For some said: "He married fortunate." And others said: "We know through Jacob Bangs he has investments In wheat lands, what's the truth? In any case What avarice is this that made him anxious About the comfort of his wife and family? The thing won't work. He's only middle way In solving his soul's problem. This confession Is just a poor beginning." Others said: "He drove out Alma Bell, let's drive him out." And others said: "you note we never heard About this speculation till it failed, And he was brought to grief. If it had prospered The man had never told, what do you think?" But in a year as health failed, Ferguson Took leave of absence, and the silence of life Which closes over men, however noisy With sermons, lectures, covered him. His riffle Died out in distant waters. There was a Doctor Burke lived at LeRoy, Neurologist and student. On a night When Merival had the jury at his house, Llewellyn George was telling of his travels In China and Japan, had mutual friends With Franklin Hollister, the cousin of Elenor, And son of dead Corinne, who hid her letters Under the eaves. The talk went wide and far. For David Borrow, sunny pessimist, Thrust logic words at Maiworm, the juryman; And said our life was bad, and must be so, While Maiworm trusted God, said life was good. And Winthrop Marion let play his wit, The riches of his reading over all. Thus as they talked this Doctor Burke came in. "You'll pardon this intrusion, I'll go on If this is secret business. Let me say This inquest holds my interest and I've come To tell of Elenor's ancestry." Thus he spoke. "There'll be another time if I must go." And Merival spoke up and said: "why stay And tell us what you know, or think," and so The coroner and jury sat and heard:-- DR. BURKE You've heard of potters' wheels and potters' hands. I had a dream that told the human tale As well as potters' wheels or potters' hands. I saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly Around the low sides of a giant bowl. A drop would fly upon the giant table, And quick the drop would twist up into form, Become homonculus and wave its hands, Brandish a little pistol, shoot a creature, Upspringing from another drop of plasm, Slopped on the giant table. Other drops, Flying as water from a grinding stone, Out of the giant bowl, took little crowns And put them on their heads and mounted thrones, And lorded little armies. Some became Half-drooped and sickly things, like poisoned flies. And others stood on lighted faggots, others Fed and commanded, others served and starved, But many joined the throng of animate drops, And hurried on the phantom quest.