A Few Hours in a Far-Off Age/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX.
SEATED, the students look at what is here represented for their instruction. Frederick reads:
"Coal-mining in the early centuries. Connected with this gloomy case is one of the brightest of discoveries, and, though made in that almost savage age, has proved of lasting value to all civilized communities—namely, the use of coal as a fertiliser. A woman in the nineteenth century first reasoned out the truth, and gave her knowledge to the world as the world's right. But, as woman's opinions were little understood or prized when men were in so ignorant a state, her idea was only derided, or experimented so ignorantly that the proper use of coal was abandoned until a man discovered it accidentally, about two hundred years later. When its efficiency had been proved—to do which he was furnished with every facility—the Government took immediate steps to prevent any further waste by burning of so precious an aid to agriculture."
He looks up quickly, and in a tone of great astonishment repeats: "Burning!"
"Yes, previous to that discovery it was only used for heating and lighting. The gas it contains, which is so necessary to vegetation, but so destructive to human life, was thus ever polluting the air and caused much sickness—the origin of which was totally unsuspected by the sufferers. When men at last understood the real value of coal, it was the very help for which our over-tired earth was languishing; for at that time, humans were fast abandoning flesh diet for one of pulse, grain and fruit. So the products of primeval forests were again spread over the soil to give what was necessary for the perfect growth of a higher vegetation. This grand provision of nature's I think as wonderful as beautiful! When the new use of coal became general, it gradually rid the ground of all the various insects, by whose depredations farming people were often ruined. It proved the most powerful stimulus, not only to agriculture, but to mechanics that the world has ever known!"
"I read your thoughts. You anticipate with some alarm the exhaustion of so rich a treasure. All young thinkers are very much alike. They err from inability to combine ideas and review the whole; not surprising that it is so, since there never has been but one mind that could thoroughly combine. Those still feebler thinkers of the nineteenth century were also apprehensive of coal failure and sometimes uttered dismal fears that the inhabitants of the world would perish for want of light and warmth. Now think how much more wholesome and cleanly are our present means for obtaining light and heat! Those younger children imagined they worshipped the Infinite Mind as all perfect—yet never dreamed they, at the same time, doubted Its perfection by such, fears. Perfect whole means perfect details; perfect universe, perfect worlds; to every grain of apparently useless soil upon them. No loss—no death—simply change, which constitutes one perpetual motion. When our carboniferous treasure shall have became exhausted, or changed, be sure other changes have been likewise working; probably ourselves the agents of such change, by our very use of what we think a too-surely vanishing supply. The nature of it is as impossible for us to understand as a growing change in physical structure was to those far more ignorant people of the past. Experience has taught us that no matter what our righteous needs may be, the requisites for supplying them are either awaiting our learning and research, or making correlative growth. Then away with all doubt or fear upon what we cannot yet take part in! We must hope and trust with a hope and trust as infinite as our spirits."
All are silent and thoughtful. Before us the wretched old mine, with its sad workers. Naked children toiling, nearly naked women and men harnessed to carts full of coal; going through low-roofed roadways, on hands and knees, drawing their wearying loads to the apparatus for raising to the outer world those changed glories of the grand, solemn old forests—the unlovely part of whose history can only be guessed.
Long they have thought. I have before observed it is the practice of this lady, after having aroused her pupils' interest, to let them reflect awhile. At last Frederick asks, with unusual emphasis on his words:
"Did the people who were called pious warm themselves by coal obtained in so shocking a manner?"
At this moment his father enters. Having heard the lad's strange question, he defers explaining the reason of his early appearance, and answers:
"My son, the 'pious' people committed worse acts than that. You know not yet half the baseness we have evolved from. You have only reached the nineteenth century. That was scarcely past the great transition period (reckoning downwards), when those pitiable barbarians had begun to claim the right of their own minds to think for themselves. You have, of course, noted how long it took before they succeeded in quite disentangling themselves from the chains of superstition. But when you examine the centuries below the nineteenth—especially as will be shown in your dear mother's mythological lectures—you will learn how sadly and continually struggling humanity suffered from the mistaken and bigoted beliefs of the 'pious'; so much so that the very name grew to be hateful in the ears of the reverent truth-seeker. Evolution is somewhat frightful—particularly while studying it downwards—but withal a wondrously cheering study! For we know we are rising always higher above those dreadful ages of ignorance, with its inevitable sufferings. But I have come to end, not continue, the lecture (taking his comrade's hand), dearest, for I have grand news! Your sister's clever children have gained the principal certificate in engineering. Next week they will have honorable letters to their names! They brought me here, in their soon-to-be famous carriage, to abridge your lecture, that we may all fly to Waratah this afternoon—and children, we will go over the sea now covering ancient Sydney! We shall arrive there before two o'clock—for the 'Scud' really does make 140 miles an hour. It gives quite new sensation! Justina and Carl are in the court-yard. They were coming with me, but were compelled to remain to answer questions about their invention."
This news gives rejoicing and excitement. Hats are quickly adjusted, and away we almost run down the long gallery.
I wonder how I shall bear 140 miles, after feeling 80 so bewildering!
How is this? They descend the steps and I cannot stir! I am detained firmly—exactly at the spot where the sweetly truthful voices of these people first charmed my ears!
They hasten down, wishing to seat themselves before the students leave, otherwise they would be too long delayed.Justina—a lovely woman, about twenty-nine years old, having the same talented expression so attractive in her brother Carl—is already surrounded by friends, who draw aside as her relatives approach.
They ascend amidst pleasing congratulations, and sounds of enthusiastic admiration follow them when their motor begins to show some of its wonderful power, for which there is now plenty of unoccupied space—because it wants little more than half an hour to noon, after which time no work is permitted;—and as these persons are both too wise and too humane to defer much to the last hour, the streets and air are already nearly cleared of vehicles. How swiftly my darlings are being borne from me! Only a few minutes have passed, and I scarcely see them! My eyes ache, and—ah me!—so does my heart. Shall we ever meet?