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Robert Chambers

Chambers Robert W. Robert William

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TO

PENELOPE SEARS

DEBUTANTE

To rhyme your name

With something lovely, fresh and young,

And sing the same

In measures heretofore unsung,

Is far beyond me, I'm afraid;

I'll not attempt it, dearest maid.

No, not in verse,

Synthetic, stately, classic, chaste,

Shall I rehearse —

Although in perfectly good taste —

A catalogue of every grace

That you inherit from your race.

Gracious and kind,

The gods your beauty gave to you,

And with a mind

These same kind gods endowed you, too;

That charming union is, I fear,

Somewhat uncommon on this sphere.

I have no doubt

That scores of poets chant your fame;

No doubt, about

A million suitors press their claim;

And fashion, elegance and wit

Are at your feet inclined to sit.

Penelope,

The fire-light flickers to and fro:

In you I see

The winsome child I used to know —

My little Maiden of Romance

Still whirling in your Shadow Dance.

Though woman-grown,

To my unreconciled surprise

I gladly own

The same light lies within your eyes —

The same sweet candour which beguiled

Your rhymster when you were a child.

And so I come,

With limping verse to you again,

Amid the hum

Of that young world wherein you reign —

Only a moment to appear

And say: "Your rhymster loves you, dear."

В В В В R. W. C.

PREFACE

Always animated by a desire to contribute in a small way toward scientific investigation, the author offers this humble volume to a more serious audience than he has so far ventured to address.

For all those who have outgrown the superficial amusement of mere fiction this volume, replete with purpose, is written in hopes that it may stimulate students to original research in certain obscure realms of science, the borderlands of which, hitherto, have been scarcely crossed.

There is perhaps no division of science as important, none so little understood, as the science of Crystal Gazing.

A vast field of individual research opens before the earnest, patient, and sober minded investigator who shall study the subject and discover those occult laws which govern the intimate relations between crystals, playing cards, cigarettes, soiled pink wrappers, and the Police.

Amor nihil est celerius!

I

There was a new crescent moon in the west which, with the star above it, made an agreeable oriental combination.

In the haze over bay and river enough rose and purple remained to veil the awakening glitter of the monstrous city sprawling supine between river, sound, and sea. And its incessant monotone pulsated, groaning, dying, ceaseless, interminable in the light-shot depths of its darkening streets.

The sky-drawing-room windows of the Countess Athalie were all wide open, but the only light in the room came from a crystal sphere poised on a tripod. It had the quality and lustre of moon-light, and we had never been able to find out its source, for no electric wires were visible, and one could move the tripod about the room.

The crystal sphere itself appeared to be luminous, yet it remained perfectly transparent, whatever the source of its silvery phosphorescence.

At any rate, it was the only light in the room except the dulled glimmer of our cigarettes, and its mild, mysterious light enabled us to see one another as through a glass darkly.

There were a number of men there that evening. I don't remember, now, who they all were. Some had dined early; others, during the evening, strolled away into the city to dine somewhere or other, drifting back afterward for coffee and sweetmeats and cigarettes in the sky-drawing-room of the Countess Athalie.

As usual the girl was curled up by the open window among her silken cushions, one smooth little gem-laden hand playing with the green jade god, her still dark eyes, which slanted a little, fixed dreamily upon infinite distance – or so it always seemed to us.

Through t