He was asleep: and from that sleep he never awoke. He now lies in the left hand corner of Göttingen churchyard—a familiar place to me; for while he was the most studious, he was the most amiable of all my fellow students. He had become a martyr to his love of study, and the world closed upon him just as he exhibited those signs of extraordinary merit, which in time would have made him one of its most distinguished ornaments. That his death was quite unexpected by himself was evident, but in the progress of his illness he had drawn up a will, in which he had made me his executor, and in it expressed his desire that I should prepare his manuscript for the press. I have done so, and the result is before the reader. I have left the first chapter as I found it, giving notes to illustrate a few phrases that required explanation; but imagining that these phrases, though perfectly characteristic, might perplex the reader in his progress with the story, I made such alterations in the rest of the MS. as I thought would bring the work nearer to the taste of the time.
EUREKA;
A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.
[CHAPTER I.]
THE CITY OF THE WORLD.
More than usual activity was observable in the tiers of shipping of various nations that crowded the port of Columbus. The sun shone with extraordinary splendour, throwing a golden light over the broad waters of the river that spread out as far as the eye could reach, bearing on their bosom vessels of every description used in commerce or warfare (some coming into port, others leaving it for a distant destination), that were diminishing in size as they receded from the view, till they assumed the appearance of a mere speck between the horizon and the wave; and the spreading sails of those in the distance, and the many-coloured flags streaming from the masts of those closer to the shore, with their various builds, sizes, costume and characteristics of their crews, and the variety of employments in which the latter were engaged,—infused such a spirit of animation into the scene, that the stranger would have found it impossible to have looked on without an earnest and delighted attention. Nearer the shore boats were passing to and fro—from the graceful Swan [(1.)] and rapid Fish, full of gay parties of pleasure, to the gigantic Hippopotamus and slow Tortoise, bearing burthens of various kinds of produce towards the wharfs that lined each side of that noble river; and many other boats of different dimensions, some impelled by oars, others by sails, and others by machinery, were passing from ship to ship, from the ship to the shore, or from the metropolis to the neighbouring villages.
If the appearances on the water were gratifying to the eye, those on the land assumed a character equally cheerful, various, and magnificent. Well might Columbus be styled The City of the World. In its dimensions, in its splendour, in its riches, in the myriads of its inhabitants, and in the multitudes of strangers who flocked from all parts of the globe to witness its greatness or share in its traffic, it was worthy of being considered an empire rather than a metropolis. Beyond those unrivalled quays that stretched along each side of the river, connected by colossal bridges, whose arches spanned from shore to shore with such an altitude that under them the largest vessels might pass with ease, were seen the proud palaces of the merchants—the lofty domes for the administration of justice—the stupendous edifices for the conveniences of commerce—the vast temples for the worship of the Deity—the imposing halls for the diffusion of science—every description of dwelling suitable to the wants of a free, industrious, enlightened, and multitudinous population of various ranks, interspersed with noble monuments in commemoration of admirable actions—exalted statues personifying the highest degree of excellence—parks, fountains, gardens, and public walks between rows of lofty trees; rising above these, on the elevated land on which the city was erected, might be observed, placed at considerable distances from each other, and adorned with all the graces of architecture, the villas of the wealthy; and at the very crown of the hill the obelisks, urns, and other monuments that peered above its summit pointed out the cemetery of the city, and the mausolea of its dead.
Through the numerous streets the tide of population seemed hurrying with an anxious eagerness; and the vehicles of luxury and of industry were passing each other in the broad thoroughfares, in a similar crowd and with a similar haste. Here came the votary of pleasure, seeking only the enjoyment of the present—there went the accumulator of wealth, enjoying no delight save in the prospect of the future; and they were passed by the plodding antiquary, living only in his associations with the past. The toil-worn mechanic—the enthusiastic student—the venerable sage—the solemn priest—the proud soldier—and the bustling citizen, took their separate ways through the crowd, with an apparent thoughtlessness of all things except their own immediate objects; and thus had they gone on for ages, each pursuing his own course, and every one heedless of the rest; and thus will they go on till the day of the world is over, and the night cometh when no man shall see because of the darkness.
At the foot of a flight of broad stone steps leading to the water from a wharf on the quay near one of the bridges, a superior sort of ship’s boat was moored, where her crew, some resting on the benches, some lounging on the steps, were grouped in conversation, evidently directing their attention to a beautiful ship of small tonnage but perfect symmetry that lay at anchor at a short distance, easily distinguished from the numerous vessels in her neighbourhood by the smartness of her rigging and the elegance of her build.