George, we now will hastily pass over England's rural-districts, then we will move northward. Yes, the landscape views are indeed fine. Nature, in her tranquil moods, ever is charming. Beneath us is bonnie Scotland, with her many lakes and heathery heights. Yonder is Loch Lomond and is not it a lovely sheet of water? But, to my mind, not more so than others of Scotland's many lakes. No, we cannot now devote time to seeing cities; it is the geography of the countries we are passing over that we wish you to observe. George, we will devote a few moments to an observation of the Isle of Man. Gentol[a:], on our side there are Spirits who remember a time when the ocean was many fathoms deep above its slowly rising surface. That is the island, and it appears a rather precarious abiding place. Some time I may tell you of its origin, which differs from the accepted scientific view. Now you may salute the Emerald Isle, the birthland of your nearest ancestors, who were of Scotch blood. You have desired to see Lough Neagh, near which your father was born. Its rippling water is beneath us now. Of Ireland's lakes, mountains, holy wells and fairy lore doubtless your father has told you many strange stories, but the strangely tragic story of wrong and oppression for which Ireland furnishes a piteous theme is as yet, unwritten. Yes, this southern portion of the island is very picturesque and broken; the same may be said of the inhabitants. No, we will not visit Wales. From Ireland we will pass directly to France and to Paris which, as has been aptly said, is France. Is not it a very beautiful city? During my Earth life I regarded it as being so perfect as to be changeless, but now as I gaze upon it, I see but few vestiges of nearly three hundred years ago. Oh, Paris, Paris, thou aggregation of opulence and squalor; of much that is admirable and more that is detestable; aye, of all that is good, bad or indifferent in human nature; since first I knew thee in thy beauty, luxury and arrogance, thou hast grown superb, but while decking thyself with costliest raiment and priceless jewels, thy feet tread in the mire of debauchery. In thy hands thou bearest a crucifix yet in thy heart thou art a wanton. With one breath thou chantest Laus Deo, with the next thy lips are smirched with ribald song.