SC:=SubstitutionCryptosystem();
VC1:=VigenereCryptosystem(6);
VC2:=VigenereCryptosystem(8);
VC3:=VigenereCryptosystem(10);
TC:=TranspositionCryptosystem(9);
TC2:=TranspositionCryptosystem(7);
sk1:=SC!"ZHRUIYNXCJAGFLPQWVBOESMDTK";
sk2:=SC!"TWHDUPQZOMKAGLXRVEFJYISBNC";
vk1:=VC1!"PSBWYJ";
vk2:=VC2!"TZJNLQXT";
vk3:=VC3!"SMAKINVANC";
tk:=TC![3,8,6,1,4,7,2,9,5];
tk2:=TC2![4,5,3,6,7,1,2];
match:="It was terribly cold and nearly dark on the last evening of the old year, and the snow was falling fast. In the
cold and the darkness, a poor little girl, with bare head and naked feet, roamed through the streets. It is true
she had on a pair of slippers when she left home, but they were not of much use. They were very large, so large,
indeed, that they had belonged to her mother, and the poor little creature had lost them in running across the
street to avoid two carriages that were rolling along at a terrible rate. One of the slippers she could not find,
and a boy seized upon the other and ran away with it, saying that he could use it as a cradle, when he had children
of his own. So the little girl went on with her little naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In
an old apron she carried a number of matches, and had a bundle of them in her hands. No one had bought anything of
her the whole day, nor had anyone given her even a penny. Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along; poor
little child, she looked the picture of misery. The snowflakes fell on her long, fair hair, which hung in curls on
her shoulders, but she regarded them not.

Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savory smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve-yes,
she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and
huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and she
dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would
certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them,
through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands
were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the
bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out--scratch!- how it sputtered as it
burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful
light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a
brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to
warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-
burnt match in her hand.

She rubbed another match on the wall. It burst into a flame, and where its light fell upon the wall it became as
transparent as a veil, and she could see into the room. The table was covered with a snowy white table-cloth, on
which stood a splendid dinner service, and a steaming roast goose, stuffed with apples and dried plums. And what
was still more wonderful, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled across the floor, with a knife and fork
in its breast, to the little girl. Then the match went out, and there remained nothing but the thick, damp, cold
wall before her.

She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and
more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands
of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show-windows,
looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.

The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star
fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. -Someone is dying,- thought the little girl, for her old
grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul
was going up to God.

She again rubbed a match on the wall, and the light shone round her; in the brightness stood her old grandmother,
clear and shining, yet mild and loving in her appearance. -Grandmother,- cried the little one, -O take me with you;
I know you will go away when the match burns out; you will vanish like the warm stove, the roast goose, and the
large, glorious Christmas-tree.- And she made haste to light the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep
her grandmother there. And the matches glowed with a light that was brighter than the noon-day, and her grandmother
had never appeared so large or so beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and they both flew upwards in
brightness and joy far above the earth, where there was neither cold nor hunger nor pain, for they were with God.

In the dawn of morning there lay the poor little one, with pale cheeks and smiling mouth, leaning against the wall;
she had been frozen to death on the last evening of the year; and the New-year’s sun rose and shone upon a little
corpse! The child still sat, in the stiffness of death, holding the matches in her hand, one bundle of which was
burnt. -She tried to warm herself,- said some. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, nor into what
glory she had entered with her grandmother, on New-year’s day.";
oldman:=" I will tell you a story that was told me when I was a little boy. Every time I thought of this story, it seemed to
 me more and more charming; for it is with stories as it is with many people they become better as they grow
 older.

I have no doubt that you have been in the country, and seen a very old farmhouse, with a thatched roof, and mosses
and small plants growing wild upon it. There is a stork’s nest on the ridge of the gable, for we cannot do without
the stork. The walls of the house are sloping, and the windows are low, and only one of the latter is made to
open. The baking-oven sticks out of the wall like a great knob. An elder-tree hangs over the palings; and beneath
its branches, at the foot of the paling, is a pool of water, in which a few ducks are disporting themselves. There
is a yard-dog too, who barks at all corners. Just such a farmhouse as this stood in a country lane; and in it
dwelt an old couple, a peasant and his wife. Small as their possessions were, they had one article they could not
do without, and that was a horse, which contrived to live upon the grass which it found by the side of the high
road. The old peasant rode into the town upon this horse, and his neighbors often borrowed it of him, and paid for
the loan of it by rendering some service to the old couple. After a time they thought it would be as well to sell
the horse, or exchange it for something which might be more useful to them. But what might this something be?

 You’ll know best, old man,  said the wife.  It is fair-day to-day; so ride into town, and get rid of the horse
for money, or make a good exchange; whichever you do will be right to me, so ride to the fair. 

And she fastened his neckerchief for him; for she could do that better than he could, and she could also tie it
very prettily in a double bow. She also smoothed his hat round and round with the palm of her hand, and gave him a
kiss. Then he rode away upon the horse that was to be sold or bartered for something else. Yes, the old man knew
what he was about. The sun shone with great heat, and not a cloud was to be seen in the sky. The road was very
dusty; for a number of people, all going to the fair, were driving, riding, or walking upon it. There was no
shelter anywhere from the hot sunshine. Among the rest a man came trudging along, and driving a cow to the fair.
The cow was as beautiful a creature as any cow could be.

 She gives good milk, I am certain,  said the peasant to himself.  That would be a very good exchange: the cow for
the horse. Hallo there! you with the cow,  he said.  I tell you what; I dare say a horse is of more value than a
cow; but I don’t care for that, a cow will be more useful to me; so, if you like, we’ll exchange. 

 To be sure I will,  said the man.

Accordingly the exchange was made; and as the matter was settled, the peasant might have turned back; for he had
done the business he came to do. But, having made up his mind to go to the fair, he determined to do so, if only
to have a look at it; so on he went to the town with his cow. Leading the animal, he strode on sturdily, and,
after a short time, overtook a man who was driving a sheep. It was a good fat sheep, with a fine fleece on its
back.

 I should like to have that fellow,  said the peasant to himself.  There is plenty of grass for him by our
palings, and in the winter we could keep him in the room with us. Perhaps it would be more profitable to have a
sheep than a cow. Shall I exchange? 

The man with the sheep was quite ready, and the bargain was quickly made. And then our peasant continued his way
on the high-road with his sheep. Soon after this, he overtook another man, who had come into the road from a
field, and was carrying a large goose under his arm.

 What a heavy creature you have there!  said the peasant;  it has plenty of feathers and plenty of fat, and would
look well tied to a string, or paddling in the water at our place. That would be very useful to my old woman; she
could make all sorts of profits out of it. How often she has said, ‘If now we only had a goose!’ Now here is an
opportunity, and, if possible, I will get it for her. Shall we exchange? I will give you my sheep for your goose,
and thanks into the bargain. 

The other had not the least objection, and accordingly the exchange was made, and our peasant became possessor of
the goose. By this time he had arrived very near the town. The crowd on the high road had been gradually
increasing, and there was quite a rush of men and cattle. The cattle walked on the path and by the palings, and at
the turnpike-gate they even walked into the toll-keeper’s potato-field, where one fowl was strutting about with a
string tied to its leg, for fear it should take fright at the crowd, and run away and get lost. The tail-feathers
of the fowl were very short, and it winked with both its eyes, and looked very cunning, as it said  Cluck, cluck. 
What were the thoughts of the fowl as it said this I cannot tell you; but directly our good man saw it, he
thought,  Why that’s the finest fowl I ever saw in my life; it’s finer than our parson’s brood hen, upon my word.
I should like to have that fowl. Fowls can always pick up a few grains that lie about, and almost keep themselves.
I think it would be a good exchange if I could get it for my goose. Shall we exchange?  he asked the toll-keeper.

 Exchange,  repeated the man;  well, it would not be a bad thing. 

And so they made an exchange, the toll-keeper at the turnpike-gate kept the goose, and the peasant carried off the
fowl. Now he had really done a great deal of business on his way to the fair, and he was hot and tired. He wanted
something to eat, and a glass of ale to refresh himself; so he turned his steps to an inn. He was just about to
enter when the ostler came out, and they met at the door. The ostler was carrying a sack.  What have you in that
sack?  asked the peasant.

 Rotten apples,  answered the ostler;  a whole sackful of them. They will do to feed the pigs with. 

 Why that will be terrible waste,  he replied;  I should like to take them home to my old woman. Last year the old
apple-tree by the grass-plot only bore one apple, and we kept it in the cupboard till it was quite withered and
rotten. It was always property, my old woman said; and here she would see a great deal of property a whole
sackful; I should like to show them to her. 

 What will you give me for the sackful?  asked the ostler.

 What will I give? Well, I will give you my fowl in exchange. 

So he gave up the fowl, and received the apples, which he carried into the inn parlor. He leaned the sack
carefully against the stove, and then went to the table. But the stove was hot, and he had not thought of that.
Many guests were present horse dealers, cattle drovers, and two Englishmen. The Englishmen were so rich that their
pockets quite bulged out and seemed ready to burst; and they could bet too, as you shall hear.  Hiss-s-s, hiss-s-
s.  What could that be by the stove? The apples were beginning to roast.  What is that?  asked one.

 Why, do you know  said our peasant. And then he told them the whole story of the horse, which he had exchanged
for a cow, and all the rest of it, down to the apples.

 Well, your old woman will give it you well when you get home,  said one of the Englishmen.  Won’t there be a
noise? 

 What! Give me what?  said the peasant.  Why, she will kiss me, and say, ‘what the old man does is always right.’ 

 Let us lay a wager on it,  said the Englishmen.  We’ll wager you a ton of coined gold, a hundred pounds to the
hundred-weight. 

 No; a bushel will be enough,  replied the peasant.  I can only set a bushel of apples against it, and I’ll throw
myself and my old woman into the bargain; that will pile up the measure, I fancy. 

 Done! taken!  and so the bet was made.

Then the landlord’s coach came to the door, and the two Englishmen and the peasant got in, and away they drove,
and soon arrived and stopped at the peasant’s hut.  Good evening, old woman.   Good evening, old man.   I’ve made
the exchange. 

 Ah, well, you understand what you’re about,  said the woman. Then she embraced him, and paid no attention to the
strangers, nor did she notice the sack.

 I got a cow in exchange for the horse. 

 Thank Heaven,  said she.  Now we shall have plenty of milk, and butter, and cheese on the table. That was a
capital exchange. 

 Yes, but I changed the cow for a sheep. 

 Ah, better still!  cried the wife.  You always think of everything; we have just enough pasture for a sheep.
Ewe’s milk and cheese, woollen jackets and stockings! The cow could not give all these, and her hair only falls
off. How you think of everything! 

 But I changed away the sheep for a goose. 

 Then we shall have roast goose to eat this year. You dear old man, you are always thinking of something to please
me. This is delightful. We can let the goose walk about with a string tied to her leg, so she will be fatter still
before we roast her. 

 But I gave away the goose for a fowl. 

 A fowl! Well, that was a good exchange,  replied the woman.  The fowl will lay eggs and hatch them, and we shall
have chickens; we shall soon have a poultry-yard. Oh, this is just what I was wishing for. 

 Yes, but I exchanged the fowl for a sack of shrivelled apples. 

 What! I really must give you a kiss for that!  exclaimed the wife.  My dear, good husband, now I’ll tell you
something. Do you know, almost as soon as you left me this morning, I began to think of what I could give you nice
for supper this evening, and then I thought of fried eggs and bacon, with sweet herbs; I had eggs and bacon, but I
wanted the herbs; so I went over to the schoolmaster’s: I knew they had plenty of herbs, but the schoolmistress is
very mean, although she can smile so sweetly. I begged her to lend me a handful of herbs. ‘Lend!’ she exclaimed,
‘I have nothing to lend; nothing at all grows in our garden, not even a shrivelled apple; I could not even lend
you a shrivelled apple, my dear woman.’ But now I can lend her ten, or a whole sackful, which I’m very glad of; it
makes me laugh to think about it;  and then she gave him a hearty kiss.

 Well, I like all this,  said both the Englishmen;  always going down the hill, and yet always merry; it’s worth
the money to see it.  So they paid a hundred-weight of gold to the peasant, who, whatever he did, was not scolded
but kissed.

Yes, it always pays best when the wife sees and maintains that her husband knows best, and whatever he does is
right.

That is a story which I heard when I was a child; and now you have heard it too, and know that  What the old man
does is always right.";
beetle:="There was once an Emperor who had a horse shod with gold. He had a golden shoe on each foot, and why was this? He
was a beautiful creature, with slender legs, bright, intelligent eyes, and a mane that hung down over his neck
like a veil. He had carried his master through fire and smoke in the battle-field, with the bullets whistling
round him; he had kicked and bitten, and taken part in the fight, when the enemy advanced; and, with his master on
his back, he had dashed over the fallen foe, and saved the golden crown and the Emperor’s life, which was of more
value than the brightest gold. This is the reason of the Emperor’s horse wearing golden shoes.

A beetle came creeping forth from the stable, where the farrier had been shoeing the horse. Great ones, first, of
course, said he, and then the little ones; but size is not always a proof of greatness. He stretched out his
thin leg as he spoke.

And pray what do you want? asked the farrier.

Golden shoes, replied the beetle.

Why, you must be out of your senses, cried the farrier. Golden shoes for you, indeed!

Yes, certainly; golden shoes, replied the beetle. Am I not just as good as that great creature yonder, who is
waited upon and brushed, and has food and drink placed before him? And don’t I belong to the royal stables?

But why does the horse have golden shoes? asked the farrier; of course you understand the reason?

Understand! Well, I understand that it is a personal slight to me, cried the beetle. It is done to annoy me, so
I intend to go out into the world and seek my fortune.

Go along with you, said the farrier.

You’re a rude fellow, cried the beetle, as he walked out of the stable; and then he flew for a short distance,
till he found himself in a beautiful flower-garden, all fragrant with roses and lavender. The lady-birds, with red
and black shells on their backs, and delicate wings, were flying about, and one of them said, Is it not sweet and
lovely here? Oh, how beautiful everything is.

I am accustomed to better things, said the beetle. Do you call this beautiful? Why, there is not even a dung-
heap. Then he went on, and under the shadow of a large haystack he found a caterpillar crawling along. How
beautiful this world is! said the caterpillar. The sun is so warm, I quite enjoy it. And soon I shall go to
sleep, and die as they call it, but I shall wake up with beautiful wings to fly with, like a butterfly.

How conceited you are! exclaimed the beetle. Fly about as a butterfly, indeed! what of that. I have come out of
the Emperor’s stable, and no one there, not even the Emperor’s horse, who, in fact, wears my cast-off golden
shoes, has any idea of flying, excepting myself. To have wings and fly! why, I can do that already; and so
saying, he spread his wings and flew away. I don’t want to be disgusted, he said to himself, and yet I can’t
help it. Soon after, he fell down upon an extensive lawn, and for a time pretended to sleep, but at last fell
asleep in earnest. Suddenly a heavy shower of rain came falling from the clouds. The beetle woke up with the noise
and would have been glad to creep into the earth for shelter, but he could not. He was tumbled over and over with
the rain, sometimes swimming on his stomach and sometimes on his back; and as for flying, that was out of the
question. He began to doubt whether he should escape with his life, so he remained, quietly lying where he was.
After a while the weather cleared up a little, and the beetle was able to rub the water from his eyes, and look
about him. He saw something gleaming, and he managed to make his way up to it. It was linen which had been laid to
bleach on the grass. He crept into a fold of the damp linen, which certainly was not so comfortable a place to lie
in as the warm stable, but there was nothing better, so he remained lying there for a whole day and night, and the
rain kept on all the time. Towards morning he crept out of his hiding-place, feeling in a very bad temper with the
climate. Two frogs were sitting on the linen, and their bright eyes actually glistened with pleasure.

Wonderful weather this, cried one of them, and so refreshing. This linen holds the water together so
beautifully, that my hind legs quiver as if I were going to swim.

I should like to know, said another, If the swallow who flies so far in her many journeys to foreign lands,
ever met with a better climate than this. What delicious moisture! It is as pleasant as lying in a wet ditch. I am
sure any one who does not enjoy this has no love for his fatherland.

Have you ever been in the Emperor’s stable? asked the beetle. There the moisture is warm and refreshing; that’s
the climate for me, but I could not take it with me on my travels. Is there not even a dunghill here in this
garden, where a person of rank, like myself, could take up his abode and feel at home? But the frogs either did
not or would not understand him.

I never ask a question twice, said the beetle, after he had asked this one three times, and received no answer.
Then he went on a little farther and stumbled against a piece of broken crockery-ware, which certainly ought not
to have been lying there. But as it was there, it formed a good shelter against wind and weather to several
families of earwigs who dwelt in it. Their requirements were not many, they were very sociable, and full of
affection for their children, so much so that each mother considered her own child the most beautiful and clever
of them all.

Our dear son has engaged himself, said one mother, dear innocent boy; his greatest ambition is that he may one
day creep into a clergyman’s ear. That is a very artless and loveable wish; and being engaged will keep him
steady. What happiness for a mother!

Our son, said another, had scarcely crept out of the egg, when he was off on his travels. He is all life and
spirits, I expect he will wear out his horns with running. How charming this is for a mother, is it not Mr.
Beetle? for she knew the stranger by his horny coat.

You are both quite right, said he; so they begged him to walk in, that is to come as far as he could under the
broken piece of earthenware.

Now you shall also see my little earwigs, said a third and a fourth mother, they are lovely little things, and
highly amusing. They are never ill-behaved, except when they are uncomfortable in their inside, which
unfortunately often happens at their age.

Thus each mother spoke of her baby, and their babies talked after their own fashion, and made use of the little
nippers they have in their tails to nip the beard of the beetle.

They are always busy about something, the little rogues, said the mother, beaming with maternal pride; but the
beetle felt it a bore, and he therefore inquired the way to the nearest dung-heap.

That is quite out in the great world, on the other side of the ditch, answered an earwig, I hope none of my
children will ever go so far, it would be the death of me.

But I shall try to get so far, said the beetle, and he walked off without taking any formal leave, which is
considered a polite thing to do.

When he arrived at the ditch, he met several friends, all them beetles; We live here, they said, and we are
very comfortable. May we ask you to step down into this rich mud, you must be fatigued after your journey.

Certainly, said the beetle, I shall be most happy; I have been exposed to the rain, and have had to lie upon
linen, and cleanliness is a thing that greatly exhausts me; I have also pains in one of my wings from standing in
the draught under a piece of broken crockery. It is really quite refreshing to be with one’s own kindred again.

Perhaps you came from a dung-heap, observed the oldest of them.

No, indeed, I came from a much grander place, replied the beetle; I came from the emperor’s stable, where I was
born, with golden shoes on my feet. I am travelling on a secret embassy, but you must not ask me any questions,
for I cannot betray my secret.

Then the beetle stepped down into the rich mud, where sat three young-lady beetles, who tittered, because they did
not know what to say.

None of them are engaged yet, said their mother, and the beetle maidens tittered again, this time quite in
confusion.

I have never seen greater beauties, even in the royal stables, exclaimed the beetle, who was now resting
himself.

Don’t spoil my girls, said the mother; and don’t talk to them, pray, unless you have serious intentions.

But of course the beetle’s intentions were serious, and after a while our friend was engaged. The mother gave them
her blessing, and all the other beetles cried hurrah.

Immediately after the betrothal came the marriage, for there was no reason to delay. The following day passed very
pleasantly, and the next was tolerably comfortable; but on the third it became necessary for him to think of
getting food for his wife, and, perhaps, for children.

I have allowed myself to be taken in, said our beetle to himself, and now there’s nothing to be done but to
take them in, in return.

No sooner said than done. Away he went, and stayed away all day and all night, and his wife remained behind a
forsaken widow.

Oh, said the other beetles, this fellow that we have received into our family is nothing but a complete
vagabond. He has gone away and left his wife a burden upon our hands.

Well, she can be unmarried again, and remain here with my other daughters, said the mother. Fie on the villain
that forsook her!

In the mean time the beetle, who had sailed across the ditch on a cabbage leaf, had been journeying on the other
side. In the morning two persons came up to the ditch. When they saw him they took him up and turned him over and
over, looking very learned all the time, especially one, who was a boy. Allah sees the black beetle in the black
stone, and the black rock. Is not that written in the Koran? he asked.";
duck:="A duck once arrived from Portugal, but there were some who said she came from Spain, which is almost the same
 thing. At all events, she was called the  Portuguese,  and she laid eggs, was killed, and cooked, and there was
 an end of her. But the ducklings which crept forth from the eggs were also called  Portuguese,  and about that
 there may be some question. But of all the family one only remained in the duckyard, which may be called a
 farmyard, as the chickens were admitted, and the cock strutted about in a very hostile manner.  He annoys me with
 his loud crowing,  said the Portuguese duck;  but, still, he’s a handsome bird, there’s no denying that, although
 he’s not a drake. He ought to moderate his voice, like those little birds who are singing in the lime-trees over
 there in our neighbor’s garden, but that is an art only acquired in polite society. How sweetly they sing there;
 it is quite a pleasure to listen to them! I call it Portuguese singing. If I had only such a little singing-bird,
 I’d be kind and good as a mother to him, for it’s in my nature, in my Portuguese blood. 

While she was speaking, one of the little singing-birds came tumbling head over heels from the roof into the yard.
The cat was after him, but he had escaped from her with a broken wing, and so came tumbling into the yard.  That’s
just like the cat, she’s a villain,  said the Portuguese duck.  I remember her ways when I had children of my own.
How can such a creature be allowed to live, and wander about upon the roofs. I don’t think they allow such things
in Portugal.  She pitied the little singing-bird, and so did all the other ducks who were not Portuguese.

 Poor little creature!  they said, one after another, as they came up.  We can’t sing, certainly; but we have a
sounding-board, or something of the kind, within us; we can feel that, though we don’t talk about it. 

 But I can talk,  said the Portuguese duck;  and I’ll do something for the little fellow; it’s my duty;  and she
stepped into the water-trough, and beat her wings upon the water so strongly that the bird was nearly drowned by a
shower-bath; but the duck meant it kindly.  That is a good deed,  she said;  I hope the others will take example
by it. 

 Tweet, tweet!  said the little bird, for one of his wings being broken, he found it difficult to shake himself;
but he quite understood that the bath was meant kindly, and he said,  You are very kind-hearted, madam;  but he
did not wish for a second bath.

 I have never thought about my heart,  replied the Portuguese duck,  but I know that I love all my fellow-
creatures, except the cat, and nobody can expect me to love her, for she ate up two of my ducklings. But pray make
yourself at home; it is easy to make one’s self comfortable. I am myself from a foreign country, as you may see by
my feathery dress. My drake is a native of these parts; he’s not of my race; but I am not proud on that account.
If any one here can understand you, I may say positively I am that person. 

 She’s quite full of ‘Portulak,’  said a little common duck, who was witty. All the common ducks considered the
word  Portulak  a good joke, for it sounded like Portugal. They nudged each other, and said,  Quack! that was
witty! 

Then the other ducks began to notice the little bird.  The Portuguese had certainly a great flow of language, 
they said to the little bird.  For our part we don’t care to fill our beaks with such long words, but we
sympathize with you quite as much. If we don’t do anything else, we can walk about with you everywhere, and we
think that is the best thing we can do. 

 You have a lovely voice,  said one of the eldest ducks;  it must be great satisfaction to you to be able to give
so much pleasure as you do. I am certainly no judge of your singing so I keep my beak shut, which is better than
talking nonsense, as others do. 

 Don’t plague him so,  interposed the Portuguese duck;  he requires rest and nursing. My little singing-bird do
you wish me to prepare another bath for you? 

 Oh, no! no! pray let me dry,  implored the little bird.

 The water-cure is the only remedy for me, when I am not well,  said the Portuguese.  Amusement, too, is very
beneficial. The fowls from the neighborhood will soon be here to pay you a visit. There are two Cochin Chinese
amongst them; they wear feathers on their legs, and are well educated. They have been brought from a great
distance, and consequently I treat them with greater respect than I do the others. 

Then the fowls arrived, and the cock was polite enough to-day to keep from being rude.  You are a real songster, 
he said,  you do as much with your little voice as it is possible to do; but there requires more noise and
shrillness in any one who wishes it to be known who he is. 

The two Chinese were quite enchanted with the appearance of the singing-bird. His feathers had been much ruffled
by his bath, so that he seemed to them quite like a tiny Chinese fowl.  He’s charming,  they said to each other,
and began a conversation with him in whispers, using the most aristocratic Chinese dialect:  We are of the same
race as yourself,  they said.  The ducks, even the Portuguese, are all aquatic birds, as you must have noticed.
You do not know us yet, very few know us, or give themselves the trouble to make our acquaintance, not even any of
the fowls, though we are born to occupy a higher grade in society than most of them. But that does not disturb us,
we quietly go on in our own way among the rest, whose ideas are certainly not ours; for we look at the bright side
of things, and only speak what is good, although that is sometimes very difficult to find where none exists.
Except ourselves and the cock there is not one in the yard who can be called talented or polite. It cannot even be
said of the ducks, and we warn you, little bird, not to trust that one yonder, with the short tail feathers, for
she is cunning; that curiously marked one, with the crooked stripes on her wings, is a mischief-maker, and never
lets any one have the last word, though she is always in the wrong. That fat duck yonder speaks evil of every one,
and that is against our principles. If we have nothing good to tell, we close our beaks. The Portuguese is the
only one who has had any education, and with whom we can associate, but she is passionate, and talks too much
about ‘Portugal.’ 

 I wonder what those two Chinese are whispering about,  whispered one duck to another;  they are always doing it,
and it annoys me. We never speak to them. 

Now the drake came up, and he thought the little singing-bird was a sparrow.  Well, I don’t understand the
difference,  he said;  it appears to me all the same. He’s only a plaything, and if people will have playthings,
why let them, I say. 

 Don’t take any notice of what he says,  whispered the Portuguese;  he’s very well in matters of business, and
with him business is placed before everything. But now I shall lie down and have a little rest. It is a duty we
owe to ourselves that we may be nice and fat when we come to be embalmed with sage and onions and apples.  So she
laid herself down in the sun and winked with one eye; she had a very comfortable place, and felt so comfortable
that she fell asleep. The little singing-bird busied himself for some time with his broken wing, and at last he
lay down, too, quite close to his protectress. The sun shone warm and bright, and he found out that it was a very
good place. But the fowls of the neighborhood were all awake, and, to tell the truth, they had paid a visit to the
duckyard, simply and solely to find food for themselves. The Chinese were the first to leave, and the other fowls
soon followed them.

The witty little duck said of the Portuguese, that the old lady was getting quite a  doting ducky,  All the other
ducks laughed at this.  Doting ducky,  they whispered.  Oh, that’s too ‘witty!’  And then they repeated the former
joke about  Portulak,  and declared it was most amusing. Then they all lay down to have a nap.

They had been lying asleep for some time, when suddenly something was thrown into the yard for them to eat. It
came down with such a bang, that the whole company started up and clapped their wings. The Portuguese awoke too,
and rushed over to the other side: in so doing she trod upon the little singing-bird.

 Tweet,  he cried;  you trod very hard upon me, madam. 

 Well, then, why do you lie in my way?  she retorted,  you must not be so touchy. I have nerves of my own, but I
do not cry ‘tweet.’ 

 Don’t be angry,  said the little bird;  the ‘tweet’ slipped out of my beak unawares. 

The Portuguese did not listen to him, but began eating as fast as she could, and made a good meal. When she had
finished, she lay down again, and the little bird, who wished to be amiable, began to sing, 

    Chirp and twitter, 
    The dew-drops glitter, 
    In the hours of sunny spring, 
    I’ll sing my best, 
    Till I go to rest,
    With my head behind my wing. 

 Now I want rest after my dinner,  said the Portuguese;  you must conform to the rules of the house while you are
here. I want to sleep now. 

The little bird was quite taken aback, for he meant it kindly. When madam awoke afterwards, there he stood before
her with a little corn he had found, and laid it at her feet; but as she had not slept well, she was naturally in
a bad temper.  Give that to a chicken,  she said,  and don’t be always standing in my way. 

 Why are you angry with me?  replied the little singing-bird,  what have I done? 

 Done!  repeated the Portuguese duck,  your mode of expressing yourself is not very polite. I must call your
attention to that fact. 

 It was sunshine here yesterday,  said the little bird,  but to-day it is cloudy and the air is close. 

 You know very little about the weather, I fancy,  she retorted,  the day is not over yet. Don’t stand there,
looking so stupid. 

 But you are looking at me just as the wicked eyes looked when I fell into the yard yesterday.";
blackcat:="FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor
solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their
own evidence. Yet, mad am I not --and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-
day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly,
succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these
events have terrified --have tortured --have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound
them. To me, they have presented little but Horror --to many they will seem less terrible than
baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the
common-place --some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which
will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession
of very natural causes and effects. From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of
my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my
companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great
variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and
caressing them. This peculiar of character grew with my growth, and in my manhood, I derived
from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a
faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the
intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-
sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent
occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man. I married early, and
was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality
for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had
birds, gold fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat. This latter was a remarkably
large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking
of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made
frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in
disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point --and I mention the matter at all for no
better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered. Pluto --this was the cat's name
--was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about
the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the
streets. Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general
temperament and character --through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance --had (I blush
to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody,
more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate
language to my At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to
feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however,
I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of
maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection,
they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me --for what disease is like Alcohol! --and at
length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish --even Pluto
began to experience the effects of my ill temper. One night, returning home, much intoxicated,
from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him;
when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The
fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at
once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured,
thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it,
grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I
blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity. When reason returned with the
morning --when I had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch --I experienced a sentiment half
of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a
feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and
soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed. In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The
socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared
to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme
terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this
evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave
place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of
PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul
lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart --one of
the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man.
Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other
reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of
our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such?
This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing
of the soul to vex itself --to offer violence to its own nature --to do wrong for the wrong's
sake only --that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon
the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it
to the limb of a tree; --hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest
remorse at my heart; --hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had
given me no reason of offence; --hung it because I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin
--a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it --if such a thing were
possible --even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible
God. On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the
cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with
great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration.
The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself
thenceforward to despair. I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause
and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts --and
wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect. On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the
ruins. The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This exception was found in a compartment
wall, not very thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and against which had rested
the head of my bed. The plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the action of the fire
--a fact which I attributed to its having been recently spread. About this wall a dense crowd
were collected, and many persons seemed to be examining a particular portion of it with every
minute and eager attention. The words 'strange!' 'singular!' and other similar expressions,
excited my curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas relief upon the white surface,
the figure of a gigantic cat. The impression was given with an accuracy truly marvellous. There
was a rope about the animal's neck. When I first beheld this apparition --for I could scarcely
regard it as less --my wonder and my terror were extreme. But at length reflection came to my
aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of
fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the crowd --by some one of whom the animal must
have been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open window, into my chamber. This had
probably been done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The falling of other walls had
compressed the victim of my cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster; the lime
of which, had then with the flames, and the ammonia from the carcass, accomplished the
portraiture as I saw it. Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if not altogether to my
conscience, for the startling fact 'just detailed, it did not the less fall to make a deep
impression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat; and,
during this period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment that seemed, but was not,
remorse. I went so far as to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me, among the vile
haunts which I now habitually frequented, for another pet of the same species, and of somewhat
similar appearance, with which to supply its place. One night as I sat, half stupefied, in a den
of more than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some black object, reposing upon the
head of one of the immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which constituted the chief furniture of
the apartment. I had been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for some minutes, and
what now caused me surprise was the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object thereupon. I
approached it, and touched it with my hand. It was a black cat --a very large one --fully as
large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair
upon any portion of his body; but this cat had a large, although indefinite splotch of white,
covering nearly the whole region of the breast. Upon my touching him, he immediately arose,
purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared delighted with my notice. This, then, was
the very creature of which I was in search. I at once offered to purchase it of the landlord;
but this person made no claim to it --knew nothing of it --had never seen it before. I continued
my caresses, and, when I prepared to go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accompany me.
I permitted it to do so; occasionally stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it reached
the house it domesticated itself at once, and became immediately a great favorite with my wife.
For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising within me. This was just the reverse of
what I had anticipated; but I know not how or why it was --its evident fondness for myself
rather disgusted and annoyed.";
marley:="Marley was dead: to begin with.  There is no doubt whatever
about that.  The register of his burial was signed by the
clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. 
Scrooge signed it.  And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change,
for anything he chose to put his hand to.  Old Marley was as
dead as a door-nail.

Mind!  I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge,
what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have
been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest
piece of ironmongery in the trade.  But the wisdom of our
ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed  hands
shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for.  You will
therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as
dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead?  Of course he did.  How could it be
otherwise?  Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many
years.  Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole
assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. 
And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but
that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the
funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I
started from.  There is no doubt that Marley was dead.  This must be
distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am
going to relate.  If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's
Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more
remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon
his own ramparts, than there   would be in any other
middle-aged gentleman rashly  turning out after dark in a breezy spot
-- say Saint  Paul's Churchyard for instance -- literally to
astonish his son's weak mind.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name.  There it stood,
years afterwards, above the ware-house door: Scrooge and Marley.  The
firm was known as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the
business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley, but he answered
to both names.  It was all the same to him.

Oh!  But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge!  a
squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old
sinner!  Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck
out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an
oyster.  The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed
nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his
thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice.  A frosty
rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He 
 carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced
his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at
Christmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth
could warm, no wintry weather chill him.  No wind that blew was
bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no
pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to
have him.  The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could
boast of the advantage over him in only one respect.  They often
came down handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, ``My dear Scrooge, how are you. When will you
come to see me.'' No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man
or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blindmen's
dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts;
and then would wag their tails as though they said, ``No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master! ''

But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life,
warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call nuts to Scrooge.

Once upon a time -- of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve -- old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-
house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go
wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to
warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already: it had not been light all
day: and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable
brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court
was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down,
obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale.

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eye upon his clerk, who in a dismal little
cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire was so very
much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own
room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for
them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which
effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed.

\"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!\" cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who
came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

\"Bah!\" said Scrooge, \"Humbug!\"";
camel:="NOW this is the next tale, and it tells how the Camel got his big
hump. In the beginning of years, when the world was so new and all,
and the Animals were just beginning to work for Man, there was a
Camel, and he lived in the middle of a Howling Desert because he did
not want to work; and besides, he was a Howler himself. So he ate
sticks and thorns and tamarisks and milkweed and prickles, most
'scruciating idle; and when anybody spoke to him he said \"Humph!\"
Just \"Humph!\" and no more. Presently the Horse came to him on
Monday morning, with a saddle on his back and a bit in his mouth, and
said, \"Camel, O Camel, come out and trot like the rest of us.\"
\"Humph!\" said the Camel; and the Horse went away and told the Man.
Presently the Dog came to him, with a stick in his mouth, and said,
\"Camel, O Camel, come and fetch and carry like the rest of us.\"
\"Humph!\" said the Camel; and the Dog went away and told the Man.
Presently the Ox came to him, with the yoke on his neck and said,
\"Camel, O Camel, come and plough like the rest of us.\" \"Humph!\"
said the Camel; and the Ox went away and told the Man. At the end of
the day the Man called the Horse and the Dog and the Ox together, and
said, \"Three, O Three, I'm very sorry for you (with the world so
new-and-all); but that Humph-thing in the Desert can't work, or he
would have been here by now, so I am going to leave him alone, and
you must work double-time to make up for it.\" That made the Three
very angry (with the world so new-and- all), and they held a palaver,
and an indaba, and a punchayet, and a pow-wow on the edge of the
Desert; and the Camel came chewing on milkweed most 'scruciating
idle, and laughed at them. Then he said \"Humph!\" and went away
again. Presently there came along the Djinn in charge of All Deserts,
rolling in a cloud of dust (Djinns always travel that way because it
is Magic), and he stopped to palaver and pow-pow with the Three.
\"Djinn of All Deserts,\" said the Horse, \"is it right for any one
to be idle, with the world so new-and-all?\" \"Certainly not,\" said
the Djinn. \"Well,\" said the Horse, \"there's a thing in the middle
of your Howling Desert (and he's a Howler himself) with a long neck
and long legs, and he hasn't done a stroke of work since Monday
morning. He won't trot.\" \"Whew!\" said the Djinn, whistling,
\"that's my Camel, for all the gold in Arabia! What does he say about
it?\" \"He says Humph!\" said the Dog; \"and he won't fetch and
carry.\" \"Does he say anything else?\" \"Only Humph!; and he won't
plough,\" said the Ox. \"Very good,\" said the Djinn. \"I'll humph
him if you will kindly wait a minute.\" The Djinn rolled himself up
in his dust-cloak, and took a bearing across the desert, and found
the Camel most 'scruciatingly idle, looking at his own reflection in
a pool of water. \"My long and bubbling friend,\" said the Djinn,
\"what's this I hear of your doing no work, with the world so new-
and- all?\" \"Humph!\" said the Camel. The Djinn sat down, with his
chin in his hand, and began to think a Great Magic, while the Camel
looked at his own reflection in the pool of water.";

ct1:=Enciphering(sk1,Encoding(SC,match));
ct2:=Enciphering(vk1,Encoding(VC1,beetle));
ct3:=Enciphering(vk2,Encoding(VC2,oldman));
ct4:=Enciphering(sk2,Encoding(SC,duck));
ct5:=Enciphering(vk3,Encoding(VC3,marley));
ct6:=Enciphering(tk,Encoding(TC,blackcat));
ct7:=Enciphering(tk2,Encoding(TC2,camel));

pt6:="FORTHEMOSTWILDYETMOSTHOMELYNARRATIVEWHICHIAMABOUTTOPENINEITHEREXPECTNORSOLICITBELIEFMADINDEEDWOULDIBETOEXPECTITINACASEWHEREMYVERYSENSESREJECTTHEIROWNEVIDENCEYETMADAMINOTANDVERYSURELYDOINOTDREAMBUTTOMORROWIDIEANDTODAYIWOULDUNBURTHENMYSOULMYIMMEDIATEPURPOSEISTOPLACEBEFORETHEWORLDPLAINLYSUCCINCTLYANDWITHOUTCOMMENTASERIESOFMEREHOUSEHOLDEVENTSINTHEIRCONSEQUENCESTHESEEVENTSHAVETERRIFIEDHAVETORTUREDHAVEDESTROYEDMEYETIWILLNOTATTEMPTTOEXPOUNDTHEMTOMETHEYHAVEPRESENTEDLITTLEBUTHORRORTOMANYTHEYWILLSEEMLESSTERRIBLETHANBAROQUESHEREAFTERPERHAPSSOMEINTELLECTMAYBEFOUNDWHICHWILLREDUCEMYPHANTASMTOTHECOMMONPLACESOMEINTELLECTMORECALMMORELOGICALANDFARLESSEXCITABLETHANMYOWNWHICHWILLPERCEIVEINTHECIRCUMSTANCESIDETAILWITHAWENOTHINGMORETHANANORDINARYSUCCESSIONOFVERYNATURALCAUSESANDEFFECTSFROMMYINFANCYIWASNOTEDFORTHEDOCILITYANDHUMANITYOFMYDISPOSITIONMYTENDERNESSOFHEARTWASEVENSOCONSPICUOUSASTOMAKEMETHEJESTOFMYCOMPANIONSIWASESPECIALLYFONDOFANIMALSANDWASINDULGEDBYMYPARENTSWITHAGREATVARIETYOFPETSWITHTHESEISPENTMOSTOFMYTIMEANDNEVERWASSOHAPPYASWHENFEEDINGANDCARESSINGTHEMTHISPECULIAROFCHARACTERGREWWITHMYGROWTHANDINMYMANHOODIDERIVEDFROMITONEOFMYPRINCIPALSOURCESOFPLEASURETOTHOSEWHOHAVECHERISHEDANAFFECTIONFORAFAITHFULANDSAGACIOUSDOGINEEDHARDLYBEATTHETROUBLEOFEXPLAININGTHENATUREORTHEINTENSITYOFTHEGRATIFICATIONTHUSDERIVABLETHEREISSOMETHINGINTHEUNSELFISHANDSELFSACRIFICINGLOVEOFABRUTEWHICHGOESDIRECTLYTOTHEHEARTOFHIMWHOHASHADFREQUENTOCCASIONTOTESTTHEPALTRYFRIENDSHIPANDGOSSAMERFIDELITYOFMEREMANIMARRIEDEARLYANDWASHAPPYTOFINDINMYWIFEADISPOSITIONNOTUNCONGENIALWITHMYOWNOBSERVINGMYPARTIALITYFORDOMESTICPETSSHELOSTNOOPPORTUNITYOFPROCURINGTHOSEOFTHEMOSTAGREEABLEKINDWEHADBIRDSGOLDFISHAFINEDOGRABBITSASMALLMONKEYANDACATTHISLATTERWASAREMARKABLYLARGEANDBEAUTIFULANIMALENTIRELYBLACKANDSAGACIOUSTOANASTONISHINGDEGREEINSPEAKINGOFHISINTELLIGENCEMYWIFEWHOATHEARTWASNOTALITTLETINCTUREDWITHSUPERSTITIONMADEFREQUENTALLUSIONTOTHEANCIENTPOPULARNOTIONWHICHREGARDEDALLBLACKCATSASWITCHESINDISGUISENOTTHATSHEWASEVERSERIOUSUPONTHISPOINTANDIMENTIONTHEMATTERATALLFORNOBETTERREASONTHANTHATITHAPPENSJUSTNOWTOBEREMEMBEREDPLUTOTHISWASTHECATSNAMEWASMYFAVORITEPETANDPLAYMATEIALONEFEDHIMANDHEATTENDEDMEWHEREVERIWENTABOUTTHEHOUSEITWASEVENWITHDIFFICULTYTHATICOULDPREVENTHIMFROMFOLLOWINGMETHROUGHTHESTREETSOURFRIENDSHIPLASTEDINTHISMANNERFORSEVERALYEARSDURINGWHICHMYGENERALTEMPERAMENTANDCHARACTERTHROUGHTHEINSTRUMENTALITYOFTHEFIENDINTEMPERANCEHADIBLUSHTOCONFESSITEXPERIENCEDARADICALALTERATIONFORTHEWORSEIGREWDAYBYDAYMOREMOODYMOREIRRITABLEMOREREGARDLESSOFTHEFEELINGSOFOTHERSISUFFEREDMYSELFTOUSEINTEMPERATELANGUAGETOMYATLENGTHIEVENOFFEREDHERPERSONALVIOLENCEMYPETSOFCOURSEWEREMADETOFEELTHECHANGEINMYDISPOSITIONINOTONLYNEGLECTEDBUTILLUSEDTHEMFORPLUTOHOWEVERISTILLRETAINEDSUFFICIENTREGARDTORESTRAINMEFROMMALTREATINGHIMASIMADENOSCRUPLEOFMALTREATINGTHERABBITSTHEMONKEYOREVENTHEDOGWHENBYACCIDENTORTHROUGHAFFECTIONTHEYCAMEINMYWAYBUTMYDISEASEGREWUPONMEFORWHATDISEASEISLIKEALCOHOLANDATLENGTHEVENPLUTOWHOWASNOWBECOMINGOLDANDCONSEQUENTLYSOMEWHATPEEVISHEVENPLUTOBEGANTOEXPERIENCETHEEFFECTSOFMYILLTEMPERONENIGHTRETURNINGHOMEMUCHINTOXICATEDFROMONEOFMYHAUNTSABOUTTOWNIFANCIEDTHATTHECATAVOIDEDMYPRESENCEISEIZEDHIMWHENINHISFRIGHTATMYVIOLENCEHEINFLICTEDASLIGHTWOUNDUPONMYHANDWITHHISTEETHTHEFURYOFADEMONINSTANTLYPOSSESSEDMEIKNEWMYSELFNOLONGERMYORIGINALSOULSEEMEDATONCETOTAKEITSFLIGHTFROMMYBODYANDAMORETHANFIENDISHMALEVOLENCEGINNURTUREDTHRILLEDEVERYFIBREOFMYFRAMEITOOKFROMMYWAISTCOATPOCKETAPENKNIFEOPENEDITGRASPEDTHEPOORBEASTBYTHETHROATANDDELIBERATELYCUTONEOFITSEYESFROMTHESOCKETIBLUSHIBURNISHUDDERWHILEIPENTHEDAMNABLEATROCITYWHENREASONRETURNEDWITHTHEMORNINGWHENIHADSLEPTOFFTHEFUMESOFTHENIGHTSDEBAUCHIEXPERIENCEDASENTIMENTHALFOFHORRORHALFOFREMORSEFORTHECRIMEOFWHICHIHADBEENGUILTYBUTITWASATBESTAFEEBLEANDEQUIVOCALFEELINGANDTHESOULREMAINEDUNTOUCHEDIAGAINPLUNGEDINTOEXCESSANDSOONDROWNEDINWINEALLMEMORYOFTHEDEEDINTHEMEANTIMETHECATSLOWLYRECOVEREDTHESOCKETOFTHELOSTEYEPRESENTEDITISTRUEAFRIGHTFULAPPEARANCEBUTHENOLONGERAPPEAREDTOSUFFERANYPAINHEWENTABOUTTHEHOUSEASUSUALBUTASMIGHTBEEXPECTEDFLEDINEXTREMETERRORATMYAPPROACHIHADSOMUCHOFMYOLDHEARTLEFTASTOBEATFIRSTGRIEVEDBYTHISEVIDENTDISLIKEONTHEPARTOFACREATUREWHICHHADONCESOLOVEDMEBUTTHISFEELINGSOONGAVEPLACETOIRRITATIONANDTHENCAMEASIFTOMYFINALANDIRREVOCABLEOVERTHROWTHESPIRITOFPERVERSENESSOFTHISSPIRITPHILOSOPHYTAKESNOACCOUNTYETIAMNOTMORESURETHATMYSOULLIVESTHANIAMTHATPERVERSENESSISONEOFTHEPRIMITIVEIMPULSESOFTHEHUMANHEARTONEOFTHEINDIVISIBLEPRIMARYFACULTIESORSENTIMENTSWHICHGIVEDIRECTIONTOTHECHARACTEROFMANWHOHASNOTAHUNDREDTIMESFOUNDHIMSELFCOMMITTINGAVILEORASILLYACTIONFORNOOTHERREASONTHANBECAUSEHEKNOWSHESHOULDNOTHAVEWENOTAPERPETUALINCLINATIONINTHETEETHOFOURBESTJUDGMENTTOVIOLATETHATWHICHISLAWMERELYBECAUSEWEUNDERSTANDITTOBESUCHTHISSPIRITOFPERVERSENESSISAYCAMETOMYFINALOVERTHROWITWASTHISUNFATHOMABLELONGINGOFTHESOULTOVEXITSELFTOOFFERVIOLENCETOITSOWNNATURETODOWRONGFORTHEWRONGSSAKEONLYTHATURGEDMETOCONTINUEANDFINALLYTOCONSUMMATETHEINJURYIHADINFLICTEDUPONTHEUNOFFENDINGBRUTEONEMORNINGINCOOLBLOODISLIPPEDANOOSEABOUTITSNECKANDHUNGITTOTHELIMBOFATREEHUNGITWITHTHETEARSSTREAMINGFROMMYEYESANDWITHTHEBITTERESTREMORSEATMYHEARTHUNGITBECAUSEIKNEWTHATITHADLOVEDMEANDBECAUSEIFELTITHADGIVENMENOREASONOFOFFENCEHUNGITBECAUSEIKNEWTHATINSODOINGIWASCOMMITTINGASINADEADLYSINTHATWOULDSOJEOPARDIZEMYIMMORTALSOULASTOPLACEITIFSUCHATHINGWEREPOSSIBLEEVENBEYONDTHEREACHOFTHEINFINITEMERCYOFTHEMOSTMERCIFULANDMOSTTERRIBLEGODONTHENIGHTOFTHEDAYONWHICHTHISCRUELDEEDWASDONEIWASAROUSEDFROMSLEEPBYTHECRYOFFIRETHECURTAINSOFMYBEDWEREINFLAMESTHEWHOLEHOUSEWASBLAZINGITWASWITHGREATDIFFICULTYTHATMYWIFEASERVANTANDMYSELFMADEOURESCAPEFROMTHECONFLAGRATIONTHEDESTRUCTIONWASCOMPLETEMYENTIREWORLDLYWEALTHWASSWALLOWEDUPANDIRESIGNEDMYSELFTHENCEFORWARDTODESPAIRIAMABOVETHEWEAKNESSOFSEEKINGTOESTABLISHASEQUENCEOFCAUSEANDEFFECTBETWEENTHEDISASTERANDTHEATROCITYBUTIAMDETAILINGACHAINOFFACTSANDWISHNOTTOLEAVEEVENAPOSSIBLELINKIMPERFECTONTHEDAYSUCCEEDINGTHEFIREIVISITEDTHERUINSTHEWALLSWITHONEEXCEPTIONHADFALLENINTHISEXCEPTIONWASFOUNDINACOMPARTMENTWALLNOTVERYTHICKWHICHSTOODABOUTTHEMIDDLEOFTHEHOUSEANDAGAINSTWHICHHADRESTEDTHEHEADOFMYBEDTHEPLASTERINGHADHEREINGREATMEASURERESISTEDTHEACTIONOFTHEFIREAFACTWHICHIATTRIBUTEDTOITSHAVINGBEENRECENTLYSPREADABOUTTHISWALLADENSECROWDWERECOLLECTEDANDMANYPERSONSSEEMEDTOBEEXAMININGAPARTICULARPORTIONOFITWITHEVERYMINUTEANDEAGERATTENTIONTHEWORDSSTRANGESINGULARANDOTHERSIMILAREXPRESSIONSEXCITEDMYCURIOSITYIAPPROACHEDANDSAWASIFGRAVENINBASRELIEFUPONTHEWHITESURFACETHEFIGUREOFAGIGANTICCATTHEIMPRESSIONWASGIVENWITHANACCURACYTRULYMARVELLOUSTHEREWASAROPEABOUTTHEANIMALSNECKWHENIFIRSTBEHELDTHISAPPARITIONFORICOULDSCARCELYREGARDITASLESSMYWONDERANDMYTERRORWEREEXTREMEBUTATLENGTHREFLECTIONCAMETOMYAIDTHECATIREMEMBEREDHADBEENHUNGINAGARDENADJACENTTOTHEHOUSEUPONTHEALARMOFFIRETHISGARDENHADBEENIMMEDIATELYFILLEDBYTHECROWDBYSOMEONEOFWHOMTHEANIMALMUSTHAVEBEENCUTFROMTHETREEANDTHROWNTHROUGHANOPENWINDOWINTOMYCHAMBERTHISHADPROBABLYBEENDONEWITHTHEVIEWOFAROUSINGMEFROMSLEEPTHEFALLINGOFOTHERWALLSHADCOMPRESSEDTHEVICTIMOFMYCRUELTYINTOTHESUBSTANCEOFTHEFRESHLYSPREADPLASTERTHELIMEOFWHICHHADTHENWITHTHEFLAMESANDTHEAMMONIAFROMTHECARCASSACCOMPLISHEDTHEPORTRAITUREASISAWITALTHOUGHITHUSREADILYACCOUNTEDTOMYREASONIFNOTALTOGETHERTOMYCONSCIENCEFORTHESTARTLINGFACTJUSTDETAILEDITDIDNOTTHELESSFALLTOMAKEADEEPIMPRESSIONUPONMYFANCYFORMONTHSICOULDNOTRIDMYSELFOFTHEPHANTASMOFTHECATANDDURINGTHISPERIODTHERECAMEBACKINTOMYSPIRITAHALFSENTIMENTTHATSEEMEDBUTWASNOTREMORSEIWENTSOFARASTOREGRETTHELOSSOFTHEANIMALANDTOLOOKABOUTMEAMONGTHEVILEHAUNTSWHICHINOWHABITUALLYFREQUENTEDFORANOTHERPETOFTHESAMESPECIESANDOFSOMEWHATSIMILARAPPEARANCEWITHWHICHTOSUPPLYITSPLACEONENIGHTASISATHALFSTUPEFIEDINADENOFMORETHANINFAMYMYATTENTIONWASSUDDENLYDRAWNTOSOMEBLACKOBJECTREPOSINGUPONTHEHEADOFONEOFTHEIMMENSEHOGSHEADSOFGINOROFRUMWHICHCONSTITUTEDTHECHIEFFURNITUREOFTHEAPARTMENTIHADBEENLOOKINGSTEADILYATTHETOPOFTHISHOGSHEADFORSOMEMINUTESANDWHATNOWCAUSEDMESURPRISEWASTHEFACTTHATIHADNOTSOONERPERCEIVEDTHEOBJECTTHEREUPONIAPPROACHEDITANDTOUCHEDITWITHMYHANDITWASABLACKCATAVERYLARGEONEFULLYASLARGEASPLUTOANDCLOSELYRESEMBLINGHIMINEVERYRESPECTBUTONEPLUTOHADNOTAWHITEHAIRUPONANYPORTIONOFHISBODYBUTTHISCATHADALARGEALTHOUGHINDEFINITESPLOTCHOFWHITECOVERINGNEARLYTHEWHOLEREGIONOFTHEBREASTUPONMYTOUCHINGHIMHEIMMEDIATELYAROSEPURREDLOUDLYRUBBEDAGAINSTMYHANDANDAPPEAREDDELIGHTEDWITHMYNOTICETHISTHENWASTHEVERYCREATUREOFWHICHIWASINSEARCHIATONCEOFFEREDTOPURCHASEITOFTHELANDLORDBUTTHISPERSONMADENOCLAIMTOITKNEWNOTHINGOFITHADNEVERSEENITBEFOREICONTINUEDMYCARESSESANDWHENIPREPAREDTOGOHOMETHEANIMALEVINCEDADISPOSITIONTOACCOMPANYMEIPERMITTEDITTODOSOOCCASIONALLYSTOOPINGANDPATTINGITASIPROCEEDEDWHENITREACHEDTHEHOUSEITDOMESTICATEDITSELFATONCEANDBECAMEIMMEDIATELYAGREATFAVORITEWITHMYWIFEFORMYOWNPARTISOONFOUNDADISLIKETOITARISINGWITHINMETHISWASJUSTTHEREVERSEOFWHATIHADANTICIPATEDBUTIKNOWNOTHOWORWHYITWASITSEVIDENTFONDNESSFORMYSELFRATHERDISGUSTEDANDA";