University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

For several weeks after the departure of the Camanches, tranquility
reigned in the valley. Not an Indian was seen, and both
William and La-u-na, who made several reconnoisances, were of the
opinion that even the Apache spy had taken his departure. The
buck-wheat was gathered, and the corn, which had been slightly
touched by the frost, was cut and secured within the enclosure—
and several stacks of hay were made of the wild grass, for the
cattle, in the event of a siege. The crop of potatoes was an extraordinary
one—the tubers being quadruple the size of those planted,
and the yield an hundred fold.

It was on one of the bright and holy Sunday mornings which
almost invariably dawned in resplendent glory at that season of the
year, that it was determined to make the often desired exploration
of the White Spirit's cave. All the family, except Sneak and the
slaves, were of the party. Torches and lamps had been provided
for the occasion by Glenn in his laboratory—the largest to be borne
by Joe, who desired the honor of preceding the rest of the bearers.
His motive for this was a most desperate determination to render
himself useful, in fear of a revival of the question of peace or war
with the Apaches, so that he might have additional claims on the
protection of the family in whose hands the issues, so far as he was
personally concerned, reposed. Joe's Pete was again confined at
home, and the other Pete, as usual, was found standing at the
mouth of the cave.

“Pete,” cried Charley.

The little dog wagged his tail, licked his lips, and otherwise
manifested a friendly disposition as the party paused at the entrance.

Even his repugnance to Joe was forgotten or repressed,
and he wagged a welcome to him.

“Come here, Mr. Phantom Pete,” said Joe, stooping down, “and
I'll forgive you.”

The little dog, with unhesitating confidence, came and rubbed
his head against Joe's hand.

“He's younger than my Pete,” said Joe, “and that's all the difference
between them. They're the same color, the same size, and
wag their tails exactly alike.”

The little dog ran to each of the visitors in turn, and after receiving
a caress from them, vanished with rapidity in the cave.

“I suppose he's gone to apprise the White Spirit of our approach,”
said Glenn, in reply to the wondering interrogatories of
the children.

“And I'm glad he made friends with me before he went,” said
Joe, “because his mouth was the only thing I feared in the cave.
I'll be as bold as a lion, now,” said he, aside to Biddy.

The entrance to the cave, or rather its vestibule, was spacious
enough to have sheltered a hundred men, for the overshelving rock
would have completely protected them against wind and weather.
But the second entrance was much smaller, round and smooth, like
the pipe of a funnel.

“Let me go first,” said Joe, leading the way, and striding forward
boldly.

The light enabled them to avoid the water which ran down on
either side. But the passage continued to diminish in size, and
they were soon compelled to stoop down to avoid striking their
heads against the roof, which, however, was smooth and even. They
progressed in this manner several minutes in profound silence, Joe
all the time keeping a very careful watch in front.

“Here's a change, Mr. Glenn,” said Joe, at length, stumbling
slightly and falling on one knee.

“I see it,” said Glenn, who followed behind.

“But I'm up again,” said Joe, “and the ceiling's high enough
here.”

He had been obstructed by a rock, which rose some eight inches
before him, transversing the path, and on either side of which the
water spouted down, with a gurgling sound.

“You must all stoop still lower,” said Joe, “and make a step up,
and then you'll be in a wider and higher place. I'll hold up my
big torch so you can see.”

When the obstruction was surmounted, they found themselves in
a passage very different from that they had just traversed. The
concentration of all the lights enabled them to perceive they were
in what seemed to be quite a commodious hall. Its width was now
not less than twenty feet, and the floor, perfectly level, was covered
with dry, white sand. On the right, flowed the hot water, and on
the left, the cold, in deep, narrow channels, cut against the walls,
apparently with the design of keeping them asunder. The walls
were perpendicular, and nearly smooth, and the ceiling, some ten
feet in height, was flat and almost white. But the most remarkable
object was a stalactite pendule near the entrance from the narrow
passage, which glittered in the light of the torches and
lamps.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Mary.

“It resembles a chandelier,” said Mr. Roughgrove, “in the hall
of a palace.”

“Lead on, Joe,” said Glenn, “I am impatient to see further.”

“I will, sir,” said Joe, striding forward; “and I'll go straight
on, if you've no objection; but I'd be bothered to know which way
to travel if I was by myself, for here's three roads. I see the
other Pete right ahead, and I'm thinking he knows best where to
lead us.”

“Follow the dog,” said William.

At what appeared to be the end of the hall, for its width was
suddenly contracted, there were two oval and smooth apertures opposite
each other, both dry, and smaller than the passage. Joe
held his torch at their entrances, but could not penetrate their
recesses in the closing obscurity. They seemed to be perfectly
straight, however.

“And now the dog's gone,” said Joe, as he progressed in his
original direction, through a narrow but lofty passage, the cold
water still flowing on one side and the hot on the other, until he
was confronted by a large smooth stone, which rose directly in front
and seemed to terminate the way. “Here's the end of the journey,
I'm thinking,” said he, pausing abruptly; “and it is'nt much
of a cave, after all. But where the dog vanished to, is a puzzle
to me. He may be only a shadow, though. No—here's a narrow,
hidden door, to the left, and the way to get round the rock.”

“Stop, Joe,” cried Glenn. “Hold up your torch. What is
that?”

He beheld on the upper part of the rock the figures 1550, deeply
and distinctly cut.

“That was done by no Indian,” said Mr. Roughgrove, after
gazing some moments in silence.

“And there's a cross under it,” said little Juliet.

“There is,” continued Mr. Roughgrove, when the glare of the
lights was concentrated on the surface. “It is defaced by time,
and by the scales which have fallen away; but, nevertheless, it is a
cross, the symbol of our holy religion—and it was carved by human
hands. Could it have been done in the year of our Lord,
1550?”

“Why not?” said Glenn. “We are here much nearer the
Spanish dominions than the settled places of our own country. I
do not suppose it is more than a few hundred miles from hence to
the church at Sante Fe. The Spanish monks, nearly three hundred
years ago, had erected monasteries even on the shores of the
Pacific ocean, and quite as far north as this; and it is said on what
is supposed to be good authority, that immense treasures in gold
and precious stones have been sent by them from such remote places
to Madrid and to Rome. They may have come hither at as early a
day as the middle of the sixteenth century.”

“It may be so,” said Mr. Roughgrove. “And if so, such a
refuge as this would be likely to attract their attention. I shall not
be surprised to find further traces of them before we leave the
cave.”

“That explains the stump we discovered in the valley,” said
William, who had hitherto remained a silent, but not an unmoved
spectator.

In excavating for the foundation of the house, the stump of a
very large tree had been discovered, indicating that the valley had
once been heavily timbered. There seemed to be the marks of an
axe on the stump, which arrested their attention at the time—but
it appeared so improbable that such an instrument had ever been
used in such a locality, that the idea was summarily dismissed.

“Come on,” said Joe, “I see the shadow again, at least his tail,
and we've got to stoop again.”

This time they were obliged to stoop very low, and turn a sharp
angle, which might have deterred less determined explorers from
prosecuting the expedition any further. Indeed, the ladies proposed
to turn back—and their reluctance to proceed was only overcome
by the persuasions of Roughgrove, impelled by the inspiration
imparted by the cross.

The next moment, as he turned the angle, Joe's torch vanished
from sight, and the children called aloud to him, supposing his
light to have been extinguished.

“No, it's not out,” said Joe, re-appearing with it. “I've only
got into a new part of the house, and the biggest we've seen yet.
This must be the parlor, I think; but I don't see any end to it—
and the other Pete is no where. I hope the little rascal aint going
to lose us—for I'm doubtful whether I could ever find the way
back.”

By the time Joe was done speaking, the entire party had turned
the angle, and emerged into the place he had attempted to describe.

It was an apartment of immense dimensions. It was circular in
form, with smooth walls, and the ceiling rose on all sides from the
extremities, to a common centre, resembling the interior of a dome.
The space was more than a hundred feet in diameter, and might
have contained a thousand men. Stalactic formations were numerous,
like huge crystal columns, supporting the roof or ceiling; and

near the walls gurgled the transparent waters—on one side hot
and smoking, and on the other pure and cold.

“This, indeed, is wonderful,” said Mr. Roughgrove; “and here
is another cross of gigantic dimensions.”

It was of stalactite, and had evidently been hewn into the form
of a cross.

“That, too,” said Glenn. “is the work of human hands.”

Biddy, much to the disgust of Joe, although he had been a Romanist,
fell down on her knees before the image of the Saviour
carved on the cross. Being left alone in that attitude, she rose
quickly, however, and followed the rest.

“And there's a great ash pile,” said Joe, who wandered towards
the centre.

“I know what that means,” said William. “Joe, run your staff
into it.”

“Oh, Mr. William,” cried Joe, springing back; “it's a living
bed of embers. It's all aglow of fire, covered jest a little with the
white ashes. And I see some smoke coming up. I smell it, too.
Mr. Glenn,” he continued, “there's been some body here before us
as sure as I'm living.”

“It is the council fire,” said La-u-na.

“Yes, continued William, “and it is kept burning from year to
year, until the peace is broken between all the great nations. Here
is where they meet—but the White Spirit, whom Red Eagle said
we should see face to face, is not present.”

“And, Mr. William,” said Joe, “I'm glad, for one, he told you
a lie. I don't want to see a spirit; I don't care for flesh and
blood—but I'm afraid of ghosts.”

“Joe,” said La-u-na, reproachfully, “Red Eagle never told a lie
in his life. What ever he promises is sure to come to pass.”

“Goodness! then we've got to see the Spirit. But maybe the
dog's the White Spirit?”

“The dog is brown, Joe,” said Mary, smiling.

“So he is—but he must belong to the White Spirit,” said Joe;
“and maybe, since I've made friends with the dog, his master won't
be mad at me.”

“There is the seat of the White Spirit,” said Glenn, holding a
lamp before a niche in a stalactite column, which seemed to have
been chiseled for the occupancy of the presiding genius at the
councils.

“And I'm thankful it's empty,” said Joe.

“I'm not,” said Charley, “are you, Jule?”

“No,” said she. “I would like to see him, because grandpa says
he would'nt hurt us.”

“Let us go on,” said William; “I believe from what the great
chief said, we will see the White Spirit.”

“I'm sure I'm no more afraid than the rest,” said Joe; “but,
Mr. William, as the chief did'nt give me any instructions, maybe
you'd be so good as to lead the way.”

“No,” said La-u-na, “he must not leave me.”

“And Biddy don't want me to leave her,” said Joe.

“Och, Misther Back,” said Biddy, all eyes being turned on her,
“I niver said ony sich thing.”

“You did'nt?” said Joe; “then I was mistaken. But, Mr.
Glenn, which way must I go? Every thing seems round in this
room, and there is'nt any straight road to travel.”

“Go round the wall,” said Glenn, smiling, while Mary clung to
his arm. “You can't suppose the way out of this place is in the
centre.”

Joe, thus circumvented, had no alternative but to proceed round
the wall by the running brook. The side he chose was near the
channel of the smoking water, and he proceeded slowly, if not reluctantly.
At length he paused so abruptly that the whole party
were precipitated against each other in a rather startling collision.

“What's the matter?” asked Glenn.

“The thought struck me, Mr. Glenn,” said Joe, “that there
might be danger in going any further. This water is boiling hot,
and we must be close to the fire under the earth which boils it.
Suppose we should fall into a burning lake, and all be killed?”

“Murther,” cried Biddy, “let me out! I want to lave this
place.”

“The crosses will save you, Biddy,” said Glenn. “Don't you see
them on the walls?” A great number of them were now easily
perceptible. “And Joe,” he continued, “don't delay us with any
of your nonsense. Keep your torch in advance, and you will step
into no burning lake without first seeing it. Then, if you choose
to step in, we will not follow you.”

“Och!” said Biddy, “I would'nt do it to save his life.”

“But, Mr. Glenn,” said Joe, “it's getting hotter and hotter
every minute. The perspiration's standing out in great big drops
on my face and on my hands, and I don't believe there's a dry
thread on my back.”

“Have you just discovered that, Joe?” asked Mr. Roughgrove.
“I observed the change of temperature as soon as we entered the
cave, and your face then was covered with drops of perspiration, just
like the faces of all the party.”

“That's true,” said Joe, looking round, “I'll go now. I see
Pete again, and his tail wags more lively than ever.”

Pete disappeared again, however, and in such an unceremonious
manner, that Joe was struck with astonishment.

“It's a mystery to me,” said he, pausing before one of the plates
of mica, which they now met with in abundance.

“What's a mystery, Joe?” asked Glenn.

“How that little dog vanished,” said Joe. “I kept my eye on
him, so's not to let him escape without seeing where he went, and
now he's gone.”

“Then you did not keep your eye on him.”

“I'll take my oath I did; that's to say, I did till he disappeared
through the wall—or the isinglass—which is the same thing.”

“Hold up your light and see if the mica is transparent.”

“I can't see through it, sir,” said Joe; “but on my word and
honor, it moved when I touched it—but it's a cater-cornered slab,
and can't be a door.”

“That's a good reason why it should be one,” said Glenn, stepping
forward and examining it closely. It seemed, however, to be
embedded in the rocky wall, like the other. “Where was the dog,
Joe, when you saw it last?”

“It was down there, sir,” said he, pointing to the lower end of
the mass of mica, “with his nose just here,” he continued, stooping
down, “and he was rooting with it at this crack—my gracious!”
he exclaimed, starting back, and almost prostrating Biddy, who was
just behind him.

“What's the matter?” asked Glenn.

“The baste's a'most broke me tooth, sir,” said Biddy.

“I felt something click, sir,” said Joe, “and it moved again.”

“Try it once more, Joe,” said Glenn.

“I'd rather not, sir,” said Joe, “it may be a rattle-snake, or the
teeth of the dog, or a trap to catch me.”

“Then I will,” said Glenn.

By the slightest exertion the mica was moved, being suspended
on hidden hinges. It might have been left ajar, and hence had
yielded to the dog.

“It is a secret door,” said Glenn. “Go on, Joe.”

“Please, sir, it' so narrow,” said Joe, “let me go behind—two
can't go abreast.”

“I know that,” said Glenn; “but why not go foremost? Are
you frightened?”

“Oh, no,” said Joe; “but I'm uneasy about getting back again.
I could'nt find the way out to save my life.”

“Never mind that,” said Glenn; “I shall know the way. Go
on with your torch, Joe, I will be close at hand. But this is not
the work of nature,” he continued, gazing at the symmetry of the
walls and the regular arch of the narrow passage through which
they were passing.

The rest crowded close after—but they had not proceeded many
paces before they were brought to a sudden halt by Joe, who forcibly
blocked up the way.

“What's the matter, now?” asked Glenn.

“I see daylight ahead, sir,” said Joe.

“Well—are you frightened at that?”

“No, sir; but it's the blessed sun.”

“Very well, why do you stop to tell us?”

“I thought I'd just tell it, sir, to prepare the rest for it.”

“They'll be prepared for it, and thankful for it, too. Go on,
Joe.”

When the party emerged from the narrow passage, they stood,
amazed, in a little Gothic chapel, the eastern end decorated with a
magnificent window, through which the golden sun was streaming.
The Saviour and the Madonna were painted on it in brilliant colors,
whose hues were reflected on the altar and across the chancel. The
altar, of white marble, was surmounted with a cross and candle-sticks,
and the chancel was separated from the body of the chapel
by an open screen of stalactites. In front and on the left, was a
pulpit, and on the right the lectern. There were a few benches
and chairs, and upon these the astonished explorers sank in silence,
and gazed in wonder. The ceiling was vaulted, the windows
painted, and every thing bore the aspect of a well constructed edifice,
sanctified by the lapse of many generations.

“My children,” said Mr. Roughgrove, “this is the house of
God, and He has conducted us hither. The pious men who constructed
it, have long since departed from the scenes of earth, and
it may be that the sounds of praise and prayer have not been heard
in it for centuries. But with God there is no lapse of time; and
his ear is ever open to the worship of the sincere of heart. We
have brought hither our prayer books, proposing to read the service
in one of the rude places described by the Indian chief to William,
but we have found a more fitting place than we anticipated.”

His desire was instinctively responded to, and all stood up or
kneeled down, as the order of the service indicated; and never
were the prayers or the confession of faith more devoutly uttered
than in that lonely spot in the wilderness. And when, at last, the
hymn was sung, with feeling devotion, every part of the chapel
was filled with the seraphic sounds, while a halo of inspiration
seemed to settle upon the worshippers as the glorious sunlight poured
in upon them.

At the conclusion of the hymn, Mr. Roughgrove stepped forward
towards the pulpit with an intention of uttering some of the words
that seemed to suggest themselves as fitting on such an occasion,

and the remainder of the party resumed their seats. But the minister,
after advancing a few steps, paused very suddenly, and lifted
both hands, as his eyes rested upon a man, of low stature, sitting
in a carved chair beside the altar, which was now visible from his
position through the open screen between the chancel and the auditorium.
He sat there in sacerdotal garments, with a crosier beside
him. The hair on his head, and the beard which reached down to
his breast, were as white as driven snow; his face was exceedingly
pale, and wore a thoughtful but beneficent cast of expression.

As Mr. Roughgrove stood, rooted to the spot, his face being
away, the little congregation supposed him to be engaged in mute
supplication; but the occupant of the bishop's throne lifted his
hand and beckoned him to approach. He did so, and as he drew
nearer, his step was accelerated, and the bishop, who had not yet
been seen by the rest, rose to meet him. Their arms were clasped
round each other's necks a moment after.

“Jaspar,” said the bishop.

“My lord,” responded Mr. Roughgrove.

“I heard two voices, Mr. Glenn,” whispered Joe, trembling in
every limb.

“Sit still and be silent,” said Glenn, “no matter what you may
hear or see.” And he whispered the same thing to the rest, for he
too had heard the voice of the stranger, uttering the name of the
minister.

In the space of a very few moments Mr. Roughgrove was seen
returning, and it was supposed he would then ascend the pulpit;
but instead of this, he joined the little wondering party, and informed
them in a low voice that the bishop would preach.

Then, as all eyes were turned towards the altar, the white haired
and white robed bishop came forth slowly, but with dignity, and yet
with humility in every step.

Joe crouched down and extinguished his torch. His eyes and
mouth were very wide open, and he hid himself under one of the
benches. The children seemed less astonished than the rest, for
they had been accustomed to seeing the bishop in the church they

attended in Virginia, and the remoteness of the locality they were
in was forgotten.

The bishop ascended the stairway and stood in the pulpit; and
after bowing his head a moment in prayer, he opened the Bible and
read a passage appropriate to the place and the occasion. In the
progress of his remarks he said:

“God is every where. For him there are no distances, no obscurities,
nothing hidden. The lone mariner, cast adrift on the
wide waste of the ocean, or the wanderer in the solitary places of
the wilderness, are still in view of Him, and He hears all their petitions.
And the solitary places are exempt from many of the sinful
contaminations of man, and hence are purer and more holy in
the sight of God and His angels. And pure men may be separated
from their erring brethren—may withdraw themselves from association
with an unappreciating or detracting world, without incurring
the displeasure of the great Creator. But they may not despise
their kind, nor cease to pray for them; and prayer availeth as much
in the wilderness as in the teeming city. We pray to the Omnipotent
for the conversion of the world. We can do nothing but pray;
but the Omnipotent can do all things, and it may be His good pleasure
to grant the things we ask. And if we pray for our enemies
when thus separated from them, He will be witness that our supplications
are sincere, and He may turn their hearts. In former times,
prayer and fasting in the wilderness were acceptable to Him—and
He is unchangeable in His nature. Existence is a great mystery.
It is God's mystery, profound and inappreciable as His own will
and pleasure. To a man of little faith, it may seem incredible that
our prayers, in this remote quarter of the earth, can redound to the
benefit of our fellow creatures. But who creates the secret thoughts
of man. God alone inspires and directs them—and these lead to
action, and action shapes the affairs of this existence. Then, if
God hears our supplications and grants our petitions, He will inspire
the thoughts that lead to good acts, for His own honor and
glory. And the good and evil of existence are not always comprehended.
From apparent calamities good is often evolved, and from
seeming blessings great calamities ensue. God alone is perfectly

good. He created us, and will save us, if we have faith in Christ
Jesus, who died for us, and continue in obedience to His commands.
We can do nothing ourselves, because we pass away; but He alone
may enable us to pass into that better world where life is eternal,
and where sorrow cannot come.”

At the conclusion of his discourse, the venerable man uttered an
impressive benediction, and descended from the pulpit.

“Grandpa,” said Juliet, “don't let him go—don't let the
bishop go.”

“No, grandpa,” said little Charles, “he's the good bishop, and if
he goes, maybe we won't see him any more.”

“Oh, Mr. Glenn,” said Joe, rising from his hiding place, and
coming forward noiselessly, “let's run. He's the White Spirit.
He is'nt a man at all. He's the wizard we once saw on the island
in your dream.”

“Be silent, Joe,” said Glenn.

“No wonder all the tribes reverence him,” said William, who
had been silent and thoughtful. Mary and La-u-na clung to each
other, lost in amazement and admiration.

“Remain till I return,” said Mr. Roughgrove, rising and going
forward through the trellised gate of the stalactite screen. The
bishop awaited him, and grasping his hand, led him through a narrow
door into an adjoining room.

During the absence of Mr. Roughgrove the rest wandered about
in the chapel examining various objects of curiosity. From the
many inscriptions and paintings found on the walls, and above all,
the letters on several tablets, it was certain that the cave had been
the abode of monks at an early date of the settlement of the continent
by Europeans. They had wandered thither from the Spanish
provinces, and in process of time had fashioned the chapel,
which was lighted by the sun shining through the mica, seen by
the party, in the chasm. The number of monks who had participated
in the construction, could only be matter for conjecture; but
if they were few in number, it was evident they must have been a
long time engaged in a work of such magnitude and finish.

In front of the altar were a number of slabs, whose inscriptions
seemed to elucidate the subject in some measure.

“My goodness!” exclaimed Joe, leaping away from one of them,
“there's a raw head and bloody bones on this one.”

“That was carved, Joe,” said Glenn, “before your great grandfather
was born.”

It bore the date of 1565.

“And I almost wish he had never been born at all,” said Joe;
“then I would'nt be way out here, under-ground, with the dead
bones, and wizards and spirits.”

“I'm not going to be frightened,” said Biddy, “if there's ony
sure enough praasts. Och, and here's a urn for howly wather—
and there's wather in it,” and she dipped her finger and crossed
herself.

“Don't Biddy,” exclaimed Joe; “you don't know what kind of
water that is. Look there—a frog's in it—and who knows the
water has'nt been there two thousand years?”

“It is a baptismal font,” said Mary. “But why should it have
been placed here?”

“Thousands of Indians have been baptised,” said William, “and
thousands of them have crosses suspended from their necks. There
are more Christians among them than the white people have any
idea of.”

“But some of 'em are mighty bad Christians,” said Joe. “The
old Indian that pulled my hair out in Missouri, and was going to
burn me alive, had a cross on, and they say he's a prophet
now.”

“But, Joe,” said La-u-na, “the books I learned to read first,
narrated the burning of women and children, and even English
bishops, by the Catholic Christians.”

“That is true, La-u-na,” said Glenn. “Among those who call
themselves Christians, deeds of cruelty and terror abound, as well
as among the savages in the wilderness. You read of the dreadful
deeds done in Paris only a few years ago. There the Catholics
were murdered or expelled, and the despicable mob even marched
into one of the churches and performed what they called the ceremony

of dethroning God. And that, too, in the chief city of one
of the most civilized and polished nations of Europe.”

“So you see, Joe,” said William, “we have better society here
in the wilderness, and perhaps greater safety, than we might enjoy
nearer to the Pope in the old country.”

“My children,” said Mr. Roughgrove, returning with a benignant
expression on his countenance, “come, let me conduct you to
the bishop.”

“Is he really a bishop?” asked Glenn.

“Really and truly,” said Mr. Roughgrove. “And what is more,
he was one of my preceptors in London. He was made a bishop,
but was assailed by detraction, and he withdrew, as every one supposed,
to Syria—but he came to the western world, and, like myself,
abode among the Indians. He is the lord bishop of —,
about whom so much was said in the newspapers; but we must call
him simply the bishop. The Indians, you know, call him the
White Spirit—and he has been truly a benefactor to them. Come,
and he will show you more wonders.”

They repaired first to the sacristy, and were affectionately received
by the benevolent old man.

“Now follow me, my dear children,” said the venerable bishop,
after repeatedly kissing little Juliet and Charley, whose hands he
still retained while leading the way.

After passing through a small library, consisting principally of
ancient tomes of manuscript, they entered a spacious apartment,
elaborately ornamented by the patient industry of the monks. The
sun came in through the transparent isinglass, and a glow of comfort,
and even joyousness, pervaded the bright atmosphere. The
floor was strewn with rushes, and there were unique but convenient
chairs and settees ranged round the walls. There was a large and
handsome table in the centre, of polished marble, permeated with
veins of virgin gold—upon which was a lute, and beside it a
harp.

But the things which had the greatest attraction for the ladies
and children, were the flowers and the fruits ranged on the side of

the room, where the sun found his rays through the translucent
mica.

“Mother! father!” cried the children, running thither. “See
the pears, the apples, the peaches, the plums, the figs, the lemons,
the oranges, the grapes!” And at each exclamation they clapped
their hands or leaped up with delight.

“Pluck them and eat them, my dear children,” said the bishop;
“if this be not a Paradise, neither are they forbidden fruits. And
they are delicious. I found them here, neglected, for their original
proprietor had long been dead; but my knowledge of botany,
and some skill in cultivation, sufficed to rescue them from decay
and degeneration. God blessed my labor, and turned even my
amazement to a substantial benefit.”

“And now, William,” said Glenn, “we have a solution of the
unusual discovery of certain fruits in the woods, and no doubt the
superiority of the grapes in the valley is owing to the same
cause.”

“Doubtless,” said the bishop, “it is the result of the experiments
of the monks—and I have often had cause to be thankful for their
care, for on several occasions these under shelter failed to bear the
usual quantity. Let them feast abundantly,” he added, seeing
their mothers attempting to restrain the children. “They extend
through the next room, and the one beyond that—and then on the
other side of the chasm, where the sun of the afternoon reaches
them, in another suite of apartments, there are other fruits, of different
varieties, but not less nutricious—originally wild, but improved
astonishingly by careful cultivation. Fear not—I have
abundance—abundance for all. And the flowers—pluck them
without stint or hesitation. God will give me more. The sunshine
and the water will replace them, and increase them a hundred fold.
Oh, God! I thank thee for sending hither these dear creatures to
rejoice with me for thy bounties.”

“Next he exhibited the baths, hot and cold, chiseled in the solid
walls by the monks, where the waters flowed perennially; the summer
bed rooms, where the refreshing breezes came in at orifices
made in the mica above the reach of the venomous reptiles; and

the winter apartments, heated sufficiently by the vicinity of the
hot spring. And every where the hand of man had been busy,
showing that either a large number of monks must have once inhabited
the oave, or else there must necessarily have been an unbroken
succession of them for many generations.

As they were returning to the large room, Joe, seeking an opportunity
to speak to Glenn, asked him, seriously, if he did'nt think it
was all a dream.

“Truly it seems very much like one, Joe,” said he. “But why
do you ask?”

“I want to be sure of it, Mr. Glenn; and if it should turn out
to be another dream you're having, like the big one you had in
Missouri, I might as well throw this away,” and he exhibited a
large orange he had plucked.

“I don't see how my dreams can concern you, Joe.”

“I did'nt think of that. But maybe it's a dream of my own,”
said Joe.

“Then I don't see how your dreams can concern me, Joe.”

“That's so, too,” said Joe. “I've bit my finger, and it hurt—
and I eat a fig, and it was good—at least it seemed so to me—but
still I'm not sure it is'nt a dream.”

“I don't know how to convince you, Joe,” said Glenn. Then
turning away, he approached the venerable bishop, and invited him
to take up his abode at the mansion.

The bishop smiled benignantly, but declined the offer. On the
contrary he proposed that Glenn and his family should abandon
the house and dwell with him in the cave. He said that the house
was susceptible of a strong defence, but could hardly withstand an
attack of the Apaches.

“And do you really think they will make war on us?” asked
Glenn.

“I fear it, my son. War is the history of man—the white man
as well as the Indian. In that respect we are not less savage than
they. The Camanches, in a trial of puissance, might beat the Apaches
in this valley. There are chiefs in both nations who will be
guided by my counsels, but perhaps not enough of the warriors who

vote in their councils. Blood has been shed—and even the heathen
have learned the passage I have so often quoted to them, `that he
who sheddeth blood by man shall be slain.' It might be averted—
but we will converse further on the subject.”

“Oh, good Mr. White Spirit,” said Joe, who had been an attentive
listener; “I mean Mr. Bishop,” he continued, seeing the rebuke
expressed by the eye of Mr. Roughgrove, “don't let 'em give
me up to be burnt at the stake.”

“The great chief of the Camanches has sent me a true account
of the transaction, my son,” said the bishop, “and I will do all I
can to prevent the further effusion of blood.”

Joe fell back, not quite certain that the answer had a hopeful
meaning.

When the visitors were about to return, Glenn renewed his invitation,
but the recluse was firm in his refusal. He said his character
of White Spirit must be maintained to restrain the Indians; and
this could be best done in the cave. He was well provided with
food, the offerings of dried meat, and of hard bread, which could
be softened in the hot water, were always many months in advance
of the consumption. He was comfortable, because, having found
the written rules for the regulation of the lives of the monks, he
had conformed to them, and become accustomed to them, and for
thirty years he had enjoyed perfect health. And he informed his
hearers that he had discovered many curious manuscripts, and among
the rest the diary of the last monk; who had buried himself—and
he had inspected his bones. But the water or the atmosphere of
the cave seemed to have been conducive to a most extraordinary
degree ot longevity, for the last monk was aged an hundred years
when he died, and several others who preceded him attained the
age of four soore and ten. It had been more than a century, however,
since the last had died, and hence the cave had been a long
time uninhabited; but the present generation of Indians did not
know it, and believed the White Spirit would never die. He said
he would visit Glenn's mansion occasionally—but they must not expect
him ever to be their guest for more than an hour at a time.

Note.—Owing to the destruction, by fire, of the Bath Paper
Mills near Hamburg, S. C., the Publisher has been disappointed in
getting such a quantity of book paper as would justify in publishing
the entire work at this time, and therefore, has been compelled
to issue it in two volumes, the second of which is now in press and
will be out as soon as the necessary supply of paper can be procured.

Hoping the above explanation will be satisfactory, the Publisher
asks the indulgence of a generous public while he endeavors to
overcome the difficulties of building up home enterprizes.