With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the Egyptian sorcerer undertakes to reveal to anychance comer far-reaching visions of the past.

This is what I undertake to do for you,reader. With this drop of ink at the end of my pen, I will show you the roomy workshop ofMr. Jonathan Burge, carpenter and builder, in the village of Hayslope, as it appeared on theeighteenth of June, in the year of our Lord 1799.The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen there, busy upon doors and windowframes and wainscoting.

A scent of pine-wood from a tentlike pile of planks outside theopen door mingled itself with the scent of the elder-bushes which were spreading theirsummer snow close to the open window opposite; the slanting sunbeams shone throughthe transparent shavings that flew before the steady plane, and lit up the fine grain of theoak panelling which stood propped against the wall.

On a heap of those soft shavings arough, grey shepherd dog had made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nosebetween his fore-paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the tallest of thefive workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of a wooden mantelpiece.

It was tothis workman that the strong barytone belonged which was heard above the sound ofplane and hammer singing-Awake, my soul, and with the sunThy daily stage of duty run;Shake off dull sloth...