ike a piece of chicle.

"Watch me; do just as I do," whispered Kennedy to me at a moment when no
one was looking.

The servant advanced towards us with the tray.

"The mescal plant," explained Alvardo, pointing at the little discs,
"grows precisely like these little buttons which you see here. It is a
species of cactus which rises only half an inch or so from the ground.
The stem is surrounded by a clump of blunt leaves which give it its
button shape, and on the top you will see still the tuft of filaments,
like a cactus. It grows in the rocky soil in many places in the state
of Jalisco, though only recently has it become known to science. The
Indians, when they go out to gather it, simply lop off these little ends
as they peep above the earth, dry them, keep what they wish for their
own use, and sell the rest for what is to them a fabulous sum. Some
people chew the buttons, while a few have lately tried making an
infusion or tea out of them. Perhaps to a beginner I had better
recommend the infusion."

I had scarcely swallowed the bitter, almost nauseous decoction than I
began to feel my heart action slowing up and my pulse beating fuller and
stronger. The pupils of my eyes expanded as with a dose of belladonna;
at least, I could see that Kennedy's did, and so mine must have done the
same.

I seemed to feel an elated sense of superiority--really I almost
began to feel that it was I, not Kennedy, who counted most in this
investigation. I have since learned that this is the common experience
of mescal-users, this sense of elation; but the feeling of physical
energy and intellectual power soon wore off, and I found myself glad to
recline in my easy chair, as the rest did, in silent indolence.

Still, the display that followed for an enchanted hour or so was such as
I find it hopeless to describe in language which shall convey to others
the beauty and splendour of what I saw.

I picked up a book lying on the table before me. A pale blue-violet
shadow floated across the page before me, leaving an after-image of pure
colour that was indescribable. I laid down the book and closed my eyes.
A confused riot of images and colours like a kaleidoscope crowded before
me, at first indistinct, but, as I gazed with closed yes, more and more
definite. Golden and red and green jewels seemed to riot before me. I
bathed my hands in inconceivable riches of beauty such as no art-glass
worker has ever produced. All discomfort ceased. I