and not, as
many have chosen to believe, to the author. Thus were published Lord
Bacon's "Hamlet," Raleigh's poems, several plays of Messrs. Beaumont
and Fletcher--who were themselves among the cleverest adapters of the
times--and the rest of that glorious monument to human credulity and
memorial to an impossible, wholly apocryphal genius, known as the works
of William Shakespeare. The extent of my writing during this incarnation
was ten autographs for collectors, and one attempt at a comic opera
called "A Midsummer's Nightmare," which was never produced, because no
one would write the music for it, and which was ultimately destroyed
with three of my quatrains and all of Bacon's evidence against my
authorship of "Hamlet," in the fire at the Globe Theatre in the year
1613.

These, then, dear reader, are the revelations which I have to make.
In my next incarnation I was the man I am now known to be, Baron
Munchausen. As I have said, I make the exposure with regret, but the
arrogance of these impudent impersonators of my various personalities
has grown too great to be longer borne. I lay the simple story of their
villany before you for what it is worth. I have done my duty. If after
this exposure the public of Hades choose to receive them in their homes
and at their clubs, and as guests at their functions, they will do it
with a full knowledge of their duplicity.

In conclusion, fearing lest there be some doubters among the readers
of this paper, I have allowed my friend, the editor of this esteemed
journal, which is to publish this story exclusively on Sunday next, free
access to my archives, and he has selected as exhibits of evidence, to
which I earnestly call your attention, the originals of the cuts which
illustrate this chapter--viz:

I. A full-length portrait of Eve as she appeared at our first meeting.

II. Portraits of Cain and Abel at the ages of two, five, and seven.

III. The original plans and specifications of the Ark.

IV. Facsimile of her commission.

V. Portrait-sketch of myself and the false Noah, made at the time, and
showing how difficult it would have been for any member of my family,
save myself, to tell us apart.

VI. A cathode-ray photograph of the whale, showing myself, the original
Jonah, seated inside.

VII. Facsimiles of the Shakespeare autographs, proving that he knew
neither how to write nor to spell, and so of course proving effectually
that I was not the author of his works.