Until he encountered Sir Tiglath Butt in the dining-room of the Colley
Cibber Club Hennessey had been but a dilettante fellow. He had written a
play, but airily, and without the twenty years of arduous and persistent
study declared by the dramatic critics to be absolutely necessary before
any intelligent man can learn how to get a bishop on, or a chambermaid
off, the stage. He had nearly proposed to a clergyman's daughter, but
thoughtlessly, and without any previous examination into the clericalism
of rectory females, any first-hand knowledge of mothers' meetings,
devoid of which he must be a stout-hearted gentleman who would rush in
where even curates often fear to tread. He had been to the Derby, but
without wearing a bottle-green veil or carrying a betting-book. In fact,
he had not taken life very seriously, or fully appreciated the solemn
duties it brings to all who bear its yoke. Only when the plump red hand
of Sir Tiglath--holding a bumper of thirty-four port--pointed the way
to the heavens, did Hennessey begin--through his telescope--to see the
great possibilities that foot it about the existence of even the meanest
man who eats, drinks and suffers. For through his telescope he saw that
he might be a prophet. Malkiel read the future in the stars. Why not he?

He endeavoured to do so. He sought an intimacy with the benefic
_Jupiter_, and found it--perhaps by a secret kowtowing to
_Sagittarius_. He made up openly to _Canis Major_ and was shortly on
what might almost be considered terms of affection with _Venus_. And
he was, moreover, presently quite fearless in the presence of _Saturn_,
quite unabashed beneath the glittering eye of _Mercury_. Then, as the
neophyte growing bold by familiarity with the circle of the great ones,
he ventured on his first prophecy, a discreet and even humble forecast
of the weather. He predicted a heavy fall of snow for a certain evening,
and so distrusted his own prediction that when the evening came, mild
and benign, he sallied forth to the Empire Palace of Varieties, and