recognized it as a dog, of an unimaginably loathsome breed.  As we were nearly famished one of the sailors shot it for food.  Instantly a great crowd of persons, who had doubtless been watching us from among the trees, rushed upon us with fierce exclamations and surrounded us, making the most threatening gestures and brandishing unfamiliar weapons.  Unable to resist such odds we were seized, bound with cords and dragged into the forest almost before we knew what had happened to us.  Observing the nature of our reception the ship’s crew hastily weighed anchor and sailed away.  We never again saw them.

Beyond the trees concealing it from the sea was a great city, and thither we were taken.  It was Gumammam, the capital of Ganegwag, whose people are dog-worshipers.  The fate of my companions I never learned, for although I remained in the country for seven years, much of the time as a prisoner, and learned to speak its language, no answer was ever given to my many inquiries about my unfortunate friends.

The Ganegwagians are an ancient race with a history covering a period of ten thousand supintroes.  In stature they are large, in color blue, with crimson hair and yellow eyes.  They live to a great age, sometimes as much as twenty supintroes, their climate being so wholesome that even the aged have to sail to a distant island in order to die.  Whenever a sufficient number of them reach what they call “the age of going away” they embark on a government ship and in the midst of impressive public rites and ceremonies set sail for “the Isle of the Happy Change.”  Of their strange civilization, their laws, manners and customs, their copper clothing and liquid houses I have written—­at perhaps too great length—­in my famous book, “Ganegwag the Incredible.”  Here I shall confine myself to their religion, certainly the most amazing form of superstition in the world.

Nowhere, it is believed, but in Ganegwag has so vile a creature as the dog obtained general recognition as a deity.  There this filthy beast is considered so divine that it is freely admitted to the domestic circle and cherished as an honored guest.  Scarcely a family that is able to support a dog is without one, and some have as many as a half-dozen.  Indeed, the dog is the special deity of the poor, those families having most that are least able to maintain them.  In some sections of the country, particularly the southern and southwestern provinces, the number of dogs is estimated to be greater than that of the children, as is the cost of their maintenance.  In families of the rich they are fewer in number, but more sacredly cherished, especially by the female members, who lavish upon them a wealth of affection not always granted to the husband and children, and distinguish them with indescribable attentions and endearments.

Nowhere is the dog compelled to make any other return for all this honor and benefaction than a fawning and sycophantic demeanor toward those who bestow them and an insulting and injurious attitude toward strangers who have dogs of their own, and toward other dogs.  In any considerable town of the realm not a day passes but the public newsman relates in the most matter-of-fact and unsympathetic way to his circle of listless auditors painful instances of human beings, mostly women and children, bitten and mangled by these ferocious animals without provocation.