separated races of men.  But such differences as I saw fade absolutely to nothing in comparison with the huge distinctions of which Cavor tells.  It would seem the exterior Selenites I saw were, indeed, mostly engaged in kindred occupations—­mooncalf herds, butchers, fleshers, and the like.  But within the moon, practically unsuspected by me, there are, it seems, a number of other sorts of Selenite, differing in size, differing in the relative size of part to part, differing in power and appearance, and yet not different species of creatures, but only different forms of one species, and retaining through all their variations a certain common likeness that marks their specific unity.  The moon is, indeed, a sort of vast ant-hill, only, instead of there being only four or five sorts of ant, there are many hundred different sorts of Selenite, and almost every gradation between one sort and another.

It would seem the discovery came upon Cavor very speedily.  I infer rather than learn from his narrative that he was captured by the mooncalf herds under the direction of these other Selenites who “have larger brain cases (heads?) and very much shorter legs.”  Finding he would not walk even under the goad, they carried him into darkness, crossed a narrow, plank-like bridge that may have been the identical bridge I had refused, and put him down in something that must have seemed at first to be some sort of lift.  This was the balloon—­it had certainly been absolutely invisible to us in the darkness—­and what had seemed to me a mere plank-walking into the void was really, no doubt, the passage of the gangway.  In this he descended towards constantly more luminous caverns of the moon.  At first they descended in silence—­save for the twitterings of the Selenites—­and then into a stir of windy movement.  In a little while the profound blackness had made his eyes so sensitive that he began to see more and more of the things about him, and at last the vague took shape.

“Conceive an enormous cylindrical space,” says Cavor, in his seventh message, “a quarter of a mile across, perhaps; very dimly lit at first and then brighter, with big platforms twisting down its sides in a spiral that vanishes at last below in a blue profundity; and lit even more brightly—­one could not tell how or why.  Think of the well of the very largest spiral staircase or lift-shaft that you have ever looked down, and magnify that by a hundred.  Imagine it at twilight seen through blue glass.  Imagine yourself looking down that; only imagine also that you feel extraordinarily light, and have got rid of any giddy feeling you might have on earth, and you will have the first conditions of my impression.  Round this enormous shaft imagine a broad gallery running in a much steeper spiral than would be credible on earth, and forming a steep road protected from the gulf only by a little parapet that vanishes at last in perspective a couple of miles below.