Part Four

Some of the former Munsey magazines published a great deal of fantastic fiction that went under the name of 'different' stories. In fact, no fantasy collection could ever be considered 'fair' without a goodly number of these 'classics,' as they have been so often termed. The magazines were: _Argosy_, _All-Story_, _Argosy All-Story_, _Cavalier_, _Cavalier All-Story_, _Scrap Book_, and _Munsey's Magazine_. Dates 1890 and up!

If the collector is ambitious enough he may try to procure some of the English magazines that include fantastics within their covers. Same of them are: _Pearson's Magazine_ (the monthly, not weekly), _The Startler_, _Union Jack_, _Magnet_, and _Grit_. The first, by the way, originally printed most of H. G. Wells' early fantasyarns, and it'd be a feather in any collector's hat if he were, by any chance, able to get his hands on one of those rare issues.

(We are sorry to state that Part Five will be the conclusion. In this last part, coming in our February issue, we will have Mr. Schwartz tell about fantasy booklets, and he will also inform us about the hard covers.)

The Flagon of Beauty

(Annals of the Jinns)

by R. H. Barlow

The Princess drooped her long eyelashes. She was really quite pretty when she did this.

"And you have brought it?" she asked softly, her hand stealing into his. He coughed. This being spokesman was a delicate task.

"Yes, your Highness," said the man. "It is here." He touched a small parcel beside him on the divan.

"And you will give it to me?" she breathed.

Steeling himself, he replied, "Their terms are the freedom of the people."

She sprang to her feet. "Never!"

"Not for the Flagon?" he queried harshly.

"Not even for that." Reconsidering, she spoke slowly. "Five years ago I sent a band in search of this fabulous drug, into the low-lying jungle that cloaks the Ancient Cities, the Cities that no man knows who built, there in the steaming swamps. Men have said that I was beautiful, yet, ironically, he for whom I have wrecked my empire scorned me. It was then I bethought me of this flask made in the immemorial years agone, which figured in legend as containing the essence of Beauty. Perhaps, I thought, with this I might win him from my rival. Today you have returned; successfully, I grant you; and demand yield of my power for that which I desire. I have been told bitter things--that I have ruled mercilessly and tyrannically. That I have, but I cared little for affairs of state since I became enamoured of my prince. He has neglected no indignity to impose upon me, but I cannot forget him. On the night of my Feast of Peacocks he sneered at the priceless dishes and fed his monkey from the place. The gutter-rat he has an infatuation for entertains him most skillfully, but he shares her with the soldiers. He prefers her florid charms to me. This I do not understand, but I command you, _give me that flagon_."

He slowly shook his head. "No, Majesty, I cannot betray their faith. Fever took many lives in those crumbling ruins."

"I warn you, I am desperate," she said imperiously, "give, or I shall take."

He lowered his gaze and remained silent. Seeing he was adamant, she made a gesture with her head, and a slave stepped from the curtained alcove. "Take this man to the Room of Pain," she ordered. In consternation, he sought to dash the frail vessel to the tiles, but it was dexterously twisted from his grasp by the blackamoor.

The princess laughed insanely.

"My men did well to steal you from under his nose, my wench," she sneered to the helpless woman at her feet. "Let me see those carmine lips smile at this!" she added contemptuously, breaking the ancient seal covered with writing none could interpret. "You are startled? Yes, it is the Flagon! Watch, if you wish, for you may not see when I am finished with you." She drained the very dregs, and flung the stopper in her captive's face. For a long moment there was no change apparent in her flushed countenance. Then she noticeably paled. Her hair swiftly grew leaded and grey, her lips assumed a ghastly pallor, and a score of tiny wrinkles appeared on her smooth skin.

She became an old hag, quite out of place in the splendour of the throne-room.

SUPERNATURAL HORROR IN LITERATURE

by H. P. Lovecraft

(Copyright 1927 by W. Paul Cook)