The Great Awakening

And now I come to the end of this extraordinary incident, so overshadowing in its importance, not only in our own small, individual lives, but in the general history of the human race. As I said when I began my narrative, when that history comes to be written, this occurrence will surely stand out among all other events like a mountain towering among its foothills. Our generation has been reserved for a very special fate since it has been chosen to experience so wonderful a thing. How long its effect may last—how long mankind may preserve the humility and reverence which this great shock has taught it—can only be shown by the future. I think it is safe to say that things can never be quite the same again. Never can one realize how powerless and ignorant one is, and how one is upheld by an unseen hand, until for an instant that hand has seemed to close and to crush. Death has been imminent upon us. We know that at any moment it may be again. That grim presence shadows our lives, but who can deny that in that shadow the sense of duty, the feeling of sobriety and responsibility, the appreciation of the gravity and of the objects of life, the earnest desire to develop and improve, have grown and become real with us to a degree that has leavened our whole society from end to end? It is something beyond sects and beyond dogmas. It is rather an alteration of perspective, a shifting of our sense of proportion, a vivid realization that we are insignificant and evanescent creatures, existing on sufferance and at the mercy of the first chill wind from the unknown. But if the world has grown graver with this knowledge it is not, I think, a sadder place in consequence. Surely we are agreed that the more sober and restrained pleasures of the present are deeper as well as wiser than the noisy, foolish hustle which passed so often for enjoyment in the days of old—days so recent and yet already so inconceivable. Those empty lives which were wasted in aimless visiting and being visited, in the worry of great and unnecessary households, in the arranging and eating of elaborate and tedious meals, have now found rest and health in the reading, the music, the gentle family communion which comes from a simpler and saner division of their time. With greater health and greater pleasure they are richer than before, even after they have paid those increased contributions to the common fund which have so raised the standard of life in these islands.

And now I come to the end of this extraordinary incident. It has been overwhelmingly important, not only in our small individual lives, but in the general history of humanity. As I said at the beginning of my account, this event will surely stand out when that history is written. Among all other events, it will be like a mountain towering over its foothills. Our generation has been set apart for a very special fate, chosen to experience something so wonderful. Only the future can show how long its effect may last. Only time will tell how long humanity may retain the humility and reverence taught by this great shock. I think it is safe to say that things can never be quite the same again. Only when the unseen hand that supports us seems for an instant to close and crush us can we realize how powerless and ignorant we are. Death has been close upon us. We know that it may be close again at any moment. That grim presence casts a shadow over our lives. But who can deny that, in its shadow, our sense of duty, seriousness and responsibility has grown? So has our understanding of the gravity and purpose of life, and our earnest desire to develop and improve. These have become real to us to such a degree that they have transformed our whole society from end to end. This change goes beyond sects and doctrines. It is more a change of perspective, a shift in our sense of proportion. We now realize vividly that we are small, short-lived creatures, allowed to exist and at the mercy of the first cold wind from the unknown. But if this knowledge has made the world more serious, I do not think it has made it sadder. Surely we agree that today's quieter, more restrained pleasures are deeper as well as wiser than the noisy, foolish bustle that so often passed for enjoyment in the old days. Those days are so recent, yet already so hard to imagine. Some people wasted their empty lives in pointless visits, both as guests and hosts. They worried over large, unnecessary households and arranged and ate elaborate, tiresome meals. Now, with a simpler and saner use of their time, they have found rest and health. They spend that time reading, listening to music and enjoying quiet family companionship. Healthier and happier, they are richer than before. This is true even after they have paid the increased contributions to the common fund that have so raised living standards in these islands.

There is some clash of opinion as to the exact hour of the great awakening. It is generally agreed that, apart from the difference of clocks, there may have been local causes which influenced the action of the poison. Certainly, in each separate district the resurrection was practically simultaneous. There are numerous witnesses that Big Ben pointed to ten minutes past six at the moment. The Astronomer Royal has fixed the Greenwich time at twelve past six. On the other hand, Laird Johnson, a very capable East Anglia observer, has recorded six-twenty as the hour. In the Hebrides it was as late as seven. In our own case there can be no doubt whatever, for I was seated in Challenger's study with his carefully tested chronometer in front of me at the moment. The hour was a quarter-past six.

There is some disagreement about the exact time of the great awakening. Most agree that, besides differences between clocks, local conditions may have affected how the poison acted. Certainly, the resurrection happened at almost the same time throughout each district. Many witnesses say that Big Ben showed ten minutes past six at that moment. The Astronomer Royal has fixed the time at twelve past six, Greenwich time. On the other hand, Laird Johnson, a very capable observer in East Anglia, recorded the time as six-twenty. In the Hebrides, it was as late as seven. In our own case, there can be no doubt at all. At that moment, I was sitting in Challenger's study, with his carefully tested chronometer in front of me. It was a quarter past six.

An enormous depression was weighing upon my spirits. The cumulative effect of all the dreadful sights which we had seen upon our journey was heavy upon my soul. With my abounding animal health and great physical energy any kind of mental clouding was a rare event. I had the Irish faculty of seeing some gleam of humor in every darkness. But now the obscurity was appalling and unrelieved. The others were downstairs making their plans for the future. I sat by the open window, my chin resting upon my hand and my mind absorbed in the misery of our situation. Could we continue to live? That was the question which I had begun to ask myself. Was it possible to exist upon a dead world? Just as in physics the greater body draws to itself the lesser, would we not feel an overpowering attraction from that vast body of humanity which had passed into the unknown? How would the end come? Would it be from a return of the poison? Or would the earth be uninhabitable from the mephitic products of universal decay? Or, finally, might our awful situation prey upon and unbalance our minds? A group of insane folk upon a dead world! My mind was brooding upon this last dreadful idea when some slight noise caused me to look down upon the road beneath me. The old cab horse was coming up the hill!

An immense depression weighed on my spirits. The combined effect of all the dreadful sights we had seen on our journey was heavy on my soul. With my robust health and great physical energy, I was rarely troubled by a clouded mind. I had the Irish gift of seeing a glimmer of humor in every darkness. But now the darkness was appalling and unbroken. The others were downstairs making plans for the future. I sat by the open window, my chin resting on my hand, absorbed in the misery of our situation. Could we go on living? That was the question I had begun to ask myself. Was it possible to live on a dead world? In physics, a larger body draws a smaller one toward it. In the same way, would we not feel an overwhelming pull from the vast mass of humanity that had passed into the unknown? How would the end come? Would the poison return? Or would the foul products of universal decay make the earth uninhabitable? Or, finally, might our terrible situation prey on our minds and drive us mad? A group of insane people on a dead world! I was brooding over this last dreadful idea when a slight noise made me look down at the road below. The old cab horse was coming up the hill!

I was conscious at the same instant of the twittering of birds, of someone coughing in the yard below, and of a background of movement in the landscape. And yet I remember that it was that absurd, emaciated, superannuated cab-horse which held my gaze. Slowly and wheezily it was climbing the slope. Then my eye traveled to the driver sitting hunched up upon the box and finally to the young man who was leaning out of the window in some excitement and shouting a direction. They were all indubitably, aggressively alive!

At the same moment, I heard birds chirping and someone coughing in the yard below. I also noticed movement in the landscape. And yet I remember staring at that ridiculous, skinny, worn-out cab horse. It was slowly climbing the slope, wheezing as it went. Then I looked at the driver, hunched over on his seat. Finally, I saw the young man leaning out of the cab window, excitedly shouting directions. They were all unmistakably, aggressively alive!

Everybody was alive once more! Had it all been a delusion? Was it conceivable that this whole poison belt incident had been an elaborate dream? For an instant my startled brain was really ready to believe it. Then I looked down, and there was the rising blister on my hand where it was frayed by the rope of the city bell. It had really been so, then. And yet here was the world resuscitated—here was life come back in an instant full tide to the planet. Now, as my eyes wandered all over the great landscape, I saw it in every direction—and moving, to my amazement, in the very same groove in which it had halted. There were the golfers. Was it possible that they were going on with their game? Yes, there was a fellow driving off from a tee, and that other group upon the green were surely putting for the hole. The reapers were slowly trooping back to their work. The nurse-girl slapped one of her charges and then began to push the perambulator up the hill. Everyone had unconcernedly taken up the thread at the very point where they had dropped it.

Everybody was alive again! Had it all been an illusion? Could the whole poison belt incident have been an elaborate dream? For a moment, my startled mind was ready to believe it. Then I looked down and saw a blister forming on my hand, where the city bell’s rope had rubbed it raw. It had really happened, then. And yet the world had come back to life. In an instant, life had returned to the planet in full force. As I looked across the vast landscape, I saw life everywhere. To my amazement, everyone was carrying on exactly where they had stopped. There were the golfers. Could they really be continuing their game? Yes, one man was driving off from a tee, and the group on the green were clearly putting for the hole. The harvesters were slowly making their way back to work. The nursemaid slapped one of the children in her care, then began pushing the baby carriage up the hill. Everyone had calmly picked up exactly where they had left off.

I rushed downstairs, but the hall door was open, and I heard the voices of my companions, loud in astonishment and congratulation, in the yard. How we all shook hands and laughed as we came together, and how Mrs. Challenger kissed us all in her emotion, before she finally threw herself into the bear-hug of her husband.

I rushed downstairs, but the front door was open. I heard my companions in the yard, exclaiming in amazement and congratulating one another. We all shook hands and laughed when we came together. Mrs. Challenger was so emotional that she kissed us all before finally throwing herself into her husband's bear hug.

"But they could not have been asleep!" cried Lord John. "Dash it all, Challenger, you don't mean to believe that those folk were asleep with their staring eyes and stiff limbs and that awful death grin on their faces!"

"But they couldn't have been asleep!" cried Lord John. "Come on, Challenger, you can't believe those people were asleep! Their eyes were staring, their limbs were stiff, and they had that awful death grin on their faces!"

"It can only have been the condition that is called catalepsy," said Challenger. "It has been a rare phenomenon in the past and has constantly been mistaken for death. While it endures, the temperature falls, the respiration disappears, the heartbeat is indistinguishable—in fact, it is death, save that it is evanescent. Even the most comprehensive mind"—here he closed his eyes and simpered—"could hardly conceive a universal outbreak of it in this fashion."

"It can only have been the condition called catalepsy," said Challenger. "It has been rare in the past and has often been mistaken for death. While it lasts, the body temperature falls, breathing stops, and the heartbeat cannot be detected. In fact, it is death, except that it passes." Here he closed his eyes and smiled smugly. "Even the most comprehensive mind could hardly imagine a worldwide outbreak of catalepsy like this."

"You may label it catalepsy," remarked Summerlee, "but, after all, that is only a name, and we know as little of the result as we do of the poison which has caused it. The most we can say is that the vitiated ether has produced a temporary death."

"You may call it catalepsy," said Summerlee, "but that is only a name. We know as little about the condition as we do about the poison that caused it. At most, we can say that the poisoned ether has caused a temporary death."

Austin was seated all in a heap on the step of the car. It was his coughing which I had heard from above. He had been holding his head in silence, but now he was muttering to himself and running his eyes over the car.

Austin sat slumped on the car's step. His coughing was what I had heard from above. He had been holding his head in silence, but now he was muttering to himself and looking over the car.

"Young fat-head!" he grumbled. "Can't leave things alone!"

"Young idiot!" he grumbled. "Can't leave things alone!"

"What's the matter, Austin?"

"What's the matter, Austin?"

"Lubricators left running, sir. Someone has been fooling with the car. I expect it's that young garden boy, sir."

"The lubricators were left running, sir. Someone has been messing with the car. I expect it was that young garden boy, sir."

Lord John looked guilty.

Lord John looked guilty.

"I don't know what's amiss with me," continued Austin, staggering to his feet. "I expect I came over queer when I was hosing her down. I seem to remember flopping over by the step. But I'll swear I never left those lubricator taps on."

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Austin continued, staggering to his feet. "I think I felt strange while I was hosing her down. I seem to remember collapsing by the step. But I swear I never left those lubricator taps on."

In a condensed narrative the astonished Austin was told what had happened to himself and the world. The mystery of the dripping lubricators was also explained to him. He listened with an air of deep distrust when told how an amateur had driven his car and with absorbed interest to the few sentences in which our experiences of the sleeping city were recorded. I can remember his comment when the story was concluded.

We briefly told the astonished Austin what had happened to him and to the world. We also explained the mystery of the dripping lubricators. He listened with deep distrust when he heard that an amateur had driven his car. He listened with great interest to the few sentences describing our experiences in the sleeping city. I remember his comment when the story was finished.

"Was you outside the Bank of England, sir?"

"Was you outside the Bank of England, sir?"

"Yes, Austin."

"Yes, Austin."

"With all them millions inside and everybody asleep?"

"With all them millions inside and everybody asleep?"

"That was so."

"That was true."

"And I not there!" he groaned, and turned dismally once more to the hosing of his car.

"And I'm not there!" he groaned, then sadly went back to hosing down his car.

There was a sudden grinding of wheels upon gravel. The old cab had actually pulled up at Challenger's door. I saw the young occupant step out from it. An instant later the maid, who looked as tousled and bewildered as if she had that instant been aroused from the deepest sleep, appeared with a card upon a tray. Challenger snorted ferociously as he looked at it, and his thick black hair seemed to bristle up in his wrath.

Suddenly, wheels ground against the gravel. The old cab had actually stopped at Challenger's door. I saw the young passenger step out. A moment later, the maid appeared with a card on a tray. She looked as disheveled and confused as if she had just been woken from a deep sleep. Challenger snorted fiercely as he looked at the card. His thick black hair seemed to bristle with anger.

"A pressman!" he growled. Then with a deprecating smile: "After all, it is natural that the whole world should hasten to know what I think of such an episode."

"A reporter!" he growled. Then he smiled modestly. "After all, it's natural that the whole world should rush to hear what I think about such an event."

"That can hardly be his errand," said Summerlee, "for he was on the road in his cab before ever the crisis came."

"That can hardly be why he came," said Summerlee, "because he was already on the road in his cab before the crisis began."

I looked at the card: "James Baxter, London Correspondent, New York Monitor."

I looked at the card: "James Baxter, London Correspondent, New York Monitor."

"You'll see him?" said I.

"You'll see him?" I said.

"Not I."

"Not me."

"Oh, George! You should be kinder and more considerate to others. Surely you have learned something from what we have undergone."

"Oh, George! You should be kinder and more considerate to others. Surely you have learned something from what we have been through."

He tut-tutted and shook his big, obstinate head.

He tut-tutted and shook his big, stubborn head.

"A poisonous breed! Eh, Malone? The worst weed in modern civilization, the ready tool of the quack and the hindrance of the self-respecting man! When did they ever say a good word for me?"

"A poisonous breed! Right, Malone? They are the worst weed in modern civilization. Quacks use them, and they stand in the way of self-respecting men! When did they ever say a good word for me?"

"When did you ever say a good word to them?" I answered. "Come, sir, this is a stranger who has made a journey to see you. I am sure that you won't be rude to him."

"When have you ever said a kind word to them?" I replied. "Come on, sir, this stranger has traveled to see you. I'm sure you won't be rude to him."

"Well, well," he grumbled, "you come with me and do the talking. I protest in advance against any such outrageous invasion of my private life." Muttering and mumbling, he came rolling after me like an angry and rather ill-conditioned mastiff.

“Well, well,” he grumbled, “come with me and do the talking. I object in advance to any such outrageous invasion of my private life.” Muttering and mumbling, he lumbered after me like an angry, bad-tempered mastiff.

The dapper young American pulled out his notebook and plunged instantly into his subject.

The neatly dressed young American pulled out his notebook and immediately got to the subject.

"I came down, sir," said he, "because our people in America would very much like to hear more about this danger which is, in your opinion, pressing upon the world."

"I came down, sir," he said, "because our people in America would very much like to hear more about the danger. You believe it threatens the world."

"I know of no danger which is now pressing upon the world," Challenger answered gruffly.

"I don't know of any danger threatening the world right now," Challenger answered gruffly.

The pressman looked at him in mild surprise.

The reporter looked at him with mild surprise.

"I meant, sir, the chances that the world might run into a belt of poisonous ether."

"I meant, sir, the chances of the world running into a belt of poisonous ether."

"I do not now apprehend any such danger," said Challenger.

"I don't think there's any such danger now," said Challenger.

The pressman looked even more perplexed.

The reporter looked even more confused.

"You are Professor Challenger, are you not?" he asked.

"You're Professor Challenger, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; that is my name."

"Yes, sir, that's my name."

"I cannot understand, then, how you can say that there is no such danger. I am alluding to your own letter, published above your name in the London Times of this morning."

"Then I cannot understand how you can say there is no such danger. I am referring to your letter, published under your name in this morning's London Times."

It was Challenger's turn to look surprised.

It was Challenger's turn to look surprised.

"This morning?" said he. "No London Times was published this morning."

"This morning?" he said. "No London Times was published this morning."

"Surely, sir," said the American in mild remonstrance, "you must admit that the London Times is a daily paper." He drew out a copy from his inside pocket. "Here is the letter to which I refer."

"Surely, sir," the American said in mild protest, "you must admit that the London Times is a daily newspaper." He pulled a copy from his inside pocket. "Here is the letter I mentioned."

Challenger chuckled and rubbed his hands.

Challenger chuckled and rubbed his hands.

"I begin to understand," said he. "So you read this letter this morning?"

"I'm beginning to understand," he said. "So you read this letter this morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"And came at once to interview me?"

"And came to interview me right away?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Did you observe anything unusual upon the journey down?"

"Did you notice anything unusual on the way down?"

"Well, to tell the truth, your people seemed more lively and generally human than I have ever seen them. The baggage man set out to tell me a funny story, and that's a new experience for me in this country."

"Well, honestly, your people seemed livelier and more human than I've ever seen them. The baggage handler started telling me a funny story. That's a new experience for me in this country."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else?"

"Why, no, sir, not that I can recall."

"No, sir, not that I remember."

"Well, now, what hour did you leave Victoria?"

"Well, now, what time did you leave Victoria?"

The American smiled.

The American smiled.

"I came here to interview you, Professor, but it seems to be a case of 'Is this nigger fishing, or is this fish niggering?' You're doing most of the work."

"I came here to interview you, Professor, but it seems to be a case of 'Is this nigger fishing, or is this fish niggering?' You're doing most of the work."

"It happens to interest me. Do you recall the hour?"

"It interests me. Do you remember what time it was?"

"Sure. It was half-past twelve."

"Sure. It was twelve thirty."

"And you arrived?"

"And you arrived?"

"At a quarter-past two."

"At 2:15."

"And you hired a cab?"

"And you hired a cab?"

"That was so."

"That was true."

"How far do you suppose it is to the station?"

"How far do you think it is to the station?"

"Well, I should reckon the best part of two miles."

"Well, I'd say almost two miles."

"So how long do you think it took you?"

"So how long do you think it took you?"

"Well, half an hour, maybe, with that asthmatic in front."

"Well, maybe half an hour, with that asthmatic in front."

"So it should be three o'clock?"

"So it should be three o'clock?"

"Yes, or a trifle after it."

"Yes, or a little after it."

"Look at your watch."

"Look at your watch."

The American did so and then stared at us in astonishment.

The American did so and then stared at us in surprise.

"Say!" he cried. "It's run down. That horse has broken every record, sure. The sun is pretty low, now that I come to look at it. Well, there's something here I don't understand."

"Hey!" he cried. "It's run down. That horse has broken every record, for sure. Now that I look, the sun is pretty low. Well, there's something here I don't understand."

"Have you no remembrance of anything remarkable as you came up the hill?"

"Don't you remember anything unusual as you came up the hill?"

"Well, I seem to recollect that I was mighty sleepy once. It comes back to me that I wanted to say something to the driver and that I couldn't make him heed me. I guess it was the heat, but I felt swimmy for a moment. That's all."

"Well, I seem to remember being mighty sleepy once. I remember wanting to say something to the driver, but I couldn't get him to listen. I guess it was the heat, but I felt dizzy for a moment. That's all."

"So it is with the whole human race," said Challenger to me. "They have all felt swimmy for a moment. None of them have as yet any comprehension of what has occurred. Each will go on with his interrupted job as Austin has snatched up his hose-pipe or the golfer continued his game. Your editor, Malone, will continue the issue of his papers, and very much amazed he will be at finding that an issue is missing. Yes, my young friend," he added to the American reporter, with a sudden mood of amused geniality, "it may interest you to know that the world has swum through the poisonous current which swirls like the Gulf Stream through the ocean of ether. You will also kindly note for your own future convenience that to-day is not Friday, August the twenty-seventh, but Saturday, August the twenty-eighth, and that you sat senseless in your cab for twenty-eight hours upon the Rotherfield hill."

"The same is true of the whole human race," Challenger said to me. "They have all felt dizzy for a moment. None of them yet understands what has happened. Each will return to the job they were doing, just as Austin has picked up his hose and the golfer resumed his game. Your editor, Malone, will go on publishing his papers. He will be very surprised to find that an issue is missing. Yes, my young friend," he added to the American reporter, suddenly amused and friendly, "you may be interested to know that the world has passed through a poisonous current. It swirls through the ocean of ether like the Gulf Stream. You should also note, for future reference, that today is not Friday, August the twenty-seventh, but Saturday, August the twenty-eighth. You sat unconscious in your cab for twenty-eight hours on Rotherfield hill."

And "right here," as my American colleague would say, I may bring this narrative to an end. It is, as you are probably aware, only a fuller and more detailed version of the account which appeared in the Monday edition of the Daily Gazette—an account which has been universally admitted to be the greatest journalistic scoop of all time, which sold no fewer than three-and-a-half million copies of the paper. Framed upon the wall of my sanctum I retain those magnificent headlines:—

And "right here," as my American colleague would say, I may bring this story to an end. As you probably know, it is simply a fuller, more detailed version of the account published in Monday's Daily Gazette. That account is universally recognized as the greatest journalistic scoop of all time. It sold no fewer than three and a half million copies of the paper. I still have those magnificent headlines framed on the wall of my private office:

Underneath this glorious scroll came nine and a half columns of narrative, in which appeared the first, last, and only account of the history of the planet, so far as one observer could draw it, during one long day of its existence. Challenger and Summerlee have treated the matter in a joint scientific paper, but to me alone was left the popular account. Surely I can sing "Nunc dimittis." What is left but anti-climax in the life of a journalist after that!

Under that glorious headline came nine and a half columns of narrative. It was the first, last, and only account of the planet's history during one long day of its existence, as far as one observer could tell it. Challenger and Summerlee have covered the subject in a joint scientific paper, but the account for the general public was left to me alone. Surely I can sing "Nunc dimittis." What could be left for a journalist after that but an anticlimax!

But let me not end on sensational headlines and a merely personal triumph. Rather let me quote the sonorous passages in which the greatest of daily papers ended its admirable leader upon the subject—a leader which might well be filed for reference by every thoughtful man.

But let me not end with sensational headlines and a purely personal triumph. Instead, let me quote the stirring final passages of an excellent editorial on the subject from the greatest daily newspaper. Every thoughtful man would do well to keep the editorial for reference.

"It has been a well-worn truism," said the Times, "that our human race are a feeble folk before the infinite latent forces which surround us. From the prophets of old and from the philosophers of our own time the same message and warning have reached us. But, like all oft-repeated truths, it has in time lost something of its actuality and cogency. A lesson, an actual experience, was needed to bring it home. It is from that salutory but terrible ordeal that we have just emerged, with minds which are still stunned by the suddenness of the blow and with spirits which are chastened by the realization of our own limitations and impotence. The world has paid a fearful price for its schooling. Hardly yet have we learned the full tale of disaster, but the destruction by fire of New York, of Orleans, and of Brighton constitutes in itself one of the greatest tragedies in the history of our race. When the account of the railway and shipping accidents has been completed, it will furnish grim reading, although there is evidence to show that in the vast majority of cases the drivers of trains and engineers of steamers succeeded in shutting off their motive power before succumbing to the poison. But the material damage, enormous as it is both in life and in property, is not the consideration which will be uppermost in our minds to-day. All this may in time be forgotten. But what will not be forgotten, and what will and should continue to obsess our imaginations, is this revelation of the possibilities of the universe, this destruction of our ignorant self-complacency, and this demonstration of how narrow is the path of our material existence and what abysses may lie upon either side of it. Solemnity and humility are at the base of all our emotions to-day. May they be the foundations upon which a more earnest and reverent race may build a more worthy temple."

“It has long been a familiar truth,” said the Times, “that our human race is weak before the infinite hidden forces around us. The prophets of old and the philosophers of our own time have given us the same message and warning. But, like all often-repeated truths, it has gradually lost some of its force and immediacy. We needed a lesson, an actual experience, to bring it home. We have just emerged from that sobering but terrible ordeal. Our minds are still stunned by the suddenness of the blow. Our spirits are humbled by the realization of our own limitations and helplessness. “The world has paid a terrible price for its education. We still hardly know the full extent of the disaster. But the destruction by fire of New York, Orleans, and Brighton is itself one of the greatest tragedies in our history. When the full account of the railway and shipping accidents is complete, it will make grim reading. Yet evidence shows that, in the vast majority of cases, train drivers and steamship engineers managed to shut off their engines before the poison overcame them. “But the material damage, enormous as the loss of life and property is, will not be foremost in our minds today. In time, all this may be forgotten. What will not be forgotten is this revelation of the possibilities of the universe. It has destroyed our ignorant self-satisfaction. It has shown how narrow the path of our physical existence is, and what abysses may lie on either side. This revelation will and should continue to haunt our imaginations. Solemnity and humility lie beneath all our feelings today. May they be the foundations on which a more earnest and reverent race may build a worthier temple.”