opportunity and
means. As to the means, there are so many rich people who hardly know
what to do with their money that it is well to suggest to them any
new useful end to which their superfluity may contribute. I am not in
alliance with Mr. Quaritch; in fact, I am afraid of him, for if I stayed
a single hour in his library, where I never was but once, and then for
fifteen minutes only, I should leave it so much poorer than I entered
it that I should be reminded of the picture in the titlepage of Fuller's
'Historie of the Holy Warre,' "We went out full. We returned empty."

--After the teacups were all emptied, the card containing Number Seven's
abridged history of two worlds, this and the next, was handed round.

This was all it held:

After all had looked at it, it was passed back to me. "Let The Dictator
interpret it," they all said.

This is what I announced as my interpretation:

Two worlds, the higher and the lower, separated by the thinnest of
partitions. The lower world is that of questions; the upper world
is that of answers. Endless doubt and unrest here below; wondering,
admiring, adoring certainty above.--Am I not right?

"You are right," answered Number Seven solemnly. "That is my
revelation."

The following poem was found in the sugar-bowl.

I read it to the company. There was much whispering and there were many
conjectures as to its authorship, but every Teacup looked innocent, and
we separated each with his or her private conviction. I had mine, but I
will not mention it.

THE ROSE AND THE FERN.

Lady, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn,
Come thou with me to Love's enchanted bower:
High overhead the trellised roses burn;
Beneath thy feet behold the feathery fern,
A leaf without a flower.

What though the rose leaves fall? They still are sweet,
And have been lovely in their beauteous prime,
While the bare frond seems ever to repeat,
"For us no bud, no blossom, wakes to greet
The joyous flowering time!"

Heed thou the lesson. Life has leaves to tread
And flowers to cherish; summer round thee glows;
Wait not till autumn's fading robes are shed,
But while its petals still are burning red
Gather life's full-blown rose!

VI

Of course the reading of the poem at the end of the last paper has left
a deep impression. I strongly suspect that something very much like
love-making is going on at our table. A peep under the lid of