ew on the grass" was not shining, for there was in his
vicinity no dew and no grass, nor anything resembling those rural
luxuries. Nor was it by any means at "early dawn;" on the
contrary, if there be such a commodity in a city as "dawn,"
either early or late, that article had been all disposed of
several hours in advance of the period at which this chapter
begins.

But at midday he set forth alone to visit that prophetess of
renown, Madame Prewster. He was fully prepared to encounter
whatever of the diabolical machinery of the black art might be
put in operation to appal his unaccustomed soul.

But as he set forth from the respectable domicile where he takes
his nightly roost, it rained, as aforementioned. The driving
drops had nearly drowned the sunshine, and through the sickly
light that still survived, everything looked dim and spectral.
Unearthly cars, drawn by ghostly horses, glided swiftly through
the mist, the intangible apparitions which occupied the drivers'
usual stands hailing passengers with hollow voices, and
proffering, with impish finger and goblin wink, silent
invitations to ride. Fantastic dogs sneaked out of sight round
distant corners, or skulked miserably under phantom carts for an
imaginary shelter. The rain enveloped everything with a grey
veil, making all look unsubstantial and unreal; the human
unfortunates who were out in the storm appeared cloudy and
unsolid, as if each man had sent his shadow out to do his work
and kept his substance safe at home.

The "Individual" travelled on foot, disdaining the miserable
compromise of an hour's stew in a steaming car, or a prolonged
shower-bath in a leaky omnibus. Being of burly figure and
determined spirit, he walked, knowing that his "too-solid flesh"
would not be likely "to melt, thaw, and resolve itself into a
dew," and firmly believing that he was not born to be drowned.

He carried no umbrella, preferring to stand up and fight it out
with the storm face to face, and because he detested a contemptible
sneaking subterfuge of an umbrella, pretending to keep him dry,
and all the time surreptitiously leaking small streams down the
back of his neck, and filling his pockets with indigo colored
puddles; and because, also, an umbrella would no more have
protected a man against that storm, than a gun-cotton overcoat
would have availed against the storm of fire that scorched old
Sodom.

He placed his trust in a huge pair of water-proof boots, and a
f