Here is a collection of miniature paintings, and be assured that these illustrations of Ento female loveliness are not at all exaggerated. Some are types of the blonde, blue eyed Northern races, others of the dark skinned, lovely women of the Orient, with eyes as dark and liquid as quiet pools in shady nooks. As you perceive, all are arrayed in graceful flowing garments, unlike the hideous robes worn by even the most highly civilized women of our Planet.
Ah, what a gem! We cannot pass this by unnoticed. Madame, you will carefully observe this painting, as some time you may have occasion to recall a memory of it. In the foreground is a youth in the early flush of manhood, whose shapely head is crowned with black hair waving down to his shoulders, and bound away from his fine forehead by a jewelled silver fillet. His smiling, parted lips, form a perfect Cupid's bow, and above them is a nose as straight and finely formed as ever graced the face of a Grecian statue. A robe of azure blue, bordered with silver embroidery, clothes his very tall, graceful form, and falls in artistic lines to his sandalled feet. Looped high on his left shoulder is a loose sleeve drapery, caught into folds by a jewelled ornament, indicating that this youth is of exalted rank. Bending slightly forward, he smilingly listens to the words of a young girl, reclining on a low couch, who is costumed in a soft, clinging, white robe, which scarcely conceals the outlines of a fragile but perfect form. Her golden hair, which is caught back from her low, wide, white forehead, by a silver fillet, adorned with sapphires no bluer than her lovely eyes, seems to have caught sunlight in its tresses, as it falls in rippling masses over her shoulders and onto the floor, where it lies in golden confusion, on a rug of rich, dark hued fur. She is as fair as the youth is dark, and in her beautiful face is the innocence and mirthfulness of the child, with the promise, too, of a gracious womanhood. Remember these faces, for one day you may see the originals.
How true it is that art expressions are the mute speech of genius, and genius is but another name for inspiration. It has been said "back of the artist is art, and back of art is that which men name God." That is a fine expression of the unity of things.
George, Agassiz, Humboldt, hasten here. Ah! you too, recognize, this scene, Is not it an agreeable surprise? Madame, I will explain. This is a most exact representation of a locality these friends and I have visited. Rather recently we with some scientific and other persons were, for a certain purpose, making a tour of Ento, and while slowly journeying toward a distant portion of the planet we found ourselves passing over the spot illustrated by this painting. It attracted our attention, and descending, we found it such a quiet, tranquil spot that unanimously we named it the Valley of Repose. With wonderful fidelity and consummate art the painter has reproduced the lovely scene. Stand here, madame, and I will attempt to describe it.
A spacious valley surrounded on three sides by gently rising uplands, which in long gone ages were portions of a mountain range. From a rocky formation in the upper end of the valley debouches a considerable volume of water, forming this sparkling stream, which empties itself into yonder pretty lake, dotted with tiny islands. Those rather fragile looking bridges thrown from island to island form continuous passageways to either side of the valley. The villages dotting the rim of the lake, and those white structures on the larger islands, to one's imagination suggest flocks of white plumaged water fowl nestling amid the luxuriant greenery. Boats laden with the products of labor. Crews intent upon landing their crafts. Other boats carrying pleasure seekers, who call to passing friends, fill up the animated picture. Gazing with admiring eyes upon the lovely scene, we tarried awhile under these great trees laden with sweet scented blooms.
You may like to know that this valley is in the North Temperate Zone, in latitude and longitude corresponding nearly to that of the northern central portion of your State of Tennessee. Being sheltered by the uplands, the climate is very genial, and the loamy soil produces grains, vegetables and fruits in great abundance.
Continually artists frequent this valley to sketch its beauties, and the painter of this picture, who signs himself as Lafon Thēdossa̤, has literally transferred the lake and its surroundings to his canvas. It seems as though we have met face to face a well known friend.
My dear madame, do not vex yourself that we cannot use your organism for all purposes. Were we engaged in a purely scientific work it would be altogether necessary that we should have a Sensitive through whom we might express technicalities pertaining to matters under investigation or discussion. All along we have fully understood your limitations, as well as your extremely skeptical and cautious nature, and we well know that should we attempt to express through you statistics, technicalities, latitude, longitude, and other matters your nearly morbid dread of making mistakes would render you so positive that we could not use you at all. At present we are quite satisfied with what we can accomplish through you, and we anticipate a time when you shall have so developed that we shall be able to use you for ends you little dream of. So we pray you to fret no more that you are not equal to our wishes, for you quite satisfy our requirements.
We must not hold you longer to-day. Gradually you are adjusting yourself to present conditions and ere long we may lengthen our visits to this Planet, but now at once you must be returned to your Earth home. There are indications that the occupants of this residence are about to return to it, so endeavor to hold yourself in readiness, for we may come for you at an unusual hour. Now, George, Earthward. Not another question, madame. We must not allow you to become exhausted.