Continuing my walk, I started,—­from a bush that resembled a great tangle of sea-weeds, interspersed with fern-like shrubs and plants of large leafage shaped like that of the aloe or prickly-pear,—­a curious animal about the size and shape of a deer.  But as, after bounding away a few paces, it turned round and gazed at me inquisitively, I perceived that it was not like any species of deer now extant above the earth, but it brought instantly to my recollection a plaster cast I had seen in some museum of a variety of the elk stag, said to have existed before the Deluge.  The creature seemed tame enough, and, after inspecting me a moment or two, began to graze on the singular herbiage around undismayed and careless.

Chapter IV.

I now came in full sight of the building.  Yes, it had been made by hands, and hollowed partly out of a great rock.  I should have supposed it at the first glance to have been of the earliest form of Egyptian architecture.  It was fronted by huge columns, tapering upward from massive plinths, and with capitals that, as I came nearer, I perceived to be more ornamental and more fantastically graceful that Egyptian architecture allows.  As the Corinthian capital mimics the leaf of the acanthus, so the capitals of these columns imitated the foliage of the vegetation neighbouring them, some aloe-like, some fern-like.  And now there came out of this building a form—­human;—­was it human?  It stood on the broad way and looked around, beheld me and approached.  It came within a few yards of me, and at the sight and presence of it an indescribable awe and tremor seized me, rooting my feet to the ground.  It reminded me of symbolical images of Genius or Demon that are seen on Etruscan vases or limned on the walls of Eastern sepulchres—­images that borrow the outlines of man, and are yet of another race.  It was tall, not gigantic, but tall as the tallest man below the height of giants.

Its chief covering seemed to me to be composed of large wings folded over its breast and reaching to its knees; the rest of its attire was composed of an under tunic and leggings of some thin fibrous material.  It wore on its head a kind of tiara that shone with jewels, and carried in its right hand a slender staff of bright metal like polished steel.  But the face! it was that which inspired my awe and my terror.  It was the face of man, but yet of a type of man distinct from our known extant races.  The nearest approach to it in outline and expression is the face of the sculptured sphinx—­so regular in its calm, intellectual, mysterious beauty.  Its colour was peculiar, more like that of the red man than any other variety of our species, and yet different from it—­a richer and a softer hue, with large black eyes, deep and brilliant, and brows arched as a semicircle.  The face was beardless; but a nameless something in the aspect, tranquil though the expression, and beauteous though the features, roused that instinct of danger which the sight of a tiger or serpent arouses.  I felt that this manlike image was endowed with forces inimical to man.  As it drew near, a cold shudder came over me.  I fell on my knees and covered my face with my hands.