is naming himself "Goliah" and shrouding himself in mystery was his
little joke, he later explained. As Goliah, or any other thing like
that, he said, he was able to touch the imagination of the world and turn
it over; but as Percival Stultz, wearing side-whiskers and spectacles,
and weighing one hundred and eighteen pounds, he would have been unable
to turn over a pecan--"not even a salted pecan."

But the world quickly got over its disappointment in his personal
appearance and antecedents. It knew him and revered him as the
master-mind of the ages; and it loved him for himself, for his quizzical
short-sighted eyes and the inimitable way in which he screwed up his face
when he laughed; it loved him for his simplicity and comradeship and warm
humanness, and for his fondness for salted pecans and his aversion to
cats. And to-day, in the wonder-city of Asgard, rises in awful beauty
that monument to him that dwarfs the pyramids and all the monstrous
blood-stained monuments of antiquity. And on that monument, as all know,
is inscribed in imperishable bronze the prophecy and the fulfilment: "ALL
WILL BE JOY-SMITHS, AND THEIR TASK SHALL BE TO BEAT OUT LAUGHTER FROM THE
RINGING ANVIL OF LIFE."

[EDITORIAL NOTE.--This remarkable production is the work of Harry
Beckwith, a student in the Lowell High School of San Francisco, and it is
here reproduced chiefly because of the youth of its author. Far be it
from our policy to burden our readers with ancient history; and when it
is known that Harry Beckwith was only fifteen when the fore-going was
written, our motive will be understood. "Goliah" won the Premier for
high school composition in 2254, and last year Harry Beckwith took
advantage of the privilege earned, by electing to spend six months in
Asgard. The wealth of historical detail, the atmosphere of the times,
and the mature style of the composition are especially noteworthy in one
so young.]

THE GOLDEN POPPY

I have a poppy field. That is, by the grace of God and the good-nature
of editors, I am enabled to place each month divers gold pieces into a
clerical gentleman's hands, and in return for said gold pieces I am each
month reinvested with certain proprietary-rights in a poppy field. This
field blazes on the rim of the Piedmont Hills. Beneath lies all the
world. In the distance, across the silver sweep of bay, San Francisco
smokes on her many hills like a second Rome. Not far away, Mount
Tamalpais t