THE HOUSE ON THE SHORE OF ETERNITY.
AN ALLEGORY.
Two simple-minded men, who had dwelt all their lives in a country far inland, at last undertook a long journey together. This happened many ages ago, when there were no such things as printed books or village schools, and when the people in isolated districts saw no travellers, and knew nothing of the great world beyond the hills which closed their horizon.
Wolfgang and Athelstane, so our pilgrims were called, walked on over downs and heaths, and through the vast forests of oak which then overspread the land, till at last, after a night’s toilsome march, they came, in the early dawn, to a spot which seemed to them the strangest they had ever visited. Walls of rock shut out any distant view; but immediately before them on a gentle declivity there stood a structure, much larger than the humble cottages which Wolfgang and Athelstane had inhabited, and of a singularly different form. Instead of a pointed roof of thatch or tiles, there was, on the top, a flat floor of boards; while beneath, where there should have been a solid square foundation, there was a long thin wedge, almost like a roof which had been reversed and turned downward. Also, through the floor rose up two long, slender, tree-like erections, with all the branches carefully smoothed away. Crossbars were slung on these poles, and ropes connected them together; while a great roll of coarse woven stuff, like sackcloth, lay folded up beside them. At one end, and outside of the wooden structure, hung a huge beam, standing, as it seemed, in some unaccountable relation to the rest of the fabric, and connected with it by machinery passing into the interior. All these singular things were slowly and carefully noted by our two humble travellers, as they walked round the wooden building in the morning twilight. No one was near who could afford them an explanation of the use or purpose of what they saw; and their doubts and wonder grew every moment.
“What can it mean?” said Wolfgang. “What did the builder—whoever he can have been—intend by such a mansion as this?”
“It is clear enough,” answered Athelstane, thoughtfully, “that it is the work of some very ingenious hands. How soundly and skilfully it is all fitted together!”
“True,” replied his comrade; “and yet ought we to say it is well made before we can tell for what purpose it is constructed? To me it seems that our own old huts of wattled willow and turf were, after all, of a better shape for a house to stand on the ground.”
“Do you think this is a house, only a house?” said Athelstane, suddenly looking up.