PRIVATE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 DF-J. S T .A. INT T O IBsT ., 
 Smyrna, N.Y. 
 
 VaL ...... fcu ---- 
 
 
 
 WfrU*' 
 
 University of California* Berkeley 
 

PRESS NOTICES OF "PROMETHEUS." 
 
 " The * stolen fire ' glows in every one of the ten books." Christian Register. 
 
 " As a meditation on the great problem of duty, it is a remarkable production." 
 Index. 
 
 " Of the author of this poem, it may be said he has drawn the materials from his 
 innermost being. It has the charm and force of the eye-witness. It is the solid, sincere 
 material throughout." Times. 
 
 "The gravest problems of the day are discussed with a depth, originality, and 
 boldness far from common." Pioneer. 
 
 " It is crammed with life, thought, and profound emotion, poured forth, it seems to 
 me, with extraordinary richness and beauty." Dr. Henry W. Bellows. 
 
 "It paints in glowing language the struggles of humanity." Truthseeker. 
 " A gem worthy to be set in every library." Investigator. 
 "Original, high, and noble." John W. Chadwick. 
 " Grandeur of conception, fine thoughts." Nation. 
 
 " The value of the book lies in the vigor, consistency, and eloquence with which 
 the moral temptations of to-day are set forth." Scribner's Monthly. 
 
 "The soul of a true poet shines out in many grand and beautiful passages." 
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GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 A ROMANCE. 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL P. PUTNAM, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "PROMETHEUS," "GOTTLIEB," AND "INGERSOLL AND JESUS." 
 
 I scorn the outward deity of men, 
 
 The sovereign of the skies, the image cold 
 
 Of a dull terror and barbaric thought ; 
 
 But to the infinite sublime within, 
 
 The essence of the human soul I have, 
 
 The deity that honest manhood makes, 
 
 To this I yield with ready heart and hand. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 GEORGE CHAINEY, 
 51 FORT AVENUE, . . BOSTON, MASS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I WISH this effort to be judged not simply as a novel but as a book 
 written with a purpose, to express the poetry and romance that lie in the 
 scientific conception of the universe. With the passing away of the old 
 ideas, there is no loss of their real beauty and grandeur. They still 
 remain in the hope and progress of the race in new and more brilliant 
 forms. Science is a revealer of boundless possibilities. It does not de- 
 stroy, it builds up. It carries on the life of the race, not by breaking, but 
 by unfolding what is noblest in the achievements of the past. With new 
 standards of duty and happiness, virtue becomes more splendid and at- 
 tractive. I have endeavored, though imperfectly, to express in the lights 
 and shades of fiction these fresh and varied aspects of the world, to 
 delineate the ampler thoughts and feelings that we have when we 
 accept things as they really are. In the surrender of theology, we come 
 to Man himself, with his wonderful faculties and character and growth ; 
 and herein is room for the largest imagination. The loves and aspirations 
 of man do not grow less, but greater, with his advancing attainments. 
 Literature and art feed upon the truth ; and in the truth as science, and 
 science only, can make it known, will the genius of man reach its grandest 
 exaltation, and rejoice in its richest inspiration. I dedicate this book to 
 all those who believe in liberty, science, and humanity, and who labor for 
 the welfare of THIS WORLD. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 BY 8. P. PUTNAM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IT was an out-of-the-way place. On three 
 sides of it were huge fragmentary moun- 
 tains, the tallest of which, twenty miles 
 away, swept up into flashing crowns of 
 snow. To the eastward, it was open to the 
 plains that rolled far off in pale verdures to 
 the horizon. It was called Golden Throne. 
 The precious metal had been found in great 
 abundance there at one time, and thousands 
 had swarmed to it and gone away. Only 
 a few were now left. They could make a 
 comfortable living, and that satisfied them. 
 
 Two men sat talking after their day's 
 work, on the trunk of a fallen tree. 
 
 " I tell you," said one, " I haven't any 
 faith in men. Give 'em a chance, and they'll 
 cheat you of your last cent. I've been all 
 over the world, and that's my creed." 
 
 " A harsh creed," said the other. " Your 
 own unbelief helps to make men look mean." 
 
 " Look at the folks here. How many can 
 you trust? There's Gooch toiling like a 
 slave for gold, and he prays every night. 
 He'd kill me, if he could and not be found 
 out. He's deacon of a church somewhere 
 Down East. When he gets rich, he'll go back 
 and put a new bell in the steeple, and every- 
 body will laud him to the skies. That's the 
 inside and the outside of human nature." 
 
 " It may be the outside, but I hardly think 
 
 it's altogether the inside. It's made out of 
 better stuff than you imagine." 
 
 " I don't imagine much about it. I take 
 it as it is." 
 
 " There, I differ with you again, Charlie. 
 My experience teaches me that goodness is 
 in the majority." 
 
 " A pretty slim majority. You are younger 
 than I am, and that's why you are so hope- 
 ful." 
 
 " I think I always shall be hopeful, no 
 matter how old I grow. It's in my temper- 
 ament, I suppose." 
 
 " And your bringing up, too, I guess. I 
 was brought up Orthodox and taught total 
 depravity and regeneration. I only half- 
 learned my lesson, though. I have found 
 plenty of total depravity and mighty little 
 regeneration, even among church folks. In 
 fact, the folks that are not born again seem 
 to have the best of it. But there's not much 
 to choose. The devil has got the go in this 
 world, and he'll keep it. I used to go to Sun- 
 day-school and say my prayers, and listen 
 to long sermons and read the Bible through, 
 I don't know how many times, for the sake 
 of a prize ; but it did no good. I never got 
 converted ; and, if I had been, I should only 
 have fared the worse. I've never seen a 
 really converted man yet. If he improves 
 in one thing, he grows bad in another : if he 
 stops swearing, he takes to lying and steal- 
 
10 
 
 GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 ing. That's religion, so far as I've seen any- 
 thing about it." 
 
 "Your Orthodox life didn't do you much 
 good, I see. I never tried it, and so haven't 
 made a failure. My father and mother had 
 no religion, and I was never bothered with it- 
 I never went to Sunday-school or church. I 
 used to go hunting and fishing, or stay at 
 home and read. So I enjoyed life, and have 
 ever since ; and, not being taught total de- 
 pravity, I have seen little of it. I have not 
 sought regeneration, being born well enough 
 the first time. I have always been satisfied 
 with this world, and never hankered after 
 heaven. So far as I can understand it, re- 
 generation is only putting on a new paint ; 
 and it dries up mighty quick. I have never 
 expected much of it. I like things as nat- 
 ure made them." 
 
 "Well, you've been more lucky than I, 
 Bill. If I'd had less Orthodoxy and more 
 sense in my bringing up, I might have had 
 more confidence in men. Orthodoxy culti- 
 vates the devil in one, and it makes him see 
 a devil in every other. I suppose that is the 
 reason why it's so popular, because it puts 
 such an emphasis on all the mean things in 
 the universe. At any rate, I hate it ; but at 
 the same time in teaching that all men are 
 born sinners it hits the truth." 
 
 " I can understand that Orthodoxy being 
 unnatural gives you unnatural and barbaric 
 ideas of men and women. My father was 
 an infidel. He took human nature as it 
 was. He never tried to make his children 
 think that it was worse or better than it is. 
 He brought us in contact with facts, and left 
 us to judge for ourselves. Of course, I have 
 found the world to be both good and bad. 
 I expected this, and have not been mate- 
 rially disappointed one way or the other ; 
 and, on the whole, I like this world." 
 
 " Well, my father and the minister and 
 all the deacons taught me that this world 
 is a humbug, and I've only learned the les- 
 son too well. Their heaven is a humbug 
 and their hell is a lie ; but, when they say 
 all men are born full of iniquity, I am bound 
 to believe it, for my experience is that way." 
 
 " Perhaps it wouldn't have been that way, 
 if you had started with a little more genu- 
 ine faith in things." 
 
 " I suppose Orthodoxy gave me a twist, and 
 destroyed what little faith I might have had ; 
 but I can't help it. It is a cursed education 
 for a man to have so much hell and devil 
 drilled into him from infancy. It makes one 
 a perfect sceptic, if he has any real feeling ; 
 for things are bad enough without being 
 made worse by a theological bugbear." 
 
 " I agree with you : the faith that religion 
 gives is a very poor material. It's the reflex 
 of a damnable unbelief. It is based upon 
 utter distrust. It is the shadow of a shadow. 
 I've never had anything to believe in but nat- 
 ure, and men and women as they really are. 
 I've had very little to do with the Church, 
 and have avoided the saints ; and so, on the 
 whole, I have come to pretty good faith in 
 men and things." 
 
 "Well, I was taught that there was no 
 hope in nature, but in a something above 
 and beyond nature, though the minister 
 couldn't exactly tell what. I've found out 
 that that something is all nonsense, or the 
 biggest devil of all ; and so you see now I 
 have nothing to depend on. God has slipped 
 away, and men and women tumble with 
 him." 
 
 " I hope you'll work out of it." 
 
 " I don't think I shall. The disease is in 
 me, and I shall never get rid of it. As I say, 
 see the folks we come in contact with here, 
 broken-down ministers, rascally lawyers, 
 played-out politicians, money-worshiping dea- 
 cons, what a muddle they make 1 Here we 
 see them as they really are, and a devilish 
 pack they appear." 
 
 " Wait and see. You'll come across some- 
 thing good yet, even in this wild country." 
 
 " Well, I think you are pretty good ; and 
 here comes Paddie John. I rather like him." 
 
 Paddie John was a slouchy, queer individ- 
 ual, with a certain air of manliness and cult- 
 ure about him. He had been educated as a 
 Roman Catholic priest, but had early drifted 
 out of superstition. He had preached some- 
 what in the Unitarian Church, but had found 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 11 
 
 that its ecclesiasticism was almost as em- 
 barrassing as that of Rome, with less splen- 
 dor and impressiveness. He realized that 
 he couldn't be himself, and so he quitted the 
 ministry entirely. His classical education 
 was useless for any business purposes ; and 
 so he floated round, a kind of brilliant wreck, 
 although he really had fine ability. Some- 
 times he was in rags ; and sometimes, by a 
 lucky stroke, he could make a very elegant 
 appearance. Just now, he was under the 
 weather, and had come to Golden Throne 
 to pick up, if possible, a little money. They 
 give queer names at such places, and some- 
 how or other he was called " Paddie John." 
 His earnings at present were slim, and his 
 appearance dilapidated. But he took things 
 easy, and enjoyed his wild life with a good 
 deal of relish. He took considerable liking 
 to Bill and Charlie, the two characters 
 already introduced, a couple of well-educated 
 New England boys. 
 
 "Hullo, Paddie," said Charlie, "are you 
 going to camp ? If so, I'll step along with 
 you." 
 
 "I'm not bound to any place in partic- 
 ular," said Paddie, " but, if you are for the 
 camp, I'm for the same. I've just been out 
 to hunt for some new specimens of butter- 
 flies. I've found one. Isn't that brilliant ? 
 Look at the colors," and he held the beauti- 
 ful insect out in the palm of his hand. 
 
 "That is something new," said Charlie. 
 " I don't think I've seen that before. What 
 shall you call it?" 
 
 " It shall be nameless evermore. What's 
 the use of a name ? Names have been the 
 curse of the world, and destroyed the reality. 
 Why should I label this butterfly? The 
 label would cover it all up ; and the world 
 would study the label, and not the butterfly." 
 
 " You're right, Paddie. We'll take the 
 butterfly just as he is. We'll know just as 
 much about him, as if he had a cognomen as 
 long as the catechism." 
 
 " I guess you'll want a name before you 
 get through," said Bill. " You fellows re- 
 volt against everything. You'll be opposed 
 to breathing after a while." 
 
 " Of course I shall," said Paddie, " or else 
 I couldn't die. But I'll stick to it as long as 
 I live. I'm Orthodox there, anyway." 
 
 "Natural, you mean," said Bill. "You 
 confound everything with Orthodoxy." 
 
 "How can we help it?" said Paddie. 
 " We were born Orthodox, and to give it up 
 was like giving up our mother." 
 
 " Then you must be born again," said Bill, 
 " and have nature for your mother." 
 
 "That's it," said Paddie; "but nature 
 forbids civilization. To be natural, we 
 must be savages." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Bill. " Civilization, I grant, 
 has to a certain extent been manufactured. 
 Religion has made it artificial. But there is 
 a natural civilization which is real growth, 
 and that in the end will be most beautiful. 
 Orthodoxy has not only perverted nature: 
 it has perverted civilization, until it has 
 made the educated man almost a fool." 
 
 " Yes," said Paddie. " I studied for years, 
 and what did it amount to when I came to 
 the real tussle with life ? I can't earn my 
 bread and butter with it. I have a diploma, 
 and yet I doubt if I am worth as much to 
 the world as this butterfly; and I stand 
 ashamed by the side of many a rude clod- 
 hopper, and wish I could handle the pick as 
 well as he. The veriest savage can beat me 
 in the struggle for existence. Why shouldn't 
 I revolt against everything, and go straight 
 to nature ? " 
 
 " It's the best thing you can do," said Bill. 
 " Stick to the butterfly, and let the name go. 
 We can't set things right in a minute. Good- 
 night. I must hurry to my ranch." 
 
 " You have a palace to go to, compared to 
 our dens," said Charlie, " and I don't wonder 
 that you are in a hurry, so good-night." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PADDIE JOHN and Charlie sauntered back 
 to the settlement. 
 
 " What unfortunates we are, both of us, 
 to have been trained as we have, never to be 
 natural, but always artificial," said Charlie. 
 " What a luxury of thought and feeling 
 Bill has, of which we can hardly have a 
 
12 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 conception ; for Orthodoxy has rendered us 
 incapable! Even though we are free in 
 thought, it still sticks to us, in our very 
 bones." 
 
 " Yes, we are maimed children," said John. 
 "I don't expect to be perfectly well. We 
 have lost our fortune, and henceforth must 
 be wanderers." 
 
 "What a terrible process it is, this un- 
 making of ourselves ! " 
 
 "Yes, it leaves us lying round about loose, 
 with hardly any consistent faculty ; and the 
 whole world seems to be in about the same 
 condition." 
 
 " I wonder if any recovery is possible, or if 
 things have got to go to the devil anyway ? " 
 
 " I don't bother myself : I leave it to evo- 
 lution. Meanwhile, I am going to study in- 
 sects and dig for gold. In that way, I may 
 do something for myself." 
 
 " I don't like to leave things so, but 1 guess 
 I'll have to, and take care of number one." 
 
 " What success have you had? " 
 
 "Oh, not much. The veins seem to be 
 worked out about here. Yet it looks rich; 
 and I shouldn't wonder if we struck some- 
 thing some time. Really, I'd like to be rich, 
 I've tumbled about the world a good deal, 
 and I find that money is the chief blessing. 
 It is a friend that never fails." 
 
 " I don't care much about it. If I could 
 have a bottle of wine every day, and a little 
 bread and cheese, I'd be happy." 
 
 " I see you are an idealist." 
 
 " I am. That is what made me an infidel. 
 Of course I enjoyed the splendor of the old 
 Church, and I think that some time or other 
 one must have been perfectly happy in it 
 but now it is jejune. The daylight has 
 killed it." 
 
 "But how did you come to see daylight? 
 All your family are still of the Church, and 
 your nation seems to be doomed to it for- 
 ever." 
 
 "Yes, Ireland clings to it as to a mother. 
 I don't wonder. The Church has been kind 
 to my native land, and really, if I were to go 
 back to Christianity, I'd go back to the old 
 Catholic Church. It has no more supersti- 
 
 tion than the rest of the churches, and it's 
 much more comprehensive. It allows play 
 for human nature. It tries to satisfy all 
 wants. It is deeply poetical, while Protest- 
 antism is not. It is only dogmatic. Why, I 
 thought I could be free in the Unitarian 
 Church, but I couldn't. If I didn't say just 
 such and such things, I had to take it. I got 
 sick of addressing my prayers every Sunday 
 to the congregation, and wanted to drop off 
 occasionally for a rest, but they wouldn't let 
 me. I had to keep right on. They could 
 listen to the dryest prayer complacently, but 
 they wouldn't listen for a moment to its be- 
 ing omitted. So I had to leave the Church 
 entirely." 
 
 " I never could think of being a minister," 
 said Charlie. " I'd as soon be a parrot in a 
 cage. They are slaves, the whole of 'em. 
 I'd rather dig here, and live in a hole in the 
 ground." 
 
 "I'd rather study butterflies than their 
 confounded theology. How I hate the who\e 
 thing! What a curse it has been to my 
 country ! Ireland would be free to-day, if 
 she could have snapped her fingers at the 
 priest. There never can be liberty with su 
 perstition." 
 
 " There's nothing but failure ; for men 
 will always be superstitious, and so the king 
 and priest will always reign. Come in. 
 We'll take a bit of drink together before 
 bedtime." 
 
 Charlie lived in a dug-out. It was as 
 comfortable as anything, he said, and 
 wouldn't burn down. He lighted the can- 
 dle, and they sat by the old table on a couple 
 of boxes. The demijohn and pipes and to- 
 bacco were handy. 
 
 They sipped a little, and dreamily smoked- 
 
 " I am about as happy here as anywhere,' 1 
 said John. " I like this old hat and boots, 
 and I like the fit of my clothes, and I have 
 plenty of ventilation. See what a hole I 
 tore to-day." 
 
 "We have nothing to bother us here," 
 said Charlie. " We are kings, because we 
 don't care a snap for anybody. We can be 
 as dirty and ragged as we please." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 13 
 
 " That's the luxury of it. I don't care to 
 exchange places with any one. A million- 
 naire couldn't be more independent. How- 
 ever, I never thought of this, when I was 
 young. What dreams I used to have when 
 I believed that the Church was the borne of 
 everything beautiful, and just fitted to make 
 the world happy ! " 
 
 "Well, I never dreamed much," said 
 Charlie. "I always was a practical chap. 
 I lived on a farm in New England, and we 
 had to work b*-*-'. There wasn't much 
 chance for poeuy, and what poetry there 
 might have been was knocked out of us by 
 our religion. I can't say, on the whole, that 
 I'd choose existence." 
 
 " Oh, I'd choose it in a minute, anywhere, 
 under any form," said John, with true Irish 
 fervor. " All I want is to live. Why, I'd be 
 happy even if I was only a worm of the 
 dust." 
 
 " I'd hardly be happy, if I was king upon 
 a throne," said Charlie. "Life is a grim 
 sort of a thing under any circumstances." 
 
 Why don't you die, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, I shall when the time comes, and very 
 gladly too. But fate has put me here, and 
 fate must take me away. 1 have no right to 
 interfere with fate." 
 
 " You believe in fate, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, in a dark, iron fate, that holds 
 me in its pitiless grasp as if I were an in- 
 sect." 
 
 " Well, I don't believe in anything really. 
 I don't think it pays to have any faith, not 
 even in life itself. We must simply enjoy it. 
 If a man asked me if I believed in my own 
 existence, I'd say no. I don't know what 
 the logical consequence of such an assump- 
 tion would be. It would be safer to deny it. I 
 don't want anything to do with logic, only 
 with poetry. Now, poetry don't need any 
 premises, and therefore I won't make any 
 premises. Poetry only deals in ideals, and I 
 have plenty of them." 
 
 u I guess you have, and in that have the 
 advantage of me. You see a world of beauty 
 even in a butterfly's wing." 
 
 " Indeed I do," cried John, enthusiastically, 
 
 "and in a bit of stone or blade of grass. 
 Just look at this butterfly. Is anything 
 richer than that? What gorgeous colors! 
 Silver and gold is there more plentiful than 
 in any bank. What lady ever dressed finer? 
 And there are millions of just such beautiful 
 things in nature. Take anything that you 
 come across, the first pebble that you can lay 
 your hand on, and it's a marvel. It's infinite 
 in its loveliness." 
 
 " How I envy you 1 What a glory it is to 
 be a poet! Everything thrills you. The 
 swaying of a branch is music. I wonder if 
 you see the reality, or are you cheated by 
 your imagination ? " 
 
 " I think that poetry and truth are one, 
 and that poetry dwells in truth and can dwell 
 nowhere else. Yet what is truth ? We don't 
 know. For us, then, the beautiful only is 
 the true. Yet again, when anything ceases 
 to be true to us, it ceases to be beautiful. 
 What is false is hideous. How happy the 
 world would have been, if it had had only 
 the poets to interpret the universe! The 
 curse came, when theologians undertook to 
 explain things. It's all nonsense to try to 
 explain things. All we want are pictures. 
 Damn theories." 
 
 " Don't you theorize about the butterfly or 
 the stone or the flower ? " 
 
 "No, I don't. They are, and that's suffi- 
 cient." 
 
 " Science, then, is folly? " 
 
 " It is, unless it stops with observation. It 
 can arrange things and improve things, but 
 it can't explain 'em. Science and poetry are 
 one. Both depend on observation of what 
 actually is. Science makes the cup, poetry 
 furnishes the wine. Both enable us to drink 
 deep draughts of life." 
 
 " I see no speculation in your eyes." 
 
 " I don't want speculation. I want insight, 
 vision. I don't speculate about the butterfly. 
 I simply see it. What more can any one do ? 
 The trouble is that the vast majority of 
 people don't see the butterfly ; in fact, they 
 see hardly anything. They are blinded by 
 speculation." 
 
 " Well, one must be born a poet in order 
 
14 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 to see ; and, if not born a poet, then he must 
 speculate." 
 
 "We are all born poets, I think. It is 
 education that robs us of our birthright." 
 
 There was a knock at the door. 
 
 " Come in," said Charlie. 
 
 A singular sort of an individual entered. 
 He was not prepossessing by any means. He 
 had a hang-dog look. His hair was combed 
 straight back from his forehead. His eyes 
 had hardly any color, but you might call 
 them watery blue. They did not look at you 
 steadily. They were restless, serpent eyes. 
 His nose was crooked. His lips were thin, 
 and behind them were a few small and gleam- 
 ing teeth. A thin gray beard was scattered 
 over his face. His gait was somewhat sham- 
 bling, and he bent his head with an air of 
 humility. There was no assertion of man- 
 hood about him. He looked like a walking 
 apology. 
 
 This was Gooch. " The deacon " was the 
 name he went by. He was deacon, and a 
 very good one he made when at home. He 
 had some faculty for praying. He could talk 
 glibly of the total depravity of man. He 
 seemed to believe in it with his whole heart. 
 He could discourse also of regeneration, but 
 his faith in that was not so strong as his faith 
 in depravity. Above all, he was eminently 
 fitted for his office, from the fact that no one 
 could look at him without a most solemn and 
 awful feeling. You couldn't laugh while in 
 his presence. He made you feel the utter 
 worthlessness of human life. 
 
 Like all deacons, he wanted money. There 
 was never a deacon yet who didn't hunger 
 for earthly riches, and who wouldn't split a 
 cent in making change. So Gooch had wan- 
 dered from his rocky farm to Golden Throne. 
 No man worked harder than he or was more 
 saving. At the same time, he was always 
 talking of the heavenly kingdom. 
 
 "Take a seat," said Charlie. " There are 
 plenty of chairs, if you'll only sit on the 
 floor." 
 
 " Thank you, I don't care to sit," said the 
 deacon. 
 
 "Take a smoke?" 
 
 " I don't wish to. The Lord does not per- 
 mit me." 
 
 " He ought to, for he smokes himself," said 
 Paddie. 
 
 "How do you know that?" queried the 
 deacon, solemnly. 
 
 " Doesn't the Bible say that smoke came 
 out of his nostrils ? " 
 
 " The Lord's ways are not our ways. We 
 are not to do as he did," responded the dea- 
 con. 
 
 " I should say not," said Paddie. " If you 
 did, you'd be a mighty mean fellow." 
 
 "It's a mystery, and I tremble for you 
 that you make light of it." 
 
 " Of course you don't want any light on 
 the subject. The less you know, the better." 
 
 " It isn't for us to understand," said the 
 deacon. " We must believe and trust." 
 
 "Trust is a dead dog nowadays," said 
 Charlie. " It's cash down with me." 
 
 " I'll pray for ye," said the deacon. " I 
 come to borrow a little whiskey. I feel sick 
 at my stomach." 
 
 " Why don't you pray, then, and get 
 cured?" 
 
 " We shouldn't pray for temporal blessings, 
 only for spiritual." 
 
 " Well, whiskey is spiritual, and I 'spose you 
 pray for that. I'll answer your prayer, if the 
 Lord won't." 
 
 Charlie gave the deacon a generous drink. 
 
 "I feel better now. I'm much obliged 
 to ye." 
 
 " You are welcome. If I could get enough 
 whiskey in ye to get religion out, I'd like it : 
 it would be a fair exchange." 
 
 " I couldn't do without my religion," said 
 the deacon. 
 
 " Well, keep it : nobody else wants it." 
 
 " I wish you had it : it's better than gold." 
 
 " Why don't you dig for it then, as you dig 
 for gold?" 
 
 "Oh, it's the gift of God. We mustn't 
 work for it." 
 
 " I don't think you do. Good-night, happy 
 dreams, and a good long prayer." 
 
 "Good-night. I shall certainly enjoy 
 praying now. I really feel as if the spirit 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 15 
 
 was upon me," and the rejuvenated deacon 
 departed. 
 
 " That's just like him," said Charlie. " He 
 comes here twice a week to borrow whiskey. 
 I suppose he belongs to a total abstinence 
 society Down East, and has taken a pledge to 
 touch not, taste not, handle not. These fel- 
 lows have a very convenient knack of being 
 sick when they want a little of the old rye. 
 What a pleasant time some people have, serv- 
 ing God and the devil both ! " 
 
 " That's a wise way of living, if we can only 
 stretch our conscience to it. It is well 
 enough to keep a lookout for the hereafter ; 
 for, if the Orthodox God has got the manage- 
 ment of things, he'll make it hot for us. 
 Now, if we can serve the devil in this world 
 and have a good time, and then at last turn 
 up with a harp of gold, why, that's a good 
 game to play." 
 
 " Certainly," said Charlie. " It's four aces 
 and a king, and we are sure of the pot." 
 
 "I can't play it though. I want a fair 
 and square deal, and take my chances." 
 
 " So do I. I'm going to be a man, and I 
 don't care whether there's a God or not. He 
 can't hurt my manhood, whatever else he 
 may do." 
 
 There came a cry for help from outside, 
 a boyish cry. 
 
 "By thunder, I believe that's little Pete," 
 said Charlie. " I wonder what the trouble is 
 now," and the two men hurried out. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT was only a little brawl, such as takes 
 place almost every evening in a mining town. 
 Having nothing else to amuse them, the in- 
 habitants take to this form of recreation. 
 It is the entertainment of savages, which, as 
 civilization progresses, gives way to the opera 
 and theatre for the more lively, and the 
 prayer-meeting and the funeral for those 
 who are of a more sober disposition. It is 
 impossible for people to keep quiet ; and, if 
 they can have no other channel, they will 
 insist upon "bloody noses and cracked 
 crowns." 
 
 Little Pete came running up to Charlie, 
 
 as if to claim his protection. He was a queer- 
 looking boy, rather tall for his apparent age, 
 but very slightly built, as if the wind might 
 blow him away. He looked constantly 
 scared. His bright eyes were wide open and 
 restless. He shrank from companionship, 
 and liked to be alone. Nobody knew whence 
 he came. He seemed like an apparition. 
 He was well behaved, and kept himself scru- 
 pulously clean, though his clothes were al- 
 most nothing but rags. Golden Throne was 
 troubled but little about the waif. It was 
 sublimely indifferent, even like a great city, 
 to anybody and everybody. Pete might 
 have disappeared as mysteriously as he came, 
 and not a word would have been said. He 
 managed to pick up a little gold and obtain 
 a decent living. Sometimes, he did a bit of 
 cooking for the miners. 
 
 "Why, little Pete," said Charlie, " you are 
 scared again, and all for nothing." 
 
 "I krow it," said Pete; "but Dick's a 
 fighting, and I thought he'd fight me." 
 
 "Oh, he wouldn't touch you. He takes 
 those of his size." 
 
 "But he swears terribly, and he looks 
 
 ugly." 
 
 " Well, he is ugly, and so it's well enough 
 to keep out of his way." 
 
 There was a fight, however ; but it didn't 
 last long. 
 
 Big Dick was the bully of the settlement. 
 He was over six feet high, and strong as a 
 bull, and ugly as the devil. He was a per- 
 fect barbarian. He was born in the wilds 
 of Texas, and had been a cow-boy all his life 
 till he came to the mines. He worked hard 
 during the day, and caroused at night and 
 kept things lively. It was seldom that he 
 could get any one to fight with him, and so 
 he had the field to himself; but to-night 
 " the minister " pitched into him, and was 
 ignominiously defeated. 
 
 Golden Throne could boast of a minister 
 as well as a deacon ; but the minister wasn't 
 quite so sober and well-behaved as the dea- 
 con, and made no pretence at praying. He 
 was drunk about all the time, and like the 
 rest of the ministerial tribe did nothing but 
 
16 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 ]oaf. That's the chief end of a minister to 
 loaf gracefully ; and though " Jimmy," as he 
 was sometimes called, had given up every- 
 thing else pertaining to the profession, he 
 hadn't given that up, which is the last priv- 
 ilege that clergymen yield. It is the most 
 difficult thing in the world for them to go to 
 work. 
 
 Jimmy had been a brilliant Methodist 
 minister. He could count his converts by 
 the thousand. He was a man of marvellous 
 eloquence. He was full of sentiment and 
 poetry. Religion was really a luxury to 
 him, and he enjoyed it as such. It was a 
 species of sensuous delight, and I suppose 
 that is the reason why he at last came to 
 his ruin. He had no moral principle, only 
 good-feeling. He had no intellectual convic- 
 tion ; for, though his mind was bright, yet 
 it was just bright enough to reject the old 
 ideas, and not strong enough to go forth and 
 build in accordance with the new. He was 
 a child of passion, and it is no wonder that 
 in the midst of dazzling temptations he fell. 
 He must indeed have been an angel of light 
 to have been able to play so powerfully as he 
 did upon the passions of men and women, 
 exalting and sweeping them away on tides 
 of splendid eloquence, without himself being 
 moved to the very depths of his sensitive 
 nature, and so ravished by physical beauty 
 f.ha/h the influence was almost overpowering. 
 A sublime mental belief would have saved 
 him ; but he lacked that, and his preaching 
 was only a form of passion, and is it strange 
 that that passion found other channels ? 
 
 So here he was at last, a disreputable 
 wreck, with no hope, living from hand to 
 mouth in this corner of the world, among 
 rude men, he who had the power " the ap- 
 plause of listening senates to command." 
 
 He was generally peaceable, and the camp 
 delighted to hear him tell stories, which he 
 could do with remarkable dramatic ability. 
 To-night, however, he felt his oats, having a 
 sort of extra drunk, and he imagined that 
 he could master Dick. He soon lay with 
 bloody nose upon the ground, not much hurt 
 however, but convinced that in meeting Big 
 
 Dick upon the field of the " noble art of self- 
 defence " he had" mistaken his calling. 
 
 " I'm much obliged to yer, preacher, for 
 giving me a chance. I wish yer were big- 
 ger, so we could have a longer tussle. I've 
 no chance at all among these fellers, they all 
 back down so quick." 
 
 " We ought to import a bull for your es- 
 pecial benefit," said Charlie: "then we'd 
 have some fun, sure." 
 
 " I'd give fifty dollars to try it," said Dick. 
 
 " I'd give another, for 1 would like to see 
 you bite the dust," said Jimmy. 
 
 "Well, fetch the bull along. I'm ready." 
 
 Indeed, it seemed as if he was ready, he 
 looked so mighty in his superb physical 
 development. 
 
 "Well, Jimmy," said Charlie, "this 
 wasn't a successful revival-meeting, was it ? " 
 
 " You didn't begin to pray quick enough," 
 said Paddie. 
 
 "Well, I had the fun of trying, at any 
 rate," said Jimmy. "I am satisfied now 
 that I can't whollop Dick. I feel discour- 
 aged, like the bull when he undertook to 
 stop the engine." 
 
 "You have many things to discourage 
 you, I see," said Charlie. " I should think 
 you would want to turn over a new leaf." 
 
 "Oh, I have turned over all the leaves, 
 and have come to the finis. I can't turn any 
 more. Why, I have been converted nigh on 
 to a hundred times." 
 
 "But you can try it a hundred times 
 more," said Paddie. "Long as the lamp 
 holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may 
 return." 
 
 " Well, I've got tired of it. I am in the 
 last ditch, and I think I will stay there." 
 
 " But it's a pity, when you could be so re- 
 spectable, if you only would." 
 
 "If I only would! How do you know 
 that ? I would, and yet I can't." 
 
 " Don't you believe in the freedom of the 
 will?" 
 
 " That is a pretty deep question for a 
 drunken man to answer." 
 
 " Well, 1 think a drunken man can answer 
 it as well as anybody," said Paddie. " We 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 17 
 
 are free to do what we are fated to do, and 
 that's all." 
 
 "I believe you," said Jimmy. "I have 
 given up the struggle. I can't do anything. 
 They who say I can do not understand me. 
 Can I leave off drinking whiskey ? jNTo. 
 Another man might in my circumstances ; 
 and I might in the circumstances of another 
 man. But I, in my circumstances, can do no 
 other than I do do, and that is to drink this 
 bottle to the dregs." 
 
 " That's a good swig, and I guess you had 
 better go to bed on it. You won't be able 
 to talk theology after such a dose." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I'm in just the mood for theol- 
 ogy. I never understood the universe so 
 well as I do now. I really believe that I 
 could evolve a system. I am full of the 
 ideas of Plato, and I penetrate the secret of 
 Hegel. I am never so ignorant as when 
 I'm sober, and am never so wise as when I'm 
 drunk ; and I think that's the way with the 
 rest of mankind. To be a philosopher, one 
 must be intoxicated." 
 
 "You are a first-class philosopher then," 
 said Charlie. " I suppose you can solve us 
 any riddle. Tell us who was the father of 
 Abraham's children. If you can answer 
 that, you will do as much as any philosopher 
 ever did." 
 
 " I will solve the mystery & la Descartes. 
 I think, therefore I am. I am, therefore I 
 exist. I exist, therefore I live. I live, there- 
 fore I eat and drink. I eat and drink, there- 
 fore I discourse. I discourse, and therefore 
 I think. What can be more plain than that ? 
 The logical conclusion of which is that I am 
 going to sleep, and my philosophy will dis- 
 solve in dreams." 
 
 "I wouldn't sleep on the ground, though. 
 Let me put you in your little bed." And 
 they led the reeling philosopher and preacher 
 to his quarters. 
 
 " Come, Pete, you can stay with me, if you 
 want to. There's plenty of room." 
 
 "Oh, no. I'm all right now. I'll go 
 home." And off he went. 
 
 " I don't know what to think of that little 
 chap," said Charlie. " I guess he's a rascal. 
 
 I never can get a square look at him, he's so 
 shy. He's nice-looking, but you can't tell 
 anybody by their looks. He may be up to 
 some deviltry. Good-night, Paddie. I guess 
 we can sleep now. We've had our usual en- 
 tertainment." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WE will return to our friend Bill now, 
 whose home was in a distant and solitary 
 spot. He leaped lightly across a narrow ra- 
 vine, and followed through the straggling 
 timber a somewhat beaten pathway up 'the 
 mountains. He soon came to a large, open 
 space or " pocket," from whence could be seen 
 a vast extent of country. A dozen lofty 
 oaks were scattered about, in the midst of 
 which was a cabin with an exquisitely kept 
 garden in front. It was, indeed, a scene 
 fresh and beautiful as paradise. The golden 
 sunlight was flooding it, and the many peaks 
 seen for miles away were shining as if cov- 
 ered with jewels. The wildness and gran- 
 deur of the view were inexpressible. The tall 
 trees ; the vast defiles ; the huge rocks tum- 
 bled about, as if long ago there had been some 
 fantastic battle of the giants ; the gleaming 
 cliffs and superb mountain-tops, many of 
 them clothed with dazzling snow, all suffused 
 and glorified with the ineffable tints of sun. 
 set, made a spectacle of wondrous magnifi- 
 cence. One seemed to be in fairy land, and 
 could almost forget that he had ever heard 
 the " still sad music of humanity " in crowded 
 thoroughfares. It was like a vast, sweet 
 temple of nature, where the spirit could 
 commune with noblest forms, and revel in 
 pure and beautiful existence, and forget the 
 superstitions of blinded men and the tram- 
 mels of custom. There are times when soli- 
 tude is inspiring, and the rude aspects of nat- 
 ure delightful; and it is a rich experience 
 in one's life to dwell among these savage sur- 
 roundings, so grand and terrible, and drink 
 in the spirit of the universe, and become he- 
 roic in thought and purpose. 
 
 Bill, the miner, was a man of considerable 
 culture. He had dwelt most of his life in 
 New England, on the banks of one of its 
 loveliest streams. But, being of an advent- 
 
18 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 urous disposition and somewhat ambitious, 
 he had come to California in search of a 
 fortune. He loved the mountains, and to a 
 certain extent dwelt apart from his com- 
 rades, not from any spirit of misanthropy, 
 but because he enjoyed lonely studies, and 
 also because, in the little cabin toward which 
 he wended his way, lived with him the only 
 surviving member of his family, besides him- 
 self, his sister Madeline. 
 
 She was at the door to greet him with a 
 smile and kiss. She was very beautiful, 
 pale and delicate, with an unusual brilliancy 
 in her eyes. Indeed, it required but little 
 observation to discover that she was slightly 
 deranged. Yet she was charming, intelli- 
 gent, graceful, and full of sunshine. She 
 was neatly attired, and the cabin was in the 
 best of order; and a supper that would 
 have tempted a king was ready for the tired 
 worker. 
 
 "1 am glad to get home," said BiU. "I 
 haven't had much luck to-day, enough to 
 pay for my supper, though; and, since I 
 have no landlord to demand rent, I guess I 
 can make out to live. Don't you think so, 
 Maddie?" 
 
 "It looks like it," she replied. "I don't 
 think one can starve in this country. We 
 have all that we want." 
 
 ' Yet I hope to be rich. It seems as if I 
 would not always live here. There is strange 
 magic in wealth ; and, if I had it, it seems as 
 if I could dwell in fairy land." 
 
 " This is fairy land. Here we are happy." 
 
 " Happy, yes ; but it is our fate, I sup- 
 pose, always to be dissatisfied. I never ex- 
 pect to have a sweeter life than I do now ; 
 and yet I always want to strike luck and fill 
 my pockets with gold." 
 
 " I hope you will. It can do no hurt to have 
 the gold, whether you can spend it or not. 
 I do not care to have it. I prefer the flowers." 
 
 " I am glad you do ; and how plenty they 
 are ! So we are rich, if we only knew it." 
 
 " Kich, indeed ; and yet, Willie, I was feel- 
 ing homesick to-day." 
 
 " Homesick 1 Did you want to see the old 
 farm once more ? " 
 
 " Oh, I did. How beautiful it looked in 
 my dreams ! The great trees, the fields and 
 the rocks, and the brook, how they shone 
 with wonderful light 1 It almost seemed as 
 if I were there." 
 
 "Yet how changed all would be, if we 
 should visit it." 
 
 " Oh, yes," sighed Madeline. " I could not 
 go back ; and yet I have such a longing for 
 the old life. I can hardly endure the thought 
 that it is gone forever. It seems as if I 
 must live it once again." 
 
 "Perhaps we shall. Some philosophers 
 say that this life is but a reliving of some 
 former one, and that our knowledge is but 
 a remembering; and, if we lived it once, 
 why not again ? I'm sure I've no objection. 
 I'd rather live this life over again than go 
 to heaven and play on a harp of gold." 
 
 " I wonder if we shall live again," mused 
 Madeline. "It seems as if all this beauty 
 of thought and feeling that we have cannot 
 come to an end, that something at least 
 must remain ; and yet I know not. Father 
 and mother never gave us any hope, and yet 
 I cannot feel that they have quite passed 
 away, even though they said they should, 
 and were satisfied to rest in the bosom of 
 nature in sweet sleep." 
 
 " There they are in the quiet valley ; and 
 all that is left is the influence of their de- 
 voted lives. I can see no greater immortal- 
 ity. That is all they taught me, and it is 
 all that I believe. It is all that my reason 
 can assent to. And yet we have these hopes 
 and dreams within us. It may be there is 
 something beyond." 
 
 " I hardly care to live, unless I can live as 
 fully and freely as I do now, with as much 
 enjoyment of nature. What is the use of 
 a vague, shadowy, unsubstantial existence V 
 We might as well mingle with the wind, and 
 forget ourselves." 
 
 "That's what I think. I want life, if 
 I am going to live, life with flesh and 
 blood in it, like this. I don't want to be a 
 
 How can we have an existence like this, 
 unless we have a body like this ? And we 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 19 
 
 know that the body perishes. We can 
 think of no life outside of the body." 
 
 " It's a puzzle, isn't it ? And I always end 
 by giving it up." 
 
 "Yet we constantly recur to the puzzle. 
 It haunts us. Why is the world always talk- 
 ing about it?" 
 
 "Perhaps because it is in its childhood. 
 If it were grown up, it would devote itself to 
 this life and think of no other." 
 
 "That would be wiser, I admit; and yet 
 how hard it is to be wise or cease to be child- 
 ish. Even now, I like to see the new moon, 
 as I do at this moment, over my right shoul- 
 der." 
 
 " We are children of the past, and can't 
 escape what it has taught us." 
 
 " It does seem at times as if I had lived 
 for ages. I feel as if I had breathed and 
 thought long ago, when these mountains first 
 began to be. I know I was with them at 
 their birth." 
 
 " Probably you were, in some shape. You 
 have weird fancies at times." 
 
 " I do. I sometimes think I hear voices 
 and see visions. I thought to-day I saw 
 mother. It could not have been a dream it 
 was so real." 
 
 " We will call it a reality, for we hardly 
 know where to draw the line between a 
 dream and a fact." 
 
 4< I care not to settle it. I like to have 
 some things uncertain, otherwise life would 
 be a dead calm, but now it is full of ripples 
 that catch with varying light the changing 
 heaven. I am content, though I feel as if I 
 knew but very little, and must guess at a 
 great deal." 
 
 " Some things we know, at least. I know 
 that I have had a good supper; that the 
 beefsteak was nicely broiled, and the gems 
 delightful. And I know that this evening is 
 beautiful, with the moon shedding its light, 
 and the mountains lying about in grand 
 majesty, and the trees whispering I don't 
 know what but something very pleasant. 
 Indeed, what little knowledge I have gives 
 me infinite joy." 
 
 " I am glad you enjoyed the supper, and I 
 
 presume that, if you didn't enjoy that, you 
 wouldn't enjoy anything else. So we are 
 creatures of the flesh, after all." 
 
 " That's to our credit. Why shouldn't we 
 rejoice in the flesh ? Isn't it divine V Give 
 good flesh, and we have a good mind, (rive 
 poor flesh, and of what value is the soul ? I 
 don't want to be born again. I'd rather 
 stick to the first birth, and revel in the blood 
 that it gives me." 
 
 " I wish I had a body like yours, Willie. 
 I feel like a shadow myself. It sometimes 
 seems as if I was going to melt away." 
 
 Her delicate and frail body did contrast 
 with the sturdy and almost giant frame of 
 her brother. She was like a lily indeed, 
 swaying in the wind ; and almost any rude 
 blast might take her off, while her brother 
 seemed capable of enduring any storm. His 
 strong body kept him in perfect and health- 
 ful contact with nature ; while her delicate, 
 and slightly diseased organization was the 
 source of fantastic and melancholy visions 
 and thoughts. But her mind was highly 
 cultivated, and being free from any super- 
 stition she did not suffer as she otherwise 
 might. She did not believe in any God out- 
 side of nature, and so was not tortured by 
 any anxiety concerning her relations toward 
 him. She touched nature fully and frankly, 
 and had no fear ; while her finely wrought 
 spirit seemed to realize more of the subtle 
 lights and shades of the universe than the 
 mind of her brother. She had an element 
 within her of that mysterious genius that 
 somehow seems to be lighted with fires from 
 the innermost soul of things, and knows by 
 flashes of intuition. Evidently, some great 
 sorrow had swept over her. She had passed 
 through hours of immense agony. But now 
 she was calm, like a sweet lake hidden in the 
 bosom of mighty hills. There was an un- 
 fathomable depth in the expression of her 
 brilliant eyes. 
 
 How differently her brother looked 1 He 
 was a genuine man from head to foot. He 
 had always enjoyed life, as a strong swim- 
 mer does the sea. He was ready for any for- 
 tune and for any blow. Put him in the 
 
20 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 midst of the Atlantic, with but a single 
 plank, and somehow he would make his way 
 ashore ; and, if he landed on a desert island, 
 he would build him a house, and make out 
 to live comfortably. This life to him was 
 all in all. He had no thought beyond the 
 present world. Ke expected when he died 
 to return to dust. His father and mother 
 both were infidels of the "straitest sect," 
 and gave him nothing to hope for beyond 
 nature. Hence his organization and mind 
 were thoroughly adapted to his surroundings. 
 His education had been complete. Not a 
 single moment had been wasted upon the- 
 ology. He had never entered a church, or 
 spent one breath in prayer. He had always 
 walked upright. He had read the best of 
 books, and understood the system of nature 
 as it really is ; but he was gloriously igno- 
 rant of metaphysics, and all the quiddities 
 of the philosophers. 
 
 He was, therefore, a royal good fellow. 
 Meet him anywhere, and he would give you 
 a cheery greeting. When he swore, he 
 swore with such splendid gusto that it would 
 destroy the melancholy effects of a thousand 
 sermons, and make one feel better. There 
 was so much genuine justice and sincer- 
 ity in what he thundered forth. Besides, 
 he could be as gentle as a woman, and 
 serve any suffering mortal with infinite 
 kindness. 
 
 How happily they lived together, these 
 two strangely contrasted yet harmonious 
 souls! Subtle links of thrilling and fine 
 associations bound them together. 
 
 They sat closely while the night came on, 
 and the moon in silver glory shone in the 
 cloudless blue. It was a fascinating scene. 
 The hoary mountains seemed to sleep in 
 the calm splendor, freighted with wondrous 
 dreams, as if the gleaming life of centuries 
 was throbbing in their mystic veins. How 
 deeply nature moves the soul at times in her 
 mighty repose! Then, indeed, does the 
 " feeling infinite " stir and exalt, even more 
 than when we see nature in her superb ac- 
 tivity. There is an unspeakable power in 
 silence, especially the silence of great hills 
 
 and vast forests. The voiceless glory fills 
 the heart with unutterable emotions. 
 
 The great expanse swept before these two 
 brooding and communing spirits. They 
 talked fitfully, while possessed with the 
 sweet and ineffable thoughts of the hour. 
 
 "This is intoxicating," said Madeline. 
 " The moonlight is like wine. I do not won- 
 der that Luna makes lunatics, if they dwell 
 too long in her presence. I feel the enchant- 
 ment myself with a strange fever in my 
 blood." 
 
 "It is delicious, but it makes one feel 
 shadowy. It is the moonlight that makes 
 the gods, I think, and is the mother of super- 
 stition. In the broad daylight, we are our- 
 selves, we have no fears; but now how 
 haunted everything seems to be, and yet 
 how beautiful it all is ! " 
 
 "Beautiful, indeed; and I'm sure it is 
 delightful to be haunted by these wonderful 
 imaginations. I like to think that nature 
 is a vast palace, and to roam away through 
 her glittering halls. And is it not a palace? 
 Are not these mountains and these rocks 
 jewelled? Nature is order; and, if we could 
 see her as she really is, would she not seem 
 ever in her rudest aspect to be as magnifi- 
 cent as anything that we call a work of art?" 
 
 " That's a question. Nature is order ; but 
 from our stand-point she is both good and 
 bad. She helps us, and she hurts us. She 
 gives us birth, and she destroys us. I trust 
 in nature, and yet I hope to make her better 
 than she is. She furnishes the raw material ; 
 but we have to make the ideals/' 
 
 " So art is superior to nature in that 
 sense, I suppose ; but, as Shakspere says, it 
 is perhaps a greater nature that works upon 
 us to do these things. But, if our humanity 
 is greater thaji nature, there is nothing 
 greater than our humanity. That, after all, 
 is the fountain of wonder." 
 
 "We are a mystery: that I admit. I 
 never expect to explain the universe. I 
 have to say I don't know to a thousand 
 questions, and I must say that I find very 
 little satisfaction in those systems of phi- 
 losophy that profess to make everything un- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 21 
 
 derstandable. They either do so by making 
 the universe a very small affair ; or it is a 
 mere play of words, and equivalent to say- 
 ing that heat is caloric. This is all the in- 
 formation that they deign to give." 
 
 " Well, whatever nature is, I rejoice that 
 I can some time lie upon her bosom and be 
 at rest. I feel like saying with the noble 
 English thinker whose books I have just 
 been reading, * I was not and I was con- 
 ceived, I loved and did a little work. I am 
 not, and I grieve not.' I sometimes think 
 that it would be tedious to live forever. I 
 should get tired even of growing. We de- 
 sire change; and therefore, in the end, we 
 shall desire the greatest of all changes, the 
 change from life to death." 
 
 " I am ready for death, even as I am ready 
 for life, provided that it comes by law, and 
 not by my own carelessness ; and so I don't 
 want to die of fever or accident, but of 
 good old age. And I think that everybody 
 after arriving at old age would be perfectly 
 willing to die. The curse of death is dying 
 not through the law, but because we break 
 the law." 
 
 " Death is beautiful and terrible, even like 
 life itself ; and its beauty, like the beauty of 
 life, depends upon our obedience to nature. 
 Death might be like the blooming of a 
 flower, a rich effulgence into something so 
 fine that we cannot be conscious of it." 
 
 How wonderfully thought flows on into a 
 thousand sparkling channels, when the soul 
 is touched by the weird and beautiful aspects 
 of this visible world 1 Whether mind comes 
 first or matter, who can tell ; yet this is true, 
 that mind cannot discourse apart from mat- 
 ter, and it is when matter is most magni- 
 ficent and potent that the mind is the most 
 illustrious and commanding. Yet mind 
 seeks mind, and through the contact of one 
 conscious existence with another what glo- 
 ries are evolved, what visions are flung forth, 
 what fire is struck that illuminates the 
 world ! 
 
 So they sat in the radiant presence of nat- 
 ure, of the moon and the stars and the lim- 
 itless sky, and the great mountains and 
 
 the shadowy forests, like two fearless chil- 
 dren, they sat and discoursed of the lights 
 and shadows of the infinite universe from 
 whence they sprang, jubilant because life was 
 theirs for one sweet moment, and submis- 
 sive because they knew that all cries and 
 tears would be in vain, that fate went on, 
 whatever our desire might be, and therefore 
 the wisest way is to let the desire flow in 
 harmony with fate. If it is not the best, 
 still the brave and patient soul must make 
 the best of it, and surrender the ideal and 
 accept the real. The universe is probably 
 not so good as it might be, still it is infi- 
 nitely rich and wonderful, and, in spite of all 
 its wrongs and miseries, the breath of life 
 we have upon its bosom is very sweet, so 
 sweet that we would fain preserve it a little 
 longer: therefore, how thankful we should 
 be for the exhilarating glory of which we are 
 permitted to quaff. Let us not find fault 
 that we cannot drink forever. 
 
 With these wise and quiet thoughts, and 
 with tender and courageous surrender to 
 nature; with no prayer, but submission to 
 law, and a determination to enjoy its many 
 fruits, the brother and sister retired to 
 peaceful slumber ; and just as quietly and 
 courageously, with no prayers nor tears, 
 would they have gone to sleep, if they had 
 known that that sleep would have no 
 waking. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE morning came fresh and sparkling 
 from the bosom of the infinite life. From 
 the solemn silence awoke a world of music. 
 How wonderful it all is ! The march of day 
 and night, when did it begin in the far ages 
 out of the rolling chaos ? and when will the 
 musical motion come to an end ? Some time, 
 of course ; but always the atoms dance to the 
 measureless melody of existence. And, 
 though day and night pass, yet new glories 
 will advance to take their place. 
 
 Bill, the miner, was up early, as was his 
 wont ; for he liked to greet the sun as it came 
 flaming over the distant hill-tops. Madeline 
 usually was up with him, and busy about 
 their simple morning meal ; but now she did 
 
99 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 not greet him with her ready smile. He 
 wondered a bit, but supposed that she was 
 wearied, and desired a longer repose than 
 usual. So he quietly kept at work, and in- 
 deed prepared the breakfast, and yet she 
 did not appear. He tapped gently at her 
 door. No answer came, and so he softly 
 opened it. 
 
 How beautifully she lay in gentle slumber I 
 Almost like a marble statue, so still, so white. 
 Evidently, she was in a deep sleep, which 
 was unusual for one of her bright and active 
 temperament. With a little uneasiness, he 
 approached her bedside. Then a vague ter- 
 ror seized him as he touched the so silent 
 form. Then he knew, as he pressed the icy 
 splendor of her brow, that she was dead. 
 
 It was awful, as if a knife had pierced his 
 heart ; and the blood almost stopped in his 
 veins, and he himself seemed dead, the 
 shock was so sudden and so terrible. Then 
 he flung himself passionately upon her 
 bosom, and wept like a child. 
 
 How cold all the sunshine seemed now ! 
 What a spirit was gone out of the things 
 that were once so thrilling. O death ! Talk 
 as we may, it is a fearful tragedy : it is that 
 which makes life an intense agony as well 
 as an intense joy. It is an unexplainable 
 horror. We submit to it because we must. 
 
 But, if we could remove the terror, we 
 would ; for we see no flowers springing from 
 the grave, except those that we plant and 
 water with our tears. Surely, death is not 
 the outcome of an infinite benevolence. 
 Th*re could be no such sundering of our 
 affections, if there were a God in the uni- 
 verse ; for our affections in themselves are 
 pure, and should ever flow to the most ample 
 enjoyment, and no God could be so cruel as 
 to bring death into the midst of such en- 
 nobling happiness. The fact of death is 
 proof that there is no God : it is the one fact 
 that absolute perfection would not brook. 
 There is no rainbow over death : it is the 
 sad inevitable, it is the law of decay, it is 
 the infinite sorrow of fate. There must be 
 action and reaction in the universe, growth 
 and decomposition. The blooming of this 
 
 renders necessary the destruction of that : 
 this is all that we can guess at, and the only 
 wise philosophy that we can adopt is to 
 enjoy the blooming to the utmost when it 
 comes ; and, when the blast pierces, then we 
 must submit. Prayers will avail nothing, nor 
 any belief we may try to have concerning 
 the unsounded woe. 
 
 Madeline's brother let the agony sweep 
 over him. He did not try to resist. He 
 clasped the dear form, but he knew that life 
 would never return. He did not expect to 
 see that noble spirit again. Hereafter, it 
 could dwell only in memory. It seemed un- 
 endurable that so much should be taken out 
 of his life, that such a fountain of joy 
 should cease to flow. 
 
 It was the greatest sorrow of his life. 
 When his father and mother died, he ex- 
 pected them to pass away ; for they were old. 
 and the full fruit of their lives had been 
 borne, and it seemed but natural that they 
 should drop into the grave, since the best 
 had been accomplished, though even then 
 the sorrow was keen and overwhelming. But 
 his sister was all in all to his affectionate 
 soul. He lived and dreamed and hoped in 
 her, and she was a constant inspiration and 
 delight. Now, she was cut off in the very 
 exquisite blossom of her being, and there 
 was no amelioration to the sorrow that 
 flooded him like a desolate sea. He sat by 
 her bedside in a sort of stupor, while these 
 strange and bitter thoughts rolled over him, 
 while he kissed her and stroked her brow as 
 if she was still alive. He was unconscious 
 of the hours as they swept by. It seemed 
 scarcely a moment ; and yet, when a knock 
 at the door aroused him, he found that it 
 was past noon. 
 
 He went to greet the somewhat unwelcome 
 visitor, but he was glad to find that it 
 was his friend Charlie. His presence was a 
 blessing in that unhappy moment. It re- 
 called him to the living world. 
 
 " She is dead," was all that he could say, as 
 he grasped the hand of Charlie. 
 
 "Dead? Your sister ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 23 
 
 "How did it happen?" 
 
 " I cannot tell. It came as sudden as light- 
 ning." 
 
 For several moments, not a word was 
 spoken. There was only the intense sympa- 
 thy of soul with soul, of which any expression 
 is useless. It is that which must be felt, not 
 uttered. " Please go for Jennie. She must 
 come at once. Madeline must be prepared 
 for her burial. It is all over with, and 
 I must make the best of it." 
 
 "I will go," said Charlie. 
 
 Jennie Baker was the wife of Tim Baker, 
 the saloon-keeper, and one 'of the rich, rare 
 souls of the world. She was rough-looking, 
 and hardly ever wore anything but a calico 
 dress, and not a very clean one at that ; but 
 her face, though homely, was exceedingly 
 pleasant, there was so much good-nature in 
 it. She was always ready to help anybody 
 in distress. She would sit up all night long 
 with any poor devil that was sick, and treat 
 him as tenderly as if he were her own child. 
 She had a constitution of iron, and could en- 
 dure almost any fatigue. She never prayed, 
 but very often swore, yet at times she 
 showed the tenderness of the most refined 
 woman. She was a jewel indeed, brightly 
 flashing in the rough world by which she 
 was surrounded, a creature of that world 
 reflecting all its sadnesses, and yet resplen- 
 dent with perfect womanhood. 
 
 With deft hands, she prepared the beauti- 
 ful Madeline for her grave. Madeline had 
 been so retiring in her disposition that she 
 had scarcely been seen by any one at Golden 
 Throne, and it is probable that Jennie had 
 never caught more than a passing glimpse of 
 her, yet a mother could not have more ten- 
 derly cared for the body. How beautiful it 
 looked in the calm majesty of death ! After 
 the first horror has passed, what an awful 
 and sweet radiance there is in the everlast- 
 ing sleep, what sublimity of repose ! The 
 waves of life have ceased, and as in a mir- 
 ror something of the unseen glory of the 
 universe is witnessed. The imagination 
 cannot stop with the rigid flesh. It weaves 
 a glorious world from the pregnant silence. 
 
 While Jennie was performing her gentle 
 offices within, the two miners walked with- 
 out the cottage, seeking in fitful conversa- 
 tion and the mighty forms of nature some 
 relief from the intense sorrow. 
 
 " What should we do in these hours of ter- 
 rible suffering," said Will, "without the 
 mountains and the sea and the sky ? They 
 are like a part of us, and out of their vast 
 life give us courage and consolation." 
 
 "And yet, I sometimes question," said 
 Charlie, " is it we that give the consolation, 
 or is it really the mountains and the sea ? 
 Are they living, in some sense, as we live? 
 Or are they but inert masses, and merely re- 
 flections of our inward thought ? " 
 
 "I believe they are actually living," said 
 Will, who had something of the poet's in- 
 sight as well as the practical scientific out- 
 look of modern days. 
 
 " But isn't such a belief a matter of pure 
 faith ? And is there any more reason for be- 
 lieving in a spiritual life in nature, than in 
 a God?" asked Charlie, who, in his revul- 
 sion from Orthodoxy, was not disposed to 
 believe in much of anything either in man 
 or nature. 
 
 " I admit that it is belief simply, and not 
 knowledge," answered Will. " Yet does not 
 science to-day reveal a wonderful life in 
 nature ? When I read Tyndall, Huxley, Dar- 
 win, I am amazed at the magnificence of 
 power in which the world seems to be con- 
 stantly revelling. It is eternal motion, and 
 it is eternal beauty. Science makes these 
 mountains infinitely more than what they 
 are to our bare sight, and yet to our bare 
 sight how beautiful ! Belief carried along 
 in the line of our knowledge and in har- 
 mony with our hope is, to a certain extent, 
 justifiable. It is belief made without knowl- 
 edge and in obedience to prejudice and fear 
 that has cursed the world. Oar knowledge 
 is continually advancing. Shall we not, by 
 imagination, anticipate some of its brightest 
 results?" 
 
 " I suppose so, if such be our mood, and 
 we don't do it on compulsion, but obey our 
 own sweet will. I admit that the mountains 
 
24 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 give a certain sense of power ; yet, after all, 
 they are but bare, rocky forms, and will 
 tumble upon us and crush us without re- 
 morse. What there is of apparent friendli- 
 ness in nature we make out of our own 
 wishes. We think she gives us bread. She 
 gives us only a stone. We make the bread, 
 if we have any; and we live on fancy. 
 Nature is a hard fact. She'll drown us 
 without compunction, if we tumble into her 
 seas. She never yet performed a miracle to 
 swive life." 
 
 " And never will : if she did, her true glory 
 would be gone, for then chaos would reign. 
 Kature is law, I admit, and in that sense is 
 u hard fact. She will not save us : we must 
 save ourselves by the obedience to her law. 
 If we do not obey, then the law breaks us ; 
 and it would break God as quickly as us, if 
 there were such a being. So God can do no 
 good as against a law of nature. God could 
 only serve us through nature as a sort of 
 priest to nature, and I think we can serve 
 ourselves fully as well; for, if we disobey 
 nature, God can't help us, and, if we obey 
 nature, she is bountiful of her own self." 
 
 " I see you are what they call an optimist. 
 You are always hopeful, and look upon the 
 bright side of things. I must confess that 
 I am down-hearted at times, and almost cry 
 out in despair, the world is so dreary to me, 
 and life seems such a pitiable failure. It 
 wouldn't help the matter for me to believe 
 in a God. I think if there is one he has 
 proved himself an arrant humbug, for he 
 lets things go to the bad in a most contempt- 
 ible way. He does not improve nature ; and, 
 if he exists, he only makes the tragedy more 
 desperate." 
 
 " I'm not an optimist, in the sugar and mo- 
 lasses sense of that term. I do not believe 
 that everything is all right ; nor that nature 
 takes care of us, like a loving father ; nor do 
 I see in nature evidence of a nobler or more 
 powerful intelligence or will than in man. 
 I only recognize in nature an overflowing and 
 abundant life, that makes order, beauty, de- 
 light, and comfort, if we can only grasp and 
 enjoy them by what we ourselves do. 1 do not 
 
 believe that nature was made for us or that 
 we are the supreme thing in the universe, to 
 which everything else must bend. We are only 
 parts of a stupendous whole, and it is impos- 
 sible for us to know the origin or the end of 
 that whole. We can have nothing to do 
 with final causes : that's nonsense. We are 
 in the midst of nature, with her infinite law 
 and her infinite life, to take care of our- 
 selves; and from our stand-point, and in our 
 experience, there are many things that are 
 wrong, and we can't trust to nature to remove 
 them. We must trust to our humanity." 
 
 " I don't feel much like trusting our hu- 
 manity. I think humanity is a humbug too, 
 as well as God." 
 
 " There, I say, you are mistaken. God is a 
 humbug, because he's a mere creature of the 
 imagination ; but humanity is a fact. Don't 
 you believe that a fact is of some value ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I sometimes think with 
 a certain Frenchman that I'm a phantasy 
 floating on the bosom of an infinite phan- 
 tasy. Really, I sometimes hardly believe 
 that I exist, but am only a nightmare." 
 
 " Your Orthodoxy has indeed been a curse 
 to you, and I don't wonder. It tries to 
 make things right, but at what a violation 
 of justice ! It is not strange that it drives 
 men to intellectual despair, and destroys 
 all confidence and makes existence like a 
 troubled dream. Infidelity simply accepts 
 nature, good and bad : it doesn't try to 
 explain away the bad, and in so doing ex- 
 plain away the good also. It takes nature 
 as a reality, and takes evil as a reality ; and 
 so it finds good a reality. I accept the evil 
 of things, and I don't propose to explain it 
 away into an airy nothing, but to fight it as 
 a stubborn opponent. I am an optimist only 
 in the sense that we can get the better of 
 evil things, provided we work hard enough 
 and have plenty of patience and pluck ; but 
 I'm not an optimist in the sense that there's 
 no such thing as evil. Such an optimist is, 
 I think, a fool, who avoids the real universe 
 and dwells in a world of fine phrases. A 
 pessimist who believes the world is the 
 worst possible, and fights the devil with his 
 
GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 25 
 
 neart full of despair, is preferable to one who 
 airs his selfishness in such a slush of words." 
 
 " And isn't it the worst possible universe 
 where there is such a thing as death? 
 What can be more horrible than that. If 
 we did not love, then we might die without 
 pain ; but, loving, what a curse, what a curse 
 it is to die ! " 
 
 " Yet the loving is good at any rate. For 
 that I am thankful; and loving may be 
 most sweet, because we love in the midst of 
 danger and separation." 
 
 " Is it not your power of loving that gives 
 you the most awful pain ? " 
 
 "It is, and such seems inevitable. The 
 greatest joy is mingled with the greatest 
 suffering." 
 
 " But need it be so ?" , 
 
 "Why ask that? We cannot judge of 
 necessity. We can only know what is. We 
 cannot say this universe might have been 
 better, any more than we can say it might 
 have been worse ; for it was not born of will, 
 it was not made. It simply is. it can't 
 change itself, nor can we change it. It's 
 useless to discuss possibilities." 
 
 'But isn't human perfection a mere pos- 
 sibility?" 
 
 " It is, as some people dream of it ; and so 
 it's a waste of time to consider it. But prog- 
 ress is not a mere possibility, but a proba- 
 bility and a matter of fact. All the perfec- 
 tion that I think of is progress. Where 
 there's no progress there's no perfection, and 
 where there's no evil there's no progress, and 
 so perfection and evil are inextricably inter- 
 twined. They must go together. Don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 " It's pretty well mixed up, that's a fact. 
 We must be sick in order to get well, and 
 getting well is perhaps the happiest phase of 
 human existence. What a confounded puz- 
 zle life is 1 " 
 
 " When the puzzle ceases, life ceases. If 
 we could unravel the universe, what a sorry 
 affair it would be ! But it is everlastingly 
 woven with a million colors, with a million 
 patterns, now bright, now dark ; and this is 
 the food of thought." 
 
 "Don't you try to solve the mystery of 
 death by thinking that it may be a new 
 form of life, and that you and your sister 
 will meet again ? " 
 
 " No, I do not, because I cannot. My mind 
 cannot accept the conclusion, though my 
 heart perhaps yearns for it. I have not the 
 slightest evidence that such is the case, and 
 therefore I have no ground for hope, and do 
 not hope. It is not the future that becomes 
 sweet to me through death, but the past. I 
 think now of what she has been more deeply 
 than ever before, but not of what she 
 will be." 
 
 " You endure it bravely." 
 
 "Because I cannot help it. If prayers 
 and tears could bring her back, I would 
 shake these mountains with my petitions. 
 I am not ashamed to weep, if weeping would 
 do any good. I did weep, when the blow 
 first came. I let the hot tears flow. They 
 did me good. I was like a child. But why 
 should I continue to lament ? Life is ever 
 new, and 1 must meet it with new hope and 
 new desire." 
 
 " I never saw your sister. She was retiring 
 and was not fond of company, and I could not 
 think of intruding upon your privacy. You 
 know how we are in this wild life. Why, we 
 scarcely know each other's names yet. I call 
 you Bill, and I'm Charlie. That's enough. 
 What are names, where we have so much 
 reality and so little ceremony. In civilized 
 life, I suppose they must have long names, 
 for names is about all that people have to 
 get acquainted with, and so they need han- 
 dles and titles ; but anything will do here, 
 since we deal heart with heart, and put on 
 no style. Can I see your sister now ? Our 
 friendship is so dear that I would have hei 
 image in my memory." 
 
 " You shall see Madeline, and remember her 
 with me. I am glad you have such a wish." 
 
 "Madeline!" said Charlie, with a little 
 start. " I once knew a Madeline. She was 
 dear to me, but now forgotten, because un- 
 worthy." 
 
 " Then this Madeline shall take her place, 
 for she is worthy.'" 
 
26 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 The two men walked into the cabin. Jen- 
 nie met them, having completed her sacred 
 task to the dead. 
 
 " Thank you, Jennie," said Will, as he took 
 her hand. " What should I do without you 
 in this sad hour ? Is she ready for burial ? " 
 
 "Yes, sweet as an angel," said Jenny. 
 " She seems almost living, she looks so beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 They passed to the room where she lay, 
 clothed in white and crowned with flowers. 
 
 As they approached the bedside, a strange, 
 wild look came into the eyes of Charlie. He 
 stared steadfastly at the face of the dead girl. 
 He trembled like a leaf. 
 
 " My God ! " he cried, " this is Madeline 
 Burnham. Is your name Burnham?" he 
 said, turning to Will. 
 
 "Yes, Will Burnham; and what is your 
 name?" 
 
 " Morton." 
 
 " Alas ! you made her what she is." 
 
 " She was my betrothed. Oh, how I loved 
 her, and then how I hated her ! O my love, 
 my love, this is agony indeed 1 Have I been 
 false, or you?" And he flung himself pas- 
 sionately at her bedside, and wailed and 
 sobbed like a child. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE grief of a ( man, how strong it is, 
 when for a moment he is overcome by the 
 uttermost anguish of life ! Mighty indeed 
 must that suffering be, which can so break 
 up the bulwarks of the will, and the world's 
 rough experience. When men weep, it is 
 because they have been struck by a blow that 
 is like the fierce throb of an earthquake. 
 Burnham was amazed and silent, the reve- 
 lation was so sudden and terrible. It tore 
 through him like the breath of a whirlwind. 
 The infinite sorrow of his sister's life rushed 
 upon his mind with bitter recollections. The 
 tragedy was wrought again that darkened 
 and disordered her once sunny and beautiful 
 life, that so racked her heart and brain that 
 disease worked its subtle course until it 
 bloomed in the white lily of death. 
 
 She was free now. from the feverish tor- 
 
 ture. The waves of suffering broke upon, 
 but did not disturb her marble quiet, while 
 her false lover was writhing at her feet. 
 
 " I do not understand it," said Morton, as 
 he at length slowly arose, and fixed his eyes 
 upon his dead love. " Was she true, and was 
 I a fool? Oh, how heavenly true she looks 
 in the unveiled majesty of death ! How could 
 I have been deceived? And yet I was hasty, 
 I distrusted her because I distrusted the 
 world. Oh, what a curse it is to lose one's 
 faith I Paradise flashed before me, and 1 
 called it a desert and turned away. O 
 Madeline, forgive me ! " 
 
 " It is too late now. No prayers nor tears 
 can recall the light to her eyes or the bless- 
 ing to her lips. O man, she loved you as 
 you were not worthy to be loved." 
 
 " And I loved her too, oh, how fondly, 
 how deeply ! All the fountains of my heart 
 flowed to her. She was the ideal of my 
 young life." 
 
 " Yet you gave her up, you deserted her." 
 
 " I did, because I thought I had proof that 
 she was false." 
 
 " Why did you accept that so-called proof 
 so readily ? " 
 
 " Alas ! because I distrusted all. That was 
 the disease that lurked in my blood and 
 brain. I thought it wise to be sceptical, to 
 laugh at human goodness, to say that every 
 man had his price. This seemed to be born 
 in me, or rather it was the result of my 
 training ; for I was taught, as the soul of Or- 
 thodox religion, that every one was totally 
 depraved. And when, by force of reasoning, 
 I rejected the theology of my parents, that 
 saddest, deepest lesson of all I retained. I 
 could not get rid of it, I looked upon men as 
 almost brutes. I believed Madeline an ex- 
 ception ; but, when I heard the cunningly 
 devised tale against her truth, then my dis- 
 trust of all destroyed my trust in her, and 
 she seemed no better than the rest; and in 
 my wild anger I left her, never to return." 
 
 U I was but young then, and knew you 
 not, for you met and became acquainted 
 with each other at the Academy ; and, when 
 you visited home, I was away. This is the 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 27 
 
 first time I have seen you. Oh, how I hated 
 you! She loved you, she waited for you, 
 and when you came not the hope of her life 
 was quenched. The light of her soul seemed 
 to fade out, and a gradual and gentle insan- 
 ity came over her; while the brightness 
 of her intellect was undiminished. She 
 brooded over you. Her life was fixed to 
 you. Your desertion left her like a wreck, 
 to slowly waste away as the waves of time 
 broke over her." 
 
 "I was a wretch indeed, a blinded, 
 passionate fool, the victim of my own in- 
 sensate wisdom, of what I called my shrewd- 
 ness. After leaving her, I was only worse, 
 more bitter in my disbelief. I have looked 
 only upon the meanest side of humanity, upon 
 all its foibles and failings. My life has been 
 a mockery, in spite of its successes. Now, I 
 am stripped bare. My pride and my self- 
 ishness are gone. I have been a contempt- 
 ible blunderer. I have crushed the flower 
 that I might have worn as the eternal jewel 
 of my soul. O Madeline, thou canst not 
 hear, and yet thou art, I know. Death can- 
 not dissolve thee into nothingness. Yet, 
 whatever or wherever thou art, I choose 
 thee for my angel, for the constant ideal of 
 my life; and, through thee, I will under- 
 stand the worth of every human being, and 
 the glory that there is in the least. Burn- 
 ham, can you give me your hand, can you 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 " I thought once I could not, only strike 
 you to the ground, if I met you ; for I despised 
 you with my whole heart. If I had known 
 who you were at first, I should have scorned 
 you. I have learned, however, to like you. 
 While I see your fatal weakness, and the 
 source of your cruel act, I can see that you 
 are not wholly to blame ; that this deep dis- 
 trust has been bred in you by the religion of 
 your fathers. It is the dread reaction from 
 that cursed superstition that curses blood 
 and brain and heart. What is Orthodoxy as 
 it was taught to you, as it is taught to thou- 
 sands, but a most damnable infidelity to all 
 that is most true and beautiful V Is not its 
 foundation stone built upon the most cruel 
 
 infamy ? Does it not make God a devil and 
 man a beast? Does it not stamp us with 
 corruption ? Does it not deny every natural 
 grace, and make nature herself a charnel- 
 house, and every voice a discord ? Does it 
 not make the skies the dreary home of a 
 dreary monster? Orthodoxy is the most 
 terrible scepticism : it is the scepticism of 
 cowardice and the infidelity of fear. You 
 are its victim ; and I pity you, as I pity a 
 man coming from a prison-house, dazed and 
 weak, and hardly knowing how he walks, 
 and tumbling blindfold into the pit. You 
 have suffered, and yet you acted I suppose in 
 a sort of sad sincerity ; and what was so harsh 
 and unmanly seemed right. I only hope 
 that your manhood will now vindicate itself. 
 If it does not, then I cannot be your friend ; 
 and I do not care to see you any more." 
 
 "I trust that I shall vindicate my man- 
 hood. I have been the victim of a hellish 
 superstition, a savage theology, a barbaric, 
 almost criminal religion. Years ago, I freed 
 my mind from it. I saw how foolish it was. 
 I did not dream that it had such a power 
 over my heart, like the coils of a hidden 
 serpent, that it so deeply poisoned and was 
 poisoning my blood. I did not know that 
 it colored my views of humanity, and made 
 me despise men. Never did I as now so 
 realize its infinite curse. It has robbed me 
 of the most precious thing in life. It has 
 made me act like a fiend. I will rise above 
 it, and wring it from my heart as I have 
 thrust it from my brain. I will strive for 
 the simple faith that nature gives, a faith 
 that springs from her beauty as well as her 
 terror, and is the foundation of human 
 brotherhood. I take your hand. Believe me, 
 in the presence of the undying dead, I swear 
 to honor our humanity and believe in it, 
 even though there is a devil called God to 
 slander and defraud it. O Madeline, 1 take 
 thy lesson to my heart. In the white radi- 
 ance of thy death, thou shalt be to me a glad 
 impulse. I am weak, and yet I will be 
 strong." 
 
 " I know you will, and my heart's blood is 
 in this hand-grasp. We pluck this jewel, 
 
28 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 trust in one another, from the brow of death ; 
 and it shall never lose its brightness." 
 
 With no prayers, no formal ceremony, no 
 voice of a priest, the dead was laid away in 
 the calm bosom of the hills. Flowers were 
 strewn over the grave, and honest tears were 
 dropped upon them. The body was gone to 
 mingle with the eternal dance of atoms, and 
 flash to new forms again with the ceaseless 
 throb of life, while the spirit took its marble 
 and shining seat in memory. 
 
 There was no need of any clergyman 
 with his mockery of lies to soften the blow 
 and speak of a better land. The human 
 heart, touched by affection, bent before the 
 simple majesty of death. It acknowledged 
 the terror, but realized also the ineffable 
 sweetness of the shrouded life. That life 
 was beautiful stiD, though viewless ; and, 
 somehow, the heart of nature seemed not so 
 cruel as when first the blow was struck. 
 Somehow, death softens as we become ac- 
 customed to its awful form; and, in the 
 midst of crushing grief, sublime and tender 
 emotions spring, as from the gloomy ooze 
 springs the shining lily. 
 
 " Fare thee well, my sister," said Will, as 
 he stood by her covered grave. " These 
 hands can never touch thee again, nor these 
 eyes see. Thou art gone, thy sweet voice 
 is silent. Dust unto dust, this is the end. 
 I know nothing more, I can hope for no 
 more. Earth hath taken thee to swallow up 
 thine individual being. I have wept, but 
 my tears are now dry ; for in my heart there 
 is a presence that can never go, in my brain 
 there is a thought that cannot die. Thou 
 art still a part of my glowing life, not the 
 shadow, but the substance of my very soul. 
 In my love, thou art immortal. I have not 
 lost thee. O Nature, from whence I come, 
 to whom I go, thou hast plucked the flower of 
 my life ; but I will not complain. I accept 
 thy law. While I live, I will rejoice in thy 
 myriad glories ; and, when Idle, I only ask 
 for a grave as peaceful as this." 
 
 Close by Golden Throne is a vast cafion 
 of a wild, peculiar formation. It is about 
 ten miles in length j and through ^ flows a 
 
 limpid stream. At the very mouth of the 
 canon is what is called the Buried Castle. 
 It seems like an immense and time-worn 
 building, almost submerged in dust and 
 accumulated rubbish. The towers, battle- 
 ments, and roofs, rising one above another, 
 have a strangely real appearance. As the 
 canon narrows, on the left is a dome, a 
 mass of rock, oval at the summit, which rises 
 hundreds of feet into the air. Half a mile 
 further on is "Who Knows," a huge stone 
 having the outlines of a human face, with a 
 very prominent and Vvell-shapen nose. It 
 stands close to the ancient trail. Near by 
 are Indian hieroglyphics on the side of a 
 perpendicular wall, seventy-five feet from the 
 ground. These symbols have been there for 
 so long a time that the Indians inhabiting 
 the country can give no explanation of them, 
 save that they had "always been there. 1 ' 
 The rock seems to have been chiselled into, 
 and the cavities filled with indelible paint. 
 A mile further is the Throne Room. This 
 magnificent indentation is about two hun- 
 dred feet from the ground, in the side of a 
 basaltic wall five hundred feet high. What 
 a grand reception hall, of which no king can 
 boast. Its beauties and grandeurs are in- 
 describable. In nearly the centre of the 
 canon is Conscience Pass. Here, walls oi 
 rock tower six hundred feet high, and ap- 
 proach so closely together that there is 
 barely room for the brook and the narrow 
 path beside it. From hence toward the 
 West, the canon widens and abounds with 
 noble scenery. In the summer, its declivi- 
 ties are clothed with verdure and flowers, 
 and its pines are in their utmost vigor. 
 
 Morton wandered to this savage and mag- 
 nificent spot. He desired solitude and the 
 most awful and terrible forms of nature. 
 His soul was tossing like an ocean. His 
 grief, his remorse, were tremendous. He 
 flung himself upon the ground. He groaned 
 aloud, and in the depths of the dark canon 
 he uttered a cry like that of a wild beast in 
 agony. lie sank exhausted upon a hard 
 couch of rocks, and seemed for a time in- 
 sensible. It was the fearful struggle of a 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 29 
 
 pierced and quivering human spirit, trying 
 to regain its hold on life and purpose. He 
 felt at times as if he were growing insane, 
 so horrible were the feelings that swept over 
 him. Only by sheer effort of the will did 
 he at last arouse himself, saying, " I must 
 conquer." He climbed to the Throne Room, 
 and sat amid its weird and fascinating won- 
 ders, like a discrowned and lonely king. 
 The setting sun was flooding the canon 
 with delicious and sparkling gold; mists 
 rolled over the resplendent tops of the 
 mountains; clouds tossed and revelled like 
 rich-laden ships in the immeasurable blue 
 beyond. The long stretch of canon seemed 
 filled with a thousand hues. The forests 
 were refulgent, as if with the jewelled gar- 
 ments of a monarch. The stones all about 
 him, the flowers and the verdure, strange 
 and ancient forms almost human in their 
 aspect, seemed like speaking presences in 
 the lustrous fire that bathed them. It was 
 a glittering, inspiring, powerful scene, fill- 
 ing the soul as if with the nectar of the gods. 
 
 Morton walked to and fro with swift 
 strides, gathering together the tumultuous 
 and mighty energies of his being, seeking 
 out of the beauty and majesty of nature 
 the secret of regeneration ; for there is such 
 a thing as " being born again " in a high 
 and noble sense, not by the machinations 
 of men, but by the splendid influx of nat- 
 ure herself. There are times when a new 
 purpose arises in the soul, when old habits 
 of thought are flung off like an old skin, 
 and the soul stands naked to the universe, 
 either to be crushed or clothed upon with 
 new and vaster possibilities, and a fresh 
 growth begins. Morton was in one of these 
 transcendent moments. The fierce blow had 
 flung him into chaos. The old world could 
 not be rebuilt. There must be something 
 new, or only a wreck. He must be more 
 high, more noble, more strong than before, 
 or sink. 
 
 "O Madeline," he cried, "how my life 
 heaves and tosses before me like a bewilder- 
 ing sea, infancy, childhood, manhood min- 
 gling as if driven by a storm ! What glories, 
 
 what joys I have had! What bitterness, 
 what pain ! Could I have helped this ? Was 
 I forced to it? Could I not have chosen 
 better, and plucked the flower of a beautiful 
 joy ? Too late, now ! Alas, too late ! The 
 flower is gone, withered, dead. The past 
 is unchangeable in its eternal misery and 
 ruin. We may knock, but we can never 
 open the doors to life there. They are barred 
 and bolted, and so will ever be. Oh, how 
 hard it is that we cannot go back, and, 
 through the winding path of youth, remedy 
 our mistakes. Alas that they must ever be ! 
 Once done, never to be undone, while the 
 fearful retribution rolls on. Why are we 
 made living, conscious beings to suffer so 
 immeasurably? Why do we not forget? 
 Perhaps we shall, some time. Ah, I do not 
 wish to ; for, if we forget the evil, we must 
 also forget the good, and the good is too 
 sweet ever to be forgotten. Let me keep the 
 evil, if, with the evil, I can also keep the 
 good. I cannot forget thy smiles. I cannot 
 forget thy sweetness. I cannot forget the 
 thrilling joy that I once had. I cannot forget 
 the wondrous, passionate clasp of hand and 
 touch of lip. Oh, the joys of the past, how 
 immeasurably greater than its sorrows ! And 
 from their bosom hope springs flaming forth. 
 My heart is not dead. It leaps to action. 
 It would try the future. It feels the creative 
 force. I will not be crushed. I will accom- 
 plish." 
 
 He drank in, as if from a goblet, of the 
 jubilant and sparkling scene about him. 
 Slowly, he descended, and walked along the 
 now darkling valley with buoyant steps. 
 He neared the camp, and saw some of 
 its whitewashed shanties gleaming faintly 
 among the trees. The noise of a tumult 
 greeted his ears, and then a strange, wild, 
 despairing, heart-rending cry for "Help! 
 help ! help ! " With the swiftness of a tiger, 
 he leaped into the camp. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IT was a not unusual and yet a terrific 
 scene that met his view. They were on the 
 point of lynching little Pete. The noose 
 
30 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 was already about his neck, and the rope 
 thrown over a limb. The faces of the men 
 were full of grim determination. There did 
 not seem a particle of sympathy for the 
 struggling culprit. Those who were not ac- 
 tively engaged in the affair looked carelessly 
 on, as if it were all right ; for lynching in 
 that wild country was regarded as the only 
 form of justice, and people accepted it as 
 in more civilized communities they accept 
 the mandate of a court. Generally, lynch- 
 ing is resorted to only when the crime is be- 
 yond doubt ; and in this case it was well 
 understood that Pete was guilty, and richly 
 deserved his fate. 
 
 In ordinary circumstances, Morton might 
 have done nothing, accustomed as he was to 
 these exhibitions of a rude justice, and be- 
 lieving that they were the only means by 
 which any kind of order could be preserved. 
 Pete was such a strange sort of a waif, so 
 unsociable and sly and secret in his ways, 
 that one might assume almost any wicked- 
 ness concerning him. He did not beget con- 
 fidence by his ways of living. 
 
 This time, however, Morton dashed in, and 
 seized the little fellow and cut the rope. 
 
 " What's this for ? " he cried. 
 
 " It's all right, pard," said Big Dick. " He's 
 a horse-thief and murderer, so just hand me 
 the rope, and I'll fix it again. I am sorry 
 you interfered. It's a waste of time." 
 
 " How do you know he's a horse-thief and 
 murderer ? " 
 
 "We caught him on the horse; and the 
 old man Maddox is dead as a smelt, his 
 throat cut, and all his money gone. Poor 
 devil! he expected to start for the States 
 next week. He had a nice little pile of sav- 
 ings." 
 
 " Hang him 1 hang him ! " shouted a 
 dozen or so strong voices. 
 
 Little Pete was trembling in the arms of 
 Morton. He was speechless with terror. 
 
 " Is this so ? " said Morton to him, kindly. 
 
 All that the poor child could do was to 
 sob and shake his head. 
 
 "Hurry up, Morton. We can't delay. 
 It's right." 
 
 " But I must know more of this. I am 
 not satisfied." 
 
 " Satisfied 1 Look in Maddox's cabin, 
 you'll see him dead ; and we found this boy 
 fleeing away on his horse." 
 
 " I didn't do it," broke forth Pete at 
 length, with shrieking voice. " Oh, save me, 
 save me ! I am innocent ! " 
 
 " The boy says he is innocent. I will not 
 have him hung without a trial. There's a 
 chance he didn't do it." 
 
 " That's all bosh," said Big Dick. " He 
 did it. Nobody doubts it, and by God we'll 
 hang him here and now." 
 
 "Not with my consent," said Morton. 
 "I protest. Is there no one to side with 
 me?" 
 
 No answer was made. The popular opin- 
 ion was against little Pete, and no one 
 cared to brave it. The proof against him 
 was so overwhelming that it seemed useless. 
 
 "We'd better hang him," said Deacon 
 Gooch, as solemnly as if he were in a prayer- 
 meeting. " It will save all further trouble. 
 I believe he's an imp, and there's no chance 
 of converting him. If there were, I'd re- 
 prieve him a day or two, in order that he 
 might go to glory. But he's a child of the 
 devil, and so I say, Pull the rope. I never 
 could get him to read the Bible. He's a bad 
 one, I know." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I suppose you'd like to hang 
 everybody that didn't believe your Bible," 
 said Morton. " That's worse than murder in 
 your eyes. I begin to have some faith in 
 the boy, seeing that he wouldn't read your 
 sacred book of rapine and murder." 
 
 " Oh, damn the Bible I " said Big Dick. " I 
 wouldn't read it myself. But to business. 
 This boy must be hung ; and I propose to 
 see it done at once. Hand me the rope 
 there." 
 
 A dozen hands flung him the rope, and he 
 began to make a noose. Morton looked at 
 this crowd of excited men. They were bent 
 upon their purpose. There was apparently 
 no chance to save the boy ; and in his heart 
 Morton acknowledged that the proof was 
 almost positive enough to justify lynching. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 31 
 
 Even if the boy had a trial, he would prob- 
 ably be convicted, and then there would be 
 no escape. Little Pete clung to him, wound 
 his arms about his leg, crouched like a dog 
 and cried : 
 
 " Oh, save me ! I am not guilty. Do not 
 let them hang me. Oh, shoot me first 1 It 
 is so horrible! Oh! oh! oh!" 
 
 " I will defend you," said Morton, " even 
 with my life. You shall have a fair trial." 
 
 The child sank at his feet, and lay almost 
 motionless. Big Dick stepped forward to 
 put the noose about his neck. 
 
 " Not yet," said Morton. 
 
 "What's the use of waiting?" said Dick. 
 "The sooner it's done, the better. I want 
 some supper." 
 
 " Go get your supper then, and after sup- 
 per we'll hang him." 
 
 " Oh, no. I couldn't eat my supper with 
 a good conscience, if I did that." 
 
 " Listen to me, men," said Morton. " Why 
 are you in such a devilish hurry ? Can't 
 you wait? There's time enough. The boy 
 can't run off. A week hence is just as good 
 as now, if the thing is the right thing to be 
 done. Don't make a mistake. Let us be 
 sure that this poor child is a criminal. He's 
 not a man that we should fear him. Come, 
 give him a fair trial." 
 
 Still there was no answer. No one dared 
 to speak first, though perhaps many would 
 have spoken second and third in favor of 
 the boy. 
 
 "You might as well give up, Morton," 
 said Dick. "There's nobody to stand by 
 you. The boy's not worth the game. Give 
 him up." 
 
 " I will not give him up, and I will sell 
 my life as dearly as possible." 
 
 He drew both pistols, and fronted the 
 crowd like a lion at bay. 
 
 " That puts a new complexion on the mat- 
 ter. We don't want to kill you ; but we'll 
 have to, if you don't drop them things. I'll 
 be damned, if I won't see justice done ! I 
 never undertook to hang a horse-thief yet 
 but what I succeeded." 
 
 " Hold on there ! " said Paddie John, who 
 
 hitherto had been a somewhat indifferent 
 spectator of the scene. " It's getting serious 
 now. I didn't care much for the boy, but I 
 do care for Charlie. He's my friend, and, as 
 he has chosen to fight the thing out, I guess 
 I'll take my stand with him ; so you'll have 
 to kill me, too, Big Dick, before you get that 
 boy." 
 
 It makes an infinite difference when there 
 are two instead of one. It begins to look 
 like a majority. One man is a very insig- 
 nificant spectacle, but two men will com- 
 mand a certain sort of respect; for one man 
 may be crazy, but it is very seldom that two 
 men are crazy together on the same subject. 
 It is evidence of your sanity, when another 
 man thinks exactly as you do. 
 
 " I guess I'll do the same," said Jimmy. 
 " Charlie's on the growing side, and I'll hoist 
 his colors. I can shoot pretty straight, too. 
 My prayers don't amount to much, but I've 
 a couple bullets that can accomplish a good 
 deal. They are as heavy as sermons, but a 
 heap more penetrating. I think they'll 
 bring conviction. I see the deacon's already 
 on the anxious seat. He don't know which 
 side to take, for he don't know which side is 
 coming out ahead. Pity he didn't have a 
 revelation. The Bible always fails just in 
 the nick of time. Just when we want to 
 know something, then it don't tell us. Well, 
 my heart's about as good a judge as any- 
 thing ; so here's to you, Charlie. I think we 
 can present a respectable opposition." 
 
 It seemed as if Charlie might win, but 
 Big Dick was more determined than ever. 
 He was one of those stubborn folk, rudely 
 conscientious in his way, that only grow more 
 stubborn the more you undertake to reason 
 with them. He was thoroughly convinced 
 that little Pete ought to be hung, and he was 
 determined that he should be hung at the 
 shortest possible notice. He was still backed 
 up by a hundred or more men ; but these 
 men, most of them, did not feel like tackling 
 with such determined fighters as Charlie and 
 Joe and Jim. 
 
 " We are going to hang this boy, and it's 
 useless for you to resist. Damn it, we'll 
 
32 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 kill you all, if need be. We won't have horse- 
 thieves and murderers protected. I'll give 
 you a minute to drop this thing. If you 
 keep it up, by God, I'll shoot you. Get 
 ready, men." 
 
 There was heard on all sides the ominous 
 clicking of pistols. 
 
 But the minute wasn't half up before Bill 
 and Jennie came upon the stage of action. 
 Jennie had hastened to the cottage of Bill 
 on the first alarm, for her woman's heart 
 beat for the little fellow who was so hard 
 pressed. 
 
 " Not too late," cried Bill. " We may have 
 to fight, but I'll save him. Ah, Charlie, you 
 are ahead of me. That's right, I'm with 
 you. This boy shall not be lynched." 
 
 " He shall not," cried Jennie, who also 
 drew forth a couple of revolvers. "I can 
 shoot, too ; and, by the eternal, I will shoot." 
 
 Jennie was a Jacksonian Democrat ; and, 
 though she couldn't vote, she could say, " By 
 the eternal," and she could shoot as straight 
 and quick as any man. 
 
 This sudden addition to Charlie's force 
 made the crowd back of Big Dick hesitate 
 still more. They hardly wanted to fight a 
 woman. Besides, Tim Baker was one of 
 Big Dick's nearest and stanchest supporters, 
 but, when he saw Jennie on the other side, 
 why, then, like a very obedient spouse, he 
 took his place beside her. He knew better 
 than to fight his own wife. 
 
 Well, they stood facing each other, the big 
 and the little crowd ; and, somehow or other, 
 the little crowd seemed to be getting the 
 best of it, and there was a perceptible 
 shrinking in the big crowd. It isn't always 
 numbers that win. Still, however, there 
 might have been a bloody fight; but the 
 deacon, who until now had been strong for 
 hanging, seeing that the opposition was 
 pretty vigorous, changed his tactics, put up 
 his pistol, and said : 
 - " Well, give the boy a chance. He'll have 
 to hang any way, for there's no doubt of his 
 conviction. In the mean time, I'll lend him 
 my Bible and persuade him to study the 
 catechism. It is possible that he may be 
 
 washed in the blood of the lamb and wear a 
 robe of white. I'll put up my pistol, and 
 start a prayer-meeting for his sake." 
 
 The words- and act of the cowardly dea- 
 con gave a chance for the others to back 
 gracefully down. They put up their pistols, 
 all except Dick. He was still pugnacious. 
 But he was entirely alone, and he saw the 
 uselessness of making any further effort. 
 He was now in a minority of one ; and he 
 was not fitted by nature to fulfil the respon- 
 sibilities of such a position, so with a 
 glum countenance he submitted to the turn 
 of fortune. 
 
 "Well, I wash my hands of the busi- 
 ness," he said, as he put up his pistols 
 " We'll wait, and give the prisoner a trial. 
 It'll amount to the same in the end. How 
 much time do you want ? " 
 
 " A week'll do," said Charlie. " Do you 
 grant it ? " 
 
 " We do," said the man. 
 
 " Will you keep the boy, and promise to 
 give him up at the time set, Dick?" said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " Indeed, I will," said Dick. " Nobody shall 
 touch him or injure him. I'll feed him well, 
 and give him a good bed. There's my word 
 for it," and he gave his hand to Charlie. 
 
 "Go," said Charlie to little Pete, "you 
 are as safe with him as with your own 
 mother now. I will see you to-morrow. I 
 will be your counsel and defend you, and, if 
 possible, prove your innocence. Paddie, I 
 want you with Jimmy to give me a lift on 
 this case. I'll manage the evidence, and you 
 must make the plea." 
 
 Now that Big Dick was constable instead 
 of hangman, he was determined to do his 
 duty to the utmost, and keep Pete in good 
 condition until the trial. 
 
 "Come, my little fellow," said he, "you 
 needn't be afraid. You are safe with me 
 until after the trial, then the devil may 
 have his own. I'll make you as comforta- 
 ble as I can. Don't cry now. If I was as 
 sure of a week's good living as you are, I'd 
 be happy. 'Tisn't everybody can look for- 
 ward to as much as that." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 33 
 
 They all adjourned to supper, and pretty 
 soon the night was as quiet as if nothing 
 had happened. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLD Maddox had been killed the night 
 before, evidently murdered ; for all his sav- 
 ings were gone. At the same time, little 
 Pete had mysteriously disappeared. An im- 
 mediate search was made, and miles from 
 camp, fleeing as if for his very life, was dis- 
 covered the culprit ; and, as if to make his 
 guilt undoubted, he was on the very horse 
 that Maddox owned. The money was not 
 found. Probably, he had flung it away when 
 he saw the pursuers close upon him. He 
 was trembling with terror, and could scarcely 
 speak a word. Only now and then could he 
 shriek out and piteously beg for mercy. 
 
 The rude men who captured him had no 
 more doubt of his guilt than that the sun 
 shone, and on their arrival at camp proceeded 
 at once to lynch him; and not a protest 
 would have been made on his behalf, had 
 it not been for the opportune arrival of Mor- 
 ton. He saved him for the time being, but 
 there was little hope of his acquittal, and 
 his doom seemed certain. 
 
 "Well, the little cuss shall have a fair 
 trial anyway," said Morton, as he sat in his 
 cabin, talking over the matter with Paddie 
 John and Jimmy, the " minister," early the 
 next morning. " That'll be better than 
 nothing." 
 
 "It won't do him much good, unless he 
 gets converted, as Gooch says," said Pad- 
 die. "I rather think he's guilty. There's 
 nobody else did it, and then why in the 
 devil did he run off ? " 
 
 " It's all against him, I know,*' said Char- 
 lie ; " but I'm going to do something for him. 
 I don't like to believe that he'd do such a 
 horrible deed as that." 
 
 "But he's such a weird-looking, little, 
 sneaking fellow," said Paddie. "It makes 
 me shudder to look at him, he's so ghost-like. 
 He's one of those damned New York waifs 
 that almost live on air floated out here from 
 Five Points. He hasn't any more conscience 
 
 than a ghoul. He was conceived in crime 
 and born in iniquity, and in that respect he 
 beats David all hollow. He's a living speci- 
 men of original sin." 
 
 "I guess you are right," said Jimmy. 
 " In my younger days, when I was a theo- 
 logical student and thought I could do any- 
 thing for the Lord, I tried to convert some 
 of these little devils. I had my hands full. 
 They stole all the hymn-books and my hat 
 and cane the first Sunday; and I had to 
 walk home bareheaded, and caught cold. 
 I've always thought the Lord didn't treat 
 me fair on that occasion. He ought to have 
 performed a miracle and kept my head clear, 
 seeing that I was doing so much, or at least 
 trying to, for his kingdom. Yes, the devil 
 himself would have to run away from such 
 youngsters, in order to be decent. I suspect 
 Pete is one of them. However, I'm ready 
 to help you defend him." 
 
 " I don't believe he's as bad as he looks," 
 said Charlie. " I know he has strange ways 
 about him. His eyes are wild and wander- 
 ing as a hawk's, and sharp withal as steel. 
 He keeps himself away from us. He acts 
 sly ; but I believe there's some good in him. 
 I feel as if I must get him acquitted, and let 
 him go. He ought to have another chance 
 in the world. It's too bad to hang him 
 now." 
 
 "I presume it would be better to wait 
 until he has killed three or four other ras- 
 cals as bad as himself. But it's a mighty 
 small chance he has. Where's the evi- 
 dence? You haven't a pin to stand on. It's 
 dead against him. It's almost as much as 
 my life's worth to make a plea for him," 
 said Paddie. 
 
 " Well, you must do it : if I haven't the 
 facts to acquit him, then I want your im- 
 agination," said Charlie. " Imagination is 
 sometimes better than facts. I'll go over 
 and see Pete, and get something out of him. 
 I hope he's some sort of a story to tell." 
 
 "How's your prisoner?" said he to Big 
 Dick, as he went toward the latter's cabin. 
 
 "All right," said Dick: "I've got him 
 safe, and I feed him well, but he don't eat 
 
34 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 much. I was in hopes he'd fat up for the 
 market." 
 
 " I must go and consult with him. He's 
 my client, you know." 
 
 " Yes, but a mighty small fee you'll get, I 
 reckon. It's a thankless job that's on your 
 hands." 
 
 " The boy shall have a chance anyway." 
 
 "Oh, yes, give him a chance, a good 
 long rope. The hanging will come at 
 last." 
 
 "You are pretty rough on him, I think, 
 Dick. Haven't you killed a man in your 
 day?" 
 
 " Of course I have, but never in cold 
 blood for money. I've always had a reason, 
 and my life was in danger. But to kill a 
 poor old man when he's asleep, and rob him 
 of his hard earnings, that, I say, deserves 
 the halter ; and he shall have the halter." 
 
 " What, even if the jury acquit him ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't flatter yourself that the jury 
 will acquit him. We haven't fools enough 
 in the camp for that, and besides they dare 
 not acquit him." 
 
 Charlie found Pete in a far corner of the 
 room, pale, haggard, and almost in hysterics. 
 The strong man took the little one gently to 
 his side, and tried to soothe him. 
 
 " Come, tell me all about it," said Charlie. 
 "Did you do it?" 
 
 "No, I didn't," burst forth the boy, im- 
 petuously. 
 
 " I hope you didn't, but appearances are 
 against you. What made you run away ? " 
 
 " Oh, I was so frightened 1 " 
 
 " Frightened ? Frightened at what ? " 
 
 " At something, somebody, a man that 
 I saw." 
 
 "A man? Whatman?" 
 
 " I don't know. I saw him just at dark, 
 and I tried to escape." 
 
 " Was it any man in the camp ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, somebody I hadn't seen before, 
 that is, for a long time." 
 
 " A strange man in the camp ? Are you 
 sure of this ? " 
 
 " Yes, he was rough-looking, not dressed 
 like a miner. The moment it was dark, I 
 
 took the first horse I could find and started 
 off. Oh, I wanted to go like the wind. I 
 thought that man was pursuing me. How 
 his eyes glared ! Save me ! I would rather 
 perish with these rude men than to have 
 him touch me." 
 
 "I must sift this matter," said Charlie. 
 "It can't be that you are deceiving me. 
 Come, boy, look me in the face 1 Just give 
 me one square look ! Don't let your eyes 
 wander so. Tell me is this true that you 
 have said to me." 
 
 The bright eyes of the boy looked Charlie 
 full in the face. They were liquid, unfath- 
 omable, as if born beneath a southern sky. 
 They flashed with glorious beauty like the 
 eyes of those children that look upon the 
 dome of Italy and reflect its wondrous brill- 
 iancy. With steady yet low voice, the boy 
 said, " It is true." 
 
 For a moment, Charlie looked at him 
 fixedly as if he would read his whole soul. 
 Then suddenly he grasped the tiny hands 
 and said vehemently : " I believe you, and I 
 will defend you with every drop of my 
 blood. I will search this out. I will find 
 this fellow, if I can, and convict him of the 
 murder. He must be somewhere about 
 Don't fear. I'm your friend from this time.' 
 
 Morton consulted with Burnham, and they 
 instituted a thorough search for the tramp. 
 Burnham, indeed, gave himself up entirely 
 to the work, and organized a band in ordei 
 to scour the country far and wide, and un 
 earth the mystery. 
 
 Deacon Gooch of course thought that it 
 was his business to call upon the culprit 
 and attempt to convert him. It seemed to 
 his orthodox mind a good chance to display 
 the riches of the " gospel." He armed him- 
 self with a Bible, and proceeded a day or two 
 before the trial to the prison-house. The 
 poor boy was lying on the floor asleep. 
 Traces of enormous suffering were on the 
 pale lips and closed eyes. The heavy step 
 of the deacon awoke him, and he looked un- 
 easily forth. He did not seem particularly 
 happy as he noticed the gloomy coun tenancy 
 of the imperturbable missionary. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 35 
 
 a I have come to talk to you," said the 
 deacon. 
 
 " I don't think it will do any good," said 
 Pete. 
 
 " It ought to. You know that you have 
 got to die, and you ought to be prepared." 
 
 " I am prepared, if I must die. But I am 
 innocent ; and, if you really care for my wel- 
 fare, you will help to save me." 
 
 " There is no doubt of your guilt. What 
 I want you to do is to repent. There is no 
 chance for you in this world ; but I would 
 like to have you go to glory for your own 
 sake, and because it will add another shining 
 jewel to my crown." 
 
 " Then you expect to show off in the next 
 world and wear fine clothes," said Pete. 
 " Well, I don't care for your company : there 
 are lots of good folks going the other way, 
 and I guess I'll go too." 
 
 "What a reprobate, a child of the devil 
 indeed ! Yet, bad as you are, Christ died to 
 save you." 
 
 " Who is this Christ that you talk about? 
 What can be do for me ? " 
 
 " He is the Almighty God. He came and 
 dwelt among us. He was crucified and 
 buried, and rose again and is now in heaven, 
 the Lord of all. If you believe on him, he 
 will save you." 
 
 " Will he prevent me from being hung? " 
 
 " Oh, no, but he will wash your sins away, 
 and you will be as white as wool, and reign 
 with him in glory." 
 
 " Well, if it makes no difference to him, I 
 wish he would save me now from hanging. 
 I have committed no murder. If Christ is 
 good as you say, and has the power, why 
 doesn't he help me at once? I don't believe 
 in putting things off until one's dead." 
 
 " Oh, Christ saves you from hell-fire. He 
 won't save you from hanging." 
 
 " Of what use is he then ? It's hanging 
 that I want to be saved from. That's a 
 real thing, while hell-fire is sort of guess- 
 work." 
 
 " You shouldn't reason thus. It is wicked. 
 You must submit. It may be best for you 
 to be hung. It may bring you to conviction, 
 
 and save you from the worm that never dies. 
 Let me read you some Scripture." 
 
 "I don't want any Scripture. I don't 
 think it will be comforting, what I have 
 heard of it." 
 
 "It's very comforting, if you are in the 
 right spirit. Hear this : Man is born in sin, 
 he is shapen in iniquity ; the smoke of his 
 torments ascendeth up forever and ever ; 
 if ye hate not father and mother, brother 
 and sister, ye cannot be my disciple; he 
 lifted up his eyes in hell ; if ye do not be- 
 lieve, ye shall be damned." 
 
 "Oh, stop those horrid words. I can't 
 bear them. They will make me insane." 
 
 " These are the words of inspiration," 
 said the deacon : " you should roll them as 
 a sweet morsel under your tongue." 
 
 " I do wish you would go. I shall almost 
 long for hanging, if you keep up this clat- 
 ter." 
 
 Oh, what a wretch I Well, your blood 
 will not rest upon my soul. 1 have tried to 
 convert you. You reject the mercy of your 
 Saviour, and now you must perish." 
 
 " I think the Saviour you talk about is a 
 humbug," said little Pete, desperately. 
 
 "What do you mean, you villain you?" 
 shouted the deacon, almost striking him in 
 his wrath. 
 
 "Why, you say that Christ is God Al- 
 mighty, that he is in heaven and rules every- 
 thing, and that he is good and wants to 
 make everybody happy. Why don't he do 
 it then? I have suffered, and thousands 
 have suffered; and yet what has he done? 
 I am to be hung, though I am as innocent 
 as the babe unborn. If he is in heaven 
 over us on a throne, why don't he help, 
 why does he let me perish? When he 
 shows himself as a real helper in my trouble, 
 then I'll believe as I believe in Charlie, who's 
 going to stand by me. If Christ is God, I 
 must say he's a very shiftless one. I'll take 
 my chances with men." 
 
 Pete shook violently and clenched his fists 
 as he uttered this furious speech. He seemed 
 to speak, for the moment, more as a man 
 than as a boy, he was so wrought upon by 
 
36 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 the intensity of his passion. At any rate, 
 he confounded the deacon, who took his 
 Bible and incontinently departed, saying to 
 himself, " Well, I am glad he's going to be 
 hung." 
 
 Burnham found no success in his search 
 for the strange wanderer. Every part of 
 the surrounding country was carefully exam- 
 ined. There was nothing to vouch for the 
 story of Pete, except the vague testimony of 
 a couple of town women on the outskirts of 
 the cainp, who thought they saw such a man 
 pass by just toward evening. If there were 
 any tramp of the sort, the earth assuredly 
 must have swallowed him up; for not a trace 
 of him was discoverable. 
 
 " I guess it's the boy's invention," said 
 Paddie. " It would be a good story, if we 
 could only prove it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, we could easily shove the crime 
 off on to him, if we could only prove his 
 existence. We'd make him a vicarious sac- 
 rifice," said Jimmy. 
 
 " Well, I shall do the best I can with the 
 story," said Charlie. " I believe it's true ; 
 and there is some slight evidence. Mollie 
 and Libbie will testify they saw some such 
 a cuss. I'll give 'em a ten-dollar bill to 
 make the most of it without lying. Justice 
 has to be bought sometimes, you know ; and 
 truth is so slow that we must purchase a 
 ticket now and then, and put her on hoard 
 the train." 
 
 "How are you going to manage?" said 
 Jimmy. 
 
 "You might put in a plea of want of ju- 
 risdiction," suggested Paddie. 
 
 " I guess the jurisdiction is pretty well es- 
 tablished," said Charlie. "You might as 
 well plead want of jurisdiction when you are 
 in the tiger's clutch." 
 
 " I suppose you won't undertake to prove 
 insanity V " 
 
 " No, we are not civilized enough for that. 
 I suppose the only way of escape is to prove 
 his innocence." 
 
 " That of course you can't do." 
 
 " I don't expect to. Really, it looks al- 
 most useless to try to do anything. But I 
 
 am thoroughly convinced that the boy is not 
 guilty, and I'll do something." 
 
 " Oh, we won't give up the ship, not until 
 it sinks, at any rate." 
 
 " I'm not much of a talker, you know," 
 said Morton. "I shall depend upon you, 
 Paddie, for the speech: you must stir the 
 imagination. I'll try and give you some 
 facts to work up; and you, Jimmy, must 
 move upon their hearts, you must bring 
 tears, and perhaps there'll be a chance." 
 
 " I'll bring the tears, but I'm afraid they'll 
 run to waste, and water but the desert." 
 
 The day of trial came. Nothing more 
 could be discovered. 
 
 "I have done my best, little Pete," said 
 Morton : " the chances are against you, I 
 am afraid." 
 
 " Oh, it is so terrible," said the little fel- 
 low. " If they would only let me go ! " 
 
 " They will not. We must prepare for 
 the worst. Have you any word to leave, 
 any friends ? " 
 
 "I have not. I am a waif, that's all. 
 Perhaps I might as well die, only I do not 
 wish to die in this way. Promise me, will 
 you not ? I have only one favor to ask." 
 
 " I will do anything that you desire." 
 
 "I want you to shoot me. Oh, it is so 
 horrible to be hung ! I do so dread it. Will 
 you not shoot me? Do not let me suffer so." 
 
 "My dear boy, I will shoot you, if you 
 can't be saved : you shall not suffer a pang, 
 depend upon me." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! Now I am happy. I do 
 not wish to live : you will take my body 
 and bury me just as I am, will you not, all 
 by myself?" 
 
 "Yes, I will take care of your last resting- 
 place. Trust me, I will do as I would if 
 you were my own child." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 JUDGE PILKINS was chosen to preside at 
 the trial. He was the fattest man in the 
 place, so fat that he could not bend one 
 way or the other, and so of course could 
 hold the scales of justice with impartial 
 hand. We can generally trust; a IH! man : 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 37 
 
 he belongs to the conservative order, and 
 will do nothing hastily, and besides he has 
 or can have an immense amount of dignity. 
 No one is so fitted to hold an independent 
 position as a three hundred pounder; for he 
 can easily be upon both sides of the ques- 
 tion at the same time. He is a comprehen- 
 sive man. At any rate, nobody else was 
 thought of as judge upon this important 
 occasion except Pilkins. I believe he knew 
 something of law, but he practised very lit- 
 tle ; for he had rather drink rum punch and 
 tell stories. He was a first-class loafer. Oc- 
 casionally, the men came to him to settle 
 their disputes ; and he could write up a'legal 
 document, when needed. In this way, he 
 made out to supply the wants of his pon- 
 derous body. It was impossible for him to 
 dig. He could hardly strike a pick into the 
 ground ; and I doubt, if he saw a chunk of 
 gold right at his feet, if he could pick it up. 
 He was in his glory now, for this was the 
 first trial that had ever taken place in this 
 semi-barbaric community. 
 
 Sammy Grubbins was the prosecuting at- 
 torney. After a fashion, he was rather smart, 
 a self-made man, and, as the saying is, very 
 proud of his maker. He was not very old, 
 was rather adventurous in his disposition, 
 understood California manners and customs 
 pretty well, and let no occasion slip by which 
 he might push himself ahead. He did not 
 like the cognomen "Sammy" which the 
 men bestowed upon him, but was too shrewd 
 to make any complaint, and looked forward 
 to the time when he should write it to all the 
 world " Hon. Samuel Grubbins " ; and who 
 knows, he used to whisper to himself, but it 
 may be " President Grubbins " ? He meant 
 to distinguish himself upon this occasion, 
 and make a speech that should redound to 
 his credit, as he said, " ring through the 
 arches of fame." 
 
 He had for his assistants Sol Jones, a 
 broken-down politician, but who, neverthe- 
 less, had an acute and fertile intellect, and 
 understood law better than any man in the 
 settlement, and Prince Hal, a jocular, good- 
 for-nothing fellow, a graduate from college, 
 
 but the laziest man who ever trod this planet. 
 How he ever got to Golden Throne is a mys- 
 tery ; for he was a man who would not walk, 
 or ride either, if he could help it. 
 
 Morton had to display considerable skill 
 in the selection of the jury. He wanted to 
 have a decent set of men, if possible, some 
 at least that would show a bit of human feel- 
 ing. 
 
 Big Dick himself was determined to be 
 one of the jury. 
 
 " I want to see fair play," said he, " and 
 I'm going on." 
 
 "But you can't go on," said Morton. " In 
 the first place, you are constable, and then 
 you are a witness for the prosecution." 
 
 "Well, I can be witness and constable, 
 and still sit on the jury. I've made up my 
 mind, and I know what's what, and I'll see 
 justice." 
 
 "That's the reason you shouldn't go on 
 the jury," said Morton, " because your mind's 
 made up. If you go on the jury, you mustn't 
 have an opinion, to begin with. Isn't that 
 so, Judge?" 
 
 " It is indeed," said Pilkins. 
 
 " You want fools and idiots, do you? It's 
 no go. I understand this case. You must 
 put me on the jury," shouted Dick. 
 
 " But I have the right of challenge, and I 
 challenge " 
 
 " Well, let us fight it right out at once," 
 said Big Dick. " Take your paces, and we'll 
 fire." 
 
 " I don't mean that now, I mean that you 
 are not qualified to judge in this case. You 
 can't and won't see both sides." 
 
 "But there's only one side," said Dick, 
 " and I see that as plain as day." 
 
 " Well, I appeal to the judge. It's against 
 all law that you should sit on the jury." 
 
 " I don't care a damn for law," said Dick. 
 " I want justice." 
 
 " So do I," said Morton ; " but I'm-afraid 
 we won't get it from you." 
 
 The judge straightened himself, and pro- 
 ceeded to give his decision. 
 
 " Inasmuch as Big Dick is a constable, and 
 also that the aforesaid Big Dick is a witness 
 
38 
 
 GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 for the prosecution, and also that, according 
 to his own confession, he has made up his 
 mind as to the guilt of the prisoner, and that 
 no amount of evidence could convince him 
 to the contrary, is not that so, Dick ? " 
 
 " Indeed, it is, your honor." 
 
 " Well, then," continued the judge, " see- 
 ing that this is so, it does seem to me that 
 you are disqualified from sitting on the jury 
 in this case." 
 
 " Look out, Judge, how you decide," said 
 Big Dick, drawing a couple of revolvers. 
 
 The judge looked at the revolvers with an 
 apparently careless glance, and then said, 
 
 " But, seeing that you take such a deep in- 
 terest in the matter, you can do just as you 
 please." 
 
 " That's good sense," said Big Dick ; " and 
 now, as I can do just as I please, I won't go 
 on. I can see that they give a just verdict 
 without the bother of it." 
 
 Having disposed of this troublesome cus- 
 tomer, or rather he having disposed of him- 
 self, to his own satisfaction, Morton pro- 
 ceeded to fill up the jury as carefully as he 
 could. He succeeded in keeping off Gooch. 
 who seemed even more determined than 
 Dick to have the boy hung. 
 
 After doing his best, it was not a very 
 promising-looking jury, except that Burn- 
 ham was the foreman of it, and Tim Baker 
 was on it, rough and red-faced; but his 
 wife had exerted her influence somewhat 
 potently upon him. If the rest were willing 
 to acquit the boy, he at least would make no 
 objection. 
 
 The evidence was simple, strong, and, to 
 all appearance, conclusive. The old man 
 Maddox had been killed. His money had 
 been taken, and the horse; and little Pete 
 had been found, by a pursuing party, upon 
 that horse. Big Dick and others testified to 
 all these circumstances ; and it must be con- 
 fessed that the prosecuting attorney made a 
 skilful use of them. He marshalled his evi- 
 dence in good order, and the impression was 
 apparently decisive. 
 
 Only a strong man like Morton could have 
 made any effort to defend the prisoner, his 
 
 case seemed so utterly hopeless. But Mor- 
 ton was one of those dogged, persistent men 
 that never give up, and who could array 
 himself against a thousand unflinchingly. 
 He made the most of the testimony of the 
 two camp women, Mollie and Libbie, who 
 were quite sure they saw some such a man 
 as that described by little Pete. Morton 
 worked the thing up shrewdly, and really did 
 put some sort of an entering wedge of doubt 
 into the minds of the jury. 
 
 Grubbins's plea, however, seemed to demol- 
 ish it all. He showed the utter absurdity 
 of the whole thing. He called it a cock and 
 bull story, invented to save the neck of the 
 prisoner, etc. 
 
 Paddie John followed with a very eloquent 
 oration. It was full of fire and imagination. 
 He quoted a good deal of poetry, and really 
 interested the jury; but evidently it didn't 
 change their minds. Paddie drew a picture 
 of the wandering tramp, and how he mur- 
 dered the old man. He tried in all possible 
 ways to put Pete and his actions out of 
 sight. I think, if he had really believed the 
 story himself, he might have convinced the 
 jury; but he did not, and so his glowing 
 words seemed to fall like ice. 
 
 Sol Jones rejoined with a calm statement 
 of the law, and begged leave to bring the 
 jury back from the realms of the imagina- 
 tion to a consideration of the real facts of 
 the case. This he did in a cold, methodical 
 way ; but it needed no eloquence to set the 
 evidence off. 
 
 The "minister" then followed, and he 
 made a most brilliant appeal " in behalf of 
 the boy. He touched the hearts of all that 
 heard him, and they really enjoyed his pa- 
 thetic pleas. It was as good as a theatre. 
 He was frequently applauded. As a camp- 
 meeting effort, it was worthy of all praise. 
 No doubt, it would have converted many a 
 sinner. But it didn't convert the jury, be- 
 cause, after all, the whole discourse was a 
 make-believe. It was given in behalf of the 
 boy as a matter of good-nature, but not of 
 burning conviction ; for neither did he be- 
 lieve that the boy was innocent, and his 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 39 
 
 smooth sentences also glided over the minds 
 of the jury like puffs of wind. 
 
 "I know I've been preaching," said he, 
 when he got through, to Morton. "I 
 haven't done a thing for your client. His 
 neck is as good as broke. I did the best I 
 could though. But you might as well at- 
 tempt to change the eternal hills as to 
 change these men. See how glum they 
 look." 
 
 Morton acknowledged it. It seemed as 
 if he were the only one who really cared 
 whether the boy was saved or not, who really 
 felt that a great and terrible injustice was 
 about to be done. He begged leave to speak 
 for a few moments, for his heart was so full 
 that he could not keep still. 
 
 Permission was granted. He began in a 
 slow, deliberate manner. He seemed to be 
 pleading in a hopeless way. He told the 
 facts, and showed that, in spite of them, 
 there was a possibility of the innocence of 
 the prisoner. He then went on to point out, 
 if the boy were innocent, what a terrible 
 crime they would commit, if they took his 
 life. He asked them to pity the youth, and 
 let him go. He could hurt no one. Let him 
 have a chance. " We cannot judge," said 
 Morton, with burning eyes, "how dare we, 
 when there is no danger ! We need not do 
 this for self-defence, we, a hundred 
 against one poor little child. It is a shame 
 for us to do this. Who saw him commit the 
 deed ? Oh, life is too sacred 1 We must not 
 take it, unless we are compelled ! We can 
 be merciful, we can spare ; and to be merci- 
 ful is to be just! We need not put this 
 boy's blood upon our hands ! Better, bet- 
 ter a thousand times, let him escape, even 
 if guilty, than to kill him, if he is innocent ! " 
 
 In this strain, Morton went on. Gradu- 
 ally, he became vehement. His tones became 
 stirring and magnetic. Every part of his 
 body seemed to sway with the thought that 
 he was uttering. His very soul was speak- 
 ing in every word that he uttered. His lan- 
 guage was a living spirit. Said one, speak- 
 ing of it afterwards: "He seemed to be 
 transformed. He possessed us. His elo- 
 
 quence was irresistible. I never heard any- 
 thing like it, and never expect to again. It 
 cannot be reported. It was like the rush of 
 a torrent. It was like the touch of an elec- 
 tric force. He made us, for the time being, 
 feel as he felt ; and it was impossible to con- 
 vict the child." 
 
 Nothing, indeed, could be said or done 
 after Morton closed. It was a wild dash of 
 eloquence that swept everything before it, 
 so entirely unexpected and unpremeditated, 
 and yet so masterly. Prince Hal rejoined 
 with only a few feeble words, and, without 
 leaving their seats, the jury acquitted the 
 prisoner. 
 
 " How can I repay you ? " said Pete, as he 
 clung to Morton. 
 
 " By coming to my tent at once, and pre- 
 paring to leave this place at the shortest 
 notice. There's danger yet. We've only 
 got out of the jaws of the lion, and have a 
 chance to run ; and run we must." 
 
 "Well, I don't think I'll ever make 
 another speech," said Jimmy. " What's the 
 use, what does so much talk amount to ? It's 
 only so much gabble. When a man's in ear- 
 nest, then his talk amounts to something. 
 Morton never claimed to be a talker, and 
 yet, when it comes to the gist, he beats us 
 all." 
 
 "I don't understand your faith in that 
 boy," said Paddie. " You defend him as if 
 he were your own child." 
 
 " Of course 1 do. Why shouldn't I ? I be- 
 lieve him innocent ; and I'd fight for a dog, 
 if I thought he was abused. I do hate in- 
 justice, and the world is full of it. I felt, 
 when I was talking, that, if I didn't save 
 that boy, the whole universe would tumble 
 to pieces, and the devil would have us all. 
 I saw in him all the innocence of the world, 
 and against him all the injustice. If I had 
 not saved him, I believe I should have died." 
 
 "You didn't convert Big Dick, though. 
 He's beginning to growl already, and says 
 the trial is a farce." 
 
 " I didn't expect to convert him, only to 
 keep him still for a wfyile. He sticks to 
 lynching. That's the old style to him, and 
 
40 
 
 GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 he don't like the new style of a trial by 
 jury. I know he's fretting, and I know he's 
 dangerous. Pete must leave camp this very 
 night." 
 
 " You're right there," said Paddie, " and, 
 even then, I fear it'll be too late. Where 
 can we go ? If they chase us, they'll catch 
 us, a hundred to a half-dozen." 
 
 "We must play the fox as well as the 
 lion. We must get Pete to a railroad sta- 
 tion, and send him to San Francisco." 
 
 "The nearest station is a hundred miles 
 away. Can you strike that ? " 
 
 " We might or might riot, and, having only 
 an hour or two the start, the chances are 
 that we'll be caught. Hullo, I hear Dick 
 shouting now. A few more glasses, and 
 they'll be ready to upset the trial by jury 
 and take up the good old fashion of lynch- 
 ing." 
 
 " Well, then, the sooner we take French 
 leave, the better. I'm ready." 
 
 " We'll start at once then, and take the 
 boy. Make for El Dorado station ; but, 
 mind you, a mile or so out of town you must 
 let Pete go." 
 
 " I don't understand that dodge." 
 
 11 It's a good one, though. Pete, you are 
 not afraid to do as I tell you?" said Morton. 
 
 "Oh, no! I'll do anything," answered 
 Pete. 
 
 " Well, then, when these gentlemen put 
 you down out here by Goose Creek, can you 
 make your way all alone by the Buried Cas- 
 tle to Conscience Pass ? " 
 
 " I will try to, and I won't be afraid." 
 
 "Well, take this revolver, if anything 
 should happen. This is my plan. I want 
 Bill and Paddie and Jimmy to take the trail 
 to El Dorado; and, when they drop you, 
 keep right on with speed, and, if possible, 
 get there ahead of the pursuing party. 
 That will keep 'em off our track for some 
 time ; for, you see, I want you to meet me at 
 Conscience Pass. Then you and I will take 
 our way by the Devil's Gap, and in due time 
 we'll reach the Dutchmen's Kitchen; and 
 from there I'll send you flying to San Fran- 
 cisco." 
 
 "Will there be no danger to yourself?" 
 
 "None at all. It's you they are after. 
 Get rid of you, and we are all right. Are 
 you ready there ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bill : " give us the boy." 
 
 In a moment, the boy was mounted, and 
 off they started. None too soon either, for 
 hardly were they out of sight before Jennie 
 Baker came rushing in. 
 
 " Oh, they are going to lynch him ! " she 
 said. " Big Dick has got them all excited. 
 They say you made fools of 'em, and they 
 won't stand it ! " 
 
 " Well, they'll have to catch the boy this 
 time, Jennie. He's taken leg-bail." 
 
 " Is he gone ? " said Jennie. 
 
 " Yes, he's on his way to El Dorado, and 
 to-morrow night he'll be on his way to 
 'Frisco." 
 
 "If they don't catch him." 
 
 " Well, they'll have to run to catch him." 
 
 The yelling outside increased, and the 
 tramp of men. Big Dick's voice could be 
 heard. He was trying to rouse the men, 
 and they were evidently ready to obey him. 
 The maddened and half-drunken crowd came 
 reeling up to the door of Charlie's cabin. 
 
 "It's no use," said Big Dick. "You 
 must give him up. We are going to hang 
 him." 
 
 " But you've tried him, and acquitted him; 
 and you are not going back on that, are 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes, we are. That was a sham." 
 
 " Didn't you agree to stand by the trial?" 
 
 " Yes, if they'd hang him, but not if they 
 acquitted him. They'd no business to ac- 
 quit him." 
 
 " But they did do it fairly and squarely ; 
 and, if you hang the boy now, you'll commit 
 murder." . 
 
 " I'll take care of that. If it is murder, 
 who'll punish us? Stand out of the way. 
 Put up those pistols." 
 
 " Well, you are too many for me. If you 
 must come in, come in and make yourselves 
 at home. I haven't chairs enough for only 
 one." 
 
 They all rushed in. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 41 
 
 " Why, there's no boy here t " said Big 
 Dick. 
 
 " I didn't say there was," said Charlie. 
 
 "Where in the devil has he gone?" 
 
 " Home, I guess," said Charlie. " He's 
 quite a home boy, you know." 
 
 " He's not in his own hole, for we looked 
 there as we came along. By God, he's es- 
 caped 1 " 
 
 " I guess he has then, and really I don't 
 blame him." 
 
 " Which way's he gone ? " 
 
 " I can't say for certain, but I think he's 
 "one to El Dorado. Billie and Paddie and 
 Jimmy have gone that way. I shouldn't 
 wonder if little Pete went, too ; for I heard 
 nim say something about going to 'Frisco." 
 
 u Damn it, the bird has flown ! " said Dick. 
 " Well, if that's so, we'll catch him. Plenty 
 of chance between here and El Dorado, and 
 plenty of good trees all along." 
 
 Then there was mounting in hot haste. 
 In fifteen minutes, a company of a hundred 
 was ready ; and, as Charlie sat calmly smok- 
 ing in his cabin, he heard the thunder of 
 their quick tramp as they went dashing from 
 the settlement. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE moment the sounds of the pursuing 
 party died upon the ear, Morton left his 
 cabin, and prepared at once to start. He 
 was soon at Conscience Pass, waiting for the 
 boy. It was about midnight; and every- 
 thing around him was perfectly still, save 
 the dash of waters and the slight rustle of 
 the trees. The tall cliffs loomed up into the 
 glittering moonlight, and the darkness of 
 the retreating valley was pierced with a 
 thousand silver shafts. He listened for 
 every sound. He dreaded lest something 
 should happen, and his plans prove of no 
 avail. The boy might be lost, for it was a 
 somewhat difficult path from one trail to the 
 other. He tied his horses, and walked impa- 
 tiently in the direction whence the little 
 fugitive would come. He had not gone far, 
 when he heard the report of a pistol. lie 
 was soon at the boy's side, who stood trem- 
 
 bling, just at the opening of an immense 
 defile. 
 
 " Did you see anything ? " said Morton. 
 
 " I thought I did," said the boy. "I was 
 frightened." 
 
 " Well, if there was anything, it's run off. 
 I guess you are tired. I'll carry you to the 
 horses." 
 
 Morton took the shrinking fellow in his 
 strong arms, and put him upon the horse's 
 back. 
 
 "You can ride, can't you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Pete, " and as fast as you 
 can go." 
 
 " We'll have to walk for a spell, until we 
 get through the pass. Then we can go like 
 the wind." 
 
 They picked their way slowly along amid 
 the overhanging rocks that came so close 
 together, at times, that it seemed impossible 
 to proceed; but, always, the path wound 
 along, and somehow there was a narrow pas- 
 sage still opening to the adventurous foot. 
 Only one could pass at a time, and fre- 
 quently the travellers were obliged to dis- 
 mount. Finally, they reached a broad and 
 open space, that spread far toward the west. 
 By morning, they had traversed many a 
 mile. How beautifully the light came danc- 
 ing over the hills and the rocky defiles and 
 green plains and rushing rivulets ! 
 
 " Here's a nice spot, and I've a good appe- 
 tite for breakfast. Let us dismount and 
 take a hasty meal." 
 
 In a little while, the coffee was made, 
 which, with " hard tack " and a bit of ham, 
 refreshed them wonderfully. 
 
 "We've a long journey before us," said 
 Morton, "considerably more than a sab- 
 bath-day's journey, but the object is equally 
 as good. I guess we'll fetch it, and before 
 another morning you'll be behind the iron 
 horse, and can say good-by to all pursuers." 
 
 Many a long mile they went at an easy 
 gallop. It was a gorgeous day, and the 
 scenery on every hand was most lovely. 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " said Morton. 
 
 " From New York, from the city." 
 
 "I thought so. Were you born there?" 
 
42 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 "I suppose so. I don't know much 
 about it." 
 
 " Always lived there? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where are your parents ? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " What made you come West?" 
 
 " I wanted to be as far off from the city 
 as I could." 
 
 " I don't see how you made out to come 
 all alone to California. Haven't you any 
 friends?" 
 
 " No, unless I have an uncle in San Fran- 
 cisco. He went there years and years ago. 
 I shall try and find him." 
 
 " How about this old man that you saw ? 
 Did you really see him ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " What did he look like?" 
 
 " Oh, dreadful ! Dark, bushy eyebrows ; 
 thick beard; a stooping back; long arms; 
 big hands; and he had an old gray, dirty 
 suit on." 
 
 " Did you ever see him before ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, in New York city, and that's 
 what frightened me so. I used to meet him 
 there." 
 
 " And you wanted to fly away from him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Strange we couldn't find him. What 
 could have become of him ? " 
 
 " I hope we shan't meet him," said Pete. 
 
 "I wish we could meet him, and settle 
 this mystery. Have you any notion what 
 you will do?" 
 
 "Only to get away. I suppose I shan't 
 starve." 
 
 "I guess not. There's always a way to 
 get a bite, even if we have to steal." 
 
 "I don't like to steal." 
 
 " I'm glad of that. I was afraid you would. 
 But you can work, even if you are little." 
 
 " Indeed I can. I can do lots of things." 
 
 " Yes, you can black boots, or keep a pea- 
 nut stand, or sell flowers. You'll want some 
 capital, though, to start with ; and I'll loan 
 you some." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! I may become rich, who 
 knows ? " 
 
 Sunset came, and they stopped and rested 
 for a couple of hours, and ate their supper. 
 
 " As far as I can judge, we've about 
 twenty miles to go. The train is due about 
 four in the morning. We shall be there 
 bright and early. If it is not behindhand, 
 we are all right. We've several hours the 
 start of Big Dick." 
 
 They were tired out, and the horses were 
 tired; but in good time they arrived at 
 the Dutchman's Kitchen, a queer little sort 
 of place, stuck . away among the hills, on 
 the line of the railroad that followed, 
 through the mountain defiles, the serpent- 
 ine course of a river. Only two or thre 
 houses were there, or rather ranches and 
 the station-house. A faint light was burn- 
 ing in the window as they approached it. 
 The depot-master was up and rubbing his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Time for the train ? " asked Morton. 
 
 " It's two hours behind time." 
 
 " Whew," said Morton, " that's a close rub. 
 How far is it from here to El Dorado ? " 
 
 " Forty miles." 
 
 "And a bad road. I guess we'll euchre 
 'em. Their horses must be pretty well tired 
 out." 
 
 Nevertheless, it was pretty hard work to 
 wait two hours for a train, especially when 
 there was so much danger in delay. 
 
 " We'll watch for 'em," said Morton ; 
 " and, if they beat the train, we'll run again. 
 We can dodge round pretty well among 
 these hills." 
 
 The glorious sun came shining over the 
 hills, and the Dutchman's Kitchen looked 
 resplendent, filled with all sorts of sparkling 
 jewels tossed from the hills round about. 
 
 " I think I'd like to live here," said Pete, 
 "only I'd be afraid that old man might 
 come round, and then I should have to run 
 again." 
 
 " Yes, this would be a comfortable place," 
 said Charlie. " You and I could live quite 
 nicely together. We could hunt and fish 
 and have a patch of potatoes." 
 
 " That would be nice," said Pete. 
 
 " We'll arrange that some time. Let me 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 43 
 
 hear from you when you are safe and sound 
 in 'Frisco." 
 
 " I'll get somebody to write and tell you 
 all about my fortune. I don't want to lose 
 you." 
 
 " ISTor I you," said Charlie. " I really have 
 taken a liking to you, though you are a poor 
 devil. I believe you might amount to some- 
 thing, if you had advantages." 
 
 " I hope so," said Pete. 
 
 " Don't give up. There's always a chance." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but it's mighty hard. There 
 seems to be something that's always pushing 
 a fellow down. I wonder if there is a devil." 
 
 " There's something as bad as one ; but, 
 with courage, we can get the better of it. 
 There's as much good luck as ill luck." 
 
 " Then I must begin to have heaps of 
 good luck, for all my life I've had nothing 
 but bad." 
 
 " You are young yet. I guess you'll have 
 a good ending, in spite of your bad begin- 
 ning. Here's a bag of gold to take along 
 with you. Don't lose it. It's the best 
 friend you will ever find." 
 
 "Excepting you. I owe you my life, at 
 the risk of your own." 
 
 " That's all right. I did it to satisfy my 
 conscience. I'd been a mean fellow, if I 
 hadn't. You can pay me back some time." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 " Hullo 1 I believe that's Big Dick away 
 off on the mountain there," burst out Mor- 
 ton, while looking through his field glass. 
 " He's a couple of miles off. It'll take him, 
 over that rough road, at least twenty min- 
 utes to arrive here. The train is due, and 
 in ten minutes more you are safe." 
 
 Morton bent down and put his ear on the 
 track. 
 
 " It's coming," said he. " Dick'll just miss 
 his game, I guess." 
 
 The train rattled up. Little Pete jumped 
 on board, Morton pressed his hand and bade 
 him good-by, and soon he saw the train 
 winding around the crag, and then it disap- 
 peared. 
 
 " I wish I'd gone too," said he. " I begin 
 to feel lonely without that little chap." 
 
 He turned, and met Big Dick and his 
 party galloping up to the station. 
 
 " Too late again, by God," said Dick. 
 
 " You should get up earlier in the morn- 
 ing," said Morton, " or rather you shouldn't 
 go to bed. I didn't. Your goose is cooked ; 
 but you'll have to eat him in San Fran- 
 cisco." 
 
 " I'll make you pay for this. What right 
 had you to intefere and save the little 
 cuss ? " 
 
 "The same right that you had to hang 
 him. I've got the better of you, and you 
 might as well call it quits. You don't suf- 
 fer because his neck isn't broken." 
 
 " That's a matter of opinion. I shan't be 
 satisfied until Maddox's murder is avenged, 
 for he did me many a good turn. We'll 
 take you now. Seize him, men ! " 
 
 The onset was so quick that Morton 
 could not defend himself. In a moment, he 
 was bound hand and foot, and placed upon 
 his horse, guarded by a couple of Dick's 
 men. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " said Morton. 
 
 "It means that we are going to break 
 your neck," said Dick. 
 
 "I don't think that'll be very satisfac- 
 tory," said Morton. 
 
 "It'll satisfy us." 
 
 "You'll be sorry." 
 
 " I guess not. I'm not going to hunt a hun- 
 dred miles for nothing. I've caught you, 
 and the boy may go to the devil." 
 
 That's the trouble with lynch law. It 
 doesn't know when to stop in its mad ca- 
 reer. It is not order, it is simply revenge ; 
 and, therefore, at times it becomes fierce in- 
 justice. Big Dick was angry, and his im- 
 petuous spirit controlled the men who were 
 with him. They were ready to do anything 
 in their blind fury. 
 
 Morton saw that it was useless to reason 
 with them, and he submitted to his fate. 
 He might as well reason with the wind as 
 with these men in their excited state. 
 
 "I wish you would untie me," said he 
 to Dick. 
 
 " Oh, you'll try to escape." 
 
44 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " Oh, no 1 What's the use ? You'd shoot me, 
 if I did. Besides, I pledge my honor." 
 
 "Unloose him, men I I'll watch him." 
 Morton was unbound, and rode along with 
 the company. 
 
 They wound their way up the denies of 
 the mountain, and were soon far from any 
 human habitation. 
 
 " I guess we are in our country," said 
 Dick, "where we can execute our own 
 laws." 
 
 They halted. 
 
 "Do you want anything to eat?" asked 
 Dick. 
 
 " No, I am afraid it wouldn't digest well. 
 
 " Then, perhaps we'd better hang you at 
 once, and done with it." 
 
 "I presume so. I'm in no hurry; but 
 you can suit yourself." 
 
 " Have you any message to leave ? " 
 
 " Yes. I'd like to write a letter to Bill." 
 
 "I don't know as there's any paper in 
 camp, or pen and ink." 
 
 "I've a pencil and paper, and this stump'h 
 do for a table." 
 
 He sat down, or rather kneeled down, by 
 the stump, and wrote as follows : 
 
 Dear Bill, The little chap is safe, and I'm 
 glad of it. He's on his way to 'Frisco ; and I am 
 going to take a long journey the other way. I 
 am in a regular orthodox crowd, and they are 
 going to punish the innocent in the place of the 
 guilty. They can't get Pete, and so they are go- 
 ing to take me. Well, if I had my choice, I'd do 
 it over again, that's all. I'd rather live but I 
 would not live and do a mean thing as I have 
 done in the past, and for which I have been so 
 punished. How sweetly Madeline shines before 
 me now ! I hope I have made myself worthy of 
 her and of your friendship. Take charge of my 
 affairs. What I have left give to little Pete. Yon 
 will hear from him, and do not tell him my fate, 
 if you can help it ; and, when you write East, you 
 can simply say that I am dead. I wonder what 
 it is to die. I have no fear, only I do not like 
 the way ; but so it has come, and that's the end 
 of it, and I see no way to change it. What we 
 can't help, we need not fret about. Good-by, 
 yom, and the rest of my comrades. CHARLIE. 
 
 " Here's a good tree right up here, hang- 
 
 ing over the cliff. Fetch him along, and 
 the rope." 
 
 Dick flung the rope over the tree. Charlie 
 said nothing while they adjusted the noose 
 about his neck. 
 
 " You take it easy," said Dick. " I almost 
 think you admire hanging." 
 
 " Not at all, but I see no use in crying." 
 
 "You are right there. Everything is 
 ready. You see the limb hangs right over 
 the cliff. If you piefer, you can step off." 
 
 "1 don't care to save you the trouble. 
 That's your business, not mine." 
 
 A couple of strong arms pushed him over 
 the cliff. With a sort of convulsive lurch, 
 he seized the rope with his hands ; and, as 
 he rolled along, the limb to which it was fas- 
 tened broke, and with a quick crash he 
 went tumbling down into the ravine. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " How are you," said Dick, looking over 
 the precipice, " safe and sound or dead ? " 
 
 "Safe, but not very sound," said Morton. 
 " I've sprained my ankle and can hardly stir." 
 
 "You can't escape then. Do you prefer 
 to stay, or shall we help you out and finish 
 our job ? " 
 
 " Help me out. I'd rather have my neck 
 broke than die of starvation." 
 
 "Well, I s'pose it's only fair that we 
 should help you out, though how we are 
 going to do it I don't know. It's rather 
 dangerous climbing down. I might break 
 my neck. I'll call it quits, and let you 
 alone." 
 
 "That's not fair. If you are going to 
 hang, then hang fair and square ; but, if you 
 are not, then it's your business to help a 
 fellow." 
 
 " That's logic, and I cave in. I'll get you 
 out somehow, and hang you on a stout limb 
 next time." 
 
 It was a difficult matter, however, to get 
 down to where Charlie was. Dick really 
 did risk his neck in trying to do it ; but he 
 finally succeeded in clambering to the side 
 of Charlie. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 45 
 
 "I don't see how you got here without 
 breaking your neck," said Dick. 
 
 " I suppose I should have broken it, if I 
 had been in any other predicament," said 
 Charlie; "but having the rope around my 
 neck, why I escaped with the fortune of a 
 drunken man, who, you know, always comes 
 right side up with care." 
 
 " Well, how to lift you back again and try 
 it over is the next question. Is your foot 
 really sprained ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can't step on it. I reckon you'll 
 have to drag me up." 
 
 " I'll take the rope off your neck then ; for 
 I don't 'spose you want to be lifted by that. 
 I must unfasten it too from that branch, if I 
 can get hold of it. It's tumbled over that 
 big rock; and, if I should slip, my neck 
 wouldn't be worth much." 
 
 Dick clambered over the rock to the 
 broken branch. The moment he reached it, 
 he uttered a loud cry. 
 
 " Hello ! " said he. " If I haven't struck 
 a mine. A dead body, and who in the devil 
 is it V " And he leaped back, dragging the 
 body with him. 
 
 "Why," said Charlie, "that's the very 
 fellow that little Pete described. Examine 
 him. You may find some evidence of the 
 murder." 
 
 "Sure as you are alive, it's here," said 
 Dick. " This is Maddox's money. I know 
 it; and here is his pocket-book, and here are 
 papers belonging to the chap himself. That 
 beats me. He did the murder. By thun- 
 der, I'm glad we didn't hang the boy. Bully 
 for you, pard 1 Here's my hand. Take the 
 money and the papers. I know you'll do the 
 right thing by 'em. Hullo, men, come down 
 here, a couple of ye, and give a lift. We 
 must pull Charlie out of this scrape : he's the 
 best of us all now." 
 
 The men came down and worked with a 
 will, and almost by main force with the aid 
 of the rope they bore him up over the rocks, 
 and soon he was triumphantly mounted and 
 on his way to Golden Throne. 
 
 Of course, Americans always must have a 
 mass meeting and speeches and resolutions, 
 
 when tlt.ere is such a tide in the affairs of 
 men as this of Charlie's. Judge Pilkins 
 called all the inhabitants of Golden Throne 
 together, that they might congratulate the 
 conquering hero. The judge made a very 
 elaborate speech, in the course of which he 
 applauded everybody. Sammy Grub bins in- 
 troduced a series of resolutions, in which 
 Mr. Charles Morton received the thanks of 
 the whole community for his devotion to the 
 cause of innocence. Some one, in the ardor 
 of his enthusiasm, moved that Morton be 
 nominated for the legislature ; but this was 
 against the grain of Grubbins, for he him- 
 self wanted to be nominated, and it placed 
 him in rather an amusing dilemma. But 
 Morton set all things right by saying that 
 he had no desire for office, and that he was 
 already pledged to the support of his friend 
 Grubbins. This made Grubbins happy, and 
 he poured forth an eloquent speech, which 
 was followed by Sol Jones, Paddie John, 
 Jimmy, Prince Hal, and others, and then 
 they all adjourned to Tim Baker's bar-room. 
 
 " Well," said Paddie, " we've been pretty 
 much mixed up, and it's wonderful how 
 things are straightened. It looks as if there 
 was a providence in this." 
 
 "Luck is awful strange anyway," said 
 Morton. "It scares one to think of it. 
 That I should be strung up right over the 
 dead body of this miserable tramp, and 
 then, instead of breaking my neck, break 
 the limb and tumble right upon him. That 
 was a time when a special providence was 
 very desirable." 
 
 " But there's lots of times when the spe- 
 cial providence don't come in, and things go 
 to the devil. So you see that providence is 
 altogether too special. We can't depend 
 upon it. There's good luck indeed, but 
 there's a sight of poor luck also. If there 
 was a real providence, there would be only 
 good luck." 
 
 Things went on as usual at Golden Throne 
 for about a month ; and then Jimmy, the- 
 minister, came to Morton and said, 
 
 " I've made up my mind to reform." 
 
 " What put that into your head ? I thought 
 
46 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 you were in the last ditch, and didn't propose 
 to reform any more." 
 
 " Well, I did think so. But, then, I like 
 variety ; and this lying in the ditch all the 
 time is rather monotonous. I'm going to 
 clean up, and see how it feels." 
 
 " But what started you ? Have you had 
 a visitation from the Holy Ghost ? " 
 
 " No. This time, I act through common- 
 sense." 
 
 " Then, I have some hopes of you. But 
 how did you happen to be so common-sense V" 
 
 "Come to my cabin, and I'll tell you. 
 There's always a cause for an effect, you 
 know." 
 
 " That I admit ; but I can't imagine what 
 should so affect you. I thought the whiskey 
 bottle was all-powerful, and that you and it 
 were sworn friends." 
 
 " We are ; but occasionally we have a lov- 
 ers' quarrel. In this case, however, I have 
 a new friend, and as long as he lasts I am 
 sure of regeneration. At any rate, he won't 
 let me lie in the gutter." 
 
 When they entered Jimmy's almost tum- 
 ble-down cabin, he went to the hearth, dug 
 up a stone, and out of a hollow drew several 
 well-filled bags, and rolled their contents out 
 upon the floor. They were shining nuggets 
 of gold. 
 
 " There's about twenty thousand dollars," 
 said Jimmy. " Isn't that a good friend ? " 
 
 " I should say so. You've been lucky." 
 
 " I have for the past few weeks, and I've 
 kept it to myself. I've worked like a dog to 
 scrape these together. I struck the vein a 
 month ago. It stirred me like fire." 
 
 " Now," said I, " I'll know what it is to be 
 rich. I've worked day and night, and have 
 hardly drunk a drop; and now I am rich, 
 comparatively. I've never been so before, 
 and honestly it makes me strong. I feel 
 like a new man. I feel fresh power within 
 me. Oh, there's nothing like money to put 
 the pluck into one! It's worth more than 
 any Holy Ghost. It makes a man of me 
 once more." 
 
 "I congratulate you, indeed I do," said 
 Morton. " I'm glad you've struck it. 
 
 Money rules this world, and when that 
 smiles upon you you are safe. What's your 
 plan?" 
 
 " I'm going East. I'm hungry for civili- 
 zation, for books, and papers, men and 
 women, art, pictures, culture. I will revel in 
 them." 
 
 " Will you preach again ? " 
 
 "I don't know. I want to, that is, if I 
 could be free in speech, as my imagination is 
 free. Oh, I hate these creeds; but I do 
 enjoy preaching. It's the most exquisite 
 pleasure of life to pour out your emotion 
 in a flood of beautiful language, to be en- 
 tranced yourself and to entrance your hear- 
 ers. But I suppose I must give it up. I 
 don't know what I will do, float round for a 
 spell. Oh, it is such a joy to be rich, and 
 to be open and free to all the fine influences 
 of this world. .What a curse is poverty, 
 when it shuts you off from these and you 
 must drudge in darkness ! I can be a man 
 now through the power of these little bits 
 of gold. Without them, I should be weak, 
 indeed. Oh, gold ! gold ! what a magician 
 thou art ! how beautiful ! how wonderful ! 
 Come and touch my life with thy thrilling 
 fingers." And he threw handfuls of gold 
 into the air, and they came gleaming and 
 dancing down upon his head, and tumbled 
 and dashed upon the floor like flakes of 
 fire. 
 
 "You are going somewhere near where 
 Maddox lived, aren't you ? " said Charlie. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so. I remember he and I 
 came from the same section. We used to 
 talk about it. He has a little daughter there 
 somewhere." 
 
 " I want you to find her, and take this to 
 her, about a thousand dollars, the savings 
 of old Maddox." 
 
 "I'll do that, I'm going to start to-mor- 
 row. I'm in a hurry. You'll go with me to 
 the station, won't you ? I'll leave my claim 
 with you. I think it's worth something, and 
 we'll divide." 
 
 " It's a bargain. I'll make the most of it. 
 I'll go with you to El Dorado." 
 
 The best wishes of the camp were show- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 47 
 
 ered upon Jimmy as he took his departure 
 the next day. 
 
 "If I weren't so confounded lazy, I'd go 
 with you," said Prince Hal. " I want to 
 see the States, but I never expect to leave 
 Golden Throne. I've travelled all I'm going 
 to. I wouldn't even get on board a palace 
 car, if it went by my very door." 
 
 Judge Pilkins shook hands with him pon- 
 derously, while the fortunate Jimmy dropped 
 a bit of gold into his hand to maintain his 
 dignity with, I suppose; while Grubbins 
 metaphorically waved over him the stars 
 and stripes, and shook hands with a hearty 
 E pluribus unum. 
 
 One wave was thus dropped out, but the 
 little community at Golden Throne kept 
 heaving and tumbling along. Something 
 new was happening every day ; but it failed 
 to be recorded, and therefore it rests in 
 golden silence. Occasionally, news from the 
 great world dropped in upon them ; and, if 
 anything very remarkable was going, the 
 people at Golden Throne would hear of it, 
 and what was deepest in the advancing tides 
 of the world they generally realized. Some 
 of Ingersoll's books floated up into this re- 
 tired spot, and they were eagerly devoured. 
 Many of these rough miners sympathized 
 with the eloquent and audacious thought of 
 the brilliant infidel, who seemed to be voic- 
 ing some of the strongest and sweetest im- 
 pulses of the human heart. His books were 
 full of poetry : they flashed with the splendid 
 light of genius, and stirred the soul like the 
 " gorgeous vision of an Iliad " or the " mys- 
 tic, unfathomable song" of a Dante. He 
 struck the key-note of a new age, of a 
 sublinier and more beautiful unfolding of 
 our common humanity. 
 
 And so, when it was rumored that In- 
 gersoll was to make a speech in the grand 
 opera house at San Francisco, there was an 
 instant determination to go and hear him, 
 although Golden Throne was five hundred 
 miles away ; but what is five hundred miles 
 to a rollicking Californian. 
 
 " I want to hear that man," said Morton. 
 "I want to see him face to face. He has 
 
 done me more good than any living human 
 being. He comes nearer to nature than any 
 man I know of." 
 
 " I'll go with you," said Burnham. " In- 
 gersoll is our man. He knows the spirit of 
 the age. No man is more grandly real, 
 and that's what we want. The world is full 
 of humbug, and Ingersoll is the man to 
 destroy it." 
 
 "You can count on me," said Paddie. 
 " I'm ready for any adventure. Ingersoll is 
 my man, because his speech is like music, 
 like a fountain of silvery waters, which yet 
 sparkle like dagger and cut deep and deadly. 
 The old theology can't stand such attacks. 
 I say let us all go. Come, Pilkins, it'll give 
 you a pound of flesh less," with laughter 
 holding both his sides. 
 
 " That's a temptation, for I'd give a pound 
 of gold for every pound I could get rid of 
 till I could button my coat. But I can't 
 carry two hundred and fifty pounds up hill 
 and down to San Francisco. Besides, I'm 
 a little afraid of Bob. He ought to be 
 more gentle. He does smash things. The 
 churches are good things in their way. 
 They are nice places for an after-dinner nap, 
 and the ministers well, I don't know what 
 we should do with them if they didn't 
 preach. They certainly wouldn't work." 
 
 " You are conservative," said Paddie ; 
 "but Grubbins, I guess, '11 go. He don't be- 
 lieve in humbug, for he's not fat. He has a 
 lean and hungry look, like Cassius." 
 
 " I admit that I should enjoy Ingersoll," 
 said Grubbins. "Intellectually, I thoroughly 
 agree with him; but, practically, I disagree. 
 I speak to you confidentially, and not to the 
 crowd. You see I'm going into politics, 
 and I must regard the prejudices of the 
 people. I can't be an outspoken infidel. I 
 should never get to Congress, if I was. 
 Therefore, I must keep my intellectual opin- 
 ions to myself. I must help pay the min- 
 ister, I must go to a prayer meeting occa- 
 sionally, and, when the time comes, take to 
 the anxious seat ; and, as the Baptists are 
 getting to be pretty numerous about here, I 
 may have to be baptized. All this, I admit, 
 
48 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 is a nuisance ; but what can I do ? I am 
 ambitious." 
 
 "Do nothing but serve the times," said 
 Paddie. "If you are willing to pay the 
 price, I suppose you'll get the reward, for you 
 are smart enough. All our politicians have 
 to put their nose on. They must follow the 
 beck of the crowd. They must worship the 
 vulgar god. A politician can't be original 
 or wise. He must be shrewd and imitative, 
 a parrot and an owl. I won't betray you, 
 Grubbins. You are honest enough, as the 
 world goes. I don't want the loaves and 
 fishes, and so I can speak my mind. You, 
 of course, mast be a stick, something that 
 the crowd can carry, and use to beat the 
 drum of their own conceit. You'd better 
 not hear Ingersoll. It might make you too 
 bold and sincere. If you want to go ahead, 
 just stop your ears. Don't hear anything 
 new. Here's Prince Hal. He's not ambi- 
 tious. He's studied Greek and Latin, and 
 ought to be a seeker for knowledge." 
 
 "I wish I hadn't studied Greek and 
 Latin," said Prince Hal. "I hate to re- 
 member, and it's too much trouble to forget. 
 I don't want to know anything. What's 
 the use? Opinions are a bother. I don't 
 want opinions. I can't use them. I wish I 
 didn't have to think. What does it all 
 amount to ? Give me a cigar under a tree, 
 and I am happier than the wisest philoso- 
 pher. You all of you keep fretting and 
 arguing. I don't fret or argue. I don't 
 care a damn what's true, only what's 
 easy. Good-by. I've sat up now for half 
 an hour, and it's time to go to bed." 
 
 "I don't s'pose you'll go, Gooch," put in 
 Paddie again, to the deacon. 
 
 " Not I," said Gooch. " I should expect 
 the Lord would blast me with his lightnings, 
 if I did. Why, I have prayed for the Lord 
 to put a hook in that man's mouth. I won- 
 der that he don't, my prayers have been so 
 earnest. It'll come. Jehovah is long-suffer- 
 ing, but his day is at hand. Sinners shall 
 quake. I warn you to flee. I believe that 
 Ingersoll is the devil himself. I've never 
 seen him or read bis books. I wouldn't dare 
 to, but I know that he's awful bad." 
 
 "We'll take our chances," said Paddie. 
 " We'll start to-morrow. I advise you to go, 
 deacon. You may get your eyes open, and 
 there'll be a chance for you to be something 
 more than an idiot or something less than 
 a rogue." 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 IT was a bright morning when they went 
 forth, these stanch and motley pilgrims. 
 Away they passed, by the Buried Castle aud 
 the Throne Room and Conscience Pass, by 
 the weird and mighty forms of that occi- 
 dental world. It was a gay and rollicking 
 set, with a varied individuality, such as 
 could only be found in the West. Each was 
 sui generis, a child of nature, and not a mere 
 echo of civilization. 
 
 Paddie John and Charlie and Bill and 
 Sol Jones, and Tim and Jennie Baker, and 
 Big Dick made up the little company. 
 They strolled leisurely along, for there was 
 plenty of time, and they wanted to enjoy 
 the beautiful and romantic country through 
 which their journey lay. They expected to 
 go a couple of hundred miles on horseback, 
 and then strike the railroad. Emerging 
 from Conscience Pass, a superb and spark- 
 ting scene lay before them. A wide valley, 
 gemmed by a noble stream, trended through 
 the ample range of hills. Through this val- 
 ley, they slowly travel ; while, on every hand, 
 new and dazzling prospects constantly ap- 
 pear. At the farther end of it, the stream 
 gathers and pours itself in a brilliant cata- 
 ract, over which hung a veil of intensest 
 prismatic colors. One might imagine that 
 here was the entrance to some fairy grotto. 
 
 " What a life nature has ! " said Paddie. 
 " She is always doing the unexpected. Who 
 would have tji ought of such a scene as this? 
 It never was got up to order. It was a pure 
 freak. See how the, rocks are huddled to- 
 gether, and what fantastic leaps the water 
 takes, waltzing around into all sorts of 
 queer corners and plunging forth from 
 a thousand intricacies. I am sometimes 
 tempted to be a hermit, and dwell forever in 
 this beauteous solitude. Man can't give me 
 such variety as this." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 49 
 
 " You'll find he can, when he's in the right 
 spot," said Charlie. "Many a soul is like 
 this cataract, and pours itself in the same 
 fashion." 
 
 " But not until it's all alone," said Paddie. 
 "I don't believe you can reconcile nature, 
 and civilization. They are antagonistic. 
 Men have to be smoothed off in order to 
 live together in peace, and that spoils 'em. 
 I think every man ought to be a savage and 
 roam as wild as the wind, then he'll amount 
 to something." 
 
 " I don't like that style," said Charlie. I 
 don't want to paddle my own canoe. I like 
 the palace car and the steamship and the 
 telegraph. Art is superior to nature." 
 
 " What do you mean by art V " said Paddie. 
 
 "I mean the life which controls and 
 shapes, and not simply flows along like this 
 cataract." 
 
 "By art, you mean creation, then?" said 
 Burnham. 
 
 " In that sense, yes," said Morton. " And 
 that, I suppose, is what men vaguely express 
 by the term God. There is a godlike qual- 
 ity in the universe, that is, a creative 
 genius : only, like all else, it is limited and 
 finite, and can only accomplish certain ends. 
 There can be no infinite God: whatever 
 god there is is a struggling and developing 
 one. He grows." 
 
 " And he will never stop growing, I sup- 
 pose," said Paddie. 
 
 " I hope not ; for, if he does, then he will 
 die." 
 
 " Well, the gods come and go like other 
 ihings," said Paddie, " like the flowers and 
 nke this cataract. This would be a hum- 
 drum universe if one being was forever 
 playing his part. The best becomes a bore, 
 if we have too much of it." . 
 
 "And philosophy, also," said Charlie. 
 " So let's change, and have something to eat. 
 It's about noon, and here's a jolly place to 
 lunch, good as a palace. What pictures 
 we have to look at, and how grandly these 
 trees hang over us, and the ground beneath 
 them is smooth, almost, as a table 1 I won- 
 der who's the best cook ? " 
 
 "I'll try my hand," said Big Dick. " I'll 
 build the fire. I s'pose Jennie is the boss 
 for making coffee." 
 
 " I'll do that, as there's no table to set," 
 said Jennie. 
 
 "You've a good kitchen to work in, 
 plenty of room," said Charlie. 
 
 " There is nothing jollier than having all 
 out-doors for your dining-room, and an ap- 
 petite almost as big," said Paddie. 
 
 The coffee was made rich as any that 
 ever touched lip at Delmonico's, and the 
 crackers and salt pork were brought forth, 
 and beneath the shadow of the big tree 
 they ate their noonday meal. 
 
 " This is what I call life," said Charlie. 
 " How much pleasure there is in eating a 
 crust of bread, when you really need it. 
 The curse of civilization is that it has no 
 appetite. It is all the time gorged." 
 
 " Gorged in spots, that's all," said Paddie. 
 " Those who are hungry can't get anything 
 to eat, and those who can are never hungry. 
 Here we equalize things: we are hungry, 
 and we have enough to go round." 
 
 " The time '11 come when folks can't go 
 West," said Bill. " I wonder what the world 
 will do then." 
 
 " That's a long look ahead," said Charlie. 
 " I'm in hopes, however, they'll discover the 
 north pole and find a way inside. It'll be 
 a tough world when people can't migrate, 
 when they must stay put." 
 
 " I don't bother my head about that," said 
 Dick. "I've plenty of room while I live, 
 and I mean to swing round in it." 
 
 " We are the lucky ones," said Sol. " We 
 are born in the nick of time. There's elbow 
 room for us." 
 
 " Yes, everybody has a chance now," said 
 Tim, " if they can only get to it." 
 
 " And, if they can't get to it, they must 
 starve," said Paddie. 
 
 " What a rush and tumble it is 1 " said 
 Charlie. " So many going to the wall, and 
 yet the world is not half-occupied." 
 
 " How easily Providence might fix things, 
 if there was one I " said Paddie. " He could 
 put a few million people out here, and they 
 
50 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 would be quite happy ; and now these lauds 
 are going to waste, and these millions are 
 starving." 
 
 "It'll come right," said Jennie, "if we 
 only do right." 
 
 " That's a woman's reason," said Paddie. 
 " I won't dispute it." 
 
 " I don't believe in grumbling," said Jen- 
 nie. 
 
 " I agree with you," said Paddie. " You've 
 hit the nail on the head. We must do, and 
 what we can't do we mustn't fret about." 
 
 "Let us make our afternoon's journey 
 then, while the universe takes care of itself," 
 said Charlie. 
 
 On they went in the bright and golden 
 atmosphere, amid the many winding and far- 
 stretching hills. How beautiful, how won- 
 derful all that country is, haunted by some 
 strange spirit, as if in the long ago a 
 mighty people dwelt therein, now vanished, 
 and only an impalpable presence is left I 
 The form of the hills constantly changes, 
 opening and widening and breaking into 
 huge defiles, gemmed with glistening lakes 
 and foaming streams; while the travellers 
 pass under great trees that seem to have 
 touched the heavens for centuries, so vast 
 the branches that sway in the air. 
 
 The long afternoon slowly draws to its 
 golden close ; and the starry wings of night 
 mingle with the dazzling hues of sunset, as 
 they prepare for their night's lodging under 
 the dome of a great rock called the "Pil- 
 grim's Rest," where evidently many before 
 them had camped, for the remains of charred 
 branches were scattered profusely about. 
 
 Dick, as usual, built the fire. He was 
 ready to do anything. He never shirked. 
 
 Jennie made the coffee ; and, while the fire 
 blazed brilliantly up, they ate and talked. 
 Who so royal as they, free as the air and 
 with every want supplied? 
 
 " I wonder if the world can ever live like 
 this, without any police officer to keep 
 things straight? We don't need any State, 
 why should the world need it ? I believe in 
 , anarchy. The State makes more trouble 
 than it prevents," said Paddie. 
 
 " Suppose a man knocks you down ? " said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " Nine times out of ten, it's a police officer 
 that knocks me down," said Paddie. "If 
 the State don't meddle with my rights, I 
 feel that nobody else will." 
 
 " You believe in voluntary goodness," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 "Indeed, I do. There is a natural har- 
 mony ; and people will seek it and be happy, 
 if you'll let them alone. I tell you the 
 State has been a curse. It is the protector 
 of wrong. He who is worth millions has 
 the benefit, he who isn't worth a cent is 
 crushed. Don't we get along well enough 
 here?" 
 
 "Yes, while there's plenty ; but, when there 
 isn't more than half enough for us, I think 
 there'll be some fighting, and then the 
 strongest gets the whole of it." 
 
 " The earth gives all we need, and if every 
 one worked for himself there'd be plenty. 
 It's because so many live on the labors of 
 others that we have want." 
 
 " It may be so," said Charlie. " But, if a 
 man won't work, will you make him work ? " 
 
 " We'll let him starve. He can have his 
 own way, and welcome. Sol, I'll leave it to 
 you if politics ain't a humbug, if it wouldn't 
 be better for the world if the whole thing. 
 President and all, were dumped into the 
 limbo of fools. You have had your share 
 of the thing, what is it ? " 
 
 " Not much, I assure you, except spoils," 
 answered Sol. 
 
 " How did it happen," said Charlie, " that 
 you got pitched over ? If I remember, you 
 were once talked of as a candidate for the 
 presidency. At least, you were suggested 
 for a dark horse. And now you are digging 
 in the mines. Couldn't you dig deep enough 
 into the pockets of the people ? " 
 
 " Politics is a strange whirligig," said Sol. 
 " You don't know when you are down or 
 when are up. You can't calculate : you 
 don't know what the people want, for they 
 themselves don't know, and they change 
 their minds in the twinkling of an eye. I 
 tried to follow 'em, but I made a fool of my- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 51 
 
 self. Why, there was a big bill up in Con- 
 gress, and I was offered a hundred thousand 
 dollars to vote for it ; but I virtuously re- 
 fused, because I was convinced that the peo- 
 ple didn't want it, for it was really against 
 their interest and an enormous swindle. But, 
 lo and behold ! the people did want it, and 
 they came down on me like a thousand of 
 brick, and accused me of being bribed and 
 insulting my constituency, etc. That's what 
 knocked me. If I had accepted that bribe 
 and voted for that damned bill, I verily be- 
 lieve I should have been President. As it 
 was, I lost the hundred thousand dollars, 
 and I lost my popularity and was put on 
 the shelf, because I tried to please the peo- 
 ple. Politics is a game, and it all depends 
 on your luck." 
 
 " We ought to be rid of politics then," 
 said Paddie. 
 
 "Agreed; but, if we were, what would 
 you do with all the damn fools and loafers 
 in the country? You'd have no place for 
 them. Take the deviltry that is in poli- 
 tics and put into society, and we'd all 
 go to smash. Congress is a sort of safety- 
 valve. The people want something to play 
 with. They might as well have presidents 
 and senates. The real work, of course, is 
 done outside by people who scarcely know 
 who is elected." 
 
 " You'd like tp try it again, Sol, wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 Indeed, I would," said Sol. " It's allur- 
 ing as a game of cards. I may have another 
 chance. For the present, however, I must 
 give way to Grubbins. He's the rising star. 
 He holds a good hand." 
 
 " For my part," said Paddie, " I'd rather 
 take up my quarters with Moccasin Bill. 
 You know him. We'll dine with him to- 
 morrow noon. He lives in the ground, has 
 a nice, snug hole, and is as independent as 
 an emperor. He is the boldest hunter in 
 the Sierras, and has all the delicacies of the 
 season." 
 
 "I've heard about him, but haven't seen 
 him," said Charlie. 
 
 "He's the man of men," said Paddie, 
 
 " seven feet high, straight as an arrow, strong 
 as a bull, and tender-hearted as a little child. 
 Did you ever hear that story about him, 
 which explains the wonderful power he has 
 over all the Indians of the country ? " 
 
 " I heard of it," said Dick, " and I don't 
 see how he could have done it. I thought 
 he must have been crazy." 
 
 " It was a strange freak, as the world goes ; 
 but it turned out to be a mightv good thing. 
 You see he had located his traps, aud plod- 
 ded through the snow every day to secure 
 game. While making his round in the 
 midst of a furious storm, furs on his back 
 and rifle on his shoulder, he heard a cry r 
 faint and weak, a call for help. He re- 
 sponded, and, staggering along, found an 
 Indian half-buried in the snow and nearly 
 perished. It took all his strength, but he 
 finally brought the savage to his cabin and 
 nourished him back to life. Now, this Indian 
 had secreted himself upon the trail of the 
 hunter for the purpose of killing him, but 
 succumbed to the cold, and was saved by 
 the very man he sought to slay." 
 
 " How much better it would have been to 
 have scalped the Indian ! " said Dick. 
 
 " Of course it would," said Paddie. " But 
 the would-be murderer pleaded for pardon, 
 and returned to his tribe and related his 
 adventure. From that day, the Indians have 
 honored Moccasin Bill, and will do anything 
 he wishes, and will allow no one to molest 
 his traps. So, you see, he did a good thing 
 after all." 
 
 " He's a lucky chap," said Dick. " If I'd 
 done it, the Indian would have shot me. I 
 don't trust 'em." 
 
 " I've been with the Indians a good deal," 
 said Tim Baker. " I've slept with 'em, been 
 right among 'em for days, and they are not 
 the worst devils in the world. You get the 
 right side of 'em, and they'll do you any 
 favor." 
 
 " But, if you get the wrong side of 'em, it's 
 hell and blazes," said Dick. 
 
 Rolling their blankets about them, they 
 one by one dropped asleep. 
 
 By noon the next day, they reached the 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " dug out " of Moccasin Bill. He was a 
 magnificent specimen of the American hun- 
 ter. His long hair fell over his shoulders, 
 and descended nearly to his waist in natural 
 curls; while his beard, that had known no 
 razor for thirty years, swept his breast. He 
 was taller than any of his companions ; and, 
 though now fifty years old, he was as active 
 as a boy of twenty. 
 
 " You are welcome to my camp, boys, and 
 all I've got. I've a splendid venison, just 
 killed. You are in time for the best of it." 
 
 And a delicious piece of venison they 
 had. It melted in the mouth, and it's juice 
 was as sweet and stimulating as wine. 
 
 " Going to 'Frisco ? " asked Moccasin Bill. 
 
 " That's our destination," said Paddie. 
 
 " Got something for market, I s'pose." 
 
 " Not yet. We are seekers after wisdom 
 now, going to hear Ingersoll, who lectures 
 next week." 
 
 "Ingersoll? I think I've heard of him. 
 Didn't he write an oration on the Gods ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then, by thunder, I'll go with you. 
 He's the man of all men I want to see. A 
 fellow came along one day, and read me that 
 oration ; and it has stuck in my memory ever 
 since. It's just the thing. It's true, every 
 word of it, and is what I've thought out for 
 myself among these hills. I can't read or 
 write, but I can think, and I don't believe 
 in any gods. I've tramped all over this 
 country, and see nothing but everlasting nat- 
 ure. From her I came and to her 1 return. 
 I've met a priest now and then, and he's 
 tried to talk to me, but I never could stand 
 it. It's a lie, and I know it. I'm not edu- 
 cated enough to believe such stuff. I've 
 been a hunter all my life and have breathed 
 the free air of heaven. I've not had a day's 
 sickness, and I've never had to depend upon 
 a medicine-man. Hurrah for Ingersoll ! As 
 for the rest of civilization, 1 don't care that 
 for it," snapping his fingers. 
 
 With this superb addition to their com- 
 pany, they pressed along and reached, the 
 next day afternoon, a mail station, called 
 Gurzle's Ford. Here, they purposed to take 
 
 the stage, and strike the railroad at Miller's 
 Falls. 
 
 The coach appeared in the morning after 
 their arrival, Frank Reno holding the rib- 
 bons and driving the four magnificent 
 horses with skilful hand. He was the most 
 famous driver in the mountains, having 
 been on the road nearly thirty years. 
 
 "Hullo, Frank," said Moccasin Bill. "I 
 thought I'd try a ride with ye. I've a no- 
 tion for 'Frisco. " 
 
 " Glad of your company," said Frank. 
 " It's seldom I see you." 
 
 "I like my hole in the mountains," said 
 the hunter, "and I'd rather go afoot than 
 ride. But 1 guess I'll try it behind that 
 team of yours. They look as if they'd give 
 a fellow a good pull over these hills." 
 
 " They'll do that. I know 'em, and I can 
 handle 'em like a machine. If I didn't, 
 we'd go to the devil sometimes. It's pretty 
 steep about here." 
 
 "That's what I like," said Paddie. "I 
 hope you'll go like lightning." 
 
 " I'll go as fast as you like," said Frank. 
 " Wait till we get to Pigtail Alley, and see 
 how you like it." 
 
 " I've heard of that. We take the coach 
 for the special purpose of going down that 
 grade," said Paddie. " Let us see how quick 
 you can do it." 
 
 Away they started, the coach rattling 
 along the hard road. It made one quiver 
 to be hurled along with such fierce rapidity. 
 
 " Stage-riding beats everything else, I be- 
 lieve," said Paddie. " You feel like a witch 
 in the air. You tumble and roll along as if 
 you were a spirit, and had no neck to be 
 broken. We whirl close to the precipice, 
 and yet we don't go over." 
 
 " No use to go over," said Frank. " We've 
 got the hang of these mountains, and know 
 how to hug 'em." 
 
 " Don't you have any accidents ? " 
 
 " Sometimes, though I never had. 1 keep 
 a good lookout. Occasionally there's a slip, 
 and then, well, there's a sort of spreading 
 out, and it's pretty hard work to put the 
 pieces together." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 53 
 
 "I should think so. I hope you'll keep 
 us kind of snug together ; but I don't care 
 how fast you go, if you don't split." 
 
 They were now coming to the top of Pig- 
 tail Alley, the last and steepest descent be- 
 fore they came to Miller's Falls. It wound 
 about an enormous precipice. In some places, 
 there was just room for the coach to roll 
 along, and it seemed as if any unsteady mo- 
 tion would send it whirling over the crags. 
 There was one point, about midway down, 
 where the curve was so short about a huge 
 projection that the leaders, for a moment, 
 were lost sight of as they advanced. The 
 descent sharpened, and the horses began to 
 increase somewhat their speed. Frank, as 
 usual, put on the brakes. When he did so, 
 from some inexplicable cause, they broke, 
 flinging the coach suddenly upon the heels 
 of the hinder horses, and they leaped for- 
 ward. This started the leaders, and soon 
 all were plunging pell-mell down the moun- 
 tain. There was no possible way of stopping 
 them. All Frank could do was to hold the 
 reins, and guide them steadily and skilfully. 
 
 "If we get round Hunter's Nose safe," 
 said Frank, " I don't care. But I don't ex- 
 pect it. It's my opinion that we'll shoot 
 over." 
 
 Death was indeed before them, but no one 
 seemed to mind it. Each one straightened 
 himself, and prepared to meet the emer- 
 gency. 
 
 " What a miracle this will be," said Pad- 
 die, " if the churchmen ever find out that we 
 were going to hear Ingersoll, and got top- 
 pled over the precipice for our pains ! What 
 a shouting there'll be among the elect ! " 
 
 Away they dashed! The coach heaved 
 and swayed like a wave in the storm. They 
 neared the turning-point with frightful ve- 
 locity. The leaders plunged around, and 
 were lost to view. The coach swung for- 
 ward upon its two outward wheels. The pas- 
 sengers could look down into an immense 
 gulf for thousands of feet, and they seemed 
 to be spinning into its very bosom. Every 
 nerve was braced to meet the dread catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 CHAPTEB XIII. 
 
 FRANK'S skilful driving saved them. He 
 never for a moment lost command of the 
 horses. The coach rolled back upon its four 
 wheels and passed Hunter's Nose in safety. 
 After that there was comparatively little 
 danger, for the road had only few turns; 
 and, although the horses went at full speed, 
 Frank's firm grip held them in the right 
 track. 
 
 "This is splendid!" said Paddie. "I 
 never went so fast in my life behind a horse. 
 We are saved, and what will the saints say? 
 And such a good time as we have had of it ! 
 To tumble right by the jaws of Death like 
 that, and euchre him at last ! I wouldn't 
 like to try it again, though. I'm afraid you 
 wouldn't hold so good a hand again, Frank." 
 
 "We won't try it over," said Frank. 
 " Once in a lifetime is enough. But, as you 
 say, it's fun ; and I'm glad we did have a 
 chance to see how fast we could go around 
 that point. Only a little more, and we'd a 
 gone." 
 
 The horses dashed two hundred feet by 
 the station before they could be stopped, 
 they were going at such wild speed. 
 
 " Here's my hand," said Moccasin Bill to 
 Frank. " You did a good turn there." 
 
 " That's when I depended upon my luck," 
 said Frank. 
 
 " Luck of course," said Morton ; " but 
 there was skill also. We can't pay for luck, 
 that belongs to all of us ; but I chip in this 
 bag of gold for your skill." 
 
 "And I too," said the rest; and in the 
 twinkling of an eye two or three hundred 
 dollars were shoved into Frank's hand. He 
 didn't want to take it; but in the end he 
 had to, and then there was a treat all round. 
 
 The scream of the iron horse was heard, 
 and the thunder of the clattering train ; and, 
 as if by magic, they were soon sweeping to 
 the Golden Gates. 
 
 It was evening when they entered the 
 vast and splendid city. For miles, the 
 lights were glittering; and, as they trav- 
 ersed the brilliant streets on every side, they 
 
54 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 could see colossal palaces. Like all miners, 
 they put up at the most expensive hotel in 
 the city; and soon a supper fit for a king 
 was spread before them. 
 
 "That stage ride gives me a good appe- 
 tite," said Paddie, " so I guess I'll pitch in." 
 
 "That's enough to cure any man of the 
 dyspepsia," said Morton. 
 
 "We escaped by a miracle, because we 
 were coming to hear Ingersoll," said Pad- 
 die. 
 
 "Escaped by good luck, I should say," 
 said Moccasin Bill. 
 
 " Now, what do you call good luck ? " said 
 Paddie. 
 
 " It's coming out all right when you can't 
 help it," said Moccasin. "At the same 
 time, if Frank hadn't held those reins pretty 
 tight, we'd a gone to the devil, sure." 
 
 "Then, I guess there wasn't much luck 
 about it," said Morton. 
 
 "Except in turning the corner," replied 
 Moccasin. "I think Frank himself might 
 admit that a puff of wind would have sent 
 us flying over." 
 
 "It's all right, and would have been all 
 right, if we'd a gone to smash," said Jennie. 
 " Let us eat our supper." 
 
 " That's philosophy," said Paddie. " We 
 didn't go to smash, and now the best thing 
 we can do is to eat. That's what we were 
 saved for. That's the final cause, as the- 
 ologians say." 
 
 After supper, the party broke up and 
 drifted here and there over the gorgeous and 
 wonderful city. 
 
 Paddie and Morton and Burnham stood 
 by the sea, and watched its radiant tides, 
 over which the ships floated and flashed, and 
 listened to the deep, far music of the bil- 
 lows as they broke along the winding shore. 
 
 " What a magician civilization is 1 " said 
 Morton. "How it has transformed these 
 shores, decked them with a million jewels ! 
 What a power we ourselves have in and 
 through this magical touch! We seem to 
 have a hundred arms." 
 
 " We do have the advantage of the sav- 
 ages, though we sacrifice our liberty," said 
 
 Paddie. "But liberty is so sweet that I 
 hardly know which to choose, the palace-car 
 or the canoe." 
 
 "I think I'll take the palace-car," said 
 Will. " I go for comfort. Liberty is sweet, 
 but I don't care to lug a canoe for the sake 
 of having my own way." 
 
 "But civilization enlarges, even while it 
 cramps," said Morton. " It carries us over 
 land and sea, swift as the bird. It breaks a 
 thousand chains, where it rivets one." 
 
 " I don't know," said Paddie. " We are 
 so used to our chains that we don't feel 
 them. But it is a luxury to leave society, 
 and traverse the universe afoot and alone, 
 and follow our own sweet will, up and down, 
 over hill and dale, and pluck the roses and 
 the thorns, and rest at night with the bound- 
 less sky above. I'm not willing to yield my 
 liberty. I only keep truce with civilization. 
 I don't make peace with it. I'm ready to 
 break at any time." 
 
 " I," said Morton, " make a defensive alli- 
 ance, but not offensive. Civilization is my 
 fort, but not my base of supplies." 
 
 "It is our master and our slave," said 
 Burnham. "As a master I aohor it, as a 
 slave I admire it. It is as strong as Jove. 
 I will use it, and I will defy it." 
 
 " Good for you, Will ! " said Paddie. " Let 
 us have a little revolt all to ourselves. It's 
 so nice to pitch ioto things on the sly and 
 get the better of 'em, while we seem to be 
 their most obedient servant." 
 
 " Life is full of compromises and masks," 
 said Morton. "The inward and the out- 
 ward never have anything more than a 
 speaking acquaintance. We can't be friends 
 with the world. We can have only one con- 
 fidant, ourself : and then we have, occasion- 
 ally, to pull the wool over our own eyes." 
 
 " Honesty is the best policy," said Paddie, 
 " when your honesty is like that of the world ; 
 but, when it's a different thing, then to be 
 honest don't pay." 
 
 " Then comes the question how much we 
 can stand," said Morton. " I must confess 
 that I'm willing to compromise for my food 
 and clothes. I don't care for the brown- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 55 
 
 atone front or the coach and six. But, when 
 it's utter honesty and utter starvation, then 
 I think my tongue ought to do a little lying, 
 for the sake of my stomach." 
 
 Be true, though the heavens fall," said 
 Paddie. 
 
 " That's easy enough," said Morton, " but 
 it isn't easy enough to be hungry and naked, 
 when all the world about you is happy ; and, 
 if you die, you are forgotten the next minute, 
 and people wonder what you were such a 
 fool for. It's easy enough to be a martyr at 
 the stake, but it's mighty hard to be a mar- 
 tyr in a garret and live on sixpence a day. 
 When it comes to that, I cave in. I 
 shut my mouth in preference to being 
 snuffed out. Society has got the drop on 
 me; and, generally, I must just back down." 
 
 " Sometimes, I suppose you'll stick," said 
 Paddie. 
 
 " Absolute submission is worse than 
 death," said Morton. ** I'd rather die than 
 live as the majority of people live, like so 
 many machines. I must kick some, I must 
 have a little fresh air." 
 
 " That's the way with all poor martyrs. 
 They kicked in the wrong place. They took 
 just one whiff too much of fresh air." 
 
 " Sometimes, our manhood drives us to an 
 out-and-out fight, and then we can't help it ; 
 and we must go to the wall, it may be, but 
 with our colors flying." 
 
 " We won't go to the wall here," said Pad- 
 die. " Money in our pockets, a city, one of 
 the wonders of the world, at our feet, and 
 Ingersoll to give us a breath of fresh air. 
 I'm satisfied with what I have for the 
 present." 
 
 Slowly, the great hall filled. The wealth 
 and fashion of the city were gathering to 
 hear the mighty oration. The faces of most 
 of them were beaming with intelligence and 
 keen interest. Here and there was a sombre 
 countenance, as if some spies from the 
 Christian camp were in attendance, to find 
 out what was really going on and report pro- 
 ceedings. It was a daring undertaking, 
 however, to run the risk of having the rea- 
 son aroused; for if one should, under the 
 
 magical influence of the charming oration, 
 begin to think, how terrible the consequences 
 might be I 
 
 Our brave little company was on hand, 
 securing the best seats in the house, and de- 
 termined to have their fill of all the good 
 things said. 
 
 "I wouldn't have believed this possible, 
 ten years ago," said Morton, as he glanced 
 over the magnificent audience, " that an in- 
 fidel could be as popular as the theatre, and 
 draw a larger assembly than the most gifted 
 preacher. I am simply astonished at the 
 progress the world is making." 
 
 " It has taken a long time to get a start, 
 but we are going with geometric ratio now," 
 said Paddie. " Infidelity is in the very air 
 we breathe. Everybody is catching it, 
 though they may not break out. I presume 
 half this audience are church members. 
 They pay a dollar to hear Ingersoll, not 
 from mere curiosity, but because they are 
 really hungry for what he says. They want 
 something new." 
 
 " The whole Church will finally succumb 
 to this deep want for something new," said 
 Morton. "For human nature is the same 
 everywhere, and it won't always be satisfied 
 with the old, unless it can prove itself the 
 best ; and what is best the spirit of the age 
 will no longer permit tradition alone to de- 
 cide. Orthodoxy is fast losing its rigors, 
 even to the most elect. Hell fire ceases to 
 bring a shudder. The devil is no longer an 
 object of interest. It's all come to be as 
 disagreeable and commonplace as the tax- 
 bill." 
 
 " Christianity has been a fairy land," said 
 Burnham. "But the soul has gone out of 
 it, and it's as dry as summer's dust. Infidel- 
 ity is the only thing that gives the imagina- 
 tion a chance to play. When voiced by 
 genius, the world becomes enchanted." 
 
 Unannounced, the speaker stood before 
 the vast audience, and was greeted with a 
 storm of applause. He was of commanding 
 presence. 
 
 "He reminds me of the hills and big 
 plains," said Moccasin Bill, who arose and 
 
56 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 waved his hat in the excitement of the mo- 
 ment. " I feel the breath of my home about 
 me, as I look upon his face." 
 
 How calmly the orator began, with the 
 gracefulness and ease of a drawing-room 
 conversationalist ! He seemed to speak with- 
 out effort, and to talk as if he had but a sin- 
 gle listener. There was an indescribable 
 melody in his voice, so strong, so clear, so 
 full of the abounding freshness of prairie 
 lands. Like the notes of a bird, it opened 
 the great, wide horizon of the world's ad- 
 vance. How easily his myriad listeners 
 were caught up and borne along the current 
 of his talk, that swept so broad and deep, 
 and yet with such fine equipoise! There 
 was no jar : the humor burst forth sponta- 
 neously, like the bubbling of a wave on the 
 breast of the sea. It flashed from the ful- 
 ness of his being. His oration was like a 
 thing of life. Every part was fitly joined 
 together and moved with accordant thought. 
 There was no catastrophe in the evolution 
 of his magnificent ideas, whose stream 
 swelled to ampler tides, and bore his hearers 
 almost unconsciously to new and astonish- 
 ing views. Even the Orthodox began to 
 applaud. The power was irresistible. It 
 was the force of truth, but truth presented 
 with the dazzling splendor of a picture. It 
 was truth flowing from the heart of a man 
 and not from dogmatism. It was truth ra- 
 diant with passion, bursting into quick and 
 scintillating light. One could scarcely be- 
 lieve that the smiling and dimpled orator, 
 so gay, so cordial, with the keen sword of a 
 Saladin, light and airy like a feather, was 
 hewing down, with the strength of the ham- 
 mer of Thor, the venerable and gigantic su- 
 perstitions of the past. He was not the 
 ideal iconoclast, severe and dark-browed, and 
 threatening like a thunder-cloud. He was 
 like a May day, full of glittering and beau- 
 tiful fancies, and did not seem to bear 
 within his bosom the weapons of such 
 enormous destruction. Not until he ceased 
 did we know how far they had been borne. 
 It was a dramatic surprise to look back and 
 see what realms had been passed. Inger- 
 
 
 soil's eloquence was like the modern 
 road. It bore one over vast tracks to the 
 other side of apparently impassable moun- 
 tains, where prospects hitherto undreamed 
 of burst upon the sight. At the close of his 
 oration, everybody was with him. They saw 
 as he saw and felt as he felt. By the power 
 of an infinite sympathy, he compelled alle- 
 giance to the hitherto unrecognized truth. 
 
 If one for a moment left the orator and 
 watched the audience, a most interesting pict- 
 ure was revealed. It was seen like an ocean 
 tossing from "grave to gay, from lively to 
 severe." Now, ripples of smiles swept over 
 it, then there was a billowy break of laugh- 
 ter, then there was silence as some great 
 thought unrolled, while tears glistened as 
 the pathetic music of his voice touched the 
 fountains of affection. Every word was felt, 
 as if a great play was being enacted or some 
 mighty opera sung. 
 
 " Well," said Moccasin Bill, as they went 
 out after the marvellous oration, "this is 
 simply wonderful. I am satisfied as I never 
 was before. If there ever was such a thing 
 as getting religion, I've got it; for I could 
 holler as loud as the Methodists for very joy. 
 I've been on the mountain top." 
 
 " If such a speech as that doesn't give a man 
 faith, I don't know what does," said Charlie. 
 " I never respected human nature as I do 
 now, or felt there was so much worth living 
 for. They talk about Ingersoll's destroying. 
 How false ! He gives a thousand times more 
 than he takes away. He gives a clear sight. 
 He pulls away the curtains hung by the 
 priests, painted and daubed, and shows the 
 genuine drama of human life. He takes 
 away the skeleton, and the full-blooded man 
 appears. Even if he didn't build, I'd rather 
 live out-doors than in the gloomy caverns 
 of superstition." 
 
 "But he does build," said Burnham. 
 " He only dissipates fancies. The infidel is 
 the only builder; for he alone deals with 
 facts, which he does not undertake to de- 
 molish. He breaks the images, but the ma- 
 terial he uses for better purposes." 
 
 "Don't you know," said Paddie, "that 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 57 
 
 people like to dwell in fancies. They had 
 rather fancy they are going to heaven than 
 really know that they are going, and they call 
 that man an iconoclast who puts knowledge 
 in place of fancy. Knowledge, you know, 
 is so unaccommodating. You can't change 
 it to suit your convenience. It's right there, 
 an everlasting, immutable thing. It won't 
 budge an inch for you or me, and you can't 
 get round it either. But a fancy, how ac- 
 commodating a fancy is 1 You can make it 
 anything at will, like Hamlet's cloud, a whale 
 or a weasel, or a barn or a palace. No won- 
 der people like fancies, and crucify the man 
 who would put a few facts in their place." 
 
 " Ingersoll has done me good," said Jennie. 
 "I never want to hear a preacher again. 
 I've tried to get some comfort out of them, 
 but it's no go. They are a poor set, fit only 
 to eat your best chicken. I'm glad to hear 
 somebody that believes in this world and 
 makes things round about us beautiful." 
 
 4< That's my fix," said Tim. " Long time 
 ago, I tried to be converted. I was never so 
 bothered in my life. I tried to feel bad and 
 couldn't. I gave up hunting and fishing, 
 and went to meditating on death and hell. 
 I even let them baptize me, and caught cold, 
 and then I thought sure I'd have conviction ; 
 and one day I got so mad a-thinking it over 
 that I swore like a pirate. After that, I felt 
 better, and never sought religion since. Now, 
 I ain't much anyway; but what I am Inger- 
 soll has got hold of, sure as you live. If 
 ever I see anybody in want, I'll help 'em. 
 I won't stand one side, with my hands in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "It does make me feel kind of good to 
 hear that fellow," said Sol. " I expect to go 
 to the devil, if there is one. I'm sort of de- 
 moralized, I've been in politics so long. I 
 don't feel as if there's any use in trying to 
 be good. If I should join the church, I 
 should only be a hypocrite, as half the poli- 
 ticians are. However, I ain't all bad, and no 
 man is. He has streaks of good, and Inger- 
 soll fetches out those streaks better'n any 
 man I know. Really, if I was to vote now, 
 I'd vote honest. I wouldn't sell myself, 
 
 not even to a railroad. I don't believe I'd 
 accept a pass, even. I would like to begin 
 life over again, and work for a living." 
 
 Slowly the vast audience dispersed. Char- 
 lie, with his usual Yankee curiosity, watched 
 the many elegant and noble figures and 
 faces of men and women that passed, when 
 he was suddenly startled by a vision of rare 
 beauty. It was that kind of beauty, inde- 
 scribable and marvellous, that thrilled him 
 from head to foot with the sweet, fierce sen- 
 sations of love. 
 
 She was young, apparently not more than 
 twenty years of age, of about the medium 
 height, with gracious and majestic presence. 
 She had that queenly style whose movement 
 in every circumstance is one of perfect ease. 
 Her features were mobile and most expres- 
 sive. Her eyes were large and brilliant, of 
 mingled dark and green, ever changing in 
 their splendid lustre, and looking at one 
 with frank tenderness. Her hair was abun- 
 dant and flowing, and dashed about her fore- 
 head in graceful ringlets, according to the 
 latest fashion. She had on " a love of a bon- 
 net," that just fitted her well-shaped head, 
 and over it flashed the wing of some many- 
 colored bird. She was richly attired. Rare 
 jewels flamed about her delicate white throat 
 and hands. As she passed Charlie, she 
 looked at him with a sort of strange and 
 wondering recognition. A faint flush 
 touched her cheek. Then she was lost in 
 the' crowd. 
 
 Who can tell whence come the mystic 
 arrows of love, why this or that attracts and 
 enchants and subdues and thrills? Others 
 might not have noticed this beautiful 
 woman: they would be seeking and caring 
 for something different ; but vshe came upon 
 Charlie with bewildering power. He could 
 have flung himself at her feet and wor- 
 shipped. In the midst of her loveliness, 
 there was something that seemed most 
 strangely familiar. I suppose it is always 
 so with lovers. They imagine they have 
 met in the long ago. Where had Charlie 
 met this beautiful princess? He asked 
 himself the question in vain, and while ask- 
 
58 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 ing she disappeared. He tried to find her 
 again in the crowd, but could not. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " DID you see that woman ? " said Charlie. 
 
 "What woman?" said Will. "I've seen 
 a good many women." 
 
 " That one that was so handsome," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " But they are all handsome," said WilL 
 " I can't see any difference." 
 
 " You are as blind as a bat. I mean the 
 handsomest one of all." 
 
 "I couldn't pick her out," said Will. 
 " They are all one to me, like the stars." 
 
 "How stupid!" said Charlie. "She was 
 perfectly divine, and you didn't see her ? " 
 
 " I might have seen her," said Will ; "but 
 among so many she didn't strike me par- 
 ticularly." 
 
 " You didn't see her," said Charlie. " If 
 you had, you wouldn't be so cool. You 
 wouldn't have had eyes for any one else. 
 I tell you she's the handsomest I ever set 
 eyes on. She's perfection." 
 
 " Oh, you have a lover's phantasy, I see," 
 said Will. "I envy you; but it'll pass off, 
 and to-morrow evening you'll see others 
 just as handsome." 
 
 "I don't believe it," said Charlie. "I'm 
 sure I've seen her somewhere. She almost 
 bowed to me." 
 
 "Another freak of imagination," said 
 Will. " You are far gone. You look dazed 
 and wandering." 
 
 " I wish I knew where she went to," said 
 Charlie. " I'm afraid I shall never see her 
 again." 
 
 "Yes, you will, if you really love her. 
 Love, you know, is fate." 
 
 " 1 hope so, but I hate to trust to chance. 
 I might as well forget." 
 
 "Yes, you might; for, unless you are 
 richer than you are now, what are you going 
 to do with a wife? She wouldn't look well 
 in a hovel." 
 
 " By Jove ! she'd be a goddess anywhere ; 
 but what's the use of vexing myself? I'll 
 
 call it an apparition, and dream about it 
 Let's go to the hotel." 
 
 As they came to the hotel, Sol Jones met 
 them. 
 
 "Come up and see Ingersoll," said he. 
 " We'll have a talk with him before we go 
 to bed. He's a room full now, and a gay 
 time they are having. I used to know Bob 
 a bit, down in Southern Indiana. I guess 
 he'll give us a grip." 
 
 And he did, sure enough. He remembered 
 Sol, and he gave a cordial greeting to the 
 rest of the company. 
 
 " What a shake that was ! " said Moccasin 
 Bill. "It warms me all over. I feel at 
 home, as if I'd known him all my life. He 
 doesn't put on a bit of style, does he ? You 
 don't have to be introduced to him at the 
 end of a ten-foot pole." 
 
 The room was full. All sorts were there, 
 friends and acquaintances whom he had met 
 in many a varied circumstance, in his brill- 
 iant career on the forum and stump. He 
 was even more remarkable amid a set of 
 genial companions than on the platform. 
 His vigorous mind was surcharged with 
 thoughts which electrified as they constantly 
 and joyously overflowed. Yet, with all this 
 ease and spontaneity, he was a profound 
 thinker and a thorough student. He was 
 ready to meet any question, and grapple 
 with the deepest philosophic problems of 
 the day, often throwing a flood of light upon 
 them by a single illustration; while, about 
 the intricate and puzzling pathways of hu- 
 man endeavor, his wit flew and coruscated 
 like some lively Ariel. There was no such 
 thing as being exhausted, for the dryest 
 details were glorified by the spell of his 
 genius. 
 
 "By the way, Sol," said he, "I believe 
 Aunt Betty is out here somewhere. I used 
 to meet her at Shawneetown years ago. She 
 did my washing, and she did it well." 
 
 "She's at Devil's Gulch," said Sol. 
 "Eighty years old, and lively as a cricket 
 still. She belongs to the Methodist church, 
 and sings as loud as any of 'em. She can't 
 give up her religion." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 59 
 
 " I don't ask her to," said Bob. " She en- 
 joys it. I don't think, however, she has 
 much faith in hell." 
 
 " That she hasn't," said Sol. " I've heard 
 her say that, when she got to heaven, she'd 
 ask the Lord to let her go down to hell and 
 save sinners. She'd do it, I know. She 
 don't believe in letting anybody go to the 
 bad." 
 
 "There's where she and I agree," said 
 Bob. " Here, Sol, give this to her with my 
 best regards," handing a fifty-dollar green- 
 back. 
 
 " That'll do her old heart good," said Sol, 
 "a deal more than an illuminated Bible. 
 She always said that Bob was one of the 
 best Christians she ever knew, though his 
 doctrine wasn't exactly Scriptural. She 
 thought, however, you were about as near 
 right as Calvin." 
 
 "She never could go Calvin," said Bob. 
 " I think, on the whole, she'd prefer me. In- 
 fant damnation was too much for her." 
 
 At this juncture, a note was brought the 
 Colonel. He opened and read aloud as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 ROBERT G. INGERSOLL: 
 
 Dear Sir, I have a sincere interest in the 
 welfare of your soul. I desire to convert you. 
 All that is necessary is that I should talk to you 
 for a few minutes ; for the Word of the Lord is 
 sharper than a two-edged sword, and pierceth to 
 the dividing asunder of the soul and body. I 
 have unanswerable arguments. I have studied 
 the Scripture for years, and know it by heart; 
 and I cau remove all objections to a faith in its 
 divine teaching. Will you give me permission 
 to lead you to the green pastures and beside the 
 still waters ? Truly yours, 
 
 Rev. TIMOTHY DWIGHT BOBBINS. 
 
 The Colonel immediately penned the fol- 
 lowing answer : 
 
 Rev. TIMOTHY DWIGHT BOBBINS: 
 
 Dear Sir, I have no objection to meeting 
 your unanswerable arguments. I am perfectly 
 willing to be converted. I want the truth. If 
 yon have it, I shall be pleased to welcome it. I 
 
 will give you full opportunity to show what you 
 can do with the sword of the Lord. 
 
 Yours for the green pastures and still waters, 
 R. G. INGERSOLL. 
 
 In a minute or two, the Rev. Timothy 
 Dwight Bobbins entered. He looked as 
 thin as if he had prayed and fasted forty 
 days and nights. His coat and hat were as 
 antique as Noah's ark. His boots looked as 
 though they had travelled Jordan and found 
 it indeed a hard road, lie had on a dirty 
 white cravat, and his hair hung loosely 
 about his head, only about half-combed. He 
 walked with an uncertain gait, and leaned 
 over almost double. He occasionally rolled 
 his eyes to the ceiling, and rubbed his hands 
 with a devout motion. He carried under 
 his arms what seemed to be a set of dilapi- 
 dated sermons. No doubt, they had endured 
 severe service and been used over and over 
 again. Perhaps these were the " Sword of 
 the Lord." On the whole, the Rev. Timothy 
 Dwight Bobbins did not have a very re- 
 doubtable appearance. It appeared doubt- 
 ful if he could wrestle very successfully with 
 the infidel. Perhaps, however, he had some 
 pebbles tucked about him somewhere, with 
 which eventually to crush the towering 
 Goliah. At any rate there was every ap- 
 pearance of sincerity about him, and with- 
 out doubt he expected to pluck a brand from 
 the burning. 
 
 The heavy artillery brought up in the rear 
 of him ; namely, the almost, though not quite, 
 Rev. William Theophilus Pippins. He was 
 a student, and had not yet been ordained. 
 He was the exact model of a " theologue." 
 His hair was long, his cheeks thin, his eyes 
 watery and guarded by green spectacles. 
 His suit was the sober livery of black. He 
 wore a dingy dress-coat buttoned tightly 
 around his spare form. His pants were 
 rather too short, and his gaiters rather too 
 big. I suppose they were a present to him 
 from some benevolent church society, the 
 cast-off clothing of some rich deacon. He 
 wore a silk hat that had probably seen about 
 ten summers and eleven winters. It was 
 
60 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 somewhat weather-beaten and a little out of 
 style. His arms were loaded with books, 
 all learned commentaries on the Bible, ex- 
 planations of difficult passages, and harmo- 
 nies of the Gospels. He had a Bible in the 
 Hebrew and a Testament in the Greek. All 
 these were carefully laid upon the table, and 
 the student went back and brought another 
 pile. He then stood ready to open and read 
 any passage that might be indicated by his 
 solemn leader. 
 
 " I am a humble candle of the Lord. I 
 hope to be able to give you some light," said 
 Bobbins. 
 
 " Proceed," said Robert. " I, too, am an 
 anxious seeker after light." 
 
 " I want to go back to the creation of the 
 world," said Bobbins. " We must begin 
 with the foundation." 
 
 "That's right," said Ingersoll. "I'm 
 quite curious about that. I want to know, 
 for instance, how it happened that there 
 were days and nights before the sun itself 
 was made." 
 
 " Oh, I can easily explain that 1 " said Bob- 
 bins. " You know this was a kind of picture 
 or panorama that passed before Moses." 
 
 "I didn't know that," said Ingersoll. 
 " The Bible don't say so." 
 
 " I know that, but the commentaries do. 
 They are got up by the best scholars of the 
 Church, and they show just what the Bible 
 means. We couldn't understand it, of 
 course, without." 
 
 " Are the commentaries inspired ? " asked 
 Bob. 
 
 " Oh, no, they are not inspired ; but they 
 explain things very naturally. The Bible 
 doesn't seem near so wonderful after you've 
 read them. It's much easier to believe 
 it." 
 
 " The Bible, you say, is inspired by Al- 
 mighty God?" asked Bob. 
 
 " Oh, yes, every word of it is inspired." 
 
 " And yet the book that God wrote, who 
 is all-wise and all-powerful, can't be under- 
 stood until we have read a set of commen- 
 taries by men as fallible as ourselves. Now, 
 if God can't reveal himself, who has every 
 
 instrumentality at command, I don't give 
 much for man's help." 
 
 "Oh, that is his way of working. He 
 means that we shall seek after the truth." 
 
 " And, if we don't find it by reading the 
 commentaries of ignorant men, we must 
 go to hell. I think that's a queer kind of a 
 God." 
 
 "But the really essential parts of the 
 Bible can be understood," said Bobbins. 
 "It's only the scientific and historic pai 
 that need explaining. For instance, lo> 
 thy neighbor as thyself. Isn't that plaii 
 enough?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Bob. "That's true. 
 We know it by our reason. It don't need 
 inspiration any more than mathematics. 
 Why don't you say that geometry is in- 
 spired?" 
 
 " Well," said Bobbins, " I don't know as 
 can explain that. Things that we can com- 
 prehend we don't need inspiration for. W 
 need inspiration for what we can't compi 
 hend." 
 
 " Well, let us stick a pin there," said Bob. 
 " We don't need inspiration for what we can 
 comprehend by our natural reason, but for 
 things that we can't comprehend. Now, 
 for things that we can't comprehend, 
 is inspiration going to help us ? " 
 
 " Why, by showing to our reason " 
 
 "Hold on, man," said Bob. "You 
 already said that what is plain to reasoi 
 doesn't need inspiration. If what is calk 
 inspiration appeals to our reason, and coi 
 vinces it, then by that very fact it is not in- 
 spiration, it is simply nature." 
 
 Bobbins was bothered, no mistake. H< 
 requested Theophilus to hand him a 
 book. He pored over it for a while, wi] 
 the perspiration from his brow, and tl 
 proceeded. 
 
 "I have it now. Inspiration proves 1 
 self by a miracle." 
 
 "A miracle 1" said Bob. "What is 
 miracle?" 
 
 "Something that is above and beyor 
 nature, like the sun and moon standii 
 still." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 61 
 
 "Do you believe the sun and moon did 
 standstill?" 
 
 " Oh, no, they only seemed to. The light 
 was somehow refracted, and sent back. It 
 was a kind of an after-reflection." 
 
 " I should think it was an after-reflection. 
 I never heard of it until now. Is that in 
 your commentaries ? " 
 
 "Yes, and I believe it's considered satis- 
 factory." 
 
 " How easily you are satisfied ! But that 
 explanation destroys the inspiration: you 
 make it natural, though extraordinary. 
 Therefore, it doesn't prove inspiration. 
 Now, you remember, don't you, where it 
 says that Jonah swallowed the whale?" 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't say that," said Bobbins. 
 " It was the whale that swallowed Jonah." 
 
 "Aren't you mistaken?" said Bob. "I 
 guess you'll find it says that Jonah swal- 
 lowed the whale, and it stayed three days 
 in his belly, and then Jonah threw it up 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, that's absurd. Why, if the Bible said 
 so," cried Bobbins, " I wouldn't believe it." 
 
 "Wouldn't believe it?" said Bob. "Why?" 
 
 " Because it's impossible." 
 
 "Oh, you don't believe the impossible," 
 said Bob, with a sly twinkle. "Well, I 
 think if you'll examine every miracle in the 
 Bible, you'll find it impossible, or, if not im- 
 possible, then explainable by natural means, 
 and so not a miracle. Now, if you refuse 
 to believe the impossible, then you must re- 
 fuse to believe a miracle. So your inspira- 
 tion is gone again." 
 
 Bobbins had sense enough to see that 
 he was caught, and he rapidly turned the 
 leaves of his commentary. At length, he 
 said, 
 
 "You will acknowledge, Mr. Ingersoll, 
 that you don't know everything?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Bob. " I am willing to 
 say I don't know. The trouble with you 
 theologians is that you are not willing to 
 say so. You think you know God as well 
 as you know your next door neighbor." 
 
 "We know him as he has revealed him- 
 self." 
 
 " Revealed himself ? How has he revealed 
 himself in that Book called the Bible ? Is 
 he not a liar, a murderer ? Did he not de- 
 fend slavery ? Didn't he command maidens 
 to be ravished? Wasn't David the deceiver, 
 robber, and adulterer, a man after God's 
 own heart? I say that your Bible's God is 
 a devil ; and, if I thought he reigned in the 
 sky, I'd still defy him. If I believe in any 
 God at all, I'll believe in a God of love, who 
 works toward harmony and happiness, even 
 as he makes sunshine and beauty. I won't 
 believe in a cruel and an inhuman God." 
 
 " But isn't nature cruel and inhuman ? " 
 
 " It is ; and, so far as it is so, we seek to 
 make it better." 
 
 "Do you think, Mr. Ingersoll, that you 
 could, on the whole, make this world better 
 than it is?" 
 
 " Yes, if I had the chance." 
 
 " Pray, tell me, how would you better it ? " 
 
 "I'd make health catching instead of 
 disease." 
 
 This unexpected reply completely demol- 
 ished Bobbins. He closed his books, de- 
 murely saying, 
 
 " Mr. Ingersoll, when I get home, I shall 
 pray for you." 
 
 "All right," said Robert. "If the Al- 
 mighty can stand it, I can." 
 
 The two missionaries took a solemn de- 
 parture. The theological student looked 
 more drooping and melancholy than ever. 
 The books seemed to weigh a great deal 
 more when he went out than when he came 
 in. The artillery had not been effectual. 
 The guns had been spiked before any shot 
 were fired. As Bobbins reached the door, 
 he turned round and bade good-by with a 
 most sepulchral groan, as if he had no hope 
 in this world or in any other. 
 
 " I do pity them," said Bob. " They'd be 
 decent fellows, if they were rid of theology. 
 How it hangs about them like a curse, and 
 keeps them lank and lean ! Bobbins has the 
 dyspepsia from reading so many commen- 
 taries." 
 
 " I'd like to take that young Pippins up 
 into the mountains, and set him to hunting 
 
62 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 and fishing," said Moccasin Bill. " I'd fat 
 him up a bit. He looks like a scarecrow 
 now. If that's what they call being spirit- 
 ual, I'd rather not try it. I might as well be 
 in the grave, and done with it." 
 
 tk How hard these people labor to be 
 miserable 1" said Ingersoll. "They really 
 seem to enjoy poor health. We have 
 enough suffering without making it a duty 
 to double it up, and crucify pleasure unto 
 death." 
 
 44 Do you really think this world is enough, 
 Colonel ? " said Sol. " Don't you have some 
 longings for a life hereafter?" 
 
 44 1 am satisfied," said the Colonel. 
 "Every moment is jewelled with hope or 
 present joy. The summer and the winter 
 bring benefits, each after their kind. Nat- 
 ure is generous. Her shadows even are 
 beautiful. I enjoy this world, and all that 
 is in it. I drink of it as of delicious wine. 
 It sparkles and it vivifies. If pain comes, 
 we can make ourselves stronger by the expe- 
 rience." 
 
 44 Can you explain death? Isn't it an 
 enormous tragedy right athwart the bright- 
 ness of life?" 
 
 " I can't explain, neither can any robed 
 priest of the most authentic creed. Maybe 
 it is better to die, that thus love is made 
 immortal. It may be that death destroys 
 the weeds of selfishness and pride between 
 human hearts. It may be that the tender- 
 ness of living comes from the harshness of 
 dying. Love gilds death; and out of the 
 grave spring wondrous blooms of heroism 
 and devotion to the living." 
 
 44 Have you no hope of immortality ? " 
 
 44 So long as affection lives, so long will 
 that hope endure. But nature made it a 
 hope, and all the truth we know has not 
 changed it. As a hope, it is beautiful, and 
 in it the tendrils of our affection grow 
 sweeter and more enduring. But the dogma 
 of immortality has been a curse. It has 
 flung a great horror over this human 
 earthly existence. It has been the tool of 
 tyrants. All we know is this life. Here, we 
 can sow and reap ; and whose fault but ours 
 
 if we do not make life as a summer's garden, 
 wherein we may pluck the flowers and 
 wreathe our own coronal? What can we do, 
 except be helpful and loving? In this, we 
 are the greatest. Let us trust nature. We 
 need not live for nothing. If we pass like 
 the dewdrop, like the dewdrop we can flash 
 the golden light." 
 
 With these great thoughts ringing within 
 them, the company separated. 
 
 ''That's what suits a fellow," said Big 
 Dick. " He hits the nail on the head. He's 
 got the grip of things, and strikes fire every 
 time. These hollerin* ministers do make me 
 so mad, a-talkin' about harps and such 
 things. What do I want of a harp ? I like 
 this world: one world at a time, that's 
 the tune for me. It's plain sailing here, and 
 I know what's about right. But you try to 
 f oiler these church folks, and it's like that 
 damned Snake River down in Texas. It's 
 so crooked that you don't know half the 
 time which side you are on. This mixing 
 up two worlds at a time is like mixing 
 drinks. It makes the head swim. I prefer 
 to take this world straight. It's all I can 
 handle. I'm pretty rough, but I don't mean 
 to abuse folks. If I can lend a hand, I 
 will." 
 
 " Bob speaks to the universal human 
 heart," said Paddie. " The highest and the 
 lowest find in him their common manhood. 
 Like the wind from off the sea, he voices 
 the measureless tossings of our life. Like 
 an impassioned harp, he thrills with all that 
 human hope can give or human love in- 
 spire." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 44 I'VE been looking all day, and I can't 
 find her," said Charlie, the next evening. 
 " I suppose I'm foolish, but I can't help it.' 
 
 " Do you mean to stay here until you fim 
 her? "said Will. 
 
 44 1 suppose it's useless. It's only a fancy, 
 but it haunts me with strange power. I 
 shall try and forget it." 
 
 " That's a wise fellow. We must give up 
 many a dream. Hard work is our fa 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 68 
 
 We must dig for gold, and then perhaps we 
 can build a mansion in the skies." 
 
 " I suppose, as somebody says, that we 
 find our heaven at the end of duty done. If 
 we pursue our fancy, we land nowhere. 
 Here comes Big Dick. He does look bunged 
 up. I guess he's got the worst of it this 
 time. I wonder what sort of a fight he's 
 tumbled into now." 
 
 Big Dick did look rather dilapidated. He 
 had a black eye, and bruises all over. It is 
 seldom that he presented so crushed and 
 bandaged an appearance. He must have 
 met an enemy worthy of his steel. How- 
 ever, he bore it good-naturedly, and came 
 up " smiling." 
 
 " Well, Dick, I should say you are a used- 
 up man. I thought you were never beaten." 
 
 "We can't manage every thing," said Dick. 
 " We all have to go under sometimes." 
 
 "I didn't think you'd jump into a scrape 
 so soon after hearing Ingersoll," said Will. 
 " I was in hopes he gave you a good setting- 
 up, and that, for a day or two, you might go 
 along kind of easy." 
 
 " Thunder 1 It was Ingersoll that put me 
 up to it. I couldn't help doing it after what 
 he said." 
 
 " Couldn't help doing it ! " cried Will and 
 Charlie in the same breath. " Did Ingersoll 
 make you drunk ? " 
 
 "No; but I couldn't see 'em suffering, 
 and so I pitched in." 
 
 " What in the devil have you been doing, 
 any way ? " said Charlie. 
 
 " Why, I pulled a couple of children out 
 of the fire, that's all ; and the damned tim- 
 bers knocked me endways. They had the 
 advantage, you see ; for my hands were full, 
 and I couldn't strike back." 
 
 "What! are you that brave fellow that 
 plunged into a burning building last night 
 at the risk of his life, and whose praises are 
 in the papers? Give us your hand! You 
 are a bully boy ! I thought it funny that 
 anybody should have licked you." 
 
 " I never am licked," said Dick ; " but I 
 was glad enough to run from the fire. I'm 
 going into the department. I've had an 
 
 offer, and I think I shall like it. I want to 
 try city life, and by practice I believe I can 
 beat the fire. You see, last night, I didn't 
 know exactly how to do it. It's a trade." 
 
 " I'm sorry to lose you. You'll be missed 
 at Golden Throne. However, I don't know 
 of anybody who could tackle the fire with 
 any better success than you. You've made 
 a good beginning." 
 
 " So they say. It's fun. I never felt so 
 good in my life as I did just dashing into 
 those flames, taking those two children, and 
 tumbling out. I didn't know I was hurt 
 till this morning." 
 
 " What are you going to do with your 
 little venture at the mines ? " 
 
 " Make the best of it. My claim is worth 
 something, and I'll hang on. I've just a 
 thousand tucked away in my little hole. I 
 want you to send it to me. It's in the cor- 
 ner, under the big stone. I think I'll specu- 
 late while I'm loafin' round. They say 
 there's lots of chances." 
 
 "Plenty of 'em, no doubt," said Charlie, 
 "as blackberries; but, instead of plucking, 
 you'll get plucked. You might as well fling 
 your money into the sea." 
 
 "I'll try it," said Dick. "I may be ft 
 millionnaire." 
 
 "I hope so," said Charlie. "I suppose, 
 next to making money, the best fun is to 
 lose it." 
 
 What's it good for, if it don't keep a-fly- 
 irig? It's no better than old rags to stow 
 away ; while, on the go, it helps somebody. 
 Lose to-day, we win to-morrow." 
 
 "All hail, my hero," said Paddie, striding 
 up and giving Dick a hearty grip. "You 
 are famous now. Fortunate man to be in 
 everybody's mouth, without being a fool or 
 a knave ; but simply a man, that and noth- 
 ing more, which consigns so many to obscur- 
 ity and poverty. I've labored for fame, and 
 could never get it, and here at one stroke 
 you have beat me. However, as you have 
 taken to the fire, I'm going to take to the 
 quill ; and, by being a goose, I hope to win 
 fortune. I am a member of the press. To- 
 morrow, I begin to take notes and manuf act- 
 
64 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 ure public opinion by shrewdly following 
 it. It's a splendid trade to learn, if I can 
 only get the hang of it." 
 
 " Shall we lose you too ? Golden Throne 
 will have to shut up ^hop, draw the curtains, 
 and put out the lights. It has no orchestra 
 now, nobody to fiddle." 
 
 "And, therefore, nobody to dance," said 
 Paddie. "I'll bestow all my ability on 
 Gooch. I'll give him my fiddle and pumps. 
 He'd make a good clown, if he was only rid 
 of his religion." 
 
 " But he isn't rid of it, and so he plays the 
 rascal. He smells too much of brimstone. 
 How did it happen that you stay here ? In- 
 deed, you look gay, a brand new suit of 
 clothes and a stove-pipe hat." 
 
 " Well, I'm respectable now, and can sin 
 to my heart's content and not be wicked. I 
 met an old chum here. We were at school 
 together at Dublin. He is one of the most 
 successful editors in the city, and has a fat 
 income. He has just the place for me, a 
 position whose duties are to furnish facts 
 alias imagination; and I can do that to a 
 charm. I shall enjoy it, watching the sol- 
 emn public devouring my fancies as solid 
 realities. People do so like to be gulled, and 
 there's millions in it." 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Charlie, " and 
 I congratulate the public. I am sure you 
 won't hurt them; for your nimble fancies 
 shoot no arrows of poison, and a straight 
 fancy is better than a twisted fact. Feed 
 people on fancies until they know how to 
 take facts. I guess that's the wisest course." 
 
 " It certainly is," said Paddie. " The way 
 to rule the world is to gull it. I can't revo- 
 lutionize; but I'm going to make people 
 happy, even if I have to stuff a lie down 
 their throats, unless it happens to be a theo- 
 logical lie, and that I can't stand. But I 
 believe the best way to fight theology, and 
 all such gloomy humbugs, is by telling peo- 
 ple nice stories that are untrue and yet true. 
 Such is the function of the poet, and the 
 poet on the daily press is the coming power." 
 
 "I'll bet on your success," said Charlie. 
 " Make folks laugh, and you'll win. Wit is 
 
 truth in disguise, wherein it makes its 
 sharpest thrust. Hullo, Sol, you've got some 
 new boots on. Are you going to give us the 
 shake?" 
 
 "Sorry to say it, but I am," said Sol. 
 " I've another chance, and my friends want 
 to run me. There's a split in El Dorado 
 County ; and things are pretty well mixed up, 
 and I may slip in. I shall run on the Inde 
 pendent Civil Service Reform platform." 
 
 " What do you mean by the Independen 
 Civil Service Reform platform ? " 
 
 "Well, by Civil Service Reform, I mean 
 gettin' the offices and hangin' on, making 
 'em a life tenure, through thick and thin 
 no matter whose out or whose in. The ol( 
 cry, To the victor belong the spoils, is wrong 
 The new cry is, Get your mouth to the pub- 
 lic crib, and keep it there. You must only 
 drop off with old age. And Independent 
 well, I don't just exactly know what tha 
 does mean. It means anything and every 
 thing, just what folks want you to be. It's 
 a nice word that can cover a multitude o 
 things. Call yourself independent, and peo- 
 ple will think you have every virtue. It's a 
 very accommodating word. You can stam 
 on any platform and make all sorts of prom 
 ises ; and, if you don't fulfil them, why, it's 
 because you are independent. You see '. 
 have a broad platform to run on ; and there 
 are lots of discontented folks ready to take 
 up with anything, and that makes a chance 
 for me. I've a railroad pass, and I shall run 
 down and fix things." 
 
 " A railroad pass, and you an Independent ? 
 I don't understand that." 
 
 "This is the idea: I am anti-monopoly 
 and I shall pledge myself to resist the in- 
 roads of these grasping corporations. But 
 when it comes to riding and voting, why 
 that's a different thing. I don't want to 
 walk, and I can't pay my fare. And then 
 you know, what's a vote? I can offset ii 
 any time by a speech. There's nothing like 
 dividing yourself up and going all rounc 
 and belonging to every side of a question 
 That's statesmanship, and I'm going in on it.' 
 
 " Well, go it. Some people are fools, anc 
 
GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 65 
 
 I guess you might as well shear 'em as any- 
 body. For me, I'd rather dig for a bare pit- 
 tance than succeed through the whims and 
 caprices of the ignorant multitude." 
 
 " I wish I could dig," said Sol, " but I 
 can't, and I'm ashamed to beg ; and so, like 
 the unj ust steward, I must make friends of 
 the mammon of unrighteousness, and go in 
 on my cheek. I was born to it and bred to 
 it, and I must make the best of it." 
 
 "We are on the whirligig of life," said 
 Paddle, " and we must whirl." 
 
 " We'll whirl off to the mountains to-mor- 
 row," said Charlie. "Jumble as we may, I 
 believe in the survival of the fittest." 
 
 The next morning, they started on their 
 homeward journey, Charlie and Will and 
 Tim and Jennie and Moccasin Bill. Char- 
 lie was not feeling in the best of spirits. 
 He left his heart behind him, and so he 
 dragged a lengthening chain. However, his 
 strong will bore him along. He was not 
 foolish enough to let his passion predomi- 
 nate over his reason. 
 
 " Let me get to work, and I shall be all 
 right," said he to Will. "I do not forget 
 Madeline, yet other loves will bloom and 
 blossom in the heart." 
 
 "They should," said Will. "The dead 
 reign in memory, while we must mingle 
 with the living and feed our hearts from 
 new fountains. We do not forget the old 
 when we press forward to the new." 
 
 "I do not know as I can love again," 
 said Charlie. " Love is such a deep and ter- 
 rible thing that I almost dread it; for it 
 takes hold of every fibre of the being, and 
 its joy is constantly trembling on the verge 
 of pain. I cannot forget this woman's face ; 
 and it does seem, at times, as if I must give 
 up every other plan in life, and go and seek 
 her, though I never find her. Isn't it strange 
 that one glance can so affect a man ? What 
 is the reason of it? Why is it that some 
 faces do so enchant and haunt us ? " 
 
 " I suppose we can never explain the rose 
 on a woman's cheek or the flash of her dark 
 eye. But the comfort of it is, out of sight, 
 out of mind ; and we soon forget these fan- 
 
 cies, or, if we do not, it is because we are 
 doomed to meet again." 
 
 " That's romantic, and very good, as sen- 
 timent; but how far will it go for a fact? 
 I don't forget some nice apples that I saw 
 yesterday ; but I don't expect to eat them." 
 
 "Folks are different from apples," said 
 Will. " I know I'm romantic, but not enough 
 to hurt. I trust only in what I see, when it 
 comes to the real tussle. For all that, we 
 can roam in fairy-land, when there's nothing 
 else to do. We are all contradictions, and that 
 is what gives zest to life. I wonder at my- 
 self sometimes. If I did not, what a dunce 
 I should be I " 
 
 Moccasin Bill gave them a hearty good-by, 
 as, in the bright, early dawn, they prepared 
 to leave his hospitable dug-out where they 
 had spent the previous night. 
 
 " I've had a good tramp," said he, " and 
 I'm full. I know myself now, because I've 
 heard another man tell me what I knew al- 
 ready, but didn't know that I knew it as I 
 do now. It is the best of truth to have one 
 speak your innermost thought. Somehow, 
 it becomes more real then. I've always been 
 kind of solitary among these hills. They 
 have been my best companions. I've got 
 suited to them and they to me. We've 
 never had any trouble. Men more or less 
 bother, at least they do me ; and I keep them 
 a little off. That's my way. I like it bet- 
 ter, and it's liberty. If I mingle with men, 
 I have to give up too much. Yet, through 
 Ingersoll, I feel that man is more than any- 
 thing ; for he has given me a feeling and a 
 joy that I never had before, more respect 
 for myself and for everybody. He has 
 touched my solitude with what you call 
 genius, or inspiration. He has spoken to 
 me with the voice of the mountain and the 
 thunder of the cataract. He has given a 
 new meaning to the night and the stars 
 that look down upon me. I see more and I 
 am more, because Bob, as you call him, and 
 as I like to call him, has introduced me to 
 myself; and I understand Moccasin Bill 
 better than I ever did, and he me. I know 
 you better, too, and all the race of men. I 
 
66 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 can't be civilized. I hate to be. I like 
 these wild woods. They are my home. 
 Here will I live, and here will I die, free to 
 my last breath as the winds of heaven. I 
 am afraid of nothing, of beasts or Indians 
 or storm or lightning. I have all I want. 
 This is my palace, in the bosom of earth. 
 I have no pains or aches. I have never in- 
 jured a mortal man. I have done what I 
 could to help them ; and now I have heard 
 Ingersoll, and his thoughts are with me, 
 companions of the mountains and the trees 
 and the rivers. Good-by." 
 
 Charlie and Will never forgot the picture 
 of the noble hermit as he stood leaning on 
 his long rifle, so sturdy in his independence, 
 so indomitable in his unique personality, a 
 living expression of the wildness and gran- 
 deur of the mountains. 
 
 That evening, the company, dwindled to 
 four, arrived at Pilgrim's Rest. 
 
 Jennie was quite a study to Charlie, and 
 he watched her as she deftly built the fire 
 and prepared the meal. She was indeed a 
 wonderful woman, a born Stoic ; and all the 
 ills of life did not seem to disturb her equa- 
 nimity. Whatever happened, she was ready 
 for it, the measles, the small-pox, the storm, 
 the flood, the " Injun," or the devil himself. 
 Her experience was varied. From girlhood, 
 she had lived on the plains or among the 
 mines. She had " teamed it " and " tramped 
 it," rode wild horses and shot buffaloes, and 
 even scalped an Indian. No man had en- 
 dured more than she, or could boast of 
 greater prowess. She had Dome several 
 children, and been stripped of them all; 
 but I doubt if she ever wept. She was a 
 mother to everybody. No one could ask her 
 for help in vain. Yet she was not demon- 
 strative. She was a woman of few words. 
 She tended the sick with grave quiet, stood 
 by them to the death, if need be, no matter 
 how malignant the disease. She had stood 
 by the bedside of hundreds of suffering 
 miners and teamsters, and many of them 
 had she pulled through an almost hopeless 
 case. Yet she had no religion. She never 
 prayed or sang. The only men that she 
 
 really hated were the ministers; but she 
 always fed them well and gave them her 
 best whiskey, and they always drank it "for 
 their stomach's sake." She didn't have any 
 Bible or any cross. She would swear like a 
 trooper sometimes, and cuff the ears of the 
 recalcitrant. She wouldn't stand any non- 
 sense. She was a sublime heroine, worthy 
 to stand by the side of any of the great 
 ones of history or romance. 
 
 Tim Baker, in his way, was a curious 
 specimen of a roving American. He had 
 been all over the country. He would leave 
 his wife sometimes for months, and nobody 
 would know where he was. He had lived 
 among the Indians, and, in fact, had been 
 adopted by one of the tribes. He had met 
 with all sorts of adventures, and could tell 
 of many a hair-breadth escape. He was a 
 right good story-teller, and around many a 
 camp-fire had exploited the thrilling ro- 
 mance of his life. When on the borders 
 of civilization, he kept a saloon that was 
 his only way of making a living. He wa 
 a keen judge of liquor of all sorts. He 
 could tell the flavor to a nicety. He believed 
 in the genuine stuff, and would have no adul- 
 terations. So he always kept the most pop- 
 ular saloon, and made money which he spent 
 like water. He loved his wife and feared 
 her, and always obeyed her. 
 
 Tim wiled away the evening with some 
 stories, and then fell asleep. Jennie was 
 still wakeful, and kept the fire blazing. 
 Charlie watched her in a half dreamy sort 
 of way, as the flames danced upon her mas- 
 sive and weather-beaten features. Will 
 tumbled into his blanket by the side of Tim. 
 
 " I'd like to swap with you, Jennie," said 
 Charlie. "I never saw anybody that en- 
 joyed life, under all circumstances, so well 
 as you. I think you must have a lien upon 
 fate." 
 
 "I don't understand that," said Jennie. 
 "I don't know about fate. That's beyond 
 me. I know that I live, and I don't see tht 
 use of knowing any more." 
 
 " You don't care, then, to know where ; 
 came from ? " 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 67 
 
 " No. It wouldn't make me any happier 
 or any wiser for what I've got to do 
 to-day." 
 
 " And you don't care whither you go?" 
 
 "No. The present is all I can handle. 
 Every moment keeps me busy. I haven't 
 time to trouble myself about eternity, as the 
 ministers call it. I don't know what it is, 
 and I guess they don't." 
 
 "You've suffered a good deal?" 
 
 "Yes, I have." 
 
 " And you have seen a good deal of suf- 
 fering?" 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Well, what do you think of it? " 
 
 " I don't think anything about it. When 
 it's over with, I forget it." 
 
 " Have you forgotten your children? " 
 
 " No ; but I have forgotten that they are 
 dead." 
 
 " Do you wish they were alive ? " 
 
 " I wish nothing. What's the use? " 
 
 "Then, you believe that whatever is is 
 right?" 
 
 "No, I don't. I don't believe anything 
 about it. How can I, when I don't know 
 anything about it ? " 
 
 " You are a philosopher." 
 
 "No, I'm not. That's too big a word for 
 me. I just do ; and, when I do it, what's the 
 use of thinking about it? It's better to do 
 something else." 
 
 " I suppose you'd rather live than die ? " 
 
 " Yes, so long as I'm alive." 
 
 " And when you are dead ? " 
 
 " Then, I'd rather be dead." 
 
 " Nothing troubles you ? " 
 
 "Only myself, when I make a blunder. 
 And then I swear and get over it, and go to 
 work." 
 
 " Do you expect to meet your children 
 hereafter?" 
 
 "I don't know anything about that, 
 either. If I ever see them again, I shall be 
 glad. If I don't, I can stand it as well as I 
 do now." 
 
 " Then, you simply believe in doing your 
 next duty?" 
 
 'I don't know anything about duty. I 
 
 do what I think best, and that is generally 
 what I want to do." 
 
 " When you take care of some poor, sick 
 devil, don't you expect to be rewarded 
 for it?" 
 
 " Of course not. I don't want anything, 
 except to have him get well. I've talked 
 too much already. I'm sleepy. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 In a moment almost, both were sound 
 asleep. 
 
 Golden Throne was ready to welcome 
 them. 
 
 " Tell us the news," said Grubbins. 
 
 You shall have it," said Charlie ; " but 
 haven't you any news ? " . 
 
 " Yes : here's a couple of letters for you." 
 
 Charlie tore them open. One was in a 
 delicate, woman's hand : the other was evi- 
 dently from Jimmy. 
 
 "A letter from Jimmy? Yes, and this 
 one, let me see, hurrah ! it tells all about 
 little Pete. Come, let's eat and drink and 
 read the news. I know it's something 
 good." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THEY all gathered around while Charlie 
 read the news. He read first about little 
 Pete. The letter was from a Miss Blanche 
 Kennedy, who, it appeared, was a cousin to 
 little Pete. 
 
 " Little Pete," she wrote, " came to us after 
 many struggles. We did not know that he 
 was living. He has had a strange history. 
 He told us all about his wonderful escape at 
 Golden Throne and what you did for him. 
 He desires me to express his gratitude. We 
 purpose to give him every advantage. He 
 studies hard, and seems quite happy. He 
 wishes me to ask you to call, when you come 
 to the city. You will find him at our resi- 
 dence, No. 101 Fountain Street, San Fran- 
 cisco." 
 
 "I wish I'd a known it," said Charlie, 
 "when I was there. I would like to see 
 him. I'm glad he's so fortunate : he deserves 
 it, I guess. Now for Jimmy. He gives us 
 
68 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 a dose, about a dozen pages. He must have 
 had some adventures since he left us. Pre- 
 pare to listen. Here goes : 
 
 Old Chum, Once more in New England ! 
 And I can't tell you how jolly I feel, with the gold 
 jingling in my pockets, and the world fresh as a 
 May day. I've had some fun, and I don't know 
 where to begin. There's a volume to write, and 
 a lot of postscripts in addition. I pointed for 
 New York the first thing, and went to Delmon- 
 ico's and then to Wallack's, and hegan to feel 
 like a man. A good meal and a splendid play 
 are mighty good enliveners. Of course, I went to 
 church on Sunday ; but I wanted to get as near 
 as possible to something like a theatre, and so I 
 went to hear Talmage. I happened to catch him 
 when he attacked Ingersoll, and it was quite 
 amusing. He fixed things up to suit himself very 
 nicely. His interpretations of Scripture would 
 have made John Calvin tnrn in his grave. He 
 didn't stick to the Bible, but he stuck to Tal- 
 mage ; and, when the Bible wasn't sufficient, he 
 pieced it out with a plenty of himself, and his 
 audience took it for the genuine gospel. If he 
 said the flood wasn't universal, why, they all be- 
 lieved it, although from childhood they had been 
 taught that it was universal, and the shells on the 
 mountain-tops had been adduced as evidence of it. 
 Poor old by-gone interpreters of the Bible, how 
 the orator did demolish them ! And I was think- 
 ing just how easily his own new version would be 
 rejected when the exigencies of science demanded 
 it. What a kaleidoscope the Bible is ! It takes 
 new colors and shapes every time the fingers of 
 science give it a turn. You see, the Christian 
 apologist nowadays don't read the Bible first to 
 learn what it says and means, but he studies 
 science, and finds what its demands are; and 
 then he shrewdly twists the Scriptures into any 
 form to suit those demands. If science says six 
 periods, then the Bible says six periods, and 
 not six days; and so on. Science goes ahead, 
 and the Bible tamely follows. It amused me 
 to notice that Talmage in his reply to Inger- 
 soll said those things that three hundred years 
 ago would have convicted him of heresy and 
 burned him at the stake. So the world does pro- 
 gress, and Talmage is a straw to show it. He is 
 valuable as a straw, otherwise he is of little note. 
 He dances on the stream of public opinion, and 
 helps to show just about how things are going. 
 
 I was delighted with Boston. I felt aesthetic 
 at once. I went to the Common and quoted 
 
 Greek, and in the evening went to tie Greek play, 
 and applauded just in the right place, thanks 
 to a libretto. Isn't it queer that Boston should 
 be going crazy over a pagan drama 1 What 
 would the Puritans say ? I heard Savage while 
 here, a tip-top liberal preacher, who don't mince 
 matters at all. It stirred me like a trumpet to 
 hear him. I only wish I could take the same 
 stand he does, and be as bold and manly. But I 
 can't. I'm all bound up and twisted with the past, 
 so far as my feelings are concerned, and I can't 
 follow my head. But I like to have the truth 
 spoken bravely, though I haven't the backbone to 
 do it myself. I suppose I must always belong to 
 the Methodist Church. I can't sunder myself. 
 A thousand associations cling about my heart, 
 tender and subtle, and I cannot fling them off 
 and go forth untrammelled. I cannot express the 
 feelings that swept over me like a flood, when I 
 reached old scenes, when I saw the old church 
 where I used to preach, the village so lovely, the 
 trees, the hills, the sky. I flung myself down and 
 kissed the earth, sweet to me as a mother's bosom. 
 
 But the way people met me was, as you might 
 say, edif jing. They regarded me as a lost sheep, 
 most of them, and were very careful what they 
 said and did. They didn't want to commit them- 
 selves. I saw a great many, when I happened 
 along, walk over to the other side like the priest 
 and Levite, and pass me by. They didn't wish to 
 snub me, and they didn't wan't to shake hands 
 with me. I quietly suffered myself to be tabooed, 
 for I knew it would come out all right in the end. 
 You see, I didn't put on any new clothes to begin 
 with, not even a new hat. I didn't even consult a 
 boot-black or a barber. I just wanted to see how 
 much genuine humanity there was in the church. 
 Some of course treated me decently, and were 
 really glad to give me a hearty shake of the hand ; 
 but, on the whole, my reception was very formal. 
 I felt almost as if I had discovered the North 
 Pole, without making an Arctic journey. It was 
 quite cool weather. 
 
 Grandmother Harris was as true as steel, and 
 greeted me as warmly as if I were her child, 
 though I did look so outlandish. You don't 
 know her ? Well, she is one of those dear souls 
 that live to be almost a hundred years old, but 
 are as lively as a cricket, and chock-full of the 
 milk of human kindness. She has lived, I don't 
 know how long, in the village. She isn't rich, 
 but somehow she manages to help everybody. 
 Oh, the good talks I used to have with her! 
 Moreover, she is one of the best of cooks, and 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 69 
 
 such delicious meals as she used to provide when 
 I made pastoral calls ! I was just hungry for one 
 of them, and I dropped in almost the first thing. 
 She never said a word about my shortcomings. 
 You wouldn't have known by her talk but what I 
 was the bishop himself, and immaculate as an 
 angel. She didn't seem to have the least suspi- 
 cion that I was a miserable sinner. In fact, she 
 made me feel like a man, and put a hope and 
 courage into me that ten thousand gospels could 
 not. I know that this world won't go to the 
 dogs with such women in it. You ought to have 
 seen how it helped things, when I put on a new 
 coat and a stove-pipe hat. People were much 
 more respectful, though many still hung off. 
 Then, I went to Conference. My ministerial 
 brethren were dead set against me. They felt 
 well enough toward me at heart, the generality 
 of them ; but they didn't dare to make any public 
 expression, for they didn't know exactly what 
 people might think. And you know ministers 
 never do anything, unless they feel pretty sure 
 that the crowd will back them up. Well, I kept 
 a stiff upper lip, and jingled the gold in my 
 pocket. I knew my time was coming. There 
 was one old elder awfully stiff. He looked as if 
 my presence were a contamination. I only said, 
 You'll come down, old fellow. Wait till they take 
 up a collection. I'll join in that religious service, 
 and make you smile. So I listened to the 
 speeches and the prayers, and stood the cold 
 weather until the contribution-box came round. 
 Then, with a good deal of quiet ostentation, I 
 dropped in five twenty-dollar gold pieces. Well, 
 I was in the tropics at once. You ought to have 
 seen the elder. He smiled all over, and cried out, 
 " Thank the Lord, brother." The welcome that 
 I received then, and the hand-shakings ! I sub- 
 scribed five hundred dollars to the missionary 
 cause. From that moment, my triumph was com- 
 plete. The bishops all crowded about, and I was 
 invited to preach at once before some of the most 
 fashionable churches. I have received several 
 calls, and my sins are now all forgiven. 
 
 I have indeed preached, and have been applauded 
 to the echo. I haven't given them a bit of hell- 
 fire, and they all like it. They say, How beautiful, 
 how gospel-like ! People don't like hell-fire now ; 
 and yet, if I should say that I didn't believe in 
 hell-fire, they would hold up their hands in holy 
 horror, and wouldn't listen to me. Isn't it a 
 queer mess ? 
 
 But the best is to come yet. I'm in love, and 
 that's the solvent of all the problems of life. If 
 
 a man can find a good woman to love and be true 
 to, he can let all the theologies go by the board. 
 But love is a thing of chance. It comes and goes 
 like the wind, and we cannot tell whence it 
 cometh and whither it goeth. I've never had 
 such an experience before ; for the whole depth of 
 my nature is stirred, and I seem to be in a new 
 heaven and earth. 
 
 Maddox's daughter lived away up in the Con- 
 necticut valley, in Guilford, where I myself was 
 born. I had about a thousand dollars for her. 
 I discovered her hard at work, struggling along, 
 with scarcely a friend to help. The money was 
 a joyful surprise to her, and it did my soul good 
 to pour the shining dollars into her lap. But I 
 want to tell you she's just the prettiest, sweetest 
 girl I ever saw, and I loved her at first sight, and 
 it didn't take me long to find out that she loved 
 me. I assure you she is no ordinary woman. 
 She has a wonderful strength of mind, and over- 
 flows with vivacity. She is like a fairy. She is 
 like a bird too, full of melody. But I won't 
 trouble you with my ecstasies. I am happy, and 
 that's enough. I haven't any plans for the fut- 
 ure. Possibly, I may come to California, but the 
 marriage bells must ring first. 
 
 Yours truly, JAMES DEMOREST, 
 
 or JIMMY, if you like. 
 
 "That's good," said Charlie. "A lost 
 sheep is comfortably fixed the moment he 
 gets money." 
 
 " I am sorry he is in love," said the dea- 
 con. "I am afraid it will ruin him, and 
 make him forget God. He ought to turn to 
 the Saviour." 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Charlie. " Love is the only 
 thing that can save him. It's the best relig- 
 ion a man can have. What's the use of 
 talking about God? If one can't love a 
 pretty woman that he sees, I am sure he 
 can't love God whom he doesn't see. That's 
 Scripture, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It's a carnal affection," snuffled the dea- 
 con. "We must give up all such things, 
 and serve the Lord." 
 
 "What do you mean by serving the 
 Lord ? " asked Charlie. 
 
 "Why, praying and fasting, and reading 
 the Bible and thinking of your sins." 
 
 " W T hat good does that do the Lord? " 
 
70 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 "He demands it, and we should obey," 
 said the deacon, humbly. 
 
 " How do you know he demands it ? If 
 there is a God, it seems to me the best 
 way to worship him is to help our neighbor." 
 
 " That won't do," said the deacon. " That's 
 natural goodness, and it don't count. We 
 must do something we don't want to do. 
 We must crucify ourselves." 
 
 " I don't care to go to heaven that way. 
 It's a poor bargain. I prefer to enjoy life 
 as I go along. As for Jimmy, I'll bet on 
 him, now that he's in love." 
 
 The deacon turned away, groaning. He 
 was indeed a melancholy saint. But, with 
 all his melancholy, he was shrewd enough to 
 look after the dollars. He didn't serve the 
 Lord so faithfully but what he could dig 
 gold and pack it away. He was a cold- 
 blooded fellow, and was careful to turn 
 everything to his advantage. As luck would 
 have it, he struck a pretty rich vein, and for 
 a while he revelled in the accumulation of 
 wealth. Then, the vein was lost again. 
 There seemed to be no farther chance, and 
 he determined to go to San Francisco. 
 Before taking his departure, however, he 
 wished to do some missionary work, and so 
 he procured a box of Bibles. Bibles are 
 always handy and ready for distribution. 
 For some reason, saints take more pleasure 
 in distributing them than bread and butter. 
 It is for the glory of God, while bread and 
 butter is for the benefit of man. 
 
 The deacon called a meeting, made a lit- 
 tle speech and a long prayer. His speech 
 was as follows : 
 
 " Fellow-travellers to eternity, we are so- 
 journers here for a few days only. This is 
 a world of shadows, a vale of tears. We 
 must prepare for the judgment. We must 
 sit in sackcloth and ashes and mourn our , 
 sins. I speak to you as on the verge of hell. 
 I can hear the roaring of the flame and the 
 groans of the tormented. I can see the 
 wrath of God. Oh, tremble, for he is a 
 great and terrible God ! Listen to his word, 
 I give it to you. Read and meditate and 
 repent, and cry out for mercy." 
 
 The deacon's prayer was too long to re- 
 port. But there was no need of that, for 
 everybody at Golden Throne knew it by 
 heart. The deacon always prayed extempo- 
 raneously. He believed that one's petitions 
 should come directly from the heart. He 
 was down on all rituals and ceremonies. 
 Nevertheless, his prayer was always the 
 same; and, after a few times, the whole 
 camp could repeat it as glibly as the deacon 
 himself. No one, however, felt disposed to 
 rob the deacon. His prayer was as safe as 
 if copyrighted. 
 
 " Say, deacon," said Charlie, " I think you 
 might do something better than distribute 
 those Bibles. There's Aunt Eliza down 
 here, she's sick and can't do any washing 
 and needs money. Sell the Bibles, and give 
 her the money." 
 
 " I can't do that," said the deacon. " The 
 Bible is for our immortal souls. The body 
 must perish, but the soul survives." 
 
 "But, while the body does live, I think 
 we'd better take care of it. If the soul has 
 another chance, so much the better. The 
 body hasn't, and we ought to be kinder to it. 
 Come now, I'll give you fifty dollars cash 
 down for them books. I'll burn the books, 
 and you can give the money to poor Eliza 
 and help save her life." 
 
 " Oh, no 1 " said the deacon. " I'll take your 
 money and send it to the heathen, but I 
 must distribute these Bibles. I'm agent for 
 the missionary society. I'll forward your 
 contribution to the Sandwich Islands or to 
 Patagonia. It may be the means of con- 
 verting some poor savage." 
 
 "Yes, and making a rogue of him. 
 take the money to the poor folks here," 
 Charlie. 
 
 The deacon distributed the Bibles i 
 solemn unction, quoting a text here 
 there, such as : " The devils believe ai 
 tremble. The wicked flee when no man pi 
 sueth. Woe unto you generation of vipei 
 Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting flar 
 Without are sorcerers and dogs and wh< 
 mongers," and all such delectable phrt 
 which he was very fond of repeating. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 71 
 
 I suppose not many tears were shed when 
 the deacon left the camp. He pretended to 
 be very poor, but the fact is he took away 
 about twenty thousand dollars. Although 
 so humble in outward appearance, he had a 
 vast ambition. He meant to be a million- 
 aire, and build a church and endow a semi- 
 nary. With what success, we shall find out 
 hereafter. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MONTHS rolled by. 
 
 "I am going to pull up stakes," said 
 Charlie. " I have had enough of this life, 
 haven't you, Bill ? It's time for a change." 
 
 "I'm ready," said Bill. "We've done 
 pretty well." 
 
 "That's a fact. Golden Throne has 
 turned out to be a * golden throne * for a 
 good many of us. We struck it rich in 
 Jimmy's mine ; and ours haven't been any 
 poor shakes. We can count up a good heap. 
 We might as well stop and enjoy the 
 world." 
 
 "Of course. It's no use to earn this 
 money, unless we spend it; and we can't 
 spend it here to much advantage." 
 
 " Not at present ; but Golden Throne is 
 bound to be a big place. Do you know 
 those are first-class mineral springs where 
 Prince Hal has squatted? This will be the 
 Saratoga of the West. We might stay and 
 become nabobs. But we have the golden 
 key, and can open the doors of the wide 
 world anywhere. I'm bound for 'Frisco. 
 Something will turn up there. If I get 
 tired, I can come back, for I shall still hang 
 on to my claim. Do you tumble to this, 
 Bill?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 It doesn't take long for miners to equip 
 themselves to go anywhere, and the next 
 day these two adventurers were ready. 
 
 "Good-by, Grubbins. I'm glad you've 
 been elected to the legislature. I gave you 
 my little vote. Do the best you can. You've 
 got a hard row to hoe to please yourself and 
 the people and the rulers, for we have rulers, 
 though we don't dub them with any titles ; 
 
 and, in order to succeed, you must bend 
 the knee to them. But this is not always 
 safe, for the people have strength and occa- 
 sionally know how to use it, and you must 
 keep half an eye on them, or you will go 
 overboard. Moreover, one does want to 
 obey his conscience now and then ; and 
 that's a bother to a thorough-going politi- 
 cian. So, Grubbins, I don't envy you, though 
 you march into the White House. Pilkins, 
 Judge Pilkins, I hope you'll keep the peace. 
 All you have to do is to sit down on the law- 
 breaker, and he will succumb. Tim, I want 
 a little of your best old rye before I go. It 
 will remind me of Gooch, who, as you re- 
 member, was very fond of that article. Jen- 
 nie, be good to yourself; and the rest of 
 you, farewell." 
 
 " Charlie is my spokesman, I join in," 
 said Bill. 
 
 " Of course, you'll come back again," said 
 Pilkins. " Golden Throne will be the hub of 
 the universe. I shall issue my new paper, 
 The Golden Eagle, next week. We'll have a 
 railroad next year, and a big hotel. You 
 won't know the place when you return." 
 
 Charlie was full of hope as he set his face 
 toward the great city. He had worked 
 with steady purpose for the last few months, 
 and now he had accumulated what might be 
 termed a small fortune. His determination 
 was to remain in the city. He was still 
 haunted by the lovely face of the unknown 
 woman. He wanted to find her; and he 
 meant to, if she was anywhere in San Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 Will Burnham was full of the same ad- 
 venturous and i-estless spirit. He was also 
 desirous of a change. He wished to see 
 more of the great world, and try his luck in 
 the crowded thoroughfare. He had for the 
 present experienced enough of solitude. He 
 wanted now to plunge into life. 
 
 Paddie John leaped out of his chair al- 
 most as they clattered into his sanctum sanc- 
 torum, where he was busily engaged in 
 writing. 
 
 "Come for good? Hurrah! I've been 
 homesick for you. I'm on the rack all the 
 
72 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 time, work day and night, can't stop. I 
 sometimes think I'll be a pauper again, and 
 loaf and dream and meditate. This tussle 
 don't give me any chance to be a philoso- 
 pher." 
 
 " You grow fat on it, at any rate," said 
 Will: "you are as round and rosy as a 
 bishop." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it agrees with me, carnally 
 speaking," said Paddie, " and so I can stand 
 it. I eat a porter-house steak every day, 
 and spend a couple of hours digesting it 
 with a bottle of wine. If I didn't do that, 
 I should certainly die." 
 
 " What do you do, anyway ? " asked Char- 
 lie. 
 
 " I write the London and Paris and New 
 York correspondence, and review all the 
 books, no matter in what language they are 
 written, and the less I know of them the 
 better. I criticise to suit the public ; and I 
 study the public, not the book. I write the 
 news of the day, tell what is going on in 
 matters of science, and announce every new 
 discovery. I keep people informed of the 
 movements of society, post them in the lat- 
 est fashion, and describe every new dress 
 that is worn. I write articles on history, 
 painting, sculpture, sociology, biology, physi- 
 ology, and psychology, as they are demanded. 
 Luckily, people don't want to know any- 
 thing about theology, sc I let that alone." 
 
 " How do you find time for all this? " 
 
 " I don't know. It has to be done, I do 
 it, and that's the end of it. If an editor 
 doesn't know everything, he must give up." 
 
 " I should think you'd be a ghost." 
 
 " On the contrary, the only way to acquire 
 universal knowledge is to be fat ; so I grow 
 fat, and there is no subject that I am not at 
 home with. By the way, did you know that 
 Jimmy was in the city, or, to speak more 
 respectfully, the Rev. James Demorest ? " 
 
 "Is it possible?" 
 
 " Yes, and he's the most popular minister 
 in the city. He draws crowds. I go to hear 
 him, and report him now and then. He does 
 it up in style, I assure you. He preaches 
 right to the heart. He makes 'em weep 
 
 and sometimes laugh; and sometimes they 
 almost applaud, he's so eloquent. You mubt 
 see him." 
 
 " Perhaps he won't want to see us, no> 
 that he's respectable." 
 
 "Yes, he will. He's an honest fellow, 
 and don't put on airs. I don't understan< 
 how he can preach the nonsense he does 
 but that's his business, not mine. He's 
 man, anyway ; and he has the loveliest wife 
 in the world. She's a gem of a woman." 
 
 " We must see him, sure. And how's Big 
 Dick?" 
 
 " Come along and call with me. I prom- 
 ised to go down there this evening. He's 
 doing splendidly in the fire department. 
 He's the boss hero, isn't afraid of anything. 
 He's married too, and to the littlest bit of a 
 woman ; but she's spunky. She makes Dick 
 toe the mark. She's 'cute about it though, 
 always smiling and sweet; but she never 
 backs down." 
 
 In a few moments, they were in the nice, 
 cosey home of Big Dick. 
 
 "Why, pardners, how are you?" he cried. 
 " Just from the mines ? All right, I hope. I 
 hear good news from your way. Lots of gold." 
 
 "Enough," said Charlie, "to speculate 
 with. By the way, what did you do with 
 the thousand I sent you? You said you 
 were going to try your luck on * change.' " 
 
 " I did, and lost every damned cent," said 
 Big Dick. " I expected a turn, and we all 
 expected a turn ; but it came the other way, 
 and so I went under. Good enough for me ! 
 I was a fool. We are nothing but flies. 
 The spiders spread their nets, and we tum- 
 ble in. Here's my wife, Polly. She's going 
 to take care of the cash after this. I'm go- 
 ing to stick to work." 
 
 Polly was a smart little woman, no mis- 
 take. She kept the house as neat as a pin. 
 She could talk well, and was full of fun. 
 She loved Big Dick, and he fairly wor- 
 shipped her. She had the better bead of the 
 two, and it was but natural that she should 
 rule. 
 
 The moments flew by while the company 
 talked of many an exciting adventure. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 73 
 
 "By the way," said Charlie, "have you 
 seen anything of little Pete ? " 
 
 " No, I haven't," said Big Dick. 
 
 " Nor I," said Paddie. " I've looked for 
 him, but never came across him. I wonder 
 if he's vanished like a shadow, as he seemed 
 to be." 
 
 " I must find him. He has an uncle in 
 the city," said Charlie. " He had something 
 in him, after all." 
 
 " I couldn't make him out," said Dick : 
 " he was queer." 
 
 " We all of us would be queer, if we were 
 placed in certain circumstances," said Char- 
 lie. "Our surroundings help to make us 
 decent and agreeable. Little Pete wasn't 
 where he belonged. Put him in the right 
 place, and we might be surprised at the 
 change." 
 
 Charlie spent the next day in search of 
 his fanciful love. He roamed through al- 
 most every street, and gazed at every passing 
 countenance ; but he did not see the woman 
 of his dreams. 
 
 "I might as well search for a bubble in 
 the ocean," said Charlie. " She has flashed 
 away into the great deep, and I shall not see 
 her again." 
 
 " Such is life," said Paddie, " and we are 
 fools to bother about what is past." 
 
 " I suppose you were never in love," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 "Oh, yes, a thousand times. I love a 
 pretty face as well as I love the stars and 
 the sea and the flowers. But I don't linger 
 over one flower. Why should I, when there 
 are millions in the world? I'm always in 
 love, but not with the same face. To-day 
 it's a blonde, to-morrow it's a brunette. Now 
 it's a blue eye, and then a black eye, and 
 then a melancholy gray. Now I admire a 
 fragile, delicate form, then I like a buxom 
 lass. So the waves come and go, and the 
 lights change, and the new continually at- 
 tracts." 
 
 " That may suit you, but it doesn't me," 
 said Charlie. " I like the old as I like an 
 old song that, being sung a thousand times, 
 is precious to my memory. So old friends 
 
 grow sweet as day by day nev, associations 
 cluster about them. So, if I had a love, it 
 seems to me that it would ever grow dearer. 
 I could not change it for a new." 
 
 " Love," said Will, " dwells both in the 
 new and old ; and the old is as fresh as the 
 new. Do we not live in the past as much as 
 we do in the present, even as the tree lives 
 not only in the sky, but in the earth ? He is 
 not a man who does not live over and over 
 again the precious moments that have fled, 
 and take their sweetness as if they were 
 immortal." 
 
 " We must live our nature," said Paddie. 
 " I like to fly, to roam over new lands. I 
 can't be bound." 
 
 " Nor I, except by my own thought," said 
 Charlie. "But what's the use? I can't 
 evoke this lady by any magic, as she has, no 
 doubt, forgotten me. I presume it would be 
 wise to forget her ; but, alas ! her image is 
 as bright as on the evening that I first 
 glanced at her, and when she almost smiled 
 upon me, as I thought. Good-by for a spell, 
 boys. I must hunt up little Pete this even- 
 ing. I hope no ill has happened to him." 
 
 Charlie sauntered forth into the brilliantly 
 lighted city. The strange and wonderful 
 panorama of its life passed before him, so 
 many happy, so many wof ul faces. He was 
 not in a very hopeful mood. He was pressed 
 upon by the infinite mystery of our human 
 existence, by that deepest mystery of all, the 
 mystery of love. Why did he care so pas- 
 sionately for this woman that had flashed 
 but for an instant in his life ? He could not 
 banish her image. It was with him always, 
 and touched him with a marvellous reminis- 
 cence, like some strain cf music that we 
 think we have heard for the first time ; and 
 yet it vibrates through all the chambers of 
 the memory like a familiar sound, and 
 evokes many a forgotten dream, as if it and 
 the dream were mingled in their birth, both 
 bursting in the same happy moment of the 
 long ago. 
 
 Charlie had a certain ideality in his dispo- 
 sition, and his scepticism was, to a certain 
 extent, the result of his ideality; for his 
 
74 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 ideality broke in many waves of disappoint- 
 ment upon the rugged masses of real life, 
 and fell back upon his heart with desolate 
 reaction. He could not square his bright 
 idealism with the world that was round 
 about him. His early training had tended 
 to disenchant the outward world, making it 
 still more gloomy ; and thus the discordance 
 was far bitterer. Still, in any circum- 
 stances the most favorable, it is painful to 
 surrender the ideal as we have it in our soul, 
 and harmonize it with the law and the facts 
 about us, finding eventually in these laws 
 and facts a finer ideal than we had ever 
 dreamed of. Charlie, through his hard and 
 terrible experiences, had come to this wise 
 forbearance and serene faith. He was be- 
 ginning to accept the world as it is, not with 
 the air of a cynic, but with the resolve of a 
 man and the glad enthusiasm of the poet. 
 Madeline dwelt in his memory like a beauti- 
 ful star, yet his passionate soul craved an 
 earthly love. After Madeline, however, only 
 a most noble spirit could satisfy him. He 
 was as exacting in his judgment of woman 
 as an artist whose mind is continually 
 haunted with resplendent ideals. This 
 woman who had casually flitted by him had 
 touched him with surpassing glory; and, 
 btruggle as he might, he was held in bond- 
 age by her lovely phantom. 
 
 So he floated on, in a half-dreamy state, 
 through the crowded thoroughfares. At 
 length, he reached the place where he ex- 
 pected to see or hear something of little 
 Pete. It was one of the most beautiful 
 streets in the city, and the house was a large 
 and handsome one. 
 
 " I guess the little fellow's uncle i^ ^ich," 
 said Charlie. 
 
 He rang the bell, and asked for Miss 
 Blanche Kennedy. He was shown by the 
 servant into a splendidly furnished parlor. 
 It was gorgeously yet tastefully decorated. 
 There was an Oriental magnificence about 
 it, yet nothing glaring. All sorts of curious 
 articles were in it, antique vases, plates, 
 pictures, bric-ctrbrac, old-fashioned chairs, 
 etc., and arranged with artistic skill. The 
 
 effect was admirable ; and Charlie, although 
 his aesthetic sense was not much cultivated, 
 could not help feeling the richness and har- 
 mony of the blending forms and colors. 
 
 " What a romance this is for little Pete ! " 
 he thought. " What a contrast to his tum- 
 ble-down hut at Golden Throne! What a 
 lucky thing that he came here ! I wonder if 
 he lives in this house. It's curious how he 
 ever happened to drift among the hills, a 
 poor devil, almost hung, and now perhaps 
 he's on the high road to fortune. Blanche 
 Kennedy is his cousin, I suppose. I wonder 
 if she has the taste to arrange this room. 
 How beautiful it is ! So fresh, like the sea 
 itself, with an air of welcome that puts me 
 at ease as I would be in the woods ! " 
 
 The door opened, and Charlie turned to 
 the advancing figure. He started back in 
 amazement; for the beautiful woman that 
 greeted him, Blanche Kennedy, was no 
 other than the one who had thrilled him 
 months ago at the Opera House, the same 
 face, the same ineffable glance, the same 
 royal bearing. The vision of his soul was 
 before him, smiling and cordial, a glow- 
 ing, wondrous reality. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " MR. MORTON, I believe ? " said Blanche, 
 with piquant grace. 
 
 " Yes," said Cnarlie. " I'm surprised. I 
 didn't expect to see you." 
 
 " I suppose you are anxious to see little 
 Pete?" 
 
 "Yes, I called for this purpose. I hope 
 he has the good fortune to be living here." 
 
 " Yes, and as happy as a lark." 
 
 "I should think he would be. I should 
 call it paradise." 
 
 " A little better place than Golden Throne 
 for him, isn't it?" 
 
 " I should say so. It -wasn't good for his 
 health to stay there, was it ? " 
 
 " He has told me about it. What a queer 
 place Golden Throne must be ! I feel quite 
 well acquainted, Pete has told me so much. 
 There's Grubbins and Prince Hal and Sol 
 Jones and Pilkins and Paddie John and Bill 
 
GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 75 
 
 and Big Dick and Jennie and Tim. I'm 
 curious to know all about them." 
 
 " They're scattered. Bill and I have left 
 Golden Throne to make our fortune." 
 
 "What, in this big city! Are you not 
 afraid of being swallowed up ? " 
 
 " We'll take our chances. If we go to the 
 wall, we'll take to digging again. Our arms 
 are strong, and fortune can't crush us." 
 
 "And the rest?" 
 
 " Paddie is in the city. He's John McCon- 
 nel now, in civilized parlance. He's on the 
 press, and I suppose you read some of his 
 dashing articles every day. Big Dick is in 
 the fire department. Mr. Richard Cole is his 
 name on the books. Sol Jones is running 
 for office, and Grubbins is in the legislature, 
 and Pilkins is anywhere between two hun- 
 dred and fifty and three hundred pounds. 
 Prince Hal, I suppose, is asleep. Like Rip 
 Van Winkle, he will wake up some fine 
 morning and find himself rich ; for Golden 
 Throne is bound to grow, and all one has to 
 do is to stay and grow with it, like Jack on 
 the bean-stalk. Jennie and Tim are one 
 and the same. The gray mare is the better 
 horse." 
 
 " I forgot about Gooch. Pete used to de- 
 scribe him and his praying and singing 
 Psalms and reading the Bible." 
 
 " Gooch is pursuing his only earthly or 
 heavenly desire, to make money; and he 
 knows how to do it in a quiet way. He 
 buys and sells always on the nick of time, 
 and prays with one eye open." 
 
 " I'm quite interested in all these doings," 
 said Blanche. "I'm so glad to see you. 
 Shall I go for little Pete? He will be de- 
 lighted to see you." 
 
 " Of course, I want to see the little cuss ; 
 but, really, I've lost my interest in him since 
 seeing you." 
 
 " Oh, that isn't fair ! If it hadn't been for 
 little Pete, I should never have seen you." 
 
 "I did like little Pete," said Charlie. 
 " There was something about him so strange 
 and shadowy, as if he wasn't fit for this 
 world, and ought to be an angel. I presume 
 he's changed, though." 
 
 " Indeed, he is. You wouldn't know him. 
 I assure you he's quite stylish, and learned, 
 too. Do you know he can play on the piano 
 and paint? He has some notion of being 
 an artist." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if he was a genius. 
 He looked half-crazy. Bring him. I do 
 want to see how he looks now." 
 
 " You would know him, if you saw him ? " 
 said Blanche, looking at him with a bewil- 
 dering glance and dazzling smile. Again, 
 the strange familiarity swept over her feat- 
 ure*. 
 
 " Where have I met you ? " he cried. 
 
 " Met me ! How you talk, sir ! " 
 
 " But I have met you," said Charlie. " I 
 saw you at the Opera House on the evening 
 of Ingersoll's lecture, and I thought then 
 that I had seen you somewhere. Your face 
 has haunted me, and yes, I must confess it 
 now that [ have found you I have longed 
 to see you ever since." 
 
 " Is that so ? " said Blanche, delightedly ; 
 " and now I may confess that I saw you too, 
 but you looked so abstracted that I thought 
 it no use to speak and claim old acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " Old acquaintance ? " said Charlie. 
 "What do you mean? Where could we 
 have known each other? Certainly never, 
 unless it was in some fairy kingdom before 
 we were born." 
 
 "Oh, we have met since then, and I re- 
 member it well." 
 
 " Tell me, if you are not really a fairy, 
 where it was." 
 
 " Let me see. It was a dim, weird place, 
 about midnight. The moon was shining 
 over the rocks and trees. On the one side 
 is the Buried Castle, and not far off the 
 Throne Room, and around, darkly glooming, 
 Conscience Pass. There are two horses, a 
 solitary figure, and that I believe is 
 Charlie, and there is a sudden report, and 
 then another figure, and that " said 
 Blanche, with blazing eyes and trembling 
 lips, with a boyish tone in her voice and a 
 sadden flinging back of her head. 
 
 " Was little Pete," said Charlie, " and " 
 
76 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " And Blanche, too," burst forth the girl, 
 impetuously. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said Charlie. " You that 
 little cuss I mean that little lady ! " 
 I'm thunderstruck. Little Pete not himself 
 after all, and you Well, I don't know 
 myself any more. Please stick a pin into 
 me, so that I can find out whether I am 
 dreaming or waking." 
 
 "You didn't think you were carrying a 
 woman in your arms on that lovely night, 
 and that you might have made a runaway 
 match of it," carolled Blanche. "Isn't it 
 romantic ? Why, how you stare ! You look 
 as if you didn't like it. Do you wish I were 
 a boy again ? " 
 
 " Yes, for then I shouldn't break my heart. 
 But come, tell me all about it. I'm burning 
 with curiosity. I'm like a woman, and must 
 have the whole story." 
 
 "It's a long one and a sad one," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 "I fear it is, but what a beautiful end- 
 ing ! You have nothing to fear now." 
 
 " I suppose not, only that man. I do so 
 dread to think of him. If he should find 
 me out " 
 
 "Don't fear him, whoever he is. He's 
 dead." 
 
 "Dead? Are you sure?" 
 
 " I saw his body with my own eyes." 
 
 Blanche buried her face in her hands. 
 For a moment, she could say nothing. 
 
 " Oh, I am thankful ! " she murmured at 
 last softly. " He was the horror of my 
 life." 
 
 "Who was he?" asked Charlie. 
 
 " My husband. I fled from him as from 
 a serpent." 
 
 " Your husband ! I am amazed I What 
 is behind all this? " 
 
 "Listen. I will tell you. My father, as 
 near as I can remember and learn, was a 
 man of literary genius, but indolent and 
 shiftless, floating from place to place. My 
 mother was a bright New England girl, 
 whose parents lived comfortably on a farm. 
 Falling in love with my father, Ralph Ken- 
 nedy, she married him, and they came to 
 
 New York. He earned a precarious living 
 by writing songs, etc., and sometimes play- 
 ing in the theatres. My mother soon died, 
 overcome by hardship, when I was a little 
 girl. My father, growing desperate, mar- 
 ried a woman who kept a saloon on the 
 Bowery. Oh, the horror of those yeai * ! 
 My father died, and I was left in the hands 
 of this terrible step-mother. She treated me 
 cruelly. I was compelled to sell papers on 
 the street, to sing songs, to beg at times. 
 Finally, I was put into a variety theatre. 
 Then, this man came along. I suppose he 
 gave money to my step-mother. She whipped 
 me, and compelled me to marry him; but, 
 somehow, after the ceremony, while they 
 were in the midst of their drunken revels, I 
 escaped. I got on board the cars, and 
 begged my way West. I feared that he was 
 on my track, pursuing me like a relentless 
 hound. I went farther and farther. I 
 crossed the plains. I crept up among the 
 mountains. I came at length to Golden 
 Throne as little Pete. I saw him that night 
 when I fled. You know the rest. Well, I 
 came to this city. I had heard from my 
 father of an elder brother, living here some- 
 where. His name was William Kennedy. 
 He was much older, and had come to Cali- 
 fornia when ray father was a little boy; 
 and so for years they were separated, and 
 almost forgot each other. I presume, on 
 some accounts, there was little sympathy 
 between them; for Uncle William was a 
 thorough-going business man, and would 
 have no regard for the vagrant genius of 
 my father. I tried to find this uncle on my 
 arrival in the city. Thanks to the gold you 
 gave me, I was enabled to do so with com. 
 parative ease. I found him living in this 
 elegant house. He was a bachelor, and 
 quite aged. He had no one to care for, and 
 greeted -me as if I were his daughter. My 
 identity was soon established, and he made 
 me his heir. A few months ago, he died; 
 and now I am mistress of this mansion and 
 of wealth that I really cannot count." 
 
 " This is indeed a fairy tale," said Char- 
 lie. "And this is little Pete, that little 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 77 
 
 devil, as we used to call him. You did look 
 funny, no mistake, with that scared expres- 
 sion and silent ways. Well, it's lucky I 
 didn't let 'em hang you. I don't know what 
 made me interfere so desperately, a mere 
 whim, I suppose. Another time, perhaps, 
 I'd let things go. You see we get awful 
 rough and cruel in this country." 
 
 " I see that, yet there's much good that 
 shines out. Even Big Dick had some genu- 
 ine good feeling. He had a spite against 
 me though ; but I guess, if he should see me 
 now, he'd soften a little, wouldn't he?" said 
 Blanche, with a ringing laugh. 
 
 "I think he would. But he's married, 
 and it wouldn't do any good for you to capt- 
 ure him. You look high now, of course, 
 a lord or a duke or a millionnaire, at least." 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? I have had all I want 
 of poverty and disgrace, and now I am going 
 to look high and keep high. I'm going to 
 take the best man that comes along." 
 
 " You can have your pick," said Charlie, 
 disconsolately. " I came to seek my fortune. 
 I have lost it already, for a thousand are 
 ahead of me." 
 
 " I told you little Pete could play. Listen 
 and hear if he can't," said Blanche. 
 
 She ran to the piano as gracefully as a 
 fawn, and sat down, and the music sparkled 
 forth like a fountain. The swift notes 
 glided on in perfect harmony. Then she 
 sang, and her rich voice expressed the very 
 spirit of the song. There was nothing for- 
 mal about her, though she was so elegantly 
 attired. She was animated by a beautiful 
 and, in some respects, extraordinary genius. 
 She inherited her father's literary and poetic 
 faculty, with much more steadiness of char- 
 acter, which came from her mother's side. 
 Her eyes sparkled with liquid brilliancy, 
 like the splendor of wine. They flashed 
 with a thousand changing expressions, for 
 her spirit was responsive to all the influences 
 of the varying hour. 
 
 "Listen to me," she said, "while I sing 
 you a song. I wrote it myself. The music 
 is an old Scottish melody that I picked 
 up." 
 
 She sang : 
 
 " Love tosses on a darkling sea, 
 Where wild winds breathe their melody. 
 The rolling billows give no rest: 
 Love finds the same within its breast; 
 And so it yearns for some sweet shore, 
 Where life shall bloom for evermore. 
 
 " Love like a pilgrim roams afar, 
 And watches every changing star, 
 And gathers every radiant flower, 
 And sees it fade with summer's hour; 
 And so it yearns for that deep home 
 Where nothing fades and naught doth roam." 
 
 " You see it doesn't amount to much, but I 
 wrote to suit myself; and it's nobody's busi- 
 ness how poorly I write. I enjoy the privi- 
 lege all to myself. Do you think you can 
 remember them ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Charlie, " as long as I live." 
 
 "I'll warrant you'll forget them. Come, 
 sing them with me, and perhaps you won't 
 forget them until day after to-morrow. If 
 you keep them so long, I shall feel quite 
 honored." 
 
 Charlie sang the song with her and others 
 also ; and the golden moments flew, and dan- 
 gerous moments they were to Charlie's peace 
 of mind. 
 
 After a while, she jumped up. 
 
 " I said little Pete could paint. Look 
 here." And she showed some brilliant land- 
 scapes full of color, and flowers deftly painted 
 on plates and frames and screens. Evidently, 
 she could handle the brush with fine skill. 
 
 It was all a wonder to Charlie. He drifted 
 along the dazzling stream of love, though 
 he felt every moment as if he should go tum- 
 bling over some cataract. It was utterly 
 foolish to think for a moment that such a 
 brilliant and fortunate woman would ever 
 consent to be the wife of one who could offer 
 her scarcely anything in the way of wealth 
 or position or talent. Charlie had very lit- 
 tle faith in his own ability. He looked upon 
 himself as a very ordinary man, and made 
 no pretensions to excellence of any sort ; and 
 he hadn't the slightest idea that he could 
 present anything to Blanche that would win 
 her to his side. 
 
 "It seems to me you are looking rather 
 
78 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 melancholy," said Blanche, as the hands of 
 the old-fashioned clock in the corner began 
 to creep toward twelve. 
 
 "I am melancholy," said Charlie. "It's 
 almost time to go." 
 
 "No matter about that. You can call 
 again." 
 
 " I don't know about it," said Charlie. " I 
 have a notion to start off to-morrow and 
 sail round the world." 
 
 " That's a curious freak. What better 
 can you do than stay here ? " 
 
 "No better perhaps, but then I shall be 
 wiser." 
 
 " Are you not wise enough now ? " 
 
 " No, I'm a fool." 
 
 " A frank confession. I will never admit 
 as much." 
 
 " That's kind of you ; but, if I stay, I shall 
 flutter like the moth about the candle, and 
 then perish." 
 
 " You needn't fall into the flame." 
 
 " Of course not, but all the same I shall ; 
 and then you'll call me a fool." 
 
 " That depends. I don't know just exactly 
 what you mean." 
 
 " Yes, you do, begging your pardon : you 
 know that I love you. And what's the 
 use of my loving you? For my love is 
 no mere stream: it's my whole being. I 
 cannot play with you. I cannot flirt with 
 you. I cannot touch you lightly, as I would 
 the flower. I love you madly, deeply. You 
 have conquered me, and I am your slave. 
 What hope is there for me? You are a 
 queen, rich, honored, with genius to bless 
 and the world at your feet. I am nothing 
 but a poor miner. I cannot help you as I 
 once did. I am glad that I had that chance, 
 but it's over now. You are above me, be- 
 yond me, strong, beautiful as a star. Yet 
 you burn me with your radiance. I feel 
 that I must escape. When there is no hope 
 in love, then all one can do is to flee." 
 
 "Why need you flee? Why not hope? 
 True, I have many of the world's noblest at 
 my feet, men that I admire ; but can you not 
 think that I look back into memory, that I 
 see myself a poor, weak child in danger, 
 
 ready to perish amid rude, rough mon ? Do 
 I not see one at the risk of his life defend 
 me, facing the imperious crowd alone ? Do 
 I not see him conquer that crowd and bring 
 them to regard justice ; and, when innocence 
 is on trial, he alone still believes that inno- 
 cence, and in the simple strength of his 
 manhood pours forth the burning eloquence 
 that takes captive every heart. And when 
 that eloquence has done its work and the 
 captive is for a moment free, like a flutter- 
 ing bird, do I not see him still cling to that 
 forsaken child, bearing it through night and 
 day to a place of safety, and then, with the 
 courage of a hero, facing death for the sake 
 of that little one? Do you think amid all 
 this gilded throng I can meet a more noble, 
 a more gifted, a more heroic one ? Do you 
 think I worship wealth or position? Alasl 
 I have seen too much misery to care for 
 that. I want manhood, a strong spirit, 
 wherein my woman's soul can rest like the 
 halcyon in the bosom of the summer's sea. 
 And can you not see that this brave, strong 
 man, that I have pictured out of m'y heart's 
 memory, is perhaps a bit of a coward that 
 he does not go forward and possess that 
 which requires not wealth or power, but 
 simply the dauntless soul ; for, though woman 
 may love, she will not speak her love, but 
 waits for man to claim it, not as a slave, but 
 as a king? I wonder that men act so. 
 Why are they afraid of a weak woman's 
 heart? I wouldn't be afraid. O what 
 dunces men are I They don't understand 
 anything." 
 
 Poor Charlie! Alternate hope and de- 
 spair swept over him. He couldn't make 
 out whether she was in earnest or not. He 
 could not realize that she loved him. At 
 length, with desperate resolution, he ad- 
 vanced and drew her to his bosom. She did 
 not retreat. She was folded in his warm 
 embrace. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said he, as he looked at 
 her glowing face, as he kissed her beautiful 
 eyes and cheeks and lustrous lips. " Do you 
 love me ? " 
 
 She placed her arms about his neck, 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 79 
 
 stroked his brow and cheek, drew his face 
 close to hers, and touched his mouth with 
 the ruby fire of her own. 
 
 " 1 do love you dearly," she said. " You 
 are my hero." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " How strange it seems," said Paddie, 
 when Charlie had told the whole story, " that 
 such a weird little fellow should turn out to 
 be a brilliant woman ! What a lucky man 
 you are ! " 
 
 "It makes me tremble, when I think it 
 over," said Charlie. "I can hardly realize 
 that she's safe now." 
 
 " To be sure that she is, we'll call over," 
 said Will. 
 
 Blanche was glad to see them, and they 
 talked about old times. 
 
 "Here are the tramp's papers that we 
 found dead," said Charlie. " You may find 
 them of worth." 
 
 "Oh, I don't want to look at them," said 
 Blanche. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I would," said Charlie. 
 " They may reveal something." 
 
 " Then, of course, I must read them," said 
 Blanche; "for I have a woman's curiosity. 
 By the way, it's so funny. Gooch called 
 this morning. He didn't know me, though, 
 that is, he didn't seem to. He might 
 have guessed it, and kept it to himself. He 
 showed me a paper in which there was an 
 advertisement for Ralph Kennedy or his 
 heirs. It must mean my father or grand- 
 father. Gooch said he'd look it up. I won- 
 der why he takes so much interest? " 
 
 " That's worth considering. You may be 
 sure the deacon wouldn't do anything for 
 your sake. He thinks there's a plum for 
 him, somewhere. I guess I'll look into the 
 matter along with him." 
 
 The next day when Charlie called, Blanche 
 burst excitedly forth : 
 
 "I've found it out. It's wonderful and 
 most wonderful. I've examined the papers 
 left by that man," she said, shuddering. 
 " I see now why he married me and followed 
 me to Golden Throne, and what his scheme 
 
 was. I'm heir to some property in England, 
 how much, I don't know. Gooch has got 
 track of the same thing, but we don't need 
 his help. I wonder how he happened to 
 know about it." 
 
 " There's nothing in the money line but 
 he'll find out, sooner or later," said Charlie. 
 " No doubt, he'll quote Scripture, and try to 
 get a hand in your fortune." 
 
 " His Scripture didn't save me from hang- 
 ing, and I don't think it will give him any 
 of my fortune." 
 
 The three friends were sauntering over 
 the city, when all at once Paddie burst 
 forth, 
 
 " There's a familiar face. I wonder who it 
 can be ? " 
 
 It was a clean-looking and rotund grocery 
 clerk that they saw, busy as a bee, keeping 
 the store he tended in nice order, and appar- 
 ently as happy as a lark. His hair was cut 
 short, his cheeks were full and rosy. lie 
 looked at Paddie and Charlie and Will, his 
 eyes twinkled, and then he burst into a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 "By Jupiter!" said Paddie, "I can hardly 
 believe my eyes ; but that's the Rev. William 
 Theophilus Pippins." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said the jolly gro- 
 cery clerk, with another cachinnation. "Not 
 the Rev. William Theophilus Pippins, he's 
 dead, but Billy Pippins, at your service. 
 Will you take some cabbage, gentlemen, 
 the best in the market, or beets or tur- 
 nips?" 
 
 " Whence this transformation ? " said Pad- 
 die. " The last time I saw you, you were as 
 melancholy as a gip cat. Now, you are fat 
 and fair. What in the name of nature has 
 happened to you? " 
 
 "That's just what's happened, and nothing 
 more," said Pippins, laughing harder than 
 ever. " That last shot of Ingersoll tumbled 
 us from grace to nature, and here I am, 
 Billy Pippins. Bobbins got converted, too, 
 and weighs a couple of hundred pounds. 
 He's a farmer now, getting on splendidly, 
 and he swears by Ingersoll." 
 
 "Really, I congratulate you. Why, the 
 
80 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 last time I saw you, you were long-haired 
 and lean, and looked as if you had gone to 
 seed generally ; and now you are fresh and 
 happy and active, and doing the world some 
 good." 
 
 " That's my honest purpose," said Pippins. 
 " I was a fool to study that confounded the- 
 ology, and starve myself almost to death. 
 That was a square shot of Ingersoll. It 
 just set us to thinking. Bobbins was rav- 
 ing for a while, but he couldn't get the ideas 
 out of his head. Finally, he caved in. 
 Since then, he's been happy. I followed 
 suit. You ought to see Bobbins. He'll 
 give you a welcome grip." 
 
 " We must visit him," said Paddie. " Take 
 a vacation, Billy, and we'JJ start to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll be ready," said Pippins, and with 
 that he went gayly off to wait upon some 
 new customer. 
 
 "I'll be blowed," said Paddie, "if this 
 isn't about the funniest, to think that a lank 
 theological student has turned out to be a 
 decent grocery clerk. What a salvation for 
 him ! Hurrah for Bobbins ! " 
 
 "Hurrah again!" said Charlie. "After 
 the old style, we'll call him a 'miracle of 
 grace,' ' snatched as a brand from the burn- 
 ing.' Once he was a poor devil of an elder, 
 now he is a respectable digger of the soil. 
 That kind of regeneration is good for some- 
 thing." 
 
 " By the way, we must drop in on Jimmy. 
 Now's the time. I guess he's finished his 
 morning devotions, and is ready for a little 
 philosophy." 
 
 They found Jimmy, or Demorest, quietly 
 smoking, having just waded through some 
 ponderous commentaries. 
 
 "I can't find much sense in them," said 
 he ; " but I have to fix things up somehow, 
 be reasonable and at the same time Biblical, 
 but I have to sweat to do it. We ministers 
 who have a grain of sense have a hard time. 
 We are continually bothered." 
 
 "I don't understand about your going 
 into the ministry," said Charlie. " I thought 
 you were as liberal as we." 
 
 " I am. I can't believe these old doctrines, 
 
 but I must do something. I can't lie idle. 1 
 am so constituted that, if I don't express 
 myself in the pulpit, I can't express myself 
 anywhere. I must be dumb, and what talent 
 I have goes to waste." 
 
 " Can't you write ? Can't you go into liter- 
 ature, or lecture, or start a liberal church ? " 
 
 " No. I should make a dismal failure of 
 all these things. I haven't talent enough 
 for literature, where the best minds in the 
 world are engaged. Really, I haven't a 
 particle of originality. I can't create. I 
 can simply express. Lecturing is played 
 out. Only the most powerful or fortunate 
 men can succeed there. If I start a liberal 
 church, I am just as much bound as I am 
 now. I must satisfy all sorts of hobbies and 
 whims, and make pretences and be hypo- 
 critical. I might just as well be a Methodist 
 as undertake to do any of this half-way 
 work. The fact is, I am a child of feeling ; 
 and the past has a wondrous power over my 
 heart. 1 cannot tell you how I am thrilled 
 by the old songs and ceremonies. They 
 possess me like a spell. Don't blame me 
 because I preach. I do it to find some ex- 
 pression for my passionate heart, to pour 
 forth my longings, my hopes, my dreams, 
 and thus, if possible, to serve men. Believe 
 me, I do not do it with a selfish motive. 
 You know I am not a hypocrite. I work in 
 sad sincerity, chained and galled, yet feeling 
 there is no other way to do. Oh that these 
 creeds were dead and buried, and that, free 
 as the air itself, I could pour forth the ideals 
 of my soul." 
 
 " What do you do with the doctrines?" 
 
 " I let them alone. I forget them. I preach 
 nothing but simple humanity, love, good- 
 will, reverence, and work. My audiences are 
 delighted. They don't want any theology, 
 though they won't let me deny theology ; and 
 that is the curse of my position, to profess 
 faith in what neither I nor my congregation 
 wish to hear a word about, and yet dare not 
 disown." 
 
 "Isn't this a living lie?" 
 
 "Yes and no. It is either this way of 
 speaking or eternal silence on my part, and 
 
GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 81 
 
 that is worse than death. I long for utter- 
 ance, I delight in speech; and yet, to win 
 the power of speech, to pour forth what is 
 grandest, I must chain myself to that which 
 I think contemptible. Jt is not hypocrisy 
 or lying: it is terrible martyrdom. Don't 
 blame a thousand ministers who are work- 
 ing and cursing as I am, and yet, in the 
 midst of all, are striving to be manly. 
 Come! I'll introduce you to Hilly, my 
 wife. If it were not for her, I could do 
 nothing." 
 
 Milly was a surpassing woman, a perfect 
 little poem. There was nothing stiff or 
 angular about her. She flowed in liquid 
 beauty like a fountain. Her eyes were soft 
 and bright, her voice beautiful. She was 
 not in any sense a thinker : she was simply 
 an artist. She lived in the world of emo- 
 tion. She was orthodox, simply because 
 born so. She had no logical capacity to go 
 from it any more than a child. She simply 
 believed as she had been taught, and that 
 ended the whole matter. She had always 
 regularly attended church, but the sermon 
 generally went in at one ear and out at the 
 other. She supposed it was all right, and 
 that satisfied her. She hadn't much of any 
 experience to relate. She took it for granted 
 that she was a sinner, but she never felt very 
 bad about it. In fact, her church mem- 
 bership and theological belief hung about 
 her like a suit of clothes that she felt obliged 
 to wear, and which she made look as grace- 
 ful as possible. Her inner life, the sub- 
 stance of her being, was artistic, poetic, and 
 not intellectual. She delighted in the culti- 
 vation of flowers, in the arrangement of 
 color and form, and in the decoration of her 
 rooms. She had, withal, a good musical 
 skill, and could fairly interpret the best com- 
 positions of the masters; and this was no 
 small source of pride and pleasure to her 
 husband. 
 
 She was, indeed, a noble woman, full of 
 the vitality of health and nature, blooming 
 in the midst of Orthodoxy like a sweet 
 flower amid Alpine snows, but no more 
 the result of Orthodoxy than the flowers 
 
 are the result of their icy surroundings. 
 Orthodoxy, harsh and rugged as it is, can- 
 not altogether crush nature, which will force 
 itself through the most unfavorable envi- 
 ronments ; and thus many a beautiful char- 
 acter flourishes in the midst of its desolate 
 creeds, not because of its creeds, but because 
 underneath them is the ever-flowing life of 
 the universe, which will manifest itself in 
 all times and places. 
 
 Demorest could not have found a woman 
 more adapted to his passionate and some- 
 what weak nature than Milly. She was a 
 perpetual rest and stimulant to him. I do 
 not think he could have endured the painful 
 restraint of his position but for her genial 
 spirit. She completely satisfied his poetic 
 being, and without exciting thought stirred 
 and exalted his emotions. 
 
 " You have a gem of a wife, indeed," said 
 Paddie, after they had spent an hour or two 
 in her delightful company. " You are safe 
 as long as you are with her. She will keep 
 you fresh and natural and sincere in spite 
 of your restraints. You take your text 
 from the Bible, but I'll bet that every time 
 you preach from her lips and eyes." 
 
 " I do that," said Demorest. " The text 
 is only a tumble-down gate that I pass 
 through, and then I roam through the green 
 pastures of my own imagination, and Milly 
 is with me; and that is the way I preach 
 my sermons." 
 
 " That is why people like them so well." 
 
 " Yet I can't tell them the secret. I must 
 make them believe that I get my material 
 out of the Scriptures, when I get it out of 
 my own home and the joys of my own heart. 
 They think I study and brood over Adam 
 and Eve, and Abraham and Moses, and 
 Jesus and Paul, when I do no such thing, 
 but look at my flowers and the eyes of Milly, 
 and listen to her songs. I suppose it is 
 necessary for some to have this sort of tradi- 
 tional perspective, but it is a roundabout 
 way of getting the gospel that is at our very 
 feet." 
 
 "I should think you'd sometimes feel 
 like breaking out and smashing things." 
 
82 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 "I do. I am terribly iconoclastic at 
 times. I fret and fume. Then, I take a 
 smoke, read Bob Ingersoll, and that satisfies 
 me, and I wear the yoke. Ingersoll, you see, 
 is vicariously my infidelity. He expresses 
 what I want expressed in my supreme mo- 
 ments. Then, I come. back to commonplace, 
 and do the work that fate seems to compel 
 me to do. I really couldn't stand it, if I 
 didn't get a breath of heaven and witness 
 the glory from the mountain-top by reading 
 this arch enemy once in a while." 
 
 " What a puzzle the whole thing is ! " said 
 Charlie. " Of course, if it was a mere mat- 
 ter of the head, like mathematics, we could 
 straighten things out at once ; but I realize 
 what an unfathomable force the human 
 heart is, and, having wound itself about 
 these old doctrines, it is difficult to break 
 away. But it must be like living in prison." 
 
 " It is," said Demorest ; " and wildly and 
 rebelliously I break against these bars, and 
 swear I won't stand it any longer. Then, I 
 feel weak as a child ; for what can I do 
 against this enormous power of custom? 
 Why, I don't even dare to change my hat or 
 trousers, much less can I change my creed." 
 
 " We must hear you speak some Sunday," 
 said Charlie. 
 
 "I don't care about that. It would dis- 
 turb me to know that there were men of 
 thought in my congregation, for I don't 
 preach to men of thought. I preach simply 
 to the sentiment. I have no thinkers in my 
 pews, though I have judges and lawyers and 
 merchants and a few doctors, and shoals of 
 fashionable women; but they don't think, 
 and they don't want to think while in the 
 church, and I don't try to make them think. 
 If I did, I should cease to be eloquent." 
 
 " But, depending so much on pure feeling, 
 I should think sometimes you'd exhaust the 
 fountain; for, unless feeling can be fed by 
 thought, it runs dry." 
 
 "I do feel like a vacuum sometimes, ut- 
 terly empty, a very shadow. I can't describe 
 the horrible sensation. Everything becomes 
 an unreality. I flee from my congregation, 
 and I would fain bury myself in the sea. 
 
 My only resource is Milly. I have her plaj 
 the piano or talk to me, or show me some of 
 her pretty work. Fortunately, she does not 
 think. If she did, she would drive me crazy. 
 She never troubles me with any theological 
 puzzles, nor seems conscious of any dogmas. 
 She simply pictures. Her world is the world 
 of beauty. Through beauty only does she 
 express truth. I drink, and forget the stern 
 demands of the intellect. What more can 
 I do?" 
 
 "We must judge for ourselves," said Will. 
 " I couldn't act as you do, but I admit that 
 my nature is different. I suppose with 
 many there must be some sort of compro- 
 mise ; and yet, when you compromise, where 
 are you to draw the line ? I prefer to draw 
 the line at where I see the absolute truth, 
 and go no further. Possibly, you and the 
 thousands of ministers that are thinking 
 and acting like you are doing some good in 
 a certain way, making people happy; and 
 yet we know not what subtle corruption is 
 going on as the result of this deception, how 
 all the fibres of manhood are being weak- 
 ened. Beauty is indeed of supreme impor- 
 tance, and yet is not truth the first step to 
 beauty ? However, I won't preach ; for I 
 know that one's destiny is woven out of his 
 temperament. He must work through what 
 he is, and not simply through what he 
 sees." 
 
 " I can't solve it," said Demorest. " The 
 more I think, the less I seem to know. It 
 is impossible in any circumstances to carry 
 out our ideal. We can't be absolutely sin- 
 cere, and who can tell what the truth is? 
 Where shall we begin, inside or outside? 
 Why waste time in endless thought? I 
 want to do something ; and, in order to do 
 something, I must make believe." 
 
 "Take your chances then," said Paddie. 
 "I'm glad you are in love. There's no 
 make-believe about that. There, at least, 
 you are absolutely sincere, and can save your 
 manhood. Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by. I'll smoke and go to bed, get 
 up and hear the lark sing and see the 
 flowers; but I won't spend a moment on 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 83 
 
 theology, though it is the skeleton in my 
 closet." 
 
 "How many a man," said Paddie to 
 Charlie and Will, as they walked home, " is 
 bothered, perplexed, and half a man, like 
 Jimmy, unable to use their nature to the 
 utmost. It is the jbragedy of many a life. 
 He is fortunate, because he has a love that 
 fills his soul and from whence he can work ; 
 but, without Milly, he would be a wreck 
 again, I fear." 
 
 " Love is the real religion of the universe," 
 said Will. "Jimmy has that, and so far 
 he's safe. Love and truth work together, 
 even though they seem to clash." 
 
 " We'll find our good friend Bobbins to- 
 morrow. He's jumped the fence entirely. 
 Let's see what kind of clover he's in. Char- 
 lie, bid good-by to Blanche for one day." 
 
 " 111 just go now and do it," said Charlie. 
 
 " Gooch was here again to-day," cried 
 Blanche, "and made all sorts of inquiries. 
 I don't like him. I wish he'd keep away. 
 I think him capable of some great villany. 
 I think he has the very devil's look." 
 
 " He can't touch you, even if he were the 
 devil." 
 
 " I dread him. I shrink from him with a 
 strange horror. I hate his basilisk eyes." 
 
 " Don't see him again, then." 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be a good plan to start for 
 England and settle your family affairs?" 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " You'll want somebody to help, and so 
 I'll go along in the capacity of a husband." 
 
 " How kind you are, sir 1 " said she, coquet- 
 tishly. " Do you think I will consent ? " 
 
 " I think nothing. I only hope." 
 
 " How submissive ! I'm mistress now, but 
 I fear you'll be master when I say ' yes.' " 
 
 " True love seeks not mastery, only ser- 
 vice." 
 
 " Then I accept your service, and let me 
 be mistress; for I can serve better that 
 way." 
 
 " I believe it. By submitting, I have more 
 than by commanding." 
 
 " How wise you are. Where did you learn 
 all this?" 
 
 " In the Book of Love." 
 
 It was settled that next week they should 
 start for England. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WHAT a beautiful day it was ! The sun 
 filled the air with a soft and golden light 
 that sparkled along the grass, touched the 
 trees, and flushed the clouds by the horizon 
 with many a hue. Who can describe the 
 flowers, the wealth of flowers, that spread 
 about the travellers like a sea, with all col- 
 ors, dashing and clashing in endless billows? 
 It was the spring of the year, voluptuous 
 and intense; and heaven and earth shone 
 with the brilliancy of a fresh creation. 
 
 Light laughter filled the air, for every one 
 felt the glowing impulse of the day. Over 
 the plain they went, and rejoiced in the 
 thousand varied splendors that met their 
 view, the signs of growth and opulence and 
 power. The mighty wheat fields reached 
 far as the eye could see, and tossed and 
 rolled in a profusion of verdant waves. 
 Bobbins' house, unpretending but neatly 
 kept, surrounded with massive barns, was in 
 the midst of these richly laden lands. Bob- 
 bins was hardly recognizable by the jolly 
 crowd, such a change had passed over him, 
 he was so fat and sleek and comfortable. 
 Every trace of the " miserable sinner " had 
 disappeared. He was no longer dilapidated. 
 He did not seem to be a "walking sepul- 
 chre," he did not advertise the world as a 
 " dim vast vale of tears." Hell-fire was no 
 longer at his tongue's end. When he dis- 
 covered who were his guests, he was most 
 cordial. A broad grin lighted up his whole 
 face. In a great, loud voice, he said : 
 
 " Come in. I've got something good for ye. 
 It's most dinner-time. Pippins, you grow fat- 
 ter and rounder every time I see you." 
 
 " I guess I do, and I mean to keep it up. 
 I just enjoy this world, and I mean to put 
 as many square inches into it as possible. 
 The more, the better." 
 
84 
 
 GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 " It does one good to see you looking so 
 plump," said Paddie. " You are bigger than 
 all your commentaries put together. You 
 must have swallowed them." 
 
 " I didn't swallow them. I burned them. 
 They were so dry that they made good kind- 
 ling wood." 
 
 "How did ever this come about?" said 
 Paddie. " You looked like a hardened saint, 
 so thoroughly elected for the other world 
 that I never thought you would be a candi- 
 date for this ; and here you are in flesh and 
 blood." 
 
 " I fought it out as long as I could. I'd 
 got so fitted to theology that I didn't see 
 how I could live without it. I thought I 
 must have a sort of celestial machinery, but 
 that answer of Ingersoll knocked it clean 
 out of my head. I couldn't get round it. I 
 squirmed mightily. But conviction tussled 
 with me, and I yielded. I said to Common- 
 sense : I give myself up to you without re- 
 serve. 1 hold nothing back. What you 
 teach I will believe ; and, if need be, I will 
 leave all and follow you. The moment I 
 said that, I was happy, I could see things 
 straight. I was free to all the universe, and 
 it did seem as if everything had a new color. 
 Like a child, I began again, and reason has 
 led me into smooth and pleasant paths. I 
 don't know much, but what I do know I find 
 very useful. Just look at my farm, my 
 stock, my barns. I get enjoyment out of 
 these every day that beats theology all 
 hollow." 
 
 Bobbins did look happy, and no mistake, 
 a bluff, hearty fellow, browned with toil, 
 strong, and healthful. 
 
 " You have been wonderfully prospered," 
 said Paddie. " You were a poor devil, when 
 we saw you before. Now, you are rich. 
 Your own toil is not the secret of all 
 this?" 
 
 " No. It's a miracle, partly. The very 
 moment I became an infidel, I had good 
 luck. An uncle of mine was somewhat 
 sceptical, and left some books that I never 
 dared to read. When I threw the Bible 
 aside, I overhauled them, and read Paine the 
 
 first thing ; and what do you think I found 
 there?" 
 
 " Truth, I s'pose, and courage." 
 
 "Yes, and besides a lot of mining stock 
 certificates tucked away in the book, the 
 property of my uncle. I, being his heir, 
 they fell to me. I didn't know whether 
 they were worth anything ; but, when I took 
 them to market, I found 'em booming. I 
 sold at a high price, and bought this farm ; 
 and all because I read Tom Paine just in 
 the nick of time." 
 
 " Put that down. We'll call it a miracle. 
 Do you grow in grace ? " 
 
 " I reckon I do, in the right sort. I can't 
 describe the perfect wonder with which I 
 have read Paine. He is such a marvellous 
 writer, so weighty and keen. His sen- 
 tences ring through me like a trumpet. 
 He's so pat, not a word wasted ; and 
 withal there's such a moral force, such ele- 
 vation of sentiment! How infinitely he 
 transcends the miserable crowd of minis- 
 ters that bay at him and try to cover him 
 with the filth of their imagination 1 He is 
 like a mountain of snow touching the heav- 
 ens, while they are like the crawling ser- 
 pents." 
 
 "You feel that you have come out of 
 darkness into light? " 
 
 " I guess I do ! It's no comparison ! I 
 was in a cave before, and was an eyeless fish. 
 I can truly say, I was once blind, but now 
 I see. The books I read are a series of sur- 
 prising revelations. I've read Parker some, 
 and Emerson ; and it seems as if I was roam- 
 ing through a new world packed with pre- 
 cious jewels. There's a Down-East, queer 
 sort of fellow I'veTiappened across, Tho- 
 reau. He comes right from nature, right 
 from the trees and the rocks and the wa- 
 ters ; and how keenly he describes ! Then, 
 I've a few sermons here by Frothmgham, 
 and some by Chadwick and Savage ; and I 
 revel in them as I would in nuggets of gold, 
 such fresh, broad, beautiful views of man, 
 of the universe, of what we are, despite our 
 ignorance of whence we came or whither we 
 are going 1 I do wish every Christian could 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 85 
 
 know what a fool he is and how much he 
 loses by believing those old wives' tales." 
 
 " Why don't you turn missionary and 
 preach to them ? " 
 
 "That's not my forte. I'd rather work. 
 I just like to dig. I like to be among cat- 
 tle and horses and the pigs. I enjoy the 
 life that is in them, and believe that labor 
 is the great reformer of the world." 
 
 "I suppose so," said Paddle. "Still, 
 thought is necessary, and education. There 
 are those who must help us think and feel 
 our best. Then, work becomes most noble : 
 otherwise, it might be a drudgery." 
 
 "True," said Farmer Bobbins. "Every 
 man to his taste; and now for dinner. 
 Here's my wife, friends; and here's the 
 table, and I like each man to help him- 
 self." 
 
 A royal dinner they had ; for a royal ap- 
 petite they had, and Mrs. Bobbins knew a 
 thing or two about cooking. 
 
 " Did your wife get converted along with 
 you, Bobbins, and join the Church of Hu- 
 manity?" 
 
 "Not exactly. She clung to the old no- 
 tions. I didn't argue with her. I told her 
 my experience with Ingersoll. She laughed, 
 but said nothing. When we first came out 
 here, she went to the prayer-meetin' pretty 
 regular. But she doesn't go now, and I 
 notice that she likes to read my books. 
 You know women want to have their own 
 way about things, and she'll convert herself 
 much quicker than I can." 
 
 "Don't the ministers try to convert 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, since I've got rich. They didn't 
 seem to care about it before. They come 
 here by shoals. I just feed them, and let 
 them go. You ought to see them feed. It's 
 fun. Nobody can eat like a minister: he 
 has an appetite like a whale. Why, I fre- 
 quently cook a whole chicken for some poor 
 devil of a minister, and he eats it all up. 
 Well, it's the only comfort they do have in 
 this world, and I don't blame them for 
 making the most of it. I don't begrudge 
 any minister a square meal. He shall have 
 
 one every time he comes here. I find that's 
 the best way to shut his mouth." 
 
 Bobbins showed them his stock, and took 
 them through his waving fields of grain, with 
 all the ardor of a boy. Pippins enjoyed his 
 visit to the utmost. These two "saints" 
 converted into " sinners " made a very enter- 
 tainijg couple. It was a constant surprise 
 to them that there was so much enjoyment 
 in this sphere, independent of any other. 
 They had so long looked upon this world as 
 a dreary spot that, when they found what 
 riches it contained, they were almost intoxi- 
 cated with delight. It was like a couple of 
 starving men finding a rich and unexpected 
 repast. 
 
 " What a happy time it will be, when the 
 whole world is saved that way ! " said Char- 
 lie, as they went back to the city. 
 
 " Yes, wake up and get rid of its night- 
 mare," said Paddie. " I suppose this good 
 time is coming, but people are so stupid." 
 
 "It may come all at once. Who would 
 have thought that Bobbins would have 
 waked up and gone to work like an honest 
 man ? I can't help laughing, when I think 
 of his tussle with Ingersoll, and how de- 
 murely he walked away." 
 
 " We really expected to conquer," said 
 Pippins. "We prayed I don't know how 
 many days and nights, and read the com- 
 mentaries and studied Hebrew till our heads 
 ached. We thought we were fully armed 
 and equipped. What fools we were ! We 
 had a chain of argument that nobody could 
 get round ; but, when we came to hitch it, 
 we had nothing to hitch it to, and there is 
 where we got floored, and all we could do 
 was to lug our chain back again and hang 
 ourselves. But we did better. We took a 
 new start, and then our chain of logic led 
 us right where Ingersoll is." 
 
 "You must have found it pretty tough 
 work in your theological career ? " 
 
 "I did. I had to wear old clothes and 
 board myself, and was generally half-starved. 
 But I thought Jesus would pay me, and so 
 I stood it. I taught in Sunday-school, and 
 went round preaching here and there in 
 
86 
 
 GOLDEN THUONE. 
 
 school-houses and farm-houses and broken- 
 down churches ; and once in a while I'd make 
 out to get up a revival, and then I'd live 
 high for a spell. I'd have mince pies and 
 plum puddings along with my roast beef, 
 while the excitement lasted. Generally, 
 however, it was poor pay, and, if I must say 
 it, damn poor preach also. I wonder now 
 that I ever acted so like a confounded 
 dunce." 
 
 " You've a chance now to make it up, and 
 that's better than with those who've been 
 humbugged all their lives, and expect to have 
 big pay for it out of the celestial bank. 
 They don't know that its notes are protested 
 and its vaults empty." 
 
 " I will make it up," said Pippins. " This 
 is a comfortable world, after all, even if we 
 have to work for a living. I have to keep at 
 it twelve hours a day. That's too long, but 
 even with that I enjoy life. There's nothing 
 like taking hold and pushing things along 
 and bearing your part. That's my destiny, 
 and I glory in it. I can't do good in any 
 other way." 
 
 The great city was aflame with myriad 
 lamps as they approached. Charlie and 
 Will hastened to their lodgings. Charlie 
 was eager to call upon Blanche, and have a 
 little chat about his day's visit. There was 
 a note awaiting him. He tore it open has- 
 tily, and perused it. He stood like one trans- 
 fixed by some sudden pain. 
 
 " Am I awake ? " said he. " What is this ? 
 What does it mean ? " 
 
 Again, he read the note carefully, while 
 his whole frame trembled. 
 
 " Oh, curse her, curse her ! " he cried. 
 
 " What is it? " said Will. 
 
 " That is it." And he flung the note upon 
 the floor. " She would have been more mer- 
 ciful, if she had stabbed me to the heart 
 with a dagger." 
 
 "There's something wrong here," said 
 Will, as he picked up the note and read : 
 
 MB. CHARLES MORTON : 
 
 It pains me to write that I must not see you 
 again. I have changed my plans. It is not 
 necessary for me to inform you in what respect. 
 
 Please do not seek me. I shall not be at home. 
 It is all right ; and, whatever may have been be- 
 tween us, let it be forgotten. 
 
 BLANCHE KENNEDY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 "I LOVED her so much!" cried Charlie. 
 " How can I endure it, this bitter, bitter disap- 
 pointment ! What does this mean ? Could 
 she have loved me ? It seems as if I should 
 go mad. Oh, love is so beautiful, and so ter- 
 rible when it flees away ! Why did she not 
 let me alone ? Now, she has crushed me. I 
 am like one accursed." 
 
 "I can't see through this," said Will. 
 "There's something behind. We must see 
 Blanche at once." 
 
 "I cannot see her," said Charlie. "She 
 has wronged me; for she has deceived me, 
 and she has murdered my soul." 
 
 " Bear up like a man, Charlie. You don't 
 know what it is yet." 
 
 "Don't know? Yes, I do. I have been 
 the sport of a cruel, reckless woman. She 
 is tired of me sooner than she thought. She 
 wants to be rid of me without ceremony. 
 I will not trouble her." 
 
 "But I shall," said Will. "I don't take 
 things on trust. I believe in going to the 
 bottom. She must explain. If you won't 
 go, I will." 
 
 "As you like. It's nothing to me. I 
 know what I shall do. In an hour, I will 
 forget her." 
 
 Will hurried off to see Blanche, while 
 Charlie remained to endure his torments as 
 best he might. 
 
 " I cannot forget her," he said. " I can- 
 not. Fool, fool that I am 1 O woman, why 
 are you so vain? Why do you smile and 
 stab ? I could not have believed it. Only 
 a little while ago, she was the star, the glory 
 of my life. How I worshipped her, shining 
 before me with cloudless beauty 1 Now, she 
 is like the blasting orb of death. Through 
 storm and ruin, with bitter arrows, she 
 drives me to despair. O manhood, how 
 little you seem when love strikes you! A 
 woman's hand is stronger than a giant's. I 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 to 
 
 87 
 
 could meet death, yet I cannot meet this 
 blow. It is so horrible, so horrible." 
 
 Will returned. 
 
 " What news? " gasped Charlie. 
 
 "Her housekeeper says she has gone to 
 England. But she is puzzled, and declares 
 there is something wrong about it. Blanche 
 went out yesterday as usual. About noon, 
 the housekeeper received a telegram that 
 her mistress was detained. About dark, 
 there came a note that Miss Kennedy had 
 departed for England. I have the note with 
 me. Is that Blanche's handwriting ? " 
 
 " It is," said Charlie. " She says she 
 leaves at once, and desires things to be kept 
 in order until she returns. Was there ever 
 such a freak ? " 
 
 "I think you are a bit blind," said Will. 
 " I don't think that's her handwriting." 
 
 " What a fool you are ! " said Charlie. " I 
 have her notes and letters. Compare them. 
 Don't they look alike ? What are you think- 
 ing of?" 
 
 " I am thinking they are very skilful for- 
 geries." 
 
 "Bill, what is the matter with you, try- 
 ing to ease things off? But you can't do it." 
 
 " You are wrong, Charlie, utterly wrong. 
 You are hasty as you were once before. 
 You don't give Blanche a fair chance. How 
 do you know but this is some plot, and that 
 she you love is in danger and needs your 
 manhood ? " 
 
 " Pshaw, that's nonsense. I know better. 
 I've seen too much of women. They are 
 heartless things. What does she care for 
 me. a poor miner?" 
 
 " She cares everything for you. I've seen 
 her, and I trust her. She has a noble heart. 
 I would not yield her thus lightly. I'd go 
 through fire, but I would know the truth. 
 I would not desert her on such evidence as 
 this." 
 
 " You seem to have a good deal of faith," 
 said Charlie. 
 
 "I do have; and I don't give people up 
 until my five senses are convinced. I don't 
 assume everybody to be a liar, much less 
 a woman like Blanche, from whose eyes 
 
 nothing but virtue shines. Remember Mad- 
 eline. Was she not most faithful, most lov- 
 ing, even unto death, though you were 
 convinced, perhaps on better evidence than 
 this, that she was false? Come, do have 
 some faith, and don't take things exactly as 
 you see them. Probe to the bottom." 
 
 " Would I could believe in her ! " said 
 Charlie. "If I could but keep my trust, 
 I would follow her over land and sea." 
 
 " Take my word for it that you can trust 
 her," said Will. 
 
 " But these letters, how do you explain 
 them ? They are in her handwriting." 
 
 "There's where you jump. The link is 
 not quite so sure. I have sent a telegram 
 to Paddie. He'll be here in a minute, and 
 then we'll study it up. But give me your 
 hand that you won't whistle her off until 
 you know she's false." 
 
 "Here it is. I'll stick to the evidence. 
 I don't believe you'll change it much. Pad- 
 die is pretty smart, but he is not magician 
 enough to convince me that Blanche didn't 
 write these." 
 
 "Possibly she did. I admit the resem- 
 blance. But now for the identity. Paddie, 
 here's a question for you. Set your wits to 
 work. You are an expert, I believe, in pen- 
 manship." 
 
 Briefly, Will told the story to Paddie, as 
 the latter came hurrying in. 
 
 "I should say all were written by the 
 same person," said Paddie; "but I must 
 study deeper. These notes and letters you 
 know were written by Blanche?" 
 
 " Yes," said Charlie. 
 
 " And this you received to-night, and this 
 is the one sent to the housekeeper?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well, give me a pipe and tobacco, and 
 I'll smoke it out via my brain." 
 
 Paddie read and reread the letters care- 
 fully, amid a cloud of smoke. 
 
 " My impression is," said he, " that 
 Blanche didn't write these last two." 
 
 " Prove it," cried Charlie. 
 
 "That's what I'm going to do. But an 
 impression is one thing, you know, and 
 
88 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 proof is another. I give you the impression 
 first. Make the most of it. After a while, 
 I'll give you the proof. You are as blind as 
 a bat, Charlie. By that sign, I know that 
 you are in love. We who are not in love 
 can see into this thing a good deal further 
 than you can." 
 
 "Prove me blind, an idiot, only prove 
 that she did not write this cruel note ; and 
 I will search, as long as I have life, to 
 find her, and beg pardon for my unbelief." 
 
 "Well," said Paddie, "look here. Ob- 
 serve how she crosses her t's, a little curve 
 down, and alike in every case. Examine 
 with this microscope. There are some few 
 things in writing where one's personality 
 seems to be expressed ; and these are done 
 invariably in the same manner. It's this or 
 that letter or mark. It is by these personal 
 signs that you can detect the most skilful 
 forgery. In the case of Blanche, one of 
 these marks is the crossing of her t's. No- 
 tice how peculiar it is, and unchangeable 
 in its peculiarity in all the letters that you 
 know to have been written by her. Have 
 you got that into your head? " 
 
 " I have," said Charlie. 
 
 " Well, now, look at these last notes. That 
 peculiarity is lacking in every case. It is not 
 imitated once. That curve which invariably 
 accompanies Blanche's handwriting is not 
 there. Therefore, Blanche is not there ; and 
 somebody else is, who can imitate everything 
 with consummate skill, but not those marks 
 of identity." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said Charlie. 
 
 "Now we've got on the track, let us 
 pursue it and satisfy ourselves thoroughly. 
 Blanche expresses her personality in curves ; 
 and these curves, delicate and sharp, we can 
 trace in almost all her letters. We do not 
 always discover them ; but, when you have 
 them in mind, you can easily catch them. 
 Read her letters with this key, and note 
 those persistent signs. Read these last notes, 
 and you can't find one of them." 
 
 "Let me see," said Charlie: "you are a 
 magician." 
 
 "That comes of studying flowers and 
 
 rocks," said Paddie. "We have to be on 
 the alert, in order to catch their secrets. We 
 play hide and seek with many a delicate 
 fibre, a subtle tint, in which perchance we 
 can discover the history of ages. Thus, we 
 can read a woman's soul as it trembles in 
 the flowing ink, dropping from the diamond 
 point of her pen. Blanche can't escape me 
 any more than the heart of a flower. Don't 
 you see that I am right ? " 
 
 "Indeed, I do, bless you! How can I 
 thank you, Will, for your faith in her I love, 
 when I was so weak ? Now for action. She 
 is in danger, I know. I must leave this 
 minute." 
 
 " Blind again," said Paddie. " What's the 
 use of leaving ? Do you know where to go ? " 
 
 " No," said Charlie. 
 
 "Then let us find out which way to go, 
 east, west, north, or south." 
 
 "What shall we do?" cried Charlie. 
 
 " Sit still and think," said Paddie. 
 
 " I can't do it : think for me." 
 
 " First, then," said Paddie, " we want to 
 know who has done this trick. Then, we'll 
 find out his course, and follow." 
 
 "I can't imagine who's the rascal," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " Nor I, or what the motive could be I" 
 
 "I think we had better go to Blanche's 
 house and see the housekeeper: we may 
 start the game there." 
 
 They were soon in close conversation with 
 the housekeeper. She was in a flutter of ex- 
 citement. She believed that something was 
 wrong, although her poor head could not see 
 through it. That very morning, Blanche had 
 taken her usual walk. 
 
 "She looked a little flurried when she 
 went out, remarked that she needed the 
 air, that her brain was in a whirl," said 
 the housekeeper. 
 
 " She hadn't been gone long, when I missed 
 the kitchen girl ; and I haven't seen her since. 
 I don't understand it. She went up the street. 
 I saw that old man go by. I wonder what he 
 wanted?" 
 
 " What old man ? " said Paddie. 
 
 " I don't know his name, gaunt and thin 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 89 
 
 and ugly-looking. He called here once or 
 twice ; but Blanche didn't like him, and I 
 don't wonder. He gave me a Bible one day, 
 when he went out, and a few tracts." 
 
 " Gooch, by thunder ! " said Charlie. " I 
 wonder if he's at the bottom of this ? " 
 
 " Like as not," said Paddie. 
 
 "But he hasn't brains enough for any 
 scheme." 
 
 " He doesn't look like it, I admit. He may 
 be sharper than we think. He's no fool, 
 with all his hypocrisy." 
 
 " Let us find out : if this trail fails, we 
 must strike another." 
 
 A thorough search showed that Gooch was 
 nowhere in the city. He had settled up his 
 bills, and left word that he was going 
 East. 
 
 " He's the one I " said Paddie. " Now, the 
 next thing is to track him. We've worked 
 all night : we'd better go to bed and have a 
 good sleep, meanwhile put a detective on the 
 scent. By the time we wake up and get a 
 good square meal, we shall know in what di- 
 rection to go." 
 
 While they were asleep, one of the best 
 detectives of San Francisco was engaged in 
 following up Gooch. 
 
 In a few hours, he was ready to report. 
 
 Where is he ? " said Charlie. 
 
 " On the bosom of the Pacific," said the 
 detective. 
 
 "Did he go on a steamship?" 
 
 " No, on a sailing vessel, one of the fast- 
 est in the port." 
 
 "Was he alone?" 
 
 "Two women were with him. One was 
 apparently unwell, and had to be carried on 
 board." 
 
 "When did he start?" 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon." 
 
 "Name of the ship?" 
 
 " Betsy Jane,' a New England craft." 
 
 " What's the fastest ship now in port ? " 
 
 " The Albatross.' " 
 
 "When will it sail?" 
 
 u Any time, I guess. It's unloaded. It's 
 bound, I believe, for the Sandwich Islands." 
 
 " And the Betsy Jane ' ? " 
 
 " Is bound for Calcutta." 
 
 " Hurry for port," said Paddie, " and se- 
 cure the 'Albatross.' I'll take a vacation, and 
 bear you company. We'll have a fine race. 
 It's good weather and good wind." 
 
 Charlie and Will found the captain of the 
 " Albatross " a blithe old Scotchman, Furge- 
 son by name. 
 
 " Captain Furgeson, I believe," said Char- 
 lie. 
 
 "When do you sail?" 
 
 " Can't tell. Business kind of dull." 
 
 " Could you sail in half an hour ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I don't see any use in it." 
 
 " I want to charter your ship. I'll pay a 
 good price." 
 
 " That's enough," said the captain. " Pay 
 me, and I'll go anywhere. That's my busi- 
 ness. Do you want to discover the open 
 polar sea ? " 
 
 "Possibly. We don't know where our 
 voyage will end. Is your ship fast ? " 
 
 " That she is. She goes like a bird." 
 
 " Do you know the Betsy Jane ' ? " 
 
 " I do. She's a quick one, but the * Alba- 
 tross ' can beat her. I've tried it. We had a 
 race coming in. The wind was fair. The 
 ' Albatross ' jumped right ahead." 
 
 The Betsy Jane ' left last night. Can 
 you catch it?" 
 
 "That depends. It's a big start, you 
 see." 
 
 "I'll give you five thousand dollars, if 
 you'll catch her before she strikes port." 
 
 "I'll do my level best. It's worth the 
 game. I'll hoist anchor by sunset." 
 
 The three adventurers were soon ready. 
 
 At sunset, the " Albatross " weighed an- 
 chor, and under full sail was speeding down 
 the bay. It was a wonderful scene. The 
 city was behind, blazing in the fires of the 
 departing day. Far up and down the shore, 
 it stretched ; and aH its houses seemed like 
 palaces in the refulgent light. Before them 
 heaved fcnd danced the boundless sea, its 
 waves rolling and breaking amid a thousand 
 varying colors. Above the gorgeously fading 
 scene rode the silver splendor of the moon. 
 
90 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " It's on our right," said Paddie. " We'll 
 take it for a sign of luck." 
 
 " I'll compel luck," said Charlie. " I won't 
 depend on the moon." 
 
 They swept by the Golden Gates. How 
 beautifully the bay looked in the calm em- 
 brace of the land, and tossing its multitudi- 
 nous jewels ever at the feet of the queenly 
 city that, with a tiara of many flashing 
 lights, sat crowned upon the ample shore! 
 Slowly, it faded away. Twinkling flame 
 after flame was lost, and soon only the sea 
 and sky flung their dazzling lustres about 
 the pathway of the flying " Albatross." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A SHIP is a world in itself. Tossing over 
 the boundless deep, it seems something like 
 a wandering planet. Those on board live a 
 separate existence for the time being. Only 
 by the link of memory are they bound to 
 the vast outside world. On every side is the 
 sea and on every side the sky. None can 
 escape. Therefore, if the company is not 
 agreeable, a sea voyage is very tedious. If 
 there is a general harmony of disposition, 
 the little world moves gayly on, and the 
 bright and varied journey over the waters 
 becomes a memorable pleasure. 
 
 Our little company on board the "Alba- 
 tross" did agree very well. Besides our 
 three old acquaintances, Morton, Burnham, 
 and McConnell, or Charlie and Will and 
 Paddie, as we shall delight to call them on 
 account of old associations, some new and 
 very interesting personages appear. 
 
 The captain himself was an "Old Salt," 
 almost born on the sea; and it was the 
 only place where he had ever done a stroke 
 of work. Occasionally, he had loafed a 
 couple of weeks on shore ; but he soon grew 
 tired, and ran back to the embrace of old 
 Neptune. The ocean was his home, and he 
 seemed to know all about it. He had been 
 in every nook and cranny. He was ac- 
 quainted with all the storms and currents of 
 the Atlantic and Pacific. He had touched 
 at every shore and rode in every harbor. 
 
 He was tough as the winds could make one, 
 bronzed and hardened in flesh and muscle. 
 He was " Jack of all trades," and could do 
 anything connected with a vessel. He could 
 handle any kind of tool as deftly as he could 
 a sail. I don't know what he believed. He 
 never told anybody. However, he was not 
 superstitious, and in the wildest danger 
 never got upon his knees. He kept right at 
 work, and made others do the same. I doubt 
 if he had any faith beyond his five senses ; 
 but what he did believe in, he believed in 
 persistently. The world to him was no va- 
 gary, but a stubborn fact; and he battled 
 with it heroically, until he had gotten the 
 better of it, and owned and commanded his 
 own ship. He had received many a hard 
 knock and passed through a thousand diffi- 
 culties, and by sheer pluck had won the day. 
 His wife was with him, a bright and comely 
 woman, and well read. Besides being some- 
 thing of a philosopher, she had the shrewd 
 common-sense of her country folk and a 
 touch of fancy and sentiment such as glows 
 in the pages of Scott and Burns. She was 
 fond of both these writers, and knew them 
 by heart. She could play upon the harp 
 with considerable skill, and often during the 
 quiet days and nights she sent the enchant- 
 ing notes dancing over the glistening bosom 
 of the sea. Her husband delighted in this 
 accomplishment, and found in her all that 
 he could worship and admire. However, she 
 was, like him, a genuine worker ; and these 
 jets of fancy only sparkled over the surface 
 of her being. She was thoroughly healthful, 
 and, unconsciously to herself, was a disciple 
 of her brilliant countryman, David Hume. 
 She had not reasoned the thing out so keenly 
 as this great philosopher, but at heart she 
 had no faith in anything supernatural. T 
 suppose that in her early days she had be- 
 longed to the Kirk ; but, since her marriage 
 and her life upon the sea, all the dogmas of 
 the Church had dropped off, like so many " old 
 clothes." So completely had they passed 
 from her mind that she never thought it 
 worth while even to refute them. She had 
 a keen zest for life, was full of fun, enjoyed a 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 91 
 
 joke ; and her supreme recreation was play- 
 ing chess, in which she was an adept, and 
 could beat some of the sturdiest cham- 
 pions. She always accompanied her hus- 
 band through storm and sunshine, delighted 
 in the breath of the sea and the roar of its 
 waves, and had been known, in cases of 
 peril, to furl a sail right in the teeth of a 
 numcane. 
 
 But the oddest, the wisest, the most curi- 
 ous aud learned man on board the ship was 
 Dr. Mackenna. He seemed to be a century 
 old, was tough as a knot, could endure any 
 hardship, and was strong as a lion. He was 
 ostensibly the surgeon of the vessel, but 
 shipped with Captain Furgeson, because the 
 latter was an old friend, and he himself had 
 won a competence in larger and more varied 
 service on board a man-of-war; and, being 
 advanced in life, he wished to devote himself 
 mainly to his favorite sciences and the per- 
 fecting of his inventions. On board the " Al- 
 batross," his duties were few ; and he could 
 spend much of his time in study, and the 
 massing together of a vast variety of natural 
 curiosities, gathered from many a shore, from 
 the bosom of the sea and even from its 
 depths. He was a man of original genius, 
 a real delver into the secrets of nature ; and, 
 moreover, he was thoroughly equipped, hav- 
 ing received a university education. He 
 could almost talk in Latin, he was so famil- 
 iar with it. His favorite poet was Lucretius. 
 He knew him by heart. He enjoyed his 
 lively and wonderful descriptions of the ma- 
 terial universe. Lucretius, he declared, was 
 the first poet who, with magic wand, had 
 touched the world of matter, and revealed 
 the essential glory of all its flying atoms, 
 as they formed and reformed like obedient 
 armies on the plains of infinite existence, 
 ever making some new and beautiful order. 
 The doctor was what you might call an ideal 
 materialist. He saw in matter the promise 
 and potency of all life ; and yet that life to 
 him was full of wonder, and he recognized 
 the haunting mystery of sun and sky and 
 earth, " of what behind these things might 
 lie and yet remain unseen." He had bound- 
 
 less faith in the capacity of nature of what 
 might be done, if we fully understood its 
 laws and could evoke all its riches. He 
 thoroughly detested theology and meta- 
 physics, and looked upon their study as a 
 melancholy waste of time. It was folly to 
 try to mount the skies, when earth needed 
 our utmost energy. In early life, he had 
 devoted some time to the discovery of "per- 
 petual motion," but finally gave up the pur- 
 suit, though somewhat unwillingly; for he 
 had a sort of lingering conviction that some- 
 how it might be called forth from the in- 
 finite resources of nature. In fact, at heart 
 the doctor was a poet. Behind his keen in- 
 tellect was a soul of restless fire. 
 
 Paddie and the doctor were friends at once, 
 and talked by the hour as the ship went roll- 
 ing over the billows. 
 
 " No use of being sea-sick," said Paddie, 
 " when we take things as easy as we do here. 
 I should like to float on forever. This is a 
 kind of dream. The motion of the ship is 
 like an endless song." 
 
 " A ship's the place to live," said the doc- 
 tor, " for there you are always on the move. 
 Even when asleep, you are speeding away. 
 I've got so used to this ship that it seems 
 like a part of my body." 
 
 " Don't you ever long for shore ? " 
 
 " Sometimes, of course, when I wish to in- 
 crease my collection. I'm continually finding 
 something new. Strange what a variety there 
 is ! Last time I was on shore at Portsmouth, 
 where I've roamed scores of times, I found a 
 new specimen. Come and see it." 
 
 Down they went to the doctor's collection. 
 It was a museum indeed, and not a rock but 
 the doctor seemed to know its history from 
 the foundation of the world. 
 
 "See this," said he. "It has been tossed 
 about I don't know how many hundreds of 
 thousands of years. I believe it has been 
 washed all over the planet. I have found 
 many specimens in the islands of the South- 
 ern Seas, and only this one in England. 
 How did it ever get there, all alone in the 
 north, when its family have huddled together 
 in the south ? Rocks have a strange history, 
 
92 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 and they do strange things just like men 
 and women." 
 
 "Nature is full of freaks," said Paddie. 
 "With all her law and order, she is con- 
 stantly doing the unique. She is not in 
 favor of monotony, even among flowers and 
 rocks. I believe that every flower and every 
 rock is a sort of species by itself. It is dif- 
 ferent from everything else, and can't be 
 classified. Nature never does the same 
 thing over." 
 
 "If we could get at the ultimate atoms 
 and scrape acquaintance with them," said 
 the doctor, " we'd find that each had a dif- 
 ferent face, and I don't know but an infi- 
 nite number of faces. So there cannot be a 
 repetition. This rock isn't what it was 
 when I took it up." 
 
 Charlie had told the captain and his wife 
 all about his strange troubles, and they 
 deeply sympathized with his effort to find 
 and capture Blanche. 
 
 "We don't go half fast enough," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " We are going twelve knots an hour, and 
 have kept it up ever since we left port. At 
 this rate, we shall catch the * Betsy Jane ' 
 about day after to-morrow." 
 
 If we are on the track of her. The Pa- 
 cific is pretty broad, and we might slide by 
 and not know it." 
 
 " Hardly ; for ships have a certain course. 
 If Gooch is going to Calcutta, he'll take the 
 shortest way, and I know what that is. It's 
 a queer game he's up to. I wonder what 
 he's after?" 
 
 " I can't imagine," said Charlie. " I never 
 gave him credit for being any great shakes, 
 even of a devil. I didn't suppose him capa- 
 ble of a bold villany, only of something 
 sneaky and mean. I must confess it stag- 
 gers me to think that he's undertaken such 
 a stupendous job as to kidnap a woman and 
 carry her off to England." 
 
 " I reckon he'll be surprised when he sees 
 you on board the * Betsy Jane.' He'll have 
 to heave anchor then, I guess." 
 
 " I have a good notion to throw him into 
 the sea," said Charlie. 
 
 Occasionally, a ship fluttered into view 
 
 upon the far horizon, and then disappeared. 
 Furgeson had the knack of knowing just 
 what the ship was, and whither it was going. 
 He had made up his mind where the " Betsy 
 Jane's " course lay, and he wasted no time in 
 useless pursuit. 
 
 Finally, on the day he set, a distant sail 
 hove in sight to the south-west. As he swept 
 the remote horizon, he said : " That's the 
 
 * Betsy Jane.' It won't take long to overhaul 
 her, and then we must manage to board her. 
 If this breeze keeps up, it will be difficult, 
 unless of his own accord the captain of the 
 
 * Betsy Jane' hauls to. However, we've 
 caught her ; and we won't let her slip, even 
 if we have to stick to her side all the way 
 to Calcutta." 
 
 They steadily gained upon the distant 
 ship, and by afternoon were within a mile ; 
 and ib was plainly visible that the "Betsy 
 Jane " was spreading every sail, and meant 
 to keep at the top of her speed. All night 
 long they followed her as she flew over the 
 waves. They were within hailing distance, 
 but the captain of the " Betsy Jane " would 
 not answer any signals. Toward midnight, 
 the breeze began to diminish, and both ships 
 moved lazily along. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if we had a calm by 
 morning," said Furgeson. "If we do, we 
 are all right. We can tackle them with a 
 boat, and they won't refuse to let us come 
 on board." 
 
 Sure enough, when the morning came, 
 the sea was almost like glass : there was 
 hardly a ripple. The sails flapped idly ; and 
 the vessels were almost motionless, within a 
 quarter of a mile of each other. 
 
 "Now, we've captured the booty," said 
 Charlie. "In a few minutes, I'll have 
 Blanche in my arms." 
 
 They hastily lowered the boat, and in a 
 twinkling, almost, were alongside the " Betsy 
 Jane." 
 
 " Hullo," said Furgeson. 
 
 "Hullo," said the captain of the "Betsy 
 Jane." 
 
 " This is the Albatross.' I want to coma 
 aboard." 
 
 " You can do so," was the response. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 93 
 
 Charlie and Will and Paddie eagerly 
 climbed the side of the " Betsy Jane," and 
 were soon upon deck. 
 
 They were greeted by the captain, an 
 enormous man, almost seven feet high, and 
 strong as a bull. 
 
 This was Captain Jedediah Sockdolliger, 
 a regular Down-easter of the sturdiest type, 
 and a thorough-going Calvinistic theologian. 
 The five points stuck out all over his capa- 
 cious person. You could see that he believed 
 in hell-fire with his whole heart, but that he 
 himself was one of the elect, and would play 
 upon a harp of gold and look over the battle- 
 ments of heaven, and rejoice in the torments 
 of the damned and give glory to God. Sock- 
 dolliger thoroughly believed in God: the 
 whole universe hinged upon the Deity. 
 There was no possibility of getting along 
 without him ; for he made the sun and the 
 stars also. And this god was what ? Why, 
 an infinite Sockdolliger, that and nothing 
 more. Sockdolliger worshipped himself, and 
 when he was glorifying God he was glorifying 
 his own burly image. However, he was sim- 
 ply repeating the feat that thousands of the- 
 ologians have performed before him. 
 
 Now, we must understand that Sockdol- 
 liger was a thoroughly conscientious man. 
 He was a Puritan of the Puritans. He 
 believed in the law and the gospel. He 
 would do what he thought right, though the 
 heavens fell. He was no hypocrite and no 
 rogue. He had the sternest sense of duty, 
 as he understood it. He hadn't a particle 
 of charity. From his stand-point, every 
 thing was grim and awful; and so he 
 always acted in a grim and awful way. 
 Such men are tremendous allies for which- 
 ever side they take. 
 
 He welcomed the new-comers with a cer- 
 tain sturdy grace. 
 
 "You have passengers, I believe?" 
 
 " Yes," said Sockdolliger, " very pleasant 
 ones too, quite pious and devoted. Really, I 
 have been edified with their company, or 
 rather his company ; for I haven't seen the 
 woman, only the man, but he is one of the 
 saints. He prays every day." 
 
 "What is his name, please?" 
 
 "Gooch, Ephraim Gooch from Scoop- 
 town, Maine. I know him by reputation, he 
 came from near where I live. He has just 
 built a new steeple to the church. He is an 
 honor to our cause. He seems to realize the 
 worthlessness of human life. I hardly ever 
 see him smile. I feel as if my ship was blest 
 while he is on board. He is in his cabin 
 now, reading the Bible. He doesn't read any 
 other book, except a tract now and theii. 
 He has some beautiful tracts. They are full 
 of the spirit of the gospel. They treat of 
 the sinfulness of man, of Sabbath-breaking, 
 of the awfulness of dancing : they admonish 
 us to be mournful, and to sit in sack-cloth 
 and ashes. They have done me a great deal 
 of good, these tracts have. They have pen- 
 etrated my soul like the sword of the Lord, 
 and convicted me of my shortcomings." 
 
 " We would like to see this paragon : he 
 will be willing, I suppose, to put in an ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 " I'll send for him : he will edify you." 
 
 So the captain summoned his immaculate 
 passenger. In a few moments, the famil- 
 iar form of Gooch was seen coming up 
 the hatchway : he had a Bible in one hand, 
 and was humming the good old melody, 
 "Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound." 
 With a most obsequious bow and imperturb- 
 able air, he greeted his old acquaintances 
 of Golden Throne. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 "I BEGIN to think that Gooch is the devil 
 himself," said Charlie, as he looked at him. 
 "It may be harder work than we imagine 
 to break through the net he has woven." 
 
 Gooch advanced with deliberate step. He 
 did not seem surprised or afraid to meet his 
 old associates. He was evidently prepared 
 for any emergency. 
 
 " We are not very glad to see you, I con- 
 fess," said Charlie. " Nevertheless, we have 
 been very anxious to overhaul this ship. 
 We care more for your company than for 
 you. There is a lady on board, I believe " 
 
 " Yes," said the deacon, unabashed. 
 
94 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " We will take her back with us, and you 
 can go on to Calcutta as fast as you like." 
 
 " I shall not consent to any such thing," 
 said the deacon. 
 
 " Then we will make you," said Charlie, 
 fiercely. 
 
 " I don't think you can. I appeal to the 
 captain for protection. I only ask my 
 rights." 
 
 " By what right do you drag this lady 
 away by force ? " 
 
 "I have not done so," responded the 
 deacon. 
 
 " I accuse you of this crime, and I will 
 compel you to justice." 
 
 "It is no crime. I took the lady you 
 speak of, because I had a right so to do." 
 
 " Do you speak of Blanche Kennedy ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " And wherefore have you done this ? " 
 
 " She is my wife." 
 
 " Your wife ? Liar ! villain ! do you dare 
 this ? " shouted Charlie. " Take those words 
 back, or I'll fling you over the ship 1 " 
 
 " Not while I'm here," said Sockdolliger. 
 " I'm going to see fair play. If Gooch has 
 committed any crime, I give him up." 
 
 " He has abducted a young lady from her 
 home. Isn't that crime enough ? " 
 
 "Certainly. All I want is the proof. 
 Let the lady speak for herself." 
 
 " I object," said the deacon. " The lady 
 is my wife. I can speak for her." 
 
 " Impostor ! " cried Charlie ; and he tried 
 to seize the deacon. Sockdolliger laid his 
 heavy hand upon him. 
 
 " Hold on, young man," he said, " not so 
 fast. I can attend to this matter. Deacon, 
 give us the documents, and it's all right. 
 Otherwise, I'll pitch you over myself." 
 
 The deacon produced a copy of a San 
 Francisco paper, in which, to the amazement 
 of Charlie and his friends, was a notice of 
 Gooch's marriage to Blanche Kennedy. He 
 also produced a certificate of marriage. 
 Everything was apparently correct. 
 
 " That settles it," said Sockdolliger. " The 
 deacon's right. The lady belongs to him. 
 I don't see how anybody can interfere." 
 
 " Won't you let the woman speak for her- 
 self?" 
 
 " Of course not, unless the husband allows 
 it," said Sockdolliger. "That's according 
 to Scripture. The husband is the head of 
 the wife, and speaks for the wife." 
 
 " There'8 a great wrong committed." 
 
 " I don't see it. The documents are legal. 
 These are married people." 
 
 " Do you suppose that we are going to 
 submit to this nonsense?" said Charlie. 
 
 " You must, so far as I'm concerned. The 
 Good Book says that wives must submit to 
 their husbands. I will not promote a family 
 quarrel. Gooch is master in this case, and 
 his word is law." 
 
 "Whoever heard of such a thing?" 
 
 " It's the law, and that's all I know," said 
 Sockdolliger. " This is a legal marriage, and 
 after marriage woman has nothing to say. 
 The Bible commands her to keep silence." 
 
 " Can't you let her speak in her own de- 
 fence ? Perhaps the marriage was not alto- 
 gether legal. Surely, you are willing to hear 
 testimony." 
 
 " I should of course be willing to hear tes- 
 timony, if I thought there was any doubt of 
 the legality of the marriage." 
 
 "Why shouldn't there be a doubt? I 
 claim that force and fraud were used, and 
 I dare this devilish old hypocrite to confront 
 his victim face to face." 
 
 "I've no objections, if the deacon's will- 
 ing," said Sockdolliger. 
 
 "I cannot consent under the circum- 
 stances," said Gooch. " For my wife is not 
 very well, and such a shock might be dan- 
 gerous. I have the certificate of two physi- 
 cians that her mind is somewhat diseased 
 and that she needs the tenderest care. Here, 
 captain, you can read for yourself." 
 
 The captain read the instrument, and 
 surely everything was made out satisfac- 
 torily. 
 
 " These physicians visited her not an hour 
 before our voyage," said the deacon; "and 
 this is what they report. Am I not right in 
 keeping my wife secluded? Why should I 
 bring her forth to be subjected to the rude 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 95 
 
 scrutiny of these men ? I do not know what 
 they want, her money perhaps, bat I care 
 for her soul. I am interested in her immor- 
 tal welfare. I married her in order to save 
 her, to bring her to the fountain filled with 
 blood. I read the Bible to her and the cat- 
 echism, and try by prayer to soothe her per- 
 turbed spirit. You accuse me of wrong. 
 You are mistaken and have no proof. I 
 have the proof on my side. She is my wife. 
 She belongs to me. Moreover, she is an in- 
 valid, and doubly under my protection. She 
 cannot testify for herself. She has been de- 
 clared insane, and therefore she can give no 
 evidence. I am her guardian in the eyes of 
 the law. You have no rights that can be 
 respected. You are outlaws, 'and you are 
 infidels." 
 
 "Is there noway to blast this sham?" 
 said Charlie. 
 
 " What an infernal cunning I" said Paddie. 
 "An admirable piece of deviltry! I begin 
 to respect the deacon. He certainly has 
 brains." 
 
 "I don't suppose that you are carried 
 away by this sophistry," said Charlie to 
 Sockdolliger, " You must have some common- 
 sense. This is all a subterfuge, that can be 
 destroyed in a moment, if you will bring the 
 woman to front this man and speak her own 
 words. It is not law merely, it is justice 
 that we seek. You can tell whether this 
 woman is crazy or not, and whether her 
 story is true. You cannot have any regard 
 for the flimsy pretensions of this man, who 
 under the garb of religion is endeavoring to 
 perpetrate a horrible crime." 
 
 " I am willing to leave it with you, cap'n ? " 
 said the deacon, with a cunning leer. "I 
 take my stand simply upon the Bible. I 
 believe in it. These men do not, and there- 
 fore you cannot trust them. I am working 
 for the Lord. I am trying to save a soul. 
 My poor wife would be lost, if I did not 
 protect her. I plant myself upon the law 
 and the documents. Here they are. They 
 have the seal of the State upon them. I am 
 the representative of my wife. I know what 
 is best for her spiritual and temporal wel- 
 
 fare. She is in the eyes of the law a cipher, 
 and it is her husband who must act in her 
 stead. This is what the Church says ; and I 
 am sure, cap'n, that you will not set yourself 
 against the decrees of the Church and the 
 texts of holy Scripture." 
 
 " I shall stand by you, deacon," said Sock- 
 dolliger. "Your claim is valid; your wife 
 belongs to you. And, as a good Christian, she 
 ought to submit. If she is not a Christian, I 
 am quite confident that you will endeav< r to 
 make her one, and thus save her from ever- 
 lasting damnation. 1 believe in the Bible 
 and I believe in law, and what the law 
 makes right is right. I was never taught 
 any different. The Scriptures say that we 
 must submit to the powers that be, for they 
 are ordained of God." 
 
 "Do you intend," said Charlie, almost 
 overcome with surprise and indignation, 
 " do you intend to permit this outrage, to 
 let this woman be the helpless prey of this 
 man who has torn her from her home, that 
 he may rob her at his will ? Can it be that 
 you, born in a land of freedom, beneath that 
 flag, can tolerate such an insult to justice ? 
 What are you thinking of?" 
 
 "Young man," said Sockdolliger, "you 
 don't know what you are talking about. You 
 talk of freedom and justice: what are they, 
 except you are first on the side of the law. 
 So long as you are in a state of nature, 
 nothing is right with you, and you don't un- 
 derstand what duty is. Marriage is a sacred 
 thing, and it binds the woman to the man ; 
 and the man is the head, he is the master, he 
 is the same as Christ to that woman. She 
 has nothing to say, and she must do as he 
 commands. I cannot interfere between this 
 husband and wife. ' What God hath joined 
 together let not man put asunder.' I have 
 confidence in Gooch ; for he prays every day, 
 and he reads the Holy Word. And I am sure 
 that this poor woman will find refuge ; but, 
 whether she does or not, she belongs to him, 
 and that settles it. You can't see her, nor 
 you can't take her from this ship." 
 
 " But I will," said Charlie. " I don't leave 
 but with her. Out of my way I " 
 
96 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 Charlie pushed ahead. The deacon was 
 like a straw before him. But it was differ- 
 ent with the sturdy Captain Sockdolliger. 
 He was a Hercules in strength, and it was 
 simply impossible for Charlie to cope with 
 him. He backed up his Scripture interpre- 
 tations with enormous physical prowess. 
 
 "Stand back! You can't go down. I 
 command this ship. My word is law." 
 
 " Then, I'll stay here. I won't leave the 
 ship. You can't get rid of me, unless you 
 kill me." 
 
 " Yes, we can. We can fling you over- 
 board. I don't want you on board this ship. 
 The sooner you go, the better." 
 
 " I won't go," said Charlie. 
 
 I'll make you." 
 
 "Try it." 
 
 Sockdolliger, strong as he was, didn't feel 
 like trying it; for Charlie was so furiously 
 angry that it was dangerous to grapple with 
 him, even though one had vastly superior 
 strength. 
 
 So they stood confronting each other like 
 lions at bay. Both were in dead earnest. 
 Sockdolliger was simply acting out his con- 
 viction. He was conscientious in all he said 
 and did, and it was this which made him 
 such a mighty antagonist to deal with. 
 
 "I won't leave this ship," said Charlie. 
 "She is here, in danger and distress. I 
 should be a coward to leave her." 
 
 " I don't see any other course," said Pad- 
 die. "The deacon has the grip on us this 
 time, and we must retreat. The captain is 
 absolute master here. We can't use coercion : 
 we must use our brains. Gooch is playing 
 a skilful game with his devilish long head. 
 There's a way out of this, I know. But we 
 must take a new start, and think deeply. 
 There was never anything worked by hu- 
 man ingenuity that cannot be circumvented 
 by human ingenuity. Let's go back, and 
 find out how to do it." 
 
 " This is so hard," said Charlie, " to be so 
 near, yet not to see her or to save her ! Oh, 
 the cruelty of law that can be made the 
 instrument of such awful tyranny 1 Over 
 land and sea, it reaches its arm for the 
 
 preservation of justice; and yet how often 
 it becomes the upholder of oppression, and 
 the heart sinks beneath its bl w. I will fol- 
 low this man, until he is compelled to yield 
 his victim; and, if he injures her, then I 
 will kill him. Do you hear that, Gooch ? 
 You shall not escape me, though you sail 
 round the whole globe. She shall be mine, 
 for she is my life. If you dare to touch her, 
 I will sheathe this knife in your heart. You 
 cannot always be as safe as you are now. 
 You cannot always find fools and bigots to 
 defend you and flout justice." 
 
 "I shall pray for you," said the deacon. 
 " I see that you are in a very bad state of 
 mind. I wish you would read this tract, 
 ' Let not your angry passions rise.' Remem- 
 ber the text, 'Blessed are the meek, for 
 they shall inherit the earth.' I am afraid 
 you will lose that inheritance. However, 
 'Long as the lamp holds out to burn, the 
 vilest sinner may return.' " 
 
 " What a saintly disposition you have," 
 said Sockdolliger, "so soft and lamb-like! 
 How gladly you would convert all these 
 poor sinners! I am rejoiced to be rid of 
 them, though I should like to repeat a little 
 more Scripture for their edification." 
 
 Charlie and his stanch little crew had to 
 return with melancholy faces. Slowly, they 
 pulled back to the " Albatross." 
 
 "I expect we'll have to rely on the doc- 
 tor," said Paddie. "My wits have gone a 
 wool-gathering. I can't imagine any way 
 out of this difficulty. Sockdolliger is a 
 stubborn fact, which you can't go round or 
 over. It is strange that one can hold these 
 foolish opinions with such grim intensity." 
 
 CHAPTEB XXIV. 
 
 " You look as if you had lost the battle," 
 said the doctor, as he met them at the ship's 
 side. 
 
 " We have," said Charlie. " With victory 
 in our very grasp, we have been obliged to 
 retreat." 
 
 " Didn't you find the lady? " 
 
 "Yes; but in the clutches of a greater 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 97 
 
 monster than Gooch himself, namely, law, 
 that, like an invisible giant, drives us off." 
 
 " That deacon of yours must be deucedly 
 cunning." 
 
 " Indeed, he is a veritable Mephistopheles. 
 In some strange way, by force and fraud, he 
 has been through some form of a marriage 
 ceremony with Blanche. Therefore, in law, 
 she is his wife. To bind her still closer, and 
 condemn her to eternal silence in her own 
 defence, he has the certificate of two phy- 
 sicians that she is insane. 
 
 " Through these legal instruments, he has 
 the most perfect control over her body ; and 
 it happens that the captain of the 'Betsy 
 Jane,' who is a Down-East theologian, born 
 in the very bosom of Orthodoxy, sticks to the 
 letter of the law. He holds the heathenish 
 nonsense that the wife must obey the hus- 
 band, and he won't even give us a chance 
 to see Blanche. Gooch is her protector ac- 
 cording to Sockdolliger, and Sockdolliger is 
 master of the ship. So what can we do ? I 
 had no idea that law could be turned to 
 such a curse. I believe that it was decided 
 not to have any lawyers in the model king- 
 dom of Utopia, and I don't wonder. It 
 seems a question if there is not more ras- 
 cality committed through law than in viola- 
 tion of it." 
 
 " It's cunning against cunning," said the 
 doctor; "and justice generally goes by the 
 board. In old times, it was the strongest 
 arm : now, it is the keenest brain." 
 
 " What shall we do ? What cunning can 
 avail now ? The courts of law are absent, 
 and we can have no habeas corpus" 
 
 "Law has exhausted itself in favor of 
 Gooch, and there's nothing left to which you 
 can appeal. You are pretty thoroughly 
 checkmated." 
 
 " But," said Paddie^ "there must be a way 
 out of it. It's a Chinese puzzle, but it can 
 be solved." 
 
 " Solved when it is too late," said Charlie. 
 " We can't always keep close to the * Betsy 
 Jane.' The moment a breeze springs up, 
 he's off. We may follow ; but, wherever we 
 go, Gooch has the same advantage. If we 
 
 once had Blanche in possession, we could 
 defy him, for possession is nine points of 
 law, but now she is in a Bastile, and the 
 deacon has got the key." 
 
 " He has one key, I grant," said the doc- 
 tor ; " but I have another." 
 
 " You I Do you mean to say that you can 
 unlock the prison doors, and in spite of law 
 and gospel make her free ? " 
 
 " That I can do. As Paddie says, there's 
 a way out of it. What man can invent, 
 man can circumvent. We are dealing 
 with human beings; and they cannot be 
 so shrewd, but somebody can be more so. 
 The evil is not so wise as the good." 
 
 " I must confess that I am discouraged," 
 said Charlie. "I can see no possible re- 
 source." 
 
 " We appeal to nature," said the doctor, 
 " and we call to our aid her infinite means." 
 
 " Nature is vast, I grant ; but she is bound 
 in iron law." 
 
 "Law is not iron altogether. We can 
 make it flow to wondrous results. Through 
 law and nature, we can transcend nature. 
 I can lay your beauteous mistress at your 
 feet," said the doctor. 
 
 " You are wise, I know. You have pene- 
 trated many a secret, but this seems more 
 than any knowledge can attain. What ally 
 have you ? " 
 
 " Science," said the doctor, enthusiasti- 
 cally, with burning eyes. " Have I not fol- 
 lowed it for many a day and many a year? 
 Is it not the angel of human life, patient 
 and wise and all-conquering? Has it not 
 gone before man and hewed his way ? Has 
 it not crossed for him the boundless ocean ? 
 Has it not traversed the brilliant heavens 
 and made the stars his guide, so that, in his 
 wildest wanderings, he can sweep calmly to 
 his home, and even in the midnight know 
 where to drop his anchor? Has not sci- 
 ence woven from the floating vapor a giant 
 mightier than any God to toil day and 
 night ? Has it not trod the heights of the 
 mountains and the depths of the sea? 
 Has it not prophesied of the wind and 
 the cloud ? Has it not made the lightning 
 
98 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 our gentle messenger ? Has it not borne the 
 human voice in its dainty fingers until 
 the whispered word is heard farther than 
 the loudest thunder ? Has it not wreathed 
 two thousand constellations about its ample 
 brow? What is there mightier or more 
 subtile than science? What has it not 
 accomplished, what will it not accomplish ? 
 What Canute can say to it, ' Thus far, and 
 no farther'?" 
 
 " All this is true. I grant the marvel of 
 science, but what can it do for us in this 
 difficulty?" 
 
 " It can do all." 
 
 " I am amazed I Explain." 
 
 " Have you. read Shakspere ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Well, part of our plot must come from 
 him : we must resort to the apothecary." 
 
 " How's that ? " 
 
 "Don't you remember that Juliet took a 
 little powder, and thereby apparently died." 
 
 " I do ; but the plot failed." 
 
 " We will be more careful, and learn from 
 that failure to win success." 
 
 " But how success ? If by any means this 
 powder can be administered, that makes for 
 the time being the semblance of death, 
 Blanche is thrown into the sea, and there 
 she will surely drown." 
 
 " No, we won't let her." , 
 
 "How prevent?" 
 
 " She will not drown or suffer any danger, 
 scarcely, for half an hour. Before that time, 
 she will be on board the ' Albatross,' and in 
 twenty-four hours as lively as a cricket." 
 
 "This is a marvel, indeed. I can see a 
 glimmer of a possibility, but scarcely a 
 chance of realization." 
 
 " To administer the powder is easy enough. 
 It will give her the very image of death, even 
 like the lovely Juliet. Then, as you say, she 
 will be thrown into the sea. We shall be 
 ready to receive her in those liquid halls, and 
 bear her to a safe and honorable couch. 
 Follow me." 
 
 They went down into the doctor's little 
 cabin. 
 
 " Here," said he, " is the little powder. It 
 
 was given to me by a celebrated chemist. 
 Its action is wonderful. It simply arrests 
 life, and one becomes like marble. Now for 
 our armor wherewith to battle with the 
 deep." 
 
 He opened a huge box, and brought forth 
 therefrom two grotesquely shaped rubber 
 suits, with complicated machinery about the 
 head-gear. They were made of very strong 
 and elastic material. 
 
 "See how this is arranged," said the 
 doctor. " This is for ventilating purposes. 
 These little tubes are slight, yet strong 
 as iron. They will stretch for the length 
 of a mile, and through them one can 
 have a constant supply of fresh air, the 
 amount of which can be regulated by this 
 nut, so that there can be no danger of suffo- 
 cation. I myself have been in the sea for an 
 hour at a time, as the captain will testify. 
 He understands the operation of the air ma- 
 chinery, one part of which is on board the 
 vessel. Besides, I have little air reservoirs 
 all over the armor ; these can be filled and 
 emptied at will, so that we can ascend and 
 descend. Through these also, we can supply 
 ourselves with air, if at any time the tubes 
 should be at fault. Thus, you see that 
 science gives us victory over the sea; and 
 we can travel through its depths. We might 
 chloroform a shark and catch him alive. We. 
 can be sea-gods, and behold innumerable 
 curiosities where never foot of man has 
 trod. If we could catch a fish, even so 
 could we carry a human body safely to the 
 ' Albatross.' I have also a rubber mask. 
 It can be placed over the face, and no more 
 water will be swallowed. So there is but 
 little chance of drowning." 
 
 " This is a daring speculation. Can it 
 possibly be carried out ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you have courage. Do you dare 
 to venture in this armor into the dark and 
 slimy caverns of the sea ? " 
 
 " Dare ! " said Charlie. " I dare anything 
 if I could but save her in the end, but it 
 seems hopeless still. If successful at one 
 point, I fear disaster at another." 
 
 " There are two suits. I will go with you," 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 99 
 
 said the doctor. " You can easily learn how 
 to handle yourself. It requires presence of 
 inind, coolness, and determination. You will 
 admit that, if Blanche were in the sea, we 
 could carry her safely to the 'Albatross,' 
 so long as the ocean is calm. The problem 
 is for Blanche to get into the sea, not for us 
 to get her out." 
 
 " I see. So far the path is clear. I am 
 not afraid ; but there's a terrible risk. Can 
 you trust this potion?" 
 
 "I can. I took it myself once. It is 
 harmless." 
 
 " They would throw Blanche into the sea. 
 It seems horrible." 
 
 " But we shall be in the sea. Instantly, 
 almost, we can bear her to our ship." 
 
 " It must be done. Yet how awful it seems 
 that we shall thus toy with death and the 
 seal It is a dreadful alternative. And 
 Blanche, will she dare to do it ? Can she do 
 it? Can I communicate with her?" 
 
 " That's the rub," said the doctor. "You 
 must do it somehow." 
 
 " I will do it this very night. She shall 
 know what we are willing to do ; and, if she 
 dares to traverse this gloomy path to liberty, 
 we will lead her through. Orpheus went 
 down to hell for his wife. This seems like it." 
 
 The doctor was almost gay in the contem- 
 plation of the terrible adventure. It suited 
 his daring and original mind. He had no 
 doubt of success. He went to work at once 
 to furbish up his suits of armor, and to pre- 
 pare for active service in the liquid fields of 
 war. 
 
 " This warms my blood," said he. " I've 
 been longing for something like it, the im- 
 possible, and it has come at last. I knew 
 I didn't invent this machine for nothing. 
 Everything comes into play some time, and 
 now that over which I have spent the best 
 part of my life takes its place among the 
 useful forces. It is no longer a dream. It 
 has been my favorite fancy that we could 
 live in the sea, camp out in it. What a de- 
 lightful summer residence, no mosquitoes 
 and plenty of fish at your very door 1 " 
 
 Charlie did not look at it with such sci- 
 
 entific enthusiasm. To him, it was a thing 
 of life and death. The more he thought of 
 it, however, the more easy the feat appeared 
 of accomplishment. Why not? Daring ones 
 had already plunged into the bosom of the 
 deep and walked through its mysterious 
 chambers. He could do it also. 
 
 But to communicate with Blanche, this 
 was the next step; and would she dare to 
 give herself up to the awful and tremendous 
 embrace of that monster whose arms encir- 
 cled continents and in whose breast were ten 
 thousand voracious slayers of man ? 
 
 "I must trust to my star, rny destiny, 
 whatever it is," he said, " that helps us when 
 we can no longer help ourselves. I will do 
 all I can, dare the billows and the image of 
 death, and deserve success, even if I do not 
 win it. To-night, I must take the key of 
 freedom to Blanche. If she accepts it, she 
 shall find me by the open door to save her 
 from every peril." 
 
 He wrote as follows : 
 
 Dear Blanche, I have followed you. Your 
 enemy has woven a strange web, and we most re- 
 sort to desperate measures to release you. How 
 careless I have been ! Why did I leave you ! 
 Forgive me, and trust me for all that mortal man 
 can do to save you from the clutches of this 
 fiend. You are aware of the power he professes 
 to have over you, and with what cunning he 
 wields it. We were on board your ship to-day. 
 I asked to see you and demanded your liberty, 
 but was denied on the ground that you were the 
 legal wife of Gooch. I do not know how he 
 managed to possess you. This will be discovered 
 hereafter. But to our means of escape. The 
 way seems perilous, and yet with courage I think 
 there is no doubt of success. At any rate, we 
 must dare fate, if we would win freedom. In this 
 letter, you will find a powder. Take it, and it 
 will put yon into a deep sleep, so like the sem- 
 blance of death that it will be taken for death 
 and you will be buried in the sea. Do you shrink 
 from this ? I shall be in the sea to bear you to a 
 place of safety. There is a doctor with me of 
 great genius and learning ; and he has invented 
 sea armors, in which we can clothe ourselves and 
 walk through the sea, and remain in it from three 
 to four hours. I have examined the armors, and 
 am satisfied that we can use them. The doctor 
 
100 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 himself is bold beyond measure, and will accom- 
 pany me in my ocean journey. Such is the out- 
 line. On our part there will be no failure. I 
 will not urge, for it is a fearful undertaking. 
 Your lover is ready for anything. If you do not 
 venture this plan, know that I shall follow yon 
 unto deliverance. Take counsel with your best 
 and bravest heart and hope, and do that which 
 you believe to be for your honor and liberty. 
 
 Yours lovingly, 
 
 CHARLES. 
 
 The doctor furnished Morton with an 
 india-rubber casket in which to enclose the 
 letter and the powder. 
 
 "You can swim a thousand miles, and 
 they will be uninjured. If you can get 
 these into her hands, all is well. That is 
 for you to accomplish ; and I must say that 
 you are a very poor lover, if you don't do it. 
 I know science by experiment. I know love 
 only by speculation, but I know that it is 
 even more potent than science. There is 
 nothing that it cannot do. It has made and 
 unmade armies. It has built and destroyed 
 empires. It has traversed the wide world 
 and flung roses over many a wilderness. It 
 has borne the fainting soul through a thou- 
 sand deserts. It has touched many a rock, 
 and the sparkling fountains have burst 
 forth. The lover is the hero. He descends 
 to hell, and he climbs to heaven. Love has 
 belted the earth with jewels. Love only is 
 immortal over death. I know that you will 
 touch the hand of your mistress ; for, if you 
 love her, nothing can keep you apart. I 
 bring thee science; but what would my 
 cunning be without thy burning heart 
 of love?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE sea was still as glass. The stars 
 shone above; and, jewelled in the depths, 
 they seemed to have an added brilliancy. 
 One would think that beneath the shining 
 surface there were nothing but beauty and 
 glory, lustrous halls where the spirit might 
 forever revel in delight. 
 
 Morton dropped into the sea. He was a 
 strong swimmer, and could easily make his 
 
 way from the "Albatross" to the "Betsy 
 Jane," which was lying only half a mile off. 
 It was midnight when he undertook his per- 
 ilous journey. There was hardly a sound 
 on board the ship as he neared it. He was 
 pretty certain as to where Blanche was lo- 
 cated; for in his intense watching, hour 
 by hour during the previous day, he had 
 caught the flutter of a white handkerchief, 
 and, whether rightly or wrongly, had inter- 
 preted this as a signal from his mistress. 
 
 Silently, he floated under the bows of 
 "Betsy Jane," and in a low, soft voice 
 began to sing, so low and soft that the 
 superstitious sailor might imagine that it 
 came out of the depths of the sea, from 
 the lips of some mermaid. The song that 
 he sang was the wild Scottish melody taught 
 him by Blanche, and the words were those 
 of her own composing. He remembered 
 them; and now the notes and the words 
 held in his heart burst forth beneath the 
 window of Blanche's cabin : 
 
 " Love tosses on a darkling sea, 
 Where wild winds breathe their melody. 
 The rolling billows give no rest : 
 Love finds the same within its breast; 
 And so it yearns for some sweet shore, 
 Where life shall bloom for evermore. 
 
 " Love like a pilgrim roams afar, 
 And watches every changing star, 
 And gathers every radiant flower 
 And sees it fade with summer's hour; 
 And so it yearns for that deep home, 
 Where nothing fades and naught doth roam." 
 
 I wonder if Sockdolliger or Gooch heard 
 that song, as, like a timid bird, it crept and 
 then flew into Blanche's room. If they did, 
 they little realized its meaning, that it was 
 a subtle link whereby two lovers talked, in 
 spite of the rude impediments which the 
 bigotry of the one and the rascality of the 
 other had imposed. Ah, love can laugh at 
 chains indeed ! Deprived of common speech, 
 it voices itself in a language of its own. 
 
 The song mingled harmoniously with the 
 slow rocking of the ship; but, when it 
 reached the ear of love, how quickly it de- 
 tached itself, and seemed to be the only mel- 
 ody in the universe ! 
 
 As Morton lay floating on the glistening 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 101 
 
 deep, over him he saw the flash of a delicate 
 white hand and the billowing signal of a 
 fluttering handkerchief. With a quick mo- 
 tion, he seized the ropes of the ship, and 
 touched the hand with a passionate kiss and 
 whispered, " Courage ! " and left in its cling- 
 ing, burning fingers the package with the 
 letter and powder, and quickly and silently 
 dropped into the sea, and did not rise to 
 the surface until he was a hundred feet 
 away. Not the sharpest sentinel could have 
 known that there was any communication 
 with the imprisoned lady. 
 
 Blanche sank back into her bed, and 
 pressed the packet to her lips. The last 
 few days had been to her full of despair 
 and agony, yet she had borne herself with 
 wonderful courage and patience. She knew 
 at intervals that she was the victim of some 
 diabolical scheme ; but the deacon kept her 
 helpless and in a wandering and dreamy 
 state of mind by the use of powerful drugs. 
 She knew that she could escape this torture 
 only by silence and apparent indifference, 
 and she had summoned all her fortitude to 
 the' task ; so that now her mind was compar- 
 atively clear. Gooch bad not deemed it nec- 
 essary while she was on board the ship, and 
 Sockdolliger was his bulwark, to keep her in 
 a state of semi-insanity. He had not dared 
 or perhaps not cared to insult her woman- 
 hood. If he had, Blanche would have killed 
 him. What he wanted mainly was her fort- 
 une ; and this he was willing to acquire by 
 any easy-going or peaceable measure. 
 
 Blanche slept alone with her maid, who 
 was the paid tool of Gooch. This attendant 
 was now in a profound slumber, and by the 
 faint light of a candle Blanche was able to 
 peruse the letter. 
 
 " It is as I thought," she said ; " and this 
 is the only way of escape. I am not afraid. 
 I could do anything. I had rather be in the 
 depths of the sea than here ; and he will be 
 there, he will be there, and I shall be safe. 
 If I do not survive, my last resting-place 
 will be in his arms. Let me read this letter 
 again." 
 
 Again she read the letter, and pressed it 
 
 to her lips, and then she tore it into a thou- 
 sand pieces and flung them from her win- 
 dow, and, like flakes of snow, they sank into 
 the bosom of the sea. 
 
 "Hold these thoughts, O sea," she said. 
 " I will come, and trust thy billows. O love, 
 I will seek thee, even in darkness and 
 death." 
 
 She looked at the powder white and glis- 
 tening in its tiny wrapper. 
 
 "This little powder is stronger than the 
 sword of kings. Not a thousand can keep 
 me from thee, when I take this." 
 
 She took a glass and partly filled it with 
 water, and then poured in the sparkling pow- 
 der and stirred the mixture, and held it up 
 to the light. 
 
 " More glorious than wine, O liquid savior ! 
 I drink to my immortal love." 
 
 Having drunk the potion, from her nar- 
 row window she looked forth upon the 
 boundless sky. 
 
 "Farewell, O stars! You are shining 
 upon my tomb. Grant that it may be my 
 path to victory. O softly sounding sea, I 
 long for your embrace! Thy glorious 
 baptism shall give me new life." 
 
 With that, she wrapped " the drapery of 
 her couch about her, and lay down to pleas- 
 ant dreams." 
 
 " I have accomplished it," said Charlie, as 
 he leaped to the deck of the " Albatross." 
 " Now, it depends upon her courage. Will 
 she dare to do it?" 
 
 "Never fear that," said the doctor. 
 "Woman is braver than man in such cir- 
 cumstances. They are afraid of nothing 
 when love prompts." 
 
 "I suppose I ought to go to bed and 
 sleep," said Charlie ; " but I can't, I am so 
 agitated. I must prepare for to-morrow. 
 We can't depend entirely upon the spirit. 
 The body must be in its best condition for 
 such a trial as this." 
 
 " Yes, everything depends on your steadi- 
 ness and nerve. Take this powder. It is 
 not so strong as the other ; but you will not 
 wake until noon, and then you will be 
 refreshed. We must all go to bed." 
 
102 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 In a little while, Morton with the rest was 
 in a profound slumber. 
 
 Morning came, and still the calm rested 
 upon the waters. 
 
 At ten o'clock, Captain Furgeson and 
 Will and Paddie went over to the "Betsy 
 Jane." There was an unusual excitement 
 on board. 
 
 "The deed is done," said Furgeson. 
 " They are preparing for a burial." 
 
 Sockdolliger greeted them with a most sor- 
 rowful countenance. 
 
 " We need not quarrel any more," he said : 
 " it's all over, the poor lady is dead." 
 
 "Dead?" said Furgeson. "How did it- 
 happen?" 
 
 " It's a dispensation of providence," said 
 Sockdolliger. " I do hope she is in heaven." 
 
 Sockdolliger really felt bad. Death to 
 him was a dreadful mystery and hell an 
 awful reality, and he was enough of a man 
 to be tortured by the thought that one 
 soul had been plunged into eternal tor- 
 ments. He would fain believe that some- 
 how Blanche had been converted. 
 
 " I think she is in heaven," said Gooch. 
 " The last time I read the Bible to her, she 
 was very quiet. Indeed, I think she wept. 
 She said nothing, but it may be hoped that 
 she accepted the plan of salvation." 
 
 " It must be so," said Sockdolliger. Sock- 
 dolliger could damn by the wholesale folks 
 that he never knew and did not care much 
 about; but when it came right home, to 
 one of his own ship's passengers for in- 
 stance, and he could realize something of 
 the enormous horror of the doctrine, why, 
 then he was ready to back down and accept 
 any little sign that the unfortunate sinner 
 had been converted. 
 
 Gooch looked awfully solemn, but it re- 
 quired little perception to see that it was an 
 artificial mourning. Blanche's death really 
 made it easier to carry out his purposes con- 
 cerning her fortune. All the papers were in 
 his possession; and, as her sole remaining 
 legal representative, he could lay claim to 
 everything. It did on this account seem to 
 him a dispensation of providence : his self- 
 
 ishness was so allied to his religion that 
 he actually imagined himself an object of 
 divine favor. Some are so accustomed to 
 their villany that it ceases to be villauy in 
 their eyes, but rather justifiable, if not 
 found out and fortune favors. Gooch in- 
 tended, after he had obtained possession of 
 Blanche's fortune, to endow a theological 
 seminary ; and this end justified the means. 
 He had thoroughly identified " God " with 
 everything that was for his self-interest. 
 He read the Bible through the eyes of his 
 own lust : the whole plan of salvation from 
 all eternity was an arrangement by which 
 Gooch could be made happy. He never 
 thought of it in any other light : the com- 
 mand to leave father and mother and 
 brother and sister was simply authority to 
 let these take care of themselves, so far as 
 material things are concerned, while he 
 could be free to devote himself to securing 
 a harp of gold. 
 
 This was the sum and substance of 
 Gooch's religion, a harp of gold. If the 
 harp had been of brass, I don't think he 
 would have been quite as good a Christian. 
 Gold, gold, this was the all-devouring aim 
 of his life; and Bible and Church and 
 regeneration were valuable to him only as 
 they converged to this end. He was ready 
 to do anything for its sake, and he had the 
 wondrous facility of thinking that all he 
 did for himself he did for the Lord. Hence, 
 he could commit a crime without a qualm 
 of conscience. He was as cold as a lizard. 
 Nothing could touch him. The apparent 
 death of Blanche had no perceptible effect. 
 He did not care for her only as she was 
 an instrumentality to the acquirement of 
 wealth ; and, since her death gave him more 
 complete sway, he had only a mechanical 
 and outside sorrow in view of it. 
 
 "The burial will be at two o'clock this 
 afternoon," said Sockdolliger. "Will you 
 remain, gentlemen ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Paddie and Will. 
 
 " I must return," said Captain Furgeson. 
 
 " It's all over with," said Paddie to the 
 deacon after Furgeson had departed for his 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 own ship, " and there's no need of quarrel- 
 ling ; but, really, I do not understand your 
 marriage. It was sadden, wasn't it? " 
 
 Paddie was somewhat of a diplomatist, 
 and he was determined to find out a thing 
 or two. 
 
 " It was rather sudden," said the deacon ; 
 " but it was kind o' natural, after all. We 
 were cousins." 
 
 " That's news," said Paddie. 
 
 " Not very near cousins. My mother was 
 a, Kennedy. You see there was a big fort- 
 une in England for the Kennedys, and I 
 reckon to come into it through my mother's 
 rights ; but she was heir after William and 
 Ralph Kennedy, and I found by inquiry 
 that Miss Blanche was the heir of both. 
 You see there was a conflict. I thought the 
 best way to settle the matter was to marry 
 Blanche. There'd be no lawsuit then, and 
 we could both enjoy the fortune." 
 
 " Did Blanche accede to this arrange- 
 ment?" 
 
 " She didn't understand it as well as I did, 
 but finally I persuaded her." 
 
 " But the fortune was hers anyway." 
 
 " Yes, legally. I could have made trouble, 
 though ; for it didn't seem right to come so 
 near having a fortune and not have it. You 
 see, if she had been dead, the fortune would 
 have been mine." 
 
 " So you thought you would kill her by 
 marrying her?" 
 
 "I was willing she should live; but I 
 knew she didn't need the money, and 
 wouldn't use it for the glory of the Lord as 
 I would. I'm sorry she's dead, but I acted 
 for the best." 
 
 "You'll go to England then?" 
 
 " Yes, there's about a million dollars com- 
 ing. I shall give a hundred thousand to the 
 Church." 
 
 "Didn't you know that Morton was en- 
 gaged to Blanche?" 
 
 "I rather thought so; and I felt it my 
 duty to save her. Morton wouldn't give a 
 cent of money to the Church. I married 
 her, in order that the Lord might get her 
 money. It wasn't for myself that I cared, 
 
 but for the welfare of Zion. Our church at 
 Scooptown needs a new bell ; and the people 
 talk of starting a missionary seminary there, 
 in order to educate young men to preach the 
 gospel to the heathen, and I was anxious to 
 endow a professorship. You see how much 
 good I can do with the money." 
 
 " Did Blanche think as you did?" 
 
 "Not exactly, but I think she would in 
 time. She seemed to hate me and religion 
 and every thing that was good. She was 
 wilful. I made out by the exercise of a little 
 parental authority to marry her. Gradually, 
 she was becoming subdued. She seemed to 
 feel the force of my remarks. If she had 
 lived, I think she would have become a 
 bright and shining light." 
 
 " What a phenomenal hypocrite the dea- 
 con is ! " said Paddie to Will, as they saun- 
 tered alone to the ship's side. "He can 
 cover rascality with the slime of his the- 
 ology, and swallow it whole. He could 
 easily convince himself that it was right to 
 kill you or me, if by so doing five cents could 
 be put into the treasury of the Lord." 
 
 " He is that monstrous thing," said Will, 
 "which only Orthodoxy can produce, a hyp- 
 ocrite and a rogue, who finds in the pages 
 of an inspired book justification for every 
 act he can commit. Of all crime, inspired 
 crime is the worst. It has no conscience, 
 and it is incapable of remorse. It can wield 
 the knife of the assassin, and glory in the 
 deed. Does not Orthodoxy justify even mur- 
 der for the glory of its God? Is it strange, 
 then, that the greatest acts of wrong-doing 
 should take upon them a divine sanction, 
 and appear meritorious? This innate sav- 
 agery of Orthodoxy breaks out at times, and 
 we see its terrible result in the red hand of 
 murder, a father slaying his own child. 
 This is the legitimate result of the old belief 
 in miracles and inspiration. It is softened 
 and defeated, I grant, in many noble and 
 beautiful natures, that, clinging to Ortho- 
 doxy with a sort of intellectual blindness 
 and weakness, are yet trained and developed 
 by higher ideas. They do walk somewhat 
 in the light of science. But in wholly igno- 
 
104 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 rant minds we see the logic of Orthodoxy ; 
 and what is it but murder and assassina- 
 tion, finding its impulse in a so-called di- 
 vine voice, within which is only the name 
 for a fierce animal passion. The Bible has 
 justified every crime ; and it needs no stretch 
 of logic for a man like Gooch, intensely self- 
 ish, to find authority for any wrong that 
 will improve his chances, and so add to the 
 coffers of his divinity. I expect that Gooch 
 believes himself to be a sort of ambassador 
 of God, and so is capable of committing 
 any crime in his Deity's name. Christianity 
 should not disown Gooch, when at last the 
 halter is drawn about his neck. He is the 
 creature of its own teachings." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 CAPTAIN FURGESON returned to the 
 "Albatross," and reported the situation 
 of affairs. 
 
 "I'm ready," said the doctor. "Morton 
 will be awake in a few minutes, and in 
 prime condition. We couldn't have a better 
 day. The sea is clear as glass, and we can 
 walk through it as easily as through a 
 meadow. The machinery is fixed, and 
 you know how to give us air. Work slow 
 and sure." 
 
 Morton was soon awake. When told, he 
 cried : 
 
 " Is it possible ? How brave she is I 
 Now, we must show our spirit; and all 
 will be well." 
 
 " Keep cool," said the doctor. " We must 
 not hurry. Put your suit on." 
 
 The grotesque suits were put on, and 
 Morton and the doctor looked like a couple 
 of immense ghouls with enormous eyes. 
 
 " You see, I've arranged a little compass 
 in my hand, and so can direct our course. 
 We shan't fail to strike the * Betsy Jane ' 
 by the shortest path. Then, I've a few tor- 
 pedoes tucked away ; and, if bigger fish than 
 we attack us, we can give them more than 
 they bargain for with these little cannon." 
 
 Morton went to his task with a deter- 
 mined spirit. He had not a particle of fear, 
 and he would not allow himself to be dis- 
 
 turbed even by the momentous results that 
 might happen. Placed in such new and 
 strange circumstances, about to undertake 
 what had never yet been accomplished even 
 by the most daring, he faced the tremendous 
 journey with scarcely a tremor. He meant 
 to succeed, if it lay within human power; 
 and he knew that only the utmost steadiness 
 could carry him safely along. 
 
 All was ready ; and they were lowered into 
 the sea, and sank into its profound bosom. 
 The waters closed over them, and soon not a 
 ripple was seen. 
 
 They were in the awful depths. They 
 could communicate with each other only by 
 slow and awkward signs. Down they sank, 
 "until they were a hundred feet below 
 the surface. Above, they could behold a 
 confused and most dazzling light, and occa- 
 sionally coruscating colors with infinite va- 
 riety of movement. Fishes glided by, and 
 hardly seemed to notice them, any more 
 than they were familiar monsters of the sea. 
 Around rolled ever the thunder of the deep. 
 Slowly, very slowly, they advanced, as if they 
 were climbing an immense hill. The route 
 appeared interminable, for there was nothing 
 by which to mark the way. The doctor, 
 however, advanced as if guided by an unerr- 
 ing instinct. He seemed to be at home 
 amid the untravelled waters. As he turned 
 to his companion, his eyes looked like two 
 blazing balls. He was like a huge giant 
 hewing his way through the liquid wilder- 
 ness. Morton followed with firm step. He 
 met all the horrors of the deep with un- 
 flinching gaze. 
 
 At length, the doctor signalled a halt. 
 They rose by pressing the air-valves, and 
 found that they were just beneath the " Betsy 
 Jane," which like a great planet rolled and 
 heaved in the midst of a sheet of light. 
 The top of the sea flashed over them like a 
 brilliant firmament ; and intense and splen- 
 did hues chased each other with myriad 
 evolutions, while beneath stretched an 
 awful and unsounded darkness. Here, they 
 remained, waiting for the prize to drop from 
 the sparkling firmament above. 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 105 
 
 All on board the " Betsy Jane " gathered to 
 listen to the funeral service. Burnham and 
 McConnell were there, watching with intent 
 gaze the silent form, wondering if indeed 
 the spirit were in the mask or in the reality 
 of death, so veritable it all seemed and so 
 like a dream. 
 
 Captain Sockdolliger read the burial ser- 
 vice, the grotesque yet wonderfully eloquent 
 passages from St. Paul. It must be ad- 
 mitted that he read them with solemn and 
 beautiful effect, for he profoundly believed 
 every word that he uttered. He had un- 
 doubting faith in the resurrection of the 
 body, that all would come forth from the 
 sea and land some day at the trump of the 
 archangel, and Christ would appear in the 
 glory of heayen, and the millions would con- 
 gregate about his throne. So, with sad in- 
 tensity, he read the Scriptures, and flung 
 over the scene the weird fascination of the 
 ancient faith. 
 
 " In the name of the Father, the Son, and 
 the Holy Spirit, we commit this body to 
 the sea. In the last great day, it shall rise 
 again; for the sea shall give up its dead, 
 and there shall be no more sea, for God 
 shall reign forever and ever, Amen." 
 
 Then the body was gently taken and 
 lowered over the side of the ship, and with 
 a prayer from the heart even of the roughest 
 sailor it was dropped into the bosom of the 
 calm immensity, and sank from view ; and, 
 in a few moments, the glassy azure shone 
 over the path of her departure with scarcely 
 a ripple. 
 
 " Gone I " said Will, as he bent over the 
 ship's side. " I wonder if our angels are 
 there to save her to a nobler heaven than 
 was ever dreamed of by the ancient saints, 
 the heaven of human love." 
 
 They were there, two calm, determined 
 men; and, as the enshrouded body floated 
 down, their strong arms were placed about 
 it, and a rubber covering folded over her 
 head and breast. Then, they began to bear 
 their precious burden through the rolling 
 caverns of the deep, while every faculty was 
 alert to guard against injury. An enormous 
 
 fish, with glittering scales, as if each were 
 an electric battery, dashed athwart their 
 pathway. Its glaring eyes were attracted 
 by the white body, and it wheeled about as 
 if to seize it ; but the doctor skilfully flung 
 one of his torpedoes, which exploded with 
 mimic thunder; and the unexpected noise 
 and tumult caused the huge animal to turn, 
 and, like a comet with light flashing from 
 every part of his mobile mass, he plunged 
 into the outermost darkness. Safely, they 
 continued their course, and with wondrous 
 patience and strength fought their way 
 through the enclosing waters to the " Alba- 
 tross." They rose to the surface, and soon 
 the fair body of Blanche was drawn upon 
 deck and placed in the captain's cabin, 
 under the care of his ready and skilful wife. 
 Morton and the doctor immediately doffed 
 their dripping garments, and were greeted 
 by the cheers of the crew. They recuper- 
 ated their exhausted forms with a quaff of 
 brandy, and in a few minutes were ready to 
 visit their patient. 
 
 She lay upon the bed, still and beautiful 
 and white as a lily. Was the "heart of 
 fire " within her yet, or had it vanished be- 
 yond the skill of man to summon to trem- 
 bling lip and eye 1 Morton looked upon the 
 marble features, he touched the cheek 
 so cold, he kissed the mouth so calm and 
 unresponsive. She seemed dead, utterly 
 rigid, and chained to the everlasting silence. 
 
 "Is she dead, doctor?" he cried. " I can- 
 not see a sign of life." 
 
 For a moment, the doctor scrutinized her, 
 as if his eyes had the power of a microscope 
 to read the very secret of her motionless 
 form. 
 
 "She will live," he said. "She is but 
 
 Gently, they bent over and rubbed her 
 feet and hands. For a long while there 
 seemed no spark of heat, no flow of blood. 
 Then, about the temples there was a little 
 flush, and a faint mist gathered on the glass 
 held to her lips. Then, slowly, the veins 
 about the neck brightened; and along the 
 arms the red tide fitfully swelled, surging to 
 
106 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 the finger-tips. Then, all at once, a crimson 
 glow spread over her face ; and, with a deep 
 sigh and a quick gasp, she opened her eyes, 
 that flashed like lustrous stars, and, stretch- 
 ing forth her hands, she was clasped to the 
 bosom of her loved. 
 
 " Saved 1 " he cried. " Mine now, forever, 
 and forever ! " 
 
 " Yes," she said. " Where am I ? " 
 
 " On board the 'Albatross/ among friends. 
 Our plan was successful. We have taken 
 you from the depths of the sea, and here 
 you are in life and happiness." 
 
 ** How strange it is ! I thought surely I 
 was dying as I sank down, down into an 
 awful slumber, and I felt that my limbs 
 were growing stiff, and my blood was like 
 ice. What a terrible adventure 1 And I am 
 really alive?" 
 
 " Yes, you are. Do you not feel this kiss ? 
 Does it not assure you of life ?" 
 
 " It does, and kiss me again." 
 
 "Love is a stimulant," said the doctor; 
 "but you must have a little medicine and 
 good nursing. Mrs. Furgeson will take care 
 of you for a while. With this cordial and 
 some nice food, you'll soon be ready to go 
 on deck." 
 
 In an hour or two, the transformation was 
 complete. Mrs. Furgeson's dresses were al- 
 tered by a little skill to fit the form of 
 Blanche ; and, flushed with radiant life and 
 happiness, she looked as if just dropped 
 from the heavens, a child of light and love, 
 rather than emerged from the jaws of death. 
 
 The sun sank in the cloudless west. The 
 innumerable waves tossed against its golden 
 orb. A slight breeze was stirring ; and the 
 "Albatross" began to spread its sails, and 
 also the " Betsy Jane," and slowly the two 
 ships drifted apart, and in a few hours 
 seemed like specks to one another. It was a 
 gorgeous night. The Southern Cross shone 
 resplendent in the heavens, the supreme 
 glory amid myriad stars. The sea answered 
 to the sky with a lustrous world of its own. 
 It seemed to be filled with shining halls that 
 stretched far and far away into the remote 
 darkness. 
 
 "Wonderful!" said Blanche, as in the 
 beauteous night she and Charlie paced the 
 deck, gazing upon the measureless scene. 
 " And here I am like a queen in golden halls. 
 I feel as if I had been snatched by fairies 
 from darkness into light. Only a few hours 
 ago, I was a prisoner, bound hand and foot, 
 and now I am free ! " 
 
 "How did Gooch do this? He must 
 have schemed day and night," said Charlie. 
 
 "I understand I was in the way somehow. 
 He had a claim upon the property. He did 
 not dare to murder me and so he married 
 me." 
 
 " But how could he do it ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell. My servant who went 
 with me and is now on the * Betsy Jane ' 
 was bribed. She must, under his instruc- 
 tions, have drugged my food or drink. I 
 took my usual walk that morning, when I 
 was overcome by dizziness. He followed, no 
 doubt, and captured me, and then I was at 
 his mercy. He rushed me through some 
 form of a marriage, and then hurried off to 
 sea." 
 
 "Detestable villain 1 But we have out- 
 witted him." 
 
 "Yes, but what power the evil-minded 
 man has, what resources furnished by sci- 
 ence ! " 
 
 " True, but science gives the same to those 
 who would defeat him. See what a mar- 
 vellous power it put within our hands to 
 travel through the deep sea, and under the 
 form of death bear you to safety ! " 
 
 " I sometimes tremble when I think of the 
 prodigious power man is acquiring. How 
 will he use it?" 
 
 " For the good. It must be so, for his 
 greatest triumphs have ever been won 
 through a devotion to others. Why has he 
 penetrated the heavens and mapped a mill- 
 ion systems? Why has he harnessed the 
 lightning and imprisoned the steam? Not - 
 through any selfish purpose, not for individ- 
 ual good, but for the universal. One could 
 not accomplish these merely for his own 
 welfare. He can only do it through the in- 
 spiration that comes from his unselfish feel- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 107 
 
 ing. That is the way I look at it ; and the 
 more man knows the better he is, for in 
 order to know he mast be actuated by the 
 highest desire." 
 
 "I see that, but," persisted Blanche, 
 ' ; Gooch has only been able to carry out his 
 perfidious plans through the aid of science." 
 
 "He has used what others originated, 
 not himself, and with low cunning, he is 
 a sort of intellectual monstrosity, keen as 
 the serpent and as poisonous. He is the 
 spawn of Orthodoxy. The light of science 
 <x>uld not make such a devilish creature. 
 The scientific spirit is essentially generous. 
 Gooch is the child of the old religion, an 
 exaggeration, I grant, a prodigy of evil 
 under the garb of saintliness ; but he is the 
 outcome of its real tendency. For the old 
 religion appeals to selfishness : its motive is 
 a crown of glory, one's own welfare in the 
 life to come. Orthodoxy, to-day, is a brill- 
 iant speculation, a long look ahead for 
 number one, and so it makes one like Gooch 
 enormously selfish ; and then, when he gets 
 the idea that God is on his side, he is capa- 
 ble of committing any crime. I have no 
 doubt that he felt justified for all that he 
 has done as regards you. He has got him- 
 self so mixed up with the Deity, is on such 
 familiar terms with him, that he makes him. 
 partner in every mean thing he does, and it 
 becomes a divine mission. Christianity is 
 responsible for this monstrous absurdity. 
 It is a part of its system. It cannot call 
 such a knave as Gooch an exception. He 
 may be a distortion, but he draws his life- 
 blood from the theology of the past. Under 
 the reign of science there can be no such 
 saintly rogues, for it allows of nothing be- 
 yond man's reason. It will have nothing to 
 do with inspiration, only with argument. 
 A man cannot argue himself into crime. 
 The moment he begins to argue, he becomes 
 clear-headed ; and then he will shrink from 
 wrong-doing." 
 
 " You are quite too philosophical for me, 
 though I see the truth of what you say. 
 But Philosophy is a gray-headed gentleman, 
 who broods over books and looks very se- 
 
 date. I could never scrape acquaintance 
 with him ; but Love is a young and sprightly 
 thing, laughing and dimpling, and I like 
 his company best." 
 
 " I do, when it comes to that. Love set- 
 tles everything, for it is the glory of every- 
 thing. Would men toil so, if it were not 
 for love ? How it fills the human heart, so 
 that it can endure everything 1 " 
 
 "Ah, I should have sunk, if it had not 
 been for love singing in my heart. But it 
 said always, ' He will come, he will save you ' ; 
 and I would not yield." 
 
 " But, when I first received that cruel let- 
 ter, I said I would not come. For a mo- 
 ment, I doubted you." 
 
 " Doubted me ? How could you ! That 
 was unjust, indeed ! " 
 
 " I know it. But the old devil was in 
 me yet. I thought you had discarded me. 
 Will exorcised the demon. He never 
 doubted you for a moment. We owe all to 
 him." 
 
 " He is a wise man, indeed." 
 
 " I suppose I am a foolish one." 
 
 " I forgive your folly." 
 
 "I shall not be guilty again. O trust, 
 what a heaven it is 1 Without it love is 
 like a raging sea; but with it calm and 
 beautiful, touched with softest music." 
 
 "We can trust each other now, for our 
 suffering is the seal of fate that makes us 
 one." 
 
 "Indeed, it is; and fate's sweet signals 
 are thy bright eyes." 
 
 Her eyes were indeed beautiful as they 
 looked upon her kneeling lover. Lustrous 
 as the heavens, liquid as the sea, unfathom- 
 able they glanced with the wild splendor of 
 love. 
 
 No wonder that Morton knelt at her feet 
 and kissed her hand. Night shone about 
 them like a great palace. A thousand 
 torches were burning. The sea spread like 
 a jewelled floor. The waves flowed and 
 melted in the intense radiance. The winds 
 danced along with musical feet. The sails 
 were spread, and with quickening motion 
 the ship ploughed its sparkling way; and 
 
108 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 the two lovers brooded and dreamed and 
 whispered and listened to the song of the 
 sea and to the deeper song within their own 
 hearts. They read the mystic glory of love 
 in each other's face. The divinest of all 
 was theirs, the effluence of the eternal joy. 
 
 O love, sublime interpreter of the uni- 
 verse! Without thee we are weak indeed 
 and poor and desolate even though crowned 
 with diamonds; but with thee the most 
 lowly path is beautiful, all toil is gracious, 
 the humblest home is laurelled with flowers, 
 and its hearthstone blazes with uncounted 
 jewels ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE good ship sped along. They were a 
 happy company. The splendor of the sky 
 and the music of the sea were not more full 
 of joy than these brave adventurers. 
 
 "I should always like to do this," said 
 Paddie. " Here we forget the cares of life." 
 
 " I wonder if it could always be so," said 
 Charlie, " or is there a fate that forbids hap- 
 piness to be more than for a while ? " 
 
 "I suppose the breakers must come. A 
 monotony of happiness would be unendur- 
 able. If this kept up for a month, no doubt 
 we should pray for a storm." 
 
 The doctor and Mrs. Furgeson were play- 
 ing chess. 
 
 " You made a mistake that time, doctor," 
 said the lady. " I shall checkmate you in a 
 couple of moves." 
 
 "I see it now, but I didn't before. I sub- 
 mit. It's a blunder that can't be rectified." 
 
 " Not this time. Will you try it again ? " 
 
 "I guess not. I am afraid I am too 
 dreamy." 
 
 " There is where you missed it. Chess is 
 mathematics, and it gives no chance for 
 dreams." 
 
 "Life is mathematics too, and we must 
 keep snug to it, or we fail." 
 
 " Some seem bound to fail, anyway," said 
 the captain. "They are checkmated at 
 birth." 
 
 " That is a hard lot, to lose without ever 
 having a chance to win." 
 
 " Only give me a chance, and I wouldn't 
 lose," said Charlie. 
 
 "You feel superior to fortune now; but 
 take care, she may lay you flat, yet," said 
 the doctor, with a wise shake of his head. 
 
 " She might if I were single-handed," re- 
 plied Charlie ; "but now that I have joined 
 forces, she must cry peace. She may make 
 sport of one, but not of two. They are 
 more than a match for fortune, a man and 
 woman." 
 
 "Who is it that brings the luck, the 
 man or the woman ? " asked Blanche. 
 
 "The woman, of course," said Charlie; 
 " for she is the gift of fortune." 
 
 " According to that, man does not earn 
 his brightest blessing." 
 
 " No, he only earns the lower good. The 
 best comes by what we call chance." 
 
 " Can you explain this ? " 
 
 " I cannot. It isn't at all reasonable, but 
 it's so." 
 
 "Then what's the use of working?" 
 
 " To put yourself in the way of chance. 
 If you don't work, you won't be lucky." 
 
 "But some work and work, and are not 
 lucky." 
 
 " Too true ! but if they didn't work they 
 would have no better luck. So, they might 
 as well work." 
 
 " And might as well die, some of them. 
 Reward is so poor that life is worthless." 
 
 " Everyone can't draw a prize." 
 
 " Alas for our stars ! if they refuse to 
 shine, we must suffer the ignominy of fail- 
 ure, I suppose ; assume the responsibility of 
 what we can't help ; and that's what fate is." 
 
 "This is too tragical," cried Paddie. 
 "Let's laugh and grow fat, and not think 
 ourselves into nonentities." 
 
 " It's your luck to laugh and grow fat. If 
 you were not born to it, you coiridn't do it." 
 
 "A good reason! Let who can give a 
 better. Whatever we are born to, that we 
 must be. So, what's the use of vexing one's 
 self?" 
 
 "Because, if one is born to vexation, he 
 must also fulfil that law. Now, how can 
 you answer that ? " 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 109 
 
 " I can't, because I wasn't born to answer 
 it. My native wit fails me." 
 
 " Admirable answer, the very acme of phi- 
 losophy 1 When all men answer thus, the 
 problem of the universe will be solved, 
 which is, that ignorance is bliss." 
 
 " Ignorance of what ? " 
 
 "Of things in themselves. What we want 
 to know is not what things are, but how to 
 use them." 
 
 " Can we use them to best advantage with- 
 out knowing what they are ? " 
 
 " When may we not ? That is what sci- 
 ence is always doing. She wisely forbears 
 to go behind the veil. She sees the light 
 and color, and weaves them into dazzling 
 forms; and so life is beautiful. But the 
 force she works with is still unexplainable/' 
 
 "Shall we call it only force'? Is there 
 not a better name ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not, for names are but defini- 
 tions ; and definitions, when we come to the 
 ultimate, are a failure." 
 
 "Is God a failure?" 
 
 "Yes, as a name, unless we apply it 
 merely to our moods of mind. We say God 
 rules, when we are happy. When we are 
 miserable, we are not apt to believe in God 
 at all." 
 
 " Can we not apply the word < God ' to the 
 universe as a whole ? " 
 
 "I think not, for it does not correspond 
 to the reality. * God ' means, if it means any- 
 thing, our highest ideal of goodness. Now, 
 that highest ideal is constantly checked as 
 we go forth into the outward universe. 
 There is evil, and we cannot explain it away. 
 We do not and cannot know the universe 
 as a whole, and therefore we cannot de- 
 scribe it either as good or bad." 
 
 " Will theism die out, as not having a suf- 
 ficient basis in fact ? " 
 
 " No, because it was not born of fact, but 
 simply of feeling. It is the child of imagi- 
 nation, the offspring of hope. It is a mental 
 mood, and not a demonstration. This mood 
 will ever come and go, like sunny days over 
 the stormy world. There will be many a 
 
 glad height in our toilsome way, from 
 whence nothing will be seen but beauty." 
 
 " Is theism false, because based on mere 
 feeling?" 
 
 "Not false if we let it abide there; but 
 false when we translate it into a proposition, 
 and make it a dogma of words." 
 
 " Is there nothing that we can trust in ? " 
 
 "Indeed there is. How million-fold 
 greater is our happiness than our misery I 
 As we follow the majestic course of the uni- 
 verse, how wonderful, how jubilant it all is! 
 When we touch humanity and thrill with 
 its life, what language can express our joy ? " 
 
 " But if the comet plunges into the sun, 
 and the sun's heat slays us, what then?" 
 
 " That's a long look ahead, and borrow- 
 ing an immense amount of trouble. We 
 may go to smash, of course; but what we 
 have accomplished is a part of the universe, 
 and lives in all its endless transformation. 
 The future cannot change the present, 
 which is glorious in itself. Our souls are 
 great, not for what they will be, but for 
 what they are. Thought is not of time or 
 space, for it precedes them." 
 
 "Must we not, as Goethe says, live in the 
 beyond ? To-day may be beautiful, but is it 
 not more beautiful because we dream of a 
 beautiful to-morrow ? " 
 
 "That is indeed true, and so we will 
 dream, and hope, and be forward looking. 
 We seek the impossible ; and, seeking that, 
 we achieve infinitely. Otherwise, we should 
 do nothing at all." 
 
 Thus, thought, many-hued and bright, re- 
 flecting the thousand possibilities of life, 
 flashed and found manifold expression 
 amid this congenial society. No one en- 
 deavored to be consistent, but to be like the 
 changing sea whose restless billows sought 
 ever new intensities of light, and poured 
 forth marvels of color and miracles of song. 
 Oh, how rich life can be when in exuber- 
 ant motion we give ourselves to the ever- 
 abounding glory of the universe, and 
 through the infinities of feeling absorb and 
 translate its continuous wonders ! 
 
110 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 It was apparently a cloudless blue as the 
 captain swept the horizon with his glass, 
 but he muttered : 
 
 " It looks a bit squally over there. I hope 
 we shall get round it. If it hits us, it'll 
 knock, us a good way off from San Fran- 
 cisco ; and I'm in hopes to be there in a day 
 or two." 
 
 "We are safe enough," said Paddie. "I 
 don't see any bad signs." 
 
 "Wait an hour or so, and you'll change 
 your mind." 
 
 There did seem to come an inexplicable 
 darkness into the scene, and a cold draught 
 of air. Still, the sun was shining brightly. 
 
 " I don't like the look of the waves," said 
 the captain. " They glisten too much, and 
 there are too many of them. See how they 
 roll and tumble together. They look ugly. 
 The clouds are beginning to gather." 
 
 They could see the clouds now, faint and 
 fleecy, hurrying and scurrying along. The 
 wind blew louder and more chill. 
 
 "We've got to take it. It's all around 
 us, and it's a regular hurricane. No child's 
 play, this," said the captain. 
 
 "It's time for a storm. We've had too 
 pleasant weather for three or four days. 
 Extremes meet, and now we've got to take 
 the worst of it," said Paddie. 
 
 They furled the sails, but the wind blew 
 90 strongly that the ship sped on more 
 swiftly than before. Thunder sounded in 
 the distance, and the horizon became in- 
 tensely black. Overhead, the sun was just 
 quivering forth with a lurid light. 
 
 " I'd rather see the sun out of sight than 
 looking like that," said the captain. 
 
 Soon, the great volumes rolled over the 
 un and the waves dashed mightily, and the 
 ship plunged forward like a wild horse. 
 
 " So far as I can judge, we are in mid- 
 ocean ; and, if we can stand the waves, we've 
 nothing else to fear, we've a stanch vessel 
 and it can leap from billow to billow, al- 
 most like a mermaid," said the captain. 
 
 It was a sublime and terrific scene. The 
 whole atmosphere seemed to roar violently, 
 the ship heaved and tossed, and the immense 
 
 billows swept against it and seemed to grasp 
 it with gigantic hands and hurl it on, and 
 almost spin it round like a top. The dark- 
 ness became intense, and still could be seen 
 the phosphorescent glare of myriad crests 
 that in mad ecstasy appeared to strike at 
 the very heavens. The vivid lightning 
 almost constantly revealed an awful theatre 
 of action. 
 
 Then came a crash, and the waters almost 
 swept the deck. 
 
 " By God, the rudder's broke, and now we 
 must take it as we will 1 " 
 
 There was nothing to do except to wait 
 until the fury of the storm was spent. It 
 was no longer possible to guide the vessel. 
 
 On it dashed, climbing the great seas and 
 sliding into the enormous depths. The 
 waves towered above it like mountainous 
 walls, and the white foam, like a multitude 
 of sprites, seemed to fly about it, as if 
 they would tear it to pieces, and then the 
 ship would be lifted to the top and tremble 
 on the verge of some precipitous chasm. 
 
 Then, a new and dazzling horror burst 
 upon the vision. 
 
 A long line of rocks shot up all of a sud- 
 den. Gloriously, the waves dashed against 
 them like a magnificent army, battalion upon 
 battalion, to be shivered into gleaming frag- 
 ments upon the intractable enemy. 
 
 " We are lost ! " said the captain. " These 
 are the rocks of Bell Isle. I know where 
 I am now. We are driving right upon 
 shore." 
 
 Calmly, they faced the dreadful peril. 
 There was no praying. It was simple 
 manhood meeting the inevitable. 
 
 " Blanche," said Charlie, " this looks like 
 our last hour." 
 
 " Perhaps it is," said she. " The glory of it 
 is that we die together. Is not that a sub- 
 lime fate ? " 
 
 " You are not afraid then ? " 
 
 "Afraid? Oh, no! Life is sweet; but we 
 must die, and what we must do we cannot 
 regret." 
 
 " Let us stand together, and let us face 
 nature and witness with unclouded souls 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 her grandest spectacle. We die royally, do 
 we not, amid this thunder of the elements. 
 See yonder promontory stretching into the 
 sea ! Its lofty head seems to touch the sky, 
 and around its base how the seething seas 
 toil, as if they would tear it away and hurl it 
 into the abyss." 
 
 The grandeur of the scene was indescrib- 
 able. The rocks loomed forth like an 
 innumerable army of giants. Far away 
 in the white glare of the billows and 
 the vivid splendor of the lightning, they 
 stretched sturdy and unyielding. To the 
 left rose a huge promontory, nearly five 
 hundred feet in height ; and against it, as 
 if with special fury, the squadrons of the 
 ocean, rank on rank, dashed and foamed, and 
 fell back in surging retreat. It was a glo- 
 rious pageant. It made death seem like a 
 wild joy amid the intoxicating grandeurs of 
 the scene. 
 
 The captain watched every movement of 
 the ship, and scanned the shores constantly. 
 He was a hard man to beat, even with all 
 the elements against him. 
 
 " If we could round that point, we'd be 
 safe," said he ; " for there's smooth water, 
 and we could land before the ship went to 
 pieces. If the rudder wasn't broke, I could 
 do it. Which way's the wind ? West-sou'- 
 west just now. That's right! I'll take ad- 
 vantage of it. Boys, unfurl the sails, stretch 
 every inch of canvas. The wind may blow 
 us round that point, and then we can take 
 another chance for life." 
 
 Swiftly and steadily, the men worked, the 
 captain's wife amid them ; and, spite of every 
 difficulty, they set the sails to catch the 
 breeze. There was a comparative lull. Then, 
 the wind seemed to take the vessel, as if in 
 grim sport, and bear it right toward the 
 promontory's point, beyond which there was 
 a sufficient calm to permit the boats to be 
 launched. 
 
 It was their only salvation. Would the 
 wind dash them against the base of the 
 mighty mountain, or would it hurl them 
 by? 
 
 " We can do nothing more," said the cap- 
 
 tain. " We might as well fold our arms and 
 be spectators of the scene. The drama will 
 move on without any more assistance from 
 us. We are supernumeraries now." 
 
 Like an unleashed hound, the ship went 
 bounding forward. Nearer and nearer, it 
 came to the overhanging pinnacle. It was 
 right over their heads. 
 
 " One more puff, and we are round that 
 big rock. Hurrah ! We've got it ! That's a 
 good squall. Here we go ! " 
 
 They shot by the beetling cliff, and in the 
 shadow of the immense mountain found a 
 sea. whose rolling breast, though heaving 
 fearfully, still permitted the launching of a 
 boat. 
 
 " It's an awful risk, but some of us must 
 get ashore." 
 
 "That's my business," said Charlie. 
 
 "And mine too," said Will and Paddie. 
 " You attend to the boats and the women." 
 
 They plunged in, and battled with the 
 waves, which wrestled with the brave swim- 
 mers, and seemed determined to break their 
 heads or bury them in the depths. Charlie 
 was the first to touch shore, but the others 
 were not far behind. 
 
 "Hurrah for workl Here's a place for 
 the ship's cable. We can hitch the < Alba- 
 tross ' now, and land her cargo." 
 
 The mountain, once so threatening, hung 
 over them like a protecting angel, and kept 
 off the fierce gusts that thundered against 
 its opposite side. All were safely landed, 
 and many of the ship's stores, before the 
 "Albatross " had sunk. 
 
 " I must bid her good-by," said the cap- 
 tain: "she's been with me many a year, 
 stanch and true ; and I could almost perish 
 with her. I shall never have a better 
 friend." 
 
 "You shall have as good a one," said 
 Charlie. " I'll build another < Albatross/ " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIH. 
 
 THE storm swept by. In the morning, 
 the world was clothed with fresh loveliness. 
 The ocean was as placid as an infant, and 
 smiled along the shores with sparkling 
 
112 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 beauty. The island was beautiful, spread- 
 ing away with field and stream and hill and 
 valley. The sky bent over it with glorious 
 lustre after the baptism of the storm. 
 
 Our little party were happy, in spite of all 
 their misfortunes. They were on a lonely 
 shore in the midst of the mighty sea. It 
 was seldom visited by man, and they might 
 remain for years without a chance to escape. 
 They saved as much as they could from the 
 ship, which took its time about going to 
 pieces as it swung upon the rocks. There 
 was enough food to last them for several 
 months, and no doubt they could find many 
 means of support on the island itself. Most 
 of their mechanical instruments were pre- 
 served ; and they had the material for rude 
 shelters. All went to work with a will. 
 There was no lamenting. So long as they 
 lived, so long would they make out to enjoy 
 themselves. 
 
 "Here, we can build the republic of 
 Plato," said Paddie. "Here, we can have 
 Utopia, a model society. We are released 
 from the world and all its cares and per- 
 plexities. We have no traditions to bind 
 us. We can live the ideal." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be a good plan to draw up 
 a constitution?" said Charlie. 
 
 " Perhaps so, though I am not much in 
 favor of a paper government. We can build 
 up a state after our own fashion." 
 
 " I hate rules and regulations," said the 
 captain ; " but, whether we need them or not, 
 they may invest our society with a little 
 more dignity." 
 
 " Let us women try it for once. We have 
 had no chance yet," said the captain's wife. 
 "There are only two of us, and we shan't 
 quarrel. It won't be long, if you men man- 
 age matters, before one half will have to 
 study law to keep the other half in order." 
 "I second the motion," said Blanche. "I 
 don't propose to submit any longer. We 
 start new now, and I begin by snapping my 
 fingers in the face of the divine right of 
 man." 
 
 "Do it, and I'll stand by you. You shall 
 have your own way," said Charlie. "You 
 shall vote as early and as often as you wish." 
 
 " On both sides too, if I like," said Blanche. 
 
 " So much the better. I shall have a 
 chance then," said Will. 
 
 " We will call a meeting at early candle- 
 light," said Paddie. "We haven't any 
 meeting-house yet nor candles, but yonder 
 grove will make a good temple. Now for 
 supper." 
 
 The meal was soon over, and the evening 
 light flashing with gold spread through the 
 beautiful forest and glittered afar out upon 
 the tossing sea. Beneath the verdant can- 
 opy, the jolly company gathered to see what 
 might be done toward the formation of a 
 model republic. 
 
 "I have taken the liberty," said Paddie, 
 " to draw up a few resolutions as a starting- 
 point for our portentous undertaking. We 
 now occupy a remarkable position in his- 
 tory. Let us be worthy of it. We are 
 undisturbed by any of the precedents of the 
 mistaken past. With boundless hope, we 
 look forth into the future. We have the 
 stored wisdom of the ages for our guide, be- 
 sides our own untrammeled reason. We wish 
 to build a state that shall be a joy to those 
 who come after us, that shall be a monu- 
 ment of human ingenuity. In the first 
 place let it be distinctly understood that 
 we will have no church with state. The 
 church is an individual matter ; and all 
 can suit themselves, they can have what- 
 ever style they wish. They can worship 
 or not worship, according to the dictates 
 of their own conscience. We want some- 
 thing simply for human convenience, by 
 which we can live happily together and 
 obtain the most from our mutual endeavor. 
 Is not this the mind of all ? " 
 
 There was a universal assent. 
 
 "This point then is settled. Now for 
 business 1 I have omitted the ten com- 
 mandments. They have done their work, 
 and we do not need them. I shall lay down 
 as the fundamental principle of our new 
 commonwealth the eleventh commandment, 
 which is the sum and substance of them 
 all, so far as they are true ; namely, resolved 
 first and last, always and afterwards, that 
 everybody shall mind his own business." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 113 
 
 There was a unanimous murmur of ap- 
 proval to this proposition. 
 
 " You've hit it ! " said the doctor. " That's 
 the wisdom of the ages. It's an improvement 
 upon every form of society so far. I heartily 
 vote for that resolution. Heretofore, society 
 has seemed to exist for the express purpose 
 of meddling with everybody's affairs. I am 
 glad to hear somebody say, Hands off 1 In 
 fact, I think that is all the constitution we 
 need ; and we might as well adjourn and live 
 up to that, and we shall be happy." 
 
 " That is all the constitution I propose," 
 said Paddie. "I have only a couple of by- 
 laws ; and, if they are accepted, our model 
 republic is complete." 
 
 " Out with them, but I am afraid you will 
 spoil the dish." 
 
 "I guess not," said Paddie. "This is 
 number one: Resolved, That, if one does 
 not mind his own business, we will per- 
 suade him to." 
 
 " That's good," said the doctor : " it 
 passes unanimously." 
 
 Paddie continued: "Resolved, That, if 
 one will not be persuaded, we will let him 
 severely alone." 
 
 "Boycott him. Well, I agree to that," 
 said the doctor, and so said the rest. 
 
 "Resolved, That, if one persist in med- 
 dling with the business of another, his ears 
 shall be gently cuffed." 
 
 " That's where we differ," said the doctor : 
 "that's going too far. It is an appeal to 
 brute force. In order to enforce it, we must 
 have a congress, and a court, a president, 
 and standing army, and the police. I'm 
 opposed to the bayonet. Trust in persua- 
 sion." 
 
 " Suppose you can't persuade, and one vio- 
 lently intrudes." 
 
 "That may be settled, when the time 
 comes. But I am opposed to any declara- 
 tion of war until necessary." 
 
 " I think the doctor is a little off," said 
 the captain. " I am in favor of cuffing the 
 ears, as a last resort. At any rate, it is 
 a good thing for people to know that we can 
 cuff their ears, if they deserve it." 
 
 " Yes, and so appeal to their brute nat- 
 ure," said the doctor. "It isn't right. 
 We might as well go back to the old barba- 
 rism, and hang, and draw, and quarter. 
 We'll have the old tyranny, the order built 
 on fear." 
 
 " But, if we do not reserve the right to 
 reprimand, then we cannot rule at all," said 
 the captain. " Why insist beforehand that 
 man is going to be bad, and so provide for 
 his wrong-doing ? We have nothing to fear. 
 The genius of man is always sufficient to 
 deal with evil, when it comes. Be as kind as 
 nature : she attaches no penalty until she has 
 been wronged. Both knowledge and happi- 
 ness make for order : order without liberty 
 is a curse. We are constantly in prison, in 
 every state to-day where every man is treated 
 as a thief and every woman as a beast." 
 
 " I think the doctor is right," said Paddie. 
 " I don't believe in any rules and regulations 
 founded upon cuffing. The true state must 
 be founded upon persuasion, and nothing 
 else. If that is anarchy, then anarchy let it 
 be. I'll try it," said the captain. " I've never 
 had to lick anybody yet, though somehow or 
 other I've always hated to give up the right 
 to. Maybe that's a superstition too. I 
 shouldn't wonder if the state was just as 
 absurd as the church." 
 
 " You've a twinkling of sense," said the 
 doctor. "For my part, I stand outside of 
 both. They will pass away. They belong 
 to barbarism." 
 
 " I'll put it to vote as to whether we shall 
 have any ear-cuffing," said Paddie. 
 
 "It's too bad," said Blanche. "We've 
 had our ears cuffed so long, and now you 
 won't let us cuff back. But never mind : I 
 can well afford to vote for persuasion, and 
 give my tongue a better chance." 
 
 "True again," said Charlie. "In the 
 long run, it's the mightiest of sceptres." 
 
 " What a chance we'll have in the future 1" 
 said Blanche. " When the tongue rules, men 
 will have to subside." 
 
 Paddie put the ear-cuffing question to vote, 
 and it was discarded by a large majority. 
 
 "I don't see the use of any constitution 
 
114 
 
 GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 now," said the captain. " If we can't en- 
 force it, we might as well put it on the shelf. 
 If we must only appeal to a man's good 
 sense, what's the use of any written au- 
 thority?" 
 
 "You are right," said Paddie. "Men 
 think there's a magic in what is writ. It's 
 all nonsense. So here goes the model state. 
 By making it end in smoke, we'll smoke the 
 pipe of peace forever." 
 
 Paddie lit the paper, and with a puff it 
 vanished into the bosom of the night. 
 
 " Some may think this written truth has 
 perished utterly, because they cannot see it, 
 and handle it, and carry it in their pockets. 
 But it is more living than ever, as all truth 
 is when unseen. It dwells within the mind, 
 the unwritten law of the universe. Gentle- 
 men and ladies, from this time forth there 
 is no state. All is anarchy." 
 
 Whatever might happen in other places, 
 here at least there was no disorder. Every- 
 thing went harmoniously along. Each did 
 mind his own business, and there was no 
 trouble. 
 
 The days flew by full of eager and splen- 
 did life. The island amply supplied all 
 their wants. Each one took care of him- 
 self, and lived independently. Yet there 
 was a noble, social life and helpfulness flow- 
 ing from the fullest liberty. 
 
 Paddie and the doctor especially delighted 
 in this natural existence. They roamed far 
 and wide over the island. Everywhere, they 
 saw enchanting scenes. There were noble 
 forests, lofty mountains, winding valleys, 
 beautiful rivers and cascades. The climate 
 was warm and equable, and they could 
 remain out all night without discomfort. 
 They found many new and magnificent 
 specimens of flowers. Sometimes, meadows 
 would stretch for miles away, blazing with 
 an infinite variety of gorgeous colors. The 
 two adventurers would dash into it as into a 
 sea, and for hours wade through irridescent 
 billows. 
 
 One day, they stumbled upon some mas- 
 sive ruins, which seemed at first like huge 
 stones scattered about in a certain order by 
 
 some freak of nature. But a closer observa- 
 tion showed that they were the remnant of 
 a mighty city. All was silent now, but on 
 this spot could be traced the white walls of 
 a temple. On another was a dilapidated 
 tower. For two or three miles could be seen 
 the evidences of an extinct people, who, cer- 
 tainly in their time, must have had some 
 wealth and culture. When did they live, 
 whence did they come, whither did they go ? 
 
 " What a mysterious world this is ! " said 
 the doctor. " How the ages do haunt us 
 everywhere 1 How long has man lived upon 
 this planet ! Of what million experiences 
 are we the heirs, of which we can never 
 know ! These people were our ancestors. 
 Their blood flows in our veins. What they 
 wrought we enjoy ; yet this is all their out- 
 ward record, these few stones tumbled 
 about in uncouth fashion." 
 
 Charlie and Blanche roamed to the top of 
 a lofty hill which overlooked an immense 
 prospect. 
 
 "I've just done my day's work," said 
 Charlie. " I've gathered a bushel of cocoa- 
 nuts." 
 
 "You've paid your way," said Blanche. 
 "I've done nothing but sweep my front- 
 yard to-day and gather a few flowers, and 
 I believe I did sew a button on your shirt." 
 
 " You did that, but my shirt is 'most gone ; 
 and I wonder you found a place to put the 
 button on. We must begin to weave and 
 spin." 
 
 "It looks so. We've been here six 
 months now, and no sign from the outward 
 world. We must depend upon ourselves, 
 make our own clothes." 
 
 "I am in favor of free trade here, but 
 our importations are too few." 
 
 "Really, I'm growing weary of this iso- 
 lated life," said Blanche. 
 
 " What, weary of love in a cottage ? " 
 
 " No. Never weary of love, provided the 
 cottage is handy to the depot. We can get 
 more out of ourselves, when we have plenty 
 to help us. Solitude, after all, derives its 
 value from society." 
 
 "I agree with you. We are dependent 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 115 
 
 upon one another. We are parts of human- 
 ity, and we cannot be cut off even with this 
 agreeable company without suffering. We 
 cannot love so well even in this beautiful 
 island, shining like a diamond on the bosom 
 of the sea, as we can amid the abounding 
 pulses of human life. Yes, I long for the 
 great world; for the millions of men and 
 women other than ourselves, whose life 
 becomes a part of ours, and thus makes 
 human love more rich and complete." 
 
 " Do you not fear we can never go ? This 
 island is rarely visited." 
 
 "Luck will decide. I watch the ocean 
 every day. I long to see the horizon rich 
 with a sail. I carry my glass with me, but 
 it reveals nothing so far but tumbling bil- 
 lows." 
 
 "Let me look. Perhaps I can be more 
 fortunate." 
 
 " I am willing to trust my fortune to you 
 on this island or elsewhere." 
 
 The great blue sea stretched before them. 
 Softly, the winds played over it ; and the sky 
 was of dazzling brightness. The far hori- 
 zon mingled with the dancing verge, and 
 air and water blended like molten silver. 
 
 Long and earnestly, Blanche looked over 
 the shining waste. 
 
 " I do believe I see a ship. It can't be the 
 foam. Please look." 
 
 Morton swept the distant scene. 
 
 " It is a ship," he cried. " Now for our 
 signals and the boat." 
 
 He hurried to shore. Every one was on 
 the alert. Soon, the ship became distinctly 
 visible. They hoisted the flag ; and the boat, 
 with streaming flag, swept over the waters. 
 
 The ship hove to. In a little while, they 
 were on board. 
 
 Bravely, they had endured. Sweet and 
 peaceful as their life was in this gorgeous 
 island, laden with nature's richest blessings 
 of fruit and flower, yet the mystic tide of 
 humanity was not with them, they did not 
 feel the beating of the hearts of countless 
 millions ; and so they sang the song of joy 
 as they gathered into the friendly ship that 
 was to take them back to native scenes. 
 
 All except Paddie and the doctor: they 
 wanted to gather more specimens. 
 
 "We'll follow you one of these days," 
 said the doctor. "But we must pluck out 
 the heart of this island first. We must an- 
 alyze it and dissect it. It has a great his- 
 tory. It is full of wonder. It is one of 
 nature's favorites. When we are well loaded 
 inside and out, then we'll come and tell you 
 what we know ; and it will be a marvellous 
 tale." 
 
 " We'll come to you in a couple of years, 
 if you don't come to us," said Charlie. 
 
 It was a Yankee clipper that took them ; 
 and soon they were bounding over the 
 waters to the golden gates of San Francisco. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE first thing to do after landing in San 
 Francisco was to undo the legal trick of 
 Gooch. It turned out that the marriage cer- 
 emony had been performed by a Rev. Adonis 
 Sapphire, an Episcopalian minister. They 
 called upon him, found him a rotund individ- 
 ual, whose eyes could scarcely be seen for the 
 fat that was gathered about them. He evi- 
 dently enjoyed life, and had a large portion of 
 its good things. The Church to him was a 
 land flowing with milk and honey. He was 
 no martyr. His faith paid at least ten per 
 cent, on the investment. He drank a bottle 
 of wine every day, smoked the best of cigars, 
 had a barrelfull of elegantly embroidered 
 slippers, and half a dozen gorgeous study 
 gowns furnished by his lady parishioners. 
 He had a gold-mounted Bible on his centre 
 table a la Talmage, but he seldom opened its 
 pages. He really knew little of the Bible 
 except what was quoted in the Prayer-Book, 
 which he was obliged to use in the Sunday 
 service. He could read the Prayer-Book 
 with a great deal of dignity and unction. 
 This was, in fact, his strong point, his beau- 
 tiful elocution, and he made the most of it. 
 
 He practised daily, and attended all the 
 theatres he could without creating too much 
 scandal. In fact, he had hesitated a long 
 time between the stage and the Church. 
 
116 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 His laziness finally got the better of him, 
 and he took to the Church. . He had the 
 virtue of being supremely contented, never 
 for a moment losing consciousness of the 
 fact that no other calling would pay him five 
 thousand per year for the smallest possible 
 expenditure of himself in exchange. His 
 sermons were only fifteen minutes in length, 
 and required no effort to write them, being 
 a flow of euphonic utterances, differently ar- 
 ranged from Sunday to Sunday, and with a 
 new label attached. But he was very popu- 
 lar. He knew how to talk to the ladies, 
 especially the old ones ; and, as they ruled 
 the church, of course his position was per- 
 fectly secure. He received his visitors with 
 careless grace. His little white hand gave 
 each one a cordial greeting. When spoken 
 to on the subject of the marriage between 
 Gooch and Blanche, he remembered it. He 
 admitted that the lady acted strangely, but 
 he supposed that nothing was out of the 
 way. 
 
 "I do not consider it my business," he 
 said, " to make any inquiries in the matter." 
 
 " I suppose you are willing to tell all you 
 know, in order that justice may be done." 
 
 " Of course," he replied. " I regret the cir- 
 cumstances of the case, and am sorry that 
 he is such a villain." 
 
 " Didn't he look like one?" 
 
 rt Perhaps he did ; but he was well dressed, 
 paid a liberal marriage fee, and quoted Script- 
 lire volubly. In spite of his looks, I pre- 
 sumed he was a godly man." 
 
 " I refer you to Miss Kennedy to explain 
 the infinite outrage that she has suffered, and 
 I .shall depend upon you to undo it," said 
 Charlie. 
 
 " Indeed I will," answered the Reverend 
 Adonis. " Truth is stranger than fiction. I 
 feel quite upset. Won't you take a smoke ? 
 I must do something to settle my nerves. I 
 think I must take a vacation, and go to 
 Europe. This is too bad." 
 
 " What a foot-ball of destiny that man is I" 
 said Charlie to Will, as they came out. 
 "He's good or bad as circumstances de- 
 mand. He was the tool of Gooch ; and now 
 
 he is willing to come to our rescue, seeing 
 that we also have money. But, if he had 
 been a man, he would have prevented this 
 wrong. He could easily have detected that 
 foul play was being done, and might have 
 deferred the ceremony until he had learned 
 the facts more fully, had it not been for that 
 big fee." 
 
 " He is the type of the world, easy-going, 
 taking things as they are, and making the 
 most of them for pleasure," said Will. " He's 
 not a truth-seeker, he has no problems to 
 solve, he floats in the sunshine, is well mean- 
 ing ; and yet what instrumentalities for evil 
 such men become ! " 
 
 " He is a good representative of the Chris- 
 tianity of to-day, neither hot nor cold, but 
 simply slush without backbone or definite 
 purpose. You can't depend on Christianity 
 to-day for anything except what is popular. 
 It has no original force, it is only a wind- 
 mill. It veers to the heaviest force ; and, if 
 that happens to be right, then Christianity is 
 right, and shouts for freedom and justice. 
 See this reverend Sapphire, this Adonis, this 
 curled Hyperion, he is as obedient to the 
 dictates of the world as a boot-black. So 
 long as we are on the winning side, he's our 
 friend, he'll stick to us like a burr, he knows 
 a good thing afar off, and points for it like 
 a hound. He's our ally, because we can feed 
 his stomach ; he has neither head nor heart. 
 He's all abdominal." 
 
 After a while, they came to Dick's cosey 
 little home. He was flourishing now under 
 his own vine and fig-tree. 
 
 " What a time you've had of it ! " said he. 
 " You've been knocked round the four quar- 
 ters of the globe." 
 
 " Yes, we've seen a good deal inside and 
 outside of this planet," said Charlie. " We 
 shall know something of life, if we keep on." 
 
 " You'll never know as much as my baby," 
 said Dick. " He's the wisest man of us all." 
 
 "Fetch him along, and we'll give him 
 an examination. I've no doubt he'll pass 
 muster." 
 
 The baby was just six months old, " fresh 
 as the morn and brilliant as its star." Dick 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 117 
 
 bounced him with his big arms, and he 
 seemed like embodied music. Polly fol- 
 lowed close behind, watching every dainty 
 motion of the remarkable youngster ; for of 
 course he was remarkable. Babies are al- 
 ways on the popular side, and might be 
 Presidents, if only by some magic they could 
 contrive to be as smart when grown up as 
 when they are born. Who can tell why 
 manhood does not justify all the brilliant 
 promises of babyhood ? 
 
 Juncta Juvant was this baby's musical 
 name. 
 
 " That's the motto of our fire department," 
 said Dick. "' United they assist.' How's 
 that name for a baby ? We call him June 
 for short." 
 
 " Stick to that name," said Charlie. " I like 
 it, because it means something." 
 
 " It's a good motto, * United they assist.' 
 That's humanity, and that's sense." 
 
 " We'll take this baby as a prophet of the 
 future," said Charlie. " He shall tell of what 
 will be in the good time coming, when, 
 instead of fighting each other, we shall help 
 each ether." 
 
 " Will that time come?" 
 
 " Yes, so sure as this baby laughs. Look 
 at him. There's a fortune in every dimple. 
 I hope you won't spoil him, Dick." 
 
 '* I don't mean to," said Dick. " I won't 
 lick him any way, nor give him candy to 
 eat. For the rest, I guess he can take 
 better care of himself than I can." 
 
 " You've hit it," said Charlie. " I'd hate 
 to have him go to school and learn Greek 
 and Latin, as I suppose he must in order to 
 be respectable." 
 
 " I want he should know more than I do," 
 said Dick. " Knowledge does help a man." 
 
 " Real knowledge does, but it's a question 
 if one don't get more of that out of school 
 than in it." 
 
 " He shan't go to school yet awhile," said 
 Polly. " I'll teach him his letters." 
 
 "That you will," said Charlie. "But 
 don't spoil him with too much care. Let 
 him go bare-foot and build mud-pies." 
 
 "I'll see to it that he's no house-plant," 
 
 
 said Dick. " I believe in out-doors. It has 
 taught me the heft of what I know, and it'll 
 teach him something too. We get lots out 
 of our tussle with the elements. In driving 
 the large herds over the prairies, I could beat 
 the college chaps in seeing what was going 
 on. I remember one poor devil came down 
 there to take a hand in our wild life. He 
 was glib on Greek and Latin, I tell you ; and 
 he had a cartload of books, but he threw 
 them all away, and went to studying the 
 horses and cattle. He could hardly tell a 
 mule from a cow at first, or a dandelion 
 from a sunflower, although he could call 'em 
 by the longest names. He got toughened 
 to it, and became a mighty good drover ; but 
 he forgot his Greek and Latin, and now he 
 can raise the best cattle in Texas." 
 
 " I suppose you mean to make June a col- 
 lege boy." 
 
 "Of course. He can take the higher 
 branches at least, like rowing and football. 
 I'm bound he shall know all about them. 
 I hope he'll catch Latin enough to translate 
 his own name, and I want he should figger ; 
 and I'm in hopes he can make a stump- 
 speech." 
 
 "Make a stump-speech? You want he 
 should run for office ? " 
 
 " That's kind of natural, you know. Every 
 true American likes to run for office. It's in 
 the blood. It don't hurt a man, unless he's 
 whipped." 
 
 "Hurrah for democracy!" said Charlie. 
 " That's what it means, that everybody shall 
 run for office. Poor June, alas 1 you must 
 be a typical American." 
 
 "I shan't insist upon it," said Dick. 
 " Perhaps he'd rather work for a living." 
 
 " He may be lucky enough for that. I 
 hope he will win his bread in the sweat of 
 his face." 
 
 June seemed to take all these words in 
 and understand their meaning. He was 
 indeed a prodigious youth. Polly danced 
 around as bright as a butterfly, and it is 
 marvellous what heaps of work she did 
 besides caring for the baby. 
 
 " How your fingers fly 1 " said Charlie, as he 
 
118 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 watched her sewing. " I should think you'd 
 want a little rest." 
 
 " That's not our business," said Polly: 
 " Men rest, but we women have to keep on." 
 
 "That's not fair. I think we ought to 
 change works." 
 
 "Oh," laughed Polly, "then we'd have to 
 do it all. We'd finish your job in a jiffy. 
 You'd bungle ours, and we'd have to do it 
 over again." 
 
 " Women are a blessing, and no mistake. 
 I begin to appreciate them." 
 
 "How fortunate for you! We always 
 have appreciated ourselves, and have had 
 the fun of knowing that we were doing 
 something." 
 
 " We don't have that enjoyment. Our 
 general feeling is that we are in the way." 
 
 "Not so bad as that. You are slightly 
 endurable," laughed Polly. 
 
 " Then, I'll remain ; and, if I can't be use- 
 ful, I will try to be ornamental." 
 
 " * A Japanese young man,' I suppose, as I 
 heard them sing the other night." 
 
 " So you have heard the new opera, then. 
 What do you think of the l aesthetic craze ' ? " 
 
 " It's sensible. I believe in looking well." 
 
 " That's woman's art ; but how are knee- 
 breeches for a man ? " 
 
 "The knee-breeches are handsome, but 
 the man doesn't seem to suit them. He's not 
 handsome enough." 
 
 "That's the trouble. We can't be aes- 
 thetic. Beauty is for woman." 
 
 " And we make the most of it, don't we ? " 
 
 " That seems to be woman's privilege, and 
 I admit she has almost learned the art of 
 transfiguration through her supreme art of 
 dress; but I fear we may never know 
 whether her art is true or false. The influ- 
 ence of adornment is so subtle that we can- 
 not decide whether it is woman through her 
 dress or dress through the woman that is 
 delighting us. Moreover, we don't know 
 why a fashion accepted as artistic and grace- 
 ful to-day is banished as awkward, uncouth, 
 to-morrow. If there are absolute and eter- 
 nal laws of beauty belonging to the art of 
 apparel, the same as there are inherent 
 
 principles of nature that work to the accom- 
 plishment of beauty, then, alasl woman 
 does not make the most of her divine pre- 
 rogative, but is too often misled. How can 
 a costume at once be beautiful and trouble- 
 some, for the purpose designed ? How can 
 a fashion which restrains or limits any free- 
 dom of movement have in it the principles 
 of true art? Why are women not more 
 ready to use what is comfortable in dress ? 
 Depend upon it, this is her only safe guide 
 to the beautiful." 
 
 "Why, bless you!" said Polly. "The 
 women would change their dress in a min- 
 ute, if men would let them. There is noth- 
 ing on earth a man likes to hate as he does 
 a female dress reformer." 
 
 " I think that is because she does not un- 
 derstand her work. She must know how to 
 be a reformer in her field and not a 
 agitator. When woman will dress for heal! 
 and utility as well as for grace and beaui 
 then woman will add another sceptre to 
 might by which she rules the world." 
 
 "They are coming to it. Woman 
 take care of herself," said Polly. 
 
 " I believe it, seeing that she takes care 
 us so well. She's had a double duty." 
 
 " And half a reward," added Polly ; " bi 
 she won't stop until she can make her o\ 
 terms. As for me, I'm satisfied. Dick am' 
 very rich, but he has a way of giving 
 change that makes me feel independent 
 a queen ; for he never seems to begrudge ii 
 acts as if I had as good a right to it as 
 and as though he would just like to give 
 a heap more, if he had it to give. I tell yc 
 there's nothing like having a little money 
 call your own and spend as you like." 
 
 Juncta Juvant was asleep, softly smilii 
 in his wondrous dreams. What an eterru 
 blessing children are ! It is for them we toi 
 and look beyond the burdens of to-day to 
 their glad to-morrows. They ever come 
 laden with measureless wealth. The jewels 
 we place at their feet cannot equal the jew- 
 els which they flash over our arduous way. 
 They are the royal meistersingers. With 
 million voices, they sing the beautiful chorus 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 of the dawn, the eternal dawn that ever 
 mingles with the eternal night of life. So 
 that, in the weariest way, we have something 
 of brilliant cheer. Inevitably, they are both 
 birth and death, and each renders to each 
 its largest glory. Backward and forward, 
 the resplendent lights come and go, from 
 life's endless morning to its endless evening. 
 
 How beautiful is home in the midst of it 
 all, father and mother and the tender child 1 
 It is this which constantly elevates and re- 
 fines. Dick had never been " regenerated." 
 He was a rough child of the soil. He and 
 Polly believed simply in this world, and the 
 common life they lived; in the home where 
 their affections gather, and the flowers 
 bloom, and the fruit is garnered. It was 
 a matter-of-fact world, but it was all they 
 knew. Full of care and perplexities there 
 was still in it many a silver thread of pure 
 enjoyment. The home is not built upon 
 dogma : it does not depend upon any system. 
 It grew up out of the heart of man ; and so 
 long as the heart of man endures, so long as 
 there are birth and death, so long will there 
 be a home in every spot where the foot of 
 man may rest. Here the rudest will find 
 ennobling influence. Here will be touched 
 the harp of the world's sweetest joy. The 
 Church may vanish, but the fireside endures. 
 It sparkles with no supernatural light. It 
 glows entirely from the bosom of earth. It 
 is the lustre of our humanity. 
 
 The wildest heart bends to its immortal 
 shrine, and the bitterest wound is healed 
 in its gracious shadow. It is founded on 
 human love. It is the constant mediator 
 between sorrow and joy, bringing to the 
 former the undying impulse of the latter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " So THE days of war are upon you," said 
 Charlie to Jimmy. 
 
 " Indeed, they are, pell-mell. I have made 
 Tip my mind not to run." 
 
 " That's right. You can't dodge 'em : you 
 must meet them." 
 
 " My manhood is at stake, and that settles 
 
 it. I thought I could stay in the Church, and 
 in a certain poetic way satisfy the wants of 
 the people ; but it's no use. There are heresy 
 hunters, and they have brought me to bay. 
 Either I must be cowed down or fight." 
 
 "Fight of course. It'll do you good. I 
 have always thought your method wrong. 
 Sooner or later there must be an issue : you 
 cannot join the old and the new, they are 
 radically different. Christianity has ceased 
 to grow : there is no more evolution in it, 
 no more blossom and fruit. It is simply in 
 the stages of decay." 
 
 " I am afraid so. It is hard, however, to 
 think it ; for how much of the world's life 
 has been wrapt up in Christianity ! How dear 
 it all seems, the heroes and the martyrs of 
 the Church, the songs, the litanies, the once 
 beautiful hopes and dreams ! I was listen- 
 ing to Beethoven's symphony last evening. 
 How wonderful it is, expressing such depths 
 of human passion, such glory of aspiration I 
 It grew out of the soul of the Church, a 
 marvellous harmony, sublime as the stars, 
 and as immortal, too, I think." 
 
 " So say I ! And, in my way, I can enjoy 
 that music as deeply as if I bent at the 
 shrine of the Church. I grant that the 
 Church has been a form of human passion, 
 and as such has expressed a real thing, a 
 tremendous life; and the music of the 
 Church has thus been created like the ocean, 
 and will go rolling on through the centuries. 
 Music survives, while theology dies; for 
 music was never born of theology, but of the 
 human heart. Beethoven's music, like the 
 winds and the waves, is a part of nature. 
 We might as well expect the mountains to 
 cease to be as these mighty strains. At the 
 same time, the intellect utterly disproves the 
 dogma through which this music assumed 
 its form." 
 
 " I find it difficult to separate these things. 
 I enjoy the past. 'Tis distance lends en- 
 chantment to the view. Those old heroes 
 and saints and even sinners seem grand in 
 the mist of ages ; and I love to think that 
 their life is a part of ours. I love the 
 Church, the spire that points to the sky. 
 
120 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 Every time I look at the lofty emblem, I 
 am filled with unutterable thoughts. The 
 Church was alive once, glorious, beautiful. 
 Can it be that it is dead, and that we must 
 bury it out of sight?" 
 
 "This is the sadness of destiny. There 
 was a time when Christianity was new and 
 buried the old." 
 
 "I see the necessity. I have allowed 
 myself to drift. To a certain extent, I have 
 confused my conscience, I have been senti- 
 mental. One must be true to the dictates 
 of his head, or he cannot be morally strong. 
 The heart alone cannot be our guide, how- 
 ever beautiful the visions which it unfolds." 
 
 "How did this come upon you? Your 
 congregation like you, don't they ? " 
 
 " Yes, though as a matter of fact I have 
 preached nothing but primitive paganism 
 since I have been here, only I haven't called 
 it by that name. The people are hungry 
 for that sort of thing. I read the Greek 
 poets more than I do the Bible. The people 
 want paganism, pure, sweet nature worship, 
 only you must call it Christianity. You 
 must introduce it with a text of Scripture ; 
 but, after you are started, you will find that 
 Seneca or Plato is much more delightful 
 to the average Christian than St. Paul. I 
 rather enjoy this sly preaching of the dear 
 old Greek philosophy and poetry. I'm 
 caught now, however. Skinflint is after 
 me. At the Conference, he asked me up 
 and down if I believed in hell-fire. I dodged 
 the question of course, but he has been so 
 persistent that an answer is demanded and 
 expected of me. Several of my prominent 
 church members told me to say yes, and 
 have the matter done with. They would 
 not permit me to say no, although every 
 one admitted his disbelief in the horrible 
 doctrine. But they said : You can't run a 
 church without it. You must have it stored 
 away somewhere as an article of faith, but 
 you needn't show it nor talk about it. All 
 that was necessary, therefore, was to say, Yes, 
 I believe in hell-fire ; and I could have gone 
 on preaching paganism to my heart's content, 
 and implicitly denied hell in every sentence 
 
 J 
 
 I uttered. But here I was brought to 
 issue. I could reconcile it to my conscience 
 to conceal the truth ; but, when it came to 
 telling an outright lie, then my conscience 
 revolted. I couldn't silence Skinflint, and 
 I couldn't keep the golden silence I had 
 desired for myself." 
 
 " Why don't you withdraw without mak- 
 ing any battle ? You don't believe in this 
 fundamental Christian doctrine. Why not 
 quietly step down and out? Why remain 
 in the Church at the sword's point ? " 
 
 " I know that men of the world look at it 
 in this way. It seems the commou -sense 
 way. What is the use of a squabble ? But, 
 in these things, each must act out his own 
 life. I am so constituted that I cannot take 
 the responsibility of going forth from the 
 Church. To do so would cause me infinite 
 pain. It is like bidding an eternal farewell 
 to a mother. I know that I radically differ 
 from the church creed, but the Church is 
 more than a creed. It has been a life, a 
 part of the moral progress of the race ; and 
 I say to myself, Because I hate the creed, must 
 I tear myself from the soul I love ? Will 
 not the creed perish, while the soul endures? 
 It is with the innermost spirit of the Church, 
 as breathed by a thousand noble men and 
 women in the centuries that are gone, that 
 1 agree ; and, spite of the dogmas, I would 
 abide with that. So I cannot follow the 
 cool dictates of my head. I cannot pack up 
 my trunk and leave the old home with a for- 
 mal good-by, for I cannot take all tny in- 
 heritance with me. A thousand things I 
 must leave behind. Of my own will, I can- 
 not go. The Church itself must take the 
 responsibility, and thrust me forth. I do 
 not desire martyrdom nor notoriety. My 
 purpose is to let the Church make the fiat 
 of my departure. I have a right to do this, 
 in order that ever after I may be certain of 
 my course, and never cast one longing look 
 behind. I ask the Church to let me work 
 in sincerity, just as I am, amid its dear as- 
 sociations. If it refuses, then from hence- 
 forth I am free, and the whole universe shall 
 be my home." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 121 
 
 " How does your wife take this change ? " 
 
 "She is thorough orthodox, I believe. 
 She was born and bred to it, and never ques- 
 tioned it. I have not had an hour's talk 
 with her upon the subject. When I told her 
 the issue that was to be met, she was with 
 me at once. I was indeed astonished. She 
 had been, I think, most of her life, in a sort 
 of chrysalis state, her artistic nature brood- 
 ing amid a stiff wrapping of outward Ortho- 
 doxy. When the moment came for her real 
 life to be manifested, then she flew forth, free 
 from dogma, ready to enjoy all the glory of 
 the new-found sky. She represents the slow 
 and subtle progress of the artistic or purely 
 poetic nature. The intellectual nature goes 
 forth first ; while art remains at home, and 
 dwells in the order already attained. It 
 dreads to go forth into the raw, rough world. 
 It wants the comfortable fireside. But when 
 the sturdy intellect, in spite of all obstacles, 
 has built up a new world, more beautiful 
 because more truthful, than the old, then art 
 hastens to dwell therein. Do we not see how 
 all literature, painting, sculpture, music, are 
 freeing themselves from the trammels of the 
 past, and drawing their noblest inspirations 
 from fresh human needs and themes ? " 
 
 "I think you had better come to dinner 
 now," said the little artist, bursting like a 
 sunbeam into the study. " I know you have 
 been discussing theology. It must make you 
 hungry, for it is the dryest and boniest of 
 subjects. It is neither meat nor drink." 
 
 "I am willing to give it up for a good 
 steak," said Charlie. 
 
 " Yes, we will cheerfully go to the stake," 
 said Jimmy. " We are willing martyrs there 
 every time." 
 
 "Would that all discussion on theology 
 had ended as comfortably as this!" said 
 Will. " Why is it that theology makes men 
 hate each other so ? " 
 
 " Because they talk about what they don't 
 know, and there is plenty of room for vanity 
 and prejudice. What is theology but an in- 
 finite lumber-room of prejudice, pride, con- 
 ceit, and all the idols that man is prone to 
 worship? No wonder that it makes people 
 crazy." 
 
 " Don't talk it in my presence then," said 
 Milly. " I wonder that you men will 
 bother about it. Women never think of 
 such things. They are too sensible." 
 
 " That's the privilege of their birth," said 
 Jimmy. " They are not expected to settle 
 the problem of the universe, and so they 
 can be happy. I do pity the born theolo- 
 gian. He makes himself and everybody 
 else uncomfortable." 
 
 " This dinner is a good preparation for 
 your martyrdom. You are better off than 
 the old-time heretics." 
 
 "That shows the progress of the world. 
 A hundred years ago or so, I should be in 
 a dungeon instead of eating this delicious 
 roast. I suppose Father Skinflint would 
 like to see me roasted. But he was born 
 too late." 
 
 "And you were born too early. A 
 hundred years hence, your radical thought 
 will be food for the conservative." 
 
 "Not necessarily. The purpose of radi- 
 calism will itself be served, when freedom 
 of thought has become universal. When 
 this is done, free thought can go no farther 
 in this direction ; for it will have accom- 
 plished that by which all other things may 
 be accomplished. Radicalism and conserva- 
 tism will then be succeeded by new terms, 
 for we shall not need them. Liberty will be 
 the universal state in which all minds can 
 peacefully work; and liberty will employ 
 new methods of science and thought, and 
 new terms by which to enforce them. With 
 such impulse and aids as these will give to 
 future arts and inventions, what may we 
 not expect ? Under this horoscope, I confess 
 that, for my own sake, I was born too 
 early." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! It is all wonderful," said Milly. 
 " I begin to wish that I hadn't been born yet 
 awhile. So many discoveries are being 
 made that we wonder what will happen 
 next, and how we would find things a few 
 hundred years hence. At any rate, we 
 should find a few things the same. The 
 beautiful endures, and I for one will seek 
 that." 
 
 " I am afraid you are aesthetic. To seek 
 
122 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 simply the beautiful is not manly nor 
 womanly, is it?" 
 
 " Why not ? If , as you say, beauty and 
 truth are united, then, if we earnestly seek 
 the beautiful, we must find the true ; and we 
 find it in the best and most practical way." 
 
 "I grant that, to a certain extent. I 
 suppose we must make beauty the supreme 
 end ; for, as Goethe says, Beauty is the truth 
 and something more. Yet we know not 
 always what is beautiful, unless we first 
 know what is true ; and the most beautiful 
 things come when we simply seek the true." 
 
 " The soul of art is, indeed, truth ; but art 
 manifests truth, and so becomes our teacher. 
 And, through art, it seems to me, the highest 
 ever comes. The poet tells us more than the 
 mathematician." 
 
 " Yet the poet must be a truthseeker. 
 He must be a mathematician, or he cannot 
 perfectly express his art. He must sing by 
 measure." 
 
 "What he seeks finally is melody, not 
 measure. In studying music, I must study 
 the scale ; but it's music that I'm after, and 
 not mere technique. I think knowledge is 
 useless, unless it can inspire." 
 
 " That may be so, yet our highest ideals 
 spring from what we know." 
 
 " Perhaps not always. Sometimes, our 
 ideals precede our knowledge, and lead to it. 
 The poet hears the song before he realizes 
 its form." 
 
 " That's a bit transcendental. You can't 
 prove it." 
 
 " Oh ! you men always ask for proof. 
 We women take things on trust. You like 
 this plum pudding, I know; but you can't 
 prove it." 
 
 "Except by eating, and I will agree to 
 furnish the most ample proof." 
 
 " Well, the way we prove most things is 
 by eating or using them." 
 
 " That's a good test. Anything that we 
 can't eat or use is untrue." 
 
 "Now, you agree with me, and furnish a 
 woman's reason. A thing is good because 
 it is good." 
 
 " Then let me, like a woman, have the last 
 
 word. Beauty is use, and use is beauty ; and 
 beauty and use make for us the truth. Our 
 practical life is the best revelation that we 
 have. As the proof of the pudding is in the 
 eating, so the proof of every theory lies in 
 what can be accomplished by it. The uni- 
 verse is a blank until it becomes expressed 
 in our personal work." 
 
 "I will answer in music," said Milly. 
 "And, then, you won't complain of my 
 tongue. A little Chopin will prepare you 
 for your evening's entertainment, the eccle- 
 siastical council, where dogs delight to bark 
 and bite." 
 
 She played the sweet, fantastic strains of 
 Chopin, which so wonderfully express the 
 pathetic and mystic side of human life. 
 Music is the veritable voice of the infinite, 
 which in its essence can be sounded only 
 through melody. That which words have 
 vainly tried to exhibit is brought to us in 
 the inexpressible tone-colors of music. 
 The wondrous blending of sounds, the intri- 
 cate harmonies, the tossing to and fro and 
 mingling together of delicate strains and 
 massive movements, these manifest, as no 
 splendor of thought can manifest, the limit- 
 less soul of the universe. Music is forever- 
 more the prophet of man's undying glory. 
 
 She closed with a little of Wagner, whose 
 strains like a sea of fire seem to whirl in 
 tumultuous wreck, yet anon ending like a 
 benediction. This was music by which one 
 could scorn the tyrants and fools that rule 
 by custom and not by sense. 
 
 " ' The shades of eve are falling fast.' 1 
 must take my banner and go forth and cry, 
 * Excelsior.' I suppose by morning I shall 
 be lying at the foot of the icy Alps of 
 Orthodoxy, all my youthful enthusiasm 
 quenched. Come on I As Luther says, 
 4 Though a thousand devils were in the way, 
 I won't turn back.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 DEMOREST was obliged to meet the issue 
 at last, in spite of his reserve. The conflict 
 was irrepressible. There is too much 
 deadly antagonism of thought. The old 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 123 
 
 will not allow itself to be calmly supplanted 
 by the new. It clings tenaciously to life. 
 Things may go smoothly for a while, and 
 the new ideas play nicely into the vacancies 
 of the ancient doctrine ; but, sooner or later, 
 some vital point is touched, and the glare of 
 battle awakes, and disruption takes the 
 place of softly gliding evolution. 
 
 The ecclesiastical council was convened 
 to try him. The church was crowded to its 
 utmost capacity. There were about a 
 hundred ministers present, a queer-looking 
 company. As Ingersoll says, they repre- 
 sented the " salvage " of the intellectual life 
 of the age. Of course, clergymen have a 
 certain sort of information and ability; but 
 they always give one an overwhelming sense 
 of flabbiness. Once in a while there is one 
 who seems desirous of throwing off his 
 clerical garb and being a man among men. 
 These, however, have an air of apology, as 
 if they recognized the intellectual inferiority 
 of their position ; that they did not occupy 
 the van of human thought, and were not true 
 teachers, but mere repeaters. The mental 
 degradation of this class of men is indeed 
 pitiable, compelled to think they must think 
 in chains, and tamely creep in time-worn 
 paths. There are no mountain heights for 
 them, only the jungles of ancient supersti- 
 tions; and, compelled to dwell in these jun- 
 gles, they become a sort of wild beast, despite 
 their white neck-tie and sleek appearance. 
 They will bark and bite and tear in pieces. 
 No class of people are capable of greater 
 injustice than the clergymen; and they are 
 utterly unconscious of this, or of the savagery 
 of their opinions and conduct. Deliver 
 me, said a Massachusetts judge, from the 
 methods of an ecclesiastical tribunal. Surely 
 they are infamous. They either whitewash 
 or they crucify. There is no sifting of testi- 
 mony, no effort to discover the true relations 
 of things, facts are perverted, reason ignored, 
 only prejudice and the petty feelings of the 
 hour triumph. 
 
 " It's like going into a den of tigers," said 
 Jimmy. "Look over the crowd. Can you 
 
 expect justice from a set like that, the 
 cowed slaves of popular opinion ? " 
 
 "You might as well take your staff and 
 start," said Charlie. 
 
 "I will compel them to say something. 
 They shan't evade it. Half these people 
 call themselves liberal. Let me see if they 
 are or not. They hate Skinflint, and yet 
 they will do exactly as Skinflint orders." 
 
 Skinflint was indeed the ruler of the as- 
 sembly ; for he was really the only bigot in 
 it, and therefore the only man of real con- 
 viction, and supreme by the power of his 
 conviction. He believed in hell-fire. You 
 could see that he did in every lineament of 
 his face. There wasn't a chance for a smile 
 in it. It was the face of a mummy, cold and 
 terrible. He could answer any question 
 you might propound concerning any part 
 of the Scriptures, and had a thousand texts 
 at command. He was completely armed 
 and equipped for theological battle. He 
 believed emphatically in verbal inspiration. 
 The salvation of the world depended upon 
 this belief. The word of God must be ac- 
 cepted just as it is. There must be no dis- 
 pute and no doubt. 
 
 In forcing Demorest to say yes or no to 
 this dogma, Skinflint was simply acting out 
 his nature. Others would like to have 
 dodged the issue; but he was relentless, 
 because he was logical. He said very perti- 
 nently, If there isn't any hell-fire, what is 
 the use of the Church? They all saw the 
 point, and meekly obeyed his summons to 
 the combat. 
 
 Brother Balderdash, a famous philanthro- 
 pist and president of the Young Men's Chris- 
 tian Association, was the right-hand man 
 of Skinflint in this all-important struggle. 
 He himself, however, was not much of a 
 theologian or student. He called himself a 
 "Christian worker." He took his creed 
 entirely on trust, and swallowed it whole; 
 and, as hell-fire was a part of it, of course he 
 swallowed that. He could have swallowed 
 anything. He was very receptive, and en- 
 tirely obedient to the dignitaries of the 
 
124 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 Church. He was once a merchant, but 
 found that he could make a great deal more 
 money as a servant of Christ. He had a 
 wonderful knack of begging, and raising 
 funds for the carrying on of church enter- 
 prises. He did some practical good in his 
 way, it must be admitted. He established 
 gymnasiums and coffee-houses, and helped 
 young men to procure situations and spend 
 their evenings with some sort of profit; 
 but all that he did was so saturated with 
 dogma that it was utterly impossible for 
 him to give a piece of bread without giving 
 a piece of advice. In fact, he couldn't tell 
 a man the right street or number without 
 cautioning him not to be on the road to 
 damnation. He was a thorough busybody, 
 aud acted as if the salvation of the whole 
 world was upon his shoulders. 
 
 Of all things, he detested a heretic ; and 
 to deny the existence of hell-fire was almost 
 the unpardonable sin. The only one who 
 made any attempt to oppose the redoubtable 
 Skinflint was the Rev. Ezekiel Milkanwat- 
 ter. He was not quite so barbarous as the 
 rest of them. He had some elements of 
 civilization. He was not cruel and he was 
 not bigoted. He read Darwin and slightly 
 affected Spencer. He was very much in 
 favor of the mythical theory of creation, and 
 fell back upon the Christian fathers for sup- 
 port. He was an easy-spoken man and 
 hated quarrels, and was in favor of " sweet- 
 ness and light." He was of a poetic turn of 
 mind and revelled in Tennyson, but had not 
 one particle of intellectual stamina. His 
 mind was floating as a dream. He had no 
 fixed ideas, no continuity of thought. He 
 was entirely backboneless, and, like a cham- 
 eleon, reflected all the hues of every senti- 
 ment about him. He had a wonderful way 
 of saying nothing. He could not be accused 
 of heresy, for he never made a definite prop- 
 osition. When it came to the test, he could 
 believe as many horrible dogmas as Skin- 
 flint. Why should he deny them, and 
 thereby lose the least comfort in this world? 
 He was not the man to exchange a theoreti- 
 
 cal hell for a practical one by sacrificing a 
 single luxury to his conscience. 
 
 Skinflint made the first address. " It is im- 
 portant," said he, " that we settle the founda- 
 tions of the Church. We are living in very 
 dangerous times. The world is full of error. 
 The word of God is being disregarded, 
 and men will not submit to divine authority. 
 We must take our stand on the rock of 
 ages. Our God is a consuming fire. We 
 need to be saved from his wrath. We must 
 proclaim the atonement, that is our central 
 truth ; but why an atonement, if there is no 
 hell? There is no salvation, unless we are 
 lost. Christ died because of our sins. We 
 must preach this, otherwise we cannot arouse 
 men, we cannot advance the Church, we 
 cannot make it triumphant. I love my 
 young brother, and I want he should see the 
 error of his course and turn to the faith of 
 his fathers. If he does not, then we must 
 deal with him as a disobedient child, and 
 pour upon him the thunders of our condem- 
 nation." 
 
 Skinflint was greeted with great applause, 
 and his remarks were sustained by the two 
 or three who followed him. 
 
 The Rev. Milkanwatter then made his . 
 little speech, slightly differing from Skin- 
 flint, and deprecating any severe action : 
 
 " I agree of course with Brother Skinflint 
 as to the necessity of preaching hell-fire. 
 It is a fundamental part of our beautiful 
 system of doctrine. I always devote one 
 Sunday every year to its special enforcement, 
 and I think it does my congregation good. 
 They are a little more careful of their be. 
 havior for a week or two. They have a 
 realizing sense of what may happen. I am 
 a stanch believer in hell. I feel that it 
 gives me a strength and joy for my work 
 that nothing else does. But I advise re- 
 serve in this matter, and tenderness and 
 brotherly kindness. Remember this is a 
 doctrine that the unregenerate soul is apt to 
 rebel against, as seeming too harsh and 
 cruel; but we must not set our blind reason 
 against the great Jehovah. We must not 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 125 
 
 be at enmity with God, for his ways are not 
 as our ways. . I sympathize with Brother 
 Demorest. He is too good-natured, that's all. 
 He hasn't looked upon the darker side of 
 God. He sees only the beautiful. We 
 must persuade him. We mustn't insist 
 upon too much at once. As for myself, I 
 believe in an eternal hell [applause], and 
 that perhaps ninety-nine out of every hun- 
 dred will go to it [renewed applause] ; but 
 it isn't really necessary for my brother to 
 believe so many will perish. 
 
 " It will be sufficient for the purpose of our 
 council, if our young brother will assent to 
 this doctrine in a certain sense and to a 
 certain extent ; for it is all-important to pre- 
 serve the soundness of our creed, or that we 
 do not dishonor it before the world." 
 
 This address also was greeted with ap- 
 plause, for ministers are dearly fond of com- 
 promise. Most of them wanted to keep 
 Demorest in their ranks, and they were 
 eager to make the test as easy as possible. 
 Milkanwatter was followed by several who 
 advocated his lenient way of dealing with 
 the accused ; and it was evident that persua- 
 sion was to be used as well as compulsion in 
 order that the " lost sheep " might be effect- 
 ually " coralled." There were loud cries of 
 "Amen!" and " Glory to God !" all over the 
 house, and the scene was both amusing and 
 pathetic. 
 
 Balderdash made the closing speech and 
 appeal : 
 
 "I have," said he, "the kindest feelings 
 toward our wandering brother. I sympa- 
 thize fully with Milkanwatter in his efforts 
 to make as easy as possible his return to the 
 fold. We must be careful, however, and 
 not let the bars down altogether. I admit 
 that we must yield somewhat to the spirit 
 of the age, and be moderate in our demands 
 upon the faith of the people. But the line 
 must be drawn, and there is a point beyond 
 which we cannot go. We must stand for 
 revelation as opposed to human reason. I 
 consider it the most noble act of my life to 
 bow down humbly to the Bible and accept 
 its teaching, no matter how much it contra- 
 
 dicts what my unaided intellect affirms. 
 The Bible reveals a hell, an eternal hell. 
 There is no doubt of that. We may soften 
 this fact as much as we please, but admit it 
 we must at all hazards. Unless we do, the 
 prop of our faith is gone. If we have no 
 hell, then we have no heaven ; and so with- 
 out hell we are lost. There is no hope for 
 the elect. I want our brother to put him- 
 self upon the side of hell. I do not ask him 
 to preach it, though I myself desire it. To 
 me, it is a very strengthening doctrine. It 
 gives a force and solemnity to religion that 
 nothing else can. 
 
 " It is for our own highest welfare that we 
 preserve that part of our creed. Only let it 
 be understood that our brother accepts it, and 
 he may say as little about it as he chooses. 
 We come to him in the spirit of Christian 
 charity. We don't wish to fetter him, but 
 we want he should stand for something. I 
 am sure that he will acknowledge the error 
 of his ways, and like an obedient child 
 admit the existence of the worm that dieth 
 not. On this basis, we can shake hands and 
 be brothers, and labor for the glory of God." 
 
 Demorest arose to make his reply. He 
 was greeted with a round of cheers and 
 " amens " and " hallelujahs." There was an 
 evident purpose to move upon his good nat- 
 ure, and by a flood of emotional sympathy 
 compel him to say yes. It was a sore trial, 
 and it required all the manhood that Demo- 
 rest possessed to meet the point distinctly. 
 
 "Brethren," said Demorest, "I am sorry 
 that this issue has come upon us : I do not 
 see any need of it. It does not strike me as 
 it does you. I cannot look upon the doctrine 
 of hell as fundamental to our religion, though 
 I admit that the Bible teaches it. [Cries 
 of "Good!" "Good!"] But it teaches 
 something far more profoundly true ; namely, 
 humanity. This is to me the deepest mean- 
 ing of Jesus. This is what he really taught, 
 for which he died, love and mercy and 
 self -sacrifice. It is that which has conquered 
 the world, and made Christianity of any 
 value. This is the soul of our religion. I 
 concerned myself with nothing more. The 
 
126 
 
 GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 spirit of love, as illustrated by Jesus, has 
 been the theme of my discourses. In doing 
 so, I believe that I have come home to the 
 real needs of men and women. You admit 
 that my preaching has been acceptable. 
 You do not ask me to change its character. 
 You only ask that I give my public assent 
 to a dogma. This dogma you will all de- 
 clare is abhorrent to our human feeling. 
 We revolt against it. We believe in it, be- 
 cause the Bible says so, and because the 
 Church is built upon the Bible. You com- 
 pel me to say that I cannot accept this doc- 
 trine. I do not surrender my reason to the 
 Bible or to you. [There was a tremendous 
 unanimous groan from the whole assembly.] 
 This is a barbaric doctrine. It came from 
 the brain of a savage. If one actually be- 
 lieved it, it would make him insane. You 
 do not believe it. The people don't want it, 
 and yet you have not manhood to tear it 
 from your creed. You are the slaves of a 
 Book, worse even than a pope. I have 
 taught the best part of that Book, but the 
 worst part I shall never teach. It is un- 
 worthy of our advancement. There is 
 something beautiful in the old religion, and 
 I have clung to it on that account. I have 
 sought to draw forth its hidden sweetness, 
 and make it serviceable. If, however, you 
 are determined to ally the Church with the 
 theology of a savage past, and compel me to 
 a lie, then will I accept your fiat and go forth. 
 But remember the fiat that sends me forth 
 destroys your Church. If you put your- 
 selves with a dead barbarian, then the grave 
 opens before you, and you will tumble into 
 it. You will perish, even as these cruel 
 dogmas will perish." 
 
 Of course, -after such a speech, Demorest 
 was unanimously expelled from the confer- 
 ence, although three-fourths of the minis- 
 ters who condemned him felt the truth of 
 every word he uttered. 
 
 "Glad it's over with," said Demorest. 
 " I'm free now. I know my course. Hence- 
 forth, the universe is mine. What shall I do ? 
 That I can't tell. For the time, I can only 
 think and dream. The way of action is not 
 
 clear. But changes are immense and rapid. 
 There is a great field before us, and vast op- 
 portunities. The work of Chainey in Boston, 
 of Miln in Chicago, of Adler in New York, 
 show that the deep heart of the world is 
 awaking to a grander ideal. They voice the 
 new and golden hope. They are the proph- 
 ets of that which is to come fresh and 
 beautiful from Nature herself. I may be 
 able to do something myself : I cannot tell ; 
 but, whether I do or not, that mighty joy 
 of freedom and reason which is in my own 
 soul will leap from a thousand fountains to 
 all the millions of the race. We shall never 
 go back, but forever forward. What is dear- 
 est in all the past of man shall bloom to more 
 splendid fruitage. There shall be less theol- 
 ogy, but more brotherhood ; fewer mansions 
 in the skies, but sweeter cottages on the 
 bosom of the earth. 
 
 " Religion, in its true sense, is the harmony 
 of man's nature. It is the sentiment stirred 
 and exalted by the contemplation of the 
 universe, expressed in forms of reason and 
 binding the soul to progress. Hitherto, it 
 has been at war with itself. In order that 
 it may hereafter become one, its method 
 must be one ; and that method is science. 
 Science is the Christ of the new religion, 
 the constant revealer of divine possibili- 
 ties. 
 
 " That which is to come is not merely a 
 choice expression of the olden truths. It is 
 a vast original movement, which, having 
 passed through the chaotic stage, shows the 
 beginnings of the cosmos, of the ideal re- 
 public wherein all humanity shall ' be good 
 and great, and joyous and beautiful and 
 free.' 
 
 " We spring from the bosom of the past, 
 and all its precious life is ours ; but we are 
 likewise children of the future, and feed 
 upon its boundless promise. Whatever is 
 sweet in Jesus, heroic in Mohammed, divine 
 in Buddha, human in Confucius, we accept ; 
 but, in the fresh light and color of new 
 knowledge and inspiration, we take the 
 golden threads they give, but the woven 
 picture is beyond their utmost conception." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 127 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE San Francisco morning papers con- 
 tained the following " once upon a time," 
 subsequent to the events last narrated : 
 
 Ephraim Gooch, the millionnaire and philan- 
 thropist, is now at the Great Globe Hotel. He 
 has just returned from England, and brought 
 with him an immense fortune, received through 
 his wife, who unfortunately died on her bridal 
 trip to the home of her ancestors. He intends 
 to rear a superb monument to her memory, which 
 will no doubt be an ornament to the city, of 
 which every citizen may well be proud. This 
 great man and lover of his race is also desirous 
 of doing something for the welfare of the world. 
 He is about to munificently endow a theological 
 seminary, which will be called after his name. 
 He will establish several Hebrew scholarships, as 
 he is extremely anxious that this ancient lan- 
 guage should be thoroughly understood, in order 
 that the bulwarks of our faith may be success- 
 fully defended. He himself has some literary 
 ambition, and is preparing for the press a very 
 learned essay on Noah's Flood, in which will be 
 a particular description of the Ark on a new 
 and revised plan, which will no doubt throw a 
 great deal of light upon and in that venerable 
 structure ; for he intends to have the window go 
 all round the boat, which, as all must admit, is 
 a marked improvement upon the old rendering. 
 Mr. Gooch intends also to start a Bible society, 
 and has resolved to present a gold- bound copy 
 to every hotel in the city. He is also on the 
 verge of adopting several infants, and intends to 
 fit them for the ministry. His heart is evidently 
 full of the milk of human kindness, and his 
 pockets are overflowing. He is probably the 
 richest man in the city. We welcome him to 
 our shores. We are sure that he will be a great 
 public benefactor, and will put his money every 
 time where it will do the most good. 
 
 Gooch sat in his elegant reception room. 
 He looked quite king-like in his nicely fit- 
 ting broadcloth suit and gold spectacles and 
 superb watch and chain. He was obsequi- 
 ously waited upon, and requests for aid to 
 many a feeble church constantly poured in 
 upon him. 
 
 Charlie and Will and Jimmy made him a 
 morning call. 
 
 "I am glad to see you, friends," said 
 he. " We parted upon a very sad occasion. 
 My wife died very suddenly. It was hard 
 to part with her, but the Lord's will be 
 done." 
 
 " I am glad you are so submissive," said 
 Charlie. "I hope you will always be as 
 willing to take things as they come." 
 
 "I shall. The Lord giveth, and the Lord 
 taketh away. He ruleth over the nations of 
 the earth, and he doeth all things well. Not 
 a sparrow f alleth to the ground without his 
 notice. I feel safe in his hands." 
 
 " It strikes me things don't always go 
 right," said Charlie. 
 
 " Yes, they do," said the deacon, " unless 
 you are a sinner. The righteous are alwayg 
 taken care of. I expect to be happy as long 
 as I live." 
 
 "But suppose you shouldn't be, what 
 then?" 
 
 " I shall still praise the Lord. He is my 
 shepherd, and I shall not want." 
 
 " What if you had to give up all your 
 money." 
 
 "That can't be possible. No one can 
 make a better use of it than I. The Lord 
 needs me as his steward, and I am perfectly 
 willing to serve. I shall not resign. I shall 
 not revolt as you have, Mr. Demorest. I am 
 sorry for you. I have some tracts for you 
 to read. Your heart is not in the right con- 
 dition. Unbelief always springs out of our 
 depraved natures. Read this tract, ' Total 
 Depravity the Root of Rationalism.' It is 
 very penetrating. Here is another, ' The 
 Folly of Thinking for One's Self.' It is 
 very spiritual. I am delighted with it. 
 Take them home, and read at your leisure, 
 and pray over them. I am afraid you do 
 not pray enough, Mr. Demorest. You are 
 not in a submissive state of mind." 
 
 " I am submissive to my own sense of 
 right," said Demorest. "I could not do 
 differently from what I have done, and obey 
 my conscience." 
 
 " That only makes it worse," said Gooch, 
 " for it hardens you against repentance. 
 May you be converted like Saul." 
 
1-2$ 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " I'm ready for the truth, whatever it may 
 be," said Demorest. 
 
 "I am afraid not," said Gooch. "You 
 reason too much. You should give up, and 
 take the Bible as it is." 
 
 "But there are different ways of under- 
 standing the Bible. Which way shall I ac- 
 cept?" 
 
 "There is only one way," said Gooch, 
 " and that way I know. I have travelled it. 
 Follow me, and you are safe." 
 
 That's the sum of it then. In order to 
 be saved, I must interpret the Bible, and be- 
 lieve it as you do. So it is, after all, your 
 individual credo that I must adopt. Even 
 the Bible won't save me, if I differ from 
 you." 
 
 " I have been illuminated by the Spirit, 
 and cannot be mistaken." 
 
 "Perhaps so, time will tell," said Charlie. 
 " I understand you have great property 
 through your wife, and intend to use it for 
 the advancement of the Church." 
 
 "That is my plan. I want to do good. 
 It seems as if the Lord had performed a 
 miracle in my favor, and that I was specially 
 endowed." 
 
 " You believe in miracles then, even at the 
 present day?" 
 
 " Yes : God will always interfere to pro- 
 tect his saints." 
 
 "You believe in raising from the dead 
 then?" 
 
 " That has always happened in the history 
 of the Church." 
 
 " Would a resurrection be possible now? " 
 
 " I suppose it might." 
 
 "If you should see one living that you 
 thought dead, would you believe it ? " 
 
 " Yes, if I had sufficient evidence." 
 
 " But you renounce evidence, and say we 
 must believe on faith." 
 
 "Circumstances alter cases. It depends 
 on what the miracle is for." 
 
 "You mean it depends whether it's for or 
 against your interest. I can well believe it. 
 I've a miracle that surpasses all your Bible 
 miracles, yet it has been done by human 
 science." 
 
 " I despise science," said Gooch. " It can't 
 perform miracles. It is of the devil." 
 
 " No doubt you'll think so before you get 
 through. Science will be a devil to you, and 
 an avenging angel. Do I not know that you 
 married Blanche by force?" 
 
 " You can't prove it. She is at rest, and 
 your word is good for nothing." 
 
 " I can prove it." 
 
 " I defy you," said Gooch. 
 
 " And 1 defy you," said Charlie. " I can 
 prove it by Blanche's own lips." 
 
 " How can you ? " said Gooch, turning pale. 
 "She is in the deep sea. I saw her there 
 myself, sinking from sight forever, thank 
 God!" 
 
 " She might rise from the sea." 
 
 " Impossible 1 " said Gooch : " the laws of 
 nature are against it." 
 
 "But couldn't God do it?" 
 
 "He wouldn't do it. It isn't for his in- 
 terest to." 
 
 " Not for your God, I grant ; but, if there 
 is a God of justice and mercy in the uni- 
 verse, it was for his interest to do it, that 
 a great wrong might be righted, that a vil- 
 lain might be punished." 
 
 " There is no such God as that. There is 
 only the Bible God ; and he lets nature take 
 her way, and the dead are dead forever." 
 
 "Yes, your Bible God is asleep: villany 
 might flourish for anything that he does. 
 He is the puppet of your own fancy. Let 
 me tell you that Blanche is not dead. She 
 lives to claim her own." 
 
 "You are crazy! You dare to threaten 
 me? Go! I am safe." 
 
 "You think the waters of the sea roll 
 between you and your victim. But know 
 that there is a God in humanity that has 
 circumvented your vile purposes, the human 
 intellect itself, and science that you so much 
 deride. Blanche did not die. It was only 
 the semblance of death. She was taken 
 from the sea by human hands, and in living 
 flesh and blood is ready to meet you and 
 claim the millions that you have put your 
 villanous clutch upon." 
 
 "It's impossible!" cried Gooch. "I'll 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 129 
 
 not believe it. It's beyond human power. 
 Even if she were not dead, you could not 
 have saved her." 
 
 "I saved her myself," said Charlie. "I 
 was in the sea, and bore her in my arms to 
 the 'Albatross/" 
 
 "And I was there too," said the doctor, 
 bursting into the room with Paddie. "It 
 was my invention that saved her. I am one 
 of the witnesses." 
 
 "And I another," said Paddie. 
 
 "Where did you come from?" cried 
 Charlie. " I didn't expect you. Welcome ! " 
 
 "Just from the sea. We've had a gay 
 time, loaded with treasures; and now we 
 are just on time to witness the punishment ^ 
 of this sinner. I'm ready to lend a hand." 
 
 " This is all nonsense," said Gooch. " You 
 think to frighten me: you cannot do it. 
 I have no faith in your absurd stories. 
 This money is mine, and I will not surren- 
 der it." 
 
 " You laugh," said the doctor. " You are 
 blind as a bat. You don't know what sci- 
 ence can do. It is bigger than your God, 
 I can assure you. Jehovah can't hold a 
 candle to it." 
 
 "It can't raise the dead, that I know," 
 said Gooch. 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 "It's impossible. I would never believe 
 it, if I saw it with my own eyes. Though a 
 thousand told me, I would swear that my 
 senses deceived me." 
 
 " How reasonable you are all at once 1 " 
 said the doctor. "No amount of testimony 
 could convince you that a miracle happened 
 to-day. If testimony is so insufficient now, 
 why not equally so eighteen hundred years 
 ago?" 
 
 " Don't bother me," said Gooch. " I hate 
 your logic. I believe what I want to." 
 
 " Confession at last," said the doctor. 
 " That's orthodox, to believe what you want 
 to, testimony or no testimony. We stick to 
 testimony, be it for good or evil. We have 
 no miracle for you to wonder at, but plain 
 matter-of-fact, just what the laws of nature 
 allow, provided we have keenness enough to 
 
 use them. We stuck to nature, and nature 
 has helped us out. We've caught you in the 
 network of her laws ; and you may squirm, 
 but you can't escape." 
 
 " No more nonsense," said Gooch. " You 
 are mad men. These things cannot be 
 done." 
 
 "Can't be done, O you miserable scep- 
 tic 1 " said the doctor. " How narrow your 
 range of thought! What, when the light- 
 nings of heaven can be stored up and sold 
 by the pound for the illumination of our 
 dwellings, when your words can be sent across 
 the sea as articulate as when I listen to you 
 here, when it can, even to its lightest intona- 
 tion, be borne to remotest ages and then let 
 loose, what, do you dare to say that this is 
 impossible? It's the easiest thing in the 
 world. Are there not subtle agencies that 
 can clothe us with the semblance of death ? 
 Are there not instruments by which we can 
 travel through the bosom of the sea? Could 
 we not seize and bear the body of Blanche to 
 a place of safety ? This we did. We have 
 not violated, but have simply worked in and 
 through the laws of nature; and now you 
 can see what you will see." . 
 
 " It's false," said Gooch. " I stand upon 
 common sense and reason. I believe in 
 matter of fact. This is a mere dream that 
 you speak of. I am master of the situation, 
 and I defy you again. What I have done I 
 have done. You cannot touch my gold. 
 No jury in the world would credit your 
 wild tale." 
 
 " Wouldn't they ? " said Charlie. Well, 
 under the circumstances, a jury happens to 
 be of no importance." 
 
 The door opened, and Blanche with Cap- 
 tain Furgeson and his wife came walking 
 in. A deathly pallor overspread the feat- 
 ures of Gooch. He trembled violently. 
 His teeth chattered. He could not speak 
 for a moment. 
 
 " My God I it cannot be I " he cried, as he 
 buried his face in his hands. " This is too 
 horrible!" 
 
 There was a moment of awful silence. 
 Goocb was completely crushed. 
 
130 
 
 GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 "Do you submit?" said Charlie, after a 
 moment. 
 
 " I have nothing to say." 
 
 A police officer stepped in. Gooch looked 
 at him with a vacant stare. 
 
 " You must answer for your crime," said 
 Charlie. " Resistance is useless. You must 
 find your consolation in the prison. Blanche 
 claims her own. There must be no delay. 
 To quote a little Scripture, The way of the 
 transgressor is hard.' " 
 
 Grooch slightly recovered himself. His 
 hypocrisy had become such a habit that it 
 was really a part of his nature. 
 
 " Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth," 
 he said. "I hope I shall be able still to 
 serve him." 
 
 " You'll make a good chaplain, and can 
 preach for the edification of your fellow- 
 convicts. The devil has failed you, and 
 you'd better stick to the Lord after this." 
 
 " Alas for that theological seminary and 
 those poor students and missionaries ! I did 
 it for their sake. The dream of my life is 
 gone. 
 
 " Oh, this unregenerate world 1 " said the 
 deacon, as he passed out between a couple 
 of police officers. 
 
 " You are in the nick of time to see the 
 grand consummation," said Charlie to the 
 doctor and Paddie. " The sinners have the 
 best of it this time, haven't they ? This is 
 a kind of a judgment scene that I believe 
 in, where the goats have something to say 
 in the matter and are not shoved unceremo- 
 niously off. The lamb-like deacon has 
 played his trump card, and lost." 
 
 " We arrived this morning," said Paddie, 
 "and came directly to the scene of battle. 
 We wanted to be in on the home-stretch. 
 It was nip and tuck with miracle and 
 nature, but nature has the best of it. I 
 rather think we surprised the deacon when 
 we showed what really can be done, if we 
 know how. I think for a moment he actu- 
 ally disbelieved the Scriptures." 
 
 " Only for a moment ; for his belief is so 
 inwrought with his selfishness that to lose 
 his faith would be like losing his life. He 
 
 will preach and pray as long as he lives, and 
 at the same time be a damnable villain.** 
 
 "I did want to give him a few parting 
 words," said Blanche, "but he looked so 
 crestfallen that I could say nothing. I must 
 have seemed to him like a ghost. My pres- 
 ence was the greatest punishment he could 
 have, and no words I could utter would 
 have pierced him more. Yet it makes me 
 indignant to feel that he justifies his crime 
 to his own heart by the thought that he is 
 doing it to the glory of God. This man 
 will never feel that he has done wrong. 
 You cannot penetrate his soul with any 
 remorse. He is only sorry because he has 
 failed; and, if he had succeeded, how the 
 world would have praised him ! He would 
 have been heralded as a saint. Justice has 
 triumphed; and it will triumph again and 
 again, but only through humanity and 
 science. I will forget this merciless villain. 
 I am free now, and love is in the air, and 
 all the beauty of nature. How beautiful this 
 world will be when freed from these horrid 
 delusions, and we rejoice simply in one 
 another; when we have no fear, and are 
 strong because we know and can use what 
 really isl I have wealth now; and I will 
 pour it forth for the benefit of a living hu- 
 manity, to clothe and feed their bodies and 
 give them true knowledge." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ALL was merry as a marriage bell. 
 
 " The love knot is to be tied is it ? " 
 
 " Indeed it is so far as outward ceremony 
 is concerned." 
 
 " What is the use of a ceremony, if the 
 heart and mind are united ? " 
 
 " That is a question. We are social be- 
 ings, and must act as such, and to a certain 
 extent there must be outward and public ap- 
 proval. We can't live to ourselves wholly. 
 We are bound together like the atoms in 
 our own body." 
 
 " I see no minister, however." 
 
 "I want none. Marriage is a civil con- 
 tract, and all I need is the civil officer, 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 131 
 
 the representative of public order and de- 
 cency." 
 
 "You don't believe in the words, <What 
 God hath joined together let not man put 
 asunder ' ? " 
 
 "Assuredly not. It is the voice of tyr- 
 anny. We marry for human happiness. 
 We dissolve for the same reason." 
 
 "Is there not an ideal side to marriage? 
 It is something more than a business ar- 
 rangement. It is an act in which our whole 
 being is included as in no other." 
 
 "Granted, and in a certain sense the 
 clergy stand for this ideal side; but they 
 represent so much that is false and mons- 
 trous that their presence is an injury. I 
 prefer the coming together of those I most 
 honor, with music and flowers to represent 
 the high and noble quality of marriage." 
 
 It was a notable gathering. All our old 
 acquaintances were present, and they made 
 a brilliant and happy company. The sim- 
 ple ceremony was performed, and then the 
 welcome flowed from every heart. 
 
 How happy Blanche was in this bloom 
 and splendor of her romantic life, so full 
 of contrasts, and now stretching before her 
 like a shining sea I 
 
 Jennie was one of the company. She 
 had come on purpose from Golden Throne. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you I " said Blanche. 
 " Wasn't that a queer life among the hills ? " 
 
 "It must seem so to you. But so many 
 things have happened in my lifetime that I 
 am not at all astonished." 
 
 "I'm getting used to it myself," said 
 I Blanche. "Time is a magician. His wal- 
 let is full of surprises. Here is Mr. Baker. 
 The last time I saw you, sir, was on the 
 ! jury." 
 
 "I did my duty," said Tim, "though I 
 went agin the evidence. You'll admit that 
 things looked dark." 
 
 "I shudder when I think of that trial, 
 and how fate seemed closing in upon me. 
 Alas, how much injustice there is, when we 
 judge by outward circumstances alone 1 " 
 
 "I don't want to be obliged to judge 
 again." 
 
 "We have to judge sometimes," said 
 Charlie. "Crime must be punished, but 
 the instruments we use are weak. I wonder 
 if it would be better, if there were no such 
 thing as judge and jury." 
 
 "That's my impression," said Paddie; 
 "that is, as soon as we are wise enough 
 to substitute something more correct and 
 humane. Judge and jury are a bungling 
 and hazardous invention for the ends of 
 justice, and quite too often insufficient for 
 the cause they serve. What a mechanical 
 appliance, indeed, to reach the conscience of 
 a case 1 It were almost as safe, so far as the 
 principle depends, to try a man by the * rule 
 of three,' unfortunate remedy to commit the 
 life or honor of a man to the verdict of a 
 jury. The question of guilt, or life or death, 
 is so momentous, and demands such delicate 
 and responsible treatment, that, even if cir- 
 cumstantial evidence were always complete 
 and at hand, the jury applying it should be 
 peerless in judgment and intelligence." 
 
 "We weren't bothered with criminal ju- 
 risprudence on the island," said the doc- 
 tor. " We enjoyed the harmony of anarchy. 
 Let people alone, and they will behave them- 
 selves." 
 
 "I think I should have enjoyed that 
 island," said Milly, "the beautiful flowers 
 that you speak of, and the wonderful curi- 
 osities. I could have roamed over that 
 island forever, and listened to the music 
 of its trees and the sea that broke upon 
 it. I have always longed for the quiet of 
 such a life, to be with nature in her secret 
 haunts." 
 
 "You'd been delighted. I found some- 
 thing every day to astonish, strange ani- 
 mals and birds and wondrous landscapes, 
 caves that seemed miles in length, and cov- 
 ered with all sorts of gems, and marvellous 
 ruins that carried you back to the very 
 dawn of human life. We must picnic out 
 there one of these days." 
 
 " I'm ready," said Milly : " I hope there 
 won't be any ecclesiastical councils out 
 there." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," said the doctor, 
 
 i 
 
132 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 "no anathema, maranatha, no Index Ex- 
 purgatorius. We can take what we want, 
 and leave what we like." 
 
 Dick and Polly were at the wedding of 
 course, and Juncta Juvant in his exuberant 
 glory. 
 
 "He's the lord of us all," said Paddie : 
 "he's the only authority that I shall cave 
 in to." 
 
 " You are right there, pard," said Dick : " I 
 obey the baby." 
 
 " And me too," said Polly, with a sly little 
 nod. 
 
 Bobbins and Jimmy were holding a rather 
 iconoclastic revel over their old fields of 
 labor and belief ; while Paddie, animated by 
 his own voluble exuberance, launched into 
 one of his quaint and headlong speculations. 
 
 Said Paddie : " How much of the golden 
 prime of this planet must be wasted before 
 humanity will know how to value itself ! 
 What a stupendous thought that this earth 
 has been working billions of ages to become 
 the fair spot she now is for us, and yet her 
 success has been as perfect as though all 
 this immeasurable labor had been done for 
 the delectation of my single self alone ! 
 Sublime coincidence 1 First, that a world 
 is made ; second, that I am made to fit this 
 world and use it. Yes, glorious and won- 
 derful coincidence ! What if, after all these 
 elemental throes of nature, man had never 
 come forth from the mighty travail of her 
 loins. But, oh, joy and wonder transcend- 
 ing time and space! The birth is safe, 
 and mother Earth proclaims the miracle of 
 man ! " " Yet," pursued Paddie, with in- 
 creasing ardor of delight, "it were not 
 enough that all this myriad life was formed, 
 if / had been left out. Although how easily 
 could my little clod have been forgotten. 
 There was enough without it, and I may 
 never know if it is needed. But, zounds 1 
 here T am, with a quintillion chances against 
 me. Wouldn't this be a big draw for a lot- 
 tery ? Even so I raffled for existence, and 
 got it! So here is my fortune, drink to 
 it, folks, and laugh and sing and dance; 
 for this is the way to look at yourselves. 
 
 Think how you slipped into life with the 
 chances of countless unborn against you, 
 think of the poor devils you beat, and see 
 what a miracle it is that you are here. 
 
 " Here, then, is my toast to the paradox 
 drawn from creation : The possible greater 
 than the real, as germs exceed fruitage. Let 
 it be the moral of life to make the real as great 
 as the possible, and so justify our place in the 
 real. I tell you life is no humbug." 
 
 " Hurrah for Paddie ! " said Charlie, as all 
 with one accord gave three cheers for Pad- 
 die and his eloquent effusion. 
 
 " Why, that's the best discourse you ever 
 preached," said Jimmy. " It carried the 
 seed all through it, and burst into the flower 
 at the end. That's it, the very essence of all 
 morality and religion. You can't get above 
 this ' Make the real as great as the possible, 
 and so justify your place in the real.' " 
 
 " Don't be too sure of anything," said 
 Grubbins: "when you think you have 
 spoken the truth, you can't sit down on it 
 comfortable, but you generally find it stands 
 for something on the other side that can 
 speak for itself just about as well. So a 
 truth is only half a truth, or one side of a 
 many-sided truth, and you are never through 
 with it. I tell you humbug has its place in 
 life, at least we can make it useful." 
 
 "That is your fortune and ability. You 
 bear your blushing honors thick upon you. 
 Just elected to Congress, I congratulate you ; 
 and I guess that you will do as well as most 
 of them." 
 
 " I take the world as it is," said Grubbins. 
 " I am no reformer, I see no use in it." 
 
 " I do," said Sol Jones : " 1 expect to be 
 made senator by it." 
 
 "Then I should stick to it," said Grub- 
 bins : " I shall take the other tack, and be 
 conservative." 
 
 " There's a chance for us both. The 
 main thing is to be elected. I know that 
 I can serve my country in any position to 
 which there is a salary attached. Pilkins, 
 however, takes the golden mean. He's inev- 
 itably on both sides of every question by 
 natural gravitation, and so is universally 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 133 
 
 popular. I believe you were unanimously 
 elected mayor of Golden Throne." 
 
 " Yes, and a booming city we have," said 
 Pilkins. " I make things fly, a new school- 
 house this spring and a new court-house in 
 the fall. 'Education and justice' are our 
 hobbies." 
 
 "Why didn't Prince Hal come down?" 
 
 "He won't leave Golden Throne. He 
 smokes his forty cigars per day and med- 
 itates. His philosophy is to do nothing, 
 and he enjoys it." 
 
 "I sometimes think he's wiser than us 
 all." 
 
 " My new ship the ' Albatross ' is ready," 
 said Captain Furgeson. " Take a sail to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " That we will ! " cried Paddie, "over the 
 waves of the dark blue sea, our thoughts 
 as boundless and our souls as free. What 
 a luxury there is in the great ocean 1 I feel 
 like the poor woman who had lived in a 
 country place all her life ; and, when she did 
 have a glimpse of the sea, she said she was 
 glad for once to see enough of something. 
 We are awfully crammed in ; and, if it were 
 not for the sea,. we should never have the 
 sense of sufficiency." 
 
 " I couldn't live ashore," said the captain : 
 " I feel all the while as if I hadn't room." 
 
 " The only trouble with a ship is that we 
 can't go shopping," said his wife : " that is 
 all that reconciles me to the land." 
 
 "You can come shopping to my store," 
 said Pippins. "I have some nice cabbages 
 and turnips and a little of everything." 
 
 " That's what I want, a little of every- 
 thing," said Blanche. " Don't you think the 
 more we have, the better we are ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the doctor, " it is right to 
 be dissatisfied and eager for more. There 
 has been too much self-denial and repres- 
 sion. We feel the necessary reaction now, 
 and want more than we can get ; but it is 
 these restless, infinite desires of the heart 
 that have made this earth to ' blossom as a 
 rose.' If we were satisfied with the least 
 possible that we could use, there would be 
 no progress. It is because we want palaces 
 
 and not huts that men know how to rear 
 palaces. To strip man of his wants would 
 strip him of his strength." 
 
 "Is it not man's wants that make him 
 unhappy ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so for the time being, but hap- 
 piness secured at the sacrifice of our wants 
 is a dear-bought happiness. Only that hap- 
 piness is valuable which is secured in and 
 through the multiplication and satisfaction 
 of our wants." 
 
 " Is not contentment better than riches ? " 
 
 " No, if we are contented simply because 
 we are ignorant. True contentment can 
 only come by possession, and riches are 
 useful chiefly by increasing our wants. 
 Wealth that merely crams and stupefies is 
 a curse. True wealth is that which makes 
 more of us, so that we seek for more. 
 Wealth that does not create a new want 
 is worse than poverty. It pampers us, and 
 we die. He who creates a new want is a 
 benefactor as much as he who gratifies a 
 want. To be rich in knowledge and every 
 art, to have accomplished many and beauti- 
 ful things and yet to be unsatisfied, is the 
 highest condition of humanity." 
 
 All departed at last save Will. He and 
 Charlie sat together, and talked over their 
 old-time friendship and adventures. 
 
 " How much I have learned," said Charlie, 
 " since that sad and terrible day ! Madeline 
 has been to me a most noble influence. I 
 feel that this is her precious gift. Through 
 her purity and devotion, I learned to believe 
 in the purity and devotion of others. It 
 was her image glowing in my heart that 
 set me to the defence of little Pete, and 
 made me strong. And, now, all this has 
 come, love, wealth, all that can make me 
 happy." 
 
 " I rejoice with you indeed," said Will. 
 
 " I wonder that you have not found such 
 happiness, Will? A man like you might 
 love and win the brightest jewel." 
 
 "We cannot command love any more 
 than we can command genius," said Will. 
 
 " So you have never felt the divine affla- 
 tus?" 
 
134 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 "I did not say that." 
 
 "Is it possible that you have loved and 
 been disappointed ? " 
 
 " I do not say that either." 
 
 "You do not choose a solitary life?" 
 
 "I do not." 
 
 "You have had some strange experience 
 and have not told me." 
 
 " Some things cannot be told." 
 
 "Yes, there are inaccessible places in 
 every heart." 
 
 "I will unlock the door of mine," said 
 Will. "It will do me good. In this hour 
 of love's triumph, I can talk of love. I have 
 loved deeply, passionately, and yet I have 
 loved in vain. I must walk the earth alone. 
 Listen." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " I WAS in the army of the Cumberland 
 just before the battle of Chickamauga. I 
 had received a slight wound on picket duty. 
 It was necessary for some of us to be quar- 
 tered upon the inhabitants of the neighbor- 
 hood, and it fell to my lot to be taken to 
 the house oc Col. Peyton, a stanch Unionist. 
 His home was one of the most beautiful in 
 the State, situated on the banks of the river 
 and embraced by lovely forests. I enjoyed 
 the profound rest, and was really thankful for 
 the little scratch that gave me cessation from 
 the turmoil of war. For two years, I had 
 been in the rough and tumble of conflict, 
 knocked here and there by an ungracious 
 fate, and too often with the feeling that 
 some one had blundered,' so that the great- 
 est successes seemed to end in nothing. I 
 was worn out, heart-sick with the terrible 
 struggle. I needed for the time being to 
 forget it, and bury myself from the world. 
 I found some old books, which I read to 
 my heart's content. They were translations 
 mostly from the Greek classics. I had never 
 come across them before, or, if I had, had 
 passed them carelessly by. I was astonished 
 to find these old authors so interesting, so 
 true to nature, so full of noble poetry and 
 philosophy. Col. Peyton's daughter Lorena 
 was in charge of the house, with a dozen or 
 
 more servants. We now formed an acquaint 
 ance. In fact, I was deeply in love with her, 
 almost at first sight. She was possessed of 
 fine intelligence, and was ardently devoted 
 to our cause. She was very reserved in her 
 nature, and, while talkative, was at the same 
 time incommunicative of her inner spirit. 
 I had to return to the army in a few weeks 
 and resume my duties, but I was so situ- 
 ated that I could occasionally visit her. 
 How happy I was with this vision of love 
 and peace in the midst of the conflict ! It 
 was a balm to my heart, and I yielded my- 
 self to it impetuously. I did not know 
 whether to declare my passion ; for she gave 
 me nothing that seemed like encouragement, 
 and I hardly dared to break the spell with 
 what might be an unwelcome certainty. So I 
 drifted along, the days went shining by, and 
 I was on what appeared an endless stream of 
 delight. Yet I was admonished that this 
 would not do ; for rumors began to multiply 
 of the advance of the enemy's troops, and 
 the concentration and forward push of our 
 own. One night, I determined to express 
 myself frankly, and be secure for the im- 
 pending changes. It was evening when I 
 left my command. Behind me were the 
 long lines of camp-fires stretching for miles. 
 I cantered along the bank of the river, 
 which was sparkling like a ribbon amid the 
 hills beneath the lustrous stars. My heart 
 was full of fluttering dreams. I believed 
 that Lorena was mine, she had sent me so 
 many nameless messages with her eyes. I 
 longed for the turn in the road, whence, 
 embowered in the groves, her noble residence 
 could be seen. I reached it, and with the 
 eagerness of a lover stuck my spurs into the 
 side of my horse, that I might the sooner 
 catch a glimpse of the temple of my soul. 
 I looked, it was all in flames. The nignt 
 was lurid with the glare. With reckless 
 speed, I plunged forward. There was tumult 
 in every direction. I reached the burning 
 mass, Lorena could not be found. Then, I 
 heard afar the bugle-call that summoned me 
 to my post. I must return immediately. 
 The whole camp was in motion, troops 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 135 
 
 were gathering for the march, I had to 
 plunge into the very midst of the prepa- 
 ration. By morning, we were on our way to 
 meet the enemy : soon, we were in the midst 
 of the battle. It raged, and I was swept on, 
 miles away from Lorena's home. Immedi- 
 ately after the victory, I was ordered to 
 Washington, and not until the war was over 
 did I have a chance to see what was once to 
 me the paradise of the world. I found it 
 only ruins, and no trace of her I loved. The 
 servants had gone, none knew whither. 
 Col. Peyton was dead, and I could not re- 
 ceive the slightest clew to his daughter. It 
 seemed as if the star of my life had set, only 
 to rise in the eternities. I carried her image 
 in my heart. She was the only woman I 
 ever loved. I could love DO other. I re- 
 turned to my home. It was then broken up, 
 only Madeline was left, and we prepared to 
 take our departure for the distant West, 
 each with a different sorrow and memory. 
 That was before we came to Golden Throne. 
 We located in several places, and changed 
 about because of the restless .spirit within. 
 
 " We took it into our heads, at one time, to 
 go to Saratoga. We were eager for a change 
 from the wild Western life, and yet we did 
 not want to take up again with the quiet 
 life of New England. 
 
 " Saratoga was indeed just what we wanted. 
 It was full of the beauty of nature, and yet 
 was alive with all that society can give. It 
 was simply delightful to dwell amid those 
 gorgeous hotels, those beautiful gardens, the 
 lights, and the crowds of people, so gay and 
 happy. We stayed there for a couple of 
 months, and Madeline never seemed to be 
 happier. The place was just what her 
 nature demanded, and so we lingered until 
 the season was over. 
 
 " The evening before we purposed to start, 
 I strolled about the fountains, listening to 
 the music and watching the people. I took 
 up a glass of the sparkling water, and drank 
 in remembrance of the happy days now 
 gone. A lady beside me was waiting for the 
 cup. I filled and handed it to her ; and, as I 
 looked into her face, I recognized Lorena. 
 
 " I grasped her hand. She seemed to re- 
 turn the pressure somewhat coldly, yet her 
 eyes showed that she was glad to meet me 
 again. Her face flushed, and she stood 
 trembling. 
 
 " * I have sought for you long and far,' I 
 said : * where have you been ? ' 
 
 " Almost everywhere,' she said. * Since 
 that dreadful night, I have not returned to 
 Tennessee. I could not ! ' 
 
 " How did it happen ? I came out to see 
 you that very evening, for I had something 
 to say. Your home was in ruins, and you 
 gone.' 
 
 " ' I fled before the enemy came. I had 
 warning from a faithful servant. We were 
 obliged to pass into the Confederate lines. 
 We found our way eventually to Richmond. 
 There, my father died. We were treated 
 with great kindness. After the war, I trav- 
 elled abroad. Our home was in ruins, our 
 property gone. I wished to escape the sad 
 and terrible memory of all.' 
 
 " * I went back to your home. I wrote, and 
 sought in every way to find you. I was 
 afraid that you were dead. Now, we are 
 together again. How happy I am ! ' 
 
 " There was a care-worn look in her eyes, 
 and she seemed to shrink away from me. 
 She replied, somewhat restrainedly : 
 
 " * I am happy too. I thought we should 
 not meet again. I have often brought to 
 mind those happy days in the sweet haunts 
 of my childhood. How fast they went! 
 How like jewels they were set in the dark 
 bosom of war ! How rudely they were torn, 
 and the black cloud swept them from our 
 sight ! ' 
 
 "<They were precious days indeed,' said 
 I. 'In them, my heart's blood flowed as 
 never before. Do you know what I was 
 going to say that evening, when, instead of 
 your face, I met the awful flame? A 
 greater flame than that was in my heart.' 
 
 " * I might perhaps guess, but I will not. 
 Let those days rest.' 
 
 " ' Can we not make them beautiful in the 
 future? Do not the wings of hope hover 
 over them ? ' 
 
136 
 
 GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 " * Memory is better than hope. Memory 
 always abides. Hope flees.' 
 
 " 4 O Lorena, how strangely you talk 1 You 
 were always so reserved that I dared not 
 speak the secret of my heart, until it became 
 like a volcanic fire that must burst forth. 
 Listen to me now.' 
 
 " * Oh, do not/ she said, with a despairing 
 expression. 'You do not know the pain 
 you give me.' 
 
 " ' Pain ? why talk of pain ? Why should 
 we not clasp hands, and talk of joy ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, we can be friends,' she said quietly. 
 
 " * Friends ! That is not the music I would 
 evoke. It is love. Oh, I loved you so deeply I 
 Did you not know it then, could you not see 
 it, feel it? I worshipped you. I was your 
 slave. Ever since, I have borne your image 
 in my heart, I have bent my soul only to 
 you. I can have no other devotion. I am 
 yours ; and, if you refuse me, then am I deso- 
 late indeed. Give me your hand, give me 
 your voice. Why do you turn away, why do 
 you tremble ? ' 
 
 " There was a deathly pallor in her face. 
 She was violently agitated. She drew her 
 hands from mine. There was a look of the 
 most infinite tenderness in her eyes, and 
 then they became suddenly cold. They 
 were like ice indeed. With stately dignity, 
 she repelled me. 
 
 " l You must leave me,' she said. 
 
 "'Leave you! Why?' said I. 'This is 
 too cruel. Give me some explanation.' 
 
 " ' There is no need of any explanation,' 
 she said. 'Be a man, I pray you. If you 
 are a hero, show it now, more than when the 
 cannon roared about you.' 
 
 " There was a dreadful silence for a while. 
 A gentleman was approaching. She laughed 
 a little laugh, and burst out, ' This is fortu- 
 nate, Mr. Burnham. A merry meeting once 
 more. Allow me to make you acquainted 
 with my husband, Mr. Raymond.' 
 
 "It seemed as if I should fall to the 
 ground. Only by sheer will did I force 
 myeelf to greet her husband. I would not 
 for the world have him suspect my agony. 
 I gayly laughed with Lorena. 
 
 " ' A happy meeting. This is one of the 
 freaks of fortune. Mrs. Raymond and I just 
 shook hands in the midst of the war and 
 parted by the red flame of battle : uriexpect 
 edly, we strike hands again where the voices 
 of peace make the air musical.' 
 
 '"This is a pleasure indeed,' said Mr. 
 Raymond, with gracious dignity. ' I hope 
 we shall know each other better.' 
 
 " ' The acquaintance of an hour must be- 
 come the friendship of a lifetime,' said 
 Lorena. 
 
 " ' I shall do my best in that direction,' I 
 answered. 
 
 " The ' small-talk ' flowed. With tremen d- 
 ous effort, I did my share of the conversation 
 until we parted at the hotel steps. 
 
 " Mr. Raymond was a fine-looking man, of 
 noble culture, several years older than 
 Lorena I should judge, and every way fitted 
 to make her a happy companion. 
 
 "I staggered to my room. The cup 
 bliss so suddenly presented was as suddenly 
 dashed to the ground, and darkness was over 
 my soul. If ever any man was tempted to 
 commit suicide, I was. For a while, I was 
 actually insane. The very horrors of hell 
 leaped and burned within my brain. 
 
 What should I do? I felt as if I could 
 not tear myself from her side. She was the 
 loadstar of my life. All my passion was 
 centred in her. All my happiness was at 
 her feet. I would be her slave, if she would 
 only let me rest within her smile. 
 
 " In the morning, I received a letter from 
 her. I know it by heart. I have read it 
 over and over again : 
 
 To my dear Friend, Will Burnham : 
 
 I can only write to yon a few words, the fewer, 
 the better. We have spent happy days together, 
 to me, most happy. Fate separated us. I thought 
 that you were dead. Mr. Raymond has been to 
 me the kindest of friends, the dearest of hus- 
 bands. To him, I have pledged my faith. I did 
 so in my youth, my sorrow, my despair, and my 
 desolation. Perhaps it was a mistake, but for 
 me there is no returning. Perhaps you pene- 
 trate the secret of my heart. I could not keep 
 it altogether from you, but from this time hence- 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 137 
 
 forth it is buried from human sight. Only my 
 own spirit shall know what I feel, and thus what 
 I feel shall be forever pure. I shall not be 
 ashamed of it. It shall mingle with my divinest 
 joy, and be a part of my womanhood and my con- 
 science. If you are my friend, and I know that 
 you are, if you seek my dearest happiness, and I 
 know that you will, please to leave me without a 
 word more. Let me not see you again. Let the 
 ocean, if need be, roll between us. We cannot 
 come together. The more distant we are, the 
 better. No look, no voice, no touch, must ever 
 pass between us. Such is the cry of my woman's 
 soul. Every feeling that you have must urge to 
 renunciation. I need not write more. I think I 
 can trust you. I think you know what justice is, 
 what wisdom is, and that love without justice and 
 without wisdom is but a blasting fire. 
 I am your true friend, 
 
 LORENA PEYTON RAYMOND. 
 
 " 1 read the letter, and I read it again and 
 again. I knew that she was right, but my 
 heart was rebellious. I wanted to be near 
 her. It seemed as if I could not break 
 away. It was like turning from light to 
 darkness, yet to what other conclusion 
 could any manly soul arrive ? Her happi- 
 ness was involved, her honor, her peace. 
 There must be an eternal separation. I 
 must turn my face from her radiant pres- 
 ence. I have not seen her since, nor heard 
 from her. She is my heart's angel. I love 
 her; but I love in the heights of my soul, 
 where all is pure as the glistening snow. 
 Wherever I am, she is with me, beautiful as 
 a star, flashing yet stainless as the dew." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 "YouR story touches me deeply," said 
 Charlie. "It brings before me the hard 
 problem of happiness and duty. We say 
 that what conduces to human happiness is 
 right. I can conceive of no other standard, 
 yet in this case two beings are made infinitely 
 unhappy in obedience to an inherited convic- 
 tion. Is this right ? I confess that I have 
 thought deeply upon the matter, for I have 
 mffered deeply. I do not think that mar- 
 riage is altogether best as now regulated by 
 human custom. Yet in marriage there is 
 
 something sacred and beautiful which we 
 can never believe will be overthrown, hence 
 the delicacy of this question which so pro- 
 foundly affects all human happiness." 
 
 It was late, but Charlie still lingered. He 
 was not one to let even a dear-bought happi- 
 ness take him from a companion in trouble, 
 if he could give one word of sympathy or 
 help. The night was surpassingly fair. Do 
 we not sometimes feel that nature will help 
 us, if we could but get close enough to 
 her, if we could remove something which 
 divides us from her real presence of intelli- 
 gence and goodness? Will evidently ap- 
 pealed thus in mute sorrow to nature for 
 some clue to this painful problem, for he 
 broke the silence with these impassioned 
 words : 
 
 " What a double service nature might per- 
 form, if with her transcendent loveliness and 
 power she could answer by some sign or 
 token to man's conscience of the truth ! He 
 feels that he has a right to expect this ; for 
 nature is eloquent in beauty, and eloquence 
 should always bear some message. We gaze 
 admiringly, imploringly ; yet she has noth- 
 ing to tell us we would know." 
 
 After the joyous feast, the doctor had 
 quietly taken up a case he was adding a few 
 experimental links to, before he could an- 
 nounce it as a confirmed discovery. Elated 
 with the prospect of success and too ex- 
 cited to sleep, he went out into the calm, 
 cool night. Full of his usual suppressed 
 enthusiasm, and more than usually ab- 
 stracted, he fell upon Charlie and Will in 
 time to catch these words, " You say inevi- 
 tably where we see the Lvrgeot happiness 
 there do we see the largest duty; but in 
 this case, as in marriage, almost universally 
 we find uuhappiness " 
 
 "Hollo, boys! What's the matter uow? 
 T believe I'm just in the nick oi time again. 
 You found that scienc could help you out 
 on mid-ocean. Now, I am ready to show 
 you what science can do on land. * Mar- 
 riage,' ' unhappiness, --why of course, and 
 always will be until folks understand the 
 science of this business ; for I tell you there 
 

 138 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 is a science of love and marriage, and it is 
 the finest and most profound of all science. 
 Gooch was binding a love, hand and foot, in 
 the name of religion. Don't forget that a 
 false theology is carrying tens of thousands 
 of human loves over the voyage of life, 
 misplaced and blighted loves, seeking to be 
 free, yet manacled and chained as effectually 
 as was Blanche. 
 
 " To begin at the bottom of this matter," 
 continued the doctor, as though the spirit 
 was gaining upon him to elaborate this 
 theme with his accustomed thoroughness 
 and vigor, "there is a radical upheaval 
 taking place in the old order of things. 
 Theology has for ages been held as the only 
 divinely appointed means for man's re- 
 demption, theology the only connecting 
 medium between this world and the next, 
 theology the only thing that could teach 
 man how to live and die. Thus has theol- 
 ogy, built upon the idea of an inspired rev- 
 elation to man, been used as the fountain 
 source of all religious and moral authority ; 
 and man has accordingly looked to no 
 higher law for human conduct. Almost 
 every idea of duty, goodness, purity, has 
 been conceived and shapened through this 
 theologic system. But now do we see 
 around us the breaking of a new light, 
 the revealment of science, from which inev- 
 itably must form a new and more perfect 
 system of morality. 
 
 Prophets and leaders are everywhere turn- 
 ing to science as the consistent explainer 
 of creation, and to scientific methods of 
 thought and investigation as best meeting 
 the growing needs and problems of our age. 
 I lately 'read this in a leading journal from 
 a professor in one of our foremost colleges : 
 * It is now regarded among the active work- 
 ers of science as a waste of time to discuss 
 the truth of evolution. The battle has been 
 fought and won.' All this points to the 
 significant fact that man must give up his 
 old conception of things, and work out his 
 salvation and happiness on fundamentally 
 different principles from what he has done. 
 And, true to the necessities of the hour, do 
 
 we not see a universal movement to adjust 
 human rights and happiness in accordance 
 with these broader and truer methods ? It 
 is being learned that it is no longer godlike 
 to be meek and poor, that poverty is unnec- 
 essary, an imposition and a curse, to which 
 man should not submit, and labor is rising 
 to resist oppression and demand the rights 
 upon terms of equity. Now, consistent with 
 this new system which yields to no author- 
 ity above reason, experience, science, what 
 shall we do with marriage, which is still 
 viewed as a distinctive and peculiar attrib- 
 ute of Christianity, depending upon revela- 
 tion for its sanction and permanence? In 
 fact, marriage has so long been deemed a 
 sacrament, and holy above all other ordi- 
 nances of the divine will to man, that the 
 deepest and tenderest sentiments of human- 
 ity have justly centred around this tradi- 
 tion ; and it is for this reason the last issue 
 to be lifted from its sacred shrine, and cast 
 before the crucible of science. But must 
 this not be done ? Profane as it may seem, 
 marriage must also take her place in the 
 scale of social problems, and be studied in 
 the light of science. Look around and 
 study the signs of the times, from the ten- 
 dency of modern philosophy to the last 
 strike of mill operatives, and you will 
 realize that a new spirit is breathing over 
 man. He is interpreting life anew, con- 
 sidering its duties by different methods, 
 balancing relations by new standards, arid 
 establishing rights upon more enlightened 
 premises. la a word, he is discarding super- 
 naturalism, and invoking the new authority 
 and religion of science to serve our growing 
 humanity. Shall we give every other sci- 
 ence a place in popular regard, and leave 
 marriage in the shades of superstition, 
 buttressed by priestcraft and tradition? 
 Shall we send other topics to schools and 
 probe other questions to their cores, but leave 
 marriage at home in ignorance of itself and 
 its enormous possibilities of good to our 
 race ? Now, before we can know the rights 
 of any system, we must first know its science. 
 It is precisely for this reason that I would 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 139 
 
 urge the science of marriage, that those 
 entering into its relations may know upon 
 the most approved and rational grounds 
 what are their rights. It is because the 
 science of a thing embraces its rights that I 
 would plead for the science of marriage, as 
 inseparable from its rights, in the same way 
 that we are striving to fix the rights of 
 labor and capital through a science of econ- 
 omy and politics. So may the rights of 
 love and marriage only be found in their 
 respective science." 
 
 "What do you mean by the science of 
 love and marriage?" 
 
 " It is simply the science of chemistry as 
 applied to human affection. In other words, 
 it is the chemistry of love, as explaining 
 what are the principles of attraction and 
 repulsion. As a science, it embraces a vast 
 range of subjects pertaining to the consti- 
 tution of man ; but, for the direct purpose of 
 love and marriage, it deals more particularly 
 with organization, temperament, organic 
 quality, brain, development, etc., and ex- 
 plains what combination of types and quali- 
 ties are fundamentally necessary to the most 
 complete and enduring love. The science 
 of marriage, therefore, embraces those laws 
 by which the greatest possible fitness and 
 harmony between the sexes may be secured. 
 Victor Hugo says that ' social philosophy is 
 essentially science and peace. Its aim is, and 
 its results must be, to dissolve anger by the 
 study of antagonisms.' Equally true is the 
 science of marriage the philosophy of social 
 peace and happiness, because it teaches how 
 antagonisms may be avoided. And should 
 this not be the grand mission of science to 
 prevent misfortune? Give science this op- 
 portunity and sphere, and religion will find 
 her own place and follow it; for science 
 must forever determine what is right, while 
 religion must furnish the impulse to perform 
 it. This is my complaint against Chris- 
 tianity. She has arrogated to herself au- 
 ^nority which did not belong to her. She 
 has attempted to tell man what is truth. 
 She has done well, and bequeathed to us 
 many high and beautiful ideals ; but, claim- 
 
 ing divine prerogatives, she has dethroned 
 herself, while science, claiming only for her- 
 self the natural, shall rule the world. 
 
 Now, I claim that this is a science which 
 affords the only philosophy of love that can 
 be given. The secret of love seems to be the 
 impulse of nature to satisfy her immutable 
 law of supply and demand, a wise law, 
 and self-feeding, by which nature takes 
 what she needs and gives what she doesn't 
 need, by which she balances, restores, and 
 holds her own forevermore in the universal 
 strife. 
 
 Attraction is the principle she employs 
 to execute this law. Now, it has been found 
 by observation and experience that this prin- 
 ciple of attraction operates to the best and 
 most enduring results between bodies which 
 have specially related organic differences, and 
 the reason is obvious, based on the same 
 eternal law of giving and receiving. There 
 is nothing I consider more vitally related to 
 this subject than human temperaments. 
 Temperament has been defined as 'a par- 
 ticular state of the constitution, depending 
 upon the relative proportion of its differ- 
 ent masses, and the relative energy of its 
 different functions,' temperament being the 
 particular arrangement of masses upon 
 which a constitution is built, and the rela- 
 tive activity of its functions. It is, there- 
 fore, temperament which decides the en- 
 ergies and tendencies of an individual, 
 essentially controlling and directing him, 
 and temperament, therefore, which decides 
 what one can best give out of the inter- 
 blending functions of his life, and what one 
 most needs. Guided, then, by this fact, 
 when applied to marriage, one should so 
 choose with reference to these constitutional 
 gifts and needs that marriage should be a 
 coincidence, a fortunate conjunction of all 
 that belongs to both, a joyous reciprocity 
 and a complement of each in the other." 
 
 " Why do you lay so much stress upon the 
 union of different types ? " 
 
 "Because temperaments bearing certain 
 opposite relations to each other furnish the 
 best conditions for the promotion and exchange 
 
140 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 of life forces, upon which the law of reciproc- 
 ity depends. This is one of nature's most 
 persistent laws, and it will seek until it finds 
 what satisfies this demand. Science, then, 
 must teach men and women how to construct 
 marriage, for a happy and abiding marriage 
 can be founded only on these principles. 
 Do you want faithful loves ? They exist by 
 reasons which science can unfold, and by 
 none other shall you have them. Social 
 evils may also find remedy through these 
 truths. When men and women are fitly 
 joined, they will not want to change. The 
 hemispheres would fall apart before a man 
 will leave a woman he most loves. 
 
 One true love holds in it the essence of all 
 other loves, and a true love will never fail. 
 It has the qualities of perpetual youth : it 
 never grows old, except as the rarest wines 
 grow richer and stronger with age ; it is al- 
 ways fresh, because it draws its essential 
 life each from the other, and so renews it- 
 self. Bulwer gives this brilliant epigram : 
 'He who has loved often has loved never.' 
 Power is cumulative, and must centralize to 
 become strong. The same of love. Love 
 will not yield her uttermost sweets and 
 depths except to one, hence various and 
 simultaneous loves are not consistent at 
 once with depth and endurance of love, and 
 promiscuous loves are possible only as they 
 are superficial and selfish. When man seeks 
 women, he loses woman. 
 
 " I say we can't afford to let the Church or 
 State monopolize all the authority on this 
 subject any longer. It works to the regen- 
 eration of our race; and, as such, science 
 must take a part in it. 
 
 There are deep and underlying principles 
 at the root of marriage of more importance 
 to the world than it has ever dreamed. 
 They are many ; but I speak now of hered- 
 ity, because the laws of love are one with 
 heredity. They work to the same end and 
 integrity. Love is true to its own. Every 
 strong and abiding love is made up of 
 strength and virtue, energizing and creative 
 principles which do not end with themselves, 
 but reach on to the fulfilment of love's pur- 
 
 pose, and so restamp and perpetuate them- 
 selves. A great and enduring love implies 
 such an adaptation of means to ends as 
 must involve the harmony of its whole 
 scheme, and so give a promise to its fruits. 
 Who shall say that Beethoven was not the 
 product of such a harmony, himself an 
 embodied symphony, whose score was pre- 
 arranged, and set in these mighty processes 
 of life and love ? Look at it ! How absurd 
 that the world has never thought to ask one 
 question about the mother of Shakspere, as 
 helping to solve the problem of his great- 
 ness 1 Volumes have been written about 
 Hamlet, and ten thousand conjectures upon 
 every other creation of his master mind, 
 but not one question raised about the mys- 
 tery of his own creation, or what were those 
 rare and wondrous influences which con- 
 joined to mould such a consummate genius. 
 But the secret is there: in his parentage 
 resided those subtle affinities, those felici- 
 tous conditions, which flowed to such mag- 
 nificent ends. 
 
 Now, it must be the work of science to 
 find what are these sources of greatness. 
 She need not despair, she has conquered 
 greater difficulties than these. Astronomy 
 triumphs through the persevering calcula- 
 tions of centuries. Medicine laughs at the 
 impossible, but only at the price of vigi- 
 lance, her disciples also holding counsel with 
 each other through the ages, scanning every 
 form of treatment and disease, and compil- 
 ing exhaustless treatises in their behalf. 
 What might not be done by the same zeal 
 in this new science ? It's a shame that, in 
 this nineteenth century of wonders, she has 
 scarcely a resource at her command, out of 
 all the treasure-house of the past. Golden 
 opportunities have been lost ; but there are 
 plenty left, if man will wake up and use 
 them. He must carefully study and define 
 every force, condition, and fact which enters 
 into the ancestry of genius. Instances must 
 be noted, data and statistics gathered, which 
 shall form an encyclopaedia of every mani- 
 festation and circumstance entering into 
 the physical and psychical constitution of 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 141 
 
 genius, and which shall furnish a complete 
 summary of the organic qualities, tempera- 
 ments, dispositions, tastes, pursuits, intelli- 
 gence, and culture, belonging to the parent- 
 age of every philosopher, poet, inventor, and 
 artist known to fame. What invaluable aid 
 would it be to science if it had preserved a 
 record of these ancestral facts in the lives 
 of Homer, Galileo, Plato, Byron, Shelley, 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning, George Eliot, 
 Charlotte Bronte*, and the innumerable 
 dead, whose rapt and glowing visions still 
 keep us company, and form a living host ! " 
 
 " If these truths are so important and far- 
 reaching, ought they not to speak for them- 
 selves, and not depend on science to expound 
 them ? What can outreach human feeling ? 
 If that cannot guide us, may we not well 
 despair of science? Indeed, if feeling is 
 worth anything, should it not agree with 
 science, whether conscious of the agreement 
 or not; and so, justifying itself equally with 
 science, may we not dispense with the sci- 
 ence ? " 
 
 " I cannot say to what extent feeling is 
 blind, and must be educated like every other 
 sense. I admit the impulse to love, as an 
 instinct, can be left to itself, the same as 
 man's appetite for food; but what to eat 
 what is poison, and what nourishment has 
 not been left to mere taste alone. Science 
 and experience have all along broadened 
 man's knowledge here. Besides, we don't 
 know what feeling might do, if everything 
 was right to start with. Ignorance and sin 
 have mightily disordered things, and thrown 
 obstacles in the way of feeling. It is quite 
 probable that feeling would be sufficient 
 to itself, if it could have sufficient op- 
 portunity. Feeling is broad, but the condi- 
 tions for its exercise are narrow. The fact 
 is that feeling has never had a respectable 
 chance for itself, especially with woman. 
 For instance, give a woman the privilege of 
 selection out of all the eligible men in the 
 world, and say, 'Take your choice, but 
 choose wisely,' and I believe her choice 
 would show a perfect concurrence between 
 feeling and science. Be this as it may, we 
 
 need all the help we can get from knowl- 
 edge: there will still be trouble enough. 
 As things go now, it is the merest accident 
 if a man or woman falls in love right ; and 
 the chances are ten to one that marriage will 
 end in a tragedy. Many unfortunate epi- 
 sodes of love are due to various interven- 
 tions thrown in the way of affection, which, 
 if unchecked at the outset, would flow to no 
 evil; but, impeded, it becomes a disease, 
 which, once fastened to a victim, is bound to 
 run its course. It is dangerous, and should 
 be deprecated, these unnatural restraints 
 to feeling. Abnormal conditions of mind 
 and body ensue to induce too great suscepti- 
 bility, and the imagination is ready to lay 
 hold of almost any available and too often 
 it happens the most incongruous object. 
 Victor Hugo understands this phase of love, 
 when he writes of 'dangerous moments to 
 an isolated young girl, whose heart is like 
 the tendrils of a vine, which seize hold, as 
 chance determines, of the capital of a col- 
 umn or the sign-post of a tavern ! ' There 
 is much that passes for love that is only a 
 deep and awful want of love ; and it is this 
 wild hunger that is left to grow upon one, 
 that blinds the soul for a time to its finer 
 needs of love. But these needs of a fine and 
 noble love will not long be denied. If not 
 realized, another hunger follows, to the dis- 
 gust and death of love. Happy for such, if 
 not bound fast when love's illusion wrapped 
 them in its halo ! " 
 
 " How can you help these things ? " asked 
 Will : " folks will always make fools of 
 themselves." 
 
 " Why, that's what I've been talking 
 about : teach them the science of this thing. 
 It won't hurt anybody, and may do a little 
 good." 
 
 " The trouble in such cases is," said the 
 doctor, resuming the same argument, " that 
 lovers don't wait to cool down. True, sci- 
 ence might not keep them from the halluci- 
 nation and its first and transitory phases of 
 passion, but it would save them from mar- 
 riage by showing them at first their consti 
 tutional unfitness for each other. 
 
142 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 Why, do you know, so unerringly do these 
 laws act, as noted by observation and study, 
 that, given sufficient data, and the chances 
 of success in love may be calculated as 
 easily as an eclipse I Like a mathematical 
 problem, you can prove it both ways. Given 
 the known quantity, love, and the or- 
 ganic constituents of the lovers, and I will 
 tell you the sum of it all ; or, given the re- 
 sult of a love or marriage, and I will tell you 
 the organic relations of the other quantities." 
 
 "Well, your enthusiasm does amount to 
 the sublime," laughed Charlie: "you could 
 make a handsome trade out of your science, 
 telling the fortunes of lovers." 
 
 " This is the idea," answered the doctor. 
 " If science don't go so far as to tell folks 
 where to find successful loves, it can at least 
 tell where they won't find them." 
 
 " I believe," said Will, " that thoughtful 
 minds are brooding over these things more 
 than is generally supposed. There is much 
 feeling vaguely afloat that something is 
 wrong, either in marriage as a system or in 
 its abuse." 
 
 "Yes," continued the doctor. "Health, 
 intellect, and beauty are all at stake in this 
 matter. I recently heard a lady severely con- 
 demn another because she refused to live 
 with her husband. Said she, 'My 'mother 
 always lived with my father, although she 
 perfectly hated him ; yet for the sake of her 
 children she would not leave him.' I in- 
 wardly remonstrated against such a mis- 
 taken sense of duty, and wished for the sake 
 of science I could know the fruits of such 
 a marriage. I have since learned that 
 some of the children had been insane. One 
 was almost imbecile, while an utter lack 
 of sympathy and love existed between them 
 all. It is a curse to bear children in hatred. 
 Forced motherhood is iniquitous ; and a sys- 
 tem is either wrong in itself, or has much in 
 itself to reform, which makes it necessary or 
 possible for children to be born except in 
 love. The prime motive to marriage should 
 be love and happiness. If this is not so, of 
 what use is marriage ? " 
 
 " Marriage is deemed necessary to insure 
 
 responsibility and order in the protection of 
 children," answered Charlie. 
 
 "Granted, and you make virtual admis- 
 sion that marriage, as a legal institution, 
 rests upon no claims of its own, but upon 
 those of offspring. If at this point all su- 
 pernatural dictum for marriage is removed, 
 its claims then become reduced to those 
 which are purely natural. It is to these nat- 
 ural claims I would appeal, as the true and 
 only sanction for marriage. We have found 
 that marriage has no object nor value, and 
 should therefore have no claims in itself, 
 except those of love. Now, when love ceases 
 to such a degree as to make marriage odious, 
 and subvert the very purpose for which it 
 should exist, it can have no further claims 
 nor justification in itself for continuance. 
 The only natural claims that can remain in 
 relation to it are those which attach to off- 
 spring. Pursued to this point, the question 
 then reduces itself to this : do claims for the 
 termination of an unhappy marriage out- 
 weigh the claims of offspring for its contin- 
 uance ? 
 
 May not parents equally or better secure 
 the welfare of offspring by some other means 
 mutually agreed upon than the maintenance 
 of a discordant marriage ? This is one of the 
 most trying problems of our age. I do not 
 attempt to answer. I only plead for science 
 to help us find the truth. Marriage can 
 occupy no middle ground : she must stand as 
 a divine institution, and be treated in the 
 light of supernaturalism, or she is a natural 
 institution to be studied in the light of 
 science. I believe, if these issues could be 
 met and fought in the open field of ^science, 
 they could be justly settled. Without speak- 
 ing amiss, it can at least be said, as regards 
 the legal aspect of marriage, that it is but 
 meet and proper that conpulsion should take 
 care of its own results. So long as children 
 are for the most part the fruits of a compul- 
 sory system, compulsion should continue 
 to protect them. This difficulty can only 
 be obviated with the same logic and fitness 
 by urging that the functions of mother- 
 hood shall be forever guarded by her love, 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 143 
 
 and so made absolutely free. Woman is 
 most deeply concerned in this question, 
 and it is she who should speak for herself. 
 If, therefore, motherhood should be free, 
 consistent with this position, must not mar- 
 riage be free ? " 
 
 "In what sense do you ask if marriage 
 should be free? Is not every one free to 
 marry whom he pleases, or not, as he 
 
 I mean freedom in marriage to do what 
 either or both deem best for their permanent 
 happiness and welfare, even if it be toward 
 a dissolution of the bond." 
 
 " Would this not be a dangerous freedom ? " 
 
 " Marriage should demand freedom as an 
 inalienable right, irrespective of any use to 
 which it may be applied. In this sense, 
 marriage would be safer in freedom, because 
 fortified by the truth/' 
 
 " Wherein fortified by the truth, unless 
 used for the truth? And, if freedom were 
 always used for the truth, law might never 
 have been applied to it, and would not now 
 be necessary. Moreover, how can you know 
 that freedom is an inalienable right ? Is it 
 not, rather, a conditional right, depending 
 upon whether used for good or evil?" 
 
 " I claim the right of freedom in marriage 
 on the same ground with man's inalienable 
 right to selfrprotection, and the right to life, 
 liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Free- 
 dom must be the means to this end. Did it 
 ever occur to anybody what a ridiculous con- 
 tradiction it is to pronounce this right upon 
 man, and yet deny him the freedom by which 
 it is possible to use it, and which alone gives 
 it any value ? 
 
 Individual rights are the pivot on which 
 a man may turn himself harmoniously and 
 equitably with those around him ; and, in the 
 exercise of these rights, there is somewhere 
 an exact point where the greatest possible 
 happiness and good of society harmonizes 
 most perfectly with the greatest possible 
 happiness and good of the individual. In 
 the complications of life, it is, perhaps, im- 
 possible to find this happy contact, and 
 hence impossible to evolve a law from 
 
 human conditions, which shall perfectly 
 maintain this equipoise. The law univer- 
 sally chosen as approximating the nearest to 
 this end is the one which concedes that in- 
 dividual rights belong to every one, to any 
 extent which do not violate or trespass upon 
 the rights of others. These rights may be 
 abused to one's self ; but they still abide like 
 the sun of heaven, which shines upon the 
 unrighteous and the just. Were this not so, 
 nature would impeach and confound herself ; 
 for human rights are those eternal and im- 
 partial endowments by which a man may 
 either save or destroy himself, and yet his 
 rights remain unchanged." 
 
 "I admit, doctor, that freedom may be 
 safe for love, because, as you have said, true 
 love is virtuous and constant, and needs no 
 law ; but would not freedom of passion be 
 unsafe ? 
 
 Indeed, does not a strong passion for the 
 time being often mistake itself for love? 
 What, then, but implacable law is strong 
 enough to deal with this most mighty but 
 most subtle and uncertain of human 
 forces?" 
 
 "When I speak of love, I do not mean 
 mere appetite nor desire, but the total ex- 
 pression of a man's nature, wherein his rea- 
 son and conscience are exerted as well as 
 passion and affection. Love is all that a 
 man is, which he would devote in sacrifice 
 and in truth to another. Passion is only a 
 part of this whole: therefore, the whole 
 should rule the part, and not a part the 
 whole." 
 
 "Very true; but suppose what you call 
 love, or the total expression of a man's nat- 
 ure in passional affection, is not employed, 
 but mere passion, and so does violence to 
 reason. Would you justify freedom here 
 as conducive to the highest morality ? Yet, 
 if you admit freedom in love, would it not 
 be arrogance to abridge or deny it to pas- 
 sion?" 
 
 " Unqualifiedly, that conduct is the high- 
 est which subjects itself to reason, and this 
 would be my law ; but I would have it of 
 myself, and not of another. I have no right 
 
144 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 to make even this law of my manhood the 
 law of another. The distinction I would 
 make is this : that, nntil a man infringes 
 upon the rights of others, he should be held 
 subject to his own reason and authority, and 
 not the reason or authority of others. I 
 am willing a man should be controlled by 
 his own conscience, but not by the con- 
 science of another." 
 
 " After all, do you not forget, doctor, that 
 you have just been talking about natural 
 laws, which show that nature herself is 
 bound ? Can there be absolute freedom ? " 
 
 " This is true, but we must not mistake 
 limitations which are fixed and bounded by 
 the natural for limitations which are them- 
 selves unnatural. There is a difEerence be- 
 tween a law which works from within 
 toward the legitimate fulfilment of its ends, 
 and a law which proceeds from without to 
 interfere with and prevent those ends. Yes, 
 there is that in freedom which preserves and 
 expands. Freedom can educate more than 
 repression ; for law makes us responsible to 
 law, while freedom makes us responsible to 
 ourselves, and instead of coldness or opposi- 
 tion is inspired sympathy. The finest 
 processes of life, its noblest results, flow 
 from and toward freedom. The noblest 
 nations and peoples are freest. See what 
 woman is to-day, the proud companion and 
 helper of man : she grows more strong and 
 royal in the freedom she builds herself 
 upon. And, only a century ago, what a 
 slave was woman, her education held in 
 abhorrence, aud even to know how to read 
 denied her as a dangerous license 1 " 
 
 " Would you, then, dispense with human 
 legislation ? " 
 
 " I see no necessity for any ; that is, I be- 
 lieve it should be the function of govern- 
 ment to rigidly enact whatever financial or 
 business compacts parties have entered into. 
 With what else should law concern itself? 
 It should certainly not attempt to legislate 
 in matters of love, for love will brook no 
 laws but its own. Love enforces itself, is 
 its own law, and needs no other so long as it 
 endures. When it ceases, what is any other 
 
 law to it but a tyranny and an imperti- 
 nence? The province of law should be 
 that of arbiter in respect to values, estates 
 and property claims; but, beyond this, it 
 should not go. It cannot arbitrate in 
 human affections, for there can be no honest 
 traffic in love. Feeling appeals only to feel- 
 ing, and will not recognize nor respect law 
 outside of its proper domain. True mar- 
 riage is as sacred as religion, and needs no 
 enforcement above itself. If adapted to 
 human wants, it will surely survive." 
 
 " Are you not guilty of a little prejudice, 
 Doctor ? You despise law in the regulation 
 of social relations, yet would apply science 
 to this effect. If love is its own law, does 
 it need science any more than law ? So far 
 as love is concerned, is not science as cold 
 and bloodless as law ? " 
 
 "Not at all. Law presumes to control 
 love, at least its expression, and would 
 make it amenable to law. Science explains 
 and instructs, and so educates feeling. Law 
 would rule love, while science would teach 
 love how to know and rule herself. I am 
 surprised when I see how men and women 
 suffer human law to do so much where it 
 should do nothing. If love is worth any- 
 thing, if it is not a misnomer, it must be 
 free ; for love cannot be love, unless it is 
 free. Then why should state or society in- 
 terpose their authority, when the love which 
 alone makes a marriage sacred or tolerable 
 has departed ? 
 
 If two human beings most deeply inter- 
 ested and most thoroughly acquainted with 
 their own affairs cannot be supposed to 
 know or decide what is best for themselves, 
 how can any other body or organization de- 
 cide for them? Some marriages are so dis- 
 cordant that they are simply degrading. 
 The highest and finest feelings are daily 
 insulted, and perhaps truth itself is sacri- 
 ficed. This must not be. 
 
 I only ask that marriage remain, as 
 everything else should be, an open ques- 
 tion, open to more light and truth. No 
 arbitrary fiat should be placed upon it ; but, 
 with love and science, it may be committed 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 145 
 
 to the ever living manhood and womanhood 
 of our race." 
 
 " On these grounds, then, you, of course, 
 justify the conduct of George Eliot." 
 
 "I justify it thoroughly. She did that 
 which was right and proper and really con- 
 ducive to human welfare. She did not re- 
 volt against marriage, but only against an 
 unjust and cruel interference with marriage. 
 It was a noble act, a courageous act, an he- 
 roic act ; and it was a wise act, the full, free 
 choice of a far-seeing genius. It was not 
 passion: it was wisdom that dictated her 
 course. It was for marriage that she acted, 
 not against it, fora true and noble and 
 exalted union between a man and woman. 
 She struck against a tyrannical institution 
 based upon superstition and bigotry with the 
 calm persistence of her strong intellect. It 
 was not a mistake. It was a battle that she 
 won for human rights ; and, with my deep- 
 est soul, I reverence her womanly, her splen- 
 did act. She has helped to lift marriage to 
 its true beauty. The greatest ethical teacher 
 of her day, in her union with George Lewes 
 she displayed her noblest morality akin with 
 the severest lessons of her books. Now, 
 boys, I must go back. I did not expect to 
 say so much. You know science is my de- 
 light, and this is a deep one. I have dis- 
 cussed the subject chiefly from a scientific 
 stand-point, because this side of it has, thus 
 far in the world's history, been supremely 
 ignored ; but marriage will never be under- 
 stood nor used to its highest advantage until 
 science has unfolded what belongs to it. 
 Holding marriage as a sacrament, there has, 
 of course, been no place for science. It 
 would be a heresy whose teachings would be 
 blasphemous. Consequently, there has been 
 no way of looking at unfortunate marriages, 
 except in the inevitable light of self-sacri- 
 fice, abnegation, and discipline. There is 
 another aspect of the case, more sound and 
 hopeful because more true. At the same 
 time, boys, don't lose sight of the fact that 
 there is a time and place for the altruistic 
 conceptions of duty in marriage, as have 
 heretofore obtained. Science cannot harm 
 
 these convictions. It will work in harmony 
 with and always to the furtherance of duty. 
 Conscience may be helped by health, so will 
 science supply truth which is needful to 
 goodness and power. I only insist that each 
 one be free to adopt his own methods as 
 best fitted to his individual needs and cir- 
 cumstances. This will be the best in the 
 end, for it will teach men and women how 
 to protect and elevate themselves through 
 noble and worthy loves; and, as character 
 and virtue are above law. so will this be an 
 achievement worthy of the means. Good- 
 night." 
 
 "The doctor is a host in himself," said 
 Will, " so learned, yet artless and modest 
 as a child. I am glad he happened to talk 
 on this subject to-night. I have heard him 
 on every other topic, and have often wished 
 he would get started on this one; for I 
 knew, with his vast experience of life, his 
 erudition and close observation, he would 
 speak to some sense and purpose. He is 
 wise, charitable, honest, and true, and I be- 
 lieve in what he says ; but, between Lorena 
 and me, the principle of sacrifice that he 
 last spoke of is the one for us to accept." 
 
 " Have you ever asked yourself the ques- 
 tion if you had not a right to sacrifice the 
 happiness of her husband, if, by so doing, a 
 greater happiness for Lorena and yourself 
 could be procured ? " 
 
 This is not a question of the mere bal- 
 ance of right, but of simple human nature, 
 which is so constituted that it does seek 
 another's happiness. This is a part of its 
 life. Men are naturally generous as well as 
 selfish, and but very little happiness is ob- 
 tained knowingly at the expense of another's. 
 In the principle of self-sacrifice lies the 
 source of our deepest pleasure. 
 
 We must be happy, according to the law 
 of our being. Happiness is a guide; but, 
 practically, it cannot be the end. The end 
 is what we call virtue. This is what we 
 might say is the choice and approved felicity 
 of man. What makes this is not uncon- 
 nected actions, but actions in obedience to a 
 principle, a principle not derived from God, 
 
146 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 but from man. Man, as a universal being, 
 man, as I understand him, is made for self- 
 sacrifice. As the river is made to run to the 
 sea, or the root to flower, this is his original 
 tendency, as necessary to his happiness, in a 
 large degree, as breathing. 
 
 "What is happiness? It is the perfect 
 exercise of every faculty. To abnegate, to 
 deny, to surrender for another, is a positive 
 faculty of man; and to do these things is 
 a source of supreme pleasure. Do we not 
 often sacrifice a personal convenience for 
 the sake of the lower animals, a horse, a dog, 
 or a worm even? There is a necessity in 
 this. Do you ask me why ? I cannot tell. 
 I simply know that such is human nature. 
 It is selfish, I grant : it is also unselfish. In 
 this case, Lorena and I cannot choose our 
 own happiness : we should not be happy in 
 so doing, in the largest sense. We chose 
 not to be happy, because, in so choosing, we 
 find the greatest joy. Why could we not ? 
 Because, in the terrible pain of it all, there 
 is an unspeakable pleasure: that which is 
 highest in us is thus, and thus only, satisfied. 
 Lorena is her own judge; she recognizes 
 the sacredness of her plighted faith ; that is 
 all in all to her. Her love is too pure to 
 suffer the slightest stain. Her wish to me 
 is law. We do not decide for others, and 
 we do not blame those who seek to break an 
 unendurable bond. We choose rather to 
 suffer than that another should suffer. We 
 recognize, also, that we belong to humanity, 
 and must act for its highest welfare, and not 
 for our own. I could not be happy in Lo- 
 rena's love, if the life of Raymond were 
 thereby crushed. If he were ignoble, if he 
 were so unfitted to her as to make life a per- 
 petual burden, then she would have a right 
 to be free ; but he is a dear and honorable 
 man, and loves her dearly, to whom she has 
 given a most sacred promise. The choice 
 we make is inevitable from what we are, 
 and that ends it. 
 
 " I do not expect to see her again. Am I 
 miserable, therefore, because I thus surren- 
 der a great and beautiful joy? Is life 
 empty? No: for, after all, the greatest joy 
 
 of living is loving; and I can love, I can 
 love. Oh, the wonder of it all! Daily to 
 have her image in my heart, daily to think 
 how noble, how pure, how sweet she is 1 I 
 am in agony, indeed, but miserable I am 
 not ; for life is made great by this love. It 
 is elevated, enlarged. To possess her and a 
 thousand like her in my arms would not 
 equal this infinite joy of loving. Even 
 though I cannot touch her hand or lip, be- 
 cause I have seen and loved her, hereafter 
 all my life is beatified. Though I carry an 
 endless pain, yet in that pain is an endless 
 greatness." 
 
 " How differently we are situated ! I am 
 happy in my love. It seems as if I could 
 not lose it ; for it is a part of my being, and 
 beyond this sweet possession the universe is 
 a blank. I only pity him who has never had 
 a throb of love, whose life is entirely selfish. 
 What does he know of the joy of living? 
 He is entombed in a grave more dark than 
 earth. The moment one begins to love, if 
 only a dog, he begins to live. To love some- 
 thing different from one's self, a flower, a 
 star, a human soul, what power is in it, 
 what a stir of all the faculties ! Love is 
 the magician's wand that shows the secret 
 riches of the most barren spot. It is Alad- 
 din's lamp that compels the finest ministries. 
 How weak one is when he is selfish, how 
 strong when he is loving ! Love is indeed 
 creative. It is continually producing, en- 
 larging, sweeping into new forms and 
 beauty and power. It assimilates all, and 
 it achieves all." 
 
 The two friends separated, the one to 
 love possessed, the other to love unpossessed. 
 Yet each life was crowned; for love is a 
 crowning, whether it sits by our side and 
 weaves a royal robe, or whether we simply 
 behold its marvellous beauty on the inac- 
 cessible heights. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 IT was a brilliant and fashionable audi- 
 ence listening to one of the world's re- 
 nowned singers. All were intent, as the 
 birdlike notes filled the air. Marvellously 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 14? 
 
 sweet they were, like diamond sparkles in 
 the lofty heights of song, an exuberant 
 fountain of melody, that rose higher and 
 higher, and then burst in exquisite strains 
 like flakes of fire. Wondrous music, voice 
 of passion, of tragedy, and of hope, how 
 the heart flows upon its mellow tide, and 
 what revealing pictures it creates ! 
 
 The people were entranced ; and loud plau- 
 dits filled the auditorium, and the gleaming 
 flowers were borne to the stage. Again and 
 again was the singer recalled. It was an 
 hour of glorious triumph. 
 
 Once more, the song flowed rich and full, 
 as if there were a heaven seeming to come 
 fresh from its sparkling bosom. 
 
 " What can lift the human heart so high 
 as this ? " said Charlie. " To me, it is the 
 very glory of human existence." 
 
 " Yet all this wonder of music comes from 
 the pain and agony of life. Without trag- 
 edv, the deepest things cannot be touched. 
 She is singing the wild love-song of Lucia, 
 where the breaking heart breathes its awful 
 woe. How terrible, yet how beautiful! 
 Listen ! " 
 
 The tones of the singer seemed freighted 
 with the infinite suffering of the distracted 
 lover. It breathed despair and unutterable 
 horror ; yet how perfect, how superb the har- 
 mony ! True it is that sorrow is the mother 
 of our greatest conselation ; for only sorrow 
 overwhelming like an ocean could create 
 such magnificence of sound, sweeping and 
 clashing, and then blending and bursting 
 with expressive beauty. The voice of the 
 singer vibrated with all the intensity of the 
 situation, and from the depths of despair 
 poured forth the most ecstatic concord. 
 
 " It is as if a flame were passing over me," 
 said Blanche. 
 
 Softly the last notes trembled on the air. 
 The audience were as still as death, as if 
 eager to hold the vanishing delight. 
 
 There came a sudden and terrible cry, 
 "Fire!" and from the stage swept a col- 
 umn of smoke. Quick as lightning, Charlie 
 had seized Blanche, and was already half- 
 way to the door. 
 
 Will was so intent upon the play and 
 rapt by the passionate music that voiced 
 the deep pain of his own heart that he 
 scarcely noticed the tumult. Afterward, he 
 saw the bursting flame. The surging crowd 
 was before him, pushing and heaving in 
 blind terror. 
 
 He said : " I might as well wait. Perhaps 
 I may be of service." 
 
 That really seemed the only wise course. 
 The crowd was simply furious. There was 
 an end of restraint. It was mad endeavor 
 in every direction, like the wild plunge of 
 animals or waves in a hurricane. People 
 were literally tossed upon one another, and 
 dashed forward and back in the frightful 
 struggle. The flames leaped forth more 
 fiercely. They caught the curtains, and 
 were soon beyond control. It was evident 
 that the building would be destroyed, and 
 the only chance of life was in the open air. 
 They who remained must assuredly perish. 
 
 Will saw that he was hemmed in ; and that 
 he must take his chances to escape when the 
 first fury was over. He was perfectly cool, 
 and calmly awaited the opportunity of es- 
 cape. There were a few who followed his 
 example. 
 
 He did not think simply of himself. He 
 cast his eyes around in search of those who 
 might need the help of his strong arm. 
 
 In the midst of the surging crowd, he saw 
 a woman bending over some one, who had 
 apparently fainted. He soon forced himself 
 to her side. When she turned, he cried, 
 
 " Lorena ! " 
 
 And she said tremulously, 
 
 Will Mr. Burnham I " 
 
 " You must escape. Let me bear you to 
 a place of safety. Now is the time." 
 
 " It cannot be ! " she said. " I must save 
 him." 
 
 She pointed to the body that lay at her 
 feet. It was Raymond. 
 
 " Alas ! we cannot save him," said Will. 
 " It is all that we can do to save ourselves^ 
 and with our best efforts we may perish." 
 
 "I cannot leave him. It would be too 
 cruel. Besides, what can I do ? I might as 
 
148 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 well remain. If I attempt to escape, I shall 
 fail." 
 
 " Not if you trust yourself to me. 1 can 
 carry you forth. I can fight my way. 
 Come!" 
 
 "I cannot. If you have power to save 
 another besides yourself, you must save him, 
 Raymond, my husband." 
 
 "This is too cruel. Save him, and let 
 you perish ? I cannot do it. If I am forced 
 to choose, I must choose you. I would save 
 both, if I could ; but I cannot. In dire ex- 
 tremity, my heart cries out for you." 
 
 " I know you cannot save us both. Then 
 take him in your arms, and leave me." 
 
 "I revolt against this. It is my duty 
 to save the one I love." 
 
 "It is your duty to obey the one you 
 love." 
 
 " Not in such a case. I will obey my own 
 conscience." 
 
 " It cannot be. I plead with you. I can- 
 not leave him. If you will not take him, 
 leave us both." 
 
 " The flames are almost on us. There is 
 no time to dispute. I shall seize you, in spite 
 of your resistance." 
 
 " No," she cried. " Attempt to seize me, 
 and I will plunge into the flames ! Can you 
 not respect my feelings ? " 
 
 " Why should you not feel for me as well 
 as for him ? " 
 
 " He is my husband. I should not leave 
 him." 
 
 " But you command me to leave you." 
 
 " Because I must. Go, if you will ; but I 
 still believe that you are too noble to leave a 
 fellow-creature to perish." 
 
 "I will help him, but first let me help 
 you. I will plunge back into the building, 
 and save him at all hazards." 
 
 " You must save him first. Then, if you 
 can save me, come." 
 
 " Oh, this is horrible ! " cried Will. " Why 
 do you insist ? Why do you compel me to 
 see you perish in the flames, the woman 
 that I love, my very life, my soul V " 
 
 " Is it not better that I should perish in 
 the flames than do the least thing that might 
 
 stain my soul ? Because we love each other, 
 let us be most noble, that we may be worthy 
 of this heavenly gift. Because we love, let 
 us sacrifice. Our love is so pure I would 
 not have the least selfishness in it ; and it 
 would be selfish, would it not, to save our- 
 selves ? " 
 
 " If I could only save you, I would not 
 care. I would willingly perish myself." 
 
 " That is not enough : your love must be 
 willing to sacrifice even me." 
 
 "Why, what commands it?" 
 
 " Honor. Oh, what is love without honor ? 
 Honor we must obey in all things. Honor 
 demands that we save him, not ourselves. 
 If I perish, I gladly perish. Save him, I beg 
 of you, save him." 
 
 The flames hissed about them. The burn- 
 ing tongues almost touched them. The 
 smoke began to roll in thick and heavy 
 clouds above their heads. 
 
 " Lorena, I obey," said Will. " It is 
 almost beyond the power of mortal heart; 
 but I will save him. Then, I will return ; 
 and, if I cannot save you, I will be buried 
 with you in these ruins." 
 
 " Save him, and I will bless you," she said. 
 
 Will seized Raymond in his strong arms, 
 and skilfully and swiftly pushed his way 
 ahead. He was obliged at times to lie down, 
 in order to escape the dense clouds of 
 smoke; while all about he could hear the 
 thundrous crackling of the flames, and the 
 timbers began to fall. Suddenly, as he 
 reached the door, there was a tremendous 
 crash, and a great blazing pile fell. He 
 turned and saw Lorena in the midst, sur- 
 rounded with flame and waving him on. 
 Then, he saw her fall, apparently struck by 
 a descending beam. His heart sank within 
 him. But he said: "I will be faithful to 
 her. Then, I will die with her." 
 
 Heroically, he pushed his way out of ths 
 building, and placed Raymond in a se- 
 cure place, and then rushed back. It was 
 too late. The flames rolled over the pas- 
 sage. He was fronted by a mass of fire, 
 and on all sides was heard the cry, "The 
 roof is falling." 
 
GOLDEN THKONE. 
 
 149 
 
 Will was on the point of darting into the 
 glaring jaws of death, when a gigantic fig- 
 ure leaped before him. 
 
 It was Big Dick. He bore in his arms 
 the fainting form of Lorena. At the last 
 moment, he had rescued her. 
 
 " This way, Dick," cried Will. 
 
 They carried her to the side of Raymond. 
 They flung water in her face. She revived. 
 She opened her eyes. 
 
 "You are saved," said Will. "Here is 
 your husband. He, too, is reviving." 
 
 She touched his hand tenderly. Then, she 
 bent over the face of her husband and kissed 
 his brow, and her long hair fell over his 
 pallid face, and she murmured, "I thank 
 you, I thank you." 
 
 She raised her head for a moment, and 
 looked at Will with inexpressible tender- 
 ness, and then said, " Farewell." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 " HULLO, Will," said Charlie. " This is a 
 surprise. I thought you were at the Antip- 
 odes." 
 
 " 1 have been there, and have just arrived 
 on the lightning train. What a splendid 
 place Golden Throne has got to be ! " 
 
 " Why shouldn't it ? It has many advan- 
 tages. It is a beautiful country round 
 about, and the springs here are delicious. 
 The gold is not yet exhausted. No wonder 
 it's run up to fifty thousand." 
 
 "I can hardly recognize it. When we 
 left, you know, it was scarcely more than a 
 village, straggling about with a generally 
 dilapidated appearance. Now, it has ele- 
 gant dwellings, avenues, and parks, and, on 
 the whole, is a model city. It has grown 
 by magic almost, and seems like a picture 
 out of the Arabian Nights' Entertainment." 
 
 " Come home with me. Our house is on 
 the hill. I'm putting up some new facto- 
 ries. Blanche and I think that is the best 
 way to use our money. We don't want to 
 loaf. We did travel for a year, though, in 
 Europe." 
 
 " I have been everywhere for the last two 
 
 years, since the fire and the rescue of Lorena 
 and her husband. I have not heard from 
 them since. I set sail the next day. Went 
 direct to China. I've been truth-seeking, 
 and trying to bring myself into some kind 
 of conformity with fate, which, you know, 
 hasn't used me very well. That adventure 
 at San Francisco was a terrible experience. 
 It set my whole being tossing like a mighty 
 sea ; and, for months, I could do nothing 
 but hurry from place to place." 
 
 " You look as strong as a giant now. I'm 
 afraid I couldn't have been quite as heroic." 
 
 " I've won the day. I've reconciled my- 
 self to the inevitable, though many a time 
 I felt like plunging into the sea and ending 
 this turmoil of existence forever. That 
 would have been cowardly. Whatever life 
 is, so long as it exists, there is duty and 
 there is hope. I am comparatively happy 
 now. I am ready for work, and something 
 I am going to do." 
 
 "There's enough to do," said Charlie. 
 " Men like you are what the age demands, 
 strong, self-reliant men, who, having con- 
 quered themselves, can conquer the world. 
 What are needed to-day are leaders, those 
 who can sympathize with every particle of 
 humanity ; who know by experience the pro- 
 found wants of every soul ; who, having 
 passion, are trustworthy, because they have 
 ruled themselves in the midst of tempta- 
 tion. We have had enough thought. The 
 wings of speculation are tired. They have 
 beat the dead air of the eternities, and what 
 is the result? Nothing. We want action 
 now, the man who can sow and reap, who 
 can bring forth what is in the earth, and 
 who can make work fruitful and honorable. 
 The problem of to-day is, How shall labor 
 be dignified and duly rewarded? Capital 
 we must have. In no other way can we 
 utilize the inheritance of the past, and con- 
 centrate the forces that we now*have. There 
 must be unity. But how shall we unite and 
 keep all free, so that what all earn is justly 
 distributed? Is it right that one man shall 
 earn eighty-three dollars per day, and an- 
 other but eighty-three cents ? This is nion- 
 
150 
 
 GOLDEN THBONE. 
 
 strous ; and no wonder that labor cries out 
 against it, and is full of the revolutionary 
 spirit. You and I, Will, must meet these 
 issues, and do our best to settle them fairly 
 and squarely. I am trying something of 
 the sort in my establishment here. I am 
 aiming for co-operation : so that the worker 
 shall have a share in the profits, and every 
 man be paid for what he does. All through 
 the ages, labor has been oppressed. The 
 cunning head has defeated the cunning 
 hand, and worn the laurel altogether. This 
 conflict must cease. Head and hand must 
 strive together for mutual justice, or our 
 civilization will go to pieces on the rocks 
 even of its greatest triumphs. We boast 
 of our industry and its magnificent achiev- 
 ments ; and yet, in many respects, it is a 
 Moloch, and not only men, but even women 
 and children, are sacrificed on its iron altar. 
 It is melancholy to see little boys and girls 
 toiling day after day in a petty round of me- 
 chanic service, and having no opportunity 
 for mental cultivation. I tremble when I 
 consider what may be the condition of the 
 masses in the future, when all that the 
 many have to do from morning till night 
 will be to feed some huge machinery, which, 
 with its polished arms and wheels, seems to 
 be more intelligent than they. Look at one 
 of our locomotives. How gorgeous it is, 
 glistening like an ancient warrior, not a par- 
 ticle of rust upon it, as elegant as a lady just 
 from her toilet ! See how it moves, what 
 action, what power, what beauty! And 
 compare that machine, so exquisitely cared 
 i'or, with millions of men and women ; and 
 is it not a god compared with them, a 
 very Jove, seeming to consume not their 
 substance only, but their manhood, being 
 enthroned on their misery ! There is to be 
 a struggle, Will, amid these potent forces of 
 civilization; and we must take hold even 
 more vigorously than the captains of the 
 past. There must be captains of industry ; 
 but they must be full of sympathy, and they 
 must care for the lowest and humblest, and 
 make the great forces that we are now 
 creating subservient not to the few, but the 
 many." 
 
 "I have not thought so much of these 
 things: I have taken pride in our civiliza- 
 tion in a blind sort of way. I have not 
 seen the dangers which you have pointed 
 out. I have seen the oppression of man in- 
 deed. It has seemed hopeless, as if the 
 fortunate few would forever reign. I have 
 fancied our own country was the happy 
 land. But every invention is a source of 
 tyranny, and the period may arrive when 
 mere machineries shall dominate men, even 
 more forcefully and cruelly than the sword. 
 Along with all this progress, there must be 
 more humanity; and we must labor for 
 justice. True it is that eternal vigilance 
 is the price of liberty. When kings and 
 priests have passed away, we have a subtler 
 foe in organized capital and prodigious in- 
 ventions. I'm ready to do what little I can. 
 But I must run up into the mountains now, 
 and look at the old scenes. I am hungry 
 for them. Tell Blanche I will be with you 
 at dinner time. She would rather have 
 some warning of my approach. All women 
 do. They don't like to be taken unawares, 
 even by their best friend. There is always 
 some little fixing up to do." 
 
 Will hastened to the familiar spots which, 
 amid the great changes of the past few 
 years, seemed bosomed in the eternities. 
 For two years, he had been drifting about 
 the world, seeking for resignation and 
 calm. It required all the strength of his 
 nature to meet the conflict and be victori- 
 ous. The awful circumstances under which 
 he met and parted from Lorena had stirred 
 the very depths of his being. His heart was 
 like a volcanic flame. He was in a whirl- 
 wind of passion. His love for Lorena was 
 the religion of his soul. It was not a mere 
 fancy ; for she was to him, in her womanly 
 glory, his heart's ideal of joy and nobleness. 
 She was his higher self, the radiance of 
 what to him was best and most enduring. 
 Hence, it was like tearing his soul apart to 
 surrender her at the dictate of duty. There 
 was no hesitation as to what he should do, 
 but there was a terrific revulsion at the 
 results. He was not, however, a man to 
 tamely yield. He was so healthful in his 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 151 
 
 nature that life was worth living, no matter 
 how bitter the disappointments it contained. 
 If he surrendered his love to his sense of 
 duty, it was because he saw in duty a sub- 
 limer glory still, a more effulgent life, 
 though for the time it might be darkened 
 by his human weakness. 
 
 Therefore, he went resolutely f oward. He 
 saw that life in itself was endlessly rich, 
 that there was still a work to do, and so 
 a great joy. 
 
 He stood amid the noble and mighty 
 forms of the mountains. He looked upon 
 the "Ruined Castle," he traversed "Con- 
 science Pass," and brooded in the wondrous 
 " Throne Room," over which the afternoon 
 sun was throwing its masses of splendor. 
 The towering rocks seemed to welcome him 
 like brothers. The trees, bending and flash- 
 ing in the glorious light, dropped jewels of 
 music upon his path. The cataracts wero 
 like a silvery writing on the mountain wall 
 of nature's poetry. Flowers wonderful and 
 gorgeous, with a million mingling colors, 
 danced along his way, and could be seen 
 like an army with banners far up among 
 the clefts of the hills. He felt within him- 
 self a spirit of triumph, that he was in a 
 sense worthy of these sublime accompani- 
 ments, and could receive their profusion of 
 wealth, because in the great world of men- 
 tal and spiritual life he had not been found 
 wanting. This was, however, scarcely a con- 
 scious feeling in his breast ; for he was not 
 one of those who ever claimed any credit for 
 doing his duty. He would say, I did it be- 
 cause the doing would give me the greatest 
 pleasure. 
 
 He finally wandered to his old homestead. 
 It was in the midst of a beauteous solitude, 
 for Golden Throne had not yet advanced in 
 this direction. The rough-hewn cabin was 
 embowered with roses ; and beautiful vines 
 flowed over it, even to the roof, profuse with 
 blossom. The air was filled with perfume, 
 and the garden left to itself seemed to have 
 received the daintiest touch of nature's 
 hand; for there was scarcely a weed in it, 
 and the brilliant flowers mingled harmoni- 
 
 ously together, as if in remembrance of the 
 delicate spirit that once ministered unto 
 them. A flood of associations, of thrilling 
 memories, rushed over Will's mind as he 
 slowly walked amid these richly freighted 
 scenes. He felt himself in a temple conse- 
 crated to the divine past. He thought of 
 Madeline, of her beautiful and wonderful 
 spirit, that still seemed living in the bosom 
 of his deserted home. What a star she was 
 in his life, and with what a soft and sweet 
 effulgence she shone over his path to-day ! 
 
 He went to the door of his cabin. It 
 was open as if to give him welcome. It 
 probably had been open ever since he left it, 
 for Will, when he bade good-by, said, " This 
 cabin belongs to the world, not to me, to 
 any tired man who wants it ; and, therefore, 
 if I lock the door, I shall be guilty of rob- 
 bery." So many a traveller, no doubt, had 
 found repose beneath its hospitable roof. He 
 entered. What an indefinable yet glorious 
 presence was in it! Almost one might 
 think from its familiar gloom Madeline 
 might reappear to welcome him. A golden 
 flood of sunshine poured in the little win- 
 dow, the rich radiance of departing day. It 
 was a fairy spot indeed, transfigured as 
 every object was in the mellow splendor 
 that joined the day with night like a ring 
 of many-colored jewels. 
 
 There was a visitor in the little cabin, a 
 chance curiosity seeker probably, an ele- 
 gantly attired woman, graceful and in per- 
 fect harmony with the scene. She was 
 evidently in an absorbed and dreamy state ; 
 for she was standing motionless by the win- 
 dow, looking forth over the vast and dazzling 
 prospect. 
 
 Will would have withdrawn, and left her 
 to her quiet meditation. She turned, how- 
 ever, too quickly, and looked full upon his 
 face. 
 
 "Lorena!" he cried, while the blood 
 rushed fiercely to his heart and he almost 
 fell. "Why is this?" 
 
 She was entirely overcome, and sitting 
 down by the table covered her face with her 
 hands. 
 
152 
 
 GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " I did not expect to see you again," she 
 said. "The buried past has all come up 
 before me. It is like the stab of a knife." 
 
 " Fate has brought us together again. I 
 have tried to escape you." 
 
 "Thank you for that. It was not best 
 that we should be together. I should have 
 died." 
 
 " We have done our duty. We have met 
 unexpectedly. Oh, how sweet it is! Alas 
 that we must part again ! " 
 
 " Alas ! " she said slowly. 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment, 
 silently. 
 
 " When did you come here ? " he said at 
 length. 
 
 " Only a few days ago. I came to rest. I 
 do need it so much." 
 
 " I think you do. Is Mr. Raymond with 
 you ? " 
 
 "He is not," she said, while a sudden 
 paleness overspread her face. 
 
 " How long shall you remain ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " This is my old home." 
 
 " Is that so ? " she answered, with anima- 
 tion. " Tell me about it." 
 
 "My sister Madeline and I lived here. 
 This was her room. She made the garden, 
 and planted the flowers and vines. She died 
 here. Yonder is her grave." 
 
 "Let us go and look at it," she said. 
 There was gentleness and warmth in her 
 tones. Apparently, she did not wish to sep- 
 arate from him just yet. 
 
 So they wandered to the grave of Made- 
 line. 
 
 " I was happy here," he said. 
 
 "You must have been," she answered. 
 "It is so quiet. Nothing could have dis- 
 turbed you." 
 
 " Nothing save death. That came at last. 
 Here she lies. See how the. flowers grow 
 over her. This beautiful rose, it is an 
 emblem of her soul, pure and rich." 
 
 " Will you give it to me ? I will remem- 
 ber her with you." 
 
 " I thank you for that. You can remem- 
 ber us together, both dead and both living." 
 
 "I will give you this for remembrance," 
 she said, plucking another rose. 
 
 " I will keep it," he said, " and remember 
 you as I remember Madeline." 
 
 " Are you to remain at Golden Throne ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "I shall go away to-morrow morning," 
 he replied. 
 
 "And travel?" 
 
 " Yes, travel, that seems my destiny now, 
 over the world, seeking what is new." 
 
 " It must be tiresome. Travel for a while 
 is exhilarating ; but, continued, it becomes 
 a task." 
 
 " It is a task." 
 
 " I shall not see you again," she said. 
 
 "No, I must live upon the memory of 
 this hour. It has been very sweet." 
 
 The day was now almost gone, and the 
 stars began to appear one by one. The 
 magic of the night was upon them, and 
 their pulses beat with delicious fervor. 
 
 "Shall I walk back with you?" said 
 
 wm. 
 
 She answered yes. And through the 
 winding pathways, amid the rocks and 
 trees, and over the glistening waters, they 
 passed to the bustling city. 
 
 Its lights were gleaming in the distance. 
 More slowly the two lovers walked, as if 
 dreading the hour of separation. 
 
 "When do you expect Mr. Raymond?" 
 said Will. 
 
 "I do not expect him." 
 
 "Is he in the city?" 
 
 "He is not." 
 
 "How many days do you expect to re- 
 main?" 
 
 "I cannot tell." 
 
 "This is a longer separation than usual 
 from your husband ? " 
 
 " It is," she said nervously. 
 
 "Is he unwell?" 
 
 " He has been unwell : he never quite re- 
 covered from the shock of the fire." 
 
 "He is better now?" 
 
 " I did not say that." 
 
 " You leave him to the care of strangers ? " 
 
 " I could not do so." 
 
GOLDEN THRONE. 
 
 " I know you could not. Yet I wonder 
 tell me, Lorena, is he living? " 
 
 "He is not," she whispered. "He died 
 one year ago, and sleeps beside the sea. I 
 never left him for a moment." 
 
 Her eyes glistened with tears. The moon 
 clothed her with silver radiance, and like a 
 pure vision she stood before her silent and 
 awe-struck lover, over whom swept a flood 
 of agony and joy. 
 
 They could not speak. Death overshad- 
 owed them with solemn and sublime tender- 
 ness. They hardly dared to pluck the jewel 
 which its black waves had borne to their 
 feet, although it was to them the crown of 
 eternity. 
 
 He took her hand, and knelt at her feet. 
 
 What shall I say?" he said. " Now I 
 am free. Now I can worship. The whole 
 ocean of my being leaps with all its music 
 to your beloved shore. Fate, once iron, is 
 now like gold. It glistens, and melts to 
 fervid joy." 
 
 In the heart of night bloomed the rose of 
 love, and the dews of morning touched it 
 with deathless radiance. Like two children 
 in some awful and splendor-crowned tem- 
 ple, they joined hand to hand, and kneeled 
 before the shrine of that mystic power 
 whose noblest effluence and sublimest inter- 
 pretation is the affection which binds man 
 and woman into a twofold yet common 
 destiny. 
 
S53/ 
 


 
 
 
 111 
 
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