All day they played among the purple flowers That lay like frozen flames upon the lawn; Or dreamed within the shadows of the towers Whose turret tops were painted as the dawn. Bright was the garden; peace went everywhere There was no breath of movement nor any sound Save butterflies that clove the heavy air, Or when the bright fruit dropped slowly to the ground. Then the flowers drooped, from sliver thorns that tore; Too soon the sun had died in amber smoke, And frightened now but silent as before The phantoms watched the garden change its cloak. Great sable moths flew out, and one by one The towers melted with the fallen sun. * * * * * This is a plug [Illustration][1] for the Voice of the IMAGI-NATION. price 10c from Box 6475 Met Sta Los Angeles Cal. [Footnote 1: The Art (Widner & otherwise) is a bit better.] _THOUGHTS ON THE_ WORLDSTATE _by henry kuttner_ [Illustration] [Sidenote: The hideous Mr. Kuttner returns with an equally hideous tale. We absolutely guarantee this story will induce nausea and slight regurgitation. Lead on, McKuttner!] I have, as usual, been brooding over the intricacies of modern civilization. It seems to me that life is a peculiarly futile business. This mood of mine may, perhaps, be attributed to my recent tragic encounter with a horse at the corner of 42nd and Broadway. I shall not dwell upon that incident, save to mention briefly that horses should, at least, be careful of what they eat. One never knows the result of the most innocent action, and that, by imperceptible degrees, brings me to the subject of this article, PLAYING FAIR WITH FANS, or, FANTASTIC DECENCY. It has been said (and very loudly, too) that fans fight a lot. Well, I do not care to refute that; I happen to know that a Californian fan, a Mr. Ackerman, is in the habit of knocking down visitors and kicking them in strategic places. The question naturally arises, does fantasy lead to sadism? I am reminded of the remarkable case of Scarlett O'God, an ardent fan whose tininess led to her being occasionally called by the diminutive, or fanny. This may seem somewhat confusing at first glance. Let us, therefore, go hastily on to the next paragraph. I should, perhaps, mention a mysterious white-bearded gentleman called Tarboth the damned, or Toby, since he played a significant role in the incident. It was he who listened, toying at his beard idly, while Scarlett feverishly upheld her position against the onslaughts of her foes. Just what caused the argument I cannot recall at the moment. Nor does it matter especially. I believe it had something to do with Scarlett's being locked out of the Sanctuary, or Washroom, by previous arrivals.