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

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,

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.