SINFIRE.
I.
[Note.—I have taken such liberties with this journal as seemed to me best calculated to promote the interests and stimulate the interest of the reader. Mr. Mainwaring probably did not write with a view to publication, and he often has turned aside to treat of matters which do not belong to the strange story that was developing under his observation. Such passages have generally been expunged, and the narrative made to read as much as possible like an ordinary novel told in the first person. On the other hand, there is a certain leisureliness and circumstantiality about Mr. Mainwaring's style, and he possesses a sense of artistic propriety and of dramatic effect, which have been of infinite service to his editor. Though his journal could have been meant only for his own reference or amusement, he seemed instinctively to aim at a completeness and symmetry rarely met with in that species of composition. Very rarely indeed have I been obliged to interpolate facts not conveyed in the text. For the rest, a few transpositions, here and there a verbal emendation, and occasionally a change in the form of narration, cover the limits of my labors. Of course I might simply have used the materials at my command to make up a regular novel. But it seemed to me that the effect of the tale was much enhanced by the fact that the teller of it was not only himself one of the characters in it, but did not know, at the time he was telling it, what the next day or hour might bring forth. He is quite as much in suspense as the reader can be; and thus a sympathy and confidence on the reader's part are established which could not otherwise be attained. Deliberately-planned artistic surprises are lost; but the compensating advantages are ample. An earthquake, a murder, a thunderbolt, an elopement, are startling enough in themselves, without being "led up to." Moreover, I no longer have either the time or the inclination to work out an elaborate fiction, and am well content to let Mr. Frank Mainwaring speak for himself.—Editor.]
THE cobra arrived yesterday (June 2). I had previously had a cage made for her, adjoining that occupied by the rattlesnakes. Both cages have slate bottoms, hard-wood sides, and are glazed in front with plate glass, which can be lifted on grooves like a window, when necessary. The partition between the cages is pierced by a small door, which can be opened or closed by a cord from the outside. The whole affair is fixed at the side of the room opposite the north window, and has (to my thinking, at least) quite a fine appearance.
My new guest was rather restless at first, and kept rearing up
