And the air about you don't seem any different from jest plain Jonesville air.

Your human eyes and ears can't discover any difference.
But you jest take up a receiver and put it to your ear and lo, and behold the atmosphere all about you is full of voices, near and fur off, strains of music.

It's a sight.
And I sez to Josiah, "Who knows but some happy soul some happy day may discover the secret of _seeing_?
Who knows what divine visitors are this minute coming and going over these onseen routes connecting our souls with distant ones, connecting one land to another, one planet to another like as not." And growin' some eloquent, I kep' on, "We don't hear the sound of their footsteps lighter and more noiseless than the down of a blossom, shod as they are with the softness of silence.

We don't hear the rustle of their garments, woven of frabic [sic] lighter than air.

We can't see their tender faces no more than we can see the sweet breath of the rose.