The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1873-04-05

fancied, when, his wrstched days attemp
at toll being over, he sought his shrine
that the floor close to the trapdoor was no
in the precise state in which he had left
in the morning. 1t was not that anythin!
was dislodged, for their was nothing to dis
lodge, nor was it as though the trapdoo
itself had been made; but the process o
concealmens was with him SO infinitely pre-
else and elaborate that he noticed even if
| single grain OF the small dust-heap that III
used to sweep over the hiding place wher
he went out for the day had been blown by
the wind into different position. On thi.
occasion, he thought, or fancied, that the
pile of dust was by no means as he was ir
the habit of making it-as though it had
been swept over the trap with mathemati
cal and excessive care, instead of with
studied negligence to which he had trained
his hand, in order to throw off the scent
any prying eyes. But, although his in
stinctive feeling of alarm was on this occa-
sion more decided than usual, as being
drawn from a visible cause, he was too
accustomed to it-for the possible loss OF
the Emerald was his terror by night and
day, as long as he was not actually holding
it in his hand-to dwell upon it long,
though it was with sinking heart and
trembling claws that he blew away the
dust and raised the square board. Thank
heaven, his panic, had deceived him: there
lay the casket as before, and there within
it lay the Emerald, safe and sound.
He took up his NIGHTLY position ON the
floor, placing the candle SC that it's
rays might fall full upon the stone, which
he pressed to his heart. But, whether he
was more weary and exhausted than usual,
or whether his passing panic was still
heavy upon him, somehow or other the
mist of green light did not seem to exhale
from it SO quickly as usual. There seemed
dizziness about the crystal that was new
and strange, and, as he bent over it,
he did not seem to see into its depths quite
SO profoundly as on former OCCASIONS
But, nevertheless, all the old fascination
was still there, and, as he gazed and medi-
tated, wrapped in himself and in his idol,
the passing thoughts to which it gave rise
failed not at last to gather themselves into
life.
There is no need to describe at length
another vision. Suffice it to say, that that
which came to him that night was such as
to transcend all the others. 1t seemed as
though the precious stone was determined
to exhaust to the utmost its magical power
in order to console him for all he had un-
dergone for its sake. He was no longer
only the high-priest of the temple: it was
to himself that the altar was raised, and
that the murmuring of many voices rose
into full hymn of praise and glory, not of
men, but of Seraphim. There was no need
to seek for anything: he had become self
sufficing and al[contalning. And the
vision seemed to have lasted for millions of
years-to have been without beginning,
and to be without the prospect of an end
Past and future, inextricably commingled,
seemed to evolve from themselves change
less present, which took the visible form of
white sunlight, and which made itself aud
ble in musical tones infinitely varied, but,
through all their modulations, connected |
and blended into one UNMARRIED note that
ran through them all. And all this was
himself Nathan Levi-for in nowise did he |
ose his separate self-consciousness. Out |
Of very caprice, he played with the uni
verse: he desired all sorts of impossible
md inconsistent things, and 10! they were.
His mere volition had become creative |
power. He revelled in this new sense of
infinite strength, of infinite existence, for
/ longer time than he usually bestowed
Upon his dreams. He was simply incapa-
Die now of feeling hunger or thirst, or wear
ness or cold; incapable even of feeling a
sting of conscience, now that there was no
more any right or wrong but as he willed.
And still, throughout all, he never for a
ceased to be the very same Nathan
Levi who spent his days in trying to buy
md sell worn out clothes in one of poorest |
streets of Soho-who had but short while
since to beg meal of one who was almost
Is poor as he. He laughed a harsh and
grating laugh as this grotesque companion
ship of himself with himself entered his
mind that would have sent into fit of |
error any one who had had the misfortune
% hear it, and then stretched his limbs out |
through the universe again. 1t was lucky |
or the ears of the owner of the shadow
hat had on more than one occasion come
between the Emerald and the moon that
lis visits to the window had ceased some |
lime ago. At last, however, for he was
still mortal after all-the vision began to
grow confused, and then, overcome by
intense excitement, he crawled to his filthy |
mattress once more.
The next morning he passed through |
Bean street, as usual. AS he passed Mad |
.me Comets, he passed also a girl who |
was leaving it with bundle under her
srm, and who looked up at him as he pass
I'd, and said: "Good- morning, Mr.. Levi"
And so it was that he knew, without |
it, how at least some of the twen-
~ shillings week were earned.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Back numbers of the above story can be |
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