score of pages. The reader is impelled on and on, finding in every step new subject for wonder. The city of Al-Kyris is a feast of scenic splendors, the skill of the writer providing fascinating word-pictures of incidents more strange than were ever imagined in an Arabian Nights' entertainment. And through all runs a steady and strong undercurrent made up of the solid lesson of the book, "learn from the perils of the past, the perils of the future."
Theos Alwyn could not tell how long he slept on the Field of Ardath, for his awakening was confusing. He had a consciousness of his previous life, its conditions, his position, and opinions. All now was changed. He was before a gate leading into a walled city, the entrance to which consisted of huge massive portals apparently made of finely moulded brass, and embellished on either side by thick round stone towers from the summits of which red pennons drooped idly in the air. Through the portals was seen a wide avenue paved entirely with mosaics, and along this passed an endless stream of wayfarers. A strange city and a strange people. Fruit-sellers, carrying their lovely luscious merchandise in huge gilded baskets, stood at almost every corner; flower-girls, fair as their own flowers, bore aloft in their gracefully upraised
