hearty meal. That was, surely, a strange custom in your period, of spending the evening in closely packed, badly ventilated halls."
"It was a matter of necessity rather than choice," I replied. "If we wanted music, we had to go where it was to be heard. Even princes could not afford such music at their breakfasts. But one thing especially surprises me. How do you succeed in obtaining concerts at that early hour? Are your artists so self-sacrificing as to regard breakfast of no importance in comparison with the public pleasure?"
"The telephone is the magician," said Utis. "The concert you heard this morning was performed in a great city of Central Europe, at an hour there belonging to the afternoon. Each continent has its own great musical centre, toward which gravitates whatever arises of genius, talent, or vocal endowment. In that city are produced musical performances on a grand scale. By means of the telephone, these are reproduced at the ends of the earth, in the homes of all willing to pay a small annual sum for the privilege. A whole continent, at times all the continents, will thus, at the same moment, sit in judgment on a new piece or a new singer."
Breakfast over, and every thing restored to proper order, the children departed for school; and, in the ordinary course, we should have separated, each to his or her favorite pursuit. But, mindful of his promise, Utis took me under his charge.
Our heads protected by a sort of sun-helmet, we issued forth to view the fields. What first drew my attention in the landscape was the general absence of fences, pasture,
