whereon his crime had been committed. That
in case of rebellions or tumults in the
provinces, when large numbers were not
unfrequently condemned to death, the sentence of
the law was earned out in the chief towns of
the disturbed districts. That large numbers
of people were thus sometimes discharged
from a single market-place, and that the
repeated strokes appeared to shake, or crack,
or pierce in some degree that portion of the
sky towards which the artillery had been
directed. I here at once saw that I had
discovered the true cause of earthquakes and
volcanoes; and this shows how great light
may be thrown upon theories concerning the
hidden constitution of this earth, by going
more deeply into the matter of it than had
been done by any one before I dug my hole.
Our volcanoes, it is now proved, are situated
over the market-places of various provincial
towns in Skitzland. When a revolution
happens, the rebels are shot up,—discharged from
mortars by means of an explosive material
evidently far more powerful than our
gunpowder or gun-cotton; and they are
pulverised by the friction in grinding their way
through the earth. How simple and easy
truth appears, when we have once arrived
at it.

The sound of muffled drums approached us,
and a long procession turned the corner of a
street. I was placed in the middle of it,—
Baron Terroro by my side. All then began
to float so rapidly away, that I was nearly
left alone, when forty arms came back and
collared me. It was considered to be a proof
of my refractory disposition, that I would
make no use of my innate power of flight.
I was therefore dragged in this procession
swiftly through the air, drums playing, fifes
lamenting.

We alighted on the spot where I had fallen,
and the hole through which I had come I saw
above me. It was very small, but the light
from above shining more vividly through it
made it look, with its rough edges, like a
crumpled moon. A quantity of some
explosive liquid was poured into a large mortar,
which had been erected (under the eye of
Baron Terroro) exactly where my misfortune
happened. I was then thrust in, the Baron
ramming me down, and pounding with a long
stock or pestle upon my head in a noticeably
vicious manner. The Baron then cried
"Fire! " and as I shot out, in the midst of a
blaze, I saw him looking upward.

CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

My revenge on the Skitzlanders.

By great good fortune, they had planted
their artillery so well, that I was fired up
through my hole again, and alighted in my
own garden, just a little singed. My first
thought was to run to an adjoining bed of
vegetable marrows. Thirty vegetable
marrows and two pumpkins I rained down to
astonish the Skitzlanders, and I fervently hope
that one of them may have knocked out the
remaining eye of my vindictive enemy, the
Baron. I then went into the pantry, and
obtained a basket full of eggs, and having
rained these down upon the Skitzlanders, I
left them.

It was after breakfast when I went down
to Skitzland, and I came back while the
dinner bell was ringing.

BIRTH SONG.

HAIL, new-waked atom of the Eternal whole,
   Young voyager upon Time's mighty river!
      Hail to thee, Human Soul,
         Hail, and for ever!
      Pilgrim of life, all hail!
   He who at first called forth
   From nothingness the earth,
Who clothed the hills in strength, and dug the sea
   Who gave the stars to gem
   Night, like a diadem,
      Thou little child, made thee;
   Young habitant of earth,
Fair as its flowers, though brought in sorrow forth.
      Thou art akin to God who fashioned thee!

The Heavens themselves shall vanish as a scroll,
   The solid earth dissolve, the stars grow pale,
      But thou, oh Human Soul,
         Shalt be immortal! Hail!
      Thou young Immortal, hail!
   He, before whom are dim
   Seraph and cherubim,
Who gave the archangels strength and majesty,
      Who sits upon Heaven's throne,
      The Everlasting One,
         Thou little child, made thee!
   Fair habitant of Earth,
Immortal in thy God, though mortal by thy birth,
      Born for life's trials, hail, all hail to thee!

SONG OF DEATH.

         SHRINK not, O Human Spirit,
The Everlasting Arm is strong to save!
   Look up, look up, frail nature, put thy trust
   In Him who went down mourning to the dust,
         And overcame the grave!
         Quickly goes down the sun;
         Life's work is almost done;
Fruitless endeavour, hope deferred, and strife!
         One little struggle more,
         One pang, and then is o'er
All the long, mournful, weariness of life.
         Kind friends, 'tis almost past;
         Come now and look your last!
         Sweet children, gather near,
         And his last blessing hear,
See how he loved you who departeth now!
And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow,
         O, most beloved one,
         Whose breast he leaned upon,
         Come, faithful unto death,
         Receive his parting breath!
The fluttering spirit panteth to be free,
Hold him not back who speeds to victory!
—The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free!

         Hail, hail, enfranchised Spirit!
Thou that the wine-press of the field hast trod!