“And yet not quite so strange as you imagine,” replied my conductor. “If you examine the structure of this island, from where you now stand, you will perceive at once, that it has been the crater of some large volcano. It is easy to imagine, that after having reared its head above the surface of the sea, by some of those sudden caprices of ever-working nature, the base has again sunk down, leaving the summit of the crater floating on the ocean. Such is our opinion of the formation of this island; and I doubt whether your geologists on the continent would produce a more satisfactory theory.”
“What? you have communicated with Europe, then?” cried I, delighted at the hopes of return.
“We have had communication, but we do not communicate again. In the winter time, this island, which, strange as it may appear to you, does not change its position many hundred miles in the course of centuries, is enclosed with the icebergs in the north: when the spring appears, we are disengaged, and then drift a degree or two to the southward, seldom more.”
“Are you not then affected by the winds and tides?”
“Of course we are: but there is a universal balance throughout nature, and every thing finds its level. There is order, when there appears disorder—and no stream runs in one direction, without a counter stream, to restore the equilibrium. Upon the whole, what with the under currents, and the changes which continually take place, I should say that we are very little, if at all, affected by the tides—which may be considered as a sort of exercise, prescribed by nature to keep the ocean in good health. The same may be affirmed with respect to the winds. Wind is a substance, as well as water, capable of great expansion, but still a substance. A certain portion has been allotted to the world for its convenience, and there is a regularity in its apparent variability. It must be self-evident, when all the wind has been collected to the eastward, by the north-west gales which prevail in winter, that it must be crowded and penned up in that quarter, and, from its known expansive powers, must return and restore the equilibrium. That is the reason that we have such a long continuance of easterly winds, in the months of February and March.”
“You said that you had communication with Europe?”
“We have occasionally visits perforce, from those who are cast away in ships or boats; but the people who come here, have never returned. The difficulty of leaving the island is very great: and we flatter ourselves, that few who have remained any time with us, have ever felt the desire.”
“What—not to leave a barren rock, without even a blade of grass upon it.”
“Happiness,” replied my conductor, “does not consist in the variety of your possessions, but in being contented with what you have;”—and he commenced the descent of the hill.
I followed him in a melancholy mood, for I could imagine little comfort in such a sterile spot.