I WAS musing alone one hot afternoon,
In the shade of a vine on a bright day in June;
Not a sound in the air but the hum of the bees,
Nor a zephyr to sway the tops of the trees;
The cricket seemed tired of the shrill noise he made,
The butterfly folded his wings in the shade,
The flowers, so fragrant when day had begun,
No longer breathed perfume before the fierce sun:
O’er nature a dull sleepy silence had grown,
And even the clouds seemed moveless as stone.
Reclined in a chair, with my face towards the sky,
The tall posts of the telegraph thought-road near by,
I fancied I heard every word sent along,
The short business message—the tale of some wrong,
An accident, not on the Jersey railway,
The prices of stocks—events of the day,
The lover’s popped question, brief, pithy and sweet,
The assent of his charmer, his wishes to meet,
A summons to haste to the bed of a friend,
Whose life’s flickering taper drew near to its end,
An invite to a wedding, a lecture or ball,
A county convention—a lyceum hall;
Like leaves by the wild winter wind swept along,
They came and they passed in a vast countless throng,
And I watched and I listened with eager desire
To find out what passed through the quick thrilling wire.
The date I was sure of—again and again.
It was “nineteen hundred and threescore and ten.”
Came the first to a merchant of rank in Japan,
Saying “Forward those teas as soon as you can.”
In two minutes returned, “I will do as you say,
But send me the Bibles you promised to-day.”
“Buy for me,” said a lady in Boston, in haste,
To a dear Cuban friend, “(I trust to your taste);
A barrel of oranges, fresh from the tree,
A dozen pine-apples, the fairest you see,
Two bunches of large, ripe bananas—a cask
Of the best of preserves—’tis all that I ask,
And a few limes or lemons—smooth, juicy and bright,
In time to prepare for my party to-night.”
In half an hour came, propelled through the air,
The fruits and the sweets packed with exquisite care,
And the fair one, delighted, sent word to each friend
Far or near, a long sociable evening to spend.
Methought that they came by balloon or by rail,
By the pneumatic tube, by steam or by sail,
At the rate of a thousand of miles in a day,
To the hub of New England hurrying away.
The next bit of news my very soul stirred,
’Twas the greatest explosion that ever was heard:
An engine blew up, attached to a train
Of a hundred full cars on the Omaha plain—
To atoms it flew, but no one was hurt,
Only some of the passengers covered with dirt.
The fireman was found half a mile from the spot,
Safely lodged in a village whose name I’ve forgot,
While the engineer’s body was plunged in the sand
Hid entirely from sight save a part of one hand.
Both were struck with amaze at the quick change of base,
But the sole damage done, was a scratch on each face.
The reason was clear—their lives were insured
And their limbs and their senses forever secured
By a policy made with the greatest reliance
In the “Fearless Assurance and Perpetual Defiance.”
The next sound arresting my listening ear,
Was so soft and so musical, gentle and clear,
I knew it was sent by a company famed,
(The Harmonic Acoustic Tube Union, named,)
To a dozen performers, each one at his home,
In London, Pekin, Paris, Athens and Rome,
To give in New York, at mass concerts free,
Oratorios by telegraph under the sea.
Then was heard such a hum from the mingled replies,
I could hear nothing more, but, trusting my eyes,
Looked around as I strolled along each crowded street,
Some items to learn or acquaintance to meet.
The houses looked strange as if turned all to stone,
With huge gaudy creepers and ivy o’ergrown.
Whether brick, wood or plaster, no signs of decay
Could be seen, though an age had no doubt rolled away
Since each corner-stone was laid deep and fast
By the wise master builder, all time to outlast.
’Twas a certain tried method, not patent, for all
Enjoyed, free from tax, what inventions we call.
A liquid cement was poured on each place,
That hardened in time to a smooth flinty face.
No wear could affect it—hot, cold, wet or dry,
It was always the same to the touch and the eye.
“Here’s a hint” I exclaimed, “to the men of our day,
Whose work is so apt to break or decay.”
“We are all honest, friend!” said some one quite near,
Your remark shows how little you know of us here.”
I turned to reply, but no one was in sight,
When I saw with surprise and indeed with delight,
That a double-track railway, as smooth as a floor,
Had been thoroughly laid, a few years before.
A train was approaching—no whistle was heard
In loud screeching tones to drown every word,
But, soft as the evening wind wafted along,
Rung out the soft notes of that sweet Sabbath song
“There’s a happy land, far away, far away!”
’Till I thought they foretold a millenial day.
I wondered to see cars go noiselessly by,
When the rubber-tired wheels arrested my eye,
While each one inside looked calm and composed.
As they talked or they wrote, reflected or dozed,
And no thought of danger produced any dread,
For a tall thin Director walked quickly ahead.
In less than a minute the cars disappeared,
And I judged, on that line no collision was feared.
Rambling on, as before, along the wide street,
A smooth wooden pavement tempting the feet,
Some boys stopped to greet me in passing to school,
’Twas the custom of all, not enforced by a rule.
“Can you tell me, my children,” I asked, with a smile,
Where to find the hotel, to tarry awhile?”
“My dear sir,” replied one with a bright, thoughtful face,
“I never have seen in my life such a place.
The word sometimes is read on history’s page.
But no buildings so-called, exist in this age.
All houses are open to strangers who find
A home and warm friends if to stay they’re inclined.”
“Then show me, I pray, Dr. Cure-em-all’s room,”
“He died long ago—none can point out his tomb.”
No sickness is known here—diseases nor pains—
But pure blood is bounding in even old veins.”
In doubt, I enquired, “Where is now Lawyer Grip?”
“Oh! he gave, as they say, all his clients the slip;
Some affirm that he went over seas—others think
That he drowned his senses, and life too, in drink.
Here his sign you may see, though the letters are pale,
With the emblem beneath, a fox’s long tail.
Happy years to you, sir! to school we must haste
Nor longer the precious, short study-hours waste.”
They ran on in glee and left me alone,
Still in quest of the tavern that once I had known.
At last it appeared, but such a great change
Had been made, that it looked surprisingly strange.
The low dirty room, dark with stains and with smoke,
Where revelry oft midnight sleepers awoke,
The scene of mad riot and murderous strife,
With blasphemy vile and obscenity rife,
Was now the clean entrance that led to a hall,
Not built, as with us, for one sect, but for all,
Where the rich and the poor, a true Christian band,
In loving communion as brothers might stand,
To unite in thanksgiving, with hearts in accord,
To the same risen Saviour—one Father and Lord.
Night and day tones of prayer and praise filled the air
’Till the Spirit’s blest presence seemed hovering there;
No priest, man ordained, cried, “Know, brother, the Lord!”
Our High Priest and Minister gave the sure word,
While o’erhead, wreathed with clouds, in letters of light,
Shone the words, “Be ye holy and clean in my sight,
For the pure in heart only my face shall behold,
And forever dwell safe in the heavenly fold.”
How long in that temple divine was my stay,
I never have known, as no words can convey.
The sense of the bliss, and ecstacy felt
In my spirit, unconscious of all as I knelt,
Save the heavenly gift of Infinite Love
Descending on all from the Father above.
With one fervent prayer for His grace to sustain
And guide me, my steps were turned earthward again.
Some ruins near by, I found to disclose
The spot where in old time a theatre rose,
In one day by spontaneous combustion destroyed,
While the place where it stood was a huge gaping void.
Men were clearing the rubbish and cinders away,
Odd relics of former years bringing to day;
Two masks that still seemed to be making grimaces,
Supposed to be dried skins of two actors’ faces;
Then a long rusted steel, whose use none could divine,
In a scarlet robe wrapped, with one blazoned line
Inscribed thereupon—’twas the name of a play,
And the legible words were, “The Devil’s Birthday.”
A hemlet of copper, with vizor of brass
Was seen melted down, in a black, confused mass,
With beads, trinkets, buttons and jewelry rare,
To allure the gay worldling or deck the frail fair.
“How sad!” said a voice, “they could ever bestow
Time and thought on such follies a century ago!
But soon shall we raise on this desolate site,
A house sacred to truth, to knowledge and right,
Whence millions of Bibles shall issue, to bless
Distant nations still hungering for righteousness.”
Musing deeply on all I had seen and had heard,
Of the wondrous changes I said not a word,
But slowly went on, of adventures in quest,
In a spot with such peace and prosperity blest.
Each face, young and old, with intelligence beamed;
Every eye with love and with sympathy gleamed;
No discord was known—no unrestrained tongue
Gave utterance to words of slander or wrong;
Such a sense of true happiness filled all the air,
It seemed more than the spirit of mortal could bear;
And the heavenly anthem re-echoed again,
“To God all the glory and good will to men!”
Pure fountains of water unceasingly flowed,
Till all nature with health and with happiness glowed;
On every side, in long colonnade,
Pines, cedars and palms, threw their deep cooling shade
On seats, for the tired, heated travellers made;
While the thick boughs above were filled with a throng
Of birds of gay plumage and exquisite song,
Unsuspicious of man, for his nature was changed
And his love for all beings, no longer estranged.
They lived and they loved the green alcoves among,
Or reared, year by year, unmolested, their young.
Wrong, crime and deceit existed no more;
All houses were open—unguarded each door;
No bolts and no bars told of robbers by night,
No high prison walls offended the sight,
Stores of merchandise lay exposed to full view,
For at last men were found to be honest and true.
None was tempted one moment his neighbor to cheat,
No deception was practiced in house or on street,
But one price was asked for each article sold,
And the sole money used was silver and gold.
None knew what a panic in currency meant,
A run upon banks or a gain cent per cent;
Stock gamblers on change no longer were seen,
“Bulls” and “Bears,” were strange names that once might have been.
Of palaces built by legalized theft
Or foul speculation, no vestige was left.
Fraud in buying or selling was wholly unknown;
Light weight and short measure had obsolete grown;
Heaped high and pressed down and still running over
Was the sole rule and practice that I could discover,
And, as no long accounts were kept day after day,
No bankrupts were heard of—no failures to pay.
It seemed as if flying through vast unknown space,
At last I had reached some wonderful place,
Where sin had not entered to blast and defile
Scenes blest at creation by Deity’s smile.
Unlike our own earth, since the dawning of Time,
Despoiled by oppression or blackened by crime.
Rambling on in this deep contemplative mood,
Before a vast pile I instinctively stood;
High in air rose a dome on which glittered a star,
Like a lonely night beacon to wanderers afar,
And on it, in lines pure as heaven’s own blue,
“The old is now past and all things are new.”
I entered—strange forms arrested the eye,
Of human inventions in ages gone by;
Tools for use—toys for pleasure—weapons of war,
Idols, altars and priestly shrines worshipped no more;
Here was seen the rude ponderous Chaldean plow,
With the crown that adorned Melchizedek’s brow,
The first harp that was made by old Tubal Cain,
An image of Bel from a Syrian plain,
The chariot of Pharoah, by Miriam sung,
For ages of silence with Red sea-weed hung,
Now placed on the threshold of Dagon’s black shrine
Where fell the foul god, smit by vengeance divine;
Huge engines found buried in Egypt’s deep sand,
No doubt, by the builders of pyramids planned,
Jewish hammers once used on the mountains of Tyre
Persian censers where glowed perpetual fire,
Pagodas from China, of porcelain rare,
Gilt, silvered and papered with exquisite care,
And the image of gold on Dura’s vast plain
Where the furnace of fire was thrice heated in vain.
Here, lay the light frame of an Indian canoe,
There, a square Roman gallery attracted the view.
All these and a thousand more relics of old,
In its measureless rooms did the edifice hold.
But, greater by far, both in number and cost,
Of murderous implements grim war could boast,
To cut, maim and mingle the fair human form
In private revenge or in battle’s wild storm.
In another huge hall lay the rough knotty brand,
Still stained as it dropped from Cain’s murderous hand;
The spears and the swords of nations of yore,
Ere the deluge a vile generation swept o’er.
Here stood the old chariots, each wheel with a scythe,
Beneath which men prostrate in anguish would writhe,
There, ranged as in former stern battle array
Shone the armor of brass used in Rome’s warlike day,
Helmets, spears, shields, javelins, pikes, swords and slings
And the banners, surmounted by eagles’ broad wings.
The cross-bows of England and rude culverin
Side by side with the Fijean war-club were seen.
The battle-axe, steeped in Mohammedan gore,
The Indian tomahawk—Scottish claymore
And the rude scalping knife of the savage there lay
With the civilized bayonet rusting away.
Guns, pistols, revolvers, mortars, cannon and bombs
Were placed in the midst of gongs and of drums.
Here new patent rifles from near and from far
Disclosed the latest improvements in war.
All sorts of vessels for fight were displayed,
The Malayan war junk, for piracy made,
The frigate, with rows of black guns gaping wide,
And the iron-ribbed Monitor’s steel-plated side.
On the long lofty walls of the building, were hung
Scenes of strife, from the day that our planet was young,
To the hour, when mankind, by one solemn vow,
Were pledged no longer such crimes to allow.
’Twas a sickening sight—like demons from hell,
Glared the eyes of the wounded and dying who fell,
Trampled down in hot haste, like the mire in the street,
Unregarded or spurned by the wayfarers’ feet.
Above, the dun war-clouds their canopy drew,
And with horror I shrunk from the terrible view,
Weeping much that man, made in likeness divine,
To conflict and bloodshed should ever incline.
But, as gleams of bright silver will oft line a cloud
Cold, dismal and black as a funeral shroud,
So, high o’er the red tide of battle, a scroll
Inscribed by an angel-hand, seemed to unroll:
“The work of the just and the righteous is peace—
Its effect, rest and surety that never shall cease.”
Light breaking again in my sorrowful heart,
With more cheerful feelings I rose to depart,
But again was amazed, more relics to find
Of the devil’s vast power and rule o’er mankind.
Man’s record was here with Slavery’s stains,
Its whips and its handcuffs—its fetters and chains.
In the midst, the old time-worn whipping-post stood,
Its platform deep stained with long streams of blood,
And on it the form of a suppliant slave
Beseeching for mercy and aid no one gave.
Jeers and taunts from the crowd were the only reply
And demoniac hate shone forth from each eye.
Near by was an auction, whence rose the loud cry,
“Likely negroes for sale! come, gentlemen, buy!
Here goes a mulatto, young, handsome and sound,
Note her beautiful teeth, her limbs smooth and round.
Mark her elegant bust, her long glossy hair,
And her ankle that will with Venus’ compare.
Such a bright, lovely face is not seen every day;
Then put her up, gentlemen, what do you say?
Not a thousand is bid!—she must go on the shelf;
At such a low price I will take her myself.
Two thousand! “down came the quick hammer, “she’s gone.”
The auctioneer growled in a low sneering tone,
And the only reply was the slave’s subdued groan.
Here’s another chance, gentlemen—come near the stand!
A healthy young negress, brought up by hand,
Her regular teeth prove her yet in her prime,
While her well-knitted arms tell of work in her time.
She can cook, wash and iron—pick cotton or sew,
And the twins at her side, productiveness show.
We will sell them together or singly, as best
You may judge, for their owner no choice has expressed.
How much shall I have for the mother, alone?
’Tis a positive sale of flesh and of bone—
Six hundred is all that I hear—what a price!
You may double it safely, is all my advice.
Seven, eight—cheap as dirt! nine, ten, are you done?
A bargain for you, sir! an A., number one!
And now for a boy; stand up, you young dog!
Don’t be blubbering there like a water-soaked log;
Give a fair bid at once—right quick, if you please,
My friends, for I shall not dwell long upon these!”
“O! massa!” for mercy, my darling boys buy!
Cried the wo-stricken mother, “without them I die!”
A tittering laugh was the sole answer given,
But I knew that appeal was recorded in heaven.
Again the sharp ring of the hammer was heard,
And with it, the oath-enforced threatening word,
“Tear the niggers apart, gag the woman’s black mouth!
Let the young rascals stay while she goes further south.”
I felt my blood boil—my arm rising to deal
One blow at the wretch, conscience hardened as steel,
When a low, gentle voice I could but obey,
Whispered: “Vengeance is mine—I the Lord, will repay!”
Looking upwards, sweet faces, like angels’ were seen,
Of those who the friends of the bondsman had been.
Once, hated and scorned by the proud ones of earth,
None could tell in that day the amount of their worth.
They toiled to remove all oppression and crime,
With faith ever strong in their mission sublime.
In the white harvest field, ’till their sands were all run,
And the welcome was heard, “Faithful servant! well done!”
Once more, to another apartment I turned;
My bosom, with more indignation yet burned,
When I viewed all the engines of torture employed
Under guise of religion, when thousands destroyed,
Confessed before man a God answering prayer,
And died in the faith they had lived to declare.
Here were thumbscrews, racks, pillories, scaffolds and thongs—
Here, the irons oft-heated to bore human tongues,
With the chains and the whips to torment, maim and slay
Christian sufferers in dungeons remote from the day.
In the middle arose the huge black corner stone
Of that building of Rome, long centuries known,
When the devil’s own priests loved to torture and pain,
And autos de-fe soiled the blue skies of Spain.
“O! shame!” I exclaimed, that Satan should bind
In such hellish arts the souls of mankind—
That man, the object of Infinite Love.
The cruelest foe to his brother should prove!”
“Too true, my dear sir,” a mild voice replied,
And, turning, I saw an old man at my side,
Whose silver locks swept his broad shoulders—whose brow
Showed no furrow or scar from Time’s rugged plow;
His eye beaming bright as in infancy’s days,
While his every word seemed attuned unto praise.
“Too true! but ’tis past—all the horrors of war,
Persecution and slavery, now are no more.
This edifice, piled with mementos of sin,

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