Then I began to notice that all this incessant play of colors was based
upon an unmistakable rhythm. I can think of no better way to describe it
than to say that it was as if a great organ should send forth from its
keys harmonic vibrations consisting not of concordant sounds but of even
more perfectly related undulations of color. The permutations and
combinations of this truly chromatic scale were marvelous and magical in
their infinite variety. It thrilled us with awe and wonder. But none was
so rapt as Edmund himself. He gazed as if his soul were in his eyes, and
finally he turned to us, with a strange look, and said, almost under his
breath:
"This, too, is language, and more than that--it is music!"
"Impossible!" I exclaimed.
"No, not impossible, since it _is_. They are not only exchanging
intelligence in this way, but we are being greeted with a great anthem
played in the heaven itself!"
There was the force of enthusiastic conviction in Edmund's words, and we
could only look at him, and at one another, in silent astonishment.
"Oh, what a people! What a people!" he muttered. "And yet I am not
surprised.
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