that crimson background
as if they were huge curtains, rolled down from above, to change the
setting of the western stage for another act.

But as they rolled they formed strange and beautiful Doric columns
against the crimson skies and before I knew it, I was looking at the
ruins of an old Greek temple in the sky. Then the black clouds formed a
perfect hour-glass reaching from the sea to the sky, with its background
of crimson glory, and the little lighthouse seemed to be flashing off
the minutes in the arteries of that hour-glass.

And then it was night a deep, dense, tropical night; heavy with
darkness; rich with perfume; weird with mystery. But the sunset of
crimson; the Doric temple in ruins; the hour-glass; and the flashing
lighthouse still remained.

* * * * *

And who shall ever forget the sunsets of gold across Manila Bay night
after night; with great warships and majestic steamers, sleek and
slender cutters, white sails, long reaching docks, and graceful Filipino
women, silhouetted against the gold? And who shall forget the domes,
towers, and pinnacles of the Cathedrals; and the old fort within the
city walls as they too were silhouetted against the gold of the evening?

* * * * *

Mt. Taishan, the oldest worshiping place on earth, not far from the
birthplace of Confucius; in Shantung; is one of the most sacred shrines
of the Orient. There, countless millions, for hundreds of centuries,
have climbed over six thousand granite steps, up its mile high slope to
pay their vows; to catch a view of the blue sea from its imminence; to
feel the sweep, wonder and glory of its sublime height, knowing that
Confucius himself gloried in this climb. The exaltation of that glorious
view; shall live, side by side, with the view from the top of the Black
Diamond range in Korea one winter's night as we caught the full sweep
of the Japan Sea by sunset. In fact these all shall live as great
mountain top Physical Flash-Lights etched with the acid of a burning
wonder into one's soul!

Nor shall one ever forget a month's communion with Fujiyama, that
solitary, great and worshiped mountain of Japan; sacred as a shrine;
beautiful with snow; graceful as a Japanese woman's curving cheek;
bronzed by summer; belted with crimson clouds by sunset like a Japanese
woman's Obie. It, too, presented its unforgettable Physical
Flash-Lights.

The first glimpse was one of untol