 CHAPTER VIII. My spirit lies with dreamful eyes, beneath the walls of paradise. I catch sight of show-off coming leisurely toward us. As he caught the last part of the lecture, and as he too of a studious disposition. For raising his eyes intelligently, he continues the discourse. Still we are made of dust. What can he know of dust? Birds, going on, are made of trees, for their feathers are little branches. Birds are of water-birth, their scales little drops, beasts of grass, with coats of grass fur, sheep of snow-wool. I am wool-gathering. Reptiles have clawed skin. We are only of the dust, marble, granite, or otherwise. I decide to read him Genesis some day. But now he speaks up more blithe. We are going to Maro to Aunt Robyn's house, where my mother Roba is, to get her, winking his eye at Saucy. We are delighted as we return all together. I look at the streets and people, not knowing that I shall see them no more for ever. The next morning, that is getting very late, we are placed in an open slay to try the new snow in making the trip. As it is gala day, cold inning day, so everybody is out. Will everybody be at Robyn's? I ask Showoff, who is holding Saucy by my side. Yes, and more too, for the traveller will be there. He replies moodily. Who is he, and where does he travel? Up in the sky, on his air-star. And what does he do up there? I smile. He fishes below, with a line. I look wearily each side of me. Do you like him? Yes, but he wants me to marry his daughter. Well, she won't have me, as she loves my cousin. Isn't Robyn's son? Her father expects our betrothal at this time. He stops a moment, then resumes. He is engaged himself to be married to Aunt Robyn, who does not dare to tell him of his coming disappointment. How did she, so gentle, ever fancy so dowdy a man? It was at a ride. The cavalry were going by so swift, she became dizzy and was falling. When he, by a deft move, put her back. When he appears ever since, she is like affected. He is coming now. With a start I look up to the sky, which is clear. When I look about at the celebrators, thinking he may be come to earth and be among them. And though I see a strange mist in the distance, I become occupied in studying the various modes of conveyance close around. Of every odd design, one vehicle is oddest. It is a round glass globe that rolls over and over, bearing its inmates upright, ballasted in the interior. It has only ladies, so I look ahead. Ahead is a bridge, shaped like a flight of stairs, rests for the horses. Around the farther tower arches, strong supports of the suspended ends. A mist is twining and winding, glistening peculiarly. I show off, seeing my intent gaze, looks there, and hastily takes from his father's pocket a glass and absorbitly scans the mist. I had forgotten the traveller's approach of shock of robert, who leans back her head, gasping faintly. What directly over us is the shocking man, on a high seat over high runners, between which glides our humble sleigh. At show off shout, he looks down, his stern face relaxing genially, recovering grobet. Thus disturbed, show off drops the glass, which I pick up wondrously. Then look, and I am curious too. For deep within the luminous vapour are human beings, lace-seeded and draped. They are singing, their countenances reflecting the inspiring symphony. Studying closely I detect a peculiarity of expression, as if masculine and feminine are combined, both strong and tender. Coming swiftly and bending low, they must brush us as they pass. A child in front of adult, eyes exilerantly my exotic bouquet. I select a dainty bud and raise it over my head. The gust shuts my eyes, but I feel a tiny touch that wisps away my bud. From our slow journeying we are too late to make our address at robins before the election, which occurs today. So proceed to that function. Seated comfortably upon the central plaza, a nice esplanade covered with rugs, we are scarcely seated when two ladies and a gent approach us, who by their family resemblance are no doubt sisters of robin. One hugs her tremblingly. The other is hugged vigorously by Savant, his wife Roba. She is, though of exact likeness. She is, though of exact likeness, still of different temperament from the others. Morcidate, quite stately, though none the less lovable. When Savant puts my father, with his silver hair and shining black eyes on her lap, she is quite awestruck. When my father reaches up and kisses her reverently on the cheek, she is more nonplussed still, and takes her muff to sit him on. The gent is no doubt the husband of the other sister, who snaps his fingers at Charlie when he wishes he did not, for the latter bites it viciously. Then, rubbing the bite over, he lays his cheek on it in penitence. He is forgiven, but not taken up on his lap. But I am instead, and smile profusely to keep the peace. Saucy is on robin shoulder, and chatting like a parrot into her ear, which just suits this lady, she answering as glibly. Oh, how late you are! We could not wait for you, but left the castle open, and came on. Has the traveller come? That individual passes without seeing us. Before we hail him, we hear music of a band approach. The melody is whistling, as will Borealis shortly whistle over the land, conducting two lines in grand march in election mode, headed by the chosen mayor and mayoress, respectively, or, as they call them, God and Goddess. The evolutions ended, the two lines joined, and the crowd standing, all sing. ere the son our father leaves us, he as parent leads us, to the indoor mother's side, to spend the winter tide. The candidates, now in full view, are recognized by Robert with consternation. Robin's son and his daughter are her startling words. We all turn silently toward Robin's home. The ceremonies now ended. The new city officers receiving congratulations around also join our party, staying in our rear. The castle supposed to be open is not so now, but is double-barred against us as we arrive. Through the crystal portal, we see in the centre court, sitting nonchalantly as revengefully, the man who rode over us. We are out in the cold, and, what is worse, quite hungry. A plant calls out, hello, neighbour. He arises and is about to come forward. When his daughter laughs out, now papa, good papa, which stops him, and he turns square his back to us. Beyond and near to him is a revolving plant stand, reaching high above his head. A plant is moving mysteriously. I see my father under a leaf. I had not missed him. He is arranging something under a blossom. I cannot tell what. Now before us and at our feet, down drops the nervous robot, who can not keep her dignity longer. A round goes the plant stand, and sounds out this word, which is from a phonograph placed by my father in arc. Look ye! Around again it is above him. Look ye! Now one side, now behind. Mystified, the stolid man looks around as directed. Not at our faces, where he will see the mirthful countenances of his daughter, but at our feet where he sees countenance pale and in tears. The spell is broken, and his father leaps on his shoulder like a good fairy. He lets us in. A castle-band now starts up a tune resembling the snapping of a fire, reminding us of the day of the inning fireside. Now crackling forth with renewed zest, the people arrange themselves in cavalcade, and slowly march with spiral inclination. Around the hall toward its center. Robit, supported by her lover, pulls me out of her bag to amuse him. Much to my ill will. But father winks to me over his head, and pulls his hair. Nearing the center of the room, the traveller firmly, and I see his daughter grimacing close by. Turning from the pleading robot goes out of the room, and out of the house, disappearing down the street. Looking at this action, I look for information to the center gathering. I see a crystal floor in circle shape, with round devans in its center. I am mystified as we are seated on this devan, and look down at the crystal floor. I get a great start, for my feet seem to be standing up in the sky. So far down is the crevice below. Wince comes up a brilliant light, the only light in the apartment now, as blinds and shades are placed to protect it. Wince this light arises, I cannot imagine, as the sun is not in focus, or any other light. I take a great like to Robyn, who is as friendly as vivacious. I get upon her lap to hear her chat. Good-bye, she says, my up-a-sky home for the winter. My plants stand you may rest until spring, outing, as she calls it. The slight jar, the crystal floor now loosens, and more surprise descends. Now beneath the floor the light is increasing, and a warmth also, at which we cast off our wraps, displaying evening costume of home. The car I now see it to be is in triple decoration. But bell-clusters favour us with melodies. I wonder how long we are descending, when jar, sway, float, as in water. I look about. Where, oh, where is this? We are on the bosom of a broad river in a scene of tropical beauty and grandeur. May and Charlie as I are as completely surprised. The others, enjoying its fullness, Eden, Eden, garden paradise, whence came you here? I weep beside myself with joy. Is this what explorers seek? But they will never get here. It is hemmed in by the iceberg. Two edged swords, as effectually as the other one of our first parents. Robyn asks, what is Eden? I told her of atoms, and of the one to come down to us from the sky. No, she says gravely. The city will grow up to God. Is San Francisco, San Zion, thus growing? I see that show-off, unlike all the others, is in a growing state of excitement. I jump down quickly and climb to his side, where he is leaning on the railing of the barge, looking expectantly into the water. I punch him vigorously. Tell me, tell me, how came this river down here, and its vicinity? He answers vaguely, not looking up, by the melting of the under-ice. Yes, but to be a flowing river? We can find it for safety by dykes and jetties, becoming quite distraught at some inward thought. Does he mourn the traveller's daughter? Robyn has followed me, and now explains to me more fully. When the river got to going good, it melted the ice above, clear through to the sky. I look up at the faraway opening. The sky opening, she continues, vegetation started. I look now eagerly at the nearby banks and begonia bloom, and crowned with palms. Long aisles of verder penetrate the vista, closed by green sheen. One specialty of form is general, in that of vine climbing and uplooking. Returning my attention to Robyn, she resumes her coaching. Cities too sprang up. We will stop now, and get some of the luscious fruit, as the car barge slows and draws up to an orchard station. We who had listened spellbound to explanation are getting over our paralysis, and are the first to jump on land. Saucy, running crazy, is soon lost a view. We dart hither and thither with delight, pulling mangoes, decking ourselves with orchids, mimicking songsters. I wonder no more where they got their conservatory plants, when a bell calls us to dinner. In a bower, vine surrounded and bird enlivened, we draw up to board, not a board, none, or saws to make them are in the land. It is a great lily-leaf, hardened and enameled. The food, on small leaf-trays, arises from the table-center, dummy-like. It is in mouthful-size pastry cups. That makes me think of home-tarts, blending grain-food with other kinds. Raised with the fingers, nothing can be neater. The seats are leaves. Springs raise a smaller people to a level with the rest. I observe greatly rejuvenated looks in us, and say to Charlie, Do you see we are getting younger? He stops picking a pomegranate. Certainly. It is the purity of the atmosphere. Have you noticed, my dear, that there has been no dust since our arrival? And though the sun is constantly shining, no one carries a shade or is overheated. Ha-ha! This is the country to live in. Smacking his lips before starting in again on the fruit. Glorious arc! I cannot say it enough. One other place like thee on earth and gorgeous marvels, nearest to God above. I could climb a pole to see him, hadst thou one? I look around to see the climactic effect upon my aged father, but he is not there. I remember he may be yet on the traveller's shoulder for further travel. This somewhat modifies my charm. For a short time only. Then I give way like the rest of the fullness of this inning reception. As bright tents float around in the air, on the water and foliage, I wonder what pencil-but-gods could put them there. As we return to the barge, saucy at my elbow, grasps my sleeve, saying, Auntie, did you see the team that draws the barge? If you did not, look this time, now, what? What? Crocodiles. I stagger back, then re-nerve myself, reassured that what I had always supposed so hideously untamable could be well broke, kept well in hand, presenting an innocent pair of open countenances. How odd the water is, Auntie, says May, when we are firmly seated. She is looking over the side, then rises and crosses to the other. It is high up on one side, and low down on the other. Robert speaks without looking up, her eyes and tent on her nephew, leaning moodily on the railing. The river flows sideways. How? How can it? It melts on the inward side, freezing on its outward again. Making ice for cool drinks, says the child. While dropping in the incline, I commenced a study of the triplet sisters, observing them distinct in style with the river-people, of whom they are, and are now to visit their parents, Robert has said. I will describe them. Tall and sinuous from a constant looking up to the sky, a changeable coloring or iridescence enhances their supple attenuation. Robert, when musing, as I have related in the ardor above, was sober grey-eyed, when demanding so proudly Charlie's pedigree, intensely black-eyed. When, in tears recovering, Kim, her eyes were blue, vapor-covered lakes. Seeing this variableness repeated in her sisters, I decided it to be constitutional. I looked to see if it was a water-reflection. No, for it is not on us others. Women in roba are on each side, getting acquainted. To start conversation instructive to myself, I asked the gracious ladies. How was it before the country was diked into a river? We were not born then, our father was contractor, and has told us how unpleasant were the freshets and disasters yearly. Whole nations were swept away. Did you not find any down there? Roba relates. I never heard, though Adam, the father of mankind, was very large in size, the people became smaller afterwards. Being earnestly at me, I see them change slowly from blonde to a grey-tent, bending their heads in reflection. I see with great surprise. We have always been large. I think it is the cold zone, its slow revolution causing it. The torrid, as Charlie says, with its fall revolution is very hot. A flush on her face as she raises her serpentine head. It gets more sun, and the people there are larger too, I correct. Their eyes, my surprise increasing, turning brown as she steadfastly gazes. Then it is not the cold that makes us grow, but preserves us, gives us great age. We are millenniums old. She breathes gently, chestnut-haired, I am transfixed. When able to look up, I see a halo round her head, a slight toss, and it is dislodged in a ring, leaving her in violet. Going on with her deductions, a dawn colour follows her words. All great size is due to a daylight. But we have as much as you, though more subdivided, I correct again. You have not counted a winter daylight, she persists. Winter daylight, what is that, I inquired. From the centre of Ark is always a rising, from a deep cavity there, a constant glow. Aurora. In summer it is not seen, but all winter we bask in its light. How is that? I supposed Aurora only sent up fitful lights. Instead, this constant interspersed with fitful sputterings that send the flame so high, lower zones do gaze upon it. Closing, a fast fur colour enfolds us, then rises above. Notes in the waves, trumpet notes, conducted toward us till they sound all about us. A mist like spray is rising around. Looking out, I am startled to see a large company of people standing on the water in the centre of the river, playing lily-tube trumpets, as in graceful ease they dance a stately minuet. Raising aloft their tubes, they spray the air with perfumed drops, which, catching the rays of the sun through the ice-cleft, a glorious rainbow arch settles above as we draw to shore, and a light upon a wharf of lily-pads. The sun passes on ahead, having kept such even pace with us all day, that it had appeared to be standing still in the sky. The heat had called for our light-dress. Tomorrow it will be in the lower horizon. We have arrived in a city that is like the people, tall and pointing high, a city of slim, needle-like towers. Passing toward a mansion, I turn till show-off to pattern after the young man with the river-dancers, looking so like him who was gay. When low, he is not with us. It was show-off himself, auntie. I saw him put on the funny boat-shoes and drop overboard. Who is the young lady he was bending over, I inquire. I do not know. Some more complications I expect, inimicably. Saucy, I say comically. He is not for you. I know it, sighing. I will never have him to carry me around on his shoulder. What are Savant and Roba doing ahead, walking up the outside of a tower residence? Truly they are, and our turn come. We see plenty of steps and walk up, too. Arrived at the second story, we enter a low gate into a circular room the size of the tower. Down the outside is a row of seats, which we proceed to occupy. In front of us are promenading round and round the river-dancers, buoyant in youth. From these show-off leads a lustrous river-maid, and presents as betrothed to his family, who can but smile upon them, except Robert, who gets quite pale. Whispering to her, cheer up, Auntie, love his might. He draws her to her feet and waltzes her around until she is hopeful again. We all get up and dance in honour of the betrothal. When we sit again, the others wait upon us from the centre of the room, which is a mass of flowers, fruit, and pastry. The dance starting on, Robert says to me, Let's go out. All right. She touches a button, and we elevate to the top of the tower. A branch of clove-scented vine brushes my cheek. Seeing me peer down, Robert hands me a glass to see into the shade of the tropical park beneath. Seeing me occupied, she bends down her head in meditation, then sighs and sighs to herself, bravely struggling with these breakers in her love-stream. I am examining each detail in the grounds beneath. From the palm-leaf that is so strong, Saucy runs up and slides down it. Tired of this, she picks an odd blossom in shape of a tiny cupid, withdrawn bow. At her touch shoots the tiny arrow, and to break in fragrance, wood that all loves arrows were so sweet. I suddenly realise where the verter of upper arc is produced, as familiar forms greet me, faithfully growing up as to the summer day. Where are they now? Glass protected in upper arbor. Tired of the cupids, May now rolls over and over in the grass with abandon of childish glee, until she suddenly comes upon two lovers, show off and serpenta I have named. Which latter smiles her welcome, stooping down to raise her where they sit, a long-slim rope-looking swing or hammock. But May starts back with a scream, which makes me look close. Oh, dear! It is the live folds of a boa constrictor. I get faint as rope it looks up and takes in the situation. Do not fear, she says. It does not eat children. It is better fed. Imagining she is laughing at me, I brace myself up to great bravery, asking, Can I ride too? Yes, we will go down. Look out. The latter in reference to the chair upon which I sit, one of a row of seats around the lower edge facing outward. I look quite curiously and assure myself its rails are in front, as on each side of me, enclosing me quite secure. Connecting it to her own, she presses on them heavily downward. Feeling warned as curious, I feel the top bend over four words, still more. I hold quite fast. My head is now where my heels have been. This is not all. Increasing the velocity, we complete the revolution and repeat it to the foot of the tower, where I come standing, red with vexation. The idea of a lady my age rolling down the side of a house. My temperate zone stomach quite upset. But click at the top. There is Roba in similar chair, who, signifying that she will join us, is about to round the edge. I recover my temper in anticipation of being witness to her acrobatic descent, stateliness combined. But no. She slowly goes over, smoothly, down to the bottom dignifiedly, right side up with care. I turn reproachfully to robe it. I thought you were in for a frolic. She says innocently, This restores my gaiety, and we return to the arbor with zest, and join the jolly crowd, who are making the garden ring. They make room for me on the boa, where I ride, the danger enhancing the light. I regret to get down for others. As I do so, the great graceful head of the boa swings close to me. The mouth opens, the eyes dart fire. Then next I discover it is an art-manufacture. There are real ones, auntie, but they don't let strangers ride. A storm is brewing as I hear a thunder-peel. No clouds above. Some are in the vista, rapidly drawing near, close to the ground. What an odd hurricane. No. With bounds and roars a herd of white lions rush into near precinct, and wait low-crouched. Their long, pink-tinted mains make them so handsome. I forget they are fierce. Some are grand and nervous-looking, others young and playful. Calling one of the latter by name, it wriggles from the rest to go to show off. Saucy stepping up too, frightens it back. But trying again, he coaxes it to him, where Saucy also strokes it, saying, You must give it to me to take to America. Bless her. A shout, and he strides its back. Then with merry bounds, race and glee, they give us quite a circus. My attention is called to my side by a mysterious, self-satisfied lisp. I turn to see Charlie, who is taking notes for future lectures. I look over to get the train of ideas. What do I see? How lions dance in our country. Machines put in their mouths. They sing. Oh, Charlie, what a drop! I had counted on your wonderful conversation, and here you are, improvising wonders. Robin is getting social. There are not many lions now. They were dangerous. The city filling up has thinned them out. Do you want one? I am still in chagrin, so answer crossly the sweet-tempered lady. What for? Will it take me home on its back? She eyes me sideways, still serene. Do you want to go home? I choke up in golden silence. When you want to go, the traveller will take you, complacently. Roused to ire by my earnestness being taken for jest, I launch out disrespectfully. That crusty man would drop me over in iceberg and think his duty done. She does not heed me, as her sister, Robert, is now approaching, quite rosy-cheeked, and is about to dance me up and down, which I never allow, when I can help myself. Robin says to her sorrowfully, The little deer is going home with the traveller. I smile, then say to Robert, When he and you are married, I will go. Then I eye her sideways. Oh, what a drop! My Charlie untruthful! When he says my church raises money untruthfully in its fares and suppers, I was about to have him teach this people how Christ incarnated is to come on the earth from the clouds. Shall I now do so instead? Yes. I select the traveller's daughter as one quite wayward, and say, Dear Lady, an American—oh, no, a man like us little folks is in the sky. Someday he will come down and make us golden streets, smiling broadly. What is gold? She inquires. Something harder than rock. Drill her to feet. Grass is better. Glass houses, I continue. That is fine. No one will marry. Oh, what a face she makes! No, dear little children, she pleads. No one dies, I continue. Oh, how nice and old! Always fruit and flowers. I feel I am getting along nicely when she asks, How is that? They being the children of tree and plant marriage. I never thought of that. But continue. All dead will come to life. There's the room for them. All bad men will be killed off. Who will kill them? He that comes out of the sky. Their spirits would haunt him. He would kill their spirits too. None but God can do that. He is the Son of God. Oh, is gold married? So impiously I lose heart. But Robin comes to my aid. With shining expectant eyes, she now interrogates me. When will he come? I shake my head. Who will he bring to life? Persisting. Those who love him. Oh, dear, dear, Robin. Do you love God? I am pleading for a soul. That I do, is her positive confession. Do you love his son? My hands clasped toward her. Anything that belongs to him. So beautifies me, I spring to my feet to declare. Then you will be saved. For love is the fulfilling of the law. Drop sprinkle all about. I look back to see Saucy with inspired face, who has been listening. Thus bestowing this right upon this new convert, who strangely takes on a serious look. I know whom you mean, she says. He does, like this. Holding her hands as in prayer. What can she mean? He comes here to teach us. Who, who? It cannot be he, the son. Does the spirit of an apostle transfigured appear in this city, this city of love? I am astounded. He says that, in a century hence, electricity will create a human being. What can she mean? Is the camera eye, telephone ear, to be supplemented by a dynamo head, put on locomotive lungs and stood on wheel feet? Truly, here is sympathy an arc for such invention. Twenty-four hours without sleep. I yawn so terribly. Robot anxiously straightens me out on a chair for repose. I dream in shadow of friends in home. Saucy's mother hugs her close. Next, my chair is moved easily along. And I open my eyes in an ice grotto, where a large company is assembled, whom I imagine are the many relatives. As older people, like them in feature, are occupying special chairs of state. The parents? The change to cool arbor from summer heat is so greatly refreshing, I regain animation. At the parents' request we are placed on pedestals for exhibition. Are all so small? they inquire. We are medium. There are midgets and giants, we reply. How great the size of the earth in comparison with arc! You do more wonderful acts in proportion, as you have more land to work upon. They place their hands upon our heads, in token of membership in their family. End of chapter 8. CHAPTER 9 PART 1 OF ARCTIC. A study of the marvels at the north pole by Anna Adolf. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. CHAPTER 9. There is magic in the air. Another pedestal is being occupied by Shoov and Serpenta, who are dancing a betrothal. In graceful pose and gesture his movements are an epic poem in majesty and solid grandeur, hers the duplicate shadow of his with interlacing quick steps. An ice-dance on the ice, the feet not raised off. The complication of steps is insidious to the eye in their noiseless turns, noiseless, rising on the air is a melody that grows in lessons, produced by the swift slipping, ending in smooth tone as true love ought. When it is over and the company dispersed, I wander around by myself to soon get lost in the tangle of halls, which labyrinth every way. Just here are niches in the walls, with statues of people and animals like life. Here is a family group. The host is deep in arc-news-ball, writing rolled up. His wife is crossing the floor toward the grandma, asleep in her arm-chair, a kitten rolled up beside it. A child is playing on the floor, I touch its soft hair, it is cold. An idea enters my mind, have not all of these been once alive and now ice embalmed? I intrude no farther, none look up to ask me to stay. A charm comes over me, driving all in canny scents away. How pleasant to have our dead welcome among us, as though not lost. Now I come to rooms of birds and other pets, a boa that swung robit in older times. What is this? An elephant like the mammoth? Ice-locked in southern zone? Washed away. Oh, Auntie! I turn nervously around. It is not Miss May, but Miss Serpenta. Show-offs betrothed, who has mistaken my name. Miss Robit is in the great hall, where Charlie, mistake, is going to lecture. It is superbly decorated, a great globe of the earth in the centre, coloured. He will tell all about it. He has counted out a thousand and one inventions, never seen here. He says he will lionise the natives. She told me to find you. For though any can enter an open archway, none can open a closed door. I begin to feel as if Bluebeard lived here. The open rooms are so magnificent and shining, one need not hunt him up. The queue in the halls, goes on the friendly girl, is to keep on the smooth path. The lecture will soon begin. She is afraid you will take cold as something, and wants you by to watch you. To watch me, I muse maliciously. Should I come clear to arc to be watched by an old maid, an old one truly? I turn to the rough path. What is under that chair? I do believe it is a paper. Charlie has dropped some of his notes. I am so tired, I will sit down while I pick them up. Why don't they come out? I get up, and perceive the chair as an open work-door, solid-built. Oh! Says her penta, trembling, as I hurry to undo the bar. She is paralysed. As I open the door a little way, I see in the jar a Bluebeard. I said the lions are pink. This one is blue. His paw on the paper, his breath on me. No art-manufacture now. I dream in shadow. I see Showoff, who has followed his girl, with one tremendous blow, put us two around an archway. The lions are in the room. They mined him not. When did a king mined? They see me not. I see them from reflections on the ice-mirror walls. He leans against a column and plays. He has, in his mouth, a harmonica, Saucy's property. Plaint of it first, then shrill. One note touches a cord in the lion's ears. They shake their heads. It comes again. They snort. A mother back of them calls to a lost babe. Three heroes go to her aid, flying. The door is shut. Tableau. The lecture is very good. When it comes to lions, I am surprised to see in the archway behind Charlie no less than Showoff astride his young thoroughbred. Who, when lions are said to dance and play music in America, this one dances and plays behind the speaker, who looks back wild-eyed. The harmonica in its mouth, Showoff chokes out the strains with his hands. So apt and comical is it. The speaker himself breaks out laughing. Showoff has learned to read unit writing. He got the paper under the door. Did not get left by a unit scion. I am sitting by the girl who says, I could listen all day about the marvellous people. When Aunt Robert takes you home, I will go along. Oh, say no more, I implore. I feel so lost when I think of home. Tomorrow I see she is going to make me happy again. I will take you over the city. It is one of many that occur every ten miles. This side the river is our summer home. The other is our winter. The next morning I take to the tower-top and delight myself by discovering another motion still of the chairs. It is a circle-world which I practice until I feel I am seasoned to any mode of motion sprung on me. Serpente seeks me out and asks me sweetly what place we shall visit first. Oh, no matter. A library? Very well. She connects our chairs securely, as did Robert, and presses them in motion. Without saying as Robert did, look out. We are moving. How? How? Her look out, had she said it, would have helped me one less than Robert's. For this is worse, so much worse. Not so exhilarating, quite the opposite. I am losing my breath in a faint, so utterly unprepared am I, for we are moving straight out into space. I look sideways to see Serpente calm. I look in front, if to see a track. None there. Nothing above or below to hold, not even a wire. Well, we are steady, and aim to another tower-top that is rapidly nearing. Now we stop on it. I get down and walk around my chair to find its wizard-action. No track did I say. There is a track. Good rail-track behind. It pops into my head. It is another method. Just some years ago, for a railroad to lay its tracks as it went. But must have land to lay it on. This carries and steadies its supplements, bridge-like. We descend the elevator into an elegant room of many windows and drapery. Seat ourselves beside one, high and wide. The scene outside is exquisite. Some fur-clad people are on the ice, around a fire, cooking. A ship in the distance is ice-locked. But there is no ice in this neighborhood. How do you like the picture? asks Serpente eagerly. Oh! the window is a picture. It is fine, I reply enlightened. Is it like your people that go in ships? They must be the last explorers whom Savant found. How I wish I could rescue them and bring them into Ark. Did you say this is a library? Where are your books? She presses on the picture-frame. It changes as a part advances, opens, and is a book. The back was part of the picture. It is a Vance story and pictured writing, and quite enlists my sympathy. Seeing me tearful, she takes me outside and leaves me in a shrubbery plot, while I attempt to compose my features. Hearing a sob from someone else close by, I am upset again and weep in sympathy. I peer through the low-lying branches and see Robert in a mossy nook, giving way to hysterical bitterness, her hands over her face. Now two other hands pull them away to give her a view of the laughing face of Show-Off. She pushes him off spitefully. Partly losing his balance, he settles back on his heels, still laughing. In which, with her toe, she completes his overthrow and leaves him in the moss as she continues unconstrained her grief. Show-Off picks himself up, sobered, and looks around for other occupation. I do also view the surroundings. I perceive this building is over the river. Before I salute Robert, she arises and stamps away. Passing my retreat, I hear her moan. You are lost, oh my darling! Something drops gently upon my hand. I look down to see a round, button-like object, attached to a line that goes up above. I raise it when the string sways out from the tree, free from ought else but the sky. I feel in my hand a signal, which I recognize by my knowledge of arc, as hello, which I answer back. Then comes a communication. I am away up in the sky. Who are you, thinking some trick is being played on me? I answer, Robert, tingling, they are happy. Can it be the traveller? Hoping so, I telephone on the line in Robert's voice. It is my darling. I hear back, is it sounding from the clouds in accents of a voice? Oh, clouds, speak again! When will my darling come again? Do you want me, dear? I will wander no more, but it is fine up here. I go like light, thoughts cannot travel faster. My darling is like a spirit of air for speed. I will speed to you, my dear. His daughter pines for him, not her. My heart is full of love. This winter I will marry him, and journey with him in the famous sky. Here are ten thousand kisses, till last till winter shall bring him home. My coach frets to be going, but this winter it shall stop for a season. The button darts upward. Robert, I say in my mind, weep not. There are fairies around. I look up to see show-off in front of me. What? He says, come to school? Yes, I answer vaguely, seeing no sign of such institution. He slides back to me in the foliage. A door revealing a busy scene. Men, women, and children are scattered about, variously occupied. Some are writing upon sheets of transparent material. The pictured script, which, subjected to a solution, is shrunk to microscopic dimensions. Other occupations on each side extending in a line. On the farther side of each room are windows looking outside, the school rooms being divided from the inner halls and libraries by the umbrageous alley in which we sit. Wheeling my seat ahead, which goes tree and all as though one piece on rollers, show-off explains, This school, or fair, as Charlie calls it, what I take at home for exhibition, is devoted to silk. I see in process of construction pictures, screens, garments, carpets, which I had taken for sword, with American articles devised from Charlie's lectures. These last are brought out to me for my benefit. A worker hands me a glass of water, which another puts a bouquet of flowers into, on which lights a canary and sings a song, as a fuzzy dog puts up his paws at my side. All are silk. Down spinning comes a spider. I did not like its looks. It opens its mouth, saying, Come into my parlor. I turn away, saying, No American parlor this, but fairy land, song of poets and imagined in spirit by painters. As I become absent-minded, show-off closes the doors and leaves me alone. I look straight up into the sky, thinking of the button, when an odd little sky-spec attracts my inquisitiveness, for it is growing larger very fast, as it no doubt is coming down very fast, strangely heavy for a fleecy cloud, which it looks to be. Down to the opening, through to the tower-top, it stops by my side. The cloud is off, as out steps farther and saucy, and I spring convulsively to my feet off the rock I had leaned on in case. Holding my hands together, May quiets my nerves. Oh, henty! With glowing cheeks and shining eyes of sky-angel. Did you not know they do this here? See, this is the string of the cloud-balloon I hold. But May, the traveller is up there, and not friendly. Oh, Grandpa has been civilizing him, so I have asked him to the wedding. How is that? Serpente is his niece, so he might as well come and be reconciled. Will there be an explosive? She adds gleefully. Now, Grandpa, an auntie, as she sits down by my side, take up your bill of fare, and while we dine, we will talk of going home. A table in our midst has been spread, a la American. Bill of fare? I query. Yes! That menu by your plate! I had taken it for a leaf decoration. It is named at the top a leaf from Webster. Webster's dictionary? It is the first page of S as the initial heads each dish. Sabine fish, sac-er game, sac-er in pastry, sac-drink. Saca comes in with show off behind her, and sits up opposite. As we part the fish with our knives and forks so new to them, they are delighted and get up to do theirs. As Saucy Blandly puts a piece in her mouth with her fork, they rush to her, thinking her mouth speared. She drops the fork, and Father's hand is so familiar shape of white china-cup and filling also. I hastily taste my own. It is ice-cream, the white cup a macaroon. But as the spoon with which I tasted goes into my mouth, they rush me, thinking it strained. We drop now our spoon and take up the sac, which is in art-cups, shaped like bottles, which are gum-paste. To cover our discomforture, we arise in unison, touch and drink boon-fashion. When boom, crack, roar, the ground beneath us shakes. The two opposite natives here spring to their feet with distending guise, standing transfixed as the cracking roar continues, listening to the approach of a sucking, whistling sound which, long drawn, lessens and gradually disappears when they recover composure. My first idea of the panic was that it was God's displeasure of our dissipation. Quickly banishing this, I recognized the crackling as that of ice, which denoted the real danger. The sucking sound was so like water, which, escaping to the river, had ended the commotion. Ah, arc, highest of all, yet his death ever beneath, resuming our seats, I bethink me of Saucy's proposition. Going home, Saucy? Yes, to America, to America, I echo again. Yes, will this be an easy way? Coming up and coming to take hold of me, as though I was to be scared. An easy way? I cannot think what she is driving at, when it comes out. Yes, the way we are sailing in the air. I clutch the rock as did Fitz James, muttering as did he. This rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I. But too late, the rock is flying with me on it, through the air in combination of the rest on the plot. Towers and schools are left behind, so quick done I had been unobservant. By effort accepting the situation, I turned to show off jocularly. How far can this go, in reference to the proposition? To the sun, if you want to scorcha, he answers with assurance. I have been studying, auntie. She studying? We can place relays of these over the border. But the compass, I interrupt. We will measure straight between each relay, until the compass writes itself. Sitting down herself, contentedly, I get up and choke her with a hug. You blessed child, given me a way to get home. I forgive her immediately, and all the rest, for the dreadful scares I have been victim. I think of home scenes, so far away. And compare with these of this delightful land, I must confess, I prefer as magnificence these. But the blessed mascot has studied how to get home. It being possible, my full spirits rebound. Hmm, next spring will do to go. I say, anxious now to stay, where before I was anxious to go, now that I could. The next day, I am so light of heart and light of step, I take trust that my old statue heaviness cannot again weigh me down. Created to the schools as the place where all work, arc life above, mostly a recreation, I become alert to choose an industry. Saucy, arriving, takes from her pocket silk and needle, deftly fashions a butterfly which she affixes, waving to my shoulder as I ask, what can I do? Oh, you can print the books you write, you know, and Charlie, laughing, can paint. The days fly swiftly by. The sun has rounded down toward the horizon, twilight is our only day. Cloud skim the blue sky, cream foam important of storm, driving us to the warmth of the towers that are now getting a layer of arctic protection. Bright days only let us tour the cities, making the round trip roundly. Each tour develops a new specialty, marvelous and absorbing our interest. Through the upper sky out of the crevice is getting a soft black color. Still, the air around has a light of its own that is not artificial in any sense, proceeding from the center aurora that is becoming oftener in action. Scanning it closely one day as I am returning home, I mistake the door and curiously look around at the grand hall in which I find myself. The walls, like all others, shining and sparkling, are here strangely glimmering and glinting, quite daising my eyes. I ask a slim little archmaid I see, walking about in an absorbed fashion. What place is this? Holy hall! is her impressive reply. Then you have a church after all. Do you pray to God? Not in the words as you, God knows before. Then what is Holy Hall? I persist. Where people are holy. Oh! What makes it glisten so? It wholly spiritualizes all within. Then no evil spirits can come to this communion of saints. Quite bestows comfort and relief. The walls are landscaped in crackled scenery, and at intervals against their centers aloft are fastened most gorgeous state-chairs, supported by brackets that have separate and more distinct gleam. I turn again quickly, odd to inquire. I look into the face of Savant, who is intently regarding my expression. The chairs, I say. Are they alive? Yes, he replies. To make the dead alive, who will come to sit in them. Oh! Is this where Roben saw the scientific angel? I rigidly regard the one nearest to me to see it being occupied by a familiar face and form, familiar by engraving. It is George Washington. A hand appears from the air, resting on his arm, which slowly materializes the form to which it is attached. I open my mouth in awe, for I recognize again President Lincoln, the martyr, as joining him in touch appear his generals. My memory goes back to that struggle of civil strength at the sight. Then I strive to awaken myself, as though I must have fallen strangely asleep, scarcely believing the illusion before me. Not crediting the tales of spiritualist societies, I cannot likewise discredit the Bible records. I have not, as likely the excellent souls and arc have not. In wantonness profanely tempted this array. I, in deference to the manifestation, wait residedly. I clasp my hands in added awe, as Savant touches me to inquire. Who are they? One the other side of. Our country's father has appeared. Who? Jefferson Davis, and his grey-clad staff. I wrink my hands as Savant touches me again. There was a war, I gasp. Do they hear? They look down and smile at me, even the rebel, at whom I shake my finger. You cause this to be a president. You tried to cut a great country in two, deluging it in blood. In my electric state I see the root of the real cause, ambition of earthly state. The root of evil that grew to a tree of distrust, of brother to brother, each aroused in strength of pride to combat of their separate interests. He replies residedly, I did not want war. It conquered back the union. The father hastily spreads his hands in benediction. So like prayer, I ask, do you go to see God in spirit form, then dropping on my knees, Jesus. It was my republic, the kingdom of God to men, the people. He taught to pray for. How could you be our father before you were born? The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy. You, the father of Jesus, how is he the son of God? As such to teach republic love, I will ask my pastor, will he come at the end of the second millennium in body form and bestow body life on good spirits to that in preserved. I, endeavoring to prophecy, it will be evolved scientifically to all, astounds me. Good and bad, where will be room for them? Some will dwell in air, oh, in cloud balloons. Will they eat and work as they do now? The same. Must they live and cannot die, live or die as they do choose? Death war will be universal peace in a universal republic as one foot steps forward to disappear. I hurry to ask, was Jesus the Christ of the Jews? The seed of Abraham in which all nations should be blessed. What about David's throne? The promise was to Abraham, not to David. The latter's throne will be raised to a republic. Was the spirit of republic first of Jesus in the beginning of God? As one foot disappears, will women equalize in its rule? President Tess, as of God, is the universal rule. Another foot starts, I haste again. Who is the devil? But he has gone too quick. And around about me come living people, friends at home. And the living come, I ask Savant, who is still near. In spirit form, just the same, I talk to them, they to me, the news of each. We walk about and discuss the people and the occasion, quite content in each other's society. And the center of the room, upon a pedestal, are serpenta and show-off. I do believe they are getting married, for this has been the assembly. We arrive at their side with loving wishes, in time to see a chamois garlanded close by. We hear the word initiation, and stuff our mouths at its American misapplication. The crowd are gone, and spirit friends. I say to Saucy, let's go to bed, who replies, I have just woke up. I went and dreamed to see Mama. She was crying. I put my arm around her neck, and she leaned her head on me, and was comforted. I told her I would come home in a cloud, which scared her so. I laughed out loud. She heard, and looked about the room, then took her work. I think I will go every night to see her. My father is brushing by my arm. I say, what do you think? I saw my little children, who are dead, in dear mother's care. They have been growing by my side. I knew them plainly, and realize I have oft consciously caressed them. What is the element producing the phenomena? It is positive electricity, confined by glass. The balloons of clouds are thus manipulated, and strong to carry a number of people. I am studying how constructed to use them in our return. I go out hastily into the night, the long night of this city. My mind is so wrought upon by home people. I look up at the velvet black sky, and pray, silent night above me, thy sublimnity far-reaching opens to omniscience, specks of thy sun-system and dotted plain, mindful of human pain, communus thou peace, longing to leave this place, great everywhere, guide me, guiding me here, guide me hence. I await thy signal, in calm acceptance, end of chapter 9, part 1.