Vanity of human Holiday-making; and, passing from one puzzling page
to another, Surely, said I, Man is but a Muddler and Life a Maze!

"Right you are!" sounded a mysterious voice in my ear.

The Sound of the voice was exceeding Sweet, and wrought into a
variety of inflections. It put me in mind of those heavenly Airs that
are played from the tops of closely-packed wheeled Vehicles, from
many-keyed Concertinas upon Bank-Holidays. My Heart melted away in
Secret Raptures. By which signs I--who had read my _Spectator_ at the
Free Library--knew well that I was in the company of a Genius! It is
only Genii who drop upon one suddenly and unannounced, with a more or
less pertinent commentary upon one's Inner Thoughts, in this fashion.
I felt at once that I was in for the true Addisonian Oriental Apologue
in all its hybrid incongruity.

I drew near with that Reverence which is due to a Superior--if
nondescript Nature; and as my Heart was entirely subdued by the
captivating Voice I had heard, I fell down at his Feet and wept. I
could hardly have explained why, but 'tis the sort of thing one always
does in an Eastern Apologue. The Genius smiled upon me with a Look of
Compassion and Affability that familiarised him to my Imagination, at
once dispelled all the Fears and Apprehensions with which I approached
him, and turned off my Tearfulness "at the main," as _Samuel Weller_
said, concerning the Mulberry One. He lifted me from the ground, and,
taking me by the hand, "MIRZAH," said he, "I have heard thee in thy
Soliloquies; follow me!"

Now, my name is _not_ MIRZAH, but MATTHEW. Yet, after all, it did not
much matter, and I felt it would be in questionable taste to correct a