“That was an unpleasant dream,” said he; “but ’twas droll enough altogether.  I fancied that I was the lieutenant over there:  and yet the thing was not very much to my taste after all.  I missed my good old mother and the dear little ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer love.”

He seated himself once more and nodded:  the dream continued to haunt him, for he still had the shoes on his feet.  A falling star shone in the dark firmament.

“There falls another star,” said he:  “but what does it matter; there are always enough left.  I should not much mind examining the little glimmering things somewhat nearer, especially the moon; for that would not slip so easily through a man’s fingers.  When we die—­so at least says the student, for whom my wife does the washing—­we shall fly about as light as a feather from one such a star to the other.  That’s, of course, not true:  but ’twould be pretty enough if it were so.  If I could but once take a leap up there, my body might stay here on the steps for what I care.”

Behold—­there are certain things in the world to which one ought never to give utterance except with the greatest caution; but doubly careful must one be when we have the Shoes of Fortune on our feet.  Now just listen to what happened to the watchman.

As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the employment of steam; we have experienced it either on railroads, or in boats when crossing the sea; but such a flight is like the travelling of a sloth in comparison with the velocity with which light moves.  It flies nineteen million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet electricity is quicker still.  Death is an electric shock which our heart receives; the freed soul soars upwards on the wings of electricity.  The sun’s light wants eight minutes and some seconds to perform a journey of more than twenty million of our Danish* miles; borne by electricity, the soul wants even some minutes less to accomplish the same flight.  To it the space between the heavenly bodies is not greater than the distance between the homes of our friends in town is for us, even if they live a short way from each other; such an electric shock in the heart, however, costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the watchman of East Street, we happen to have on the Shoes of Fortune.

* A Danish mile is nearly 4 3/4 English.

In a few seconds the watchman had done the fifty-two thousand of our miles up to the moon, which, as everyone knows, was formed out of matter much lighter than our earth; and is, so we should say, as soft as newly-fallen snow.  He found himself on one of the many circumjacent mountain-ridges with which we are acquainted by means of Dr. Madler’s “Map of the Moon.”  Within, down it sunk perpendicularly into a caldron, about a Danish mile in depth; while below lay a town, whose appearance we can, in some measure, realize to ourselves by beating the white of an egg in a glass of water.  The matter of which it was built was just as soft, and formed similar towers, and domes, and pillars, transparent and rocking in the thin air; while above his head our earth was rolling like a large fiery ball.