"Did you ever see a child anything like that in this world before?" she would say, holding it out to them. "Isn't it a wonderful baby? _You_ never saw a child with legs like that, I know. Nurse says he's the most extraordinary baby she ever attended. Bless him!" But the critics did not think anything of it. "Tut, tut," they would reply, "there is nothing extraordinary about that child--no originality whatever. Why, it's exactly like every other baby--bald head, red face, big mouth, and stumpy nose. Why, that's only a weak imitation of the baby next door. It's a plagiarism, that's what that child is. You've been wasting your time, madam. If you can't do anything more original than that, we should advise you to give up the business altogether." That was the end of criticism in that strange land. "Oh! look here, we've had enough of you and your originality," said the people to the critics, after that. "Why, _you_ are not original, when one comes to think of it, and your criticisms are not original. You've all of you been saying exactly the same thing ever since the time of Solomon. We are going to drown you and have a little peace." "What, drown a critic!" cried the critics, "never heard of such a monstrous proceeding in our lives!" "No, we flatter ourselves it is an original idea," replied the public, brutally. "You ought to be charmed with it. Out you come!" So they took the critics out and drowned them, and then passed a short act, making criticism a capital offense. After that, the art and literature of the country followed, somewhat, the methods of the quaint and curious school, but the land, notwithstanding, was a much more cheerful place to live in, I dreamed. But I never finished telling you about the dream in which I thought I left my legs behind me when I went into a certain theater. I dreamed that the ticket the man gave me for my legs was No. 19, and I was worried all through the performance for fear No. 61 should get hold of them, and leave me his instead. Mine are rather a fine pair of legs, and I am, I confess, a little proud of them--at all events, I prefer them to anybody else's. Besides, number sixty-one's might be a skinny pair, and not fit me. It quite spoiled my evening, fretting about this. Another extraordinary dream I had was one in which I dreamed that I was engaged to be married to my Aunt Jane. That was not, however, the extraordinary part of it; I have often known people to dream things like that. I knew a man who once dreamed that he was actually married to his own mother-in-law! He told me that never in his life had he loved the alarm clock with more deep and grateful tenderness than he did that morning. The dream almost reconciled him to being married to his real wife. They lived quite happily together for a few days, after that dream.