Meda: a Tale of the Future. Kenneth Folingsby

for a short turn outside my own garden, but alas! my estimate of my strength was too high. I had only got a short way, ​when I discovered my mistake and turned, and, kind friend, had it not been for your timely aid, I most certainly would have fallen."

      My new friend was a man of about forty years with very deep-set thoughtful eyes. They were those dreamy, interesting dark eyes that seem to speak as they look at you. There was something very pleasing in his expression, and something very kindly and truthful in his manner, that made me take to him at once, and by the time we reached his house, I felt as though he were an old and tried friend. On arriving at his gate, he insisted on my going in, saying that he was sure his wife would be pleased to see me. I somehow felt I would like to know more about him, and gladly accepted his invitation. I found his wife to be a pleasant looking woman of about thirty-five. She was hunting about the garden for him, and hailed his appearance with a good-natured scolding. By way of explanation, she said, "You see, sir, I left him sitting on that seat, while I went in to look after the house and servants, and when I came out ​again, I found he had flown. I thought some spirits had come," she said laughing, "and carried him away with them, since of late he thinks so much about them. But I now know, my dear Kenneth," she continued looking at him, "that you were just tired of your old wife, and thought you were strong enough to do without her help, and this is the result." "There now," said my friend, still holding my arm, "just you hear how my dear Mary can scold; she is a cruel woman, and has been very hard on me, telling me that ever since my illness, my head has been brimful of the greatest nonsense. But, my dear sir, it is no nonsense. I have been privileged to see strange things in spite of all my dear wife says."

      I got him seated in his garden, and we three became very friendly. I lived not far from my new friends, and visited them almost every day, as I took a great interest in the invalid. During my visits he repeatedly hinted at what he had seen, but if his wife were present she would hold up her finger as a warning to me not to ​encourage him to talk about this mystery, whatever it was. I must say I began to grow very curious. His wife seemed to think that there was something wrong with his mind, from the effects of his illness. But this was not the case, the man's mind was as sound in all respects as my own. I found his name to be Kenneth Folingsby. He was an artist of no mean ability, in fact his pictures were sought after, and fetched large prices. He was well-to-do, and had a very nice house. He was a man who thought it his duty to try to elevate the intellectual standard of the working classes, and he devoted most of his evenings, when in health, to the furtherance of this object. Being a Conservative in politics, he espoused that cause with great earnestness, because he believed it to be the best for the people; and I found that it was during an election contest, throughout which he had worked almost without ceasing, that he had contracted his illness. His party would he feared be defeated, and whether it was from fear of this, or from some ​other cause I can't say, but after the result became evident, he fell ill.

      When talking with him one day during his wife's absence, he said;—"My dear friend, I have often hinted to you that I had seen some strange things. My dear wife thinks when I tell her of them that my mind is deranged, but I am as sane as any living man, and I hope some day to be able to commit all my curious adventures to paper. But while we artists are very quick with the brush, we are but poor scribes. I feel if I were to attempt to write the recollections of my adventures in my present state of health that I should undoubtedly break down; and if I broke down, I might never again be able to resume the work the performance of which I feel to be a duty to mankind."

      I had become more and more interested in this man and his mystery, and being a good shorthand writer I offered to take down all his experiences in shorthand, and then transcribe them for him. To this he at once assented, and though his wife, on hearing of our compact, at ​first objected, yet she came to see that it was better that her husband should get this weight off his mind, as he felt that he would not fully recover until he had done so. I was glad I had carried my point, and at once began what was to me a most pleasant and interesting task.

      It was about two months after I first met Folingsby, that on a fine summer afternoon we were seated under a tree in his pleasant little garden. The air was still to a degree, not a sound could be heard save the humming of a bee, or the chirping of the birds in the trees over our heads. My friend, still weak from his late illness, was lounging in an easy chair, while I was seated beside a garden table with my note book in hand ready to take down his words. Folingsby looked very solemn when he began, saying by way of introduction:—

      "This is a strange, a very strange story that I am going to relate to you. Like my dear wife Mary, you may think it all the outcome of my fancy. But I can assure you that its reality is to me too patent, and that it is too ​distinctly impressed on my memory for me ever to allow any one to make light of my conviction of its truth. I believe that I have been allowed to see into futurity for some good purpose, and I feel that should I neglect to commit my recollections of what I have seen to writing that I should fail in my duty to posterity."

      Heaving a sigh, he began a narrative that took me many days to transcribe. It ran as follows:—

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      Part I

       Table of Contents

      PART I.

       Table of Contents

      AS you are aware I am an artist. My profession has brought me into close contact with nature in all its grandeur, in all its beauty, and in all its purity. I have spent months and months in solitudes, far, far away from what is called civilisation, yes, far away from cities, towns and villages. Ah! these were indeed days of pleasure. It was in these solitudes that I was able to grasp, if but in a small degree, the goodness of the Creator and the beauty of His works. While I saw the grand effects of landscape; while I saw the flitting gleams of beauty caused by a dash of sunshine breaking through the clouds; while I saw the vast mountains raising their mighty heads above me; while I saw the mirror-like lake below me; while I saw the plants, the mosses, the lichens, all full of silent beauty; while I heard the skylark's charming note enchanting my ears with sweet melody as he ​floated warbling above his nest; while I saw the bees all busy gleaning their winter's stores; while I saw the butterflies decked with all their radiant beauty, I could not help thinking how different was this ever varying scene of love, harmony, and contentment, with the city-created dens of iniquity—the great haven and boasted creation of so-called civilized man.

      After many years of pleasure and activity in pursuit of my profession, I bethought me that I was not doing my duty to my fellows in avoiding city life I felt that I was living in selfishness, if I did not endeavour to do something for the advantage of mankind, and, knowing as I did the degraded life that the majority of city people lived, I determined to try my powers of reforming.

      Being of an enthusiastic nature, I set to work in this vast city of ours, labouring early and late, spending all the time I could spare in this work of attempted reform. At first my enthusiasm led me to think I was making progress, but alas! all I was able to do amounted ​to very little indeed. I redoubled my efforts, but while undoubtedly some good had come out of my work there was so much to do, and I was so earnest, that I overtasked my strength. I became weak and excitable, and at last I had to give way to nature. My strength failed me; I took ill; and was confined to the house for months. Getting rather better I was foolish enough to enter into an election contest, supporting the faction I thought best. Of the hard work I went through during this contest I remember very little. Before the election I became ill again, lost consciousness, and knew nothing more of politics or of the result of the contest, until I awoke from a trance now fully four months ago. But while I was not conscious of what had been doing in this world, you will see from what follows, that I was fully occupied both in mind and body.

      I appeared to have fallen into a trance-like slumber; I thought I was walking beside a slow flowing tidal river with banks so regular ​that I was almost led to think I was walking alongside a canal, but so far