y with dizzy and uniform speed; the country
below slowly unrolls, and the steady drone of the Engine is almost
hypnotic in effect. "Sleep, sleep, sleep," it insidiously suggests.
"Listen to me and watch the clouds; there's nothing else to do. Dream,
dream, dream of speeding through space for ever, and ever, and ever; and
rest, rest, rest to the sound of my rhythmical hum. Droning on and on,
nothing whatever matters. All things now are merged into speed through
space and a sleepy monotonous d-d-r-r-o-o-n-n-e - - - - -." But the
Pilot pulls himself together with a start and peers far ahead in search
of the next landmark. This time it is a little country town, red-roofed
his map tells him, and roughly of cruciform shape; and, sure enough,
there in the right direction are the broken outlines of a few red roofs
peeping out from between the trees.

Another minute and he can see this little town, a fairy town it appears,
nestling down between the hills with its red roofs and picturesque
shape, a glowing and lovely contrast with the dark green of the
surrounding moors.

So extraordinarily clean and tidy it looks from such a height, and
laid out in such orderly fashion with perfectly defined squares, parks,
avenues, and public buildings, it indeed appears hardly real, but rather
as if it has this very day materialized from some delightful children's
book!

Every city and town you must know has its distinct individuality to the
Pilot's eye. Some are not fairy places at all, but great dark ugly blots
upon the fair countryside, and with tall shafts belching forth murky
columns of smoke to defile clean space. Others, melancholy-looking
masses of grey, slate-roofed houses, are always sad and dispirited;
never welcoming the glad sunshine, but ever calling for leaden skies
and a weeping Heaven. Others again, little coquettes with village green,
white palings everywhere, bright gravel roads, and an irrepressible air
of brightness and gaiety.

Then there are the rivers, silvery streaks peacefully winding far, far
away to the distant horizon; they and the lakes the finest landmarks
the Pilot can have. And the forests. How can I describe them? The trees
cannot be seen separately, but merge altogether into enormous irregular
dark green masses sprawling over the country, and sometimes with great
ungainly arms half encircling some town or village; and the wind passing
over the foliage at times gives the forest an almost living appearance,