The King’s discomfiture was pitiful:  he retired at once from the capital and passed a whole year pasturing his flock of tigers in the solitudes beyond the River of Wine.  Seeing that I would henceforth be persona non grata at the palace, I sought obscurity in the writing and publication of books.  In this vocation I was greatly assisted by a few standard works that had been put ashore with me in my sea-chest.

The literature of Ug is copious and of high merit, but consists altogether of fiction—­mainly history, biography, theology and novels.  Authors of exceptional excellence receive from the state marks of signal esteem, being appointed to the positions of laborers in the Department of Highways and Cemeteries.  Having been so fortunate as to win public favor and attract official attention by my locally famous works, “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,” “David Copperfield,” “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and “Ben Hur,” I was myself that way distinguished and my future assured.  Unhappily, through ignorance of the duties and dignities of the position I had the mischance to accept a gratuity for sweeping a street crossing and was compelled to flee for my life.

Disguising myself as a sailor I took service on a ship that sailed due south into the unknown Sea.

It is now many years since my marooning on Ug, but my recollection of the country, its inhabitants and their wonderful manners and customs is exceedingly vivid.  Some small part of what most interested me I shall here set down.

The Uggards are, or fancy themselves, a warlike race:  nowhere in those distant seas are there any islanders so vain of their military power, the consciousness of which they acquired chiefly by fighting one another.  Many years ago, however, they had a war with the people of another island kingdom, called Wug.  The Wuggards held dominion over a third island, Scamadumclitchclitch, whose people had tried to throw off the yoke.  In order to subdue them—­at least to tears—­it was decided to deprive them of garlic, the sole article of diet known to them and the Wuggards, and in that country dug out of the ground like coal.  So the Wuggards in the rebellious island stopped up all the garlic mines, supplying their own needs by purchase from foreign trading proas.  Having few cowrie shells, with which to purchase, the poor Scamadumclitchclitchians suffered a great distress, which so touched the hearts of the compassionate Uggards—­a most humane and conscientious people—­that they declared war against the Wuggards and sent a fleet of proas to the relief of the sufferers.  The fleet established a strict blockade of every port in Scamadumclitchclitch, and not a clove of garlic could enter the island.  That compelled the Wuggard army of occupation to reopen the mines for its own subsistence.

All this was told to me by the great and good and wise Jogogle-Zadester, King of Ug.

“But, your Majesty,” I said, “what became of the poor Scamadumclitchclitchians?”