But it is not easy to under-
stand how that could be, unless, indeed, the gar-
ments had been worn as a disguise by Death himself
--which is hardly credible.
BEYOND THE WALL
MANY years ago, on my way from Hong-Kong to
New York, I passed a week in San Francisco. A long
time had gone by since I had been in that city, dur-
ing which my ventures in the Orient had prospered
beyond my hope; I was rich and could afford to re-
visit my own country to renew my friendship with
such of the companions of my youth as still lived
and remembered me with the old affection. Chief of
these, I hoped, was Mohun Dampier, an old school
mate with whom I had held a desultory correspond-
ence which had long ceased, as is the way of cor-
respondence between men. You may have observed
that the indisposition to write a merely social letter
is in the ratio of the square of the distance between
you and your correspondent. It is a law.
I remembered Dampier as a handsome, strong
young fellow of scholarly tastes, with an aversion to
work and a marked indifference to many of the things
that the world cares for, including wealth, of which,
however, he had inherited enough to put him beyond
the reach of want. In his family, one of the oldest and
most aristocratic in the country, it was, I think, a
matter of pride that no member of it had ever been
in trade nor politics, nor suffered any kind of dis-
tinction.
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