-
-
º
|
-
º
-
-
| _
| _
-
--
-----
.------
--
-
| _
-
-
_
， ！！！！！！！！！!|×|×


dº/ERSITY OF CALFORNA
ŠijE
R}VER:














New Idea Home and Cook Book
By ChRISTINE TERHUNE HERRICK
IF I RED ED
TO SUBSCRIBERS TO “* AWEW IDEAS ’’
HIS work contains over 250 pages of the best recipes
| with complete instructions as to cost, and all details
of preparation. Mrs. Herrick has written from her
experience as mistress of her home, and as an expert
teacher, producing a book to serve as a guide and adviser
in the every day problems of home life. We have pur-
chased a complete edition in sheets, and will send a copy
in paper cover, postpaid, on receipt of fifty cents to §
for one yº. subscription to this magazine, or we wi
send a copy bound in blue cloth and stamped in gold leaf
and white (postage paid by us) on receipt of one dollar
for a year's subscription to this magazine, or will furnish
two years' subscription, sending the magazine to two dif-
ferent addresses, if desired, and a cloth bound copy of
the book for $1.40.
ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO
NEW IDEAS, 636 Broadway, New York
[ _
The publishers will send this book without the magazine
at the following prices:
Price for book in paper covers, postage prepaid, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00
Three copies to one address, 2.00
Address orders to the Publishers
Isaac H. BLANCHARD co., **śāh;"


:|
The New orficial sex rºof Greater New Yorum
- - -dded feature to our latest book of views of the most pre-la-
object-of-interest in the metropolis. The ere-at-dition contains
lao photo-views
and -tube-ent securely wrapped by register-d mall on receipt of ºceata.
it tº printed on the finest-nameleº wood cut paper, and the cover is ºleranº
inted in colors, with the seal of Greater New York-truck en by handidº.
ind reºttance to
| isºach. Bi-Axchard co., -68 and -70 Canal street, N.Y.


The Famous Tales Series
are to-day the most unique and valuable collection of the
world's best literature, especially valuable to the thought-
ful, home-loving people of the twentieth century.
Price, $1.oo per copy. Any 3 copies for $2.oo, post-
Aaid. Address the publishers,
ISAAC H. BLANCHARD Co., New York.
1. FAMOUS TALES OF BATTLE, CAMP AND
SIEGE: Waterloo: Victor Hugo.—Balaklava:
Russell.—Drums of the Fore and Aft: Kipling.—
Caesar at Alesia: Froude.—A Service of Danger.
—Ivry: Macaulay.—In the Land of the Masai:
Haggard.—Beal an' Duine: Scott.—The Revolt of
Lucifer: Milton.—A Picture of War: O'Donovan.
—Downfall of the Moors: Washington Irving.
2. FAMOUS TALES OF THE SEA: The Epic of
the Whale: Melville.—The Sea Thieves of Sulu:
Reade.—The Escape of the Cannon: Hugo.—
Rounding Cape Horn: Dana.-A Real Shipwreck:
Earl of Pembroke.—Yarn of the Nancy Bell:
Gilbert.—Barny O'Reirdon, the Navigator: Lover.
3. FAMOUS TALES OF HEROISM: Horatius:
Macaulay.—End of the Abaissé: Hugo.—Hervé
Riel: Browning.—Columbus (I. The Port of Ships:
Joaquin Miller; II. The Great Voyage: Irving.)—
David and Goliath: The Bible.—Ballads of Bravery
(The Red Thread of Honor: Doyle.—Charge of the
Six Hundred: Tennyson.—Marco Bozzaris: Hal-
leck.-The Cavalier's Escape.—Jim Bludso.)—
How the Kashmir Bastion Was Won: F. B. D.—
Bristowe Tragedy: Thomas Chatterton.—Bussy
D'Amboise: Dumas.-Pagan and Christian, etc.
4. FAMOUS TALES OF WONDER: Undine:
Fouqué.-Rip Van Winkle: Irving.—The Coming
of Arthur: Tennyson.—Sintram: Fouqué.-The
Passing of Arthur: Tennyson.
5. FAMOUS WEIRD TALES: The House and the
Brain: E. Bulwer-Lytton.—Strange Case of Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Stevenson.—Markheim:
Stevenson.—The Were-Wolf: Clemence Hous-
man.—The Wondersmith: O’Brien.—The Rime
of the Ancient Mariner: Coleridge.
6. FAMOUS TALES OF FAIRYLAND AND
FANCY: Kong Tolv: Craik–The Culprit Fay:
Drake.—Through the Looking Glass: Carroll.—


Midsummer Night's Dream: Shakespeare.—The
Daisy: Anderson.—Pied Piper of Hamelin:
Browning.—The Fir Tree: Andersen.—Songs of
the Fairies: Various.
. FAMOUS CLASSIC TALES: The Iliad.
. FAMOUS CLASSIC TALES: The AEneid.
FAMOUS CLASSIC TALES: The Odyssey.
. FAMOUS CHILD STORIES: The Water
Babies: Kingsley.—La Belle Nivernaise: Daudet.
—How the Count's Son Died: Froissart.—Co-
sette: Victor Hugo.—A Dog of Flanders:
“Ouida.”
II. FAMOUS TALES OF OLDEN FRANCE:
House of the Wolf: Weyman.—Sire de Male-
troit's Door: Stevenson.—A Lodging for a
Night: Stevenson.
I2. FAMOUS TALES OF THE ORIENT: Vathek:
Beckford.—Aladdin: Arabian Nights.-The Forty
Thieves: Arabian Nights.-Murad the Unlucky:
Edgeworth.-The Three Calenders: Arabian
Nights.
13. FAMOUS PROSE IDYLS: What Makes People
to Live: Tolstoi...—A Child's Dream of a Star:
Dickens.—The Story of Ruth: The Bible.—Dream
Children: Lamb.-The Broken Cup: Zschokke.
—A Love Marriage: Halévy.—The Snow Storm:
Wilson.—A Bachelor's Revery: Mitchell.—
Dreamthorp: Alexander Smith.-The Lighthouse
at the Sanguinaires: Daudet.—The Cricket on the
Hearth: Dickens.—The Story of LeFevre: Sterne.
14. FAMOUS TALES OF ENCHANTMENT: The
Bell Tower: Melville.—King of the Golden River:
Ruskin.—The House of Suddhoo: Kipling.—The
Writing on the Image: Morris.-Abdallah: La-
boulaye.—The Bottle Imp: Stevenson.
15. FAMOUS OCCULT TALES: The Metempsycho-
sis.—The Devil and Tom Walker: Irving.—The
Life Magnet: Adee.—The Time Machine: Wells.
—What Was It?: O’Brien.—The Four-Fifteen
Express: Edwards.
16. FAMOUS TALES OF BARDARIANS AND
SAVAGES: The Quest of the Copper: Scully.
—History of a Slave: Johnston.—The Passing of
Penglima Prang Semaun: Swettenham.–Cap-
tive Among Cannibals: Melville.—In the South
Seas: Louis Becke.—Paupukeewis: Longfellow.
17. FAMOUS TALES OF GODS AND HEROES:
Selections from Kingsley, Hawthorne, William
Morris, etc. Telemaque, Siegfried, etc., etc.
:
I


Famous
Occult Tales
The Metempsychosis—The Devil and Tom
Walker The Life Magnet—What
Was It?—The Time Machine—The
Four-Fifteen Express
EDITED BY
FREDERICK B. DE BERARD
tº-
1899
ISAAC H. BLANCHARD CO.
NEW YORK


PW40/z
7D4/26
CopyRIGHTED, 1899
By ISAAC H. BLANCHARD Co.
NEW YORK


The Metempsychosis
‘T). Robert McNish
The Devil and Tom Walker
Washington Irving
The Life Magnet
Alvey A. cAdee
What Was It?
- Fitz-James O’Brien
The Time Machine
H. G. Wells
The Four-Fifteen Express
Amelia B. Edwards
Tage
47
63
ſø5.
213





THE METEMPSYCHOSIS
ZXr. Robert McMish
SLIGHT shudder came over me as I was entering
the inner court of the college of Göttingen. It
was, however, but momentary; and on recovering from
it, I felt both taller and heavier and altogether more
vigorous than the instant before. Being rather ner-
vous, I did not much mind these feelings, imputing
them to some sudden determination to the brain or
some unusual beating about the heart, which had as-
sailed me suddenly, and as suddenly left me. On pro-
ceeding, I met a student coming in the opposite direc-
tion. I had never see him before, but as he passed me
by he nodded familiarly—“This is a fine day, Wolstang.”
“What does this fellow mean?” said I to myself. “He
speaks to me with as much ease as if I had been his
intimate acquaintance. And he calls me Wolstang—a
person to whom I bear no more resemblance than to
the man in the moon.” I looked after him for some
time, pondering whether I should call him back and
demand an explanation; but before I could form any
resolution, he was out of my sight.
Thinking it needless to take any further notice of the
circumstance, I went on. Another student, whom I
did not know, now passed me. “Charming weather,
Wolstang.” “Wolstang again!” said I; “this is insuf-
ferable. Hollo, I say! what do you mean?” But at
this very moment he entered the library, and either did
not hear my voice or paid no attention to it.
9


IFAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
As I was standing in a mood between rage and vexa-
tion, a batch of collegians came up, talking loud and
laughing. Three, with whom I was intimately ac-
quainted, took no notice of me; while two, to whom
I was totally unknown, saluted me with, “Good-morn-
ing, Wolstang.” One of these latter, after having
passed me a few yards, turned round and cried out,
“Wolstang, your cap is awry.”
I did not know what to make of this preposterous
conduct. Could it be premeditated? It was hardly
possible, or I must have discovered the trick in the
countenances of those who addressed me. Could it be
that they really mistook me for Wolstang? This was
still more incredible, for Wolstang was fully six inches
taller, four stone heavier, and ten years older than I.
I found myself in a maze of bewilderment in endeavor-
ing to discover the cause of all this.
While meditating as in a reverie on these events, I
was aroused by approaching steps. On looking up,
I beheld the most learned Dr. Dedimus Dunderhead,
provost, and professor of moral philosophy of the
college. He was a man about five feet high; but so far
as rotundity of corporation went, noways deficient.
On the contrary, he was uncommonly fat, and his long-
waisted velvet coat of office, buttoning over a capacious
belly, showed underneath a pair of thick, stumpy legs,
cased in short small-clothes and silk stockings, and be-
dizened at the knees with large buckles of silver. The
doctor had on, as usual, his cocked-hat, below whose
rim at each side descended the copious curls of an im-
mense bob-wig. His large carbuncle nose was adorned
with a pair of spectacles, through which he looked
pompously from side to side, holding back his head in
grenadier fashion, and knocking his long silver-headed
baton to the earth as he walked with all the formal pre-
cision of a drum-major.
IO


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
Now be it known that it is binding on every student
who attends the University of Göttingen to doff his cap
on meeting this illustrious personage. It may be
guessed, then, what was my degree of stupefaction when
I saw Dr. Dunderhead approach—when I heard his
baton striking upon the ground, responsive to his steps
—when I saw his large eyes, reflected through the spec-
tacles, looking intently upon me—I say my stupefac-
tion may be guessed, when, even on this occasion, my
hand did not make one single motion upward toward
my cap. The latter still stuck to my head, and I stood
folded in my college gown, my mouth half open, and
my eyes fixed upon the doctor in empty abstraction.
I could see that he was angry at my tardy recognition
of his presence; and as he came nearer me, he slackened
his pace a little, as if to give me an opportunity of
mending my neglect. However, I was so drowned in
reflection that I did not take the hint. At last he made
a sudden stop directly in front of me, folded his arms
in the same manner as mine, and looked upward in my
face with a fixed glance, as much as to say, “Well,
master, what now?” I never thought the doctor so
little, or myself so tall, as at this moment.
Having continued some time in the above attitude,
he took off his hat, and made me a profound bow.
“Mr. Wolstang, I am your most humble servant.”
Then rising up, he lifted his baton toward my cap, and
knocked it off. “Your cap is awry,” continued he.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wolstang, it is really awry upon your
head.” Another bow of mockery, as profound as the
first, followed this action, and he marched away, strik-
ing his baton on the ground, holding back his head.
and walking with slow, pompous step down the college
court.
“What the devil is the meaning of it all?” said I.
“Wolstang again! &onfusion, this is no trick! The
II


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
provost of the college engage in a deception upon me
—impossible! They are all mad, or I am mad! Wol-
stang from one—Wolstang from another—Wolstang
from Dr. Dedimus Dunderhead! I will see to the bot-
tom of this—I will go to Wolstang's house immedi-
ately.” So saying, I snatched up my cap, put it on my
head, and walked smartly down the court to gain the
street where he lived. Before I got far, a young man
met me. “By-the-by, Wolstang, I wish you would let
me have the ten gilders I lent you. I require them
immediately.” “Ten gilders!” said I; “I don't owe you
a farthing. I never saw your face before, and my name
is not Wolstang; it is Frederick Stadt.”
“Psha! But, Wolstang, laying jesting aside,” con-
tinued he, “I must positively have them.”
“Have what?”
“My dear fellow, the ten gilders.”
“Ten devils! I tell you, I don't owe you a farthing.”
“Really, Wolstang, this joke is very silly. We know
you are an odd fellow, but this is the most foolish prank
I ever saw you play.”
“Wolstang again!” said I, my heart boiling with in-
dignation. “I tell you, sir—I tell you, sir, that—that
—” I could not get out another word, to such a de-
gree had indignation confounded me. Without finish-
ing my sentence, I rushed into the street, but not with-
out hearing the person say, “By Heaven, he is either
mad or drunk!”
In a moment I was at Wolstang's lodgings and set
the knocker agoing with violence. The door was opened
by his servant girl Louise, a buxom wench of some
eighteen or twenty.
“Is Mr. Wolstang in?” I demanded, quickly.
“Mr. who, sir?”
“Mr. Wolstang, my dear.”
“Mr. Wol—Mr. who, sir?—I did not hear you.”
I2


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
“Mr. Wolstang.”
“Mr. Wolstang!” re-echoed the girl, with some sur-
prise.
“Assuredly, I ask you if Mr. Wolstang is within.”
“Mr. Wolstang!” reiterated she. “Ha, ha, ha! how
droll you are to-day, master!”
“Damnation! what do you mean?” cried I, in a fury,
which I now found it impossible to suppress. “Tell me
this instant if Mr. Wolstang, your master, is at home,
or by the beard of Socrates, I–I—”
“Ha, ha! this is the queerest thing I ever heard of,”
said the little jade, retreating into the house, and hold-
ing her sides with laughter. “Come here, Barnabas,
and hear our master asking for himself.”
I now thought that the rage into which I had thrown
myself had excited the laughter of the wench, whom I
knew very well to be of a frolicsome disposition, and
much disposed to turn people into ridicule. I there-
fore put on as grave a face as I could—I even threw a
smile into it—and said, with all the composure and
good humor I could muster: “Come now, my dear—
conduct me to your master—I am sure he is within.”
This only set her a-laughing more than ever; not a
word could I get out of her. At last Barnabas made
his appearance from the kitchen, and to him I addressed
myself. “Barnabas,” said I, laying my hand upon his
arm, “I conjure you, as you value my happiness, to
tell me if Mr. Wolstang is at home.”
“Sir!” said Barnabas, with a long stare.
I repeated my question.
“Did you ask,” replied he, “if Mr. Wolstang was at
home? If that gentleman is yourself, he is at home.
Oh, yes, I warrant you my master is at home.”
“In what place is he, then?” I inquired.
“Wherever you are, he is not far off, I warrant you,
master.”
I3


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Can I find him in his study?”
“Oh, yes,” continued Barnabas; “if you go to his
study, I warrant you he'll be there. Will you please to
walk in, sir?” and I could see the fellow put his finger
to his nose and wink to the girl, who kept tittering
away in a corner. As soon as I was in the study she
burst into a loud laugh, which ended by her declaring
that I must be mad—“Or drunk,” quoth the sapient
Barnabas, in his usual dry manner. *
On entering the room, no person was to be seen;
but from behind a large screen, which stood fronting
the fire, I heard a sneeze. “This must be Wolstang,”
thought I; “but it is not his sneeze, either—it is too
sharp and finical for him; however, let us see.” So on
I went behind the screen, and there beheld, not the
person I expected, but one very different—to wit, a lit-
tle, meager, brown-faced, elderly gentleman, with
hooked nose and chin, a long, well-powdered queue,
and a wooden leg. He was dressed in a snuff-colored
surtout, a scarlet waistcoat, and black small-clothes
buckled at the knee; and on his nose was stuck a pair
of tortoise-shell spectacles, the glasses of which were
of most unusual dimensions. A dapper-looking cocked-
hat lay upon the table, together with a large open
snuff-box full of rich rappee. Behind his ear a pen was
stuck, after the manner of the counting-house, and he
seemed busily pouring over a book in manuscript.
I looked a few seconds at this oddity, equally as-
tonished and vexed at being put into what I naturally
supposed the wrong room. “I am afraid, sir,” said I,
as he turned his eyes toward me, “that I have intruded
upon your privacy. I beg leave to apologize for the
mistake. The servant led me to believe that Mr. Wol-
stang, with whom I wished to speak, was in his cham-
ber.”
“Don’t talk of apology, my dear sir,” said the little
I4


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
gentleman, rising up and bowing with the utmost po-
liteness. “Be seated, sir—be seated. Indeed, I am just
here on the same errand—to see Mr. Wolstang—eh (a
sneeze)—that rappee is certainly very strong. Do me
the honor to occupy the seat opposite. I understand
from the servants that he is expected soon.” (An-
other sneeze.)
For the first five minutes I did not form a very high
opinion of this new acquaintance. He seemed to have
all the fidgety politeness and intolerable chit-chat of a
French petit maitre of the old school. He bored me
with questions and apologies, hoped I felt myself com-
fortable; and every interval of his speech was filled up
by intolerable giggling and sneezing. In order, as it
were, to increase the latter, he kept snuffing away at a
preposterous rate; and when he addressed me, his
mouth was drawn up into a most complacent smile, and
his long nose and chin, which threatened each other
like nut-crackers, thrown forward to within a foot of
my face. However, in the next five minutes he im-
proved upon me, from some very judicious observations
which he made; and in five more I became convinced
that he was far from being an ordinary man. I found
that he had a complete knowledge of the philosophical
systems of the day; among others, that of my favorite,
Kant; and on the merits of the school in the north of
Germany, founded by this great metaphysician, his
opinions and mine tallied to a point. He also seemed
deeply conversant with the mathematics.
Let it not be supposed that all this was advanced with
the formal pomp of a philosopher; on the contrary, he
preserved throughout his frivolousness of manner, apol-
ogized for everything he said, hoped I was not offended
if he differed in opinion from me, and concluded every
position with a sneeze.
“By-the-by,” said I, “what do you think of the doc-
I5


fAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
trine of Gall and Spurzheim? I am inclined to believe
there must be some truth in it; at least, I have seen it
verified in a number of heads, and among others in
that of Cicero, which I saw a few years ago in the
sculpture-gallery of the Louvre. It was a beautiful
head.” -
“You are right there, my dear friend,” replied he.
“The head, phrenologically considered, is extremely
beautiful. I believe I have got it in my pocket.” (A
sneeze.)
“You have got the head of Cicero in your pocket!”
cried I, with surprise.
“Oh, no! not absolutely the head of Cicero,” said he,
smiling—“Mark Antony disposed of that—but only his
bust—the bust that you saw.”
“You mean a miniature of that bust?”
“No–not a miniature, but the real bust. Here it
comes—how heavy it is!” And, to my amazement, I
saw him take out of his pocket the identical bust, as
large as life, of the Roman orator, and place it on the
table before me. -
“Have you any more heads of this description about
you?” said I, not a little marveling how he was able to
stuff such a block of marble into his pocket.
“I have a few others at your service, my dear friend.
Name any one you would wish to see, and I shall be
most happy to produce it.”
“Let me see, then, the head of Copernicus.” I had
scarcely spoken the word when he brought out the
philosopher and put him beside Cicero. I named suc-
cessively Socrates, Thales, Galileo, Confucius, Zoro-
aster, Tycho Brahé, Roger Bacon, and Paracelsus, and
straightway they stood upon the table as fresh as if
they had just received the last touch of the sculptor's
chisel. I must confess that such a number of large
heads emanating from the pockets of the little meager
I6


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
man in the snuff-colored surtout would have occasioned
me incredible wonder, had my stock of astonishment
not been exhausted by the previous display of his abili-
ties.
“And do you,” I demanded, as the last-named was
brought forth, “always carry those heads about with
you?”
“I generally do so, for the 4 musement of my friends,”
answered he. “But do not think that my stock is ex-
hausted; I have still a few more that I can show you—
for instance, Pythagoras.”
“Pythagoras!” exclaimed I; “no, don't produce him.
He is the last of all the philosophers I would wish to
see.”
“My dear friend,” said the little man, with unusual
gravity, “you do not say so?”
“I do say so. Pythagoras was a fool, a madman, an
imposter.”
“You don't speak thus of the divine Pythagoras?”
returned he, putting his bust upon the table.
“No, not of the divine Pythagoras, for such a person
never existed. I speak of Pythagoras the Samian—him
of the golden thigh, the founder of what is called the
Pythagorean philosophy.”
“And the most rational system of philosophy that
ever existed. Begging your pardon, I think it goes
far beyond that of Plato or the Stagyrite.”
“If you mean that it goes beyond them in being as
full of absurdity as they are of wisdom, I really agree
with you,” said I, my anger rising at hearing the divine
doctrines of Aristotle and the disciple of Socrates so
irreverently spoken of.
“Pray, what were its absurdities?” asked he, with the
most imperturbable good nature.
“Ah, well, did he not forbid the use of animal food to
his followers? and, to crown all, did he not teach the
17


FAMOUS OCCULT T.A.L.E.S.
monstrous doctrine of transmigration of souls—send-
ing the spirits of men, after death, to inhabit the bodies
of dogs, and cats, and frogs, and geese, and even
insects?”
“And call you this a monstrous doctrine?”
“Monstrous!” I exclaimed with surprise—“it is the
ne plus ultra, the climax of fatuity, the raving of a dis-
ordered imagination.”
“So you do not believe in metempsychosis?” asked
he, with a smile.
“I would as soon believe in demonology or magic.
There is nothing I would not rather credit. But per-
haps you are a believer.” He shrugged up his shoul-
ders at this last remark, stroked his chin, and, giving
me a sarcastic look, said, with a familiar nod and smile,
“Yes, I am a believer.”
“What!” said I, “you—you, with your immense learn-
ing, can you put faith in such doctrines?”
“If I put faith in them,” said he, “it is my learning
which has taught me to do so.”
“And do you really go all the length of Pythagoras?”
I demanded.
“I not only go all his length, but I go much farther.
For instance, he believed that the soul never left the
body until the latter was dead. Now, my belief is that
two living bodies may exchange souls with each other.
For instance, your soul may take possession of my
body, and my soul of yours, and both our bodies may
be alive.”
“In that case,” said I, laughing heartily, “you would
be me, and I would be you.”
“Precisely so, my dear friend,” replied the little
gentleman, laughing in his turn, and concluding with a
S11eeze.
“Faith, my good sir,” my reverence for his abilities
18


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
somewhat lessened by this declaration, “I am afraid
you have lost your senses.” *
“I am afraid you have lost something of more im-
portance,” returned he, with a smile, in which I thought
I recognized a tinge of derision. I did not like it, so,
eyeing him with some sternness, I said, hastily, “And
pray, what have I lost?” Instead of answering me, he
burst into a loud fit of laughter, holding his sides while
the tears ran down his cheeks, and he seemed half
stifled with a flood of irresistible merriment. My pas-
sion at this rose to such a pitch that had he been a
man of any appearance I should have knocked him
down; but I could not think of resorting to such an
extremity with a meager, little, elderly fellow, who had,
moreover, a wooden leg. I could therefore only wait
till his mirth subsided, when I demanded, with as much
calmness as I could assume, what I had lost.
“Are you sure you have not lost your body?” said he.
“My body!” answered I, with some surprise; “what
do you mean?”
“Now, my dear friend, tell me plainly; are you sure
that this is your own body?”
“My own body—who the devil's can it be?”
“Are you sure you are yourself?”
“Myself—who, in Heaven's name, could I be but my-
self?”
“Ay, that is the rub,” continued he; “are you per-
fectly satisfied that you are yourself, and nobody but
yourself?” I could not help smiling at the apparent
stupidity of this question; but before I was able to
compose myself, he had resumed his query—“Are you
sure you are—that you are—”
“That I am who?” said I, hurriedly.
“That you are Frederick Stadt?”
“Perfectly.”
“And not Albert Wolstang?” concluded he.
I9


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
A pang shot through my whole body at this last part
of his question. I recalled in an instant all my previous
vexation. I remembered the insults I had met with,
not only from the students of Göttingen and Dr. Dedi-
mus Dunderhead, but from the domestics of Wolstang;
and lastly, I recollected the business which had brought
me to the house of the latter. Everything came as a
flash of lightning through my brain, and I was more
perplexed than ever. At length, arousing myself from
my stupor, I put the following question to him:
“Did you ask me if I was sure that I am not Wol-
stang?”
“I did sir,” answered he, with a bow.
“Then, sir, I must tell you that I am not that person,
but Frederick Stadt, student of philosophy in the Uni-
versity of Göttingen.” He looked incredulous.
“What, sir,” said I; “do you not believe me?” He
shrugged up his shoulders.
“It is impossible, sir,” said I, “that you can mistake
me for Wolstang—seeing that, on my entry, you told
me you expected that gentleman in a short time, and
desired me to be seated till he came in.” At this he
seemed a little disconcerted, and was beginning to mut-
ter something in explanation, when I interrupted him—
“Besides, sir, Wolstang is a man at least six inches
taller, four stone heavier, and ten years older than I.”
“What an immense fellow he must be, my dear friend!
At that rate, he ought to stand six feet eight inches,
and weigh twenty stone.”
I could hardly retain my gravity at this calculation.
“Pray, what do you take my stature and weight to be?”
“I should take you,” replied he, “to be about six
feet two inches high, and to weigh about sixteen stone.”
This admeasurement raised my merriment to its acme,
and I laughed aloud. “Know, then, my good little
man, that all your geometry has availed you nothing,
20


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
-
for I only stand five feet eight and never weighed more
than twelve stone.” He shrugged up his shoulders
once more, and put on another of his incredulous looks.
“Eh, eh—I may be mistaken—but I—I—”
“Mistaken!” exclaimed I; “zounds, you were never
more egregiously mistaken, even when you advocated
the Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis!”
“I may be wrong, but I could lay five gilders that I
am right. I never bet high—just a trifle occasionally.”
“You had better keep your gilders in your pocket,”
said I, “and not risk them so foolishly.”
“With your permission, however, I shall back my
pieces against yours”—and he drew five from a little
green silk purse, and put them on the table. I de-
posited an equal number.
“Now,” said I, “how is this dispute to be settled?
Where can I get myself weighed?”
“I believe,” answered" he, “there is a pair of scales
in the room hard by, and weights, too, if I mistake not.”
He accordingly got up and opened the door of the
adjoining chamber, where, to my surprise, I beheld a
pair of immense scales hanging from the roof, and
hundred and half-hundred weights, etc., lying around.
I seated myself on one of the scales, chuckling very
heartily at the scrape into which the little fellow had
brought himself. He lifted up weight after weight,
placing them upon the opposite scale. Eleven stone
had been put in, and he was lifting the twelfth. “Now,”
says I, eyeing him waggishly, “for your five guilders.”
He dropped the weight, but the beam never moved,
and I still sat on the lowest scale. Thirteen were put
on, and my weight yet triumphed. With amazement I
saw fourteen and fifteen successively added to the num-
ber, without effect. At last, on putting down the six-
teenth, the scale on which I sat was gently raised from
the ground. I turned my eyes upward toward the
2I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
needle, which I saw quivering as if uncertain where to
stop; at last it paused exactly in the center, and stood
erect; the beam lay perfectly horizontal, and I sat
motionless, poised in middle air.
“You will observe, sir, that my calculation was cor-
rect,” observed my companion, taking a fresh pinch of
snuff. “You are just sixteen stone. Nothing now re-
mains but to measure your height.”
“There is no occasion for that,” I replied, rising
slowly from the scale. “If you can contrive to make
me weigh sixteen stone, you can readily make me
measure six feet two inches.” I now threw myself
down on a seat in the study, which both of us had re-
entered, placed my elbows on the table, and buried my
face in my hands, absorbed in deep reflection. I
thought and thought again upon every event which
had befallen me since the morning. The whole formed
a combination which I found myself utterly unable to
comprehend. In a few minutes I looked up, exhausted
with vain thought. All the heads were gone except that
of Pythagoras, which he left lying in its place. He now
took up his snuff-box and deposited it in his waistcoat
pocket; drew an old-fashioned watch out of his fob, and
looked at the hour; and, lastly, laying his hand upon
the ten gilders, he dropped them one by one into his
green purse. “I believe,” said he, with a smile, “the
money is mine.” So saying, he snatched up his little
cocked-hat, made me half-a-dozen of bows, and bade
me adieu, after promising to see me at the same time
and place two days after.
Again did I bury my face in my hands; again did my
fit of meditation come on; I felt my bosom glowing
with perplexity. It was now the scales which occupied
my thoughts, to the exclusion of everything else.
“Sixteen stone!—impossible, I cannot believe it. This
22


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
old rascal has cheated me. The weights he has put on
must be defective—they must be hollow. I will see to
it in a moment, and if there has been any deception,
I shall break his bones the first time I set my eyes upon
him, mauger his wooden leg; I will at least smash his
spectacles, trip up his heels, and pull his hook nose.”
Full of these resolutions, I proceeded to the adjoining
room. Guess of my amazement when, instead of the
great machines in which I had been weighed but ten
minutes before, I beheld nothing but a small pair of
apothecary’s scales, and a few drachm, scruple, and
grain weights scattered upon the floor.
Not knowing what to make of this, I returned to
the study, when, happening to look into a mirror placed
behind the chair on which I had been sitting, I beheld
(joyous sight) the reflection of Wolstang. “Ah, you
have come?” said I, turning round to receive him, but
nobody was to be seen. I looked again through every
part of the room; no Wolstang was there. This was
passing strange; where could the man have gone in
such a hurry? I was now in a greater fright than ever,
when, casting my eyes a second time upon the mirror,
he again made his appearance. I instantly looked
round—no one was present; in another instant I turned
to the glass, and there stood the reflection as before.
Not knowing what this phenomenon could be, and
thinking perhaps that my eyes were dazzled by some
phantom, I raised my hands, and rubbed them; Wol-
stang did the same. I struck my forehead, bit my lip
with vexation, and started back, when, marvelous to
relate, the figure in the glass repeated all my gestures.
I now got alarmed, and, shrinking away from the ap-
parition, threw myself upon the chair. In a few min-
utes, my courage being somewhat revived, I ventured
to face the mirror, but without any better success—the
same object presented itself. I desisted, and renewed
• 23


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
the trial three several times, with the like result. In
vain was my philosophy exerted to unfold this mystery.
The doctrines of Aristotle, the dreams of alchemy, and
the wonders of the Cabala presented themselves in
succession to my disordered fancy. All was in vain;
nothing could account for the present occurrence;
nothing in mystical or scientific lore bore any analogy
to it.
In this perturbed state of mind my eye caught the
bust of Pythagoras. This was a flood of light to my
understanding. I instantly remembered what the old
fellow had hinted about the transmigration of souls; I
remembered what he said about me being myself or
another person. Then connecting this with the pre-
vious events of the day, with the Göttingen students,
with Dr. Dedimus Dunderhead, with Wolstang's do–
mestics, and lastly with the reflection in the looking-
glass—I say, coupling all these thing together, I came
to the horrible conclusion that I was not myself.
“There must be some truth in the Pythagorean doc-
trine, and I am laboring under a metempsychosis.”
It would be a vain attempt for me to describe the
horror I endured at this dreadful transmogrification.
After the first burst of dismay was over, I wept bitterly,
bewailing the loss of my dear body, which I now felt
convinced was gone from me forever. “And poor
Wolstang,” cried I, lamentably, “you are no longer
yourself. You are me, and I am you; and doubtless
you are deploring your misfortune as bitterly as your
unhappy friend Stadt.”
Night was now coming on, and it became necessary
that I should resolve upon what ought to be done in my
present state. I soon perceived that it would serve no
purpose to say that I was myself; no one would have
believed me, and I would run the risk of being put in a
strait-jacket as a lunatic. To avoid these evils, there
24


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
was no resource but to pass myself off upon the com-
munity as Wolstang.
In order to cool my heated brain, I went out into the
open air and wandered about the streets. I was ad-
dressed by a number of persons whom I did not know;
and several of my acquaintances, to whom I inad-
vertently spoke, did not know me. With the former I
was very short, answering their questions at random,
and getting off as soon as possible. To the latter I
could only apologize, assuring them that they had been
mistaken by me for other persons. I felt my situation
most unpleasant; for, besides the consciousness of no
longer being myself, I was constantly running into the
most perplexing blunders. For instance, after strolling
about for a considerable period, I came, as it were, by
a sort of instinct, to my own lodgings. For a time I
forgot my situation, and knocked at the door. It was
opened by my domestic, from whom I took the candle
which he held in his hand, and, according to wont,
walked into the study. “Mr. Stadt is not in, sir,” said
the man, following me; “perhaps you will sit till he
comes; I expect him soon.” This aroused me from my
reverie, confirming too truly the fact that I was
changed. I started up from the seat into which I had
dropped, rushed past him and gained the street. Here
I made up my mind to return to Wolstang's lodgings,
which I accordingly did, in a mood which a condemned
criminal would hardly envy.
I kept the house for the whole of next day, employ-
ing myself in writing, in order that the servants might
at least see some cause for my confinement. Notwith-
standing this, it was easy to observe that they perceived
something unusual about me; and several remarks
which escaped them convinced me that they considered
my head touched in no slight degree. Although I did
all that I was able to compose myself, it was impossible
25


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES. ſ
that I could think like Wolstang, and still less that I
could know a hundred private and household matters
on which the pert Louise and sapient Barnabas made a
point of consulting me. Whenever I was spoken to
concerning things that I knew, my answers were kind
and condescending; but on any point about which I was
ignorant, I utterly lost temper, and peremptorily for-
bade them to repeat it. Both shook their heads at such
inconsistent behavior; and it was soon bruited among
the neighbors that Mr. Albert Wolstang had parted
with his senses.
The second day arrived, and found me in the same
state of mind. The amazement which succeeded the
discovery of my metamorphosis had indeed given way,
but my feelings were still as imbittered as ever, and I
ardently longed for death to put an end to such intol-
erable misery. While brooding over these matters, the
door of the study opened. Thinking it was one of the
domestics, I paid no attention to it; but in a moment
I heard a sneeze, which made my flesh creep, and in an-
other the little man with the snuff-colored surtout, the
scarlet waistcoat, and the wooden leg made his appear-
ance. Since I last saw this old fellow, I had conceived |
a mortal hatred against him. I thought, although the ,
idea was wild enough, that he had some hand in my
metempsychosis—and the affair of the scales and the
marble busts, together with his Pythagorean opinions,
his vast learning, his geomancy and astrology, gave to
my idea a strong confirmation. On the present oc-
casion his politeness was excessive; he bowed almost to
the ground, made fifty apologies for intruding, and in-
quired, with the most outré affectation of tenderness,
into the state of my health. He then seated himself
opposite to me, laid his cocked-hat upon the table,
took a pinch of snuff, and commenced his intolerable
system of sneezing. I was never less in a humor to
26


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
relish anything like foppery; so throwing myself back
upon the chair, putting on as commanding a look as I
could, and looking at him fiercely, I said: “So, sir, you
are back again; I suppose you know me?”
“Know you, my dear friend—eh—yes, I derived
great pleasure in being made acquainted with you the
day before yesterday. You are Mr. Frederick Stadt—
that is to say, you are Mr. Albert Wolstang.” (A
sneeze.)
“Then you know that I am not myself?”
“My dear friend,” replied he, with a smile, “I hinted
as much the last time I saw you.” -
“And pray how did you ascertain that?”
“You don't ask me such a question,” said he, with an
air of surprise; “I knew it by your own signature.”
“My own signature! I know not what you mean by
my signature.”
“Eh—eh—the signature, you know—that is, the com-
pact you made with Wolstang.”
“I know of no compact,” cried I, in a passion; “nor
did I ever make one with any man living. I defy either
you or Wolstang to produce any such instrument.”
“I believe it is in my pocket at this very moment.
Look here, my dear sir.” And he brought out a small
manuscript book, and, turning up the leaves, pointed
to view the following words: -
“I hereby, in consideration of the sum of fifty gilders,
give to Albert Wolstang the use of my body, at any
time he is disposed, provided that, for the time being,
he gives me the use of his.-Frederick Stadt.”
“It is a damnable forgery,” said I, starting up with
fury; “a deceptio visãs at least—something like your
scales.”
“What about the scales, my dear friend?” said he,
with a whining voice.
“Go,” replied I, “into that room, and you shall see.”
27


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
He accordingly went, but returned immediately, saying
that he observed nothing remarkable. “No!” said I,
rising up; “then I shall take the trouble to point it out
to you.” My astonishment may be better conceived
than described when, instead of the small apothecary’s
scales, I beheld the immense ones in which I had been
weighed two days before. I felt confounded and
mortified, and returned with him to the study, mutter-
ing something about deceptio visãs, necromancy, and
demonology.
“Well,” continued I, after recovering a little, “what
about this compact—when and where was it made?”
“It was made some three days ago, at the Devil’s
Hoof Tavern. You may remember that you and Wol-
stang were drinking there at that time.”
“Yes, I remember it well enough; but I understood
that I was putting my name to a receipt for fifty gil-
ders which he paid me. I never read the writing; I
merely subscribed it.”
“That was a pity; for really you have bound yourself
as firmly as signing with a person's own blood can do.”
“Did I sign it with my own blood?” said I, alarmed.
“Exactly so. You may recollect of cutting your
finger. I had the pleasure of stanching the blood,
sufficient of which was, nevertheless, collected to write
this document.”
“Then you were present,” said I–“yes, I have a
recollection of your face, now that you mention the cir-
cumstance. You were then dressed as a clergyman, if
I mistake not.”
“Precisely.” -
“And what,” continued I, “are the conditions on
which I hold this strange existence? Suppose Wol-
stang dies?”
“Then you keep his body till the natural period of
your own death.”
28


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
“Suppose I die?”
“He then keeps your body.”
“Then, if he dies, my body is buried and goes to
decay, while I am clogged up in his body till relieved
from it by death?”
“Precisely.”
This announcement struck me with terror. “And
shall I never,” said I, weeping, “see my dear body
again?”
“You may see it if ever Wolfstang comes in your
way.”
“But shall I never possess it—shall I never be myself
again?”
“Not unless he pleases.”
“The villain!” exclaimed I, in an agony of grief;
“I am then undone—the tool of a heartless, unprinci-
pled miscreant. Is my case hopeless?”
“Oh no, my dear friend,” said the little man, “not at
all hopeless; there is nothing simpler than the remedy.
Only put your name here, and you will be yourself in
a minute. The fellow will then lose all power over
your body.” I seized with avidity the pen which he
presented to me, dipped it in a vial of red ink, and was
proceeding to do as he directed, when the writing above
caught my eye. It ran thus:
“I hereby engage, after my natural decease, to give
over my soul to the owner of this book.”
“Zounds!” said I, “what is this?”
“It is nothing at all; just a form—a mere form of
business, of no intrinsic meaning. If you would just
write your name—it is very easily done.”
“Has any other person signed such a deed?” de-
manded I.
“Many a one. Here, for example, is Wolstang's
name attached to a similar contract. It is, in fact, by
virtue of this that he has the power over your body.
29


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
The deed which you have signed would have availed
him nothing without this one.”
“Then,” said I, “if you relieve me from my present
condition, you break faith with Wolstang, seeing that
you deprive him of his stipulated power.”
“I deprive him of his power over you, but I give him
in return power over some other person, which will
answer his purpose equally well. I think you had
better sign.”
“No, you old villain!” said I, wrought up to a pitch
of fury at the infernal plan which I saw he was medi-
tating, “I will never sign your damnable compact. I
have religion enough to know the value of my soul,
and sufficient philosophy to bear with any wretchedness
I may endure under my present form. You may play
the devil if you choose, but you shall never get me to
act the part of Dr. Faustus.” I pronounced these words
in a voice of thunder; but, so far from being angry,
he used every endeavor to soothe me—made a thousand
apologies for having been the unwilling cause of such
a commotion; then, snatching up his hat and making a
profound bow, he left the room.
A glow of conscious virtue passed over me on his
departure. I found that I had resisted evil, and gloried
in the thought; but this triumphant feeling gave way to
one of revenge against the author of my calamity.
After reflecting for a short time, it occurred to me that
the best way to punish him would be to commit some
outrage which might stamp him with infamy, and ren-
der him miserable if he ever thought of resuming his
body. “I shall at least have him expelled from the
university. This shall be the first blow directed against
his comfort. He will in time become weary of my body
and will find very little satisfaction in his own when he
takes it into his head to make an exchange.” Full of
30


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
hese ideas, I entered the college court, where the first
object that met my eyes was Dr. Dedimus Dunderhead
coming toward me—his baton of office in his hand,
spectacles on his carbuncle nose, and his head thrown
pack as he strutted along a la militaire. Without a
, moment's hesitation I advanced up to him and knocked
ºff his cocked-hat; nor did I stop to see how he looked
at this extraordinary salutation, but walked deliberately
on. I heard him distinctly call after me, “You shall
hear of this, sir, by to-morrow.” “When you please,
doctor,” was my answer. “Now, Master Wolstang,”
said I to myself, “I have driven you from Göttingen
college, and wish you much joy of your expulsion.”
Such were my thoughts, and the morrow verified them;
for, a meeting of the Senatus Academicus being sum-
moned by the provost, that learned body declared Al-
bert Wolstang unfit to be a member of the university,
and he was accordingly placarded upon the gate and
expelled in terrorem.
... This circumstance, being just what I wanted, gave
me no uneasiness; but a few days thereafter an event
arose out of it which subjected me to much incon-
venience. Having unwittingly strolled into the college,
... I was rudely collared by one of the officers, which so
enraged me that I knocked down the fellow with a blow
* of my fist. For this I was apprehended the same day
by three gendarmes, and carried before the Syndic,
who condemned me to suffer two weeks close confine-
ment, and to be fed on bread and water. This punish-
º ment, though perhaps not disproportioned to the of-
fence, was, in my estimation, horribly severe; and now,
for the first time, did I feel regret for the absurdity of
my conduct. I found that in endeavoring to punish
}} Wolstang I was in truth only punishing myself, and
* that it was a matter of doubt whether he would ever
| submit to a corporeal change, seeing that my fortune
3I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
|
was much more considerable than his own, and that he
would come at it in the course of six months. This
I had no doubt, was the chief consideration that in
duced the fellow to bring about such a metamorphosis
On getting out of prison I was the most miserab
wretch on earth. The fierce desire of vengeance haſ
formerly kept up my spirits; but this was now gone
and they sank to the lowest pitch. I found that I was
spurned by those very persons who were before mos.
anxious to cultivate my friendship. Barnabas and
Louise had left me, resolving no longer to serve
one who had undergone the punishment of a malefac.
tor. In order to clear up matters, I frequently called
at my own house to inquire if I myself was at home—
for so was I obliged to speak of the miscreant who
had possession of my body; but on every occasion I
was answered in the negative. “I had gone out to see
a friend in town;” “I had gone to the country;” “I was
expected soon.” Never by any possibility could I get
a sight of myself. All this convinced me that the case
was hopeless, and that I must make the best of my de-
plorable situation.
In consequence of the peculiar opportunities which)
I enjoyed, I soon discovered that Wolstang, whom I
had long thought rather highly of, was in reality a very
bad character. Some persons of the worst description
in Göttingen appeared to have been his associates.
Times without number I was accosted as an acquaint-
ance by gamblers, pickpockets, usurers, and prostitutes;
and through their means I unravelled a train of im-
posture, profligacy, and dissipation in which he had
been long deeply involved. I found out even worse
than this—at least what I dreaded much more. This
was a forgery to an immense amount, which he, in
concert with another person, had committed on an
extensive mercantile house. The accomplice, in a high
32


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
state of trepidation, came to tell me that the whole was
in a fair way of being blown, and that if we wished to
save our necks an instantaneous departure from the city
was indispensable. Such a piece of intelligence threw
me into great alarm. If I remained, my apprehension
would be inevitable; and how would it be possible for
me to persuade any one that I was not Wolstang?
My conviction and execution must follow; and though
I was now so regardless of life that I would gladly have
been in my grave, yet there was something revolting
in the idea of dying for a villain, merely because I
could not show that I was not myself. These reflec-
tions had their due weight, and I resolved to leave
Göttingen next day, and escape from the country alto-
gether.
While meditating upon this scheme, I walked about
three miles out of town for the purpose of maturing my
plans undisturbed by the noise and bustle of the streets.
As I was going slowly along, I perceived a man walk-
ing about a furlong before me. His gait and dress
arrested my attention particularly, and after a few
glances I was convinced that he must be myself. The
joy that pervaded my mind at the sight no language
can describe; it was as a glimpse of Heaven, and filled
me with perfect ecstasy. Prudence, however, did not
forsake me, and I resolved to steal slowly upon him,
collar him, and demand an explanation. With this
view I approached him, concealing myself as well as I
could, and was so successful that I had actually got
within ten yards of my prey without being discovered.
At this instant, hearing footsteps, he turned round,
looked alarmed, and took to his heels. I was after him
in a moment, and the flight on one side and pursuit on
the other were keenly contested. Thanks to Wolstang's
long legs, they were better than the short ones with
which my antagonist was furnished, and I caught him
33


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
by the collar as he was about to enter a wood. I
grasped my body with Herculean grip, so terrified was
I to lose it. “And now, you villain,” said I, as soon as
I could recover breath, “tell me the meaning of this.
Restore me my body, or by Heaven I will—”
“You will do what?” asked he, with the most insolent
coolness. This question was a dagger to my soul, for
I knew that any punishment I inflicted upon him must
be inflicted upon myself. I stood mute for a few sec-
onds, still holding him strongly in my grasp. At last,
throwing pity aside, by one vast effort I cried out,
“I declare solemnly, Wolstang, that if you do not give
me back my body I shall kill you on the spot.”
“Kill me on the spot!” replied he. “Do you mean
to say that you will kill your own body?”
“I do say so,” was my answer. “I will rather destroy
my dear body, than it should be disgraced by a scoun-
drel like you.”
“You are jesting,” said Wolstang, endeavoring to
extricate himself.
“I shall show you the contrary,” rejoined I, giving
him a violent blow on the nose, and another on the
ribs. These strokes almost drew tears from my eyes;
and when I saw my precious blood flowing, I certainly
would have wept aloud, but for the terrible energy
which rage had given me. The punishment had its
evident effect, however, upon Wolstang, for he became
agitated and alarmed, grew pale, and entreated me to
let him go. “Never, you villain, till you return me
back my body. Let me be myself again, and then you
are free.”
“That is impossible,” said he, “and cannot be done
without the agency of another person, who is absent;
but I hereby solemnly swear that five days after my
death your body shall be your own.”
“If better terms cannot be had, I must take even
34


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
these, but better I shall have; so prepare to part with
what is not your own. Take yourself back again, or I
will beat you to a mummy.” So saying, I laid on him
most unmercifully—flattened his nose (or rather my
own), and laid him sprawling on the earth without
ceremony. While engaged in this business, I heard a
sneeze, and, looking to the quarter from which it pro-
ceeded, whom did I see emerging from the wood but
my old acquaintance with the snuff-colored surtout, the
scarlet waistcoat, and wooden leg. He saluted me as
usual with a smile, and was beginning to regret the
length of time which had elapsed since he last had the
pleasure of seeing me, when I interrupted him.
“Come,” said I; “this is not a time for ridiculous grim-
ace; you know all about it; so help me to get my body
back from this scoundrel here.”
“Certainly, my dear friend. Heaven forbid that you
should be robbed of so unalienable a property. Wol-
stang, you must give it up. "Tis the height of injustice
to deprive him of it.”
“Shall I surrender it, then?” said Wolstang, with a
pitiable voice.
“By all means; let Mr. Stadt have his body.”
In an instant I felt great pains shoot through me,
and I lay on the ground, breathless and exhausted as
if from some dreadful punishment. I also saw the little
gentleman, and the tall, stout figure of Wolstang,
walk away arm in arm, and enter the wood. I was
now myself again, but had at first little cause of con-
gratulation on the change, while the unprincipled au-
thor of my calamities was moving off in his own body
without a single scratch. If my frame was in bad
case, however, my mind felt relieved beyond concep-
tion. A load was taken from it, and it felt the con-
sciousness of being encased in that earthly tenement
destined by Heaven for its habitation.
35


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
Alas, how transient is human happiness! Scarcely
had an hour elapsed when a shudder came over me,
precisely similar to that which occurred some weeks be-
fore on entering the college of Göttingen. I also per-
ceived that I was stronger, taller, and more vigorous,
and, as if by magic, totally free of pain. At this
change a horrid sentiment came across me, and, on
looking at my shadow in a well, I observed that I was
no longer myself, but Wolstang; the diabolical mis-
creant had again effected a metempsychosis. Full of
distracting ideas, I wandered about the fields till
nightfall, when I returned into the city, and threw
myself into bed, overpoured with fatigue and grief.
Next day I made a point of calling at my own house,
and inquiring for myself. The servant said that I could
not be seen, being confined to bed in consequence of
several bruises received in an encounter with two high-
waymen. I called next day and was still confined. On
the third I did the same, but I had gone out with a
friend. On the fourth I learned that I was dead.
It will readily be believed that this last intelligence
was far from being unwelcome. On hearing of my
own death I felt the most lively pleasure, anticipating
the period when I would be myself again. That period,
according to Wolstang's solemn vow, would arrive in
five days. Three of these I had spent in the house,
carefully secluding myself from observation, when I
heard a sneeze at the outside of the door. It opened,
and in stepped the little man with the snuff-colored
surtout, the scarlet waistcoat, and the wooden leg. I
had conceived a dislike approaching to horror at this
rascal, whom I naturally concluded to be at the bottom
of these diabolical transformations; I, however, con-
tained my wrath until I should hear what he had to say.
“I wish you much joy, my dear friend, that you are
going to resume your own body. There is, however,
-
36


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
one circumstance which perhaps you have overlooked.
Are you aware that you are to be buried to-day?”
“I never thought of it,” answered I, calmly, “nor is
it of any consequence, I presume. In two days I shall
be myself again. I shall then leave this body behind
me, and take possession of my own.”
“And where will your own body be then?”
“In the grave,” said I, with a shudder, as the thought
Carne acroSS II le.
“Precisely so, and you will enjoy the pleasure of
being buried alive; that, I suppose, you have not cal-
culated upon.”
This remark struck me with blank dismay, and I fell
back on my chair, uttering a deep groan. “Is there
then no hope? cannot this dreadful doom be averted?
must I be buried alive?”
“The case is rather a hard one, Mr. Stadt, but per-
haps not without a remedy.”
“Yes, there is a remedy,” cried I, starting up and
striking my forehead. “I will hie me to my own house,
and entreat them to suspend the funeral for two days.”
“I saw the undertaker's men enter the house, as I
passed by, for the purpose, I should think, of screwing
down the coffin-lid. However,” continued he, taking
a pinch of snuff, “you may try; and if you fail, I have a
scheme in view which will perhaps suit your purpose.
I shall await your return.”
In a moment my hat was on my head, in another I
was out of the room, and in a third at my own house.
What he had stated was substantially true. Some of
the mourners had arrived, and the undertaker's men
were waiting below, till they should be summoned up-
stairs to screw down the lid. Without an instant of
delay I rushed to the chamber where my dear body
was lying in its shell. Some of my friends were there,
and I entreated them, in imploring accents, to stop for
º
37


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
two days, and they would see that the corpse which
lay before them would revive. “I am not dead,” cried
I, forgetting myself—“I assure you I am not dead.”
“Poor fellow! he has lost his senses,” said one.
“I assure you I am not dead,” said I, throwing mysci:
upon my knees before my cousin, who was present.
“I know that, my good fellow,” was his answer, “but
poor Stadt, you see, is gone forever.”
“That is not Stadt—it is I–it is I—will you not be-
lieve me? I am Stadt—this is not me—I am not my-
self. For Heaven's sake suspend this funeral.” Such
were my exclamations, but they produced no other
effect but that of pity among the bystanders.
“Poor, unfortunate fellow, he is crazed. Get a porter
and let him be taken home.”
This order, which was given by my cousin himself,
stung me to madness, and, changing my piteous tones
for those of fierce resistance, I swore that “I would not
turn out for any man living. I would not be buried
alive to please them.” To this nobody made any reply,
but in the course of a minute four stout porters made
their appearance, and I was forced from the house.
Returning to Wolstang's lodgings, the old man was
there in waiting, as he promised. “What,” said I,
with trepidation—“what is the scheme you were to pro-
pose? Tell me, and avert the horrible doom which will
await me, for they have refused to suspend the funeral.”
“My dear friend,” said he, in the most soothing man-
ner, “your case is far from being so bad as you appre-
hend. You have just to write your name in this book,
and you will be yourself again in an instant. Instead
of coming alive in the grave, you will be alive before the
coffin-lid is put on. Only think of the difference of the
two situations.”
“A confounded difference, indeed,” thought I, taking
38


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
hold of the pen. But at the very moment when I was
going to write, I observed, above, the following words:
“I hereby engage, after my natural decease, to give
over my soul to the owner of this book.”
“What!” said I, “this is the old compact; the one you
wished me to sign before.”
“The same, my dear friend.”
“Then I'll be d–d if I sign it.”
“Only think of the consequences,” said he.
“I will abide the consequences rather than sell my
soul.”
“Buried alive, my dear sir—only think.”
“I will not sign the compact.”
“Only think of being buried alive,” continued he—
“stifled to death—pent up on all sides—earth above,
earth below—no hope—no room to move in—suffo-
cated, stupefied, horrorstruck—utter despair. Is not
the idea dreadful?”
I gave a shudder at this picture, which was drawn
with horrible truth; but the energies of religion and the
hopes of futurity rushed upon my soul and sustained it
in the dreadful trial. “Away, away,” said I, pushing
him back. “I have made up my mind to the sacrifice,
since better may not be. Whatever happens to my
body, I am resolved not to risk my eternal soul for its
sake.”
“Think again,” said he, “and make up your mind.
If I leave you, your fate is irrevocable. Are you de-
cided?”
“I am.”
“Only reflect once more. Consider how, by putting
your name in this book, you will save yourself from a
miserable death. Are you decided?”
“I am,” replied I, firmly.
“Then, fool,” said he, while a frown perfectly un-
natural to him corrugated his brow, and his eyes shot
39


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
forth vivid glances of fire—“then, fool, I leave you to
your fate. You shall never see me again.” So saying,
he walked out of the room, dispensing with his usual
bows and grimaces, and dashing the door fiercely after
him, while I threw myself upon a couch in an agony of
despair.
My doom was now sealed; for, on going to the win-
dows a few minutes thereafter, I beheld my own funeral,
with my cousin at the head of the procession, acting as
chief mourner. In a short time I saw the company re-
turning from the interment. “All is over, then,” said
I, wringing my hands at the deplorable sight. “I am
the victim of some infernal agency, and must prepare
for the dreadful sacrifice.” That night I was supremely
wretched, tossing incessantly in bed, while sleep was
denied to my wearied eyelids. Next morning my hag-
gard look was remarked by my servant, who proposed
sending for a physician; but this I would not allow,
knowing that woe like mine was beyond the reach of
medicine. The day after was the last I was to behold
upon the earth. It came, and I endeavored by every
means to subdue the terror which it brought along with
it. On arising from bed, I sent for my servant, an
elderly woman whom I had got to supply the place of
Barnabas and Louise, and gave her one hundred gil-
ders, being all the money I could find in Wolstang's
bureau. “Now, Philippa,” said I, “as soon as the clock
of the study has struck three, come in, and you will
find me dead. Retire, and do not enter till then.” She
went away, promising to do all that I had ordered her.
During the internal I sat opposite the clock, marking
the hours pass rapidly by. Every tick was as a death-
knell to my ear—every movement of the hands, as the
motion of a scimitar leveled to cut me in pieces. I
heard all and I saw all in horrid silence. Two o'clock
at length struck. “Now,” said I, “there is but one
40


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
hour for me on earth—then the dreadful struggle be-
gins—then I must live again in the tomb, only to perish
miserably.” Half an hour passed, then forty minutes,
then fifty, then fifty-five. I saw with utter despair the
minute-hand go by the latter, and approach the meri-
dian number of the dial. As it swept on, a stupor fell
over my spirit, a mist swam before my eyes, and I al-
most lost the power of consciousness. At last I heard
one strike aloud—my flesh creeped with dread; then
two—I gave a universal shudder; then three, and I
gasped convulsively, and saw and heard nothing fur-
ther.
At this moment I was sensible of an insufferable
coldness. My heart fluttered, then it beat strong, and
the blood, passing as it were over my chilled frame,
gave it warmth and animation. I also began by slow
degrees to breathe. But though my bodily feelings
were thus torpid, my mental ones were very different.
They were on the rack; for I knew that I was now
buried alive, and that the dreadful struggle was about
to commence. I was terrified to move, because I knew
I would feel the horrid walls of my narrow prison-
house. I was terrified to breathe, because the pent air
within it would be exhausted, and the suffocation of
struggling humanity would seize upon me. I was even
terrified to open my eyes, and gaze upon the eternal
darkness by which I was surrounded. Could I resist?
—the idea was madness. What would my strength
avail against the closed coffin, and the pressure above,
below, and on every side?
Meanwhile I felt the necessity of breathing, and I did
breathe fully; and the air was neither so close nor
scanty as might have been supposed. This struck me
as very singular; and being naturally of an inquisitive
disposition, I felt an irresistible wish, even in my dread-
ful situation, to investigate, if possible, the cause of it.
4I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“The coffin must be unconscionably large.” This was
my first idea; and to ascertain it, I slightly raised my
hands, shuddering at the same time at the thought of
their coming in contact with the lid above me. How-
ever, they encountered no lid. Up, up, up I elevated
them, and met with nothing. I then groped to the
sides, but the coffin laterally seemed equally capacious;
no sides were to be found. “This is certainly a most
extraordinary shell to bury a man of my size in. I
shall try if possible to ascertain its limits before I die—
suppose I endeavor to stand upright.” The thought
no sooner came across my mind than I carried it into
execution. I got up, raising myself by slow degrees,
in case of knocking my head against the lid. Noth-
ing, however, impeded my extension, and I stood
straight. I even raised my hands on high, to feel if it
were possible to reach the top: no such thing; the
coffin was apparently without bounds. Altogether, I
telt more comfortable than a buried man could expect
to be. One thing struck me, and it was this—I had no
grave-clothes upon me. “But,” thought I, “this is
easily accounted for; my cousin comes to my property,
and the scoundrel has adopted the most economical
means of getting rid of me.” I had not as yet opened
my eyes, being daunted at the idea of encountering the
dreary darkness of the grave. But my courage being
somewhat augmented by the foregoing events, I en-
deavored to open them. This was impossible; and on
examination, I found that they were bandaged, my
head being encircled with a fillet. On endeavoring to
loosen it, I lost my balance, and tumbled down with a
hideous noise. I did not merely fall upon the bottom
of the coffin, as might be expected; on the contrary, I
seemed to roll off it, and fell lower, as it were, into
some vault underneath. In endeavoring to arrest this
strange descent, I caught hold of the coffin, and pulled
42


THE METEMPSYCHOSIS.
it on the top of me. Nor was this all; for, before I
could account for such a train of extraordinary acci-
dents below ground, and while yet stupefied and be-
wildered, I heard a door open, and, in an instant after,
human voices. “What, in Heaven's name, can be the
meaning of this?” ejaculated I, involuntarily. “Is it a
dream?—am I asleep or am I awake? Am I dead or
alive?” While meditating thus, and struggling to ex-
tricate myself from the coffin, I heard someone say
distinctly, “Good God, he is come alive!” At the same
instant the fillet was drawn from my eyes. I opened
them with amazement; instead of the gloom of death,
the glorious light of heaven burst upon them! I was
confounded; and, to add to my surprise, I saw sup-
porting me two men, with whose faces I was familiar.
I gazed at the one, then at the other, with looks of
fixed astonishment. “What is this?” said I; “where
am I?”
“You must remain quiet,” said the eldest, with a
smile. “We must have you put to bed, and afterward
dressed.”
“What is this?” continued I; “am I not dead? was I
not buried?”
“Hush, my dear friend—let me throw this great-coat
over you.”
“But I must speak,” said I, my senses still wandering.
“Where am I? who are you?”
“Do you not know me?”
“Yes,” replied I, gazing at him intently—“my friend,
Dr. Wunderdudt. Good God! how do you happen to
be here? Did I not come alive in the grave?”
“You may thank us that you did not,” said he.
“Look around, and say if you know where you are.”
I looked, as he directed, and found myself in a large
room fitted up with benches, and having half a dozen
skeletons dangling from the roof. At last I satisfied
43


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
myself that I was in the anatomical theater of the uni-
versity.
“But,” said I, “there is something in all this that I
cannot comprehend. What—where is the coffin?”
“What coffin, my dear fellow?” said Wunderdudt.
“The coffin that I was in.”
“The coffin!” said he, smiling; “I suppose it remains
where it was put the day before yesterday.”
I rubbed my eyes with vexation, not knowing what
to make of these perplexing circumstances. “I mean,”
said I, “the coffin—the coffin I drew over upon me
when I fell.”
“I do not know of any coffin,” answered he, laugh-
ing heartily; “but I know very well that you have
pulled upon yourself my good mahogany table; there
it lies.” And on looking, I observed the large table,
which stood in the middle of the hall, overturned upon
the floor. Dr. Wunderdudt (he was professor of an-
atomy to the college) now made me retire, and he put
me in bed till clothing could be procured. But I would
not allow him to depart till he had unravelled the
strange web of perplexity in which I still found myself
involved.
“The day before yesterday,” said he, “I informed the
resurrectionists in the service of the university that I
was in want of a subject, desiring them at the same
time to set to work with all speed. That very night
they returned, assuring me that they had fished up one
which would answer to a hair, being both young and
vigorous. In order to inform myself of the quality of
what they brought me, I examined the body, when, to
my indignation and grief, I found that they had dis-
interred my excellent friend, Mr. Frederick Stadt, who
had been buried the same day.”
“What!” said I, starting up from the bed, “did they
disinter me?—the scoundrels!”
»y
44


THE METEMPSYCHIOSIS.
“You may well call them scoundrels,” said the pro-
fessor, “for preventing a gentleman from enjoying the
pleasure of being buried alive. The deed was certainly
most felonious; and if you are at all anxious, I shall
have them reported to the Syndic, and tried for their
impertinent interference. But to proceed. No sooner
did I observe that they had fallen upon you, than I said:
“My good men, this will never do. You have brought
me here my worthy friend, Mr. Stadt. I cannot feel
in my heart to anatomize him; so just carry him quietly
back to his old quarters, and I shall pay you his price,
and something over and above.’”
“What!” said I, again interrupting the doctor, “is it
possible that you could be so inhuman as to make the
scoundrels bury me again?”
“Now, Stadt,” rejoined he, with a smile, “you are a
strange fellow. You were angry at the men for raising
you, and now you are angry at me for endeavoring to
repair their error by reinterring you.”
“But you forget that I was to come alive?”
“How the deuce was I to know that, my dear boy?”
“Very true. Go on, doctor, and excuse me for inter-
rupting you so often.”
“Well,” continued he, “the men carried you last night
to deposit you in your long home, when, as fate would
have it, they were Trevented by a ridiculous fellow of
a tailor, who, for a trifling wager, had engaged to sit
up alone, during the whole night, in the churchyard,
exactly at the spot where your grave lay. So they
brought you back to the college, resolving to inter you
to-night, if the tailor, or the devil himself, should stand
in their way. Your timely resuscitation will save them
this trouble. At the same time, if you are still offended,
they will be happy to take you back, and you may yet
enjoy the felicity of being buried alive.”
Such was a simple statement of the fact, delivered in
45


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
the professor's good-humored and satirical style; and
from it the reader may guess what a narrow escape I
had from the most dreadful of deaths. I returned to
my own house as soon as possible, to the no small
mortification of my cousin, who was proceeding to
invest himself with all that belonged to me. I made
him refund without ceremony, and altered my will,
which had been made in his favor, not forgetting, in so
doing, his refusal to let my body remain two days
longer unburied. A day or two afterward, I saw a
funeral pass by, which, on inquiry, I learned to be
Wolstang's. He died suddenly, as I was informed, and
some persons remarked it as a curious event that his
death happened at precisely the same moment as my
return to life. This was merely mentioned as a passing
observation, but no inference was deduced from it.
The old domestic in Wolstang's house gave a wonderful
account of his death, mentioning the hour at which he
said he was to die, and how it was verified by the event.
She said nothing, however, about the hundred gilders.
Many considered her story as a piece of mere trumpery.
She had, nevertheless, a number of believers.
These events, which are here related at full, I can
only attest by my own word, except, indeed, the affair
of the coming alive, which everybody in Göttingen
knows of. If any doubt the more unlikely parts of the
detail, I cannot help it. I have not written this with
the view of empty fame, and still less of profit. Phil-
osophy has taught me to despise the former, and my
income renders the latter an object of no importance.
I shall conclude by acknowledging that a strong change
has been wrought in my opinions; and that from ridi-
culing the doctrines of the sage of Samos, I am now
one of their firmest supporters. In a word, I am.what
I have designated myself,
“A Modern Pythagorean.”
46


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER


–—− „ — — — — ; — — —~~–––…. -----
~）- - - „“） -


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER
Washington Irving
FEW miles from Boston in Massachusetts there is
a deep inlet, winding several miles into the in-
terior of the country from Charles Bay, and terminat-
ing in a thickly wooded swamp or morass.
On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark grove;
on the opposite side the land rises abruptly from the
water's edge into a high ridge, on which grow a few
scattered oaks of great age and immense size.
Under one of these gigantic trees, according to old
stories, there was a great treasure buried by Kidd, the
pirate.
The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money in a
boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the hill;
the elevation of the place permitted a good lookout to
be kept that no one was at hand; while the remark-
able trees formed good landmarks by which the place
might easily be found again.
The old stories add, moreover, that the devil pre-
sided at the hiding of the money, and took it under
his guardianship; but this, it is well known, he always
does with buried treasure, particularly when it has been
ill-gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned to
recover his wealth; being shortly after seized at Bos-
ton, sent out to England, and there hanged for a pi-
rate.
47


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes
were prevalent in New England, and shook many tall
sinners down upon their knees, there lived near this
place a meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom
Walker. He had a wife as miserly as himself; they
were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each
other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on, she
hid away; a hen could not cackle but she was on the
alert to secure the new-laid egg. Her husband was
continually prying about to detect her secret hoards,
and many and fierce were the conflicts that took place
about what ought to have been common property.
They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood
alone, and had an air of starvation. A few straggling
savin trees, emblems of sterility, grew near it; no smoke
ever curled from its chimney; no traveller stopped at its
door. A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate
as the bars of a gridiron, stalked about a field, where a
thin carpet of moss, scarcely covering the ragged beds
of pudding stone, tantalized and balked his hunger;
and sometimes he would lean his head over the fence,
look piteously at the passerby, and seem to petition
deliverance from this land of famine.
The house and its inmates had altogether a bad
name, Tom's wife was a tall termagant, fierce of tem-
per, loud of tongue and strong of arm. Her voice was
often heard in wordy warfare with her husband; and
his face sometimes showed signs that their conflicts
were not confined to words. No one ventured, how-
ever, to interfere between them. The lonely wayfarer
shrunk within himself at the horrid clamor and clapper-
claving, eyed the den of discord askance, and hurried
on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in his celibacy.
One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part
of the neighborhood, he took what he considered a
short cut homeward, through the swamp. Like most
43


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER.
!
short cuts, it was an ill-chosen route. The swamp was
thickly grown with great gloomy pines and hemlocks,
some of them ninety feet high, which made it dark at
noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the neigh-
borhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, partly
covered with weeds and mosses, where the green sur-
face often betrayed the traveller into a gulf of black,
smothering mud; there were also dark and stagnant
pools, the abodes of the tadpole, the bull frog, and
the water snake; where the trunks of pines and hem-
locks lay half-drowned, half-rotting, looking like alli-
gators sleeping in the mire.
Tom had long been picking his way cautiously
through this treacherous forest; stepping from tuft to
tuft of rushes and roots, which afforded precarious foot-
holds among deep sloughs; or pacing carefully, like a
cat, along the prostrate trunks of trees; startled now
and then by the sudden screaming of the bittern, or
the quacking of a wild duck rising on the wing from
some solitary pool. At length he arrived at a firm
piece of ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the
deep bosom of the swamp.
It had been one of the strongholds of the Indians
during their wars with the first colonists. Here they
had thrown up a kind of fort, which they had looked
upon as almost impregnable, and had used as a place of
refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing re-
mained of the old Indian fort but a few embankments,
gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding earth,
and already overgrown in part by oaks and other
forest trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to
the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp.
It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker
reached the old fort, and he paused there awhile to
rest himself. Any one but he would have felt unwilling
to linger in this lonely, melancholy place, for the com-
49


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
mon people had a bad opinion of it, from the stories
handed down from the time of the Indian wars, when it
was asserted that the savages held incantations here,
and made sacrifices to the evil spirit.
Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled
with any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for
some time on the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening
to the boding cry of the tree toad, and delving with his .
walking-staff into a mound of black mould at his feet.
Unconsciously turning up the soil, his staff struck
against something hard. He raked it out of the vege-
table mould, and lo! a cloven skull, with an Indian
tomahawk buried deep in it lay before him. The rust
on the weapon showed the time that had elapsed since
this death blow had been given. It was a dreary me-
mento of the fierce struggle that had taken place in this
last foothold of the Indian warriors.
“Humph!” said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to
shake the dirt from it.
“Let that skull alone!” said a gruff voice.
Tom lifted up his eyes, and beheld a great black man
seated directly opposite him, on the stump of a tree.
He was exceedingly surprised, having neither heard
nor seen any one approach; and he was still more per-
plexed on observing, as well as the gathering gloom
would permit, that the stranger was neither negro nor
Indian. It is true he was dressed in a rude half Indian
garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his
body; but his face was neither black nor copper-col-
ored, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot,
as if he had been accustomed to toil among fires and
forges. He had a shock of coarse, black hair, that
stood out from his head in all directions, and bore an
axe on his shoulder.
He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of
great red eyes.
50


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER.
“What are you doing on my grounds?” said the black
man, with a hoarse growling voice.
“Your grounds!” said Tom, with a sneer, “no more
your grounds than mine; they belong to Deacon Pea-
body.”
“Deacon Peabody be d–d,” said the stranger, “as
I flatter myself he will be, if he does not look more to
his own sins and less to those of his neighbors. Look
yonder, and see how Deacon Peabody is faring.”
Tom looked in the direction that the stranger point-
ed, and beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourish-
ing without, but rotten at the core, and saw that it had
been nearly hewn through, so that the first high wind
was likely to blow it down. On the bark of the tree
was scored the name of Deacon Peabody, an eminent
man, who had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bar-
gains with the Indians.
He now looked around, and found most of the tall
trees marked with the name of some great man of the
colony, and all more or less scored by the axe. The
one on which he had been seated, and which had evi-
dently just been hewn down, bore the name of Crown-
inshield; and he recollected a mighty rich man of that
name, who had made a vulgar display of wealth, which
it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneering.
“He’s just ready for burning!” said the black man,
with a growl of triumph. “You see I am likely to have
a good stock of firewood for winter.”
“But what right have you,” said Tom, “to cut down
Deacon Peabody's timber?”
“The right of a prior claim,” said the other. “This
woodland belonged to me long before one of your
white-faced race put foot upon the soil.”
“And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?” said
Tom.
“Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild hunts-
5I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
man in some countries; the black miner in others. In
this neighborhood I am known by the name of the
black woodsman. I am he to whom the red men con-
secrated this spot, and in honor of whom they now and
then roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smelling
sacrifice. Since the red men have been exterminated
by you white savages, I amuse myself by presiding at
the persecutions of Quakers and Anabaptists; I
am the great patron and prompter of slave dealers, and
the grand master of the Salem witches.”
“The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not,”
said Tom, sturdily, “you are commonly called Old
Scratch.”
“The same, at your service!” replied the black man,
with a half-civil nod.
Such was the opening of this interview, according to
the old story; though it has almost too familiar an air
to be credited. One would think that to meet with
such a singular personage, in this wild, lonely place,
would have shaken any man's nerves; but Tom was a
hard-minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he had
lived so long with a termagant wife, that he did not
even fear the devil.
It is said that after this commencement they had
a long and earnest conversation together, as Tom re-
turned homeward. The black man told him of great
sums of money buried by Kidd, the pirate, under the
oak trees on the high ridge not far from the morass.
All these were under his command, and protected by
his power, so that none could find them but such as
propitiated his favor. These he offered to place with-
in Tom Walker's reach, having conceived an especial
kindness for him; but they were to be had only on cer-
tain conditions. -
What these conditions were may be easily surmised,
though Tom never disclosed them publicly. They
52


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER.
|
must have been very hard, for he required time to think
of them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles when
money was in view.
When they reached the edge of the swamp the
stranger paused.
“What proof have I that all you have been telling me
is true?” said Tom.
“There's my signature,” said the black man, pressing
his finger on Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned
off among the thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as
Tom said, to go down, down, down, into the earth,
until nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen,
and so on, until he totally disappeared.
When Tom reached home he found the black print
of a finger, burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which
nothing could obliterate.
The first news his wife had to tell him was the sud-
den death of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buc-
caneer. It was announced in the papers with the usual
flourish, that “A great man had fallen in Israel.”
Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had
just hewn down, and which was ready for burning.
“Let the freebooter roast,” said Tom, “who cares!”
He now felt convinced that all he had heard and seen
was no illusion.
He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence;
but as this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it
with her. All her avarice was awakened at the mention of
hidden gold, and she urged her husband to comply with
the black man's terms, and secure what would make
them wealthy for life. However Tom might have felt
disposed to sell himself to the devil, he was determined
not to do so to oblige his wife; so he flatly refused,
out of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bit-
ter were the quarrels they had on the subject; but the
53


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
more she talked, the more resolute was Tom not to
be damned to please her.
At length she determined to drive the bargain on
her own account, and if she succeeded, to keep all the
gain to herself. Being of the same fearless temper as
her husband, she set off for the old Indian fort to-
wards the close of a summer's day. She was many
hours absent. When she came back, she was reserved
and sullen in her replies. She spoke something of a
black man, whom she had met about twilight hewing
at the root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however,
and would not come to terms; she was to go again
with a propitiatory offering, but what it was she fore-
bore to say.
The next evening she set off again for the swamp,
with her apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited
for her, but in vain; midnight came, but she did not
make her appearance; morning, noon, night returned,
but still she did not come. Tom now grew uneasy for
her safety, especially as he found she had carried off
in her apron the silver teapot and spoons, and every
portable article of value. Another night elapsed, an-
other morning came, but no wife. In a word she was
never heard of more.
What was her real fate nobody knows, in conse-
quence of so many pretending to know. It is one of
those facts which have become confounded by a variety
of historians. Some asserted that she lost her way
among the tangled mazes of the swamp, and sank into
some pit or slough; others, more uncharitable, hinted
that she had eloped with the household booty, and
made off to some other province; while others surmised
that the tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quag-
mire, on the top of which her hat was found lying.
In confirmation of this, it was said a great black man,
with an axe on his shoulder, was seen late that very
54


THE DEVIL AND TOM walkER.
s
evening coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle
tied in a check apron, with an air of surly triumph.
The most current and probable story, however, ob-
serves that Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate
of his wife and his property that he set out at length to
seek them both at the Indian fort. During a long sum-
mer's afternoon he searched about the gloomy place,
but no wife was to be seen. He called her name re-
peatedly, but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern
alone responded to his voice, as it flew screaming by;
or the bull frog croaked dolefully from a neighboring
pool. -
At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of twi-
light, when the owls began to hoot, and the bats to
flit about, his attention was attracted by the clamor of
carrion crows hovering about a cypress tree. He
looked up and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron,
hanging in the branches of the tree, with a great vul-
ture perched hard by, as if keeping watch upon it. He
leaped with joy, for he recognized his wife's apron, and
supposed it to contain the household valuables.
“Let us get hold of the property,” said he, consol-
ingly to himself, “and we will endeavor to do without
the woman.”
As he scrambled up the tree, the vulture spread its
wide wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep
shadows of the forest. Tom seized the checked apron,
but, woful sight! found nothing but a heart and liver
tied up in it.
Such, according to this most authentic old story, was
all that was to be found of Tom's wife. She had prob-
ably attempted to deal with the black man as she had
been accustomed to deal with her husband; but, though
a female scold is generally considered a match for the
devil, yet in this instance she appears to have had the
worst of it. She must have died game, however, for
55


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
it is said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deep-
ly stamped about the tree, and found handfuls of hair,
that looked as if they had been plucked from the coarse
black shock of the woodman. Tom knew his wife's
prowess by experience. He shrugged his shoulders
as he looked at the signs of a fierce clapper-clawing.
“Egad,” said he to himself, “Old Scratch must have
had a tough time of it!”
Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property,
with the loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude.
He even felt something like gratitude toward the black
woodman, who, he considered, had done him a kind-
ness. He sought, therefore, to cultivate a further ac-
quaintance with him, but for some time without suc-
cess; the old black-legs played shy, for whatever people
may think, he is not always to be had for calling for:
he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure of
his game.
At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's
eagerness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to
anything rather than not gain the promised treasure,
he met the black man one evening in his usual wood-
man's dress, with his axe on his shoulder, sauntcring
along the swamp, and humming a tune. He affected
to receive Tom's advances with indifference, made brief
replies and went on humming his tune.
By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business,
and they began to haggle about the terms on which
the former was to have the pirate's treasure. There
was one condition which need not be mentioned, being
generally understood in all cases where the devil grants
favors; but there were others about which, though of
less importance, he was inflexibly obstinate. He in-
sisted that the money found through his means should
be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore,
that Tom should employ it in the black traffic; that is to
56


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER,
*
say, that he should fit out a slave ship. This, however,
Tom resolutely refused: he was bad enough in all con-
science; but the devil himself could not tempt him to
turn slave trader.
Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not
insist upon it, but proposed, instead, that he should
turn usurer; the devil being extremely anxious for the
increase of usurers, looking upon them as his peculiar
people. -
To this no objections were made, for it was just
to Tom's taste.
“You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next
month,” said the black man.
“I’ll do it to-morrow, if you wish,” said Tom Walker.
“You shall lend money at two per cent. a month.”
“Egad, I’ll charge four!” replied Tom Walker.
“You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive
the merchants to bankruptcy yy
“I’ll drive them to the d–l,” cried Tom Walker.
“You are the usurer for my money!” said black legs,
with delight. “When will you want the rhino?”
“This very night.”
“Done!” said the devil.
“Done!” said Tom Walker. So they shook hands
and struck a bargain.
A few days’ time saw Tom Walker seated behind his
desk in a counting house in Boston.
Tom's reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who
would lend money out for a good consideration, soon
spread abroad. Everybody remembers the time of
Governor Belcher, when money was particularly scarce.
It was a time of paper credit. The country had been
deluged with government bills, the famous Land Bank
had been established; there had been a rage for specu-
lating; the people had run mad with schemes for new
settlements; for building cities in the wilderness; land
57


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
jobbers went about with maps of grants, and town-
ships, and Eldorados, lying nobody knew where, but
which everybody was ready to purchase. In a word,
the great speculating fever which breaks out every now
and then in the country, had raged to an alarming de-
gree, and everybody was dreaming of making sudden
fortunes from nothing. As usual the fever had sub-
sided; the dream had gone off, and the imaginary for-
tunes with it; the patients were left in doleful plight,
and the whole country resounded with the consequent
cry of “hard times.”
At this propitious time of public distress did Tom
Walker set up as usurer in Boston. His door was
soon thronged by customers. The needy and adventur-
ous; the gambling speculator; the dreaming land job-
ber; the thriftless tradesman; the merchant with
cracked credit; in short, every one driven to raise
money by desperate means and desperate sacrifices,
hurried to Tom Walker.
Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and
acted like a “friend in need;” that is to say, he always
exacted good pay and good security. In proportion
to the distress of the applicant was the hardness of his
terms. He accumulated bonds and mortgages; grad-
ually squeezed his customers closer and closer; and
sent them at length, dry as a sponge, from his door.
In this way he made money hand over hand; he be-
came a rich and mighty man, and exalted his cocked
hat upon 'Change. He built himself, as usual, a vast
house, out of ostentation; but left the greater part of
it unfinished and unfurnished, out of parsimony. He
even set up a carriage in the fulness of his vain glory,
though he nearly starved the horses which drew it;
and as the ungreased wheels groaned and screeched
on the axle-trees, you would have thought you heard
the souls of the poor debtors he was squeezing.
58


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER.
As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful.
Having secured the good things of this world, he be-
gan to feel anxious about those of the next. He
thought with regret on the bargain he had made with
his black friend, and set his wits to work to cheat him
out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a
sudden, a violent church-goer. He prayed loudly and
strenuously, as if heaven were to be taken by force
of lungs. Indeed, one might always tell when he had
sinned most during the week, by the clamor of his Sun-
day devotion. The quiet Christians who had been
modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward, were
struck with self-reproach as seeing themselves so sud-
denly outstripped in their career by this new-made con-
vert. Tom was as rigid in religion as in money mat-
ters; he was a stern supervisor and censurer of his
neighbors, and seemed to think every sin entered up
to their account became a credit on his own side of
the page. He even talked of the expediency of re-
viving the persecution of Quakers and Anabaptists.
In a word, Tom's zeal became as notorious as his
riches.
Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms,
Tom had a lurking dread that the devil, after all,
would have his due. That he might not be taken un-
awares, therefore, it is said he always carried a small
Bible in his coat pocket. He had also a great folio
Bible on his counting-house desk, and would frequent-
ly be found reading it when people called on business;
on such occasions he would lay his green spectacles
in the book, to mark the place, while he turned round
to drive some usurious bargain.
Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in
his old days, and that, fancying his end approaching,
he had his horse new-shod, saddled and bridled, and
buried with his feet uppermost; because he supposed
59


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
that at the last day the world would be turned upside
down: in which case he should find his horse standing
ready for mounting, and he was determined at the
worst to give his old friend a run for it.
One hot summer afternoon in the dog days, just as
a terrible black thunder gust was coming up, Tom sat
in his counting-house, in his white linen cap and India
silk morning gown. He was on the point of foreclos-
ing a mortgage, by which he would complete the ruin -
of an unlucky land speculator for whom he pro-
fessed the greatest friendship. The poor land jobber
begged him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom
had grown testy and irritated, and refused another
day. “My family will be ruined and brought upon
the parish,” said the land jobber.
“Charity begins at home,” replied Tom; “I must
take care of myself in these hard times.”
“You have made so much money out of me,” said
the speculator.
Tom lost his patience and his piety. “The devil take
me,” said he, “if I have made a farthing!”
Just then there was three loud knocks at the street
door. He stepped out to see who was there. A black
man was holding a black horse, which neighed and
stamped with impatience.
“Tom, you're come for,” said the black fellow,
gruffly.
Tom shrank back, but too late. He had left his lit-
tle Bible at the bottom of his coat pocket, and his big
Bible on the desk buried under the mortgage he was
about to foreclose: never was sinner taken more un-
awares.
The black man whisked him like a child into the sad-
dle, gave the horse a lash, and away he galloped with
Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunder storm.
The clerks stuck their pens behind their ears, and
60


THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER.
stared after him from the windows. Away went Tom
Walker, dashing down the streets; his white cap bob-
bing up and down; his morning gown fluttering in the
wind, and his steed striking fire out of the pavement
at every pound.
When the clerks turned to look for the black man,
he had disappeared.
Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mort-
gage. A countryman, who lived on the border of the
swamp, reported that in the height of the thunder
gust he heard a great clattering of hoofs and a howling
along the road, and running to the window caught
sight of a figure, such as I have described, on a horse
that galloped like mad across the fields, over hills
and down into the black hemlock swamp toward the
old Indian fort; and that shortly after, a thunder bolt
falling in that direction seemed to set the forest in a
blaze. -
The good people of Boston shook their heads and
shrugged their shoulders, but had been so much accus-
tomed to witches and goblins, and tricks of the devil,
in all kinds of shapes, from the first settlement of the
colony, that they were not so much horror-struck as
might have been expected. Trustees were appointed to
take charge of Tom's effects. There was nothing, how-
ever, to administer upon. On searching his coffers,
all his bonds and mortgages were found reduced to
cinders. In place of gold and silver, his iron chest
was filled with chips and shavings; two skeletons lay
in his stable instead of his half-starved horses, and
the very next day his great house took fire and was
burnt to the ground.
Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten
wealth. Let all griping money brokers lay this story
to heart. The truth of it is not to be doubted. The
very hole under the oak trees, whence he dug Kidd's
6.


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
money, is to be seen to this day; and the neighboring
swamp and the old Indian fort are often haunted in
stormy nights by a figure on horseback, in morning
gown and white cap, which is doubtless the troubled
spirit of the usurer. In fact, the story has resolved
itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that popular
saying, so prevalent throughout New England, of
“The Devil and Tom Walker.”


THE LIFE MAGNET


~~ =~ y =~~~~）
· → • ~~~~ ~~~~ ------
– „ … ！--***=-
~~~~ ~~~~，~~~
A


THE LIFE MAGNET
Alvey A. Adee
HERE was something about the wholesome sleepi-
ness of Freiberg, in Saxony, that fitted well with
the lazy nature of Ronald Wyde. So, having run down
there to spend a day or two among the students and the
mines, and taking a liking to the quaint, unmodernized
town, he bodily changed his plans of autumn-travel,
gave up a cherished scheme of Russian vagabondage,
had his baggage sent from Dresden, and made ready to
settle down and drowse away three or four months in
idleness and not over-arduous study. And this move of
his led to the happening of a very strange and seeming-
ly unreal event in his life.
Ronald Wyde was then about twenty-five or six years
old, rather above the medium height, with thick blue-
black hair that he had an artist-trick of allowing to rip-
ple down to his neck, dark hazel eyes that were almost
too deeply recessed in their bony orbits, and a trouble-
some growth of beard that, close-shaven as he always
was, showed in strong blue outline through the thin and
rather sallow skin. His address was singularly pleas-
ing, and his wide experience of life, taught him by years
of varied travel, made him a good deal of a cosmopoli-
tan in his views and ways, which caused him to be
looked upon as a not over-safe companion for young
men of his own age or under.
63


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
Having made up his mind to winter in Freiberg, his
first step was to quit the little hotel, with its mouldy
stone-vaulted entrance and its columned dining-room,
under whose full-centered arches close beery and smoky
fumes lingered persistently, and seek quieter student-
lodgings in the heart of the town. His choice was
mainly influenced by a thin-railed balcony, twined
through and through by the shoots of a vigorous Vir-
ginia creeper, that flamed and flickered in the breezy
October sunsets in strong relief against the curtains that
drifted whitely out and in through the open window.
So, with the steady-going and hale old Frau Spritz-
krapfen he took up his quarters, fully persuading him-
self that he did so for the sake of the stray home-
breaths that seemed to stir the scarlet vine-leaves more
gently for him, and ignoring pretty Lottchen's great,
earnest Saxon eyes as best he could.
A sunny morning followed his removal to Frau
Spritzkrapfen's tidy home. There had been a slight
rain in the early night, and the footways were yet bright
and moist in patches that the slanting morning rays
were slowly coaxing away. Ronald Wyde, having set
his favorite books handily on the dimity-draped table,
which comprised for him the process of getting to
rights, and having given more than one glance of
amused wonderment at the naive blue-and-white scrip-
tural tiles that cased his cumbrous four-story earthen-
ware stove, and smiled lazily at poor Adam's obvious
and sudden indigestion, even while the uneaten half-
apple remained in his guilty hand, he stepped out on
his balcony, leaned his elbows among the crimson
leaves, and took in the healthful morning air in great
draughts. It was a Sunday; the bells of the gray min-
ster hard by were iterating their clanging calls to the
simple townsfolk to come and be droned to in sleepy
German gutturals from the carved, pillar-hung pulpit
64


THE LIFE MAGNET.
}
inside. Looking down, he saw thick-ankled women
cluttering past in loose wooden-soled shoes, and dumpy
girls with tow-braids primly dangling to their hips,
convoying sturdy Dutch-built luggers of younger
brothers up the easy slope that led to the church and
the bells. Presently Frau Spritzkrapfen and dainty
Lottchen, rosy with soap and health, slipped through
the doorway beneath him out into the little church-
bound throng, and, as they disappeared, left the house
and street somehow unaccountably alone. Feeling this,
Ronald Wyde determined on a stroll.
Something in the Sabbath stillness around him led
Ronald away from the swift clang and throbbing hum
of the bells and in the direction of the old cemetery.
Passing through the clumsy tower-gate that lifts its
grimy bulk sullenly, like a huge head-stone over the
grave of a dead time of feudalism, he reached the burial-
ground and entered the quiet enclosure. The usual
touching reverence of the Germans for their dead was
strikingly manifest around him. The humbler mounds,
walled up with rough stones a foot or two above the
pathway level, carried on their crests little gardens of
gay and inexpensive plants; while on the tall wooden
crosses at their head hung yellow wreaths, half hiding
the hopeful legend, “Wiedersehen.” The more preten-
tious slabs bore vases filled with fresh flowers; while in
the grate-barred vaults, that skirted the ground like
the arches of a cloister, lay rusty heaps of long-since
mouldered bloom, topped by newer wreaths tossed lov-
ingly in to wilt and turn to dust in their turn, like those
cast in before them in memory of that other dust asleep
below.
Turning aside from the central walk that halved the
cemetery, Ronald strolled along, his hands in his pock-
ets, his eyes listlessly fixed on the orange-colored
fumes and rolling smoke that welled out of tall chim-
65


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
neys in the hollow beyond, an idle student-tune hum-
ming on his lips, and his thoughts nowhere, and every-
where, at once. Happening to look away from the
dun smoke-trail for an instant, he found something of
greater interest close at hand. An old man stooped
stiffly over a simple mound, busied among the flowers
that hid it, and by his side crouched a young girl, per-
haps fourteen years old, who peered up at Ronald with
questioning, velvet-brown eyes. The old man heard
the intruder's steps crunching in the damp gravel, and
slowly looked up too.
“Good morning, mein Herr,” said Ronald, pleasantly.
The old man remained for an instant blinking ner-
vously, and shading his eyes from the full sunlight that
fell on his face. A quiet face it was, and very old,
seamed and creased by mazy wrinkles that played at
aimless cross-purposes with each other, beginning and
ending nowhere. His thick beard and thin, curved
nose looked just a little Jewish, and seemed at vari-
ance with his pale blue eyes that were still bright in
spite of age. And yet, bearded as he was, there was
a lurking expression about his features that bordered
upon effeminacy, and made the treble of his voice
sound even more thin and womanish as he answered
Wyde's greeting.
“Good morning, too, mein Herr. A stranger to our
town, I see.”
“Yes; but soon not to be called one, I hope. I am
here for the winter.”
“A cold season—a cold season; our northern winters
are very chilling to an old man's blood.” And slouch-
ing together into a tired stoop, he resumed his simple
task of knotting a few flowers into a clumsy nosegay.
Ronald stood and watched him with a vague interest.
Presently, the flowers being clumped to his liking, the
old man pried himself upright by getting a good pur-
66


THE LIFE MAGNET.
chase with his left hand in the small of his back, and so
deliberately that Ronald almost fancied he heard him
creak. The girl rose too, and drew her thin shawl
over her shoulders.
“You Germans love longer than we,” said Ronald,
glancing at the flowers that trembled in the old man's
bony fingers, and then downwards to the quiet grave;
“a lifetime of easy-going love and a year or two of
easier-forgetting are enough for us.”
“Should I forget my own flesh and blood?” asked
the old man, simply.
Ronald paused a moment, and, pointing downwaris,
said:
“Your daughter, then, I fancy?”
“Yes.”
“Long dead?”
“Very long; more than fifty years.”
Ronald started, but said nothing audibly. Inwardly
he whispered something about being devilish glad to
make the wandering Jew's acquaintance, rattled the
loose gröschen in his pocket, and turned to follow the
tottering old man and firm-footed child down the
walk. After a dozen paces they halted before a more
ambitious tombstone, on which Ronald could make
out the well-remembered name of Plattner. The child
took the flowers and laid them reverently on the stone.
“It seems to me almost like arriving at the end of
a pilgrimage,” said Ronald, “when I stand by the
grave of a man of science. Perhaps you knew him,
mein Herr P”
“He was my pupil.”
“Whew!” thought Ronald, “that makes my friend
here a centenarian at least.”
“My pupil and friend,” the feeble voice went on;
“and, more than that, my daughter's first lover, and
only one.”
67


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Ach so!” drawled Ronald.
“And now, on her death-day, I take these poor flow-
ers from her to him, as I have done all these years.”
Something in the pathetic earnestness of his com-
panion touched Ronald Wyde, and he forthwith took
his hands out of his pockets, and didn't try to whistle
inaudibly—which was a great deal for him to do.
“I know Plattner well by his works,” he said; “I
once studied mineralogy for nearly a month.”
“You love science, then?”
“Yes; like everything else, for diversion.”
“It was different with him,” quavered the old man,
pointing unsteadily to the head-stone. “Science grew
to be his one passion, and many discoveries rewarded
him for his devotion. He was groping on the track
of a far greater achievement when he died.”
“May I ask what it was?” said Ronald, now fairly in-
terested.
“The creation and isolation of the principle of Life!”
This was too much for Ronald Wyde; down dived his
restless hands into his trousers' pockets again, and the
gröschen rattled as merrily as before.
“I have made quite a study of biology, and all that
sort of thing,” said he; “and, although a good deal of
a skeptic, and inclined to follow Huxley, I can't bring
myself to conceive of life without organism. Such the-
orizing is, to my mind, on a par with the illogical
search for the philosopher's stone and a perpetual
motor.”
The old man's eyes sparkled as he turned full upon
Ronald.
“You dismiss the subject very airily, my young
friend,” he cried; “but let me tell you that I—I, whom
you see here—have grappled with such problems
through a weary century, and have conquered one of
them.”
68


THE LIFE MAGNET.
“And that one is—”
“The one that conquered Plattner!”
“Do I understand you to claim that you have dis-
covered the life-principle?”
“Yes.”
“Will you permit an utter stranger to inquire what
is its nature?”
“Certainly. It is twofold. The ultimate principle of
life is carbon; the cause of its combination with water,
or rather with the two gaseous elements of water, and
the development of organized existence therefrom, is
electricity.”
Ronald Wyde shrugged his broad shoulders a little,
and absently replied,
“All I can say, mein Herr, is, that you’ve got the
bulge on me.”
“I beg your pardon—”
“Excuse me; I unconsciously translated an American-
ism. I mean that I don't quite understand you.”
“Which means that you do not believe me. It is but
natural at your age, when one doubts as if by instinct.
Would you be convinced?”
“Nothing would please me better.”
With the same painful effort as before, the old man
straightened himself and made a piercing clairvoyant
examination into and through Ronald Wyde's eyes, as
if reading the brain beyond them.
“I think I can trust you,” he mumbled at last. “Come
with me.”
Leaning on the young girl’s arm, the old philosopher
faltered through the cemetery and into the town, fol-
lowed by Wyde, his hands again pocketed for safety.
Groups of released church-goers, sermon-fed, met them,
and once in a while some stout burgher would nod
patronizingly to Ronald's guides, and get in response
a shaky, sidelong roll of the old man's head, as if it
69


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
were mounted on a weak spiral spring. Further on they
intersected a knot of students, who eyed them askance
and exchanged remarks in an undertone. Keeping
on deeper into the foul heart of the town, they passed
through swarms of idle children playing sportlessly, as
poverty is apt to play, in the dark shadows of the
narrow street They seemed incited to mirth and ribald-
ry by the sight of Ronald's new friend, and one even
ventured to hurl a clod at him; but this striking Ron-
ald instead, and he facing promptly to the hostile quar-
ter from whence it came, caused a sudden slinking of
the crowd into unknown holes, like a horde of rats,
and the street was for a time empty save for the little
party that threaded it. Ronald began to think that the
old man's sanity was gravely called in doubt by the
townsfolk, and would readily have backed out of his
adventure but for the curiosity that had now got the
upper hand of him.
Presently the old man sidled into a dingy doorway,
like a tired beast run to earth, and Ronald followed
him, not without a wish that the architect had provided
for a more efficient lighting of the sombre passage-way
in which he found himself. A sharp turn to the right
after a dozen groping-paces, a narrow stairway, a bump
or two against unexpected saliences of rough mortared
wall, two steps upward and one very surprising step
downward through a cavernous doorway that took
away Ronald's breath for a moment, and sent it back
again with a hot, creeping wave of sudden perspiration
all over him, as is the way with missteps, and two more
sharp turns, brought the three into a black no-thor-
oughfare of a hall, whose further end was closed by a
locked door. The girl here rubbed a brimstone abom-
ination of a match into a mal-odorous green glow, and
by its help the old man got a tortuous key into the
snaky opening in the great lock, creakily shot back its
7o


THE LIFE MAGNET.
bolt, swung open the door, and motioned Ronald to
enter.
He found himself in a long and rather narrow room,
with a high ceiling, duskily lighted by three wide win-
dows that were thickly webbed and dusted, like ances-
tral bottles of fine crusty Port. A veritable den it was,
filled with what seemed to be the wrecks of philosophi-
cal apparatus dating back two or three generations—
ill-fated ventures on the treacherous main of science.
Here a fat-bellied alembic lolled lazily over in a gleamy
sand-bath, like a beach-lost galleon at ebb-tide; and
there a heap of broken porcelain-tubing and shreds of
crucibles lay like bleaching ship-ribs on a sullen shore.
Beyond, by the middle window, stood a furnace, fire-
less, and clogged with gray ashes. Two or three solid
old-time tables, built when joiners were more lavish of
oaken timber than now-a-days, stood hopelessly lit-
tered with retorts, filtering funnels, lamps, ringstands,
and squat-beakers of delicate glass, caked with long-
dried sediment, all alike dust-smirched. Ronald invol-
untarily sought for some huge Chaldaic tome, conveni-
ently open at a favorite spell, or a handy crocodile or
two dangling from the square beams overhead, but saw
nothing more formidable than a stray volume of
“Kant's Critique of Pure Reason.” Taking this up and
glancing at its fly-leaf, he saw a name written in spidery
German script, almost illegible from its shakiness—
“Max Lebensfunke.”
“Your name?” he asked.
“Yes, mein Herr,” answered the old man, taking the
volume and caressing it like a live thing in his fumb-
ling hands. “This book was given to me by the great
Kant himself,” he added.
Reverently replacing it, he advanced a few steps to-
ward the middle of the room. Ronald followed, and,
turning away from the windows, looked further around
71


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
him. In striking contrast to the undisturbed disorder,
so redolent of middle-age alchemy, was the big table
that flanked the laboratory through its whole length.
It began with a powerful galvanic battery, succeeded by
a wiry labyrinth of coils and helices, with little keys in
front of them like a telegraph office retired from busi-
ness; these gave place to many-necked jars wired to-
gether by twos and threes, like oath-bound patriots
plotting treason; beyond them stood a great glass globe,
connected with a sizable air-pump, and filled with a
complexity of shiny wires and glassware; next loomed
up a huge induction-magnet, carefully insulated on solid
glass supports; and at the further extremity of the
table lay—a corpse.
Ronald Wyde, in spite of his many-sided experience
of dissection-rooms, and morgues, and other ghastli-
nesses to which he had long since accustomed himself
from principle, drew back at the sight—perhaps because
he had come to this strange place to clutch the world-
old mystery of the life-essence, and found himself, in-
stead, confronted on its threshold by the equal mystery
of death.
Herr Lebensfunke smiled feebly at this movement.
“A subject received this morning from Berlin,” he
said, in answer to Wyde's look of inquiry. “A sad
piece of extravagance, mein Herr–a luxury to which
I can rarely afford to treat myself.”
Ronald Wyde bent over the body and looked into its
face. A rough, red face, that had seemingly seen forty
years of low-lived dissipation. The blotched skin and
bleary eyes told of debauchery and drunkenness, and
a slight alcoholic foetidness was unpleasantly percep-
tible, as from the breath of one who sleeps away the
effects of a carouse.
“I hope you don't think of restoring this soaked
specimen to life?” said Ronald.
72


THE LIFE MAGNET.
“That is still beyond me,” answered the old man,
mournfully. “As yet I have not created life of a
higher grade than that of the lowest zoöphytes.”
“Do you claim to have done as much as that?”
“It is not an idle claim,” said Herr Lebensfunke,
solemnly. “Look at this, if you doubt.”
“This” was the crystal globe that rose from the
middle of the long table, and dominated its lesser
accessories, as some great dome swells above the clus-
tered houses of a town. Tubes passing through its
walls met in a smaller central globe half filled with a
colorless liquid. Beneath this, and half encircling it,
was an intricate maze of bright wire; and two other
wires dipped into it, touching the surface of the liquid
with their platinum tips. Within the liquid pulsed a
shapeless mass of almost transparent spongy tissue.
“You see an aggregation of cells possessed of life—
of a low order, it is true, but none the less life,” said
the philosopher, proudly. “These were created from
water chemically pure, with the exception of a trace of
ammonia, and impregnated with liquid carbon, by the
combined action of heat and induced electricity, in
vacuo. Look!”
He pressed one of the keys before him. Presently
the wire began to glow with a faint light, which in-
creased in intensity till the coil flamed into pure white-
ness. Removing his finger, the current ceased to flow,
and the wire grew rapidly cool.
“I passed the whole strength of sixty cups through
it to show you its action. Ordinarily, with one or two
carbon cells, and refining the current by triple induc-
tion, the temperature is barely blood-warm.”
“Pardon an interruption,” said Ronald. “You spoke
of liquid carbon; does it exist?”
“Yes; here is some in this phial. See it—how pure,
how transparent! how it loves and hoards the light!”
73


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
The old man held the phial up as he spoke, and
turned it round and round. “See how it flashes! No
wonder, for it is the diamond, liquid and uncrystallized.
Think how these fools of men have called diamonds
precious above all gems through these many weary
years, and showered them on their kings, or tossed
them to their mistresses' feet, never dreaming that the
silly stone they lauded was inert, crystallized life!”
“Can't you crystallize diamonds yourself?” asked
Wyde, “and make Frieberg a Golconda and yourself
a Croesus?”
“It could be done, after the lapse of thousands of
years,” replied Herr Lebensfunke. “Place undiluted
liquid carbon in that inner globe, keep the coil at a
white heat, and if Adam had started the process, his
heir-at-law would have a Koh-i-noor to-day, and a
nice lawsuit for its possession.
Ronald Wyde bent toward the globe once more and
examined the throbbing mass closely, whistling softly
meanwhile.
“If you can create this cellular life, why not develop
it still higher into an organism?”
“Because I can only create life—not soul. Years ago
I was a freethinker, now my discoveries have made me
a deist; for I found that my cells, living as they were,
and possesing undoubted parietal circulation, were not
germs; and though they might cluster into a bulb like
this, as bubbles do to form froth, to evolve an animal
or plant from them was far beyond me; that needs what
we call soul. But, in searching blindly for this higher
power, I grasped a greater discovery than any I had
hoped for—the power to isolate life from its bodily or-
ganism.”
“You have to keep the bottle carefully corked, I
should imagine,” laughed Ronald.
“Not quite,” said Herr Lebensfunke, joining in the
74


THE LIFE MAGNET,
laugh. “Life is not glue. My grand discovery is the
life-magnet.”
“Which has the post of honor on your table here,
has it not?” inquired Ronald, drawing his hand from
his pocket and pointing to the insulated coil.
The old man glanced keenly at his hand as he did so;
at which Ronald seemed confused, and pocketed it
again abruptly.
“Yes, that is the life-magnet. You see this bent
glass tube surrounded by the helix? That tube con-
tains liquid carbon. I pass through the helix a current
of induced electricity, generated by the action of these
sixty Bunsen cups upon a succession of coils with car-
bon cores, and the magnet becomes charged with soul-
less life. I reverse the stream—what was positive now
is negative, and the same magnet will absorb life from
a living being to an extent only to be measured by
thousands of millions.”
“Then, what effect is produced on the body you pump
the life from ?”
“Death.”
“And what becomes of the soul?”
“I don't quite know. I fancy, however, that the
magnet absorbs that too.”
“Can it give it back?”
“Certainly; otherwise my life-magnet would belie
its name, and be simply an ingenious and expensive in-
strument of death. By reversing the conditions, I can
restore both soul and life to the body from which I
drew them, or to another body, even after the lapse
of several days.”
“Have you ever done so?”
“I have.”
Ronald looked reflectively downward to his boot-toe,
but seemed to find nothing there—except a boot-toe.
“I say, my friend,” he spoke at last, “haven't you got
75


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
a pin you can stick in me? I'd like to know if I’m
dreaming.”
“I can convince you better than by pins,” replied
Herr Lebensfunke. “Let me see that hand you hide
so carefully.”
Ronald Wyde slowly drew it from his pocket, as re-
luctantly as though it were a begrudged charity dole,
and extended it to the old man. Its little finger was
gone.
“A defect that I am foolishly sensitive about,” said
he. “A childish freak—playing with edged tools, you
know. A boy playmate chopped it off by accident; I
cut his head open with his own hatchet, and made an
idiot of him for life—that's all.”
“I could do this,” said Herr Lebensfunke, pausing
on each word as if it were somewhat heavy, and had to
be lifted out of his cramped chest by force; “I could
draw your entity into that magnet, leaving you side by
side with this corpse. I could dissect a finger from that
same corpse, attach it to your own dead hand by a lit-
tle of that palpitating life-mass you have seen, pass an
electric stream through it, and a junction would be ef-
fected in three or four days. I could then restore you
to existence, whole, and not maimed as now.”
“I don't quite like the idea of dying, even for a day,”
answered Wyde. “Couldn't you contrive to lend me a
body while you are mending my own?”
“You can take that one, if you like.”
Ronald Wyde looked once more at the sodden fea-
tures of the corpse, and smiled lugubriously.
“A mighty shabby old customer,” he said, “and I
doubt if I could feel at home in his skin; but I’m will-
ing to risk it for the sake of the novelty of the thing.”
The old philosopher's thin face lit up with pleasure.
“You consent then?” he chuckled in his womanish
treble.
76


THE LIFE MAGNET.
“Of course I do. Begin at once, and have done with
it.”
“Not now, mein Herr; some modifications must be
made in the connections—mere matters of detail. Come
again to-night.”
“At what hour?”
“At ten. Mein Vögelein, show the Herr the way
out.”
The girl, who had been moving restlessly about the
room all this time, with her wild brown eyes fixed now
on Ronald, now on the old man, and oftener in a shy,
inquisitive stare on the corpse, lit a dusty chemical
lamp and led the way down the awkward passages and
stairs. Ronald tried to start a conversation with her as
he followed. “You are too young, my birdling, to be
accustomed to such sights as this upstairs.”
“Birdling is not too young; she's almost fourteen.”
said the girl, proudly. “And she likes it, too; it makes
her think of mother. Mother went to sleep on that
table, mein Herr.”
“Poor thing! she's half-witted,” thought Wyde as he
passed into the street. “By-by, birdie.”
Home he walked briskly, to be met under his flam-
ing balcony by Lottchen's kindly afternoon greeting.
How had mein Herr passed his Sabbath? she asked.
“Quietly enough, Lottchen. I met an old philoso-
pher in the God’s-Acre, and went home with him to his
shop. Have you ever heard of Herr Doctor Lebens-
funke?”
“Yes, mein Herr. Wrong here, they say;” and she
tapped her wide, round German forehead, and lifted her
eyes expressively heavenward.
“Sold himself to the devil, eh?” asked Wyde.
Lottchen was not quite sure on that point. Some
said one thing, and some another. There was un-
doubtedly a devil, else how could good Doctor Luther
y


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
have thrown his inkstand at him? But he had never
been seen in Doctor Lebensfunke's neighborhood; and,
on the whole, Lottchen was inclined to attribute the
Herr Doctor's trouble to an indefinable something
whose nature was broadly hinted at by more tapping of
the forehead.
Ronald Wyde mounted the stairs, locked himself in
his room, and wished himself out of the scrape he was
getting into. But, being in for it now, he lit a cigar,
and tried to fancy the processes he would have to go
through, and how he, a natty and respectable young
fellow, would look and feel in a drunkard's skin. His
conjectures being too foggily outlined to please him, he
put them aside, and waited impatiently enough for ten
o'clock.
A moonlight walk through the low streets, transfig-
ured by the silver gleam into fairy vistas—all but the
odor—brought him to Herr Lebensfunke's house.
Simple birdling, on the lookout for him, piloted him
through the unsafe channel, and brought him to anchor
in the dimly-lit room.
“All is ready,” said the philosopher, as he trembled
forward and shook Ronald's hand. “See here.” Zig-
zags of silk-bound wire squirmed hither and thither
from the life-magnet. Two of them ended in carbon
points. “And here, too, my young friend, is your new
finger.”
It lay, detached, in the central globe, and on its sev-
ered end atoms of protoplasm were already clustered.
“Literally a second-hand article,” thought Ronald; but,
not venturing to translate the idiom, he only bowed and
said, “Ach sol” which means any thing and every thing
in German.
It was not without a very natural sinking of the
heart that Ronald Wyde divested himself of his cloth-
ing, and took his position, by the old man's direction,
78


THE LIFE MAGNET.
on the stout table, side by side with the dead. A flat
brass plate pressed between his shoulders, and one of
the carbon points, clamped in a little insulated stand,
rested on his bosom and quivered with the quickened
motion of the heart beneath it. The other point
touched the dead man's breast.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
The old man pressed a key, and as he did so a sharp
sting, hardly worse than a leech's bite, pricked Ronald
Wyde's breast. A sense of languor crept slowly upon
him, his feet tingled, his breath came slowly, and waves
of light and shade pulsed in indistinct alternation before
his sight; but through them the old man's eyes peered
into his, like a dream. Presently Ronald would have
started if he could, for two old philosophers were cran-
ing over him instead of one. But as he looked more
steadily, one face softly dimmed into nothing, and the
other grew brighter and stronger in its lines, while the
room flushed with an unaccountable light. The little
key clicked once more; a vague sensation that the cur-
rent had somehow ceased to flow, roused him, and he
raised himself on his elbow and looked in blank bewild-
erment at his own dead self lying by his side in the
daylight, while the sunrise tried to peer through the
webbed panes.
“Is it over?” he asked, with a puzzled glance around
him; and added, “Which am I?” -
“Either, or both,” answered Herr Lebensfunke.
“Your identity will be something of a problem to you
for a day or two.” -
Aided by the old man, Ronald awkwardly got into
the sleazy clothes that went with the exchange—grow-
ing less and less at home each minute. He felt weak
and sore; his head ached, and the wound left by the
fresh amputation of his little finger throbbed angrily.
79


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“I suppose I may as well go now,” he said. “When
can I get my own self there back again?”
“On Thursday night, if all works well,” said the old
man. “Till then, good-day.”
Ronald Wyde's first impulse, as he shambled into the
open air, was to go home; but he thought of the con-
fusion his sadly-mixed identity would cause in Frau
Spritzkrapfen's quiet household, and came to a dead
stop to consider the matter. Then he decided to quit
the town for the interminable four days—to go to
Dresden, or anywhere. His next step was to slouch in-
to the nearest beer-cellar and call for beer, pen, and
paper. While waiting for these, he surveyed his own
reflection in the dingy glass that hung above the table
he sat by—a glass that gave his face a wavy look, as if
seen through heated air. He felt an amused pride in
his altered appearance, much as a masquerader might
be pleased with a clever disguise, and caught himself
wondering whether he were likely to be recognized in
it. Apparently satisfied of his safety from detection, he
turned to the table and wrote a beer-scented note to
Frau Spritzkrapfen, explaining his sudden absence by
some discreet fiction. He got along well enough till
he reached the end, when, instead of his own flowing
sign-manual, he tipsily scrawled the unfamiliar name of
Hans Kraut. Tearing the sheet angrily across, he
wrote another, and signed his name with an effort. He
was about to seek a messenger to carry his note, when
it occurred to him to leave it himself, which he did;
and had thereby the keen satisfaction of hearing pretty
Lottchen confess, with a blush on her fair German
cheek, that they would all miss Herr Wyde very much,
because they all loved him. Turning away with a sigh
that was very like a hiccough, he trudged to the rail-
way station and took a ticket to Dresden, going third-
class as best befitting his clothes and appearance.
8o


THE LIFE MAGNET.
He felt ashamed enough of himself as the train rum-
bled over the rolling land between Freiberg and the
capital, and gave him time to think connectedly over
what had happened, and what he now was. His fellow-
passengers cast him sidelong looks, and gave him a
wide berth. Even the quaint, flat-arched windows of
one pane each, that winked out of the red-tiled roofs
like sleepy eyes, seemed to leer drunkenly at him as
they scudded by.
Ronald Wyde's account of those days in Dresden
was vague and misty. He crept along the bustling
streets of that sombre, gray city, that seemed to look
more natural by cloud-light than in the full sunshine,
feeling continually within him a struggle between the
two incompatible natures now so strangely blended.
Each day he kept up the contest manfully, passing by
the countless beer-cellars and drinking-booths with an
assumption of firmness and resolution that oozed slow-
ly away toward nightfall, when the animal body of the
late Hans Kraut would contrive to get the better of
the animated principle of Ronald Wyde; the refined
nature would yield to the toper's brute-craving, with
an awful sense of its deep degradation in so succumb-
ing, and, before midnight, Hans was gloriously drunk,
to Ronald's intense grief.
Time passed somehow. He had memories of sunny
lounges on the Bruhl'sche Terrace, looking on the tur-
bid flow of the eddied Elbe, and watching the little
steamboats that buzzed up and down the city's flanks,
settling now and then, like gad-flies, to drain it of a
few drops of its human life. Well-known friends, whose
hands he had grasped not a week before, passed him
unheedingly; all save one, who eyed him for a moment,
said “Poor devil!” in an undertone, and dropped a
silber-gro' into his maimed hand. He felt glad of even
this lame sympathy in his lowness; but most of all he
81


FAMOUS OCCULt TALES.
prized the moistened glance of pity that flashed upon
him from the great dark eyes of a lovely girl who
passed him now and then as he slouched along. Once
a being as degraded and scurvy as his own outward
self, turned to him, called him “Dutzbruder,” asked
him how he left them all in Berlin, stared at Ronald's
blank look of non-recognition, and passed on with a
muttered curse on his own stupidity in mistaking a
stranger, in broad daylight, for his crony Kraut.
Another memory was of the strange lassitude that
seemed to almost paralyze him after even moderate
exertion, and caused him to drop exhausted on a bench
on the terrace when he had shuffled over less than half
its length. More than once the suspicion crept upon
him that only a portion of his vitality now remained
to him, and that its greater part lay mysteriously coiled
in Herr Lebensfunke's life-magnet. And this, in turn,
broadened into a doubting distrust of the Herr him-
self—a dread lest the old man might in some way ap-
propriate this stock of life to his own use, and so renew
his fast-expiring lease for a score or two of years to
come. At last this dread grew so painfully definite, that
he hurried back to Freiberg a day before his appointed
time, and once more found his twofold self wandering
through its devious streets.
It was long after dark, and a thin rain slanted on the
slippery stones, as he again made his way through the
deserted and sleepy paths of the town to the old philos-
opher's house. He was wet, chilled, weary, and sick
enought at heart as he leaned against the cold stone
doorway and waited for an answer to his knock. The
plash of the heavier rain-drops from the tiled leaves
was the only sound he heard for many minutes, until,
at last, pattering feet neared him on the inside, and a
child's voice asked who was there. To his friendly
82


THE LIFE MAGNET.
response the door was opened half-wide, and Vöge-
lein's blank, pretty face peered through.
Was Herr Lebensfunke at home? No; he had said
that he wasn't at home; but then, she thought he was
in the long room where mamma went to sleep. Could
he be seen? No, she thought not; he was very tired,
and, in her own—Vögelein's—opinion, he was going to
sleep too, just as mamma did. And the wizened little
face, with its eldritch eyes and tangled hair, was with-
drawn, and the door began to close. Ronald forced
himself inside, and grasped the child's arm.
“Vögelein, don't you know me?”
The girl, in nowise startled, gravely set her flickering
candle on the door-step, looked up at him wonderingly,
as if he were an exhibition, and said she thought not,
unless he had been asleep on the table.
“Good heavens!” cried Ronald, “can this child talk of
nothing but people asleep on a table?”
But, as he spoke, a thought whirred through his.
brain. He drew the poor half-witted thing close to him
and asked:
“Can Vögelein tell me something about mamma, and
how she went to sleep?”
The child rambled on, pleased to find a listener to her
foolish prattle. All he could connect into a narrative
was, that the girl’s mother, some seven or eight years
before, had been drained of her life by the awful mag-
net, and that, as the child said, “the Herr Doctor ever
since had talked just like mamma.”
His dread was well founded, then. The old man's
one dream and aim was to prolong his wretched life;
could he doubt that he would not now make use of the
means he had so unwisely thrown in his way? He
turned about, half maddened.
“Girl!” he cried, “I must see the old man! Where is
hep”
83


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
He couldn't see him, she whined. He was asleep up
there, on the table. At one o'clock he had said he
would wake up.
He pushed past her, mounted to the long room,
pressed open the unfastened door, and entered.
The old man and the corpse of his former self lay to-
gether under the light of a lamp that swung from the
beam overhead. An insulated carbon point was di-
rected to each white, still breast. From the old man's
hand a cord ran to a key beyond, arranged to make or
break connection at a touch. By it stood a clock, with
a simple mechanism attached that bore upon a second
key like the first, evidently planned to press upon it
when the hands should mark a given hour. The child
had said that he would wake at one, and it was now
past midnight.
Ronald Wyde comprehended it all now. The wily
old man's feeble life had been withdrawn into the great
magnet, and mixed therein with what remained of his
own. In less than an hour the key would fall, and the
double stream would flow into and animate his young
body, which would then wake to renewed life; while the
cast-off shell beside it, worn to utter uselessness by a
toilsome century, would be left to moulder as a
mothed garment.
Surely no time was to be lost; his life depended upon
instant action. And yet, comprehending this, he went
to work slowly, and as a somnambulist might, acting
almost by instinct, and well knowing that a blunder
now meant irrevocable death.
Carefully disengaging the cord from the old man's
yet warm grasp, and setting the carbon point aside, he
lifted the shrivelled corpse and bore it away, to cast it
on the white rubbish-heap in one corner. Returning to
his work, he stripped himself, and laid down in the
84


THE LIFE MAGNET.
old man’s place. As he did so, the distant Minster bells
rang the three-quarters.
Was there yet time?
He braced his shoulders firmly against the brass
plate under them, and moved the carbon point steadily
back to its place, with its tip resting on his breast; the
silk-wrapped wire that dangled between it and the mag-
net quivering, as he did so, as with conscious life.
Drawing a long breath, he tightened the cord, and
heard a faint click as the key snapped down.
The same sharp sting as before instantly pricked his
breast, tingling thrills pulsed over him, beats of light
and shadow swept before his eyes, and he lost all con-
sciousness. For how long he knew not. At last he felt,
rather than saw, the lamp-rays flickering above him,
and opened his eyes as though waking from a tired
sleep. Sitting up, he gave a fearful look around him, as
if dreading what he might see. The drunkard's body
lay stretched and motionless beside him, and the clock
marked three. He was saved!
Slipping down from his perilous bed, he resumed the
old familiar garments that belonged to him as Ronald
Wyde, shuddering with emotion as he did so. Only
pausing to give one look at the pale heap in the
shadowy corner, and at the other sleeper under the
now dying lamp, he quitted the room and locked its
heavy door upon the two silent guardians of its life-
secrets. When he reached the street, he found the rain
had ceased to drop, and that the cold stars blinked over
the slumbrous town.
Before noon he had taken leave of Frau Spritz-
krapfen, turned buxom Lottchen scarlet all over by a
hearty, sudden, farewell-kiss, and was far on his way
from Freiberg, with its red-vined balcony and its dark
laboratory, never again to visit it or them. And as the
85


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
busy engine toiled and shrieked, and with each beat of
its mighty steam-heart carried him further away, his
thoughts flew back and clustered around witless, brown-
eyed Birdling. Poor child, he never learned her fate.
× >k × >k >k
I heard this strange story from its hero, one sunny
summer morning as we swept over the meadowy
reaches of the Erie Railway, or hung along the cliffside
by the wooded windings of the Susquehanna. When he
had ended it, he smiled languidly, and, showing me his
still mutilated hand, said that the old doctor's job had
been a sad bungle, after all. In fact, the only physical
proof that remained to verify his story, was a curved
blue spot where the in-going current from the magnet
had carried particles from the carbon point and lodged
them beneath the skin. Psychologically, he was sadly
mixed up, he said; for, since that time, he had felt that
four lives were joined in him—his own, the remnant of
Herr Lebensfunke's miserable hoard merged in that of
poor Birdling's mother, and, last of all, Hans Kraut's.
He left the cars soon afterward at Binghamton, watch-
fully followed by a stout, shabby man with a three
days’ beard stubbling his chin, who had occupied the
seat in front of us, and had turned now and then to
listen for a moment to Ronald's rapid narration.
A week later, and I heard that he was dead—having
committed suicide in a fit of delirium soon after his
admission to the Binghamton Inebriate Asylum. The
attendant who made him ready for burial noticed a
singular blue mark on his left breast, that looked, he
said, a little like a horseshoe magnet.



WHAT WAS IT P


I T-T： , T- → -+ - + – – – – – – –） − ~~~~ ?） ----- — — — — — — — ） --★ →


WHAT WAS IT P
Fitz James O'Brien
T is, I confess, with considerable diffidence that I ap-
proach the strange narrative which I am about to re-
late. The events which I purpose detailing are of so
extraordinary a character that I am quite prepared to
meet with an unusual amount of incredulity and scorn.
I accept all such beforehand. I have, I trust, the liter-
ary courage to face unbelief. I have, after mature con-
sideration, resolved to narrate, in as simple and
straightforward a manner as I can compass, some facts
that passed under my observation, in the month of
July last, and which, in the annals of the mysteries of
physical science, are wholly unparalleled.
I live at No. — Twenty-sixth Street, in New York.
The house is in some respects a curious one. It has
enjoyed for the last two years the reputation of being
haunted. It is a large and stately residence, surrounded
by what was once a garden, but which is now only a
green enclosure used for bleaching clothes. The dry
basin of what has been a fountain, and a few fruit trees
ragged and unpruned, indicate that this spot in past
days was a pleasant, shady retreat, filled with fruits and
flowers and the sweet murmur of waters.
The house is very spacious. . A hall of noble size
leads to a large spiral staircase winding through its
center, while the various apartments are of imposing
87


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
dimensions. It was built some fifteen or twenty years
since by Mr. A–, the well-known New York mer-
chant, who five years ago threw the commercial world
into convulsions by a stupendous bank fraud. Mr.
A—, as everyone knows, escaped to Europe, and died
not long after, of a broken heart. Almost immediately
after the news of his decease reached this country and
was verified, the report spread in Twenty-sixth Street
that No. — was haunted. Legal measures had dis-
possessed the widow of its former owner, and it was
inhabited merely by a caretaker and his wife, placed
there by the house agent into whose hands it had passed
for purposes of renting or sale. These people de-
clared that they were troubled with unnatural noises.
Doors were opened without any visible agency. The
remnants of furniture scattered through the various
rooms were, during the night, piled one upon the other
by unknown hands. Invisible feet passed up and down
the stairs in broad daylight, accompanied by the rustle
of unseen silk dresses, and the gliding of viewless hands
along the massive balusters. The caretaker and his
wife declared they would live there no longer. The
house agent laughed, dismissed them, and put others
in their place. The noises and supernatural manifesta-
tions continued. The neighborhood caught up the
story, and the house remained untenanted for three
years. Several persons negotiated for it; but, some-
how, always before the bargain was closed they heard
the unpleasant rumors and declined to treat any further.
It was in this state of things that my landlady, who
at that time kept a boarding-house in Bleecker Street,
and who wished to move further up town, conceived the
bold idea of renting No. — Twenty-sixth Street. Hap-
pening to have in her house rather a plucky and philo-
sophical set of boarders, she laid her scheme before us,
stating candidly everything she had heard respecting
88


WHAT WAS IT?
the ghostly qualities of the establishment to which she
wished to remove us. With the exception of two timid
persons—a sea-captain and a returned Californian, who
immediately gave notice that they would leave—all of
Mrs. Moffat's guests declared that they would accom-
pany her in her chivalric incursion into the abode of
spirits.
Our removal was effected in the month of May, and
we were charmed with our new residence. The por-
tion of Twenty-sixth Street where our house is situated,
between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, is one of the
pleasantest localities in New York. The gardens back
of the houses, running down nearly to the Hudson,
form, in the summer time, a perfect avenue of verdure.
The air is pure and invigorating, sweeping, as it does,
straight across the river from the Weehawken heights,
and even the ragged garden which surrounded the
house, although displaying on washing days rather too
much clothes-line, still gave us a piece of greensward
to look at, and a cool retreat in the summer evenings,
where we smoked our cigars in the dusk, and watched
the fire-flies flashing their dark-lanterns in the long
graSS.
Of course we had no sooner established ourselves at
No. — than we began to expect the ghosts. We abso-
lutely awaited their advent with eagerness. Our dinner
conversation was supernatural. One of the boarders,
who had purchased Mrs. Crowe’s “Night Side of Na-
ture” for his own private delectation, was regarded as
a public enemy by the entire household for not having
bought twenty copies. The man led a life of supreme
wretchedness while he was reading this volume. A sys-
tem of espionage was established, of which he was the
victim. If he incautiously laid the book down for an
instant and left the room, it was immediately seized and
read aloud in secret places to a select few. I found my-
89


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
self a person of immense importance, it having leaked
out that I was tolerably well versed in the history of
supernaturalism, and had once written a story the foun-
dation of which was a ghost. If a table or a wainscot
panel happened to warp when we were assembled in
the large drawing room, there was an instant silence,
and everyone was prepared for an immediate clanking
of chains and a spectral form.
After a month of psychological excitement, it was
with the utmost dissatisfaction that we were forced to
acknowledge that nothing in the remotest degree ap-
proaching the supernatural had manifested itself. Once
the black butler asseverated that his candle had been
blown out by some invisible agency while he was un-
dressing himself for the night; but as I had more than
once discovered this colored gentleman in a condition
when one candle must have appeared to him like two,
I thought it possible that, by going a step further in
his potations, he might have reversed this phenomenon,
and seen no candle at all where he ought to have be-
held one.
Things were in this state when an incident took place
so awful and inexplicable in its character that my
reason fairly reels at the bare memory of the occur-
rence. It was the tenth of July. After dinner was over
I repaired, with my friend Dr. Hammond, to the gar-
den to smoke my evening pipe. Independent of cer-
tain mental sympathies which existed between the doc-
tor and myself, we were linked together by a vice. We
both smoked opium. We knew each other's secret, and
respected it. We enjoyed together that wonderful ex-
pansion of thought, that marvelous intensifying of the
perceptive faculties, that boundless feeling of existence
when we seem to have points of contact with the whole
universe—in short, that unimaginable spiritual bliss,
90


WHAT WAS IT?
which I would not surrender for a throne, and which I
hope you, reader, will never—never taste.
Those hours of opium happiness which the Doctor
and I spent together in secret were regulated with a
scientific accuracy. We did not blindly smoke the drug
of paradise, and leave our dreams to chance. While
smoking, we carefully steered our conversation through
the brightest and calmest channels of thought. We
talked of the East, and endeavored to recall the magical
panorama of its glowing scenery. We criticized the
most sensuous poets—those who painted life ruddy
with health, brimming with passion, happy in the pos-
session of youth and strength and beauty. If we talked
of Shakespeare's tempest, we lingered over Ariel, and
avoided Caliban. Like the Guebers, we turned our
faces to the east, and saw only the sunny side of the
world.
This skillful' coloring of our train of thought pro-
duced in our subsequent visions a corresponding tone.
The splendors of Arabian fairy-land dyed our dreams.
We paced that narrow strip of grass with the tread and
port of kings. The song of the rana arborea, while he
clung to the bark of the ragged plum-tree, sounded like
the strains of divine musicians. Houses, walls and
streets melted like rain-clouds, and vistas of unimagin-
able glory stretched away before us. It was a rapturous
companionship. We enjoyed the vast delight more
perfectly because, even in our most ecstatic moments,
we were conscious of each other's presence. Our
pleasures, while individual, were still twin, vibrating
and moving in musical accord.
On the evening in question, the tenth of July, the
Doctor and myself drifted into an unusually metaphysi-
cal mood. We lit our large meerchaums, filled with
fine Turkish tobacco, in the core of which burned a
little black nut of opium, that, like the nut in the fairy
9I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
tale, held within its narrow limits wonders beyond the
reach of kings; we paced to and fro, conversing. A
strange perversity dominated the currents of our
thought. They would not flow through the sun-lit
channels into which we strove to divert them. For
some unaccountable reason, they constantly diverged
into dark and lonesome beds, where a continual gloom
brooded. It was in vain that, after our old fashion, we
flung ourselves on the shores of the East, and talked of
its gay bazaars, of the splendors of the time of Haroun,
of harems and golden palaces. Black afreets continu-
ally arose from the depths of our talk, and expanded,
like the one the fisherman released from the copper
vessel, until they blotted everything bright from our
vision. Insensibly we yielded to the occult force that
swayed us, and indulged in gloomy speculation. We
had talked some time upon the proneness of the human
mind to mysticism, and the almost universal love of the
terrible, when Hammond suddenly said to me, “What
do you consider to be the greatest element of terror?”
The question puzzled me. That many things were
terrible, I knew. Stumbling over a corpse in the dark;
beholding, as I once did, a woman floating down a deep
and rapid river, with wildly lifted arms, and awful, up-
turned face, uttering, as she drifted, shrieks that rent
one's heart, while we, the spectators, stood frozen at a
window which overhung the window at a height of
sixty feet, unable to make the slightest effort to save
her, but dumbly watching her last supreme agony and
her disappearance. A shattered wreck, with no life
visible, encountered floating listlessly on the ocean, is a
terrible object, for it suggests a huge terror, the pro-
portions of which are veiled. But it now struck me,
for the first time, that there must be one great and
ruling embodiment of fear—a King of Terrors, to
which all others must succumb. What might it be?
92


WHAT WAS IT?
To what train of circumstances would it owe its exist-
ence?
“I confess, Hammond,” I replied to my friend, “I
never considered the subject before. That there must
be one Something more terrible than any other thing,
I feel. I cannot attempt, however, even the most vague
definition.”
“I am somewhat like you, Harry,” he answered. “I
feel my capacity to experience a terror greater than any-
thing yet conceived by the human mind—something
combining in fearful and unnatural amalgamation hith-
erto supposed incompatible elements. The calling of
the voices in Brockden Brown's novel of ‘Wieland' is
awful; so is the picture of the Dweller of the Thresh-
hold, in Bulwer's ‘Zanoni;' but,” he added, shaking his
head gloomily, “there is something more horrible still
than these.”
“Look here, Hammond,” I rejoined, “let us drop this
kind of talk, for heaven's sake! We shall suffer for it,
depend on it.”
“I don't know what's the matter with me to-night,”
he replied, “but my brain is running upon all sorts of
weird and awful thoughts. I feel as if I could write a
story like Hoffman, to-night, if I were only master of a
literary style.”
“Well, if we are going to be Hoffmanesque in our
talk, I'm off to bed. Opium and nightmares should
never be brought together. How sultry it is! Good-
night, Hammond.”
“Good-night, Harry. Pleasant dreams to you.”
“To you, gloomy wretch, afreets, ghouls, and en-
chanters.”
We parted, and each sought his respective chamber.
I undressed quickly and got into bed, taking with me,
according to my usual custom, a book, over which I
generally read myself to sleep. I opened the volume
93


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
as soon as I had laid my head upon the pillow, and in-
stantly flung it to the other side of the room. It was
Goudon’s “History of Monsters”—a curious French
work, which I had lately imported from Paris, but
which, in the state of mind I had then reached, was
anything but an agreeable companion. I resolved to
go to sleep at once; so, turning down my gas until
nothing but a little blue point of light glimmered on
the top of the tube, I composed myself to rest.
The room was in total darkness. The atom of gas
that still remained alight did not illuminate a distance
of three inches around the burner. I desperately drew
my arm across my eyes, as if to shut out even the dark-
ness, and tried to think of nothing. It was in vain.
The confounded themes touched on by Hammond in
the garden kept obtruding themselves on my brain.
I battled against them. I erected ramparts of would-be
blankness of intellect to keep them out. They still
crowded upon me. While I was lying still as a corpse,
hoping that by a perfect physical inaction I should
hasten mental repose, an awful incident occurred. A
Something dropped, as it seemed, from the ceiling,
plumb upon my chest, and the next instant I felt two
bony hands encircling my throat, endeavoring to choke
Ille.
I am no coward, and am possessed of considerable
physical strength. The suddenness of the attack, in-
stead of stunning me, strung every nerve to its highest
tension. My body acted from instinct, before my brain
had time to realize the terrors of my position. In an
instant I wound two muscular arms around the crea-
ture, and squeezed it, with all the strength of despair,
against my chest. In a few seconds the bony hands
that had fastened on my throat loosened their hold,
and I was free to breathe once more. Then com-
menced a struggle of awful intensity. Immersed in the
94


WHAT WAS IT?
most profound darkness, totally ignorant of the nature
of the Thing by which I was so suddenly attacked, find-
ing my grasp slipping every moment, by reason, it
seemed to me, of the entire nakedness of my assailant,
bitten with sharp teeth in the shoulder, neck and chest,
having every moment to protect my throat against a
pair of sinewy, agile hands, which my utmost efforts
could not confine—these were a combination of circum-
stances to combat which required all the strength,
skill, and courage that I possessed.
At last, after a silent, deadly, exhausting struggle, I
got my assailant under by a series of incredible efforts
of strength. Once pinned, with my knee on what I
made out to be its chest, I knew that I was victor. I
rested for a moment to breathe. I heard the
creature beneath me panting in the darkness,
and felt the violent throbbing of a heart. It was ap-
parently as exhausted as I was; that was one comfort.
At this moment I remembered that I usually placed
under my pillow, before going to bed, a large yellow
silk pocket handkerchief. I felt for it instantly; it was
there. In a few seconds more I had, after a fashion,
pinioned the creature's arms.
I now felt tolerably secure. There was nothing more
to be done but to turn on the gas, and, having first
seen what my midnight assailant was like, arouse the
household. I will confess to being actuated by a cer-
tain pride in not giving the alarm before; but I wished
to make the capture alone and unaided.
Never losing my hold for an instant, I slipped from
the bed to the floor, dragging my captive with me. I
had but a few steps to make to reach the gas-burner;
these I made with the greatest caution, holding the
creature in a grip like a vice. At last I got within arm's
length of the tiny speck of blue light which told me
where the gas-burner lay. Quick as lightning I re-
95


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
leased my grasp with one hand and let on the full flood
of light. Then I turned to look at my captive.
I cannot even attempt to give any definition of my
sensations the instant after I turned on the gas. I sup-
pose I must have shrieked with terror, for in less than
a minute after my room was crowded with the inmates
of the house. I shudder now as I think of that awful
moment. I saw nothing! Yes; I had one arm firmly
clasped round a breathing, panting, corporeal shape,
my other hand gripped with all its strength a throat
as warm, and apparently fleshly, as my own; and yet,
with this living substance in my grasp, with its body
pressed against my own, and all in the bright glare of
a large jet of gas, I absolutely beheld nothing! Not
even an outline—a vapor!
I do not, even at this hour, realize the situation in
which I found myself. I cannot recall the astounding
incident thoroughly. Imagination in vain tries to com-
pass the awful paradox.
It breathed. I felt its warm breath upon my cheek.
It struggled fiercely. It had hands. They clutched me.
Its skin was smooth, like my own. There it lay,
pressed up close against me, solid as stone—and yet
utterly invisible!
I wonder that I did not faint or go mad on the in-
stant. Some wonderful instinct must have sustained
me; for, absolutely, in place of loosing my hold on the
terrible Enigma, I seemed to gain an additional strength
in my moment of horror, and tightened my grasp with
such wonderful force that I felt the creature shivering
with agony.
Just then Hammond entered my room at the head
of the household. As soon as he beheld my face—
which, I suppose, must have been an awful sight to look
at—he hastened forward, crying, “Great heaven, Harry!
what has happened?”
96


WHAT WAS IT?
“Hammond'! Hammond'!” I cried, “come here. O,
this is awful! I have been attacked in bed by some-
thing or other, which I have held off; but I can't see it
—I can't see it!”
Hammond, doubtless struck by the unfeigned horror
expressed in my countenance, made one or two steps
forward with an anxious yet puzzled expression. A
very audible titter burst from the remainder of my visi-
tors. This suppressed laughter made me furious. To
laugh at a human being in my position! It was the
worst species of cruelty. Now, I can understand why
the appearance of a man struggling violently, as it
would seem, with an airy nothing, and calling for as-
sistance against a vision, should have appeared ludi-
crous. Then, so great was my rage against the mock-
ing crowd, that had I the power I would have stricken
them dead where they stood.
“Hammond'! Hammond'!” I cried again, despairingly,
“for God's sake come to me. I can hold the—the Thing
but a short while longer. It is overpowering me. Help
me! Help me!”
“Harry,” whispered Hammond, approaching me,
“you have been smoking too much opium.”
“I swear to you, Hammond, that this is no vision,” I
answered, in the same low tone. “Don't you see how
it shakes my whole frame with its struggles? If you
don't believe me, convince yourself. Feel it—touch it.”
Hammond advanced and laid his hand in the spot I
indicated. A wild cry of horror burst from him. He
had felt it!
In a moment he had discovered somewhere in my
room a long piece of cord, and was the next instant
winding it and knotting it about the body of the unseen
being that I clasped in my arms.
“Harry,” he said, in a hoarse, agitated voice, for,
though he preserved his presence of mind, he was
97


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
deeply moved, “Harry, it's all safe now. You may let
go, old fellow, if you're tired. The Thing can't move.”
I was utterly exhausted, and I gladly loosed my hold.
Hammond stood holding the ends of the cord that
bound the Invisible, twisted round his hand, while
before him, self-supporting, as it were, he beheld a rope
laced and interlaced, and stretching tightly around a
vacant space. I never saw a man look so thoroughly
stricken with awe. Nevertheless his face expressed
all the courage and determination which I knew him to
possess. His lips, although white, were set firmly,
and one could perceive at a glance that, although
stricken with fear, he was not daunted.
The confusion that ensued among the guests of the
house who were witnesses of this extraordinary scene
between Hammond and myself—who beheld the panto-
mime of binding this struggling Something—who be-
held me almost sinking from physical exhaustion when
my task of jailer was over—the confusion and terror
that took possession of the bystanders, when they saw
all this, was beyond description. The weaker ones fled
from the apartment. The few who remained clustered
near the door and could not be induced to approach
Hammond and his Charge. Still incredulity broke out
through their terror. They had not the courage to
satisfy themselves, and yet they doubted. It was in
vain that I begged of some of the men to come near
and convince themselves by touch of the existence in
that room of a living being which was invisible. They
were incredulous, but did not dare to undeceive them-
selves. How could a solid, living, breathing body be
invisible, they asked. My reply was this. I gave a
sign to Hammond, and both of us—conquering our
fearful repugnance to touch the invisible creature—lifted
it from the ground, manacled as it was, and took it to
my bed. Its weight was about that of a boy of fourteen.
98


WHAT WAS IT?
“Now, my friends,” I said, as Hammond and myself
held the creature suspended over the bed, “I can give
you self-evident proof that here is a solid, ponderable
body, which, nevertheless, you cannot see. Be good
enough to watch the surface of the bed attentively.”
I was astonished at my own courage in treating this
strange event so calmly; but I had recovered from my
first terror, and felt a sort of scientific pride in the af-
fair, which dominated every other feeling.
The eyes of the bystanders were immediately fixed on
my bed. At a given signal Hammond and I let the
creature fall. There was the dull sound of a heavy
body alighting on a soft mass. The timbers of the bed
creaked. A deep impression marked itself distinctly
on the pillow, and on the bed itself. The crowd who
witnessed this gave a low cry and rushed from the
room. Hammond and I were left alone with our Mys-
tery.
We remained silent for some time, listening to the
low, irregular breathing of the creature on the bed, and
watching the rustle of the bed-clothes as it impotently
struggled to free itself from confinement. Then Ham-
mond spoke.
“Harry, this is awful.”
“Ay, awful.”
“But not unaccountable.”
“Not unaccountable! What do you mean? Such a
thing has never occurred since the birth of the world.
I know not what to think, Hammond. God grant that
I am not mad, and that this is not an insane fantasy!”
“Let us reason a little, Harry. Here is a solid body
which we touch, but which we cannot see. The fact is
so unusual that it strikes us with terror. Is there no
parallel, though, for such a phenomenon? Take a
piece of pure glass. It is tangible and transparent. A
certain chemical coarseness is all that prevents its being
99


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
so entirely transparent as to be totally invisible. It is
not theoretically impossible, mind you, to make a glass
which shall not reflect a single ray of light—a glass so
pure and homogeneous in its atoms that the rays from
the sun will pass through it as they do through the air,
refracted but not reflected. We do not see the air, and
yet we feel it.”
“That's all very well, Hammond, but these are inani-
mate substances. Glass does not breathe; air does not
breathe. This thing has a heart that palpitates—a will
that moves it—lungs that play, and inspire and respire.”
“You forget the phenomena of which we have so
often heard of late,” answered the Doctor, gravely.
“At the meetings called ‘spirit circles,’ invisible hands
have been thrust into the hands of those persons round
the table—warm, fleshly hands that seemed to pulsate
with mortal life.”
“What? Do you think, then, that this Thing is—”
“I don't know what it is,” was the solemn reply; “but
please the gods I will, with your assistance, thoroughly
investigate it.”
We watched together, smoking many pipes, all night
long, by the bedside of the unearthly being that tossed
and panted until it was apparently wearied out. Then
we learned by the low, regular breathing that it slept.
The next morning the house was all astir. The
boarders congregated on the landing outside my room,
and Hammond and myself were lions. We had to an-
swer a thousand questions as to the state of our extra-
ordinary prisoner, for as yet not one person in the
house except ourselves could be induced to set foot in
the apartment.
The creature was awake. This was evidenced by the
convulsive manner in which the bed-clothes were moved
in its efforts to escape. There was something truly ter-
rible in beholding, as it were, those second-hand indica-
IOO


WHAT WAS IT?
tions of the terrible writhings and agonized struggles
for liberty which themselves were visible.
Hammond and myself had racked our brains during
the long night to discover some means by which we
might realize the shape and general appearance of the
Enigma. As well as we could make out by passing our
hands over the creature's form, its outlines and linea-
ments were human. There was a mouth; a round,
smooth head without hair; a nose, which, however, was
little elevated above the cheeks; and its hands and feet
felt like those of a boy. At first we thought of placing
the being on a smooth surface and tracing its outline
with chalk, as shoemakers trace the outline of the foot.
This plan was given up as being of no value. Such an
outline would give not the slightest idea of its confor-
mation.
A happy thought struck me. We would take a cast of
it in plaster of Paris. This would give us the solid fig-
ure, and satisfy all our wishes. But how to do it? The
movements of the creature would disturb the setting of
the plastic covering, and distort the mould. Another
thought. Why not give it chloroform? It had respira-
tory organs—that was evident by its breathing. Once
reduced to a state of insensibility, we could do with it
what we would. Doctor X was sent for; and after
the worthy physician had recovered from the first shock
of amazement, he proceeded to administer the chloro-
form. In three minutes afterward we were enabled to
remove the fetters from the creature's body, and a
modeler was busily engaged in covering the invisible
form with the moist clay. In five minutes more we had
a mold, and before evening a rough fac-simile of the
Mystery. It was shaped like a man—distorted, un-
couth, and horrible, but still a man. It was small, not
over four feet and some inches in height, and its limbs
revealed a muscular development that was unparalleled.
IOI -


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
Its face surpassed in hideousness anything I had ever
seen. Gustave Doré, or Callot, or Tony Johannot, never
conceived anything so horrible. There is a face in one
of the latter's illustrations to “Un Voyage ou il vous
plaira” which somewhat approaches the countenance
of this creature, but does not equal it. It was the physi-
ognomy of what I should fancy a ghoul might be. It
looked as if it was capable of feeding on human flesh.
Having satisfied our curiosity, and bound everyone in
the house to secrecy, it became a question what was to
be done with our Enigma’ It was impossible that we
should keep such a horror in our house; it was equally
impossible that such an awful being should be let loose
upon the world. I confess that I would have gladly
voted for the creature's destruction. But who would
shoulder the responsibility? Who would undertake the
execution of this horrible semblance of a human being?
Day after day this question was deliberated gravely. The
boarders all left the house. Mrs. Moffat was in despair,
and threatened Hammond and myself with all sorts of
legal penalties if we did not remove the horror. Our
answer was, “We will go if you like, but we decline tak-
ing this creature with us. Remove it yourself if you
please. It appeared in your house. On you the re-
sponsibility rests.” To this there was, of course, no
answer. Mrs. Moffat could not obtain for love or
money a person who would even approach the Mystery.
The most singular part of the affair was that we
were entirely ignorant of what the creature habitually
fed on. Everything in the way of nutriment that we
could think of was placed before it, but was never
touched. It was awful to stand by, day after day, and
see the clothes toss, and hear the hard breathing, and
know that it was starving.
Ten, twelve days, a fortnight passed, and it still lived.
The pulsations of the heart, however, were daily grow-
IO2


WHAT WAS IT?
ing fainter, and had now nearly ceased. It was evident
that the creature was dying for want of sustenance.
While this terrible life-struggle was going on, I felt
miserable. I could not sleep. Horrible as the creature
was, it was pitiful to think of the pangs it was suffering.
At last it died. Hammond and I found it cold and
stiff one morning in the bed. The heart had ceased to
beat, the lungs to inspire. We hastened to bury it in
the garden. It was a strange funeral, the dropping of
that viewless corpse into the damp hole. The cast of
its form I gave to Doctor X—, who keeps it in his
museum in Tenth Street.
As I am on the eve of a long journey from which I
may not return, I have drawn up this narrative of an
event the most singular that has ever come to my
knowledge.


* —− − /−−−– ） — —


THE TIME MACHINE





THE TIME MACHINE
A. G. Wells
CHAPTER I.
THE INVENTOR.
HE man who made the Time Machine—the man
I shall call the Time Traveler—was well known
in scientific circles a few years since, and the fact of his
disappearance is also well known. He was a mathema-
tician of peculiar subtlety, and one of our most con-
spicuous investigators in molecular physics. He
did not confine himself to abstract science. Sev-
eral ingenious, and one or two profitable, patents
were his: very profitable they were, these last, as his
handsome house at Richmond testified. To those who
were his intimates, however, his scientific investiga-
tions were as nothing to his gift of speech. In the
after-dinner hours he was ever a vivid and variegated
talker, and at times his fantastic, often paradoxical,
conceptions came so thick and close as to form one
continuous discourse. At these times he was as un-
like the popular conception of a scientific investigator
as a man could be. His cheeks would flush, his eyes
grow bright; and the stranger the ideas that sprang and
crowded into his brain, the happier and the more ani-
mated would be his exposition.
Up to the last there was held at his house a kind
IO5


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
of informal gathering, which it was my privilege to at-
tend, and where, at one time or another, I have met
most of our distinguished literary and scientific men.
There was a plain dinner at seven. After that we would
adjourn to a room of easy chairs and little tables,
and there, with libations of alcohol and reeking pipes,
we would invoke the god. At first the conversation
was mere fragmentary chatter, with some local lacunae
of digestive silence; but toward nine or half-past nine,
if the god was favorable, some particular topic would
triumph by a kind of natural selection, and would be-
come the common interest. So it was, I remember,
on the last Thursday but one of all—the Thursday
when I first heard of the Time Machine.
I had been jammed in a corner with a gentleman
who shall be disguised as Filby. He had been run-
ning down Milton—the public neglects poor Filby's
little verses shockingly; and as I could think of noth-
ing but the relative status of Filby and the man he
criticised, and was much too timid to discuss that, the
arrival of that moment of fusion, when our several con-
versations were suddenly merged into a general discus-
sion, was a great relief to me.
“What’s that is nonsense?” said a well-known Med-
ical Man, speaking across Filby to the Psychologist.
“He thinks,” said the Psychologist, “that Time's
only a kind of Space.”
“It's not thinking,” said the Time Traveler; “it’s
knowledge.”
“Foppish affectation,” said Filby, still harping upon
his wrongs; but I feigned a great interest in this ques-
tion of Space and Time.
“Kant—” began the Psychologist.
“Confound Kant!” said the Time Traveler. “I tell
you I'm right. I’ve got experimental proof of it. I’m
not a metaphysician.” He addressed the Medical Man
Ioë


THE TIME MACHINE.
across the room, and so brought the whole company
into his own circle. “It’s the most promising depar-
ture in experimental work that has ever been made. It
will simply revolutionize life. Heaven knows what
life will be when I’ve carried the thing through.”
“As long as it's not the water of immortality I don't
mind,” said the distinguished Medical Man. “What is
it?”
“Only a paradox,” said the Psychologist.
The Time Traveler said nothing in reply, but smiled
and began tapping his pipe upon the fender curb. This
was the invariable presage of a dissertation.
“You have to admit that time is a spatial dimension,”
said the Psychologist, emboldened by immunity and
addressing the Medical Man, “and then all sorts of
remarkable consequences are found inevitable.
Among others, that it becomes possible to travel about
in time.”
The Time Traveler chuckled. “You forget that I’m
going to prove it experimentally.”
“Let’s have your experiment,” said the Psychologist.
“I think we'd like the argument first,” said Filby.
“It’s this,” said the Time Traveler. “You must fol-
low me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or
two ideas that are almost universally accepted. The
geometry, for instance, they taught you at school is
founded on a misconception.”
“Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin
upon?” said Filby.
“I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without
reasonable ground for it. You will soon admit as
much as I want from you. You know, of course, that a
mathematical line, a line of thickness nil, has no real
existence. They taught you that? Neither has a math-
ematical plane. These things are mere abstractions.”
“That is all right,” said the Psychologist.
Io/


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness,
can a cube have a real existence?”
“There I object,” said Filby. “Of course, a solid
body may exist. All real things—”
“So most people think. But wait a moment. Can
an instantaneous cube exist?”
“Don’t follow you,” said Filby.
“Can a cube that does not last for any time at all,
have a real existence?”
Filby became pensive.
“Clearly,” the Philosophical Inventor proceeded,
“any real body must have extension in four directions:
it must have Length, Breadth, Thickness, and—Dura-
tion. But through a natural infirmity of the flesh,
which I will explain to you in a moment, we incline
to overlook the fact. There are really four dimen-
sions, three which we call the three planes of Space,
and a fourth, Time. There is, however, a tendency to
draw an unreal distinction between the former three di-
mensions and the latter, because it happens that our
consciousness moves intermittently in one direction
along the latter from the beginning to the end of our
lives.”
“That,” said a Very Young Man, making spasmodic
efforts to relight his cigar over the lamp, “that—very
clear, indeed.”
“Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively
overlooked,” continued the Philosophical Inventor,
with a slight accession of cheerfulness. “Really, this
is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension, though
some people who talk about the Fourth Dimension do
not know they mean it. It is only another way
of looking at Time. There is no difference be-
tween Time and any of the three dimensions of Space
except that our consciousness moves along it. But
some foolish people have got hold of the wrong side of
IoS


THE TIME MACHINE.
that idea. You have all heard what they have to say
about this Fourth Dimension?”
“I have not,” said the Provincial Mayor.
“It is simply this, That space, as our mathematicians
have it, is spoken of as having three dimensions, which
one may call Length, Breadth, and Thickness, and is
always definable by reference to these planes, each at
right angles to the others. But some philosophical
people have been asking why three dimensions par-
ticularly—why not another direction at right angles
to the other three?—and have even tried to construct a
Four-Dimension geometry. Professor Simon New-
comb was expounding this to the New York Mathe-
matical Society only a month or so ago. You know
how on a flat surface, which has only two dimensions,
we can represent a figure of a Three-Dimensional solid,
and similarly they think that by a model of three di-
mensions they could represent one of four—if they
could master the perspective of the thing. See?”
“I think so,” murmured the Provincial Mayor; and,
knitting his brows, he lapsed into an introspective state,
his lips moving as one who repeats mystic words.
“Yes, I think I see it now,” he said, after some time,
brightening in a quite transitory manner.
“Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at
work upon this geometry of Four Dimensions for some
time. Some of my results are curious: for instance,
here is a portrait of a man at eight years old, another
at fifteen, another at seventeen, another at twenty-three,
and so on. All these are evidently sections, as it were,
Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimen-
sional being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.
“Scientific people,” proceeded the Philosopher, after
the pause required for the proper assimilation of this,
“know very well that Time is only a kind of Space.
Here is a popular scientific diagram, a weather record.
109


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
This line I trace with my finger shows the movement of
the barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday
night it fell, then this morning it rose again, and so
gently upward to here. Surely the mercury did not
trace this line in any of the dimensions of space gen-
erally recognized? But certainly it traced such a line,
and that line, therefore, we must conclude, was along
the Time Dimension.”
“But,” said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal
in the fire, “if Time is really only a fourth dimension of
Space, why is it, and why has it always been, regarded
as something different? And why cannot we move
about in Time as we move about in the other dimen-
sions of Space?”
The Philosophical Person smiled. “Are you so sure
we can move freely in Space? Right and left we can
go, backward and forward freely enough, and men al-
ways have done so. I admit we move freely in two di-
mensions. But how about up and down? Gravitation
limits us there.”
“Not exactly,” said the Medical Man. “There are
balloons.”
“But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping
and the inequalities of the surface, man had no free-
dom of vertical movement.”
“Still, they could move a little up and down,” said
the Medical Man.
“Easier, far easier, down than up.”
“And you cannot move at all in Time. You cannot
get away from the present moment.”
“My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong.
That is just where the whole world has gone wrong.
We are always getting away from the present moment.
Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have
no dimensions, are passing along the Time Dimension
with a uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave.
IIO


THE TIME MACHINE.
Just as we should travel down if we began our existence
fifty miles above the earth's surface.”
“But the great difficulty is this,” interrupted the
Psychologist; “You can move about in all directions of
Space, but you cannot move about in Time.”
“That is the germ of my great discovery. But you
are wrong to say that we cannot move about in Time.
For instance, if I am recalling an incident very vividly
I go back to the instant of its occurrence; I become
absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment.
Of course we have no means for staying back for any
length of time any more than a savage or an animal
has of staying six feet above the ground. But a civil-
ized man is better off than the savage in this respect.
He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and
why should we not hope that ultimately he may be able
to stop or accelerate his drift along the Time Dimen-
sion; or even to turn about and travel the other way?”
“Oh, this,” began Filby, “is all—”
“Why not?” said the Philosophical Inventor.
“It’s against reason,” said Filby.
“What reason?” said the Philosophical Inventor.
“You can show black is white by argument,” said
Filby, “but you will never convince me.”
“Possibly not,” said the Philosophical Inventor.
“But now you begin to see the object of my investiga-
tions into the geometry of Four Dimensions. Long
ago I had a vague inkling of a machine yy
“To travel through Time!” said the Very Young
Man.
“That shall travel indifferently in any direction of
Space and Time, as the driver determines.”
Filby contented himself with laughing.
“It would be remarkably convenient,” the Psycholo-
gist suggested. “One might travel back and witness
the battle of Hastings.”
III


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Don’t you think you would attract attention?” said
the Medical Man. “Our ancestors had no great tol-
erance for anachronisms.”
“One might get one's Greek from the very lips of
Homer and Plato,” the Very Young Man thought.
“In which case they would certainly plow you for the
little-go. The German scholars have improved Greek
so much.”
“Then, there is the future,” said the Very Young
Man. “Just think! One might invest all one's money,
leave it to accumulate at interest, and hurry on ahead.”
“To discover a society,” said I, “erected on a strictly
communistic basis.”
“Of all the wild, extravagant theories—” began the
Psychologist.
“Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of
it until—”
“Experimental verification!” cried I. “You are go-
ing to verify that!”
“The experiment!” cried Filby, who was getting
brain-weary. -
“Let’s see your experiment, anyhow,” said the
Psychologist, “though it's all humbug, you know.”
The Time Traveler smiled round at us. Then, still
smiling faintly, and with his hands deep in his trousers
pockets, he walked slowly out of the room, and we
heard his slippers shuffling down the long passage to
his laboratory.
The Psychologist looked at us. “I wonder what he's
got.”
“Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,” said the Med-
ical Man, and Filby tried to tell us about a conjuror
he had seen at Burslem, but before he had finished his
preface the Time Traveler came back, and Filby's anec-
dote collapsed.
The thing the Time Traveler held in his hand was a
II2


THE TIME MACHINE.
glittering metallic framework, scarcely larger than a
small clock, and very delicately made. There was ivory
in it, and some transparent crystalline substance. And
now I must be explicit, for this that follows—unless his
explanation is to be accepted—is an absolutely unac-
countable thing. He took one of the small octagonal
tables that were scattered about the room and set it
in front of the fire, with two legs on the hearthrug.
On this table he placed the mechanism. Then he drew
up a chair and sat down. The only other object on
the table was a small shaded lamp, the bright light of
which fell full upon the model. There were also per-
haps a dozen candles about, two in brass candlesticks
upon the mantel and several in sconces, so that the
room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-
chair nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to
be almost between the Time Traveler and the fireplace.
Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The
Medical Man and the Rector watched him in profile
from the right, the Psychologist from the left. We
were all on the alert. It appears incredible to me that
any kind of trick, however subtly conceived and how-
ever adroitly done, could have been played upon us un-
der these conditions.
The Time Traveler looked at us and then at the
mechanism.
“Well?” said the Psychologist.
“This little affair,” said the Time Traveler, resting
his elbows upon the table and pressing his hands to-
gether above the apparatus, “is only a model. It is
my plan for a machine to travel through Time. You
will notice that it looks singularly askew, and that there
is an odd twinkling appearance about this bar, as
though it was in some way unreal.” He pointed to
the part with his finger. “Also, here is one little white
lever, and here is another.”
II3


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered
into the thing. “It's beautifully made,” he said.
“It took two years to make,” retorted the Time
Traveler. Then, when we had all done as the Medical
Man, he said: “Now I want you to clearly understand
that this lever, being pressed over, sends the machine
gliding into the future, and this other reverses the mo-
tion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveler.
Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the
machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future time,
and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look
at the table, too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trick-
ery. I don't want to waste this model and then be told
I’m a quack.”
There was a minute's pause perhaps. The Psycholo-
gist seemed about to speak to me, but changed his
mind. Then the Time Traveler put forth his finger
toward the lever. “No,” he said, suddenly; “lend me
your hand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took
that individual's hand in his own, and told him to put
out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist
himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its
interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I
am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There
was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped.
One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and
the little machine suddenly swung round, became in-
distinct, was seen as a ghost for a second perhaps, as
an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and
it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table
was bare.
Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said
he was d-d.
The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and sud-
denly looked under the table. At that the Time Trav-
eler laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he said, with a rem-
II4


THE TIME MACHINE.
iniscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he
went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his
back to us began to fill his pipe.
We stared at each other.
“Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in
earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that
machine has traveled into Time?”
“Certainly,” said the Time Traveler, stooping to
light a spill at the fire. Then he turned, lighting his
pipe, to look at the Psychologist's face. (The Psychol-
ogist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped him-
self to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is
more, I have a big machine nearly finished in there,”
he indicated the laboratory, “and when that is put
together I mean to have a journey on my own ac-
count.”
“You mean to say that that machine has traveled into
the future?” said Filby.
“Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain,
know which.”
After an interval, the Psychologist had an inspira-
tion.
“It must have gone into the past if it has gone
anywhere,” he said.
“Why?” said the Time Traveler.
“Because I presume that it has not moved in space,
and if it traveled into the future it would still be here
all this time, since it must have traveled through this
time.”
“But,” said I, “if it traveled into the past it would
have been visible when we came first into this room;
and last Thursday when we were here; and the Thurs-
day before that; and so forth!”
“Serious objections,” remarked the Rector, with an
air of impartiality, turning toward the Time Traveler.
“Not a bit,” said the Time Traveler, and, to the
II5


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
Psychologist: “You think. You can explain that. It's
presentation below the threshold, you know, diluted
presentation.”
“Of course,” said the Psychologist, and reassured us.
“That's a simple point in psychology. I should have
thought of it. It's plain enough, and helps the para-
dox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor can we appre-
ciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of
a wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through the air.
If it is traveling through time fifty times or a hundred
times faster than we are, if it gets through a minute
while we get through a second, the impression it cre-
ates will, of course, be only one-fiftieth or one-hun-
dredth of what it would make if it were not travel-
ing in time. That's plain enough.” He passed his
hand through the space in which the machine had
been. “You see?” he said, laughing.
We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute
or so. Then the Time Traveler asked us what we
thought of it all.
“It sounds plausible enough to-night,” said the Med-
ical Man; “but wait until to-morrow. Wait for the
common sense of the morning.”
“Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?”
asked the Time Traveler. And therewith, taking the
lamp in his hand, he led the way down the long,
draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember viv-
idly the flickering light, his queer, broad head in sil-
houette, the dance of the shadows, how we all fol-
lowed him, puzzled but incredulous, and how there in
the laboratory we beheld a larger edition of the little
mechanism which we had seen vanish from before
our eyes. Parts were of nickel, parts of ivory, parts
had certainly been filed or sawn out of rock crystal.
The thing was generally complete, but the twisted crys-
talline bars lay unfinished upon the bench beside some
116


THE TIME MACHINE.
sheets of drawings, and I took one up for a better look
at it. Quartz it seemed to be.
“Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you per-
fectly serious? Or is this a trick—like that ghost you
showed us last Christmas?”
“Upon that machine,” said the Time Traveler, hold-
ing the lamp aloft, “I intend to explore Time. Is that
plain? I was never more serious in my life.”
CHAPTER II.
THE TIME TRAVELER RETURNS.
I think that at that time none of us quite believed
in the Time Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveler
was one of those men who are too clever to be believed;
you never felt that you saw all round him; you always
suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in am-
bush, behind his lucid frankness. Had Filby shown the
model and explained the matter in the Time Traveler's
words, we should have shown him far less skepticism.
The point is, we should have seen his motives—a pork
butcher could understand Filby. But the Time Trav-
eler had more than a touch of whim among his ele-
ments, and we distrusted him. Things that would have
made the fame of a clever man seemed tricks in his
hands. It is a mistake to do things too easily. The
serious people who took him seriously never felt quite
sure of his deportment; they were somehow aware
that trusting their reputations for judgment with him
was like furnishing a nursery with eggshell china.
So I don’t think any of us said very much about time
traveling in the interval between that Thursday and
the next, though its odd potentialities ran, no doubt,
in most of our minds: its plausibility, that is, its prac-
117


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
tical incredibleness, the curious possibilities of anachro-
nism and of utter confusion it suggested. For my own
part, I was particularly preoccupied with the trick of
the model. That I remember discussing with the Med-
ical Man, whom I met on Friday at the Linnaean.
He said he had seen a similar thing at Tubingen, and
laid considerable stress on the blowing-out of the can-
dle. But how the trick was done he could not ex-
plain.
The next Thursday I went again to Richmond—
I suppose I was one of the Time Traveler's most con-
stant guests—and, arriving late, found four or five men
already assembled in the drawing-room. The Medical
Man was standing before the fire with a sheet of paper
in one hand and his watch in the other. I looked
round for the Time Traveler, and—
“It’s half-past seven now,” said the Medical Man.
“I suppose we'd better have dinner?”
“Where's —?” said I, naming our host.
“You’ve just come? It's rather odd. He's unavoid-
ably detained. He asks me in his note to lead off with
dinner at seven if he's not back. Says he'll explain
when he comes.”
“It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,” said the
Editor of a well-known daily paper; and thereupon the
Doctor rang the bell.
The Psychologist was the only person besides the
Doctor and myself who had attended the previous din-
ner. The other men were Blank, the Editor afore-
mentioned, a certain journalist, and another—a quiet,
shy man with a beard—whom I didn't know, and who,
as far as my observation went, never opened his mouth
all the evening. There was some speculation at the
dinner table about the Time Traveler's absence, and
I suggested time traveling, in a half-jocular spirit. The
Editor wanted that explained to him, and the Psycholo-
II8


THE TIME MACHINE.
gist volunteered a wooden account of the “ingenious
paradox and trick” we had witnessed that day, week.
He was in the midst of his exposition when the door
from the corridor opened slowly and without noise. I
was facing the door, and saw it first.
“Hallo!” I said. “At last!”
And the door opened wider, and the Time Traveler
stood before us. I gave a cry of surprise.
“Good Heavens, man! what's the matter?” cried the
Medical Man, who saw him next. And the whole
tableful turned toward the door.
He was in an amazing plight. His coat was dusty
and dirty, and smeared with green down the sleeves;
his hair disordered, and as it seemed to me grayer—
either with dust and dirt or because its color had act-
ually faded. His face was ghastly pale; his chin had a
brown cut on it—a cut half-healed; his expression was
haggard and drawn, as by intense suffering. For a
moment he hesitated in the doorway, as if he had been
dazzled by the light. Then he came into the room.
He walked with just such a limp as I have seen in
footsore tramps. We stared at him in silence, expect-
ing him to speak.
He said not a word, but came painfully to the table,
and made a motion toward the wine. The Editor
filled a glass of champagne and pushed it toward him.
He drained it, and it seemed to do him good; for he
looked round the table, and the ghost of his old smile
flickered across his face.
“What on earth have you been up to, man?” said the
Doctor.
The Time Traveler did not seem to hear. “Don’t
let me disturb you,” he said, with a certain faltering ar-
ticulation. “I’m all right.” He stopped, held out his
glass for more, and took it off at a draught. “That's
good,” he said. His eyes grew brighter, and a faint
II9


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
color came into his cheeks. His glance flickered over
our faces with a certain dull approval, and then went
round the warm and comfortable room. Then he
spoke again, still, as it were, feeling his way among
his words. “I’m going to wash and dress, and then I'll
come down and explain things. Save me some of that
mutton. I’m starving for a bit of meat.”
He looked across at the Editor, who was a rare vis-
itor, and hoped he was all right. The Editor began
a question.
“Tell you presently,” said the Time Traveler. “I’m
—funny! Be all right in a minute.”
He put down his glass, and walked toward the stair-
case door. Again I remarked his lameness and the soft
padding sound of his footfall, and standing up in my
place I saw his feet as he went out. He had nothing on
them but a pair of tattered, blood-stained socks.
Then the door closed upon him. I had half a mind
to follow, till I remembered how he detested any fuss
about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my mind was
wool-gathering. Then, “Remarkable Behavior of an
Eminent Scientist,” I heard the Editor say, thinking
(after his wont) in headlines. And this brought my
attention back to the bright dinner table.
“What's the game?” said the Journalist. “Has he
been doing the Amateur Cadger? I don't follow.”
I met the eye of the Psychologist, and read my own
interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time Trav-
eler limping painfully upstairs. I don't think anyone
else had noticed his lameness.
The first to recover completely from this surprise
was the Medical Man, who rang the bell—the Time
Traveler hated to have servants waiting at dinner—for
a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife
and fork with a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit.
I2O


THE TIME MACHINE.
The dinner was resumed. Conversation was exclama-
tory for a little while, with gaps of wonderment; and
then the Editor got fervent in his curiosity.
“Does our friend eke out his modest income with a
crossing, or has he his Nebuchadnezzar phases?” he
inquired.
“I feel assured it's this business of the Time Ma-
chine,” I said, and took up the Psychologist's account
of our previous meeting.
The new guests were frankly incredulous. The Ed-
itor raised objections.
“What was this time traveling? A man couldn't cov-
er himself with dust by rolling in a paradox, could
he P”
And then, as the idea came home to him, he resorted
to caricature. Hadn't they any clothes brushes in the
future? The Journalist, too, would not believe at any
price, and joined the Editor in the easy work of heap-
ing ridicule on the whole thing. They were both the
new kind of Journalist—very joyous, irreverent young
men. “Our Special Correspondent in the Day After
To-Morrow reports,” the Journalist was saying—or
rather, shouting—when the Time Traveler came back.
He was dressed in ordinary evening clothes, and noth-
ing save his haggard look remained of the change that
had startled me.
“I say,” said the Editor, hilariously, “these chaps
here say you have been traveling into the middle of
next week! Tell us all about little Rosebery, will you?
What will you take for the lot?”
The Time Traveler came to the place reserved for
him without a word. He smiled quietly, in his old
way.
“Where's my mutton?” he said. “What a treat it is
to stick a fork into meat again!”
“Story!” cried the Editor.
12:


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Story be d–d?” said the Time Traveler. “I want
something to eat. I won't say a word until I get some
peptone into my arteries. Thanks! And the salt.”
“One word,” said I. “Have you been time travel-
ing?”
“Yes,” said the Time Traveler, with his mouth full,
nodding his head.
“I’d give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,” said
the Editor. The Time Traveler pushed his glass to-
ward the Silent Man and rang it with his finger nail;
at which the Silent Man, who had been staring at his
face, started convulsively, and poured him wine. The
rest of the dinner was uncomfortable. For my own
part, sudden questions kept on rising to my lips, and
I dare say it was the same with the others. The Jour-
nalist tried to relieve the tension by telling anecdotes
of Hettie Potter. The Time Traveler devoted his at-
tention to his dinner, and displayed the appetite of a
tramp. The Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and
watched the Time Traveler through his eyelashes. The
Silent Man seemed even more clumsy than usual, and
drank champagne with regularity and determination
out of sheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveler
pushed his plate away and looked round us.
“I suppose I must apologize,” he said. “I was simply
starving. I've had a most amazing time.” He reached
out his hand for a cigar, and cut the end. “But come
into the smoking-room. It's too long a story to tell
over greasy plates.” And ringing the bell in passing,
he led the way into the adjoining room.
“You have told Blank and Dash and Chose about
the machine?” he said to me, leaning back in his easy
chair and naming the three new guests.
“But the thing's a mere paradox,” said the Editor.
“I can't argue to-night. I don't mind telling you
the story, but I can’t argue. I will,” he went on, “tell
I22


THE TIME MACHINE.
you the story of what has happened to me, if you like,
but you must refrain from interruptions. I want to tell
it. Badly. Most of it will sound like lying. So be it!
It's true—every word of it, all the same. I was in my
laboratory at four o'clock, and since then—I’ve lived
eight days—such days as no human being ever lived be-
fore! I’m nearly worn out, but I shan’t sleep till I’ve
told this thing over to you. Then I shall go to bed.
But no interruptions! Is it agreed?”
“Agreed!” said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed
“Agreed!” And with that the Time Traveler began
his story as I have set it forth. He sat back in his
chair at first, and spoke like a weary man. Afterward
he got more animated. In writing it down I feel with
only too much keenness the inadequacy of pen and ink
—and, above all, my own inadequacy—to express its
quality. You read, I will suppose, attentively enough;
but you cannot see the speaker's white, sincere face
in the bright circle of the little lamp, nor hear the in-
tonation of his voice. You cannot know how his ex-
pression followed the turns of his story! Most of us
hearers were in shadow, for the candles in the smok-
ing-room had not been lighted, and only the face of the
Journalist and the legs of the Silent Man from the
knees downward were illuminated. At first we glanced
now and again at each other. After a time we ceased
to do that, and looked only at the Time Traveler's
face.
CHAPTER III.
THE STORY BEGINS.
“I told some of you last Thursday of the principles
of the Time Machine, and showed you the actual thing
itself, incomplete, in the workshop. There it is now, a
I23


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
little travel-worn, truly; and one of the ivory bars is
cracked, and a brass rail is bent; but the rest of it is
sound enough. I expected to finish it on Friday; but
on Friday, when the putting together was nearly done,
I found that one of the nickel bars was exactly one
inch too short, and this I had to get remade; so that
the thing was not complete until this morning. It was
at ten o'clock to-day that the first of all Time Ma-
chines began its career. I gave it a last tap, tried all
the screws again, put one more drop of oil on the
quartz rod, and sat myself in the saddle. I suppose a
suicide who holds a pistol to his skull feels much the
same wonder at what will come next as I felt then.
I took the starting lever in one hand, and the stopping
one in the other, pressed the first, and almost imme-
diately the second. I seemed to reel; I felt a nightmare
sensation of falling; and, looking round, I saw the
laboratory exactly as before. Had anything happened?
For a moment I suspected that my intellect had
tricked me. Then I noted the clock. A moment be-
fore, as it seemed, it had stood at a minute or so past
ten; now it was nearly half-past three.
“I drew a breath, set my teeth, gripped the starting
lever with both my hands, and went off with a thud.
The laboratory got hazy and went dark. Mrs. Watch-
ett came in, and walked, apparently without seeing
me, toward the garden door. I suppose it took her a
minute or so to traverse the place, but to me she
seemed to shoot across the room like a rocket. I
pressed the lever over to its extreme position. The
night came like the turning out of a lamp, and in
another moment came to-morrow. The laboratory
grew faint and hazy, then fainter and ever fainter. To-
morrow night came black, then day again, night again,
day again, faster and faster still. An eddying murmur
I24


THE TIME MACHINE.
filled my ears and a strange, dumb confusedness de-
scended on my mind.
“I am afraid I cannot convey the peculiar sensations
of time traveling. They are excessively unpleasant.
There is a feeling exactly like that one has upon a
switchback—of a helpless, headlong motion! I felt
the same horrible anticipation, too, of an imminent
smash. As I put on pace, day followed night, like the
flap, flap, flap of some rotating body. The dim sug-
gestion of the laboratory seemed presently to fall away
from me, and I saw the sun hopping swiftly across
the sky, leaping it every minute, and every minute
marking a day. I supposed the laboratory had been
destroyed, and I had come into the open air. I had a
dim impression of scaffolding, but I was already going
too fast to be conscious of any moving things. The
slowest snail that ever crawled dashed by too fast for
me. The twinkling succession of darkness and light
was excessively painful to the eye. Then in the inter-
mittent darkness, I saw the moon spinning swiftly
through her quarters from new to full, and had a faint
glimpse of the circling stars. Presently, as I went on,
still gaining velocity, the palpitation of night and day
merged into one continuous grayness; the sky took on
a wonderful deepness of blue, a splendid luminous
color like that of early twilight; the jerking sun be-
came a streak of fire, a brilliant arch in space, the moon
a fainter fluctuating band; and I could see nothing of
the stars, save now and then a brighter circle flicker-
ing in the blue.
“The landscape was misty and vague. I was still
on the hillside upon which this house now stands,
and the shoulder rose above me gray and dim. I saw
trees growing and changing like puffs of vapor, now
brown, now green; they grew, spread, fluctuated, and
passed away. I saw huge buildings rise up faint and
I25


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
fair, and pass like dreams. The whole surface of the
earth seemed changing—melting and flowing under my
eyes. The little hands upon the dials that registered
my speed raced round faster and faster. Presently I
noted that the sun belt swayed up and down, from
solstice to solstice, in a minute or less, and that, con-
sequently, my pace was over a year a minute; and
minute by minute the white snow flashed across the
world and vanished, and was followed by the bright,
brief green of spring.
“The unpleasant sensations of the start were less
poignant now. They merged at last into a kind of
hysterical exhilaration. I remarked, indeed, a clumsy
swaying of the machine, for which I was unable to ac-
count. But my mind was too confused to attend to it,
so with a kind of madness growing upon me I flung
myself into futurity. At first I scarce thought of stop-
ping, scarce thought of anything but these new sensa-
tions. But presently a fresh series of impressions grew
up in my mind—a certain curiosity, and therewith a
certain dread—until they at last took complete posses-
sion of me. What strange developments of humanity,
what wonderful advances upon our rudimentary civili-
zation, I thought, might not appear when I came to
look nearly into the dim, elusive world that raced and
fluctuated before my eyes! I saw great and splendid
architectures rising about me, more massive than any
buildings of our own time, and yet, as it seemed, built
of glimmer and mist. I saw a richer green flow up the
hillside, and remain there without any wintry inter-
mission. Even through the veil of my confusion the
earth seemed very fair. And so my mind came round
to the business of stopping.
“The peculiar risk lay in the possibility of my finding
some substance in the space which I, or the machine,
occupied. So long as I traveled at a high velocity
126


THE TIME MACHINE.
through time, this scarcely mattered: I was, so to
speak, attenuated—was slipping like a vapor through
the interstices of intervening substances! But to
come to a stop involved the jamming of myself,
molecule by molecule, into whatever lay in my way,
meant bringing my atoms into such intimate contact
with those of the obstacle that a profound chemical
reaction—possibly a far-reaching explosion—would
result, and blow myself and my apparatus out of the
Rigid Universe—out of all possible dimensions—into
the Unknown. This possibility had occurred to me
again and again while I was making the machine; but
then I had cheerfully accepted it as an unavoidable
risk—one of the risks a man has got to take! Now the
risk was inevitable, I no longer saw it in the same
cheerful light. The fact is that, insensibly, the abso-
lute strangeness of everything, the sickly jarring and
swaying of the machine, above all the feeling of pro-
longed falling, had absolutely upset my nerve. I told
myself that I could never stop, and with a gust of
petulance I resolved to stop forthwith. Like an im-
patient fool, I lugged over the lever, and incontinently
the thing went reeling over, and I was flung headlong
through the air.
“There was the sound of a clap of thunder in my ears.
I may have been stunned for a moment. A pitiless
hail was hissing round me, and I was sitting on soft
turf in front of the overset machine. Everything still
seemed gray, but presently I remarked that the con-
fusion in my ears was gone. I looked round me. I
was on what seemed to be a little lawn in a garden.
surrounded by rhododendron bushes, and I noticed
that their mauve and purple blossoms were dropping
in a shower under the beating of the hailstones. The
rebounding, dancing hail hung in a little cloud over the
machine, and drove along the ground like smoke.
127


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
In a moment I was wet to the skin. “Fine hospitality,’
said I, ‘to a man who has traveled innumerable years to
see you!'
“Presently I thought what a fool I was to get wet.
I stood up and looked round me. A colossal figure,
carved apparently in some white stone, loomed indis-
tinctly beyond the rhododendrons through the hazy
downpour. But all else of the world was invisible.
“My sensations would be hard to describe. As the
columns of hail grew thinner, I saw the white figure
more distinctly. It was very large, for a silver birch
tree touched its shoulder. It was of white marble, in
shape something like a winged sphinx, but the wings,
instead of being carried vertically at the sides, were
spread so that it seemed to hover. The pedestal, it
seemed to me, was of bronze, and was thick with ver-
digris. It chanced that the face was toward me; the
sightless eyes seemed to watch me; there was the faint
shadow of a smile on the lips. It was greatly weather-
worn, and that imparted an unpleasant suggestion of
disease. I stood looking at it for a little space—half a
minute, perhaps, or half an hour. It seemed to ad-
vance and to recede as the hail drove before it denser
or thinner. At last I tore my eyes from it for a mo-
ment, and saw that the hail curtain had worn thread-
bare, and that the sky was lightening with the promise
of the sun.
“I looked up again at the crouching white shape,
and the full temerity of my voyage came suddenly upon
me. What might appear when that hazy curtain was
altogether withdrawn? What might not have hap-
pened to men? What if cruelty had grown into a com-
mon passion? What if in this interval the race had lost
its manliness, and had developed into something in-
human, unsympathetic, and overwhelmingly powerful?
I might see some old-world savage animal, only the
128


THE TIME MACHINE.
more dreadful and disgusting for our common likeness
—a foul creature to be incontinently slain.
“Already I saw other vast shapes—huge buildings
with intricate parapets and tall columns, with a wooded
hillside dimly creeping in upon me through the lessen-
ing storm. I was seized with a panic fear. I turned
frantically to the Time Machine, and strove hard to re-
adjust it. As I did so the shafts of the sun smote
through the thunder storm. The gray downpour was
swept aside and vanished like the trailing garments of
a ghost. Above me, in the intense blue of the sum-
mer sky, some faint brown shreds of clouds whirled
into nothingness. The great buildings about me stood
out clear and distinct, shining with the wet of the
thunder storm, and picked out in white by the un-
melted hailstones piled along their courses. I felt
naked in a strange world. I felt as perhaps a bird may
feel in the clear air, knowing the hawk wings above
and will swoop. My fear grew to frenzy. I took a
breathing space, set my teeth, and again grappled
fiercely, wrist and knee, with the machine. It gave
under my desperate onset and turned over. It struck
my chin violently. One hand on the saddle, the other
on the lever, I stood panting heavily in attitude to
mount again.
“But with this recovery of a prompt retreat my
courage recovered. I looked more curiously and less
fearfully at this world of the remote future. In a cir-
cular opening, high up in the wall of the nearer house,
I saw a group of figures clad in rich soft robes. They
had seen me, and their faces were directed toward
me.
“Then I heard voices approaching me. Coming
through the bushes by the white sphinx were the heads
and shoulders of men running. One of these emerged
in a pathway leading straight to the little lawn upon
129


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
which I stood with my machine. He was a slight crea-
ture—perhaps four feet high—clad in a purple tunic,
girdled at the waist with a leather belt. Sandals or
buskins—I could not clearly distinguish which—were
on his feet; his legs were bare to the knees, and his
head was bare. Noticing that, I noticed for the first
time how warm the air was.
“He struck me as being a very beautiful and graceful
creature, but indescribably frail. His flushed face re-
minded me of the more beautiful kind of consumptive—
that hectic beauty of which we used to hear so much.
At the sight of him I suddenly regained confidence.
I took my hands from the machine.
CHAPTER IV.
THE GOLDEN AGE.
“In another moment we were standing face to face,
I and this fragile thing out of futurity. He came
straight up to me and laughed into my eyes. The ab-
sence of any sign of fear from his bearing struck me
at once. Then he turned to the two others who were
following him and spoke to them in a strange and
very sweet and liquid tongue.
“There were others coming, and presently a little
group of perhaps eight or ten of these exquisite crea-
tures were about me. One of them addressed
me. It came into my head, oddly enough, that
my voice was too harsh and too deep for them.
So I shook my head, and pointing to my ears,
shook it again. He came a step forward, hesitated,
and then touched my hand. Then I felt other soft
little tentacles upon my back and shoulders. They
wanted to make sure I was real. There was nothing
in this at all alarming. Indeed, there was something
I30


THE TIME MACHINE.
in these pretty little people that inspired confidence—
a graceful gentleness, a certain childlike ease. And
besides, they looked so frail that I could fancy myself
flinging the whole dozen of them about like ninepins.
But I made a sudden motion to warn them when I
saw their little pink hands feeling at the Time Machine.
Happily then, when it was not too late, I thought of
a danger I had hitherto forgotten, and reaching over
the bars of the machine I unscrewed the little levers
that would set it in motion, and put these in my pocket.
Then I turned again to see what I could do in the way
of communication.
“And then, looking more nearly into their features,
I saw some further peculiarities in their Dresden china
type of prettiness. Their hair, which was uniformly
curly, came to a sharp end at the neck and cheek; there
was not the faintest suggestion of it on the face, and
their ears were singularly minute. The mouths were
small, with bright red, rather thin lips, and the little
chins ran to a point. The eyes were large and mild;
and—this may seem egotism on my part—I fancied
even then that there was a certain lack of the interest
I might have expected in them.
“As they made no effort to communicate with me,
but simply stood round me smiling and speaking in
soft, cooing notes to each other, I began the conversa-
tion. I pointed to the Time Machine and to myself.
Then, hesitating for a moment how to express Time,
I pointed to the sun. At once a quaintly pretty little
figure in checkered purple and white, followed my ges-
ture, and then astonished me by imitating the sound of
thunder.
“For the moment I was staggered, though the import
of his gesture was plain enough. The question had
come into my mind abruptly: Were these creatures
fools? You may hardly understand how it took me.
I31


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
You see I had always anticipated that the people of
the year Thirty-two Thousand odd would be incredibly
in front of us in knowledge, art, everything. Then
one of them suddenly asked me a question that showed
him to be on the intellectual level of one of our five-
year-old children—asked me, in fact, if I had come
from the sun in a thunder storm. It let loose the
judgment I had suspended upon their clothes, their
frail, light limbs, and fragile features. A flow of dis-
appointment rushed across my mind. For a moment
I felt that I had built the Time Machine in vain.
“I nodded, pointed to the sun, and gave them such
a vivid rendering of a thunder clap as startled them.
They all withdrew a pace or so and bowed. Then came
one laughing toward me, carrying a chain of beautiful
flowers, altogether new to me, and put it about my
neck. The idea was received with melodious applause;
and presently they were all running to and fro for flow-
ers, and laughingly flinging them upon me until I was
almost smothered with blossom. You who have never
seen the like can scarcely imagine what delicate and
wonderful flowers countless years of culture had cre-
ated. Then someone suggested that their plaything
should be exhibited in the nearest building, and so
I was led past the sphinx of white marble, which had
seemed to watch me all the while with a smile at my
astonishment, toward a vast gray edifice of fretted
stone. As I went with them the memory of my con-
fident anticipations of a profoundly grave and intel-
lectual posterity came, with irresistible merriment, to
my mind.
“The building had a large entry and was altogether
of colossal dimensions. I was naturally most occupied
with the growing crowd of little people, and with the
big open portals that yawned before me shadowy and
mysterious. My general impression of the world I saw
I32


THE TIME MACHINE.
over their heads was of a tangled waste of beautiful
bushes and flowers, a long neglected and yet weedless
garden. I saw a number of tall spikes of strange white
flowers, measuring a foot perhaps across the spread of
the waxen petals. They grew scattered, as if wild,
among the variegated shrubs, but, as I say, I did not
examine them closely at this time. The Time Machine
was left deserted on the turf among the rhododendrons.
“The arch of the doorway was richly carved, but
naturally I did not observe the carving very narrowly,
though I fancied I saw suggestions of old Phoenician
decorations as I passed through, and it struck me that
they were very badly broken and weather-worn. Sev-
eral more brightly clad people met me in the doorway,
and so we entered, I, dressed in dingy nineteenth cen-
tury garments, looking grotesque enough, garlanded
with flowers, and surrounded by an eddying mass of
bright, soft-colored robes and shining white limbs, in a
melodious whirl of laughter and laughing speech.
“The big doorway opened into a proportionately
great hall hung with brown. The roof was in shadow
and the windows, partially glazed with colored glass,
and partially unglazed, admitted a tempered light. The
floor was made up of huge blocks of some very hard
white metal, not plates nor slabs—blocks, and it was
so much worn, as I judged by the going to and fro of
past generations, as to be deeply channeled along the
more frequented ways. Transverse to the length were
innumerable tables made of slabs of polished stone,
raised, perhaps, a foot from the floor, and upon these
were heaps of fruits. Some I recognized as a kind of
hypertrophied raspberry and orange, but for the most
part they were strange.
“Between the tables were scattered a great number
of cushions. Upon these my conductors seated them-
selves, signing for me to do likewise. With a pretty
I33


FAMOUS OCCULT TAL 12.S.
absence of ceremony they began to eat the fruit with
their hands, flinging peel, and stalks, and so forth,
into the round openings in the sides of the tables. I
was not loth to follow their example, for I felt thirsty
and hungry. As I did so I surveyed the hall at my
leisure. -
“And perhaps the thing that struck me most was its
dilapidated look. The stained-glass windows, which
displayed only a geometrical pattern, were broken in
many places, and the curtains that hung across the
lower end were thick with dust. And it caught my eye
that the corner of the marble table near me was frac-
tured. Nevertheless, the general effect was extremely
rich and picturesque. There were, perhaps, a couple of
hundred people dining in the hall, and most of them,
seated as near to me as they could come, were watching
me with interest, their little eyes shining over the fruit
they were eating. All were clad in the same soft, and
yet strong, silky material.
“Fruit, by the bye, was all their diet. These people
of the remote future were strict vegetarians, and while
I was with them, in spite of some carnal cravings, I
had to be frugivorous also. Indeed, I found afterward
that horses, cattle, sheep, dogs, had followed the
ichthyosaurus into extinction. But the fruits were very
delightful; one, in particular, that seemed to be in sea-
son all the time I was there—a floury thing in a three-
sided husk—was especially good, and I made it my
staple. At first I was puzzled by all these strange fruits,
and by the strange flowers I saw, but later I began to
perceive their import.
“However, I am telling you of my fruit dinner in the
distant future now. So soon as my appetite was a little
checked, I determined to make a resolute attempt to
learn the speech of these new men of mine. Clearly
that was the next thing to do. The fruits seemed a
I34


THE TIME MACHINE.
convenient thing to begin upon, and holding one of
these up I began a series of interrogative sounds and
gestures. I had some considerable difficulty in convey-
ing my meaning. At first my efforts met with a stare
of surprise or inextinguishable laughter, but presently
a fair-haired little creature seemed to grasp my inten-
tion and repeated a name. They had to chatter and ex-
plain their business at great length to each other, and
my first attempts to make their exquisite little sounds
of the language caused an immense amount of genuine,
if uncivil amusement. However, I felt like a school-
master amid children, and persisted, and presently I
had a score of noun substantives at least at my com-
mand; and then I got to demonstrative pronouns, and
even the verb ‘to eat.” But it was slow work, and the
little people soon tired and wanted to get away from
my interrogations, so I determined, rather of necessity,
to let them give their lessons in little doses when they
felt inclined. And very little doses I found they were
before long, for I never met people more indolent or
more easily fatigued.
CHAPTER V.
SUNSET.
“A queer thing I soon discovered about my little
hosts, and that was their lack of interest. They would
come to me with eager cries of astonishment, like chil-
dren, but, like children, they would soon stop examin-
ing me, and wander away after some other toy. The
dinner and my conversational beginnings ended, I
noted for the first time that almost all those who had
surrounded me at first were gone. It is odd, too, how
speedily I came to disregard these little people. I went
out through the portal into the sunlit world again as
I35


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
soon as my hunger was satisfied. I was continually
meeting more of these men of the future, who would
follow me a little distance, chatter and laugh about me,
and, having smiled and gesticulated in a friendly way,
leave me again to my own devises.
“The calm of evening was upon the world as I
emerged from the great hall, and the scene was lit by
the warm glow of the setting sun. At first things were
very confusing. Everything was so entirely different
from the world I had known—even the flowers. The
big building I had left was situated on the slope of a
broad river valley, but the Thames had shifted, per-
haps a mile from its present position. I resolved to
mount to the summit of a crest, possibly a mile and a
half away, from which I could get a wider view of this
our planet in the year 802,701, A. D. For that, I should
explain, was the date the little dials of my machine re-
corded.
“As I walked I was watchful of every impression that
could possibly help to explain the condition of ruinous
splendor in which I found the world—for ruinous it
was. A little way up the hill, for instance, was a great
heap of granite, bound together by masses of aluminum,
a vast labyrinth of precipitous walls and crumbled
heaps, amid which were thick heaps of very beautiful
pagoda-like plants—nettles possibly, but wonderfully
tinted with brown about the leaves, and incapable of
stinging. It was evidently the derelict remains of some
vast structure, built to what end I could not determine.
It was here that I was destined, at a later date, to have
a very strange experience—the first intimation of a still
stranger discovery—but of that I will speak in its prop-
er place.
“Looking round, with a sudden thought, from a ter-
race on which I had rested for a while, I realized that
there were no small houses to be seen. Apparently the
136


THE TIME MACHINE.
single house, and possibly even the household, had
vanished. Here and there among the greenery were
palace-like buildings, but the house and the cottage,
which form such characteristic features of our own
English landscape, had disappeared.
“‘Communism,' said I to myself.
“And on the heels of that came another thought. I
looked at the half dozen little figures that were follow-
ing me. Then, in a flash, I perceived that all had the
same form of costume, the same soft hairless visage,
and the same girlish rotundity of limb. It may seem
strange, perhaps, that I had not noticed this before.
But everything was so strange. Now, I saw the fact
plainly enough. In costume, and in all the differences
of texture and bearing that now mark off the sex from
each other, these people of the future were alike. And
the children seemed to my eyes to be but the miniatures
of their parents. I judged then that children of that
time were extremely precocious, physically at least, and
I found afterward abundant verification of my opinion.
“Seeing the ease and security in which these people
were living, I felt that this close resemblance of the sexes
was, after all, what one would expect; for the strength
of a man and the softness of a woman, the institution of
the family, and the differentiation of occupations are
mere militant necessities of an age of physical force.
Where population is balanced and abundant, much
child-bearing becomes an evil rather than a blessing to
the State; where violence comes but rarely and off-
spring are secure, there is less necessity—indeed there is
no necessity—of an efficient family, and the specializa-
tion of the sexes with reference to their children's needs
disappears. We see some beginnings of this even in
our own time, and in this future age it was complete.
This, I must remind you, was my speculation at the
I37


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
time. Later, I was to appreciate how far it fell short of
the reality.
“While I was musing upon these things, my attention
was attracted by a pretty little structure, like a well
under a cupola. I thought in a transitory way of the
oddness of wells still existing, and then resumed the
thread of my speculations. There were no large build-
1'.gs toward the top of the hill, and as my walking pow-
ers were evidently miraculous, I was presently left alone
for the first time. With a strange sense of freedom and
adventure I pushed up to the crest.
“There I found a seat of some yellow metal that I did
not recognize, corroded in places with a kind of pink-
ish rust and half smothered in soft moss, the arm rests
cast and filed into the resemblance of griffins' heads. I
sat down on it, and I surveyed the broad view of our old
world under the sunset of that long day. It was as sweet
and fair a view as I have ever seen. The sun had al-
ready gone below the horizon and the west was flaming
gold, touched with some horizontal bars of purple and
crimson. Below was the valley of the Thames, in
which the river lay like a band of burnished steel. I
have already spoken of the great palaces dotted about
among the variegated scenery, some in ruins and some
still occupied. Here and there rose a white or silvery
figure in the waste garden of the earth, here and there
came the sharp vertical line of some cupola or obelisk.
There were no hedges, no signs of proprietary rights,
no evidences of agriculture; the whole earth had become
a garden.
“So watching, I began to put my interpretation upon
the things I had seen, and as it shaped itself to me that
evening, my interpretation was something in this way
(afterward I found I had got only a half truth, or only
a glimpse of one facet of the truth):
“It seemed to me that I had happened upon human-
138


THE TIME MACHINE.
-*
ity upon the wane. The ruddy sunset set me thinking
ºf the sunset of mankind. For the first time I began
to realize an odd consequence of the social effort in
which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to
think, it is a logical consequence enough. Strength is
the outcome of need; security sets a premium on feeble-
ness. The work of ameliorating the conditions of life
—the true civilizing process that makes life more and
more secure—had gone steadily on to a climax. One
triumph of a united humanity over Nature had followed
andther. Things that a 'e now mere dreams had be-
come projects deliberately put in hand and carried for-
ward. And the harvest was what I saw 1
“After all, the sanitation and the agriculture of to-
day are still in the rudimentary stage. The science of
our time has attacked but a little department of the field
of human disease, but, even so, it spreads its operations
very steadily and persistently. Our agriculture and
horticulture destroy just here and there a weed and
cultivate perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants,
leaving the greater number to fight out a balance as
they can. We improve our favorite plants and animals
—and how few they are—gradually by selective breed-
ing; now a new and better peach, now a seedless grape,
now a sweeter and larger flower, now a more con-
venient breed of cattle. We improve them grº.dually,
because our ideals are vague and tentative, and our
knowledge is very limited; because Nature, too, is shy
and slow in our clumsy hands. Some day all this will
be better organized, and still better. That is the drift
of the current in spite of the eddies. The whole world
will be intelligent, educated and co-operating; things
will move faster and faster toward the subjugation of
Nature. In the end, wisely and carefully we shall read-
just the balance of animal and vegetable life to suit our
human needs.
I39


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and
done well; done indeed for all time, in the space of
Time across which my machine had leaped. The air
was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or fungi;
everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers;
brilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal
of preventive medicine was attained. Diseases had
been stamped out. I saw no evidence of any contagious
diseases during all my stay. And I shall have to tell
you later that even the processes of putrefaction and
decay had been profoundly affected by these changes.
“Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw man-
kind housed in splendid shelter, gloriously clothed, and
as yet I had found them engaged in no toil. There
were no signs of struggle, neither social nor economi-
cal struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all
that commerce which constitutes the body of our world,
was gone. It was natural on that golden evening that
I should jump at the idea of a social paradise.
“The difficulty of increasing population had been
met, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase.
“But with this change in condition comes inevitably
adaptations to the change. What, unless biological
science is a mass of errors, is the cause of human intel-
ligence and vigor? Hardship and freedom; conditions
under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and
the weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a prem-
ium upon the loyal alliance of capable men, upon self-
restraint, patience and decision. And the institution
of the family, and the emotions that arise therein, the
fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring, parental
self-devotion, all found their justification and support
in the imminent dangers of the young. Now, where
are those imminent dangers? There is a sentiment
arising, and it will grow, against connubial jealousy,
against fierce maternity, against passion of all sorts;
140


THE TIME MACHINE.
unnecessary things now, and things that make us un-
comfortable, savage survivals, discords in a refined and
pleasant life.
“I thought of the physical slightness of the people,
their lack of intelligence, and those big abundant ruins,
and it strengthened my belief in a perfect conquest of
Nature. For after the battle comes Quiet. Humanity
had been strong, energetic, and intelligent, and had
used all its abundant vitality to alter the conditions un-
der which it lived. And now came the reaction of the
altered conditions.
“Under the new conditions of perfect comfort and
security, that restless energy, that with us is strength,
would become weakness. Even in our own time cer-
tain tendencies and desires, once necessary to survival,
are a constant source of failure. Physical courage and
the love of battle, for instance, are no great help-may
even be hindrances—to a civilized man. And in a state
of physical balance and security, power, intellectual as
well as physical, would be out of place. For countless
years I judged there had been no danger of war or
solitary violence, no danger from wild beasts, no wast-
ing disease to require strength of constitution, no need
of toil. For such a life, what we should call the weak
are as well equipped as the strong, are, indeed, no
longer weak. Better equipped indeed they are, for the
strong would be fretted by an energy for which there
was no outlet. No doubt the exquisite beauty of the
buildings I saw was the outcome of the last surgings of
the now purposeless energy of mankind before it settled
down into perfect harmony with the conditions under
which it lived—the flourish of that triumph which be-
gan the last great peace. This has ever been the fate of
energy in security; it takes to art and to eroticism, and
then comes languor and decay.
“Even this artistic impetus would at last die away—
I4I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
had almost died in the Time I saw. To adorn them-
selves with flowers, to dance, to sing in the sunlight;
so much was left of the artistic spirit, and no more.
Even that would fade in the end into a contented in-
activity. We are kept keen on the grindstone of pain
and necessity, and it seemed to me that here was that
hateful grindstone broken at last!
“As I stood there in the gathering dark I thought
that in this simple explanation I had mastered the
problem of the world—mastered the whole secret of
these delicious people. Possibly the checks they had
devised for the increase of population had succeeded
too well, and their numbers had rather diminished
than kept stationary. That would account for the
abandoned ruins. Very simple was my explanation,
and plausible enough—as most wrong theories are.
“As I stood there musing over this too perfect tri-
umph of man, the full moon, yellow and gibbous, came
up out of an overflow of silver light in the northeast.
The bright little figures ceased to move about below,
a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the chill
of the night. I determined to descend and find where
I could sleep.
“I looked for the building I knew. Then my eye
traveled along to the figure of the white sphinx upon
the pedestal of bronze, growing distinct as the light
of the rising moon grew brighter. I could see the
silver birch against it. There was the tangle of rho-
dodendron bushes, black in the pale light, and there
was the little lawn. I looked at the lawn again. A
queer doubt chilled my complacency. “No,' said I,
stoutly, to myself, ‘that was not the lawn.”
“But it was the lawn. For the white leprous face
of the sphinx was toward it. Can you imagine what
I felt as this conviction came home to me? But you
cannot. The Time Machine was gone!
I42


THE TIME MACHINE.
“At once, like a lash across the face, came the pos-
sibility of losing my own age, of being left helpless
in this strange new world. The bare thought of it
was an actual physical sensation. I could feel it grip
me at the throat and stop my breathing.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MACHINE IS LOST.
“In another moment I was in a passion of fear, and
running with great, leaping strides down the slope.
Once I fell headlong and cut my face. I lost no time
in stanching the blood, but jumped up and ran on,
with a warm trickle down my cheek and chin. All the
time I ran I was saying to myself: “They have moved
it a little—pushed it under the bushes out of the way.”
Nevertheless, I ran with all my might. All the time,
with the certainty that sometimes comes with excess-
ive dread, I knew that such assurance was folly, knew
instinctively that the machine was removed out of my
reach.
“My breath came with pain. I suppose I covered
the whole distance, from the hill crest to the little
lawn, two miles, perhaps, in ten minutes. And I am
not a young man. I cursed aloud as I ran at my con-
fident folly in leaving the machine, wasting good
breath thereby. I cried aloud, and none answered.
Not a creature seemed to be stirring in that moonlit
world.
“When I reached the lawn my worst fears were real-
ized. Not a trace of the thing was to be seen. I felt
faint and cold when I faced the empty space among
the black tangle of bushes. I ran round it furiously,
as if the thing might be hidden in a corner, and then
143


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
stopped abruptly with my hands clutching my hair.
Above me towered the sphinx upon the bronze pedes-
tal, white, shining, leprous in the light of the rising
moon. It seemed to smile in mockery of my dismay.
“I might have consoled myself by imagining the lit-
tle people had put the mechanism in some shelter for
me, had not I felt assured of their physical and in-
tellectual inadequacy. That is what dismayed me: the
sense of some hitherto unsuspected power through
whose intervention my invention had vanished. Yet
of one thing I felt assured: unless some other age had
produced its exact duplicate, the machine could not
have moved in Time. The attachment of the levers—
I will show you the method later—prevented anyone
from tampering with it in that way when they were
removed. It had been moved, and was hid, only in
Space. But, then, where could it be?
“I think I must have had a kind of frenzy. I remem-
ber running violently in and out among the moonlit
bushes all round the sphinx, and startling some white
animal that in the dim light I took for a small deer.
I remember, too, late that night, beating the bushes
with my clenched fists until my knuckles were gashed
and bleeding from the broken twigs.
“Then, sobbing and raving in my anguish of mind,
I went down to the great building of stone. The big
hall was dark, silent, and deserted. I slipped on the
uneven floor and fell over one of the malachite tables,
almost breaking my shin. I lit a match and went on
past the dusty curtains of which I have told you.
“There I found a second great hall covered with
cushions, upon which perhaps a score or so of the
little people were sleeping. I have no doubt they found
my second appearance strange enough, coming sudden-
ly out of the quiet darkness with inarticulate noises and
the splutter and flare of a match. For they had for-
I44


THE TIME MACHINE.
gotten about matches. ‘Where is my Time Machine?”
I began, bawling like an angry child, laying hands
upon them and shaking them up together. It must
have been very queer to them. Some laughed, most
of them looked sorely frightened. When I saw them
standing round me, it came into my head that I was do-
ing as foolish a thing as it was possible for me to do
under the circumstances, in trying to revive the sensa-
tion of fear. For reasoning from the daylight behavior
I thought that fear must be forgotten.
“Abruptly I dashed down the match, and, knocking
one of the people over in my course, went blundering
across the big dining-hall again out under the moon-
light. I heard cries of terror and their little feet run-
ning and stumbling this way and that. I do not re-
member all I did as the moon crept up the sky. I sup-
pose it was the uncxpected nature of my loss that mad-
dened me. I felt hopelessly cut off from my own kind,
a strange animal in an unknown world. I must have
raved to and fro, screaming and crying upon God and
Fate. I have a memory of horrible fatigue, as the
long night of despair wore away, of looking in this
impossible place and that, of groping among moonlit
ruins and touching strange creatures in the black
shadows; at last, of lying on the ground near the sphinx
and weeping with absolute wretchedness, even anger,
at the folly of leaving the machine having leaked away
with my strength. I had nothing left but misery.
“Then I slept, and when I woke again it was full
day, and a couple of sparrows were hopping around
me upon the turf within reach of my arm.
“I sat up in the freshness of the morning trying to
remember how I had got there, and why I had such
a profound sense of desertion and despair. Then
things came clear in my mind. With the plain, rea-
sonable daylight I could look my circumstances fairly
I45


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
in the face. I saw the wild folly of my frenzy over-
night, and I could reason with myself.
“‘Suppose the worst,” said I, ‘suppose the machine
altogether lost—perhaps destroyed. It behooves me to
be calm and patient, to learn the way of the people, to
get a clear idea of the method of my loss and the means
of getting materials and tools; so that in the end, per-
haps, I may make another. That would be my only
hope, a poor hope, perhaps, but better than despair.
And, after all, it was a beautiful and curious world.
“‘But probably the machine had only been taken
away. Still, I must be calm and patient, find its hid-
ing place, and recover it by force or cunning.’ And
with that I scrambled to my feet and looked about me,
wondering where I could bathe. I felt weary, stiff,
and travel-soiled. The freshness of the morning made
me desire an equal freshness. I had exhausted my
emotion. Indeed, as I went about my business, I
found myself wondering at my intense excitement over-
night.
“That morning I made a careful examination of the
ground about the little lawn. I wasted some time in
futile questionings conveyed as well as I was able to
such of the little people as came by. They all failed
to understand my gestures—some were simply stolid;
some thought it was a jest, and laughed at me. I had
the hardest task in the world to keep my hands off their
pretty, laughing faces. It was a foolish impulse, but
the devil begotten of fear and blind anger was ill
curbed, and still eager to take advantage of my per-
plexity. The turf gave better counsel. I found a
groove ripped in it, about midway between the pedestal
of the sphinx and the marks of my feet, where, on ar-
rival, I had struggled with the overturned machine.
There were other signs of the removal of a heavy body
about, of queer, narrow footprints like those I could
146


THE TIME MACHINE.
imagine made by a sloth. This directed my closer at-
tention to the pedestal. It was, as I think I have said,
of bronze. It was not a mere block, but highly dec-
orated with deep-framed panels on either side. I went
and rapped at these. The pedestal was hollow. Ex-
amining the panels with care, I found them discon-
tinuous with the frames. There were no handles nor
keyholes, but possibly the panels, if they were doors,
as I supposed, opened from within. One thing was
clear enough to my mind. It took no very great
mental effort to infer that my Time Machine was inside
that pedestal. But how it got there was a sufficient
problem.
“I saw the heads of two orange-clad people coming
through the bushes and under some blossom-covered
apple trees toward me. I turned, smiling to them,
and beckoned them to me. They came, and then,
pointing to the bronze pedestal, I tried to intimate my
wish to open it. But at my first gesture toward this,
they behaved very oddly. I don’t know how to con-
vey their expression to you. Suppose you were to use
a grossly improper gesture to a delicate-minded wo-
man—it is how she would look. They went off as if
they had received the last possible insult.
“However, I wanted access to the Time Machine;
so I tried a sweet-looking little chap in white next,
with exactly the same result. Somehow, his manner
made me ashamed of myself. But, as I say, I wanted
the Time Machine. I tried one more. As he turned
off like the others, my temper got the better of me.
In three strides I was after him, had him by the loose
part of his robe round the neck, and began dragging
him toward the sphinx. Then I saw the horror and
repugnance of his face, and all of a sudden I let him
go.
“But I was not beaten yet. I banged with my fist at
I47


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
the bronze panels. I thought I heard something stir
inside—to be explicit, I thought I heard a sound like
a chuckle—but I must have been mistaken. Then I
got a big pebble from the river, and came and ham-
mered till I had flattened a coil in the decorations,
and the verdegris came off in powdery flakes. The
delicate little people must have heard me hammering
in gusty outbreaks a mile away on either hand, but
nothing came of it. I saw a crowd of them upon the
slopes, looking furtively at me. At last, hot and tired,
I sat down to watch the place. But I was too restless
to watch long, and, besides, I am too Occidental for a
long vigil. I could work at a problem for years,
but to wait inactive for twenty-four hours—that is an-
other matter.
“I got up after a time, and began walking aimlessly
through the bushes toward the hill again.
“‘Patience,” said I to myself. “If you want your ma-
chine again, you must leave that sphinx alone. If they
mean to take your machine away, it's little good your
wrecking their bronze panels, and if they don't, you
will get it back so soon as you can ask for it. To sit
among all those unknown things before a puzzle like
that is hopeless. That way lies monomania. Face
this world. Learn its ways; watch it; be careful of too
hasty guessing at its meaning. In the end you will
find clews to it all.
“Then suddenly the humor of the situation came
into my mind: the thought of the years I had spent
in study and toil to get into the future age, and now
my passion of anxiety to get out of it. I had made
myself the most complicated and the most hopeless trap
that ever a man devised. Although it was at my own
expense, I could not help myself. I laughed aloud.
“Going through the big palace it seemed to me that
the little people avoided me. It may have been my
F
148


THE TIME MACHINE.
fancy, or it may have had something to do with my
hammering at the gates of bronze. Yet I felt tolerably
sure of the avoidance. I was careful, however, to
show no concern, and to abstain from any pursuit of
them, and in the course of a day or two things got
back to the old footing. -
CHAPTER VII.
THE STRANGE ANIMAL.
I made what progress I could in the language, and
in addition I pushed my explorations here and there.
Either I missed some subtle point or their language
was excessively simple, almost exclusively composed
of concrete substantives and verbs. There seemed to
be few, if any, abstract terms, or little use of figurative
language. Their sentences were usually simple and of
two words, and I failed to convey or understand any
but the simplest propositions. I determined to put
the thought of my Time Machine, and the mystery of
the bronze doors under the sphinx, as much as possi-
ble in a corner of my memory until my growing knowl-
edge would lead me back to them in a natural way.
Yet a certain feeling you may understand tethered me
in a circle of a few miles round the point of my ar-
rival.
“So far as I could see, all the world displayed the
same richness as the Thames valley. From every hill
I climbed I saw the same abundance of splendid build-
ings, endlessly varied in material and style, the same
clustering thickets of evergreens, the same blossom-
laden trees and tree ferns. Here and there water shone
like silver, and beyond, the land rose in blue undulating
hills and so faded into the serenity of the sky.
I49


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“A peculiar feature that presently attracted my at-
tention was certain circular wells that appeared to sink
to a profound depth. One lay by the path up the hill
which I had followed during my first walk. These
wells were rimmed with bronze, curiously wrought, and
often protected by small cupolas from the rain. Sitting
by the side of these, and peering down, I failed to see
any gleam of water, and could catch no reflection from
a lighted match. I heard a peculiar dull sound; thud,
thud, thud, like the beating of some big engine, and
I discovered from the flaring of the match that a steady
current of air set down the shaft.
“Moreover, I carelessly threw a scrap of paper into
the throat of the well, and instead of fluttering slowly
down, it was at once sucked swiftly out of sight. After
a time, too, I came to connect with these wells certain
tall towers that stood here and there upon the hill
slopes. Above these there was often apparent a pe-
culiar flicker of air, much as one sees it on a hot day
above a sun-scorched beach.
“Putting these things together there certainly seemed
to me a strong suggestion of an extensive system of
subterraneous ventilation, though its true import was
difficult to imagine. I was at first inclined to associate
it with the sanitary apparatus of these people. It was
the obvious suggestion of these things, but it was ab-
solutely wrong.
“And here I must admit that I learned very little of
drains, and bells, and modes of conveyance and the
like conveniences during my time in this real future.
In some of the fictitious visions of Utopias and coming
times I have read, there is a vast amount of detail about
building construction and social arrangements and so
forth. But while such details are easy enough to ob-
tain when the whole world lies in one's imagination,
they are altogether inaccessible to a real traveler amid
I50


THE TIME MACHINE.
such realities as surrounded me. Conceive what tale
of London a negro from Central Africa would take
back to his tribe. What would he know of railway
companies, of social movements, of telephone and tel-
egraph wires, of the parcels delivery company, and
postal orders? And yet we at least would be willing
enough to explain these things. And even of what he
knew, how much could he make his untraveled friend
helieve? Then think how little is the gap between
a negro and a man of our times, and how wide the
interval between myself and the Golden Age people.
† was sensible of much that was unseen, and which
contributed to my comfort, but save for a general im-
pression of automatic organization, I fear I can convey
very little of the difference to your minds.
“In the matter of sepulcher, for instance, I could see
no traces of crematoria or anything suggestive of
tombs. But it occurred to me that possibly cemeteries
or crematoria existed at some spot beyond the range
of my explorations. This again was a question I delib-
erately put to myself, and upon which my curiosity was
at first entirely defeated. Neither were there any old
or infirm among them.
“I must confess that my satisfaction with my first
theories at an automatic civilization and a decadent hu-
manity did not endure. Yet I could think of none
other. Let me put my difficulties. The several big
palaces I had explored were mere living places, great
dining-halls and sleeping apartments. I could find no
machinery, no appliances of any kind. Yet these peo-
ple were clothed in pleasant fabrics that must at times
need renewal, their sandals, though without ornament,
were fairly complex specimens of mental work. Some-
how such things must be made. And the little people
displayed no vestige of the creative tendencies of our
time. There were no shops, no workshops, no in-
I5I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
dications of importations from any other part of the
earth. They spent all their time in playing gently,
in bathing in the river, in making love in a half play-
ful fashion, in eating fruit, and sleeping. I could not
see how things were kept going.
“Then again about the Time Machine. Something.
I knew not what, had taken it into the hollow pedestal
of the sphinx. Why? For the life of me I could not
imagine.
“Then there were those wells without water, those
flickering pillars. I felt I missed a clew somewhere.
I felt—how shall I say it? Suppose you found an in-
scription with sentences here and there in excellent
plain English, and interpolated there with others made
up of words, even of letters, absolutely unknown to
you. That was how the world of 802,701 presented
itself to me on the third day of my stay.
“On that day, too, I made a friend—of a sort. It
happened that as I was watching some of the little
people bathing in a shallow of the river, one of them
was seized with cramp and began drifting down stream.
The main current of the stream ran rather swiftly there,
but not too swiftly for even a moderate swimmer. It
will give you an idea, therefore, of the strange want
of ideas of these people, when I tell you that none made
the slightest attempt to rescue the weakly, crying little
creature who was drowning before their eyes.
“When I realized this I hurriedly slipped off my gar-
ments, and wading in from a point lower down, caught
the poor little soul and brought her to land.
“A little rubbing of the limbs soon brought her
round, and I had the satisfaction of seeing that she was
all right before I left her. I had got to such a low
estimate of these little folks that I did not expect grati-
tude. In that, however, I was wrong.
I52


THE TIME MACHINE.
“The incident happened in the morning. In the af-
ternoon I met my little woman, as I believe it was,
when I was returning toward my center from one of my
explorations, and she received me with cries of delight
and presented me with a big garland of flowers—evi-
dently prepared for me.
“The action took my imagination. Very possibly I
had been feeling desolate. At any rate I did my best
to display my appreciation of the gift.
“We were soon seated together in a little stone ar-
bor, engaged in a conversation that was chiefly smiles.
“The little creature's friendliness affected me exactly
as a child might. We passed each other flowers and
she kissed my hands. I did the same to hers. Then I
tried conversation and found out her name was Weena,
which, though I don't know what it meant, somehow
seemed appropriate enough. That was the beginning
of a queer friendship that lasted altogether a week and
ended—as I will tell you.
“She was exactly like a child. She wanted to be
with me always. She tried to follow me everywhere,
and it went to my heart to tire her out upon my next
exploration and leave her behind at last exhausted,
and calling after me rather plaintively. But the prob-
lems of the world had to be mastered. I had not, I
said to myself, come into the future to carry on a
miniature flirtation. Yet her distress when I left her
was very great, her expostulations at the parting some-
times frantic, and I think altogether I had as much
trouble as comfort from her affection. And yet she
was, somehow, a very great comfort.
“I thought it was mere childish affection that made
her cling to me. Until it was too late, I did not clearly
know what I had inflicted upon her when I left her.
Nor, until it was too late, did I clearly understand
what she was to me. For the little doll of a creature,
I53


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
by merely seeming fond of me and showing in her
weak, futile way that she cared for me, presently gave
my return to the neighborhood of the white sphinx,
almost the feeling of coming home. I would watch for
her little figure of white and gold so soon as I came
over the hill.
“It was from her, too, that I learned that fear had
not altogether left the world. She was fearless enough
in the daylight, and she had the oddest confidence in
me—for once in a foolish moment I made threatening
grimaces at her, and she simply laughed at them. But
she dreaded the dark, dreaded shadows, dreaded black
things. Darkness to her was the one fearful thing.
It was a singularly passionate dread, and it set me
thinking and observing. I discovered then, among
other things, that these little people gathered into the
great houses after dark, and slept a number together.
To enter upon them without a light was to put them
into a tumult of apprehension. I never found one out
of doors or one sleeping alone within doors after dark.
“Yet I was still such a blockhead that I missed the
lesson of that fear, and in spite of Weena's evident dis-
tress insisted upon sleeping away from these slumber-
ing heaps of humanity. It troubled her greatly, but
usually her odd affection for me triumphed, and for
five of the nights of our acquaintance, including the
last night of all, she slept with her head pillowed be-
side mine. But my story slips away from me as I
speak of her.
“It must have been on the night before I rescued
Weena that I woke up about dawn. I had been rest-
less, dreaming most disagreeably that I was drowned
and that sea anemones were feeling over my face with
their soft palps. I awoke with a start, and with an odd
fancy that some grayish animal had just rushed out of
the chamber in which I slept.
I54


THE TIME MACHINE.
“I tried to get to sleep again, but I felt restless and
uncomfortable. It was that dim, gray hour when
things are just creeping out of the darkness, when
everything is colorless and -clear cut and yet unreal.
I got up and went down into the great hall and out
upon the flagstones in front of the palace. I thought
I would make a virtue of necessity and see the sun-
rise.
“The moon was setting, and the dying moonlight and
first pallor of dawn mingled together in a ghastly half-
light. The bushes were inky black, the ground a som-
ber gray, the sky colorless and cheerless. And up the
hill slope I thought I saw ghosts. Three several times
as I scanned the slope I saw white figures. Twice I
fancied I saw a solitary white ape-like creature running
rather quickly up the hill, and once near the ruins
I saw a group of two carrying some dark body. They
moved hastily. I did not see what became of them.
It seemed that they vanished among the bushes.
“The dawn was still indistinct, you must understand.
I was feeling that chill, uncertain, early morning feel-
ing you may have experienced. I doubted my eyes.
As the eastern sky grew brighter and the light of the
day increased, and vivid coloring came back to the
world once more, I scanned the view keenly, but I
saw no confirmation of my white figures. They were
mere creatures of the half-light.
“‘They must have been ghosts,’ said I; ‘I wonder
whence they dated.’
“For a queer notion of Grant Allen's came into my
head and amused me. If each generation dies and
leaves ghosts, he argues, the world at last will get over-
crowded with them. On that theory they would have
become very thick in eight hundred thousand years
from now, and it was no great wonder to see four all
at once. But the jest was unsatisfactory, and I was
I55


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
thinking of these figures all the morning until the
rescue of Weena drove the subject out of my head.
I associated them in some indefinite way with the white
animal I had startled in my first passionate search for
the Time Machine. But Weena was a pleasant substi-
tute for such a topic.
“These ghostly shapes were soon destined to take
possession of my mind in a far more vivid fashion.
I think I have said how much hotter than our own
was the weather of this future age. I cannot account
for it. It may be the sun was hotter, or else the earth
was nearer the sun. It is usual to assume that the sun
will go on cooling steadily in the future, but people
unfamiliar with such speculations as those of the
younger Darwin, forget that the planets must ultimate-
ly, one by one, fall back into the parent body. As these
catastrophies occur the sun will blaze out again with
renewed energy. It may be that some inner planet had
suffered this fate. Whatever the reason, the fact re-
mains that the sun was very much hotter than it is
now.
“It was one very hot morning, my fourth morning,
I think, as I was seeking a refuge from the heat and
glare in a colossal ruin near the great house where I
sheltered, that this remarkable incident occurred.
Clambering among these heaps of masonry, I found a
long narrow gallery, the end and side windows of
which were blocked by fallen masses of masonry and
which by contrast with the brilliance outside seemed
at first impenetrably dark to me.
“I entered it groping, for the change from light to
blackness made spots of color swim before me. Sud-
denly I halted spell-bound. A pair of eyes, luminous
by reflection against the daylight without, was watch-
ing me out of the obscurity.
“The old instinctive dread of wild animals came upon
156


THE TIME MACHINE.
me. I clenched my hands and steadfastly looked into
the glaring eyeballs. I feared to turn. Then the
thought of the absolute security in which humanity ap-
peared to be living came to my mind. Then I remem-
bered that strange dread of the dark.
“Overcoming my fear to some extent, I advanced a
step and spoke. I will admit that my voice was hoarse
and ill controlled. I put out my hand, and touched
something soft.
“At once the eyes darted sideways, and something
white ran past me. I turned, with my heart in my
mouth, and saw a queer, little ape-like figure, with the
head held down in a peculiar manner, running across
the sunlit space behind me. It blundered against a
block of granite, staggered aside, and in a moment was
hidden in a black shadow beneath another pile of
ruined masonry.
“My impression of it was, of course, very imperfect.
It was of a dull white color, and had strange, large
grayish-red eyes. There was some flaxen hair on its
head and down its back. But, as I say, it went too fast
for me to sce distinctly. I cannot even say whether it
ran on all fours, or only with its fore arms held very
low.
“After a momentary hesitation I followed the crea-
ture into the second heap of ruins. I could not find it
there at first, but after a time, in the profound obscur-
ity, I came upon one of those round, well-like open-
ings, of which I have told you, half-closed by a fallen
pillar. A sudden thought came to me. Could the
thing have vanished down the shaft? I lit a match,
and, looking down, saw a small, white moving figure,
with large, bright eyes, that regarded me steadfastly
as it retreated.
“The thing made me shudder. It was so like a hu-
man spider. It was clambering down the wall of the
I57


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
shaft, and now I noticed for the first time a number
of metal projections for foot and hand, forming a kind
of ladder down.
“Suddenly the light burned my fingers and fell out
of my hand, going out as it dropped; and when I had
lit another, the little monster had disappeared.
“I do not know how long I sat peering down the
portentous well. Very slowly could I persuade myself
that the thing I had seen was a man. But gradually
the real truth dawned upon me; that man had not re-
mained one species, but had differentiated into two dis-
tinct animals; that my graceful children of the upper-
world were not the only descendants of the men of
my generation, but that this bleached, nocturnal thing
that had flashed before me, was also heir to our age.
“I thought of the flickering pillars, and of my theory
of an underground ventilation. I began to suspect
their true import.
“But what was this creature doing in my scheme
of a perfectly balanced organization? How was it re-
lated to the indolent serenity of the beautiful overworld
people? And what was hidden down below there? I
sat upon the edge of the well, telling myself I had
nothing to fear in descending, and that there I must go
for the solution of my difficulties, and withal I was ab-
solutely afraid to go down.
“As I hesitated, two of the beautiful upperworld peo-
ple came running in their amorous sport, across the
daylight into the shadow. One pursued the other,
flinging flowers at her as he ran. They seemed dis-
appointed when they found me with my arm against
the overturned pillar, peering down the well. Appar-
ently, it was considered bad form to notice these aper-
tures, for when I pointed to it, and tried to frame a ques-
tion about it in their tongue, they seemed distressed,
158


THE TIME MACHINE.
and turned away. They were, however, interested by
my matches, and I struck several to amuse them.
“However, all my attempts to woo them toward the
subject I wanted failed; and presently I left them. I
resolved to go back to Weena, and see what I could get
from her.
“But my mind was already in revolution, my guesses
and impressions slipping and sliding to a new adjust-
ment. I had now the clew to these wells, to the ven-
tilating towers, to the problem of the ghosts, and a
hint, indeed, of the meaning of the bronze gates and the
fate of the Time Machine. Vaguely, indeed, there
came a suggestion toward the economic problem that
had puzzled me.
“Here was the new view: Evidently this second spe-
cies of man was subterranean. There were three cir-
cumstances in particular that made me think its rare
emergence upon the surface was the outcome of long
subterraneous habit. In the first place, the bleached
appearance, common in most animals that live largely
in the dark—the white fish of the Kentucky caves, for
instance. Then the large eyes and their capacity for
reflecting the light—a common feature of nocturnal
eyes, witness the owl and the cat. And finally, the
evident confusion in the sunlight, the hasty flight to-
ward dark shadow, and the carriage of the head while
in the light, re-enforced the idea of an extremely sen-
sitive retina.
“Beneath my feet, then, the earth must be tunneled
out to an enormous extent, and in these caverns the
new race lived. The presence of ventilating shafts
and wells all along the hill slopes—everywhere, in fact,
except along the river valley—showed how universally
the ramifications of the underworld extended.
“And it was natural to assume that it was in the
underworld that the necessary work of the overworld
I59


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
was performed. This was so plausible that I*accepted
it unhesitatingly. From that I went on to assume
how the splitting of the human species came about.
I dare say you will anticipate what shape my theory
took, though I soon felt it was still short of the truth
of the case.
“But at first, starting from the problems of our own
age, it seemed as clear as daylight to me that the grad-
ual widening of the present merely temporary and
social difference of the capitalist from the laborer was
the key to the explanation. No doubt it will seem gro-
tesque enough to you and wildly incredible, and yet
even now there are circumstances that point in the
way things have gone. There is a tendency plainly
enough to utilize underground space for the less orna-
mental purposes of civilization; there is the Metropoli-
tan Railway in London, for instance, and all these
new electric railways; there are subways, and under-
ground workrooms, restaurants, and so forth. Evi-
dently, I thought, this tendency had increased until in-
dustry had gradually lost sight of the day, going into
larger and larger underground factories, in which the
workers would spend an increasing amount of their
time. Even now, an East End worker lives in such
artificial conditions as practically to be cut off from the
natural surface of the earth and the clear sky altogether.
“Then again, the exclusive tendency of richer peo-
ple, due, no doubt, to the increasing refinement of their
education and the widening gulf between them and the
rude violence of the poor, is already leading to the
closing of considerable portions of the surface of the
country against these latter. About London, for in-
stance, perhaps half the prettier country is shut up
from such intrusion. And the same widening gulf,
due to the length and expense of the higher educa-
tional process and the increased facilities for, and temp-
16o


TriB. TiME MACHINE.
tation toward, forming refined habits among the rich,
will make that frequent exchange between class and
class, that promotion and intermarriage which at pres-
ent retards the splitting of our species along the lines
of social stratification, less and less frequent.
“So, in the end, you would have above ground the
Haves, pursuing health, comfort, and beauty, and below
ground the Have-nots; the workers, getting continually
adapted to their labor. No doubt, once they were be-
low ground, considerable rents would be charged for
the ventilation of their caverns. Workers who struck
work would starve or be suffocated for arrears of ven-
tilator rent; workers who were so constituted as to be
miserable and rebellious would die. In the end, if the
balance was held permanent, the survivors would be-
come as well adapted to the conditions of their subter-
ranean life as the overworld people were to theirs, and
as happy in their way. It seemed to me that the re-
fined beauty of the overworld, and the etiolated pallor
of the lower, followed naturally enough.
“The great triumph of humanity I had dreamed of
now took a different shape in my mind. It had been
no triumph of universal education and general co-
operation, such as I had imagined at the first. Instead,
I saw a real aristocracy, armed with a perfected science
and working out to a logical conclusion the industrial
system of to-day. The triumph of the overworld hu-
manity had not been simply a triumph over nature,
but a triumph over nature and their fellow-men.
“I must warn you this was my theory at the time.
I had no convenient Cicerone on the pattern of the
|Utopian books. My explanation may be absolutely
wrong. I still think it the most plausible one. But
even on this supposition the balanced civilization that
was at last attained must have long since passed its
zenith, and was now far gone in decay. The too per-
261


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
fect security of the overworld had led these to a slow
movement of degeneration at last—to a general dwind-
ling of size, strength and intelligence. That I already
saw clearly enough, but what had happened to the low-
er world I did not yet suspect. Yet, from what I had
seen of the Morlocks—that, by the bye, was the name
by which these creatures were called—I could im-
agine the modification of the human type was far more
pronounced in the underworld than among the Eloi,
the beautiful races that I already knew.
“Then came some troublesome doubts. Why had
the Morlocks taken my Time Machine? For I felt
sure these underpeople had taken it. Why, too, if the
Eloi were masters, could they not restore the thing
to me? And why were the Eloi so afraid of the dark?
“I determined, as I have said, to question Weena
about this underworld, but here again I was disappoint-
ed. At first she would not understand my questions,
and then she refused to answer. She shivered, as
though the topic was unendurable. And when I
pressed her, perhaps a little harshly, she burst into
tears.
“They were the only tears I ever saw in that future
age, except my own. When I saw them I ceased
abruptly to trouble about the Morlocks, and was only
concerned in driving these signs of her human in-
heritance out of her eyes again. And presently she
was smiling and clapping her hands while I solemnly
burnt a match.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MORY_OCKS.
“It may seem odd to you, but it was two days before
I could follow up the clew of these Morlocks in what
. (52


THE TIME MACHINE.
was manifestly the proper way, and descend into the
well. I felt a peculiar shrinking from their pallid
bodies. They were just the half-bleached color of the
worms and things one sees preserved in spirit in a
zoological museum. And they were cold to the touch.
Probably my shrinking was largely due to the sym-
pathetic influence of the Eloi, whose disgust of the
Morlocks I now began to appreciate.
“The next night I did not sleep very well. Possi-
bly my health was a little disordered. I was oppressed
with doubt and perplexity. Once or twice I had a
feeling of intense fear for which I could perceive no
definite reason. I remember creeping noiselessly into
the great hall where the little people were sleeping in
the moonlight—that night it was that Weena was
among them—and feeling reassured by their presence.
It occurred to me even then that when in the course
of a few days the moon passed through its last quarter
and the nights became dark, the appearance of these
unpleasant creatures from below, these whitened Le-
murs, these new vermin that had replaced the old,
might be more abundant.
“On both these days I had the restless feeling of one
who shirks an inevitable duty. I felt assured that the
Time Machine was only to be recovered by boldly
penetrating these subterranean mysteries. Yet I could
not face it. If I had only had a companion it would
have been different. But I was so horribly alone, and
even to clamber down into the darkness of the well
appalled me.
“I don't know if you will understand my feeling, but
I never felt quite safe at my back.
“It was this restless feeling, perhaps, that drove me
further than I had hitherto gone in my exploring ex-
peditions. Going to the southwestward toward the ris-
ing country that is now called Combe Wood, I ob-
163


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
served far off, in the direction of nineteenth century
Banstead, a vast green pile, of a different character
from any I had hitherto seen. It was larger than even
the largest of the palaces or ruins I knew, and the fa-
cade appeared to me Oriental in its character. The
face of it had the luster as well as the pale green tint,
a kind of bluish green, of a certain type of Chinese por-
celain. The difference in appearance in the building
suggested a difference in its use. I was minded to
push on and explore it. But the day was growing late
and I had come upon the sight of the place after a
long and tiring circuit. I resolved to postpone this
examination for the following day, and returned to the
welcome and caresses of little Weena.
“But the next morning I was in a mood of remorse
for my hesitation in descending the well and facing
the Morlocks in their caverns. I perceived my curios-
ity regarding this great pile of Green Porcelain was a
mere self-deception to shirk the experience I dreaded
by another day. I resolved I would make the descent
without further waste of time, and started out in the
early morning toward a well near the ruins of granite
and aluminum.
“Little Weena ran by my side. She followed me to
the well dancing, but when she saw me lean over the
mouth and look downward, she seemed strangely dis-
concerted.
“‘Good-by, little Weena,” said I, kissing her, and
then putting her down, I began to feel over the parapet
for the climbing hooks—rather hastily, for I feared my
courage might leak away.
“At first Weena watched me in amazement, and then
she gave me a most piteous cry, and running to me
began to pull at me with her little hands. I think her
opposition nerved me rather to proceed. I shook her
164


THE TIME MACHINE.
off, perhaps a little roughly, and in another moment I
was in the throat of the well.
“I saw her agonized face over the parapet, and smiled
to reassure her. Then I had to look down at the un-
stable hooks by which I hung.
“I had to clamber down a shaft of perhaps two hun-
dred yards. The descent was effected by means of
metallic bars projecting from the sides of the well, and
since they were adapted to the needs of a creature much
smaller and lighter than myself, I was speedily cramped
and fatigued by the descent. And not simply fatigued.
My weight suddenly bent one of the hooks and almost
swung me off it down into the blackness beneath.
“For a moment I hung by one hand, and after that
experience I did not dare to rest again, and though my
arms and back were presently acutely painful, I con-
tinued to clamber with as quick a motion as possible
down the sheer descent. Glancing upward I saw the
aperture, a mere small blue disk above me, in which a
star was visible, and little Weena's head appeared as
a round, black projection. The thudding sound of
some machine below me grew louder and more op-
pressive. Everything save that minute circle above
was profoundly dark. When I looked up again Weena
had disappeared.
“I was in an agony of discomfort. I had some
thought of trying to go up the shaft again, and leave
the underworld alone. But while I turned this over
in my mind I continued to descend.
“It was with intense relief that I saw dimly coming
up a foot to the right of me, a slender loophole in the
wall of the shaft, and swinging myself in, found it was
the aperture of a narrow, horizontal tunnel in which I
could lie down and rest.
“It was not too soon. My arms ached, my back
was cramped, and I was trembling with the prolonged
165


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
fear of falling. Besides this, the unbroken darkness
had had a distressing effect upon my eyes. The air
was full of the throbbing and hum of the machinery
that pumped the air down the shaft.
“I do not know how long I lay in that tunnel. I
was roused by a soft hand touching my face. Starting
up in the darkness, I snatched at my matches, and
hastily striking one, saw three grotesque, white crea-
tures, similar to the one I had seen above ground in
the ruin, hastily retreating before the light. Living
as they did in what appeared to me impenetrable dark-
ness, their eyes were abnormally large and sensitive,
just as are the eyes of the abyssmal fishes or of any
purely nocturnal creatures, and they reflected the light
in the same way. I have no doubt they could see me
in that rayless obscurity, and they did not seem to have
any fear of me apart from the light. But so soon as I
struck a match in order to see them, they fled incon-
tinently, vanishing up dark gutters and tunnels from
which their eyes glared at me in the strangest fashion.
“I tried to call to them, but what language they had
was apparently a different one from that of the over-
world people. So that I was needs left to my own un-
aided exploration. The thought of flight rather than
exploration was even at that time in my mind.
“‘You are in for it now,” said I to myself, and went
On.
“Feeling my way along this tunnel of mine, the con-
fused noise of machinery grew louder, and presently
the walls fell away from me and I came to a large, open
space, and striking another match I saw I had entered
a vast arched cavern extending into darkness, at last,
beyond the range of my light. -
“The view I had of this cavern was as much as one
could see in the burning of a match. Necessarily my
memory of it is very vague. Great shapes like big ma-
I66


THE TIME MACHINE.
chines rose out of the dim and threw grotesque black
shadows, in which the spectral Morlocks sheltered from
the glare. The place, by the bye, was very stuffy and
oppressive, and the faint halitus of freshly shed blood
was in the tir. Some way down the central vista was
a little table of white metal upon which a meal seemed
to be spread. The Morlocks, at any rate, were carniv-
orous. Even at the time I remember thinking what
large animal could have survived to furnish the red
joint I saw. It was all very indistinct, the heavy smell,
the big, unmeaning shapes, the white figures lurking in
the shadows, and only waiting for the darkness to come
at me again. Then the match burned down and stung
my fingers and fell, a wriggling red spot in the black.
“I have thought since how particularly ill equipped
I was. When I had started with the Time Machine I
had started with the absurd assumption that the men of
the future would certainly be infinitely in front of us
in all their appliances. I had come without arms,
without medicine, without anything to smoke—at times
I missed tobacco frightfully—even without enough
matches. If I had only thought of a kodak! I could
have flashed that glimpse of the underworld in a second
and examined it at leisure. But as it was, I stood there
with only the weapons and powers that Nature had
endowed me with—hands, feet, and teeth—except four
safety matches that still remained to me.
“I was afraid to push my way in among all this ma-
chinery in the dark, and it was only with my last
glimpse of light I discovered that my store of matches
had run low. It had never occurred to me until that
moment that there was any need to economize them,
and I had wasted almost half the box in astonishing
the aboveground people, to whom fire was a novelty.
As I say, I had four left.
“Then while I stood in the dark a hand touched mine;
167


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
then some lank fingers came feeling over my face. I
was sensible of a dull, unpleasant odor. I fancy I de-
tected the breathing of a number of those little beings
about me. I felt the box of matches in my hand be-
ing gently disengaged, and other hands behind me
plucking at my clothing.
“The sense of these unseen creatures examining me
was indescribably unpleasant. The sudden realization
of my ignorance of their ways of thinking and possible
actions came home to me very vividly in the darkness.
I shouted at them as loudly as I could. They started
away from me, and then I could feel them approaching
me again. They clutched at me more boldly, whisper-
ing odd sounds to each other. I shivered violently and
shouted again, rather discordantly. This time they
were not so seriously alarmed and made a queer laugh-
ing noise as they came toward me again.
“I will confess I was horribly frightened. I deter-
mined to strike another match and escape under its
glare. Eking it out with a scrap of paper from my
pocket, I made good my retreat to the narrow tunnel.
But hardly had I entered this when my light was blown
out, and I could hear them in the blackness rustling
like wind among leaves and pattering like the rain,
as they hurried after me.
“In a moment I was clutched by several hands again,
and there was no mistake now that they were trying to
draw me back. I struck another light and waved it in
their dazzled faces. You can scarcely imagine how nau-
seatingly inhuman those pale, chinless faces and great,
lidless, pinkish-gray eyes seemed, as they stared stupid-
ly, evidently blinded by the light. -
“So I gained time and retreated again, and when my
second match had ended struck my third. That had al-
most burned through as I reached the opening of the
tunnel upon the well. I lay down on the edge, for the
168


THE TIME MACHINE.
throbbing whirl of the air-pumping machine below
made me giddy, and felt sideways for the projecting
hooks. As I did so my feet were grasped from be-
hind and I was violently tugged backward. I lit my
last match—and it incontinently went out. But I had
my hand on the climbing bars now, and kicking vio-
lently, disengaged myself from the clutches of the Mor-
locks, and was speedily clambering up the shaft again.
“They remained peering and blinking up the shaft,
except one little wretch who followed me for some
way, and, indeed, well-nigh captured my boot as a
trophy.
“That upward climb seemed unending. While I still
had the last twenty or thirty feet of it above me, a
deadly nausea came over me. I had the greatest dif-
ficulty in keeping my hold. The last few yards was a
frightful struggle against this faintness. Several times
my head swam and I felt all the sensations of falling.
“At last I got over the well mouth somehow and
staggered out of the ruin into the blinding sunlight.
I fell upon my face. Even the soil seemed sweet and
clean.
“Then I remember Weena kissing my hands and ears,
and the voices of others of the Elio. Then probably I
was insensible for a time.
CHAPTER IX.
WHEN THE NIGHT CAME.
“Now, indeed, I seemed to be in a worse case than
before. Hitherto, except during my night's anguish
at the loss of the Time Machine, I had felt a sustaining
hope of ultimate escape, but my hope was staggered
by these new discoveries. Hitherto, I had merely
~
º


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
thought myself impeded by the childish simplicity of
the little people and by some unknown forces which I
had only to understand in order to overcome. But
there was an altogether new element in the sickening
quality of the Morlocks, something inhuman and ma–
lign. Instinctively I loathed them. Before, I had felt
as a man might feel who had fallen into a pit; my con-
cern was with the pit and how to get out again. But
now I felt like a beast in a trap, whose enemy would
presently come.
“The enemy I dreaded may surprise you. It was the
darkness of the new moon. Weena had put this into
my head by some, at first, incomprehensible remarks
about the Dark Nights. It was not now such a very
difficult problem to guess what the coming Dark
Nights might mean. The moon was on the wane; each
night there was a longer interval of darkness. And
I now understood, to some slight degree, at least,
the reason of the fear of the little upperworld people
for the dark. I wondered vaguely what foul villainy
it might be that the Morlocks did under the darkness
of the new moon.
“Whatever the origin of the existing conditions, I
felt pretty sure now that my second hypothesis was all
wrong. The upperworld people might once have been
the favored aristocracy of the world, and the Mor-
locks their mechanical servants, but that state of af-
fairs had passed away long since. The two species
that had resulted from the evolution of man were slid-
ing down toward, or had already arrived at, an alto-
gether new relationship. The Eloi, like the Carlovin-
gian kings, had decayed to a mere beautiful futility.
They still possessed the earth on sufferance, since the
Morlocks, subterranean for innumerable generations,
had come at last to find the daylit surface unendurable.
And the Morlocks made their garments, I inferred, and
I70


THE TIME MACHINE.
maintained them in their habitual need, perhaps
through the survival of an old habit of service. They
did it, as a standing horse paws with his foot, or as a
man enjoys killing animals in sport—because ancient
and departed necessities had impressed it on the or-
ganism. But clearly the old order was already in part
reversed. The Nemesis of the delicate ones was creep-
ing on apace. Ages ago, thousands of generations ago,
man had thrust his brother man out of the ease and
sunlight of life. And now that brother was coming
back—changed. Already the Eloi had begun to learn
one old lesson anew. They were becoming acquainted
with Fear.
“Then suddenly came into my head the memory
of the meat I had seen in the underworld. It seemed
odd how this memory floated into my mind, not stirred
up, as it were, by the current of my meditations, but
coming in almost like a question from outside. I
tried to recall the form of it. I had a vague sense of
something familiar, but at that time I could not tell
what it was.
“Still, however helpless the little people might be in
the presence of their mysterious Fear, I was different-
ly constituted. I came out of this age of ours, this
ripe prime of the human race, when fear does not
paralyze and mystery has lost its terrors. I at least
would defend myself. Without further delay I deter-
mined to make myself arms, and a fastness where I
might sleep with some security. From that refuge as a
base I could face the strange world with some confi-
dence again, a confidence I had lost now that I realized
to what uncanny creatures I nightly lay exposed. I felt
I could never sleep again until my bed was secure from
them. I shuddered with horror to think how they must
already have examined me during my sleep.
“I wandered during the afternoon along the valley
171


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
of the Thames, but found nothing that commended itself
to my mind as a sufficiently inaccessible retiring place.
All the buildings and trees seemed easily practicable to
such dexterous climbers as the Morlocks—to judge
by their wells—must be. Then the tall pinnacles of the
Palace of Green Porcelain, and the polished gleam of
its walls, came back to my memory, and in the evening,
taking Weena like a child upon my shoulder. I went
up the hills toward the southwest.
“Now the distance I had reckoned was seven or eight
miles, but it must have been nearer eighteen. I had
first seen the Palace on a moist afternoon when dis-
tances are deceptively diminished. In addition, the heel
of one of my shoes was loose, and a nail was work-
ing through the sole—they were comfortable old shoes
I wear about indoors—so that I was lame. It was
already long past sunset before I came in sight of the
Palace, standing out in black silhouette against the pale
yellow of the sky.
“Weena had been hugely delighted when first I car-
ried her, but after a time she desired me to let her
down and ran along by the side of me, occasionally
darting off on either hand to pick flowers to stick in my
pockets. My pockets had always puzzled Weena, but
at the last she had concluded they were an eccentric
kind of vases for floral decoration. At least she util-
ized them for that purpose.
“And that reminds me! As I changed my jacket I
found—”
(The Time Traveler paused, put his hand into his
pocket, and silently placed two withered flowers, not
unlike very large white mallows, upon the little table.
Then he resumed his narrative.)
“As the hush of evening crept over the world and
we proceeded over the hill crest toward Wimbledon,
Weena became tired and wanted to return to the house
172


THE TIME MACHINE.
of gray stone. But I pointed out the distant pinnacles
of the Palace of Green Porcelain to her, and contrived
to make her understand that we were seeking a refuge
there from her Fear.
“You know that great pause that comes upon things
before the dusk. Even the breeze stops in the trees.
There is to me always an air of expectation about that
evening stillness. The sky was clear, remote, and
empty, save for a few horizontal bars far down in the
Sunset.
“That night the expectation took the color of my
fears. In the darkling calm my senses seemed pre-
ternaturally sharpened. I fancied I could even feel
the hollowness of the ground beneath my feet, could in-
deed almost see through it, the Morlocks in their ant
hill going hither and thither and waiting for the dark.
In this excited state I fancied that they would take
my invasion of their burrows as a declaration of war.
And why had they taken my Time Machine?
“So we went on in the quiet, and the twilight deep-
ened into night. The clear blue of the distance faded
and one star after another came out. The ground
grew dim and the trees black. Weena's fears and her
fatigue grew upon her. I took her in my arms and
talked to her and caressed her. Then as the darkness
grew profounder she put her arms around my neck,
and closing her eyes tightly, pressed her face against
my shoulder.
“We went down a long slope into a valley, and there
in the dimness I almost walked into a little river. This
I waded, and went up the opposite side of the valley,
past a number of sleeping houses, and by a statue that
appeared to me in the indistinct light to represent a
faun, or some such figure, minus the head. Here, too,
were acacias. So far, I had seen nothing of the Mor-
173


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
locks, but it was yet early in the night, and the darker
hours before the old moon rose were still to come.
“From the brow of the next hill I saw a thick wood
spreading wide and black before me. At this I hesi-
tated. I could see no end to it, either to the right or to
the left. Feeling tired—my feet, in particular, were
very sore—I carefully lowered Weena from my shoul-
der as I halted, and sat down upon the turf. I could no
longer see the Palace of Green Porcelain, and I was
in doubt of my direction.
“I looked into the thickness of the wood, and thought
of what it might hide. Under that dense tangle of
branches one would be out of sight of the stars. Even
were there no other lurking danger there—a danger I
did not care to let my imagination loose upon—there
would still be all the roots to stumble over, and the
tree boles to strike myself against. I was very tired,
too, after the excitements of the day, and I decided
that I would not face it, but would pass the night
upon the open hill.
“Weena, I was glad to discover, was fast asleep. I
carefully wrapped her in my jacket, and sat down beside
her to wait for the moonrise. The hillside upon which
I sat was quiet and deserted, but from the black of the
wood there came now and then a stir of living things.
“Above me shone the stars, for the night was clear.
I felt a certain sense of friendly comfort in their twink-
ling. All the old constellations had gone from the
sky, however, for that slow movement that is imper-
ceptible in a dozen human lifetimes had long ago re-
arranged them in unfamiliar groupings. But the Milky
Way, it seemed to me, was still the same tattered
streamer of star dust as of yore. Southward—as I
judged it—was a very bright red star that was new to
me. It was even more splendid than our own green
Sirius. Amid all these scintillating points of light,
174


THE TIME MACHINE.
one planet shone kindly and steadily like the face of an
old friend.
“Looking at the stars suddenly dwarfed my own
troubles and all the gravities of terrestrial life. I
thought of the great processional cycle that the pole
of the earth describes in the heavens. Only forty times
had that silent revolution occurred during all the years
I had traversed. And during those few revolutions,
all the activity, all the traditions, the carefully planned
organizations, the nations, languages, ltierature, aspira-
tions, even the mere memory of man as I knew man,
had been swept out of existence. Instead were these
frail creatures who had forgotten their high ancestry,
and the white animals of which I went in fear. Then
I thought of the great fear there was between these
two species, and for the first time, with a sudden shiver,
came the clear knowledge of what the meat I had seen
might be. Yet it was too horrible! I looked at little
Weena sleeping beside me, her face white and starlike
under the stars, and forthwith dismissed the thought
from my mind.
“Through that long night I kept my mind off the
Morlocks as well as I could, and whiled away the time
by trying to fancy I could find traces of the old constel-
lations among the new confusion. The sky kept very
clear, except a hazy cloud or so. No doubt I dozed at
times. Then, as my vigil wore on, came a faintness
in the eastward sky like the reflection of some color-
less fire, and the old moon rose thin and peaked and
white. And close behind and overtaking it and over-
flowing it the dawn came, pale at first and then growing
pink and warm.
“No Morlocks had approached us. Indeed, I had
seen none upon the hill that night. And in the confi-
dence of renewed day it almost seemed to me that my
fear had been unreasonable. I stood up, and found my
I75


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
foot with the loose heel swollen at the ankle and pain-
ful under the heel. I sat down again, took off my
shoes, and flung them away.
“I awakened Weena, and forthwith we went down
into the wood, now green and pleasant, instead of black
and forbidding. And there we found some fruit where-
with to break our fast. We soon met others of the
dainty ones, laughing and dancing in the sunlight, as
though there were no such thing in nature as the night.
“Then I thought once more of the meat that I had
seen. I felt assured now of what it was, and, from the
bottom of my heart, I pitied this last feeble rill from the
great flood of humanity. Clearly, somewhere in the
long ages of human decay, the food of the Morlocks
had run short. Possibly they had lived on rats and
such like vermin. Even now, man is far less discrimin-
ating and exclusive in his food than he was, far less
than any monkey. His prejudice against human flesh
is no deep-seated instinct. And so these inhuman sons
of men—
“I tried to look at the thing in a scientific spirit.
After all, these were scarcely to be counted human be-
ings; less human they were and more remote than our
cannibal ancestors of three or four thousand years ago.
And the minds that would have made this state torment
were gone. Why should I trouble? The Eloi were
mere fatted cattle, which the antlike Morlocks pre-
served and preyed upon, probably saw to the breeding
of. And there was Weena dancing by my side!
“Then I tried to preserve myself from the horror
that was coming upon me by regarding it as a rigorous
punishment of human selfishness; man had been con-
tent to live in ease and delight upon the labors of his
fellow-men; had taken Necessity as his watchword and
excuse, and in fullness of time Necessity had come
176


THE TIME MACHINE.
home to him. I tried even a Carlyle-like scorn of these
wretched aristocrats in decline.
“But this attitude of mind was impossible. However
great their intellectual degradation, the Eloi had kept
too much of the human form not to claim my sympathy,
and to make me perforce a participant in their degrada-
tion and their fear.
“I had at this time very vague ideas of what course
I should pursue. My first idea was to secure some safe
place of refuge for Weena and myself, and to make
myself such arms of metal or stone as I could contrive.
That necessity was immediate. In the next place, I
hoped to procure some means of fire, so that I should
have the weapon of a torch at hand, for nothing, I
knew, would be more efficient against these Morlocks.
Then I wanted to arrange some contrivance to break
open the doors of bronze under the white sphinx. I
had in mind a battering ram. I had a persuasion that if
I could enter these doors and carry a blaze of light be-
fore me, I should discover the Time Machine and es-
cape. I could not imagine the Morlocks were powerful
enough to remove it far. Weena I had resolved to
bring with me to our own Time.
“Turning such schemes over in my mind, I pursued
our way toward the building which my fancy had chosen
as our dwelling place.
CHAPTER X.
THE PALACE OF GREEN PORCELAIN.
“This Palace of Green Porcelain, when we approached
it about noon, was, I found, deserted and falling into
ruin. Only ragged vestiges of grass remained in its
windows, and great sheets of the green facing had fallen


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
away in places from the corroded metallic framework.
It lay very high upon a turfy down, and, looking
northeastward before I entered it, I was surprised to
see a large estuary, or an arm of the sea, where I
judged Wandsworth and Battersea must once have
been. I thought then—though I never followed the
thought up—of what might have happened, or might be
happening, to the living things in the sea.
“The material of the Palace proved, upon examina-
tion, to be indeed porcelain, and above the face of it
I saw an inscription in some unknown characters. I
thought, rather foolishly, that Weena might help me
to interpret this, but I only learned that the bare idea
of writing had never entered her head. She always
seemed to me, I fancy, more human than she was,
perhaps because her affection was so human.
“Within the big valves of the door—which were open
and broken—we found, instead of the customary hall, a
long gallery lit by many side windows. Even at the
first glance I was reminded of a museum. The tiled
floor was thick with dust, and a remarkable array of
miscellaneous objects were shrouded in the same gray
covering. Clearly, the place had been derelict for a
very considerable time.
“Then I perceived, standing strange and gaunt in the
center of the hall, what was clearly the lower part of the
skeleton of some huge animal. As I approached this
I recognized by the oblique feet that it was some ex-
tinct creature after the fashion of the megatherium.
The skull and the upper bones lay beside it in the thick
dust, and in one place where rain water had dripped
through some leak in the roof, the skeleton had decayed
away. Further along the gallery was the huge skeleton
barrel of a brontosaurus. My museum hypothesis was
confirmed. Going toward the side of the gallery I
found what appeared to be sloping shelves, and clear-
178


THE TIME MACHINE.
ing away the thick dust, I found the old familiar glass
cases of our own time. But these must have been air-
tight, to judge from the fair preservation of some of
their contents.
“Clearly we stood among the ruins of some latter
day South Kensington. Here apparently was the Pa-
laeontological Section, and a very splendid array of
fossils it must have been; though the inevitable process
of decay that had been warded off for a time, and had,
through the extinction of bacteria and fungi, lost nine-
ty-nine hundredths of its force, was nevertheless, with
extreme sureness, if with extreme slowness, at work
again upon all its treasures. Here and there I found
traces of the little people in the shape of rare fossils
broken to pieces or threaded in strings upon reeds.
And the cases had in some instances been bodily
removed—by the Morlocks, as I judged.
“The place was very silent. The thick dust deadened
our footsteps. Weena, who had been rolling a sea
urchin down the sloping glass of a case, presently came,
as I stared about me, and very quietly took my hand
and stood beside me.
“At first I was so much surprised by this ancient
monument of an intellectual age that I gave no thought
to the possibilities it presented me. Even my preoccu-
pation about the Time Machine and the Morlocks
receded a little from my mind. The curiosity concern-
ing human destiny that had led to my time traveling
was removed. Now, judging from the size of the place,
this Palace of Green Porcelain had a great deal more in
it than a gallery of palaeontology; possibly historical
galleries, it might be even a library. To me, at least
in my present circumstances, these would be vastly
more interesting than this spectacle of old-time geology
in decay.
179


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Exploring, I found another short gallery running
transversely to the first. This appeared to be devoted
to minerals, and the sight of a block of sulphur set my
mind running on gunpowder. But I could find no
saltpeter; indeed, no nitrates of any kind. Doubtless
they had deliquesced ages ago. Yet the sulphur hung
in my mind and set up a train of thinking. As for the
rest of the contents of that place, though on the whole
they were the best preserved of all I saw—I had little
interest. I am no specialist in mineralogy, and I soon
went on down a very ruinous aisle running parallel to
the first hall I had entered.
“Apparently this section had been devoted to Natural
History, but here everything had long since passed
out of recognition. A few shriveled vestiges of what
had once been stuffed animals, dried-up mummies in
jars that had once held spirit, a brown dust of departed
plants, that was all. I was sorry for this, because
I should have been glad to trace the patient readjust-
ments by which the conquest of animated nature had
been attained.
“From this we came to a gallery of simply colossal
proportions, but singularly ill lit, and with its floor run-
ning downward at a slight angle from the end at which
I entered it. At intervals there hung white globes from
the ceiling—many of them cracked and smashed—which
suggested that originally the place had been artificially
lit. Here I was more in my element, for I found rising
on either side of me the huge bulks of big machines,
all greatly corroded, and many broken down, but some
still fairly complete in all their parts. You know I
have a certain weakness for mechanism, and I was in-
clined to linger among these, the more so since for the
most part they had the interest of puzzles, and I could
make only the vaguest guesses of what they were for.
I fancied if I could solve these puzzles I should find
º
180


THE TIME MACHINE.
myself in the possession of powers that might be of use
against the Morlocks.
“Suddenly Weena came very close to my side, so sud-
denly that she startled me.
“Had it not been for her I do not think I should have
noticed that the floor of the gallery sloped at all.”
The end I had entered was quite above ground, and was
lit by rare slit-like windows. As one went down the
length of the place, the ground came up against these
windows, until there was at last a pit like the “area’
of a London house, before each, and only a narrow
line of daylight at the top. I went slowly along, puz-
zling about the machines, and had been too intent
upon them to notice the gradual diminution of the light,
until Weena's increasing apprehension attracted my at-
tention. -
“Then I saw that the gallery ran down at last into a
thick darkness. I hesitated about proceeding, and
then as I looked around me, I saw that the dust was
here less abundant and its surface less even. Further
away toward the dim, it appeared to be broken by a
number of small, narrow footprints. At that my sense
of the immediate presence of the Morlocks revived. I
felt that I was wasting my time in my academic exam-
ination of this machinery. I called to mind that it was
already far advanced in the afternoon, and that I had
still no weapon, no refuge, and no means of making
a fire. And then, down in the remote black of the gal-
lery I heard a peculiar pattering and those same odd
noises I had heard down the well.
“I took Weena's hand. Then, struck with a sudden
idea, I left her, and turned to a machine from which
projected a lever not unlike those in a signal box.
Clambering upon the stand of the machine and grasp-
* It may be, of course, that the floor did not slope, but that
the museum was built upon the side of the hill.—Editor.
I31


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
ing this lever in my hands, I put all my weight upon it
sideways. Weena, deserted in the central aisle, began
suddenly to whimper. I had judged the strength of the
lever pretty correctly, for it snapped after a minute's
strain, and I rejoined Weena with a mace in my hand
more than sufficient, I judged, for any Morlock skull
I might encounter.
“And I longed very much to kill a Morlock or so.
Very inhuman, you may think, to want to go killing
one's own descendants, but it was impossible somehow
to feel any humanity in the things. Only my disin–
clination to leave Weena, and a persuasion that if I
began to slake my thirst for murder my Time Machine
might suffer, restrained me from going straight down
the gallery and killing the brutes I heard there.
“Mace in one hand and Weena in the other we went
out of that gallery and into another still larger, which
at the first glance reminded me of a military chapel
hung with tattered flags. The brown and charred rags
that hung from the sides of it, I presently recognized
as the decaying vestiges of books. They had long since
dropped to pieces and every semblance of print had left
them. But here and there were warped and cracked
boards and metallic clasps that told the tale well
enough.
“Had I been a literary man I might perhaps have
moralized upon the futility of all ambition, but as it was,
the thought that struck me with keenest force, was the
enormous waste of labor rather than of hope, to which
this somber gallery of rotting paper testified. At the
time I will confess, though it seems a petty trait now,
that I thought chiefly of the Philosophical Transactions,
and my own seventeen papers upon physical optics.
“Then going up a broad staircase we came to what
may once have been a gallery of technical chemistry.
And here I had not a little hope of discovering some-
182


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
breaking down the bronze doors. As yet my iron crow-
bar was the most hopeful thing I had chanced upon.
Nevertheless, I left that gallery greatly elated by my
discoveries.
“I cannot tell you the whole story of my exploration
through that long afternoon. It would require a great
effort of memory to recall it at all in the proper order.
I remember a long gallery containing the rusty stands
of arms of all ages, and that I hesitated between my
crow-bar and a hatchet or a sword. I could not carry
both, however, and my bar of iron, after all, promised
best against the bronze gates. There were rusty guns,
pistols and rifles here; most of them were masses of
rust, but many of aluminum, and still fairly sound. But
any cartridges or powder there may have been had
rotted into dust. One corner I saw was charred and shat-
tered; perhaps, I thought, by an explosion among the
specimens there. In another place was a vast array of
idols—Polynesian, Mexican, Grecian, Phoenician, every
country on earth, I should think. And here, yielding to
an irresistible impulse, I wrote my name upon the nose
of a steatite monster from South America that particu-
larly took my fancy.
“As the evening drew on my interest waned. I
went through gallery after gallery, dusty, silent, often
ruinous, the exhibits sometimes mere heaps of rust
and lignite, sometimes fresher. In one place I sudden-
ly found myself near a model of a tin mine, and then
by the merest accident I discovered in an air-tight case
two dynamite cartridges; I shouted “Eureka!’ and
smashed the case joyfully. Then came a doubt. I hes-
itated, and then selecting a little side gallery I made
my essay. I never felt such a bitter disappointment
as I did then, waiting five, ten, fifteen minutes for the
explosion that never came. Of course the things were
dummies, as I might have guessed from their presence
184


THE TIME MACHINE.
there. I really believe had they not been so, I should
have rushed off incontinently there and then, and blown
sphinx, bronze doors, and, as it proved, my chances of
finding the Time Machine all together into non-exis-
tence.
“It was after that, I think, that we came to a little
open court within the palace, turfed and with three
fruit trees. There it was we rested and refreshed our-
selves.
“Toward sunset I began to consider our position.
Night was now creeping upon us and my inaccessible
hiding place was still to be found. But that troubled
me very little now. I had in my possession a thing
that was perhaps the best of all defenses against the
Morlocks. I had matches again. I also had the cam-
phor in my pocket if a blaze were required. It seemed
to me that the best thing we could do would be to pass
the night in the open again, protected by a fire.
“In the morning there was the Time Machine to ob-
tain. Toward that as yet I had only my iron mace.
But now with my growing knowledge I felt very dif-
ferently toward the bronze doors than I had done hith-
erto. Up to this I had refrained from forcing them,
largely because of the mystery on the other side. They
had never impressed me as being very strong, and I
hoped to find my bar of iron not altogether inadequate
for the work.
CHAPTER XI.
IN THE DARKNESS OF THE FOREST.
“We emerged from the Palace of Green Porcelain
while the sun was still in part above the horizon. I
was determined to reach the white sphinx early the next
185


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
morning, and I proposed before the dusk came to push
through the woods that had stopped me on the previous
journey. My plan was to go as far as possible that
night, and then, building a fire about us, to sleep under
the protection of its glare. Accordingly as we went
along I gathered any sticks or dried grass I saw, and
presently had my arms full of such litter. So loaded,
our progress was slower than I had anticipated, and be-
sides, Weena was tired. I, too, began to suffer from
sleepiness, and it was fully night before we reached the
wood.
“Now, upon the shrubby hill upon the edge of this,
Weena would have stopped, fearing the darkness before
us. But a singular sense of impending calamity, that
should indeed have served me as a warning, drove me
onward. I had been without sleep for the length of
a night and two days, and I was feverish and irritable.
I felt sleep coming upon me, and with it the Mor-
locks.
“While we hesitated I saw among the bushes up the
slope behind us, and dim against the sky, three crouch-
ing figures. There was scrub and long grass all about
us, and I did not feel safe from their insidious approach.
The forest, I calculated, was rather less than a mile in
breadth. If we could get through it, the hillside be-
yond was bare, and to me it seemed an altogether safer
resting place. I thought that with my matches and
the camphor I could contrive to keep my path illum-
inated through the woods. Yet it was evident that if I
was to flourish matches with my hands I should have
to abandon my firewood. So, rather reluctantly, I put
this down.
“Then it came into my head that I would amaze
our friends by lighting it. Ultimately I was to dis-
cover the atrocious folly of this proceeding, but just
I86


THE TIME MACHINE.
*
then it came to my mind as an ingenious move for cov-
ering our retreat.
“I don't know if you have ever thought what a rare
thing in the absence of man and in a temperate climate
flames must be. The sun's heat is rarely strong enough
to burn even when focussed by dewdrops, as is some-
times the case in more tropical districts. Lightning
may blast and blacken, but it rarely gives rise to wide-
spread fire. Decaying vegetation may occasionally
smoulder with the heat of its fermentation, but this again
rarely results in flames. Now, in this decadent age the
art of fire-making had been altogether forgotten on the
earth. The red tongues that went licking up my heap
of wood were an altogether new and strange thing to
Weena.
“She wanted to run to it and play with it. I believe
she would have cast herself into it had I not restrained
her. But I caught her up and in spite of her struggles
plunged boldly before me into the wood. For a little
way the glare of my fire lit the path. Looking back
presently I could see, through the crowded tree stems,
that from my heap of sticks the blaze had spread to
some bushes adjacent, and a curved line of fire was
creeping up the grass of the hill. I laughed at that.
“Then I turned toward the dark trees before me
again. It was very black and Weena clung to me con-
vulsively, but there was still, as my eyes grew accus-
tomed to the darkness, sufficient light for me to avoid
blundering against the stems. Overhead it was sim-
ply black, except when here and there a gap of remote
blue sky shone down upon me. I lit none of my
matches because I had no hand free. Upon my left
arm I carried my little one, in my right hand I had the
iron bar I had wrenched from the machine.
“For some way I heard nothing but the crackling
twigs under my feet, the faint rustle of the breeze
187


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
above, and my breathing and the throb of the blood
vessels in my ears. Then I seemed to hear a pattering
about me.
“I pushed on grimly. The pattering became more
distinct, and then I heard the same queer sounds and
voices I had heard before in the underworld. There
were evidently several of the Morlocks, and they were
closing in upon me.
“In another minute I felt a tug at my coat, then
something at my arm. Weena shivered violently and
became quite still.
“It was time for a match. But to get at that I must
put her down. I did so, and immediately as I fumbled
at my pocket a struggle began in the darkness about
my knees, perfectly silent on her part and with the
same peculiar cooing sounds on the part of the Mor-
locks. Soft little hands, too, were creeping over my
coat and back, touching even my neck.
“The match scratched and fizzed. I held it flaring,
and immediately the white backs of the Morlocks be-
came visible as they fled amid the trees. I hastily took
a lump of camphor from my pocket and prepared to
light it as soon as the match waned.
“Then I looked at Weena. She was lying, clutching
my feet and quite motionless, with her face to the
ground. With a sudden fright, I stooped to her. She
seemed scarcely to breathe. I lit the block of camphor
and flung it to the ground, and as it spit and flared up
and drove back the Morlocks and the shadows, I knelt
down and lifted up Weena. The wood behind seemed
full of the stir and murmur of a great company of
creatures.
“Apparently she had fainted. I put her carefully up-
on my shoulder and rose to push on, and then came a
horrible realization.
“While manoeuvering with my matches and Weena,
I88


THE TIME MACHINE.
I had turned myself about several times, and now I
had not the faintest idea in what direction my path
lay. For all I knew I might be facing back toward the
Palace of Green Porcelain.
“I found myself in a cold perspiration. I had to
think rapidly what to do. I determined to build a fire
and encamp where we were. I put the motionless
Weena down upon a turfy bole. Very hastily, as my
first lump of camphor waned, I began collecting sticks
and leaves.
“Here and there out of the darkness round me the
eyes of the Morlocks shone like carbuncles.
“Presently the camphor flickered and went out. I
lit a match, and as I did so two white forms that had
been approaching Weena dashed hastily back. One
was so blinded by the light that he came straight for
me, and I felt his bones grind under the blow of my
fist. He gave a whoop of dismay, staggered a little
way, and fell down.
“I lit another piece of camphor and went on gather-
ing my bonfire. Presently I noticed how dry was
some of the foliage above me, for since I had arrived
on the Time Machine, a matter of a week, no rain had
fallen. So, instead of casting about among the trees
for fallen twigs I began leaping up and dragging down
branches. Very soon I had a choking, smoky fire of
green wood and dry sticks, and could save my other
lumps of camphor.
“Then I turned to where Weena lay beside my iron
mace. I tried what I could to revive her, but she lay
like one dead. I could not even satisfy myself whether
or not she breathed.
“Now the snoke of the fire beat over toward me,
and it must have made me suddenly heavy. Moreover,
the vapor of camphor was in the air. My fire would
not want replenishing for an hour or so. I felt very
189


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
weary after my exertion and sat down. The wood, too,
was full of a slumberous murmur that I did not under-
stand.
“I seemed merely to nod and open my eyes. Then it
was all dark around me, and the Morlocks had their
hands upon me. Flinging off their clinging fingers I
hastily felt in my pocket for the match-box, and—
it had gone! Then they gripped and closed with me
again.
“In a moment I knew what had happened. I had
slept, and my fire had gone out, and the bitterness of
death came over my soul. The forest seemed full of
the smell of burning wood. I was caught by the neck,
by the hair, by the arms, and pulled down. It was in-
describably horrible in the darkness to feel all these soft
creatures heaped upon me. I felt as if I was in a mon-
strous spider's web. I was overpowered. Down I
Went.
“I felt some little teeth nipping at my neck. Abrupt-
ly I rolled over, and as I did so, my hand came against
my iron lever. Somehow this gave me strength for an-
other effort. I struggled up, shaking off these hu-
man rats from me, and then holding the bar short,
I thrust where I judged their faces might be. I could .
feel the succulent giving of flesh and bone under my
blows, and for a moment I was free.
“The strange exultation that so often seems to ac-
company fighting came upon me. I knew that both I
and Weena were lost, but I determined to make the
Morlocks pay for their meat. I stood with my back
to a tree swinging the iron bar before me. The whole
wood was full of the stir and cries of them.
“A minute passed. Their voices seemed to rise to
a higher pitch of excitement and their movements
became faster. Yet none came within reach of me. I
stood glaring at the blackness. Then suddenly hope.
190


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
yond this hill was another arm of the burning forest
from which yellow tongues were already writhing, and
completely encircling the space with a fence of fire.
Upon the hillside were perhaps thirty or forty Mor-
locks, dazzled by the light and heat of the fire, which
was now very bright and hot, blundering hither
and thither against each other in their bewilder-
ment. At first I did not realize their blind-
ness, and struck furiously at them with my bar
in a frenzy of fear as they approached me, killing
one and crippling several others. But when I had
watched the gestures of one of them groping under
the hawthorn against the red sky, and heard the moans
to which they all gave vent, I was assured of their
absolute helplessness and refrained from striking any of
them again. Yet every now and then one would come
straight toward me, setting loose a quivering horror,
that made me quick to elude him. At one time the
flames died down somewhat, and I feared these foul
creatures would presently be able to see me, and I
was even thinking of beginning the fight by killing
some of them before this should happen, but the fire
burst out again brightly and I stayed my hand. I
walked about the hill among them and avoiding them,
looking for some trace of Weena, but I found noth-
ing.
“At last I sat down upon the summit of the hillock
and watched this strange, incredible company of the
blind, groping to and fro, making uncanny noises to
one another, as the glare of the fire beat upon them.
The coiling uprush of smoke streamed across the sky,
and through the rare tatters of that red canopy, remote
as though they belonged to another universe, shone the
little stars. Two or three Morlocks came blundering
into me and I drove them off, trembling myself as I
did so, with blows of my fist. For the most of that
j
192


THE TIME MACHINE.
night I was persuaded it was a nightmare. I bit myself
and screamed aloud in a passionate desire to awake.
I beat on the ground with my hands, and got up, and
sat down again, and wandered here and there, and again
sat down on the crest of the hill. Then I would fall
to rubbing my eyes and calling upon God to let me
awake. Thrice I saw Morlocks put their heads down
in a kind of agony and rush into the flames. But at
last, above the subsiding red of the fire, above the
streaming masses of black smoke and the whitening
and blackening tree stumps, and the diminishing num-
ber of these dim creatures, came the white light of the
day. -
“I searched again over the open space for some
traces of Weena, but could find none. I had half feared
to discover her mangled remains, but clearly they had
left her poor little body in the forest. I cannot describe
how it relieved me to think that it had escaped the aw-
ful fate to which it seemed destined. As I thought of
that I was almost moved to begin a massacre of the de-
fenseless abdºminations about me, but I contained my-
self. This hillock, as I have said, was a kind of island
in the forest. From its summit I could now make out,
through a haze of smoke, the Palace of Green Porce-
lain, and from that I could get my bearings for the
white sphinx. And so leaving the remnant of these
damned souls going hither and thither and moaning,
as the day grew clearer, I tied some grass about my
feet and limped on across smoking ashes and among
black stems that still pulsated internally with fire, to-
ward the hiding place of the Time Machine.
“I walked slowly, for I was almost exhausted as well
as lame, and I felt the most intense wretchedness on
account of the horrible death of little Weena, which
then seemed an overwhelming calamity. Yet even
now, as I tell you of it in this old familiar room, it
I93


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
seems more like the sorrow of a dream than an actual
loss. But it left me absolutely lonely again that morn-
ing—terribly alone. I began to think of this house of
mine, of this fireside, of some of you, and with such
thoughts came a longing that was pain.
“As I walked over the smoking ashes under the
bright morning sky I made a discovery. In my trouser
pocket were still some loose matches. The box must
have leaked before it was lost!
CHAPTER XII.
THE TRAP OF THE WHITE SPHINX.
“So about eight or nine in the morning I came to the
same seat of yellow metal from which I had viewed the
world upon the evening of my arrival. I thought of
my hasty conclusions upon that evening and could not
refrain from laughing bitterly at my confidence. Here
was the same beautiful scene, the same abundant foli-
age, the same splendid palaces and magnificent ruins,
the same silver river running between its fertile banks.
The gay robes of the beautiful people moved hither
and thither among the trees. Some were bathing in
exactly the place where I had saved Weena, and that
suddenly gave me a keen stab of pain. And like blots
upon the landscape rose the cupolas above the ways to
the underworld. I understood now what all the beauty
of the overworld people covered. Very pleasant was
their day, as pleasant as the day of the cattle in the
field. Like the cattle they knew of no enemies, and
provided against no needs. And their end was the
same.
“I grieved to think how brief the dream of the human
intellect had been. It had committed suicide. It had
IQ4


THE TIME MACHINE.
set itself steadfastly toward comfort and ease, a bal-
anced society with security and permanence as its
watchwords, it had attained its hopes—to come to this
at last. Once, life and property must have reached
almost absolute safety. The rich had been assured of
his wealth and comfort, the toiler assured of his life
and work. No doubt in that perfect world there had
been no unemployed problem, no social question left
unsolved. And a great quiet had followed.,
“It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual
versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and
trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its en-
vironment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never ap-
peals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless.
There is no intelligence where there is no change and
no need of change. Only those animals partake of in-
telligence that have to meet a huge variety of needs
and dangers.
“So, as I see it, the upperworld man had drifted to-
ward his feeble prettiness, and the underworld to mere
mechanical industry. But that perfect state had lacked
one thing even of mechanical perfection—absolute per-
manency. Apparently, as time went on, the feeding of
the underworld, however it was effected, had become
disjointed. Mother Necessity, who had been staved
off for a few thousand years, came back again, and she
began low. The underworld, being in contact with
machinery, which, however perfect, still needs some
little thought outside of habit, had probably retained,
perforce, rather more initiative, if less of every other
human character, than the upper. And when other
meat failed them, they turned to what old habit had
hitherto forbidden. So I say I saw it in my last view of
the world 810,701. It may be as wrong an explanation
as mortal wit could invent. It is how the thing shaped
itself to me, and as that I give it to you.
195


THE TIME MACHINE.
up and struck the frame with a clang. I was in the
dark—trapped. At that I chuckled gleefully.
“I could already hear their murmuring laughter as
they came toward me. Very calmly I tried to strike the
match. I had only to fix on the levers and depart then
like a ghost. But I had overlooked one little thing.
The matches were of that abominable kind that light
only on the box.
“You may imagine how all my calm vanished. The
little brutes were close upon me. One touched me.
I made a sweeping blow in the dark at them with the
lever, and began to scramble into the saddle of the
Machine. Then came one hand upon me and then an-
other.
“Then I had simply to fight against their persistent
fingers for my levers, and at the same time feel for the
studs over which these fitted. One, indeed, they al-
most got away from me. As it slipped from my hand
I had to butt in the dark with my head—I could hear
the Morlock's skull ring—to recover it. It was a near-
er thing than the fight in the forest, I think, this last
scramble.
“But at last the lever was fixed and pulled over.
The clinging hands slipped from me. The darkness
presently fell from my eyes. I found myself in the
same gray light and tumult I have already described.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FURTHER VISION.
“I have already told you of the sickness and con-
fusion that comes with time traveling. And this time
I was not seated properly in the saddle, but sideways
and in an unstable fashion. For an indefinite time I
I97


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
clung to the machine as it swayed and vibrated, quite
unheeding how it went, and when I brought myself to
look at the dials again I was amazed to find where I
had arrived. One dial records days, another thou-
sands of days, another millions of days, and another
thousands of millions. Now, instead of reversing the
levers, I had pulled them over so as to go forward
with them, and when I came to look at these indicators,
I found that the thousands hand was sweeping round as
fast as the seconds hand of a watch, into futurity.
“Very cautiously, for I remembered my former head-
long fall, I began to reverse my motion. Slower and
slower went the circling hands, until the thousands
one seemed motionless and the daily one was no longer
a mere mist upon its scale. Still slower, until the gray
haze around me became distincter, and dim outlines
of a low hill and a sea became visible.
“But as my motion became slower there was, I found,
no blinking change of day and night. A steady twi-
light brooded over the earth. And the band of light
that had indicated the sun had, I now noticed, become
fainter, had faded, indeed, to invisibility in the east,
and in the west was increasingly broader and redder.
The circling of the stars growing slower and slower
had given place to creeping points of light. At last,
some time before I stopped, the sun, very red and
large, halted motionless upon the horizon, a vast dome
glowing with a dull heat. The work of the tidal drag
was accomplished. The earth had come to rest with
one face to the sun even as in our own time the moon
faces the earth.
“I stopped very gently and sat upon the Time Ma-
chine, looking round me.
“The sky was no longer blue. Northeastward it was
inky black, and out of the blackness shone brightly and
steadily the pale, white stars. Overhead it was a deep
198


THE TIME MACHINE.
Indian red, and starless, and southeastward it grew
brighter to where, cut by the horizon, lay the mo-
tionless hull of the huge red sun.
“The rocks about me were of a harsh reddish color,
and all the trace of life I could see at first was the in-
tensely green vegetation that covered every projecting
point on its southeastern side. It was the same rich
green that one sees on forest moss or on the lichen in
caves, plants which, like these, grow in a perpetual twi-
light.
“The Machine was standing on a sloping beach. The
sea stretched away to the southwest to rise into a sharp
bright horizon against the wan sky. There were no
breakers and no waves, for not a breath of wind was
stirring. Only a slight oily swell rose and fell like
a gentle breathing, and showed that the eternal sea was
still moving and living. And along the margin where
the water sometimes broke was a thick incrustation
of salt—pink under the lurid sky.
“There was a sense of oppression in my head and I
noticed that I was breathing very fast. The sensations
remind me of my only experience of mountaineering,
and from that I judged the air was more rarified than
it is now.
“Far away up the desolate slope I heard a sharp
scream, and saw a thing like a huge white butterfly go
slanting and fluttering up into the sky and, circling,
disappear over some low hillocks beyond.
“The sound of its voice was so dismal that I shivered,
and seated myself more firmly upon the Machine.
“Looking round me I saw that, quite near to me,
what I had taken to be a reddish mass of rock was
moving slowly toward me. Then I saw the thing was
really a monstrous crab-like creature. Can you imag-
ing a crab as large as yonder table, with its numerous
legs moving slowly and uncertainly, its big claws sway-
I99


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
ing, its long antennae like carters' whips, waving and
feeling, and its stalked eyes gleaming at you on either
side of its metallic front? Its back was corrugated and
ornamented with ungainly bosses, and a greenish in-
crustation blotched it here and there. I could see
the numerous palps of its complicated mouth flickering
and feeling as it approached.
“As I stared at this sinister apparition crawling to-
ward me, I felt a tickling on my cheeks as though a
fly had alighted there.
“I tried to brush it away with my hand, but in a mo-
ment it returned, and almost immediately after another
came near my ear. I struck at this and caught some-
thing threadlike. It was drawn swiftly out of my hand.
With a frightful qualm I turned and saw I had grasped
the antennae of another monster crab that stood im-
mediately behind me. Its evil eyes were wriggling
on their stalks, its mouth was all alive with appetite,
and its vast ungainly claws, smeared with green slime,
were descending upon me.
“In another moment my hand was on the lever of
the Time Machine, and I had placed a month between
myself and these monsters. But I found I was still on
the same beach and I saw them distinctly now as soon
as I stopped. Dozens of them seemed to be crawling
here and there in the somber light among the foliated
sheets of intense green.
“I cannot convey the sense of abominable desolation
that hung over the world. The red eastern sky, the
northward blackness, the salt Dead Sea, the stony
beach crawling with these foul, slow-stirring mon-
sters, the uniform, poisonous-looking green of the
lichenous plants, the thin air that hurt one's lungs; all
contributed to an appalling effect.
“I moved on a hundred years, and there was the
same red sun, the same dying sea, the same chill air,
200


THE TIME MACHINE.
and the same crowd of earthly crustacea creeping in
and out among the green weed and the red rocks,
“So I traveled, stopping ever and again, in great
strides of a thousand years or more, drawn on by the
mystery of the earth's fate, tracing with a strange fas-
cination how the sun was growing larger and duller in
the westward sky, and the life of the old earth ebbing
out. At last, more than thirty million years hence,
the huge, red-hot dome of the sun had come to obscure
nearly a sixth part of the darkling heavens. Then it
was I stopped, for the crawling multitude of crabs had
disappeared, and the red beach, save for its livid green
liverworts and lichens, seemed lifeless again.
“As soon as I stopped a bitter cold assailed me. The
air felt keenly cold, and rare white flakes ever and again
came eddying down. To the northeastward the glare
of snow lay under the starlight of the sable sky, and I
could see an undulating crest of pinkish white hillocks.
There were fringes of ice along the sea margin, drift-
ing masses further out, but the main expanse of that
salt ocean, all bloody under the eternal sunset, was still
unfrozen.
“I looked about me to see if any traces of animals re-
mained. A certain indefinable apprehension still kept
me in the saddle of the Machine. I saw nothing mov-
ing, on earth or sky or sea. The green slime on the
rocks alone testified that life was not extinct. A shal-
low sandbank had appeared in the sea and the water
had receded from the beach. I fancied I saw some
black object flopping about upon this bank, but it be-
came motionless as I looked at it, and I judged my eye
had been deceived and that the object was merely a
rock. The stars in the sky were intensely bright and
seemed to me to twinkle very little.
“Suddenly I noticed that the circular outline, west-
ward, of the sun had changed, that a concavity, a bay,
2O I


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
had appeared in the curve. I saw this grow larger.
For a minute, perhaps, I stared aghast at this blackness
that was creeping over the day, and then I realized that
an eclipse was beginning. No doubt, now that the
moon was creeping over nearer to the earth, and the
earth to the sun, eclipses were of frequent occurrence.
“The darkness grew apace, a cold wind began to
blow in freshening gusts from the east, and then the
white flakes that were falling out of the air increased.
The tide was creeping in with a ripple and a whisper.
Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent—
silent! It would be hard to convey to you the stillness
of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep,
the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that
makes the background of our lives, were over. As
the darkness thickened the eddying flakes became more
abundant, dancing before my eyes; and the cold of the
air more intense. At last, swiftly, one after the other,
the white peaks of the distant hills vanished into black-
ness. The breeze grew to a moaning wind. I saw
the black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping toward
me. In another moment the pale stars alone were vis-
ible. All else was rayless obscurity. The sky was
absolutely black.
“A horror of this great darkness came upon me.
The cold that smote to my marrow, and the pain I
felt in breathing, overcame me. I shivered and a dead-
ly nausea seized me. Then like a red-hot bow in the
sky appeared the edge of the sun.
“I got off the Machine to recover myself. I felt
giddy and incapable of facing the return journey. As
I stood sick and confused I saw again the moving
thing upon the shoal—there was no mistake now that
it was a moving thing—against the red water of the sea.
It was a round thing, of the size of a football perhaps,
or bigger; it seemed black against the weltering blood-
2O2


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
Around me was my old workshop again, exactly as
it had been. I might have slept there and the whole
thing have been a dream.
“And yet not exactly. The thing had started from
the southeast corner of the laboratory. It had come
to rest again in the northwest, against the wall, where
you will find it. That gives you the exact distance
from my little lawn to the pedestal of the white
sphinx.
“For a time my brain became stagnant. Presently
I got up and came through the passage here, limping,
because my heel was still painful, and feeling sorely
begrimed. I saw the Pall Mall Gazette on the table
by the door. I found the date was indeed to-day, and
looking at the timepiece, saw the hour was almost eight
o'clock. I heard your voices and the clatter of plates.
I hesitated—I felt so sick and weak. Then I sniffed
good wholesome meat, and opened the door. You
know the rest. I washed and dined, and now I am
telling you the story.
“I know,” he said, after awhile, “that all this will be
absolutely incredible to you, but to me the one incred-
ible thing is that I am here to-night in this old familiar
room, looking into your wholesome faces, and telling
you all these strange adventures.”
He looked at the Medical Man.
“No; I cannot expect you to believe me. Take it as
a lie, or a prophecy. Say I dreamed it in the work-
shop. Consider I have been speculating upon the des-
tinies of our race, until I have hatched this fiction.
Treat my assertion of its truth as a mere stroke of art
to enhance its interest. And taking it as a story, what
do you think of it?”
He took up his pipe and began in his old accustomed
manner to tap upon the bars of the grate.
204


THE TIME MACHINE.
CHAPTER XIV.
AFTER THE TIME TRAVELER'S STORY.
There was a momentary stillness. Then chairs began
to creak and shoes to scrape upon the carpet. I took
my eyes off the Time Traveler's face and looked round
at his audience. They were in the dark and little spots
of color swam before them. The Medical Man seemed
absorbed in the contemplation of our host. The Editor
was looking hard at the end of his cigar—the sixth.
The Journalist fumbled for his watch. The others, as
far as I remember, were motionless.
The Editor stood up, with a sigh.
“What a pity it is you're not a writer of stories!” he
said, putting his hand on the Time Traveler's shoulder.
“You don’t believe it?”
“Well—”
“I thought not.” The Time Traveler turned round
to us. “Where are the matches?” he said. He lit one
and spoke over his pipe, puffing, “To tell you all the
truth—I hardly believe it myself—and yet—"
His eyes fell with a mute inquiry upon the withered
white flowers upon the little table. Then he turned
over the hand holding his pipe, and I saw he was look-
ing at some half-healed scars on his knuckles.
The Medical Man rose, came to the lamp, and ex-
amined the flowers. “The gynoecium's odd,” he said.
The Psychologist leaned forward to see, holding out
his hand for a specimen.
“I’m hanged if it isn't a quarter to one,” said the
Journalist. “How shall we get home?”
“Plenty of cabs at the station,” said the Psycholo-
gist.
“It’s a curious thing,” said the Medical Man; “but
205


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
I certainly don't know the natural order of these flow-
ers. May I have them?”
The Time Traveler hesitated. Then suddenly, “Cer-
tainly not.”
“Where did you really get them?” said the Medical
Man.
The Time Traveler put his hand to his head. He
spoke like one who was trying to keep hold of an idea
that eluded him. “They were put into my pocket by
Weena—when I traveled into Time.” He stared round
the room. “I’m d-d if it isn't all going. This
room and you and the atmosphere of every day is too
much for my memory. Did I ever make a Time Ma-
chine, or a model of a Time Machine, or is it all only
a dream? They say life is a dream, a precious poor
dream at times—but I can't stand another that won't
fit. It's madness. And where did the dream come
from? I must look at that Machine. If there is one.”
He caught up the lamp swiftly and carried it flaring
redly through the door into the corridor.
We followed him.
There in the flickering light of the lamp was the Ma-
chine, sure enough, squat, ugly, and askew, a thing of
brass, ebony, ivory, and translucent, glimmering quartz.
Solid to the touch—for I put out my hand and felt the
rail of it—and with brown spots and smears upon the
ivory, and bits of grass and moss upon the lower parts,
and one rail bent awry.
The Time Traveler put the lamp down on the bench,
and ran his hand along the broken rail.
“It's all right now,” he said. “The story I told you
was true. I'm sorry to have brought you out here—
in the cold.” -
He took up the lamp, and in an absolute silence we
returned to the smoking-room.
The Time Traveler came into the hall and helped
2O6


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
time traveling to you up to the hilt. Specimens and
all. If you'll forgive my leaving you now?”
I consented, hardly comprehending then the full im-
port of his words, and he nodded and went on down
the corridor. I heard the door of the laboratory slam,
seated myself in a chair, and took up the New Review.
What was he going to do before lunch time? Then
suddenly I was reminded by an advertisement that I
had promised to meet Richardson, the publisher, at
two. I looked at my watch, and saw I could barely
save that engagement. I got up and went down the
passage to tell the Time Traveler.
As I took hold of the handle of the door I heard an
exclamation oddly truncated at the end, and a click and
a thud. A gust of air whirled round me as I opened
the door, and from within came the sound of broken
glass falling on the floor. The Time Traveler was
not there. I seemed to see a ghostly, indistinct figure
sitting in a whirling mass of black and brass for a mo-
ment, a figure so transparent that the bench behind
with its sheets of drawings was absolutely distinct;
but this phantasm I immediately perceived was illusory.
The Time Machine had gone. Save for a subsiding stir
of dust the central space of the laboratory was empty.
A pane of the skylight had apparently just been blown
111.
I felt an unreasonable amazement. I knew that
something strange had happened, and for a moment
could not distinguish what the strange thing might be.
As I stood staring, the door into the garden opened,
and the man-servant appeared. -
We looked at each other. Then ideas began to
come.
“Has Mr. — gone out that way?” said I.
“No, sir. No one has come out this way. I was
expecting to find him here.”
ſ
208


THE TIME MACHINE.
At that I understood. At the risk of disappointing
Richardson I remained waiting for the Time Traveler,
waiting for the second, perhaps still stranger, story, and
the specimens and photographs he would bring with
him. -
But I am beginning to fear now that I must wait a
lifetime for that. The Time Traveler vanished three
years ago. Up to the present he has not returned, and
when he does return he will find his home in the hands
of strangers and his little gathering of auditors broken
up forever. Filby has exchanged poetry for playwrit-
ing, and is a rich man—as literary men go—and ex-
tremely unpopular. The Medical Man is dead, the
Journalist is in India, and the Psychologist has suc-
cumbed to paralysis. Some of the other men I used to
meet there have dropped as completely out of existence
as if they, too, had traveled off upon some similar an-
achronisms. And so, ending in a kind of dead wall,
the story of the Time Machine must remain for the
present at least.
209





THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS
Amelia B. Edwards
I.
HE events which I am about to relate took place
between nine and ten years ago. Sebastopol had
fallen in the early spring; the Peace of Paris had been
concluded since March; our commercial relations with
the Russian Empire were but recently renewed; and I,
returning home after my first northward journey since
the war, was well pleased with the prospect of spending
the month of December under the hospitable and
thoroughly English roof of my excellent friend Jona-
than Jelf, Esquire, of Dumbleton Manor, Clayborough,
East Anglia.
It was a foggy afternoon, singularly warm for the
fourth of December, and I had arranged to leave Lon-
don by the 4:15 express. The early darkness of winter
had already closed in; the lamps were lighted in the
carriages; a clinging damp dimmed the windows, ad-
hered to the door-handles, and pervaded all the atmos-
phere; while the gas jets at the neighboring book-
stand diffused a luminous haze that only served to make
the gloom of the terminus more visible. Having ar-
rived some seven minutes before the starting of the
train, and, by the connivance of the guard, taken sole
possession of an empty compartment, I lighted my
travelling lamp, made myself particularly snug, and
settled down to the undisturbed enjoyment of a book
213


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
and a cigar. Great, therefore, was my disappointment
when, at the last moment, a gentleman came hurrying
along the platform, glanced into my carriage, opened
the locked door with a private key, and stepped in.
It struck me at the first glance that I had seen him
before—a tall, spare man, thin-lipped, light-eyed, with
an ungraceful stoop in the shoulders, and scant gray
hair worn somewhat long upon the collar. He carried
a light waterproof coat, an umbrella, and a large brown
japanned deed-box, which last he placed under the
seat. This done, he felt carefully in his breast-pocket,
as if to make certain of the safety of his purse or pocket-
book; laid his umbrella in the netting overhead;
spread the waterproof across his knees, and exchanged
his hat for a traveling cap of some Scotch material.
By this time the train was moving out of the station,
and into the faint gray of the wintry twilight beyond.
I now recognized my companion. I recognized him
from the moment when he removed his hat and un-
covered the lofty, furrowed, and somewhat narrow brow
beneath. I had met him, as I distinctly remembered,
some three years before, at the very house for which, in
all probability, he was now bound, like myself. His
name was Dwerrihouse; he was a lawyer by profession;
and, if I was not greatly mistaken, was first cousin to
the wife of my host. I knew also that he was a man
eminently “well to do,” both as regarded his profess-
ional and private means. The Jelfs entertained him
with that sort of observant courtesy which faſis to the
lot of the rich relation; the children made much of him;
and the old butler, albeit somewhat surly “to the
general,” treated him with deference. I thought, ob-
serving him by the vague mixture of lamplight and
twilight, that Mrs. Jelf's cousin looked all the worse
for the three years’ wear and tear which had gone over
his head since our last meeting. He was very pale,
2I4


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
and had a restless light in his eye that I did not re-
member to have observed before. The anxious lines,
too, about his mouth were deepened, and there was a
cavernous, hollow look about the cheeks and temples
which seemed to speak of sickness or sorrow. He
had glanced at me as he came in, but without any
gleam of recognition in his face. Now he glanced
again, as I fancied, somewhat doubtfully. When he
did so for the third or fourth time, I ventured to ad-
dress him.
“Mr. John Dwerrihouse, I think?”
“That is my name,” he replied.
“I had the pleasure of meeting you at Dumbleton
about three years ago.”
Mr. Dwerrihouse bowed.
“I thought I knew your face,” he said. “But your
name, I regret to say—”
“Langford—William Langford. I have known Jona-
than Jelf since we were boys together at Merchant
Taylors, and I generally spend a few weeks at Dumble-
ton in the shooting season. I suppose we are bound
for the same destination?”
“Not if you are on your way to the Manor,” he re-
plied. “I am traveling upon business—rather trouble-
some business, too—while you, doubtless, have only
pleasure in view.”
“Just so. I am in the habit of looking forward to
this visit as to the brightest three weeks in all the
year.”
“It is a pleasant house,” said Mr. Dwerrihouse.
“The pleasantest I know.”
“And Jelf is thoroughly hospitable.”
“The best and kindest fellow in the world!”
“They have invited me to spend Christmas week
with them,” pursued Mr. Dwerrihouse, after a mo-
ment's pause. *
215


PAMOUS OCCULT TAI, HS.
us as far as Mallingford—the first stage, as it were, of
our journey—and how our route from Blackwater to
Mullingford lies entirely through Sir Thomas Liddell’s
property.”
“I beg your pardon,” I stammered. “I fear my
thoughts were wandering. So you only go as far as
Mallingford to-night?”
“Precisely. I shall get conveyance from the ‘Black-
water Arms.’ And you?”
“Oh, Jelf sends a trap to meet me at Clayborough.
Can I be the bearer of any message from you?”
“You may say, if you please, Mr. Langford, that I
wished I could have been your companion all the way,
and that I will come over if possible before Christmas.”
“Nothing more?”
Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled grimly. “Well,” he said,
“you may tell my cousin that she need not burn the
hall down in my honor this time, and that I shall be
obliged if she will order the blue-room chimney to be
swept before I arrive.”
“That sounds tragic. Had you a conflagration on
the occasion of your last visit to Dumbleton?”
“Something like it. There had been no fire lighted
in my bedroom since the spring, the flue was foul, and
the rooks had built in it; so when I went up to dress
for dinner, I found the room full of smoke, and the
chimney on fire. Are we already at Blackwater?”
The train had gradually come to a pause while Mr.
Dwerrihouse was speaking, and, on putting my head
out of the window, I could see the station, some few
hundred yards ahead. There was another train before
us blocking the way, and the guard was making use
of the delay to collect the Blackwater tickets. I had
scarcely ascertained our position, when he ruddy-
faced official appeared at our carriage door.
“Tickets, sir!” said he.
218


THE F * IR-FIFTEEN Ji XPRESS.
“I am for Clayborough,” I replied, holding out
the tiny pink card.
He took it; glanced at it by the light of his little
lantern; gave it back; looked, as I fancied, somewhat
sharply at my fellow-traveler, and disappeared.
“He did not ask for yours,” I said, with some sur-
prise.
“They never do,” replied Mr. Dwerrihouse. “They
all know me; and, of course, I travel free.”
“Blackwater! Blackwater!” cried the porter, running
along the platform beside us, as we glided into the
station.
Mr. Dwerrihouse pulled out his deed-box, put his
travelling-cap in his pocket, resumed his hat, took
down his umbrella, and prepared to be gone.
“Many thanks, Mr. Langford, for your society,”
he said, with old-fashioned courtesy. “I wish you a
good evening.”
“Good evening,” I replied, putting out my hand.
But he either did not see it, or did not choose to
see it, and, slightly lifting his hat, stepped out upon the
platform. Having done this, he moved slowly away,
and mingled with the departing crowd.
Leaning forward to watch him out of sight, I trod
upon something which proved to be a cigar-case. It
had fallen, no doubt from the pocket of his waterproof
coat, and was made of dark morocco leather, with a
silver monogram upon the side. I sprang out of the
carriage just as the guard came up to lock me in.
“Is there one minute to spare?” I asked, eagerly.
“The gentleman who traveled down with me from
town has dropped his cigar-case—he is not yet out of
the station.” -
“Just a minute and a half, sir,” replied the guard.
“You must be quick.”
I dashed along the platform as fast as my feet could
2IQ


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
carry me. It was a large station, and Mr. Dwerri-
house had by this time got more than half way to the
farther end.
I, however, saw him distinctly, moving slowly with
the stream. Then, as I drew nearer, I saw that he had
met some friend—that they were talking as they walked
—that they presently fell back somewhat from the
crowd, and stood aside in earnest conversation. I made
straight for the spot where they were waiting. There
was a vivid gas-jet just above their heads, and the light
fell full upon their faces. I saw both distinctly—the
face of Mr. Dwerrihouse and the face of his com-
panion. Running, breathless, eager as I was, getting
in the way of porters and passengers, and fearful every
instant less I should see the train going on without me,
I yet observed that the newcomer was considerably
younger and shorter than the director, that he was
sandy-haired, mustachioed, small-featured, and dressed
in a close-cut suit of Scotch tweed. I was now within
a few yards of them. I ran against a stout gentleman—
I was nearly knocked down by a luggage-truck—I
stumbled over a carpet-bag—I gained the spot just as
the driver's whistle warned me to return.
To my utter stupefaction they were no longer there.
I had seen them but two seconds before—and they were
gone! I stood still. I looked to right and left. I
saw no sign of them in any direction. It was as if
the platform had gaped and swallowed them.
“There were two gentlemen standing here a mo-
ment ago,” I said to a porter at my elbow; “which
way can they have gone?”
“I saw no gentlemen, sir,” replied the man.
The whistle shrilled out again. The guard, far up
the piatform, neid up his arm, and shouted to me to
“come on!”
22U


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
acquaintances. The Biddulphs are coming, and Pren-
dergast (Prendergast, of the Skirmishers) is staying in
the house. Adieu! Mrs. Jelf will be expecting you in
the drawing-room.”
I was ushered to my room—not the blue room, of
which Mr. Dwerrihouse had had disagreeable experi-
ence, but a pretty little bachelor's chamber, hung with
a delicate chintz, and made cheerful by a blazing fire.
I unlocked my portmanteau. I tried to be expeditious;
but the memory of my railway adventure haunted me.
I could not get free of it. I could not shake it off. It
impeded me, it worried me, it tripped me up, it caused
me to mislay my studs, to mistie my cravat, to wrench
the buttons off my gloves. Worst of all, it made me
so late that the party had all assembled before I reached
the drawing-room. I had scarcely paid my respects to
Mrs. Jelf when dinner was announced, and we paired
off, some eight or ten couples strong, into the dining-
room. -
I am not going to describe either the guests, or the
dinner. All provincial parties bear the strictest family
resemblance, and I am not aware that an East Anglian
banquet offers any exception to the rule. There was
the usual country baronet and his wife; there were the
usual country parsons and their wives; there was the
sempiternal turkey and haunch of venison. Vanitas
vanitatum. There is nothing new under the sun.
I was placed about midway down the table. I had
taken one rector's wife down to dinner, and I had an-
other at my left hand. They talked across me, and
their talk was about babies. It was dreadfully dull.
At length there came a pause. The entrées had just
been removed, and the turkey had come upon the scene.
The conversation had all along been of the languidest,
but at this moment it happened to have stagnated alto-
gether. Jelf was carving the turkey. Mrs. Jelf looked
222


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
f
as if she was trying to think of something to say.
Everybody else was silent. Moved by an unlucky im-
pulse, I thought I would relate my adventure.
“By the way, Jelf,” I began, “I came down part of
the way to-day with a friend of yours.”
“Indeed!” said the master of the feast, slicing scien-
tifically into the breast of the turkey. “With whom,
pray?”
“With one who bade me tell you that he should, if
possible, pay you a visit before Christmas.”
“I cannot think who that could be,” said my friend,
smiling.
“It must be Major Thorp,” suggested Mrs. Jelf.
I shook my head.
“It was not Major Thorp,” I replied. “It was a
near relation of your own, Mrs. Jelf.”
“Then I am more puzzled than ever,” replied my
hostess. “Pray tell me who it was.”
“It was no less a person than your cousin, Mr. John
Dwerrihouse.”
Jonathan Jelf laid down his knife and fork. Mrs.
Jelf looked at me in a strange, startled way, and said
never a word.
“And he desired me to tell you, dear madam, that
you need not take the trouble to burn the Hall down
in his honor this time; but only to have the chimney
of the blue-room swept before his arrival.”
Before I had reached the end of my sentence, I be-
came aware of something ominous in the faces of the
guests. I felt I had said something which I had better
have left unsaid, and that for some unexplained reason
my words had evoked a general consternation. I sat
confounded, not daring to utter another syllable, and
for at least two whole minutes there was dead silence
round the table. Then Captain Prendergast came to
the rescue.
223


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“You have been abroad for some morths, have you
not, Mr. Langford?” he said, with the desperation of
one who flings himself into the breach. “I heard you
had been to Russia. Surely you have something to tell
us of the state and temper of the country after the war?”
I was heartily grateful to the gallant Skirmisher for
this diversion in my favor. I answered him, I fear,
somewhat lamely; but he kept the conversation up, and
presently one or two others joined in, and so the diffi-
culty, whatever it might have been, was bridged over.
Bridged over, but not repaired. A something, an awk-
wardness, a visible constraint remained. The guests
hitherto had been simply dull; but now they were evi-
dently uncomfortable and embarrassed.
The dessert had scarcely been placed upon the table
when the ladies left the room. I seized the oppor-
tunity to select a vacant chair next Captain Prender-
gast.
“In heaven's name,” I whispered, “what was the mat-
ter just now? What had I said?”
“You mentioned the name of John Dwerrihouse.”
“What of that? I had seen him not two hours be-
fore.”
“It is a most astounding circumstance that you
should have seen him,” said Captain Prendergast.
“Are you sure it was he?”
“As sure as of my own identity. We were talking
all the way between London and Blackwater. But why
does that surprise you?”
“Because,” replied Captain Prendergast, dropping
his voice to the lowest whisper—“because John Dwer-
rihouse absconded three months ago, with seventy-
five thousand pounds of the company's money, and has
never been heard of since.”
224


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
II.
John Dwerrihouse had absconded three months ago—
and I had seen him only a few hours back. John
Dwerrihouse had embezzled seventy-five thousand
pounds of the company's money—yet told me that he
carried that sum upon his person. Were ever facts
so strangely incongruous, so difficult to reconcile?
How should he have ventured again into the light of
day? How dared he show himself along the line?
Above all, what had he been doing throughout those
mysterious three months of disappearance?
Perplexing questions, these. Questions which at
once suggested themselves to the minds of all con-
cerned, but which admitted of no easy solution. I
could find no reply to them. Captain Prendergast had
not even a suggestion to offer. Jonathan Jelf, who
seized the first opportunity of drawing me aside and
learning all that I had to tell, was more amazed and
bewildered than either of us. He came to my room
that night, when all the guests were gone, and we talked
the thing over from every point of view—without, it
must be confessed, arriving at any kind of conclusion.
“I do not ask you,” he said, “whether you can have
mistaken your man. That is impossible.”
“As impossible as that I should mistake some
stranger for yourself.”
“It is not a question of looks or voice, but of facts.
That he should have alluded to the fire in the blue room
is proof enough of John Dwerrihouse's identity. How
did he look?”
“Older, I thought. Considerably older, paler, and
more anxious.”
“He has had enough to make him look anxious,
anyhow,” said my friend gloomily, “be he innocent or
guilty.”
225


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“I am inclined to believe that he is innocent,” I
replied. “He showed no embarrassment when I ad-
dressed him, and no uneasiness when the guard came
round. His conversation was open. to a fault. I might
almost say that he talked too freely of the business
which he had in hand.”
“That again is strange; for I know no one more
reticent on such subjects. He actually told you that
he had seventy-five thousand pounds in his pocket?”
“He did.”
“Humph! My wife has an idea about it, and she
may be right—”
“What idea?” -
“Well, she fancies—women are so clever, you know,
at putting themselves inside people's motives—she fan-
cies that he was tempted; that he did actually take the
money; and that he has been concealing himself these
three months in some wild part of the country—strug-
gling possibly with his conscience all the time, and dar-
ing neither to abscond with his booty, nor to come back
and restore it.”
“But now that he has come back?”
“That is the point. She conceives that he has prob-
ably thrown himself upon the company's mercy; made
restitution of the money; and, being forgiven, is per-
mitted to carry the business through as if nothing what-
ever had happened.”
“The last,” I replied, “is an impossible case. Mrs.
Jelf thinks like a generous and delicate-minded woman;
but not in the least like a board of railway directors.
They would never carry forgiveness so far.”
“I fear not; and yet it is the only conjecture that
bears a semblance of likelihood. However, we can
run over to Clayborough to-morrow, and see if any-
thing is to be learned. By the way, Prendergast tells
me you picked up his cigar-case.”
226


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
“I did so, and here it is.”
Jelf took the cigar-case, examined it by the light of
the lamp, and said at once that it was beyond doubt
Mr. Dwerrihouse's property, and that he remembered
to have seen him use it. -
“Here, too, is his monogram on the side,” he added.
“A big J transfixing a capital D. He used to carry the
same on his note-paper.”
“It offers, at all events, a proof that I was not dream-
ing.”
“Ay; but it is time you were asleep and dreaming
now. I am ashamed to have kept you up so long.
Good-night.”
“Good-night, and remember that I am more than
ready to go with you to Clayborough, or Blackwater,
or London, or anywhere, if I can be of the least ser-
vice.”
“Thanks! I know you mean it, old friend, and it may
be that I shall put you to the test. Once more, good-
night.”
So we parted for that night, and met again in the
breakfast-room at half-past eight next morning. It
was a hurried, silent, uncomfortable meal. None of
us had slept well, and all were thinking of the same
subject. Mrs. Jelf had evidently been crying; Jelf
was impatient to be off; and both Captain Prender-
gast and myself felt ourselves to be in the painful
position of outsiders, who are involuntarily brought
into a domestic trouble. Within twenty minutes after
we had left the breakfast-table, the dog-cart was
brought round, and my friend and I were on the road
to Clayborough.
“Tell you what it is, Langford,” he said, as we
sped along between the wintry hedges, “I do not
much fancy to bring up Dwerrihouse's name at Clay-
borough. All the officials know that he is my wife's
227


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
relation, and the subject just now is hardly a pleasant
one. If you don't much mind, we will take the II:Io
to Blackwater. It's an important station, and we shall
stand a far better chance of picking up information
there than at Clayborough.”
So we took the II: Io, which happened to be an ex-
press, and, arriving at Blackwater about a quarter
before twelve, proceeded at once to prosecute our in-
quiry.
We began by asking for the station-master—a big,
blunt, business-like person, who at once averred that
he knew Mr. John Dwerrihouse perfectly well, and
that there was no director on the line whom he had
seen and spoken to so frequently.
“He used to be down here two or three times a
week, about three months ago,” said he, “when the new
line was first set afoot, but since then, you know, gen-
tlemen * >
He paused significantly.
Jelf flushed scarlet.
“Yes, yes,” he said, hurriedly, “we know all about
that. The point now to be ascertained is whether any-
thing has been seen or heard of him lately.”
“Not to my knowledge,” replied the station-master.
“He is not known to have been down the line any
time yesterday, for instance?”
The station-master shook his head.
“The East Anglian, sir,” said he, “is about the last
place where he would dare to show himself. Why,
there isn’t a station-master, there isn't a guard, there
isn't a porter, who doesn't know Mr. Dwerrihouse by
sight as well as he knows his own face in the looking-
glass; or who wouldn't telegraph for the police as soon
as he had set eyes on him at any point along the line.
Bless you, sir! there's been a standing order out
against him ever since the 25th of September last.”
228


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
“And yet,” pursued my friend, “a gentleman who
traveled down yesterday from London to Clayborough
by the afternoon express testifies that he saw Mr.
Dwerrihouse in the train, and that Mr. Dwerrihouse
alighted at Blackwater station.”
“Quite impossible, sir,” replied the station-master,
promptly.
“Why impossible?”
“Because there is no station along the line where
he is so well known, or where he would run so great
a risk. It would be just running his head into the
lion's mouth. He would have been mad to come nigh
Blackwater station; and if he had come, he would have
been arrested before he left the platform.”
“Can you tell me who took the Blackwater tickets
of that train?”
“I can, sir. It was the guard—Benjamin Somers.”
“And where can I find him?”
“You can find him, sir, by staying here, if you please,
till one o'clock. He will be coming through with the
up-express from Crampton, which stays at Blackwater
for ten minutes.”
By one o'clock we were back again upon the plat-
form, and waiting for the train. It came punctually,
and I at once recognized the ruddy-faced guard who
had gone down with my train the evening before.
“The gentlemen want to ask you something about
Mr. Dwerrihouse, Somers,” said the station-master, by
way of introduction.
The guard flashed a keen glance from my face to
Jelf's, and back again to mine.
“Mr. John Dwerrihouse, the late director?” said he,
interrogatively.
“The same,” replied my friend. “Should you know
him if you saw him?”
229


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
“Anywhere, sir.”
“Do know if he was in the 4:15 express yesterday
afternoon?”
“He was not, sir.”
“How can you answer so positively?”
“Because I looked into every carriage, and saw every
face in the train, and I could take my oath that Mr.
Dwerrihouse was not in it. This gentleman was,” he
added, turning sharply upon me. “I don't know that
I ever saw him before in my life, but I remember his
face perfectly. You nearly missed taking your seat in
time at this station, sir, and you got out at Clay-
borough.”
“Quite true, guard,” I replied; “but do you not
also remember the face of the gentleman who traveled
down in the same carriage with me as far as here?”
“It was my impression, sir, that you traveled down
alone,” said Somers, with a look of some surprise.
“By no means. I had a fellow-traveler as far as
Blackwater, and it was in trying to restore him the
cigar-case which he had dropped in the carriage, that
I so nearly let you go on without me.”
“I remember your saying something about a cigar-
case, certainly,” replied the guard; “but—”
“You asked for my ticket just before we entered the
station.”
“I did, sir.”
“Then you must have seen him. He sat in the
corner next the very door to which you came.”
“No, indeed. I saw no one.”
I looked at Jelf. I began to think the guard was
in the ex-director's confidence.
“If I had seen another traveler, I should have asked
for his ticket,” added Somers. “Did you see me ask
for his ticket, sir?”
230


1 HE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
examination upon the subject. Being still a guest at
Dumbleton Hall, I had to go up to London for the
purpose, and Jonathan Jelf accompanied me. I found
the direction of the Great East Anglian line represented
by a party of some twelve or fourteen gentlemen seated
in solemn conclave round a huge green-baized table,
in a gloomy board-room, adjoining the London ter-
minus.
Being courteously received by the chairman (who at
once began by saying that certain statements of mine
respecting Mr. John Dwerrihouse had come to the
knowledge of the direction, and that they in conse-
quence desired to confer with me on those points),
we were placed at the table and the inquiry proceeded
in due form.
I was first asked if I knew Mr. John Dwerrihouse,
how long I had been acquainted with him, and whether
I could identify him at sight. I was then asked when
I had seen him last. To which I replied: “On the
fourth of this present month, December, 1856.” Then
came the inquiry of where I had seen him on that
fourth day of December; to which I replied that I
met him in a first-class compartment of the 4:15 down-
express; that he got in just as the train was leaving the
London terminus, and that he alighted at Blackwater
station. The chairman then inquired whether I had
held any communication with my fellow-traveler;
whereupon I related, as nearly as I could remember it,
the whole bulk and substance of Mr. John Dwerri-
house's diffuse information respecting the new branch
line. *
To all this the board listened with profound atten-
tion, while the chairman presided and the secretary
took notes. I then produced the cigar-case. It was
passed from hand to hand and recognized by all. There
was not a man present who did not remember that plain
233


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
cigar-case with its silver monogram, or to whom it
seemed anything less than entirely corroborative of my
evidence. When at length I had told all that I had
to tell, the chairman whispered something to the sec-
retary; the secretary touched a silver hand-bell; and
the guard, Benjamin Somers, was ushered into the
room. He was then examined as carefully as myself.
He declared that he knew Mr. John Dwerrihouse per-
fectly well; that he could not be mistaken in him;
that he remembered going down with the 4:15 express
on the afternoon in question; that he remembered me;
and that, there being one or two empty first-class com-
partments on that especial afternoon, he had, in com-
pliance with my request, placed me in a carriage by
myself. He was positive that I remained alone in that
compartment all the way from London to Clayborough.
He was ready to take his oath that Mr. Dwerrihouse
was neither in that carriage with me nor in any com-
partment of that train. He remembered distinctly to
have examined my ticket at Blackwater; was certain
that there was no one else at that time in the carriage;
could not have failed to observe any second person,
had there been one; had that second person been Mr.
John Dwerrihouse, should have quietly double-locked
the door of the carriage, and have at once given in-
formation to the Blackwater station-master. So clear,
so decisive, so ready, was Somers with this testimony,
that the board looked fairly puzzled.
“You hear this person's statement, Mr. Langford,”
said the chairman. “It contradicts yours in every par-
ticular. What have you to say in reply?”
“I can only repeat what I said before. I am quite
as positive of the truth of my own assertions as Mr.
Somers can be of the truth of his.”
“You say that Mr. Dwerrihouse alighted at Black-
water, and that he was in possession of a private key.
234


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
Are you sure he had not alighted by means of that key
before the guard came round for the tickets?”
“I am quite positive that he did not leave the car-
riage till the train had fairly entered the station, and the
other Blackwater passengers alighted. I even saw that
he was met there by a friend.” -
“Indeed! Did you see that person distinctly?”
“Quite distinctly.”
“Can you describe his appearance?”
“I think so. He was short and very slight, sandy-
haired, with a bushy mustache and beard, and he wore
a closely-fitting suit of gray tweed. His age I should
take to be about thirty-eight or forty.”
“Did Mr. Dwerrihouse leave the station in this per-
son's company?”
“I cannot tell. I saw them walking together down
the platform, and then I saw them standing aside under
a gas-jet, talking earnestly. After that I lost sight of
them quite suddenly; and just then my train went on,
and I with it.”
The chairman and secretary conferred together in
an undertone. The directors whispered to each other.
One or two looked suspiciously at the guard. I could
see that my evidence remained unshaken, and that,
like myself, they suspected some complicity between
the guard and the defaulter.
“How far did you conduct that 4.15 express on the
day in question, Somers?” asked the chairman.
“All through, sir,” replied the guard; “from London
to Crampton.”
“How was it that you were not relieved at Clay-
borough? I thought there was always a change of
guards at Clayborough.”
“There used to be, sir, till the new regulations came
in force last midsummer; since when, the guards in
charge of express trains go the whole way through.”
235


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
The chairman turned to the secretary.
“I think it would be as well,” he said, “if we had
the day-book to refer to upon this point.”
Again the secretary touched the silver hand-bell,
and desired the porter in attendance to summon Mr.
Raikes. From a word or two dropped by another of
the directors, I gathered that Mr. Raikes was one of
the under-secretaries.
He came—a small, slight, sandy-haired, keen-eyed
man, with an eager, nervous manner, and a forest of
light beard and mustache. He just showed himself
at the door of the board-room, and being requested to
bring a certain day-book from a certain shelf in a cer-
tain room, bowed and vanished.
He was there such a moment, and the surprise of
seeing him was so great and sudden, that it was not
till the door had closed upon him that I found voice
to speak. He was no sooner gone, however, than I
sprang to my feet.
“That person,” I said, “is the same who met Mr.
Dwerrihouse upon the platform at Blackwater!”
There was a general movement of surprise. The
chairman looked grave and somewhat agitated.
“Take care, Mr. Langford,” he said; “take care what
you say!”
“I am as positive of his identity as of my own.”
“Do you consider the consequences of your words?
Do you consider that you are bringing a charge of the
gravest character against one of the company's ser-
vants?” -
“I am willing to be put on my oath, if necessary.
The man who came to that door a minute since, is the
same whom I saw talking with Mr. Dwerrihouse on the
Blackwater platform. Were he twenty times the com-
pany's servant, I could say neither more nor less.”
236


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
The chairman turned again to the guard.
“Did you see Mr. Raikes in the train, or on the plat-
form?” he asked.
Somers shook his head. “I am confident Mr. Raikes
was not in the train,” he said; “and I certainly did not
see him on the platform.” -
The chairman turned next to the secretary.
“Mr. Raikes is in your office, Mr. Hunter,” he said.
“Can you remember if he was absent on the fourth
instant?”
“I do not think he was,” replied the secretary; “but
I am not prepared to speak positively. I have been
away most afternoons myself lately, and Mr. Raikes
might easily have absented himself if he had been dis-
posed.” At this moment the under-secretary returned
with the day-book under his arm.
“Be pleased to refer, Mr. Raikes,” said the chairman,
“to the entries of the fourth instant, and see what Ben-
jamin Somer's duties were on that day.”
Mr. Raikes threw open the cumbrous volume, and
ran a practised eye and finger down some three or four
successive columns of entries. Stopping suddenly at
the foot of a page, he then read aloud that Benjamin
Somers had on that day conducted the 4.15 express
from London to Crampton.
The chairman leaned forward in his seat, looked the
under-secretary full in the face, and said, quite sharply
and suddenly:
“Where were you, Mr. Raikes, on the same after-
noon?”
“I, sir?”
“You, Mr. Raikes. Where were you on the after-
noon and evening of the fourth of the present month?”
“Here, sir—in Mr. Hunter's office. Where else
should I be?” There was a dash of trepidation in the
237


FAMOUS OCCULT TALES.
under-secretary's voice as he said this; but his look of
surprise was natural enough.
“We have some reason for believing, Mr. Raikes,
that you were absent that afternoon without leave.
Was this the case?”
“Certainly not, sir. I have not had a day's holiday
since September. Mr. Hunter will bear me out in
this.”
Mr. Hunter repeated what he had previously said on
the subject, but added that the clerks in the adjoining
office would be certain to know. Whereupon the
senior clerk, a grave, middle-aged person, in green
glasses, was summoned and interrogated.
His testimony cleared the under-secretary at once.
He declared that Mr. Raikes had in no instance, to his
knowledge, been absent during office hours since his
return from his holiday in September.
I was confounded. The chairman turned to me with
a smile, in which a shade of covert annoyance was
scarcely apparent.
“You hear, Mr. Langford?” he said.
“I hear, sir; but my conviction remains unshaken.”
“I fear, Mr. Langford, that your convictions are very
insufficiently based,” replied the chairman with a
doubtful cough. “I fear that you ‘dream dreams,’ and
mistake them for actual occurrences. It is a dangerous
habit of mind, and might lead to dangerous results.
Mr. Raikes here would have found himself in an un-
pleasant position, had he not proved so satisfactorily
an alibi.”
. I was about to reply, but he gave me no time.
“I think, gentlemen,” he went on to say, addressing
the board, “that we should be wasting time to push
this inquiry further. Mr. Langford's evidence would
seem to be of an equal value throughout. The testi-
mony of Benjamin Somers disproves his first statement,
238


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
and the testimony of the last witness disproves his
second. I think we may conclude that Mr. Langford
fell asleep in the train on the occasion of his journey to
Clayborough, and dreamt an unusually vivid and cir-
cumstantial dream—of which, however, we have now
heard quite enough.”
There are few things more annoying than to find
one's positive convictions met with incredulity. I
could not help feeling impatience at the turn that
affairs had taken. I was not proof against the civil
sarcasm of the chairman's manner. Most intolerable
of all, however, was the quiet smile lurking about the
corners of Benjamin Somer's mouth, and the half-
triumphant, half-malicious gleam in the eyes of the
under-secretary. The man was evidently puzzled, and
somewhat alarmed. His looks seemed furtively to in-
terrogate me. Who was I? What did I want? Why
had I come there to do him an ill turn with his em-
ployers? What was it to me whether or no he was
absent without leave?
Seeing all this, and perhaps more irritated by it than
the thing deserved, I begged leave to detain the atten-
tion of the board for a moment longer. Jelſ plucked
me impatiently by the sleeve.
“Better let the think drop,” he whispered. “The
chairman's right enough. You dreamt it; and the less
said now, the better.”
I was not to be silenced, however, in this fashion.
I had yet something to say, and I would say it. It
was to this effect: That dreams were not usually pro-
ductive of tangible results, and that I requested to
know in what way the chairman conceived I had
evolved from my dream so substantial and well-made a
delusion as the cigar-case which I had had the honor to
place before him at the commencement of our inter-
V16W.
239


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
“Look at him!” I exclaimed. “Look at his face! I
ask no better witness to the truth of my words.”
The chairman's brow darkened.
“Mr. Raikes,” he said sternly, “if you know any-
thing, you had better speak.”
Vainly trying to wrench himself from my grasp, the
under-secretary stammered out an incoherent denial.
“Let me go,” he said. “I know nothing—you have
no right to detain me—let me go!”
“Did you, or did you not, meet Mr. John Dwerri-
house at Blackwater station? The charge brought
against you is either true or false. If true, you will
do well to throw yourself upon the mercy of the board,
and make a full confession of all that you know.” The
under-secretary wrung his hands in an agony of help-
less terror.
“I was away,” he cried. “I was two hundred miles
away at the time! I know nothing about it, I have
nothing to confess; I am innocent, I call God to witness
I am innocent!”
“Two hundred miles away!” echoed the chairman.
“What do you mean?”
“I was in Devonshire. I had three weeks' leave of
absence—I appeal to Mr. Hunter—Mr. Hunter knows
I had three weeks’ leave of absence! I was in Devon-
shire all the time, I can prove I was in Devonshire!”
Seeing him so abject, so incoherent, so wild with
apprehension, the directors began to whisper gravely
among themselves; while one got quietly up, and called
the porter to guard the door.
“What has your being in Devonshire to do with the
matter? When were you in Devonshire?”
“Mr. Raikes took his leave in September,” said the
secretary; “about the time when Mr. Dwerrihouse dis-
appeared.” -
24I


THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS.
advise you to submit to the law, to plead guilty, and
to conceal nothing. When did you do this deed?”
The guilty man rose to his feet, and leaned heavily
against the table. His answer came reluctantly, like
the speech of one dreaming.
“On the twenty-second of September.”
On the twenty-second of September! I looked in
Jonathan Jelf's face, and he in mine. I felt my own
paling with a strange sense of wonder and dread. I
saw his blench suddenly, even to the lips.
“Merciful heaven!” he whispered, “what was it, then,
that you saw in the train?”
*: × * *
What was it that I saw in the train? That question
remains unanswered to this day. I have never been
able to reply to it. I only know that it bore the living
likeness of the murdered man, whose body had then
been lying some ten weeks under a rough pile of
branches, and brambles, and rotting leaves, at the bot-
tom of a deserted chalk-pit about half way between
Blackwater and Mallingford. I know that it spoke,
and moved, and looked as that man spoke, and moved,
and looked in life; that I heard, or seemed to hear,
things related which I could never otherwise have
learned; that I was guided, as it were, by that vision
on the platform to the identification of the murderer;
and that, a passive instrument myself, I was destined,
by means of these mysterious teachings, to bring about
the ends of justice. For these things I have never
been able to account.
As for the matter of the cigar-case, it proved, on
inquiry, that the carriage in which I traveled down that
afternoon to Clayborough had not been in use for
several weeks, and was, in point of fact, the same in
which poor John Dwerrihouse had performed his last
243


“The book consists of
• thirty-two pages of wash
drawings by D. W. C. Falls,
limned in a style calculated to
excite the risibilities of the be-
-holder. The difficulties and ludi-
crous situations arising during
the progress of the game are, of
course, exaggerated, with the in-
tention of creating amusement, and
each has an accompanying couplet
giving a cue to the subject of the
drawing. For instance, a picture
of a Scotchman, in Highland cos-
tume, is shown on one page with
the following:
* G is a Folfºr who says *Hoot
mon' and “Hotch,
It is needless to tell you the
º gentleman’s Scotch.”
The book is inclosed in a cover
tnade of coarse canvas, with the let-
tering, “An A B C of Golf, by a
Victim,” printed thereon as though
done with a marking brush, with a
colored Blustration of a laughing cad-
die pasted in the center. The
book has made a hit.”—ſhe is
S-2) ºr
BY A
Victim.
Sent to any part of the
world on receipt of 50
cents by the publishers,
I.H. Blanchard & Co.
268 & 270
Canal Street º
º, Joº CS-2





- （ ）
| _
|--
|-
-
-
_
-
--
_
-
_
_
|-
|-
-
|-
|-
|-
_
_
|-
|-
_
_
|-
| _
- -
_
-
_
_
_
| _
| _
_
- -
-
|-
|-
| _
|-
|-
-
|-
-
_
| _
-
_
|-
_
_
|-
_
|-
|-
|-
|-
_
|-
|-
|-
_
|-
-
|-
|-
|-|-
|-
|-
-
-
|-
|-
|
_
-
|-
|-
|-
_
_
_
-
|-
|-
-
|-
（ ）
-