“What is your wish?” courteously asked Mr. World.
“I am neither in trouble nor in disgrace. Why should I tarry?”
“Only to see the lower schools before we go to the higher,” was his winning answer.
They alighted and walked forth in the dismal light. They could readily discern strangely shaped buildings of a costly type. The air was stifling, and everything wore a melancholy dress; yet, withal, there was a pleasing charm about the place. Some secret touch in the doleful music, or some bright tinge to the ominous shadows, awakened a curiosity and a hope in the visitors that prevented them from leaving the cavern at once.
In a half-decided mood Mr. World and Miss Church-Member meandered through this sickly region, and had decided to leave the place when they saw this illuminated motto over a massive arch:
TO ALL WHO ARE DISGRACED! THE SHORTEST ROUTE TO REST! (ENTRANCE.)
A genial attendant informed Mr. World that visitors were welcome, but Miss Church-Member consented to enter only after some hesitancy. It was indeed a dark school, with long narrow halls where one could only see the darker side of life. Everything about the place evidenced the dark designs of Satan. The teachers in this infamous place, by a series of graded instructions, suggested to their pupils that suicide was the surest and shortest road to rest. In the darker rooms of the rear I saw, to my horror, a scene that neither Mr. World nor Miss Church-Member was permitted to see. _It was the daily graduating class of this school of suicide._ Each member of the class was instructed by what new method he might rend the strand of life with his own hand, in the desperate and sickening hope of finding rest “where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.”
I quickly turned from this revolting spectacle, and saw that Mr. World and Miss Church-Member had returned to the station called Rest. They boarded the first car and were soon speeding on through Dismal Tunnel. It was a welcome moment when the car emerged from the darkness into the light of day and took its winding course upward toward the microcosm of schools, which, as seen from this side of the mountain, also presented a picture of imposing magnitude.
When the car reached the University station Mr. World and his friend alighted, and at once entered one of the carriages in waiting. They were hurried away toward a group of immense structures known as the “College of the World’s Literature;” and yet with all the immensity of its buildings, it was but a small part of the whole University which lay far extended over the distant mountain elevations.
As the noiseless carriage sped along I turned toward Blackana, who, in strange muteness still tarried at my side. “I command you, O Black Interpreter, to tell me of the origin and management of this College of Literature.” As I spoke he turned his face in a manner that made me tremble. His sepulchral, husky voice only added to my uneasiness.