On the vessels came, and at the prows were several noble figures: Energy, Enterprise, Youth, the Spirit of the East, the Spirit of the West, Success, and in the last caravel, the stalwart Mother of Tomorrow.
They had dug and delved with mighty Hercules and had created that great gap that has severed two continents. Then, leaving their work to be finished, they had sailed on to celebrate their triumph in the Land of El Dorado the region of their desires.
In a shallop in front of these floating winged vessels, riding on the waves, came Venus rowed by the fairies—in her hand the golden ball of opportunity.
The mermaids, the dolphins, the little sea-horses sported in the wake of these vessels, leaving a long line of foam and silver as they sped on.
Over the waves they came to the Golden Land of the Pacific. They moored their vessels by the fort-flanked shores, and stepping out upon the haunt of the sea-gull, they moved boldly across this unsightly stretch of wave-washed shore.
Enterprise and Energy pushed ahead: the Fairy ever flitting near. At a signal from Enterprise the Fairy turned her wheel, Venus threw her golden ball of opportunity, and lo! out of the foam of the sea rose a Venus city with the round sea-bubbles resting on the roofs.
One day a man appeared on the hill-top o'er-looking this wondrous city, and by his magic power, being filled with music, with color-music, he cast a spell, and behold a pastel city by the sea—such an one as only those who dream could think of; a city glowing with warmth of color, with a softness and mystical charm such as only the brain of Jules Guerin could produce.
He is the conductor of this wondrous symphony, this beautiful Mozart fantasia, and if you listen, you can hear the strains of the great beautiful melodies wafted now east, now west, now north, now south, rising to great climaxes, falling back to great chords of harmony, or, in an allegro movement, causing you almost to trip with delight in the joy of it all.
Your eye is enthralled with the beauty of the coloring. One sees turquoise green domes floating in a silver-moated ether, long colonnades of glacial ice columns leading to regions beyond, where quiet silver pools throw back the mirrored glories.
Battalions of daffodils holding their long sabres, stand in the South Garden making ready for the great festival. Soon those daffodils will raise their golden trumpets and will sound the fanfare at the opening of the Great Jubilee, and up will spring two hundred thousand wide-eyed yellow pansies to look and wonder at the marvelous beauty, and help in the hallelujah chorus that will be one great paeon of joy, one splendid hymn of praise.