ets and application blanks,
thus relieving us of one of our most onerous burdens. Mr. Campbell's
eighteen years of undiminished devotion to amateurdom form a thing
worthy of emulation.

THE UNITED AMATEUR NOVEMBER 1920

Nyarlathotep

H. P. LOVECRAFT

Nyarlathotep ... the crawling chaos ... I am the last ... I will tell
the audient void....

I do not recall distinctly when it began, but it was months ago. The
general tension was horrible. To a season of political and social
upheaval was added a strange and brooding apprehension of hideous
physical danger; a danger widespread and all-embracing, such a danger as
may be imagined only in the most terrible phantasms of the night. I
recall that the people went about with pale and worried faces, and
whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat
or acknowledge to himself that he had heard. A sense of monstrous guilt
was upon the land, and out of the abysses between the stars swept chill
currents that made men shiver in dark and lonely places. There was a
demoniac alteration in the sequence of the seasons--the autumn heat
lingered fearsomely, and everyone felt that the world and perhaps the
universe had passed from the control of known gods or forces to that of
gods or forces which were unknown.

And it was then that Nyarlathotep came out of Egypt. Who he was, none
could tell, but he was of the old native blood and looked like a
Pharaoh. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, yet could not say why. He
said he had risen up out of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and
that he had heard messages from places not on this planet. Into the
lands of civilisation came Nyarlathotep, swarthy, slender, and sinister,
always buying strange instruments of glass and metal and combining them
into instruments yet stranger. He spoke much of the sciences--of
electricity and psychology--and gave exhibitions of power which sent his
spectators away speechless, yet which swelled his fame to exceeding
magnitude. Men advised one another to see Nyarlathotep, and shuddered.
And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; for the small hours were
rent with the screams of nightmare. Never before had the screams of
nightmare been such a public problem; now the wise men almost wished
they could forbid sleep in the small hours, that the shrieks of cities
might less horribly disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on
green waters gliding under bridges, and ol