his race. Thirty-one had died this summer. In ancient times there were
many millions of his country-men. They were the greatest nation upon
the earth. He could not read. He had two names, one was "Jon," the
other he had forgotten. They lived in this temple because it was cool.
When the temple was built, and for what purpose, he could not tell. He
pointed to the West and .said the country in that direction was
covered with ruined cities.

When Nofuhl told him we were friends, and presented him at my
direction with a hunting-knife of fine workmanship, he pushed out his
right arm toward me and held it there. For an instant Nofuhl looked at
the arm wonderingly, as did we all, then with sudden intelligence he
seized the outstretched hand in his own, and moved it up and down.
This was interesting, for Nofuhl tells me it was a form of greeting
among the ancient Mehrikans.

While all this was going on we had moved into the great circular hall
beneath the dome. This hall was of vast proportions, and there were
still traces of its former splendor. Against the walls were marble
statues entwined in ivy, looking down upon us with melancholy eyes.
Here also we met a thin old man, whose hairless head and beardless
face almost moved us to mirth.

At Nofuhl's request our host led the way into some of the smaller
rooms to show us their manner of living, and it would be impossible to
imagine a more pathetic mixture of glory and decay, of wealth and
poverty, of civilization and barbarity. Old furniture, dishes of
silver, bronze images, even paintings and ornaments of great value
were scattered through the rooms, side by side with the most primitive
implements. It was plain the ancient arts were long since forgotten.