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Programming the Photon
 Programming the Photon

Getting Started with the Internet of Things

Christopher Rush

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Programming the Photon: Getting Started with the Internet of Things
Copyright © 2016 by McGraw-Hill Education. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Except as
permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in
any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, with the exception that the program listings may be entered, stored, and executed in a computer system, but
they may not be reproduced for publication.
McGraw-Hill Education, the McGraw-Hill Education logo, TAB, and related trade dress are trademarks or registered
trademarks of McGraw-Hill Education and/or its affiliates in the United States and other countries and may not be used
without written permission. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners. McGraw-Hill Education is
not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.
1234567890 DOC DOC 12109876
ISBN 978-0-07-184706-3
MHID 0-07-184706-5
e-ISBN 978-0-07-184707-0
e-MHID 0-07-184707-3
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
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Information has been obtained by McGraw-Hill Education from sources believed to be reliable. However, because of the
possibility of human or mechanical error by our sources, McGraw-Hill Education, or others, McGraw-Hill Education
does not guarantee the accuracy, adequacy, or completeness of any information and is not responsible for any errors or
omissions or the results obtained from the use of such information.
About the Author
Christopher Rush has a degree in computer science and has spent the last 10 years
working for an electronics distribution company as a product manager for single-board
computing. He also runs a MakerSpace blog (www.rushmakes.com) providing reviews,
tutorials, and user guides for popular development boards and accessories, including
Raspberry Pi, Arduino, BeagleBone, and others. Mr. Rush is the author of 30 BeagleBone
Black Projects for the Evil Genius, also published by McGraw-Hill Education.
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 CONTENTS AT A GLANCE
1 Introduction to the Photon
2 Getting Connected
3 Particle Syntax
4 Outputs
5 Inputs
6 The Internet of Things
7 Programming Particle Shields
8 IFTTT
9 Troubleshooting Your Device
A Tools and Tips
B Particle Code Reference
Index
 CONTENTS
Preface
Acknowledgments
1 Introduction to the Photon
Microcontrollers
So, What Is the Photon?
Particle Photon versus Spark Core
The Internet of Things
Particle Cloud
The Photon Board
Summary
2 Getting Connected
Board Features
Getting Connected
Connecting to Mobile Smart Device
Connecting over USB
Using Tinker
Tinker API
Running Tinker Alongside Your Scripts
Using the Particle Web IDE
Particle Applications and Libraries
Uploading Your First Application
Account Information
Using Libraries
Photon’s Firmware
Summary
3 Particle Syntax
What Is Programming?
 Variables
Floats
Boolean
Char
Commands
The if Statement
for Loops
while Loops
Arrays
Strings
Coding Best Practices
Indentation
Commenting Your Code
Whitespaces
Summary
4 Outputs
Digital Outputs
Flashing an LED
LCD Display
Analog Outputs
Summary
5 Inputs
Digital Inputs
digitalRead ()
Analog Inputs
Summary
6 The Internet of Things
Functions
Controlling an LED over the Internet
Reading Values over the Internet
 Summary
7 Programming Particle Shields
Shield Shield
Relay Shield
Programmer Shield
Power Shield
The Internet Button
Grove Starter Kit for Photon
Adafruit Particle NeoPixel Ring Kit
Summary
8 IFTTT
If This Then That
Sunrise E-mail Alert
Create a Twitter Alert Using Grove Modules
Summary
9 Troubleshooting Your Device
Device Modes
Troubleshooting Modes
Summary
A Tools and Tips
Breadboards and Prototyping Boards
Multimeter
Soldering
Analog versus Digital
Suppliers
Components
Resistors
Semiconductors
Hardware and Miscellaneous
B Particle Code Reference
Setup
Loop
analogRead
analogWrite
digitalRead
digitalWrite
if
else
int
pinMode
servo.attach
servo.write
Index
 PREFACE

This book is the perfect introduction to programming the Particle Photon development
board. The Particle Photon is a true Internet of Things device that lets you write code and
create electronic projects using the cloud. It is fully capable of acting as the brains of your
projects while expanding their capabilities by using the Internet to remotely control and
collect data.
Luckily, the Photon platform has adopted the Arduino-style programming language
while also introducing its own programming features. This opens you up to the vast
amount of resources from the world of Arduino that are available to you, including
existing projects and examples.
Why the Photon? The Photon board was developed by the team at Particle and was
introduced to the world in November 2014, priced at only $19. It is one-of-a-kind, offering
a unique hardware and software experience to you using the Particle cloud, which can be
programmed through the Web IDE. The Photon board supersedes the Particle Core, which
was funded through a Kickstarter campaign that raised over half-a-million U.S. dollars,
and it comes equipped with the Broadcom BCM43362 Wi-Fi chip rather than the TI
CC3000.
The purpose of this book is to get you started with creating your own hardware
projects with the Particle Photon. You do not need any previous experience wiring circuits
or programming, but a general use of computer skills would be highly advantageous.
Programming the Photon is written to give you a wide variety of experiences and a basic
understanding of the many capabilities of the Photon board. This book covers only the
basics of how to program the board, on the assumption that you will then expand those
skills on your own for your future projects.
I would love to hear your thoughts on this book and would encourage you to contact
me through www.rushmakes.com or Twitter (https://twitter.com/chrisrush85).
Christopher Rush
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Mike McCabe and the team at McGraw-Hill Education, who have
been very supportive and a pleasure to work with once again.
I would also like to dedicate this book to my partner Jennifer Wozniak, who, as
always, gives me encouragement and motivation throughout; I would be lost without her
by my side.
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Other documents randomly have
different content
population of the globe has increased from epoch to epoch. In the
time of Alexander there were perhaps a thousand million living
beings on the surface of the earth. At the end of the nineteenth
century fifteen hundred million; in the twenty-second century two
thousand million; in the twenty-ninth three thousand million; at its
maximum the population of the globe had reached one hundred
thousand million. Then it had begun to decrease.
Of the innumerable human bodies which have lived, not one
remains. All have been resolved into their elements, which have
again formed new individuals.
All that fills the passing day—labor, pleasure, grief and happiness—
vanishes with it into oblivion. Time flies, and the past exists no
longer; what has been, has disappeared in the gulf of eternity. The
visible world is vanishing every instant. Only the invisible is real and
enduring.
During the ten million years of history, the human race, surviving
generation after generation, as if it were a real thing, had been
greatly modified from both a physical and moral point of view. It had
always remained master of the world, and no new race had aspired to
its sovereignty; for races do not come down from heaven or rise from
hell; no Minerva is born full-armed, no Venus awakes full-grown in a
shell of pearl on the seashore; everything grows, and the human race,
with its long line of ancestry, was from the very beginning the natural
result of the vital evolution of the planet. Under the law of progress,
it had emerged from the limbo of animalism, and by the continued
action of this same law of progress it had become gradually
perfected, modified and refined.
But the time had come when the conditions of terrestrial life began
to fail; when humanity, instead of advancing, was itself to enter upon
its downward path.
The internal heat of the globe, still considerable in the nineteenth
century, although it had ceased to have any effect upon surface
temperature, which was maintained solely by the sun, had slowly
diminished, and the earth had, at last, become entirely cold. This had
not directly influenced the physical conditions of terrestrial life,
which continued to depend upon the atmosphere and solar heat. The
cooling of the earth cannot bring about the end of the world.
Imperceptibly, from century to century, the earth’s surface had
become levelled. The action of the rain, snow, frost and solar heat
upon the mountains, the waters of torrents, rivulets and rivers, had
slowly carried to the sea the débris of every continental elevation.
The bottom of the sea had risen, and in nine million years the
mountains had almost entirely disappeared. Meanwhile, the planet
had grown old faster than the sun; the conditions favorable to life
had disappeared more rapidly than the solar light and heat.
This conception of the planet’s future conforms to our present
knowledge of the universe. Doubtless, our logic is radically
incomplete, puerile even, in comparison with the real and eternal
Truth, and might be justly compared with that of two ants talking
together about the history of France. But, confessing the modesty
which befits the finite in presence of the infinite, and acknowledging
our nothingness as compared with the universe, we cannot avoid the
necessity of appearing logical to ourselves; we cannot assume that
the abdication of reason is a better proof of wisdom than the use of it.
We believe that an intelligent order presides over the universe and
controls the destiny of worlds and their inhabitants; that the larger
members of the solar system must last longer than the lesser ones,
and, consequently, that the life of each planet is not equally
dependent upon the sun, and cannot, therefore, continue
indefinitely, any more than the sun itself. Moreover, direct
observation confirms this general conception of the universe. The
earth, an extinct sun, has cooled more rapidly than the sun. Jupiter,
so immense, is still in its youth. The moon, smaller than Mars, has
reached the more advanced stages of astral life, perhaps even has
reached its end. Mars, smaller than the earth, is more advanced than
the earth and less so than the moon. Our planet, in its turn, must die
before Jupiter, and this, also, must take place before the sun
becomes extinct.
Consider, in fact, the relative sizes of the earth and the other planets.
The diameter of Jupiter is eleven times that of the earth, and the
diameter of the sun about ten times that of Jupiter. The diameter of
Saturn is nine times that of the earth. It seems to us, therefore,
natural to believe that Jupiter and Saturn will endure longer than
our planet, Venus, Mars or Mercury, those pigmies of the system!
Events justified these deductions of science. Dangers lay in wait for
us in the immensity of space; a thousand accidents might have
befallen us, in the form of comets, extinct or flaming suns, nebulæ,
etc. But the planet did not perish by an accident. Old age awaited the
earth, as it waits for all other things, and it grew old faster than the
sun. It lost the conditions necessary for life more rapidly than the
central luminary lost its heat and its light.
During the long periods of its vital splendor, when, leading the
chorus of the worlds, it bore on its surface an intelligent race, victors
over the blind forces of nature, a protecting atmosphere, beneath
which went on all the play of life and happiness, guarded its
flourishing empires. An essential element of nature, water, regulated
terrestrial life; from the very beginning this element had entered into
the composition of every substance, vegetable, animal and human. It
formed the active principle of atmospheric circulation; it was the
chief agent in the changes of climate and seasons; it was the
sovereign of the terrestrial state.
From century to century the quantity of water in the sea, the rivers
and the atmosphere diminished. A portion of the rain water was
absorbed by the earth, and did not return to the sea; for, instead of
flowing into the sea over impermeable strata, and so forming either
springs or subterranean and submarine watercourses, it had filtered
deeper within the surface, insensibly filling every void, every fissure,
and saturating the rocks to a great depth. So long as the internal heat
of the globe was sufficient to prevent the indefinite descent of this
water, and to convert it into vapor, a considerable quantity remained
upon the surface; but the time came when the internal heat of the
globe was entirely dispersed in space and offered no obstacle to
infiltration. Then the surface water gradually diminished; it united
with the rocks, in the form of hydrates, and thus disappeared from
circulation.
Indeed, were the loss of the surface water of the globe to amount only
to a few tenths of a millimeter yearly, in ten million years none would
remain.
This vapor of water in the atmosphere had made warmth and life
possible; with its disappearance came cold and death. If at present
the aqueous vapor of the atmosphere should disappear, the heat of
the sun would be incapable of maintaining animal and vegetable life;
life which, moreover, could not exist, inasmuch as vegetables and
animals are chiefly composed of water.[4]

4. Of all terrestrial substances water has the greatest specific heat.

It cools more slowly than any other. Its specific heat is four
times greater than that of air. When the temperature of a
kilogram of water falls one degree, it raises the temperature of
four kilograms of air one degree. But water is seven hundred
and seventy times heavier than air, so that if we compare two
equal volumes of water and air, we find that a cubic meter of
water, in losing one degree of temperature, raises the
temperature of seven hundred and seventy times four, or 3080
cubic meters of air by the same amount. This is the explanation
of the influence of the sea in modifying the climate of
continents. The heat of summer is stored in the ocean and is
slowly given out in winter. This explains why islands and
seashores have no extremes of climate. The heat of summer is
tempered by the breezes, and the cold of winter is alleviated by
the heat stored in the water.
The invisible vapor of water, distributed through the atmosphere,
exercises the greatest possible influence on temperature. In quantity
this vapor seems almost negligible, since oxygen and nitrogen alone
form ninety-nine and one-half per cent. of the air we breathe; and
the remaining one-half of one per cent. contains, besides the vapor of
water, carbonic acid, ammonia and other substances. There is
scarcely more than a quarter of one per cent. of aqueous vapor. If we
consider the constituent atoms of the atmosphere, the physicist tells
us that for two hundred atoms of oxygen and nitrogen there is
scarcely one of water-vapor; but this one atom has eighty times more
absorptive energy than the two hundred others.
The radiant heat of the sun, after traversing the atmosphere, warms
the surface of the earth. The heat waves reflected from the warmed
earth are not lost in space. The aqueous vapor atoms, acting like a
barrier, turn them back and preserve them for our benefit.
This is one of the most brilliant and the most fruitful discoveries of
modern physics. The oxygen and nitrogen molecules of dry air do not
oppose the radiation of heat; but, as we have just said, one molecule
of water-vapor possesses eighty times the absorptive energy of the
other two hundred molecules of dry air, and consequently such a
molecule is sixteen thousand times more efficacious in so far as the
conservation of heat is concerned. So that it is the vapor of water and
not the air, properly speaking, which regulates the conditions of life
upon the earth.
If one should remove this vapor from the surrounding atmosphere, a
loss of heat would go on at the surface similar to that which takes
place in high altitudes, for the atmosphere would then be as
powerless to retain heat as a vacuum is. A cold like that at the surface
of the moon would be the result. The soil would still receive heat
directly from the sun, but even during the daytime this heat would
not be retained, and after sunset the earth would be exposed to the
glacial cold of space, which appears to be about 273° below zero.
Thus vegetable, animal and human life would be impossible, if it had
not already become so, through the very disappearance of the water.
Certainly we may and must admit that water has not been so
essential a condition of life on all the worlds of space as it has been
upon our own. The resources of nature are not limited by human
observation. There must be, there are, in the limitless realms of
space, millions and millions of suns differing from ours, systems of
worlds in which other substances, other chemical combinations,
other physical and mechanical conditions, other environments, have
produced beings absolutely unlike ourselves, living another life,
possessed of other senses, differing in organization from ourselves
far more than the fish or mollusk of the deep sea differs from the bird
or the butterfly. But we are here studying the conditions of terrestrial
life, and these conditions are determined by the constitution of the
planet itself.
 FOSSIL
SPECIMENS OF
THE XXTH.
CENTURY.

The gradual filtration of water into the interior of the earth, keeping
pace with the radiation of the earth’s original heat into space, the
slow formation of oxides and hydrates, in about eight million years
reduced by three-fourths the quantity of water in circulation on the
earth’s surface. As a consequence of the disappearance of continental
elevations, whose débris, obeying passively the laws of gravity, were
slowly carried by the rain, the wind, and the streams to the sea, the
earth had become almost level and the seas more shallow; but as
evaporation and the formation of aqueous vapor goes on only from
the surface and does not depend upon the depth, the atmosphere was
still rich in vapor. The conditions of life upon the planet were then
similar to those we now observe on Mars; where we see that great
oceans have disappeared or have become mere inland seas of slight
depth, that the continents are vast plains, that evaporation is active,
that a considerable quantity of aqueous vapor still exists, that rains
are rare, that snows abound in the polar regions and are almost
entirely melted during the summer of each year—in short, a world
still habitable by beings analogous to those that people the earth.
This epoch marked the apogee of the human race. Thenceforward the
conditions of life grew less favorable, and from century to century,
from generation to generation, underwent marked change. Vegetable
and animal species, the human race itself, everything in short,
became transformed. But whereas, hitherto, these metamorphoses
had enriched, embellished and perfected life, the day had come when
decadence was to begin.
During more than a hundred thousand years it was insensible, for
the parabolic curve of life did not suddenly fall away from its highest
point. Humanity had reached a degree of civilization, of intellectual
greatness, of physical and moral well-being, of scientific, artistic and
industrial perfection, incomparably beyond anything of which we
know. For several million years the central heat of the globe had been
utilized in winter for general warming purposes by towns, villages,
manufactories and every variety of industry. When this failing source
of heat had finally become exhausted, the heat of the sun had been
stored subject to the wants of the race, hydrogen had been extracted
from sea-water, the energy of waterfalls, and subsequently that of the
tides, had been transformed into light and heat, and the entire planet
had become the plaything of science, which disposed at will of all its
elements. The human senses, perfected to a degree which we should
now qualify as supernatural, and those newly acquired, mentioned
above, become with the lapse of time more highly developed;
humanity released more and more from the empire of matter; a new
system of alimentation; the spirit governing the body and the gross
appetites of former times forgotten; the psychic faculties in perpetual
play, acting at a distance over the entire surface of the globe,
communicating under certain conditions with even the inhabitants of
Mars and Venus; apparatus which we cannot imagine replacing those
optical instruments with which physical astronomy had begun its
investigations; the whole world made new in its perceptions and
interests; an enlightened social condition from which envy and
jealousy, as well as robbery, suffering and murder had disappeared—
this, indeed, was a real humanity of flesh and bone like our own, but
as far above it in intellectual supremacy as we are above the simians
of the tertiary epoch.
Human intelligence had so completely mastered the forces of nature
that it seemed as if so glorious an era never could come to an end.
The decrease in the amount of water, however, commenced to alarm
even the most optimistic. The great oceans had disappeared. The
crust of the earth, once so thin and mobile, had gradually increased
in thickness, and, notwithstanding the internal pressure, the earth
had become almost completely solidified. Oscillations of the surface
were no longer possible, for it had become entirely rigid. The seas
which remained were confined to the tropics. The poles were frozen.
The continents of olden times, where so many other foci of
civilization had shone so brilliantly, were immense deserts. Step by
step humanity had migrated towards the tropical zone, still watered
by streams, lakes and seas. There were no more mountains, no more
condensers of snow.

“RUDIMENTARY
SPECIES OF
CRYPTOGAMS
ONLY SURVIVED.”

As the quantity of water and rainfall diminished, and, as the springs

failed and the aqueous vapor of the atmosphere grew less, vegetation
had entirely changed its aspect, increasing the volume of its leaves
and the length of its roots, seeking in every way to absorb the
humidity necessary for life. Species which had not been able to adjust
themselves to the new conditions had vanished; the rest were
transformed. Not a tree or a plant with which we are familiar was to
be seen. There were no oaks, nor ashes, nor elms, nor willows, and
the landscape bore no resemblance to that of today. Rudimentary
species of cryptogams only survived.
Like changes had taken place in the animal kingdom. Animal forms
had been greatly modified. The wild species had either disappeared
or been domesticated. The scarcity of water had modified the food of
herbivora as well as carnivora. The most recent species, evolved from
those which preceded them, were smaller, with less fat and a larger
skeleton. The number of plants had sensibly decreased. Less of the
carbonic acid of the air was absorbed, and a proportionally greater
quantity existed in the atmosphere. As for the human race, its
metamorphosis was so absolute that it was with an astonishment
bordering on incredulity that one saw in geological museums fossil
specimens of men of the twentieth or one hundredth century, with
great brutal teeth and coarse intestines; it was difficult to admit that
organisms so gross could really be the ancestors of intellectual man.
Though millions of years had passed, the sun still poured upon the
earth almost the same quantity of heat and light. At most, the loss
had not exceeded one-tenth. The only difference was that the sun
appeared a little yellower and a little smaller.
The moon still revolved about the earth, but more slowly. Its distance
from the earth had increased and its apparent diameter had
diminished. At the same time the period of the earth’s rotation had
lengthened. This slower rotatory motion of the earth, increase in the
distance of the moon, and lengthening of the lunar month, were the
results of the friction of the tides, whose action resembled that of a
brake. If the earth and the moon last long enough, and there are still
oceans and tides, calculation would enable us to predict that the time
would come when the periodic time of the earth’s rotation would
finally equal the lunar month, so that there would be but five and
one-quarter days in the year: the earth would then always present
the same side to the moon. But this would require more than 150
million years. The period of which we are speaking, ten million years,
is but a fifteenth of the above; and the time of the earth’s rotation,
instead of being seventy times, was only four and one-half times
greater than it now is, or about 110 hours.
These long days exposed the earth to the prolonged action of the sun,
but except in those regions where its rays were normal to the surface,
that is to say in the equatorial zone between the two tropical circles,
this exposure availed nothing; the obliquity of the ecliptic had not
changed; the inclination of the axis of the earth being the same,
about two degrees, and the changes in the eccentricity of the earth’s
orbit had produced no sensible effect upon the seasons or the
climate.
The human form, food, respiration, organic functions, physical and
intellectual life, ideas, opinions, religion, science, language—all had
changed. Of present man almost nothing survived.
 CHAPTER IV.

The last habitable regions of the globe were two wide valleys near the
equator, the basins of dried up seas; valleys of slight depth, for the
general level was almost absolutely uniform. No mountain peaks,
ravines or wild gorges, not a single wooded valley or precipice was to
be seen; the world was one vast plain, from which rivers and seas had
gradually disappeared. But as the action of meteorological agents,
rainfall and streams, had diminished in intensity with the loss of
water, the last hollows of the sea bottom had not been entirely filled
up, and shallow valleys remained, vestiges of the former structure of
the globe. In these a little ice and moisture were left, but the
circulation of water in the atmosphere had ceased, and the rivers
flowed in subterranean channels as in invisible veins.
As the atmosphere contained no aqueous vapor, the sky was always
cloudless, and there was neither rain nor snow. The sun, less
dazzling and less hot than formerly, shone with the yellowish
splendor of a topaz. The color of the sky was sea-green rather than
blue. The volume of the atmosphere had diminished considerably. Its
oxygen and nitrogen had become in part fixed in metallic
combinations, as oxides and nitrides, and its carbonic acid had
slowly increased, as vegetation, deprived of water, became more and
more rare and absorbed an ever decreasing amount of this gas. But
the mass of the earth, owing to the constant fall of meteorites,
bolides and uranolites, had increased with time; so that the
atmosphere, though considerably less in volume, had retained its
density and exerted nearly the same pressure.
Strangely enough, the snow and ice had diminished as the earth grew
cold; the cause of this low temperature was the absence of water
vapor from the atmosphere, which had decreased with the superficial
area of the sea. As the water penetrated the interior of the earth and
the general level became more uniform, first the depth and then the
area of seas had been reduced, the invisible envelope of aqueous
vapor had lost its protecting power, and the day came when the
return of the heat received from the sun was no longer prevented, it
was radiated into space as rapidly as it was received, as if it fell upon
a mirror incapable of absorbing its rays.
Such was the condition of the earth. The last representatives of the
human race had survived all these physical transformations solely by
virtue of its genius of invention and power of adaptation. Its last
efforts had been directed toward extracting nutritious substances
from the air, from subterranean water, and from plants, and
replacing the vanished vapor of the air by buildings and roofs of
glass.
It was necessary at any cost to capture these solar rays and to prevent
their radiation into space. It was easy to store up this heat in large
quantities, for the sun shone unobscured by any cloud and the day
was long—fifty-five hours.
For a long time the efforts of architects had been solely directed
towards this imprisonment of the sun’s rays and the prevention of
their dispersion during the fifty-five hours of the night. They had
succeeded in accomplishing this by an ingenious arrangement of
glass roofs, superposed one upon the other, and by movable screens.
All combustible material had long before been exhausted; and even
the hydrogen extracted from water was difficult to obtain.
The mean temperature in the open air during the daytime was not
very low, not falling below –10°.[5] Notwithstanding the changes
which the ages had wrought in vegetable life, no species of plants
could exist, even in this equatorial zone.

5. Many readers will regard this climate quite bearable, inasmuch,

as in our own day regions may be cited whose mean
temperature is much lower, yet which are nevertheless
habitable, as, for example, Verchnoiansk, whose mean annual
temperature is –19.3°. But in these regions there is a summer
during which the ice melts; and if in January the temperature
falls to –60°, and even lower, in July they enjoy a temperature
of fifteen and twenty degrees above zero. But at the stage which
 we have now reached in the history of the world, this mean
temperature of the equatorial zone was constant, and it was
impossible for ice ever to melt again.
As for the other latitudes, they had been totally uninhabitable for
thousands of years, in spite of every effort made to live in them. In
the latitudes of Paris, Nice, Rome, Naples, Algiers and Tunis, all
protective atmospheric action had ceased, and the oblique rays of the
sun had proved insufficient to warm the soil which was frozen to a
great depth, like a veritable block of ice. The world’s population had
gradually diminished from ten milliards to nine, to eight, and then to
seven, one-half the surface of the globe being then habitable. As the
habitable zone became more and more restricted to the equator, the
population had still further diminished, as had also the mean length
of human life, and the day came when only a few hundred millions
remained, scattered in groups along the equator, and maintaining
life only by the artifices of a laborious and scientific industry.
Later still, toward the end, only two groups of a few hundred human
beings were left, occupying the last surviving centers of industry.
From all the rest of the globe the human race had slowly but
inexorably disappeared—dried up, exhausted, degenerated, from
century to century, through the lack of an assimilable atmosphere
and sufficient food. Its last remnants seemed to have lapsed back
into barbarism, vegetating like the Esquimaux of the north. These
two ancient centers of civilization, themselves yielding to decay, had
survived only at the cost of a constant struggle between industrial
genius and implacable nature.
Even here, between the tropics and the equator, the two remaining
groups of human beings which still contrived to exist in face of a
thousand hardships which yearly became more insupportable, did so
only by subsisting, so to speak, on what their predecessors had left
behind. These two ocean valleys, one of which was near the bottom
of what is now the Pacific ocean, the other to the south of the present
island of Ceylon, had formerly been the sites of two immense cities of
glass—iron and glass having been, for a long time, the materials
chiefly employed in building construction. They resembled vast
winter-gardens, without upper stories, with transparent ceilings of
immense height. Here were to be found the last plants, except those
cultivated in the subterranean galleries leading to rivers flowing
under ground.
Elsewhere the surface of the earth was a ruin, and even here only the
last vestiges of a vanished greatness were to be seen.

THE SOLE
SURVIVORS.

In the first of these ancient cities of glass, the sole survivors were two
old men, and the grandson of one of them, Omegar, who had seen his
mother and sisters die, one after the other, of consumption, and who
now wandered in despair through these vast solitudes. Of these old
men, one had formerly been a philosopher and had consecrated his
long life to the study of the history of perishing humanity; the other
was a physician who had in vain sought to save from consumption
the last inhabitants of the world. Their bodies seemed wasted by
anæmia rather than by age. They were pale as specters, with long,
white beards, and only their moral energy sustained them yet an
instant against the decree of destiny. But they could not struggle
longer against this destiny, and one day Omegar found them
stretched lifeless, side by side. From the dying hands of one fell the
last history ever written, the history of the final transformations of
humanity, written half a century before. The second had died in his
laboratory while endeavoring to keep in order the nourishment
tubes, automatically regulated by machinery propelled by solar
engines.
The last servants, long before developed by education from the
simian race, had succumbed many years before, as had also the great
majority of the animal species domesticated for the service of
humanity. Horses, dogs, reindeers, and certain large birds used in
aerial service, yet survived, but so entirely changed that they bore no
resemblance to their progenitors.
It was evident that the race was irrevocably doomed. Science had
disappeared with scientists, art with artists, and the survivors lived
only upon the past. The heart knew no more hope, the spirit no
ambition. The light was in the past; the future was an eternal night.
All was over. The glories of days gone by had forever vanished. If, in
preceding centuries, some traveller, wandering in these solitudes,
thought he had rediscovered the sites of Paris, Rome, or the brilliant
capitals which had succeeded them, he was the victim of his own
imagination; for these sites had not existed for millions of years,
having been swept away by the waters of the sea. Vague traditions
had floated down through the ages, thanks to the printing-press and
the recorders of the great events of history; but even these traditions
were uncertain and often false. For, as to Paris, the annals of history
contained only some references to a maritime Paris; of its existence
as the capital of France for thousands of years, there was no trace nor
memory. The names which to us seem immortal, Confucius, Plato,
Mahomet, Alexander, Cæsar, Charlemagne, and Napoleon, had
perished and were forgotten. Art had, indeed, preserved noble
memories; but these memories did not extend as far back as the
infancy of humanity, and reached only a few million years into the
past. Omegar lingered in an ancient gallery of pictures, bequeathed
by former centuries, and contemplated the great cities which had
disappeared. Only one of these pictures related to what had once
been Europe, and was a view of Paris, consisting of a promontory
projecting into the sea, crowned by an astronomical temple and gay
with helicopterons circling above the lofty towers of its terraces.
Immense ships were plowing the sea. This classic Paris was the Paris
of the one hundred and seventieth century of the Christian era,
corresponding to the one hundred and fifty-seventh of the
astronomical era—the Paris which existed immediately prior to the
final submergence of the land. Even its name had changed; for words
change like persons and things. Nearby, other pictures portrayed the
great but less ancient cities which had risen in America, Australia,
Asia, and afterwards upon the continents which had emerged from
the ocean. And so this museum of the past recalled in succession the
passing pomps of humanity down to the end.

“ALL DAY LONG

HE WANDERED
THROUGH THE
VAST GALLERIES.”

The end! The hour had struck on the timepiece of destiny. Omegar
knew the life of the world henceforth was in the past, that no future
existed for it, and that the present even was vanishing like the dream
of a moment. The last heir of the human race felt the overwhelming
sentiment of the vanity of things. Should he wait for some
inconceivable miracle to save him from his fate? Should he bury his
companions, and share their tomb with them? Should he endeavor to
prolong for a few days, a few weeks, a few years even, a solitary,
useless and despairing existence? All day long he wandered through
the vast and silent galleries, and at night abandoned himself to the
drowsiness which oppressed him. All about him was dark—the
darkness of the sepulchre.
A sweet dream, however, stirred his slumbering thought, and
surrounded his soul with a halo of angelic brightness. Sleep brought
him the illusion of life. He was no longer alone. A seductive image
which he had seen more than once before, stood before him. Eyes
caressing as the light of heaven, deep as the infinite, gazed upon him
and attracted him. He was in a garden filled with the perfume of
flowers. Birds sang in the nests amid the foliage. And in the distant
landscape, framed in plants and flowers, were the vast ruins of dead
cities. Then he saw a lake, on whose rippling surface two swans
glided, bearing a cradle from which a new-born child stretched
toward him its arms.
Never had such a ray of light illuminated his soul. So deep was his
emotion that he suddenly awoke, opened his eyes, and found
confronting him only the somber reality. Then a sadness more
terrible even than any he had known filled his whole being. He could
not find an instant of repose. He rose, went to his couch, and waited
anxiously for the morning. He remembered his dream, but he did not
believe in it. He felt, vaguely, that another human being existed
somewhere; but his degenerate race had lost, in part, its psychic
power, and perhaps, also, woman always exerts upon man an
attraction more powerful than that which man exerts upon woman.
When the day broke, when the last man saw the ruins of his ancient
city standing out upon the sky of dawn, when he found himself alone
with the two last dead, he realized more than ever his unavoidable
destiny, and decided to terminate at once a life so hopelessly
miserable.
Going into the laboratory, he sought a bottle whose contents were
well known to him, uncorked it, and carried it to his lips, to empty it
at a draught. But, at the very moment the vial touched his lips, he felt
a hand upon his arm.
He turned suddenly. There was no one in the laboratory, and in the
gallery he found only the two dead.
 CHAPTER V.

In the ruins of the other equatorial city, occupying a once submerged

valley south of the island of Ceylon, was a young girl, whose mother
and older sister had perished of consumption and cold, and who was
now left alone, the last surviving member of the last family of the
race. A few trees, of northern species, had been preserved under the
spacious dome of glass, and beneath their scanty foliage, holding the
cold hands of her mother who had died the night before, the young
girl sat alone, doomed to death in the very flower of her age. The
night was cold. In the sky above the full moon shone like a golden
torch, but its yellow rays were as cold as the silver beams of the
ancient Selene. In the vast room reigned the stillness and solitude of
death, broken only by the young girl’s breathing, which seemed to
animate the silence with the semblance of life.
She was not weeping. Her sixteen years
contained more experience and knowledge
than sixty years of the world’s prime. She
knew that she was the sole survivor of this last
group of human beings, and that every
happiness, every joy and every hope had
vanished forever. There was no present, no
future; only solitude and silence, the physical
and moral impossibility of life, and soon
eternal sleep. She thought of the woman of
bygone days, of those who had lived the real
life of humanity, of lovers, wives and mothers,
but to her red and tearless eyes appeared only
images of death; while beyond the walls of
glass stretched a barren desert, covered by the
last ice and the last snow. Now her young
 “ALONE!” heart beat violently in her breast, till her
slender hands could no longer compress its
tumult; and now life seemed arrested in her
bosom, and every respiration suspended. If for a moment she fell
asleep, in her dreams she played again with her laughing and care-
free sister, while her mother sung in a pure and penetrating voice the
beautiful inspirations of the last poets; and she seemed to see, once
more, the last fêtes of a brilliant society, as if reflected from the
surface of some distant mirror. Then, on awakening, these magic
memories faded into the somber reality. Alone! Alone in the world,
and tomorrow death, without having known life! To struggle against
this unavoidable fate was useless; the decree of destiny was without
appeal, and there was nothing to do but to submit, to await the
inevitable end, since without food or air organic life was impossible—
or else to anticipate death and deliver oneself at once from a joyless
existence and a certain doom. She passed into the bath-room, where
the warm water was still flowing, although the appliances which art
had designed to supply the wants of life were no longer in working
order; for the last remaining servants (descendants of ancient simian
species, modified, as the human race had been, by the changing
conditions of life,) had also succumbed to the insufficiency of water.
She plunged into the perfumed bath, turned the key which regulated
the supply of electricity derived from subterranean water-courses
still unfrozen, and for a moment seemed to forget the decree of
destiny in the enjoyment of this refreshing rest. Had any indiscreet
spectator beheld her as, standing upon the bear-skin before the large
mirror, she began to arrange the tresses of her long auburn hair, he
would have detected a smile upon her lips, showing that, for an
instant, she was oblivious of her dark future. Passing into another
room, she approached the apparatus which furnished the food of that
time, extracted from the water, air, and the plants and fruits
automatically cultivated in the greenhouses.
It was still in working order, like a clock which has been wound up.
For thousands of years the genius of man had been almost
exclusively applied to the struggle with destiny. The last remaining
water had been forced to circulate in subterranean canals, where also
the solar heat had been stored. The last animals had been trained to
serve these machines, and the nutritious properties of the last plants
had been utilized to the utmost. Men had finally succeeded in living
upon almost nothing, so far as quantity was concerned; every newly
discovered form of food being completely assimilable. Cities had
finally been built of glass, open to the sun, to which was conveyed
every substance necessary to the synthesis of the food which replaced
the products of nature. But as time passed, it became more and more
difficult to obtain the necessaries of life. The mine was at last
exhausted. Matter had been conquered by intelligence; but the day
had come when intelligence itself was overmatched, when every
worker had died at his post and the earth’s storehouse had been
depleted. Unwilling to abandon this desperate struggle, man had put
forth every effort. But he could not prevent the earth’s absorption of
water, and the last resources of a science which seemed greater even
than nature itself had been exhausted.

By G. Rochegrosse.

“SHE FELT THAT

ANOTHER HEARD
AND
UNDERSTOOD.”

Eva returned to the body of her mother, and once more took the cold
hands in her own. The psychic faculties of the race in these its latter
days had acquired, as we have said, transcendent powers, and she
thought for a moment to summon her mother from the tomb. It
seemed to her as if she must have one more approving glance, one
more counsel. A single idea took possession of her, so fascinating her
that she even lost the desire to die. She saw afar the soul which
should respond to her own. Every man belonging to that company of
which she was the last survivor had died before her birth. Woman
had outlived the sex once called strong. In the pictures upon the
walls of the great library, in books, engravings and statues, she saw
represented the great men of the city, but she had never seen a living
man; and still dreaming, strange and disquieting forms passed
before her. She was transported into an unknown and mysterious
world, into a new life, and love did not seem to be yet wholly
banished from earth. During the reign of cold, all electrical
communication between the two last cities left upon the earth had
been interrupted. Their inhabitants could speak no more with each
other, see each other no more, nor feel each other’s presence. Yet she
was as well acquainted with the ocean city as if she had seen it, and
when she fixed her eyes upon the great terrestrial globe suspended
from the ceiling of the library, and then, closing them, concentrated
all her will and psychic power upon the object of her thoughts, she
acted at a distance as effectively, though in a different way, as in
former days men had done when communicating with each other by
electricity. She called, and felt that another heard and understood.
The preceding night she had transported herself to the ancient city in
which Omegar lived, and had appeared to him for an instant in a
dream. That very morning she had witnessed his despairing act and
by a supreme effort of the will had arrested his arm. And now,
stretched in her chair beside the dead body of her mother, heavy with
sleep, her solitary soul wandered in dreams above the ocean city,
seeking the companionship of the only mate left upon the earth. And
far away, in that ocean city, Omegar heard her call. Slowly, as in a
dream, he ascended the platform from which the air-ships used to
take their flight. Yielding to a mysterious influence, he obeyed the
distant summons. Speeding toward the west, the electric air-ship
passed above the frozen regions of the tropics, once the site of the
Pacific ocean, Polynesia, Malaisia and the Sunda islands, and
stopped at the landing of the crystal palace. The young girl, startled
from her dream by the traveller, who fell from the air at her feet, fled
in terror to the farther end of the immense hall, lifting the heavy
curtain of skin which separated it from the library. When the young
man reached her side, he stopped, knelt, and took her hand in his,
saying simply: “You called me. I have come.” And then he added: “I
have known you for a long time. I knew that you existed, I have often
seen you; you are the constant thought of my heart, but I did not
dare to come.”

“YOU CALLED ME.

I HAVE COME.”

She bade him rise, saying: “My friend, I know that we are alone in
the world, and that we are about to die. A will stronger than my own
compelled me to call you. It seemed as if it were the supreme desire
of my mother, supreme even in death. See, she sleeps thus since
yesterday. How long the night is!”
The young man, kneeling, had taken the hand of the dead, and they
both stood there beside the funeral couch, as if in prayer.
He leaned gently toward the young girl, and their heads touched. He
let fall the hand of the dead.
Eva shuddered. “No,” she said.
Then, suddenly, he sprang to his feet in terror; the dead woman had
revived. She had withdrawn the hand which he had taken in his own,
and had opened her eyes. She made a movement, looking at them.
 “‘BEHOLD,
WHERE WE
SHALL BE
TOMORROW!’”

“I wake from a strange dream,” she said, without seeming surprised

at the presence of Omegar. “Behold, my children, my dream;” and
she pointed to the planet Jupiter, shining with dazzling splendor in
the sky.
And as they gazed upon the star, to their astonished vision, it
appeared to approach them, to grow larger, to take the place of the
frozen scene about them.
Its immense seas were covered with ships. Aerial fleets cleaved the
air. The shores of its seas and the mouths of its great rivers were the
scenes of a prodigious activity. Brilliant cities appeared, peopled by
moving multitudes. Neither the details of their habitations nor the
forms of these new beings could be distinguished, but one divined
that here was a humanity quite different from ours, living in the
bosom of another nature, having other senses at its disposal; and one
felt also that this vast world was incomparably superior to the earth.
“Behold, where we shall be tomorrow!” said the dying woman. “We
shall find there all the human race, perfected and transformed.
Jupiter has received the inheritance of the earth. Our world has
accomplished its mission, and life is over here below. Farewell!”
She stretched out her arms to them; they bent over her pale face and
pressed a long kiss upon her forehead. But they perceived that this
forehead was cold as marble, in spite of this strange awakening.
The dead woman had closed her eyes, to open them no more.
 CHAPTER VI.

It is sweet to live. Love atones for every loss; in its joys all else is
forgotten. Ineffable music of the heart, thy divine melody fill the soul
with an ecstasy of infinite happiness! What illustrious historians
have celebrated the heroes of the world’s progress, the glories of war,
the conquests of mind and of spirit! Yet after so many centuries of
labor and struggle, there remained only two palpitating hearts, the
kisses of two lovers. All had perished except love; and love, the
supreme sentiment, endured, shining like an inextinguishable
beacon over the immense ocean of the vanished ages.
Death! They did not dream of it. Did they not suffice for each other?
What if the cold froze their very marrow? Did they not possess in
their hearts a warmth which defied the cold of nature? Did not the
sun still shine gloriously, and was not the final doom of the world yet
far distant? Omegar bent every energy to the maintenance of the
marvellous system which had been devised for the automatic
extraction by chemical processes of the nutritive principles of the air,
water and plants, and in this he seemed to be successful. So in other
days, after the fall of the Roman empire, the barbarians had been
seen to utilize during centuries the aqueducts, baths and thermal
springs, all the creations of the civilization of the Cæsars, and to draw
from a vanished industry the sources of their own strength.
But one day, wonderful as it was, this system gave out. The
subterranean waters themselves ceased to flow. The soil was frozen
to a great depth. The rays of the sun still warmed the air within the
glass-covered dwellings, but no plant could live longer; the supply of
water was exhausted.
The combined efforts of science and industry were impotent to give
to the atmosphere the nutritive qualities possessed by those of other
worlds, and the human organism constantly clamored for the
regenerating principles which, as we have seen, had been derived
from the air, water and plants. These sources were now exhausted.
This last human pair struggled against these insurmountable
obstacles, and recognized the uselessness of farther contest, yet they
were not resigned to death. Before knowing each other they had
awaited it fearlessly. Now each wished to defend the other, the
beloved one, against pitiless destiny. The very idea of seeing Omegar
lying inanimate beside her, filled Eva with such anguish that she
could not bear the thought. And he, too, vainly longed to carry away
his well beloved from a world doomed to decay, to fly with her to that
brilliant Jupiter which awaited them, and not to abandon to the
earth the body he adored.
He thought that, perhaps, there still existed, somewhere upon the
earth, a spot which had retained a little of that life-giving water
without which existence was impossible; and, although already they
were both almost without strength, he formed the supreme
resolution of setting out to seek for it. The electric aeronef was still in
working order. Forsaking the city which was now only a tomb, the
two last survivors of a vanished humanity abandoned these
inhospitable regions and set out to seek some unknown oasis.
The ancient kingdoms of the world passed under their feet. They saw
the remains of great cities, made illustrious by the splendors of
civilization, lying in ruins along the equator. The silence of death
covered them all. Omegar recognized the ancient city which he had
recently left, but he knew that there, also the supreme source of life
was lacking, and they did not stop. They traversed thus, in their
solitary air-ship, the regions which had witnessed the last stages of
the life of humanity; but death, and silence, and the frozen desert
was everywhere. No more fields, no more vegetation; the
watercourses were visible as on a map, and it was evident that along
their banks life had been prolonged; but they were now dried up
forever. And when, at times, some motionless lake was distinguished
in the lower level, it was like a lake of stone; for even at the equator
the sun was powerless to melt the eternal ice. A kind of bear, with
long fur, was still to be seen wandering over the frozen earth, seeking
in the crevices of the rocks its scanty vegetable food. From time to
time, also, they descried a kind of penguin and sea-cows walking
upon the ice, and large, gray polar birds in awkward flight, or
alighting mournfully.
Nowhere was the sought-for oasis found. The earth was indeed dead.
Night came. Not a cloud obscured the sky. A warmer current from
the south had carried them over what was formerly Africa, now a
frozen waste. The mechanism of the aeronef had ceased to work.
Exhausted by cold rather than by hunger, they threw themselves
upon the bear-skins in the bottom of the car.

By O. Guillonnet.

“A WHITE
SHADOW
STOPPED BEFORE
THEIR
ASTONISHED
EYES.”

Perceiving a ruin, they alighted. It was an immense quadrangular

base, revealing traces of an enormous stone stairway. It was still
possible to recognize one of the ancient Egyptian pyramids which, in
the middle of the desert, survived the civilization which it
represented. With all Egypt, Nubia and Abyssinia, it had sunk below
the level of the sea, and had afterwards emerged into the light and
been restored in the heart of a new capital by a new civilization, more
brilliant than that of Thebes and of Memphis, and finally had been
again abandoned to the desert. It was the only remaining monument
of the earlier life of humanity, and owed its stability to its geometric
form.
“Let us rest here,” said Eva, “since we are doomed to die. Who,
indeed, has escaped death? Let me die in peace in your arms.”
They sought a corner of the ruin and sat down beside each other, face
to face with the silent desert. The young girl cowered upon the
ground, pressing her husband in her arms, still striving with all her
might against the penetrating cold. He drew her to his heart, and
warmed her with his kisses.
“I love you, and I am dying,” she said. “But, no, we will not die. See
that star, which calls us!”
At the same moment they heard behind them a slight noise, issuing
from the ancient tomb of Cheops, a noise like that the wind makes in
the leaves. Shuddering, they turned, together, in the direction
whence the sound came. A white shadow, which seemed to be self-
luminous, for the night was already dark and there was no moon,
glided rather than walked toward them, and stopped before their
astonished eyes.
“Fear nothing,” it said. “I come to seek you. No, you shall not die. No
one has ever died. Time flows into eternity; eternity remains.
“I was Cheops, King of Egypt, and I reigned over this country in the
early days of the world. As a slave, I have since expiated my crimes in
many existences, and when at length my soul deserved immortality I
lived upon Neptune, Ganymede, Rhea, Titan, Saturn, Mars, and
other worlds as yet unknown to you. Jupiter is now my home. In the
days of humanity’s greatness, Jupiter was not habitable for
intelligent beings. It was passing through the necessary stages of
preparation. Now this immense world is the heir to all human
achievement. Worlds succeed each other in time as in space. All is
eternal, and merges into the divine. Confide in me, and follow me.”
And as the old Pharaoh was still speaking, they felt a delicious fluid
penetrate their souls, as sometimes the ear is filled with an exquisite
melody. A sense of calm and transcendent happiness flowed in their
veins. Never, in any dream, in any ecstasy, had they ever experienced
such joy.

By O. Guillonnet.

“THE SPECTRE
ROSE INTO
SPACE.”

Eva pressed Omegar in her arms. “I love you,” she repeated. Her
voice was only a breath. He touched his lips to her already cold
mouth, and heard them murmur: “How I could have loved!”
Jupiter was shining majestically above them, and in the glorious light
of his rays their sight grew dim and their eyes gently closed.
The spectre rose into space and vanished. And one to whom it is
given to see, not with the bodily eyes, which perceive only material
vibrations, but with the eyes of the soul, which perceive psychical
vibrations, might have seen two small flames shining side by side,
united by a common attraction, and rising, together with the
phantom, into the heavens.
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