Wondering at this action, I look for information, to the center gathering, I see a crystal floor in circle shape, with round divans in its center. I am mystified as we are seated on this divan, 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 crevasse below, whence comes up a brilliant glow, the only light in the apartment now, as blinds and shades are placed to protect it. Whence this light arises, I cannot imagine, as the sun is not in focus, or other light. I take a great like to Roban, who is as friendly as vivacious. I get upon her lap to hear her chat. “Good-bye,” she says, “my upper sky home, for the winter. My plant stand you may rest until spring (outing as she calls it).” I am mystified why the people stop to sit here, as there is no table. With a 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 triplet decoration. Triplet bell clusters favor 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. Mae and Charley, as I, are as completely surprised, the others enjoying its fulness. “Eden, Eden, garden paradise, whence came you here?” I weep beside myself in 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. Roban asks, “What is Eden?” I told her of Adam’s, and 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 confined it for safely, by dykes and jetties,” becoming quite distraught at some inward thought. Does he mourn the Traveler’s daughter? Roban 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 in begonia bloom, and crowned with palms. Long aisles of verdure penetrate the vista, closed by green sheen. One specialty of form is general, that of vine-climbing and up-looking.