Anno Domini 2071 — Part 4

that is my hobby," continued she, as she stopped before one of the edifices.

Could I trust my ears!

A young lady's favourite study was genealogy;

old parchments, coats-of-arms, and heraldry her hobbies!

However, I could but follow her, and as I did so, and arrived at our destination, I saw none of her "hobbies" at all; from one single centre, spreading into innumerable directions and ramifications, I observed a collection of skeletons; several of them were indeed old acquaintances, such as the elephant, the mammoth, the mastodont, the rhinoceros, the horse, the hippotherium, the anchitherium, the palaeotherium, the lophiodon, etc. , etc. ; but a far greater number apparently represented the remains of creatures altogether unknown to me; they were arranged, not only according to their general dates of discovery, but also on the basis of organic relationship, so that those forms nearest to each other showed the nearest approach in outward appearance, whereas the extreme forms on both sides bore the most astonishing contrast.

It now became clear to me in what sense our fair companion had used the qualification of genealogical, not as referring to the noble trees of families but to indicate the various ways by which the animal species that have at one time lived on this earth had developed one from the other.

Miss Phantasia appeared to attach great value to this genealogical collection; but still I could not help remarking to her that this process of exhibiting the fossils of animal species did by no means prove what it was intended to do; "for," said I, "up to the present day there are to be found on our globe, and alive, all sorts of mutually related forms and intermediate varieties."

"Ah, well!"

exclaimed the bright-eyed, lively damsel, "you would think differently if you were acquainted with all the new discoveries of our age."

[9] Perfectly agreeing with Miss Phantasia, so far as my ignorance went, I thought I had better drop the subject altogether; still I ventured to ask her one more question: Did this museum at the same time contain the ancestors of the human race?

In reply she pointed to a row of veiled figures in the background of the hall; but as she took my hand to conduct me thither, Bacon stepped between us, and said, "Let not my fair friend tempt you; you would not be able to see anything in that dark corner over there; the evening is falling.

Go you to your hotel;

we too are homeward bound."

Indeed, the evening was falling, but only in the building; for as soon as we got outside, we found ourselves apparently in broad daylight.

I looked about me for gas-flames and lamp-posts, but I could discover nothing of the kind.

At last I looked up to the sky, and then I saw far above the houses a dazzling light, somewhat like the sun, spreading his rays in all directions, and several more of these "suns" at considerable distances from one another.

"Don't you even know the Solar Light?"

Bacon asked.

"That surprises me; for as far back as the second half of the nineteenth century it was used to illuminate both here and in Paris some of the public edifices.

Here it has been generally introduced for some time past, ever since the streets have been covered with our endless glass."

"But then that light is too brilliant and too white; that can't be gas-light."

"Nor is it.

Gas is now only burnt in those isolated districts where the houses stand far apart from each other, but the central part of the city is chiefly lighted up by the burning of magnesium, and sometimes also by electric light, or any of the numerous lights with which we are now acquainted.

The apparatus, consisting of mirrors and lenses, to collect the light and to make the beams parallel, i.

e. equal to sunlight, is the same for all those different kinds of public illumination."

"Rather expensive, though," was my sudden reply.

"Not as expensive as you think," continued Bacon; "especially not in the case of magnesium, for there is an abundance of magnesium ore in the form of dolemite, etc. , from which we get the metal in a way as inexpensive as that followed in the preparation of aluminium.

To this must be added that the process of burning this metal yields a hard substance, which, by a suitable arrangement of the apparatus, can be collected again and re-reduced to magnesium.

Speaking theoretically, a certain quantity of magnesium is a source of light quite as inexhaustible as the oil-jar of the widow of Sarepta of which we read in the Book of Kings."

The more I looked about, the more I arrived at the humiliating conclusion that we of the boasting nineteenth century--of which I still felt to be a child--were really very much benighted, and I could almost forgive Miss Phantasia for speaking of the semi-barbarous condition of society in my time.

It seemed as if Bacon read my thoughts by my features; for he continued as follows: "I see that you are desirous of increasing your acquaintance with the present state of affairs.

Well, then, if you have been able to put up with our company to-day, you had better join us to-morrow, in our contemplated aërial voyage."

How I thrilled with inward delight at the prospect of such a tour!

Of course I accepted the kind offer without hesitation, although I could not help raising a slight point of doubt with regard to the state of the weather.

"Don't you trouble your mind about that," said my amiable guide;

"early this morning I was at the meteorological institute, and I have ascertained that the weather will be fine for a fortnight at all events.

The reports from the different meteorological stations are all equally propitious.

The sky will be bright, and the wind favourable;

I should be surprised if the aëronaut would have any occasion to use the energeiathecs, which, however, will accompany us as preventatives."

We parted company, but not until I had made a note of the spot where it was intended we should meet on the following morning.

I hailed one of the numerous cabs on the stand, and ordered the driver to take me to my hotel.

As I drove on, I was agreeably surprised not to hear anything of that rattling noise over the pavement, which is alike obnoxious to the person inside the vehicle, to all the passers-by, and to the inmates of houses situated in public thoroughfares.

I heard nothing, indeed, but the melodious tinkling of four little bells tied round the horse's neck, and forming a musical chord.

I am sorry to say that I was not fortunate enough to discover whether this "gentle process" was attributable to the nature of the pavement, or to certain hoops (not iron ones) round the wheels.

Probably it was the one as much as the other.

The Telephon.

Arrived at my hotel, I was at once struck with its extreme quietness, more so as the apartments were all but taken by some thousands of travellers.

The cause of this, however, I soon discovered on entering the elegant and spacious conversation room.

Methought I heard a kind of music, feeble, yet melodious in the extreme.

The sound approached as near as possible that of the human voice; but still the quality was altogether different.

Besides, no artist, male or female, was to be seen in the room.

The only clue that I could get to the mystery was through a box of small dimensions; this instrument was placed on a table right in the centre of the room, and thence the sound appeared to proceed.

Taking the affair to be an ordinary musical-box, worked in the usual way, I gazed with no little contempt and surprise upon the crowd of serious-looking, enthusiastic men and women who had clustered round the table.

As soon as the music ceased, I ventured to approach the spectators, at the same time asking one among the crowd for some information with regard to the musical instrument in which they all seemed to be so much interested.

Oh the number of pairs of eyes that stared at me, full of amazement, if not of indignation!

At last one of the enthusiasts condescended to break the silence, "What, sir, a musical instrument!

where did you ever know such tones to proceed from a musical instrument?

Surely, sir, as a gentleman you must have heard of the telephon?"

I now remembered that a machine bearing that name, and answering that description, had been invented as far back as 1861 by a certain Reis;

also that it was based upon the following law, as discovered and laid down by Page; namely, that when an electric current passes through a wire coiled round an iron bar, and the current is continually interrupted, there arises a sound or a tone, the height or depth of which is entirely dependent on the number of vibrations produced by the interruptions of the current, according to their succeeding each other with more or less velocity.

This recurring to my mind, I now replied that the telephon was indeed not quite unfamiliar to me, in proof of which I went back to the history of its first invention; I also gave a description of Reis' little instrument, by which the sound of the human voice could be transmitted through very great distances;

and finally, I added my surmise or natural conviction that such an instrument must have been considerably improved upon in the course of more than two centuries.

[10] I was happy to notice the excellent impression visibly produced by my words; there now arose a tolerably general murmur of "whoever now would have taken the telephon to be so old an affair?"

As for me, I was complimented on my antiquarian knowledge, and, thanks to the amiable disposition of the visitors towards me, I was not long in discovering what had been going on.

That which every one now was so anxious to explain to me amounted, in a few words, to this.

The North-American papers had of late been indulging in the most extravagant terms of praise with regard to a lady singer who, according to the Yankee critics, was possessed of a voice such as no mortal had ever yet heard of, surpassing in compass and quality everything that could be imagined; a talent whereby all the artists of former ages--if history could be relied on--ladies like Catalani, Malibran, Henriette Sonntag, Jenny Lind, or the Pattis, were really no more in comparison than a cricket to a nightingale.

Of course, as might be imagined, these reports from across the Atlantic had created an immense stir in the musical world of Londinia.

From all directions the managers of concerts and operas had been induced to negotiate with this marvellous talent, so that it should no longer be hidden from the musical inhabitants of Londinia.

But, then, all these reports emanated from the States, the fons et origo of humbug;

and, probably taught by experience, the managers had all clubbed together, and, at their joint expense, despatched a telegram to the gifted artist, requesting her to allow her marvellous power to be tested by means of the telephon.

That would, at all events, enable them to judge of the compass and quality of her voice.

To this the lady had consented, and thereupon the managers had hired one of the transatlantic telegraph cables, on which the experiment had been made.

As a clear indication of the compass of the voice, I was shown sundry slips of black paper on which could be seen numerous curved white lines; the latter had been traced upon the paper by the phonautographer standing behind the telephon, and were supposed to mark the musical scales within compass of the lady's voice.

An impression of these slips of paper was to appear, on the following morning, in the musical journal, Panharmonia, in order that "the eyes of the inhabitants of Londinia might anticipate the glorious treat in store for the musical ears of the great metropolis."

"For," added the editor of the Panharmonia, "all connoisseurs in music know the meaning of these little waves.

Won't they be astonished when they see a tone like this!"

Saying this, he pointed with his finger to the very extreme line where the little curves met as near as possible.

Of course I was longing to examine the construction of the telephon.

I

was just about to ask one of the gentlemen present to give me some explanation on the subject, when there was a general demand for silence.

The American lady was to afford us another treat.

This time she sang an air from Mozart's Don Giovanni, and I was delighted to find that this masterpiece of the great maestro was not forgotten even three centuries after the composer's death.

At the close of her examination, the lady was unanimously declared worthy to appear before the critical public of Londinia, and she received what we might term a musical ovation by means of another telephon working in opposite direction.

And here the matter was allowed to rest, it being left to the different managers to endeavour to engage her services.

All and each of these gentlemen looked as if they were in possession of some secret or other wherewith to outvie their competitors.

They parted, however, on the best of terms, and I retired to my room.