ad written a novel, and another who had written a
poem, both unpublished, but both understood to be of a mysterious
excellence; and others not necessary to mention. Even for these great
people the chance to see a genius off his guard was not to be
resisted. He seemed to be so soundly asleep that they might safely
approach him. They tiptoed toward him, and hovered about him, holding
their breath meanwhile. The ladies gazed at him longest, and seemed
best satisfied with their inspection, with the exception of Professor
Phyle, who was in raptures.

"I have never," said he, in a blood-curdling whisper, and waving his
hand toward the unconscious Ogla-Moga, while the guests gathered about
to hear what his verdict would be, "seen a more distinctly musical
face. It is remarkable. It ought to convert any skeptic to phrenology.
The development of what we phrenologists call, for the sake of
convenience, the organs of tune and time--just over and near the side
of the eye--the fulness of the eyes, the exquisite mobility of the
mouth, are fairly abno-or-r-mal," and here the learned professor's
whisper made one's flesh creep. "And I have no doubt, if I could
examine the organs which are concealed by those luxuriant locks"--and
now the professor smiled his society smile, and his fingers rayed out
toward the sleeping Indian's head in a nervous, eager way--"that I
should find ideality, adhesiveness, time, hope, veneration, and so on,
strongly developed, as in the case of the great composers." The ladies
nodded at each other, and drew long breaths of astonishment.

"I am glad," continued the professor, in his most approving manner,
"that this little social incident"--but now the smile was more
labored, and his eyebrows went up with less ease than usual, for, to
tell the truth, the professor, like the rest of the company, was
getting a little hungry--"should have given us an opportunity to make
a scientific proof of his great genius."

Meanwhile the lieutenant, who was a practical person, if he was a
lion, bent toward the still snoring Ogla-Moga with his eyeglass.

"It's a singular thing," said he, coming back, "but the face doesn't
seem at all Italian to me. It's more like an Indian's face than that
of any civilized man I ever saw."

There was an indignant whisper of dissent all about.

"How can you say so?" responded the professor. "There are centuries of
culture and refinement in that face--the stern old Roman cast softened
and m