The Manor, Silverton: September 10, 1907. Darling Tootoo,-Your prophet sounds delightful! But can we ask a favor of him without knowing him, and would he care to lecture to a small village audience like ours? Of course, we should do our best to make everybody come, but they are very apathetic and not very intelligent. If you would be so kind, George thinks it would be better that you should sound him first. . . I am so glad about Mrs. Rice! But you are unjust to Alice; she is the soul of good-nature and most popular with the servants here. She says they knew all about the laudanum, and that it came from the public-house! Your loving, Lulu. Garibaldi Villa, Balham: Darling Lulu,-There was no reason why you shouldn't have written to Mr. Wetherby, as you know he doesn't come for nothing. However, as you wished it, I have communicated with him, and he is to come to you on Nov. 10th-his one remaining free night, for he is in tremendous demand-for five guineas and expenses. He doesn't shoot or hunt, but he likes to meet interesting people; so I daresay you will have a house-party then. . . . Mrs. Rice has shown me the bottle, and it has the label of Figg the chemist on it. She says that Alice shocked them all by the way she "carried on" with Joseph in the servants' hall. Your loving, Tootoo. The Manor, Silverton: My Dear Tootoo,-George thinks that five guineas and expenses is a great deal to give, and, of course, if we were to pay all the lecturers at the same exorbitant figure we should soon be in the bankruptcy court. However, as you seem to have engaged him definitely, George thinks that we cannot now draw back. But we should like to know by what train he is coming and what his subject is to be-it must be something quite simple. We assume that he will not stay for more than one night. . . . I am afraid that Mrs. Rice must be a very malicious and untrustworthy woman, and I think that she should be made to apologize to Alice, who is naturally very indignant at the odious calumny. Your affectionate, Lulu. Garibaldi Villa, Balham: September 15, 1907. Dear Lulu,-As after all the trouble I have taken you are not satisfied with my arrangements, you had better write to Mr. Wetherby yourself. The Philosophers' Club, Balham, will find him. I think you may be assured that he will not be eager to stay for more than the one night. . . . I think that an apology is due not to, but from, Alice. Yours ev., T. St. H. As the result of a further correspondence with Mr. Wetherby, it was decided that the lecture should be on some historical subject, and the prophet finally selected as his theme "The Swedes as the Pivot of Continental Politics." Fearing that this title would sound rather formidably in the ears of rustics, Mr. Cherrybank shortened it to "The Swedes," and the local printer, thinking the definite article superfluous, cut it out, and issued the bill as follows: On Nov. 10th, in the Schoolroom, at 8 P.M. punctually, A Lecture on By Mr. H. Wetherby, Esq. Lantern Slides. When November 10 came round, Mrs. Cherrybank was a little flustered. She was accustomed to entertain ordinary people, but she had had no experience of prophets, and original thought rather intimidated her. The house party consisted only of Mrs. Cherrybank's aunt, who was rather deaf, and a friend of her husband's who had come for the hunting; but she had invited the Rector and his wife, Major Bridge, Mr. and the Hon. Mrs. Knight, and half a dozen other local celebrities to an early dinner to meet the lecturer, who was expected to arrive at 6 P.M. The first and most surprising revelation of the evening was the personal appearance of the prophet. Mrs. Cherrybank was prepared for a tall, majestic figure with a flowing white beard, and had half expected to be confronted with a leathern girdle and a demand for locusts and wild honey. Instead, there stepped into the room a small and stoutish man, faultlessly dressed, who bowed stiffly and talked about the weather. Nor did he shine in the drawing-room, in the trying interval that precedes the announcement of dinner. The guests, who had been somewhat intimidated by their hostess's description of Mr. Wetherby, were introduced one by one, and, finding that they had nothing to say, withdrew to talk hunting shop amongst themselves, leaving the prophet and Mr. Cherrybank to exchange platitudes on the hearthrug. But at dinner after the first glass of champagne, he took up his parable and spoke. The Rector was lamenting to his neighbor, Miss Binns, that in the course of his travels he had found comparatively few Christians in Palestine. Mr. Wetherby caught the remark, and breaking off a conversation with his hostess on the amenities of Balham, he said in a loud voice, "Christianity has lost its hold on the Oriental mind through its Orientalism; in religious propaganda, as in vestry meetings, agreement is only possible through opposition; the thing we believe in is always the thing we doubt." Then, looking round the table, he added with intense conviction, "After all, the only real thing in the world is half-a-crown." Conversation had ceased suddenly, and all ears were turned to the speaker. "Why so?" the Rector ventured to interpose. It was a foolish question, and the Rector should have known that certain Revelations must be taken "lying down"; but the Prophet took up the challenge. "Why so?" he replied, "or, rather, how otherwise? To the man in the street, Plato's Republic, the Gospels, Blue-beard, and the Fiscal question are all myths; and the man in the street is the epitome of the man out of the street-the dustman is the concentrated experience of humanity. But give the dustman half-a-crown and it means to him the public-house-the realization of feelings that are his, because after the third glass they cease to be feelings and become a pain-and the only perfect thing in the world is pain." For the rest of dinner Mr. Wetherby had the conversation to himself-which was what he wanted. He belonged to that school of thought which seeks to express truth through paradox, and the company was fairly dazzled by the fertility of his imagination. "A brilliant talker!" whispered Mr. Cherrybank to the Rector, as they made for the carriages which were to take them to the schoolroom. "Yes," replied the Rector doubtfully, "but a little daring, perhaps." The village schoolroom was redolent of oil lamps and damp clothes. Although the night was wet, a fair number of farmers and laborers had come to hear the lecture, attracted by the title and the promise of a magic lantern. A sheet had been stretched across the back of the daïs, the lantern was fizzing and popping ominously in the centre of the room, and the schoolmaster, obviously ill at ease, was fumbling with the slides. When Mr. Cherrybank had formally introduced him, the lecturer assumed an easy pose and began: "Now, what is a Swede?" There was a short pause, during which the rustics prodded each other shyly. One of the boldest was about to hazard a reply for the honor of Silverton, when Mr. Wetherby answered his own question. "I will tell you," he said. "A Swede is neither animal, vegetable, nor mineral, neither fish, flesh nor herring but a prophecy and a portent. On his own poor soil and among his native forests he was a prophecy: at Lutzen, on the plains of Germany, he became a portent. But first let me show you a picture of a typical Swede." He tapped his stick on the floor, and the lantern fizzed and clicked. There was a puzzled pause, and then Mr. Cherrybank coughed, and said, "I fear there is some mistake, isn't there?" The lecturer looked round and his face clouded with annoyance. "T-T!" he said. "That's the cannon-ball that killed Charles XII.-I'm coming to that later. Put the slides in, please, in the order in which I gave them to you." The lantern clicked again and Charles XII. came in jerkily on his head. So Mr. Wetherby stepped from the platform and went to the aid of the harassed operator. After considerable delay the slides were reduced once more to order and the lecturer resumed his discourse. And a very brilliant discourse it was. Gustavus Adolphus the Apostle, and Charles XII. the Devourer, of the Swedes, were introduced, turned inside out, and finally dismissed with a sparkling epigram; but their intrusion only added an element of perplexity to the larger part of the company, who, having started on a wrong tack, stuck to it with rustic obstinacy. Mr. Wetherby concluded with some daring conjectures on the future of Sweden, and then invited questions from his audience. There was an uneasy shuffling of feet and a good deal of whispering, and finally a hard-headed, red-faced man, who farmed his own land, was lifted from his seat by his neighbors. "Ah should lahk to ask 'ee, yung The Cornhill Magazine. mahn," he said, "whether 'ee knaw the diffrunse atween a Swede and a turmut." "If that is a riddle," replied the lecturer, with condescending playfulness, "I am afraid that I must give it up." "Ah! 'a thought 'ee didn't!" exclaimed the farmer triumphantly. "And 'a doan't believe the Dolphus or thic thar Chawles knawed un neether!" At this point Mr. Cherrybank thought it wise to intervene. "As it is getting late," he said, "and some of us have to be out of bed early to-morrow, I think that-er-that we won't trouble Mr. Wetherby with further questions. We have all listened, I am sure, with great interest, and-er-instruction to-er-what has been a most interesting and instructive -er-lecture. I am sure we are all very grateful to Mr. Wetherby for coming amongst us; and some of us will hope to hear him again, perhaps-er— elsewhere; and we shall all of us look forward, I am sure, with-er-with increased interest and-er-and interest to his brilliant contributions to the er --to the daily papers." "What a curiously perverse sense of humor your rustics have!" said Mr. Wetherby to the Rector, as they shook hands afterwards on the platform. "They missed the more obvious points and laughed at others which I should hardly have expected them to find amusing. They seemed to be especially tickled at the idea that the Swedes have a future. It was an interesting experience for me; for it is the only occasion on which I have ever lectured to a purely agricultural audience." "I am afraid," said the Rector hesitatingly, "in fact, I am tolerably certain that they were under the impression, all the evening, that you werein fact, that you were speaking about roots." And, for the first time in his life, the Prophet found himself speechless. G. F. Bradby. A VISIT TO MOULAI EL HAFID. I journeyed from Tangier in the early part of June, to try and make my way to Fez where Moulai el Hafid had just arrived, as I wished to find out the true state of affairs in the capital. I had studied the situation in Morocco from the papers, which during the past year have been so singularly badly informed, and almost the last words I read before leaving the coast were, "Moulai el Hafid has arrived at Fez, accompanied by about five hundred followers in rags. He proceeded to the Mosque to pray." These few lines did not convey a very cheerful picture of the prospects of the new Sultan of Morocco, and did not augur well for the success of my journey inland. Finding I could get no one to go with me to Fez from Tangier, I took steamer to Larache, a little port forty-eight miles down the coast, accompanied by a guide called Rabet, who could speak a little French, a little English, and had an acquaintance with several other languages. At Larache I bought a horse, hired mules, and rode inland twenty miles to Alcizar, where my real difficulties commenced. I was told it would be impossible to get through to Fez, but this is invariably the answer one receives when travelling off the beaten track, and it has long since ceased to trouble me. I soon found an invaluable companion for the journey in Mr. Harry Carleton, brother of Bibi Carleton, our Consul at Alcizar, who speaks Arabic like a native, and is well known and respected among the Moors. Our first step was to buy Moorish clothes. Carleton elected to travel as a mountaineer, but I wore the white flowing robes of a Moor of the upper class. We had difficulty in procuring mules, because the Caid of Alcizar, a rabid pro-Hafidist, had issued stringent orders that none of the townspeople were to assist Europeans to go to Fez under divers pains and penalties, for he supposed their presence would not be welcome to his master. After a long search and much bargaining we came to terms with a swarthy negro muleteer, who agreed to carry our baggage to a village called Shimaja, thirty miles on the road to Fez, where we could pass the night with a Caid who was friendly to Carleton. I elected to ride a horse on the road; but my companion preferred to sit on the top of a pack, declaring that on a long journey it was the more comfortable. We discarded all superfluous kit-carrying only a tent, some tinned provisions, a change of clothes, a Martini-Henry rifle, and a large revolver which I had purchased in Tangier. Owing to the Act of Algeciras, there is great difficulty in taking arms and ammunition into Morocco. I brought two rifles out from England, but they never got farther than Irun on the Franco-Spanish frontier, where they were seized by the Customs officers, who told me that, in addition to paying a duty equivalent to twice their value, I would have to obtain a permit from the Minister of War to carry them through Spain. Not wishing to delay my journey because of two old Mausers captured in the Boer War, I abandoned them to Spain. Just before the train started the gendarmes, touched with remorse, suggested that I should give them half a visiting card, and on my return, if I produced the other half and it fitted, I should receive my rifles back. To this compromise I agreed, and in consequence arrived at Tangier weaponless. After much trouble I bought the revolver of the Chief-Constable of Cadiz, who had been obliged to sell it after a spree at Tangier, the conclusion of which found him with his ready money exhausted. I also bought fifty cartridges; and this weapon, carefully loaded, never left my side during my stay in Morocco. I only had to draw it on two occasions, and never to use it. On my return from Fez three months later I tried it on the sea between Larache and Tangier. Six times on pulling the trigger there followed the click of a hammer without any report. Four more cartridges were tried without result, and only the eleventh went off. Never put your trust in a second-hand weapon! foreign-made The evening before I left Alcizar 1 witnessed a unique exhibition of snake-charming, and one which I never wish to see again. I was standing with Bibi Carleton and his brother Harry outside their house, when a fanatic came up, wildly gesticulating, calling down curses upon us, and holding in his hand a large, live and poisonous snake. His hair was dressed in ringlets, after the fashion of the early Victorian ladies, and his whole appearance was ferocious and disgusting. He was followed by a crowd of people who pressed round him, and wishing to clear the space, he took the snake by the tail and swung it round at arm's-length, quickly dispersing the spectators. The holy man then became pacified, curled the snake round his neck, and even allowed it to crawl partly down his back. Bibi Carleton said to me, "This man is a frequent visitor here, he is a fanatic, and we must humor him by giving him money." (Thus even does fanaticism yield to the power of money.) I handed over some silver, and most of the spectators did likewise. But this philanthropy instead of calming the man made him wilder than ever. seized the snake by the tail, uttered fearful cries, and rushed at the specta He tors. In a trice the street was cleared. Then he came in my direction, but having an intense horror of snakes, and not wishing to cause trouble by threatening to shoot him, I fled inside the house and watched the proceedings from this vantage-point. What followed disgusted me. This devoted child of the Prophet placed the head of the snake between his teeth, held the tail in his hands, and exerting all his strength stretched it out beyond its full length, until it broke off at the neck, leaving the head in his mouth. Then having swallowed the head, he walked down the street, at intervals biting bits of the still wriggling body. This was the last I saw of him. On the following morning we left Alcizar at dawn, and did four good hours before the African sun appeared in all its glory and with all its accompanying discomfort. An hour after the sun rises the horses and mules lose their energy and seem to give up all hope. their brisk step dies away, their heads droop, and with parched tongues lolling from their mouths they crawl along at two or three miles an hour. We passed through some splendid country. On the grass plains through which the road ran, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep and goats, camels and mules, were grazing. The villagers were at work in the cornfields reaping the harvest, and as they toiled they sang a strange, plaintive song, which really means, "Oh, Allah, be good to us, we are working our best." Travellers on the road were few, and were mostly muleteers. They eyed us with curiosity, and quickly discovered that I was no Moor, in spite of my native attire. Rabet, my interpreter, a native of Tangier, replied in various ways to the inquiries of the passers-by. At one time I was an Egyptian Mohammedan, having just returned from a pilgrimage to Mecca, and now on my way to the Shrine of Moulai Edriss at |