companion see how ridiculous his strange fancy was and realize the danger
of clinging to it.

With this thought my brain lost coherence, and I passed over the invisible
boundary into dreamland. It was a beautiful evening in summer. I was at
home among my friends and we were sitting in the open air. The doctor was
there, taking his turn with me in telling the story of our adventures.
This went on till our listeners were tired out, and then one of the
company gave a little variety to the occasion by singing a capital song.

Here the scene changed to the country. It was morning in the woods. The
trees wore their spring foliage, bright flowers spread their beauty and
fragrance around us, and the air was filled with the music of birds. The
sweet notes of these songsters were by far the most vivid part of the
dream. Now loud, now soft, the unbroken melody absorbed our attention and
made it difficult for us to understand how our situation again gradually
changed, until the air became piercingly cold, the cruel wind beat upon us
furiously, and the violent elements seemed bent upon our destruction.

The doctor and I were alone, and the surroundings bore a strange
resemblance to the inhospitable surface of the moon. But what are those
sweet sounds still ringing in our ears? Sure no birds could live in such a
wild place. No, it is not a bird's song. It is more like a human voice. I
thought I had never before heard music so pure and rich. But wait--had I
not heard something like it once before? There was a mystery about it that
enhanced its sweetness. Now I was really thinking, for before I knew how
it happened I found myself wide awake. The dream was over, but, oh!
wonderful dream, the best of it remained. My sense of hearing, always
acute, had waked long before and left my other faculties to slumber on and
dream out the unreal accompaniments of a real voice. For now, with my eyes