To my astonishment, the persons who now advanced into the vacantspace around the mountain fire, bore surplices and other priestlygarments, mitres, crosiers, and a confusion of Popish and Protestantemblems, with which it seemed their purpose to consummate the greatAct of Faith. Crosses, from the spires of old cathedrals, were castupon the heap with as little remorse as if the reverence of centuries,passing in long array beneath the lofty towers, had not looked up tothem as the holiest of symbols. The font, in which infants wereconsecrated to God; the sacramental vessels, whence Piety received thehallowed draught; were given to the same destruction. Perhaps itmost nearly touched my heart to see, among these devoted relics,fragments of the humble communion-tables and undecorated pulpits,which I recognized as having been torn from the meeting-houses ofNew England. Those simple edifices might have been permitted to retainall of sacred embellishment that their Puritan founders hadbestowed, even though the mighty structure of St. Peter's had sent itsspoils to the fire of this terrible sacrifice. Yet I felt that thesewere but the externals of religion, and might most safely berelinquished by spirits that best knew their deep significance.
"All is well," said I cheerfully. "The wood-paths shall be theaisles of our cathedral- the firmament itself shall be its ceiling!
What needs an earthly roof between the Deity and his worshippers?
Our faith can well afford to lose all the drapery that even theholiest men have thrown around it, and be only the more sublime in itssimplicity.""True," said my companion. "But will they pause here?"The doubt implied in his question was well founded. In thegeneral destruction of books already described, a holy volume- thatstood apart from the catalogue of human literature, and yet, in onesense, was at its head- had been spared. But the Titan ofinnovation- angel or fiend, double in his nature, and capable of deedsbefitting both characters- at first shaking down only the old androtten shapes of things, had now, as it appeared, laid his terriblehand upon the main pillars which supported the whole edifice of ourmoral and spiritual state. The inhabitants of the earth had growntoo enlightened to define their faith within a form of words, or tolimit the spiritual by any analogy to our material existence.
Truths, which the heavens trembled at, were now but a fable of theworld's infancy. Therefore, as the final sacrifice of human error,what else remained to be thrown upon the embers of that awful pile,except the Book, which, though a celestial revelation to past ages,was but a voice from a lower sphere, as regarded the present race ofman? It was done! Upon the blazing heap of falsehood and worn-outtruth- things that the earth had never needed, or had ceased toneed, or had grown childishly weary of- fell the ponderous churchBible, the great old volume, that had lain so long on the cushion ofthe pulpit, and whence the pastor's solemn voice had given holyutterance on so many a Sabbath day. There, likewise, fell the familyBible, which the long buried patriarch had read to his children- inprosperity or sorrow, by the fireside and in the summer shade oftrees- and had bequeathed downward, as the heir-loom of generations.
There fell the bosom Bible, the little volume that had been the soul'sfriend of some sorely tried child of dust, who thence took courage,whether his trial were for life or death, steadfastly confronting bothin the strong assurance of immortality.
All these were flung into the fierce and riotous blaze; and thena mighty wind came roaring across the plain, with a desolate howl,as if it were the angry lamentations of the Earth for the loss ofHeaven's sunshine, and it shook the gigantic pyramid of flame, andscattered the cinders of half-consumed abominations around upon thespectators.
"This is terrible!" said I, feeling that my cheek grew pale, andseeing a like change in the visages about me.
"Be of good courage yet," answered the man with whom I had so oftenspoken. He continued to gaze steadily at the spectacle, with asingular calmness, as if it concerned him merely as an observer. "Beof good courage- nor yet exult too much; for there is far less both ofgood and evil, in the effect of this bonfire, than the world mightbe willing to believe.""How can that be?" exclaimed I impatiently. "Has it not consumedeverything? Has it not swallowed up, or melted down, every human ordivine appendage of our mortal state that had substance enough to beacted on by fire? Will there be anything left us tomorrow morning,better or worse than a heap of embers and ashes?""Assuredly there will," said my grave friend. "Come hither tomorrowmorning- or whenever the combustible portion of the pile shall bequite burnt out- and you will find among the ashes everything reallyvaluable that you have seen cast into the flames. Trust me, theworld of tomorrow will again enrich itself with the gold anddiamonds which have been cast off by the world of today. Not a truthis destroyed- nor buried so deep among the ashes, but it will be rakedup at last."This was a strange assurance. Yet I felt inclined to credit it; themore especially as I beheld among the wallowing flames a copy of theHoly Scriptures, the pages of which, instead of being blackened intotinder, only assumed a more dazzling whiteness as the finger-marksof human imperfection were purified away. Certain marginal notes andcommentaries, it is true, yielded to the intensity of the fierytest, but without detriment to the smallest syllable that had flamedfrom the pen of inspiration.
"Yes- there is the proof of what you say," answered I, turning tothe observer. " But if only what is evil can feel the action of thefire, then, surely, the conflagration has been of inestimable utility.
