The cities of Atlantis, according to the count I made, were eighteen in number (exclusive of the smaller towns and villages). But an Atlantean city, although always occupying considerable space, was what we in America should scarcely regard as a city at all, since it never had more than twenty or twenty-five thousand inhabitants. This insignificant population, when considered along with the liberal amount of territory allotted each town, accounted for the fact that no great crowds were ever to be seen on the streets; and it also explained how it was possible for efficient popular assemblages to debate and decide public questions. But the surprising fact about the Atlantean cities was not so much their small population as their almost unbelievable variety. No town in Atlantis was like any other town; the only characteristic possessed by them all in common was their unfailing beauty. To give some idea of their amazing diversity, I might mention the city of Atolis, which, when seen from the hill that surmounted it, formed a definite pattern, resembling some colossal Grecian temple of which the streets and avenues were the columns. Or I might picture Aedla, which was built along a series of canals connecting with the Salty River, with a lake in the center, giving a Venetian effect, except that the palaces were more exquisitely designed than any in the upper world. Then, again, I might depict the small town of Acropolon, in which all the houses were connected in an enormous colonnaded quadrangle surrounding a vividly flowering park, reminding me of some university I had seen long before; or I might launch into a lengthy description of Mangona, another small town, whose houses were all roofless and collapsible, and were generally taken down during the day and put into place only at night or when the inhabitants desired seclusion. But more interesting to me than any of these was Sardolos, one of the few present-day Atlantean cities that had existed before the Submergence. Although of course the town was not the same as in ancient times, and although its gracefully winding thoroughfares and marble friezes and frescoed domes represented the work of modern artists, yet some relics of the old days had been carefully preserved. In one corner of the city, concealed from the general gaze in a statue-lined bronze enclosure, were the remains of buildings said to date from the second century B. S. Yet, ancient as these ruins were, my first impression was that there was something familiar about them. The most conspicuous exhibit was a stone wall, five stories high and with gaping rectangular holes where the windows had been; and to the rear was a mass of rusted and distorted steel, reaching the full height of the wall with twisted, spidery arms that had once lent it support.