Part 2

Nature removes mountains, or creates them, at pleasure. She also makes and unmakes lakes and rivers, to say nothing of oceans and continents. In California, and doubtless in other parts of the world, there are as many dead as living rivers. The miners of California have already discovered the old channels of a dozen or more dead rivers, as they call them, encased and sealed up in the very heart of the mountain ranges, and extending in some instances hundreds of miles in the general direction of the ranges, and leaping from mountain to mountain at a common level or grade. These ancient channels are filled with sand, gravel, and small bowlders, evidently worn and polished by long attrition. Some of the channels are a mile wide, or more, and from ten to one hundred feet deep. In the angles or eddies, the sands are found to be exceedingly rich in gold, sometimes yielding fifty dollars or more to the cubic yard. It is estimated that over five hundred millions of dollars have already been taken from the sands of these dead rivers, and that they are now yielding at least ten millions a year. It is evident that these dead rivers must have been living rivers long before the volcanic era arrived, which elevated the ancient valleys into mountain ranges, and depressed the ancient mountain ranges into valleys.

In the South-American earthquake of August, 1868, thirty thousand lives were lost, several cities entirely obliterated, and three hundred millions of dollars' worth of property destroyed. A tidal wave, more than forty feet deep, swept over the land and deposited, high and dry, and beyond recovery, several first-class ships; the effect of this earthquake was felt along the coast for a distance of six to seven thousand miles. In October of the same year, the city of San Francisco was visited by an earthquake, which shattered many buildings, and destroyed several lives. It is supposed that this was but a prolongation of the South-American earthquake.

In some parts of California and South America, thunder and lightning seldom occur, while earthquakes are frequent; in regions like these, earthquakes would seem to be a substitute for thunder and lightning. In all probability both are but electrical phenomena, differing only in the fact that the one is an earthquake, the other a skyquake. It is in plains and valleys that earthquakes prove the most destructive. Doubtless the solid material composing the mountain ranges affords a better conductor of electricity than the alluvial soil of the plains and the valleys; hence, while the one serves as a lightning-rod, the other becomes the battleground of conflicting elements. It may be that electrical forces are generated in the earth's interior, as well as in the atmosphere, and that the earthquake is but the shock produced by the restoration of an equilibrium. The earth and the atmosphere are essentially the same in their elements, and are ever contributing of their substance to the requisitions of each other.

When physical science shall be so far advanced as to explain the true causes of the earthquake, if it does not make man "master of the situation," it will doubtless place in his hands the power of avoiding, to some extent at least, the calamities which now so often befall life and property.

There can be no doubt that the earth is a physical necessity not yet fully developed; only about one-fourth part of its surface is land, the remainder water. Nearly three times more land lies north of the equator than south of it. Why this should be so, is not quite clear. In the course of the earth's future development, however, it is not improbable that additional continents and islands will appear, and the waters subside into narrower and deeper channels, thus giving to man, and to land-life generally, a wider domain. And yet the present seas were not made in vain, but have always abounded with plant-life and animal-life, though of an inferior order as compared with land-life. Life in itself is infinite, and appears in infinite varieties both on land and in the sea. Whether man needs more land for his use and future development, is difficult to say. At any rate, everything that exists has its mutual relations, and adapts itself to the ultimate aim of Nature,--the perfection of man.

In the Western Hemisphere, the mountains take the general direction of north and south; in the Eastern, the general direction of east and west. In the one hemisphere, the ranges essentially accord with the lines of longitude; in the other, with the lines of latitude. These mountain ranges are but continental watersheds, from which flows the elemental wealth that enriches the plains and the valleys. The rivers and their tributaries are the commercial agents. The rain and the frost are the miners whose labors will never cease until the mountains are levelled. The mountains also attract and guide the storms and modify their force, condense the mists, the raindrop, and the dewdrop, and thus aid in refreshing the valleys in connection with the heat of the sunbeams. In this way the seasons, as well as the elements of the soil, are so modified and vitalized as to give to man seedtime and harvest, and needful food to every "living and creeping thing."

In addition to the world of life that is visible, there is a world of life that is invisible,--a microscopic realm of animalcula, which "live and move and have their being" in every element of life, and in every life, and yet are so minute as to be imperceptible to the naked eye. These invisibles, or infusoria, abound everywhere and in everything. They pervade the sea, the land, the air. They swarm in every drop of water, and revel in every morsel of food. We can neither eat nor drink without infringing on their domain and consigning myriads of them, perhaps, to an unprovoked destruction. They are almost as various in grade, size, and shape, as they are numerous. Some are hideous, while others are comely. They feed on each other, the superior on the inferior, and are ever struggling for life and for the mastery. They engage in the "battle of life" to sustain life, and hold to the doctrine that "to the victors belong the spoils." It is an ascertained fact that a speck of potato-rot, the size of a pin-head, contains hundreds of these little ferocious animals, fighting and devouring each other without mercy and without cessation.

What seems still more surprising is that they probably have a perfect organization,--heart, lungs, stomach, circulation of blood, and are endowed, perhaps, with all the five senses. Infinite numbers of them, it is supposed, exist in so minute a form that no microscope, however great its power, can detect them. Nor need we doubt that even these living invisibles are beset with parasites vastly minuter than themselves, which feed and breed on their surfaces. In the very blood-circulation of the minutest, it is not improbable that other infusoria, still more minute, swim and prey upon each other. The uses for which this invisible world of life were created, though doubtless for a wise purpose, cannot be comprehended. Yet it is evident that every living thing, however minute, has a destiny of some sort, ever progressing, it may be, from a lower to a higher sphere,--from the material to the spiritual, from the finite to the infinite.

"All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul."

The atmosphere, supposed to extend sixty miles in height, surrounds the earth like an invisible ocean, and gives to it almost entirely its life-material. In fact, the atmosphere is the great reservoir of the vital elements, from which is derived the principal part, if not all, the material, solid or liquid, which enters into the composition of both plant and animal, whether it be a blade of grass, a leaf, or a tree; an insect, a fish, or a man. It is true, however, that animal-life is more directly the outgrowth of plant-life; and yet the vital forces of both are derived from the air, and return to the air by solar agencies. It is quite certain that all matter, as seen embodied in various forms, consists entirely of certain gases condensed or solidified by chemical laws. The atmosphere itself, and probably infinite space, are filled with matter in the gaseous form, or in some unknown form, destined to be condensed, dissolved, and recondensed in a series of changes as continuous as the infinite ages.

In this sense, not only the earth, but every other planet, contains within itself the seeds of its own dissolution. Yet matter, whatever its form, is still indestructible, and will forever retain its vital forces. It would seem that life is the soul of matter, and that electricity is the soul of life,--immaterial, it may be, and if so, then immortal. Where the material ends, or where the spiritual begins, it is impossible to say. We know that we are endowed with the five senses at birth. We also know that they are the media through which we receive all the impressions and perceptions of our environment; it is from their report that we learn what is agreeable or disagreeable to our physical needs. We choose the agreeable, and reject the disagreeable. Here reason begins, and pronounces judgment. Memory records facts and conclusions. The physical and the mental grow in strength from infancy to manhood; they are a living unit. The one is real, and the other ideal. Of spirit or soul we know nothing, nor can we prove their existence, unless we accept the proofs as furnished by revelation. It is certain, however, that our moral character survives us and continues to have an influence in the world for good or for evil "according to the deeds done in the body." This fact is something which we can comprehend as constituting the ideal of our spiritual existence. Nor need we doubt that in discharging our duties to our fellow-men, we discharge our duties to God.

Everywhere about us, and especially in atmospheric phenomena, we see an epitome of Nature's processes and marvellous formative power. Not a snowflake falls to the ground that does not bring with it a crystallization of the most beautiful specimens of artistic embroidery, far excelling the finest needle-work ever wrought by woman's hand. The same is true of the silver frostwork traced on the window-pane by the delicate touch of invisible fingers. In truth, every gem that glitters in the mine, every flower of the field, and every star in the sky, is but a crystallized expression of the beautiful, blended with a silent love that is pure and heartfelt, as if akin to us. In reality they are our kindred, and we are their kindred.

Nature seems to delight in creating the wonderful as well as the beautiful, and often combines both in the same exhibition. Hence she entertains us occasionally with a magnificent display of fireworks, known as Northern Lights; or with an apparent shower of falling stars; or with the sudden descent of an aërolite, all ablaze, as if dropped from the fiery forge of the sun; or with a brilliant comet, which with its long and glittering trail sweeps in ladylike style the star-dust from the pavement of the sky. These singular occurrences, though sometimes regarded as ominous, are but a part of Nature's systematic operations. They cannot with any foundation in truth be attributed to accident; for it is impossible that accidents should happen in the workshops of Nature, or in the administration of her government.

How the various meteors are actually formed, or whence they come, is a mystery which has induced much speculation among scientific men. Some say they are volcanic fragments thrown from the moon, or from some distant planet, or perhaps from a crater of the sun; while others, with more reason, suppose that they are generated in space, or in the earth's atmosphere, and are nothing more than condensed gases which constitute the elements of solid matter, and which become in some instances so hardened by chemical action as to assume the solidity of stone or iron.

And hence it often happens that the latter class of these erratic strangers fall from the sky to the earth with a terrific explosion. In ancient times their appearance was regarded as portentous of national or individual calamities. The Chinese have records of meteoric showers, and the fall of aërolites, which occurred more than six hundred and forty years before the Christian era. The Greeks and Romans observed and recorded similar phenomena. Between the years 903 and 1833, not less than nineteen periodical star-showers have been recorded. The regular period of their occurrence is once in every thirty-three years, or thereabout, and usually about the middle of November. But what are called sporadic meteors, or shooting-stars, are of frequent occurrence, and may be seen almost every evening in the year.

The most brilliant meteoric shower on record is that of 1833, when meteors fell at the rate of two hundred and forty thousand per hour, creating the impression that all the stars of heaven had been unsphered, and were falling like a sheet of fire to the earth, and threatening a universal conflagration. Occurring as it did at midnight, and continuing for two or more hours, thousands of people, who witnessed the scene with fear and trembling, supposed the day of judgment had come. In just thirty-three years after this, Nov. 14, 1866, occurred another periodical shower of a similar character, which, though less brilliant, was seen on a more extended scale in Europe than in the United States. Why this apparent storm of fire should occur every thirty-three years, is a mystery which science has not yet been able to explain. It may be a part of the machinery of our planetary system, and is perhaps as regular in its revolutions as the planets; or it may be a method of dissipating an over-accumulation in the earth's atmosphere, or in infinite space, of inflammable gaseous matter, which thus ignites spontaneously, and presents to the eye the appearance of burning sparks flying off, as it were, from the broad anvil and ponderous sledge employed in the great workshop of Nature. Be this as it may, meteoric showers, so far as known, have always proved harmless in their results.

But the aërolite assumes a more formidable character. In outline it is a globular mass heated to intensity, and in its approach comes with a hissing sound, and usually explodes in the atmosphere or when it strikes the earth. Its fragments show that it is a solid body, composed mostly of a ferruginous material. The illumination it creates in its passage through the atmosphere is sometimes seen at the distance of five or six hundred miles. Erratic masses of this kind have been known to fall in all ages and in all countries, and are of frequent occurrence.

So recent as the year 1867, an aërolite of large dimensions fell in Tennessee, penetrating a hillside of rocky formation to the depth of twenty feet. It was seen at a great distance, and came hissing on its way like a planet on fire, and when it struck the earth, produced a shock like that of an earthquake. So intensely heated was it, that for three days after it fell it generated and sent up from the moist earth a dense column of steam, which rose and floated away like a cloud in the sky. When excavated, its mass was found to be composed principally of iron, and measured seven feet from apex to base, and ten feet in circumference. Fragments of it have been preserved, and may be seen at Washington, and in several collections of minerals belonging to scientific individuals. But where did it come from? Did it come from the sun, the moon, the earth, or from some exploded planet? or was it generated in the atmosphere? Though the question has not been satisfactorily answered, there are plausible reasons for believing that aërolites, and meteors generally, are the spontaneous production of atmospherical agencies. Physical forces are at work all over the earth, charging the atmosphere with the identical materials that compose the meteoric stone, or aërolite. Volcanoes emit their gases, and hurl with terrific force burning fragments of rock into the depths of the sky. The tornado, or land-spout, takes up in its grasp sand, with other solid material, and rotates it with such violence as to produce fusion of the mass, giving it a globular form and hurling it to an invisible height, and then leaving it to gravitate brilliantly and rapidly until it reaches the earth. This theory is confirmed by many facts, and especially by the occurrence of a land-spout near the village of Ossonval in France, where, on the 6th of July, 1822, some broken clouds, coming from different directions, and collecting over the sandy plain, formed a single cloud, which covered the heavens, when an elongated nether portion of it descended, presenting its vortex downward, and having its base in the cloud. It then became violent in its revolutions, and being driven by the wind, overturned buildings, uprooted trees, twirling them in the air with liberal quantities of sand and water, which it had scooped up in its course, when from its centre, amid sulphurous vapors, globes of fire were seen to issue, as if projected from an engine of terrific power, attended with a sound like that of heavy cannon discharged in the distance. Throughout its entire course it left the fearful traces of its devastation. The globes of fire which were projected from its centre, it may well be supposed, possessed all the characteristics of veritable aërolites, and were thus manufactured by electrical heat and fusion out of the earth-material lifted from the plain.

Not long since, there fell near Romney, Ind., an aërolite in a liquid, or molten state, which flew into fragments the moment it struck the earth's surface. The spot where it fell was deeply indented and scorched; and the material of which it was composed was found scattered about in the vicinity, having the appearance of cinders, yet moulded into the form of small spherical bodies varying in size from a buckshot to that of a cannon-ball. It is somewhat remarkable that in subjecting fractured portions of the cinders to intense heat, no perceptible odor was emitted, neither was the color nor weight changed. The fact that these cinders descended in spherical bodies would seem to indicate that the parent mass approached the earth in a state of fusion, projecting from its surface, as it revolved, detached fragments, which, taking a rotatory impulse, became its attendant satellites in accordance with planetary laws.

Among many other aërolites that have fallen in different parts of our country, one of considerable magnitude was seen to fall near Concord, Muskingum County, Ohio, on the 1st of May, 1860; it approached the earth with a brilliancy as vivid as the sun, and exploded when it struck. Several fragments of it were excavated while quite hot, one of which, weighing eleven pounds, has been deposited in the Historical Rooms at Cleveland. It is composed of ferruginous matter, and seems almost as heavy as pure iron.

It is impossible for us to comprehend, from the standpoint we occupy in this life, our real relations either to the past or to the present, much less to the future. Earth has her manifold wonders, yet they are but few when compared with the infinite wonders of the heavens. Vast as our solar system truly is, it may still be regarded as but a chandelier suspended in the entrance-hall of Nature's great temple. When we consider that infinite space has neither centre nor circumference, and that it is filled with stars, and that every star is a world inhabited like our own, and that there are still infinite numbers of stars whose light, though travelling at the rate of one hundred and eighty-five thousand miles a second ever since the dawn of creation, has not yet reached the earth, we are lost,--lost in wonder and amazement, lost in thought, still wanting a thought broad enough and strong enough to grasp the infinite. Who is there that would not, if he could, explore the untrodden yet brilliant domains of infinite space,--the garden of God, ever blossoming with golden flowers,--and thus acquire for himself divine wisdom? If we would become as gods, and walk with God, we must learn to partake the food, and drink the beverage, of the gods.

In physical science there is much that has a direct influence on the growth and vigor of moral science. In fact, Nature does much more for the welfare and education of man than he does for himself. The mountains elevate his thoughts, and teach him moral sublimity. The vast ocean, apparently shoreless, suggests to him the idea of eternity and a future life. The earthquake, the hurricane, and the lightning inspire him with a belief in the existence of a supreme Power, a divine Governor of the universe. Thus impressed with a sense of his own weakness and dependence, man naturally implores protection, and trusts in the beneficence and in the clemency of the great Invisible. Hence his faith, his hope, his aspirations. In this way was laid the primitive foundation of his creed and religious tendencies. And yet his weakest passion would seem to be his strongest,--a desire not only to perpetuate himself beyond this life, but to acquire superhuman power. It is for this that he struggles, erects altars, and solicits aid from visionary as well as from divine sources.

Whether the perfection of mankind be the end and aim of Nature, need not be questioned. It is evident that she regards man as a favorite, and for this reason solicits him to accept the lessons of wisdom which are ever falling from her lips. In the plenitude of her love she attempts to lead him upward into a broader and a holier sphere. If man was able to trace his descent and ascertain his origin, do you think he would find it in the ape, as Darwin affirms, or in the dust of the earth? Revelation replies, In the dust; and a sound philosophy confirms the fact.

Nature never stultifies herself, nor does she develop a new species of animal or plant from an existing species, but doubtless encourages "natural selection" in the line of each distinct species, and by so doing promotes progress in her grand scheme of attaining perfection; nor can it be doubted that from new conditions a new species may appear. In fact, every living thing is born of its appropriate conditions, and will continue to propagate its kind so long as its appropriate conditions exist. When conditions change, results change. In this way a new species of plant or animal may be, and perhaps often is, generated. The process is simply one of change in the relation of the requisite life-elements,--a process which results from the unceasing operation of a great natural law. In Nature there is nothing constant but change.

Life, in all its varieties, whether vegetal or animal, has a rudimental origin, traceable perhaps to a minute egg, cell, or spore, call it what you will, from which is evolved in due time a perfect plant or animal. But if asked whence is derived the egg, cell, or spore, we can only reply that they have their origin in certain primitive life-elements, which are brought into contact in a way so subtile as to elude the investigations of science. This life-law, whatever it may be, acts in reference to kind, and produces its kind. Nearly all forms of life have resemblances; and though we accept the doctrine of evolution, it does not follow that man was developed from an ape, or the bird from a flying-fish.