about twenty others were
present there by appointment. The astrologer then carefully handed the
cover to the Mudalyar, desiring him to see if it was all right. "Don't
mind that," the Mudalyar answered; "I can find out the trick, if there
be any. Produce your copy." The astrologer thereupon presented to the
Mudalyar a paper on which four lines were written and stated that this
was a copy of the paper enclosed in the Mudalyar's envelope. Those four
lines formed a portion of an antiquated poem.

The Mudalyar read the paper once, then read it over again. Extreme
satisfaction beamed over his countenance, and he sat mute for some
seconds seemingly in utter astonishment. But soon after, the expression
of his face changing, he opened the envelope and threw the enclosure
down, jocularly saying to the astrologer, "Here, Sir, is the original of
which you have produced the copy."

The paper lay upon the carpet, and was quite blank! not a word, nor a
letter on its clean surface.

This was a sad disappointment to all his admirers; but to the
astrologer himself, it was a real thunderbolt. He picked up the paper
pensively, examined it on both sides, then dashed it on the ground in a
fury; and suddenly arising, exclaimed, "My Vidya* is a delusion, and I
am a liar!"

---------
* Secret knowledge, magic.
---------

The subsequent behaviour of the poor man made us fear lest this great
disappointment should drive him to commit some desperate act. In fact
he seemed determined to drown himself in the well, saying that he was
dishonoured. While we were trying to console him, the Mudalyar came
forward, caught hold of his hands, and besought him to sit down and
calmly listen to his explanation, assuring him that he was not a liar,
and that his copy was perfectly accurate. But the astrologer would not
be satisfied; he supposed that all this was said simply to console him;
and cursed himself and his fate most horribly. However, in a few
minutes he became calmer and listened to the Mudalyar's explanation,
which was in substance as follows The only way for the sceptic to
account for this phenomenon, is to suppose that the astrologer opened
the covers dexterously and read their contents. "So," he said, "I wrote
four lines of old poetry on the paper with nitrate of silver, which
would be invisible until exposed to the light; and this would have
disclosed the astrologer's fraud, if he had tried to find out the
contents of the encl