and Babylon? Our little planet itself is but a grain of sand in the universe with its millions of worlds in various stages of continuous change. Birth, development, decay and extinction appear to be the natural order of the universe as far as science has penetrated the veil of mystery. How unimportant is the part played by humanity in the great drama of which the universe is the limitless stage! Its littleness may be conjectured from the sublime picture presented to the mind's eyes by modern astrophysics, as described by Haeckel:

While many of the stars in the heavens are probably in a similar state of biogenetic development to that of our earth (for the last one hundred million years at least) others have advanced far beyond this stage, and in their planetary old age are hastening towards their ends-the same end that inevitably awaits our own globe. The radiation of heat into space gradually lowers the temperature, until all the water is turned into ice and organic life on the planet is terminated. The substance of the rotating mass contracts more and more and the rapidity of its motion falls off. The orbits of the planets and of their moons grow narrower. length the moons fall upon the planets, and the latter drawn into the sun that gave them birth. The collision produces an enormous quantity of heat and the

At

pulverized mass of the colliding bodies is distributed through infinite space. The eternal drama of sun-birth begins afresh.

While the embryo of a new world is being formed from a nebula in one corner of the illimitable universe, another globe has already been condensed into a rotating sphere of liquid fire in some far distant spot. A third has cast off rings at its equator which round themselves into planets. A fourth has become a vast sun, and between them are floating about in space myriads of smaller bodies, which cross and recross the planets like lawless wanderers and fall on the planets in great numbers every day in the form of meteorites or shooting stars.

Yet in this perpetual motion the infinite substance of the universe, the sun total of its matter and energy remains for ever unchanged, and we have an eternal repetition in infinite time of the periodic dance of the worlds - the metamorphosis of the cosmos that ever returns to its starting point.

(The third and last article on the illusions of Spiritism, as viewed by scientists, will appear in the June number of this magazine. It will deal with the embryology of the soul and the fantastic superstitions relating to its immortality as an etherialized continuity of human life.)

T

HERE is a general belief that it is

not safe for two girls to take a motoring trip alone. I do it frequently Once only did I have a disagreeable experience, and that was with a "Road Hog," who grazed his own car, nearly sent us into the ditch, and blamed the whole thing on us.

Of course that is liable to happen to anyone, anywhere.

It would be difficult to find a more fascinating motor trip than from San Francisco to Carmel-by-the-Sea. Much of this fine trip is through the mountains, but the grade is not too steep, and the valley views are unsurpassingly lovely. It is truly a trip worth taking.

Wilma and I made the journey last May on May Day, itself.

From San Francisco we hurried down the smooth Highway to San Mateo-the Blossom bedecked Garden of Eden. The fruit trees were no longer in their full bloom, but what they lost in blossoms was more than made up by the wealth of red and green foliage. The wild flowers were just as abundant as ever, and just as beautiful. Much more beautiful were the Cecil Bruner Roses, Gold and Ophir Roses, and the exquisite Wisteria, which covered every little bungalow and fence that we passed.

We stopped to have a lunch put up for us at San Jose-a town which will always stand out in my memory as possessing the two most artistic bungalows I have ever seen, for they were covered with great falling masses of lavender wis

teria, with dainty pink Cecil Bruners peeping through.

Having had a lunch put up for us at a restaurant, it did not matter where we chanced to be at dinner time. That was a fortunate precaution, as six o'clock found us away up in the hills, far from the Camino Real.

Close by babbled merrily one of those many springs on the hillsides that burst into noisy existence after the winter's rains, and then gradually subside into mere murmuring rivulets as the summer air absorbs their vitality.

The rolling hills covered with the liveoak trees were very beautiful. Stopping

each other and back at the tire.

"Let's sit down!" I said, and we did. Soon a large touring car was seen approaching.

"I don't like that man's face," said Wilma as she eyed the driver.

"I don't either," I confessed.

So when the driver stopped and politely asked; "Are you in trouble?" we both untruthfully answered, "No!"

The stranger went on his way, and we looked at each other and would have laughed, but the thought of the task ahead sobered us.

"What an awfully flat tire this is!" exclaimed Wilma, attacking the task.

the car beneath a gnarled giant, which was covered with long streamers of Spanish moss, we sat lazily in the grass and had "dinner." Chirping birds were our orchestra, and man and his soul were content.

The day was very warm but it did not intrude itself upon our consciousness, while we were in motion. We made a forced stop once during the afternoon, for a tire, resenting the heat, burst with a disheartening report. We got out, looked at the damaged rubber, then at

"Flattest I ever saw, and such a hot day, too," I assented.

A minute later, while we were still eyeing the tire dubiously, a most disreputable looking car emerged from a cloud of dust. Closer inspection showed that the vagabond had an excellent engine, but the body hiding it was covered with camping paraphernalia, which concealed its worth, as a ragged coat often hides a good heart.

Two men stepped from the car and touched their caps. The older came for

ward to inspect and soon they were both hard at work. Not one thing would they let us do, but even insisted on putting the tools away for us. That being done, the younger man (evidently the son) turned to us and said in the most gallant voice, "I love to help ladies in distress."

About eight o'clock we approached San Juan, and as the dusk was settling down we decided it would be well for us to do likewise.

San Juan's main interest centers about its Mission, which is still in fairly good state of preservation, though not as artistic as some of the more Southern Missions. It was surrounded by a carpet of poppies and lupins, and the neighboring

up narrow stairs and along an out-door balcony.

Next morning we were awakened by a tapping on the shattered door, and when I opened it, there stood Herr Von Fritz still in his long apron and tennis shoes, to announce breakfast, which he later served.

We were highly entertained by three women at the table near us, who tried to make an impression by using lorgnettes and talking Europe and their present motor trip. Knowing full well that they would examine the register, Wilma changed the spelling of her name and signed from Naples, Italy, and I, from London.