“MORTAL! be thankful; for to you, in return for your
unquestioning faith, has been vouchsafed a favor which
distinguishes you above your fellow-men. I who write to you am
Aldabaran, the potent genie of the air. Last night, I snatched
you from your couch, in the dead of night, and bore you hither.
You are now at the Revere House, in Boston. In your pocket
you will find gold, which I have placed there. It will defray
all your expenses, and bear you back to Portland. But beware
lest you divulge to any one the chance that has befallen you;
for, should you be so indiscreet, I swear to you by Solomon’s
seal, which glows with unapproachable splendor, that you will
instantly be transformed into a gigantic jackass, and be doomed
in that shape to walk the earth for ever as the penalty of your
folly.
“Farewell, and beware!
“ALDABARAN.”
As Peter Plunkett read this terrible missive, his hair stood on end with
affright; yet, in the midst of his terror, he was filled with joy at the
nature of the favor which had been granted him.
That night, he returned to Portland. Many curious inquiries were made
of him as to the object of his journey; for this was the first time he
had left Portland for many years. To all these inquiries he preserved
an impenetrable silence; merely shaking his head mysteriously, lest he
should incur the dreadful doom denounced against him. Henceforth he
deemed himself as one singled out from the great mass of mankind. Upon
his fellow-mortals he looked with a pitying eye, as beings with whom the
invisible spirits of the air had never deigned to hold communication.
Happy in his innocent delusion, he would not exchange places with the
most powerful monarch. Locked up in his trunk are the gold coins which he
found in his pocket in accordance with the mysterious letter. He will
never spend them; for he regards them as a fairy gift; and he fancies,
that, while he holds them in his possession, Fortune will ever smile upon
him.