“It is doubtless an immense conquest in the development of our knowledge of physiology and pathology, but this is not the point on which I would emphasize.  Upon applying your ear to the ground, sir, you may hear the mineral waters springing up at immeasurable depths; you may judge of their volume, their currents, and the obstacles which they meet!

“Do you wish to go further?  Enter a subterranean vault which is so constructed as to gather a quantity of loud sounds; then at night when the world sleeps, when nothing will be confused with the interior noises of our globe—­listen!

“Sir, all that it is possible for me to tell you at the present moment—­for in the midst of my profound misery, of my privations, and often of my despair, I am left only a few lucid instants to pursue my geological observations—­all that I can affirm is that the seething of glow worms, the explosions of boiling fluids, is something terrifying and sublime, which can only be compared to the impression of the astronomer whose glass fathoms depths of limitless extent.

“Nevertheless, I must avow that these impressions should be studied further and classified in a methodical manner, in order that definite conclusions may be derived therefrom.  Likewise, as soon as you shall have deigned, dear and noble master, to transmit the little sum for use at Neustadt as I asked, to supply my first needs, we shall see our way to an understanding in regard to the establishment of three great subterranean observatories, one in the valley of Catania, another in Iceland, then a third in Capac-Uren, Songay, or Cayembe-Uren, the deepest of the Cordilleras, and consequently—­”

Here the letter stopped.

I let my hands fall in stupefaction.  Had I read the conceptions of an idiot—­or the inspirations of a genius which had been realized?  What am I to say? to think?  So this man, this miserable creature, living at the bottom of a burrow like a fox, dying of hunger, had had perhaps one of those inspirations which the Supreme Being sends on earth to enlighten future generations!

And this man had hanged himself in disgust, despair!  No one had answered his prayer, though he asked only for a crust of bread in exchange for his discovery.  It was horrible.  Long, long I sat there dreaming, thanking Heaven for having limited my intelligence to the needs of ordinary life—­for not having desired to make me a superior man in the community of martyrs.  At length the rural guardsman, seeing me with fixed gaze and mouth agape, made so bold as to touch me on the shoulder.

“Mr. Christian,” said he, “see—­it’s getting late—­the burgomaster must have come back from the council.”

“Ha!  That’s a fact,” cried I, crumpling up the paper, “come on.”

We descended the hill.

My worthy cousin met me, with a smiling face, at the threshold of his house.

“Well! well!  Christian, so you’ve found no trace of the imbecile who hanged himself?”