you surely have a soul. How can
anything so young, so pure, so beautiful, be doomed to annihilation?"

"We are not annihilated," was the calm reply. "And as to beauty, are
the roses not beautiful? Yet they die and you say it is the end of the
year's roses. The birds are harmless, and their songs make the woods
melodious with the joy of life, yet they die, and you say they have no
after life. We are like the roses, but our lives are for a century and
more. And when our lives are ended, the Great Mother gathers us in. We
are the harvest of the centuries."

When the dull, gray light of the Arctic morning broke, it fell gently
upon the presence of Death.

With the assistance of the Esquimaux, a grave was dug, and a rude wooden
cross erected on which I wrote the one word "Wauna," which, in the
language of Mizora, means "Happiness."

The world to which I have returned is many ages behind the civilization
of Mizora.

Though we cannot hope to attain their perfection in our generation, yet
many, very many, evils could be obliterated were we to follow their
laws. Crime is as hereditary as disease.

No savant now denies the transmittable taint of insanity and
consumption. There are some people in the world now, who, knowing the
possibility of afflicting offspring with hereditary disease, have lived
in ascetic celibacy. But where do we find a criminal who denies himself
offspring, lest he endow posterity with the horrible capacity for murder
that lies in his blood?

The good, the just, the noble, close heart and eyes to the sweet
allurements of domestic life, lest posterity suffer physically or
mentally by them. But the criminal has no restraints but what the law
enforces. Ignorance, poverty and disease, huddled in dens of
wretchedness, where they multiply with reckless improvidence, sometimes
fostered by mistaken charity.

The future of the world, if it be grand and noble, will be the result of
UNIVERSAL EDUCATION, FREE AS THE GOD-GIVEN WATER WE DRINK.

In the United States I await the issue of universal liberty. In this
refuge for oppression, my husband found a grave. Childless, homeless and
friendless, in poverty and obscurity, I have written the story of my
wanderings. The world's fame can never warm a heart already dead to
happiness; but out of the agony of one human life, may come a lesson for
many. Life is a tragedy even under the most favorable conditions.

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBo