try girl, drawn from real life. "And by the way,"
murmured the author to himself, "I wish Mary would bring in my
tea."

He settled himself still more comfortably in his easy chair, and
thought, and looked at his manuscript; and the manuscript looked
back; but all _its_ thinking had been done for it. Neither
spoke--the author, because the book already knew all he had to
say; and the book, because its time to speak and be immortal had
not yet arrived. The fire had all the talking to itself, and it
cackled, and hummed, and skipped about so cheerfully that one
would have imagined it expected to be the very first to receive
a presentation copy of the work on the table. "How I would devour
its contents!" laughed the fire.

Perhaps the author did not comprehend the full force of the
fire's remark, but the voice was so cosy and soothing, the
fire itself so ruddy and genial, and the easy chair so softly
cushioned and hospitable, that he very soon fell into a condition
which enabled him to see, hear, and understand a great many
things which might seem remarkable, and, indeed, almost
incredible.

The manuscript on the table which had hitherto remained perfectly
quiet, now rustled its leaves nervously, and finally flung
itself wide open. A murmur then arose, as of several voices, and
presently there appeared (though whether stepping from between
the leaves of the book itself, or growing together from the
surrounding atmosphere, the author could not well make out)
a number of peculiar-looking individuals, at the first glance
appearing to be human beings, though a clear investigation
revealed in each some odd lack or exaggeration of gesture,
feature, or manner, which might create a doubt as to whether they
actually were, after all, what they purported to be, or only some
_lusus naturae_. But the author was not slow to recognize them,
more especially as, happening to cast a glance at the manuscript,
he noticed that it was such no longer, but a collection of
unwritten sheets of paper, blank as when it lay in the drawer at
the stationer's--unwitting of the lofty destiny awaiting it.

Here, then, were the immortal creations which were soon to
astound the world, come, in person, to pay their respects to the
author of their being. He arose and made a profound obeisance to
the august company, which they one and all returned, though in
such a queer variety of ways, that the author, albeit aware that
every individual had the best of r