“The damned thing’ll cut capers and it’s all over with us!” muttered Sheldon. Even as he spoke the ship, like a meteor, shot through the red-black funnel cloud gathering and deepening in front of us and swayed in a swimming darkness of thunderous detonation whose sulphurous denseness suddenly dissolved before vivid streaks of blinding green eruption—the next instant the sun streamed upon us with furnace rays and land was beneath, a gloriously beautiful country, seemingly smiling wide in welcome. Buoyantly we feasted our eyes upon the wondrous panorama, as with lightning speed we flew over city after city, gleaming white, glistening in the brilliant sunlight. Rivers, lakes rippled and sparkled in wavy lines like gleaming streaks of ore. Snow-capped peaks cut the pale, distant azure, and beyond stretched miles of prairie land. Our attention was directed to a vast plain, and through powerful glasses we viewed the encampment of a mighty army. Soldiers in shining armor marched into the open, filing rank upon rank into glittering divisions. “The camp of the Potolilis,” we were informed. “A formidable tribe of savages at present warring upon the Octrogonas, who, though they outnumber yonder tribe three to one, are routed continually by the insidious Potolilis.” The speaker delivered an oration upon the ruinous policy of war while the ship veered easterly, sailing swiftly from the martial scene, over extensive forests, rich valleys, and in the heat of the mid-day sun slackened speed, floating gently over the loveliest bay I ever saw whose deep blue, glassy waters reflected elongated, fantastic shadows of the great white city on the coast gleaming phantom-like through a shroud of heavy, azure mist. Borne before the mild breeze, we fluttered to the heart of this fair city, hovering an instant in the high, intense heat, then the ship slanted and circled downward. Beneath was the reality of a dream-vision. A fairy palace glinted in the sunlight with soft, rainbow tints, surrounded with gorgeous gardens sheltered from the wilting heat by giant palms, and cooled, refreshed by swift, ribboned streams, and slumberous pools upon whose surface floated strange, heavy-scented blossoms. The vessel shifted far to the rear of the irradiating palace toward the outskirts of the wondrous gardens, where a steel trestle reared high, supporting a great, oblong object, which slowly parted wide. The ship sank without a jar, gently settling, the sails folded close while the huge metal shell gradually closed together. The flying ship _Centur_ had reached port.