Swedenborg. As we sat drinking our coffee at one of the little tables in
the spacious courtyard, I revived the motive of a new religion.

"Monsignor, have you ever speculated on the possible appearance of a
second Mahomet, a second Buddha? What if, from some Asiatic jungle,
there sallied out upon Europe a terrible ape-god, a Mongolian with
exotic eyes and the magnetism of a religious madman--"

"You are speaking of Antichrist?" he calmly questioned.

"Antichrist! Do you really believe in the Devil's Messiah?"

"Believe, man! why, I have _seen_ him."

I leaned back in my chair, wondering whether I should laugh or look
solemn. He noted my indecision, and his eyes twinkled--they were the
blue-gray of the Irish, the eyes of a seer or an amiable ironist.

"Listen! but first let us get some strong cigars. Garçon!" As we smoked
our panatelas he related this history:--

"You ask me if I believe in an Antichrist, thereby betraying your
slender knowledge of the Scriptures--you will pardon the liberty! I may
refer you not only to John's Epistles, to the revelations of the
dreamer of Patmos, but to so many learned doctors of the faith that it
would take a week merely to enumerate the titles of their works all
bearing on the mysterious subject. Our Holy Mother the Church has held
aloof from any doctrinal pronouncements. The Antichrist has been
predicted for the past thousand years. I recall as a boy poring over the
map of the world which a friend of my mother had left with her. This