of dreams. I think he will construct an electric
railway in the form of a huge tube, and call it the "electro-scoot,"
and passengers will enter it in New York and touch a button and arrive
in San Francisco two hours before they started! I think a new discovery
will be made by which the young man of the future may stand at his
"kiss-o-phone" in New York, and kiss his sweetheart in Chicago with all
the delightful sensations of the "aforesaid and the same." I think some
Liebig will reduce foods to their last analyses, and by an ultimate
concentration of their elements, will enable the man of the future to
carry a year's provisions in his vest pocket. The sucking dude will
store his rations in the head of his cane, and the commissary department
of a whole army will consist of a mule and a pair of saddlebags. A train
load of cabbage will be transported in a sardine box, and a thousand fat
Texas cattle in an oyster can. Power will be condensed from a forty
horse engine to a quart cup. Wagons will roll by the power in their
axles, and the cushions of our buggies will cover the force that propels
them. The armies of the future will fight with chain lightning, and the
battlefield will become so hot and unhealthy that,

"He who fights and runs away
Will never fight another day."

Some dreaming Icarus will perfect the flying machine, and upon the
aluminium wings of the swift Pegassus of the air the light-hearted
society girl will sail among the stars, and

"Behind some dark cloud, where no one's allowed,
Make love to the man in the moon."

The rainbow will be converted into a Ferris wheel; all men will be bald
headed; the women will run the Government--_and then I think the end of
time will be near at hand_.

DREAMS.

I heard a song of love, and tenderness, and sadness, and beauty, sweeter
than the song of a nightingale. It was breathed from the soul of Robert
Burns. I heard a song of deepest passion surging like the tempest-tossed
waves of the sea. It was the restless spirit of Lord Byron.

I heard a mournful melody of despairing love, full of that wild, mad,
hopeless longing of a bereaved soul which the mid-night raven mocked at
with that bitterest of all words--"Nevermore!" It was the weird threnody
of the brilliant, but ill-starred Poe, who, like a meteor, blazed but
for a moment, dazzling a hemisphere, and then went out forever in the
darkness of death.

Then I was exalted, and lifted into the