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Rounding the base of a large pile of grass-covered debris, we came suddenly upon

the best preserved ruin we had yet discovered. The entire lower story and part of

the second story of what must once have been a splendid public building rose

from a great knoll of shrubbery and trees, while ivy, thick and luxuriant,

clambered upward to the summit of the broken walls.

In many places the gray stone was still exposed, its smoothly chiseled face pitted

with the scars of battle. The massive portal yawned, somber and sorrowful,

before us, giving a glimpse of marble halls within.

The temptation to enter was too great. I wished to explore the interior of this one

remaining monument of civilization now dead beyond recall. Through this same

portal, within these very marble halls, had Gray and Chamberlin and Kitchener

and Shaw, perhaps, come and gone with the other great ones of the past.

I took Victory's hand in mine.

"Come!" I said. "I do not know the name by which this great pile was known, nor

the purposes it fulfilled. It may have been the palace of your sires, Victory. From

some great throne within, your forebears may have directed the destinies of half

the world. Come!"

I must confess to a feeling of awe as we entered the rotunda of the great building.

Pieces of massive furniture of another day still stood where man had placed them

centuries ago. They were littered with dust and broken stone and plaster, but,

otherwise, so perfect was their preservation I could hardly believe that two

centuries had rolled by since human eyes were last set upon them.

Through one great room after another we wandered, hand in hand, while Victory

asked many questions and for the first time I began to realize something of the

magnificence and power of the race from whose loins she had sprung.

Splendid tapestries, now mildewed and rotting, hung upon the walls. There were

mural paintings, too, depicting great historic events of the past. For the first time

Victory saw the likeness of a horse, and she was much affected by a huge oil

which depicted some ancient cavalry charge against a battery of field guns.

In other pictures there were steamships, battleships, submarines, and quaint

looking railway trains--all small and antiquated in appearance to me, but

wonderful to Victory. She told me that she would like to remain for the rest of

her life where she could look at those pictures daily.

From room to room we passed until presently we emerged into a mighty chamber,

dark and gloomy, for its high and narrow windows were choked and clogged by

The Lost Continent