A GREAT CHEMICAL DISCOVERY.

Walking along the Strand one evening last year towards Pall Mall, I was

accosted near Charing Cross Station by a strange-looking, middle-aged

man in a poor suit of clothes, who surprised and startled me by asking

if I could tell him from what inn the coach usually started for York.

"Dear me!" I said, a little puzzled. "I didn't know there was a coach to

York. Indeed, I'm almost certain there isn't one."

The man looked puzzled and surprised in turn. "No coach to York?" he

muttered to himself, half inarticulately. "No coach to York? How things

have changed! I wonder whether nobody ever goes to York nowadays!"

"Pardon me," I said, anxious to discover what could be his meaning;

"many people go to York every day, but of course they go by rail."

"Ah, yes," he answered softly, "I see. Yes, of course, they go by rail.

They go by rail, no doubt. How very stupid of me!" And he turned on his

heel as if to get away from me as quickly as possible.

I can't exactly say why, but I felt instinctively that this curious

stranger was trying to conceal from me his ignorance of what a railway

really was. I was quite certain from the way in which he spoke that he

had not the slightest conception what I meant, and that he was doing

his best to hide his confusion by pretending to understand me. Here was

indeed a strange mystery. In the latter end of this nineteenth century,

in the metropolis of industrial England, within a stone's-throw of

Charing Cross terminus, I had met an adult Englishman who apparently did

not know of the existence of railways. My curiosity was too much piqued

to let the matter rest there. I must find out what he meant by it. I

walked after him hastily, as he tried to disappear among the crowd, and

laid my hand upon his shoulder, to his evident chagrin.

"Excuse me," I said, drawing him aside down the corner of Craven Street;

"you did not understand what I meant when I said people went to York by

rail?"

He looked in my face steadily, and then, instead of replying to my

remark, he said slowly, "Your name is Spottiswood, I believe?"

Again I gave a start of surprise. "It is," I answered; "but I never

remember to have seen you before."

"No," he replied dreamily; "no, we have never met till now, no doubt;

but I knew your father, I'm sure; or perhaps it may have been your

grandfather."

"Not my grandfather, certainly," said I, "for he was killed at

Waterloo."

"At Waterloo! Indeed! How long since, pray?"

I could not refrain from laughing outright. "Why, of course," I

answered, "in 1815. There has been nothing particular to kill off any

large number of Englishmen at Waterloo since the year of the battle, I

suppose."

"True," he muttered, "quite true; so I should have fancied." But I saw

again from the cloud of doubt and bewilderment which came over his

intelligent face that the name of Waterloo conveyed no idea whatsoever

to his mind.

Never in my life had I felt so utterly confused and astonished. In

spite of his poor dress, I could easily see from the clear-cut face and

the refined accent of my strange acquaintance that he was an educated

gentleman--a man accustomed to mix in cultivated society. Yet he clearly

knew nothing whatsoever about railways, and was ignorant of the most

salient facts in English history. Had I suddenly come across some Caspar

Hauser, immured for years in a private prison, and just let loose upon

the world by his gaolers? or was my mysterious stranger one of the Seven

Sleepers of Ephesus, turned out unexpectedly in modern costume on the

streets of London? I don't suppose there exists on earth a man more

utterly free than I am from any tinge of superstition, any lingering

touch of a love for the miraculous; but I confess for a moment I felt

half inclined to suppose that the man before me must have drunk the

elixir of life, or must have dropped suddenly upon earth from some

distant planet.

The impulse to fathom this mystery was irresistible. I drew my arm

through his. "If you knew my father," I said, "you will not object to

come into my chambers and take a glass of wine with me."

"Thank you," he answered half suspiciously; "thank you very much. I

think you look like a man who can be trusted, and I will go with you."

We walked along the Embankment to Adelphi Terrace, where I took him up

to my rooms, and seated him in my easy-chair near the window. As he sat

down, one of the trains on the Metropolitan line whirred past the

Terrace, snorting steam and whistling shrilly, after the fashion of

Metropolitan engines generally. My mysterious stranger jumped back in

alarm, and seemed to be afraid of some immediate catastrophe. There was

absolutely no possibility of doubting it. The man had obviously never

seen a locomotive before.

"Evidently," I said, "you do not know London. I suppose you are a

colonist from some remote district, perhaps an Australian from the

interior somewhere, just landed at the Tower?"

"No, not an Austrian"--I noted his misapprehension--"but a Londoner born

and bred."

"How is it, then, that you seem never to have seen an engine before?"

"Can I trust you?" he asked in a piteously plaintive, half-terrified

tone. "If I tell you all about it, will you at least not aid in

persecuting and imprisoning me?"

I was touched by his evident grief and terror. "No," I answered, "you

may trust me implicitly. I feel sure there is something in your history

which entitles you to sympathy and protection."

"Well," he replied, grasping my hand warmly, "I will tell you all my

story; but you must be prepared for something almost too startling to be

credible."

"My name is Jonathan Spottiswood," he began calmly.

Again I experienced a marvellous start: Jonathan Spottiswood was the

name of my great-great-uncle, whose unaccountable disappearance from

London just a century since had involved our family in so much

protracted litigation as to the succession to his property. In fact, it

was Jonathan Spottiswood's money which at that moment formed the bulk of

my little fortune. But I would not interrupt him, so great was my

anxiety to hear the story of his life.

"I was born in London," he went on, "in 1750. If you can hear me say

that and yet believe that possibly I am not a madman, I will tell you

the rest of my tale; if not, I shall go at once and for ever."

"I suspend judgment for the present," I answered. "What you say is

extraordinary, but not more extraordinary perhaps than the clear

anachronism of your ignorance about locomotives in the midst of the

present century."

"So be it, then. Well, I will tell you the facts briefly in as few words

as I can. I was always much given to experimental philosophy, and I

spent most of my time in the little laboratory which I had built for

myself behind my father's house in the Strand. I had a small independent

fortune of my own, left me by an uncle who had made successful ventures

in the China trade; and as I was indisposed to follow my father's

profession of solicitor, I gave myself up almost entirely to the pursuit

of natural philosophy, following the researches of the great Mr.

Cavendish, our chief English thinker in this kind, as well as of

Monsieur Lavoisier, the ingenious French chemist, and of my friend Dr.

Priestley, the Birmingham philosopher, whose new theory of phlogiston I

have been much concerned to consider and to promulgate. But the especial

subject to which I devoted myself was the elucidation of the nature of

fixed air. I do not know how far you yourself may happen to have heard

respecting these late discoveries in chemical science, but I dare

venture to say that you are at least acquainted with the nature of the

body to which I refer."

"Perfectly," I answered with a smile, "though your terminology is now a

little out of date. Fixed air was, I believe, the old-fashioned name for

carbonic acid gas."

"Ah," he cried vehemently, "that accursed word again! Carbonic acid has

undone me, clearly. Yes, if you will have it so, that seems to be what

they call it in this extraordinary century; but fixed air was the name

we used to give it in our time, and fixed air is what I must call it, of

course, in telling you my story. Well, I was deeply interested in this

curious question, and also in some of the results which I obtained from

working with fixed air in combination with a substance I had produced

from the essential oil of a weed known to us in England as lady's

mantle, but which the learned Mr. Carl Linnaeus describes in his system

as _Alchemilla vulgaris_. From that weed I obtained an oil which I

combined with a certain decoction of fixed air into a remarkable

compound; and to this compound, from its singular properties, I

proposed to give the name of Pausodyne. For some years I was almost

wholly engaged in investigating the conduct of this remarkable agent;

and lest I should weary you by entering into too much detail, I may as

well say at once that it possessed the singular power of entirely

suspending animation in men or animals for several hours together. It is

a highly volatile oil, like ammonia in smell, but much thicker in

gravity; and when held to the nose of an animal, it causes immediate

stoppage of the heart's action, making the body seem quite dead for long

periods at a time. But the moment a mixture of the pausodyne with oil of

vitriol and gum resin is presented to the nostrils, the animal

instantaneously revives exactly as before, showing no evil effects

whatsoever from its temporary simulation of death. To the reviving

mixture I have given the appropriate name of Anegeiric.

"Of course you will instantly see the valuable medical applications

which may be made of such an agent. I used it at first for experimenting

upon the amputation of limbs and other surgical operations. It succeeded

admirably. I found that a dog under the influence of pausodyne suffered

his leg, which had been broken in a street accident, to be set and

spliced without the slightest symptom of feeling or discomfort. A cat,

shot with a pistol by a cruel boy, had the bullet extracted without

moving a muscle. My assistant, having allowed his little finger to

mortify from neglect of a burn, permitted me to try the effect of my

discovery upon himself; and I removed the injured joints while he

remained in a state of complete insensibility, so that he could hardly

believe afterwards in the actual truth of their removal. I felt certain

that I had invented a medical process of the very highest and greatest

utility.

"All this took place in or before the year 1781. How long ago that may

be according to your modern reckoning I cannot say; but to me it seems

hardly more than a few months since. Perhaps you would not mind telling

me the date of the current year. I have never been able to ascertain

it."

"This is 1881," I said, growing every moment more interested in his

tale.

"Thank you. I gathered that we must now be somewhere near the close of

the nineteenth century, though I could not learn the exact date with

certainty. Well, I should tell you, my dear sir, that I had contracted

an engagement about the year 1779 with a young lady of most remarkable

beauty and attractive mental gifts, a Miss Amelia Spragg, daughter of

the well-known General Sir Thomas Spragg, with whose achievements you

are doubtless familiar. Pardon me, my friend of another age, pardon me,

I beg of you, if I cannot allude to this subject without emotion after a

lapse of time which to you doubtless seems like a century, but is to me

a matter of some few months only at the utmost. I feel towards her as

towards one whom I have but recently lost, though I now find that she

has been dead for more than eighty years." As he spoke, the tears came

into his eyes profusely; and I could see that under the external

calmness and quaintness of his eighteenth century language and demeanour

his whole nature was profoundly stirred at the thought of his lost love.

"Look here," he continued, taking from his breast a large, old-fashioned

gold locket containing a miniature; "that is her portrait, by Mr.

Walker, and a very truthful likeness indeed. They left me that when they

took away my clothes at the Asylum, for I would not consent to part with

it, and the physician in attendance observed that to deprive me of it

might only increase the frequency and violence of my paroxysms. For I

will not conceal from you the fact that I have just escaped from a

pauper lunatic establishment."

I took the miniature which he handed me, and looked at it closely. It

was the picture of a young and beautiful girl, with the features and

costume of a Sir Joshua. I recognized the face at once as that of a lady

whose portrait by Gainsborough hangs on the walls of my uncle's

dining-room at Whittingham Abbey. It was strange indeed to hear a living

man speak of himself as the former lover of this, to me, historic

personage.

"Sir Thomas, however," he went on, "was much opposed to our union, on

the ground of some real or fancied social disparity in our positions;

but I at last obtained his conditional consent, if only I could succeed

in obtaining the Fellowship of the Royal Society, which might, he

thought, be accepted as a passport into that fashionable circle of which

he was a member. Spurred on by this ambition, and by the encouragement

of my Amelia, I worked day and night at the perfectioning of my great

discovery, which I was assured would bring not only honour and dignity

to myself, but also the alleviation and assuagement of pain to countless

thousands of my fellow-creatures. I concealed the nature of my

experiments, however, lest any rival investigator should enter the field

with me prematurely, and share the credit to which I alone was really

entitled. For some months I was successful in my efforts at concealment;

but in March of this year--I mistake; of the year 1781, I should say--an

unfortunate circumstance caused me to take special and exceptional

precautions against intrusion.

"I was then conducting my experiments upon living animals, and

especially upon the extirpation of certain painful internal diseases to

which they are subject. I had a number of suffering cats in my

laboratory, which I had treated with pausodyne, and stretched out on

boards for the purpose of removing the tumours with which they were

afflicted. I had no doubt that in this manner, while directly benefiting

the animal creation, I should indirectly obtain the necessary skill to

operate successfully upon human beings in similar circumstances. Already

I had completely cured several cats without any pain whatsoever, and I

was anxious to proceed to the human subject. Walking one morning in the

Strand, I found a beggar woman outside a gin-shop, quite drunk, with a

small, ill-clad child by her side, suffering the most excruciating

torments from a perfectly remediable cause. I induced the mother to

accompany me to my laboratory, and there I treated the poor little

creature with pausodyne, and began to operate upon her with perfect

confidence of success.

"Unhappily, my laboratory had excited the suspicion of many ill-disposed

persons among the low mob of the neighbourhood. It was whispered abroad

that I was what they called a vivisectionist; and these people, who

would willingly have attended a bull-baiting or a prize fight, found

themselves of a sudden wondrous humane when scientific procedure was

under consideration. Besides, I had made myself unpopular by receiving

visits from my friend Dr. Priestley, whose religious opinions were not

satisfactory to the strict orthodoxy of St. Giles's. I was rumoured to

be a philosopher, a torturer of live animals, and an atheist. Whether

the former accusation were true or not, let others decide; the two

latter, heaven be my witness, were wholly unfounded. However, when the

neighbouring rabble saw a drunken woman with a little girl entering my

door, a report got abroad at once that I was going to vivisect a

Christian child. The mob soon collected in force, and broke into the

laboratory. At that moment I was engaged, with my assistant, in

operating upon the girl, while several cats, all completely

anaestheticised, were bound down on the boards around, awaiting the

healing of their wounds after the removal of tumours. At the sight of

such apparent tortures the people grew wild with rage, and happening in

their transports to fling down a large bottle of the anegeiric, or

reviving mixture, the child and the animals all at once recovered

consciousness, and began of course to writhe and scream with acute pain.

I need not describe to you the scene that ensued. My laboratory was

wrecked, my assistant severely injured, and I myself barely escaped with

my life.

"After this _contretemps_ I determined to be more cautious. I took the

lease of a new house at Hampstead, and in the garden I determined to

build myself a subterranean laboratory where I might be absolutely free

from intrusion. I hired some labourers from Bath for this purpose, and I

explained to them the nature of my wishes, and the absolute necessity of

secrecy. A high wall surrounded the garden, and here the workmen worked

securely and unseen. I concealed my design even from my dear

brother--whose grandson or great-grandson I suppose you must be--and

when the building was finished, I sent my men back to Bath, with strict

injunctions never to mention the matter to any one. A trap-door in the

cellar, artfully concealed, gave access to the passage; a large oak

portal, bound with iron, shut me securely in; and my air supply was

obtained by means of pipes communicating through blank spaces in the

brick wall of the garden with the outer atmosphere. Every arrangement

for concealment was perfect; and I resolved in future, till my results

were perfectly established, that I would dispense with the aid of an

assistant.

"I was in high spirits when I went to visit my Amelia that evening, and

I told her confidently that before the end of the year I expected to

gain the gold medal of the Royal Society. The dear girl was pleased at

my glowing prospects, and gave me every assurance of the delight with

which she hailed the probability of our approaching union.

"Next day I began my experiments afresh in my new quarters. I bolted

myself into the laboratory, and set to work with renewed vigour. I was

experimenting upon an injured dog, and I placed a large bottle of

pausodyne beside me as I administered the drug to his nostrils. The

rising fumes seemed to affect my head more than usual in that confined

space, and I tottered a little as I worked. My arm grew weaker, and at

last fell powerless to my side. As it fell it knocked down the large

bottle of pausodyne, and I saw the liquid spreading over the floor. That

was almost the last thing that I knew. I staggered toward the door, but

did not reach it; and then I remember nothing more for a considerable

period."

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve--he had no handkerchief--and then

proceeded.

"When I woke up again the effects of the pausodyne had worn themselves

out, and I felt that I must have remained unconscious for at least a

week or a fortnight. My candle had gone out, and I could not find my

tinder-box. I rose up slowly and with difficulty, for the air of the

room was close and filled with fumes, and made my way in the dark

towards the door. To my surprise, the bolt was so stiff with rust that

it would hardly move. I opened it after a struggle, and found myself in

the passage. Groping my way towards the trap-door of the cellar, I felt

it was obstructed by some heavy body. With an immense effort, for my

strength seemed but feeble, I pushed it up, and discovered that a heap

of sea-coals lay on top of it. I extricated myself into the cellar, and

there a fresh surprise awaited me. A new entrance had been made into the

front, so that I walked out at once upon the open road, instead of up

the stairs into the kitchen. Looking up at the exterior of my house, my

brain reeled with bewilderment when I saw that it had disappeared almost

entirely, and that a different porch and wholly unfamiliar windows

occupied its facade. I must have slept far longer than I at first

imagined--perhaps a whole year or more. A vague terror prevented me from

walking up the steps of my own home. Possibly my brother, thinking me

dead, might have sold the lease; possibly some stranger might resent my

intrusion into the house that was now his own. At any rate, I thought it

safer to walk into the road. I would go towards London, to my brother's

house in St. Mary le Bone. I turned into the Hampstead Road, and

directed my steps thitherward.

"Again, another surprise began to affect me with a horrible and

ill-defined sense of awe. Not a single object that I saw was really

familiar to me. I recognized that I was in the Hampstead Road, but it

was not the Hampstead Road which I used to know before my fatal

experiments. The houses were far more numerous, the trees were bigger

and older. A year, nay, even a few years would not have sufficed for

such a change. I began to fear that I had slept away a whole decade.

"It was early morning, and few people were yet abroad. But the costume

of those whom I met seemed strange and fantastic to me. Moreover, I

noticed that they all turned and looked after me with evident surprise,

as though my dress caused them quite as much astonishment as theirs

caused me. I was quietly attired in my snuff-coloured suit of

small-clothes, with silk stockings and simple buckle shoes, and I had of

course no hat; but I gathered that my appearance caused universal

amazement and concern, far more than could be justified by the mere

accidental absence of head-gear. A dread began to oppress me that I

might actually have slept out my whole age and generation. Was my Amelia

alive? and if so, would she be still the same Amelia I had known a week

or two before? Should I find her an aged woman, still cherishing a

reminiscence of her former love; or might she herself perhaps be dead

and forgotten, while I remained, alone and solitary, in a world which

knew me not?

"I walked along unmolested, but with reeling brain, through streets more

and more unfamiliar, till I came near the St. Mary le Bone Road. There,

as I hesitated a little and staggered at the crossing, a man in a

curious suit of dark blue clothes, with a grotesque felt helmet on his

head, whom I afterwards found to be a constable, came up and touched me

on the shoulder.

"'Look here,' he said to me in a rough voice, 'what are you a-doin' in

this 'ere fancy-dress at this hour in the mornin'? You've lost your way

home, I take it.'

"'I was going,' I answered, 'to the St. Mary le Bone Road.'

"'Why, you image,' says he rudely, 'if you mean Marribon, why don't you

say Marribon? What house are you a-lookin' for, eh?'

"'My brother lives,' I replied, 'at the Lamb, near St. Mary's Church,

and I was going to his residence.'

"'The Lamb!' says he, with a rude laugh; 'there ain't no public of that

name in the road. It's my belief,' he goes on after a moment, 'that

you're drunk, or mad, or else you've stole them clothes. Any way, you've

got to go along with me to the station, so walk it, will you?'

"'Pardon me,' I said, 'I suppose you are an officer of the law, and I

would not attempt to resist your authority'--'You'd better not,' says

he, half to himself--'but I should like to go to my brother's house,

where I could show you that I am a respectable person.'

"'Well,' says my fellow insolently, 'I'll go along of you if you like,

and if it's all right, I suppose you won't mind standing a bob?'

"'A what?' said I.

"'A bob,' says he, laughing; 'a shillin', you know.'

"To get rid of his insolence for a while, I pulled out my purse and

handed him a shilling. It was a George II. with milled edges, not like

the things I see you use now. He held it up and looked at it, and then

he said again, 'Look here, you know, this isn't good. You'd better come

along with me straight to the station, and not make a fuss about it.

There's three charges against you, that's all. One is, that you're

drunk. The second is, that you're mad. And the third is, that you've

been trying to utter false coin. Any one of 'em's quite enough to

justify me in takin' you into custody.'

"I saw it was no use to resist, and I went along with him.

"I won't trouble you with the whole of the details, but the upshot of it

all was, they took me before a magistrate. By this time I had begun to

realize the full terror of the situation, and I saw clearly that the

real danger lay in the inevitable suspicion of madness under which I

must labour. When I got into the court I told the magistrate my story

very shortly and simply, as I have told it to you now. He listened to me

without a word, and at the end he turned round to his clerk and said,

'This is clearly a case for Dr. Fitz-Jenkins, I think.'

"'Sir,' I said, 'before you send me to a madhouse, which I suppose is

what you mean by these words, I trust you will at least examine the

evidences of my story. Look at my clothing, look at these coins, look at

everything about me.' And I handed him my purse to see for himself.

"He looked at it for a minute, and then he turned towards me very

sternly. 'Mr. Spottiswood,' he said, 'or whatever else your real name

may be, if this is a joke, it is a very foolish and unbecoming one. Your

dress is no doubt very well designed; your small collection of coins is

interesting and well-selected; and you have got up your character

remarkably well. If you are really sane, which I suspect to be the case,

then your studied attempt to waste the time of this court and to make a

laughing-stock of its magistrate will meet with the punishment it

deserves. I shall remit your case for consideration to our medical

officer. If you consent to give him your real name and address, you will

be liberated after his examination. Otherwise, it will be necessary to

satisfy ourselves as to your identity. Not a word more, sir,' he

continued, as I tried to speak on behalf of my story. 'Inspector, remove

the prisoner.'

"They took me away, and the surgeon examined me. To cut things short, I

was pronounced mad, and three days later the commissioners passed me for

a pauper asylum. When I came to be examined, they said I showed no

recollection of most subjects of ordinary education.

"'I am a chemist,' said I; 'try me with some chemical questions. You

will see that I can answer sanely enough.'

"'How do you mix a grey powder?' said the commissioner.

"'Excuse me,' I said, 'I mean a chemical philosopher, not an

apothecary.'

"'Oh, very well, then; what is carbonic acid?'

"'I never heard of it,' I answered in despair. 'It must be something

which has come into use since--since I left off learning chemistry.' For

I had discovered that my only chance now was to avoid all reference to

my past life and the extraordinary calamity which had thus unexpectedly

overtaken me. 'Please try me with something else.'

"'Oh, certainly. What is the atomic weight of chlorine?'

"I could only answer that I did not know.

"'This is a very clear case,' said the commissioner. 'Evidently he is a

gentleman by birth and education, but he can give no very satisfactory

account of his friends, and till they come forward to claim him we can

only send him for a time to North Street.'

"'For Heaven's sake, gentlemen,' I cried, 'before you consign me to an

asylum, give me one more chance. I am perfectly sane; I remember all I

ever knew; but you are asking me questions about subjects on which I

never had any information. Ask me anything historical, and see whether

I have forgotten or confused any of my facts."

"I will do the commissioner the justice to say that he seemed anxious

not to decide upon the case without full consideration. 'Tell me what

you can recollect,' he said, 'as to the reign of George IV.'

"'I know nothing at all about it,' I answered, terror-stricken, 'but oh,

do pray ask me anything up to the time of George III.'

"'Then please say what you think of the French Revolution.'

"I was thunderstruck. I could make no reply, and the commissioners

shortly signed the papers to send me to North Street pauper asylum. They

hurried me into the street, and I walked beside my captors towards the

prison to which they had consigned me. Yet I did not give up all hope

even so of ultimately regaining my freedom. I thought the rationality of

my demeanour and the obvious soundness of all my reasoning powers would

suffice in time to satisfy the medical attendant as to my perfect

sanity. I felt sure that people could never long mistake a man so

clear-headed and collected as myself for a madman.

"On our way, however, we happened to pass a churchyard where some

workmen were engaged in removing a number of old tombstones from the

crowded area. Even in my existing agitated condition, I could not help

catching the name and date on one mouldering slab which a labourer had

just placed upon the edge of the pavement. It ran something like this:

'Sacred to the memory of Amelia, second daughter of the late Sir Thomas

Spragg, knight, and beloved wife of Henry McAlister, Esq., by whom this

stone is erected. Died May 20, 1799, aged 44 years.' Though I had

gathered already that my dear girl must probably have long been dead,

yet the reality of the fact had not yet had time to fix itself upon my

mind. You must remember, my dear sir, that I had but awaked a few days

earlier from my long slumber, and that during those days I had been

harassed and agitated by such a flood of incomprehensible complications,

that I could not really grasp in all its fulness the complete isolation

of my present position. When I saw the tombstone of one whom, as it

seemed to me, I had loved passionately but a week or two before, I could

not refrain from rushing to embrace it, and covering the insensible

stone with my boiling tears. 'Oh, my Amelia, my Amelia,' I cried, 'I

shall never again behold thee, then! I shall never again press thee to

my heart, or hear thy dear lips pronounce my name!'

"But the unfeeling wretches who had charge of me were far from being

moved to sympathy by my bitter grief. 'Died in 1799,' said one of them

with a sneer. 'Why, this madman's blubbering over the grave of an old

lady who has been buried for about a hundred years!' And the workmen

joined in their laughter as my gaolers tore me away to the prison where

I was to spend the remainder of my days.

"When we arrived at the asylum, the surgeon in attendance was informed

of this circumstance, and the opinion that I was hopelessly mad thus

became ingrained in his whole conceptions of my case. I remained five

months or more in the asylum, but I never saw any chance of creating a

more favourable impression on the minds of the authorities. Mixing as I

did only with other patients, I could gain no clear ideas of what had

happened since I had taken my fatal sleep; and whenever I endeavoured to

question the keepers, they amused themselves by giving me evidently

false and inconsistent answers, in order to enjoy my chagrin and

confusion. I could not even learn the actual date of the present year,

for one keeper would laugh and say it was 2001, while another would

confidentially advise me to date my petition to the Commissioners, "Jan.

1, A.D. one million." The surgeon, who never played me any such pranks,

yet refused to aid me in any way, lest, as he said, he should strengthen

me in my sad delusion. He was convinced that I must be an historical

student, whose reason had broken down through too close study of the

eighteenth century; and he felt certain that sooner or later my friends

would come to claim me. He is a gentle and humane man, against whom I

have no personal complaint to make; but his initial misconception

prevented him and everybody else from ever paying the least attention to

my story. I could not even induce them to make inquiries at my house at

Hampstead, where the discovery of the subterranean laboratory would have

partially proved the truth of my account.

"Many visitors came to the asylum from time to time, and they were

always told that I possessed a minute and remarkable acquaintance with

the history of the eighteenth century. They questioned me about facts

which are as vivid in my memory as those of the present month, and were

much surprised at the accuracy of my replies. But they only thought it

strange that so clever a man should be so very mad, and that my

information should be so full as to past events, while my notions about

the modern world were so utterly chaotic. The surgeon, however, always

believed that my reticence about all events posterior to 1781 was a part

of my insanity. I had studied the early part of the eighteenth century

so fully, he said, that I fancied I had lived in it; and I had persuaded

myself that I knew nothing at all about the subsequent state of the

world."

The poor fellow stopped a while, and again drew his sleeve across his

forehead. It was impossible to look at him and believe for a moment that

he was a madman.

"And how did you make your escape from the asylum?" I asked.

"Now, this very evening," he answered; "I simply broke away from the

door and ran down toward the Strand, till I came to a place that looked

a little like St. Martin's Fields, with a great column and some

fountains, and near there I met you. It seemed to me that the best thing

to do was to catch the York coach and get away from the town as soon as

possible. You met me, and your look and name inspired me with

confidence. I believe you must be a descendant of my dear brother."

"I have not the slightest doubt," I answered solemnly, "that every word

of your story is true, and that you are really my great-great-uncle. My

own knowledge of our family history exactly tallies with what you tell

me. I shall spare no endeavour to clear up this extraordinary matter,

and to put you once more in your true position."

"And you will protect me?" he cried fervently, clasping my hand in both

his own with intense eagerness. "You will not give me up once more to

the asylum people?"

"I will do everything on earth that is possible for you," I replied.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it several times, while I felt

hot tears falling upon it as he bent over me. It was a strange position,

look at it how you will. Grant that I was but the dupe of a madman, yet

even to believe for a moment that I, a man of well-nigh fifty, stood

there in face of my own great-grandfather's brother, to all appearance

some twenty years my junior, was in itself an extraordinary and

marvellous thing. Both of us were too overcome to speak. It was a few

minutes before we said anything, and then a loud knock at the door made

my hunted stranger rise up hastily in terror from his chair.

"Gracious Heavens!" he cried, "they have tracked me hither. They are

coming to fetch me. Oh, hide me, hide me, anywhere from these wretches!"

As he spoke, the door opened, and two keepers with a policeman entered

my room.

"Ah, here he is!" said one of them, advancing towards the fugitive, who

shrank away towards the window as he approached.

"Do not touch him," I exclaimed, throwing myself in the way. "Every word

of what he says is true, and he is no more insane than I am."

The keeper laughed a low laugh of vulgar incredulity. "Why, there's a

pair of you, I do believe," he said. "You're just as mad yourself as

t'other one." And he pushed me aside roughly to get at his charge.

But the poor fellow, seeing him come towards him, seemed suddenly to

grow instinct with a terrible vigour, and hurled off the keeper with one

hand, as a strong man might do with a little terrier. Then, before we

could see what he was meditating, he jumped upon the ledge of the open

window, shouted out loudly, "Farewell, farewell!" and leapt with a

spring on to the embankment beneath.

All four of us rushed hastily down the three flights of steps to the

bottom, and came below upon a crushed and mangled mass on the spattered

pavement. He was quite dead. Even the policeman was shocked and

horrified at the dreadful way in which the body had been crushed and

mutilated in its fall, and at the suddenness and unexpectedness of the

tragedy. We took him up and laid him out in my room; and from that room

he was interred after the inquest, with all the respect which I should

have paid to an undoubted relative. On his grave in Kensal Green

Cemetery I have placed a stone bearing the simple inscription, "Jonathan

Spottiswood. Died 1881." The hint I had received from the keeper

prevented me from saying anything as to my belief in his story, but I

asked for leave to undertake the duty of his interment on the ground

that he bore my own surname, and that no other person was forthcoming to

assume the task. The parochial authorities were glad enough to rid the

ratepayers of the expense.

At the inquest I gave my evidence simply and briefly, dwelling mainly

upon the accidental nature of our meeting, and the facts as to his fatal

leap. I said nothing about the known disappearance of Jonathan

Spottiswood in 1781, nor the other points which gave credibility to his

strange tale. But from this day forward I give myself up to proving the

truth of his story, and realizing the splendid chemical discovery which

promises so much benefit to mankind. For the first purpose, I have

offered a large reward for the discovery of a trap-door in a coal-cellar

at Hampstead, leading into a subterranean passage and laboratory; since,

unfortunately, my unhappy visitor did not happen to mention the position

of his house. For the second purpose, I have begun a series of

experiments upon the properties of the essential oil of alchemilla, and

the possibility of successfully treating it with carbonic anhydride;

since, unfortunately, he was equally vague as to the nature of his

process and the proportions of either constituent. Many people will

conclude at once, no doubt, that I myself have become infected with the

monomania of my miserable namesake, but I am determined at any rate not

to allow so extraordinary an anaesthetic to go unacknowledged, if there

be even a remote chance of actually proving its useful nature.

Meanwhile, I say nothing even to my dearest friends with regard to the

researches upon which I am engaged.

_THE EMPRESS OF ANDORRA._

All the troubles in Andorra arose from the fact that the town clerk had

views of his own respecting the Holy Roman Empire.

Of course everybody knows that for many centuries the Republic of

Andorra, situated in an isolated valley among the Pyrenees, has enjoyed

the noble and inestimable boon of autonomy. Not that the Andorrans have

been accustomed to call it by that name, because, you see, the name was

not yet invented; but the thing itself they have long possessed in all

its full and glorious significance. The ancient constitution of the

Republic may be briefly described as democracy tempered by stiletto. The

free and independent citizens did that which seemed right in their own

eyes; unless, indeed, it suited their convenience better to do that

which seemed wrong; and, in the latter case, they did it unhesitatingly.

So every man in Andorra stabbed or shot his neighbour as he willed,

especially if he suspected his neighbour of a prior intention to stab or

shoot him. The Republic contained no gallows, capital punishment having

been entirely abolished, and, for the matter of that, all other

punishment into the bargain. In short, the town of Andorra was really a

very eligible place of residence for families or gentlemen, provided

only they were decently expert in the use of the pistol.

However, in this model little Republic, as elsewhere, society found

itself ranged under two camps, the Liberal and the Conservative. And

lest any man should herein suspect the present veracious historian of

covert satirical intent, or sly allusion to the politics of neighbouring

States, it may be well to add that there was not much to choose between

the Liberals and the Conservatives of Andorra.

Now, the town clerk was the acknowledged and ostensible head of the

Great Liberal Party. His name in full consisted of some twenty

high-sounding Spanish prenomens, followed by about the same number of

equally high-sounding surnames; but I need only trouble you here with

the first and last on the list, which were simply Senor Don Pedro

Henriquez. It happened that Don Pedro, being a learned man, took in all

the English periodicals; and so I need hardly tell you that he was

thoroughly well up in the Holy Roman Empire question. He could have

passed a competitive examination on that subject before Mr. Freeman, or

held a public discussion with Professor Bryce himself. The town clerk

was perfectly aware that the Holy Roman Empire had come to an end, _pro

tem._ at least, in the year eighteen hundred and something, when Francis

the First, Second, or Third, renounced for himself and his heirs for

ever the imperial Roman title. But the town clerk also knew that the

Holy Roman Empire had often lain in abeyance for years or even

centuries, and had afterwards been resuscitated by some Karl (whom the

wicked call Charlemagne), some Otto, or some Henry the Fowler. And the

town clerk, a bold and ambitious young man, reflecting on these things,

had formed a deep scheme in his inmost heart. The deep scheme was after

this wise.

Why not revive the Holy Roman Empire _in Andorra_?

Nothing could be more simple, more natural, or more in accordance with

the facts of history. Even Mr. Freeman could have no plausible argument

to urge against it. For observe how well the scheme hangs together.

Andorra formed an undoubted and integral portion of the Roman Empire,

having been included in Region VII., Diocese 13 (Hispania Citerior

VIII.), under the division of Diocletian. But the Empire having gone to

pieces at the present day, any fragment of that Empire may re-constitute

itself the whole; "just as the tentacle of a hydra polype," said Don

Pedro (who, you know, was a very learned man), "may re-constitute itself

into a perfect animal, by developing a body, head, mouth, and

foot-stalk." (This, as you are well aware, is called the Analogical

Method of Political Reasoning.) Therefore, there was no just cause or

impediment why Andorra should not set up to be the original and only

genuine representative of the Holy Roman Empire, all others being

spurious imitations.--Q. E. D.

The town clerk had further determined in his own mind that he himself

was the Karl (not Charlemagne) who was destined to raise up this revived

and splendid Roman Empire. He had already struck coins in imagination,

bearing on the obverse his image and superscription, and the proud title

"Imp. Petrus P. F. Aug. Pater Patriae, Cos. XVIII.;" with a reverse of

Victory crowned, and the legend "Renovatio Romanorum." But this part of

his scheme he kept as yet deeply buried in the recesses of his own soul.

As regards the details of this Caesarian plan, much diversity of opinion

existed in the minds of the Liberal leaders. Don Pedro himself, as

champion of education, proposed that the new Emperor should be elected

by competitive examination; in which case he felt sure that his own

knowledge of the Holy Roman Empire would easily place him at the head of

the list. But his colleague, Don Luis Dacosta, who was the Joseph Hume

of Andorran politics, rather favoured the notion of sending in sealed

tenders for executing the office of Sovereign, the State not binding

itself to accept the lowest or any other tender; and he had himself

determined to make an offer for wearing the crown at the modest

remuneration of three hundred pounds per annum, payable quarterly.

Again, Don Iago Montes, a poetical young man, who believed firmly in

_prestige_, advocated the idea of inviting the younger son of some

German Grand-Duke to accept the Imperial Crown, and the faithful hearts

of a loyal Andorran people. But these minor points could easily be

settled in the future: and the important object for the immediate

present, said Don Pedro, was the acceptance _in principle_ of the

resuscitated Holy Roman Empire.

Don Pedro's designs, however, met with considerable opposition from the

Conservative party in the Folk Mote. (They called it Folk Mote, and not

Cortes or Fueros, on purpose to annoy historical critics; and for the

same reason they always styled their chief magistrate, not the Alcalde,

but the Burgomaster.) The Conservative leader, Don Juan Pereira (first

and last names only; intermediate thirty-eight omitted for want of

space!) wisely observed that the good old constitution had suited our

fathers admirably; that we did not wish to go beyond the wisdom of our

ancestors; that young men were apt to prove thoughtless or precipitate;

and finally that "Nolumus leges Andorrae mutare." Hereupon, Don Pedro

objected that the growing anarchy of the citizens, whose stabbings were

increasing by geometrical progression, called for the establishment of a

strong government, which should curb the lawless habits of the _jeunesse

doree_. But Don Juan retorted that stabbing was a very useful practice

in its way; that no citizen ever got stabbed unless he had made himself

obnoxious to a fellow-citizen, which was a gross and indefensible piece

of incivism; and that stilettos had always been considered extremely

respectable instruments by a large number of deceased Andorran worthies,

whose names he proceeded to recount in a long and somewhat tedious

catalogue. (This, you know, is called the Argument from Authority.) The

Folk Mote, which consisted of men over forty alone, unanimously adopted

Don Juan's views, and at once rejected the town clerk's Bill for the

Resuscitation of the Holy Roman Empire.

Thus driven to extremities, the town clerk determined upon a _coup

d'etat_. The appeal to the people alone could save Andorran Society. But

being as cautious as he was ambitious, he decided not to display his

hand too openly at first. Accordingly he resolved to elect an Empress to

begin with; and then, by marrying the Empress, to become

Emperor-Consort, after which he could easily secure the Imperial crown

on his own account.

To ensure the success of this excellent notion, Don Pedro trusted to the

emotions of the populace. The way he did it was simply this.

At that particular juncture, a beautiful young _prima donna_ had lately

been engaged for the National Italian Opera, Andorra. She was to appear

as the _Grande Duchesse_ on the very evening after that on which the

Resuscitation Bill had been thrown out on a third reading. This amiable

lady bore the name of Signorita Nora Obrienelli. She was of Italian

parentage, but born in America, where her father, Signor Patricio

Obrienelli, a banished Neapolitan nobleman and patriot, had been better

known as Paddy O'Brien; having adopted that disguise to protect himself

from the ubiquitous emissaries of King Bomba. However, on her first

appearance upon any stage, the Signorita once more resumed her discarded

patronymic of Obrienelli; and it is this circumstance alone which has

led certain scandalous journalists maliciously to assert that her father

was really an Irish chimney-sweep. But not to dwell on these

genealogical details, it will suffice to say that Signorita Nora was a

beautiful young lady with a magnificent soprano voice. The enthusiastic

and gallant Andorrans were already wild at the mere sight of her

beauty, and expected great things from her operatic powers.

Don Pedro marked his opportunity. Calling on the _prima donna_ in the

afternoon, faultlessly attired in frock-coat, chimney-pot, and lavender

kid gloves, the ambitious politician offered her a bouquet worth at

least three-and-sixpence, accompanied by a profound bow; and inquired

whether the title and position of Empress would suit her views.

"Down to the ground, my dear Don Pedro," replied the impulsive actress.

"The resuscitation of the Holy Roman Empire has long been the dream of

my existence."

Half an hour sufficed to settle the details. The protocols were signed,

the engagements delivered, and the fate of Andorra, with that of the

Holy Roman Empire attached, trembled for a moment in the balance. Don

Pedro hastily left to organize the _coup d'etat_, and to hire a special

body of _claqueurs_ for the occasion.

Evening drew on apace, big with the fate of Pedro and of Rome. The Opera

House was crowded. Stalls and boxes glittered with the partisans of the

Liberal leader, the expectant hero of a revived Caesarism. The _claque_

occupied the pit and gallery. Enthusiasm, real and simulated, knew no

bounds. Signorita Obrienelli was almost smothered with bouquets; and the

music of catcalls resounded throughout the house. At length, in the

second act, when the _prima donna_ entered, crown on head and robes of

state trained behind, in the official costume of the Grand-Duchess of

Gerolstein, Don Pedro raised himself from his seat and cried in a loud

voice, "Long live Nora, Empress of Andorra and of the Holy Roman

Empire!"

The whole audience rose as one man. "Long live the Empress," re-echoed

from every side of the building. Handkerchiefs waved ecstatically; women

sobbed with emotion; old men wept tears of joy that they had lived to

behold the Renovation of the Romans. In five minutes the revolution was

a _fait accompli_. Don Juan Pereira obtained early news of the _coup

d'etat_, and fled precipitately across the border, to escape the popular

vengeance--not a difficult feat, as the boundaries of the quondam

Republic extended only five miles in any direction. Thence the

broken-hearted old patriot betook himself into France, where he intended

at first to commit suicide, in imitation of Cato; but on second

thoughts, he decided to proceed to Guernsey, where he entered into

negotiations for purchasing Victor Hugo's house, and tried to pose as a

kind of pendent to that banished poet and politician.

Although this mode of election was afterwards commented upon as informal

by the European Press, Don Pedro successfully defended it in a learned

letter to the _Times_, under the signature of "Historicus Secundus," in

which he pointed out that a similar mode has long been practised by the

Sacred College, who call it "Electio per Inspirationem."

The very next day, the Bishop of Urgel drove over to Andorra, and

crowned the happy _prima donna_ as Empress. Great rejoicings immediately

followed, and the illuminations were conducted on so grand a scale that

the single tallow-chandler in the town sold out his entire

stock-in-trade, and many houses went without candles for a whole week.

Of course the first act of the grateful sovereign was to extend her

favour to Don Pedro, who had been so largely instrumental in placing her

upon the throne. She immediately created him Chancellor of Andorra and

Prince of the Holy Roman Empire. The office of town clerk was abolished

in perpetuity; while an hereditary estate of five acres was conferred

upon H.E. the Chancellor and his posterity for ever.

Don Pedro had now the long-wished-for opportunity of improving the

social and political position of that Andorran people whom he had so

greatly loved. He determined to endow them with Primary Education, a

National Debt, Free Libraries and Museums, the Income Tax, Female

Suffrage, Trial by Jury, Permissive Prohibitory Bills, a Plebiscitum, an

Extradition Treaty, a Magna Charta Association, and all the other

blessings of modern civilization. By these means he hoped to ingratiate

himself in the public favour, and thus at length to place himself

unopposed upon the Imperial and Holy Roman throne.

His first step was the settlement of the Constitution. And as he was

quite determined in his own mind that the poor little Empress should

only be a puppet in the hands of her Chancellor, who was to act as Mayor

of the Palace (observe how well his historical learning stood him in

good stead on all occasions!), he decided that the revived Empire should

take the form of a strictly limited monarchy. He had some idea, indeed,

of proclaiming it as the "Holy Roman Empire (Limited);" but on second

thoughts it occurred to him that the phrase might be misinterpreted as

referring to the somewhat exiguous extent of the Andorran territory: and

as he wished it to be understood that the new State was an aggressive

Power, which contemplated the final absorption of all the other Latin

races, he wisely refrained from the equivocal title. However, he settled

the Constitution on a broad and liberal basis, after the following

fashion. I quote from his rough draft-sketch, the completed document

being too long for insertion in full.

"The supreme authority resides in the Sovereign and the Folk Mote. The

Sovereign reigns, but does not govern (at present). The Folk Mote has

full legislative and deliberative powers. It consists of fourteen

members, chosen from the fourteen wards of East and West Andorra.

(Members for Spain, France, Portugal, and Italy may hereafter be added,

raising the total complement to eighteen.) The right of voting is

granted to all persons, male or female, above eighteen years of age. The

executive power rests with the Chancellor of the Empire, who acts in

the name of the Sovereign. He possesses a right of veto on all acts of

the Folk Mote. His office is perpetual. _Vivat Imperatrix!_"

This Constitution was proposed to a Public Assembly or Comitia of the

Andorran people, and was immediately carried _nem. con._ Enthusiasm was

the order of the day: Don Pedro was a handsome young man, of personal

popularity: the ladies of Andorra were delighted with any scheme of

government which offered them a vote: and the men had all a high opinion

of Don Pedro's learning. So nobody opposed a single clause of the

Constitution on any ground.

The next step to be taken consisted in gaining the affections of the

Empress. But here Don Pedro found to his consternation that he had

reckoned without his hostess. It is an easy thing to make a revolution

in the body politic, but it is much more serious to attempt a revolution

in a woman's heart. Her Majesty's had long been bestowed elsewhere. It

is true she had encouraged Don Pedro's attentions on his first momentous

visit, but that might be largely accounted for on political grounds. It

is true also that she was still quite ready to carry on an innocent

flirtation with her handsome young Chancellor when he came to deliberate

upon matters of state, but _that_ she had often done before with the

lout of an actor who took the part of Fritz. "Prince," she would say,

with one of her sunny smiles, "do just what you like about the

Permissive Prohibitory Bill, and let us have a glass of sparkling

Sillery together in the Council Chamber. You and I are too young, and,

shall I say, too good-looking, to trouble our poor little heads about

politics and such rubbish. Youth, after all, is nothing without

champagne and love!"

And yet her heart--her heart was over the sea. During one of her

starring engagements among the Central American States, Signorita

Obrienelli had made the acquaintance of Don Carlos Montillado, eldest

son of the President of Guatemala. A mutual attachment had sprung up

between the young couple, and had taken the practical form of bouquets,

bracelets, and champagne suppers; but, alas! the difference in their

ranks had long hindered the fulfilment of Don Carlos's anxious vows. His

Excellency the President constantly declared that nothing could induce

him to consent to a marriage between his son and a strolling actress--in

such insolent terms did the wretch allude to the future occupant of an

Imperial throne! Now, however, all was changed. Fate had smiled upon the

happy lovers, and Don Carlos was already on his way to Andorra as

Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from the

Guatemalan Republic to the renovated Empire. The poor Chancellor

discovered too late that he had baited a hook for his own destruction.

However, he did not yet despair. To be sure the Empress, young,

beautiful, and with a magnificent soprano voice, had seated herself

firmly in the hearts of her susceptible subjects. Besides, her engaging

manners, marked by all the charming _abandon_ of the stage, allowed her

to make conquests freely among her lieges, each of whom she encouraged

in turn, while smiling slily at the discarded rivals. Still, Don Pedro

took heart once more. "Revolution enthroned her," he muttered between

his teeth, "and counter-revolution shall disenthrone her yet. These

silly people will smirk and bow while she pretends to be in love with

every one of them from day to day; but when once the young Guatemalan

has carried off the prize they will regret their folly, and turn to the

Chancellor, whose heart has always been fixed upon the welfare of

Andorra."

With this object in view, the astute politician worked harder than ever

for the regeneration of the State. His policy falls under two heads, the

External and the Internal. Each head deserves a passing mention from the

laborious historian.

Don Pedro's External Policy consisted in the annexation of France,

Spain, Portugal, and Italy, and the amalgamation of the Latin races.

Accordingly, he despatched Ambassadors to the courts of those four

Powers, informing them that the Holy Roman Empire had been resuscitated

in Andorra, and inviting them to send in their adhesion to the new

State. In that case he assured them that each country should possess a

representative in the Imperial Folk Mote on the same terms as the

several wards of Andorra itself, and that the settlement of local

affairs should be left unreservedly to the minor legislatures, while the

Chancellor of the Empire in person would manage the military and naval

forces and the general executive department of the whole Confederation.

As the four Powers refused to take any notice of Don Pedro's manifesto,

the Chancellor declared to the Folk Mote his determination of treating

them as recalcitrant rebels, and reducing them by force of arms.

However, the Andorran army not being thoroughly mobilized, and indeed

having fallen into a state of considerable demoralization, the ambitious

prince decided to postpone the declaration of war _sine die_; and his

Foreign Policy accordingly stood over for the time being.

Don Pedro's Internal Policy embraced various measures of Finance,

Electoral Law, Public Morals, and Police Regulation.

The financial position of Andorra was now truly deplorable. In addition

to the expenses of the Imperial Election, and the hire of post-horses

for the Bishop of Urgel to attend the coronation, it cannot be denied

that the Empress had fallen into most extravagant habits. She insisted

upon drinking Veuve Clicquot every day for dinner, and upon ordering

large quantities of _olives farcies_ and _pate de foie gras_, to which

delicacies she was inordinately attached. She also sent to a Parisian

milliner for two new bonnets, and had her measure taken for a _poult de

Lyon_ dress. These expensive tastes, contracted upon the stage, soon

drained the Andorran Exchequer, and the Folk Mote was at its wits' end

to devise a Budget. One radical member had even the bad taste to call

for a return of Her Majesty's millinery bill; but this motion the House

firmly and politely declined to sanction. At last Don Pedro stepped in

to solve the difficulty, and proposed an Act for the Inflation of the

Currency.

Inflation is a very simple financial process indeed. It consists in

writing on a small piece of white paper, "This is a Dollar," or, "This

is a Pound," as the case may be, and then compelling your creditors to

accept the paper as payment in full for the amount written upon its

face. The scheme met with perfect success, and Don Pedro was much

bepraised by the press as the glorious regenerator of Andorran Finance.

Among the Chancellor's plans for electoral reform the most important was

the Bill for the Promotion of Infant Suffrage. Don Pedro shrewdly argued

that if you wished to be popular in the future, you must enlist the

sympathies of the rising generation by conferring upon them some signal

benefit. Hence his advocacy of Infant Suffrage. In his great speech to

the Folk Mote upon this important measure, he pointed out that the

brutal doctrine of an appeal to force in the last resort ill befitted

the nineteenth century. Many infants owned property; therefore they

ought to be represented. Their property was taxed; no taxation without

representation; therefore they ought to be represented. Great cruelties

were often practised upon them by their parents, which showed how futile

was the argument that their parents vicariously represented them;

therefore they ought to be directly represented. An honourable member on

the Opposition side had suggested that dogs were also taxed, and that

great cruelties were occasionally practised upon dogs. Those facts were

perfectly true, and he could only say that they proved to him the

thorough desirability of insuring representation for dogs at some future

day. But we must not move too fast. He was no hasty radical, no violent

reconstructionist; he preferred, stone by stone, to build up the sure

and perfect fabric of their liberties. So he would waive for the time

being the question concerning the rights of dogs, and only move at

present the third reading of the Bill for the Promotion of Infant

Suffrage. A division was hardly necessary. The House passed the Act by a

majority of twelve out of a total of fourteen members.

The Bills for the Gratuitous Distribution of Lollipops, for the

Wednesday and Saturday Whole Holidays, and for the Total Abolition of

Latin Grammar, followed as a matter of course. The minds of the infant

electors were thus thoroughly enlisted on the Chancellor's side.

As to Moral Regeneration, that was mainly ensured by the Act for the

Absolute Suppression of the Tea Trade. No man, said the Chancellor, had

a right to endanger the health and happiness of his posterity by the

pernicious habit of tea-drinking. Alcohol they had suppressed, and

tobacco they had suppressed; but tea still remained a plague-spot in

their midst. It had been proved that tea and coffee contained poisonous

alkaloid principles, known as theine and caffeine (here the Chancellor

displayed the full extent of his chemical learning), which were all but

absolutely identical with the poisonous principles of opium, prussic

acid, and atheistical literature generally. It might be said that this

Bill endangered the liberty of the subject. No man had a greater respect

for the liberty of the subject than he had; he adored, he idolized, he

honoured with absolute apotheosis the liberty of the subject; but in

what did it consist? Not, assuredly, in the right to imbibe a venomous

drug, which polluted the stream of life for future generations, and was

more productive of manifold diseases than even vaccination itself.

"Tea," cried the orator passionately, raising his voice till the fresh

whitewash on the ceiling of the Council Chamber trembled with

sympathetic emotion; "Tea, forsooth! Call it rather strychnine! Call it

arsenic! Call it the deadly Upas-tree of Java (_Antiaris toxicaria_,

Linnaeus)"--what prodigious learning!--"which poisons with its fatal

breath whoever ventures to pass beneath its baleful shadow! I see it

driving out of the field the harmless chocolate of our forefathers; I

see it forcing its way into the earliest meal of morning, and the latest

meal of eve. I see it now once more swarming over the Pyrenees from

France, with Paris fashions and bad romances, to desecrate the sacred

hour of five o'clock with its newfangled presence. The infant in arms

finds it rendered palatable to his tender years by the insidious

addition of copious milk and sugar; the hallowed reverence of age

forgets itself in disgraceful excesses at the refreshment-room of

railway stations. This is the ubiquitous pest which distils its venom

into every sex and every age! This is the enchanted chalice of the

Cathaian Circe which I ask you to repel to-day from the lips of the

young, the pure, and the virtuous!"

It was an able and eloquent effort; but even the Chancellor's powers

were all but overtasked in so hard a struggle against ignorance and

prejudice. Unhappily, several of the members were themselves secretly

addicted to that cup of five o'clock tea to which Don Pedro so feelingly

alluded. In the end, however, by taking advantage of the temporary

absence of three senators, who had gone to indulge their favourite vice

at home, the Bill triumphantly passed its third reading by an

overwhelming majority of chocolate drinkers, and became forthwith the

law of the Holy Roman Empire.

Meanwhile Don Carlos Montillado had crossed the stormy seas in safety,

and arrived by special mule at the city of Andorra. He took up his

quarters at the Guatemalan Embassy, and immediately sent his card to the

Empress and the Chancellor, requesting the honour of an early

interview.

The Empress at once despatched a note requesting Don Carlos to present

himself without delay in the private drawing-room of the Palace. The

happy lover and ambassador flew to her side, and for half an hour the

pair enjoyed the delicious Paradise of a mutual attachment. At the end

of that period Don Pedro presented himself at the door.

"Your Majesty," he exclaimed in a tone of surprise, "this is a most

irregular proceeding. His Excellency the Guatemalan Ambassador should

have called in the first instance upon the Imperial Chancellor."

"Prince," replied the Empress firmly, "I refuse to give you audience at

present. I am engaged on private business--on _strictly_ private

business--with his Excellency."

"Excuse me," said the Chancellor blandly, "but I must assure your

Majesty----"

"Leave the room, Prince," said the Empress, with an impatient gesture.

"Leave the room at once!"

"Leave the room, fellow, when a lady speaks to you," cried the impetuous

young Guatemalan, drawing his sword, and pushing Don Pedro bodily out of

the door.

The die was cast. The Rubicon was crossed. Don Pedro determined on a

counter-revolution, and waited for his revenge. Nor had he long to wait.

Half an hour later, as Don Carlos was passing out of the Palace on his

way home to dress for dinner, six stout constables seized him by the

arms, handcuffed him on the spot, and dragged him off to the Imperial

prison. "At the suit of his Excellency the Chancellor," they said in

explanation, and hurried him away without another word.

The Empress was furious. "How dare you?" she shrieked to Don Pedro.

"What right have you to imprison him--the accredited representative of a

Foreign Power?"

"Excuse me," answered Don Pedro, in his smoothest tone. "Article 39 of

the Penal Code enacts that the person of the Chancellor is sacred, and

that any individual who violently assaults him, with arms in hand, may

be immediately committed to prison without trial, by her Majesty's

command. Article 40 further provides that Foreign Ambassadors and other

privileged persons are not exempt from the penalties of the previous

Article."

"But, sir," cried the angry little Empress (she was too excited now to

remember that Don Pedro was a Prince), "I never gave any command to have

Don Carlos imprisoned. Release him at once, I tell you."

"Your Majesty forgets," replied the Chancellor quietly, "that by Article

I of the Constitution the Sovereign reigns but does not govern. The

prerogative is solely exercised through the Chancellor. _L'etat, c'est

moi!_" And he struck an attitude.

"So you refuse to let him out!" said the Empress. "Mayn't I marry who I

like? Mayn't I even settle who shall be my own visitors?"

"Certainly not, your Majesty, if the interests of the State demand that

it should be otherwise."

"Then I'll resign," shrieked out the poor little Empress, with a burst

of tears. "I'll withdraw. I'll retire. I'll abdicate."

"By all means," said the Chancellor coolly. "We can easily find another

Sovereign quite as good."

The shrewd little ex-actress looked hard into Don Pedro's face. She was

an adept in the art of reading emotions, and she saw at once what Don

Pedro really wished. In a moment she had changed front, and stood up

once more every inch an Empress. "No, I won't!" she cried; "I see you

would be glad to get rid of me, and I shall stop here to baffle and

thwart you; and I shall marry Carlos; and we shall fight it out to the

bitter end." So saying, she darted out of the room, red-eyed but

majestic, and banged the door after her with a slam as she went.

Henceforward it was open war between them. Don Pedro did not dare to

depose the Empress, who had still a considerable body of partisans

amongst the Andorran people; but he resolutely refused to release the

Guatemalan legate, and decided to accept hostilities with the Central

American Republic, in order to divert the minds of the populace from

internal politics. If he returned home from the campaign as a successful

commander, he did not doubt that he would find himself sufficiently

powerful to throw off the mask, and to assume the Imperial purple in

name as well as in reality.

Accordingly, before the Guatemalan President could receive the news of

his son's imprisonment, Don Pedro resolved to prepare for war. His first

care was to strengthen the naval resources of his country. The

Opposition--that is to say, the Empress's party--objected that Andorra

had no seaboard. But Don Pedro at once overruled that objection, by dint

of several parallel instances. The Province of Upper Canada (now

Ontario, added the careful historical student) had no seaboard, yet the

Canadians placed numerous gunboats on the great lakes during the war of

1812. (What research!) Again, the Nile, the Indus, the Ganges, and many

other great rivers had been the scene of important naval engagements as

early as B.C. 1082, which he could show from the evidence of papyri

now preserved in the British Museum. (What universal knowledge!) The

objection was frivolous. But, answered the Opposition, Andorra has

neither lakes nor navigable rivers. This, Don Pedro considered, was mere

hair-splitting. Perhaps they would tell him next it had no gutters or

water-butts. Besides, we must accommodate ourselves to the environment.

(This, you see, conclusively proves that the Chancellor had read Mr.

Herbert Spencer, and was thoroughly well up in the minutiae of the

Evolutionist Philosophy.) Had they never looked into their Thucydides?

Did they not remember the famous _holkos_, or trench, whereby the

Athenian triremes were lifted across the Isthmus of Corinth? Well, he

proposed in like manner to order a large number of ironclads from an

eminent Glasgow firm, to pull them overland up the Pyrenees, and to

plant them on the mountain tops around Andorra as permanent batteries.

That was what he meant by adaptation to the environment.

So the order was given to the eminent Glasgow firm, who forthwith

supplied the Empire with ten magnificent Clyde-built ironclads, having

14-inch plates, and patent double-security rivets: mounting twelve

eighty-ton guns apiece, and fitted up with all the latest Woolwich

improvements. These vessels were then hauled up the mountains, as Don

Pedro proposed; and there they stood, on the tallest neighbouring

summits, in very little danger of going to the bottom, as the ironclads

of other Powers are so apt to do. In return, Don Pedro tendered payment

by means of five million pounds Inflated Currency, which he assured the

eminent ship-builders were quite as good as gold, if not a great deal

better. The firm was at first inclined to demur to this mode of payment;

but Don Pedro immediately retorted that they did not seem to understand

the Currency Question: and as this is an imputation which no gentleman

could endure for a moment, the eminent ship-builders pocketed the

inflated paper at once, and pretended to think no more about it.

However, there was one man among them who rather mistrusted inflation,

because, you see, his education had been sadly neglected, especially as

regards the works of American Political Economists, in which Don Pedro

was so deeply versed. Now, this ignorant and misguided man went straight

off to the Stock Exchange with his share of the five millions, and

endeavoured to negotiate a few hundred thousands for pocket-money. But

it turned out that all the other Stock Exchange magnates were just as

ill-informed as himself with respect to inflation and the Currency

Question at large: and they persisted in declaring that a piece of

paper is really none the better for having the words "This is a Pound"

written across its face. So the eminent ship-builder returned home

disconsolate, and next day instituted proceedings in Chancery against

the Holy Roman Empire at Andorra for the recovery of five million pounds

sterling. What came at last of this important suit you shall hear in the

sequel.

Meanwhile, poor Don Carlos remained incarcerated in the Imperial prison,

and preparations for war went on with vigour and activity, both in

Andorra and Guatemala. Naturally, the greatest excitement prevailed

throughout Europe, and especially in the sympathetic Republic of San

Marino. Very different views of the situation were expressed by the

various periodicals of that effusive State. The _Matutinal Agitator_

declared that Andorra under the Obrienelli dynasty had become a

dangerously aggressive Power, and that no peace could be expected in

Europe until the Andorrans had been taught to recognize their true

position in the scale of nations. The _Vespertinal Sentimentalist_, on

the other hand, looked upon the Guatemalans as wanton disturbers of the

public quietude, and considered Andorra in the favourable light of an

oppressed nationality. The _Hebdomadal Tranquillizer_, which treated

both sides with contempt--avowing that it held the Andorrans to be

little better than lawless brigands, in the last stage of bankruptcy;

and the Guatemalans to be mere drunken half-castes, incapable of attack

or defence for want of men and money--this lukewarm and mean-spirited

journal, I say, was treated with universal contumely as a wretched

time-server, devoid of human sympathies and of proper cosmopolitan

expansiveness. At length, however, through the good offices of the San

Marino Government, both Powers were induced to lay aside the thought of

needless bloodshed, and to discuss the terms of a mutual understanding

at a Pan-Hispanic Congress to be held in the neutral metropolis of

Monaco.

Invitations to attend the Congress were issued to all the

Spanish-speaking nations on both sides of the Atlantic. There were a few

trifling refusals, it is true, as Spain, Mexico, and the South American

States declined to send representatives to the proposed meeting: but

still a goodly array of plenipotentiaries met to discuss the terms of

peace. Envoys from Andorra, from Guatemala, and from the other Central

American Republics--one of whom was of course a Chevalier of the Exalted

Order of the Holy Rose of Honduras, while another represented the latest

President of Nicaragua--sat down by the side of a coloured marquis from

San Domingo, and a mulatto general who presented credentials from the

Republic of Cuba--since unhappily extinct. Thus it will be seen at a

glance that the Congress wanted nothing which could add to its imposing

character, either as an International Parliament or as an expression of

military Pan-Hispanic force. Europe felt instinctively that its

deliberations were backed up by all the vast terrestrial and naval

armaments of its constituent Powers.

But while Don Pedro was pulling the wires of the Monaco convention (by

telegraph) from his headquarters at Andorra--he could not himself have

attended its meeting, lest his august Sovereign should embrace the

opportunity of releasing the captive Guatemalan and so stopping his

hopes of future success--he had to contend at home, not only with the

covert opposition of the brave little Empress, but also with the open

rebellion of a disaffected minority. The five wards which constitute

East Andorra had long been at secret variance with the nine wards of

West Andorra; and they seized upon this moment of foreign complications

to organize a Home Rule party, and set on foot a movement of secession.

After a few months of mere parliamentary opposition, they broke at last

into overt acts of treason, seized on three of Don Pedro's ironclads,

and proclaimed themselves a separate government under the title of the

Confederate Wards of Andorra. This last blow almost broke Don Pedro's

heart. He had serious thoughts of giving up all for lost, and retiring

into a monastery for the term of his natural life.

As it happened, however, the Chancellor was spared the necessity for

that final humiliation, and the Pan-Hispanic Congress was relieved of

its arduous duties by the sudden intervention of a hitherto passive

Power. Great Britain woke at last to a sense of her own prestige and the

necessities of the situation. The Court of Chancery decided that the

Inflated Currency was not legal tender, and adjudicated the bankrupt

state of Andorra to the prosecuting creditors, the firm of eminent

ship-builders at Glasgow. A sheriff's officer, backed by a company of

British Grenadiers, was despatched to take possession of the territory

in the name of the assignees, and to repel any attempt at armed

resistance.

Political considerations had no little weight in the decision which led

to this imposing military demonstration. It was felt that if we

permitted Guatemala to keep up a squadron of ironclads in the Caribbean,

a perpetual menace would overshadow our tenure of Jamaica and Barbadoes:

while if we suffered Andorra to overrun the Peninsula, our position at

Gibraltar would not be worth a fortnight's purchase. For these reasons

the above-mentioned expeditionary force was detailed for the purpose of

attaching the insolent Empire, liberating the imprisoned Guatemalan, and

entirely removing the _casus belli_. It was hoped that such prompt and

vigorous action would deter the Central American States from their

extensive military preparations, which had already reached to several

pounds of powder and over one hundred stand of Martini-Henry rifles.

Our demonstration was quite as successful as the "little wars" of Great

Britain have always been. Don Pedro made some show of resistance with

his eighty-ton guns; but finding that the contractors had only supplied

them with wooden bores, he deemed it prudent at length to beat a

precipitate retreat. As to the poor little Empress, she had long learned

to regard herself as a cypher in the realm over which she reigned but

did not govern; and she was therefore perfectly ready to abdicate the

throne, and resign the crown jewels to the sheriff's officer. She did so

with the less regret, because the crown was only aluminium, and the

jewels only paste--being, in fact, the identical articles which she had

worn in her theatrical character as the Grand-Duchess of Gerolstein. The

quondam republic was far from rich, and it had been glad to purchase

these convenient regalia from the property-man at the theatre on the

eventful morning of the Imperial Coronation.

Don Carlos was immediately liberated by the victorious troops, and

rushed at once into the arms of his inamorata. The Bishop of Urgel

married them as private persons on the very same afternoon. The

ex-Empress returned to the stage, and made her first reappearance in

London, where the history of her misfortunes, and the sympathy which the

British nation always extends to the conquered, rapidly secured her an

unbounded popularity. Don Carlos practised with success on the violin,

and joined the orchestra at the same house where his happy little wife

appeared as _prima donna_. Senor Montillado the elder at first announced

his intention of cutting off his son with a shilling; but being shortly

after expelled from the Presidency of the Guatemalan Republic by one of

the triennial revolutions which periodically diversify life in that

volcanic state, he changed his mind, took the mail steamer to

Southampton, and obtained through his son's influence a remunerative

post as pantaloon at a neighbouring theatre.

The eminent ship-builders took possession of East and West Andorra,

quelled the insurrectionary movement of the Confederate Wards, and

brought back the ten ironclads, together with the crown jewels and other

public effects. On the whole, they rather gained than lost by the

national bankruptcy, as they let out the conquered territory to the

Andorran people at a neat little ground-rent of some L20,000 per annum.

Don Pedro fled across the border to Toulouse, where he obtained

congenial employment as clerk to an avoue. He was also promptly elected

secretary to the local Academy of Science and Art, a post for which his

varied attainments fit him in the highest degree. He has given up all

hopes of the resuscitation of the Holy Roman Empire, and is now engaged

to a business-like young woman at the Cafe de l'Univers, who will

effectually cure him of all lingering love for transcendental politics.

Finally, if any hypercritical person ventures to assert that this

history is based upon a total misconception of the Holy Roman Empire

question--that I am completely mistaken about Francis II., utterly wrong

about Otto the Great, and hopelessly fogged about Henry the Fowler--I

can only answer, that I take these statements as I find them in the

note-books of Don Pedro, and the printed debates of the Andorran Folk

Mote. Like a veracious historian, I cannot go beyond my authorities. But

I think you will agree with me, my courteous reader, that the dogmatic

omniscience of these historical critics is really beginning to surpass

human endurance.

_THE SENIOR PROCTOR'S WOOING:_