class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">VIII. THE IRON CROWN  IX. "THE IMPERIAL RACE"  X. THE GREAT UNKNOWN  XI. THE WORTH OF A PENNY  XII. "FIX BAYONETS!"  XIII. "OUR FATHERS HAVE TOLD US"  XIV. THE GRAND JURY  XV. A NEW CONSCRIPTION  XVI. THE LAST OF THE RUNNYMEDES  XVII. CHILDREN OF THE STATE.  XVIII. THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.  XIX. ABDUL'S RETREAT  XX. "NATIVES"  XXI. UNDER THE YOKE.  XXII. BLACK AND WHITE  XXIII. PEACE AND WAR IN THE BALANCE  XXIV. THE MAID  XXV. THE HEROINE  XXVI. THE PENALTY OF VIRTUE  XXVII. "THE DAILY ROUND"  XXVIII. THE CHARM OF COMMONPLACE  XXIX. THE PRIEST OF NEMI.  XXX. THE UNDERWORLD OF TIME.  XXXI. MENTAL EUGENICS  XXXII. THE MEDICINE OF THE MIND  XXXIII. THE LAST FENCE  XXXIV. THE ELEMENT OF CALM  XXXV. "THE KING OF TERRORS"  XXXVI. STRULDBRUGS  XXXVII. "LIBERTÉ, LIBERTÉ, CHÉRIE!"  XXXVIII. A FAREWELL TO FLEET STREET.  INDEX

I

Before the hustling days of ice and of "cutters" rushing to and fro between Billingsgate and our fleets of steam-trawlers on the Dogger Bank, most sailing trawlers and long-line fishing-boats were built with a large tank in their holds, through which the sea flowed freely. Dutch eel-boats are built so still, and along the quays of Amsterdam and Copenhagen you may see such tanks in fishing-boats of almost every kind. Our East Coast fishermen kept them chiefly for cod. They hoped thus to bring the fish fresh and good to market, for, unless they were overcrowded, the cod lived quite as contentedly in the tanks as in the open sea. But in one respect the fishermen were disappointed. They found that the fish arrived slack, flabby, and limp, though well fed and in apparent health.

Perplexity reigned (for the value of the catch was much diminished) until some fisherman of genius conjectured that the cod lived only too contentedly in those tanks, and suffered from the atrophy of calm. The cod is by nature a lethargic, torpid, and plethoric creature, prone to inactivity, content to lie in comfort, swallowing all that comes, with cavernous mouth wide open, big enough to gulp its own body down if that could be. In the tanks the cod rotted at ease, rapidly deteriorating in their flesh. So, as a stimulating corrective, that genius among fishermen inserted one catfish into each of his tanks, and found that his cod came to market firm, brisk, and wholesome. Which result remained a mystery until his death, when the secret was published and a strange demand for catfish arose. For the catfish is the demon of the deep, and keeps things lively.

This irritating but salutary stimulant in the tank (to say nothing of the myriad catfishes in the depths of ocean!) has often reminded me of what the Lord says to Mephistopheles in the Prologue to Faust. After observing that, of all the spirits that deny, He finds a knave the least of a bore, the Lord proceeds:

Is not the parallel remarkable? Man's activity, like the cod's, turns too readily to slumber; he is much too fond of unconditioned ease; and so the Lord gives him a comrade like a catfish,