all glittering with lights, and they climbed the air over the hill and were soon lost amid the other lights of heaven.

It must be a quarter of a century ago since I saw this vision which I remember clearly because I painted the ship, and it must, I think, be about five or six years after that a second vision in the same series startled me.

I was again on the high places, and this time the apparition in the mystical air was so close that if I could have stretched out a hand from this world to that I could have clutched the aerial voyager as it swept by me.

A young man was steering the boat, his black hair blown back from his brows, his face pale and resolute, his head bent.

His eyes intent on his wheel: and beside him sat a woman.

A rose-coloured shawl speckled with golden threads drawn over her head.

Around her shoulders, across her bosom and folded arms.

Her face was proud as a queen's, and I long remembered that face for its pride, stillness and beauty.

I thought at the moment it was some image in the eternal memory of a civilisation more remote than Atlantis and I cried out in my heart in a passion of regret for romance passed away from the world.

Not knowing that the world's great age was again returning and that soon