"Yet on your faces (you may well blush with shame!), the Guardians have seen more and more frequently those smiles and they have heard your sighs. And (you should hide your eyes for shame!) the historians of the United State all tendered their resignations so as to be relieved from having to record such shameful occurrences. "It is not your fault; you are ill. And the name of your illness is "FANCY "It is a worm that gnaws black wrinkles on one's forehead. It is a fever that drives one to run farther and farther, albeit 'farther' may begin where happiness ends. It is the last barricade on our road to happiness. "_Rejoice! This Barricade Has Been Blasted at Last! The Road is Open!_ "The latest discovery of our State science is that there is a centre for fancy,--a miserable little nervous knot in the lower region of the frontal lobe of the brain. A triple treatment of this knot with X-rays will cure you of fancy-- "_Forever!_ "You are perfect; you are mechanized; the road to hundred per-cent happiness is open! Hasten then all of you, young and old, hasten to undergo the great Operation! Hasten to the auditoriums where the great Operation is being performed! Long live the Great Operation! Long live the United State! Long live the Well-Doer." You, had you read all this not in my records which look like an ancient strange novel, had you like me held in your trembling hands the newspaper, smelling of typographic ink ... if you knew as I do, that all this is most certain reality, if not the reality of today, then that of tomorrow,--would you not feel the very things I feel? Would not your head whirl as mine does? Would there not run over your back and arms those strange, sweet, icy needles? Would you not feel that you were a giant, an Atlas?--that if only you stood up and straightened out you would reach the ceiling with your head? I snatched the telephone receiver. "I-330. Yes.... Yes. Yes ... 330!" And then, swallowing my own words I shouted, "Are you at home? Yes? Have you read? You are reading now? Is it not, is it not stupendous?" "Yes...." A long, dark silence. The wires buzzed almost imperceptibly. She was thinking. "I must see you today without fail. Yes, in my room, after sixteen, without fail!" Dear ... she is such a dear!... "Without fail!" I was smiling and I could not stop, I felt I should carry that smile with me into the street like a light above my head. Outside the wind ran over me, whirling, whistling, whipping, but I felt even more cheerful. "All right, go on, go on moaning and groaning! The Walls cannot be torn down." Flying leaden clouds broke over my head ... well let them! They could not eclipse the sun! We chained it to the zenith like so many Joshuas, sons of Nuns!