Nineteen Hundred & Seventy -Two .

Tuapeka Times, Volume IV, Issue 221, 25 April 1872, Page 9

Nineteen Hundred & Seventy -Two .

BY JEA2T DTGELOW.

" Nothing looks more desolate than a country railway station in the midst of a great common like ours, and nothing is more dismal than to have to walk to it by night over marshy sward, where the moon sees her face fifty times in as many yards, in the round holes made by the feet of cows and horses, and filled with rain-water. This very lot was mine ; it was also my lot to be wet through, and to have my umbrella turned inside out,' while the rain splashed into my eyes and ears, aud the wind blew off my hat. " The shrill whistle of the coming train was in my ears before I reached the station, and ran up the steps one, two, three. I seemed an unaccountably long time running up those steps; there were assuredly twenty of them, and I was sure there used to be only three or four. "And the door! — surely it could not be the right door; aud moreover, it would not open. Nothing could exceed my perplexity and bewilderment. I could not, by any contrivance, get this door open, nor fiud my way into the place. At last, it being pitch dark, I began to feel round the wall with my hands. What a size it seemed ! What with the wind and the ram, my fear of being late, and my perplexity, I got so stupid, that it must have been at least ten minutes before 1 found a door, and pushing it open — " ' Why, this is a palace ! ' I exclaimed, ' and I am either dreaming or bewitched.' "At last I opened one eye, and it | rested on the following advertisement, which was printed on the wall : — " Take Notice — Luminous apparel being now so cheap as to bring a.bundance of light within the reach of all classes, the proprietors of this railway declare it to be unlawful to burn atmospheric air in any of their carriages ; and to insure safety and comfort to all, particularly iv the submarine tunnels, they give notice that no person shall travel on any of their lines without a cloak which emits sufficient light to read by, or at least a cap, the halo round which is three feet in diameter. " ' N.B. — To prevent danger, and also smoke and ashes, the proprietors give notice to persons going round the world, 'that they allow nothing but water to lie used in the carriages as an article of fuel. " 'Signed on behalf of the Directors, " ' Thomas Joy es. " 'February Ist, 1972.' i '' 'Nineteen hundred and seventytwo!' I exclaimed aloud; ' that accounts for all these marvellous changes. I have, by same unaccountable means, stepped forward into the middle of the twentieth century. What an extraordinary circumstance! I'll buy a luminous cap, and take a trip on this railway.' " Well, I wandered about a long time perfectly dumbfounded. At last I came to another door, and having pushed it open, I found myself in an office more elegant than the drawingroom of a duchess, and half filled with people, whose dress was beyond everything remarkable; for they all wore luminous clothes. " Well, my fine fellow,' I said to myself, 'you've got yourself into a j pretty scrape now, wet, dirty, and dull i as you are, to intrude among princes i and princesses with your dripping üm- ! brella.' " I then got into a passage, which was superbly illuminated, but I could see no lamps, and it seemed to me fchat the stones themselves were giving out light. " Not to be tedious, I sat hidden there all night, and in the morning I procured a cap and a ticket, and entered a carriage) resolving to go to London. " ' Now, ladies and gentleman,' cried a cheerful voice, ' whose for the subterranean line to New York ? " Off moved a considerable portion of the crowd, and the door was scarcely shut" upon them when a lady with a child in herhand stepped to the lastspeaker and inquired, ' What time does the next threepenny train Rtart for Mount Vesuvius ?' " ' Not for half an hour, ma'am.' " ' Half an hour ! how late that will make us ! I had better perhaps go round by Cairo, and- take the old bal-^ loon track to Italy." "'A good plan, madam,' was the reply ; 'it will save seven minutes.' '• I shut my eyes, and put my fingers into my ears lest I should hear any more, and shrank back in the last stage of imbecile amazement. ' London' was written on my ticket: London I had repeatedly asked for, but when in ten minutes we stopped, and the men at the carriage door cried out ' Any lady or gentleman for London,' — just as* if London had been some second-rate provincial town, I laughed in their faces, for I knew very well it was not London." Nevertheless, I got out, and .began to look about me ; * for one thing in this twentieth century,' I thought, 'is just as strange as another. 1 " No, it was not London in which I then found myself; not the London air, nor the London aspect; the atmosphere was not only as clear as noonday in Italy, but there was a balmy warmth in the suushine, and the whole place was fresh and breezy. What a city ! How shall I describe its dazzling transcendant splendour ? "It was one vast collection of ,pal-

aces, built of something transparent, and reflecting the sunbeams. In spite of the traffic that went on, there was no lack of space, there was no dirt, no smoke, and the wheels moved with scarcely any noise. Large trees grew before these palaces, and partly shaded them ; numerous birds fluttered in the branches ; people were passing rapidly ito and fro, with fresh, cheerful faces and exquisitely beautiful garments ; but I saw no beggars, nothing squalid, nor any appearance of over-population or extreme poverty. " I wandered on among these people. At last I came to a place open like a garden, and verdant with turf. I thought perhaps this might have been the site of Hyde Park ; and seeing an old gentleman seated under some trees, I went up to him and said; ' Excuse the curiosity of a stranger, and be pleased to tell him whether this city really is London.' " ' This city ! " he replied, taking off his spectacles. ' Yes, undoubtedly this city is London, and a very fine place still, sir, to my old-fashioned notion, though several other cities in these dominions now far curpass it.. " ' Surpass it ! ' I exclaimed ; can anything earthly surpass this collected multitude of palaces — this noiseless swarming of cheerful thousands — these carriages gliding so swiftly without visible means of motion ?' " The old gentleman looked at me me with astonishment So much did he seem amazed that I felt compelled to tell him my story, and how I had been propelled into the middle of a succeeding century. " He evidently believed my I ale, and answered politely, ' Ah, that accounts for your surprise. Tour lot was cast in very barbarous days, a dark age for civilisation ; in fact, while slavery and warfare still existed, what could one expect V " ' They are done away with, then ?' 1 1 interrupted. "'About sixty years ago,' he replied, ' by consent of all nations ; the former was allowed to be unjust even in your day j and for the last, its folly happily became evident to those who had never considered its wickedness.' " ' Indeed ! ' said I ; ' and pray what is that exceedingly high spire which looms in the distance ?' " ' That,' he answered, ' is the great watehligbt of London. A century ago the streets were lighted by thousands of yellow, dingy gas lamps; we now substitute one enormous jet o^ pure white light, which shoots upwards of a mile high, and illuminates the whole city effectually. Our houses are, as you observe, semi-transparent — they are thus filled with light within also ; and as our atmosphere used formerly to be proverbially cold aud fo^y, a company was formed for superseding coal and all other combustible materials (which were not only productive of smoke, bit of danger), by warming the whole city from below.' " ' From below ?' I enquired, doubtful of his meaning. " ' From below,' he replied calmly. ' You were probably aware, even in the nineteenth century,- that the interior of the earth was of a very high temperature.' " ' Yes,' I replied, ' we knew that if iron existed forty or fifty miles below the surface, it must always be in a state of fusion.' " * Exactly so,' he answered ; it was, however, not certainly known, though it had been conjectured before your day, that the - earth was hollow — in short, that there was a central cavity. Well, sir, it was found that the crust was exceedingly thin under one part of these dominions, namely, under the county of Devon. A shaft was therefore sunk, and by that means we can procure as much heat as we desire.' " ' The different thickness of the crust accounts, then, for difference of climate under the same lattitude ?' I observed. " ' You are quite right,' he answered, it does. In Kerguelen's Laud, 'fifty degrees south latitude, human life can hardly be sustained during the winter, as your contemporaries found to their cost, when they sailed in search of the magnetic poles ; yet in nearness to the terrestrial pole is equal to Greenwich. The crust of the earth is there remarkably thick.' " ' T! c i the change you have made in your climate is the reason why these tali palms and other tropical trees grow so freely ?' "'Of course,' he answered; 'we know better now than to cut down forests.- These trees were transplanted from Central America, where they were very much in the way of the newIrish metropolis. Being very hisjh, they shade the tops of the houses well ; also the oaks and elms of the country, which would otherwise roceive too much light in the night.' " ' "Well,' I - remarked, ' there is another point which was a great problem to my generation, and which I wish you would clear up. Pray what do you do with your surplus population ?' " ' Surplus !' he repeated, ' surplus! ' "Why we have only just enough people here, now the the world is so equally populated.- The whole of North j America is overspread with nations descended from Europeaus, and when [ once the vulgar error, that Central Africa' was one vast, desert, had been exploded, thousands flocked thither | from tHs ~"We have found out a method for proponing rain^ clouds in that direction, bo that they are seldom in, want either of shade or water!' . '

" ' And your poor ?1? 1 I enquired

"'Why, the difference of intelligence, as well as of physical strength,' he answered, ' will always ensure tbat some shall be far poorer than others ; but I am happy to say that not many members of the human family aro now destitute of food aud clothing — the former especially is so extremely cheap.' " ' How does that happen ?' I asked ; 'it is the last thing I should have expected to hear. These are indeed wonderful changes ! They make me feel extremely sad under the prospect of returning to my own century, which 1 1 used to be so proud of.' " ' The cheapness of food arises partly from the sea-drags,' he replied. " ' Sea-drags ! ' I exclaimed ; " what are they ?' " ' In 1850 and thereabouts,' he replied, obligingly, 'food was extremely dear ; a dish of fish commonly cost five shillings.' '" I am quite aware of that,' I answered, laughing. '"Well,' he replied, 'shortly after the middle of that benighted century, people got tired of just dipping a hook or dropping a net into the sea, and taking up only what happened to pass it — they thought the sea had much better be dragged just like a pond, and G-overnment constructed a series of nets reaching from Dover to Calais, which could be opened at intervals for ships to sail through. Similar nets were then spread from Aberdeen to Bergen, and by means of swift steamers dragged southward to within four miles of the others, the space becoring solid from the rumber of fish enclosed. A large family could bo fed for two days on turbot for the sum of one halfpenny, and all other fish was in proportion. We found means of preserving it for any length of time quite fresh, and repeated tliese sea-drags all over the world at the right seasons, and at no other times. By this plan we not only secure as much fish as we can use for food, but we can catch aud destroy the bad, and those kinds which prey on the others.' " ' It is difficult to me,' I remarked, looking rouud, ' to conjecture what has become of Old London — all the buildings, factories, shops, streets, and squares tbat I remember.' " ' G-one, sir — levelled to the ground by common consent — materials under your feet — we found out better ones, which have superseded them.' " ' What, all gone ! are even the bridges gone ?' I exclaimed, shocked to think how the labours of my contemporaries had been cleared from the face of the earth, and themselves forgotten. ' What changes ! ' " ' The bridges ? Oh yes, they are gone some time ago. We thought the Thames was unwholesome, so we arched the whole of it all over — indeed, we did not want it when once we had discovered the means of sailing in the air. But I believe I must leave you : I ordered my dinner to be ready at one ; I live in Madeira. Good bye.' " He left me, and as I sat in the sunshine in that beautiful London, my heart was so oppressed with the thought of my despised generation — all its toils, so many and great, useless to those who came after it — all its inventions superseded or forgotten — all its struggles made light of — that I covered my face with my hands, and gave way to a passion of tears. " I heard a woman's voice speaking close to me, and asking why 1 wept. 1 looked up, and saw a young mother with an infant in her arms. Her face »vas so candid aud kind that I told her my sorrow for all these changes, aud the sweeping away of everything belonging to my century ; then I added, ' Nevertheless, I perceive that though all else may have changed, no change has come over the tenderness of woman and her kind compassion.' " She looked surprised, but did not answer. She had seated herself near me on the grass, and while I remained moody and miserable, she suddenly began to sing to me and to her child, and soothe our common humanity with a song of the twentieth century. " ' The cit3 r , he saith, is fairer far Than one which stood of old ; It gleams in the light all crimson bright With shifting glimmers of gold. Where be the homes my fathers built, — The houses where they praye-1 ? I see in no sod the palhs they trod, Nor the stones my fathers laid. On the domes they spread, the roofa they reared Have passed the levelling tide ; My fathers lie low, and their sons outgrow The bounds of their skill and pride. J Shifting, sweeping change, It plays with man's endeavour ; i They carved these names grown strange, And they said, " Abide for ever." " ' This cily, I say, lieth far away Whereto no change may come ; It has xays manifold of crimson and gold, But I cannot count their sum. They sigh, no more by its happier shore Who wander, foreboding not, Or waning away of a changeful day, Or changing of life and lot. They dream not there on earth's changing face, Or mutable winds and sea, — Thou that art changeless, grant me a place In that fair city with Thee ! ' There record my name, Father ! forget me never, For thy thought is still the same, Yesterday, to-day, and for ever.' " — " Good Words for the Young."