I.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed over the nebulous mass that lay without form and void in space, unknowing, unfeeling, yet guided ever by the workings of inexorable law.

“Brothers! Brothers!” whispered one statoblast to the others, “I feel a strange stirring within me, a consciousness of broader life; and, brothers, what is this shining whiteness creeping all about us? Brothers, I dreamed once, long ago, of a wonderful glory called light. I believe, brothers, that the light is breaking!”

“How foolish!” exclaimed the others. “We have no knowledge of such stirrings or new consciousness. Why should you have? No one has ever seen light. There never has been light and there never will be light. When will you cease to trouble us?” And all the statoblasts murmured their assent to this, and gathering more closely about their offending brother, crushed him into silence.

And slowly the dawn broke, and there was light upon the face of the earth, and the statoblasts saw it and saw each other, and looked upon each other and said:

“We knew that it would come.”

II.

The earth slept.

Age upon age came and went. The light grew stronger. Great green growths shot heavenward, lived their appointed time, fell back to earth and mingled with its mold. The rain fell and covered the heated world, and its vapors steamed up and fell back in rain again. The seas heaved and dashed, and approached and receded, age upon age.

“Brothers! Brothers!” cried one amoeboid cell to the rest, “I feel a strange impulse within me—a stirring as of power. Brothers, I believe that we have a wonderful destiny before use. I believe that we shall have power of motion.”

“Nonsense,” replied the others. “Why do you trouble us? We are at rest. We never have moved. We never shall move. There is nothing to move for if we did move.”

And all the cells breathed their assent to this, and grew more closely around their brother and pressed upon him and smothered him into silence.

And the ages rolled by, and presently motion came to the cells and they darted to and fro in the water, saying to each other: “We knew that we should move, in time.”

III.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed, and through them all the impulse of life beat on. From one form to another it travelled. Mammoth creatures walked the earth and mammoth vegetation covered its surface. From the north swept down the mighty frozen tide bearing death before it, and the mammoth passed away.

The dawning of a new life began to break upon the world, flowers bedecked the earth, and fruits multiplied and increased in the trees. Beneficent nature was planning for the good of her children.

“Friends!” cried one climbing anthropoid to the others, “I feel a strange impulse within me—a yearning as of aspirations undefined. Friends, I believe that we shall yet walk this earth erect!”

“Nonsense,” cried the rest, “we feel no such impulse, and why should you? We never have walked erect. We have no power to walk erect, nor desire to do so. Why do you trouble us with your imbecile folly?”

And gathering about him they drowned his voice in the chorus of their clamoring protests.

IV.

The earth slept.

Age upon age passed and man dwelt upon the earth and fought and toiled and traded with his kind. Man, king of creation, walking erect, engaged in competition with his fellows, and battled fiercely with them in the struggle for existence.

Kingdoms were set up and thrown down. Dynasties arose and died out. Whole peoples came and went upon the face of the earth, but still the struggle for existence went on; still men vied with each other in the competition of trade; still the strong struggled for greater gain and the weak went down, crushed, helpless, thrown to the earth, unable to do battle in the struggle for existence. The rich grew richer, the poor poorer, and the whole world was caught in the vise-like grip of competition.

“Oh, men!” cried one man to his fellows, “I feel the stirring of a strange impulse within me—the dawning of a great truth. We are brothers. Our lives are knit up in each other. Fraternity, and not competition, is to be the main spring of our racial life!”

“Nonsense!” replied his fellows. “You talk neither policy nor logic. Fraternity is a dream of the poets, an ideal for a future life. Competition is the life of trade.”

So they gathered about him and silenced him; but his light they could not quench, the truth they could not smother, hide it as they would. Up and down the earth it wanders, showing itself in a great deed here, a great thought there, the stirring of a mighty force yonder, yet beaten back by the throng of competing men.

And the earth sleeps.