Chapter XX--The Journey to Jupiter 78 Adam Sends “73” to His Posterity 79 PREFACE In offering the “Pleiades Club” to the public, I have no apologies to make. Some may object to the declarations contained herein, but they are all consistent with intelligent beliefs, and not contrary to fixed or orthodox faith. “There is no death,” and my thought is to strengthen and impress this health-giving idea upon all of my readers. I have undertaken to describe a reign of harmony that exists after “Life’s fitful fever” which is more worthy of credence than the hell afire and damnation espoused by some creeds and religions; and I hope that my telegraph friends will feel better on this score from a perusal of the “Pleiades Club.” THE AUTHOR. CHAPTER I. ON THE PLANET MARS _Eternity Illustrated._ Eternity is an awe-inspiring theme and one which our little finite minds are unable to comprehend. It is a subject, however, which should never worry or distress us, when we stop to realize that we are all living in the eternal now. Once upon a time, an evangelist, in following up his line of business, rendered a discourse on “Eternity” which would have given one an opportunity for endless mathematics. “Supposing this earth was a huge ball of steel,” he began, “25,000 miles in circumference and a little bird would pass over it once every thousand years, lightly touching this immense steel body with the tip of its wing. Were you to tell the souls in hades that they would be released by the time the bird had cut a hole through and divided the sphere, there would be great rejoicing among the condemned.” Knowing that there is nothing lost in God’s creation this little allegory should never make one nervous, for we also know that, like John Brown, our “soul goes marching on,” onward and upward. Having delivered my text, I will proceed with my story. _Lincoln’s Birthday on Planet Mars._ It was a delightful gathering which assembled at a dinner on the planet Mars given in honor of Abraham Lincoln, on the occasion of his birthday, by the Pleiades Club, composed mostly of old-time telegraph men and their admirers, A. D. 1916. Numerically, the gathering was greater than that which assembled on any previous occasion on Mother Earth, and viewing the happy, smiling faces of those present, one felt that it was good to be here. Sounders clicked on every side; all were readable, and harmony prevailed, nobody ever sending six dots for the letter “p” or the figure 4 for a “v.”