Dust thou art, to dust returning!
Joke and Hysteria: a Medley *
* Note.—A joke, and a very poor one, which an honoured and
great master must forgive, since the joker himself has
laboured more than most living men to spread the fame of the
master and to do him honour.—R. B.
Like most men famously or infamously familiar in the mouths of the public, the Rev. Ambrose Bradley was a good deal troubled with busy-bodies, who sometimes communicated with him through the medium of the penny post, and less frequently forced themselves upon his privacy in person. The majority demanded his autograph; many sought his advice on matters of a private and spiritual nature; a few requested his immediate attention to questions in the nature of conundrums on literature, art, sociology, and the musical glasses. He took a good deal of this pestering good-humouredly, regarding it as the natural homage to public success, or notoriety; but sometimes he lost his temper, when some more than common impertinence aroused his indignation.
Now, it so happened that on the very evening of his painful interview with Mrs.
Montmorency, he received a personal visit from one of the class to which we are alluding; and as the visit in question, though trivial enough in itself, was destined to lead to important consequences, we take leave to place it upon special record. He was seated alone in his study, darkly brooding over his own dangerous position, and miserably reviewing the experiences of his past life, when the housemaid brought in a card, on which were inscribed, or rather printed, these words:
Professor Salem Mapleleafe,
Solar Biologist.
‘What is this?’ cried Bradley irritably. ‘I can see nobody.’
As he spoke a voice outside the study door answered him, in a high-pitched American accent—-