The Case of Summerfield | Page 6

I spurn
beneath my feet."
"Summerfield," said I calmly," there must be some strange error in all this. You are
self-deluded. The weapon which you claim to wield is one that a good God and a
beneficent Creator would never intrust to the keeping of a mere creature. What, sir! create
a world as grand and beautiful as this, and hide within its bosom a principle that at any
moment might inwrap it in flames, and sink all life in death? I'll not believe it; 't were
blasphemy to entertain the thought!"
"And yet," cried he passionately, "your Bible prophesies the same irreverence. Look at

your text in 2d Peter, third chapter, seventh and twelfth verses. Are not the elements to
melt with fervent heat? Are not the 'heavens to be folded together like a scroll?' Are not
'the rocks to melt, the stars to fall, and the moon to be turned into blood?' Is not fire the
next grand cyclic consummation of all things here below? But I come fully prepared to
answer such objections. Your argument betrays a narrow mind, circumscribed in its orbit,
and shallow in its depth. 'Tis the common thought of mediocrity. You have read books
too much, and studied nature too little. Let me give you a lesson today in the workshop of
Omnipotence. Take a stroll with me into the limitless confines of space, and let us
observe together some of the scenes transpiring at this very instant around us. A moment
ago you spoke of the moon: what is she but an extinguished world? You spoke of the sun:
what is he but a globe of flame? But here is the Cosmos of Humboldt. Read this
paragraph."
As he said this he placed before me the Cosmos of Humboldt, and I read as follows:
Nor do the Heavens themselves teach unchangeable permanency in the works of creation.
Change is observable there quite as rapid and complete as in the confines of our solar
system. In the year 1752, one of the small stars in the constellation Cassiopeia blazed up
suddenly into an orb of the first magnitude, gradually decreased in brilliancy, and finally
disappeared from the skies. Nor has it ever been visible since that period for a single
moment, either to the eye or to the telescope. It burned up and was lost in space.
"Humboldt," he added," has not told us who set that world on fire!
"But," resumed he, "I have still clearer proofs."
Saying this, he thrust into my hands the last London Quarterly, and on opening the book
at an article headed "The Language of Light," I read with a feeling akin to awe, the
following passage:
Further, some stars exhibit changes of complexion in themselves. Sirius, as before stated,
was once a ruddy, or rather a fiery-faced orb, but has now forgotten to blush, and looks
down upon us with a pure, brilliant smile, in which there is no trace either of anger or of
shame. On the countenances of others, still more varied traits have rippled, within a much
briefer period of time. May not these be due to some physiological revolutions, general or
convulsive, which are in progress in the particular orb, and which, by affecting the
constitution of its atmosphere, compel the absorption or promote the transmission of
particular rays? The supposition appears by no means improbable, especially if we call to
mind the hydrogen volcanoes which have been discovered on the photosphere of the sun.
Indeed, there are a few small stars which afford a spectrum of bright lines instead of dark
ones, and this we know denotes a gaseous or vaporized state of things, from which it
maybe inferred that such orbs are in a different condition from most of their relations.
And, as if for the very purpose of throwing light upon this interesting question, an event
of the most striking character occurred in the heavens, almost as soon as the
spectroscopists were prepared to interpret it correctly.
On the 12th of May, 1866, a great conflagration, infinitely larger than that of London or
Moscow, was announced. To use the expression of a distinguished astronomer, a world
was found to be on fire! A star, which till then had shone weakly and unobtrusively in the
corona borealis, suddenly blazed up into a luminary of the second magnitude. In the
course of three days from its discovery in this new character, by Birmingham, at Tuam, it
had declined to the third or fourth order of brilliancy. In twelve days, dating from its first
apparition in the Irish heavens, it had sunk to the eighth rank, and it went on waning until

the 26th of June, when it ceased to be discernible except through the medium of the
telescope. This was a remarkable, though