CHAPTER III

THE INGENIOUS-ASTONISHING GROUP

This large division of narratives of imaginary events is somewhat hard to name briefly, though it is definitely enough marked off as a distinct class when we consider the tone, the source, and the purpose. The whole air of these extravagant tales is that of sophistication. No reader however ignorant would mistake them for stories of primitive people. Though they sometimes contain supernatural creatures as actors, though they recount stupendous deeds, though they often proceed in simple diction, yet the reader is never confused as to the state of mind of the narrator. It is plain that, however much he may seem to wish to create credulity in the mind of the reader, the story-teller has none in his own mind. He is a non-believer--or better perhaps, a "make-believer," in the children's sense of the term. The source of his narrative is ingenuity, and the purpose is astonishment or satire. In the present study we shall notice four smaller divisions of this group: (1) the tale of mere wonder, (2) the imaginary voyage with a satiric or instructive purpose, (3) the tale of scientific discovery and mechanical invention, (4) the detective story and other tales of pure plot.

I. The Tale of Mere Wonder

[Collections of wonder stories]

In the species Tales of Mere Wonder, we mean to classify those stories of marvels that are told with the simple purpose of astonishing. The adventures of Sinbad the Sailor are typical. He comes upon a bird's egg, for instance, which he at first mistakes for the dome of a cathedral, or walks in a valley covered with diamonds the size of apples. The "Persian Tales" like the Arabian "Thousand and One Nights" are stories of wonder and enchantment. Though they are very old, many of them much older than their written form and traceable to the traditions of various countries, these Oriental stories as we have them to-day are not folk-tales in the strict sense of the term. They are put into a frame-work and are acknowledged to be narratives of ingenuity. The two earlier sets, translated into French, produced many imitations. Besides these there are the "Tartar Tales," the "Chinese Tales," "Mogol Tales," the "Turkish Tales," and so on. The most literary and perhaps the most valuable from the point of view of real thinking displayed in them are the very modern Oriental stories of George Meredith, published under the title "The Shaving of Shagpat." They are all wonder tales though extremely philosophical. Robert Louis Stevenson has given us the "New Arabian Nights."

[Suggestions for writing]

To write one of these exaggerations you need only recall your own or other persons' attempts at the fireside when the stock of folk stories has run low. You address your efforts to your eight and ten-year-old brothers who have got past Jack-the-Giant-Killer and are in the stage of development that the people of the twelfth century were to whom Marie de France told her fables and her stories of mere wonder. The fine ladies and gentlemen of Henry the Second's day loved to hear of costly robes and magic carpets and jewelled beds worth half a kingdom, that came at the touch of a ring or at the murmuring of a secret phrase. Unfortunate princes, too, they enjoyed being told about, who allowed themselves to be misled by wily councilors, and lost for a time their kingdoms; beautiful princesses who sat enchanted in gorgeous underground palaces, waiting their deliverers; wonderful plants with otherwhere unheard-of properties; and animals with stupendous powers, like the monstrous birds that the Arabian writer says carried Nimrod through the air in a cage or with out-stretched wings sheltered Solomon's army from the sun. Chaucer, you know, began and

"left half told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride."

This horse had a screw in his ear. If one got upon his back, turned the screw, and whispered a word, one might be instantly in the kingdom one named. If you can not dream out an original oriental story of your own, you might finish this of Chaucer's--The Squire's Tale. Remember that probability is not called for, but only magnificence, splendor, magic, daring, and success on the part of your hero or heroine. Either may have wealth untold, dominion unlimited, and knowledge supernatural. Your diction may range from the simplest and the baldest to the most luxuriant and extravagant. Whatever matches your subject, no matter how extravagantly improbable, will be acceptable.

[Medieval tales of chivalry]

Like the stories of mere wonder in--fact a blending of them with legend--were the medieval tales of chivalry in the later and perverted editions. The elements are the same as those of the wonder tale, with the addition of riotous history; that is, the using of any deed of any hero for him or for someone else, with all the glamour of magic and luxuriance thrown about it.

[Heroic romances]

To modern readers a very uninteresting perversion of this type of narrative is the heroic romance of the second and third quarters of the seventeenth century, best represented perhaps by _Le Grand Cyrus_ of Madam de Scudéri. Nobody, I suppose, to-day who had not a theory to prove could be persuaded to wade through the 6,679 pages of the ten octavo volumes of this walty story. But although the particular style of writing of Scudéri and her contemporaries has passed away, and fortunately never can return--thanks to Molière and Boileau--fantastic and gorgeous prose history had great popularity both on the Continent and in England for fifty years. The attitude of mind of those narrators is found in many moderns; namely, a desire to deal only with titled folk, or at least millionaires, for fear that heroes of lower social standing or smaller bank accounts might be dull.

Our present-day mixers of fact and non-fact lean toward the probable, of course, rather than the marvelous, and would resent being classed with the heroic romancers; but any narrator would be proud to be able to tell well, as everybody with a child-like heart is delighted to listen to, an out-and-out story of mere wonder.

=Story of the City of Brass=

There was in olden times in Damascus of Syria a caliph named Abdel-Melik, the son of Marwan. One day as he was sitting with the great men of his empire, many of them being kings and sultans, a discussion took place among them about the tales of ancient nations. They called to mind the stories of Solomon, the son of David, and the power God gave him over genies and wild beasts and birds and other creatures, and they said, "We have heard, from those who lived before us that God bestowed not upon any one the like of that which he bestowed upon Solomon. So great was his power that he used to imprison genies and evil spirits in bottles of brass, and pour molten lead over them, and seal this cover with his seal."

Then Talib, one of the sultans, related that a man once embarked in a ship with a company of others, and they sailed away towards the island of Sicily, until a storm arose which drove them out of their course and carried them to the shores of an unknown land. This happened during the darkness of the night. In the morning, there came out to them from caves in that land, black men who wore no clothes, and who neither spoke nor understood any language. They had a king of their own race, and he knew Arabic. The king, with a party of his companions, came to the ship, saluted and welcomed those who were in it, and inquired who they were and to what country they belonged. When they informed him, he said to them, "No harm shall befall you. There hath not come to us one of the sons of Adam before you."

The king then entertained them with a banquet, and after this the people of the ship went to amuse themselves on the shore. There they found a fisherman who had cast his net into the sea to catch fish. He drew the net up, and in it was a bottle of brass stopped with lead, which was sealed with the seal of Solomon, the son of David. The fisherman broke the seal, and there came forth from the bottle a blue smoke which united with the clouds of heaven, and instantly they heard a horrible voice saying, "Repentance! repentance! O prophet of God!" Then they saw the smoke form into a man of frightful appearance and gigantic size, whose head reached as high as a mountain, and immediately he disappeared from before their astonished eyes.

The blacks thought nothing of this event, but the people of the ship were terrified at the spectacle, and they went to the king to inquire about it. In answer to their inquiries the king said, "This is one of the genies who rebelled against King Solomon, and Solomon, to punish them, imprisoned them in bottles and threw them into the sea. When the fisherman casts his net, it generally brings up one of these bottles, and when the bottle is broken, a genie comes forth, and thinking that Solomon is still living, he repents and cries out, "Repentance! O Prophet of God!"

The Prince of the Faithful, Abdel-Melik, wondered very much at this story, and he said, "I desire to see some of these bottles." Talib replied, "O Prince of the Faithful, thou canst do so. Send to thy viceroy in the western country, the Emeer Moosa, ordering him to journey to the sea we have mentioned, and to bring what thou desirest of these bottles." The Prince of the Faithful approved of this advice, and he sent Talib himself with a letter to the Emeer Moosa.

When the Emeer received the letter he read it, and he said to Talib, "I hear and obey the command of the Prince of the Faithful." Then he called together his great men, and he inquired of them about the bottles of King Solomon, and they told him to send for Abdes-Samad, "for," said they, "he is a knowing man and has traveled much. He is acquainted with the deserts and wastes and the seas, and their inhabitants, and their wonders, and their countries, and their districts. Send for him, and he will direct thee to the object of thy desire." So the Emeer sent for Abdes-Samad, and when he came he said to him, "O Abdes-Samad, our lord the Prince of the Faithful has commanded us to get for him some of the bottles of Solomon. I have little knowledge of the place where they are to be found, but it has been told to me that thou art acquainted with that country and routes. Wilt thou then help us to accomplish the wish of the Prince of the Faithful?" To this Abdes-Samad replied, "O Emeer, the route is difficult, far extending, and there are few tracks. It is a journey of two years going and the same returning, and on the way there are dangers and horrors and extraordinary and wonderful things. Nevertheless, since it is the wish of the Prince of the Faithful, I am willing to undertake the journey with thee."

Then they began to make preparations, and as soon as everything was ready, the Emeer Moosa and Talib and Abdes-Samad set forth, accompanied by a troop of soldiers, and taking with them all things necessary for their expedition. They journeyed on till they came to a great palace. As the gates were opened, and they saw no guards at the doors, they dismounted from their horses and entered. The rooms were all of vast size and richly furnished, and the ceilings and walls were decorated with gold and silver, but in the whole building they did not see a single human being. In the midst of the palace was a chamber covered with a lofty dome, rising high into the air, around which were four hundred tombs. They went into one chamber, and they found in it a table with four feet made of alabaster, and having this inscription engraved on it

"Upon this table a thousand one-eyed kings have eaten and a thousand kings each sound in both eyes. All of them have quitted the world and taken up their abode in the burial grounds and the graves."

The Emeer Moosa and his companions took this table with them and went forth from the palace. Then they proceeded on their journey and traveled for three days, when they came to a high hill. On the top of the hill was a horseman of brass with a spear in his hand. The spear had a flat, wide head, and it was so bright that it almost dazzled the eyes of the Emeer and his companions. Nevertheless they looked at it closely, and they were astonished at finding the following words inscribed upon it:

"O thou who comest unto me, if thou know not the way that leads to the City of Brass, rub the hand of the horseman, and he will turn, and then will stop, and in whatever direction he faces when he stops, travel in that direction without fear, for it will lead thee to the City of Brass."

When he read this the Emeer Moosa rubbed the hand of the horseman. Immediately the figure turned round with the speed of lightning, and when it stopped it faced a different direction from that in which they had been traveling. The party therefore turned to the way pointed out by the brazen horseman, and proceeded on their journey. One day they came to a round pillar of black stone, on the top of which appeared the upper half of the body of a black giant, or genie, with the lower part sunk down in the pillar. He was an object frightful to behold. He had two huge wings and four arms. Two of the arms were like those of a man, and the other two were like the legs of a lion. He had hair upon his head like the tails of horses, two eyes like two burning coals, and he had a third eye in his forehead, like the eye of a lynx, from which sparks of fire shot forth.

When the Emeer Moosa's party saw this genie they almost lost their senses through fear, and they turned round to flee away, but the Emeer told them that in the state in which he was he could do them no harm. Then Abdes-Samad drew near to the pillar, and raising his voice he said to the genie, "O thou person, what is thy name, what is thy nature, and what has placed thee here in this manner!" Immediately the genie answered saying, "I am a genie and my name is Dahish." [And then he told them his nature and what had placed him there.]

And then Abdes-Samad said to the genie in the pillar, "Are there in this place any of the genies confined in bottles of brass from the time of Solomon?" He answered, "Yes, in the sea of El-Karkar, where dwell some of the descendants of Noah, whose country the deluge did not reach. They are separated from the rest of the sons of Adam." "And where," said Abdes-Samad, "is the way to the City of Brass, and the place in which are the bottles? What distance is there between us and it?" The genie answered, "It is near."

The party then proceeded in their journey, and in a little while they saw in the distance a great black object, and in it there seemed to be two fires corresponding with each other in position. "What is this great black object," asked the Emeer Moosa, "and what are these two corresponding fires?" "Be rejoiced, O Emeer," answered Abdes-Samad; "it is the City of Brass, and this is the appearance of it that I find described in the book of hidden treasures--that its wall is of black stones and it has two towers of brass, which resemble two corresponding fires; hence it is named the City of Brass."

Hastening on they arrived at the city, and they found that it was strongly fortified, and that its buildings were lofty, rising high into the air. Its walls were one hundred and twenty feet high, and it had five and twenty gates. They stopped before the walk and endeavored to find one of the gates, but they could not. Then Emeer Moosa said to Abdes-Samad, "I do not see any gate to this city." Abdes-Samad answered, "I find it described in the book of hidden treasures that it has five and twenty gates, and that none of them may be opened but from within the city."

Then the Emeer Moosa took Talib and Abdes-Samad with him, and they ascended a mountain which was close by. And looking down upon the city, they saw it was greater and more beautiful than anything they had ever beheld. Its palaces were lofty, its domes were shining; rivers were running within it, and there were delightful gardens with trees bearing ripe fruit. But they did not see a human being within its walls. It was empty, still, without a voice, or a cheering inhabitant but the owl hooting in its gardens, and birds skimming in circles in its areas, and the raven croaking in its great streets.

After coming down from the mountain they passed the day trying to devise means of entering the city. At last it occurred to them to make a ladder, and the Emeer called to the carpenters and blacksmiths and ordered them to construct a ladder covered with plates of iron. This work occupied a month, and when it was finished, the ladder was set up against the wall, and one of the party ascended it. When he reached the top he stood, and, fixing his eyes towards the city, clapped his hands and cried out with a loud voice, "Thou art beautiful!" Then he cast himself down into the city and was killed. Seeing this the Emeer Moosa said, "If we do this with all our companions, there will not remain one of them, and we shall be unable to accomplish the wish of the Prince of the Faithful. Let us depart and have no more to do with this city." But one of them answered, "Perhaps another may be more steady than he." Then a second ascended, and he did the same as the first, and then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and they continued to ascend by that ladder to the top of the wall, one after another, until twelve men of them had gone, acting as the first had acted.

Abdes-Samad now arose and said, "There is none can do this but myself." So he ascended the ladder, reciting verses of the Koran until he reached the top, when he clapped his hands and fixed his eyes. The people therefore called out to him, "O Abdes-Samad, do not cast thyself down. If you fall, we all perish." Then Abdes-Samad sat down upon the wall for a long time, reciting verses of the Koran, after which he rose and cried out, "O Emeer, no harm shall happen to you, for God has averted from me the effect of the artifice and fraud of the Evil One." The Emeer then said to him, "What hast thou seen, O Abdes-Samad?" He answered, "When I reached the top of the wall, I saw ten damsels, beautiful to behold, who made a sign to me with their hands as though they would say, 'Come to us.' And it seemed to me that beneath me was a sea, or great river, and I desired to cast myself down as our companions did. But I saw them dead, and I recited some words of the Koran, and so I cast not myself down. Therefore the damsels departed. There is no doubt that this is an enchantment contrived by the inhabitants of the city to keep every one from entering it."

Abdes-Samad then walked along the wall till he came to the two towers of brass, when he saw that they had two gates of gold, without locks upon them, or any sign of the means of opening them. He remained looking at them a long time, and at last he saw in the middle of one of the gates a figure of a horseman of brass, having one hand stretched out as though he were pointing with it, and on the hand these words were inscribed:

"Turn the pin that is in the middle of the front of the horseman's body twelve times, and then the gate will open."

Abdes-Samad, having read this inscription, examined the horseman, and found in the middle of the front of this body a pin, strong, firm, and well fixed. He turned it twelve times, and immediately the gate opened with a noise like thunder. Abdes-Samad entered, and he walked on until he came to stairs, which he descended. At the foot of the stairs he found a place with handsome wooden benches on which there were dead people, and over their heads were shields, and swords, and bows, and arrows. One of the dead men, who appeared to be the oldest, was upon a high bench above the rest. Abdes-Samad thought that the keys of the city might be with this man. "Perhaps," said he to himself, "he was the gatekeeper, and these were under his authority." He therefore went up to the man, and raised his outer garment, and he found the keys hung to his waist. At the sight of them Abdes-Samad rejoiced exceedingly, and he took the keys and approached the gate in the wall of the city. He found that the keys fitted the locks, so he turned them, and pulled the gate, which opened with a great noise. Then he cried out with a cry of joy, and the Emeer Moosa rejoiced at the safety of Abdes-Samad, and the opening of the gate of the city. The people thanked Abdes-Samad for what he had done, and they all hastened to enter the gate. But the Emeer Moosa cried out to them, saying, "O people, some accident may happen, and if all enter, all may perish. Therefore, let half of us enter and half remain outside."

The Emeer Moosa then entered the gate, and with him half of his troops, carrying their weapons of war. They saw their companions lying dead, and they buried them. They then entered the market of the city, which contained a number of lofty buildings. The shops were open, the scales hung up, and the stores full of all kinds of goods, but the merchants were all dead. They passed on to the silk market, in which were silks and brocades interwoven with gold and silver upon various colors, and the owners were dead, lying upon skins, and appearing almost as though they would speak. Leaving these they went on to the market of the money changers, all of whom they found dead, with varieties of silks beneath them, and their shops filled with gold and silver. After going through several other markets they came to a lofty palace, which they entered. There they found banners unfurled, and swords, and bows, and shields hung up by chains of gold and silver. In the passages of the palace were benches of ivory, ornamented with plates of brilliant gold and with silk, on which were dead men, whose skins had dried upon their bones. Going into the interior of the palace they came to a great hall, and four large and lofty chambers, each one fronting another, and decorated with gold and silver and various colors. In the midst of the hall was a great fountain of alabaster, over which was a canopy of brocade, and in the chambers were decorated fountains, and tanks lined with marble, and channels of water flowed along the floors, the four streams meeting together in a great tank made of colored marbles.

The Emeer Moosa and his companions now entered the first chamber, and they found it filled with gold and silver, and pearls and jewels, and jacinths and precious minerals. They found in it chests full of red and yellow and white brocades. They then went into the second chamber, and opened a closet in it, and it was filled with weapons of war, consisting of gilded helmets, and coats of mail, and swords, and lances, and other instruments of war and battle. Then they passed to the third chamber, in which they found closets having upon their doors closed locks, and over them were curtains worked with various kinds of embroidery. They opened one of these closets, and found it filled with weapons decorated with varieties of gold and silver and jewels. From there they went to the fourth chamber, and it was full of utensils for food and drink, consisting of various vessels of gold and silver, and saucers of crystal, and cups set with brilliant pearls, and cups of carnelian. They took what suited them of these things, and each of the soldiers carried off what he could.

Then they passed on, and found a chamber constructed of polished marble adorned with jewels. They thought that upon the floor was running water, and if any one walked upon it he would slip. The Emeer Moosa therefore ordered Abdes-Samad to throw upon it something, that they might be enabled to walk on it, and he did so, and they passed on. And they found in it a great dome constructed of stones gilt with red gold. The party had not beheld in all that they had seen anything more beautiful than this. In the midst of it there was a great dome-crowned structure of alabaster, around which were lattice windows, decorated and adorned with oblong emeralds. In it was a pavilion of brocade, raised upon columns of red gold, and within this were birds, the feet of which were emeralds. Beneath each bird was a net of brilliant pearls, spread over a fountain, and by the brink of the fountain was placed a couch adorned with pearls and jewels and jacinths, on which sat a damsel resembling the shining sun. Eyes had not beheld one more beautiful. She wore a garment of brilliant pearls, on her head was a crown of red gold, on her neck was a necklace of jewels, and upon her forehead were two jewels the light of which was like that of the sun. She seemed as though she were looking at the people round about her, and observing them to the right and left.

When the Emeer Moosa beheld this damsel, he wondered extremely at her loveliness, and he saluted her respectfully. But Talib said to the Emeer, "This damsel is dead. There is no life in her. How, then, can she return the salutation?" And he added, "O Emeer, she is skillfully embalmed. Her eyes were taken out after her death, and quicksilver put beneath them, after which they were restored to their places; so they gleam, and whenever the air puts them in motion the beholder imagines that she twinkles her eyes, though she is dead." Then they saw that the couch upon which the damsel sat had steps, and upon the steps were two slaves, one of them white and the other black. In the hand of one of them was a weapon of steel, and in the hand of the other a jeweled sword that dazzled the eyes. Before the two slaves was a tablet of gold on which was the following inscription:

"O thou, if thou know me not, I will acquaint thee with my name and descent. I am Tedmur, the daughter of the King of the Amalekites. I possessed what none of the kings possessed, and ruled with justice. I gave and bestowed, and lived a long time in the enjoyment of happiness and an easy life, and emancipated female and male slaves. Thus I did until death came to my abode, and the case was this: Seven years in succession came upon us, during which no water descended on us from heaven, nor did any grass grow for us on the face of the earth. So we ate what food we had in our dwellings, and after that we fell upon the beasts and ate them, and there remained nothing. Upon this I caused the wealth to be brought, and measured it with a measure, and sent it by trusty men, who went about with it through all the districts, not leaving unvisited a single large city, to seek for some food. But they found none, and they returned to us with the wealth, after a long absence. Then we exposed to view our riches and our treasures, locked the gates of the fortresses in our city, and we all died, as thou beholdest and left what we had built and what we had treasured. This is our story. Whoever arrives at our city, and enters it, let him take of the wealth what he can, but not touch anything that is on my body, for it is the covering of my person, and the attire with which I am fitted forth from the world. Therefore, let him not seize aught of it; for he would destroy himself."

The Emeer Moosa, when he read these words, was greatly astonished. Then he said to his companions, "Bring the sacks, and fill them with part of these riches and these vessels and rarities and jewels." But Talib said to him, "O Emeer, shall we leave this damsel with the things that are upon her? They are things that have no equal, and they are more than the riches thou hast taken, and will be the best present for the Prince of the Faithful." But the Emeer replied, "Seest thou, not that which the damsel hath given as a charge, in the inscription upon this tablet?" Talib, however, said, "And on account of these words wilt thou leave these riches and these jewels, when she is dead? What then should she do with these things, which are the ornaments of the world, and the decoration of the living? With a garment of cotton this damsel might be covered, and we are more worthy of the things than she." Then he drew near to the steps, and ascended them until he reached the spot between the two slaves, when suddenly one of them smote him upon his back and the other smote him with the sword that was in his hand, and struck off his head, and he fell down dead. Seeing this the people were much terrified, and the Emeer Moosa commanded them to leave the city and close the gate as it was before.

They then proceeded on until they came in sight of a high mountain overlooking the sea. In it were many caves in which was a people of black, clad in hides, whose language was not known. And when the blacks saw the troops they ran away from them, while their women and children stood at the entrance of the cave. So the Emeer Moosa said, "O Abdes-Samad, what are these people?" And he answered, "These are the objects of the inquiry of the Prince of the Faithful." They therefore alighted and the tents were pitched and they had not rested when the king of the blacks came down from the mountain, and drew near to the troops. He was acquainted with the Arabic language, and when he came to Emeer Moosa he saluted him, and the Emeer returned his salute and treated him with honor. Then the king of the blacks said to the Emeer, "Are ye of mankind, or of the genies?" The Emeer answered, "We are of mankind, but as to you, there is no doubt that ye are of the genies, because of the greatness of your size." But the king of the blacks replied, "Nay, we are a people of the race of Adam, of the sons of Ham, the son of Noah. And this sea is known by the name of El-Karkar."

The Emeer then said to him, "We are the messengers and servants of the Caliph Abdel-Melik, and we have come on account of the bottles of brass that are here in your sea, in which are the genies imprisoned from the time of Solomon, the son of David. He hath commanded us to bring him some of them, that he may see them. Wilt thou help us in this matter?" The king of the blacks replied, "Most willingly." Then he ordered the divers to bring up from the sea some of the bottles of Solomon, and they brought up twelve bottles, which the king gave to the Emeer. The Emeer Moosa was delighted, and Abdes-Samad also, and the soldiers, on account of the accomplishment of the wish of the Prince of the Faithful. The Emeer then presented to the king of the blacks many gifts.

Then they bade him farewell, and they journeyed back until they came to the land of Syria, and went to the palace of the Prince of the Faithful. The Emeer Moosa told him of all that he had seen, and of the case of Talib. And the Prince of the Faithful said to him, "Would that I had been with you that I might have beheld what ye beheld." He then took the bottles, and proceeded to open one after another, and the genies came forth from them saying, "Repentance! O Prophet of God! We will not return to the like conduct ever." After this the Prince of the Faithful caused the riches to be brought before him, and divided them among the people.

This is the end of that which hath come down to us of the history of the City of Brass.

"Stories from the Arabian Nights." Selected and edited by M. Clarke. (American Book Company.)

=The Magic Ring, the Bird, and the Basket=

The night was clear and cool when Juan and his father went to bed. Soon they fell asleep, lulled by the wind whistling among the trees. When midnight came, they were aroused from their sound sleep by the shouting of men and the roaring of fire. Juan and his father jumped out of the house to save themselves. As they were hiding under a bamboo tree, four men came and tied the hands of the father and son with vines. Juan was strong enough to break the vines, but he did not try to, for fear that the robbers would kill them. The four men carried the poor captives to their boat and sailed away. Many of Juan's friends and relatives were also captured.

As they were sailing southward a terrible storm came. All the boats were sunk by the merciless waves. Before Juan reached the bottom, for he could not swim, a very big shark swallowed him. The shark, after swallowing Juan, went to its home in a big cave under the water. While he was kicking in the stomach of the shark, his knife fell from his pocket and the vines with which his hands were tied, broke. He opened his knife with his hands and teeth, and cut a hole through the stomach of the shark. Instead of floating to the surface of the water, Juan began to sink and sink as if something were pulling him downward. At last he came to a dry place. He met nobody there except a gray-bearded man, who asked him where he was going. Juan told his story.

"You are unfortunate, my boy," said the old man, "you will have a very hard time in reaching your home."

"But how may I reach home again?" said Juan.

The old man told him to climb the high mountain which could be seen from where they were standing. "When you reach the top, jump into the hole and you will be thrown up to the other world." When Juan was about to go, the old man gave him a ring. "This ring," he said, "is powerful. You can conquer the fiercest demon on earth with the help of this ring. Ask from it anything, food, clothes, and other things, and you will have what you want. If you want to go to some place, you can reach it in a second. This ring will carry you to the top of the mountain."

When the old man was through giving the instructions, Juan found himself on the top of the mountain. Then he jumped into the hole. Suddenly he was blown up through the water and up in the air. He fell back on the water. He wished he were on land and instantly he was carried to a small village full of savages. Juan performed many miracles for the savages, so they elected him king.

One day they went hunting and soon they caught a deer. While they were taking off the hide, a big bird swooped and took the deer with it. Juan clung to the horns of the deer trying to take it from the bird, but in vain. The bird did not mind Juan for he was very small compared with it. It alighted on a very high cliff, left Juan and the dead deer there, and flew away. On the cliff was the bird's nest, and in it were three diamond-like round eggs which were about three feet in diameter.

Juan asked his magical ring to give him a very big basket. The basket came. Then he rolled the eggs into the basket. Juan seated himself between the eggs and asked his ring again to take him and the basket home. The basket was so heavy that the ring could not make it fly very fast. While they were sailing in the air, the bird came with its mate. They held the handle of the basket with their beaks and carried the basket back to the cliff. The power of the magical ring was helpless because the birds were very strong. Juan, then, wished to be clad in armor. So said, so done. But he had no sword, so he asked the ring to give him one. When the birds reached the cliff, they alighted. Juan stepped from the basket and drew his sword. Whenever the birds pecked him, he would strike them on their necks with his sword. After fighting with him for more than half a day, the birds fell helpless on the rock.

Then the victor, Juan, asked the ring again to take him and the basket to his old home. When he reached the place, the once flourishing village was gone. Only a few huts were left standing.--Facundo Esquivel.

II. The Imaginary Voyage with a Satiric or Instructive Purpose

To the class of marvelous tales belong also what are known in France as "Voyages Imaginaires." In so far as the adventurers meet with super-extraordinary beings, or ride on fleas of the dimensions of elephants, or have monstrous spiders weave for a field of battle a web between the moon and the morning star, or in so far as they sail on seas of milk to islands of cheese and altogether suspend the semblance of possibility--in so far are they heroes of absurd tales of wonder. But the narrators of the stories of imaginary voyages for the most part had primarily other objects than mere amusement in view; namely, ridicule of the extravagant narrative by means of imitation and exaggeration, or ridicule of political and philosophic tenets by absurd application; or the story-tellers had instruction to give in civic and social theories by presenting the ideal in contrast with the real.

[Source of the type]

The first example and perhaps the source of this whole species of narrative is the "True History" of Lucian, which, is professedly fabulous and satiric. Lucian says that by his seas of milk and islands of cheese and the like, he is ridiculing the extravagant relations of the old poets and historians who tell incredible tales. Hundreds of years after Lucian, Marco Polo and Sir John Mandeville by their marvelous accounts of remote countries set themselves in the class Lucian satirized. But we will take them up later, since they were real travellers simply exaggerating what they had seen in order the more surely to please a perverted historical taste. We are dealing now with acknowledged imagination. There are many famous imaginary voyages professedly satiric besides Lucian's. Savinien Cyrano de Bergerac's "History of the States and Empires of the Moon" is a satire on the pedantry and scholastic disputations of his age, the early seventeenth century, concerning the uninhabitableness of the lunar world. To the moon Bergerac makes an excursion and settles matters for himself. "Niel Klim's Underground Journey," by Ludvig Holberg of Denmark, is another famous imaginary trip.

[Swift and Defoe]

But no nation has surpassed England, and none indeed has even equalled her, in the production of this class of stories. "Gulliver's Travels," "Gaudentio de Lucca," and "Robinson Crusoe" are supreme. Swift's marvelous tale is, of course, satire; Berkley's extravagant one, philosophy and polemic; Defoe's seemingly true narration, religious dissent. But in the minds of the critics--and in the mind of every school boy, I suppose--there is the judgment that Defoe succeeded in writing the best pure "story" story in all the world. On the one hand, accordingly, by its content of a sea voyage and a wreck on an unknown shore and by the controversial purpose of its author, and by the fact that it became the progenitor of a long line of marvelous narratives, the story of "Robinson Crusoe" links itself with the species of imaginary voyages and stands forth as the highest, though because of its virtues not the most representative, attainment of the class. On the other hand, "Robinson Crusoe" by its unaffected simplicity of diction, by its many minute circumstances, by its particularity as to persons, places, dates, and references, stands at the head as the greatest and best representative of another type of narratives,--the story of probable adventures. But one would finally class Defoe's story with realistic romance.

More typical of the present species, because more extravagant and not so seemingly actual, is the somewhat charming though long-forgotten story of the "Voyage of Peter Wilkins," written about 1750 by R. Paltock or Pultock. In this narrative the author created a new species of beings, which have been ranked among the most beautiful offsprings of imagination. In the "Curse of Kehama" Southey acknowledged them as the origin of the Glendoveers,

"The loveliest race of all of heavenly birth, Hovering with gentle motion o'er the earth, Amid the moonlight air, In sportive flight, still floating round and round."

In Paltock's story they are not fairies, but flying men and women.

In imitation of Bergerac's voyage to the moon there appeared descriptions of journeys to the various heavenly bodies. The planet Venus, for instance, afforded opportunity for satire on amatory tendencies; Mercury, on fraud and avarice; and so on through the other planets and vices. Ridicule of the predominant passions of individuals was come at also. The arrant boaster is delectably set forth in the "Adventures of Baron Munchausen."

To narrate an imaginary voyage, therefore, on lines laid down in the past, you must take to yourself to begin with either a political and social theory or a general spirit of ridicule, either an instructive or a corrective temper.

If you take a political and social theory to establish you must show it in operation in a realm where there is perfect and ideal wisdom, where the obstacles in the world do not hold, as they do not in the Happy Valley, Utopia, and the New Atlantis.

[Suggestion on how to write a satiric imaginary voyage]

If you undertake to ridicule present mistaken tendencies and follies, your task will be a little harder. First you must work out your argument somewhat in detail before you begin your voyage, since you will need to fit adventures, objects, people, and speeches, either by way of exaggeration or oppositeness, to their modern counterparts. Next, you should have definitely in mind a few prominent leaders in the movement or a few promoters of the policy you mean to laugh at. You may take the portrait and characteristics of these men as basis, and exaggerate and modify to suit your purpose. Just as a good cartoonist must know anatomy and the rules of correct drawing, so a caricaturist and satirist must know real people. It will happen probably that readers not in the secret of your originals will fail to recognize them surely, as people now fail to recognize de Bergerac's and Swift's; yet your story can not but be the livelier and better for your concrete thinking. And as we now read the "Journey to the Moon" and "Gulliver's Travels" for the amusing adventures, so your audience will enjoy your story for the same reason and no other. But you can hardly create amusing adventures without something to create them of, and the lives of real people are to be the stuff. This suggestion is merely the embodiment of the psychological fact that all the chimeras that man ever thought of are but modifications of real images. Then it will be well also to remember the convenience of allegory and to use it upon occasion. In fact, many imaginary voyages are but rough-and-ready allegories. Yet you must be careful not to over-do the allegory; for in the fourth place, you should strive for minute versimilitude. The nearer like the details of a real journey your small incidents are, the better your readers will be pleased with your large incidents. It is the little surprises of familiarity among strangeness that create the emotion of pleasure.

Last of all, and first of all, and altogether requisite is this virtue: To be a good narrator of imaginary voyages, you must be, like Defoe, the "best of liars." Nothing is too stupendous to tell if you only know how to tell it.

=Mellonta Tauta=

On Board Balloon "Skylark," April 1, 2848.

Now, my dear friend--now, for your sins, you are to suffer the infliction of a long gossiping letter. I tell you distinctly that I am going to punish you for all your impertinences by being as tedious, as discursive, as incoherent, and as unsatisfactory as possible. Besides, here I am, cooped up in a dirty balloon, with some one or two hundred of the _canaille_, all bound on a _pleasure_ excursion (what a funny idea some people have of pleasure!), and I have no prospect of touching _terra firma_ for a month at least. Nobody to talk to. Nothing to do. When one has nothing to do, then is the time to correspond with one's friends. You perceive then, why it is that I write you this letter--it is on account of my _ennui_ and your sins.

Get ready your spectacles and make up your mind to be annoyed. I mean to write at you every day during this odious voyage.

Heigho! when will any _Invention_ visit the human pericranium? Are we forever to be doomed to the thousand inconveniences of the balloon? Will _nobody_ contrive a more expeditious mode of progress? The jog-trot movement, to my thinking, is little less than positive torture. Upon my word, we have not made more than a hundred miles the hour since leaving home! The very birds beat us--at least some of them. I assure you that I do not exaggerate at all. Our motion, no doubt, seems slower than it actually is--this on account of our having no objects about us by which to estimate our velocity, and on account of our going with the wind. To be sure, whenever we meet a balloon we have a chance of perceiving our rate, and then, I admit, things do not appear so very bad. Accustomed as I am to this mode of traveling, I cannot get over a kind of giddiness whenever a balloon passes us in a current directly overhead. It always seems to me like an immense bird of prey about to pounce upon us and carry us off in its claws. One went over us this morning about sunrise, and so nearly overhead that its drag-rope actually brushed the net-work suspending our car, and caused us very serious apprehension. Our captain said that if the material of the bag had been the trumpery varnished "silk" of five hundred or a thousand years ago, we should inevitably have been damaged. This silk, as he explained it to me, was a fabric composed of the entrails of a species of earth-worm. The worm was carefully fed on mulberries--a kind of fruit resembling a water-melon--and, when sufficiently fat, was crushed in a mill. The paste thus arising was called _papyrus_ in its primary state, and went through a variety of processes until it finally became "silk." Singular to relate, it was once much admired as an article of _female dress_! Balloons were also very generally constructed from it. A better kind of material, it appears, was subsequently found in the down surrounding the seed-vessels of a plant vulgarly called _euphorbium_, and at that time botanically termed milk-weed. This latter kind of silk was designated as silk-buckingham, on account of its superior durability, and was usually prepared for use by being varnished with a solution of gum caoutchouc--a substance which in some respects must have resembled the _guttapercha_ now in common use. This caoutchouc was occasionally called Indian rubber or rubber of twist, and was no doubt one of the numerous _fungi_. Never tell me again that I am not at heart an antiquarian.

Talking of drag-ropes--our own, it seems, has this moment knocked a man overboard from one of the small magnetic propellers that swarm in the ocean below us--a boat of about six thousand tons, and, from all accounts, shamefully crowded. These diminutive barques should be prohibited from carrying more than a definite number of passengers. The man, of course, was not permitted to get on board again, and was soon out of sight, he and his life-preserver. I rejoice, my dear friend, that we live in an age so enlightened that no such a thing as an individual is supposed to exist. It is the mass for which the true Humanity cares. By-the-by, talking of Humanity, do you know that our immortal Wiggins is not so original in his views of the Social Condition and so forth, as his contemporaries are inclined to suppose? Pundit assures me that the same ideas were put nearly in the same way, about a thousand years ago, by an Irish philosopher called Furrier, on account of his keeping a retail shop for cat peltries and other furs. Pundit _knows_, you know; there can be no mistake about it. How very wonderfully do we see verified every day, the profound observation of the Hindoo Aries Tottle (as quoted by Pundit): "Thus must we say that, not once or twice, or a few times, but with almost infinite repetitions, the same opinions came round in a circle among men."

_April 2d._--Spoke to-day the magnetic cutter in charge of the middle section of floating telegraph wires. I learn that when this species of telegraph was first put into operation by Horse, it was considered quite impossible to convey the wires over sea, but now we are at a loss to comprehend where the difficulty lay! So wags the world. _Tempora mutantur_--excuse me for quoting the Etruscan. What would we do without the Atlantic telegraph? (Pundit says Atlantic was the ancient adjective.) We lay to a few minutes to ask the cutter some questions, and learned, among other glorious news, that civil war is raging in Africa, while the plague is doing its good work beautifully both in Yurope and Ayesher. Is it not truly remarkable that, before the magnificent light shed upon philosophy by Humanity, the world was accustomed to regard War and Pestilence as calamities? Do you know that prayers were actually offered up in the ancient temples to the end that these evils (!) might not be visited upon mankind? Is it not really difficult to comprehend upon what principle of interest our forefathers acted? Were they so blind as not to perceive that the destruction of a myriad of individuals is only so much positive advantage to the mass!

_April 3d._--It is really a very fine amusement to ascend the rope-ladder leading to the summit of the balloon-bag, and thence survey the surrounding world. From the car below you know the prospect is not so comprehensive--you can see little vertically. But seated here (where I write this) in the luxuriously-cushioned opened piazza of the summit, one can see everything that is going on in all directions. Just now there is quite a crowd of balloons in sight, and they present a very animated appearance, while the air is resonant with the hum of so many millions of human voices. I have heard it asserted that when Yellow or (Pundit will have it) Violet, who is supposed to have been the first aeronaut, maintained the practicability of traversing the atmosphere in all directions, by merely ascending or descending until a favorable current was attained, he was scarcely hearkened to at all by his contemporaries, who looked upon him as merely an ingenious sort of madman, because the philosophers (!) of the day declared the thing impossible. Really now, it does seem to me quite unaccountable how anything so obviously feasible could have escaped the sagacity of the ancient _savans_. But in all ages the great obstacles to advancement in Art have been opposed by the so-called men of science. To be sure, our men of science are not quite so bigoted as those of old--oh, I have something so queer to tell you on this topic. Do you know that it is not more than a thousand years ago since the metaphysicians consented to relieve the people of the singular fancy that there existed but _two possible roads for the attainment of Truth_! Believe it if you can! It appears that long, long ago, in the night of Time, there lived a Turkish philosopher (or Hindoo possibly), called Aries Tottle. This person introduced or at all events propagated what was termed the deductive or _a priori_ mode of investigation. He started with what he maintained to be _axioms_, or "self-evident truths," and thence proceeded "logically" to results. His greatest disciples were one Neuclid, and one Cant. Well, Aries Tottle flourished supreme until the advent of one Hog, surnamed the "Ettrick Shepherd," who preached an entirely different system, which he called the _a posteriori_ or inductive. His plan referred altogether to Sensation. He proceeded by observing, analyzing, and classifying facts--_instantiae naturae_, as they were affectedly called--into general laws. Aries Tottle's mode, in a word, was based on _noumena_; Hog's on _phenomena_. Well, so great was the admiration excited by this latter system that, at its first introduction, Aries Tottle fell into disrepute; but finally he recovered ground and was permitted to divide the realm of Truth with his more modern rival. The _savans_ now maintained the Aristotelian and _Baconian_ roads were the sole possible avenues to knowledge. "Baconian," you must know, was an adjective invented as equivalent to Hog-ian and more euphonious and dignified.

Now, my dear friend, I do assure you, most positively, that I represent this matter fairly, on the soundest authority; and you can easily understand how a notion so absurd on its very face must have operated to retard the progress of all true knowledge--which makes its advances almost invariably by intuitive bounds. The ancient idea confined investigations to _crawling_; and for hundreds of years so great was the infatuation about Hog especially, that a virtual end was put to all thinking, properly so called. No man dared utter a truth to which he felt himself indebted to his _Soul_ alone. It mattered not whether the truth was even _demonstrably_ a truth, for the bullet-headed _savans_ of the time regarded only the road by which he had attained it. They would not even look at the end. "Let us see the means," they cried, "the means!" If, upon investigation of the means, it was found to come under neither the category Aries (that is to say, Ram), nor under the category Hog, why then the savans went no farther, but pronounced the "theorist" a fool, and would have nothing to do with him or his truth.

Now, it cannot be maintained even that by the crawling system the greatest amount of truth would be attained in any long series of ages, for the repression of _imagination_ was an evil not to be compensated for by any superior _certainty_ in the ancient modes of investigation. The error of these Jurmains, these Vrinch, these Inglitch, and these Amriccans (the latter, by the way, were our own immediate progenitors), was an error quite analogous with that of the wiseacre who fancies that he must necessarily see an object the better the more closely he holds it to his eyes. These people blinded themselves by details. When they proceeded Hoggishly, their "facts" were by no means always facts--a matter of little consequence had it not been for assuming that they were facts and must be facts because they appeared to be such. When they proceeded on the path of the Ram, their course was scarcely as straight as a ram's horn, for they never had an axiom which was an axiom at all. They must have been very blind not to see this, even in their own day; for even in their own day many of the long "established" axioms had been rejected. For example, "_Ex nihilo nihil fit_"; "a body cannot act where it is not"; "there cannot exist antipodes"; "darkness cannot come out of light"--all these, and a dozen other similar propositions, formerly admitted without hesitation as axioms, were, even at the period of which I speak, seen to be untenable. How absurd in these people, then, to persist in putting faith in "axioms" as immutable bases of Truth! But even out of the mouths of their soundest reasoners it is easy to demonstrate the futility, the impalpability of their axioms in general. Who was the soundest of their logicians? Let me see! I will go and ask Pundit and be back in a minute.... Ah, here we have it! Here is a book written nearly a thousand years ago and lately translated from Inglitch--which, by the way, appears to have been the rudiment of the Amriccan. Pundit says it is decidedly the cleverest ancient work on its topic, Logic. The author (who was much thought of in his day) was one Miller, or Mill; and we find it recorded of him, as a point of some importance, that he had a mill-horse called Bentham. But let us glance at the treatise!

Ah! "Ability or inability to conceive," says Mr. Mill, very properly, "is in no case, to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth." What modern in his senses would ever think of disputing this truism? The only wonder with us must be, how it happened that Mr. Mill conceived it necessary even to hint at anything so obvious. So far, good--but let us turn over another paper. What have we here? "Contradictories cannot both be true--that is, cannot coexist in nature." Here Mr. Mill means, for example, that a tree must be either a tree or not a tree--that it cannot be at the same time a tree and not a tree. Very well; but I ask him why. His reply is this--and never pretends to be anything else than this--"Because it is impossible to conceive that contradictories can both be true." But this is no answer at all, by his own showing; for has he not just admitted as a truism that "ability or inability to conceive is in no case to be received as a criterion of axiomatic truth"?

Now I do not complain of these ancients so much because their logic is, by their own showing, utterly baseless, worthless and fantastic altogether, as because of their pompous and imbecile proscription of all other roads of Truth, of all other means for its attainment than the two preposterous paths--the one creeping and the one of crawling--to which they have dared to confine the Soul that loves nothing so well as to soar.

By the by, my friend, do you not think it would have puzzled these ancient dogmaticians to have determined by which of their two roads it was that the most important and most sublime of all their truths was, in effect, attained? I mean the truth of Gravitation. Newton owed it to Kepler. Kepler admitted that his three laws were guessed at--these three laws of all laws which led the great Inglitch mathematician to his principle, the basis of all physical principle--to go behind which we must enter the Kingdom of Metaphysics: Kepler guessed--that is to say, imagined. He was essentially a "theorist"--that word now of so much sanctity, formerly an epithet of contempt. Would it not have puzzled these old moles, too, to have explained by which of the two "roads" a cryptographist unriddles a cryptograph of more than usual secrecy, or by which of the two roads Champollion directed mankind to those enduring and almost innumerable truths which resulted from his deciphering the Hieroglyphics?

One word more on this topic and I will be done boring you. Is it not passing strange that, with their eternal prattling about roads to Truth, these bigoted people missed what we now so clearly perceive to be the great highway--that of Consistency? Does it not seem singular how they should have failed to deduce from the works of God the vital fact that a perfect consistency must be an absolute truth! How plain has been our progress since the late announcement of this proposition! Investigation has been taken out of the hands of the groundmoles and given, as a task, to the true and only true thinkers, the men of ardent imagination. These latter _theorize_. Can you not fancy the shout of scorn with which my words would be received by our progenitors were it possible for them to be now looking over my shoulder? These men, I say, _theorize_; and their theories are simply corrected, reduced, systematized--cleared, little by little, of their dross of inconsistency--until, finally, a perfect consistency stands apparent which even the most stolid admit, because it is a consistency, to be an absolute and an unquestionable truth.

_April 4th._--The new gas is doing wonders, in conjunction with the new improvement with gutta percha. How very safe, commodious, manageable, and in every respect convenient are our modern balloons? Here is an immense one approaching us at the rate of at least a hundred and fifty miles an hour. It seems to be crowded with people--perhaps there are three or four hundred passengers--and yet it soars to an elevation of nearly a mile, looking down upon poor us with sovereign contempt. Still, a hundred or even two hundred miles an hour is slow traveling after all. Do you remember our flight on the railroad across the Kanadaw continent? Fully three hundred miles the hour--_that_ was traveling. Nothing to be seen, though--nothing to be done but flirt, feast and dance in the magnificent saloons. Do you remember what an odd sensation was experienced, when, by chance, we caught a glimpse of external objects while the cars were in full flight? Everything seemed unique--in one mass. For my part, I cannot say but that I preferred the traveling by the slow train of a hundred miles the hour. Here we were permitted to have glass windows--even to have them open--and something like a distinct view of the country was attainable.... Pundit says that _the route_ for the great Kanadaw railroad must have been in some measure marked out about nine hundred years ago! In fact, he goes so far as to assert that actual traces of a road are still discernible--traces referable to a period quite as remote as that mentioned. The track, it appears, was _double_ only; ours, you know, has twelve paths; and three or four new ones are in preparation. The ancient rails are very slight, and placed so close together as to be, according to modern notions, quite frivolous, if not dangerous, in the extreme. The present width of track--fifty feet--is considered, indeed, scarcely secure enough. For my part, I make no doubt that a track of some sort must have existed in very remote times, as Pundit asserts; for nothing can be clearer, to my mind, than that, at some period--not less than seven centuries ago, certainly--the Northern and Southern Kanadaw continents were _united_; the Kanawdians, then, would have been driven, by necessity, to a great railroad across the continent.

_April 5th._--I am almost devoured by _ennui_. Pundit is the only conversible person on board; and he, poor soul, can speak of nothing but antiquities. He has been occupied all the day in the attempt to convince me that ancient Americans _governed themselves_! Did ever anybody hear of such an absurdity? That they existed in a sort of every-man-for-himself confederacy, after the fashion of the "prairie dogs" that we read of in fable. He says that they started with the queerest ideas conceivable, viz: that all men are born free and equal--this in the very teeth of the laws of _gradation_ so visibly impressed upon all things both in the moral and physical universe. Every man "voted," as they called it--that is to say, meddled with public affairs--until at length, it was discovered that what is everybody's business is nobody's, and that the "Republic" (so the absurd thing was called) was without a government at all. It is related, however, that the first circumstance which disturbed, very particularly, the self-complacency of the philosophers who constructed this "Republic" was the startling discovery that universal suffrage gave opportunity for fraudulent schemes, by means of which any desired number of votes might at any time be polled, without the possibility of prevention or even detection, by any party which should be merely villainous enough not to be ashamed of the fraud. A little reflection upon this discovery sufficed to render evident the consequences, which were that rascality _must_ predominate--in a word, that a republican government _could_ never be anything but a rascally one. While the philosophers, however, were busied in blushing at their stupidity in not having foreseen these inevitable evils, and intent upon the invention of new theories, the matter was put to an abrupt issue by a fellow of the name of _Mob_, who took everything into his own hands and set up a despotism, in comparison with which those of the fabulous Zeros and Hellofagabaluses were respectable and delectable. This Mob (a foreigner, by the by) is said to have been the most odious of all men that ever encumbered the earth. He was a giant in stature--insolent, rapacious, filthy; had the gall of a bullock with the heart of a hyena and the brains of a peacock. He died, at length, by dint of his own energies, which exhausted him. Nevertheless, he had his uses, as everything has, however vile, and taught mankind a lesson which to this day it is in no danger of forgetting--never to run directly contrary to the natural analogies. As for Republicanism, no analogy could be found for it upon the face of the earth--unless we except the case of the "prairie dogs," an exception which seems, to demonstrate, if anything, that democracy is a very admirable form of government--for dogs.

_April 6th._--Last night had a fine view of Alpha Lyrae, whose disk, through our captain's spy glass, subtends an angle of half a degree, looking very much as our sun does to the naked eye on a misty day. Alpha Lyrae, although so very much larger than our sun, by the by, resembles him closely as regards its spots, its atmosphere, and in many other particulars. It is only within the last century, Pundit tells me, that the binary relation existing between these two orbs began even to be suspected. The evident motion of our system in the heavens was (strange to say!) referred to an orbit about a prodigious star in the center of the galaxy. About this star, or at all events about a center of gravity common to all the globes of the Milky Way and supposed to be near Alcyone in the Pleiades, every one of these globes was declared to be revolving, our own performing the circuit in a period of 117,000,000 of years! _We_, with our present lights, our vast telescopic improvements, and so forth, of course find it difficult to comprehend _the ground_ of an idea such as this. Its first propagator was one Mudler. He was led, we must presume, to this wild hypothesis by mere analogy in the first instance; but, this being the case, he should have at least adhered to analogy in its development. A great central orb was, in fact, suggested; so far Mudler was consistent. This central orb, however, dynamically, should have been greater than all its surrounding orbs taken together. The question might then have been asked, "Why do we not see it?" _We_, especially, who occupy the mid region of the cluster--the very locality _near_ which, at least, must be situated this inconceivable central sun. The astronomer, perhaps, at this point, took refuge in the suggestion of non-luminosity; and here analogy was suddenly let fall. But even admitting the central orb non-luminous, how did he manage to explain its failure to be rendered visible by the incalculable host of glorious suns glaring in all directions about it? No doubt what he finally maintained was merely a center of gravity common to all the revolving orbs--but here again analogy must have been let fall. Our system revolves, it is true, about a common center of gravity, but it does this in connection with and in consequence of a material sun whose mass more than counterbalances the rest of the system. The mathematical circle is a curve composed of an infinity of straight lines; but this idea of the circle--this idea of it which, in regard to all earthly geometry, we consider as merely the mathematical, in contradistinction from the practical, idea--is, in sober fact, the _practical_ conception which alone we have any right to entertain in respect to those Titanic circles with which we have to deal, at least in fancy, when we suppose our system, with its fellows, revolving about a point in the center of the galaxy. Let the most vigorous of human imaginations but attempt to take a single step toward the comprehension of a circuit so unutterable! It would scarcely be paradoxical to say that a flash of lightning itself, traveling _forever_ upon the circumference of this inconceivable circle, would still _forever_ be traveling in a straight line. That the path of our sun along such a circumference--that the direction of our system in such an orbit--would, to any human perception, deviate in the slightest degree from a straight line even in a million of years, is a proposition not to be entertained; and yet these ancient astronomers were absolutely cajoled, it appears, into believing that a decisive curvature had become apparent during the brief period of their astronomical history--during the mere point--during the utter nothingness of two or three thousand years! How incomprehensible, that considerations such as this did not at once indicate to them the true state of affairs--that of the binary revolution of our sun and Alpha Lyrae around a common center of gravity!

_April 7th._--Continued last night our astronomical amusements. Had a fine view of the five Neptunian asteroids, and watched with much interest the putting of a huge impost on a couple of lintels in the new temple at Daphnis in the moon. It was amusing to think that creatures so diminutive as the lunarians, and bearing so little resemblance to humanity, yet evinced a mechanical ingenuity so much superior to our own. One finds it difficult, too, to conceive the vast masses which these people handle so easily, to be as light as our own reason tell us they actually are.

_April 8th._--Eureka! Pundit is in his glory. A balloon from Kanadaw spoke us today and threw on board several late papers; they contain some exceedingly curious information relative to Kanawdian or rather Amriccan antiquities. You know, I presume, that laborers have for some months been employed in preparing the ground for a new fountain at Paradise, the Emperor's principal pleasure garden. Paradise, it appears, has been, _literally_ speaking, an island time out of mind--that is to say, its northern boundary was always (as far back as any record extends) a rivulet, or rather a very narrow arm of the sea. This arm was gradually widened until it attained its present breadth--a mile. The whole length of the island is nine miles; the breadth varies materially. The entire area (so Pundit says) was, about eight hundred years ago, densely packed with houses, some of them twenty stories high: land (for some most unaccountable reason) being considered as especially precious just in this vicinity. The disastrous earthquake, however, of the year 2050, so totally uprooted and overwhelmed the town (for it was almost too large to be called a village) that the most indefatigable of our antiquarians have never yet been able to obtain from the site any sufficient data (in the shape of coins, medals or inscriptions) wherewith to build up even the ghost of a theory concerning the manners, customs, etc., etc., etc., of the aboriginal inhabitants. Nearly all that we have hitherto known of them is that they were a portion of the Knickerbocker tribe of savages infesting the continent at its first discovery by Recorder Riker, a knight of the Golden Fleece. They were by no means uncivilized, however, but cultivated various arts and even sciences after a fashion of their own. It it related of them that they were acute in many respects, but were oddly afflicted with monomania for building what, in the ancient Amriccan, was denominated "churches"--a kind of pagoda instituted for the worship of two idols that went by the names of Wealth and Fashion. In the end, it is said, the island became, nine-tenths of it, church. The women, too, it appears, were oddly deformed by a natural protuberance of the region just below the small of the back--although, most unaccountably, this deformity was looked upon altogether in the light of a beauty. One or two pictures of these singular women have, in fact, been miraculously preserved. They looked very odd, _very_--like something between a turkeycock and a dromedary.

Well, these few details are nearly all that have descended to us respecting the ancient Knickerbockers. It seems, however, that while digging in the center of the emperor's garden (which, you know, covers the whole island), some of the workmen unearthed a cubical and evidently chiseled block of granite, weighing several hundred pounds. It was in good preservation, having received, apparently, little injury from the convulsion which entombed it. On one of its surfaces was a marble slab with (only think of it!) _an inscription_--_a legible inscription_. Pundit is in ecstasies. Upon detaching the slab, a cavity appeared, containing a leaden box filled with various coins, a long scroll of names, several documents which appear to resemble newspapers, with other matters of intense interest to the antiquarian! There can be no doubt that all these are genuine Amriccan relics belonging to the tribe called Knickerbocker. The papers thrown on board our balloon are filled with fac-similes of the coins, MSS., typography, etc., etc. I copy for your amusement the Knickerbocker inscription on the marble slab:

This Corner Stone of a Monument to the Memory of GEORGE WASHINGTON, was laid with appropriate ceremonies on the 19th day of October, 1847, the anniversary of the surrender of Lord Cornwallis to General Washington at Yorktown, A. D. 1781, under the auspices of the Washington Monument Association of the City of New York.

This, as I give it, is a verbatim translation done by Pundit himself, so there _can_ be no mistake about it. From the few words thus preserved, we gleam several important items of knowledge, not the least interesting of which is the fact that a thousand years ago _actual_ monuments had fallen into disuse--as was all very proper--the people contenting themselves, as we do now, with a mere indication of the design to erect a monument at some future time; a cornerstone being cautiously laid by itself "solitary and alone" (excuse me for quoting the great Amriccan poet Benton!) as a guarantee of the magnanimous _intention_. We ascertain, too, very distinctly, from this admirable inscription, the how as well as the where and the what, of the great surrender in question. As to the _where_, it was Yorktown (wherever that was), and as to the _what_, it was General Cornwallis (no doubt some wealthy dealer in corn). _He_ was surrendered. The inscription commemorates the surrender of--what?--why, "of Lord Cornwallis." The only question is what could the savages wish him surrendered for. But when we remember that these savages were undoubtedly cannibals, we are led to the conclusion that they intended him for sausage. As to the _how_ of the surrender, no language can be more explicit. Lord Cornwallis was surrendered (for sausage) "under the auspices of the Washington Monument Association"--no doubt a charitable institution for the depositing of cornerstones. But, Heaven bless me! what is the matter? Ah, I see--the balloon has collapsed, and we shall have a tumble into the sea. I have, therefore, only time enough to add that, from a hasty inspection of the fac-similes of newspapers, etc., etc., I find that the great men in those days among the Amriccans, were one John, a smith, and one Zacchary, a tailor.

Good-bye, until I see you again. Whether you ever get this letter or not is point of little importance, as I write altogether for my own amusement. I shall cork the MS. up in a bottle, however, and throw it into the sea.

Yours everlastingly, PUNDITA. --Edgar Allan Poe.

=Busyong's Trip to Jupiter=

Singular indeed among such ordinary men as we come across in our everyday life Busyong might have seemed to us, both on account of his features and of his attitude. He had wrinkles on his face which showed that he had smiled and laughed much in his life; but his expression was rather sardonic. He was a lively man, with a keen sense of what is serious and what is ludicrous. Owing to this peculiarity Busyong did not have many acquaintances among his tribe. However, he did not feel lonesome or forlorn; often he amused himself in observing in his people what he regarded as the overstepping of limits of propriety and decency. He was not a man of vast knowledge, yet he had exquisite common sense, which his few good friends admired.

Busyong entertained the idea of visiting the brightest planet, next to Venus, of our solar system, namely, Jupiter; for he had read in a certain book that Jupiter is inhabited, and the inhabitants can float in the air because of their lightness. "This is something to me," he said to himself. "Let us see what sort of people they are." So, led by curiosity, Busyong after several attempts succeeded in finding means by which he could go to Jupiter. He made a large balloon-like machine. When Busyong had prepared everything necessary for this aerial voyage, he began ascending from the top of Mt. Makiling at sunset. Nobody witnessed him, because he did not make the purpose of his voyage known to anybody. While he was ascending, he was delighted to observe the earth growing smaller and smaller. The machine of the balloon was so powerful that by turning a sort of button to its maximum capacity, as Busyong did, he had the balloon soon piercing the clouds and like a large condor soaring in the sky. When Busyong found out that he could hardly breathe, he accelerated the speed of the balloon, so that in a few moments he found himself in a different atmosphere where he could breathe as well as before when he was yet near the earth. He was now near Jupiter, whose brightness had served him as a lighthouse. He had puffed out some of the vapor in the balloon, so that he might go down nearer the planet. It being very early in the morning, he resolved to take a rest; for he was tired of seeing nothing but stars and sky.

Presently, after about two hours, when the sun was just appearing from behind the planet, Busyong woke up. He was glad; for he had dreamt that he should see things which he had never seen before. After rubbing his eyes with a handkerchief, he began to look around him. With the aid of a telescope which he had brought he saw to his surprise large and small bodies of land and water, which he took for continents, islands, oceans, and lakes, respectively. Descending lower, he perceived mountains, some of which were hidden by clouds, and others that were unhidden, covered with trees. When he had directed his telescope towards a valley, he noticed to his happiness a poor dwelling of some human being. It was a hut with a roof similar to _nipa_ and with a wooden ladder, near which was a cock. The sight of this dwelling gave rise in Busyong mind to a train of ideas regarding the inhabitants of the planet. So far it certainly looked like the country he had come from: it might still be the Philippines. Busyong decided to alight from his balloon on the top of a mountain near the hut. After he had eaten his breakfast, he began to descend the mountain. It was not long before he reached its foot through devious paths.

When he appeared before the entrance of the cottage and looked in, he found a haggard middle-aged man, a sluttish old woman, and a wan-faced boy, all of a swarthy appearance, sitting on the floor. They were eating their frugal breakfast, which consisted of fried rice, coffee, and dried fish. They did not use spoons, but their plain dirty-nailed fingers. Busyong was surprised to find so great a similarity both in the form of the house and in the manner of eating between these people and those of his own country. Presently upon his saluting these inmates with a _magandang araw po_, a small lean red dog began to bark at him. The man, who was sitting in a squatting posture, turned his face and remained for a few moments staring at Busyong with a little fright mingled with wonder. Unfortunately when the old woman had cleaned her shriveled hands unconsciously with a piece of brown ragged cloth, the dog vomited on it without being noticed by any one of the family. Then with her disheveled hair she stood up to receive Busyong, who was a stranger to them; but the man prevented her from doing so. The man did not appear to understand Busyong, who again bade him a good morning, and so Busyong resolved to talk to him like a mute by signs. Having noticed a large farm not very far from the hut, Busyong beckoned the man, and made signs, asking him who the owner of the field was. The man, who seemed to be a farm laborer, pointed to him the way to the rich farmer's house. Busyong soon left him still staring with a vacant countenance and wide-open mouth.

Busyong had noticed the folly of the old woman when she wiped her hands with the dirty piece of cloth. It was not long after he had started to go that he heard such loud retchings from the hut that he stopped and turned around. He returned anxious to see what the matter was. When he appeared before the entrance of the cottage, he saw the peasant, who kept asking his wife in a compassionate manner what was the matter with her. The man received no answer; for his wife kept on retching so constantly that she thought that, like a sea cucumber, she had everted all her alimentary canal or was going to do so. The poor husband was so perplexed that he did not know what to do with her; sometimes he patted her breast; sometimes he rubbed her back as if he were stroking the _bulik sa pula_ (a cock spotted with white and red, but mostly with red) that was near the ladder of the hut.

Presently, when the peasant saw Busyong observing his action, he drew near to him and said something in a tremulous voice. Busyong explained to the man by motions that the cause of all the trouble was perhaps the vomit of the dog on the piece of cloth. The man hurried to convince himself; and in his great anger he would have killed the poor animal, were it not for Busyong, who stopped him. The husband and the wife, whose convulsions had calmed somewhat, were angry with the dog, and even their little boy, pouting with smeared face, showed his anger by squalling at and whipping the animal; but at the same time the man and the old woman were afraid that Busyong might call an ambulance to take them all to a hospital or police station. In the midst of this excitement Busyong availed himself of the opportunity to "strike when the emotional iron was hot." He exhorted the family concerning the custom of eating with fingers in such a philippic as might have had a very deep impression on the minds of all his hearers if they had understood him.

Busyong then departed, and he said to himself nodding, "Aha, I remember my grandmother often said to me when she would tell me amusing stories that in the vineyard of the Lord there are all sorts of things. I see now that her statement seems to hold good even in this new planet." When he had walked some distance, he looked around him, and took his handkerchief out of a pocket of his coat and with it wiped off the perspiration on his face. Feeling himself warm, he whiffed and said, "I see, this country appears to have the same warm climate as that of my native land. I wonder if the people here are all brown like the farm-laborer and me." After a few minutes' walk he saw a large town at a short distance, and among the small houses he perceived a steep roof which he took for the steeple of the church of the village. The first house he came to in the town was that of the rich farmer. It was a two-storied square wooden structure; in front of it was a small garden, and behind a small orchard. Busyong knocked at the door, and in a few moments a servant appeared.

"Is the farmer in?" Busyong inquired, hardly expecting to be understood. He knew no language but his own, and had to try to get along with that.

"Yes, sir," answered the servant, whose curiosity was awakened by the rather unfamiliar appearance of Busyong, but who seemed to wonder not at all at his speech.

"Tell him, please, that a stranger desires to speak with him."

Without uttering a word, the servant went to comply with Busyong's request.

"Yes, invite him to come in," said the old farmer to his servant. "And, Andoy," he added, "tell Islao to come here to try these new sound assorters."

"Yes, sir," was the boy's reply as he went down the stairs.

The servant first led Busyong before the farmer.

"Here, Islao, see if you can put these new filterers into your ears without discomfort. I've improved on the others considerably, I think," said the old man as Busyong stepped into the room.

"Good morning, sir," said Busyong very respectfully, taking the proffered package and bowing, though he understood not a word.

"Oh! excuse me, sir, excuse me! I mistook you for my son," exclaimed the farmer, but seeing that Busyong was confused he motioned him to sit down, and then drawing from his ears a tiny pair of soft elastic-looking objects, put them back and motioned Busyong to imitate him by applying what was in the package to his own ears. Being naturally very curious and desiring above all things to make a good impression on the inhabitants of this strange planet, Busyong obeyed. But what was his astonishment to find that he now began to understand perfectly what the old man was saying, whom before he had not comprehended in the least, although the old fellow was already well launched on a long exposition. Busyong's understanding began to work at about this point: "You see, I have greatly improved them. There has always hitherto been a sort of buzzing accompaniment. You don't feel any, do you? You understand me perfectly, don't you? I told my son Islao the difficulty could be overcome, But, you see, people have been so accustomed to getting along with the noise that they stopped being impatient at it. But I said since we had all the language sounds assorted and distributed to their proper concept centers, there was no reason why we should not be able to conduct outward the so-to-say 'mechanical' sounds. You understand me perfectly, don't you, sir, and with no buzzing. Is not that so?"

"Yes, truly; but much to my astonishment," replied Busyong, "for a moment ago I did not understand you, and now I do. On our planet I have heard of light or ray filterers that would distribute colors on a sensitive camera plate, but this is the first time I've heard of a language filterer, though I see that it works perfectly. But, sir, I remember that you were very busy when I came in, and now I am bothering you."

"Oh, no, sir; keep your seat, keep your seat, please. This is the time when I attend to visitors; from nine to twelve o'clock in the morning and from three to five o'clock in the afternoon; and even at any other time I am disposed to receive a guest, especially a stranger."

"Thank you, sir. My intrusion is perhaps justifiable by my being a stranger to this planet."

"A stranger to this planet! Will you explain yourself? Otherwise I shall think you are some ghost."

"Why, yes, I'll make myself clear as I can. I arrived here just this morning from the planet Earth. Near the foot of that neighboring mountain I saw the hut of your farm laborer, who showed me your house."

"But how did you come to this planet!"

"By a special balloon which I made myself."

"Oh, yes, I remember now; I remember to have read--I do not recollect the name of the book--that such an aerial voyage from the earth to this planet or _vice versa_ is possible. Oh, please, stay here with us; we shall be very glad to have you remain with us."

"Thank you, sir; yes, I'll stay here. Especially if you will explain to me this wonderful device by means of which I can understand your language and you mine. Now on Earth we have to go to the labor of memorizing a whole dictionary if we wish to converse with a fellow mortal of another nationality."

"Oh, yes; that's very bad. A great loss of time and energy. A long while ago, after we had perfected mechanical talking machines, somebody realized that we were wasting a great amount of time conversing with machinery when we couldn't understand our fellow men. So he set himself to thinking and he soon saw that the difference in languages is not a difference in ideas, but in sounds. So if he could just filter the sound waves as they entered the cranium, he could trust to consciousness to do the rest; for it always responds to phenomena after its own nature, not after the nature of the phenomena that it takes up--as the philosophers had long before proved. But I must stop talking. I want to hear about the Earth. I dare say your planet is much wiser than ours. Ours is very foolish in many ways, as you will see before long." And the farmer got up to order one of his servants to prepare a room for Busyong.

The family of the old man, consisting of a wife and a grown-up son and a young daughter, then spent most of the day in eagerly questioning Busyong about the earth and its inhabitants. Night came on and the farmer remained alone conversing with Busyong beside a window until very late. They were beginning to feel sleepy when a confused noise of stringed instruments was heard from a neighboring house. Busyong soon lost his drowsiness.

"What is that music for? What does it mean at such at an hour as this? 'Tis one o'clock," Busyong said.

"These people are courting a lady, and their cackling is intended to win the love of the maiden--nay, I should say to annoy and disturb the neighbors from their rest; for that's really what they do," replied the old man with indignation. "This custom," he added, "although not widespread in this country, is yet after all very troublesome and indeed very ridiculous also."

"Now, I wonder if these people know the woman for whom they are offering their sacrifices."

"That is another folly about them. That is often the case; these people work hard making a loud noise with their wooden rattles in order to attain their purpose, but they don't have the slightest idea of the real character of the woman for whom they die deliriously; nay, they don't know even how she looks; whether she is ugly and haggard or whether she is like Venus, charming with beauty."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, O Folly! But let us not fret ourselves at the errors of mankind, for they seem to be natural both to this planet and to that of mine. Hark! who is that singing now so affectedly?"

"That is the head of the band, the Faust. Listen to his fastidious voice and the _balder-dash_ with which it is accompanied."

Silence reigned for a time between the old man and Busyong. Upon hearing no longer the music which had occasioned his remarks the old man said, "Thanks to Dios, I think they are gone. Now let us go to bed. You must be very tired, Busyong. Good night."

"Good night," replied Busyong.

Next morning the old man told his son Islao to take a walk with Busyong around the town. In this exploration, for such did it appear rather than just a mere promenade to Busyong, who was a stranger to the planet, Islao led his friend directly to his large farm of rice. Then they went to the busiest part of the large town, where Busyong was delighted to observe the different kinds of stores--dry goods and hardware. When they came to a very lively street, Busyong found occasion to laugh in his characteristic sarcastic manner at the tremendous numbers of different kinds of signboards, some hanging flat against the doors of the stores, and some sticking out a long distance or even stretching across the entire width of the street. The size of the signboards ranged from the smallest of those which professional men use to the very large ones with which the managers of theaters announce a dramatic performance.

While the two friends were walking slowly along the street, for there were many people out, their attention was very curiously attracted by the appearance of a scrawny young man, who came mincing by them. They stopped beside a telegraph post, while the young man went on, meeting a friend at a short distance, to whom he said, "Hallo, Tetoy (Aniceto). _Donde vamus you?_" "Hallo, Balatong," replied the friend. The rest of their conversation went on in a low tone in their peculiar dialect. Busyong and Islao overheard only their slipshod greetings.

"Islao, who is that man--that one who wears the hat with a wide ribbon whose colors are light blue and green, and black with white stripes resembling the skin of a skunk?" inquired Busyong.

"What man? Excuse me, I was looking at somebody else," said Islao. "Do you mean that one who wears a bright red, yellow, and green----"

"Crumpled small fish net around his collar I should say; yes, exactly, that one. Who's he?"

"Ha, ha, ha; oh, yes. He is one of the suitors of the girl who lives in front of our house. Balatong, I think is his name."

"Aha, the one who cackled last night, as your father said?"

"I don't know," laughing.

"And that other one with cross eyes, whose trousers are folded up five times, I think, showing his stockings, which are like the tidies of a chair back--who's he?"

"Who? That one who wears broad ribbon-like strings on his shoes? I don't know him. Don't you think he looks like a woman--I mean both of them--with their way of dressing? Aha, one of them--not the cross-eyed--has powder on his face, I think."

"Oh, yes, yes. You know, in my native country in the planet Earth only women are fond of and use such gaudy colors and such kind of stockings; and, indeed, they are only proper for women. But we used to----"

"But that's not all here; the worst is when these people use stockings--as I have had occasion to notice many times--stockings which are elaborately ornamented with the queerest fantastic designs; such as a burning dainty heart, a dove carrying a bunch of _dama de noche_ with its toes--rather, a falcon or vulture I should say--great goodness!--make the dove carry a flower in its claws!"

"Aha, is that so? Why, thanks to goodness, in my native land no such queer people are to be found now, except very, very few. There used to be--but do you know what we call them in pure, simple Tagalog? We call them _binabae_; that is a bit worse than the English term 'sissy.' But from your own experience, tell me, Islao, what living being other than man have you observed making such a liberal display of gaudy colors in that most affected manner?"

"Why, among plants you mean? Like the parasite with beautifully colored flowers hanging on that window?"

"Well, not so low in the organic world as that," laughing heartily. "I don't mean a plant; I mean----"

"Oh, I get your point. You mean among birds like the gayly colored rooster of that man who is now hawking in that store, don't you?"

"Exactly, upon my wish, you have slipped from your tongue what I was precisely going to say."

"And I think you know why the birds, most especially the males, do have such bright colors."

"Why, yes; I suppose those smart young men have the same view in mind as that of the male birds, and meditate and dream that it is 'not proper at all for a man to be alone,' as, thinking of Priscilla, Miles Standish would say."

"Possibly, possibly," laughing. Islao did not understand the allusion, but he let it pass.

"Now be careful; don't speak loud," whispered Busyong.

Presently the two friends who were the object of Busyong and Islao's rather severe remarks shuffled towards Busyong and Islao, stopping near the telegraph post beside them. The two chums were going to separate when one of them, the cross-eyed, jabbered, "Oh, you _teni espijo_, ah? _Porque? You ajos malo, eh?_"

A sudden insuppressible peal of laughter was heard from Busyong and Islao, who soon tried to act as if they did not hear the blunder.

"_Cosa ajos?_ Am no cook as you," said the other grinning over his glasses a little more easily than the first one.

"_Cosa esti?_" asked the cross-eyed one, pointing to his eyes with his dirty-nailed finger.

"T'at is call 'esquinting eyes.'"

"Ah, yes. _Porque got espijo_ you, esquinting ais?"

"Oh, you don' know its value; t'at is to add weight," erecting his body and raising his low chest, but forgetting that the other had called him cross-eyed.

Their gabble would have lasted longer if it were not for two ladies who passed between them. Balatong, as the young man who wore spectacles was called, started to mince along the busy street, scowling at Busyong and at Islao, who were suppressing their laughter as best they could, as he strutted before them. In a few moments Busyong and Islao began also to move about, and soon kept pace with two bald-headed men who happened to be walking the street in the same direction as theirs. Presently, one of the old men observed Balatong, who was peering at and caressing with a handkerchief one of his tapped shoes which had been stepped upon by a "brat," to use his own expression, as he had struggled along, distorting carefully his body to force a way through an idle crowd. Then in a sarcastic but indignant manner and forgetting what his companion was speaking about, the man said, "Oh, look at that Enigo. See how the lower edge of his long cloak flaps like a sail battered by the wind!"

"No," said the other old man, "that is not a cloak, but a plain coat."

"Well, I thought it was a cloak like those used by the people in the neighboring continent in time of cold weather. That's the reason why I said he was Enigo, for he uses a cloak now when it is warm, and I suppose he would use light clothes when it is cold."

"That is the fashion they say--and the latest one, too."

"Go to, the fashion!"

Meanwhile Busyong nudged Islao and whispered close to his ear, "Did you hear what these old men were talking about?"

Islao nodded, smiling.

Then the two old men climbed into a vehicle very much like a _carretela_, and drove away. Busyong and Islao went into a saloon of fresh drinks and asked for a refreshment similar to milkshake.

"The owner of this saloon is a woman, according to the signboard at the door," remarked Busyong.

"Yes," said Islao, smiling; "I am sorry to say."

In the meantime Balatong stopped in front of a dry goods store on the opposite sidewalk and began to ruminate on his image as reflected in the glass of a counter, and at times twitched his scrawny body. Busyong and Islao were observing him. After a while a clerk of the store opened the door of the counter and turned a button on the back of a puppet, which hereto had been unnoticed by Balatong. Soon the dainty hands of the puppet, which were raised in front of its small breast, began to move back and forth, especially the delicate fingers, as if the whole figure had come to life. Balatong looked at the doll rather pleased at first. But when he noticed the remarkable similarity of all the clothes of the puppet with his own clothes, he began to be aroused and to feel offended, insomuch that he could not help going into the store to complain. He approached the man who had made the hands of the puppet move and called him to come outside. The man, who thought that he was going to show something on the counter which he wished to buy, followed him obediently. They stuttered in their native tongue, which ran thus in English:

"I think that that puppet is intended to offend me, because it is dressed exactly in the same way as I am; that is, with the same clothes, necktie, and hat, which I bought from this very store some time ago. However, you have willfully--made--the--pup--pup--pup--pet--move its hands in such a way as that--pointing to himself and then to me--that is as much as to say I am a puppet," said Balatong, who began to be angry with the man, who was laughing candidly.

The man went back into the store, shrugging his square shoulders and paying no attention to the complaint of Balatong. Balatong insisted, squalling at the door in an aggressive attitude, "Aren't you goin' to take 'way the puppet from t'at counter?"

"_E ko visa_," muttered the clerk in his native dialect as he was dusting the chairs in the store.

Presently Busyong and Islao, who all this while had been mute spectators of the fray, came out of the saloon with a view to settle the dispute peacefully and justly, for, after all, they pitied Balatong, who, they thought, had got now into an inextricable strait. Islao, who could speak a little the peculiar dialect of the clerk, addressed the clerk confidentially in his own tongue, asking him what was the matter. The man answered in the same language which Busyong understood thus: "Why, this friend orders me to remove the puppet from that counter; for he says that he is not pleased with it."

"Well, well, is that the whole cause of this fuss?" asked Busyong, smiling.

Meanwhile Balatong was setting forth to Islao earnestly all his complaint with many, many studied complicated movements of both hands and body. Islao waited for him to finish stuttering, for he wanted to talk with him. Then, suspecting from the tone of his voice a smack of Kamkangan blood in Balatong, Islao thought it best to feign comradeship for the sake of persuading him to behave in a more manly way. So, when Balatong had finished jabbering, Islao addressed him in the most friendly manner, saying laconically, "_Abe, e ka makisankut ketang é mo balú._[2]"

Upon hearing these words, which he at first pretended not to have understood, Balatong suddenly became excited and perplexed. He gnashed his widely separated teeth, clenched his fists, and looked up into Islao's face with fiery eyes, saying, "Why d'you insult an' curse me? If I ha-have done wron', show me how; an' if not, _qua de causa_?"

Busyong and Islao smiled pityingly and ironically instead of being offended. On the other hand, bursting into a peal of laughter, the juvenile clerk said jocosely in a sort of Kamkanga dialect the following: "Aroo, our _abe_ is an evangelical man--fine!--nay, he is a priest. How was it?--_qua re cosa_--ha, ha, ha."

Balatong became the more angry with the clerk inasmuch as he saw that the clerk was poking fun at him.

"I don' want to be the laughing stock of anybody," said Balatong indignantly.

"Don't be touchy, _abe_," said the clerk in his own dialect.

All of a sudden the exasperated Balatong seized a big stone from the street and dashed it against the glass of the counter, which broke into a thousand pieces. The people of the store and some passers-by were alarmed at the violent action of Balatong. Presently a robust old man came hurriedly shuffling with his wooden shoes towards Balatong, and would have strangled him were it not for the opportune presence of a fat man who was one of the idle crowd that had been gathering at the door of the shop.

The fat man, who was carrying under his arm two large scissors in a folded white coat, interposed himself between the aggressor and Balatong, saying in dialect, "For the sake of our beloved country! Don't behave that way, fellow patriot! Don't, especially with one of the same skin as yours and in whose veins runs the same pure blood as that of yours. For the noblest ideal of our _Talukap_[3] party, countrymen, bethink yourselves!"

"Surely," replied the old man, whose anger was appeased by the slushy encomium of the intruder. "But this fellow here does not seem to be like a true native of this country, for look at what he has done with that counter, simply because he says he isn't pleased with that puppet there."

"Well, well," said in a friendly manner the intruder as he faced Balatong, "why do you behave that way?"

"Sherup! don' interfere with me; you had better mind only your incisors," retorted Balatong, imitating with his bony fingers the movement of the scissors he meant.

Busyong and Islao suddenly burst into prolonged laughter, while the rest remained silent drivelling with wide-opened mouths as they beheld the two men laughing heartily.

"Do you see! This friend is angry with me according to the tone of his voice. What did he say?" asked the fat man turning towards Busyong and Islao.

Islao nudged Busyong to get him to come out of the store.

"Come, come, let us go home, lest we hurt with our laughing their susceptible feelings, especially of that young dandy--pardon me, I mean doctor," said Islao aside to Busyong when they reached the corner of a street and turned to the left.

"O Momus, son of Mox!" exclaimed Busyong smiling after a short time, "how jocund indeed must you be with the people here!"

"Surely, he must be," said Islao.

"By the way, I remember that the tailor--that is, the fat man--seemed to boast a political party."

"Oh, yes!"

"What is that party?"

"It is called the National Talukap Party. You know, this country is a democracy in name, but an oligarchy in fact, as the people here say, for the government is in the hands of only a very few of the native countrymen; most of the power is in foreign hands. So the _Talukap_ party aims to reverse the condition of things; nay, to have the control of the government wholly in the hands of the people of this country. I am warmly in favor of this policy. But what I do find objectionable in this Talukap party is their affectation and tautology, and their pretension and empty show in their outward conduct. For my part, I believe in doing things silently but effectively. On the other hand, I am not in favor of the other party, which is called the National Kinagisnan Party, whose policy is to be contented slavishly with the present condition of things or with whatever condition for the time being. The people who belong to this Kinagisnan party are very few in comparison with those that belong to the Talukap party. Being in very close contact with the sovereign, the Kinagisnan people are very apt to become flatterers."

"Moreover, the ideal of your Talukap party, I think, becomes less feasible, if not impossible, when you consider these dandies like those two chums over there who are clasping one another by the waist. Indeed, they live in a very peculiar world by themselves."

"And with Momus, I suppose, as their Supreme Being."

"Ha, yes, I should think so, too. But after all they are not to be blamed. Everything goes step by step. Even my native country in the planet Earth has had the same defects practically as these people here. Now I am glad that there in my native land the people, especially the young men, have reached, by education and the bitter lesson of experience, of course, a stage where their old views of the world have become greatly changed, most especially in this respect: now they hate affectation under any form whatever, whether in dress, manners, knowledge or in deeds."

"Why, that is a condition to be envied greatly."

By this time the two friends, Busyong and Islao, were standing in front of the farmer's house. The old man and his wife were awaiting them in order that all might dine together. The rest of the day glided by pleasantly.

Next morning Busyong decided to return to the planet Earth, although the old farmer and his son tried to delay him longer in Jupiter. He promised to come back to them. While in his large balloon, and recollecting vividly all the things he had observed in the country he was leaving, Busyong let his mind run upon the following ancient lines:

"Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest!"

Just then he remembered with a start that when he had begun to crank his balloon he had taken out his sound assorters and laid them on the edge of the car. He had wanted to hear the familiar noise without distribution in order to feel that all was safe. And now when he looked for those precious assorters he could not find them. They must have fallen overboard. And worst of all, he had neglected to get the whole explanation from the Jupiterite.

--Manuel Candido.

III. Tale of Scientific Discovery and Mechanical Invention

[Beginning in imaginary voyages]

Tales of scientific discovery and mechanical invention appeal to us as being extremely modern. Yet the essential elements had a beginning at least two centuries and a half ago. The quality of the marvelous is easy enough to trace; and the logicalness hardly less so. We find both in the imaginary voyages. De Bergerac discovers that he can lift himself from the earth by the expansion of phials of dew affixed to his person, and from this experiment he goes on to invent an elastic machine which bears him to the moon. Klim, too, arrives at his wonderful adventures by a scientific beginning: he sets out to explore a rocky orifice in the Weathercock Mountain, and causes himself to be let down by a rope. The rope snaps, and he is precipitated into an intra-terrestrial astral system, where he begins immediately to revolve around a planet Azar, his biscuits which he had attempted to throw away performing meanwhile an orbit around his own body. He alights, of course, finally by accident, and goes on with his governmental experiences.

[Difference one of emphasis]

These learned elements in the imaginary voyages point definitely to our modern stories. The difference lies in the emphasis: our modern stories are severely and consistently logical, and interest centers in the machine or the scientific theory. The reader does not ask to go on long journeys to see chimeras, but he asks to see ultra-logical man. He does not encourage the author in being satiric; he wants him to be inventive, to be more ingenious than the race has been. The reader wants the author to show him what man would be if he were consistently progressive and wise, what he would come to if he worked day and night at his science and applied what he learned,--indeed, what he already knows. For it is an open secret in the scientific world that there is hardly a wonderful modern machine that is not an almost foolishly simple application of a well-known law. Take our marvelous future trains, for instance, that are to run on one rail and be as wide and commodious as houses--they are but to follow a principle that every school-boy sees in operation when he spins a top. I dare say, if some person would only write a story telling us where to affix the wheel and the balance, we might convert our present houses into private Pullmans, as it were, that could at any time transport us, family and all, with everyone of our personal and familiar conveniences intact therein, to any spot we chose, the only extra expense to us for each trip being a slight rent for wheel space for the time that we were running over the single-rail track that led thitherward.

[Essential elements]

Shading off from the imaginary voyage type, therefore, is this modern one which I have designated by the somewhat long title, tales of scientific discovery and mechanical invention. By this title I mean to distinguish stories in which the occurrences, though startling, are perfectly logical in sequence, granted the premise--extraordinary, but not improbable under the conditions set forth. The words discovery and mechanical express the fact that the sustaining structure of a story such as these is often some invention superimposed upon modern science. In the use of electricity, for instance, the characters in the narrative go one step further than Mr. Edison; in the construction and operation of the flying-machine, several steps further than the Wright brothers; in the discovery of elements, someone finds something more useful and of greater power than radium; or, after long experimenting, he mixes a paint so black or so white that the object beneath it becomes invisible; and so on and so on--but all plausible, all with precise truth-likeness.

[Stories of this type]

Many of our present-day magazine stories are of this type. Of the earlier modern, the "Diamond Lens" by Fitz-James O'Brien is interesting. "The Spider's Eye" is still sometimes read. "The Life Magnet" is well known. A burlesque verse tale of mechanical invention is "The Wonderful One Hoss Shay" by Oliver Wendell Holmes. The prince of all ingenious story-tellers, however, is Frank R. Stockton.

To construct a narrative of this class, you must of course first get your underlying theory. Experiments in the chemical and physical laboratory will afford many a starting point. They will at least suggest the realm in which to proceed. Astronomy, meteorology, geology, mechanics, mineralogy, geometry, optics, domestic science even,--select a simple problem in any of these and begin to imagine.

[Suggestions on how to write the type]

After you have the starting point, it is a good idea to fix your goal. Where should you like to go, what should you like to do, what powers should you like to have above those of your fellows? Do you wish to overcome the restrictions of distance, absence, darkness, death, birth, poverty, the past, the future, the present?

With these points of your theory settled, you must then look to the course of events. Shall the incidents befall you while discovering or while applying the scientific fact, while constructing or while working your machine? Shall you be looking forward or shall you be looking back upon the events? Next you must find the point of greatest stress. The climax of a story with the first alternative will evidently be reached at the culmination of the inventor's labors; with the second alternative, at the most exciting adventure in the use of the machine or in the direct application of the scientific fact.

The logical close of the story is in both cases the disappearance of the machine or the scientist; but you will be repaid by thinking carefully over this matter and being here as elsewhere as ingenious and original as you can.

Your deductions must appear to be sound. Of course, your reasoning may have to be largely specious and in the gross, as it were, unless you are a better inventor than the inventors. But you have this advantage over the practical man: you can avoid the greater difficulties by keeping silent about them; and for actual achievement you can substitute assertion. You must seem on the surface, however, to be perfectly logical. The reader will not question you too closely, if you are only spirited and entertaining. But the next is a point that you must note without fail.

If the reader's interest in any particular part of your narrative will depend upon an understanding of a bit of mechanism or a scientific theory, you must be careful to supply the information beforehand. However trite to a mechanic or a scientist the principle may be, you must not assume that the casual reader knows it. He probably does not know it, or if he does, more than likely he has forgotten it. On the other hand, you must not appear to be self-assertively instructing him. What you can do is this: you can politely seem to be recalling something to his memory, and can thus make the point clear, so that your future use of it will not fall flat.

To add a semblance of reality, it will be permissible to employ a few technical terms; but these also must be indisputably clear in meaning, and their use must not be pedantic. You should study, however, to put into the mouths of your characters the vocabulary that would be actually used by the kind of people you represent.

Genial humor is a fine asset to a writer of this type of narrative. If you can be artistically serious and philosophically gay at the same time you will not fail to please. The relationship of stories of scientific discovery and mechanical invention to imaginary voyages is testified to by the reader's expectation of a display of wit. But in the scientific, ridicule is softened down to genial logic. Although the aim in this kind of narrative is good construction rather than character-sketching, yet every neat touch of portraiture that you can add will help draw your composition away from the mere exercise and toward the literary production.

If you should choose your theory in the realm of art, you would by that very choice raise your story above the ordinary--I mean to say, of course, you would if you knew anything about art. Mr. Alexander Wilson Drake knows a great deal about art and has given us, besides many other beautiful surprises in _Saint Nicholas_ and the _Century_, some narratives embodying exquisite theories of shadow and color.

=The Curious Vehicle=

Reprinted by permission of the Century Company.

It was midnight in early December. A dense silver mist hid the sleeping city, the street-lamps gave a faint yellow glimmer through the almost impenetrable gloom, the air was like the cold breath from the dying, the fog hanging in great drops on my clothing. Stray policemen had taken refuge in sheltering doorways, and my own footsteps echoed with unfamiliar and uncanny sound down the long street--the only sound that broke the midnight stillness, save the hoarse whistles of wandering and belated ferryboats on the distant river.

As I emerged from a narrow street into the main thoroughfare, my shivering attention was attracted to a curious covered vehicle standing in the bright glare of an electric light. It was neither carriage nor wagon, but an odd, strongly made affair, painted olive green, with square windows in the sides, reaching from just above the middle of the roof, and a smaller window in the back near the top. On each side of the middle window were two panels of glass. From the middle window only a dim light shone, like the subdued light from a nurse's lamp. On the seat in front, underneath a projecting hood, sat a little old black man wrapped in a buffalo-robe and a great fur coat partly covered with a rubber cape or mackintosh, and with a fur cap pulled down over his ears. The horse was heavily blanketed, and also well protected with rubber covers. Both man and beast waited with unquestioning patience. Both seemed lost in reverie or sleep.

With chattering teeth I stood, wondering what could be going on in that queer box-like wagon at that time of night. The silence was oppressive. There stood the dimly lighted wagon; there stood the horse; there sat the negro--and I the only observer of this queer vehicle.

I stepped cautiously to the side of the wagon, and listened. Not a sound from within. Shivering and benumbed, I, too, like the policemen, took refuge in a doorway, and waited and watched for some sound or sign from that mysterious interior. I was too fond of adventure to give it up. It seemed to me that hours passed and I stood unrewarded. Just as I was reluctantly leaving, much chagrined to find that I had waited in vain, I saw, thrown against the window for a few moments only, a curious enlarged shadow of a man's head. It seemed to wear a kind of tam-o'-shanter, below which was a shade or visor sticking out beyond the man's face like the gigantic beak of a bird. A mass of wavy hair and beard showed underneath the cap. Suddenly the shadow disappeared, much to my disappointment, and although I watched in the fog and dampness for half an hour longer, it did not again appear.

I wandered home, puzzled and speculating, but determined that I would wait until morning if I were ever fortunate enough to come across the vehicle again. Weeks passed before the opportunity occurred, and even then, had it not been for a very singular incident, I doubt if I should ever have fathomed the mystery of the curious vehicle.

It was Christmas eve, the night bitterly cold. I had clothed myself in my thickest ulster. My feet were incased in arctics, my hands in warm fur gloves, and with rough Scotch cap I felt sure I could brave the coldest night. Thus equipped, I started out, and when I returned at midnight in the beginning of a whirling, almost blinding snowstorm, the Christmas chimes were ringing, and the whole air seemed filled with Christmas cheer.

Turning a corner, I discovered the vehicle in the same place and position. This time, as I had before resolved, I would wait until morning if necessary. So I began pacing up and down the sidewalk in front of the vehicle, taking strolls of five or ten minutes apart, and then returning. I walked until I was almost exhausted. In spite of my heavy ulster I began to feel chilly, so I again took refuge in the doorway of a building opposite.

Should I give it up, I asked myself, after waiting so long? I stood debating the question. No, I would wait a little longer; so, puffing my pipe, I shivered, and watched for developments. At last I was about determined that I must go or perish, when suddenly I saw through the blinding snow the shadow of a pair of hands appear at the dimly lighted window, adjusting a frame or inner sash. You can imagine my interest in the proceedings.

Just at this moment a street sparrow, numb with the cold, and crowded from a window-blind by its companions, dropped, half falling, half flying, to the sidewalk directly in front of the window of the vehicle. It sat blinking in the bright rays of the electric light, quite bewildered, turning its little head first one way, then the other. In the meantime the shadows of the two hands were still visible. The sparrow, probably attracted by the light and the movement of the hands, suddenly flew up, not striking the glass, but hovering with a quick motion of the wings directly in front of the window, its magnified shadow thrown on it by the rays of the electric light. Then the bird dropped to the ground. The occupant was evidently much startled by the large shadow coming so suddenly and at such a time of night. The shadow of his hands quickly disappeared, and so did the frame. In another moment the door of the vehicle opened, giving me a glimpse of a cozy and remarkable interior. It seemed, in contrast with the cold and storm without, filled with warmth and sunshine. It was like a pictorial little room rather than the inside of a wagon or carriage. The occupant looked out in a surprised, excited, and questioning way, as much as to say, "What could that have been?" His whole manner implied that he had been disturbed.

This was my opportunity, and, seizing it instantly, I walked boldly to the door of the vehicle, and said, "It was a little sparrow benumbed with the cold, that fluttered down to the sidewalk, where it lay for a moment, until, probably attracted by the light, it hovered for a few seconds before your window, then fell to the ground again."

I felt the man eying me intently, studying me with a most searching glance. Was he in doubt as to my sincerity? Was it a hidden bond of sympathy between us that made him suddenly relent and invite me to enter his vehicle? What else could have prompted him? For my own part, I instinctively felt for the man, without knowing why, a deep pity.

"Please step inside," he said; "it is cold."

And so, at last, I was really admitted, invited into the little interior--that little interior which had piqued my curiosity for so long a time. Yes, I was admitted at last, and now had a chance to look about, and to study the general appearance of the occupant as he moved over for me to sit beside him on the roomy, luxurious seat. What a curious personality! He was a tall, raw-boned man of strong character. His soft, gray beard and hair made a marked contrast to the dark surroundings. Now I understood the shadow which I had seen thrown on the window for a few seconds. He wore a tam-o'-shanter cap, and beneath it, to protect his eyes from the lamp-light, a large visor, or shade, which threw his entire face into deep shadow, giving him the look of a painting by an old master. He had on a loose coat of some rough material.

Surely the interior of no conveyance could be more interesting than this. In the front, just back of the driver, were two square windows with sliding wooden shutters, and between the two was a little square mirror. Above these was a rod, from which hung a dark-green cloth curtain which could be drawn at will. Underneath was a chest, or cabinet, of shallow drawers filling the entire width of the carriage, with small brass rings by which to pull them out. On top of this cabinet stood several clear glass jars half filled with pure water. There were two or three oil-lamps with large shades hung in brackets with sockets like steamer-lamps, only one of which was lighted. Underneath the seat was a locker. On the floor of the conveyance, along its four sides, were oblong bars of iron, and in the center was a warm fur rug. One side only of the carriage opened. On the side opposite the door was a rack reaching from the window to the floor, in which stood six or eight light but strongly made frames, over which was stretched the thinnest parchment-like paper. The top of the vehicle was tufted and padded. The prevailing color was dark green. In shape it was somewhat longer and broader than the usual carriage. There was a small revolving circular ventilator in front, over the mirror, which could be opened or closed at will, and which could also be used by the occupant for conversing with the driver.

The man arose, and, opening the ventilator, told the coachman to drive on. Meanwhile I enjoyed the wonderful effect of the little interior--its rich gloom, the strong light from the shaded lamp which was thrown over the floor, the bright electric light gleaming through the falling snow into the window on my left.

The night, being so disagreeable, made the interior seem very bright and comfortable by contrast, as the man closed the sliding wooden shutters, separating us entirely from the snowstorm without. There was an artificial warmth which I could not understand, and with it all a sense of security and coziness. The stranger's manner was both gentle and reassuring. We rode in silence over the rough pavement until we reached the smooth asphalt. Then he began:

"I do not consider myself superstitious, but somehow I don't like it--that little bird hovering in front of my window. It seems like a bad omen, and it was a shadow which startled me. My life seems haunted with shadows, and they always bring misfortune to me."

We were both silent for a time, when he went on: "How curious life is! Here am I riding with you, a total stranger, long past midnight. You are the first I have ever admitted into this wagon, with the exception of my faithful Cato, who is driving. If one could only see from the beginning how strangely one's life is to be ordered."

The stranger's voice was rich and deep. I hoped he would continue so that I might get some idea of him and his peculiar mode of life, and what was going on night after night in this interior. I waited for him to proceed.

"Have you known trouble or sorrow in your life?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied; "I have lost nearly all who were dear to me in this round world."

"Then," said he, "I will tell you my story with the hope that it will be both understood and appreciated. I loved from childhood a charming girl, sweet and pure. I need not go into the detail of all that boyish love, but in my early manhood and her early womanhood we were married--and what a sweet bride she was!

"We lived in an old white farmhouse in a village near the great city--a beautiful place, a long, low, two-story-and-attic, farmhouse, probably fifty or sixty years old. How well I can see it--its sloping roof, the extension, the quaint doorway with side-lights and with a window over the top, the front porch with graceful shaped newels, the long piazza running the entire length of the extension, great chimneys at each end, and enormous pine-trees in front of the house! The house stood on a little elevation, with terraced bank, and with a pretty fence inclosing it. Beyond was an old well with lattice-work sides and door, and a pathway trodden by the foot of former occupants, long since dead. In front of the house were circular beds of old-time flowers--sweet-williams, lady's-slippers, larkspur, and foxglove. At the rear, great banks of tiger-lilies threw their delicate blue shadows against the white surface of our little home. In one corner of our garden we had left the weeds to grow luxuriantly, like miniature forest trees, and found much pleasure in studying their beautiful forms. How fine they looked in silhouette against the sunset sky! On one side of the old-fashioned doorway were shrubs and a rose-of-Sharon tree, and on the other, honeysuckle and syringa-bushes. There were also many kinds of fruit and shade-trees.

"How happily we walked up and down the shady lanes of that little village! For us the birds sang sweetly. We took delight in our flowers and everything about us. In the evening we would enjoy the sunsets, returning home arm in arm in the afterglow, to sit in the cool of the evening on the piazza and to listen to the wind as it sighed through the pines. What music they made for us! We compared it with what poets of all ages had sung of them, and went to sleep, lulled to rest by the wind through their soft boughs."

He paused again, evidently thinking of the happy time.

"How can I tell you," he resumed, "of the life that went on in that simple old farmhouse? Our pleasant wood-fire on the hearth; a few photographs from the old masters on the walls; our favorite books of poetry and fiction, which we read together during the long winter evenings, while the pine-trees sighed outside, and all was so comfortable and cozy within; or the lovely walks in spring and summer, through the byways of the pretty little village, with its hedgerows, blackberries, and wild flowers. How we watched for the first violets, and what joy the early blossoms gave us! What pleasure we took in those delightful years, and how smoothly our lives ran on! Each day I went to the city, and was always cheered by the thought that my sweet wife would be at the station to meet me. How pure she looked in the summer evening, clad in her thin white dresses, with a silver fan and brooch, her dark hair and eyes like those of a startled fawn!

"Well, I need not dwell longer on all this. It was only for a few short years, when one cruel, cold day, about the happy Christmas-time, she was taken ill, and grew steadily worse, and all that could be done for her would not save her. She died. I can see her now--her dark hair laid back on the pillow, and the peaceful, happy smile on her face. We buried her beneath the snow, in the old graveyard overlooking the river, and I went home broken-hearted."

I heard the poor fellow sigh, and for a time he was silent as the carriage went on through the snow. "What can be the connection of this queer craft with what he is telling me?" I thought. When he resumed, he said:

"For months I tried to live on in the little house, but life became terrible. In the evenings, as I sat by the pleasant log-fire, I would imagine I heard her footsteps on the stairs, and her voice calling me. I did my best to conquer my grief, but it was of no use. The light seemed gone out of my life. At last I could stand it no longer, and I moved all my worldly possessions to another house in the same village. I could not bear to think of going away from the place entirely.

"When the springtime came again, and the lovely flowers were in bloom, and the birds were singing their sweet songs; when the wind breathed softly through the pine-trees, and she was gone, the sunsets were in vain, and all nature seemed mourning. After this I busied myself with all kinds of occupation, but without success. Life became sadder and sadder, until finally in despair I took a foreign trip. I traveled far and wide, but always with the same weary despondency and gloom. The image of my loved one was always with me. Nothing in life satisfied me. I wandered through country after country, looking at the old masters, grand churches, listening to cathedral music, but always before me was the same picture--the old, white farm-house, the great mournful pines, and with it all the memory of the sweet life now departed, for which nothing could make amends."

Then he was silent, and as we drove over the soft, snow-covered asphalt he became absorbed in thought.

"After a year or so of restless travel I drifted back to my own country and to the little village. Night after night I wandered around the empty house where we had lived, and through the little garden, and would stand at midnight listening to the sad sighing of the wind through the pine-trees, which to me sounded like a requiem for the dead. Many a moonlight night have I stood gazing into the windows, and imagined her looking out at me as in the happy days of old, and I would walk up and down the path thinking, oh, how sadly! of the times we used to return by it from our evening walks.

"Finally the little village became hateful to me. I could endure it no longer, and I shook its dust from my feet. With reluctance I moved away into the heart of the great city, but with the same longing in my heart--the same despair. I hunted up my two faithful black servants who had lived with us for several years. I bought a house in the old part of the city, and there we now live, and I am well cared for by them. Let me read you portions of a letter from her--one of the last she wrote," and he took from his pocket a little morocco book with monogram in silver script letters. He rose and asked the driver to stop, and, turning the light up, said: "This will give you some idea of the sweet life, with its love of nature, that went on in and about that little cottage. The letter was written to me when I was in another city." He read as follows:

"My dear, I can hardly tell you how lovely the shadows looked as I strolled around our little house this evening, and was filled with delight by their beautiful but evasive forms. To begin with, you remember the exquisite, almost silhouette, shadow of the rose-of-Sharon bush by the front door. I gave it a long study to-night. Its fine, decorative character reminded me of a Japanese drawing, only it is far more delicate and subtle. If this could be painted in soft gray on the door-posts and around the little side windows, how it would beautify our plain dwelling, and what a permanent reminder it would be of our delightful summer days!

"But if I spend too much time on a single shadow, I shall have no room left to tell you of the greater ones we have enjoyed together.... From the path near the gate, and looking toward the house, I saw to-night, and seemed to feel for the first time, the wonderful tenderness of the great shadow which nearly covers the end and side of our home. How mysterious our kitchen became, with its shed completely inclosed in velvety gloom, suggesting both sorrow and tragedy; while the other end of the house was covered with fantastic forms, soft and ethereal, and with a delicacy indescribable.... But when the moon came up, and the soft shadows of the pines were cast on the pure white weather-boards of our little home,--the shadows of our own pines, the pines we love so well, and through whose branches we have heard music sweet and low, soft and sad,--then I thought of you as I studied their masses tossing so gently, their movement almost imperceptible, and I longed for you as I studied their moving forms, their richness, variety, and texture--for you tell me of their artistic beauty--your delicate, poetic appreciation of their loveliness.... And at last, may the sun and moon shine brightly and cast beautiful shadows among and over the tombstones for you and for me, my dear, and may a blessed hope make the sunset of life glorious for us both."

When he had finished reading, and had asked the driver to drive on, he became absorbed and silent, and I thought, "How strange to be riding through the streets of the city after midnight in a whirling snow-storm with a stranger, in a vehicle so remarkable, listening to such a pathetic love-story, such a beautiful description of quiet domestic life." It was a charming idyl.

"You can get an idea from this," he said, "of the delightful, contented life which went on in the little cottage," and he sat holding the book in his hands as though he were living it all over again, while the bright silver script monogram gleamed and glistened on the cover until he turned down the light, and for a time we drove over the smooth asphalt in utter silence.

"Do you wonder," he suddenly asked, "that the shadow of that little bird has caused me uneasiness, and yet do you not see that almost the last letter she wrote to me was filled with omens, shadows? It is but natural that I should have some feeling about it--and yet, why should I care? I have only myself and my two old servants who could be affected by it, bad or good. For myself, my only desire is to live long enough to complete my work; then I am both ready and willing to go. I shall welcome death with delight."

I had become so absorbed in his story that I had forgotten all about my surroundings; but now as he paused I again asked myself what strange connection had this sad story, and the letter, and all that he had been telling me, with the wagon; for I was sure that in some queer way the story would help to explain it all.

"While in Europe," he went on, "I studied the old masters a great deal, particularly the halos and nimbuses surrounding the heads of the saints. I cannot begin to tell you how interesting they became to me. I was struck with the exquisite workmanship bestowed on many of them, but fine as they were, they never came up to my idea of what a halo should be. As my loved one was so pure and gentle, I always thought of her as a saint (and indeed she is such), and I would become interested and imagine what kind of halo I would surround her with if I were painting her--not one of the halos of the old masters seemed fine enough or ethereal enough for her. I had always been fond of art, and had been considered a fair amateur artist. One evening after I had moved to the city, and while riding in a cab (oh, how gloomy!) on a snowy evening something like this very night, I looked through the window at an electric light, and there I saw the loveliest halo, in miniature. Such tints! A heavenly vision! I thought of the old masters, of the beautiful Siena Madonnas, and with sudden joy I thought: Why should I not paint the image of her I love? Why should I not clothe her in Madonna-like robes, with a halo which could come only out of the nineteenth century? Why should she not have a halo far outshining and far surpassing in beauty halo ever painted by mortal man?' I rode nearly the whole night through, evidently to the despair of the driver, as I repeatedly asked him to stop opposite electric lights and street-lamps.

"From that day I had a new purpose in life. I had this wagon built just as you see it. For months I thought of it. Over and over again I drew my plans before the vehicle was actually constructed. Then I began my work. Old Cato, who is driving, sits night after night, unmindful of the cold, wrapped in his great fur coat, and he waits and I work through the midnight hours to conceive and make real the new Madonna."

What a strange, subtle connection the whole thing had, as he suddenly tapped on the small window and we stopped directly in front of an electric light! As he opened the sliding shutter I saw, through the frosted window and the feathery snow, such a vision of loveliness--a little halo that could scarcely be described in words. It was like a miniature circular rainbow, intensified and glorified by the glittering rays of the penetrating electric light.

"What could be more beautiful than that? Isn't it exquisite?" he asked. "Did ever painted saint have a halo like that?"

I held my breath, for I had never seen anything so beautiful.

"I have worked at it for a long time. I have not yet accomplished it, but I hope to. I am coming nearer to it every night in which I can work. There are not many during the winter; the conditions of atmosphere and temperature must be just right. On foggy nights, or when the air is filled with light, flying snow--these are the nights in which the little halos glow around the electric lights, street-lamps, and lights in show-windows. Oh," he said, "they fill me with a happiness and delight I cannot describe, as I try all kinds of experiments to transfix the beautiful colors of their delicate rays!

"Let me show you," he went on, and he lifted one of the frames which I have already described, covered with a thin parchment-like paper. This he carefully buttoned to a groove in the window. On the surface of the stretched parchment the little halo glowed with its prismatic tints, and again I held my breath at the beauty of it. I, too, was becoming a halo-worshiper. Then he lifted from the rack on the side, and held up to the light, first one and then another of the frames, on the parchment surface of which he had actually traced lines of color, against the gloom beyond, radiating lines crossing and re-crossing, glowing with rainbow tints seen through and against the window.

"Do you know anything of Frankenstein's wonderful Magic Reciprocals, sometimes called Harmonic Responses?"[4] he asked. "How I longed for his marvelous power, so that I might experiment with them. But they were far beyond my skill, and also, perhaps, too scientific and geometric for my purpose; and so I was forced to discard them and begin afresh in my own way. I have had reasonable success, although I have not yet reached the purity of color nor the brilliancy that I wish. I do not know that mortal man ever can. I have tried all sorts of experiments--lines of silver crossed with lines of gold; prismatic threads of silk; and now I have abandoned them all, and am beginning again, perhaps for the fortieth time. But if I am only able to do it, nothing can give me greater happiness. I can close my eyes in peace at last."

After he had shown me his experiments, he removed the little frame from the window, closed the sliding shutter on the side, and, turning the circular ventilator, asked the driver to drive on.

"Now for an extended view," he said, and he opened the shutter of one of the front windows, and then of the other on each side of the mirror. What a vista of loveliness! A long perspective of glowing halos, vanishing down the street through the flying snow, until they were mere specks of light in the distance. The whole atmosphere was filled with circular rainbows, and again he dwelt on their beauty. They glowed with ultramarine, with delicate green, with gold and silver, and like light from burnished copper, and our little vehicle seemed a moving palace of delight as we drove on through the blinding storm. Turning into one of the narrower streets, away from the electric lights, we saw the long line of receding gas-lamps, each with its softly subdued nimbus, and he said in a low and gentle voice, almost a whisper, "The street of halos."

When he had closed the shutters again he said, "Let me show you my cabinet of colors and working tools." He pulled out a shallow drawer, and there, on small porcelain plaques (the kind used by water-color painters), side by side, in regular order, was every shade of red, from the faintest pink to the deepest crimson. He opened the next drawer, and instead of the red was an arrangement of blues, from delicate turquoise to deepest ultramarine. In the third drawer was an arrangement of yellows, running from Naples to deepest cadmium.

"I deal in primary colors," he said, "for what would you paint rainbows in but red, blue, and yellow?"

Then he opened the fourth drawer, and there, laid with precision, were long-handled brushes from the finest sable (mere pin-points) up to thick ones as large as one's finger. There were flat ones and round ones, short ones and long ones. As he opened the fifth drawer, "For odds and ends," he said. This was a little deeper than the others, and in it were sponges fine and coarse, erasers, scrapers, and boxes of drawing-tacks of various sizes. In the last drawer were soft white rags and sheets of blotting-paper of assorted sizes.

After he had shown me the contents of the cabinet he said, "I have been quite disturbed by the shadow of that little bird. Will you join me in a glass of old sherry?" He opened the locker underneath the seat, and brought out an odd-shaped bottle, which he unscrewed, handing me a small, thistle-shaped glass and a tin box containing crackers.

"It is a bad night," he said, "a very bad night. I feel it, even with the warmth of this interior. Those long bars of iron are filled with hot water, which usually keeps me very warm."

Then he passed through the ventilator, to the driver, some crackers and sherry. After he had closed it, and put away the bottle, box, and glasses, we both mused a long time, the halo-painter completely lost in reverie, and I thinking of the undying love of such a man--a man who could love but one, and for whom no other eyes or voice could ever mean so much. With him love was an all-absorbing passion. He had given his heart without reserve, and for him no other love could ever bloom again. I thought of him sitting, night after night, in his solitary vehicle working at the halo--a new halo which should surround the head of her he loved. I thought of him in the lonely early morning hours, working at a nimbus which was far to outshine in beauty and delicacy any painted or dreamed of by God-fearing saint-painters of old.

He opened the shutters, and the light from the lamp began to grow dimmer as the early morning light shone faintly through the windows. I noticed the deep furrows of care and sorrow which marked his strong, pathetic face, purified by suffering and lighted by divine hope--the face of one who lived in another world, and for whom all of life was centered in his ideal--one who was in the world, but not of it.

As he bade me good-by, his face beamed in the early Christmas morning light with indescribable tenderness; and as the little wagon with its faithful old black driver disappeared through the snow, I thought again and again of the beautiful, touching love of the man who would sit night after night trying to realize his dream of beauty, to clothe in the garb of a saint the form of her he loved.

--Alexander W. Drake.

=The Spyglass of the Past=

It is possible for a man to have two hobbies. Dr. Aukirt demonstrated the fact. No one would have thought that the quiet man, who was so often poring over the Egyptian cases at the British Museum, was an optician; but then the truth is apt to be unsuspected. He used to say that it was all a mistake--that he was an explorer pure and simple, but that he explored the past and the heavens instead of the forest and rivers. At any rate, an archeologist he was, and a noted one too, or the British government would not have put him at the head of the expedition to excavate the ruins of Karnac, that greatest of all temples.

The men had gone to their camp as usual, but Dr. Aukirt remained behind. During the day an interesting inscription had been uncovered, and the moon shone in among the pillars of Karnac before the explorer thought of leaving the scene of the day's work. As he turned to go, he noticed a slight movement at his feet, and stopped. A tiny stream of sand was sliding slowly into a crevice between two stones in the pavement, and was disappearing beneath him. He seized a pick and at length was able to dislodge the block. A flight of steps led down into the darkness. He soon stood at the foot of the stairway with the wealth of his discovery about him. The light from his pocket lamp was reflected from the thousands of silver points in the ceiling of _lapis lazuli_ and from the porphyry pillars with their exquisite capitals of lotus leaves. Under a frieze of small windows was a divan with the imprint of a head so plainly visible in the draperies that it seemed as though the sleeper must have but just arisen, but the fabric crumbled to dust under the Doctor's hand.

At the other side of the room was a table, evidently a student's desk, with a litter of writing materials and curious instruments. Across an unfinished papyrus lay a brass tube with a lens at each end. Dr. Aukirt picked up the strange telescope and instinctively applied it to his eye, although he was convinced that he should be unable to see anything, for the body of the glass was a double curve, like a much elongated S. But as he pointed the lens toward the divan, a priestly figure seemed to be sleeping there, and this room brightened, light streamed in through the windows which had been hidden by the sand of hundreds of years. The Doctor looked up; everything was dusty and deserted.

When he reached the open air again, he saw that the sun was rising away at the rim of the desert; and once more he looked through the new-found spy-glass. The surface of the Nile that had been so peaceful a moment ago, was aswarm with boats. Figures of dusky slaves with sad Hebraic features passed and repassed with their burdens. He turned to the ruin which he had just left, and beheld a stately temple with the sunbeams flashing from its carved and polished façade.

The puzzled and astonished archeologist went to his tent with his treasures, the papyrus and the glass, and for weeks he studied them that he might learn to use the instrument. Sometimes it seemed to him as though his search were to be rewarded, but the truth constantly eluded him, although by a smaller and smaller margin, or so he was pleased to think. One day he brought his glass once more to the banks of the Nile near Karnac. Victory seemed very near just now. Carefully he opened the instrument to its full extent--and saw a savage people warring with each other on the peaceful river bank. Then came a stronger tribe, and then a stronger still, until at length he saw the mighty procession of the Pharaoh coming to inspect the temple of Karnac. He saw the rise and fall of nations: the slow march of the ages passed before his vision like the gliding of a dream. The Egyptian had written truth: "I have made an instrument which will gather up the scattered and tangled images of the past, and focus them upon the present."

Appalled at the magnitude of his discovery, Dr. Aukirt stood in silence, and then the thought came, "Victory is not complete, the instrument can be so adjusted as to presage the future." He made what seemed to him the necessary changes; but when he attempted to look through his glass again, there was no light; the lens was broken.

--Hazel Adelle Orcutt.

=Up a Water-Spout=

I was a poor, hard-working sailor on a fishing smack plying between Nantucket Island and Cape Cod. My parents before me had been of scanty means, living from hand to mouth, and I was compelled early in life to provide for myself. Naturally, I had little education; that is, education from books; but if traveling possesses half the advantages attributed to it in that line, I own I must be the best educated man--I say this with all modesty--on this small globe of ours.

Once a year the captains of the several boats with their respective crews made a more extended trip down the coast for pickerel. This year with the usual company of fishing-craft we sailed southward toward the Bahamas.

Favorable winds hastened our journey until at a point just off Cape Fear we ran into a dead calm. For four days we never moved. The heat was scorching. The boards warped and cracked, and not even a flapping sail indicated the slightest disturbance in the air. All the boats had dropped anchor within hailing distance of each other, so with the aid of the dories to carry us around from one ship to another we passed the time quite agreeably.

On the fifth morning, however, a thick rim of cloud covered the western horizon and seemed to be moving rapidly toward us. Almost in the center of this cloud projected a small point of mist. It grew and widened, then shrank back to half its size, finally running down a long, slender finger until it reached the water. Instantly foam and spray began to rise, and we knew that we were in the path of a water-spout. All anchors had been hoisted and the captains were giving hoarse orders to put on every inch of sail. But there seemed to be an upper current that was carrying that water-spout right among us; yet we were still becalmed and helpless.

As it approached it grew in circumference into a huge column of water, foaming and swirling in a horrible manner. Every man rushed for the cabin. We tightly closed the doors and windows. Then--we waited. The boat gave a sharp twist as we entered the whirling pool, and a great wave passed over us.

Silently we sat there expecting the boat to be swamped and broken into bits. But this is far from what really took place; for after the first shock, we felt the boat to be rising. Trembling and cautious we peeped out of the window. All the other boats were circling around in the air near us, and were rising too. We seemed to be surrounded by a hollow cylinder of water, also rising like ourselves. It seemed impossible, and yet we were forced to recognize the fact that we were inside the water-spout, and the suction that was drawing up the water, had picked our vessel up bodily and was carrying us--where? Where, indeed? Miles we went. Finally we left behind the column of water which had been growing thinner and thinner, and we passed swiftly through clouds and mists. Gradually these cleared away and the earth came into view. For three months our journey lasted. We wandered here and there over the earth wherever currents bore us. Luckily, we had an extraordinarily large supply of provisions on board.

One day we saw a dim speck in the distance and the watch involuntarily cried out, "A sail." We laughed, but sure enough, within a few hours, another boat wheeled up along side. We had no way of stopping, so our communication was short. It was found out that they had met the same fate as we, and had, like us, probably been reported at home as lost at sea. They said that if by any chance we should return to earth, we should tell their friends that they were quite happy, only, were weary of such constant travel, but must continue it, they supposed, unless sometime in their course they might come upon another water-spout to afford them a passage to earth again. And I might add here, if we had not been thus fortunate, we should still be journeying monotonously through the heavens.

But the circumstance of all our trip that I felt would interest you most, is the fact that we saw and talked with Captain Anson. You remember Captain Anson, the man who set out in an airship to find the South Pole? Well, he has found it. He declares that it is a veritable Eden to which man can gain admittance only by passing through a water-spout, and it seems that his machine was thus transported, being caught in a spout while crossing an inland lake. Also he wished us to tell the people at home not to expect his return, for, he declares, he is supremely happy and has found a place far superior in climate and beauty to anything yet discovered on the earth. There, he asserts further, and we know this to be true for we beheld it ourselves, the problem of supplying energy is not a problem at all; for as a result of the magnetic force, so strong everywhere there, perpetual motion machines are used entirely for mechanical purposes. And I might add here that it was only through this magnetic attraction for the bolts in our ship that we were able to stop at all. But here we hovered for several days until a particularly strong current seized the boat and carried us on. We sped from ocean to ocean, time and time again until we, too, were almost in despair, of ever seeing the earth again, except by a bird's-eye view.

But one cloudy day, as we were shipping quietly through the mist, we all experienced a sensation of falling. The mist began to grow thicker, and we were again surrounded by curved walls of rising water. We were filled with a sense of familiarity, for we recognized our water-spout. Having reached the bottom, with one short dive we were through that wall of water, and were sailing swiftly across the Atlantic in an opposite direction from the water-spout, which was fast disappearing over the horizon. We looked at it with regret; for we realized that probably never again should we have the opportunity of another such trip, unless perhaps sometime in our future journeyings we should come upon its like.

If fortune should never so favor us, then the way to that delightful land of the South Pole would be closed forever.

But if any of you feel inclined to travel, and see the world in a large perspective, go to some body of water, and watch for one of these natural elevators, and if one does happen in your way, be sure that all the hatches and windows are closed, and then steer straight for the center of that swirling mass; for this is a pleasant mode of travel--slow, and doesn't jar.

--Edna Collister.

=IV. The Detective Story and Other Tales of Pure Plot=

[Detective story: Connection with stories of ingenuity]

A few detective stories could be classed with our last preceding type as well as with this. Those like F. R. Burton's suppressed prize contribution to a Western newspaper might be put under mechanical inventions; that is, all that contain, like his, a practicable theory. The report goes that Mr. Burton and a friend worked together and produced a story of bank robbers who overcame the time-lock device. So explicitly was the ingenious method written out that the editors decided not to publish it, convinced that if they spread the knowledge abroad no time-lock thereafter would be secure. "The Black Pearl" by Victorien Sardou, on the other hand, might be called a scientific-discovery detective tale. It perfectly combines the two elements--mystery and the astounding action of a nature phenomenon.

Not all detective stories, however, are so dangerous or so interesting as these. Most, rather, are amusing or merely entertaining; but we class them in the ingenious group because of the effort at pure plot. There are many crude attempts at writing detective stories, and the cheap, ten-cent-novel kind disgusts persons of taste; but the popularity of the type attests its excellence. When in the hands of such men as Edgar Allan Poe and A. Conan Doyle, it yields an artistic short-story. "The Purloined Letter" and the "Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" are worthy of their fame. "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and the "Mystery of Marie Rogêt" are not so pleasant, but are equally ingenious.

Of course, the author of the ordinary tale of this type has the advantage over the real detective, since the author first creates the mystery before solving it. His ingenuity, therefore, will lie revealed in the construction of the crime which he pretends to be unearthing and explaining. Evidently, though, his process of mind can be no different from that of the actual analyzer, who must unravel what to him is a real mystery. He, too, if he is to succeed, must re-image the whole train of events, not as points or dots, but as vivid scenes. Thus only will both workers come at small incidents that are original and ingenious and essentially pertinent. It happened that Poe, in the story of Marie Rogêt, was acting the part of a real detective, since he was reasoning upon an actual mystery, the details of which had baffled the police. In his imaginary case he reinstalled the crime as he felt it must have taken place, and, strange to say--or rather not strange to say, for Poe had the qualities of more than a paper detective--the facts, by a woman's confessions later, were found to be exactly as Poe had imagined them, even in minor details.

[Other stories of plot]

But stories that emphasize plot do not wholly lie in the detective's realm. There is the pure reasoner's great domain of fancy. "The Lady or the Tiger" illustrates the class completely, even by the whimsical ending. The man that could make up that situation could have solved it, or have carried it on interminably, as he laughingly shows you in the "Discourager of Hesitancy." His "Transferred Ghost" is another quirk, of "reasonable" fantasy. Poe's "Gold Bug" is almost pure plot and has the interesting device of the cryptogram in addition. Pushkin's "Snow Storm" is built upon a queer coincidence.

The story that emphasizes plot is primarily a narrative of a series of happenings, and only incidentally the record of character or place. The author has no interest in what kind of men perform the deeds, except that they shall be the general large types: the soldier and his friend, the lover and his rival, the magistrate and the citizen, the sovereign and his subject, the doctor and his patient, and so on. Interest centers in the question, What will they do next? not, What are they and what will they become?

[Romance]

In longer prose the story with a plot is the romance, the modern romance. In it, too, the author is concerned mainly with the course of events. Take "Ivanhoe" or "The Prisoner of Zenda," for instance, and what have you?--actors about whom there is no question of character growth. What they were at the beginning, that they are at the end--except, perhaps, Rebecca. In romance the happenings are largely adventure. As they become preposterous the narrative borders on the mere wonder type.

[A few suggestions]

To write a detective tale or other story of pure plot, you must first get your plot--as the old fisherman would say about the eel when you wish to skin it. If you can grasp one and hold it, you are an expert. The difficulty will be that you will probably find your plot a shadow, when you hoped for a good solid piece of reasoning. In the detective tale you must propound your mystery at the beginning of the narrative and then work backwards to the first step. In the other story, you must start out with the simplest and seemingly most insignificant incident and work steadily up to a fantastic or astounding climax. In the second you naïvely keep adding one to one, as it were, and get a hundred; in the first, you subtract one after one from your hundred until you get a unit.

=Thou Art the Man=

I will now play the Œdipus to the Rattleborough enigma. I will expound to you--as I alone can--the secret of the enginery that effected the Rattleborough miracle--the one, the true, the admitted, the undisputed, the indisputable miracle, which put a definite end to infidelity among the Rattleburghers and converted to the orthodox of the grandames all the carnal-minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.

This event--which I should be sorry to discuss in a tone of unsuitable levity--occurred in the summer of 18--. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy--one of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the borough--had been missing for several days under circumstances which gave rise to suspicion of foul play. Mr. Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough very early one Saturday morning, on horseback, with the avowed intention of proceeding to the city of----, about fifteen miles distant, and of returning the night of the same day. Two hours after his departure, however, his horse returned without him, and without the saddle-bags which had been strapped on his back at starting. The animal was wounded too, and covered with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to much alarm among the friends of the missing man; and when it was found, on Sunday morning, that he had not yet made his appearance, the whole borough arose _en masse_ to go and look for his body.

The foremost and most energetic in instituting this search was the bosom friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy--a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was universally called, "Charley Goodfellow," or "Old Charley Goodfellow." Now, whether it is a marvellous coincidence, or whether it was that the name itself has an imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestionable, that there never yet was any person named Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-natured, and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that looked you always straight in the face, as much as to say: "I have a clear conscience myself, am afraid of no man, and am altogether above doing a mean action." And thus all the hearty, careless, "walking gentlemen", of the stage are very certain to be called Charles.

Now, "Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had been in Rattleborough not longer than six months or thereabouts, and although nobody knew anything about him before he came to settle in the neighborhood, had experienced no difficulty in the world in making the acquaintance of all the respectable people in the borough. Not a man of them but would have taken his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as for the women, there is no saying what they would not have done to oblige him. And all this came of his having been christened Charles, and of his possessing, in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverbially the very "best letter of recommendation."

I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one of the most respectable and, undoubtedly, he was the most wealthy man in Rattleborough, while "Old Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms with him as if he had been his own brother. The two old gentlemen were next-door neighbors, and, although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited "Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal in his house, still that did not prevent the two friends from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed; for "Old Charley" never let a day pass without stepping in three or four times to see how his neighbor came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or tea, and always to dinner; and then the amount of wine that was made way with by the two cronies at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascertain. "Old Charley's" favorite beverage was _Chateau Margaux_, and it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's heart good to see the old fellow swallow it, as he did, quart after quart; so that, one day, when the wine was _in_ and the wit, as a natural consequence, somewhat _out_, he said to his crony, as he slapped him upon the back: "I tell you what it is, 'Old Charley,' you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever came across in all my born days; and, since you love to guzzle the wine at that fashion, I'll be darned if I don't have to make thee a present of a big box of the Chateau Margaux. Od rot me," (Mr. Shuttleworthy had a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went beyond "Od rot me," or "By gosh," or "By the jolly golly"). "Od rot me," says he, "if I don't send an order to town this very afternoon for a double box of the best that can be got, and I'll make ye a present of it, I will!--ye needn't say a word now--I _will_, I tell ye, and there's an end of it; so look out for it--it will come to hand some of these fine days, precisely when ye are looking for it the least!" I mention this little bit of liberty on the part of Mr. Shuttleworthy, just by way of showing you how _very_ intimate an understanding existed between the two friends.

Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it came to be fairly understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy had met with foul play, I never saw any one so profoundly affected as "Old Charley Goodfellow." When he first heard that the horse had come home without his master, and without his master's saddle-bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot, that had gone clean through and through the poor animal's chest without quite killing him--when he heard all this, he turned as pale as if the missing man had been his own dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all over as if he had had a fit of the ague.

At first he was too much overpowered with grief to be able to do anything at all, or to decide upon any plan of action; so that for a long time he endeavored to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthy's other friends from making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait a while--say for a week or two, or a month, or two--to see if something wouldn't turn up, or if Mr. Shuttleworthy wouldn't come in the natural way, and explain his reasons for sending his horse on before. I dare say you have often observed this disposition to temporize, or to procrastinate, in people who are laboring under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of mind seem to be rendered torpid, so that they have a horror of anything like action, and like nothing in the world so well as to lie quietly in bed and "nurse their grief," as the old ladies express it--that is to say, ruminate over the trouble.

The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high an opinion of the wisdom and discretion of "Old Charley," that the greater part of them felt disposed to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business "until something should turn up," as the honest old gentleman worded it; and I believe that, after all, this would have been the general determination, but for the very suspicious interference of Mr. Shuttleworthy's nephew, a young man of very dissipated habits, and otherwise of rather bad character. This nephew, whose name was Pennifeather, would listen to nothing like reason in the matter of "lying quiet," but insisted upon making immediate search for the "corpse of the murdered man." This was the expression he employed, and Mr. Goodfellow acutely remarked at the time, that it was "a _singular_ expression, to say no more." This remark of "Old Charley's" too, had great effect upon the crowd; and one of the party was heard to ask, very impressively, "how it happened that young Mr. Pennifeather was so intimately cognizant of all the circumstances connected with his wealthy uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert, distinctly and unequivocally, that his uncle _was_ 'a murdered man.'" Hereupon some little squibbling and bickering occurred among the various members of the crowd, and especially between "Old Charley" and Mr. Pennifeather--although this latter occurrence was, indeed, by no means a novelty, for little good-will had subsisted between the parties for the last three or four months; and matters had been gone so far that Mr. Pennifeather had actually knocked down his uncle's friend for some alleged excess of liberty that the latter had taken in the uncle's house, of which the nephew was an inmate. Upon this occasion "Old Charley" is said to have behaved with exemplary moderation and Christian charity. He arose from the blow, adjusted his clothes, and made no attempt at retaliation at all--merely muttered a few words about "taking summary vengeance at the first convenient opportunity,"--a natural and very justifiable ebullition of anger, which meant nothing, however; and, beyond doubt, was no sooner given vent to than forgotten.

However these matters may be (which have no reference to the point now at issue), it is quite certain that the people of Rattleborough, principally through the persuasion of Mr. Pennifeather, came at length to the determination of dispersion over the adjacent country in search of the missing Mr. Shuttleworthy. I say they came to this determination in the first instance. After it had been fully resolved that a search should be made, it was considered almost a matter of course that the seekers should disperse--that is to say, distribute themselves in parties--for the more thorough examination of the region round about. I forgot, however, by what ingenious train of reasoning it was that "Old Charley" finally convinced the assembly that this was the most injudicious plan that could be pursued. Convince them, however, he did--all except Mr. Pennifeather; and, in the end, it was arranged that a search should be instituted, carefully and very thoroughly, by the burghers _en masse_, "Old Charley" himself leading the way.

As for the matter of that, there could have been no better pioneer than "Old Charley," whom everybody knew to have the eye of a lynx; but, although he led them into all manner of out-of-the-way holes and corners, by routes that nobody had ever suspected of existing in the neighborhood, and although the search was incessantly kept up day and night for nearly a week, still no trace of Mr. Shuttleworthy could be discovered. When I say no trace, however, I must not be understood to speak literally; for trace, to some extent, there certainly was. The poor gentleman had been tracked, by his horse's shoes (which were peculiar), to a spot about three miles to the east of the borough, on the main road leading to the city. Here the track made off into a bypath through a piece of woodland--the path coming out again into the main road, and cutting off about half a mile of the regular distance. Following the shoemarks down this lane, the party came at length to a pool of stagnant water, half hidden by the brambles, to the right of the lane, and opposite this pool all vestige of the track was lost sight of. It appeared, however, that a struggle of some nature had here taken place, and it seemed as if some large and heavy body, much larger and heavier than a man, had been drawn from the bypath to the pool. This latter was carefully dragged twice, but nothing was found; and the party were upon the point of going away, in despair of coming to any result, when Providence suggested to Mr. Goodfellow the expediency of draining the water off altogether. This project was received with cheers, and many high compliments to "Old Charley" upon his sagacity and consideration. As many of the burghers had brought spades with them, supposing that they might possibly be called upon to disinter a corpse, the drain was easily and speedily effected; and no sooner was the bottom visible, than right in the middle of the mud that remained was discovered a black silk velvet waistcoat, which nearly every one present immediately recognized as the property of Mr. Pennifeather. This waistcoat was much torn and stained with blood, and there were several persons among the party who had a distinct remembrance of its having been worn by its owner on the very morning of Mr. Shuttleworthy's departure for the city; while there were others, again, ready to testify upon oath, if required, that Mr. P. did not wear the garment in question at any period during the remainder of that memorable day; nor could any one be found to say that he had seen it upon Mr. P.'s person at any period at all subsequent to Mr. Shuttleworthy's disappearance.

Matters now wore a very serious aspect for Mr. Pennifeather, and it was observed, as an indubitable confirmation of the suspicions which were excited against him, that he grew exceedingly pale, and when asked what he had to say for himself, was utterly incapable of saying a word. Hereupon, the few friends his riotous mode of living had left him deserted him at once to a man, and were even more clamorous than his ancient and avowed enemies for his instantaneous arrest. But, on the other hand, the magnanimity of Mr. Goodfellow shone forth with only the more brilliant lustre through contrast. He made a warm and intensely eloquent defense of Mr. Pennifeather, in which he alluded more than once to his own sincere forgiveness of that wild young gentleman--"the heir of the worthy Mr. Shuttleworthy"--for the insult which he (the young gentleman) had, no doubt in the heat of passion, thought proper to put upon him (Mr. Goodfellow). "He forgave him for it," he said, "from the very bottom of his heart; and for himself (Mr. Goodfellow), so far from pushing the suspicious circumstances to extremity, which he was sorry to say, really had arisen against Mr. Pennifeather, he (Mr. Goodfellow) would make every exertion in his power, would employ all the little eloquence in his possession to--to--to--soften down, as much as he could conscientiously do so, the worst features of this really exceedingly perplexing piece of business."

Mr. Goodfellow went on for some half hour longer in this strain, very much to the credit both of his head and of his heart; but your warm-hearted people are seldom opposite in their observations--they run into all sorts of blunders, _contre-temps_ and _mal-apropos-isms_, in the hot-headedness of their zeal to serve a friend--thus, often with the kindest intentions in the world, doing infinitely more to prejudice his cause than to advance it.

So, in the present instance, it turned out with all the eloquence of "Old Charley"; for, although he labored earnestly in behalf of the suspected, yet it so happened, somehow or other that every syllable he uttered of which the direct but unfitting tendency was not to exalt the speaker in the good opinion of his audience, had the effect of deepening the suspicion already attached to the individual whose cause he pled, and of arousing against him the fury of the mob.

One of the most unaccountable errors committed by the orator was his allusion to the suspected as "the heir of the worthy old gentleman, Mr. Shuttleworthy." The people had really never thought of this before? They had only remembered certain threats of disinheritance uttered a year or two previously by the uncle (who had no living relative except the nephew), and they had, therefore, always looked upon this disinheritance as a matter that was settled--so single-minded a race of beings were the Rattleburghers; but the remark of "Old Charley" brought them at once to a consideration of this point, and thus gave them to see the possibility of the threats having been nothing more than a threat. And straightway hereupon, arose the natural question of _cui bono?_--a question; that tended even more than the waistcoat to fasten the terrible crime upon the young man. And here, lest I may be misunderstood, permit me to digress for one moment merely to observe that the exceedingly brief and simple Latin phrase which I have employed, is invariably mistranslated and misconceived. "_Cui bono_" in all the crack novels and elsewhere--in those of Mrs. Gore, for example (the author of "Cecil"), a lady who quotes all tongues from the Chaldaean to Chickasaw, and is helped to her learning, "as needed," upon a systematic plan, by Mr. Beckford--in all the crack novels, I say, from those of Bulwer and Dickens to those of Turnapenny and Ainsworth, the two little Latin words _cui bono_ are rendered "to what purpose?" or (as if _quo bono_), "to what good?" Their true meaning, nevertheless, is "for whose advantage." _Cui_, to whom; _bono_, is it for a benefit. It is a purely legal phrase, and applicable precisely in cases such as we have under consideration, where probability of the doer of a deed hinges upon the probability of the benefit accruing to this individual or to that from the deed's accomplishment. Now in the present instance, the question _cui bono?_ very pointedly implicated Mr. Pennifeather. His uncle had threatened him, after making a will in his favor, with disinheritance. But the threat had not been actually kept; the original will, it appeared, had not been altered. Had it been altered, the only supposable motive for murder on the part of the suspected would have been the ordinary one of revenge; and even this would have been counteracted by the hope of reinstation into the good graces of the uncle. But the will being unaltered, while the threat to alter remained suspended over the nephew's head, there appears at once the very strongest possible inducement for the atrocity; and so concluded very sagaciously, the worthy citizens of the borough of Rattle.

Mr. Pennifeather was, accordingly, arrested upon the spot, and the crowd, after some further search, proceeded homeward, having him in custody. On the route, however, another circumstance occurred tending to confirm the suspicion entertained. Mr. Goodfellow, whose zeal led him to be always a little in advance of the party, was seen suddenly to run forward a few paces, stoop, and then apparently to pick up some small object from the grass. Having quickly examined it, he was observed too, to make a sort of attempt at concealing it in his coat pocket; but this action was noticed, as I say, and consequently prevented, when the object picked up was found to be a Spanish knife which a dozen persons at once recognized as belonging to Mr. Pennifeather. Moreover, his initials were engraved upon the handle. The blade of this knife was open and bloody.

No doubt now remained of the guilt of the nephew, and immediately upon reaching Rattleborough he was taken before a magistrate for examination.

Here matters again took a most unfavorable turn. The prisoner, being questioned as to his whereabouts on the morning of Mr. Shuttleworthy's disappearance, had absolutely the audacity to acknowledge that on that very morning he had been out with his rifle deer-stalking, in the immediate neighborhood of the pool where the bloodstained waistcoat had been discovered through the sagacity of Mr. Goodfellow.

This latter now came forward, and, with tears in his eyes, asked permission to be examined. He said that a stern sense of the duty he owed his Maker, not less than his fellow-men, would permit him no longer to remain silent. Hitherto, the sincerest affection for the young man (notwithstanding the latter's ill-treatment of himself, Mr. Goodfellow), had induced him to make every hypothesis which imagination could suggest, by way of endeavoring to account for what appeared suspicious in the circumstances that told so seriously against Mr. Pennifeather; but these circumstances were now altogether too convincing--too damning; he would hesitate no longer--he would tell all he knew, although his heart (Mr. Goodfellow's), should absolutely burst asunder in the effort. He then went on to state that on the afternoon of the day previous to Mr. Shuttleworthy's departure for the city, that worthy old gentleman had mentioned to his nephew, in his hearing (Mr. Goodfellow's), that his object in going to town on the morrow was to make a deposit of an unusually large sum of money in the "Farmers' and Merchants' Bank," and that, then and there, the said Mr. Shuttleworthy had distinctly avowed to the said nephew his irrevocable determination of rescinding the will originally made, and of cutting him off with a shilling. He (the witness) now solemnly called upon the accused to state whether what he (the witness) had just stated was or was not the truth in every substantial particular. Much to the astonishment of every one present, Mr. Pennifeather frankly admitted that it was.

The magistrate now considered it his duty to send a couple of constables to search the chamber of the accused in the house of his uncle. From this search they almost immediately returned with the well-known steel-bound, russet leather pocket-book which the old gentleman had been in the habit of carrying for years. Its valuable contents, however, had been abstracted, and the magistrate in vain endeavored to extort from the prisoner the use which had been made of them, or the place of their concealment. Indeed, he obstinately denied all knowledge of the matter. The constables also discovered, between the bed and sacking of the unhappy man, a shirt and neck-handkerchief both marked with the initials of his name, and both hideously besmeared with the blood of the victim.

At this juncture, it was announced that the horse of the murdered man had just expired in the stable from the effects of the wound he had received, and it was proposed by Mr. Goodfellow that a _post-mortem_ examination of the beast should be immediately made, with the view, if possible, of discovering the ball. This was accordingly done; and, as if to demonstrate beyond a question the guilt of the accused, Mr. Goodfellow, after considerable searching in the cavity of the chest, was enabled to detect and to pull forth a bullet of very extraordinary size which, upon trial, was found to be exactly adapted to the bore of Mr. Pennifeather's rifle, while it was far too large for that of any other person in the borough or its vicinity. To render the matter even surer yet, however, this bullet was discovered to have a flaw or seam at a right angles to the usual suture, and upon examination, this seam corresponded precisely with an accidental ridge or elevation in a pair of moulds acknowledged by the accused himself to be his own property. Upon finding of this bullet, the examining magistrate refused to listen to any further testimony, and immediately committed the prisoner for trial--declining resolutely to take any bail in the case, although against this severity Mr. Goodfellow very warmly remonstrated, and offered to become surety in whatever amount might be required. This generosity on the part of "Old Charley" was only in accordance with the whole tenor of his amiable and chivalrous conduct during the entire period of his sojourn in the borough of Rattle. In the present instance the worthy man was so entirely carried away by the excessive warmth of his sympathy, that he seemed to have quite forgotten, when he offered to go bail for his young friend, that he himself (Mr. Goodfellow) did not possess a single dollar's worth of property upon the face of the earth.

The result of the committal may be readily foreseen. Mr. Pennifeather, amid the loud execrations of all Rattleborough, was brought to trial at the next criminal sessions, when the chain of circumstantial evidence (strengthened as it was by some additional damning facts, which Mr. Goodfellow's sensitive conscientiousness forbade him to withhold from the court), was considered so unbroken and so thoroughly conclusive, that the jury, without leaving their seats, returned an immediate verdict of "_Guilty of murder in the first degree_." Soon afterward the unhappy wretch received sentence of death, and was remanded to the county jail to await the inexorable vengeance of the law.

In the meantime, the noble behavior of "Old Charley Goodfellow" had doubly endeared him to the honest citizens of the borough. He became ten times a greater favorite than ever; and, as a natural result of the hospitality with which he was treated, he relaxed, as it were, perforce, the extremely parsimonious habits which his poverty had hitherto impelled him to observe, and very frequently had little _réunions_ at his own house, when wit and jollity reigned supreme--dampened a little, of course, by the occasional remembrance of the untoward and melancholy fate which impended over the nephew of the late lamented bosom friend of the generous host.

One fine day, this magnanimous old gentleman was agreeably surprised at the receipt of the following letter:

Charles Goodfellow, Esq., Rattleborough. From H., F., B. & Co. Chat. Mar. A.--No. 1--6 doz. bottles. (½ gross.)

"Charles Goodfellow, Esquire:

"Dear Sir--In conformity with an order transmitted to our firm about two months since, by our esteemed correspondent, Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy, we have the honor of forwarding this morning, to your address, a double box of Chateau-Margaux, of the antelope brand, violet seal. Box numbered and marked as per margin.

"We remain, sir, "Your most ob'nt ser'ts, "Hoggs, Frogs, Bogs & Co."

"City of----, June 21, 18--.

"P. S.--The box will reach you by wagon, on the day after your receipt of this letter. Our respects to Mr. Shuttleworthy. "H., F., B. & Co."

The fact is, that Mr. Goodfellow had, since the death of Mr. Shuttleworthy, given over all expectation of ever receiving the promised Chateau-Margaux; and he, therefore, looked upon it now as a sort of especial dispensation of Providence in his behalf. He was highly delighted, of course, and in the exuberance of his joy, invited a large party of friends to a _petit souper_ on the morrow, for the purpose of broaching the good old Shuttleworthy's present. Not that he said anything about "the good old Mr. Shuttleworthy" when he issued the invitations. The fact is, he thought much and concluded to say nothing at all. He did not mention to any one--if I remember aright--that he had received a present of Chateau-Margaux. He merely asked his friends to come and help him drink some of a remarkably fine quality and rich flavor that he had ordered up from the city a couple of months ago, and of which he would be in the receipt upon the morrow. I have often puzzled myself to imagine _why_ it was that "Old Charley" came to the conclusion to say nothing about having received the wine from his old friend, but I could never precisely understand his reason for the silence, although he had _some_ excellent and very magnanimous reason, no doubt.

The morrow at length arrived, and with it a very large and highly respectable company at Mr. Goodfellow's house. Indeed, half the borough was there--I myself among the number--but, much to the vexation of the host, the Chateau-Margaux did not arrive until a late hour, and when the sumptuous supper supplied by "Old Charley" had been done very ample justice by the guests. It came at length, however--a monstrously big box of it there was, too--and as the whole party were in excessively good humor, it was decided, _nem. con._, that it should be lifted upon the table and its contents disembowelled forthwith.

No sooner said than done. I lent a helping hand; and, in a trice, we had the box upon the table, in the midst of all the bottles and glasses, not a few of which were demolished in the scuffle. "Old Charley," who was pretty much intoxicated, and excessively red in the face, now took a seat, with an air of mock dignity, at the head of the board, and thumped furiously upon it with a decanter, calling upon the company to keep order "during the ceremony of disinterring the treasure."

After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully restored, and, as very often happens in similar cases, a profound and remarkable silence ensued. Being then requested to force open the lid, I complied, of course, "with an infinite deal of pleasure." I inserted a chisel, and giving it a few slight taps with a hammer, the top of the box flew suddenly off, and, at the same instant, there sprang up into a sitting position, directly facing the host, the bruised, bloody, and nearly putrid corpse of the murdered Mr. Shuttleworthy himself. It gazed for a few seconds, fixedly and sorrowfully, with its decaying and lack-lustre eyes, full into the countenance of Mr. Goodfellow; uttered slowly, but clearly and impressively, the words, "Thou art the man!" and then, falling over the side of the chest as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched out its limbs quivering upon the table.

The scene that ensued is altogether beyond description. The rush for the doors and windows was terrific, and many of the most robust men in the room fainted outright through sheer horror. But after the first wild, shrieking burst of affright, all eyes were directed to Mr. Goodfellow. If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the more than mortal agony which was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so lately rubicund with triumph and wine. For several minutes he sat rigidly as a statue of marble; his eyes seeming, in the intense vacancy of their gaze, to be turned inward and absorbed in the contemplation of his own miserable, murderous soul. At length their expression appeared to flash suddenly out into the external world, when, with a quick leap, he sprang from his chair, and falling heavily with his head and shoulders upon the table, and in contact with the corpse, poured out rapidly and vehemently a detailed confession of the hideous crime for which Mr. Pennifeather was then imprisoned and doomed to die.

What he recounted was in substance this: He followed his victim to the vicinity of the pool; there shot his horse with a pistol; despatched its rider with the butt end; possessed himself of the pocket-book; and, supposing the horse dead, dragged it with great labor to the brambles by the pond. Upon his own beast he slung the corpse of Mr. Shuttleworthy, and thus bore it to a secure place of concealment a long distance off through the woods.

The waistcoat, the knife, the pocket-book, and bullet had been placed by himself where found, with the view of avenging himself upon Mr. Pennifeather. He had also contrived the discovery of the stained handkerchief and shirt.

Toward the end of the blood-chilling recital the words of the guilty wretch faltered and grew hollow. When the record was finally exhausted, he arose, staggered backward from the table, and fell--_dead_.

* * * * *

The means by which this happily-timed confession was extorted, although efficient, were simple indeed. Mr. Goodfellow's excess of frankness had disgusted me, and excited my suspicions from the first. I was present when Mr. Pennifeather had struck him, and the fiendish expression which then arose upon his countenance, although momentary, assured me that his threat of vengeance would, if possible, be rigidly fulfilled. I was thus prepared to view the _maneuvering_ of "Old Charley" in a very different light from that in which it was regarded by the good citizens of Rattleborough. I saw at once that all the criminating discoveries arose, either directly or indirectly, from himself. But the fact which clearly opened my eyes to the true state of the case, was the affair of the bullet, found by Mr. G. in the carcass of the horse. I had not forgotten, although the Rattleburghers had, that there was a hole where the ball had entered the horse, and another where it went out. If it were found in the animal then, after having made its exit, I saw clearly that it must have been deposited by the person who found it. The bloody shirt and handkerchief confirmed the idea suggested by the bullet; for the blood on examination proved to be capital claret, and no more. When I came to think of these things, and also of the late increase of liberality and expenditure an the part of Mr. Goodfellow, I entertained a suspicion which was none the less strong because I kept it altogether to myself.

In the meantime, I instituted a rigorous private search for the corpse of Mr. Shuttleworthy, and, for good reasons, searched in quarters as divergent as possible from those to which Mr. Goodfellow conducted his party. The result was that, after some days, I came across an old dry well, the mouth of which was nearly hidden by brambles; and here, at the bottom, I discovered what I sought.

Now, it so happened that I had overheard the colloquy between the two cronies, when Mr. Goodfellow had contrived to cajole his host into the promise of a box of Chateau-Margaux. Upon this hint I acted. I procured a stiff piece of whalebone, thrust it down the throat of the corpse; and deposited the latter in an old wine box--taking care so to double the body up as to double the whalebone with it. In this manner I had to press forcibly upon the lid to keep it down while I secured it with nails; and I anticipated, of course, that as soon as these latter were removed, the top would fly off and the body up.

Having thus arranged the box, I marked, numbered and addressed it as already told; and then writing a letter in the name of the wine merchants with whom Mr. Shuttleworthy dealt, I gave instructions to my servant to wheel the box to Mr. Goodfellow's door, in a barrow, at a given signal from myself. For the words which I intended the corpse to speak I confidently depended upon my ventriloquial abilities; for their effect, I counted upon the conscience of the murderous wretch.

I believe there is nothing more to be explained. Mr. Pennifeather was released upon the spot, inherited the fortune of his uncle, profited by the lessons of experience, turned over a new leaf, and led happily ever afterward a new life.

--Edgar Allan Poe.

=The Picture of Lhasa=

"Jim, Jim, come here quick! She's in sight! Oh, hustle!"

"Well, she'll stay where she is until I get there, won't she?" came a drawl from a little lower down on the precipitous path, as the speaker, in spite of his indifferent words, made strenuous efforts to join his companion on the rocky ledge with as little delay as possible. Behind him, scarcely visible, lay the trail winding about along the sides of the lofty mountains which have for so long been keeping this little corner of the earth from the knowledge of Western nations, while, far beneath him, rolled a little stream, the Kyi-chu, which dashed against the rocks as though it were impatient to be out in a broader world.

"I'm glad she's in sight, Chad," Jim continued, when he had gained the shelf of rock on which his companion stood, "but what is she, anyhow? I don't believe you said," and he laughed, with his eyes fastened upon the flash of reflected sunlight, his first sight of Lhasa and her wonderful Buddhist Cathedral.

"Is the camera all right?" Chad's voice was anxious. "It would be a pity to come so far and then have the plates no good."

"What's wrong with you, Chad? You don't intend to take a picture of a place ten miles away, do you?"

"Of course not, you idiot, but I wish that you had kept the camera yourself, instead of leaving it with John's load. I don't like the look of his yellow cap just now."

"You're too suspicious, Chad. John's a good fellow; aren't you Chinkey?" Jim called out as an evil-looking Chinaman came around a bend in the trail.

The Chinaman's only response was a look of utter ignorance, at which Jim laughed again, and said, "Just one look at the man ought to convince you that he is too dull to frighten a Yankee. Besides, he doesn't understand English, and can't possibly know that we are here to get the picture of Lhasa, and that of the Grand Lama, too, if we can." Had either of the men been looking, he might have seen the cunning in the one black eye of the servant; but the expression passed unnoticed.

"Another day and we'll be near enough to begin on the pictures. I'll be glad to start home, too. It has been a hard trip. I don't see why Milligan couldn't have taken the pictures for his book himself, instead of sending us off here for them."

"Jim, my boy, where's your regard for your daily bread--and the butter therefor? Where should you be if you hadn't had this chance?"

"Well," Jim returned quickly, "I shouldn't have been ruining my constitution in this infernal climate, at any rate."

Chad looked him over with profound gravity. "Well, Jim, I'm glad you are telling me that you are cut out for an early grave; I should never have believed it if you hadn't said so yourself."

"Wouldn't there be a rumpus if the Lamas knew about this trip of ours?" Chad resumed as though fascinated with the idea. "I can see ourselves calling each other lucky because we only got kicked over this precipice here."

"You can occupy yourself with such thoughts if you want to," exclaimed Jim; "but I'm going to hustle up that John Chinaman. It seems to me he's pretty slow this evening, and I'm hungry."

"If your constitution is spoiled?" laughed Chad. "Well, good luck; call me when you're ready," and the young reporter threw himself down upon the rocks and looked off toward Lhasa. In a few minutes he heard Jim's voice raised in alarm. "John! John! Oh, John-n!" As Chad sprang up and started along the path, he met Jim coming back.

"Say, Chad, that rascal of a chink has vanished completely with a good half of the supplies, and if you say, 'I told you so,' I'll light out too!"

"Is the camera safe?" was Chad's instant response.

"Why, I guess so; the box is anyhow--I didn't look inside."

"Well, I guess we'll get along then. I ought to be able to cook well enough to suit a man of your enfeebled condition," and Chad looked at Jim's broad shoulders in some amusement in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

"Really, Chad, is it safe to go on? Do you think we ought to risk it?"

"Risk it! Are we going to take three months for preparation, and then come four thousand miles on a trip of this sort, only to give it up in sight of the end, because a rogue runs off? Well, I guess not."

"All right," Jim returned laconically, "I just wanted to know how you felt about it."

Some three hours later the two men were wrapped up in their furs ready for the night. "Say, Chad," said Jim, as he lay watching the stars in the clear sky, "what makes a Chinaman so afraid of a camera? I am quite certain that you never told me."

"I believe that they think a man's soul is killed when his picture is taken," said Chad sleepily. "'Buddha doesn't like it' is quite reason enough for most of 'em." The last sentence was half lost in a snore, and the Grand Lama was photographed a dozen times in Jim's dreams.

The next morning the two men set out again with the one donkey and its load which the Chinaman left to them, and, after a few hours' hard travel, they came to the mountain spur just above the capital of Tibet. The city was well within range, and a few minutes after they had arrived the camera was set up, and Chad was finding the focus. While they were both occupied busily, a group of yellow-clad figures was approaching from a lamasery that was half-hidden on the mountainside. The leader of the band, a one-eyed Chinaman with an almost idiotic expression, was evidently greatly respected by his followers; for the party did not change its position without his direction. Slowly and with the utmost caution they approached the unconscious workers and surrounded them; then with a yell the mob of Buddhist priests was about the camera. In another instant it was rattling down the mountainside, Chad and Jim were firmly bound, and the march back had begun.

The few rays of sunlight that found entrance into the Buddhist lamasery served only to reveal the filthiness of the place; but not even the disgusting sights and odors could suppress the strangers' curiosity. In the first room was an immense statue of Buddha with a large cylinder in front of it. "A prayer wheel," whispered Chad. Jim nodded.

Suddenly Chad's eyes flashed with an inspiration. Turning to the leader he exclaimed, "You speak English _now_, don't you?"

The man bowed gravely, courteously. The honorable strangers' honorable conversation was greatly edifying, he murmured.

"Well, then," Chad continued, "Will you tell me why we are detained here?"

"The insignificant custom of the Tibetans is to resent having their souls destroyed." The voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but the words were terrible to the two men looking into the circle of hostile faces which showed so clearly their superstition and ignorance.

"You know, John, or Your Highness, if that suits your present position better," the Chinaman's face remained impassive, "you know how carefully we guarded the black box. Did you know that it was not an ordinary instrument, but the home of a spirit more powerful than even your Buddha there? The photographic spirit is the child of the Fire God, and the Fire God protects all who guard his children. See, here is a part of the Spirit's house," and Chad pulled an extra lens from his pocket. "With this I can attract the god's attention, and he will do my bidding." He placed the glass in the sunlight and the robe of the nearest Lama began to smolder. The priests started back in great alarm, but Chad continued with only a sufficient number of pauses for the leading Lama to translate to the others. "While you were masquerading as my servant, you saw how careful I was of the camera; you can judge for yourself whether or not the Fiery One will protect me. What do you think will be the fate of you who have destroyed this mighty spirit's home? I will tell you. He will descend from the sky and will burn you with a hotter fire than you have ever felt--a fire so hot that the spirit of the camera cannot approach it in intensity." And the Lama screamed as he felt the heat of the powerful ray upon his arm. "What do you think? Will you anger this mighty one by further crimes against his favorites?"

"Buddha will protect us," stolidly responded a priest.

"Ask your leader if Buddha could protect him from the burning of the camera spirit, and then judge whether Buddha can guard you against the power of the Fire Dragon when he is roused to vengeance.

Panic began to seize upon the priests. One by one they disappeared until at length only the Chief Lama was left. "If the honorable gentlemen will tarry for a few moments I will bring them their beasts." When the donkeys were brought in, Chad looked their packs over and prepared them for the journey, while Jim started back to the ledge, hoping that part of their supplies might have been unmolested. When Chad came around the rock ten minutes later, he stopped in amazement and stared at the camera, which Jim had rescued from the tree in which it had lodged uninjured save for a broken plate.

As Chad approached, Jim looked up and said, "I've got one; I'll bet it's a dandy!"

--Hazel Orcutt.