e little Roberta on to the top of his
head and dance "La Paladine" on his hearth-rug, singing:

"Rataplan, Rataplan,
I'm a celebrated man--"

in imitation of Sergeant Bouncer in _Cox and Box_.

But in less than a year celebrity had quite palled, and all his
money bored him--as mine does me. He had a very small appetite for
either the praise or the pudding which were served out to him in
such excess all through his life. It was only his fondness for the
work itself that kept his nose so constantly to the grindstone.

Within six months of the _Sardonyx_ Barty wrote _La quatrieme
Dimension_ in French, which was published by Dollfus-Mois freres, in
Paris, with if possible a greater success; for the clerical
opposition was even more virulent. The English translation, which is
admirable, is by Scatcherd.

Then came _Motes in a Moonbeam, Interstellar Harmonics_, and _Berthe
aux grands Pieds_ within eighteen months, so that before he was
quite thirty, in the space of two years, Barty had produced five
works--three in English and two in French--which, though merely
novels and novelettes, have had as wide and far-reaching an
influence on modern thought as the _Origin of Species_, that
appeared about the same time, and which are such, for simplicity of
expression, exposition, and idea, that an intelligent ploughboy can
get all the good and all the pleasure from them almost as easily as
any philosopher or sage.

Such was Barty's debut as a man of letters. This is not the place to
criticise his literary work, nor am I the proper person to do so;
enough has been written already about Barty Josselin during his
lifetime to fill a large library--in nearly every language there is.
I tremble to think of what has yet to follow!

[Illustration: "'RATAPLAN, RATAPLAN'"]

_Sardonyx_ came of age nearly twelve years ago--what a coming of age
that was the reader will remember well. I shall not forget its
celebration at Marsfield; it happened to coincide with the birth of
Barty's first grandchild, at that very house.

I will now go back to Barty's private life, which is the sole object
of this humble attempt at book-making on my part.

During the next ten years Barty's literary activity was immense.
Beautiful books followed each other in rapid succession--and so did
beautiful little Bartys, and Leah's hands were full.

And as each book, English or French, was more beautiful than the last;
so was each little Barty, male or f