THE ENCHANTED TYPEWRITER

By John Kendrick Bangs

I. THE DISCOVERY

It is a strange fact, for which I do not expect ever satisfactorily toaccount, and which will receive little credence even among those whoknow that I am not given to romancing--it is a strange fact, I say, thatthe substance of the following pages has evolved itself during a periodof six months, more or less, between the hours of midnight and fouro'clock in the morning, proceeding directly from a type-writing machinestanding in the corner of my library, manipulated by unseen hands. Themachine is not of recent make. It is, in fact, a relic of the earlyseventies, which I discovered one morning when, suffering from a slightattack of the grip, I had remained at home and devoted my time topottering about in the attic, unearthing old books, bringing to thelight long-forgotten correspondences, my boyhood collections of "stuff, "and other memory-inducing things. Whence the machine came originally Ido not recall. My impression is that it belonged to a stenographer oncein the employ of my father, who used frequently to come to our house totake down dictations. However this may be, the machine had lain hiddenby dust and the flotsam and jetsam of the house for twenty years, when, as I have said, I came upon it unexpectedly. Old man as I am--I shallsoon be thirty--the fascination of a machine has lost none of itspotency. I am as pleased to-day watching the wheels of my watch "goround" as ever I was, and to "monkey" with a type-writing apparatus hasalways brought great joy into my heart--though for composing give methe pen. Perhaps I should apologize for the use here of the verb monkey, which savors of what a friend of mine calls the "English slanguage, " todifferentiate it from what he also calls the "Andrew Language. " But Ishall not do so, because, to whatever branch of our tongue the word maybelong, it is exactly descriptive, and descriptive as no other word canbe, of what a boy does with things that click and "go, " and is thereforenot at all out of place in a tale which I trust will be regarded as apolite one. 

The discovery of the machine put an end to my attic potterings. I caredlittle for finding old bill-files and collections of Atlantic cable-endswhen, with a whole morning, a type-writing machine, and a screw-driverbefore me I could penetrate the mysteries of that useful mechanism. Ishall not endeavor to describe the delightful sensations of that hour ofscrewing and unscrewing; they surpass the powers of my pen. Suffice itto say that I took the whole apparatus apart, cleaned it well, oiledevery joint, and then put it together again. I do not suppose aseven-year-old boy could have derived more satisfaction from taking apiano to pieces. It was exhilarating, and I resolved that as a rewardfor the pleasure it had given me the machine should have a brand-newribbon and as much ink as it could consume. And that, in brief, is howit came to be that this machine of antiquated pattern was added to thelibrary bric-a-brac. To say the truth, it was of no more practicaluse than Barye's dancing bear, a plaster cast of which adorns mymantel-shelf, so that when I classify it with the bric-a-brac I do soadvisedly. I frequently tried to write a jest or two upon it, but theresults were extraordinarily like Sir Arthur Sullivan's experience withthe organ into whose depths the lost chord sank, never to return. Idashed off the jests well enough, but somewhere between the keys and thetypes they were lost, and the results, when I came to scan the paper, were depressing. And once I tried a sonnet on the keys. Exactly howto classify the jumble that came out of it I do not know, but it wascurious enough to have appealed strongly to D'Israeli or any othercollector of the literary oddity. More singular than the sonnet, though, was the fact that when I tried to write my name upon this strangemachine, instead of finding it in all its glorious length written uponthe paper, I did find "William Shakespeare" printed there in its stead. Of course you will say that in putting the machine together I mixed upthe keys and the letters. I have no doubt that I did, but when I tellyou that there have been times when, looking at myself in the glass, Ihave fancied that I saw in my mirrored face the lineaments of the greatbard; that the contour of my head is precisely the same as was his; thatwhen visiting Stratford for the first time every foot of it was pregnantwith clearly defined recollections to me, you will perhaps more easilypicture to yourself my sensations at the moment. 

However, enough of describing the machine in its relation to myself. Ihave said sufficient, I think, to convince you that whatever its make, its age, and its limitations, it was an extraordinary affair; and, onceconvinced of that, you may the more readily believe me when I tell youthat it has gone into business apparently for itself--and incidentallyfor me. 

It was on the morning of the 26th of March last that I discovered thecurious condition of affairs concerning which I have essayed to write. My family do not agree with me as to the date. They say that it was onthe evening of the 25th of March that the episode had its beginning; butthey are not aware, for I have not told them, that it was not evening, but morning, when I reached home after the dinner at the Aldus Club. It was at a quarter of three A. M. Precisely that I entered my houseand proceeded to remove my hat and coat, in which operation I wasinterrupted, and in a startling manner, by a click from the darkrecesses of the library. A man does not like to hear a click whichhe cannot comprehend, even before he has dined. After he has dined, however, and feels a satisfaction with life which cannot come to himbefore dinner, to hear a mysterious click, and from a dark corner, atan hour when the world is at rest, is not pleasing. To say that my heartjumped into my mouth is mild. I believe it jumped out of my mouth andrebounded against the wall opposite back though my system into my boots. All the sins of my past life, and they are many--I once stepped upon acaterpillar, and I have coveted my neighbor both his man-servant and hismaid-servant, though not his wife nor his ass, because I don't like hiswife and he keeps no live-stock--all my sins, I say, rose up before me, for I expected every moment that a bullet would penetrate my brain, or my heart if perchance the burglar whom I suspected of levelling aclicking revolver at me aimed at my feet. 

"Who is there?" I cried, making a vocal display of bravery I did notfeel, hiding behind our hair sofa. 

The only answer was another click. 

"This is serious, " I whispered softly to myself. "There are two of 'em;I am in the light, unarmed. They are concealed by the darkness and haverevolvers. There is only one way out of this, and that is by strategy. I'll pretend I think I've made a mistake. " So I addressed myself aloud. 

"What an idiot you are, " I said, so that my words could be heard by theburglars. "If this is the effect of Aldus Club dinners you'd better givethem up. That click wasn't a click at all, but the ticking of our neweight-day clock. "

I paused, and from the corner there came a dozen more clicks in quicksuccession, like the cocking of as many revolvers. 

"Great Heavens!" I murmured, under my breath. "It must be Ali Baba withhis forty thieves. "

As I spoke, the mystery cleared itself, for following close upon athirteenth click came the gentle ringing of a bell, and I knew thenthat the type-writing machine was in action; but this was by no means areassuring discovery. Who or what could it be that was engaged upon thetype-writer at that unholy hour, 3 A. M. ? If a mortal being, why wasmy coming no interruption? If a supernatural being, what infernalcomplication might not the immediate future have in store for me?

My first impulse was to flee the house, to go out into the night andpace the fields--possibly to rush out to the golf links and play a fewholes in the dark in order to cool my brow, which was rapidly becomingfevered. Fortunately, however, I am not a man of impulse. I never yieldto a mere nerve suggestion, and so, instead of going out into the stormand certainly contracting pneumonia, I walked boldly into the library toinvestigate the causes of the very extraordinary incident. You may restwell assured, however, that I took care to go armed, fortifying myselfwith a stout stick, with a long, ugly steel blade concealed within it--acowardly weapon, by-the-way, which I permit to rest in my house merelybecause it forms a part of a collection of weapons acquired through thefailure of a comic paper to which I had contributed several articles. The editor, when the crash came, sent me the collection as part paymentof what was owed me, which I think was very good of him, because a greatmany people said that it was my stuff that killed the paper. But toreturn to the story. Fortifying myself with the sword-cane, I walkedboldly into the library, and, touching the electric button, soon hadevery gas-jet in the room giving forth a brilliant flame; but these, brilliant as they were, disclosed nothing in the chair before themachine. 

The latter, apparently oblivious of my presence, went clicking merrilyand as rapidly along as though some expert young woman were in charge. Imagine the situation if you can. A type-writing machine of ancientmake, its letters clear, but out of accord with the keys, confronted byan empty chair, three hours after midnight, rattling off page after pageof something which might or might not be readable, I could not at themoment determine. For two or three minutes I gazed in open-mouthedwonder. I was not frightened, but I did experience a sensation whichcomes from contact with the uncanny. As I gradually grasped thesituation and became used, somewhat, to what was going on, I ventured aremark. 

"This beats the deuce!" I observed. 

The machine stopped for an instant. The sheet of paper upon which theimpressions of letters were being made flew out from under the cylinder, a pure white sheet was as quickly substituted, and the keys clicked offthe line:

"What does?"

I presumed the line was in response to my assertion, so I replied:

"You do. What uncanny freak has taken possession of you to-night thatyou start in to write on your own hook, having resolutely declined to doany writing for me ever since I rescued you from the dust and dirt andcobwebs of the attic?"

"You never rescued me from any attic, " the machine replied. "You'dbetter go to bed; you've dined too well, I imagine. When did you rescueme from the dust and dirt and the cobwebs of any attic?"

"What an ungrateful machine you are!" I cried. "If you have sense enoughto go into writing on your own account, you ought to have mind enoughto remember the years you spent up-stairs under the roof neglected, andcovered with hammocks, awnings, family portraits, and receipted bills. "

"Really, my dear fellow, " the machine tapped back, "I must repeat it. Bed is the place for you. You're not coherent. I'm not a machine, andupon my honor, I've never seen your darned old attic. "

"Not a machine!" I cried. "Then what in Heaven's name are you?--asofa-cushion?"

"Don't be sarcastic, my dear fellow, " replied the machine. "Of courseI'm not a machine; I'm Jim--Jim Boswell. "

"What?" I roared. "You? A thing with keys and type and a bell--"

"I haven't got any keys or any type or a bell. What on earth are youtalking about?" replied the machine. "What have you been eating?"

"What's that?" I asked, putting my hand on the keys. 

"That's keys, " was the answer. 

"And these, and that?" I added, indicating the type and the bell. 

"Type and bell, " replied the machine. 

"And yet you say you haven't got them, " I persisted. 

"No, I haven't. The machine has got them, not I, " was the response. "I'mnot the machine. I'm the man that's using it--Jim--Jim Boswell. Whatgood would a bell do me? I'm not a cow or a bicycle. I'm the editor ofthe Stygian Gazette, and I've come here to copy off my notes of what Isee and hear, and besides all this I do type-writing for various peoplein Hades, and as this machine of yours seemed to be of no use to you Ithought I'd try it. But if you object, I'll go. "

As I read these lines upon the paper I stood amazed and delighted. 

"Go!" I cried, as the full value of his patronage of my machine dawnedupon me, for I could sell his copy and he would be none the worseoff, for, as I understand the copyright laws, they are not designed tobenefit authors, but for the protection of type-setters. "Why, my dearfellow, it would break my heart if, having found my machine to yourtaste, you should ever think of using another. I'll lend you my bicycle, too, if you'd like it--in fact, anything I have is at your command. "

"Thank you very much, " returned Boswell through the medium of the keys, as usual. "I shall not need your bicycle, but this machine is of greatvalue to me. It has several very remarkable qualities which I havenever found in any other machine. For instance, singular to relate, Mendelssohn and I were fooling about here the other night, and when hesaw this machine he thought it was a spinet of some new pattern; so whatdoes he do but sit down and play me one of his songs without words onit, and, by jove! when he got through, there was the theme of the wholething printed on a sheet of paper before him. "

"You don't really mean to say--" I began. 

"I'm telling you precisely what happened, " said Boswell. "Mendelssohnwas tickled to death with it, and he played every song without wordsthat he ever wrote, and every one of 'em was fitted with words which hesaid absolutely conveyed the ideas he meant to bring out with the music. Then I tried the machine, and discovered another curious thing aboutit. It's intensely American. I had a story of Alexander Dumas' about hisMusketeers that he wanted translated from French into American, which isthe language we speak below, in preference to German, French, Volapuk, or English. I thought I'd copy off a few lines of the French original, and as true as I'm sitting here before your eyes, where you can't seeme, the copy I got was a good, though rather free, translation. Think ofit! That's an advanced machine for you!"

I looked at the machine wistfully. "I wish I could make it work, " Isaid; and I tried as before to tap off my name, and got instead only aconfused jumble of letters. It wouldn't even pay me the compliment oftransforming my name into that of Shakespeare, as it had previouslydone. 

It was thus that the magic qualities of the machine were made known tome, and out of it the following papers have grown. I have set themdown without much editing or alteration, and now submit them to yourinspection, hoping that in perusing them you will derive as muchsatisfaction and delight as I have in being the possessor of sowonderful a machine, manipulated by so interesting a person as "Jim--JimBoswell"--as he always calls himself--and others, who, as you will note, if perchance you have the patience to read further, have upon occasionshonored my machine by using it. 

I must add in behalf of my own reputation for honesty that Mr. Boswellhas given me all right, title, and interest in these papers in thisworld as a return for my permission to him to use my machine. 

"What if they make a hit and bring in barrels of gold in royalties, " hesaid. "I can't take it back with me where I live, so keep it yourself. "

II. MR. BOSWELL IMPARTS SOME LATE NEWS OF HADES

Boswell was a little late in arriving the next night. He had agreed tobe on hand exactly at midnight, but it was after one o'clock before themachine began to click and the bell to ring. I had fallen asleep in thesoft upholstered depths of my armchair, feeling pretty thoroughly wornout by the experiences of the night before, which, in spite of theirpleasant issue, were nevertheless somewhat disturbing to a nervousorganization like mine. Suddenly I waked, and with the awakening thereentered into my mind the notion that the whole thing was merely a dream, and that in the end it would be the better for me if I were to give upAldus and other club dinners with nightmare inducing menus. But I wassoon convinced that the real state of affairs was quite otherwise, andthat everything really had happened as I have already related it to you, for I had hardly gotten my eyes free from what my poetic son calls "theseeds of sleep" when I heard the type-writer tap forth:

"Hello, old man!"

Incidentally let me say that this had become another interesting featureof the machine. Since my first interview with Boswell the taps seemedto speak, and if some one were sitting before it and writing a line themere differentiation of sounds of the various keys would convey to themind the ideas conveyed to it by the printed words. So, as I say, myears were greeted with a clicking "Hello, old man!" followed immediatelyby the bell. 

"You are late, " said I, looking at my watch. 

"I know it, " was the response. "But I can't help it. During the campaignI am kept so infernally busy I hardly know where I am. "

"Campaign, eh?" I put in. "Do you have campaigns in Hades?"

"Yes, " replied Boswell, "and we are having a--well, to be polite, aregular Gehenna of a time. Things have changed much in Hades latterly. There has been a great growth in the democratic spirit below, and hisMajesty is having a deuce of a time running his kingdom. Washington andCromwell and Caesar have had the nerve to demand a constitution from thevenerable Nicholas--"

"From whom?" I queried, perplexed somewhat, for I was not yet fullyawake. 

"Old Nick, " replied Boswell; "and I can tell you there's a pretty fighton between the supporters of the administration and the opposition. Secure in his power, the Grand Master of Hades has been somewhatarbitrary, and he has made the mistake of doing some of his subjectsa little too brown. Take the case of Bonaparte, for instance: thegovernment has ruled that he was personally responsible for all the warsof Europe from 1800 up to Waterloo, and it was proposed to hang him oncefor every man killed on either side throughout that period. Bonapartenaturally resisted. He said he had a good neck, which he did not objectto have broken three or four times, because he admitted he deserved it;but when it came to hanging him five or six million times, once a month, for, say, five million months, or twelve times a year for 415, 000 years, he didn't like it, and wouldn't stand it, and wanted to submit thequestion to arbitration. 

"Nicholas observed that the word arbitration was not in his especiallyexpurgated dictionary, whereupon Bonaparte remarked that he wasn'tresponsible for that; that he thought it a good word and worthy ofincorporation in any dictionary and in all vocabularies. 

"'I don't care what you think, ' retorted his Majesty. 'It's what I don'tthink that goes;' and he commanded his imps to prepare the gallows onthe third Thursday of each month for Bonaparte's expiation; ordered hissecretary to send Bonaparte a type-written notice that his presence oneach occasion was expected, and gave orders to the police to see that hewas there willy-nilly. Naturally Bonaparte resisted, and appealed to thecourts. Blackstone sustained his appeal, and Nicholas overruled him. The first Thursday came, and the police went for the Emperor, but he wassurrounded by a good half of the men who had fought under him, andthe minions of the law could do nothing against them. In consequence, Bonaparte's brother, Joseph, a quiet, inoffensive citizen, was draggedfrom his home and hanged in his place, Nicholas contending that when asoldier could not, or would not, serve, the government had a right toexpect a substitute. Well, " said Boswell, at this point, "that setall Hades on fire. We were divided as to Bonaparte's deserts, but thehanging of other people as substitutes was too much. We didn't knowwho'd be substituted next. The English backed up Blackstone, of course. The French army backed up Bonaparte. The inoffensive citizens werearoused in behalf of Joseph, for they saw at once whither theywere drifting if the substitute idea was carried out to its logicalconclusion; and in half an hour the administration was on thedefensive, which, as you know, is a very, very, very bad thing for anadministration. "

"It is, if it desires to be returned to office, " said I. 

"It is anyhow, " replied Boswell through the medium of the keys. "It'sin exactly the same position as that of a humorist who has to printexplanatory diagrams with all of his jokes. The administration paperswere hot over the situation. The king can do no wrong idea was workedfor all it was worth, but beyond this they drew pathetic pictures ofthe result of all these deplorable tendencies. What was Hades for, theyasked, if a man, after leading a life of crime in the other world, wasnot to receive his punishment there? The attitude of the opposition wasa radical and vicious blow at the vital principles of the sphere itself. The opposition papers coolly and calmly took the position that the vitalprinciples of Hades were all right; that it was the extreme view as tothe power of the Emperor taken by that person himself that wouldn'tgo in these democratic days. Punishment for Bonaparte was the correctthing, and Bonaparte expected some, but was not grasping enough towant it all. They added that recent fully settled ideas as to a humaneapplication of the laws required the bunching of the indictments orthe selection of one and a fair trial based upon that, and that anyhow, under no circumstances, should a wholly innocent person be made tosuffer for the crimes of another. These journals were suppressed, butthe next day a set of new papers were started to promulgate the sametheories as to individual rights. The province of Cimmeria declareditself independent of the throne, and set up in the business ofgovernment for itself. Gehenna declared for the Emperor, but insistedupon home rule for cities of its own class, and finally, as I informedyou at the beginning, Washington, Cromwell, and Caesar went in person toApollyon and demanded a constitution. That was the day before yesterday, and just what will come of it we don't as yet know, because Washingtonand Cromwell and Caesar have not been seen since, but we have greatfears for them, because seventeen car-loads of vitriol and a thousandextra tons of coal were ordered by the Lord High Steward of the palaceto be delivered to the Minister of Justice last night. "

"Quite a complication, " said I. "The Americanization of Hades has begunat last. How does society regard the affair?"

"Variously, " observed Boswell. "Society hates the government as much asanybody, and really believes in curtailing the Emperor's powers, but, on the other hand, it desires to maintain all of its own aristocraticprivileges. The main trouble in Hades at present is the gradualdisintegration of society; that is to say, its former component partsare beginning to differentiate themselves the one from the other. "

"Like capital and labor here?" I queried. 

"In a sense, yes--possibly more like your Colonial Dames, and Daughtersof the Revolution. For instance, great organizations are in processof formation--people are beginning to flock together for purposesof protection. Charles the First and Henry the Eighth and Louis theFourteenth have established Ye Ancient and Honorable Order of Kings, towhich only those who have actually worn crowns shall be eligible. Thepainters have gotten together with a Society of Fine Arts, the sculptorshave formed a Society of Chisellers, and all the authors from Homerdown to myself have got up an Authors' Club where we have a lovelytime talking about ourselves, no man to be eligible who hasn't writtensomething that has lasted a hundred years. Perhaps, if you are thinkingof coming over soon, you'll let me put you on our waiting-list?"

I smiled at his seeming inconsistency and let myself into his snare. 

"I haven't written anything that has lasted a hundred years yet, " saidI. 

"Oh, yes, I think you have, " replied Boswell, and the machine seemed tolaugh as he wrote out his answer. "I saw a joke of yours the other daythat's two hundred centuries old. Diogenes showed it to me and said thatit was a great favorite with his grandfather, who had inherited it fromone of his remote ancestors. "

A hot retort was on my lips, but I had no wish to offend my guest, soI smiled and observed that I had frequently indulged in unconsciousplagiarism of that sort. 

"I should imagine, " I hastened to add, "that to men like Charles theFirst this uncertainty as to the safety of Cromwell would be great joy. "

"I hardly know, " returned Boswell. "That very question has beendiscussed among us. Charles made a great outward show of grief whenhe heard of the coal being delivered at the office of the Minister ofJustice, and we all thought him quite magnanimous, but it leaked out, just before I left to come here, that he sent his private secretary tothe palace with a Panama hat and a palm-leaf fan for Cromwell, with hiscongratulations. 

"That seems to savor somewhat of sarcasm. "

"Oh, ultimately Hades is bound to be a republic, " replied Boswell. "There are too many clever and ambitious politicians among us for theplace to go along as a despotism much longer. If the place were filledup with poets and society people, and things like that, it might go onas an autocracy forever, but you see it isn't. To men of the caliberof Alexander the Great and Bonaparte and Caesar, and a thousand otherwarriors who never were used to taking orders from anybody, but werethemselves headquarters, the despotic sway of Apollyon is intolerable, and he hasn't made any effort to conciliate any of them. If he hadappointed Bonaparte commander-in-chief of his army and made a friend ofhim, instead of ordering him to be hanged every month for 415, 000 years, or put Caesar in as Secretary of State, instead of having him roastedthree times a month for seventy or eighty centuries, he would havestrengthened his hold. As it is, he has ignored all these peopleofficially, treats them like criminals personally; makes friends withMazarin and Powhatan, awards the office of Tax Assessor to Dick Turpin, and makes old Falstaff commander of his Imperial Guard. And just becausepoor Ben Jonson scribbled off a rhyme for my paper, The Gazette--a rhymerunning:

 Mazarin And Powhatan, Turpin and Falstaff, Form, you bet, A cabinet To make a donkey laugh. 

 Mazarin And Powhatan Run Apollyon's state. The Dick and Jacks Collect the tax-- The people pay the freight. 

--just because Jonson wrote that and I published it, my paper wasconfiscated, Jonson was boiled in oil for ten weeks, and I was seizedand thrown into a dungeon where a lot of savages from the South SeaIslands tattooed the darned old jingle between my shoulder blades ingreen letters, and not satisfied with this barbaric act, right underthe jingle they added the line, in red letters, 'This edition strictlylimited to one copy, for private circulation only, ' and they every oneof 'em, Apollyon, Mazarin, and the rest, signed the guarantee personallywith red-hot pens dipped in sulphuric acid. It makes a valuablecollection of autographs, no doubt, but I prefer my back as nature madeit. Talk about enlightened government under a man who'll permit thingslike that to be done!"

I ought not to have done it, but I couldn't help smiling. 

"I must say, " I observed, apologetically, "that the treatment wasbarbarous, but really I do think it showed a sense of humor on the partof the government. "

"No doubt, " replied Boswell, with a sigh; "but when the joke is on me Idon't enjoy it very much. I'm only human, and should prefer to observethat the government had some sense of justice. "

The apparently empty chair before the machine gave a slight hitchforward, and the type-writer began to tap again. 

"You'll have to excuse me now, " observed Boswell through the usualmedium. "I have work to do, and if you'll go to bed like a good fellow, while I copy off the minutes of the last meeting of the Authors' Club, I'll see that you don't lose anything by it. After I get the minutesdone I have an interesting story for my Sunday paper from the advancesheets of Munchausen's Further Recollections, which I shall take greatpleasure in leaving for you when I depart. If you will take the bundleof manuscript I leave with you and boil it in alcohol for ten minutes, you will be able to read it, and, no doubt, if you copy it off, sell itfor a goodly sum. It is guaranteed absolutely genuine. "

"Very well, " said I, rising, "I'll go; but I should think you would putin most of your time whacking at the government editorially, instead ofgoing in for minutes and abstract stories of adventure. "

"You do, eh?" said Boswell. "Well, if you were in my place you'd changeyour mind. After my unexpected endorsement by the Emperor and hiscabinet, I've decided to keep out of politics for a little while. Ican stand having a poem tattooed on my back, but if it came to havinga three-column editorial expressing my emotions etched alongside of myspine, I'm afraid I'd disappear into thin air. "

So I left him at work and retired. The next morning I found the promisedbundle of manuscripts, and, after boiling the pages as instructed, discovered the following tale. 

III. FROM ADVANCE SHEETS OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN'S FURTHER RECOLLECTIONS

It is with some very considerable hesitation that I come to thisportion of my personal recollections, and yet I feel that I owe it tomy fellow-citizens in this delightful Stygian country, where we areall enjoying our well-earned rest, to lay before them the exact truthconcerning certain incidents which have now passed into history, andfor participation in which a number of familiar figures are improperlygaining all the credit, or discredit, as the case may be. It is not apleasant task to expose an impostor; much less is it agreeable to exposefour impostors; but to one who from the earliest times--and when I sayearliest times I speak advisedly, as you will see as you read on--toone, I say, who from the earliest times has been actuated by no othermotive than the promulgation of truth, the task of exposing fraudbecomes a duty which cannot be ignored. Therefore, with regret I setdown this chapter of my memoirs, regardless of its consequences tocertain figures which have been of no inconsiderable importance in ourcommunity for many years--figures which in my own favorite club, theAssociated Shades, have been most welcome, but which, as I and theyalone know, have been nothing more than impostures. 

In previous volumes I have confined my attention to my memoirs as BaronMunchausen--but, dear reader, there are others. I WAS NOT ALWAYS BARONMUNCHAUSEN; I HAVE BEEN OTHERS! I am not aware that it has fallen to thelot of any but myself in the whole span of universal existence to livemore than one life upon that curious, compact little ball of landand water called the Earth, but, in any event, to me has fallen thatprivilege or distinction, or whatever it may be, and upon the recordmade by me in four separate existences, placed centuries apart, fourresidents of this sphere are basing their claims to notice, securingelection to our clubs, and even venturing so far at times as to makethemselves personally obnoxious to me, who with a word could exposetheir wicked deceit in all its naked villainy to an astounded community. And in taking this course they have gone too far. There is a limitbeyond which no man shall dare go with me. Satisfied with the ultimateembodiment of my virtues in the Baron Munchausen, I have been disposedto allow the impostors to pursue their deception in peace so long asthey otherwise behave themselves, but when Adam chooses to allude tomy writings as frothy lies, when Jonah attacks my right as a literaryperson to tell tales of leviathans, when Noah states that my ignorancein yachting matters is colossal, and when William Shakespeare publiclybrands me as a person unworthy of belief who should be expelled from theAssociated Shades, then do I consider it time to speak out and exposefour of the greatest frauds that have ever been inflicted upon along-suffering public. 

To begin at the beginning then, let me state that my first recollectiondates back to a beautiful summer morning, when in a lovely garden Iopened my eyes and became conscious of two very material facts: first, acharming woman arranging her hair in the mirror-like waters of a silverlake directly before me; and, second, a poignant pain in my side, asthough I had been operated upon for appendicitis, but which in realityresulted from the loss of a rib which had in turn evoluted into thecharming and very human being I now saw before me. That woman was Eve;that mirror-like lake was set in the midst of the Garden of Eden; I wasAdam, and not this watery-eyed antediluvian calling himself by my name, who is a familiar figure in the Anthropological Society, an authority onevolution, and a blot upon civilization. 

I have little to say about this first existence of mine. It was fullof delights. Speech not having been invented, Eve was an attractivecompanion to a man burdened as I was with responsibilities, and untilour children were born we went our way in happiness and silence. It isnot in the nature of things, however, that children should not wish totalk, and it was through the irrepressible efforts of Cain and Abelto be heard as well as seen that first called the attention of Eve andmyself to the desirability of expressing our thoughts in words ratherthan by masonic signs. 

I shall not burden my readers with further recollections of this period. It was excessively primitive, of necessity, but before leaving it I mustask the reader to put one or two questions to himself in this matter. 

1st. How is it that this bearded patriarch, who now poses as the onlyoriginal Adam, has never been able, with any degree of positiveness, toanswer the question as to whether or not he was provided with a caudalappendage--a question which I am prepared to answer definitely, at anymoment, if called upon by the proper authorities, and, if need be, toproduce not only the tail itself, but the fierce and untamed pterodactylthat bit it off upon that unfortunate autumn afternoon when he and I hadour first and last conflict. 

2d. Why is it that when describing a period concerning which he issupposed to know all, he seems to have given voice to sentiments inphrases which would have delighted Sheridan and shed added glory uponthe eloquence of Webster, AT A TIME WHEN, AS I HAVE ALREADY SHOWN, THEREWAS NO SUCH THING AS SPEECH?

Upon these two points alone I rest my case against Adam: the first isthe reticence of guilt--he doesn't know, and he knows he doesn't know;the second is a deliberate and offensive prevarication, which showsagain that he doesn't know, and assumes that we are all equallyignorant. 

So much for Adam. Now for the cheap and year-ridden person who hastaken unto himself my second personality, Noah; and that other strangecombination of woe and wickedness, Jonah, who has chosen to pre-emptmy third. I shall deal with both at one and the same time, for, takenseparately, they are not worthy of notice. 

Noah asserts that I know nothing of yachting. I will accept the chargewith the qualification that I know a great sight more about Arking thanhe does; and as for Jonah, I can give Jonah points on whaling, and Ihereby challenge them both to a Memoir Match for $2000 a side, in gold, to see which can give to the world the most interesting reminiscencesconcerning the cruises of the two craft in question, the Ark and theWhale, upon neither of which did either of these two anachronisms everset foot, and of both of which I, in my two respective existences, wascommander-in-chief. The fact is that, as in the case of the fictitiousAdam, these two impersonators are frauds. The man now masquerading asNoah was my hired man in the latter part of the antediluvian period; wasdischarged three years before the flood; was left on shore at the hourof departure, and when last seen by me was sitting on the top of anapple-tree, begging to do two men's work for nothing if we'd only lethim out of the wet. If he will at any time submit to a cross-examinationat my hands as to the principal events of that memorable voyage, I willshow to any fair-minded judge how impossible is his claim that he wasin command, or even afloat, after the first week. I have hitherto keptsilent in this matter, in spite of many and repeated outrageous flings, for the sake of his--or rather my--family, who have been deceived, as have all the rest of us, barring, of course, myself. References toportraits of leading citizens of that period will easily show how thiscan be. We were all alike as two peas in the olden days, and at atime when men reached to an advanced age which is not known now, itfrequently became almost impossible to distinguish one old man fromanother. I will say, finally, in regard to this person Noah that if hecan give to the public a statement telling the essential differencesbetween a pterodactyl and a double spondee that will not prove utterlyabsurd to an educated person, I will withdraw my accusation and resignfrom the club. BUT I KNOW WELL HE CANNOT DO IT, and he does too, andthat is about the extent of his knowledge. 

Now as to Jonah. I really dislike very much to tread upon this worthy'stoes, and I should not do it had he not chosen to clap an injunctionupon a volume of Tales of the Whales, which I wrote for children lastsummer, claiming that I was infringing upon his copyright, and feelingthat I as a self-respecting man would never claim the discredit ofhaving myself been the person he claims to have been. I will candidlyconfess that I am not proud of my achievements as Jonah. I was a veryoily person even before I embarked upon the seas as Lord High Admiralof H. M. S. Leviathan. I was not a pleasant person to know. If I spentthe night with a friend, his roof would fall in or his house would burndown. If I bet on a horse, he would lead up to the home-stretch and falldown dead an inch from the finish. If I went into a stock speculation, I was invariably caught on a rising or a falling market. In my youth Ispoiled every yachting-party I went on by attracting a gale. When I cameout the moon went behind a cloud, and people who began by endorsing mypaper ended up in the poor-house. Commerce wouldn't have me. Boards ofTrade everywhere repudiated me, and I gradually sank into that state ofdespair which finds no solace anywhere but on the sea or in politics, and as politics was then unknown I went to sea. The result is knownto the world. I was cast overboard, ingulfed by a whale, which, in hisdefence let me be generous enough to say, swallowed me inadvertentlyand with the usual result. I came back, and life went on. Finally Icame here, and when it got to the ears of the authorities that I was inHades, they sent me back for the fourth time to earth in the person ofWilliam Shakespeare. 

That is the whole of the Jonah story. It is a sad story, and I regretit; and I am sorry for the impostor when I reflect that the character hehas assumed possesses attractions for him. His real life must havebeen a fearful thing if he is happy in his impersonation, and for hispunishment let us leave him where he is. Having told the truth, Ihave done my duty. I cheerfully resign my claim to the personality heclaims--I relinquish from this time on all right, title, and interest inthe name; but if he ever dares to interfere with me again in the use ofmy personal recollections concerning the inside of whales I shall halehim before the authorities. 

And now, finally, I come to Shakespeare, whom I have kept for the last, not because he was the last chronologically, but because I like to workup to a climax. 

Previous to my existence as Baron Munchausen I lived for a term of yearson earth as William Shakespeare, and what I have to say now is more inthe line of confession than otherwise. 

In my boyhood I was wild and I poached. If I were not afraid of havingit set down as a joke, I should say that I poached everything from eggsto deer. I was not a great joy to my parents. There was no deviltry inStratford in which I did not take a leading part, and finally, for thegood of Warwickshire, I was sent to London, where a person of my talentswas more likely to find congenial and appreciative surroundings. Aglance at such of my autographs as are now extant will demonstrate thefact that I never learned to write; a glance at the first folios of theplays attributed to me will likewise show that I never learned to spell;and yet I walked into London with one of the most exquisite poems in theEnglish language in my pocket. I am still filled with merriment over it. How was it, the critics of the years since have asked--how was it thatthis untutored little savage from leafy Warwickshire, with no trainingand little education, came into London with "Venus and Adonis" inmanuscript in his pocket? It is quite evident that the critic fraternityhave no Sherlock Holmes in their midst. It would not take much of aneye, a true detective's eye, to see the milk in that cocoanut, for itis but a simple tale after all. The way of it was this: On my wayfrom Stratford to London I walked through Coventry, and I remained inCoventry overnight. I was ill-clad and hungry, and, having no money withwhich to pay for my supper, I went to the Royal Arms Hotel and offeredmy services as porter for the night, having noted that a rich cavalcadefrom London, en route to Kenilworth, had arrived unexpectedly at theRoyal Arms. Taken by surprise, and, therefore, unprepared to accommodateso many guests, the landlord was glad to avail himself of my services, and I was assigned to the position of boots. Among others whom I servedwas Walter Raleigh, who, noting my ragged condition and hearing what aroisterer and roustabout I had been, immediately took pity upon me, andgave me a plum-colored court-suit with which he was through, and whichI accepted, put upon my back, and next day wore off to London. It wasin the pocket of this that I found the poem of "Venus and Adonis. " Thatpoem, to keep myself from starving, I published when I reached London, sending a complimentary copy of course to my benefactor. When Raleighsaw it he was naturally surprised but gratified, and on his return toLondon he sought me out, and suggested the publication of his sonnets. I was the first man he'd met, he said, who was willing to publish hisstuff on his own responsibility. I immediately put out some of thesonnets, and in time was making a comfortable living, publishing theanonymous works of most of the young bucks about town, who paid well formy imprint. That the public chose to think the works were mine was noneof my fault. I never claimed them, and the line on the title-page, "ByWilliam Shakespeare, " had reference to the publisher only, and not, asmany have chosen to believe, to the author. Thus were published LordBacon's "Hamlet, " Raleigh's poems, several plays of Messrs. Beaumontand Fletcher--who were themselves among the cleverest adapters of thetimes--and the rest of that glorious monument to human credulity andmemorial to an impossible, wholly apocryphal genius, known as the worksof William Shakespeare. The extent of my writing during this incarnationwas ten autographs for collectors, and one attempt at a comic operacalled "A Midsummer's Nightmare, " which was never produced, because noone would write the music for it, and which was ultimately destroyedwith three of my quatrains and all of Bacon's evidence against myauthorship of "Hamlet, " in the fire at the Globe Theatre in the year1613. 

These, then, dear reader, are the revelations which I have to make. In my next incarnation I was the man I am now known to be, BaronMunchausen. As I have said, I make the exposure with regret, but thearrogance of these impudent impersonators of my various personalitieshas grown too great to be longer borne. I lay the simple story of theirvillany before you for what it is worth. I have done my duty. If afterthis exposure the public of Hades choose to receive them in their homesand at their clubs, and as guests at their functions, they will do itwith a full knowledge of their duplicity. 

In conclusion, fearing lest there be some doubters among the readersof this paper, I have allowed my friend, the editor of this esteemedjournal, which is to publish this story exclusively on Sunday next, freeaccess to my archives, and he has selected as exhibits of evidence, towhich I earnestly call your attention, the originals of the cuts whichillustrate this chapter--viz:

I. A full-length portrait of Eve as she appeared at our first meeting. 

II. Portraits of Cain and Abel at the ages of two, five, and seven. 

III. The original plans and specifications of the Ark. 

IV. Facsimile of her commission. 

V. Portrait-sketch of myself and the false Noah, made at the time, andshowing how difficult it would have been for any member of my family, save myself, to tell us apart. 

VI. A cathode-ray photograph of the whale, showing myself, the originalJonah, seated inside. 

VII. Facsimiles of the Shakespeare autographs, proving that he knewneither how to write nor to spell, and so of course proving effectuallythat I was not the author of his works. 

It must be confessed that I read this article of Munchausen's withamazement, and I awaited with much excited curiosity the coming again ofthe manipulator of my type-writing machine. Surely a revelation of thisnature should create a sensation in Hades, and I was anxious to learnhow it was received. Boswell did not materialize, however, and for fivenights I fairly raged with the fever of curiosity, but on the sixthnight the familiar tinkle of the bell announced an arrival, and I flewto the machine and breathlessly cried:

"Hullo, old chap, how did it come out?"

The reply was as great a surprise as I have yet had, for it was notBoswell, Jim Boswell, who answered my question. 

IV. A CHAT WITH XANTHIPPE

The machine stopped its clicking the moment I spoke, and the words, "Hullo, old chap!" were no sooner uttered than my face grew red as acarnation pink. I felt as if I had committed some dreadful faux-pas, andinstead of gazing steadfastly into the vacant chair, as I had beenwont to do in my conversation with Boswell, my eyes fell, as thoughthe invisible occupant of the chair were regarding me with a look ofindignant scorn. 

"I beg your pardon, " I said. 

"I should think you might, " returned the types. "Hullo, old chap! isno way to address a woman you've never had the honor of meeting, even ifshe is of the most advanced sort. No amount of newness in a woman givesa man the right to be disrespectful to her. "

"I didn't know, " I explained. "Really, miss, I--"

"Madame, " interrupted the machine, "not miss. I am a married woman, sir, which makes of your rudeness an even more reprehensible act. It is wellenough to affect a good-fellowship with young unmarried females, butwhen you attempt to be flippant with a married woman--"

"But I didn't know, I tell you, " I appealed. "How should I? I supposedit was Boswell I was talking to, and he and I have become very goodfriends. "

"Humph!" said the machine. "You're a chum of Boswell's, eh?"

"Well, not exactly a chum, but--" I began. 

"But you go with him?" interrupted the lady. 

"To an extent, yes, " I confessed. 

"And does he GO with you?" was the query. "If he does, permit me todepart at once. I should not feel quite in my element in a house wherethe editor of a Sunday newspaper was an attractive guest. If you likethat sort of thing, your tastes--"

"I do not, madame, " I replied, quickly. "I prefer the opium habit to theSunday-newspaper habit, and if I thought Boswell was merely a purveyorof what is known as Sunday literature, which depends on the goodness ofthe day to offset its shortcomings, I should forbid him the house. "

A distinct sigh of relief emanated from the chair. 

"Then I may remain, " was the remark rapidly clicked off on the machine. 

"I am glad, " said I. "And may I ask whom I have the honor ofaddressing?"

"Certainly, " was the immediate response. "My name is Socrates, neeXanthippe. "

I instinctively cowered. Candidly, I was afraid. Never in my life beforehad I met a woman whom I feared. Never in my life have I wavered in thepresence of the sex which cheers, but I have always felt that while Icould hold my own with Elizabeth, withstand the wiles of Cleopatra, andmanage the recalcitrant Katherine even as did Petruchio, Xanthippe wasanother story altogether, and I wished I had gone to the club. My firstimpulse was to call up-stairs to my wife and have her come down. Sheknows how to handle the new woman far better than I do. She has neverwanted to vote, and my collars are safe in her hands. She has frequentlyobserved that while she had many things to be thankful for, her greatestblessing was that she was born a woman and not a man, and the new womenof her native town never leave her presence without wondering in theirown minds whether or not they are mere humorous contributions of theAlmighty to a too serious world. I pulled myself together as bestI could, and feeling that my better-half would perhaps decline theproffered invitation to meet with one of the most illustrious of hersex, I decided to fight my own battle. So I merely said:

"Really? How delightful! I have always felt that I should like to meetyou, and here is one of my devoutest wishes gratified. "

I felt cheap after the remark, for Mrs. Socrates, nee Xanthippe, coveredfive sheets of paper with laughter, with an occasional bracketing of theword "derisively, " such as we find in the daily newspapers interspersedthroughout the after-dinner speeches of a candidate of another party. Finally, to my relief, the oft-repeated "Ha-ha-ha!" ceased, andthe line, "I never should have guessed it, " closed her immediatecontribution to our interchange of ideas. 

"May I ask why you laugh?" I observed, when she had at length finished. 

"Certainly, " she replied. "Far be it from me to dispute the right ofa man to ask any question he sees fit to ask. Is he not the lord ofcreation? Is not woman his abject slave? I not the whole differencebetween them purely economic? Is it not the law of supply and demandthat rules them both, he by nature demanding and she supplying?"

Dear reader, did you ever encounter a machine, man-made, merely amechanism of ivory, iron, and ink, that could sniff contemptuously? Inever did before this encounter, but the infernal power of either thistype-writer or this woman who manipulated its keys imparted to theatmosphere I was breathing a sniffing contemptuousness which I havenever experienced anywhere outside of a London hotel, and then onlywhen I ventured, as few Americans have dared, to complain of the ducalpersonage who presided over the dining-room, but who, I must confess, was conquered subsequently by a tip of ten shillings. 

At any rate, there was a sniff of contempt imparted, as I have said, tothe atmosphere I was breathing as Xanthippe answered my question, and the sniff saved me, just as it did in the London hotel, when Icomplained of the lordly lack of manners on the part of the head waiter. I asserted my independence. 

"Don't trouble yourself, " I put in. "Of course I shall be interested inanything you may choose to say, but as a gentleman I do not care to puta woman to any inconvenience and I do not press the question. "

And then I tried to crush her by adding, "What a lovely day we havehad, " as if any subject other than the most commonplace was not demandedby the situation. 

"If you contemplate discussing the weather, " was the retort, "I wish youwould kindly seek out some one else with whom to do it. I am not one ofyour latter-day sit-out-on-the-stairs-while-the-others-dance girls. Iam, as I have always been, an ardent admirer of principles, of greatproblems. For small talk I have no use. "

"Very well, madame--" I began. 

"You asked me a moment ago why I laughed, " clicked the machine. 

"I know it, " said I. "But I withdraw the question. There is no greatprinciple involved in a woman's laughter. I have known women who havelaughed at a broken heart, as well as at jokes, which shows that thereis no principle involved there; and as a problem, I have never caredenough about why women laugh to inquire deeply into it. If she'lljust consent to laugh, I'm satisfied without inquiring into the causesthereof. Let us get down to an agreeable basis for yourself. Whatproblem do you wish to discuss? Servants, baby-food, floor-polish, orthe number of godets proper to the skirt of a well-dressed woman?"

I was regaining confidence in myself, and as I talked I ceased to fearher. Thought I to myself, "This attitude of supreme patronage is man'ssafest weapon against a woman. Keep cool, assume that there is no doubtof your superiority, and that she knows it. Appear to patronize her, and her own indignation will defeat her ends. " It is a good principlegenerally. Among mortal women I have never known it to fail, and when Ifind myself worsted in an argument with one of man's greatest blessings, I always fall back upon it and am saved the ignominy of defeat. But thistime I counted without my antagonist. 

"Will you repeat that list of problems?" she asked, coldly. 

"Servants, baby-food, floor-polish, and godets, " I repeated, somewhatsheepishly, she took it so coolly. 

"Very well, " said Xanthippe, with a note of amusement in hermanipulation of the keys. "If those are your subjects, let us discussthem. I am surprised to find an able-bodied man like yourself botheringwith such problems, but I'll help you out of your difficulties if I can. No needy man shall ever say that I ignored his cry for help. What do youwant to know about baby-food?"

This turning of the tables nonplussed me, and I didn't really know whatto say, and so wisely said nothing, and the machine grew sharp in itsclicking. 

"You men!" it cried. "You don't know how fearfully shallow you are. Ican see through you in a minute. "

"Well, " I said, modestly, "I suppose you can. " Then calling my feeblewit to my rescue, I added, "It's only natural, since I've made aspectacle of myself. "

"Not you!" cried Xanthippe. "You haven't even made a monocle ofyourself. "

And here we both laughed, and the ice was broken. 

"What has become of Boswell?" I asked. 

"He's been sent to the ovens for ten days for libelling Shakespeare andAdam and Noah and old Jonah, " replied Xanthippe. "He printed an articlealleged to have been written by Baron Munchausen, in which those fourgentlemen were held up to ridicule and libelled grossly. "

"And Munchausen?" I cried. 

"Oh, the Baron got out of it by confessing that he wrote the article, "replied the lady. "And as he swore to his confession the jury wereconvinced he was telling another one of his lies and acquitted him, soBoswell was sent up alone. That's why I am here. There isn't a man inall Hades that dared take charge of Boswell's paper--they're all sodeadly afraid of the government, so I stepped in, and while Boswell isbaking I'm attending to his editorial duties. "

"But you spoke contemptuously of the Sunday newspapers awhile ago, Mrs. Socrates, " said I. 

"I know that, " said Xanthippe, "but I've fixed that. I get out theSunday edition on Saturdays. "

"Oh--I see. And you like it?" I queried. 

"First rate, " she replied. "I'm in love with the work. I almost wishpoor old Bos had been sentenced for ten years. I have enough of thewoman in me to love minding other people's business, and, as far as Ican find out, that's about all journalism amounts to. Sewing societiesaren't to be mentioned in the same day with a newspaper for scandal andgossip, and, besides, I'm an ardent advocate of men's rights--have beenfor centuries--and I've got my first chance now to promulgate a fewof my ideas. I'm really a man in all my views of life--that's theinevitable end of an advanced woman who persists in following her'newness' to its logical conclusion. Her habits of thought graduallycome to be those of a man. Even I have a great deal more sympathy withSocrates than I used to have. I used to think I was the one that shouldbe emancipated, but I'm really reaching that stage in my manhood where Ibegin to believe that he needs emancipation. "

"Then you admit, do you, " I cried, with great glee, "that this new-womanbusiness is all Tommy-rot?"

"Not by a great deal, " snapped the machine. "Far from it. It's thesalvation of the happy life. It is perfectly logical to say that themore manny a woman becomes, the more she is likely to sympathize withthe troubles and trials which beset men. "

I scratched my head and pulled the lobe of my ear in the hope ofloosening an argument to confront her with, not that I disagreed withher entirely, but because I instinctively desired to oppose her aspleasantly disagreeably as I could. But the result was nil. 

"I'm afraid you are right, " I said. 

"You're a truthful man, " clicked the machine, laughingly. "You areafraid I'm right. And why are you afraid? Because you are one of thosemen who take a cynical view of woman. You want woman to be a mere lumpof sugar, content to be left in a bowl until it pleases you in yourhigh-and-mightiness to take her in the tongs and drop her into thecoffee of your existence, to sweeten what would otherwise not pleaseyour taste--and like most men you prefer two or three lumps to one. "

I could only cough. The lady was more or less right. I am very fond ofsugar, though one lump is my allowance, and I never exceed it, whateverthe temptation. Xanthippe continued. 

"You criticise her because she doesn't understand you and your needs, forgetting that out of twenty-four hours of your daily existence yourwife enjoys personally about twelve hours of your society, during eightof which you are lying flat on your back, snoring as though yourlife depended on it; but when she asks to be allowed to share yourresponsibilities as well as what, in her poor little soul, she thinksare your joys, you flare up and call her 'new' and 'advanced, ' as ifadvancement were a crime. You ride off on your wheel for forty miles onyour days of rest, and she is glad to have you do it, but when she wantsa bicycle to ride, you think it's all wrong, immoral, and conducive to aweak heart. Bah!"

"I--ah--" I began. 

"Yes you do, " she interrupted. "You ah and you hem and you haw, but inthe end you're a poor miserable social mugwump, conscious of your ownmagnificence and virtue, but nobody else ever can attain to your loftyplane. Now what I want to see among women is more good fellows. Supposeyou regarded your wife as good a fellow as you think your friend Jones. Do you think you'd be running off to the club every night to playbilliards with Jones, leaving your wife to enjoy her own society?"

"Perhaps not, " I replied, "but that's just the point. My wife isn't agood fellow. "

"Exactly, and for that reason you seek out Jones. You have a right tothe companionship of the good fellow--that's what I'm going to advocate. I've advanced far enough to see that on the average in the present stateof woman she is not a suitable companion for man--she has none of thequalities of a chum to which he is entitled. I'm not so blind but that Ican see the faults of my own sex, particularly now that I have become sovery masculine myself. Both sexes should have their rights, and thatis the great policy I'm going to hammer at as long as I have Boswell'spaper in charge. I wish you might see my editorial page for to-morrow;it is simply fine. I urge upon woman the necessity of joining in withher husband in all his pleasures whether she enjoys them or not. When helights a cigar, let her do the same; when he calls for a cocktail, let her call for another. In time she will begin to understand him. He understands her pleasures, and often he joins in with them--opera, dances, lectures; she ought to do the same, and join in with him in hispleasures, and after a while they'll get upon a common basis, have theirclubs together, and when that happy time comes, when either one goes outthe other will also go, and their companionship will be perfect. "

"But you objected to my calling you old chap when we first met, " said I. "Is that quite consistent?"

"Of course, " retorted the lady. "We had never met before, and, besides, doctors do not always take their own medicine. "

"But that women ought to become good fellows is what you're going toadvocate, eh?" said I. 

"Yes, " replied Xanthippe. "It's excellent, don't you think?"

"Superb, " I answered, "for Hades. It's just my idea of how things oughtto be in Hades. I think, however, that we mortals will stick to the oldplan for a little while yet; most of us prefer to marry wives ratherthan old chaps. "

The remark seemed so to affect my visitor that I suddenly becameconscious of a sense of loneliness. 

"I don't wish to offend you, " I said, "but I rather like to keep the twoseparate. Aren't you man enough yet to see the value of variety?"

But there was no answer. The lady had gone. It was evident that sheconsidered me unworthy of further attention. 

V. THE EDITING OF XANTHIPPE

After my interview with Xanthippe, I hesitated to approach thetype-writer for a week or two. It did a great deal of clicking after themidnight hour had struck, and I was consumed with curiosity to know whatwas going on, but I did not wish to meet Mrs. Socrates again, so I heldaloof until Boswell should have served his sentence. I was no longerafraid of the woman, but I do fear the good fellow of the weaker sex, and I deemed it just as well to keep out of any and all disputes thatmight arise from a casual conversation with a creature of that sort. Anagreement with a real good fellow, even when it ends in a row, is moreor less diverting; but a disputation with a female good fellow placesa man at a disadvantage. The argumentum ad hominem is not an easy thingwith men, but with women it is impossible. Hence, I let the type-writerclick and ring for a fortnight. 

Finally, to my relief, I recognized Boswell's touch upon the keys andsauntered up to the side of the machine. 

"Is this Boswell--Jim Boswell?" I inquired. 

"All that's left of him, " was the answer. "How have you been?"

"Very well, " said I. And then it seemed to me that tact required that Ishould not seem to know that he had been in the superheated jail of theStygian country. So I observed, "You've been off on a vacation, eh?"

"How do you know that?" was the immediate response. 

"Well, " I put in, "you've been absent for a fortnight, and you look moreor less--ah--burned. "

"Yes, I am, " replied the deceitful editor. "Very much burned, in fact. I've been--er--I've been playing golf with a friend down in Cimmeria. "

"I envy you, " I observed, with an inward chuckle. 

"You wouldn't if you knew the links, " replied Boswell, sadly. "They'reawfully hard. I don't know any harder course than the Cimmerian. "

And then I became conscious of a mistrustful gaze fastened upon me. 

"See here, " clicked the machine. "I thought I was invisible to you? Ifso, how do you know I look burned?"

I was cornered, and there was only one way out of it, and that was bytelling the truth. "Well, you are invisible, old chap, " I said. "Thefact is, I've been told of your trouble, and I know what you haveundergone. "

"And who told you?" queried Boswell. 

"Your successor on the Gazette, Madame Socrates, nee Xanthippe, " Ireplied. 

"Oh, that woman--that woman!" moaned Boswell, through the medium of thekeys. "Has she been here, using this machine too? Why didn't you stopher before she ruined me completely?"

"Ruined you?" I cried. 

"Well, next thing to it, " replied Boswell. "She's run my paper so farinto the ground that it will take an almighty powerful grip to pullit out again. Why, my dear boy, when I went to--to the ovens, I had acirculation of a million, and when I came back that woman had brought itdown to eight copies, seven of which have already been returned. All inten days, too. "

"How do you account for it?" I asked. 

"'Side Talks with Men' helped, and 'The Man's Corner' did a little, butthe editorial page did the most of it. It was given over wholly to theadvancement of certain Xanthippian ideas, which were very offensive tomy women readers, and which found no favor among the men. She wants tochange the whole social structure. She thinks men and women are the samekind of animal, and that both need to be educated on precisely the samelines--the girls to be taught business, the boys to go through a courseof domestic training. She called for subscriptions for a cooking-schoolfor boys, and demanded the endowment of a commercial college for girls, and wound up by insisting upon a uniform dress for both sexes. I tellyou, if you'd worked for years to establish a dignified newspaperthe way I have, it would have broken your heart to see the suggestedfashion-plates that woman printed. The uniform dress was a holy terror. It was a combination of all the worst features of modern garb. Trouserswere to be universal and compulsory; sensible masculine coats werediscarded entirely, and puffed-sleeved dress-coats were substituted. Stiff collars were abolished in favor of ribbons, and rosettes croppedup everywhere. Imagine it if you can--and everybody in all Hades was tobe forced into garments of that sort!"

"I should enjoy seeing it, " I said. 

"Possibly--but you wouldn't enjoy wearing it, " retorted the machine. "And then that woman's funny column--it was frightful. You never sawsuch jokes in your life; every one of them contained a covert attackupon man. There was only one good thing in it, and that was a bit ofverse called 'Fair Play for the Little Girls. ' It went like this:

 "'If little boys, when they are young, Can go about in skirts, And wear upon their little backs Small broidered girlish shirts, Pray why cannot the little girls, When infants, have a chance To toddle on their little ways In little pairs of pants?'"

"That isn't at all bad, " said I, smiling in spite of poor Boswell's woe. "If the rest of the paper was on a par with that I don't see why thecirculation fell off. "

"Well, she took liberties, that's all, " said Boswell. "For instance, inher 'Side Talks with Men' she had something like this: 'Napoleon--Itis rather difficult to say just what you can do with your last season'scocked-hat. If you were to purchase five yards of one-inch blue ribbon, cut it into three strips of equal length, and fasten one end to eachof the three corners of the hat, tying the other ends into a choux, itwould make a very acceptable work-basket to send to your grandmotherat Christmas. ' Now Napoleon never asked that woman for advice on thesubject. Then there was an answer to a purely fictitious inquiry fromSolomon which read: 'It all depends on local custom. In Salt Lake City, and in London at the time of Henry the Eighth, it was not considerednecessary to be off with the old love before being on with the new, butlatterly the growth of monopolistic ideas tends towards the uniform rateof one at a time. ' A purely gratuitous fling, that was, at one of mymost eminent patrons, or rather two of them, for latterly both Solomonand Henry the Eighth have yielded to the tendency of the times and goneinto business, which they have paid me well to advertise. Solomon hasestablished an 'Information Bureau, ' where advice can always be had fromthe 'Wise-man, ' as he calls himself, on payment of a small fee; whileHenry, taking advantage of his superior equipment over any English kingthat ever lived, has founded and liberally advertised his 'ChaperonCompany (Limited). ' It's a great thing even in Hades for young peopleto be chaperoned by an English queen, and Henry has been smart enough tosee it, and having seven or eight queens, all in good standing, he hasbeen doing a great business. Just look at it from a business pointof view. There are seven nights in every week, and something going onsomewhere all the time, and queens in demand. With a queen quoted so lowas $100 a night, Henry can make nearly $5000 a week, or $260, 000 ayear, out of evening chaperonage alone; and when, in addition to this, yachting-parties up the Styx and slumming-parties throughout the countryare being constantly given, the man's opportunity to make half a milliona year is in plain sight. I'm told that he netted over $500, 000 lastyear; and of course he had to advertise to get it, and this Xanthippewoman goes out of her way to get in a nasty little fling at one of mymainstays for his matrimonial propensities. "

"Failing utterly to see, " said I, "that, in marrying so many times, Henry really paid a compliment to her sex which is without parallel inroyal circles. "

"Well, nearly so, " said Boswell. "There have been other kings who werequite as complimentary to the ladies, but Henry was the only man amongthem who insisted on marrying them all. "

"True, " said I. "Henry was eminently proper--but then he had to be. "

"Yes, " said Boswell, with a meditative tap on the letter Y. "Yes--he hadto be. He was the head of the Church, you know. "

"I know it, " I put in. "I've always had a great deal of sympathy forHenry. He has been very much misjudged by posterity. He was the fatherof the really first new woman, Elizabeth, and his other daughter, Mary, was such a vindictive person. "

"You are a very fair man, for an American, " said Boswell. "Not onlyfair, but rare. You think about things. "

"I try to, " said I, modestly. "And I've really thought a great dealabout Henry, and I've truly seen a valid reason for his continuousmatrimonial performances. He set himself up against the Pope, and he hadto be consistent in his antagonism. "

"He did, indeed, " said Boswell. "A religious discussion is a hard one. "

"And Henry was consistent in his opposition, " said I. "He didn't yielda jot on any point, and while a great many people criticise him on thescore of his wives--particularly on their number--I feel that I have invery truth discovered his principle. "

"Which was?" queried Boswell. 

"That the Pope was wrong in all things, " said I. 

"So he said, " commented Boswell. 

"And being wrong in all things, celibacy was wrong, " said I. 

"Exactly, " ejaculated Boswell. 

"Well, then, " said I, "if celibacy is wrong, the surest way to protestagainst it is to marry as many times as you can. "

"By Jove!" said Boswell, tapping the keys yearningly, as though hewished he might spare his hand to shake mine, "you are a man after myown heart. "

"Thanks, old chap, " said I, reaching out my hand and shaking it in theair with my visionary friend--"thanks. I've studied these things withsome care, and I've tried to find a reason for everything in life asI know it. I have always regarded Henry as a moral man--as is natural, since in spite of all you can say he is the real head of the EnglishChurch. He wasn't willing to be married a second or a seventh timeunless he was really a widower. He wasn't as long in taking notice againas some modern widowers that I have met, but I do not criticise him onthat score. I merely attribute his record to his kingly nature, whichinvolves necessarily a quickness of decision and a decided perceptionof the necessities which is sadly lacking in people who are born to alesser station in life. England demanded a queen, and he invariably metthe demand, which shows that he knew something of political economy aswell as of matrimony; and as I see it, being an American, a man needs toknow something of political economy to be a good ruler. So many of ourstatesmen have acquired a merely kindergarten knowledge of the science, that we have had many object-lessons of the disadvantages of a merelyelementary knowledge of the subject. To come right down to it, I ama great admirer of Henry. At any rate, he had the courage of hisheart-convictions. "

"You really surprise me, " tapped Boswell. "I never expected to find anAmerican so thoroughly in sympathy with kings and their needs. "

"Oh, as for that, " said I, "in America we are all kings and we are notwithout our needs, matrimonial and otherwise, only our courts arenot quite so expeditious as Henry's little axe. But what was Henry'sattitude towards this extraordinary flight of Xanthippe's?"

"Wrath, " said Boswell. "He was very much enraged, and withdrew hisadvertisements, declined to give our society reporters the usualaccounts of the functions his wives chaperoned, and, worst of all, haswithdrawn himself and induced others to withdraw from the symposium Iwas preparing for my special Summer Girls' issue, which is to appearin August, on 'How Men Propose. ' He and Brigham Young and Solomon andBonaparte had agreed to dictate graphic accounts of how they had doneit on various occasions, and Queen Elizabeth, who probably had moreproposals to the square minute that any other woman on record, was towrite the introduction. This little plan, which was really the idea ofgenius, is entirely shattered by Mrs. Socrates's infernal interference. "

"Nonsense, " said I. "Don't despair. Why don't you come out with a plainstatement of the facts? Apologize. "

"You forget, my dear sir, " interposed Boswell, "that one of thefundamental principles of Hades as an institution is that excuses don'tcount. It isn't a place for repentance so much as for expiation, and Imight apologize nine times a minute for forty years and would still haveto suffer the penalty of the offence. No, there is nothing to be donebut to begin my newspaper work again, build up again the institutionthat Xanthippe has destroyed, and bear my misfortunes like a truespirit. "

"Spoken like a philosopher!" I cried. "And if I can help you, my dearBoswell, count upon me. In anything you may do, whether you starta monthly magazine, a sporting weekly, or a purely American Sundaynewspaper, you are welcome to anything I can do for you. "

"You are very kind, " returned Boswell, appreciatively, "and if I needyour services I shall be glad to avail myself of them. Just at present, however, my plans are so fully prepared that I do not think I shallhave to call upon you. With Sherlock Holmes engaged to write twelvenew detective stories; Poe to look after my tales of horror; D'Artagnandictating his personal memoirs; Lucretia Borgia running my Girls'Department; and others too numerous to mention, I have a sufficientsupply of stuff to fill up; but if you feel like writing a few poems forme I may be able to use them as fillers, and they may help to make yourname so well known in Hades that next year I shall be able to print aWorldly Letter from you every week with a good chance of its provingpopular. "

And with this promise Boswell left me to get out the first number of TheCimmerian: a Sunday Magazine for all. Taking him at his word, I sent himthe following poem a few days later:

 LOCALITY

 Whither do we drift, Insensate souls, whose every breath Foretells the doom of nothingness? Yet onward, upward let it be Through all the myriad circles Of the ensuing years-- And then, pray what? Alas! 'tis all, and never shall be stated. Atoms, yet atomless we drift, But whitherward?

I had intended this for one of our leading magazines, but it seemedso to lack the mystical quality, which is essential to a successfulmagazine poem in our sphere, that I deemed it best to try it on Boswell. 

VI. THE BOSWELL TOURS: PERSONALLY CONDUCTED

It was and will no doubt be considered, even by those who are not toofriendly towards myself, a daring idea, and it was all my own. Onenight, several weeks after the interview with Boswell just narrated, theidea came to me simultaneously with the first tapping of the keys forthe evening upon the Enchanted Type-Writer. It was Boswell's touch thatsummoned me from my divan. My family were on the eve of departure fora month's rest from care and play in the mountains, and I waslooking forward to a period of very great loneliness. But as Boswellmaterialized and began his work upon the machine, the great idea flashedacross my mind, and I resolved to "play it" for all it was worth. 

"Jim, " said I, as I approached the vacant chair in which he sat--forby this time the great biographer and I had got upon terms offamiliarity--"Jim, " said I, "I've got a very gloomy prospect ahead ofme. "

"Well, why not?" he tapped off. "Where do you expect to have your gloomyprospects? They can't very well be behind you. "

"Humph!" said I. "You are facetious this evening. "

"Not at all, " he replied. "I have been spending the day with my old-timeboss, Samuel Johnson, and I am so saturated with purism that I hardlyknow where I am. From the Johnsonian point of view you have expressedyourself ill--"

"Well, I am ill, " I retorted. "I don't know how far you are acquaintedwith home life, but I do know that there is no greater homesickness inthe world than that of the man who is sick of home. "

"I am not an imitator, " said Boswell, "but I must imitate you to theextent of saying humph! I quote you, and, doing so, I honor you. Butreally, I never thought you could be sick of home, as you put it--youwho are so happy at home and who so wildly hate being away from home. "

"I'm not surprised at that, my dear Boswell, " said I. "But you are, ofcourse, familiar with the phrase 'Stone walls do not a prison make?'"

"I've heard it, " said Boswell. 

"Well, there's another equally valid phrase which I have not yet heardexpressed by another, and it is this: 'Stone walls do not a home make. '"

"It isn't very musical, is it?" said he. 

"Not very, " I answered, "but we don't all live magazine lives, do we? Wehave occasionally a sentiment, a feeling, out of which we do not try 'tomake copy. ' It is undoubtedly a truth which I have not yet seen voicedby any modern poet of my acquaintance, not even by the dead-baby poets, that home is not always preferable to some other things. At any rate, it is my feeling, and is shortly to represent my condition. My home, you know. It has its walls and its pictures, and its thousand and onecomforts, and its associations, but when my wife and my children areaway, and the four walls do not re-echo the voices of the children, andmy library lacks the presence of madame, it ceases truly to be home, andif I've got to stay here during the month of August alone I must havediversion, else I shall find myself as badly off as the butterfly man, to whom a vaudeville exhibition is the greatest joy in life. "

"I think you are queer, " said Boswell. 

"Well, I am not, " said I. "However low we may set the standard of man, Mr. B. "--and I called him Mr. B. Instead of Jim, because I wished to besevere and yet retain the basis of familiarity--"however low we may setthe standard of man, I think man as a rule prefers his home to the mostseductive roof-garden life in existence. "

"Wherefore?" said he, coldly. 

"Wherefore my home about to become unattractive through the absence ofmy boys and their mother, I shall need some extraordinary diversion toaccomplish my happiness. Now if you can come here, why can't others?Suppose to-night you dash off on the machine a lot of invitations to thepleasantest people in Hades to come up here with you and have an eveningon earth, which isn't all bad. "

"It's a scheme and a half, " said Boswell, with more enthusiasm than Ihad expected. "I'll do it, only instead of trying to get these peopleto make a pilgrimage to your shrine, which I think they would decline todo--Shakespeare, for instance, wouldn't give a tuppence to inspectyour birthplace as you have inspected his--I'll institute a series of'Boswell's Personally Conducted Pleasure Parties, ' and make you my agenthere. That, you see, will naturally make your home our headquarters, andI think the scheme would work a charm, because there are a great manywell-known Stygians who are curious to revisit the scenes oftheir earlier state, but who are timid about coming on their ownresponsibility. "

"I see, " said I. "Immortals are but mortal after all, with all thetimidity and weaknesses of mortality. But I agree to the proposition, and if you wish it I'll prepare to give them a rousing old time. "

"And be sure to show them something characteristic, " said Boswell. 

"I will, " I replied; "I may even get up a trolley-party for them. "

"I don't know what a trolley-party is, but it sounds well, " saidBoswell, "and I'll advertise the enterprise at once. 'Boswell'sPersonally Conducted Pleasure Parties. First Series, No. 1. TrolleyingThrough Hoboken. For the Round Trip, Four Dollars. Supper and AllExpenses Included. No Tips. Extra Lady's Ticket, One Dollar. '"

"Hold on!" I cried. "That can't be. These affairs will really have to bestag-parties--with my wife away, you know. "

"Not if we secure a suitable chaperon, " said Boswell. 

"Anyhow!" said I, with great positiveness. "You don't suppose that inthe absence of my family I'm going to have my neighbors see me cavortingabout the country on a trolley-car full of queens and duchesses andother females of all ages? Not a bit of it, my dear James. I'm not astrictly conventional person, but there are some points between which Idraw lines. I've got to live on this earth for a little while yet, anduntil I leave it I must be guided more or less in what I do by what theworld approves or disapproves. "

"Very well, " Boswell answered. "I suppose you are right, but in theautumn, when your family has returned--"

"We can discuss the matter again, " said I, resolved to put off thequestion for as long a time as I could, for I candidly confess that Ihad no wish to make myself responsible for the welfare of such Stygianladies as might avail themselves of the opportunity to go off on oneof Boswell's tours. "Show the value and beauties of your plan to theinfluential men of Hades first, my dear Boswell, " I added, "and then ifthey choose they can come again and bring their wives with them on theirown responsibility. "

"I fancy that is the best plan, but we ought to have some variety inthese tours, " he replied. "A trolley-party, however successful, wouldnot make a great season for an entertainment bureau, would it?"

"No, indeed, " said I. "You are perfectly right about that. What youwant is one function a week during the summer season. Open with thetrolley-party as No. 1 of your first series. Follow this with 'AnEvening of Vaudeville: The Grand Tour of the Roof Gardens. ' After thathave a 'Sunday at the Sea-side--Surf Bathing, Summer Girls and Sand. 'That would make a mighty attractive line for your advertisement. "

"Magnificent. I don't see why you don't give up poetry and magazinework and get a position as poster-writer for a circus. You are only amediocre magazinist, but in the poster business you'd be a genius. "

This was tapped off with such manifest sincerity that I could not takeoffence, so I thanked him and resumed. 

"The grand finale of your first series might be 'A Tandem Scorch: ACentury Run on a Bicycle Built for Two Hundred!'"

"Magnificent!" cried Boswell, with such enthusiasm that I feared hewould smash the machine. "I'll devote a whole page of my Sunday issue tothe prospectus--but, to return to the woman question, we ought reallyto have something to announce for them. Hades hath no fury like a womanscorned, and I can't afford to scorn the sex. You needn't have anythingto do with them if you don't want to--only tell me something I canannounce, and I'll make Henry the Eighth solid again by putting thatbranch of the enterprise in his wives' hands. In that way I'll kill twobirds with one stone. "

"That's all very well, Boswell, but I'm afraid I can't, " said I. "It'shard enough to know how to please a mortal woman without attempting toget up a series of picnics for the rather miscellaneous assortment ofladies who form your social structure below. All men are alike, andman's pleasures in all times have been generally the same, but everywoman is unique. I never knew two who were alike, and if it's all thesame to you I'd rather you left me out of your ladies' tours altogether. Of course I know that even the Queen of Sheba would enjoy a visit to aMonday sale at one of our big department stores, and I am quite as wellaware that nine out of ten women in Hades or out of it would enjoythe millinery exhibition at the opera matinee--and if these two ideasimpress you at all you are welcome to them--but beyond this I havenothing to suggest. "

"Well, I'm sure those two ideas are worth a great deal, " returnedBoswell, making a note of them; "I shall announce four trips to Mondaysales--"

"Call 'em 'To Bargaindale and Back: The Great Marked-down Tour, ' and besure you add, 'For Able-bodied Women Only. No Tickets Issued Except onRecommendation of your Family Physician. ' This is especially important, for next to a war or a football match there's nothing that I know ofthat is quite so dangerous to the participants as a bargain day. "

"I'll bear what you say in mind, " quoth Boswell, and he made a note ofmy injunction. "And immediately upon my return to Hades I will requestan audience with Henry's queens, and ask them to devise a number ofother tours likely to prove profitable and popular. "

Shortly after my visitor departed and I retired. The next day my familydeserted me and went to the mountains, and all my fears as to theinordinate sense of loneliness which was to be my lot were realized. Even Boswell neglected me apparently for a week. I went to my deskdaily and returned at night hoping that my type-writer would bring forthsomething of an interesting nature, but naught other than disappointmentawaited me. For a whole blessed week I was thrown back upon the societyof my neighbors for diversion. The type-writer gave no sign of being. 

Little did I guess that Boswell was busy working up my scheme in hisStygian home!

But it came to pass finally that I was roused up. Walking one morning tomy desk to find a bit of memoranda I needed, I discovered a type-writtenslip marked, "No time for small talk. Boswell's tours grand success. Trolley-party to-night. Ten cars wanted. Jim. "

It was a large order for a town like mine, where forty thousand peoplehave to get along with five cars--two open ones for winter and twoclosed for summer, and one, which we have never seen, which is kept foruse in the repair-shop. I was in despair. Ten car-loads of immortalscoming to my house for a trolley-party under such conditions! It wasfrightful! I did the best I could, however. 

I ordered one trolley-car to be ready at eight, and a large variety ofgood things edible and drinkable, the latter to be held subject to thedemand-notes of our guests. 

As may be imagined, I did little real work that day, and when I returnedhome at night I was on tenter-hooks lest something should go wrong; butfortunately Boswell himself came early and relieved me of my worry--infact, he was at the machine when I entered the house. 

"Well, " he said, "have you the ten cars?"

"What do you take me for, " said I, "a trolley-car trust? Of course Ihaven't. There are only five cars in town, one of which is kept in therepair-shop for effect. I've hired one. "

"Humph!" he cried. "What will the kings do?"

"Kings!" I cried. "What kings?"

"I have nine kings and one car-load of common souls besides for thisaffair, " he explained. "Each king wants a special car. "

"Kings be jiggered!" said I. "A trolley-party, my much beloved James, is an essentially democratic institution, and private cars are not derigueur. If your kings choose to come, let 'em hang on by the straps. "

"But I've charged 'em extra!" cried Boswell. 

"That's all right, " said I, "they receive extra. They have the rideplus the straps, with the privilege of standing out on the platformand ringing the gong if they want to. The great thing about thetrolley-party is that there's no private car business about it. "

"Well, I don't know, " Boswell murmured, reflectively. "If Charles theFirst and Louis Fourteenth don't kick about being crowded in with allthe rest, I can stand anything that Frederick the Great or Neromight say; but those two fellows are great sticklers for the royalprerogative. "

"There isn't any such thing as royal prerogative on a trolley-car, " Iretorted, "and if they don't like what they get they can sit down in thewaiting-room and wait until we get back. "

But Boswell's fears were not realized. Charles and Louis were perfectlydelighted with the trolley-party, and long before we reached home theformer had rung up the fare-register to its full capacity, while thelatter, a half-a-dozen times, delightedly occupied himself in masteringthe intricacies of the overhead wire. The trolley-party was an undoubtedsuccess. The same remains to be said of the vaudeville expedition ofthe following week. The same guests and potentates attended this, tothe number of twenty, and the Boswell tours were accounted a greatenterprise, and bade fair to redeem the losses of the eminent journalistincurred during Xanthippe's administration of his affairs; but afterthe bicycle night I had to withdraw from the combination to save myreputation. The fact upon which I had not counted was that my neighborsbegan to think me insane. I had failed to remember that none of thesevisiting spirits was visible to us in this material world, and whilemy fellow-townsmen were disposed to lay up my hiring of a specialtrolley-car for my own private and particular use against theeccentricity of genius, they marvelled greatly that I should purchasetwenty of the best seats at a vaudeville show seemingly for my ownexclusive use. When, besides this, they saw me start off apparentlyalone on one tandem bicycle, followed by twenty-eight other emptywheels, which they could not know were manipulated by some of the mostfamous legs in the history of the world, from Noah's down to thoseof Henry Fielding the novelist, they began to regard me as somethinguncanny. 

Nor can I blame them. It seems to me that if I saw one man scorchingalong a road alone on a tandem bicycle chatting to an empty front-seat, I should think him queer, but if following in his wake I perceivedtwenty-eight other wheels, scorching up hill and down dale without anyvisible motive power, I should regard him as one who was in league withthe devil himself. 

Nevertheless, I judge from what Boswell has told me that I am regardedin Hades as a great benefactor of the people there, for havingestablished a series of excursions from that world into this, a servicewhich has done much to convince the Stygians that after all, if only bycontrast, the life below has its redeeming features. 

VII. AN IMPORTANT DECISION

For some time after the organization of the Pleasure Tours, theEnchanted Type-Writer appeared to be deserted. Night after night Iwatched over it with great care lest I should lose any item of interestthat might come to me from below, but, much to my sorrow, things inHades appeared to be dull--so dull that the machine was not calledinto requisition at all. I little guessed what important matters weretranspiring in that wonderful country. Had I done so, I doubt I shouldhave waited so patiently, although my only method of getting therewas suicide, for which diversion I have very little liking. On thetwenty-fourth night of waiting, however, the welcome sound of the belldragged me forth from my comfortable couch, whither, expecting nothing, I had retired early. 

"Glad to hear your pleasant tinkle again, " I said. "I've missed you. "

"I'm glad to get back, " returned Boswell, for it was he who wasmanipulating the keys. "I've been so infernally busy, however, over thecourt news, that I haven't had a minute to spare. "

"Court news, eh?" I said. "You are going to open up a society column, are you?"

"Not I, " he replied. "It's the other kind of a court. We've been havingsome pretty hot litigation down in Hades since I was here last. Thecity of Cimmeria has been suing the State of Hades for ten years backdog-taxes. "

"For what?" I cried. 

"Unpaid dog-taxes for ten years, " Boswell explained. "We have just asmuch government below in our cities as you have, and I will say forHades that our cities are better run than yours. "

"I suppose that is due to the fact that when a man gets to Hadeshe immediately becomes a reformer, " I suggested, with a wink at themachine, which somehow or other did not seem to appreciate the joke. 

"Possibly, " observed Boswell. "Whatever the reason, however, the factremains that Cimmeria is a well-governed city, and, what is more, itisn't afraid to assert its rights even as against old Apollyon himself. "

"It's safe enough for a corporation, " said I. "Much safer for acorporation which has no soul, than for an individual who has. You can'ttorture a city--"

"Oh, can't you!" laughed Boswell. "Humph. Apollyon can make it as hotfor a city as he can for an individual. It is evident that you neverheard of Sodom and Gomorrah--which is surprising to me, since your jokesabout Lot's wife being too fresh and getting salted down, would seem toindicate that you had heard something about the punishment those citiesunderwent. "

"You are right, Bozzy, " I said. "I had forgotten. But tell me about thedog-tax. Does the State own a dog?"

"Does it?" roared Boswell. "Why, my dear fellow, where were you broughtup and educated. Does the State own a dog!"

"That's what I asked you, " I put in, meekly. "I may be very ignorant, unless you mean the kind that we have in our legislatures, called thewatch-dogs of the treasury, or, perhaps, the dogs of war. But I neverthought any city would be crazy enough to make the government take out alicense for them. "

"Never heard of a beast named Cerberus, I suppose?" said Boswell. 

"Yes, I have, " I answered. "He guards the gates to the infernalregions. "

"Well--he's the bone of contention, " said Boswell. "You see, about tenyears ago the people of Cimmeria got rather tired of the condition oftheir streets. They were badly paved. They were full of good intentions, but the citizens thought they ought to have something more lasting, sothey voted to appropriate an enormous sum for asphalting. They didn'trealize how sloppy asphalt would become in that climate, but after theasphalt was put down they found out, and a Beelzebub of a time ofit they had. Pegasus sprained his off hind leg by slipping on it, Bucephalus got into it with all four feet and had to be lifted out witha derrick, and every other fine horse we had was more or less injured, and the damage suits against the city were enormous. To remedy this, theasphalting was taken up and a Nicholson wood pavement was put down. Thiswas worse than the other. It used to catch fire every other night, and, finally, to protect their houses, the people rose up en masse and rippedit all to pieces. 

"This necessitated a third new pavement, of Belgian blocks, to pay forwhich the already overburdened city of Cimmeria had to issue bonds toan enormous amount, all of which necessitated an increase of taxes. Naturally, one of the first taxes to be imposed was a dog-tax, and itwas that which led to this lawsuit, which, I regret to say, the city haslost, although Judge Blackstone's decision was eminently fair. "

"Wouldn't the State pay?" I asked. 

"Yes--on Cerberus as one dog, " said Boswell. "The city claimed, however, that Cerberus was more than that, and endeavored to collect on threedogs--one license for each head. This the State declined to pay, andout of this grew further complications of a distressing nature. The citysent its dog-catchers up to abscond with the dog, intending to cut offtwo of its heads, and return the balance as being as much of the beastas the State was entitled to maintain on a single license. It was anunfortunate move, for when Cerberus himself took the situation in, whichhe did at a glance, he nabbed the dog-catcher by the coat-tails with onepair of jaws, grabbed hold of his collar with another, and shook him ashe would a rat, meanwhile chewing up other portions of the unfortunateofficial with his third set of teeth. The functionary was then carriedhome on a stretcher, and subsequently sued the city for damages, whichhe recovered. 

"Another man was sent out to lure the ferocious beast to the pound witha lasso, but it worked no better than the previous attempt. The lassofell all right tight about one of the animal's necks, but his other twoheads immediately set to work and gnawed the rope through, and then setoff after the dog-catcher, overtaking him at the very door of the pound. This time he didn't do any biting, but lifting the dog-catcher up withhis various sets of teeth, fastened to his collar, coat-tails, and feetrespectively, carried him yelling like a trooper to the end of thewharf and dropped him into the Styx. The result of this was nervousprostration for the dog-catcher, another suit for damages for the city, and a great laugh for the State authorities. In fact, " Boswell added, confidentially, "I think perhaps the reason why the Prime-ministerhasn't got Apollyon to hang the whole city government has been due tothe fun they've got out of seeing Cerberus and the city fighting it outtogether. There's no doubt about it that he is a wonderful dog, and isquite capable of taking care of himself. "

"But the outcome of the case?" I asked, much interested. 

"Defeat for the city, " said Boswell. "Failing to enforce its authorityby means of its servants, the city undertook to recover by due processof law. The dog-catchers were powerless; the police declined to act onthe advice of the commissioners, since dog-catching was not within theirprovince; and the fire department averred that it was designed forthe putting out of fires and not for extinguishing fiery canines likeCerberus. The dog, meanwhile, to show his contempt for the city, chewedthe license-tag off the neck upon which it had been placed, and droppedit into a smelting-pot inside the gates of the infernal regions that wasreserved to bring political prisoners to their senses, and, worse thanall, made a perfect nuisance of himself by barking all day and bayingall night, rain or shine. "

"Papers in a suit at law were then served on Mazarin and the othermembers of Apollyon's council, the causes of complaint were recited, anddamages for ten years back taxes on two dogs, plus the amounts recoveredfrom the city by the two injured dog-catchers, were demanded. The suitwas put upon the calendar, and Apollyon himself sat upon the bench withJudge Blackstone, before whom the case was to be tried. 

"On both sides the arguments were exceedingly strong. Coke appeared forthe city and Catiline for the State. After the complaint was read, theattorney for the State put in his answer, that the State's contentionwas that the ordinance had been complied with, that Cerberus was onlyone dog, and that the license had been paid; that the license havingbeen paid, the dog-catchers had no right to endeavor to abduct theanimal, and that having done so they did it at their own peril; thatthe suit ought to be dismissed, but that for the fun of it the State wasperfectly willing to let it go on. 

"In rebuttal the plaintiff claimed that Cerberus was three dogs to allintents and purposes, and the first dog-catcher was called to testify. After giving his name and address he was asked a few questions of minorimportance, and then Coke asked:

"'Are you familiar with dogs?'

"'Moderately, ' was the answer. 'I never got quite so intimate with oneas I did with him. '

"'With whom?' asked Coke. 

"'Cerberus, ' replied the witness. 

"'Do you consider him to be one dog, two dogs or three dogs?'

"'I object!' cried Catiline, springing to his feet. 'The question is aleading one. '

"'Sustained, ' said Blackstone, with a nervous glance at Apollyon, whosmiled reassuringly at him. 

"'Ah, you say you know a dog when you see one?' asked Coke. 

"'Yes, ' said the witness, 'perfectly. '

"'Do you know two dogs when you see them, or even three?' asked Coke. 

"'I do, ' replied the witness. 

"'And how many dogs did you see when you saw Cerberus?' asked Coke, triumphantly. 

"'Three, anyhow, ' replied the witness, with feeling, 'though afterwardsI thought there was a whole bench-show atop of me. '

"'Your witness, ' said Coke. 

"A murmur of applause went through the court-room, at which Apollyonfrowned; but his face cleared in a moment when Catiline rose up. 

"'My cross-examination of this witness, your honor, will be confined toone question. ' Then turning to the witness he said, blandly: 'My poorfriend, if you considered Cerberus to be three dogs anyhow, why did youin your examination a moment since refer to the avalanche of caninity, of which you so affectingly speak, as him?'

"'He is a him, ' said the witness. 

"'But if there were three, should he not have been a them?'

"Coke swore profanely beneath his breath, and the witness squirmedabout in his chair, confused and broken, while both Judge Blackstone andApollyon smiled broadly. Manifestly the point of the defence had piercedthe armor of the plaintiff. 

"'Your witness for re-direct, ' said Catiline. 

"'No thanks, ' retorted Coke; 'there are others, ' and, motioning to hisfirst witness to step down, he called the second dog-catcher. 

"'What is your business?' asked Coke, after the usual preliminaryquestions. 

"'I'm out of business. Livin' on my damages, ' said the witness. 

"'What damages?' asked Coke. 

"'Them I got from the city for injuries did me by that there--I shouldsay them there--dorgs, Cerberus. '

"'Them there what?' persisted Coke, to emphasize the point. 

"'Dorgs, ' said the witness, convincingly--'D-o-r-g-s. '

"'Why s?' queried Coke. 'We may admit the r, but why the s?'

"'Because it's the pullural of dorg. Cerberus ain't any single-headedcommission, ' said the witness, who was something of a ward politician. 

"'Why do you say that Cerberus is more than one dog?'

"'Because I've had experience, ' replied the witness. 'I've seen the timewhen he was everywhere all at once; that's why I say he's more than onedorg. If he'd been only one dorg he couldn't have been anywhere elsethan where he was. '

"'When was that?'

"'When I lassoed him. '

"'Him?' remonstrated Coke. 

"'Yes, ' said the witness. 'I only caught one of him, and then the othertwo took a hand. '

"'Ah, the other two, ' said Coke. 'You know dogs when you see them?'

"'I do, and he was all of 'em in a bunch, ' replied the witness. 

"'Your witness, ' said Coke. 

"'My friend, ' said Catiline, rising quietly. 'How many men are you?'

"'One, sir, ' was the answer. 

"'Have you ever been in two places at once?'

"'Yes, sir. '

"'When was that?'

"'When I was in jail and in London all at the same time. '

"'Very good; but were you in two places on the day of this attack uponyou by Cerberus?'

"'No, sir. I wish I had been. I'd have stayed in the other place. '

"'Then if you were in but one place yourself, how do you know thatCerberus was in more than one place?'

"'Well, I guess if you--'

"'Answer the question, ' said Catiline. 

"'Oh, well--of course--'

"'Of course, ' echoed Catiline. 'That's it, your honor; it is only "ofcourse, "--and I rest my case. We have no witnesses to call. We haveproven by their own witnesses that there is no evidence of Cerberusbeing more than one dog. '

"You ought to have heard the cheers as Catiline sat down, " continuedBoswell. "As for poor Coke, he was regularly knocked out, but he roseup to sum up his case as best he could. Blackstone, however, stopped himright at the beginning. 

"'The counsel for the plaintiff might as well sit down, ' he said, 'andsave his breath. I've decided this case in favor of the defendant longago. It is plain to every one that Cerberus is only one dog, in spite ofhis many talents and manifest ability to be in several places at once, and inasmuch as the tax which is sued for is merely a dog-tax and nota poll-tax, I must render judgment for the defendants, with costs. Nextcase. '

"And the city of Cimmeria was thrown out of court, " concluded Boswell. "Interesting, eh?"

"Very, " said I. "But how will this affect Blackstone? Isn't he a CityJudge?"

"No, " replied Boswell; "he was, but his term expired this morning, andthis afternoon Apollyon appointed him Chief Justice of the Supreme Courtof Hades. "

VIII. A HAND-BOOK TO HADES

"Boswell, " said I, the other night, as the machine began to clicknervously. "I have just received a letter from an unknown friend inHawaii who wants to know how the prize-fight between Samson and Goliathcame out that time when Kidd and his pirate crew stole the House-Boat onthe Styx. "

"Just wait a minute, please, " the machine responded. "I am very busyjust now mapping out the itinerary of the first series of the BoswellPersonally Conducted Tours you suggested some time ago. I laid thatwhole proposition before the Entertainment Committee of the AssociatedShades, and they have resolved unanimously to charter the Ex-GreatEastern from the Styx Navigation Company, and return to the scenes oftheir former glory, devoting a year to it. "

"Going to take their wives?" I asked. 

"I don't know, " Boswell replied. "That is a matter outside of thejurisdiction of the committee and must be decided by a full vote of theclub. I hope they will, however. As manager of the enterprise I needassistance, and there are some of the men who can't be managed byanybody except their wives, or mothers-in-law, anyhow. I'll be throughin a few minutes. Meanwhile let me hand you the latest product of theBoswell press. "

With this the genial spirit produced from an invisible pocket ared-covered book bearing the delicious title of "Baedeker's Hades: AHand-book for Travellers, " which has entirely superseded, according tothe advertisement on the fly-leaves, such books as Virgil and Dante'sInferno as the best guide to the lower regions, as well it might, forit appeared on perusal to have been prepared with as much care as oneof the more material guide-books of the same publisher, which so greatlyassist travellers on this side of the Stygian River. 

Some time, if Boswell will permit, I shall endeavor to have this littlevolume published in this country since it contains many valuable hintsto the man of a roving disposition, or for the stay-at-home, for thatmatter, for all roads lead to Hades. For instance, we do not find inprevious guide-books, like Dante's Inferno, any references whatsoever tothe languages it is well to know before taking the Stygian tour; to thekind of money needed, or its quantity per capita; no allusion tothe necessity of passports is found in Dante or Virgil; custom-houserequirements are ignored by these authors; no statements as to thekind of clothing needed, the quality of the hotels--nor indeed any realinformation of vital importance to the traveller is to be found in theolder books. In Baedeker's Hades, on the other hand, all these subjectsare exhaustively treated, together with a very comprehensive seriesof chapters on "Stygian Wines, " "Climate, " and "Hellish Art"--theexpression is not mine--and other topics of essential interest. 

And of what suggestive quality was this little book. Who would ever haveguessed from a perusal of Dante that as Hades is the place of departedspirits so also is it the ultimate resting-place of all other departedthings. What delightful anticipations are there in the idea of a visitto the Alexandrian library, now suitably housed on the south side ofApollyon Square, Cimmeria, in a building that would drive the trusteesof the Boston Public Library into envious despair, even though livingBacchantes are found daily improving their minds in the recesses ofits commodious alcoves! What joyous feelings it gives one to think ofvisiting the navy-yards of Tyre and finding there the ships concerningthe whereabouts of which poets have vainly asked questions for ages!Who would ever dream that the question of the balladist, himself an abledreamer concerning classic things, "Where are the Cities of Old Time, "could ever find its answer in a simple guide-book telling us whereCarthage is, where Troy and all the lost cities of antiquity!

Then the details of amusements in this wonderful country--who couldgather aught of these from the Italian poet? The theatres of Gehenna, with "Hamlet" produced under the joint direction of Shakespeare and thePrince of Denmark himself, the great Zoo of Sheolia, with Jumbo, and thefamous woolly horse of earlier days, not to mention the long seriesof menageries which have passed over the dark river in the ages nowforgotten; the hanging gardens of Babylon, where the picnicking elementof Hades flock week after week, chuting the chutes, and clamberingjoyously in and out of the Trojan Horse, now set up in all its majestytherein, with bowling-alleys on its roof, elevators in its legs, andthe original Ferris-wheel in its head; the freak museums in the denselypopulated sections of the large cities, where Hop o' my Thumb and Jackthe Giant Killer are exhibited day after day alongside of the greatogres they have killed; the opera-house, with Siegfried himself singing, supported by the real Brunhild and the original, bona fide dragonFafnir, running of his own motive power, and breathing actual fire andsmoke without the aid of a steam-engine and a plumber to connect himtherewith before he can go out upon the stage to engage Siegfried indeadly combat. 

For the information contained in this last item alone, even if the bookhad no other virtue, it would be worthy of careful perusal from theopening paragraph on language, to the last, dealing with the descentinto the Vitriol Reservoir at Gehenna. The account of the feeding ofFafnir, to which admission can be had on payment of ten oboli, beginningwith a puree of kerosene, followed by a half-dozen cartridges on thehalf-shell, an entree of nitro-glycerine, a solid roast of cannel-coal, and a salad of gun-cotton, with a mayonnaise dressing of alcohol and apinch of powder, topped off with a demi-tasse of benzine and a box ofmatches to keep the fires of his spirit going, is one of the mostmoving things I have ever read, and yet it may be said without fear ofcontradiction that until this guide-book was prepared very few of theStygian tourists have imagined that there was such a sight to be seen. I have gone carefully over Dante, Virgil, and the works of Andrew Lang, and have found no reference whatsoever in the pages of any of thesetalented persons to this marvellous spectacle which takes place threetimes a day, and which I doubt not results in a performance of Siegfriedfor the delectation of the music lovers of Hades, which is beyond thepower of the human mind to conceive. 

The hand-book has an added virtue, which distinguishes it from any otherthat I have ever seen, in that it is anecdotal in style at times wherean anecdote is available and appropriate. In connection with this sameFafnir, as showing how necessary it is for the tourist to be careful ofhis personal safety in Hades, it is related that upon one occasion thekeeper of the dragon having taken a grudge against Siegfried for someunintentional slight, fed Fafnir upon Roman-candles and a sky-rocket, with the result that in the fight between the hero and the demon of thewood the Siegfried was seriously injured by the red, white, andblue balls of fire which the dragon breathed out upon him, while thesky-rocket flew out into the audience and struck a young man in the topgallery, knocking him senseless, the stick falling into a grand-tierbox and impaling one of the best known social lights of Cimmeria. "Therefore, " adds the astute editor of the hand-book, "on Siegfriednights it were well if the tourist were to go provided with an asbestosumbrella for use in case of an emergency of a similar nature. "

In that portion of the book devoted to the trip up the river Styx thelegends surpass any of the Rhine stories in dramatic interest, because, according to Commodore Charon's excursion system, the tourist can stepashore and see the chief actors in them, who for a consideration willgive a full-dress rehearsal of the legendary acts for which they havebeen famous. The sirens of the Stygian Lorelei, for instance, sit on aneminence not far above the city of Cimmeria, and make a profession ofluring people ashore and giving away at so much per head locks of theirhair for remembrance' sake, all of which makes of the Stygian trip athing of far greater interest than that of the Rhine. 

It had been my intention to make a few extracts from this portion of thevolume showing later developments in the legends of the Drachenfels, and others of more than ordinary interest, but I find that with thedeparture of Boswell for the night the treasured hand-book disappearedwith him; but, as I have already stated, if I can secure his consentto do so I will some day have the book copied off on more materialsubstance than that employed in the original manuscript, so that theuseful little tome may be printed and scattered broadcast over a waitingand appreciative world. I may as well state here, too, that I have takenthe precaution to have the title "Baedeker's Hades" and its contentscopyrighted, so that any pirate who recognizes the value of the schemewill attempt to pirate the work at his peril. 

Hardly had I finished the chapter on the legends of the Styx whenBoswell broke in upon me with: "Well, how do you like it?"

"It's great, " I said. "May I keep it?"

"You may if you can, " he laughed. "But I fancy it can't withstand therigors of this climate any more than an unfireproof copy of one of yourbooks could stand the caniculars of ours. "

His words were soon to be verified, for as soon as he left me the bookvanished, but whether it went off into thin air or was repocketed by thedeparting Boswell I am not entirely certain. 

"What was it you asked me about Samson and Goliath?" Boswell observed, as he gathered up his manuscript from the floor beside the EnchantedTypewriter. "Whether they'd ever been in Honolulu?"

"No, " I replied. "I got a letter from Hawaii the other day asking forthe result of the prize-fight the day Kidd ran off with the house-boat. "

"Oh, " replied Boswell. "That? Why, ah, Samson won hands down, but onlybecause they played according to latter-day rules. If it had been aregular knock-out fight, like the contests in the old days of the ringwhen it was in its prime, Goliath could have managed him with one hand;but the Samson backers played a sharp game on the Philistine by havingthe most recently amended Queensbury rules adopted, and Goliath wasn'tin it five minutes after Samson opened his mouth. "

"I don't think I understand, " said I. 

"Plain enough, " explained Boswell. "Goliath didn't know what the modernrules were, but he thought a fight was a fight under any rules, so, likea decent chap, he agreed, and when he found that it was nothing but atalking-match he'd got into he fainted. He never was good at expressinghimself fluently. Samson talked him down in two rounds, just as he didthe other Philistines in the early days on earth. "

I laughed. "You're slightly off there, " I said. "That was astand-up-and-be-knocked-down fight, wasn't it? He used the jawbone of anass?"

"Very true, " observed Boswell, "but it is evident that it is you who areslightly off. You haven't kept up with the higher criticism. It has beenproven scientifically that not only did the whale not swallow Jonah, butthat Samson's great feat against the Philistines was comparable only tothe achievements of your modern senators. He talked them to death. "

"Then why jawbone of an ass?" I cried. 

"Samson was an ass, " replied Boswell. "They prove that by the templeepisode, for you see if he hadn't been one he'd have got out of thebuilding before yanking the foundations from under it. I tell you, oldchap, this higher criticism is a great thing, and as logical as deathitself. "

And with this Boswell left me. 

I sincerely hope that the result of the fight will prove as satisfactoryto my friend in Hawaii as it was to me; for while I have no particularadmiration for Samson, I have always rejoiced to hear of thediscomfitures of Goliath, who, so far as I have been able to ascertain, was not only not a gentleman, but, in addition, had no more regard forthe rights of others than a member of the New York police force or theeditor of a Sunday newspaper with a thirst for sensation. 

IX. SHERLOCK HOLMES AGAIN

I had intended asking Boswell what had become of my copy of theBaedeker's Hades when he next returned, but the output of the machinethat evening so interested me that the hand-book was entirely forgotten. If there ever was a hero in this world who could compare with D'Artagnanin my estimation for sheer ability in a given line that hero wasSherlock Holmes. With D'Artagnan and Holmes for my companions I thinkI could pass the balance of my days in absolute contentment, no matterwhat woful things might befall me. So it was that, when I next heardthe tapping keys and dulcet bell of my Enchanted Type-writer, and, afterlistening intently for a moment, realized that my friend Boswell wasmaking a copy of a Sherlock Holmes Memoir thereon for his next Sunday'spaper, all thought of the interesting little red book of the lastmeeting flew out of my head. I rose quickly from my couch at the firstsounding of the gong. 

"Got a Holmes story, eh?" I said, walking to his side, and gazingeagerly over the spot where his shoulder should have been. 

"I have that, and it's a winner, " he replied, enthusiastically. "If youdon't believe it, read it. I'll have it copied in about two minutes. "

"I'll do both, " I said. "I believe all the Sherlock Holmes stories Iread. It is so much pleasanter to believe them true. If they weren'ttrue they wouldn't be so wonderful. "

With this I picked up the first page of the manuscript and shortly afterBoswell presented me with the balance, whereon I read the followingextraordinary tale:

 A MYSTERY SOLVED

 A WONDERFUL ACHIEVEMENT IN FERRETING

 From Advance Sheets of

 MEMOIRS I REMEMBER

 BY

 SHERLOCK HOLMES, ESQ. 

Ferreter Extraordinary by Special Appointment to his Majesty Apollyon

 ---------------

 WHO THE LADY WAS!

It was not many days after my solution of the Missing Diamond of theNizam of Jigamaree Mystery that I was called upon to take up a casewhich has baffled at least one person for some ten or eleven centuries. The reader will remember the mystery of the missing diamond--the largestknown in all history, which the Nizam of Jigamaree brought from India topresent to the Queen of England, on the occasion of her diamond jubilee. I had been dead three years at the time, but, by a special dispensationof his Imperial Highness Apollyon, was permitted to return incog toLondon for the jubilee season, where it so happened that I put up at thesame lodging-house as that occupied by the Nizam and his suite. Wesat opposite each other at table d'hote, and for at least three weeksprevious to the losing of his treasure the Indian prince was verymorose, and it was very difficult to get him to speak. I was notsupposed to know, nor, indeed, was any one else, for that matter, at thelodging-house, that the Nizam was so exalted a personage. He like myselfwas travelling incog and was known to the world as Mr. Wilkins, ofCalcutta--a very wise precaution, inasmuch as he had in his possession agem valued at a million and a half of dollars. I recognized him at once, however, by his unlikeness to a wood-cut that had been appearing in theAmerican Sunday newspapers, labelled with his name, as well as by theextraordinary lantern which he had on his bicycle, a lantern which tothe uneducated eye was no more than an ordinary lamp, but which to aneye like mine, familiar with gems, had for its crystal lens nothing morenor less than the famous stone which he had brought for her Majestythe Queen, his imperial sovereign. There are few people who can telldiamonds from plate-glass under any circumstances, and Mr. Wilkins, otherwise the Nizam, realizing this fact, had taken this bold method ofsecreting his treasure. Of course, the moment I perceived the quality ofthe man's lamp I knew at once who Mr. Wilkins was, and I determined tohave a little innocent diversion at his expense. 

"It has been a fine day, Mr. Wilkins, " said I one evening over the pate. 

"Yes, " he replied, wearily. "Very--but somehow or other I'm depressedto-night. "

"Too bad, " I said, lightly, "but there are others. There's that poorNizam of Jigamaree, for instance--poor devil, he must be the bluestbrown man that ever lived. "

Wilkins started nervously as I mentioned the prince by name. 

"Wh-why do you think that?" he asked, nervously fingering hisbutter-knife. 

"It's tough luck to have to give away a diamond that's worth three orfour times as much as the Koh-i-noor, " I said. "Suppose you owned astone like that. Would you care to give it away?"

"Not by a damn sight!" cried Wilkins, forcibly, and I noticed greattears gathering in his eyes. 

"Still, he can't help himself, I suppose, " I said, gazing abruptly athis scarf-pin. "That is, he doesn't KNOW that he can. The Queen expectsit. It's been announced, and now the poor devil can't get out ofit--though I'll tell you, Mr. Wilkins, if I were the Nizam of Jigamaree, I'd get out of it in ten seconds. "

I winked at him significantly. He looked at me blankly. 

"Yes, sir, " I added, merely to arouse him, "in just ten seconds! Tenshort, beautiful seconds. "

"Mr. Postlethwaite, " said the Nizam--Postlethwaite was the name Iwas travelling under--"Mr. Postlethwaite, " said the Nizam--otherwiseWilkins--"your remarks interest me greatly. " His face wreathed with asmile that I had never before seen there. "I have thought as you do inregard to this poor Indian prince, but I must confess I don't see howhe can get out of giving the Queen that diamond. Have a cigar, Mr. Postlethwaite, and, waiter, bring us a triple magnum of champagne. Doyou really think, Mr. Postlethwaite, that there is a way out of it? Ifyou would like a ticket to Westminster for the ceremony, there are ahalf-dozen. "

He tossed six tickets for seats among the crowned heads across the tableto me. His eagerness was almost too painful to witness. 

"Thank you, " said I, calmly pocketing the tickets, for they were of rarevalue at that time. "The way out of it is very simple. "

"Indeed, Mr. Postlethwaite, " said he, trying to keep cool. "Ah--are youinterested in rubies, sir? There are a few which I should be pleased tohave you accept"--and with that over came a handful of precious stoneseach worth a fortune. These also I pocketed as I replied:

"Why, certainly; if I were the Nizam, " said I, "I'd lose that diamond. "

A shade of disappointment came over Mr. Wilkins's face. 

"Lose it? How? Where?" he asked, with a frown. 

"Yes. Lose it. Any way I could. As for the place where it should belost, any old place will do as long as it is where he can find it againwhen he gets back home. He might leave it in his other clothes, or--"

"Make that two triple magnums, waiter, " cried Mr. Wilkins, excitedly, interrupting me. "Postlethwaite, you're a genius, and if you ever want ahouse and lot in Calcutta, just let me know and they're yours. "

You never saw such a change come over a man in all your life. Where hehad been all gloom before, he was now all smiles and jollity, andfrom that time on to his return to India Mr. Wilkins was as happy as aschool-boy at the beginning of vacation. The next day the diamond waslost, and whoever may have it at this moment, the British Crown is notin possession of the Jigamaree gem. 

But, as my friend Terence Mulvaney says, that is another story. It is ofthe mystery immediately following this concerning which I have set outto write. 

I was sitting one day in my office on Apollyon Square opposite theAlexandrian library, smoking an absinthe cigarette, which I had rolledmyself from my special mixture consisting of two parts tobacco, one parthasheesh, one part of opium dampened with a liqueur glass of absinthe, when an excited knock sounded upon my door. 

"Come in, " I cried, adopting the usual formula. 

The door opened and a beautiful woman stood before me clad in most regalgarments, robust of figure, yet extremely pale. It seemed to me that Ihad seen her somewhere before, yet for a time I could not place her. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" said she, in deliciously musical tones, which, singular to relate, she emitted in a fashion suggestive of a recitativepassage in an opera. 

"The same, " said I, bowing with my accustomed courtesy. 

"The ferret?" she sang, in staccato tones which were ravishing to mymusical soul. 

I laughed. "That term has been applied to me, madame, " said I, chantingmy answer as best I could. "For myself, however, I prefer to assume themore modest title of detective. I can work with or without clues, andhave never yet been baffled. I know who wrote the Junius letters, andupon occasions have been known to see through a stone wall with my nakedeye. What can I do for you?"

"Tell me who I am!" she cried, tragically, taking the centre of the roomand gesticulating wildly. 

"Well--really, madame, " I replied. "You didn't send up any card--"

"Ah!" she sneered. "This is what your vaunted prowess amounts to, eh?Ha! Do you suppose if I had a card with my name on it I'd have cometo you to inquire who I am? I can read a card as well as you can, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. "

"Then, as I understand it, madame, " I put in, "you have suddenlyforgotten your identity and wish me to--"

"Nothing of the sort. I have forgotten nothing. I never knew forcertain who I am. I have an impression, but it is based only on hearsayevidence, " she interrupted. 

For a moment I was fairly puzzled. Still I did not wish to let her knowthis, and so going behind my screen and taking a capsule full of cocaineto steady my nerves, I gained a moment to think. Returning, I said:

"This really is child's play for me, madame. It won't take more than aweek to find out who you are, and possibly, if you have any clews at allto your identity, I may be able to solve this mystery in a day. "

"I have only three, " she answered, and taking a piece of swan's-down, a lock of golden hair, and a pair of silver-tinsel tights from herportmanteau she handed them over to me. 

My first impulse was to ask the lady if she remembered the name of theasylum from which she had escaped, but I fortunately refrained fromdoing so, and she shortly left me, promising to return at the end of theweek. 

For three days I puzzled over the clews. Swan's-down, yellow hair, and apair of silver-tinsel tights, while very interesting no doubt at times, do not form a very solid basis for a theory establishing the identity ofso regal a person as my visitor. My first impression was that she was avaudeville artist, and that the exhibits she had left me were a part ofher make-up. This I was forced to abandon shortly, because no woman withthe voice of my visitor would sing in vaudeville. The more ambitiousstage was her legitimate field, if not grand opera itself. 

At this point she returned to my office, and I of course reportedprogress. That is one of the most valuable things I learned while onearth--when you have done nothing, report progress. 

"I haven't quite succeeded as yet, " said I, "but I am getting at itslowly. I do not, however, think it wise to acquaint you with my presentnotions until they are verified beyond peradventure. It might help mesomewhat if you were to tell me who it is you think you are. I couldwork either forward or backward on that hypothesis, as seemed best, andso arrive at a hypothetical truth anyhow. "

"That's just what I don't want to do, " said she. "That information mightbias your final judgment. If, however, acting on the clews which youhave, you confirm my impression that I am such and such a person, aswell as the views which other people have, then will my status be welldefined and I can institute my suit against my husband for a judicialseparation, with back alimony, with some assurance of a successfulissue. "

I was more puzzled than ever. 

"Well, " said I, slowly, "I of course can see how a bit of swan's-downand a lock of yellow hair backed up by a pair of silver-tinsel tightsmight constitute reasonable evidence in a suit for separation, butwouldn't it--ah--be more to your purpose if I should use these data asestablishing the identity of--er--somebody else?"

"How very dense you are, " she replied, impatiently. "That's preciselywhat I want you to do. "

"But you told me it was your identity you wished proven, " I put in, irritably. 

"Precisely, " said she. 

"Then these bits of evidence are--yours?" I asked, hesitatingly. Onedoes not like to accuse a lady of an undue liking for tinsel. 

"They are all I have left of my husband, " she answered with a sob. 

"Hum!" said I, my perplexity increasing. "Was the--ah--the gentlemanblown up by dynamite?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, " she retorted, rising and running the scales. "I think, after all, I have come to the wrong shop. Have you Hawkshaw'saddress handy? You are too obtuse for a detective. "

My reputation was at stake, so I said, significantly:

"Good! Good! I was merely trying one of my disguises on you, madame, andyou were completely taken in. Of course no one would ever know me forSherlock Holmes if I manifested such dullness. "

"Ah!" she said, her face lighting up. "You were merely deceiving me byappearing to be obtuse?"

"Of course, " said I. "I see the whole thing in a nutshell. You marriedan adventurer; he told you who he was, but you've never been able toprove it; and suddenly you are deserted by him, and on going over hiswardrobe you find he has left nothing but these articles: and now youwish to sue him for a separation on the ground of desertion, and securealimony if possible. "

It was a magnificent guess. 

"That is it precisely, " said the lady. "Except as to the extent of his'leavings. ' In addition to the things you have he gave my small brothera brass bugle and a tin sword. "

"We may need to see them later, " said I. "At present I will do all I canfor you on the evidence in hand. I have got my eye on a gentleman whowears silver-tinsel tights now, but I am afraid he is not the man weare after, because his hair is black, and, as far as I have been able tolearn from his valet, he is utterly unacquainted with swan's-down. "

We separated again and I went to the club to think. Never in my lifebefore had I had so baffling a case. As I sat in the cafe sipping acocaine cobbler, who should walk in but Hamlet, strangely enough pickingparticles of swan's-down from his black doublet, which was literallycovered with it. 

"Hello, Sherlock!" he said, drawing up a chair and sitting down besideme. "What you up to?"

"Trying to make out where you have been, " I replied. "I judge from theswan's-down on your doublet that you have been escorting Ophelia to theopera in the regulation cloak. "

"You're mistaken for once, " he laughed. "I've been driving withLohengrin. He's got a pair of swans that can do a mile in 2. 10--but itmakes them moult like the devil. "

"Pair of what?" I cried. 

"Swans, " said Hamlet. "He's an eccentric sort of a duffer, thatLohengrin. Afraid of horses, I fancy. "

"And so drives swans instead?" said I, incredulously. 

"The same, " replied Hamlet. "Do I look as if he drove squab?"

"He must be queer, " said I. "I'd like to meet him. He'd make quite anaddition to my collection of freaks. "

"Very well, " observed Hamlet. "He'll be here to-morrow to takeluncheon with me, and if you'll come, too, you'll be most welcome. He'scollecting freaks, too, and I haven't a doubt would be pleased to knowyou. "

We parted and I sauntered homeward, cogitating over my strange client, and now and then laughing over the idiosyncrasies of Hamlet's friend theswan-driver. It never occurred to me at the moment however to connectthe two, in spite of the link of swan's-down. I regarded it merely asa coincidence. The next day, however, on going to the club and meetingHamlet's strange guest, I was struck by the further coincidence that hishair was of precisely the same shade of yellow as that in my possession. It was of a hue that I had never seen before except at performances ofgrand opera, or on the heads of fool detectives in musical burlesques. Here, however, was the real thing growing luxuriantly from the man'shead. 

"Ho-ho!" thought I to myself. "Here is a fortunate encounter; there maybe something in it, " and then I tried to lead him on. 

"I understand, Mr. Lohengrin, " I said, "that you have a fine span ofswans. "

"Yes, " he said, and I was astonished to note that he, like my client, spoke in musical numbers. "Very. They're much finer than horses, in myopinion. More peaceful, quite as rapid, and amphibious. If I go out fora drive and come to a lake they trot quite as well across its surface ason the highways. "

"How interesting!" said I. "And so gentle, the swan. Your wife, Ipresume--"

Hamlet kicked my shins under the table. 

"I think it will rain to-morrow, " he said, giving me a glance which ifit said anything said shut up. 

"I think so, too, " said Lohengrin, a lowering look on his face. "Ifit doesn't, it will either snow, or hail, or be clear. " And he gazedabstractedly out of the window. 

The kick and the man's confusion were sufficient proof. I was on theright track at last. Yet the evidence was unsatisfactory because merelycircumstantial. My piece of down might have come from an opera cloak andnot from a well-broken swan, the hair might equally clearly have comefrom some other head than Lohengrin's, and other men have had troublewith their wives. The circumstantial evidence lying in the coincidenceswas strong but not conclusive, so I resolved to pursue the matter andinvite the strange individual to a luncheon with me, at which Iproposed to wear the tinsel tights. Seeing them, he might be forced intobetraying himself. 

This I did, and while my impressions were confirmed by his demeanor, nopositive evidence grew out of it. 

"I'm hungry as a bear!" he said, as I entered the club, clad in a long, heavy ulster, reaching from my shoulders to the ground, so that thetights were not visible. 

"Good, " said I. "I like a hearty eater, " and I ordered a luncheon of tencourses before removing my overcoat; but not one morsel could the maneat, for on the removal of my coat his eye fell upon my silver garments, and with a gasp he wellnigh fainted. It was clear. He recognized themand was afraid, and in consequence lost his appetite. But he was game, and tried to laugh it off. 

"Silver man, I see, " he said, nervously, smiling. 

"No, " said I, taking the lock of golden hair from my pocket and danglingit before him. "Bimetallist. "

His jaw dropped in dismay, but recovering himself instantly he put up afairly good fight. 

"It is strange, Mr. Lohengrin, " said I, "that in the three years I havebeen here I've never seen you before. "

"I've been very quiet, " he said. "Fact is, I have had my reasons, Mr. Holmes, for preferring the life of a hermit. A youthful indiscretion, sir, has made me fear to face the world. There was nothing wrong aboutit, save that it was a folly, and I have been anxious in these days ofnewspapers to avoid any possible revival of what might in some eyes seemscandalous. "

I felt sorry for him, but my duty was clear. Here was my man--but howto gain direct proof was still beyond me. No further admissions could begot out of him, and we soon parted. 

Two days later the lady called and again I reported progress. 

"It needs but one thing, madame, to convince me that I have foundyour husband, " said I. "I have found a man who might be connected withswan's-down, from whose luxuriant curls might have come this tow-coloredlock, and who might have worn the silver-tinsel tights--yet it is allMIGHT and no certainty. "

"I will bring my small brother's bugle and the tin sword, " said she. "The sword has certain properties which may induce him to confess. Mybrother tells me that if he simply shakes it at a cat the cat fallsdead. "

"Do so, " said I, "and I will try it on him. If he recognizes the swordand remembers its properties when I attempt to brandish it at him, he'llbe forced to confess, though it would be awkward if he is the wrong manand the sword should work on him as it does on the cat. "

The next day I was in possession of the famous toy. It was not verylong, and rather more suggestive of a pancake-turner than a sword, butit was a terror. I tested its qualities on a swarm of gnats in my room, and the moment I shook it at them they fluttered to the ground as deadas door-nails. 

"I'll have to be careful of this weapon, " I thought. "It would beterrible if I should brandish it at a motor-man trying to get one of theGehenna Traction Company's cable-cars to stop and he should drop dead athis post. "

All was now ready for the demonstration. Fortunately the followingSaturday night was club night at the House-Boat, and we were allexpected to come in costume. For dramatic effect I wore a yellow wig, ahelmet, the silver-tinsel tights, and a doublet to match, with thebrass bugle and the tin sword properly slung about my person. I lookedstunning, even if I do say it, and much to my surprise several peoplemistook me for the man I was after. Another link in the chain! EVEN THEPUBLIC UNCONSCIOUSLY RECOGNIZED THE VALUE OF MY DEDUCTIONS. THEY CALLEDME LOHENGRIN!

And of course it all happened as I expected. It always does. Lohengrincame into the assembly-room five minutes after I did and was visiblyannoyed at my make-up. 

"This is a great liberty, " said he, grasping the hilt of his sword; butI answered by blowing the bugle at him, at which he turned livid andfell back. He had recognized its soft cadence. I then hauled the swordfrom my belt, shook it at a fly on the wall, which immediately died, andmade as if to do the same at Lohengrin, whereupon he cried for mercy andfell upon his knees. 

"Turn that infernal thing the other way!" he shrieked. 

"Ah!" said I, lowering my arm. "Then you know its properties?"

"I do--I do!" he cried. "It used to be mine--I confess it!"

"Then, " said I, calmly putting the horrid bit of zinc back into mybelt, "that's all I wanted to know. If you'll come up to my office somemorning next week I'll introduce you to your wife, " and I turned fromhim. 

My mission accomplished, I left the festivities and returned to myquarters where my fair client was awaiting me. 

"Well?" she said. 

"It's all right, Mrs. Lohengrin, " I said, and the lady cried aloud withjoy at the name, for it was the very one she had hoped it would be. "Myman turns out to be your man, and I turn him over therefore to you, onlydeal gently with him. He's a pretty decent chap and sings like a bird. "

Whereon I presented her with my bill for 5000 oboli, which she paidwithout a murmur, as was entirely proper that she should, for uponthe evidence which I had secured the fair plaintiff, in the suitfor separation of Elsa vs. Lohengrin on the ground of desertion andnon-support, obtained her decree, with back alimony of twenty-five percent. Of Lohengrin's income for a trifle over fifteen hundred years. 

How much that amounted to I really do not know, but that it was a largesum I am sure, for Lohengrin must have been very wealthy. He couldn'thave afforded to dress in solid silver-tinsel tights if he had beenotherwise. I had the tights assayed before returning them to theirowner, and even in a country where free coinage of tights is looked uponaskance they could not be duplicated for less than $850 at a ratio of 32to 1. 

X. GOLF IN HADES

"Jim, " said I to Boswell one morning as the type-writer began to work, "perhaps you can enlighten me on a point concerning which a great manypeople have questioned me recently. Has golf taken hold of Hades yet?You referred to it some time ago, and I've been wondering ever since ifit had become a fad with you. "

"Has it?" laughed my visitor; "well, I should rather say it had. Thefact is, it has been a great boon to the country. You remember mytelling you of the projected revolution led by Cromwell, and Caesar, andthe others?"

"I do, very well, " said I, "and I have been intending to ask you how itcame out. "

"Oh, everything's as fine and sweet as can be now, " rejoined Boswell, somewhat gleefully, "and all because of golf. We are all quiet along theStyx now. All animosities are buried in the general love of golf, andevery one of us, high or low, autocrat and revolutionist, is hobnobbingaway in peace and happiness on the links. Why, only six weeks ago, Apollyon was for cooking Bonaparte on a waffle iron, and yesterdaythe two went out to the Cimmerian links together and played a mixedfoursome, Bonaparte and Medusa playing against Apollyon and Delilah. "

"Dear me! Really?" I cried. "That must have been an interesting match. "

"It was, and up to the very last it was nip-and-tuck between 'em, " saidBoswell. "Apollyon and Delilah won it with one hole up, and they gotthat on the put. They'd have halved the hole if Medusa's back hairhadn't wiggled loose and bitten her caddie just as she was holeing out. "

"It is a remarkable game, " said I. "There is no sensation in the worldquite equal to that which comes to a man's soul when he has hit the balla solid clip and sees it sail off through the air towards the green, whizzing musically along like a very bird. "

"True, " said Boswell; "but I'm rather of the opinion that it's a safergame for shades than for you purely material persons. "

"I don't see why, " I answered. 

"It is easy to understand, " returned Boswell. "For instance, with usthere is no resistance when by a mischance we come into unexpectedcontact with the ball. Take the experience of Diogenes and Solomon atthe St. Jonah's Links week before last. The Wiseman's Handicap wason. Diogenes and Simple Simon were playing just ahead of Solomon andMontaigne. Solomon was driving in great form. For the first time in hislife he seemed able to keep his eye on the ball, and the way he sent itflying through the air was a caution. Diogenes and Simple Simon had bothhad their second stroke and Solomon drove off. His ball sailed straightahead like a missile from a catapult, flew in a bee-line for Diogenes, struck him at the base of his brain, continued on through, and landed onthe edge of the green. "

"Mercy!" I cried. "Didn't it kill him?"

"Of course not, " retorted Boswell. "You can't kill a shade. Diogenesdidn't know he'd been hit, but if that had happened to one of youmaterial golfers there'd have been a sickening end to that tournament. "

"There would, indeed, " said I. "There isn't much fun in being hit by agolf-ball. I can testify to that because I have had the experience, " andI called to mind the day at St. Peterkin's when I unconsciously stymiedwith my material self the celebrated Willie McGuffin, the Demon Driverfrom the Hootmon Links, Scotland. McGuffin made his mark that day if henever did before, and I bear the evidence thereof even now, although theincident took place two years ago, when I did not know enough to keepout of the way of the player who plays so well that he thinks he has aperpetual right of way everywhere. 

"What kind of clubs do you Stygians use?" I asked. 

"Oh, very much the same kind that you chaps do, " returned Boswell. "Everybody experiments with new fads, too, just as you do. Old PeterStuyvesant, for instance, always drives with his wooden leg, and neveruses anything else unless he gets a lie where he's got to. "

"His wooden leg?" I roared, with a laugh. "How on earth does he dothat?"

"He screws the small end of it into a square block shod like a brassey, "explained Boswell, "tees up his ball, goes back ten yards, makes a runat it and kicks the ball pretty nearly out of sight. He can put with ittoo, like a dream, swinging it sideways. "

"But he doesn't call that golf, does he?" I cried. 

"What is it?" demanded Boswell. 

"I should call it football, " I said. 

"Not at all, " said Boswell. "Not a bit of it. He hasn't any foot on thatleg, and he has a golf-club head with a shaft to it. There isn't anyrule which says that the shaft shall not look like an inverted nine-pin, nor do any of the accepted authorities require that the club shall bemanipulated by the arms. I admit it's bad form the way he plays, but, asStuyvesant himself says, he never did travel on his shape. "

"Suppose he gets a cuppy lie?" I asked, very much interested at thefirst news from Hades of the famous old Dutchman. 

"Oh, he does one of two things, " said Boswell. "He stubs it out with histoe, or goes back and plays two more. Munchausen plays a good game too. He beat the colonel forty-seven straight holes last Wednesday, and allHades has been talking about it ever since. "

"Who is the colonel?" I asked, innocently. 

"Bogey, " returned Boswell. "Didn't you ever hear of Colonel Bogey?"

"Of course, " I replied, "but I always supposed Bogey was an imaginaryopponent, not a real one. "

"So he is, " said Boswell. 

"Then you mean--"

"I mean that Munchausen beat him forty-seven up, " said Boswell. 

"Were there any witnesses?" I demanded, for I had little faith inMunchausen's regard for the eternal verities, among which a golf-cardmust be numbered if the game is to survive. 

"Yes, a hundred, " said Boswell. "There was only one trouble with 'em. "Here the great biographer laughed. "They were all imaginary, like thecolonel. "

"And Munchausen's score?" I queried. 

"The same, naturally. But it makes him king-pin in golf circles justthe same, because nobody can go back on his logic, " said Boswell. "Munchausen reasoned it out very logically indeed, and largely, he said, to protect his own reputation. Here is an imaginary warrior, said he, who makes a bully, but wholly imaginary, score at golf. He sends me animaginary challenge to play him forty-seven holes. I accept, not so muchbecause I consider myself a golfer as because I am an imaginer--if thereis such a word. "

"Ask Dr. Johnson, " said I, a little sarcastically. I always growsarcastic when golf is mentioned. 

"Dr. Johnson be--" began Boswell. 

"Boswell!" I remonstrated. 

"Dr. Johnson be it, I was about to say, " clicked the type-writer, suavely; but the ink was thick and inclined to spread. "Munchausenfelt that Bogey was encroaching on his preserve as a man with animagination. "

"I have always considered Colonel Bogey a liar, " said I. "He joinsall the clubs and puts up an ideal score before he has played over thelinks. "

"That isn't the point at all, " said Boswell. "Golfers don't lie. Realists don't lie. Nobody in polite--or say, rather, accepted--societylies. They all imagine. Munchausen realizes that he has only one claimto recognition, and that is based entirely upon his imagination. So whenthe imaginary Colonel Bogey sent him an imaginary challenge to play himforty-seven holes at golf--"

"Why forty-seven?" I asked. 

"An imaginary number, " explained Boswell. "Don't interrupt. As I say, when the imaginary colonel--"

"I must interrupt, " said I. "What was he colonel of?"

"A regiment of perfect caddies, " said Boswell. 

"Ah, I see, " I replied. "Imaginary in his command. There isn't oneperfect caddy, much less a regiment of the little reprobates. "

"You are wrong there, " said Boswell. "You don't know how to produce agood caddy--but good caddies can be made. "

"How?" I cried, for I have suffered. "I'll have the plan patented. "

"Take a flexible brassey, and at the ninth hole, if they deserve it, give them eighteen strokes across the legs with all your strength, " saidBoswell. "But, as I said before, don't interrupt. I haven't much timeleft to talk with you. "

"But I must ask one more question, " I put in, for I was growing excitedover a new idea. "You say give them eighteen strokes across the legs. Across whose legs?"

"Yours, " replied Boswell. "Just take your caddy up, place him acrossyour knees, and spank him with your brassey. Spank isn't a good golfterm, but it is good enough for the average caddy; in fact, it will dohim good. "

"Go on, " said I, with a mental resolve to adopt his prescription. 

"Well, " said Boswell, "Munchausen, having received an imaginarychallenge from an imaginary opponent, accepted. He went out to thelinks with an imaginary ball, an imaginary bagful of fanciful clubs, andlicked the imaginary life out of the colonel. "

"Still, I don't see, " said I, somewhat jealously, perhaps, "how thatmakes him king-pin in golf circles. Where did he play?"

"On imaginary links, " said Boswell. 

"Poh!" I ejaculated. 

"Don't sneer, " said Boswell. "You know yourself that the links youimagine are far better than any others. "

"What is Munchausen's strongest point?" I asked, seeing that there wasno arguing with the man--"driving, approaching, or putting?"

"None of the three. He cannot put, he foozles every drive, and atapproaching he's a consummate ass, " said Boswell. 

"Then what can he do?" I cried. 

"Count, " said Boswell. "Haven't you learned that yet? You can spendhours learning how to drive, weeks to approach, and months to put. Butif you want to win you must know how to count. "

I was silent, and for the first time in my life I realized thatMunchausen was not so very different from certain golfers I have met inmy short day as a golfiac, and then Boswell put in:

"You see, it isn't lofting or driving that wins, " he continued. "Cupsaren't won on putting or approaching. It's the man who puts in the bestcard who becomes the champion. "

"I am afraid you are right, " I said, sadly, "but I am sorry to find thatHades is as badly off as we mortals in that matter. "

"Golf, sir, " retorted Boswell, sententiously, "is the same everywhere, and that which is dome in our world is directly in line with what isdeveloped in yours. "

"I'm sorry for Hades, " said I; "but to continue about golf--do theladies play much on your links?"

"Well, rather, " returned Boswell, "and it's rather amusing to watch themat it, too. Xanthippe with her Greek clothes finds it rather difficult;but for rare sport you ought to see Queen Elizabeth trying to keep hereye on the ball over her ruff! It really is one of the finest spectaclesyou ever saw. "

"But why don't they dress properly?"

"Ah, " sighed Boswell, "that is one of the things about Hades thatdestroys all the charm of life there. We are but shades. "

"Granted, " said I, "but your garments can--"

"Our garments can't, " said Boswell. "Through all eternity we shades ofour former selves are doomed to wear the shadows of our former clothes. "

"Then what the devil does a poor dress-maker do who goes to Hades?" Icried. 

"She makes over the things she made before, " said Boswell. "That's why, my dear fellow, " the biographer added, becoming confidential--"that'swhy some people confound Hades with--ah--the other place, don't youknow. "

"Still, there's golf!" I said; "and that's a panacea for all ills. YOUenjoy it, don't you?"

"Me?" cried Boswell. "Me enjoy it? Not on all the lives in Christendom. It is the direst drudgery for me. "

"Drudgery?" I said. "Bah! Nonsense, Boswell!"

"You forget--" he began. 

"Forget? It must be you who forget, if you call golf drudgery. "

"No, " sighed the genial spirit. "No, _I_ don't forget. I remember. "

"Remember what?" I demanded. 

"That I am Dr. Johnson's caddy!" was the answer. And then came aheart-rending sigh, and from that time on all was silence. I repeatedlyput questions to the machine, made observations to it, derided it, insulted it, but there was no response. 

It has so continued to this day, and I can only conclude the story of myEnchanted Type-writer by saying that I presume golf has taken the samehold upon Hades that it has upon this world, and that I need not hopeto hear more from that attractive region until the game has relaxed itsgrip, which I know can never be. 

Hence let me say to those who have been good enough to follow me throughthe realms of the Styx that I bid them an affectionate farewell andthank them for their kind attention to my chronicles. They are alltruthful; but now that the source of supply is cut off I cannot proveit. I can only hope that for one and all the future may hold as much ofpleasure as the place of departed spirits has held for me.