Always fond of the marvelous, I conceived a strong desire to go to the North Pole. To obviate the dangers of the trip I invented a coach, that was also ship and balloon. Its silken canopy is inflatable to strong wings or wide sails. Its wheels are wide rimmed, to glide over snow, and paneled for water paddles. When it is finished and stored I select some friends to accompany me. My most personal loved ones. A volatile fair-haired gent—my husband, and a fair-haired little maiden friend, sit on th

The first iceberg is but the precursor of many that block our way. Then block the land to perpetual imprisonment. Giving us first taste of this specialty of our trip. As we stop a few days in the last place of civilization. We find good entertainment with pleasant people who are willing to aid us in our endeavor for knowledge, yet solemnly warn us not to dare the dangers ahead. They stock us with dried meat; supply us with double sealskin outfits; in fact, sealskins line our sleigh to aid in kee

The north star in the heavens, shining faintly through the half-clear atmosphere, has decided us on our locality at the dearly attained goal, costing us friends, and country, and possibly our lives. The sound of our voices falls dead around and echoes into the deep valley below. No sign of the beautiful city we had fancifully pictured. Thankful to die in the light, with the stars to take our last breath, is only left us. Mae complainingly whimpers: “There isn’t a pole at all!” “Nor open sea,” gr

Waking early, my prayer goes up to God, with my whole consciousness borne intact. So when we miss a link in our self-calculated program of events, we look to Him, the holder of the links of us—his marionettes below. Charley rushes in with a bundle. I speak: “Are you up, dear, and not sorry that we came?” “Haven’t time. Get up and see your new dress.” I sit up. “Invisible garments,” he explains. I hurry to him to find only the usual feathered robes, that in tint and style give all an appearance o

Mae goes out everywhere, often alone, finding the new ways and amusements of the city. When she finds one she thinks I will enjoy, she hurries home all out of breath to take me or tell me. She has been hunting around the halls to-day, as if there were hidden mysteries close by. I do believe she has found one. Her hair flying and eyes dancing, I go to meet her, to see what it is; getting some emotion in my own frame. “Come in here, Auntie.” In there I go, like a lamb. It is a glass entry of some

Looking to where he sits, I study one in my mind, and observe father sees my abstraction. I can tell by a wrinkling around his eyes, he is preparing himself for enjoyment of the debate. “What is the breath of life?” I at last ask ingenuously. “Oh, I can answer that. I have found it out since I have been here. That is an easy question. It is, my dear, electricity, which we assimilate into spirit. Simple in explanation. The electric soul batteries of our organism thus supplied by God, the maker of

My husband, always so loving, so bonny and practical, has become sober and long-faced, no shadow of a smile. No hop, skip and jump, like Saucy Mae. Even she he passes absent-minded. If she pulls his sleeve, he does not heed, so she follows him around to find what the matter is. As she makes a body-guard, I leave her to watch him. He has just come out of Savant’s room, absorbed in some papers, he carefully carries in his hand, assorting them as he noiselessly walks along, the genius behind failin

I catch sight of Show Off coming leisurely toward us. Has he caught the last part of the lecture, and is he, too, of a studious disposition. For raising his eyes intelligently, he continues the discourse. “Still we are made of dust!” (What can he know of dust?) “Birds,” going on, “are made of trees, for their feathers are little branches. Fishes are of waterbirth—their scales little drops. Beasts of grass, with coats of grass fur. Sheep of snow wool.” I am wool gathering. “Reptiles have clod ski

Another pedestal is being occupied by Show Off and Serpenta, who are dancing a betrothal. In graceful pose and gesture, his movements are an epic poem in majesty and solid grandeur, hers the duplicate shadow of his, with interlacing quicksteps. An ice dance on the ice, the feet not raised off. The complication of steps is insidious to the eye in their noiseless turns. Noiseless? rising on the air is a melody, that grows and lessens, produced by the swift slipping. Ending in smooth tone as true l