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 domes, the steeple of one temple has tried to pierce the sun. The ancient city of Benlial has for ages been the theme of poets."

We were sailing over vast grain fields and meadow-land where thousands of cattle grazed, and far in the distance, gleaming white, phantom-like through the mist, we saw a great city. As we neared this spectral, poem city, the mist cleared before the strong, hot rays of the rising sun, and beneath us stretched a scene of fabulous beauty. Thoroughfares of marble lined with gigantic palms, whose huge branches arched from side to side, high domed buildings of pure white marble surrounded with vast gardens gorgeous with bloom. Poverty could not exist in this luxurious city. The ship sailed lower that we might view closer this paradise of earth. Nestling in the center of extensive gardens, miniature lakes and streams, forced cataracts and high spraying fountains was the jewel-like palace of Benlial—a long, flat, shining building.

"Here in the heart of civilization is a barbaric relic of what the Vespa people were," remarked the Literary Man. "They have been working centuries upon that palace and are still adding to it; it will never be completed. The architecture is valuable only for antiquity and hideousness," he continued, "and tasks the ingenuity of modern architects to follow the original plan. The building is entirely of mosaic."

"Taken as a whole it is of remarkable beauty," I blurted out. "There's not another building to compare with it in the wide world."