For some reason, the Beautiful Being has lately been so gracious as to take an interest in my efforts to acquire knowledge, and has shown me many things which otherwise I should never have seen. When a tour of the planet is personally conducted by an angel, the traveller is specially favoured. Letters of introduction to the great and powerful of earth are nothing compared with this introduction, for by its means I see into the souls of all beings, and my visits to their houses are not limited to the drawing-rooms. The Beautiful Being has access everywhere. Did you ever fancy when you had had a lovely dream that maybe an angel had kissed you in your sleep? I have seen such things. Oh, do not be afraid of giving rein to your imagination! It is the wonderful things which are really true; the commonplace things are nearly all false. When a great thought lifts you by the hair, do not cling hold of the solid earth. Let go. He whom an inspiration seizes might even--if he dared to trust his vision--behold the Beautiful Being face to face, as I have. When flying through the air one’s sight is keen. If one goes fast and high enough, one may behold the inconceivable. The other night I was meditating on a flower-seed, for there is nothing so small that it may not contain a world. I was meditating on a flower-seed, and amusing myself by tracing its history, generation by generation, back to the dawn of time. I smile as I use that figure, “the dawn of time,” for time has had so many dawns and so many sunsets, and still it is unwearied. I had traced the genealogy of the seed back to the time when the cave-man forgot his fighting in the strangely disturbing pleasure of smelling the fragrance of its parent flower, when I heard a low musical laugh in my left ear, and something as light as a butterfly’s wing brushed my cheek on that side. I turned to look, and, quick as a flash, I heard the laughter in the other ear, while another butterfly touch came on my right cheek. Then something like a veil was blown across my eyes, and a clear voice said: “Guess who it is!” I was all a-thrill with the pleasure of this divine play, and I answered: “Perhaps you are the fairy that makes blind children dream of daisy fields.” “However did you know me?” laughed the Beautiful Being, unwinding the veil from my eyes. “I am indeed that fairy. But you must have been peeping through cracks in the door when I touched the eyes of the blind babies.” “I am always peeping through cracks in the door of the earth people’s chamber,” I replied. The Beautiful Being laughed again: “Will you come and have another peep with me this evening?” “With pleasure.” “You could not do it with pain if I were by,” was the response. And we started then and there upon the strangest evening’s round which I have ever made.