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I rambled through the streets for some hours, revolving such thoughts as pressed upon me involuntarily by all I saw. The same little grey homunculus that filled my "prince's mixture" years before, stood behind the counter at Lundy Foot's, weighing out rappee and high toast, just as I last saw him.

"Certainly," said I, "Mephistopheles appears here in a subordinate situation; yet I cannot help thinking that he has had a secret influence on the production of the Homunculus. We have known him in this way before; and, indeed, in the 'Helena' he always appears as a being secretly working.

At the moment, things are explained on a chemical basis, though that basis is far from firm; is of a shifting nature, and a little hazy in details. Some time ago, colloids were the cry. A President of the British Association almost led one to imagine that "the homunculus in the retort" might be expected in a few weeks.

"Yes, Monsieur," answered the homunculus; "the book is complete, and it is not dear one franc twenty-five centimes, Monsieur." I called my housekeeper for there is no bell in my room and said to her: "Therese, Monsieur Coccoz whom I am going to ask you to show out has a book here which might interest you: the 'Key of Dreams. I shall be very glad to buy it for you."

He made a cup of his hands as if to dip up water. "I feel my Madonna in the hollow of my hands like a homunculus. She is alive there. The palms of my hands are warm. They are a golden shell. Conceive my Madonna to be a hand's breadth high, of live ivory, and imagine some rosy flecks here and there on her.

That old Gorgon is now going through a course of hysterics under medical and clerical advice. Her ears are in as bad a case as Lady Macbeth's hands. Hymns will not purge them. No. When I meet one of these loose M.P.'s ramping about I always cut his claws at once. I say, "Now, Mr. T.G., you must understand that, according to my standard, you are a homunculus of the lowest type.

It is also to be noticed that countless alchemic scribblers who did not understand the works of themastersworked with substances like urine, semen, spittle, dung, blood, menstruum, etc., where the dim idea of a procreative essence in these things came into play. I will have something to say on this subject in connection with the Homunculus.

Not to see the painter, not even to see a royal carriage that had just drawn up at his door, nor a popular prince of the blood who occupied the carriage, but to catch a glimpse of one about whom the town was then quite mad raving mad: a small good-looking schoolboy, a theatrical homunculus, the Infant Roscius, Master William Henry Betty.

But I say, Congrio, yon homunculus yon pigmy assailant of my cranes yon pert-tongued neophyte of the kitchen, was there aught but insolence on his tongue when he maligned the comeliness of my sweetmeat shapes? I would not be out of the fashion, Congrio. 'It is but the custom of us cooks, replied Congrio, gravely, to undervalue our tools, in order to increase the effect of our art.

He was confounded and at the same time he was impressed by the rapid forcible delivery, quite different from the frothy excited loquacity of an Italian. So he stared while the homunculus letting his cloak fall about him, aspired an immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his palm. "A mule," exclaimed Byrne seizing at last the real aspect of the discourse. "You say he has got a mule?