In the center of the sward plaza, or esplanade, is a circular fountain, enclosing within its circular wall of water a dell or green glen. Covering our top, we steer through the fountain side and to it. Discovering ourselves to the others, who scurry angrily behind us, we descend the dell, sloping down like a funnel, to find it shortly cut off. But lower down—ground again. While gazing at the latter a sensation strangely affects me, that it is moving——moving slowly by. What is it? In the fixture—lubricated by the fountain in each white cliff (cooling the wax), moving as does the earth-crust. We are both lost in study. The tiny fiends’ anger culminates, as altogether they give the globe a sudden push. That taking Savant unawares, it is precipitated through the funnel and to the moving ground below. Electric tremors shake us up, but, insulated, our globe survives, and passes on the ground motor out of sight of the enemies above. A signal from Savant, but e’er I look ahead, a cake of wax drops upon my lap. I look up and see the wee gnomes above, clinging like fireflies to the ceiling. Their fun is shortened, though, as one accidentally, also drops, landing safely in the cake of wax. Zip, down comes a gauze ribbon, up which goes the little gnome too frightened to fly. Breaking up the cake, I see in it a mould of the harlequin form, which I proceed to restore and dress, to his consternation. My attention thus diverted sideways is attracted by the width of the cavern. The cause soon obvious. It contains other motor ground beds. The twin of this on which we lazily ride is close by, but moving in an opposite direction, like a band reaching out and returning. Does it contact with the earth-crust, and turn it in daily curve? Then what do two others, on each side of these, farther out, but opposite, also, and smaller in size, turn—more slowly turn? Is it the band of the fixture of the moon, _attached to the earth-crust rim_? I now look ahead—in my head—a sun—earth and moon. What next? The tube “O! O!” is a telescope: greater than that of earth center; as so much longer. Shall I see God? No, only a comet! “What art thou—a sky steamboat, or a torch flambeau? If the latter, then is the universe a _campaign, illumination, ratification_? And hast thou a human hearer on mighty sidereal parade?” A living being is by it. (Oh, only a babe chub swinging in the tube.) It is gone, and we too are going out. Globe protected from the dazzling light, we look around and see a slow-going meteor—the rest had flew so fast, we had not time to read them. This is so like our globe in which we ride. I cry, “Is _this_ a sky meteor? This our globe?” Answering not, Savant claps his bands, a reverberating crackling following. The other slops and turns our way. In it, as Engineer, sits the Traveler, at whom I will scowl no more, for by his side is Robet, in bridal phase. Wuu, wu, w—— “What big, round eyes.”