From the stage erected at the end of the long headland to the south of the town, he could see the harbour on his right, closed in by the city itself, rising up from the water’s edge to the huge cathedral, finished fifty years before; and on his left the open sea.  It was a brilliant spring morning; the air, just charged with moisture and soaked by sunlight, was a radiant medium through which the city sparkled on one side and the long, low rollers shone on the other, discharging themselves against the foot of the rocks four hundred feet below where he stood.  Sea-birds wheeled and screamed about him, tilting and sliding up the slopes of the fresh west wind; but he noticed that as the first volor detached itself and slid out over the sea, pausing for an instant to head round to the compass, as if by magic every bird was gone:  he could see them far away, white dots skimming inland as if for protection.

These Transatlantic volors were incalculably in advance of any he had seen before.  He turned, as the first moved out, its long upper and lower decks lined with watching, silent faces—­of whom the great majority were those of men—­and asked for a little information from the genial Irish canon who had come from the cathedral with him, to see him start.

“They are eight hundred feet long,” he said, “and limited to three hundred passengers.  Of course there’s the crew and stewards besides.  The crossing varies from thirty-six to forty-eight hours. . . .  Yes, transhipments are sometimes made during the voyage; but it’s not usual.  It involves a good deal of delay.”

Monsignor listened as the talk went on, gathering a few facts here and there—­the topographical reasons why Queenstown was still retained, as in the days of the old steamships, for a principal port, in spite of the transformation of Ireland; the total weight of the boats when the gas was out of them; above all, the incredible speed that could be attained and kept up, with a good following wind.  He learned also how, by the very rigid laws of air-way, enforced now by all nations under very heavy penalties, the danger of collisions was practically abolished; and so forth.  The canon talked fluently and well; but the mass of new information was so great, and the interest of watching so intense, that the enquirer’s attention wandered a good deal.

He was watching the crowd of emigrants, two hundred feet below on the ground, seen through the spidery framework of the stage, railed off into a circle, surrounded by barriers that kept out the onlookers, and diminishing visibly as he watched, as the full platform flew up to the embarking stage just below where he stood and the empty platforms descended again.  The murmur of talking came up to him like the buzz of a hive.