“‘Pining away in a green and yaller melancholie,’

“as your grand poet has it, Monsieur.  Still, I succeeded, and I am very proud to announce it;—­’twas a great feat, indeed—­no less than to subvert an instinct! Third, I found out the way to keep them perfectly isolated, so as to prevent any subvention of a higher influence from weakening or destroying the previous rapport. Fourth, what sort of influence brought to bear upon Snail B would be sympathetically indicated most palpably in Snail A. So, Monsieur, you may fancy I had my hands full.

“But I succeeded, after long labor.  Then I spent much time in seeking to perfect an Alphabetical System, and also a Recording Apparatus, capable of exactly setting forth the quality of the sympathy manifested, as well as the number of the manifestations.  When these things were all perfected, I should have a complete system of Telegraph, which no circumstances of time, distance, or atmosphere could impair, which would put on record its every step, and permit no opportunity for error or for accident.

“Eh, bien! Man proposes,—­God disposes.  Monsieur, when I began my experiments, when I devoted myself, my energies, and my life itself to developing and utilizing my discovery, my motives were purely, exclusively scientific.  My sole aim was to win the position of an eminent savant, who, by conferring a signal benefit upon the race, should merit the common applause of mankind.  But, as time wore on, as my labors began to be successful, as the grand possibilities of my achievement arrayed themselves before me, other dreams usurped my brain.  I, the inventor of this thing, so glorious in its aspect, so incomputable in its results,—­was I to permit myself to go without reward?  Fame?  Ah, bah! what bread would Fame butter?  ’Twas a bubble, a name, an empty, profitless sound, this coquin of Fame! ’Proximus sum egomet mihi,’ says Terence,—­or, as your English proverb has it, ‘Charity begins at home.’  I bethought me of the usual fate of discoverers and inventors,—­neglected, scoffed at, ill-used, left to starve.  The blesser of the world with infinite riches must nibble his crust au sixieme. Why, then?  Because, in their sublime eagerness to serve others, they forget to care for themselves. Eh, bien! One must still keep his powder dry, said your great Protector.  This discovery was to double the effectiveness of men’s hands,—­therefore, was grandly to enrich them.  But could it not be also made a notable instrument for wealth in one man’s hands?  Ah! brave thought!  How, if, none the less resolved to give man eventually the benefit of my Idea, I should yet keep it in abeyance, till I had made my own sufficient profit out of it?  It could be done;—­surely, to use it well were less difficult than to have invented it.  So dreams of wealth and luxury began to fill my brain.  I would enrich myself till I had become a power,