University of Virginia Library

THE END.

As a man-of-war that sails through the sea, so this earth
that sails through the air. We mortals are all on board a
fast-sailing, never-sinking world-frigate, of which God was the
shipwright; and she is but one craft in a Milky-Way fleet,
of which God is the Lord High Admiral. The port we sail
from is forever astern. And though far out of sight of land,
for ages and ages we continue to sail with sealed orders, and
our last destination remains a secret to ourselves and our officers;
yet our final haven was predestinated ere we slipped
from the stocks at Creation.

Thus sailing with sealed orders, we ourselves are the repositories
of the secret packet, whose mysterious contents we
long to learn. There are no mysteries out of ourselves. But
let us not give ear to the superstitious, gun-deck gossip about
whither we may be gliding, for, as yet, not a soul on board
of us knows—not even the Commodore himself; assuredly
not the Chaplain; even our Professor's scientific surmisings
are vain. On that point, the smallest cabin-boy is as wise
as the Captain. And believe not the hypochondriac dwellers
below hatches, who will tell you, with a sneer, that our
world-frigate is bound to no final harbor whatever; that our
voyage will prove an endless circumnavigation of space. Not
so. For how can this world-frigate prove our eventual abiding
place, when, upon our first embarkation, as infants in
arms, her violent rolling—in after life unperceived—makes
every soul of us sea-sick? Does not this show, too, that the
very air we here inhale is uncongenial, and only becomes endurable
at last through gradual habituation, and that some

blessed, placid haven, however remote at present, must be in
store for us all?

Glance fore and aft our flush decks. What a swarming
crew! All told, they muster hard upon eight hundred millions
of souls. Over these we have authoritative Lieutenants,
a sword-belted Officer of Marines, a Chaplain, a Professor, a
Purser, a Doctor, a Cook, a Master-at-arms.

Oppressed by illiberal laws, and partly oppressed by themselves,
many of our people are wicked, unhappy, inefficient.
We have skulkers and idlers all round, and brow-beaten
waisters, who, for a pittance, do our craft's shabby work.
Nevertheless, among our people we have gallant fore, main,
and mizen top-men aloft, who, well treated or ill, still trim
our craft to the blast.

We have a brig for trespassers; a bar by our main-mast,
at which they are arraigned; a cat-o'-nine-tails and a gang-way,
to degrade them in their own eyes and in ours. These
are not always employed to convert Sin to Virtue, but to divide
them, and protect Virtue and legalized Sin from unlegalized
Vice.

We have a Sick-bay for the smitten and helpless, whither
we hurry them out of sight, and, however they may groan beneath
hatches, we hear little of their tribulations on deck; we
still sport our gay streamer aloft. Outwardly regarded, our
craft is a lie; for all that is outwardly seen of it is the clean-swept
deck, and oft-painted planks comprised above the water-line;
whereas, the vast mass of our fabric, with all its store-rooms
of secrets, forever slides along far under the surface.

When a shipmate dies, straightway we sew him up, and
overboard he goes; our world-frigate rushes by, and never
more do we behold him again; though, sooner or later, the
everlasting under-tow sweeps him toward our own destination.

We have both a quarter-deck to our craft and a gun-deck;
subterranean shot-lockers and gunpowder magazines; and the
Articles of War form our domineering code.

Oh, shipmates and world-mates, all round! we the people

suffer many abuses. Our gun-deck is full of complaints. In
vain from Lieutenants do we appeal to the Captain; in vain
—while on board our world-frigate—to the indefinite Navy
Commissioners, so far out of sight aloft. Yet the worst of our
evils we blindly inflict upon ourselves; our officers can not remove
them, even if they would. From the last ills no being
can save another; therein each man must be his own saviour.
For the rest, whatever befall us, let us never train our murderous
guns inboard; let us not mutiny with bloody pikes in
our hands. Our Lord High Admiral will yet interpose; and
though long ages should elapse, and leave our wrongs unre-dressed,
yet, shipmates and world-mates! let us never forget,
that,