I went upon my way, filled with indignation. I wondered whether the Council was watching me before summoning me, and why they attributed so much importance to my views. I stared about me at the streets and the crowds, the dazzling fronts of the high buildings, and even then I half believed that this was a dream. Life could not have grown so accursed as this. Before I became aware of it I had drawn near to the domed building, toward which the street was running. The houses suddenly fell away, and the splendid structure, which had seemed to float above the house-tops elusively, revealed itself to me. I was near the summit of a rather steep hill, whose superior portion consisted of a smooth glacis composed of neatly-jointed stones, across which the converging streets moved toward the castellated fortification, each terminating before a gate in this wall. The gate in front of me was composed of huge blocks of stone, probably with a steel foundation, and swung upon thin hinges of some metal that must have had enormous tensile strength. It was open and, like the fortification, was covered with glow paint or plaster, a dazzling mirror, now white, now blue, and bright as sunlight. Above the wall were the great conical, glow-painted Ray guns. I passed through the gateway under a massive arch. Now I saw that the double wall enclosed a barracks or circular fortress, surrounding the inner courtyard, and connected with the dome by long bridges, stretched upon arches. The court within was laid out in grass plots, and was most spacious. I stood still and gazed in admiration at the stupendous architectural scheme of the great building that occupied the center of the circular space. The dome covered only a small portion of the entire mass, and on each side was a succession of halls and porticos, approached between Corinthian columns, and, I thought, intercommunicating. The part immediately beneath the dome appeared to be of older date than the rest, and formed the nucleus of the complete conception. As I stood staring in astonishment, suddenly I knew what the domed building was. It was St. Paul’s Cathedral; but the cross was gone. My wonder grew as I watched it. The dome designed by Sir Christopher Wren remained intact; yet it no longer rested on the summit, but seemed to soar, supported on numerous low pillars, and, twenty feet beneath it, on a flat under-roof, was a garden of luxuriating palm trees, and therefore presumably enclosed by invisible crystal walls. I saw the gorgeous coloring of tropical flowers, and scarlet creepers that twined around the trunks of old trees. What a magnificent pleasure-ground for the Council of the Federated Provinces, high up above the London streets in the December weather! An elderly, bent man in blue, with the sign of a hammer on his shoulder, came slowly toward me. “Can one obtain a permit to go to the Council garden?” I inquired of him. He stopped and looked dully at me. “Eh?” he inquired.