individuality of the questioner, or the remarkable talent of the
answers. They were both rather ashamed to confess that they had not
seen the Turk as yet, for it was _de rigueur_ to see him, and every one
had some tale to tell of a wonderful answer to some skilfully devised
question.

"'"All figures of that description," said Lewis, "which can scarcely be
said to counterfeit humanity so much as to travesty it--mere images of
living death or inanimate life are in the highest degree hateful to me.
When I was a little boy, I ran away crying from a waxwork exhibition I
was taken to, and even to this day I never can enter a place of the
sort without a horrible, eerie, shuddery feeling. When I see the
staring, lifeless, glassy eyes of all the potentates, celebrated
heroes, thieves, murderers, and so on, fixed upon me, I feel disposed
to cry with Macbeth

"'"'Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with.'

And I feel certain that most people experience the same feeling, though
perhaps not to the same extent. For you may notice that scarcely any
one talks, except in a whisper, in those waxwork places. You hardly
ever hear a loud word. But it is not reverence for the Crowned Heads
and other great people that produces this universal pianissimo; it is
the oppressive sense of being in the presence of something unnatural
and gruesome; and what I most of all detest is anything in the shape of
imitation of the motions of Human Beings by machinery. I feel sure this
wonderful, ingenious Turk will haunt me with his rolling eyes, his
turning head, and his waving arm, like some necromantic goblin, when I
lie awake of nights; so that the truth is I should very much prefer not
going to see him. I should be quite satisfied with other people's
accounts of his wit and wisdom."

"'"You know," said Ferdinand, "that I fully agree with you as to the
disagreeable feeling produced by the sight of those imitations of Human
Beings. But they are not all alike as regards that. Much depends on the
workmanship of them, and on what they do. Now there was Ensler's rope
dancer, one of the most perfect automatons I have ever seen. There was
a vigour about his movements which was most effective, and when he
suddenly sat down on his rope, and bowed in an affable manner, he was
utterly delightful. I do not suppose any one ever experienced the
gruesome feeling you speak of in looking at him. As for the Turk, I
conside