JEAN PAUL RICHTER.

_INVISIBLE INFLUENCES._


A ship is on the ocean. The wind is fair. All hands are in motion. But a
few hours since, it left port. Among its passengers is a gay traveller;
he wears a silken cloak fringed with gold. The sailors admire his
splendor; they gather around him as he walks the deck with his flying
robe. They put forth their rough hands to feel its soft texture; its
warm, bright color gives pleasure to their eyes. As they gaze their
pulses heighten, their steps become unsteady, their eyes wander from
duty, their great sturdy frames quiver with emotion. The captain rallies
them, but in vain.

What secret foe is in their midst? Their parched tongues, cleaving to the
roofs of their mouths, call for the surgeon. He comes--he questions,
"From whence comest thou?" "From the Orient," the traveller replies. The
surgeon gasps and shakes his head. He, too, is stricken with fear. "'Tis
the _plague_!" he whispers. An unseen, deadly foe is stalking beneath
that gay cloak! The traveller hears and shudders; he flings off his gay
vestment. The waves gather up the silken folds. But the sacrifice is
useless. A fell hand strikes down both traveller and sailor. As they gasp
and die they are hurried to the ship's side; they are plunged overboard;
a seething, foaming grave yawns to receive them.

The ship glides on. Those who remain wash the deck with water. They
cannot wash away the demon, which is everywhere and yet nowhere....
Poisons as subtle attend the human spirit, baneful and contagious as the
plague!