When at last she did condescend to enlighten my ignorance, I could scarcely restrain my incredulity, for it seemed to me that I was now asked to believe the greatest wonder of all. I was told that the primary purpose of this building was to afford facilities for inoculating the aged or debilitated with the nerves of young and vigorous animals, and that this was the explanation of the fact that I had as yet seen no really old-looking people in New Amazonia. “We all resort at times to the Physiological Hall for recuperation and rejuvenation,” said my companion, “and it is to the benefit we derive here that much of our national prosperity is due. The breeding and rearing of the animals required is an expensive branch of State economy, but all expenses are more than counterbalanced by the fees which we willingly pay for each operation. Even apart from the fact that we are individually and collectively enormously benefitted by our rejuvenating system, it gives employment to a large number of people, and adds considerably to the revenues of the State.” “And since when has the system been in vogue?” I asked, deeply interested. “Only within the last four hundred years, although it is on reliable record that experiments in that direction were inaugurated by Professor Brown-Sequard in the nineteenth century. But in those days the human race was only just awakening to a knowledge of the benefits and beauties of science, and it remained for posterity to recognise the full value of Professor Brown-Sequard’s invention. Do you observe that marble statue, extending the right hand in kindly welcome to all who enter this building?” “Yes. I noticed it on entering. It is a splendid conception.” “Not more splendid than the genius of the man it is intended to personify. It is a memorial statue of the inventor of Nerve-Rejuvenation. It is essentially idealistic, as no counterfeit presentment of Brown-Sequard has been preserved for the admiration of future ages, but as every statue in his honour is reproduced in the likeness of this one, we are all familiar with what is supposed to be his presentment, just as even in days of old everyone recognised the portrait of Christ the Martyr when they saw it.” I got up to inspect the statue more closely, for I had a sort of second-hand interest in the original. I had once met a gentleman, who had attended his initiatory lecture in Paris on “The Art of not Growing Old.” I was sure, however, that the professor would never recognise himself here, for the statue was idealised into the presentment of a beneficent, powerful, godlike form, which was as devoid of all Gallic characteristics, as it was beautiful in conception. I refrained, however, from insinuating that this was the reverse of a true likeness, and contented myself with praising the thing as a work of art. “And who is your sculptor?” I enquired admiringly. “Bernard O’Hagan.” “I thought men were excluded from sharing artistic and scientific pursuits with you?”