“The transit of Venus.

“G(’ic !) Got me again.  No matter.  Las’ one dropped something.”

“Ah, indeed!  Good luck!  Good news!  Quick what is it?”

“M(’ic!) Mosey out ‘n’ see.  It’ll pay.”

No more votes were taken for four-and-twenty hours.  Then the following entry was made: 

“The commission went in a body to view the find.  It was found to consist of a hard, smooth, huge object with a rounded summit surmounted by a short upright projection resembling a section of a cabbage stalk divided transversely.  This projection was not solid, but was a hollow cylinder plugged with a soft woody substance unknown to our region—­that is, it had been so plugged, but unfortunately this obstruction had been heedlessly removed by Norway Rat, Chief of the Sappers and Miners, before our arrival.  The vast object before us, so mysteriously conveyed from the glittering domains of space, was found to be hollow and nearly filled with a pungent liquid of a brownish hue, like rainwater that has stood for some time.  And such a spectacle as met our view!  Norway Rat was perched upon the summit engaged in thrusting his tail into the cylindrical projection, drawing it out dripping, permitting the struggling multitude of laborers to suck the end of it, then straightway reinserting it and delivering the fluid to the mob as before.  Evidently this liquor had strangely potent qualities; for all that partook of it were immediately exalted with great and pleasurable emotions, and went staggering about singing ribald songs, embracing, fighting, dancing, discharging irruptions of profanity, and defying all authority.  Around us struggled a massed and uncontrolled mob—­uncontrolled and likewise uncontrollable, for the whole army, down to the very sentinels, were mad like the rest, by reason of the drink.  We were seized upon by these reckless creatures, and within the hour we, even we, were undistinguishable from the rest—­the demoralization was complete and universal.  In time the camp wore itself out with its orgies and sank into a stolid and pitiable stupor, in whose mysterious bonds rank was forgotten and strange bedfellows made, our eyes, at the resurrection, being blasted and our souls petrified with the incredible spectacle of that intolerable stinking scavenger, the Tumble-Bug, and the illustrious patrician my Lord Grand Daddy, Duke of Longlegs, lying soundly steeped in sleep, and clasped lovingly in each other’s arms, the like whereof hath not been seen in all the ages that tradition compasseth, and doubtless none shall ever in this world find faith to master the belief of it save only we that have beheld the damnable and unholy vision.  Thus inscrutable be the ways of God, whose will be done!