CHAPTER II.
Daniel Kelford had fitted him up a little study room, in which he spent most of his time. Books were his idols, and he worshiped them with more than a pagan zeal. His table was strewn with antique and curious volumes, many of them abounding in the wild and marvelous, and in these his whole soul seemed absorbed. The love-sick and sentimental had no charm for him; but he sought rather the abstruse and mysterious, bending all his energies to the comprehension of the one and the unraveling of the other. Vague dreams, as it were, flitted through his mind, highly colored by his diseased fancy, and all wearing a supernatural hue. Metaphysics was his darling study. He maintained that, as every particle of matter is dependent on those surrounding it, and as all are bound and held together by attraction, making one whole, and as it is impossible to conceive of one single particle existing independently and unconnected with any other, so every idea is linked with others forming one mind, and a single isolated idea is as impossible as a single and independent particle of matter; and that as various as are the shapes of objects constituted by the combination of particles, so various are the minds formed by the combination of ideas. And as idea linked with idea rose in his mind, he followed on, weaving a chain as incomprehensible to most minds as the inextricable windings of the Cretan labyrinth, until, at length lost in the mazy whirl of his own thoughts, the eye of fancy grew dim and reason tottered on her throne.
Reader, let me conduct you to that little study-room. We will look in at the window near which Daniel sits. It is night, a calm moonlit night of May, and the mingled notes of various night birds and innumerable insects, together with the chastened scenery of the surrounding mountains, as rock, and stream, and cliff, and waterfall appear in the softened beams, are enough to draw the most devoted of ordinary students from their books to contemplate the mighty book of nature, printed in the type of God, its sublime capitals rendering it legible to every observer. But for Daniel Kelford these things now possess no interest. They are unseen and unthought of; for every power of his soul is centered upon the contents of a small roll of manuscript which lies before him. He bends over it, takes up sheet after sheet, his interest increasing as he reads, until he has but one thought, one desire; and that is to understand and to reduce to practice the strange things there taught. Beside him dimly burns his untrimmed lamp, for he does not think to bestow any attention upon it. He has found embodied in words thoughts and ideas that have long floated like shapeless visions through his soul, but which he never could grasp, confine, and reduce to language.
The night wears on; it is late; he has read every page of that strange manuscript; but he reads it again and again, unmindful of the flight of time—a wild light sometimes flashing from his large eyes, and a mysterious expression gathering over his countenance. Were the aged man whose hand penned these words now alive, he could fall at his feet and worship him as a god.
But let us turn for a moment, and see from whence he obtained this wonderful manuscript.
Just on the line dividing the States of North and South Carolina, is an eminence called "Cæsar's Head." When, how, or why it obtained this name I have never been able to learn. Over its top now passes a turnpike road; but, at the period of which I write, all over and around it was almost an uninterrupted wilderness. The southern, or rather the southwestern side is nearly perpendicular, and fronts towards the celebrated Table Rock in Greenville District, S. C. From its summit, this rock, as well as many other curious and interesting objects, is in full view. The whole scenery in that direction is, perhaps, unsurpassed by any in the whole mountain range; and, consequently, "Cæsar's Head" was one of Daniel Kelford's favorite places of resort.
One day he went to visit this spot, and, as he approached it, he perceived an old man lying at the root of a tree, or rather leaning on his elbow with his back resting against the tree, and his eyes, over which the film of death was fast gathering, bent intently on the view before him. Daniel went up to him with his usual indifferent appearance, but ready to impart any assistance that might be in his power. As he drew near, the old man turned to him and said—
"You have come at last: I was expecting you."
"And why were you expecting me?" asked Daniel.
"Because I knew that you were coming here at this hour," was the reply.
"And how knew you that?" asked Daniel.
"The means by which I obtained my information," replied the old man, "may one day be familiar to you; but I have not time now to explain them to you. Be content for the present to know that I have, or rather have had, the power to gain information of future events. My time to leave this world is now come, and I cannot look beyond the grave except, as other mortals, by the eye of faith. I have inquired concerning you, and know you better, perhaps, than you know yourself, though you never met my eyes until now. I knew that I was to die at this hour, and that you were to meet me here to see me draw my last breath, and to receive from me this manuscript, which I have prepared expressly for you; for I know your nature, your insatiate thirst for knowledge, your perseverance and enthusiasm, and that you would improve the information herein contained. I have written it in your own language. Take it, it is yours; but do not break the seal that binds it until I am buried."
Daniel took the roll which the old man extended to him, and begged that he might go for assistance.
"No," said the old man; "I want no company but yours. Death is not hard, and I have but a few moments more to live. You see that I am calm; I, who have experienced almost every vicissitude of life incident to both the palace and the mountain cave, can here lay me down and place my hand upon my heart and call my God to witness that I die in peace with all men, and without a single fear or dread. I only ask that you will see me decently interred."
The tears gushed into Daniel's eyes as he gave the promise. The old man perceived it and said—
"Do not weep for me, my young friend, but rather weep for yourself. My troubles are over, but yours have scarcely begun. Ignorance loves to persecute knowledge; but there is one blessing attendant on true wisdom; for it renders its possessor impervious to the darts that are hurled at him, and he rises above the petty animosities of earth and feels an inward satisfaction, a proud consciousness of superiority that the ignorant can never know."
The eyes of the old man, sunken and dim, were turned upon the young man as he spoke, and his wrinkled features assumed an expression of joy rarely seen upon the human countenance, even when in health and prosperity. He was above the ordinary size of men, and his large frame stretched along the earth looked like some mountain god taking his rest. His long white eyebrows arched boldly above his eyes, and his silvery hair was brushed back, leaving his massive brow bared to the gentle sunbeams as they streamed through the dense foliage of the overhanging trees. There was a serenity and an expression of benignity about his countenance that irresistibly attracted the heart of Daniel Kelford, and made him reverence him. He seated himself by the old man, and raising his head leaned it against his bosom.
"Thank you, my young friend," said the aged man; "I shall now die without a struggle. I am in no pain; and as I yet have a little time left me, I will talk with you about Elinor Manvers."
"Elinor Manvers!" exclaimed Daniel, with surprise. "Do you know her?"
"I have seen her once," said the old man; "and he who has done that can never forget the vision of beauty that has blest his eyes. But I know her well. I know her soul is as pure as her own mountain streams; but it is unformed, and to you is committed its nurture. You can assimilate it to your own, or absorb it within your own, and make it soul of your soul, one and inseparable, imbuing it with the same thirst for knowledge, the same exalted aspirations. She loves you with an intensity never excelled; and already the shadow, or rather the light, of your spirit is upon her; but she can shake off the influence when you are away from her. Marry her, and be with her all the time, infusing your soul into hers, making her a fit companion to share your joys on earth and your perfect bliss in Heaven. Open to her the treasures of knowledge, and she will twine her affections so firmly about you that even death cannot sever them."
The old man's voice grew weak and husky, and turning his eyes calmly upon the face of his young friend, he said—
"I can tell you no more. Read the manuscript, and you will know enough to enable you to learn all. My time has come, and all is peace."
As he spake, he folded his arms upon his breast, closed his eyes, and yielded his spirit, without a groan or murmur, to his God.
Daniel returned home and told his father of the old man's death, but said nothing about the manuscript he had received. It he carried to his own room and locked within his trunk. Mr. Kelford and Daniel, with two or three of the neighbors, went and brought the old man's body to Mr. Kelford's house, where it remained until the next day, when they buried it, wondering who the stranger was and whence he came.
It was night when Daniel returned home, and, after hastily eating a few mouthfuls, he hurried to his room, brought forth the manuscript, broke the seal, and read it.