Myself. Is that really so? You certainly astonish me.
“Twice every year, in your spring time and autumn, I visit your world on affairs of state.”
Myself. Then there dwell in other climes a kindred people, a race like your own?
“Certainly; and I have often paid them a friendly visit.”
Myself. In what parts of the country do they live?
“In several parts. In fair Mona’s Isle there dwell the Pobli Bach. In East Anglia is the race of the Plantos. In Germany, living on the banks of the Rhine, are the Pobli Wyn. In France, Spain, Italy, and the East there are different tribes inhabiting a precisely similar country to this. And their habits, customs, mode of life and government, are all identical with ours.”
Myself. And do you live in peace with each other? Do you never quarrel, and go to war, and kill each other in battle?
“Oh dear no! We live at peace. According to our code of morals, it is very wicked to take away or destroy life. Of all things in our world life is the beautifullest. We are shocked, and pained, and grieved in witnessing the contentions between the peoples of your world. In our view it is awful to use your arts, skill, and wealth, in making instruments, and in training and paying men, to kill and destroy. Yet you call yourselves Christians!”
Myself. In my conscience I believe we are wrong.
“You do; do you?”