Not to the Future, 'tis a realm where dwell Fair, misty ghosts, which fade as we draw near, Whose fair mirages coming hours dispel, A land whose hopes find no fruition here. But to the Present: be it dark or bright, Stout-hearted greet it; turn its ill to good; Throw on its clouds a soul-reflected light; Its ills are blessings, rightly understood. Prate not of failing hopes, of fading flowers; Whine not in melancholy, plaintive lays, Of joys departed, vanished sunny hours; A cheerful heart turns every thing to praise. Clouds can not always lower, the sun must shine; Grief can not always last, joy's hour will come; Seize as you may, each sunbeam, make it thine, And make thy heart the sunshine's constant home. Nor for thyself alone, a sunny smile Carries a magic nothing can withstand; A cheerful look may many a care beguile, And to the weary be a helping hand. Be brave--clasp thy great sorrows in thy arms; Though eagle-like, they threat, with lifted crest, The dread, the terror which thy soul alarms, Shall turn a peaceful dove upon thy breast. * * * * * _A STRANGE STORY--ITS SEQUEL._ PREFACE. The often expressed wish of the American Press for an explanation of the meaning of 'A Strange Story,' shall be complied with. It is purely and simply this: Many novels, most of them, in fact, treat of the World; the rest may be divided into those vaguely attempting to describe the works of the Flesh and the Devil. This division of subjects is fatal to their force; there was need to write a novel embracing them all; therefore 'A Strange Story' was penned. Mrs. Colonel Poyntz personated the World, Doctor Fenwick the Flesh, and Margrave, _alias_ Louis Grayle, certainly, I may be allowed to say, played the Devil with marked ability. To give a fitting _morale_ to all, the character of Lilian Ashleigh was thrown in; the good genius, the conqueror of darkness, the positive of the electrical battery meeting the negative and eliciting sparks of triumphant light--such was the heroine. Man, conscious of a future life, and endowed with imagination, is not content with things material, especially if his brain is crowded with the thoughts of the brains of ten thousand dead authors, and his nervous system is over-tasked and over-excited. In this condition he rushes away--away from cool, pure, and lovely feature--burying himself in the hot, spicy, and gorgeous dreams of Art. He would adore Cagliostro, while he mocked Doctor Watts! Infatuated dreamer! Returning at last, by good chance--or, rather, let me say, by the directing hand of Providence--from his evil search of things tabooed, to admiration of the Real, the Tangible, and the True; he will show himself as Doctor Fenwick does in this sequel, a strong, sensible, family-man, with a clear head and no-nonsense about him. CHAPTER I.