So the people of the country--or their scribes, a most gifted company--began the task of describing that which they knew and loved, and had lived in and with since birth. And after they were through they took the fruits of their joint labours to an assemblage of kings in a far-off place. And the kings said, after they had read: "This is beautiful literature, but what is the country like,--that of which they write?" So one of their chamberlains, who was a plain soul, said sensibly: "Your Majesties, there is only one fault to find with the book written by these people about their country, and that is that they know it too well to describe it well." Therefore one of the kings said, "How can that be truth? For what we are close to we must see more clearly than others who view it from afar." So the sensible chamberlain took a certain little object and held it close to the eyes of one of the kings, and cried, "What is this?" And the king, blinking and scowling, said after a bit: "It is a volcano!" The chamberlain answered, "Wrong; it is an inkstand," and showing it proved that he spoke truth. Then he held another thing close before the eyes of another king and cried again, "What is this?" And this king, puzzled, said, "I think it is a little piece of cloth." "Wrong," said the sensible chamberlain. "It is the statue of the Winged Victory." And this happened not once but many times until at length the kings understood. And they made a law that no one should stand too close to the thing he wished to see clearly. And they added their judgment that only the visitors to a country could see it as it is. So the traveller dipped his quill in ink once more and started writing his book. It is not yet known how successful he was. Travellers make terrible errors, and yet at times they bring back fragments of truth that the natives of the land have left unheeded scattered on the soil of the countryside. Sometimes their fragments prove to be useless and without value, for there are travellers and travellers, and some will be as stupid and as blind as the rest are clever. If this book turns out to be written by one of the stupid travellers--try to be generous, you Villagers--but then the Village is always generous!