“That,” said Zenith, “is probably because you have allowed it to become debased. We read in our histories of such a period here. Indeed, for a long time both the play and the opera were abolished, our advancing civilization having given them up under the impression that the good in them was overbalanced by the evil. But when the era of a more noble personal character had come the drama was revived, and now is not only a source of innocent pleasure but is also a decided help to our growth. “I recognize the house we are now looking at. It is in quite a distant city, and I see Thorwald has purposely chosen it because at this moment an able company is presenting there one of our most popular plays. Would you like to hear some of it?” No sooner were these words uttered than we saw Thorwald make a slight movement of the switch, and, lo! the scene was changed to the interior of the building, and there before us was the Martian theater in full play. We sat as it were in the dress circle, with the orchestra and stage in our front. All was beauty and life around us, and the richness and harmonious coloring of the whole interior were simply beyond description. The play was going on in a quiet, dignified manner and every word and gesture were characterized with the greatest naturalness. It struck the doctor and me as a peculiar feature that, while we could hear everything that was said on the stage and even the rustle of the people around us, we ourselves could talk and laugh without being noticed. This effect was produced by an ingenious attachment to the telephone, and the doctor was moved to remark: “This is an altogether comfortable and satisfactory situation.” “Yes,” added Zenith, “we think it is almost as good as being actually present in the theater.” We assured her it was better, in our opinion, and then we thanked them both for the pleasure they had given us. But we began to think their resources for entertaining their friends would never be exhausted when Thorwald told us he would, at some future time, show us specimens of their paintings, sculpture, fine porcelain, elegant furniture, and many other works of art. One morning, a few days later, as we were rising from breakfast, Thorwald said: “Well, my friends, I suppose you will go to church with us to-day?” “To church?” asked we in one breath. “Yes, this is Sunday.” “Oh, is it?” I said. “I began to think you didn’t have Sunday here. It is now eight days since our return from the moon, and this is the first we have heard of it.” “Let me see,” said Thorwald, “I believe this is the first Sunday we have spent at home since you came to us.” “Then how long is your week?” “Ten days.” “That accounts for our misunderstanding,” I said, “for our Sunday comes every seventh day.” “That is an odd number,” returned Thorwald. “With us the week is the basis of our decimal method of reckoning. We have one hundred minutes in an hour and ten hours in a day.”