In consequence, I found my life taking on a tinge of unwonted excitement. The notoriety of successful authorship was mine--and the satisfaction of one who finds himself the center of a storm of his own creation. For it was with a start of surprise, a gasp of incredulity and a wail of horror that Atlantis read the news of the upper world. Previously, when I had let loose a few hints as to life on earth, I had witnessed some curious reactions; but the former bewilderment and disgust of the people now seemed insignificant by comparison. It would be impossible to convey any idea of their repugnance to earthly life as I portrayed it; it was almost as if they had learned that we had gone back on all fours, or had joined the orang-utan and the gibbon in the trees; and the dozens of letters I received, the dozens of visitors that poured in upon me, and the dozens of inquiries addressed to me at public meetings, all gave evidence of a single but profound emotion: a sense of wonder and of revulsion at the degeneracy of the upper world. Perhaps the clearest proof of the general attitude was to be seen in the reviews of the book--reviews which, unlike earthly criticism, were not printed, but were delivered orally before gatherings at the Hall of Public Enlightenment. * * * * * Let me quote, for example, from a typical address. The speaker was Thermanides, a well known writer on social and philosophic questions; and his views regarding the upper world were milder in many ways than those of his audience. Speaking before an assemblage of four or five hundred, he showed himself to be precise and thorough in his acquaintance with my book.