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Updated: May 12, 2025
His earthly home has been so small and cosy and restricted, he has been taken such tender care of the faithful have fallen at his feet in such adoring thousands, and now away from all this warmth and light and incense, and colour of pictures and stained-glass windows, and white statuary and purple velvets, and golden-fringed palanquins, now out into the cold he must go! out into the darkness and mystery and silence! where all the former generations of the world, immense and endless, and all the old religions, are huddled away in the mist of the mouldered past! out into the thick blackness, where maybe the fiery heads of Bel and the Dragon may lift themselves upward and leer at him! or he may meet the frightful menace of some monstrous Mexican deity, once worshipped with the rites of blood! out out into the unknown, unimaginable Amazement must the poor naked Soul go shuddering on the blast of death, to face he truly knows not what! but possibly he has such a pitiful blind trust in good, that he may be re-transformed into some pleasant living consciousness that shall be more agreeable even than that of Pope of Rome!
Of course, it is impossible, in a sketch like the present, to do more than give a glimpse of this rare combination of astronomical realities and the vagaries of mere fancy, and I must omit the Golden-fringed Mountains, the Vale of the Triads, with their splendid triangular temples, etc., but I positively cannot pass by the glowing mention of the inhabitants of this wonderful valley a superior race of Lunatics, as beautiful and as happy as angels, "spread like eagles" on the grass, eating yellow gourds and red cucumbers, and played with by snow-white stags, with jet-black horns!
On the way back to the cabin, while the others listened to and questioned Mr. Zeisberger, Jim was silent and thoughtful, for his thoughts reverted to his brother. Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spoke of Joe. "Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely he will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for adventure.
Dear reader, do not imagine this an over-drawn sketch from a romantic fancy. I have only too weakly delineated the reality, as the portrait which hangs before me, looking down with its golden-fringed blue eyes upon my task, can fully testify.
A young girl stepped from it and walked to him among black boulders and patches of yellow sand. Being a king he had authority to ask questions. Conn asked her, therefore, all the questions that he could think of, for it is not every day that a lady drives from the sea, and she wearing a golden-fringed cloak of green silk through which a red satin smock peeped at the openings.
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