109. "We see many small articles revolving round us
which may perhaps fall in."

They never did fall in, however. The truth was that
all the bags had burned through. The sand, I suppose,
went to its place, wherever that was. And all the other
things in our bundle became little asteroids or aerolites
in orbits of their own, except a well-disposed score or
two, which persevered far enough to get within the
attraction of Brick Moon and to take to revolving there,
not having hit quite square, as the croquet balls did.
They had five volumes of the "Congressional Globe"
whirling round like bats within a hundred feet of their
heads. Another body, which I am afraid was "The Ingham
Papers," flew a little higher, not quite so heavy. Then
there was an absurd procession of the woolly sheep, a
china cow, a pair of india-rubbers, a lobster Haliburton
had chosen to send, a wooden lion, the wax doll, a
Salter's balance, the "New York Observer," the bow and
arrows, a Nuremberg nanny-goat, Rose's watering-pot, and
the magnetic fishes, which gravely circled round and
round them slowly and made the petty zodiac of their
petty world.

We have never sent another parcel since, but we
probably shall at Christmas, gauging the Flies perhaps to
one revolution more. The truth is, that although we have
never stated to each other in words our difference of
opinion or feeling, there is a difference of habit of
thought in our little circle as to the position which the