (pressing his son to his heart). But you can still see a little, George?

George. I can hear your voice, father!

The Man. Try if you can see. Look out of the window; the sun is shining brightly, the sky is clear.

George. I see crowds of forms circling between the pupils of my eyes and my eyelids—faces I have often seen before, the leaves of books I have read before....

The Man. Then you really do still see?

George. Yes, with the eyes of my spirit—but the eyes of my body have gone out forever.

The Man (falls on his knees as if to pray; pauses, and exclaims bitterly:) Before whom shall I kneel—to whom pray—to whom complain of the unjust doom crushing my innocent child?

He rises from his knees.

It is best to bear all in silence—God laughs at our prayers—Satan mocks at our curses—

A Voice. But thy son is a Poet—and what wouldst thou more?

The Physician and Godfather.

Godfather. It is certainly a great misfortune to be blind.

Physician. And at his age a very unusual one.

Godfather. His frame was always very fragile, and his mother died somewhat—so—so …

Physician. How did she die?

Godfather. A little so … you understand … not quite in her right mind.

The Man (entering). I pray you, pardon my intrusion at so late an hour, but for the last night or two my son has wakened up at twelve o'clock, left his bed, and talked in his sleep.

Will you have the kindness to follow me, and watch him to-night?

Physician. I will go to him immediately; I am very much interested in the observation of such phenomena.

Relations, Godfather, Physician, the Man, a Nurse—assembled in the sleeping apartment of George Stanislaus.

First Relation. Hush! hush! be quiet!

Second Relation. He is awake, but neither sees nor hears us.

Physician. I beg that you will all remain perfectly silent.

Godfather. This seems to be a most extraordinary malady.

George (rising from his seat). God! O God!

First Relation. How lightly he treads!

Second Relation. Look! he clasps his thin hands across his breast.

Third Relation. His eyelids are motionless; he does not move his lips, but what a sharp and thrilling shriek!

Nurse. Christ, shield him!

George. Depart from me, Darkness! I am a child of light and song, and what hast thou to do with me? What dost thou desire from me?

I do not yield myself to thee, although my sight has flown away upon the wings of the wind, and is flitting restlessly about through infinite space: it will return to me—my eyes will open with a flash of flame—and I will see the universe!

Godfather. He talks exactly as his mother did; he does not know what he is saying, I think his condition very critical.

Physician. He is in great danger.

Nurse. Holy Mother of God! take my eyes, and give them to the poor boy!

George. My mother, I entreat thee! O mother, send me thoughts and images, that I may create within myself a world like the one I have lost forever!

First Relation. Do you think, brother, it will be necessary to call a family consultation?

Second Relation. Be silent!

George. Thou answerest me not, my mother!

O mother, do not desert me!

Physician (to the Man). It is my duty to tell you the truth.

Godfather. Yes, to tell the truth is the duty and virtue of a physician!

Physician. Your son is suffering from incipient insanity, connected with an extraordinary excitability of the nervous system, which sometimes occasions, if I may so express myself, the strange phenomenon of sleeping and waking at the same time, as in the case now before us.

The Man (aside). He reads to me thy sentence, O my God!

Physician. Give me pen, ink, and paper.

He writes a prescription.

The Man. I think it best you should all now retire; George needs rest.

Several Voices. Good night! good night! good night!

George (waking suddenly). Are they wishing me good night, father?

They should rather speak of a long, unbroken, eternal night, but of no good one, of no happy dawn for me....

The Man. Lean on me, George. Let me support you to the bed.

George. What does all this mean, father?

The Man. Cover yourself up, and go quietly to sleep. The doctor says you will regain your sight.

George. I feel so very unwell, father; strange voices roused me from my sleep, and I saw mamma standing in a field of lilies....

He falls asleep.

The Man. Bless thee! bless thee, my poor boy!

I can give thee nothing but a blessing; neither happiness, nor light, nor fame are in my gift. The stormy hour of struggle approaches, when I must combat with the few against the many.

Tortured infant! what is then to become of thee, alone, helpless, blind, surrounded by a thousand dangers? Child, yet Poet, poor Singer without a hearer, with thy soul in heaven, and thy frail, suffering body still fettered to the earth—what is to be thy doom? Alas, miserable infant! thou most unfortunate of all the angels! my son! my son!

He buries his face in his hands.

Nurse (knocking at the door). The doctor desires to see his excellency as soon as convenient.

The Man. My good Katharine, watch faithfully and tenderly over my poor son!

Exit.

THE NORTH CAROLINA CONSCRIPT

Ballads of the WarHe lay on the field of Antietam,As the sun sank low in the west,And the life from his heart was ebbingThrough a ghastly wound in his breast.All around were the dead and the dying—A pitiful sight to see—And afar, in the vapory distance,Were the flying hosts of Lee.He raised himself on his elbow,And wistfully gazed around;Till he spied far off a soldierThreading the death-strewn ground.'Come here to me, Union soldier,Come here to me where I lie;I've a word to say to you, soldier;I must say it before I die.'The soldier came at his bidding.He raised his languid head:'From the hills of North CarolinaThey forced me hither,' he said.'Though I stood in the ranks of the rebels,And carried yon traitorous gun,I have never been false to my country,For I fired not a shot, not one.'Here I stood while the balls rained around me,Unmoved as yon mountain crag—Still true to our glorious Union,Still true to the dear old flag!'Brave soldier of North Carolina!True patriot hero wert thou!Let the laurel that garlands Antietam,Spare a leaf for thy lowly brow!1

DOES THE MOON REVOLVE ON ITS AXIS?

As this question has elicited considerable discussion, at various times, the following may be considered in elucidation.

A revolution on an axis is simply that of a body turning entirely round upon its own centre. The only centre around which the moon performs a revolution is very far from its own proper axis, being situated at the centre of the earth, the focus of its orbit, and as it has no other rotating motion around the earth, it cannot revolve on its own central axis.

A body fixed in position, or pierced and held by a rod, cannot revolve upon its centre, and when swung round by this rod or handle, performs only a revolution in orbit, as does the moon. The moon, during the process of forming a solid crust, by the constant attraction of the earth upon one side, only, became elongated, by calculation, about thirty miles (from its centre as a round body) toward the earth; consequently, by its form, like the body pierced with a rod, is transfixed by its gravitation, and, therefore, cannot revolve upon its own central axis.

The difference of axial revolution of a wheel or globe, is simply that the former turns upon an actual and the latter upon an imaginary axle, placed at its centre, Now, by way of analogy, fasten, immovably, a ball upon the rim of a revolving wheel, and then judge whether the ball can perform one simultaneous revolution on its own axis, in the same time that it performs a revolution in orbit, made by one complete turn of the wheel; and if not (which is assuredly the case, for it is fixed immovably), then neither can the moon perform such revolution on its axis, in the same time that it makes one revolution in orbit; because, like the ball immovably fixed upon the rim of the wheel, it, too, is transfixed by gravitation, from its very form, as if pierced with a rod, whose other extremity is attached to the centre of the earth, its only proper focus of motion, and, therefore, cannot revolve upon its own central axis.

A balloon elongated on one side, and carrying ballast on that side, would be like the moon in form, and when suspended in air, like the moon, too, in having its heaviest matter always toward the centre of the earth. Now let this balloon go entirely round the earth: it will, like the moon, continue to present the weightiest, elongated side always toward the centre of the earth; it, consequently, like the moon, cannot revolve upon its own central axis, as gravitation alone would prevent this anomaly, in both cases.

As well might it be said that a horse, harnessed to a beam, and going round a ring, or an imprisoned stone swung round in a sling, make each one simultaneous revolution on their axes, when their very positions are a sufficient refutation! or that the balls in an orrery, attached immovably to the ends of their respective rods, and turning with them (merely to show revolutions in orbits), perform each a simultaneous revolution on their axis, when such claim would be simply ridiculous, since the only revolution, in each case, has its focus outside of the ball, therefore orbital only; and so, too, with the moon, whose motion is precisely analogous, and prejudice alone can retain such an unphilosophical hypothesis as its axial revolution.

LUNAR CHARACTERISTICS

The moon, in consequence of its orbital revolution, having no connecting axial motion, has always presented but one side to the earth, so that in process of forming a crust, from its incipient molten state, it became, by the constant attraction of the earth upon one side, elongated toward our globe, now generally admitted to be by calculation about thirty miles, and proved by photographs, which also show an elongation. The necessary consequence of this constant attraction upon one side, has been not only to intensify volcanic action there, by the continued effect of gravitation, so long as its interior remained in a molten state, but from the same reasoning, to confine all such volcanic action exclusively to this side of the moon. Thus we have the reason for the violently disrupted state which that luminary presents to the telescopic observer, exceeding any analogy to be found upon our globe, as the earth's axial motion has prevented any similar concentrated action upon any particular part of its surface, either from solar or lunar attraction. Another marked effect of the elongation of the moon toward the earth has been to elevate its visible side high above its atmosphere (which would have enveloped it as a round body), and in consequence into an intensely cold region, producing congelation, in the form of frost and snow, which necessarily envelop its entire visible surface. These effects took place while yet the crust was thin and frequently disrupted by volcanic action, and wherever such action took place, the fiery matter ejected necessarily dissolved the contiguous masses of frost and snow, and these floods of water, as soon as they receded from the fiery element, were immediately converted into lengthened ridges of ice, diverging from the mountain summits like streams of lava. Hence many of the apparent lava streams are but ridges of ice, and in consequence, depending upon the angle of reflection (determined by the age of the moon, which is but its relative position between the sun and earth), all observers are struck with the brilliancy of the reflected light from many of those long lines of ridges.

The general surface of the moon presents to the telescopic observer just that drear, cold, and chalk-like aspect, which our snow-clad mountains exhibit when the angle of reflection is similar to that in which we behold the lunar surface. In consequence, its mild light is due to the myriads of sparkling crystals, which diffusively reflect the rays of the sun.

As an attentive observer of the moon, I have been much puzzled to know why none of the hosts of observers, or scientific treatises, have taken this rational view of such necessary condition of the moon, deduced from the main facts of its original formation, here named and generally conceded. In the place of which, we still have stereotyped, in many late editions on astronomy, the names and localities of numerous seas and lakes, which advancing knowledge should long since have discarded.

Besides the above conclusions, which necessitate a snowy covering to the moon, none of the planets exhibit that drear white, except the poles of Mars, which are admitted to be snow by all astronomers, as we see them come and go with the appropriate seasons of that planet; whereas the continents of Mars appear dark, as analogously they do upon our earth, under the same solar effulgence. The analogy of sunlight, when reflected from our lofty mountains (at say thirty or forty miles distant) not covered with snow, viewed under the most favorable circumstances of brilliant light and the best angle of reflection, with no more of intervening atmosphere, always present sombre tints; whether viewed with the unaided eye or through a telescope. Such analogy clearly proves that no objects short of an absolute white could present such an appearance as light does upon lunar objects, viewed with high powers, in which the same drear white remains, without any greater concentration of light (as we can see objects in the moon whose diameter is five hundred feet) than is presented to our unaided eye from our own mountain masses. In viewing the moon with high powers, there is, in fact, a much greater amount of visible atmosphere intervening than can possibly apply in beholding objects on our earth, at even a few miles' distance, since if we look at lunar objects with a power of one thousand times, our atmosphere is thus magnified a thousand times also.

The main physical features of the visible half of the moon, with a good telescopic power, present an enormously elevated table land, traversed, here and there, with slightly elevated long ridges, and the general surface largely pitted with almost innumerable deep cusps or valleys, of every size, from a quarter of a mile to full thirty miles in diameter; generally circular and surrounded with elevated ridges, some rising to lofty jagged summits above the surrounding plain. These ridges, on their inner sides, show separate terraces and mural precipices, while their outer slopes display deeply scarred ravines and long spurs at their bases. These cusps, or deep valleys, are the craters of extinct volcanoes, and in their centres have generally one or two isolated sub-mountain peaks, occasionally with divided summits, which were the centres of expiring volcanic action, similar to those that exist in our own volcanic regions. Besides which the Lunar Apennines, so called, present to the eye a long range of mountains with serrated summits, on one side gradually sloped, with terraces, spurs, and ravines, and the other side mostly precipitous, casting long shadows, which clearly define the forms of their summits—all these objects presenting the same dead white everywhere.

Doubtless the farther side of the moon, which has not been subject to the same elongating or elevating process, nor the above-named causes for volcanic disruption, presents a climate and vegetation fitted for the abode of sentient beings. This side alone presenting an aspect of extreme desolation, far surpassing our polar regions.

It is generally stated in astronomical works, that shadows projected from lunar objects are intensely black, owing, it is stated, to there being no reflecting atmosphere; whereas in my long-continued habit of observation, those shadows appear no more black than those on our earth, when they fall on contrasting snowy surfaces. The reason for which, in the absence of a lunar atmosphere, to render light diffusive, is the brilliant reflection from snow crystals, upon all contiguous objects, which lie in an angle to receive the same, and in consequence I have often observed the forms of objects not directly illuminated by the sun.

The occasional apparent retention of a star on the limb of the moon, just before or after an occultation, seen by some observers, and thus evidencing the existence of some atmosphere, is doubtless due to the slight oscillations of the moon, by which we see a trifle more than half of that body, during which the atmosphere of its opposite side slightly impinges upon this.

A GLANCE AT PRUSSIAN POLITICS

PART II

We come now to the beginning of the present stage in the development of constitutional government in Prussia. It will have been noticed that the promises of Frederick William III. were not that he would grant a strictly popular constitution. His intention was that the different estates of the realm should be represented in the proposed national diet, the constitution recognizing a difference in the dignity of the different classes of inhabitants, and giving to each a share in the national government proportionate to its dignity. His son, at his coronation, promised to maintain the efficiency of the ordinances of June 5, 1823, and to secure a further development of the principles of this (so-called) constitution. Encouraged by this assurance, the Liberals labored to secure from him the full realization of their hopes. Frederick William IV. was just the man with whom such exertions could be used with good hope of success. He was intelligent enough to be fully conscious of the fact and the significance of the popular request for a constitution, and, though of course personally disinclined to reduce his power to a nullity, he had yet not a strong will, and had no wish to involve himself in a conflict with his subjects. Accordingly, in 1841, he convoked a diet in each province, and proposed the appointment of committees from the estates, who should act as counsel to the king when the provincial diets were not in session. These diets in subsequent sessions discussed the subject of a national diet, and proposed to the king the execution of the order issued in 1815. At length, February 8, 1847, he issued a royal charter, introducing, in fact, what had so often and so long before been promised, a constitution. The substance of the charter was that, as often as the Government should need to contract a loan, or introduce new taxes, or increase existing taxes, the diets of the provinces should be convoked to a national diet; that the committees of the provincial diets (as appointed in 1842) should be henceforth periodically, as one body, convoked; that to the diet, and, when it was not in session, to the committee, should be conveyed the right to have a deciding voice in the above-mentioned cases. April 11, 1847, the diet assembled for the first time; January 17, 1848, the united committee of the estates.