ngers in Paris; and my life would not be worth
an hour's purchase if I exhibited her 'in puris naturalibus' to the eyes
of a people wholly unfamiliarized to a spectacle so indecorous. That
care for one's personal safety which is the first duty of thoughtful man
compels me therefore to reconcile the appearance of 'la Verite' to the
'bienseances' of the polished society in which 'la Liberte' admits no
opinion not dressed after the last fashion.

Attired as fiction, Truth may be peacefully received; and, despite the
necessity thus imposed by prudence, I indulge the modest hope that I do
not in these pages unfaithfully represent certain prominent types of the
brilliant population which has invented so many varieties of Koom-Posh;

[Koom-Posh, Glek-Nas. For the derivation of these terms and their
metaphorical signification, I must refer the reader to the "Coming
Race," chapter xii., on the language of the Vril-ya. To those who
have not read or have forgotten that historical composition, it may
be convenient to state briefly that Koom-Posh with the Vril-ya is
the name for the government of the many, or the ascendency of the
most ignorant or hollow, and may be loosely rendered Hollow-Bosh.
When Koom-Posh degenerates from popular ignorance into the popular
ferocity which precedes its decease, the name for that state of
things is Glek-Nas; namely, the universal strife-rot.]

and even when it appears hopelessly lost in the slough of a Glek-Nas,
re-emerges fresh and lively as if from an invigorating plunge into
the Fountain of Youth. O Paris, 'foyer des idees, et oeil du
monde!'--animated contrast to the serene tranquillity of the Vril-ya,
which, nevertheless, thy noisiest philosophers ever pretend to make the
goal of their desires: of all communities on which shines the sun and
descend the rains of heaven, fertilizing alike wisdom and folly, virtue
and vice; in every city men have yet built on this earth,--mayest
thou, O Paris, be the last to brave the wands of the Coming Race and be
reduced into cinders for the sake of the common good!

TISH.

PARIS, August 28, 1872.

THE PARISIANS.

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

It was a bright day in the early spring of 1869. All Paris seemed to
have turned out to enjoy itself. The Tuileries, the Champs Elysees, the
Bois de Boulogne, swarmed with idlers. A stranger might have wondered
where Toil was at work, and in w