and a pink but tuneful clam;
And "Yo-ho-ho," cried the sheep, and Shem, and a pair of protozoa:
"We're a-going to roam till we find a home that will suit old Father Noah."

There used to be rumors of a country that men called Atlantis. It was
said to lie far out at sea. A magnificent country. The people there were
happier and freer than anywhere else. It was also a land where it was no
trouble at all to be rich, and where strangers were treated as equals
and welcomed as friends. Until it disappeared so mysteriously it was
like an America, a land to which the people of those ancient times
longed to go.

I dreamed once that it had not disappeared, after all, but that it was
still to be found if you took a long voyage, and that it was happier and
freer and finer than ever. And I wanted to go there. I dreamed that
America had got itself in such trouble that thousands of people were
leaving to live in Atlantis. This part of my dream was a nightmare, and
not at all clear, but my recollection is that we'd elected Amy Lowell as
President. And she said her understanding was that she'd been elected
for life; and when any one disagreed with her, she sent a porter around
to cut off his head. And decade after decade passed by, and she danced
with the Senate, and made us sing to her at sunrise on the steps of the
White House. And she wrote all the hymns. So we wanted to move to
Atlantis.

But it wasn't at all easy to emigrate and give up America. In spite of
the way that Amy beheaded us, we were fond of our country. And we knew
if we went to another we mightn't come back. You can imagine how it
would feel, perhaps, if you yourself were leaving America, and looking
for the last time at all the little things in your room, and walking for
the last time in the streets or the fields you knew best. And the day
before sailing you would go around seeing your friends, and saying
good-by to them, knowing you wouldn't see them again. And then on the
last day you'd sit for a while with your mother, and she would talk of
your plans and your comforts, and you'd both be quite calm. And the hour
to go would come; and you'd kiss her. And she'd suddenly cling to
you....

[Illustration: A porter was sent around to cut off his head]

Then the ship, and the steam-whistles calling, and the gray, endless
sea. And you up on deck, day by day, staring out at the waters; and
seeing not them but your loved ones, or bits of your home: wondering if
you'd b