“To Elysium! to Elysium!” exclaimed the other gods, and all rose tumultuously, saving two.

“I go not,” said Eros, “for where Love is, there is Elysium.  And yonder rising moon tells me that my hour is come.”  And he flitted forth.

“Neither go I,” said an old blind god, “for where Plutus is, Elysium is not.  Moreover, mankind would follow after me.  But I too must away.  Strange that I should have abode so long under the roof of a pair of perfect virtue.”  And he tottered out.

But the other gods swept forth into the moonlight, and were seen no more.  And Prometheus picked up the forsaken sandals of Hermes, and bound them on his own feet, and grasped Elenko, and they rose up by a dizzy flight to empty heaven.  All was silent in those immense courts, vacant of everything save here and there some rusty thunderbolt or mouldering crumb of ambrosia.  Above, around, below, beyond sight, beyond thought, stretched the still deeps of aether, blazing with innumerable worlds.  Eye could rove nowhither without beholding a star, nor could star be beheld from which the Gods’ hall, with all its vastness, would not have been utterly invisible.  Elenko leaned over the battlements, and watched the racing meteors.  Prometheus stood by her, and pointed out in the immeasurable distance the little speck of shining dust from which they had flown.

“There? or here?” he asked.

“There!” said Elenko.

THE POTION OF LAO-TSZE

  And there the body lay, age after age,
    Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying,
  Like one asleep in a green hermitage,
    With gentle sleep about its eyelids playing,
  And living in its dreams beyond the rage
    Of death or life; while they were still arraying
  In liveries ever new the rapid, blind,
  And fleeting generations of mankind.

In the days of the Tang dynasty China was long happy under the sceptre of a good Emperor, named Sin-Woo.  He had overcome the enemies of the land, confirmed the friendship of its allies, augmented the wealth of the rich, and mitigated the wretchedness of the poor.  But most especially was he admired and beloved for his persecution of the impious sect of Lao-tsze, which he had well-nigh exterminated.

It was but natural that such an Emperor should congratulate himself upon his goodness and worth; yet, as no human bliss is perfect, sorrow could not fail to enter his mind.

“It is grievous to reflect,” said he to his courtiers, “that if, as ye all affirm, there hath not been any Emperor of equal merit with myself before my time, neither will any such arise after me, my subjects must inevitably be sufferers by my death.”

To which the courtiers unanimously responded, “O Emperor, live for ever!”

“Happy thought!” exclaimed the Emperor; “but wherewithal shall it be executed?”

The Prime Minister looked at the Chancellor, the Chancellor looked at the Treasurer, the Treasurer looked at the Chamberlain, the Chamberlain looked at the Principal Bonze, the Principal Bonze looked at the Second Bonze, who, to his great surprise, looked at him in return.