ile to others it is perfectly scentless.

The staircase had been surmounted, and there were now only three or
four more upward steps intervening between us and the summit. We still
ascended, and now only one step remained. One step! One little, little
step! Upon one such little step in the great staircase of human life how
vast a sum of human happiness or misery depends! I thought of myself,
then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and inexplicable destiny
which surrounded us. I thought of Pompey!--alas, I thought of love! I
thought of my many false steps which have been taken, and may be taken
again. I resolved to be more cautious, more reserved. I abandoned the
arm of Pompey, and, without his assistance, surmounted the one remaining
step, and gained the chamber of the belfry. I was followed immediately
afterward by my poodle. Pompey alone remained behind. I stood at the
head of the staircase, and encouraged him to ascend. He stretched forth
to me his hand, and unfortunately in so doing was forced to abandon
his firm hold upon the overcoat. Will the gods never cease their
persecution? The overcoat is dropped, and, with one of his feet, Pompey
stepped upon the long and trailing skirt of the overcoat. He stumbled
and fell--this consequence was inevitable. He fell forward, and, with
his accursed head, striking me full in the--in the breast, precipitated
me headlong, together with himself, upon the hard, filthy, and
detestable floor of the belfry. But my revenge was sure, sudden, and
complete. Seizing him furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore out
a vast quantity of black, and crisp, and curling material, and tossed it
from me with every manifestation of disdain. It fell among the ropes of
the belfry and remained. Pompey arose, and said no word. But he regarded
me piteously with his large eyes and--sighed. Ye Gods--that sigh! It
sunk into my heart. And the hair--the wool! Could I have reached that
wool I would have bathed it with my tears, in testimony of regret. But
alas! it was now far beyond my grasp. As it dangled among the cordage
of the bell, I fancied it alive. I fancied that it stood on end with
indignation. Thus the happy-dandy Flos Aeris of Java bears, it is said,
a beautiful flower, which will live when pulled up by the roots. The
natives suspend it by a cord from the ceiling and enjoy its fragrance
for years.

Our quarrel was now made up, and we looked about the room for an
aperture through which to s