origin? The aged ocean, the father of all things, keeps
locked within his own breast these secrets; and the nymphs who stand
around sing as they weave their eternal dance before him, to cover any
sound which might escape from his lips, half opened by slumber.
Mortals dear to the gods for their virtue have received from their
hands lyres to give delight to man, or the seeds of new plants to make
him rich, but from their inexorable lips--nothing!'

"Mr. Murray, am I correct in my conjecture?"

"Quite correct," he answered, smiling grimly.

Taking the book from her hand he threw it on the table, and tossed his
cigar into the grate, adding in a defiant, challenging tone:

"The mantle of Solomon did not fall at Le Cayla on the shoulders of
Maurice de Guerin. After all he was a wretched hypochondriac, and a
tinge of _le cahier vert_ doubtless crept into his eyes."

"Do you forget, sir, that he said, 'When one is a wanderer, one feels
that one fulfils the true condition of humanity?' and that among his
last words are these, 'The stream of travel is full of delight. Oh!
who will set me adrift on this Nile?'"

"Pardon me if I remind you, _par parenthese_, of the preliminary and
courteous _En garde!_ which should be pronounced before a thrust. De
Guerin felt starved in Languedoc, and no wonder! But had he penetrated
every nook and cranny of the habitable globe, and traversed the vast
zaarahs which science accords the universe, he would have died at last
as hungry as Ugolino. I speak advisedly; for the true Io gad-fly,
_ennui_, has stung me from hemisphere to hemisphere, across
tempestuous oceans, scorching deserts, and icy mountain ranges. I have
faced alike the bourrans of the steppes, and the Samieli of Shamo, and
the result of my vandal life is best epitomized in those grand but
grim words of Bossuet: '_On trouve au fond du tout le vide et le
neant!_' Nineteen years ago, to satisfy my hunger, I set out to hunt
the daintiest food this world could furnish, and, like other fools,
have learned finally, that life is but a huge mellow golden Oesher,
that mockingly sifts its bitter dust upon our eager lips. Ah! truly,
_on trouve au fond du tout le vide et le neant_!"

"Mr. Murray, if you insist upon your bitter Oesher simile, why shut
your eyes to the palpable analogy suggested? Naturalists assert that
the Solanum, or apple of Sodom, contains in its normal state neither
dust nor ashes; unless it is punctured by an insect, (th