er collision and died of what
the astronomers call "fervent heat."

Vega, far more larger than our sun, appears stationary. Our sun, with its
family of moons and comets, is moving toward it at the fearful pace of
fourteen miles per second. At its present rate of speed--and if Vega is
really a "fixed" planet--then our sun would reach it in 320,000 years.
However, it is a known certainty that the quantity of matter that is
invisible is so much greater than the visible that the visible may be
ignored. There may, too, be hundreds of millions of dark bodies, extinct
constellations far larger than our own sun. Any one of these could
approach our solar system and annihilate it with its impact for, in
passing the orbit of the earth on their way around the sun, they attain a
regular velocity of 26-1/2 miles per second. If one of these dark comets
should overtake the earth and strike it, the velocity of impact would be
about eight miles per second; but if it should meet the earth in a head-on
collision, the speed, when it struck, would be forty-five miles per
second, a momentum beyond the power of the brain to fathom--indeed, man
can not think of sixty miles per minute. Let a solid nucleous collide with
the earth and imagination would reel at the result.

The earth moves over 18-1/2 miles every second, and this added to or
subtracted from 26-1/2 makes 45 or 8. If a comet should strike at right
angles to the direction of the earth's motion the speed of collision would
be 26-1/2 miles. But 8, 26-1/2 or even 15 would hurl destruction if large
enough.

A visible change is taking place in the giant sun Betelguese. Its nebulae
is slowly but surely disappearing. One hundred years hence it may be a
dark planet, invisible to even the most powerful telescope. However, Hell
will reign on, through eons and eons; and, if this sun, or any other,
contains its kingdom, and mankind lives for another thousand years or
more, those who should be so unfortunate as to miss the jagged heights to
Paradise need not worry, for glozing imps will lead them to the fasthold
of Typhon's weird home. Have no fear.

September 22d, MCMVII.

WHEN I AM GONE

What good is Fame when I am dead and gone,
When in immarcescible regions
My temple rots and soul doth storm and mourn
As bones of mine adorn an early grave?
Who'll hear and know that I worked hard and long,
That twin sighs and tears storm'd me by legions,
My life, a sunless one--bl