BENEATH TROPIC SEAS 



in the sky visible in the earUest Hght of dawn from 

 Darjeehng are not clouds, but the snow peaks of 

 the distant Himalayas. The first little people 

 of this strange realm greet you — a, quartet of 

 swiroming rainbows — ^four, gorgeously tinted fish 

 who rush up and peer in at you. You reach out 

 for them, and they vanish. 



Now your feet touch ground and you walk slowly 

 about on the cleanest white sand in the world. 

 An ostrich feather of a sea-plume as tall as yourself 

 sweeps against you; it is royal purple and might 

 well be some weird fern from Mars. On a mound 

 of sand you gently seat yourself, sand-colored 

 crabs and small fish skittering just out of the way. 

 You lean against a fret-work of purest marble 

 while at your elbow is a rounded table of lapis 

 lazuli on which are blossoming three flowers — 

 flowers unearthly and which lean toward you of 

 their own free will. Their petals are resplendent 

 in hues of gold and malachite, and are fluted and 

 fringed like some rare and unknown orchid. You 

 reach forward to pluck one, and, faster than the eye 

 can follow, the blossoms disappear beneath the fur 

 of lapis velvet from which they seemed to sprout. 



Dozens of fishes, all strange, all graceful and 

 beautiful, play about you, nibbling at the coral, 

 rushing toward the sponge which you have lifted 

 from its place, hoping for some disturbed titbit. 

 When you sit quietly they gather closer, and peer in 

 through the glass at you again and again. Their 

 absurd mouths forever open and close, and if you 



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