by that prattler d'Houteville. Stories which might have amused the great-great-great-grandmother of my grandmother appear insipid to me who have been educated by the wise Mambres, and who have read "Human Understanding," by the Egyptian philosopher named Locke,[1] and the "Matron of Ephesus." I choose that a story should be founded on probability, and not always resemble a dream. I desire to find nothing in it trivial or extravagant; and I desire above all, that under the appearance of fable there may appear some latent truth, obvious to the discerning eye, though it escape the observation of the vulgar.
"I am weary of a sun and of a moon which an old beldam disposes of at her pleasure, of mountains which dance, of rivers which return to their sources, and of dead men who rise again; but I am above measure disgusted when such insipid stories are written in a bombastic and unintelligible manner. A lady who expects to see her lover swallowed up by a great fish, and who is apprehensive of being beheaded by her own father, has need of amusement; but suit my amusement to my taste."
"You impose a difficult task upon me," replied the serpent. "I could have formerly made you pass a few hours agreeably enough, but for some time past I have lost both my imagination and memory. Alas! what has become of those faculties with
- ↑ The doctrine of metempsychosis must be relied upon to explain this seeming anachronism.—E.
